#drabble i guess

[jupiterpiss]

i keep seeing ex remmick which u eat up everytime but i’m wondering what the process of breaking up with him would be like

Thank youuuu 😝😝 I feel that a lot of this is kinda just me retelling some stuff.. maybe? Not really but it’s different ways he’ll be ruining your life that were mentioned before. This doesn’t have a ton of smut.. actually close to none lolz. This reads to be very.. aggressive on his end. It is supposed to be like that.. he’s a piece of shit sorry.

Honestly.. I think it would be a very complicated process.. because in my mind I think Remmick doesn’t necessarily ever think you two are ‘broken up’. Like yes.. you kicked him out and told him to fuck off and said this is over BUT LIKE you were just upset. People say means things all the time when they’re upset.

I truly don’t think he ever sees you as not satisfied.. cause he knowssss he’s satisfying you so like why are you acting mean and RUDE?? Not cool wtf. It’s kinda how he wouldn’t leave alone ANYONE IN THE JUKE JOINT even tho they told him to fuck off SEVERAL TIMES. He literally won’t take no for an answer, it’s not in his vocabulary so why should it be in yours.

So with that added pain of him not really seeing you as separated just ya know going through a mild disagreement.. which if he wants to call it that he shouldn’t be using the word mild. It’s farrr from it, like you two literally threaten each other, that’s not mild.

Threats of killing one another, threats of going to the police or family or vampire hunters. Everyone and anyone at this point. It’s bad. Wtv. Ahem.

Point is— it’s hard to leave someone who doesn’t see you as separated.

That’s also where the toxicity comes from, because at some point you become beyond annoyed with him. He won’t stop showing up, won’t stop threatening to eat your family, coming up with lies that he’ll change, that NO he isn’t mean.

You eventually meet your breaking point when you do try to move on, threaten to start sleeping with other people and he, I KIDD YOU NOT, yells about how you can’t be with anyone else cause uhhhh he’ll curse them to die from a terrible infection!

“Vampirism?”

“No.. worse. If you sleep around, every dick you touch will fall off.”

And he’s not kidding LMAOOO. Do I think he’ll have the ability to do that.. idk. I don’t actually know if vampires can actually possess people or anything.. but he does cause I said so. Not possess I guess but more so he makes them go crazy. Like actually crazy.

Remmick PLAGUES the minds of those you touch. Also.. he counts this as cheating on him. He’s not too fond of it, matter of fact it pisses him off really really bad but wtv. You’re just going through a weird phase.

Ya know those people who say ‘they know where home is’ when speaking about their cheating spouse? Yeah that’s fucking him. Except he also curses and scares off anyone you actually do. I don’t wanna go tooo in depth cause quite a few people asked for a second ex!Remmick post and one person asked for this exact scenario.. so more on that later. It’s gonna be part of the part 2 of that post.

Anyway.

Once your done with sleeping with other people cause CLEARLY that isn’t helping anyone (this proves his point right btw even tho it wasn’t on purpose on ur end.. he still sees you stopping as a means of you ‘leaving this phase’)

You decide that maybe packing up and moving would do good. Leaving your house, leaving your family, the town. Everything. Last day of packing tho he shows up and fucking flips his shit.

This is where I reallly wanna reel in the fact that toxic Remmick is extremely scary. Like really scary, you should probs not be trying to look for this man, type of scary. Cause he wrecks all your shit, tells you how are you going to leave when you have nothing??

“Fuck you! I’m done, we’re done— done! I’ve been done, I’m moving-“

He tuts, shaking his head slow, “and what exactly will you be leavin with? Got no furniture now, got no clothes, jewelry.. baby, you’re not prepared to go.”

And it’s like.. hello?? Yes I was but you literally lit all my shit on fire while happily jumping up and down. Hooting and hollering, happier than a fucking clam. He’s unwell. He saw all your stuff resting outside, heard you still shifting around stuff inside, packing the rest of what you got. You live far out.. so having shit stolen isn’t exactly on your mind but you thought ‘hey, just one more box and I’m done’ only to go outside to see a massive bonfire.

And who’s standing beside it with a box FILLED with matches? Remmick :))

He lights all your shit on fire, and if you have a car he slashes the tires. Lights it on fire too.. this is starting to sound actually really bad. Omg okay but HE DOES THIS OKAY. I’m not backing out, he destroys ur shit!!

Okay.. moving is a big no. And ya know what else is a big no.. ur friends. You see.. Remmick does some hunting and searching, he decides ya know what?! I’m gonna take this bitch’s friends. Yeahhh fuck you im making you a complete loner. So that’s what he does LMAOOOO he makes ur ass a bigger loser then him by quite literally taking out all of ur friends.

And he uses that hivemind like noooo one else. Forces them to try and convince you back together, that really he will change. That this is just a word phase ur going through, cold feet. Ya know.. but that’s okay! He’ll warm them up!! He completely takes away their personality, who they are. What they want, what made them.. them. Everything you loved, those imperfections, the characteristics.. mind you, these people are your home. A found family of some sort all built on the need to find connection outside of family. Outside of blood.

And that’s gone.

It freaks you out, rightfully so. Everyone is so.. bleak. A empty cast of what they use to be, pawns for his own destruction. Makes you wanna vomit and sob on the floor.

And you do. Really you do. You start to actually feel trapped, unable to really do anything.

Your friends keep saying, “just let us in! Let him in! I can see all his memories.. all his emotions. Everything. Honey, he really does love you.” And it would be a friend of urs that HATES men. Hello? Not the same person.

AND HE STILL WONT LEAVE GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. Stillll thinks ur together and—

“ya know, this whole cat and mouse thing is really startin to get on my nerves, hun. Just- I don’t even know why you’re upset.”

He really doesn’t. Remmick doesn’t get why you won’t let him in, or why you keep claiming you broke up. You didn’t? He thinks he’s in the right, thinks all of this is for your own good cause.. you two are meant to be, mean to thrive together. Why would you give that up cause of one messy argument.

