#this is unfortunately belated!! So sorry about that!!

[darlingcloudie-9]

Happy Birthday Crystal from Pokéspe!!!!! (+ a small Kris doodle lol)

[seouljazzbar]

GO WITH IT

MARK LEE (이민형)

ABOUT 𓂃 ࣪˖ “have sex with me so I can finish writing this” inspired by this tweet or when mark offers to solve all your problems, it's much better to go with it

WARNING 𓂃 ࣪˖ language, mark is a bit of a slut, 18+ spiderman kiss (you’ll see lmao), allusions to fat cock mark… 😵‍💫, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mark’s name repeated like 78 times (no seriously, it’s up there), reader bent like a pretzel, orgasm denial, this author loves a comma, a pinch of softdom!mark, silly ending

PAIRING 𓂃 ࣪˖ bestfriend!mark x bestfriend!reader

WORD COUNT 𓂃 ࣪˖ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𓂃 ࣪˖ a little surprise drop for my favorite neo! i guess it's also a wee bit of a belated birthday gift to him :) i skimmed it for typos and stuff but i unfortunately did not edit it the way i should have, sorrryyyyy hope y'all enjoy! omg also reader's room is yu nabi's from the kdrama nevertheless hehehe

Nobody was busier than your best friend, Mark Lee. Between his job, his vibrant social life, and his weekly family dinners, you were lucky to be offered a slot in his schedule. It was always a yes to Mark Lee. Usually.

The last three times Mark had tried to make plans with you were all failed attempts, and the excuses varied each time. There was nothing shameful about the truth, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that your friendship was being thrown to the backburner while you sloppily attempted to get your life together. He knew all about your small business, taking commissions for art prints and ceramics, but he had no idea how much time and effort went into each piece. Besides, knowing Mark he would offer to help, and that wasn’t going to be of service to you in the slightest. 

All you could do was rot in bed, hoping that something would spark your creative mind to no avail. Frustration was starting to take up every corner of your mind— from the nonstop orders that you couldn’t fulfill, to your supplier raising prices, to the fact that you hadn’t had a good date in two years. You were wound too tight to function, and any minute now you were going to start pulling your hair out in chunks.

The sound of the pin-pad at your door let you know that Mark was about to come barreling through. There were so many times that you’d be in strict creation mode, headphones in at full blast while Mark banged at the door pleading for you to answer; when it started to feel like a normal part of your routine, he just requested the code to let himself in. “Yo!”

Except, this time, none of that was necessary. Your headphones were stuffed in their case on the other side of the room, workstation completely untouched with your multiple projects stacked on top of each other. Despite the custom orders piling up over the last two weeks, you hadn’t had the artistic strength to move forward with any of them. The only thing you could do to  buy yourself a little time was to post a message asking for patience and understanding while you navigate some vague emotional hardship. Realistically, though, it would only buy you another week or so before people would start to get angry. 

“Hi.” Perched on a stool near the kitchen island, eyes locked on the cup of coffee you warmed up seventeen minutes ago, you were out of it.

Mark waved a few inches from your face, trying to get your full attention. “Hello? Earth to ___, are you okay?”

You snapped out of it, looking over at your best friend to see that he was dressed for a night on the town. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind right now.”

White, distressed tank top, loose plaid button-up undone, and his sexiest pair of black jeans. The way the meticulous curls fell around his face, looping around his forehead in a way that feigned boylike wonder. He looked oh so delicious, but you would never tell him that— his ego was big enough for the both of you. “Anything I could help with?”

A stifled chuckle barely reached his ears before you cleared your throat, turning toward him with renewed energy. “No, not really.”

Mark put his phone and keys down on the counter, taking a quick intermission to wash his hands before walking back over to you. He’d never been in your apartment in this way before— an unannounced hangout where you’re clearly just a stop along the way, being so underdressed in his presence. He’d seen you in a swimsuit before, but something about a big shirt and underwear felt far more intimate than the two strips of fabric. “This is like the third time you’ve curved me, if you hate me just say that.”

“Oh, you’re so fucking dramatic. I’m just busy.” You shoved at his shoulder, urging him to take a seat so you wouldn’t feel so awkward with him standing over you. He refused cooly, taking a look around your apartment to make sure you hadn’t been aimlessly rotting since the last time he stopped by.

“Even I'm not that busy. What’s going on?”

“I’ve just…” You sighed heavily, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Talking about everything wrong in your life felt far too heavy, too much to divulge to a friend seemingly just doing a wellness check. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, and I’ve got all these creative blocks that won’t go away and honestly I just need to be fucked like properly fucked to get my juices flowing again but all of the men worth giving it up to are in hiding.”

Mark stood there, mouth agape in disbelief. He did ask, after all. “Woah.”

“Yeah.” It felt embarrassing to hear laid out like that, but there weren’t too many secrets between you and Mark in the first place. Your sex lives weren’t off limits for discussion, and the two of you had plenty of chats that were NSFW in nature. But blurting out how badly  you needed to be railed? That was a new one.

The silence spoke for itself, apparently. You didn’t want to chance a glance up at him, but you knew that you’d have to say something. Maybe something to cover your ass, let him know that you’re well aware how ‘TMI’ that was. Or even—

“I’ll fuck you.”

You nearly choked on air,“What?!” Now you had no choice but to look at him, scanning the twinkle in his eyes in search of sincerity.

“I’m really good, too.” He took a step towards you, eyes never leaving yours as his hands found home in his shirt pockets. This was a side of Mark you rarely got to see— charming, smooth, confident. There were times, namely on nights out, where you’d get a taste of it, watching him chat it up in some dark corner with the prettiest girl you’d ever laid eyes on. But this, being on the receiving end? Watching his eyes drink you in like sweet tea on a balmy Southern summer afternoon? It was enough to make your heart skip several beats. 

“Mark—”

The smile he cracks at you makes you embarrassed for even considering it. “I’m just messing with you, geez,” Heat takes over your face as you try to hide it from him, palms rubbing at your cheeks as your heartbeat tries to find its resting rate. “Although, given that reaction, maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Shouldn’t be what?”

“Messing with you. Joking, rather. I can definitely mess with you, if you want,” Running so hot and cold in such a short window of time has you shivering under his gaze, scared to make the wrong move and ruin what you’d beg him for. “Hm? Is that what you want?”

The air is thick with anticipation, nothing but the consistent drip from a ceiling leak as the soundtrack to your staring contest with Mark. He was so close to you in all of his Friday night glory, cologne a cloud around you as the heat from his chest permeated your personal space. You were certain that just one taste, just one night in the throes of passion with a curly haired Mark Lee would solve all of your problems. If you closed your eyes, you could picture it— sweaty bodies intertwined amidst the sweltering heat of your studio after dark, the fanning of his breath in your face as he rocks into you, his strong frame caging you into the bed so all you can focus on is Mark, Mark, Mark! His sighs and whines of pleasure flooding your senses so they’re all you can pay attention to, just his voice and his unrelenting pace as he— “___,” The sound of your name on his tongue snapped you out of your lustful haze. “Offer’s about to expire, baby.”

Mark slipped his jacket off without breaking away from you, dropping it carelessly on the floor while your attention wandered to his arms. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, crossing his arms against his chest as he awaited your answer. “You’re serious? This isn’t some cruel prank where if I say yes, you’ll tell me it was just a joke?”

“That’s not my idea of a prank, princess, where’s the fun in that?” Mark licked his lips, a faint smirk taking over. “Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we can pretend this never happened,” His fingers ghost along the side of your face, sweetly making their way to your lips. “But if it were up to me? I’d have you seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment.”

That was all you needed to lunge into a kiss with him, throwing him slightly off guard as you practically tossed yourself into his arms. But his lips were ready for you, steaming hot and sopping wet— just the way you like it. The smush of your lips together so suddenly garnered the sweetest moan from him, just enough to tease you of what’s to come. His arms wrapped around your torso like a claw machine, pulling you so flush against him as though he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers. 

Your lips were still tingling as he pulled away to lap kisses against your neck, peppering anywhere his lips could reach. “M-Mark, hmngh.”

It was no secret that Mark had a bit of a reputation in the bedroom, but you never thought you’d witness it firsthand. His hands delved blindly to your legs, hoisting you around his waist so he could move you over to your bed. You almost had a mind to remind him of the three big steps up to your bedroom area, but he was far suaver than you gave him credit for— this wasn’t exactly his first rodeo.

He tossed you on the bed, the slight recoil exhilarating before he was all over you again. “If a proper fuck is what you want…” His kisses had shifted to your chest, lips and tongue sucking in the essence of your skin like he couldn’t bear not to. He was almost more excited than you were, his touch reaching anywhere and everywhere all at once, like he couldn’t get enough of exploring everything you had to offer. It was all starting to feel real as Mark made a move to lift up your shirt and the implication of your best friend seeing you naked caught up with you.

“Wait, wait. We’re gonna see each other naked.”

Mark, with the fabric of your shirt caught in his teeth, stared at you blankly. “Yeah…” 

“Shouldn’t that be weird?”

He rolled his eyes playfully, squeezing at your hip with the hand closest to it. “Maybe, but how do you suggest we fuck then? Through my jeans?” He pulled your body swiftly down the mattress so you could feel how hard he was through your panties. 

“Shut the fuck up, oh, my God.”

“I was trying to before you got all weird and jittery,” Mark made a move for your shirt again, and this time you didn’t fight him on it. The balmy air hit your pert nipples the second they were exposed, and Mark couldn’t stop the gruff  noise that formed in his throat. “Just as pretty as I imagined.” You squirmed at the compliment, cheeks heating up at the sight of him drooling over you. “Like that? Hm? Are you my pretty girl?” 

His lips wrapped around the peak of your breast, tongue swirling to the same pattern his thumb and forefinger followed on your other nipple. “Yes!” It was embarrassing, how fast you succumbed to his commands. He struck with confidence, maneuvering his way around your body like he’d done it before. “I’m your pretty girl.”

“So sexy saying that for me, baby,” Your legs part instinctually to make more room for him, and Mark took that as his sign to shift gears. “You know… sometimes, every now and then, I’d think about you. If I needed a little extra push towards ecstasy, you’d pop in my head. Think about the way you’d look if I got my hands on you. How you’d feel, how you’d taste,” His fingers prodded at the growing wet patch on your underwear. “Gonna let me see?”

Your back arched off the mattress, hands pulling him impossibly closer to you. “Mark, please stop asking, just do it.”

“Mm, say ‘please’ again.”

“Mark!”

His laugh would be even sexier if it weren’t at your expense. “Alright, fine.” Your panties stayed on as his tongue lapped at your folds through them, the flimsy cotton doing absolutely nothing to stop him from devouring you. You jerked at the feeling as his tongue licked a bold strip through your folds, your hands entangling themselves in his curly locs. “You’re so wet, holy shit.”

One quick motion moved your panties to the side, puffy wet lips on full display for his greedy eyes. His eyes sparkled at the sight, mouth watering at the mere thought of getting to taste you. “Smell so good, pretty girl.” He was so hungry and you were the only one who could satiate him. His tongue had a mind of its own, pressing flat against your folds without a second thought, “Taste even better.”

Mark’s grip on your thighs held you in place as he licked you clean, running his tongue against every nerve-ending he could feel for. He pulled them apart just enough to spread you out for him, just enough to be on full display for him. Your taste occupied every corner of his mind as he blacked out in pleasure, lapping up every drop your gushing pussy offered up.

He circled your clit until you saw stars, your squirming uncontrollable as his tongue darted inside of you. “You’re so good to me.”

Mark groaned between your thighs, in love with the praise you were showering him with. There was something about how natural and seamless it was for you to compliment him that turned him on even more, if that was possible. “I don't think I'll ever get enough of how you taste, Christ.”

His free hand slithered up your torso, sinking his thumb into your eager mouth while his continued working at your core. He wasn’t shy, either, licking boldly from your ass to your clit while shaking his tongue side to side. Slurping up every drop that dribbled out of your entrance, twisting his tongue as far inside of you as he could reach. You were dripping down his chin by the time he introduced his fingers, prodding at your glistening hole with just one to test the waters. He took the way you gripped onto his hair as his sign that you were more than enjoying it. “F-feels good, oh, God.”

“Mm, don’t be shy.”

Laving at your clit, he drank up the praises the way he was drinking you up. He only pulled away to fully discard your panties, diving back into center with renewed vigor. “Need more.” You didn’t want to push him any closer to you, scared you’d smother him, but he didn’t seem afraid to drown. He’d awoken something desperately greedy inside of you, and you were slipping further into a haze of pleasure with every passing moment. Two fingers pressed their way inside of you, pumping slowly to get you adjusted before the jerk of your hips told him to pick up the pace. You couldn’t hold still with the way he was devouring you, mouth and hands prying you open deliciously all for his enjoyment. He would die between your thighs if you let him, you’re sure of it.

You had to physically pull him off of you to get him to stop, orgasming bubbling inside of you in record time. “Want you inside of me already.” The entirety of the lower half of his face was a sticky mess of your arousal, from his nose to his chin completely covered in you. “Bro, you need to wipe… that.” Times like these, you were glad that you kept tissues on your nightstand.

“You cannot and will not call me ‘bro’ now that I know what you taste like. How insulting.”

It hadn’t dawned on you that Mark was still fully dressed, sans his plaid jacket-shirt that was curled in a sad pile on the floor. “Is that an order?”

He bit at his lip, eyes darkening as he drank in your bare figure sprawled beneath him. Your hands ran themselves up and down his arms, finally getting a chance to admire his body after all the focus was turned to you. Maybe it was the lighting, the way his hair fell over his eyes, or just the fact that he was the best kisser you’d had the pleasure of test driving— but he looked divine. Halo of light circling his head as he fumbled with his belt, biceps flexing as he lifted the tank top off of his lean frame. Suddenly, he wasn’t your friend anymore; he was something new entirely.

You were so lost in your own adoration of him that you hadn’t noticed he was undressed, pulling you directly underneath him as he kissed at your collarbones. “Where’d you go off to, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” you shook your head, snapping back to reality (which was so much better than whatever was going on in your will they-won’t they fantasy). “Thank you, for this.”

Mark didn’t respond with words, instead opting to kiss you softly, tenderly. Slowly, deeply, passionately kissing you as he lowered himself atop of you. He wasn’t in a rush anymore, pulling you into him like you were made of glass, grinding against your center like you had all the time in the world. Everything was so delicate, like he was savoring the moment for years to come. It scared you, if you were being honest. “Mark? You know you can still kiss me while you’re inside of me, yeah?”

He hummed in approval, connecting your mouths again in a slow, languid kiss, tongues slithering into each other's mouths and twisting messily. You could feel him lining up with your entrance, his hand wrapped around his girth to guide himself into you steadily. Chancing a look down, you tried to hide the way your eyes bulged out at the sheer size of him— he would never let you hear the end of it if you fawned over how huge he was. It took all of your willpower to remain still, your body welcomed him as though it had hundreds of times, the shape of him slotting inside of you like he was made to. His fingers tangled in your hair, angling your head so he could travel to your neck, groaning out his praise against your sticky skin. The absence of his lips on yours made you whine, hands wandering the expanse of his back just for confirmation that this was real. “Tell me how it feels.”

You couldn’t. Months of the worst dry spell you’d ever experienced coming to a head with Mark milking you for everything you had couldn’t be described. All you could do was moan, coiling around him even tighter as he started to rock his hips forward as though he was testing the waters. He was the only thing you could focus on— his scent, his taste, they way his nose pressed right against yours, the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours against the mattress, the dionysian desire his hips were fulfilling. It was all just Mark, Mark, Mark. “Mark!” His teeth couldn’t resist nipping at your lip, pulling on it playfully before letting go to let his tongues soothe the area.

“I can’t help it, you’re so fun to play with.” He kissed you to make up for the quick dot of pain, relishing in the way you immediately kissed him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“I’m, I’m close.”

He spread your legs further apart to give himself more room to buck his hips, pressing at your thighs as he fucked into you faster. “Hold it.”

“Whyyyy?”

“You asked for the Mark Lee experience,” His thrusts grew pointed, almost exaggerated as his hips drove forward with precision, “and I’m gonna give it to you.”

You could feel yourself teetering dangerously close to the edge, stomach coiled tight and lungs working overtime. The mere thought of being denied your orgasm was getting you worked up— you hate not getting your way. Your legs wrapped around Mark’s waist, locking your ankles together for good measure. If he wanted to play games, you were down for it. “Harder.”

But instead of faster, Mark slowed to a complete stop, hands drifting down to your hips to pin them to the mattress. “Oh, baby, do you think I’m stupid?” He chuckled in your face, shaking his head as the laughter subsided. “That’s a sure fire way to get nothing.”

“Wait, no, please! I didn’t mean it.”

