#lil drabble

[teatreeoilll]

2006

“No - No - Don’t put it in your bag. Gojo - Seriously, stop.”

“Well we need to put it somewhere, don’t we?”

“Alright. Alright - Let me hold it. We just need to think of something smart - ow! Little bastard. If you bite me again I’ll leave you here.” At the edge of the street stands the rubble of the house Gojo destroyed half an hour ago - together with the curse in it. The other houses surrounding you look run-down and uninhibited, blending with the rain clouds on the horizon. “I don’t really mean it,” You whisper.

Gojo leans forward and rubs the head of the tiny gray kitten you’re holding. The kitten hisses back at him. “I don’t think he likes us.”

“What makes you think he’s a he - ow! Maybe it’s a she,” You lift the kitten up, but it only digs its tiny claws further into your hand. “Alright, I won’t check -” You bring it closer to your chest, rubbing it on the head to calm it down, and look back up at Gojo, “But we need to figure out what to do with it.”

“Shoko can take care of its leg.” Gojo points to a nasty wound on the kitten, “And then we’ll just put it in your room.”

“My room? Why not your room?”

“Aw, come on. It’s just for a little while - look, it’s already purring. I bet it thinks you’re his mom.”

“Yaga will kill us.”

Gojo’s lips curl up in a familiar smirk, “Only if he finds out.”

“Fine. But you’re buying the cat food.”

-

“Gojo -” You whisper into the dark hallway, “Gojo - Wake up!”

A few seconds go by and the door creaks open. Gojo’s still halfway into putting on his t-shirt, “What is it?” You stare a moment too long at his abs, “If that’s what you came for I’ll take it off -”

“Don’t be dumb, you oversized noodle. Something’s wrong with the kitten.”

Inside your room, Shoko and Geto are kneeling on the floor over the kitten. All your hear are quiet retching sounds and worried whispers.

“He keeps coughing up like that. Do you think he’s sick?” You ask as you and Gojo kneel with the others, looking at the little kitten shaking its head, “Maybe we need to take him to a vet.”

The kitten wobbles a bit when it moves towards Gojo. “Come here little one,” Gojo whispers as if no one can hear him, “What’s wrong with you? Huh?” He runs a finger between the kitten’s ears. It climbs onto his knees, then wretches again, unleashing a surprisingly big and slimy hairball on Gojo’s lap.

“Oh - God - That’s -” Gojo takes the kitten off his knees. He swears it’s smirking at him. The room is silent for a moment before you let out a snort, and everyone but Gojo howls with laughter. “Quit laughing! D’you have a wet wipe or something?”

“I -” You huff out laughing, wiping the tears pooling in your eyes, “I thought it was sick -”

Geto’s cheeks are bright red and he’s folded almost in half as he sucks sharp breaths through bouts of laughter, “Good thing you called Satoru, poor thing just needed something to look at to get him to vomit -”

“Seriously! Stop laughing and get me towel or something -”

In the doorway, Masamichi Yaga clears his throat.

-

“I’m not saying get rid of it.” The little kitten strolls on papers on Yaga’s desk. Rain hammers on the window glass. “Just put it back where it came from.”

“How can we put it back where it came from?” You retort, “It’s tiny! It’ll freeze, or it’ll starve or -”

The kitten looks up, its green eyes pointed straight at Yaga’s stern expression. Yaga sighs.

“Come on, Yaga -” Gojo bats his white eyelashes as if he’s the one about to get kicked out in the rain. Yaga sighs again.

“You can’t keep it in your room anymore,” Yaga says as he takes the kitten from the desk and places it on his lap, “But we’ll figure something out. Now get to bed, all of you.”

-

2017

“Mochi!” Gojo ducks down to pet the cat as he exits the building. It hisses back at him. “You’re getting old now, you little monster. You better start making amends soon.”

“Earl still doesn’t like you, huh?” You chuckle, coming out from the building after him.