It wasn’t a messy argument and really he’s always been manipulative.

If he were to convince you to have make up sex he would try to baby trap you. I’m certain of it.. that or because I don’t think vampires can have babies, he would bite you. Just like in the fic. More on this later.. actually I’m thinking long and hard about this, you will be seeing it.

[spideypool-enthusiast]

i want a team red tv show but i know that it would be a) on disney+ and b) butchered by disney so just imagine this as an opening scene

a somewhat boring waiting room/open area, with a few empty wood chairs with the fabric seat, clearly after hours of whatever establishment (darkened windows, shuttered blinds), and there's a box set tv playing some classic procedural, kinda like law and order, but it cuts from that to wade watching it in one of said uncomfortable chairs, mostly in costume with his mask lifted, eating a burrito, like "damn, this show has not aged super well! lotsa sexual assault, crazy graphic, too, and for network television?! insane-"

you know who's insane? you.

and it abruptly cuts as a web hits the power button, whatever dialogue on the show ending.

and look who's here!

in his full suit as well, peter climbs in through a window he'd opened in the back, stretching his legs as he walks through. "those shows are all kinds of fake, and half the time they pay off the cops, anyway."

"not a fan of copaganda?" and our favorite lawyer, matthew murdock, comes out of a normal door, cane extended as he shuts his office door behind him, the gold plate on it reading his name. he's not in the daredevil suit, normal work attire aside from the loosened tie, as they're standing in the office of nelson & murdock, foggy having long gone home for the day. it's a free—well, rent is paid, for once—place to meet, with full confidentiality, and don't they all need it.

anyway idk where that goes from there but just a scene that came to me in a dream

[asher-writes]

Grandfather

It started with my grandfather. I never met him, his rot had become atoms in the breeze by the time I were thought of. But he was the son of a fairy and a human. He never met his father, a wanderer, and went quite mad before his sons had reached a good age; this is what my father told me.

My father was the same as his grandfather, a man with no home, who could never rest, who would never know home. He met me, once, told me this story, and I never saw him again.

Our family curse is loneliness. We reach through timelines for hands we can never hold, for answers we'll never know. The dead leave their corpses in our souls, but the haunting brings no company.

Strays across time and space, each new abandonment cements another nail in the coffin. I thought maybe I would be different, but I never stay in one place long, either. It's instinctual to never be too close, too wanted, too loved. To have one foot out of the door and an emergency bag packed.

I don't think it's because my great-grandfather were a fairy that his son went insane. I don't think because my father is magic, he couldn't stay. I think some part of us knows that love is worse. And I don't know if that's the fairy side, or the human.

[spectralgecko]

Also little question, but for the NERVE headcanons, I noticed that you mentioned a lab quite a bit.

So, what's Iteriumulus' lab like?

Be forewarned: Unpleasant and icky imagery ahead. This is Iteriumulus.

Enter World? * Yes < * No

* Yes <

... Connecting ... Connected to Host

Entering World ℵ

Immaculate.

Bright.

Frigid.

It smells strongly of sterilizing chemicals and metal.

Iteriumulus' version of a World, it seems, with every "zone" in perfect order serving as different utility areas. The causeway runs tidily down the middle. The difference is, this causeway has offshoots, clearly meant for the gatekeeper to navigate with. The main causeway appears to be blocked off at the ends of the mainway in some zones, leaving you to navigate those offshoots in search of passage.

Zone 1

It has nothing. It's and entirely barren hospital-white. If there was ever anything in here, any traces of it have long since been wiped from existence.

Zone 2

This one has some beginnings of plant life, but where the other worlds had free-growing vines and bushes, these are neatly arranged in tanks and fences, all in orderly patterns. The white lighting persists, casting the plants in an artificial, washed-out pale. The deeper you go, the worse the order, with some plants crowding their enclosures, choking each other out, and beginning to sprawl. They all look... odd. Sickly. Foul.

Zone 3

It has animals. None of them move. Many are grotesque. A few are rotting. The rest are encased in formaldehyde.

Zone 4

You find... growing things. Vessels, mostly - hundreds of them hang from the ceiling or the walls, suspended by metal arms and tubes of energy and fluid. Their orbs all shine dully with reflected white light, glassy and empty of energy, and their limbs hang limp and greyed out. Some vessels look like you. A few look disturbingly organic, merged and meshed with other things, even each other. There's an oddly unkempt pile near the back of strange, deformed vessels. Failed experiments, most likely. One lone vessel hangs near the back, attached to wires and tubes. It's limbs carry strange bumps and plating pieces, all lavender and edged with wavering, flickering veins of yellow. It seems to have been disturbed recently.

It looks diseased.

There's a few other things, too. More lavender and yellow, but detached and suspended in formaldehyde or behind glass, pulsing organically in the background with an artificial sustenance.

Zone 5

It has assembly machinery, it seems - where the Vessels are put together? Most of it isn't moving at the moment, though some of it is trying to kill you. There's some plating and parts around that look suspiciously like they belong to the gatekeepers. One dead end path leads you to a set of machinery that hasn't been cleaned, it's claws stained with dark purple. The stains are dry, but not old. It reeks.

Zone 6

You're greeted by a vile stench and roaring. Whatever used to be in here is broken and pervaded by black-purple filth, creeping and crawling around the zone and pulsing like some fleshy parasitic organism. Nothing is actively trying to kill you, but the darkness eats at the corners of your vision and the stench is enough to make you lightheaded and nauseous.

Zone 7

This one is guarded by vessels. They all stand at attention, shining pristinely - cold and white-washed. They stop at nothing to terminate you, and cannot be killed. You find yourself hiding down causeway offshoots and slipping around corners as quietly as possible, looking for a door you can pass through and lock behind you.

Eventually, you find a side path and slip into the next zone.

Zone 8

Once again utterly barren, just like the first zone. Nothing. Just white and cold. But you can hear something. Laughter? Screaming? Both? This place seems like an airlock of some kind. Maybe for decontamination. Ridiculously long room, too.

