#thanks for the prompt!!!
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Ghostlights where Phantom saves Duke or the Signal, and a week later (at a Wayne gala or some other place) Duke recognizes the light/aura coming from Danny
Putting off gala prep was perhaps not the best plan. Duke spent the past month insisting that everything is fine and he has it under control. Duke is also a lying liar who lies, and now he’s frantically trying to pick up his suit in time to get it dry cleaned and altered as necessary.
Alfred would be disappointed in him, but in Duke’s defense, he had to go out of town on a mission to bust a growing drug cartel, and then spent half a week visiting a shelter for metas on the run (unofficial and hidden away) to help everyone find new homes and learn to control their powers. These things take time!
Unfortunately, gala prep also takes time, and since it’s a charity gala for funding the education of every Gothamite student, it’s not one he can slip out of. The entire family is being strong-armed into attending and not making a scene until the donation period in the first half is over.
Duke knows he’s not the only one who’s scrambling to get ready for a gala that’s taking place in three days, but they’re not helping him, so it feels like he’s the only one messing up.
“Sorry!” he calls behind him as he sprints through a group of people.
He could have asked someone to drive him, but he knows they’re all busy and doesn’t want his own poor time management to cause problems for anyone else. Even though he’s sure Bruce is looking for an excuse to get out of a mandatory Wayne Enterprises board meeting that both Lucius and Tim dragged him to.
RIP Bruce. He will be missed.
The Diamond District is full of people walking the streets, sprinting between parked cars and waiting for their rides. They’re all dressed nicely, making him feel out of place. It’s a feeling that’s never left him since he joined the Waynes but it’s particularly bad when he’s left to navigate these spaces alone. Rich people and socialites are a different kind of human, one that Duke doesn’t care to understand; there’s greed in all of them, turning them heartless, and they can give as much as they want to charity but it won’t change the fact that all they do is a performance to make people like them, rather than a desire to do anything good.
The sooner this is over, the better. He keeps going, hoping that he can still make it to his appointment with the tailor. Alfred recommended the store, then set up the appointment, so all Duke has to do is trust their judgment as they get him fitted. He’s still got twenty minutes until the scheduled time, but some unspoken rule makes it so he has to show up fifteen minutes early for better service or risk being turned away and told to reschedule.
Duke slows to a walk when he catches sight of the store, the trying to catch his breath and look more composed before he reaches the door. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes a bit, then opens the door and steps in.
The bell jingles pleasantly above his head. The store is empty of any other customers, and the employee at the front counter looks up with a plastered on smile.
“I’ll be with you in a moment!” she says, then looks down at her phone and types something out before placing it under the counter. A tablet comes out instead and she swipes through a few screens, then sets it down and look at Duke again. “How can I help you, sir?”
“I have an appointment? For a suit fitting. Under the name Thomas.”
She taps on the screen for a minute, then nods and gives him another customer service smile. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and grab the tailor. They’ll be out with your suit soon. Please, feel free to take a seat or browse some of our suits. We just recently got a new collection in from Italy.”
“Sure, thanks. I’ll just… be here, I guess.”
The employee takes her tablet and disappears through a door, leaving him alone in the store. He doesn’t want to sit down, not while his heart is still trying to settle from his sprint through half of Diamond District, so Duke wanders around the neat stacks of dress shirts and vests, pants and belts and shoes lined up neatly against the walls.
He takes a moment to shoot Alfred a text that he’s at the tailor for his fitting appointment. Steph’s sent him a long string of videos online, and he’s just about to go through them when the bell rings again.
Duke glances up and watches a guy walk into the store. He looks around, makes eye contact with Duke, then quickly looks down, taking a seat by the door.
Probably another upper class citizen uncomfortable with the fact that someone in jeans and a hoodie is shopping for suits. Shaking his head lightly, Duke wanders deeper into the store to get some distance between them so they could ignore each other more easily. It’s only until the tailor comes out, and then he can go to a fitting room and be done with this whole thing, so Duke resigns himself to suffering through the tense silence.
How long is he even supposed to wait? He can only look at clothes in one of three colors before he gets bored.
He goes to another rack, trying to see if he can notice anything different about these shirts.
And then he hears a shoe scuff against the floor behind him. He tenses up, but before he can turn around, a belt is wound around his throat, pulling him back and choking him.
Duke drops his weight, tucking his chin and gets a hand against the inside of the belt to try to push it away. His back hits someone’s chest and he’s trapped, focused on trying not to be choked to death while also keeping his vigilante abilities and meta powers secret.
More footsteps come from behind, and a soaked cloth is pressed against his nose and mouth.
Chloroform, he realizes, familiar with the smell from Bruce’s training. But training isn’t enough to keep him from being knocked out, and he quickly slips away from the waking world, falling to the ground.
Just before he passes out completely, he hears the employee who greeted him say, “I’m not sure how much Wayne would be willing to pay for him, but let’s start high and negotiate lower. New kid can’t possibly be worth that much…”
Duke wakes up groggily, memories of what happened quickly snapping into place. He’s too out of it still to get up, but he’s awake enough to be offended. Sure he’s the new kid, and barely even a Wayne, but he’s still worth a lot!
Kidnappers these days. So rude.
He doesn’t hear anyone around him, and it feels like he’s lying on a cold concrete floor. Basement, maybe? Warehouse? Storage unit tucked away somewhere? There’s nothing much to see when Duke is able to open his eyes, squinting bareilly at his surroundings. His arms are tied behind him, wrists bound, but they left his legs alone.
If he could just hit the panic button on his bracelet…
Duke wiggles around, fighting through the lingering effects of Chloroform, and manages to sit up. If he strains his hearing, he thinks he can hear voices outside of the empty room he’s been left in. There’s a window high up, too high for a normal person to reach without help, but if he can use the shadows to travel through it, then he may be able to escape on his own.
First things first: he needs to free his hands before anyone comes in to check on him.
They used zip ties on him, which is inconvenient. He’s learned how to get out of them, but it’s difficult enough without being drugged and having to do it behind his back.
He’s feeling the zip ties bite into his wrists just as there’s a crash from outside the room. His kidnappers yell, alarmed, and are quickly silenced. That’s rarely ever a good sign. Duke renews his efforts to escape, ignore the pain in pushing against his binds like this.
The door opens. Duke hears the small click of a lock disengaging and freezes. Then he gets to his feet, still unsteady, and prepares to ram his head into anyone who comes near him like some sort of deranged battering ram, or a drunk raging bull.
Duke is ready for the worst: a gang hoping to steal away a Wayne hostage, a Rogue, Gnomon popping in to cause trouble for the sole purpose of getting on Duke’s nerve.
He’s not expecting another teenage boy, who is literally glowing, to poke his head in and zero in on Duke. He blinks, then smiles; it’s friendly and sincere, nothing like the employee who helped kidnap him.
“Hey!” he says, coming into the room properly. He’s floating a good foot off the ground, eyes a bright neon green, with white hair that sways as if he’s underwater. “Are you okay? I saw them drag you out of the back of the store and followed them, but I got a bit lost. Sorry for taking so long to get here.”
“...It’s fine?” Duke offers, trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I wasn’t expecting a rescue so soon, anyways. Think you can help me out here?”
“Yeah, of course!” he flies closer, then drops down to the ground behind Duke. He hums lightly under his breath, and then Duke feels a cold touch on his wrist and the zip ties are suddenly gone.
Duke blinks, then brings his arms in front of him. He moves around a bit to make sure he’s not hallucination, and sure enough, he’s free and unbound because a random meta teenager vanished the zip ties into the ether, or something.
“Thanks, man. Any idea where we are?”
“Not a clue. I got lost coming here, and I was following them. I don’t think you should trust any directions I give.”
“Fair enough,” Duke laughs. “I’m Duke, by the way.”
“Phantom.”
“Well, thanks for the save, Phantom. Can I treat you to something?”
“Like, coffee?”
“Sure. Or brunch, or ice cream. Whatever you want, really.”
Phantom considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I would love to but going out in public looking like this,” he gestures to himself, “Is not a great idea. Thanks for the offer though. You got a ride?”
Duke pats his pockets, then sighs. “My phone’s gone. I still have my wallet, though.”
“I fly you to someplace you can call someone, if you’d like.”
“You sure? I could probably just walk out of here and call a taxi.”
“I don’t think walking around by yourself after being kidnapped is a great idea,” Phantom says, doubtfully. “Seriously, let me fly you.”
He should just hit the panic button and wait for someone to show up to get him. He shouldn’t go to some unknown location with a meta he literally just met.
But, you know what? No one else can say they got kidnapped twice in one day, so Duke nods and says, “Sure, sweep me off my feet, Phantom. You gotta commit to this rescue.”
