masterpost cw: cannon typical violence, pls no editing or concrit <3
Tim woke up with the smell of chlorophyll still burning his nose. Wherever he was, it was cold. A hard surface bit into the side of his arms. Stone, not concrete, he figured by how smooth it was. There were ropes around his ankles and wrists, because of course there were.
“Timothy Drake, do you know why you are here?” A voice asked, echoing through the space.
Tim managed to twist his head in their direction. Or several thems.
“The Mad Hatter is throwing a masquerade party?” Tim asked with a warble in his voice. He didn’t have to work at seeming terrified. He was terrified. The owl masked figures surrounding him would rightfully terrify anyone who knew. The Court of Owls was very real, and they were there.
“Hardly,” the figure with the gold barn owl mask scoffed. “That fool was a useful source of information and a handy distraction.”
“With his actions in the spotlight, there were plenty of shadows cast for us to act in,” the one with the screech owl mask added with poorly restrained glee.
Tim wished he knew less about what different owls looked like. The rest of the figures stayed deep in the darkness, deep enough that Tim could only assume that they were Talons.
“Why were you after me?” Tim asked “Why am I here?”
“You are here, because a debt is owed,” the barn owl said.
“A debt?” Tim asked even as a worrying though settled into the back of his brain. “I’m seventeen! I don’t have any debts!”
Which was a bit of a lie. Tim, or rather Red Robin, had plenty of favors that he owed and was owed, but none of them were with the fucking Court of Owls. Which only could mean…
“A debt of the blood is a debt of your own,” the screech owl said, still viscously gleeful.
“Jack Drake came to us for the means to save his precious company, a company too much ignored while he was away playing archaeologist. He was to pay us in certain artifacts of interest,” the barn owl explained. “And yet now he is dead, and the debt has gone unpaid.”
“You were his contingency,” the screech owl explained. “The first born given up without hesitation as backing. And now we have come to call.”
“You are finally old enough to be taken for payment,” the barn owl said. He unfolded his arms from the sleeves of his dark robe. An ornately wrought blade glinted in his hand. “You will be our most glorious Talon yet.”
-
He had to focus.
The city was so loud. Loud and busy and full. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
No, no. It wasn’t. Tim was one of his now. Tim was one of his and that meant that Danny could find him. He just needed to focus.
Think of it like a engineer. There’s was too much noise in the data. He had to either remove the noise, which he couldn’t do, or strengthen the signal. The signal, Tim had to have become part of his ‘fraid. Tim was part of Phantom now.
Danny took off running, uncaring of the people he pushed past.
Uncaring of the wings that were bursting from his back.
Of the shouts of surprise.
There!
Down that alley, across the street, another, a turn, an alley—
A dead end.
No. There hidden in the shadows a manhole with a glinting brass owl on it.
Danny yanked the cover off with taloned hands, pulling it off of mechanics that he didn’t have time to figure out.
A dark tunnel was behind it. Danny pulled his wings tight against his back and pressed forward.
-
“So, ah, not actually a debt of blood!” Tim said before he had even managed to get his mind around the fact that they wanted to use him as a Talon. “Jake Drake wasn’t my father, blood wise, which means I wasn’t his first born son.”
“A shame for you that you still care the weight of his name, then,” the barn owl says. They stroke the blade in a way that makes Tim shudder.
“I’m a Wayne now,” Tim argued.
The one with the blade stepped closer.
He just had to stall. Danny must have noticed; he would have called Bruce. All Tim needed was time. He had to keep them talking. “What—what’s a Talon?”
“Our elite assassins. It is an honor to be one of them,” the screech owl said.
“Assassin? You want me to be an assassin?!” Tim asked as he he hadn’t been trained by assassins. The Court of Owls very much did not need to know that about him.
“Not want,” the screech owl cooed, “We will make you into one. You will be our Talon. Golden and glorious. You will finally have a worthwhile purpose.”
“Happy with my current purpose!” Tim said sincerely. “I’m really don’t see how I can be an assassin. I mean, the only sport I do is skateboarding! And I still fall off that thing!”
The screeched owl chuckled. The sound was distorted by the mask and the subterranean space. “We will take you and train you and mold you into one.”