Zone 9

There are empty tables with empty restrains, and trays of clean tools. Some look medical, some look... cruel. Whatever sounds you were hearing are gone. It's dead silent now. No stains or uncleaned messes in this room, either. It's shorted than you expected.

Zone of the Gatekeeper

The Eldest. You've breached the lab prime, the most isolated, sterile, secret part of the place, with a roundabout causeway orbiting the most central lab space. A special chamber reserved specifically for this new... amusement of his.

If Iteriumulus is here, you can't see him.

You can see Unumpuriss.

They hang, elevated, in the in the middle of it all, their plating and chitin carved open and pulled apart, held in place by cold, wicked machinery. Their clockwork, half-living internals, bared for observation, shudder with pain and cold as they dangle disassembled for "study." Prying and poking and cutting. Their plating bears host on host of scorch and burn marks, barely healed incision scars, and lacerations with connections to tubes of strange liquids, some of which carry the gatekeeper's golden lifeblood, keeping them alive.

Alive and excruciatingly awake.

Their lungs heave and rasp with the weight of forced consciousness and endless pain. It seems they're between rounds of whatever Iteriumulus has been doing. Did it even serve a purpose? Did he just... enjoy watching Unumpuriss suffer? What happened that Iteriumulus decided this was his desire?

One thing at least is plain. If you are to fight Iteriumulus, it cannot be here. Not where he can kill Unumpuriss so effortlessly.

[joannaofarkham]

new WIP....again

well not exactly a new idea, I've been playing around mikasa being part of some witch family who cursed eren's blood line and um...i guess i just let go and wrote this prologue.

I'm not sure how this will turn out or if I'll ever delve back into this, maybe I will because I really want to write the subsequent parts as a found footage kind of story (think of The Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity), and I'm more comfortable writing in script format but...I'm not sure. I'm not sure if it will be something you'll read.

Anyway, here's the prologue drabble...I guess?

Prologue

She cried in pain. 

She cried in agony.

She cried as they dragged her through the mud while they cursed at her. 

"Monster!"

"Temptress!

"Witch!"

"Die!"

They kept demanding for her death.  Shouted to the heavens, to their god to punish her for her wicked ways. 

Heathen, that is what they called her. Worshiper of the Devil. 

None of those hurt her as much as the silence from her lover. 

Silence while they hoisted her up and tied her to the wooden pole. 

Silence, as they lit the branches and leaves beneath her feet, and the flames licked her toes, the soles of her feet, then crawled up to her legs, the smell of burning flesh–her flesh–hitting her nose, it hurt. 

Green eyes…those green eyes she loved. Those eyes that gazed at her lustfully, lovingly…now, they were only full of guilt. 

Blank, green eyes staring at her as the flames continued to enveloped her. 

She hated him.

She…loathes…him.

She prayed for his death.

But that was such an easy way out. 

No.

With her last breath, Daughter Ackerman looked at the heavens, and as the scorching fire ate her being, she screamed this curse: 

"I swear to thee, O Mother of the Tree, my Maker,  the souls of the sons of the Huntsman. That they may carry the Mark of the Beast and die by my blood until they carry their name no more!"

And the curse of the witch begins.

[hazbinsandweirdos]

Pierre sighed, running his hands through his hair as he sat on the balcony to smoke. Things had been wrong lately and he knew they were wrong. His stash house had looked like an accident but after three of Giovannis were hit and the bull had nearly been killed, Pierre was starting to get worried. He had thought his stuff had been blown up but there was a chance it had been taken and the explosion was just a happy accident for whoever robbed him.

His lower arms hugged his knees to his chest as he rested his chin on them, tutting to himself as he took a drag from his smoke. He didn't know if someone was looking for something specific or if they were stocking up for something bigger but he didn't like losing his cash cow to some asshole.

Especially when that asshole had put a target on him. Giovannis guys all blamed him for the theft and in truth, he couldn't say he hadn't thought about it and taking his stuff as well,made it look like the perfect cover up for the crime but it wasn't him and Gino was so lost in his injuries that he couldn't even vouche for him right now.

Whoever he had pissed off, was not playing games. They were making sure no one would help him this time and just like that, it dawned on him. They were stocking up to put a price on his head. A big one.

Cussing under his breath, Pierre looked over the surrounding buildings then shook his head. No one knew where his apartment was, they would be searching his other places first, his usual bars, going after people that knew him...he had time to get out of town before he had to worry about it but he would have to get out of town soon, before the bounty dropped.

He'd have every hitman and bounty hunter in hell after his neck and there was only so much flattery could do.

"Merde..."

[thundersoothers]

john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man. inclusivity warning: reader gets picked up by Price and carried over his shoulder

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him. 

“Shhh!!  You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.” 

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of.  The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.  

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants.  He has one sock on with a hole in the toe.  You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway. 

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here.  Damn lock… can never— oh, shit.  Heh. Wrong key.” 

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in. 

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely.  He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila.  You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off. 

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside.  I bet you’re so cold, all naked.  Here, you can go in my dress, is that better?  Fu—ow!  Don’t bite my tit, Jesus!  Sharp teeth…” 

Price suddenly feels much more awake.  He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer. 

“This damn door… ah!  There we go.” 

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered). 

“Remember, we have to be quiet.  My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up.  He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.” 

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit.  And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet. 

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad.  He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me.  He’ll understand.  I had to.  I just had to!” 

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark. 

“Stay there, don’t move, okay?  Stay, yeah?  You know that, don’t you?  Mummy will teach you if not.  Just stay right there.  Lemme get these damn heels off…” 

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“ 

Bang! 

You groan loudly. 

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug.  You have one heel on.  The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over.  Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched. 

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan.  “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.” 

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad. 

“You hurt?” he asks.  “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little.  “I’ll just sleep here.” 

He laughs softly.  “Come on, none of that.” 

“It’s so comfortable.  I’ll just—“ 

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement.  You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you.  You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view. 

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second. 

“Nothing,” you say innocently. 

