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#let me know what you think
girlsgonetmblr · 1 month
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whisperingtales · 1 month
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He's perched on top the counter — arms squeezed around your middle. His unruly curls tickle the nape of your neck while his chin rest on your shoulder.
You were partly listening to Steve, chewing at the rim of your cup as he drones on and on about his date with Brenda. Eddie was a bit too stoned, almost passing out behind you.
He gets clingily when he's like this, using the excuse that you keep him from floating away — keep him grounded. Truthfully, Eddie was a big ole' softie.
Only for you, of course.
The party was quickly dying — the clock ticking close to twelve o'clock, many of the Hawkins social scene have called it a night. A few stragglers remain, scattered about the house.
You could feel her gaze on the pair of you — the familiar feeling of someone watching you has been a common occurrence tonight, ever since she walked in.
Your suspicion proved correct, glancing behind Steve to lock with a pair of striking blue eyes. The blonde is quick to look away, trying to play it cool like she wasn't just caught in the act — again.
"I think Chrissy has a crush on you, Eds."
"That's nice." He yawns, arms hugging you tighter — a delicate kiss to your skin, his face nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "Doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter!" You gasp, pulling away to look at him. "Why's that?"
His lips pull into a playful grin, knowing the game you were playing. The two of you have yet to put a label on your relationship, but everybody knew.
It was clear as day, you two were together. Eddie Munson's heart belongs to you as yours does to him. The pair of you didn't need a label, faithful to the other.
That didn't mean it wasn't nice to hear every once in a while.
He turns you to face him — a smile on your lips, arms gliding around his neck, fingers weaving into his curls. "Don't want her." His forehead rest against yours, lips hovering dangerously close, nose nuzzling yours. "Only you, sweetheart."
Your smile tugs wider, stretching ear to ear. You lean back slightly, admiring the man who stole your heart so long ago. "I love you, Eddie Munson."
"I love you." His callous fingers caress your cheek — sweet, auburn eyes captivating, placing you deeper under their spell, staring at you as if you hung the moon and stars.
It was in these moments — when the rest of the world just fades away, leaving just the two of you. Nothing else mattered, only the love between two souls.
Love — extraordinary, rare, and beautiful. So, so beautiful.
"My girl." His soft, plush lips press to your forehead, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest — his ring covered hand grazing up and down your spine.
You don't waste a second, snuggling into him. Yeah, fuck a label — you didn't need it anyways. Eddie was yours, and you his.
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onsomenewsht · 2 months
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now playing: Everything to Everyone (Intro)
track 2 >
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》 Alexia Putellas x Reader
》 words count: +750
》 I need the guts to go and give you up / 'cause I'll kill myself tryin' and I'm not scared of dyin'
“Qué es eso de que te vas?!” (What do you mean you’re leaving?)
Legit question, you think. One can leave so many places and in so many ways.
You can clearly read the shock in her naturally stoic face, usually unreadable for people who don’t have the privilege to orbit close to her heart.
Your head sinks, eyes too focused on your unlaced shoes to see Alexia taking a step toward you. But you sense her. And putting some more distance between the two of you is the only response you can give her right now.
She tries to make you look at her, she knows you can feel her pleading eyes desperately trying to lock into your darker ones, but you don't dare to. You will drop everything otherwise. 
“Alexia, please”
“No, no hace esto, ¡no lo digas así!” (No, don’t do it, don’t say it like that!), like she’s the one hurting you.
You take even more steps faraway from her frozen form, hitting with the back of your calves the sofa in the abruptly smaller house. You let yourself drop on it, sitting and rubbing the stiff texture of your jeans.
The catalan takes it as a sign of you being ready to explain whatever this is, to explain this epically huge misunderstanding. But your muffled sob makes it evident to her you need space, space from her.
Dropping your head into your hands is the only way you can think of to make them stop shaking so much.
You can’t let Alexia come closer, you can’t let her touch you in the way somehow capable of healing every aching part of your body and soul. You can’t glance at your lover, you can’t let her look at you the way she does when she needs you to understand the feeling she can’t communicate.
You just can’t.
However, when the blonde starts crying, silently as if not wanting to disrupt your breakdown; you’re sure.
Leaving truly is the only way.
“I got an offer”
“You got offers all the time”
“I asked for it”
You have known her for four years now, getting closer and closer with time passed and shared experiences.
Four years of studying all the finest details of the ways she acts and moves. Three years of falling asleep with your hand on her chest, her heartbeats as the only lullaby that can make you rest. Two years of heading to a future that appallingly looks a lot like the same for the both of you. One year of trying to tell yourself that nothing changed about the way you feel of your life here, of your life here with her.
You have known her for so long, so profoundly, yet this is the first time you meet this Alexia.
A truly, deeply broken Alexia.
And you’re the reason why.
“Tú lo pediste?” (You asked for the transfer?)
“Yes”
The captain moves slowly, dropping on her knees right in front of you and taking your hands in hers. She’s not shaking like you, but you can catch deep worry in her eyes. She’s the most scared she’s ever been. 
You beg every goddess and gods on earth and sky she doesn’t ask you to stay.
If Alexia asks you to stay, you’ll stay.
“Por qué?” (Why?)
She is not hiding her cries anymore and the brutal honesty of her feelings is something you will never get used to.
Something you will never forget.
“I need to leave”
“Me?”
“I can’t leave you, mi corazón”
The catalan closes her eyes and tries to calm herself down, her sudden shortness of breath alarming you. The term of endearment always gets her heart skip a beat, your broken accent somehow making it even more special.
“Me estás dejando” (You’re leaving me)
“I’m not, I’m not leaving you”
Your hands unties from hers, moving fast to hold her face before she panics. You study your lover’s distinctive features one more time, one last time. You know you will never forget her, but you can’t take any chances now.
The older girl closes her eyes, letting even more tears fall. When you gently caress them away with your thumbs, smiling softly, she knows this is a goodbye.
“No puedo dejarte, Alexia” (I can’t leave you)
You kiss her, one more time.
“Voy a dejar Barcelona porque no puedo dejar a ti” (I’m leaving Barcelona because I can’t leave you)
One last time.
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towering-book-piles · 3 months
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Iceman absolutely loves having Maverick on his lap.
Doesn't matter who, what, where, when, or how he just loves having Mav tucked in close and cuddled up to his chest, using his lap as a seat. It started as an embarrassing accident in Top Gun but now it's his favourite past time. Give him a book or paperwork, a cup of his favourite brand of green tea or coffee, and one happy Maverick Mitchell on his lap and he's set for the next day and more if he can get away with it.
Ice adores their size difference, that he can pick Mav up, straight off the ground and sit him down in his lap, Mav giggling the whole way before turning in his lap to peck kisses all over Ice's neck face and lips.
Mav is just the right size to sit comfortably into the curve of Ices larger frame; plush ass in the cradle of Ices hips, back leaned against Ices broad chest and head lolled back resting in the divot of Ices neck, right over his collarbone. He's in the perfect position to sleep (listening to Ice's soothing heartbeat always sends Mav to sleep) or get kisses, so Mav's always excited for lap time and getting to cuddle up to Ice.
⚠️ NSFW below, you have been warned ⚠️
It's also one of their favourite sex positions, Ice sitting on the bed leaned back against the headboard, rocking up into Mav, who's sitting in Ices lap like its his throne, half grinding back down on Ice and half gone with pleasure.
Sitting like this, with the leverage from the bed and headboard, Ice can thrust upwards into Mavs tight heat and hit his sweet spot with Every. Single. Thrust and it drives Mav wild, eyes blown, with only a thin ring of green around the edges, and nearly crossed with the pleasure, breathing heavy and high-pitched moaning gasps, shaking and whining at the feeling.
It also lets them press their foreheads together and just breathe each other in, in the afterglow, letting their bodies calm and rest curved together like puzzle pieces, still connected as one and grinning madly at each other, high as kites on the endorphins and each other.
Ice loves that he can move Mav up and down on his cock easily like this, fucking up into glorious tight, wet heat, groaning at the feel of Mav above him. Ices hands tightening on Mav strong hips, pulling the smaller pilot down towards his lap as Ice rocks up to meet him. Mav is absolutely gorgeous like this, all soft dark wet hair, shiny silky tanned skin, blown green eyes, gasping red swollen lips from Ices kisses, and all of Ices marks up and down the side of his sensitive neck.
Ice also loves marking Mav up, with hickeys and love bites all over his neck shoulders and chest (especially all around his nipples). He's a possessive bastard like that. Nothing gets him going like seeing Mav spread out on a bed, wearing nothing but Ices marks.
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Office smut where reader is Rafe's assistant and they both work at cameron developpement
I've never been a fan of these assistant/boss dynamics, but it fits for Rafe so I gave it a try...and it ended up being 2.5k
Warnings: 18+, fingering, unprotected p + v,
my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time
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Never in your life did you imagine yourself pursuing a career in real estate, but when an opportunity to work as a personal assistant at Cameron Development practically fell into your lap, you hadn’t been able to decline. 
It was a sunny day on the golf course with your father, enjoying some quality father-daughter time before the end of summer. As you both played a round, you came across one of his golf buddies — Ward Cameron. You vaguely remembered the man, having played with his kids a few times when you were little. Sarah was the one you remembered the most, she had blond hair and always talked about turtles.
