#but you know when drink and you just get sleepy

[little-jana]

"A Valentine’s Surprise"

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing

Words: 2k

Summary: You never expected much for Valentine’s Day, but Aaron Hotchner had other plans.

Valentine’s Day was never really a big deal for you. It was nice in theory, but grand gestures and romantic clichés always felt a little out of reach—especially dating someone like Aaron Hotchner.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t romantic. Quite the opposite, actually. He had his own way of showing love—quiet, steady, unwavering. He’d press a kiss to your forehead when he thought you were asleep, leave a cup of coffee on the nightstand for you in the mornings, and pull you close at the end of a long day without a single word.

But Valentine’s Day? With his schedule, you didn’t expect much.

So when you woke up that morning, finding nothing out of the ordinary, you shrugged it off. It was a workday for him, after all. You gave him a sleepy kiss before he left, told him to be safe, and went about your own routine.

What you didn’t know was that Aaron had a plan.

---

The first surprise came around noon.

Your phone buzzed with a text, and when you glanced at the screen, you saw his name.

Aaron: Check your front door.

Curious, you made your way over, unlocking the door and peeking outside. A small white box sat on the welcome mat, a neatly tied red ribbon wrapped around it. You bent down to pick it up, heart fluttering as you carried it inside.

Inside the box was a single chocolate-covered strawberry and a handwritten note.

"Something sweet to get you through the day. More to come. – A"

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. It wasn’t flashy, but it was thoughtful—so incredibly him.

---

The second surprise came a few hours later.

You were in the middle of a work call when another text came through.

Aaron: Be ready by seven. Dress warm.

Your stomach flipped. He hadn’t mentioned any plans earlier. You quickly responded, asking for details, but all he sent back was:

Aaron: Just trust me.

And you did.

---

By the time seven rolled around, you were dressed in a cozy sweater and your favorite coat, wondering what he had up his sleeve.

When you heard a knock at the door, you opened it to find Aaron standing there, looking unfairly good in his dark coat and suit. His tie was loosened just slightly, a hint of the long day he’d had, but his eyes were warm as they met yours.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you softly.

You smiled against his lips. “So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

---

The drive was peaceful, the soft hum of the radio filling the space between you. He reached over at one point, lacing his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing over your skin absentmindedly.

When he finally pulled into a small park, you glanced at him, confused. “A park?”

He just smiled. “Come on.”

You stepped out, shivering slightly at the crisp evening air, but when you turned back to him, he was already opening the trunk. To your surprise, he pulled out a thick blanket and a thermos.

Your heart melted instantly. “You planned a picnic?”

He shrugged, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “I figured we could use a quiet night.”

You let him lead you to a secluded spot where he spread the blanket on a bench overlooking a small frozen lake. He poured you a cup of hot chocolate from the thermos, handing it to you before sitting beside you, close enough that his warmth seeped into your side.

For a while, the two of you just sat there, sipping your drinks, watching the way the stars reflected on the ice. It was peaceful, intimate, perfect.

“I know I’m not always good at… things like this,” Aaron said after a moment, his voice soft. “I don’t say it enough, but I want you to know how much I appreciate you. How much I love you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned to look at him. His expression was open, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be.

“Aaron…”

“I don’t take for granted how patient you are with my job, with my hours,” he continued, shaking his head slightly. “You make everything feel lighter, even when things are heavy. I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

Your eyes stung, overwhelmed by the quiet sincerity in his words. “You don’t have to do grand gestures, you know,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his face. “Just being with you is enough for me.”

His hand covered yours, his gaze searching yours in the dim light. “Still, I wanted to do something special for you.”

You smiled. “You did.”

He exhaled, relieved, and leaned in to kiss you. It was slow, lingering, filled with all the things he didn’t always know how to say.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

You smiled, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Aaron.”

And as you sat there, wrapped up in each other, you realized—this was the best Valentine’s Day you’d ever had.

[shortviking]

Speaking as someone who has severe adrenal insufficiency (base cortisol <1) and takes hydrocortisone, I would like to really emphasize the severity of low cortisol in my reblog. Not to say that high cortisol isn't life-threatening either, but a lot of people are not aware of the sheer danger the lack of the hormone truly causes.

I'd describe chronically low cortisol as sort of a full-body shut-down. You stop being able to eat, leading to wasting away (which, by the way, if you don't get the issue properly diagnosed or if the treatment doesn't increase your appetite, which are both things that happened to me, the methods used to keep you alive are cruel and scary). Trying to eat feels like torturing yourself.

Everything hurts. Your muscles. Your bones. Your head. When I was 20 I stopped walking for nearly a month due the debilitating flank pain. I'm not sure if it was only AI at play here, but this type of pain is noted to be common in lowered cortisol, and diminished significantly when I finally got settled on hydrocortisone. Your GI system is also on fire. As I said, you are fucking hungry, and throw up even if the only thing you consumed is those drinks from the pharmacy for people who have trouble eating, that are maybe 1/15 of your daily intake.

Since it's known as a "stress hormone", the layman interpretation would be that a cushing's sufferer is "stressed" and an AI sufferer is "calm". That just isn't true. In reality it's associated with many psychiatric and neurological disorders, mainly depression, but also anxiety, sleep disturbances, severe sleepiness and fatigue, and even psychosis. Before I got diagnosed I was thought of as extremely mentally ill and took almost every antidepressant on the market. When the doctors finally listened to me I got put in neurology to rule out conditions like MS or a brain tumor because at this point the fatigue, weakness, headaches, neuropathic pain, and brain sensations I couldn't even begin to describe (like fog but very very bad) were getting unbearable.

The reason we know it as the "stress hormone" is because it's heightened during situations that are stressful on the body, so while, yes, this means high cortisol is present with stress, it also means that if your body doesn't produce the hormone, it can't cope with simple colds, for example, and the AI patient is advised to updose whenever necessary. Of course, it's contentious what situations should be considered "stressful enough" to give your body extra cortisol that would have most likely been there naturally. I've heard of a myriad of stories from people suffering because their bodies were signaling low cortisol but doctors advised against updosing.

The combination of all those factors makes the condition very lethal, either from malnutrition (less common nowadays), or an adrenal crisis, which manifests in extreme pain and fever, and needs to be treated urgently with high doses of HC. There have even been cases of people going into crisis after less than a week of not taking corticosteroids.

So let's stop demonizing cortisol, please. The puffy face I got from treatment is nothing compared to how I looked, and more importantly FELT before it.

you guys know that cortisol and adrenalin arent "toxins" right. and that chronically low cortisol is as much of a problem as chronically high cortisol. I just thought I would mention it because the advertising trends RN are even stupider than usual and it's really bothering me. like all hormones the correct amount to have is "enough" and anything higher or lower than that is bad. how bad it is depends entirely on how out of gamut your levels are for your particular needs and it's not something you can just guess at based solely on how you feel. too much and too little have a lot of identical symptoms. feeling crummy doesn't automatically mean you have "too much stress hormone", and all the marketing you see about "lowering cortisol levels" is complete nonsense. if you're stressed, removing cortisol or adrenaline from your body isn't going to automatically lower your stress levels or make you feel subjectively better. in fact the opposite is often the case.

extensive research on hormone levels and chronic and acute illnesses show that cortisol being too LOW is just as likely in CPTSD and autism (for example) as it is to be too high. low dose hydrocortisone (synthetic oral cortisol medication) self-administration is one of the more promising and effective treatments that's been trialed for fibromyalgia and ME-CFS, for example.

I'm just posting this so you have some mental resistance to the snake oil ads that are constantly circulating. cortisol is a real hormone with real effects on how you feel and how your body functions, but it's not just a chemical you can remove from your body to magically feel better. it doesn't work like that. you need cortisol for basic functions, and while having too much definitely happens and can make you sick, many chronic illnesses actually result in cortisol levels that are too low. much of the time, feelings of stress and illness result from lack of cortisol, not an abundance of it.

either way this is not an issue you can take Instagram supplements about to fix anything, so don't even be tempted. those people are trying to balance your humors and it's bullshit

[gnohomotho]

can we get some like 'junho is the type of husband' pls??? ❤️❤️❤️ doesnt have to be full story just fluff!! 🙏

Jun-ho is the type ...husband!edition 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡

Jun-ho is the type...husband!edition

Pairing: husband!Jun-ho x wife!fem!reader Warnings: F L U F F

Jun-ho is the type to wake up five minutes before you and get caught between wanting to snuggle you and kiss your forehead silly, but would absolutely never wish to disturb you. He will then fall back asleep with his body ever-so-slightly touching yours for reassurance...then sleep through three alarm clocks.

Jun-ho is the type to offer you all the blankets before you go to sleep, covering you in them, wrapping you up and squishing you through the fabric to relish your softness and delighted purrs at being so snug – and he gets to cuddle you harder without worry of hurting you with his fervour. In the middle of the night, however, all the blankets are oddly confiscated to his side of the bed, leading you to sleepy tug-o-wars. He’s very apologetic if he wakes and realises the situation.

Jun-ho is the type to warm you up and cover you being the big spoon, he loves feeling protective and close to you. When his chest is against your back, he knows you feel his heart and feels very connected to you. His hand always finds the top of your head and does little twirls in your hair as he humms in his sleep.

Jun-ho is the type to have all his clothes neatly folded by the bed, always wears a towel around his body after a shower, much as he loves and cherishes you, he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable and always acts as if it’s your first time meeting him.

Jun-ho is the type to be driven by intense adoration and affection rather than blind lust. You could put on the most racy, revealing, sensual negligée – and he will be very flattered and bashful, cheeks red and hand over eyes – but he will jump at you without warning if you’re comfortable in one of his shirts, humming to yourself and looking peaceful.

Jun-ho is the type to watch you do things, half out of protectiveness, half out of genuine curiosity. You always wonder how he manages to sneak up on you with his frame, but often you turn around to see him, smiling that wide smile to himself, as you do the most mundane tasks. Your confused “What?” is met with a little head shake and another smile.

Jun-ho is the type to get warm off your happiness – little gestures and little notes spring up around the house for you to discover, only for the little yelp of surprise or faux sigh you breathe his name in give him a small rush that makes him want to scoop you up and snuggle nose-to-nose.

Jun-ho is the type to wish to look after you, even if he knows you’re fully capable and wouldn’t ask him to. If you’re not feeling well, you get three hot water bottles and a bath drawn. And don’t even think of walking to it, he never misses an opportunity to carry you in his arms.

Jun-ho is the type to remember that one specific food, drink, item that you mention off-handily and suddenly, you discover cookbooks folded on the page of your favourite dessert and your coffee tasting more of the spice you like so much. He will never admit to it, though.

Jun-ho is the type to relish both foreplay and aftercare, with emphasis on both. He sees foreplay as the whole day he has free with you, from visiting a beautiful place with playful banter, hidden touches here and there, and lots and lots of PDA. You never knew feeding birds and sharing earphones could lead to such intimacy, but here you are.

Jun-ho is the type who loves dad jokes. Enough said.

Jun-ho is the type to be very protective of you, without bordering on uncomfortable. If you’re around people, you know his hand is very lightly hovering around the small of your back. If you’re walking together, it’s arm in arm. If you’re waiting for him, he always waits first to be aware of each aspect of his surroundings.

Jun-ho is the type to want to hold you tight, so tight he feels your bodies as one being – but is also worried he’ll hurt you, so he often walks up to you from behind and wordlessly lays his arms around your waist, holding your stomach, and gently swaying with you. The motion he feels adds intimacy and closeness.

Jun-ho is the type to remember all your anniversaries, but prefers to start celebrating them a day before their actual date, so you know he knows.

[marigold-hills]

Coming here to humbly request my beloved wolfstar at prompt 41?

of course! I was so happy to see you request. It’s turned out a little longer than I expected, hope you enjoy!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” Remus says because the truth - that he’s altogether too drunk for this - would make it stop.

They’re playing truth or dare, Marauders edition. To their left, little shot glasses spiked with Veritaserum James has been brewing in a hidden alcove behind his bed. To their right glasses full of their chosen alcohol. Remus has a cheap muggle whiskey he’d learnt to enjoy over the summer, nowhere as smooth as what they sometimes get in the Three Broomsticks but he’s fond of how it burns when he swallows.

He prefers not to examine this.

“Come on, Moonshine, truth of dare,” Sirius cajols from his spot, sprawled out as he is across the rug at Remus’ feet. Hair a tangled mess on the floor, silly little grin stretching his lips and eyes just that side of glassy from the posh gin he has swirling like golden freckles in his glass. He’s a mess. He’s beautiful.

“Truth,” Remus sighs, faux-put out. His last dare involved standing and hopping and he doesn’t think he’s got the coordination left for any more.

Peter’s asleep in the corner of the floor, head wedged underneath his four-poster. Now and then, he snores and tries to roll over. Each time the bed leg gets in his way and he bounces away, disgruntled sleepy little sounds not unlike Wormtail’s.

James had gone to get supplies from the kitchen. Ostensibly. By the way he eyed the door as Evan’s laugh rose from downstairs, Remus doesn’t think he’s really coming back.

He rather likes having Sirius’ attention all to himself, is the thing. A bad thing. Another thing he prefers not to examine.

Sirius nudges the shot of potion and Remus, still pretending to be so very against the idea, drinks.

It’s James’ very own take on Veritaserum. Not enough to make them babble away all their secrets, not enough to force them to answer against their will. Just that whatever they do say, should they choose to, can be absolutely verified as truth.

Just one way of many that James, an absolute lovesick fool he is, is actually remarkably clever.

Remus drinks the agreed upon dose (three sips) and closes his eyes against the sudden rush of floaty giddiness. It goes as fast as it came.

Sirius sits up from his sprawl, and he looks so much like Padfoot for a moment Remus has to fight himself from stroking his head. It’s an ok thing to do to a dog. Not to a man.

“You’ve been reading poetry,” Sirius says with that self satisfied little lilt he gets in his voice when he’s a few steps ahead of everyone else.

“That’s not a question,” Remus tells him.

“You’ve been reading love poetry,” and there he is, leaning forward so his chin rests on Remus’ bed, those eyes of his looking up through those lashes and even without the potion Remus would tell him anything he asked.

“You didn’t need to give me Veritaserum to discuss literature, Padfoot.”

The smile stretches. “You’re not reading your dreary sad poetry, or your creepy gothic poetry, or your too-much-description-of-the-mountains poetry. Not anymore. You’re reading about love.”

Remus freezes. Because of course Sirius would notice. He notices everything, always, without fail. “And your question?”

Sirius doesn’t look like he’s asking, his eyes have something in them like he already knows. “Who is it?”

A redundancy of words. Remus sighs. Drinks his drink - for courage, not for forfeit. “You already know, Sirius,” he says, trying to keep his voice still. “Don’t be cruel.”

Sirius pushes off the floor and climbs up onto the bed and into Remus’ lap, and that? He didn’t expect that. His hands are full of Sirius, keeping him steady so he doesn’t go toppling off.

They really are drunk. The both of them, bad as one another.

“Tell me anyway,” Sirius asks. It’s nothing like begging, maybe more like a command, but really it sounds like Sirius knows he would never be denied. There is no point in asking when the answer is already given. (With every breath and every shared cup of tea, every glance across a room.)

“You know it’s you, Sirius,” Remus tells him through the Veritaserum’s pushing, without really knowing he does.

Sirius pounces. They topple backward onto the bed, Remus spread out on the mattress and Sirius on him, across him, above him. A grin so wide his teeth show, pretty and white and perfect. He smells like the overly expensive gin he’s been drinking.

“If you kiss me because you’re drunk, I don’t think I’ll forgive you,” Remus tells him.

“How about I kiss you because I love you?”

And that? “That you should absolutely do,” Remus falters, “do you?”

Sirius grabs the nearest wand (it’s Remus’) and has his own shot glass float up to where he’s clearly unwilling to get off Remus even for a moment. He drinks the three sips. “I do,” he says, once he’s given the potion enough time to work.

It’s Remus, that kisses him first.  (List of prompts: here!)

