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ishipthis · 10 months

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iDidn't see this coming - Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I wasn't going to put this on tumblr because of its contents. 😳 But you voted so here it is. ❤️ Please be aware, if you did not like chapter one there is no way you are going to like chapter two. Like really, I mean it, you will not like it. Abort Mission. This is literally 30% Creddie smut. I can't say it anymore plainly. If you're not up for that, do not click past the read more section. It will hurt your eyes.

“It’s going to be totally fine, you’re going to be totally fine. So you kind of crossed a line with Freddie last night, it’s not like you had phone sex, your clothes stayed on, Carly, your clothes stayed on” It’s not the positive affirmation repetition she’s become accustomed to, but if positive affirmations are going to save their friendship, she’s going to positive affirmation the crap out of this morning.

“I am loved and worthy….. And it’s going to be fine.”

“I am complete as I am, others simply support me…. Especially Freddie who is not going anywhere because he’s my best friend and any decisions we made last night will be forgotten this morning because that was the deal and we will be totally fine.”

“Today I align myself with freedom, growth and joy….. And the assurance that Freddie and I are going to be fine” She’s not spiraling, she’s not.

“My body is a vessel of wellness and… Ugh who am I kidding?! You’re a body of Lies! What did you do to me, urges? How dare you, libedo? Good going, hormones, I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done.” Carly groans, the colour draining out of her face as she takes in the sight of herself again, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, messed up hair. It was one of the best sleeps of her life. But not the point. It was a one time thing, a terrible miscalculation, a monumental slip…. A drunken mistake…. That she can’t stop rereading again, and again, and again.

(Seriously, final warning, do not read down if you are not ready for 🌶🌶🌶. You have been warned.)

“I’d walk you to your room with your legs still wrapped around my waist and I’d drop you on to the bed, kissing you deeply before moving my attention lower.”

“Lower? How low? You’re making my heart race”

“Just a little lower. I’d kiss down your neck but then I’d pull away so I could remove some of those clothes. I’d start with your shoes… and then your socks, and then I’d shimmy those pants down your legs and let them join the pile…… And you should see mine, feel like it’s beating through my ears”

“Why?”

“You know why, Carly”

“I’d ask you to take your pants off too, and I’d lift my shirt over my head and hand it to you, so you could add it our pile”

“Why?” he mimics

“You know why, Freddie”

Ugh. Just the thought of what they did next starts getting her all hot and bothered again. But, she thinks, Still technically not phone sex. All physical items of clothing stayed on. At least that’s something?

Ding.

She panics, dropping her phone into the empty sink before grabbing it out again. Harper. She’s not disappointed, she’s not. It’s totally fine. Fine.

‘Hey Bestie, Vinet turned out to be vin-no, he wouldn’t even make me eggs. Who does that, after I put all MY eggs in his basket last night. Anywayyyy it’s okay, Spencer’s insta shows he’s got a chef making him waffles, so I’ll meet you there, kay?’

Waffles. She could do waffles. Maybe waffles is exactly what she needs to stop looking at her stupid phone. Yes, waffles will be great.

She looks to the mirror one final time, steeling herself. “I am cool, calm and collected….. And I am not going to look at my phone again because Freddie is my best friend and I don’t have feelings for him. ” Hearing the words fall from her lips, even she knows it sounds like a lie.

“I said to him, it's my sacred space. Rules are made to be broken, I'll fill it with waffles and eggs if I want to. And he laughed, so I did what anyone would do, I hired his wife to do it. And that’s why you can’t trust an artist, or a republican.” He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows before turning toward the front door that’s swung open. And seriously, do they ever lock the door? For a multimillionaire it seems like it’s probably a security risk.

She’s zoning out again, staring at the maple syrup dripping off the waffle on her fork when she hears his name.

“Freddie! You made it! This is Susan, Waffle extraordinaire. Also known as Byron’s wife, but we don't like Byron so let's not waste another breath talking about him.”

“Hey Susan, mind if I grab one of those?” Freddie says with a grin as he drops down into the seat across from Carly. “I had to drop Millicent off at school this morning because her teacher wanted to have a chat about ‘Inappropriate use of school resources’, my little hellraiser.”

“She both excites and terrifies me” Harper responds, as she hands Freddie the syrup. “Susan knows how to make a mouth watering syrup, just wet enough, you got to try it” Carly chokes on her waffle. Wet enough?

“I’d kiss down your stomach taking my time to savor the taste of your skin against my lips”

“I’d run my hands through your hair, tugging gently to lift your head so I could look at you and see the look in your eyes.”

