#the drabble tag

[batsybat91]

Ghost never talks about his home life. He never tells anyone anything. Not even Soap knows what goes on in Ghost's house. He knows that Ghost comes to bars. That he comes to work. But between the work and boys' night, nobody knows anything about him.

That is until Ghost has a little too much to drink one night and can't drive himself home. Soap had been the DD that night, so he asks Ghost for his address. Ghost reluctantly gives it to him after a few minutes of badgering and begging. The drive to Ghost's little townhouse near the base is peaceful.

The first thing Soap notices is that the lights are on. The second thing he notices is the flower bed by the pathway to the door. As Soap helps Ghost out of the passenger seat, he finds himself staring at the flowers. "When did you become a gardener, mate?" Soap asks.

"Huh- wot?" Ghost slurs.

"The flowers, Simon," he clarifies.

"Oh, the old lady planted them," replies Ghost, stumbling over a decorative brick. The brick shatters and crushes the flowers nearby. Soap tucks himself under Ghost's arm, supporting his weight as much as possible.

"The old lady, eh? Like a... neighbor or somethin'?" Soap prods.

He shakes his head. "No, no, my girl."

"What." Soap's jaw drops. He's standing at Ghost's door, hand on the knocker, but he finds himself unable to move. "You have a bird?"

"She ain't a bird," Ghost grumbles, swaying where he stands.

Soap finally manages to get himself to knock on the door, still holding Ghost up like a crutch. Sure enough, a pretty little thing answers the door in a nightgown.

You see Simon with his mask half-on and a stranger with a mohawk supporting him. You assume the mohawk man is one of the mates he goes to the bar with on Fridays. Simon must've had a bit too much tonight because usually he drives himself home when he's sobered up.

"Um, hello," you say tentatively.

"Hi, angel," Simon slurs at you.

"Hush, you're too drunk to call me an angel," you scold. "How much did he have to drink?"

"My name's Johnny, by the way," the man says, surprisingly Scottish. "I'm not sure. Four or five pints? A couple shots? The footie game was tonight and we got a wee bit excited."

"Oh, he's gonna be so hungover and cranky tomorrow," you mutter. "Come inside, Johnny. Help me get him to the couch."

"Not the bed?" Simon whines.

"You're in trouble, mister," you reply curtly.

Johnny spins around in the living room of your house like he's visiting a museum. He clearly didn't expect a house so cottage-y from a man like Simon. Paintings of flowers hang on the walls. A throw blanket and two pillows are on each couch. A TV is mounted to the wall over a short bookcase.

"This is right beautiful, mate," Johnny chuckles.

"She decorated it!" Simon replies proudly. "It's somethin' special, innit?"

"Shut it. Still in trouble for crushing my flowers and coming home pissfaced," you snap. "Johnny, welcome to our home. Simon will still be here in the morning if you want to check on him."

"I didn't know Ghost had a girlfriend," he whispers.

"Girlfriend?! I'm his fiancée! He didn't tell you about me?" you scoff. "Simon, you are in so much trouble!"

"Fiancée," Johnny breathes. "I didn't think it possible."

Part II

Part III

[lustjunkiie]

thinking of old, retired!simon riley who hangs out pubs in his free time. he’s a tank of muscle, with a soft layer of fat over it all. he’s got the peak dad bod, and he’s a bit tanner than he was from working in his back garden. his tattoos are lining his body and he is scrumptious.

and he meets you. young little thing, sweetest bird he’s ever seen. shining, soft grins and plump, curvy edges.

he nearly drops to his knees to pray for you to grace him with your presence when you do it on your own volition. he forgot he was even playing blackball, the cue still held tightly in his hand. he was just practicing, just a hobby.