[lieslab]

Enjoy the ride and let loose

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Vampire Chan X gn reader

Summary: A lonely vampire has been searching high and low for a new pet.

Genre: Alternate reality

Word Count: 2.1K

Trigger warning: Graphic details of blood, broken bones, brief mentions of a bar, drugs, alcohol, urine, vomit, blood, more blood, mainly blood.

A/N: Someone asked for a Chan request based off the Railway music video. So um... you know what? I have nothing to say for this. This was a written sin. My heart is fluttering and I don't even swing that way. I need to go to bed. Tomorrow, we can all touch grass together

_ _ _

Empty promises and eternal salvation from a man cannot save you. The last moments of your life speckled few and far between. Grimy memories faded between who you were and who you’ve become. The dim alleyway sparse with orange light, it wasn’t the best way to get home. 

Another night working your ass off at the bar. Overtime meant more money. Customers blended together. Drinks poured. Shot glasses chimed. Rims lined with lime and salt. Beers overflowing with foam. Spirits that quite literally possessed and inebriated everyone that consumed them. 

Not the best life, but the pay was too great to give up. So you went home when the blanket of night covered the sky. You poured, sloshed, wiped, scooped, and slipped your nights away as the keeper of spirits. Keeping tabs, shutting them, and opening another. You didn’t know what downtime was, but you knew about exhaustion. 

Four twelve hour days were kicking your ass. Days blended together. You barely remembered anything. Taking the alleyway home, collapsing on the worn floral couch, waking up soaked in the scent of someone else’s alcohol. 

The dingy bar, tough crowd, scent of tobacco and skunk. When white lines appeared, when the needles came out, you kept your head low. Just as your boss instructed you to. The less you saw, the better. 

Morally, your skin soaked with sin, but what else could you do? Life didn’t throw you the greatest hand of cards. You did what you could to get by. If that meant working your ass off, nearly collapsing in the middle of that alley on the way home, so be it. 

You picked yourself up by the bootstraps because nobody else was beside you. One more day. One more conversation from intoxicated customers. One more day of dodging empty beer bottles, dealing with screams from angry customers you cut off, and the pesky reminder from your boss. Keep your head down, stay quiet, if the cops show up, you’re just the bartender. Nothing ever happens there. 

The needles poking out the women’s bathroom trash said different. Puddles of half-digested fried greasy food littered the floor, only twice, on a good day. The men’s bathroom? You begged your boss to close it. No matter how good the drunken aim, urine missed the urinal and soaked the speckled underbelly of the flushable device. 

No matter how strong the disinfectant cleaner, the gloves provided little relief from the disgusting feeling of urine soaking your hands. It dripped off the gloves. Murky ammonia scented puddles haunted your dreams. If you weren’t consumed by the scent of booze, it was the ammonia and sweat. It never got old. 

Day five happened to be the day you met the devil. Half-asleep and stumbling in the alleyway, you narrowly dodged the dumpster behind a factory. Late at night, all the workers left hours ago. In a sleepy haze, the world spiraled out of control. 

You tipped left and over-corrected right. Your legs stumbled, your head jerked back, and a soft groan of annoyance filled the air. “Why does my goddamn house have to be so far away?” 

“It doesn’t have to be.” 

There was no time to spin around. Your eyes opened wider, just in time to find the silhouette of a hand shooting out to grab the bottom of your chin. Your eyes widened, your hand jerked upright to stop them, they grabbed your shoulder and then- 

Blinding pain. 

A sickening crunch. 

The morbid realization that your own neck could snap so easily. 

Your legs collapsed. 

An unknown laughter echoed in your ears. 

The night swallowed you whole and sucked you into its vortex. 

You didn’t make it to the sixth night of your shift alive. 

_ _ _ 

When you woke up, you were sure you were dead. An icy numbness harnessed your bones. It curdled your marrow, tucked away everything, and it stole your breath. The usual comforting stum of your heartbeat against your own chest disappeared. 

You scrambled to your feet, pushing out your hands to investigate your surroundings. Way up above, high window panels let in pale lighting, but other than that, darkness settled. It barely illuminated what you could make out to be some sort of cell. Iron bars, a heavy duty padlock wrapped around the door, and more darkness. 

Beneath your feet, a soft squishy material. Perhaps, a rubber mat? You brushed your shoe against it, trying to understand. Your sneaker scraped and then fell silent. You grabbed the bars and shook them, to no avail. 

“Easy there. You can’t get out of there if you try. Iron bars reinforced with iron, iron, and more iron.” A snicker laced an unknown’s voice. “Besides, you’re starving, aren’t you?” 

Step. Step. Step. Step. 

Chains rattled against one another. You searched around the area, not daring to push yourself too far against the bars, for fear of the unknown outside. A large white metal frame rusted away, coated with a thin layer of dust, it stretched in two different directions. Heavy footsteps wandered closer and closer until- 

Thunk. 

You didn’t recognize the man standing before you. You tried to comprehend everything about him all at once. The way his dark hair parted and framed his face. The single white eye and the other nearly dark as the night you fell victim to.

A large black leather bag dressed in small silver chains and a pair of handcuffs. He scrunched his shoulders up, relaxed, sucked in a deep breath, and smiled. “You must be starving, hm?” 

“Who are you?” 

“Who am I?” His lips tugged into a smirk. “Who am I? Who am I?” He chuckled, glanced over his shoulder, and grinned. “They want to know who I am. Should I tell them?” 

You took another step to the weathered bars. Across the way, similar cells sat, but they were a little different. The iron bars across your cell tucked you inside. On the opposite side of the hall, half-wooden stall bottoms were lined with thinner bars. 

Something shrieked and a pale hand jutted out. First one, then another, and then another. More and more lunged from the depths of darkness. Corpse-like fingers wiggled and grabbed air. Detailed veins coated the outside of their hands. Something groaned. Another soft shriek caused the man’s mood to sour. “Shut it! I didn’t ask if you were hungry!” 

“How many people are you keeping here?” 

He paused at your question and began to crane his head back towards you. “People?” You nodded, which led to another amused grin on his end. “Tell me, do you think your heart still beats with life?” 

“It has to be.” 

“And if it wasn’t?” 

Your head shook. Confused by the question and annoyed that you couldn’t get a proper response, you changed the question. “What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Christopher. As for you, my new little pet, I bet you’re starving. The new ones are always starving. Not many make it to this point. You’ve already beaten roughly ninety percent of those who have come before you.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

He didn’t respond. Instead, he squatted, ripped open the zipper, and pulled out a dark pouch. With ease, he pushed it between two bars and tossed it towards you. It landed with a soft plot at your feet. 

Nausea filled your body at the sight. You could only describe it as a pouch full of blood. His eyes didn’t leave your body. Like a predator watching a prey, he observed your every move. “Better drink up while it’s still warm.” 

“Is this a sick joke?” You whispered. Confusion filled your eyes. You glanced at him, but from the look he carried, something in you knew this was something much darker than the anger of a drunk customer. 

“Drink up.” 

Behind him, another screech. He scowled, spun around, and grabbed the closest outstretched arm. Olive skin smeared with purple bruises in the faint sunlight. He snagged their wrist and began to squeeze it. 

“How many times do I have to mend your behavior? A new pet means being on your best behavior. You know what happens to those who don’t listen to me?” 

The hands began to retreat back into the darkness. When the only hand left was the one he held, his eyebrow furrowed. “Do not. Test me. Again.” He jerked the arm up and swung the wrist in a circle. 

Another sickening crunch caused you to gag. A faceless entity shrieked and jerked its hand free. The man glared for a few moments until he sighed and spun around. Another smirk appeared on his face as he sauntered back to your cell. 

“Where were we? Ah, yes. The blood. Drink up, you’re dehydrated.” 

“What’s wrong with you? Where am I? Please,” you uttered desperately, “I just want to go home.” 

“Home? In this state?” He laughed and shook his head. “This is your home for now. Monsters get lonely, you know? Every monster deserves a pet.” 

“Please,” you whispered desperately. You stepped closer and grabbed the bars. Not caring about the filth, you pressed your face against them. “I have a job and a life. That’s all I want. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“You won’t tell anyone I kidnapped you?” He whispered, thoughtfully. 

“Never.” 

Heterochromia eyes stared at yours. His face softened for a moment and he leaned closer. The scent of metallic blood hit your nose, but it didn’t stop you from trying to sway the stranger. 

“Promise?” He asked. 

He stopped your nod by grabbing your chin. “Interesting.” You stayed still, allowing him to run a thumb across your bottom lip. Nerves bombed your stomach and then dived back up like military helicopters. 

You didn’t pull away and you didn’t breathe. The soft pad of his thumb traced your lips again. “You know, I’ve always dreamed of someone like this. To have something, a pet, to share companionship.” 

You kept quiet, hoping it’d work out in your favor. Too busy studying his eyes and focusing on his face, you didn’t catch his second hand drifting towards the leather pouch. His sharp nail punctured another warm pouch. 

“Even monsters can get lonely.” 

For whatever reason, you clung to every word; a pastor preaching a convicting sermon, a sinner and a saint, a monster and a pet. Something pulled you to him, but you couldn’t explain it. Otherworldly and unnatural, it oddly felt comforting. 

“Open.” His thumb tapped your bottom lip. Your lips parted and his eyes lit up. “So obedient, just the way I like them. Stay like that for me.” His thumb went up and began to brush along the side of your cheek. “There you go. I won’t hurt you.” 

Before you could understand it, plastic filled your mouth. His other hand wrapped around your chin. You tried to jerk away, but you couldn’t. In an iron grip, he squeezed the bag of blood. The metallic taste filled your mouth and your face scrunched. 

“Shh. Just swallow. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you. I know it’s weird at first, but trust me. This is for your own good. Come on, swallow for me. Come on, sweetheart.” An index finger slipped down your throat, trying to coax you into submission. 

You hesitated, but followed his instructions. “Ah, there you go. Not too bad, hmm?” 

When your eyes pulled away to look over his shoulder, he gently squeezed your chin again. Your eyes met his and your legs felt weak. “Don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

He squeezed the plastic bag more. Sticky liquid pulsed into your parted lips. Too much, some dripped down the corner of your mouth. It fell down your cheek, slid beneath your chin, and drifted towards your shirt. 

“Such a messy little pet. How cute.” His thumb stretched out before you could stop him. He caught the end of the trail, hooked his thumb between his lips, and sucked.

You should have stepped back. He let go of your chin. You should have pulled away, but instead, you didn’t move. You watched in awe. Those feelings of fear drifted away. You swallowed without being instructed. 

The fresh blood rushed through your brain and awakened something in your soul. Something ignited and that sleepy haze disappeared. The man’s dimpled smile stretched once more.  “I think we’re going to do great things together, little pet.” 

Staring back at him, you couldn’t respond. Caught in his trance, the moans of pain and shrieks of horror from the unknown bodies behind him, none of it mattered. It didn’t matter that you were sipping someone’s blood. 

You died in that alleyway, but in the middle of this abandoned prison, something deadly; and far more intoxicating than alcohol, bloomed in your bones.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[celestemona]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐒

and you aren't around so they're in charge of their children.

pairing: dad & husband! alhaitham, kaveh, kaedehara kazuha, lyney, wriothesley x fem! reader

cw: original characters, domesticity, fluff. characters may look a bit ooc or not. you also may find some grammar mistakes so forgive me in advance. thank you <3

reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡

Alhaitham

Hakim stirred restlessly beneath the blankets, his small face flushed with fever as his jade-green eyes slowly blinked open. A soft whimper escaped his lips, catching your attention, seated at the edge of his bed, pressing a damp cloth against his forehead.

“How are you feeling, my love?” you asked gently, brushing aside strands of his silver hair.

Hakim mumbled, burrowing deeper into the warmth of the covers. “It hurts, mummy... 'm hot…”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and your husband stepped inside, his usual impassive expression in place, though his gaze softened slightly at the sight of his son.

“I'll stay with him today,” Alhaitham said simply, crossing his arms.

You blinked. “Are you sure? Won't they miss you at work or—”

“It doesn’t matter,” his voice left no room for debate. “Hakim needs someone here, and you have an important meeting to attend.”

You hesitated but then sighed, gratitude shining in your eyes. “Thank you, dear.” You pressed a kiss to Hakim's temple before standing up. “I'll leave some potions and instructions in the kitchen. Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids.”

Alhaitham gave a small nod, already rolling up his sleeves. “Go. He's in good hands.”

“I know he is,” you smiled softly and left, casting one last glance at your son before slipping out the door.

The morning that followed was mostly spent with Alhaitham staying by Hakim’s side, ensuring his comfort. Carefully, he fed the boy warm herbal soup, patiently insisting that he take slow sips, even when Hakim scrunched up his face at the taste.

“It's bitter…” Hakim murmured, wrinkling his nose.

“It's medicine, not dessert,” Alhaitham replied flatly. “You need to take it to get better.”

With a small sigh, Hakim relented, leaning tiredly against his father as he took another reluctant sip.

When the fever made Hakim restless, Alhaitham prepared a lukewarm bath, carefully lowering his son into the water. His touch was firm but gentle as he washed away the sticky sweat clinging to the boy’s skin. Hakim whimpered when the cooler water trickled over his forehead, but Alhaitham ran a calming hand through his damp hair, murmuring, “I know, Kim. Just a little longer.” 

When Hakim was finally cleaned and dressed with a new and fresh pair of pajamas, the scribe carried him back to bed, tucking him snugly beneath the covers. The soft hum of the ceiling fan and the steady presence of his father seemed to soothe the little boy, allowing him to finally rest.

It didn't take too long for Alhaitham also notice Hakim’s fever began to subside as his breathing grew more even. Seizing the opportunity, Alhaitham went about tidying the house—washing the dishes, straightening the furniture, and even preparing a simple but nutritious meal for later.

Once everything was in order, he headed to Hakim’s bedroom again and checked his asleep form from the doorframe, humming in satisfaction at the relaxed sight in the boy's features. With everything running as good as it could possibly be, Alhaitham finally settled onto the couch back in the living room, a book in hand, savoring the rare silence.

But it didn’t last long.

A small, sleepy voice called across the hall. “Baba?”

Alhaitham closed his book, immediately standing and making his way to Hakim’s room. The boy was sitting up, his eyes drowsy but alert. Without a word, Alhaitham effortlessly scooped him up, carrying him back to the couch.

“I'm here,” he murmured as he sat down, cradling Hakim against his chest. The boy clung to him sleepily, nuzzling into his father’s warmth.

Alhaitham picked up his book again and opened it. “Want me to read to you?”

Hakim gave a small nod, and without changing his calm tone, Alhaitham began reading his current text—an academic study on the evolution of Teyvat language.

The words were dense and complex, but the steady rhythm of his father’s voice lulled Hakim into a peaceful state, his blinks growing slower and slower.

By the time Alhaitham reached the end of the chapter, Hakim was already fast asleep.

A rare, faint smile touched Alhaitham’s lips as he adjusted a blanket around his son, pressing a silent kiss to his silver hair.

The house remained quiet, but this time, it was a comforting kind of silence.

Kaedehara Kazuha

The Kaedehara estate was unusually quiet that first night without you. 

Kazuha sat on the floor with Haruki nestled against his chest, his tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of his father’s haori. The little one had been fussier than usual, missing the warmth of his mother’s presence. Kazumi and Kiyomi sat on either side of him, their faces a mix of uncertainty and longing.

“Mama will be back soon, I promise,” Kazuha murmured, gently rubbing Haruki’s back. “But in the meantime, we must carry on and make the most of our days.”

Kiyomi leaned her head against Kazuha’s shoulder, letting out a little sigh. “I miss her…”

Kazumi, trying to be strong for his younger siblings, nodded but kept quiet. He wouldn’t admit how much he missed you too. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with Kiyomi ‘s, squeezing her hand.

That night, Kazuha tucked them all into bed with extra care. Haruki, after much rocking, finally drifted into a peaceful sleep. Kiyomi clutched one of your scarves as she dozed off, and Kazumi, despite his usual independence, asked if Kazuha would stay until he fell asleep. Kazuha did, running his fingers gently through his firstborn’s hair until his breathing evened out.