Phantom laughs. And then he does sweep Duke off his feet into a princess carry with a cheeky grin and flies them out the building, which turns out to be an abandoned apartment building slated for demolition.
“Keep this up and you’ll be replacing Superman in no time,” Duke jokes.
“I think I could manage it,” Phantom replies thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m already prettier than him, don’t you think?”
“Oh, definitely. The glow really brings out your eyes.”
Phantom gets him a few blocks away when Duke recognizes where they are, and quickly directs him into Crime Alley. They land on top of one of Jason’s safe houses, and while he’s sure there’s enough security to take out a SWAT Team, that’s absolutely not going to stop him from breaking in to use one of Jason’s burner phones and eat his leftovers.
He’s set down on his feet gently, and as soon as Phantom sees that he’s fine, able to walk and everything, he floats back up, just out of reach.
“Be careful, okay?” he says, getting ready to leave.
“I’ll do my best. Hey, are you gonna be in Gotham for a while, or…?”
Phantom gives him a tired smile. “Nah. I’m just passing through. As long as my luck doesn’t get even worse, then I should be out of here in a few days.”
“Shame,” Duke says, giving Phantom a very visible once over. He’s pretty tall, and Duke can see some muscle on him, and the tight black outfit really adds to his look. The glow that comes out of his chest makes him look ethereal and Duke is beyond glad that he got such a charming rescuer.
Phantom doesn’t blush like a normal person. He glows brighter instead, curling into himself a bit as he looks away, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face.
“I guess,” he shrugs. “Are you really going to be alright from here?”
“Yeah, man, I have a friend who lives here. I’ll just bother him until he agrees to give me a ride.”
“Alright.” Phantom drifts away, glancing behind him before turning back to Duke. “I’ll get going then. Take care, Duke!”
Duke waves and watches as Phantom begins to fly away. Then Phantom… disappears? Or rather, his body does but Duke can see an orb of light making its way across Gotham, almost like a star fallen from the sky.
He stays on the roof until the light is long gone. When he’s finally ready to go in and steal from Jason, the sun has completely set.
And he still doesn’t have his suit.
Duke sighs, and mentally prepares himself to other day of stressing out about the gala.
Three days of stress and last minute scrambling leave Duke in the Gotham Museum of Modern Art with Steph, Tim, Cass, and Damian. They’re hiding in the photography gallery to avoid other guests, taking a break from being polite and letting thinly veiled, passive aggressive insults slide over them.
.
.
.
“How much longer must we suffer this before we can go?” Damian grumbles, looking like he’s do anything to get his hands on a blade. Which, considering how many people tried to either pinch his cheeks are say some racist remark about him and his mother, is totally fair. Duke would just punch them, but sometimes a little drama helped get the message across.
“At least two more hours,” Tim says, not bothering to look up from his phone. From what few glimpses of the screen Duke caught, he’s leading a Titans missions through text and clever hacking. Though it may be more accurate to call is a Young Justice mission since there’s no way any of this was authorized by a Justice League member.
Also Anita, suited up as Empress, is there. If they aren’t on the news for property destruction and absolutely batshit wild shenanigans, Duke will have to check on Tim to make sure he’s not a pod person sent to infiltrate the family.
“Think we can sneak out without anyone noticing?” Steph asks, looking at the emergency exit longingly.
Cass shakes her head and points to the door leading to the ballroom. When they look over, Dick makes very deliberate eye contact with them and give them a smile that looks stretched across his face.
Tim winces and pushes Duke. “Oh, something went down. Go take over for him and let Dick rest in here for a bit.”
“Man, why does it have to be me?” he grumbles even as he stands. Dick lets out a heavy breath and gives Duke a grateful smile, patting on the shoulder before shoving him out the door.
As soon as he’s back into the main hallway, the music and chatter swell, no longer muffled by the thick walls of the photography wing. A few people come and go from the ballroom, no doubt looking for the restroom.
Or more private places for… other things. Things they definitely shouldn’t be doing in an art museum.
He really can’t wait for this night to be over.
Duke joins the rest of the guests, fake smile on his face, and quickly makes his way to the snack table. He might as well make the most of his time stuck out here. Maybe he could even cause another relationship scandal by implying that Bruce is sleeping with one of partners when in hearing distance of a couple. Maybe even both of them.
Bruce would go with it. It’s hilarious and he also needs something to make these events bearable.
Sadly, he doesn’t see any good targets as he scans the ballroom. A few people are dancing, while others are talking in small circles, closed off from outsiders. There’s an entire table of old ladies with glasses of wine in front of them; Duke considers hanging around them, since they confess to a lot of crimes after a few glasses. It’s fascinating.
Also, he does kind of miss hanging out with the one old lady who’s declared herself his high society grandmother and told him stories of how she used to go to bars to find racist people or Klan members during the Jim Crow era, seduce them, then poison them and get their addresses so a few gangs she was friends with would fuck them up.
Granny Kaliasto is the coolest person ever.
Just as he’s about to finish his last mini rolled crepe, Duke catches sight of one of the few teenagers still in the ballroom. The others, mostly stuck up rich kids no one actually likes, have already left to take over some other part of the museum to gossip until their parents decide it’s time to go home. These two are clearly not part of that crew, what with the girl being very goth and in a poofy, ripped dress, and the boy having already taken his jacket off to keep over his forearm, the top button of his shirt popped open.
They might be cool. He’s hoping they’re cool because he desperately needs some company to keep from dying of boredom while the gala continues on.
Duke walks over to them, going around the side of the ballroom, until he’s close enough to hear them talking.
The boy has his back to Duke, but the girl sees him. She immediately scowls and slaps the boys shoulder, eyes locked on Duke.
“Got another comment about my dress?” she says, voice sharp and acidic.
“Another?” Duke repeats. “I was just bored and wanted to talk to people who were my age. Sorry?”
The boy smacks the girl’s arm, then turns to face Duke. “Sorry about her! Sam is just naturally rude and aggressive. Tonight’s been a bit rough, with this crowd.”
Duke goes to say something, but the words stick in his throat when he sees the boy’s eyes shift from deep blue to an electric green. When he focuses, he can see a faint glow in his chest, the same glow he saw in Phantom.
“Dude? You alright?”
Sam looks him over judgmentally. “I guess it’s nice that I’m not being ogled for once, but don’t do that shit to Danny either.”
“Wait, that’s not what I was doing!” Duke hurries to say, snapped out of his shock. “I just… you look a lot like someone I met recently.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. What was your name? I’m Duke, by the way.”
He holds out a hand, and the boy shakes it with a small smile. “Danny. I don’t think we’ve met. I mean, I’m only here because Sam wouldn’t come to this gala without me, so her parents flew me in.”
“You from out of town?”
“Sam and I are from Illinois. Her parents are traveling around the east coast right now, and they decided to spend a week in Gotham to talk business.”
“I’d ask how it is, but outsiders tend to really hate Gotham, so…”
Sam barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh please, we can handle Gotham. Our town might not be as big and well known as Gotham, but we got our own shit to deal with there.”
“I do get shot at a lot back home,” Danny adds thoughtfully. “And that’s without the ghosts.”
“Woah, what?”
“Up for a bit of a story?” Danny asks, impish grin on his face. By his side, Sam brings a hand up to cover a manic smile, shoulders already shaking with laughter.
This is already better than the grandma gang. Duke leans against the wall, getting settled in, and says, “Always, man. Hit me with it.”
The next hour an a half passes quickly with Sam and Danny dramatically narrating some of the things that have happened in their town. Duke listens, absolutely enraptured, and doesn’t even notice the Waynes file into the ballroom again.
Unfortunately, they bring with them the attention of most of the ballroom, including Bruce and Sam’s parents.
She cuts the current story about Box Ghost short with a heavy sigh. “Hold up, I need to greet the Waynes properly while my parents are watching.” She steps in front of Duke and Danny, holding out a hand with a pained smile.
Tim takes it first, giving a solid shake, and introductions start.
Free from the rules of high society, if only for the moment, Duke leans closer to Danny and whispers to him, “Phantom. Wanna get out of here?”
Danny flinches and turns to him looking panicked. “How did you know?”
“I kinda got magic eyes. I see a lot of things normal humans can’t. Don’t worry about it. I still owe you, so you wanna get out of here?”
He watches as Danny glances around the ballroom, then back to him, clearly weighing out his options. Then he nods and says, “Know where to get a good milkshake around here?”
“Sure do.”
“I guess you’re the one rescuing me this time.”
“Not a rescue,” Duke corrects, and casually picks Danny up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, “A kidnapping.”
Danny laughs and waves Sam and all the others goodbye as Duke marches out of the ballroom.
