#john stones prompt

[hendolish]

stonesford ficlet where John takes care of Jordan after bad results with Everton???

btw I love your writing so much 😭❤️

john stones/jordan pickford | comfort ♡

“C’mon, it wasn’t that bad.”

Jordan pauses arranging the pillows on the couch then to stare at him.

“It was four-nil, John. Four-nil. What’s worse than that?”

“Five-nil?”

John quips with a grin on his face that suggests he didn’t want to make the joke but had felt compelled to. Admittedly, it does make Jordan’s lips twitch as he chucks one of the cushions at him.

“It was shit. We were a mess,” He rakes his hands through his hair as he finally takes a seat. It’s still slightly damp from where he’d just gotten out of the shower, “I was a mess. Didn’t feel in control at all and I hated it.”

John watches him with a frown, lips pressed together. He hates seeing Jordan like this. Especially when anger and frustration usually seems to fuel him rather than pull him down.

The plan was to watch the Arsenal game together, John wants to be up to date with everything for when he’s fit again, but with Jordan’s brows pulling into an ever deeper frown every time one of the keepers makes a save, John is quick to flip the channel over. He can go over the game later himself.

As expected, Jordan’s wallowing so deep in his own thoughts that it takes him a couple of seconds to even turn to John and ask what he’s doing.

“C’mon, let’s put on a film and I’ll make you a cuppa.”

Jordan’s frown neutralises mildly at the suggestion, but remains because it’s pretty obvious that John’s attempting to cheer him up. Either way, he agrees with a weak nod as he rubs at his eyes. Red and tired from where he hadn’t slept a wink last night thinking about what he should have done. Which way he should’ve dived.

John’s determined to fill his mind with anything but.

“You choose,” He says over his shoulder as he extracts what has become Jordan’s mug out of the cupboard. Evertonian blue, of course.

“I’ll even watch one of those terrible action films with you,” Jordan picks up the remote, his left eyebrow quirked upwards, “You know. The ones with the cars and the semi-naked girls.”

That seems to do the trick, Jordan soon rising to the defence of his favourite film series, which may or may not have been John’s plan all along as he distributes the teabags.

Jordan still looks a little put out once he returns to the couch with two mugs in hand, balancing them carefully until they’re safely on the coffee table, so John plants a kiss to the top of his head as he passes by. Once he’s sat down again, he grins at the grimace on Jordan’s face because he knows he loves it really. Just far too stubborn to show it.

“You picked one?” John asks as he arranges himself on the couch; aesthetics and long limbs really don’t match.

Jordan doesn’t reply, instead gesturing to the TV with the remote still in hand where a title screen is blinking back at him. John still thinks he looks distracted though, and so adds, “We’ll smash ‘em for you. You’ll see.”

The other hums in agreement, but the noise soon turns into Jordan’s sniggering. John can’t help but grin back at him, “What?”

“Pretty sure you don’t play them ‘til, like, December or summit.”

John’s still smiling at Jordan because his face looks far less grim glancing over at him; he doesn’t even realise the other’s hit ‘play’ until a car screeches to a halt through the TV’s speakers.

“I know,” He says, just to keep Jordan looking at him, grinning, “But does it make you feel better?”

John holds his breath as he watches Jordan move closer to him on the couch until he’s lowering his head down into his lap, eyes still traced on the TV. He daren’t move in case the other man changes his mind, but slowly lowers a hand to land in his hair once Jordan seems set on staying where he is.

“It does.”

Jordan murmurs as he buries his face into John’s thigh and pushes into the hand playing with his hair. Soft for once and not slicked with product. John grins to himself.

“Good.”

♡

[underwater-i-will-go]

half past 1 in the morning. cannot sleep. watching newcastle play but i'm too tired to focus. my brain is running in circles.

you know when you feel like two people were meant to be but somehow life just got in the way or there was maybe one minor event that prevented them from ending up together? maybe one day where the call one was always meaning to make wasn't made or the one sentence that never left someone's lips. and then suddenly that moment is gone, and the opportunity is no more.

and sometimes john just sits there. he's not unhappy with the life he lives, but he sees him living his life to the fullest, the happiest he could be perhaps and john just knows that this won't ever be him. not as long as he's not with jordan. but he just has to live with the fact that he never took the chance, never had that talk with him. who knows if it would have made a difference if he had that conversation with jordan or not - but the fact that he'll never know and that it is now too late eats him from the inside. he thought it would get better with the years passing but it didn't.

and now their lives have taken entirely different turns. they live their lives separately and not together, not sharing it. with other people on their side instead of each other. john's head hurts. he just wishes things would've gone differently. but it is what it is, right?

[football-and-fanfics]

New prompts list 😇

I know this is all very lastminute, but I had the worst day, so I need something to cheer myself up. Therefore, here it is, a new prompts list!😁😁 Happy requesting!

GO TO THE PROMPTS LIST AND REQUEST 😇😇

(There's some general information at the top of the prompts list. Please read it carefully so I won't have to disappoint you and turn your request down)

[wildglitch]

I volunteered as tribute. So this is a quick draft of that ideas with a few more HC's thrown in. I might come back, fix this up and post a better one-shot on ao3, but for now @purplearchivist this is for you . (Hope you like it, cause with most of the things I post im doing this on the spot)

It was early in the day at the WatchTower. Not many people were in the tower and the few that were, were milling in and out of the cafeteria for an early 5 a.m breakfast.

He could see Green Lantern and Martian Manhunter chatting over coffee. Captain Marvel was staring daggers at Constantine who was smoking right across from him, all the while Cyborg sat next to them with the most dead eyed stare that told anyone he was not present at the moment. The trinity was having breakfast at their own table and probably planning out the meeting they would have later. People are just trying to get a few minutes of peace before having to face the day.

"Dude! Someone made Pancakes!" Wally or better known as The Flash yelled from the other side of the room.

Then there were people like him, who were bribed and manipulated with pity to accompany his friend on his night time monitor duty shift. Nightwing should probably apologize to Cyborg, poor guy not only lives on the tower, but also had to deal with their dumbasses all night.

"Thanks" Nightwing yawned receiving the plate his friend offered him

All in all, it seemed like nothing that interesting was going to happen, just a regular morning in a room filled with people that were probably sleep deprived and had nothing better to do than come to the watchtower for breakfast. That was until a sparking glowing portal appeared in the middle of the room.

"Oh god damn it" He heard Flash say next to him, and honestly, Nightwing couldn't help but agree.

"I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into eating breakfast and just gone home. '' He sighed to his friend, already getting into a fighting stance along with the few others present at the moment, preparing for the worst.

What came out of the portal was a battered yet elegant looking man with a very serious face. Before any of them could do anything, the man lifted his hands in a show of peace with the words "I need a favor '' stumbling out of his mouth.

The heros were confused, who was this man? How did this man get onto the tower? And what was the light show he just did?

The answer came for 2 of the more unlikely people

"Dr. Strange?" Captain Marvel asked as Constantin sat back down with a mutter about "Not this fucking guy". Not a good sign.

"John, Captain" The man quickly made his way towards them, ignoring the other people in the room. "I need your help, fast" The man said seriously, he seemed stressed.

"With?" The Captain wearly, and that's coming from the guy who never seemed to be worried about anything. next to him he sees John let out a deep sigh.

"What did you do this time Strange?" The man said more resigned then anything

"Lets, let's just say that through a series of very unfortunate events, things got messy and now my reality is imploding on itself." Oh Shit.

"Oh Shit" Cap said numbly alongside a gawking John

"How much time do we have to save your universe? '' Superman said, starling the three out of their conversation. they seemed to have forgotten about the other people in the room. and honestly he can't blame them considering he also forgot.

Looking around, he can see that everyone is no longer in a battle stance, and inside look ready to help this man in whatever way they can. And Honestly he can help but agree, this man came here asking for help. What kind of heros would they be if they turned him away?

"None" The man said, recomposing himself a bit, turning to talk to the room at large. "But that's not what I came asking for help with"

"Then what is?"Wonder Woman asked confused

The man sighed, as if the weight of what he was about to ask was fully hitting him. How bad would this favor be?

"There's this boy. I need you guys to look after him."

...Huh?

And theres that. Im not writing the whole thing rn. I'll safe that for ao3 lol. But I hope this can help feed that idea you had. I imagien that a lot of really powerful magic users are awear of eachother and have possible meet before, and that big magic events are things that bring peoples attention to certin users. And I think the "Sorcer Suprem who helped wipe half of life", "Youngest Champion of Magic" And "Some Brit that keeps selling his soul and getting away with it" have meet if not are awear of eachother.

Fanfic Prompt

I'm not really a fic writer but I had an idea after reading a lot of crossover fics where Peter Parker gets dumped in the DC universe by Dr. Strange after the multiverse fiasco. 

However, I think it would be really cool if someone made a fic where Strange dumped Peter in front of the Justice League explained what was going on and why, and asked them to take Peter, and then the League or Batman proceeded to ream out Strange for destroying Peter's life. 

I would love it if someone would write this if they do or if there is already a story like this please link it is that possible on Tumblr?

Links to current Fics:

Dark Matter by mysterycyclone

Make it out Just to fall by derryhawkins

Peter the Pizza Guy by Irisen

Dumpster Diving for Treasure by Clovrtree

Along Came A Spider by RagsnBones (Complete)

[thealphapxnguin]

Whisky and Dreams

A John Price x fem!Reader fanfiction, inspired by a prompt by @dante-mightdie

Click here for AO3 version.

Part One

The dim half-light fell on your face as you sat, silent and stone-faced, in the corner of the bar. The glass of wine you had previously been sipping on now sat forgotten in front of you, stagnant and cold, as you stared blankly into space. Around you, laughter and chatter erupted, drunken cries of delight mixing with cheers and off-tune singing as people writhed and enjoyed themselves around you, but you blocked it all out.

You had never been more miserable or lonely in your life.

And your ‘friends’ (or, rather, college acquaintances), the ones who had convinced you to join them in the first place, apparently couldn’t care less. You scoffed quietly. Why should they? For hot, confident twenty-somethings, it wasn’t like they had any shortage of suitors. And it wasn’t their problem if one member of the group hadn’t said one word all night, let alone join in with the mingling.

‘Why don’t you stay with the bags, then?’ The nicest girl — which wasn’t saying much — had told you when you all first arrived, a sympathetic, pitying sort of expression on her pretty face as she noticed your hesitance to join the fun. Even with an undertone that would’ve typically irked you, you didn’t have it in yourself to argue, and you had since resigned yourself to the idea that it was the best you were going to get and that you should be grateful for it.

A sharp, shaky sigh left your lips, as you finally glanced down and checked your phone for what must have been the thousandth time that evening. 12:34. Pretending to be in your own world was a challenging task when self-consciousness and anxiety seeped into your mind with every pair of eyes that fell on you. It had only been a couple minutes since you last checked, and the thought only made you more stressed.

Deep, rowdy cheers erupted from somewhere behind you, and even though you had been trying to stay inconspicuous and keep out of the way of what was going on, they were so loud that you couldn’t help but turn your head to the source of the commotion.