By the third day of your absence, though, the household had found a rhythm. Kazuha had planned small adventures to keep the children engaged. 

In the morning he’d reserve his time to help the older kids with their homework, his calm voice guiding them through difficult subjects. However, as soon as they got restless, he’d take all of them outside to the garden, where they played or trained together—Kiyomi, full of energy, attempting to mimic her father’s fluid sword techniques, and Kazumi practicing precise movements with quiet focus. Haruki, too small to participate, sat comfortably in his playpen, giggling at his siblings’ enthusiasm and having fun with his own toys as well.

Afternoons were filled with quieter moments, though.

Kazuha would prepare a meal, tying an apron around his waist as he balanced Haruki on his hip. Kiyomi eagerly assisted, though her true goal seemed to be sneaking tastes of the ingredients, while Kazumi helped set the table. After meals, Kazuha would help them to bathe and after everything was done, he'd gather everyone in the living room to read fairytale books to them—the soothing melody of his voice lulling Haruki into peaceful naps. Kiyomi would often lean against him, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth coming from her father's body, while Kazumi listened intently, his expression relaxed.

As the last afternoon before your return arrived, Kazuha gathered the children. “What’d you guys like to do today?”

“Street market!” Kiyomi and Kazumi chorused in excitement and Haruki clapped, almost like in agreement.

And so, the four of them ventured into town.

The marketplace was bustling with life—vendors calling out their wares, the scent of freshly grilled skewers wafting through the air, and colorful lanterns swaying overhead. Kazuha carried Haruki in one arm while holding Kiyomi’s hand in the other, with Kazumi walking confidently beside him.

“Ooh! Dango! Can we have one, please, 'tōchan?” Kiyomi blinked cutely.

Kazuha chuckled but agreed, purchasing a few sticks, ensuring Haruki had a small, soft piece to nibble on as well. 

They then stopped by a goldfish-scooping stall, where Kiyomi leaned forward with intense focus, trying to catch a golden fish.

“Careful now, Kiki,” Kazumi teased. “You don’t want to break the paper too fast.”

“I know what I’m doing!” the little girl huffed, her tongue sticking out slightly in determination. With careful precision, she managed to scoop up a small, wriggling fish, beaming proudly.

Kazumi gave it a try too, and while he had an air of confidence, his first scoop tore almost instantly. “Eh?” He blinked in surprise before laughing. Kazuha smiled beside him. 

“Even the steady hand of a swordsman can falter.”

With the sun beginning to set, they picked up some sweet pastries to bring home, a treat to celebrate the end of their eventful week.

Back to the estate, as the children helped set the table for dinner, Kazumi and Kiyomi whispered excitedly about their surprise at your return. Kiyomi arranged a bouquet of wildflowers they had gathered earlier, while Kazumi wrote a small welcome-home poem on a slip of parchment.

“I’ll make it extra pretty so mama loves it!” she declared proudly.

Haruki, too young to contribute much, remained in Kazuha’s arms, drowsily sucking on his pacifier. Kazuha smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to each of his children's heads. “I think she’ll be very happy to see all of you.”

And as the evening settled, Kazuha couldn’t help but feel a deep warmth in his heart. Even in your absence, your family had flourished, finding joy in each other’s company. Soon, you’d return, and your home would feel complete once more. But for now, he cherished the quiet laughter of his children, the scent of fresh flowers, and the anticipation of a joyful reunion.

Kaveh

Kaveh heaved a deep sigh as he stepped into his home, rolling his sore shoulders and rubbing his temple. The day had been grueling—endless site inspections, client complaints, and the ever-looming threat of deadlines.

The first thing that welcomed him was the scent of roses and something faintly herbal drifted through the air, drawing his attention toward the living room. And just in there you stood—giving the makeup a last touch-up with your hair pinned up with golden accessories, and a white qipao embracing your curves.

He nearly forgot his exhaustion.

“You look stunning, azizam,” he murmured, lips curving into a tired but genuine smile.

You turned at his voice, brows immediately furrowing in concern. “And you look exhausted, Kaveh. My goodness.!It is starting to make me reconsider if I should go. I can stay—”

“No, no, absolutely not,” Kaveh waved a hand, marching forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “You deserve this night out. I can handle Zahra.”

“She can be a handful.”

“She is my handful, and I adore it,” he said, puffing his chest despite the clear fatigue in his voice. “Besides, I have a foolproof plan: playtime, dinner, bath, story, sleep. Easy.”

You hummed, unconvinced, but he gave you an exaggerated grin and a thumbs-up. “Go, enjoy yourself. The girls are waiting, and if I recall, you’ve said something about have being challenged at dice again.”

That earned a chuckle from you, who finally relented. “Alright. But if you need me, don’t hesitate to come at me. I’m dead serious.”

Kaveh saluted you dramatically. “Yes, ma’am!”

With one last glance—one that lingered, as if memorizing him just in case—you left. The moment the door shut, Kaveh slumped against its wood with a deep sigh. Still, he didn't stay there for too long and soon crossed around the house's corridors looking for his daughter.

Zahra was in the middle of a grand pillow fortress when he found her, golden eyes bright with mischief. “Hi Daddy! Look! I made a castle!”

Kaveh grinned, kneeling beside her. “It's magnificent, my little architect. But I think it needs a tower here… and maybe a secret passage here?”

She gasped, completely entranced as the two of them got to work. What was meant to be a quick addition turned into an hour-long session of castle enhancements, dragon-slaying, and a daring escape from an imaginary evil sorcerer.

Dinner followed, a messy affair of Zahra insisting she could eat with her hands and Kaveh attempting (and failing) to get her to use a spoon. “Zahra, my love, pasta is not finger food—oh, Archons, now it's in your hair!”

After a particularly splashy bath—where more water seemed to end up on Kaveh than in the tub—he wrestled a giggling Zahra into her pajamas. “You, little miss, are far too energetic tonight. Let’s get you into bed before I turn into a prune.”

Tucking Zahra into bed was the easiest part. Reading to her, however, was where the real challenge began.

“Tonight’s story is…” Kaveh yawned, flipping open a book, “The Adventure of the Clever Fox.”

He cleared his throat, sitting up straight. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it properly.

“Once upon a time in a vast forest—” a second yawn broke through “—lived a cunning fox who outwitted everyone he met.”

Zahra giggled as Kaveh attempted voices: a sly, slinking tone for the fox, a gruff, burly one for the bear, and a high-pitched squeak for the rabbit. But his words grew slower, syllables melting together.

“And then the fox said… said… uh…”

Zahra peeked up from under her blanket. “What did the fox say, daddy?”

Kaveh blinked rapidly, shaking himself awake. “Ah, yes! The fox said… Oh! Right. He said—” Another yawn. Another pause. “He said…”

Silence.

Zahra sat up. “Daddy?”

He was slumped against the headboard, mouth slightly open, the book resting on his chest nearly falling on the ground.

Asleep.

Zahra giggled and touched her father's cheek, testing how deep asleep he was but Kaveh remained out like a light, completely oblivious to his surroundings. She took the book from his chest, flipping to a random page. “And then the fox said—” she mimicked, turning the book upside down and reading in an exaggerated voice, though the words were nowhere near what was actually written.

When you returned home a couple of hours later, you were greeted by an unexpected sight: Zahra, wide awake, cross-legged on the bed, reading (or attempting to) while Kaveh snored beside her.

You bit back a laugh, stepping forward. “What’s going on here?”

Zahra beamed. “Daddy slept before telling me what the fox said, so I read it for him!”

You leaned down, brushing back Kaveh’s hair before pressing a soft kiss to his temple. He barely stirred.

“You did a great job, sweetheart," you whispered, picking Zahra up. “But it's past your bedtime. How about you sleep with mommy tonight? Let's let daddy get some rest here tonight.”

The little girl eagerly agreed, and you led her back to your own bedroom, quickly stripping off your robes and accessories and getting your nighttime routine going so that Zahra wouldn't be kept awake waiting for you for too long.

As you settled beside your daughter under the blankets, Zahra’s sleepy voice murmured, “Daddy tried his best…”

You chuckled, putting a stroke of her blonde hair behind her ear. “He really did, didn't he?”

And as Zahra drifted off to sleep in the warmth of your embrace, across the hall, Kaveh let out a soft snore, his hand twitching slightly, as if still lost in dreams of clever foxes and bedtime stories.

Lyney

The morning light gently streamed through the curtains of the twins' bedroom, casting a delicate golden glow over the cozy space. 

Lyney leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and a soft smile on his lips as he observed the scene before him—two little lumps hidden beneath a sea of blankets, completely indifferent to the sunrise light.

“Time to wake up, little ones,” he called playfully, taking a few steps into the room. No response. He sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “What a tragedy! It seems my dear children have been turned into statues overnight! What should I do?” Still nothing. He could hear their soft breathing, confirming they weren’t so asleep as before.

Smiling, he tried a different approach. “Oh my... I guess I’ll have to eat all the pancakes by myself.”

Quentin’s reaction was immediate. The little boy threw the blankets aside, revealing a mess of tousled hair. “Pancakes?” He said almost in disbelief, his purple eyes still half-closed from sleep, but already moving by instinct. He jumped out of bed in a hurry, only pausing to give his father a good morning kiss on the cheek before dashing to the bathroom.

Lyney laughed, rubbing the spot where his son had kissed him. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

He turned his attention to Corinne, who was still curled up under the covers, unmoving. Lyney crouched beside the bed and gently pulled the blankets down just enough to reveal his daughter’s sleepy and serene little face. “Cori, sweetheart, time to wake up,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

A small whimper escaped her lips as she snuggled deeper into the warmth of her bed. “’m still sleepy, papa…”

Lyney’s heart melted. “I know baby girl, but it's time to get up…” he murmured, sliding his arms under her small body. Corinne let out a soft sigh as he effortlessly lifted her, her sleepy little head resting against his shoulder. He pressed a tender kiss to her temple before carrying her to the twins’ shared bathroom, where Quentin was already washing his face.

With one hand, Lyney dampened a cloth and gently wiped Corinne’s face. She mumbled softly but didn’t resist. “There, all fresh and beautiful,” Lyney sang, helping her brush her teeth and comb her hair.

“Papa!” Corinne murmured when he picked up the brush to separate her silky strands for a braid. “Not too tight.”

Lyney immediately loosened his touch. “Oh! Sorry,” he quickly apologized, loosening the braid a bit more. She let out a small sound of approval, allowing him to continue. Once he was done, he tied it with a lilac ribbon. “Voilà! Ready for breakfast.”

With both children's morning routine done and they dressed properly, the trio finally made their way to the kitchen, where a stack of fluffy pancakes awaited them. The twins eagerly dug in, Quentin pouring syrup over his pancakes while Corinne savored each bite slowly. Lyney couldn’t help but smile as he sipped his morning tea, watching his little ones enjoy their meal.

The rest of the morning was filled with activities. First, he helped them with their homework—simple number and letter exercises—then came cleaning time, which quickly turned into playful chaos.

Quentin and Corinne tried to help with dusting and sweeping, but their tiny hands only made more of a mess. At one point, Quentin tripped over the broom, sending dust flying everywhere, making his twin sister burst into laughter. Lyney sighed, knowing he would’ve to redo everything later, but their joyful laughter made it all worth it.

By noon, it was time for lunch. “Let’s make something special,” Lyney suggested, flipping through your recipe book.

“Ooh! Moon pie, moon pie!” Corinne pointed excitedly at a page.

Lyney raised an eyebrow. “Ah, ambitious! But why not? Let’s do it.”

Quentin tugged at his father’s sleeve. “Please, no onions, papa.”

The magician chuckled, ruffling his son’s hair. “No onions, got it.”

Cooking with the twins turned the kitchen into absolute chaos. Flour covered their faces and hair, bits of dough stuck to their fingers, and eggshells ended up in the most unexpected places. Quentin was in charge of mixing the filling, while Corinne carefully arranged the crust. At one point, Lyney noticed Corinne placing tiny decorative stars on top of the pie with an expression of absolute concentration.

“It looks wonderful, Cori,” Lyney praised, kissing her forehead.

With the pie in the oven, they moved on to making cookies, shaping them into hearts, moons, and even little cat faces. Quentin insisted on adding extra chocolate chips, saying it was “the secret to making them magical.”

By the time the food was ready, the kitchen was a disaster, but the pie smelled divine. They sat down to eat together, and even Lyney had to admit—it was delicious.

After lunch, the twin began yawning, their morning energy finally running out. Kitchen could be cleaned later. At this very moment, Lyney just wanted to enjoy his children a little bit more. 

The magician guided them to the couch, covering them with a soft blanket there. “Why don’t you take a little nap while the cookies are still baking? By the time you wake up they‘ll be ready to be eaten,” he whispered, gently stroking their hair.

Corinne nodded and snuggled against him, her tiny hands clutching the fabric of his shirt. “I love you, papa,” she murmured sleepily.

Quentin, already half-asleep, echoed, “Love you, papa…”

Lyney’s heart swelled as he pressed a soft kiss to each of their heads. “Je vous aime aussi, mes amours.”

As their breathing slowed, Lyney remained there, holding them close, listening to the soft hum of the oven and the gentle patter of rain against the window. A moment of peace, perfect—a memory he'd cherish forever.

Wriothesley

The morning air of the Fortress of Meropide carried the scent of sea salt and diesel oil from the working machines, mingling with the distant murmur of underground streams.

Back in his family private quarters, though, Wriothesley sat at the dining table, sipping his black tea calmly as he thumbed through the latest news from The Steambird. Across from him, you hurriedly nibbled on a slice of toast, your mind clearly elsewhere.

“I wish you’d eat more before leaving,” Wriothesley murmured, watching as you stood up and brushed the crumbs off your hands.

“Yeah, I know. But I woke up at the last minute today. I’ll make sure to grab something later, though. Don’t worry,” you assured him, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Cameron is your responsibility today. Behave, love.”

His lips curved into a playful smirk. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that to you?”

You only smirked before heading toward the door. “Bye, sweetheart! Have fun with your dad today!” you called over your shoulder.

From the hallway, a soft voice replied, “Bye, mommy.”

Wriothesley turned just in time to see his son, still in pajamas, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he entered the dining room.

“Good morning, champ,” Wriothesley greeted warmly. “Hungry?”

Cameron nodded but didn’t ask for help. Instead, he made his way to the kitchen, carefully pushing a stool to the counter so he could reach the bread and jam. Wriothesley watched in an amused delight, resting his chin on his hand, as his six-year-old meticulously prepared his own breakfast. His heart swelled with pride—Cameron was growing up so fast.

“You know... I could've made something else for you,” Wriothesley suggested, taking another sip of tea.

“That's okay, daddy. I can do it myself,” the little boy replied, spreading the jam on his toast with determined focus.

A small chuckle escaped Wriothesley. Not long ago, he carried this boy everywhere, and now Cameron was set on doing things on his own.

After finishing his meal, Cameron cleaned up his own messy by putting them into the dishwasher, heading to the bathroom where he brush his teeth, and a couple of minutes later, he returned to his father already dressed. Wriothesley looked at him approvingly, though he couldn’t help the bittersweet pang in his chest.

“Alright, let’s head to my office,” Wriothesley said, ruffling Cameron’s hair. The boy pouted but didn’t protest much.

Once inside the office, Cameron settled on the floor with his building blocks while Wriothesley started his reports. The steady sound of wood tapping against wood filled the room as Cameron focused on his creation, occasionally pausing to inspect it with critical eyes.

“Need help with that?” Wriothesley asked, noticing that Cameron was struggling to balance a particularly tall structure.

“No, I can do it.”

“Alright, alright.” Wriothesley chuckled softly and leaned back in his chair—but his eyes never went too far from his son's little form.

A few moments later, Cameron found himself tired of playing so he decided to jump to another activity. He picked up a homework book from his school bag he had brought earlier and started scribbling some numbers and letters. It wasn’t long before his pencil stopped, and he frowned at the page.