Small talk flowed between your father and Mr. Cameron as they caught up on each other's lives. Then, your college studies came into the conversation. You had graduated college this spring, but hadn’t found any jobs in your field yet. Fortunately for you, Mr. Cameron informed you that there were a few jobs available at Cameron Developpement. 
You weren’t interested in real estate, but working for a well reputed company could do no wrong to your curriculum vitae. So you accepted the offer, not knowing that you would be working for his son, Rafe, as his personal assistant. 
You knocked on the door at the end of the hallway, announcing your presence. ‘’You wanted to see me, Mr. Cameron?’’ 
He looked up from the stack of documents neatly placed before him on his desk and your breath caught in your throat. Fuck me. It was a good thing you had put on lipgloss and a nice pair of heels instead of loafers because Rafe Cameron was a fine man. He looked right out of a smutty romance novel with his crisp button up and a navy blue suit jacket that brought out the color of his eyes. 
‘’Yes,’’ he replied, flashing you a polite and effortlessly charming smile. ‘’First, I wanted to meet my new assistant before I hand off the work I'd rather not deal with. My father was insistent about getting me a personal assistant, but I'm actually glad he hired you.’’ His eyes followed down your body in the most subtle way, taking note of how well your skirt was hugging your hips and anticipating the even better view when he’ll watch you go.  
‘’I’m glad I took the job too. Hopefully I won’t disappoint you,’’ you responded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips, trying to hide everything you were feeling right now.
‘’I’m sure you won’t,’’ Rafe assured, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. ‘’Secondly, I was reviewing some paperwork, and it has come to my attention that Mr. Gilbert has not remitted his payment for the condo he recently bought. Can you give him a call and ask for payment? If he refuses to forward us the money before 4pm, we’ll cancel the sale agreement and find another prospective buyer.’’
You nodded in acknowledgment. 
Calling Mr. Gilbert. That should be easy for your first task. 
‘’Anything else?’’ 
Rafe shook his head. ‘’Not for the moment. You may leave.’’ 
‘’Well, Mr. Cameron.’’ 
His eyes lingered for a second, a hint of something more as he watched you turn to leave, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
Over the span of a few weeks, professional exchanges gradually morphed into something outside of your assigned tasks. You were still bringing him coffee whenever he asked and answering emails, but specks of flirting now laced your conversation and soon evolved with lingering glances to your chest while going over some work related paperwork. 
Once in a while, he would call you into his office and scheme excuses just to look at you. 
It wasn’t until that argument with his father that he — finally — made a move on you. 
You came to work early that day and, on your way to your office, you had heard Mr. Cameron shout at his son for a mistake he had made concerning the company and how it was going to make a big dent in their finances to fix it. To respect their privacy and not wanting them to think you were eavesdropping, you quickly went to your workspace and started your work. 
When Rafe came out of his father’s office, he saw you sitting at your desk. His chest was heaving with the intensity of the encounter, a storm brewing in his expression. You heard his office door close and, a few seconds later, an email popped on your screen.
My office. Now.
You thought he needed something, but when you stepped in, Rafe was waiting by the door and crashed his mouth on yours, giving in to the desires he’s been pushing aside since you walked in his office on your first day. 
A small gasp left your lips, not expecting to be kissed by your boss on a Thursday morning. A cloud of confusion fogged your brain and you broke the kiss, trying to fight the invisible string pulling you to him. 
Rafe's gaze lowered down yours, a complex blend of frustration and longing evident in his eyes.
The reason why he had never made a move on you before stemmed from a promise to his father, who had made him promise to not fool around with the personnel if he wanted to be part of Cameron Developpement. It hadn't been too difficult until now, the employees being mostly women in their thirties and up. Then, you came around and Rafe had to use a lot of self-control to not charm his way into your panties. To further complicate the situation, you were responsive to his advances and flirting. 
However, after a heated exchange with his father, Rafe was in the mood to piss him off, so to hell with his stupid rules.
‘’Can I trust you that this stays between us?’’ His hands roamed across your sides, down your body, feeling what he had been staring at these past weeks.  
‘’I never kiss and tell.’’ 
Rafe's thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, removing a smudge of lipstick. ‘’Good girl.’’
The way he said it went straight to your core, waking an ache between your legs. How could a voice have such a strong effect? 
Your eyes traveled to the clock on the wall. Agnes, one of the secretaries, should arrive in twenty minutes. You knew her routine because her desk was right by the hallway leading to Rafe’s office. You also knew that she visited him every morning after checking her emails.
Your thoughts were interrupted when Rafe’s mouth found its way back on yours, his tongue slipping between your lips and he pulled you closer to him, pressing his body against yours as his other hand traveled down your legs, to the hem of your tight skirt. He caressed and grabbed one of your ass cheeks, groaning at the feeling. 
Wasting no time getting undressed, Rafe hiked your skirt up, eliciting a small gasp as cool air hit your skin. ‘’Can you be quiet for me?’’ he asked, pressing against you and letting you feel the length of his hard cock against your thigh. ‘’The walls are thin and Agnes is gonna get here soon. We don’t want her to hear us, do we?’’ 
You shook your head. ‘’Are you gonna fuck me, Mr. Cameron?’’ 
Aside from one mishap, you and Rafe successfully kept your secret business from the other employees. If the whispers of your unprofessional doings in his office were to get to his father, you would both be in a lot of trouble. 
 ‘’I have Anthony Gilbert from the construction company on the first line. He has some questions about the new condos,’’ you informed Rafe after he returned from an afternoon meeting, his tie slightly loosened.  
A sigh left his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, visibly tired. ‘’Transfer him to my secretary.’’  
You shifted on your heels, sensing Rafe didn’t want to speak to this man. ‘’He asked to speak to you specifically.’’ 
‘’Well, we can’t always get what we want,’’ he pressed. ‘’Agnes will take care of it,’’ Rafe repeated, his tone final. 
You nodded. ‘’Yes, Mr. Cameron.’’ 
‘’Now, would you please close the door? There’s a document I would like to go over with you.’’ 
A document. You held a snicker and shut the door as requested. 
Once you turned the lock, Rafe patted his lap and you walked around his desk. He watched you with hungry eyes, impatient to get his hands all over you. Get his cock inside you. 
‘’Looking good today, babydoll. Is this new?’’ he asked, running his thumb over the neckline of your wrap dress as you seated yourself on his lap, careful to not rub the sole of your heels on his pants and leave a mark. 
You hummed in response, leaning forward to expose more of your chest. ‘’Do you like it?’’
Rafe let his hand glide down, following the cut of the dress, until he reached the tie to undo it. He pulled until the knot came off, revealing your bra — a soft pink lace number that did not much other than looking pretty. A shudder left your lips as his hand cupped your breast through your bra, his thumb brushing over where he knew your nipple was. 
‘’Very.’’ 
You carded your fingers as he mouthed at your chest and neck, careful to leave no marks behind. A sigh left your lips, wishing he would pull your bra down and just take suck on your nipple, but Rafe had other plans. While his mouth was working, one hand slipped between your thighs, seeking out your warmth, his hand pressed itself against your soaked panties.
He grinned against your skin. ‘’Would you look at that,’’ Rafe murmured, teasing you over the fabric and sending jolts of pleasure to your core. ‘’Were you thinking of me while I was at my meeting?’’ he questioned his fingers pushing your panties to the side, fingers delving into your slick, a low moan fell from your lips. ‘’Get on the desk.’’ 
You wordlessly climb up onto his cold desk, ignoring the papers that got scattered, leaning back with your hands to spread your legs for him. Rafe pulled your panties down your legs and discarded them in one of the drawers — a little keepsake. 
He dipped two fingers between your soaked folds, causing you to moan slowly. ‘’You look so pretty spread out for me like this,’’ he muttered between you, his cock twitching in his pants and straining against the fabric. ‘’Ready for me to take.’’ His thumb grazed over your clit and a gasp fell from your lips, your hands instinctively grabbing the edge of the desk to brace yourself.
‘’I’m always ready for you,’’ you said, speaking the embarrassing truth. ‘’I’ve never wanted a cock as bad as I want yours.’’
Your words had the desired effect, making Rafe groan. ‘’Shit, babydoll. Where did you get that filthy mouth?’’ 
Rafe reached down and rubbed himself over his pants before deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers. He stood from his seat, the bulge in his boxers making your mouth water and your pussy clench. 
You used to feel guilty for fooling around on your work hours. It felt wrong and dishonest to your boss, but all guilt would go out the window the moment Rafe’s big cock entered you. Fuck work ethics and policies. 
The rest of his clothes came off and he stood between your parted legs, one of his large hands grabbing your thigh while his other was holding his hard length at your entrance. His blue eyes gazed up at you with a mischievous glint as he rubbed his tip against your folds, making you whine with anticipation. 
His teasing turned on him as you reached for his cock and wrapped your hand around its length, drawing a moan from him. ‘’Little minx.’’
You grinned, continuing your motions. Teasing could go both ways. 
‘’Ahh,’’ you gasped as he pressed in, a slow delicious burn that sent a shiver down your spine as he pushed his way through your tight walls. 
Rafe leaned down his forehead, pressing down onto yours and breathing you in as he rolled his hips into you. A moan spilled from your throat at the sensation, a little too loud, and he was quick to clamp his hand over your mouth to muffle any sounds, the floor still full at this hour. 
To add to the noises, the desk was creaking every time Rafe was dragging his cock in and out of you. Although the angle was great, the desk might not be the quietest — unfortunately. 