“I’d look hungry”

“I’d be wet”

“Carly”

“Freddie”

“You right, Carls?” Freddie asks, a curious look etched on his face as Harper smacks her on the back, shooting her a concerned smile.

“Guess some things are too wet for you, huh?”

She kicks Harper under the table.

Freddie’s not even paying attention, she realises, as she looks over to him for the 100th time since he walked through the door 30 minutes ago. For the most part everything has been normal, he’s been happy, dorky, Freddie, and everything Carly was worried about prior? Not needed. Apparently Oprah was right, and affirmations do work, because Freddie? He’s thriving. She hates it.

“These are great, Susan. And you’re really not a chef?” No, Susan’s a 30 something year old blonde housewife with an affinity for making syrup that you keep licking off your full pouty kissable lips, Ya jerk. “I mean I never would have known, these could be restaurant quality!” he licks his lips again, Carly swallows heavily. “Don’t you think, Carly?”

Two can play at this game, she thinks, wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine, even if it is on his part non intentional medicine. “Oh yes” she says with a smile of her own, picking up her unused spoon to dip it right into the pot of syrup in front of them before bringing it toward her her mouth. “It’s such good syrup, I just loveeee it. Great job, Susan'' She lets the spoon hit her lips finally, purposely letting them get messy in the meantime before licking them clean. Take that, she thinks.

He does. He takes it and does nothing with it. Nothing but smile at her and hand her a napkin, looking at her in the way you look at a dog chasing its tail, with mild amusement and nothing more. “Can’t take you anywhere can we?” Freddie says with a laugh, reaching over to rustle her hair, before turning back to the others to continue the conversation. Like What?! She’s not a labrador.

They’ve been back in their apartment for all of three seconds when Harper turns on her. “Are we going to talk about why the heck you almost deep throated your spoon back there, or….?” Was she that obvious? Shit.

“Deep throated a spoon? What are you even talking about, I didn’t almost deep throat anything?”

“But you wanted too?” Harper raises an eyebrow as she puts her hands on her hips, a ‘this is an interrogation and I’m going to get this out of you whether you like it or not’ look if ever there was one.”From the way you were looking at Freddie and licking your lips you wanted to real bad, Bestie”

Carly groans, making her way towards the couch before flopping her body onto it face first. “I don’t want to have this conversation” she mumbles into the couch cushions.

“And I didn’t want Jennifer Lopez to miss my sweet 16th, but we don’t always get what we want, Carly. Now what in the love of Beyonce happened to make you get all….” She scrunches her nose up. “Messy.”

“It’s your fault”

“Most things are” Harper reasons, before physically pulling Carly up into a sitting position as she takes the seat next to her. “But 50% of the time I’m around when they happened. So what’s got you exuding all of this energy, did yall finally hook up?!” She looks over to Carly. “Oh my god! You did! You hooked up with Freddie!”

Carly covers her face groaning. “We did not hook up! Well not really anyway… I don’t think?"

“Did he get it in the wrong hole or something, because that’s okay, a bad sense of direction can have some good outcomes”

“What?! No! God No, What does that even-” she trails off, groaning again. “He doesn’t have a bad sense of direction, whatever that means. I…. I did something stupid last night and one thing led to another and…”

“And…..? Spit it out!”

“I can’t, I’m too ashamed, leave me here on the couch to wallow”

“Carly, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to have to go ask him myself and I know you don't want that”. She’s lying, Carly knows that, but even so the threat of bringing any of this up with Freddie is a no go.

“You can’t tell anyone okay, sworn to secrecy. You have to promise… On Beyonce.”

“Beyonce?” Harper asks.

“Beyonce.”

“What did you do?! Okay, I promise, but what in the world is so bad that you made me promise on the queen?! We’ve already lost one, Carly”

Carly cracks a smile, hitting Harper with the pillow next to her before taking a deep breath and saying the next words so fast they all stick together. “Wehdirtahtextd”

“You what now?”

“We…” she huffs out a breath, closing her eyes before finishing the sentence. “Dirty texted..”

“You dirty texted?”

“Yes. Last night, I dirty texted Freddie”

“So you sexted? That’s not bad Carly, I can’t tell you how many people I’ve had a textual cohabitation with, I thought you guys banged or something”

“We didn’t sext” Carly corrects, putting her face in her hands again. “At least I don’t think we did. We just talked… about what we would do.. If we were….together….in an intimate way..”

“Uh huh. So you were sexting. I need to see the evidence” Harper smirks, attempting to reach for the phone. A direct reversal of their situation fifteen hours earlier. “Well did you like it?! By the waffle thing this morning I feel like you did.”