“Stuck on something?” Wriothesley asked.

Cameron hesitated, gripping his pencil tighter, but he said nothing. He could handle the problem by himself easily. Well… that’s what he wanted to believe, at least.

Wriothesley smiled knowingly but let him try. Only after five more minutes did Cameron finally give in, standing up and walking shyly over to his father’s desk.

“Uh…Daddy,” he murmured, almost in a whisper. “Can you help me with this?”

Wriothesley’s heart melted at the timid request. He patted his lap, and when Cameron hesitated, he gently pulled him up to sit there, just like he used to when he was smaller. “Of course, Cam. Let’s take a look.”

Together, they worked through the problem, Wriothesley’s voice soft and patient. Cameron, despite all his independence, nestled into his father’s warmth, his small fingers gripping Wriothesley’s sleeve.

Maybe he was growing up, but he’d always be Wriothesley’s little boy.

And that was more than enough.

[riizegasm]

boynextdoor riwoo x gn!reader, suggestive fluff, established relationship, implied sexual content (563 words)

It’s the quiet moments with Sanghyuk that make you the most giddy. The view of him reclined casually on the sofa, scrolling through his phone is enough to have you swooning. His glasses are slightly askew where they sit on his nose bridge, and his hair is so disheveled that you wonder if he’s even combed it today. The tip of his nose is slightly red from keeping the temperature so low in your apartment.

You think he’s never looked more beautiful.

Just when you open your mouth to tell him that, his eyes snap to yours. It’s always startling being on the receiving end of Sanghyuk’s stare because it always starts off intense. But in a nanosecond, his gaze softens, rounded eyes dripping with honey as he takes in your pajama-clad figure. The smile that appears on his face is small, but it’s sweetness is no tiny feat.

“What are you looking at?” He quips playfully, voice soft in the late morning quiet of your apartment.

“You,” you state simply, beginning to cross your living room. “Your hair is like a bird’s nest.”

Sanghyuk chuckles, nose scrunching cutely. Normally, he’d have a quick comeback, some sort of playful remark to get you back. But this time he just stretches his arms open wide, beckoning you closer with his fingers.

It’s easy to stumble into his embrace, falling into his lap as he sinks further into the couch. The tip of his nose is cold where it nuzzles into your neck, causing you to let out a small screech. Sanghyuk just chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“Stop,” you whine. “You’re so cold!”

“And you’re so warm.”

You know that it’s supposed to be teasing, but something about the sleepy drawl of his voice has a small flame flickering in your gut. It’s enough to have you freezing, guilt settling in over turning an innocent moment into a raunchy thought. Sanghyuk must notice your sudden stiffness, the cold press of his nose morphing into soft kisses in the crook of your neck. It’s quite the opposite of what you need at the moment. But leave it to Sanghyuk to turn your small simmering desire into a roaring flame.

“Babe, stop that,” you whisper, hating the breathlessness of your voice. “It tickles.”

Sanghyuk chuckles, manifesting as a small vibration that travels directly from his torso to yours.

“It tickles, huh?”

Sanghyuk places another kiss to your neck, slower this time. You can barely contain the small whimper that threatens to pass through your lips. Sanghyuk’s smile is palpable on your skin, showing that you weren’t quite as successful as you wanted to be.

“I don’t think so. I think it’s something else.”

Sanghyuk punctuates his sentence with a little nip to your skin, his sharp canines definitely leaving a mark in their wake. This time, you can’t even try to fight the small moan you let out. Even if you could, the way your body goes slack against your boyfriend is a dead giveaway. Sanghyuk presses a flurry of kisses up the column of your neck and down to your exposed shoulder, practically drinking up all of your sounds.

“Sanghyuk,” you whisper breathlessly. You’re not quite sure what you’re asking for, but you know your boyfriend will understand.

He always does.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he soothes, arms tightening around your waist. “Let’s go back to bed.”

[10byten]

Need you, No Manners.

✧W : 5060

✧Summary : Taeyong is just addicted to you as you are to him. So why don't you fell in love and stop resisting ?

✧Warning : Smut and Fluff.

-

It’s 1:30 AM and your brain’s wide awake, refusing to let you sleep. Your phone buzzes. You turn your head to your nightstand and freeze. You know exactly who it is. No one else texts you this late, and you can feel it—it’s always like this with him.

Taeyong and you met at work. Boundaries matter in this world, but somehow, you two became inseparable from the second you met. The bond between you is so intense, it’s almost… primal. He feels you just as much as you feel him. The moment you step into each other’s lives, everything shifted. Maybe to much. You’d do anything for him. He’d do anything for you. At first, it felt like coincidence, if you believe in fate—but every time, your gut would guide you to a specific place at a certain time, and you’d always run into him. No matter how electric the chemistry, you’d created this “friendly” bond under the watchful eyes of other members and staff—deeply co-dependent.

There was something almost magical in your conversations and glances, something private and intimate that no one could even touch it. You’d end up following him everywhere, whether in Korea or abroad, even when your presence wasn’t necessary. You’d spend hours in practice rooms, working on your laptop, just to be by his side at his request. You never left the building without him; if he was training, you’d wait with a book or finish a few last tasks. If you still had work, he’d crash next to you on your office couch, watching SpongeBob on his phone. Taeyong would bring your favorite sweets from abroad—those you missed from home but couldn’t find here. They’d show up at your office every month. And between breaks, he’d leave you iced jasmine tea, your favorite, just to make sure you stayed hydrated.

Every week, you’d leave a blind box and a drink in his locker, so he’d find them before a tough day. You couldn’t have a meal without him; he knew all your eating habits like you knew his. Better yet, recently, Taeyong had you make a copy of his keys. He wanted you to come and go in his apartment whenever you wanted, “just in case.”

But here’s the thing: it was slowly driving you insane. Your feelings for him became everything, and before you knew it, you were putting him at the center of your world. You realized it when, every time he left, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You could still feel him everywhere—even when he wasn’t there. Then, recently, you spent the night at his place. You were on the couch, both of you half asleep, and Taeyong pulled you into him, arms around you. Slowly, his touches turned soft, his head resting on the curve of your neck. He was like a kitten, begging for affection.

You found yourself dangerously close to his face, his lips. You hesitated for a second—one move, and your lips would meet his. You don’t know where you found the self-control, but somehow, you managed to pull yourself up and leave his place, pretending you had an important early meeting that forced you to go back and get some sleep.

Taeyong knew you were lying. He knew your schedule better than you knew it yourself. He’d synced it with his, tracking your every move. And he knew. He tried to get you to stay. “You can sleep here,” he said. His voice calm, but there was something heavy behind it. You’d slept in the same bed on tour before, dozing off mid-conversation. But this? This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t friendly. And deep down, you knew it wouldn’t end well.

“No, I’m going home.” He sat up on the couch and grabbed your hand before you could even make it to the door. You turned to face him. His eyes were sleepy, focused on your fingers as they intertwined with his. “Why.” You could hear the disappointment in his voice. And you didn’t know if you could resist it. “Taeyong, I...” you struggled to find the words. He shot up, standing in front of you now, his gaze pleading. “Just for tonight, and tomorrow we can act like nothing happened.” You were so close to giving in, but this was just sex he was offering, and you knew that if you crossed that line, your feelings would take on a whole new dimension. “I have to go, sorry.”

You had to set a boundary with your feelings. You hadn’t been hired to fall for him. Your friendship? That was already a bonus. Above all, you’d fought hard to get to where you were in your career. You couldn’t throw all of that away just for a crush. Even though, deep down, you knew you were already way past the crush stage. That’s why, a few days, maybe weeks ago, you decided to stop responding to his private messages and calls. You knew his schedule by heart, had access to his calendar online—you knew where and when to be to avoid running into him. You needed space. You needed distance, for both of you. And you felt guilty for Taeyong, wondering what he was thinking on his side. His messages? They hit you hard, made you feel his pain, his confusion.

-Do you need anything? I’m at the grocery store near your place. I can drop something off if you want. - *Photo* Miss u - I left a iced tea on your desk. Hope you have a good day - The practice sessions are so empty without you - Haven’t heard from you much except for your work emails… - I miss you, please answer me

So many messages, so many small gestures that just made your heart ache even more, convincing you that keeping your distance was the right thing to do. You hated doing this to him, but it was slowly discouraging him from texting you. At least, that’s what you hoped.

And tonight? He’s texting you again. You turn around, grabbing your phone, you need to know what he’s saying—it’s visceral, stronger than you. At first, Taeyong respected your space, but after seeing you walk in this morning with Johnny, both of you holding coffees from the same place, he felt like someone had shoved a knife into his chest. This time, his messages were more direct.

- Are you trying to make me pay for that night or do you just not know how to get rid of me, so you’re ghosting me instead?

- I’m sorry, that’s not it. I just need to focus right now, I don’t have time for distractions.

- Miracle, you respond. Distractions?

- Please don’t take this the wrong way

Tyong’s calling

You don’t answer.

-You’re just gonna ignore me again?

-Taeyong, this... whatever this is between us, it’s not normal. We need some distance.

- What?

- I think some space would be good for us. We need a break.

- Is that what you want?

- It’s what we need.

- Okay.

You know Taeyong doesn’t get it. You also know that if something happens between you two and someone finds out, you’ll lose your job. The worst-case scenario? It leaks outside of the company, and no one would trust you with anything ever again.

The days that followed felt long and gray. You had no interaction with Taeyong anymore and were actively avoiding any direct contact with the 127 members. But then, one evening, you find your monthly package from Taeyong sitting on your desk. When you meet Irene, someone you’ve become close with since arriving, you feel uneasy. Finding that gesture from him kind of threw you off. Up until now, you hadn’t planned on talking about any of this, but Irene’s an idol, she knows Taeyong well, and if there’s anyone who might understand and listen, it’s her.

“Oh wow, didn’t see that coming.” “I know, it wasn’t planned at all and—” “No, I’m not talking about your feelings for Taeyong, I’m talking about your decision.” “Wait, what? Why?” “Because I know Taeyong, and if you two cross that line, sure, it could be dangerous for his career, but only if you’re not serious or if you’re not discreet. And that’s not him. He’d do anything to protect you and protect your relationship from outside eyes.” “How can you be sure about that?” You’re a little shaken by what she’s just said. “Because, again, I know him. And I think you should give him a chance, trust him to handle this situation. If there’s one person who can pull it off, it’s him. And I really think he’d want to take that risk with you.” “How can you say that? You had no idea about this situation before tonight.” “Of course I did. Everyone close to 127 knows about the... unusual chemistry you two have developed.” “Oh—”

Irene’s words keep replaying in your head. The part where she says Taeyong could manage and protect you both doesmake you want to believe in it. You know there’s a version of this story where he could truly enter a relationship with you, where you’d fall in love. But the part where she says others have already noticed the chemistry between you two makes you uneasy. That’s proof enough that you’re putting yourselves in danger by staying so close. It’s all too much to process, and you almost want to text him to talk about it, but you drop the idea. You don’t have the strength to deal with it tonight. Tomorrow’s a big event for the company, and there will be tons of people there. You’ve planned to focus and avoid any NCT members as much as possible.

When you arrive at the event, a lot of people are already there. That was the goal: arrive as late as possible to make sure the place is packed and you won’t run into a single 127 member who’d stop to make small talk, eventually bringing the others, including Taeyong, into the mix. Of course, you can count on Mark and Haechan, who spot you at the entrance and immediately drag you to their table. “Why haven’t you been around lately?” “Are you avoiding us?” Haechan chimes in. “Or worse, do you not like us anymore?” “That’s exactly it. I’ve always thought your music was awful, and now I’m realizing you’re terrible people too,” you joke. “No, seriously, why don’t you come see us in practice anymore?” Deep down, they all know it’s about Taeyong. When it’s you, it’s always about him. “I’ve just been swamped with work, I’m sorry. I don’t have as much time as before.” Taeyong’s been watching you from across the table since you sat down, his gaze sharp. You’re lying, and even though he knows you can’t tell the truth, it still annoys him. You choose to ignore his reactions. It’s for the best. The night goes on, and you decide to call it a night when you see that most people are starting to leave, and the alcohol’s kicked in. Over everything else, you can feel Taeyong’s eyes on you all night. You can’t take it anymore. Every time you turn your head, you inevitably lock eyes with him. His gaze is filled with desire and sadness. He’s unavoidable. You’re sitting in a corner chatting with Ten and Irene when the song No Manners starts. Taeyong’s in the middle of talking to some other artists, but his eyes never leave you. God, he wishes he were in Ten’s place. He’d give anything to be close to you. It kills him that you’ve barely had any interaction tonight. Before, you wouldn’t have left each other’s side the entire evening, and he would’ve taken you home, just the two of you, talking for hours in your little cocoon. You look up at him when Ten sings, looking straight at him. And you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the fact that you’re holding his gaze, but you feel an unbearable pull toward him. Your heart races, and you’re breathing heavier, like you’re too warm. He makes you feel hot. His eyes, filled with longing and emotions, set your body on fire. Now that he’s finally got your attention, he gives you a small nod, as if to say, come join me. He wants to talk to you, just the two of you. It would be so much easier to resist him if he weren’t looking so damn good tonight—in that silk, low-cut black blouse, the jewelry that makes him shine, and those jeans that highlight his long, lean frame. You want to go to him, but you don’t feel sober enough to face him like this. You’re not free from him yet, not enough to withstand this kind of moment. “Honestly, no one’s ever going to forget that iconic performance from Taeyong,” Ten says, like a dagger to your chest. It’s only the beginning of the song, and you decide to leave before hearing his voice. You wave goodbye to your friends and quickly make your exit. You completely ignore Taeyong as you pass by him. He feels it like a shockwave. It’s too much for him. How long are you going to play this game? He knows you want him too. He’s always felt it. At least, he hopes he’s not wrong.

He takes your place between Ten and Irene, rests his head in his hands, and sighs desperately. She taps his shoulder. "What are you waiting for? Go catch her." "She doesn't want us to have any contact anymore, you can see she's ignoring me." "Because she can't resist you, that's obvious." He glares at her. "Seriously Taeyong, do I really need to tell you that this girl is crazy about you? She's just trying to avoid trouble with the hierarchy." "Wait, is that why?" "Trust me Taeyong, she's crazy about you. She's just afraid you two won't be able to handle it, so go after her and prove to her that you can be the man she needs and protect her. Take the lead."

Taeyong stares at her for a second and then gets up faster than ever to chase after you. Ten looks at Irene. "Well, here we go."

He finds you in the hallway, the music still thumping in the background.

“Y/n!” He calls out, voice urgent.

“Not now, Taeyong.”

But he doesn’t give you a choice. Irene just told him to take the lead, and he’s determined to prove he can handle this.

Before you can even process, he grabs you by the waist and spins you around, slamming you against the wall.

“Taeyong—”

“Shut up.” His voice is a low growl, so close you can feel his breath against you, and it’s driving you wild. He holds your gaze, searching for any sign of resistance. But your eyes tell him everything he needs to know—you want him to stay, you want him to finish what he started.

Taeyong doesn’t hesitate. The music is loud, but the timing feels almost too perfect—his part begins. He inches closer, his lips dangerously close to yours, the air heavy with tension.

“Dancing on my backseat, You look so yeah senchi.”

His forehead presses to yours, his words soft yet filled with meaning as he murmurs, “Got me comma, commas I’m addicted to you, toxic.”

You don’t really get what’s happening, but you know you love it, and damn, it feels so good—way too good. You have no desire, no strength left to resist him. He slides his hands over your waist and grasps them firmly with his fingers to arch you over and press you fully against him. This leads you to feel his boner against you. And oh god, there’s no denying it—this moment hits Taeyong just as hard as it hits you.

You let out a soft moan.

“Naege dallyeo naneun dalliji Put the pedal to the metal maedalliji neoye maeryeok You the answer, never question urin eopji got no manners ppittakhage neoneun naenshi nan shideu.”

