#bedroom prompts
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Going To Bed Prompts
1. A turns off the light and makes their way to the bed guided by B’s voice/snoring.
2. A wordlessly pulls B to bed.
3. A sleeps over at B’s place for the first time.
4. A and B ignore each other as they slip into bed. Yet, they are unable/unwilling/etc. to not sleep next to one another.
5. A sits with B until they fall asleep.
6. A tells B that they should go to bed and sleep.
7. A is waiting for B to come to bed.
8. A (and B) simply intended to lie in the bed. Somehow, however, they fall/fell asleep.
9. A (and B) fall(s) into the bed (e.g. while embracing, completely exhausted).
10. A scooches over to make room for B in the bed.
11. A and B get into the bed at the same time.
12. A insists on sleeping on the ground, right in front of the bed.
13. A carries B to bed.
14. A holds up the edges of the blanket to invite B to join them/to make it easier for B to slip in.
15. A and B are so focused on one another/A is so focused on something that they walk straight into the bed.
16. A jumps onto the bed/B who lies in the bed.
17. Unexpectedly, A finds B in their bed when they get ready to go to sleep.
18. Going to bed together has become a routine for A and B. (If even the slightest thing doesn’t go as it usually does, it would be quite noticeable.)
19. A takes their bedding from their joint bed with B and goes to find someplace else to sleep.
20. A tucks B into bed.
21. A gets into the bed quietly, trying not to wake up B.
22. A and B argue over/discuss who will get which side of the bed.
23. A and B spend their first night (together) at their new place.
24. A is tired and wants to go to bed – ideally with B doing the same as they don’t think they could fall asleep without them there.
25. A walks B to their side of the bed before slipping in on their own side.
26. A is so tired that they don’t even realize that they made it to bed.
27. A brings B their warm water bottle/a glass of water/etc. before turning in too.
28. A thinks there’s nothing better than going to bed when the sheets are freshly cleaned.
29. A is almost asleep when B makes it to bed, but they are awake enough to notice their presence and cuddle up to them.
30. A waits for B to make it to the bed before turning off the light.
31. As A falls/jumps/etc. into bed, the bed slats fall down/the bed slides over the floor/etc.
32. A (and B)’s bed is adorned with a multitude of pillows/etc. It takes them some time to clear it and put the pillows away before going to bed.
#writing prompts#writing inspiration#bed prompts#bedroom prompts#sleep prompts#domestic prompts#couple prompts#fluffy prompts#writing ideas#prompt list#person a and person b
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I keep thinking about how in DC x DP tropes, people believe that Danny is the one tricking people to stay in the Ghost Zone by eating their food. Or some other Hades and Persephone thing going on.
BUT
I need people thinking he's not a consort or victim of a ghost or entity. More of their love child if you know what I mean?
I can imagine it starts with Danny being summoned (cuz that's classic Danny stuff) reeking of death and while most people in these prompts offer him food which is valid, hungry boi and all.
He refuses saying if he eats mortal food it'll delay when he can return back.
This makes people think there's some reverse Persephone logic going on. Is it all human food? For how long exactly? And is it the same for everything he eats?
Danny doesn't explain his reasoning. Maybe he has two different stomachs? Maybe he's experimenting or Frostbite told him not to. Who knows. His summoner for sure doesn't.
Danny: Always wait 30 mins before teleporting :)
#god i hope this is coherent#this has been on my mind for the last 52 hrs#dcxdp#dc x dp crossover#dp x dc#dpxdc#dp x dc crossover#dc x dp#dc x dp prompt#dp x dc prompt#why and who needed danny's help?#also dont know#but the idea was funny to me at the time#i like the idea of Danny getting slap bracelets and lil nicknacks instead#crow danny for the win#his lair/bedroom is filled to the brim
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American Girl Doll Inspired Bedroom ☁️
#farfallasims#sugarios post reminded me of american girl dolls which then prompted this bedroom (:#whitewharfpoint*#ts4 interior#sims 4 interior#sims 4#the sims#the sims 4 build#sims build#sims 4 build#the sims 4#sims#the sims community#sims 4 maxis match#ts4 simblr#sims 4 screenshots#thesims4#simblr#sims 4 simblr#ts4 screenshots#sims4#the sims4
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*Logan and Vanessa's texts at around 11:45 p.m.*
Vanessa: You've got to be really mad at Wade to banish him to the living room. What did he do this time?
Logan: It's a long story, Vanessa...
Vanessa: Hey, you do know that I'm always there for you, right?
Logan: Fine-
#towards the end logan and vanessa are gossiping like there's no tomorrow#while wade's banging on the bedroom door and begging to be forgiven#deadpool and wolverine#deadpool 3#wade wilson#james logan howlett#vanessa carlysle#poolverine#deadclaws#old man yaoi#imagine your otp#otp prompts#writing promt#marvel memes#mcu avengers meta#ryan reynolds#hugh jackman#deadpool x wolverine#peanutbub#mischievous thunder
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one bed trope dialogue prompts
♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎
•”wait- there’s seriously only one bed?”
•”no i insist, stay in bed with me,”
•”i didn’t mean to end up so close to you that night we were sharing the bed,”
•”it was so awkward- i woke up and we were cuddling like a couple,”
•”i hope you don’t snore,”
•”can you come a little closer? it’s cold in here,”
•”you know your head was resting on my shoulder as you slept right?”
•”you’re a cute sleeper,”
•”i know this is a bit weird, but can you hold me?”
•”stop hogging the covers!”
•”you kicked me seven times while sleeping,”
•”can you talk to me? i can’t sleep,”
•”there must’ve been some mistake there should be two beds,”
•”sharing a bed with you isn’t the worse thing that could happen, right?”
•”i’ll sleep on the couch- fine, i’ll sleep with you on the bed,”
•”you have cute bedhead,”
#one bed trope#one bedroom#writing prompt#dialouge#dialogue snippet#fanfiction prompts#fanfic#fanfiction writer#otp ideas#otp writing#imagine your otp#otp dialogue#otp#otp ship#otp things#otp prompts#romantic prompts#romance prompts#romantic#dialogue inspo#character dialogue#writing dialogue
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Bruce doesn't dream.
He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.
And yet.
The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.
The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.
(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)
This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.
He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.
Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.
Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.
He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.
He can't help but think of his own children.
Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.
Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -
Bruce wakes.