The damage had already been done. His patience with you was wearing thin, and he didn’t take kindly to disobedience. “Have you learned your lesson?” Each second that passed stole a piece of your orgasm away with it, that delicious ball of tension and heat simmering down to a cool pit of nothing the longer Mark held your hips down. Your heart stopped fluttering with urgency, slowing to its resting rate as you dealt with the consequences of trying to outsmart your best friend. “Speak up, baby.”

“Yes,” You hissed out, annoyed that your declaration of needing to be fucked was currently going unanswered. Who is he to deny you of the very thing he promised you? “I learned my lesson.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, “God, you’re so sexy when you behave yourself.” 

You rolled your eyes, slapping his chest as he pulled away from you entirely. “What happened to ‘having me seven ways to Sunday all over this apartment’?” 

It was Mark’s turn to roll his eyes, fingers running through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “Up against the wall.” You did as he said, spreading your hands against the wall as you felt him behind you, lining himself up with your sodden entrance. The inward arch felt unnatural at first, but you settled into it as you got comfortable in it. “Look up at me.” Mark was towering over you, quite literally. From this angle, all you had to do to see his face was look up and there he was with that devilish smile. His cock pressed into you as you watched him, the sheer thickness splitting you clean open for him, sucking him in like your pussy had been waiting for him. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Maybe it was the taboo of sleeping with a friend, but your body was on fire. You felt your entire body heating up at the sudden change in his demeanor, switching your flirty best friend to a man absolutely starved. With your eyes screwed shut, you reached a hand out to hold onto his arm, fingers giving it a squeeze, head bumping the bare skin of his chest.

“Fuck.”

You were even wetter than you were while he had you pinned to the mattress, the feeling of being filled by him more electrifying after a brief intermission. He was all over you again and that was all that mattered, walls tightening around him with a vice-like grip that had both of you gasping for air.

“Shit,” he hiss, already lost in the sensation, “so good to me, ___, so fucking good.” He emphasized the last syllable with a gentle thrust that had your nails scratching at the wall. Your orgasm was building back up faster than you would’ve liked it to, considering you knew Mark wouldn’t let you cum so soon after denying you.

It hit you deeply, in all the right places at the right angle. Mark was that good from the start, and you couldn’t believe you’d been missing out on it. If you knew he was this goof, you would’ve ruined the friendship ages ago. “So fucking deep, Mark, keep going like that,” you moaned, just as caught up as he was.

He captured your lips in a searing kiss, fucking into you with much more vigor than before, gripping your ass with such force you half expected to see the dents after. You moaned all you had to say, all you had to feel into each other’s mouths. When his velvety tongue enveloped yours you could almost taste the remnants of your arousal and the chocolate muffin he ate right in between sweeping and mopping. The water was still running, hitting part of his back and your leg.

You couldn’t pull away from him even if you tried— he was a part of you now, molded into each other’s bodies until you became one. “Wanna keep fucking you forever,” he groaned, pouring his all into every touch. “Keep you on me forever.”

It threw you for a loop. Keep you forever? Mark was a lot more emotional than he let on, sure, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he meant it in ways other than platonic. You couldn’t even stop him to ask what he meant by that because he was so deep in your guts that you were starting to feel him in your throat. 

“Don’t stop,” you cried out, biting your lip when he hit a certain spot inside you and kept hitting it over and over again— the taste of blood didn’t stop you. “Don’tstopdon’tsopdon’tstop-”  

“Fuck,” he whisper, voice strained and raspy, smacking at your ass before gripping it and bringing you down to meet his increasingly harsh thrusts, the slap echoing throughout your studio apartment. “Wanna fuck you forever, baby.” One hand kept its vice grip on your hip while the other grasped at your neck, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him. “Gimme a kiss, pretty girl.” Your lips found his despite the blurring of your vision, a supple lock as he steadied rocking into your core. Kissing him upside down felt worlds away from the first kiss you shared with him, and yet you still couldn’t get enough of it. The hand on your hip slithered up to cup your breast, rolling your nipple as he pulled away from the kiss. “So obedient.”

All the shame had disappeared from your body, the satisfaction of finally being fucked numbing you to his quips completely. His name was on the tip of your tongue, begging to be set free, but the way his hips ricocheted off your ass made you short circuit. Your skin was hot to the touch, goosebumps littering the expanse of your body as your toes curled around the fabric of your duvet. 

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, hm?” Mark tutted. You hold back your moans, reveling in the sensation of his tip sliding up and down you dripping folds. Interrupting his own rhythm just to get a rise out of you, giving you no warning before shoving himself right back in. 

“Bet this was your plan all along,” You ignore the fact that he technically initiated all of this, too blissed out to snap back at him cheekily. “Dripping all over my cock, fuck.” He’s thinking out loud, eyes locked at the way your pussy invites him in, grip unrelenting with each thrust. He drew his hips back again to repeat the same unforgiving tempo, laughing to himself at the way your thighs shake in anticipation.

“Wanted this for so long.” You whine, bashful about the confession rolling off your tongue so easily. Mark had always occupied a special part of your mind, but the barrier of your friendship with him always kept you from thinking of him in that way for too long. He’s hot, sure, and one of the most genuine guys you’d ever met— but risking that by dating him felt too stupid to risk.

Mark didn’t keep you waiting for too long, filling you to the brim with one stroke that had your toes curling. You gasp, a shiver running up your spine as he adopts a frenzied pace that nearly knocks you into the wall in front of you. “You’re so fucking warm.”  He can’t help but moan out at the feeling, clutching onto your hips as he pistons in and out of you. Blunt fingers digging into your skin as you let your body fall forward. You felt so full.

“Mark, fuck.” you whine, probably a tad too loud considering how thin the walls feel at night but you couldn’t help it, with the way he held onto you and fucked you like he had never had good pussy in his life. “Faster.”

“Where’d your manners go? Say ‘please’.” He teased, testing your obedience despite knowing you’d obey him. There was just something about knowing he held your pleasure in the palm of his hands, knowing that you’d do anything he asked of you. 

“Please, please, please Mark, need you so bad.” It sounded  pathetic, and it only makes Markn screw his eyes shut as he fucks you harder. All control lost as he watches the drool drip from your mouth down the wall— he was really fucking your brains out.

Mark's rough groans were slowly morphing  into needy moans, the sound causing even more slick to build up between your legs. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” And you really were, considering you had nothing but the wall to grip onto, you let your body go wherever Mark led it. Each thrust sending you closer and closer to your climax, his dick hitting every single spot that you’re sure you’d see stars.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck.”

“You’re gonna cum? Mm, you can cum. Cum all over my dick, lemme see that pretty face.” You arched inward one last time for him, looking up at the man sending you to heaven and back on a loop. “There you go. Good fucking girl.” Mark smacked your ass sharply, holding onto your ass as he switched his rhythm to harsh, precise thrusts that were sure to throw you over the edge of pleasure. He kissed your forehead as the growing tension in the pit of your stomach snapped, your walls contracting around him in a tight frenzy that nearly triggered his own. He didn’t slow down, though. The clutching of pussy did absolutely nothing to deter him from fucking you with the same rigor, hips just as quick as they were before he finally let you cum.

“M-Mark, I don’...” The aftershocks of ecstasy silenced you in your tracks, the sparks of pleasure like electricity through your bloodstream. “Don’t stop.”

He laughed at the change of your tune, thumb flitting down to flick at your clit. “Baby needs more? Haven’t had enough yet?”

Even with him poking fun at your desperation, you were too drunk on his cock to care. All you could manage was a chorus of fuck me, fuck me, fuck me as Mark held you flush against him. “God, yes, fill me up like that.” Your arousal was dripping all over the inside of your thighs, the sticky slick glistening under the moonlight that peaked through your curtains. 

“That’s right, I’m not fucking done with you yet, pretty girl.” This side of him was lethal. He was insatiable, obsessed with the way your body responded to him, greedy for the way you bent to his every whim. It was such a change of pace from the way he was kissing you in missionary, the way he treated you like a doll that he was afraid of hurting you. “Feel good?”

He was mocking you— of course, it was good. You didn’t have to tell him that for him to know; but feeding his ego was so addictive. The way he’d reward you for praising him was enough for you to fall for the trap every single time. “So, good, Mark, hngh.”

The smack of his hips against your ass bounced off the walls, echoing the depravity that you and Mark were oh so good at acting on. All of your senses on overdrive, the overstimulation pulling at you from every end, you weren’t sure if you could take it all for much longer. Drool slipped from your mouth onto Mark’s arm, the edges of your vision blurring as you could feel yourself bubbling over. “Gonna cum again?”

“‘m gonna cum again.”

He was drunk with the power of controlling you. “Hold it.”

“Mark, I can’t.” You were surprised you were even able to do it the first two times he commanded it, not used to having gratification delayed against your wishes.

“Gonna fill you up and then you can cum.” It only took a few more targeted thrusts before he was spilling his seed into you, an endless leak of evidence of what took place over the last hour or so. Even as his cock began to soften, he made sure to fuck you through it, massaging tight circles into your clit until your legs spasmed. The air was snatched from your lungs, eyes flittering shut in sweet relief. It was only two orgasms, but the build up had really taken it out of you. Mark flipped you over gently on your back, brushing the hair out of your face as you sleepily opened your eyes.

“Look at that. Take a look at the mess we made, baby.” 

He gestured between your legs, a slippery canvas of cum smeared across your most intimate parts. “So much…” You couldn’t stop yourself from gathering some on your fingers, popping them into your mouth for a taste of the two of you mixed together.

Your brain was on fire, neurons alight with the molten sensation that was Mark Lee. Even though you took him up on the offer, you weren’t expecting him to completely change your world. A solid orgasm and a pat of the back, maybe. But now you were afraid that he was your new addiction that you’d never be able to feed. 

You woke up in a fresh sleep shirt to the smell of toasted bagels and coffee. Mark balanced the plates and mugs the best he could as he tackled the steps leading up to your bedroom area. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

“What time is it?”

He shoved a mug of steaming coffee into your hands, kissing you on the forehead. “Don’t worry about that. You were exhausted, wanted to let you sleep.”

“Thank you.” The coffee was exactly to your liking, just what you needed after a night of fucking like rabbits. “So, should we talk about… it?”

Blush rose to his cheeks and there was no hiding it, his hair pulled back into a messy bun so his face was on full display. “I mean, only if you want to? I’m okay with proceeding however you want to.”

“You’d be fine staying friends? Never talking about it? Pretending that nothing’s changed?”

He shrugged, “if that’s what you wanted, then yeah.” His attention shifted to his breakfast, eyes zeroed in on his eggs and toast like it was a gourmet meal. “Just don’t wanna make you feel weird about it, you know?”

“Mark?” You placed your coffee and plate down on your bedside table, turning your full attention to him as he continued to avoid your gaze. “What did you mean by all the ‘keep you forever’ stuff then?”

He rushed to try to explain himself, scrambling his words into a whole lot of nothing. “It’s not, like, a big deal or anything. I just get possessive… in bed, sometimes. I’m not a weirdo or anything, I promise.”

None of that mattered to you anyway, your dreams of Mark that clouded your head all night giving you the push you needed to throw caution to the wind. Would it be the worst thing in the world to risk it all with him? One kiss, chaste and sweet, was enough to shut him up for just a moment. “So if I said we should try exploring further, maybe go on a date or something, you’d say yes?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth falling agape as he searched your face for any signs that you were being facetious. “Y-yeah, yes. If that’s what you want.” He was so bad with his feelings, sometimes— but you were more than willing to be patient.

“Well, good, because that’s what I want.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Happy Birthday, C.C!

(And a happy belated Valentine's day. One holiday is a bit more important to me than the other. Gotta celebrate my favorite incubus's day or he may cut me. Reader is brief mentioned to be wearing lingerie, but there really isn't anything that suggestive in this fic- Enjoy!)

-

When asked what he wanted for his birthday, C.C gave the same answer nearly every year.

"Why would I want anything when I already have everything I need?.... A new pair of shoes would be nice, but I'm really not that picky about what I get."

A successful career, the funds to purchase whatever trivial possession he desired. If he hadn't found fame and fortune early on in his life on earth, C.C would have been more than happy to mooch off of the desperate, lonely humans who'd do give him just about anything for a crumble of his attention. A short while ago, the only presents that mattered were what he received from the select few in his family he deemed worth the title, but something that has changed recently - another person entering his life who he puts on the same pedestal as the blood he holds dear if not higher.

If there was one thing C.C didn't want for his birthday - it was waking up in an empty bed all by himself.

Reaching an arm over your side of the bed, the drowsy demon is rudely dragged from his sleep as he finds no one there next to him. It's funny to think that a year prior he would have had no problem with this. Now, his heart sinks every time there's no one at his side. You're cruel for making him so dependent on you like this - and not being beside him on his big day.

C.C grumbles something under his breath - stumbling out of bed, making a grab for his phone on the nightstand as he exits the room. The second he turns it on, he's bombarded with hundreds of birthday wishes from friends and fans across several social media accounts. C.C swipes them all away, only bother to read any of the notifications in case he misses a message from you saying you're out. Why you'd leave without him is beyond him, but it was the best his groggy mind could come up with. Turning the corner that leads to the living room, a sea of curses sound from the kitchen muffled by running water.

"Shit, shit, shit- Fuck, why won't it come off?!"

C.C would recognize that voice anywhere. He scurries into the kitchen - biting back a laugh at your unfortunate state of appearance. There you stood over the sink, frantically scrubbing at your palms with a sponge. It was all over your hands, the robe you wore, even your face - pink stains that stubbornly refused to come out no matter how hard you tried. On the counter behind you was a bowl filled with a pinkish mixture - a bottle of red food dye still mixing its top and covered in red fingerprints seating beside it. C.C creeps over while you're distracted and sticks his fingers in the batter.

It's pancake mix.

"Mmm... I think all that dye is supposed to be in the bowl, babe."

Startled by the voice behind you, the sponge hits the bottom of the sink with a wet splat as you look behind you - hands quick at fixing your robes over scantily dressed body. "C.C? You're awake?! You're usually not up til noon - I thought I had more time.... Happy Birthday!"

The more attempt to hide it, the more C.C notices parts of your skimpy attire beneath the robe he had got you on your own special day. C.C loved to see you in his favorite color, but the bright pink fabric lessened the nearly see through aspect of your underwear and top in this lighting. The stockings you wore made up for it well enough - another accessories he loved to see on you that he made sure to voice many times before.

C.C gathers some of the paper towels on the counter. "Well I see you were at least trying to make breakfast - or get readying for Halloween a few months in advance. Sexy vampire is always a nice look."

"The seal just wouldn't come off and when it finally did it spilled all over me... I'm sorry for messing breakfast."

"Hush." C.C pulls you in close, wetness bleeding through his shirt as he embraces you, but he doesn't seem to mind. "We still have everything we need. I'll help you finish up and then we can take a shower together and spend the day in bed. You didn't put that outfit on just for show, did you?~"

"No, it was actually meant to be your Valentine's gift but.... I still haven't gotten your birthday present yet. I was going to take you to the mall and let you decide since there's so many things you like..."

C.C holds you tighter - grinning from ear to ear as he looks over your shoulder at all you've done for him. 'Don't worry.... I have everything I want right here."

[cheesus-doodles]

An Unfortunately Timed Birthday

Yandere Koko

Masterlist

‎

Happy belated Birthday to Koko! missed the actual day of 1st April by a couple of days but truly, having a birthday then instead of the other 364 days of the year XD

truly sorry for the reposts yall, but this fic isn't appearing in the tags for reasons ;-;

"Come on, hop on!" You insisted as you patted the pillion seat of the motorcycle. “Let’s get started already!”

It was the first time Koko swore he had seen you on one, yet you already looked way too comfortable seated in the saddle of the overly-large bike where you had been waiting for him outside his house. Where did you get that? And without him knowing? Did you even have a license?

But those were questions that he decided to keep to himself for now; after all, he didn’t want to be a wet blanket on your very visible excitement. "I don't ride bikes," he mumbled, though the black-haired boy was quick to correct himself. "I mean, in general. Not just when you’re the one driving.” A pause, and silence as the tension churning in his gut. Fuck. The more he spoke, the more he was driving his foot further and further into his mouth. Maybe he should have just stopped at his first sentence.

Despite the day being especially cool, the usually oppressive afternoon sun tucked away behind clouds, though this was one of those days that the Black Dragon delinquent wished it was hot. At least you wouldn't be able to see the nervous sweat beading on his forehead. Fortunately for him, you looked merely confused at his words, cocking your head. “Then how will we get there?”

“Get where?”

“To the park, of course!” Your expression once more burst into smiles as you waved your hand about excitedly. “I have a whole day planned for us! We’re going to play baseball, and then we’ll go for a looonnnggg ride in the countryside before we eat ice cream for dinner!”

