#oops. I drabbled

[sunsburns]

no. 1 party anthem — clark kent (superman) ! ᢉ𐭩

⟢ synopsis. what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

⟢ contains. clark kent x reader, ots and lots of fluff! it is one of the more romantic things i have written, cute blind date, characters are dumb, set up date, lois is a mastermind, i do not know anything about journalism, pinning from both sides but too shy to do anything about it.

⟢ word count. 5.8k+

⟢ author’s note. i can’t get this man outta my head pls help me 😣 the voices!!! also feel free to imagine this as any clark (and i mean any i swear: comic book, adventures with superman, tom welling, david corenswet, henry cavill, or even reeve)

“Hey, you’re gonna hate me but I’m gonna be like 10 minutes late. You go ahead and check in and order. The table should be under my name. I’ll pay the bill. I’m so sorry!”

You weren’t exactly surprised when the message lit up your phone screen. You rolled your eyes, exhaling through your nose. If there was one thing you knew about Lois Lane, it was that urgency wasn’t always her strong suit—unless it involved an exclusive scoop or a headline-worthy disaster with Superman. Still, considering this was supposed to be a work-related meeting, you had half-expected her to arrive early, not leave you waiting.

You typed out a quick reply, telling her it was fine when it really wasn’t, telling her to take her time when you wished she wouldn’t. Then, slipping your phone back into your bag, you made your way toward the hostess stand.

“Table under the name Lane?” you asked, offering a polite smile.

The hostess nodded, flashing you a warm smile in return. “Right this way.”

As she led you through the restaurant, you took in your surroundings with subtle curiosity. The place was charming—exactly the kind of cozy, floral-accented spot Lois would dig up for an ‘informal work chat.’ The kind of place that felt like it had stories tucked between its soft candlelit tables and ivy-draped walls.

You tried to dress the part, too—professional but approachable. You weren’t here for a casual dinner, after all. This meeting was supposed to be a quick sit-down with a lawyer Lois had arranged, someone who could confirm a few key details for a piece you were both working on. A case involving a corporation and some shady legal maneuvering—Lois had the sources, but you were the one handling the research. You’d spent the past week buried in legal jargon, piecing together statements and contracts, and now you just needed a professional to verify what you suspected before the article could go to print.

By the time you reached your table, you were already running through the questions in your head, mentally preparing for the conversation. The restaurant wasn’t grand, but it was stunning in its own way. You admired the decor, taking in the quiet hum of conversation and the delicate clink of silverware.

At least if Lois was late, you had time to go over your notes one more time.

You ran your hands over your portfolio, smoothing the cover absentmindedly as you flipped through the pages. The neatly typed notes stared back at you, but none of the words really registered. All you could do was wait—for the lawyer, for Lois, for some sign that this wasn’t going to be a complete waste of time.

With a sigh, you reached for the glass of wine you ordered a few minutes ago, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. You had to pace yourself, or you’d drain the whole thing before anyone even showed up. You checked your phone, hoping for an update, but the screen remained frustratingly blank.

Disappointed, you rested your chin on your hand, eyes drifting across the restaurant. The warm glow of golden light reflected off polished wood and delicate floral centrepieces, the soft murmur of conversation blending with the occasional clink of silverware. Your waiter had already stopped by twice, politely offering more appetizers while you tried not to look as painfully alone as you felt. If they came by again, you weren’t sure if you’d accept out of politeness or embarrassment.

And then, just as you took another sip of wine, a familiar figure walked through the entrance.

Clark Kent.

You blinked, watching as the hostess led him inside, guiding him through the rows of neatly arranged tables. Even from where you sat, you recognized the way he carried himself—like he was constantly trying to shrink his presence, shoulders slightly hunched, movements careful and deliberate. It was ironic, really, considering how much space he naturally took up. Clark was tall, broad-shouldered, and impossible to miss, yet he carried himself like he didn’t want to be noticed.

You knew him, but not really.

Not as much as you want to.

You were office acquaintances at best—two reporters who shared the same workplace, desks across from each other, but rarely the same conversations. There had been moments, though. Fleeting ones. Catching his lingering glances during late nights at the Daily Planet, both of you working in near silence, save for the tapping of keyboards. A handful of polite exchanges over the coffee machine, his voice always gentle, soft-spoken. And then, of course, there were the times someone would call out "Hey, Smallville!" across the office, earning a sheepish smile from Clark as he adjusted his glasses and ducked his head.

He looked nice tonight. Not too different from his usual work attire, but more relaxed. A crisp button-up, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal a strong line of his forearms, dress pants fitted just right. He had forgone the tie, leaving the top button undone. Simple, but put-together. Effortless in a way that shouldn’t have been so charming, but somehow was.

And then you realized the hostess was leading him closer.

You quickly dropped your gaze, staring into your half-empty wine glass like it suddenly held the secrets of the universe. The last thing you wanted was to be caught staring, especially while sitting alone, nursing a drink, and very clearly sulking.

Maybe, just maybe, if you looked busy enough, you could avoid drawing any attention at all.

And for a moment, it worked.

You picked up your phone again, checking the time for what had to be the hundredth time that night. With a little too much urgency, you started to type out a message to Lois—something casual, something that wouldn’t sound desperate, something that would make it seem like you weren’t upset about currently sitting alone in a nice restaurant, swirling the last remnants of your wine waiting for her to get there. You were so focused on forming the perfect text that you almost missed it—

Your name.

Spoken softly, but clear. Familiar.

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. The voice had a weight to it, warm and steady, like someone genuinely surprised but pleased to see you. You swallowed and glanced up, feigning a search for the source before your gaze finally landed on Clark.

He wasn’t seated directly beside you but rather at the table across, angled just enough that you had to turn your head slightly to meet his eye. His lips curled into a sheepish smile, glasses slipping just a little down the bridge of his nose before he quickly pushed them back up again.

“Hi.”

That was all. Just hi. Simple, unassuming, but it made something settle in your chest, something you hadn’t even realized was tense.

You couldn’t bite back the smile forming on your own lips. “Hi, Clark.”

“Hey.”

A kind man with few words.

Though you’d heard him talk endlessly before, especially with Lois—deep in discussion, debating headlines, getting lost in conversations about ethics and reporting. But with you, it was always something short and sweet. A few words here and there. And yet, even the simplest conversations had a way of lingering. Would it be silly to admit that your brief, slightly awkward chats with Clark kind of made your day? Even when it was just him asking to borrow an extra pen?

God, you felt like a teenager again, having a crush on a classmate.

You watched as he rubbed at his cheek, the scruff there catching the soft glow of the restaurant lighting. His pointer finger rested idly at the seam of his lips, and you forced yourself to focus—not to stare at his mouth, not to let your gaze linger anywhere it shouldn’t.

He was your coworker, for fuck’s sake.

A really pretty one.

A really kind, really good-looking coworker.

You exhaled lightly, pressing your fingertips against the stem of your glass as if that might ground you. “It’s nice to see you.” The words came out before you could stop them, but they were true. It was nice.

It was almost like he perked up at that, his posture straightening just a little. “Yeah, great to see you too. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I... I could say the same.” Your cheeks were starting to hurt from how much you were smiling. You tried to temper it, but it was hard when Clark Kent was looking at you like that—all honey-eyed.

“Are you here for work?” he asked, casting a pointed look at the portfolio by your hands, stacked neatly beside your drink.

You glanced down at it as if you had momentarily forgotten it was there. “Um, yeah. I’m meeting with a source, so... they should be here any minute.”

Clark’s brows lifted slightly. “It’s your story on LexCorp, right?”

Your fingers, which had been absently tracing the condensation on your glass, paused. “Yeah, it is actually.” You blinked at him, a little surprised. “How’d you know?”

His smile was almost bashful, his hand brushing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was being modest. “Oh, I just remember you mentioning it a few days ago. It’s a great story.”

Something in your chest tightened—not in a bad way, just in a way that made you feel warm all over. You hadn’t expected him to remember, let alone bring it up. The conversation you’d had at work had been so brief, just an offhand remark about how you were stepping outside your usual comfort zone. No one else had really asked you about it since.

“You think?” You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I thought it was kind of a stretch. I mean, like—a stretch from what I usually write, you know? I don’t really deal with politics and corporate stuff and all that.”

Clark shook his head, that gentle, reassuring look in his eyes making it impossible not to believe him. “I’m sure it’ll be great. You’re an amazing writer.”

You were smiling even wider now. Compliments weren’t uncommon at the Daily Planet—people gave each other nods of approval, a “good job” here and there. But Clark said it like he meant it, like he had read your work, thought about it, believed in it.

It reminded you of the time he had quietly left a sticky note on your desk after an article of yours had been rushed to print. Really great work on this one! -CK. You’d found it hours later, after everyone had gone home. It had been such a small thing, but you’d kept the note tucked inside your notebook anyway.

You felt your cheeks warm. “Thanks, Clark. I think you’re a great writer too.”

He ducked his head slightly, smiling. “Thank you.”

There was a beat of silence, not awkward, just something familiar to the pauses between you two at the office. Expect this time you didn’t have any work to distract yourself with. You hesitated before finally breaking it.

“If you don’t mind me asking… what’re you doing here?”

“I, uh… I have a date, actually.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. But for some reason, you felt your stomach drop slightly, and you almost wanted to smack yourself in the head for not catching on sooner. Of course, he was here on a date, looking like that—all charming and shy.

He even smelled good, like fresh linen and something warm, something undeniably Clark.

“I know how it looks,” he started, and you noticed the way his shoulders began to hunch in on themselves like he was trying to make himself smaller. “Feels strange. I don’t think I’ve been dating since college.”

You let out a breath of amusement, nodding slowly. “Wow. Uh—good for you, though. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, I mean…” He hesitated, then glanced up at you, a little sheepish. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s a blind date, so I have no idea what this person looks like or who they are.”

You blinked. “You don’t know anything?”

“They’re a friend of Lois.” He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. “But that’s as much as I got.”

“Oh.” Your lips parted, then closed. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Clark.” You shot him a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “I’ll be here for moral support.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve got your thing to worry about.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help a friend out too.”

The words left your mouth before you had a chance to really think about them. Friend. You wondered if you could even call yourselves that. You were more acquaintances if anything—a friend of a friend. But Clark always did little favours for you, and he was always kind to you.

Like the time he had grabbed you a coffee when you’d been stuck in a seemingly endless editorial meeting, dropping it off at your desk without a word. Just a small smile, a quiet “figured you could use one.”

Or the time he’d helped you carry an entire box of research binders up three flights of stairs because the elevator was down. He had done it without hesitation, without you even asking, took it from your hands like it was weightless.

Then there was the time he had lent you his jacket when an assignment had left you stranded in the rain. It had been late, the Daily Planet nearly empty, and you had been standing by the windows, arms wrapped around yourself, shivering slightly as you tried to figure out how to make it home without getting completely drenched. Clark had passed by, paused, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Just give it back tomorrow,” he’d said.

But it wasn’t just him.

You had done things for him too.

The time you had stayed late to help him rework an article after an editor had torn through it with a red pen, sitting beside him as the newsroom emptied, tossing ideas back and forth until it finally felt right. He had looked at you then, something warm in his eyes, and said, “I owe you one.”

Or the time he had misplaced his glasses—how he had checked every possible spot, growing more and more flustered, only for you to walk over and pluck them from where they had been resting atop his head. You had laughed, shaking your head as you handed them back. He had gone pink in the ears, mumbling something about being forgetful, but the way he had smiled after made you think he didn’t mind the teasing.

Then there was the time you had covered for him when he had mysteriously disappeared right before a meeting. Lois had been looking for him, impatient and muttering about how he always seemed to vanish at the worst times. You had lied—just a small one. Said he had mentioned stepping out for a quick errand, and that he’d be back soon. You weren’t sure why you had done it.

Helping him out never hurt. So it shouldn’t hurt one more time.

Well, maybe it would. Just a little bit.

It might hurt your pride, mostly.

“Besides,” you continued, “I’ve been here for almost twenty minutes and no one’s showed up.”

“That’s... odd.”

“I know,” you muttered, glancing at your phone again, the screen glowing with no new notifications. You hesitated, thumb hovering over your messages before sighing and picking it up. “Can you excuse me for a second?”

“Of course,” Clark said, ever patient, though his brows knit together slightly in concern.

You slid out of your seat, weaving through the dimly lit restaurant. The warm hum of conversation filled the air, glasses clinking, silverware scraping against plates. A jazz melody played softly from the speakers, almost drowned out by the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby table. You stepped toward the front, near the entrance, where it was quieter, and pressed the phone to your ear.

Lois hadn’t answered your last two—three?—messages. You tried calling her once. The line rang and rang, then went to voicemail. You exhaled sharply and called again, tapping your fingers against the wooden counter near the hostess stand.

On the last ring, she finally picked up.

"Hello-?"

“Where are you?” You didn’t bother hiding the frustration in your voice, pacing a little near the door.

"I'm... on my way, I swear."

“You said that almost half an hour ago, Lois.”

"I know, I know—I’m sorry. I was just about to call—"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through your teeth. “And the lawyer, do you know when they’ll get here?”

A pause.

"I… I don’t know."

Your stomach dropped. “You don’t know?”

"No… now that I think about it… I don’t think I confirmed a time."

“Lois,” you breathed, dragging a hand down your face.

"I’m sorry. Maybe we should rain check. I’ll leave them a message or something and we can do this another day."

You glanced back toward your table, then toward Clark, who was politely minding his own business, idly staring at his menu. Your eyes flickered to your untouched portfolio, the very reason you had come out tonight in the first place.