“Don’t bother me for the next two hours!” he calls to the Waynes, “I’m going on a date!”
There are shocked gasps and murmurs all through the crowd. But as he spins around to wave at his shocked and easily amused family, he also catches sight of Granny Kaliasto raising her half full wine glass towards him.
She really is the coolest.
He’s definitely telling her all about this at the next event they attend together. It’ll be nice to have a few stories of his own to share.
#ghostlights#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#dpxdc#prompt fill#my writing#theyre just so casual in this fic#duke gets kidnaps. nbd tbh. saved by a glowing flying guy. nbd. duke clocks dannys identity instantly. nbd.#theyre just chilling. no time to freak out they on a mission to get milkshakes!!#sam is cackling once they leave and people start trying to figure out who they were and how audacious they were in leaving like that#lots of people ask bruce abt duke and his actions. the other siblings are trying so hard to get info abt danny from sam but shes not cracki#dick asks jason to follow them and get info bc this milkshake date is now an urgent mission. jason blocks him.#damian and sam do bond over animal rights and environmentalism later tho. they just share protesting tips and best ways to cause a scene#once again peppering in ocs bc i love making ocs#(<-says the girl literally writing an original superhero novel bc she cant stop making ocs. as if this is news to anyone)#thanks for the prompt!!!
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16 for the blossoming romance
Aaah this is such a good prompt! Thank you!
16. naturally gravitating closer together
There was, Hob thought, a tension to his friend, coiling like barbed wire along the straight line of his spine, the sharp set of his shoulders. Even like this, wearing nothing but a soft tee and a pair of old sweatpants (both Hob's, once blue, now a deep black; he did not begrudge the fabric its need to please the Dreamlord) patterned with fluorescent lights, there was a stillness to him that spoke of tight, forceful control, like a pulled leash.
Like fear, maybe, though Hob would not dare name it out loud.
Dream sat on his sofa like he was holding council with foreign dignitaries, like any slip of his expression, any gesture, any unveiled emotion might be used against him; and Hob, human and helpless that he was, ached for him, ached to gentle him somewhat, to put him at ease. So he pressed tea in his white bony hands, and sweetened it with honey, and sat with his own cup by his friend's side, close enough that he could see the shadow cast by his lashes on his cheek, smell his otherworldly scent.
It was... different, in the Waking. Subdued, in a sense, though no less entincing for it. But then, he had always been drawn to Dream, from that first night in 1389, when he'd lifted his gaze to meet those ever-wet eyes, that irreverent smirk, and had known something great, something other and terribly precious had entered his life.
So he sat, trying to think up ways to uncoil the tension, to smooth out the loneliness of his dearest friend, the sense of non-belonging he seemed to carry deep within his cloak alongside the stars. Without really meaning to, he shifted his leg, and then their knees brushed, just barely, and Dream let out a punched-out breath, devastating.
Hob looked at him, took in the confusion in his unguarded eyes like a wound to the chest. "Dream, dove, are you alright?" he asked, the pet name escaping in his rush to soothe, to bridge this wide open chasm between them, the shape of his friend's quiet, mournful dread.
Dream shifted, leaning towards him for but a second, just an inch before he stopped, statue-still and pale as marble, and sharp, inhuman teeth pressed against the softness of his rose-pink lip. Hob stopped himself from tracking the motion, but slid a little closer.
"You keep thinking of me," Dream whispered, hushed and lingering, like wind sweeping inside the living room, the voice of the Dreaming, blurred around the edges and ever-changing. "You dream of keeping me. I would know if you mean it."
Caught, Hob fell prey for one stretched moment of his own terrors, blaming his own poor control that had him wear his heart on his sleeve. Then he breathed, and let it go. Dream had seen much worse from him and had still chosen to meet him, to take up a vessel of flesh and blood and fold it neatly on his sofa, to drink his tea in small, endearing sips. To touch their thighs together and not move back.
"I mean it," said Hob, steady, willing the disbelief away from those star-filled eyes; slowly, he brought his hand forward, palm up, and laid it between them in offer. "All of it."
Dream stared down at his palm, touched two fingers lightly over the line of his wrist, like it was forbidden. "I am drawn to it. What you offer, Hob Gadling, I want it. And my want is a terrible thing." He retracted his hand, tucking it primly in his lap, and looked up at him. "I have been trying. To spare you."
"Don't," Hob said at once, and caught his hand, twining their fingers properly, holding on tight to the trembling, cold flesh of him. "Let me. Let me care for you." He could have spoken of love, let me love you on the tip of his tongue, but it felt more important that Dream understood this, first and foremost: "It is no burden, to care for you, dove. Easy as breathing, actually. Sometimes it seems like I've done little else in the past few centuries."
Bowing his head, the Dreamlord shuddered, and his blunt nails dug into the heel of Hob's palm, as if to ascertain the truth of him. "I wish you closer," he finally admitted, like a secret confession, like Hob should be frightened by it. The arc of his spine was twisted strangely, bowed forward into the empty space between their bodies and yet held suspended, mid-motion, trapped into a half fall. "All the time, I wish you closer."
"Come here, then," Hob told him lightly, drawing his free hand around the bony shoulders, until he could splay his fingers over the long tense curve of his back to try and mould it into something kinder. "Come here, my friend, my love."
The thrill of calling Dream love aloud was nothing to the wonder of having him in his arms; the tension snapped, and he became loose without it, liquid-like, flowing into his lap, forehead resting in the cradle of his neck, lips barely brushing his skin. "Surely it will become too much," Dream said even as he burrowed closer, and his ice-cold fingers dug into his shirt, bunching it up, desperate and reaching.
"It won't," Hob murmured, smoothing out the tremors of his spine, filled with love and grief alike for the beloved creature in his arms. "Stay as long as you like."
Whew! that was very inspiring!!! Thank you again for the prompt!
send me more if you like!
#dreamling#dreamling fic#hob x dream#lord morpheus#dream of the endless deserves good things#dream of the endless#hob gadling#dream x hob#fanfic#the sandman#the sandman fanfic#vale writes#thanks for the prompt!!!
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😈😈😈 #40 with hmmmmmmmmmm either swissalps or rulti take your pick trifle 🖤
⁴⁰⁾ “go on. fuck yourself on my cock/strap/hand.” SwissAlps
ohh this just fit so well with swissalps I couldn't resist! I transed their genders for u <3
The common room was empty save for Mountain and Swiss, the rest of the ghouls long gone to work or sleep. On the TV a shitty action film was playing, “Pfft! They’ve been fighting for twenty minutes now,” Swiss snickered, “that’s a bit excessive don’t you think?” he asked, looking at the stoic ghoul by his side.
Mountain appeared unbothered but his mind was racing, he felt like a duck in water, furiously peddling his mind to keep up appearances. All he could think of was that damn multi ghoul.
Two nights ago, Mountain was up late, unable to sleep. On his way to fetch a herbal tea from the kitchen he heard a high-pitched whine coming from Swiss’ room, not unusual, he thought, better have a look to see who he’s bagged tonight. The answer was better than Mountain could have ever hoped, his knees almost buckled at the sight before him, as he peered through the slit in the door the multi ghoul had curiously left open.
Swiss was jacking off, sounds about right. But it’s how he was doing it that made Mountain’s mind whirl for days. He was laid back on the bed, feet planted on the mattress as he mewled and whimpered at the sensations of the toy. Inside him was a strapless strap-on, his walls clenching around it as he roughly jerked the bright pink cock, pressure on his engorged clit unrelenting.
Between the slick sounds of the strap moving inside the lean ghoul, Mountain could have sworn he’d heard it vibrating, only adding to Swiss’ blissed out face. His free hand moved to run lasciviously down his chest as his hips bucked up into the stimulation.
Mountain stared slack-jawed at the multi ghoul for what felt like hours, his own wet patch growing by the second. As Swiss stopped to reposition himself against the headboard, the larger ghoul came to his senses, wicking the sweat from his forehead and heading back to his room, herbal tea long forgotten.
His mind was in overdrive, not a single coherent thought able to occupy it as he found himself in a similar position to Swiss, only with just his hands. He quickly brought himself to climax, already close by the time his back hit the duvet, a finger and thumb fervently stroking his t-dick. Mountain made a walk of shame to his bathroom to clean himself up, not only had he invaded Swiss’ privacy but he’d gone and jacked off to it? Disgusting.
So tonight, as the two ghouls sit, Mountain is struggling to keep it together, struggling not to pin Swiss down, fill him up with the toy, and jack him off. Swiss knows, he knows everything. He knows Mountain watched him, he knows Mountain masturbated afterwards, and he knows what’s filling the earth ghoul’s mind right now, weighing him down like concrete. Quintessence has its uses, eh?