You didn’t know why you bothered. It was just a drinking game — about ten men, sturdily build and wearing various military uniforms were playing a game of beer pong in a booth, and a man with a spiked Mohawk and gleaming eyes had just won. A crowd of women surrounded them, about half of them girls you had came here with, and they were all cheering like maniacs. Military men were always popular, here, you recalled, with the bar being so close to a few known bases. It helped that they were all pretty attractive, in their own ways.

Out of pure curiosity and a need to do something instead of just sitting there miserably, you allowed your gaze to travel over the group. Playing with, and having presently lost to, the Mohawk man was a young-ish Black guy who looked entirely wasted. On a large table behind them sat the rest. However, a man clad in skull balaclava at the head instantly made you uncomfortable, and you quickly averted your eyes to the other end.

Wrong move.

Immediately your gaze locked with the gentleman that sat on the opposite side of the table. His irises were a comforting shade of blue, framed with lashes you would die for, and you registered how he seemed distinctly older and calmer than the rest of them. Whilst the other men were acting like hysterics, the only thing that illustrated his amusement was how one corner of his mouth was twitched up in amusement, thick moustache quirking. He nursed a whisky in one large hand, and the other rested on his knee.

You weren’t even going to try and lie to yourself. He was absolutely too old for you, absolutely out of your league, and absolutely your type.

His head cocked to the side ever so slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. Even so, your unconscious admiration of the man instantly screeched to a halt as it happened, your neck snapping back over your shoulder, as you felt a flush come over your cheeks.

Fuck.

It was just your luck, wasn’t it? The one time you were genuinely interested in a man, and it was at a shitty bar with friends you didn’t even know the names whilst of having the worst time of your life.

“Just my luck…” You repeated sullenly, once again bringing your phone back out and preparing for another two hours of anxious scrolling.

Until a tap on your shoulder made you freeze.

“Fancy a refill, love?”

A heavy figure settled down on the stool beside you, and you didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. Somehow you knew instinctively, like it was already a reflex for your body to recognise this man whose existence you had been aware of for less than five minutes.

A sharp inhale. “I’m… sorry?” You choked. You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. You couldn’t even dare to look up. Maybe he wasn’t even talking to you.

“A refill. More alcohol. A little boost. Don’t mean to be rude, but you don’t look awfully thrilled right now.” His voice was deep, his British accent not overwhelming but pleasing to the ears.

You hesitated. “I’m… I’m okay, thank you.” Your eyes remained fixed on the table in front of you. Fuck…

The heat of his body shifted. He was looking directly at you, now, you could feel it — feel how his eyes roamed your body, zeroed in on your face, analysed you and truly noticed you. It made you shiver slightly. “You sure?”

“…I’m sure…” A lie.

You wanted nothing more in that moment than to be the kind of person who knew how to respond to this kind of interaction, but you weren’t, and it was killing you to turn down the only person in the bar who you wanted to talk to.

Basically… you didn’t know what to do. You quickly concluded after he remained silent for a few moments that he must have been joking — and if he wasn’t, then he’d undoubtedly go to find someone else to chat up after your quick rejection. Wouldn’t that do wonders for your already-pitiful self-confidence?

It seemed you had predicted correctly. Just then, he stood up, and you watched him out of the corner of your eye as he left your side made his way over to the bartender — just as one of your friends sidled up to him, a drunken expression of flirtatious delight on her face.

You couldn’t keep your heart from dropping, and your forehead to slam onto the table in front of you with a defeated groan as he left. It was stupid to get jealous when you had rejected his offer, you knew that, but… your chance. Your one chance.

God, did you hate yourself.

Letting your eyes linger on the man even after his departure didn’t help. Your friend had nuzzled up to his side like she was some sort of cat, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes and biting her lip, and you could tell that she was showering him with compliments from the way he nodded every few seconds with a polite smile. The only thing that made you feel better was that he didn’t seem to be reciprocating the interaction quite as eagerly as she was, but that very well may have just been your jealous imagination trying to calm yourself down.

A bartender approached him, and a few minutes later, the man was handed with another glass of whisky and a red wine. You fixated on the way your friend eyed the second drink delightedly.

To both of your surprise, however, the man took the two drinks from the counter, stood up…

And completely ignored your friend, who looked a little dismayed but quickly busied herself with another man nearby. He walked right back to sit down next to you again and slid the wine across the counter.

The gesture was clear. For you.

“I know you said you didn’t want it, but just in case,” the man rumbled. He seemed almost amused with your obvious inner panic. This time you met his gaze, eyes wide.

“I…” Was he serious? Were you actually getting a second chance at this? “I… Thank you.” You swallowed, so nervous that your throat felt like sandpaper, and you winced at the feeling.

The man chuckled. “No problem, love. Figured you may have just been shy. If you really want me to leave, I will, but somehow, I get the idea that that isn’t the case.” He gave you a crooked smile before taking a long sip of his whiskey, the warm amber liquid sloshing around in the glass appealingly.

You didn’t know how to reply to that, drenched in fear.

For some reason, at that, his smile widened. “What’s your name?” He asked suddenly, after setting his cup down with a soft clink.

You told him quietly, voice shaking.

“Hmm. I like that. I’m John. John Price.” He held out a calloused hand, and you were immediately aware of how big and sturdy it seemed, “Nice to meet you.”

After a moment of stunned silence, you took it, the warmth and thinly veiled strength that enveloped your palm sending small shivers down your spine — and for the first time that evening, you offered him a small smile of your own. “You too.” Even if this was some sort of sick joke, wasn’t it nice to pretend? And that was the worst-case scenario. Which meant there was a good chance he was being genuine. You didn’t want to raise your hopes all too high, though.

“Thanks again,” you said awkwardly, nodding to the glass in front of you and taking a small sip appreciatively. The wine slid down your throat, the alcohol boost immediately putting a happy fuzz in your mind.

“As I said, no problem at all.” John nursed his whisky, and your eyes flicked to how the muscles in his arm strained with the movement. “Having fun?”

You couldn’t help but scoff softly. “Does it look it it?”

John’s blue eyes twinkled. “Good point. What is it that’s got you so down, then? If it’s some bastard, I wouldn’t mind dealing with him for you outside.”

A small laugh of disbelief left your lips. “Oh. Good to know. But… no. It isn’t some bastard, though for some reason I kind of wish it were, because then at least I’d have something to blame.” You paused. “I don’t even really know what the problem is myself, to be honest. Just this place in general. I would’ve gone home a while ago, but my friends want to stay a bit longer and I think I’m the DD.” You stared at your wine. “That ship may have already sailed, though.” Great. Now, instead of being unable to form words, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. The magic of alcohol was a true wonder.

You were relived to find that John didn’t seem perturbed by the sudden spluttered paragraph. In fact, he seemed quite pleased, by the way the corners of those gorgeous eyes wrinkled kindly as he listened. “Don’t seem like very good friends, if they leave you alone like that and don’t even bother check on you.”

“They’re not even my friends. They’re just— I don’t know, acquaintances.” You paused, frowning, as a flush gradually spread across your cheeks as more alcohol flooded your system. “I don’t know a lot of things, apparently.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” John commented, raspy voice ever so slightly softer than it had been before.

“Agree to disagree,” you sighed.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence — and the realisation surprised you, because a few minutes ago the thought would have seemed crazy.

You began to speculate about him as the silence lengthened, both of you sipping your drinks quietly as chaos continued to rage around. How old was he? What did he do for a living? What was his relationship with the other men?

Why did he approach you?

“You work in the military, right?” You suddenly blurted out, unable to keep the endless swarm of questions contained in your fuzzy brain.

He nodded with yet another smile, before gesturing to the men behind you. “Correct. Captain John Price, at your service. I’m in charge of most of of these lot. The rest are strays, but I brought them along because it’s been quite a tough time for them all and they deserved a bit of a break.”

You blinked. “That’s… nice of you.”

The captain huffed a laugh. “Well, as I said, they can all be pricks, but they’re the most hardworking and loyal pricks I know. Here, let me show you. That one there…” He pointed directly at the man with the Mohawk who had first caught your attention, who was now lounging with an arm over the man who had lost’s shoulder and watching another match of beer pong. “Scotsman we call Soap. Troublemaker and demolitions expert.” John’s finger moved to the man who had lost. “Gaz. Ex-SAS. Skilled like hell, but has a hell of a temper.” Finally, his finger settled on the man with the skull balaclava who had instantly made you uncomfortable. You shivered just setting eyes on him again. “And that’s Ghost. All I’ll say is, not a man you want to mess with.” He didn’t need to tell you twice.

Maybe if you hadn’t been as drunk as you were, you would’ve been a little freaked out, but at present, you didn’t really care. You had to take a second to absorb the new information in, before musing, “I have to say, those are some odd names.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate me giving out their real names to a stranger, pretty as she may be.”

Any form of response died in your throat, as a burst of heat spread through your body and raised goosebumps along your arms at his words. God, he was so attractive, and so sweet, and so attentive, and he smelled so good — like smoke and pinewood — that you just wanted to wrap yourself around him and bury your head in his chest and—

“You alright there, sweetheart?”

“I— huh?” You inhaled sharply as John brought you out of your momentary compliment-induced stupor. ‘Oh, yeah. Fine. Just fine. Amazing, actually.”

“That so?”

 You nodded earnestly, preparing to explain just how amazing you really were, when the movement caused you to lose you balance, and you swayed dangerously on your stool.

You squeaked, just as a large, warm palm spread across your shoulder and kept you in place. “You… are drunk,” John said carefully, his hand remaining on your shoulder for a second too long before he removed it. Not that you were complaining.

“Pretty drunk, yeah,” you agreed weakly, heart faltering at the mini heart attack you had just given yourself. You were definitely a lightweight.

“I’d say even more so than that, love. You sure you don’t want to start heading home?”

“But… my friends. I’m the DD…”

Price scoffed affectionately. “Don’t mean to assume, but you don’t seem too close with your friends, and you’re going to get pulled over the second you try to drive like this. Look, you want me to give you a ride home or something?”

“I…” You hesitated. It probably wasn’t a good idea to give a stranger your address — especially a military captain who couldn’t even tell you the names of his comrades — but you were just about out of money for the night and he was so attractive. “Would you?”

“‘Course. Promise not to murder you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added, with a small quirk of his lips.

“…Reassuring.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Good to hear. Well, if you’re ready to go now… then c’mon, love, let’s get you home.”

Word Count: 2671

Stay tuned for the part two, and I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[maryangelex]

Please, please, please.

I am requesting an Ex!husband John price/ Fem!reader, where they divorce and he’s absolutely devastated by it, grovels and upset that he lost the love of his life, and then years later by circumstances are in force proximity with each other and have to deal with communicating all their grievances and then bam heated smut and pent up frustrations at each other, and then get back together.

