I love your writing so much! Can I request sfw and nsfw headcanons for Daichi and Kuroo?
these are by no means exhaustive; and they kinda just turned into mini-scenarios instead so... enjoy lmfao; daichi beneath cut
kuroo (sfw)
lots of height-based teasing, but he just can’t help himself when you’re the perfect height for him to cage into his chest, to rest his chin on the top of your head, to smirk and watch you try to reach for something on the high shelf in just his jersey, the jacket much too long but still short enough to skim the top of your thighs when you’re standing on tip-toe and god, he thinks he can watch you do this forever
until you drop back down and scowl and huff and he has no choice but to get up off his ass and grab the thing for you, only to be rewarded by a peck on the cheek and to this day, he doesn’t understand how you can reach his cheek with your mouth if you can’t reach the top shelf but --
semantics, right?
he’d never admit out loud to liking video games, but seeing as both you and kenma are bot Very Much Invested, he’s grown to like sitting with you in his lap, your tongue stuck between your teeth, your headset slightly askew, the occasional outburst of joy or anger or disappointment jolting your entire body, the way you mumble beneath your breath, the way you settle back down into him afterwards... he likes the way he can dig his nose into the top of your spine, grin as you shiver, the way your head tilts back
“having trouble concentrating?” “n-no...” he grins, “really?” his lips along your bare shoulder. “kuroo! i’m in the middle of a --” “i know, i know, i was just... trying to test your concentration. you know how it is.” “... right.” “right.” he grins cat-like and mischievous as he curls his arms around your waist, pulls you into his chest till your nearly toppling over -- till the controller is left forgotten on the floor for the feel of his lips on your skin; he likes those moments best.
“you made her ditch the game last night, didn’t you?” kenma’s voice gets no less accusatory each time it happens and kuroo can’t do much but shrug and laugh and, “what can i say? im a growing boy with a growing appetite.” to which kenma would shoot him a disgusted look and later text you to make you promise never to game with kuroo in the room again
nsfw
sometimes lazy sunday mornings end up being more than just lazy -- in fact, kuroo thinks he might make a habit of waking up next to you on sunday mornings, of flipping over and kissing you awake, swallowing your drowsy moans till you’re arching up into him, till you’re panting, your eyelids fluttering -- when you look up at him, he can tell that you’re wide awake, but somehow, just barely
sometimes, he makes it his personal mission in life to make you scream his name at least four times before letting either of you out of bed, and it’s on those days that he really appreciates the size of the shower in his apartment, especially those handlebars along the tiled walls because damn is it nice to see your knuckles go white, to hear you begging, the sound of it echoing in the mist-filled chamber
sometimes, the hot water runs out and leaves the both of your somehow shivering and sweating all at once when you get out of the shower, and those are the times he’d laugh, wrap you in a thick, fluffy towel, race into the bedroom and toss you onto the bed, relish the sound of your brilliant, unstrained laughter --
“good morning, hm?” he grins, kissing your shoulder as you dry off your hair; you giggle, “tiring morning, more like.” “aww... don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it a little bit.” “did i look like i was having a bad time?” “hmmmm dunno, you were pretty incoherent for most of it and if i remember correctly, there was a lot of begging involved, which was nice --” you smack him with the wet end of the towel but he waves it off
“pancakes?” you ask as you rummage through his drawers for a shirt to wear; he watches you dark, swirling eyes, his muscles still sore from the series of very strenuous activities he’d partaken in previously, but somehow, he finds that hunger inside him alight once more at the sight of you in his tshirt.
“extra butter,” he says, following you downstairs like a cat twisting itself between it’s owners ankles, until you both get to the kitchen and he thinks that he’d much rather have you for breakfast instead -- after all, you do look so much more appealing spread out on the counter than pancakes ever could.
daichi (sfw)
he never knew study sessions could be quite so distracting until you came over claiming that you wanted to review for midterm exams next week; and really, nothing he’d ever seen in shoujou manga (what? they’re great -- good plots, good character development, sometimes the art is really nice --) had prepared him for dealing with this -- whatever this was -- this twisting, fluttering thing inside him almost like hunger but not quite
you bite your lips and he almost loses his mind, getting up out of his chair to go grab a tall glass of water and goddamnit he’d always prided himself in self control but -- did those rules just not apply when it came to you?