#dp x dc#dp x dc prompt#bruce wayne#danny fenton#dreams#angst#tw blood#it's technically ectoplasm but better safe than sorry#man it's been a while since i've done a prompt#it's a long one#idk where the inspiration for this even came from#thought it would be neat if danny keeps showing up in bruce's dreams asking for help#it turned into this#also danny got captured by the giw#idk why bruce is getting these dreams#he just is#so the big empty room is supposed to represent danny's thoughts and feelings of hopelessness and empitness#i think#it's supposed to be symbolic#idk if anyone got that but oh well#also that was danny's bedroom and the fenton's lab#which is more obvious than the big empty room lol#why is writing in present tense so hard tho#i guess i'm just used to writing in past tense#oh well#enjoy
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Thinking about returning to the Lighthouse after picking up the weekly groceries and how it's gotta be like, "oop, excuse me, Lucanis! I am here to restock your Bedroom, don't mind me." Like, the concept of the Panty-Bedroom(TM) is killing me currently. Imagine getting hungry in the middle of the night only there is A Man in the pantry standing between you and Midnight Cheese Snack? Imagine being the Man whose bedroom is the communal food pantry for eight weirdoes in the Fade? What levels of insane must your life have reached for you to be either of the people in this scenario
#i'm sorry but the first time i saw gameplay of someone walking in there and it was straight up just ''The Pantry'' i lost it#actually i think he must organize that room himself because like. it's his bedroom. his pantry-bedroom. the groceries go where HE wants the#that's his house#idk the more i think about Pantry Bedroom(TM) the funnier it is and it's gotten progressively funnier as the weeks have passed#datv spoilers#bellara spice collection prompted this thought. do they argue about what kind of food to keep in the pantry bedroom#does he win because it's his literal bedroom#important thoughts happening here obviously#dragon age
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[ID: “Polyam Shipping Day / 14th of every month”. Next to the text is a red infinity sign that finishes in a heart on top. Above the text are rows of stylized hearts in the colors of both versions of the polyam pride flag (black, red, bright blue, light green, dark green, light blue, navy). /end ID]
September 14th 2024 is our 42nd Polyam Shipping Day.
The optional theme for it is: 🛏️ Bedroom 🫣
It's time for you to dust off those And-they-were-roommates! AUs. Or maybe write about what happens when there's only one bed (bad thing) vs only one bed (good thing). This can be about a polycule's first house together and how they decide their sleeping arrangements: How do they decide how many rooms they need? Is there a system in place? Maybe they've bought a giant bed and they're assembling it themselves and hilarity ensues. Has any of your characters redesigned a bedroom for a new partner? Given them space somehow (like giving someone a drawer as a relationship step)? Of course, you can always make this smutty and write about all the naughty things that can happen in a bedroom. Or maybe you decide to go the horror route and write your characters trapped in a bedroom and whether they get out or not. Perhaps you want to write the first time the polycule visits one their families and have them stay in their childhood room, or about being invited into a partner's bedroom for the first time. Or perhaps you're in an Angst mood and want to write about your polycule's last night together before something terrible happens: do they sleep? do they stay up all night talking? do they say their goodbyes? does one of them watch the rest sleep before leaving for Reasons?
…
We’ll be tracking #PolyamShippingDay, and keeping an eye out for any @polyamships mentions too. We will reblog any polyam-positive fanworks featuring polyamorous ships of any configuration/type from any fandom. All ratings are welcome but anything nsfw/triggery should be warned for and behind a read more, as should very long tumblr fic.
You can also submit works directly to the blog or send us asks to let us know to check your blog for a post. If you’re posting on AO3, our collection name is ‘PolyamShippingDay‘ and you can post to the collection here. Only fanworks submitted/@ us on tumblr or in the official AO3 collection, or fanworks posted to our Dreamwidth community, are guaranteed to be included in our roundup. Please also let us know what prompt you created for, if any - people are always welcome to create for past prompts instead.
We have a Discord - invite here - if you want a place to chat about your ships or what you’re creating for them.
We look forward to seeing what people create for it. If you’re enthused about the day, we’d be especially appreciative of any reblogs to help spread the word about the event.
#OT3#OT4#PolyamShippingDay#polyshipping#polyshippingday#polyships#poly shipping#poly ships#polyamships#polyam ships#polyam shipping#polyamorous shipping#polyamorous ships#polyamory#modposts#polyamships prompts#PolyamShippingDay prompts#prompt: bedroom
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Day 19 of #heartnosehalloween! ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚.🎃 Prompt: Make an uncanny / liminal / weirdcore stimboard ☽ - ✰ - ☾ ☽ - ✰ - ☾ ☽ - ✰ - ☾
ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚
#💙 sugar life posting 🌙#heartnosehalloween#prompt game#stimboard prompt game#stimboard game#stimboards#stimboard#tech#technology#TVs#televisions#electronics#weirdcore#costumes#cosplay#cosplaying#cosplayers#slides#liminal space#liminal spaces#rooms#bedrooms#interior design#fruits#fruit#apple#apples#red#blue#black
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I had this idea in my head last year but just could NOT conceptualize how to sketch the pose. So I decided to just kinda play around and BS my way through it which is how we got last year's attempt.
But one of the prompts for this year's OTP Christmas Challenge was mistletoe and it's been a year so I decided to revisit this idea to see if I could do a better job now. It's still not quite what I want it to be, but we seem to be getting somewhere.
#they are in a different bed and different pjs this time#implying this is just a thing that happens every year in every au#so good for them#i have an incredibly specific idea of what I want the lighting to look like for this and I can just NOT find a reference image#so I gave up and just did normal lighting#glimbow#glimmer#bow#mistletoe#spop#she ra#shera#fanart#tippen attempts art#christmas#kissing#otp#otp christmas challenge#otp prompts#she ra and the princesses of power#artists on tumblr#netflix#dreamworks#romance#romantic#bedroom
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Ghostlights as college roommates and maybe some identity shenanigans thrown in would be so fun! Maybe dannys doing a little vigilante work on the side as well to up the secret identity mayhem
Danny would like to say his college career is going well. Gotham isn’t where he was expecting to pursue higher education, but the engineering scholarship he got through the Wayne Educational Foundation was just too good to turn down. It even covered the cost of an apartment! Although, the apartment is shared with another student who got a Wayne scholarship.
Even with that, Danny lucked out and got a great roommate. Duke Thomas is chill, kind, respects Danny’s space and doesn’t throw wild parties or invite random people in at all hours of the day. He even joins Danny twice a week for study sessions!
Really, it would be the perfect college experience except for one thing: the ghosts.
Danny thought they’d stay in Amity Park. They had no reason to stray from the city where the portal was, and his parents are more than enough to keep most ghosts away. It took his friends, Jazz, and even Vlad to convince Danny that he wasn’t abandoning Amity Park and that the city wouldn’t fall while he took a few years to focus on himself.
He worried right up until he got to GCU and walked the campus for the first time. Then he decided to enjoy the four years he had on the scholarship to get his degree and live his own life like a normal person.
To say he’s pissed about the ghosts is an understatement.
The one thing he was looking forward to most is not being Phantom. Gotham is home to the Bats and they’re more than capable of handling everything in the city. It means there’s no need for him here and he can focus on school and enjoy going on invisible flights without worrying about being hunted down or having to fight a ghost.
“Are you fucking kidding me,” he mutters under his breath as he feels the familiar chill race up his throat, A cold mist wafts out of his mouth, curling around his words, and Danny quickly ducks his head and hides it from sight.
“Did you say something?” Duke asks, looking up from where he leans against the kitchen counter, squinting at a recipe on his phone.
“Nah,” Danny lies. “Just stressing.” He gestures to the papers he has spread out on the dining table, then stands up. “I’m gonna take a walk. Maybe that’ll get my brain to work correctly tonight.”
