#prompt fill request things

[allylikethecat]

would you consider putting kiss prompts on ao3? they are so good, they deserve to be kudosed and commented on

i would love 10 or 20 (thinking of g’s broken collarbones 🥹)

The more and more I think about it, the more I think that I will eventually move these prompts over to AO3 so that I can have them all in one place! I'm going to hold you to the commenting on them thing when I do though 😂 I'm so happy that you're enjoying them and think that they're worthy of being posted on AO3! I've filled #20 twice so far, and at the moment I am out of idea for that one. The previous fills can be found here and here. However, I hope you like my interpretation of #10! Thank you so much for reading and for sending in this request!

❤️Ally

10. Kiss ... desperately

George heard the key turn in the lock and was on his feet, rushing towards the front door before his brain could catch up to the fact that he was acting over eager. He slowed his pace, and took a deep breath. It had only been a week, Matty had only been gone a week. He tried not to think about how this was the longest they had been apart since Matty had gone to rehab.

He tried not to think about how those seven weeks had nearly broken him. How they had left him laying in their too big bed, crying himself to sleep each night. How he woke up alone each morning, and made two cups of coffee, before pouring the cup meant for Matty down the drain. How he went into the studio, and worked on client records as if nothing was the matter. How he turned down invitations to go out in favor of tearing their home apart, looking for each and every hiding place Matty might have had, and flushing his stash. Assuring his friends, assuring their brothers, that he was fine even as he sat alone, picking at a frozen dinner in front of a blackened TV screen like a ship lost at sea. 

He knew Matty had been sick, he knew that Matty needed to leave so that he could get better. He knew that to protect Matty’s dignity it wasn’t something that had been broadcast outside their inner circle. When Matty’s plane touched back down in London, George felt like he could breathe for the first time. He felt like had been watching the world pass him by in black and white, but with Matty’s return he was thrust back into tricolor, like Dorothy waking up in Oz. He had clutched him to his chest on the tarmac, his smaller body, while no longer frail, still fit perfectly against George’s own. He had breathed in the familiar scent of his hair, eucalyptus and peppermint mingled with cigarette smoke and the stale recycled airplane air. 

He hadn’t even realized he had been crying until Matty called him out on it, giving him a crooked, lopsided smile, full of false bravo and a “you missed me that much?” That had George slamming their mouths together desperately as if he could consume Matty with his love. In the six years that followed, they hadn’t been apart for more than forty eight hours. 

Matty had only been gone a week this time. He had been in New York, writing with Jack and Taylor. George had been invited, but had declined, Taylor was Matty’s friend, not his, and he had his own projects keeping him in London. It was good, it was healthy for them to have different friends, for them to spend time apart. He didn’t want to tell his therapist that being apart made him feel as if he was being torn to pieces from the inside out. He didn’t want to tell her that he missed Matty by his side like he missed a limb, phantom pains were Matty should have been riccoating through his heart. He was a big boy, he could handle his boyfriend leaving him for a week. It hadn’t even been a full week. Six days between Matty kissing him goodbye on the doorstep, and the sound of the key turning in the lock. 

The first day George had deep cleaned the house, eager to scrub and organize without Matty underfoot. The second day had been too quiet. The third day he let Mayhem up on the couch, digging his fingers into the dog’s scruff while he watched Drag Race rerun, wishing that it was Matty pressed into his side. The fourth day he slept in the guest room, hating the way he would reach out to Matty’s side of the bed and he wasn’t there. The fifth day he had gotten a pint with Ross, who started to tease him about missing his Missus, before he back tracked quickly when he saw the way George’s lip quivered.

Today was day six and Matty was on the doorstep, fumbling to get his key in the lock, it was raining and he was sure Matty hadn’t brought a coat, his wet fingers making the key slippery as he tried to twist the metal. The latch always stuck and Matty didn’t have the patience to jiggle it in just the right way. 

The door opened and Mayhem jumped off the couch he wasn’t supposed to be on, whizzing past George, barking happily as he slammed a hundred twenty pounds into Matty’s legs. He knew better than to jump but still knocked Matty off balance as he shook out his damp curls, causing him to bump into his suitcase, ending up in a heap on the floor, Mayhem licking his face. 

“Did you miss me buddy?” Matty asked, petting the dog enthusiastically before looking up at George with bright mischievous eyes. 

“Did you miss me?” he asked George, spying him lurking in the hallway like he had been waiting for his return. He looked up through his eyelashes and George closed the distance between them, shooing Mayhem away with his foot to haul Matty to his feet, pressing their lips together in a desperate, pressing kiss, backing Matty up against the wall, digging his fingers into his sides as he licked into his mouth as if he tried hard enough he could climb inside and they could become one. 

Matty chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest as Georged kissed his neck, licking and biting and sucking as if to mark him up, as if to show the world who he belonged to. 

“Something like that,” George said, pulling away from the underside of Matty’s jaw to press another kiss to his lips. “Something like that.”

[johnslittlespoon]

omg it was so hard to pick butttt could i request 1 and 2 from the smut dialogue list (list 3) with buck and bucky!

prompts | "i want to hear you beg" + "arch your back for me" + playing around with smth a little different for their dynamic <33 ~800 words of filth below the cut >:-) this was so much fun ahh thx sm for the request!!

“Oh, baby,” John rumbles appreciatively, sitting back to get a good look at Gale while he rolls his hips languidly into him. “Look at you.”

Golden hair frames Gale’s head on the pillow like a halo, blue eyes half hidden by heavy eyelids, doll–like lashes fluttering each time John sinks his cock in deeper. Messy love bites mark a trail south, scattered across his chest and stomach and increasing in numbers where angular hip bones and soft thighs had just begged for John’s teeth to make themselves at home.

Gale rocks his hips down, dragging his kiss–bitten bottom lip between his teeth to muffle a needy little noise as John’s eyes rake over him. That just won’t do.

John stills, wrapping firm hands around Gale’s thighs where they drape over his own, squeezing gently.

“Keep going,” Gale breathes out, eyebrows knit together in frustration, still trying to fuck himself on John’s cock.

John purrs out a laugh, heart twisting in his chest at the glare Gale shoots him; it’s hard to look intimidating when he’s laid out pliant and pretty and cock–drunk beneath him, but John doesn’t tell him so. He just snaps his hips forward once, watching with satisfaction when the scowl leaps off of Gale’s face as flushed lips fall open to let out a gasp.

“John,” Gale almost, almost whines when he makes no move to continue, lithe hands coming up to wrap around John’s wrists imploringly, and John hums thoughtfully, stroking his thumbs over Gale’s thighs.

“You need something?” He tilts his head, feeling a little thrill at the huff he gets in return.

Gale levels him with an unimpressed look, but the light flush that creeps over his cheeks betrays him.

“I want you to ask for it,” John murmurs. He grants Gale with the smallest roll of his hips to egg him on when he stays silent, and he feels his hands tighten around his wrists.

“Want you to fuck me, John.” 

And oh, that’s something– his cock twitches at the rare vulgarity, and judging by Gale’s sharp inhale, he feels it. But it’s not quite what John’s looking for.

“That’s good, baby,” he praises him, delighting in the way his flush deepens. He leans down, sliding his hands up Gale’s hips as he goes, settling them on his waist. He brushes his lips against Gale’s in a ghost of a kiss, trailing them along his jaw until he reaches his ear.

“But I wanna hear you beg for me, Gale,” he whispers. 

The immediate pressure around his cock as Gale reflexively clenches down has his head dropping into the crook of Gale’s neck momentarily, cursing under his breath. He can’t help but press his hips forward, needing just a bit of relief, sitting back up once he collects himself, determined to keep the upper hand.

“C’mon,” he rasps out, running his hands up and down Gale’s sides, fingers splaying over his ribcage. “I know you can do it, angel.”

Gale does whine this time, high and desperate in his throat, eyes slipping closed to hide from his own embarrassment. But–

“Please, John,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Need you.”

“Jesus, Gale,” John breathes, head spinning. “Good, so good, baby.”

John’s not going to push– that’s already a lot more than he’s usually able to goad out of Gale, and he’s going to unravel a lot quicker than he intends to if he keeps talking like that.

“Arch your back for me, pretty thing,” John prompts instead, beginning to shallowly fuck into him, and Gale does, tilting his head back on the pillow to bare his neck as his spine curves beneath John’s hands.

The sight nearly knocks the breath out of John, and he groans, sliding one hand under Gale to flatten his palm against the small of his back, feeling the way it flexes as he jerks his hips forward.

Gale cries out so sweetly when he really starts driving his cock into him, grasping desperately at John’s arms, face going slack as he finally gives him what he needs, and it gets to John like nothing else, forever dizzy with the knowledge that he gets to make Gale feel so good.

Dragging those pretty noises out of Gale and feeling him tremble because of him is what really does it for John every time, and it’s what inevitably has him tipping over the edge seconds after Gale spills over his stomach with a broken whimper.

John sinks his teeth into Gale’s collarbone just to feel him squirm beneath him as he fills him up, hands digging into his hips, rutting into him like he can bury his cock impossibly deeper, feeling nails scrabble at his back as the softest mewls escape Gale’s mouth.

He laves his tongue over the fresh indents in apology before lifting his head to capture Gale’s lips in a messy kiss, swallowing his gasps and sighs as he gives him a few more lazy thrusts, chest warm and fuzzy and lovestruck. 

John smiles into the kiss, and Gale laughs softly, and god, he’s going to be the death of him.

[wreckedandpolemic]

58 & 61 for white and gold matty when u get a chance, my beautiful friend !!!