“NO!” Carly groans again. “I can’t do that to Freddie, and anyway, it doesn’t matter if I liked it, because it’s not going to happen again.”

At this Harper finally quits trying to steal the phone, turning instead to face her best friend. “What do you mean it’s not going to happen again, and also not that I’m not flattered I was involved in you two finally losing your shit, but how, can I ask, was this my fault? I’d like to know so I can take credit on your wedding day.”

Carly stands up from the couch and walks to the fridge pulling out a bottle of orange juice before reaching for the wine and two flasks. “It’s not going to happen again, because we said it was a one night thing, and in any case as you could see today, Freddie didn’t seem to even care.” She puts the glasses on the table and starts pouring. “And, it’s your fault because this whole stupid thing happened because I sent him that fanfiction you had open on my phone last night!”

“Girl, you sent him the deep throat cake fic?! You saucy minx! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“I didn’t have it in me! I thought it was about baking a cake!” Carly protests, before downing her whole mimosa in one go.

“That seems more in character for you” Harper nods, a smile still evident on her face. “So let me get this straight, you’re throwing down cocktails at 11 am-”

Carly interrupts. “11:27am”

Harper rolls her eyes. “11:27 am because you texted Freddie a fic about licking frosting off his body and then you guys sorta maybe had phone sex, but you told him that it was a one night thing and now you’re upset because this morning, after the one night, he did what you wanted and acted like your best friend again without making it weird?”

“Yes!” Carly bursts out, pouring more orange juice into her cup for round two. “Like who does that?!”

“Uh… Someone who can read an instruction manual? You did kind of give him one didn’t you?”

“Who’s side are you on here?” Carly whines, giving Harper a look.

“Yours, of course. All I’m saying is, I would look at this like the perfect situation, Bestie.”

“How..”

“You guys got to have ‘dirty texting’” she air quotes the dirty texting. “And get your innocent little rocks off and then the next day go back to being best friends again with no weirdness, aside from you know, the spoon incident.” She’s not wrong. “So why stop? If you enjoyed it, and I assume he enjoyed it?” Carly Nods. “Then you’ve proven things don’t have to be weird, and you can keep doing your thing. It’ll give you something to do besides knitting, which believe me, you need.”

“I..” Carly begins, scrunching her nose up as she thinks through what Harper said. “I don’t want to complicate things further. What if it leads to… physical touching?”

“You mean like hand holding?” Harper smirks. “Most touching is physical, Carly. But okay so it leads to touching, at least you can stop lying to yourself about being crazy about him”

“I’m NOT crazy about him.”

“Uhuh, need I mention the spoon again, Carly?”

“No mention needed.” She huffs falling face first into the side of the lounge Harper isn’t sitting on. “Why did I let you get inside my head!”

It's 11pm when she finally caves. She's been reading through his texts over and over all evening wondering why he is happily texting in the group chat like nothing is bothering him when she's sitting here having an existential crisis of the highest order. When she mentioned it being a dream last night, this is not what she meant. Or maybe it is, maybe it's exactly what she meant, only she still feels like she's asleep and for some reason he's wide awake. On some level it feels disjointed because with their dynamic over the years the scales should be tipped the other way. He's supposed to chase her. She's mad at herself for even thinking that.

Last night he had been so open, he'd literally talked about going down on her, he'd said she drove him crazy, he’d said her name, or well, typed her name, but he typed it like it meant something, like he was feeling the same thing. And then this morning happened and it was like he forgot. Like he completely wiped the fact that eight hours earlier she’d been telling him she wanted to..

“I’d want to return the favour”

“You wouldn't have to”

“I know that, but I'd WANT to’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I've thought about it before”

“Carly you're killing me”

And she had liked it. Last night he'd been so responsive, so In tune with her, it was like they were two spies hiding out from the rest of the world and their messages, this dirty little secret that only they would ever share. Well I suppose it was something only they were meant to share. But it felt like something. It felt like the start and yet… For him it wasn't?

And okay, so she'd been the one to say it was a dream, but that's because it had to be. She hadn't wanted to risk their friendship on something she hadn't even had the chance to think through. Last night was an accident, she hadn't known what the fic was about, it all sort of just happened. So it made sense that they had some ground rules, that they kept it hypothetical, because she wasn't ready for any of it to be real anyway. Right?

But why wasn't he affected? Why was he treating her like some kid sister? Why didn't he care that she almost deep throated a waffle for him. And why is she the only one that's obsessing over them? Him? All of it. That can't be right.

She thinks back on what Harper said, ‘So why stop? If you enjoyed it, and I assume he enjoyed it then you’ve proven things don’t have to be weird, and you can keep doing your thing.’

