#this one seriously got away from me... it was only supposed to be a drabble

[neilissevered]

Hiii! Can i req a drabble for Baku again? Maybe fluffy and comforting Baku wherein he finds reader drunk (But reader doesn’t drink so it’s unusual for reader to be that way), and he just takes care of the reader?

Yk those ones who pull up their hair when they throw up, etc. U can experiment on this one I really don’t mind but that’s the gist of it!

- Anon 🧃 (I’ll send in as this one! I’m the one who first requested for Baku ❤️)

ˋ°•*⁀➷DRUNK ON YOU!

You got drunk for the first time. Hu-Min found you, stopped you from puking in a bush, carried you like a bride, and crashed on your couch like a man with morals. Drabble, whc2, reader has long hair, accidental confession, soft and flustered Hu-min Park Hu-min (Baku) x gn! reader wc: 1k+ tw: mentions of vomiting, but it's not descriptive. masterlist

The alcohol hits harder than expected.

You can tell… but at the same time, you can’t.

The world spins lazily around you, like it’s floating just out of reach. Your body feels weightless, but your head is filled with cotton, and your ears are ringing with a dull buzz. The shot glass in your hand is warm, slick, almost melting in your grip.

You don’t drink. Everyone knows that. You know that.

And yet, here you are—slumped against the back wall of a convenience store, half-hidden behind a row of boxes, nursing your second (or was it third?) bottle of soju like it’s a lifeline.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You had other plans tonight—study a little, rest your brain, maybe even sleep early. But the week had chewed you up and spit you out, and with exams looming over your head like storm clouds, you cracked.

A bottle won’t kill me, you had thought.

Just this once.

You’d read the posts online. Those who said alcohol numbs the stress, softens the edges of a bad day, and makes things quieter, if only for a little while.

They weren’t wrong.

You feel… floaty. Unanchored. Like you’re laughing at nothing in particular—maybe at the absurdity of it all. Maybe just because it’s easier than crying.

Your phone buzzes again. For the fourth time in the last five minutes.

It's the group chat with the boys.

Bakutastic🏀: "seriously dumbass WHERE are u??" Si-genius: "you okay?" GoTank: "if you don’t reply, I’m tracking your phone. Not joking." JUNNIE💕💗🐰🐰🐰: "So…Baku ran off😭😭"

You stare at the screen, lips tugging into a crooked smile.

Always so worrisome, those three. Like they weren’t getting into fights every day.

You don’t reply. Not yet.

Right now, you just want to stay in this haze a little longer, where nothing matters, and everything feels far, far away.

Then suddenly—

A hand wrapped gently around your arm, pulling you out of the hazy fog you’d been drifting in. Before you could even process it, you were moving—

No… falling.

Straight into someone’s arms.

Warm. Steady. Familiar.

Hu-min.

He held you tightly, like he’d been holding his breath the whole time and could finally exhale. You felt the rise and fall of his chest, still a little frantic, like he’d been running. And he had searched every convenience store he knew you liked, desperate to find you.

And now he had.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. His thumbs brushed gently against your skin, tapping lightly as if trying to wake you from a dream.

“Hey,” he murmured, worry tightening his voice, “you should’ve called me if you were planning to get drunk.”

A soft scolding, but his touch never left your face.

Then, with a small, helpless huff, he pinched your already flushed cheeks.

“Idiot,” he added, quieter this time. “What if I hadn’t found you?” His voice was a lot softer than usual.

You only hummed out in response. Smiling lazily up at Hu-min as your vision came in waves. He looked funny. You laughed, wrapping your arms around his waist as you grinned up at him

“Join me, Hu-min.”

“Are you seriously trying to ask me out right now?”

“They say it’s best to share soju with a lover!”

“You—“

Hu-min looked away. Face turning red at your very sudden, bold attitude. Your words were slurred, and you hiccuped with each syllable, but the way you were grinning up at him like a lovesick fool made your intentions pretty clear.

You just confessed. Accidentally…

“Okay, you’re completely drunk, and I’m teasing you about this in the morning.” He huffed, fixing your messy hair and your jacket that was slipping off one shoulder. 

You only laughed, almost falling further, but Hu-min already had an arm wrapped around your waist. Supporting your body with his while he walked back to your place.

Soju definitely worked with escaping your academics

Your relationship with Hu-min will, however, turn very interesting in the morning.

Hu-Min managed to get you home with surprisingly little trouble, which was impressive, considering you were leaning your entire weight against him like your legs had given up for the night. He tried to match your unsteady footsteps, but it was a lost cause. You kept wobbling unpredictably, veering into his side like a very affectionate shopping cart with one broken wheel.

Still, he held on, one arm locked tightly around your waist, the other hovering protectively in case you decided to face-plant into the sidewalk.

It was a quiet night. Just the crunch of gravel under your shoes, the soft buzz of faraway streetlights, and your off-key humming something vaguely familiar, possibly the theme song of a children’s show.

He should’ve been annoyed. Embarrassed, even. But all he could think about was the words you slurred earlier:

“They say it’s best to share soju with a lover!”

His ears were still burning.

Then—

“Hu-min. Hu-min.”

He blinked out of his thoughts. “Hm?”

“I think I need to vomit.”

“What.”

He came to a dead stop. Your apartment building was literally right there, glowing like a finish line in some twisted, drunken marathon — and you were about to throw up next to a shrub like a tragic K-drama extra?

“Hey—HEY! Keep your mouth shut!” he shouted, nearly tripping over his own feet as he scrambled to stop you from bending over the nearest bush. “Don’t even look at that hedge!”

You groaned. “But I’m dying.”

“No, you’re not! You’re just dramatic and full of bad decisions!”

You slumped harder into him, breathing through your mouth like a medieval damsel. He muttered a string of curse words under his breath, then looked up at the second-floor balcony of your building.

The elevator was out. Of course.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he hissed to himself. Then, louder:

“Okay. This is happening.”

With a grunt, Hu-Min bent down, swept your legs up, and lifted you bridal-style into his arms. You yelped in surprise, then immediately wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Oh my god,” you giggled, voice muffled against his collarbone. “Are you finally sweeping me off my feet?”

“Shut up,” he huffed, already halfway up the stairs. “You’re literally seconds away from puking, and I’m saving your dignity. Barely.”

Your head lolled against his shoulder, but you looked up at him with that same dazed, lovestruck smile from earlier—the one that made his heart beat a little too fast.

“…You’re strong,” you murmured.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You smell nice.”

“Do NOT throw up on me.”

He made it to your apartment door in record time, panting and slightly red-faced—though whether it was from physical exertion or your constant drunk compliments, even he wasn’t sure.

When he finally set you down, gently leaning you against the wall to unlock your door, you sighed dreamily and said, “This is the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He snorted.

“Then your standards are tragically low.”

Finally, after some fumbling with your bag and a lot of muttering under his breath about why you carried five pens but no water, Hu-Min managed to fish out your keys. He nudged the door open with his shoulder and kicked it shut behind him, heading straight for the bathroom like a man on a mission.

He gently set you down by the sink, supporting your body with one hand while reaching for a towel with the other. Then, without a word, he grabbed your toothbrush, ran it under water, and squirted on your toothpaste like it was part of some practiced emergency routine.

You groaned and leaned forward, and he was already there, brushing your hair back from your face, gathering it in his hand like it was second nature. He held it gently but firmly, thumb stroking the back of your neck with a feather-light touch you were almost too drunk to notice.

“There,” he said softly, crouching a little to meet your eyes. “You’ll feel more sober once you rinse off.”

You blinked at him, swaying slightly as you stared at his face, all soft lines and furrowed brows and the kind of worry that couldn’t be faked. Before you could say anything else, though, you vomited into the sink, and Hu-min waited patiently for you to finish.

“You okay?”

“You’re reallyyyy good at this,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded.

“At holding your hair while you puke?” he laughed 

You nodded slowly. “Mm-hmm. Husband material.”

He froze for half a second, toothbrush still in his hand. Then:

“Brush your teeth before you say stuff like that.”

But even as he said it, his ears turned pink again. It’s ridiculous how soft he gets with you. His voice turns down a notch, and instead of his loud and boisterous attitude, he can’t help but feel calmer and relaxed around you.

Hu-min stayed the entire time. He helped you brush your teeth and wash your face. 

“C’mon, your highness,” he grumbled as he gently steered you out of the bathroom, one hand on your back. “We’ll talk in the morning, when you’re more sane, okay?”

You dropped onto the mattress like a sack of potatoes, face-first. “You’re my favorite person.”

“That’s the soju talking.”

“Nooo,” you mumbled, voice muffled by your pillow. “The soju would never lie to you.”

Hu-min laughed under his breath, but it came out more fond than amused. He pulled the blanket up over your shoulders and gently tugged your tangled hair out from under your face.

Just as he stood to leave, you cracked one eye open and reached out lazily, catching the hem of his shirt.

“…Stay?”

He froze.

A beat passed.

“…No,” he said, more gently than expected. “You’re barely sober, I'll stay at your couch." He bent down, carefully swiping away stray strands of hair from your face.

You pouted. “But my bed’s cold.”

“I’ll turn up your heater dumbass” he laughed, prying your fingers off with great care.

You flopped back dramatically, already halfway to sleep again. “You’re no fun…”

“Righttt…” he muttered, walking out, “that’s definitely the problem tonight.”

He grabbed a spare blanket from your cabinet and made his way to your couch, shaking his head to himself as he lay down, arms behind his head.

Silence filled the room, broken only by your soft breathing.

Then— “…Hu-min?”

He groaned. “Yes, your highness?”

“…Don’t forget to dream about me.”

He stared at the ceiling. Then covered his face with the blanket.

“You’re so annoying.”

But under that blanket, he was smiling like an idiot.

an: Hello again, anon! I'm sooo sorry this took a while to post! Got a bit busy! But anyway, I feel like this scenario would also apply to a platonic relationship with Hu-min! (minus the romantic stuff, ofc) He's a really caring person and would definitely want to make sure his friends are okay when black out drunk.

[fabbyf1]

You Were The Best (You Were The Worst)

“What do you want?” You. Only you. Always you. “Tell me what you want, Logan.” 

“Oscar, ple—”

“Tell me what you want, and you can have it.” 

“You,” Logan said, not looking away from his eyes. “I want you.” 

“Well, then I’m all yours, baby.”  OR: the angsty estranged-best-friends-to-lovers fic. They haven’t talked since Logan left the grid.

Oscar Piastri/Logan Sargeant | 15k | Read on AO3

[fireinmoonshot]

drabble dump 3 | joaquín torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Three more drabbles about Joaquín: scratching his back to help him fall asleep, watching him shave and him brushing your hair for you. Warnings: Reader is implied to have hair that's long enough to tie up/brush/braid in the third drabble and I think that's about all. Word Count: 956 A/N: These were requested by a lovely anon so I hope I did them justice. I just love writing these little drabble dumps, especially when I'm tired! 😅 I love how these ones turned out though – especially the second one!

Helping Joaquin fall asleep.

It all started accidentally. Joaquin had never planned this. He never intended to make a habit of the fact that he couldn’t sleep without feeling your hands on him in some way. It was going to make sleeping a real pain whenever he was away from you.

But when he was with you… well, it was perfect.

He’s laying on his front in the bed beside you, arms folded underneath the pillow his head is resting on. His eyelids flutter shut as he feels your fingers drifting up and down his bare back. He shivers a little at the sensation, though he’s enjoying every second of it.

The fact that the feeling of your fingers gently scratching his back calms him so much is something he’d never expected. Especially considering your nails have scratched his back in much less calming ways in the past. But now, as he lays beside you and feels your touch on his back, he finds his mind becoming a lot quieter.

Joaquin has always had a fairly active mind and often he finds it difficult to quiet it when it comes to go to bed. It’s always easier when you’re beside him, though. When he can wrap an arm around you or pull you into his chest. This, though… this calms his mind in an entirely different way. 

“Just relax, baby,” he hears you mutter softly. “You can sleep. I’m right here.”