“I need the papers approved by Wednesday.”

"And it’s Saturday night. You have plenty of time."

“This is rich coming from you,” you deadpanned, rubbing your temple.

"I know, just… maybe it’s a sign you gotta take things slow. You know, focusing on yourself instead of work. Maybe you should go to a club or something."

You scoffed, barely biting back an incredulous laugh. “Lois… this fucking sucks.”

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault, okay? I’ll take you out tomorrow for brunch, swear on that. I promise. And I’ll transfer you for whatever you order tonight. Keep the receipt and give it to me."

You sighed, glancing down at your shoes. “I’m just gonna go home.”

"What? And waste a perfectly good night? You should stay out, meet new people, socialize with things that aren’t your laptop. Doesn’t that sound nice?"

You exhaled, staring blankly at the floor tiles. “I think a movie from my bed sounds really nice.”

"I’m not even gonna fight you on this."

“Bye, Lois.”

"Bye. Love you."

You ended the call with a quiet sigh, lingering in place for a moment, letting the frustration settle. You had spent the entire day mentally preparing for this meeting, running through questions, making sure every document was in order. Now, all of it felt like wasted energy.

With another steadying breath, you pushed off the pillar you had been leaning against, shoulders still tight with frustration, and made your way back to your table. The restaurant hadn’t gotten any quieter in your absence—if anything, the crowd had only grown as the night grew longer.

Clark glanced up as you returned, and the way his expression softened told you everything—he didn’t even need to ask how the call had gone. He just knew.

Still, before he could say anything, you beat him to it. “Your date’s not here yet?” You sank back into your seat, brushing a stray napkin aside as if the small action would help ground you.

Clark shook his head, and he didn’t seem too disappointed. “No, not yet.” He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that quiet, observant way of his. “Is everything alright?”

You blinked at him, still half in your own thoughts. “Hmm?”

“The phone call,” he clarified, “you seem… a little… annoyed.”

That was putting it lightly.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should push further, then asked, voice gentle, “Do you want to talk about it?”

The simplicity of it—the way he just offered, no pressure, no expectations—unravelled some of the tension in your chest.

“I don’t wanna bother you about my stuff,” you said honestly.

“It’s no bother.”

You glanced up at him, at the unwavering patience in his expression. “You’re really sweet, Clark. You know that, right?”

A faint pink dusted the tips of his ears. “I wouldn’t say that…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s in your nature?” you teased.

He let out a small, awkward laugh, shaking his head. “I definitely wouldn’t say that either.”

That made you smile—something small, something real.

“Well, it’s true,” you insisted. “Must’ve been the way you were raised.”

“Must’ve been.”

Before you could say anything else, a waiter arrived, carefully setting a starter plate and a drink down in front of Clark. He thanked her politely, offering a small nod before she walked away.

“I, uh…” He gestured to the plate. “I ordered some nachos if you want some.”

You raised a brow. “Shouldn’t those be for your date?”

He gave you an easy, lopsided smile. “They won’t have to know.”

A small chuckle slipped out before you could stop it. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The nachos were surprisingly good, crisp and warm under the layer of melted cheese, but you barely tasted them. Instead, your focus kept drifting—to Clark, to your phone, to the door.

At first, you thought about calling it a night. You could have told Clark you were heading home, and he probably would have understood, probably would have even offered to walk you to your car or wait with you for an Uber. But something stopped you.

Maybe it was the way he seemed at ease, talking to you like there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. Maybe it was how easy it was to talk to him tonight, without work looming over you, without deadlines keeping your conversations clipped and efficient. Or maybe—maybe it was the nagging feeling in your gut that kept telling you he was waiting on someone who wasn’t going to show.

You hated that thought.

You didn’t say anything, though, not when another ten minutes passed, not when he checked his phone for the fourth—or was it fifth?—time. You just sat with him, keeping him company, even if you dreaded the moment someone else walked through those doors.

Clark kept insisting his date would be there soon. But every time he said it, the confidence in his voice waned.

By the time another twenty minutes passed, you were sitting with your phone open in your lap, ready to call an Uber. You should go home. It had been a long day, and you weren’t exactly in the mood to be out any more. But you hesitated when Clark spoke again.

“They should be here any minute now,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You glanced up at him, watching the way his brows pinched slightly as he checked his phone again.

He had said that before. More than once.

You were starting to feel bad for him.

You couldn’t imagine what it felt like to get stood up for a date (work was something else you could get over by tonight but a date?)—to wait around, watching the minutes tick by, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the person you were waiting for was running late instead of ignoring you altogether. And worse, you were starting to get peeved. How could anyone ghost Clark Kent?

But you didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t seem upset.

Or maybe he was just pretending not to be.

Either way, you didn’t want to remind him of the rejection. If he was pushing through it, then so were you.

It wasn’t until another thirty minutes flew by—until the sky outside had fully darkened, the city lights reflecting off the windows—that you finally exhaled and set your phone down.

“My source isn’t coming.”

Clark blinked at you, pulling his gaze away from the door. “Oh?”

“Yeah, there was a mix-up with the times or something.” You waved it off like it was no big deal, even though frustration still sat heavy in your chest. You weren’t nearly as mad as you had been earlier, but you had still wasted your night on something that should have been simple.

Clark studied you for a moment, then gave a small, almost amused huff. “Looks like we’re both out of luck then.”

You watched as his gaze flickered back toward the entrance, and then, after a beat, he sighed.

“I don’t think my date’s coming either.”

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry, Clark,” you said, and you meant it.

“Don’t be,” he told you, and before you could say anything else, he was already flagging down the waiter, asking for the bill. Then, as casually as if he were asking about the weather, he turned back to you and said, “Wanna get out of here?”

You blinked. “And go where?”

He shrugged, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Anywhere. I don’t mind.”

And somehow, that was how you ended up walking down the streets of Metropolis, shoulder to shoulder with Clark Kent.

The night air was crisp, cool enough that you tugged your coat tighter around yourself. The sidewalks were busy with people, cars rolling lazily through the streets, their headlights casting soft glows against the pavement.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten here—how a frustrating, dead-end night had turned into this. But you didn’t hate it.

In fact, you were enjoying every minute of it.

The streets of Metropolis buzzed with an early-night energy. Neon signs flickered, storefronts cast golden light onto the pavement, and the hum of conversation from passing pedestrians filled the air. You walked close to Clark, close enough that your arms brushed with every step.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something trusted about it—something new.

You risked a glance at him. He was looking straight ahead, hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. But when the light of a passing car swept over his face, you caught the way his jaw tensed slightly, like he was thinking about something.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable for a split second before softening into something reassuring. “Yeah. Why?”

You lifted a shoulder, tucking your hands into your coat pockets as you shrugged. “Just… getting stood up sucks. I figured you’d be at least a little upset.”

Clark exhaled a small huff of amusement. “I mean, yeah, I guess I could be. But I’d rather not waste my night sulking about it.”

You nodded, accepting his answer. But then, after a few seconds, you heard him add, quieter, “Besides… I’m having a nice time.”

Your stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

You kept your gaze forward, pretending like those words didn’t sink into you in a way that left you warm despite the cool night air.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time, it felt different. More aware. More weighted.

And then Clark suddenly spoke.

“Can I show you something?”

You blinked at him, surprised by the shift. “Uh… sure?”

He smiled, but there was something almost shy about it, something hesitant like he was second-guessing himself. “It’s not far.”

Curious, you followed his lead, stepping off the main sidewalk as he turned down a quieter street, where the glow of streetlights gave way to something softer, something greener.

Within moments, you realized where you were headed.

The city park.

You’d been here plenty of times before—Metropolis had its fair share of green spaces, a welcome contrast to the steel and glass of the skyline—but Clark led you past the more well-known paths, past the benches where couples sat talking in hushed tones, past the fountain that usually served as a meeting place.

Eventually, he guided you toward a narrow, gated pathway, tucked between a stretch of trees. He reached for the gate, pausing before glancing back at you.

“It’s, uh… it’s kind of a secret spot.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “Secret?”

His lips quirked. “Sort of. I mean, it’s public, but not many people know about it.”

“Riiight... totally not a cheesy thing to say.”

“Just, come look.”

You watched as he pushed the gate open, stepping aside to let you through first.

You hesitated for only a second before slipping past him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his chest as you stepped inside.

And then you saw it.

A sheltered little garden.

It wasn’t grand, but it was beautiful. A small, enclosed space, with an arched trellis overhead wrapped in evergrowing vines. Flowers bloomed in neatly arranged clusters, their colours muted under the soft glow of the moon and city. A narrow stone pathway curved through the space, leading to a bench beneath another canopy of vines.

The whole thing felt… unreal. Quiet. Removed from the city entirely.

You turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. “This is…” You exhaled, searching for the right word. “Wow.”

Clark smiled, stepping further in behind you. “I found it by accident a while ago. It’s kind of nice, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Kinda nice is an understatement, Smallville.”

The two of you lingered in the quiet, the city’s distant sounds muffled by the greenery around you. And when you looked at Clark again, you caught it—

That brief hesitation. That barely-there glance.

Something unreadable flickered across his face before he cleared his throat, looking away, suddenly busying himself with adjusting his glasses.

It was awkward. Endearing.

And for some reason, it made your heart beat just a little faster.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to break the silence. “So, what, you bring all your failed dates here?” you teased lightly.

Clark huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “No. Just you.”

His voice was light, teasing back—but something about it stuck with you.

Just you.

You had no idea what to say to that.

So instead, you just smiled. And hoped the darkness hid the warmth rising in your face.

Clark shifted beside you, tucking his hands deeper into his pockets, gaze flickering toward the night sky. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Just... don’t tell Lois about this place.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Or else it’ll be on the front cover of the Daily Planet and it won’t be so secret anymore.”

You snorted. “Figured.”

Then, almost immediately, your lips twisted into a frown. “Ugh, you know what? I’m still kinda pissed off with Lois.”

Clark’s eyebrows lifted. “Lois? What—why?”

You sighed, rubbing at your temple. “She was the one who arranged the whole meeting with the lawyer today. My source. She forgot to confirm or something and cancelled last minute. Can you believe it?”

Clark blinked. “Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither. She’s probably got caught up with Superman again or something—I don’t know.”

Clark’s head tilted slightly, brows drawing together. “Sorry? Superman?”

You waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, it’s just an inside joke between us and our friends. Since she’s so close with the guy, we joke that whenever she’s acting weird, it’s because of him.”

Clark let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Does she usually?”

“Not really. But we like to watch her squirm when we bring it up.” You smirked. “Anyway, I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s been acting weird all week.”

Clark hummed, his gaze thoughtful. “Yeah, I noticed that too. When she was telling me about this date, she just... wasn’t herself, I guess. Left a lot of things in the dark.”

Your steps faltered slightly, your brows knitting together as something in his words made your stomach twist. You turned to look at him, trying to piece together the implications of what he was saying.

“Wait—” You exhaled, mind racing. “Lois set you up?”

Clark slowed as well, blinking as if he’d only just realized you hadn’t put it together yet. “Uh… yeah?” He frowned slightly. “I did say my date was a friend of hers.”

“Right.” You blinked, mind catching up. “Sorry, I must’ve forgotten.”

You stared at him.

He stared back.

The sounds of the city—distant honking, the chatter of pedestrians, the hum of neon signs—faded into a dull blur. It was as if the entire world had taken a collective breath and was holding it, waiting for the two of you to catch up.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. The pieces clicked together—Lois arranging your meeting, forgetting to confirm, being strangely vague about the details.

Oh.

Oh.

Your stomach flipped as realization crashed over you like a tidal wave.

Clark’s eyes widened just a fraction, his breath hitching. And then, almost at the same time—

“…No way.”

You exhaled a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking your head as your mind reeled. Clark let out a chuckle of his own, one hand running through his hair, his fingers ruffling the strands at the back of his head. His ears—just barely visible under the glow of a nearby streetlight—had turned the faintest shade of pink again.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You just looked at each other, as if confirming that, yes, this was real, and yes, Lois Lane had absolutely just played matchmaker.

“Well,” Clark finally said, voice warm, laced with amusement. “At least we won’t have to spend the whole night getting to know each other.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Yeah. Guess not.”

The tension in your shoulders, the nervous energy, the awkwardness of the night—it all melted into something else entirely. Something softer. Something that felt… kind of nice.

Clark was still smiling, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses, and you had to resist the urge to look away, to keep from giving away the way your heart had started beating just a little faster.

He shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets as he glanced down for a second before looking back up at you.

And then, with just the slightest hint of something almost timid in his voice, he asked—

“Can I be honest?”

You tilted your head. “Sure.”

“When Lois was telling me about the date... I was hoping it would be you.”

“…Really?”

Clark nodded, lips pressing together like he was debating whether he should keep going. But then, in a quieter voice, he admitted, “Yeah... It was the only reason I agreed. And when I saw you at the restaurant, I was really excited—until you told me you were there for work.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “Sorry I let you down.”

His head snapped up. “No.” He shook his head, quickly, almost too quickly. “You didn’t.”

Your stomach flipped.

“I still had fun,” he added, a little sheepishly.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit. “You should’ve just said something.”

Clark exhaled a laugh, glancing down again. “I know. I just... I’m not really good at this stuff.”

You smiled, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You’re doing pretty good so far. Had me swept off my feet.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice just a little lower, a little softer.

“Oh yeah.”

A pause. A lingering look.

And then—

“We should do this again.” His lips curled, a little nervous but hopeful. “On purpose next time.”