 ‘’You like that babydoll, you like when I fuck you like this?’’ 
You nodded, your mouth still covered. 
Fuck, just like that, you wanted to scream, your back arching when he hit the right spot over and over at a toe curling pace. God, this was the best sex of your life. Some men just knows what they're doing.
The shrill of the phone echoed in the office, but you both ignored it — Agnes will answer. It was probably the man who wanted to speak to Rafe calling again. 
Sorry Mr. Gilbert, Mr. Cameron is very busy fucking the life out of his personal assistant.
Your body writhed against Rafe, your hands leaving the desk to pull at his hair and grab at his arm while your heels dug into his ass. He grunted, your walls clenching around him. A few more hard thrusts and his thumb sweeping over your clit had your thighs trembling as the waves of pleasure washed over you.
Rafe continued to push into you, dragging out your orgasm as his took over, pulling out quickly and cumming on your stomach, trying to not get any drop on your dress.  
You didn’t have time to get dressed or catch your breath that a knock came on the door. Momentarily forgetting you had locked it, you jumped, thinking you were going to get caught. 
‘’What is it?’’ Rafe called out, trying not to sound too out of breath. 
‘’I have Mr. Gilbert on the phone on line three. He’s asking to speak to you,’’ Agnes’s sweet voice said through the door. ‘’A pressing matter, he said.’’ 
‘’I’m unable to take the call at the moment. I’m busy going over a document for a client I’m seeing tomorrow morning. Could you please take the call for me?’’ he asked, rubbing his hands over your thighs, wishing his secretary would leave so he can get on his knees and get his mouth between your legs.
Agnes nodded although he couldn’t see her. ‘’I understand, Mr. Cameron. I'll inform him right away.’’ 
Rafe waited to hear clicks of her heels down the hallway to sink to his knees and get back to business. He did tell Agnes that he was working on a document, no one would question how long you were locked in his office for.
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neko-loogi · 15 days
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Here's my redesign for Husk!
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So I decided to draw redesigns for Hazbin Hotel characters! I'm starting off with Husk because to me he's one of the most detailed characters. For his design, I decided to simplify it, because holy hell, Husk has way too much detail- it's insane.
I made his fur slightly darker because according to Viv, Husk is black (or at least implied), but you wouldn't fucking know that because she's terrible at representing certain groups of people. I was originally going to remove the wings entirely, but if I did, he would totally look like a furry OC, so I kept the wings, except I took away all the details and made them small. Basically his wings are for decoration.
I also made him look more like a grumpy old cat (because again, according to Viv, Husk is supposed to be in his 60's or 70's.) And finally I made him chubby because its supposed to represent a beer gut lmao-
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masn-mount · 6 months
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can you give us some cute bf Jude? just fluff! I miss your writing so much
here's something little, based on the RM game yesterday because I'm currently stuck on the longer fic I'm writing. I wrote this in like 20 minutes, it's not proofread (sorry for any mistakes) but just something little that I hope you still enjoy! xx
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The energy around you felt unlike anything you had felt before. You had watched Jude play plenty of times before, both for club and country. From when he played in Birmingham to Dortmund and now Madrid. The pride you felt as you watched him play was nothing you could describe and the love so strong it sometimes felt too much but you had always been ready to give all of it to him - just like you knew he gave all his to you.
You weren't meant to be sitting in the large stadium but you kept thinking about the game and how badly you didn't want to miss it. You had told Jude you couldn't be there, that you just had too much on your plate with work and studies and you had been close to spoiling the whole surprise when you saw how upset he got when he heard the news. Telling him to stop pouting because ou weren't there to kiss it away but unlike that day, you were just a few minutes away from getting to do just that.
You were sitting next to his mum, hands running up and down your thighs when a ball was played into the oppositions box, a ball you knew was probably the final play of the game. You could see Jude roaming around in the box and you got up on your feet, it was as if you knew he was going to be the one to score and when he did you couldn't help but jump up and down, celebrating and cheering along with all of the fans. You felt overwhelmed seeing him run around celebrating. You should feel used to it by now but every time felt just as special as his first goal for Real Madrid and what was even more special was seeing the fans do his celebration back at him.
You knew the exact moment he had spotted you. He was waving up at his mum and dad, like he always did after scoring and when he started shaking his head, his already big smile gowing even bigger. You smiled down at him, blowing a kiss his way, one that he blew right back just a second later.
You almost felt silly at how nervous you felt waiting for him in the family and friends room. The wait was longer than normal because you knew he was busy giving interviews. You were stood talking to a family member of one of Jude's teammates when the door opened and a few of the players walked in. It didn't take long for you to hear his voice followed by his laugh. You excused yourself from your conversation before walking up to where he was stood, you waited back, letting him hug his parents. You heard him ask them about you before he turned around after his dad pointed to where you were stood. It was crazy how even after so many years of knowing him, of going from just friends to boyfriend and girlfriend, the way he looked at you still made you blush. "Hi, handsome boy." You wanted to throw yourself at him but you held back.
"Hi. Y'looking like an angel, I almost thought I was dreaming." You scrunch your nose up, laughing at his teammate making fake gagging noises before walking away.
"I leave you for a few weeks and you turn into a cheese ball."
"I know you love it," you just nod, smiling up at him. "Are you going to give me a kiss or what? I think I deserve it."
You tilt your head to the side, smile never faltering, "you think?"
"Mhmm, I do." He smiles before holding up the award still in his hand. You close the small distance between you both, arms going around his torso, pulling him flush to your body. You press a gentle kiss to his neck before you speak, just for him to hear. "I'm so, so proud of you, Jude. You did so good, like you always do." His chest warms at your words, he knows you're proud of him, you tell him daily but he would never get tired of hearing you say it.
"Thank you, baby." He closes the small distance, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you deep from the start. Having missed you as much as he had, he didn't care about who was in the room. To him you were in your own little bubble. Jude's thumb was pressed to your jaw, tilting your head just right and he doesn't pull away until you do but he can't help but lean forward and press a few more short kisses to your lips because you look too beautiful smiling up at him. "By the way, I'm not happy that you didn't tell me you were coming."
"You look quite happy to me."
"I would have put on a bigger show for you if I knew you were here, sitting all pretty in my jersey." He smiled, fingertips sneaking up the hem of your shirt.
"Scoring the winning goal in the 94th minute isn't show enough for you?"
"I would have made sure to score from half the pitch, a tap in isn't quite as impressive." He says, the corners of his lips twitching up.
You laugh before reaching for the award in his hand, "well, you can consider me more than impressed."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"You'll show me just how much later?" You shake your head before slapping him across the chest because you're sure his parents heard that.
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THE BULLET IN THE BOY or
THE BOY WITH WHITE HAIR
(It’s a work in progress. Names are hard.)
Tim’s senses came back slowly. When was the last time he slept? Well, aside from passing out. When was the last time he slept voluntarily? He tried to breathe evenly and pretend he was asleep, but his mind was racing. What was he doing? He couldn’t remember anything after he went on patrol. How long ago was that?? The summer air had cooled down significantly, so it had to have been a few hours. Obviously something had gone wrong. He needed to come up with a plan before whoever had him realized that he was awake.
The first thing to note was the frigid cold against his back. He was laying on a hard, smooth floor. He assumed concrete. Water dripped somewhere and echoed loudly as it hit a puddle. So it was a big empty-ish room. Probably a warehouse. Judging by the stuffy, stale, and metallic smell, it was most likely abandoned. With blood. A sharp burning pain emanating from his left shoulder meant the blood was probably his.
If Tim hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn’t have heard the very very shallow breathing directly above him. Until extremely cold fingers wrapped something around his shoulder, jostling it. Tim reflexively took a small intake of breath at the sharp pain. It was quiet, barely noticeable but it was enough for the fingers to stop moving.
“Oh shit, you’re awake.” The voice was distinctly male, definitely young, probably a teenager.
No use in pretending now. Tim opened his eyes, surprised at how heavy they felt. Yup. He was in a warehouse. It was dark with no windows except for a few skylights on the ceiling. He was laying in the light coming from one of them with the boy sitting at his side. Moonlight outlined the boy from the skylight above. Tim couldn’t feel a breeze, yet the boy’s stark white hair moved like strong winds pulled at it. He couldn’t see a face as the boy was focused on Tim’s shoulder. Pain radiated along his arm and across his chest.
Tim attempted to sit up but found all of his limbs were heavy. What was happening? His mind felt alert, but his body was sluggish. The boy stopped what he was doing, grabbed Tim’s other shoulder and pressed down firmly on his chest. His hands were freezing. “Stop trying to move! If you start bleeding again it’s your own damn fault. I’m almost done wrapping your shoulder.”
“What did you do to me?” Tim whispered as the boy worked on winding the gauze around his upper arm.
“I didn’t do anything but you just proved my theory.” The boy huffed as he clasped two metal bandage clips on the gauze to keep it in place before sitting back.
“What’s your theory?” He had to keep the boy talking until backup arrived.
“You’re a fucking idiot.” Tim blinked. That was not the answer he expected. Maybe he did need more sleep.
“Ookayy. How did I prove that?”
“You were so focused on following that black haired kid, not to mention sleep deprived, seriously when was the last time you slept?! I thought I was bad. I sleep more than you and I’m dead.” He chuckled as if he had said something completely normal, and not something that was the equivalent of saying the sky was green. “Anyway, you were so focused on m-on him you didn’t notice you were being followed.” He slowly put his makeshift medical supplies into a backpack that had seen better days. Tim filed away the information for later. Better to keep the boy talking.