He drifts off not long after, feeling the calmest he’s felt all day.

~~~

Watching him shave at night

“What are you looking at?” Joaquin asks, glancing across at you from where he stands in front of the sink. He removes the razor from his face and swishes it around in the water in the sink, removing the shaving cream and hair from it so he can keep going.

You’re sitting on the toilet seat, doing absolutely nothing but looking up at him. You were supposed to be doing your own night routine, but your skincare sits untouched on the counter. At first, you just decided you’d wait for Joaquin to be done but then you started watching him shave and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

“Are you seriously asking me that question?” You reply, raising your eyebrows at your boyfriend as he continues to shave. 

He swishes the razor in the water again. “Is this entertaining to you?” He sounds a little amused. “I barely even have any facial hair to shave off, angel. There’s nothing to see.”

“Hm, I disagree,” you hum. “I think there’s plenty to see. For example, I’ve got a great view of your jawline from this angle, especially since there’s no more shaving cream on this side. And when you tilt your head back, I can just about see the remnants of that hickey I left on you last week.”

Your words are teasing but they hit the spot. Joaquin stops shaving and turns to look at you. He looks amusing, half of his cheek still covered in the shaving cream, but his eyes are a little wide and his lips are parted just a bit. 

“What?” You ask innocently, tilting your head to the side.

Joaquin lets out a laugh and puts the razor down on the edge of the sink. You only have one second to regret your teasing before he steps towards you and attempts to wipe the remaining shaving cream all over your face. His lips only catch yours once, but he succeeds in his mission – most of the shaving cream has now been transferred to your face. 

You gasp, hand moving to touch your cheek, as Joaquin steps backwards, a triumphant grin on his face. “You little shit…” You murmur, looking down at the shaving cream that comes away on your hand. “This is not my skincare routine!” 

He laughs. “I saw my chance and I took it, angel.”

“Oh, you’re so going to regret that,” you say, standing up from the toilet seat and extending your shaving cream covered hand towards Joaquin. 

He yelps and sprints from the bathroom. You waste no time in following him, smiling as you hear his laughter while he attempts to run away from you. “I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!” He calls, though there is nothing serious in his voice.

“You’re not getting let off that easy, Torres!”

~~~

Joaquin brushing your hair

“Give me that,” Joaquin says, taking your hairbrush from your hands. He rests his hands on your shoulders and starts to steer you out of the bathroom and towards your bedroom. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up, angel.”

You rub your eyes in the adorable way Joaquin loves, moving to sit down on the edge of your bed. Joaquin climbs onto the bed behind you and gently removes the hair tie that’s been keeping your hair out of your face all day.

“I’m a pro at this,” Joaquin murmurs, beginning to gently brush through your hair. He’s careful with it, not wanting to be too rough or pull too much. You’ve had a long day at work and he wants nothing more than to help you relax before bed. 

You attempt to stifle a yawn and fail. “You are a pro,” you say, voice quiet.

Joaquin smiles at the sound of it. “I am. I’ve had lots of practice thanks to you.” He continues running the brush through your hair. “Do you want me to try and braid it or do you want me to leave it out for bed?”

“Can you braid it for me in the morning before work?” 

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’ll set my alarm right away.”

[bunnigumi]

can you do drabbles of best friend (fwb) gumi (*´-`) (i love ur work and aesthetic btw (´ｰ｀) )

cw. megumi x reader , friends with benefits , first time , possessiveness

an. i think i got carried away... i sooooo love this trope hehe. and thank you, nonnie! ^w^ (not carefully proofread)

Hey, 'Gumi, remember how I said you owe me one?

Fwb!Megumi isn't startled when you casually ask him if he can take your virginity.

Honestly, you were partially joking, but when he agrees with that static expression like you didn't just ask your best friend to be your first time, you're taken by surprise. You really didn't think he'd entertain your idea. Anticipating a huff, him brushing it off as a joke

You were expecting a more touch-and-go experience: He fucks you, you can claim you're no longer a virgin, and that's that. But he really takes the time to get you all worked up and desperate, telling you that your first should be your most memorable. It's just the rules.

And it was supposed to be a one time thing, you swear! But after that, nothing could get you off as good as he did.

Fwb!Megumi can't help the teasing smile on his expression when you tell him that you want to have sex again, Didn't realize we were friends with benefits now.

You can't even begin to explain how degrading it feels to go back on your own word, but you've been so pent up and had no one other than him to help... He seriously ruinied your ability to orgasm.

He teaches you the reins the second time around. How to touch him, The tip is the most sensitive. And tighten your grip, it's better. How to ride him, Fuck... yeah, that's it, letting go of your waist he leans back into the pillows, keep moving your hips like that.

It's way better than highschool sex-ed, that's for sure.

Fwb!Megumi is weirdly intimate—not that it's a bad thing. He's always had a romantic streak, even if he denies the fact.

It's in how he kisses you, not with hunger or pure lust. In the way he holds your hands and leaves marks on your neck that are hard to hide. Even if you whine about it, he'll still do it.

He has your other friends wondering who'd be giving them to you since you weren't in a relationship with anyone.

When you need a little cheering up, Fwb!Megumi starts offering a little more than just emotional support.

You're on your elbows and knees, back arched, face buried into his pillow. Avoiding his face so that he wouldn't have to see the makeup running down your own. Even though hes seen you in way worse states, somehow it's more embarrassing when he's inside you.

Your date had stood you up. Megumi knew how excited you were for it. Barging into his place, carrying tons of outfits in your arms. Showing them off. Asking him for his input, what you should wear. Which dress flaunts your body off best.

He told you that you'd look great in anything, but you urged that you should look perfect, and as your best friend, it's his obligation.

Fwb!Megumi likes to be a bit rough with you when you're sad like this. Feel-better-sex, as he jokes.

Tight enough with his grab on your hips to leave bruises, He finds that you forget about the pain better when you have a greater sensation to focus on. Dopamine's your favorite drug.

And he wont admit this either, but he's real possessive over you. As your best friend, he knows that you deserve more than the world.

Frankly, he likes the idea of keeping you all to himself; its practically why he agreed to your request in the first place.

He won't make you flip over so he can see your face while he fucks you missionary, but he really wants to see the pleasure wash over your face. To see how he can only make you feel good like this.

Pounding you from the back so hard that you forget the name of the douche who stood you up is good on it's own. Theres enough proof of his worth to you in how your cries are that of satisfaction, and not the kind caused by stupid boys who don't deserve to even look at you.

No one else should get to experience how your cunt tightens around him as your about to cum. Hear the way you moan out him name wantonly. See how you push back onto him when he tries to pull out, insisting that he stay inside you for just a little longer.

There's one more thing Fwb!Megumi won't tell you either; he really, really loves this arrangement.

[kaiserposting]

Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Dick Measuring

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 0.8k TYPE: Humor, Drabble WARNING(S): This is literall y just one giant dick joke help NOTE: If you wanna see the rest of the horrible not-polycule series it's at the bottom of the masterlist

While scrolling through your phone at a ferocious speed with a manic grin, you turn to Ness and announce, “Look, over 500 thousand tweets mentioning my name. The viewers are all up on my cock now.”

He glances at you in disdain, which is hard to pull off with his cutesy face. Somehow he manages it though each time you two converse. In a judgemental tone, he asks, “Are you seriously name searching yourself?” Sure, he knows Kaiser does it too, but you’re not Kaiser so that shit doesn’t fly.

“Yeah. Check it out, someone made a compilation of me owning Kaiser. With filters.” You flash the screen at them both to show it off.

Kaiser spares it a dismissive glance, mind lost somewhere else.

“Give me that,” says Ness. Then he grabs the device out of your grasp and squints at the screen, memorizing the username.

“Don’t tell me you’ll mass report their account for that?”

“I won’t,” he lies, smiling at you before giving you back your phone as if he didn’t snatch it away in the first place.

“You’re doing full splits on it. Like, you could be, like, a gymnast.”

“W-Well, so what?! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“So they’re all up on your cock huh?” Kaiser asks. The smug expression he’s making right now, you get the inkling he’s about to say something terrible. And he delivers as per your expectation: “I bet mine’s bigger.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow at that, this judgmental expression on your face.

Ness nods, still seeming pleasant. “It probably is.”

“Bragging on another man’s dick size is crazy.”

“It’s not crazy! I’m speaking realistically.”

“Well,” says Kaiser, annoyed at having to wrestle with Ness for your attention all the time when Ness is supposed to be helping him score you, “there’s only one way to find out. We should both get naked and check.”

Your stare switches from unimpressed to blank. Vacant of any signs of life. Even Ness scrunches his eyebrows and appears slightly aghast at the suggestion, which is how you know it’s egregious for sure. Wow, this has to be his most desperate attempt at flirting to date. What’s making it worse is the fact that he’s not even reacting to your collective puzzlement with the whole thing.

Once you regain enough sense to respond, you say, “Thanks, but no thanks. You know I’m not interested in the small things in life, Kaiser.”

This also snaps Ness out of his trance as he is now offended, though he graciously spares you of any further embarrassing commentary, settling for glaring.

“Wanna compare just to make sure?”

Your lips quirk up. “Here’s my list of things I’ll never let near my nether regions: police officers, male photographers, multi level marketers, politicians, Michael Kaiser.”

“Aww, why? You’re no fun,” Kaiser coos at you mockingly.

“I bet you have the funniest penis ever.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Ness interjects while Kaiser merely tilts his head to the side, awaiting elaboration on this statement.

“Like you were probably uncircumcised when you were little and then you grew up and got a circumcision for aesthetic purposes or something else hilarious like that,” you say.

“What?” He crosses his arms and scoffs at the notion. “Ok now I’m convinced you’re just stupid. What a hauntingly dimwitted concept to come up with.” Then he smirks at you again, straightening his back and raising his eyebrows. “But, again, if you wanna make sure that there’s nothing wrong with it, the offer still stands.”

“Listen here. If you say anything along these lines to me ever again, something’s gonna happen.”

“Oh really?” Kaiser gets all up in your face. He remains amused. “And what’s going to happen?”

“I’ll send you to where Shinzo Abe is.”

He blinks at you for a second while Ness is mumbling incomprehensible threats in the background. Then he smiles at you before leaning back to a more socially appropriate distance. “Alright, I admit, I appreciate this one out of all your little retorts.”

“I think you love any words I waste on you. Attention whore. Anyway, I’ll go work out in one of the training rooms with the cameras for fanservice, so I’m leaving.” You pass by Kaiser and stop in front of Ness, puckering your lips in an exaggerated manner, blowing him a kiss. “Bye bye, Ness.”

He blushes and crosses his arms while pouting, pretending he totally didn’t enjoy that as you walk off. Kaiser gives him a scornful look.

Ness remembers the whole conversation which ensued. “I’m sure it’s big and nice,” he reassures rather clinically, the way one would share an interesting fact. It doesn't occur to him what an odd remark he’s making.

“Thanks. You always know the right things to say.” Kaiser pats Ness gently on the head like the dog slash servant he is, perhaps to encourage the behavior through positive reinforcement. He basks in the feeling, warm, and almost forgets about the context of this action. But because Ness can’t have anything good ever, after a while Kaiser adds, “I wish someone I was actually into would talk to me like you do too though.”

___

Yea I haven't slept in 5 days again how can yo utell

[rosenclaws]

happy 600! <3

would you do 18 and 38 from the fluff prompts for eddie alden?

“I desperately want to take you out for dinner and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me.” “Please don’t love me the way you loved your exes.”

600 follower drabble masterlist

warnings: spicy but no smut

Eddie couldn't sleep. He keeps tossing and turning in his sheets. Pulling them up only to kick them off. He looks over and sees you sleeping peacefully next to him, somehow not disturbed from his constant moving.

With a sigh he quietly gets out of bed and heads out to the living room. He paces back and forth, running his hands through his hair as he tries to quiet his mind. He's not used to this, it's been so long since he's felt this. Terrifying feeling.

You aren't his typical one night stand, in fact he hasn't had a one night stand in months. The only one keeping his bed warm has been you and he's loved every second. The sex is fantastic so why is he ruining it? Why is his stupid brain trying to tell him that there's more between you than just casual fucking. He's been able to bury any sense of feelings for a long time but they're bubbling up like a volcano waiting to burst.

"Eddie?" You're awake, a blanket wrapped around your body as you make your way out to the living room.

