#but like - my point still stands - if i like a game enough it doesn't matter if it is supposed to have thousands of hours of content

[aparticularbandit]

If I like a game enough, I will end up pouring thousands of hours into it anyway. (Looking at you, Sonic Adventure 2 Battle and Banjo-Kazooie (and Banjo-Tooie), all of which are comfort games.)

...even if those thousands of hours aren't necessarily game play. (Looking at you, Doki Doki Literature Club, and the hours of theories and other people's let's plays and headcanoning and writing.)

Reviews of soulslike-type games can be tricky to interpret because a big chunk of the soulslike fandom can't seem to distinguish between "difficult" and "time-consuming", so you basically have to guess whether "the bosses are too easy" means they actually pose no execution challenges, or whether it just means it doesn't take twenty fucking minutes to wear down their health bars.

[acid-ixx]

You mention in the first story that the Batfam finally realizes where we are because jon showed Damian our picture while calling us his parent- so I was wondering about how Damian reacted to that? Like did he realize we’d left at that point or did he just get hit in the face with that info?

— related post !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated

a/n: y'all i have clogged nose and i hate it LMAO. anyways, i'm gonna write smth about this soon but damian's character for both the series again & again and this series is genuinely one of the more complicated to write because of how he's raised but it really goes like this—

"jon... what do you mean? that's my—"

he cuts himself off before he could continue running his mouth off. damian ignores the slight raise of jon's eyebrow, his thoughts running a mile every second.

his parent? no, never once in his life has damian considered you his parent, pushing you away whenever you try to bond with him. whatever gifts you gave him, no matter how small, or big, expensive, or inexpensive they are, he always makes a show of ripping them away right in front of you.

he told you himself. you are not his parent, never will be his parent, you'll never replace talia's standing, and there will never be a time where damian will see you as one. dick, jason, tim, literally anyone can consider you as theirs, but damian is a product of two genetically perfect individuals— you are imperfect, and it's not your business to coddle him just because you are merely married to his father in paper.

no matter how much you softly gaze at him with loving eyes, invite him with welcoming arms, praise his passion for drawing; all you'll do is weaken him and damian hates feeling weak, hates how you tempt him into melting into a puddle. that automatically makes you a burden in his book.

he hates you, and he should've been glad you disappeared off of the face of the manor.

yet the record stands still: why are you with jon? why do you hold him like he is the world in the picture? what does he mean by "sorry, damian, but me and my parents are gonna go to the carnival later!"? you, as in, bruce's spouse? why are you with them, of all people?

... why does jon get to have fun, with you? and he doesn't...?

and yet he couldn't reply to him, not when his friend babbles on for longer about his... parent. about how you, make him feel so complete. that you'll be the one helping him with his science fare project, how you two spent the night yesterday building a volcano, how you treat him with ice cream every time he achieves a good enough grade for a subject, how you, you, you always spoil jon, always comfort him, read him bedtime stories, matched bracelets, sung karaoke together, played board games with each other, picked him up from school, help him with assignments—

the more jon goes on, the more damian wants to rip his hair out. he doesn't know, doesn't know why he's suddenly pissed. is it because jon can never shut up, or because he couldn't shut up about you? about how perfect you are apparently? how you're the ideal parent he never once bat an eye on? the domestic life jon seems to brag about, it's something damian secretly wanted, and it's all ripped away from him.

it makes damian wonder, would you have done the same for him?

he knows it in himself, that if he hadn't pushed you away, he might've been in jon's place.

[xinganhao]

🃏 svt detective x thief au.

@purple-eustoma → "imagine ot13 detective! member x thief! reader or thief! member x detective! reader (however you like) being in a secret relationship and having to pretend to not catch each other."

⌗ ┆HELLO. this prompt??? SO GOOD. my jaw dropped to the floor. just to make things easier: hyung line are detective!svt x thief!reader and maknae line are thief!svt x detective!reader

‧₊˚✩彡 includes: detective/thief!svt, detective/thief!reader, established/secret relationship, angst -ish (mingyu), pet names, cussing, tw for mentions of criminal activities (theft/arson/murder), suggestive jokes, headcanons + playlist (!) under the cut.

🃏 headcanons .ᐟ

↺ |◁ II ▷ feeling good, michael buble ⋆ bang bang (my baby shot me down), nancy sinatra ⋆ no time to die, billie eilish ⋆ dark red, steve lacy ⋆ sweet dreams (are made of this), eurythmics, annie lennox, dave stewart ⋆ you don't own me, lesley gore ⋆ cherry bomb, the runaways ⋆ paper planes, m.i.a.

— said i stole your heart, you called me a thief ✩ detective!hyung line x thief!reader.

"detective choi?" seungcheol looks up at the mention of his name, that easy smile on his face still in place. he'll never admit it, but this is one of his guilty pleasures— the way you dance around each other. within reach but out of sight. both of you should be more careful, but he knows you're skilled in the art of evasion, and he's just a good enough actor to make things discreet. he enjoys the slight thrill that comes with the prospect of being caught. this is a game and he likes to know he's winning. seungcheol flashes the rest of his team his usual grin. "no sign of them here," he says. "let's call it a day, gentlemen."

really, detective yoon knows he should have had it coming. you don't like being taunted. more than that, you don't like your date nights being derailed by pesky partners. jeonghan keeps a critical eye as he pads in to his apartment, though he immediately spots what you've left for him. the corner of a polaroid is sticking out from one of his coffee table books. he saunters over and casually snatches it up, managing to keep a blank expression at the faceless, provocative photo staring up at him. he tucks it in to his back pocket and goes to get his unsuspecting guest a beer. it didn't matter if jeonghan teased you; you would always do it right back.

detective hong's message is a warning. the new shoes are a precaution for your future escapades because, this time around, he's getting closer and closer to a positive id. joshua lets out a low tsk of disapproval. "think we can get them with this?" one of the rookie detectives dares to ask, and joshua only gives a half-hearted shrug. "we can only hope," he says blankly, even though he's going to be the one making sure it won't be so. he'll buy you the new shoes you want and an extra one to boot, and whatever else you need to keep the team off your trail. as much as he wants to deny it, the truth is plain as day: you have joshua wrapped around your finger.

the camera flashes from the media would blind detective wen if he wasn't so used to these press conferences. it's becoming a more recurring thing, especially as your heists get bolder. junhui has half the mind to beg you to just be a petty thief so he doesn't have to keep turning some other criminals in to scapegoats. as it stands, though, he can only face the press as they grill him. when will you find this thief, detective? "we're doing everything that we can to locate them," he says through his teeth. (junhui knows exactly where you are— in his bed, back at home— but he's not about to say that.) "the arm of justice is long and they will be held accountable for their crimes."

an 'accessory' is being generous. detective kwon is practically your partner in crime at this point. soonyoung maintains an air of plausible deniability, but you both see it for what it is. "i can't believe they got away again!" his partner cries as they review the cctv footage. there's no sign of you at all. no indication of you sneaking in and out to bag the highly coveted jewels. "they're good," his partner grumbles, and soonyoung almost scoffs. you're more than good. you're the goddamn best and he helped you get there.

detective jeon knows he should feel some guilt about this. some days, wonwoo thinks he's betraying all his years at the police academy— getting tied up with the very type of person he's supposed to be apprehending. as he buttons up his polo for yet another sting operation, he can only hope for three things. 1) that you have enough sense to stay out of his way, 2) that you know him well enough to know that it's him, whatever setting it may be, and 3) that people believe him when he says he might not have spotted you. wonwoo will blame his bad eyesight as long as you play your cards right.

everyone in the precinct knows detective lee is meticulous and careful. jihoon leaves no room for mistakes and his coordinated (literally) bread crumbs are proof of that. as he all but drags you in to a deserted alleyway, he resists the urge to smirk. the flash of nervousness on your expression doesn't go amiss to him. "what? you don't trust me?" he goads, one eyebrow arched upward. he's done his research. he's pulled all the stops. he knows no one is about to spot either of you here. jihoon makes it clear that if anyone's ever going to catch you for real, it will only ever be him.

— well, i hope i was your favorite crime ✩ detective!reader x thief!maknae line.

when mingyu finds you at your covert meetup spot, his legs nearly give out underneath him. the sheer relief is enough to almost bowl him over. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry," he breathes as he takes you in his arms. you're upset— of course you are, your apartment is up in flames!— but he's just glad he got to warn you in time. there's only so much he can protect you against. mingyu's not about to tell you to stop being a detective, so he promises you the next best thing. "i'll get them," he mumbles in to your hair as he holds you close. "i'll make them pay, baby."

seokmin could be a perfectly normal guy, the world's most ideal boyfriend, if it weren't for his little hobby. at least that's what he calls his robin hood escapades of stealing from the corporate elite and distributing it to the impoverished. he'll come home tired after his little 'trips', but when you cautiously ask him how it went, he lights up like a christmas tree. "helped so many people today, love," seokmin tells you as he presses kiss after kiss all over your faces. "and it's all 'cause the world's best detective gave me hella luck!"

it's one of minghao's simple joys— your reactions to the spoils in your flat. he never leaves you his loot for extended periods of time. just long enough for you to get antsy, for him to tease you about the monet in your bedroom or the matisse by the entry way. "why don't you keep this one, hm?" he hums as he hugs you from behind. you're staring disapprovingly at the amorsolo he recently nabbed, and minghao resists the urge to take a photo of your face. all of the art he steals pales in comparison to the piece of art in his arms, honestly.

there's a petulant pout on seungkwan's face as he tugs his baseball cap a little more snugly atop his head. this was getting ridiculous! he had needed to change your designated date spot at least thrice in the past month. "wish your team would stop doing their job so well," he grumbles as he plays with his paper straw. a part of him knows you're right. maybe he's getting sloppy. maybe he's better off giving up his thievery and living a regular civilian life. but, unfortunately, there's two things seungkwan can't quite quit— the urge to have more, and you.

the cat and dog chase is vernon's favorite part. he likes to pretend that there are stakes. he revels in throwing you off, in having you think. at least it makes your supposed inability to 'find' him a little more convincing. he's right about one thing, though. at the end of it all, he's going to be sitting cross-legged on your arm chair when you last expect it. or maybe you had expected it, because you were smart that way. "took you long enough," he'll say with a lazy sort of grin. all of the clues and diversions in the world don't change the fact that every single one of vernon's roads lead to you.

chan doesn't like his integrity being questioned. even if it is not a lot of integrity to begin with, he likes to think you know him a lot more than that. he thieves out of necessity, after all, and he has his rule of 'do no harm'. as you grovel for his forgiveness, he feels his pride chipping at the edges. despite his annoyance, he reaches out to hold your hand. he's uncharacteristically quiet for only a moment more before he finds his voice. "i need you to still think i'm a good person," he eventually manages to choke out. chan may live in a life of vices— but you're his one virtue.

[wwinterwitch]

cowboy like me — coriolanus snow

summary: it takes one to know one. you and him were exactly alike, which explains why you were inevitably drawn to each other

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 2k

tags: you can't fix him you're as awful as him, being delusional together, fluff??? (not really but u guys are in love and happy and married), mentions of/implied murder and being bad people, romanticizing everything

notes: idk where i was going with this i just had this idea in my head and taylor inspired me to write it. i'm also absolutely feral for young!snow it's not even funny at this point, i needed to find ways to cope lmao

i'd really appreciate a comment or reblog if you enjoy my work.

masterlists | read on ao3

A smile appears on your face the second you feel a hand on your lower back, turning around to meet your husband's loving gaze.

He stands directly in front of you, staring down at you in a way that to this day makes you feel butterflies in your stomach, like you're nothing but a teenage girl who's unlucky enough to have developed a blinding crush on a guy too charming for his own good— the thought of it makes you feel almost nostalgic, looking back at the early stages of your relationship.

Coriolanus Snow has always been a familiar face. Growing up together, you two have known each other for ages. You might've interacted a few times, but nothing beyond brief conversations between classmates.

You had a boyfriend at the time. A much too sweet and caring guy that made the big mistake of falling irrevocably in love with you. In all fairness, it was hard for him not to trail behind you like a lost puppy all the time when you were so good at making foolish boys believe you were the girl of their dreams.

Love is not a word you would use to describe your relationship. He was tolerable and clearly obsessed with you, so it made sense for you to stay with him. He learned with time that buying you very expensive gifts would get you to pay more attention to him, so that became his way of showing his affection for you.

In his mind this was perfectly reasonable. His girl likes being spoiled, so that's exactly what he did. The adoration for you blinded him enough to ignore the truth: you're just sticking around for the money. Some people warned him you were bad news, but you always managed to find a way to make him worship you all over again. Maybe you could've felt sorry for him at some point...if only he didn't have such good taste to pick things out for you.

But then Coriolanus happened. You started to notice him more and more until you inevitably started having feelings for him. How could you not fall for a guy like him? Especially after he started his quick ascend as one of the best Game makers in history.

Maybe it was the way he so fervently claimed his interest in you, willing to pursue you even when your boyfriend was still in the picture. Or perhaps it had to do with his growing popularity and power. After all, you can't deny how attracted you are to guys with ambition.

And Coriolanus is not exactly sure what made him fall for you either. There's many things he loves about you, that's for sure, but he can't say which came first. Was it your captivating beauty and intelligence, or the news that you recently became the only heir to one of the wealthiest families in the Capitol?

Whatever force pulled the two of you together, it really doesn't matter at this point. What matters is that he loves you with every fiber of his being, willing to do whatever is in his power to make sure you're happy (and what isn't, he'll do anything to get). And you love him too, of course, offering him a companionship he always craved— undying fidelity, the purest honesty and understanding.

You've never once judged him for being who he is. If anything, you seem to admire his strength to do whatever it takes to secure his place in society. No one has ever been this loving and accepting, almost encouraging him to be as determined as ever to get the two of you on top.

Whatever he did or didn't do is already in the past. Why should the past matter? Shouldn't you enjoy the present with your loving and successful husband? Be proud of the work the two of you have done to get where you are?

No, the past is gone. It already happened. There’s no need to look back at things you can't change and decisions you can't take back. It all brought you here. Every tiny little decision led the two of you to this moment; married, in love, happy, powerful. It was meant to be like this.

He didn't seem to mind about your own past either. Any other person would've judged you for the difficult decisions you had to make in order to become the wealthiest woman in all of Panem. You've seen it in the face of ex friends and lovers. They never understood your hunger for what you so rightfully deserve.