“mm, can ye teach me how to play?” you ask, and you’ve got a thicker accent than he does. he drinks it up, with a straw and all. he nods, handing you a freshly chalked cue.

you struggle enough to learn the mechanics for him to decide to stand behind you, front pressed to your back as he bends you over with his body weight — one hand on your waist and the other steadying your cue as you aim to break.

fuck. he’s so hot, burning even through your skimpy dress. his voice rumbles in your ear,

“c’mon, birdie, just steady y’rself. even out yer breathin’.” he instructed, as patient as ever.

you beat him when you guys actually started playing! yay! and then… you decided to make a silly little bet.

“if you can beat me,” you whispered in his ear, liquid temptation mixed with the way you were pulling him by his shirt collar down to your level — you knew he could easily beat you — “i’ll go home with you.”

simon has never won a game of blackball so fast.

[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 by 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 for the night.” 

(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 07.22.2025.

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.

[nanamisbbygirl]

whenever you sleep over at toji's place you end up falling asleep in one of his old black t-shirts, void of the panties you entered with. it doesn't matter what you're doing the next day, if you have lectures or a shift a work, it's a very familiar routine.

you always wake up against his morning wood, subconsciously rocking back on him until he's so fed up with your slutty behavior that he has to nudge you awake.

"rise 'n shine, kiddo." he grumbles with that familiar groggy morning voice. you groan, not wanting to wake up just let, but he only continues "you slept in, you're gonna be late for class."

"i don't care," you mutter, "can you give me a ride?"

"not today, princess, got called in for a job." you groan again, wiggiling towards his dick. toji only grunts, "nope, no time for that right now. whaddya want to eat?"

"you."

"be serious, no brat talk right now." you huff at his sternness. he can see your little pout and tries making it up to you, "later, i promise. now really, should i make a bagel?"

"yes please," you hum.

"you got it," he gives your butt a smack, "now get your lazy ass up."

part two

[zephyrchama]

Mammon is highly possessive of you. It shows in all gestures big and small. From insisting you take the window seat so you're less visible from the train aisle, to wresting you away from his slimy brothers when they get too close. He takes out predatory loans to buy you a little something when you're feeling down. Usually treats and getaways. They're rumored to bring lovers closer together when shared, but you don't need to know about that. He reminds you that he's your first - that means he needs to be the priority in your life. Don't you forget it.

Mammon is also incredibly tsundere. "Whaddya think you're doing!?" he'll exclaim, pushing you away. His cheeks are as red as his savings account. "Tryin' to worm your way into my arms like that? Ain't never heard of a human as bold as you."

Except, he forgets that he's the one who grabbed you. Curled his arms protectively around you and pulled you into his chest as if shielding you from rains of hellfire. Guarded you from prying eyes of lesser beings and swept you away somewhere more secluded, all because a random salesman grabbed your shoulder. Only he's allowed to touch you like that. Only when his heart is ready.

[sexlapis]

obsessed with the idea of nanami just putting you on his lap whenever he gets the chance 💭

watching tv? you’re on his lap watching whatever he’s watching. working at his desk in his office? you’re on his lap watching him scribbling all over random paper work you couldn’t care less about. you’re playing video games? you’re on his lap just because he wants to watch you play the game you like spending his money on. you’re on the phone? he’s putting you one his lap, so now you’re both on the phone. you’re doing work? yeah, you’re on his lap and his chin is looking over your shoulder to admire your writing. you just got back from work? he’s putting you in his lap and listening to you talk about your boss and annoying coworkers.

just nanami putting you on his lap whenever he wants to!

ps i made a little fic abt it <3

[thewritingfairy]

જ⁀➴Father's day

trigger warnings: self-harm, petty Reader, isolated Reader main m.list    series m.list      good ending m.list

Fathers day has always been a big event for the Wayne’s, while most of his children don’t take him that seriously nor have a good relationship with him they always got together and did something for Bruce.

However, his first biological child, (Name), would rather eat glass than celebrate Father day.

However when they expressed this to their siblings and Alfred, they scoffed. Telling you to put your anger aside for at least today.

So you smiled during the dinner, but you didn’t give him anything. No instead, you smashed your glass and ate a few shards.