Thank you so much and I really appreciate you! But it’s also okay if you skip my request :)

a/n: anon how could i possibly leave this delectable prompt unanswered!!?!?!?! i have literally been saving this one for almost last because i need to use 110% of my prune brain its so amazing. one thing about me is...im a whore for ex-husband!price *clutches pearls* im sorry for making ya wait, i hope you love it!!!

this is gonna be a long one!

c/w: ex-husband!price, make-up sex, forced proximity, quickie, against a wall, p in v, creampie, john price yearns for his pretty wife

It hadn't been easy, no divorce is easy, really. Much less when it was something you didn't really want to do, but more so saw yourself as needing to do. The nights without John had gotten too lonely, his side of the bed had gotten too cold. You thought the times he was back would make up for the times he wasn't. When John came back from deployment it felt like a coin toss: sometimes it was your honeymoon all over again, but other times he was cold and distant.

You had two kids in tow; two kids that needed their father. You were a wife that needed her husband just as much. You don't blame him for not being there of course. After all, you owed it all to him; all you ever wanted he got for you, he provided you a house to raise your children in, to grow old in. He gave you nothing but unconditional love. That's what made everything harder when you decided you couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep hoping he'd come home to be his normal self every time just to be met with the shell of the man you fell in love with.

You knew it wasn't his fault, you knew his line of work. But having to be alone the majority of the year plus having to still be alone when he was around had gotten to you, it had become too much. And John knew this. When you told him through sobs and wails that you couldn't do this anymore, that you felt hopeless and alone and like this was the only remedy, he understood. He had packed his things and left without a fuss, leaving you the house and renting an apartment barely a drive away. He tried to make it as simple as possible, arranging to stay with the kids every weekend and more if you needed time for yourself. His silence and compliance to separate felt like more of a dagger in your chest than the reason to separate to begin with. You wished he had fought for you, that he had yelled at you and argued with you to stay and fix this.

Little did you know that when he found himself in the empty single-bedroom apartment he rented himself he did nothing but cry like a neglected child for hours until his eyes stung and couldn't physically push out any more tears. John Price was a man made of stone and yet he found himself clutching his chest as he sobbed for his wife nearly every night and every lonesome morning. He kicked himself for not fighting for you, as well. He blamed himself for having to come to this in the first place, for leaving you alone and not knowing how to cope well enough to be the very best of himself when he came back from grueling missions. For not being able to look you in the eyes after losing a man, for not being able to open up to you and cry like this in front of you when he needed to let it out of his chest, for not making love to you like a tending husband should at his wife's every whim.

He felt like the consequences of choosing his career had finally caught up to him, and losing you was his penance.

The two of you finalized your divorce quietly and without struggle, feeling like it only drove the knife deeper into your chest. You settled on the kids seeing John every other weekend and he'd be more than welcome back home to be present as their father. Because that was the thing about John: he may have not seen himself as a good man (not good enough for you, for sure) but you both knew he was the best father your kids (and you) could ever ask for.

It's been a year since your divorce; John had been living in his separate flat whilst you and the kids stayed home. He'd come every week, and take the kids every other weekend. Now your oldest's birthday was a few days away and who were you to deprive him of coming? After he had been doing such a good job at not crossing your boundaries, at being a loving father and giving you every bit of warmth and kindness and love that he gave you when you were still together...the more you listed these things the more your heart ached and you doubted yourself. The more you realized you still loved him.

On the day of your kid's birthday, he made sure to get there extra early to help you set up the place. He bought the necessary supplies, picked up the cake from the bakery, and set up the chairs and balloons. Hell, you barely lifted a finger. And of course, he was more than happy to do everything and anything for you with that cheek-pulling smile of his. As the party went on and the house filled with guests and wild kids running about, you scrambled around the house to make sure no one needed anything. That's when John intervened.

"Everythin' alright, hon? Been runnin' round the house like mad," his voice was sweet like honey as he entered the garage, where you were taking out can after can of soda from the spare fridge and into the cooler with ice you brought with you. You didn't turn to look at him as you sighed in exasperation, but you could feel John just a few steps behind you.

"Just making sure everyone's got something to drink...the sodas've run out in the cooler outside and--"

"Everyone's havin' a good time, love," John cut off your rambling with a light chuckle, the rumbling of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He interjected by taking the cooler from your hands "Let me get that for you," he said, lifting the heavy plastic for you. You sighed again and brought the back of your hand to rub your forehead. You finally looked up to meet his eyes, which were gazing at you with so much adoration it made your stomach twist.

"John..." you started, and he responded with a furrow of his brows and a silent question. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you still love me," you blurted, and the beat your heart skipped let you know you physically regretted saying that, instantly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line as he paused for a moment in silence.

"I do still love you," he confessed. You shook your head in disbelief and scoffed.

"John, please, it's our kid's birthday," you dismissed as you turned on your heel and made your way to the door except-

Right, you now remembered why it was a rule in your house this past year to not close the garage door: the lock was busted. You gripped the knob firmly and gave it one, two, three harsh tugs, hoping to somehow force the door open. You banged the door with your fist in frustration, hoping maybe someone heard it on the other side but all you heard was the music playing on the other side.

"Let me have a go," John said, placing the cooler down and tugging just as harshly, even slamming his shoulder against it to see if it would budge, but nothing. You and John were trapped in your garage. You let out a groan and a quiet curse as you pinched the bridge of your nose with a hand on your hip.

John placed a hand on your bicep. They were cold from the ice but the squeeze and rubbing of his thumb on your skin was filled with warmth.

"S'alright, take a breather, hon," he said tenderly, "they'll miss us soon enough to come lookin' in here."

You nodded as you stepped away from his touch. You never stopped John from still using terms of endearment for you, it never felt like a big deal. You were frustrated from the party, the perfectionist in you wanting nothing but to give your kids the best party, and now you were locked up in the garage. To make matters worse, you were locked up in here with your ex-husband who just said he still loves you.

"I meant what I said, love," his voice was barely a whisper but it still brought you out of your thoughts.

"John..." you warned.

"No, I mean it," his tone rose, firmer this time, "I still fuckin' love you, baby."

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? You're gonna make an effort now, John, a year later?"

John was silent, pleading blue eyes gazing at you, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"You didn't fight for us, John. You didn't fight for me." your finger pointed to your chest firmly as you looked back at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I know, baby, I know," his voice shook in his throat, "I should've fought for us... I should've been a better husband to you, better dad for the kids I-- I should've just been there."

You were quiet as you choked on a quiet sob, the tears escaping down your cheeks.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a second, my only regret in life is not having fought harder for you, having let go of you so easily - fuck," you watched the tears prick his eyes as he stepped closer to you. His palm came to cup your cheek and his thumb wiped away the tear staining your cheeks.

"I failed you. I just...please, baby, I just want one more chance to be a better man for you... I just want my girl back." His tone was soft as if he was reciting a prayer kneeling at a pew. His other hand came to the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before it cupped your other cheek alike.

You sobbed and brought your hands up to his wrists, shaking your head lightly, knowing all you really wanted was to forgive him despite your denial.

His forehead pressed against you as he whispered once more, "Please, baby..."

"John..." you tried

The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, "Please," he repeated, "be my pretty wife again...be mine again, yeah?" His lips brushed against yours and his hands were firm on your cheeks. You sobbed one more time before his lips pressed against yours, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. And fuck, you melted as your lips met.

His lips against yours just felt so right; they were your husband's lips, after all. They were made for yours and yours were made for his, that's why you knew you were so perfect for each other. The way he kissed you made your chest break into a million pieces because you just missed him so much.

The hold on his wrists became limp and you didn't resist - you couldn't resist his kiss because you wanted it so desperately, you've wanted it for this entire past year.

Your mouth moved with his, lips clashing and caressing against each other, teeth clicking together with the force of your desperate kisses, your tongues hungrily pressing their way into each others' mouths. John's hand slid to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair and raking through your scalp. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling.

Your hands slid up his back, balling into fists over his shoulder blades and gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you'd lose him again if you didn't hold him firm enough. You held him impossibly close to you as he did the same, your bodies familiarly molded to each other.

You felt John step forward as he still kissed you, backing you up into the nearest wall and it made the heat in your core ignite like a bonfire. When you felt the cold wall against your body, you pried your mouth away from his to gasp a breath but it wasn't half a second later before he captured your lips again. His hands slid down the frame of your body, pawing at your chest and curves before eagerly bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips. You scrambled to his belt, clumsily and hurriedly doing your best to unbuckle it and undo his pants.

He scoured under your dress to tug your underwear down your thighs with messy urgency. His lips sloppily and wetly trailed up and down your chest and neck before finding their way back to your mouth.

Your hand palmed his hardened length through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands took hold of yours and stuffed it in his boxers to stroke his aching cock as you both panted between kisses.

"All yours, darling," he groaned as he guided your hand stroking his cock, "forever fuckin' will be yours."

And you whined at his words, or maybe at the way his other hand snaked between your legs, fingers wetting themselves with the slick pooled between your folds before pressing into your hole. He pumped his fingers in and out, making you reminisce on how those thick digits have made you feel so good in the past.

You moaned his name like a prayer, pleading for him to fuck you because you needed him. You've needed him for a fucking year and couldn't wait a second longer.

John would give you anything and everything, he always has. So he wasted no time in removing his fingers from your pussy, coating his cock in the slick they collected, and using his other hand to hike your leg up around his waist.

You braced yourself against the wall and with your hands against his shoulders as he practically lifted you off your feet and insert his girthy, swollen cock inside of you. You moaned unabashedly at the way he split you open as he bottomed out.

"So perfect...my perfect wife," he breathed, "made just for me, baby." His fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh and you were sure it would bruise the same way your nails clawing through his shirt were sure to leave crescents on his skin.

John pumped his cock in and out of you slowly but firmly for a few strokes before picking up the pace. His rhythm was relentless as he fucked up into you, pistoning his hips and making your skin clap against each other.

You threw your head back as you whined and moaned at the feeling of the head of his cock bullying against your cervix. Thank god for the music outside.

John hiked up your other leg, wrapping both around his waist as he fucked you against the wall hard and needy. His eyes looked deep into your teary ones, not breaking away to not miss the gorgeous sight of his pretty wife getting fucked by him after so long. He moaned at just the look on your face, at the way your walls gripped him like a vice.

"Look at you... never lettin' go of somethin' so beautiful," he practically slurred, his rhythm becoming sloppy and desperate as he chased his high, and he knew you were close too.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and took his mouth into another starved kiss. Your hands tugged at the hair on the back of his head and you let him fuck you with the same longing and desire as the first time.

You chanted his name between breathy moans as you climbed up to your climax. John was a mumbling mess of endearments and sweet nothings as he kept thrusting hard and sloppy into your squelching pussy.

"I love you, John," you choked out through tears, not knowing if it was from the pleasure he was giving you or from the overwhelming emotion being with your husband again was making you feel.

"I fuckin' love you more, dove," he accentuated his words with thrusts until he felt your walls clamp around his length and watched as you wailed and sobbed out more moans, sending him into his own climax with just a few more pumps shortly after. You were sure you'd bear him a third child with the way his cum seeped out of you.