"You okay?" The first thing he thinks is how adorable you look so sleepy. How cute you are when you rub your eyes and how badly he wants you to drop that blanket. Then the fear sets in again.

"Yeah." He responds unconvincingly. It takes one look from you for him to fold.

"No. I mean. I don't know." He lets out a frustrated sigh. He collapses on the couch and puts his head in his hands.

"Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?" He feels your hand on his back, scratching it lightly. Just the way that he likes it. Fuck.

"You want to know what's bothering me? You!" Eddie stands up and starts to pace.

"Me?"

"I can't get you out of my head. This. This was supposed to be casual." He gestures between the two of you.

"But now, I desperately want to take you out for dinner and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me." You squeak when he cages you into the couch. His arms trapping you below him.

"I want it all baby and it terrifies me." You grab his cheeks and pull him close to you.

"Say it Eddie. Say it please."

You need to hear those words. Falling for Eddie was easy but pushing it down was hard. You knew of his reputation but you got yourself involved anyways. No one to blame but yourself. You stayed in his bed because for a moment you could pretend that things were different and now he's saying it could be.

"I'm falling in love with you." He whispers. It's a shattering realization for him. That the walls he had built up were broken down without him even realizing it.

"I love you too Eddie." He crashes his lips onto yours as he pulls you off the couch.

If he wasn't helping you stand you'd be falling to your knees. Your head dizzy as he takes your breath away, refusing to let you go as he drowns you in his kiss. This is always what you wanted but doubt creeps into your brain. Eddie notices your hesitation and stops. He's panting as he buries his face into your neck.

"You okay?"

"Eddie..." The seriousness in your voice makes him sit up. Worry seeping into his eyes.

"Please don’t love me the way you loved your exes." You beg. He's quiet for a moment before he pulls you closer.

"The things you heard, I never loved them like I love you. It was casual. You are different. I want everything with you baby." He brushes your cheek softly.

He knows his reputation but he's determined to prove to you he means every word. He'll prove it to you over and over until you believe him. Mostly in the bedroom but neither of you are complaining about that.

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Peach | Juicy Fruit | Jaemin [NSFW]

Na Jaemin - NCT Dream

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~2.5k

Pairing: Jaemin x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Established Relationship, Porn without Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (M! & F! Receiving/Anal), Anal Play, Sex Toys (Butt Plug, Butterfly Vibrator), Deepthroating/Face-Fucking, Rough Sex, Squirting, Daddy Kink (he calls himself that once), Unprotected Sex (Don’t!!)

Summary: Jaemin isn't too happy his girlfriend doesn't like peaches…

Author's Note: This series was supposed to be of drabbles, at least this is the longest.

This is only vaguely based off of Smoothie…I say this because I got the idea for a fruit theme, but past that its unrelated.

🍉 Mark 🍉

🍇 Renjun 🍇

🍌 Jeno 🍌

🍒 Haechan 🍒

🍓 Chenle 🍓

🍍 Jisung 🍍

Revised (1/31/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

"You really don't like peaches?" Your boyfriend looks at you, looking utterly dejected at this new information. You sigh, flapping the produce bag so it’ll open, holding it to him. He dumps the five peaches into the bag he’s carefully cradled in his arms and then adds two more for good measure. As you put the bag in the cart you shrug.

"I’ll eat them sometimes. They’re just...weird."

"Weird how?" Jaemin takes the cart from your grasp so he can push it for you.

"Why are they fuzzy?" You’re a bit ashamed to admit why you dislike them so much. The texture is just so odd, it’s like velvet. And you hate velvet too, it’s unnatural. You much prefer nectarines, of a similar vein but NOT fuzzy.

"But they’re so sweet and juicy..." He stops to send you a mischievous look, "like you~" He boops your nose with his finger then continues on, leaving you staring after him in disgust.

"Why do I love you?" You mumble, trudging after him.

"Because I'm sweet and juicy too." He replies way too casually. You roll your eyes and you two continue to shop, eventually getting the canned foods. You grab a couple of different things, and you watch him put a can of pre-cut peaches in.

"We're buying fresh ones." You take it back out, so he’ll put it back.

"These aren't fuzzy, maybe you'll like these." Jaemin tips the can back and forth in your face, putting it in the cart once again. They aren’t expensive, so you just let it happen. In the candy isle, you look for your favorite kind and he comes over with some Japanese brand of chewy candies, and they’re peach flavored.

"Seriously?"

"I will convince you to likes something peach. Don't make me get the Crush soda!" He points at you, finger close but not touching your forehead. Sighing, you drop the issue, finishing shopping then going back home. You sit at the counter eating some chips as he puts the rest of the groceries away, he won’t let you help. He says it’s because you’re too short to reach everything, but he really just likes spoiling you. When he’s done, he brings over the bag of peaches, setting each one on the counter in a row, smallest to largest.

"What the hell are you doing?" You ask, not sure you want to know the answer. He doesn’t answer, taking the can of peaches, opening it, and placing seven of the slices on a paper plate. In front of each peach, he puts one of the candies.

"What. Are. You. Doing?" You reiterate and he holds up his hand, telling you to wait.

"If you eat a certain number of each one, I will do different things for you."

"Like what?"

"What do you think, baby girl?" He leans on the counter, smirking and you shuffle in your seat under his intense gaze. Clearing your throat, you close the chip bag and shove them to the side.

"Alright. What are they?"

"One candy equals one minute of making out." He points at each one. Jaemin moves to the slices on the plate.

"One is I'll let you ride my thigh." You nod for him to continue.

"Two, I'll get you off with my fingers. Three, your vibrator. Four I'll let you suck me off at the same time. Six, I'll cum in your mouth, and all seven I'll fuck your face." He lists off, recognizing the look on your face with each level. He knows you too well. You swallow hard and he flashes a devilish grins.

"Okay, what about those?” You nod toward the full fruits. He holds one up.

"If you only eat one of these, I'll have you sit on my face. If you do all the other ones, plus one of these..." He drifts off, trying to keep his face flat, but he’s still smirking. Your eyes follow his hand as he puts the fruit down and pulls a bottle out of his pocket you had no idea was there. He sets it down, the fluid inside is a peachy color...

"I'll use this." Jaemin leans back against the counter opposite the island as you look at the bottle.

"Real original. Peach flavored butt lube..." You sigh, but your cunt clenches at the thought. You had been talking about experimenting...

"Okay, deal." You agree, holding your hand out to shake and he grins.

"You sure, baby?"

"We'll see." You shrug, trying to stay nonchalant. You’re a little nervous, the last time you had canned peaches, you gagged at the slimy texture. The candies aren’t too worrying, the artificial flavor is probably quite different from real peaches. He takes your hand and shakes it, leaning back again, nodding for you to start. Unwrapping the first gummy, you slide it into your mouth, the sugar decorating the outside rough on your tongue as your teeth sink in. It really isn’t too bad, though you wouldn’t go out of your way to buy any.

"One minute." You start, unwrapping the next gummy. After you’ve chewed and eaten all seven, Jaemin smirks, coming around the island, and pulling you off the stool to him. As he brings you to and settles on the couch, he sets a timer for seven minutes, cracking some joke about seven minutes in heaven, then hauls you down onto his lap. He groans exaggeratedly as he pulls you down to seal your lips with his, tongue already snaking its way into your mouth. Your head swims as Jaemin kisses you, he really is too good at it. You feel a bit of saliva drip down your chin, he’s rough and noisy. You both are sucking air in harshly through your noses since you can’t use your mouths, but not wanting to cut short the seven minutes in any way. When his phone alarm goes off, his hand buries in your hair and forces you to pull back from the kiss. You’re both panting, but you are way more than him, with that stupid cocky grin on his ridiculously attractive face. With ease, he stands, you still on his lap. This forces you to wrap your legs and arms around him with a yipe and he goes back to the kitchen, setting you on the island counter. He slides the plate over to you, grabbing a spare plastic fork and handing it over. This is more nerve wracking for you. You ponder if literally swallowing the slices whole would be less skeevy than chewing them since they get kind of rubbery in the can. Taking the first piece, you bring it to your lips, cringing at the taste of the syrup they put in the can with them. Sliding it in, the slippery texture makes you gag slightly, so you just bite it in half, then swallow both pieces. Thinking of it like a medication pill makes it go down easier, since those aren’t supposed to be appetizing.

"Thigh." He recites, stepping forward even further, standing between your legs where you sit on the counter. You swallow again, making sure the pieces are done and then proceed to do it again. The flavor isn’t too bad, but the texture is still unpleasant.

"Fingers." Another, swallowing both halves.

"Vibe."

"My cock." He places his thumb over your lip, swiping a bit of the syrup away.

"My cum." You lick your lips that time, swallowing hard to get the rest of the sixth piece down. When you finally eat the last slice, he smiles deviously, running his index finger down your throat, as if following the fruit as you swallow it. Before you can do anything yourself, he pulls away, dashing to the bedroom, coming back out with your butterfly vibrator. He comes back over, pulling your butt to the edge, running his hand up your thigh and under your skirt. You shift so he can flip it up, smiling at your pink panties. He pulls them to the side, your slick letting the silicone head of the small vibrator slide in easily. You shiver a bit as he gets it all in and lets your underwear settle back in place, the wings of the bottom of the toy cupping your whole cunt. He helps you off the counter, and you get on your knees in front of him. As you pull his hard cock out of his sweatpants, you whine, lapping up the drop of precum beaded at his head. Jaemin smirks, holding the remote for you to see, then turns it on. Your breath hitches as he increases the intensity, you squat further so the base of the toy hits the floor, allowing you to press it into you more. Opening your mouth wide, you sit like a good girl as he takes his cock in his hand, leading it in. Listening to you breathe roughly through your nose, he keeps going, filling your throat with his cock. Your eyes roll back at the sensation, loving the feeling of your throat trying to accommodate but not gag. Jaemin just holds his cock there, your nose pressed to his groin, your hips rutting against your toy. When he can tell you need to breathe, he pulls his hips back enough to allow you respite, then starts to thrust his hips. Every fifth thrust, he shoves his cock as deep as he can, his palm laying over your throat feeling it stretch with his girth. He groans loudly, he always does.

"Fuck, baby girl~" Your eyes are watering, tears flowing over your cheeks, breaths harsh through your nose and he knows you’re close like him. His thumb hits the button the remote again and at the new intensity, you hit your climax, your moan around his cock helping him finish as well. You nearly sob as hot, thick spurts of his cum go straight down your throat. It seems to never end, and your vision blurs from lack of air. Jaemin notices and pulls halfway out, a few small spurts of cum still leaving his cock, then pulls out completely so you can suck in oxygen. His cock is a mess of saliva and release. Panting from where you squat on the floor, you watch him shut the toy off, sighing in relief, and he picks up the full peach that time.

"Undress and get on the bed." He orders and you scramble to do so, sliding the toy out and throwing it in the bathroom sink. You slide your clothes off and sit at the end of the bed like a good girl, he comes in not even a minute later, only in his pants and holding the peeled and cut fruit on a plate in his hand. Setting it down next to you, he goes to the nightstand and gets the plug you bought last week.

"Start." You haven't made good on the deal yet, but he knows you will. When you pick up the first piece, you’re relieved it isn’t nearly as slimy or sticky as the canned stuff, but you’re kind of full from the previous parts, as well as what you swallowed of Jaemin's release. You’re feeling impatient, so you scarf it down, shocking him a bit, but you’re licking the last of the juice off your fingers when he comes to stand in front of you. Luckily, he’s given you the smaller one, so you didn’t have much to eat.

"Roll over, get on your knees." He smacks your ass lightly and you crawl up the bed, doing so, face on the sheets, butt in the air. He grins, your slick folds have dripped down over your pucker. He opens the cap of the bottle, and you shiver when the slightly cold fluid hits your rim. You expected the tip of his finger, or even the end of the plug, but you gasp when instead, his tongue runs around your back entrance. It’s peach flavored not just scented.

"Fuck, 'Min." It’s an odd sensation, but not totally unwelcome. He notes that the lube has a very artificial taste, he much prefers the real thing, but if it’s you he eating instead, that’s fine. After a few minutes, he pulls his face away, licking his lips, then picks up the plug.

The toy is pretty small, but he still slathered it in lube, as well as your rim. He watches the muscle flutter around the silicone, and you whine a bit.