Had they proved it? I mean they technically had. They'd been fine today, normal even. So maybe Harper was right? Why stop? Besides, she thinks, why should she be the only one thinking about it. One more time can't hurt?

She pulls out her phone navigating back to the site she was on last night scrolling through the stories looking for something that will leave a mark.

Freddie and Carly adopt a.. No. Freddie gives Carly a new.. Nope. Carly and Freddie get trapped in the Icarly studio when a power outage caused by a freak snow storm causes them to cross a line they never have before. Rated Mature. Yes.

She starts reading, eyes rapidly sliding from one side of the page to the next as she devours the words on the screen. Fic Freddie has Carly up against the wall, much like they talked about last night. Fic Carly is dropping to her knees, somewhat like they spoke about last night. It's perfect, she thinks, copying the link before pasting it into their text chain. She doesn't bother to say anything this time, she just presses send.

Ding.

His reply comes in Instantly, and there's no way he's finished reading, no way. She panics, thinking maybe he's going to turn her down, after all, he hasn't even bothered to read the story, that can’t be good.

Maybe she should have left it. They’d made it out alive, what was she thinking tempting fate again? She looks down to the phone reluctantly ready to see his rejection when she spots the four words.

“What are you wearing?”

There is no pretense, no mucking around, no scene to set up, he's just straight to the point and It makes her body heat up and tingle all over. This does sound like the prelude to actual sexting. This was the boundary that she set for herself. This is the line they were not meant to cross. Last night it was hypothetical, pretend, this is…. not.

ding. Another message pops up.

“I’m going to be honest, I've been thinking about it all night.”

Thank God, she thinks, taking a deep breath as she types back into the phone.

“Really? You didn't forget?”

“Forget?” He replies quickly before sending another one straight after. “You've been running through my mind all day”

Her whole body visibly relaxes, a breath coming out she didn't know she was holding. He thought of her all day? It shouldn't make her so happy, but it does. It just does.

She types back.

“I'm wearing my pink Pyjama shorts, you know the ones with the peaches, and the shirt that says “you've got a peach of my heart” she presses send, then panics.

Was she meant to lie? Say something about wearing sexy lingerie? Does one actually stay honest about what they're wearing during a sext? She groans, grabbing the phone again to write another message.

“Pretend I didn't say peaches, pretend I said something sexier, something lacier.”

He writes back immediately. “The sexiest thing to me is you being you. I’ll take the peaches, thanks.”

She whimpers, cheeks going hot as her hand goes to rest over her chest eager to feel if her heart is beating as fast as she feels it is. It is.

“What are you wearing?” she responds, biting her lip as she pictures him laying on his bed, shirt off, thinking about her.

“Just some pajama pants and some boxers” he responds, and okay now she's really thinking about it. She's thinking about throwing her rules aside and walking the 300 meters to his apartment so that she doesn't have to imagine anymore. In this moment, she wants it.

She flushes and types back. “Take the pants off?”

Ding.

“They're off, what about you?”

“What do you want?” she replies.

Ding.

“I want the peaches to hit the floor”

“Done”

Ding.

“God, I want to see you. What are you doing, baby?”

Baby. Baby? The minute she reads it she feels the ache. He called her baby. He's never called her that before. Actually, she can count the number of people who have said that to her on one hand. And even from the list of ex boyfriends on that hand, not one persons ‘baby’ has ever hit her the way that reading Freddie's does. She’s so hot and bothered now it's not even funny. They've already broken one rule tonight, what's another, she thinks.

She grabs her phone, pressing his number before bringing the phone up to her ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Carly..” he says, breathing heavily. “I.. is-”

She cuts him off. “I needed to hear your voice, I needed to hear you say it..”

He lets out another breath, a contented sigh making its way into her ear as she waits.

“What did you need to hear?” He whispers, as everything else around her goes silent.

“Call me baby” she pleads. She's breathless herself, her hand still resting against her rapidly beating heart. “Please?”

He grunts, and it's the sexiest thing she's ever heard, or at least it is until the next word slips from his mouth. “Baby”

She moans and he curses under his breath which only makes her want him more. Freddie cursing in frustration and pent up need? um yes please.

“Are we still dreaming?” He asks.

She sighs, slipping her fingers underneath the hem of her shirt fiddling with it. “I think so… But Freddie, I don't want to stop”

He grunts again. “Are you on your bed, baby?” His voice is choked and smoky in a way that makes him sound like he's just smoked a whole box of cigarettes, all deep and throaty and enough to drive her wild.

“Yes..” she manages to whisper.