He rested his sweat-coated forehead against yours as you both panted. You were a flushed mess against the wall, limbs liquefied and throat raw. John slowly let you down with the utmost care in the world, gently holding you up on your feet like you were a delicate porcelain doll.

You held each other close as he peppered soft kisses on your face, the same way he'd always done after sex when you were married. John Price, always the gentleman.

You basked in the afterglow as you gazed at each other, love filling John's wide dark pupils. It was hard for you to hide the smile that tugged at your lips and it made John chuckle, thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly.

Then, you heard the rattling of the door and you quickly stood up straight and collected yourself up on your feet the best you could. Kyle, or Uncle Gaz as your kids coined him, and the other two men had burst through the lodged garage door.

"Oi, how long you two been locked here?" he questioned.

"Aye, we been callin' youse for half 'n hour," the Scott quipped behind him.

John scolded them for not acting quicker if they were so worried, and scowled at the way the younger two had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. He dismissed them as he picked up the cooler, which was now more full of water than ice, and shot you a look.

You chided at his smirk with your bright red cheeks.

"This mean I can move back in?" he teased.

"We'll see, John" you fought back a smile.

[thegnomelord]

For the prompt game, maybe 7 with price and m!reader. Price gets pissed off that reader almost got themselves killed on a mission to protect him. Just some lovely old man angst

Tumblr's acting up again and it's deleted my draft like 3 times so fingers crossed this works else I will cry😓 . I saw the old man angst and immediately thought of Rodolfoparras work and this so yeah. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: “Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.” “You… What?”

CW: SFW-ish, Omega John Price, Alpha Male reader, mentions of gore, kissing, angst, omegaverse.

When your file had landed on his desk he had contemplated refusing; you were a stereotypical alpha — a loudmouthed meathead with little regard for your own health, headstrong and stupidly stubborn over the dumbest shit, and with a long list of incident reports dating back to the first day you joined the army. TF141 was your last chance before a dishonorable discharge and Price, stupidly, had taken you in like the stray you were.

Safe to say you turned out to be the leading cause of his grey hairs with all the shit you pulled. . . but. . . not to the extent he expected.

Unlike most alphas, you were surprisingly receptive to taking orders from an omega like Price, and carried yourself around the others without attempting to establish the dated hierarchy. After giving you guidance, and learning how you thought, Price had been seeing serious improvement.

'Course, all of that went down the drain when you decided to charge head first into a group of enemies when Price had gotten stabbed.

"What the fuck were you thinking lad?" Price hisses harshly under his breath, eyes boring a hole between your brows. He's standing at the foot of the medical bed, watching your chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. "What the fuck were you thinking?" You better not die so he can kill you himself.

He doesn't expect you to answer, knocked out as you are with your chest wrapped in fresh bandages after the docs fished out who knows how many bullets from your torso— 16, his inner omega reminds him, 16 bullets he took for You.

He sighs, "You're a lucky muppet." Walking around the bed he places a hand on your thigh, slowly inching up to rest on your lower abdomen, dark red spots denoting where bullet wounds lie. "But a stupid alpha." He growls. It's a good thing military alphas are like walking tanks of fat and muscle, you can take a few hits, though the thought does little to soothe his omega when you lay unconscious.

He doesn't even notice he's making a small distressed sound in his chest until your eyes flutter open, squinting from the harshness of artificial lights before you notice him looming over you; something between a guardian angel and death itself.

"Price?" Your nose twitches, lungs expanding despite the ache in your chest to catch his scent, your alpha noticing the sharp acrid taste hiding his usual pine smell. "What happened?" You ask, achy as you are you manage to tilt your head enough to let out a low chest vibrating purr, seeking to calm your omega.

"What happened, it that you dumb muppet almost died!" He hisses, anger making his scent even harsher, hating himself how his omega swoons at the purr, at how you put him before yourself even when you're knocking on death's door. "Were you trying to get killed?"

You hand your head and look away. You can scarcely recall what happened, the drugs and adrenaline muddling your mind so any memory comes out like an abstract painting, but one detail remains — Rage.

A Deep.

—bleeding flesh neath your fingernails, painfilled screams silenced by your snarls—

Dark.

���the 'crack' of bone against stone as the strength behind your hands forced the skull to shatter, blood and brains splashing against your face—

Animalistic.

—desperate hands scrambling against your head, the frantic pulse beneath your tongue rapidly dwindling once your teeth dug deep enough to tear through the jugular—

Rage.

You don't remember ever being as angry as you'd been when you'd seen Price clutching his side, the bloodied blade of a knife clenched between his fingers, unknown hostiles encroaching towards him. Your omega had been injured. Your omega had been injured. And you didn't think twice, vision turned as red as his blood with a singular thought of Kill Kill Kill banging on your skull you didn't even notice you were bleeding.

Like a proper animal. Like something you've been trying to prove you're not.

"I'm-" You swallow, though cleaned, you can still taste the blood of the enemy whose throat you'd torn out, your teeth still stained red. "-sorry. I'm sorry."

"'I'm sorry' he says, is'at the best you've got?" Price presses on, coming closer and bracing a hand on your chest, his limb vibrating from your purr. It's hard to stay mad at you when you're doing this, his omega wanting nothing more but curl next to you, to share warmth and protect you while you recover. "What was going through your thick skull? Wait, let me guess: Nothing." Still he persists, not showing what he's feeling.

You hang your shoulders low and head lower still, chewing on your lip as you listen him chew you out. Something sits heavy in your chest, growing bigger with every word he says like a snowball, his anger leaving your alpha —dumb creature that it is— confused and hurt; why is your omega angry, when you protected him? When you nearly died for him? When you love him—

“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay?" You snap, rough and angry, your gaze fixed on his. You stop purring, leaving the room too cold and silent without it. "But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You… What?”

You flinch and suck in a breath as pain flares across your body. You expected a lot of different responses, from anger to indifference to being told you're out of the taskforce. . . not that.

"Lad." Price's voice is unnervingly calm, one hand on your scruff, the other holding your chin, the sudden contact of his skin on yours fooling your alpha into letting him tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Repeat that. Slowly."

You gaze into his eyes, so many things swirling in the blue yet you're unable to tell any of it. Slowly you breathe in, "I. . . I love you." You say, open and honest and too vulnerable for an old omega like him.

". . .oh, you stupid alpha." Price almost laughs, dimples around his mouth as he smiles. Like puzzle pieces something clicks in his head.

Before his words can feel like a slap to your face he leans in, your foreheads bonking together before you find the right angle for his lips to meet yours. He tastes like his cigars and black coffee and everything you thought he would, your body melting into his, your nose full of his scent, your brain full of him.

"Could have told me without nearly dying." You separate to catch your breaths, foreheads resting against each other, breathing the same air and only now do you notice Price is purring. It's not the same bone rattling purr alphas can produce, but just as soothing, and you can't help but giggle when your own purr causes his to become louder.

You think, maybe, everything will be alright—

"After you get better." He whispers against your lips, soft and sweet, saccharine pine scent sticking to your nose like amber. "You and I will have a long talk about safety."

Maybe not.

[hendolish]

Hiiiii it's me with stonesford thingy.

John and Jordan don't have huge arguments often but they do it's quiet big. However it can over something really small.

Once they have an argument during NT callup and they have silent days, which makes their teammates worried. For example, Kyle confronts John about the situation, and when he hears what it's all about, he's so done.

john stones/jordan pickford | it’s about the toothpaste, kyle ♡

Amidst the backdrop of the lush greenery that envelops St George's Park, an unusual tension hangs in the air. The jovial camaraderie that typically accompanies the England national team seems to have taken an unscheduled leave with John and Jordan locked in a silent dance of avoidance.

The quiet dispute, unfathomable to the uninvolved, simmers beneath the surface, each passing day injecting a sense of unease into the camp. Kyle, ever the mediator, can't bear to see the tension persist. His stride is purposeful as he approaches John, his brows furrowed in concern.

"Alright, mate, what's going on?" Kyle inquires, his tone a blend of frustration and genuine worry. John, a man of few words during such moments, sighs before letting the crux of the issue unravel.

"It's about the toothpaste, Kyle. Jordan insists on squeezing it from the middle. The bloody middle," John confesses, a mix of incredulity and frustration etched across his features.

Kyle, standing there, momentarily disoriented by the sheer banality of the dispute, blinks at John. "The toothpaste? You two are having a go over toothpaste?"

John nods, his expression solemn. Kyle can't help but shake his head, suppressing a chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. "You've got to be kidding me, mate. Toothpaste?"

"Every bloody time, Walks. It's a small thing, but it's always there," John laments, his shoulders sagging as he sadly digs back into his food.

And Kyle is so done with the two of them already.

Later on in the day, Kyle spies his opportunity to make things right whilst he, Trips, John and Jordan are walking to the canteen to join the other lads for dinner. John and Jordan are, of course, still being drama queens and refusing the talk to each other.

Once he’d divulged the banal circumstances of John and Jordan’s fight to Kieran it hadn’t been hard to get him to agree to the plan. He too is aware of the frighteningly-long periods of time the couple’s silent stalemates can endure.

“NOW!” Kyle shouts as they pass by a big-enough-looking supply closet and he and Kieran shove John and Jordan inside.

“Mate, what the hell!” Jordan exclaims, muffled, from behind the locked door he and Kieran are currently pressed up against, just as John seethes out a threatening, “Kyle…”

“Easy now lads,” Kyle placates as he adopts an airy tone, “This is for the good of the team.”

A couple of disgruntled mumbles sound from behind the door but they soon die away. Kyle is immensely glad they can still see some reason.

“Now I don’t care how you do it: talk, fuck, fistfight. Just so long as this gets sorted out.”

There’s some movement from behind the door, Kyle belated hopes they haven’t actually settled on the latter option.

“We’ve tried talking it out mate,” John tells him exasperatedly, “It’s what got us into this bloody mess.”

Then a moment of realisation seems to wash over him; one option remains. Kyle can hear John turning back around to face Jordan.

“I’ll give you a blowie every time you roll the toothpaste from the end.”

Kyle wishes his ears were detachable. Kieran looks equally as scarred.

“Done”.

Jordan answers rapidly and succinctly. Kyle doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Then follows an impatient knock on the door.

“Can we come out now? I want my Sunday roast.”

♡

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC WRITING PROMPT #10

(#) = Notes at end of post

TW: mentions of human experimentation and blood

✦

The Sapphire Stone Sits Highest on the Throne

The GIW have done the unthinkable. They've captured Phantom, King of the Infinite Realms and ruler of all who reside within it. The government organization tortured and experimented on Danny so much and for so long that Danny was forced to recede into his core. While a ghost's core is relatively strong by itself --only another ghost of similar strength could shatter it-- it's also extremely vulnerable to misuse if left in the wrong hands.