“Got your phone on you?”
Danny reflexively drops a hand to his pocket, checking that his phone is where it’s supposed to be. It’s what Duke asks every single time Danny mentions going out, worried about Danny being unprepared for Gotham. It’s nice of him, though Danny does wish he can say that he’s survived a lot worse than a few muggers.
“Got it.”
“Alright. I’ll try to work on dinner while you’re out.”
Danny nods and offers Duke a small wave before pulling his shoes on at the door. He grabs his keys and heads out, double checking that the door is locked behind him.
Then he glances around the hallway, checking that the coast is clear, and pulls up the chill of awareness in his chest. Slowly, he breathes out, watching the blue mist waft out and lead towards the stairwell.
“Wonder who it is this time,” he mutters to himself, going into the cold, concrete stairwell. It always feels a little off in there, as if he’s been removed from the rest of the world when the door closes behind him. His footsteps echo oddly in the space, so Danny chooses to fly instead, keeping his feet off the floor.
A few flights down is when he sees her: pale and translucent, a faint blue glow around her. She’s a familiar face. Emilia is one of the first of Gotham’s ghosts he’s met, leading to the rather unpleasant realization that ghosts don’t only come from the Infinite Realms. There’s a strange sort of magic in the very foundations of Gotham that makes it the way it is, creating ghosts that are different enough from what he’s used to that it leaves him off balance.
Gotham keeps her dead. Few get to pass on peacefully, and most have to wait until they grow weak and wither away, a second death, before they can be released from the living realm. The ghosts of Gotham are pale and weak, for the most part, and try to cling to him so grow stronger from his ectoplasm.
Most want him to help them pass on, or give them a way into the Infinite Realms. Some want him to bring justice to their killers. Others want to kill him and take his ectoplasm for their own so they can continue their reign of terror in Gotham, unable to be stopped even in death.
Emilia gives him warnings. It’s not always her, but she tends to be the one to draw him out of his apartment, pulling him into a vigilante lifestyle because he can’t bring himself to refuse anyone who asks for his help, and the dead in Gotham have no one else to ask.
“Danny,” she greets. “Nueve is out again. He’s going after the ghosts near Chantilly Street.”
“The sun isn’t even down yet,” Danny grumbles. Nueve, an old gang enforcer who died a few decades ago, cannibalizes other ghosts. It doesn’t destroy the other ghosts, not really, but it makes them feel pain when they shouldn’t be able to feel much at all. Taking their limited reserves of ectoplasm makes him momentarily stronger, and he uses that stolen strength to try to harm the living.
He’s been successful a few times. Danny makes sure to rip him apart as much as possible these days; he won’t be here forever, but he’s hoping that within his four years at GCU, he’ll be able to permanently stop Nueve.
Times like these, he misses having a Fenton Thermos with him. Though he’s not entirely sure it would work on Gotham’s ghosts with how different they are.
Emilia follows him down the stairwell to the ground floor. Once there, Danny shoves his hand into the floor, taking out the backpack he’s hidden in it. He’s done this change of clothes so often he can do it in just a minute now, hiding his face and pulling on gloves beneath a large hoodie with old ectoplasm stains along the sleeves and hem. A gas mask is pulled on as well, covering the bottom half of his face, a necessary addition to his Ghost Work Outfit™ after he almost got caught in some Fear Gas during Scarecrow’s last attack.
“Alright,” he says, “Lead the way.”
Emilia takes off through the wall and Danny hurries to follow, going invisible as he hits the streets.
It’s still early evening, the sun not yet fully set. Plenty of people walk along the sidewalks and cars pass by endlessly, honking at each other as they try to go twenty above the speed limit. Danny does his best to avoid running into everyone, deftly dodging the reaching hands of a few ghosts who spot him as he sprints by.
They only go a few blocks away from his apartment building, turning into a dead end alley where a group of teens (living, for once) are stuck with their backs to the wall, clinging to each other as they warily watch the man in front of them carelessly twirl a gun around his finger.
The man makes a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat, and it takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s trying to talk.
Still invisible, Danny sneaks around to stand in front of the teens, ready to bodily protect them. The man looks alive, and Danny see any ghosts around save for Emilia, standing at the mouth of the alley. There’s something strange about him; his movements seem just a little off, not quite as fluid as they should be. It’s not the movement of someone on drugs. It’s something that screams uncanny valley.
The gun’s handle drops solidly into the man’s palm. He makes another few clicks, then raising the gun to point at the teens.
“Bad idea, pal,” Danny says dropping his invisibility. The teens behind him startle, gasping and trying to press themselves further into the wall.
The man’s eyes flash weakly and the pieces click into place in Danny’s mind. Nueve must have gotten strong enough to possess someone. That is… alarming, to say the least.
He rips the gun out of the man’s hand and tosses it aside. Then he pushes away the man’s arm when Nueve makes a clumsy attempt to punch him. With his chest left wide open and undefended, Danny takes the chance to shove his hand into the man’s chest, feeling for the familiar chill of a ghost.
And then he wraps his fingers tight around it and pulls out Nueve, leaving the man to collapse.
The teens behind him scream and Danny winces.
Pulling out a faintly glowing human figure from someone’s physical body does not look good. It’s the best way to end a possession, but it does look alarmingly like he’s just ripped someone’s soul out of their body.
Keeping hold of Nueve’s ghost, Danny steps to the side. “You guys should go now. Take care.”
The teens don’t need any more prompting. They take off in a run, tripping over each other in their haste to get away.
Danny spares a glance to the man unconscious on the ground, but there’s nothing he can do with an angry ghost in his hands, so he has no choice but to leave him there as he flies up to a rooftop farther down the street.
“How many times do we need to do this, Nueve?” he asks tiredly, shaking the ghost.
“These streets should be mine!” Nueve howls, trying to break free of Danny’s grasp. But he’s quickly growing weak, his energy fading, and Danny’s holding back his own ectoplasm as tightly as he can. “They may have killed me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take what I’m owed!”
“Dude, you’re dead. There’s nothing here for you. Move on.”
“You don’t get to speak on this, outsider. You think a freak like you has an say over us? You can’t stop us. You don’t even know what’s coming.”
Danny squints at him. “What, are you planning a heist or something? With your gang of dead people too weak to lift a piece of paper?”
“We’re not all dead. We’ve got living folk helping us and we’ll be taking you out first when we hit the streets.”
“Good luck with that,” Danny says flatly, “Begone with you.”
Without giving Nueve a chance to say another word, he rips Nueve’s head off his body. His ghost wavers, then dissipates like smoke, fading away.
Another side effect of whatever it is Gotham does to her dead: their ghost forms are remarkably fragile and it takes only a bit of strength to tear them to shreds, giving him some peace before they reform again. It won’t stop Nueve from striking out again, gathering enough strength until he’s able to possess some other unfortunate soul, but Danny’s bought himself some time to figure out what the hell was he talking about?
There are living folk involved with whatever he’s planning. It’s probably another gang, maybe someone with magic who is able to see ghosts? Which is not great. Danny doesn’t know much about magic; even when facing ghosts who used magic or magical artifacts, his go to method of dealing with them is to start throwing hands like there’s no tomorrow.