Another thing Mountain doesn’t know: Swiss has been playing the long game. He purposefully left his door ajar, he quickly followed Mountain to his room to hear the debauched sounds of the earth ghoul, and most importantly, he’s wearing the strap right now.
Mountain had taken a bathroom break right as the twenty minute fight broke out and Swiss seized the opportunity to fill himself up and wait, draping a blanket loosely over himself to conceal the obvious erection.
The credits started to roll, a cinematic orchestra playing quietly in the background, just quietly enough that Mountain immediately glanced at Swiss when the multi ghoul clicked the strap’s remote, moaning softly as the earth ghoul’s eyes widened.
“Son of a bitch!” He growled, “You planned this, you smarmy bastard!” Mountain playfully slapped the shit-eating grin off the multi ghoul’s face. “At least let me have a look” He whined, pulling the blanket down to reveal Swiss with no underwear on, a puddle of slick dripping off the toy, leaking into the sofa.
The smaller ghoul scoops a handful of slick and brings it to the head of the cock as he begins to stroke in a slow, languid motion. Staring lovingly into Mountain’s eyes, his own rolling back as the toy simultaneously hit his dick and g-spot. Mountain went to place a hand over his mate’s but Swiss flicked it away, “Oh no, this isn’t for you, darling.” His face contorting to that shit-eating grin again as he held out his free palm, middle and ring fingers extended, “Go on. Fuck yourself on my hand.”
The angle was awkward, Swiss not bothering to help his lover, too engaged in his own pleasure to care. Mountain did his best to sink down onto the outstretched fingers, manipulating Swiss like an artist’s manikin to reach the spot that mattered.
They were both a moaning mess, the wet sounds of toys and fingers echoing in the room. Mountain was fucking himself in earnest now moving Swiss’ thumb to knock over his clit with every thrust he made, his cunt fluttering at the now drenched fingers, close. All he could focus on was the way Swiss’ hand moved over the dick, like he’d had it his whole life, a natural.
Swiss pretended he wasn’t bothered by Mountain’s whines, the older ghoul falling apart just at the sight of Swiss jerking off, but he was coming closer to the edge with every small manoeuvre the ghoul made of his hand, it was torture to pretend he didn’t want to shove Mountain on his back and fuck him nasty. But it was so worth it to watch the earth ghoul cum on his fingers, “Fuck Swiss, your hands are so good. ‘M cumming!” Mountain howled. Swiss could feel Mountain’s walls clenching as he drenched the multi ghoul’s hands in cum, still using Swiss’ hand as a joystick, ramming it in and out as he rode out his orgasm.
Watching Mountain fall apart like that brought Swiss over the edge, just a few more tugs on the silicone and he’s working himself through one of the best orgasms he’s had. Mountain’s hand goes to join his and he can’t deny either of them the pleasure as they both stroke him through his climax.
“Shit, Mounty, wasn’t expecting you to actually get off on that.” Swiss smiled, genuine care in his voice now, “Thought I was gonna have to fuck you but Satan if that wasn’t hot.” Mountain blushed at the statement, his mind still unable to slow down but at least he had the memory of tonight to play over and over.
“You’re gonna have to do that again, Swiss. Surprise me with a different toy next time though.” The earth ghoul muttered, winking as he stood up to head to the bathroom. Swiss was more than happy to oblige.
#trifle writes#trifle answers#gloom#thanks for the prompt!!!#the band ghost#nameless ghouls#swiss ghoul#mountain ghoul#t4t#swissalps#swiss/mountain
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#26 firstprince for the soft prompt fills!
Thank you for this prompt! I loved this one!
26. Bed hair
There are lots of firsts around moving into the brownstone. Almost all of it is a first for Henry who has never had this opportunity before. Alex also lived at home —the White House — so there were many steps of moving that hadn’t occurred to him either. They fumbled through it, taking each new first in stride, happy to be making each step together.
The first morning they officially live in the brownstone, Henry wakes up before Alex. He lays there for a long moment, staring across the pillow, almost needing to pinch himself. How is this his life? He’s tempted to wake Alex with kisses to his cheeks and fingers in his hair, but he can’t remember the last time Alex looked this peaceful. So he lets him sleep.
Slowly, creeping out of the room and back down to the main floor, Henry goes toward the kitchen. Because Alex is, well, Alex, they unpacked the coffee maker last night. First thing. As he listens for sounds from upstairs, Henry brews himself a cup of tea and Alex a cup of coffee, making sure it’s just the way he likes it.
By the time he gets back upstairs, Alex is stirring. Henry lingers in the doorway, smiling at the sight of the man he loves. Through eyes squinted against the light, Alex looks around for Henry. His hair is a mess of curls, a mixture of Henry’s fingers running through it the night before and sleeping heavily afterward.
“Your hair in the morning is truly a sight to behold,” Henry says, his voice quiet and awed. Once again, he can’t believe this is his life.
“I think you’ve said that before,” Alex replies, slowly opening his eyes. “Coffee?”
Henry walks over, sitting on the edge of the bed, handing over his cup. “Of course, love.”
“You’re amazing,” Alex says after his first sip.
Leaning in, Henry presses a kiss to Alex’s lips. “Good morning, love.”
“Our first morning living together,” Alex muses with a smile.
Henry hums in response, kissing Alex again before climbing back into his place next to him. They drink their beverages side by side, leaning on each other. It’s the happiest Henry has ever been.
Send me soft prompts!
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15 (my lucky number!!!) with hangster
cruel summer - taylor swift
i don't want to keep secrets just to keep you
people look at rooster and hangman and assume a lot of things.
first, they assume that the two of them are some of the best pilots the navy has to offer. this one's pretty much right on the money, and has been since the two of them first started circling each other during flight training.
the second thing people assume is that they hate each other. this one's mostly untrue, at least from hangman's perspective. sure, at the beginning, there was a good deal of animosity building between the two of them. but, over the years, jake's come to see their relationship as more one of friendly ribbing, of pushing each other to be better.
because rooster knows jake in a way no one else ever will, understands him intuitively in the air, and can anticipate this moves on the ground. and jake knows bradley just the same. they're not stationed together often, and they're never on the same squadron, but they gravitate towards each other like magnets. an inescapable pull that bounces them against one another.
the third thing people assume is that there's a lot of unresolved sexual tension between the two of them.
this one's outright false. maybe it used to be true, for the first few years of their acquaintance. hell, it was probably true all the way up until this summer, when they finally fell into bed together, fueled by the impossible to ignore attraction crackling between them and the unbearable heat of summertime in Lemoore. now, that tension is resolved. or, resolved as it can be, because every time rooster slips out of his bed, jake can feel the need start to mount in his bones, under his skin. like an addiction he can't kick.
it started casually. in a way, it still is casual. nights spent burning off the residual adrenaline and making up for nearly a decade of tension boiling between the two of them. it's not jake's fault that the tension never seems to go away.
the fourth thing people assume is that between the two of them, it's jake with the commitment issues.
this one isn't only false, but the opposite is true. maybe, once upon a time, jake would've flinched away from something consequential, something real and true. but now, when he spends his nights watching the steady way bradley's chest rises and falls, jake finds he wants that more than he ever has before.
he's pretty sure rooster would rather get his hand stuck in a rotary blade than do anything of consequence, though. their relationship exists in the cover of night, hidden from prying eyes and curious friends. jake hasn't even told javy, sworn to secrecy by rooster. it makes him feel almost dirty, like he's not someone bradley would ever want to be associated with.
jake tries not to think about it too much. he has bradley for now, and that's enough. they'll ride out this deployment together for as long as it lasts.
it turns out, that's a lot less time than jake thought they had.
"so, i'll see you tomorrow?" he asks, trying to keep the hope out of his voice as bradley slides out of jake's bed.
"i leave for oceana tomorrow," bradley says casually, pulling his pants up.
jake feels something akin to a stone drop in his stomach. "i didn't know you got reassigned." why didn't you tell me? sits at the back of his throat, unsaid.
rooster shrugs. "didn't seem like a big deal. i mean, it's not like we're going steady or anything." rooster shoots jake a smirk, and it curdles in jake's belly.
because yeah, technically, they weren't going steady or exclusive or anything like that. but jake hasn't slept with anyone else since bradley first crawled into his bed, that heady day in june. and he knows more about bradley than he's ever known about any of his relationships, the story behind every scar, how he snorts when he laughs hard enough, the way his knee always feels sore when it's going to rain. in turn, he's shown parts of himself to rooster that he's never shown anyone before, except maybe javy.
but yeah. they're not dating. and bradley's just made it very clear that that was never the plan.