Koko couldn’t bite down the grimace growing over his face as you spoke despite his best efforts, the furrow of his eyebrows surely as clear to you as to him. Don’t get him wrong, there certainly was nothing better than spending time with you, but this growing list of his most hated activities - was this what you truly wanted to do? On his birthday? The boy shivered. Playing ball games, riding motorcycles and no food; absolutely not. But how should he play this without hurting your feelings? "Listen," he started carefully, sliding his hand into yours as those slit eyes ever so carefully watched your expression. “How bout we head out to a nice restaurant instead? Your favourite has space, we could take it easy and-”

“Koko!” You rebutted instantly, and his face fell. “I can’t let you treat me, it’s your birthday!”

“But-”

“Nope!”

He sighed, resigning himself to his fate. At the end of the day, he just couldn’t say no to you. “All right then.”

Yet just as he was about to climb onto the motorcycle, you suddenly burst into laughter, shoving the unsuspecting delinquent away before clambering off the bike yourself. “I’m kidding, Koko! April Fool’s!”

The realization hit said boy like a truck, and he let out a loud groan. So it was all a prank. Rolling his eyes, he couldn’t stop the long-suffering grin from pulling at his lips as you threw yourself at him, pulling him into a tight hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “The bike?”

“I borrowed it,” you hummed. “Not sure where Inupi got it from though.”

Ah. Inupi.

“So what’s the real plan?”

You pulled out a simply enormous picnic basket from its hiding spot, tucked neatly behind the trunk of a nearby tree. “I got your favourites all here. Let’s find somewhere cool.”

Such an unfortunately timed birthday indeed, Koko mused to himself as you tugged him down the street, leaving the motorcycle parked where it stood outside his house. But all this was worth if he could spend such a special day with you.

[gorgeousgreymatter-x]

An excerpt from my unfortunately likely very belated birthday fic for @wynnyfryd my beloved:

It’s not like there’s a definitive set of tracks that Eddie’s on the wrong side of, but there’s something about being in Loch Nora, driving through the suburbs of these rich-y rich neighborhoods that made his skin crawl. Like he’s wearing a huge neon red sign that says I’m not supposed to be here. But there are a few things he’ll venture out to Doucheville for.

The main one being money.

Okay — the only one being money. But who was he to turn down practically double his normal rates simply because Heather Holloway was too prissy to meet in the woods? Whatever, for that much extra cash he’d throw in home delivery just this once.

Of course, because nothing in Eddie’s life is fair or easy, it backfires. Not in the lack of payday kind of way, he thinks, patting the thick roll of cash newly stuffed into his back pocket. That part had gone just fine. Heather had played her part of the stuck up cheerleader and Eddie the scummy drug dealer and yada yada everybody went home happy.

It backfires more in the almost crashed his van into a tree and died simply because he’s a horny idiot kind of way.

Because the universe apparently decided that Eddie, who’d literally promised himself that he was no longer going to be an obsessed freakazoid over Steve goddamn Harrington, must be tested, must truly suffer. Why else would right now be the exact moment in time he drives past the guy while he's clearly on a run and sporting a pair of nearly indecent length running shorts coupled with a — jesus h. christ — a Hawkins High Marching Band t-shirt cut into a crop top revealing a gloriously thick treasure trail. And muscles. So many muscles.

The universe clearly wanted Eddie to die.

And now Eddie has to sit here, rubbing awkwardly at the bruise he definitely feels blooming on his forehead from the unfortunate whack it’s taken against his steering wheel. Because, as mentioned — idiot. He has to sit here while Steve fucking Harrington peers into his open window with this unfathomably sweet look of concern on his stupid angelic face that makes Eddie, for a moment, kinda wish he was dead. Especially because his brain decides, “There was a squirrel!” is the best thing to blurt out when Steve asks if he’s okay. The hasty, “I mean, I’m fine,” Eddie adds after definitely helps sell it a lot. He can tell by the way Steve’s brow is all furrowed in a stupidly cute stupid way.

“I dunno, man,” Steve says (and Eddie definitely does not stare as he watches a single bead of sweat drip down the slope of Steve’s throat, over those pair of freckles Eddie absolutely hasn't thought about sinking his teeth into), "I kind of have a lot of experience with head injuries and that looked like it hurt. Are you sure –"

"Why do you care?"

Steve's worried expression crumples into something steely that just makes Eddie feel like even more of a dick than he knows he's already being. "I just know how shitty concussions can be, sorry for worrying about you, I guess --"

Fuck. Eddie sighs. It would be so much easier if Steve was the jerk Eddie'd always thought he was instead of what he's really turning out to be, which is such a fucking sweetheart that Eddie can't help but want to do a lot of really, really not sweet things to him. "Shit, no -- I'm being an asshole. Maybe chalk it up to that possible head trauma you're worried about?"

Steve is quiet for a moment, but then that look of cool detachment disappears, and he smiles, all gleaming white teeth, and it feels like watching the fucking sun splitting through storm clouds or some shit. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Eddie blinks and sees that Harrington's got his middle finger up, flipping him the bird with such a smug little smirk on that pretty face that Eddie can't help it. He laughs. "Cute."

"You really think so?" Maybe it's the heat. That's gotta be it, Eddie thinks, watching how Steve's cheeks flush, watches as it spreads down past his throat, past those tufts of chest hair poking up teasingly past the stretched out collar of his borrowed t shirt.

The t-shirt Steve had so clearly borrowed from Robin. Robin, who was supposedly Harrington's girlfriend. The image of Robin from earlier in the cafeteria that day wearing Steve’s letterman jacket flashes across his mind and he has to bite him own tongue to stop himself from wincing.

Eddie's gonna throw up. Maybe he does have a concussion after all.

[electric-blorbos]

JUST HAD MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!! can I please get anything wheatley-related I would appreciate it very much thank you

Sorry it took me so long to get to this! I guess a belated Wheatley birthday present is better than nothing, though. I hope you enjoy it!

Wheatley Surprise:

Included: Just Wheatley from Portal 2

No I'm not going to tell you what's in this post, that would spoil the surprise! Just click on it to find out!

"I don't care what you have to do with him, just get that little idiot out of here!" Your boss, who also happened to be the main personality core controlling the entire facility. GLaDOS looked down at you in scorn, displaying an image of your pride and joy on one of the screens on the wall. Poor Wheatley.

"he's doing much better lately, I promise, GLaDOS! He can work odd jobs around the facility! After all, his illogical function makes him work just like an organic-"

"that defeats the purpose of assigning ai to tasks. Why would we want an illogical idiot who thinks like a human to work in the facility when we could have perfectly logical personality constructs working here. Either drop him into the incinerator, or get rid of him some other way, but I'm not looking at him any longer."

You sighed, and walked out of GLaDOS's chambers.

"Wheatley?" You called out for him, walking into his section of the facility to find him. He was simply hanging from his management rail, awaiting instructions from his boss in the relaxation vaults.

"Wheatley, I'm going to have to disconnect you from your management rail, alright?" You walked up to him, holding your arms up to take him down, but he pulled away.

"no! Your team told me that if I ever disconnected from my management rail, I'd die! Are you trying to kill me?"

You shook your head.

"you trust me, right Wheatley?" You asked. He nodded hesitantly as you climbed up a stepladder to take him down as he detached himself.

"Unfortunately, GLaDOS says that you're... Well-" it was difficult to break the news to him. He looked up at you hopefully, not piecing the dots together. He didn't even seem to realize that he could be fired.

"what? She said I'm what?"

"Being let go, Wheatley... GLaDOS is firing you."

"WHAT?" his camera lens darted around the hallway the two of you were in, visibly in a state of panic.

"She can't let me go- even if dropping down from my management rail didn't kill me, that incinerator will definitely kill me! Please, y/n, you have to hide me somewhere! I don't want to die!" You could hear soft sobbing noises coming from Wheatley's core as he squeezed his lens covers shut. He was terrified, and couldn't imagine a more horrible fate than this. You couldn't help but feel sorry for him, and you wrapped your arms gently around the core.

"hey... Hey, Wheatley, it's going to be alright. I'm not going to incinerate you. Nobody is. We're going to take you somewhere safe."

You pressed your cheek gently into the top of his chrome shell, and he nuzzled into your chest as well as he could. He trusted you more than anything, knowing that his grip on reality wasn't the best, so he had no choice but to trust in you.

You took Wheatley to your office, setting him down on a spare chair for the rest of the day. He chattered away all day, babbling about how he hadn't seen the office part of the facility in a while, and how excited he was to be able to finally get off his management rail. You didn't manage to get any work done on your latest project, but that was ok. Your coworkers were even glad to see Wheatley go, calling him an annoying little idiot. A few of them even congratulated you on making him so insufferable.

"PCH, I'm not insufferable. You like me, right? I'm a likable little core. Even if GLaDOS did fire me... I'm still doing a good job, right? I'm sure I can get a job outside the facility, right? Maybe at Black Mesa?" He talked to you as you walked him to your car, and you chuckled.

"you'd probably be sued beyond recognition if you let Black Mesa get ahold of your tech, Wheatley. But it's ok, you don't need a job right now."

You buckled him in, and started driving off to your apartment. Wheatley kept babbling to you as you drove, not worried about distracting you. Even still, you were pretty good at staying focused even while he was babbling.

After a while, you got home to your little apartment. Since you lived alone, it wasn't really much to speak of. A bit of a mess, but Wheatley looked around at it like it was the most beautiful mess he'd ever seen.

"wow! This is what human homes look like? And I thought the relaxation chambers looked cozy and lived in! This is amazing, love!"

You chuckled and blushed a little, setting him down on your sofa.

"I usually just have some dinner and relax on the couch. I'm not used to having guests."

"That's alright, love! I'm just happy to be out of Aperture labs!"

Despite his cheerful demeanour, you'd never seen Wheatley this genuinely happy before. He couldn't really move around without his management rail, so he just sat contentedly on your couch until you sat down next to him with your bowl of ramen and egg.

"You seem to be adjusting to the life outside of Aperture fairly well, Wheatley. I've never seen you this happy before."

"Sakes alive, mate... That place was a prison! I'd never had the chance to see the sun, to drop off my management rail... To live, know what I mean?" He raised his lower lens cover at you in a smile-like gesture.

"It's the best feeling in the world to be out of that place. I didn't think you'd actually take me in, though! But-" he started to look concerned.

"what am I going to do when you're not at work? I don't have any hands, so I can't read books or use the internet... Do you have any ideas?"

You hadn't really thought much about that, to be honest. You were mostly just excited about having your own British orb to keep in your house and talk to, but he was right. It wouldn't be fair to just leave him in front of the TV... He'd be bored out of his mind.

"we can come up with something. Until then, I think I'll hire a babysitter to keep you company during the day. Then maybe we can sign you up for some hobby groups so you can make some friends. It'll be fine."

Wheatley nodded his little lens camera, visibly understanding.

"I'm not a baby, but that sounds a lot better than being alone all day."

"better than nothing, right?" You smiled, setting your finished soup bowl on the coffee table and putting your arm around Wheatley to watch a few episodes of your favorite show. Wheatley talked through it, of course, but you'd already seen this show through several times, so it was okay.

When you were done, you went to rinse out your bowl and put it in the sink.

"well, time for bed. You comin', Wheatley?"

Wheatley lit up.

"Really? I've never seen a bedtime before! They simulate daylight hours at all times in Aperture. People don't even have a bedtime routine in the relaxation vaults. It's mostly just check-ups and then back to bed, ya know what I'm saying?"

You nod, picking him up and taking him to your room. You set him down on your bed, and angle him towards the bathroom so he can see you brushing your teeth.

"Alright, I'm going to shower and get changed into my pajamas now, so I'm going to close the door."

"I mean... I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of watching you shower and get changed."

"Oh don't be a pervert." You closed the bathroom door while you showered and got changed, and then you got into bed with Wheatley.

"this probably won't be too different from watching the test subjects in the relaxation vaults. Just try to relax, alright? I'll be awake in a few hours."

"Yeah, alright. You know, the craziest thing happened in the relaxation vaults last week. So there I was on my management rail..."

You pulled him in close, holding him like a stuffed animal, and listened to him chatter on as you fell fast asleep.

[icycoldninja]

hello! my birthday is tomorrow and i was thinking requesting the dmc boys x goth autistic reader who can go on and on about their favorite horror movies (my personal favorite is saw or coraline) or bands (type o negative or london after midnight, i feel like v would potentially like type o alot :3 )? bonus points if you can maybe work in that reader usually wears long skirts/sleeves but maybe one particularly hot day they wear shorts which is out of their comfort zone but the boys reassure them!

Hey, sorry this might be too late, but happy belated birthday! Please enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Goth!Autistic!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-He thinks your style is really cool, kinda like what a vampire would wear if one was alive today.

-He could listen to you ramble on for hours, even if he doesn't have a clue as to what you're talking about.

-He ends up spending a lot of time watching horror movies with you and can now be called an expert on this field.

-Your taste in music is alright in his eyes, but he still prefers his stuff (and his own playing).

-When it's too hot out and you're forced to wear shorts, Dante's there to hype you up.

-Your legs do not look like skinny pencils to him, they're beautiful, and he insists you show them off.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil thinks you're very beautiful, and admires your clothes.

-He doesn't mind that you like yammering on about your interests because he would honestly do the same if he weren't so closed off.

-Pretends to not care about your favorite bands, saying he prefers classical, but he secretly listens to it when you're not around.

-Has a lot of fun staying up till 4 watching horror movies with you, even if he's never scared by it.

-Feels your frustration regarding the heat, because he too is forced to wear lighter clothes, which he hates.

-He comforts you when you're embarrassed by patting you on the shoulder and/or back.

□ Nero □

-Nero thought you were pretty damn weird at first, then realized you were just an autistic dork like his dad.

-He thinks it's cute whenever you start nerding out about your favorite interests and such.

-Watches horror movies all the time with you, but is never scared. After killing devils his whole life, nothing scares Nero anymore.

-He's actually now very interested in goth music despite originally thinking he wouldn't like it.

-He's pretty indifferent to the heat, but knew that you and your thick clothes would suffer.

-It's unfortunate you have to step outside your comfort zone during this time, but you must, or you'll overheat. To remedy this, Nero tries setting up fans and air conditioner, but ultimately, you'll still need to wear lighter clothes.

● V ●

-V admires you and your unique clothing.

-He also enjoys your taste in music to such a degree, he might now be more of a fan than you are.

-He loves to watch movies with you, not just horror movies; he'll watch any genre.

-Loves chatting with you about your favorite horror movies and will listen to you talk until the end of eternity. It's never boring.

-While he cannot relate to your pain during summer, he does understand it. He doesn't like wearing shorts either.

-He will comfort you however he can, either by turning on all the fans or by simply patting you on the back and saying some encouraging words.

[spiderispunk]

(Because mine is coming up and I’ll need a pick me up about it lol) can I get 🎁 birthday sex with tasm!peter pretty please? Love you! 😘😘

A Cause For Celebration

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x afab!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Smut (18+ only). Food (A cupcake). Fingering. Unprotected Sex. PinV. Light Breathplay. Fluff.

Summary: In which Peter Parker shows up at your front door with a slightly smashed cupcake and a whispered "Happy Birthday" or Birthday Sex with Peter Parker.

A/N: This is for my beloved Jey (@flightlessangelwings). Happy belated birthday! I'm so sorry this fic took so long, but I really hope you like it. Thanks for being patient with me. I love you!

You didn’t want anything for your birthday. 

When you first told Peter, he thought he had misheard you. 

“Nothing?” He asked, eyebrows creeping up into his hairline. 

“Nothing.” You confirmed. 

Peter squinted at you, and tilted his head to the side like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you sure?” 

You nodded. “I just want a quiet night in, with you.” 

“Okay.” He shrugged. “If that’s what you want.” 

And he’d really tried his best to keep his word, but as he passed a little bakery on the corner, on the way to your place, he couldn’t help but stop. 

At first, he hadn’t known how the little hole-in-the-wall had escaped his notice all these months, but then he realized he had more of a habit of swinging to your apartment than using his legs. One tended to miss the little things when swinging three hundred feet in the air at break-neck speed. 

The smell caught his attention first. An enticing swirl of warm sugary vanilla-cinnamon-hazelnut and rich chocolatey sweetness that wafted out the front door as a customer exited. He floated into the entrance– literally drifted through the door like a cartoon. 

Rows of pastries lined the shelves of the display case. Chocolate eclairs, powdered donuts, flaky, sugar-dusted dough, loaves of pumpkin and gingerbread still steaming as they cooled. But there on the counter, under a  glass dome, was a lone cupcake, with swirls of pastel blue and white icing sculpted into tiny flowers. A dusting of silver sugar rested on the top, sparkling in the light. 

It was perfect. Peter bought it immediately, pulling a crumpled ten dollar bill from his coat pocket. He dropped the change in the glass tip jar, and was on his way with a promise to return soon.  