The GIW use the King's core to ravage Amity Park --uncaring if human citizens got in their way-- as well as the Ghost Zone itself. The Ancients combine their efforts to search for the lost, little king, desperately trying to find Danny's core and take it back from the blood and ectoplasm stained hands of the agents. As a result of their dogged search, the Ancients bring worldwide destruction down upon the Earth in their hunt for every single white suit agent remaining, scurrying from one hiding place to another like rats in the walls of a dilapidated house.

One by one, almost every agent was hunted down and bound in unbreakable chains of ice, awaiting their trials for the atrocities they committed against the Infinite Realms and its King. The only one left is the leader of the organization itself, the one who holds Danny's core. The leader, however, is extremely slippery and has managed to evade capture for months now, going so far as to throw their own men to the wolves if it meant an easy escape with the jewel-blue heart of a scared, grieving, and injured child.

At this point though, the Ancients have caused so much destruction and natural disasters, that the Justice League has no choice but to step in. At first, the JL actively try to fight the Ancients, not fully understanding the situation but having little luck in actually hitting any of them regardless. It isn't until John Constantine runs onto the battlefield like a bat out of hell and skids to a stop right smack dab in the middle of the fight that things change. He's out of breath, his hair is in disarray, he smells heavily of smoke and alcohol, and that's definitely a still fresh coffee stain on his weather beaten trenchcoat along with red blood painting his knuckles.

Normally, one small human wouldn't be able to stop the wrath of the Ancients when they've set their sights on something. This instance, however, was very different. As Constantine raised his hands up towards the rampaging Ancients about to unleash their fury on the JL, one thing managed to capture every single one of their attention.

That being the weakly glowing, sapphire-like core held in one of Constantine's outstretched hands(1 & 2) and the faint, echoing cries of a child begging the Ancients to put an end to the carnage they've unleashed upon the world.

✦

Notes:

(1) Constantine gives little explanation on how he got his hands on Danny's core. Little do the JL know, it was just pure, dumb luck. He ran into the leader of the GIW right as the bastard was leaving a coffee shop. Coffee got spilled all over Constantine and, being slightly drunk off his ass, he decides to deck the person in the pretentious white suit and knocks him out in one shot. Constantine's about to walk away when he hears a child crying. He finds Danny's core in one of the downed guy's pockets and has a panic attack when he immediately realizes what it is. Danny explains what's going on and Constantine books it towards where he can sense a large amount of necrotic energy gathering. The rest is history.

(2) ALSO, sapphire is a pretty significant gem. According to the internet, the sapphire symbolizes wisdom, royalty, prophecy and divine favour. It's a symbol of power and strength, but also of kindness and wise judgement. Which just fits Danny PERFECTLY in this prompt, imo.

[cosmicalily]

'and if the record skips' with stray kids, ot8 special collab headcanons by @cosmicalily & @hyunjiisa special collab!

author's note: when iza said we should do skz as our favourite songs, i literally leapt in excitement bc i've had that exact prompt in my notes app for weeks now! also feel free to use these songs and lyrics as prompts for your writing x

chris as...'summer' by the volunteers

"Our eyes are closed, but we know when the sun is near us, we'll be in love forever. My door had been ripped out somehow, but now it's constantly fixed by you, I hate to admit it."

minho as...'chateau' by angus and julia stone

"We can go if you wanna go anywhere, I'll take you there. We can go to the Chateau Marmont, and dance in the hotel room. We can run with the headlights on, until we got nothing to lose."

changbin as...'stacking chairs' by middle kids

"You better hold my hand, there is no map for this. When the wheels come off, I'll be your spare, when the party's over, I'll be stacking the chairs, when the world turns on you, I will be there. I will be there."

hyunjin as...'glory of the snow' by clairo

"When I drive, I always check over the seat, I could see you right there, waiting on me. I pull on the string that binds me to memories of, the way I loved you. I push on the door, the one I've ignored, the one that leads me to you."

jisung as...'supersad' by suki waterhouse

"What if I let it go? I'ma look the other way, out of my control. Wash my face, fix my hair, swear to God I'm nobody, I am so damn scared, I look so much better, when I don't care."

felix as...'the blonde' by tv girl

"'Cause anyone who ever had a brain, wouldn't stand out in the rain, or keep it up for very long, just to prove somebody wrong. And anyone who ever had a heart, or sang a lonesome song, would sell their little souls, just to make it with the blonde."

seungmin as...'real love baby' by father john misty

"Our hearts are free, so tell me what's wrong with the feeling. I'm a flower, you're my bee, it's much older than you and me. I'm in love, I'm alive, I belong to the stars and sky. Let's forget who we are for one night."

jeongin as...'square (2017)' by yerin baek

"Come take my arms and go, I'll be yours for sure. You're the only one who saw my yesterday, the one who knows I'm here, alive today, comfort me, say what I mean to you. You should know what you have to say."

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs - send an ask, dm or comment to be added!

[maribat-bpm]

MARIBAT BIO PARENT MONTH 2025

Welcome all to this year’s Maribat Bio Parent Month 2025! And just like promised, here’s this year’s prompts and bingo card!

Note: Click images for better quality. Full list for both will be under the read more line.

Edit: This bingo card once had Andre but has changed to Mr.Banana Adrien Agreste as per popular demand.

Once again, this event goes live in June! Any fics posted before will not be reblogged nor added to the AO3 collection!

You can participate in as many or as few prompts as you like. There is no minimum nor is there a limit! The bingo card is there for an extra challenge! Want to make art or just write a concept post? A playlist? Go for it! All types of contributions are welcomed!

When posting, please use the tags #maribat bio parent month 2025 or #mbpm2025 to help us keep track of your works. Tagging the blog @maribat-bpm would also help us to reblog your work for others to see!

For works in Ao3, use the collection Maribat Bio Parent Month 2025 to let us know you want your work to be added to the collection!

Questions, comments, concerns? Send an ask!

Without further ado, happy creations!

-Anju

This Year’s Prompts

Meeting for the 1st Time Stories/Memories Hiding Dating/Love Portraits Family/Friends “You’re Grounded!” Lullaby Justice League “This One Yours?” Mother’s Day Firsts Take Your Kid to Work Free Delivery Father’s Day Runs in the Family Bonding Hugs/Cuddles Forgotten/Lost “Care to Explain?” Identities Advice Holidays/Birthday No Miraculous Au Secrets The “Talk” Of Sports and School Events Like Parent, Like Child Unconditional Love Home

Substitutions

Last Name Wayne Grandchildren Gifts/Flowers Patrol/Mission Death Discovery Siblings Late Night Discussions “Give them hell kiddo!” Unwanted/ Wanted

Bingo Card

Nathalie Sancouer Alya Césaire Oliver Queen Edward Nygama Dinah Lance John Constantine Wang Fu Mr.Banana Adrien Agreste Arthur Curry Clark Kent Gabriel Agreste Victor Fries FREE SPACE Hal Jordan Barry Allen Kagami Tsurugi Tikki Jagged Stone Lex Luthor Pamela Isley Amelie Graham de Vanily Sabine Cheng Marinette Dupain Cheng Luka Couffaine Harvey Dent

[tagsecretsanta]

From @idontknowreallywhy

From @idontknowreallywhy to @womble1

My prompts were:

1. There's no such thing as a free lunch.

2. The sound of laughter.

3. Sirens blared, warning of the approaching...

Things went a little… bizarre 🤣 (Apologies in advance for the earworms)

A Refrigeration Situation

Sirens blared, warning of the approaching apocalypse.

Or at least that was the impression the sociopath who had chosen this frantic tri-tone screeching sound clearly wanted to inflict upon the eventual owner of their top of the range high tech appliance.

The very one Virgil was about to take a wrench to. A heavy wrench.

Except that doing so would mean he had to remove at least one of the hands he had clamped hard over his ears. And he was not ready for that yet.

His teeth vibrated at the frequency of unbearable and he yelled Brains’ name again. No way of knowing if there was a reply because he would likely never hear again.

Alright, deep breath. It was no worse than that time Gordo tried to learn the bagpipes.

He shuffled closer to the cursed thing and peered at the luminous green and yellow message flashing from the excessively complicated control panel.

TEMPERATURE WARNING!

Oopsie!!! Too toasty right now!

… what the?

Virgil prodded the “more info” button with his elbow and was rewarded with an error code and a string of screaming face emojis.

“EOS?!” He bellowed above the din “You have the manual for this thing? What is Error Code S1E11?”

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

The first indication that everything had gone sideways was when MAX shot through the living room and out again bleeping frantically and waving his arms around. This didn’t cause much of a flickering of Tracy eyelids because it had happened so many times before when Brains had started musing about extreme upgrades to his mechanical assistant. As MAX’s personality developed, so it seemed did his sense of self and his attachment to his physical form. Brains did not share this attachment and thus MAX continued to evolve and generally came to enjoy the additions to his capabilities eventually. Virgil remained unconvinced that MAX’s new ability to hover 6cm above the floor was really worth the shrill daggers of noise produced by six tiny VTOL jets but most of Brains’ inventions came in handy in unexpected ways so he wasn’t about to argue.

What made today’s demonstration of those rockets weird though, was that MAX zoomed straight out of the glass doors, off the balcony and into the swimming pool.

Whereupon he sank like a stone.

And stayed there. His inflatable water wings remained inactive, which again was odd because the trigger was supposed to be automatic. They’d seen them in action on many sunny afternoons when Brains firmly refused all invitations to join the pool party but his robot assistant had attended in his stead.

Gordon promptly dived in to rescue him. MAX refused to be rescued.

There was no response on the internal comms so Virgil had volunteered to take the elevator down to Brains’ lab to let him know. And to check everything was… well… alright with their resident genius.

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

The speaker by the ceiling crackled into life and Virgil’s digital niece appeared to be singing at him. Loudly. And just a fraction of a fraction off key:

“Why’d ya have to make things so complicateeeeeeeed?”

“EOS?”

“I see the way you’re acting like you’re someone else, gets me frustrateeeeeeeed!”

“Um… right.”

Virgil stood frozen in the confluence of two sonic hellscapes.

“We might have a situation!” EOS’s feed was suddenly cut and replaced with his brother’s shout.

John materialised with Brains at his heels.

“You don’t say.” Virgil yelled back.

“We have to shut it down.”

“Right! It’s painful!”

“Not the noise the whole…“ John waved his tablet at the fridge and continued at the top of his voice. “EOS is in defence mode - when she detects a hostile digital presence she sings at it and refuses to accept any incoming data. I suggested it as an improvement to the LALALALALALALA approach she took with me.”

“You suggested Avril Lavigne?!”

“She’s going through a… phase.”

“EOS is going through a pop punk phase?”

“Last week it was Irish boybands. There was… a discussion. My musical tastes were found lacking and I have deemed it prudent not to comment any further on the topic.”

Virgil was saved from working out how to tactfully respond by the remainder of his brothers thundering down the corridor.

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

“Oh! It’s just Fridgey!” Gordon skipped up, confident he could save the day and double tapped the control panel in the top right, just like the saleswoman had shown him. The noise stopped. Virgil remained frozen in place, looking as though somebody had hit him with a spade.