“Right.”  He crosses his arms, looking you over.  “Who were you talking to just now?” 

“No one,” you say quickly.  “Myself.” 

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.” 

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry.  “No.  You’re gonna be mad.” 

“Just show me.” 

“Promise you won’t be mad.” 

He sighs.  “I won’t be mad.”  You give him a look.  He sighs again.  You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy.  “Promise.  Now show me.” 

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest.  “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay?  No biting, please.  Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay?  Can you do that?  Yes?  Okay.” 

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement.  Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband. 

It’s a puppy. 

It’s quiet. 

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes.  He barks up at John, high pitched.  A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth. 

It’s still quiet. 

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John.  “You said you wouldn’t be mad!” 

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad. 

“You look mad.” 

“I’m not mad,” he says again.  “It’s just… dirty.” 

You gasp.  “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog.  You pull him to your chest.  “He’s just a little mangey, you see.  But that’s okay.  It can be fixed.  You know—they have medicine for that.  Or lotion, or whatever it is.  He’s very nice, John, I swear.  I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow!  That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.” 

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you.  Yep.  You’re fucking wasted. 

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.”  You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you.  “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy.  Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you?  Yes, you can.”  You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says. 

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering. 

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied.  You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better. 

Of course it’s this.  What else could it have been?

A puppy. 

A puppy! 

“Oh, hello, there.” 

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road. 

“What are you doing here, all alone?  Come here, love, I won’t hurt you.  Come on, puppy, come to me.  Yeahhh, there we go.  Oh, look at you.  You’re so cute.  You’re all mangey, though.  Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.” 

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind.  He wags his tail and nips at your fingers. 

“Where’s your mummy?  You shouldn’t be out here all alone.  No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you?  I don’t want to leave you.  I’m not sure what to do.” 

He barks at you, high pitched. 

You nod at him seriously.  “Oh, yes, good point.”  He barks again.  “Mhm.  Yes, yes.  I thought so, too.  Exactly right.” 

He runs in a circle around you. 

“What are you, a month?  You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone.  Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.”  (He’s wagging his tail.) 

“It’s so cold.”  (It’s summer.) 

“Maybe you can come home with me?”  (Your husband would be so mad.) 

“Yes,” you decide.  “You’ll come home with me.”  (Your husband is going to be so mad.) 

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life. 

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price.  I’m from around here.  I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much.  It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away.  See that big tree there?  That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home.  I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.”  He barks.  “Yes, yes, you get it.” 

“Anyway.  So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John.  I love him very much.  You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable.  I like lots of things about him, puppy.  Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.” 

“He says I can’t have a dog, though.  He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in.  What do you think, puppy?  Should we do that?  I think we should do that.  We’ll have to be very quiet, though.  Very quiet.” 

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug. 

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.” 

“By Notting Street?” 

You furrow your eyebrows.  “Notting Str—I dunno.  Maybe?  I just know the big tree.  The one with all the branches.” 

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly.  “Right.” 

“But he was there all alone so I took him home.  I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little.  And he’s very cute, look at his little ears?  And his little feet?  His toes are soooo small.  His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark.  Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” 

“You heard?  Oh.  I was trying to be quiet.  I didn’t want to wake you up.” 

He smiles at you.  “I know.” 

You smile back. 

“Give me the dog.” 

You frown.  “No.” 

“The dog, please.” 

“No.”  You hold him tighter.  “You’ll take him from me.” 

“Well,” he says, “yes.” 

You sigh heavily.  “Be gentle.”  You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him. 

A puppy. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully. 

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy.  “No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“But…”  You trail off and he looks back down at you.  You’re starting to tear up. 

“Oh—love, don’t cry.” 

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…” 

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.” 

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’) 

“Really?!” you gasp.  

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause.  For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really?  Oh, thank you so much!  Puppy, did you hear that?  Daddy said yes!  See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember?  He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“ 

“The dog can’t understand you.” 

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor.  “How are you handsome even from this angle?”  You frown deeper.  “Stupid face,” you mutter. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Let’s get you up.” 

“I’m so comfortable.” 

“Hand.”  He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you.  He crooks his long, thick fingers at you.  “Now.” 

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his. 

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder. 

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal.  “Hey!!” 

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand. 

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him. 

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

You grin.  “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too.”  He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest. 

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed.  “I’m so lucky.  I don’t know how I got so lucky.  And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too.  You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world.  He’s so good to us.” 

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says.  “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.” 

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue. 

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him.  He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him.  “Hush now.  Your Mummy is asleep.”  He shakes his head and sighs.  “What am I going to do with you?” 

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog.  “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.” 

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 02.17.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

to masterlist.

[randomfandomworks]

Sylus takes notice one night, as you’re resting against him, of the exact way you position yourself in his hold.

You press your body to one side of his, until you’re basically molded against him. Your heart lays above his, it’s beating harmonizing with his own until they inevitably sync together.

Your head rests slightly on his collarbone, your face lingering just above his neck leaving your nose to occasionally bump it after a deep breath. Breaths which fan across his skin and give him little goosebumps.

Though it isn’t any of this that truely catches his attention.

One of your hands lays gently on his chest.

Sprawled exactly where in a past life a final blow had taken his life.

Your fingers graze where the gash would have been, leaving soft touches instead of dripping blood.

You’re unaware of what had happened ages ago, though subconsciously you apologize. Holding him close now as you couldn’t before. Perhaps it was part of your soul coming to its peace as you laid with him now.

His hand shakes slightly as it comes to trace your own, he turns, placing a kiss to the crown of your head and begins to focus once again on your steady breaths and your heart's rhythmic beat.

Perhaps this will be enough of a resolution to relax his own soul as well, that way his part and yours can come and rest together again as you two do now.

[olailamajnoon]

Dick on the phone, at 3 pm in the afternoon: Forgive me father for I have sinned.

Bruce, just woken up, squinting at the alarm clock: Dick it's 3 pm. what is this.