Well.
It’s a problem for later.
For now, Danny needs to get back to his apartment and work on his calculus homework. Hopefully he can finish it before he gets frustrated enough that he gives up and lies face down on the floor until Duke manhandles him onto the couch, where he’s less of a tripping hazard.
He’s just about to get back to street level when his Fenton Luck strikes again and he hears someone land on the roof, just a few feet behind him.
“Hey there, stranger,” the Signal says. “You know, we run into each other so often it feels rude not to introduce ourselves. Why don’t you go first?”
Danny turns to face the daylight vigilante, standing with his arms crossed as if that would make him look any more approachable. He’s been popping up wherever Danny’s out dealing with ghosts, which is very not great for Danny’s plans to have a peaceful, normal college life.
Biting his tongue, Danny gives the Signal a quick two fingered salute, then goes intangible and drops down through the building. His invisibility sweeps over him and then he’s running through the streets, hoping it’s enough to keep the Signal from following him to his apartment.
He skids to a stop in the stairwell, dropping his intangibility just in time to crash into the wall. Panting, Danny waits for a tense minute to see if he’s been followed.
When the door to the stairwell remains closed, he lets out a slow breath, then pulls off all the pieces of his Ghost Work Outfit, shoving it back into his bag. He takes a moment to fix his hair, messy from the hood, then shoves the bag back into the floor, safely hidden from curious eyes.
Then he very casually walks up the stairs to the fifth floor and walks down the hallway to his apartment. His keys clang together when he opens the door, and Duke usually hears it when it does, but just in case, Danny calls out, “I’m back!”
He’s learned to announce himself after a few late night walks almost ended with him tackled to the floor when Duke thought someone was breaking in.
Duke doesn’t respond as he toes off his shoes. The stillness in the apartment feels off, as if the world is holding its breath. Cautiously, Danny walks in, trying to find his roommate.
He’s not in the kitchen. The living room is empty. Duke’s bedroom door is open and he’s not in there either.
Something cold lodges itself in his chest.
“Duke?” he tries again, looking over their apartment again for any sign of struggle, or something terrible happening, or even a mess that Duke needed more supplies to clean up.
There’s nothing. The apartment is as it’s always been, just with an empty space where Duke should be.
Worried, Danny stands in the middle of the hallway, trying to figure out what he should do next. It’s because he’s standing so still, surrounded by silence, that he hears it: a light thud outside the window.
Danny turns and he can swear he sees something large moving outside the window, disappearing from sight just as Danny takes a step into Duke’s room to check on it. He rushes to the window and pushes it open, looking down at the street, then side to side, and finally up to the last three floors of the building.
Nothing’s there.
Slowly, Danny pulls his head back inside, closing and locking the window. “Must be my imagination,” he says, trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal.
He leaves Duke’s room and begins pacing down the hall, anxiety building steadily in him.
His phones in his hand before he can think his actions through, Duke’s contact pulled up on the screen. He should call. He should make sure Duke is okay, but Danny hesitates. Is this something to be freaked out over? Would Duke thing he’s clingy and nervous and a bothersome roommate? He doesn’t want to risk Duke asking for a new roommate next year when the lease renews.
But he’s worried. It’s Gotham and Danny just dealt with a violent, murderous ghost threatening him. Duke can deal with a stressed out, worried Danny if it means he’s alive.
He hits the call button before he can talk himself out of it. It rings on and on and on until Danny starts to panic about having to find Duke’s ghost to avenge his murder.
The front door is thrown open so suddenly and so loudly, Danny jumps and his phone clatters to the floor.
“Danny! Hey!” Duke says with a bright smile, trying to catch his breath. He’s still holding onto the doorknob, slightly hunched over as he pants for breath. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah! Yeah, I’m totally fine.”
“Where were you?”
Duke straightens up and closes the door, kicking off his shoes. “Oh, just… out. Shopping. For dinner.”
Danny looks over his empty hands doubtfully. “No luck finding what you needed?”
“Nope!”
“What did you need? Maybe I can go to a different store and get it for you.”
“You don’t need to!” Duke says. “I just needed… tomatoes?”
Danny blinks at him. “We have tomatoes. Did you not know we had tomatoes in the fridge?”
“Oh, do we? Good to know.”
There’s something very weird about this conversation, but Danny doesn’t pry. Duke is weird sometimes, but it’s fine because he kindly ignores some of Danny’s oddities that come from being a halfa and a semi-retired hero.
“Do you… maybe wanna sit down? Catch your breath? I can make dinner tonight if you want.”
Duke waves a hand in the air. “No, no, it’s fine. I got this. Anyways, how was your walk?”
He definitely shouldn’t talk about the cannibal ghost and his threats to take out Danny with his gang. “It was nice. Very quiet. You know, for Gotham.” He punctuates this with an awkward thumbs up and immediately regrets it, but it’s already done so he commits to it.
“Cool! Great. Just wondering, did you see anything weird?”
“Depends on what you’re asking about?”
“Just some guy wearing black with a hood covering his face. He’s been active in this neighborhood and I saw some people talk about him online. Apparently he just appears out of thin air.”
Danny tries not to wince. That’s him, alright. Gotham’s newest neighborhood menace. “I don’t think so, but there’s a lot of people in Gotham that were all black and walk around with their hood up.”
“True,” Duke concedes. “Well, just be careful when you go out, alright?”
“I always am.” He gives Duke the same two fingered salute he gave the Signal. Duke stares at him for a moment, eyes dark and almost dangerous, then he smiles and walks into the kitchen.
“Wanna make dinner with me? I think we can figure out this recipe together. Unless you need to do your homework.”
“It can wait!” Danny hurries to join Duke, grateful for an excuse to push off calculus a little longer. He understands what he’s doing in the class, there’s just… so much work. He doesn’t even want to think about the tests. The tests make everyone cry.
“Alright, let’s get to it, then!”
“You’re in charge, chef,” Danny says, laughingly, and bumps against Duke’s side. He expects a light shove in return, something Sam and Tucker always did, but Duke goes tense instead, letting out a sharp breath that Danny is all too familiar with. “Wait, why are you hurt? What happened?!”
He goes to lift up Duke’s shirt to inspect his shirt, see the damage for himself, but Duke smoothly moves out of the way, grabbing Danny’s wrists and stopping him in his tracks. “I’m fine, Danny. I just got hit. Lightly. Minor bruising, really.”
Danny looks at him doubtfully, then wrenches a wrist free to lift up his shirt before he can move again.
Minor bruising is not how Danny would describe the blues and purples that decorate Duke’s entire side. He can see the outline of Duke’s ribs through the bruising. “How is this being lightly bruised? What hit you?”
“A car?”
“A car?!”
Duke winces, then pulls his shirt down. “I’m fine, Danny, really. It was just from a car that didn’t want to stop at a red light. I stopped another person from being hit, but the car got me pretty solidly. You know how bad Gotham drivers are.”
