#mini drabble

You reflect his cheeky smirk with one of your own. “A lot.”

“...Huh? What, that’s it?”

As soon as you see his puppy-dog pout, you groan.

“Lohen, please. I feel like I’m dating a teenager.”

“Come on!” he whines. “Not even, ‘more than those Windrest Flowers I’ve been breeding for years’? Oh! Or even, ‘more than every novel in my porn stash combined’?!”

“Wh—?! My Fate’s Glimmer collection is not porn! How many times do we have to go over this?!”

“Not porn?” He snorts. “Let’s be real, Bun—how many times does a penis enter a vagina in that holy book of yours?”

You close your eyes. “I’m sick of you.”

His teeth gleam through his grin. “Yet you still stay. Don’t ya?”

You roll your eyes, but you smile.

“Yeah, Lohen. I sure do.”

mini drabble today cause i have some commitments so this is hitting ya from the queue T_T </3 got inspired by some twitter meme for this one hehehhh anyway, i hope you enjoy this tiny lil thing! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ likes, reblogs and comments appreciated! p.s. if you wanna know what fate's glimmer is, check my popular oneshot, hit me! if you would like to be tagged whenever i post lohen x reader, please check my rules here! thank you! since this drabble is SO short, im only tagging chai sippers cx 🍵chai sippers🍵 @captaintucki, @astralgleam, @windsgasp, @pwushizz, @yenyentan @ariaontheplanetsv6, @viviolettee, @agathawells, @prettysweet02, i was tagged! what did i miss? against medical advice, lohen drabble (300+ notes) masterlist | ask | ao3 | more of this pair

🎻brook🎻

headcanons

fluff

constantly cracks jokes to make you laugh [even though 9 out of 10 are skeleton puns]

loves playing soft music just for you, usually his lyrics are of you, your relationship, and how you make him feel.

despite being bones, he’s incredibly gentle with his touch.

sings you lullaby’s when you’re struggling to sleep.

constantly asks to see your panties. [sometimes you grant his request]

nsfw

brook has a unsurprisingly dirty sense of humor, so foreplay is often mixed with teasing jokes.

he can only really finger you as he’s…well, a skeleton with no flesh. [i have no idea how to weite smut for him]

because he has no dick, he gets off on you using toys. [ quite often he wears a strap to imagine what it would be like to sink his cock into you]

mini drabble

you sat cross-legged in front of him while brook strummed his violin, the soft notes floating through the night air.

“ this one’s for you, my love,” he said, his empty sockets somehow twinkling.

you leaned forward, brushing your lips against his teeth in a ghost of a kiss. his hands trembled, the bow slipping a little.

“ yohoho…” he chuckled breathlessly, “ you always make my hollow chest feel full, my love. if i had a heart, i fear you would have made it stop….again! yohoho!”

and judging by the way you slid into his lap, your hands wandering lower, you intended to make him “sing” all night long.

🔧usopp🔧

headcanons

fluff

usopp always tries to impress you with his stories, but you can tell when he’s exaggerating because he blushes and scratches the back of his neck.

he loves building little trinkets or weapons for you—tiny slingshots, charms, or gadgets. It’s his love language.

acts brave for you but melts if you tend his wounds.

smut

usopp very eager but shy at first—he needs reassurance that you want him.

loves when you take the lead, though his tongue is surprisingly skilled when he’s eating you out or going down on you.

praise makes him whimper—calling him “brave,” “talented,” or “amazing” while in bed makes him lose it.

mini drabble

you caught usopp tinkering late at night, his worktable messy with scraps and gears.

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?” you teased, leaning on the doorframe.

“I—I wanted to finish this for you,” he said sheepishly, handing you a small, hand-carved charm.

you kissed him, and the blush that bloomed on his face deepened when your hand wandered lower.

“how sweet of you,” you whispered, “staying up just to make me something.”

the i way he whimpered against your mouth told you he wanted a different kind of “reward” next.

🛠️franky🛠️

headcanons

fluff

franky is bold with affection, he’ll scoop you up into his arms without warning and twirl you around without care of who sees.

loves building things for you; furniture, weapons, gadgets, everything and anything you’re little heart requires—he does it without you ever needing to ask. you’re table broke? repaired within the hour. you want a bigger bed? done before dinner.

franky sings and dances around you, putting on his best performance just to make you laugh. you’ve even began to join in when he does his theatrics.

nsfw

franky is loud in bed—moans, groans, and of course, declarations of how “super” you are.

surprisingly attentive despite his brashness; he likes making sure you’re fully satisfied.

loves experimenting—he’s creative with toys, positions, even using his cyborg body in fun ways, you’re never left disappointed.

mini drabble

franky had you perched on his lap while he tightened a bolt on his arm.

“you know, you’re the super-est thing i’ve ever had sittin’ here,” he grinned, voice low.

you rolled your eyes, but your smirk betrayed you. “smooth.”

when he set the tools down and pulled you close, his kiss was all heat and eagerness. the steady grind of his hips against yours left no doubt what he wanted.

“hope you’re ready, sweetheart,” he purred, “’cause tonight’s gonna be super.”