Duke too shocked to react, Dick too slow to stop you, Jason scared to even move, Cassandra holding Damian back from doing anything rash, Barbara quickly cleaning up the remaining glass with Stephanie and Alfred rushing to get the medical supplies.

Bruce? What does Bruce? He just stood there.

This day, he isn’t reminded of what as great parent he is. No, he’s reminded of you being willing to die to leave this family.

Taglist: @justsaii, @bbmgirll, @cruzerforce4256, @frank-vanderboom, @lilyalone, @mat5u0, @blackheart1454, @wisefuncherryblossom, @lingxio, @c4xcocoa

[unkn0wng1rly]

ryomen sukuna

cw: bf!kuna x gf!reader, grumpy kuna, lover boy on the dl, random ahh story

nobody believed sukuna had a girlfriend.

he’d mentioned it in passing once to his friends. their reactions?

“wait wait.. come again?” suguru choked on his drink, sitting up a little bit.

satoru burst into fits of laughter, clutching at his side while his childish giggles filled suguru’s basement.

across the room by the sofa toji raised his eyebrows. “what drugs did you give her to make her date you? or maybe you’re blackmailing her.”

it was the night before their first big ice hockey game of the season at their college and instead of prepping, they were drinking away and smoking pot.

all of his friends tore him a new one and teased and poked fun at him the whole rest of the evening while he growled and shouted at them to shut up.

sukuna was surprisingly not as aggressive as he normally would be about false claims which made them wonder a little bit what his girlfriend was like.

after cussing everyone out thoroughly, sukuna left a little early, going home and heading straight to bed.

the following day, sukuna and the rest of his team were on the ice, warming up by doing drills and stretching whilst the stands filled with watchers of both teams.

satoru slid his way over to sukuna, holding out his hand expecting a high five as he smirked that irritable smirk.

sukuna looked down and rolled his eyes as he sped up away from satoru, pushing harder against the ice.

“aww, you still mad about last night? y’know you don’t have to lie about having a girl, your looks are pretty much girl repellent anyway.” he snorted, suguru giggling behind his hand as he skated past them.

sukuna ignored the comments and manoeuvred the puck in-front of him with his hockey stick, practicing his handling.

his pink hair tousled underneath his helmet as he shifted on his feet, skating past a few of the players on the team they were playing against today.

he was focused on what was infront of him when his pink ears caught on to the conversation they were having.

“she’s bad as fuck, y’think if i asked for a good luck kiss she’d give me one?” the other guy laughed in the same annoying manner that satoru did.

“nah, she’s got a poster in her hands, bet she’s one of those fuckers bitch.”

sukuna’s head jerked a little but he remained zeroed in on the hockey puck. for a sliver of a moment he thought they may be talking about you, but he remembered specifically telling you not to come to his games.

it wasn’t that he didn’t want you there in the stands, but he didn’t want his teammates drooling all over you like he knew they would.

he was pacing up towards the goal, getting ready to make a shot when he heard something that made him halt aggressively, ice shavings flying around his ankles.

“sukuna!” a sweet sound he’d be able to recognise from miles away, his body reacted before he could even think, turning around, searching frantically for you.

and there you were.

his first thought was how beautiful you looked, but his second thought was why did you have to look so beautiful.

you wore a pretty little blue dress that barely covered your mid thigh, the same shade of blue as his jersey colour, your hair done up with a bow pinned at the back.

the smile that stole his heart was plastered on your face as you waved at him, a poster in your hands that read ‘go team’ in your cute bubble handwriting.

he ignored the looks of disbelief he got from just about everyone on the field, his only focus was you, skating over to the edge of the rink where you stood.

“y/n, ‘the hell are you doin here?” his voice is rough as he took his helmet off, holding it loosely in one hand as you throw yourself onto him, small frame mushed against his ridiculously large one.

instinctively, he hugged back, his buff arm slinked around your waist, taking in the smell of home, of you.

when toji brought the scene to satoru’s attention, who was still laughing about how angry sukuna was earlier, his smile fades comically and his eyes widen.

it looked so wrong. big old, tatted sukuna with a cute, soft thing like you. his aura would make people turn the opposite direction, what with those insanely coloured eyes, and then there was your vibe, frills and happiness.

