#my drabbles

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

DRABBLE: Nerdy!Choso x Popular!F!Reader 💜🤓

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); BF!Choso; No Curse AU; College AU; Black-Coded!Reader; Public Sex; Sneaky Blowjob; Deepthroating; subby!Choso x FDom!Reader; Cunnilingus; Pussy-Drunk!Choso is the Best Choso tbh; L-Bombs; Sweet Fluffy Aftercare

Writer’s Note: I originally wanted to write this as a one shot, but my first week at my new job didn’t allow my brain to work so I made the concept into a lil drabble. Enjoy! -Jazz

*****************

I’m thinking about Nerdy!Choso who doesn’t look anything like a nerd but is extremely intelligent, very awkward, always has a book in his hand, and is at the top of all of his college classes.

Nerdy!Choso who dresses in leather, saggy jeans where silver chains hang from his pockets and his fingers are adorned in rings that he plays with when his social anxiety kicks in.

Nerdy!Choso who is at the same university as you are as a senior to study business because he has always wanted to open his own business, like a tattoo shop or an art studio. Something artsy.

Nerdy!Choso who works at the campus library and finds comfort among the aroma of books and coffee and blushes whenever an older lady flirts with him.

Nerdy!Choso who barely knows anyone on his college campus except for his freshmen brothers, his coworkers, and you.

Nerdy!Choso who is absolutely OBSESSED with you, his pretty, popular, and wealthy girlfriend whose circles involve other pretty, popular, and wealthy people but nothing about you is snobbish or privileged like the others.

Nerdy!Choso who fell head over heels for you the moment he found out you were in the same statistics class as him and kept staring at the back of your head (and your ass in your mini skirts).

Nerdy!Choso who couldn’t believe his luck when you showed up for your first tutoring appointment with him after booking him when your grade started plummeting. Who blushed mad hard and stuttered at the scent of your perfume. Who nearly passed out when you asked if you could treat him to coffee afterwards.

Nerdy!Choso who felt like a total fool but also a lucky fool when you asked him out that day as you both sat in a booth at the coffee shop, watching the snow fall from the sky on the bitter winter day.

Nerdy!Choso can’t believe that he is dating someone as gorgeous and as amazing as you. Who walks a little more confidentiality on campus now and relishes your smile when you catch each other’s eye in your statistics class.

Nerdy!Choso who was over the moon when you told your rich friends that he is your boyfriend and relishing the looks of astonishment on their faces as they got a look at him standing next to prim and proper you.

Nerdy!Choso who loves it when you fiddle and play with his rings when your brain needs to be occupied by something because it’s bored with studying.

Nerdy!Choso who looks forward to those times in between your classes when you come to visit him at work with coffee and end up heatedly and sloppily making out with him between the empty book aisles, leaving him hard for hours on end.

Nerdy!Choso who can’t stop thinking about your glossy, pink lips, soft varsity sweaters where his hands travel up to squeeze your tits, and expensive perfume that clings to his senses and his clothes.

Nerdy!Choso who has become your personal goon and tutor in statistics and whatever else you have trouble in. “You’re one of the smartest people I know,” you giggled when you proposed the idea to him. “Of course, I want you to be my tutor, babe!”

Nerdy!Choso who didn’t want you to pay him for his services, so you came up with another way to repay him that involved a lot of heavy petting and lewd acts in a very public place.

Nerdy!Choso who could hardly believe his eyes when you snuck under the library table, unzipped his pants, and began stroking his semi-hard cock that quickly throbbed and swelled at your soft touch. “W-Wait, baby,” he whispered, struggling to keep composure. “We could get caught.”

You had looked up at him from between his thighs, his cock inches from your face. “I know,” you whispered, a playful glint in your eye before your lips were wrapping around his length and you were slowly and silently gagging on his cock while he did his best to act as natural as possible.

Nerdy!Choso who busted a fat, creamy load into your mouth minutes later, his toes curling in his boots. “F-Fuck!” he whimpered out, gripping the table so hard that his knuckles turned white. Who stared at you like you were a goddamn goddess when you sat back down next to him, fixing your hair and wiping his nut from your bottom lip.

Nerdy!Choso repaid the favor by showing up to your dorm for private tutoring lessons while your roommate was gone that resulted in him between your thighs, lapping away at your cunt. Who relished the cute noises you made and your fingers in his black locks that he keeps down just for you.

Nerdy!Choso who always twirls his tongue just like that in your hole while his nose bumps against your clit just to hear you moan out, “Yes, Choso, like that! Fuck, you’re so good! You’re gonna make me cum!”

Nerdy!Choso who cums in his pants just from making you cum all over his tongue, your thighs quivering and your hands massaging your tits so obscenely that it makes him fuck his own jeans, rubbing the head against the fabric.

Nerdy!Choso who now “rewards” you for good grades by feeding you his cock any chance he can get: during lunch break, free periods, in your dorms, in the alleyway between your dorm building and another.

Nerdy!Choso who becomes concerned at you kneeling in the cold despite the snow littering the ground as you swallow his cock, your pretty brown eyes locked on him. “You sure you’re okay, baby?” he moans, his hands laced in your braids. “I don’t…oh, fuck me…I don’t want you to…oh….get sick.”

Nerdy!Choso who nearly creams when you pop his veiny cock flushed red out of his mouth and smiles at him in your Burberry coat that had to have costed hundreds. “M’fine, Cho,” you purr, using your nickname on him. “I just wanna show you how much I love you being my tutor.”

Nerdy!Choso who can’t help moaning and whimpering and rutting into your mouth when you uttered the word ‘love’ to him. Who has fallen in love with you, but doesn’t want to say it in fear of it being too quick or too soon.

Nerdy!Choso who lets out a “fuck, m’gonna cum” as he spills his spunk all over your tongue and then quickly kneels in the snow to eat you out against the wall until you cum all over his mouth, your breath coming out in hot pants that cloud in the winter air.