Good things don't happen to people because they're good. They happen because you make them happen. You fight, you take, you conquer. It's what life is, and it's something you and Coriolanus understand perfectly. That's why the two of you make sense. Why it feels so right to be together. You understand him and he understands you— understands you like no one else has in your entire life.

It was him the one who held you that night when you just couldn't hold it in anymore, and he sat with you while you cried and cried about your beloved sister, because even after all those years you still missed her and wished things could've been different.

If only your parents made it easier for you. They shouldn't have played favorites from the moment you were born. And they really shouldn't mess with something as important as inheritance. It's your goddamn birthright! How could they be so cruel to you? If they corner you against the wall with no apparent way to escape, it was a matter of time before you decided to stand your ground.

It's a shame your poor sister had to suffer the consequences, though. You really do love her...

Coriolanus couldn't judge you even if he tried. He could see himself in your tear-filled eyes and hear his own inconsolable sobs through your voice. It took him back to a particularly difficult point in his life where he had to make a similar choice.

He pours his heart out to you as he holds you tight against his body, revealing all the unfortunate things he was forced to do because it's all that was left. An act-or-die situation that kept repeating itself until he had no other choice but to do the unspeakable. What else was he supposed to do? What else were you supposed to do?

The regret in his voice is evident, and you know he does regret it because he’s a good person with a heart of gold. One of the best people you’ve ever met in your life. He’s good, and brave, and passionate…enough to sacrifice what he loves if the circumstances require that of him. Not many people have the privilege to claim to be as great as him.

"You did what you had to," your voice came out in a soft whisper, still affected by your sudden outburst with the thought of your sister engraved deep inside your brain. At the time you thought you were trying to ease his conscience, but maybe your statement was falling from your lips in a weak attempt to ease your own inner conflict too. "Life has been so unfair to us, Coriolanus. Is it too bad that we want just a little bit of peace?"

He stays quiet for a bit, stroking your hair in hopes to bring you some comfort as he processes your hopeless, pain-filled statement. That's probably the hardest thing about loving you; caring so much that he cannot possibly function if he knows you're hurting, and cursing himself for not being able to take that pain away. 

"We'll have peace," he eventually assures you. His voice is soft, yet fiercely determined. There's no room for discussion. He'll make it happen for the two of you. What's a few more difficult choices when he's so far gone now? When he knows it has worked perfectly before and it made all his dreams come true?

In that moment, snuggled up to his chest with his arms tightly wrapped around you, it was clear. That sense of familiarity you only get when you look back in the mirror, or when you quickly scan a room when someone speaks your name. He has suffered as much as you. He knows what it's like to be mistreated in life, and how difficult it is sometimes to live with the fact that you had to leave people behind to finally taste a drop of happiness.

The guilt comes and goes. Sometimes it's easier to remember you had no choice, but other times all you can think about is what life could've been if you weren't forced to take such drastic measures. Perhaps now that you have someone who truly understands, you'll learn to always remember you deserve all you managed to achieve.

When you move back from him to look up into his welcoming and comforting blue eyes, you knew you'd never be alone again. You'll never get to experience this free-fall, soul-consuming feeling with anyone else. And why would you even want to waste your time like that, when you already found the one person who sees the world exactly like you do? 

A love like this is hard to find. Most people spend a lifetime trying to find a love decent enough to make them feel like they're losing their minds. Like the air is missing from their lungs and everything looks much darker when the other is not around. Like they're willing to do anything to make the other happy. Like the fear of being consumed entirely by it is the sweetest of fates.

You thought you could only experience affection in the form of luxurious jewelry, fancy clothing and all that came with the important status your ex boyfriend provided. At one point, you could say you almost needed him. Or least needed his money. He provided a safety net you desperately needed after your stupid parents decided to leave everything to your annoyingly perfect sister.

After becoming the only heir in your family (it really is a shame that your sister was gone so soon, poor thing), your boyfriend was no longer a necessity, but a way of distracting yourself when you needed it. It's not like you're going to refuse his gifts and attention anytime soon, right?

But that was it. The furthest it can get to what being in love should look like. And that was what your relationship with Coriolanus should have been when you decided to make your way into his heart. Never in a million years would you have expected to meet a soul that matches yours in even the tiniest of details, that loves so deeply and cares enough to act like it's required to survive. 

With his arms still surrounding your body in a protective and comforting manner, you knew he’d be the guy you’d spend the rest of your life with. You knew it long before the day he got down on one knee, professing his undying love for you and offering the most beautiful engagement ring you have ever seen in your life. You pledged to always be there for him and, in return, he vowed to give you the world— he'd find a way to reach the night sky and collect every single star for you if that's what you ask of him. You kept each other's deepest secrets like they were your own. Two smart and ambitious people joining together in their search for greatness.

The hand on your lower back now rests against your cheek, tracing your skin in such a delicate manner that it almost makes you shiver. The white rose attached to his impeccable burgundy suit is slightly tilted to the right, fixing it with your hands as soon as your eyes notice that detail.

He smiles wider after your gesture, leaning down to capture your lips in an affectionate kiss to show his gratitude. You wish the moment could last longer, but you know it's impossible to stay behind these walls for longer when there's a loud crowd out there chanting your husband's name.

There's the briefest of interactions when he breaks the kiss, the two of you standing in front of each other with a smile of pure conspiracy— a silent recognition of the work individually done to get here, an unspoken ‘thank you’ to one another for the team effort, and the promise of a never-ending companionship that would only take you higher.

He grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours before finally stepping outside to the marble balcony. Before you, a sea of people cheer and welcome the new President and First Lady of Panem.

[stariikis]

ni-ki as your study date •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

synopsis ; the price you paid for choosing an athletic boyfriend over an academic one? no practical help when you're drowning in mysterious equations and symbols. but at least he's good at comforting the perfectionist in you.

pairing ; athletic!nishimura riki x academic achiever!reader genre ; fluff, established rs wc ; 802 warnings n notes ; dear readers, these two are mentally suffering because one doesn't care and the other cares too much! trigger warning, bio phys chem and math mentioned..

“-And during PE we played badminton, and Jake hyung was soooo bad today. He kept trying to smash but missed the shuttlecock.” Beside you, with his “I-swear-I’ll-finish-three-chapters-today” Physics textbook hardly opened to the first page, Riki doesn’t stop rambling about the various sports he’s played today. You’ve heard enough about the goals he scored during an impromptu morning game of football. The way his best friend fumbled during a badminton match. How his legs ache from standing in the sun for hours during baseball training. You’re about to tug him out the cafe by his jersey. 

“Are you going to start your notes or what?” You shove him with a lighthearted tone, barely concealing the exasperation behind your words. “All that talk about wanting to finally get an A but you still keep yapping. About sports, no less.” 

Riki rolls his eyes and mock-salutes in your direction. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Taking a sip of your matcha latte, you sigh resolutely and return to examine various electronic configurations. Perhaps now, Riki will leave you in peace… 

Only five minutes later, you’re snapped out of focus with a sheepish nudge. 

“What’s a moment…” “OH my days Nishimura Riki how can you not know what a moment is that’s like basic physics you’re supposed to have known that since we started chapter TWO.” 

Shrinking under your scoldings, he glances back at his textbook, reads the definition and looks back towards you. “I don’t get it.” 

With another heavy sigh, you scoot closer and attempt to explain as simply as you possibly can. However, he’s deliberately distracting you, with playful caresses through your hair and touches of kisses as smooth as silk on your cheek. You’ve got to be turning a beetroot red, but you ignore the warmth spreading through your cheeks and continue on. 

“Now repeat what I just said to you.” Refusing to give in to his silly antics, you cross your arms and lean back. Swiping the hair his fingers touched, not too long ago, out the way. 

He pouts, knowing him acting cute is your soft spot. “That’s not fair.” 

“Why?” You press, but relent and hunch back over your notes. “You know what, just focus on relearning your balanced forces. Do you remember what the principles of moments even is?” Oh wait, he doesn’t even know what a moment is. The way he blinks once at his textbook and blinks twice your way proves this. 

“At this point, I’m not dead, you’re more cooked than I am. And I am cooked.” 

Gasping scandalously, he whisper shouts, “You’re literally my academic goal, what are you on? I wish I had the motivation you did. Okay, more like I wish I had your grades, but we both know that’s not happening.” 

He gestures to all the bruises he’s obtained over the past week, scratches and wounds that demonstrate how dedicated he is to all the sports he partakes in. They’re his own personal souveniers. Although most fade quickly, some leave scars burning in his skin, but he’s proud of them all even when you express your concern for him. 

He’s always been like that. Dismissive of concerning matters because he enjoys showing people how strong he is. Internally and externally. The complete opposite of him, one Maths question you get wrong and you start questioning the very bane of your existence. 

You fall into silence, looking back at your notes. You have lost track of where Chemistry starts and ends, your paper copy of the periodic table crumpled and defaced from your bursts of frustration. You may not show it, but there’s so much going on in your head it’s hard to escape the fog you’ve mentally put yourself in. With the crazy STEM course you’ve chosen, you know that you’re definitely on the train tracks with a sign pointing towards a crash site. 

Either you shut yourself out and pass with flying colours, or you enjoy life and fail miserably. There’s no in between. Is it so hard to want to maintain a social life and a healthy relationship, while topping your class and achieving high honours? Perhaps it is. 

Noticing your sudden stillness, Riki panics. “You’re stressing out again. Why are you stressing out again? You’re doing well. Well, compared to me. Should I just do bio? Things with numbers are always complicated..” 

You laugh as he looks back at his noteless textbook. 

“Anyway, I think you’re doing just fine.” Riki murmurs, massaging your back with his hand. “Don’t overwork yourself and you’ll be fine. Just like you were, and always will be. Do you want me to test you?” 

“That’d be nice…” You smile, watching his eyes light up a little too eagerly when he closes his textbook. “But you’re just saying that so you don’t have to study anymore, right?”

how life be feeling rn, send prayers

[definitelynotshouting]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now." 

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

[back2bluesidex]

25 and Virgin - PJM (18+)

Pairing: Jimin X Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT

Wordcount: 1.8k+

Summary: You are 25 and virgin but maybe your crush slash senior Park Jimin can change that tonight.

Warnings: Explicit sex, mentions of dying as a joke, a little bit of dirty talking, reader loses her virginity, sex on a balcony, oral sex (f. receiving), creampie, mentions of pain during sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex (wrap it!!), NSFW!! (let me know if there is more)

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Happy birthday to my home, Park Jimin. Can't believe he is 28? are you kidding me?

"Were you serious earlier?" His voice rings behind you through the balcony door. 

If it's not the cold wind of night then it's definitely the mellow, smooth voice of Park Jimin that causes chills to run down your spine. 

Especially when you know what he is asking about.

"About.. what?" You speak without looking at him so that the red flush of embarrassment is not visible to him. 

Jimin takes a few steps and comes to stand beside you. 

His eyes find your face and if you are not completely wrong then those dip down to your lips. 

"You know what I am talking about but still if you want to hear me saying it then…" he continues smugly, "are you really a virgin?" 

Your tongue gets caught between your teeth as you curse your childish coworkers for dragging you into the childish game of truth and dare. 

You knew something like this would happen. But you couldn't say no, since you joined only two months ago and rejecting to be a part of stupid games of team-dinner-turned-norebang sessions is certainly rude. You couldn't risk your image even before you get the chance of making it. 

However, you expected them to show you the same level of respect and not poke you into your private boundaries. 

Guess what? You were wrong. 

Because the very first question landed on you was "what's your favorite sex position?" 

God! You can’t mold it into words how embarrassed you were to tell them that you haven't had sex yet. It’s only your fingers and you. 

Yes, you know you could have lied easily but what if they tease you endlessly after that? How will you react around them? And honestly, not a single position came in your head at that time for you to answer so you ended up being brutally honest. 

All of these would not matter much. 

All of these wouldn't matter at all if your crush slash senior Park Jimin wasn't sitting right across from you, if you didn't see his beautiful eyes getting wider with your answer, if he wouldn't come to find you here in the balcony.

What must he be thinking? Something like, you aren't hot enough to be bedded? God! You just want this ground to split in half and sink into it.

Jimin nudges your arm with his elbow pulling you out of your brooding session.

"I asked you something?" His voice is soft, there is no sense of mockery in it. So you decide to answer honestly.

"Yes." You sigh, "yes, I am 25 and virgin." 

You close your eyes as soon as the sentence dies. 

Jimin smiles, taking a lingering look on your figure. He still doesn't understand how the fuck no one has fucked you yet? You are so damn beautiful and that body is something anyone would die to explore. Maybe he would too, only if he wasn’t so against fucking inexperienced people. 

"Y/N, it's alright. There's no need to be embarrassed. It's your life, you have the right to live however you want." He places a hand on your shoulder. 

If your heart takes up a faster pace, then you don't want to dwell on it.

"It's not my choice, Jimin. I just- I just never found anyone.. you know." You stare down at the cars rushing by through the busy streets of Seoul. 

“But you have had boyfriends, right?” Jimin asks, you somehow feel him standing closer than before. 

“One boyfriend back in highschool and we never pushed anything past foreplay and then I got busy with uni and internships. So.. stuff never happened. At this point it feels like no one would want a 25 year old virgin. Everyone would want a partner who at least has some experience.” you sigh again. 

“That’s not true. Anyone would want you and I am not saying this to comfort you, but from the perspective of a man.” Jimin squeezes your shoulder. 

You divert your eyes from the road below and look at him. 

Park Jimin is beautiful but he looks extra beautiful tonight standing here with you. 

His soft black hair falls onto his dark eyes, those soft plump lips invites you to bite them, his muscles and manly chest heave with every breath he takes. You lose yourself a little. You get drunk by him so much that you find your mouth running ahead of your mind.

“Anyone would? You too?” You take a tentative step towards him. 

A flash of playfulness flashes through his face, “I would love to, darling. But I don’t fuck virgins.” 

That’s it. That’s the rejection of a lifetime you have been waiting for. You took a step back just as you took it ahead. 

What were you even thinking? Popular Park Jimin would want to sleep with someone as inexperienced as you? How bold! Now your embarrassment has reached its peak. You are not only a virgin now but a rejected virgin. 

Fucking hell! You want to jump off this balcony, break your head and die. 

