#only other thing that works as well as this is when i use my little plastic grabber tool to take their papers from them

[danitcx]

Only You Look Good in Glasses

Clark Kent x female reader

Synopsis: Clark never cared much about his appearance—until you arrived. When you say you don’t like men with glasses, he realizes it might not be the disguise that hides him anymore… but the one thing standing in his way. A cappuccino, a misunderstood comment, and one quiet confession later, he realizes maybe glasses aren’t the problem after all.

WC: 2,637

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Clark never thought glasses would be his worst idea for staying unnoticed. He never really worried about his looks. Sure, secretly, he sometimes smiled when reading the cheesy comments people left on social media about Superman: that he was handsome, that he looked like a god, that they wanted to marry him. Clark would just laugh, blush as if they weren’t talking about him, and turn off his phone screen—but not before deleting the Twitter app. Even though he knew he’d reinstall it sooner or later. He liked to keep up the façade of “Superman doesn’t use social media.”

But that didn’t matter. Not until you showed up.

You arrived as the new star reporter, and everyone knew who you were. You came from the Gotham Gazette, a major competitor of the Daily Planet, and your name already carried weight. Despite your reputation, you were kind, smiled when greeting people, and always remained polite, even with the interns. Clark noticed you from the very first moment you crossed the room and Perry assigned you a desk not too far from his. Close enough to watch you work, typing decisively, reading with a furrowed brow, or sighing in frustration when the server crashed. Occasionally, your eyes would meet. You’d smile softly and go back to work. He could only wish he had the courage to approach you.

As Superman, that was easy. He was charismatic, brave, direct. But as Clark… he was a mess. A bundle of nerves in a wrinkled suit, stammering when ordering coffee and tripping over his own shoes. Always late. Always disheveled.

But nothing prepared him for the real blow.

That day, he arrived with crooked glasses, two coffees in hand—one for you, of course. He’d spent days observing what you drank: a hot cappuccino with chocolate. A curious combination, but you liked it. It was his perfect excuse to talk to you. But just as he was about to step out of the elevator, he heard your voice.

“I already told you, Andrew. Men with glasses aren’t my type. So no, I don’t find you attractive.”

The words froze him.

He stayed inside the elevator, frozen, heart clenched in his chest. Your tone was clear, firm. You didn’t sound angry, just certain. And that hurt more. Because you were always kind to him. To Jimmy, to Lois. Never so blunt.

“What? Well, it doesn’t seem that way,” Andrew said, laughing. “Anyway, are you coming tonight? The others are going out for dinner.”

“No,” you replied, more curtly this time.

When the elevator doors opened, you were standing right in front of him. You looked at him with the same kindness as always.

“Clark,” you greeted with a smile. “Going down or up?”

When the elevator doors opened, you were standing right in front of him. Clark looked up at the sound of the ding, and his eyes met yours. You smiled kindly, as if you had no idea of the little earthquake you had caused in his chest. He blinked, unsure.

“I… I’m going… down,” he murmured without moving, lowering his gaze.

You just nodded and stepped in gently, the doors starting to close.

“Me too. By the way, Lois said you should write another article about Superman. Will you?”

Clark looked at you. He wasn’t upset, but something lit up in his mind. Superman? Superman didn’t wear glasses. Maybe that’s why you always asked about him. If there was a new article. If he was okay after the fight a few days ago. You had a Superman logo sticker on your desk. And Clark couldn’t help but think: you didn’t like men with glasses.

“Yes… sure,” he replied. And then, without thinking too much, he let a question slip out.

“You like him, don’t you?”

He looked at you, blushing, as if that was the boldest thing he’d ever said in his life.

“Superman?” you asked, surprised, before letting out a soft laugh. “No, not at all. He’s a hero, like many others… like Batman. But he’s in this city, and now Metropolis is also my city.”

You spoke sincerely, without hesitation. When the doors opened, you stepped out, and he followed, even if it felt ridiculous—he needed to go back up.

“Well,” you said with a small laugh. “I have to go, I’ve got some things to do. It was nice seeing you, Clark.”

You turned to leave, but he took a step forward, almost without thinking.

“Wait,” he said.

You stopped, turning again with that smile that seemed to brighten his gray days.

“Here.” He handed you a coffee shyly. You looked at him, surprised. “I heard you… told Jimmy it was your favorite.”

Your cheeks lit up as if his words had opened a window to your softest secret. Still, you nodded.

“Thanks, Clark,” you said, and just as he was turning to head back to the elevator, you added, almost without thinking, “Are you busy tonight?”

He blinked, nervous. “No…”

“Perfect. Andrew said the others are going to that French restaurant, the one near the park. Would you like to go with me?”

“Sure,” he replied right away, lowering his gaze with a flushed face.

“Oh, one more thing,” you added, this time with a wider smile. “Andrew got glasses.”

Clark looked at you, still with shyness painted on his face.

“He wants to look like you,” you said, then lowered your voice with a mischievous tone. “But you’re the only man who actually looks good in them. Do us all a favor and tell him to stop making a fool of himself.”

Clark was speechless. Was he dreaming? Had you really said that?

You gave him one last smile, the kind that seemed to hold up his soul, and walked away without looking back.

As soon as the day seemed ruined, you had arrived and saved it. How foolish he felt for thinking he didn’t stand a chance. But there he was, watching you, following you with his eyes as if you were the only clear thing in the world.

That night, during dinner, Andrew was still wearing those glasses that clearly weren’t his. They were far too big for his face, oval-shaped with thick frames that looked like they came from a costume store. To make things worse, he had tilted them slightly, as if he believed wearing them crooked made them look more intellectual… or as if he had seen Clark wear them like that and thought it was part of the charm.

You looked at him, holding back a smile, and when he asked if you liked men with glasses, you simply shook your head.

“And Clark? Doesn’t count because he’s your friend?” Andrew asked mockingly.

“Clark is very handsome, much more than other men. I don’t like glasses… at least not yours, which are round. I prefer his,” you said calmly, discreetly pointing to Clark’s face, who looked down with a shy smile. “Besides, he’s intelligent.”

“What she means,” Lois chimed in teasingly, crossing her arms and smiling sideways, “is that she doesn’t like men with glasses. She only likes Clark with glasses.”

Silence fell suddenly. You and Clark froze, both completely flushed. Lois let out a small triumphant laugh.

“Lois, one. Jimmy, zero,” she said, looking at Jimmy, who sighed in defeat.

You avoided looking at them. You chose to pretend you hadn’t heard anything. You focused on your plate, talked about trivial things, and laughed at the right moments, all in the hope that the blush on your cheeks would go away on its own.

When you left the restaurant, the cool night air brought some relief… though your heart was still pounding. Clark offered to walk you home, walking beside you, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground. The silence between you was gentle but full of tiny invisible butterflies.

You glanced at him nervously, biting your lip before speaking.

“About what Lois said…”

“I like you too,” he interrupted quickly, as if afraid you’d lose the courage to go on.

You stopped in your tracks, and so did he. You looked at him, surprised, eyes wide and words caught in your throat. You felt your heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could hear it too.

Clark noticed. He felt it. He knew.

You stepped closer, almost without realizing, guided by that sweet expression on his face, by that mix of tenderness and fear in his blue eyes. You hesitated for a second, as if your body needed permission… but it wasn’t necessary.

Clark leaned in slowly, gently holding your waist, without rush, without invading. And he kissed you. A warm, soft, restrained kiss. As if he were afraid to break something sacred.

There would be time to tell him that you had been watching him too. That you knew his secret. That in those silences where he thought no one noticed him, you saw him too. Because you had been loving him, in secret, for far longer than you dared to admit.

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💌 I take requests occasionally! If you have an idea, feel free to send it my way. I’d love to bring it to life 🤍

[helyanwe4608]

Okay, so I have a lot to say about this entire AI debate. And I hope this is a “nuanced” take and something that will make someone who’s in the same position that I was in a year ago, see sense.

This is a long text, so hear me out, read to the end and if you disagree, feel free to say so. Just remember I am a person and not just a username. Got it? Good.

Last year in spring I was in a shitty place mentally. I stayed up through the nights either sowing, crocheting, playing BG3 or “writing”.

I put writing in quotes, because I wasn’t so much writing as prompting. “Write a paragraph about XYZ” mostly Gale or Halsin fluff or advice I needed or comfort when I felt like I could not go on.

And believe me, I am very aware of how pathetic that sounds, but I was in a DARK place and all I wanted was an escape.

AI was that escape for me and I threw caution to the wind for the little dopamine hits I would get when it made me feel seen/ understood or just offered a distraction.

After a while I started wanting more than just promoted scenes and snippets, but I lacked the creativity, or rather the mental capacity to write this myself. So I kept prompting scenes and putting them together in a word document.

When I got on reddit and tumblr, I was confronted with many people’s negative opinions about AI and at first I dismissed it as fear mongering or just distrust.

English is not my first language and I told myself I wouldn’t be able to create this diversion for myself anymore if I did not use AI to “write”. And as long as I didn’t actively feed anyone’s work into the AI and I “edited” what I received, I was fine, right? I didn’t make money from my writing, so it’s not cheating.

Over the winter, my mental health improved, I got help and my energy returned to me bit by bit. I wanted to get back to writing because during therapy (and a stay at a clinic), I had learned again how healing it can be to string your own words together to express yourself.

I don’t remember the post I saw, or if it was here on tumblr or a insta-story by an author I love, but they essentially asked “What part of the process are you actually skipping when you use AI? The feeling? The catharsis of finding the right phrase? The learning experience?”

I also started seeing the patterns in how AI “writes”, repeating phrases, logical errors and how it can only produce a mimicry of real emotions and experiences. Because it is not human.

And I know there are 1000 other reasons to be against AI. The theft of intellectual property, ecological impact, the way people wanna use it for therapy treatments… and I agree to all these arguments.

This text is more directed to those who were like me and used AI to write because they wanted more content of something that gave them joy or kept them afloat. And who lacked the confidence and capacity to write it all themselves.

In spring, I started writing my current longfic project “A Wayward heart of Emberlight”, my self-insert Galemance BG3 fanfiction.

To say the first chapters are rough around the edges, even after a lot of revision and rewriting is an understatement. But I made them. They are mine.

I’ve learned a lot about myself by writing for Ada and by seeing her through the eyes of her companions, I think I’ve learned to see myself in another, better light as well.

Had I continued using AI blindly, my self-image would never have changed, neither would I have improved my writing or my English at all.

Yes, I need to look up words a lot, yes, I use a thesaurus so I don’t use the same word 8 times per page. And yes, I am not a fast writer. But that is perfectly normal for a writer?

The further I get away from the nautiloid, the more freedoms I take and the more I need to do this thumbtack-and-string conspiracy theory thing to keep my subplots together and the romance burning slowly.

But now, anytime I read a comment and the reader tells me they related to Ada’s struggles, with her anxiety or depression… I just feel seen. Really seen. By another human and not a robot.

Someone with a heart and a mind and a soul read what I wrote and they were moved by it. Never had a dopamine hit like that from anything AI made.

So, if you are like I was a year ago and you don’t see the harm and you feel like you’ll never create anything without AI, listen to me when I tell you that you are selling yourself short and doing yourself a massive disservice.

Ask people to beta read your drafts, post any cringey or rough oneshots you want. It’s fine. They will fit right in here, on AO3 or wherever you post them.

But please do not use AI to create less than mediocre content based on stolen property, that will never truly sate you and actively hurts the community of writers.

Hey. I think I hate you.

[deerspherestudios]

hello there! i just wanted to ramble incoherently and say that michael's character and his insecurities really touched me. the way you wrote him felt so human (ironically) and natural! i know many people have applauded you on his character but i have some different perspective hopefully. made a whole account just to send this (before realizing i had to wait a whole day to send an ask). really sorry if this seems cheesy!

for starters, i suffer from a condition that alters my appearance pretty drastically. i won't get really into detail about what it is, but i always have to wear somewhat of a disguise when i go out. i've gotten used to it by now, since i've had to deal with it for a little over 5 years already, but there is that lingering sense of fear and disgust that comes here and there with myself. while i haven't had anyone call me a monster, i've definitely had some ridiculing or insensitive comments and remarks.

i'd lie, jump over and dodge the truth to people so that perhaps someone, someone could see me as a person they could love. be attracted to, accepted wholeheartedly without a doubt. obviously that's not going to work, i could only keep away the truth away for so long. i wanted to love and be loved, not despite my flaws or appearance but with it. so it made me jealous and bitter. why couldn't i be like everyone else? who would love and accept someone like me?

when mychael finally confessed, i think i understood that dread. that nasty, ugly feeling when the guilt crawls up to you. when you've been found out after lying your way into a companionship because you wanted to hope that maybe, someday, someone will stay. but you deceived them. can someone really forgive something as hideous as you?

you've done a wonderful job at writing mychael. i love how his circumstance is definitely prominent, but there's also still so much more to him beyond that. the heartbreak, the insecurities, love and galore!

moving on from that, i think what i enjoy most is that discomfort you get from rejecting him as the days past. he's genuine and kind, but also so pushy and desperate. it's like trying to say "no" to the super nice person who just wants to get to know you better and be their nice usual self as usual! and it's like, man, i can't really deny them because they've done this and that! you'd be a terrible person to refuse them! the game shows you what it has in store, and then let's you decide whether you should trust him or not. and what i just love is how it almost manipulates you into coming back and replaying the game because you feel so bad for mychael. it doesn't even need to do much! he's such a genuine person and he feels so real, so you inflict your actual real life response onto him and boom!! manipulation time! look at him :( are you gonna say no to him out of all people? wow, you're the monster for wanting boundaries. such a different but amazing pace from the usual yandere-type games.

so in total: am i projecting? definitely. but that doesn't deny that you've made a beautiful and compelling game and character. i can't express to you enough how much this touches me, so thank you for making me (and i'm sure many others) feel heard and seen through a yandere visual novel out of all things! and you know what? i'd probably be a little obsessed with someone if they were as kind and accepting as MC. difference is that i'd start bawling after the river speech aha. i do wonder how mychael would react to someone like me though. i didn't wanna send a separate ask so i just dumped out everything in one. anyway, very sorry for how long this was! not the best at explaining myself, but thank you again for creating mushroom oasis :)

Waaa a a , ,, thank you for such a heartfelt message,,, weeps,,,

As for how Mychael would react, he'd definitely feel a sense of kinship on being judged for how you look, and finding someone who can relate to him so well would give him a sense of comfort too <3

Who knows maybe YOU'RE his comfort character!!

[twisted-affections-for-u]

Rabbit Flirting with Wolves

A/N: This was supposed to be made a LONG time ago, originally was the plot for part 2 to Run, Rabbit, Run but I didn't think it would work as a good part 2. This can be considered in the same universe/another part to it or something by itself. This is all from a DougDoug video making a joke about appealing the 3rd ammendment (I have no idea how to link the video but I'll figure that out another day). This is probably shit but hopefully you enjoy! This is my little farewell as I will be gone for a month while I recover from surgery, I will see you all when I get back!

Summary: You try to flirt with the 141 by making jokes about letting big, beefy soldiers into your home and bed. They take it as an invitation.

Warnings: Flirting, fluffy, suggestive themes, yandere themes, MDNI, implied anxious reader, no y/n, lad/bonnie/dove/bunny used for read but reader is gender neutral, bad accents, probably spelling errors

You thought it would be funny to tease your, utterly handsome, neighbors with some jokes from a YouTuber you found. You thought it would all be in good fun, a way to finally get back at Johnny and his flirty comments.

Your first joke was when they had invited you over for dinner, after John complaining that you real food and not the cheap stuff you can afford to make.

You can't lie and say you were confident about it, worrying they would take it wrong. You had seen how scary Simon could be if someone threatened their polycule and you didn't want to lose that because of a dumb joke. But after another stupid joke Johnny had made about Price, you decided to shoot your shot.

"You know I've always wanted hunky soldiers to come inside me-" You let out a little fake cough. "I mean inside my home."

Kyle nearly chokes on his food after you say that and Johnny starts CACKLING. "Bloody Jesus, Lad! You just tried to kill poor Kyle!"

You immediately feel awful at how bad that went, but Kyle swats away any hands that try to help him. "Give a man a warning next Dove." Kyle says, even though he is still coughing a bit but now with a smile he can't contain.

You hear Simon left out a snort while John can only shake his head in disappointment, before he turns to you. "You need to stop listening to Johnny, he is having a bad influence on you."

"Aye am doin' no such thin'!" Johnny shouts in mock offensive that causes you to start laughing as well. Maybe the joke wasn't that bad.

But oh! You had them eating out of the palm of your hand. Johnny spent the rest of the night after you left talking about what you said, questioning the others if you were serious about your joke. They couldn't even lie and say they weren't questioning the same thing. They had been subtly trying to get you to fall for them every since they met you. Maybe they didn't need to kidnap you to fall in love with them like they had first planned...

The next time you made one of your dumb jokes was during a movie night on their couch. You had all settled down while Kyle scrolled through channels and everyone, mainly Johnny, gave their input. This was the exact moment you took to strike.

"If a soldier can't randomly come into my home, take a shower, and spoon with me, what can they do?" You asked in an exasperated tone.

Immediate silence followed as the four started you down, making your face heat up in embarrassment. Maybe now was a bad time for a joke.

Before you could apologize, John cracked a smile and asked. "Is that what you think we do? Look all pretty so we can come warm your bed?"

You couldn't even get in a retort before Johnny quickly went from being in the middle of the couch, cuddling with his boyfriends, to practically throwing himself on top of you at one end of the couch. He had on one of his mischievous smirks as he turned his head to look up at you. "Is this all ya needed, Bonnie? A nice beefy soldier to keep ya warm?"

You think you could die happy in this moment with Johnny using his weight to keep you close to him. He refused to get off for the rest of the night and your sure he would have stayed there, if John hadn't warned him to get off of you or he wouldn't let him see you for a week. Johnny pouted the whole time as you gathered your stuff to leave. Getting reprimanded later to not push too much, incase you hated their attempts to get you to join their relationship.

The third time, and last, time you tried one of your jokes was when they had invited you to come with them to a club. You had been having fun when one of the jokes popped into your brain and the alcohol was not letting you second guess yourself.

"We should let those poor big, burly soldiers into our homes. I've been needing a roommate for awhile now."

This one got you a reaction you didn't expect. Simon, sat right next to you, turned to look at you with a look of disapproval before simply saying "No."

The embarrassment started to creep in thinking you finally pushed your luck this time, but instead of Simon once he finished his glass, he instead scoped you up and plopped you in his lap. You couldn't even think about running away as his arms circled around your waist. He leaned down so he could whisper in your ear, "You don' need no other soldiers, you have four right here. You think your jokes are something stupid to get a good rise out of us, but they have done more than you know. If you ever think about lettin' another soldier sleep with you in your bed, I will personally beat the block to a pulp. You made your bed, now lie in it."

All words had failed you as you could only open and close your mouth like a fish. You had turned to look to the others to see their reaction, but their smiles and soft eyes had taken a different turn. You felt like a sheep being stared down by wolves, but this was what you wanted, right bunny?

[justalittlespore]

Flashing back to the last time I visited my dad, many years ago. He's a machinist and works full time at that but he also has a small farm that he and his partner manage. (Well, they did. He's in his 60s now and the only other people around are his parents, so it simply wasn't gonna happen anymore. So he sold it to a young couple and moved into a normal house.)