“I don’t know how he likes you after you named him Earl.” Gojo looks down at the cat, who left him to rub on your feet. “Bootlicker,” he mutters under his breath.

“Don’t be jealous, Satoru,” Shoko’s smoking a cigarette by the entrance, “Winston can sense it.”

“Don’t even let me get started about naming a cat after a pack of cigarettes -”

“Oh and Mochi’s better?” You chuckle, petting Earl on the head, “Even though nothing beats Yaga who just calls him “Cat” or Suguru’s ‘Bruce Lee’ -”

Suguru. There’s a silence.

Earl meows. “Aw - Earl, you want a treat?” You reach into your pocket, “Lucky for you I came prepared.”

Gojo chuckles, “If I meow, will you -”

“Definitely not, Satoru.”

“Are you sure?” Gojo drawls, leaning forward for his face to be an inch from yours, “Because I’ll meow if I have to.”

You roll your eyes and press a chaste kiss on his lips, “Please don’t meow.”

[fortheb0ys]

I want Master Chief to take off his helmet. See his pretty face, sweat covered and glistening. A proud look on it from a mission well done.

I want to see that same face, just a different look on it. A look of desperation replacing it. Needy lust taken over him.

He's on his knees in full gear. His erection pressing painfully in his suit. His tongue hanging past his chapped lips. Eyes trained on your cock. A begging glimpse behind them.

He wants what's his. He wants his reward. He wants you in his mouth. Hands palm at the bulge in your pants, feeling blood fill your member quickly.

Your thumbs caressing is stubbled chin as you cradle his face. Eyes connecting, so does your understanding. You know what he needs and he will get it.

A small kiss is placed on his forehead.

"Well done, sweetheart." You whisper into the flushed skin behind his ear.

He closes his eyes in anticipation as eye contact is finally severed. The sound of your zipper, a clear sign of what's to come.

[justbreakonme]

Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker.

They had a soft, kind voice, with soft kind hands, and even softer, kinder eyes.

They laughed a lot, and made him laugh too, and didn’t seem to notice when he laughed too long or too loudly or too gracelessly.

They gave him food, nice things, and clothes that fit, and a bed (a real bed, just for them!), but… There was one thing in particular that Whumpee liked the most.

See, Whumpee had never needed to be broken. They’d never dare intentionally step out of line, not even in their wildest dreams or most terrifying nightmares. But, they were flawed. Deeply. And made many mistakes.

But, where Whumper had attributed those mistakes to malice, Caretaker merely corrected him, forgave him, helped him.

He remembered fondly (oh how strange to remember anything fondly) the day Caretaker first brought him home. He had tripped over the edge of the welcome mat, and fell hard, knocking the coat rack down with him.

He had been braced for blows, or at best the yelling and screaming that always reduced him to tears, but, instead, Caretaker had crouched down and asked if he was okay. He had stared, blankly (stupidly), at them, covered in coats and scarves, until Caretaker had moved to help him. He’d flinched, and Caretaker still hadn’t struck him. Instead, they offered a hand, and helped him up.

Caretaker smiled, awkward and toothy and more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, and apologized, (apologized, to him, of all things!) making a little joke about how welcome mat wasn’t very welcoming.

Whumpee had stared for a moment more, still braced for this all to be a trick. Then, it was like something inside him broke, like a rubber band snapping, and he laughed. He’d laughed, hysterical and ugly, till tears came to his eyes, and then couldn’t stop them.

He’d begged through tears that he was sorry, that he was trying to be good (an old habit that had still never died, despite having every reason to), but Caretaker still didn’t raise a hand against him.

He didn’t remember all the details, after that, only that Caretaker had brought him into the kitchen, and given him a mug of something warm and sweet, and sat down across from him. And had let him cry, only interrupting to assure him that he was not in trouble and to hand him a tissue.

Yes, Whumpee liked many things about Caretaker. Their heart most of all.

[safe-from-sharp-teeth]

It starts with the teeth.