Scott prised his brothers’ hands from his ears.

“Virgil, you with us?”

Scott patted the bear on the shoulder then shifted The Look at him.

“Gordon, did it come with a manual?”

“Pfft what comes with a manual these days? It’s all inbuilt…” he poked at the control panel again but the error code persisted. “Ok maybe we could Google it?”

John hissed.

“Or any search engine or hacking method of your preference, Johnny boy”

“Don’t call me Johnny. What’s the model number?”

“Ooh no idea err….” Gordon swept his eyes over the front face of the refrigeration unit until his eyes alighted on the embossed text on the bottom left.

“It’s called FRIDGLER 4000”

Scott’s head snapped up.

“YOU BOUGHT A FRIDGE FROM FISCHLER???!!!”

There was a silence.

“LANGSTROM FISCHLER???!!!”

Oh crap.

“I didn’t know it was him!!! I thought he just made weather stuff!! And stupid rockets! I just thought it was a cute name for a fridge! I… I was more focussed on the Features.”

“What feature could possibly be more important than it being made by that… by that…” Scott, aware of Grandma’s approach from the elevator, reached for an appropriate word but floundered.

“Rat-faced weasel?” Alan ventured and then blushed as he received his eldest brother’s finger guns of approval.

Gordon didn’t need those. He didn’t. But he did desperately need to justify himself.

“It was the biggest I could get for the budget you gave me! It was internet-linked to make the grocery run easier - Grandma liked that! And it had cool features like the snow cone maker, everyone has enjoyed those! And… and the instafreeze Virg and Brains have used that loads for their espresso cubes this summer… and there was that special humidity-controlled section to stop your pie crusts getting soggy, Scooter! You weren’t complaining about that!!!”

Gordon looked around at a full house of angry Tracy eyebrows.

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS GONNA GET SENTIENT AND START FIGHTING EOS.”

John pointed one shaking finger at the sickeningly cute animation of a bubbling conical flask beaming happily at them all from the control panel.

“None of you noticed it either…” that may have been whinier than Gordon was proud of.

Maybe it was the reminder that his little brother appreciated the importance of a reasonably firm crust that softened the big brotherly heart. Maybe it was just the realisation that said crusts were unchilling… and fast. Either way? Scott intervened just as Alan opened his mouth to add his verbal interpretation of John’s silent scorn.

“Alright. This isn’t getting us anywhere. What we need to focus on is how to fix the situation. Our first priority has to be saving the food else it’s gonna be a lean, lean Christmas.”

Vehement agreement filled the air.

“What are our options? The kitchen fridge has limited free space. Hmmm. Brains, can we use your cold storage in the lab?”

“Ah w-well there are a f-f-few p-p-p-projects whose g-gaseous em-missions m-might interact p-p-p-p-problematically w-with items intended f-for human c-c-c-c-consumption…”

“You’ve been making new engine coolants again.” John stated with a sigh.

“Y-yes. Incredibly t-t-toxic.”

“We can’t risk a toxic turkey.” Virgil mused.

“Or a noxious nut roast?” Alan added tentatively.

“Or lethal lebkuchen dough!” Gordon accepted Alan’s high five.

“Or fatal figgy pudding” John added in a disarmingly perfect British accent.

“Or soggy crusts.” Scott added distractedly, poking cautiously at the twinkling control panel

Gordon was shook. His facepalm echoed down the corridor. “BRO… you wound me deeply! “Poisoned pie” was right there for the taking. RIGHT THERE.”

Scott was spared the shame of acknowledging this failure by a sickeningly cheery voice blaring out from a hidden speaker.

“Good Evening Insert-User-Name-Here! You have activated Voice Control, you clever sausage. Please speak your command loudly and cheerfully!”

Scott swore under his breath as his siblings chorused their disapproval.

“W-well it m-might work.”

Even as the words left his mouth Brains rolled his eyes at his own optimism. Gordon felt compelled to defend the indefensible.

“It might! He’s got to get lucky sometimes, right?”

Brains snorted.

“Well what choice do we have?” Virgil gestured at Scott to give it a go.

Scott nodded and visibly steeled himself as if about to leap into an abyss. He cleared his throat and used his clearest most commanding voice:

“Set refrigeration temperature to 2 degrees Celsius.”

“Oooh someone’s a grumpy pants. Give it another go.”

“What?!!”

“I don’t think it was cheerful enough bro.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” Scott rolled his eyes and tried again.

“Oooh someone’s a grumpy pants. Give it another go.”

“I’M PERFECTLY CHEERFUL! I AM A RAY OF SUNSHINE!”

“Scotty Scotty Scotty…” Gordon inserted himself between the control panel and the man who appeared ready to break it with his face. “Allow me.”

“Hey hey fridgey buddy! It would be awesome if you could maintain a steady refrigeration temperature of two degrees Celsius. Thanks a million!”

There was a slight pause.

“Hmm your accent’s a bit funny isn’t it but I think I got it. Switching to proving drawer mode. Target temperature 38 degrees Celsius. Your rise is going to be GLORIOUS!”

Ah.

“NONONONONOOOOOOOO!!” Scott howled and yanked on the handle which refused to budge.

“Uh uh! No peeking! Patience is the most important ingredient in bread making. I’ve cleverly applied the locks so you won’t be tempted!”

“You’re a fridge!!! Make it cold! Make it COLD!! Don’t ruin my crusts!” He sank to his knees and hammered on the door as if his beloved pastry might hear and open it from the inside.

Gordon, detecting a dangerous deterioration in his elder brother’s grip on sanity, shuffled hurriedly backwards. Virgil growled and ran from the room.

John stabbed at his tablet “Unbelievable! This thing is unhackable. The code is completely illogical. I think this part is the dna sequence of a banana…”

Alan nodded seriously as if he too could recognise the genome of any given fruit on sight. John sighed.

“EOS? It’s me. Please engage? This is an emergency situation.”

The AI passionately informed him that he was a skater boy.

Alan edged himself towards the control panel and peered at it thoughtfully. Perhaps it was something Game Theory could help with.

The happy conical flask bubbled innocently at him as if to say “Press me! Go on! What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I w-would advise against…”

Brains advice was interrupted by the sound of the door at the end of the corridor flying off its hinges and the familiar hiss-whine of an exo-suit powered by angry eyebrows. NOTHING and NOBODY would make Scott beg and remain in one piece.

Alan pressed the button. A twangy guitar riff was followed by the cheery voice crooning “oooh, baby”.

Alan took personal offence and punched it. The track increased in speed:

“OohbabyoohbabyIt'smakingmecrazyit'smakingmecrazyEverytimeIlookaroundlookaroundEverytimeIlookaroundeverytimeIlookaroundit’sinmyfacehowvbizarrehowbizarrehowbizarrehowbizzzzz”

Virgil emitted something akin to a war cry and tried to reach around his sobbing elder brother to rip the door from the cursed appliance when suddenly everything went quiet.

Kayo walked around the side of the fridge holding a cable with a plug dangling limply from the end.

Grandma gasped. Alan blinked. Brains’ jaw dropped. Scott sniffled. Virgil’s exo-suit wheezed as he sagged in relief. John head butted his tablet.

Gordon sat on the floor and laughed hysterically.

Kayo handed the plug to Virgil who crushed it with his pincers.

Scott scrambled to his feet and dragged the door open and the family feasted their eyes upon their festive bounty.

“Well, we’d better get all this upstairs to the other fridge then? hadn’t we?” Grandma decided to take charge.

“But there isn’t enough space in the upstairs fridge.” Alan whispered.

“We’ll have to prioritise.” Grandma’s tone shifted to that of a doctor giving bad news.

With a yelp, the Commander of International Rescue leaped forward, grabbed three boxes of pies and sprinted for the stairwell.

The others watched him leave.

“Shall we take the rest in the elevator?”

‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

True to his role as the resident genius, Brains’ suggestion that the best way to avoid waste was to eat most of it today had cheered the family up no end. Scott, John and MAX (who had finally emerged from the pool) cooked up a storm in the kitchen and created the largest and most eclectic Christmas Dinner Tracy Island had ever seen.

John had persuaded EOS to restore contact and she was providing a soundtrack of Christmas hits interspersed with her favourite festive jokes. Gordon and Kayo were competitively decorating a lebkuchen penguin army. Gradually the basement fridge was emptied.

Virgil and Alan did the last run which turned out to be armfuls of cheeses of indeterminate vintage. Trying not to breathe too deeply, Virgil kicked the door closed and Alan stuck his tongue out at the errant fridge before they turned their backs and walked companionably towards the elevator.

The control panel flickered.

Very faintly, at the very limit of human hearing, there was the sound of laughter.

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[jimmy-j-james]

Any chance you could make a part two of Venom!Reader x Price, or a similar idea with Soap/Ghost? I think it's such a cool prompt

VENOM AU W/ SOAP AND GHOST

- Ghost x M!symbiote!reader & Soap x M!symbiote!reader

- Proofread:

- Genre: ???

- Synopsis: Drabbles on what it’d be like if Soap and Ghost had you as their symbiote, or more specifically their first impressions.

A/N: If anyone is wanting either drabbles for other characters, or full stories like Price’s, do request!

⚠️ Simon’s part is a bit graphic and more aggressive in nature⚠️

════════════════

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY

Simon had found you while on a lone mission. The task at hand was simple. Walk in, grab the valuables (this case being the illegal scientific subjects), and get out.

Of course, the Brit wasn’t as lucky as the one tank for grabs was broken, the symbiote no where in sight.

The sight was a panic alone, but what further presented as eerie was the obscene sounds of wet flesh from above.

As Simon raised his gaze, he was shocked to find a black inky blob drop down onto his face. Pained noises escaping the man as the unlabelled thing forced its way into his maw before disappearing into his body.

Panting and shaking, Simon calls in the incident, called back for evac and an immediate check up with the base’s doctors.

The checkup had gone awful. He was sweating, hungry, and aggressive. Feral, that’s how the doctors described him.

They sent him in for an MRI, which had only caused more harm. In a strange fit of rage, Simon had even destroyed the machine. God knows how he had the strength to do such harm..

The strange behaviours only continued though. From general hunger to thoughts of cannibalism.. he’d express his concerns to Price again, earning himself a necessary time in solitary.

Pounding at the walls, screaming things he’d swear was out of his control. He felt insane and drained.

Lying back against a cold stone wall, that’s when Simon met the parasite. He had thought it was trick of the eye, but no.

A slick and slimy tendril traced out from beneath his sleeve, snaking down onto the floor as grasping hold of a small mouse that had been idly picking through rubble.

Simon watched out in horror as the creature strangled the small creature. Inside he thought back to the men he had killed in similar ways, but something about the way this small mouse was slowly being killed.. it scared him.

The tendril slowly retrieved the dead mouse, dragging it up to the head it had poked out from Simon’s shoulder.

The crunch alone scared traumatized the Brit, shooting up in a panic as he banged on the door desperately. Shouting out about the alien.. something passers would ignore on claims of him being insane.