The food they got from their little farm was excellent. They had some chickens for eggs, a handful of goats for milk which they made all kinds of things out of including soap and cheese, a few horses for riding, they'd get a calf every year then send it to a slaughterhouse when it was old enough to get a year's worth of meat out of it, a small patch for vegetables, and acres and acres of hay. To feed all the animals.

The last time I visited I was in my mid-20s. Probably the best condition I'd ever be in in my life. It was summer and it was hot as fuck and as soon as I got there, on my time off work, my dad and his partner sent me to help bring in the hay, because it was going to rain the following day and we had to get it in NOW, and they really needed the extra pair of hands.

I was not strong. I could hardly lift one hay bale on my own. So my dad put me in the hayloft of the barn and tossed the bales up to me and I had to "just" stack them up.

It was backbreaking work. Within minutes I was exhausted and drenched in sweat and covered in scratches (hay is SHARP), but I had to keep going somehow, pushing myself into triggering flare-ups of my chronic joint issues, because It Had To Get Done.

Friends, I knew I was allergic to grass pollen. But this was the day I discovered just how severe my grass pollen allergies are. Because by the end of the day, when the hay was all finally put away safe from the impending rain, despite my having taken antihistamines before going out, not only was I wheezing and sneezing and sniffling, not only were my arms and legs covered in eczema, I had eczema on my fucking eyelids. A place where it is not safe to use eczema cream. I wound up having to see a doctor for specialized help a few days later when I could barely see because of it.

I was fucked up from that one afternoon of helping bale the hay for weeks afterwards. The eczema took ages to go away. My muscles were sore (in a "I fucked up" way, not in a "that was good exercise" way) and my joints all had flare-ups of pain and inflammation that lasted for ages. Just from a few hours of helping with one chore.

If I had to do subsistence farming to eat and stay alive, I would not be alive anymore.

HALT!✋😐

did you remember to express gratitude for not having to subsistence farm today?

[sirenontheloose]

Second Date Update

Love doesn’t wait for the perfect moment

Sophia didn’t plan on calling the station. She had only meant to listen. Maybe distract herself with someone else’s story, someone else’s unlucky date. But when the hosts asked if anyone had ever been left hanging after a perfect night, her fingers acted faster than her brain. Before she could talk herself out of it, she had already pressed dial.

She didn’t give her full name. Just her first. No need for the world to know who she was. That wasn’t the point. What mattered was what she had to say.

“I went on a date,” she told the hosts once the call went live. “She was set up through a mutual friend. And she was really lovely.”

There was interest in Winter’s voice as she leaned in and asked, “What kind of lovely are we talking about here?”

Sophia smiled to herself, warmth creeping into her voice. “The kind that wears a button-up shirt like it’s a full suit and apologizes for laughing too hard at my jokes.”

Wooyoung let out a short laugh. “She apologized for laughing?”

“Twice,” Sophia replied, a little amused. “She kept saying she didn’t want to be too loud.”

“So she’s shy?”

“Not really,” Sophia said after a moment of thought. “Just... soft. In a way that makes me want to lean in and listen.”

She paused, her voice turning quieter. “She gave me half her dessert. And when we said goodbye, she hugged me like we’d known each other longer than we had.”

There was a dreamy sigh from Winter. “So what happened?”

“That’s the thing,” Sophia admitted. “I don’t know. She never called.”

The hosts exchanged glances, and within moments, they were dialing Y/N.

Sophia held her breath as the phone rang. The longer it went unanswered, the more her nerves swirled in her chest. Then finally, a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello?”

Winter perked up with her usual cheerful tone. “Hi there! You’re on Second Date Update with Winter and Wooyoung. We’ve got a small mystery on our hands. Someone went on a date with you, thought it went well, but hasn’t heard anything since.”

There was a beat of silence before Y/N spoke. “Wait. Yunjin, is this you?”

Wooyoung grinned. “Not sure who Yunjin is, sweetheart, but an admirer of yours named Sophia gave us a call.”

A groan came through the line. “Oh my god. This is about that blind date, isn’t it?”

Winter jumped in, teasing, “We heard it was nice?”

“It was more than nice,” Y/N said, her voice softening immediately. “It was quiet. Not awkwardly quiet, just calm. And she made it easy to be myself, even when I wasn’t totally sure what I was doing.”

Wooyoung leaned in. “She says you didn’t call her back. Why not?”

“I wanted to,” Y/N replied instantly. “I really did. I even typed something out a couple times. But then work got busy, and the longer I waited, the worse it felt to suddenly pop up again.”

Winter’s voice gentled. “You started overthinking it?”

“Exactly,” Y/N admitted. “And I guess I started convincing myself maybe she hadn’t liked me that much, and maybe it didn’t matter as much to her. But it did. I liked her. A lot.”

Another pause settled in, more thoughtful than awkward. Then Winter asked the question that had been hanging in the air the whole time. “Would you want to see her again?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Yes. If she still wants to.”

There was a small smile in Wooyoung’s voice when she said, “You can tell her yourself. She’s on the line.”

There was a sharp inhale from Y/N. “Wait. What?”

“Hi,” Sophia said softly on the other end of the call.

“Oh no,” Y/N groaned. “You heard all that?”

“I liked all of it,” Sophia replied gently. “Especially the part where you said you liked me.”

“I do,” Y/N murmured, voice just barely above a whisper. “Still. Sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“You’re saying it now,” Sophia said. “That’s enough.”

“I miss you,” Y/N whispered quietly from the other line.

Sophia grinned, like she’d just scored a second date with the girl who’d been living rent-free in her head since that night. “I miss you too,” she said warmly.

There was a pause, soft and golden, before Sophia added with a laugh in her voice, “See you on our second date, and this time, I’m stealing more than half your dessert.”

Winter gasped, dramatic. “Well, seems we’ll be paying for y’all’s second date!”

divider - @v6que

a/n – Yeah, this is very obviously inspired by those dumb "part 1 – part 500" videos on tiktok, but I love watching them whenever I get lost on that app (I promise I’m not addicted).

[octaneink]

Return

Arthur Frederick x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even with things like long distance and an age gap, the reader and Arthur make things work. Warnings: Age gap(Not sure if I did this well sorry) Notes: Based on this ask! I experimented a little on this one, I hope you don’t mind! I wrote something else entirely and had to scrap it because I was writing myself into a corner, so I started over, and this was the end result! I hope you like it ☺️And it's really long! I hope people don't mind...

You met Arthur outside a café in Soho, the air thick with drizzle, the sky a dull grey. It wasn’t a romcom cliché, no crashing into each other on the Tube or spilling coffee on his shirt, but it was realistic and gentle. You were both waiting outside a café in Soho, him for a friend who was running late, and you because the place was too crowded, and your anxiety wouldn’t let you squeeze past the tables inside.

You noticed him because he was cute in an unassuming way, tall but slightly slouched, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the height. His hoodie was a little too big, the sleeves bunched around his wrists, and his jeans were well-worn, the kind that looked soft from years of use. Every few seconds, he’d glance around, then back at his phone, thumb swiping absently. He was a stranger, but there was something about the way he chewed the inside of his cheek and the way his fingers tapped against his thigh when he thought no one was looking that made you want to keep watching.

He looked up and caught you staring. You opened your mouth to apologise, but he beat you to it.

“Is it usually that busy?” he asked, voice soft but with a twinge of nervous humour.

You blinked, then shrugged. “No idea. I wanted to try something new and chose this at random.” A beat “I’m starting to regret my choice now though.” 

He huffed a small laugh, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Same. I, uh. I’m meant to be meeting my mate, but he’s late. Which is very on brand for him, to be fair.”

That should’ve been it. A short conversation that should lead nowhere, just a quick chat to pass the time. But for some reason, you stayed and kept the conversation going. Arthur was quiet at first, in that cautious way some people are around strangers. Polite. Guarded. He glanced down a lot when he spoke, eyes flickering wildly like he was deciding if what he wants to talk about should come out. But something about the way he looked at you between words, half curious, half unsure, made you want to stay a little longer.

Eventually, his friend texted to cancel. He stared at the screen for a moment, then shrugged, trying to act casual. “Guess I’m free now.”

The café had finally cleared out enough to see empty tables. “Want to just grab one together?” you asked.

He looked up, surprised, then ducked his head with a quiet laugh, his cheeks slightly pink. “Yeah, alright. But only if you promise not to judge me for how much sugar I put in my coffee.”

“Deal,” you said, “and don't judge me for pretending to understand the wine lists.”

“Shit, we might have to renegotiate.” He held the door open for you, sleeve slipping over his knuckles again, and you caught the faint scent of his detergent, something clean and subtly sweet, like cotton dried in sunlight.

The café cleared out enough for the both of you to snag a small table near the window. The barista called out for the next customer just as you reached the counter. Arthur nudged you forward with an elbow. “You first. I need time to mentally prepare for your judgement.”

You rolled your eyes but ordered a pistachio latte and a carrot cake you didn't really need but suddenly wanted. When it was his turn, Arthur leaned in and ordered, “Large vanilla latte and a slice of banana bread, please.” Paid, then he grabbed three sugar packets from the counter, and after a guilty glance your way, snatched a fourth.

“Four sugars?” You raised an eyebrow as you moved down the line.

Arthur's ears turned pink as he tapped his phone against the payment reader. “What can I say? I've got a sweet tooth.” The machine beeped, and he quickly shoved it back in his pocket, nearly dropping it.

You carried your tray to the window table, carefully balancing the pistachio latte and oversized slice of carrot cake, Arthur following close behind with his own order. After sitting down, you watched as Arthur dumped all four sugars into his cup, stirred violently, then took a sip with the relieved sigh, “Told you,” he said, grinning.

“Better?” you asked.

He licked a stray drop from his lip. “Perfect.” 

You stirred your own drink, watching the steam curl. “So your friend bailed. What were you two supposed to be doing?”

Arthur's fingers drummed against his mug as he considered his words. “We keep saying we should try new things, you know? But then we always end up at the same pub watching the same football matches.” He took a sip, leaving a faint foam moustache he quickly licked away. “Gets a bit stale after a few years.”

Something about that struck a chord. “I get that,” you said. “I just moved here, actually. Still figuring things out.”

His eyes lit up. “Where from?”

You told him, and he leaned in, suddenly more animated. “That’s sick. London’s massive! London's got everything, you just have to know where to—” He cut himself off with a laugh. “Sorry. You don't need a tour guide.”

“I might,” you admitted. “And I was thinking of checking out the history museum next week. Never been.”

Arthur’s face went through several emotions quickly, a flicker of surprise, then something almost guilty. “That's. I go there all the time.” He rubbed at a coffee ring on the table. “Probably too much, honestly. My mates take the piss about it.” He chewed his lip, then met your eyes. “You, uh. You want company? If you don’t mind someone who yaps about the things on display.” 

Before you could answer, he barreled on, words tumbling out, “Or we could do anything else, really. There's this great market near Brick Lane, or the Sky Garden if you want views, or—” He cut himself off, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

“Arthur.” You waited until he looked up. “I'd love the museum tour. And the market. And whatever else you want to show me.” You tapped your fork against your plate. “Just promise you won't rush me past the exhibit plaques. I read every word.”

Arthur grinned back. “Deal.”

His grin widened just as his phone buzzed. Without glancing at it, he flipped it face-down, nudging it aside like an afterthought. The conversation barely paused for breath after that, Arthur's earlier reserve melting away as he talked with his hands, nearly knocking over the salt shaker twice.

That’s how it started.

You swapped numbers outside the café. The texts came fast after that, random thoughts, stupid observations. Like when he sent you a blurry photo of a pigeon hunched over a stolen croissant with the text, ‘this bastard has better posture than me. send help.’ You snorted loud enough that the woman next to you on the Tube gave you a look.

The first actual date was at the museum you’d both agreed on it on the first day you met. There was finally a time when both your schedules aligned, and he was fifteen minutes early and already sitting outside, nervously tapping his foot. He stood up too fast when he saw you. Tried to hug you and shake your hand at the same time. It was awkward. Adorably awkward.

You thought maybe he wouldn’t talk much. But once he relaxed, he couldn’t stop. He spoke with his hands. He interrupted himself with tangents. He got excited about random things like a chess set in the museum shop or a well known misinterpreted fact on a random topic. You loved it. You loved him, or the version of him that came out when he finally felt safe.

It took a few more dates before either of you admitted it wasn’t casual anymore. You could tell by the way you were both already planning what the both of you could do next before the current date was over.

You found out he made videos for a living. Not just silly ones, though those existed, but thoughtful ones, and sometimes chaotic ones, always made with care. He made people laugh. He made you laugh. Visiting new places, hanging out with his friends. You never felt like he was showing off. You felt like he was showing you something real.

The first time he kissed you, it wasn’t planned. He was walking you home, shoulders brushing, laughing about something stupid. He stopped suddenly under a flickering streetlamp, turned to you, and before you could process it, his mouth was on yours. It was warm, slightly hesitant, and over as soon as it started.

He pulled back just an inch, his breath shaky. “Sorry—” he whispered. His dark brown eyes looked uncertain and vulnerable, they flicked between yours and the space just beyond your shoulder, not quite able to stay still. His brows were drawn together, faint lines forming between them, and his gaze held a raw honesty, like he was bracing for rejection but couldn’t help hoping you’d understand. “I just really wanted to.”

The surprise melted into a slow, warm unfurling in your chest. His lips had been soft, a little chapped from the cold, and faintly sweet, like the vanilla latte he’d had earlier, maybe, or just him. You didn’t move away. Do it again, you almost said, but instead, you smiled. “Don’t be sorry.”

His breath hitched as he hesitated, eyes searching yours in the dim glow of the streetlight. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in again, stopping just short, giving you space to pull away. His question was silent but clear in the way his gaze flickered to your lips and back up. You didn’t make him wait. A small nod, barely more than a tilt of your chin, and his mouth met yours again, just the soft press of lips. His hand settled carefully against your jaw, fingers trembling slightly against your skin.

Then you sighed into him, and everything shifted. The kiss deepened, unhurried but insistent, his bottom lip catching between yours. His thumb brushed your cheekbone again, and you could feel the quiet noise he made in the back of his throat. The cold air, the distant hum of traffic, the flickering light above, none of it mattered. There was just the warmth of his mouth moving with yours, the faint taste of coffee still lingering, the way his fingers curled tighter into your coat when you tugged him closer, and the frantic thud of your own pulse.

Things moved slowly. But not because either of you were unsure. It was careful, and sweet, and intentional. He held your hand like it was something precious. He called you just to ask how your day was. He made you playlists with embarrassing titles. You found you could tell him things without dressing them up first. You liked that he didn’t always know what to say, but he always wanted to listen.

He started sleeping over. Making you tea in the mornings, one sugar, a little too much milk. You learnt how he hummed when he was thinking. How he hated certain foods. How he always smelt like clean laundry and the occasional hint of you from cuddling or sleeping over.

You didn’t fall all at once. It was slower. A steady drop into something that caught you softly.

Eventually Arthur’s small, perpetually cluttered flat became yours. Your books were piled onto the shelf next to him, and mismatched mugs crowded the draining board. His camera gear lived semi-permanently on the coffee table, often nudged aside for your late-night study sessions. The air hummed with the quiet energy of two lives weaving together, the whir of his laptop became white noise to your essay writing, and the scent of his vanilla latte mingled with your peppermint tea.

The seven-year gap felt like a distant rumour in those days, dissolved in the comfortable chaos of shared existence. He’d sprawl on the sofa, proofreading your latest essay with surprising insight. He once paused, eyes bright, and said, "This metaphor about the crumbling facade? Bloody brilliant, love." You’d perch on the armrest beside him, offering edits on his latest video with the same casual intimacy. 

Arguments were small, domestic things. There were the thermostat wars—he ran perpetually cold and wrapped himself in hoodies even in summer, while you seemed to radiate heat. Then came the eternal debate over the correct way to load the dishwasher, his method somehow both baffling and inefficient. And always, there was the quiet fight for the last Jaffa Cake, usually resolved with a shared, sticky bite.

His friends, a warm, slightly chaotic bunch mostly around his age, welcomed you readily. There was good-natured ribbing, of course. "Robbing the cradle, are we?" Chris would grin, elbowing him during pub nights. Arthur would roll his eyes dramatically, a faint blush creeping up his neck, but his hand would find yours under the table, fingers lacing tightly, a silent reassurance amidst the laughter. "Ignore him, he peaked at sixteen," Arthur would murmur, squeezing your hand. It was teasing, but it underlined the difference. They were talking about stocks while you were navigating the start of your life. Yet, curled beside him, listening to their banter, the gap felt like a harmless background hum, easily tuned out.

The change came quietly, on an unremarkable Tuesday. Rain lashed against the windowpanes of the flat. You were clearing the fridge, tossing out dubious leftovers, when you saw him. He was standing perfectly still, staring at the small, crisp acceptance letter pinned prominently to the fridge door, your offer for a master’s program at the University of Edinburgh. His back was to you, shoulders slightly tense. His thumb traced the embossed university crest, then the edges of the paper, over and over.

You stopped moving, the discarded yoghurt pot forgotten in your hand.

"Arthur?"

He jumped slightly, turning. His smile was quick, too quick, not quite reaching his eyes, which held a complex swirl of pride and something else, a raw, vulnerable apprehension. "Hey. Just admiring the officialness of it." His voice was thick, rougher than usual. He cleared his throat. "Edinburgh. That's, that's massive. Really massive. Proud of you. So bloody proud." He stepped closer, his gaze flicking back to the letter. "Even if it’s," He trailed off, swallowing hard. "far. Really far."

He looked suddenly older than his 28 years, the usual playful light dimmed by the grey London rain and the spectre of separation. You were 21, at the start of an exciting, demanding future, the world beyond London stretching out vast and unknown. He was 28, roots expanding in the city's rhythm, his channel finally gaining serious traction. The comfortable hum of the age gap suddenly felt like a chasm about to open.

You crossed the small space, without a word, you reached up, cupping his face. His stubble was rough under your palm. His dark eyes, wide and uncertain, searched yours. You saw the fear there. Fear of being left behind, fear of the distance, fear of losing this, the easy intimacy you'd built. You leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the faint, worried line etched between his brows.

"I'll be a train ride away, Arthur," you whispered, your voice surprisingly steady, belying the sudden ache in your own chest. "Four hours. We'll make it work." You infused the words with a conviction you desperately needed to feel yourself.

He let out a shaky breath, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tightly against him. He buried his face in your hair, his hold almost bruising. "Four hours," he repeated, his voice muffled. "Right." He didn't sound convinced. Neither were you, not really. But you clung to each other in the rain-streaked gloom of the tiny kitchen, the acceptance letter on the fridge a silent, monumental presence.

Moving day arrived in a blur of cardboard boxes, roll after roll of packing tape, and a low-level hum of anxiety. Arthur morphed into a surprisingly efficient, slightly manic organiser. He folded your sweaters and jumpers with a precision you never knew he possessed, tucking lavender sachets between them. His quiet intensity was both touching and heartbreaking.

As you taped shut the last box labelled ‘Books (Important!)’,you found him sitting on the edge of your shared bed, holding a small, worn notebook. It was the playlist journal he kept, with silly titles and meticulous song lists for every mood. He was carefully tearing out a page. He looked up as you entered, a hesitant smile touching his lips.