“Okay” he whispers back. “I want you to lay back and pretend your hand is mine”

She does.

TBC

#You asked #so I caved #I am so aware this is a lot for tumblr #I don't know how to feel about posting it #I suppose if you're watching the episode and need more Creddie this is a good option?#if by 'more Creddie' you mean ALOT more.#Uhm yes #okay #Enough ranting in the tags #I promise my next fic will be more emotional #but also once you've gone spice can you really come back?#i don't know #we'll see #creddie #creddie fic rec #icarly #otp: you're everything i've ever wanted #fanfic

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luxaofhesperides · 2 months

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Soulmark AU + Sleeping Beauty ; requested by @candeartist422!

For the last few years, Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die.

It sounds cruel to say it that way. But the waiting is more painful, he thinks, than just mourning a lost love. It’s not like most people ever meet their soulmates anyways; his parents weren’t meant to be, but they still loved each other and had a life together. He wishes he could turn his focus away from his soulmate, but Duke is a romantic at heart and has always wanted to find the other half of his soul.

But since he was fourteen, his soulmark has dulled, fading in and out of color. What was once a vibrant blue crystal star, with eight points and a swirl of watercolor hues around it, dimmed more and more until Duke was sure he was watching his soulmate die slowly.

His soulmate didn’t die then. Whoever they are got better, his soulmark gaining color, but it never went back to the way it was. For years after, Duke would check at the beginning and end of each day, keeping track of when it faded and when it regained its color.

He thought his soulmate was sick. In and out of hospitals, fighting to stay alive.

And then it went nearly colorless.

Duke doesn’t remember much about that day. He knows he woke up, brushed his teeth, the lifted up his shirt to check his soulmark in the mirror. The blue was almost completely gone, the star on his left hipbone nearly gray with how colorless it was. He started at it for a moment, shocked, and reality slid away from him as he retreated into the safety of his mind, fully dissociating.

Bruce had found him when Duke didn’t show up for breakfast. He held him and offered quiet words of comfort that Duke couldn’t understand, but just having someone with him lessened the hurt of losing his soulmate.

Seeing the color come back the next day, faint as it was, hurt even more.

A year later, Duke still can’t break the habit of checking his soulmark twice a day. It hasn’t changed at all, still faint and dim, but carrying just enough color to show that his soulmate was still alive. At the very least, they were still breathing, but his chance of ever meeting them is basically zero. Still, he can’t help but hope, wishing that he could meet them even once before they die and leave him forever.

“Same as ever,” he murmurs to himself as he brushes his thumb against his soulmark. He’s terrified that he’s forgotten how beautiful the blue of it was when his soulmate was healthy.

Duke doesn’t let himself think on it too much anymore. Though his thoughts often turn to his soulmate during quiet moments like these, the busy nature of Gotham is usually more than enough to pull his attention back to the here and now. There’s no use in obsessing over his soulmate anyways; they’re just going to die, sooner or later, and Duke knows he’ll never get to meet them. They’ll just be another empty space in his life, right next to his parents.

“Come on, Thomas, focus,” he tells himself firmly, then gets dressed and heads down to the kitchen for breakfast.

The manor is quiet. It usually is in the mornings, with everyone from the night shift dead asleep and trying to get as much rest as they can before they have to start their day. Not that many of them stay in the manor these days; Duke and Damian are the only permanent residents at the moment, but Steph usually stays half with her mom and half in the manor during the summers when she’s home from college, and the others drop in whenever they feel like it.

Bruce lives more in the Batcave than the manor, so he doesn’t really count. It’s also why Duke is surprised to see Bruce awake and dressed like a normal person, drinking coffee in the kitchen as if this is a normal occurrence.

“Morning,” Duke offers.

“Good morning, Duke,” Bruce replies. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough. Alfred out or something?”

“He may have kicked me out of the Batcave to clean it up a bit,” Bruce answers tiredly. “Want me to make breakfast?”

Duke has heard the horror stories of Bruce’s attempts to make edible food in a kitchen. In the interest of not dealing with food poisoning, Duke shakes his head quickly and says, “Nah, it’s fine. I was kinda wanting to eat out for breakfast. Get out there as me, and not a mask, you know?”

“Mind if I join you? Alfred may forgive me for not sleeping if I willingly go outside.”

Duke laughs. “Sure man, as long as you pay.”

“I’ll drive, too.”

“What, don’t trust me behind a wheel?”

Bruce gives him a tired look, eyes dead and dull. “I have taught all my children how to drive. The day I willingly let them take the wheel when I am not actively dying is the day I’ve been replaced by a robot clone of myself who doesn’t know better yet.”