But before that you should apologize of your unnecessary boldness, “I’m so-” 

“I would love to eat you out though. Bet your untouched pussy tastes amazing.” Jimin cuts you off and cages you between your arms, “do you want me to eat you here in the balcony?”. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks and flood rushes to your cunt as you try to contemplate what Jimin is offering, “what-”

“Yes or no, Y/N?” Jimin cuts you off again. 

“Yes!” you reply without giving it another thought. You may not get this offer ever again. 

“Good girl.” Jimin smirks at you deviliously as he sinks down on his knees before you.

“But what if someone sees us?” your heart thumps in your chest. 

“Shut up and part your legs for me.” Jimin orders but there is no bite in his tone. You oblige readily. 

He hikes up your skirt and places a few kisses on your thighs. You feel yourself leaking more and more as he inches closer to your cunt. 

“Fuck. you smell so good, sweetheart!” Jimin sniffs your arousal through the cotton of your panty. 

If he says he had never thought of fucking you raw, then that will be a lie. The reality is that you caught his eyes the moment you were assigned under him. It’s been only two months so he couldn’t have his way with you yet. But he never imagined you would be a virgin and he would get a chance of tasting you like this. 

He would love to fuck you too but at first you need to have a basic experience, because he is way too wild for someone so inexperienced as you. 

“J-Jimin, please.” you mutter and Jimin swears it’s the sweetest thing he has ever heard.

“Be patient, sweetheart.” he replies before hiking your skirt further with one of his hands and tugging down your panty with another one. 

You knock the piece of cloth out of your ankles. 

Even though it’s dark on the balcony, Jimin can clearly see your glinting pussy under the moonlight. You are nothing short of divine. 

He grabs your left thigh and hooks it on his shoulder, parting your pussy deliciously for his eyes and mouth. 

And without so much as a breath, he dives down. 

The first drag if his tongue is slow and teasing, it knocks all of the available air out of your lungs. You see stars above your head. So, this is how it feels to have your cunt eaten?

Jimin hums at your taste and then grazes your clit with his teeth. Parting your folds with his fingers, he latches his plump lips to your nub and starts sucking wildly. 

“Oh-Oh Jim-Jimin'' You struggle to breathe, mind going numb in an instant. 

And then you feel his fingers probing into your entrance. He invades your walls with not one but two of his fingers at once.

“Fuckkkk” you curse. Your ears take in the lewd sound of your wet pussy being sucked, licked and fingered. 

Jimin is not doing any better. He knew you would taste delicious but he never imagined you would taste this addictive. 

His lips, tongue and fingers can’t get enough of you. Damn! His dick needs you. 

He needs to be inside you to insatiate the beast you just woke up by being this addictive. 

“Jimin-Jimin I may be-” you try to find your voice, your knuckles are going white with the dead grip you have on the balcony railing. 

Your eyes start rolling back but then you feel everything feeling low and empty. 

Jimin detaches his face from your core and looks up at you, “close? But we don’t have time for multiple orgasms. I need you to cum on my cock.” 

He stands up and starts undoing his belt. 

You don’t know whether you should praise his beauty, which has increased by tenfold as he is drenched in your juices or the taut muscle of his torso or the beautiful dick that springs out of his briefs ready to ruin you. 

Jimin grips your thigh again, encircles that around his torso and lines his cock in your entrance. 

“It will hurt a little in the beginning but soon it will feel good, okay?” He says softly, removing a lone strand of hair from your face.

“But I thought you don’t fuck virgins?” you huff. 

“You are fucking addicting, Y/N. I can’t control myself.” He breathes as he pushes the tip inside you. 

He is almost midway through your cunt when you feel a painful stretch, your face contorts as a result but you want him to go on. 

“You okay? Should I continue?” Jimin questions, you nod voicelessly. 

And within a few seconds he is completely in. He gives you the time to adjust before starting to move. 

Once you have managed yourself and the pain, you ask him to move. 

It’s painful, overwhelmingly so. But the way Jimin groans and grunts tells you that you have a weird power over him. 

“So fucking tight. Lord! You will be the death of me.” Jimin groans again as he thrusts slowly. 

Soon you feel the pain fading behind an immense pleasure. 

You moan out loud as Jimin gradually increases his pace. For a moment there are only sounds of heavy breathing, you two moaning each other’s names, cursing and skin slapping. Jimin’s dick feels amazing against the tight walls of your cunt, so much so that you start feeling heat in your stomach. 

“You are squeezing the hell out of me, Y/N!” Jimin growls again. 

“I-I’m close.” You say somehow.

“Cum on my cock baby. Creame it!” and you do. You cum and the orgasm is nothing you have had with the help of your fingers. 

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Jimin shouts in your neck as he cums inside you following your suite. His white hot semen runs down your thigh and drops on the floor. 

You are trying to find your breath and wit, when you heard Jimin say, “Round two at my place?”

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @soraviie @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY DORIAN PAVUS  *  assorted dialogue from dragon age inquisition, updated version

i don't care what they think about me. i care what they think about us.

i like you. more than i should. more than might be wise.

discretion isn't your thing, is it?

all this dancing, politics, and murder makes me a bit homesick.

i suppose it really depends. how bad do you want to be?

living a lie... it festers inside of you, like poison.

i'm a man of many talents. what can i say?

the moment i saw you, i thought "there's a man who knows quality."

if you don't come through this, i swear i'll kill you.

i'm curious where this goes, you and i. we've had fun. perfectly reasonable to leave it here.

here is my proposal: we dispense with the chitchat and move on to something more primal.

i tease you too much, i know.

i'll have to find something we can do that doesn't involve teasing.

time to drink myself into a stupor. it's been that sort of day.

i see you enjoy playing with fire.

i like playing hard to get.

i'm not suggesting we venture into mutual domesticity.

if it's a trap, we escape and kill everyone. you're good at that.

talk to me. let me hear how mystified you are by my anger.

oh, i'm not arguing. just pointing out the ridiculously obvious.

if you choose to leave your door unlocked like a savage, i may or may not come.

now... what was i talking about? ah, yes. me.

i am apparently an incredible ass at accepting gifts.

i prefer the company of men.

would you prefer me bound and leashed?

sometimes the ones you love are also the ones who disappoint you the most.

you are the man i love, [name]. nothing will truly keep us apart.

the things you ask are just... very personal.

sometimes... love isn't enough.

there will always be an "us." we'll just be... farther apart, for a time.

i had no idea something like you was possible.

i'm imagining what you would look like in a dress.

i've never seen you smile so much!

i have no idea what you're talking about.

you stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest.

you're shaping the world for good or ill. how could i aspire to do any less?

my footsies are freezing, thank you.

don't you ever bathe?

you're not suggesting we're similar.

watch where you're pointing that thing!

i'm not wearing a skirt.

it's significantly more impressive than hitting them with a sharp piece of metal.

i only meant to say i'm very sorry for your loss.

we can continue this dance forever, if you wish.

i'm saying we should be careful what we assume when it comes to such matters.

demons don't appreciate a man with good hair.

what i wouldn't give for some proper wine.

your outfit's entertaining. i'll give you that.

he had to leave early on account of assassination.

it's nice to know you have friends.

i'm here to do what is right.

come on, just answer the question.

they were asking me about you. personal things.

you said we'd be ass-deep in trouble. this is more like knee-high.

so what's your estimation? think we can win?

you can't call me pampered. nobody's peeled a grape for me in weeks.

you startled me. you're always so... nondescript.

you're a special and unique snowflake. live the dream.

i wanted to see you make flowers bloom with your song. just once.

you've done a lot less dancing naked in the moonlight than expected.

i've never seen anyone in this part of the world do it.

i realize there's more to you than that.

have i offended you?

for hating the outdoors, you sure seem to like bad weather.

i can't figure you out, [name].

you don't play their stupid game, they send an assassin or three your way.

i can't believe you're scared of magic.

i'm going to take that as a compliment.

still don't like me, [name]? after all this time?

[name], i owe you an apology.

i suspect people will use any excuse to hate us.

why be ashamed? power should be respected, not swept under the carpet.

maybe you're not a complete moron.

i just need to know you're capable of higher thought. for my own comfort.

it would take work. and soap. lots and lots of soap.

[noperopesaredope]

I recently watched a video talking about what your favorite Mouthwashing ship says about you (spoilers: most of them are bad), and one thing I explained in the comments that I think is important to explain to certain people (in general with a lot of fandoms, tbh) is that a lot of shippers in the fandom understand that these relationships would not be good and are in fact deeply unhealthy, but perhaps that's the point.

Like, most of the Jambone x Curly shippers I've seen don't like the ship because it's cute or good, but because it's narratively interesting and would be extremely compelling to see. I honestly get it even if I'm not super interested in it. Jildo and Curly already have an extremely interesting and unhealthy relationship dynamic. It is heavily implied that JarJar acts very emotionally abusive towards Curly, belittling and manipulating him frequently and likely damaging his confidence and ability to stand up to people. But he is also obsessed with Curly in a very fascinating way.

Meanwhile, Curly has not only been friends with Jimbo for a long time, but has a fatal flaw of being too loyal and passive for his own good. As many have said, Curly is like a golden retriever in both a good and bad way.

Curly is Jackass' victim and enabler at the same time, which is why he is one of my favorite characters in the game. You both feel bad for him but also understand that he really fucked up and a lot of stuff is his fault. His most endearing traits are also some of his worst traits. Again, the golden retriever comparison is very accurate. He is friendly and loyal and believes the best in everyone (and very cute), but that loyalty and belief in everyone are also his fatal flaws.

He enables Jello because he thinks that there is good in him, and like a dog, he sees no wrong with most people no matter what they do (until it's far too late). I can't remember the fic I saw this in, but one good line I saw once was something along the lines of: "You believe in people and see nothing wrong with them no matter what until they abandon you at the park in the middle of the night." Curly sees no wrong in his friend because that's the type of person he is, and while it can be cute, it's also dangerous.

It can also often be detrimental to himself, as we see Juice be cruel to him as well, yet Curly excuses it as just Jizz being Jizz. He doesn't see anything wrong with the way he is treated, making him become desensitized to Jive's behavior and seeing it as not a big deal.

I think Curly's status as both victim and enabler would be interesting under the context of an abusive romantic relationship. There is an even greater power imbalance present, and Jojo may do a lot worse things as a result and be a lot more controlling and manipulative. He could be more physically and verbally abusive, make more threats, and even be sexually abusive (since he is canonically a rapist already, and hates Curly more than he hates Anya, thus he would probably put more aggressive hate into it). The whole relationship would be horrible and disturbing, but also interesting to see.

I love fics exploring their unhealthy friendship, so seeing it as an unhealthy romantic relationship could be even crazier to see.

~~~~~~

There's also the nuances of Anya x Curly. Most people ship it specifically in the context of AUs where Curly actually stands up for Anya and helps her out. Their dynamic as characters could be really cute, especially if he puts in the work to protect her.

I personally find the potential of post-crash Anya x Curly to be interesting as hell. I generally find their non-romantic dynamic post-crash to be interesting enough on its own, but I also think it could be absolutely crazy if they developed romantic feelings because those feelings would develop from some really unhealthy places for the most part.

I see Anya as someone who still holds some resentment towards Curly, but also sees herself in him and feels he doesn't deserve what happened to him. Maybe at one point seeing him go through something similar to what she went through might feel a little cathartic, but anything after that is too much to her. She is also his primary caretaker and a nurse, so she feels responsible for his wellbeing and wants to take care of him. She also seems to read and talk to him a lot, which probably feels nice because she can have some company while also being safe because Curly is not in a position to be able to hurt her. Anya doesn't exactly develop proper feelings for him per say, but she still uses him as a bit of an emotional crutch of sorts and becomes very attached to him because of it.

Meanwhile, Curly feels deeply guilty for not helping Anya and feels she deserves better. He believes she has no reason to care for him, but chooses to anyway, and thus he is extremely grateful towards her, possibly idolizing her to a certain degree. He slowly develops his own weird feelings, seeing himself as unworthy of her kindness and wanting the best for her, while also being dependent on her, even if it's in a more direct way.

They never get together or even realize that they themselves have feelings for each other since those feelings are #messy, but do form a weird codependent relationship of sorts. I've seen some cool fanart of Anya hugging/holding onto post-crash Curly, and it made me think about the potential this whole dynamic has and how unhealthy it could be, both for Anya and Curly. I believe they would not work out or be healthy (though probably better than Jazzy x Curly), but could be interesting narratively.

~~~~~~

Basically, what I'm trying to explain is that a lot of people don't ship certain Mouthwashing ships because they think it's good or want to romanticize it, but because it is narratively compelling and can explore complex dynamics more.

[midnight-pluto]

ROUND 2 : PG.00 — well shit

ROUND 2: dazai osamu x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: When you decided to attend Chuya's volleyball game, you didn't expect to see a familiar face. A face of someone you thought you would've never seen again; what's more annoying however, is seeing said face repeatedly.

TW: talks of a successful suicide

round 2 master list || next

OCTOBER 18 ; 18:07

IN ALL HONESTY, you were just there for the fact that you all were going to get ice cream afterwards. What you expected was for your team to win, everyone congratulates Chūya, then you both drive to get ice cream.

Your expectations came true, for the most part. Chūya's team won, but when him and other teammates were celebrating you catch a glimpse of a face you had presumed to have died.

Dazai Osamu. Now grown compared to the boy had once knew, still giving the same shit eating grin to a pissed off friend — not a mutual one this time.

Eyes locked onto him, afraid he was going to disappear on you like he had before, Chūya gently slaps your arm to get your attention, "What're you looking at?"

You simply point in the brunettes direction, still unmoving.

"What the fuck?" his eyes widen, two pairs of eyes now locked onto a man they haven't seen in three years.

A man they once knew.

His grin fell as he turned towards your direction, but there was nothing to be seen where you both once stood. "Huh, I swear I felt someone staring at me."

"What're you on about this time, Dazai?" the blond man raised a brow, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"Don't worry about it, it’s no longer a matter that’s important to me,” he replied.

“You’re not as edgy as you think when you talk like that.”

Your grip on Chūya's shoulder loosened, as you both slowly turned towards each other. "There's no fucking way that was him," Chūya muttered.

"And here we thought he actually succeeded in killing himself," you huffed out, "Of course he wouldn't be lucky enough for that to happen."

"Well, I guess our night's been ruined," he sighed, kicking his shoes against the gravel, "And you teleported us without letting me change out of my uniform."

"Did you want him to see us or not?" you ask, looking at the frustrated expression on his face.