Nerdy!Choso who stares up at you, dazed, pussy drunk, and in love, to see you staring down at him with the same expression. “And I love you being my student,” he jokes, earning a beautiful laugh from you before you get cleaned up and invite him upstairs to your dorm for more “studying” and hot chocolate.

Nerdy!Choso who loves being your nerdy boyfriend.

[astral-aromance]

Grandchildren

Imagine being Nerdanel, sure that your family is lost to you forever. You're completely alone. Even after over 6000 years, your bed still feels empty without your husband there. There's no noise in the kitchen where the brothers are fighting over the last apple, despite all of them knowing there's a whole apple tree right outside the window. No smoke coming from the smithy, no papers with blue prints and miracles scattered around. No dog hair clogging up the drain. No music at 3 am. Nothing.

But then, one day, this Elf shows up at your door. He's shorter than usual, and he looks older than you have ever seen an elf look. He says, "I'm your grandson," and suddenly, you are not completely alone anymore. Elrond is nice, you like him. The music room gets used again, even if only a little. It brings you joy.

A few decades go by, and a Raven brings you a summon from Mandos. You except Tyelpë is finally coming home to you, but instead, it's an elf you have NEVER met before. Tall, stoic, and dark-haired, Nolofinwëan in all ways, but his eyes are unmistakably those of your husband. Those of your eldest son. He is just as surprised to see you there, as is Anairë, but you work it out. Tuens out Ereinion and Elrond always thought of one another as brothers, now they actually are. One morning, you go downstairs for tea, and you hear the King yell at the Lord about stealing his strawberries off his plate.

Elrond goes to the havens to meet his sons. Surprisingly, the Seagull carried a summon for you as well. Two identical faces greet you, and your heart stings with old grief. You turn to leave, but spot something unusual. Another Peredhil, shy and distancing himself from the others. He looks like Elrond in hair and build, but... Elrond didn't have any other children, did he? One of the twins tugs on his arm and tries to pull him into the crowd, and the newcomer scowls at him. His face turns bright red. Soon after, you find detailed descriptions of Finarfin's failure as a king when it comes to finances on your coffee table.

Tyelpë returns too, turns out he knew all of them, and they get along great. Maybe a little too well, because they start shutting you out. They stop talking when you walk into the room. They hastily hide documents beneath their robes when you pass them. You don't know what they're up to, but at least your house isn't silent anymore, and the forge burns again.

You realise that they are indeed of your house when it comes to stubborn determination when on a quiet Tuesday afternoon 8 Ravens show up to your house with summons, and none of the grandchildren seem surprised.

You are happy as you step out the front door toward Mandos, carrying a basket with 8 sets of robes, a blanket, cups, some bread, some cheese, and a very strong bottle of wine.

[loulou-land]

Day 24 for the @118dailydrabble - "Bizarre"

(this prompt fought me so much and I'm not completly happy with it, but oh well. I will hopefully be posting a continuation of this later on. Is Eddie dating again? Hmm, and I wonder who? 👀)

Gen | Bucktommy

Buck and Tommy were cuddling on the couch, watching a movie when Buck suddenly paused it.

“Have you noticed Eddie acting strangely lately?” he asked, turning to Tommy.

Tommy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He’s being shifty–and he’s always on his phone. Yesterday, he wouldn’t let me in his house, because it was messy. As if that’s ever been an issue.”

Tommy hummed, pensive. “Could be he’s dating again.”

“You think so?,” Buck replied, worriedly.

Tommy could see the wheels turning in his boyfriend’s pretty head.

“Evan,” Tommy said warningly. “We’re not gonna meddle. Eddie will tell us when he’s ready.”

“Sure, sure.” Buck replied unconvincingly.

Tommy sighed, resigning himself to whatever bizarre schemes his boyfriend was planning.

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Convict!Ghost and innocent!reader who signs up for a program to visit and write letters to convicts without friends or families on the outside. You believe in the program, believe you're acting as a way to anchor a man, who would otherwise be lost, to society.

Ghost pretends you're getting through to him, nods and smiles when you tell him you know he can do better, be better. Meanwhile, he's thinking of all the filthy, depraved things he wants to do to you when he's released, thinking of his friend Soap in the laundry whose specialty is smuggling contraband in and wondering if he can convince you to slip him a nice lil picture of yourself or maybe even a pair of your panties. Soap probably wouldn't even want his usual cut, so long as he can get a look too.

[stevesjockstrap]

Eddie discovers origami and very soon the surfaces in Steve’s room are overrun with cranes and frogs and fish and butterflies.

One day he sees writing on a wing of one and slides it apart.

Those two moles on your neck make me want to bite them.

He reaches over for another one that says, I want to live in your chest hair.

Eddie walks through the door to see Steve in a heap of opened notes on the floor.

“You just now opened them?”

“I… I didn’t know.”

“Then why did you keep all of them?”

“Because they were from you.”

“Oh.”

[kaoribriefs]

it was strange for her, it was something new even though she hadn't been a child for a long time. Dany found this way of making love from her new husband strange, he was hungry of her but it wasn't the same hunger of her sun and stars or the forgotten Daario, no, Jon Snow cared about giving her pleasure, he was strangely altruistic , when he put his head between her legs, he caressed her or looked into her eyes gently as he moved inside her. For the first time Dany felt a new warmth inside like she no longer felt from the red door, she didn't worry about being enough for Jon...but only about hearing his heartbeat...in the night.

[ipleadbritney]

magic, crushes, and time warps

osctober day 25: magic

landoscar, magical realism, time travel, rough sequel to three-sixteenths

"Where's Oscinha?”

“Haven't heard that one in a while,” Oscar says, not looking up from his phone.

Lando plasters himself all over Oscar's back. “Where'd you hide the kid?”

Oscar finally gives Lando his full attention, doesn't fight Lando nuzzling into his neck. “First, he's not a kid. Second, why would I even hide him? Third, where would I even hide him?”

“You tell me,” Lando mumbles. “I had a short meeting and then he wasn't in the clinic. Nurses said McLaren staff fetched him.”

“Kim and Mark's probably talking to him. Calming him down.”