- molly 🤍🤍🤍

(ilysm)

felt like a kiss - matty healy

(mdni) in which matty finds a new punishment for you. part of the white and gold universe. 2291 words.

warnings: daddy kink (duh), heavy degradation, mean mean dom!matty, impact play (belt), overstimulation, mild cumplay

Logically, you know that the situation you’re in right now is entirely your own fault. Nothing good ever comes out of teasing Matty, especially not when he’s already tightly-wound and ready to snap at any second. But he makes it so fun. It’s like a game to you, seeing how much you can make his jaw clench and his nostrils flare, his every movement a threat. That, and you fucking begged him to be meaner to you, stomach twisting in anticipation as anger radiates off him.

Matty doesn’t even kiss you when you get home, just grabs your jaw punishingly and forces your eyes to meet his. “Filthy slut,” he spits. “Should fuckin’ slap you for the way you behaved today.” Excitement tangles with fear under your skin. “Take your fucking clothes off, get on the bed and wait. Got it? Or are you too dumb for a simple fucking instruction?”

You pout. “No, Daddy. M’not dumb,” you say sulkily, folding your arms and scowling.

His dark laugh makes you shiver, catching some misstep you don’t even know you’ve made. “Not dumb, huh? So you chose not to fuckin’ listen to me today?” He clicks his tongue. “Oh, baby. You really wanna let yourself in for it, huh?” Your breath hitches. “Go on, on the bed and wait. Daddy’s gotta decide what to do with his dirty little slut, yeah?”

It’s phrased like a question, but the way he’s breathing hard against your mouth and glowering down at you has your knees melting into jelly. “Yes, Daddy,” you murmur, stumbling slightly when Matty shoves you away from him. A flare of sick arousal sparks to life in your gut.

The waiting is part of the torture, and you know it, wet and restless as you toss and turn on your sheets. But you have no idea how long Matty’s gonna leave you unsupervised, and you can’t help yourself as you slide a hand between your legs, arousal dripping over your fingers. You bite hard on your lower lip to swallow your moans, circling your clit and picturing Matty’s hands in place of yours. Grasping at your tit, you rock your hips up against your hand, illicit pleasure creeping in your veins.

Two fingers dip into your cunt, your legs widening and back arching as a silent gasp escapes your lips. You slide the fingers of your free hand into your mouth, keeping yourself silent as you fuck yourself, cunt pulsing with need. Quickly, you realise your fingers aren’t enough, reaching into one of your drawers for a vibrator. A burst of pleasure scatters under your skin as you press it to your clit, your eyes fluttering closed and your thighs tensing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Matty’s voice cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind, and your eyes snap open. You must look as panicked as you feel, heart hammering, because he smirks down at you. “Did I give you permission to do that?” You shake your head. “Didn’t think so. My little whore’s just begging to get punished, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, desire pulsing hard in your chest with every thud of your heart. “Been a bad girl, Daddy.” You press the vibrator insistently against your swollen nerves, moaning quietly. “Gotta punish me ‘til I’m good again.”

Matty groans, unbuckling his belt and loosening his tie, but he doesn’t undress further. He covers your hand with his and pulls the vibrator away, letting drop onto the mattress as you whine at the loss. “Don’t be fuckin’ pathetic, princess.” The nickname drips with condescension as he speaks. “Naughty girls don’t get to feel good. Now get up and bend over, okay?”

With your heart racing, you obey, slick coating your thighs as you widen your legs and brace your elbows on the bed. Nerves twist in your gut. “Daddy, I—”

“Shh, darling, it’s okay. Daddy knows what brats like you need, yeah? Can you take it if I hit you with my belt, princess?”

Fuck. You feel a gush of arousal drip from your cunt, moaning into the sheets. “Yes, Daddy. Promise I can.”

Matty pinches the flesh of your ass, the brief stab of pain spiralling sweetly through you. “God, you are such a fucking whore,” he groans like it’s a complaint, but you can hear the appreciation in his tone. “It’s not a punishment if you like it, princess.” He picks up your vibrator and retrieves a length of ribbon you usually use to tie up your hair. “Gonna keep this on you, and if you cum, s’gonna be worse for you. That okay?”

“Mhmm. Yeah. Won’t cum, promise,” you say dizzily, sinking into submission like a stone dropped in honey.

“Good little slut,” Matty coos, your entire body shuddering when he ties the vibrator against your leg, sparks shooting through you as it meets your clit. “You ready?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan, your muscles tight with anticipation as you hear Matty slide his belt into his palm. Without your permission, your hips shift down against the vibrator, chasing the steady pulse of ecstasy curling in your belly. Leather cracks against the flesh of your ass, a sound that’s half scream, half moan ripping from your chest as pain unlike anything you’ve ever felt bunches tight in your muscles.

Your skin feels like it’s on fire, breath stolen from your lungs to feed the flames. The vibrator is sickly insistent against your clit, legs trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up. “God, look at you,” Matty says scornfully. “Fuckin’ dripping all over yourself from getting spanked with my belt. Shit, can’t believe I found such a perfect girl to ruin. M’so lucky, baby,” he croons, the praise perfectly soothing over the sting of cruelty.

Whimpering, you arch your back in a silent plea. Matty swipes you with the belt again, the snap of leather against skin obscenely loud in the still quiet of your room. Stinging pain blooms under your skin, an agonising throb that falls straight to your swollen, dripping cunt. You can feel the telltale tugging low in your belly, delirious with pleasure as your orgasm starts to build in every corner of your body. The third strike has tears pooling in your eyes as you fight not to cum, squirming in an attempt to knock the toy loose and away from you.

By the fourth, tears are flowing freely and the flesh of your ass is flaming, and you know you’ll be coated in pretty, purpling bruises by the morning. “You okay, princess? What’s your colour?”

“M’green, Daddy. Soo green. Feel like m’floating,” you say dreamily, hiccuping through your tears as Matty presses a flat palm against your screaming skin.

You scream when he hits you again, openly sobbing into the sheets and writhing desperately. Your nerves are alive with sensation, his hands a match and your pleasure an accelerant, setting a wildfire raging in your chest. “Cry all you want… I’m starting to think you’re enjoying this,” Matty says, cruel as the flames leap higher.

You’re dizzy, vision blurred and limbs shaking, ecstasy so hot in your belly that you’re sure you must be glowing with it. “Fuck, m’gonna cum, Daddy, oh my God!” you gasp, trembling as your arms give out and your wet face presses into the sheets.

“Hold it,” Matty orders. The pit in your stomach only grows as you buck against the confines of his impossible request. “If you cum, you’re not getting my cock, okay? I don’t fuck greedy little whores who can’t do as they’re told.”

Truly, that sounds like a worse punishment than the spanking, a helpless moan of protest escaping you as you writhe against the heat rolling through your blood. “Daddy, I can’t— I’m gonna— oh, fuck,” you cry, your orgasm ripping savagely through your body. Pleasure burns near-painfully through you, a whining scream clawing its way out of your throat. Your body crumbles, burns to ash, reforges in pure ecstasy; your mind is wiped clean as tears and drool pool below you on the mattress.

Disoriented as you come to, you moan incoherently and try to squirm away from the vibrator. “You with me, princess?”

“Daddy, it hurts,” you whine.

“Darling, do you need to safeword? It’s okay if you do, m’not gonna be mad, promise,” Matty says carefully.

You shake your head. “M’okay. Like when it hurts,” you confess, muttered through Egyptian cotton, but Matty hears you just fine, smacking your thigh with an open palm.

“Christ, but you’re a filthy fucking whore. Good girls don’t cum without permission, yeah?” You hear his zipper lowering and squirm, crying out when he slaps your thigh again. “Don’t be greedy. Told you I wasn’t gonna fuck you already.” His calloused fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, coating them in your slick, and you hear the familiar groan as he wraps his hand around his cock.

You’re practically numb, barely feeling the vibrator still on your clit as the last dregs of your awareness drift towards Matty. “Wanna watch,” you pout, frankly unsure how your legs are still supporting your weight at this point.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” Matty says, almost conversational. “You didn’t care what I wanted when I asked you to stop being a fuckin’ slut in public, did you? I wanna see your pretty ass all bruised and covered in my cum, so be a good girl and hold still, okay?”

Shuddering, you murmur an affirmative. “Can I— Can I just get on the bed properly, Daddy? Promise I’ll stay on my knees for you, s’just that my legs are hurting.”

“Yeah, go on, baby. M’not gonna hit you anymore, get comfy, okay?”

Relief floods your body and you struggle into the bed, soft cotton glorious under your knees as your aching muscles sag and relax. The movement shifts the vibrator away from your clit, and you bite your tongue to stop yourself from crying out gratefully. “Thank you, Daddy,” you mumble, syrup in your veins as Matty moans above you. You close your eyes, soaking in the lewd sound of him pleasuring himself.

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby. My pretty girl. Look so gorgeous like this, all bruised up for me. God, I love your sweet little ass,” Matty praises, still pumping his cock as you imagine him vividly. It doesn’t take long before he’s cumming with a groan, painting white over your red, tender skin. “Shit, looks so gorgeous, my darling. Made you all mine.”

“Was already all yours,” you say instinctively, twisting your neck to look up at him. “Can I see?”

Matty smirks. “Yeah, darling, hold on.” You hear the shutter sound of his camera as you slowly slump until you’re lying prone, bone-deep exhausted.

The picture is obscene, ropes of cum dripping over angry, crimson skin, your cunt sopping. “I look pretty,” you murmur. “Are you gonna get off looking at that, Daddy?”

“God, every fuckin’ chance I get, princess.” Even though you know he gets himself off thinking about you, the reminder that you’re the star of his fantasies always turns you on beyond belief. “My perfect girl. Did so well, darling, took it so fucking well. Couldn’t ask for a better, sweeter, more gorgeous girl to ruin like this.” You glow at the praise, finding yourself unable to move even an inch without your muscles screaming in protest.