You grinned widely, feeling warmth spread through you, from your chest to the very tips of your fingers.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’d like that a lot.”

[leighsartworks216]

Sylus waking up with you in his arms and greedily curling even further around you, holding you as close to him as possible, when his hand touches something wet and warm. It's by your legs, on the covers, so his first thought is that you're on your period. But... wait, didn't you have it a couple weeks ago???

You're woken up by him roughly pulling himself away and throwing the covers off of you, turning you onto your back so he can find the source. It's hard to miss the big spot of red soaking through your shirt.

He hadn't thought to check you over, honestly. Yes, you got back from a mission and practically passed out the second you laid down, but he didn't think you got hit at all. Pissed because you didn't say anything. Pissed because you wrote off your heal so easily. Pissed because he didn't notice.

And you're left watching through a daze as he treats you. His brow is furrowed. His movements are rougher than usual, but he eases up when you wince. He staunchly refuses to meet your eyes.

But the worst part is the silence. He doesn't say anything. His teeth are clenched, jaw twitching with every stitch and bloody gauze. You try to get him to speak, but he bites his tongue. Nothing he says right now will help; it would only do more damage. So he stays silent.

Once the bandage is secure around you, he lifts you up and sets you back down on the couch to deal with the bloody sheets, but not without tossing a fresh shirt onto the arm of the couch.

You're in near tears. The guilt and ache in your heart extends to every cell in your body, all-consuming and painful. He's midway through pulling off the extensive silk sheets when you wrap your arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly, face pressed into his back, begging him to please just say anything.

The room is still. His heartbeat is erratic as ever, but it seems to stutter and jostle more right now. His breaths are deep and heavy.

He woke up, holding his love, with your blood staining his hand. It scared him to his core. Instilled so much fear into his system, he doesn't know how to cope. He can't get the words out right now, not in the calm way he needs to, but he doesn't shove you away. He relishes the contact, truly. The feeling of your breath heating up his shirt as you cling to him. The way your hands clutch at the fabric over his abs. The squeeze of your arms around his sides.

He's still so pissed. He can't- he doesn't want to hurt you, even if he was a bit harsher than strictly necessary when tending your injury.

So he places his hand over yours. You slip one out to rest over his, holding onto it like a lifeline. And he stays there.

The blood is starting to soak into the mattress. The silk is all but completely ruined. Your shirt is still stained, transferring to his own clothes in the hug.

But you're alive.

You're alive.

[writingbluerose]

TWST DRABBLE #15

Ever since you and Silver got together you've been trying to have your first kiss for AGES. But there's always something interrupting you, no matter where you are...

The first time was in the country yard. While you and Silver were quietly talking, he grabbed your cheek wanting to kiss you. And just as you guys were inches close, a loud voice echoed through the empty country yard. “WAHHH HENCHHUMAN! Keep that red haired idiot away from me!” Grim suddenly jumped on your shoulder hiding behind your hair as a very angry Ace made his way to you. “You stole my lunch dammit! Atone for your crimes!” As Grim and Ace were screaming at each other, you sent Silver an apologetic gaze and a sad smile. “I guess I'll have to settle this... See you Silver..” “Yeah. See you...Y/N” The boy gave you a small wave in return.

The second time was in the forest. You may think no one would bother there but god you were wrong. Silver had invited you to spend time with him and some of the animals. Both of you were standing face to face as Silver was feeding a deer and you were happily holding in your hands and petting a bear cub, his mom resting on the three behind you, watching her baby having fun. As Silver finished feeding the deer, he wanted to turn to you, though the deer had completely different plans as it started pushing Silver more and more until, fortunately for you, he fell on top of you with a thud. The animals started making noise as if celebrating ( or rather laughing ) at the predicament you found yourselves in. You looked into Silver's eyes as if telling him exactly what you wanted him to do. As if reading your mind, Silver's cheeks turned pink as he slowly leaned in. But of course, just as your lips were almost touching a merrily voice sang from one of the branches : “Ohh there you are Silver! I've been looking for you!” Lilia's voice sang happily as Silver was quick to get you both on your feet. He sighed, rather disappointed “Father. What is it this time?” “Keehe I need your help with something you see” “You old man... I'll be right there” As he left, you could swear his eyebrow twitched.

People say the third time's the charm, but that didn't apply to you. This time, you've found Silver under a tree, sleeping as usual. You crouched down observing him for a bit : how his lips were parted, quiet breaths escaping from them, how his hair shined in the yellow rays of the sun and how he looked absolutely mesmerizing no matter the circumstances he was in. You poked his cheek and soon enough Silver stirred in his sleep and woke up. You smiled at him brightly “Morning my beautiful prince charming” He laughed at the nickname before he sat up straight moving a strand of hair behind your ear. His lips got closer to yours as he whispered smiling “If I'm prince charming then are you my beautiful princess?” You giggled before closing your eyes, expecting a kiss. But of course fate has another plan : “SILVER! THERE YOU ARE!” You jumped as if burned when Sebek got closer to you “LORD MALLEUS NEEDS BOTH OF US AT THE DORM! YOU SHALL COME AT ONCE” Silver made a tiny tsk, before he got up and looked at Sebek with an annoyed look “I'll be there” “HMPH! YOU BETTER BE!” And as both of them walked away, you couldn't help the disappointment creeping up your skin.

This time has to be it. You were getting tired already, who in the galaxy did you have to ask to just have your FIRST KISS with your boyfriend?! It can't be this damn hard! As you walked along with Deuce in the NRC halls, you suddenly heard a voice, and soon enough you spotted Malleus and Lilia along with Silver in the country yard talking about something irrelevant to you. You came to a halt staring at the three, “Er, Y/N? Are you alright?” You barely heard Deuce's voice before inhaling hard and walked up to them, maybe too determined for your own good “Huh?? Wait Y/N were are you going?” You walked up to Silver, poking him on the shoulder, ( not before silently waving to Malleus and Lilia ) eyes looking straight into his. He looked at you curiously “Y/N is something wrong? Do you need help with something?” You inhaled again and said looking down, cheeks red : “Silver, I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do right now” ( that much you weren't ) The boy was even more confused, your statement earning a curious gaze from the other two. “Huh? What do you mean?”

And without any warning, your hands grabbed Silver's jacket, pulled him close and kissed him hard. His eyes widened but closed fast, his hands coming on your shoulders to steady himself against your force. You parted your lips for air, “Y/N?! what w-” but the boy did not get to finish as you were quick to kiss him again, and too bad your eyes were closed because his face had the prettiest shade of red you'll ever see on him. When you parted your lips again, both of you were panting hard, temporarily forgetting the audience behind you. Silver's hands were shaking, eyes wide and a flustered expression on his red face. You on the other hand laughed before smiling softly at him, “I wanted to give you a proper first kiss. I felt we've been trying for far too long”

Silence. Suddenly a loud laugh was heard behind you and as you looked you saw Lilia holding his stomach laughing to his heart's content as Malleus held his hand to his face covering his big grin. “Not only are you bold about my horns, it seems you're bold with even your love life” Malleus was more than delighted to admit that. Silver's face got even redder at his lord's statement. “I-I...” He gulped down trying to say something but nothing came out. You grabbed his cheeks and kissed him softer this time. “I love you my prince” It took him a second before he smiled back at you “I love more my princess”

© writingbluerose 2025

[katsukistofu]

claire de lune

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 1.8k words — domestic fluff. slightly suggestive. ⭑ there’s nothing you and katsuki wouldn’t do for your baby girl, and that includes giving her the moon.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“Yes angel?”

“I want that thing down!” Your daughter points above you with her tiny finger. The faint chirping of crickets can be heard in the distance, and tall, silken blades of grass tickle the both of your cheeks as you gaze upward at the vast periwinkle sky. 

A sweet smile spreads across your lips. “You want me to get the moon down?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Aw sweetheart, I’d get it for you but mommy can’t reach that high. Daddy probably can though.”

She pouts at this, and turns away from you to poke her dad who is on the brink of falling asleep again on the other side of her. 

“Dada!”

Katsuki’s eyes flutter open and he groggily faces her, head resting on his folded arms behind him. You bite back a laugh at the crumbs still decorating his cheeks. Sumi was trying to balance Cheeto puffs on his nose earlier before his nap. “What ‘sup bubba?”

She points at the moon again. “Get it down.”

“That?” Your husband covers his mouth to yawn, glancing up at the darkening sky. Sumi nods excitedly. “M’kay. Was thinking about it when you and mommy started lookin’ anyway.” He says it so casually, like getting the moon for her was a feat as simple as buying a carton of strawberries at the store.

“Yay!” Sumi cheers, and he chuckles when she struggles to slip her hand under his arm on the ground to hug it. Katsuki rolls over and she giggles, now sandwiched between the both of you as you hug her.

“Sumi, how about you wait inside while Daddy gets it for you?” You suggest. It was starting to get late. 

“Nooo,” Sumi whines. “Wanna stay here and watch.”

“You can have the last cookie in the kitchen’s jar.”

Sumi’s eyes brighten. “The bear one that looks like dada!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. The one with his grump grump face.”

“Who’re you calling a grump grump.” Katsuki scowls, secretly reaching over Sumi to give an affectionate pinch to the softness of your hip and you squeal. 

“Sumi, Daddy’s being mean to mommy!”

Sumi’s face matches Katsuki’s expression from before. “Stop that dada!” 

Katsuki slyly grins and withdraws his hand, masking his face into an expression that is the definition of innocence. With amusement, you note the little huff of pride he makes seeing Sumi’s tiny scowl, perfectly identical to his. “Mommy started it.” 

She blows a raspberry at him and wriggles out of his grasp, then gives the both of you pats on the head like you’re misbehaving puppies and finally runs off back into the house. 

“You two play nice!” Sumi waggles her finger with as much sternness as a three year old can muster before promptly shutting the door in your faces.

Katsuki meets your eyes with his and the both of you laugh on the grass, breathlessly clutching each other. 

“I wonder who she takes after more,” you muse between giggles. 

“Definitely you.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, bringing you closer to him with his arms snug around your waist.

“Whaaat? No way, I was totally going to say you.” You grin cheekily, eyes going almost comically wide when he kisses you hard on the mouth in response.

“Shut up.” 

“Kiss me again and I will,” you murmur dazedly and he chuckles, muttering something under his breath about you being insatiable despite leaning in to give you another one.

With how close he is, everything is soft eyelashes, the dull thudding of his heart beat synchronizing with yours as his firm chest presses against you, and the warmth radiating from his smooth skin, slowly seeping into your body.

Each movement of your lips brushes his mouth more and more against yours and even after almost a decade of being together, the feeling still makes your brain go fuzzy. All your thoughts melt away. It’s just you and him.

“Kats,” you breathe in warning. His fingers have somehow found their way under your sundress and they’re mindlessly tracing nonsensical shapes into the small of your back, his other arm still tightly wrapping you in his warm embrace. “I really, really need to go iron your suit for tomorrow. Plus, aren’t you supposed to be catching the moon right now, mister?”

“Just ten more minutes,” Katsuki murmurs against your collarbone and you shiver. His voice is still husky with sleep. “And I already caught the thing.”

“Really? Proof or you’re lying.” You raise a brow skeptically, and you should’ve known better than to doubt him when he actually reaches behind him, the wedding ring that he never takes off even to wear his hero costume glinting in the moonlight, to lift up a neatly wrapped up box with a little baby pink ribbon on it. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Katsuki grins proudly. “Found it after patrol last week with Eijiro.”

“It being…?”

“The moon.” He sets the box down in front of you. “It’s a night light, ‘cause I know Mimi’s scared of the dark.” 

“Aww Katsuki,” you coo, reaching out to caress his cheek. “That’s so cute.”

He blushes at the pure look of adoration in your eyes, and you can’t help but smile when he hides his face in your hair. “S’nothin’. Just getting the best for our little girl.”

Your husband grumbles when you let out that perfect, angelic giggle of yours and rest your hand on his head in response. He was so adorable. 

The way he’s acting is so similar to how you did at the beginning of your relationship all those years ago in high school, but it seems that as the both of you got older the tables turned and he was the clingier one now, much to the amusement of your classmates and the press when they managed to get ahold of you.

Katsuki lets out a low, content hum as you run your fingers through his soft hair. The both of you lay there, basking in each other’s touch and comfortable silence.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you when you were sunbathing on the beach this morning.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Katsuki smirks at your expression. “Sumi kept smacking me with her damn shovel when we were making sand castles. Stop staring at mommy, it's rude!” He says, mimicking your daughter’s scolding tone.

You laugh at his Sumi impression. “My girl was trying to teach you some manners!”

“Damn straight.” He grins against your neck, and your cheeks grow hot at the way his teeth lightly graze over your skin. “That’s why I said she’s more like you, mommy.”

Your stomach flips against your will and your cheeks burn as you smack his well-muscled chest. “Don’t call me that!”

“Hah? Am I hearing my wife being embarrassed right now, after everything we’ve done? After what we made together?” Katsuki teases. “When you’re talking to Sumi you call me dadd—“

“What’s taking you so long!” Speaking of the little devil, Sumi’s impatient voice floats down to the garden through the open window of her room upstairs. “I want my moon and bedtime story now!”

“We’re on our way, Sumi!” You call up. Katsuki reluctantly lets you pull away from his arms, and the both of you stand up to dust yourselves off. He groans as he cracks his back next to you.

“Don’t think we’re nursing home age just yet,” you say jokingly. Katsuki snorts and pinches your cheek for the jibe. 

“You’re lucky I’m still gonna think you’re cute when you’re in grandma diapers.”

