During a visit in a sex shop A spots a weird toy. B suggests purchase as a joke. Little do they know A seriously wants to use it. With Bob?
this ask 🤝 my sleep deprived brain 🤝 hc that bob floyd is a little freak
18+ to be able to go on this ride
Drabble Day
It’s hard to tell which is more bright: the cherry red dildo you’re holding or the tips of Bob’s ears. He’s a prude by no means, but you slapping the silicone cock around to test the bounce has him flustered beyond belief.
“Can you please stop swinging that?” His gentle hands come up to stop you, but your grin grows evilly as you duck his hold.
“You’re the one who wanted to get a gag gift for Jake’s bach party. I want to make an informed purchase!” He rolls his eyes at you and hesitantly glances at the store clerk for the umpteenth time. The college kid reading Frankenstein and eating chips hasn’t even noticed you’ve entered the store.
Walking further down the aisle, taking in the array of brightly colored cock rings and butt plugs and vibrators, you’re overwhelmed with options. If this girl is marrying Jake you want to get her something he can actually use in the bedroom. You’re already planning several funny size puns to put on the card.
As you weigh the pros and cons of a cheekily named ‘My First Bondage Kit’, you suddenly realize you’re in the aisle alone. No pink-eared husband in sight. “Bob?”
Hidden behind a display of sex swings, you find him standing in the ‘specialty’ toys. Glossy eyes lost in rapture, you expect him to be clutching the holy grail when he holds up what has caught his attention. But instead it’s a thick multicolored dildo, covered in rows of suckers and deep grooves, glowing brightly in his hand. The Tenta-Cock, the sign says.
“Sweetheart, that thing is the size of me. You’re going to scare Jake if you show up with that in a gift box,” you giggle. You admire his commitment to the joke, but a pair of nipple clamps was more than enough. His eyes drag away from the thick suction base and skim up your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips as your eyes connect.
The weak flutter of his chest under his tshirt says it all.
“Not for Jake.”
You cock your head at him, stepping closer. The monster cock practically shines in his grasp. For such big hands, his fingers barely fit around the hefty base. Even the narrow tip of the tentacle is wider than your thickest vibrator.
Head fuzzy and heart pounding, the poor clerk isn’t prepared when you hastily shove The Tenta-Cock their way and your credit card. You can feel the air moving behind you as Bob twitches his dexterous fingers, anxious to get home. Jake’s gift is completely forgotten as you’re handed a plain paper bag that barely fits under Bob’s jacket.
The speedometer in Bob’s truck is ten over the limit the entire drive home. You don’t reprimand him. Every minute away from the privacy of your bedroom is one too many.
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Homestuck + growth (vague enough word you can go bananas I think)
no my first instinct wasn't smut, sssh.
Dearest Rose Lalonde.
I do hope you are doing well, now that you have presumably finished your first doctorate. Did we fund this momentous achievement by marrying into a wealthy family, while seducing a divorce lawyer as a fallback? If not, you should consider that method.
I do hope you have stopped your dreadful writing on wizards and published something worth showing the next generation. The current state of literature is absolutely dreadful.
I fear for our friends' safety without our guidance.
Sincerely, Rose Lalonde (nearing a decade old)
Kanaya read the whole thing in the most pretentious voice possible.
_____
Do you ever think that the beta kids were fully expecting to have normal lives?
(How do you think Jade felt every time John told her about his horrifically dumb plan for a movie franchise that wouldn't have worked even w/o the end of the world?)
A double drabble in which Q deals with the anniversary of Bond's death.
[Read on AO3]
“Shaken or stirred?” asks the bartender at the very nice bar where Q is avoiding company.
Rather unscientifically, Q considers saying stirred just so he see if Bond will smite him with a spontaneously combusting drink. It’s been three years; he ought to be getting bored by now.
“Shaken, please.”
The first sip is unbearable, especially sober, though it’s not the bitterness of the drink itself that’s the problem.