Dick, tearfully: My confession! I couldn't sleep, Bruce. I was the one who drove my hamster to suicide! I didn't feed him malt cookies like I was supposed to! He climbed on the exercise wheel and didn't stop running until he died.

Dick: *continues sobbing*

Bruce: okay so first of all.

Bruce: I'm not a priest.

Bruce: And second of all. Animals don't commit suicide.

Dick: Mari did!

Bruce: You named your male hamster after your mother...?

Dick: NOT THE POINT, BRUCE!

Dick: but yes.

Bruce, sighing: There's so much to unpack here I don't know where to start.

Dick: I killed him, Bruce. I should have died along with him!

Bruce:...

Bruce: It's possible that you've associated your hamster's death with the trauma of your parents' death, possibly because of shared names, and you've displaced your survivor's guilt from the first onto the second.

Dick:...

Dick: So what should I do.

Bruce: In my experience, the best way to deal with survivor's guilt is to save as many people as you can, possibly people in the same situation as the loved ones you have lost, hoping that the heroic nature of your deeds lets you sleep at night.

Dick: And what if that doesn't work?

Bruce: Then you drink. Get shitfaced drunk every time you feel a pang. Or you can pray to a nonexistent god and an uncaring universe.

Dick:...

Dick: If I come over, will you break out the good whiskey.

Bruce: I thought you'd never ask.

[orbitganymede]

18+, MDNI

asking ghost out on a date is…odd to say the least. utterly bold and fearless of you if someone was to ask other people on base, you’re big balled they say. the masked assassin had given a gruff “no”, clearly uninterested as he turned away and lit a cigarette as if you’re nothing but a nuisance. you’d shrugged your shoulders and went on with your day, what could you do? you’d tried.

but now ghost is interested, you’re the first person that’s approached him, usually he’d have to find hookups at bars or he’d have to resort to making his sergeants do their unofficial duty of stress relief. he refuses to leave you alone a mere week after you asked him. opting to sit next to you in the mess instead of haunting his usual corner, not that he’d make conversation. this went on for a few days before he decided to be the bold one and placed his obscenely large hand on your thigh. you’re confused to say the least, he’d denied your invitation to dinner, and honestly you’d prefaced it in a way that could have been taken as just the bedroom. but here he is hand so close to your crotch that the gesture couldn’t possibly mean anything but his want to try you out. you let it slide, let him fondle you, what bad could come from letting this mountain of a man take you back to his and give you a few, hopefully earth shattering, orgasms?

That’s how you end up with your ass in the air, stretched impossibly wide around his cock, little ah ah ahs falling from your lips, with him telling you to shut up, take it, you asked for it, pet. and after, when you’re trying to steady your breathing, clenching sporadically around nothing but his warm spend inside you, he’s on his phone, googling how quickly a marriage license can be drawn up.

[sunsburns]

guess

smut 18+, age gap, fem reader, underwear fixation

logan howlett loves to swear up and down that he’s too old to mess around with a pretty young thing like you. you’re out of his league in everything you do, from the way you can get up early in the morning and stay out late at night, stumbling back into your apartment in a fit of giggles, humming the last song that played at the club you were returning from.

he acts like he doesn’t notice, and he acts like you don’t exist. but the moment you bumped into him in the laundry room it’s been hard to ignore you.

it was wade who’d introduced the two of you to each other when he was giving logan the grand tour of the apartment complex, and they’d run into you while you were unloading a drier, tossing your clothes into a basket.

you in your tiny shorts and tight tank top, one earbud in and the other dangling by your chest. he tried hard not to stare, especially when you slowly straightened yourself up, holding your basket of clothes to your side, hair messy and sticking to your face a little bit.

it was hot in the laundry room, hell, the whole fucking building felt like a furnace now that the a.c. refused to work in the peak of summer.

but there you were, wide smile and open arms when wade shoved logan in your direction. you didn’t take it personally when he merely grunted at you, a slight nod to his head as a greeting. to logan’s surprise, your lips curled as you looked up at him, and you stared up at him like he was some kind of tree you wanted to climb.

no shame about it either.

logan’s eyes were drawn to your basket as wade spoke, retelling the whole story of how the two of you became ‘neighbour besties’, as he had put it. how you helped wade keep up with the ‘youngsters’, as he called them.

no, logan was too busy staring at a lacy black pair of panties sitting at the top of your basket. pretty little thing, pretty little bows to adorn it.

he slowly tore his eyes away from them and looked at you, then down to your hips where he could see your bright pink underwear, peaking out from the denim.

and maybe, in a dream or two, he imagined what those cute pink ones looked like in full. how it would be like to push you against your door before you could even unlock it, unbutton your shorts and dig his hands into them just to feel the soft fabric of your pretty pink underwear, soiled and ruined from how wet you were with want.

but for now, he’d have to do with the black lacy ones, he almost didn't want to take them off. running his hands over the fabric, grinning when your back arches against the bed, a little desperate, way too needy.

you’ve soaked them, all ruined just from him touching you, from the way his teeth teased you, pulling at the bows, running his nose over your clothed pussy.

logan hooked his fingers over the fabric at the center, pulling it to the side, tongue poking into your cunt, drawing out a whine from you. with an open mouth, he pulled back to see your slick, coated lips with a satisfied grunt.

logan pulled them back just to stare. fuck, they were so pretty. you were so pretty just sitting under him, in nothing but those pretty panties. yeah, logan might be old, but he can keep up for a night.