“I knew I was being followed.” At this, the boy stopped what he was doing and scoffed at him.
“Oh, really? Two guys attack you, you fight back. Not bad. You’re a better fighter than I am. Six more join and you get yourself shot in the shoulder. So I grabbed you and flew ran like hell. Hence you’re an idiot.” He gently pulled Tim up into a sitting position and propped him up with a crate. Tim’s eyes were now adjusted to the dark and he could see more. He studied him. The boy was extremely thin but surprisingly strong. He was very pale too. How old was this kid? Tim guessed younger than him. Where were his parents? Was he living on the street?
“They shot you in the deltoid.” The boy continued. Hmm, so he knows anatomy. That’s a class Tim was taking. They might be closer in age than he thought. “It wouldn’t stop bleeding so I brought you here, got the bullet out, and patched you up. It was covered in a weird substance. Probably a paralytic of some sort since you’re having a hard time moving. You obviously didn’t call for backup or they would be here already. So you’re a fucking idiot.” He zipped up his backpack.
“Why were you there?” Tim slowly and with great effort reached for his insignia. If he could just communicate with his team, he might be able to help the boy too.
“Nope, sorry. This isn’t Jeopardy. That is not a question you’re getting an answer to. Also, have you seen what you’re wearing?” At this, Tim froze. He was wearing his Red Robin uniform. He couldn’t feel his face from the drug. Was his mask still on?
Almost as if the boy could hear his thoughts, he quickly said “Your mask is on your face. And I didn’t look. I understand the importance of a secret identity. You could say I was reborn with one. Or that I have a split personality.” He laughed. Tim felt relief, but the boys words provided more questions than answers.
“Anyways, we’re just going to pretend I didn’t see you and you didn’t see me.”
“Why would we do that?” Tim continued to slowly reach for his insignia.
“We both have identities to protect.” At this, the boy crouched down to eye level with Tim. Oh shit, he’s cute. The boy’s face was surprisingly clean, with scrapes on his gaunt cheeks, and a bruise forming under his right eye. The boy was beautiful. But something was familiar about him. Before Tim had time to process what it could be the boy slowly waved his hand across Tim’s face. “You don’t need to investigate me. I’m not the boy you’re looking for.” His eyes flashed a bright glowing green. The color was eerily familiar and definitely not normal for a human. The boy had to be a meta. A meta who’d seen too many movies.
“Did- did you just try to do a Jedi mind trick on me?!”
“Depends. Did it work?” The boy smiled a half smile and Tim had to remember how to breathe.
“No.”
“Damn. Well, in any case, you won’t say anything yet. I disabled your communication device.” He pointed to the insignia. “And your tracker. Can’t have your friends follow me. Or have my enemies find me. Especially while you’re incapacitated.” The boy stood up. Tim realized he was wearing a suit too. It was all black with a white collar, belt, and cuffs. He wore white gloves and white boots. It reminded Tim of a haz-mat suit, except for the weird logo that looked like a ‘D’ and a ‘P’ combined on his chest. Despite cleaning Tim’s shoulder, his white gloves were pristine.
“Enemies?”
“My sister says I’ve gone too soft. She says I need to take care of myself first and it’s not my job to protect everyone. I know she’s looking out for me, trying to protect me like she always does. But you need to know.” He took a deep breath and looked Tim in the eyes again. The green pupils glowed and Tim could see the green swirling, like a pool of bright, sickly green. Lazarus waters. That’s what his eyes reminded Tim of. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop looking.” The boy said in a low voice. “Lives will be in danger if you don’t. Mine, my sister, my friends, your brother’s, and the boy you followed.”
“What? Which brother? Who’s after you? Who are you?”
“The dead one. The GIW. And I don’t care how good your hacker is, don’t look them up. Matter of fact, don’t even breathe in their direction. They’ll know and your dead brother will die again, except this time he’ll die a much slower, much more painful, and permanent death. If it traces back to me and hurts who I hold dear, you’ll have a much bigger, and infinitely more destructive problem on your hands.” The boy slung his backpack on and started to walk away.
“How did you know he died?” Tim asked quietly.
“Phantom.”
“What?” The boy, Phantom, turned to look at him.
“My name. It’s Phantom.” His eyes started to glow brighter, with green flames extending outward, and a smile that showed too many teeth. Tim held his breath, unable to look away. The white hair moved unnaturally with a faint bright green crown floating above his head. And Tim knew that Phantom wasn’t just a name. He wasn’t sure if he was even a meta. The boy was different. Otherworldly. A being that could and would destroy the earth if provoked. Tim knew they were no match for him and judging by the look in Phantom’s eyes, he knew it too. They stared at each other for several moments, until a faint, barely discernible noise made Phantom jerk his head away. He stopped smiling, the power he so openly displayed almost folding back into himself as he said, “Your friends are here.”
Batman and Robin emerged from the shadows. Tim was sure Red Hood was also there, along with Nightwing. Waiting in the shadows or securing the perimeter. Phantom was surrounded. Tim felt almost sad for the boy. No good deed goes unpunished, huh. But they needed to know what was going on. He had more questions. Questions that needed answers. From Batman’s stance, Tim assumed he’d heard the last part of their conversation. Saw what Phantom did. If Jason was in danger, they needed to know. They needed to stop the threat.
Phantom started laughing. His legs slowly melded together until they became a tail floating a few feet off the ground. “Aaand that’s all the time we have for today kids! Don’t forget to light a candle for your friendly neighborhood ghosts and stay away from the Guys In White. See you never!” At this, Phantom did a fake salute to Batman, bowed to Tim, and vanished into thin air before their eyes.
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dontflyawaypresley · 6 months
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Pairing: Elvis Presley x f!reader
Summary: It’s 1970. You and Elvis are in a longstanding relationship, but struggle to find time to yourselves, so Elvis sets out to change that one night and has his way with you in the bathroom at a cocktail party.
Rating: Mature/NSFW (DO NOT engage if you are under 18)
Warnings: smut, oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex, light daddy!Elvis, language
Word Count: 3,740
Putting the final touches on your look for the evening, you sense a presence behind you and glance sideways in the mirror. Sure enough, there’s Elvis looking on with curious, longing eyes. Leaning lazily against the door frame, his gaze is settled squarely on you, and yet his mind, you can tell, is elsewhere.  
“Hey El,” you smile amusedly, coaxing him out of his daze.
His brow shifts ever-so-slightly and those infamous baby blues seem to sparkle at your acknowledgment. “Hi doll,” he hums, reluctantly coaxing his body into motion and making his way across the room with the slinking, effortless gait of a tiger unaware of its own majesty as it saunters across the savanna.
His muted demeanor puzzles you a bit though. He seems... tired maybe? But it's more than that you sense. “What’s on your mind, Presley?” you ask, adding a little extra mascara to your lashes. You’d developed the habit of using his last name in order to expedite conversations in a direct but loving way.
Elvis steps forward into your personal space, places his hands on your hips and leans in close, remaining quiet for a spell as he breathes in the scent of your freshly-adorned perfume. His touch both soothes and thrills you instantly and without fail. “What if we just… didn’t go tonight?” he proposes calmly, watching as you fuss with your makeup. Your eyes shift to meet his in the mirror and the brooding expression on his face only adds to your confusion. It isn’t like Elvis to brush off social events; especially a laid-back cocktail party with friends and great networking potential.
“You know that isn’t an option El. This has been on the calendar for months. Everyone’s expecting you…” you remind him coolly, silently striving to uncover his motivation.
“Yeah, I know baby,” he nods somewhat begrudgingly, leaning in to nuzzle your neck with his nose. “Just wishful thinkin' I guess. Seeing you all done up like this-” he pauses to clear is throat. “Well, I don’t feel much like talkin’ business with the boys.”
Ahhh, so that's what this is about. The insinuation makes you blush, and you can’t help but grin and bite your lip as you spin around to face him. “Elvis…” you scold playfully, running your hands up his warm chest. You linger over the smattering of hair peeking out from beneath his low-cut shirt, breath catching as if taking in the sight of him in for the very first time. You swallow thickly, strategically avoiding his eyes as a small but sharp glint of light bounces off the pendant at the end of his necklace, catching your attention. TCB. Reaching up, your gentle fingertips trace the familiar lightning bolt insignia. “I love you to pieces El, but you know how I feel about distracting you from your work."
"I know-" he concedes swiftly and respectfully. Still, you can't help but catch the edge of deep frustration in his tone.
Before your relationship blossomed into what it is today, you'd been very frank with Elvis about not wanting to upset his career in any way, knowing you could never live with yourself should you hold him back. You also didn't want to be perceived as a cheap fling or a hindrance by the Memphis Mafia and company. So despite his many assurances, the two of you have been very strategic in how you present yourselves to the public. You support him fully, and are happy to do so, but you know it's still quite difficult for him. Being Elvis Presley comes with tremendous sacrifice and restraint in any and all relationships. He has very limited time to spend with you behind closed doors, away from cameras and expectation. So you can hardly blame the man for wanting more freedom to do as he pleases. Perhaps you're being too dismissive of his needs... but one of you has to keep a level head! And with all he gives to the world, you can't help but feel as if the burden of being 'the responsible one' falls squarely on your shoulders. All you can do is be there for him, by his side, even if you'd sometimes prefer to keep him all to yourself.
