#i like to think they had a genuine friendship back then

[tinyfantasminha]

Thoughts on Jack's dream(MASSIVE main story spoilers ahead)

JACKS DREAM got me by the thROAT bc the more I analyze it the more angsty it feels and I alreadfy sobbed n cried and I must SCREAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMM He's dreaming of the magift tournament but basically if..... if Leona's plan never took place....... If Leona actually WERE the hero Jack has idolized...... 😭

First I gotta take note dosodkgkfdgjdfkghfdjk hOW JACK YEARNS FOR HIS SENPAI'S PRAISE AND AFFECTION 🥺🥺truly the epitome of loyal, puppy-like behavior..... It doesn't take much for him to be happy… He yearns for the respect and acknowledgement of those he admires. He craves respect and recognition, but not only that—he genuinely wants to see those he admires thrive.

Seems to me that what Jack longs for most is a sense of belonging within a pack. He’s not just devoted to those he holds in high regard; he also desires to be cared for in return (This becomes even more apparent when he asks Ruggie to act as a mentor or older-brother figure in his dorm uniform vignette.) Jack's actions reflect his innate wolf nature—a being built for connection, loyalty, and mutual protection. No matter how much he tells himself or others how he prefers to handle things on his own… We can clearly see that Jack is happier when he’s part of a team, fighting alongside companions who’ve got his back. It’s the dynamic balance of trust: to protect and be protected, to rely on others and let them rely on him in return. It deeply resonates with the essence of wolves.

We often hear the phrase “lone wolf,” an expression of grudging admiration. A lone wolf is often viewed as a rugged individualist, uncompromising and independent, driven to forge his own path, unfettered by the sentimental need for companionship. In reality, few people would ever want to live this way—and, as it turns out, few wolves would either. Wolves, males and females alike, may go through periods alone, but they’re not interested in lives of solitude. A lone wolf is a wolf that is searching, and what it seeks is another wolf. Everything in a wolf’s nature tells it to belong to something greater than itself: a pack. Like us, wolves form friendships and maintain lifelong bonds. They succeed by cooperating, and they struggle when they’re alone. Like us, wolves need one another. (source)

Which is why the factual reality cuts so deeply.

After Ortho wakes Jack up (in oUTER SPACE DKJGDSDKFJGKJS that was so adventitious but so cool.....) and Jack falls down like a meteorite (ALSO SUPER COOL BUT WTF.....) Fake!Leona and Fake!Ruggie rush to his side, Leona softly reassures him, saying it’s a relief he’s uninjured and advising him not to be so reckless while Ruggie says ''You're a promising rookie. Our treasure.'' (I started crying here.)

Jack breaks into a bitter, despairing laugh as the truth crashes down on him. The sincerity and warmth his “upperclassmen” showed in that moment? It wasn’t real. It never actually happened. Jack recounts his excitement when he first joined Savanaclaw, eager to fight alongside the dormmates he admired so much. He talks about how he had watched Leona’s play three years ago—over and over again, captivated by it. He reveals the painful truth of discovering their wicked plan, the frustration of being unable to snap them out of it, and the overwhelming helplessness that consumed him.

I gotta say, I'm SO HAPPY that Jack's feelings on the events of book 2 were finally properly addressed now (cause let's be real, book 2 uhh... did kinda a shitty job at this 💀 Neither the narrative nor the fandom really took the time to explore the emotional impact it had on him, which is such a disservice to his character.)

Think about it from Jack’s perspective. He was obsessed with Leona's play 3 years ago, watching it over and over again. In his eyes, Leona was a hero, someone worth idolizing to the point of projecting an idealized image of him: an earnest, hardworking, honorable leader. When Jack finally had the chance to join Savanaclaw and be part of the dorm he had admired so deeply, what was his reality? Ostracization, bullying and even physical violence from some of his dorm mates (as shown in Leona's dorm uniform vignette) And worst of all? Jack was met with his idol’s true, treacherous side—dirty tactics, underhanded schemes, and a willingness to harm others to achieve his goals. When Jack tried to confront them about it, he wasn’t met with understanding or respect. Instead, he was called a “filthy traitor” and a “spoiled brat”—by the very person he admired most. It’s a complete dismantling of everything Jack believed in, everything he worked for.

It's a shame the game and manga did not give enough weight to Jack’s feelings, (the novel seems to do a better job at it though) but now it’s clear just how much this hurt him. It wasn’t just a setback; it was a deep, personal betrayal that shook him to his core.

He’s only a first-year. Beneath his gruff demeanor and physical strength, Jack is still a boy—pure-hearted, earnest, and full of hope. All he wanted was to stand beside those he respected most but what he got instead was disappointment, betrayal, and rejection. To idolize someone so deeply, only to have that image crushed in the most personal, gut-wrenching way........ Savanaclaw doesn't deserve him 💔

.

,,,,okay forgive me to break the essay to talk about this but I'm going insane over the fact fake Ruggie ominously coos, ''Hey puppy-chan you're a good boy so come here.....'' UGHGHHHDSHNGDSHNDGSHHHnnnnhhHHHH HE IS BASICALLY SAVANACLAW'S UNOFFICIAL MASCOT,,,,,,, their loyal little puppy 🥺🥺🥺😭😭

fake ruggie and fake leona try to lure him in to sleep again, but Jack says he has no intention of fighting alongside fakes and defeats them 😌

And we get this utterly precious moment where Jack praises Yuu and Grim for having guts and persevering through everything and he PETS GRIM'S HEAD............ HE DIDN'T NEED TO COMFORT THEM BUT AWWAAHBBBAYYAWYWYHAWWABYWAWAYAA

I can't wait to see what role he'll play in Leona's dream 😌 Jack’s arc feels like it’s finally getting the weight it deserves… 🙏🙏🙏

[runraerun]

Heard a random 90s rock song & it legit got me thinking about Steve & Billy meeting again in their twenties... Like what if s3 never happened? After the fight at the Byers, Billy kept his head down & avoided Steve? I see him as being consumed by a sense of guilt/shame & yet still not being able to apologise until, that is, the day of their graduation when he's suddenly overcome with a need to just get it off his chest. He's been crushing on this guy since he got to Hawkins & he blew whatever chance he had of even just a friendship with him, but it doesn't matter now cos he's getting out of this shithole as quickly as possible, but he can't have this guilt gnawing at him any longer...So maybe he deliberately makes sure he bumps into steve at some point and mutters out a: "Harrington. We need to talk." And sucking on a cigarette like his life depends on it, hands shaking, barely making eye contact, Billy gives the world's shittiest apology. And it feels like his heart's gonna beat out of his chest & Steve's just standing there, staring at him, an unreadable expression on his face, before saying something like: "yeah, man. I'm sorry for that night too." (In my mind either Max let drop something about Billy's homelife or Steve has deduced something's not right). Anyway. Billy finally feels like he's able to breathe again for the first time in months UNTIL steve unknowingly utters the world's most devastating sentence: "I think we could've been friends if, y'know, shit hadn't gone down the way it did...oh well." And steve gives a sort of little grin and a laugh as if what he said wasn't a major deal. "Heard you're headed back to California?" Steve asks, and Billy's barely able to nod, still struck dumb by Steve's previous offhand comment. And maybe someone calls Steve's name and suddenly that's it. The moment is broken & Steve's leaving with a "Guess I'll see you around, Hargrove... or not" and a goofy little salute. And Billy thought he'd feel better. But in fact he feels worse. Because holy shit. Steve just said they could have been friends. And that's gonna haunt him for years....