Somehow, Matty senses that without having to be told, carefully lifting you onto the pillows, avoiding your sore skin. “Love you,” you mumble.

“I fucking adore you, my girl. I love you so fucking much. Are you feeling alright? That was a rough one.”

You giggle. “That’s one word for it,” you say, making grabby hands at Matty until he lays next to you, the comforting heat of him soaking into your skin. “M’okay. Hurts, though. Want the princess treatment ‘til I’m healed.”

Huffing a laugh, Matty combs his fingers gently through your tangled hair. “Of course, princess. Nothing less. Do you need anything?”

“Some water would be nice. Then cuddles. M’sleepy.” You whine when Matty gets up, the loss of him like a physical sting. Your lower lip trembles in the brief minutes you’re alone, slowly sinking into the familiar guilt that comes after nights like these.

“Oh, darling,” Matty murmurs, finding you sniffling quietly into your pillow. “It’s okay, m’here. Not goin’ anywhere, promise.” He sets a glass of water thankfully within reach on your nightstand, crooning soothingly down at you. “Just gotta get you cleaned up, okay?” Nodding warily, you close your eyes as he runs a cool cloth over your ass. “I know, princess, I know it hurts,” he coos when you whimper softly, stinging pain shooting up your spine. “I’m sorry, darling. Just a little more, being such a good girl. My sweet girl. There, all done.” He runs his hand over the loose, liquidy muscles of your back. “You comfy, princess?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, voice thick with sleep.

Matty slides a pillow under your hips, and the shift in angle lets you rest more comfortably against the pillows, eyelids drooping as you gaze adoringly at him. “Can’t fall asleep on me yet, angel. Gotta make sure you’re feeling good first.”

He doesn’t let you go to sleep until you’ve talked through the whole night, kissing you reverently and murmuring reassurances exactly when you need them. You sleep through the whole morning, awoken by the smell of coffee and a soft kiss to your forehead. “Hi,” you grin, staring up into the face of the love of your life, and despite the ache in your muscles and the bruising on your ass screaming out in protest, you can’t think of a time you’ve been happier.

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

May need to take a break from fandom. Feeling very "old man yells at cloud" lately about it all. Or maybe I just need to get back into fandoms where the average age is older than 15.

[howlingmoonrise]

hey, does anyone know if there are fandom-neutral/cross-fandom kinkmemes still active these days?

[sexynetra]

I promised myself I’d post fic every month this year and I just realized my amandawn was in January so keep your eyes peeled for me fulfilling old Drabble requests today 🤭

[gingerbreadmonsters]

ginger, cracking an eyelid and thinking about opening requests for a little bit? its more likely than you think 👀👀

[nyhne]

.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Oh please, please, please something short, funny with 141 where their wife calls them on their way home from work “yea, I think I’m having contractions!” And by the time they rush home, she’s sitting in the bath tub with their new baby. And she’s all casual like ‘Hey! Look at this cool thing I’ve got!’ And it’s their baby.

(My Grandmother had this happen! Each kid under an hour. My grandfather nearly had a heart attack! He’d always hesitate to leave her alone. Suspicious she was ‘purposefully’ going into labor when he wasn’t there to help her. Lol…)

Okay, that is so funny and adorable! Hehe, omg, I love this. Dad!141 is my favorite. I love writing them as fathers or as potential fathers. And this prompt is just an excuse to do that! Thank you so much for sending it in. Enjoy!!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): married life, pregnancy, childbirth, domestic fluff, swearing, humor

Word Count: 2.1k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if series

John Price

Price rubs at his temple, releasing a deep sigh.

It’s late. The base is nearly empty. Another late night filled with paperwork.

His phone buzzes, the cellular device vibrating on the desk. Price reaches for it, checking the screen. It’s you calling him, and his stomach flips.

“Cabbage,” he greets with a smile, answering the phone.

You’re pregnant, due date just a week or two away. Price doesn’t like leaving you home alone, but this is the last push. After tonight, he can come home early.

“John?”

His name is a question. There’s a hint of worry—of nervousness—and Price immediately picks up on it.

“Everything okay, love?” he asks, slowly standing, paperwork suddenly forgotten.

“John. I—I think—”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m having contractions.”

By the time the words leave your mouth, Price is already grabbing his coat. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.” He swallows, pushing down his own anxiety, smothering it so he can be strong for you. “Stay on the phone with me. I’m coming home.”

On the other end of the line, you breathe heavily. Each whimper worries him.

“John,” you gasp, voice strangled as he throws himself into his car and turns it on.

 “I know. I know. I’m coming.”

Price is doing his best to stay calm, to stay alert as he drives off base and heads for home, but all he can focus is on you.

“Keep talking to me, love,” he says, attempting to sound encouraging.

“Okay,” you reply, but then go quiet.

 “Cabbage?”

When you don’t answer him, Price uses your name. Nothing. No sound at all as if the line’s gone dead.

“Shit,” he mutters, holding the phone out to check.

Call Dropped.

“Fucking shit,” he says, louder.

Price continues to dial—continues to call. Every time, he expects you to pick up, but you never do. The worry grows, becoming deafening as the seconds tick by. Traffic laws are broken, but it gets him home faster.

He’s throwing himself out of the car, dashing to the house, not caring if he forgot to put the vehicle in park. In the front entryway, he calls out to you, using your name.

There is no response.

 “Fuck,” he whispers as he dashes up the stairs, heading for the bedroom. He enters, and it’s—

Empty.

“Where are you?” he breathes, turning away to check the rest of the house.

But then Price hears your voice, soft and soothing. Frowning, he checks the bedroom again, only to head toward the bathroom.

You’re sitting on the floor, back pressed against the tub. There’s blood and a fluid Price doesn’t recognize smearing the floor between your legs.

You glance up. Smile. “Hi,” you laugh as Price drops to his knees beside you.

There’s a baby in your arms. Its hands are tight fists, face pinched like it’s annoyed to be here.

“No wonder you didn’t answer the phone,” sighs Price, placing his hand against yours that cradles the infant’s head.

“A bit busy,” you chuckle.

Price laughs with you, taking his phone out his jacket pocket to dial the hospital.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I’m not leaving.”

“It’s fine, Simon. Really.”

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. “The last time I left you this close to your due date, you gave birth while I wasn’t here.”

You dismiss him with a wave of your hand. “That’s not going to happen again.”

“It might,” he growls.

“It won’t,” you insist.

As you start to walk away, Simon blocks your path. “You’ve been complaining about your lower back all morning.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “I always complain about my lower back.” Simon begins to object but you continue on. “And we need milk. And eggs. And bread.”

“Fine,” mutters Simon. “Fine. I’ll go. But you call me immediately if anything happens.”

 “Okay, dad,” you reply, mocking him.

Simon drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you in to kiss the top of your head. “Pumpkin,” he replies, and you hear the smile in it.

“The sooner you go the sooner you’ll be back. You can worry and fuss over me all you want then.”

Simon pulls you in for another kiss before heading out the door. The trip to the store isn’t peaceful. In the back of his mind, Simon stews, a little voice telling him that you’re going to call him any second and tell him you’re in labor. That’s what happened with your first, and Simon came home after you’d given birth.

He was devasted. Upset. Not with you—never with you. He was upset with himself for not being there to support you through it. To hold your hand. To encourage and shower you with love.

Simon is standing in line at the meat counter when you call him.

“Don’t be angry,” you say when he answers the phone.

“Are you having contractions?”

“…Yes.”

“Goddamn it.”

Simon abandons the shopping trolley, apologizing to the workers as he rushes out the door and to the car. When he enters the house, he hears your labored cry. Dashing up the stairs, Simon enters the bathroom at the same moment you cry out, clearly pushing. You’re on your hands and knees, sweat beads your brow, hair sticking to your face.

He dives to his knees, arms outstretched and reaching beneath you as the baby’s head emerges.

“I’m here,” Simon says, keeping his voice calm and soothing.

You start crying, head tilting to lean against his shoulder.

Another push, and then the rest of the baby is out and in Simon’s hands. The infant is silent at first, then releases a cry of displeasure.

“Bloody hell,” exhales Simon, “I’m never leaving you alone again.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

I’m having contractions, reads the text.

Johnny’s mouth drops open, gaze growing distant.

You’re having contractions. You’re having contractions, and he is on the other side of the city. With traffic, he’s likely an entire hour away from you.

“Soap?” asks Gaz, waving his hand in front of Johnny’s face.

“I have to go,” says Johnny quickly, shooting up from his chair, almost knocking it over.

Gaz and Ghost both stand abruptly, clearly startled by Johnny’s sudden panic.

“Everything good?” asks Ghost.

Johnny shakes his head. “The missus is having contractions.”

“Oh,” replies Gaz, eyes growing a bit wide. “Damn. Go. You should go.”

“We’ll cover your tab,” adds Ghost.

Johnny groans. “Her due date isn’t for another bloody week.” He grabs his jacket.

“You’re going to be a father, Soap,” chuckles Ghost, punching him in the shoulder.

“Fuck. What if she has it while I’m not there?”

“Don’t these things take forever anyway?” muses Ghost. “Contractions don’t mean anything. Right?” He glances at Gaz.

Gaz shrugs. “I think you should worry if it’s close together.” Gaz holds his hands close to indicate the lack of time.

“Shit,” mutters Johnny, tapping away at his phone.

Are they close together?

It’s a few seconds and then the three little circles pop up, indicating that you’re typing back.

They’re close. A few minutes apart. I’m on the phone with the midwife.