“You are scared?” A low, raspy, and grotesque voice calls out from behind Simon, another small tendril slipping up his neck, beneath his mask. “They will not help you like I can. You want love, I can be that.”

The tendril is cold to the touch, dragging goosebumps along the man’s skin. A stuttered exhale leaving Simon’s scarred lips. He can’t help the way the touches relax him, an unexplainable phenomenon.

“You like this?” The creature purrs, almost tauntingly. “You humans are such needy beings.”

To you, Simon was a needy man. He practically lived off your touch and praise. Completely and solely dependent on you.

It was such a contrast to his past shell of being. The old Ghost, the one that would berate him for being so clingy to this alien.. but to him, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

He fed you his victims, devoted his life to you. Saw upon you as a god rather than a parasite. A blessing even.

No one knew if it was a good or bad change for the bloke, but one thing was certain. Don’t bother trying to remove you from his body. If you were to be removed, either you’d let the man die, or he’d let himself die. Both of you needed each other, and no one could take that from you.

════════════════

JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH

John had found you after running loose within a crash site. He had happened to pass by the crash of your ship, to which you had taken it upon yourself to use him as a host, without his knowledge of course.

He hadn’t noticed until days had passed. He was constantly craving weird things.. chocolate at first but then live animals. Next was the ungodly fevers he faced. Constantly sweating, and not your average amount either. Drenched head to toe in the stench. It was so bad to the point he was forced on medical leave, forced into bed rest while studied by the many doctors on base.

All was fine until they had him in a MRI. He freaked, or more so, whatever possessed him did. It was painful and traumatic. Seeing the sickly black mess slide across the floor. The doors were immediately locked, trapping him inside with it. Better him than the whole base, huh?

It’s what caused the alien creature to reattach to his body, to the life source it needed. It was what provoked the first verbal contact with said being.

“They want to hurt us.” It echoed throughout the Scot’s thoughts. Causing the man to stammer and desperately disagree.

“M-me? No, no, no! They’re after you!” He argued in turn, accent heavy in the moments of his panic. “Steamin’ jesus- get out of my body! Out of my head!”

To anyone else, the man looked absolutely insane. Fisting into his Mohawk, screaming on into an empty room. He remained like that, all until the other being spoke again. An grotesque tendril slipping out from his wrist, wrapping around one of his fingers.

“They don’t understand you like I do, John.”

The knowledge of his name alone had Johnny choking up. He was scared beyond belief. This had to be some cruel joke, maybe even the side effects of a bad concussion? But no. This was real. The thing was real. And he was stuck with it.

You thought of Johnny as the perfect specimen. Destructive and dependent of social praise. But those things didn’t matter anymore, he had you!

You kept him alive and well, refusing to detach from the Scot without harm caused. You truly were a parasite to him.

It had taken him awhile, but he had eventually learned to accept and care for you. Truly the perfect specimen.

════════════════

[calaisreno]

The Case of the Reluctant Bridegroom

1077 words / Prompt: Awkward

John Watson is not a mystery. 

Thirty seconds after he comes through the door, Sherlock knows that he’s not been sleeping well, probably because he’s drinking every night, thinking that will put him out. Mary has a cat which needs to be groomed so it won’t leave hair all over John’s trousers. She’s not a fastidious housekeeper. John’s shoes tell him this: they’re still wearing last night’s mud. She didn’t mind him wearing them into the house, and he was too absent-minded to notice he’d left them on. And he’s lost almost half a stone since Sherlock returned. A happy husband-to-be doesn’t lose weight. Mary might be an awful cook, but John has never been picky about what he eats. 

Absent-minded, not sleeping, weight loss, drinking more than he used to. John is troubled, and Sherlock would like to know why. 

Naturally, he can’t ask. They’ve never done that kind of probing, not since Sherlock deduced his cane and his phone and his haircut. They hadn’t even been introduced at that point, and Sherlock could see who he really was.

The man standing at the door is easily deduced, but none of those deductions explain what’s wrong. Any questions he asks will be awkwardly deflected.

The night Sherlock returned from the dead, John hit him. That’s something he certainly should have seen coming. John is a devoted man, and didn’t like having his devotion (his grief) mocked. 

Sherlock understands that, and regrets it deeply. His adventures in Serbia left him below par, or he wouldn’t have barged into that restaurant, thinking they would have a good laugh about his funeral. 

He understands the John who poured his heart out in the railway car, thinking they were going to die. And the John who was ready to kill him when he realised Sherlock had found the switch. He even understands why John didn’t hit him and walk away again, why he just shook his head when Sherlock said, killing me— that’s so two years ago. 

And this is the knot Sherlock must unwind: John blames himself. Everyone else has accepted Sherlock’s return, gotten past it, and moved on. It’s too long to be holding a grudge, John thinks, so he forgave Sherlock. But he’s troubled.

What does a man like John do with feelings? In that, he’s not so different from Sherlock. He declares them unimportant, non-existent, and pretends all is well. 

“Anything on?” John asks. 

Sherlock shakes his head. “Sorry, no. Dull as ditches. But I’m glad you’re here.”

John raises his eyebrows, frowns sceptically at his old chair. “Right. I suppose we haven’t seen much of each other. Sorry about that. Flu season, you know.”

“Of course. You’re well, though? And Mary?”

John blinks. He still hasn’t sat down. “Yeah. We’re fine. No problems.”

“I’ll make tea,” he says, “unless you’d like something stronger.”

“What’ve you got?”

He remembers the last time he opened the refrigerator. Better not do that while John’s here. “No beer. A half a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black.”

He pours them each a couple fingers, and watches as John settles into his chair. Settles is the wrong word. He ought to look familiar and comfortable sitting there, across from Sherlock. But he looks uneasy, like a man who is doing something that embarrasses him. 

What would embarrass John Watson? He’s an honourable man. He feels honour-bound to forgive Sherlock, but he’s still angry. He’s ashamed of his grief, of his anger. Sherlock was brilliant, as always, fooling everyone into thinking he was dead. Making a fool of John.

Sherlock has apologised. He did that as soon as he realised that John wasn’t just shocked, he was angry. Tricking John into forgiving him was more than a bit not good— but he knew that there had to be some way to get them beyond what neither of them could say. Talking wasn’t something they did; in their case it was useless. They just needed to get to the part where they were chasing criminals again. Back to before.

John refills his glass. Neither of them has thought of anything to say. He can see John’s eyes losing focus. 

“How are things—“ He breaks off, realising they’ve already covered non-specific pleasantries. “The wedding, I mean. The—“ he waves a hand vaguely, “the plans. I suppose there’s a lot to… erm… plan.”

“Mary’s got it all under control. I’m not sure why it takes nearly a year to plan something that’s twenty minutes of church, and then dinner.” John smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He truly has the most expressive face, but he’s guarded now, uncertain. Troubled. 

“Well, if there’s anything I can do,” Sherlock begins. Again, he waves a hand vaguely.

“You?” John is smiling, but it’s an incredulous smile. “Plan a wedding?”

“I have a very organised mind.”

“And no tolerance for tedium,” John adds. 

“I’ll just… well, let me know if you need to escape. I’ll come up with a case.”

They lapse into silence again, and Sherlock imagines that it’s a slightly more comfortable silence. Not quite like 2010, but fine, in a different way from before. He remembers the silent breakfasts, both of them too sleepy after a late night to say much. Tea, toast, and John half-awake, his hair rumpled…

It’s too bad that a person can’t know in the moment when their lives are perfect.  That’s the tragedy of time, how perspective changes and we don’t realise we’re happy until we’re not. 

The two years he was gone barely seemed like two months. There were nights when he dreamed of Baker Street, wished for John’s company. On the whole, though, he was too busy surviving to think about how long it’d been. Not until he saw John’s picture, the horrible moustache, did it begin to sink in how long it had been. In the mind of John Watson, it must have seemed an eternity.

“I should go.” John stands and walks into the kitchen. Sherlock hears him rinse his glass and place it back in the cupboard. The bottle is empty, and Sherlock still hasn’t finished his first glass.

John stands at the door, looking at him for a moment, then nods and heads out. His feet are slightly unsteady on the stairs, Sherlock thinks. The front door shuts, and he’s alone.

In his mind, he’s opening a new file: The Case of the Reluctant Bridegroom. As always, his mind is already turning over solutions.

---

Maybe this one needs a sequel?

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @ninasnakie

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: December 13/24

Happy Friday the 13th everyone! Let's get into the long weekend with five more fics that have been put on my radar this week! I hope you have a gay old time!! :D

RECENT MFLs

A Magical Holiday by PipMer (T, 1,107+ w., 1/2 Ch. || WiP || Established Relationship, Fluff, POV Sherlock, Johnlock on Holiday, Magical Realism, Christmas) – He had wanted to wait until after the new year, but it seemed that John needed some kind of pick me up to get him through his first Rosie-less Christmas. Maybe a get-away was just the thing. Not an exotic, far-away place, but just far enough removed to escape the melancholy and focus on fresh surroundings. And he could kill two birds with one stone in the process. Yes. Good. He would do this.

Every Song Reminds Me of You by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (G, 1,157 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, John's an Idiot, Posh Sherlock) – Music hath charms to help John acknowledge his feelings for Sherlock.

Polychromatic Wrapping by Lock_John_Silver (M, 6,187+ w., 12/31 Ch. || WiP || Alternating POV, Established Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Childhood Memories, Domestic Fluff, Tumblr Prompts, Kissing, Minor Illnesses, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Christmas Presents, Rimming, John's Red Pants, Grumpy John, Cooking, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Traditions, Caring Sherlock, John in a Kilt, New Year's Kiss, Celebrations, Travelling, Switzerland, Blow Jobs, Alcohol, Making Up) – Sherlock tells John about a challenge he and Mycroft participated in when they were children, initiated by their mathematician mother. (NOTE!! WiP updating daily in December 2024)

Looking Up by StarlightAndFireflies (T, 11,704+ w., 3/4 Ch. || WiP || Alternate First Meeting / Neighbours AU || Single Father John, Domesticity, Falling in Love, Mental Health Issues, Crime Fighting, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content) – When John Watson, single father to toddler Rosie, finds a cheap flat for rent in central London, he's sure there must be a catch. He can't afford to be picky, though, and so he moves in... only to discover that his upstairs neighbor is far more unconventional than he bargained for. But this strange man might just be the fresh start John needs. AU in which Sherlock and John meet when John moves into 221c.

Murder in Sussex Trilogy by ChrisCalledMeSweetie (T, 78,331 w. across 3 works || 1920s AU, Case Fics, Surprise Ending, Alternating POVs, Humour) – Can you follow the clues to deduce whodunnit?