“That is… very specific. Is that a thing you usually worry about?”

“I’m Batman. I have to worry about everything.”

Yeah, that tracks. Duke wouldn’t be surprised if he has at least five contingency plans for that scenario, should it ever happen. “Well,” he says, “Right now, all you need to worry about is having your wallet and driving us down to The Foodie Nook. I’ve been craving their breakfast plates for ages.”

Bruce doesn’t object to his choice of restaurant and follows Duke down to the garage, grabbing a random set of keys and pointing it out to the many cars he owns. One near the front blinks its lights as it unlocks and Duke cheerfully tosses himself into the passenger seat as Bruce opens the garage door.

The drive into Gotham is smooth. They don’t hit traffic until they reach the bridge that leads into the city proper, taking them away from the quiet of Bristol. The morning is busy, but not enough that Duke worries about being out as the Signal to help keep the peace. It’s a normal type of busy, one borne from people going about their lives, feeling safe enough to go out.

The Foodie Nook is entirely local and very popular, so the parking lot is nearly full. But they expanded their space last year, which means he and Bruce don’t have to sit outside while they wait to grab a table. Bruce keeps conversation light and casual, well aware of the many listening ears around them, and it’s nice, feeling normal for once.

Well, as normal as life can be with Bruce Wayne™. The server who comes to lead them to a table realizes who she’s talking to after she gets a proper look at them while holding open the door and promptly stutters over her words.

“No need for any special treatment,” Bruce laughs lightly, “We’re just here for breakfast. Nothing special.”

“Of course,” she replies, cheeks red. “Um, right this way! We’ve got a table by the windows for you. Just two, yeah?”

“Yup! Just two. Thought this was a good day to spend some time with Duke. He’s a great kid, you know, I’m glad I was given the opportunity to foster him.”

The sunny, cheerful Bruce Wayne persona is so different from the usual Bruce he works with that it feels like he’s standing next to a stranger. But his words are sincere and warm his heart, filling up the gaps that his soulmate has left.

“Here you are!” their server announces, showing them to their table. “I’ll be right back with some menus.” She’s gone in a rush, and other customers glance over before quickly averting their gaze.

It’s one of the unspoken rules of Gotham: give the Waynes their privacy while they’re out in public. Questions and conversation are for public events only, but if they see a Wayne out and about during a normal day, everyone leaves them be unless spoken to first. Duke used to follow those rules as well when he was just another Gothamite. It’s strange being on the other side of that now that he’s in with the Waynes.

Duke barely has to look through the menu when it’s handed to him. The breakfast plates are his favorites and he gets one every single time he comes to The Foodie Nook; stacked full with breakfast foods from around the world. As a kid, he loved the Mexico Plate, but these days he’s craving either the Brazilian Plate or the Vietnamese Plate.

He can’t decide on which one and thinks about tossing a coin to decide, but seeing how that’s Two Face’s whole thing, he decides to hold off and settle the matter with eenie-meenie-minnie-mo.

He gets the Vietnamese Plate.

Bruce, on the other hand, reads through the entire menu like it’s a novel, then leans over and says rather loudly, “Duke, what’s a tort-illa.”

The pain he feels hearing that is only worsened by the amusement in Bruce’s eyes. He’s doing it on purpose, playing up the Brucie act for the public so he can psychologically torment Duke. A few nearby customers choke back laughter, turning away to hide their smiles.

Duke shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just food. Don’t ask any more questions, I just want a peaceful breakfast.”

“Well then,” Bruce replies, “I suppose I know what to order now.”

As if she was summoned, their server reappears before them, cheeks still looking a little flushed. “Hi! Ready to order?”

She writes down their orders quickly, valiantly keeping a straight face at Bruce’s mispronunciation of tortilla, then heads off to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

Rather than draw out a conversation with Brucie Wayne, Duke settles for playing a few idle games on his phone; his current favorite is one quiet cat cafe game where he directs cats into fulfilling cafe orders.

Bruce, despite being out in his civilian identity, is working. He’s on his Batman phone, which looks the same as his other cell phones except this one has a bat symbol sticker just barely hiding a Superman sticker on the phone case. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads whatever file he’s accessing from the Batcomputer. It’s a little worrying but it could be anything. Bruce makes the same expression when he reads one of Tim’s snarky comments getting quoted in the news.

But that’s not Duke’s problem! He’s here to enjoy his breakfast and it will take the end of the world itself to remove him from his seat before he’s done eating.

The game takes most of his attention until their food comes out, and by then Bruce has tucked away the smallest of his Batman mannerisms. They enjoy a normal, peaceful breakfast. Bruce ends it by asking their server if she has any debt that’s weighing her down, then giving her a tip that’s at least five thousand dollars above that.