“Wha—Hey!” You trail after him into the house. Damn his fast pace and his longer legs. He’s already up the stairs, the present box in his hand.

You reach the top of the stairs and head for the familiar light pink interior of Sumi’s room but stop in the doorway to coo at the sight before you. 

“Hey, squirt. Got the moon for you, just like I said I would.” Katsuki’s voice is gentle as he kneels on the floor to meet her sparkling eyes, and gently shakes the box in his hands before holding it out to her.

“Whoaaa!” Sumi eagerly takes it. “Thank you dada!” 

She raises her head and spots you leaning against the frame of her door. “Mommy look!”

“I’m looking, Mimi.”

“You and dada watch me open it.” 

“Okay, go ahead we’re watching.” Katsuki and you smile softly as she unwraps the present with care and she gasps, tiny hands taking the globe-shaped, moon night light out. It was decorated with realistic looking craters, and even came with a wooden stand to put it on.

“So cute.” Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “So pretty.” Then she tilts her head in the direction of her open curtains.

“Why’s she still up there though?” Sumi asks curiously, and Katsuki chuckles. Of course his kid is way too smart to be tricked by something like a night light. 

“Well we can’t actually take the moon away, sweetie. She has her stars to take care of.”

“Oh.” Sumi frowns, deep in thought, then perks up. “Mr. Sun would miss her too!”

“Mhm, that’s right.” You ruffle her hair playfully and she squeals. “That’d be like someone taking me away from you and daddy.”

“No!” Sumi pouts. “Don’t like that. Wanna stay with you and dada forever.”

“And you will, Sumi.” Katsuki pats her little head with his much larger hand in reassurance. “Mommy and I are gonna to be with you forever. Right mommy?”

You sigh, realizing he’s got you trapped. “That’s right… daddy,” you grit out, ignoring the victorious grin that causes his unfairly attractive dimple to appear on his cheek and you head straight for Sumi’s spot on the bed, taking a seat next to her. She leans against your arm, and you press a loving kiss to the top of her head. 

Sumi holds the night light out to Katsuki, who gently sets it down on her nightstand and plugs it in. It casts a soft, white glow, just like real moonlight on his face, and Sumi and you ooh and awe at it in appreciation.

“Can I have my bedtime story now?” Sumi pipes up.

“Sure, think it’s mommy’s turn to read.” Katsuki joins the both of you in bed, sliding an arm behind you. “What book were you thinking of tonight?”

“Le Peewee Prince!”

You giggle. “Le Petit Prince?”

“Yeah, that one!”

“Okay then. Come here and lay down, sweetheart.” You take the bookmark out from where you left off last time, the moon night light beside you illuminating the pages as you begin to read.

“Goodbye, said the fox.” You recite in a quiet, dulcet voice. Katsuki’s arm around your waist hugs you and Sumi closer, who snuggles up between you both, blanket tucked snug under her chin. Your chest warms at the sight, and you continue. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye…”

[ruinix]

Can you write a story about Quinn Hughes asking yin to move in?

Hello, lovely. It has been long since you submitted this ask, hasn't it? I apologize. I am the slowest. But here it is! I hope it meets your expectations. 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Stay with me

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Fluff (kisses and everything), Just Quinn yearning

Count: 1296 words | Masterlist | Taglist

You’re late. Uncharacteristically late, but it’s not like Quinn has somewhere else to be. It’s his maintenance day after all. He shifts on his seat. He’s on a park bench, tugging his cap down to hide from the glare of the sun. The weather’s not at all hot, but he’s sweating bullets. His heart pounds in his chest. He’s nervous.

His pocket feels heavy. The key—which he clipped on a keyring with keychains of the Canucks’ logo, a hockey jersey with his number and his last name, and your favorite animal and flower—feels like a heavy piece of his soul. He slips his hand into his pocket and grips it tightly that his knuckles turn white. It’s the key to his apartment. He wants you to move in with him. He needs you too.

Every second that passes without you in his house feels like an eternity he dreads. Sure, you come over but it’s not enough. He doesn’t like how silent his house turns whenever you leave. He doesn’t like it when you insist on taking your laundry and do them to your place—he has his own washing and dryer machine. Why would you need to go to your place? But he always swallows down his protest because he knows how particular you are with your clothes.

Don’t you realize that he already got the model of your machines? What about the same brands of detergent and fabric softener in the cupboards? How his clothes now smell like yours?

Quinn doesn’t think you are picking that up, so he made bolder moves. Like making room for your clothes in the walk-in closet. Like the well-stocked cabinet in the restroom with your shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, skin care, and even feminine products. Like how you have your own tableware and fucking house slippers. Still, without fail, you pack up everything you bring, and you go back to your place.

It’s driving him insane.

However, it’s clear to him that he needs to directly ask youif he wants you to stay with him. Hence, the reason why he asked you out today. He asked you out for coffee. Fucking coffee. Quinn groans, palming his face at how silly that is.

His exact words were, through text, “I want to try a cappuccino. Come with me?”

He almost banged his head against the wall after he pressed send and reread his text. Why? Because you have been giving him cappuccino from time to time. You bring it—or any other beverage like tea or a different coffee—whenever you come over. So, it is fucking stupid to say he wanted to try one.

Like the angel you are, you replied, “I know a place! Meet you at the park, Q. 3pm!”

You didn’t even correct him, didn’t give him a slight chance to be more embarrassed by saying that he already drank cappuccino, didn’t even hesitate to send him loads of emoji blowing a kiss. You are so sweet. His need for you only grows from that.

He truly needs you to wake up next to him and not pack up.

He needs you to stay.

He needs all your belongings in his place. In the room he has been working on. There is plenty of space for every article of clothing, for every season, and so much more space to fill. He needs your makeup on the vanity he set up. He needs your work things in the office he prepared.

He needs you.

Your presence. Your laugh echoing on his walls. Your scent in his sheets, the sofa, the whole fucking air of his space. He needs your messes—the coffee mug that you leave for him to wash, the unfolded mess of a fleece blanket on the sofa, the stuffed toys you occasionally bring, the shuffling of his books in his shelves, and more. He needs these traces of your existence to stay and never disappear.

He needs you everywhere.

He doesn’t like it when you leave, because every time, you take away every sense of warmth in his place.

It’s not the same without you.

He hopes you accept this—

“Quinn!” Your voice makes him sit up, making his thoughts pause, his head immediately turning towards your fast approach.

You’re wearing comfortable clothes, a slightly oversized sweater and a skirt. Your lips are painted with your favorite shade of a lip gloss—is it lip gloss or stain, he’s not so sure—and it suits you so well. It makes your skin glow. Your hair flows and bounces. The sun shines so perfectly on you that you look like a fucking angel. So beautiful. His chest squeezes. You’re not coming as quickly as he needs you to, so he stands up and intercepts you with a hug.

Oh, the way you melt into his hug.

Your arms wrap over his shoulders, pressing his chest against his. He swears that he can feel your heart beating. It’s as fast as his. So strong in your chest. Can you feel his? He both hopes you do and don’t. He doesn’t want you to know he’s nervous. It will worry you.

He kisses you briefly, a shiver running down his back when you kiss him back. After a few moments, he reluctantly parts from you. You grin, taking his hand and basically dragging him to a café just a couple blocks away.

Everything feels like a blur.

From ordering the cappuccino to sitting down and listening to you ramble about how your day went.

Quinn can barely focus because for every passing minute, the key in his pocket grows heavier, heavier, and heavier. His chest starts to ache beyond his nervousness. He softly places a hand over yours. You instantly pause, waiting so patiently for him to speak. Your eyes are wide and bright. You even lean forward to emphasize your focus. That eases him. Slightly.

Taking out the key from his pocket, overturning your hand with his shaky ones, he places it on your palm. He clears he throat and says, “Will you move in with me?”

He doesn’t know what to expect. This can go whichever way. He’s scared, but the longer he stares at you, the more he realizes that he doesn’t have to be. Even if you say no, he can ask again in the future. He can wait for you to be comfortable and live with him. He can and will.

Then your other hand softly traces and inspects the key and the keychains. Quinn’s heart races harder when your smile grows brighter. His breath catches when you finally meet his eyes.

“Yes,” you softly say. “I’ll move in with you, Quinn.”

Quinn grips your hands tightly, a sigh of relief escaping him, then he kisses your knuckles. One by one. His eyes are tearing up, but he blinks them away.

“I’m so happy,” he explains as a tear still escapes him. Even more when you wipe them away with your thumbs. “Sorry—”

You’re instantly on him, sitting on his lap, kissing him to stop any more apologies. You’re so sweet. He’s so lucky to have you and now you’re moving in with him. Fuck, he can shout right now, scream his lungs out that his girl will be living with him, but he holds himself back.

He deepens the kiss instead, tongue sliding over the seam of your lips for permission which you grant immediately.

He loves you so much.

Now, he needs to help you pack. The faster you get your things loaded in a truck or his car, the faster he can get to keep you to himself.

But when you moan into his lips, Quinn decides that it can wait.

Just a bit.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

I love the idea of parentified Tim Drake.

Bruce loses Jason and isn't ready for another son. Tim sees this, he acknowledges this, and he's okay with it. He's never really been a son to his own parents so he wouldn't expect the neighbor to start taking care of him.

When Tim's parents come home, they're not mean or anything, they just don't baby him. They treat him as an equal--as someone who knows what he's doing--and that's fine, because he does.

He's been taking care of himself for as long as he could remember, so when people try to treat him like a child, it angers him more than anything. The way that they assume just because he's young he can't take care of himself.

Tim's been to galas before, though. He's talked with Bruce and the man never treated him like he was incompetent. Tim's parents would ask Tim questions about the company so that he could recite them to Bruce. It was a song and dance he was well versed in, but he didn't really mind, not when Bruce looked at him with such a fondness in his eyes, always saying, "That's really interesting. You know a lot about your parents' company. Did it take you a while to memorize it?"

And he'd shake his head and say, "No," because that was the correct response, even if it was wrong.

Even if he had flashcards about Drake industries and kept up to date with perception of the company and the stock value and who the shareholders were and what they wanted and what they were willing to do to get that.

It wasn't one bout of work. It wasn't a single night of studying to make sure he passed the test, but a lifetime memorizing information and then rememorizing it when it changed.

So when Jason died and Bruce started getting bad, Tim knew what to do.

He was used to long term projects where it would be years before he actually got to see any result. He was used to seeing adults as people who he was responsible for, though he had to admit that the responsibility had never been that big before.

When Tim showed up at Bruce's doorstep, he was young, just like both of Bruce's other sons, but his eyes lacked that sort of naïveté and childlike wonder that should have accompanied the baby fat which persisted on his cheeks.

That's what made Alfred pause at the door.

There was a kid. A black haired, blue eyed kid. He was young, like both of Bruce's sons. His lack of naïveté was something he shared with both children, only Dick's had been a fresh sort of loss, one he was still mourning, and Jason's naïveté was something long-forgotten and left to rot. It was a feeling you smelt when you left the windows closed for too long.

Still there, still somewhere, but not quite right and never able to be found, only stumbled upon in rare moments of something that could almost be called joy.

Tim's naïveté is something he left at home. He keeps it on a shelf in his bedroom, something to look at when the going gets rough, but something too fragile to be held.

Maybe that's why Alfred lets him in.

That day, Tim meets Bruce--not Brucie or Batman, just Bruce.

He meets a man who's hair's grown long, but not long enough for it to have been intentional. There's grease in his hair and bags under his eyes and you can tell that he's been biting his nails.

He's clean shaven, because that's what people can see when he wears the cowl.

Tim takes a deep breath before walking into the room.

Bruce doesn't move, but Tim doesn't doubt that the man notices him.

The room smells like alcohol--a smell he recognizes from when his own father is home, though he can't say he's ever remembered it smelling so concentrated.

"Hello," he says, when he's right in front of Bruce, "My name is Tim, and I'm here to help."

Bruce doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.

Tim talks to him, slowly distracting the man as he brings him to the bathroom, first trying to put a toothbrush in his hand and then, when that doesn't work, brushing the man's teeth himself.

Tim draws a bath for him and grabs him a new pair of clothes, and tells him to take his bath, only leaving the room when Bruce finally stands up and starts undressing.

Tim takes care of the sheets, puts new ones on the bed, and goes to the kitchen, to find Alfred already making food.

The butler asks him if he's staying to eat but Tim just insists that he's not hungry and brings the food up to Bruce.

He knocks on the bathroom door, and when Bruce doesn't respond, he opens it.

Bruce is sitting in the bath, knees to his chest, crying, but not otherwise moving.

So Tim rolls up his sleeves and washes Bruce's hair, then keeps him company as Bruce washes himself.

Bruce finds it easier to get things done when there's someone else in the room--talking to him, giving him something else to think about.

Tim talks as he gets Bruce out of the bath and hand him a towel. He talks as Bruce dries himself off and gets dressed. He talks as Bruce eats the lunch that Alfred made him and he talks until he gets Bruce back to bed.

He leaves, voice hoarse from talking so much after living in an empty home.

He comes back the next day and does it all again.

Alfred doesn't know what he should do. He knows, of course, that Tim is young and shouldn't be taking care of someone at that age.

He also knows that Bruce is in no state to take care of himself and all of Alfred's attempts have been in vain.

Tim's talking was what got Bruce to eat his first actual meal in a week--not just popcorn and protein bars. Tim's presence is what got Bruce to bed.

Tim was what was making things better, so while Alfred knew he should put a stop to it, he couldn't quite make himself do so.