"Made you something," he said, his voice rough. He held out the folded page. Scrawled across the top in his familiar, slightly messy handwriting was the title "Don’t forget me (seriously) & other reminders."

You took it, unfolding it. It wasn't just a playlist. Beneath the song titles (a mix of comforting indie, upbeat anthems, and a few embarrassingly soppy ones you loved) were little notes:

Track 3: For when the Scottish rain feels endless. Remember, my umbrella's in your bag's side pocket

Track 7: When you ace that first presentation. Dance like no one's watching (because they probably aren't)

Track 10: For the nights it feels too quiet. Put it on loud. I'll be humming along

Track 16: For the really hard nights

P.S. Seriously. Buy more socks. Edinburgh is cold. And eat something green occasionally. Love, A

Tears pricked your eyes. "Arthur."

"Shut up," he mumbled, standing abruptly, his own eyes suspiciously bright. "Just some reminders. Now, where's the tape for this box?"

The Uber arrived too soon. Boxes filled the boot and half the back seat. The drizzle from your first meeting had returned, a fittingly grey London send-off. You stood on the pavement, the final goodbyes choked and inadequate. He pulled you into one last, crushing hug, his face buried in your neck. You could feel the tremor running through him, the desperate press of his fingers against your back.

He smelt like home.

"Call me when you get there," he whispered, his voice thick. "Text me when you're on the train. Let me know the flat's not a dungeon. Send pictures of anything. Everything."

"I will," you promised, your voice cracking. "Every step. I love you."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but fiercely tender. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you hadn't felt fall. "I love you more. Go be brilliant. Just come back."

Then he kissed you. Not the quick, desperate press of lips you expected, but something slow and deep, like he was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth. His hands slid into your hair, holding you there, his breath shaky against your cheek. You could taste the coffee he’d had that morning, the faint sweetness of toothpaste, and the salt of tears—his or yours, you weren’t sure. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, moving against yours with a quiet intensity that made your chest ache.

You clutched at the front of his hoodie, fingers twisting into the fabric, pulling him closer. He made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat and kissed you harder, his nose bumping against yours, his stubble rough against your skin. The drizzle clung to your faces, cold where his fingers weren’t touching, but you barely noticed.

When he finally pulled away, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath uneven. His eyelashes were wet—from the rain, maybe, or something else. He swallowed hard, his grip on you tightening for a second before he forced himself to let go.

Then, without another word, he helped you into the car, his hand lingering on the door handle like he might change his mind and pull you back out. But he didn’t. He just shut the door gently, stepped back, and watched as the car pulled away.

The driver pulled away. You twisted in your seat, pressing your hand against the cold glass. Arthur stood on the wet pavement, hands shoved deep into the pockets of those same worn jeans. The drizzle plastered strands of his dark hair to his forehead. He watched the car go, shoulders slumped, looking achingly young in his vulnerability, yet impossibly old in the weight of the moment. He lifted one hand in a small, hesitant wave, a solitary figure shrinking rapidly in the rainy rearview mirror, swallowed by the grey of London.

The four-hour train journey between London and Edinburgh became something the both of you were used to. Text messages replaced shared sunrises inside the flat, and video calls stood in for evenings curled on the worn sofa. The physical absence was a constant, low ache, a space where Arthur’s warmth, his scent, and the comforting weight of his arm around you, should have been.

Arthur (3:47 a.m.): Just woke up

Arthur (3:47 a.m.): Your pillow smells like your shampoo…

Arthur (3:47 a.m.): Miss your snoring

You (8:15 a.m.): I do NOT snore. Also, 3 a.m.? Go to sleep, old man. Are you editing again?

Arthur (8:15 a.m.): *Old man?! 

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): I’ll have you know I went to the gym today and sustained no injuries

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): And yes, editing. Wanted to have the video ready ASAP

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): Also… 

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): Maybe miss you more than the sleep…

You (8:17 a.m.): Miss you more. Go to bed, idiot 🧡

Arthur (8:18 a.m.): Only if you promise not to drown in projects today. Love you ❤️

You (8:19 a.m.): Love you too ❤️❤️❤️

The rhythm was familiar, comforting in its own way, but it couldn't replicate the ease of presence. The age gap, once a background hum in the shared flat, began to resonate with sharper, more discordant notes.

His career was hitting its stride. Videos gained traction, collaborations with bigger names materialised, and deadlines carried real fweight. His texts sometimes buzzed with frantic energy: "Just landed a meeting with someone big! Nervous as hell." or "Editing marathon. Might actually turn into a vampire. Send coffee thoughts." His successes thrilled you, but they also felt like planets orbiting a different sun.

Your world, meanwhile, was a pressure cooker of academia. Deadlines loomed like thunderclouds, critiques from professors felt personal, and the sheer volume of reading was relentless. You were navigating the turbulent waters of postgraduate life, learning to pay bills meticulously, budget for groceries, and exist independently in a city that still sometimes felt overwhelming. 

One particularly brutal week where a presentation went spectacularly wrong. Technical glitches, a stammering delivery, a professor's cutting remark. You left the lecture hall, tears of frustration and humiliation hot on your cheeks. Huddled on a cold bench in a secluded corner of the university gardens, you called him. 

It was mid-afternoon. He was likely filming or in a meeting.

He answered on the second ring. "Hey, love! Everything o—" He heard the ragged intake of breath, the suppressed sob. His voice instantly softened, shedding the earlier lightness. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong? Talk to me."

That was all it took. 

Words tumbled out in a messy, tangled rush. Half-formed thoughts, sharp-edged frustrations, and the kind of rambling sorrow that had no neat narrative. 

You spoke of the presentation that had fallen flat and the way your professor’s polite nod felt like a slap. You spoke of the hours spent poring over readings that never seemed to stick, of dragging yourself through rainy streets, past cheerful strangers who all looked like they belonged here in a way you never quite did. You spoke of the ache in your bones, the hunger you’d ignored for too long, and the dinner left untouched in the fridge. And then there was the bench.

That stupid, freezing bench outside the library where you'd sat for too long, just to be alone in your misery, blinking hard against the tears because crying in public still felt like failure. That moment tipped you over. 

You didn't want solutions, not really. You just wanted to be heard, to be held.

Arthur didn’t. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t talk over you. He didn’t tell you to breathe or calm down or look on the bright side. He just listened.

There was a deep, attentive silence on his end. Every few seconds, his soft thinking-hum came through the speaker, a low, soothing sound, like a lullaby murmured just under his breath. You could almost feel it vibrating through the phone, grounding you.

You imagined him in his flat, pacing slowly, or maybe sitting cross-legged on the carpet with his head bowed like he always did when he was truly focused. You could picture the furrow in his brow, the way he’d close his eyes sometimes when he listened closely, as if his whole body were tuned to your voice.

Only when your sobs had quieted into hiccuping breaths did he speak.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with tenderness, “you’re not failing. I promise you, you’re not.”

Your lip trembled again at that, not because it was reassurance, but because it felt like truth. 

“I’m so tired,” you whispered. “I feel like I’m running just to stay in place.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I hate that I’m not there with you. I really wish I was with you. I'd steal you away right now. Find the biggest, greasiest pizza in Edinburgh and eat it under a duvet fort."

“I miss you,” you breathed, the ache behind your ribs tightening.

His exhale was soft, almost lost in the connection. “I miss you more than I know how to say.”

There was another long pause, but it didn’t feel empty.

“I’ll stay on the line as long as you need,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to say anything else. Just breathe with me.”

So you did. You closed your eyes, the phone a warm weight against your ear. You focused on the sound of his breath, a slow inhale, a steady exhale. You matched yours to it. In. The cool air filling your lungs. Out. The shaky release. In the faint static hum of the line. Out. The lingering dampness on your cheeks.

Minutes passed. Just breathing. The frantic pounding of your heart began to ease, replaced by the simple rhythm shared across the distance. Your shoulders, knotted tight with stress, loosened fractionally. The knot in your chest didn’t vanish, but it softened, edged back by the quiet, persistent sound of him being there.

“Thank you for this.” You say, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replies and makes kissing noises. “I’ll be waiting for our next call.”

Three days later, a parcel arrived. Inside, nestled in protective packaging, were expensive noise-cancelling headphones. Taped to them was a note in his messy scrawl: "For focus. Block out the world (especially noisy flatmates)." Beneath them, almost hidden, was a ridiculously soft, green plush dinosaur. Another note: "For hugs. The headphones aren't cuddly. His name is Sir Rockinsford, or Rocky. He's a good listener. Love you. A." You clutched Rocky to your chest, the scent of new fabric mingling with the ghost of Arthur's laundry detergent, and cried again, this time with a heart full of aching gratitude.

The weekends Arthur managed to escape to Edinburgh were lifelines, snatched fragments of their old life. He’d arrive at Waverley Station looking rumpled and slightly wild-eyed after the journey, a large backpack slung over one shoulder, invariably bearing a slightly squashed loaf of sourdough from his favourite London bakery. He always insisted he’d slept fine on the train, despite the dark smudges under his eyes that told a different story.

Your tiny student flat felt impossibly full with him in it. He’d immediately take over the microscopic kitchen, making tea while you tried to focus on reading at the rickety table. His presence was a warm, distracting comfort. He’d hum absentmindedly, the same tuneless hum from the phone call, as he moved about, inevitably knocking an elbow against a cupboard door or stubbing his toe on the bedframe. "Cramped but cosy," he'd declare cheerfully, handing you a steaming mug.

One drizzly Saturday, you dragged him to Edinburgh Castle. As you walked through the ancient stone gatehouse, Arthur’s earlier reserve melted away. The museum nerd you’d first met re-emerged, his eyes lighting up as he pointed out architectural details.

"See that?" he whispered, gesturing to a narrow slit in the thick wall. Tourists jostled past, oblivious. "Everyone calls it an arrow slit, right? Actually, a common misconception. It's primarily for crossbows in this period. The angle and the width." He launched into a detailed explanation, his hands sketching shapes in the damp air, his voice dropping into the enthusiastic, slightly faster cadence he used when talking about things he loved.

You watched him, a fond smile spreading across your face. He caught himself mid-sentence, noticing your expression. He ducked his head, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Sorry."

You bumped your shoulder against his arm. "Don't stop," you said softly. "I love it. And don't worry," you added, a playful glint in your eye as you nodded towards a nearby information plaque, "I'm still reading every word."

His grin was instantaneous, relieved, and bright. "Good. Wouldn't want you missing these amazing crossbow facts."

Winter in Edinburgh was a beast. The days shrank, swallowed by darkness that arrived mid-afternoon, and the wind sliced through coats like they were paper. The cheerful resilience you’d both mustered during autumn visits faded under the weight of grey skies and the relentless, grinding pressure of your workload. While Arthur’s channel thrived, it brought its own intense demands. Your own deadlines piled into an overwhelming mountain of research papers and presentations.

April arrived, bringing daffodils to Edinburgh's parks and Arthur's 29th birthday. You’d planned a weekend visit to London, a small celebration. Maybe baking his favourite cake, a quiet dinner, or just being together. But an important exam was scheduled for the Monday morning immediately after the weekend, an exam you were perilously underprepared for, thanks to a nasty flu that had wiped you out the entire week prior. 

Calling him, your voice still thick with congestion and scratchy with regret, was awful.

"Arthur. I don't think I can make it down this weekend," you rasped, the words scraping your throat. "This exam, it's massive, and I lost so much time being ill. I'm so, so sorry. Happy Birthday." The words felt like ash in your mouth. Pathetic.

A beat of silence stretched on the line, long enough for your heart to plummet. You could vividly picture the careful blankness settling over his face, the way his hand would automatically rub the back of his neck. "Oh," he finally said, his voice unnervingly neutral, devoid of its usual warmth. "Right. The exam. Yeah, no, of course. That. That makes sense. Gotta prioritise." Another pause, heavy with unsaid disappointment. "Don't worry about it, love. Really. We'll celebrate properly next time. Bigger cake." His attempt at lightness fell utterly flat. You heard the disappointment, carefully banked but unmistakable, beneath the forced cheer.

“I’m really sorry Arthur, I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

A few months later, with summer approaching, came your graduation ceremony. After an absolutely brutal year, everything had finally fallen into place. Your family was travelling up, but Arthur was the one you desperately wanted to see you walk across that stage in the ridiculous cap and gown. You’d sent him pictures of the outfit, excited to see him on the day. 

A week before the ceremony, everything fell apart for him. His external hard drive—where he’d kept almost all the raw footage for the new series—suddenly stopped working. No warning, just gone. He tried everything he could think of, but nothing was bringing it back. The files weren’t lost forever, but getting them back would take time. Way too much time. He called you late that night. His voice was flat and strained, full of panic and frustration. He sounded like he hadn’t slept, like he’d been holding it together all day and couldn’t anymore.

The disappointment hit like a punch to the ribs. You stood frozen in your tiny room, phone pressed too tight to your ear, the hired graduation gown hanging on the back of the door, its sleeves limp as if sighing at you. The gulf between your worlds, his in London, yours here, his career emergencies, and your academic milestones felt suddenly vast and icy.

Typical, you thought, jaw clenching. Of course work comes first.

“It’s fine,” you said, voice clipped. The words came out sharper than you meant, all your frustration leaking through. You didn’t have the energy to soften it. “We’re adults. Work comes first. I get it.” That word, adults, hung heavy between you. It wasn’t just about this moment. It was about his birthday last month, when exams kept you from London. It was about the way he’d swallowed his own disappointment then, just like you were swallowing yours now.

His breath hitched on the line. “Don’t say it like that,” he murmured, voice cracking. “Please. I want to be there. This just—”

And then you realised.

This was his work. Not some corporate obligation, but his. The videos, the channel, the thing he’d built from scratch, the thing that paid his rent and funded those stupidly expensive headphones he’d sent you when you were drowning. The thing that mattered enough for him to sound this wrecked over missing your graduation.

Your anger flickered, then dimmed.

“I know,” you said, quieter now. You pressed your forehead against the cold windowpane, staring out at the rain as it came down steadily. “I,” you let out a long breath, heavy with disappointment. “I get it. Really. Go fix your disaster. I’ll save you a glass.”

A beat of silence. Then, a soft, disbelieving huff. “You’re angry,” he said, like he was realising it mid-sentence.

“Yeah, well.” You swallowed hard. “So were you on your birthday. But we’re adults, right?”

Another pause. You could almost hear him thinking. When he spoke again, his tone had changed. “Right,” he said. “And we can make it up to each other. With cake. And maybe terrible wine.”

Your mouth twitched. You didn’t want to smile, but you did anyway.

“Deal,” you said. “Now go. I’ll text you the livestream link.”

“Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“I know.”

You ended the call and let the phone fall into your lap. You sat there for a while, still annoyed, still tired, still wishing things were different. But it didn’t hurt quite as much anymore. You stood up, wiped your face, and got ready for bed.

The key turned with a final, echoing click. You stood in the doorway of the tiny student flat, now stripped bare. Sunlight streamed through the empty window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air where your desk used to be. The only sound was the faint Edinburgh wind whistling past the building. It felt hollow, resonant with the echoes of late-night study sessions, frantic calls to Arthur, and the triumphant relief of finishing your dissertation. Rocky, the green dinosaur tucked securely under your arm, was the only remnant of your life here besides the suitcase at your feet. You’d sent the boxes of your things a day ago, it’s scheduled to get to his flat a few hours after you get there.

You took a deep breath. You'd fought hard here, learnt fiercely, and loved achingly from afar. You pulled out your phone and snapped a picture of the empty room and attached it to a text.

You (8:15 a.m.):  [Image: Empty Edinburgh flat]

You (8:15 a.m.):  Ready to be back home, returning the keys soon. See you in a few hours.

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): [Image: A slightly blurry selfie of him grinning, holding up a mug]

Arthur (8:16 a.m.): Counting. Will have tea when you’re back! Safe travels ❤️

You smiled, the familiar warmth of his presence bleeding through the pixels. Shouldering your bag, you gave the empty space one last glance and closed the door behind you.

The familiar rumble and screech of the train pulling into the station sent a jolt through you. This time, the grey London light filtering through the high glass roof didn’t feel oppressive; it felt like a familiar embrace. You hauled your suitcase down the aisle, heart hammering against your ribs in a rhythm that was equal parts nerves and pure, unadulterated anticipation.

You scanned the bustling platform, the sea of faces blurring. And then you saw him.

Arthur wasn't leaning against a pillar or checking his phone. He was moving, weaving through the crowd with that familiar, slightly slouched urgency, his head swivelling, eyes scanning frantically. He looked taller somehow, or maybe it was just the way he held himself, searching for you. He was wearing a dark green hoodie you hadn't seen before and those same soft, worn jeans. His hair was a bit messy, like he’d run a hand through it repeatedly.

His gaze locked onto you. His whole face transformed. The searching intensity vanished, replaced by the grin you were familiar with—wide, relieved, crinkling the corners of his eyes, lighting up his features in a way that made your breath catch. It was the grin from the museum, the one from under the streetlamp, amplified by months of longing. He didn't hesitate. He covered the last few yards quickly, his long legs eating up the distance.

He reached you, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against the soft cotton of his hoodie, lifting you slightly off your feet in a hug that was fierce, wordless, and spoke volumes of every lonely night, every missed call, and every ache of separation. You buried your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling deeply. He smelt like home.

"Missed you," he murmured, his voice thick and muffled against your hair. His arms tightened almost imperceptibly. "So bloody much."

"Missed you more," you whispered back, your voice catching. You clung to him, the platform noise fading to a distant hum.

He held you there for a long moment, suspended, his face buried in your hair. Then, you felt the soft, warm press of his lips against the crown of your head, a firm, lingering kiss that was a silent promise, an anchor in the whirlwind of arrival. It was tender and possessive all at once, breathing you in.

Only then did he finally set you down gently, his hands sliding from your back to cup your face. His dark brown eyes scanned yours, taking you in, the familiar warmth mixed with a profound relief. He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his thumb lingering on your temple where his lips had just been. "Alright?" he asked softly, the question encompassing everything. The move, the degree, the journey, the sheer weight of being back.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, but smiling so widely your cheeks ached. "Alright."

He grinned again, a little shakily this time, then bent and grabbed the handle of your suitcase. He slung his free arm around your shoulders, pulling you snugly against his side. The solid warmth of him, the familiar press, was an anchor. "Right then," he said, his voice regaining its usual soft cadence, laced with a happiness that resonated deep in his chest. "Let's get you home."

The Uber ride was a blur of tangled fingers resting on your knee, quiet murmurs about the traffic, and Arthur pointing out a new mural near the old flat. "Chris showed me. It's a bit weird, honestly, but colourful." The familiar streets felt different seen through the lens of permanence.

He fumbled slightly with the keys at the door of his flat, his usual slight awkwardness amplified by the suitcase and his eagerness. He pushed the door open and stood back, watching your face intently, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

You stepped inside.

It wasn't pristine. A camera lens cap lay forgotten on the coffee table. A half-drunk mug of tea sat beside his laptop. But it was different. Noticeably so. Space had been consciously made. Your bookshelf wasn't just there, it had been expanded, a new matching unit added beside the original, and your books integrated with his, no longer just piled on top. The draining board wasn't overflowing, space had been cleared, and your favourite oversized mug sat prominently on the mug tree, clean and waiting. A small, dedicated corner by the window now held a neat stack of your binders and notebooks, a proper study nook, replacing the precarious pile on the floor.