“It’s quite a process,” the barn out said calmly, “but first you have to be dead.”
-
Each branch of the tunnels looked the same. But they weren’t. There had to be a way to tell. There had to be a way to get to Tim. He had to focus.
Danny closed his eyes. He needed to stop relying on what he saw. He needed to focus on what he felt.
Dashed down the tunnels, following the tug of connection. Wings pressed against the walls of the tunnel. His many hands—talons—hands clawed against the brick and concrete, pulling him forward rapidly.
Tim was HIS and he was close.
-
“Wait!” Tim struggled against the ropes. Secret identities by damned, Tim needed to be gone now. “I have to be more use in some other way. Drake Industries—”
“Is a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprise now.”
“But I have a trust fund!”
“And we have ways of getting that money if we had need of it. I assure you, it isn’t hard.”
“I—”
“We already have plans for you. After all, who better to slip through Bruce Wayne’s defenses than a long missing son?” the screech owl cackled. “And with you, the only heir who would have been able to do anything of use with Wayne Enterprise gone…”
“Surely you can see now, why it has to be you.”
“Please! My real father—”
“Your real father will have a son to mourn,” the barn owl hissed.
The way the ornate knife slipped between Tim’s ribs was almost gentle. It pulled a soft, soundless gasp from Tim.
Kent ramble incoming ehehe.. gonna be dumping all my nasty old man ideas onto you and neet cause i love how u two write him <33 (if that’s all right, that is)
But ive been thinking ab the farmer going to a free use/glory hole & Kent following her.. she’s trying to get her feelings for Kent out of her system with an anonymous fuck but she ends up getting used by him without her even realizing. He ends up giving himself away while they fuck and he makes sure she can’t do anything but take it while he admonishes her for even thinking about going to anyone else- nobody will be able to fuck her like he can ( ˋ⁻̫ˊ) Ψ
@neetily we're being fed •///• and now my brain has been sparked, whoops, I wrote smth..
Need Kent to dump his cu
Longing for Kent at the Glory Holes</3
Warnings: age gap, implied infidelity, glory holes, cum.. like a lot of it... piv, fingering, cunilingus, daddy talk, choking, general sashiavi nastiness yk how it is
You knew you were wrong for it. Watching the older man from across the bar, late nights at the saloon, knowing better that you shouldn't- You couldn't! You cannot be thinking about him like this.
Not when you're best friends with his son, always around the house, coming out of Sam’s room for a glass of water when you know Kent would be lounged on the couch - Just to give him a little, nervous wave. It was wrong.. skittering around his home with his family around, catching a greedy glimpse of him any time you could, eyes flicking to him at the dining table after his own wife had invited you to stay for supper.
You shouldn't eye him up like that at the luau, eyes locked on to the heavy drag of his boardshorts, weighted down with the drippings of ocean water. Just below his tummy, soft with age and fit with his lifestyle, happy trail moist and tacky against his skin as it disappears into his bottoms. The fabric runs taught on his hipbones, deliciously low before the show is over and he pulls them up with a hook of his thick finger.
You're embarrassing yourself - Wearing pretty outfits in his presence, that ditzy demeanour truly born up from the bubble of anxiety swirling in your tummy from just being around him! So nervous and stuttery, dolly eyes flicking up to Kent's hardened gaze.. Of course it works, of course he starts cracking, falling for a sweet cutie like you.
But you don't know that- So lost in your worrying, dreamy and sweetly moaning into your knuckles as your cunt squelches around your fingers, milky and gushy insides making a mess on your fingers. Crying for him, mewling out his name unapologetically as you carefully sink yourself down on your new dildo - Silky and velvet silicone, fat in width, kissing yours insides while your vibrator buzzes aggressively against your pert clit in an attempt to soothe the wild stretch.
But soon that's not enough, is it? Such fantasies carried out all alone? You needed more, but you couldn't have him... Right?
You couldn't fool around in town either - Whispers would carry faster than the wind. You needed an out.
The Calico Desert was far enough.. An elusive Casino stands with an underground secret, Red Rooms for pleasure, anonymous glory holes for those who just needed a release with no strings attached. A perfect place for your fantasies, with real partners to play with!
Especially your new mystery man..