He figured the cupcake didn’t count in the nothing category, as it was much too small, and probably much too delicious to deny. 

Peter carefully cradled the cute little box it came in all the way to your apartment building. Unfortunately it got a bit jostled during his ascent up the six flights of stairs, but that couldn’t be helped. . 

Two knocks signal his arrival, and you’re quick to open the door and let him in.

“Hi, Pete.” You step aside to let him into your apartment.

Peter brings in the snowy night with him. You can feel the cold drift off of his body. It makes you shiver, even in your pajama pants and sweatshirt. He smells like ice and smoke. Small white snowflakes dust the messy brown hair that has escaped his blue beanie, and cling to his long lashes. His cheeks are rosy red, having been abused by the icy wind. His chapped lips stretch into a smile that reaches the warmth of his hot chocolate eyes.  

“Hey, baby.” He kisses you sweetly, tasting the smile on your lips. “Happy birthday!” He pulls the box from behind his back.     

You frown down at the box. “I said no gifts.” 

“It’s not a gift.” He opens the box. “It’s a cupcake.” He sways the box under your nose. “I passed a bakery on the way over here, figured you deserved something to celebrate. Look, we don’t need to light a candle or sing happy birthday or anything like that. But everyone should get a cake on their birthday.” 

You take the box from him. The frosting is slightly smeared, but you can still make out the shape of the delicate flower that was once there. It’s beautiful. And more importantly, the cupcake looks delicious. 

“Thank you, Peter,” you say with a soft smile. “This was really sweet of you.” 

Peter’s face lights up. “So…I’m not in trouble for buying it?” He wraps his arm around your waist.

“No. You’re not.” 

He wipes his free hand across his forehead. “Phew! I was actually really worried there for a second. You’re hot when you’re mad, but you’re also really scary.”

You pull him forward by his scarf. “C’mon, let’s eat this cupcake before your mouth gets you into trouble.” 

Peter nods. “Yeah, that’s probably best.” 

He shrugs out of his coat, and pulls the cotton beanie from his head. His hair springs free in a frizzy and comical halo. You try your best not to laugh, but you can’t help the small chuckle that escapes your lips. 

“What? Are you laughing at me now, sweetheart?” Peter raises his eyebrows. 

You cover your mouth and shake your head. 

“No?” He asks, draping his winter gear over the kitchen chair. “Sure sounds like it. What’s so funny?” 

“See for yourself.” You point to the mirror hanging by the door, and Peter looks at his reflection. 

“Huh.” He brushes his fingers through his hair with a grin. “Yeah, I’ll admit that’s pretty funny.” Peter turns back to you and rubs his hands together. “Shall we begin the festivities?” 

Thirty minutes later you’re sitting on the sofa watching Empire Strikes Back for what has to be the 500th time, or at least enough times for you and Peter to have memorized every other line. You’re giggling at Peter’s terrible impression of Chewbacca that sounds more like a nauseated cat than the Wookie himself, and Peter is looking at you like you hung the very stars in that galaxy far, far away.

The cupcake box sits empty on the coffee table, only the wrinkled paper and crumbs are left of it. It really was delicious. The blue icing sweet, but not overly so, the cake fluffy with a hint of nutmeg. You were reluctant to ruin those pretty flowers, but in the end, you and Peter split the cupcake in two and chowed down. 

Now, you lick the remnants of the sticky icing off of your fingertips. Peter’s eyes meet yours, and his lips part into a blue-stained grin. 

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, eyes shining in the light of the television. 

“Thanks,” you say. “And thank you for the cupcake. It was delicious.” 

His smile grows, albeit a little bashfully. “Anything for you.” Peter drags you closer to him by your legs. “I’m glad you liked it.” He leans towards you, his hands cupping your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours softly. 

His fingers gently trace the length of your jaw, and tangle in your hair, teasing the curls at the nape of your neck. Normally, you hate when people touch your hair, but Peter is always gentle, and the light tugging of your hair elicits a quiet groan from your lips. Peter swallows it greedily, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. 

You can still taste the faintest hint of the blue buttercream when his tongue sweeps into the seam of your lips. From the way he moans as his tongue meets yours, you think he tastes it too. 

Peter hooks his fingers into the front of your pajama pants, and pulls you into his lap. You settle above him, legs splayed around his waist. His hands easily find the hem of your sweatshirt, and it’s not long before they’re slipping under the fabric to touch the skin beneath. 

You surge towards him, hips meeting his in a slow roll, as his hands follow the trail of your spine. Up, up, up, they go, and then around. Cupping your breasts and feeling their weight. Slender fingers and calloused tips. He teases your nipples, pinching and pulling lightly. Working you up with just the slightest touch. It sends a shudder through your body, and a small cry of his name into the air.

Two can play at that game. You think, tugging at the blue corded sweater he wears. You pull it over his head and toss it somewhere behind you where it falls with a muted thud. 

His skin now bare beneath you, you carve a new path across the planes of his body. First over his jaw, then down his throat – you don’t miss the hitch in his breath when your fingers brush over his pulse point. They then sweep across his collarbones, down the lean muscles of his scarred chest, and further down still, following the smattering of hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. He shudders and sighs under your touch, jumping slightly to meet your fingers. 

Peter watches your exploration with hungry eyes. You can feel the ridge of his erection straining against the denim. You rock against it, your own eyes fluttering shut at the sweet pressure. Peter lets out a huff of your name, teeth digging into the skin of his bottom lip. 

Your shirt comes off next, giving Peter unfettered access to your chest. He plants kisses that are somehow sloppy and sweet over the peaks of your breasts. When his lips wrap around your nipple you let out a reedy moan. 

“That’s it.” Peter mumbles, spit slicked against your peaked nipple. “Let me hear you.” 

You tilt your head back. “Peter.” 

He hums. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His eyes are glued to your face, taking in your every movement. His molten gaze burns a hole into your skin. “Sound so pretty.”

“I want you,” you whisper, fingers fumbling to undo the silver button of his jeans. 

“Want you too, baby.” Peter’s lips let your nipple go with a pop. “Gotta make sure you’re ready for me first.” And with that, he’s worming his hand down the front of your pants. “Shit,” he groans, playing with the wetness gathered on your underwear. “You’re soaking, honey.” 

And really, who’s fault is that?

Slender fingers hook your panties to the side and slide against your folds. Your knees nearly give out when his thumb circles your clit. You yank Peter’s lips back to yours to muffle the moans growing in the back of your throat. 

Peter slides a finger into you with no resistance, and mutters a curse under his breath. You’re so warm and wet around him, squeezing him in a way that makes his desire to be inside you flame even brighter. It’s not long before a second finger fills you, stretching deliciously as they scissor and curl within you. A poor substitute for the real thing, which still presses against your ass.  

You rock your hips hungrily, grinding down onto his open palm. The friction sets off bursts of light behind your eyelids, like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. A curl of fire licks at your curled toes, arcs like lightning up your spine and settles deep in your stomach. If Peter kept going, he’d stoke the flame into a wildfire. Have you falling apart with a choked wail. But that’s not what you wanted. 

“Peter,” you manage to grind out. “Don’t want to come yet. Wanna save it for you.” 

You feel his answering grin against your cheek. “That what you want?” Though he acknowledges your request, his fingers still move, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Yes,” you whine, fighting the losing battle to keep your hips still. Because even though you want to wait until you’re riding his cock, you’re dangling over the edge, and still want so badly to come. “Want to ride you.”

Peter’s fingers stop, still buried inside of your cunt. “Well, it is your birthday.” He pulls your pants down to your knees. “So I guess you’ll get what you want.” 

Birthday or not, with Peter you always get what you want. He never passes up an opportunity to spoil you rotten. You are his, after all– my baby, my love– something he’ll remind you of repeatedly in a few moments.

You fumble out of the remainder of your clothes, and Peter hastily yanks off his jeans and boxers in one fell swoop. He also grabs the blanket from off the back of the couch. 

“Can’t have you gettin’ cold,” he mumbles, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. 

You falter for a moment, somehow still shocked at how caring he is. He pulls you out of your thoughts with a kiss to the underside of your jaw. 

“Ready for me?” Peter whispers.

You nod, wrapping your fingers around his aching cock. You rub your thumb over the head, wrist flicking slowly. Peter groans, head tilting back to the light of the room. You want to keep going, keep stroking, until you feel the warmth of Peter’s release on your hand. Want to hear the choked moan of your name as you took him to that highest peak–

As if hearing your thoughts, he grabs your wrist. “Thought you wanted to ride me, honey?” He raises his eyebrows. 

“I do,” you reply coyly. 

Peter’s hands slide to your hips, and he pulls you towards him, until you’re hovering just above him. “What are you waiting for?” 

You stroke him again, just to watch the stern look be replaced by one of wanting. 

Peter groans. “Need to be inside you,” he mumbles, voice cracking with lust. “Please, honey.” 

That’s what you were waiting for. 

You sink down onto him slowly, a moan of reverence sliding from your lips, and one that Peter echoes loudly. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Peter’s dropped his head into your collarbone, so his words are muffled by your heaving breasts. “Feel so fucking perfect wrapped around me.” 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, using the broad surface to steady yourself. You feel so full and so close to him. It’s as if, in this moment, he’s the only other person in the world, and it’s just you and Peter in your small apartment, and nothing else matters but the slow rock of your hips and his body pressed to yours. 

You can’t even hear the movie playing in the background, or the sound of traffic right outside your window. All you hear is the raggedy inhale-exhale of Peter’s breath, and your own stilted breaths in return. 

Peter’s grip on your hips tighten. “Fuck me,” he groans, something desperate twisting in his voice. “Faster.” 

You comply, hips speeding up until they almost match the thudding of your heart in your chest. 

“That’s it, baby– shit,” Peter says. “Take what you want. Always fuck me so good.” He tilts his head back against the sofa cushions, jaw going slacked, and looking at you with glazed eyes. His fingers find that hallowed place between your sweaty bodies, and rub insistently at your clit.

You bite your bottom lip, head going dizzy from his praise and the sweet sensation of your own orgasm building up inside of you. There’s the whispered flame curling up inside of you again, licking over your body. You raise up onto your knees, changing the angle in search of that one blissful spot deep inside of you that only Peter seems to be able to reach. You almost wail when you find it.

Your hand slides up Peter’s body, coming to rest on his chest as the roll of your hips begins to lose their steady rhythm. He grabs your hand, a flash of wanton mischief in his gaze, and rests it on the bottom of his throat. You quirk an eyebrow, and he nods, something desperate and unspoken in his gaze. 

Peter nearly comes on the spot when you fit your thumb into the hollow of his throat. His pulse thuds under your touch wildly. He bucks his hips up against yours, the dam of his self-control breaking. He holds your hand in place, urging you to squeeze tighter, which you do. 

The two of you chase your pleasure together with sloppy thrusts and broken moans. You can almost taste it on the back of your tongue, hot and molten like lead. This all-encompassing, enrapturing desire. Judging from the expression of complete bliss on Peter’s face, you know he’s nearly there as well. 

He tells you as much with a cracked whisper of your name. “Please tell me you’re close, cuz I’m gonna come.” 

You nod, because it’s all that you’re able to do. So lost in all of it. And then without warning, it builds and overtakes you. You fall against Peter’s chest, a silent cry of his name on your lips. 

It’s the end for him too. Though he doesn’t go quietly. Peter explodes inside of you with a strangled groan of your name, and several breathy moans. Warmth floods your body, and you tighten your knees around him, holding him against you like a vice. 

“Goddammit.” Peter grits his teeth, as he fucks you through both of your orgasms. 

It takes a while for his hips to still and for your breathing to return to normal. All your senses seem to come back at once. Suddenly you can hear the traffic and the movie playing behind you. Smell the sweat that lingers in the air. Feel the stifling heat of the blanket around your shoulders. You let it fall into a heap on the floor, content with the warmth of Peter’s body pressed against yours. 

His hands roam your body, more gentle in their approach now. He traces random patterns on the expanse of your back and thighs. Presses tender kisses to your forehead, and holds you tightly against his chest. 

“Happy birthday,” he finally mumbles, lips sweeping against your skin. 

“Oh yeah.” You grin. “Nearly forgot.” 

“That good huh?” Peter gives you a lopsided smirk. 

You return it. “Always.” 

Peter hums. His eyes fix on the empty pastry box. Suddenly it dawns on him that you’ve had dessert before dinner. He casts a wary look at the clock hanging on the wall. It reads 7:34. 

“Did you wanna order food? Or go out for dinner? Or…” He trails off.

You bury your face into his chest. “Later. Just wanna be with you for now.”

In the end, you didn’t go out. Just ordered takeout and cuddled on the couch. It may have been a quiet night in, watching a movie you’d seen a thousand times, but it was perfect to you.

[pinkytoothlesso11]

Hello! Newer to the fandom, but recently I’ve been reading a ton of fanfics and have seen a lot of Jim centric fanfics but was wondering if you knew of any Claire centric ones or ones where she has more povs?

Hi anon! Welcome to the fandom! Sorry for my belated reply, but I know of several fics where Claire gets a decent amount of attention:

I'd recommend most of @avirxy's fics, since almost all of them have Claire as the main, or one of the most focused on characters, most especially:

Tear Me in Two (The Moonlight will Anyway) This is basically a monster Hunter AU with werewolf Claire, very angsty but very original.

First Frost This one has Trollhunter! Claire as well as her being a type of Half troll that changes forms based on changes in weather. Mostly Claire POV.

False as it Can Be A gender swap beauty and the beast with Claire as the beast. My favourite so far!

Trollhunter! Claire AU's:

Claire the Courageous, Part I Haven't read this one, but it's another Trollhunter! Claire AU that is also a bit of a role swap. Unfortunately left orphaned, but it seems popular.

Claire the Kind Another Trollhunter! Claire fic that's pretty popular, and has Claire as a main character.

Alternate Universes

Atlas, Fallen Haven't read it, but it's about evenly split between Claire and Jim as main characters, where Jim is a fallen star.

Both Sides of the Sky Regency AU set in the medieval times, definitely Claire focused.

Friendship, Family, and Other Foreign Concepts Missing scene esque oneshot with focus on Claire and NotEnrique's relationship.

That's most of the good and popular fics that focus on Claire more so than Jim. I'm honestly surprised that there aren't so many Claire focused fics... Considering she's in a lot of fics in general. Hopefully you'll like some of these!

[btsxmalereaders]

break my heart myself

♡ pairing — lee minho x male reader

> genre — fluff | angst

> word count — 4,02k

> summary — despite being integrated into stray kids a little late, minho and you quickly clicked and started a great relationship. unfortunately, some fans can't still see it.

> tags — 9th!member, idol!au, jealousy, happy ending.

> a/n — hihi! i hope you enjoy this, and i'm sorry i'm a bit late posting your request u.u happy belated birthday, lovely anon! 

You were certainly not having the best time now. Starting off by these couple of days have been really tough since your group is having a comeback soon; so you had to deal with rehearsals that didn’t seem to have an ending soon, a lot of photograph sessions with tons of makeup and dress changes, and endless nights locked up in the studio to write and record songs. 

You tried to tell yourself it’s easy. Reminding yourself and repeating comforting words like it’ll all be over soon, and you’d be able to enjoy performing and connect with fans once the promotions started, but you were getting tired. 

“Hey, are you ready for today’s recording? Everyone but us and Minho are already at the studio.” Changbin pats your shoulder and brings you back down to earth, to later nod get up from the couch. You were still sleepy and wanted to take a quick nap in the living room while everyone was getting ready, but you got too deep in your thoughts and you couldn’t get the chance to do it.

Minho exits your shared bedroom and sweetly smiles at you, approaching quickly and opening his arms to embrace you right after. 

“Are you okay, sleepyhead?” He softly murmurs, making you chuckle. 

“Yeah, just a bit tired. I’ll be better once we get to the studio, though.” You tell him not to worry him too much; Minho already had enough on his plate. 

“Alright, the minivan is outside now, let’s go quickly before everyone starts complaining.” Changbin says.

It’s a quiet ride. Changbin decided to put on his headphones and listen to, you suppose, things he composed late night hours the past few weeks, meanwhile your head is resting on Minho’s shoulder as he scrolls down tiktok and laughs with you, liking cute kitty videos and some other random stuff about Stray Kids and another accounts he follows, obviously on a secret account.

Suddenly, an edit from a fan pops up. Short clips and photos of your boyfriend and Han at the rhythm of a love song. You don't say a thing, not even flinch, and Minho just keeps scrolling as if nothing happened. 

Certainly, you have noticed all those fan edits, tweets and messages on vlive about the friendship between Minho and Jisung. It started even before you joined the group, so you understood where they were coming from, it still didn't make you feel comfortable about it. Because, even though you respected and loved their friendship, you didn't like the fact that your boyfriend was being shipped with another person by lots of people, while the attention of your dynamics, despite it being a little bit more subtle for obvious reasons, was being underestimated. 