You walked further in, your fingers trailing over the spines of your books on the new shelf. You saw your old, fuzzy blanket draped over the arm of the sofa.

"Tried," Arthur mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks faintly pink. He hovered near the doorway, suitcase forgotten. "To make it properly ours again. Knew your stuff would need places. Hope it's okay?" He gestured vaguely at the study corner and the bookshelf. "Didn't want you feeling like you were just slotting back into my mess."

You turned to him, emotion swelling in your chest. You appreciated the effort, the visible proof he'd been thinking about your return, about making space for you not just physically, but in the life of the flat. You crossed the few steps back to where he stood, still hovering by the doorway, watching you with that tentative hope in his eyes.

You reached up and cupped his face in your hands. His stubble was rough under your palms, familiar. His breath caught as you leaned in. When your lips met his, it wasn't like the first desperate kisses under the streetlamp or the quick pecks during rushed video calls. This was slow and deliberate. His mouth was warm and slightly chapped, and he sighed into the kiss like he'd been holding his breath for months.

One of his hands came up to cover yours where it rested against his cheek, his fingers pressing gently over yours. The other settled at your waist, pulling you closer until your chests touched. You could feel his heartbeat through his hoodie, steady and strong.

When you finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, his eyes stayed closed for a second longer before opening. They were darker than usual, full of something quiet and awed. He didn't smile, just looked at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles where he still held your hand against his face.

"Welcome home," he murmured, so softly you almost didn't hear it. Then he kissed you again, shorter this time, but no less certain. When he spoke next, his voice was rough. "Meant to say that properly when you walked in. Got a bit distracted."

You laughed, the sound catching in your throat. "It's perfect," you whispered against his lips. "Thank you."

The first few days were a delicate dance of re-establishing rhythms. Arthur had a looming deadline for a video collaboration while you were deep in the trenches of job applications, tailoring CVs and drafting cover letters for positions in London.

One afternoon, you had a video interview scheduled. You’d set up in the study corner, notes arranged, and you were dressed presentably. Just as you were about to hit 'join', the unmistakable sound of Arthur’s enthusiastic voice narrating drifted loudly from your shared room.

You froze. Pre-interview nerves tangled with a spark of frustration. You took a deep breath and walked to Arthur’s room, his door was ajar. Inside, he stood bathed in the glow of his monitor, pacing the limited floor space between his desk and bed. His recording headphones dangled around his neck like a high-tech scarf as he gestured wildly at the timeline on his screen, completely absorbed in his narration.

"Arthur?" you asked.

He spun around, startled. "Yeah? Sorry, love, just this bit—"

"I have my interview starting right now," you said, pointing to your corner. "I really need it quiet for the next hour."

His eyes widened in instant understanding and apology. "Shit! Sorry! Right. Right." He immediately grabbed the expensive noise-cancelling headphones you'd given him for his last birthday and shoved them onto his head, giving you a thumbs-up and a contrite, muffled "Best of luck! You’ll crush it!" before turning back to his screen. 

Later, as you finished a successful interview, buzzing with relief, you emerged to find him still deeply focused. You started preparing a simple dinner. He finally surfaced, blinking, stretching the kinks out of his neck. "How'd it go?" he asked, coming into the kitchen, automatically reaching for the kettle to make you tea.

"Really well, I think!" you replied, stirring the pasta.

"Brilliant!" He grinned, then glanced at the simmering pot. "Listen, this video, it's fighting me. Mind if I grab another hour? Can dinner be late? I promise I'll make it up to you with washing-up duty."

You looked at him, the focused intensity still lingering in his eyes, the slight weariness, and the earnest request. You remembered the dead hard drive, the cancelled graduation, and the swallowed disappointment. You understood the pressure. "Go," you said, smiling. "Sort it out. We'll have late pasta."

He leaned over and kissed your temple. "You're a star." He grabbed a banana and headed back, pulling the headphones on again. 

Two hours later, after the pasta had been eaten with Arthur making good on his washing-up promise while you dried, you found yourselves on the sofa in that perfect post-dinner haze. The rain pattered softly against the windows as Arthur stretched out along the length of it, pulling you back against his chest with a contented sigh. His arms wrapped around you, warm and solid, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

"Finally got that video sorted," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. His fingers traced idle patterns on your forearm. "It should be out early tomorrow.”

You hummed in response, relaxing into his embrace. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back was more comforting than any blanket. His hoodie was soft against your cheek, still carrying that faint vanilla-and-laundry scent that was so distinctly him.

"Good," you said, interlacing your fingers with his. "Worth the wait for dinner then."

He huffed a quiet laugh, his chest vibrating against you. "You're too nice to me." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Thanks for being patient."

You turned your head just enough to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Always."

Arthur tightened his arms around you in response, nuzzling against your hair. The laptop whirred quietly on the coffee table where he'd left it, the video finally rendered and sent off. Outside, London hummed its nighttime song of distant traffic and rain-slick streets. But here, in the warm cocoon of the sofa, with Arthur's steady breathing and the weight of his arms around you, everything felt perfect.

You were home.

[lorax177]

the above and:

-my pronouns themselves are considered radical (i do not use she/her or he/him, only they/them--or it/spivak if you're feeling fancy)

-speaking about my experiences as unaligned/intersex/transneutral/angenital/nb in general gets me shut down/othered/spoken over/accused of being a freak or bigot in cis and trans spaces alike

-threat of violence due to my presentation not fitting into the binary. which ofc is the case for non-passing binary trans people, intersex people, and gnc folks, but like, i feel like the fact that the nonbinary desire to be seen as outside the binary...idk, seems especially relevent. like when i introduce myself with my pronouns im essentially outing myself as "one of /those/" instead of being able to pass myself off as just being a cis person with atypical presentation/body characteristics. it's seen as anything from rude/uncomfortable to aberrant. most binary people just don't get the idea of gender neutrality.

-p much everything is gendered. there's not a whole lot of options outside of alternating/forgoing/diy when it comes to like everything. i would love to walk into a store and not have to think about "men's or women's xyz".

-expanding on that, people are always trying to sort me into a binary based on every little thing, and it's exhausting to try and balance things so i dont come off as too masculine or too feminine. like, there is no "right" way to gender me. it's not like if i get called one or the other it would feel euphoric.

-no options on legal documents that both protect me from government targeting and also honor my actual gender. so i have to choose between being seen and being safe, even if i get every little thing changed. which is not really feasible anyway.

-just the sheer number of binary people compared to nonbinary people. my gender is almost always in the minority because it's almost unheard of to find any nonbinary people, especially unaligned/transneutral ppl. Even in trans spaces, it's hard to find people who share my gender (neutrois). it sucks to always be the only one in the room with my gender.

-transition is hard because i have to jump through more hoops to be able to get the care i need, and a lot of doctors are still operating under the assumption that there's only 2 genders. so it limits the people willing to work with me.

-LOTS of assumptions and microaggressions get thrown at me by everyone, even well-meaning trans people. Assuming my agab, making generalizations about my gender (or assumed gender), lumping me in with one or the other, etc. it's frustrating but i can't talk about it bc ill be seen as too aggressive or whatever.

-canonically nonbinary characters are few and far between, and usually treated poorly by the fanbase and often also by the creators/narrative.

that's all i can think of for now, i might add to this later if i think of anything else.

❗️❗️ This is asked entirely in good faith. This post is intended to open dialogue and help with solidarity and understanding. ❗️❗️

I would like to hear specifically from nonbinary people how the system of exorsexism/enbyphobia uniquely targets and affects you. Things that you feel other demographics do not experience. Reblogs and replies are very encouraged! If you would prefer, you could dm or send an ask to be added anonymously by me.

This is in the spirit of wanting to understand. I am listening. I encourage all binary trans people to not speak on this topic and let nonbinary people do the talking here. Reblog the post to spread it, but please say nothing.

Any and all people who identify as nonbinary are encouraged to participate. This is not agab-locked. If you are agender, trans neutral/neutrois, genderfluid, bigender, trigender, multigender, xenogender, genderqueer, third gender, two spirit, or any other gender not wholey contained within the strict binary of "man" or "woman", this post is for you. Even if you have already posted on the trans fem or trans masc versions, if you are nonbinary, you are welcome here.

This is not bait to start a fight. I will block without hesitation anyone who is actively being a shithead on this post. I want to hear and uplift your voices by getting it directly from you.

Click this to access the trans fem and trans women version of this post.

Click this to access the trans masc and trans men version of this post.

[dewdewick]

could i request clark kent, hopelessly in love with his coworker at the daily planet, who he thinks hates him (he’s wrong. he’s so wrong.)??

Not friends

Pairing/s: David!Clark Kent x Fem!Reader

Genre: 💕 Fluff

Warning/s: use of Y/N, Reader is AFAB, Reader has hair, reader likes coffee, Steve Kemp is a butthead

A/N: YEAHHHH I GET TO WRITE ABOUT MY BLORBO OF THE WEEK. The yearning is STRONG and this fic is short. Love y’all and I’m working on all of the other requests

Word count: 1.5k

Request rules!

Feel free to request! Just please read the rules first!

****************************************

Night and day, Sunshine and rain, that was Clark and Y/N. She wrote an advice column for the daily planet. A girl who had the quickest wit he’d ever seen on a person non metahuman. She was probably more suited for his job, daily news. She had a silver tongue meant to strike down empires and bring them to their knees. Not quite the temperament to be writing advice to Muriel 48 who just couldn’t seem to understand why she couldn’t get a date with her 39 year old coworker.

Y/N had a special way with people. She could say the most outlandish things with a joking undertone and get away with it. She had something that not only drew

Clark but most others to her despite her dry humor and general demeanor. She was special to say it in a word, and he couldn’t look away.

He didn’t mean to stare, but her desk was just by the window. How could he not look at the prettiest girl he knew bathed in sunshine as she nursed her morning coffee? He had a bad habit of supporting her caffeine addiction too. The way she smiled and said his name when he set the coffee cup from jitters on her desk though. He’d empty his bank account and start robbing Lex Luthor blind to keep experiencing that.

She’d catch him looking occasionally, giving a small wave and an awkward smile. Her nose scrunched up just the tiniest bit. He even loved that smile, the one that probably meant “why are you looking at me like that weirdo?” He always did his best to just wave back with a smile as well. There was always some excuse about seeing a funny bird or Superman out the window.

A girl like her was never meant to be with a guy like him in his mind. That didn’t stop the debilitating crush he had on her though. It didn’t stop the teasing comments from Jimmy and Lois or the urging for him to make a move from Cat. It didn’t stop the pangs in his chest when she mentioned a date she’d been on. Most of all it didn’t stop Steve from making a comment that would change everything.

He’d walked into the bullpen on one chilly fall morning. The sun was shining and he had a tray of coffee in his hand. Steve spotted him and began teasing like always. “Kent! What is it with you and Superman huh? I mean you know half the people only read because they want to know if he’s got a girlfriend yet!” The mustached journalist exclaimed as soon as he spotted Clark. “Good morning to you too Steve.” He replied, making a beeline to her desk as Steve followed.

“Coffee delivery.” He said with a smile as she looked up. He set a jitters cup in front of her keyboard and she gave him that small smile he savored every day. “You really don’t need to do this, Clark. I’m a big girl, I can get my own coffee.” She said, taking a sip and practically melting at the taste. In all truth she would’ve been a bit sad if he didn’t continue his sweet little routine; but he didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, this whole crush you’ve got is getting a little pathetic Kent.” Steve teased, attempting to sling and arm over Clark’s shoulder but failing due to height. “Steve, go away. You’ve got other places to be annoying.” She deadpanned when she saw Clark’s face drop just slightly. Steve just laughed, patting Clark’s back and moving on.

Clark just gave her a tight smile, his cheeks and the tips of his ears slightly red. “I’ll uh- I’ll let you get back to it. Have a good day.” He said, his voice cracking just a bit. It was cute, this big mountain of a man getting so bashful just from a stupid teasing comment. She watched as he made his way back to his desk. Handing Jimmy and Lois the coffee that he’d so thoughtfully gotten for them.

By the end of the day, she hadn’t caught his eye again. She looked over to see him hunched over his computer, illuminated by his yellow desk lamp. His curls falling over his face and his glasses low on his nose. He pushed them up and furrowed his brows as he typed on the keyboard. She sighed, standing up and walking over to his desk. She leaned on an empty space, tapping his shoulder.

He looked up at her with surprise on his face. “Hi” he murmured, like he was afraid he’d scare her away. “You haven’t been staring at me.” She accused, crossing her arms as she looked down at him. “There haven’t been any…weird birds?” He defended, his lie falling flat. “Uh huh, what other reason?” She asked.

He sighed, looking down at his desk. His large hand fiddling with the pencil in his grip. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He admitted quietly.

“What makes you think I’m uncomfortable? We’re friends right? Friends look at each other and stuff. I totally spaced out the other day and ended up staring at Lois like a freak.” She asked, trying to throw in some humor.

“That’s not really the reason I look at you. You have to know that.” He said, looking up at her with a puppy dog expression. “Then why do you look at me?” She asked, her head tilting just slightly.

“I look at you cause- you’re like the prettiest coolest person i know. You have so much personality and when you smile it gives me butterflies. I thought with what Steve said that the cat was kinda out of the bag already.” He said, turning towards her in his chair. His hand found her knee, absentmindedly stroking small circles with his thumb.

“Clark” She said with a huff of a laugh “why didn’t you just tell me?” She asked, her hand covering his “I don’t think that way, it’s not how I operate. I thought you were just being nice, trying to be my friend.”

“Honey I never just wanted to be your friend.” He said, his dimples creasing his cheeks as a small smile came to his face. “I want all of you, I want to take you out and buy you more than just coffee.”

She smiled again “I’m free tonight.”

[batsandbirdbrains]

oooh ok but kryptonian Dick AU within the new Superman would be sooo coool especially if Dick keeps spoiling Luthor’s plans bc he’s a feral kid.

Spoilers Ahead:

Like I imagine the message of their parents addressed both of them. But Dick got stuck in the phantom zone and technically a kid/teenager while Clark is an adult. Maybe Dick lives with/visits Clark regularly cuz Ma and Pa are getting older and it’s harder for them to take care of such a rambunctious kid all the time. Dick debuts as Superboy maybe like 4 minutes after Clark debuts as Superman. The become the dynamic duo but Superboy usually only helps with smaller matters (like rescuing cats from trees and stuff) cuz the Kents are more responsible caretakers than Bruce and don’t think letting a kid fight crime 24/7 is a good idea.

Anyways despite them teaming up from time to time, Superman is more widely known and people tend to forget about Superboy. This is where Lex makes his mistake. He accounts for most of the obstacles he might face, except Superboy. The public knows that Superboy and Superman are twins despite their obvious age difference, so when Lex leaks the video of their parents, it works on turning public opinion right up until people remember Superboy exists. How can someone accuse that little boy of having a harem? Of doing evil? He was literally just spotted helping a kitten get out of tree. It turns into a meme.

When Lex steals Krypto? Instead of Clark bursting into his office in fury, it’s Dick who is solemnly weeping and sobbing as he asks if Lex killed his doggy. He’s screeching about how Krypto has a special diet and he could die, and would Mr. Lex really kill his doggy for no reason? Mr. Lex do you hate doggies?

Lex is twitching and demanding the footage be erased only to realize it was a livestream. It goes even more viral. Public opinion is swiftly shifting, but Lex still tries to work the “dangerous aliens” angle. It almost works up until Lois Lane does a live interview with Superboy, in which he tells them that the video was mistranslated, and Mommy and Daddy would never say such bad things, and why does everyone hate us, we’re only trying to help, and I don’t care if you guys are mean, I still love you.

Clark still ends up in the pocket universe somehow, but this time Dick goes with Lois and Mr. Terrific to save them. Dick sings along to the song playing in the background as Mr. Terrific absolutely annihilates everyone. He even gets to bite somebody! They make it out of the pocket universe, and Clark leaves Dick with Ma and Pa while the big battle is going down. When Dick sees that Clark basically won, he rushes to him and gets to bite Lex alongside Krypto. Dick also repeatedly insults him about being bald and stupid and evil and a dognapper, and Lex is crying even harder than he was before.

BONUS:

Guy Gardner is poking Dick with a stick (made from the green lantern thingy) from a distance, asking if the kid really does have a harem. Mr. Terrific sighs exasperatedly. Dick just stares him down and begins to grin ferally.

I love this. I love all of this so so much. But one image I can’t get out of my head is the following:

Lex Luthor, talking about how the Kryptonians must both have harems, then everyone swiveling their heads towards Superboy!Dick who’s maybe all of ten years old. And he’s just floating there. Confused. Tilting his head.

“What’s a harem?”

And it’s all over the internet in minutes.

Especially because Superman is so frazzled and he’s practically vibrating as he says in a voice much closer to how he speaks as Clark than as Superman, “Shush! Don’t talk about stuff like that! You’re too young to be talking about stuff like that!”

“But what is it! What’s a harem! KAL TELL ME WHAT A HAREM IS! WHY IS LEX SAYING WE HAVE ONE? KAAAAAAAAL!”

They’re both somehow chasing each other. In the air.

“You’re too little! You’re a little boy! You most certainly do not have a harem!”

“Well do you have one? Why did Lex say you have one?”

“I DO NOT HAVE A HAREM!” he screeches, his voice going up an octave. “And you’re not allowed to know what one is until you’re thirty!”

“THAT’S NOT FAIR, KAL! WE’RE THE SAME AGE!”

“We are not on this planet and you know that! We are not discussing this anymore!”

“HAREM HAREM HAREM HAREM HAREM-”

Clark finally catches him and slaps a hand over his mouth.

Dick licks his hand in retaliation.

Clark shrieks and gags and then gives him a wet Willy. Dick tries to wriggle away but Clark keeps a tight hold on him until they’re inside the building where Guy and the others find them.

When Guy pokes at Dick with a stick made from his ring, Dick pretends to bite at it. It makes Guy shriek. Dick is a cackling like the brat he is.

[theliterarywolf]

Notable Censorship News, 8/4/25

Alright, so today's updates are going to veer a little from the video game side of things. Not because the fight has eased up, in fact, we actually have some news coverage on the issue that I will share in this post, but because we do need to shine some of the spotlight on the recent re-re-re-resurrection of KOSA and its ugly bestie SCREEN.

To refresh ourselves on KOSA: It is touted as the 'Kids' Online Safety Act'. Because of course you want children to be safe online, right? That's why, rather than incentivising web-developers to reinvest in safe, child-focused online platforms, we keep seeing KOSA-like motions used to censor LGBTA groups and limit information to global events and historical documents! ...Wait, what?

You can access StopKOSA here to identify your local lawmakers for ease of contact as well as more information about spreading the word about this invasive Trojan virus of a bill.

You ever hear the saying about 'I've never seen two pretty best friends?' Well, in this case, KOSA is barging its way into spaces no one asked it to with SCREEN on its arm!

What is SCREEN, you may ask? Well, imagine all of the abject bullshit going on in the UK in regards to 'requiring' ID to access mundane things such as Discord, Wikipedia, and Spotify... Being applied to all aspects of the internet! Fun*, right?!

*If you actually think this is fun, I have a bridge to sell you

As of right now, the only direct link with actions to take and contacts to make is this one from Fight for the Future. Granted, some might be put off with their wording turning this into a bipartism issue but, to be fair, things have only gotten so mask-off in regards to censorship and the gutting of the internet with the current administration.