“daichi?” he almost curses at the sound of his name on your lips; nothing should be allowed to sound so good so inviting so... enticing. he pinches himself on the thigh, hard, and almost instantly regrets it.
“i... don’t think i’m quite in the right mindset for studying... at least not right now,” he says over another large gulp of water, his cheeks flaring with heat as you peer around the doorway into the kitchen, your large eyes finding him, standing in the middle of the room with a giant glass of water like some lunatic, he’s sure; but then, you laugh, nodding and making your way towards him with a, “well then, what do you wanna do?”
you slip your arms around his waist and lean up to brush your lips against his and to this day, he doesn’t understand what force had allowed him not to let go of the glass in his hand because he has no recollection of setting it down on the counter before reaching down to cup your cheeks -- he doesn’t know how he could ever forget about the feeling of kissing you, but every time you kiss, he feels like he’s rediscovering that thrill, over and over and over again
“now i see why you needed that water,” you tease as you pull away, your eyes flashing with mischief as you link your hands behind his neck; he doesn’t know what to do so he coughs, a bit sheepishly, and tries to look anywhere but at your face, which is quite the difficult thing to do given that your face is still inches from his, just a hair’s breadth away --
“i - i was just --” he stutters, and he isn’t used to stuttering; you grin, pressing your lips to the hard line of his jaw, effectively erasing all thoughts of speech from his mind and when you peer up at him again, its with that flare of something darker, deeper, something so much like desire in your eyes --
“you were just what... thirsty?”
nsfw
he’d never understood the appeal of kitchen tables till now, till he’s got his fingers digging into the meat of your hips, you bent forward, the length of your back stretched out before him like some terrible, beautifully carved canvas of human bone and muscle and milk-smooth skin -- he knows he’d love nothing more than to paint it in the markings of his love for you but he doesn’t quite know where to start --
it isn’t till you twist your head, your cheeks flushed, your hair sticking to your forehead, your lips kiss-swollen and wet, that he groans, bending over you to sink his teeth into the skin of your unmarred shoulder; and when you hiss “harder -- please” at him, your voice lilting into a whimper as he adjusts his angle, he swears that there’s not a single power on earth that could make him stop
that is until you reach back to grasp at his hands, squeezing it once before gasping out “s-sit down on the chair --” “wh-what?” “just -- sit down -- on the -- ch-chair -- ah!” you toss your head back as he nails you with a particularly hard thrust, but eventually, your words reach the now very heavily buried language-processing part of his brain and his whole body goes hot with the implications
he sits, chest heaving, head spinning as he watches you gather your hair to one side, tossing it behind you with a smirk before you swing your leg over his legs and straddle him proper; he groans, deep and needy and thick as you lower yourself over him, slowly -- fuck so damn slowly -- twist your hips in a figure eight that has him wondering if it were possible to astrally project while having sex --
“good?” you ask, as if he were anywhere near coherent enough to answer; he nods, keening as you bring yourself up and drop back down again, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, his hands finding themselves on your hips once more
“y-you didn’t r-really come -- shit --” you grin, “what’s this about coming, hm?” daichi whines as you twist your hips once more but he grits his teeth and looks back up at you with something close to wonder in his eyes, “you didn’t -- c-come to st-study -- did you?”
in answer, you bend down to lick across his lips, moaning loud and lewd till his fingers dig into your skin, leaving tiny half-moons where his nails had been; “kinda -- sorta,” you breath, pulling back just enough to be out of reach as he chases after your lips; he sits back, “then w-what are you studying -- ex-exactly?”
you smile, carding a hand through his hair before curling your fingers and tugging just a little too hard -- it draws a long moan from him, his hips kicking up; when he opens his eyes to meet your again, you give him a tiny wink and say, “human anatomy, duh.”