“Oh fuck,” mutters Johnny, elongating the vowel as he tugs on his jacket.

Gaz grimaces. “It’ll be fine,” he tries to reassure as Johnny rushes past him. “Congrats!”

Johnny hardly hears him, he’s too focused on getting to the car. Every second is agony—not knowing what’s happening while he’s driving. When he pulls up to the house almost an hour later, there’s a car Johnny doesn’t recognize in the drive.

As bursts through the door, he hears calming music. Rushing forward into the living room, he finds you on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket, propped up by a nest of pillows. The midwife putters about as you gently rock back and forth, cradling an infant in your arms.

You glance up. “Look,” you laugh, lifting the infant that you’ve just birthed, presenting it like you’ve completed a fun DIY craft project.

Johnny almost faints.

“Oh, babe,” he exhales. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The midwife makes a sound of annoyed agreement and Johnny winces.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “She came quickly.”

“I should have been here,” he groans, sliding to the floor next to you, draping an arm over your shoulders.

You lean into him. “You’re here now,” you sigh, eyes closing as you snuggle against him.

Johnny looks to the midwife, and she smiles at him—a reassurance. You’re fine, and so is his daughter.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Ignoring it, Kyle keeps his attention on Captain Price, focusing on the briefing for the upcoming mission. The phone goes silent. Seconds later, it starts up again. Frowning, Kyle reaches into his pocket, sliding out the phone just enough to see the screen. Your name and picture appear on the screen, your smile bright and lovely.

“Need to answer that?”

Kyle’s head snaps up at the sound of Captain Price’s voice.

“Sorry, Captain. It’s the missus.”

Price inclines his head, the middle of his brow creasing slightly. “It’s she pregnant?”

“She is,” affirms Kyle.

“Then you should answer it.”

Kyle gives him, Ghost, and Soap a brief nod. “Excuse me,” he mutters, standing and heading for the door.

When the meeting room door slams shut, the phone starts up again.

Kyle answers, his words falling from his mouth quickly, sounding like one solid word instead of several. “What’s going on, love?”

“I’m having contractions.”

You sound panicked.

 “You’re—are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” you gasp. “Water broke earlier—"

Kyle’s voice rises slightly. “Your water broke and you didn’t call me?”

“I wasn’t feeling anything,” you reply, as if that makes it okay. “But now, it’s constant.” Your sigh is labored. Tired. “They’ve come on so suddenly, Kyle. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, love. Don’t apologize.” You have nothing to be sorry for. He’s just happy you called. “I’m coming home. Right now.”

“But you have that meeting. You can’t—”

“I’m coming home,” he reiterates. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hang in there, dove. I’ll be there soon.” Kyle disconnects the call and bursts through the meeting room doors. “It’s happening,” he announces.

Soap blinks, confused. “What’s happening?”

Ghost side-eyes him. “He’s about to become a dad.”

“Fucking shit. Really?” Soap turns to Kyle, beaming. “Congrats.”

Price crosses his arms over his chest, a look of pride on his face. “Go, Sergeant.”

Kyle nods, giving a half-wave as he backs out through the toward, heading toward the parking lot. He’s practically running—rushing to turn the car on. Taking off, Kyle hardly cares if he hits anything, and he doesn’t blink when breaking nearly a dozen traffic laws.

He makes it home in half the time he usually does. Every second counts. Every moment important. If the contractions are coming quickly and close together, it means the baby is ready, and he needs to get you to the hospital.

As he enters the front door, he calls out to you. Your answer comes, but it’s distant. Upstairs. Kyle takes the stairs two at a time, walking into the bedroom to find it empty. But the bathroom light is on.

A few steps, and he pushes open the door.

You’re not standing at the sink putting on your makeup or getting ready to leave. You sit inside the shower on the tile floor, the glass door wide open, pantless, and cradling an infant in your arms.

“Shit,” he breathes, moving forward. “Shit.” Kyle crouches just outside the shower door.

You grin sheepishly, lifting the baby like it’s an accident. “She came minutes after I got off the phone with you.”

“Oh, bloody hell, love,” laughs Kyle.

There are tears in your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t be, my love.” Reaching out, he grasps the back of your neck. Leaning in, he presses his lips to your forehead. “She’s beautiful.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @suhmie @z-wantstowrite @kylies-love-letter @keiva1000

@iloveslasher @ravenpoe67 @sadlonelybagel @nishim @arrozyfrijoles23

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @sageyxbabey @glassgulls @miaraei

@weasleytwins-41 @eternallyvenus @chaostwinsofdestruction @cherryofdeath @ninman82

@fern-reads @waves-against-a-cliff @beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx

@jianyi22 @sethell @atpeacee @konigssweatyhood @dreamingoftomorrow

@katerinaval @morguethemagpie @galactict3a @sarah-the-bird-nerd @mikachu-bitez

@unclearblur @kurochan3 @sans-chara @all-by-myself98 @hisuccubus

@km-ffluv @thriving-n-jiving @carbonnite-copy @sobbangchan @codeseven

@youre-a-wallflower-charlie

[allylikethecat]

would love to read your take on 6 and 12 of the prompts (with matty and george obviously lol)!! feel like you would write something super angsty and hurt/comfort-y (in the best way lol)

Hi There!

Thank you so much for sending in this prompt request! I was very excited to see it! I'm sorry it took me so long to get too, I hope you enjoy this fill and that it is the angst you were looking for! I combined the two, which is what I hope you had intended! Let me know what you think!

WARNINGS: Mayhem (the dog) dies in this one, which I am very sorry about. Hopefully IRL Mayhem is living his best life where ever that may be since it's clearly not with Matty anymore.

Thank you again for sending this in and being so kind and supportive! I've been having so much fun working on all these prompts, even if they have taken me longer than planned to finish (story of my life I guess...) Thank you again!

❤️Ally

6. Kiss…on a falling tear & 12. Kiss…in grief

Matty hadn’t moved since they returned from the veterinary clinic hours ago. He was curled on his side, his back to the door, only the top of his curls visible amongst the blankets, sobbing quietly as George’s heart broke. He had tried to follow him, tried to go to him and provide the comfort that he so desperately needed, but Matty just shook his head, retreating further into himself, eyes wet as he asked with shaky breath if he could be alone. 

George knew he needed to honor Matty’s request, he knew he needed to respect his wishes. He knew that Matty would come to him when he was ready. But Matty was like a balloon that had been popped, deflated with a bang, and left as a tattered piece of latex that had once been whole. Something that was once joyous, now in ruin. 

George busied himself instead. He knew Matty wouldn’t want to look at the reminders, he didn’t want to look at them himself. He washed and dried the bowls, wrapping them in old newspaper to keep them safe before stacking them carefully in a cardboard box. He added the toys, well chewed and well loved, the squeakers gone and little pieces of stuffing oozing from the tears in the fabric. The beds would be washed and then donated, along with the leftover food and treats. The leash and collar joined the box, George ran his finger over the engraving on the tag, remembering how excited Matty had been to show him that his name had been added too, that he was Mayhem’s other Dad. He blinked back his own tears and took his own shuddering breath. He needed to be strong for Matty. He needed to be there for Matty. 

He tapped up the box and brought it into the hall closet for storage. He didn’t want to look at it anymore. The house felt too quiet, too empty without the click clack of nails on the polished cement floors, without the deep sighs of contentment and the offbeat squeak, squeak, squeak of a chew toy, always whenever George was trying to focus on something time sensitive.

He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of tea, desperate for something to do with his hands, desperate for something to fill the quiet. He leaned against the counter, listening to the quiet hum of the kettle as the water heated, steam raising along the surface, looking for an escape. 

Matty hadn’t eaten yet today, he realized, ignoring that he hadn’t either, putting two pieces of bread into the toaster. He closed his eyes, waiting for the toaster to pop and the kettle to whistle, two mugs on the counter, each with a tea bag at the ready. He ran his fingers through his close cropped hair, exhaling slowly as he did so. It didn’t seem real, he thought hysterically. It didn’t seem real. It shouldn’t have been real.

Mayhem had been fine that morning when they woke up, Matty had let him out into the yard to do his business while George made coffee. The three of them would go for their neighborhood walk later that morning, once everyone was more awake. Mayhem had sprinted across the yard, chasing a butterfly with such unbridled joy that even certified, self proclaimed, not a morning person Matthew Timothy Healy couldn’t help but smile from his place leaning against the doorway. Then Mayhem had stopped, frozen, nose turned up to the sky. He spasmed and flopped onto his side while Matty shouted for George in panic. He was gone soon after, clutched in Matty’s arms in the lobby of the emergency clinic. A pulmonary embolism, most likely due to his size. There wasn’t anything they could do, there wasn’t anything Matty and George could have done.

Matty had cried the entire ride home, forehead pressed against the window while George drove, both hands on the wheel, ten and two, glancing over at Matty at every red light, wanted to reach out, wanting to touch, wanting to comfort, wanting to promise that everything will be okay, but knowing that would be a lie. 

The kettle whistled, and George startled, pulled from his thoughts as he took it off the burner, pouring the hot water over the tea bags, adding milk and sugar to Matty's, adding just milk to his. He had forgotten to push down the lever on the toaster, the bread sat untoasted, mocking him. They could go a little longer without food.

He carried the mugs into the bedroom, setting the mug carefully on Matty’s nightstand, before moving to his own side of the bed, blowing on his own mug to try and cool it, before taking a tentative sip. Matty either didn’t notice he was in the room, or didn’t care. George sat his own mug down on his nightstand, and reached out putting a hand on Matty’s shoulder over the blankets. He felt Matty flinched at the touch, shuddering with surprise. 