“i know you told me not to come but i just really wanted to cheer you on for your first game.” pulling back from the embrace, you look up at him, showcasing the poster proudly.

he wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn’t find it in him. you looked so happy and he would rather kill himself than take that away from you.

when sukuna didn’t say anything but stare at you, you sighed and pursed your lips, your hand coming to run through his messed up helmet hair.

“i won’t come to all your other games, i promise.”

sukuna shook his head and pulled you in closer when you made a move to step back. given his silence, you thought he was ticked off at your presence.

“next time, write sukuna.” he frowned, watching the way your eyes lit up again after seeing he wasn’t mad.

you got up on your tip toes, planting a big kiss on his lips. “mwahhh” the pink gloss you wore transferred onto his mouth, the strawberry scented liquid shining on his mouth.

despite how obvious it was against his paler lips, he didn’t care. he took it as a token from his woman, he’d allow you to do all those stupid girly things to him.

even you yourself was surprised how lenient he was, but it was only because he was a fool for you, he was truly head over heels.

“and who’s this beautiful lady.”

sukuna was so caught up with you that he had forgotten he was due to play a game—with a bunch of pea brains at that.

gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he let go of you as he turned around, facing satoru, suguru and toji, his other teammates frolicking like idiots in the back.

he opened his mouth but you spoke before he could.

“hi! i’m sukuna’s girlfriend, you guys must be his friends he’s always talking about.” you blurt out freely, making suguru raise his eyebrows.

“you talk about us at home ‘kuna?” toji drawls in a teasing manner and sukuna doesn’t hesitate to bite back. “nothing nice, don’t worry.”

satoru takes off his helmet, his hair still somehow perfect underneath that helmet as he flashed pearly whites at you, you weren’t sure if it was his attempt to try swoon you.

he was still trying to figure out how sukuna managed to bag a cutie like you and why you willingly wanted to date him.

“well, i’m satoru, if this asshole bothering you can come to me, yeah?”

sukuna’s eyes flash, and you notice it and quickly try to mediate before he got angry.

only you knew the extent of his possessiveness, and it reached out quite far. he tried to come off stand offish about things like that but his body often reacted before his mind did.

he just felt like it should be basic, common knowledge. you’re his, only his, everybody else should rip their eyeballs out in your presence

your hand curls around sukuna’s gloved one, he could feel the warmth of your touch through the thick material.

“thanks, but i think it’s the other way around, maybe you should offer him help instead of me.” you speak so sweetly it almost doesn’t register that you just rejected his attempt to smooth talk you.

suguru laughs at the way you shut down satoru in the politest way possible, the playboy who seemingly got everyone he ever wanted.

sukuna looked down at you again, feeling a sudden, childish, urge to show off to his dumb friends that you were his, that you hadn’t wanted any of them except him.

without thinking much, he grabbed your chin and gave a firm, claiming kiss on your soft, pink and glossed up lips. you were initially surprised but melted immediately into his lips.

you could tell that it was less about passion and more about making a statement, but you were happy either way.

the black haired man with a scar on his lips whistled and patted satoru on the back condescendingly.

“nice try bud.”

when he pulled away, his lips were more shinier than last time, but he still didn’t care. in fact, part of him wanted to kiss you just so he could taste that intoxicating lip gloss of yours again.

“i better hear you cheering me on.” sukuna gruffed, he was like a moody toddler who tried to pretend to be angry even when he was all giddy on the inside.

you were happier than ever, eyes creased up as you nodded. “good luck babe, good luck boys!”

a bummed out satoru skated away, suguru trying to console his ego whilst toji winked at you before leaving with sukuna, bombarding him with questions about you that he’d never answer.

this was precisely why he didn’t want you near his friends or at his games.

but knowing you were in the crowd, cheering him on, gave him a sense of comfort only you could offer him.

you were his soft spot, he knew it, you knew it, and now his friends did too.

it was also, by nobody’s surprise, that sukuna’s team won by a mile, sukuna being the mvp.

his friends teased him, saying he was showing off for you, but he didn’t even bother much to deny it, leaving them and skating up to you where you were screaming and clapping, all for him.

sukuna could barely get off the ice before you were kissing him everywhere on his face and hugging him.

although he tried to act like you were doing too much and made a pathetic effort to move away from your kisses, he had a singular thought at the back of his mind as he smirked slightly.

he could get used to this.