You trace your fingers over the sharp, white bones before you. They’re slick with saliva, not unlike the gaping maw you find yourself looking into. What terrible objects - created to gnash and bite and maim and chew. And yet, here they stand docile, so gently awaiting your entrance, so scared to poke or cut you.

Warm breath washes over you as you move your hands inside. Your face reddens involuntarily. The tongue is scared to touch or taste you. It sits idly by, pressed deep into the floor of the mouth as if the pred was at the dentist’s office. You smile and pat the large organ. It’s okay; you’re not going to hurt me.

The atmosphere is eerily still yet pulsing with little signs of life. You can hear the pred’s shaky breaths, the squish and squelches of your movements inside the mouth, and the low thrum of the blood rushing through the creature’s veins. You know a symphony is coming - the throat and the stomach await your curtain call. You lie on the tongue now, head peeking over into the abyss. It’s impossibly, deliciously warm.

You take a breath...and make your entrance.

[crimsonspring]

She used to see the moon and stars, fuck it, — the entire fucking galaxy — in his eyes yet the only thing that resembles that now are the crescent-like shapes her nails have carved into the skin of her palms. Heat swims over the back of her neck and cheeks, her body furious reaction at her forced attempts of quelling the feelings bursting in her chest. 

She’s failing, of course. Her feelings are far too big and far too strong - this has always been the case when it came to Zayne. Loving him him synonymous to a wanderlust traveller stepping foot on foreign soil; missing him identical to not being able to buy a ticket home during the holidays.

And Zayne.. if he ever felt the same way about her, even the post-midnight starlight that peeks through the curtains in his lonesome room wouldn’t have known. Not with the way he overworks himself at the hospital, the heavy burden he feels on his shoulders distracting the heavy yearning he feels in his chest.

Much like how she isn't able to tell now, either. She stands in front of him, and his tired and guilt-ridden eyes can only afford to stare back at her.

He's so tired, so fucking tired. It almost numbs the pain he feels in his heart.

"It's okay, Zayne," with a forced smile, she swallows the lump in her throat. "I know you're busy - it isn't a big deal, anyway." The shrug in her shoulders is a bold-faced lie as she finally pulls her gaze away from the doctor. She's conflicted too, knows medicine and being a healer was what he was meant to do. The world needs him, perhaps more than she does.

Should it ever feel selfish to miss your lover?

[soapyghost]

Wanna write about call girl reader x makarov still. Where silly lil makarov pretends not to have any feelings for her. He treats her just like arm candy for events. And then one day he doesn’t book her for some lavish party and she shows up on some rival militias leaders arm and he just snaps.

Pulls you off the guy and into a back room. Hissing in anger that another man dare touch you. You’re confused because makarov has never even shown an ounce of interest in you outside of parties. N then he fucks you so good and tells you he’s gonna take care of you and you never have to work again and mysteriously the rival militias leader suddenly dissapears a few weeks later oops.

[ryantryinx]

For a birthday present Lip crochet's Ian a blanket. ( Which he picks up with knitting for his AA ) Ian of course loves the blanket to death and couldn't be happier with the thoughtful gift. Though it just kind of sits at the end of his and Mickey's bed since Ian always runs hot at night. Mickey on the other hand, as the winter months stick in and Chicago temperatures drop to freezing. The older man grabs the blanket at the foot of the bed to add extra warmth. Quickly the blanket becomes ' Mickey's Blanket '. Ian bites his lip in a smile to think how much his older brother would die laughing if he could see how much his husband enjoys it.

[pinklocksoflove]

Nafiif wipes soot and sweat off her brow, she'd been working a long day with smelting metals for alloys, it's hot, tiring work. With a sigh she unties her apron and hangs it up. Stepping out of the workshop, feeling a wave of much cooler air compared to the heat from the molten metals she was previously working with.