“He seemed pretty calm when I saw him. He's you, Osc. Of course he's calm.”

“You saw him from a distance, and he's 17. Nobody was calm when they were 17.”

“I thought you were,” Lando says. He slides into the space in front of Oscar. Their driver rooms weren't meant for this sort of acrobatics, but they make it work. Lando's also grown used to Oscar's magic in close quarters. No suppressor can fully erase magic that sharp.

Lando knows Oscar, knows his magic, and also knows when he's hiding something from him.

Lando pinches Oscar's cheeks and stares into his eyes. Almost gets lost in them, but. “You know where Oscinha is. Why won't you tell me?”

Oscar has the decency to look sheepish. “It was no use, huh?”

“No use at all.”

“Well,” Oscar clears his throat, “he is with Kim and Mark. They're in Andrea's office. He's overwhelmed, and his magic is a bit all over the place. I didn't have good control back then.”

Lando can't imagine a time when Oscar wasn't a textbook example of a responsible magic user. He's loyal to his suppressor, and apart from a few instances, he hasn't seen Oscar's magic get out of hand. “You didn't wear suppressors back then?”

“Whatever got him thrown into the future also messed up his suppressors. He's wearing one of my back-ups, but it isn't calibrated, and there's the whole not-supposed-to-be-here part that's difficult to deal with.”

Lando hums. “Makes sense."

Oscar rubs their hands together, one of his nervous tics. “The team said he's fine, and they also said it'd be best if we're kept apart. Too much tampering.”

Lando understands, as much as he can when he's never remotely experienced anything like this. It's not exactly common for the world to spit out a younger version of yourself right after FP2.

“I can talk to him, if you'd like,” Lando offers, softly. “I can see him, right? I'll check up on him and report back to you.”

Oscar's eyes widen. “You don't have to do that, Lan. I'm sure he's safe, and they'd tell me if anything— if I have to be there.”

“But you're worried. I can feel it.” Lando holds up their joined hands. “See?”

Oscar's worry is clearly etched on his face, and so is his hesitance.

“It's just me, Osc. I won't make fun of him.”

“I know you won't.”

“But?” Lando cares for Oscar. He cares for every version of him, past or present or future.

Oscar tips his head forward, curling into Lando. His voice is small when he says, “He has a crush on you.”

“What?”

“I told them to hide him from you, because he has a crush on you.”

If Lando's maths is right, and his tutors always said he fared better with numbers than with words, then. That would mean. Whoah. “You had a crush on me at 17?”

Did they even know each other that far back? Max had mentioned Oscar in passing, and several journalists asked Lando questions about this young gun in F3, F2, in Alpine reserves, but until Zak plopped him in front of Lando in 2022, he had no clue.

What did Lando look like at 19? Surely not hot enough.

“You had a crush on me at 19?” Lando repeats, unable to fight his giggles. “Osc, that's adorable.”

“It's really not. It was debilitating.”

Translation: Oscar was down bad.

“You told me you wouldn't make fun of him,” Oscar points out, mouth ticking downwards.

“I'm not! I'm honored.”

“You shouldn't be.”

The conversation goes back-and-forth until Jon comes knocking on Oscar's door, looking for them both. “Debrief's in five, and we're checking you both for any side effects caused by the time warp.”

When they step into the hallway, Lando reassures Oscar that everything will be fine. They’re no strangers to weird, powerful magic.

Lando lifts Oscar’s arm and puts it across his own shoulders, velcroing himself to Oscar’s side. Maybe his words won’t do much against Oscar’s spiraling thoughts, but he hopes Oscar feels warm and loved. Because Oscar is— loved. And Lando runs warmer than most people, so that’s a free heater already.

Whatever Lando was about to say next— another proclamation of love or a jab at Oscar’s teenage dreams —dries at his throat. There’s a prickle at the back of his head. Raw magic, leaking out.

He turns around, looking for the source. Just in time to see young Oscar ducking his head, caught. That familiar flush on his face.

[cx-boxbox]

Very, very small drabble of Lando smelling like cookies:

"The fans are saying you smell like cookies," Oscar says, as nonchalantly as possible. "And, um, vanilla buttercream."

Lando squints at him. "Mm, yeah, I got a new perfume a few days ago. Why?"

"Uh, no reason. Yeah."

Lando squints at him some more, and then shoves his wrist right under Oscar's nose.

Confused, Oscar inhales, but only because he has to... in order to breathe. "It smells nice."

"Doesn't it?" Lando beams at him, cute and heart-shaped. "I got sick of smelling like, I don't know, tree, or the ocean. Cookies are much nicer."

Oscar will concede to that. The only problem is that he wants to eat Lando even more than he did before. Or kiss him. That'll do too, he reckons.

He also wants Lando to have his children after reading about how he spoke to the fans that came to his meet and greet in a soft, lovely voice, but that's neither here nor there.

So he just kisses Lando instead. And his lips are sweet, just like cookies and vanilla buttercream.

[jamminvroomvroom]

here me out, friends and bennies with oscar, but you guys both secretly have feelings for each other, then a fight breaks out cause he gets jealous at a club or something, then an angsty fight breaks but it ends with smut or something 🤭

messy

OP81 x reader

ty for the request! big in my oscar feels atm <3 i don’t loveeee how this turned out but i think i wanna expand this trope with oscar at some point

warnings: minors dni! 18+! language, creepy man in the club, implied smut, alcohol, sl*t is used in a not sexy way, implied physical fight, minor angst, some fluff

you liked to pretend there was nothing going on, that the way he looked at you didn’t affect you and that you hadn’t gotten all dressed up for him.

your relationship with oscar was complicated, friends with a bit on the side when the stress of his job and life got a bit too much and you each needed the extra comfort.

oscar didn’t seem like the type to engage in this kind of thing, in fact you’d never even looked at him that way before, until the night he won the f2 championship and you’d taken a heated tumble into his bed. it didn’t happen again for a while, you’d both managed to keep the urge at bay, but when he woke up in the middle of the night to the alpine fiasco, you were the one he called. you were the one he flew out to bahrain at the beginning of the f1 season, and you were the one that occupied his bed on most race weekends.