She does cry and Bruce hugs her. It’s very sweet.

As soon as they get back into the car, his easy going smile drops and Duke knows some superhero nonsense is about to take over his day.

“Duke,” Bruce starts, seriously, “I received a message from Zatanna.”

“Don’t drag this out,” Duke says, “Just give it to me straight. What terrible thing is about to happen to us?”

“It’s nothing too big. They just recently defeated a magical being who had been tearing apart secret government facilities in Illinois. He had both magic and a high tech weapon, which they confiscated and are delivering to me. The government agency he was fighting was suspiciously interested in the weapon, and based on their behaviors and newly revealed work, Zatanna made the decision to turn the weapon over to us so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Bruce smoothly merges into traffic as he speaks, getting them onto the road back to the manor. There’s a look in his eyes that means he’s keeping a lot unsaid, and Duke knows without a doubt that whatever this government agency was doing is bad if Zatanna needs Batman to act as extra security.

He’s not sure about her decision to trust the weapon to be safe in Gotham, either. Sure, Batman will keep it as safe as he can, but with their luck, it’ll end up in the hands of a Rogue and lead to a lot of death and destruction.

As soon as they cross the bridge and return to Bristol, Bruce steps on the gas and the car tears down the road. Without any other cars to worry about (or traffic laws), it takes barely two minutes to reach the manor, when the gates open for them and let them into the garage.

Alfred waits for them by the door, looking them over with a critical eye. “I see you have managed to go outside, Master Bruce. What’s the special occasion?”

“Just breakfast,” Bruce answers. “I’m heading back down to the Batcave. Zatanna will be here soon to deliver a weapon.” He’s gone before Alfred can say anything more, hurrying down the hall and turning the corner, disappearing from sight as he heads towards his office.

“I see we have yet to break that bad habit of his. Did you enjoy your morning out, Master Duke?”

“Sure did, Alfred. I’m, uh, also going down to the Batcave. He’s definitely not telling me a lot about what’s going on, so I’m just going to read about it over his shoulder. I’ll be back up for lunch, though!”

“And perhaps you’ll be able to drag Master Bruce away from that cave of his,” Alfred comments wryly as he walks with Duke towards the office. He gives Duke a nod, then splits away from him, returning to the kitchen where Duke can hear Damian speaking to someone, probably Tim by the annoyed tone of his voice, and mentally wishes Alfred luck in handling them.

Duke sets the correct time on the clock in Bruce’s office and heads down to the Batcave, taking the steps two at a time.

Bruce is already at the Batcomputer, shoulders tensed, when he arrives.

“More bad news?” he asks as he makes his way over.

Bruce doesn’t bother looking away from the screen as he says, “More details about the fight. It seems the magical being called himself a ghost and was going on a rampage due to a betrayal. He says they nearly killed his son.”

“Oh, yikes.”

“And two of the scientists working with the government agency said that he stole their son and is keeping them from saving him.”

“Yikes,” Duke says with more feeling.

He doesn’t get to hear anymore details about JLD’s fight with this ghost when he catches a flicker in the corner of his eye. Duke turns and stares at the empty space in the Batcave near the medbay and watches as colorful magic gathers and swirls in dizzing circles. The portal opens a moment later and Zatanna steps out, looking exhausted and lightly singed.

“Batman,” she greets, holding a white gun that looks like it belongs in an early sci-fi movie from the 60s. “The GIW is trying to arrest us. Constantine keeps burning their badges and documents so it shouldn’t be a problem, but they are determined to get this back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came after you next. They’ve got some way of tracking things, but I didn’t have time to get any details before I had to leave.”

Bruce takes the gun from her hands carefully, looking it over with a sharp gaze. “Why would a ghost want to use a gun?”

“I don’t know. He had a variety of powers, too.”

“What does this do?”

“Shoots ice. He never let it go and nearly burned me alive for taking it before we subdued him.”

“We’ll keep it locked up,” Bruce promises.

Zatanna sighs. It looks as though a physical weight fell off her shoulders. “Thanks. I’m going to head back to stop Constantine from getting into a fistfight with the GIW agents.”

She opens another portal with a waved hand and a muttered spell. Bruce is already walking away to set the gun down on a work station, so Duke is the one to wave Zatanna goodbye.

By the time he reaches Bruce’s side, the gun is already dismantled, all pieces neatly set aside. Sticky notes denote which pieces go together and in what order. It looks the same as most guns, save for the aesthetic, but the heart of it is a glowing blue orb, large enough to cover the entirety of Bruce’s palm, and it brings a chill to the air.