After working up quite a sweat, she must be far from fresh. Perhaps a nice bath to solve that and relax her sore muscles. Capital idea! The noblewoman stretches, making her way through her master bedroom and into the bath, letting her long red hair down, and shedding her clothes leaving them in a neat pile to be washed later. Nafiif bends down to get the water flowing in the tub, taking a few minutes to adjust the temperature to her liking, during the time the tub was filling the noblewoman leaves the bathroom to grab a couple candles, a fresh set of underwear and a book to read while in the bath. A thought came across her mind, what about a nice glass of wine to have in the bath? Might as well treat herself right? A quick little jog to retrieve a bottle she had been pouring drinks from recently, a fresh glass and back to the bathroom. The tub just now full enough.

Candles are lit, wine poured, and book in hand, Nafiif lets out a contented sigh as she slides into the water. Enjoying every sensation. She worked hard, and has certainly earned the right to pamper herself a little right?

[gummy-wyrmonastring]

This came to mind while i was reading a Larry & Lawrie fic,

The fic i was reading:

!!PR0SH1PP3RS DO NOT INTERACT!!

Lawrie: of course thats what you have to say.

Lawrie: when you change, You change for the better.

Lawrie: but when I change I change for THE WORST.

Lawrie: I USED TO BE JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

Lawrie: JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE PARK!

Lawrie: JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO PROTECT HIM!

Lawrie: but now... NOW.

Lawrie: IM NO GOOD AT ALL!

Lawrie: ...heh...

Lawrie: ... thats funny right? At least you thought of me nicely...

Lawrie: what am i doing..? Why do i want to hurt you so bad?

Lawrie: ..im supposed to keep the peace... i just want to keep the peace.

[hellcheerficdatabase]

just let me adore you

Author: kontent

Rating/Warning: Teen and up audience

Chapter Count: 1/1

Description: If someone had told Eddie at twenty that he would end up here again, at Hawkins High School, as a teacher nonetheless, he would have laughed and kicked them out.

But here he is now. Everything seems pretty much the same, even though he doubts it is. Walking into the teacher’s lounge, Eddie doesn’t expect to see any familiar faces, if he was being honest.

But he enters, and Eddie has grown, sure, but his mouth is still quicker than his brain, so he blurts out: “Well, if it isn’t Chrissy Cunningham, cheerleader extraordinaire.”

She turns, surprise clear on her face. But when she sees him, just like back then, she smiles at him. “Eddie!”

Tags: Alternate Universe- no vecna, alternate Universe- future fic, fluff, friendly rivalry, teacher!Eddie, Teacher!Chrissy, lil drabble, alternating POV, one-shot, status: completed

[sinners-inc]

Lil blurb of info while I mess with my carrd over the next few days. Name: Morgana Age: 130 Height: 6'5 Class: Spore Druid /Wild Heart Barbarian Race: Drow/Bhaal Spawn (thus the eye and hair mutations) Alignment: Lawful Neutral - Chaotic Neutral

Notable features:

Due to her Origins, Morgana sports a few unique attributes that aren't normal to most Drow. That being the Darkened hair and almost acidic looking green eyes, a mark that Bhaal left behind when he made her. She also has a few choice patches of Vitiligo along her hands and elbows- something Morgana tends to hide with gloves.

Sexuality: Demi Pansexual- Heavily female leaning.

[nanamin-nah-nanamine]

Can you just imagine Nanami letting you ride him? Giving the illusion that you’re in control, praising you for being such a good girl bouncing on his cock so well. His big hands running up and down your sides as he watches and waits.

Waits for you to falter.

Waits for your legs to grow tired and your rhythm to falter as you whine that you still got it and that he doesn’t need to take over.

And he’ll humor you. He’ll indulge you until your bouncing turns to grinding down on his cock, your clit rubbing against his hip bones with each roll and he’ll wait until you’re close before he flips you over and pounds you until you’re squirting <3

[justbreakonme]

“Hey, Whumpee?”

“Yes?”