[after-the-end-times]

random omegaverse gang leader!eddie idea that popped into my head. Not sure if I'll expand it, but figured I'd throw it out into the ether

Omega Steve who's heading back to his car late one night and gets lightly kidnapped by a local gang because they think he's the kid of a local politician.

he rolls his eyes and tries to explain that he's no one worth kidnapping, but they still tell him to get in the suv. He huffs and says 'fine, take me to your leader. we'll get this straightened out. and you're personally paying if I come back to a parking ticket.'

he sits in the backseat on the drive, arms crossed, mouth down turned, side eyeing anyone who speaks.

they arrive at some bar, motorcycles lining the front. Steve hops out willingly, but one guy still grabs an arm to pull him through the bar's door. Steve yanks his arm away, steps into his space, glares at the guy and points a finger in his face. 'what was the point of that, hm? I was already coming in! hmph! I'm gonna speak to your little ringleader about this behavior. completely unacceptable treatment of an innocent kidnapping victim!'

the guy looms over Steve (what is he? 7ft tall?? rude) and gives him a shove backwards, Steve stumbles back into someone. the guy sneers, 'yeah? go ahead. see if he cares about some yappy omega we can use to protect our pack.'

the hands on Steve's shoulders push him back to standing and the familiar voice of somebody that he used to know says, 'what's all this about a yappy omega?'

and confusing every gang member in the entire bar, Steve's face lights up. he spins around, eyes bright and grinning. 'Eddie!' and throws his arms around Eddie's shoulders in a tight hug.

Eddie's arms encircle his waist, holding on tight. after a long moment wherein not a single gang member breathed, he lifted his head from where he'd instinctively tucked it against Steve's throat and sent a cold look at the guy who shoved his Steve

[shouyuus]

18+, college roommate!vi cinematic universe thigh-riding, questionable vape-usage, oral (vi receiving), smut with a fluffy ending

"s-sweet fuck, pretty girl -- j-just -- just like that --"

you let out a soft whimper, rutting your hips over her flexed thigh, whining as she leans back, a palm resting on your waist, the other clutching her hot pink vape, bringing it up to her lips for a long hit before tugging you down, blowing the dragonfruit-flavored smoke into your mouth.

you suck in, tasting the bright tang of the vape smoke as your pussy clenches, your clit throbbing as you chase your orgasm, grinding down over vi's leg as she groans thick in the back of her throat, her eyes dark and hazed out as she watches you with parted lips.

"like -- like that?" you ask, your voice high and desperate even as vi bites her lips, letting her head fall back against the wall of her room, her cheeks high with color as you reach down and wedge a hand between your bodies, slipping your fingers under the waistband of her boy shorts to thumb clumsily at her clit. she keens, fingers digging into your waist as she jerks you against her, your juices now so sticky on her thighs that it squelches every time you rut your hips forwards and back.

"fuck -- yeah... mm --" she shifts, hoisting you further up just to meld her mouth with yours, licking into your mouth as your pace stutters and you groan, fingers clutching at her shoulders, her biceps, steadying yourself on her arms as she kisses a harsh line down your neck, sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your throat. "shit, you're so -- so hot, so pretty--"

"vi -- vi -- m'so close --" your lashes flutter as you feel the familiar twist in your gut, the warm already spilling through your limbs.

she chuckles, "c'mon princess --" she tugs on your chin, blowing another puff of smoke in your face, smirking when your breath hitches, "look at me -- wanna see your face when you fuck yourself stupid on my thighs --"

the tension in your belly snaps, your whole body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. and vi -- she guides you through it, groaning out long and low as she feels you twitch over her, your cunt squeezing around nothing as you ride out your own orgasm against her. you eyes flicker but she keeps you upright, forcing you to look at her even as the edges of your vision fizz out into white sparks of pleasure.

she kisses you as you come down, grinning at the way you whine when she pulls away for another hit of the vape, opening her mouth as you press back in, your fingers finding the soaked folds of her cunt, pressing in, her kissing you as smoke wreathes out the corners of your mouths. you trade the same breath back and forth till you lose count, till you can't figure if the sweetness is the smoke or just the tingling addiction of her mouth on yours.

"mm... wow, princess -- that was --" she hiccups as you press a line of sloppy kisses down her neck, the pale, lamp-kissed bend of her shoulder, the small divot between her breasts, pausing to lave your tongue over her nipples, the piercings there cold as you suck them between your soft lips. your revel in the way she gasps then, the way her fingers bite into your skin.

you reach up wordlessly to tug the vape from her slack fingers, her eyes half-lidded and alight with a loose, liquid hunger as she watches you work down the length of her body.

"you're so wet, vi..." you murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone, smiling up at her as you tug on the waistband of her boyshorts. she lifts her hips, her cheeks darkening as she clears her throat.

"yeah well -- 's not like you can blame me -- oh shit --"

her head thunks back against the wall as you dig your nose into the thin trail of hair that leads to her sopping folds, the slick there glistening in the wane light. you only allow yourself a second to admire her before bringing the vape to your lips and sucking in a breath of the synthetically sweet smoke, and then you're lowering your mouth to her and pressing your tongue into her slow, moaning long and loud, your eyes fixed on her face, watching for the twitch of her lips, the slack in her jaw.

"jesus christ -- mm-mngh --!"

you fight back a grin as she whimpers, her thighs tightening on either side of your face. her fingers dig through your hair as she forces her eyes open to look down at you, an open, needy expression on her face that you doubt she'd willingly show to anyone else. but the knowledge that you can bring her to such pleasure quickens your own pulse and drives you forward as you give her clit a hard suck and she keens again -- that gorgeous, high, helpless sound even as she presses you harder against her folds and jerks against your face, guiding you into a rhythm that suits her needs.

"fuck, fuck, fuck princess --" she lets out a string of incoherent swears as you feel her shove your face into her harder and harder, and all you can do is offer up your mouth, your tongue, anything and everything you can till she shakes apart above you, her release coating your lips and dripping down your chin.

you lap at it hungrily, savoring the salty-sweet-tang even as she finally relaxes her thighs and you manage to pull yourself up for a breath. your face is sticky, and honestly, so is she, but her laughter is warm when she tugs you up to give you a lingering kiss.

your head is a smoke-filled euphoria of half-formed thoughts as the pair of you collapse, boneless, sweaty, and sated onto her messy sheets. she kicks off her boyshorts, leaving her just as naked as you already were as she curls around you, her arms solid and strong, yours curled against her chest, your fingers splayed over the smooth expanse of her skin, tracing abstract shapes as you turn to face her.