“Sit down!” Danny says, pulling Duke out of the kitchen. “I don’t understand how you’re still standing. I’ll get some ice, and I’ll handle dinner. You just stay there and stop pushing yourself for no reason.”
“Playing nurse for me now?”
“If I have to.”
“Would you wear a nurse costume for me, too?” Duke jokes.
Danny looks him dead in the eye and says, “If I have to. Would that make you follow my instructions? A tight little nurse dress?”
Duke sputters, cheeks darkening, and looks away. Danny grins, victorious, and darts back to the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the fridge.
“Maybe I’ll wear one for you anyways, once you’re all healed up. Only if you’re good, though.”
“Danny, you’re killing me here.”
“Better me than a car.”
Duke laughs and takes the ice pack, pressing it against his side carefully. “Oh, for sure. Thanks, Danny.”
“Hey, what are roommates for?” Danny shares a warm smile with Duke, then pats his shoulder and heads back to the kitchen to start making a simple pasta dinner.
Life in Gotham is weird and stressful and full of ghosts and heroes who won’t leave him alone. But it’s not all that bad, really. He’s happy with how he’s doing in college, and he’s beyond lucky to have Duke as a roommate. So long as Duke never finds out about his halfa status, then he’s sure they’ll be able to last all four years rooming together.
He just needs to keep a secret.
Shouldn’t be too hard, right?
#ghostlights#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp fic#dpxdc fanfic#my writing#prompt fill#3.6k.... still counting this as short. i have not failed yet at my goal of keeping these fics below 5k!!#i love this prompt so much it even got me making ocs... i love making ocs this is such a treat for me#will 100% be revisiting this prompt in the future to turn into a longer fic bc i have SO MUCH to write for this#had to cut it off here to have just one scene that shows them as roommates w secrets#truly a struggle to keep this short. this could easily be 30k. the amount of identity shenanigans i can write....#also playing around with the cursed gotham thing by making it affect ghosts :) perfect excuse to make my own gotham lore :)#btw duke 100% got injured chasing down criminals and thats how he got hit by a car. he wasnt fully lying abt it#he also tried to come in through the window of his bedroom. saw danny. quickly left and went up the stairs like a normal person#duke has his suspicions. danny is trying so hard to mind his business when duke acts strange and secretive#disaster in the making :)#thanks for the prompt!!
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the heart wants what it wants (blue ver)
#avian august#bird art#dark art#animal art#artists on tumblr#not rlyyyyy avian august bc i drew a different bleeding heart dove looool#but i was inspired by today’s prompt#i chose to draw this one bc i’m planning a sacred heart themed wall in my bedroom#so i made it for my wall :D (& i got prints)#cw bl00d#cw weapon#there is also a pink version! i’m uploading it separately in case u wanna choose for aesthetic reasons lmao
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CHAMOMILE For @jilymicrofics July 2024. Prompt: drowsy. Words: 347.
Trial micro of an idea for BTDATS that's been bouncing around my head for a while. And probably unnecessarily dramatised but oh well.
She had been sick all week, sniffling and sneezing and waking up stiff and stuffy. The headache she had suffered week-long had regressed into the back of her head; the dull ache a lovely break from the prefrontal stabbing. But in its place had come a drowsiness that felt thick in the air. It slowed her movements, shuttered her thoughts, and weighed on her eyelids, urging them to seek that most comforting of darknesses in sleep.
So so drowsy. And so thoroughly pissed off. Because her cheeks were eternally hot, and she desperately needed a tea because her thoughts were so damn muddled she couldn't tell chamomile from calendula and if she stuffed up this potion one more time she was going to blow her top! But she was so tired. But the potion...
She barely registered the knock at the door.
"Lily? What in Merin's——"
The cold air hit her face and sizzled against the damp skin of her cheeks before she realised James had crossed the room and pushed open the window, letting out a puff of yellowish smoke with it.
"What the bloody hell are you doing—brewing with the window closed?" James asked, pushing her into a chair as she blinked slowly at him, at the pewter cauldron, at the calendula—chamomile!—that really should be added now. Stir three times counterclockwise, then a half turn clockwise.
She exhaled heavily, the hot anger flushed from her body by a lump of reluctance, which settled in her duodenum. "Is it time to go? I didn't realise."
"Go? Lily..." James was frowning as he pressed his hand against her forehead. "You're burning up. What the hell were you thinking?"
Lily shrugged, wanting to push him off but rather leaning into his cool touch, which had slid down her cheek, the rough of his thumb gliding back and forth, back and forth. She was safe here. She could rest here. The potion could wait until morning. "Just tell Mum..." she hummed as her eyelids finally fluttered shut, mazed thoughts forgotten, and barely registering James's rushed "shit".
#or lily having an adverse reaction to a potion she's brewing in her bedroom like an idiot#jilymicrofics#within btdats#probably to be seen again in updated form#jily#bella's micros#uncertainwallflower#lily evans#james potter#prompted writing
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I recently had a conversation with a friend that made me realise that (maybe) people might not know that the Italian mafia still exists and actively operates all over Italy. Like, the general international public has this old-timey idea of the mafia that stops at the 1950s, with Al Capone, seedy bars, car chases with tommy guns etc. etc. or at least that seems to be the case for the people who don’t live in Europe, or otherwise close to Italy.
So, I made this poll. DISCLAIMER: this poll is NOT so i could judge people in any way. I can’t really fault anyone for not knowing about a problem so tied to Italian soil and culture, I was just curious.
NOTE: I’m not making a distinction between the actual Mafia, Camorra, Ndrangheta etc. etc. just pretend that all Italian organized crime is one big thing for the sake of this poll.
#this was also prompted by the miriad of Mafia AUs I see everywhere online#not that there’s anything wrong with them! They can be really cool#the aesthetic can be awesome and it can be fun to play with a plot revolving around organized crime#I just need people to keep in mind that the Mafia is still very real and it still kills people to this very day#I don’t care if you watch the Sopranos every day or know the Godfather by heart#hell you can have a poster of Al Capone in your bedroom for all I care#just… idk remember this is real. it’s not just smoky bars and the aesthetic and ‘I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse’#these people kill. the noble mafioso that protects the less fortunate is just a myth. these people have no morals.#countless people - good people - have been killed by mafiosi bc they tried to expose them#I don’t mind if you enjoy the old-times aesthetic but PLEASE do so with the knowledge that it’s just fantasy#because the reality is much worse#There was a news case some years ago of a Mafia boss hiring a hitman from prison to get his own daughter killed#because she exposed him and landed him in jail#so any perceived ‘nobility’ these people might have in the eyes of the international public it’s just a fantasy#idk this is getting long. i don’t want people to think they can never enjoy a mafia AU ever again. I’ll stop now#polls#my polls#tumblr polls#poll#tumblr poll#roba italiana#Italian tumblr
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Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC
Summary: JJ Feron returns home for the holidays and attends a posh cocktail hour graciously organized by Mr. and Mrs. Harrington to honor her father's law firm. A surprise guest lights a fire in her, and things quickly take a mischievous turn. Unwrap the magic of this holiday season in the next 2.9k words ✨ CW: SMUT, unprotected sex, light spanking, light hair pulling, mirror scene, tons and tons of eye contact. A huge thank you to my beta reader and editor @lifesshort-imshorter for helping bring this piece to life!!!