Duke stares at it and feels his soulmark burn ice cold.

“Duke?”

It’s in his hands. He doesn’t remember reaching out to take it, but it’s in his hands. He can’t take his eyes off of it, cradling it gently and bringing it closer to his chest.

It’s the same blue his soulmark once was. Before his soulmate began to fade, before every day became a waiting game to see how long his soulmate will last before they die.

This has something to do with his soulmate. He’s sure of it.

He won’t let anyone take it from him.

“Duke. Give that to me.”

He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body. He’s detached, floating somewhere outside his body, puppeteering his limbs, making them move without feeling the motion. Shadows condense around his feet and Bruce takes a step back, wary.

“Duke,” he says again, but Duke can’t find any words, can’t draw on his voice, can’t even look away from the bright, bright blue of the orb. It pulses lightly in his hand like a heartbeat.

Bruce reaches a hand out.

He’s pulled back by shadows before he can get close, and Duke holds the orb against his chest, right against his heart, and feels the cold seep into him.

“Duke. I need you to look at me.” This time, Bruce’s voice has Batman’s growl in it, a heavy command that he can’t help but instinctively follow. He looks up and meets Bruce’s eyes, but he can’t focus. All his awareness is in his hands and the heartbeat of the glowing orb.

“I have to protect this,” Duke manages to whisper. “I… I think it’s alive.”

“Okay. Let’s get you to the medbay so you can sit down. We’ll figure this out, Duke.”

Bruce slowly, carefully, sets his hand on Duke’s shoulder. He keeps his attention away from the orb, so Duke allows it and lets Bruce guide him to the medbay and onto one of the medical cots. Bruce leaves him after a minute of quiet fussing, muttering about calling Zatanna.

Whatever. None of that matters when the heartbeat of the orb grows stronger, steadier, and Duke feels it match the beat of his own heart.

Time slips away from him. Distantly, he hears people move around the cave, speaking in low tones. A hand presses against his shoulder, warm, then moves away.

The orb in his hand moves.

Duke blinks slowly, then claws his way back to awareness, pushing past the haze that’s fallen over his mind. The orb turns over in his hand, then cracks right down the middle. The glow grows stronger, washing the medbay in blue light and a symbol appears on the orb.

It’s his soulmark.

Later, he won’t be able to say why he did it. There were no thoughts, no reasonings, no explanations. Duke simply moved on instinct and lifted the orb up to his face and pressed a soft kiss against it.

One moment, the orb was still.

The next, it had burst in a flash of light that blinded everyone in the Batcave, and then a thin, injured teenager had fallen into Duke’s lap.

Hands immediately grab him, pulling him away from Duke. The teenager puts up no fight, eyes barely open, but he reaches for Duke weakly. On his wrist is the bright blue snowflake, the color strong and vivid.

“That’s me soulmate,” Duke whispers as he watches Bruce and Tim set the boy down on another medical cot.

“What?” Tim says, turning to face Duke, concern clear on his face.

“That’s my soulmate,” he repeats, louder. Then, panicked, he pulls up his shirt enough to see his own soulmark; the color is still dull, weak, barely there, but it’s more blue that it has been in a while. He doesn’t need to say anything. Tim sees the dullness of his soulmark, looks at the boy, and puts the pieces together on his own.

“I’ll call Doc Thompkins,” he says, already moving to fix everything. Bruce remains where he is, making sure the boy is tucked in and breathing steadily before he returns to Duke.

“Are you alright?”

Duke swallows roughly, unable to tear his eyes away from the boy. He’s pale and thin, as if he’d been starved, and there’s frost beginning to spread on the bedsheet from his fingers. “He’s my soulmate,” Duke manages to say. “He’s been dying for two years.”

Bruce’s eyes a hard, a determined light in them. “We’ll save him,” he promises.

If anyone can, it’s Batman.

If anyone can, it’s them, Batman and the Signal, and their entire network of family and friends.

Duke’s been waiting for his soulmate to die all this time. Now, he’s going to save him.

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #i dont really know much abt jld so they are not really in here #just duke trying to live his life and have a nice day with bruce #when his soul mate gets thrown at him in the form of an ORB #(ghost core but they dont know that yet)#dannys gonna have to answer so many questions once hes awake bc not many know abt realms beings #its gonna be rough for him bc he's been asleep for 2 years in his core bc he was never safe enough to recover #until duke gave him a boost (plus the power of soulmates really helped him) and he woke up #in a cave with his soulmate and a whole crew of superheroes #what a thing to open ur eyes to. rip danny lol #thanks for the prompt!

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