Can’t stop thinking about princess and knight Pearlina.
Pearl is MC Princess, and her Japanese name literally means “princess”. Marina was an elite Octoling soldier. Superficially, they are a princess and a knight.
Personality-wise, though, it’s the other way around. Marina wants to be a storybook princess, atop a tower, waiting for Pearl to rescue her. She wants to be protected, and Pearl wants to protect her, in turn — only ever scared when she fears for Marina’s safety.
Pearl, “MC Princess” from a rich family, aggressively defends and protects her princess Marina without fear, and Marina, once an Octoling soldier, gets to rely on and swoon over her beloved “brave Pearl”. Like…
Do you even get it. Do you even get it…
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Crying because I imagined Damian quietly observing Bruce with the other birds, -- who surpassed his Baba in height, -- and taking in what he's seeing.
Bruce picks Dick up, brows tied with effort. He doesn't miss the wince.
A part of him wants to wake his older brother up and tell him to get himself upstairs, but Dick clings to their father tight. Damian realizes how mean that'd be.
" I'm fine,'' Jason does this a lot; Pretending. They're a family of actors, after all. Blood or not. " I'm not 10, I'm perfectly capable of walking out of this car by myself."
Bruce nods, " Okay."
"...My ankle hurts, actually."
Damian noticed, more sorrow than envy, that Jason holds Baba tighter than all of them. And that Bruce holds him back tenfold tighter. They love Gofham, -- but they'll never trust her again.
Tim and Cass are easier to work around. They both get piggyback rides. He doesn't miss Jason and Dick being upset about that.
But He also doesn't miss the blurry sadness in Tim's eyes when Bruce needs a minute of rest after, or that he's looking Baba in the eye instead of up at him.
He doesn't miss Cass' joy dulling slightly when Bruce can't quite toss her in the air as easily as he used to.
" What are you doing, Habibi? It's bed time. We have to call mama for the goodnight call."
Damian nods. He makes grabby hands, an embarrassing habit he picked up from Dick, but not one he's willing to kill off from his system because it makes Bruce grin.
" I'd like to talk to her alone for a minute."
"Of course. I'll be right back, honey."
Damian's bedroom window gives him a clear view over the moon.
He sees the bat signal shining across the ashy Gotham skyline. He knows Bruce won't be right back until morning time, brusied and beat.
Damian says goodnight to his mother. He refuses to give any updates on Baba's dating life. No, mother, he won't skin Vicki Vale alive.
Damian googles How to stay small before going to sleep in Bruce's bedroom, where he finds the others already sleeping there
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Concept: Jaime having a lot of left over adrenaline from a fight so he fucks the reader up against the nearest wall
post-fight. - jaime reyes x reader (nsfw warning!)
it happens more often than Jaime admits, but less often than you complain to him about it for.
Jaime has you pressed against the back of the wall in some run-down alleyway, only half of his suit deactivated as he's rutting into you desperately, the sweat and blood still on the back of his armor, his sweat running down his sides as you cling onto his biceps for life, exhausted panting and whimpers slipping past your lips as you stare at him disappear into you with a lewd squelch each time.
"I'm sorry." He whimpers into your ear. "You just— looked so good, mi vida, I just—"
You moan as he presses his lips to yours, desperate to muffle the moans coming out of your mouth, yet wanting to keep listening to them. Maybe swallowing them would work.
It doesn't, but Jaime does get the reward of you biting his bottom lip as he feels you spasm around him, your orgasm ripping through your body as you gush around him, and Jaime only speeds up to chase after his own high, pulling from your lips to tell you how pretty you were, whimpering and moaning quietly over you, eyes raking your body to see how dazzling you were when covered in a layer of sheen from the sweat.
and when he feels his own orgasm rip through him, chest pressed to yours as he gasps into your ear, he makes sure to clean you up, tongue pressed to your you, drunk on the taste of you and him mixed together, hums from his chest shooting up your spine and causing your fingers to fly to his hair, whimpering.
and when he finishes, his suit finally comes off completely as he holds you in his arms, mumbling into your ear about how good you were for him, how he was sorry for taking the adrenaline out on you again, pressing you to his chest as he lets you fall limp in his hold and get some well-deserved rest, he presses a kiss to your forehead and takes care of the rest. After all, it's the least he can do for you.
reblogs are appreciated ( •́ω<;)✧
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My hold's so filled with grief there's no place to stow more.
-Herakles, Euripides (translated by Tom Sleigh)
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