On the more sfw side, imagine eating midnight dinner with Atsumu. His flight got delayed so he came to Japan 8 hours later than what he was supposed to, so his s/o decides order take out because he's dejected they couldn't have their date. Just cuddling in his lap, feeding each other food and teasing, lovingly of course ლ(・﹏・ლ) makes my cold dead heart go solo doki
Midnight dinner on it’s own already has my whole heart because I too fall victim to being hungry at 2am and went on to cook a whole bowl of noodle lmao
But imagine if he comes back all beaten up because all jokes aside he really was so excited for your date qwq like, you two had been away with each other for so long and he had been looking forward to have a cute day out with you while he was away and alone but now it’s already late at night when he finally got home and all the nearby places are closed.
He curled up around you immediately when you welcomed him back at the door, mumbling about how sorry he was in your ear even though you could tell that the flight worn him out just from his voice. You laughed when he clung onto you as you tried to move out of grip.
“Come on, let me go so I can see what we can make for dinner.”
“No.”
You ended up dragging him to the kitchen with you because he refused to let go, leaning his chin on your shoulder as you rummaged through your fridge to see what you can make. His warm breaths were like the steam rising from the shimmering water, soft hums slipping past his lips as he watched you throw in everything you had found.
The magic about late dinners is that the simpler, the more satisfying it is.
You sat on his crossed legs in front of the coffee table in your livingroom, laughing and joking around as he tried to eat the bowl of noodle while having you right in front of him. The tv was playing in the background and the sound of slurping filled your ears as he sighed in content at the warm soup.
Oh hey! May I request the male drider x male reader lemon with the prompt "shut up" "make me" ?
male drider x male reader
400 words
lemon | grinding, makeouts
“Shut up,” Rook hisses, hands stretching and clenching into fists at his sides. You can tell he’s resisting the urge to tower of you, to follow the inherent threat of those words with some kind of action, but-
But you want him to move. To do something. The rising tension has been driving you up the wall, the way you both teeter on the edge of irritation and want every time you’re in the same room.
“Make me,” you say, calm and even, better than a spark on dry kindling.
For a split second it almost looks like Rook is pained. Every single one of his eyes falls closed as two of his hands snap out to curl around your biceps. His grip is firm, and yet, despite the intensity of the motion, despite the anger that had wrapped itself around his every word, Rook is careful. He pulls you into his arms, into a rough, needy kiss, soft mandibles brushing against your cheeks, his messy hair catching in your eyelashes.
If you resisted, if you made any kind of noise that hinted at discomfort, Rook would likely drop you to the ground. Your muffled moan against his mouth though? Makes him melt.
Rook helps lift you higher with one of his legs, hands growing more desperate as they rove over your back. He groans when you thrust against him and whispers your name, almost brokenly, when you roll your hips, your erection trapped against his middle.
“You want this? Me?” Rook pants, licking his lips when he pulls away for air. All of his eyes have grown heavy lidded, gray skin flushed and growing darker the longer you stare. You open your mouth to reply and then shudder when Rook tugs at one of your thighs, grinding your cock a little harder against him. “Just- yes or no, please. I can’t take any of our crueler banter at the moment.”
A sweet feeling makes your throat tight, but you’ve enough breath left to murmur a soft, earnest “Yes,” before Rook is kissing you again and then he’s moving. You end up braced against a wall, one of his legs brushing against your shin as he tilts your head, mouth and mandibles moving down your neck. He’s still careful, if not exactly soft, still riding that knife’s edge of emotion and tension- and you desperately need him to keep going.
Hello from the other side! How would you think Chuuya would react to finding out he's someone's favourite person? I'm struggling to write about him and was hunting for inspiration when I found your awesome blog! Have a nice day beautiful writer
Ah—
Hi!! & Thank you;; I feel flattered by the compliment.