it wasn’t a thing, or, to put it more accurately, you both pretended it wasn’t a thing. you viewed yourself as emotional support, stress relief, a very close friend. you viewed him as a person that you could easily fall in love with, but you couldn’t get into the habit of thinking like that.

nonetheless, there you were in a club somewhere in japan, looking far too good to act like you didn’t have a motive. lando had dragged you and some others out, a double podium in suzuka the perfect excuse for a messy night in a foreign city.

oscar may have been good at hiding just how elated he was, but you knew him better than the media did, and you knew exactly how ready he was to celebrate.

in the spirit of having a good time, you’d disappeared over to the bar, fully intending on starting the night off on a high. you were ordering a round of shots when it got messy. it just wasn’t the kind of messy you’d anticipated.

a hand on your waist lured you in, assuming it was oscar, considering how confident the touch was. you leaned into it, but the hand felt wrong, the mould of it against the curve of you waist was wrong.

“what’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” the mystery man slurred into your ear, making you shiver in all the wrong ways. the line was icky and the way you felt his breath hit the curve of your ear was just plain disgusting. he wasn’t oscar.

“not you, that’s for sure.” you mumbled, pulling away. the hand on the waist tightened and you panicked.

the next few seconds were a blur, a flash of indistinguishable words coming from the creep, oscar’s body between you and the man, lando stood assertively behind him. you couldn’t tell what was being said, the music too loud and the sick twist in your stomach too prominent to focus. all you caught was the delightful asshole calling you an “f1 groupie slut”, and that’s when everything slowed down.

oscar knocked him on his sorry arse, while lando tried to move you out of harms way. your best friend, who would never hurt a fly, as harmless as a person could be was furious, and you couldn’t keep up with his movements as he handled the situation. you caught lando guiding the less than impressed bouncers to the pathetic mess on the floor, while oscar turned to you.

“are you okay? i’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” he cupped your face, shocking you. pda was not his thing. you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, finally at ease.

“just… take me back to the hotel.” you sighed. the privilege of being an f1 driver, you supposed, was the way all he had to do was nod at the bouncers and they let him leave.

it was all too much, the unwanted attention, a new side of the usually monotonous f1 driver, the confusion. oscar had defended you like his life depended on it, like you were his to defend. it topped protecting a friend, he had been blind with rage until the guy was indisposed. oscar didn’t just do things like that, that’s what had shocked you more than anything.

you were in a daze when the fresh air hit you, getting into the car that pulled up. the ride back to the hotel was dead silent, the city lights being both a perfect distraction and a banging headache in the making. you couldn’t stop yourself from looking out the window, though, because if you did, you’d have to look down at his hand intertwined with yours, and you didn’t think you could face that quite yet.

you didn’t get it. were you falling for him? of course you were. but he’d never given even a smidgen of indication that he felt the same way, and now what? he was scrapping in clubs with drunken idiots? over you? it made no sense, you didn’t know how to make it make sense.

the car slowed and your door was being opened for you. you stepped out, finding your feet as you walked on shaky legs into the foyer. oscar’s hand found the small of your back and despite better judgment, you fell into step beside him. he was so familiar, so comforting, you knew you were too far gone.

the way he looked at you in the elevator was dangerous, like he was staring into your bare soul, like he wanted to take you apart and put you back together.

he stepped towards you in the enclosed space. you reached out for him meeting halfway and then it was blissful. his lips slotted over yours, fireworks, hands on your body, frantic. yours were in his hair, threading through his curtains, a symptom of too much time on the road without a haircut. you liked this look though, he looked older, more undone. your back was against the cold wall and you moaned when his lips hit your neck, marking you up for the first time ever. was he making a statement?

“oscar-“ you started, ready to open a can of worms and questions, but you were interrupted by the ‘ding!’ of the elevator. it seemed to break the trance you were in and you both shuffled out of the lift.

“i think i should go back to my room.” you said quietly.

“oh.” was all oscar could muster, not trying to hide his disappointment one bit.

“i’m just… oscar, i’m confused.” you averted eye contact, looking longingly down the hallway towards your room.

“about what? about us?” he sounded defensive.

“is there an us? i don’t even know what this is anymore.” you sighed.

“‘is there an us?’ are you joking?” the defensiveness progressed into a state of pissed off, another rarity for him.

“i’ve never seen that side of you before, we’ve never been like this before.” you pointed between the pair of you, the weight of the space seeming to heavy to bare.

“i couldn’t just let that guy freak you out, it scared the shit out of me watching someone make you that uncomfortable. the idea of someone getting into your space, touching you…” he trailed off.

“why? why do you care so much? because we sleep together? because you didn’t like that it wasn’t you touching me?” the frustration got too much and the words you’d been threatening to say for months came spilling out.

“because you’re too important to me! because you mean more to me than i can even begin to understand.” a raised voice that you couldn’t recall hearing hit your ears and your heart sped up, ringing in your ears.

“oscar, i’m scared.”

“of me?”

“of losing you. what we have now, well, it is what it is. but you’re my best friend and the idea of anything changing, as much as i want it too-“

“do you want me? do you?” his eyebrows furrowed and his voice wavered in a way that made your stomach drop.

your eyes betrayed you immediately and he was kissing you again, softer this time, passionately. the hotel corridor felt too exposed for such intimacy and he was leading you back to his room. the door shut and your clothes were gone, a trail of them formed from the entrance to the foot of his king sized bed.

everything about that night still lingered on your skin. his butter melting kisses, finger prints on your hips, the drag of his grown out hair tickling the delicate skin of your inner thighs. you’d made sure to leave your mark too, his thick neck bruised purple, the trace of your fingerprints right over his heart.

it was all permanent now, every kiss, touch, whisper of affection, and when you fell into bed with him, weekend after weekend, it was the bed that you shared. he was all yours and you were more than happy to let yourself fall in love.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

DRABBLE: YOU SPEAK HIS NATIVE LANGUAGE TO HIM (18+) (One Piece) (for Fem!Readers)

Writer's Note: I had this idea after remembering that Luffy is Brazilian. Enjoy! And please, PLEASE let me know if any of the foreign phrases used are not correct or accurate. I did the research on Google. Thank you! -Jazz 🩷🩷

*********

LUFFY (PORTGUESE) 

You always loved it when Luffy spoke in his native language. 