DAY ONE OF HOHOHOE WEEK Prompt: Childhood Bedroom
“What the fuck is a ‘cocktail hour,’ anyway? The last place I want to be on my first day back in Hawkins is at some stuffy lawyer party with my parents and their insufferable colleagues.” JJ griped to Nancy on the phone as she donned her outfit for the evening’s party when a soft rapping at her bedroom door caught her attention. “Nance, I’ve got to go. I’ll text you.” JJ ended her call, tossing the phone onto her bed before the door cracked open slightly.
“Oh, that dress looks great on you!” Eileen Windrow-Feron had always maintained that image was everything, and the family image was something JJ had rebelled against since the moment she could speak. But that night, she agreed to wear the dress her mother picked out for her and to keep as quiet as she could so as not to taint the memory of the Harringtons’ first, and hopefully annual, cocktail hour in the honor of Feron, Hutchinson, Russell & Cobb.
The firm was a family heirloom of sorts, still running on what Linden Feron referred to as a “humble sum” of old money. JJ had no interest in the business, law, or any of her father’s pompous cohorts who were sure to attend, including Steve Harrington’s parents, though her mother was always gushing about what gracious hosts they were to welcome the family firm into their home. Those monologues always made JJ gag.
“I feel like my legs are shrink wrapped together,” JJ complained as she swiped her mother’s hands away from fixing the dress’s neckline.
“Jacqueline June, don’t be so negative. This is a very important night for your father,” Eileen scolded as she returned to busying herself with primping the dress to perfection.
“I get it; I really do. You’ve only said it about a hundred times,” JJ sighed.
“Well, a hundred and one won’t hurt,” Eileen quipped back. “There. Look at you.” Eileen
smiled proudly at her daughter in a black, knee-length, satin dress with spaghetti straps and a square neckline, her auburn curls pinned half up, and her frown painted a deep berry color. It took all of JJ’s strength not to roll her eyes while Eileen’s bright smile shone on her.
“When do we leave?” She turned away from her mother’s gaze, feeling awkward and vulnerable.
“Fifteen minutes. Be downstairs and ready.” JJ nodded in response as Eileen let herself out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
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“Hey Jay, long time, no see.” Steve Harrington stood in the foyer of his parents’ home in a forest green button-down with his famous hair coiffed to perfection. He was broader than before, but still just as JJ had always remembered him.
“Hey, Steve,” she replied as he enveloped her in a friendly hug. “When did you get in?”
“Just last night – late,” Steve grumbled. “But there’s no rest for the aristocratic,” he joked, running a hand through his chocolate brown locks. JJ smiled, the dimple in her left cheek coming out of hiding. She and Steve shared a lot of the same disdainful feelings for the crowd that surrounded them, though he was always described as easier to get along with by the older adults in their circle. He was a great friend, and a trustworthy confidante, and JJ had never been more glad to see him than in that particular moment.
“Thank God you’re here. I don’t know if I could stomach this alone,” she confessed quietly through gritted teeth.
“Well, you’ll be disappointed to know I’m on dish duty tonight and starting early to sneak out to a date.” Steve frowned, his eyes apologetic.
“No way,” JJ whined.
“‘Fraid so.” Steve nodded solemnly before pulling on JJ’s arm. “But look, look, look.” He spun her around and gestured across the living room to the fireplace where a group of men were standing, whiskey glasses in hand. “Do you see him?”
“See who?” JJ craned her neck every which way to get a glimpse of who Steve was talking about.
“Navy blue suit, smoking next to the ashtray on the mantle.” Was that – no. It couldn’t be.
“Is that Billy Hargrove?” JJ’s verdant eyes rounded in shock.
“In the flesh,” Steve confirmed.
“How? Why?” JJ couldn’t believe she was seeing Billy mingling with the high society of Hawkins at the most pretentious event of the year.
“He’s an intern for Cobb. I guess he’s smarter than I ever gave him credit for. Graduating from law school next year. I couldn’t believe it either.”
“Just when you think there are no surprises left,” JJ mumbled, staring hard at Billy’s distracted ocean eyes as he went through the motions and smiled, laughing politely at the undoubtedly dry jokes the old men told around his circle. “I need a drink.”
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JJ sighed deeply as she poured herself a new glass of chardonnay at the bar. Time wasn’t passing fast enough. She let her mind wander far away as she sipped, staring at the wall in front of her when a velvet voice snapped her back to reality.
“JJ Feron. I guess I should’ve known you’d be here.” She swiveled to meet Billy’s cerulean eyes. Seeing him up close was like a dream, though she’d never be caught dead saying it out loud. Billy punches-anything-that-looks-at-him-too-long Hargrove has always been a panty-dropper, but JJ never fell for his tricks, refusing to be another notch in his belt despite being historically curious to know why others were so eager to let Billy use them like that.
“Billy,” she replied curtly. “Fancy seeing you here. Shocking, honestly. How’s the internship going?” JJ’s glib, tight-lipped smile let Billy know she didn’t really care and wasn’t keen on his choice of profession, but he answered politely anyway.
“I’m learning a lot,” he replied, nodding and eyeing his boss across the room. “Mr. Cobb has been kind to me.”
“Kind?” JJ snorted. Andrew Cobb was anything but kind. She seemed to recall the firm brushing not just a few domestic violence incidents under the rug, but also generously covering his rehab expenses more than once as “undefined healthcare benefits.”
“That’s the best way I can describe it.” Billy smirked at JJ’s obvious disdain for Mr. Cobb, knowing she was right, but not being able to tell her in front of everyone that he was just doing his best to get ahead while he could.
“Of course you’re one of them now,” JJ chided, taking another healthy gulp of chardonnay.
“Woah, woah, hey.” Billy’s voice was low, husky, and deliberate as he leaned in closer, towering over her small frame. His eyes pierced hers like daggers – a war of sapphires and emeralds – as he made himself crystal clear. “Don’t you ever put me and those bastards in the same category, you understand?” JJ’s concentration was broken, and Billy’s sincerity gave her chills.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
“I’m not one of those yuppy, scumbag corporate attorneys helping the rich guys keep up their image or kissing insurance company ass. As soon as I’m licensed, I’ll be a guardian ad litem for kids in the system, a legal advocate who can represent their best interest while the court decides their future. They need someone like me.” Billy’s expression was entirely serious, and JJ couldn’t help but feel some admiration for what he was doing. He was passionate, driven, and she knew he would succeed. Billy Hargrove never half-assed anything as long as she’d known him.
“I never would have guessed,” JJ almost whispered, holding out her glass for him to cheers. Billy’s face softened back into a half smile as he clinked his glass to hers, both of them taking a sip as Mr. Cobb appeared beside them, Billy’s meticulous mask sliding back into place to greet him.
“Jacqueline,” he crooned as JJ almost spat out her drink at her government name being used in front of one of her classmates. Only her mother was allowed to call her that. “You clean up so well.” Billy stared down at his shoes to hide his smirk at that comment because if he knew one thing, it was that you don’t slide backhanded compliments across JJ Feron’s table.