"I doubt he'd do anything in the first place," he rolled his eyes, "Clearly he wanted to cut all ties with us and start fresh at another school, don't know how he'd manage that with how popular he was here."

"I guess he did grow taller and doesn't have a broken arm this time around," you shrug, amused at Chūya's eyebrow twitch at the mention of height. "Still has that insane look in his eye though, don't know how anyone can miss that.”

Chūya sighed, "Well, people are dumb. Now I'm gonna go change." As he begun to walk away he felt your eyes trailing on his figure, "Don't worry! I'll be back in under ten minutes, you won't be waiting long."

"Good," you say, not loud enough for him to hear though; you didn't feel like shouting right now. Unlocking your car, you hop into the drivers seat and went on your phone as you wait for Chūya.

'SHIT SHIT SHIT shit! Why would those guys be here of all places? To make themselves feel better? That’s actually kinda pathetic… Are they seriously glaring at the back of my head right now?’

Sitting in the booth by yourself, you swallow another serving of ice cream down your throat, pretending to observe the color changing spoon that you were given.

‘Ah yes, the spoon is changing from pink to blue. How cool.’

Tasting the remaining ice cream left on the spoon on your tongue, you glance behind you to see if they had moved and meet Dazai’s eyes.

He was standing behind his friends admiring all the ice cream flavors, his face blank as he continued his make-shift staring contest.

Your eyes widened slightly, but your gaze slightly hardened noticing the intense look in his eyes. You shift yourself so your legs are no longer hiding under the table; ready to get up if he wants to try something.

“Dazai! What flavor do you want?” a voice interrupted, but failed to shake his gaze.

“Cookies n’ cream.”

“Okay!”

A few more moments passed and the frown you initially wore didn’t change, the only thing that caused you both to break your gaze was a white-haired boy handing Dazai his ice cream.

Unbeknownst to you, the brunette looked back only to be met with the back of your head.

You continued to munch on your now somewhat melted ice cream as you could hear footsteps approach your booth.

A sigh made you look up to see a familiar redhead sitting across from you again, “What were you even trying to do there?”

“What do you mean?” you tilt your head as Chūya scooped his ice cream into his mouth.

“That staring contest you both did. Hella weird,” he elaborated.

“The bitch was staring at me and I ain’t no pussy so I stared right back,” you shrug, “Shit, I finished my ice cream.”

STICKY NOTES:

im trying my best to not unintentionally make this an enemies to lovers

TAGLIST : @heeslovr @atlasnessie @cvidy @rattyrattyratty @chaos-inperson [ if you want to be added, send me an ask or feel free to comment! ]

[shares-a-vest]

Prompt: Family Heirloom and Starry Night (Discord Drabble) Two prompts in 24hrs, the drabblers are spoiled today. It's Lex's birthday! @thefreakandthehair I'm so sorry that my Frankenstien prompt for your b'day is also Steve Sad Boy™ hours. But it has a light-hearted end!!! 🏈🏈🏈 tw: death of a grandparent (way in the past)

"Why would mom mail this to me?" Steve finally mutters from his position at the kitchen bench.

Eddie shimmies upright on the couch and rubs at his eyes, long glazed over from forcing himself to pretend to pay attention to tonight's game. He'd flipped it over a good half an hour ago as the space he had given Steve started to linger on a little too long for his liking.

He just wasn't supposed to almost fall asleep while waiting for Steve to join and watch his favourite team win all those... points? touchdowns?

It doesn't matter nearly as much as the package that was delivered late in the afternoon – one that has left Steve glued to his kitchen stool.

A heavy but small and thin box with 'FRAGILE' and 'DO NOT BEND' emblazoned all over it, the red warnings leaving just enough space for their address and the return label.

Steve has opened it, Eddie realises, looking over his partner's impossibly hunched shoulders when he reaches him.

"I don't remember ever seeing that in your house, sweetheart," he says, standing close and snaking his arms around Steve's middle.

He frowns at the small framed print of Vincent Van Gough's Starry Night painting and rests his chin on Steve's shoulder.

"Mom hated it," Steve explains, "Refused to hang it anywhere in the house after my Grandpa passed. He left it to her."

Eddie hums in the affirmative.

The gold and gaudy frame doesn't exactly scream Mrs Harrington's taste in decor...

"Should I call her?" Steve rasps, setting the print down to pinch his nose, "What if something's wrong and that's why she is sending it to me?"

Eddie can feel his lip quivering.

"Maybe we should talk first, hmm?" he suggests, giving Steve a reassuring squeeze.

"Or..." Steve continues, his tone becoming bitter, "She's sending it now to make it official. That I'm no longer..."

He cuts himself off with a shaky exhale and looks around their relatively new (but technically very old and rundown) apartment. A quiet little spot in Indy they'd scored without too much searching.

One that they soon filled with their records and clothes, Eddie's amp and guitar and Steve's old trophies. Too many knickknacks they'd thrifted with the help of Robin and a lot of second-hand furniture Wayne found.

An apartment they are still in the process of making their own as they work themselves out together.

Their place in the world. Their home.

Eddie looks over to a patch of blank wall by the phone.

A spot that could use something...

"Do you like it, the painting?" he whispers, pressing a kiss to Steve's ear.

Steve grips the frame, his knuckles quickly turning white as he tenses up. He nods his head vigorously and sniffles.

"My grandpa..."

"Starry, starry night," Eddie sings low, "Paint your palette blue and grey..."

He reaches out to place his hands over Steve's and feels them relax in his touch.

"Look out on a summer's day..." Steve continues wetly, "Yeah..."

He sighs and closes his eyes, shifting his weight back onto Eddie.

"Looks like a pretty good heirloom to me," he says, swaying them just enough to leave Steve humming contentedly without threatening his position on the rickety kitchen stool.

Eddie continues humming the song, a favourite of Wayne's that he only ever passively listened to enough to pick up on the opening line and tune.

"Wanna watch the game with me?" he asks, nodding back to the television as he finishes the song.

Steve giggles, his shoulders gradually shaking them both.

"Baby, I watched that game two Sundays ago."

"But it's your favourite," Eddie argues, jostling their conjoined form, "The Cubs!"

"Eds, that's baseball!"

[yellowjestertfs]

The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone. 

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say. 

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.” 

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.” 

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.” 

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away. 

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.” 

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile. 

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.���

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him. 

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

[eddiezpaghetti]

Okay, so my experience with Stranger Things is a weird one.

I didn't care when it first came out, started to watch it out of "might as well" in 2020, wasn't interested in it enough to make it past S2, forgot about it outside of going "oh, hey, cool, there's a lesbian in it now, I guess," in S3, got really annoyed when "Running Up That Hill" got popular from it because it was a song I listened to on fucking loop after one of my best friends died in high school and I fully expected its appearance in the show to ignore the whole survivor's guilt theme of the song (and was very happy to learn later that it did the exact opposite of ignoring the lyrics), saw people drawing Eddie, suddenly got a lot more interested, watched just the fourth season like a fucking psychopath because I was seriously only there for Eddie, then got interested enough to start the show over properly, having mostly forgotten what I did watch of the show before.

And let me tell you something from the perspective of someone who started with the complete fourth season, who wasn't there from the start, who wasn't tainted by ship goggles or this internal battle of hope and despair, who wasn't theorizing about what the painting could be or expecting Mike and Will to kiss when Volume 2 happened or rooting for Mike and Eleven's relationship to go down in flames or whatever the fuck. Just someone who went blind into Season 4.

It's really fucking obvious that Will and Mike are gonna be endgame.

Like holy fuck. It's so fucking blatant I don't even know why people are nervous.

No sane fucking person would shoot this scene this way if they wanted the audience to care about El and Mike as a couple. Despite being all blurry in the background, Will's reaction to what's happening here is smackdab in the fucking middle, clearly showing that the important part is what's going through his head here. What he's feeling. It's like the opposite of that scene from Kingdom Hearts II where Sora and Riku reunite and Kairi just fucking vanishes into the aether while it's happening because, despite the fact that she was standing between them when the scene began, she doesn't matter to the scene, so she's just kind of gone when the camera angle changes. Will could have been behind one of their heads, or so far in the distance he blends in with the background, but he's not. He's so obvious that despite being massively blurred out, he's still the first goddamn thing you look at. What, you think that's an accident? You think he's in the middle of this dramatic fucking scene because of a mistake? He basically has a big flashing neon arrow pointing at him with "THIS IS THE POINT" being screamed through a megaphone.

And then this?

They're paired up like they're taking fucking prom pictures. Each one of these pairs is so fucking close to one another and so fucking far from everyone else. It's not, "Oh, they're standing vaguely near each other in a group shot," it's fucking Noah's Ark out here. Again, there's no way to take this as an accident. It's not just a framing issue. If they wanted to make the shot look balanced while still not hiding anyone else behind El, they would have scattered people around much more naturally. Even if they wanted to keep Nancy with Jonathan and Hopper with Joyce, there's so much room on that hill for three people to stand on El's left and three on her right. But they didn't do that. They put Mike and Will together on purpose in the most obvious way possible.

Like I get that coming up with crackpot theories is fun in and of itself and I'm not blaming anyone for having fun. I totally get the appeal of arguing a point and reaching for every stupid little thing to pull into it because it's like a game, okay? I've done that. But if you're trying to actually convince someone (whether it's someone who wants to believe or someone who's pissed at the very idea that Mike and Will could be in love), stay away from blue and yellow lights, stay away from costume design, stay away from the existence of closets in backgrounds. And don't worry about whether Mike's gay or bi when he's in love with Will either way. I'll give you a little tip about persuasion: You're only as strong as your weakest argument. Even if you've got strong stuff in there, too, the person you're trying to convince is going to dismiss anything you say as complete insanity the second you start going on an entire tangent about the shape of a character's fucking pocket.

Sometimes, clothes are just clothes. Sometimes, there's a closet in the background because it helps establish that a character is in a bedroom. Sometimes, blue and yellow are just a couple of colors that look nice together. And sure, it might be set designers and costume designers and cinematographers smirking and winking at the audience from behind the camera. But if the show was just those things, instead of those things in the context of everything else, they wouldn't be saying anything of note.

But this?

This tells a story all on its own. Someone with no context can look at this and automatically assume that each paired person is standing with someone they care about deeply, seeking comfort as they watch some sort of disaster unfold. And yeah, romantic couples usually come in twos, and we live in an amatonormative society, so that's going to be the first association anyone makes seeing a bunch of people paired off.

It's the same reason you look at this

And go, "Oh..."

"Those two are probably a couple."

And I genuinely don't understand how people could have watched S4 Vol. 2 and gotten scared. Because as someone who went in with no investment whatsoever, I just looked at these two--

--and went, "Oh, those two are a couple. Good for them." And I moved on. Shut up about the trees for five seconds and just see the forest for what it is.

Oh, and if you're still nervous? Little thing from a storyteller here: You don't leave a hanging thread like "Will confessed his romantic feelings for Mike by projecting them onto El, but Mike either didn't understand or at least didn't say he understood," without coming back to that later. That's Chekov's gun hanging on the wall, babes. It's gonna fire at some point. If Mike was going to reject Will's feelings, if they weren't relevant, they would have had that discussion in Argyle's van. There'd be no reason to leave you in suspense.

[idyllcy]

don't miss me

word count: 9.4k

warnings: smut, nsfw

summary: it's you. It's been you, and it'll be you.

"uWAHHHHH!!" You sob, slamming your head into your hands.

"You have got to stop confessing to people who don't like you." Dick grumbles, sliding you the box of tissues on the table. "He's made it pretty clear that he has no interest."

"I'm bound to get to him at some point." You sit up, blowing your nose. "Come on."

"He's the school's hotshot."

"And you're captain of the varsity football team," You cough. "If I can tutor you and become friends with you, then the captain of the baseball team should be no big deal."

It's a strange place to find himself in. Dick had gone to you for help in one of his classes in exchange for enough money to fund your four years of college, and in exchange, you had taught him everything he needed for his classes. He went from risking the chance to stay on the team to having the best grade out of all of his teammates. He's thankful for you, he supposes, and he's the school's most wanted boy. He has more than enough of a fan club behind him.

He wonders why he was put in a public school instead of the private ones his brothers were put into. It wasn't as if Bruce lacked the money to put him into one.

"ANYWAY!" You toss the tissue into the trash behind you, stand up, and throw your fists in the air. "I will continue to confess!"

"Why not just go out with me?"

You pout at him, batting your lashes. "And potentially end up on a good chunk of the school's hit list? No thank you, Richard."

"Dick. Come on, it's not that bad."

You shrug, going back to the papers in your binder. "I'm not into you."

"We spend so much time together. We're bound to end up together, you know?"

"If you pull a psychology term on me I will punt you."

"You don't have the strength for that."

"I'll kill myself to change the trajectory of your life forever."

"That'd be very flattering for you to do."

"Ew."

But in the small classroom walls that confine the two of you, there's not much for the two of you to argue over. It's just a tutor-tutee relationship. There's nothing more. You don't understand why you rant out all of your frustrations to him when he has nothing to do with them, but you suppose it's not that much. Maybe it was silly to think that he would care. He probably doesn't. Dick was never your friend by choice, after all. It would be foolish to believe that he could care about you at all.

"I like you!" You yell from the bleachers, blowing a kiss, the rest of the school screaming along. The baseball captain shoots down your confession with a flick of his hand, and you pout.

It's fun to waste your youth pining over someone who doesn't love you back. It's not as if it mattered either. You would all scramble once you finished high school. Graduation was just around the corner. It didn't matter if he didn't like you back. It was so much funnier when they didn't.

You hear a chorus of screaming behind you, causing you to glance, just for a moment, at the reason for the screams.

"Oh, look who showed up." You smile. "Miss me already? Our session isn't until Wednesday."

"Don't flatter yourself." Dick's hands guide you to sit back down, standing next to you. "I came to scout out my competition."

"I thought you were still in that friends with benefits thing with Kori." You raise a brow at him.

"Broke it a while back." He hums. "How do you find this interesting?"

"I don't." You hum. "I'm here because he's here." You point at the baseball captain. "Obviously."

Dick clicks his tongue disdainfully. "I come all the way for you and you tell me that you're here for him?"

"I was here first, Dick." You wave happily as the captain stares at you. "I've been here."

"Well, I've come now. Let's get you home."

"I want to watch him finish his game."

"Why him and not me?"