He is from Brazil and though he hadn’t lived there in years since meeting Shanks and traveling among the Grand Line with the Strawhats crew, nothing and nobody could ever take the Brazilian out of him. It was in his blood. 

He always made it known with the Brazilian recipes he would ask Sanji to make and the music he would blast across the ship. Usually, this resulted in him forcing you to dance him with and holding your hips as his his swayed and rolled in ways that often resulted in your knees going weak and every part of you becoming tingly and sensitive (including the places where Luffy usually had his mouth on). 

He wouldn’t speak Portuguese often; only sometimes and at random moments, like when something exciting happened or when he was asleep. You would catch him mumbling words in his native tongue as he drooled on the pillow, making you giggle.

He would do it during sex too, usually when his tongue was buried deep in your pussy: “Você tem um gosto tão bom, mama. Deliciosa (You taste so good, mama. Delicious.),” he would mumble into your pussy while you whimpered and moaned.

Or when he had his cock buried deep inside of you as he hammered away at your insides, gripping and smacking your ass: “Tão bom! (So good!)” he’d moan into the bedroom. “C’mon, mama, cum with me! Goze comigo!” 

His usual high-pitched voice would get deeper and raspier in his native tongue as each foreign words rolled and flipped on his tongue. It would make you combust every single time, cumming all over his cock at the same time as him bursting inside of you. He would then peck your forehead once you snuggled up together, his hat on your head. “Te amo,” he’d whisper, never telling you what it meant, but you had a feeling. 

So after picking up on some of his lines and inflections, you decided to try out speaking his language one night. It was a boring night and Sanji was cooking, trying to get Luffy out of the kitchen as he groaned and complained about being hungry.

“Y/N, would you please come get him?” Sanji sighed. “He won’t leave and I’m not gonna have him sneaking the ingredients off of the counter to eat.” 

“I’m not gonna do that!” Luffy protested. “I told you so, Sanji!”

You had giggled and walked to the stereo sitting on the table, playing one of Luffy's favorite songs that was popular in Brazil. The captain’s head immediately shot up from the table, his big eyes staring at you. You smiled and began to sway to the music, opening your arms for him. 

With the biggest grin on his face, he shot up and went to you, immediately gathering you into his arms. You giggled as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck and held your hips as he began to sway with you, your senses invaded by nothing but him. He softly sang the lyrics to you, his voice raspy and soft, each word rolling off of the tongue. He sang has if the very song was written for you and you decided now was the perfect moment. 

“Luffy?” you whispered. He pulled away to look down at you, looking like a confused puppy. You cupped his face in your hands and pressed a kiss to his lips before whispering, very low, “Te amo.” 

Once those gears in his head started turning, you’ve never seen him look so happy. His smile grew about ten sizes before he gripped you to him and coated your face in kisses. “Hey, hey!” Sanji yelled. “Not while I’m cooking! Do that outside!” 

ZORO (JAPANESE) 

Compared to Luffy, Zoro barely spoke Japanese. 

He would only mutter his native language in swears when he was stressed or angry. Other than that, you could never catch him doing it. He barely even spoke about Japan as a whole.

“Why you askin’ so many questions?” he would grumble, glaring at your curious gaze. “I haven’t been there since I was a baby. Go read up on it or somethin’.” 

But when he did speak Japanese, and that was very rare, you loved it. His voice would get even deeper when he spoke the foreign swear words during a battle and it would make your heart skip several beats. You wanted to somehow coax him to speak it more or even be closer to him than you already were. 

So you started teaching yourself Japanese. You collected as many language books as you could during your stops on islands when walking into town with Nami and Robin and began practicing. In two months, you began speaking in sentences though not professionally or fluently. However, you got each inflection down. 

The first time you said something in Japanese to Zoro, he was busy working out one hot, boring day and you had wandered in, feeling extra bratty. “What?” he demanded, grunting as he did his bench presses, his muscles bulging and glistening in sweat. 

“Just came to see if you broke up with your dumbbell yet,” you asked sarcastically. “I don’t know how the cuddling at night works, but to each its own.” 

Zoro cut his forest green eyes your way before going back to his exercises, barely pausing. “Woman, if you’re gonna come in here with that shit, leave it at the door. You know I need to focus on my training.” 

“But you’re already so strong, Zo!” you protested, padding farther into the room. “And a great fighter. You can spare one day without training.”

Though Zoro looked pleased with the praise, he still didn’t let up and continued to pump those sexy arms away at his presses. Pursing your lips, you walked over to him and kneeled down before him, just as he lifted the dumbbell up and put it back up on the rack behind his head. 

You began to run your hands up his thick, tree trunk-like thighs in his green slacks, squeezing the muscles and digging your nails deliciously into them. He liked that. He tensed immediately at your touch, breathing heavily from the workout. “Stop that,” he growled. “I’m tryin’ to cool down.” 

“Then let me help you,” you purred, sneaking your hand over his cock to give it a squeeze. You were pleased to find that he was already hard. He grunted at the contact and began to squirm under your touch. “I mean it, Y/N,” he panted. “Cut it out.” 

You looked up at him then, staring boldly into his eyes. "Watashi o tsukuru (make me)”, you said in a low, breathy voice that often made your man go absolutely insane. 

At the sound of his native language coming from your lips, the swordsman sat up straight and stared down at you, astounded and extremely aroused. His cock grew in your hand as a blush appeared on his cheeks.

“What did you say?” he questioned, his voice dangerously low. You just smiled and stood up, tearing your hand away from his cock.

“Now are you gonna spend time with me?” you questioned, a hand on your hip and arching a brow at him. 