Cue a few years later and they run into each other in Chicago (listen, the idea of Billy returning to California only to realise it no longer feels like home and maybe it never did consumes me), but yeah. They bump into each other accidentally and holy shit. Steve Harrington. He looks almost exactly the same. Other than the fact he's grown out the mullet and holy shit, are those highlights in his hair??? And billy's stunned by what looks like a genuine grin of delight that crosses Steve's face once he recognises who he's walked into. And maybe they chat for a little while; Billy doesn't even know what he's saying he's so in shock at meeting his highschool crush again. But just like the last time someone calls steve's name and of course steve has a girlfriend, of course he does (joke's on billy, cos it's just robin) and suddenly the moment's broken again and steve's walking away with a casual "it was good to see you again, billy" and billy is gripped with the thought that he can't let steve slip through his fingers again. how many people get a second chance like this? he can feel his old highschool crush flickering back to life where it's buried deep in his chest and maybe steve will never like billy like that but holy shit. billy still remembers the day steve said that maybe they could have been friends if things had been different and things are different now so why not take a chance??? and billy has never felt so brave or so fucking scared in his life as he does when he steps forward and calls after steve: "Hey Harrington! Wanna meet up and catch up properly some time?" and Steve's attention is back on him and goddamn. Billy didn't even realise how much he missed those eyes until now. ANyway!! This got away from me!! But 90s Harringrove pls and thank. Also the song i heard was lightning crashes by live. like the lyrics aren't even that appropriate but there's such a nostalgic feel to it.

oh my god. OH MY GOD.

Anon, this whole message has got me in a chokehold. Like, it’s such a direct hit. 🎯🎯🎯Billy choking on an apology because he’s so painfully unfamiliar with the very concept, the absolute devastation of hearing the potential of being friends with Steve was there, but he blew it, the PINING… urgh. How Steve can unknowingly fatally wound Billy just like that.

AND THEN THE HIGHLIGHTS ARE YOU JOKING?!

I hope that things get away from you many many more times, because this was incredible.

Okay okay. Now, if I may, I will now attempt to match your freak.

ahem

—

By some serendipitous fuckin’ miracle, Steve agrees to exchange digits with him. They couldn’t find a napkin or any other god forsaken scrap of paper to write on, so they just scribbled their numbers down onto each other's arm. Billy was so fucking on edge that when he was peering down at the pale expanse of Steve’s mole-speckled forearm he damn near forgot his own phone number. Jesus, he’s a wreck…

At least whenever it comes to Harrington, anyway. Dude has like, Billy’s own personal strain of kryptonite woven in through his DNA or some shit. It would explain why his hands always get clammy and his knees feel like they’re made of fucking jello every time Steve flashed those pearly whites his way.

Christ, Hargrove, get it together…

Billy had spent the rest of the week running a finger along the wobbly looking numbers, fading more and more every day. Before they fade completely through, he finally finds his balls and dials Steve’s number.

A girl picks up, which… well, Billy knows Steve has a girlfriend. He didn’t know they’re living together though… but whatever, it don’t change shit.

“Steve around?” He asks, clenching the receiver in his fist so tightly that he can hear the plastic creak.

“Who’s asking?” The girl says, sounding pleasant despite her words. Sandy-haired, freckles. Cute, Billy remembers. Harrington always did go for the cute ones.

“Billy,” he answers, “Billy Hargrove. He’ll know who I am.”

“Oh, Billy,” The girl’s voice draws out his name like it’s an answer to a question that she’d been stuck on. “It’s about time you called.”

Which. That…

What the hell does that mean?

While Billy’s puzzling it out, she hears the girl holler for Steve, telling him Billy is on the line. His name is said with a weird amount of familiarity.

Billy switches ears and shakes out the stiffness in his hand. Focuses on breathing evenly instead of the steady flow of questions suddenly piling up in his head.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice, clear as a bell, asks from the other line.

Billy clears his throat, “hey, man.”

“Hey. I was just about to call you.” Steve says, doing that thing where he so casually drops bombs onto Billy’s world, leveling his cities with a passing word.

“Beat you to it.” Billy grins, and hears the little huff of a laugh on the other line.

“Always so competitive,” Steve teases, and Billy can just hear the smile. It makes his chest ache. It’s the sweet kind of ache, though. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s not winning that matters, it’s taking part?”

Billy shakes his head even though Steve can’t see him and sneers, “sounds like some shit losers say to each other.”

That gets a genuine laugh from Steve, all breathy and sharp, and Billy feels himself laughing along from the sheer thrill of getting Steve going.

“Jesus, I forgot how much of an asshole you are.” Steve sighs, but there’s no heat behind it. Just shit talk. It’s fine. What guys do.

“Yeah yeah. Can’t change my spots, or whatever.” Billy mumbles as he scuffs his boot along the floor. Fucking antsy. Jonesing for a cigarette. Just get on with it you piece of shit. He takes a breath and then takes the plunge. “So listen, we should hang out this weekend. I know a few good bars where we could catch up. Maybe get into some trouble.”

Steve makes a scoffing sound, “what kind of trouble are we talking here, Hargrove?”

His heart jackrabbits in his chest. He loves this part. Billy brings the receiver just a little closer to his lips. “The fun kind, Harrington.” He murmurs, voice pitched low.

There’s a brief, unbearably tense couple of seconds where Steve doesn’t speak. He just lets Billy dangle like a hooked fish. Static from the line. He doesn’t breathe. Then.

“Friday at 8?” Steve tosses the offer out, real casual-like. And with it, Billy feels the muscles around his neck and shoulders relax, like he got shot with a tranquilizer dart. Steve continues, “You wanna meet at the same coffee shop from before? I live in the apartment building just across the street from it.”

Fancy, Billy thinks. Of fuckin’ course. All the buildings on that block are the high end kind; with door men and balconies and working elevators. Billy only ever finds himself in that leg of the city when a pipe bursts or a sink gets clogged and Billy gets called in to fix it. Of course Steve’s living in the lap of luxury here in Chicago. Mommy and Daddy’s only child. Not that it’s his fault, Billy supposed. Some people are just born luckier than others.

“Sure, rich boy,” Billy grins, “bring your appetite though, I’m buying nachos.”

Steve heartily agrees. Because obviously. Who the hell could say no to that? Rich or poor, nachos are nachos.

It ain’t a date. It ain’t. It’s just two guys hanging out, y’know, catching up. For old times sake. Getting into some trouble, like Billy said. It ain’t date.

So what if he calls and asks Heather to pre-approve his outfit when everything he owns suddenly looks stupid on him? And who cares that he dabs double the amount of cologne onto his chest and triple down his pants—Billy likes to smell good, it ain’t a big deal. He wears a silver chain around his neck, the one that matches his earring, and undoes a few more buttons than usual to show it off. It’s cold this time of year but he figures they’ll be inside for most of the night anyway. Drinking, shooting pool, tossing darts. Shit like that.

Billy chain smokes as he waits outside of the coffee shop, sucking back one cigarette after the other, trying not to think about how he’s about to see Steve fucking Harrington again; the one who got away. Or, one one Billy never even fucking had a chance with in the first place, more like. He keeps wondering if he’s making a mistake. If he should just go home, forget he ever ran into that long legged, poofy haired, Bambi-eyed—

But then Steve’s there, handing Billy some froo-froo drink from inside (somehow they’d missed each other???) before he starts giving Billy a hard time for still not having a proper winter coat. Steve’s got highlights in his hair and eyeliner on his lower lashline and a spot of foam from his drink on the tip of his nose and Jesus fuck.

Billy’s in trouble.