‎۫*͟ you’d be lying to yourself if some sick part of you didn’t enjoy your current predicament. eyes glossy, brows knitted in delight as whines and moans fell from your open mouth like rain—it was good, too good. it pained part of you to admit such a thing, amongst others, with a man who was so full of himself he could power gotham just on his ego. he, on the other hand, was thriving. you were whining and writhing, falling apart in his hands as he took you with such care, conquering you. edward himself was experiencing what most feeble brained morons considered a metaphorical ‘heaven’, in a way, as his calloused hands, used for his genius craft and grim, gripped at your hips—clean and pure, at the same time, he only took his filthy human need out on you, defiling you, in a sense. to him, you weren’t a murderer, a criminal, a common thug or imbecile who did bad deeds as he did, part of him felt guilty for tainting you, even touching you. as much as he prided himself, he didn’t deserve good things; always lost them, never to keep. he had to shut those down because you were enjoying him, holding him close while he continued to thrust in and out of you. god, he so terribly wanted to be rough, fast, and mean, but he couldn’t taint you further. he’d probably find a way to get you out of the city, far away from him. he couldn’t bear to lose a good thing like you. after each continued failure with the bat, he just wanted to keep you.

he needed to consume you in the fullest, because despite the animalistic and base humping you were both participating in, despite believing it was beneath him, he wanted all of you. he needed all of you—in a flurry to fulfil his sick needs, he took one of his hands, washed before he dared to even touch you, grabbing the back your neck to pull you closer to him; he inhaled your scent, leveraging him as he continued to assault your warm heat with his aching dick, rubber seperating him from dirtying you. he never really thought he’d use them, considering how important his work was compared to such a low act of desire. your arms snaked around his neck, holding him closer and moaning sweetly in his ear, all from him. it was such an odd thing to you, because one moment you were telling him, “eddie, i can stay a bit longer to help. i don’t mind overtime.” he swatted your desire to help, the desire to please, because he didn’t need a wonderful thing like you clouding him, becoming as important as his work just because you cared. but you persisted. “i’m not trying to belittle or undermine you, eddie. you just have a lot to do.” he always had a lot to do, but that was the beauty of his work—and how could he deny your help when you’ve actually proven you’re not as stupid as the other mindless idiots he’s hired?

that’s what led you here, asking to help him. you persisted even when you were done, noticing the twitch in his common scowl—you worried, despite him being a hard-ass half the time, he was still your boss, still a person, more than the world of genius built evil he’s constructed in his lair or gotham. and even now, as you held him close, his thrusts stuttering as he neared his climax, he mumbled to himself, occasionally grunting when he kissed your cervix with his eager tip. you could make out a few words; he was mumbling praises to himself, as he did for everything—he wasn’t too big of a talker during sex, apparently. maybe he was when he trusted a person? you couldn’t tell. you could only focus on how good he split you open, your greedy walls clenching around him when he made a sound of delight, your juices slicking his thighs with each thrust he gave, leaving a squelch sound. he soon sped up his thrusts, nearing his climax, he pulled his head back to look at you, giving you his fullest attention. you deserve it, he thought. “is it good?” he asked, his length twitching in your inviting gummy walls, looking down at you with softened brows. “it’s–eddie, it’s so good.” you mustered a sentence, your arms letting him go to firmly hold his shoulders, keeping your hazy gaze on his. oh, how delicious you looked to him. because of him.

“you’re–hnng. you’re really good, taking me like this. my perfect boy. fuck.” he groaned, eyes briefly rolling back as you clenched around him again. he was seeing stars. speeding up his thrusts again, his grip on your hip and neck tightened, looking down at him entering and leaving your wet hole with a sick hunger—he looked back up at you, taking both of his hands to hold your face as he neared his peak, your moans spilling out in time with his careful thrusts. his hips stuttered as hot seed spilled into the condom, warming his cock further; edward’s brows scrunched together, letting out a long groan, slowing his thrusts. “oh, i love you.” the words spilled from him, and just as quickly as he said them, his face contorted. brow twitching and a frown wrinkling his face—no. no, he didn’t do that. he was better than subjecting himself to such a sickening connection between people like that. you noticed this quickly, pleasure immediately discarded, your brows softened in concern. “eddie?” you sounded so worried. to him, for him, it made him sicker. stop fucking looking at him like that. he hated it; it made him churn, made him feel weak. the riddler was not weak.

“leave,” he said simply, his tone low; he didn’t want to yell at you, and yet, you only worried more, as he pulled himself from you, taking off the filled rubber, tossing it in the trash, and cleaning his shaft with a tissue. he pulled his pants back up, tucking himself back in—looking away from you in shame. how could he say something like that? you pulled your own pants back up, standing off his desk and still, giving him those worried eyes. stop it. “eddie, it’s okay, it could’ve just been–” but he didn’t want to hear it, his usual scowl returning, turning to face you as he pointed to the door. “i said to leave. you understand what that means, don’t you? do you need paper and crayons, or do i have to teach you such a simple thing that even a dog can do?” you were taken aback, a frown tugging at your lips. he wanted to take it back immediately, tell you sorry, but he couldn’t stop himself. “don’t come in tomorrow, i’ll ask one of my other common moron employees.” he waved his hand dismissively, and you knew not to press further. he only allowed a certain extent before he lost his shit.

tears pricked the corner of your eyes, threatening to roll, so you grabbed your jacket just as quickly and left. he wanted to feel guilty for being cold, and god, it clawed at him, but he pushed it down. he felt sick. he didn’t love people or things; he loved his work, but that was different. his pride and joy. you? you were just… a distraction, an eager worker in need of money. you may have understood the majority of his riddles and work, his big words, his genius, but—no, no, you didn’t mean anything to him. how could he even think that? he had to busy himself, going to clean off his desk where you previously were. he stared down at your notes, your reports… he couldn’t keep you. couldn’t bear to subject you to his cruelty any further.

he was never good at keeping good things. it’s easier to let them slip, rather than have them think he was the good thing.