"right," jake says coldly, keeping his voice level. "well, don't die, i guess."
rooster snorts. "what warm wishes; i'll try my best. same to you."
he gives jake a mock salute and then leaves, slamming the door shut on the way out. it's here, in his messy sheets, the smell of rooster's cologne lingering in the air, that jake realizes the terrible truth: he's in love with bradley bradshaw.
#thanks for the prompt!!!#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick#jake hangman seresin#hangster#bradley rooster bradshaw#prompts
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Fourth line and overtime
When Fasko-Rudas scored just two minutes into the overtime, Wojtek let out a barely concealed curse and slammed his fist against the boards. They clawed their way back to equalize in the third period, and they still couldn't finish it. They went through the motions of nominating the man of the match from each team and going through the handshake line, but he was glad when he could disappear through the tunnel, into the lockerroom. He sat down heavily in his stall, closing his eyes for a moment before starting to get undressed. Parker walked over to him, plopping down into the empty stall to his right.
"Great game, babe. Don't think about the end score. Just think about the beautiful shorthander you scored."
He scooted forwards and patted his knee. Stachu just sighed and put his hand on top of Parkers for a moment. "I know. And I know that it technically doesn't matter as much, but still. I wish it didn't end that way."
Justin, fresh out of the shower, groaned at his words. "Dude, it's not worlds yet. We gotta get a feel for each other. Stop talking like we just lost a game 7 in playoffs or something."
Blushing a little in embarrassment at Justin's blunt words, Wojtek nodded. "Yeah. Let's just get out of here. I can't want to be back at the hotel."
Parker grinned. "Me neither. Because I know just how Justin and I can distract you from the loss."
And with that, Wojtek didn't waste any more time thinking about another bad overtime loss.
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I love your drabbles. How about this this time it is Phil's turn to walk in on them during some heavy petting (on a sofa, under a duvet?) but unlike the others he is totally oblivious for the longest time, until he's basically going "haha lads why are you acting so strange, are you not wearing any pants haha :).... :) .... :) ... :l lads?"
YESSSS I love this honestly. Phil Neville voted most annoying younger brother in the world for the 47th year running.........
---
The beauty of living alone, Gary’s always liked to think, is that – well, that you’re left alone. And that if, hypothetically, you wanted some adult company then, hypothetically, you could invite your colleague/maybe best friend/maybe boyfriend over and would be free to enjoy his adult company on any surface you liked, because there’s nobody who could stop you because, crucially, you live alone.
The trouble with hypotheticals is that they don’t often factor in annoying little brothers.
So, Gary’s lying back on his giant sofa, enjoying some adult company with the Scouse bastard/definite bane of his existence/maybe love of his life, when they hear the front door click open and both freeze.
“Fucking Phillip,” Gary mutters, extracting himself out from under Jamie with a sigh.
“Thought you said his flight only got in later?”
Gary glances at his watch, swipes away the ‘high heart rate’ warning to check the time, and groans. “Seems we lost track of time.” He straightens his jumper and turns his head towards the open living room door. “Din’t anyone ever teach you to knock,” he calls out to where he hears his brother still shuffling around in the entryway.
“What’ve I got a key for, then, if I ‘ave to knock,” Phil calls back. There’s a couple of seconds silence while he pads in his socks down the hall, which Jamie and Gary use to frantically check they’re both presentable, and then he’s sticking his head round the doorway with a smile. “’sides, I thought you were probably workin’, since you didn’t answer my text when I landed. Oh! Hiya, Carra, I weren’t expectin’ to see you today.”
He wanders over, uninvited, to flop down on the couch next to them. “What a flight, I tell ya I’m knackered. And I couldn’t even get direct, neither. Absolute nightmare, but it’s good to be home. Julie and the kids send their love, they’re already asking when you’re comin’ over to visit. New house is pretty nice, an’ all.”
When he finally stops for breath, Jamie slaps his thighs and goes to stand up, saying “how’s about I leave you two to catch up, ‘s a long drive home for me, maybe I can beat the traffic.”
Gary shoots him a glare that he hopes says ‘if you leave this room I will kill you.’
Jamie sits back down.
“We were gonna order somethin’ for dinner, Carra, weren’t we?” he asks, inching his hand across to pinch Jamie in the side to make sure he behaves. “What’d’you fancy, Phil, you’re my guest of honour.”
“Ooh, I could go for a fish and chips, to be fair. And mushy peas, y’don’t get those in Portland…”
“Sounds great! D’you want to go collect, then, and me ‘n James can tidy up a bit round here.”
Phil tilts his head back against the back of the couch. “I only just got in!” he whines, “give us a break, just order it on one of the apps.”
There doesn’t seem much use in trying to argue, so Gary gets out his phone and hands it to Phil once he’s got the local chippie’s deliveroo page open. Phil takes his sweet time to pick out what to get, which seems an uneccessary kind of torture when his whole life he’s literally never ordered anything but a medium cod and chips with gravy and mushy peas.
When he hands the phone back to Gary, he pauses, tilts his head with a frown.
“Oh, Gaz, y’ve got somethin’ on your neck there, lemme just –”
Jamie displays the kind of quick reaction time that he barely even managed in his playing days and grabs Gary by the chin, tilting his head with force so that his neck is angled towards him and away from Phillip.
“No need,” he says breezily, lifting his thumb to his mouth to wet it like he’s an anxious mother trying to get a speck of dirt, “here, lemme see…”
He rubs his thumb against what he knows damn well is not a speck of dirt, which he knows is a fresh bruise by virtue of the fact that he’s the one who just put it there, and when Gary’s breath hitches at the pressure against it he shoots him a wicked grin because he is evil, he is sick and twisted and Gary is going to kill him.
“Aw, no,” says Phil, leaning in closer to peer at the mark, “it’s not budging, must be a skin thing. Are you getting stress hives again, Gaz, I thought you said you were takin’ it easy for a bit?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Gary says tightly. Jamie releases his neck and Gary shakes his head around a bit to get it feeling normal again.
When Jamie lowers his hand back down, however, it lands to rest lightly on Gary’s thigh, fingers curled just above his knee, because he is a fucking bastard.
Phil shrugs and flops back to where he was on the sofa, idly picking up the TV remote. “Anythin’ good on TV lately?” he asks, pulling up the channel guide, “I tell ya what, me ‘n Julie’ve been watchin’ this –”
“—Why don’t you go unpack, Phillip?” Gary interrupts quickly, because he feels Jamie’s hand slowly tracing up his thigh and he doesn’t need for there to be any witnesses when he murders him in a few seconds. “Freshen up before food comes, maybe, you were just sayin’ what a long flight you’ve had.”
“Ooh, you’re right, maybe I’ll even run a bath if there’s time.”
Gary nods encouragingly, maybe a bit frantically, and sits tense until Phil wanders back out, humming the tune of some silly little pop song.
When he’s safely out of earshot, Gary hisses “you fucking bastard”, and slams his mouth against Jamie’s, pushes him backwards and swings a leg over him to straddle his hips.
Jamie just grins against his lips, slips a hand under his jumper. “How long d’you think that’s bought us?” he mutters, “ten minutes? Can get a lot done, w’that.”
“Y’better make it at least fifteen or I’m not invitin’ you back.”
“Bossy, bossy,” Jamie says, still grinning, then he scrapes his teeth over Gary’s bottom lip and Gary forgets that he's meant to be annoyed with him.
“Was gonna call Julie but I left me phone in ‘ere, silly me,” comes Phil’s voice from just outside. Gary freezes. Jamie does too, but it’s much too late for either of them to do anything besides that, because by then Phil is already stood in the doorway flushed a bright red.
“Oh!” he says. He blinks a few times. “Oh! Oh, alright then, I’ll just – food’s in half an hour, yeah? I’ll just – I were gonna call Julie, and the kids…” he says, before practically sprinting out the room and back down the corridor.
Jamie just laughs, pulls Gary back down to kiss him again. “Look at that, lad,” he murmurs, “half an hour, eh? Could get a lot done twice, w’that.”
Gary’s torn, momentarily, about what he should do with this idiot he’s got underneath him. Killing him does seem tempting. He rolls his eyes. “Not on yer life,” he says, and kisses him back.
#WHO WILL WIN: gary's need to get dicked down or phillip's need to annoy gary#thanks for the prompt!!!#carraville#drabbles
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The Drawing Anon is here! Every Friday, I send multiple artists the same prompt! Today's prompt: your FAVOURITE pokemon
hell yeah dude!!!
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Ohhh for the kissing prompts, maybe number 6 for Elyden and Miraak? <3
Sorry for taking a bit! This UHHHH took too long and is a bit too long but eh, tis how writing blocks work <3 Thanks for the ask tho!!!