You tilt your head at him. "No reason. I just think the baseball captain's hotter."

"Hotter than me?"

"Yes. Hotter than you."

"Did he reject you?"

"He waved down my kiss."

"I wouldn't do that to you."

"Yeah, but I don't want you."

It's funny. Dick hears all about how you got rejected again in the most delusional way possible, from the way of "oh he breathes the same air as me so surely he's in love with me" to something more mellow like "yeah I got rejected again lol". But that was something he got used to, he supposes. The empty classroom that the two of you always sat in but never got yelled at for was a staple in his life, especially when more than half of the time he was showing up to class with bruises all over his body. Maybe fighting crime at night wasn't something he should promise to do so often. Bruce would let him focus on school if he asked. Maybe.

"You look like shit as always," You click your tongue, raising a brow at the sight of Robin coughing up blood on your balcony.

"Sorry, pretty girl," He chuckles. "Bumped into someone awful today, as you can see. Care to lend me a hand?"

"The joker? The riddler? I don't even know who you fight anymore." You haul him onto the couch, pulling the curtains behind you. "How deep is it?"

"A little wrapping will do the trick." He mumbles. "Sorry for the problem."

"You're here more than I can count on one finger." You sigh. "I'm used to it. Where's Batman?"

"He went back."

"And left you alone?"

"Yes." Robin hisses as you press the alcohol to his wound. "I'm sorry, again."

"It doesn't matter. I was up, anyway." You pause. "How long have you been fighting crime again?"

"I don't know."

"Mm." Silence. "You should rebrand soon. I heard there are two Robins now."

"I'm close." He chuckles, lifting his shirt so you can wrap the bandage around his waist. "What do you think about Nightwing?"

You grumble. "Superman said something about that the other day in his interview. I stayed up all night drawing what I think his suit would look like."

"Can I see it?"

"If you want."

"You're graduating, right? Where are you going after?"

"New York City." You mumble. "Haven't told anyone yet, but I got into my dream school. I'm set."

"Really?"

"Yeah." You mumble. "I'm moving over summer, so don't crash here anymore unless you want to give my parents a heart attack, alright?"

"I'll miss you."

"That's cute. I can't imagine the number of people who would die to hear that from Robin from Teen Titans himself."

"I will."

You stare up at him. Maybe it was strange. It had been three years since Robin would crash land onto your balcony in the city and beg you for first aid. It had been two years since Dick Grayson had asked you for help in math, and even shorter than the time you had started designing suits for him to look at. Maybe that's why you had grown used to the way he would rest his chin on your shoulder and stare through the lazy sketches you had of what you thought he should change his outfit into. He likes the way you picture Nightwing. He's like some disco guy in the first draft and much more chill in the second.

"Can I take the pages?" He mumbles. "Please? I want it."

"So you can steal my design?"

"No. I like the disco suit you drew."

"That was a first draft." You groan.

"I can start with it."

"It's too flashy! It doesn't fit the whole Batman aesthetic!"

"Doesn't matter." He grins. "It looks like my current Robin one but in blue."

You raise a brow at him incredulously.

"I'll buy these off of you."

"With your legal account?"

"I'll send you money each month anonymously like a patent. Wait. I can't see you anymore."

"Yeah." You exhale. "You can take it, though. I can't let anyone know I've been drawing Robin's clothes. I would get targeted by too many villains."

"That's true." Robin pauses. "Has anyone seen it?"

"No."

"Can I take all of them?"

"How are you going to get all of them to Batman?"

"I'll figure out a way." He grins. "I am Robin, after all."

"Well, then, Robin," You rustle the papers, dropping them in his open hands. "I hope you keep all of them."

"I'll pin them in my room's wall."

"That's just creepy."

"Maybe to you."

Dick never expected you to let him in three years ago, in his defense. He expected you to cower in fear like the rest of people or even just slide him a first aid kit. He was not expecting you to drag him into your room and start disinfecting his wound. He learned so much more about who you were through his interactions with you as Robin than he did as Dick. All he hears from you during the day is how you got rejected by the captain of the baseball team again. He wonders if he should just woo you as Robin instead. You seem to like his separate identity more.

"You forgot the number in front of the integral."

"No way." He grumbles.

"Yeah." You point. "Minor mistakes. It'll be fixed with some practice. I'm sure."

"When are we stopping this?"

"Eager to get me out of your hair already? After senior finals, of course."

"Are you going to keep confessing to captain until then?"

"Why?"

"I'm suggesting you give me a chance, of course." Dick stares at you.

"There you go again with that," You yawn. "Are you sure it's not because I'm your type? Scratch that. I don't even think I'm your type."

"And if you were?"

"That would be very interesting considering your dating history." You grimace.

Dick grumbles in response. He didn't have something for that one.

It's ironic to think that someone else in the school would die to date the man in front of you. You wonder why you don't like him sometimes. You're sure he's someone straight out of a movie, a guy who everyone would want to be with at least once in their life. He almost reminds you of the other football boys on his team. Maybe this was a movie. The jock ends up with his tutor. Some sort of cliché love story that you would never touch, ever again.

Robin crash lands on your balcony again before you can think more of it.

"Sorry!"

"What brings you here today? Ivy?"

"Yeah! How'd you know?" He sits up, a grin on his face.

"You smell like herbs all over you." You grimace.

"Woah, sharp nose." Robin mumbles. "Can you ramble about your high school to me?"

"Oh. You wanna hear about how I have a crush on the captain of the football team? The guy I tutor?"

"yOU WHAT? I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU LIKED THE BASEBALL GUY." Robin gasps, jaw dropped in shock.

"I changed my mind." You hum, fishing out the disinfectant from the first aid kit. "I won't admit it to his face, of course, but I think he's kind of fine. That man is infuratingly attractive. Who gave him his bone structure? He looks like a greek statue or something. I want him carnally."

"Are you going to ask him out?"

"And do long distance in this day and age?" You laugh. "No. I'm going to keep pretending that I like the baseball captain until the end of graduation. I'd like to be remembered as a fool. Besides, I don't think Dick actually likes me that way. I heard something about him and Kori in the halls and I don't want to be part of that. I heard he slept with a good chunk of the girls sports team captains too. I don't know. I'd prefer not to know. All I know is that I don't want to be part of that mess."

Robin peels his shirt up, pouting. "I thought you said confessing was the best form of closure."

"Not when dating your crush is going to get half of the school on your back. I've lived without being in the spotlight for long enough. I plan on doing that after school." You press the gauze to his wound, causing him to hiss. "You good?"

"Hurts."

"I'm sure it does." You deadpan.

"Why not tell him?"

"You seem very invested in my love life with this dude."

"I'm bored. I keep getting beat up these days, so I have to listen to something to get it off my mind." Robin pouts as you wrap the bandage around his waist.

"Did you gain more muscle?"

"Does it look that way?"

"A little." You raise a brow.

"I work out more in my free time."

"You know, maybe I like the stupid football guy because he reminds me of you too much."

"You like me?"

"I thought you were a good detective."

"I am."

"And you didn't know?"

"I didn't want to point it out." He mumbles. "Maybe you'd get uncomfortable."

"Alright." You yawn, closing the first aid kit. "This is one of the last times you're crashing. ever."

"Why?"

"I go on vacation in a couple weeks and I'm going to start packing for moving. You aren't going to be able to see me in a long time."

"Can I get a goodbye kiss?" He pouts.

"You're a nightmare, Robin," You help him stand up, pressing your lips to his cheek. "I hope I see you as Nightwing one day."

"I can promise you that."

You wonder some days if you should just tell Dick that you have a crush on him. You call him his government for shits and giggles, and you barely pay enough attention to what he does in tutoring these days. Maybe you were just destined to be stuck with someone like him. Yet, even as graduation approaches, you find there's no use sticking close to those ideas. You'll never see him again. It's pointless to admit your crush now.

"So? What's your answer?"

"I'm still in love with the baseball guy," You sigh blissfully, eyes far away. "He's so... dreamy."

"The only difference between the two of us is that I have better grades." Dick raises his brow.

"Richard." You yawn. "I could fix him."

"You absolutely could not."

"You're right. I could not." You laugh. "Isn't it fun being delusional? I think it's great."

"It is absolutely not."

"Maybe to you, Richard." You yawn. "I find it quite amusing to daydream about myself with a person who would never look at me twice."

"If you ask me." He clicks his tongue. "I'd say he thinks about you a lot more now."

"Oh, really?" You tilt your head. "I still don't find myself believing that fact."

"It's hard to think about it." He grimaces. "He asked me for your number the other day."

"Did you give it to him?"

"You said to ask first. I forgot to ask."

"Are you sure you forgot?"

"I didn't give it to him on purpose." He grins.

"Sly, sly, boy." You chuckle. "Oh, right. I forgot to give you the worksheets."

"I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

"Too bad." You rummage through your bag, handing him a stack of papers. "I'll see you after school."

"You expect me to do this during practice?"

"You're off-season. You barely train." You stand up, dusting off your hands. "Have fun."

Dick glances at the papers. "Wait-"

The door clicks behind you, and Dick sits there, staring at the stack of papers.

Dick lets his curiosity get the best of him, flipping through the pages, reading through your sketches and messy notes. It's neat, uncrumpled, to the point. The drawings are messy, but each part of his suit as Robin has been noted down. His weapons have been detailed, and he wonders if you had been doing more than just checking out his gadgets whenever he crashed your apartment. Maybe you were carefully calculating everything just as you had with his math homework. Perhaps he would get separated from you years later and never see you again.

He finds himself at your final period of the day, knocking on the door.

"Come in."

"Ah, Mrs. Baker," He smiles. "My tutor left this during lunch, so I came to hand it back to her."

You stare at Dick, getting out of your seat to take the papers from him with the actual packet in your other hand. "My apologies. I will see you after school."

A girl in the class faints while the others scream.

You sit back in your seat, staring at the note he left in your stack.

There was no point in caring for things that would inevitably pass.

So, neither of you mention anything ever again. The tutoring goes on as normal, the confessions do as well. There's something consistently hanging in the air between the two of you that neither addresses. The elephant in the room is neither seen nor discussed. The stories of your youth no longer matter to you, and you graduate top of the class, valedictorian, going to the school of your choice. It didn't matter that you had just stopped pining after the baseball captain one day. No one would know why. Maybe. Except Dick.

Dick learns to move on with life, slowly. You sit in the back of his mind when he's bored while on patrol, staring down at the city, wondering if you had ever considered him to even be an option. But he finds no space in thinking about you. He had his own job. The two of you had grown up, maybe you before him. The two of you were just. High school friends. Maybe not even friends. He thinks about your signature in his yearbook often. Maybe he would find you one day. It would come slower. Maybe.

But he leaves your mind as quickly as he had been there, left behind with Gotham when you had stepped foot into your dream school. You find your success in life as easily as you had executed whatever plan it had been in high school. You're quickly where you want to be in life, top of the city, sipping margaritas with your friends when you grow bored. It's something that someone has dreamed of, and it's something that you have considered. Maybe you would consider staying where you are longer had it not been for the obscenely high crime rate lately.

"I heard Jessica got mugged the other weekend." One of your friends sighs. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am." Jessica mumbles. "Oh, but there was this super hot hero who saved me! I tried asking for his name, but he never told me. Black suit, blue bird thing on his chest. He was so... dreamy!"

"Jessica, darling," Another woman chimes in. "I'm sure you've gone delusional. New York City does not have people saving them. Our crime rate is just a nightmare in itself."

"Was it Nightwing? You know, the... superhero?" You furrow your brows. "I think that's what he is."

"Is that his name?!" She gushes. "He's sooo romantic!"

"Jessica, aren't you engaged?"

"Awh, it's not as if I'd ever get a chance with him."

You chuckle. "Did he look good?"

"So good. God. His black hair? I thought I was going to lose my mind."

"Darling," A woman reaches their hand for yours. "How do you know about Nightwing?"

"I read Gotham Daily for fun." You smile. "It's good to keep up with what's been going on in my home city."

"Right! Then surely you know Nightwing?"

"Know is a little bit of an overstatement." You grimace. "I don't know him personally. I know about him."

"Oh, well." Jessica chuckles. "I'm sure you'll get to know him so much more soon."

"What."

"He asked if I knew anyone by your name, so I told him your add-"

"You gave my house address to a random man who saved you?!" You yell. "That's stupid!"

"He was asking for you!"

"Why?"

"I don't know." Jessica holds back a laugh. "I told him your studio address."

"At least it wasn't my house address," You mumble. "But I'm holed up in that hellhole when I get bored, so I suppose it's the equivalent of giving him my house address."

"He's got real defined muscles-"

"Okay, Jessica, I think that's enough for the night. I'll call your fiancé for you."

"Ugh. He's so fine."

"We get it, darling."

You help her into her fiancé's car, watching as the two of them drive away. The other ladies all head off, and you stand there in the night. It's not half as cold as you're expecting it to be, but you suppose being alone at night is a little lonely. You purse your lips, clicking on your phone to call an Uber to your studio. You didn't feel like staying home. Maybe sketching your frustrations out in the studio would do something better.

"Alone at night, sweetheart?"

You turn to face the voice.

"...Nightwing?"

He's in the second design.

"Miss me?"

"I don't know, actually." You mumble. "I was just feeling a little betrayed that Jessica just gave you my address like that."

"I checked it out. It's a nice little studio. Are you still up to big things?"

You shrug. "I bet you read the magazines about me."

"I do." He chuckles. "I have your sketches pinned on my walls still, even when I moved." He leans in, breath tickling your ear. "Shall I take you home?"

"To the studio, if you will."

"Hold on tight." He wraps an arm around your waist, launching the grappling hook. "I don't remember if you've ever flown with me."

"I have not." You cling onto him, grimacing. "Please do not drop me. You aren't Spiderman."

"Should I be offended that you're comparing me to a fictional superhero?"

"I'm going to die if you do."

"We're here." He lands on the rooftop.

"Why the sudden move?"

"Am I not allowed to follow my favorite designer to the ends of the earth?"

"Yeah. It's a little creepy, honestly." You scrunch your nose. "Did something go wrong with your suit?"

"No." He mumbles. "Maybe. I don't know."

You raise a brow at him.

"Nothing went wrong. I just missed you."

"Missed me or having a place to patch up that wasn't Batman?"

"Both." He mumbles. "Can I see your designs?"

"So you can steal them?"