"you got somethin' on your face there, sweets," she says, rubbing at thumb down your slick-covered chin. you crinkle your nose, turning to wipe your face messily against her bicep even as she laughs.

"mm... why didn't we do this sooner?" you ask, curling into her, your faces inches apart.

"what, this like -- smoke each other out and have amazing, mind-blowing sex?" vi asks, grinning.

you giggle, shaking your head, "no! i mean -- well, yes, but like... this.." you reach out and cup her cheek, the touch so gentle it stills you both.

vi sighs, shrugging, "dunno, cupcake. i -- i guess i was caught up in..." her eyes cast about her room, the band posters and hand-scribbled workout notes tacked to her wall, "in wondering if you -- if you felt the same about me, i just..."

you purse your lips around a burgeoning smile, "you just... forgot to ask me?"

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever. we get it -- you had to make the first move but --" her eyes soften, and so does her voice, "at least we're here now, right?"

"mm," you nod, inching closer, "and we've still got another six months left on the lease."

"six months is a long time," vi says, her voice husky as she rubs a thumb along your cheek.

"yeah... plenty, if we're trying to make up for lost time but..." you hesitate over a held breath, "what happens after?"

"after... we both graduate?"

"yeah."

for a moment, vi's silent. and all around you, the future stretches out like the moonless night, tendrils of shadow reaching like spindled fingers into the unknown future.

"after that... i go wherever you go, cupcake."

you blink, eyes meeting hers, a startled spark of uncertainty rising within you.

"you..."

vi smiles, a crooked, honest thing of lips and teeth. she hooks her ankles around yours and presses your foreheads. her hand comes up to caress the back of your neck.

"if you think i'll ever let you go again after all that... you've got another thing comin', princess."

you let out a relieved laugh, leaning in for a kiss.

"right. i guess the orgasm really was that good, huh?"

vi laughs too then, a soft, breathy sound.

"sure. but really... i mean it. i'm yours, cupcake. for as long as you'll have me."

your lashes flutter; your heart skips. then, you're the one pulling her in for a kiss, one that's sweet as it is consuming. the skin-scalding simmer of a long-burning flame, a spark catching hold on a breath of summer wind.

"i might not be a theoretical physicist, but from what i've heard, forever is a really long time," you say. and vi, to her credit, only takes a second before understanding blossoms in her eyes and she pulling you to her, crushing you in a stomach-turning embrace.

"you're my everything, princess. you know that?"

you bury your face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in. the room smells like sex and sweat and the soft perfume of your shared shampoo. you grin, a giddy heat pluming up your chest to coil at the back of your throat.

"and you're mine, vi."

vi puffs out a breath, her voice just a tiny bit shaky as she cradles your head in her palm.

"yeah. i know, sweets. i know i am."

[syluses]

you are such a talented writer—literally art through words

i have got to ask: how was/is sylus during your pregnancy? how does he feel seeing your body change to accommodate growing his big babies?

also, does she end up giving him a girl? do they end up having even more? 🤭

ohhh thank you dear thats so sweet to hear!! 🥹💖 pls take this lil drabble as a long answer lol :,) [based off this fic] CW: slight yandere, pregnancy, suggestive, dubious feelings

hehe OKAY so sylus is super attentive to mc we’ve established that!! also i don’t wanna say he falls more in love with you bc that’s quite literally impossible- he’s already down atrocious. but that’s not to say something inside him doesn’t soften and melt into a puddle whenever he sees your belly bump or rubs it reverently with his hand. your pregnancy both reminds him to be strong, to be that one grounding force in your life, the thing both you and your blossoming family can lean on- but at the same time it brings the epiphany that he’s just a man at the end of the day… and if one thing will make him weak, it’s his wifey <3

but to concisely answer your question: sylus is possessive, yes- hawk-like in the way he watches over you, but he’s also very soft. he knows and hates that he can’t be around the base all the time for you (if life was simpler, he’d be glued to your side 24/7), especially when you’re at your most vulnerable, too big to properly move, hormonal and requiring some sort of aid- emotional or physical- around the clock.

luke and kieran help where they can and sylus silently entrusts that they’ll hold the fort down while he’s gone, but even then, papa isn’t the keenest on the idea of the boys lingering around you for long periods of time,… especially when he isn’t there as well. it’s not that he worries they’ll make some sort of move on you or anything (God knows they’d sooner wish death upon themselves than to lay a hand on sylus’s girl), but more so that you’ll grow a little too lenient on them. he’s not an incredibly jealous guy,.. but the streak is certainly there.

sylus thinks there’s something undeniably intimate in it as well: his beautiful wife pregnant with his kin, relying solely and fully on him. it deepens your bond, and your trust in him (and ultimately your affection, he hopes).

oh and seeing your body change and reshape itself to accommodate his kids ABSOLUTELY drives him crazy. you’ll be insecure and whatnot, subconsciously trying to wrap yourself in baggy clothes (his massive wardrobe making that very convenient), walking around the manor with a blanket draped over your shoulders, not meeting his eyes when sylus inevitably can’t keep his hands off for any longer and brings you to bed. but he’ll kiss away those tears you can’t help from falling and croon at your ear, his hands will appreciatively roam over all those new curves you loathe and he’ll be super super gentle when he fucks you... tell you the sweetest things- purring reassurance in that velvety, deep voice of his as his lips meld lovingly with yours.

seeing you a lil plump, extra soft and vulnerable- round with his children- makes it near impossible to keep a level head around you but he does his best. you’re always the priority, even when it feels like he’ll cum in his pants like a teenager when you slot yourself in his arms and bashfully guide his big hands toward your aching, swollen breasts. someone is standing at attention immediately.

ahem. also… this outcome can be imagined in another way, that’s completely fine wit me— but in my head, sylus DOES end up getting the precious baby girl he wanted. is he satisfied? oh one hundred freakin percent. for… how long? eh. maybe anywhere from half a year to twelve months before that baby fever kicks right back in and puts reader on her ASS. poor exhausted woman is furious at him for constantly nudging her towards having a bigger family; but to be fair, sylus won’t actually voice those returning wants until weeks or months down the line, for that exact reason. he doesn’t wanna piss her off too bad haha.