(also the editing isn’t the best as this took too long and I didn’t follow the prompt fully.....I’m sorry :’( hope it’s fun to read regardless)
6. Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift
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Miraak gently tucked the clinky necklace into a black fabric baggie, waving goodbye once again to the jeweler. The warmth of the shop was quickly missed from how the cold thrusted past his scarf and relatively thick coat. He tucked the purple wool up over his red nose and nudged the snowflakes off the baggie before carefully tucking it into a safe pocket. ‘If anything happened to this, I will burn the world down then myself.’
Having spent an ungodly amount of septims on this gift, he briskly walked back to the only Inn in this quaint mountain village. Even with how small it was, there were plenty of people who lived in this small town. He saw children hurl snowballs at each other from their snow forts. He could smell the hot cider trailing off the cups of elders. He could hear the firewood crackling inside the brick homes. He passed the busy mines that weren't ever vacant of miners and always stank of moonstone dust.
After making sure to shake the snow off his boots, Miraak tugged off his hood and scarf once inside the Inn. The wood was thickly stained with cider and yeasty beer. Adorned on the walls were horns carved into lantern holders. Table cloths were a bright green that looked as old as him, even if Miraak knew they would have rotted away by then. He waved hello to the Innkeeper who was busy sweeping up the floor and went inside his shared room with Elyden.
A few days ago, Elyden slipped on his climb up the mountain and broke his left leg pretty badly. Luckily, Miraak knew how to heal. Unluckily, Miraak had no idea how altmer bones worked and no one wanted to risk malformation. So Elyden was confined to the Inn until his leg recovered enough for them to find a proper restoration mage in these mountains.
Since then, Elyden was nothing but miserable and impatient. He was restless, always trying to get up and help out in the Inn, just refusing to rest. Miraak’s guilt rose when he saw that he couldn’t do more. Until he recalled that Elyden admitted a while ago he wanted a nice necklace to enchant and proudly wear. Then lamented on how expensive good quality necklaces were.
Miraak painstakingly was so frugal with his money, even Elyden sat him down to have a talk about possible money anxiety. His arms were sore from doing every odd job he could, his patience was scrambled from haggling with merchants, and internally he never felt so frustrated that such a bauble would be so pricey. But really, that didn’t matter. ‘I just want to see him happy again.’
Elyden’s wrapped leg was hung in the air with some pulley as he laid in bed, not really reading the book he had in hand. He was still wearing undergarments for bed and his eyes were boring through the pages. The room was warm and stuffy with the heating enchantments that were carved into the wooden walls and the pile of quilts on the elf.
“Oh? Hi Miraak, you’re back early.” Elyden blinked as he closed his book and rested it on his chest. He idly itched his bushier beard - ‘Honestly, I feel like it looks better on him.’ - and belly. “How was Mrs. Harvey?”
“She was fine, I think her wounds should heal with no issues.” With a huff, Miraak planted himself on the fluffy bed and unwrapped his wooly clothing. “Her family gave me some caramels as a thank you gift, want some?”
Elyden perked up and put his book aside fully, trying to sit up straighter but he immediately hissed out in pain. His lifted leg jerked slightly and Miraak would practically hear the complaining muscles lecture their owner. “What kind?”
“Coffee.” ‘Your favorite.’ Miraak managed a smile as he reached past the pouched necklace to pull out paper-wrapped candies. It was a hard block that was the size of his palm, a beautiful bronze whose wafts of sugar made Miraak want to cry. He easily broke it into pieces and handed the larger shards to Elyden.
Elyden happily plucked them out of Miraak’s fingers, latching onto the hand to press a long kiss against the worn knuckles. He fluttered his eyes shut and rested his chubby cheek against the softer palm. Miraak didn’t have to lean in close to smell it to know that Elyden had used his beard oils, as his salt and pepper whiskers were cushiony. The necklace in the pocket was quickly forgotten when the elf nudged more against Miraak’s rubbing thumbs.
Elyden happily plucked them out of Miraak’s fingers, latching onto the hand to press a long kiss against the worn knuckles. He fluttered his eyes shut and rested his chubby cheek against the softer palm. Miraak didn’t have to lean in close to smell it to know that Elyden had used his beard oils, as his salt and pepper whiskers were cushiony. The necklace in the pocket was quickly forgotten when the elf nudged more against Miraak’s rubbing thumbs.
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Ghostlights cuddling for comfort, but also they're oblivious idiots who are pining over each other but thinks its unrequited
“Ugh,” Duke says, dropping down onto the bench besides Danny.
Danny nudges him with his shoulder. “Rough night?”
“Slept for like an hour,” Duke mutters, “This sucks. My head’s going to burst like balloon and my eyes are about to fall out.”
“Yikes. You know, you could have just canceled for today. I wouldn’t have minded.”
Duke sighs and presses the heel of his palms against his eyes. “Maybe, but I would have minded. We barely see each other anymore, man. I’ve missed you.”
“Oh.” Danny bites his lip, trying and failing to stop from smiling. Something soft in his chest glows at the words, a growing spark of happiness in knowing that for this, at least, the feeling is requited. It’s nice to hear that he was missed, and it would be even nicer if Duke wasn’t in pain, pushing himself just because he didn’t want to cancel. Carefully, Danny reaches for him and pulls his hands away from his face. “Here,” he says, “Let me.”
His hands are always cold. Most of him is cold, really — side effect of having an ice core. Sam told him once that his hands were better than an ice pack, and he’s hoping she’s right or this is going to be weird.
Danny gently presses his fingers against Duke’s temples, his hands cradling Duke’s face. Duke is tense for a few seconds, then abruptly relaxes, leaning into Danny’s hands.
“Is this helping?” he asks, voice hushed to keep from aggravating Duke’s migraine.
“Mhm. Yeah, it feels great. Thanks, Danny.”
Duke goes completely limp, leaning against Danny. They sit there for a minute in silence, the rest of the world feeling far away. As nice as it is to just exist together, he knows what Duke needs most right now is quiet and stillness. Gotham is very much not that, and every honking car that passes by makes Duke wince, trying to turn away from the road even more.
“Hey, let’s head back to my place. It’s close by, and a lot quieter than out here.”
“Are you sure? I know we planned to go to the arcade today…”
“The arcade can wait. You’re more important.”
Duke blinks open his eyes and looks at Danny with something soft in his gaze. Being so close together, barely any space between them, with Duke looking at him like that makes Danny’s cheeks flush red, unable to think anything but please kiss me.
Which is never going to happen. Duke is his friend, and just his friend, no matter how much Danny wishes they could be something more. It’s a pipe dream, something so impossible it’s almost laughable.
Duke likes being friends with normal human Danny. He doesn’t want to imagine how he would react if he found out about Danny being half ghost, assuming this imaginary reveal happens without Danny being hunted down and cut open by GIW agents.
He’s still in hiding, always waiting for the worst as he stays in the apartment his friends (living and dead) had set up for him. The building is for ghosts so it technically doesn’t exists, which means it’s the safest place for Danny while he’s actively being hunted by the US government.
He can’t be honest with Duke. Can’t be as close to him as he wants to be. Duke deserves more than to be dragged into Danny’s problems and put in danger.
Even so, Danny can’t help but want him around, pushing his luck each time they hang out.
“Come on,” Danny urges, standing up. He pulls his hands away and Duke’s brow immediately furrows, his pain returning. “It’s only a few streets away.”
Duke sighs, then visibly braces himself before he stands up. Danny tucks himself into Duke’s side, taking as much of his weight as he can as he walks them down the street. It’s times like these that he wishes he could reveal his powers safely and just fly them to his apartment. But even without the GIW gunning for his head, showing off powers in Gotham is a sure fire way to get a target painted on his back.
“Almost there,” he says as they turn a corner.
His apartment doesn’t have a fixed address. It doesn’t have a fixed location at all, drifting around, but it likes this street the most, so this is where it usually is. Danny takes them halfway down the street, then turns into an alley, following his ghost sense.
Where there’s usually a dead end is instead a building, looking as if it’s always been tucked away in this alley. Danny keeps a tight grip on Duke as they climb the front steps, silently asking for the building to let him stay while he’s with Danny. The door opens easily, which is as good as an agreement, and they’re inside without anything going wrong. The small entrance lobby is empty, with an area for packages filled with clearly magical artifacts carelessly wrapped in bubble wrap.
Danny drags them past that quickly, hoping Duke doesn’t notice, and calls the elevator down. It arrives silently, the doors opening to let another tenant out. Carefully, Danny positions himself in front of Duke, making sure he doesn’t see how the tenant, who nods at Danny, has a still bleeding wound in his stomach that has him nearly split in half.
