A Persuasive Argument - dpxdc
"Great!" Danny says, clapping his hands together to get everyone's attention. The dinner table falls silent as everyone looks towards him. It's a full house today and, honestly, Danny's a little nervous. "I'm sure you're all wondering why I gathered you here today."
"It's dinnertime. In our house." Duke mutters, while doing a very bad job of concealing his yawn. He holds his fork poised over the braised beef, but, just like everyone else, still looks towards Danny before tucking in. It's intriguing enough to wait.
"Yeah, no one misses Alfie's dinner." Dick says, with a brilliant smile that Danny can't help but return.
"Precisely! What better time to talk to you all than when you're all actually here!"
"Wait, I thought you came round to work on our English essays?" Tim asks, blinking owlishly.
"I'm afraid I've lured you here under false pretences, Tim."
"This is where I live."
"I would still really appreciate help on that essay though, I mean, what the hell is Hamlet even about? I just don't get that old time-y language, like 'Hark! A ghost hath killed me!' - absolute rubbish, what does that even mean?"
"The ghost never kills anyone in Hamlet, he's there to tell Hamlet that he was murdered. Have you actually read it?"
"No, but it sounds like you have. Tim, I want this guy to help me with my essay instead. I know for a fact that you haven't read Hamlet, either."
"So? We don't need Jason, I've read the Sparknotes."
"Hi Jason, I'm Danny, pleasure to meet you, summarise Hamlet in three sentences or less."
"Am I auditioning to help you write your essays? I can't believe you’ve gone through your whole school life without reading it, it’s good!"
"Hamlet, along with a number of other classics, was banned in our house because it portrayed ghosts as intelligent and sympathetic beings rather than evil, animalistic beasts. I didn’t even get to see The Muppet's Christmas Carol until last year with Tim! It was surprisingly good, and I hate Christmas because everyone always argued and it sucked. But we're getting off topic. I—"
"No, no, please go back to that, because what the fu—"
"Boys, please." Bruce interrupts, looking to the world as if he wants to hang his head in his hands. "Danny, you were about to say something?"
"Oh, yeah, Mr. Wayne! Thanks!"
"Please, call me Bruce."
"Well, that very succinctly brings me to my point, because I'd actually really like to call you dad."
Nobody says a word. Nobody even blinks, all as shocked as the other, watching open-mouthed as Danny pulls his laptop out from beside his chair. Bruce can definitely feel a headache coming on.
"Before you say anything, I've prepared a 69 slide PowerPoint presentation on why you, Bruce Wayne, should adopt me, Danny Last-Name-Pending. Please save your questions, comments, and verdict until the end, thank you."
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stsg x angel
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒
snippet: measly 0.5k of an insight into my poly!stsg brain. reader is neutral!
warnings: stsg it it's own warning. suggestive language, suggestive dom/sub behavior and dynamics. reader being a pouty angel ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ also, proabably poorly edited
author's note: dawg i just had some inspo and had to put thoughts to paper. and i must share! please enjoy my brain rot, my little clan of followers and those who will be searching in these tags.
˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰₊˚⋆⭒
“Would you suck the strap?”
“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru. Please don’t start right now.”
“But I’m serious!”
“Shut up, Suguru is still sleeping.”
“I’m not.”
You palm your face, glaring at Satoru through your fingers, “You woke him up.”
“I doubt me talking about your sexual tendencies woke up the household princess.”
“Can you just flip the pancakes?”
“Oh, you’re making pancakes?” Suguru murmurs, gruff and syrupy. His hair is haphazard, yet silky and smooth. The frizzled strands frame his angular, gaunt face. It’s too cold for there to be color in his face, kissed by late moonlight instead.
“Yes, like the mother hen I am.”
Suguru has a sleepy, languid smile on his face when he watches you roll your eyes. You’re in the prettiest pajama set- cozy and warm and accentuated, eyes still riddled with sleep, head of hair a little out of place. But the light flooding the kitchen makes your cheeks glow.
“We don’t need a mother hen in the house.”
“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, waving around a spatula with chunks of gooey batter threatening to splash against the back of the kitchen wall, “‘Toru, please make me some breakfast. Toru, I’ll give you a kiss if you-“
“I didn’t say that.” You bark, brows furrowing. Placing your hands on your hips, you frown.
Satoru beams. “You might as well have- it was with your eyes.”
“My eyes?” There’s a pout on your face when Suguru has the audacity to smile. “They were half closed when I walked into the kitchen this morning-“
“They wouldn’t have been if you drank the tea I made you-“
“I did drink it.”
“Oh?” Satoru’s lips quirk, satisfaction apparent in his shrewd smile. “You’re such a good pet for listening.”
Your cheeks burst into flames, mortification further trailing into the deep lining of your gut when the little, white haired freak has the audacity to coo. Suguru holds a hand up, and both of you quiet. Submission is a small word compared to what authority he can pull from the two of you.
“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru.”
And you smile, looking at the man who might as well have hung the moon and stars and sun himself. Shit, he might as well be the sun. The gravitational pull of the planet of you and Satoru that make it bearable living together.
That shatters briefly when he murmurs slyly to Satoru as he flips a partly burnt pancake, “Give it at least an hour or two before you start making her look like that.”
“Suguru.” You whine and he smiles the type of smile that melts your insides.
Huffing a breath, he tells you about going to get ready, to be good before he leaves the kitchen- abandoning you and Satoru in a vice like silence. There’s a pout on your face, laboriously crawling onto the kitchen counter to swing your sock-covered feet while the devious little shit continues to stack up pancakes as though there were four more of you in the house.
But they have an insatiable appetite, so it's a comment you hold with a bite of your tongue.
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