With his weighty cock poking through the cut out hole in the wall, struggling to stand tall with the sheer thickness of it, bobbing with arousal. It was pulsey, a thick vein running up the undershaft giving a flex as blood rushed to the rosy pink tip oozing up droplets of milky pre cum, practically dripping like drool, Yoba, it was as if it was crying for you.
He was thick, girth making irony saliva pool under your tongue, swallowing proving pointless at the sight of this cock - Picture perfect for your fantasy, a thick brush of hair on his base and balls, sack hanging heavy surely filled with plenty of thick, ropey cum. Scent the perfect musk, it felt manly- One of the traits that drew you to liking Kent in the first place!
Not like the people you hung out with, those younger males that could be the picture perfect partner for you, save for just how unsure they were about everything. Or those other Bachelors.. A little older and still just as lost- Kent had a bout of maturity attached to him, life seemingly plenty figured out, stable.. And yet you wanted to break it down.
Any guilt that dared to ping in your chest didn't last long. Not with the crane of your partner's hips, forcing the head of his cock to press a wet kiss to your cheek. If only he could see the hearts in your eyes, the dribble of spit that slipped from your tongue as you licked your lips
Soon, his length was down your throat, fat and chubby tip gagging up a sweet gurlgy moan, spitty and slick from your lips, wrapped around his thick length. He played rough with you, a heavy hand coming through the hole opening, thick fingers twirling into your hair for a better grip. Forcing your throat to be a personal toy, a rough face fucking you could only dream about.
You jaw aches, stingy with the stretch of this stranger's girth, tongue sore from rough use- Your eyes roll, bleary and pooled with fat tears, looking up all crossyee at nothing, pretending you were locking eyes with the Military Man that had tugged on your heart. Soft hazels surely hardens with a scrunch of his brow, nose crinkled in hot pleasure.. You blink your tears, letting them roll down your cock filled cheeks.
Your pussy drools, pooling behind the sheeny fabric of your panties, sticky to the touch of your fingers as you rub, easily bleeding through the fabric. Your mind chants his name, over and over like a mantra, 'Kent, Kent, Kent~!' Throwing in dirty-sweet petnames into the mix, Would he let you call him Sir? Mister Military Man so strong and authoritive? Would he groan if you cried out something more? 'Daddy, Daddy! Oh pleaseee Daddy!' Begging on your knees for him, that gentle and sweet family man taking out all those frustrations on your body. You breathe against your mystery man's base, huffy and hyper, desperate to take him all.
It's so much, maybe even too much. The perfect fantasy nearly coming true! Just missing that one main ingredient..
No time to think now though, right? Not when your mystery man groans from behind his gritted teeth, fist tightening in your hair when he busts himself down your throat, a healthy dump of cum squirting rope after rope. It's a wonder you don't choke - more than you already had been - With the thick white paint of his cum load, sputtering from your cheeks with a struggled cough fron yourself. He uses it like lube, hips snapping to fuck himself through it all, long and strong, milking out Every. Last. Drop.
You don't want it to end. Wanna keep the lovely weight of this stranger's cock nestled sweetly on your tongue, wanna pepper Kisses and Kitten licks over his flushed tip, wanna imagine you were pampering your older crush, treating him sweeter than any other could.
Ah but he pulls away, forcing up a pitifully sad whine from your throat, making you swallow thickly, savouring the remnants of that musky milky cum he'd gifted you. You lament in the loss, lips pouted in a little wobble, heart hammering blood to your head, beating with the achy throb of your neglected cunt.
The hand in your hair moves to your cheek, cupped warm, skin rough, a calloused thumb tracing over your swollen, cum stained lips.
"S' your turn. Yeah?" His voice was deep. Rasped and rough with a twinge of an accent, hearty and southern, tainted with a touch of age. Yoba your heart flutters- This was too good to be true!
You dare to peek, watery, doe eyes looking up at this man woth a doll-like look, seeing the outline of his features in the dim light - God your chest pangs, a spike of embarrassment, lust, nervousness, excitement, arousal - His thumb pulls on your bottom lip, dragging the swollen plumpness before he let's it go with a pop.
"S'Get 'outta here." The corner of his mouth barely lifts into a quip of a smirking grin.