[chasedeys]

https://www.tumblr.com/chasedeys/767908190114447360/httpswwwtumblrcomchasedeys767907676016476160

Jesus Christ he pulled up on Joe ???! I need this devotion

he did 😔😔🤚🤚🤚

the Lakers Date in gifset form and in video form like look at joe staring at ja'marr like that and giggling and shit oh my god joe ja'marr is sure as hell funnier than you but really? ja'marr putting his arms around joe which is just. yeah. look at that little scratch and then actually reaching his arms out and then just saying something short and random 😭 you know. casual. and joe barely reacting to it ok whatever. oh and also there's this hilarious twitter thread in reaction to it lmao.

this is the wowing backstory (everyone say thank you to carmen's big brain!!) to the date and kind of why this felt like a psychological attack beyond the implication that this was A Basketball Date. basically ja'marr flew his ass to arizona for joe because the man was having the shittiest week and was sooooo weirdly messy about it because he posted a vague blurry ass insta story of his location and then deleted it (?????) god what is wrong with him. like the photo was obviously a quick little snap of him in a car with just a location posted in the middle of the night like it didn't matter what the pic was only the location and was posted the minute he arrived (?) like he was announcing where he was for a very specific reason and then deleted it like it served its purpose and he didn't need it anymore. (is that not basic teenager in love 101........)

on joe being miserable -> like joe went to a club and flipped people off and i think one of the events he had was the signing with obj and kd (beloved kevin durant <3 but its sooo random why the fuck was kd there im so confused as to what this event was) and joe's expressions throughout all the videos and photos were either flat as fuck or straight up not-enjoying-shit. the next time he gets snapped in public it's with ja'marr on a basketball court with matching outfits finally smiling and laughing right and doing silly shit like clapping all up against ja'marr's face like a besotted dork......mind you he clapped because ja'marr was on camera probably getting introduced to the stadium so everyone could technically see it so it was like he was teasing the ever living shit out of ja'marr who was trying to be all cool throwing peace signs only to get stunted on by his embarrassing ass man who just wouldn't let him live jesus i'm sorry but i'm genuinely wondering why he clapped that way. look at his impish little smile joe oh my god stop.

but he was really finally acting all goofy and silly and smiling and laughing genuinely when ja'marr showed up and yapped at him!!!!!!! insane. shining example of devotion and codependency tbh.

some Speculation! which i love to do unfortunately for everyone around me:

this was planned from the start way before joe went through apparent hell or something. they bought the tickets way back with dj and sam and this was like the only thing joe looked forward to which is why he was finally smiling and laughing and actually managed to get through the week.

from that event they had together kd gave tickets to obj (pretty sure he was also there but like on the opposite side of the court?? idk) and joe and joe requested/bought more tickets and invited ja'marr and sam and dj because he was in heavy need of Friendship Love Moral Support from his guys. yeah.

(the favorite. the full of love theory) ja'marr found out joe was Going Through It (from joe himself? from obj? from his manager? the internet? other friends? who knows) and flew his ass to arizona having bought the plane ticket within minutes of ending the call/text regarding the joe situation. knew joe needed some refreshing/healing so he searched up what arizona had going on for them that week or he was planning on watching the game from his home anyway idk and immediately bought court-side tickets for the game. invited dj and sam so joe would be surrounded by more close friends who he would feel comforted by. arrived in phoenix in the middle of the night, snapped a quick photo for ig announcing where he was, joe saw it and sent ???????? in reply, ja'marr then deletes the ig story bc he doesn't want anyone else asking shit too, and finally crashed joe's pity party and has him smiling within minutes. am i crazy. yes. am i free. also yes.

THE CLOTHES THING they're literally wearing yellow and purple -> lakers and coincidentally lsu's colors!!! technically suns' too i think. did they plan on matching or did they each plan on wearing lakers colors in the first place (these divas...) and just had that one-brain-ism thing they got going on. ja'marr was sooooo pretty btw 😭😭 his faceeeee the dimple the hairrrr i miss his cornrows he looks sooo good in bright mustard yellow toooooo somebody save me from myself.

OH and dj reader and sam were there too okay 😭 like they weren't there alone. that la lunch date was like this lakers date 2.0 bc they weren't alone damn it but it weirdly seems that way 😭 when you're in love etc. or maybe because they just weren't mentioned as much as these two :( but I'm really pleased that joe could smile surrounded by his teammates <3 joy etc.

okay bye 😭

[dreamersworldduh]

UNSPOKEN TRUTHS

• Dick Grayson x Male!Reader

SUMMARY — you and Dick Grayson go way back but it’s been so years since you two last spoke. So what happens when you two reconnect in the oddest way possible.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 7.8k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! firstly, THANK YOU all for the love and support for Sunday Mornings. Now, this is a long one and I may have gotten a little carried away but nevertheless I hope you all enjoy!

Dick Grayson.

There's an undeniable magnetism about Dick Grayson—an aura that makes it impossible to stay away from him, even when every instinct tells you that you should. He embodies everything that simultaneously irritates and captivates you. He's infuriatingly charming, effortlessly sociable, and devastatingly handsome. Add to that his cocky attitude and penchant for being the ultimate goofball, and you're left with a contradiction wrapped in an irresistible package.

You've known him since your very first year at Hudson University, where fate (or maybe bad luck?) had you both enrolled in the same criminology class. While you were focused on minding your own business, diligently taking notes and keeping your head down, Dick Grayson had other plans. He was the kind of guy who seemed to thrive on interaction, and apparently, you had caught his attention.

It started innocently enough. You were hunched over your notebook, furiously scribbling details from the professor's lecture, utterly engrossed. That's when Dick made his move. Leaning over with that trademark mischievous grin, he decided your focus was far too serious for his liking.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low enough not to draw the professor's wrath but loud enough to break through your concentration.

You tried to ignore him, hoping he'd get bored and leave you alone. But this was Dick Grayson, and persistence was practically his middle name. He didn't just want your attention—he demanded it. Whether it was tapping on your notebook, cracking an unnecessary joke, or asking a deliberately ridiculous question about the lecture material, he seemed determined to throw you off your game.

At first, you hated him for it. Who did this guy think he was, barging into your quiet world of focus and discipline with his infuriating grin and boyish charm? But over time, something shifted. Maybe it was the way he made you laugh when you least expected it, or the fact that underneath all the cockiness, he was genuinely kind and intelligent.

Dick Grayson wasn't just a distraction; he was a force of nature. And whether you liked it or not, he had a way of turning your world upside down.

Your friendship with Dick began as a slow bloom, nurtured by shared classes, late-night study sessions, and moments of unexpected laughter. What started as a simple camaraderie between classmates grew into an unshakable bond that lasted all four years at Hudson University. The two of you were inseparable, each other's confidant, cheerleader, and partner in crime-solving, so to speak.

By the time graduation rolled around, everyone assumed that life would pull you in different directions. With the ink barely dry on your diplomas, it seemed logical that you'd both scatter to explore the opportunities your criminology degrees offered. And for a while, it seemed like that was how the story would end. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

You eventually landed a job in Blüdhaven as a small-time investigator, the kind of work that fit your personality like a glove. Observant to a fault and driven by a relentless curiosity, you thrived in the world of puzzles and mysteries. Unraveling clues, piecing together fragments of stories, and finding answers where others saw dead ends gave you an unshakable sense of fulfillment.

But being as observant as you were had its downsides. You were the kind of person who couldn't let things go, even when every rational instinct told you to back off. That's how you found yourself in your current predicament—a missing persons case that had taken a dark and dangerous turn.

It had started innocently enough, following breadcrumbs that no one else had noticed. But as you dug deeper, you realized the case was connected to a local gang, one that didn't appreciate your meddling. Unfortunately for you, they'd noticed your snooping long before you realized you were on their radar. By the time you put the pieces together, it was too late. They had you.

The gang's leader, a stereotypical brute with a barrel chest and a growling voice to match, stood over you, barking out threats. His speeches were a predictable blend of clichés: "You should've minded your own business!" and "You don't know who you're messing with!" It would've been almost funny if the situation weren't so dire.

Despite the danger, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. You'd managed to find the missing person, even if it had landed you in chains. And now, as the leader ranted, you sat there, tied to a chair in some dingy warehouse, mentally kicking yourself for not being more careful.