“I brought you a cup of tea,” George said softly. 

“I don’t want it,” Matty said, his voice like gravel, making George wince. They were meant to be in the studio tomorrow. 

“It will make you feel better love,” said George, running his hand down Matty’s back. He rolled over and looked up at George, his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his cheeks shiny with tears, his face blotchy. He sniffled and George instinctually reached out with the sleeve of his tee shirt to wipe some of the snot from Matty’s face. He swatted his arm away. 

“Leave me alone,” Matty said, “nothing is going to make me feel better.” 

“Come here,” said George, tugging Matty into his arms, they were making progress, Matty didn’t fight him, just let his body be maneuvered. 

“I miss him,” said Matty with a hiccup, and he was crying again, tears falling silently down his face, his nose scrunched up as he tried to breathe, his breath coming out in short aborted gasps. 

“I do too,” said George, surprising himself with how wet his own voice sounded. He blinked and wondered when he had started crying as well. 

“I know,” said Matty, hiccuping, “that they said it wasn’t our fault, but I still feel like I did something wrong. It’s not fair, I love him so much.” 

“It doesn’t feel real,” said George, reaching up with the hand not wrapped around Matty to wipe at his own eyes. 

“I feel like there’s this gaping hole in my chest, and I don’t know how to fix it.” Matty said “It hurts so much.” 

“It will get easier,” said George, “It will hurt less every day.” 

“I know he was just a dog, but I feel like I lost my best friend,” Matty said, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want him to be gone.” 

George just squeezed Matty, pulling him closer, letting him listen to the steady beat of his heart, he didn’t know what to say. He wished he could take Matty’s pain, he wished he could shoulder it himself. 

“Do you think he’s in a better place?” Matty asked quietly, “or do you think that’s it, and he’s just gone?” 

“I think he’s always going to be in your heart,” said George, knowing it sounded cheesy, but unable to help himself. He knew Matty’s complex thoughts on religion, and he didn’t know how to assure him that regardless of where Mayhem was, or wasn’t, he hadn’t suffered. The veterinarian said it was nearly instant. 

He leaned down and kissed Matty’s cheek tasting the salt from a freshly fallen tear on his lips. Matty turned his head, catching George’s lips with his own. The kiss was chaste, a simple press of salty lips to salty lips, a comfort, a way of saying I’m here for you and you’re not alone.

“I love you,” said Matty, burying his face in George’s chest as if he could hide from his grief, wrapped in the warmth of the one he loved. 

“I love you too, always.” 

[solxamber]

Holding Them and Not Letting Go with: Housewardens + Jamil

a little something before i go all in for the milestone events <3

Other parts: Vice Housewardens + Rollo, Neige ; First Years

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle goes bright red the second you wrap your arms around him, stiffening in your hold like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He tries to splutter something coherent—maybe a reminder about PDA rules, maybe a request to know what’s going on—but his voice gets tangled up, and all that comes out is a confused murmur.

You don’t let go, though. Instead, you squeeze him a little tighter, prompting him to look down at you, his eyes widening with soft confusion. “Is… Is something wrong?” he stammers, gently pressing his hand to your shoulder, trying to read your face.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you answer with a warm smile. “I just love you, Riddle. That’s all.”

For a moment, he’s frozen. Just love him? He feels his heart stumble, so unfamiliar with this kind of simple, generous affection. In his childhood, hugs were formal gestures, love was measured and conditional—a reward to be earned, rarely felt freely. But here, with you… you’re holding him because you want to, with nothing expected in return.

Slowly, Riddle’s hands find their way to your back, and he pulls you close with a tenderness that surprises even him. There’s a quiet ache in his chest, an overwhelming mix of joy and disbelief, like he’s filling up with something he never knew he was missing. He clings to you, unable to speak, as though afraid that words might shatter the beautiful warmth settling between you.

You both stay like this, tangled together in silence. In this simple embrace, Riddle feels more seen, more loved, than he ever has before. It’s a feeling he wants to hold onto forever—a happiness he never thought he’d be allowed to have. For the first time, he feels completely at peace.

Leona Kingscholar

You wrap your arms around Leona, your grip firm as if you’ve decided you’re never letting go. At first, he’s as stoic as ever, arching an eyebrow in mild confusion. “Oi, herbivore…what’s this all about?” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

But when you stay silent, he lets out a chuckle, amused by your stubborn clinginess. “If you’re hoping to trap me, you might wanna try harder than that.”

After a few more moments, his teasing fades. You’re still holding him, your head resting against his chest, heartbeat steady against his. He tries to check if youre upset and realizes then that you’re not sad, nor do you seem upset; you’re simply content. When he starts to pull back to look at you, you give him a warm smile and quietly say, “I just…love you.”

The words wash over him, soft and simple yet deeply affecting. His expression shifts, from nonchalance to something much more vulnerable. To Leona, who’s spent much of his life overshadowed, unwanted, and fighting for recognition, the idea of being someone’s first choice feels like an impossibility.

And yet, here you are, holding onto him like he’s the only thing that matters. He swallows hard, not saying anything, but the look in his eyes says it all.

He finally allows his arms to come around you, drawing you in with more intensity than he’d probably ever admit aloud. His tail snakes around your waist in a protective loop, pulling you even closer, as if anchoring himself to you. “Don’t go getting mushy on me,” he mutters, trying to sound unaffected, but his grip tightens just a bit more.

But despite his usual attitude, he’s never felt this…full. Full of pride, full of warmth, full of something he’s struggled to admit he even wanted. And it’s all because of you, the one person who looked past his rough edges and stubborn exterior.

He chuckles softly, burying his face in your shoulder, whispering, “Guess you got yourself a lion for life, herbivore.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is hunched over his desk, papers and ledgers strewn around him, eyebrows furrowed as he works late into the night. He’s so engrossed that he doesn’t even notice you approaching until you gently climb onto his lap, resting yourself against him without a word. His body goes rigid in surprise, the usual control he wields over his composure completely shattered.

“Are you... feeling alright?” he asks, voice a little breathless, struggling to keep himself calm as you press your face into the crook of his neck. “Are you sick? Is there something wrong?”

You just shake your head, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “I just love you, Azul,” you whisper softly, a warmth in your gaze that sends his heart into overdrive. “And I’m so proud of you.”

With that, you wrap your arms around him again, holding him close, and suddenly, all the strength in him unravels. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed this—how much he craved reassurance, wanted to know he was worth it.

All his insecurities, fears, and memories of feeling out of place resurface, but they’re softened by your presence, and with just one hug, you’re able to ease away all that self-doubt he keeps buried.

Without another word, he wraps his arms tightly around you, his grip firm and filled with an unspoken desperation. He clings to you as though you’re his lifeline, as though you’re the single steady point in his otherwise frantic world, and for a few moments, he allows himself to just feel—to let go of the worries, to set aside the constant weight of expectations.

The mountain of paperwork on his desk feels meaningless compared to the comfort you bring, and all he wants is to stay like this, holding you as closely as he can, reveling in the feeling of being loved for who he is.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is in his element, animatedly discussing ideas for his next big celebration. His hands gesture widely, his voice bright, detailing elaborate plans for decorations, food, entertainment—he's clearly in his happy place, and you can’t help but feel utterly captivated by his joy.

Without even thinking, you throw your arms around him, hugging him tightly mid-sentence. Kalim laughs, hugging you back with his usual enthusiasm, though a bit of surprise colors his expression when you show no signs of letting go. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

You lean back just enough to grin up at him, eyes shining. “I’m perfectly okay. You just looked so radiant talking about the party—and I love you.”

He stares at you for a beat, completely dazzled, and then his face breaks into the brightest smile as he spins you around, laughter bubbling from both of you. When he finally sets you down, he pulls you close, cradling you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m so glad you chose me,” he murmurs softly, his forehead pressing against yours. The simple joy radiates from him, a warmth and gentleness that wraps around you both. It’s a pure, unfiltered happiness that you feel too, knowing that you chose him, and he chose you.

You stay wrapped up in each other, reveling in that perfect moment, glowing with the warmth of shared love. For now, with his laughter filling the room and his arms securely around you, nothing else matters.

Jamil Viper

Jamil walks into his room, the exhaustion from managing Scarabia weighing heavily on his shoulders. But before he can even remove his shoes, you’re already there, waiting for him. Without a word, you step into his space, your arms winding around him in a gentle but firm embrace.

His body relaxes instantly, the stress of the day melting away as you run a soothing hand down his back. The warmth of your touch settles over him like a blanket, but after a few moments, he notices you haven’t let go. The silence stretches, and his concern grows.

He pulls back just slightly, searching your face with quiet intensity. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft, careful, as though bracing for something serious.

You meet his eyes with a smile, your voice tender but full of affection. “I’m fine. I just… I love you. I’m proud of everything you do. You work so hard, and I see all of it. I just wanted to be here, with you.”

A deep warmth spreads through Jamil at your words, the weight of the day almost forgotten as he pulls you back into him. This time, his hold is even tighter, more possessive, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, this moment will vanish. His face buries itself into your neck, and he inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of you—your presence, your comfort.

For once, he allows himself to fully sink into the embrace, no longer needing to wear his usual mask.

With you, he doesn’t have to hold back his feelings. For the first time in what feels like forever, he lets his guard drop, the emotional wall he’s spent building his whole life crumbling in the warmth of your arms.

“I could stay like this forever,” he whispers, the words barely audible as he holds you close. His voice is thick with emotion, a mixture of tenderness and longing. “I never want to leave your side.”

In the comfort of your touch, Jamil realizes something. He’s never felt more at peace, more cared for, than he does in this moment. He holds you tighter, savoring the feeling of being loved so deeply, so completely. No matter what happens, he knows this is where he belongs—in your arms, and with your heart.