Nothing much was said in the way, Minho locked his phone a few minutes right before arriving and pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. You walk separately, just in case, but as soon as you're on the 5th floor of the building, he takes your hand and smoothly squeezes. 

"Oh god, you're finally here. What took you so long?" Hyunjin groans and stands up from his chair as soon as you enter Chan's studio. 

"Sorry, I actually took my time to have breakfast, not like you who ate under 5 minutes and ran away."

Changbin tries to defend himself and leaves his belongings on the desk.

"It's not our fault you eat so slowly." Hyunjin continues to joke, so Bin furrows.

"Okay, okay, enough. We have a lot of work to do today." Chan steps up with a smile and starts giving updates for you guys and general directions.

So you all do as told, spending a good time deep in the lyrics of a new song and getting familiarized with it, owning it and adding everyone's details, singing with your hearts and praising each other. It's a song Jisung wrote and you all couldn’t help but be amazed by how great it was. 

After a few hours of singing and arranging, you all decided it was time to take a break and get something to have for lunch. The maknae line offered to go to the cafeteria and get you all food, meanwhile Chan, Minho, Changbin and you waited and threw some ideas to continue with the recording; well, it was mainly Changbin and Chan arranging some stuff, too deep in their world meanwhile you two were snuggled on the couch. 

His fingers on your hair, touching softly, a humming which you could say resembled the singing of an angel, and his other hand with a tight holding of your back. Yet so careful and subtle. You loved the way Minho made you feel; like home, safe and sound. Loved, above all.

 

You were so grateful to get the chance to be part of the group, since you joined a little later, but it still impressed you the easiness of how they welcomed you and how the fans were happy about it. After all, it was meant to be. You 'd like to think that, at least. 

In between the calmness that just set, you look up to find Minho with his eyes closed, so you admire him closely; every mole, his bright and soft skin, his calm breath, his humming alongside the rhythm of his heartbeat making you feel at ease. A feeling you wouldn't trade for anything.

A few minutes later, everyone gets back in the studio with bags in their hands, the smell of food makes you realize you're hungry, so you stand up and kiss the tip of Minho's nose and smile before helping the guys with the bags.

Everyone takes a seat and begins to unpack the food, rushing to eat something to put you all in a better mood for the next few hours of work ahead of you. Occasionally you discuss what you have done so far, but you try to make the rest of the break pleasant and distracting so that everyone feels a little less tense.

"Oh, guys," Felix speaks up as you're about to finish. "Why don't we pair up and upload some tiktoks of what we're doing? It could be like a little spoiler for stays."

"Yeah, it'd be cool, but couldn't we get in trouble for this?" Jeongin asks, concerned. 

Chan simply shrugs, "No, we won't. And if we do, I don't care. It's gonna be fun."

Everyone laughs and decides to go for it, so now Chan makes you all decide whether you should pick your partner or shall he assign them, so you all choose the last option. He knows you well and how you work together, and that ends up with you paired with Hyunjin, Chan is with Seungmin and Felix, Jeongin and Changbin are together and last but not least, Han and Minho.

Now, you didn't wanna seem upset about it, but a bad feeling just settles in you. You would probably not read the comments under their video, though. The tiny hope you'd get to do this with Minho vanished away, and you were not mad about it, just a little bit disappointed. 

"Alright, let's just record a few seconds of the song, meanwhile just do a lip sync and do something nice at the ending, I guess? Like we usually do." Chan indicates briefly as he takes his phone and opens the camera, and so the first ones are Changbin and Jeongin. They end up making finger hearts with a lovely expression on their faces that makes you all chuckle.

Felix, Chan and Seungmin are up next, and they send kisses to the camera, making you cringe a little, and consequently they laugh about it too, but thinking it's funny. Then, Hyunjin and you make a small and improvised choreography as well, and end up with a cool model pose, with your arm laying on his shoulder and looking empowered. 

And finally, Han and Minho simply make a heart with their arms and shortly wave goodbye before the video ends. Chan posts them right after and hopes it all goes well afterwards. 

The rest of the recording goes smooth and quick. You're too deep in your thoughts about this situation, that is clearly out of your control, but you guess that was what bothered you more. The fact that you couldn't stand up and for once and for all put an end to all those rumors and theories just makes you feel even more mad and helpless.

"Okay, that's it for today, let's go home, alright? I'll prepare dinner for you guys." Minho says, causing everyone to cheer up after the tiring day you all just had. He places a kiss on your forehead and picks up your belongings as you head to the back of the building, where the minivan waits for you.

Of course Minho notices you're suddenly quiet rather than being clingy, but he assumes you're tired and lets you sleep a bit on your way back to the apartment. 

As soon as everyone arrives home, Minho gets ready to start preparing dinner while the others take turns taking a shower, watching TV and others on their cell phones.

"Is there anything I can help you with, sweetheart?" you ask sweetly as you approach from behind his back, placing your hands on his waist. Minho lets out a nervous little laugh and looks you in the eye. 

"Don't worry, prince. Let your boyfriend take care of preparing something delicious for you. You just sit back and wait looking pretty as always."

"I heard that!" Seungmin passes laughing and unnoticed through the kitchen, making Minho blush. While everyone is aware of how mellow you guys can be, it was still something they were amused by.

“Okay, let me know if there’s anything I can do.’’ You simply state and go to the living room, taking a seat and opening tiktok. And you promised yourself you wouldn’t read the comments, but you couldn’t help it. You oftenly chuckled at all the things stay came up with, and liked some of them, as you were using your private account. Then, when Han and Minho’s clip popped up you hesitated a bit, but did it anyway. Honestly, you didn’t know what you were expecting, to everyone comment chill and light-hearted things and not focused on their ship? Of course that wouldn’t happen.

All those “They’re definitely dating’’, and “Minsung is real’’ type of comments were getting on your nerves lately, digging deep into the uncomfortableness and bother you’ve been bottling up the past few years. You just reached the point where you can’t hide your disappointment and jealousy anymore. 

After you take a shower and try to relax, you gather with your friends and boyfriend in the kitchen to have dinner. It’s the opposite of being quiet, of course. Everyone is laughing and joking around, as always. But you, on the other hand, are more serene; despite being the other way on the inside. Minho notices it and tries to understand why, but nothing comes to mind. He softly squeezes your knee under the table but you only look at him and give him a fake smile as you finish eating.

You are the first one to finish, so you stand up and wash your plate and utensils quickly, saying nothing more than a goodnight to everyone and go straight to your room, washing your teeth in a heartbeat and deciding to get in bed and sleep before Minho could enter and start asking questions regarding in your behavior tonight. But of course, as soon as you clean your face, Minho's steps in the room and sighs, heading to the bathroom.

"Hey," He says, taking his toothbrush and standing next to you. "Is everything alright? You were very quiet, is anything I c-"

"Don't worry," You interrupt him before he can say more. "I guess I'm too tired. I just want to sleep."

"Are you sure?" He insists.

"Yes," A kiss is placed on his cheek, making Minho blush. "Let's go get some rest, okay? I'll wait for you."

Still, Minho isn't at all convinced, but lets it slide for now.

The night is spent with you both intertwined, your face hidden on the crook of his neck, his heartbeat lullabies you into a heavy sleep and the comfortableness of his arms around you. Tomorrow will be a better day, you say to yourself before falling completely asleep. 

Truth is, the next day is slightly better. Minho is really attentive to you, because he is aware something is up, and even though he knows you're not ready to tell him yet, he wanted to make you feel better and let you know you could count on him and open up whenever you wanted. 

"Today we will just arrange the last track and tomorrow we will continue with dance practices." Chan says once you're all on your way to the studio, getting everyone's attention. "And I thought, after we finish, we can make a short vlive? It's been a while since we've done one together and it's a perfect occasion, in a few weeks we will be releasing this brand new album, right? So… are you in?"

No one hesitates to agree with the idea. Chan is right, it's been quite a while since you all gathered to make a live and have fun, so it sounds like it will be a pleasant and distracting activity after these past days of stress and overwork. 

So all said and done, once you guys are done with the recording of the last track of the album, you get some food and make yourselves comfortable to start with the live. Chan is sitting in his chair, while on the couch in the back is Changbin, right on the armrest, right next to him, Jeongin and Seungmin are along the couch, and on the opposite side to Changbin, Felix has taken a seat.

Minho and Han are on the left side of Chan, and Hyunjin has kept you company on the opposite side, so that everyone can be seen by Stay in front of the camera.

"Okay, is everyone ready?" Chan asks once he has set everything up to start, and presses the start live button when he gets a positive response from everyone.

And it's really nice. Everyone is having a pretty fun time, reading the stay comments, they're placing bets and asking about the songs they will hear next. You guys are joking around, making little spoilers in order to make them suffer a bit for the wait ahead until the album is released, thanking them for the kind comments about the last tiktoks you uploaded among some other comments. 

Suddenly the comments drift off to the actions everyone is doing while reading; Jeongin, for example, has started ponytailing Felix's hair and then asked for suggestions to further style his hair, Hyunjin has started feeding you the snacks you brought, while Minho and Han are pushing each other with their shoulders to get more camera, so suddenly some more comments about them catch your attention, which inevitably makes you raise your eyes towards them.

It's a simple, innocent game, but the comments paint it as flirting. And you don't like the way that makes you feel. 

Your spirits are now down, and Hyunjin notices it immediately, so he comforts you, hugging you a little, letting you know that you can count on him if you need to let off steam, and also taking your cell phone so you can no longer read those comments. 

He quickly sends a message to Chan to end the live broadcast promptly, which he does within a few minutes without question, just after everyone has said goodbye and sent good wishes for Stay.

"So, shall we go now?" Jeongin asks a bit concerned at the abrupt ending, to which Chan confirms and says it was gonna last a bit anyway, since he still needed to be at the studio longer and wanted everyone to get more rest.

"Okay, _____ and I are going to the bathroom real quick, meet you all downstairs?" Hyunjin quickly says and everyone agrees, walking off the room as soon as possible and heading to said place.

Once you're inside the big bathroom, you quickly check no one's in the stalls and let out a long sigh, Hyunjin following you.

"Are you okay?" He asks as you wash your face with the cold water.

"Yeah, yeah," You mumble, feeling terrible.  "It's just... ugh, this is stupid. I don't understand why I feel this way, it doesn't make any sense, I mean..." 

Hyunjin only manages to look at you, feeling empathetic. 

"I'm sorry, I'm acting very childish, aren't I? The jealousy I have is quite irrational."

Your friend doesn't know what to say so he simply gives you a hug. Good, his hugs make you feel better. He makes you feel understood. Hyunjin lets you know that what you feel is okay. He won't judge you, he will simply walk you through this.

"Let's go home, Jinnie. Thank you." You simply say and ignore the tears threatening to stream down your face. 

The ride home is quite quiet. Minho is beside you, his head on your shoulder as he plays a game on his phone, but your attention is on the road, your eyes lost in the scenery. And you didn't mean to be so heartless, but this whole situation has really overtaken you for the worse.

As much as you try to think about this and come up with a solution, the truth is that all you want now is to get to your dorm room and rest. Maybe cry a little as an outlet to clear your head and then talk it over with Minho.

So once in the apartment, you quickly head to the bedroom, ignoring Minho's calls, shouting your name so that you at least turn to look at him, but his attempts end up failing. Everyone seems to be puzzled by the situation, but they decide not to intervene; at least not for now. 

Minho is really surprised by your behavior, and once you have locked yourself in the room, he turns to Hyunjin for help, since he knows that he was the last person you talked to before all this happened.

"Go to him, he seems to be avoiding you, but he needs you." He instructs him, so Minho walks quickly and knocks on the door a couple of times before entering.

It's heartbreaking for him to hear you sobbing under the covers. He's so confused and worried, so he approaches quickly but cautiously, taking a seat right next to you.

"Hey, prince, what's wrong?" He whispers, his sweet voice reaching your ear but not stopping your crying. "My love..."

Minho reaches his hand to the edge of the blanket and slowly lifts it, revealing your sad, soaked face. He just wants to come closer to kiss you and hold you so much, he wants you to stop feeling bad.

"What's wrong, do you need anything, can I do anything for you? Tell me, please."

You look at him and try to stop crying, slowly getting closer as he rounds you with his arms and kisses the top of your head. 

Your crying starts to die down, "I'm sorry." You manage to say, with your voice still low, almost in a whisper.

Minho doesn’t understand why you are suddenly apologizing, but he listens to you and lets you continue. 

"I've... This is nonsense, I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel like I'm forbidding you to... I mean, I don't want to-"

"____, hey, it's okay, honey. Take a breath, take your time. It’s okay." He says, now placing a kiss on the tip of your nose and raising his hand to erase the tears on your face.

"It's just that..." A sigh leaves your mouth, in an attempt to calm down your nerves. "Lately, I have read and seen... things that are quite hard for me to process and, I know I shouldn't care about it, cause it's meaningless, but somehow, it gets in my head and now I can't simply ignore it. I hate how this makes me feel."

"What's wrong?" 

"Please don't hate me for this or laugh about it…"

"Of course I won't." He assures you, smiling up a bit to make you feel comfortable. 

"Okay, I'll just say it. This shipping culture the fans have… I try to understand it, it's fun sometimes, but, it's getting on my nerves that all I can see lately it's about you and Jisung… and, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm jealous about this."

You close your eyes, so you can't see Minho's reaction to your words. You said it so quickly you ran out of breath a little bit, and the fact that Minho hasn't said anything in what feels like an eternity, makes you feel nervous. Did you mess up? Is he holding up a laugh? Does he feel attacked? 

"Prince, look at me." He utters, holding your face, which is probably turning red, and caressing your cheek. 

You slowly do as told, cracking one eye open and quickly with the other one after seeing his face is serious. He's not laughing, but there's a small smile that denotes comprehension. 

"I love you." Minho says before pulling you for a kiss. His free hand sliding on your back and holding you tightly. When you run out of breath, he slowly separates, but his forehead is resting on yours and your noses touch up on a skimo kiss.  "I love you so, so much."

"I love you too…" You whisper. "I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be." He quickly says, separating a bit so he can stare into your eyes. "You don't have to be sorry, okay? I understand where you're coming from. What you feel is completely understandable. I just… I wish you had told me before you felt this bad."

A smile is finally drawn in your lips, "I honestly didn't know it affected me that much until now. I mean, I just didn't care about it at the beginning, but now it's… everywhere. In a lot of comments on every single video, every live; on signs at the concerts, on fansigns… It got into my head."

"I'm sorry, prince." He says and kisses you again. "Uhm, I'm sure we can talk it out and maybe, if it makes you feel like this, Jisung and I can stop it by not interacting too much-"

"No!" You interrupt him, making him feel surprised. "No way, no. This isn't what I want to happen. It's not your fault, not Jisung's. I don't want you to stop being friends or having your friendship affected by this. I don't think this is in our hands to solve, I'll have to find a way to ignore it and move on."

"Love, I'd do anything to make you feel better. I don't want you to ever feel sad about this situation, we can look out for a solution with Jisung. I'm sure he'll understand." He says.

"I know, but I love and respect your friendship with him too. You've been friends since forever, even before I took part in the group, and I will never forgive myself if that is ruined somehow because of this." 

Minho looks at you with adoration, "Are you sure? Because we can come up with a solution."

You smile, "I'm sure. I just needed to let it all out to feel better. It's gonna be okay, eventually."

"Okay, just let me know if you ever feel like this again, please." 

"Sure. Thank you, love." 

"No need to, my prince." He says and kisses you again. "Now let's wash up your pretty face and watch a movie? I'll let you pick."

"Deal." 

Minho doesn’t separate from you the rest of the night. He showers you with kisses and whispers sweet words to your ears until you fall asleep between each other's arms. From now on, you know everything will be okay.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

its my birthday soon, Mr. S!

mayhaps you could write something about Seb making himself go stupid (either with his hand or with something more…. siliconey, if you will) and Chris catching him?

tysm!! 🫶🏻

I've had this prompt for a really long time, so I have the feeling that your birthday has passed, and I'm sorry about not getting to this sooner. Regardless, happy belated birthday!

Also, this got, uh, dirty. Moreso than usual, maybe? Idk, depending on your version of dirty because if we're going silicone and going dumb, then let's fucking GO because--

First and formost, I think that perhaps these terribly filthy thoughts have been inspired by the stony fic, "Alien sex toys are safer than admitting your feelings, until they're not" by pouringinsheets that you may or may not be interested in because it's stony but 🥴🥴 Steve and tentacles? Guh. Sign me the fuck up.

So, tentacles, that'd be so embarrassing to go dumb over, wouldn't it, Seb? 😏

(Something like, Ika® the Tentacle from Bad Dragon perhaps?)