“Alright,” he says, ushering Duke into the elevator, “Just a little ride up and then you can lay down.” He hits the button for the fourth floor and they ride up in silence, Duke dropping his head down to onto Danny’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around his waist as he stands behind Danny. He’s glad Duke can’t see his face; there’s no doubt that he’s blushing like crazy and if that doesn’t give away his feelings, he doesn’t know what will.
Thankfully the elevator ride isn’t long. If Danny had to go for more than a minute with Duke breathing softly against his neck, his warm hands on his stomach, Danny would have collapsed into a pile of flustered goo.
He opens the door to his apartment and kicks his shoes off. Duke follows in suit, still plastered onto Danny’s back, refusing to let go.
“Come on,” Danny says, leading him to the couch, “Sit down and I’ll grad you some water and painkillers.”
Duke nods against his shoulder, then slowly detaches himself from Danny and makes his way to the couch. He drops onto it gracelessly, pressing his face into a cushion.
Danny winces. He must be feeling really bad. He knows how bad migraines can be with sleep deprivation, having suffered through high school with only a few hours of sleep at night, if he got to sleep at all. Frankly, it’s a testament to Duke’s strength that he lasted the entire walk to Danny’s apartment without complaint.
He returns to the living room with a full glass of water and a bottle of Advil, setting them on the coffee table to crouch next to the couch and place a cold hand on Duke’s cheek. “Hey,” he says softly when Duke turns to look at him, “Is Advil alright? It’s all I had.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Danny.”
Duke sits up and shakes out three pills, then washes them down with water. He drains the rest of the cup quickly, then falls back against the couch with his eyes squeezed shut.
“Is there anything else I can do to make you feel better?”
Duke immediately reaches a hand out for him.
“Um?”
“Sit next to me. I feel better when I’m next to you.”
“Oh! Alright. Bet you’re only saying that because my hands are cold.”
“You caught me,” Duke laughs, pulling Danny onto the couch. He goes easily, tucking his legs beneath himself, and places his hands on Duke’s temples again. “Man, I owe you my life.”
“I don’t think my cold hands are worth quite that much.”
Duke hums, but doesn’t say anything else, so Danny settles in and focuses on keeping his hands a little colder than normal.
The apartment is quiet. No sound from outside can reach them, one of the few ways the building looks after its tenants. Danny and Duke fall against each other, at ease with each other. There’s no need to fill in the silence, and with Duke’s eyes closed, Danny doesn’t have to carefully shove down his feelings and act normal. He indulges in the warmth of Duke’s body pressed against his, a hand on his knee and an arm around his waist.
He keeps his hands as steady as possible as he looks over Duke, adoring all the little details he can see; a small scar on his chin, the fullness of his lips, the way his hair falls into his face now that it’s long enough to keep in braids.
“I can practically hear you thinking,” Duke murmurs, “What’s on your mind?”
You’re cute, he thinks, I feel safe with you. I want to kiss you. I wish I could be brave enough to be honest.
I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave. I wish I was brave.
“Nothing,” he says. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah. I might fall asleep though.”
“That’s fine. You know I would never say no to a nap.”
“Come here, then,” Duke says, and before Danny can do anything, Duke gets a stronger grip on his waist and pulls Danny down on top of him as he falls back towards the arm rest and gets his legs on the couch.
“Duke!”
Duke laughs underneath him, and Danny can feel it roll through him. Okay! This is definitely something he’s going to think about… forever. Wow, he can feel Duke’s abs tense up as he laughs, and has he always been ripped? Unfair. Also unfairly hot.
“Is this alright?” Duke asks, voice soft and quiet. There’s a hesitancy around his words that Danny doesn’t like hearing, and he brings his hands down to sweep his thumbs soothingly over Duke’s cheeks.
“Of course it is, man. I’d never refuse cuddles.”
“Okay. I’m gonna pass out now. Wake me in an hour?”
Danny moves his hands back up to his temples and says, “Sure. Get some rest, Duke. You really need it.”
He feels Duke relax beneath him, breaths slowing down as he begins to fall asleep. It’s peaceful and quiet and Duke is warm in a way Danny never can be with his ice core. He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but curled up on the couch with Duke in the safety of an apartment that only barely exists has him drifting off in no time at all.
.
.
.
(Duke wakes up before Danny. Their legs are tangled together and Duke has moved during his sleep, turning so Danny is held tightly to his chest, his back to the cushions, while Duke is balancing very carefully at the edge of the couch.
It’s been hours, and he should be heading home soon, but he stays as he is, enjoying this quiet moment for as long as he can have it. Danny is in his arms, safe and content with him, his head no longer hurts beyond a residual ache he can easily ignore, and he can admire how pretty Danny is without being worried about Danny catching his lingering stares.
These moments are precious to him, rare as they are, and he wants nothing more than to kiss Danny once he’s awake and let his feelings be known.
But the Signal has lots of dangerous people after him, and Gnomon has started causing problems in Gotham again. So he’ll bite his tongue and keep his less platonic feelings buried under lock and key until it’s safe enough for Danny to be around him more often.
And when that time comes, he can only hope that Danny will feel the same way.
That’s all far away from the stillness of Danny’s apartment. All that matters is that he has Danny in his arms. Everything else can wait.
For now, this is more than enough.)
#ghostlights#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp fic#dpxdc fanfic#prompt fill#my writing#once again unable to resist the urge to write abt living buildings#duke and danny are pining no stop bc they're both like 'this is a bad time for a relationship/i have to keep too many secrets' etc etc#while also cuddling and going on dates that they dont call dates out loud and sighing wistfully when they think of each other#taking what small things they can while trying to hide their feelings....#some other batfam member is going to stumble upon them in public and chat a bit w dukes friend#then walk away texting the group chat like 'hey duke and his friend are madly in love but too shy/stupid to do something abt it.#lets play cupid lol' and then theyre all trying to get duke and danny together#it gets to the point that every time they hang out it ends with them doing some nonsense to escape the batfam and their kind but unhinged#attempts to get them together#thanks for the prompt!!!
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hello it's Eclipse brain rot day so I want to bring an imagine/prompt: Eclipse working on some self-spooling abseiling gear (because sometimes agents need to safely go down a long distance and then be able to get back up) and it. doesn't. quite go to plan. many limbs, lots of tangling. good thing Agent Neon is around to save the day! (so long as they don't get tangled up too) - @clxckwork-sun-n-moon
FINALLY FINISHED THIS!! YOU ALWAYS SEND ME ASKS/PROMPTS THAT SPARK 1000+ WORD DRABBLES ADKJDLHFASKLJDF
ENJOY THIS CHAPTER!!!
I had a lot of fun writing it! Click here to read it!
#Ask Zelda#clxckwork-sun-n-moon asks#YOU ALWAYS MANAGE TO DO THIS#IT WAS TOO GOOD *NOT* TO WRITE#HOW COULD I NOT???#IT'S SO GOOD#It was so much fun#and I got to throw in some other stuff too!!#Thanks for the prompt!!!#I love hearing about Eclipse thoughts <3 <3#hehehehe this is great#New Horizons#Accidentally Undercover Fanwork#Accidentally Undercover#Agent Horizon#Agent Neon
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lake :3
Freshwater Lake
“Look at all that salty, salty water, Scully.” It’s not salty, salty water and he knows that. She tells him so. “Really? It’s a lake, so it’s not saltwater? That’s such an interesting factoid, Scully. Please continue to expound about freshwater lakes. It makes your voice go all sexy.”
Scully smiles and blushes at Mulder’s words before tromping her way through the sand to the pier. “I was gonna help you row, Mulder, but I think explaining the delicate ecosystem of a freshwater lake will take too much energy.”
He chuckles and offers her a hand into the boat, which she graciously takes before placing their bags underneath the benches. “Come on, Mulder. My FPS 50 is awaiting.”
He miraculously settles into his seat without sending them overboard and collects the oars as Scully takes out the bottle of sunscreen and starts applying it. “I could do that for you once we get there,” Mulder offers, waggling his eyebrows with a grin. With a teasing smile, she puts on a bit of a show with her application, extending her legs and leaning back when she’s done. “How much longer?”
She hums and studies the island they’re approaching. “Ten minutes, I’d say.” He groans dramatically as she giggles.
—
His hands against her trapezius muscles, her latissimus muscles, all the way down to the small of her back and back to start the journey over again. Scully groans contentedly into her arms, half asleep. As long as he doesn’t change what he’s doing, she’ll be asleep in thirty seconds, safely tucked away underneath the shade of a tree. Of course, Mulder being Mulder, he removes his hands just as she’s drifting off, and she lets out an indignant sound.