While this didn't get him out of the training room, it did help tear him away from his workout to instead work you out, your legs spread over his bench and his cock pummeling your insides as he whispered how good you felt in Japanese.

Mission accomplished. 

SANJI (FRENCH) 

Sanji always felt proud of his ethnicity and heritage, so he always made it a point to speak his native language. 

Like Luffy, it would be at random moments. He could be cooking and would mutter to himself in French about instructions or maybe lyrics to a song.

Sometimes, he would swear if he nearly dropped a bottle of sauce or about the noise Luffy and Usopp would make outside the kitchen door. But always, when he served you and the crew, he would give you all a bright, proud smile and a “Bon appétit!”. 

And always, always, he would speak French during sex. He would whisper in your ear about how good you felt and how sweet you tasted, his words like honey in your ears.

“Je me send is bien en too, princesse, (I feel so good inside you, princess)” he’d moan into the tense, sexed-up air of your bedroom, your ankles on his broad shoulders as his cock stroked your insides. “Tellement parfait. Si belle. (So perfect. So beautiful).”

He would kiss your foot before taking one of your toes into your mouth. 

That would usually set you off like a rocket, making you cum all over the bed and his cock. And because he thought you were so pretty, he would always explode deep inside you, filling you to the brim. That’s part of why he always let his native tongue slip in the bedroom with you. 

Other than the nasty shit, he would always tell you, “Je t’aime”. When he would kiss you; before you went to bed; when you’d separate for an expedition or when when you’d go to the other side of the ship. It was only right as the love chef. “Je t’aime,” he’d say, an adoring smile on his face and hearts in his eyes. It would make you tingle and feel warm all over you. 

So you surprised him one night when he cooked dinner specifically for you before the crew even ate. “Sanji, baby, you didn’t have to make me a whole separate meal,” you giggled as you sat down in the chair he pulled out for you. “I would’ve eaten the lamb!” 

“Nonsense,” he tutted, looking sexy in his apron dusted with flour and spices. “You said you didn’t like lamb too much. And believe me, honey: fixin’ grilled fish for you is nothing compared to what these hooligans want.” He then pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Bon appétit, my love” before hurrying back to the stove to check the yeast rolls in the oven. 

You stared down at the dinner spread on your plate: grilled fish drizzled in lemon and garlic with a side of honey-glazed, oven-roasted carrots, kus kus, and steamed broccoli. You cut a piece of the fish and put it into your mouth, humming in pleasure at the taste. You turned to Sanji, his back to you, as you gushed over the food. “This food is delicious, Sanji!” you said. "C'est trés bon! (It's very good!)” 

Sanji visibly paused before turning around to look at you, confused. Your smile grew and you lowered your fork. “Mes compliments au chef (My compliments to the chef),” you giggled. Before you could take a breath, Sanji was flying across the kitchen and planting kisses all over your face as you giggled. “Since when do you speak French, my love?” he laughed, giddy. 

“I’ve been practicing,” you hummed, playing with the color of his shirt. “I wanted to impress you.” Hearts in his eyes, Sanji pressed his forehead against yours. “And impress me, you did, mon there,” he murmured. “Now finish that food so I can hear more of my native tongue coming out of those sweet lips.” 

You did and while he had you bent over the kitchen counter while the crew ate in the other room, you repeated one word to him, over and over again, as he pummeled inside of you: “Je t’aime”. 

LAW (GERMAN) 

Law never spoke German. Or at least, not in front of you or the Hearts crew. 

“What’s the need?” he asked when you asked him to teach you something in his native tongue. “I haven’t lived there in years. Why are you so interested in my language anyway?” You would tell him you were curious, but that wouldn’t make him budge. 

You found it sad. Though he claimed he felt pride in his ethnicity and his native land, he barely mentioned his time there or taught you any phrases. So, in order to coax him into it, you fixed him a German dish. One day when the ship docked on a little island, you ran out to town to grab the ingredients for it and fixed it for him that night. It took a lot of preparation and stressing over whether or not he’d respond well to it, but that night, you sat the crew down for dinner. 

“I made something special for y’all,” you giggled, smiling secretively at Law. He scowled in confusion and suspicion at you, not sure what you were up to, until the crew took the silver covers off of their plates to reveal their meal: slices of roasted pork shoulder glazed with a cumin sauce and sitting on a bed of roasted potatoes and peppers. “Ta-da!” you shouted. “Sh-wen-braten!” 

At you mispronouncing the name, the corner of Law’s lips quirked a bit while his crew barely blinked. They were too busy drooling over and gobbling down their food. “Wow, Y/N!” Bepo growled. “This tastes amazing! I haven't tasted pork this good in so long!” 

“Thank you,” you giggled, but your attention was still all on Law as he took a bite. You stood behind his chair, nervously ringing a dish towel around your hands. “How is it?” you asked, bending down to hear him better over the chatter. 

He continued to chew and chew, leaving you in suspense, before he swallowed. “S’good,” he murmured and you sighed in relief. “Though you pronounced the dish wrong.” You made a face, pouting cutely in confusion at him. “It’s pronounced “schweinebraten,” he said, his deep voice rolling over the foreign word.

“Sch.” He paused, waiting for you to repeat it back to him. “Weine.” You parroted him, doing your best to keep from smiling out of giddiness. “Braten.” 

“Braten,” you pronounced, earning a satisfied nod before he turned back around to finish his meal. But you weren't done. you leaned down to his ear, loving how he tensed at your touch and presence. “Between you and me, I already knew how to pronounce it,” you purred. “I just wanted to hear you say it. Guten appetit (Enjoy your meal).” 

Something happened to Law in that moment hearing you speak in his language. His cock swoll in his pants and he nearly broke his fork as he sat rigid in his seat. You turned and walked away back to the stove, swaying your hips and biting back a grin as he watched, wanting to fuck you right there in front of his entire crew and make you say some very nasty words in his native tongue. 

“Law, why are all red like that?!” Jean practically yelled across the table. 

“Shut up!” Law growled as you laughed. He was gonna get you back for that later tonight.