"Not fair. You're the one who let me steal them." Nightwing pouts. "I still have them on my wall, if you want to visit my place."

"That's a little too early." You imitate his pout, leaning back, his arm still around your waist. "Don't you think?"

"For someone who's caught you naked when you were in high school, I don't think so." He hums, hand leaving your waist. "Will you show me around?"

"Since you asked so nicely."

It's strange to see him again after so many years. You were sure that Robin — Nightwing — would come to forget you at some point. You had heard more stories about how he had been such a great protector of the city at dark alongside Batman, so you suppose that inevitably he probably had found someone on the way. You heard he had a thing with Batgirl at some point. You wonder why he didn't stay with her. The newspapers were just as shocked as you were when they found out they broke up.

"I heard you had a thing for redheads." You hum, opening the door on the rooftop. "You know. With the whole dating thing on the magazines."

"I suppose I am weak to them." He follows you down the stairs, pausing when you fish out a key and open the door. "Jealou-"

You cut him off. "Welcome to my studio."

"Are those superhero suits?"

"I was trying to figure out what fabrics would work to avoid acid burns." You shrug. "Old habits. I was thinking of visiting Gotham a little later and I was worried I'd get caught up in another attack."

"You'll be fine. Robin is surprisingly competent."

"Are you guys like one big family or something?"

"No." You catch the way he pauses in inhaling. "Nope."

"Sure." You yawn. "I'm crashing. Please be gone by morning."

"Aw, you don't want to see me?"

"I can't tailor anything for you. Go to bed."

"Superheros don't sleep."

"You're human. Night." You close the door to the bed in the studio, and Nightwing looks around at the papers scattered on the floor. New York could survive a day without him.

You wake up the next morning to Nightwing still in your studio, staring at the sketches on the floor.

"Did you end up giving this one to Kid Flash?"

"There's no use. He's dead." You yawn, opening your laptop.

"Didn't need to remind me like that."

"Nightwing. Don't you have a home to go to?"

"I'm exhausted, true." He yawns. "You're contagious."

"Whatever helps you sleep." You grumble. "Stupid emails. Go home."

"And if I want to stay?"

"I'll peel your mask off." You sigh. "Now go."

"Can I crash some other time?"

"If you can find my apartment."

"Shall I bet on it, sweetheart?"

You tilt your head at him, raising a brow. "Be my guest."

Sometime between where you are now and where you had left Dick, he had caught up. Maybe it had been a chase he was doing unconsciously. Maybe he missed the way you would patch him up in your apartment at night no matter how late he found himself in your room. Maybe he missed the way you would take him out for dinner if he did well on a test. Maybe he just missed you. He finds himself staring at you in the grocery store, lips parted in mild surprise. He wasn't expecting to run into you here. He thought you'd stay holed up in your studio for the day.

"...Richard?"

"Dick." He corrects.

"It is you!" You mumble. "What are you doing in New York? I thought you were working for law enforcement at Gotham."

"Change of plans, change of place." It wasn't exactly a lie. He needed to leave that place. He doesn't know why he picked your city of all places, though. "You?"

"I've been here."

"I suppose." he hums. "Is it nice here?"

"Safer than Gotham." You laugh dryly. "I can't believe Nightwing left that place."

"Why?"

You turn to stare at him. "I figured he'd want to stay close to Batman."

"The first always wants to leave and explore." Dick smiles.

"A psychology fact or just something small?"

"An observation not proven by experiments." He hums. "Why are you here?"

"Low on oat milk." You mumble, reaching for the fridge door.

"You're really living that New York City life, huh?"

"Maybe."

"Do you miss Gotham?"

"Never." You pause. "I only miss it because someone used to crash my place."

"Someone?"

"Secret." You smile at him. "Have fun in New York."

"If you don't mind." He mumbles. "Can we exchange numbers again?"

"I never changed my old one."

It never struck Dick that maybe you would keep your old number. You had no reason to keep it, after all. Yet, as he clicks open a conversation that he hadn't touched in years but still kept, he wonders if the two of you had just stopped in time. Maybe he had just chosen you from the start. It wasn't as if his high school life was conventional. The popularity at school meant nothing to him in retrospect.

So, he finds himself staring at the ice cream aisle for a little too long, staring at your favorite flavor an uncomfortable amount of time. Maybe it would be his housewarming gift for you as someone crashing into your room. He should go home soon, he supposes. The sun was setting quickly, and he had to do nightly patrol.

He wonders if he'll just crash into your apartment out of instinct.

So, after a quick clean-up and call to the police, he finds himself landing on a random balcony. He could be wrong. He was sure this could just be some complete stranger's balcony, but it could also be right. He had a feeling that you were inside, as he always did. He finds a strange sense of deja vu, especially as Nightwing. He wanted to pay you a visit on the first day in your super-suit, but you had taped the notice that you were already gone.

"I'm surprised you actually found this place." You tilt your head at him as you open the door. "Come in."

"Weird sense of deja vu, no?"

"Almost." You yawn, noticing a bag in his hand. "What's that?"

"Housewarming."

"I don't recall telling you my favorite ice cream flavor, ever."

"Lucky guess."

"Sure, hero." You hum. "I'm too tired to be a good host, so do what you want."

"Could you wrap me up? That's all I want."

"You're hurt?"

"It's not easy out on these streets."

"Better be no cuts."

"Just a handful of bruises."

"I'll get the ice." You sigh. "Why do you always come at the most unconventional times of day."

"Maybe I just like you when you're half drunk on sleep depravity, pretty girl."

"I'm going to punch you." You grumble, activating the ice pack from your first aid kid, and throwing it at him. Nightwing fails to notice the way your ears burn from the nickname.

"Is it just one bedroom?"

"Did you think I lived in a penthouse?"

"Kind of."

"I live alone. There's no need." You blink. "Knock yourself out. I'll be in bed."

"Sweetheart."

"Yes?"

"Have you ever considered me to be a man?"

"As in jump me? No." You hum. "I have security cameras in all four corners of the room. If you did, I would have the evidence to prove you as some creepy guy in my house."

"Even if I'm Nightwing?"

"Even if you're Nightwing."

Dick watches as you completely fall asleep in your bed, ignoring the way that he gets up to sit by you, staring at your sleeping form. You were always too vulnerable with the wrong people, maybe. You had handed him all of your designs in a heartbeat, spilling out everything that had ever plagued your mind in a breath. He rests his chin on the plush of your mattress, breathing matching yours, staring at you. He wonders if this was what he had moved to New York for. Crashing your room at the unholy hours of the night and catching up with you. It's a foolish dream of his. You could never love him back at himself, so he resorts to crashing your apartment and asking for patching up as Nightwing instead.

"Pretty girl." He mumbles, sitting up, pressing a kiss to a lock of your hair. "Missed you."

You wake up to Nightwing gone, the balcony door closed, thankfully, and a splitting headache. You wonder if your all-nighters have finally caught up with you. Maybe they have. You're caught between wondering if you should text a friend to bring food for you or just ordering off of some overpriced delivery app in the most overpriced city in the country. You decide against both, falling asleep in your bed covers as your fever rages on. How exhausting.

You wake up to the sound of your doorbell, tugging yourself out of bed, taking your gun with you.

"Who is it?"

"It's me."

You open the door to your apartment, squinting at the man.

"Come back another time. I feel like shit right now." You grumble, reaching to close the door on Dick.

"If you're sick, shouldn't you need someone to take care of you?"

"My secretary can."

"You have a secretary?"

You sniff. "Yeah."

"I heard she's on break from the twitter updates account. Let me in. I promise I won't burn your kitchen down." Dick mumbles.

You frown. "And you're not going to jump me?"

"No."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

"Well, if you do." You mumble, showing him the gun in your other hand. "I have this bad boy."

"You have a gun?"

"You never know who's going to break in." You grumble, opening the door to let him in.

"Do you have groceries?"

"I was at the store yesterday. Make do with what I have. Or something." You blink, pulling the blanket further over yourself. "I feel like I've been struck in half by an axe."

"Go rest up." Dick places a hand on your forehead, resting his forehead on yours. "You're burning."

"I think I know that much." You shuffle back to your bed, laying flat on it.

"Do you have Advil?"

"Tylenol's in the cabinet. Might be expired. I've had it forever."

"It's not." He mumbles, getting a glass of water for you as well. "Come on."

You sit up, swallowing the pills with the water, head still spinning. "Thermometer's in the same cabinet."

Dick presses the infrared thermometer to your head, staring at your temperature. "You're awfully hot."

"Thanks." You grumble. "You haven't said that since high school."

"What do you usually do when sick?"

"I haven't been sick since I moved out." You blink slowly, lying back down. "Don't trash the place."

"I won't."

You pass out.

It's ironic. Dick was in your apartment less than twelve hours ago as Nightwing, and now he was in your apartment cooking you soup that he doesn't remember ever learning the recipe of. He missed this. He missed you. Maybe that was why all those women had looked at him at some point in their relationship and told him that he liked someone else. How pitiful of him. To love someone yet date someone else.

But you recover just as quick. Almost as if you were waiting for him to just enter your apartment and take care of you. It was as if your body just needed him once. You don't know. You wake up to Dick sprawled on your couch and your body all dehydrated. There's a bowl of soup next to you that's still warm, and you start eating it as you take your own temperature. It's day. You don't know if it's the same day or you slept through an entire day, but the sun is out, and you feel a little better.

"Do you want help?" Dick opens one of his eyes to stare at you, and you blink at him.

"I'll be fine. Thank you for staying overnight."

"Of course." He hums.

Nightwing crashes two nights later, tumbling down your fire escape. You clutch the gun in your hand and stare at the balcony.

"Just me, sweetheart."

"What a crash landing." You mumble, opening the window to let him in. "What is it this time? We really shouldn't have that many supervillains here."

"Less, that's true." Nightwing hums. "But I still got a good beating." He laughs.

"You're going to be permanently bruised at this rate." You haul him through the window, sighing. "What do you want this time? More bandages? Gauze? A trip to the ER? My soul?"

"Nope. Just checking to see how my favorite girl is doing."

"Now that's just creepy."

"That is not!"

"Oh, no it definitely is." You sigh.

"Are you feeling better?"

You tilt your head as Nightwing pulls his suit up to show you the bruise. "I had a splitting fever yesterday. I'm better now."

"That's good. You didn't answer when I knocked yesterday."

"So you guessed I was sick?"

"Greatest detective in Gotham, remember?"

"Yeah, but this is New York." You mumble, breaking another ice pack to press to his bruise. "I'm sure there's someone better than you."

"Really?"

"I'm sure of it."

Nightwing swings by your apartment every other night. You don't understand how he has the time for that, but you don't question it or anything else. Too many questions lead to too many thoughts. You try not to think of much when you're hanging out with him every other night.

"At this point, I'm going to become nocturnal." You grumble, hanging off the edge of the couch.

"Just for me?"

You raise a brow. "No."

"Are you still designing?"

"Here's a new sketch." You hand him a random paper from the ones all over the ground, and he stares at it.

"A new design for me?"

"No. Just an alternate outfit."

"Can't you get it sewn up for me?"

"I don't like you that much." You grumble.

Nightwing rests his chin on your shoulder huffing.

Somewhere between the crashing apartments and movie nights, you found yourself tangled in Nightwing's limbs, closer to him than you could have imagined in the past. You wonder if any traces of Robin are there, the bruises and scars littered all over his body. You wonder if he had ever liked you. In the empty nights that you had spent with Robin, you found yourself enamored by him. It was foolish for you to ever develop those feelings, so you wonder if Nightwing can read it off of you. He probably can.

"I can't make it in two days." Nightwing mumbles, adjusting the blanket draped over the two of you.

"Mm," You mumble. "Why not?"

Nightwing goes silent, staring at the screen. "Breach of privacy, don't you think, sweetheart?"

"So now I'm not allowed to hear about what you're doing in your free time?"

"Hero's secret." He rests his hand on your shin, tracing mindless circles on your skin. "You'll forgive me, right? Sweetheart?"

You grumble, looking to the side.

"I'm not going to be patroling that day, anyway."

"Oh, yeah." You mumble. "I'm not home that day either. I'm supposed to help Dick move into his new apartment."

"Cheating on me, pretty girl?"

"I was two timing you guys in high school, sure." You pause. "Speaking of Dick. I don't remember ever giving him my home address. How did he even find me?"

Nightwing taps your shin twice. "You sure you didn't text it to him?"

"I swear I didn't-" You pause when you see a conversation with Dick, sending him your full address. "Strange. I don't remember."

"Are you showing early signs of memory loss?"

"Don't be a dick," You pout. "Maybe I texted him while half delirious."

"I have to go, sweetheart," He mumbles, brushing your hair back and pressing a kiss to the corner of your eye. "The city calls."

"I was thinking about it," You tuck your legs back to your chest, staring at him as he clasps everything back onto his outfit. "We should really stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Whatever it is we are doing." You mumble. "The whole... situationship thing."

"Do you not want me anymore?"

"I'd prefer to actually find someone." You adjust the blanket on yourself, clicking to lower the tv volume. "That's not right. I can't date a superhero. I think that's more normal. I don't even know who you are."

Nightwing opens his mouth, closing it when he remembers he can't argue with you on it.

"Does that mean I can't crash anymore?"

"No." You huff. "No more cuddling."

"And if I ask you out?"

"No point." You grumble. "I'd be dating a superhero and not a human."

"I thought you said I was human?"

You pause. "But I don't know who you are. You could be some creepy forty year old for all I know."

"'Kay, now that's just rude, sweetheart. I am not forty."

"Yeah, yeah," You grumble. "Ask me out in your civilian form if you really want me that bad."

"Is that a deal?"

"As long as it isn't out of nowhere."

Nightwing disappears into the city, and you glance at the movie still playing in the background.

Dick thanks you for the help with moving apartments. You wonder how he managed to end up as your neighbor, but as he kicks the remaining boxes into the complex, you don't really complain. You could be sitting in your room drawing something insane for Nightwing right now. Maybe it was a healthy break from the guy you've been falling in love with. You wonder why he didn't just stop seeing you once he found out you liked him.

"You look like you're thinking hard."

"That's definitely not something you know how to do?"

"Ey. I'm not stupid. Remember? I was salutatorian." Dick raises a brow, opening one of the boxes.

"I forgot." You pause. "Wasn't your brother suspended?"

"Yeah. He was quite a handful."

"He was funny," You hum, opening another box. "I found him really amusing."