"Breathe." He coaches and slides the plug into your ass. Your breath hitches, then you sigh and relax once it’s in.

"How's that, baby girl?" Jaemin strokes the skin of your ass cheek with his thumb, your cunt visibly fluttering.

"W-weird." You admits, and he hums.

"Jaemin~" You practically squeal when the head of his dick runs through your slick folds, but he’s taking his sweet time actually starting to press in.

"Please!" You want to cry, needing him and so he relents, sliding home. You let out a slight choking noise, the burn of his cock stretching you so fast and hard - along with the plug in your ass- is overwhelming. He’s nice enough to let you adjust to the new sensation of having something in both holes, but it always takes a while for you to gets used to his cock. From behind he reaches the deepest part of your cunt, and your tight gummy walls grip to every ridge and vein of him. There’s no verbal warning for him starting, but you see his hands rest on and grip the headboard, prompting you to do the same with the sheets.

"Fuck, princess!" He laughs in glee, not trying to be gentle in any sense, bullying his cock into your pussy as hard as he can, like he’s rearranging your insides on purpose. Each thrust takes your breath away, making you nearly hyperventilate. He’s spewing the sweetest filth, praising you and your cute little cunt. How well you take his fat cock, and how much he loves fucking you stupid. You can barely babble in reply, tiny orgasms washing over you over and over.

"J-J-Jaemin-!" You dig your teeth into the pillow, the next wave coming is much stronger.

"Okay, baby girl, cum for daddy~" He chuckles as you whimper, another hand thrust, and he’s even taken away by your orgasm. Your cunt clenches even tighter around his cock than he thought possibly, spurts of slick spilling from your cunt, dripping and puddling onto the sheets. It’s too much - too hot - that he makes a few more shallow thrusts, then spills inside you. You milk him dry, it feels like, and it makes an even bigger mess. He sits inside you till he’s nearly softened all the way, letting you calm down some and slowly pulling out. His finger circles the base of the plug, the end of it has a little emoji peach on it.

"You like peaches now, princess?"

Master-List

[gr1ffins]

Lost Solace

pairing. griffin lovell (harley) x afab! reader

notes. yes i know they didn’t wear panties in the 19th century. no, idgaf it’s my self indulgence fic. this is mostly practice for writing griffin in an intimate setting. i’ll properly explore this dynamic at a later date, bc this fic doesn’t do it justice. this was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away. whoops.

content warnings. afab, oral (reader receiving), no gender specified only genitalia, age gap, griffin is kinda an ass, proceed with caution!

word count. 3.8k

minors please do not interact!

You swallow, hiding your hands behind your back to prevent Griffin from seeing the way they tremble.

He’s creeping closer, head tilted to search your eyes even as you avert them. He has that cruel, humorless smile on his face. The one he wears when he knows he’s won.

You back away from him until your shoulders bump the wall behind you and you squeak with surprise. That seems to be all the invitation Griffin needs.

He shoots forward, hands reaching out towards your midriff. For a startled moment you think he’s going to grab you by the waist, but instead his hands collide with the wall behind you, caging you in. You can’t even duck out under his arms, you are truly and horrifyingly trapped.

Your bodies are unbearably close like this. You have to fight to keep your legs pressed together, despite seeing how clearly he wants to step between them.

He leans closer, breath fanning over the side of your neck as he grins against your ear. “You must think that this is a game.”

You can’t help yourself, your body shudders with a gasp. Griffin huffs with amusement, mischief gleaming in his half lidded eyes.

“Not at all,” You say, voice shaky. “I’m taking this lesson very seriously, sir.”

“You’ll need to do more than that,” Griffin says lowly, voice rumbling in his deepest octave. It sends delightful chills up your spine. “This is a hands on lesson.”

His fingertips meet your hips, and your breathing quickens. You don’t know what you’re doing. Griffin is violent and untamable, he belongs to no one and has always escaped like smoke between your fingers every time you squeezed him too tight.

But god do you want him.

He’s happy to let you take from him, just this once.

Your mouths finally collide, and it is difficult to focus on kissing him properly when his hands paw at your waist and begin raising your shirt over your head.

You feel delirious and lightheaded as Griffin eagerly guides you towards his rickety cot, which groans worryingly under your combined weight. But he’s finally gotten between your legs, kicking them open wider to make a space for himself there.

Your back rests against his cot as he hovers over you, and you catch the apprehension flickering over his face. You reach upwards, linking your hands around his neck and tangling your fingers into the long strands of his hair.

Griffin has always hesitated at the last moment every time you stray too close to ‘dangerous’ territory. You suspect he has some underlying guilt about your positions, about how he’s meant to be your guide. Your mentor.

He brought you into Hermes and taught you everything you know about being a pain in Babel’s side. You’re not certain when your relationship evolved into this odd dynamic; but every time he doubts himself and begins to back away, you have to be the one to reel him back in.

“Your instructions, sir?” You ask, peering up at him with curious eyes.

Griffin falters, blinking at your wide eyed expression and then cursing to himself. “You have to know what that does to me.”

You don’t. You aren’t even sure what he’s talking about. His infatuation with you has never made much sense in your head, and sometimes you feel like you’re still waiting for the rug to be pulled out under you. But you want him so helplessly that you constantly find yourself willing to forgive him for his indecision.

“If you can’t handle making the decisions tonight, I can lead,” You say, puffing your chest and hardening your gaze to appear more authoritative.

Griffin barks a laugh, shifting up further onto the cot and between your legs until your thighs rest atop his own as your hips meet. He’s hard inside his trousers, you can feel it against where heat is building within you.

You’re startled by the intimacy the moment shares, Griffin’s hands drifting up and down your bare sides as you both make eye contact. You can’t remember the last time you spent so long looking into his eyes.

Before you get the opportunity to say something you’ll regret, you reach down to unbutton your pants, using Griffin’s help to shimmy out of them until you’re left in only your under garments.

Griffin makes an appreciative sound at the sight, raking his eyes along the contours of your body. Suddenly embarrassed under the attention, you try to drag him down so that you might kiss him again, but he resists.

You think that this is it, this is the moment he’ll pull away completely like he always does and then disappears for days on end to collect himself. This is, admittedly, the furthest the two of you have ever gotten. Best to count your blessings.

To your shock, Griffin grabs hold of your chin, his grip so tight you squirm in his grasp. This time, when your eyes meet, you are reminded of why you were so nervous in the first place.

There is something hungry, something primal about the way he’s looking at you. It sends your heart beating erratically within your ribs, like a thumping, terrified rabbit. You are caught between fear and desire.

You do not know this man as well as you should. Certainly not well enough for what he wants to do to you, what you want him to do to you.

Just as you accept that Griffin’s hold will leave blooming bruises on your face, he lets go. You take a shuddering breath, still looking into his eyes as he leans away from you, looming over your frame.

He surprises you, slipping off the cot, but not to leave. His coat has been long since forgotten, and now he takes the liberty of freeing himself from his simple buttoned shirt.

You try not to be too obvious about your staring, but Griffin catches you admiring the sharp lines of his abdomen anyway and grins. Handsome and crooked.

“You can touch in a minute,” He teases, huffing a laugh at how you flush red and turn your face away from him.

Griffin is by no means a frail man. He is thin, far thinner than anyone really should be. Hermes life is like that, it robs you of every little pleasure, testing your limits. It makes him no less attractive in your eyes.

You can see the outlines of his ribs, the way his lightly toned stomach meets the protruding edges of his hipbones. How his lean limbs still hold the distinct curves of muscles desperately trying to grow. If Griffin could just get in good meals, it’s easy to believe he would be quite fit.

He has to be, with all his running and lifting and fighting. Anthony likes to say the Hermes has strategists, not soldiers, but Griffin might as well be military trained.

Griffin surprises you again by kneeling before the cot, bringing his palms up to caress your ankles that hang near the edge. He’s giving you that smile, that dooming, calculating smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and it makes you frigid all over again.

The man before you is not one for affection. You’re not sure he would be, even if he knew how to. You’re practically yanked towards him, biting back a yelp as your legs are maneuvered onto his shoulders.

It isn’t until the freak—he’s a freak—has his nose bumping against your clit through your panties that you get a handle on yourself and try to run away.

“W-wait—!” You flush, one of your hands flying to push at the crown of his head.

Griffin listens, letting you move his force his head back and shrugging your legs from his shoulders to look at you expectantly.

It’s an embarrassing position to be in, even though he is the one kneeling. You are practically laid bare for him, legs spread and eyes wide with uncertain desire.

You swallow loudly as you try to gather your bearings. “You don’t- you shouldn’t—“ You stumble, “You don’t have to do that. It’s…” You’re fumbling desperately for the right words to help him understand how flustered it makes you feel.

Griffin raises a thick brow, then smirks. “But I want to.” He says, cupping the undersides of your knees to place them back on his shoulders. “And I don’t very well enjoy being told what to do. If your only objection is embarrassment, you’ll get over that soon enough.”

Any other protests you might have die on your tongue as Griffin places his lips against the inside of your thigh, parting them to nip and kiss his way closer to where you need him most.

Your hand is still resting on the top of his head, and you’re grateful for it. It makes you feel just a smidge more in control; fingers laced in his dark brown hair, which threatens to fall over his eyes and block his view of you.

And he is certainly looking at you.

You’ve never been this exposed to him before. Naked, breathless, and so very vulnerable. Since the moment you met him, you had to place your trust in Griffin.

But trusting him with your body, with your intimacy, is different than trusting him to teach you how to shoot or to keep your secrets.

When his lips finally meet the juncture between your pelvis and thighs, you jolt in his grasp. He nips, clearly in search of more reactions, and you reward him with a yelp that brings blood rushing to your cheeks.

Griffin’s face is so close. You aren’t sure how you’re going to be able to look at him during meetings and not think of the way he looks between your legs.

It’s tempting to try and close him in, to tighten your thighs against the sides of his face and force him to focus on where you can feel your pussy pulsing. Griffin likes to punish though, and he has no patience for disobedience. You aren’t certain you’re ready for whatever punishments he’ll give you in this setting.

You are forced to watch as he finally, finally licks a thick stripe up the length of your clothed cunt. Your thighs twitch, breathing coming to a halt as Griffin maintains steely eye contact the entire time.

Griffin does it again, again and again. Tracing the outline of your entrance to your clit with his tongue. He keeps going until the fabric of your pretty panties are soaked through.

It’s too much to handle. You lay back and stare at the ceiling, unable to keep your eyes on him any longer.

This, apparently, is a mistake.

Pulling away from you, Griffin makes a low sound that sets your nerves back on alarm. Your hand falls from his head as he moves out of reach, and you use the free appendage to prop yourself up.

“What—“ You start, but freeze up when his fingers meet your hips and slip below your panties to pull them off your legs.

There's a string of arousal connecting you to the fabric, darkening your face with shame. Griffin watches it snap with rapt interest, only setting your garment aside when it does.

Then, his eyes are back on you.

Griffin stills, staring at where you’re leaking from his eager ministrations. You nearly reach out to hit him, or yell at him to remind him that all his staring is going to drive you crazy. You aren’t sure you can handle being pinned down so intently by his attention.

But then a sudden thought occurs to you, from the way his lip twitches with that contemplative look he gets whenever he’s unsure.

Griffin doesn’t know what to do.

You try to imagine Griffin doing this with someone else —ignoring how the thought makes your heart spike with anxiety— and realize you can’t. He’s too proud and paranoid to trust someone like that. The fact you’re even doing this with him right now speaks volumes.

His knowledge probably comes from all his reading and adventures into the more unsavory parts of England (who knows what he has witnessed).

You decide to have mercy and throw Griffin a bone, even if you can feel the heat burning on your face.

“Griffin,” You say, and his eyes snap up to you. You spread your legs wider, angling your hips at him and lowering your gaze. “Are you going to keep touching me?”

Griffin’s eyes go wide as saucer plates. If he didn’t know what to do before, now he really isn’t sure how to proceed. He breaks out of his stupor and inhales sharply, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself.

“Patience,” Griffin soothes, sounding more put together than he is. When his eyes open again, there’s a hunger within them. “Let me enjoy this.”