[seventeenlovesthree]

I noticed that I've never posted the entire set of doodles from my personal Digimon Writing Challenge - Mix and Match this year. It has been a fun way of exploring the different dynamics between the Chosen Children, other Digimon partners than their own - and how each of them are handling their most prominent traits during various points of their lives. Some stories were a little rushed, but I am overall really proud of how they turned out!

[Yamato+Gomamon+Sincerity] [Takeru+Gabumon+Light] [Hikari+Patamon+Courage] [Sora+Tailmon+Hope] [Taichi+Tentomon+Love] [Koushirou+Agumon+Friendship] [Mimi+Piyomon+Reliability] [Jyou+Palmon+Knowledge]

[lovemebutleavemewild]

Imagine a young Simon Riley working at one of those interactive Halloween experiences where he dresses up in a skull mask and stalks patrons through the dark as they stumble through the woods, paying for the pleasure of being terrified.

Except he seems particularly interested in you. The first time he jumps out at you, you startle and then laugh along with the people around you at your embarrassment, quickly shrugging it off. But when you turn around next, he's still a little behind you, eyes burning into your back, not looking away even when he sees you've caught him staring.

He follows closely behind you the whole time and surely he'll get in trouble for not doing his job properly? And it's almost definitely part of his whole act, right? Except, if you really believed that then you wouldn't be waiting in your car when your time slot is up and you've said goodbye to your friends, sitting there until the last patrons leave.

A ittle later, the staff begin filtering out and you start to think you've missed him when he appears, still dressed all in black, still wearing his mask. He looks around for a second, then his eyes find yours across the empty carpark.

He tilts his head for a second, as though in consideration. Then he walks quickly towards you, sliding into the front seat of your car.

"Drive," he says.

And you do, not saying a word when his hand slides down to find its place on your thigh.

[stevesjockstrap]

Feral linecook Eddie Munson shamelessly flirting with brand new never worked in a kitchen before in his life server Steve Harrington

Makes a point to fuck up dishes for his tables so they get returned and he gets to see the embarrassed blush across his freckled cheeks when he brings them back, and so he has to spend more time at the window where Eddie can say raunchy things to him

Eddie showing him diligently how to do his side work before he can leave, so he can walk out with him and offer him a hit of his joint when they’re done

Steve scared to put in his tickets for his own meals because then Eddie will know he’s on break and take his own break, sprawled out on a folding chair in the back room, shamelessly staring at him

Steve staring back at his tattoos and piercings and the little tendrils of hair that fall out of his updo

Gareth beside him on the line snickering into his shoulder at the absolutely unhinged things Eddie gets away with saying and doing

[hypahfixations]

It was only a few minutes. Ten at most. But fuck if they weren't up there as the most heavenly experience Evan had ever had.

They had insisted, his beloved friends, they snuggle together on his small air mattress. It was barely big enough for him alone but two feasibly could if push came to shove. But Sam and K had insisted, with voices that wouldn't be swayed and large, sincere eyes he could never refuse. When Evan had laid down on the very edge to be as thin as possible, K tugged at him in an achingly familiar way. His body turned from memory, settling in the center on his back and extending an arm that K immediately slotted themself into. Evan glanced at Sam and extended his other arm in invitation, only slightly surprised when she nestled in as if the act were the most natural thing in the world.

Both leaned into him.

K on his right, as they always had been, curling up small under his arm. Their leg flamingo hitched high on his lap and fist kitten tucked into his side and under their chin. Evan returned the cradle in kind, holding them tight, returning compression.

Sam on his left, immediately comfortable, draped herself across his body and enveloped him. Her head rested upon his chest, and her arm melted over to his other side to idly stroke K's scalp. Her leg lazily wrapped around his with toes similarly rubbing into his calf.

This would be enough for him. Enough for a lifetime.

Inspired by this lovely art by @sootchild

[ipleadbritney]

hi! for the build a fic can I please request landoscar, 5, S, 𓆌?

OK SORRY ANON FOR GETTING TO THIS SO LATE I WAS WAITING FOR INSPIRATION TO STRIKE AND I THINK IT MIGHT HAVE STRUCK TWICE SO THIS IS FIRST OF THEM

build a fic post here

rest up, champs

Jon had predicted the second Lando crossed the line first, the moment the championship was theirs and no one else's, that it would be a very long 48 hours.

It was. He just doesn't remember most of them.

He ignores the dull ache at the back of his head as he makes his way up to the penthouse suites of the Hilton. He's hiding behind a pair of sunglasses he nicked from one of the mechanics who crashed in his room, too drunk to find his own room probably two doors down.

The place is crawling with McLaren staff. Jon should greet them, but all he can muster up is a nod and vague grunts about the weather, yeah, and how's it going, champ? Everyone is as smacked as he is though, so they're just nodding at each other in the hallways.

Jon doesn't drink on race weekends, but it's not every week you win a championship. If he's this bad, how is Lando?

Well, according to his garbled texts sent near-midday:

dont knoe eher i am

bef me pleae

get me

Last Jon saw of Lando at the club, he was singing Spanish songs to Carlos and dragging whoever was closest to him to the dance floor. Carlos knew how to handle Lando. But then Carlos bursted into a passionate speech about Ferrari and families, and at that point, it was Lando taking care of Carlos.

This isn't Jon and Lando's first rodeo. Lando's location is turned on, and despite a panicked five-minute call where Lando was convinced he was in danger, in some stranger's bed, gone back to somebody else's hotel suite, they've now established he's safe. Safe-ish. Lando ended the call with a yelp and a quick goodbye.

Nothing he hadn't done before, so. Alright.

Jon steps out of the elevator, following the tiny blip on his phone indicating where Lando is. Lando's not even far from his original room.

Someone calls out Jon's name. He turns. It's Kim, Oscar's physio. Oscar's former physio, Jon supposes. Abu Dhabi's his last race, and what a last race it was.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Kim says. They clasp each other's free hands, both holding bags in the other. Jon has his “Lando-pack”. Kim also has, what seems to be, hangover supplies.

“Oh, well, you know.”