One of his hands slides up to your neck, his long fingers wrapping around it effortlessly. Then, his palm cradles your jaw as his thumb brushes your cheek, finally resting on your lower lip. His narrowed eyes lock onto yours.

“Urin beautiful neomu beautiful, Don’t say thank you or nothing, Criminal so cynical.”

He leans into your neck, his lips trailing along your skin as he keeps murmuring against you, each word feeling like a kiss. You sigh with pleasure.

“But we need to learn some manners, bichi na bichi na.” His mouth hovers over yours. “I’m addicted to you, toxic, I’m addicted to you, toxic.” he murmurs those last words.

His eyes glazed with desire, he pulls his thumb away from your lip and presses his mouth to yours. Your body reacts instantly to his. But the sound of heels echoing nearby pulls you out of your daze. You break the kiss—well, almost.

“Taeyong, wait, stop, just a second.”

He keeps kissing along your cheeks. “What now?”

“This isn’t a good-ahh—”

He cuts you off by sucking on your neck, pressing you harder against the wall as he hikes your leg up against him. He murmurs against your lips, “Remind me why we’re taking a break from each other. Hmm? It’s oviously insane. I think we both know what we want.” He pulls back to look into your eyes. “It’s obvious to everyone but you that we’re falling in love, so just let go and fall with me.”

You’re speechless. To hell with your job—there’s only one Lee Taeyong. You slide your hand up his neck and crash your lips against his. You feel like you’ve waited a lifetime for this. His hands are everywhere on you, and you never want him to let go. The kiss grows more urgent, the two of you like starving people finally given a taste of chocolate. Your arms wrap around his neck, clinging to him like your life depends on it.

He slows the pace. “I know I started this, but we should go somewhere more private.”

You steal one more kiss, unable to fully break away. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You keep kissing for another moment before he laughs. “Y/n, we really need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

He grabs your hand, as you runaway like two child. Once you arrive at his place, you barely make it through the door before you wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your head against his back. He grips your arms, holding you close.

“I can’t believe you wanted to deprive us of this,” he murmurs. He turns around to face you, cupping your face with his hands. “I won’t let anything come between us, you have to trust me. Not at work, not in our private lives. I’ll protect you and I’ll protect us from the rest of the world, from prying eyes. Since you walked into my life, you’ve been my priority. How could you not see that?”

“I’m sorry. You’re my priority too. And I want you more than anything.”

“Don’t push me away again, unless you’re sure you don’t want me anymore.” He finally kisses you, his lips somehow even sweeter than before. His touch is confident and firm, as if he’s trying to imprint you onto his skin.

Your jacket falls to the floor as Taeyong’s fingers trace along the straps of your dress. He slides them off your shoulders, and your dress drops to the ground.

You find yourself standing there in your underwear in front of him, and he takes a moment to just admire you. His tongue slips into your mouth, and between kisses, he asks, “Tell me, what do you want right now? I want to show you how well I can take care of you.”

You look at him, captivated by how far Taeyong seems willing to go for you, for your pleasure. You blush, hesitating to answer. He smile softly. “You’ve got something on your mind, but you’re too shy to ask.”

You shake your head, too embarrassed to admit it. He plants soft kisses along your neck and wraps his arms around you with such passion. “Tell me. You know you can ask me for anything.”

“It’s about earlier…” He looks at you, intrigued, and a spark flashes in his eyes. He smirk, shaking his head—he knows. “Your desire is my command.”

He lifts you effortlessly and carries you to the living room, laying you down on the carpet. His kisses trail down your body, from your neck to your belly button.

You moan; it feels so good. Then he sits up to take off his shirt. He pulls away just enough to get into position, his eyes never leaving yours. And under your mesmerized gaze, he starts his No Manners choreography.

When his hands graze around you, a shiver runs down your spine, watching him do this so close to you. And then the moment you’ve been craving finally comes—he grinds against you in that wave-like move that’s haunted your thoughts so many times. He finishes with a deep, passionate kiss.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you moan.

“See? I know you better than anyone. I can take care of you, love.”

“Pleease, Taeyong, take care of me.”

“Of course.”

You turn, face down and arch your back to present him your ass. You want him to take you now. He presses himself against you, growling softly in your ear as he kisses your shoulder, all while sliding his pants and your panties down. He aligns his dick with your entrance and slowly penetrates you. You feel every inch of him slowly pushing inside you, and the movement feels just as sensual as it does romantic.

Taeyong brushes your hair out of your face, his fingers gentle as he plants soft kisses along your cheek. “You’re so beautiful.”

He sighs in pleasure as he starts to move, finding a rhythm that has you melting beneath him. His little moans send you to another dimension.

You’d always wondered what Taeyong would be like in bed, and a part of you was convinced he was a switch—which secretly drove you wild. You also had a feeling he’d be sensitive. And you were right. You could feel it in every touch, firm yet achingly tender. His movements become smoother and more fluid, and you feel his cock surge inside you, he's going to cum, already, you feel it.

He pulls out and lets out a shaky breath. You whine as you turn to face him. “Nooo, what are you doing?”

Running a hand through his hair, he gives you an embarrassed smile. “I’m gonna come if I keep going, Y/n. It’s been too long—I need to pace myself if you want this to last.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get you going again.” You crawl toward him on all fours, and his eyes widen, completely captivated by your every move.

You lean against his thighs, gently wrap your fingers around his sex and start pumping him up and down.

His head falls back, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure coursing through him. You watch his face contort with bliss, and the sight alone satisfies you—but you crave more. Leaning in closer, you start by kissing his tip, then wrap your mouth around his all dick. Taeyong moans in pleasure, his high-pitched whimpers are like music to your ears.

He looks down at you, completely lost in his bliss. His hand rests on your head—not to push, just to feel connected to you. Your pace steadies, and you tighten your mouth around him. You catch it the moment you feel his whole body tense up. His breath is all ragged.

“Y/n, I gonna cum, you need to pull away." He places a gentle hand on your cheek.

You look at him and tighten your lips, not letting go. It's an invitation to come in your mouth. You can see tears in his eyes and god it turns you even more.

“Oh my- aahh Y/n…I can’t hold back, sorry."

He comes within a second. And you don’t take your eyes off him, to catch this moment. You swallow everything he gives you. You release his cock in a lil pop.

He opens his eyes again, all groggy and satisfied, then leans in to kiss you.

"Thank you... that was incredible."

You smile against his lips. "This is just the beginning."

You're back to pumping his dick. Taeyong flinches and lets out a whimper, “It’s sensitive.”

“I know baby, but you told me you’ll take care of me right?”

“Of course I will..oh”

His body’s shaking—you’re overstimulating him.

“Let me eat you, please.” he's pleading you.

“No, I want you inside of me.” You can't wait anymore

He rests his forehead against yours, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck. “Oh my- I’ll never get enough of you.”

He slides two fingers over your folds and penetrates you with one thrust. You flinch and cry out as you feel his fingers thrust into you.

“Here, you wanted to feel me inside of you.”

His hands are quick and firm, his fingering you in a way you could never touch yourself.

You feel the tension building inside you. Gripping his shoulders, straddling him, you try to hold yourself steady. But your body’s shaking—what Taeyong’s doing to you is too intense, too much for you to handle.

"Yong, I can’t stand…” 

“It’s ok, I got you”

He plants a soft kiss at the corner of your lips. Your grip on his shoulders loosens—your arms can’t hold on anymore. As you start to fall back, he catches you, pulling you close. You melt into his embrace, and just like that, you feel more than safe; you feel like you truly belong, right there with him. Your orgasm transcends you; you've never had one so strong that it had such an effect on you.

When you open your eyes, you see Taeyong completely mesmerized by what he's looking at down below, he's already starting to jerk off again. You just squirted. You didn't knex you could do that.

You blush, feeling horribly embarrassed for ruining his carpet.

“Oh my god Tae, I’m confused.”

He bites his lip. “Will you do it again ?”

“Well…it’s up to you.” 

You blush a little when Taeyong catches your gaze, surprised, and you smile at him. “I’ve never done this before, not alone, and definitely not with any other guy.”

He kisses you, deep and slow, proud of what you just said. “Told you, no one can take care of you like I can.”

“I want more Taeyong.” you whisper.

He pulls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, taking you to the bedroom. Lying on the bed, you watch him, wondering how you ever thought you could live without him.

He lays on top of you, movements soft and tender. He traps your face between his arms, showering you with gentle kisses all over. Your hands wander down his back, nails scratching lightly. He shivers. And just like in the living room before, he slowly penetrates you so that you feel every inch of it enter you. You dig your nails into his skin, and he lets out a soft moan. He finds a steady rhythm, gently placing a hand on your cheek, almost tenderly. He kisses you, slow and deep, before pulling away to look at you. His backstrokes are strong and sure, you're in nirvana. 

He lifts you, sitting you on top of him. Now you're straddling him, sitting on his lap, wrapping your arms around him as you face him. He put his hand against your pussy and the friction of your clitoris against his fingers provokes a new orgasm that hit you so hard. 

Taeyong buries his face in the crook of your neck, letting out the softest moan. You find those sounds as sexy as they are adorable. You know you’ll never be able to get enough of them. His body turns warm, his breath shallow. He starts mumbling softly against your neck.

"I'm going to cum, Y/n, I'm sorry."

“Don’t be, just enjoy, my love, that’s all I want.”

He moans, tightening his grip around your waist as he hears your words. You feel all his muscles tense, and Taeyong lifts you slightly to pull away. He jerk, still hidden in your neck, pressed against you. And finishes with a soft groan, he murmured your name, while painting your belly with his hot cum. 

You still hold him in your arms, cuddling him.

His orgasm was strong, you can feel it. For Taeyong, it's months of frustration finally being satisfied.

He lays you down and settles against you. His misty eyes study you intently.

“I thought you’d never come back to me.”

“I know, me too...”

He runs a hand through your hair and props himself up on his elbow. “I hated it. It killed me, you became the greatest part of my life.” He kisses you deeply. “I missed you. I missed you so damn much.”

“I missed you too, I’m sorry.”

“Then it’s okay, you trust me now?”

You nod, silently agreeing.

“Either way, you don’t have a choice. I won’t let you go this time. And I know exactly how to convince you to give in. No manners, right?" he smirk, making fun of you. "Didn’t know that performance would have this effect on you.”

You blush slightly. “Oh shut up.”

“I’ll do this every night if that’s what you want, my love.” He kisses you again.

“You’ll take care of me, right?” you smile.

“I will, as long as you let me.”

-

In the week that follows, you and Taeyong fall back into your routine. And, of course, in private, it’s much more.

One evening in the practice room, you joke around with Haechan while Taeyong watches you, completely in awe.

"So, everything’s good between you two now?"

Taeyong smiles like a little kid. "Yeah, she just needed me to reassure her. And that’s exactly what I did. I said what needed to be said." He pauses when you look at him, his heart racing for you. He joins you, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you laugh with the others.

You push him away, but not really trying.

"Taeyong, we talk about discretion. Not in front of everyone..."

He pouts, then playfully smacks your cheek.

"I know but..between us, no manners” he whimpers in your ears.

-

[guinevereslancelot]

most fucked up thing at my new job is there's only zero calorie sweeteners at the coffee station in the break room. three different kinds of zero calorie sweetener but no regular sugar because the assumption is that literally everyone is on a diet?

[starpros-sunshine]

I love caffeine because headache go poof but also why does the beverage make me sleepy

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[tonycries]

Sweetener - C.K.

Synopsis. You, hit by your heat cycle and accidentally calling your best friend over in a daze. Choso Kamo, your utterly sweet best friend - and totally not an aIpha, right? Right?

Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Choso, heats, best-friends-to-lovers, pining, creampíes, bréeding, Choso goes FÉRAL, OMÉGAVERSE AU, overstím, knots, MARATHONS, making him cúm blanks, MATÍNG BÍTES, cúmplay, first times (Choso), pússydrúnk Choso, oraI (fem), proposals, p talking, pet names, swéaring. 

Word count. 8.1k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“Open up f’me, beautiful.”

Choso Kamo was approximately four seconds away from kicking down your front door and tearing your apartment down in search of you. Or, at least, he would be if he didn’t know how much you’d huff at him afterwards.

Because it’s not everyday that his precious best friend wakes him up at 3AM with a hazy, six-second call. Mumbling nothing but an adorably sleepy “Cho— come over?” 

So what if Choso had instantly thrown on the first t-shirt he saw and broken about seven traffic violations on his motorbike here? 

“Come on, come on-” he’s hissing underneath his breath. Weight shuffling nervously between his two feet, he raps on your door once more. Twice. Thrice. “D-don’t make me use that spare key again.”

It was a half-threat - really, it was. 

But the louder your answering silence grew, the tighter his fingers curled around his own metallic key. Breathing out a low, “I’m- I’m coming in.” And slowly - ever-so-slowly - he’s cracking your door just an inch open before-

Oh. 

Oh. 

It hits Choso like a wave - hard enough to knock him down onto his knees. 

“What-” he’s gasping, heaving. Words tumbling out drunkenly in rasping ahs! that he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t even register the bright, blossoming pain sweeping his knees with the way his lungs felt like they were scorching - and Choso just couldn’t get enough. 

It wasn’t a new candle of yours, and Choso already memorized every one of your perfumes for this to be one. This was just so…carnally sweet. 

He was drinking in every drop, every ounce, every waft of that candied air inside your cozy apartment like he couldn’t breathe if it wasn’t that.

And something in the sugary scent makes Choso twitch. 

Oh, shit. 

Hastily swiping away a translucent mess of drool that’d somehow made its home by the rosy corner of his mouth, he’s straining out once more. For his sanity, more than anything. “Beautiful? Anyone home?”

Still no answer. 

Absolutely nothing. 

It takes him a few more sloppy seconds swimming his melty mind to even consider stumbling back up onto his two unsteady feet. Blinking away the bleary film over his gaze, Choso slams! your door shut with the back of his foot - cutting off the heady perfume from emanating into the corridor. 

Noise complaints from your neighbors be damned - he’ll apologize to them all personally later. 

But right now, something about the way that mysterious essence was all his, his, his scratched at such a dangerously primal itch in his brain. 

Shit- what was he even thinking?

Choso was here for you and only you. 

He’s running a jittery few digits through the sweat-dampened valleys of his hair, tugging in a stinging little pull to try and snap some sense back into him. Clearing the strangled mess in his throat, Choso smacks! his palms against his burning cheeks before calling out once more, “I’ll be coming in–”

Because it’s not as if Choso’s never been in here before - he has. Many, many times, in fact. And during every one of those hangouts you’d made it a point to pout about how he should really “let loose” and treat this home as if it was his own, too. 

Honestly, it was hard to feel anything but comfortable after knowing each other for so long - even despite those embarrassing, mushy feelings that he always drowned in around you. 

But that was a conversation for another time. 

And right now, Choso couldn’t even dream of any “comfort” when every step deeper into the saturated cloud of scent made Choso gulp. Every blink had his eyes watering even more - and his pants- fuck- Choso’s biting down on his rawly worried lower lip, eyes flickering anywhere but where he could feel his achy cock stirring. 

Something about this smell was so…hypnotic. 

And if he didn’t know any better then he’d have sworn he was practically floating down that familiar pathway to your bedroom. Feet padding down anxiously along the mahogany-covered floors, it was becoming so much harder and harder to breathe in the fragrant air without getting fucking addicted.  

Or, Choso swallows, one arm balanced on the wall, the other feeling for his thundering pulse. He probably already was. 

But what if you were sick? What if you needed help? Fuck, if he didn’t live every waking moment dancing along to your heartbeat.

That is, when he hears it. That.

Filtering from inside your bedroom…a moan. ”Ch-Choso–”

.

.

.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

You didn’t know what you were thinking, forgetting to take your monthly dosage of suppressants - you’d blame it on all the time you’d been spending studying for finals with Choso lately, but you’d never put the fault on your sweet best friend like that.

After all, he was a fellow omega like you at the end of the day. Right? 