You’re not sure what part of this he’s supposed to enjoy. What benefit does he get from pleasing you?

The thought dies as he gets back in position, with your legs placed on either of his bare, scarred shoulders. Griffin’s hands rest upon the insides of your legs, keeping them parted wide for his convenience. His thumbs come down to rub circles on the crux of your thighs before pulling apart your lips.

You make an embarrassed sound, which Griffin shushes before placing an open-mouth kiss on your twitching entrance. Warm, wet lips moving over you in sensual sucks. He groans at the taste of you, pressing close until the stubble of his face brushes the inside of your thighs.

“Griffin—“ You whimper, not sounding like yourself. Not sounding like the tough little apprentice you try to convince him you are.

He’s watching you again, trying to gauge your reactions. Griffin is a smart man, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you enjoy the caress of his tongue, or the feeling of his lips wrapped around your clit.

True to his word, Griffin’s ministrations quickly throw any embarrassment you might have had out the window.

Your eyes are half-lidded and hazy, your breathes coming out in heavy puffs of air.

“You’re good at this,” You say, despite yourself, because it is true. Regardless of whether he has experience or not.

Griffin pulls away just long enough for you to catch sight of his bruising lips. He’s smirking again. “Just good?”

He leans forward again and presses his tongue to your entrance until it slips inside, lapping easily through your wetness. His nose is bumping your clit, sending a jolt through your body as he strokes your insides with long, slow licks.

Your head tilts back and you have to bite your lip to hold back a high moan. “You feel amazing. So good, Griffin—“

“That right?” Griffin practically purrs at the praise, lips humming against you as his tongue slips in and out. If you had half a clearer mind, you might exploit the obvious weakness, but you don’t, and so you can only whimper your agreements.

Griffin eats at you like he’s been starved his whole life. Maybe he has, at least for as long as he’s been with Hermes. It’s depraved and dirty, messy and unrhythmic. It’s a new form of torture, pushing you to the brink of insanity.

You can peek your slick clinging to the edges of his mouth, coating the top of his tongue. You must be the only thing he can taste right now, the only thing he can think about. His fingers press into the softness of your thighs, grounding you snug against him even as you squirm in his grasp.

Griffin glances up at you, watching the way your face scrunches with pleasure.

“Your fingers, please,” You beg, whine, your breath stuttering out as you make pleading eyes down at him.

“You like that word a lot,” Griffin says roughly, something dark coying at the edge of his tone. “Please.” He repeats it, hot and nearly as desperate as you had, mocking you.

For a moment you worry he isn’t going to comply with your demand. He rarely caves to your whims anyhow, firm in his decision not to spoil you rotten, now would be no different. But to your immense relief, his right hand departs from your thigh so he can stroke your clenching entrance with a fingertip.

His first finger practically glides in, and he doesn’t even have to try to fit the second. It wasn’t until this very moment that you fully acknowledged how long Griffin’s fingers are. They’re thin and calloused, certainly not delicate as they prod around inside you.

He finds your cervix with ease, and—based on the curious raise of his brow— he inspects it carefully, tracing the shape of it. You shudder, your hips instinctively angling to try and get him to rub just a bit below—

Griffin notices your desperation and pulls his fingers back in a slight curling motion, right across that sweet spot inside you. An unintentional move, for certain; just as unintentional as the choked, sob of a moan you let out is.

Within seconds Griffin is curling his fingers over the spot repeatedly, tongue still ghosting over your heat and lapping up everything you have to give him. He rests his cheek against your left thigh, letting you roll your hips against his ministrations as you whimper and plead nonsense to him.

The whole time, he watches you. He watches you come undone, watches as your breathing becomes panting, watches the way you try to fight desperately to maintain some semblance of self control.

His thumbs presses to your clit, again curious of your reaction. Griffin’s eyes light up mischievously at the way your grinding becomes more desperate and erratic.

“Feels that good, huh?” Griffin teases, murmuring over the sounds of your heavy breathing.

“Mmph,” You mumble your agreement, hazy. “Feels so good. You’re so g-good!”

Griffin coos, bringing your aching clit back between his lips to roll it under his tongue in scalding circles that have your mind sputtering.

“Fuck—! Griffin- Griffin, please,” You gasp, one of your hands shooting down to tangle in his messy hair.

“Please what?” Griffin asks, parting from you. He doesn’t swat away your hand like you expect him to. “You speak how many languages? Use your words.”

“More, I want more,” You manage, voice fussy and mewling as your thighs jerk.

“Don’t get greedy,” Griffin scolds, grunting, but the pressure of his fingers inside you increases, speeding up and rubbing against the spongy spot with vigor. Your walls flutter around his touch.

The lewd, wet sounds of your sex is not lost on you. You’ll be plenty embarrassed later at just how easily Griffin manages to make you aroused. The man isn’t even fully naked, yet he has you in the literal palm of his hand.

Tension coils within you, warm and electrifying. You’re approaching your climax, and fast. Griffin must be able to tell too, because he’s growing sloppy, more desperate.

He seals his lips around your swollen clit and sucks. Your back arches straight off the bed as your mouth drops open, keening loudly. His fingers are still curling and circling your insides, pressing against that sweet spot he just won’t stop abusing.

Your hips begin to rut against his face, your legs jolt and twitch, and your mewling increases in pitch and frequency. Griffin makes a soft, pleased sound against you, the vibrations only furthering your ecstasy.

Griffin doesn’t stop even when you spill over the edge, legs trembling around his face and fingers pulling tightly at his hair. If anything, he presses against you harder, letting you ride against his face and through your climax.

It’s only when the glide of his tongue over your clit becomes too much that you try pushing at his face. He relents, easing his fingers from your sopping core, a thin strand connecting him to it that he deftly licks and sucks away.

The sight nearly convinces you to pull him back in, but your arms are tired from being propped up for so long, and your mind is blearily foggy.

You breathe heavy like that for a minute, sprawled out on Griffin’s cot and blissed from his mouth and fingers alone. It’s heavenly, it’s damning. At this moment, it’s all you’ve ever needed.

When the pulsing between your legs finally soothes some you drag a hand down your face and sit up, ready for more. Ready to give Griffin something better in return.

But he’s already found his shirt and is buttoning it back up again. You startle, confusion and heartache washing away the fog in your mind.

“Griffin?” You ask tentatively.

He nods in your direction, urging you to speak, but not directly looking at you. He continues buttoning his shirt.

“At least let me return the favor.” You stand, panic mounting. You feel weak-kneed and wobbly. Was he really about to leave, after all that? He is still hard in his breeches. Surely it’s not over?

Griffin stiffens as you manage to reach him, your deft fingers wrapping around the edges of his belt and tugging pitifully downwards.

Cupping the side of your face, Griffin studies the helpless desperation in your eyes. He sighs and shakes his head. “Next time, perhaps.” His thumb strokes over the curve of your cheek. “Today’s lesson was enough. Think carefully about what you learned.”

You frown. “Next time?”

Griffin’s eyes lighten with mirth. “Next time,” He parrots, ruffling the hair at the top of your head playfully.

“Then next time, you’ll let me do something about this?” You ask, and without warning cup the outline of his hard length through the fabric of his pants.

Griffin curses, and takes hold of your wrist, face turning red. “We’ll see if you’ve earned it by then.” He clears his throat, managing to get your grip away from him.

You’re still not satisfied. “And right now? You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No, we’re leaving,” Griffin says matter-of-factly. “Get on with it, find your boots. We’ve got things to do.”

You try hard not to let your relief show, rolling your eyes light-heartedly and stalking off to start getting dressed too. “Where to?”

Griffin pulls his coat off the back of his desk chair, shrugging it on. “You let me worry about that. I’ll show you the way.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, yanking on your socks. “And you’re sure you don’t want to take care of that before we go out into public?”

“I can handle myself fine, thank you,” Griffin turns to hide his hard-on from you, yanking his long coat further over himself for extra protection. “I’m older, I know what I’m doing. Don’t embarrass me.”

You snort. “Oh no, I don’t think you need any help from me with that.”

“Careful, brat.” Griffin reaches out to knock the back of your head playfully. “We’re eating on my bill.”

[hannahmanderr]

24 for pitch pearl. unless i sent that one already. in which case. 27 for pitch pearl.

JOKE'S ON YOU I'M PUTTING BOTH IN ONE DRABBLE

~ 24. kisses for a cover ~ 27. desperate kisses ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Phantom, please!"

Phantom didn't understand what was being asked of him. He was only marginally aware of someone shaking him. Vigorously. It was slightly annoying, if he was being honest.

"C'mon, you gotta get up!"

"I don't wanna." That much was true. One thing he was very aware of was his pounding head. So much so that nausea churned in his stomach and he wondered if he was about to throw up.

Could ghosts even throw up?

“God Phantom, they’re coming! Why won’t you get up?”

Well he certainly didn’t know who was coming, but it had to be urgent if Danny was being so insistent with him.

Wait, Danny?

He cracked open an eye and sure enough, he was met with the sight of the blue eyes he’d fallen for so long ago. In spite of his swimming head and blurry vision, he grinned. “That’s what she said.”

It only took an instant for Danny’s face to transform from one of worry to one of utter disappointment. “Seriously? You take a hit like that from Mom and Dad and all you can do is crack jokes?”

“Only for you, darling.” Phantom allowed his head to loll backward. Maybe he could convince Danny to take a nap with him. That sounded nice.

“Oh, nuh-uh. You are not passing out on me now.” Warm hands wrapped around his shoulders and yanked him back forward. “Not until you get out of here before they find you!”

Phantom pouted. Was that something he usually did? Probably. “I don’t wanna,” he said again. A sly smile bloomed on his face. “Not unless you gimme a kiss first.”

Danny threw his head back. “Ugh! I swear, you - no, you know what? Fine.” 

If there was one thing Phantom would never tire of, it was the feeling of Danny’s lips on his. Even now, sitting half-conscious in some random alley with a boyfriend on the edge of panic, he couldn’t get enough of it. Eager to keep kissing, he prodded Danny’s closed lips with his tongue. At least he was pretty sure he did. Maybe it was less of a prod and more of a shove. He couldn’t quite tell.

Much to his displeasure, Danny pulled away. “Are you kidding me right now? You seriously wanna - no, no! We’re not getting into this right now.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Phantom wondered if he was supposed to be participating in this conversation. “You got your kiss, now get your tail out of here before they get here!”

New voices tickled Phantom’s ears. He tilted his head. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but everything still sounded muddy, in all fairness. “Oh yeah, they’re right around the corner,” he said brightly. Really, he wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about. He just wanted to get back to kissing.

Danny groaned, and Phantom found himself drawn in by the sound. Only he got the impression that was not the kind of groan Danny was intending. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Danny muttered to himself, clutching his head in between his hands. “Think Fenton. Think.”

“Nooo, no thinking,” Phantom whined. He pawed listlessly at Danny. “Kissing.”

He couldn’t find it in him to care about the angry glare shot his way. “I swear…”

The voices grew closer.

“Argh!” Danny threw his hands up in the air. “You so owe me for covering for you like this,” he hissed, bringing his face close into Phantom’s.

Before he could respond, Danny had once again sealed his mouth over his own, and Phantom melted instantly. See? This was so much nicer than thinking. It was about time Danny saw it his way.

“Danny?”

The incredulous cries of Jack and Maddie Fenton forced the two apart. “Gah!” Danny whirled around. “Mom! Dad! Haven’t you heard of privacy?”

“Privacy?” Jack scratched his head. “But… we’re in the alley.”

Maddie held up a weak finger. “You a-and… and him?” she asked, clearly still in disbelief. “But… I-I don’t… Danny?”

Phantom smiled widely and draped himself over Danny. “Hi!” he said, greeting the two warmly. “Your son is a reeeaallly good kisser!”

Danny buried his face in his hands. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ~ Send me a ship and a number from this ask game and I'll write a drabble or draw a sketch!

[enkas-illusion]

The Night Is Still Young

Fandom / Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen / Nanami x f!reader

Rating: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Genre/Theme: One-night stand; non-sorcery au

Content warning: fluff, drinking, flirting, Nanami got rizz, suggestive, no smut.

Summary: You are exhausted from working the entire month and you need some stress relief. What's better than finding a gentleman at the club and things take a turn for good.