“Andy,” JJ gushed, her tone deliberately patronizing. “How’s New Wife Number Three? Getting along with Old Wife Number Two? Are they both here?” JJ looked around exaggeratedly, pretending to try and find them. Mr. Cobb’s face flushed crimson, and he said nothing more before making a quick exit back into the living room.
“Harsh,” Billy chuckled, sipping his whiskey.
“If you only knew.” JJ tried not to let her smile show, though she couldn’t help but be a bit proud of herself every time she told off someone who really deserved it. “Don’t look now.” JJ braced herself as Eileen rushed toward them, her brows tightly knitted together and fists balled up at her sides.
“Jacqueline June Feron,” she hissed. JJ sighed and let her eyes close, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“What,” she whined.
“You know exactly what.” Her mother was furious. “If you can’t behave, then make yourself scarce. Go help Steve in the kitchen. Now.” The order was clear, and there was no negotiation to be had. JJ raised her drink halfway to Billy and retreated to the kitchen to help Steve wash the guests’ dishes. At least in the sanctuary of the dish pit, she wouldn’t be subjected to any more prying eyes or passive aggressive remarks.
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“Please, Jay. Please. I’ll owe you one,” Steve begged, puppydog eyes fully engaged. JJ rolled her eyes and let him plead even though she knew from the start she’d agree. She just liked to hear his desperation.
“Fine, Steve, but you owe me for sure.” Steve beamed, shaking the suds off his hands into the sink and grabbing the nearest dish towel to dry off on.
“You’re my favorite, Jay,” he declared, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before rushing out of the kitchen, not to be seen for the rest of the night. It was just like Steve to make an early escape attempt for a date, but JJ didn’t mind. The silence was soothing, and anywhere was better than being out there on the floor with those assholes. She lost herself in the mundane routine of rinse, scrub, rinse, repeat and didn’t notice another body infiltrate her safe haven until she heard him.
“Harrington ditch you?” JJ could hear the grin in Billy’s voice.
“No,” she defended. “I told him it was okay to skip out early. You’d understand; he has a date.”
“A date, huh? Boy, do I feel sorry for that poor sucker of a lady,” he quipped. JJ couldn’t help but chuckle. A comfortable silence wafted among them as JJ continued her chore. “Care if I help?”
“Please don’t feel obligated. You should go enjoy the rest of the party.” She tried to keep her tone level, but it came out with a thin layer of venomous icing on top.
“Right. Move over.” Billy appeared alongside JJ and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt one at a time, and something about the way his strong, veined hands worked over the cuffs so effortlessly and methodically made her heart palpate in her chest.
She worked next to him for the better part of an hour, exchanging small talk and telling stories about college. They laughed like old friends, and JJ decided during that time that maybe Billy wasn’t as much of a dick as she had always assumed.
“Billy Hargrove on the straight and narrow, huh? I guess anything is possible,” JJ teased through a dimpled smile.
“Hey, now,” Billy retorted. “Don’t go spreading that rumor around town. I’ve still got a little fire in me. I just have to pick and choose the right opportunities to let it out.” JJ met his gaze, and his eyes glinted like the edge of a switchblade, a devilish smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. Her insides turned to putty, and in that moment, she conceded to becoming another notch in the belt of the devil – she just couldn’t help herself.
“How do you know which opportunities are the right ones?” Instinctively, she took a step closer to him so their legs were touching. Billy looked down at the contact and then back up into her eyes, a smile blooming on his plush lips.
Pinning her with his stare, he let his fingertips brush over the exposed skin of her shoulder, brushing back a lock of her hair that had fallen out of place. “Well,” he drawled. JJ’s breath hitched at the feeling of his smooth hand tracing over her goosebumps, nowhere near where she really wanted it to be. “I guess I just feel it out.”
“So how do you feel about this opportunity?” JJ toyed with Billy’s tie between her fingers, pressing her body into him, her eye contact unwavering.
“I’d say I feel pretty damn good. What do you say we get out of here?” He leaned closer, the scent of whiskey, smoke, and spicy aftershave lulling her into a trance as she answered.
“Why get out of here when we can go up?” JJ pointed to the staircase in the hallway, and Billy’s eyes widened.
“Here? During the party?” JJ giggled at his hesitation.
“Come on, I thought you said you were still big, bad Billy Hargrove,” she teased. “Steve’s gone for the night, and his bedroom is at the end of the hall. If we hurry, no one will see us leave.” Billy grinned at her tenacity. This girl was everything he always thought she was, and maybe even more.
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“Fuck – yes, just like that.” JJ threw her head back in bliss, palms pressed flat against the full-length mirror. Despite being in Steve’s childhood bedroom where the walls were decorated with old polaroids from his high school days and a Back to the Future movie poster, she had never felt so alive. Each nerve ending in her body was consumed by Billy’s every touch.
The lights were off, but the glow of the streetlight through the window was enough to ensure she could still watch Billy pound her from behind just the way she had secretly fantasized about for the last decade. She felt his fingertips curl around her hip bone, making small crescent-shaped imprints in her skin as his other hand tightened around the makeshift ponytail he held her disheveled hair in.
“Look at me,” Billy growled. JJ’s eyes snapped up obediently to meet his in the mirror. Even in the dark, she could tell his pupils were blown with lust, the deep blue pools no longer visible around them. Sweat glistened over his chest as his thrusts quickened and stuttered, and JJ could feel the rubber band in her core tightening, dreadfully close to snapping as she tried to stifle the moans wracking from her throat. It was just too good.
Billy’s hand left her hip and trailed up to her lips, signaling for her to open her mouth, which she obeyed. The pads of his first two fingers glided along her velvety soft tongue, gathering saliva before he brought them down to her aching clit, sliding slick circles in a perfect rhythm, eliciting a cry of pleasure she couldn’t contain in the slightest.
“Billy, please, don’t stop!” The frame of the mirror rattled shamelessly against the wall as Billy fucked into her harder and faster, everything about their encounter turning delectably wreckless when Billy realized there was no way the crowd downstairs didn’t hear what was happening.
“You gonna cum for me, baby?” His grip on her hair tightened again, pulling her gaze back up to meet his eyes right where he wanted her.
“I’m – mmm, fuck. I’m gonna cum for you, Billy. Right – right now.” JJ let out a chorus of long, low moans as her eyes rolled back and her knees gave out, held up solely by the fierce grip Billy had in her hair and the electrifying circles he was still lavishing on her clit. After nearly drowning under each tidal wave of her climax, she was totally breathless and barely able to stand.
A hand came down hard on her asscheek with a crack. Seconds later, JJ let out a pathetic whimper at the sudden emptiness as Billy pulled out and slammed her back to his chest. Standing her up and clasping a hand around her throat, he kept contact in the mirror as he growled into her ear, “Good girl.”