Taking a breath, hands still resting on his broad chest, you look up at Elvis with love and reassurance. "Take care of business first, babe. And we’ll see where the evening goes from there, alright?” you tease with a flirtatious glint in your eye- hand sliding up his neck to caress that stunning jawline before cradling his head lovingly.
“Yes ma’am,” Elvis agrees gruffly, seeming to gain some enthusiasm as he leans into your touch and kisses the inside of your palm. The warmth that radiates off him is infectious, and suddenly the idea of a night out seems incredibly laborious. You can't help but cling to the possibility of spending time with him later tonight.
----------------------------------------------------
A handful of times throughout the party, you can feel Elvis looking at you from where he's seated in the corner with the guys. That in itself is not unusual. However his typical, playful expression is absent, and in its place is a much more serious, calculating one. Even his posture is stiff, and you wonder if business things might not be going well.
About an hour and a half in, you find yourself making small talk with an acquaintance named Samantha. She’s the wife of some producer Elvis once worked with. Your paths had crossed a few times over the years, and it’s always a relief to see a familiar face at these uppity, industry-type gatherings. You have to admit, she always has fun stories to share about whatever celebrities she’s recently been rubbing elbows with. In fact, you’re so engrossed in one of her juicy tales that you fail to notice when Elvis unexpectedly appears at your side. It isn’t until he gives your elbow a light squeeze and Sam cuts herself off mid-sentence that you even realize the two of you have company.
“Hi there,” Elvis smiles. His tone is friendly enough, but the way he clenches his jaw tells you something is definitely eating at him. “Mind if I borrow this pretty little girl for a minute?” he asks politely, canting his head toward you and causing you to blush.
“Why not at all, Elvis,” Samantha drawls giddily, and you almost roll your eyes at how he can reduce even the most happily-married woman into a swooning schoolgirl in an instant. She excuses herself and you start to question what this is all about when his grip tightens around your arm, dragging you firmly and purposefully out of the main room and down the hall.
“Elvis!” you protest quietly, startled by the sudden, unexplained action. “Wh- what are you doing?!” Luckily no one nearby seems to pick up on anything being out of the ordinary, but he glances back over his shoulder just to make sure before pulling you into the powder room.
Your breathing is ragged as he closes and locks the door then turns to you, eyes wide and darkened with lust. Your heart thunders in your chest. You know that look. Raw hunger.
He looks like a man possessed; completely transformed from the pouty boyfriend of hours before and the perfect gentleman that interrupted your conversation just moments ago. Your throat bobs nervously at the abrupt shift in the air between you.
“Not here,” you state plainly, and with a surprising amount of assertion considering his heated gaze. Sure, being whisked away at a party has a certain appeal, but is he crazy!? There are people twenty feet outside that door! They may not have seen the needy look in Elvis’ eye as the two of you slipped in here together, but they’ll sure as hell be able to hear what comes next if he has his way.
Elvis leans forward and places his hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in as the scent of his cologne fills your nostrils like a drug. “I’m done talkin’ business for the night, and I can’t take it one more minute baby. Not with you lookin’ like this,” he professes, voice gravelly with want as he scans you from head to toe. “You’re my business too darlin’,” he declares matter-of-factly. “And I intend to take real good care of ya...” His warm breath dances intimately over your mouth, teasing you with the proximity of his incredibly inviting lips. You swallow and turn your head to the side in a feeble attempt to resist, however Elvis is not so easily defeated. His mouth descends upon your exposed neck, kissing and tonguing with adoration, as if committing your taste to memory. Lord have mercy…
“I, uh-” you start to object, but a dense fog of want creeps in over your mind, making it difficult to focus as his hands migrate to your waist and squeeze possessively.
"Mmm?" Elvis hums against your skin, and you can practically feel the bravado in the vibration of his voice. But that isn't the only thing you feel as he presses his hips forward, rolling them firmly into yours. “Did you have somethin’ to say, baby?” he asks, as if you aren't now completely distracted by his very evident erection. You can feel his lips turn upward in a mischievous smirk as he trails them along your ear. Damn him!
"Oh..." the breathy exclamation seems to fall from your mouth of its own accord as his warm hands venture deftly over your hips and beneath your dress. Your breathing quickens and despite any objections to the setting, a familiar throb of longing blooms between your legs.
“I’m so damn tired of standing on ceremony, doll. I don’t get enough time with my girl…” Elvis confesses with a gruff kind of solemnity, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as if searching for comfort. His fingers trace the hem of your underwear, slowly slipping beneath the seam. “And don’t think I ain’t noticed how you’re always tucking your feelings away for later baby. I know you need this as much as I do.”
He isn't wrong...
“El, p-please-” you stutter breathlessly. “Just another hour or so and you’ll have me all to yourself for the rest of the night!" you attempt to entice him with your last shred of rationality.
Suddenly his entire body goes rigid, and Elvis pulls back just enough to silently demand your eye. “I ain’t waitin’ an hour honey,” he snarls with resolution. And in one swift motion, he has your panties on the floor. Fuck, you've never felt so desired in all your life!
There's no use fighting it. You surge forward and capture his lips with newfound enthusiasm as electricity shoots straight to your core. Elvis smiles into the kiss, clearly thrilled at your change of heart. His hands roam over your body with fervor, seeming unsure where to begin until you feel him tug down the top of your dress, exposing your bare chest to the cool evening air.
You gasp lightly at the abruptness of the action, breaking the kiss, but Elvis doesn't miss a beat. Grabbing you by the waist, he hoists you up and deposits you squarely on the counter in front of him. It doesn't escape your notice how his eyes linger on your breasts as they bounce from the impact.
"Goddammit woman, you make me feral!" he growls, coaxing your legs apart and pushing your skirt up to give him access to the place he most craves. Elvis locks eyes with you briefly, and you know he's seeking your approval to continue. Chewing your bottom lip, you're unable to hide the flirtatious grin pulling at the corner of your mouth. You nod, and before you know it, Elvis is on his knees.
"Lord almighty, did you make all this for me baby girl!?" he asks hungrily, swiping two thick fingers through the slick mess you've managed to create in an embarrassingly short amount of time.
"Mmmhmm." You squeak at the intimate contact as he strokes your weeping slit up and down with a surprisingly-controlled rhythm, thoroughly coating his digits in your arousal.
Then he presses inside you- just once- slow and deep- stroking those sacred places that feel too good to be true, and making you tremble wantonly in the process. Elvis groans, relishing in how your body reacts to his every touch.
Pulling his hand away from your desperate cunt, he surprises you by bringing his moistened fingers up to squeeze one of your hardened nipples.
"Ahhggghhh..." you can't help the strangled whine that escapes your throat.
"Shhhhh," he tisks softly. "Gotta be real quiet for daddy, alright?" Elvis instructs in a gruff whisper. "We don't have much time, but fuck I need you baby."
You love how forthright he's being tonight. The two of you have never done anything quite like this before; not outside the walls of his suite, at least. It’s a bit daring, and unlocks something primal inside you.
"Take me, Elvis. I'm all yours,” you declare desperately. “I’ll be quiet, I promise..."
"That's my good girl,” he praises. And with a cocky grin, your man leans in and absolutely devours your aching pussy without hesitation.
Your entire body sings as his hot tongue explores all you have to offer. Head back and mouth agape, it takes every fiber of your being not to cry out in ecstasy. Elvis feels you tense up, struggling to contain yourself, and strokes your thighs lovingly as he holds you open and continues to feast. How such a gesture can feel so tender and reassuring amidst such utter debauchery is beyond you.
"Oh god, Elvis..." you whimper softly, chest heaving in effort to catch your breath. His mouth is masterful, navigating your delicate folds with intent as he alternates between teasing your sensitive clit and then pressing his tongue inside of you.
Your hips buck upward and you hiss in a breath between your teeth, not wanting to admit just how close you are to climaxing already. He’s too damn good at this!
"S'alright baby, you can let go," Elvis murmurs encouragingly when he comes up for air, briefly replacing his tongue with his fingers. Finding just the right amount of pressure- firm but gentle- he strokes your inner walls with the kind of thoughtful purpose a painter would put to a canvas. This isn't at all the sloppy escapade you were envisioning when he locked the two of you in here with a manic look in his eye.
Reaching out with one hand, you bury your fingers in his thick, black hair, tugging needily as your body strives to release the tension building up inside you while also remaining quiet.
"God, you're so beautiful doll. Look at ya, all pink and glistening just for me..." Elvis compliments, spreading your wet lips before leaning in for another taste.
Just the thought of his eyes on your naked form is enough to send any woman into euphoric rapture. But the feel of his tongue is something truly beyond words. Without realizing it, you're holding your breath, and it's as if time stops all together as your walls begin to flutter around him.
"That's it! You're so close, I can feel it darlin’. Give yourself to me lil mama..."
It's a gentle command, but it sends you careening over the edge, pussy throbbing dramatically as he consumes your delicious offering.
Lost in orgasmic bliss, everything fades to black momentarily and you aren't entirely sure how or if you manage to remain quiet. And suddenly you don't care. Let them hear. Let them all hear! Nothing is more important than how badly you need Elvis right now. Dignity be damned!
You shiver and squeak as he laps at your now highly sensitive folds. And as your climax wanes, you're haunted by just how empty you feel, whimpering needily as Elvis rises to his feet. Reaching out with impatience, you grasp at his shirt and pull him in close. Smirking, his lips glisten with evidence of the little escapade between your legs.