Q coughs around the fumes in his nose.
“I could never understand how you stomached this,” he whispers. “I understand now. The bitterness is the point. A drink for the unattainable.”
After one martini, he concludes, “Well, it’s a start.”
After two, he sighs, “I miss you.”
After three, he sniffs, “I’m sorry.’
After four, he admits, “I hate you sometimes. I never used to hate you.”
“I think you’ve had enough,” he’s told when he tries to order five.
“Oh. Alright. It’s only…you make them just like he used to.”
The bartender smiles a kind and patient smile at him.
“Like who used to?”
“Bond. James Bond.” Q hiccups. “Never mind. You wouldn’t know him.”
Enough, he decides. Enough. Q turns from the bar and orders a taxi home.
You were in the basement of your house, watching Jungkook work out by throwing some punches at the bag that hung in his home gym.
"Jungkook, why do you have me sitting here?" You whined, checking the time on your phone to see that you had been sitting in the same spot watching your husband for well over an hour.
"Because I wanted you to keep me company," Jungkook answered without even turning to look at you, throwing two more punches to the bag in quick succession.
You just huffed at his reply before going back to watching him. Even though you were slightly bored out of your mind, you couldn’t deny that the view in front of you was amazing. Jungkook was shirtless, dressed on in a pair of gym shorts that were slung low on his hips and a pair of sneakers. His hair was swept back out of his face, and the sweat on his face only highlighted his godlike features.
As you stared at your husband, you could feel yourself getting wet inside of your panties. Knowing that Jungkook wouldn’t stop working out willingly in order to help you out, an evil smile spread onto your face as you came up with an idea.
“Y/N-ah, what do you think-, what the hell are you doing?” Jungkook gasped, looking over at you to see you with your hand inside of your shorts, rubbing at your clit over your panties.
“Well, watching you work out made me horny, so I figured I’d take care of it myself since you seem to be busy,” you explained. “Unless you want to come over and help me yourself?”
“You could’ve just asked,” he chuckled as he began working on pulling the boxing gloves off of his hands.
“Eh, this seemed more fun,” you smirked, making Jungkook laugh loudly.
........................................
“Fuck Kook, fuck,” you moaned, your hands bracing yourself up against the full length floor to ceiling mirror that covered one wall in the gym. Your body was pressed against it, Jungkook’s hands stationed on your ass and pulling your cheeks apart as he fucked you deep and hard.
“This is all you wanted, isn’t it baby?” Jungkook grunted deeply, lifting his hand and leaving a bruising smack to your ass. “Wanted me to fuck you like a little slut.”
“I...got what I...wanted,” you replied in time with his thrusts.
“Just like the spoiled brat you are,” he huffed.
“Your spoiled brat,” you smiled, making Jungkook laugh and press an affectionate kiss against the back of your neck which was a stark contrast to how hard he was fucking you.
“Shut up and look at yourself in the mirror while I fuck you,” he instructed you and you lifted your head, watching with hooded eyes as Jungkook fucked you closer to your orgasm. Your skin now matched Jungkook’s, moist with sweat, your hair was wild, and your breath was on the mirror, showing how hard you were breathing as your husband fucked you so well.
“I feel you getting wetter baby,” Jungkook groaned. “You gonna come?”
“So fucking hard,” you confirmed.
“Tighten up for me,” he told you and you did as he said, clenching your inner walls so that they clamped down around Jungkook’s cock and the feeling had your moans becoming high pitched as your orgasm welled up inside of you. Before you could warn Jungkook, you began to squirt, whimpering loudly as your wetness escaped you and ran down Jungkook’s cock and thighs, as well as your own thighs before landing on the floor.
“Such a good little slut,” Jungkook praised you, his own orgasm following swiftly behind as he filled you up to the brim.
“Oh my gosh,” you sighed, your legs feeling like jelly as Jungkook pulled out of you.