Thick, white ropes painted the mirror in front of them as he kissed and sucked at her neck while gravelly moans thundered from deep within his chest. JJ felt high on the adrenaline of what they had just done, her grin shining through the shadows as Billy planted a soft kiss to the side of her face, still looking into her eyes with a devious edge to his expression.
“Welcome home, Jacqueline,” Billy purred. JJ scoffed, rolling her eyes, but she didn’t protest this time. Something about him saying her name like that actually felt good.“We’d better get cleaned up and work out our story. Someone’s bound to ask after all that…percussion.” Billy chuckled as he handed JJ her dress, and the two of them straightened up, fixing each other’s flyaway hairs and creased fabric before descending back to the land of the mundane.
💕Tag List: @imyourdaninow @justsimonrileythings @b1tchy3lf @jozstankovich @darleenjade @peachyaliien @dananahenderson @strangerthing93 @yoyokiss97 @californiaboytoybilly
#Billy Hargrove#Billy Hargrove smut#Billy Hargrove x fem!oc#Billy Hargrove x oc#oc JJ Feron#Fergrove <3#Steve Harrington#Nancy Wheeler#hohohoe23#day one - prompt: childhood bedroom#writing events#holiday writing event#smut tho for real#12/18/23
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(@transmasc-rose) Hmm... 11Simm, Simm is around for his Baking Period instead of going back to the war, and this affects our Doctor.
alsjfjglsjfk okay im assuming by baking period you mean immediately post-regeneration and what im saying is that this got wildly out of hand, here’s 1000 words of eleven & simm & amelia pond
Amelia Pond remembers, a few months ago, when it rained so hard that the streets outside of school flooded. It hadn’t been so bad, even though no one had come to pick her up so Mels had promised Rory when his dad came, “Don’t worry, I’ll walk her home.” By then, his dad’s car was already making huge waves as it drove away. Neither of them had an umbrella or raincoats, so they’d sprinted between trees and bus stops as it continued to pour down. The streets became rivers, and when they caught their breath on Amelia’s front porch, they’d turned back to look at the unrecognizable world of their neighborhood almost underwater. Mels’ cold, wet hand in hers, Amelia had watched two rats swimming across the street, scrabbling over each other with tiny splashes and biting their tails to stay together until they got to the other side.
Anyway, that’s why she thinks Mels would understand her letting the men from the blue box into her house once she saw that they were soaking wet and why Rory would probably tell her she shouldn’t try to pick up rats because they might have rabies.
“If he’s the Doctor,” says Amelia to the man who stole all of the Doctor’s leftovers, (or was it stealing when no one wanted them?) “then who are you?” She’s been thinking of him as the rude Doctor, seeing as they both came from the same box, but that might be unfair. To the Doctor. She can’t just go assuming two men from the same box share a name.
“The Master,” he tells her, shortly. Amelia squints up at him.
Amelia doesn’t care much about politics because her aunt doesn’t care much about politics. Still, there are all these newspapers that someone must have bought that sit in the lounge and they both forget to clean up.
“Why do you look like the Prime Minister?” At that, the Master grins. His teeth are too sharp.
“Because I ate him.” Amelia wrinkles her nose at him. He’s going to have to try harder. Mels is much better at scaring her than he is.
“Stop that,” the Doctor tells him. “She’s-” He looks over Amelia curiously and guesses. “…Five?”
“I’m eight,” Amelia corrects and stands a little taller.
“She’s eight, and there’s a nasty crack in her wall that’s scaring her enough. You don’t need to make it worse.” The Master huffs and crosses his arms, but he does glance down at her again. She doesn’t think he’s decided to be nice, exactly, but maybe that he’s decided even if he isn’t lying and he does eat people, that Amelia wouldn’t be very tasty. He extends a hand to pat her on the head, and Amelia bites at it. She doesn’t manage to get him, but he snaps his hand back. He grins at her.
“She should be scared. I’m surprised she’s even still here.” Amelia frowns at him the same time the Doctor does.
“What do you mean?”
“Explain that, Master,” the Doctor’s voice flips from fun to serious very easily. She likes that about him. Most adults never use their serious voices around Amelia, only the fun ones, even when they have bad news to deliver.
“You’re counting the doors, Doctor. I’m counting the bedrooms.”
“So?”
“Amelia, you said you only live with your aunt?” the Master asks, pointedly. Amelia scowls at him, even though a part of her is delighted that they were paying attention to what she said.
“Yes.”
“So, why,” he emphasizes, “are there too many beds in this house?” The Doctor stops examining the crack and turns to him. Amelia watches a wave of something awful wash over his face. It makes her squirm, and despite herself, grab onto the Master’s hoodie.
“Oh, Amelia,” the Doctor says, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” She doesn’t like it, any of it, not the crack and not the feeling in the pit of her stomach that something’s gone terribly wrong. She doesn’t know what it is, but she knows- She knows- She can’t remember why she’s crying. The Master’s hoodie is grimy enough already, so she sticks her nose in it to wipe her face clean. He smells like a wet dog.
“First things first,” the Doctor says, “whatever was in the crack is now out of the crack.”
“I know. I can smell it.”
“So, we take care of that. Amelia,” he addresses her again. Amelia pulls her face out of the Master’s hoodie to look at the Doctor. “Do you mind if I pick you up?” Amelia is too big to be picked up anymore, at least by her aunt. Still, she nods. “Good. I’m going to put you in the safest place I know.” The Doctor picks Amelia up easily, like she would pick up one of her stuffed animals, and then deposits her, without hesitating, into the Master’s arms as he protests.
“I don’t want her. Take her back.” Amy wriggles, but despite that, he doesn’t drop her.
“I wasn’t lying. Whatever prisoner zero is—I’m working on it—you’re far more dangerous.” At that, the Master hums, pleased with himself. Amelia thinks the Doctor might be even more mad than she’d assumed. “Which also makes you safe.”
The thing is, Amelia thinks, the Doctor isn’t wrong. She looks at the crack, and she looks out her bedroom door down the hall they say contains a monster, and nothing scares her.
“It’s a little early for us to adopt,” the Master mutters.
“Sorry, can’t hear you. Too busy hunting an intergalactic fugitive. You’d know all about that. Amelia, did you know he’s wanted dead or alive in over two hundred galaxies? In multiple time periods.” Amelia looks at the Master for confirmation.
“Two hundred and fifty-three,” he says.
“What’d you do?”
“Everything.” He carries Amelia out, following the Doctor, and only gets interrupted telling her a story she’s not sure she believes about taking over an entire planet when the monster shows itself.
#(doctor voice) she’s eight and there’s a scary time-space hole she has to stare st in her bedroom. remind you of anyone?#(master voice) i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. also if anything happens to amelia ill kill everyone on earth and then mysel#the doctor imprints on amelia because she’s the first (non-master) face he sees post-regenerating. the master imprints on amelia because he#is incredibly full of himself and she reminds him of him. and amelia imprints on both of them because they’re drowned rats shaped like men.#ask#prompt fic#fanfiction#doctor who#elevensimm#thoschei#eleventh doctor#amy pond#amelia pond#actually hold on let me chuck this in my#amelia pond au#tag because it sort of fits the premise#simm!master#sunday prompts
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