"Makes you think hard about family dynamics."

"Really does." You hand him decorations to go around the apartment from the floor, and you pause when you see a binder. "What's this?"

"Oh, you weren't supposed to see that." He takes it from your hands, holding it behind himself. "You were not supposed to see that."

You glance at the paper flutter out of the binder, and you reach for it, pausing at the familiarity.

"Did you... where did you get this?"

"I found it at a thrift store." He smiles.

"Thrift stores don't sell old sketches by people drawn during high school for superheros." You deadpan.

"An antique store?"

"Spit it out, Richard." You furrow your brows, pulling your lip up. "Are you Nightwing or did you rob him? I doubt both of them, so your explanation better be convincing."

"I like you."

"what."

"Let's go out."

"Where is this coming from?" You shake your head in confusion.

"Um. Two nights ago?"

You pause. "I didn't see-"

You blink at Dick tuck the paper back into the binder, placing it on the kitchen counter.

"YOU'RE ACTUALLY FUCKING NI-"

"I'd prefer if you kept that revelation to yourself. These walls aren't soundproof."

You gawk at him. "I was wrapping you up every single fucking night at Gotham?"

"Yes?"

You sit there, hands lax, hanging from the box, questioning every single thing you had ever told him up to this point.

"YOU LISTENED TO ME TALK ABOUT HOW INFURIATINGLY HOT I FOUND YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL?!"

"...yes."

You slam your head into your hands, head spinning from the impact and realization. You told Nightwing you found him hot. You told Dick, who had crashed into your room almost every day at Gotham, all about how you thought he was attractive, but there was no point in telling him. You kissed him on the cheek in high school. The more you think about it, the more you question your presence in the room and the more you want to dig a hole and die in it. You were such an embarassment.

"I think I'm going to dig a hole and bury myself." You look up from your hands.

"Please don't do that." Dick mumbles, stepping next to you. "Do you hate me that much? You said you-"

"Yeah." You purse your lips. "Yes. But this is very out of the blue and I need a couple days to process all of this information."

"Your break ends in a couple of days."

"UGH!" You cry, dragging your hands down your face. "I would say yes but oh my god. This is embarassing. So embarassing."

"Yes."

You blink slowly.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"It's a yes." You answer in a heartbeat. "Please give me a couple days to come to terms with it, though."

"Anything." He mumbles, kissing your forehead.

Dating Dick Grayson is an experience. He's quiet, slow, and he takes his time with you. You find yourself in his apartment more and more despite the ever-sinking knowledge that he's Nightwing. You forget sometimes — only for him to crash through his balcony and roll into your arms. It's worrying now that you're actually dating him. There's a fear that he'd go missing like his brother and maybe even die. The idea that he was returning to the police force wasn't any more comforting.

"Why here?" You mumble, peeling the suit off of his body. "We can go back to Gotham if you really want."

"Why would you move back to Gotham with me?"

"I've been working online for the past year." You sigh. "I never knew when you'd come crash landing into the house during night so I sold my studio. I'm always worried you'll go missing on me one day."

"You're willing to move back with me?"

You heave, picking the mask off of his face.

"Really?"

"Your family is there." You whisper, almost scared as though your voice would give out on you. "Mine is too."

"You'll go back with me?" He holds onto your forearms, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah."

You don't know what prompts you to tell him that at the dead of the night only a month into dating him, but it just felt right. It was strange to believe that you had been so willing to move so quickly despite dating him for such a short time. You weren't even sure if you would be able to last past the three-month mark. Maybe it was a mistake of some sort. To move with Dick so quickly. You don't know how you're supposed to decide so fast.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Dick grabs your wrist, causing you to stop with the wrapping. "You've wrapped four more layers than you usually do."

"Do you think we'll last past the three month mark?" You whisper, almost as if you were asking the wind and not him.

"Yeah." Dick hums, helping you rip the bandage. "It'll be fine."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "I haven't lied to you before, love."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." He kisses you gently, body warmth grounding you. "I promise."

You tuck the rest of the bandages back into the first aid kit, and Dick pulls you into his lap, peppering kisses over your face and neck. It causes you to giggle, smile erupting on your face as butterflies had when you had fallen for him the first time. The worries melt away as Dick runs his hand up and down your back soothingly. You were lucky. The wait was worth it, you think. He was an angel.

"Let me know when to stop," He mumbles against your lips before going back to making out with you, kisses light on your skin.

You squirm in his lap, his hands holding your hips down, giving you just enough space so that you don't bruise. His tongue slips into your mouth at some point, your eyes going half-lidded, welcoming him with fervor. Dick's hands trace circles on your hip, hands snuck underneath your shirt to tug at your bra, unclasping it with his free hand, lips never leaving yours. Your hands reach down for his shirt, tugging at the fabric, fiddling with the fabric. Dick smiles against your lips, pulling away.

A strand of saliva breaks from your lips as he does. "Struggling, pretty girl?"

"Yeah." You huff, watching as Dick pulls it over his head.

"Pretty baby," He laughs. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," You mumble, leaning down to bite his clavicle. You suck on it gently as Dick traces a hand past your shorts down to your clit, drawing lazy circles on your clit, humming lowly, vibrations traveling straight to your core.

"Pretty girl..." He sighs as you let go of his collar with a pop, sliding a finger from your clit into your cunt, sighing slowly as he slides his finger in further, earning a whimper from your lips. "Feel good?"

"Mhm." You gasp. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, pretty girl." He whispers against your skin. "Want me to help you out?"

"Yes, please," You mumble. "Please, Dick."

"Anything for you, sweetheart." His hands speed up, thumb trying to brush circles on your clit as his index finger curls inside of you. You wonder if he's teasing or if he really doesn't remember where your g spot is — You choke on your own thought as he finds it. "There it is."

Your fingers reach for his chest, nails digging into his pecs as he continues curling his finger, adding another one inside of you. He hisses quietly as your nails dig deep enough to draw blood, a trail of red following the scratch as he continues with his fingers inside of you.

"Pretty girl, on the back please."

"Sorry," You move your hands to his back, yelping as he starts again. You clench on his fingers as he curls them once more, your orgasm ripping through your skin; the sweat wraps your body in a thin sheen of white, reflecting the dim lighting of the apartment. You curl into him, your whole body shaking from the orgasm, lips parted in a silent cry. You blink to try and catch your breath, coughing.

"Sweetheart?"

"I get why you've had so many exes now." You mumble.

"I like you the best." He mumbles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your eye.

"I bet you say that to all of them."

"Only to my favorites." He hums. "Just you."

You look at him doubtfully.

"I promise."

You close your eyes, head ringing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

You move to get rid of your shorts as Dick slides his boxers off, straddling him and sinking down slowly. You stay there to adjust, and wait, mind wandering slowly as Dick starts bouncing you. You keep your voice to yourself, only small whimpers and light gasps slipping past your lips. Your eyes cloud over as your brain goes on autopilot. Dick notices quickly, stopping altogether when you don't seem to respond.

"Babe?"

You stare at him.

"What's wrong?"

"I'll be fine." You smile.

You count with fingers in your mind, from one hand to the next, then back to the original hand, changing so that one counts the fives and the other counts the other single digits, and then the tens and the single digits. You don't know why you're counting them, but it seems like a lot or too little — too little yet too much. Your mind spins gently, slowly, almost as if the thoughts were like murky water, pulling you down slowly, waiting for a moment to drown you wholeheartedly.

"Babe." Dick tries again, calloused fingers brushing over your hip. "Talk to me."

"I thought you were the one who sucked at communication." You blink back slowly, not registering your words. "You know?"

"I usually do, but I learn."

"I suppose you do." You stare at him. "I'm scared."

"Of us?"

"Yeah." You whisper. "It's in the back of my mind constantly. What if you return dead one day like you did to Barbara so many years ago?"

"I wasn't dead-"

"You were shot in the head." You whimper. "You." You go quiet, resting your head in the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. "I've done nothing with you."

"Pretty girl-"

"Your life as Nightwing was in Barb's hands." You start. "The two of you have done so much together. The news went insane when they found out you were engaged to her and set to marry her. I was so ready to see the news of a marriage, and then it seemed that you had just broken the engagement out of nowhere — and then I find out that you moved out of Blüdhaven and disappeared from the very city you poured your whole heart into and find you out here on the streets of New york? What — what kind of madness did I read in the morning newspaper, you, you left the city you fell in love with for the streets of New York?? Do you know how — how preposterous you sounded when you said that? It was as if I had been told that Batman was actually Bruce Wayne or something, it was so—"

"Babe." Dick whispers. "Babe."

"... insane of you to just do something — yeah?" You mumble. "Sorry. We're having sex and I'm—"

"I find it endearing," He laughs, resuming the circles on your hip. "But I'm with you now. Not with Babs." He smiles. "You. I moved here to New York after becoming Blüdhaven's billionaire savior because of you. I didn't move anywhere for any of my exes, right?"

You avoid his gaze, swallowing out of guilt.

"Don't feel bad for doubting me." He smiles. "I understand why."

"I guess that makes two trust issues havers in this relationship." You frown playfully.

"Well," He hums, standing up, switching positions to place you underneath him. "If you don't mind."

"God. I think I should get fucked silly. I hate my brain."

"Then what'll happen to all of my outfits?"

"Just find someone else." You grumble, kicking your legs over him. "I'm sure you can handle it."

"Really?" He thrusts into you sharply, causing you to gasp. "Really."

"Dick Grayson, just get on with it." You grumble.

You wonder sometimes where he had all the energy to patrol, work, and fuck you, but you suppose stamina training might've been part of the curriculum with Batman. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he pounds into you, mess of slick and cum following Dick's cock as he slides in and out of you, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Dick pants into your ears, head spinning, drunk on the lust as he continues, fingers flying to your clit frantically, desperate to get you off. You're drunk off the same lust, hands moving to pull his lips to yours, mouth open and drool all over you two's chins.

It's messy.

You gasp and curl as you get closer, heels digging into the back of his thigh to try and have him deeper, his name slipping past your lips like a mantra, your mind melting into mush over him. Dick mumbles under his breath, marveling at how pretty you look with drool slipping down your chin and clouded eyes. You're gorgeous when you're reduced to a mess that can only gasp his name and pull at his hair. Crying lightly, you whimper about how you were close, spurring Dick to move impossibly faster. You cum with a clench of your walls and a cry caught in your throat, and Dick joins you, hips stuttering as he spills into you with a whimper.

Dick pulls out and collapses on top of you, a soft 'oof' slipping past your lips as he does.

"So... Gotham?"

"Give me two business days to recover from you."

"Yes babe."

The flight to the Wayne Manor is a little strange to you. You keep your apartment, and Dick ends his lease. You're told you get to fly back and forth whenever necessary, and you wonder if staying at the Wayne Manor and publicly getting involved with Dick was a great idea. Yet, you don't really care. You like sketching suit designs for the family in the Batcave. You also like going through the mess of Batman's closet and looking through every single design he has ever sported. Some of them were atrocious.

You turn to stare at the person enterring the Batcave.

"Pretty girl."

"Hey." You hum, leaning back to look at Dick.

"Drawing again?"

"I got bored and ended up here looking for inspiration."

"I figured." He sits next to you on the ground. "What are you drawing?"

"I was redrawing your original outfit as Nightwing," You smile. "The disco suit that you said reminded you of your parents."

"Does it look better now?"

"Slightly?" You raise a brow at the drawing. "There could be improvements."

"Like?"

"It's too flashy," You giggle. "I like my latter design better."

"What about the red one you hid in the back of the papers?"

"Oh, god, I'm embarassed about that one." You mumble. "But you did look good in it. Didn't it help you pull? I'm sure a good chunk of people were staring at your ass."

"You bet they were." He hums. "Didn't you like staring at me in it too?"

"Yeah. Your cape as Robin got in the way too often." You deadpan. "It had to be out there."

"It looked better out."

"Definitely."

"Do you want anything to eat or drink? Alfred's upstairs preparing dinner."

"Just call me when he's ready."

You sigh as Dick presses a kiss to your cheek.

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you."

"Love you too."

[fleshwerks]

Ugh, there's no end to it. Sorry, followers. ADHD hyperfixation says, and it won't stop until it's late at night and I'm crawling into bed, brain-tired, asking myself 'what the hell was the point of all that, Mari?' This time, we set our iron sights on Rook.

Relying on my reblogged post about pope Leliana, here's another problem. I think they kind of wanted another Hawke, but also wanted a blank slate. The Inquisitor received shrapnel for being 'bland', but you could still pretty effectively roleplay personality onto them with with the admittedly meagre dialogue options. The problem with Rook is that thy're ne ryba ne myaso. They're not a stand-alone character with existing personality + a lot of intense player-induced flavour. But they're not a complete blank slate with some vague history that leaves a lot up to the headcanon, either. Rook's just three flavours of friendly: nice-polite, nice-jokey, nice-stern. Rook is just... nice. Not burdened heavily by past connections of family and personal experiences, but not a complete blank slate like the Inquisitor, either. You can't really project onto Rook because there's just enough there for them to be a character separate from what you've largely personally created, but they're not interesting enough as a separate person for you to mould them to your vision. Some argue that the 'asshole option' and wanting it to be there just means that you, the player are an asshole and you want to be an asshole, and that means you're a bad person. But how about when you want your Rook to be nice, but have a breaking point? Where Rook's patience runs out and they just fucking snap? , but not too stern. It'd be nice to have an option to do that. And from what I gather from what I saw, the option simply isn't there for the most part.

Rook is built to be accommodating. Sacrificing existing personality and player-made personality for the sake of catering to solving the problems your companions.

It's a roleplaying game in name only. And you can do that thing well. Pathologic 2 does it well, it has a lot of flavour, though it doesn't affect the outcome. But the flavour matters. You can have a very distinct personality without it causing problems for the writers who have a certain story and outcome in mind. It starts to come across like Bioware's writers were either hamstrung by an inexperienced lead and/or financiers, or it's a crew comprised entirely of inexperienced people who don't know how to do good game writing, or the problem is someone who is experienced, but has a strong but incompetent vision, and is simply not willing to compromise. Still, one has to wonder what the brief by the investors was. Because right now it sounds like the brief was: "Offend no one. We need to cast a wide net and make some fucking moneeeey."