There was still a hanging empty space behind the world, left there after Caretaker had convinced them that no, they didn’t need any kind of honorific, just their name was fine if they needed it. It felt…weird…to both of them, but it was getting better.

“I don’t really know how to say this, um, but I just wanted to tell you that you’re good.” Caretaker fumbled with their words, but Whumpee was hanging off of every single one, “You’re not in trouble, um, and I’m proud of you. Really proud. There’s no reason, no catch or anything, I just saw this thing online that it can help sometimes to have a sorta reminder, I guess. Um, yeah. You’re good. You’re really good. Okay?”

Caretaker stood there, awkwardly wringing their hands. Everything they said was true, and they hoped that it reached Whumpee where it mattered, but as of right now, it seemed like Whumpee was still…processing.

His eyes were on Caretakers feet, their habitual resting place, but after a moment, he raised them to look them in the eye. He poked a weak finger at his own chest, looking almost starstruck.

“Me?”

“Yeah, yeah you.” Caretaker pointed as well, just to make sure.

“Oh,” even Caretaker could hear the lump in his throat, “…thank you.”

“It’s just the truth, you are.”

“I- No one’s ever called me that…before.” The words barely escaped, and two tears hit the floor between them.

Caretaker doesn’t know how to respond.

After all that Whumper had put him through, after how hard he had struggled and suffered in the name of “goodness”, not once had he ever reached it? Caretaker knew Whumper was awful, of course, but… this felt like a whole new level of cruelty.

“Whumpee… you’re so good. You’re so clever, and even after everything you’ve been through, you’re still kind and you still have this optimistic view of things that is simply- amazing. You’re amazing, Whumpee, so much more than good.”

Whumpees hands flew up to cover his mouth, a rough sob escaping before he could hide it. He squeezed his eyes shut, and they could tell he was holding his breath.

“It’s- It’s okay if you need to cry… It’s okay…” Caretaker gently laid a hand on his shoulder, tears coming to their eyes as well.

“I-“ he starts, but another sob shakes his shoulders, then another, and no words escape.

“Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

Whumpee nods furiously, still with his hand clamped over his mouth.

He practically folds again Caretaker, sobbing into their shoulder, as they wrap their arms around him.

[arminsumi]

Ahhh, student!Satoru, who's leaning into the palm of his hand, mouth concealed behind his pale hand, eyes stuck on you. And they've been stuck on you ever since he saw you first walk up the steps into Jujutsu Tech. Bright blue. Heart quivering. Fixed gaze.

He takes any excuse to be near you, even though he knows that you're annoyed by him — he's so cocky and full of himself. But don't you see that he's also just a lovesick boy? Look at the way he follows after you down the halls, long striding legs effortlessly meeting your quick pace.

You're just trying to get a cold soda from the vending machine after a long two hours of practicing martial arts with Satoru, Suguru and Shoko. And since Shoko promptly left with Suguru for a cigarette break, that left an overjoyed Satoru alone with you.

"Which flavor do you usually get?" he asks, grasping at any conversation starter he can think of. He just wants to talk to you, even if it's about something so dumb... even if it's while stood next to a vending machine.

"Uh, strawberry... it's my favorite."

He takes a mental note of that.

He's always trying to get your attention, even if he has to become a fool in order to earn a glance from you. Walking away, looking dumb, even his best friend shakes his head at him and tells him that he's way too downbad for a girl that doesn't even like him back.

But Satoru doesn't listen to anyone when they say that you don't like him back. He knows the chemistry is there, as awkward as it may be sometimes. He knows there's something connecting him and you, like an invisible thread.

He still brings you gifts on V-day. He still pesters you in class. He still shares one earbud with you on train rides. He still gets that accelerated heart beat when you so much as graze your hand over his while walking side-by-side.

So eagerly looking at your lips, Satoru pulls out lip balm and makes eye contact with you while applying it. He's always got chapped lips, he knows because someone made exactly 1 comment about it and now he's never forgotten to put a lip balm in his pocket.