"Ya liked that, huh?" he asks rhetorically.
Nodding eagerly, you spread your legs even further and arch your back, presenting your body like a gift to be used at his earliest convenience. What a tease, dragging you in here like a man starved, only to flip the script and reduce you to an even needier state than him! Elvis thrives on this. He's as confident in sex as he is onstage, and it's as gratifying as it is maddening.
"Mmm, you're so unbelievably sexy honey, and ya taste just like heaven,” Elvis confesses, licking his lips as he cups your breasts and brushes his thumbs over your pert nipples. “Are you ready for more?" he asks coolly.
"Oh god, yes! Please El, I need you now!" you beg breathlessly, squirming in place.
Elvis grins deviously, swiftly undoing his pants to reveal his fully erect manhood. The sight alone has your hungry pussy practically clenching around air.
He wastes no time in running his aching cock through your sopping folds, lubricating himself in your ample arousal. He groans, low and deep in the back of his throat. “I ain’t gonna last long baby girl,” he admits raggedly. “Mmm- been imagining this all day…”
You can't take it anymore. If he's waiting for you to beg, then you will. Gladly. Winding a hand behind his neck, you capture and hold his gaze, giving him your best bedroom eyes. "I don’t care El, I just need you inside me. Please, fuck me…” you plead in a strained whisper.
That's all it takes. Lining himself up with your entrance, Elvis gently clamps a hand over your mouth in anticipation of your reaction as he slides into your wet heat with ease. Sure enough, your head falls back and a strangled cry escapes you in rejoice at the sensation of finally being filled.
Your legs wrap around him instinctively, pulling him in closer as you subtly adjust the angle of your pelvis on the edge of the counter.
Elvis remains still, relishing in the sensation of your bodies finally joining and allowing you a moment to adjust to his girth. Removing his hand from your mouth, he brushes your hair out of the way before taking your face in his hands and gazing into your eyes lovingly.
Neither of you speak. Instead, he leans in and kisses you slow and deep, with lust yes, but also with reverence. Your heart flip-flops at his unexpected tenderness, and as your tongues meet, he pulls his cock most of the way out... only to slam back in even deeper.
Elvis swallows your desperate moans with his kisses, gripping your ass as he begins to thrust in an out of you with enthusiasm. The friction is overwhelming in the wake of your previous orgasm, and the filthy, slippery sounds of your coupling would be embarrassing if you weren't so high on sex hormones.
“Ya like this, don’t ya baby?” Elvis whispers in your ear as he reaches down between your bodies to rub your clit. “Being filled with me and knowin' that at any moment someone might walk by and hear us?” he taunts darkly. "You want 'em to know you're mine, don't ya? You want everyone here to know what a good little girl you are for daddy."
“Oh god Elvis, please!” you cling to him, sensing your impending climax as he hits a sweet spot deep inside you.
"Come with me, darlin'..." he implores you breathlessly. And the strained but velvety baritone of his voice is enough to send you over the finish line again, convulsing around him as if you'd been building to this for hours rather than minutes. Within seconds, you feel him begin to pulse inside you, and the warmth that follows as he fills you with his love is unlike anything you've ever experienced. Your delicate muscles do a frenzied dance, as if greedily sucking up every drop of his generous seed.
"Fuck, you're incredible," Elvis grunts and your body quakes in response to the sound as the two of you find comfort in each other's arms. You nuzzle into his warm chest, laying your hand over his heart as your breathing slowly returns to normal. It should feel wrong, shouldn't it? Sitting here in someone else's bathroom with El leaking out of you? But it doesn't somehow... and suddenly you realize just how much the two of you are truly deprived of one another.
"I'm sorry, baby. I should've listened to you earlier," you admit sheepishly, seeking out his beautiful blue eyes that feel like home. "You were right. We obviously both needed this..." A blush rises in your cheeks as you become increasingly aware of the mess between your legs.
Elvis smiles. "Don't you worry your sweet little heart about a thing, darlin' girl. You're always puttin' me and my business first, and that's gonna change."
You nod in quiet agreement.
"Remember what I said earlier, about you being my business?" Elvis clarifies. "Well, you're the most important thing in my life, y/n, and I'm done pretending any different. I love you so damn much you don't even know."
He's said those three little words before, and yet this particular declaration feels like a milestone. The idea that you've earned a place so high in his heart almost brings tears to your eyes. "I love you too Elvis."
After placing a chaste kiss upon your lips, he finally pulls away, retrieves his pants and reaches for a towel to erase any evidence of your little tryst. The rough cloth feels harsh and foreign against your skin in comparison to his smooth, hot flesh. You bite your lip as desire creeps back into your belly. How is it possible to be this relentlessly attracted to someone?
Elvis helps you off the counter and you do your best to smooth your wrinkled dress and tousled hair in the mirror. He pockets your panties and your heart flutters as you turn to face him.
"Take me home, El. I need you again," you confess, causing his left brow to shoot up in intrigue.
"Anything for you, baby," he promises, taking your hand. "I told Jerry to have the car ready. We can sneak out the back," Elvis suggests with a wink.
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witherfide · 8 months
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the bluebird cries.
(inspired by @crystalmagpie447 ‘s winged dca!!)
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folkloresthings · 8 months
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thinking about oscar piastri and his love languages. personally i feel like he’s an acts of service + quality time kind of boy. maybe physical touch but only in private, he doesn’t give pda vibes. but acts of service? making you breakfast in bed, always opening the car door for you, bringing a spare jumper because you always get cold. and quality time? just wanting to lay on the sofa with you after a race, cancelling plans because he’d much rather follow you around the shops you want to go to.
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vicsbasement · 13 days
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I think Carlos may have a soft spot for Charles and I'm not saying this because I ship them. Carlos is always so considerate and thoughtful with him and he always seems very attuned to his needs as well. I often think about Singapore last year, because that race was right after Monza and after Carlos' mother liked that tweet about Charles and honour; you could see there was a strange air surrounding them and Carlos was glued to Charles the whole weekend but in a very discreet manner, always making sure to give him enough space. He also didn't miss the opportunity to reassure Charles that he does like his teammate (during the fan meeting with the Alpine drivers) and you can see in the clip that Charles was visibly relieved. As for Charles, before the announcement (that's how we're gonna refer to it I guess) I too thought that Charles didn't care about Carlos as much as Carlos cares about him, but boy was I wrong… They both care about the other a whole lot and it will be hard to see them part ways at the end of the season
I'm with you on this 100%. You know, after the Monza incident there was so much speculation in fandom, and then Singapore happened and we were all like, running in circles because we thought Charles was furious. I even wrote a whole fic around it because I really felt the tension, and I wasn't the only one, the Monza thing awakened a lot of feelings in a lot of people 😂 But, funnily enough, it all went away soon after. Around that fan forum you mentioned and, for example, in COTA; they were all cozy around each other all over again. They were calling each other pet names, they did the lasso thing... I think they patched it all up right around Japan. I'm willing to bet Carlos apologized to Charles about his mother's faux pas. Because he's not his mother, and Charles knows this, but Carlos still wanted to make a point to apologize to him because it wasn't nice. Especially since both of them were very much enjoying their fight on track during Monza! I do believe that Carlos was a bit affronted but when he got out of the car and Charles was looking ecstatic, he just let it go. Immediately. He'd (we'd) never seen Charles behaving like that after a race, he was elated. Which shows us, once again, that Charles really loves Carlos as a teammate and as a competitor. He does see him as his ultimate rival, in the end what's the saying? Your teammate is your biggest competitor? And that's them. There's incredible amounts of respect between each other.
And they got closer, even, after COTA and after Qatar, I'm willing to bet. They looked so close in Mexico and Interlagos, and then Vegas... like the whole united front thing looked absolutely compelling and real. They were spending a lot of time off-track together, too. I think that after Monza, they had a lot of talks. Either about life or the team, (Charles does like to insist on telling us they talk about a lot more than work whenever they do spend time together off-track) and I firmly believe they reached a point in which their friendship bloomed. They probably found common ground somewhere and decided, well, if they fans are going to constantly pit us against each other, then let's show them how wrong they are. Unfortunately we didn't get much from Charles after Carlos got hurt during the Vegas practice, but still. He was close to Carlos. Very, very close, and they behaved really sweetly towards each other during that weekend and Carlos really did lament several times that he wasn't close to Charles on track to fight the Red Bulls because of the car. I don't know, anon, if at some point I was a Charlos believer now I'm a Charlos truther because they've shown me time and time again that they genuinely like each other. As people, as teammates, as rivals. They admire and respect each other! We can't forget (we'll never forget) that time Carlos admitted to following Charles' carreer in F2. It's etched into the collective brain of the Charlos fandom. So... Yeah. Carlos Sainz Jr. having a soft spot for Charles Leclerc and his pretty eyes? Checks out. Also: the fact that Charles lets Carlos be his touchy self with him when he wasn't this tactile with any of his previous teammates says... a lot about Carlos' magnetism and power of conviction. Because he never moves away or rejects him, he's always open and waiting for Carlos to touch him. So. It's a win in all fronts tbh.
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hoodlessmads · 4 months
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Dark Heir spoiler thoughts:
Okay some of these are criticisms but please understand I really liked it! I liked it even more than Dark Rise. I’m just an overdramatic person and need to yell sometimes.