Now, for some less-than-dismal news, let's round things out with some news coverage regarding the current campaign of calling Visa, MasterCard, and PayPal out on their bullshit.

We have TechCrunch

We have CBC Radio

PCGamer

The Guardian

Please feel free to add any other news links/videos and I will be glad to reblog your additions for the sake of sharing viable information.

Things are seeming very dire right now, it is easy to admit. What may have started out as opening the eyes to how easily payment-processors have squirmed their grimy fingers into people's lives has ballooned into realizing just how many hands have been arming rifle of subjugation into freedom of speech's skull.

However, we still have the ability to fight, to scream, to claw at the ground until the very end. The battle is only over when one side stops breathing and, I don't know about you, but my lungs are still working.

[orchidbreezefc]

thanks for the breakdown, OP! here are a few more ways dess as the knight (or one of them, or working with them) supports those details!

the survival stuff makes sense for someone who would try to end the world--obviously she could be preparing for that scenario, but it's also possible that the cause and effect are reversed. there's a tendency for e.g. doomsday cultists to become so fixated on that outcome as core to their identity that it becomes desirable in some twisted way.

there's also more to her association with bats (the song in the rock band minigame themed after dess is called "raise your bat")! this isn't the only mention of her beating kris with them--noelle recounts a story of dess doing it to stop kris messing with noelle. and on that note, in line with OP's observation of the knight wielding their sword left-handed...

(kris really said 'i can't read suddenly, i don't know')

check out how the knight's weapon looks when they first summon it:

that's a fuckin bat my dude!! that they use to beat kris!!!

also, in line with dess and asriel being close, i firmly believe the knight is using asriel to get kris to cooperate, since that's the only thing that would sufficiently motivate them and they're VERY touchy about him. alphys mentions at the start of chapter 2 that they can't reach asriel because of the internet outage--i guess he doesn't have a phone?

that makes dess the likeliest person to have active contact with him, since i read dess's disappearance as the result of a family rift. it's a common theme in utdr, pretty understandable given her mom being Like That, and explains why noelle and rudy find her less of a sore subject--still a little bit, but not like you'd expect for a dead or missing person. the ending for ch4 in the weird route also seems to indicate dess is still in contact with noelle, and it would make sense for the same to be true of asriel (maybe she ran off to college too)!

regarding the speculation on a survival mission related to the shelter, we DO hear [a story] about dess taking the other kids on a spooky adventure in that area, which may or may not be tied to kris's attempt to summon a demon, which may or may not be tied to gaster's sound file playing near the shelter, which may or may not be tied to the [creepy phone calls].

also, the roaring knight's attacks prominently feature stars. not only do we have the glow in the dark ones, but theyre on the bedspread that uses the same colors as the fight (nice catch)! stars go pretty well with the concept of points of light in the darkness/being with you in the dark 🤔 that imagery is pretty prominent in undertale, and we do know dess and noelle [have discussed it], even specifically in a reassuring capacity!

my in-depth analysis of dess's room: a long, long thread

before you read: this is a thread focused on each part of dess's room, and it includes my own theories and headcanons about certain aspects of the story. feel free to comment/reblog with anything i missed or if you have any differing views! (likes & reblogs are appreciated, i worked a lot on this ^_^)

walls & floor: the walls (and overall colours of the room) seem to represent northern lights! turquoise, dark shades of blue and purple, with that pattern, are very clearly northern lights.

it immediately made me think of the song "northernlight" in the soundtrack, along with the message in the cave ("go to northern light") in the second s-rank game, and i wonder if it’s supposed to reference something about dess. it could be related to where she truly is/where fragments of her are, but the message could also just be about the weird route and how to find the ice door.

the floor in her room seems to be a fuzzy carpet meant to look like snow or straight up a turquoise floor that represents ice, fitting with the theme of the holidays.

stars + calendar: of course, glow in the dark stars to go along with the northern lights... it could be just decorative but maybe she herself was somewhat afraid of the dark as well? going along with the "don't forget" song (that i personally headcanon as dess' "lullaby”), it might've been a song for both for herself and for her sister. any light is better than total darkness... and also it matches with asriel's part of his own room, he has his own stars that turn light green in the dark :,) my cuties!

next to them there's a calendar, but i don’t know what to make of it, since it can’t be interacted with it. it just makes me think of the calendar in noelle’s room, with the dark world counterpart having all dates be december 25th, but i’m not sure what connection to make here.

posters: the posters on the closet door… ough my heart hurts. it’s so nice to think she had the posters of some of her favourite groups next to her own with her own show(s) that she may or may not have ever done!!

obviously the most noticeable one here is the one with a sword, it reminds me of the knight… the other poster that seems like it’s drawn out is also interesting imo, honestly i can’t figure out exactly what it is but it looks like either a bed or an attempt at drawing a piano which could imply a dess and kris duet that never happened? maybe it could be part of the reason they’re so reluctant to play…

stop/caution tape: speaking of the decorations on her closet door, it intrigues me how the “caution” tape and the stop sign are there instead of her front door.

it might not be that deep, maybe it’s just because carol is so strict on having everything look perfect on the “outside” so dess had to put them somewhere inside her room, but it does make it seem like there’s something forbidden in there. it could tie in with her possible fear of the dark as well, something like “monsters in your closet” paranoia except they’re actually real and she is/was terrified of them, so she wouldn't want anyone to go in there (but i might be reaching). this also has an interesting parallel with the closets seen at the end of each room where the dark fountains were opened, which could potentially be where the knight is hiding.

dess' bed: alright, finally the first item in the room: dess' bed. talk of the town! why is it facing the wall in the corner of the room?

i have two guesses: 1. she's being a rebellious teenager or 2. the bed position ties in to my theory of her paranoia. 1 is plausible just because she seems to be a rebellious, messy teenager, standing as an antithesis to her mom’s "perfectly organized" life, so she'd want to make her room as chaotic as possible, including the layout. 2 is just a continuation of my previous theory about her being "scared" of what's in her closet, so she's facing away from whatever that is, so she doesn't have to see it when she goes to sleep. besides all that, she also has quite a few items under her bed, as detailed down here.

they seem to be simply related to her interests (music/sports) and survival items (possibly related to the shelter?), with the silly little addition of a badly traced drawing of a dragon, clearly referencing the book asriel still hasn’t returned to the library <\3 my dessriel… he clearly doesn’t have the heart to return it… and also this could be me being delusional as always but can i just add that dess' blanket and mattress colours are the same colours as the two main colours shown in the roaring knight fight… coincidence? maybe. i think not!!

shelf/desk: i think it's kinda cute that she kept all the holiday-themed games/movies and pretty funny that she hid the scary ones behind those LOL

the next line really made me think more about dess & kris' relationship even more 🥹 it just keeps on getting clearer to me that they really had a close bond and maybe dess told kris they'd be able to play some of these together (or lend them to kris) when kris was older but… it never happened ;; ough my favourite little guys… and it’s pretty interesting to see that her computer monitor was unplugged?

was there something she was hiding? was there something she was seeing on there, similar to the weird things that noelle has seen on hers? was part of her disappearance planned? because why else would there be a conscious decision of unplugging it before disappearing? who knows… (and also do notice that the mouse is on the left side of the laptop, implying she might be left handed. you know who else is left-handed? the knight. just saying !!!)

cd player: this little dialogue is just adorable to me!

despite her punk rock tastes being very clear asriel still gave her a ska cd that she still kept in her collection even if she never listened to it. these two are so silly and it’s just really interesting how much of asriel is intertwined with dess, how they were so close, how we can see glimpses of their distant past… man. i really hope we can see more of this in upcoming chapters as well !! and the lamp… is just there. just a lamp. cute colour tho

box of odds-and-ends: a very fascinating box! the first few items are actually pretty interesting, because they can be glossed over as just other survival items, but the fact that they seem to have been used is intriguing to me.

the lighters are already burnt, the knives rusted, the rations expired, this could indicate a previous failed “mission” related to the shelter (or several), depending on whatever dess’ goal was. the walkie-talkies could indicate that there might’ve been a plan to split up, maybe her heading into the shelter, who knows… binoculars and a pair of shoes for dess wrap up those items, fit for someone who is planning or had planned some sort of survival expedition, perhaps in the woods as it was mentioned that the holiday and dreemurr siblings went once.

next, no surprise at the violent comic books, seems like her type, a cracked hockey mask from her days as a hockey player, and frayed yarn and buttons that could’ve been used to repair/modify toys/plushies? (seam?)

deeper in the box, asriel’s retainer… i had to laugh a bit because my first thought was he took it out before they kissed and it was lost forever at some point LOL it could be something else (like eating or smoking, considering the next item) but that was my first reaction & i stand with it! dessriel is real!!!! and of course can’t leave out the old cans of mint leaves with unique leaves. definitely something she’d have and take a hit of from time to time lmfao

instruments: interesting that she has so many different ones in this corner.

it seems to me that carol was trying to push dess into more classical, elegant musical hobbies instead of what she really likes, but it didn’t seem to work as all the high quality instruments sound like they’ve been roughhoused with, because she wasn’t (perhaps purposefully) delicate enough with them, or she actually overused them to the point of damage lol i wouldn't be surprised if she tried to learn many of them but ended up sticking with the guitar! and speaking of the guitar, i feel like i don't have much to say about it since the only thing we know about it is that it's dess's main "symbol" (as seen in the deltarune website) and it's used to hide one of the codes, but nothing more…

rollerblades & wifflebat: knowing kris' history with dess and the wifflebat, this is honestly pretty funny, like they must gotten hit quite a couple of times for them to get a headache just looking at those.

i wonder if they got chased while dess was on rollerblades as well it's so hilarious to think about… lightning fast rollerskating dess chasing small kris to hit them in the head… and also i think the head hurting could have a double meaning, signalling that just the thought of these memories / remembering those times hurts kris as well…

and now... CLOSET TIME!

clothes: i cannot overstate how HAPPY i was when we saw her closet, because it's been my own personal headcanon since chapter 2 that this is kind of how she dressed (just missing a varsity jacket imo, esp considering how many sports she does)! the army/camouflage jacket works well with all her survival gear, the red flannel is just a classic and makes sense since it evokes winter and a more masc vibe imo, the other black/silver ish jacket i can't tell exactly what the design of it is but it could be a winter jacket, and of course last but not least asriel's sweater <3 my dessriel heart… it's so cute that she has a sweater of his, i'm sure it's something he must've let her borrow once (or more than once, as noelle mentions very casually how dess was wiping her younger sister's tears with azzy's jacket, definitely making me think she was wearing it) and just kept it bc of how close they are :( it's just so sweet!! and noelle saying the sleeves smell like cinnamon… dess i can see you being a yearner girl you can't hide from me !!

hearts: i think it would be hilarious if the reason she had these in her closet os that dess kept hiding the hearts that kris would find around the house to scare noelle with and shove them in her closet, stopping the little menace that kris is!!! and could it have any symbolism with dess perhaps being aware of the soul as well to some capacity…? i don't know exactly how she'd be aware of it, maybe shelter shenanigans before she disappeared, but yeah who knows just a thought i'm throwing out here!

hockey gear: ice skates, hockey sticks, hockey pucks, she was definitely a hockey girl!! maybe carol tried to push her into ice skating at first (esp considering ressemblances in the knight's moves and ice skating) but she likes the rougher aspects and competitiveness of hockey!

instruments: more instruments! here we see a trumpet, a drum set, and her famous guitar again! like i said before she might've tried to play several instruments before sticking with the guitar, including these other two, and she might've kept these to perhaps start a band, reflecting the chapter 3 round 2 minigame which seems to be inspired by her. the concert posters could be related to all of this as well.

red shoes + baseball balls: it's funny how both of these piles are abundant with these red and white items, i have no idea why she'd have so many of both of these things except if she tends to ruin/lose both of these very often somehow. dess did your parents not know what to give you for christmas or do you just keep ruining your shoes while playing sports/baseball/anything with your wifflebat. answer me !!!

miscellaneous items: i think the santas and the gift boxes were solely put there for the little soul obstacle course, i'm not really sure they're there for any lore reasons but i could be mistaken. i just don't see much relevance except yk. holiday family has holiday items everywhere! maybe she hid these santas from kris since they glued shut the other ones LOL

and that's what i have for my analysis of dess's room! thank you if you've read until the end, it was pretty long but i hope it was worth it! i've been a fan of dess (and dessriel!) since chapter 2 so this was an insane moment for me and i'm so happy about this ❤️!!

[v4mp1r1cs]

𐙚⋆.˚ Diluc NSFW headcanons ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, afab!reader, explicit descriptions of sexual acts, not proofread sorry, MINORS DNI !!

A/N: Decided I loved doing the Chuuya hc's so much I'd do some for genshin ♡ Also where r my diluc lovers he is so overhated </3 Need to put out some more genshin stuff tbh...

♡ Can be rough but highly prefers the closeness and intimacy of slower paced sex. As someone with a lot of issues surrounding losing people, I think he’d feel desperate to be close to you, getting any skin to skin contact he can to be assured that you’re really there and won’t go anywhere. Of course there’s days where he’s irritated after a hard day at work or he hasn’t seen you in too long so that desperation translates into frantic touches and heated desire instead of a need to be slow and savor the closeness of the moment, but overall I’d say he’s more inclined to be passionate however gentle. 

♡ Adding onto the previous hc, he really treasures as much physical contact as he can during sex. Always seeking out your hands to intertwine your fingers with his large calloused ones, pressing chests flush and securing you to him with strong arms, fixing his chest to your back, wrapping your legs tight around his waist or over his shoulders ect. You get the picture. It just makes him feel secure and the contact acts as a sort of grounding mechanism to reassure him that you’re there in the moment with him and you actually want him. 

♡ King of foreplay. Will spend literal hours between your thighs, eating you out like a man starved until you’re shaking and pushing his head away. Gets an insane amount of pleasure from YOUR pleasure, knowing that he can take you apart and cause your body to react like that seriously gets him going, to the point he can struggle to exercise restraint. Also has pretty big hands and long fingers so when he’s got two or three buried in you, hitting your g-spot with every agonising thrust, best bet you’re coming at least twice before he’s even come close to fucking you. 

♡ If you initiate anything or imply you want him, that iron will is out the fucking window. The fact you desire him and wish to have him like that destroys him. It’s not that he feels unwanted particularly, especially not in your relationship, however feeling like he’s not the only one who initiates sexual situations takes a lot of pressure off him as it means you both desire each other in equal measure and that he doesn’t need to worry about coming on to you too often or not enough. 

♡ Praise. Going both ways, he’ll praise every little thing about you, from whispering reassurance and how beautiful you are to how well you’re doing for him and how good you feel, it doesn’t matter to him. He believes praising you so intimately shows you how deep his love for you goes and hopes you understand how important and seen you are. Also loves when you return the favor, calling him pretty or beautiful may make him bashful and a little shy but he appreciates it nonetheless. He’s not often insecure about his looks but knowing you think his scar littered skin is just as perfect as the rest of him amplifies his desire for you intensely. 

♡ Relatively quiet, isn’t loud in any aspect of his life and this carries over to the bedroom too. The loudest he’ll get is when he’s breathing out desire laden sentences to compliment you, other than that he’s all low groans and muffled grunts into your skin.

♡ I don’t think he’s all that experienced, with his childhood and losing his dad and then the time he spent away from Mondstadt, sex became one of his lowest priorities until he met you. Most likely a virgin when you got together, however he’s an unbelievably fast learner and will grow to know every sensitive spot on your body and everything that makes you tick almost immediately. He’s highly skilled in reading people and he’ll note how your body reacts to every touch, every feeling and will use that to his advantage. It’s almost unfair how quickly he can reduce you to a shaking mess. 

♡ You always end up with a myriad of various marks scattered across your body, deep red hickies that match the crimson hue of his hair trail all the way from your neck and collarbone to the inside of your thighs and several finger shaped bruises linger on your hips. He’ll kiss every single one in apologetic reverence when he notices, though you insist you don’t mind and if he’s apologising you should be too for the plethora of scratches painted scarlet on the muscled planes of his back. He never even realises he’s giving you all these marks in the heat of the moment but is always conscious to never hurt you to the point the pain overtakes the pleasure and would never intentionally hurt you.

♡ His hair comes down. Every time. Whether that be by your hands as you tangle them through his fiery locks whilst he’s going down on you with insatiable hunger or his own as he’s tugged out his hairband mid heated makeout whilst he’s trapping you against the wall or another item of furniture. (There’s probably not a surface in the winery that hasn’t been christened by the pair of you). Call him pretty or something along those lines with his hair down and you’ll find him quickening his pace and pleasuring you with desperate fervour. 

♡ He’s not very kinky as the intimacy and closeness of sex tends to pair with more vanilla activities, plus a lot of things like that such as bondage,roleplay ect. just doesn’t appeal to him in the slightest. He’s confident in the knowledge that vanilla sex doesn't have to be boring, there’s so many positions and things you can do together to bring different sources of pleasure into your sex life. He’s also willing to at least try anything you might suggest and he’ll try to enjoy it for your sake but is also firm on his own boundaries and won’t be swayed if it’s something he’s genuinely uncomfortable with. 

♡ Expect occasional check ins. He’s very big on consent and making sure your pleasure and enjoyment comes first over anything else, he’s not having a good time if you aren’t. He won’t ask before every single thing he does as he knows that can be annoying and also trusts that you feel secure and comfortable enough to voice any concerns you have or tell him to stop if you need. More often than not it’s simply a reassuring squeeze to your thigh and a “Are you doing ok?” or “Is this fine?” sometimes he’ll opt to send you a questioning glance instead.

Diluc my fav ♡ As always any likes & reblogs r appriciated plus my reqs r always open and i lovee getting new ones however please read my rules b4 requesting! Love u all xx

[celestialgalaxyglow]

Batfam and Danny, Part 55

Today is a day Bruce has been dreading, the day yet another one of his kids moved out. Now Bruce found himself in the elevator heading up to Tim's new penthouse.

Tim, Kon, and Bernard were throwing a housewarming party, and everyone had been invited. Alfred stood next to Bruce, fresh muffins in his hands. Bruce's other kids were acting like hyperactive toddlers, ready to make a mess of their brother's new home. Dick and Jason had also brought Kori, Roy, and Lian, respectively.

After climbing 100 floors the elevator doors open to a small hallway with a single door at the end. Alfred moved first and rang the doorbell, a second later Kon opened the door.

Kon: Hey guys, come in!

They all filtered in to the living room, the Kents, and the Gordons had already arrived.

Tim: Finally you guys arrived, I was starting to think you wouldn't come.

Alfred: Apologies Master Tim, your father was being difficult.

Bruce: You moved out...

Tim: Umm... sorry?

Jason: Don't worry Tim, he'll get over it.

Cass: I love your living room.

Bernard: Thank you, I decorated it.

Steph: You should start a home decor business, you would make good money.

Bernard: I'm happy with my job as a computer engineer. I start at the new branch location in a few days, but if that doesn't work out, I'll consider home decor.

Damian: Your new home is adequate Tim.

Jon: Damian! They have a two-lane bowling alley on the third floor, what to play?

Damian: You're on Jon! Lead the way.

Jon grabbed Damian's hand and they vanished up the stairs.

Alfred: A bowling alley?