Kim grins. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oscar has never really, uh, has he?”

They fall into step together. From what Lando tells Jon, Oscar's post-race celebrations usually include a drink or two, a nap in between, then a board game on the way back. Very different from Lando's.

“Not like this. Can't fault him,” Kim says.

“Letting him off the hook?”

“Hook's gone, mate. If he didn't go out, I would have dragged him. Mark's sent me to check up on the kid.”

Jon laughs, agreeing. Oscar's race had been fucked, but his season. Jesus Christ. His season was electric.

Jon consults his phone. Lando's stranger's suite should be somewhere around—

Jon and Kim stop at the same door.

“Oh,” Kim says.

Jon's headache thumps louder. “Is this..”

Kim shows him a keycard. “It's Oscar's room, yes. He booked a new one sometime at dawn.”

Fuck.

Jon pushes his glasses up, scratching his eyebrows. “So. Lando and Oscar.”

He's not sure what he wants to find out on the other side of the door, or what he doesn't. Jon knows Lando, but he doesn't know Oscar. Worse, he doesn't know how Lando and Oscar mix.

Kim nods, face equally serious. “Honestly, I just hope there was no bodily harm done.”

“Yeah, bodily harm sucks.” Lando's nose scar has faded now, but the immediate days after had been more hellish than they should've been.

“One way to find out.” Kim takes a deep breath and knocks to some beat, probably their own little knock code. He swipes the keycard.

Jon sends Lando a quick text, Kim and I are here. That's enough warning, right?

Tentatively, they push the door open and step into the room. The entrance wasn't trashed. A good sign. Maybe Oscar balanced out the highs Lando felt, bringing him back down. That would be nice.

“—Christ, fucking, just throw it on.”

“I don't get—”

“Not meant to get it, I'm being kind. This is me being kind, Osco.”

“Don't have to be kind if someone was able to control himself last night."

He and Kim exchange looks. Jon's too optimistic, seems like. That didn't sound like Oscar balancing Lando out.

They both cough loudly.

“Fucking hell, wait!” comes Lando's voice, cracking, from the bedroom. Jon can just about see the door cracked open from here. They're lucky they managed to lock the front door.

Then there's a loud thump, like the sound of a body hitting carpeted floor, and sure enough, Lando's shriek follows.

Kim looks more concerned than Jon is. Jon doesn't want to be traumatized any further.

But he's here to take care of Lando, yes? Even at the cost of his sanity and the HR department's.

“Lando, mate, we're going in,” Jon announces, “because that didn't sound good and…”

He trails off, finding Lando on the floor scrambling to get up, sheets wrapped around him. The only thing he's got on, apparently.

On the bed, Oscar's in an oversized hoodie that's definitely Lando's. Jon would know. He was there when Lando bought them.

Lando's horrified, Oscar can barely prop himself up, and Jon's sorry Kim has to deal with this for his last race.

“I have extra clothes,” Jon says, as calm as he can be. With Lando, Jon doesn't go all what-have-you-done or has-no-one-ever-told-you-not-to-fuck-your-teammate before they've had breakfast.

A quick scan of the room and its two inhabitants, ignoring evidence of whatever they got up, tells Jon no one was needlessly and violently hurt. Consolation prize.

(Lando has marks all across his skin and blooming bruises on his neck.)

“Thanks, Jon. Appreciate it. Because I was, uh, we were, I gave my clothes to Osc because desen— disen—”

“Decency,” Oscar supplies.

“Yeah, decency,” Lando explains, hands waving around, “for Osc.”

The problem, Jon thinks with his headache flaring up to unprecedented levels, is precisely that. Oscar is now Osc. Osco. What's the other one? Oscinha?

Also, where's Oscar's clothes? They better not find an Ebay listing for it in the future.

“And you, Oscar? You alright there?” Kim asks. He's a safe distance away from the bed.

“Sleepy,” Oscar says. He yawns into the sleeves of Lando's hoodie.

Kim smiles. He's taking this better than Jon expected.

Jon helps Lando back onto the bed, which might be a mistake, considering Oscar moves closer to Lando, bumping his head against Lando's sides.

“Ow, there's like, I've got a thing there. Your fault, by the way.”

“Never gonna hurt you again, uh-huh, sorry,” Oscar mutters, his voice growing softer. He slumps into Lando's lap, eyes closed.

“Osc, you can't be sleeping right now. Don’t leave me hanging in front of Kim and Jon.”

“Exhausted,” Oscar says. “Your fault, by the way.”

Jon and Kim really shouldn't be here. They're both clearly safe, far from whatever worst case scenario could've happened. Even booked a different hotel room to avoid other McLaren staff, families and friends.

“Not in danger, yeah?” Jon jokes.

“He was in the bathroom when I woke up, didn't know,” Lando groans. His hand starts playing with Oscar's hair. He probably doesn't even notice it. “Am I, like, do we wake him up?”

Kim laughs. “No ‘we’ in this situation, I'm afraid. I don't want to get murdered. Let him sleep it off for another hour. We'll give you two some privacy, return with more supplies.”

Lando's face flushes. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“So you keep saying,” Jon teases. “Rest up, champs. You deserve it.”

Lando's face shifts, pure joy across his features. His eyes are bright, flickering to Oscar. “Yeah, yeah we do.”

[christmassavestheyear]

you're the only one that i want, i don't know why i'm scared for @118dailydrabble day 5: locker

“What’s the locker rule?” Tommy’s tone is past curious, it’s demanding; Evan’s secrecy has only torn the divide between them further, this week, and he doesn’t understand what everyone at the 118 could be so staunchly withholding. Evan lets out a sharp, frustrated groan, his insistence finally breaking. “Everyone at the 118 has a letter in their locker. It’s just… what they would say. To the person they would need to say it to, if something happened at work.” Tommy sighs, giving a relieved nod. “That’s it? Why did everyone have to be so secretive?” “Because you’re my letter.” Buck says flatly. “I didn’t have one until I wrote yours, Tom, they knew that. It’s a big deal.”

all drabbles on ao3.