These don’t have any particular order, I’m just freestyling -
Reading Captive Prince years ago (and rereading since) before reading Dark Rise made me have an unfair resentment towards James for being basically the same character as Laurent but not as good and that continued here
Will is the second best character Pacat has ever made after Laurent and book 3 might push him ahead
I loved seeing Will use more and more of his evil powers
The best one being where he possesses anyone with a brand and his eyes turn black and he turns into Legion (maybe shoulda turned that off before trying to appeal to Violet…)
Finding out his mom actually was tying him to bedposts and beating him this whole time somehow shocked me because for some silly reason I believed one of the most unreliable third person subjective narrators ever, Will, that she was a nice lady just doing her best. Anyway I love this revelation because it makes such perfect sense, it’s just, “Oh. Of course.”
Violet and Cyprian are both himbos yet Violet is somehow the only character with a single brain cell left at the end of the book
Cyprian drinking from the cup makes no sense after they had a whole discussion in the first book about how drinking from the cup put the Stewards into the Dark King’s plans and made them his thralls and was the entire reason they died, a massacre which Cyprian experienced viscerally, and then he goes and drinks from the cup anyway and oops surprise Will can in fact enthrall him. Cyprian is able to fight it off but that doesn’t change the complete recklessness and out-of-character-ness of it to me.
Violet/Cyrprian is a good ship
Phillip/Visander is hilarious (in a good way)
Will/James is fine but I wish I was more compelled by them than I actually am. For being the main couple, I don’t feel like their relationship has been given the room it needed to develop organically and instead it feels like we’re falling back on physical attraction and a vague shadow of a past relationship in the old world that we didn’t get to see. It’s hard not to compare to Damen/Laurent which by contrast was developed so painstakingly.
Elizabeth is incredible
Visander sucks, actually
The whole Light kind of sucks. The Stewards, the Sun Kingdom, they were all assholes
People with black-and-white morality are truly terrible, aren’t they? And pretty much everyone is like that except for Will, James, and Violet
Sometimes I felt like that fact was really being hammered in on purpose almost as though to make James murdering like 300 people seem less bad (but it didn’t….)
But I don’t dislike James because he murdered 300 people, I actually love villains and I especially am attached to the idea of everyone being redeemable. But what I don’t like is the book telling me I should like James without giving me a good reason or the book downplaying his actions to make him seem more sympathetic. He can have murdered all the Stewards and still be compelling, we don’t need to diminish what he’s done in order for him to be likable
Also everyone in this book except like, Will and maybe Violet and James is an idiot (and I’ll excuse Elizabeth for only being ten). Someone send these characters to Psych 101, they don’t seem to understand the concept of a self-fulfilling prophecy…
Like obviously if you tell someone they’re evil over and over again for their whole lifetime they will become evil
Theory - I don’t think Violet will turn on Will. I think she’s just shell-shocked. She wasn’t really given a chance to take a stance before James Peter Panned him away. Violet knows exactly what it feels like to be told you are evil because of some past thing, and she knows Will better than any of the other characters. And she knows that morality is not black and white (Tom is her brother). She’ll definitely end up in Will’s corner by the end.
Theory - The line of the Lady and the line of the Dark King are the same bloodline and they split off later. Sarcean’s “cataclysmic night together” with the Lady was mentioned not once but twice. Pacat doesn’t waste lines. The child that the Lady had was Sarcean’s, or at least one of them.
Will better figure out how to destroy that collar quick…before they both get even more traumatized. I think that will be one of his main goals in book 3. Or I hope…otherwise it will be hard to develop the genuine romance
I sure hope Will can also figure out how to expel that shadow from Cyprian before he like… dies. Don’t do that to Violet D:
So, I’m not a huge fan of YA in general (outside of YA anime and manga which for some reason hits different). I used to like it a lot, it used to be most of what I read. I grew up reading series like Redwall, Darren Shan, Demonata, Pendragon, and so on. But I’ve grown out of the genre (I’m 27). Not every adult does - one of my best friends who is a year older than me still really enjoys YA. But because I don’t like YA, I think my enjoyment of Dark Rise/Dark Heir is influenced and my criticisms may be unfair.
But I find that with fantasy series like this, I the books really need to be longer. Or there needs to be more of them. I feel like Dark Rise has so many moving pieces, enough characters that there could be a trading card game (and there are literally collectible cards), so many different magical artifacts and magical powers, an entire magical old world beneath the semi-magical 1820s Europe world to develop, and also by the way a whole story that took place 10,000 years ago that has to be told at some point. I find myself feeling like all these different elements are being introduced and moved on from too fast and I wish they were all given more time to breathe. I think that’s part of why the relationship between Will and James feels a bit rushed to me. I don’t know if the short length of the series was Pacat’s choice or an editor’s, though. I don’t feel like Captive Prince had this issue because there were no supernatural elements, the cast was much smaller, and the plot was comparably simple so a lot of it got to be characters just talking to each other, which was great, and the world building was accomplished mainly through these interactions. The plot and world of Dark Rise is much larger in scope but the page count is the same (a little longer maybe).
So wait who is Mrs. Duval
Why did Ettore leave the Stewards anyway? Other than the obvious, which is that they suck
Where was Grace during the whole ending scene? Wasn’t she there but just not saying anything. As this total calamity befalls her only remaining friend group she finally has seen too much and just nopes out and is busy making tea in the corner or maybe popcorn
I do really like Cyprian btw in spite of thinking his moral code is shitty. Gave Violet a chance but sold Will for one corn chip… I see how it is (okay that’s not fair but you know what I mean, he has flaws)
It sounds like I’m in the majority when I say that I still don’t like Devon - I saw that theory about him being the final big bad and I’m so on that train. I think he’d make a good enough final villain. I agree there is something predatory about him and Tom. I don’t necessarily think Pacat wants us to root for them as a couple, though. There were better ways to pull that off if that was the intent.
Not to repeat myself but Phillip was such a pleasant surprise. Like who is this fruit and how did he get here
So next book, I hope (assume) we get to see the rest of the old world story filled in so we can understand where it all went wrong for Sarcean and also the exact nature of his relationship with Anharion because so far it’s been quite vague (intentionally I assume). Like….. you know….. did he agree to put on the collar?
The tricky thing about this series is that once the reader learns that Will is the Dark King, it’s hard to maintain any sort of external tension. Right? It’s hard to feel afraid of the forces of the Dark when the protagonist has total effortless control over them just by virtue of who he is. Will can literally just be like, “No, don’t” and everything’s fine. He did just this at the end of Dark Rise. I find the way Dark Heir seems to end with their “only hope of stopping the Dark army” destroyed to be pretty unconvincing. Why on earth would Sarcean create a destructible object that is the only way of controlling his own army? Of course Will should be able to control them with his will alone. If he can control Shadow Kings and make them die with his words alone, why didn’t he try yelling at the shadow army to stop trying to possess people? This doesn’t make sense to me. And if people become Returners through his magic, shouldn’t he be able to exert some control over their existence the way he does with the branded? Pacat has done a good enough job at getting us to know Sarcean (an extremely good job btw) so as to make the destroyed brand plot point unbelievable. Anyway…
Instead, the tension in Dark Heir is almost entirely internal or realized in character relationships rather than physical threats. The tension is between Will and himself, and between Will and his friends. (There are tensions between other characters but focusing on the main plot here.) The possibility that they might find out and abandon him, and the possibility that he might actually be as nasty of a guy as Sarcean was, the slim chance that he might learn something that makes him go, “You know what, I agree with my past self after all.”
Now that everyone has found out who he is, that particular source of tension has sort of evaporated, so now in book 3 Pacat has to find a way to make Will’s conflict with himself and his friends compelling enough to carry us through 450 pages (I don’t expect this will be difficult). What I see as the problems now are 1) what was Sarcean actually planning and how did he plan on getting Will (himself) to fall in line with them (this was a question in Dark Heir as well but now it’s bigger), 2) how is Will going to destroy his own (Sarcean’s) Dark artifacts so he can free James, and 3) Can he convince anyone to ever love him (oh no ouch).
If I had to rank these books at this stage I’d probably give Rise a 3.7 ish…. and Heir a 4.2. I’m holding out for Dark King to be a 5 or close. (I don’t know what the actual title will be, I’m just guessing lol.) I definitely think Dark Heir is an improvement over Dark Rise since I always thought the most interesting part of the latter by far was everything that happened once Will learns he is the Dark King at the very end.
“Are we going to talk about the magic pseudo-sex scene—“ No and I hope we never will
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lunarvicar · 8 months
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can’t decide if I think ghost would have military-standard crew cut under the mask bc utility or if he’d have some kind of god awful britpop skinfade bc that’s what his barber knows what to do and he can’t be arsed to go anywhere else
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elizabethemerald · 1 year
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DP/DC Week 2022: Mistaken Identity
AO3
Danny was tired. That wasn’t really anything new, but it still felt like just one burden too many. Danny was homeless. Danny was on the run from his parents and the GIW. Danny was desperately trying to heal from when his parents vivisected him. And on top of all that he was tired. 
He hadn’t been able to really get consistent sleep since the accident. Late night ghost attacks were far too common in Amity Park for him to really get the sleep he needed. He thought for sure now that he was away from his home he would sleep better. Except Gotham was in many ways worse. There were explosions, gunshots and Rogue attacks at all hours of the night. There were the constant nightmares of feeling his parent’s hands inside his…
At least there weren’t any ghosts. 
Except…
There were. 