[imheretoreadafic]

Alfred steps into the cave after getting an alert that someone was in there. Bruce is halfway through tearing off his button up shirt.

Alfred raises a brow and asked in a measured voice, "I thought you were taking the night off to see the circus act, sir?"

Bruce freezes for a second before returning to frantically undress and get into his bat suit. "Uh, the ropes snapped. Two dead. Foul play suspected."

"Oh, goodness me, that's horrible."

"Yeah - oh! I need you to pick up the things on this list." Bruce shoved a crumpled piece of paper towards him. Alfred took it calmly, scanning the contents, pausing when all of the items were... for a child?

"Master Bruce," he begins calmly "why do you need children's clothes?"

Bruce paused for the slightest second, clearly hearing him and then deciding to ignore him and instead start putting on his gauntlets. "I'm not going to be home until late. I need to investigate the scene with Gordon."

"Master Bruce, why do you need a step stool?"

"And then we need to conduct interviews with each of the circus members - "

"Master Bruce, why do you need children's vitamin gummies?"

" - which will take a while because they're all, reasonably, very upset at the moment. Anyway, I'll be back by 6 am to make it to that meeting. I may need to do it without sleep, but it's fine." Bruce said as he started to move towards the Batmobile.

Alfred’s eye twitched. "Sir, why do you need these things? Sir? Si - BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE!" he snapped. Bruce froze and turned around slowly.

"Do you think ignoring me will make the fact that you're buying things for a child go away?!"

".... I was hoping it would.."

[batsybat91]

"No, no, no, you have to believe me!!" Soap argues with Gaz. "He has a little fiancée who lives in a cottage with him! She planted flowers in his walkway! And she scolded him for crushing them when he was piss drunk!"

"Ghost doesn't even like flowers," Gaz sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this is the hundredth time he's heard this. Maybe it is, knowing Soap. "Not unless they're dead, I reckon."

"I swear it on me mum and me sisters!" Soap exclaims, raising his right hand as if swearing on the Bible. "She had a little bookcase under her telly, and embroidered throw pillows on the couches! With blankets softer than anythin' I have ever seen!"

"Enough!" Price grumbles, sitting up from his chair like a father who has heard enough bloody arguing. "Soap, stop making up stories. Gaz, stop instigating shit."

"No, no! Cap, you gotta believe me!" Soap begs. "She answered the door in a pink slip gown! She had paintings of flowers on her walls! With butterflies!"

"Oh, aye, and d'ya suppose she had curlers in her hair?" Price snorts. "I've been to Ghost's house, Soap. It has movie posters, pinup girls, and ashtrays. Nothing like what you're saying."

"How long ago was that?!" Soap exclaims, throwing his hands in the air.

"I'd say about two years ago," hums Price, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

Just then, Ghost walks into Price's office, where the boys had been idly chatting. Price offers him a cigarette, which Ghost refuses. "My lady asked me to stop smokin'," he grunts. "Started chewin' gum instead."

"Oh, right." Gaz tosses a crumpled sticky note at Ghost. "You and Soap are trying to play a prank on us, innit?"

"It's real!" Soap shouts, exasperated.

"What's real?" Ghost crosses his arms.

"The woman at your house! In the pink nightie with the pretty eyes and the flowers!" Soap points at him with an accusing finger. "Your fiancée."

Ghost just shrugs and makes a noncommittal noise. Price and Gaz are still looking at Soap like he needs to be locked up in an asylum.