Then, something caught your eye.

Out of the corner of the dimly lit room, a movement stirred in the shadows. At first, you thought your mind was playing tricks on you. But then, you saw him—a figure dressed in sleek black and blue, moving with cat-like precision through the darkness. The gang leader, oblivious to the silent intruder, continued his tirade, but you couldn't tear your eyes away.

The man in the shadows was swift, almost inhumanly so. One by one, the gang members guarding the room were dispatched with precise, fluid motions. He was a blur of calculated power, blending perfectly into the gloom until he wanted to be seen. And then, he was there.

Nightwing.

You'd heard whispers of him before—Blüdhaven's vigilante protector, a myth to some, a menace to criminals. But seeing him in action was another thing entirely. His black and blue suit seemed to absorb the faint light in the room, his presence commanding yet effortless.

As chaos erupted in the warehouse, the gang leader spun around, barking orders to his panicking subordinates. You could only watch in awe—and maybe a little bit of relief—as Nightwing expertly dismantled your captors. You didn't know how or why he'd come for you, but in that moment, you didn't care. All you knew was that your life was in the hands of someone who clearly knew what he was doing.

The warehouse was a symphony of chaos. Nightwing moved like a shadow come to life, his every step deliberate and his strikes landing with unerring precision. You couldn't look away, transfixed by the fluidity of his movements. He wasn't just fighting—he was dismantling. Each thug fell with a grunt or a pained yell, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground. The air was thick with the sharp sounds of punches landing and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the cold cement floor.

The leader, who had loomed so intimidatingly just minutes ago, now looked like a lumbering fool. He charged at Nightwing with brute force, swinging a metal pipe with the confidence of someone who had never faced someone of this caliber before. Nightwing sidestepped with ease, his movements economical and almost effortless. In a flash, the vigilante grabbed the leader's arm, twisted it with a sharp motion, and sent the weapon flying. A quick roundhouse kick to the chest sent the man sprawling onto his back with a groan of defeat.

And then, as abruptly as it had begun, the fight was over.

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Nightwing straightened, his breathing steady despite the intense effort he'd just exerted. He surveyed the room, his sharp gaze ensuring no threats remained. The dim lighting cast a faint glow on his black-and-blue suit, accentuating the imposing figure he cut. You couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and awe, even as your pulse raced from the ordeal.

Finally, his focus shifted to you. His stride was purposeful, his boots barely making a sound as he crossed the distance. He crouched beside you, the sharp angles of his mask now just inches from your face. His hands, encased in black gloves, moved swiftly, slicing through the ropes that bound your wrists and ankles.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low but carrying a gentle concern that caught you off guard. His eyes—calm, steady, and searching—met yours briefly, and in that moment, the hostage trembling nearby seemed like an afterthought.

You swallowed hard, your voice shaky as you replied, "I'm fine. Thanks to you."

As he helped you to your feet, his hand lingered on your arm, steadying you. It was a small gesture, but it sent a jolt through you. Those eyes. Brown, warm, and so achingly familiar. You froze, your heart skipping a beat as realization struck.

"Dick?" you whispered, the name escaping your lips before you could stop yourself.

He stiffened, the subtle movement confirming what you already knew. His head turned slightly, his gaze flicking to the hostage, who was watching the exchange with wide, curious eyes. His silence said everything.

You bit your lip, realizing your mistake. Swallowing your questions, you forced yourself to focus. The hostage needed to be taken care of, and this wasn't the time or place for the confrontation brewing in your mind.

"Thank you," the hostage managed to stammer, their voice shaky. Nightwing gave them a curt nod, his usual confidence slipping back into place as he offered them a reassuring glance.

Moments later, the sound of sirens filled the air, the flashing red and blue lights of the approaching police cars spilling into the warehouse. Officers rushed in, taking the gang into custody and escorting the hostage to safety. Meanwhile, you stayed put, standing just outside the chaos as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from your system.

Nightwing lingered, his posture tense but his presence solid and unwavering. It was clear he was waiting—perhaps for the right moment, or perhaps for you.

"You're not leaving," you said, stepping closer to him with a sharpness in your tone that surprised even you. "Good. Because we need to talk."

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. Still, you caught the faintest hint of unease in his posture. He knew what was coming.

As the last of the police cars pulled away, leaving the two of you bathed in the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp, you finally allowed yourself to say what had been clawing at you.

"It is you," you said softly, the weight of the realization settling over you. "Dick Grayson."

Nightwing let out a soft, resigned sigh. Without a word, he reached up, his gloved fingers curling around the edges of his mask. In one smooth motion, he pulled it away, revealing the face you'd known for years.

The sight of him hit you like a wave. His dark hair was slightly tousled, damp with sweat, and those familiar brown eyes stared back at you with a mix of guilt and apprehension.

"Hi," he said, his voice quiet but steady, as if testing the waters.

You stared at him, struggling to untangle the mess of emotions inside you. Shock, anger, confusion, and something else—something softer—swirled in your chest. "You've been here," you said finally, your voice trembling. "In Blüdhaven. This whole time. And you didn't tell me?"

"It's not that simple," he replied, his tone gentle but laced with regret. "I wanted to. I just... couldn't."

You huffed, crossing your arms as you glared at him. "You're not getting out of this, Dick. We're talking about it. All of it."

A small, sheepish smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, he almost looked like the carefree friend you remembered from Hudson University. "Yeah," he said softly. "I figured as much."

The weight of the moment hung heavy between you, unspoken questions lingering in the air. There was so much to say, so much you needed to understand, but for now, the two of you simply stood there, the silence stretching like an unspoken promise.

Soon, the two of you arrived at Dick's apartment, the closest and most convenient place to regroup. The space was warm and inviting, a surprising contrast to the gritty chaos of the warehouse you'd just escaped. Dick excused himself to change out of his vigilante uniform, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and his belongings.

It wasn't long before your curiosity got the better of you. Old habits die hard, and you found yourself wandering the apartment, taking in the details. The first thing you noticed was how organized it was compared to his dorm back in college. Gone were the piles of laundry and cluttered desks; everything here had its place. The sleek, minimalist decor hinted at someone who valued function over flair, though the occasional personal touch softened the aesthetic.

There were pictures scattered around, mostly in simple frames. You stopped to study them, recognizing some of the faces from news articles and social media posts. These must be his siblings. During college, Dick had rarely talked about his family, offering only vague hints that he was adopted and that his adoptive father was extremely wealthy. Back then, the extent of his family's resources was evident in the way he casually splurged—never obnoxiously, but like the carefree college student who'd buy a round of shots for half the campus without a second thought.

Your gaze lingered on a particular photo, and your breath caught. It was a picture of you and Dick, taken during a Christmas party in your junior year. The two of you stood beneath a sprig of mistletoe, your face frozen in an exaggeratedly annoyed expression as he planted a kiss on your cheek. But you remembered that moment vividly. You remembered how fast your heart had raced, how flustered you'd felt, and how you'd struggled to keep your reaction under control. Out of all the pictures you'd taken together, you couldn't believe he'd kept this one.

The sound of his voice startled you from your thoughts.

"You know, this is exactly how you got yourself captured the first time," Dick said, his tone tinged with amusement.

You turned sharply, only to find him leaning casually against the doorframe. He was dressed in a navy blue tank top that revealed the lean, athletic build beneath, his arms toned from years of training. Loose-fitting gray joggers hung low on his hips, offering a distracting peek at his defined waistline. For a moment, your thoughts betrayed you, wandering where they shouldn't. You quickly shook the imagery from your mind and refocused, gesturing toward the picture in question.

"Why this picture?" you asked, pointing at the frame.

Dick stepped closer, glancing at the photo with a soft smile. "It's my favorite of us," he admitted, his voice light but honest.