Tim: Yup!

Gordon: How many rooms does this penthouse have again?

Bernard: Well the first floor has living room, kitchen, dining room, pantry, and wine cellar, and two bathrooms. The second floor has family room, cinema, laundry room, the sauna, and another two bathrooms. The third floor has gym, game room, library, and as Jon said the two-lane bowling alley, and another two bathrooms. The fourth floor has 5 suites, 3 regular bedrooms, my apothecary room, and one bathrooms. The fifth floor has the "royal" suite which is the room Kon, Tim and I share, as well as 3 other suites which are our individual rooms, 2 studies for Tim and myself, a morning room, and model train room. And lastly the we also own three-fourths of the roof which has pool, greenhouse, and helipad.

Tim: We also have a private elevator that only services our penthouse, floors 100 to 106. The external elevator that you took up only connects to floor 100, 101, and 106. We also have stairs, but climbing 100 floors is a but much.

Kon: We could use them to exercise in the morning.

Bernard: True.

Ma Kent: Bernard you have an apothecary?

Bernard: My mom was a strong believer in natural remedies, not one of the crazy ones though, she believed in modern medicine, but she also believed in traditional medicines. I learned a lot from her, I know the medicinal and less medicinal properties of hundreds of herbs and other plants.

Pa Kent: Good, younger generations have forgotten too much about the ways of our ancestors.

Tim: Oh! We also have a secret room in the library, with a beautiful view of Metropolis, especially at night when all the city lights are on.

Barbara: I'm interested in this morning room.

Jason: Me too.

Steph: Me three.

Cass: I want to go as well.

Tim: Enter the library, go all the way to the other side of the room, take a right, fifth shelf, second row form the top you'll see a green book with no title, pull it out and the shelf right of that one will pop open.

Jason: Thank you little bro!

Barbara, Jason, Steph, and Cass left the room.

Danny: What's up the three-fourths roof thing?

Tim: The other fourth is blocked off by a wall, on the other side are the A/C units, air vents, and other building maintenance stuff, only building maintenance has access to it.

Duke: You have a helipad?

Tim: Yes. He turned towards Bruce. Dad-

Bruce: No Tim, I will not but you a helicopter, none of you know how to-

Bernard: I have a helicopter license.

Bruce: You- you do?

Bernard: I- no! I am not get 3 20-year-olds a helicopter. And I better no see you buying one yourself Tim.

Tim: Yes dad...

Alfred: Yes please no helicopters... Well overall I think you three have a beautiful home young masters.

Tim, Kon, and Bernard: Thank you Alfred!

Alfred (brooding): Tim you do know that you still own Drake Manor just down the road from Wayne Manor? You could have just moved in there.

Tim: Why would I ever want to be your neighbor?

Bruce: ...

Alfred: Master Timothy!

Tim: Ok that came out a little harsher than I intended, love you dad. I promise I'll visit.

Bruce (laughing): Love you too Tim.

Tim: Also you did buy me the penthouse for us, so you can't really complain.

Gordon: That's what I don't get, forgive me Tim, but you're a multimillionaire in your own right. Why have poor Bruce buy it?

Tim: Bruce is a multibillionaire and he likes spending his money on us kids, so I'll let Bruce use up his money, and I'll keep my millions aside for later.

Bernard: You know Kon you should sue Luthor for some kind of inheritance, gain a few millions.

Tim: I could forge a will that gives you everything.

Kon: Ohh, good idea, let's talk about it later.

Bernard: Well my family is firmly middle-class, no rich relatives for me, I only inherited a few thousand from my parents.

Clark: Well I'm happy Kon decided to stay close to home, I can keep a close eye on my boy.

Lois: Me too, I worry enough about my kids when they're out being heroes, last thing I need is them moving too far away and having to worry about them as civilians.

Kon: Dad... mom... please.

Bruce: Metropolis is too far away...

Tim: Dad, I'm just across the river, it's a 15 minute car ride.

Bruce: It's too far! He turned to look at Dick. And you're moving to Blüdhaven soon.

Dick: All papers have been signed, Kori and I now own a penthouse with a beautiful view of Blüdhaven.

Tim: A 3-story penthouse.

Dick: Well our building is taller than yours, so we win.

Kori: It's not a competition love.

Dick: He started it!

Kori: Richard.

Dick: Fine!

Lian: Uncle Dick, can I see your house?

Dick: Sure thing little bean, I'm planning throwing a party myself, and you're invited, if that's ok with your dads.

Lian looked up at Roy.

Roy: We'll be there.

Lian: Yes!

Bruce (to Clark): So how until those three make a plan to take over the world, given that neither of us will be there to supervise them?

Clark: I'd like to think that Bernard will keep Kon and Tim in check, but that boy is just as unhinged as the other two.

Bruce: ...

Clark: I'd hate to say it, but you need a contingency plan for those three as a packaged whole.

Bruce: I'll start working on it as soon as I get back to the cave.

Clark: Any chance you can ignore the whole forging Luthor's will so Kon can inherit everything thing?

Bruce: Sure, if anything I'd be happy to help them with the forgery.

(Master Post)

Penthouse Layout

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

So uhm..little request

So maybe could you make Reader like a pear shaped body girl? Wide hips, narrow shoulders. She had a bit of pudge on the stomach but she's not really chubby (I BARELY SEE PEAR SHAPE GIRLIES IN MEDIA OKAY)

OOOOOR

.. Deku (or Bakugo) and Reader go to a nude beach, and uh, Reader put sunscreen in her palm and is stroking it onto their cock-

Alright BYE😬

Take It Off! 👙 (Deku x F!Reader 18+ One Shot) [REQUEST FILL] 

Pairing: BF!Izuku “Deku” Midoriya x GF!Reader 

Synopsis: In which your boyfriend mixes up the beach locations for your weekend trip down the shore and you wind up venturing to a nudist beach…but is that really such a bad thing? Not when the drinks are free and you get easy access to your sexy boyfriend’s perfect body. A little too much easy access. 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS DNI); Pear-Shaped!Reader; Established Relationship; Pervy BF!Deku x Pervy GF!Reader; Mutual Masturbation; Sneaky Handjob/Blowjob; Cockwarming; Sneaky Cowgirl; Daddy Kink; Switchy!Deku x Switchy!Reader; Oil Massage; Body/Muscle Worship; Deku Has a Dick Piercing; Creampie

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: This one was just TOO fucking hot & fun to NOT write about. I hope you enjoy this one, Anon & thank you for the request! I had so much fun writing this one! -Jazz 

**************

“Izu, baby?” you awkwardly question, gripping your boyfriend’s hand a little too tightly. “Why is that man walking around with his penis out?” 

Your man looks at you like you just grew two heads or told him you are pregnant with an alien baby. He stands in his wife beater, All Might swim trunks, and flip flops, freckles and legs sinewy with fine, green hair on full display.

“Why is who doing WHAT NOW?” he asks, dumbfounded. 

If it was a different situation, you would be falling down laughing right now. But you are just as confused and horrified as he is. Standing on the sandy hill overlooking the hot sands, frothy waves crashing ashore, and the dottings of colorful umbrellas and beach towels, you point out towards a man walking across the sand with a beer and sunglasses on. 

And sure enough, he is naked with his penis and buttcheeks out for all to see. Izuku aka “Deku” your pro-hero boyfriend, is shockingly not someone who easily becomes flustered nowadays. He left that in his UA days. But as a twenty-something-year-old man, he has his moments that he goes red like a tomato. This is one of those moments. “Oh!” he exclaims, eyebrows raised in surprise. 

But then his expression goes solemn, his green eyes widening at the sight. “Oh,” he repeats, way more serious now. “Uh…w-well, maybe he’s just overheated or he lost his shorts in the water.” He hisses in pain at your grip on his hand, trying to slip out of it. “Now where’s a good spot where we can–” 

“But babe,” you interrupt, pointing your shaky finger out onto the sand. “Everybody’s naked on this beach.” Deku pauses, blinking at you with his pretty, dark green lashes. “Everybody?” he parrots. 

Like you stated, every beachgoer on the shore right now is either topeless, bottomless, or completely naked. Lounging on their towels and blankets. Playing in the water. Walking among the sand with their cocktails and beer cans. Nothing but bare basses, tits, labias, and cocks as far as the eye could see! The only saving grace is that it seems like this beach is for adults only. 

“Izuku, where are we?” you demand, still staring at the strange, foreign land you’re in. “Is this one of those naked beaches?” You say it like a swear, gripping your beach bag close to you as if it is the Bible. 

Finally, Deku slips out of your grip and takes his phone out, tapping away with a perturbed expression on his face. “It can’t be,” he protests. “I have the directions. I put them in Apple Maps no problem. Siri told us the directions to the 18+ beach in this area!” 

He picked a small area outside of Musutafu City for its quietness, cheap hotels on the shoreline, and adults only beaches. While you both loved kids, you didn’t want them involved in your couples’ weekend trip that will most definitely entail a lot of ‘adult fun’...but this type of adult fun is just too much for you. You feel so overdressed and awkward in your bikini as skimpy as it is. 

Not to mention slightly intimidated by the many beautiful, perky-chested, flat-stomached naked women on the beach. 

It isn’t that you’re insecure in your body. There is nothing wrong with your shape. You have a natural ‘pear shape’, you’ve been told: wide hips you can launch a ship off of; narrow shoulders; a bit of pudge on the stomach that Deku seems to love to grab and kiss. You were encouraged by him to get the string bikini you are wearing now underneath your coverup. But to be surrounded by so many women and their bodies is more than you think you can handle. 

You put your hand out for Deku’s phone, his phone case being a photo of you and him on the back. “Show me the directions.” You’re not up for any complaints either, which is probably why he hands you his phone with Apple Maps open. 

You begin to decode the directions, trying to figure out where he went wrong when driving. The beach you are supposed to be at has a boardwalk, a marine, and a string of hotels, bars, and hiking trails…and NO NAKED PEOPLE. After a few short minutes, you figure it out and nearly square up with your boyfriend. “Well?” Deku asks, arms crossed and bouncing in anticipation on his heels. “What’d you find?” 

“Oh, Izuku,” you groan, showing him the map. “You took another left instead of a right! We’re at the wrong beach!” He gapes at the phone, confused. “Huh?!” he exclaims. “There’s another beach?!” 

“In opposite directions,” you chuckle as he stares dead at his phone too. Sure enough, two beaches show up on the map within the vicinity of each other. “What a joke.” Now Deku is really blushing, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aw, jeez,” he huffs, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” 

You sigh, suddenly feeling guilty for…well, for reaction as any normal human being would being trapped on a nude beach. But the last thing you want is for your boyfriend to feel guilty for his driving skills. “No, babe, it’s okay, really!” you reply, giving him a reassuring smile. “It was just a simple accident!” 

But Deku is still apologizing and spewing shit to try and ease the situation. “I-I must’ve zoned out a bit ‘cause I woke up so early this morning and I’ve been driving for–” 

“Baby!” you exclaim, holding his face in your hands. He buttons his lip, those pretty eyes staring into yours. “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. We can just get in the car and turn around, can’t we?” Deku drove his trusty Jeep on the trip, still packed with your luggage in the backseat. The plan was to go to the hotel room Deku booked ahead of time after the beach, but that would only be possible if you were on the correct beach. 

Deku is tapping away on his phone before he grimaces, meaning that whatever he is seeing isn’t good. “Well, we could, but it’ll be dark by the time we get to the beach we intended to go to,” he sighs. “I was gonna suggest we find a hotel and maybe wait till morning.” 

Oh. Well, there goes that plan. You turn to look at the beach again, biting your lip at the sight of naked people splashing, floating, and lounging in the water glinting from the summer sun. “No,” you decide. “It’s too beautiful of a day and we came all this way, right? Might as well enjoy ourselves.” 

Deku quirks an eyebrow at you, confused and concerned at your sudden change of mind. “Uh…you mean here?” he questions. “Are you sure, baby? I only ask ‘cause you look like you’re about to bolt.” 

True, you are shaking and true, you want to run back to the safety and security of Deku’s ride…but what chance will you get to enjoy the sun until next summer? “Yeah, yeah, m’cool!” you reply a little too forcefully. “Just a little hot. Once we find a nice spot, I’ll feel even better.” 

A man in a straw hat with a very well-endowed appendage walks by with a metal detector. He gives you and Deku a polite smile as if he doesn’t feel any kind of draft down there. You swallow down your discomfort, holding everything back. “Okay then,” Deku says with a nod. “And don’t feel weird if you wanna take off your bathing suit. After all, it is a nude beach.” 

So you’ve been seeing. But you are an adult and you can handle the naked body. You’ve seen yours and your boyfriend’s thousands of times! What’s the difference between yours, his, and everybody else’s? ‘Because these are strangers,’ a voice in your head hisses. ‘This isn’t just you or your sexy ass boyfriend.’ 

Hand in hand, you and your said sexy boyfriend walk down the sandy hill to the beach of lounging and swimming naked people. You try not to stare at the pairs of tits glinting in the sun as women sunbathe or dicks flopping about in speedos during a game of volleyball. Hopefully, once you get a drink in you, you’ll feel more comfortable with this new environment. 

Though Deku’s hand in yours definitely helps. His calloused palm and scarred skin never fail to make you feel that zing of electricity throughout your body from his touch. “This looks like a good spot,” he says, pointing at a shady spot underneath a palm tree. It is some ways from the water but not too far. 

After laying out your beach towels (you have one with Deku’s face on it to which he always seems to appreciate when your ass is planted on it), you help Deku set up the umbrella and cooler filled with bottled water, White Claws, and small finger sandwiches that you prepared the night before…but right now, all you want is a White Claw. So after sitting with Deku on the towel in your sunglasses, you pop open the cooler and take out two cans of White Claw for you and your man. 

He smiles in thanks, clinking his can with yours. “Cheers to a weekend trip,” he says before cracking open the can and take a long sip alongside you.

You sigh, feeling the ice cold vodka trickle down your throat. You feel better already. And with every sip you take, you start to feel more comfortable being around a bunch of naked strangers. 

“Pass the suntan oil, baby,” you tell Deku as you prepare for your suntanning. He does so, going into your bag, past your smutty romance novel and sunscreen, to grab your oil.

You squirt some into your hands and rub them together before applying the sheen to your arms, trailing your hands up your chest. You try to do so without taking off your top, having to go underneath your cups to do so. 

“You know…you could always just take that off,” Deku suggests. You finally look at him, noticing that he has been watching you since you started.

His face instantly goes red hot. “N-Not that you should!” he stammeringly adds. “And don’t feel pressured to! I just meant since it’d be easier to rub into your…” He pauses, biting his bottom lip. 

But you know exactly what he means. And maybe it’s the sun or the vodka taking over, but you’re interested in that. “You…want me to take off my bikini?” you carefully ask. Your boyfriend’s face is still as red as a ripe tomato. “Maybe not the bottoms, but perhaps the top. Every other woman here is topless, it seems.” 

You look around, silently agreeing; every woman tanning or in the water has their chest out for all to see, no matter the sizes or shapes. It is oddly inspiring. “And you’re okay if I get looks?” you question with a small smile. Deku smiles back, taking a sip of his White Claw. “You get looks anyway, but I’m used to it. I’m not the pretty one here.” 

The compliment isn’t as heart-melting as the look he gives you: so adoring and comforting. He knows how awkward this is for you and is trying to ease the tension for you. You give him a bashful smile, reaching over to peck him on the lips. “Oh, stop, baby. You are pretty to me.” Pretty enough to be naked. 

The naughty thought comes out of nowhere, intensified by the alcohol and Deku’s impressive body. With the liquid confidence and Deku’s compliment fueling you, you reach back to untie the string holding together your bikini top. The two thin cups fall, revealing your tits that are the perfect size for a good hand squeeze.

You turn to Deku who is staring at you like this is the first time he’s seeing your chest, his eyes wide and face aflame. “Well?” you shyly ask. “You gonna help me put this on or just stare?” 

Your boyfriend swallows hard, his Adam’s Apple bobbing, and his hand shakes as you hand him the oil. “Y-Yeah,” he stutters. “Sure. Just turn around and let me rub you down.” 

You giggle as you turn, your back facing him, and sit between his muscular legs. You bite your lip as you feel his hands, slick with oil, rub all over your back and down your spine. “Fuck,” he murmurs to himself and you can already tell what he’s so astonished about. 

“You act as if you’ve never seen my tits before, Izu,” you giggle. You feel his emerald eyes piercing a hole in them as hot as the sun, his gaze making heat pool between your thighs. “Can you blame me?” he chuckles. “I’s different in public. The oil doesn't make it any better.” 

You feel his hands slowly come to the front of your body to rub down your neck, stomach, and chest, his oiled fingers slicking the thick, shiny substance across your skin. You bite your lip as his thumbs glide over your nipples, never staying in the area for too long. Is he afraid of arousing you? Because that ship has already sailed! You can feel the tingling, hot sensation grow between your thighs, spreading throughout your body. 

And then you feel it pushing against your back: his hard cock tenting in his swim trunks. You bite back your gasp, pretending to not notice it, but the hard outline of his cock pressing against your backside just about sets you on fire. Now you wanna play. So when he finishes oiling your top half, you launch a plan in your head. “Um…I need my bottom half done too,” you coyly state. “Plus sunscreen. You do too, it looks like.” 

You turn, motioning over his body already becoming reddened by the sun. He sheepishly laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah!” he chirps. “Yes, we’ll definitely need that too. We don’t wanna burn, right?” He clears his throat, his eyes flicking down to your bikini bottoms, looking like he wants to rip them off. 

You bite back a smile, glad to have your boyfriend in your trap so easily. “But…what if we stain our clothes?” you ask, acting as innocent as possible. “I heard this oil doesn’t come out.” To your credit, you are right: you’ve gotten suntan oil on your white bathing suit before and never got it out. 

Deku swallows, his eyes still grazing over your semi-naked body. “W-Well, I’ll take mine off if you do it with me.” He stands and helps you up onto your feet with him, the both of you standing topless together. Your hands graze the ties at your waist holding your bottoms up while Deku grips the waistband of his trunks, still gnawing on that plump bottom lip. “One…two…three!” 

You strip off your bikini bottoms while Deku takes off his bottoms in one quick swipe like he would rip off a Band-Aid. With your clothes now on the ground, you both stare at each other, in awe of your bodies in the summer sunlight. “Wow,” you both say in unison. 

You can’t get enough of Deku’s toned thighs and legs sinewy with hair, the top half where his shorts were pale from no sun exposure. Not to mention his broad chest, lickeable stomach, and broad shoulders where a dusting of freckles that you’ve licked on many, many times adorn his skin. His eyes graze over your body, pausing longingly at your thighs, chest, and waist. You are a Goddess in his eyes. 

“Hey, green-haired dude!” a woman in the distance yells. “Nice butt! Your girl too!” 

“Yeah!” her friend agrees. “I’d die for tits like hers!” 

Deku’s entire body goes red with embarrassment, but he manages to give a sheepish wave to the ladies. You nearly die with laughter. “Thank you!” you call across the beach through fits of giggles. Now the awkward bubble has been popped, leaving you feeling free and liberated. “Guess maybe we were right to strip,” Deku chuckles. “Now where were we?” 

“Right here,” you reply, not meaning it to come out so sexual-like. You slink to the ground and he watches you as you roll onto your back, pressing your tits underneath you, your ass on full display for him. “Make sure you get my back.” 