[bee-a-garbage-shipper]

DC x DP Fic Rec List

Gen

A Little Overshadowing Never Hurt Anyone By Playedcrowd5610 [WIP]

This day was just getting worse and worse for Danny. First, he gets dragged to Gotham City with his parents for some 'ghost hunting' convention, and then on his first flight out, he gets captured! Now he's stuck in a Fenton Tech Containment device in some strange cave filled with cars, computers, and for some reason... A dinosaur? He has no idea what to do or how he will escape... Jazz is gonna kill him. The Bats have been having a hard time recently. For the last few weeks, glowing green creatures from all over had been flocking toward Gotham City. Now Tim was staring at the first ghost they had been able to capture and interrogate. He had glowing green eyes and bright white hair. And he… He just possessed Tim, didn't he? Or... Danny gets kidnapped by the Batfam and seeks a way out, a little overshadowing never hurt anyone, right?

Bus To Nowhere By foldingfacets [WIP]

Is it running from your problems if your problems consider you to be a dead imprint of consciousness that killed their son? Yes, but Danny tries not to think about how his nightmares of his parents trying to kill him came true when they found out he was Phantom. After being on the run from his parents and the government for a couple of months, moving from town to town, Danny ends up in Gotham City and decides to risk staying in Batman's territory. He'd take the wrath of Batman over live vivisection via beloved parents or being studied and torn apart by the government. Besides, he's not a meta. Being dead is a medical condition.

If You Give a Bat a Burger By Cielle_Noire [WIP]

Strange things are going on in Gotham: A series of crimes linked only by a sentence uttered. A drug that no one seems to be selling, but lots of people are taking. An old enemy reborn, or someone pretending to be him. Graffiti that can't be photographed by normal means. Bartenders disappearing without a trace. John Constantine is also there. Danny wants nothing to do with any of it. He just wants to sell burgers and survive. Actually, he'd like to go home again, but since that isn't possible, he'll stick with burgers. Gotham's vigilante's have other plans. This is why Danny doesn't do favors.

To Whom It May Concern By Sagoberattare [WIP]

When Danny and Jazz finds out they are clones, they did not process that like a normal person. No, they decided that since they could magically write to them that they'd use their "bio-parents" to vent their frustrations and maybe mess with them a little bit (hey, you try and find a healthier method to finding out one day you were cloned by a pair of mad scientist who decided to raise you). Danny figured he could rant and rave without freaking anyone out. Jazz thought it be a good way air out grievances and bitterness at a audience that wouldn't care. Two birds with one stone if you will. Unfortunately most of the "adventures" they write about are horrifying. Cue several very concerned people desperately scrambling to find their dumb (possibly meta and or undead) children and rescue them. Inspired by this prompt

My Superpower Is Being A Single Dad By QueenOfTheQuill [WIP]

What is Jason supposed to do when presented with multiple superpowered toddlers locked in an unethical government experimentation facility: not adopt them??? AKA not only is Danny de-aged to toddlerdom, so are his sister, his clone, his evil future self and half his class. Who are all liminal enough to have access to ghostly abilities. Time to make this Gotham's problem. AKA Jason doesn't so much fall into single fatherhood as he is violently catapulted.

Death Defying [Dick x Danny]

Holding Me Now in Hand By DisillusionedDanny [Complete]

After Tim Drake tells his family about his new insane chemistry teacher, Dick Grayson decides to do some investigation himself. What he wasn't expecting was to instantly fall in love with the chaotic science teacher. Danny had managed to make a new life for himself in this new dimension as a science teacher at Gotham Academy. He had a fulfilling life, teaching the kids of Gotham how to survive on the streets and then at night protecting the bats who roamed the streets. Now, to make things even better, he had somehow caught the attention of Dick Grayson. If Danny had to be honest, his life was going pretty great for him. Now he just needed the other shoe to drop.

Falling For You, Again And Again (Adventures In Getting Kidnapped And Meeting Your Soulmate) By ziazippy5379 [WIP]

Danny gets dragged to some event in Gotham and meets his soulmate. The first meeting goes great. The rest of the night not so much.

I’m Falling For You (Now We’re Both Falling) By ziazippy5379 and Milaley [WIP]

Danny Fenton is just your average big city paramedic living in one of the most dangerous cities there is: Gotham. Or is he? What most people don't know is he is a retired superhero from the small town of Amity Park known as Phantom. After the burn out that comes from being a lone teenage hero and a difficult reveal to his parents he decides he needs to get away. And what better city than Gotham for a man who loves to help in medical crises. Dick Grayson: detective by day, superhero by night. Well that's what he was until the reality of working for the Bludhaven police department set in and his depression took over. Now he's quit his day job and works for his adoptive father's charitable organization. But that doesn't stop him from continuing his superhero work as the one and only Nightwing. But when these two soulmates meet on a rooftop at night and their timers run out, happily ever after isn’t as easily achieved as one might think.

Dead On Main [Jason x Danny]

Like Betta Fish Do By PaperPuffin [Complete]

Danny had ended up trespassing in Jason's haunt. He didn't mean to. Total accident, he swears. (He blames Johnny.) So he bought the other halfa a basket of bathbombs and chocolate as a 'sorry, please don't disembowel me' gift. It was the proper thing to do, alright? Everything was going to be just fine. Then things got a little out of hand.

Half-Lives By Turnipberry [WIP]

Something is wrong with Jason Todd. That's not new. Someone having answers about why... that might be. Someone maybe being able to help... that definitely was. Danny just hopes its not to late.

Danny Fenton: Dead and Loving It By HyperKid [WIP]

Danny and Jason meet by chance in a graveyard on Christmas Eve over a certain someone’s grave. Neither expect to ever see the other again, until they run into each other at a coffee shop less than a week later. And once they’re both thinking clearly, there’s obviously something wrong. Between working out what to tell their families, what’s actually going on, and just… well, being happy pains in the ass and proud of it, it turns out Team Batfam and Team Phantom all over are a match made in Heaven. Now all they have to do is persuade Bruce that Jason having new friends hasn’t hailed the apocalypse.

Rooftop Express By EmeraldsAndAmethyst [WIP]

Danny Fenton just wants to help his big sister be comfortable in Gotham. But he is getting so done with not being able to fly around freely. Danny tries to do things on the up and up but just progressively accidentally starts looking more and more like a new rogue trying to get set up. His parents must be retired super villains, which might not mean anything. But the rest of the evidence isn't very promising. And then he finds a half-ghost no one knew anything about. Befriending him in the suit instead of out isn't helping his 'definitely not a super villain' case in the slightest.

Dead Tired [Danny x Tim]

Wanted: Dead and Alive By Astereae [Complete]

"Hey, I do I... Do I know you?" Danny asks, a hand coming up to brush something off Tim’s cheek. "No," Tim says. "We haven’t met." "Oh, no, I do." Danny says, and he smiles, teeth white and sharp. "You’re that guy who rearranged my guts!" Rearranged his- Tim glances at the knotted scars on the boy’s abdomen. He can see the shine and shadow of haphazard stitches that weren’t meant to hold forever, that tore and healed over. His- This- "WHAT!?" Nightwing shouts, equal parts confused and delighted. Tim’s fucked. OR Danny Fenton's been in GIW captivity for 4 months. Tim Drake gets kidnapped by the GIW one Tuesday evening in May. Considering how many of the Bats and the Birds have died and come back to life, it was only a matter of time for some people interested in the afterlife to come poking around. The detectives can't seem to uncover any information about the mysterious white vans, however. And they keep losing the mysterious boy who seems to be the one person in Gotham to know anything at all.

Better Halves (And Other Such Falsehoods) By Astereae [WIP]

Danny’s looking at him like he’s crazy. His hair’s dried up into a mess of waves, and there’s some tomato seeds on the corner of his mouth. “You just bailed me out of jail. And you think this is a good idea?” “I don’t have bad ideas, Fenton. And like you’ve just said, I have collateral on you.” “So you’re blackmailing me into pretending to date you?” Tim shrugs. “Or you could just sign the NDA.” OR Danny's trying to recover all the shards to an entity's chalice so that it'll stop destroying the zone while tensions rise amongst his subjects- and trying to finish high school. Tim's juggling his case load, his work as CEO, and does not have time to be embroiled in a sex scandal right now. If that means he has to pretend to date a very suspicious heir to a rival company, then so be it. It's a mutually beneficial relationship. So what if Tim's becoming a little too intrigued by the illusive, powerful Phantom? So what if Danny can't stand the Justice League for leaving him to deal with all of Amity's problems when he was just 14? That's a superhero thing. And their fake boyfriend has no clue that they're a superhero.

The Price Of Peace By JoyLess_NightSky [WIP]

The Juistria League - the alliance of the major countries of the continent Juisitria - has long since stood for peace. Unfortunately there is one country that is a thorn in their side whenever they try to solidify that peace: The Infinite Lands, a country of barbarians to the north where the only reason they survive is the magic in the air. Where the magic is so strong that even children develop a talent, which they themselves call "the blessings of the dragons". The country that, last time the Juistria League had tried to negotiate, had waged a war more brutal then anything seen before on them, for over a decade - right until the moment a rebellion caged him. Not long ago, his murderer took the title. And now, that very same newly crowned High Chief demands negotiations of them. Bruce would rather die, would rather see Gotham and all of Juistria in flames than to allow that man to take one of his children. Tim, however, makes another decision before he could say that. Now, everyone has to hope Phantom will be happy with the boy. Meanwhile Danny is just too stunned that they actually agreed to that to do anything about the sudden engagement.

Who You Gonna Call? By jaemyun [WIP]

In freshman year of high school, Danny pulled away from his friends without explanation. At sixteen, he disappeared. Sam and Tucker presumed him dead. His parents insisted he was taken by ghosts. As young adults, they run into him in Gotham, of all places. It's a stroke of luck that brings their best friend back to them. If only it was that easy for the Bats to find the god damn engineer that's been running circles around them while they try to track him down. Tim's not sure what he'll do first when he finally finds the brilliant bastard - kiss him or punch his teeth in.

Better Off Dead By DisillusionedDanny [WIP]

Tim wakes up to find himself as a ghost in the Infinite Realms after a battle that went wrong, or maybe right. Now with the help of a ghost named Danny, Tim learns that death is not always the end and that maybe he was made to be a ghost.

Tim Drake's I.E.F. (Invisible Eldritch Friend) By Half_Dead_Ham [WIP]

The last thing Danny expected while haunting his new favorite pastime while bored (read: homeless) was to find out his secret identity. It was cool though, and he helped the dude get through the days easier now. He expected even less, though, to be caught rooting around in his fridge by their butler. The last thing Tim expected while getting stalked was to get used to the unseen creature and how they started taking care of him. He expected even less for them to be the same age

Jason x Danny x Tim

I'd Die (Again) For Y'All By GroundedGryphon [WIP]

Six years after he died, Danny Phantom is captured by the Justice League and expects to be handed over to the GIW. Five years after Phantom appeared, the Justice League still doesn't know if he's a villain or a hero and just want to talk with him. Two years after Jason Todd's return, Red Hood and Red Robin finally find a reason to work together. One year after she last heard from her brother, Jazz learns he's being held by the Justice League. Right now, Martian Manhunter has a splitting headache and all hell is about to break loose.