Honestly, Mackie probably bought the toy for Seb as a gag gift on a loooong press tour, knowing after one too many drinks that he was missing his man badly. And sexual frustration resulting from being trapped on a whirlwind press tour away from your friends and family will make you do weird shit sometimes. Weird shit, like, for example, buying your dear friend inappropriate things and winking and nudging him when you finally hand it over, saying he should put it to good use, maybe later tonight even, because it's Tuesday and you know your friend and his boyfriend FaceTime on Tuesdays 'cause that's the only night, no matter what you do do, you can't wear Sebastian down to going out with you.

So.

It's Mackie's fault.

He's a true troublemaker.

And after just about dying of mortification (and threatening Mackie to never tell him anything again if he's going to use his insider knowledge for evil like this) Sebastian originally was going to toss the gag gift toy into the bottom of his suitcase and be done with it. He would throw it away... give it away (is that a thing you can do? It's not like he's going to open it, and he doesn't want it to be a massive waste, so? Maybe?)... or whatever. He was definitely going to get rid of the evidence.

He never wanted to think about the damn thing again, so big, blue (actually a pretty tasteful light into dark blue fade that, because Sebastian is hopelessly in love, made him think of the emoji Chris is so fond of using 💙), and shaped so intensely like, well, something not human. A tentacle. Maybe an octopus? A squid? Maybe an alien? Sebastian isn't sure. And he swore, to himself, as he buried the toy in its box under his packed clothes, toiletries, and other travel clutter, that he would burst into flames if he so much as thought about it again. So, he had to hide it. There was nothing else to be done. He couldn't face it.

But, goddamnit, as the days drag on and on, Sebastian just can't get the obscene thing out of his head. Press is mind-numbing with the same questions repeated until he can spit out answers in his sleep. It's natural that he needs something else to focus on, then, right? It's just unfortunate that his fixation is over a fucking joke sex toy.

And it's just that... that he's never seen anything like it. He didn't know of such a brand. Bad Dragon? He refuses to look it up to see if all the toys are like the one Mackie got him, so he lives in a stupidly intriguing (for whatever reason) mystery. Also, a tentacle? Dragons don't even, traditionally, at least, have those. Huh?

More than the questionable branding and, probably, more than just needing something to fill his mind, Seb can't get the phallic fucking thing, heavy in its box at the bottom of his bag, out of his head for the sheer idea of it.

Looking at the graphic graphic on the outside of the box with its connal shape and textured suckers, Seb couldn't imagine what it would feel like in the nonexistent scenario where it was inside him.

Any sex toy he's ever owned has had one of two textures--smooth or ribbed. Smooth, soft silicone that sinks into him satisfyingly easy, gliding with the right about of lube, or more rigid ribbed surfaces that tug against his rim and rub deep inside him until he's clenching and gasping. He's never had something where there are repeated raised circles on one side, then on the other, there's nothing. It's just smooth. Both at once have to be confusing at worst and overwhelming at best, right?

Still, he can't imagine what it would actually feel like. So, naturally, his curious mind dwells on it. More and more. The thoughts invade him at every hour.

How different would it be from any other insertable sex toy? Would he be able to differentiate the textured side from the smooth side? How soft or hard is the body of the toy itself? It looks... squishy. Does the slight curve and curve back of the shape do anything? Does it feel different, assuming that it's rigid enough to keep that shape when shoved inside him?Would it feel good at all if he fucke himself with it? Surely there's something to it, otherwise it wouldn't be sold, right?

Right?

Sebastian goes in fucking circles, driving himself insane with the thoughts and the ensuing embarrassment the thoughts bring. He zones out, falling into the vortex of questions with no answers over this god forsaken tentacle sex toy. Then, when he realizes what he's doing, spiraling, he goes pink. Everywhere. Pink. And, at that point, he can't help but squirm in his seat, wherever he is, desperately hoping--sometimes in dire situations where he's thinking especially inappropriate thoughts--that no one within his vicinity can secretly read minds. If they could, he would know, though. Because he's sure the shock and probable disgust would be written across his face.

Sebastian isn't, he doesn't--he wouldn't kink shame. But there's a difference, he's finding, in himself where what he wouldn't really actually judge someone else for being into, he would certainly judge himself for being into. Wonderful.

Not that...

No.

He's not into this! He's just curious. That's it.

And that's probably not his favorite thought, considering the last time he was curious about something that something was men and then he went on a bender kissing and doing other stuff with basically any guy at any club he could get into until he was scared he was getting to famous to do that. So he cooled it off and fought his way to the acceptance of his own bisexuality.

Seb circles the drain, downward spiral getting nowhere, until he's finally, finally, finally home. Home sweet home in his tiny New York City apartment where he's chaotically ripping into his suitcase, unpacking and mostly flinging dirty clothes into the laundry basket, when he finds it. It's not even an oh yeah moment because he didn't forget. He doesn't really find it. He knew exactly where he was.

There it is.

Big. Blue. Shaped just like a tentacle. And, somehow, heavier than he remembers. It's hefty. Probably thick and definitely long.

Sebastian licks his lips.

He can't...

Push comes to shove, and he can't bring himself to throw it out because, because, because think of all the waste! That's so much silicone. So much time and effort to rot in a landfill. Because, well, he's curious. And because, oh no--

The devil on Seb's shoulder decides to raise its tiny little fit and hits him over the back of his head with a thought.

A rush of thoughts, really.

Disappointingly, Chris couldn't meet him at his NYC apartment like they had hoped after months--that's right pural--of being separated, schedule conflicts with their stupid fucking careers of auditioning, filming on site, then filming at this other site, waiting for editing, and going on press tours all over everywhere, so Sebastian is, just, frustrated by himself. He's wishing he weren't by himself. And he's thinking about Chris, as he always seems to be. He's thinking about the fantastic, crazy reunion sex they'd be having if he was here instead of Sebastian unpacking right away. Seb is thinking about how toe-curling-ly nice it is when Chris gets caught up in the moment and gets rough and shoves and takes and suddenly, yeah, oh fucking no because Seb's mind is full of that toy.

Not just that single toy as it lies limp in its box, though. It's worse. With the devil-on-his-shoulder's terrible influence, Seb's mind is full of that toy it it was even more wriggling and bigger and stronger and alive.

He is hit like a hurricane, blowing out a rushing breath of hot air, thinking about tentacles being rough with him. Involuntarily, Sebastian lets out a little sound. A tiny, under his breath whimper.

Rougher than Chris, even. Tentacles made of coiling muscle, hot and slick, sliding over his skin to tangle him up in their grasp like living ropes tying his body into the most challenging shibari poses where he struggles to stay. Sebastian wouldn't be able to be folded and molded into those positions if not for the rough tentacles using him mindlessly. Taking. Plundering and claiming. Merciless inside him, uncaring how much pleasure Sebastian does or doesn't get. Sebastian is riding high on pleasure, though, eyes rolling back as one of them creeps between his straining, spread-wide thighs and screws itself into him. Stuffing him full. Deep.

Oh.

If it were really spectacularly rough and hungerily plundering and deliciously merciless, though, it wouldn't just be his ass. The tentacles would be in all his holes, wouldn't they?

Through his bottom lip stuck between his teeth, Sebastian whimpers again. Muffled, yet louder than before, as he sinks into the most pornographic corners of his mind. New fantasies forming dizzingly fast.

The tentacles, thick and long and hot, so fucking strong, could go up his ass and down his throat, and he would feel so full. Nearly bursting at the seams. They could tangle up in his belly, keeping him full and heavy, and--they could be even more places, couldn't they?

Another sound, a moan from a memory meshing and combining with his newfound obsession--

Chris has sounded him a handful of times--not enough, but their lives are batshit insane and it's so intense and time consuming--and every time he's had that cold, glistening metal rod shoved down his urethra, Sebastian has been sure he's cumming the whole time. Oh, god. It's the most intense thing. It hurts. It feels too fucking good. It's like being fucked from the inside out. It's pumping waves of pleasure, shattering him with each peak. Every fraction of an inch deeper the sound goes, the higher Seb's voice goes.

Jesus.

The tentacles could shove down into his cock, raw and hard, and be everywhere, forcing his legs open, restraining his arms, fucking hard into his ass, tugging at his balls, curling around the shaft of his cock, forcing themselves down into his cock, squeezing his waist like they're trying to feel themselves tangled in his gut, fucked down his throat, too. Bruising him wherever they hold and grab him. Taking him.

Fuck me.

Sebastian shivers so hard, so suddenly that he drops the box onto the floor, narrowly missing his toes.

He needs it.

He needs to be taken, and this toy will have to do. It's the only thing that will do. He has others tucked away in his bedside drawer, but this is what he wants. Needs.

Fumbling to pick up the box containing what he desires so badly, Sebastian grabs that fucking thing, suddenly uncaring about how wierd and self-conscious this feels, rips the cardboard and plastic open, and rushes into his tiny bathroom to wash it quickly with warm water.

Unthinking, Sebastian strips himself as rapidly as he can from his sweats and old, thin t-shirt before climbing into bed with it and lube.

He almost forgets the lube. He's so out of sorts, consumed by his sexual frustration. And that might become the next most embarrassing thing other than the shape of what he's about to put inside himself. When was the last time he was this uncontrollably desperate?

Sprawled out, now also without his underwear, panting, in his own bed, just himself and this mortifyingly bright blue tentacle, Sebastian does it. He starts getting himself ready to be fucked by this thing. He cracks open the lube and gets his fingers covered liberally, dripping really, so they're glistening in the low light before wasting no time to shove one, then, two, and three fingers inside himself.

Guh.

Face down on the bed, reaching around to finger himself, Seb finds himself drooling, just a little, into the sheets that he cleaned before he left; he was planning to come home to a nice, made bed, that he's now ruining, he doesn't give a shit, though, just like he wouldn't've cared if he had been able to come home to Chris and they fucked up his bed together. His bed, the wall, the couch, or anything. Sebastian would've taken anything gladly. It's been too long since he had something inside him. He's just been jerking off and passing out after press tour late nights mostly. This is... yeah.

Yeah, fuck yeah, this is good.

Three fingers deep, twisting his wrist sharply to press against the edge of his prostate, brushing past, leaving his mouth gaping, his toes twitching. Curling. A harsh breath is kicked out of him. Oof. Pleasure rockets through him, electric, as he makes a more direct hit. The angle isn't perfect, and he definitely won't be able to do this for too long, but still, it's... oh.

God.

Yes.

Seb just barely tears his fingers from his own body. It feels so good. But, he's even more enticed by what's waiting for him, a whimper caught in the back of his throat.

He's, he's stretched enough now, right? He can--he can take it.

He'll be good, relax, and go slow. He can do it.

He will do it.

Sebastian picks up the oddly shaped toy, fingers wet and shaking as he smothers in it lube as well, his dick twitching to an even worse, more aching hardness with the slick sounds it makes. Smooth and textured.

He can't fucking wait another minute longer to stuff it into himself, so he doesn't. He puts the tapered tip to his stretched entrance and--

"Ohhhhh," he exclaims breathily, humid air rushing out of him as it slides in. At first, it's easy--so, so easy. He stretched himself much wider than the tip of the tentacle, but rapidly, it gets harder.

Hard.

The silicone is soft at the surface, yet there's just enough give to make it feel exotic and unreal, squishy, with just enough rigidity to keep it able to go inside him. He can clench on it hard, but he can also shove it in. Deeper. Fuck--god.

The toy is so slippery when it's coated in lube, and the sensation of it sliding into him is too fucking erotic. But it's only that dangerously, teasingly smooth on one side, feeling indescribably good as his body easily takes the smoothness. The raised suckers on the other side catch on him rim, then give as it thickens, forcing his body to accommodate. It's much wider and even wider than that as he stuffs it into himself, nearing the base.

Another garbled sound exits Sebastian as it enters him. He shivers.

He's already addicted to the difference. It's good. He doesn't know which he likes better so it's so fucking nice that he can have both, causing his head to spin, off-balance in the a way that's good-scary. It feels good. Unfamiliar in a rare delicacy sort of way. He's spread and vulnerable and taking it.

He gets the entire thing into himself, sweating himself into a puddle, and revels in it for too long. Teasing himself, clenching and relaxing around it. It's soft enough that it... it almost wiggles inside him. It's wriggly and soft and Sebastian wouldn't've thought that'd be hot but it fucking is.

More than feeling it filling him, stretching his body open, vulnerable and slutty, he wants it to move. And he may or may not cry out hotly thinking about how good it would be if it really could pump in and out of him by itself. Fucking him. He wants to get fucked so bad.

So, so fucking bad, he needs to be fucked, so even though he's melted into a puddle of heat, sweat, and pre-cum from the dripping slit of his cock, Seb steadies his legs as much as he can, getting them under himself to straddle the nearest pillow. He snatches it up and folds it over and shoves that between his thighs, knowing that when he grinds against in, no matter how pathetic and needy his thrusting is, it will push on the pillow and make the pillow shove firmly against the base of the toy, jostling it, making it almost, almost feel like a thrust. At least, it feels like the toy is moving inside him on its own if he shuts his eyes and let's his head drop back heavily, not thinking. Feeling.

Plus, fucking his pillow like this, fucking himself, squirming, leaves his hands free to touch himself. Free to feel up his own heaving, sweat-slick chest and pinch his hard, tight nipples; free to fondle his pulsing cock and tight balls; free to put his hands palm down on his quivering thighs, feeling his own shaky strength as he rides his pillow.

Helpless to control his volume as he grinds and humps, swiveling his hips, bouncing, riding, he gets louder and louder.

He's fucking loud.

He's moaning and whining, and he keeps hitting his prostate, and there's nothing he can do to choke down the crack that splits his voice.

"Fuh-uck!" He jumps an octave or two as his voice cracks.

He's so loud, getting into it so much, imagining the toy growing, longer and thicker, twisting up inside him. Screwing into him until he's stretched wide around it, made sloppy and loose, full of slick wetness from a tentacle. Used by a tentacle that shows just how fucking deep his appetite for getting fucked and filled goes. He'll take anything.

Anything.

He's so loud that he doesn't notice until--

SLAM!

All at once, his bedroom door comes crashing open with a deafening sound, the wood hitting his wall. It's like the shaking collusion and resulting sound rattles the entire apartment.

Exactly then, Sebastian's heart stops dead from the thundering, pounding speed it was going at.

Huh?What?Who? The words rush through his mind, no meaning, just shock. He's panicked half a second later, processing more, realizing what's happening. Then, he's fucking mortified to be found by a home intruder like this but, but, it gonna be worse than that isn't it because what if they know who he is and then this gets out to the media and it will be worse than if his phone got hacked and all those photos he's send with Chr--

Chris.

Holy fucking shit.

CHRIS.

It's Chris.

And he, well, he looks like he nearly just punched the door down. One of his hands is clenched around the door knob as if he wants to dent the fucking thing while the other hovers in the air, somewhere between looking like he was about to pound on the door, knocking hard, or running through his hair, messing it up, tugging at the strands in pure sexual frustration. (He's not the only one, Sebastian had been about to start pulling his own hair to push himself over the edge.) The expression on his face is dripping in arousal--smeared and wet, so thickly, freshly painted with heat. Dark eyes. Hot cheeks. Lips swollen, red, and wet. Really, it's not just his cheeks that are flushed, he's pink all the way down to the collar of his shirt.

Was he listening to Sebastian's sounds through the door, ear pressed to it? How long was he there before he broke? Did he shoulder it open to get to him as fast as possible? Driven thoughtless and stupid by all the blood rushing to his dick? There are no answers to Seb's questions.

There's no time because, Jesus, Seb can't help but mewl, grinding harder despite his shame. The embarrassment of being caught red-handed entangles him like his imaginary tentacles, adding to the heat he already feels. He is molten. Blazing, white-hot.

Seb hardly gets just one single grind against his wet, teeth-gritting-friction-providing pillow before Chris takes one, two huge lunging steps toward the bed, clearing the room to fucking tackle him flat to the bed. He crushes him bodily to the mattress, all that height and weight, squishing him. Seb can't breathe. He doesn't want to. Even through his clothes, Chris is furnace-hot, he feels good. So solid and heavy and good.

Chris barely has half the mind to growl, "surprise."

Meanwhile, Seb just moans.

Chris hardly has his mitts on him, his blunt fingernails digging into his bare flesh, but Sebastian already knows where this is going. He knows what Chris is going to do to him, and he's ready, out of his mind, to beg for it.

He's so, so totally naked, exposed, while Chris clings to the illusion of being restrained and unaffected, covered head to toe by his everyday clothes. Chris is going to use that, the sham of being controlled.

Chris is going to order him around, shove him around.

Chris is going to embarrass him until Seb's sure he's going to melt into the ground from sheer mortification.