For the next couple of agonizingly arousing minutes, you lie on your front while Deku kneels beside you and rubs oil and sunscreen on your back. His calloused fingers run over your back muscles, rubbing out the aches and cricks from sitting in a chair all day at work and the constant stress that you carry every day. Your head lulls against your crossed arms, your body relaxing under the sun, the sea breeze, and your man’s touch. “Mmm,” you softly moan. 

“Feel good, lovely?” he chuckles. You nod, a slow smile stretching across his face. “Good. I love when you feel good.” His hands slide down to your legs, his fingers kneading your thighs, until they trail back up to glide across your asscheeks. “That’s not my back, naughty boy,” you jokingly criticize.

He gives a breathy chuckle, the sound like an aphrodisiac to your ears. “Sorry, but can you blame me? You’re blessed back here, baby.” He proceeds to coat your backside in oil and sunscreen, taking extra care to mold the substances into where your thighs meet your ass. 

You bite your lip as the tingles of arousal grow, damn near swallowing you. “Clearly,” you sexily giggle. “I think that’s enough for me. You need some protection too~” You sit up to kneel before him, noticing how his eyes flicker to your hard nipples. He can’t not know how horny you are for him now. 

But, in proper Deku-like fashion, he plays along with you, a playful smirk on his lips. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, rolling onto his stomach to expose his back muscles, freckles, and firm yet bubbly ass to you. You decide to apply the sunscreen first, sticking to his back, shoulders, and legs. Then you work on him with the oil, becoming increasingly needy the more you see his muscles become slick and shiny with it. 

Your Deku is truly a man to behold with a body that inspires wet dreams. You truly feel lucky that you’re the girl that gets to have this body against yours and hovering above you every night as he drives his cock in you, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm the only way he can. You silently thank All Might, Aizawa, and Deku’s personal trainer for putting him through the wringer since UA High. 

Before you know it, your hands are indulging in his muscles and bubble butt more than they are applying sunscreen for his protection. “Havin’ fun there?” he cockily asks. Your face heats with embarrassment at being caught, but your arousal and the vodka make you bold. “Yes,” you giggle. “But I’ll have even more fun if you flip over.” 

With a sexy laugh of his own, Deku turns over to reveal his toned frontside and his semi-hard cock between his thighs. There, you begin to caress his muscles, hands roaming over his forearms, pectorales, and abs. How can someone be this damn sexy? 

“I know what you’re doing,” he suddenly says. Though mirth sweetens his tone, your stomach still flips at the idea of being caught in the act. “What?” you ask, playing innocent. “I’m just making sure my sexy boyfriend doesn’t burn in the sun.” You give him a wink, squirting more oil in your hands. 

Deku places his arms behind his head, making his forearms bulge the way you love seeing them do. You wonder if he’s doing that on purpose to rile you up even more. “Uh-huh,” he replies, clearly not swayed, staring up at you with hooded, green eyes. “Just watch the hands.” 

You quirk an eyebrow at him, smirking, a bratty slut stepping into your skin and wanting to challenge the sexy stud lying before you. “What if I don’t?” you purr. “You gonna punish me or something, Deku?” His pink lips curl into his own smirk, a secret in his gaze. “Or something,” he murmurs, watching as your hands slide over his broad chest. 

A small moan leaves his lips as you continue to rub him down, all of the beach disappearing. There are only you two now, together in your own little horny bubble. You plan on keeping him there when your eyes land on his cock that has begun to harden, thick with a beautiful pink head, pierced with a silver ring that Deku got when he was drunk a couple years ago on a dare. 

“I guess I’ll have to apply some oil here too,” you murmur, mostly to yourself than to him. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re pouring oil into your hands and using one hand to stroke his cock, using your other hand to gently fondle his balls. 

Deku gasps, his eyes widening at your bold action. He is an absolute wreck as you stroke his dick, the oil making him slick enough for easier access and lubrication, allowing your soft, pretty hand to stroke him up and down with ease. “B-Baby, oh, fuck,” he moans. “Y/N, w-wait, we…oh, shit…we can’t just…w-we’re in public!” He damn near hollers the last word, biting his trembling bottom lip. 

You look around and sure enough, yes, you’re still in public. You nearly forgot. With a slutty little smile on your face, you place a towel over your body and lie on your side. The towel covers Deku’s bottom half, concealing your hand wrapped around his cock. “See?” you giggle. “Problem solved. Not let me finish my work.” 

You keep your stroking slow, discreetly giving Deku a handjob under the towel as he keeps an eye out for anyone watching. No one is; they are too busy sleeping or playing in the water. His moans are luscious and porn-worthy, tantalizing your ear and daring you to keep going. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so good at that.” 

You peer up through your lashes at your man, growing wet from his hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. “Applying suntan oil, you mean?” you joke. “Thank you, baby boy. And you’re good at fucking my hand.” 

He is thrusting up into your hand in tiny pulses that would only be noticeable if the towel wasn’t in the way. You imagine him thrusting that way into your pussy, desperate and needy, his cock gliding against your G-spot. He stares at you with his hooded eyes, a greediness in them that makes you melt. “Can I touch you too?” he breathlessly asks. 

How can you possibly resist? He slips one hand between your thighs and you softly moan when his fingers toy with the soft, wet, puffy lips of your slit. “Fuck, you’re wet!” he gasps. “All of that from rubbing on me?” A proud, cocky smile appears on his lips as he continues to rub your pussy, his fingers toying with your clit in semi-circles. 

“Izu,” you softly moan. “Like that.” You widen your thighs an inch to allow him better access, leading to him fully cupping your pussy. “Like this?” he teasingly asks. His two fingers slowly dip into your entrance as the palm of his hand rubs against your clit. You moan again, biting back more as you continue to stroke him. 

Wet sounds begin to drift between you as you stroke him a little faster, relishing the way Deku’s face screws in pleasure. “Y-You are playin’ with fire, lovely,” he groans. “I might cum just like this.” 

Excitement zings in your belly as you lean down to nuzzle your cheek against his oiled-up cock. “Then you’ll have to put it somewhere, right?” you purr. “Let me help you~” 

Then you’re putting your mouth on him, making him bite his lip as he grunts through his teeth at the feeling of your wet lips wrapped around him. You hollow your cheeks and begin to slightly bob your head, just enough to slide your throat against your boyfriend’s throbbing cock. He softly moans and whimpers as you do this, still eagerly caressing your pussy. “Baby,” he moans. “Oh, fuck, you take my cock so good! Keep going! Please!” 

His dirty praise eggs you on, making you take him deeper in your throat and hold him there. The groan that he lets out should’ve had heads turning, but nobody even looks at you. Even if they did, you can’t say that you would care too much; not when your man’s cock tastes so good on your tastebuds. 

Spit dribbles from your chin and down to your tits as you sloppily suck him off, taking him all the way to the hilt so his balls are touching your skin. Deku’s moans grow more desperate yet still hushed, tiny puffs of air leaving his pink lips as his hips stutter against your mouth. “Wait, baby, stop!” he pants. “I-I wanna cum after I’m inside you! Please let me fuck you!”

You peel your mouth off of him, pre-cum and spit staining your lips. Fuck you? Here?! You look around the beach at the undisturbed “But how?” you question. “What if someone sees?” 

Deku raises an eyebrow at you, a teasing smirk on his face. “Oh, so now you’re scared,” he chuckles. His tone turns smooth and buttery, making your pussy throb and your stomach twirl.  He sits up, bringing your naked body to his, allowing his cock to press against your thighs. 

“Don’t run from me now, slut. You caused this and now you’re gonna handle it.” He smirks, pressing himself against you. “I’ve got an idea.” 

That idea involves you innocently sitting on his lap with a beach towel covering your lap, hiding the fact that your boyfriend’s dick is pumping in and out of your wet pussy from below. His thrusts are short and fast, possibly because he’s using a bit of his quirk, allowing him to fuck you at an impossible yet pleasurable speed that has your brain going numb and your breath coming out short. 

“Izu,” you whimper, your fingers gripping his arms for dear life. “S-Slow down! Someone might see!” 

Deku grips your thick hips, pressing himself flush against you, causing his cock to sink deeper inside of you. “Relax, doll,” he whispers in your ear. “Daddy’s got you. You just keep lookin’ at the ocean and try not to look like you wanna cum all over my cock.” 

That is easier said than done. Your vision is becoming blurred from the pleasure and your poker face is starting to crumble the more his cock strokes your pussy walls, causing sparks of pleasure to excite your needy clit. Deku takes hold of both of your hips and begins to bounce you up and down in his lap, making you slam your pussy down onto his cock over and over again. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” he grunts. “You wanted your man to fuck you dumb on this beach?” He reaches around to cup one of your tits, tweaking a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “Bet you want people to see you get bounced on this dick.” 

His voice is rough and slightly raspy with restraint; not at all the soft, bubbly tone he usually has. One hand comes around to grip your ass under the towel, his fingers digging into one of your asscheeks as he pounds into your cunt. “Let ‘em see,” he growls against your neck. “Let everyone see my pretty doll gettin’ her pussy filled up.” 

That’s it. That thread of restraint finally begins to thin, threatening to snap. You can feel that tension in your core rising to the surface like a life raft floating from beneath the waves. “Izuku!” you moan, digging your nails into his muscles. 

Deku gives your ass a sharp smack, making you bite back a yelp. “Who?” he demands. 

Your pussy throbs excitedly at his rough, demanding tone, the sweetheart Deku now replaced with a harsh, rough stud that will take what he wants with no questions asked. “Daddy,” you whine. “I’m gonna cum! Please let me cum on your cock!” 

You place your hands on his thighs and meet his thrusts, your tits slightly bouncing as you do. Deku places the towel over them, giving him cover as he cups the pretty globes in his hands, squeezing as much as he pleases. “Go ahead then, baby doll; cum for me. I’m close too.” 

You can feel it–his cock is throbbing and swelling inside of you, threatening to explode at any point. He presses a wet kiss to your neck and sucks on your earlobe, sending shivers throughout your body. “Grind on that dick and cum for me,” he orders. “Make a mess on that dick, baby, c’mon.” 

His nasty whispers of sweet encouragement make your body react on its own, causing your hips to grind back and forth in his lap, fucking his cock deeper inside of you. Finally, that dam inside of you breaks and your orgasm intensely washes over you like a huge wave. “Oh, my God, Daddy!” you whine. “M’cumming!” 

And after a few more thrusts, Deku is too, his hold on you becoming possessive and tight. 

“Fuck, Y/N!” he moans into your neck as he bursts deep inside of your pussy. He empties himself inside of you as you come tumbling down like a brick wall, creaming all around his thick cock. 

You gasp as his warm spunk fills you just as you turn your head to see his handsome face etched in pleasure. You both lean in at the same time, your lips crashing against each others’ in a frenzied, passionate kiss with swirling tongues and breathless giggles. Deku sighs against your mouth, his thrusts finally slowing down and stilling though his cock is still inside of you. 

“Amazing,” he murmurs. “You’re amazing.” 

You purr with contentment and satisfaction, the sexual tension you felt earlier finally dispersing. “So are you,” you giggle, nuzzling your nose with his. “Think anyone noticed?” 

He shrugs a shoulder, softly moaning as you slowly hike yourself off of him, using the towel to discreetly wipe his cum from your thighs. “If they did, who gives a fuck? It’s a nude beach, right?” You laugh at his overly-confident answer, tossing the beach towel back at him. “Unless you wanna be arrested for indecent activities, sure.” 

SPANK! 

You yelp, gaping at him and the smirk he wears on his face. “That’d be your fault, brat,” he chuckles. “Now I think we both need a dip in that water, don’t you?” He rises from his seat, his cock still glistening in your juices, and turns to stretch, giving you a nice view of his bubble butt. 

“Those ladies were right, you know,” you giggle. “You do have a nice butt.” 

SPANK! 

Deku yelps, gaping at you as you run off giggling, heading towards the water. He races after you, catching you in his arms just as you both hit the waves, the sun glinting down on both of you and your perfect beach day. Maybe this mix-up really wasn’t so bad after all.

THE END.

[jollyhunter]

Aight, let's get down to this. *cracks knuckles* (not in the riot starting kinda way).

Okay, I'm ready for the Angst.

Have you ever noticed that closing your eyes and counting to ten does little when you're talking to the most odious person alive?

Your intros always take me off guard in the most hilarious way 🤣 Just like this;

2. You brought a tuna fish sandwich from home and he could somehow smell it two floors down.

I mean. I can almost understand how that one can be annoying. But I don't want to agree with the Warden and therefore I'll let it slip 😂

At least on paper, the things you'd done in your head were a little more PG-13 than the Warden needed to know about. Hell, you still were trying your best not to let your mind go to those places.

LOL I love this reader so much. She's got that Golden Retriever / Sunshine personality but in her head she's just as naughty as all of us 🤭 ... Good thing the Warden can't read minds. The things he'd see there 😂

You briefly wonder if he's always been like this or if he's having marital problems that he projects on everyone else.

Bahaha - definitely the latter. My old highschool teacher was the same. Absolute ass. The day his wife dropped by, we all knew why 🤣 (didn't justify it though and neither did we feel sorry for him lol)

Looks like somebody has been talking to my mother.

LMAO - not me instantly imagining her mother and the Warden meeting up every Wednesday for a cuppa afternoon tea to gossip about her daughter

'the douchebag professor who thinks that he knows everything, but really just stares down your blouse and likes keeping you quiet and submissive.'

What an accurate way to describe a pose we all immediately recognize 😂 (and has us recoil and clench our jaws). You always manage to describe things in such unique ways which are either beautiful or have me crack up LOL!

This is much worse than someone stealing my chocolate, and that's saying something.

This reader is growing on me. She's got her priorities set right 😂 and her heart is in the right place 💗 She really is the perfect opposites-attract puzzle piece to Mark isn't she?

"I'm sure Walker will have a lot of fun getting his hands on a pretty little thing like you, with no one to stop him and no one to hear you scream. And for men like him," Something dark flickers in his eyes sending a shudder down your spine as he leans down towards you. "Hearing those screams makes them feel alive."

Okay I just wanted to throttle the Warden at this point. The fact that he says these things even though he knows that Walker's not a real criminal, just makes this ten times more disgusting. I hope he gets kicked in the family jewels in a riot or somebody knocks him over with his car!

Walker's eyes have gone dark, the playful gleam you'd grown to love vanishing, his mischievous smirk morphed into an angry scowl as he throws his fist into the other inmate's face. Blood flecks over his cheeks and across his knuckles, and despite the guards that try to pull him off the other man, Walker fights back hard.

HERE COMES THE MISUNDERSTANDIG - OH NO.

Also, very clever how you played with the canon scene here! I love how we all try to integrate those and give them a different twist or perspective 😄 (I've got something planned with that one as well 🤭)

Like when you switched to Mark's perspective and played the entire scene once more. Genius move!! And so effective!!

She wears crazy socks for fucks sake! A woman like her should be working in one of the top hospitals in the country, not here!

EXACTLY. And that's why she fits you so well, Mark! You're like a pair of mismatched socks! (I LOVE his internal monologues so much, overall his entire perspective was so intriguing and well done - I don't know about you but I felt like you nailed his character!!)

Because where could this go? He finally gets out of prison only to tell you that he's on death row? A dead man walking? Might as well just throw him right back in the fucking clink, he was already waiting out a death sentence and as long as he was making some kind of difference who cares?

NO - MARK STAHP IT. His final thoughts on this and with the misunderstanding on top?? Oh man, the next chapter is going to hit hard, I can already smell the angst. Why are you doing this to us! 😭 (jk, you know I love it)

He hated the days that he let another inmate land a punch only to find the buffoon with the duct taped Nikes waiting for him in the infirmary. Talk about disappointing.

Sorry but this had me snort, poor Mark! 🤣

What an awesome second chapter to this storyline, Lee! 🥰 It started out comedic and took an angsty turn real fast. I am kinda scared of the next one now lol! But I also want to know what's going to happen next. Will the misunderstanding lead to even more misunderstandings?? Will we get introduced to the duct taped Nikes buffoon? Will she be scared of Mark / Walker now and the Warden's going to be all like "Told you so." ? 😭

I Want To Be The One To Light Up The Dark In You

Pairing: Mark Meachum x f!reader, Reader POV, Mark Meachum POV

Summary: As much as you hate to admit it, the Warden might be right. This is the second fic in my Jailhouse Rock Series!

Tropes: Slow Burn, Forbidden Love, A Smidge Of Touch Her And Die Trope, Mutual Pining.

Word Count: 4.4K

Warnings: Manspreading 😒, Mentions of Sex/ Sexual Innuendo, Mentions of Blood and Prison Fights, Cursing, Angst, Inmate Says A Few *ahem* Unpleasant Things, Warden Also Says A Few Unpleasant Things, Reader trying not to be in love with a hot man in prison? Mark might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Mark, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Listen While You Read 🚨: Light Up The Dark By Gabrielle Aplin title of fic is taken from this song!

Jailhouse Rock Playlist 🚨

Main Masterlist

Jailhouse Rock Masterlist

A/N: Oh my goodness, thank you so much everyone for all the reblogs and the wonderful feedback on part one of this fic series! I'm so happy that so many of you have decided to strap in to this angsty ride! 😊

Reader POV

Have you ever noticed that closing your eyes and counting to ten does little when you're talking to the most odious person alive?

That by some miracle, closing your eyes and pretending that they aren't there standing in front of you, breathing the same air, chattering on and on in the most annoying and condescending voice about something that makes your teeth grind down together and your insides suddenly want to be your outsides will help you find some way to maintain your composure?

Right now you wished it did.

Black coffee steamed from the ancient chipped mug sitting on the tanker desk in front of you, curling and twisting in the mid-day sun that floated through the barred windows of the Warden's office.

It did little to obscure the man scowling at you from under his mustache, but you wished that by some miracle the steam would grow into a cloud to hide you from the judgmental gaze of your employer.

What you'd done, you had no idea, but you noticed that the warden was often pulling you into his office to discuss things that seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things.

Things like:

You forgot to clean off your desk before you went home.

You brought a tuna fish sandwich from home and he could somehow smell it two floors down.

Your socks were distracting and therefore counterproductive to the work environment.

Basically, the warden was the mean cheerleader who dated all the jocks and never grew up.

Lovely.

So when he called you into his office you knew you were in for another tongue lashing that would later make you roll your eyes so hard that they'd get stuck in the back of your head.

He sits across from you, hands entwined on the top of his desk, beady eyes skating across you as if he can sense your internal monologue.

"I hear that you had to patch up Walker again yesterday." He says it like an accusation, as if it isn't your job to take care of the inmates, to patch them up when things get a little too fight club for your taste.

No disrespect to Brad Pitt and Ed Norton of course.

"Yes sir."

You'd learned by now to call him anything other than Warden or Sir would earn you a taste of the famous anger (re temper tantrums) the Warden had.

You'd been on the receiving end of them far too many times and despite not caring if he was mad at you or not, you didn't have time to sit here in his office and wait around, not when you were trying to leave early because your sister Margo and you had your weekly book club meeting tonight at your apartment.

The Warden takes a sip of his coffee, mustache rippling over the curve of the chipped cup, not breaking eye contact with you as he does.