Author's Note: This was supposed to contain smut but I really hit writer's block. So here's a quick drabble with my husband Nanami. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy it!

~ Nanami's Munchkin

“Shots! Shots! Shots!”

You shoot down the 6th shot of the night, the bitter liquid no longer tastes so bad anymore but the buzz keeps getting stronger.

It’s another Saturday and your plan was to stay home, sulking for the weekend but your friends had other plans.

You had just submitted your assignments and were exhausted beyond repair. Your friends were kind enough to give you an option (not really) between staying home and drinking your exhaustion away only to feel worse the next day – of course, you had to choose the latter.

“You know what would have been better than getting shitfaced tonight?” you asked your friends. Your friends roll their eyes, already knowing you are gonna bitch about being here again for the nth time but what you say next surprises them.

“If a man would fuck me so good that I see God,” you say in all seriousness.

“Damn she’s drunk drunk” your friends laugh at your confession.

You were neck deep into assignments for the past month. You didn’t leave your house except for going to the library to get shit done. So naturally, this also meant that you were frustrated mentally and sexually, needing nothing more than to melt your stress away. 

So what could be a better way than coming to the club to find someone who can help you with it? For your friends, it might mostly be the alcohol talking, but you knew the motivating factor that really convinced you to step out tonight was yet to be met.

“So you’re here to find a guy to hook up with... but all you’ve done is cry about being here. Make it make sense?” your friend Mila counters.

“It’s cause there aren’t any hot guys in here!” you cry out loud. “You need to help me find someone. Please—“

You go quiet as your eyes land on the group of guys that enter the club. Your gaze is fixated on this tall buff guy with blonde hair. He has a tired look on his face that rivals your own and he is oh so handsome.

The thing that catches your interest is his outfit. He’s wearing a black dress shirt with tan pants. His shirt hugs his muscles so tightly that it might rip open any moment. He stood out amongst the crowd of boys who wore T shirts and cargos and called it a fit. 

Your friends have already caught on to him with the way you were shamelessly checking him out. “Go talk to him,” your other friend Dia suggests.

“Oh God! He’s hot isn’t he!?” you whine. 

“Girl, you have a type. And it’s always the stoic, uninterested men.” Mila interjects.

“You forgot the hot dilf body.” Dia chimes in.

You don’t realize that you haven’t taken your eyes off him until you see him catch you staring. You revert back to your friends with a groan.

“Oh shit.”

“Why are you still here? Go talk to him.”

“Urghh… he doesn’t look like a guy who would be interested, you know? I mean look at him. He looks like he was forced to be here,” You say, sneaking looks at him.

“Oh my! You always do this. You thirst over men but never make a move. This ain’t window-shopping! Stop acting like a bitch for once,” Mila states clearly annoyed.

“Don’t you get started, Mila. Why don’t you go ask out the guy at the coffee shop. Harry, was it? You even made me ask for his name! So stop calling me a bitch.” You snapped at her.

“You know what? Let’s make a deal, go dance with that man and I’ll ask Harry out.” Mila replies, her lips twisting in half a smile.

“Deal,” you say, shaking hands with her.

“But I need a little bit more of that liquid luck.”

You head to the bar, ordering two shots of tequila and instead of drinking it, you walk up to the mystery man.

“Hey there, handsome. Care to join me for a drink?” You say almost screaming over the loud music blaring in the background. You were so fixated on him that you didn’t notice his whole group was staring at you.

“Oh he won’t drink, he's a buzzkill, you know. But I can take you up on that offer, pretty girl,” a guy with white hair butts in and you give him an annoyed look.

“Leave her alone Gojo,” the blonde says, pushing the snow haired guy away. “Don’t mind him, he’s annoying that way. Sure I’d like that drink.”

He takes the shot glass from your hand and you click it before shooting it down together.

You move closer to him to introduce yourself so as to not scream in front of others.

He holds his hand out and says, “Nanami Kento, nice to meet you.” When you go to shake his hands, he gently lifts it to leave a small peck on the back of your hand and you feel chills run through your body. 

“I didn’t know you got game, Nanamin,” the Gojo guy shouts. Nanami rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“Do you wanna—“ you both say at once which makes you laugh. “Go ahead,” he responds.

“I was gonna ask if you want to dance with me?” you ask, suddenly shy.

He nods, holding his hand out for you and leads you to the dance floor. “Hmm… didn’t know you were such a gentleman. You don’t look like the guy who goes clubbing on the weekends,” you tease him.

“Trust me I’m not. I was forced to join them. Need to keep them out of trouble,” he says with a sly smile while his hands move around your hips and you both sway around to the music.

“So, you are the daddy of the group, huh?” you ask, which comes out more seductive than you intended and you cringe slightly.

He spins you around so that your back is touching his chest and you take this opportunity to grind back on him.

He leans closer to your ear and says, “Umhmm… is that the reason you were undressing me with your eyes ever since I entered? Need daddy to take care of you, too?” 

You turn around to face him and snake your hands around his neck. You have to stand on your tiptoes even with your heels on to reach him.

“So what if I do?” you look at him with dark eyes.

He pulls you into a messy kiss and you melt into it letting him take control. You don’t remember how long you’ve been making out in the middle of the dance floor. 

You hear your friends hoot which makes you self aware about your surroundings. You pull away from the kiss breathlessly to look at your friends and give Mila a look to which she mumbles ‘okay, okay’ with a shrug while Dia gives you a thumbs up.

You look back at Nanami who witnessed the whole interaction. “What was that about?” he asks with a quizzical look.

“Argh… nothing. Just a stupid bet between friends.”

“Is that what I am? A stupid bet?” He asks feigning hurt which makes you chuckle, “So what was the bet? Get a kiss?”

“Well I could tell you the truth that it was just to dance with you or I could just lie and say that it was to get you to sleep with me,” You reply with your hands running over his biceps suggestively.

“Hmmm… the lie sounds much more convincing to me,” he says lowly in your ears.

“So Nanami-san, you gonna help me win the bet or not?” your hands move up to play with his undercut.

“How can I resist when you ask so nicely.”

~fin~

[verstappentime]

Brazil!!

i got a bunch for this one!!! for brazil, i wrote a little drabble that's mostly best friends lestappen and the barest hint retired WAG daniel ❤️ starts post sprint quali & ends after the race.

(send me a 2024 race & i'll show you what i wrote about it! will get to the rest later today)

&&&

"Charles, the tow from Max put you up into P3 today. Was that something you discussed beforehand?"

Charles laughs, turning the microphone in his hand. "You know, he has never given me a tow in his entire career, ever. But maybe it's because he forgot to get me a birthday present this year. If that is it, though, a P1 would have been nicer."

"Well, you're the closest to overtaking Lando in the championship standings," Will says. "And Max is also your best mate, right?"

"You know, Will, you say this! But he never says he loves me anymore. So maybe it is only about the championship. Or he was just there by accident. It's all a surprise to me." Charles looks behind him, because he knows, like he always does, Max is nearby. "Max, will you please come over here?"

Max, who is tying his boot laces and is therefore stuck in-frame, holds up a thumbs up. He hops a couple steps as he tightens a knot. "Hello," he says, into the microphone. "Only one microphone? What kind of show is this?"

"I wasn't expecting you," Will says, glancing between them. It's the seventh year of the two of them terrorizing reporters and generally everyone on track, so. Charles has seen that weary look before. But he asked. "Well, Max, I was just asking Charles about your giving him that slipstream back there. It put him up into P3, that was lucky."

"Who did I give a slipstream to?" Max does his thing where he stays deadpan until someone's taken him seriously, and then laughs. He points at Charles. "This guy? I've never seen him in my life."

Charles elbows him. "I was just telling Will how you are very rude to me." He looks into the camera. "This is why he gave me the tow, because he does not want me to kill him later."

"He is always so dramatic. That's why I gave him the tow, so he would shut up." Max turns to Charles. "It gave you, what–"

"Like half a tenth," Charles says. "So I did, like, a 1.09.153, and you–"

"1.09.219," Max says.

"You were losing in Sector 2?"

"Yeah, fuck, it is so bad with the bumps! And your Sector 3 was–"

"It was shit, yeah, that's why it helped with the slipstream."

"But Sector 1 is okay?"

"Yeah, I had the fastest there, and you did too once, I think–"

"Yeah! But then we are losing all this time." Max unzips his race suit and gives it a pull. "The humidity here, woof, man."

"You know, you both probably just earned some community service," says Will, who is still here.

Charles bumps Max's shoulder, laughing. "Sorry! Sorry. You saw, didn't you? I have to pay them $10,000?"

"But only half if you don't do it again!" Max takes the microphone. "Hello to the FIA, he did it again."

"Mate, shut up, they are everywhere."

"Well, maybe if you're lucky, they'll send you together. Looks like these two have a lot to discuss, Ruth, so. We'll send it back to you." Will salutes the camera. When the cameraman says 'clear,' he sighs in relief. He turns to them. "Thanks, lads, for whatever that was. Max, you'll keep your secret, I suppose." He wanders off.

Charles slings an arm around Max's shoulders, squeezing. "My slipstream was very nice."

"Do not get used to it." Max bumps his hip, reaches up to ruffle his hair before breaking away. "Fucking pass Lando tomorrow, okay?"

"Well, thanks, Max, I was not planning to until you said this." Charles rolls his eyes, but it's all fond. Sometimes it's just. Nice to be where they are together.

Someone's calling Max. He holds up his phone as he walks away backwards. "Play me back in checkers, you fucker, I'll see you tomorrow," he calls. Someone scolds him in the background.

xxx

Max runs to his team and throws himself into their arms. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. He can't stop thinking it. That didn't just happen. It's a dream.

GP's not there yet. The pit wall is so fucking far away here. Max wants to see him so badly. They fucking did it. He's not sure if he's even making words, he's just fucking yelling.

Everyone's hugging him and clapping him on the back and he wants to cry, he might actually be crying, a little bit.

And Daniel's there. He reaches out and Max hugs him with everything he's got, pressing his nose into Daniel's shoulder. If he sobs once, then so what. "Baby, baby," Daniel's saying. "Holy shit, who are you? Are you fucking real?"

Max only lets go because someone's calling his name. He kisses Daniel, just quickly, like, in a polite public way. But he actually wants to climb over the barrier and put his tongue down his throat. Daniel told him he could win from anywhere in Brazil. Max had thought he was being stupid.

"I love you," he says, stealing one more kiss. "Love you, fuck, sorry I was a bitch earlier."

Daniel has to talk into his ear so Max can hear him. "Oh god, Max, it's fine, who the fuck cares. Babe. You're incredible. I'm so proud of you. That was, like– I think that was your best drive ever." It feels like it. It really, actually feels like it. Daniel nudges him, says, "Go," because his name is still coming faintly from somewhere.

He turns to look who's calling him, and he's met with a body barreling straight into his ribcage.

Charles rocks them back and forth, not letting go for anything. "Max, oh my god, oh my god." They're both soaked through. Charles's hand is freezing where it's squeezing the back of his neck. When they pull apart, they're grinning at each other like Max just won the championship.

"It almost didn't happen because of you," Max says. "That was not a car's width!"

"Oh nooo, not a car's width." Charles shakes his head, still grinning. "I'm going to tell everyone I let you win."

"Oh, is that why you did the pit stop? I appreciate that." Max hugs him again. "That was so much fun. I think you're the only one who almost got me. P5, yeah? That's well done."

"Yeah. Car was shit. It is not terrible." Charles presses a kiss to the side of his head. "You are fucking crazy. We are not leaving Brazil. Think about something stupid to do tonight."

They're calling him for interviews. He has to go. He's taken way too long already. He won– he actually, really, fucking won– so he gets to be up last, but it looks like Pierre's wrapping up.

"Got it," he calls to Charles, as he jogs away.

[hatsunemitskislobotomy]

˚ ༘♡ “ 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙’𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙞’𝙙 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 ? ” ༊*·˚

“ every time i look into your eyes i feel it , you’re all i need ”

↳ ❝ ¡satoru gojo x fem reader— period pain comfort drabble because whewwww!❞

(:̲̅:̲̅:[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

“i might die.”

“you won’t.”

