#viqilantis

" what do you care ? " he hisses before he can stop himself , green eyes narrowed and full of anger and hurt . hands balled into fists at his side , he pushes past his father and stomps towards the door . he doesn't know where he's going , but he needs to go needs to get out ; or else he's going to say something he'll really regret . " if you have a problem with my actions , just send me back to mother like you did before . "

he was being monumentally patient with her. he never once complained about just how long it took her to get ready; how much time she cost them, how many times she'd step away from the doorway to adjust something or other. ❝ could'ja zip 'dis dress? ❞ back is turned to allow him access to the zipper, her fidgeting growing more obvious the closer he drew. ❝ do I look ridiculous? I always worry I look ridiculous, y'know? I dunno. ❞ she looks to their reflections. ❝ i don't wanna' embarrass you. ❞

❝ claaaaarrrrrrk . . . kennnnnnttt . . . ❞ punctuated sharply with the tip of dagger - like tongue while dark hues scan a paper from the daily . . . planet ? held before his face, obscuring it completely. jagged smile twitches. ❝ this fella sure writes about ya' a lot fer' bein' a city over . . . oh, the, uh, the – super - guy, too. ❞ he licks cracked lips, slaps the newspaper into his lap, looking utterly scandalized. ❝ between you ‘n me, bats, i think he’s got a type. ❞ his smirk resembles a bloody gash wound.

he's not not hard, but he's not fully erect, either. bruce's low whisper in clark's ear, chest against his back, & hand palming him through his slacks sure as hell isn't helping, though. clark swallows, nods. ❝ shit. y - yes. ❞ were his grip any tighter, porcelain would crack.

@viqilantis

“  you  get  the  best  of  my  love …  i  promise .  ”

Jason was temporarily benched from patrol due to breaking his wrist. It's healing fine enough but you can't exactly punch bad guys with a broken wrist without re-breaking it. Brown eyes slowly blink at the feeling of lips against his forehead. He had been in limbo, not quite asleep and not quite awake when his father crept in to say goodnight. With a poorly muffled yawn he reaches up upon instinct, arms curling around Bruce's torso as the man leans over him. For a moment he doesn't say anything and just clings to Bruce like a sleepy, touch starved octopus. After a beat of silence he murmurs, "are you just getting back, Dad?"