In my opinion of Chuuya, he's into praise a lot since I rewatch BSD so much.. I noticed whenever he interacts with Mori-san he usually comments on what's in it for him when he does a good job.
Also, given his personality I see him as a word of affirmation in his love language. So hearing from someone that he's someone's favorite person would give his ego a good stroke~
I'm not sure if your too familiar with some of the little moments but I am a bit into detail;;
One time, Dazai said he didn't completely hate Chuuya and commented that his taste in shoes were good. Chuuya then glanced at his foot wear genuinely feeling praise from even someone he hated up until Dazai retracted his compliment.
So honestly, I think Chuuya would react in ways of being a bit skeptical at first given some of his trust issues with other people who associate him with being nothing but a destructive person. But when he sees that person is being quite serious he'll take great pleasure in hearing everything great about him.
"So I'm your favorite person? Tell me everything that makes you feel that way. I want to know every little detail."
I don't know if miya day is over yet, but I keep thinking of softly reading out a book to Atsumu, his lead in your lap while you comb your fingers through his stupidly pretty and soft hair. Him humming at the important parts and trailing gentle kisses wherever he can reach and I just-- I'm soft (╥﹏╥)
It’s technically not 5/10 anymore but every day is miya day if you try hard enough and we try very hard here👀
That dummy is not listening to the actual content of the passages, not all all. But he likes hearing your voice, or the way you correct yourself with a laugh when you misread something or intonate something strangely, and how your fingers comb through his hair down to the fuzzy part of his undercut. His arms are around your waist, burying his face in your stomach and pressing light pecks at the side when he feels like it. He pretends to him and nod when you look down, the small smile hanging on his lips already exposing how he has no thoughts on his head other than how soft your skin is.
Can I request stolen kisses with Kuroo? Thank you and happy valentine's day( /^ω^)/♪♪
send me a number and a character, and i’ll write you a drabble
49. stolen kisses (vaguely nsfw)kuroo
he tugs you into the corner, his lips pressing incessant against your skin, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips. you laugh, head tipping back to allow his lips more space.
“p-people will see!”
he grins, a growl rumbling deep in his chest.
“not if you keep quiet.”
his words whisper by your cheeks, his mouth latching onto the lobe of your ear, his palm hot as it presses beneath the material of your shirt. the summer presses in around you, the empty gymnasium filled with its oppressive heat. tokyo’s countryside is no better than the city – at least in the city, there are always stores with ac.
“well you’re – making that – really – h-hard – oh!”
you let out a surprised yell as he hoists you up against the wall, your back pressed to the cool tile of the gym, not two feet away from the wide open doors. everyone should be at dinner now, or so you hope, and no one should be back for at least another half hour.
the lights have been switched off, leaving only the midsummer moon hanging low in the sky.
you sink your fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck, tugging as he nips at your collarbones. your hips jump against his, and he groans deep in his throat. you grin, leaning up to bite playfully at his neck; you feel the shivers that wrack his body, the coil in your belly tightening at the thought of how you’re making him feel this way.
footsteps, voices, someone cheering in the distance.
you both freeze, your bodies pressed, chests heaving.
“and then it was like woosh! did you see? it was super cool!”
you groan as kuroo sets you back on the ground, reaching up to tug at your hair.
“looks like we’ll have to call a raincheck on this one.”
he grins as he bends down to press one more kiss to your lips.
you smirk, tugging him towards you, mouth insistent against his as you swipe your tongue across his lips; he lets out a gasp as you press your body flush against him again, kissing him deep and hard and thorough. when you pull away, he looks properly punchdrunk, and you wipe a hand across your kiss-bruised mouth.
