Baking pancakes on a chafing dish - Jan Hendrik Weissenbruch
Dutch, 1824-1903
Watercolour on paper , 35.2 x 27.0 cm.
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DC x DP Prompt
The wail isn't the only thing Danny can do with his voice.
He finds this out when he is hanging out on a date with his new friend soon-to-boyfriend Jason, and the cafe they're in gets fear-gassed.
Jason and everyone else in the cafe start to lose their shit and Danny doesn't know what to do. Most of his powers were locked away because Gramps wanted him to enjoy a normal-ish college life!
On the verge of tears, Danny remembers a time when Ellie was having a nightmare, and he found that singing to her soothed her.
And in a desperate attempt, Danny began to sing.
It was a soft soothing melody, so soft that realistic speaking, no one should have heard it. But the entirety of Gotham did.
In those few moments, the effects of the fear gas disappeared, and whatever anger, fear, helplessness, emptiness, loneliness, whatever negative emotion was being felt at that time dissipated as well.
For once, Gotham air didn't feel so heavy.
And Danny was sure he scored himself a second date.
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I think when given the opportunity Sanemi makes love to you, and much prefers it that way, compared to fucking you all the time.
He cages you down onto the tatami mat in your room at the estate, forearms to either side of your head, keeping his weight from completely crushing you- for the time being. He takes his time in molding his mouth to yours and swipes his tongue out, seeking entry.
He teases though, catching your bottom lip between his teeth when you part for him. Does it just to hear your soft gasp before sucking on it hard-releasing you with a pop. He runs the tip of his nose along your cheek to your ear, presses a chaste kiss to the shell of it, before moving down to your pulse- laving his tongue against your skin, feeling your bounding heart beat.
He feels your excitement in the air between you; smoothes a hand along your side, rough fingers kneading into you- grounding you to the moment when you whine for him to do something- anything for him to move faster. He shushes you with the thumb of his other hand, urging you to take the digit past your lips, utterly uninterested in being rushed with you. It doesn’t take much convincing- seemingly eager to be occupied with more of him. He swirls the pad along your tongue in lazy circles; slowly you take him farther in, bobbing your head at your own pace.
He smooths his palm the rest of the way to your knee, hooking his hand there and wrapping you around him. He groans low when you raise the other and lock your ankles together, pulling him close to you.
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