“Woah!” Jungkook exclaimed, reaching down and catching you before you could completely hit the ground. “Come on baby, let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Ok,” you murmured sleepily, barely moving as Jungkook scooped you up bridal style before carrying you out of the gym.
Can you write “Fuck being friends!” with Lena? Just saw that line and it's my comment for the show
Lmaoooo, I completely understand that one, hope you enjoy! 😊
"Fuck being friends!"
You and Lena had been friends since gradeschool, your crush though... That didn't develop until Freshman year of High School when you were both on the track team, you had fallen and injured yourself and Lena refused to leave your side during your healing process.
The two of you now lived next to each other, you guys having been roommates until she moved out with her now ex, so until that lease ended, she was over at your apartment most days and your crush was getting harder and harder to hide, especially since she would stay the night and unknowingly snuggle against you, causing you to have a sleepless night, not like you cared, she was worth all of them.
Today, you both were cleaning up your apartment some, her going to be moving in here in the next few weeks in your spare room, your cat, Roko, wouldn't be too happy to share his bed in there, but he'd get over it, you were vacuuming up the living room, unable to help yourself as you glanced over at Lena who was cleaning up the kitchen, her long hair pulled back into a messy bun and the glasses on her face slipping down her nose some, she was just so pretty, even on her dress way down days like this.
Finally deciding to face your fears, you turned the vacuum off and approached her, taking your headphones out and setting them on the counter "Lena?" You asked, watching as she glanced at you from cleaning the counter "Yeah?" She asked, setting the Clorox Wipe to the side and looking at you, raising a brow when you froze and opening her mouth to say something when you interrupted her.
"Fuck being friends!" You finally muttered, her barely catching it before you crashed your lips to hers, nervousness bubbling up when she didn't move and about to pull away when she recovered and wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you impossibly closer, the two of you losing yourselves in one another, cleaning being delayed as you carried her off into your room, the fear of rejection vanishing as you closed your bedroom door behind you.
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Bond storms out of the lift, an ill portent for the psychologist he’s off to meet. Eve and Bill watch him go and share a knowing look as the lift doors close around them. And then, with a 15-second window of privacy, Bill pulls Eve close with an arm tight around her waist, and she smooths fingers over his hair and sighs against his lips.
“Pasta tonight?”
“Make it lo mein.”
“I’ll call for it round 7. Don’t be late.”
Their kiss lingers for 5 seconds.
When the lift opens on the executive floor, they are mere colleagues once more.
Well since I'm currently working on Marcus M, some Thots for this man--
Marcus is grabby. He likes to have a hand on you. In public, it might be a hand on your hip, or the back of your neck, or your back. Even just holding your hand. He is, however, a menace. If the two of you are sitting next to each other in a movie theater, he'll put his hand on your thigh, maybe slowly inch it up your leg.
In private? This man is grabbing you whenever he wants. He will manhandle you into his lap, toss you on the bed, hold your wrists in one big hand. He likes to grab and grope, likes to feel how soft you are. And he likes to make a game of it, see where he can touch that will get the prettiest noises out of you.
Hi, darling! I love this thot that you sent in a long time ago (sorry) and I wanted to write a little drabble bc your writing inspires me!!
Marcus x gn!reader (implied AFAB but honestly can be read openly I think); smut, discussions of sexual acts including fingering, light choking, and good old fashioned sex. Praise, sweetness, established relationship I reckon. Very short drabble/thot.
*
Marcus was fidgety.
He wasn't the kind of person who bounced his leg or paced around when he got anxious about something. Often times he was the picture of stoicism and calm.
Unless you looked at his hands. You caught him frequently rubbing his palms together, or clenching his fists, or playing with the armrest of his desk chair. His hands betrayed his nerves, and you noticed.