Your chest tightened. You stared at him, studying the way his expression softened as he looked at the photo, as though it held a special place in his memory. You remembered that night clearly, but you'd never imagined it meant as much to him as it had to you.

"You don't even like Christmas," you teased, trying to deflect the sudden wave of emotion threatening to surface.

He shrugged, turning to you with a playful grin. "True. But I like you."

The simplicity of his statement made your heart skip a beat. He said it so casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, yet the weight of those words hung heavy in the air between you. You swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

"Dick..." you began, your voice faltering.

"Don't overthink it," he said, his grin fading into something softer. "I just... like having a reminder of how happy we were. That's all."

You looked back at the photo, the moment frozen in time, and then at him. For all the chaos that had led to this point, standing here with him now, it was hard to deny that something about this moment felt right.

The dining room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the adjacent kitchen. You leaned against the chair, arms crossed, watching as Dick moved to the table where a stack of papers sat in disarray. His movements were deliberate but lacked his usual confidence, as though he were stalling for time.

“So,” you began, your tone cutting through the silence, “I’m guessing things have been rough if you decided to change careers. Last we talked, you were dead set on becoming a cop. It was literally all you could talk about.”

You turned to face him fully, your words sharp but not without curiosity. Dick froze for a moment, his shoulders tensing before he turned his head slightly toward you.

“That’s still in the works,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with defensiveness.

“Yeah?” you shot back, arching an eyebrow as you pointed to the table. “You mean with those blank applications over there?”

Dick followed your gaze to the stack of untouched forms on the dining room table. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair as if that would somehow untangle the thoughts swirling in his head.

“You don’t understand, Y/N…” he started, but you weren’t about to let him finish.

“I may not be a crime-fighting vigilante in spandex,” you interrupted, stepping closer and folding your arms tightly across your chest, “but I do know you can’t keep putting your life on hold like this. Blüdhaven isn’t Gotham, Dick. You don’t have to be out there night and day. It’s not your responsibility to carry this city on your back.”

He turned to face you fully now, his jaw set. “I also run my own team, you know,” he pointed out, his tone firm but not without frustration.

“Okay, and?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “I’m thankful for what you did tonight—for me, for that hostage, for everyone you help. But come on, Dick. You can’t just live for this. You should have a life outside of your nighttime activities and team leadership. You deserve more than this relentless grind.”

His hands clenched briefly at his sides, and then he threw them up in exasperation. “I did!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with emotion. “I did have that life. Four years, Y/N. Four years of normalcy. School, friends… you.”

You blinked, his words hitting you like a freight train. He wasn’t done.

“I fell in love with you, for god’s sake,” he continued, his voice quieter but no less intense. “But I knew—deep down—I couldn’t hold onto that. I couldn’t keep living in a reality that wasn’t mine to have.”

For a moment, the air between you felt impossibly still. You stared at him, mouth slightly ajar, his words ricocheting in your mind.

“You… fell in love with me?” you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Dick looked at you, his expression vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. His usually confident demeanor was gone, replaced by something raw and honest.

“I never stopped,” he admitted quietly, his gaze unwavering.

The weight of his confession hung heavily in the air, but before Dick could react, reality struck you like a lightning bolt. Without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped him across the face.

The sharp sound echoed in the room, startling you both.

“You waited four years to tell me you’re in love with me?” you exclaimed, your voice a mix of frustration, disbelief, and something you couldn’t quite name.

Dick blinked in surprise, his cheek barely reddened from the slap. He raised a hand to rub at it, murmuring, “Ow.” Though you knew it hadn’t actually hurt him—your slap had been more for dramatic effect than anything else—it still made him flinch slightly.

“You know,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperated humor, “it took a lot of courage to admit this. I mean, at first, I wasn’t even sure what I was feeling. But the more I got to know you…” He paused, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “I was whipped. Everyone knew how protective I was of you.”

“Clearly not everyone,” you shot back, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

Dick tilted his head, his expression softening with that boyish charm that always seemed to disarm you. “That’s because you were always so oblivious to things,” he pointed out, a teasing edge in his tone.

“This isn’t about me,” you retorted, your frustration flaring again. “This is about you—about you waiting years to—”

Before you could finish, Dick’s hands moved with startling quickness, cupping your face as he leaned in, cutting you off completely. His lips crashed onto yours, silencing your protests in an instant.

Your first instinct was to resist, your mind screaming at you to stay angry, to push him away and demand answers. But the moment his lips moved against yours, warm and insistent, your anger began to dissolve like sugar in water. His touch was firm but not forceful, as though he was pouring every unspoken word, every pent-up feeling, into that kiss.

Damn him.

Your hands, which had been frozen in mid-air, slowly lowered to his chest, resting against the fabric of his tank top. You wanted to be mad, to hold onto your indignation, but instead, you found yourself leaning into him. His lips were soft yet commanding, and they melted away every ounce of tension in your body.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. His brown eyes, now so close, bore into yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. There was an undeniable hunger in them, a raw and unguarded lust, but beneath it was something deeper, something that spoke of years of unspoken feelings and restraint finally breaking free.

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with tension as he leaned in closer, his forehead still brushing against yours. His hands, which had been gently cupping your face, slid down to your jaw, his thumbs tracing soft, maddeningly slow circles on your skin.

“I want to make love to you so bad,” Dick whispered, his voice husky and low, the words trembling with emotion. “But I want to do this right.”

The warmth of his breath tickled your lips as he spoke, and the sheer vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. Yet the weight of those words, so raw and sensual, sent a jolt of arousal through you. You felt your body react instantly, your breath hitching as your dick tightened in response.

You had never heard anything like this from him before—such a delicate balance of sweetness and longing, spoken with the kind of confidence that sent heat pooling in your stomach. His voice wasn’t just sexual; it was reverent, like he was making a promise wrapped in desire.

Your hands rested against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tank top as you tried to steady yourself. The warmth of his body beneath your touch only heightened the tension, and you struggled to form a coherent thought, let alone words.

“Dick…” you finally managed, though it came out as little more than a breathless murmur.

His eyes never left yours, his gaze darkened with an intensity that made it clear just how much he wanted you—but he didn’t move, waiting for your response. Waiting for you to meet him halfway. And in that moment, the depth of his restraint only made you want him more.

“I want you to make love to me,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you met his gaze. The words hung in the air for a moment, electrifying the space between you.

Dick’s eyes darkened instantly, the flicker of hesitation replaced by raw desire and unrestrained passion. That was all he needed. In the blink of an eye, his lips were on yours, crashing against yours with a fury that made your knees weak.

The kiss was nothing like the soft, tentative one from earlier. This was urgent, consuming, as though he’d been holding back for far too long and couldn’t contain himself any longer. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The heat of his chest pressed against yours, and you could feel his heart pounding as wildly as your own.

You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours with an intensity that made you shiver. His fingers trailed up your back, one hand tangling in your hair while the other held your waist, anchoring you to him.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, sliding over the smooth, warm skin exposed by his tank top. You clutched at him, your fingers curling into the fabric as you felt his muscles flex beneath your touch. He kissed you like a man starved, like he’d been waiting for this moment for years, pouring every ounce of his suppressed longing into it.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and swollen from the sheer intensity. His forehead pressed against yours as he steadied himself, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and hoarse, though the look in his eyes made it clear how much he wanted you.

You nodded, your hands sliding down his chest to rest against his waist. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all he needed to hear before his lips were on yours again, this time softer but no less passionate, as if he wanted to savor every second of what was about to happen.

Dick’s lips moved from yours with deliberate, unhurried precision, trailing a path along your jawline before finding the sensitive skin of your neck. The contrast between his soft kisses and the occasional scrape of his teeth sent a shiver coursing down your spine.

When he finally found your sweet spot just below your ear, your breath hitched sharply, and a low, involuntary moan escaped your lips. The sound seemed to spur him on, his lips lingering as he alternated between gentle kisses and slow, teasing nibbles.