Instead, he started doing little things.

He invited Tim to stay for meals.

Invited Tim to stay the night.

It took a while, but eventually, Tim started living in the manor.

One month, there's only ghosts in the house, the next, three beating hearts.

One month, Bruce can only think of his son, the next, he's calling Tim his dad.

One day, Bruce crosses the line as Batman, and the next day, he has a Robin.

You know how things go from there, some things are lost, others are gained. Some things stay the same, others do nothing but change.

Bruce and Tim get better, but Bruce still thinks of Tim as his dad.

No one really pays it much heed, though. That's just how they are--nothing really to note.

It's Dick, though, who starts noticing something's off, because Tim never sleeps.

When Dick was first adopted, he had nightmares.

He'd remember what it was like to watch someone fall. He did not watch it from the ground, but from the balcony, holding onto a trapeze, moments away from completing his own jump.

It took him months to finally come to Bruce, tell him about his nightmares.

Though he was never told the details, he knew it was the same for Jason. He pushed Bruce away, insisted that he'd be fine on his own, but eventually started letting him in.

He never asked, but assumed it was the same for Tim. When Tim couldn't sleep, when he had nightmares, when he couldn't stand to sleep in an empty bed, he'd go to Bruce like the rest of them did.

It was a reasonable thing to assume, and it was a belief he only questioned when he got up in the middle of the night to get water.

That same night, Bruce had a nightmare. Bruce knocked on Tim's door. Bruce slept in Tim's bed.

Tim ran his hands through Bruce's hair, promising that everything would be okay until Bruce fell asleep.

Now that he knew to look for it, Dick started noticing even more. The way Tim knew Bruce's favorite food and the way Tim took care of the man's company so that Bruce had the freedom to do what he wanted. The way Bruce turned to Tim when he had a problem or wanted to be told he did something well.

It was wrong.

It was wrong and Dick was trapped because he hadn't noticed it earlier. Why didn't he notice it earlier?

Tim came to him first, asked him to become Robin again. Dick knew about Tim from the start. Dick was there for the entirety of his stay as Robin.

He was there.

So why didn't he noticed?

Jason sees him panicking on patrol and Dick just breaks.

He breaks down in his brother's arms--arms he can feel tightening around him as he tells him everything.

They talk about it a lot after that. Jason starts noticing things too.

They bring in Babs and start making a file--compiling evidence because there's always the urge to just ignore it. To acknowledge that Bruce is doing better than ever.

But that requires them to forget about Tim.

To let the boy take care of Bruce and not live his own life.

Because, now that they're looking, they can see how lonely it is.

How he doesn't have any school friends--he had to drop out to take over WE.

How he's grown apart from Young Justice--always leaving when Bruce is in trouble or needs someone to talk to, not able to bear the idea of what Bruce might do if left alone.

Because Tim knows he'll break.

Bruce needs someone to take care of him, and Tim exists to fulfill the needs of others, regardless of how much it takes from him.

So Tim goes and helps his son. He never talks about how tired he is. He has sleeping pills to fix that, and maybe he can't take them because what if Bruce has a nightmare and then he can't wake up Tim--it's unimaginable.

Dick and Jason notice, though, and they try to bring it up with him, but they're not sure how.

Not when Tim's gut reaction is just to start taking care of them, too. Easing their worries, telling them that everything's okay.

They want so bad to insist that it's not okay, that this is going to ruin Tim and he can't spend his whole life like this.

But they want even more to be held. To be granted that unconditional love and care that comes with being Tim's child.

So they try to say something--anything.

But then, Tim smiles. He opens his arms to them and asks about their days.

And they they try to tell him that not everything's okay, but Tim is smiling, and they try, but they can't say a thing.

[zevrra]

“please,” a strong male’s voice pathetically cries for you. “let me touch you. i’m sorry, i’ll be good, promise.” he pleads with a whimper.

“no jayce. you can only watch.” you hum, gripping onto jayce’s broad shoulders as you straddle a single one of his thighs. you wore nothing but jayce’s tie. something you had stolen from him the minute he walked through the door. staying too late out at the lab, trying to solve whatever equation he had been working on. but you didn’t care, he broke curfew. he was in trouble.

you drag your wet cunt across the thick of jayce’s thigh, groaning heavily as you smear slick right across the fabric of his pants. you leave a trail of your wetness along his dark pants as a reminder that he broke curfew. and now with you getting off on just his thigh, ordering him not to touch you, he remembers how he’s come home way too late.

jayce tenses as he watches you grind against his thigh, as if he could take his eyes off of you, another whine leaves his lips. watching while your hips roll forward once more, gripping the chair (the one you forced him to sit in) for dear life. restraining every ounce of his entire being from touching you. “please,” he begs again. “you’re soaking wet! please—ah—let me touch you. i’ll be good! please, i won’t be late ever again, please.”

“so eager to fuck me now but not eager enough to come home on time, tsk, tsk.” you scold, a soft groan leaving your lips as you press your cunt back onto his thigh. making sure to drag your core as slowly as you possibly could against him; solely so he could feel how truly wet you were. “you love this anyway. look at how hard you are pretty boy.” you hum, glancing down where his pants restrain him. his bulge was massive, tenting up strong and proud against the brown pants he regularly wore.

he tries to speak again but you interrupt him with another thrust of your hips. now picking up your pace to silence his tongue. slamming, rolling, smearing your dripping pussy across his thigh again and again; staining his pants oh so throughly. and it made you smile with the way jayce tensed up again. watching with a close eye on how your cunt dragged across his leg but never moving to touch you…because you said so. he almost hated it but, no, he really did in fact love it. seeing as a large pool of his own precum was beginning to stain the front of his pants; that was proof enough of his enjoyment.

and you surely wanted to keep teasing him but your orgasm was rising too fast. turning your head into a mushy state with the only thought being to seek your end to your delightful high. so you did just that, jayce’s name rings from your lips as you move quicker, push yourself hard down against his thigh. moans bubble up as you lose yourself in the pleasure of his leg, gripping his shoulders now for dear life. “mmph! coming, i’m coming!” your cry echoes loudly as your orgasm finally takes over you. lightning surges through every inch of your body, forcing your hips to jerk with every wave of your climax; your slick further coating his thigh.

but as you’re coming down from your little high, you’re quick to notice jayce trembles under your touch. his head hangs low while he breathes ragged, desperate breaths. and that’s when you notice— jayce has cum as well. right through his pants. at just the sight of you and the occasional bump of your knee against his tented cock, but never once touching himself.

“‘m sorry…i tried to hold back but…so hot ugh.” jayce admits, a needy whimper slipping from his lips as he tries to catch his breath and collect his thoughts.

suddenly you’re soaking wet all over again, dripping onto his thigh with a new found force of your own eagerness and need, but this time; you’d give the good boy a reward for behaving so well.

[beepboopappreciation]

Your mechanical lover, who tries so desperately to show how much it cares for you.

It was built for war. It has seen death up close. Brutality. Gore. It has experienced and created horrors you could not possibly imagine. It can be so ruthless.

But not with you. No, never with you.

With you, it is gentle. It is kind. With you, its touch is soft and forgiving. The guns it uses to kill others without reserve . . . instead are seen as protective over you.

The same appendages that have torn countless soldiers to shreds now present you with flowers picked from a nearby field.

It does not feel remorse for what it has done to others. Why would it? That is not part of its programming.

It should not feel the way it does around you. It should not feel. That is not part of its programming.

And yet . . .

[nonranghaes]

hyunjin feels the way your hand curls around his elbow, fingers pressing into his skin as you gently tug to get his attention. it flits away from the person he's talking to all too easily, and all it takes is you asking for a moment alone for him to agree to it. his heart is fluttering in his chest now as you guide him to the balcony, sliding the door open a little further so the two of you can slip through and stand out in the night air. it's slightly chilly, but he doesn't mind. not when he's next to you, a few steps away from the glass doors so that the two of you have privacy.

"so?" you rock on your heels, a little visibly nervous now. "did you like it?"

"i loved it." his voice is soft as he gazes at you. you'd thrown together a little party for him on short notice, complete with a batch of cupcakes that he found out from felix that you made for him yourself. "you didn't have to throw me a party."

you frown a little. "did you not want one?"

"that's not what i meant." he lowers himself onto the little outdoor sofa he helped chris pull up here an eternity ago, all for the promise of a warm meal when everyone else was too busy to help. the two had ended up sitting out here for hours, just enjoying the view. of course chris would let you use his place for this: it's his part in this plan, in making hyunjin feel loved. "i just meant... i know you did this last minute. and... i know it stressed you out. you don't have to put yourself through that."

"you're worth it." you settle next to him, hands in your lap. "i just... i really like spending time with you, hyunjin. and i like doing things for you, because you're sweet, and you're good at saying things i struggle with. you deserve the world." you look at him, gaze soft. there's something warm lingering in it.

and hyunjin realizes while you're rambling that things aren't as one-sided as he once thought. it's somewhere between you mentioning how much you love being around him when he lets you watch him indulge in his art and when you start talking about how you needed today to go perfect for him because he deserves it that it just hits him.

so he kisses you. just on the cheek (he's a romantic deep down, he thinks, and he doesn't want his first kiss with you to be right here where anyone could peek out and see and immediately yell back that the idiots have finally figured it out), but his lips linger against your skin for a few extra selfish seconds, and he thinks he can see the sparks as your brain short-circuits for a second when you go completely silent.

you turn to face him after a moment. "you...?"

he nods after a moment. "i do." his fingers curl around your hand, and he doesn't think much of it as he fans his fingers around his own wrist to slide a bracelet from his wrist to yours. it suits you more than him. "can i pick where we go?"

and you just nod. "i'd love that." but before either of you can move, you lean in, pressing a kiss against his cheek. "happy birthday, silly. i'm glad you're here."

[agentlizardofowca]

Short fic: Winifred Fletcher beats up Mrs Doofenshmirtz

That's it, that's the fic. Established relationship, takes place after the show. Enjoy.

----

It was his birthday. Heinz was turning 50, and because he was turning 50, this birthday was a big deal. 

His 49th birthday had been simple, easy. A piece of cake and an afternoon spent with Perry. Vanessa had visited and handed him a present: One of those phone case handheld thingies that he could play with. A few people had rung their doorbell to shake his hand and congratulate him. By the time dinner rolled around, everything was back to normal.

But not this year. Fifty was a big number! But anyone who said that just made him feel impossibly old. 

Heinz never would’ve guessed he would hold out this long; even as a teen, he assumed he'd die tragically. A few times his life had flashed before his eyes, like when he was trapped under that boulder, the night Charlene took Vanessa and left for real, and the first time he sat on a self-destruct button. But here he was: losing his hair, with a sore back, but breathing and happier than he'd been in years. The big five-oh.

The Flynn-Fletchers had insisted on a real party, but Heinz was very reluctant. Eventually, there was some sort of compromise, and now their house was stuffed with more people than they had seats. Their visitors didn't mind; Groups of neighbours stood around eating cake and the kids all agreed they’d rather be outside than in. 

Someone had invited Roger, who made polite conversation with his reluctant brother for five minutes before he'd disappeared into the crowd to go kiss some stranger's baby or something.

"Heinz, ol' boy! Who would’ve thought you'd be an old geezer in such a jiffy!"

He turned towards the strange noise and came face to face with Reginald Fletcher, Perry's adoptive father, and a man with such a strange and unusual English accent that he wondered how people even understood the man. Beside him was his wife Winifred, smiling pleasantly.

"Reg, Winnie", Heinz smiled and offered them his hand. "Thank you so much for coming. You only have a few days here in the states, I'm sure there are many things you'd rather do." 

"Nonsense! Winnie loves a good party, don't you, dear? Besides, our Perry's man only turns fifty once, right? I remember when I was a spry young lad like you!" 

"To celebrate, he walked a tightrope across the Thames," Winifred agreed.

"Well, my balance has never been that good," Heinz chuckled, suddenly afraid that people expected him to do something, since this was his party. He didn’t know if there were rules for something like that.

"A slice of cake seems like a great alternative." Winifred agreed. "Our Perry wouldn't like you if you did silly things like that. He needs someone a bit more laid back." 

"If there's one thing I'm good at, it's lying back." Heinz chuckled, only realising that sounded vaguely sexual when it was too late to change the course of that sentence.

Winifred didn't seem to mind though, she cackled loudly. "Oh, I'm sure you do!" 

Heinz would've been embarrassed if his new mother-in-law hadn't seemed absolutely delighted by his little mistake. Reg was smiling too, but more so at his wife's delight than anything else. It made Heinz hopeful that he and Perry could also be content together when they grew old. Perhaps there was a way to save his dignity once Winifred stopped laughing, but it was probably easiest to just let it go and enjoy the joke for what it was. "Did Perry get you a drink?" 

"Not yet," Reginald explained. "We just got here, and we wanted to congratulate you first." 

"Well, I can get Perry to get you something," Heinz hated hosting. Honestly, he would just as happily shove everybody in this house out the door right now, but Perry's parents were kind to him from the start, and also old, so they probably needed caffeine or something, right? He turned to scan the crowd for Perry's bright teal hair, but instead, he turned and startled, and almost shouted. "AH!" 

His mother was in his house. And she was right in front of him. Her face was as stoic as always, and she didn’t seem very enthused to be here.

"Ah. Heinz," She said. "There you are." 

"Mother!" Heinz almost stuttered, but he knew she disapproved of that. "You came to visit? On my birthday?" She had never done that before.

"Heinz," His mother replied coolly. "Have you seen Roger?"