You knew just when to slip your hand into his, to quiet down his mind and give him something on which to ground himself. At first, when you had to keep things quiet at work, you would hold his hand in secret- under the conference table, in the privacy of one of your offices. Eventually, you could hold his hand proudly in front of anyone, your love no longer only something people whispered and wondered about.
Marcus' hands are everything, the focal point of his power and the way he best communicates his desire and care for you. Whether it's a hand on the back of your head as he hugs you, or a hand around your thigh when you sneak away for road trips, he prefers to be touching you whenever possible.
He especially loves pulling you apart, piece by piece, using his wide fingers that he knows makes you feel so, so good. He loves watching you take one of his digits, then another, then if you're really relaxed and pliant, watching you gasp as you take a third. You love when his hand tightens around your neck just enough to feel it, never enough to hurt you- he wouldn't do that. He especially loves when you suck on his fingers while he fills you up, his perfect one, he calls you as praises fall from his pouty lips.
He craves your touch like you crave his. He never wants to let you go.
hi, could you write a drabble based on this idea, please? 💓
BTS finally found their missing soulmate. the bad news is that they found her in a back alley, alone and injured.
also, could it be a hurt/comfort, fluffy mafia!au, if that's ok? - 🐇 anon
I don’t generally write mafia au (not my cup of tea), but it’s okay for this just because it’s a drabble and I don’t think it’s going to play into much of it. But also this was an interesting one, so it might become the only mafia au I’ll ever write. 4/4
----
All of their lives led to this moment, to meeting her, their soulmate.
Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s clocks ran down to the second they met her.
Taehyung, Jimin and Hoseok’s threads led to her.
Jungkook’s tattoo matched hers.
The problem was Seokjin.
She was unconscious, and bleeding and bruised.
So Seokjin was too. That was why they’d been searching for her in the first place. He’d collapsed during a meeting with the leaders, bleeding.
He’d never bled from a soulmate’s wound before, and there had been plenty of opportunity for it since his other soulmates were constantly getting hurt.
Namjoon knew it was his fault, even if he couldn’t lay out the path that led to it being his fault. He was the head of the organization, so it was his fault that he wasn’t more insistent on keeping his soulmates safe for the sake of their eldest.
But they’d chased Seokjin down, bleeding, to this alley.
None of them asked how he knew where to find her, because he’d done the same for them countless times when they were hurt. It was like a bonus gift, if they were hurt, he could find them.
It’d saved all of their lives at some point.
“But why is hyung bleeding,” Jimin asked quietly, already tending to her wounds.
“I bled with all of you before I met you as well,” Seokjin said quietly, leaning heavily on their youngest and second eldest. “Broken bones too.”
Namjoon winced at that. He knew that the oldest had spent most of his life in a hospital before meeting them (he refused to ever go back to one now), because of the injuries he reflected of his soulmates. But to think that he bled from every gunshot, and experienced every broken bone before meeting them….
“That’s it, we’re living in bubbles,” Taehyung muttered. “We’ll be the bubble mafia.”
Seokjin snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. This doesn’t even hurt that much.”
“She’s waking up,” Hoseok whispered. “Hey, hi. How are you doing?”
She blinked blearily around her, frowning. “I…who are you?”
“We’re your soulmates,” Jimin answered softly. “We’re going to take care of you, and treat your injuries. Can you tell us what happened?”
“Stole my purse,” She murmured, looking around her blearily. “Didn’t really mind, just needed to get my prescription.”
Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry about that right now. We’ll take care of it. Is it okay if we take you somewhere safe?”
She looked at her wrist, then around at all of them. Slowly, she nodded.
“Good, the car is pulling up now. Let’s get them both back and treated, then we’ll…look into this thief.” Namjoon glanced around the alley. “Yoongi, if you and Jimin would like to start investigating…?”
“Leave it to us,” Yoongi said casually, patting where his holster lay. “We’ll have the purse back by sundown.”
Their missing piece would never be bothered again, not if any of them had anything to say about it.