Your hands, which had been resting lightly against his waist, tightened instinctively. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his joggers, pulling him closer, needing to feel the heat radiating from his body. The firmness of his waist beneath your touch grounded you even as your head tilted back slightly, offering him more access.

He hummed against your skin, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through you. His arms wrapped around you more securely, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other pressed against the small of your back, holding you flush against him.

“God, you taste amazing,” he murmured against your neck, his voice low and rough. The combination of his words and his lips on your skin was overwhelming, igniting an firm erection in your dick that made it impossible to think of anything but him.

Your breathing grew heavier, your chest rising and falling against his as you surrendered completely to the sensations. Every press of his lips, every soft graze of his teeth, sent sparks of pleasure rippling through you, and you couldn’t help but cling to him even tighter.

“Dick,” you breathed, his name spilling from your lips in a way that was half plea, half encouragement. His response was a low, approving growl that made your knees go weak, but his strong arms kept you firmly in place.

Dick’s hands slid down your sides, lingering for a moment at your hips before they gripped your thighs firmly. In one fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. His strength, always impressive but now impossibly intimate, sent a shiver through you.

Your arms clung to his shoulders for balance as he held you close, your chest pressed against his. His lips captured yours again, and the kiss was slow but no less hungry, his steps steady as he carried you toward the darkly dim room down the hall.

Normally, your inquisitive nature would have taken over, and you’d have surveyed every inch of the space. But right now, your attention was consumed by him—by the heat of his body, the way his fingers flexed against your thighs, and the electric connection between you.

The faint glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on the walls as he entered the room. You barely registered the surroundings, focusing instead on the way his breathing had quickened, mirroring your own. He reached the bed, lowering you carefully to the floor with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

His hands lingered on your hips as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze burning with unspoken desire and reverence. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm against your skin as he lifted it over your head. He took his time, his eyes roaming over you like he was memorizing every detail.

Your breath hitched as he began to undress himself, his movements fluid and unhurried. His tank top came off first, revealing the toned lines of his chest and the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His joggers followed, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

Your hands moved instinctively to his waist, tugging at the waistband of his boxers, but he stopped you gently, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone.

His hands returned to you, sliding along your sides with deliberate slowness before slipping beneath the waistband of your own boxers, guiding them down. The intimacy of the moment made your pulse race, every inch of skin he revealed heightening the tension between you.

Now, with both of you standing there, bare except for the thin fabric separating you completely, the air felt charged, heavy with anticipation. Dick’s eyes locked onto yours, his expression a perfect blend of lust and something deeper, something that made your heart pound harder than ever before.

Dick’s hands wrapped around your dick with deliberate care, his grip firm yet gentle. The slow, teasing movements of his fingers as he stroked you sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. His eyes stayed locked on yours, their intensity leaving you breathless. He watched your every reaction, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile as soft moans began to spill from your lips.

The sound seemed to embolden him, as if each moan was a symphony only he could conduct. He leaned closer, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, making you shiver with anticipation. Before you could process what was happening, he guided you backward, gently pushing you onto the mattress.

The soft surface cradled you as you fell, the world around you blurring into insignificance. All that mattered was him—his touch, his gaze, his presence. Dick climbed onto the bed, settling himself between your legs with a confidence that made your pulse race.

His hands found your thighs, gripping them firmly but not aggressively as he spread your legs slightly wider. The warmth of his palms was grounding, his touch both possessive and reverent. His eyes never left yours, a silent question hanging in the air, one you answered with a slight nod and a quiet, shaky breath.

Leaning forward, he placed a featherlight kiss just below your navel before lowering himself further. The sensation of his tongue grazing your dick made your back arch slightly, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. He didn’t stop there—his tongue trailed down with slow, deliberate strokes before his lips closed around you completely.

The heat of his mouth was overwhelming, his movements skilled and calculated. He alternated between slow, torturous licks and firm, rhythmic suction, drawing louder moans from you with each passing second. The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure, mingling with his soft hums as he worked.

Just as you thought the sensations couldn’t intensify, you felt something new. His hand, which had been resting on your thigh, moved downward, his fingers tracing teasing circles near your hole. The first press of his fingertip was gentle, testing, and when he felt your body relax, he slid a single finger inside with the same care.

The combination of his mouth and the intrusion sent a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and your moans grew louder, higher, uncontrollable. Your hands instinctively reached for him, one tangling in his hair as the other clutched at the sheets beneath you.

“Dick,” you gasped, his name spilling from your lips like a plea.

He glanced up at you, his brown eyes dark with desire, a glint of satisfaction evident as he took in the sight of you unraveling beneath him. He added a slight curl to his finger, hitting a spot that made your entire body tremble. The way your voice broke with pleasure was like fuel to him, and he redoubled his efforts, his lips and fingers moving in perfect harmony to push you further toward the edge.

The only thing you could do was surrender to him completely, your mind and body consumed by the intensity of the sensations he was creating.

The sudden press of a second finger into your hole sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, a sharp moan escaping your lips at the unexpected intrusion. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly, your chest rising and falling as Dick’s fingers moved inside you with increasing speed. Each curl and thrust was precise, hitting spots that made your back arch off the mattress in ecstasy.

The heat pooling in your hole was overwhelming, your breath coming in short gasps as you struggled to keep up with the rhythm he was setting. Just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of control, his fingers stopped abruptly and slid out, leaving you gasping at the loss of contact.

“Why did you—” you began, your voice breathless and laced with confusion, but the words caught in your throat as your eyes traveled down to him.

Dick had shifted back slightly, his hands hooking into the waistband of his boxers. With deliberate slowness, he slid them down his hips, his eyes never leaving yours. As the fabric pooled at his knees, your gaze dropped, and your breath hitched at the sight before you.

His dick was fully revealed, and he was… well, impressively endowed. Huge as hell. The dim light of the room cast shadows that only emphasized his size and shape, and for a moment, you couldn’t tear your eyes away. The anticipation in the air was electric, and the confident smirk playing at the corners of his lips told you he noticed your reaction.

“You were saying?” he teased softly, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

Your mouth opened to reply, but no words came. Instead, your eyes flickered back up to meet his, and the hunger in his gaze made your stomach flip. He moved closer, his hands returning to your thighs, gently spreading them wider as he leaned over you, his bare skin brushing against yours. The weight of him above you, combined with the heat radiating from his body, sent your pulse racing again.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked, his voice a mix of tenderness and desire.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

His smile softened for a moment, a flicker of something deeper crossing his expression before he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an invitation.

Dick broke the kiss, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back slightly. His eyes stayed locked on yours, filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. Reaching over to his dresser, he grabbed a small bottle of lube, his movements deliberate but steady.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing a reassuring circle against your hip.

You nodded, your anticipation building as he popped the cap. The cool gel landed on your hole, and you squirmed at the sudden chill, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Dick chuckled lightly at your reaction, his hands smoothing over your thighs to steady you.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice soothing as he worked the lube gently around your hole. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant, his touch careful and precise.

Once he was satisfied, he coated himself in the gel, his large hands moving confidently as he spread it over his dick. The sight alone made your heart race, but before you could get lost in the thought, he tossed the bottle somewhere across the room with a soft thud, refocusing entirely on you.

His hands returned to your waist, gripping you firmly but gently as he positioned himself between your legs. The weight of his gaze anchored you, and you took a deep breath as you felt the head of his dick press against your hole.

“This might feel a little intense at first,” he warned, his voice husky but tender. “Let me know if you need me to stop.”

You nodded again, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you as he began to push forward slowly. The stretch was immediate, his size making you wince slightly as your body adjusted. Dick paused, his brows furrowed in concentration as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re doing amazing,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple before trailing down to your cheek.