Vil Schoenheit

It’s been a long day, and by the time you reach Vil, all you want is to collapse into his arms. But before you can even speak, he’s already analyzing you, frowning at your slumped posture, the bags under your eyes, and the way you haven’t had time to take care of yourself. "Did you eat today? Are you even sleeping? Honestly, I can't—"

And before he can finish his lecture, you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck.

He catches you with his usual elegance, barely flinching. His lips curl in that slight, amused way, but the concern in his eyes softens as you cling to him, not letting go.

"Darling, What's wrong?" he asks, his voice taking on a gentler tone as he instinctively pulls you closer. You can feel the smoothness of his coat beneath your fingers as you bury your face in his chest.

"I missed you," you murmur. "I'm just happy to see you. I love you. And I love that you worry about me."

Vil’s chest tightens at your words, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him. He gently strokes your back, the movement slow, deliberate. “You’re something else,” he teases, his lips twitching, but there’s warmth in his voice. “You know you should’ve eaten something, and yet here you are, throwing yourself at me.”

His hands remain on you, though, pulling you closer, stroking your back with a tenderness he rarely shows in public. He may pretend to be exasperated, but the way his fingers gently brush the length of your spine betrays his true feelings. Deep down, he’s touched by how much you put up with him.

"You should be scolded for your own good," he starts, but it’s a half-hearted attempt. There’s no real bite to his words this time. Instead, he just holds you tighter, deciding that, just for tonight, you don’t need any more lectures.

“You’ll never be rid of me now,” he murmurs softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re welcome to lean on me, always.”

In the comfort of his embrace, you let go of the day’s stress, finding peace in the warmth of his arms. There’s no need for anything else, just this moment, just him.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s explaining the intricate details of a new strategy, his eyes wide with excitement. But then, suddenly, you set your controller down and throw yourself at him in an unexpected hug, effectively cutting off his speech. His hair flares a brilliant shade of pink as his brain momentarily glitches, clearly unsure of how to process what's happening.

And he is in full panic mode. His mind, always working a mile a minute, goes into overdrive trying to figure out what he did wrong, or if he's somehow messed things up.

“Uh—are you okay?” he stammers, voice filled with concern but entirely thrown off by the situation. You don’t answer with words, just a soft smile as you bury your face in his chest.

“I love you,” you whisper, “and you’re adorable.”

He’s used to being alone, to being misunderstood, to retreating into his games and hiding from the world. But here you are, in his arms, embracing him for no reason other than that you love him.

Despite his anxious thoughts swirling, he awkwardly places his arms around you, his body stiff at first, unsure of what to do. It takes him a moment before he relaxes, and as he holds you, his mind starts to clear. All those fears—of not being enough, or of being too much—slowly fade away, replaced by something that feels warm and real.

You, who listen to him ramble about things no one else would care about. You, who understand when he’s not up for going out, who accept him as he is. He feels so undeserving of someone so kind, but at the same time, something deep inside him stirs. It’s happiness. It’s love.

His arms tighten around you as he buries his face into your hair, his heart racing with a mixture of overwhelming joy and disbelief. He’ll never understand why someone like you would choose him, but as long as you’re here, he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus stands before you, holding the gargoyle he crafted with such care, the stone masterpiece shimmering in the soft light. "This is for you," he says softly, his voice full of pride. His eyes shine with the unspoken hope that you’ll appreciate the effort.

Before he can say anything else, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm embrace. He freezes for a moment, unsure, before his own arms encircle you with surprising gentleness. He’s always craved touch, but the depth of affection you offer fills him with awe.

The two of you stand there, the moment stretching on in comfortable silence, until Malleus pulls back slightly, his eyes searching your face. "Are you alright?" His voice holds a hint of concern.

You smile at him softly, your words simple but filled with a warmth he rarely hears: "You mean the world to me. I love you."

Malleus's breath catches in his throat, and before he can think, his arms tighten around you. He pulls you impossibly closer, as if afraid you’ll slip away. His heart races as he feels the weight of your love, the pure acceptance and tenderness you give him. The loneliness he’s lived with for so long, the misunderstandings, the isolation—none of it matters now.

He’s here with you. You see him, not as a prince or a fae of great power, but simply as Malleus. And that, more than anything, fills him with a kind of peace he’s never known.

Malleus buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you tightly as if to make sure this moment doesn’t slip away. "I will never forget this," he murmurs softly. "I will cherish you... forever."

In your embrace, he finds something he thought was impossible—a sense of belonging. He smiles, feeling the warmth of your love seep into him, and he knows he is truly loved.

Masterlist

[daxisyzz]

Just for you

Pairings: avenger!bucky barnes × avenger!reader

Summary: Bucky always catches you looking at him after you say something funny—because you love seeing him smile. But when a late-night conversation turns into something more, you realize he’s been looking at you for the same reason all along.

Based on this prompt I found on Pinterest :

Word count: 1.2k+

Tags: flooofy fluff, cute shenanigans, confessions, kisses.

Requests are open!!! Feel free to send them in

Bucky Barnes was a hard nut to crack. That was the general consensus among the Avengers. He was quiet, brooding, and had a knack for disappearing whenever things got too lively.

But you? You had somehow carved a space in his life, whether he’d meant to let you in or not.It started with small things—offering him a cup of coffee before he asked, handing him a protein bar during training, bumping his shoulder after a mission and saying, “Good job, Buckaroo.”

The first time you called him that, his face had twisted into a look of pure betrayal. Sam had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch.But you kept at it. Not pushing, just… being there. And somehow, Bucky started looking for you when you weren’t around.

Tonight, the team was gathered in the common room, decompressing after a long day. A terrible action movie played on the screen, and you were curled up in the corner of the couch, throwing out sarcastic commentary like it was your job.

“Oh, sure, let’s just casually outrun an explosion in six-inch heels,” you quipped, waving a hand at the screen.Steve shook his head with a smile, but it was Bucky you looked at. Always Bucky.

He was across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. At first glance, he looked like he wasn’t paying attention. But you knew better. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes met yours, filled with something warm, something just for you.

Encouraged, you kept going. “Right, because bullets totally run out only when it’s dramatically convenient.”

This time, Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, and—God, it was ridiculous how much it made your chest ache. You loved making him laugh. It was like finding a hidden treasure, a secret meant only for those who paid close enough attention.

A moment later, Sam tossed a handful of popcorn at Bucky. “See, man? This is why she’s fun and you’re just there.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but his gaze flickered to you again, like he was checking to see if you’d caught that. You had. And you grinned at him, knowing—just knowing—that he’d never admit it, but he liked your stupid jokes.Maybe even you.And if he kept looking at you like that? Yeah, you’d keep making them, just for him.

The weeks passed, and the game continued—your jokes, Bucky’s almost-smiles, the way you always looked at him after saying something funny, just to see if you’d won him over. And more often than not, you had.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.It wasn’t just about making him laugh anymore. It was about how he always found the seat next to yours during movie nights. How he remembered exactly how you liked your coffee. How his fingers would brush yours when he handed you something, lingering just a little too long.

And you? You started memorizing the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, how his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking. You started feeling it—him—in your bones.

It hit you one evening, when the two of you were alone in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone to bed, but Bucky had wandered in while you were making tea, his hair still damp from a shower, sweatpants hanging low on his hips.You didn’t know what made you say it—maybe the quiet, maybe the warmth of the tea in your hands—but you looked at him and blurted out, “I like it when you laugh.”

Bucky, who had been reaching for a glass, froze. His shoulders tensed for just a second before he turned to face you. “Yeah?”You nodded, gripping your mug a little tighter.

“It feels… rare. Special.” You exhaled a quiet laugh, suddenly nervous.

“Makes me feel like I won something.”

Something passed over his expression—something deep, something heavy. Then, slowly, he took a step closer.

“You don’t have to win,” he murmured.Your breath caught.

He was close now, close enough that you could see the little flecks of blue in his eyes, the way his lips parted just slightly, like he was weighing his next words carefully.

“I laugh because of you,” he admitted, voice low. “I look at you because… hell, I don’t even know how not to.”

The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he reached out, fingertips ghosting over your hand where it rested on the counter.

And just like that, you knew. This wasn’t just teasing anymore. It wasn’t just banter or stolen glances across the room. It was him. It was you.

Bucky’s fingertips barely brushed yours, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine.You swallowed, heart hammering. “Bucky…”His name came out softer than you intended, like a confession. His lips twitched, just the tiniest bit, but his eyes—God, his eyes were so intense, like he was memorizing every inch of you.Then, so quietly you barely heard it, he murmured,

“Say something funny.”You blinked.

“What?”Bucky huffed a breath, his gaze flickering to your lips.

“You always look at me after you say something funny. I like it.”Your stomach flipped.

He was so unfair. Here you were, on the verge of spontaneous combustion, and he was just standing there, waiting—wanting.

You took a breath, trying to focus.“Okay. How about… yesterday?”

Bucky raised a brow. “Yesterday?”

You nodded, biting back a grin. “When Sam tried to show off during training and did that stupid flip, but his foot caught on Steve’s shield?”Bucky exhaled a short laugh, lips twitching.

“And then,” you continued, eyes dancing with amusement, “he went down like a sack of potatoes and just laid there for a full minute, groaning dramatically.”

That did it. A deep, quiet chuckle rumbled from Bucky’s chest, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And just like always, you looked at him, waiting to catch it, to feel it—But this time, Bucky didn’t let you get away with just that.Before you could blink, his hand cupped your cheek, tilting your face up, and then—warm, soft, Bucky—his lips met yours.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second. His fingers curled against your jaw, his other hand resting against the counter, caging you in but never making you feel trapped. Just held.