Looks like the fans are once more saddled with having to make their headcanon entirely from scratch, but this time with no support whatsoever from the in-game dialogue wheel. Which... honestly? It's my jam, when I'm not playing. But when I'm playing, I want to either play someone with established personality, or a total blank slate with plenty of room to build character in-game and support my headcanon that way. Not someone who's completely shackled somewhere in the middle, too afraid of saying anything wrong and thus reducing themselves to a single trait: "nice."

Where's Vivienne rearranging your castle furniture just to provoke you because she thinks you're a troglodyte who doesn't know their arsehole from their mouth based on your increasingly hostile interactions (if you go down that path. Her positive path is very rewarding).

Disclaimer: I could get the game and sit with Rook for several playthroughs, but I said it before and I say it again: a good game gives you most everything on the first playthrough. A poor game relies on subsequent playthroughs and a shitton of legwork by the player's own imagination to wring meaning out of this cold piece of smooth and featureless rock.

[barcaavengers]

Relaxing || Neymar Jr. Imagine || Smut

Note: I am baaaack! The World Cup brought back my Neymar muse and apparently my writing muse. Let's see how long this lasts. This was supposed to end up with his injury but it ended up in smut so....I hope you enjoy it! I'm still rusty since this is the first Imagine I write since...maybe a year or so ago so I apologize in advance.

Tags: Mostly the people that liked my post about this...

@naishaaaaa @champagne-priincess @chrisjevanss @superghostcolorjudge @ilov3sluts @alien-han @hannahzmllr @sofia-123s-things @nobunagas-chatelaine @neffade (some people I was unable to tag for some reason?)

Warning: No plot. Just filthy, horrible smut.

"Get that off your mouth" you scold like a mother to her little kid for chewing on everything. 

"Hm?" But he doesn't look at you. 

"Stop" you tug on his necklace and he spits it out. "Doesn't it taste weird?"

"No…" he is looking at the TV and starts fidgeting with the blanket. 

"Hey," you call and he finally looks at you, "Talk to me."

"Just anxious…" he says with a shrug. He has been watching the replays of some of the games. The closer it got to his games in the World Cup, the more you felt him tense. 

He was still him. Happy, funny, charismatic, but you could see more ahead and notice his little ticks, like chewing on his necklace. 

You place your phone on the night stand and turn to him, reaching for his hand. "Relax, okay? You got this. Your team does." You kiss the inside of his hand and he smiles softly. "Don't throw the world over your shoulder, okay?"

"The fans are expecting so much, and look how things have gone so far…"

"Doesn't mean it would go the same for you guys" you point out. "Yeah, you don't have your bunch of old teammates but the ones you have are doing very well. That's what you told me. You are not the only player." 

"I know…" he runs his hand through his face and the other one tightens around yours. "I'm confident we can win, just not how they expect."

"If you can win, that's what matters" he smiles and tugs your hand so he is now side hovering on top of you making you giggle. "Just relax, baby. Stop watching those replays. They are tensing you" you squeeze his shoulder before running your hand through his hair. "No World Cup hairstyle planned at the last minute?" You tease, just to change the subject. 

"Nah. I think I am old for that."

"Ney, you are thirty" you glare at him. 

"Adult thirty."

"You are still a kid" you hit his shoulder playfully, and he acts hurt. "What? Did I hurt your muscle? Need some pain relief after that?" You joke. 

"Shut up" he playfully struggles to get on top of you, his hands reaching for yours as you try to push him off, but obviously you didn't want to. "Who is thirty now, hm?" He says while you keep squirming under him before he pins them above your head. 

"Youuuu" you drew out and his eyes squint as he laughs. 

God you loved to see him smile and relax. You'd do anything to keep it permanent. 

"Hey" he calls after you two stop playing around. "I need to go soon." He brushes his nose against yours. 

Oh yes. Somehow he managed to sneak out of the team's hotel to stay at yours. 

"I know" you sigh and your bodies relax against one another. He shifts his weight so he is now resting his head on your chest and your arms go around him. "Remind me again how you will sneak back in?"

"Secret" he mutters as he snuggles. 

"Mhm" you hum and run your fingers through his hair. "I love you, Ney" you mutter, "Whatever happens…I'll be here" you assure him. You knew his little insecurity of not being good enough for someone to stay with him through everything. You wanted to assure him that you'd always be there. And he secretly loved it when you blurted it out of the blue. 

"Thank you, princess" you feel him smile and he shifts his weight and kisses the exposed skin of your chest. You were wearing a simple sleepwear dress with spaghetti straps, so they would slip around every now and then so he took advantage of it. "I love you too" he looks up at you.  

"Wanna play some COD to distract yourself?"

"Nah, I'll wait for the glitches to go away on the next update" he shrugs and then he looks at you, hazel green eyes turning dark.

Oh no. 

"No" you say firmly. 

"What?!" He sounds offended. 

"I know that look Da Silva. Answer is no."

"What look?!" He pretends to hide it, but he is getting a cheeky grin. 

"You know!"

"I swear I'm not doing anything! Just loving on my girl!" He says, yet his lips press closer to the top of your breast. 

"No!"

"Okay, then, why not?"

"We can't…before the match."

"Myth" he says and shifts so he is now facing you from on top. "You don't have to do anything. Just-"

"You have to go or it will get late" you have to be strong or this one can convince you to do anything. 

"It would help me relax" he grins, you glare at him. "You know that actually helps me" he says in his defense. And then he does the eye thing….those beautiful hazel eyes just shining…

"Okay but that's it. Nothing else. I'm serious."

"I know" he grins, pushing himself on his forearms to reach your lips and kiss you.

The way his lips moved against yours so softly was something you'd never get tired of. His lips enclosing around your bottom lip, his tongue peaking teasingly as he smiled. He knew what he was doing. 

One of his hands moves to cup under your chin, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss and his tongue meets yours and, the habit he had, of pulling away a few inches and licking your lips. Weird, but for some reason you found it…hot. 

He moves to your neck, kissing down with a little nip in a few spaces making you squirm. His hand on your neck drops to your shoulders, his fingertips brushing your skin as he pulls the straps of your dress down your shoulder so his next move was comfortable. He pulls down the front of your dress and looks up at you, his eyes finding yours. 

He pulls the front lower until one of your breasts is exposed. His thumb brushes against your nipple, tugging at it to get its attention. You bite your lip and he smirks before leaning down. His tongue comes out to flick on it, once, then twice, then repeatedly. Your fingers move around his hair soothingly, eyes closing to enjoy the feeling of his wet tongue flickering over your nipple, his hand moving to grope gently on the other one making you hum in pleasure. You feel him stop and your eyes flutter open enough to see him licking his own lips, looking up at you and shifting his body to the side before taking your nipple between his lips again. 

Your head falls back at the sensation,  feeling his lips suck on your nipple as he gropes harder on your other breast making you moan. The view of him with messy hair, shirtless and sucking on your breast was just a sight for you. You swear you could cum right there and then. He pulls away from that one, giving it a flick with his tongue to move to the other one. He let's go of your breast and slides his hand to your thigh, slowly pulling up the end of your dress and sneaking his hand into your underwear. 

His finger is quick to find your wetness and he grunts against your breast. He covers his index finger in your wetness before moving it to your clit and you gasp when he touches it. "Ney…" you breathe out, tugging slightly on his hair. He continues to move it around, playing with your wetness that was now starting to move down your thigh. 

"Shhh" he whispers. "I got you" and with that his finger slips inside of you and your lips part. His finger moves around slowly, massaging your walls and pulling out to collect some more. "So wet for me, princess…" he hums and pulls his hand out of your panties and brings his finger to your lips which you part to taste yourself. "Shit…" he grunts as your tongue moves around his finger. "That's my girl…See how good you taste…" 

He pulls his finger out and slips it in your underwear again, this time using two fingers to collect your wetness, but not without teasing you. He presses against your bundle of nerves and starts rubbing on it rapidly, making your hips buck. "Oh….yes…" you gasp and arch your back. 

"Come on, baby. Let me have you…" he whines. "You are so wet…" he slips his finger out again and puts it in his mouth, moaning around his finger and you watch him as he savors you. "So good…" You can feel yourself getting wetter by just looking at him. 

You shift your position so you are facing him since he is on his side, reaching between your bodies to reach for his hard on that was already poking on your thigh. He pushes his shorts down, raising his hips and tugging on them. "We have to be quick…" you rush. As much as you wanted to enjoy him, he had to be at the hotel at a certain time and it was already close. You didn't want to get him in any trouble. 

He reaches around your waist and grabs onto your butt cheek, pulling you close to him. You reach for your dress, trying to take it off by almost sitting up but Neymar had other plans. He reached for your waist and pulled you on top of him. "Better? That way I don't use too much energy" he winks at you. 

"You are unbelievable" you smirk and lean down to kiss him. Your lips moving against his plump ones in a heated kiss. His hands reach for your butt, running his hands around it before pulling on the hem of the dress and bringing it slightly up so it was exposed. He bites onto your lip before giving you a slap on your rear making your eyes widen. "Really?"

"What? This?" He slaps your rear again and you hiss, your heat now rubbing against his hard on through your underwear. "You love it", another one and your teeth catch the corner of your lip. You don't say anything, just move your body to the right position so you can start moving your hips against his own. Your forehead rests against his as you raise your hips and bring them down, repeating the movement back and forth.

Neymar didn't seem to find what to do with his hands. They were roaming all over your body, touching every curve, gripping on your waist as you moved against him, helping you move exactly the way he wanted to so you wouldn't tease. "Princess…" the way his voice sounded so deep turned you on. He holds your waist with one hand to stop your moves, using his free to move your underwear to the side. You fix your posture to sit on him as he uses the hand on your waist to hold his cock up so you could sink down. 

You take him in slowly, inch by inch, savoring how good the friction was of him as he slid through your walls. Your eyes were closed, lips pressed together, one hand holding yourself up on his chest and the other one holding your hair back. A grunt leaves his lips once he is, and you both stay still for a moment. 

Neymar lets your dress drop and reaches for the hand on his chest, interlocking your fingers together and reaching for the other one, doing the same. Your hips start moving slowly forward, his hands steadying you as you do. His hazel green eyes looked at your body with lust as you moved on him. 

And damn did he look so good like this. His skinny arms extended out to you as he held your hands, his hips swiftly moving every now and then searching for that spot that he knew would make you reach your high faster. He just knew your body. 

And you knew his. You know how much he loves when you leave a trail of kisses starting from his neck down to the waistband of whatever he was wearing. His earlobe was a weak spot for him, even with his earrings, you'd bite and tug at it and he would let out a soft moan that would drive you crazy. 

You start bouncing on his lap. Every sit down echoing through the room, and it drove you to cloud nine when you closed your eyes and focused on it. He lets go of your hands and reaches for your hips, helping you move as you use your knees to push yourself up, throwing your head back as your boyfriend found the right spot. 

"Right there?" He asks and you can only nod your head, running a hand through your hair to push it back, the other one searching for the hem of your dress and once it does you pull it off, Neymar helping. Then in a matter of seconds, you are on your back, Neymar pushing deep into you and staying still as he moves to rest on his forearms. "Hey."

"Hi" you grin and he chuckles. He kisses your forehead, then the bridge of your nose before snapping his hips against you hard and you gasp. "Fuck…" 

"I know, baby" he mutters, his hand reaching for your hair and pulling at it harshly making your back arch as he starts setting the pace. Your legs were wide open to have him in between and the way he was positioned was making your joints burn a little, but it was a different kind of burn. The way he slid in and out of you due to your wetness was giving him all the green lights to thrust into you from any way he wanted. 

He sat up and pulled you closer by your legs so you were almost resting on his. He held onto them and started thrusting again making you moan louder in pleasure. Your body felt on fire as he did, no matter how hard he pulled at your hair when he thrusted. He knew you liked it anyway, and he never pulled hard enough that you couldn't handle.

One leg he moves to rest on his shoulder, he moves to hover over your other one before thrusting quickly into you, his eyes closing as he licked his lips. "Don't stop…" you pant as you start feeling yourself tighten around him and feeling that familiar throb. His hand reaches for one of your breasts, holding onto it as he continued his moves. Your back arches when he starts playing with your nipple, tugging and running his forefinger around it. 

Your own hands are holding on to the side of his thigh while the other one tugs at the bedsheet underneath you. "You close, baby?" Neymar asks between breaths and your head nods. He stops his moves and quickly changes positions, hand on your waist and he moves you so you are laying upside down, your knees moving under you before Neymar positions you. He could be bossy without saying anything, he would just handle you and place you however he wanted. 

Your boyfriend finds his rhythm again while you are trying your best to hold yourself up, and he was holding you by your hip, but his thrusts were too powerful, even making the bed squeak under you. They were turning erratic, his groans getting mixed with your moans as they got louder when he found your spot. He took advantage of it and repeatedly reached it, changing the angle for it. "Fuck!" You couldn't hold back the curses coming from you at this point. Your walls tighten around him, feeling his cock throbbing against them. He pushes you so you are laying down flat, you feel him lay on top of you as he keeps his movements. His tongue runs on your neck before biting at it and kissing it, then your earlobe where he whispers between pants how good you are taking him and that he was close with that tone filled with lust. 

A few more thrusts and your toes are curling when it is too much, knuckles turning white from holding tightly onto the sheets as you find your release with a cry of pleasure. One of his hands gives up and lands on top of yours, holding tightly on top of it as he gives you a final thrust and you feel his warmth inside of you, his moan going right into your ear. 

After a few seconds, he kisses under your ear and chuckles. "So much for not using too much energy, huh?" You tease as your face turns to the side. 

"You said we had to be quick, you were teasing" he kisses your cheek before raising himself from on top of you and sitting up, smacking your rear before rolling off. 

"I was not" you say defensively as you turn on your back and push your hair off your sweaty face. 

"Yeah yeah" he mocks as he holds his hands out for you. "Need help getting up?" He gives you a side smirk and you fill your eyes before taking his hands and he pulls you up, quickly bending down to pick you up. "I can't see you tomorrow" he says as he carries you to the bathroom. 

"Glad we got that clear" you nod your head. 

"Or maybe I could just-"

"No. No maybes" you say firmly.

"Fine" he puts you down in the shower before turning on the water, which came out as cold as the Arctic.

"Neymar!" You gasp and he just laughs before you take his hand and pull him to you. 

He is laughing and squirming, trying to get away from the cold water and reaching to change it but between your fits of laughter he couldn't. And that was enough for you to know that you have distracted him and that he was letting go of the tension, and you wish to keep it that way.