“Fuck” You’re scrambling to clasp onto a sodden sweatshirt of his on your bed, nose burying into the slightly sunny vanilla scent. You knew it was wrong to think about him this way, you knew it was made even worse considering his second gender. But- but fuck, if he didn’t have your hands slipping and sliding guiltily down towards the slick-lathered spot between your legs. Concentrated puffs of heat stifling from between your lips, “Ch-Choso–”

Honestly, you wanted him so badly you could reach over for your phone and call-

No, no, no, no - your fatigued eyes flick over to the winking clock by your bedside. 3:26AM.

You couldn’t call him over for help now. Choso was so sweet that he’d probably rush over in his pajamas and rack up a fair few tickets on his motorbike. 

Which was why you preferred to spend your heats without his help - it had been that way since you’d both presented back in high school. 

You’d met Choso after your family had moved to the cutest little suburb in Tokyo, stumbling across the tiny boy-next-door with wide honeypool eyes and a chubby hand that waved shyly your way. Even at the wise old age of eight, you remember thinking how he was so pretty. 

Pretty enough that something your health teacher had taught in your last school clanged throughout your mind - this boy was probably an ah…what was the word? Omega. 

A quiet, comfortable understanding - and it wasn’t something that the two of you never quite had to talk about too in-depth. At least, outside of sneaking the answers to pop quizzes on secondary genders, and giggling when another classmate sauntered to school with a garish bitemark on their neck. 

But, often, you wondered whether you’d ever see Choso with that type of mark. 

He never looked at another alpha - not even another omega, or beta, for that matter. You knew that society was stepping towards a more accepting environment for rather “unconventional” pairings - but Choso Kamo seemed well and firmly intent on rejecting every single one of them. 

Instead, staying by your side. Unpaired. 

Even when he followed you all the way to university - two peas in a pod, so tightly intertwined that most wondered whether you two were mated for life. And he never bothered to disagree - but then again, neither did you.

Even when the years treated him well and he grew so tall, so unfairly attractive. All prettily timid smiles, glinting piercings marrying his ears, and dark, droopy eyes tinged with the slightest kiss of dark eyeliner. Rivalling even the most cocky alphas on your entire campus with his sheer stature and ambience. 

Like he was right now. 

Towering at the very edge of your unlatched bedroom door. 

And only one word registers in your mind - alpha. 

Choso - a Choso that was so utterly real and in the flesh - jumps once those startled syllables spill from your mouth. 

Fuck, you didn’t even realize you said that out loud. 

Not until he’s slamming! one massively spayed-out palm by the side of your doorframe. Shattered pieces of wood crumbling beneath him, you’re unabashedly ogling the flex of his curvaceous biceps. Another hand covering the lower half of his handsome face, Choso rasps. He whines, “You called, m-my omega?”

Oh.

Your entire shivering body bolts upright, like you were being electrified with a thousand voltages of bliss that make your drooling cunt gush. Treacly wafts of pheromones clouding out from you all over again - and the look on Choso’s face is just drunk.

Thick lids so heavy that they were practically falling half-closed, it’s as if his entire body was flushed a prespired red. Lips all ruddied and laminated thinly with spit, his teeth were drawn back into such a wild snarl. 

Like he was about to tear something into bits and it might be you.

So…pretty. 

It almost hurts you to dart your eyes away in an urgent glance at your suspiciously open call log - did you…really call him in your haze? Fuck. 

“Y-you’re-” You swallow a few times - and even then, the words don’t come to you. They can’t. Too stuck on what a delicacy your best friend looked all slumped over by your doorway like he was begging for you. Like he’d crawled all his way to you and would do it all over again. “You’re an alpha, Cho?”

As if you had any doubt now. You could smell the sheer power on him, the thrumming strength threatening to rip through that clingy white undershirt of his. So transparently thin that you could still count every ridge of his washboard abs. And his velvety black boxers hung low-

“Shit-” he gulps. “Yes- fuck! Y-you’re an omega?” 

You can only nod. Brows raising when Choso plants another slam right onto your doorframe, indenting all slender lanes of his digits onto it this time. “And is that…mine?”

With a sudden inhalation, you’re snatching behind that sweatshirt of Choso’s that you’d still been holding. Heart thumping - but there was nothing more to say. What could you say?

Turns out, Choso is the first to break. “L-Let me prove it.”

You’re blinking, squeezing your thighs together at the bittersweet throb. You didn’t know what had your honeyed head reeling more - the sudden reveal of Choso’s secondary gender, or his answer. His sheer need. “Prove it?”

Choso’s head hangs low, chestnut bangs covering his greedy gaze, but you could tell that he was looking at you. Really, really looking at you. 

Words dripping with something you’d never heard of before. Hoarse. Tight. “Can I…can I come in, beautiful?”

You know you should say no to letting him inside your nest - you know it. 

But oh, how it looked like it was taking him every shred of will to keep standing there. To not fucking collapse at the way your gooey pheromones have him spellbound. And he likely would have had it not been for your small, trembling answer, “Yes.”

Choso whimpers - if there was ever a singular moment that would have him crawling back from the afterlife just to re-experience all over again, then it would be this. 

When he feels something in the back of his mind switch.

Senses sharpening almost painfully with one step inside your humid bedroom. Two. 

Until Choso’s stalking so languidly towards you like a predator cornering his prey, foot by foot. He takes his dreamy time prowling towards you - all the way up until your flushed best friend is looming across the foot of the bed.

There’s something vicious in his eyes. Something that has him salivating, “Can- can I?”

You’re breathing out, “Y-yes.”

Slow, sultry fingers unfurl out to draw a steady line along your ankle - he walks. Fingers blazing up your twitchy thighs, up your drenched excuse of shorts, up, up, up to smear that delirious line of your dribble. 

“T-tell me what you want, beautiful.” He pecks an innocent kiss on your forehead, then another to your throat - heaving in your perfumed air. “Anything- I’ll give ya hah- anything.”

His words are low. Hot against your face. 

And just about the only thing you can do is slither your unsteady hands down to toy with the hem of your pants. A sight that makes Choso swallow thickly with a rasping grunt. 

“I want you to…” you’re trailing off. Fingers dipping down to where you haven’t been able to satisfy for hours now. Your inner omega yelling - screaming that nothing was enough, but he might just be. “-touch me here, Cho.”

SWAT!

Instantly, you’re letting off a saccharine mewl at the way your hand is being oh-so-rudely thwacked away by one of Choso’s own. The slight sting throbbing - but not as much as your poor cunt is when meeting his digits. 

Sliding just between your cottony shorts- oh? Choso’s heart stutters. No panties? You really are going to be the death of him. He’s lingering a dewy stroke down your teary slit, honeying his ringed fingers in all your slick juices. 

For a second - just a second.

Lightning-fast, Choso’s trailing away with a slew of spatters left behind, and it makes his skin feel ten times hotter. Ten times dirtier in only the best way.

Even more so when those very digits end up slipping easily into Choso’s mouth. One by one.  Eyes trained darkly on yours, his long pinkish tongue ends up lazily lathering up and down up and down up and down every beaded gleam of your juices.

“Y-you’re so-” your voice cracks embarrassingly - pathetically, in a way that makes every copious ounce of blood in his body sprint south. “-filthy.”

Pulling off with a waterlogged pop! Choso’s tongue probes between his two long fingers, smacking his lips open and shut with the sticky dredges. And you swear you catch a whiff of smugness in his scent. Yet, he’s blushing, “All for you- only for you, my girl.”

And you can’t even complain - you can’t even tease him about the way that just another mere touch up against your feverish pussypound has Choso gasping. Eyes crinkling with something like delight and sheer awe.

Because he’s crashing his mouth into yours, suckling on your lips like his favorite berry lolly-

“Sh-shit-” Choso’s rich tone cracks into shattering lilts, and you can hear him laugh against your lips. Laugh. Humorless and crazed - pure desperation bleeding out with every swash of his intoxicating vanilla scent. “Beautiful— you taste even sweeter than in my ngh- dreams, y’know that?”

No, you didn’t - you didn’t even know that Choso dreamed of you in the first place. 

And you don’t get to pay it any mind because before you know it, the swirling edge of his rounded fingertips tuck just past where your puffy folds were pursing in a ready pucker. Cold metal rings making you gasp.

And Choso’s greedily snuffing out the sound with a sinking bite of his sharpened canines into your wobbly bottom lip. Drinking in every noise from his pretty girl. His pretty girl. 

Cratering dimples notching prettily at the ends of his lipbite, he’s practically begging them out with every slow gyration of his fingertips around and around your peaked clit. Tracing over every tiny ridge and sensitive bundle like he was trying to fucking memorize it. “H-has any other- fuck-” Ringing out a thundering growl at the back of his throat that makes your skin coat in tiny goosebumps. “-has any- other- made you feel this good?”

No no no - your inner omega purrs, and you can practically feel yourself groaning lowly at the back of your throat when you pull away. 

Trying - failing, when Choso’s chasing your kiss-bitten lips like he was hooked. Slurring after the syrupy strings of spit that smear the traces of your mouth, he’s meshing his lips in a dramatic smooch. Again. And again. And again and again-

“L-look how wet ya are…” And it wasn’t even a command, but you can’t help lolling your head down to blink at the way his pale wrist was glistening with all your laminated juices. Musing, “Gonna make ya feel so fuckin’ good. So good.”

Two deft fingers pinch your clit. Hard.

“Ah! N-no!” Your spine bends into such a pretty curve off the bed, perfectly in position for Choso to slide his massive palm underneath and massage away your tensely knotted back. Your fingers are trekking up the clamoring hike onto his broad deltoids to feel the droolworthy jolt of his back muscles. Babbling belatedly, “N-no other alpha has made me feel s-so…”

So…what?

Hypnotized? Addicted? Gone?  

But whatever it was, the sight of you being ruined into a few shattered jumbles of limbs is enough to make Choso’s alpha hum. 

Whispering out, “Can I…” And with a steep inhale of the thick surrounding air, he’s gulping. “C-can I-”

Before you’re gracing him with an answer, you’re helping inch those sleep shorts down. Snailing an almost-blasphemous slicked coat that seeps into your skin. He’s twirling his thumb over the remaining excess left behind - not wasting a single drop. 

And it takes only one saturated hit from where your pheromones were the most concentrated - only one shy peak down at your drooling cunt - before Choso can feel his mind shattering. Gasping. 

The top half of his body all but collapsing on top of yours.

It’s not even on purpose the way he flinches at the thick curve of your thumb floating upwards to tenderly glide away the swab of drool that was flooding Choso’s mouth right now. 

His neat brows quirking upwards, heaving chest choppy - you’re so lustily trapped against the bumped-up planes of his pecs. Feeling the rumble of his heated words, “I-I’ve never…” 

Sounding so utterly worn-out already, Choso’s planting a few firm pecks at the corner of your chin. He’d meant for it to reach your lips - but he couldn’t. Too in a trance to even think about it. And as if to make up for it, he’s kissing your neck, the valley of your thighs, your tummy. Every and any inch he hasn’t been blessed with reaching for the past few years. 

Shuffling all the way until he was practically lips to lips with your sloshing pussy, eyeing down directly at the way your sloppy entrance was welcoming him with another fresh bout of clingy slick. Choso heaves in a long breath.

“Been waitin’ a looong time f’you, y’know? Can I make a mess?” Choso’s whining sweetly, greedy gaze still trained firmly downwards. Tenderly rubbing over your glossed-up folds, “Can I m-make you break?” And those grasping begs of his are barely even audible over the sheer squelching resonating from your slobbery pussy. Your jaw falls slack at how they only make Choso nod. “Y-you’re right- s-so right–”

Talking. And before you know it, the filthiest French kiss is being placed right on your cunt. 

He’s not even hesitating, not even easing you into it - because Choso Kamo has waited so long for this. And he was going to have his fill.

“This is what y-you taste like- this good?” Dragging the very pointed tip of his pretty button nose down your plump clit, he’s smushing it in place with a firm kiss at the very edge of your snug hole. “Th-think this cute cunt can take my fuckin’ cock, beautiful?”

So fucking impatient. 

You’re tangling one set of fingers into the stray strands of his hair, bucking up to drag a slow glide down the lower half of his pretty face. 

And, usually, with an alpha you could be expected to be snapped at with a snarling command. An instruction to just stay put. 

But Choso’s only letting his sharp jaw comfy against the silken sheets, head nuzzling drunkenly into your thighs when you’re pushing and pulling him as you please. Leveraging the vice-like grasp on his scalp to drive steady grinds just the way you like it. 

Whining, “Need you so bad, baby–” 

“Yeah- yeah, use me-” Choso snickers around a teasing bite against the fattened edge of one of your pussy lips. Sucking. “R-reach your pretty high on my face, omega- need you to cum all over me till I-I’m dripping.”

Fuck.

Was this really your nervous, sweet best friend? His words were so dirty, as if he didn’t even realize he was saying them. And they almost make you embarrassed. Shying way just an inch-

“Oh- no. No no no-”  His words come buzzing around your clit, and with a final bite of his elongated canines, Choso’s frantic. He’s scrambling. He’s grasping his powerful arms to loop your thighs and dragging you to him like some ragdoll down the protestingly creaky bed. “S’gonna go to waste- can’t- can’t let it.”

And it’s only about then that you’re dredging up the courage to angle your head further downwards - immediately hit with the sinful sight of Choso in heaven between your limp legs. 

His hair a disheveled curtain, eyes narrowed and smudged with eyeliner. Damply bleeding down onto the regal apples of his high cheekbones at the way your meady slick was reaching his blushing cheeks. It masks his coral pink lips, his jaw, his fucking chin. 

So sopping wet that it’s forming a little puddle down below him that Choso could never even imagine being disgusted by. No, in fact, he was disappointed with himself for not lapping it up even sooner. 

Pumpish lips jutting out in a pout, Choso’s pushing away the hair from his eyes sexily. “Wh-why are you runnin’ away- don’t run away, my girl.”

With a slight giggle, you’re veering your scent to tinge with something comforting. And oh, does it do the trick - because Choso’s eyes swoop downwards drunkenly. Almost closed, almost ruined, he’s huffing out a drawled-out mantra of your name, “Lock it.”

“Wh-what?” You’re choking out.

Soft palms massage gently down your legs, wrapping them around the back of his head. “Lock it.”

Oh.

That was a command, and it has your body pulling taut. Every sensory spot all down your skin screaming to obey - yet, this is something you would have done anyway. Ankles tying together, it’s jostling Choso’s hotly open mouth against your pussy so deeply that you wonder whether he doesn’t have to breathe. 

Whether he doesn’t even want to. 

Because your dear best friend looks so satisfied to die right in the heaven between your legs right now. And he would go such an utterly happy man, too. 

Rosy red lips rubbing rawly against your clit, you’re left a puddle of a needy mess when the roughened tastebuds of his tongue swirl in meticulous little circles. Cheeks hollowing as he sucks, your whines can’t even be heard over the most oozy squelches.

“Heheh- she’s talkin’ back ta me-” Choso’s sputtering out peck after peck. In awe. “She’s talking. Th-think she wants ngh- more.”

More. 

More, more, more. 

Choso’s beginning to think that your dripping pussy’s speaking for himself with the way that’s exactly what he wants right now. Teasing the mushy outer lips of your puckered hole with his fat fingerpads, before bullying in. Inside. 

You’re taking him so well - hips careening even further downwards when he’s feeding your greedy cunt with every long inch of his digits. Slow enough that you could count it - just about six, ringed inches all the way to his knuckles. 

Shit- it’s so hot inside, as if your pretty pussy was practically melting around him. Molding to his every shape as Choso’s driveling swirling around in rummaging little stripes down your gummy walls. Slow. Slick. 

Slender cylindrical intrusions that bump up deftly against your battered g-spots. The chilling stretch of his banded metal rings was too much. Your eager cunt is splattering out a pornographic little gush of your sweet, sweet juices all over again at the way he’s teasingly fondling over that magical spot. 

“J-jus’ a little higher, baby–” you’re spewing out. Deprived. 