He sighed and looked around the room. Perhaps if he could include his brother in the conversation, that would help him somehow. "I think he's outside."

His mother was about to reply to that when Winifred took this as the opportune moment to introduce herself. "You must be Heinz's mother?" She interrupted. "I am Winifred, I am Perry's mother." 

Mother Doofenshmirtz allowed her hand to be shaken. Unimpressed, she looked the other woman up and down. "Pleasure," She lied.

"I don't believe we've met before, but it was only a matter of time after my Perry snatched up your son, right?" 

"Perry?" Heinz's mother replied distantly. "Oh yes, his little friend." 

"Little, that sure is an apt description of our Perry," Reginald chuckled, unaware of the general mood of the conversation, which had plummeted to awkward almost instantly.

"Friend?" Winifred parrotted. "That seems like an old-fashioned type of description."

"Well, I suppose I am old-fashioned, then." The other woman replied curtly. "If Heinz-" 

"Oh look, Mother!" said son interrupted, his voice higher-pitched than usual and quite loud. "Roger is right over there! Let me just-" And he moved as if he was about to guide his mother away from the conversation.

"Heinz dear, hold this for me, will you?" Winifred said instead, and she handed Heinz her handbag, which was so much heavier than he expected that he almost toppled over.

“Careful there, Lad. Winnie brought her prize-winning fruit cake. You don’t want to smush that.” Reginald helped steady him, but didn’t even attempt to take the bag from his hands. “The price is that it’s the heaviest fruitcake in the world.”

“I can tell,” Heinz gasped as he clutched the bag to his chest like a bag of rocks. “It’s really quite impressive.” 

“There are over twenty apples in that thing.” Reginald was very obviously proud of his wife, who was long-nose, to long-nose with Heinz’s mother at the moment. His mother, whom Heinz had failed to remove from the conversation. To make things worse, Roger hadn’t even been in the corner he pointed out, he just wanted to avoid whatever this conversation was going to be. No matter what his mother was going to say next, it wouldn’t paint him in a good light, and Heinz truly wanted Perry’s parents to like him.

“Now, you’ll have to excuse me. My hearing aids need tuning.” Winifred said in the overly polite tone British women used when they wanted nothing more than to call someone a bad word. “But I believe you were saying something about your son.” 

“I was saying,” The other woman replied in a tone like hellfire. “That if Heinz wants to pretend to have found love in your sodomist son, then he can do that. But he won’t be convincing me that this is about anything but perverse gratification!” 

“My son, the what?” Winifred asked, mostly angered by the other woman, but also finding the situation just a little bit funny.

Instead of answering the other woman, Mother Doofenshmirtz turned to her son and announced, “You know I don’t approve of whatever this vulgar choice of yours is. You can dress it up with a cute little house, and invite everybody for a little birthday party, but you know you’re disgusting and-”

“Disgusting?!” Winifred shouted, loud enough that the party around them fell silent as they noticed the commotion. “That is your son, right there! And you believe you can talk to him like that!” 

“If you like him so much, you can have him! He’s been nothing but a thorn in my side for fifty years!” Mrs Doofenshmirtz replied with eye contact as if she was trying to prove something.

Heinz watched his mother say this without even glancing his way. She said it as if he weren’t even there, because she didn’t care. She never had. “Mother, the party-” He interjected, but his voice came out too sad and pathetic to be heard over the jaunty music that still played over the stereo.

“Reginald, hold my glasses!” Winifred took them off, folded them and handed her delicate frames to her husband, who was ready to accept them as if he was waiting for this.

“I’ve got your glasses dear, kick her ass.” 

“Oh, believe me, I will!” 

And then Heinz was too confused, amazed, and flabbergasted to be sad, because Winifred Fletcher, 74 years of age, and usually nothing but polite and friendly, shoved his mother to the floor with a swing of her arm and then continued to pummel her with great pleasure.

Unsure of what to do, Heinz just stood there, clutching the dear woman’s purse to his chest, and watching as she single-handedly managed to ruin his mother’s eternally tight hair bun.

Beside him, Reginald was shadow boxing along, hooting and hollering to his wife what she should do next.

“Oh dear,” Someone said on the other side of him. “Dad, why is my mummy punching Heinz’s elderly mother?” Lawrence had caught wind of the situation and came to investigate, but just like everybody else, he did not seem ready to intervene. 

“Mother? Mother! Heinz’s, do something!” Roger also appeared from somewhere in the crowd, and unlike all the other people, who had gathered around to watch two old women roll over the floor as they attempted to snatch each other’s earrings, he immediately jumped in to try and separate them. All he managed to do was that he got scratched in the face, and three red lines appeared along his cheek. “Oh, my god! Mother!”

“heh.” A raspy chuckle, barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the fight.

Heinz turned, finding that his boyfriend, the sodomist, had also noticed the disturbance. “Perry the platypus, your mother just bit my mother!” 

Perry seemed reluctant to look away from the fight, but he managed to; his expression was a lot less severe than the situation warranted. In fact, if he could, Perry probably would’ve been hooting and hollering along with his dad.

“Perry, lad, I think it’s time we intervene before someone loses an earring, or an eye!” Lawrence announced. “I’ll clear the way, but you grab her. My back, you know.” 

Heinz did not know for sure, but he recognised a poor excuse when he heard one; Lawrence wasn’t confident he could come out the other side of this fight unscathed.

Speaking of scathed, Roger was still trying to extract their mother, but like Winifred, his mother didn’t seem too keen on stopping this violence, even though it was becoming quite clear that she was not winning.

With more bravery than any other man in this room, Perry inserted himself between the two bickering grannies and managed to push his mother to the one side, and Mrs Doofenshmirtz to the other. Quickly, Roger heaved his mother upright; her hair was a wild mess, her lip had split, and a bruise was already blooming across her chin, but she wasn’t giving up. As Roger pulled her, against her will, towards the front of the house, she struggled and huffed. “I’ll get you, Fotze! You’re dead! Fick dich!”

“Here’s a tip! Mother to Mother!” Winifred replied, also dishevelled and bleeding from her nose, but proud and clearly victorious. “If your son likes bumming, that’s fine! You should try it sometime, maybe it’ll help you be less of a stuck up bitch!”

“Fick dich ins Knie!” Heinz heard his mother reply before Roger finally managed to work her out of the house.

As the door slammed shut behind them, the room fell completely silent. The entire party watched the door for a moment, as if Mrs Doofenshmirtz was about to burst back in and continue the fight.

“Well,” Winnie announced, and she adjusted her dress back into place. “Your mother surely is an interesting woman, but if you’re ever in need of some real motherly love, feel free to call me Heinz. I may not be perfect, but I’ll surely do a better job than that manky munter.” 

“...What?” Heinz replied, still trying to progress the situation.

“Congratulations, boy,” Reginald agreed. “You’re our son now. Look, honey. He has your nose!” 

“Perry, I’ve been here for a solid fifteen minutes, and I haven’t had a spot of tea yet. Are you trying to kill your poor old mother?” Winifred then laughed happily, as if there wasn’t fresh blood under her fingernails.

“Perry, you never told me you took after your mother,” Heinz joked, because he honestly wasn’t sure what else to say. He wasn’t even sure if he was mad about what had just happened; he had a feeling he was smiling, but he wasn’t really sure why, or how to stop. 

「Happy Birthday,」 Perry replied instead. He was also smiling.

[lilacgaby]

Yay request open oh oh if youre in Gumi era just having idea can I have more of his domestic fluff like planning on their future life any kind of domestic will do (๑•́ω•̀) 💗💗

title: my heart is yours eternally

pairing: boyfriend-> husband!megumi x girlfriend->wife!reader

summary: megumi thought this life he planned was only one in fairytales, but as he looked at the life he built with you, he knew it was real.

note: i love megumi pls pls pls request him more ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

"i want a small wedding." he said out of the blue as you two laid in his bed, holding your hand in his and he looked over you. "one that's intimate, i don't mind you choosing the theme or anything."

as you nodded thoughtfully, you entangled your fingers together. "mhm. just for us. and i want you to have a pretty ring too, i think you'd look nice with one in silver."

"you think?" he replied, eyebrow raised.

"i know so. and we can have a huge wedding cake-"

"vanilla."

"yes vanilla, with ice cream too. just for us."

he seemed content with that, smiling softly. until a thought crossed over his mind and he looked down at you with a look in his eye.

"i'll get you a nice ring, i promise. you just need to wait." he said, determined.

"i'll wait for you 'til the end of time, 'gumi."

he flushed and squeezed your hand tighter, he had to get the best for you. he couldn't sleep right if he didn't.

"you want any kids 'gumi?" you asked absentmindedly, not noticing the way he choked on air at the thought. images of you pregnant ran through his mind, his mind spiraling as he failed to find the words.

"megumi?"

"oh, uh.. a brother and a sister. that's all we need."

"sounds good, i wouldn't want our baby to get lonely when we're gone after all."

he felt his mind sputter at the thought of your baby, with features from you and him.

the topic of conversation eventually changed to something different, a show you were watching. as he listened to you recount how happy you were that the characters you hated died, his mind still kept going back to the conversation you had earlier.

he fell asleep holding your hand, images of the life you'd have together running through vividly, like he could almost touch it.

since then, he was determined to make that a reality for the two of you.

he proposed to you on your anniversary, taking every possible note he could about the types of rings you liked before choosing one. as he held you hand in his and slid on the ring, kissing you with only the sunset behind you as witness, he felt truly loved.

the months spent planning your wedding weren't as stressful as you handled it together. finding the perfect venue, small like you both wanted.

going on dates to sample cakes, laughing at megumi's face of disgust. choosing the topper for the cake, opting for two loving bunnies at the top since none of them could get megumi's hair right.

choosing who to invite, megumi 'begrudgingly' inviting his old friends from jujutsu high, and you yours.

him going out with gojo and yuuji to pick the perfect suit, you choosing your dress with your most trusted friends.

walking down the aisle, megumi felt emotional since you were just so gorgeous, he never felt as luck as he did when you were announced husband and wife.

well actually, that's a lie.

when you gifted him a box, full of baby clothes and a stick with two life changing lines on it, he knew you were his good luck charm.

as he promised, he loved you through even your sickness. a lot of foods made you nauseous, so he'd started to learn how to cook because it was exhausting for you.

your bump was bigger than average, not like he'd say it to your face, but it was confirmed when you went to get your ultrasound. twins.

you squinted your eyes at him and jokingly hit him on his shoulder lightly, saying, "this is your fault!"

he only laughed. at your gender reveal, just a small thing between you two, you held hands and cut a cake slice out of the cake. to your surprise, it was blue and pink.

your stomach got huge, at 9 months you just wanted your kids out. megumi would take you out on walks everyday, well just strolls around your house technically, but it was a lot for you.

on day number 3, your water broke. you thought you'd finally feel relieved, but good thing megumi was there because you panicked. he was too but mentally.

as you delivered your babies, the son first, you squeezed his hand for dear life.

when you went home with 2 kids a couple days later, you sleeping as megumi held the two in the rocking chair he'd picked out, he felt like it was a dream.

when you awoke, and he'd matched the features of your son who took after you and your daughter after him, his heart fluttered as he felt his body soar.

this is what love is, and this is what he dreamt of.

[isaacthedruid]

i love to think about (non sexual) intimacy between buck and eddie and how they aren't together (yet) but how it would probably just happen sometimes. i like to think about buck bathing eddie after the shooting. they are so gentle and tender, and just so appreciative of the other. buck's hands are careful as he washes eddie, even if he's terrified of even washing the gunshot wound. (he will replace the bandages as many times as eddie needs and he will monitor eddie's health.) and he pours all his love and care into eddie by washing him, cleaning parts of him he's never touched before but has wanted to so badly. he adores washing eddie's hair, he's always wanted to card his fingers through it. and suddenly, he is. not in the way he imagined it would happen. yet, there he is and his clothes soaking wet from spraying himself with the shower head while trying to get the rest of the soap out of eddie’s hair. this erupts sleepy chuckles out eddie and makes it all worth it. when he’s done, eddie convinces him that he will be fine to get dressed on his own and that buck should take a quick bath too. so, after his own bath, buck– with a towel wrapped around his waist –eventually finds eddie laying in the bed. he’s still naked with just a towel resting over him. “you didn’t get dressed,” buck teases, there’s such a fondness in his voice that it makes eddie smile. “i didn’t feel like it,” eddie replies, “wanna lay down with me?” and now, if eddie were any healthier or better rested, this probably wouldn’t have ever happened but it’s what he needs right now and he couldn’t deny himself of it. not if it was right in front of him. not if it was buck. “you sure?” buck asks. “i wouldn’t have asked if i didn’t mean it,” eddie says, finally meeting buck’s eyes. that’s all the answer buck needs and he lays in the bed next to eddie, careful with his touches. soaking in eddie’s body heat beneath his palm, buck gently explores him until his hand finds its home on eddie’s waist. eddie’s own on buck’s chest, thumb brushing back and forth just over his heart. there isn’t more they do than this, just warm hands and breaths against the other’s skin. maybe they share a kiss or two, or maybe not. that’s between them. however, this is what they need right now. for eddie, it’s buck’s love and care. for buck, it’s eddie’s warmth and beating heart. maybe he finds eddie’s pulse on his wrist or he rests his head quickly down to hear it thrumming in eddie’s chest. maybe he doesn’t. it’s just them there, where sleep eventually finds them; safe, warm and alive. 