Chris is going to make him cum with the toy before he fucks him. He will fuck him but... first--once he puuuulls the toy out slowly and shoves it in deep, seeing what Seb's working with--Seb will have to admit why he has a monster toy shoved into him.

What about it?

Why's it hot?

What's going on here, baby? This is so dirty, even for you.

There will be no way around it, no way out, for Sebastian. He'll have to stutter and whine and choke through his confession. He's going to have to spread himself open more than just physically, moaning about how he couldn't stop thinking about it, too curious, sobbing over toe-curling the texture, gasping with the thought of being completely pinned, helpless to stop it, writhing at the idea of being taken from every angle.

It'll make Chris smirk, doing that evil thing with the curl of his lips and quirk of one eyebrow. Too hot for his own good. Sebastian will whine, pretending to hate it, even though he can't stop shivering, can't stop begging for Chris, saying his name, clawing at him, clinging to him, cumming when Chris promises to give it to him. He wants to be overwhelmed? Chris can overwhelm him.

Just you wait and see, baby. Just to wait and see...

Jokes on Sebastian, though, because none of that will actually happen if he blacks out from heart-attach-inducing lust before Chris can do anything.

P.S. I hope that was worth the wait! (And thanks for reading this far, lol)

[singsweetmelodies]

Hello Katie 👋🏼👋🏼 :D

For the 50 romance prompts ask meme, I'll like to request for 44: soulmate AU: timers <3

but if possible... with a twist...? (you don't have to include a twist if it's too difficult to work it in!)

The twist being, for whatever reason, their countdown timers for each of them to the time they meet their soulmates doesn't match, so they think "we're not each other's soulmates. that's cool. (no it's not)" but it turns out that they're each other soulmates anyways. or they choose to be with each other in spite of not being each other's soulmates. idk. *nervous laughter*

hiiii charlotte 🥰 first off, i am SO sorry for the incredible delay with this answer!! i saw this prompt and i absolutely LOVED IT (and the twist!! 🙏 *chef's kiss*) but unfortunately i got struck with a horrible case of writer's block/work deadlines, and just couldn't get to it at all.

until yesterday: i decided to just open my inbox and see what came to me. no thinking, just following the vibe of a prompt and writing. and uh. this happened... not only did it get ridiculously long (oops?) but it also somehow became a mini "investigate montreal" fic?? so in that vein, i'm tagging @1016week and submitting a belated entry for Day 6 "Montreal"... ❤️

i love this one. hope you love it too!! 👀⌚

~

Charles' soulmate timer stops when he is seven years old, and he meets the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

He's been vibrating with excitement all weekend - not just because it's a karting cup, but because his soulmate timer has been ticking down to this day for months now. Well, not just months, not really. It's actually been his whole life, but Charles doesn't remember all of that. He only remembers the past few months, when the little numbers had been getting smaller and smaller, until there were only ten days left and Charles gasped when he realised that the day would fall on the same day as the Bridgestone Cup.

"Of course the girl I marry is going to like racing, too," he'd told Maman and Papa, confidingly. Not a lot about soulmates made much sense to him, but this did.

His Maman had tried to smile, and Charles had hugged her tight to let her know it was going to be okay. He would find his soulmate, and then everyone would be smiling, because that's what people do when you meet your soulmate.

(Later that night, when Charles had been too excited to sleep and he'd gone to the bathroom quickly, Charles had heard his parents having an argument in their room. The door was closed, so their voices were muffled, but Charles could still make out his Maman saying "I just don't think it's a good sign, to meet your soulmate so young!" But Papa had countered, "Many people do, and they have beautiful stories. You have to trust that our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow." And then there had been an icky noise, like kissing, and Charles had flushed the loo quickly and ran back to his room.)

Now, with the beautiful blue eyed boy standing in front of him, Charles thinks of Papa's words again. Our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow.

Charles thought it would be a girl who really liked karting, but this is even better. This is a boy who wins at karting, because he's holding a trophy in both hands and grinning like he couldn't be happier.

Of course Charles' perfect match would be someone who wins at karting. It's only right, because Charles also wins at karting.

Charles clears his throat. "Hi," he says shyly, and the blue-eyed boy jumps.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he says apologetically, and then he laughs. He has a nice laugh, Charles thinks - like he knows how to have fun. "You are a bit short," the blue-eyed boy adds, and hey.

"Hey," Charles protests. "I'm tall for my age. I'm seven."

"Well, I'm nine," the blue-eyed boy says, like that's the most impressive age in the world.

It is a bit impressive, but not very, because Lorenzo is much older than that. Still, it is a little scary - Charles is only seven. What if this blue-eyed boy doesn't like him because he's only seven? Older kids can be mean like that.

No, he is your perfect match, Charles reminds himself. This blue-eyed boy won't be mean to him, because that's not how perfect matches work.

Charles takes a deep breath, then he sticks out his hand. "I'm Charles," he says.

The blue-eyed boy takes his hand, and it feels... weird. A little bit like when you get shocked by static electricity.

Charles giggles, unable to stop himself, and the blue-eyed boy smiles, as though he likes that.

"Hello, Charles. I'm Pierre," he says, squeezing Charles' hand. His eyes widen a moment later. "Oh! You've met your soulmate?!"

Charles doesn't understand what he means. "Well, yeah," he says. "It's y-"

And then he notices it.

Pierre's soulmate timer, right there on his wrist, right above where Charles is gripping his hand - it's still ticking.

Now, Charles doesn't know a lot about soulmates yet, but he knows that that's not good. Not good at all.

"I, um," Charles stammers, and then he does the one thing Maman and Papa said you should never do to your soulmate. Charles lies.

"I met so many new people today. I don't remember who it was."

Pierre's face falls. "Oh," he says, and he sounds unbearably sad for Charles. "But..." He chews his lip, shaking his head with a deep frown.

Then, mid-shake, Pierre's expression changes to one of determination. "I will help you find them," he says, with the kind of confidence Charles can only dream of when he's not on the racetrack.

He tugs on Charles' hand - which he still hasn't let go of - and Charles is helpless to do anything but follow.

~

They don't find Charles' soulmate anywhere, of course, and then Charles has to go win his race - but Pierre makes him promise that they will find each other at the next French karting event, and Charles will tell him all about his soulmate.

Charles promises, even though the idea makes his stomach feel all funny. I shouldn't be lying to my soulmate, he thinks, guiltily.

But Pierre's soulmate timer didn't stop ticking, and... that's not how soulmates are supposed to work.

The moment he's in the car with his father after the race, heading back home, Charles asks him about it.

Papa is quiet for a long moment, then: "Are you sure there wasn't someone behind Pierre, Charles?" he asks, in his careful, kind way. "Someone who's timer stopped at the same time as yours?"

Charles thinks about it for a moment, but even the idea of that feels - wrong, somehow. Like going into a corner and knowing you braked too hard, and you're going to flip the kart.

He shakes his head decisively. "No," he says. "It's Pierre."

He hears rather than sees his father blow out a soft sigh. Charles catches his eye in the rearview mirror, feeling confused and a little shaky inside.

When Papa sighs like that, it's never good news - it's usually something about sponsorship, which is a word Charles is already coming to dread.

It doesn't make sense how this could be about sponsorship, though. It probably isn't.

Charles waits for his father to gather his thoughts, like he needs to do sometimes to make sure he says exactly what he means. (It's something Maman keeps telling him he should try doing as well, but he's not so good at that yet.)

"You know how even the greatest racing drivers make mistakes sometimes?" Papa asks.

Charles frowns, but he nods. "Yes?"

"Sometimes the universe is like that, too. Sometimes the universe makes a mistake, and stops the timers too soon," Papa explains.

Charles frowns. He hasn't heard about that before, but he guesses it makes sense. It's true what Papa said - not even Senna was a perfect driver who never made mistakes. It makes sense that the universe is the same.

"But this doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate, okay, Charles?" Papa says before Charles can spend too much time thinking about the whole thing. His voice is firmer than Charles was expecting, and he reaches up to tilt the rearview mirror to see Charles better.

"It doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate," he repeats, like he doesn't want Charles to ever doubt that. "It just means it's going to be a little harder to find them."

Charles frowns, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. Isn't the whole point of soulmate timers to make it easier to find your perfect match?

It's just his luck that his soulmate timer doesn't work properly.

"I understand," Charles says, though, because he can tell it's important to his father.

Papa nods, but he keeps watching Charles in the rearview mirror for the rest of the drive, like he sometimes does after a race where Charles crashed the kart badly and he needs to keep making sure that Charles is fine.

Of course Charles is fine. He doesn't think this is comparable to a bad race at all! It's a little annoying, yes, but it's not that bad. It's just a bit of extra work, isn't it?

Charles shrugs his shoulders, glancing quickly down at the stopped soulmate timer at his wrist.

Whatever. Racing is more important than soulmates, anyway.

~

Almost twenty years later, Charles still says that to himself almost every day, even if he doesn't believe it with nearly the same careless seven-year-old confidence anymore: racing is more important than soulmates.

It is, because it has to be.

The thing is this: his father's explanation to Charles' seven-year-old self had been true - if a little oversimplified, and painted with an overt layer of kindness.

The truth Charles knows now is that there are two reasons, two categories, for people whose timers stop when the other person's keeps running.

One is, like Papa had said all those years ago, a simple case of mistaken timing - cases where the universe or fate or whatever controls it all stopped one person's timer a little too soon, or the other's a little too late.

It's harder to find each other in those cases, but it's still quite possible.

And then there's the second category. The unrequiteds. People whose timers stopped at the right time - when they met the person who would be their perfect match - except that they are not that person's perfect match in return. It only goes one way.

It's rare, but it happens sometimes. No system is perfect, after all - not even a system of soulmates.

For years and years, Charles tried to convince himself that he fell into the first category. His soulmate timer simply stopped too early, by some cosmic accident - but it's okay, Charles insists to everyone who asks and to himself as well, because what it's done is given Charles more time to focus on his racing instead. He's not constantly glancing down at his wrist and wondering when his timer is going to stop ticking - he can just get on with the racing.

He'll find his soulmate eventually, but on his own terms. There's nothing bad about that, surely.

Charles believes that. Really he does.

Except.

Except, if it's true and Charles falls into the first category - the mistaken timing category - then it would mean Pierre isn't his soulmate.

Pierre, who kept the promise he'd made to a seven-year-old who wasn't even his soulmate (because, yes, he had found Charles at the very next French karting cup, and he'd asked to meet Charles' soulmate - and when Charles had to admit that he still hadn't found them, Pierre had hugged him and told him not to give up and that he would find his soulmate someday. Pierre had held Charles' hand and explained that his parents almost didn't find each other, but they did. So it might take Charles some time, but that was okay, because it had taken Pierre's parents some time too, but now they were happier than ever. He'd been so convincing, firm but kind and absolutely sure of himself, and he'd made Charles believe it. He also made Charles smile, genuinely and truly, when he promised he'd stick by Charles' side no matter what anyone else said or whispered about his stopped soulmate timer.)

Pierre, who kept that promise about sticking with Charles, too. Pierre who never stopped being kind, and loyal, and the best friend Charles could ask for, whether he was seven or thirteen or nineteen or twenty-six.

Honestly, how was Charles supposed to not fall hopelessly in love with him?

He tried to deny it. For years and years, Charles tried to deny it - I will find my soulmate someday and it will all make sense, he'd tried to convince himself - but the thing was, what made more sense than Pierre being his soulmate?

It was roundabout the time of Pierre's first win (when Charles was standing under the podium in Monza with an aching back but a heart soaring with joy for his best friend despite the disaster of his own race) that Charles resigned himself to the truth: Pierre is his soulmate.

He has to be. Isn't a soulmate meant to be your perfect match; the person who understands you better than anyone and makes you happier than any other person in the world?

There's nobody else who could make Charles as happy as Pierre does. Nobody, nobody. There's no point in even trying to deny it anymore.

Pierre is his soulmate. But he is not Pierre's.

And that's okay. It's okay.

It has to be.

~

It isn't okay, not really, but that's true of a lot of things in Charles' life, and he's learned how to deal with them. He can deal with this, too.

On the whole, Charles thinks he does a pretty good job of dealing with it. He gets to be Pierre's best friend, after all - isn't that just a different kind of soulmate? True, Charles might want more, but it isn't like he has nothing. He has Pierre, and he will have Pierre for the rest of their lives.

Not in the way he wants, but - at least he will have Pierre.

The one thing he tries never to think about is Pierre's actual soulmate. Because Pierre has one, he knows, and he will meet them at some point.

Charles doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to look at some soulmate of Pierre's, and smile at her, and not be hopelessly, heartbreakingly jealous.

(He will do it, though. He will learn to smile at Pierre's soulmate - for Pierre's sake. He'll do it for Pierre.)

But that's a bridge he will cross when they get there. He doesn't have to worry about it yet (or at least, that's what Charles keeps telling himself even as the months tick by, and he knows there aren't year figures left on Pierre's soulmate timer anymore. Just months now, and then... weeks.)

Charles isn't thinking about it. He's put it out of his mind completely - which is easy enough to do, thankfully, given everything that's been happening on-track this season.

That's probably why he accepts Pierre's invitation to dinner in Montreal without thinking twice about it. (Even if he had realised, though, Charles doesn't think he would have been able to say no, either. He would give Pierre everything, if he only asked.)

So they go to dinner in Montreal, and it's perfect, and wonderful, and laughter-filled, and all in all exactly what Charles needed to distract himself from the fact that he has yet another engine penalty, and the sinking feeling that the championship is beginning to slip out of his reach.

Pierre seems to realise it, because he's in even finer form than usual - teasing Charles and tickling his ribs playfully and making him laugh at every possible opportunity.

Even on the drive back to the hotel: they stop at a red light, and Pierre steals Charles' cap, and Charles is giggling and filming it while Pierre is giggling back, and he's pretty sure neither of them are thinking about it at all, until-

Until Pierre's face changes from laughter to something almost ashen. "Charles," he says, and for all the years Charles has known him, he's never once heard Pierre's voice like that. "My soulmate timer just stopped."

For a few seconds, the words don't even register in Charles' mind.

Then they do, and Charles can feel his heart drop. "What?" he breathes.

His hands shake, and he doesn't even register the fact that the light has gone green as he glances all around them, craning his neck to see if there's anyone behind the white Ferrari, or around to the side.

Just a few minutes ago, their car had been surrounded by fans on all sides, all jostling to try and get pictures of them. But now, somehow, they're all alone in the Montreal night.

(The irony of it all is not lost on him - is this how Pierre felt all those years ago, when he was trying to look for Charles' soulmate at a karting cup, but not finding anybody it could be?)

"Are you sure it stopped just now? And not earlier?" Charles asks, willing his voice not to shake.

"Yeah," Pierre whispers. He sounds... devastated.

"But," Charles says, and then he has to take a deep breath. "But there's no-one else here, Pierrot."

"I know," Pierre says, somehow even softer.

Charles' fingers clench reflexively around the steering wheel, and he's moving in blank autopilot as he puts the car into gear and starts driving forward again.

He doesn't even realise he's shaking his head until Pierre says softly, "Charles." There's something wounded about it.

Charles stops shaking his head and slams on the brakes instead, jerking the car into something he hopes is a parking space at the side of the road.

"I don't understand," he says, far more calmly than he feels. "You can't - I can't be your soulmate."

Okay, maybe he's not so calm after all. But he doesn't think... he doesn't think anyone would be calm, in this situation.

Pierre makes a sound that could almost be a laugh, except that it sounds too strangled. "Do you know," he says, "that I have spent half my life wondering if the soulmate system got something wrong in my case? Because if you're not my soulmate, then who is? Who could possibly..."

Pierre does laugh this time, shaking his head. "You know, I asked to go out with you tonight for a reason. I knew - I knew it would happen tonight, so I needed to..." He swallows. "I needed to see you, one last time. Before I wouldn't be allowed to love you anymore."

It jolts through Charles then, what Pierre is trying to say. "Pierre," he breathes, and now it's his turn to say his best friend's name in a way he doesn't think he's ever said it before.

But Pierre's not finished yet. "I thought I could have one last night with you," he says. "One last night, before I had to say goodbye to my feelings, and try to love someone else."

My feelings. Try to love someone else.

Charles Leclerc is a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them. He knows what Pierre is saying. He's...

Pierre loves him too. All along, Pierre has loved him too.

Only, he never had the option of thinking we're soulmates, Charles realised, and his heart twists in his chest.

Because Charles, for all that he accepted his soulbond toward Pierre was unrequited - at least he'd had the option of them being soulmates. Yes, it was in a twisted way, but at least he'd had that.

Pierre didn't. And he still fell in love with Charles.

The thought hits him like a shell-shock, and it's enough that Charles can only sit there for a moment, staring blankly, as Pierre continues talking beside him.