“feels like i will.”

she laid on her stomach, the last thing she needed was to leak on top of her shitty pains.

“my poor baby.”

she let large hands rake through her hair with ease as she griped about her body turning on her.

“satoru…” she whined softly

“sorry sorry.” he knew better than to get handsy with her

not when she were currently taken by the electric heating pad that laid snug in between her and the mattress.

one couldn’t help but feel jealous, he wanted to be laid on top of.

“y’know i’m nice and warm too.” she could hear the pout in his tone

“first of all— liar.” she often wondered if his cool toned looks contributed to his lack of body heat

“second, you don’t have different modes of heat.”

“i can’t believe i have to share my girl with an inanimate object.” he grumbled

“im sorry toru… it’s only for a few days.”

because the first few days were always the worst. he’d have to watch her wither and groan in pain for a good 72 hours— she wouldn’t eat, she barely slept, all he could do is just lay idly by her side because god forbid he put her hands on her because she couldn’t stand to be touched during then.

he’d argue with her doctors to take his baby’s pain seriously, that period pains shouldn’t be that debilitating— there had to be something else but they’d just give him a sympathetic look.

what good was being the honored one throughout heaven and earth if he couldn’t even ease her pain?

“mmm, toru can you turn the heating pad up— pretty please?”

his pretty girl, he could never say no to her. if she asked him to level the world he just might.

he reached for the little mechanical remote that was attached to the pad only to frown.

“baby it’s already on the highest.”

“huh…”

but the frown persisted, he slid his hand where the heating pad met the bed before pulling his hand away quick with a hiss.

“ow— baby that’s burning.

“it’s nice like that.” she grumbled with a pout

but he was worried.

“baby get up real quick.”

he might as well have asked her to die.

“satoru…” her whine was pitiful

“i know i know just really quick.”

she looked like a kicked puppy as she shifted to prop herself on her knees. he moved the heating pad to the side as his hands hovered over the hem of her shirt.

“may i?” his gaze met hers

she nodded softly.

“thank you baby.”

he was met with a grunt.

he tried to keep his touch light but he was never really good at that, he was greedy like that. his love, his touch, heavy handed and consuming.

he pushed up her shirt gently revealing discolored scars littered across her stomach, mentally kicking himself for not noticing these sooner.

“baby you’re burning yourself, you’re not supposed to lie directly on the heating pad.”

“but i need to— it hurts so bad.”

his heart broke, another type of pain had to keep her debilitating one away.

he couldn’t let her stay like this.

using the consent he got from her earlier, he lifted her up with ease as he settled her back against his chest with his against the headboard.

“wha..? satoru…!” she squirmed in his hold

“shh baby i know, but that heating pad is hurting you— i ought to destroy it.” he bristled

“i shouldn’t be sitting down—“

he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“i’m gonna leak, i didn’t position my pad right—“

“then i’ll run you a bath.”

“it’ll get on the bed—!”

“i’ll wash the sheets.”

she let out a whine.

“why won’t you leave me to be miserable?”

her question earned her an assault of kisses.

“could never leave you baby.” he murmured into the crook of her neck

she let out a sigh.

“too nice to me.” she mumbled

“good.”

❀° ┄───╮

a/n: yall i almost forgot my roots as a jjk writer lolz

anyways this is based on true events without the giant white haired blue eyed freak (affectionately) there to care for me— life’s so hard man :(

uhhh what else… oh yeah don’t use past consent to act on present/future actions y’all consent is sexy 🫶🏾

that’s it, yall shall be hearing from me once school’s out LOVE U GUYS BYE MWAHHHHH

╰───┄ °❀

[c-e-d-dreamer]

The Rest Is History

A/N: Listen, was I supposed to be working on IPB AU? Yes. Did I write this fun drabble instead? Also, yes. I'm surrounded by enablers.... but the fact remains that Cassian is absolutely thinking abou the Roman Empire daily. And he would make a hot history nerd, so here we are. Dedicated to the GC ❤️

“Listen. I get it. It looks cool and all that, but you seriously expect me to believe any general in their right mind is going to use catapults and ballistae in a forest? A forest? Just imagine the poor guys trying to maneuver those into place between the trees. It would take forever and only leaves you exposed and puts you at more of a disadvantage.”

Nesta has to bite her lip around a smile as she listens to Cassian rant in the other room. Even through the closed door, his voice carries down the hall to her.

She had known Cassian was a history buff from their very first date. They’d gone to a bar in the historical part of town, down by the harbor, and as if he simply couldn’t stop himself, Cassian had leaned over after they’d ordered their drinks and explained how the location was notorious for shang-haiing back in the day. How one of the most notorious culprits was actually a woman who would flirt and trick sailors into having drink after drink with her until they passed out and woke up dazed and confused on a ship the next morning while she walked away with her pocket full of coin.

He had apologized almost as soon as he’d finished speaking, clearly embarrassed by the outburst. But Nesta had been so entranced by the way his hazel eyes had lit up when he spoke, the golds and greens of them practically sparking even in the low light of the bar. Entranced by the way his lips had tugged up into an easy, excited smile around the words he spoke. Entranced by his passion and his love even if it was for a topic she didn’t necessarily share in.

It had been enough to want a second date with him.

It had been enough to want a lot of dates with him.

And now, here Nesta is, curled up in the room they converted to her own personal library and office, listening to Cassian rant away to his followers on TikTok. It still leaves her with that same feeling as their first date, that same soft warmth blooming between her ribs. Still has her shaking her head fondly, as she burrows deeper beneath her pile of blankets and returns to the final chapter of her book.

By the time she is finishing the last page and finally closing the book, Nesta is less than impressed. She digs her phone out from where it’s buried between blankets and opens her Notes app, adding to her running list of points to make in her review. The ending? Terrible. Nothing worse than an author who clearly got offered a new book deal so they suddenly decide to add unnecessary plot to the final ten pages to set up another book. She’ll definitely be warning her TikTok followers about that.

To take her mind off the ending, she decides to open up the app in question, to check on what her followers are saying about her last book review, liking and replying to a good chunk of them. With a soft sigh, she sinks deeper against the pillows at her back, navigating to her FYP. Almost all of the videos are a trend sweeping across BookTok, of different creators trying to teach their boyfriends and husbands how to be a good book boyfriend. It has an idea sparking in Nesta’s mind, her eyes dancing toward the closed door to the library.

With a decided nod, she clambers up to her feet, padding out of the room and down the hall. She pauses in the doorway to Cassian’s office, leaning casually against the door jamb and watching him work. He has his ring light set up on the desk, phone poised and recording in the center. His hair is scraped back into a bun, and he’s wearing a loose tee that teases just enough of the dark swirls of ink that splash across his collarbones, that twist down his arms. But it’s his hands that really have Nesta’s attention, the way he waves them about as he passionately speaks to the camera.

“And don’t even get me started on the depiction of Marcus Aurelius. Did they even have a historian in that writer’s room?”

As Cassian continues to rant about the Roman emperor and his character in the movie, it’s clear that he can feel Nesta’s eyes on him. It’s the smile that gives him away first, the slow tug of his lips until the soft, dopey look he fondly calls his ‘Nesta smile’ takes over his face. And then his eyes start glancing toward her, and even with the distance, Nesta can see the way his gaze softens around the edges.

Even still, Cassian continues talking, continues recording as if nothing’s amiss. Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but that merely has his smile growing. She always teases him when he does this, for the way he won’t re-record any of the videos and posts them regardless. When Nesta had taken a peek at his account and his videos, she’d seen plenty of comments asking what or, more particularly, who he was looking at.

When Cassian finishes, he reaches forward to stop his recording, turning to give Nesta his full attention. “Hey, Nes. Finally finish your book?”

“Yes. The ending was terrible.”

Cassian chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I’m sure your followers will appreciate your honesty on that.”

Nesta shrugs noncommittally, but she knows he’s right. It’s how she built her following in the first place: completely honest and transparent book reviews. “Speaking of followers. I do need your help with a video, a BookTok trend. We can call it even from when you made me chase after you for that August video.”

“Hey, that Pheidippides joke was hilarious,” Cassian defends, standing up from his chair even as he shakes his head as though fondly remembering the video. “The Persians slipped away like a bottle of wine…”

Nesta snorts at the reminder of the caption he used, turning on her heel and leading the way back to her library. She grabs her phone from where she left it, taking the time to set it up so it has the perfect framing of the door. Once she’s happy with it, she presses record, curling her hand around Cassian’s wrist and tugging him into the shot.

“So the trend is to lean against the door frame like the men in books do.”

“Lean against the door frame?” Cassian asks, shifting until his shoulder presses against the door jamb.

“No, the top frame,” Nesta corrects, grabbing his wrist again and tugging his arm up to demonstrate.

Cassian readjusts his stance, settling his weight forward as he leans against his raised hand, and offers her a winning smile. “Like this, sweetheart?”

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to smile. It’s meant to be sultry,” Nesta explains, frowning at Cassian’s expression. “What is that face?”

“Blue steel.”

“That’s it. You fail,” Nesta laughs softly, turning to walk back toward her phone and stop the recording.

An arm snakes around Nesta’s waist, fingers curling and spinning her back around. She barely comes face to face with Cassian before he’s backing her up against the door jamb, caging her in with his large body. Her breath hitches in her chest at the way his hazel eyes have darkened, and she can’t look away, even when his arm tightens around her waist, arching her back and pulling her flush against him. His hand slides along her jaw, thumb skating across her bottom lip before he leans down and kisses her, Nesta sighing into his mouth.

“How’s that compare to the men in your books?” Cassian whispers when he pulls back.

Nesta is sure that she must be blushing, but she clears her throat and extricates herself from Cassian’s hold. She can practically feel Cassian’s smirk on her back as she walks back over to her phone and stops the recording, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. Especially when she watches back the way she became flustered and then melted into him in 4k.

“Well, I can’t post this.”

“You should definitely post it,” Cassian murmurs, his voice closer than she expects, but then his arms are curling around her waist as he plasters himself to her back.

And maybe it’s the warmth of Cassian wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the peace and security she’s found in his arms. Maybe it’s the way this history nerd has made her feel happier and more loved than she ever thought possible. Maybe it’s the way his lips pressing a line along her neck is very distracting.

Whatever it is, Nesta finds herself trimming the video to remove the parts at the beginning and end where she started and stopped the recording. Finds herself quickly adding subtitles and typing out an easy caption of, ‘I guess he passes after all… #BookTokChallenge #BookBoyfriend.’ After all, she can always delete the video later if she really wants to.

She presses post and tosses her phone aside, turning around in Cassian’s arms and kissing him properly, more than happy to go stumbling down the hall to their bedroom in a tangle of limbs. And later, while Cassian makes them dinner, Nesta sits atop their kitchen island and decides to open TikTok again, unable to hold in a surprised laugh as she reads the top, most liked comment on her most recent video.

Is that the fucking HistoryTok dude????

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

[rollinouttahere-writes]

You know how I said a couple of hours ago that I didn't feel like writing for live action one piece? Yeah, um, I may have gone back on my word a little bit... Here's a drabble of Lucky interacting with Mihawk like I mentioned here

Mihawk wasn’t completely sure what to expect from the task Garp had given him. The mission was most certainly beneath him, but it was unlike the vice admiral to order around any warlord, much less send someone of his caliber to fetch a pirate without so much as a bounty.

At the very least, he wanted this miniscule chore to be mildly interesting. 

Lucky for him, his hopes were not only met, but exceeded. Not because of the rookie pirate he’d been sent after. Not even entirely because of the swordsman that had the confidence to challenge him, though that was intriguing in its own right.

No, what really made this worth it was the enraged woman that was presently yelling at him for engaging in a fair duel. Truly, this was not something he saw everyday. 

“And what do you mean, ‘you can’t die here, grow stronger and face me again’?! How is he supposed to do that when he’s just been cut in half?!” The woman, despite having just witnessed the fight, had the nerve to storm right up to him and get in his face.

“Lucky! Shut up and get back here!” Nami was pale as a ghost and visibly torn between tending to Zoro and stopping you from whatever it was that you believed you were accomplishing here.