He continued inching forward, his movements measured and deliberate, giving you time to adjust with each small push. By the time he was fully seated inside you, your breaths were coming in shallow gasps, but you could feel the tension in your body beginning to ease.

Dick stayed still for a moment, his forehead resting against yours. His hands moved up to cradle your face as he kissed you softly, his lips tender and warm. “You feel so damn good,” he murmured against your lips before trailing kisses down your jawline and neck.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his words laced with affection as he peppered your skin with soft touches. His hands stroked your sides gently, grounding you while his lips worked to soothe any lingering discomfort.

“You’re everything,” he added, his voice low and filled with emotion, as though each word was meant to make you feel as cherished as possible.

The warmth of his presence, the tenderness of his touch, and the sincerity in his words made it impossible not to relax completely. Your body adjusted to him, the initial discomfort fading into something far more intimate and fulfilling.

Dick’s thrusts began slow and deliberate, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm as he slid in and out of your hole. Each thrust was careful, as if he were gauging your every reaction, ensuring you were comfortable. The initial stretch had given way to a new sensation—fullness that sent sparks of pleasure radiating through you with every deliberate motion.

Your hands clutched at the sheets, your knuckles whitening as you let out a shaky moan. The heat building in your core only intensified as Dick’s strokes grew deeper, his pace gradually increasing. His hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to anchor you but not hurt. He adjusted his angle slightly, and the next thrust hit a spot that made your back arch off the mattress and a louder moan escape your lips.

“That’s it,” Dick murmured, his voice a deep, encouraging rasp that sent shivers through your body. “Let me hear you.”

Your moans grew more unrestrained as his movements became more confident, each stroke deeper and more precise than the last. His body pressed against yours, the heat of his skin adding to the growing intensity. The sound of your bodies moving together—his labored breathing, your gasps, the rhythmic creak of the mattress—filled the dimly lit room, creating an atmosphere of pure intimacy.

“Dick,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips as the pleasure built higher. His response was a low groan, his eyes locking onto yours as he leaned down to kiss you deeply. His lips were warm, insistent, and grounding, keeping you tethered to him even as your body felt like it might unravel from the sensations he was creating.

Every thrust felt like a wave crashing through you, each one pulling you further under, until all you could do was cling to him and let him take you where he wanted.

“Say it again,” Dick whispered in your ear, his voice low and full of need. His thrusts grew faster, deeper, his breath hot against your skin. “Say my name.”

“Dick,” you moaned, your voice breaking as another thrust sent a wave of pleasure surging through you. “Ugh, Dick—”

He growled softly at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you up from the bed. In one fluid motion, he shifted, sitting back on his knees with you straddling him. Your legs remained tightly wrapped around his waist, your bodies pressed together as his hands slid up your back, anchoring you against him.

You didn’t need any encouragement. Your body took over, moving instinctively as you began to rise and fall along his dick. Each motion sent him deeper inside you, filling you completely, and your moans grew louder, spilling into his ear with every movement.

The sensation was overwhelming—the stretch, the heat, the way his hands gripped your hips to guide you as you moved. But before another moan could escape, Dick silenced you with a kiss. His lips crashed into yours, passionate and demanding, his tongue sliding against yours as his hands roamed your back, pulling you even closer.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice raw with emotion and desire. “I love you so fucking much.”

Your breath hitched at his confession, your heart racing as you whimpered in response. “I love you too, Dick. I love you.”

The rhythm between you grew faster, more desperate, as your body tightened around him. The pleasure was building, an unstoppable crescendo that left you trembling in his arms. You buried your face in his neck, gasping out, “I’m close. Faster, baby. Please.”

His lips brushed your ear as he chuckled softly, his voice deep and intoxicating. “As you wish.”

With that, he tightened his grip on your hips and thrust upward with renewed intensity, meeting each of your movements with precision. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing and the steady slap of your bodies moving together. Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your nails digging into his shoulders as you held on for dear life.

Dick’s lips found yours again, his kisses feverish and consuming as he whispered words of love and encouragement between each kiss.

Your entire body tensed as the pleasure reached its peak, and you let out a cry of pure bliss, your climax washing over you in waves that left you breathless and shaking in his arms.

Dick’s thrusts didn’t falter for a moment. If anything, they became more relentless, each one deeper and more deliberate than the last. His breathing grew heavier, his body pressing firmly against yours as his rhythm quickened. The telltale tension in his muscles and the soft groans spilling from his lips signaled that he was nearing his own climax, but he didn’t let up.

His lips never left your skin, moving from your mouth to your neck and back again, as though grounding himself in the intimacy of the moment. Each kiss was full of raw passion, his lips trailing heat and leaving you breathless.

“You feel so good,” Dick murmured against your ear, his voice strained and low. “So perfect.”

The intensity of his thrusts made it impossible to form coherent words. Your body arched instinctively, your hands clutching at his back as he held you tightly against him. You could feel his grip on your hips tighten, his fingers digging in slightly as his movements became more erratic, more desperate.

“Y/N,” he groaned, your name rolling off his tongue in a deep, guttural tone that sent shivers through you.

A moment later, he buried himself to the hilt, his hips pressing flush against yours as he reached his breaking point. The warmth of his release filled you, a rush of heat that made you gasp. His head fell against your shoulder, his breath ragged as he rode out the waves of his climax, his body trembling slightly against yours.

Even then, his lips continued their tender assault, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder and up to your neck. His voice was a low whisper, almost inaudible over the sound of your labored breathing.

“If I wasn’t so tired, I’d hit you,” you breathed out, your voice heavy with exhaustion but tinged with playful annoyance.

Dick chuckled, his warm breath ghosting over your neck as he pressed a soft kiss to your skin. “Why?” he asked, his tone light and teasing. “What did I do this time?”

“You robbed me of four years of amazing sex,” you replied matter-of-factly, shooting him a tired glare that only made him laugh harder.

His laughter was rich and unrestrained, his chest vibrating against yours as he leaned back just enough to lift his head from your neck. His gaze locked onto yours, mischief dancing in his dark brown eyes. Without warning, he captured your lips in a kiss so passionate and full of promise that it left you breathless all over again.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was wicked, and his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Oh, baby, we’re just getting started,” he said, his hand sliding down your side possessively. “I hope you don’t have plans in the morning.”

You barely had time to process the meaning of his words before his lips were on you again, igniting another round of passion that carried you both well into the night.

By the time morning rolled around, the two of you were sprawled on the floor of his living room, completely spent. The apartment bore the evidence of your nocturnal escapades: furniture slightly askew, scattered pillows, and discarded clothes littering the space. The air was still faintly warm from the fire you’d burned through the night.

Dick’s strong arms were wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close as if afraid you might disappear. Your face was tucked into the crook of his neck, your breaths soft and even against his skin. His chin rested gently atop your head, and both of you wore blissful smiles as the sunlight began to filter through the curtains.

The world outside was quiet, but in that moment, everything felt perfectly complete. There, tangled together in the aftermath of your shared intimacy, you both slept peacefully, content in a way you hadn’t been in years.

[undercoverdonderwolk]

I have NO problem with people hating athletes etc. But holy shit do I have a problem with Max fans who think Max is a weak willed babie who NEEDS protection, and CAN'T possibly choose to like someone who DON'T fit their yaoi-fuck dream of Max's friend, i.e. Charles and Lando. I'd have much more respect for them if they just owned their shit - they want Max to fuck Lando and/or Charles, and Daniel doesn't fit their yaoi-fuck dreams.

Instead they bend backwards or just outright IGNORE reality. Deal with it, biatches. Max-STARING-AS-IF-HE-WANTS-TO-EAT-DR3-Verstappen love Daniel Ricciardo, who is too old, has a possible receding hairline, and whose sense of humour is at times obnoxious. You know why? Because these two are fucking freaks will always CHOOSE each other, and will ALWAYS become each other's centre of the universe when in physical proximity.