"Whatchya starin' at my lips for? You wanna have a taste of strawberry?" he winks, puckering his kissable lips at you.

"Ough..." you cringe at him, "Satoru, it's no wonder you're single."

Okay, he has zero flirting skills. But he earns a smile out of you right then, so even if he's cringe, he's surely doing something right. Are the cogs turning in your head? Do you think he's cute? Do you want to kiss him should he lean into a kiss oh he's leaning into a kiss now aaand he nearly falls flat on his face, because you didn't notice that he was leaning in for a kiss and now he just has to play it off and look like a dumbass once again.

His feelings grow exponentially as the years pass.

You're always catching him staring and he doesn't even feel ashamed.

Though it's been on his mind all the time, it's not until after three years of knowing you that Satoru kisses you.

It happens one day during heavy rainfall. He runs to you with a grin, no umbrella, totally soaked, and like a bright-eyed bunny he bounces at your side.

He's unzipping his uniform jacket, hanging it over the two of you. The proximity has his heart thumping. Before he knows it, he's leaning down to kiss you, right there as the two of you are concealed from the world in your own little bubble — in reality, everyone knows that you two are liplocking under Satoru's jacket. Duh. His shoes click on the ground as he repositions himself, bending his knees and arching down to meet your lips, 'till his spine gets angry at him for falling for a short girl.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

kaminari complains to his friends about how gross it is that you and katsuki kiss every morning in front of your classroom door. like, have some compassion for the singles, yknow ?! his friends tell him to just drop it.

what they don’t know is the reason he kisses you every morning is to guess which flavor your lipgloss is. and he’s a little too proud when he gets it right.

[sunsburns]

clark kent, who just loves to stare at you (18+)

he just thinks you’re so pretty. a view worth risking everything for.

and you think he’s pretty too—especially like this. his lashes flutter, eyes lidded but never closing, even as they well up, clouded with heat and desperation. his brows knit together, a deep crease forming between them, like he’s struggling to make sense of the pleasure, to keep himself tethered when all he really wants is to fall apart for you. his lips part on soft, shuddering moans, the kind he doesn’t bother holding back, doesn’t want to—he wants you to hear him, to know exactly what you’re doing to him.

his fingers thread into your hair, holding you there, tugging just a little whenever you take him deeper. you can feel the tension in his grip, the barely-there restraint as he fights the urge to pull you down, to chase the wet heat of your mouth. and then—

he whimpers.

a grown man, six-foot-whatever, broad and powerful in every sense of the word, whimpers at the sight of you gagging around his cock. and fuck, it makes something in you tighten, makes heat pool low in your stomach. you let him slip from your mouth, just enough to catch your breath, and watch how his eyes go wide, unfocused, his chest rising and falling like he’s forgetting how to breathe. you press a kiss to the flushed, sensitive tip, slow and deliberate, and he shudders—actually shudders—his grip tightening in your hair.

your lips trail down, tracing every thick vein along his length, your tongue flicking out to taste him before you work your way back up. never breaking eye contact. never letting him look away.

shit, you’re so pretty like this. he doesn’t want to look away.

and you don’t want him to, either. but you do love those fleeting moments when the pleasure overtakes him—when his head tips back suddenly, baring the length of his neck and throat, every muscle tensing under his flushed skin. you see the mess of bruises you’d left there, dark and blooming against his fair complexion. his jaw clenches, stomach going tight as his hips jerk forward, uncontrolled, needy.

yeah, you love to see him like that. that split-second loss of control before he drags his head back down again, like he physically can’t stand not looking at you.

there’s a tear slipping down his cheek now, his glasses fogged and slipping down his nose. his bottom lip trembles, wet and kiss-swollen, and then he’s muttering your name, voice thick with devotion and wrecked with pleasure. soft, sweet nothings spill from his mouth, each one punctuated by a moan, a whimper, a stuttered plea—

and then, breathless, ruined, he warns you he’s close.