“too bad, but i guess we should save some stuff for the other times.”
you see his mask crumble, just the slightest, the way he chews on his lips, glancing towards the door; you can almost hear the cogs in his head turning, wondering if he should just fuck all and kiss you again, kiss you till there’s more than just kissing.
but hinata’s voice draw nearer, followed by tsukishima’s signature drawl, and you flash him a grin, eyes flickering down to the very obvious tent forming in his boxers.
“have fun practicing – and maybe you should take a cold shower tonight, hm?”
Your writing is honestly some of the best I've ever read! Its probably not as extensively as you but I am an avid reader. It's no wonder you're a writer professionally! For someone aspiring to become one do you have any advice or stuff? Also your Hinata imagine about punctuation was otherworldly
so;;;; here’s the thing. there’s a certain romanticsm surrounding the concept of “being a writer” like you wake up every day, drink coffee in some little adorable cottage, pull our ur laptop, write for a couple of hrs, have afternoon tea, write a bit more, and then you finish ur book and get it all off to be published and then you rake in the cash to be able to do it all over again and -- i’m sure for certain, very accomplished writers, that’s how it goes.
but. speaking as someone who works part-time as a writer -- it is not an easy job. and at least in the beginning, it will not support your life. it’s not lucrative, and most times, sadly, writers and generally a lot of creators are quite underpaid (sans influencers and im still not sure how that works). so i beg of you -- put your hand on your heart and ask yourself if this is something you are willing to lose a lot of other things for.
being a writer sucks. it really does -- you’re constantly wrestling with muses that might or might not want to work with you. there are deadlines, editing processes. there are going to be times when your editors want to cut something and you really don’t but you have to and it’ll hurt -- there will be other times when you don’t really get a say. or days when everything you write is trash and all you want to do is drown yourself in a bathtub of rose and rom-coms but if you’re okay with that, and you’re okay with working multiple jobs until you can secure yourself a full-time writing gig that supports your lifestyle -- then just start writing.
write a ton. read, too. it’s basic, but it’s the fundamentals of being a writer. the more you consume (of the good stuff, but literally read everything you can get your hands on, science, theory, the more you know, the bigger your knowledge base). enter writing contests, even if it’s terrifying. cold-email magazines with creative writing sections with your short stories, just get yourself out there.
also, think outside the box. prose-writing is a very small part of the vast world that “writing” encompasses. games need scriptwriters. tv shows also need writers. any form of medium that requires story-telling will need writers. you could be a copywriter, you could be an editor, you could be a content creator or a blog-writer. do not limit yourself to one kind of writing because if you stop to think about it, everything requires writing, to a certain degree, because business is built upon the concept of communication and persuasion. if you can convince someone to shell out money for whatever if is you’re writing, then you win.
so explore your options. and don’t, do not let the rejections get to you. people will say no. they will say no over and over again, but eventually, someone will say yes, and honestly, if twilight and fifty-shades can get published than so can you. the world if full of people getting paid to do things worse than you purely because they had to guts to put themselves out there.
so put yourself out there. write and post it online. listen to the feedback that comes in. do not be afraid of showing your writing to people even though i know, trust me i know, it’s the most fucking terrifying thing. but if you wanna be a writer, that’s a fear you’re gonna have to face every. single. day.
being a writer is a little like bleeding, you’re constantly just letting yourself bleed into the work, and it hurts -- it’s always hurt. that’s a good thing. it means you’re putting yourself into your work, that your heart and your soul is in it and people will see that. and it’ll hurt, yeah, but sometimes, it’ll be beautiful too.
and the feeling of seeing people react well to that, of seeing your words get through. kinda makes it all worth it.
i hope this was even tangentially helpful. and i hope i’ve painted a clear enough picture of the bad sides of being a writer. bc it’s not always romantic. it very rarely is -- esp when you’re doing it for work. but there will be moments, and if you’re a writer, if you really believe you were put on this earth to be a writer, if you love it, no matter how hard and how terrifying and how brutal being a writer seems sometimes -- then it’s just a matter of how you get there, and not a question of if it’ll happen.