You melted into him, hands fisting into the fabric of his sweatshirt as his lips moved against yours, unhurried and unbearably sweet. And when he finally pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, there was that look again—like you were something precious.

“You always look at me after you say something funny,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Thought I should give you something to look forward to.”You huffed a breathless laugh, still dazed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Bucky smirked, leaning in again, his nose brushing yours. “Yeah? Tell me another.”

You did. And this time, when you looked at him, he kissed you all over again.

[wreckedandpolemic]

is it greedy of me to ask for multiple in one go? bc i think 17 and 21 and 96 are all... yeah xx

too much - matty healy

(mdni) god this was so fun i love not having to come up with original thoughts

warnings: 18+, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstim, praise, horribly rushed ending

Matty traces a thumb over your bare thigh, eyes still trained on the TV as if he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you. You whine his name, turning a pleading expression on him that you know he won’t be able to resist. He catches your lips in a sweet kiss, hand creeping up your leg to brush at your clit through the thin fabric of your shorts. Your hips jump at the attention, chasing that jolt of pleasure that pulses in your cunt.

“Lay down for me, sweetheart,” Matty instructs, and you shift, mourning the loss of his fingers on your skin like a physical ache. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, propping your feet up so he’s framed between the V of your legs. “Good girl,” he smiles, and your skin tingles under his heated gaze, anticipatory. Slowly, teasingly, he drags your shorts and panties off and sits back, grinning smugly when you whine.

You slip your own hand between your legs, rubbing slow circles into your clit, heat flooding your body and dripping out of you, the intensity growing every second Matty’s gaze lingers on you. “That feel good?” he asks, his voice silky smooth, curling between your ears and wrapping deliciously around your brain.

“Yeah,” you moan. “Not as good as when you do it, though,” you add with a grin, watching his pupils blow wide as he shifts his hips, his desire battling against his need for control. Matty grins down at you, sliding a hand up your calf and along your thigh, tracing faintly over your cunt. You moan, that first touch setting you ablaze, heartbeat pulsing between your legs, your blood rushing down to meet him.

His calloused fingers dance over your swollen bundle of nerves, striking erratic bursts of pleasure under your skin. “You like that?” he teases, eyes trained on your face and you squirm, knowing he’s cataloguing every movement; an avid student of your body. He dips a finger inside you and you whine, jerking your hips up to chase him.

“Fuck me,” you gasp. “Please,”

“Not yet, sweetheart. I love getting to know you like this; what turns you on, how to make you moan all pretty for me,” Matty murmurs, slipping another finger inside you, grinning when you cry out, clenching around him desperately. He doesn’t let up the pressure at your clit, testing out rhythms and watching your reactions oh-so-closely. Choked-out whines tumble from your lips as he brings you closer to your peak. He finally settles on a rhythm, a perfect fucking rhythm that has you tossing your head and bucking your hips, wiping your mind gorgeously blank, your body only existing where he touches you.

Waves and waves of pleasure crash over you, sending you spiralling, melting, dripping into his hands. You gasp and writhe, trying everything to prolong the sensation thrumming through your body. Matty keeps fingering you through your orgasm, chuckling as you whimper and moan.

Slowly, sweetly, you come back to your body, Matty’s satisfied smile drifting into focus. “I’ll never get tired of seeing you like that, coming undone all perfect for me.” Pleased, you smile blissfully up at him. You’re so fucking weak for his praise, and he knows it all too well.

“Now can you fuck me? Please? I want it so bad, want to come on your cock, want to make you feel so fucking good, god, please!” you beg.

He pulls his fingers out of you, pouting apologetically when you whimper. “How can I refuse when you beg so pretty for me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, sending a thrill of anticipation up your spine. You admire his skilled hands, flexing as he unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down along with his boxers, freeing his gorgeous, hard cock. Drool pools in your mouth at the sight of it, flushed red and dripping. Matty’s chest rises and falls, heaving, and you love that he can’t conceal his desire any longer.

You hear a soft thud as Matty kicks his trousers and underwear to the floor, gloriously naked above you. He leans down, boxing you in between his arms and lines his hips up with yours. Your lips connect as he enters you slowly, swallowing your moans and sweeping his tongue into your mouth. Greedily, you take everything he gives you, drunk on the taste and feel of him. “You feel fucking– ah!” you hiss as he rubs over your swollen clit. The molten pleasure that spreads from your cunt borders on pain, sharp and tangible in every corner of your body.

“Sensitive there, aren’t we?” A smug grin crosses his face and he speeds up the pace of his hips, fucking you hard into the sofa. Fire coils in the pit of your stomach, your muscles tensing as he toys with your tender clit. Your grip on reality slackens with every thrust, your mind tumbling into sweet oblivion.

A scream rings out as your second orgasm slams into you, and you’re only dimly aware that it came from your throat. You’re shaking, high on the pleasure racing through your bloodstream, your core burning you inside out. A pathetic whine falls from your lips when Matty doesn’t still his hips for even a moment, fucking you wildly as you shudder and come apart under him.

Tears pool in your eyes and roll down your cheeks; Matty drops his lips to yours, more a mingling of heavy breaths than a kiss. “So fucking gorgeous when you cum all over my cock, baby. Do you even fucking know what you do to me?” he moans, the obscene sound of your hips meeting filling the room. Matty pulls out of you and comes with a cry, white ropes spilling over your stomach.

You grin dopily up at him and drag a finger through the mess pooling on your skin, bringing it to your mouth and licking off his cum. His jaw goes slack as he watches you, lust beautifully evident in his face. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Think you can handle one more?” 

Sick anticipation hums in your veins, your body half recoiling from the thought and half reaching for him, always so desperate for him. “I don’t– It’s so much,” you whimper, your sore cunt throbbing when he brushes a teasing finger over you.

“Come on, baby. I wanna eat that pretty cunt, make you fall apart on my tongue. Please?” He turns those sweet, pleading eyes on you, and you’re done in.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Please,” you murmur. There was never any question, really — you’re weak for him, malleable and pliant in his hands, letting him have whatever he wants the way you always do.

Matty grins, irresistibly smug. “Thank you. My perfect girl. Open up for me?” Obediently, you drop your jaw and close your eyes, waiting. Matty spits into your mouth and you swallow, the taste of him flooding your senses. “Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss between your tits and working his way down your body.

The first lick at your cunt makes you cry out, pleasure-pain rolling over you in vast waves. “Oh, God,” you whine, oversensitive and desperate, grinding your hips down on his face, gasping when his nose bumps against your clit, white-hot pleasure bursting through you.

 “Shh,” he murmurs, face already wet with you. “You’re doing so good. Doing so good for me, sweetheart.” Matty rests his hands on your hips and buries his tongue in your cunt, devouring you like a man starved. You roll your hips against his face and he licks at you with long, sloppy strokes. It’s desperate, messy in the perfect way he always is. Your lungs burn with the effort of pulling in air, your limbs weak.

You bury your hand in his curls, gripping his them like a lifeline. You grind hard against his mouth, chasing that gorgeous stupor, your hand in his hair the only thing anchoring you to reality. His teeth graze your clit and everything breaks, bone-deep pleasure rolling through you. Your body collapses in on itself, shaking, overwhelmed with sensation. Your cunt pulses, aftershocks coursing through you as Matty sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” you mumble, exhausted.

Matty grins, leaning down to kiss you sweetly, and you revel in the taste of yourself on his lips. “You look fucking amazing, all fucked out for me. Almost makes me want to…” he trails off teasingly, smirking at the arousal and horror warring on your face. “Nah,” he adds. “I’ll let you rest,” he says, disappearing into the kitchen and returning after a moment with a glass of water and a sleeve of biscuits. You let him ease you into a sitting position, sipping slowly at the water.

Unsteady, you sway, leaning into him to support yourself. You’re both still for a moment, calming silence enveloping you as you rest your head on his shoulder. Your eyes slip shut and you fall into a light, peaceful sleep.

[parkers-gal]

my girl J.B.

pairing: bucky x avengers!reader (f)

trope: oblivious x thought they’ve been dating all along :)

warnings: none

wc: 1k

a/n: requests are open (for bucky). pls send prompts!

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

you’re in a pickle. as you sit with natasha and wanda on the floor of wanda’s room, you listen as nat tells the two of you about her earlier conversation with bucky. 

“he said we were dating?” you were confused. bucky had never asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had gone on a couple dates and hung out around the compound all the time. you were too nervous to make any moves, but it seemed bucky was on a completely different page altogether.

“basically” natasha confirmed. “he told me he already had plans for saturday with his ‘girl.’”

“oh.” 

wanda giggles at your perplexed state. “maybe you’ve been stressing over nothing this whole time, then.”

“but he never asked me.”

“maybe it was different back then?”

“cmon wanda, it’s not like he said we’re going steady like its the 40s. i feel like he knows about labels.” you sigh. you’ve been worried these last few weeks that bucky wasn’t going to ask you to be his girlfriend – maybe the two of you didn’t hit it off as well as you thought. but then he would take you on more dates, and you’d spend all day doing things around the compound that it felt like you already were girlfriend and boyfriend. 

“maybe he thought he already asked you.”

you sat with that for a moment. maybe he thought he did? you had no idea, and later into the night it got, the more confused you became. you nodded at the two girls, exchanging goodnights and making your way back to your room. 

═══════════ ⋆★⋆ ═══════════

by the time you got to the kitchen for breakfast, steve, sam, and bucky had already returned from a morning run, and wanda was cooking eggs at the stove with vision.