this time around he’ll try to cushion the blow by saying ‘oh but we have two boys and only one girl- we need just one more to tie the numbers up. our little sweetheart will hate us if we don’t give her someone to play dolls with, dont you think?’ or some nonsense like that. im sorry but to me, sylus wants a big family. i dunno i just think that man WANTS DESPERATELY for mc to domesticate his crazy ass!!! a bunch of trifling lil toddlers scampering around his home seems like a great way to do that! i mean, if not, what else would his house be so massive for? honestly, you’d both just be wasting the space otherwise :(

in any case, your mean pouty face can’t fool sylus. you absolutely adore those little ragamuffins he gave you and will give you. there’s no denying that. <3

[daisynik7]

Nanami is so used to treasuring you, treating you delicately like the sweet, precious gem that you are. It catches him completely off guard when one night, after he vents about work, you ask for him to be very rough with you. “Take it out on me, honey. Be as rough as you like. I can take it.”

He’s speechless at first, taken aback by the unusual request in the middle of him undressing from his office attire. He doesn’t notice that his signature tie is coiled tightly around his fist, button-up undone, revealing his brawny figure beneath his fitted undershirt. He has no clue how sexy he is right now, veins bulging from his beefy fingers, brows furrowed in a scowl, still frustrated from today’s nuisance at work. It’s a different side of him you usually don’t see, and maybe that’s why you’re so intrigued by it. You want to test him, see how hard he can give it you. 

It takes a while for him to agree to it; he can’t imagine being even the slightest bit mean to his darling angel. But the further and further you badger him about it, tugging on his cuff, begging please, please, please, the more convinced he is to just do it. So, per your request, he pins your wrists together against your back, knotting his tie around them, locking you in a compromising position. You nestle your head into the pillow, knees digging into the mattress, ass sticking up, completely vulnerable. The anticipation already has your pussy fluttering. 

He lies beneath you, eating you out first, slurping and sucking on your clit until your cunt is wet with your first orgasm, sleek enough for him to enter you smoothly. He kneels behind you, teasing your entrance with his fingers, feeling how juicy you are for him. He hums, satisfied, guiding his cock slowly inside you until he bottoms outs, groin pressed firmly to your ass. His thrusts are slow at first, easing into it to allow you to adjust to his size. But when you provoke him with a Is that the best you got? I know you can do better than that, he doesn’t hold back any longer. He grabs your wrists, pinning your shoulders back while he pumps himself deep inside you, bullying your sweet spot until you’re flooded with his cum. “You like it rough, don’t you, sweetheart? You like having this sloppy cunt filled with my seed. I’m gonna keep giving it to you until I’m milked dry and there’s nothing left. Understand?”

You can only nod, gasping when he starts fucking you again, still just as hard inside you, drilling into you until he gives you a second and third creamy load, relishing your unabashed moans echoing off the bedroom walls. When he finally pulls out of you, he watches his cum leak out of you, dripping onto the sheets. You collapse onto the bed, arms sore from being stretched out, wrists raw from the grip of his tie, pussy ragged by his intense pummeling. And the biggest fucking smile on your face, already looking forward to the next time he has a bad day at work. 

[yearninflowers]

Imagine...

Sunday loving you so much.

Rumours will always surround every renowned person in the world, whether that someone is the nicest person ever or even the opposite of that. But somehow, for your friend, Sunday, whom almost everyone in Penacony City knows, the rumours surrounding him didn't always make a lot of sense. Shouldn't one or two be true, or at least close to a truth, though?

You eventually began to ask him frequently if something stirred in his community.

It was mostly just for fun, however.

“Sunny, is this true?”

And as always, he would smile, reassuring you that none of the rumours surrounding him were true.

Sunday would first laugh at the absurdity of the rumours before patting your head and telling you to always confirm where the rumours even started. If not most, then all of them were always coming from some unknown source and were just following to create even more nonsense, said him. That would shut you up real quick, not that you would start to distrust him if a rumour popped up.

However, one particular rumour shook you off quite a bit.

A rumour about him having relations with a cult. An anonymous sender had thrown out a couple of blurred pictures as ‘evidence’ and uploaded them to a fairly well-known account used to share anonymous messages.

It was absurd, but you still asked.

“Sunny,” you called out his name, your phone hovering open to the account that shared the rumour. Once your friend notices your call, you let him take a look at your phone. “There's a rumour saying you have relations with a cult; is it… uh, true?”

This time, Sunday didn't immediately smile. He didn't reassure you right away. His face looked unlike what you knew of him.

He... he looks scary—

It took at least a few seconds before he did his usual smile and reassured you that none of the rumours surrounding him were true. He began to laugh like always, patting your head like always, telling you to check the source like always.

And like always too, you believed him. After all, it's the usual absurd rumour, right?

Before you eventually swallow the whole rumour as wrong information, Sunday had a hard time keeping up his facade. His smile twitched unusually more, and his hands trembled unknowingly. It felt weird, the feelings inside his heart, but he wasn't too bothered by it. In fact, he even welcomed it.

Truth be told, it wasn't fear that was holding him restricted.

It was excitement.

Sunday is dying to let you know that you are his sole Providence, the only being in the whole world he would pray to. He could go days without stopping—not even a short rest—to bask in his devotion for you. He will gladly do anything to make you happy.

Unfortunately for him, you've yet to know of his faith; you're still so clueless about his blatant favouritism. It's alright, though; Sunday is quite keen on teaching his deity how to receive his love one day.

“It's quite a slander to accuse me of being in a cult," He let out a small laugh. "But I assure you, (Y/n), I would never be a part of something as eerie as that.”

After all, the only being he would ever worship is you.

But for now, he'll play the part of being your very perfect friend, slowly wrapping you into the warm embrace of divinity. You'll know soon enough that you are worth more than just being his 'friend'. You, yourself, are already surrounded by the evidence of his devotion in its truest form:

His love.