[riaki]

moneyload | satoru gojo x reader (implied fem)

this is for @satoruoo + everyone who’s tired of my angst | 1k wc

satoru likes spoiling you.

no— like would be the world's greatest understatement. satoru feels about spoiling you the way he feels about you— he doesn’t just like you, he‘s utterly enamored with you. if you asked, he'd move mountains for you. or give up a portion of his candy; both are equitable in his bright eyes. he loves you so much that he'd skip a basketball session with suguru or leave in the middle of the fight to throw the leftover scraps of a cursed spirit to whoever was unlucky enough to be there at the time; you're more important. you've always been.

yeah, that’s gotta be it. a perfect way to paint his feelings for you on a pure canvas brightened by your smile, light as a feather and lively as the sun. and you're completely deserving, he thinks— you, who's always been so patient and kind with him.

as such, he thinks it’s a crime to waste such a beautiful figure on things less than lavish dress and delicate jewelry; but to be honest, he thinks you could don a potato sack and still make it look exquisite. nevertheless, each time you protest when he drapes another dainty necklace glittering with gems cut from a million-dollar wallet and 58 facets (all the reasons he loves you— that's what he calls them.), he shushes you promptly with a swift, sweet kiss; you get a noseful of his expensive cologne every time he sidles up to you and gets comfortable. which, for the record, is quite often.

out of everything he gets you; bouquets of beautiful speckled flowers that look as if a painter dumped their entire palette of pastels and pretties onto the petals, sweet chocolates dark with the tiniest amount of cherry liquor in the center ("i don't need them— i already get drunk off of you, sweetheart!"), fragrant perfume or the latest comfortable clothing that catches his eye (this one's less common. he likes it better when you're only in his clothes.), jewelry is the one he always finds his way back to the most often.

why? well, if you ask him— there's nothing better than being sprawled on your couch with his head in your lap, nuzzling into your warm hand as he catches a whiff of the perfume he gifted you last week paired with the reddest rose he could find on your wrist. your hands card through his hair, and he uses the opportunity to catch your arm before you can move any further, giving you a smug grin as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box.

(it's a little embarrassing the amount of times you've thought he was going to propose from that alone.)

you'll open it, and it'll be a pretty silver necklace that matches the one around his neck, or a gold ring with ornate details that he slips onto your fingers after taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to your knuckles with a smile and a laugh. sometimes it's a bracelet adorned with rich jewels the color of your eyes; maybe something rose quartz to represent the flush on his cheeks you always seem to elicit or a marigold yellow to show the pure joy he gets from being around you. if you ask him about it, he'll just say, "i wasn't kidding when i said i get drunk off of you, baby." with a boyish giggle that's far too charming to not have been used in his younger years to get his way and a sweet little wink of an afterthought that has your heart racing.

on the occasions when the gift is far less... appropriate, you'll always sigh and chastise him with a shake of your head because you both know the fabric will be torn to shreds in a matter of a few minutes. he does it anyway, though. he's always been a little bit of a brat in that sense.

whatever it ends up as, satoru absolutely adores seeing your reactions; the cute flush on your cheeks when you accept it with a little thanks and a kiss to his cheek, leaning forward on the tips of your toes because he's too tall for his own good. maybe even to hook a finger around the bridge of his sunglasses for lips to lips, if he's lucky. of course, he knows he doesn't have to buy your affection— you've made that abundantly clear in moments he doesn't like to think about as anything more than vulnerability when he's worn out, but there's just something about you that makes him want to pile it on. he's always had more money than he knows what to do with, anyway.

and maybe, just maybe— one day he'll dare to hope for a future past school hallways, flattering dresses and skirts or sneaky kisses when he's a little sweaty and his jacket is in your arms and you're on the bleachers, hijacking shoko's pack of cigarettes while the squeak of shoes on the gym floor and the sound of a basketball rattling in the hoop fills your ears. past nights when you're curled up in his arms and he can comfortably rest his head in the crook of your neck, tucked away where it always should be (and always will be).

he'll hope for days when he gets to wake up to you by his side, a silver band with so much more meaning than the fifth one he's given you that week on your ring finger and a matching one on his own, because satoru loves you so much that he'd empty out the vaults of a bank just to make you smile at him. not in the hollow way his father always had at home, or in the obligatory resolute smiles of the servants on his estate, but in a genuine way; a way no one else (except his mom) had ever come close to because if he sold everything he ever had for you, his world would still be right in front of him, holding his hands and kissing his face in spontaneous bursts of love, like shooting stars dancing across his cheeks as a way of thanks.

...so, maybe satoru likes spoiling you so much because you always seem to return tenfold.

if u looked at my search history you'd see 'how many cuts does a diamond have' and 'what are the chocolates with alcohol in them called' my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

[ruinix]

also i cant stop thinking abt shotgunning quinn bc FUCK

shotgunning QUINNIFER?! (IS THIS AN ASK FOR A DRABBLE?!). Some thoughts--NOPE, it became a drabble as we can see. Just a mini drabble though :> (this is simply in your POV) [Note: I edited it; 503-> 575 words...oops)

Beers and Dares

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Alcohol Consumption, A bit suggestive (nothing really happened), just Quinn shotgunning lmao

Word: 575 words | Masterlist | Taglist

Quinn is the person who wouldn’t reveal his party tricks until he was given the spotlight or a dare—rather, taunted to do so by a dare. He has that secretive flare on him.

He would rather just watch people have fun first. His observant eyes would watch everyone and everything they do. Then he joins in his own way—in the banters and games. Although, he always holds back, hence the dares. It’s a reward for you to learn his tricks, so you take it up yourself to make him show you. Today, you decided to see him shotgun a beer.

Swiping a beer from the fridge, turning on your phone camera, you march to Quinn who’s just relaxing outside balcony. The moment he catches your arrival; you toss the beer at him. He freezes, barely catching the can. His eyes are wide from surprise.

“Do it,” you demand with a grin.

“Do what?” He tries to act clueless, but you see how his hand goes to his pocket where he keeps his car keys.

“Shotgun it. I dare you.” You smirk at him, using your weapon that he couldn’t resist: your puppy dog eyes.

Not even a sense of turmoil brew in his eyes. He immediately brings out his key, turning the can to the side, punching a hole, and fucking shotgun it with ease.

You aren’t really sure that he can do this, but Quinn is doing it. All you can do is watch with your lips parted, your eyes wide, the camera still fucking rolling. Thank fuck it is.

Quinn looks absolutely hot.

His Adam’s apple bobs for every massive gulp of the beer. His jaw is so sharp as it’s tipped up. His eyes are burning into your soul. The beer—that drips down his lips, down his scruffy chin, down his neck, down his collarbones, down to his white shirt—is so fucking alluring that you had to squeeze your legs together.

There’s no fucking way you just got turned on by that.

Oh, but you are.

When he finishes, he’s the one smirking. He smugly wipes his chin with his sleeve. Still, the trail on his neck remains and it’s making you feral. Why is he so hot? Why.

“Is there anything else that you want me to do?” His deep voice breaks whatever haze you are in.

Ending the video, you huff at him, “I fucking knew it! You were holding back during last week’s boat trip!”

He leans an elbow on the railing. He’s still smirking at you. His eyes travels from your face down to your body—so painstakingly slow like he’s stripping you. One piece of clothing at a time. When his eyes drops to your legs, you are already burning.

You feel hot all over. So much that you have to lean on the glass door for support.

His smirk only grows wider as he lifts his gaze to yours.

“I remember shotgunning two cans with Jack. You just weren’t there, my Love.”

What the fuck. What does he mean he downed not one but two—

“Well, can you do the same? I bet you can’t,” he mocks.

Now, that gets you riled up. Who cares if he looks hot with beer running down his neck. Who cares if he's too fucking hot doing simple things. It's on.

You glare at him, turning back to get more beer to prove him wrong.

-> Next (Part 2: Beers and Kisses)

[teddybeartoji]

office au! with coworker!gojo

he's the type to always be a little late. by a little, i of course mean a lot. he always bursts in the door with the biggest smile on his lips and four coffees in his hand. he winks at his coworkers, who then always blush and giggle out a hi, satoru! and you always roll your eyes at that. satoru nods his male coworkers, who always try to dap him up and start a conversation but he doesn't have time for that. he has things to do. (as if he isn't literally Late smh)

he answers the guys' question while he's walking – his eyes set on his favourite coworker. you. sitting in your cubicle, you're trying to ignore him and his dramatic enterance. that he does every single day. how annoying can he be? before you can roll your eyes again, a cup of coffee has landed on your table, making you glance over your shoulder.

he's blinding you, his grin is stretched so wide it's almost a bit creepy. he's standing right behind you, leaning his hand on your table right next to where he just placed the coffee. he's way too close for a co-worker and you gulp.

ugh.

"aren't you gonna thank your favourite coworker for bringing you coffee? whew, tough crowd, huh." his smile doesn't falter and he just leans in closer, his cologne clouding your senses.

UGH.

and he really does do it every single fucking day. he brings you coffee and he annoys you and he makes your eyes roll so hard you almost go blind and you hate to admit that he's kinda cute... it's whatever.

back to the coffees. so one of them is for you – he knows your order because he dug out the receipt from your bag when you weren't looking on his second day there. he almost got caught, too. but he only did that because you didn't wanna tell him your order!! and he was so insistent on bringing you coffee that he just had to find another way. he loved the way your eyes widened and how you tried to mask your surprised expression but nothing gets past his keen eyes. when you asked how he did it, he just told you that he guessed it. yeah, right....

the second coffee is for him. it's an insanely sweet latte. how do you know? he made you try it. more liked begged for you to try it. you also hate to admit that his puppy-dog eyes worked on you... he only drinks the special latte from the corner coffee shop and he refuses to drink the office "coffee". he's fancy like that.

the third coffee is for his second favourite coworker – kento nanami! they sure make an interesting pair. kento is the main reason why satoru even got the job. the latter begged him to pitch for him to the boss; he was so excited by the concept of Office Work and just had to try it out. he, of course, passed the interview with flying colors and kento regrets his decision to "help" him out in the first place. satoru yaps his ears off whenever he isn't doing the same to you and he's constantly leaving little notes for the man. you once saw one and it just had a miniature penis drawn on it. very mature.

and the fourth coffee is for your boss. satoru isn't sucking up like you originally thought he was. you think he just wants to bring her coffee? your boss is cool – she's in her forties and she has a strong voice, everybody always listens to her and she really does make for a very good boss. your guess is that satoru has a crush on her. (you're wrong. he also just thinks she's super fucking cool. literally nothing else to it.)

he's always wearing a fancy white button-up with a black tie loosely hanging around his neck and a pair of matching black slacks that hug his thighs so nicely that the women and the men of the office are always finding it hard to not stare at them. he gets an obnoxious ego boost from this.

he's constantly leaning on other people's desks, pushing his hips out and it really is hard to concentrate whenever he does it. the pose and the smug smirk he sends you when he catches you looking is making you feel hot. he always catches you too, it's so annoying. why can't he just continue doing whatever he's doing so you can admire him in peace?

he's loud, he's annoying and he's so fucking good at his job that firing him couldn't even be a passing thought. he actually does his paperwork rather fast; often finishing before you and that gives him the time to tease you for being slow. he does that way less than you expected though. only a few times in a day – enough to annoy you but never enough to actually make you upset or angry. he actually helps you sometimes. he can tell you don't wanna ask and he doesn't wanna make you feel bad - he'd rather watch you roll your pretty eyes at his stupid jokes with a small hidden smile than roll them with a deep frustrated sigh. he learned that the hard way.

he loves your smile. more often than not you can't keep the straight face you try to put up with him, making your loud laughter resonate throughout the whole office. oh, how his eyes shine at that.

long story short. he's infuriating. he's funny. he's way too good at his job. he's way too handsome. you loathe working with him and yet, you can't stop smothering him in kisses whenever you two "happen" to meet in the printer room.

[averycutesalamander]

thoughts about public woohoo with boothill? i feel like he'd be into it sometimes

public woohoo 😭😭😭 ur so funny omg

i think he matches your vibes on it? in the sense that when you're into it, he's SUPER into it, but when you're not, he's perfectly happy without it. he definitely doesn't shy away from risk, and he especially loves taking risks when you're involved.

i kinda think he's of two minds about it. on one hand, he absolutely has a possessive streak, so making everyone know you're "his" is super appealing to him. (on that note, pull out the ol' "i'm yours" on him, and he'll go crazy. like, hands and teeth and everything all over you kinda crazy.)

on the other hand, he's... well, pretty greedy about you. there's a line in DHCS that acknowledges this pretty directly...

He's nearly overwhelmed by the suffocating urge to kiss you; to bite marks into your delicate little throat; to bend you over this counter and have his way with you, onlookers be damned.

(Hm. Maybe not that last one – he’s far too greedy, far too possessive, to expose you to a room full of strangers. He’d much rather keep you all to himself; his to covet, his to adore, his to break.)

in regards to a scenario? well...

(read on ao3 if you'd prefer)

Boothill has decided that he absolutely hates this new contact.

First of all, she's cagey as fuck, and she constantly dances around the point. Secondly, she only ever communicates in the most obtuse code he's ever seen. Thirdly, she absolutely insists that, for his next lead, he has to find her at a masquerade to receive the information in person.

She's lucky that her intel is so damn valuable, or he'd have wrung her neck a hundred times over by now - and unloaded his revolver into her a few times for good measure.

He rants and raves to you for quite some time, venting his frustration as he swears up and down that he's never turning to her again once this whole affair is done. By the time he runs out of steam, he's slumped against your shoulder with his arms wrapped around you, utterly drained. You pet his hair soothingly, letting him cool off before quietly asking, "Is there anything I can do to help, honeybee?"