And oh, Choso’s darkened eyes are practically lighting up. He doesn’t pull away from your bruised clit to answer - not even to breathe before vibrating out a keening, “Here?”

So desperate. 

Even needier than you. 

You’re blinking through large, globular tears that occupy the space behind your lids. Nodding, “A little more- jus- oh!”   

And Choso didn’t need to hear it from your lips. Hell, he didn’t even need to hear it from the way your snug channel was all but milking his fingers dry. Clinging on in a soppy kiss when he’s probing into your g-spot harder. Meaner. Because the way your intoxicating scent changes - concentrating ever-so-slightly makes Choso realize that you’re cumming before even you register it.

Slamming headfirst into your high, you’re plowing out a belated cry of “I- fuck- m’cumming, Cho. M’cumming, m’cumming-”

Sparks of white splinter your vision, and your knees find themselves just wrenching free from the lecherous comforts of the bed - but Choso won’t let you escape so easily. 

No. 

Barely batting an eye, he’s straining his biceps deadlocked around your legs. Pinning you to the bed until you could barely squirm, barely do anything but take his punishing little clashes against your g-spot head-on. Bumping in. Over and over. 

Choso suckles on your clit like his favorite little gummy, stretching and nibbling until you see stars with your orgasm. 

“Don’t run away-” he’s puffing out into your cunt, the very idea of parting with drizzling pussy making him yelp out a pained grunt. “P-please don’t run away- I promised to make a mess. O-one more f’me, beautiful?”

You’re just molten at his touch. Ravenous and overwhelmingly greedy for you as much as you were for him. Something carnal inside you screaming for more-

“H-hear her?” His eyes are drifting closed at the pulpy little noises your cunt mashes on. Dangling ear piercings twinkling when he’s leering even closer to hear. “Tellin’ me she’s gonna give her- hngh- alpha one more.” Fuck, Choso’s features decorate with the most blazing blush at his own words. How embarrassing. “Wontcha use my mouth all over again? I didn’t get fuuuuck- messy ‘nough last time…”

And as if to prove his point, Choso traces a slow glide of his worked tongue across the sloppily wet coating that drips down his lips. Just for a second.

Your veins bubble sensitively with need at the broken whine sounding from the back of Choso’s throat when you drag him even snugger between your legs. Puffs of leaky pheromones driving the two of you wild, making your hips stutter out a slurring pace up and down his face. 

“Th-this pussy is all f’me- isn’t it, my girl? S’all f’me?”

Even sloppier once you battle out a nod.  

Your cunt is extra slobbery because of your heat anyways, but Choso’s making such a mess on purpose. 

Eyes running away to the back of his head, tongue lolling out even messier. He’s planting such dousing draws of saliva, lathering your sweet spots mercilessly. And his fingers- oh, his fingers were relentless. Shovelling up in solid, wet nudges until you’re able to feel every circular indent of his digits on your g-spot. 

Every run of his manicured nails across where you’re sure you were beginning to get bruised. And every-so-often whenever his eyes glaze green with raw greed - with slight, stupid jealousy over his fingers - you’d peek at Choso plunging his digits into his mouth and sucking.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Matching the lecherous sound of your thundering heartbeat, you can feel yourself squeal at the overstimulating touches. Sobbing out the cutest little whines that make Choso chuckle, “Easy– easy there, my girl.” Letting your cunt free with a sodden pwah! only to spit. Once. Twice. A sticky wad of his thick saliva that blusters its way to coat your puffy pussy lips, “You’re cumming again, right? A-all over my face?”

You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard, but that wasn’t enough for Choso Kamo. 

He wasn’t satisfied until a slow pull of your clit right from between his pearly whites had you bawling out. The backs of your hands dipping upwards to hide your face - which he quickly, and calculatedly spanks away with his free hand. “M’gonna cum soon- ngh- please- Cho- don’ stop.”

Hah, if this was any other time then Choso might’ve laughed. 

Might’ve teased you until you were begging for him in that cute voice once more. But maybe it’s the way his alpha was clawing at his chest from the insides to give you whatever you want, maybe it was the way seeing you fall apart on your heat like this all over him had his cock twitching-

Because Choso only smiles - drunk. Dazed. “Cum f’me, p-please. Ruin me, ma’am..”

He was ruined alright. 

Absolutely sugar-coated with your overlaying juices - it’s dripping down his bed and disappearing into the now see-through fabric of his undershirt like a badge of honor. A badge to say that he’s made you cum for the second time on his mouth. 

That he’s made you squirt. 

Splattering out all over his face with every slurping taste - and yet, Choso still couldn’t get enough. Sweeping up the milky droplets, Choso’s boring his heady gaze right into your widened eyes when he’s leering his mouth agape to make you spy the way each splash slides down his throat. 

God- you’re seeing white all over again. You’re seeing spots, having you gulp in necessary gasps of the soiled air to once more regain your steady heartpace. 

“Ch-Choso-” you’re struggling, voice brittle and gone. Frantically trying to haul - to force - Choso from his favorite home between your cunt, to stop his greedy tongue. “S’enough- can’t cum anymore can’t- ngh-”

“But, beautiful–”

Shit- it would be so easy to get swept up all over again. Because Choso was parched, and he was still far from having his fill. 

Words tinting with a slightly commanding tone, you’re making something dark and primal rear its head when you manhandle him upwards with one hand in his locks, and another on his undershirt. So heavy but pliant. 

Up, up, up-

“Choso–” you’re mumbling out. And before you know it, Chosos hands had toppled you over into the cushiony mattress, and yours were tracing the edge of his too-tight boxers. Tugging. Needy. “I-I want these- off-”

“Anything.” He’s echoing, like it was all that he could right about now. Dewey brows scrunching up into something of a beg, you’re catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs. Deprived. “Anything f-for you-”

Fuck- in your currently woozy state you’re not sure if Choso removed his pants or if he ripped them off. Stumbling and tripping to let the few scarce tatters droop into the floor in a sullen pile. 

With a gulp, your fingers skitter across the planes of his useless undershirt - letting his pretty, bulging muscles peek out at you from underneath when you slide them off of him. Palms smearing in gluttonous little touches across his push pecs, down his rippling abs, down that lusciously dark happy trail and oh-

“S-something the matter, beautiful?” Choso’s heaving in a struggling gulp at the way your gorgeous eyes widen, maw slacking into a soft oh! Head tilting innocently, “M’your hah- best friend, you can tell me a-anythin’.”

“You’re just so…” Comes the whirling answer, your voice slow and alcoholic. He was getting drunk on your words already. “...big.”

Not only was Choso big - he was massive. 

The fat, rotund circle of his head ruddied a strawberry pink, gradiating all the way down his shaft to meet blend into his creamy base. He was so hard that it looked painful, visibly throb! throb! throbbing, bumpy lightning bolts of his veins hammering up at you cheekily. He was so pretty - thick enough that you’re feeling your cunt clench already. Even the burn of your stare has Choso’s reddish divot weeping out a few ropey spurts of pre. Making you dizzy with the incredible size and that musky vanilla scent of his. 

And was that-

Oh. Fuck.

It was.

Through the honeyed slew of precum pooling at Choso’s thick tip, you’re gasping at the slight wink of something metallic. 

Without thinking - without even breathing - you’re drifting your hand down to thumb those syrupy globules thin. Discovering the absolute treasure chest that was a studded Prince Albert’s piercing right near the weepy edge of Choso’s shaft. 

“I got if for- you- Gotta a-another one, y’know-” His gentle rasp jolts you out of your sinful reverie, engulfing hands guiding your own to wrap around his flushed tip and peek under. Right on the slippery sliver of his slit, “A ngh- matching one. Th-thought you might like it…”

Oh- two. 

And, embarrassingly, you can feel the way your scent turns headier. Hypnotizing. Enough so that Choso can’t help the way he’s hanging by a bare thread, head falling into the crook of your neck to breathe in. “Y-you act so innocent but…” 

“But m’only l-like this for you.” He’s tucking your tender earlobe between his teeth. “P-promise. I haven’t even…”

Ah, a virgin. 

Sweet and absolutely gifted. 

And something about it was so cute the way Choso was acting exactly like it. Every wordless toy of your fingers up and down his sensitive glans, making him snarl a lipbite. Girthy length fucking up in shuddering slams into the cushiony tunnel of your palm. Weightily muscled abs flexing with heat when you’re running a thumb under his head to press down on that silver piercing. 

“S-so tiny- heh- your pretty hands are so tiny takin’ my cock, beautiful.” he’s giggling - giggling. Perspiration-simmered forehead knocking into yours, Choso’s letting his tired head loll there and bore into your eyes. “You needa ngh- fuck! Needa slow down, my girl, m’already so close jus’ from making out with yer sweet c-cunt out.” Already close. Just from eating you out. “Else m’n-not gonna be able to control it-”

“I can handle it–” you’re pouting stubbornly. Soft digits clenching even tighter around his cock, and shit, Choso lets his head fall into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. 

Finding himself growing more needy. More feral. Tight, hot curdling in his stomach building up and up.

“M’serious.” His lilting voice breaks, teeth skimming over the pulpy flesh of your sweetened pheromone glands. Nibbling. His incredibly shaky fingers wrap around your shoulders, “Please- ngh- please m’gonna break ya.”

And it’s like you wanted him to.

Dick twitching at those filthy fingers of yours - the way they only pump him faster. And faster. Tighter around the hefty base, more teasing up the slippery slope of his tip - like you were trying to milk out something delicious. 

And you can already feel the way your mouth lathers with a fresh coating of saliva, face inching closer and closer to the bawling peak of his swollen cock. Wanting oh-so-badly to taste the silver of his Prince Albert’s. 

“But I want you to, Cho.”

SMACK!

You’re left stupidly stunned when Choso’s behemoth palm coils like a tight shackle around your tender throat. Pulling you away from his achy cock in a flash, you’re being thrown around like his own personal ragdoll. 

And Choso snickers at the way you’re bouncing cutely on the plush mattress, legs drooping wider and wider agape with every sleazy second he really can’t help but leer over you. Wrangling those boneless legs of yours over his shoulder with a sharp click of his tongue. 

“I-I already told you, beautiful–” he’s bending down, down down to nose along your sweat-dotted cheeks, your skin stark hot against the icy chain of his silver necklace. Chest grumbling with a slight purr. “M’gonna make such a mess of you- can I?”

And that drunken look in Choso’s eyes made him look like he would absolutely shatter if you let your lips shape into a teasing no right about now. Like those warm, salted tears spattering from the corners of his half-lidded eyes and right onto your cheeks would only hasten. 

“Can I- please, my girl- jus’ wanna-” His lips wobble adorably when his sobbing cock glides a slow line between the mushy lips of your pussy. A graze for a graze of his mouth down your own. “-wanna make you mine.”

And just the tip - just a single fat inch shoved into your gummy hole is all it takes for Choso to whimper. 

You’re brushing over his precious cheek, “Ch-Cho, are you okay?”

And Choso can’t answer - hell, he doesn’t think he could even if he wanted to. Because that gushing little clench of your clingy walls all around his sodden wet tip absolutely ruins him. Delicate rivulets of slobber streaming down the smiling edges of his tongue, he’s puffing out an open-mouthed, “No- fuck- d-do I look okay?”

He didn’t.

He seemed like he was burning up - fucked-out already, practically. Pecs rippling with a bolting flex, muscled body shirking with violent shivers when with a low keen of your name - Choso’s cumming. 

“No-” he’s crying out, head flailing backwards. Just from putting it inside for the first time. “No no no no- m’not s’pposed to- yet-”

But he was. Hips recklessly meandering again and again into yours - slight, tugging grinds of just his thickened tip like Choso was afraid of sinking into your heavenly pussy anymore. Like he knew it would break him even more. 

Have him flooding out voluminous ribbons of thick seed, splattering against your spongy channel, and smearing around in dripping vertical patterns with every one of his animalistic ruts. 

“Give it t’me–” you’re locking your ankles even tighter. Prattling out such filthy nonsense that you’re sure you’d get embarrassed about had you not been in your heat. “I-I need your cum, baby- wan’ it allll inside me-”

“Ngh-” Choso’s letting off a broken sound at the back of his throat, squeezing your own with that one hand of his happily making its home there. Blocking off your airway, your heady pheromones only struggle to waft out even more. Saturating. “D-don’t talk like that- n-not outta ya pussy, beautiful.”

“But I w-ngh! want it-”

He gulps, “A-are you sure?” Because this is his best friend - this is the one person he’d never even dreamt of having because that was too dangerous. Too fanciful. The one person he’d written about in every diary, and gotten teased for it by his family just the same. Perfect. 

Yet, you’re so stubborn when you’re in heat. “Mhm– wan’ you to…breed me.”

And he loved it.

Couldn’t get enough of it - or you. 

Choso’s scrambling up one of his jostling hands to latch your hips into a perfect almost-semicircle. Lower lip worried underneath his canines when he’s wiping his fat thumb over the dewdrops of seed treacling from your soppy slit. 

That digit finds its way rummaging between your lips, “Lock it.”

This time, you don’t need it said twice - you don’t even need it to be a command.

Because Choso’s reigning up his own hand to pin both your ankles behind his head, and you think you’ll forever remember just how hot he looked this way. Biceps bulging with the strain, simmering with a slick sheen of perspiration, and his hips-

Oh, it’s like any and every slip of restraint in Choso’s hulking body snapped. 

Because with a loud, saturated squelch! you’re being filled up to what it feels like your lungs with every solid inch of his engorged girth. Inflating your tender insides, buttering your poor cervix with a thick stream of pre when he’s kissing it with a wet thwack!

“Oh- oh.” Choso’s head pushes into the crook of your neck, into your pillow until you were sure that it was soaked with tears of absolute bliss. “Th-this feels nothing l-like my ngh- hand. S’so much more heavenly-”

Yet, you weren’t in the right state of mind to be paying attention to the utter filth that was spilling from your innocent best friend’s mouth. Breath choking up in a lead ball in your throat, you whisper, “Ch-Cho…s’that your knot?”

Your slicked-up folds puckering up in a wet snog against the overinflated ring ballooning around his thick base. The sheer thumping circumference of it makes you squeeze-

“Y-yes–” he’s humming out. The sodden base of his cock thwack! thwack! thwacking your bruising entrance when he’s rutting in and out. Sloppy. Slow. Still trying not to see stars. “God- s’even softer than I ngh- imagined.”

And soft you were. 

This is what your sweet pussy felt like? This good? This should be fucking illegal, he was babbling out - but wouldn’t realize until much, much later. 

Being spearheaded open with every unapologetic rifle to fill you up, the leftover dredges of Choso’s seed trickle a slippery pathway leading him to ambush your g-spot head on. Stubbing his cool metal piercing into your sweetened bullseyes so hard, you swear you could feel the indenting divot of that sinful Prince Albert’s.

“There?” Mesmerized, his eyes grow wide. “R-right there?”

And he’s hot - so feverish. 

Glissading body on top of yours burning up with radiating heat, fracturing our rationality just as much as the sweet vanilla scent of his pheromones were. That tiny heart friendship charm on his necklace hitting your collarbones in a dirty staccato. 

You can feel yourself start to drool with how stupid Choso’s cock was fucking you, curling a few neat raking lines down his statuesquely muscled back. It makes him just arch his cock even deeper to jostle your snug insides riotously. 

“I-imagined about me a lot?” Ah, you’re finding it in yourself to smirk.

Something that Choso’s jackhammering out in quick, increasingly sloppy juts of his hips. Slathering the entirety of his cock with your slicked juices. 

“O-of course.” He’s shifting his eyes gingerly away from yours with a boyish blush. But now that Choso had started talking, he couldn’t stop. “Always wan’ed to f-fuck you through a rut or h-heat like this- to-” Couldn’t keep from hiking up a flattened foot to angle his pierced cockhead into every untouched inch inside you. The special upright curve of his shaft driving you mad. “-to absolutely ruin you and-” The hand at your legs hover right over where he was plummeting your insides with gluey kisses - your womb. “-and make you mine. Ours.”

Ours. 