"I meant for tonight to just be a quick dinner together, something fun but normal for us," Pierre is saying, wringing his hands. "But I lost track of time. I always lose time when I'm talking to you, Charlito, I could talk to you forever - but the point is, I forgot to tell you I need to go back. I forgot that I was meant to meet my fucking soulmate tonight, because I was spending time with you, and - "

He takes a deep breath, and then he laughs again, leaning forward to drop his head into his hands. "I felt it happen, you know? I knew exactly when my soulmate timer stopped, because I could feel it, and it's - it was when I put that fucking cap on my head, Charles."

The cap that he's still wearing. Charles' 16 Ferrari cap.

Charles' hands shake as he reaches out to touch it, just the brim. "Your soulmate timer stopped when you put my cap on," he says, because a part of him still can't believe that this is real, that he's not living in some kind of heartbreakingly wonderful dream.

Pierre straightens up so fast that Charles is left with his fingers dangling awkwardly in mid-air. "Yes," he says, suddenly looking wild, "but this doesn't have to change anything, Charlito, I promise. I will still help you find your soulmate, and I will - I'll learn how to live with an unrequited bond, it's -"

"No!" Charles interrupts, half-throwing himself across the car to catch hold of Pierre's hands. "No, no, no, no. No more unrequited bonds, Pierrot."

Pierre starts to shake his head, but then he stops in the middle of the movement. "What do you mean," he asks, very carefully, "no more?"

And suddenly, Charles feels giddy, of all things. "I mean, your timer didn't stop when mine did. So for years, I have thought that we can't be soulmates, or at least that you couldn't be my soulmate. But now your timer stopped when you put on my cap, so -"

"Stop, stop, stop," Pierre says, squeezing Charles' hands tightly. "What do you mean, my timer didn't stop when yours did?"

"Oh," Charles says, and then he winces, the weight of the only real lie he's ever told his best friend (the only real lie he's ever told his soulmate) settling onto his shoulders with uncomfortable heaviness. "Um. Well. Do you remember when we met, and you thought I already met my soulmate?"

"No," Pierre breathes, but it's not the kind of no that says "no I don't remember." This no is more like "no way."

"Yeah," Charles says, and he can't help but look down at his own wrist, where the soulmate timer has been stopped for years and years. "My timer stopped the moment I met you, Pierrot."

"You..."

Pierre doesn't look like he knows how to finish that sentence, but Charles understands him anyway. "How was I supposed to tell you? I was seven, Pierre, and your timer didn't stop. I thought it was a mistake for years."

"But?" Pierre asks, like he can tell there was a but.

Charles beams at him. "But, I realised that there was nobody else who could be my perfect match. So I thought you were my soulmate after all, but it was unrequited."

"Never," Pierre says with a fierceness Charles doesn't expect. "Charles, never. If I knew... if I thought I had even half a chance, I would have been with you anyway."

Charles tries to laugh, but it comes out all breathless. "No you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would," Pierre argues, and his voice is heartbreakingly sincere. "I don't care. I would have chosen you."

Charles hears a punched-out noise, and it takes him a moment to realise it came from him. The next moment, he's unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing awkwardly over to sit on Pierre's lap.

It's not quite comfortable, because for all its luxury, the white Ferrari does not have a lot of leg space - but Charles doesn't think either of them give a single fuck, in this moment.

"I love you," he tells Pierre, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I've always loved you, but I never would have stood between you and your soulmate."

"Funny," Pierre says, his hands coming up to grip Charles' hips, "because that's exactly what stopped me from kissing you senseless."

"Well," Charles says, and if he grinds down just a little on Pierre's lap, he'll swear to everyone who asks that it was accidental. "It doesn't have to stop us anymore."

"Never again," Pierre agrees, tightening his grip on Charles' hips. "Never."

"So kiss me senseless, please," Charles whispers, and then he adds "soulmate," and that's what does it. Pierre surges up and kisses him, wild and desperate and more than a little clumsy, but without question the best kiss Charles has ever had. His own cap digs into his forehead a little, but Charles can't even bring himself to care about that - they owe too much to this cap now, honestly.

Maybe the universe does know what it's doing after all, Charles thinks. Maybe the universe just wanted to write a good story for them. A story that goes like this:

Charles' soulmate timer stopped when he was seven years old, and he met the boy with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.

Almost twenty years later, Pierre's soulmate timer stopped in a white Ferrari in Montreal, and Charles finally got to kiss the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, the man who is his best friend and his soulmate.

The odds of it working out this way have to be... a million to one, probably, or maybe even less.

But then again, what are the odds that two boys who met at a French karting cup and became friends with a shared dream would both make it to Formula 1?

Maybe the answer is just that Pierre and Charles have always liked beating the odds.

~

(50 Romance Prompts Ask Meme) <- not currently taking more prompts, sorry!

[vyxated]

finally answering asks I've been keeping for a while ~.~

📝 sims2 & chalk'd ui, phone icons & wallpapers, cas bg recolor, font replacement, and some more (reshade & rig helper asks will be answered at another time ;; )

tysm anon!! I had to wrestle a bit with the file to make the taxi image work, and at the end it came out looking super neat! Especially if you have the sims 2's music playing (found a super cool music override that does that). It's such a cool idea, and I've been researching on how to do it 😆 ngl, making cc objects is something I wanna do someday, tho from the looks of it it's gonna take me a while to understand the process lol. If/when I make any breakthrough, I'll be sure to post about it :p (It'd be neat if it costs money too to use the taxi.)

jdfklsjf tysm @hellofears & @oshinsimblr !! I've been doing some final adjustments so hopefully I can release it within this week c:

thanks anon ^7^ you can replace them as long as you have access to the files (pancake1 made a pie menu & wants sound replacement and buurz replaced the in-game music with ones from other sims games). I looked around and found these resources you might want to check out: TS4 Sound Tool, UI sound kit & UI audio instance list

hehe tysm anon! My UI mods won't remove the shop icon so you'll need to grab other mods that do that. I decided not to do it myself to avoid having a new mod conflict ^^

Hii @simplyamazingsims, I've tested both mirroredup & triple mirror and both v3 files are working w/ the latest update. The reflection setting must be set to low or higher for the reflection to show up. You can also try clearing your caches and try removing the resource.cfg file (file will regenerate, and doing this fixes the issue for some). Oh and ofc having other cas backgrounds can cause mine to not show up so make sure there's only one in your mods folder ^^

@claravizeu it's a map override that I'll probably work on whenever I'm in the mood 😆

Hi anon! For the phone icons, I used xosdr's phone icons psd to create mine. For the wallpaper, I haven't found someone who've gathered & shared the files for it, so I'll see if I can do that myself :)

Heyy anon, it's a CAS bg that I made for the previews so it's not available to download. I haven't got the chance to prepare the files yet, but I'll try to find the time to do so ^^

Hey anon, unfortunately the notification wall is associated w/ the texture file that handles most of the UI panels, so you won't be able to remove a specific file to achieve it. I've received a request just like yours so what I can do is share it a separate file later on ^^

Hii as well, it's compatible yes ^^ you can use both mods as they don't have any files in common that conflicts with each other.

heyy @icyaliyah, sorry it took a while to respond! While I don't have plans to recolor them, you can download these pink recolors by estellics & dumbabie ^^ and thank you very much!

Hii as well, it's been a while so I don't know if you're still having the issue or if it's already been fixed. Afaik my mod shouldn't cause any loading issues on its own, as well as if you have the conflicting mod & files present and if you remove the conflicting files. So far, I've not received any reports of this exact issue, so I can't be of help. Sorry if that doesn't answer your question 😅

ahhhh @veone thank you as well for using it ever since it came out!! 🙈

Heyy anon, basically you'd want to only remove the files that conflicts w/ the mods that you do use, and not the other way around. For example, if you use TOOL, you'd want to delete the files in the Additional Files > TOOL folder (either both text and texture files or just the text file alone, depending on which one you prefer). If you don't use TOOL, keep the files be. So, if you only have the UI Cheats mod and none of the listed conflicting mods, then you don't need to remove any files ^^

heyy @swithdream, well very belated happy new year to you as well despite it being april already lol there's an update to the cas organizers that I haven't done yet, and when the time comes that I update those, I'll try to include the psds for all the templates I did ^^

Hii @kneptoone, it's a font replacement using TS3's Helvetica Rounded font that I made & haven't shared yet, yeah ^^ I can try putting it up for download since there isn't one out yet.

Heyy anon, I've been focusing on other things so I haven't yet found the time to work on my older uploads >< I'm definitely interested in doing those, but not sure when that'll be.

Hello anon, tysm! I'll do it at some point but not sure when :x I haven't properly played around w/ CAS since last year :X

[least-carpet]

hello!! 👀 (for the au ask game)?

Hello!! This is so extremely belated, I'm very sorry.

One AU I will never write is one I've outlined loosely in its entirety (so maybe I should just post the outline?) and it's the AU where Jin Ling is a cis girl. This is one of my earliest attempts to answer the question "what would actually make Jiang Cheng happy?" and it involved the conclusion of "Jin Ling living in Lotus Pier and inheriting without the sect being absorbed into the Jin." And I felt like I could make it happen for girl!Jin Ling!

Because the Jin Sect especially sucks, Jin Ling being a girl removes her from the line of succession. She's still given to Jiang Cheng to care for, and like canon Jin Ling, she splits time between both sects with the understanding that she still technically belongs to the Jin, despite them being unwilling to make her sect heir. After Jin Guangshan dies, Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng come to an unofficial agreement that she will marry a Jiang disciple of suitably high cultivation and rank and inherit the sect that way.

Jin Rusong, the only available male heir who's not Mo Xuanyu, is watched like a hawk and doesn't get murdered. (I am agnostic re: whether Jin Guangyao had him killed or not. Either way, needing a direct heir and there being more of a reason to expect Rusong to be at risk are both elements that could change the outcome there.) He's a very sweet kid, and much, much smarter than he looks, but he is spoiled to pieces, including by Jin Ling. That's her cute baby cousin! Of course he can have everything he wants!

Qin Su, having her son to protect, does not commit suicide despite finding out about the incest (although she ain't doing too good). The incest is also not revealed publicly. Unfortunately, an Evil Jin Elder—Jin Chan's grandfather—finds out about it somehow.

When Jin Ling returns to the Jin Sect to protect Jin Rusong and investigate Jin Guangyao's secret room, she gains access to—among other things—a treasure trove of blackmail material about the Jin elders.

The Evil Jin Elder, not wanting to be blackmailed or publicly dragged up on charges, blackmails Qin Su into using Jin Ling to fulfill an old written offer of marriage from the Lan sect. This solves a number of different problems for him: no more secret sect investigation, weakens Jin Rusong's faction, reaffirms now-shaky relationship with the Lan. So many birds with one stone! Qin Su is not about this but is also very, very desperate to remain in her position in order to protect Jin Rusong.

Jin Ling wakes up, bound hand and foot, in a carriage to the Lan sect, without her bow, Suihua, or Fairy. (Despite being all tied up, she still resists strenuously with her teeth. "Why does she even need that dog," says one of Evil Jin Elder's henchmen bitterly, as they haul her from carriage to palanquin.) Once there, she learns that the offer specifies a member of the inner family, but not who; and that a certain faction of elders is proposing that she be married to Lan Xichen, i.e. her uncle's secret boyfriend who killed him.

Jin Ling has never gone along quietly with anything she didn't like in her entire life. Her escape involves Lan Qiren, Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian, and Li'l Apple on a boat.

Story 1 is the story of how Jin Ling becomes the (still unmarried) heir to the Jiang sect, and it's pre-lingyi. Story 2 involves her eventual marriage, since, as Jiang Sect heir, Jin Ling needs to find a husband. She proposes (like the great-granddaughter of Genghis Khan) that any potential husband has to beat her in a contest that she chooses. Then she has to frantically brainstorm a contest of martial prowess that Lan Jingyi can beat her at. (Wrestling. It's wrestling. This is 100% because Lan Jingyi sucks at so many things and not an excuse for her to get wrestled to the ground by the goofy Lan boy with the very nice arms, Jin Rusong, how dare you insinuate things of that nature—)

[yenalogyy]

Oh Haewon | Late Surprise

Happy belated birthday to the leader!

________

The clock showed 11:50 PM. Currently sitting on the sofa in silence was Oh Haewon, staring blankly at the tv which was showing her favorite show. Even though it had shown a funny scene, she did not crack a smile even in the slightest due to how clouded her mind was.

The day was her special day, and she was getting birthday wishes from her family and friends. But there was one person who hadn’t wished her a happy birthday, nor had he even talked to her.

She constantly looked over her phone, hoping that it was her boyfriend, Jung Y/N, who’d finally revealed himself and celebrated it with her. But it wasn’t. It was one of those promotion messages you’d get every so often.

She sighed, as the clock now showed 11:58. She soon decided to get ready to sleep, when she heard her door bell ring.

*ring*

Who could it possibly be?

She peeped through the peephole, and was in awe at who had shown up on her front door. The person had an awkward smile, with a bag on one hand. She unlocked the door, and revealed herself.

“Happy birthday!” He said,

She stood there, in disbelief at what she was seeing in front of her eyes. It was the person whom she was waiting for the whole day to celebrate her special day. The person who hadn’t shown himself from the morning, until that moment.

“Haewon-ah? Happy birthday…?”

“Did you really just- purposefully wait until 11.59 to say happy birthday to me?”

“Yes. I-“

Just as he was about to explain himself, she took the door knob and was about to close the door on him. Unfortunately for her, he had quick hands which prevented her from closing it any further.

“Wait, let me explain!”

“I hate you. Go away before I close this door and snap your fingers off.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I just thought I’d do something different this year. Look! I bought a cake for you!”

“Go. Away.” She let go of the knob and pushed him slightly away. She had her head hung low, her hair covering her face making him unable to confirm her look. Soon after she sniffled as she had her hand wiping her seemingly bawling eyes.

“Hey, Haewon-ah.”

“I hate you.” Her voice sounded quavering, as she finally lifted her head, revealing to him her red eyes.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“I thought you’d forgotten about me, Y/N. Promise me that you’d never do this again, okay? I really don’t want to think that I’d lost you.”

Feeling guilty, he pulled her into his arms before giving her an answer.

“I won’t. I swear I’ll never do something that’ll make you think I’d lost my feelings for you. Cheer up, okay?” He let go of the hug, cupping her face as a smile finally showed on her face.

“Let’s go inside, Haewon-ah. Or else we’d be freezing out here.”

[band--psycho]

Jax Teller x Reader-Plans For A Belated Valentines

For @yourwinchesterbros with the request of working on Valentines Day

I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Check out the stories so far

Y/n just wanted Jax home. 

She missed him, more so than she normally did when he was away with the club on business.

It had been an extremely long and tiring day; and in all honesty, all she wanted to do was snuggle up in Jax's arms and forget about all of it, about how stressful her day had been.

And even though she knew he wasn’t going to be there when she opened the door; she felt her heart sink slightly with disappointment when she was greeted to an empty house. 

She just wanted him home. 

Normally it was okay, she could distract herself, but it seemed that everywhere she went was surrounded by couples.

Even the Tv was only showing romance movies.

Not that it was a surprise, given that today was Valentine’s Day.

Y/n planned to stay up; to try and wait for Jax to get home, so at least she could possibly spend some brief minutes with him on Valentine’s Day; but she was so exhausted.

All she wanted to do was sleep. 

And it wasn’t long before her eyes fell shut and sleep took over.

~~~~~

Jax knew what today was. 

And he hated the fact that he was away from Y/n for the whole day, and practically the entire evening. 

He was hoping he could sort things out earlier but as usual with club business, it never quite went according to plan. 

By the time he’d gotten back to charming it was already half past eleven in the evening.

He knew Y/n would be asleep; but that didn’t stop him from stopping off at the store and getting Y/n her favourite sweets and flowers to greet her the following morning with. 

He felt awful. 

He had every intention of making today special for Y/n given that it was their first proper Valentine’s Day together as a couple. 

When he opened the door, he made sure to do it as quietly as he possibly could.

And then he saw her; asleep on the couch.

He placed down the items he’d bought from the store on the kitchen counter and walked over to the sofa, kneeling down in front of Y/n. 

That’s when he noticed a little note beside her, ‘Sorry if I’m asleep by the time you get back; happy Valentine’s Day baby, I love you,’

In that moment; Jaxs heart melted.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, darlin’,” he whispered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on the side of her head. 

He’d make it up to her tomorrow.

He’d give her the best belated Valentine’s Day he possibly could. 

Right now though, she needed sleep and he certainly wasn’t going to take that away from her. 

But he also wasn’t going to let her sleep on the couch; so he carefully tucked his hands under her knees and around her back, lifting her off the couch and carrying her to bed. 

Tagging:

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