"Johnny, I'm going to ask this gently," Gaz begins. "Are you bloody mental?! Makin' up a story like this?"

"It's not!" Soap whines. "She's real! She told me I could check on him the next morning after he got shite-faced at the bar!"

"She give you a kiss on the cheek too?" Gaz mock-pouts at Soap.

"She better not have," Ghost growls.

All three heads turn to look at him in unison, the argument falling silent. "What?" Price and Gaz ask while Soap leaps out of his chair.

"I fucking-! I fucking told you so!" he stammers. "Tell 'em, Ghost!"

Ghost shakes his head. "Keepin' her safe, Johnny. Not that you'd understand that."

Part I

Part III

Tags: @xylov, @just-lilita

[lustjunkiie]

i have baby fever so…

Single Dad!Simon Riley whose daughter is so sweet.

You, a sweet and humble hairdresser in your salon which you’ve bought and built from the ground yourself, having a walk-in appointment with a 6’4” hulking man, and his most precious angel. A black surgical mask covering his jaw, mouth and nose.

His little angel, who you learn to be Amelia, climbs into your chair with the cutest grunts of struggle and eventually a triumphant sigh. Her dad, in his effortlessly silky, gruff voice, explains that her hair is now down to her knees practically and he needs help. Her mother left when she was young and he’s only ever had one brother.

You chuckle softly and nod, and his daughter looks up at you after you explain that you’ll be trimming her gorgeous hair and demonstrating some simple braiding techniques to her father, and in the tiniest, cutest little Londoner accent:

“Thank you for helping my Daddy.” You nearly burst into tears at her shining hazel eyes and her big, toothy smile. You nod and begin sectioning her hair after placing a pink apron over her front. She beams to her Dad, “Look! She gave me pink!” He laughs and his eyes shine with pride. She’s so good at communicating, even though she barely looks five. She’s so adorably tiny, too.

At the end of the appointment, Simon has learned three different braid styles. He’s a natural, you assure him. You curl his daughter’s hair just before she leaves, and she does a little dance around the place in her princess dress. Her dad picks her up, and he smiles at you. Thanking you in that knee-weakening voice of his. He promises he’ll be back with any hair concerns, and he even tips you extra.

Before he leaves, his daughter points at you and asks if he can take you home. He responds, without missing a damn beat:

“Mm, only if she wants to come home with us.” He winks at you for good measure.

You think that maybe that idea isn’t so bad.

[ryumean]

flirting with someone else for a mission jjk men as your loving, protective bf ♡

[ jjk smau ]

18+ mdni. suggestive, crack, mention of death and violence.

synopsis: you have to flirt with ur target for your mission to be successful. jjk men as your bf ♡ including: gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, choso, and toji.

[randomfandomworks]

You pushed the eyeshadow palette to the side as Rumi laid below you, watching you decide on what to do next. You’d been bugging her for a while now about designing her show makeup and it was on this dull day in the middle of their break that she had finally agreed.

It wasn’t professional, or high effort, it was simply an idol and her partner sprawled out in bed. The weight of your chest laid on hers, your elbows propping you up just enough to look down at her as you created your masterpiece. You placed some blush to her cheeks, a light dust of color to finish off what you’d been working so hard on.

You set the blush aside, readjusting your weight to look down at Rumi once more, your eyes wandering over her features to take in what you had created. Halfway through your observations you stopped, your gaze lingering on her patterns. Slowly you brought your hand up, brushing your fingers over the patterns that spread across her forehead. Your eyes traced the movement memorizing the shape as your fingers ran along her skin.

“I’m glad you don’t cover them up.” You spoke softly, your fingers moving further up to tuck back some of her loose hairs.

She looked at you silently for a moment, watching you focus, holding onto the gentleness within your stare. “Yeah?” She responded, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, bringing your hand down to cup her cheek, “Yeah.” You finalized meeting her gaze.

A warmth settled in her chest, something about you, your acceptance of what she’d tried to hide for so long, made her fall even harder for you.

And maybe, she thought after a moment, you’d have to do her makeup more often.