There's an odd energy in the room, something oppressive and faintly masculine. It's cloying presence pulls at your limbs, shifts over the dark wood cabinet behind the desk, and drags over the concrete slab floor that ran the length of the prison. It was the same kind of energy that you'd only found in your physics professor's office, the one who told you that you'd never be able to pass his course with your academic record and you then spent the semester proving him wrong.

The walls of his office are painted in the same dreary gray that ghosted along the infirmary. You supposed that it was to make the room look bigger, but it only made it feel small, choking.

Instead of closing your eyes and counting to ten, you busy yourself with reading the titles of the books that line the dark wooden cabinet behind the Warden's head.

Anything is better than looking into those creepy beady eyes.

Especially not when you knew that the Warden was fishing for something to hold over you. Even though the only thing you'd done with Walker was your job. At least on paper, the things you'd done in your head were a little more PG-13 than the Warden needed to know about. Hell, you still were trying your best not to let your mind go to those places.

The Warden's gaze shifts over your body again. It worms beneath your skin, oppressive, squirmy. It was the same look that he gave the rest of the inmates within the walls of the prison to keep them in submission. You briefly wonder if he's always been like this or if he's having marital problems that he projects on everyone else.

"I also hear that you've been-" He clears his throat, beady eyes on you. "a little more friendly with him." His lip curls up in distaste at the word "friendly."

Oh so that's what this is about.

You choose to let your face remain impassive, not giving the man across from you eyeing you like a predatory bird the satisfaction.

"Sir?"

The Warden stands from his desk. "Do you know what the most dangerous thing in our profession is?"

"Shanks?"

The word came out before you could stop it, slipping out with the ghost of a smile on your lips.

His frown deepens. "Now isn't the time for your exhaustive wit."

Looks like somebody has been talking to my mother.

He comes around the desk, every step measured, before finally he's leaning against the front in the ultimate form of man-spreading, the highest level, also known as 'the douchebag professor who thinks that he knows everything, but really just stares down your blouse and likes keeping you quiet and submissive.'

"It's getting comfortable, believing that they can be your friends, not seeing them for what they really are-"

"What they really are?"

"Inconveniences, nuisances, trash, rubbish- the undesirables." The Warden shrugs. "But what they can never be is your friends."

Your jaw tightens.

The truth was, you had heard all of this before from your mother, usually when she was trying to talk you out of keeping your job at the prison.  She'd told you countless times how all of the inmates didn't deserve you as a doctor and therefore you should move on, but you couldn't. You took an oath to help people, to heal, to care, and you felt like you were where you needed to be.

The bigger problem, was hearing this kind of talk from someone who not only was supposed to oversee and run the prison, but also see the worth of his job, of seeing the positives as well as the negatives. He was not supposed to look down on the inmates.

Who does he think he is? The President of the United States?! He has no right to judge these men that way. Not when he's supposed to be the voice of reason, the leader, the one person in this damn prison who actually gives a fuck.

"Sir-" Anger flares in your chest, beating against your ribcage like the wings of a bird.

"Come on." He stands from the desk and walks to his office door behind him.

"What?"

"I want to show you something."

The Warden doesn't wait for you, in fact he continues to walk down the maze of hallways with you running to catch up with him. You had no idea why he couldn't just chew you out in his office for something that you didn't deserve to be chewed out for.

For actually giving a shit about his inmates... well maybe caring a little bit too much.

Your thoughts immediately shift to Walker as they always did whenever all went quiet in your mind and you couldn't think of anyone else.

There was a little part of you that you didn't want to heed, the rational part of your brain that said that Walker was playing you like a fiddle, that he didn't care about you and all he wanted was to charm you so it would be easier for him to use you.

That part usually warred with the other part, the part that kept letting the green-eyed man slip into your thoughts when you felt discouraged and disappointed by the other men in your life that never quite seemed to get you.

The Warden opens a door at the end of the hallway, the brilliant sunlight blinding you for a moment, before you realize that the two of you are standing in the inner gate looking out onto the yard.

Inmates mill around in groups while others move in a grayish blue blur through the crowds with the sun baking from above. Some play a game of basketball in the far corner while others lift weights.

Dust kicks up in twisted clouds around their feet with the wind that blows from the East, wicking the sweat that gathers on the back of your neck. Grass pushes up through the coarse earth in sporadic patches only to be stomped into submission by the white canvas prison regulation tennis shoes the inmates wore. The murmur of the prisoners, the heavy clink of weights, and bounce of a basketball against pavement is lost on the wind.

You find Walker almost immediately. It’s a compulsion, like magnets, as if you can’t help but look for the scruffy green-eyed man who’s entered your subconscious despite all the times you’ve told yourself that it can’t happen. Your mind automatically seeking him out for some relief, a bad habit you can't seem to break.

He's sitting on top of one of the concrete picnic tables on the far end of the yard, talking to a younger guy with hair so black it's almost the color of charcoal.

The breeze rustles through Walker's hair that blazes a honeyed chestnut in the mid-day sun, the same sun that paints his body in a golden glow. You know that if you were standing beside him you’d be able to see the flecks of gold like falling stars around his eyes, that crinkle with his boisterous laugh.

Walker laughs at something the dark-haired inmate says, his warm chuckle somehow finding the curve of your ear as if he's standing right next to you and even though you haven’t been able to hear anything else it comes across clear as day.

An alarm bell goes off in your head, because you know this is crazy. You knew better than to start thinking about an inmate the way you thought about Walker. Even if he was incredibly charming, funny, and had eyes that seemed to see through everything you were.

Damn it.

There was only one place that this could head, and it was already circling the drain, you just needed to pull the plug before you were in too deep.

Feels like it might be too late for that.

Walker's gaze flicks up from his companion to you, finding your eyes within seconds of you finding him, as if he sensed it. You hold his gaze, a smile twitching at the end of his mouth just for a moment, before he looks back at the man beside him. If you’d blinked you would have missed it.

Unfortunately, the Warden didn't miss it either.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about." He says.

"What?"

"You give them too much leash."

"They're not dogs." You grumble under your breath.

"You're right. They're not. They're wolves." The Warden spits, eyes narrowed as he turns to look at you. He takes a step in your direction, backing you up against the chain link fence. "You can't tame them and the second you turn your back, they'll rip your throat out."

His eyes are two blackened pits, the sunlight no longer a soft glow, but a striking white that blinds you momentarily as you look up into his face. The planes of his face are sharpened in the dark shadow of his gray cowboy hat. He looks every bit the Warden role he'd chosen to play.

"You don't know that. Just because they're prisoners does not make them any less human than you and me!" You snap back.

Anger flared red hot beneath your skin, bubbling up from the pit of your stomach like a volcano ready to erupt. You hated the way that he spoke about the inmates, haughty, prideful, arrogant, as if they were below him somehow when all they were was just men. Men who maybe had made a few mistakes, but you were willing to believe that with the bad came the good, that not all of them could be psychos that were locked up for the "betterment of society."

"Yes I do. I've been here a hell of a lot longer than you. See this happen time and time again." He snarls taking another step towards you. The chain link cuts through the back of you scrubs, harsh and unyielding, meant to keep the inmates in but somehow now feel like it's trying to keep you out. "Let me guess, you think that life has been unkind to them. That not one of them deserves to be within these walls."

"That's not what I'm-"

"Did I say that I was done?" He barks.

Your jaw tenses so tightly together that you're sure you'll get TMJ.

He spoke to you like you were a little girl who'd done something wrong and was sent to the principal's office as if you were living in some imaginary world filled with rainbows and unicorns or still believed in Santa.

There were only a few moments in your life that you admitted to absolutely hating someone, and this would go right on the list as number five. Number one was Sally Caruthers in second grade who took your pudding cup at snack time.

This is much worse than someone stealing my chocolate, and that's saying something.

But worse still was that he was assuming you only saw the good in the world, but he was wrong. Your father had told you enough stories from his job growing up, things that were said to you in warning to prepare you for when you struck out on your own. You weren't naïve, far from it, but you didn't believe that everyone was rotten to the core, you wanted to believe that everyone had some good hidden somewhere.

It was that way with Walker. You'd seen his file, knew what he did, but there was a part of you that wanted to believe that he wasn't all bad.

The thought stutters to a halt.

Do I really believe that? Or do I think that just because of the way he's always nice to me… Only when he needs something.

You glance over your shoulder to look at where Walker is sitting with the other inmate, but instead of being locked in conversation, Walker's entire body has gone rigid.

He's staring at where the Warden has you cornered against the chain length fence, eyes dark, with his hand curled against the concrete slab that serves as the top of the table pulled so tight that his knuckles look white. Something dark dances in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine.

You’d never seen him like that before. Easy smiles, windswept hair, green eyes so bright they seemed to dance yes. But this? Seeing Walker with something akin to murder in his eyes, never.

It made your throat tighten.

"You think they hate being in here? That it’s some dark twist of fate that they’re imprisoned here?” The Warden asks with a sneer. "They aren’t. In here they think they're kings, gods, who assert their power however they see fit. Because out there they are nothing,  but in here they think they're untouchable, and Walker is the worst of them all."

"You don't know that-" Your voice comes out in a whisper, heart sinking.

"I do." The Warden towers over you, placing one of his hands against the unyielding metal of the chain-length fence. His fingers curl into the space to cage you in. The warmth of his breath wafts across your face, bringing the distinct smell of coffee.

It made your stomach feel like it was flopping around, a fish out of water.

"He doesn't give a shit about you, none of the prisoners do. It might be all smiles and jokes now, but the second the status quo changes, the exact moment there aren't any guards looking, no one to stop him, well-" The Warden smiles cruelly. "I'm sure Walker will have a lot of fun getting his hands on a pretty little thing like you, with no one to stop him and no one to hear you scream. And for men like him," Something dark flickers in his eyes sending a shudder down your spine as he leans down towards you. "Hearing those screams makes them feel alive."

The sunlight soaking into your bones has suddenly gone cold, fear tracing along the curve of your spine with a chilled fingertip.

Memories of the stories your father told you from years in this world come whispering against your ear, stories that used to keep your sister up at night and made her the kind of woman that had a bright pink keychain loaded with every self-defense tool known to man.

When you'd taken this job your father had issued the same warning, told you about the dangers of desperate men who had nothing to lose.

"They're wrong," He'd said one night while the two of you watched an episode of the Walking Dead, sighing at the screen. "Men like that don't come around when everything falls apart. They already exist and the dangerous ones aren't the ones that wear it proudly on their sleeves. The dangerous ones are the men who hide in plain sight with easy smiles and gentle touches, because when they flip the switch, you don't see it coming."

On some level you knew that the Warden was right, men like that existed everywhere, but you didn't want to believe that Walker was one of them. Just as you didn't want to believe that everyone was out to get you all the time, that would lead to a very lonely existence, a sad and somewhat dark existence.

A flash of Walker's dark eyes comes roaring back through your subconscious before you can stop it. In his gaze you hadn't seen the Walker you knew, you'd seen someone else. And the longer you thought about it, the more it snagged in your chest that maybe Walker wasn't as charming as he let on and maybe he was getting you exactly where he wanted before the façade dropped.

An alarm sounds from across the yard, shattering through the sounds of mid-day and sending the crows that gathered on the top of the barbed wire fences flocking across the sun.

"Look at him." The Warden grabs your shoulder and turns you around so fast that you feel dizzy for a moment. "You think that man is a puppy? He's a damn wolf in sheep's clothing sweetheart and the second you turn your back they'll be nothing you can do."

Your gaze focuses on Walker, who sits atop another inmate splayed out beneath him on the ground. Walker's eyes have gone dark, the playful gleam you'd grown to love vanishing, his mischievous smirk morphed into an angry scowl as he throws his fist into the other inmate's face. Blood flecks over his cheeks and across his knuckles, and despite the guards that try to pull him off the other man, Walker fights back hard.

His eyes flicker across the yard once again finding you, but this time it doesn't bring the same warmth that it usually does, all it does is bring the chill scuttling down the length of your spine. Because the man staring back at you, has not one shred of the Walker you know, and it brings the doubt surging back up to swallow you whole.

Mark POV

*Five Minutes Ago*

It was moments like this that Mark hated being undercover.

He wasn't one to complain, and truthfully he liked a lot of things about being undercover: the improv as he slipped into character, the bravado he exuded, the rush of adrenaline that snapped and crackled through his veins when things were going his way and also the same lightning bolt that energized him when things weren't…

But not right now.

Especially not now.

It wasn't the sun that baked against his freckled skin, it wasn't the inmates that whispered death threats under their breath whenever they passed or the ones that actually had the balls to act on, it wasn't the chill that came in the dead of night creeping beneath the metal doors and seeped through the cinderblock when he tried to tug the hole riddled blanket up over his body, and it wasn't the headache that pinched between his eyebrows, the same headaches that came at the most inopportune times and reminded him of the thing he was trying to forget.

The axe that hung over the chopping block, the ticking time bomb in his head with a nuclear level countdown sequence that no one could stop.

But he wasn't thinking about any of that, all he was thinking about was you.

Mark knew the second you appeared on the edge of the chain length fence enclosing the yard following after the Warden something was wrong.

Because you weren't smiling.

There was never one moment that Mark had seen you with a frown on your face, not when each time you smiled he felt something deep down inside of him break open and flood the cavity in his chest with warmth. Which only made him feel a hell of a lot of guilt. He was undercover for fucks sake, he needed to focus on what he was doing not get distracted by someone like you…

But he was.

You were so unlike any person he'd ever met, someone who shouldn't exist somewhere like this. Not with your sincere smiles, warm personality, and genuine caring attitude that you carried with you through the dismal halls of the prison. It was almost like there was this one bright light that flickered and shone despite the thick mortar and cinderblock that enclosed the rest of the inmates, a light that could so easily be blown out at a moment's notice.

She wears crazy socks for fucks sake! A woman like her should be working in one of the top hospitals in the country, not here!

And Mark knew that he shouldn't care about you as much as he did, not when he was undercover and especially not because his days were numbered.

Because where could this go? He finally gets out of prison only to tell you that he's on death row? A dead man walking? Might as well just throw him right back in the fucking clink, he was already waiting out a death sentence and as long as he was making some kind of difference who cares?

What was the point if he couldn't give you what you deserved?

But that did nothing to stop you from slipping into his subconscious. The sound of your laugh a soothing melody, the brief glimpse of your smile like a star falling from heaven, and the gentle touch of your fingers over his skin a calming balm whenever you patched him up.

Mark had to keep reminding himself that you were nothing but a distraction, not to mention a complication that he never saw coming, blindsided by your kindness and gentle demeanor.

I'm a fucking professional not some cockeyed rookie. I've done this multiple times why is she different!? Why now?

Mark tried his hardest not to think about you, not when he was supposed to be focused on the job, but he couldn't help it, he worried about you constantly.

Worried that some other inmate or even one of the guards here would catch you alone unaware. Worried that you wouldn't pick up on the signals until it was too late and there was nowhere for you to go and Mark couldn't get to you in time.

Anything could happen in this prison, hell, Mark had seen quite a few things happen already and he couldn't bear the thought of you being involved in any of them.

Mark saw the way the others watched you when they noticed you walking down the hallways, saw the way that even the guards gazes lingered on your form whenever they brought Mark to the infirmary.

And as much as it hurt to get into fights, it was the only way that Mark could ensure seeing that you were okay, that you were still here. He hated the days that he let another inmate land a punch only to find the buffoon with the duct taped Nikes waiting for him in the infirmary.

Talk about disappointing.

Mark also tried not to think too hard that the other reason he went to see you was that it felt so damn good, that he couldn't go without seeing you at least once per week. He felt like an addict of the worst kind, but if this was an addiction he wasn't sure he ever wanted to quit, not when seeing you smile made Mark forget everything wrong in his fucked up life.

The sun kissed your skin giving it a brilliant glow and framing the curves of your body so well that Mark was sure if he closed his eyes the imprint would be stamped across the inside of his eyelids, the wind rustled through the strands of your hair pulling it freely into your face, and Mark dropped his eyes to your ankles barely catching a glimpse of the cactus socks hidden in your pair of signature converse, but still you don't smile.

An ugly feeling swarmed in the pit of Mark's stomach when his gaze drifted to the Warden. He was standing a little too close for Mark's comfort, towering over you, and Mark didn't like the way you seemed to curl slightly in on yourself, folding beneath the Warden's gaze.

He couldn't hear what you two were talking about, but he could sure as hell guess.

Mark's hand curls around the concrete table top of the picnic table when the Warden takes another step in your direction, pressing you further against the fence.

White hot rage begins to flood through his body, the urge to protect you breaking through the little voice inside that was telling him to let you go, let it go, that he's about to blow his cover for all the wrong reasons.

Fuck.

Mark hated the Warden, knew how much of an asshole he was the second Mark met with him before he went undercover, and Mark hated the way you looked.

You looked small.

Mark had never seen you look anything but happy, your laugh always making something inside of Mark feel like he was slowly sliding into a sun soaked beach chair on a remote island.

But not now. Now Mark wanted to stride over there, throw it all away, and nail the Warden once in face for saying whatever the hell it was that he was saying to you, because Mark knew that it wasn't good. It couldn't be, not when the look on your face was something between anger and hurt.

"Yo Walker!" An inmate cat-calls, but Mark ignores him.

Mark is in too deep and he knows it, but he can't look away from you. He's too busy trying to read the Warden's lips to care what someone else says to him.

"Looks like the Warden's got his eye on your little bitch." The inmate continues.

Mark's head snaps in the direction of said inmate, Luis, the man that had come to see you after him yesterday. He was at least three times Mark's size, his mouth splitting in a wide toothless smile on his goon-like face, the snake tattoo that curves up over his left eye flashing in the sunlight, offsetting the black and blue marks around his nose that mirrored the black eye on Mark's face.

"Fuck off."

"Ooo, touchy." Luis continues, rubbing one hand over his bald, sweaty forehead. Mark watches his gaze flick back in your direction, raking over your body without your knowledge. You were far too focused on the Warden who had cornered you against the chain-length fence like you were some kind of animal. "I'll say this, she's cute. Got that kind of body I wouldn't mind having all to myself. Bet she'd moan my name real pretty."

Mark's teeth grit together so hard he can hear the grinding in his ears, but he doesn't give in.

Don't play his game. Don't blow this because of her-

Chen looks from Mark to Luis, eyes wide. He had just started to trust Mark, and Mark didn't want to throw that all away so he ignores the man egging him on and instead watches where you are with the Warden.

"Fuck, I got a semi the other day when she was patching me up." Luis continues, taking another step towards Mark with two of his goons flanking him. "Her hands are so soft, I can't imagine what it'd feel like if she put those hands all over my co-"

The rest of his sentence is lost in the haze of red that washes over Mark's mind. He doesn't remember rising from the picnic table, doesn’t remember tackling Luis to the ground, and doesn't remember the first punch he throws into his face or the second or the third.

All he knows is that the moment the guards pull him off of Luis, whose nose is now broken for the second time, and his eyes find yours across the yard, and he sees the look of horror that crosses your face is that he messed up. Because Mark can lie to himself all day long, tell himself that he doesn't care about you, but seeing you look at him like that makes him want to throw all of this away.

And that's what scares him the most, because he can't, not when this is all he is and ever can be and you're everything else.

A/N: Just a tinsy bit of angst, a sprinkle if you will... Yes I know canonically that the Warden knows that Mark is undercover, I just wanted to make the Warden an even bigger jerk for warning her about Mark.

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