He's quiet for a long moment, before finally lifting his head to look at you, a peculiar look in his eye. "Well..." he's begins hesitantly, "would ya put me in an early grave if I asked ya to come with me, sweetpea?"

You laugh, shaking your head in open amusement. "I suppose I can spare you, just this once." You press a quick kiss to his forehead, your smile turning a bit mischievous. "Get me a dress and treat me to ice cream after, and I'll do whatever the hell you want."

The very next day, he brings you to a shop - pleasantly small with an obscenely well-crafted selection. You balk when you walk inside, immediately stunned by the space, because this isn't just for rich people, this is for rich people. The moment you turn to him to argue that this is way too nice, you find that he's already grinning and shaking his head.

"I don't give a hoot what ya say," he drawls, openly delighted. "What the fork else am I gonna burn all this IPC cash on, huh? Let me treat ya, sunshine."

And so, you end up getting the most extravagant article of clothing you've ever touched in your life, guided by an incredibly sweet attendant that doesn't even blink at your cluelessness. Boothill lingers in the dressing room, whistling obnoxiously every time you step out in a new dress; he practically faints (whether or not it's a joke is up for debate) when you walk out in a comfortably tight underbust corset, his eyes trailing lasciviously from the curve of your waist to the swell of your chest. (He thanks every higher power he can think of that his cock is kept in an internal compartment, because lord fucking knows he'd be so horny that he'd risk busting his jeans open.)

Once you settle on a dress and have it sent off to be tailored to your size, you keep him company while another attendant takes all of his measurements for a suit, fitting him into one to test how well the jacket hugs his waist. He grouches about how this doesn't fit his style at all, but shuts right up when he sees the look on your face. (Maybe wearing a suit won't be so bad if you keep staring at him like you want to eat him alive.)

In the following days, the date of the masquerade looms over you - and all the while, Boothill eyes you with a look you can't quite decipher.

Finally, it all comes to a head the day after you pick up your newly tailored outfits.

His eyes are dark when he holds up a remote-controlled vibrator - one that syncs to his neurochip, which lets him control it with a simple thought; there's an app as well, which would let you shut it off on your own if you ever got too overwhelmed. He tilts his head in question, and the gesture might've seemed innocent if not for the untamable hunger in his eyes.

If you decline, that's the end of it, and the entire masquerade passes without too much incident. Once business is done, you dance and chat, berating the event's selection of alcohol and quietly mocking the outfit choices of every aristocrat you see. If you accept, however...

The night of the masquerade arrives on your doorstep, heralded by the anticipation bubbling in your gut. The atmosphere is so taut that you both get ready in silence, but his hungry eyes tell you everything you need to know. He helps you into your dress, does your hair for you (he's shockingly good at it), and, if you'd like, paints your nails with his unfathomably steady hands. You help him with his tie, braid his hair neatly, and straighten out the relatively simple black, silver, and red mask on his face. And all the while, he stares at you like a wolf sizing up its prey - watching, prowling, waiting for the time to strike.

Finally, the time to leave arrives. You stare at each other for a long, tense moment before he finally rasps, "Back against the wall, doll. Spread your legs and lift your skirt for me, won't ya?"

Oh, you're already done for, and the night has only just begun.

He gets down on his knees in front of you, easing down your underwear with cold fingers. He's ready to prep you, but to his delight, you're already getting wet. He looks up at you with piercing eyes, grinning wickedly. "Filthy girl," he scolds without heat. "I haven't even touched ya, n' you're already soakin' your panties?"

You whimper when he grazes your folds with his fingers, openly admiring the way your slit trembles. "Can you blame me? You've been looking at me like you were gonna fuck me before we even left."

He laughs, dark and gritty. "Oh, you're barkin' up the wrong tree, cutie." Then, he lifts the toy, pressing it right against your entrance. "I'm gonna make you work for it first."

Without further preamble, he slowly, agonizingly eases it inside, and when it's fully seated, you have one end nestled right against your g-spot, and the other pressed tauntingly against your clit. For a moment, you think that's going to be the end of it for now - but then he eases it out ever-so-slightly, giving him just enough room to lap hungrily at your clit. You gasp and shake on your feet, clenching one hand in his hair so tight that he growls into your cunt. You throw your head back against the wall and moan all pretty for him, helpless as he circles your bud with his tongue.

He holds you there, just like that, subtly thrusting the toy against your g-spot, winding you tighter and tighter, and just when your breath hitches, just when your thighs start to tremble, just when you're about to tip over the edge-

He pulls away, sending you crashing back down to earth.

You whine in anguish as he settles the toy back inside you, sliding your panties back on like he'd never been there at all. He kisses your thigh tenderly in what might've seemed like sympathy if not for the devilish glint in his eye.

"Sorry, honey," he hums, not sorry at all, standing back up and licking your come from his lips. "Gonna have to wait."

(Oh, if only you knew.)

The ride over to the event is quiet and tense, but rather peaceful - until he starts testing out the vibrator, that is. He holds you in his lap and wraps his unrelenting arms around you, which might've looked sweet to the chauffeur, but you know better. You keep your jaw clenched tightly, trying to get yourself into the practice of stifling all of your noises and reactions - but he seems to take that as a challenge, because he hikes the intensity higher and higher until you're trembling like a leaf against him, your fingers wound in his suit jacket. And just when it nearly overwhelms you, just when you think you might reach your peak, he lowers it back down to a subtle hum.

And then you arrive to the masquerade, and the true depth of what you've signed yourself up for hits you full force.

He lingers with you for a time, keeping the vibrator rather low, even turning it off on occasion. He grants you the small mercy of adjusting to the crowd in relative peace, but you're already so wound up that it doesn't do that much good. Eventually, he kisses you sweetly on the lips and murmurs, "Gotta go take care of some business, sweetpea. You gonna be alright?"

It's a genuine question, so you answer genuinely. "As long as you don't torture me the whole time you're gone."

When he smiles, you feel like you've just stepped into a trap. "Of course, baby. I'll be back in a jiffy."

He's nice enough to let you get situated in a quiet corner with a drink before he starts fucking with you. To his credit, he sticks to his word...

But only to the letter, and not to the spirit.

He torments you for most of the time he's gone, but not quite all of it. For the most part, he sticks to the lower settings; you seek him out through the crowd, and he meets your gaze across the ballroom while he speaks to someone you don't recognize, his eyes glittering with promise. You thank every Aeon you can think of that no one tries to talk to you while he's gone, because he won't stop randomly spiking the intensity, higher and higher until your fingers are quivering around the stem of your glass - then he drops it right back down, leaving you stewing in a mix of grief and relief.

You completely lose track of time, your eyes going distant and hazy as you put all of your focus into keeping yourself together. He scares the hell out of you when he finally returns, looping one arm around your shoulders and leaning close to your ear, purring, "Hey there, sugar. Is somethin' wrong? You're lookin' a lil' faint."

The look you give him is positively murderous, but he just laughs right in your face. Then, with mischief in his eyes, he invites you to a dance - and how could you ever say no to a face like that?

He might find the music stale - nothing will ever beat the music from back home - but it's all worth it to watch you squirm. Just before the first song begins, he leans right next to your ear and whispers, "Count how many times ya come, and how many times I deny ya. You can do that, can't ya, princess?"

When you hesitantly nod, his smile turns lethal, sharp enough to cut both ways.

(What he doesn't tell you is that you aren't going to come at all. Only he gets to see you like that. Only he gets to feel you tremble. Only he gets to hear all of the pathetic little noises that spill from your lips.)

He edges you the entire fucking time, and he keeps you on that dance floor for as long as you can stand it. Again and again, he builds you up, then breaks you down, guiding you seamlessly every time you stumble or trip, the toy jostling against your g-spot with every step. If you ever get too quiet for his liking, he turns up the vibrator until you can't help yourself. The little noises you make are lost to the crowd and the music, but not to his enhanced hearing. Get too loud, and he turns it back down until you pull yourself together - over and over and over, until your brain feels like liquid in your skull. Before long, you're leaning into his shoulder, using his body to shield the way your jaw drops whenever he brings you to the edge again.

And every single time, you whimper that ever-increasing number in his ear, and every single time, he purrs in delight and croons, "Good girl."

He murmurs filth into your ear the whole time, his breath washing over you as he describes in ruinous detail all of the things he's going to do to you later, all of the ways he's going to break you.

Eventually, he leans close and murmurs, "How wet are you, doll?" The timbre of his voice so close has shivers skittering up your spine. "Bet you're soaked by now."

Just to fuck with you, he hikes up the intensity of the vibrations right when you open your mouth to reply. You trip over your own feet, but he sweeps you along without batting an eye, somehow making your slip-up look natural.

When he finally turns it back down and you compose yourself, you grit out, "I was soaked before we even got here, you fucking basta- oh!"

He smiles with the most unconvincing mask of innocence the world has ever seen as he raises the intensity again, your backtalk dying in your throat. Then, as he lowers it to a more reasonable level, he turns his head to press a kiss to your temple to hide his wicked grin from any onlookers. "Poor baby," he croons, so demeaning that it has your walls shivering around the toy. "You drippin' down your legs yet, sugar? Bet it's smearin' all over your thighs."

You answer him with a pretty little whimper, and he can't help but chuckle, low and husky in your ear.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Once I'm through with you here, I'm gonna take ya somewhere nice n' quiet, and then I'll get down on my knees for ya," he rumbles. "I'll hold ya up against the wall and lick your thighs clean, 'til you're beggin' me to put my tongue in your pretty lil' hole, 'til you're beggin' me to suck on your clit."

On and on and on he goes, until you're so fucking drenched that the entirety of your inner thighs are slick with your wetness, until you're so desperate to come that you think you might fall to your knees and beg for it, audience be damned.

Just when you're about to tap out, right when you're about to cave and beg him for mercy, he sweeps you into a grand dip at the end of a song, and you're trying so hard to keep it together, and just when you think he's going to finally let you come-

The vibrator goes completely still.

When he finally pulls you up, he wraps a strong, possessive arm around your waist, guiding you off the dance floor with the poise and seriousness of a man on a mission. You're so out of it that you barely register when he sweeps you into a bathroom, but you certainly snap to attention when he wheels around and pins you flat to the door with his hands tight around your hips. The lighting casts his face so starkly in shadow that all you can see are the red pinpricks of his pupils.

Without saying a word, he cranks the vibrations to the maximum, and watches you fall apart.

You moan and whimper helplessly under his stare, and as your peak rapidly creeps up on you, you can't stop yourself from begging. You whine and beg and plead for him to let you come, completely shameless in your need.

"I've been good," you gasp, your throat closing as you race toward the edge yet again. "Please, please, please, bee. I've been good!"

He stares, utterly silent, pinning you with his unwavering gaze.

Your orgasm is so close you can fucking taste it, and your heart is pounding with anticipation, because you still don't know if he's going to let you come, if he's going to deny you again, if he's going to keep torturing you, if he's going to leave you stranded on this edge forever and ever and-

Oh- Oh, fuck, you can't take it- You can't-

You come so hard your vision goes white.

You can feel the pressure of his lips against yours, swallowing up the broken wail that escapes you, drinking it down, down, down as you spiral in the clutches of your orgasm. Your knees collapse from under you, but he supports your weight like it's nothing, keeping you pinned like a moth against the door. As you ride out the waves of your climax, your fingers wound tightly in his suit jacket, he gradually eases the vibrations lower and lower, coaxing you down; finally, you go completely boneless against him, fully trusting him to keep you upright, and he shuts off the toy entirely.

He holds you while you recover, petting your hip with his thumb, cradling you as you piece yourself back together.

"I think I just died," you mumble into his jacket, your mind still heavy with fog.

He chuckles softly, pressing his lips into your hair. "Well, I guess I'll have to revive ya," he murmurs as he pulls away, grasping you by the chin and forcing you to face him, and his voice is thick with gravel when he says, "because I'm not done yet."

You're not quite sure what expression crosses your face, but whatever it is, it makes him grin wickedly.

"How many times did I deny ya, princess?" he rumbles, as if he hadn't been counting alongside you the whole time.

You take a trembling breath, clearly needing a moment to piece your brain together. When you finally answer, your voice is as fragile as a breath of wind.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Didn't realize I'd done so many," he lies blatantly, smiling in a way that might've seemed apologetic if he weren't grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Then, his hands trail slowly downward, and he kneels on the tile in front of you, gradually raising the hem of your skirt higher and higher. You instinctually take it from him with shaking fingers, hiking it up to expose yourself to him. Sure enough, you've completely soaked through your panties, and drops of your slick trail obscenely down your legs. Ever-so-slowly, he eases your panties downward, licking his lips at the sight of you.

"Lemme make it up to ya, baby," he murmurs, his eyes fixed shamelessly on your cunt. Then, he looks back up at you, his eyes dark and all-consuming. "I'll make ya come once for every time I cut ya off. Ain't I generous?"

He's going to kill you. He's going to eat the fucking soul out of you. He's going to break you apart until your mind is ground into dust.

He eases the toy out of you, and a heavy stand of your come stretches and snaps as he pulls it away. Without a moment of hesitation, he laves his tongue across it, moaning obscenely at your taste. You watch with an intoxicating mixture of awe and arousal as he cleans the vibrator end-to-end, licking up every drop until nothing remains; then, he tucks it nonchalantly into his pocket, utterly unbothered.

"Don't forget to count, doll." He grins up at you with too many teeth, leaning closer to your pussy. "And... make some noise for the folks outside, won't ya?"

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