“goodmorning y/n,” steve smiles at you.

you return the sentiment and rub the sleep from your eyes. you make eye contact with bucky and try not to stumble as you reach up for a mug in one of the cabinets. as you reach from your toes, bucky’s metal hand finds your waist and he engulfs you from behind, his other hand grabbing your favorite mug.

“let me get that for you, peaches.”

you try not to flush.

steve smiles at the interaction, continuing his conversation with sam. after bucky sets your mug on the counter, he gives the top of your head a small kiss and makes his way back over to steve. you wonder if steve smiled at the two of you because he thinks you’re dating. if bucky thought the two of you were official, why would his best friend think any differently? 

you let it go for the moment, filling your mug and grabbing a plate for the eggs wanda just made for you. 

“have you asked him?” she whispers.

you purse your lips, “no,” you shrug a little. “i don’t even know what to ask him.”

“ask who, what?” sam interjects.

wanda and you both turn your heads to look at him from across the kitchen island, and steve and bucky stop their conversation to watch. 

“i- uhm…” you don’t know what to say. 

luckily, you don’t have to think of a response because bucky speaks up. “wilson, are you pestering my girl?”

wanda nudges your side with her elbow, a gesture that you know means i’ve got your back. “your girl, huh?”

bucky blushes, poorly suppressing a sheepish grin. steve chuckles at bucky’s change in demeanor. 

“well, yeah, she’s my girl.”

“i am?”

bucky’s brows furrow in confusion and for a moment, a flicker of hurt flashes in his eyes. “do you not want to be?”

you bite the inside of your lip, nervous to confess this so publicly. “truthfully i didn’t even know i was your girl.”

“oh.”

the kitchen is silent for a moment. sam waits to hear what bucky has to say, or if you have something else to add to explain the situation.

your foot lightly hits the ground. you’re fidgeting; only bucky can make you this nervous with butterflies. “that doesn’t mean i don’t want to be.”

bucky perks up and he nods, finally getting the misunderstanding between you two. 

sam’s laugh breaks the silence. “you’re such an idiot.” he grabs an apple and pats bucky’s back on the way out, steve following right behind him, their voices fading as they get farther down the hallway. 

bucky grabs his own mug and pours himself some coffee while you sit at the island and silently eat your eggs. wanda and vision eventually clean up their dishes and head off to some training task, leaving you alone in the kitchen with bucky. 

as you put your plate in the sink, he asks “did you really not know you’re my girl?”

you run the faucet, not wanting to look at him because it’ll make you more nervous. “you never asked me.”

his flesh hand dances on your hip, spinning you around to face him. “okay…” you glance between his eyes and his lips, settling on his eyes. he mirrors your actions. “then… do you want to be my girl, y/n?”

“i-” you twiddle your fingers, hand at your side. he has you pinned against the counter. 

“gonna give me an answer, peaches? or just leave me hanging?” he’s teasing you, face getting closer with each new quip. his nose practically touches yours. 

at last, you breathe out a quiet “yes,” and bucky chuckles at you.

“can i kiss you, peaches?”

too speechless to say it, you nod, his metal hand reaching to cup your face. his lips connect with yours and it’s electrifying. your stomach flips and you get so caught up that you grip his henley, afraid that you’ll collapse with how lovestruck he has you. when he sucks on your bottom lip, you let out another gasp and you feel bucky’s lips turn up in a smirk as he pulls away. 

still cupping your face, he smiles at you. you smile back, saying something that has bucky’s eyes glinting with pride. 

“can you kiss me again?”

[novelistwriter]

The Undead Shop Owner

DP x DC Prompt

The shop, Nightingale Services, has been around since the start of Batman's Vigilante work. The owner, Daniel Altair, is a young man who has stayed looking like he is in his early 20s, despite the many years that had passed, with the appearance of the newest Stabby Robin, Nightingale Services is going ti he requested by the Bat to help with training him, like with all the other times he was requested to do so with the other birdies and sidekicks and the Bat himself.

The Bats and even the Rogues of Gotham had tried to figure out who Daniel Altair was before he came to Gotham. When the Metahumans started appearing, the Gothamites just thought that Daniel Altair was a meta with powers related to aging, none of them questioned his pale skin, sharp fangs, and a Thermos that's always filled with a red liquid.

Nightingale Services is a neutral zone, given that Daniel Altair has stated so many times while escorting beaten goons, rogues, and occasionally a vigilante in the past, the most memorable ones were Daniel tossing the Joker in a dumpster after the Clown tried to do something to the store owner, and Batman being calmly escorted off of Daniel's property with a warning, with Batman having some visible injuries, despite the night just starting that day.

Danny had escaped his home, leaving it for the Infinite Realms/Ghost Zone, and found his way to a new dimension. His parents didn't accept him being a Halfa. He wanted Jazz, Sam, and Tucker to be with him, but they had to stay behind to keep his parents and the GIW from trying anything.

He changed his last name to Altair, the brightest start in the Aquila constellation, and opened a store that would help fulfill his obsession, Nightingale Services. He would basically offer almost any type of service, cleaning, tutoring, business advice, managing group efforts he is paid to do, and training are some of them.

His first year in the new dimension had his biggest event being the Batman coming after him because of falsified evidence the Penguin left that painted Danny as the culprit for smuggling illegal stuff into Gotham. After that, Danny used some of his Ghost King inheritance to buy the Iceberg Lounge from the Penguin. He still has it, but the Penguin has a fraction of the place to earn some money from it when the Penguin stopped his attempts at ruining the new life Danny had after Danny showed the Penguin that he can and will kill the man if it continues, which he rewarded the man with the partial ownership of the Iceberg Lounge.

Then the Joker tried to get him to do things that would go against his obsession the next year. When he rejected the Jokers job offer, he had to beat up the Joker and tossed him into the dumpster next to his store.

Danny learned from Clockwork that his body is still connected to his home dimensions time flow, so he ages a lot slower in his new home, and the fact that he is compared to a vampire by the Hero community doesn't really bother him, he already proved he isn't one of the malevolent ones with the help from a British Magician that is the source of his headaches from his Ghost King paperwork.

Danny had to deal with each new batfamily member when they appeared. He gave closure to both Bruce and Dick with their parents, gave Jason a charm that would protect him from a fatal incident, gave Barbara a concoction that could heal any wound, slightly messed with Tim whenever the kid tried to learn about his past, out pranked Stephanie whenever she tried to prank him, plays a version of tag with Cassandra that involves them both sneaking up on each other, gave Duke some advice for his powers, and now he is tasked with both being a training instructor to Damian and getting the kid to be less high and mighty about himself.

[maideninorange]

The ink youkai rolled their eyes at this. Nevertheless, they took a step towards her, a hand, its talons stained black with ink, coming up to stroke her chin.

Maki kicked at them, arms straining against the grip of the bizarre youkai that ambushed her. But it did nothing to keep the claw from trailing up her chin, the strange eye on its owner's top hat squinting oh so slightly along with their actual eyes as they study her.

"...Yeah she's cute. Cute in that sort of sick puppy way. You know? Where you can't help but pity it?" Ink trails up her sides as the youkai pinches her ribs, drawing a whimper out of her, "She's not even very meaty. Barely enough for just one of us. How could you expect both of us to eat her?"

"Who said we had to eat her? I mean look at her! She's so cute! She'd make a great pet, wouldn't she?"

"And then we'd have to take care of all her needs and make sure she doesn't escape. Ugh, that's too much effort..." The ink youkai bemoaned, like that idea wasn't the reason for her beginning to hyperventilate and that they were seriously considering it, "Besides, you'd just get bored of her after a day and then it'd be my responsibility. And if we can't eat her, than what's the point?"

The arms currently hoisting Maki off the ground begin to... flicker weirdly, like one of those electric lights they have in Devanagara when it begins to malfunction. It sent chills up her spine as they begin to wail.

"Bu-But she's so cute!!! Pleaaaase Tsuba? You won't even know she's there!" Pleaaaasase!!!"

"That's what you say every single time you find anything cute. And guess what? I always notice when you inevitably lose all interest in caring for it." They pinch their temple, like they and the... abomination behind them were arguing over a stray puppy, "For the last time no! Just throw her back. Or kill her. I don't care anymore. She was your catch anyway, Yabusame."

Yabusame... Like a shock to the system, the name ignites another round of air slipping and sliding through her lungs. If the nickname didn't do it, this name did.

Yabusame and Tsubakura...They were the priests that went mad and became youkai not even a century back, weren't they? Her father had always taken care to warn her to watch for them when she first became a merchant. So to know the youkai with her life in their hands were them...

Maki began to scream. She was then swiftly shut up by the mind numbing abomination of a bird youkai, Yabusame, thrusting a hand over her mouth.

The ink youkai, Tsubakura, covered their ears, turning in favor of her now busted cart, "Annnnd now you've broken her. Great. Just great. I'm gonna go do something useful and check if she has any ink anywhere. Come after me once you finish with her."

And with that, they strutted off. At least her horse got away. She always liked him...

"If I can't keep her, and Tsuba and I can't eat her, hm..."

But then Yabusame flickered in front of her, their hand taking a moment to shift to something more... humanly plausible, and Maki knew her time was up. She gulped at the bored frown fading to something more... playful. A very sinister sort of playful.

"I know! I'll just put you with all the other critters I've collected! Then you can always be around to play with me~!"

Maki wanted to ask what they meant by that. However, she never the chance to. The next thing she knew, the ground was gone and so was their grip on her. The last thing she saw was their perky little wave as if they were actual friends.

Then, she was falling, and the only thing she was aware of was the darkness and her own screams.

“Ugh, stop playing with your food.”

“But look at them,” the creature purred. “They’re so cute. Delicious.”

Delicious swallowed hard.