Quite a few ghosts followed him from Amity to Gotham. Cujo, of course, had tailed along, because Danny could only barely get the ghost dog to obey his orders at the best of times and they were still working on “Stay.” Ember had dropped by to check on him. “Just to make sure her ‘Babypop’ was Ok.” Even Clockwork, Fright Knight and a few of the Observants had dropped by to ensure the Ghost King was recovering a pace. For some reason, Boxy had followed him to Gotham, because “Where Phantom goes, boxes follow.” Danny couldn’t even begin to parse out that statement. 
As if the Amity ghosts following Danny when he explicitly said he wanted to remain hidden wasn’t bad enough, apparently having the Ghost King in Gotham gave the local ghosts enough juice to cause even more problems if they wanted to. And Gotham had a lot of ghosts. A lot of people died with their emotions high, with things in their life left undone, or with a grudge to bear in this city. 
Ghost attacks in Gotham suddenly went from zero to an all time high. If Danny didn’t get a handle on the situation soon Gotham’s daily ghost attack numbers would beat even peak Amity numbers. Danny couldn’t even do anything against the hordes of ghosts while he was healing. He had to simply watch over the city as his people caused problems for the living. Danny had even seen the Joker getting chased down the street by numerous Jokerized ghosts looking to tear him apart. He couldn’t have intervened even if he wanted to, not that he really wanted to get between the Clown, his numerous victims and their well deserved revenge. 
With Danny still out of commission, while the scars on his chest healed and his organs finished regenerating, the ghosts of Gotham were left to the vigilantes of Gotham. The Bats were woefully unprepared for a sudden incursion of ghosts. Fortunately, Gotham itself, whatever ancient spirit of the city gave Gotham its perpetual gloomy and melancholy vibe, seemed to like the Flying-Fury-Brigade and the bats were safe from overshadowing and could disperse ghosts for a short time with their attacks. However, dispersing the ghosts for a few hours did nothing to stop the overwhelming number of ghosts currently in the city, and Danny knew the Spirit of Gotham wouldn’t be able to maintain that protection indefinitely without rest or assistance. 
At least Danny had managed to find an abandoned Warehouse, far enough from the main centers of crime, where he felt he could actually rest for a few hours. He needed to rest. He was so tired and his body couldn’t repair itself, even with the ambient ectoplasm that now filled Gotham’s streets without rest. Except, apparently even this far off corner of the city couldn’t go undisturbed. 
Just as Danny had managed to curl up under a stolen blanket in a corner office his rest was disturbed again by the sounds of crashes and thumps. Only, this time they were coming from far closer. Danny groaned as he dragged himself to his feet, his blanket, which was more hole than fabric at this point, wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. 
Ancients, he hoped it wasn’t Box Ghost, even as he walked past stack after stack of long abandoned boxes and crates that filled this warehouse. 
If his heart hadn’t already stopped long ago when he first stepped into the portal it would have stopped now. There standing in the warehouse he had chosen to hide in, was a large, broad shouldered man, with dark hair and a bright, orange, jumpsuit. Jack Fenton had found him. 
* * *
Bruce was tired. That wasn’t really anything new, but this was almost to a whole new level. On top of running a multinational corporation, assisting with JLA missions, and protecting Gotham from his regular Rogues gallery, his city had some become infested with ghosts. Which were apparently real. And a real problem. 
He had tried to reach out to Justice League Dark, but Constantine had taken one look around the streets of Gotham, declared them all “properly fucked,” then opened a portal to somewhere that stank of sulfur and promptly disappeared. Batman had taken a single moment to allow himself a long, world-weary sigh, before he got back to work. 
If he wasn’t going to be able to get magical help with their problem, maybe technology would do. Barbara and Tim had spent hours trawling the internet, cracking bizarre morphing firewalls and verifying ludicrous claims before eventually finding the Fentonworks website. Barbara had sounded like she wanted to pull her hair out when she described the archaic design for the site, but the Doctor’s Fenton seemed to have weapons and tools that could be used to counter the ghostly threat. 
For some reason, that none of Bats could determine, they were kept safe from the Ghosts that now inhabited Gotham. They had all felt the ghosts try to enter their bodies, yet they had all felt the ghosts get repelled by some unknown force. They had personally seen that no one else in Gotham seemed to share that same immunity, cops, goons, civilians and rogues alike had all been possessed and controlled by the ghosts, yet Batman and his family were safe. 
That sort of unexplainable defense would never sit well with Batman. He needed something tangible, something he could see, touch and modify himself before he was happy. So when Oracle and Red Robin had managed to find Fentonworks he was all but ready to jump on the opportunity even if they turned out to be a hoax. Just as Wayne Tech had subsidized gas masks to counter Joker Gas and Fear Toxin, he would buy up the Fenton’s entire supply to keep his citizens safe. 
Oracle digging deeper into the Fenton files stayed his hand. The Fentons apparently had a considerable amount of data and research on the Ghosts. Except even a cursory glance at their papers showed them to be wildly biased against what they termed “ecto-entities.” Even in their brief experience with ghosts each of the Bats could clearly see that they were thinking and feeling beings. They had some small success with talking ghosts down from attacks on civilians that showed them to be capable of rational thought and empathy. 
Batman decided that the only safe option was to acquire some of the Fentonworks products secretly and see if they could be reconstructed by Wayne Tech. So Oracle had purchased a small number of items, a jumpsuit, the Fenton Peeler and a thermos? Robin had much to say about the inanity of their naming conventions and product designs. The order was shipped through a number of shell companies and across the country to ensure no one knew that Bruce Wayne was interested in Ghost hunting equipment. 
The shipment had finally arrived, after a few delays and a few extra reroutes to throw off any trackers, in a warehouse far away from the crime centers of the city. Bruce would be able to sort through the supplies in safety, before handing them off to Tim to try and take apart or modify. 
He found the protective jumpsuit to be too tight to be able to wear over his armor as Batman, so he shed the outer layers in order to wear the orange hazmat suit. The color really was horrifically bright. He couldn’t imagine any of his rogues, or any of his children for that matter seeing him something so bright. He was just about to reach for the Peeler when he heard a sharp breath from behind him. 
Batman whirled, reaching automatically for a utility belt that wasn’t there, to find a child behind him. The boy couldn’t be older than Tim, maybe 16 at most, with dark hair and blue eyes. Eyes that were wide with panic and fear. If he had been wearing his cowl he could understand why the child seemed to be so afraid of him, but he was merely wearing the orange jumpsuit. 
The boy immediately started sobbing, terrified tears rushing down his face, as he stumbled backwards, tripping over a ratty blanket as he went. He fell hard and Batman swore he heard something pop over the sound of the boy’s tears. He took a step forward in concern and the boy immediately threw himself further back, cowering with his arms crossed over his head to ward off any blows. 
“Please dad! It’s me. It’s Danny! Please, I’m alive, Dad, I’m alive.” Bruce was thrown by the boy, no, Danny’s words. “Dad, please don’t hurt me, I’m alive, I’m Danny, please dad, please.” 
Bruce reached for him, but Danny cringed away from his hand. In that moment he could see Danny squinting at him past tear-filled and tired eyes. His terrified eyes were only focusing on the orange of the suit. Bruce leaned back and zipped the suit down and pulled it off his shoulders as fast as he could. 
“Danny, I’m not going to hurt you.” Bruce called softly, trying to keep his voice calm and comforting like he had used with his own sons. “You’re safe, Danny. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Danny looked up at him, past his own tears. 
“You promise? Dad, you promise?” 
“Of course, Danny. I promise. You’re safe.”
Suddenly, Bruce’s arms were full of sobbing teenager as the boy flung himself at him. Bruce immediately held him tightly, one hand going to his hair as he held Danny tight to his chest. He could only barely contain his own grief at the fear Danny had been experiencing. 
After several minutes of crying Danny started to pull back away from him. 
“Dad, I was so scared, I-” He wiped his eyes as he looked at Bruce. Then wiped them again. Then his eyes widened in renewed fear that Bruce hurried to try and alleviate. 
“I’m sorry, I’m not your father.” Bruce kept his voice gentle. “But I meant my promise. You’re safe, Danny. I’ll protect you.” 
Danny started to shy away, but winced and a hand went to his chest. Bruce’s eyes widened as blood spots appeared on his shirt. Bruce grabbed him immediately and held him close as he stood. 
“We need to get you to a hos-”
“No hospitals.” Danny whispered. “They’ll kill me if they find me.” 
Bruce ground his teeth. This child who was injured, clearly exhausted and scared out of his mind was afraid to go to a hospital. He nodded then pulled his cowl over his head one handed as he carried Danny to the Batmobile. The Batcave was the best place for Danny to get medical care and the Batmobile was the fastest way to get there. 
“Oracle, I have an injured child.” Batman growled into his coms as he buckled Danny into the passenger seat. “Clear a route to the Cave and inform Agent A and Dr. T that they have a patient incoming.” 
“Understood Batman.” Oracle’s voice came through his ear piece. 
Batman studiously ignored his other children asking if he was bringing them another sibling. Just because he was already filling out the mental adoption papers for the traumatized teen, didn’t mean he had to dignify them with a response. In the passenger seat, Danny eventually gave into the exhaustion from the day and fell asleep as the Batmobile roared toward the Batcave, and his future home.
TAGS: @starkcravingmad, @blacksea21090, @rainybyday
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navigatorsnorth · 10 months
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The City-Ships of the Divine Fleet
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