Nami’s pleas fell on deaf ears, as you were too worked up to even acknowledge her. Rather than that, you took a step closer to Mihawk and poked his chest aggressively as you continued to give him a piece of your mind, “I mean seriously, look at him! How is anyone supposed to survive that, much less improve after?!”

Violent coughing forced your tirade to come to a stop, and your head snapped around to look at Zoro. His chest was heaving with each breath, sending even more blood squirting out of the wound. Nami tried to hold him down, but he propped his head up enough to look you in the eyes. His own were filled with desperation and intensity, “You need to stop.” He hacked out more blood, “I asked for this and got what I deserved, it was an honorable fight. Please… stop talking.”

Foolishly, Mihawk expected you to be moved by your comrade’s words and calm down, however bitterly. Instead, this only redirected your anger, “No, you stop talking! As soon as I’m done with this guy, you’re next!”

“Oh my, such a fearsome threat. You should be careful, lest you fall victim to her wrath as well,” every word out of Mihawk’s mouth dripped with sarcasm. 

Said sarcasm did not go over your head. You whirled back around to face him, the daggers in your eyes more dangerous than Zoro’s attempt to fight moments before. Your hands shot out to grasp onto his coat, “You stay out of this! I bet you think you’re just so damn cool for this, don’t you?!”

“Why yes, I do. How kind of you to notice,” Mihawk smirked down at you, and it only grew upon seeing your eye twitch and a vein in your head throb.

You shoved off of him, because you definitely couldn’t shove him away. Your shaking hand drifted towards the urumi around your waist, “I’ll take you out myself.”

Suddenly, you were rushed by both Nami and Usopp. Each grabbing an arm and pulling you away.

“Hey, crazy idea, how about you stop talking before you end up like Zoro?” Usopp suggested frantically, looking back and forth between you and the warlord.

“Oh, no worries. I could never bring myself to punch down enough to do that,” Mihakw cut in, staring straight into your furious eyes.

“You mother fu-” the venom in your voice only served to make him grin more. Unfortunately, Nami slapped a hand over your mouth to keep you from saying more. A pity, really. This was finally getting good.

“If you don’t shut up so help me, I will knock you out myself!” Nami hissed into your ear. You didn’t calm down at all and continued screeching at Mihawk from behind her hand. Oh how he wished he could understand what was being said.

Zoro’s head fell back onto the ground with a quiet thud, and he dragged a hand down his face, “I hope this kills me.”

As much as he was anticipating facing Zoro again someday once he’s had a chance to become a truly worthy opponent, he was looking forward to seeing you again more. It’s not often that he felt so alive from something other than fighting.

[youcalledmebabe]

69 for winnix 👉👈?

send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write a drabble for you

a little prequel babe’s anatomy winnix for you!

69. “Why the hell are you bleeding!?”

Dick stares at the white curtain, trying not to get irritated about the plastics intern taking his sweet time coming downstairs. It’s five thirty a.m. What could possibly be more pressing than an ER page? Didn’t Lew give them the answer pages at a run lecture? Eugene had it down but then, Dick was lucky. He’d gotten the best intern.

He keeps looking at the curtain. It’s actually not white, it’s very pale blue, with little flowers and—seriously where is Peacock. He allows himself a sigh. A little blood drips onto his UMich t-shirt.

Someone yanks the curtain aside, almost pulling the rod down with it. Lew stands, in rumpled blue scrubs, chest heaving. See? He takes pages at a run.

“What happened to you? Why did I have to hear from Malarkey that you were in the ER after being slashed?” Lew demands.

Dick smiles, a little wry. “It’s nothing. A small laceration. Your intern was supposed to take care of it.”

“How did you get slashed? Why are you saying that like it’s normal? You’re from Pennsylvania,” Lew says, snapping on a pair of gloves.

“A man approached me on my run this morning and wanted some money. I didn’t have any. He got angry.”

The frown on Lew’s face deepens. He starts to clean the cut, one hand on Dick’s jaw, the other carefully dabbing under his eye. Zygomatic bone, Dick thinks, flashing back to anatomy. He’s just grateful it wasn’t his eye.

“The one time I don’t go with you,” Lew says.

Dick snorts. “The one time?”

Lew shakes his head and takes out a suture kit before replacing his gloves.

“You’re going to do my stitches?” Dick says, incredulous. “Shouldn’t you be reconstructing an ear or repairing a cleft palate?”

“It was stitch you up or prep Strayer’s wife for her yearly facelift.”

Lew dabs numbing cream on Dick’s face. His touch is soft, delicate, somehow gentler than any of the other surgeons. Their eyes meet and Dick wonders, for the millionth time, if he remembers their kiss. If he ever thinks about it. It’s on the tip of Dick’s tongue; it always is, but he thinks of his father’s advice. Some things should stay buried.

Lew pierces him with the needle and Dick winces. “Sorry,” Lew murmurs, running his thumb over his forehead. Almost a caress. Almost is all they get these days, with Lew and Cathy ‘working on their marriage’ and ‘prioritizing couple time.’

“I just can’t believe you were going to let Peacock at you with a needle,” Lew says.

Dick watches him, enjoys his full attention. He can’t believe it either now; he should’ve called Nix right away. What a nice twist of fate that he should get injured while Lew is working. “He’s an intern,” he says. “How else will he learn? He needs practice. Nobody is hopeless after practice.”

Lew bites his lip in concentration. “Some faces are too pretty to be practice.”

Dick hopes there isn’t a pleased scarlet flush on his face. Pretty. He knows, but he only really hears it from Deetta these days. “Is that the official position of the plastics department?”

“Now that Peacock is the future? Yes,” Lew says. He finishes the stitch and pulls back, taking a second to admire his work. “There. Shouldn’t even scar.”

“Thanks, Nix.”

“Anytime,” he says, slipping off his gloves. “But you’re not allowed to run without me again.”

“Sure,” Dick humors him. Lew’s been working nights to avoid Cathy and when he’s not working nights, he’s drinking himself to sleep. He’ll believe it when he sees it.

⚕️⚕️⚕️

The next morning, Lew sits on the edge of the park fountain in his blue Yale shirt. He’s blinking, bleary, but here. Maybe Dick gets more than almost after all.

[corpsebasil]

I'm sorry but knight! Nikolaï got me hORNY—

So just think about it: like, kinda a corruption kink but the other way around? The Princess being very, VERY MUCH INTO HIM and being like "damn Imma bang that man"

And Knight Nikolaï being loyal to his duties so he's trying to not understand or see her advances, but god damn his patience and will to stay professional are wearing thin just like the clothes of the princess seems to gradually become around him uhuh

ARGBLBLBLB HAND ME THE HOLY WATER RIGHT NOW

Dear mother above—

^^^ me and you walking to his room.

Sir Nikolai isn’t a man that is unused to being fawned over. Women and men alike—nobles, citizens, who gives a shit—all want him. The man is literally sex on legs just LOOK at him. LORD.

The one person he’s surprised to find attracted to him, though, is you. Your royal highness. Aka the princess of Ravka and his personal charge. He takes his role of protecting you extremely seriously. He does a security sweep practically every time you enter a room. He keeps his eye out for any possible threats, always a step behind you. Always.

Yes he finds you pretty—who doesn’t—but the idea of sleeping with you goes against every moral fiber of his being.

It starts small when you realize you aren’t going to get your way with him at first.

DRABBLE UNDER THE CUUUUT

Oh god he’s so beautiful anyways—

“Sir Nikolai.”

“Princess.”

You’re watching him from one of the chairs in your sitting-room as he works, sorting through some documents as you’re supposed to be reading. You literally cannot focus.

The rustling of papers and the occasional shift of his body in his chair are the only sounds occupying your rooms as of now and, to your chagrin, you can’t stop staring at his hands. The way his fingers run over the documents, the way he licks his thumb quickly to flip a page, good God.

“I can feel you staring.” He says, not even sparing you a glance as he works. You scowl.

“I am not.”

He raises one eyebrow and you slump lower in your seat, face hot.

You’ve had a crush on your personal guard since pretty much forever and you know that he knows. He finds it entertaining to tease you sometimes; he’ll find excuses to help fix your hair, he holds your hand a bit longer than necessary when escorting you out of a carriage, and he especially enjoys the look on your face when you see him flirting with other women of the court.

I picture his grin like this.

Also Elliot Knight is fucking gorgeous.

He just smiles at you from across the room and goes straight back into his conversation.

You know from gossip around the court that he’s an absolute god in bed. The maids—those damn gossips—all giggle and blush as they whisper about a night with him or someone they know, their voices not quiet enough to stop you from picking up a few details while they clean.

You want him. You want him so bad it makes you look STUPID.

If you’re going to get this man on top of under, behind, down low, up high, all the positions you then you’re going to have to start being a little bolder, sweetheart. You start small: staring more openly and forcing yourself not to look away when caught. Brushing against him when you walk by just to have an excuse to be close to him. Making comments out of the blue about how you’re just so bored and touch deprived.

Poor you.

He catches on instantly.

“Princess.” He starts one evening, watching you as you approach him clad in one of your adorable nightgowns that leave nothing to the imagination. Picture Aelin’s gold nightgown, HA. His teeth are grit so tightly that he can actually feel his jaw hurt as you walk by. “Where is your robe.”

Not a question. He knows exactly where your robe is because you left it on his bed after sneaking quickly through the shared door in your chambers. He’d made the mistake of telling you he’d be right back and you took your chance. You’d be giggling like a fiend when he knocked just now, eyes dark and expression unamused.

He didn’t bring the robe, though. Oddly enough.

“It’s too hot for a robe right now.” You lie, ignoring his annoyed stare as you pour yourself a glass of bourbon from a decanter. “Besides, this dress is new. Don’t you like it?”

“You forgot the rest of it.”

“This is the newest style!” You argue, grinning to yourself as you feel him watch your back. The material is thin as hell and Saints you look fucking magical in it.

Meanwhile Nikolai, behind you, is feeling warmer and warmer the longer you fix yourself a drink. His eyes roam across your bare skin, his blood burning in his veins as he watches the slight sway of your hips. He can imagine running his hands along those long legs of yours, skin soft under his fingers.

How responsive would you be for him? Would you be loud or quiet? Calling out his name or only gasping and whining for him? Would you let him kiss your thighs before he buries his mouth between your legs? Would you let him bend you over his desk or set you on top of it?

Lord have mercy—

He licks his lips thoughtfully as he continues his observations. Surely you’re taking longer on purpose so that he can stare.

The clink of the glass hitting the counter snaps him from his fantasies before he realizes he’s been caught blatantly checking out your ass with his mouth hanging open a fraction.

Shit.

Your smile is devious and proud when you turn to face him, leaning slightly back against the table to meet his eyes.

“Something wrong, Sir?”

“Princess.” He clears his throat and glances up at the ceiling for a moment. “This isn’t appropriate.”

“I’d hope not.” You snort. You walk towards him and he stays still, every inch of him tense. He doesn’t look away as you tilt your head, chin lifted up to his in offering. He doesn’t take the bait.

“Princess.” He grits out. “Please. Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what.”

“I’m not doing—”

But you shut up when his hand reaches out to snatch your wrist in an iron grip, your fingers hovering barely an inch away from his chest. The gap in his loose shirt reveals smooth, golden skin, your fingertips frozen.

You glance up with a tiny gasp and he’s watching you, his eyes darker and more serious than before.

“I cant let you start anything.” He breathes, hand tightening on your arm. “Not like this. Not with me.”

“Why?” You question, face falling as you look up into his eyes. “Why not?”

“You’re jail bait, kid.”

“What does that mean—”

“Your father would kick my ass if he saw me with you. You know that.” You huff through your nose and attempt to pull away but he holds fast. “Y/N,” he starts and your heart aches. Not ‘Princess’, Y/N. “you have no idea the things I’d do to you.”

You freeze as his head lowers a fraction, nose barely touching yours. Your breaths are unsteady as he tucks your hair behind an ear, hand framing your face.

“You’d never want to leave my bed.” He adds and the ache shoots from your heart to right between your legs. “The things I’ve thought about you.” He closes his eyes and, after a beat, whispers a quiet ‘fuck’ before practically tearing himself away from you.

You don’t even have time to protest before he’s heading back to his rooms and shutting the door behind him.

Ughhh OAJAOSK I NEED HIMMMM