God, just the mere act of confessing those embarrassing little words had Choso’s hulking body practically melting into yours. 

It’s like his abs were made of adhesive, massaging up and down your front. Drowning you into the plethora of wrecked sheets and him when he’s collapsing on top of you - but still going. Still placing pound after pound. 

“I-I want that too-” And you think you hear Choso sharply gasp, but you can’t confirm over your popping ears. “Always wanted it- ah- wanted you to fuck a baby into me, Cho.”

SLAM!

The slowly-splintering bedframe creaks when one particularly harsh rut has the headboard slamming into the wall behind. 

And that’s all he needed to hear. 

A baby - he wants a baby. He needs one - and this wasn’t just his alpha talking - and he was going to get it.

All that Choso thinks he ever could hear all through his honeyed mind for the rest of his life. Replaying it over and over in his mind like his favorite catchy tune. 

You don’t miss the way that he looks so in love above you, gaze practically heart-eyed and gone. Choso’s raw, swollen lips meteor shower your face with peck after peck - just in time with the collisions of his rounded tip into your sweet spots. 

“Boy or girl?”

“H-huh?” you’re questioning, barely-lucidly. 

“Boy or girl.”

And after those senseless little answers are falling from your lips, Choso’s brushing a hand over your lower tummy. Pushing. Hard. Until his twitchy knot was covered in buttery residues of cum, “Ah- a-always wan’ed a daughter with ya first. With your c-cute smile and ngh- eyes.”

Huffing out an embarrassed, “Choso.”

And he’s only scooping back in the leaky sediments of seed that he’s responsible for making a mess of. Turning a slow thumb right over your tight ring of muscle, “Gonna have my- ngh- style of course, heh- you’d be the best momma. D-don’t care if you’re my best friend, m’gonna breed ya until you’re overspilling, beautiful.”

You needed it so badly. Your heat turning up a notch until it felt like you were boiling from the inside out, candied scent drifting more. 

He’s giggling out, dark lashes batting without his permission. “M’gonna- ngh- take care of you-”. The hand caressing your elastic entrance flies upwards to get cleaned off by his own tongue - before prying your jaw sagging open to spit. “Goood fuckin’ care. N’ hopefully you’ll end up p-pregnant…hopefully.”

He’s encircling the dip in your waist and dragging you forwards to smack against his washboard abs. Unable to squirm. Unable to run away. “Gonna be the p-prettiest momma- the ngh- most beautiful.” Other hand restricting your throat so cozily that your vision tinges with black, “Gonna be mine.”

And when you’re cumming, it’s with those exact words in mind.

The way your sopping walls were milking him for all he’s worth - so greedily - shoving Choso to tip over the edge, too. 

Choso’s letting his body sexily cave into yours, not breaking even a mere inch apart when he’s got you trapped and overfilled with every dollop of his cum icing your insides. And right now you could already feel the way your scents were mixing, the way Choso turns slightly cross-eyed- 

Before sharply turning to your glands and biting. 

Hard. 

His predatory canines break through your epidermis layer like butter, a crimson lipstain gushing from the wound and staining his lips a handsome rouge. 

And - only belatedly, once your omega’s snapping at you with her teeth bared - do you realize that it’s your turn to do the same. As if you would want any other. 

Locking your jaw to dig into his pale, dampish throat, Choso sucks in his cheek to muffle the slightest whine when you’re wringing him through every speck of bliss he could possibly ever feel in a lifetime. Furious cock stuttering out a few more lazy wisps of cum at the mingling feeling of finally being yours. 

“Not ‘nough-” He’s eyeing the leftover ring of cum painting his knot, “Can I fill ya up m-more? Please? Please- my girl.”

You’re pulling away with a woozy nod to rub your thumb over the dug indents of your teeth, gently soothing slow circles over the feral sting. 

Filling you up over and over with each pound, he’s fucking you into the mattress like he hates you. And he’s fucking you like every shuddering ram had a creamy ounce of cum pouring into your gummy walls. Glueing in wet splats against your g-spot, your cervix, like a second sloppy skin. 

Generous helpings of cum drifting into almost blanks-

“Heh- haaaah- y’know tha’s makin’ me still c-cum, beautiful.” Choso’s leaving sodden kisses on your own mark, your lips. “M’sorry m’sorry I- I can’t stop- I just- can’t.”

And it’s sheer animal nature in you that’s screaming at you that you don’t want him to stop until you’re sure it takes. That’s bending down a hand as much as deftly as possible to wrap around Choso’s slightly softening cock - that only tuts in impatience. 

“Wh-when I said inside-” You’re pumping his soaked base as much as possible, feeling the stiffening twitch at his tip buried inside you. “-I mean- inside-”

It’s like you’re being split-apart - like you couldn’t be any fuller if you tried. 

And, yet, only the very curvaceous top of Choso’s inflated knot had bullied its way in-between your lewdly stretched hole. Gaping a pathway so incredibly girthy that it makes you scrunch your brows, head tumbling backwards. 

“Oh- oh, my greedy, greedy girl.” But Choso doesn’t look one bit admonishing - not one bit. Slithering a hand down to your cunt, he’s steamrolling two thick pads of his fingers. Rubbing up against your squeamish walls, scissoring your tight entrance so amply open. “I can put it…inside. R-really, really inside?”

Oh, Choso doesn’t know what blessings he’s received in his past lives. But absolutely nothing could have prepared him for how swelteringly hot and cushy you were around his fat knot. 

Swallowing up the bulging circlet, plugging up your seeping slit safely so that you’re not spilling a single glutinous splotch of his cum. So that it will take. It’s such a tight fit. Such a burning stretch. You felt so full you could burst with every throb of his swollen knot probing your walls. 

Ah, you look so pretty this way.

And Choso’s half-wishing he had a camera to capture this moment. With his lips pressing a few syrupy kisses along every inch of skin he could reach. Somewhere near your tummy - so full and slightly inflated with the copious amounts of cum that were dumped inside you. 

He’s murmuring something drunken - something you probably weren’t even supposed to hear. But at the curious tilt of your head, your best friend chews over his lips nervously. 

And a giddy smile plasters across your face at the saccharine love in your best friend’s eyes - the way he was probably mulling over asking you out on a date. There was no turning back at this point, and your omega purred in agreement as you got ready to say yes. For him to say a sweetened- 

“Marry me.”

A/N. You show up at the next Itadori family dinner with a ring and Sukuna has an actual heart attack.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Why is pulling an all dayer harder than pulling an all nighter

[egglain]

Choso is everyone’s favourite boy. Even your mom’s, which is saying something. Always the gentleman, he’s so in tune with your needs and emotions— he’s a sensitive soul.

In public, he’s perfect. Holds your bags when you shop, opens doors, and always has his card out before you can think to find your wallet. He’s great at grounding you, making sure you stop for food and drinks. And Choso loves to share. He doesn’t care about stares you receive as his fork flies over your plates to give you a bite of his order.

At home, he helps you with your shoes, makes sure you park yourself on the couch while he takes care of putting things away. Even though he’s still getting the hang of cooking, you never go to bed hungry— even if it means ordering in with a movie.

He really is the sweetest.

Outside the bedroom.

explicit content under the cut. 18+, mdni.

Behind closed doors, Choso is a different creature.

Depraved doesn’t even begin to cover it.

It never starts out that way, of course— no, it’s always wholesome at the beginning. Falling asleep, Choso pulls you closer to his chest as his leg wraps over your hip. It’s an innocent gesture, cuddling in as you begin to drift off.

That is, until he starts rutting up against you.

How could he not? Your smell, your body against him, your sleepy mumbles of endearment— he couldn’t help himself.

Which is how you end up with your bottoms around your ankles and his wet, pulsing cock twitching between your thighs.

He’d hump them messily, hands fondling your chest and nipples, bringing himself to the edge before stopping to kiss you.

He loved playing this game— getting himself close just to pull away, until his legs were shaking with need and his cock was so hard and heavy it hurt.

By then, of course, he’d be too far gone.

“Just the tip— please. Please, baby— just— just the tip and I’ll stop.”

Squeezing his balls and jerking his base just a little too rough, he’d babble for it. Beg. Beg until his eyes were stinging with tears, until you were reaching down to spread yourself open for him.

One nudge of his soaked, throbbing head against your too-hot hole would have him seeing stars. Toes curling and sharp teeth sinking into your shoulder, he’d paint you white between grunts and whines.

“Fuck— wasted it— needs to go inside. Need to be inside. Please.”

Which is how you end up pinned under him, Choso drilling you into the pillows as he desperately tries to fuck his cum inside.

Your hissed gasps and choked-off moans have his cock leaking like a faucet; he slips out too many times to count, but he’s nothing if not determined. He fucks into your tight little hole with unparalleled speed, the slap of his balls against your ass sure to brand your skin.

He’s never satisfied, finishing like this— as stuffed as you are.

No, he needs to see you.

So, you’re wrangled onto your back, Choso’s shaking form above you as he slides home once more. He nestles his cock as deep as he can reach, tears falling from the overstimulation. His cock feels raw, weeping and burning from the incessant pounding, but he can’t stop his hips.

Poor thing.

Nothing gets him harder than this— your lips on his cheeks, kissing away his tears and cooing as his tip stirs your insides. Your legs around his waist, your nails clawing at his back, the feeling of your chest against his— it’s all too much.

He’d cum crying, shaking as his hips stutter, fucking his cum deep inside.

He’d fall asleep like that, plugging his seed inside you, trembling in your grasp.

You’d wake up to strong hands on your thighs, tongue prodding at your insides as he cleans you up.

“Thank you— thank you—“

Muffled into your skin, you can barely make out what he says.

But of course, you already know.

He’s your sweet boy, after all.

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (141 x fem!reader, live together)

Beside you, Kyle is the first to wake up in the morning. He’ll pad towards the kitchen, enjoying the sight of you making your morning drink silently, before moving to stand right behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds he bulge lazily against your ass. He just wants to feel your warmth, how nice your soft flesh press against his cock.

“Just want to feel you, baby. It’s so cold out here.” He’ll unabashedly slip his hands under your pajamas shirt, kneading your breasts and tugging at those sensitive buds, forcing you to stop brewing your drink because you might spill the liquid.

Kyle just want to get an orgasm from you, a gift for you two morning birds, he claims before succumbing to sleepiness and tuck himself back under the duvet, fully content with being the first man making you come undone everyday, and sleeps in 5 more minutes.

You know Johnny will drag you into the shower with him whenever he comes back from his morning jog. You chide him before he engulfs you in his embrace, lightheartedly calling him a stinky man and shush him to go shower first.

So his solution is hug you despite your protest, then pull you inside the bathroom together, stripping off your pajamas and his sports wear impatiently before jumping into the shower with you.

“We’re both stinky now, jus’ thought ye might need a shower too.” Johnny grins when you glare at him, shamelessly pretends he’s just ‘looking out for ye’ while his hands traveling across your body, groping and preparing you for his cock with his hard dick prodding at the small of your back. He’ll never hurt you, but as soon as you’re wet enough for his girthy shaft, he’ll pick you up, stretching you deeply and completely with the help of your weight, groans and growls at how good you are, how your precious pussy takes him so good, ignoring Ghost’s noise complaint coming from the other side of the bathroom door as he fucks you fast and feral, making you unable to care about suppressing your moans and cling onto him, let him keep scooping you in his arms and thrust into you till he empty his balls in your good little cunt.

Finally getting Kyle and Johnny pass out from the alcohol, John and Simon manhandle them back to the bedroom before entering the living room again. 00:13, a glance at the clock telling you it’s late in the night, but it’s just the start for the three of you. Retrieving a bottle of fine rum, John seats you between him and Simon, thighs touching with theirs as you all sip on the wine and chat quietly. “The boys will chug the rum like it’s some cheap beer, they can settle with those just fine.” John chuckles lowly and comments on the awful taste and drinking habit of Kyle and Johnny.

“Those bonkers will stick to your side the whole day and complain if they find out, old man.” Simon chimes in after huffing out a laugh at John’s words.

You snicker along with them, feeling fully content and relaxed with squished between two of your lovers, joking about the other two men you loved while the rum flows smoothly down your throat. Soon your composure slips after few nips of the wine, whining cute and groggily as Simon ravish in the kiss with you, tongues dance and tangle with each other in a slow pace, let him drink down all your syrupy moans and coos in rare gentleness, so John can slickens up your pussy with his lips and your juices, making sure you can accommodate their fat cocks later, and you can’t expect or plead him to sink his cock into you already until him and Simon can see your juices dripping down your soaked folds, praying them to fill you up.

The two men will treat you so well, worshipping their dearest girl in the world. Simon’s fingers and lips are always on you when John squeeze his fat tip into your entrance, gliding in and out slowly and heavily, so all those spongy spots of yours that can make you chant his name like a mantra aren’t missed out. When he put a load in you with a husky groan, passing you onto Simon’s lap and let you lean back on his chest, he’ll plant tiny kisses on your shoulder, murmur about how they love you—will protect you and keep you safe and sound—against your skin. Simon allows him to indulge in the heat and tightness of your pussy, grunting and praising you as he fuck John’s cum back inside you, making sure you take each drops of John’s seeds, like the reliable lieutenant he always is for his captain. The base of his length has formed a creamy froth the time he nips down slightly on your shoulder to muffle his moan, drenching your messy cunt with every bit of his release. “Atta girl.” His croon is added with John’s soothing voice “Yeah, been so good for us, princess.”

They both pick up the glass once again to finish the remaining rum, with you already drifting between your slumber and consciousness, listening to their small chatters as your own lullaby. You don’t know when they’ll finish drinking, or if one of them will nestle their cock inside your pussy again, just to feel your walls clenching down subconsciously, but you let yourself slip into a dream, because they’ll take good care of you, always do and always will.

[so-many-ocs]

practical writing advice

part 2

avoid writing in bed if you can. writing in bed is the mind-killer. writing in bed is the little death that brings obliteration. you may think "but i can write AND be cozy" you will get sleepy so fast. 98% of the time when i try to get a nighttime writing session done in bed i go to sleep. maybe 70% of the time if it's an afternoon writing session. also it fucking kills your wrists.

STRETCH before writing. stretch as many parts of your body as possible ESPECIALLY YOUR WRISTS! i have chronic tendonitis in both of my arms from not doing this and it is manageable but it is Not Fun!

plug your phone in on the other side of the room. better yet, plug it in and leave it in another room. better yet, power it off and leave it in another room. "i'll just check one quick thing" do not underestimate the power of the doomscroll.

do a warmup. look up writing prompts (i like one-word prompts or prompts that focus on a general theme as it's easier to integrate into my writing style), set a timer for fifteen minutes, or ten, or five, and go ham. make it shitty or incomprehensible, as long as you make it. create a dump document for all your warmups. i currently have two novels in the works that started as one of these fifteen minute little warmups.

pick your background noise ahead of time if you use it, and look for something long. i listen to 3-hour-long silent hill ambient mixes on youtube dot com.

take breaks. around every 45 minutes, as i'm noticing myself begin to lose focus, i get up, grab a drink, get my blood flowing, and give myself some space to breathe.

sometimes i sit down to write and i think "every atom in my body is averse to doing this right now. i would rather dance barefoot on a bed of nails than open my laptop and start typing." and you know what i do? i go do something else instead. don't force it! it will become a chore.

that being said! write as often as possible. try to write every day. try to write at the same time. don't beat yourself up if you can’t, BUT the more often you write, the more often you'll want to write.

if you're stuck on a scene or a page or a chapter, go back to the last place where you felt like you knew what you were doing and start writing from there. keep a copy of your other writing in case you want to reuse it or refer back!

i don't know if this is something that will be helpful for other people but i start mentally preparing myself for my writing session a few hours ahead of time. i will say to myself, "today, at this time, i'm gonna sit down and write that scene where mina walks out on her book club, and it's going to be awesome and i'm looking forward to it." then, by the time i actually begin, i basically have the whole thing written out in my head and can just put it down to paper. it's a good way to at least kickstart the session !

ok thanks bye