[satoblue]

your heart sinks with every nauseating tick of the clock, signaling the hours that pass until dinner.

satoru promised he’d be here on time no matter what and so you waited, yet you find yourself alone at the table, unable to stomach your food. with a heavy sigh, you store everything inside containers to put in the fridge, making sure to cover his plate in saran wrap for when he returned so he could heat it up, ignoring that dark voice in the back of your head that told you it wasn’t necessary because he might not be coming back to you at all.

shaking away the negative thoughts, you head to bed, only to toss and turn in your sheets for what feels like an eternity because oddly enough, it doesn’t feel the same. they’re colder than usual, unlike the home you’re used to, and perhaps that was because you normally could not sleep without him. but combined with the anxiousness and worry, it was practically impossible at this point, and somehow the warmth around you fades increasingly every moment he’s not here with you.

frustrated and fearful tears prick at your eyes, and you clutch his pillow close to your chest, inhaling the lingering scent of your husband and hoping it never fades. could this be it? would this finally be the day he doesn’t return back safely into your arms? the day you’ve dreaded ever since he made you part of his world?

in the deafening and unnatural silence, you think your ears play a trick on you when they pick up on a distant clattering down the hall from your bedroom. your eyes shoot open, breath hitching — and the beating organ in your chest stops for a second. perhaps it was the cat? or perhaps it was a trick from how loudly your heart thunders in your ears and chest. it does absolutely nothing to stop you as you slowly pad your way back into the dimly lit kitchen for the final time that night, seeking the hopeful confirmation that will breathe stability back into your lungs.

……..it was him. it was really him. he was back.

but he was hurt.

though you felt in that moment it was the least of your current concerns so you’d acknowledge that later. he seemed fine in the grand scheme of things. right now however, you felt more relief than anything — and maybe a little bit of anger. not at him though, never at him, not truly.

you felt frozen in place, watching as he rummages through the refrigerator. rubbing your eyes and blinking away the fatigue and tears, you try ensuring what you were seeing was reality and not just a figment of your imagination, your words stuck in your throat. in an attempt to stay strong, inevitably, your voice wobbles.

“you’re late.”

and satoru, that idiot, whips his head to face you with wide eyes, straightening up at the sight of you before flashing a sheepish grin in response despite the numerous cuts littering his pretty face, rubbing the back of his neck in the way that he does when he’s at a loss for words. and maybe he is, maybe because he almost just died, and yet instead of coming to greet you and tell you that he’s safe (for the most part) — instead he decides to ravage the fridge, one scarred arm stuck in the cool rectangle like a child caught sneaking cookies from the jar.

“i know. i’m always late.” he breathes through an infuriating huff of laughter, as if everything was okay. “i told you i’d be home for dinner — and technically it’s not midnight just yet……so i still made it on time, right?”

he always has to have the last word.

[pixxlotl]

Going with the "Grian is the one who designed this game as opposed to the others" headcanon, it makes you think about the superpowers he gave his friends, how they were all laughing and having fun in the beginning, and that was intentional. It goes to show that even when forced to design the death game his friends are put through (a punishment for trying to usurp the Watchers time and time again), he still cares. They all know he's the one who designed this game, and he hopes they realize the little mercies he's giving them.

He gives Cleo the power to bring people back from the dead, just so he can have a chance to see his best friend again.

He gives Pearl the power to fly, and hopes she appreciates having her wings back, if only for a short time.

Jimmy gets to go invisible because Grian knows the Watchers aren't happy with the curse being broken. He wants to protect him.

As for Martyn? Grian doesn't really know a lot about what's going on with him and the Listeners, but he might as well try to strengthen that connection in the little ways he can without arising suspicion.

He says it himself in the beginning, "let's not forget this is a PVP series," but it sounds hollow even to his own ears. It's pandering to the watching eyes, making them think the lighthearted fun is all unintentional.

He falls out of the sky with the wings he gave to Pearl, and he wonders if the Watchers are starting to catch on.