“My turn, Scully,” he says, and she listens to the sound of him flopping onto his own towel drown out the waves of the lake.
“I’m not massaging sunscreen onto your back, Mulder. Can’t you wait, like, an hour?”
“Alright.” He rolls over to press a kiss to her shoulder before getting up. “I’m going in the water. Holler if you need me.”
“Spray it on first, honey.”
Mulder chuckles at her lethargic slip-up, but she hears him dig through one of the bags before spraying on the sunscreen. “I always practice safe sunlight consumption, baby.”
She smiles against her arm before drifting off to sleep.
—
She’s already reapplied sunscreen to his back and, indulgently on both their parts, she’s applying it to the front of his upper body, too. Scully has the contours of his chest and abdomen memorized, and she has no doubt in her mind that she could recognize him by sense of touch alone.
They’ve relocated to the other side of the tree to stay in the shade, and she’s perched in the cradle of his hips. They won’t do anything—not while the beach and pier they came from are in sight—but it means she won’t have to convince him to head back when she’s done.
Mulder would as soon leave as have sex right there, as evidenced by his wandering hands, though they’re only suggestive—trailing just under the hems of her bikini bottoms to tickle her faint tan lines or the inside crease of her thigh into her pubis.
“Mulder,” she says, attempting consternation, but it comes out as a purr. “No.”
“You’re the one who’s keeping us from leaving right now.”
“Because we have to walk a mile back to the rental in the beating sun because someone insisted that it would only take five minutes.” She slides her hands down to his abdomen as he leers up at her, a welcomed thing.
“Ah, retribution. Good thing my legs are longer than yours or I’d be staring at your ass all the way back.”
Scully lightly slaps his chest as she grins. “You’re incorrigible.”
He grins, too, bringing his hands behind his head. “Still the same old Mulder you met 14 years ago.”
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Gentle reminder that very little fandom labor is automated, because I think people forget that a lot.
That blog with a tagging system you love? A person curates those tags by hand.
That rec blog with a great organization scheme and pretty graphics? Someone designed and implemented that organization scheme and made those graphics.
That network that posts a cool variety of stuff? People track down all that variety and queue it by hand, and other people made all the individual pieces.
That post with umpteen links to helpful resources, and information about them? Someone gathered those links, researched the sources, wrote up the information about them.
That graphic about fandom statistics? Someone compiled those statistics, analyzed them, organized them, figured out a useful way to convey the information to others, and made the post.
That event that you think looks neat? Someone wrote the rules, created the blogs and Discords, designed the graphics, did their best to promo the event so it'd succeed.
None of this was done automatically. None of it just appears whole out of the internet ether.
I think everyone realizes that fic writing and fanart creation are work, and at least some folks have got it through their heads that gif creation and graphics and moodboards take effort, and meta is usually respected for the effort that goes into it, at least as far as I've seen, but I feel like a lot of people don't really get how much labor goes into curation, too.
If people are creating resources, curating content, organizing the creations of others, gathering information, and doing other fandom activities that aren't necessarily the direct action of creation, they're doing a lot of fandom labor, and it's often largely unrecognized.
Celebrate fan work!
To folks doing this kind of labor: I see you, and I thank you. You are the backbones of our fandoms and I love you.
#unforth rambles#this wasn't really prompted by anything#I'm just sick and tired and distractable#or i should say it wasn't prompted by anything recent or that happened now#like no one has disrespected me#but as i hit the point that it's regularly taking me an hour plus every single day to queue things for the danmei art blogs#i just think of all the times people go WAIT YOU RUN ALL OF THOSE??? BY YOURSELF???#like i just don't think a lot of people realize how much work it is to really do background fandom labor long term#and i appreciate places like rec blogs and networks and events and just everyone#y'all are awesome#thank you so much
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“what’s on these?” megumi asks, holding up a box of memory cards.
cleaning day always unearthed all types of lost and forgotten items. sometimes it was clothes long forgotten in you and gojo’s closet, other times it was the kid’s old books or toys. you knew every inch of your little apartment, so most times you could identify any mystery items that came up.
“i don’t know,” you hum, plucking a card from the box to inspect it a little more closely. the only hint as to what’s actually on it seems to just be a date.
2006
…and it’s in gojo’s handwriting.
curious, you pop one into the video player and turn on the tv. the kids join you on the couch, clearly eager to entertain any distraction from your cleaning crusade.
when the screen flickers to life, a familiar courtyard comes into view.
you can’t help the gasp when haibara comes into focus…but then you see satoru standing standing across from him, arms spread out.
“who is that?” megumi asks, pointing at haibara.
you think of the bright smile of the boy still lingering in the edges of your memory and tell him, softly, “an old friend.”
“suguru!” gojo shouts, looking towards the person holding the camera. he’s all messy hair and wide smiles, exactly how you remember him in his youth. “make sure you get this one!”
geto grumbles about how he’s paying attention, and suddenly you remember exactly what this is.
“ah, these are from when yaga would make us record ourselves practicing cursed technique application,” you explain as a haibara lines up a shot with a pencil.
the pencil hits gojo in the face, gifting him a small cut on his cheek. “ah, shit!”
behind the camera you can hear nanami and geto laughing as haibara apologizes profusely, and shoko comes over to practice her healing. you come over too, holding a cloth.
“don’t pout,” your younger self says, reaching up to wipe a thin trail of blood from his cheek. “you’ll get it next time.”
as soon you turn away, you hear geto snicker and the camera suddenly zooms in on gojo’s face.
he’s blushing.
“ugh,” you hear him groan behind the three of you, finally finished cleaning the bathroom. “are we done cleaning yet?”
“we’re taking a break!” tsumiki tells him, as megumi pops another card in.
gojo ignores megumi’s protests, stealing the spot on the couch next to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders with a smirk. “move your feet, lose your seat.”
tsumiki, angel that she is, moves over so her brother can sit on your other side as the video starts.
this time, gojo is the one recording, holding the camera out so it’s pointed at his own smiling face. “haibara versus nanami, round one!”
you feel your boyfriend stiffen beside you, looking over to see an odd look on his face. “oh, fuck—”
“jar,” megumi says flatly.
he glares at the kid, and is about to get up when you stop him. “wait! i want to watch this!”
he slumps back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he groans dramatically. ignoring him, you watch the fight play out, which ends with haibara whining whilst in a headlock.
you hear geto’s murmured commentary off camera as nanami releases his classmate, expecting the video to zoom in on the victor.
but it drifts a little to the left, where you’re laughing with shoko on the sidelines.
“so obvious,” geto scoffs. the video wobbles for a moment before being pointed directly at the tips of satoru’s shoes, then ends abruptly.
when you glance over at satoru, he’s pulled his sunglasses over his eyes as if they can hide his pink cheeks.
the next videos are similar. memories of your past viewed through a different lens, showing you things you’d never picked up on when you were living them.
some moments you watch with an aching heart. like when suguru leans close to you and makes a joke at satoru’s expense, or when you reach up to ruffle haibara’s hair.
(moments with cherished friends proving that the grief of losing them never got any lighter as you moved forward with your life, but at some point you’d just gotten used to carrying the weight.)
but what might be most interesting is seeing yourself in satoru’s eyes.
his focus, whether he was the one holding the camera or not, always seemed to drift to you. for all the times he’d denied crushing on you in your early years, the camera proves otherwise.
the way he peeks at you shyly as you fix your hair before a fight.
the way he reaches out instinctively whenever you’re knocked backwards.
the way he smiles brightly whenever you laugh at one of his jokes.
the way your gaze would occasionally meet his, and his smile seemed to come naturally.
“okay, that’s enough for tonight,” satoru announces, shutting the tv off and shooing the children away. “go clean your rooms, you freeloaders.”
you stand, looping your arms around his neck before he can run away. smiling, you gently pull his glasses off, tossing them onto the couch.
“hey! those are gucci—”
you shut him up with a kiss, feeling the way his lips curve upwards against yours. “i love you, you know that?”
blue eyes meet yours, the pensive look he’d been wearing melting into something a little softer. something reserved for you. “you’re obsessed with me, i know.”
you simply laugh, letting him dip down to give you another kiss.
(because you’d had his heart in your pocket long before either of you had realized.)
#thank u cherrykoo12 for this prompt omg#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#keeping up with the fushigojos
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Good thing it was a short spin
#thank u haunting heroes discord server for giving me ideas#again#so soon#and its a animation??? in color???#i saw the prompt and did it in 3h#you could say i was like... possesed#danny phantom#phandom#dp#ater art#lbm dp#little baby man#i love you you noodle boy#ater babbling at 2 am#animation#no lbm was harmed in making this post
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