"Kent..?" Disbelief gnaws at your tone. He only hums, a short sound of agreeance, kicking his head in the direction of the more intimate rooms with a short lift of his chin.
Ooh he treats you well. Head between your legs, lips smacking at the folds of your pussy, heavy hands planted on your thighs while his battle-worn fingers wrap around, blunt nails digging into your soft and sensitive flesh. He feasts like a starved man, suckling at your supple-sweet wetness, fat lapping licks of his pink tongue, jamming the muscle into your cunt hole before he's back on your clit. You squeal and squeak, fingers tugging at his hair, weaving into desperate fists, grinding your core on his lips and tongue- Yoba he takes it too, works with your movements, following your hips in sweet tandem.
He's rough with your cunt, spitting a fat glob of hot saliva before he laps it up, hazel eyes on you as he does so before they flutter shut with a scrunch of his brow and a shake of his head- Devouring your pussy once again, nose jutting into your clit while his tongue fucks past the ring of your pussy.
You have to be ready for him, yeah? Nice and wet and gushy.. Squirting all over his face before he even thinks about sinking his cock into you.
He makes you lick it off of his lips, tongue cleaning up the mess you left on his chin and cheeks, stealing hot slick and saliva filled kisses in the mix, tongues swirling, catching and suckling against eachother as two deft fingers jam into your waiting cunt.
Your fingers were incomparable to his own, too small to reach into the depths of your sweetness, too weak to curl and finger bang the fuck out of your poor pussy, squelchy and wet despite the messy squirt of your orgasm.
"Eyes on me, Darl'.." Kent orders, voice softer than his actions. Your lips part, jaw dropped in hot pleasure, eyes going into a blurred fuzz, his features disappearing as his fingers curl and curl and curl- Until you're left empty, gasping as fingers smack lovingly on your sticky clit, spiky pain and pleasure jutting up your body.
You're not empty for long though, easily plugged up with the thickness of Kent's cock, slowly sinking into your prepped up pussy just like you always imagined with your silly silicone toy. He kisses you through it, the whines and wobbly frown, a hand coming to rest a supple squeeze on your throat, hushing you as he bottoms out.
"S'okay Darlin'.." He coos roughly, hips beginning to hump a pace, rolling grinds against your public mound. "S'What you wanted, right Dolly? Yeahhh? Pretty lil' fuck doll aren'tcha? Thaaaats right.." All coos and sweet words despite the mean squeeze of his palm on your throat and the quick snapping of his hips.
Yoba, he mounts you. Hooking his free palm under your leg, knee to ear while he pounds at your pussy. Plap, plap, plap, skin on skin, wet and slick from the thin sheen of sweat that dared to wash over your skin and the gush of fluids from your supple cunt.
This was it- this was everything you had ever imagined, your perfectly lewd fantasy finally coming to fruition, taking the Kent's thick married cock, lovingly squeezing at his girth, hearts in your eyes as you choke a choppy babble past the tenseness of his hand on your throat; "Wa..nt need- Lov- Y..ou... please- Da..ddy...~"
It's enough to have Kent groaning deep, once fast fucking hips favouring a hard Roll. Slow. Mean. Snapping. Thrusts. Breath huffed in time with his hips, teeth grit as he speaks.
"Tryana' be my Baby? Hmmm?? Daddy's. Sweet. Lil'. Girl?" Words punctuated with his thrusts, pudgy tip kissing your insides with every snap. It seems to have triggered something in him, hazel eyes blown up, pupils dilated big and black, sweat dripping from his brow. "Daddy's sweet n'- Fuck.. His pretty Dolly, yeah??" You nod, strained against the hand on your throat, his fingers guaring your jaw, movement limited, the most pathetic and eager little nod he'd ever seen.
His hand comes off, planting under your other knee and you're manhandled into a dirty mating press, cock drilling into your poor pussy from above.
You knew you were wrong for it. And you're sure he knows it too. But Yoba be dammed if you ever go back to pitiful, longing looks from across the bar after this.
And now that he knows what Liam’s tongue feels like against his own, it isn’t difficult to imagine Liam licking a stripe up the underside of his dick before gently, carefully, wrapping his lips around the head.