Speaking as someone who is a proud yaoi-fuck dreamist. But one that actually acknowledges reality.

lmaoooo honestly all i can say about this is sucks for them. like yeah it's all heehee ha ha ha pass the old man yaoi etc but genuinely actually for real the relationship between max and daniel is rare as hell in the sport and truly something special to be somewhat privy to but people are so busy trying to erase daniel so they can set max up with other people that they don't realize how truly lucky they are to be around for something that happens so rarely lmao like go off queen write your charles/max fan fic you're valid as hell for that but we genuinely won't be seeing anything like max and daniel for a long long long long long time and i'd fr end it all if i looked back at some point and realized what a gift they were to the sports friendship lovers community and i was too busy turning it something insidious to notice like hellooo it's giving passing on the choc fondue so you can angrily eat your banana smoothie like at some point ur gonna look back and curse yourself for not at least admiring the choc fondue for what it was because now you're standing there with your fuck ass smoothie wondering when a choc fondue will ever be an option again and realizing that there won't ever be another choc fondue you stupid slut you should've shut up and ate your choc fondue when it was there!!!! you could've had it all!!!!

[theriddleskeeponriddling]

Rambling : Riddler : Empathy And Riddler’s View On Relationships

I was speaking with my friend about how my Crowverse version of riddler handles friendships, empathy, disorders, ect. I really enjoyed voicing it there, and now I wish to voice it here so I can look to it for reference and whatever. Thank you @a-sxft-chaotic for helping me by psycho-analyzing my Riddler, Much love to you silly Crane2.0. This post may be updated tomorrow when it’s not late and I can think better. Suggestions to anything mentioned here are welcome

Edward has several disorders. Autism, maybe Ocd, Npd ect. He is already born with lower levels of empathy, but with added traumatic childhood experiences, it has only gotten worse. He rarely had any friends has a child. He was too honest. Blunt. And stood out for not expressing sadness or care like other kids. After elementary school, he never made any more friends.

E (Age 7): “Did you not see the sign?”

(A kid, at an indoor pool, sitting with family and crying from a bad knee scrape after running and slipping on a puddle)

L: “Eddie! Just go and ask if he is okay..”

E: “Why are you mad? I told him there was a no running sign. It’s a pool. I told him, so he can be more aware”

L: “I’m not mad, I understand that Eddie just- It’s his birthday I think he would appreciate people checking in on him.. Not telling him he should look for signs next time”

The first closest sort of friend he makes, is a girl named Destiny. A girl often bullied for being of color, and requiring a wheelchair. She is similar to Hannah in the ways of being very empathetic and supportive, traits that Edward finds foolish but admirable in a way. He doesn’t make much effort to be her friend, giving her schoolwork anytime she is away for surgeries; Lending her books that she sees Ed reading; and whatnot. Destiny views Edward as a close friend, and believes he is nice for his treatment to her and the several times that Edward ‘mysteriously’ got her bullies to back away. (blackmail) He slowly starts to get used to her, but the girl, so morally righteous, finds that Edward bought a laptop using money stolen from his father and tells Mr. Nashton, Unaware that Edward would receive a bad fracture to his leg the following night.. This is the first point in which Edward truly starts finding friendships as an inconvenience.

Riddler calls everyone ‘friend’ even after saying how much he despises every person in the Rogues Gallery. He jokes about not having friends, and always claims it as his biggest strength. He doesn’t have anyone to be used as blackmail, He doesn’t need to worry about anyone other than himself, he doesn’t need to worry about losing anyone.. It sounds easier to him. It is a mix of pushing people away, and being overly egotistical that causes Riddler to have no real friendships. Riddler grew up accidentally appearing rude and emotionless to everyone around him, So now he believes it himself. He believes he doesn’t care for anyone, and refuses to make any real connections or offering genuine kindness. His common response to being asked why he is how he is.. “I have always been like how I am today. I’ve always been the best, so why would I change?”

Jon: You think you are the best thing on this planet. That you’re better than everyone else. You say you are too good for relationships but really Edward, you are just a scared man. You want attention. You love it. But if you care for those giving it to you.. you back away. You don’t want the people you care for to leave you Ed. You are scared of being alone, but you think that because you are so much better than us all, you would rather choose to be alone, than have friends leave you just so that your fate is your own doing and not ours.. What? You think that’s some advantage? Choosing to not have friends? Because all I see, is you screwing yourself over the assumption that nobody could possibly care about you.

Riddler is rude for three reasons.

1) His autism prevents him from understanding why he should change his blunt and honest mannerisms, which appear as insults to anyone who is faced with them.

2) He thinks he is better than everyone else, and as such, his opinions matter more than anyone’s emotions. He has so much pride, that he refuses to change anything about himself for the benefit of others. He also sees that caring for others is a weakness. It means putting emotion over strategy and logic, and in his line of work, there is no room for such a risk. Edward believes that nobody should even like him. That he is so rude and emotionally absent that anyone who cares about him, is foolish and makes no sense.

3) He refuses to keep anyone he cares about close.. Caring for himself alone is easier, and if he thinks everyone will leave him in the end, why risk the relationship at all? He is already well disliked, but if he starts becoming fond of anyone, he starts pushing them away with more negativity in the hope that they will leave him now, instead of leaving him later when he is more attached. Choosing the lesser pain.

Riddler’s sisters, Hannah(2-) and Lydia(6+), are the only two he has consistently cared for. After leaving for Gotham at 18, he cuts ties with them, thinking to reconnect again only once he makes a name for himself.. But when the name happens to be for a well known costume criminal, he further refuses to speak with his sisters. He figures they are safer in their hometown, and it means that he doesn’t have to think or worry about them at all.. When he finds out his older sister Lydia moved to Gotham as an officer, Riddler can’t handle the concern that he has avoided, and begs her to leave so that he can forget about her more and so she isn’t at risk. If she is in danger, Edward knows he would risk himself to help, but because he loves himself so much, he hates the idea that he could ever consider sacrificing himself for anyone else..

This is the end of this Rambling session, for now. I do plan to change the little speech for Jon, I need to flesh his character out more, but other than that, this is pretty much all I have going for Edward.

Edit: This Riddler Is Asexual or Demisexual. That form of relationship hasn’t existed for him. Romance is being thought of story-wise, but hasn’t happened for him at any point before age 27

[ressioo]

can i ask for your thoughts about sunstone as a ship and their dynamic 🥺

Sorry for taking a while, words hard

God. Sunstone. Both in regular canon and SolarFlare they're absolute cringefails to me. The latter just hide it better. Gonna be talking about canon for the most part here

Under the cut because wall of text lmao

Honestly canon sunstone is pretty tragic? Its two flawed people making every single bad decision, and eventually losing eachother as a result. By the time they actually Think and realise what they both did wrong, its much too late to apologise and make things right

I think that if the circumstances were different they'd be able to have a really good, wholesome relationship

Maybe if Pebbles was less desperate to find the triple affirmative. Maybe if the situation before Moons collapse was less tense, if Suns contacted him earlier. If Suns had thought a little harder about the consequences of sending that gold pearl, if they were a little less weak for him, less indulgent. 

I suppose that hindsight is everything. They both regret what happened between them. Especially at the end there. 

Okay now for less depressing shit lmao

Their relationship was purely mentor/mentee for a little while and slowly turned into a very close friendship. They both enjoy art, poetry and music and share many views, which they bonded over. And while Suns might not share the same love for history that he has, they're more than willing to listen. And maybe go out of their way to find out new tidbits for him if they can

They never confess, i don't think. They both develop feelings, but Pebbles is too busy to pay much attention to it and Suns just doesn't quite have the nerve to do anything except hint at it. Though this Does end in them sending him a personalised ring via Spearmaster. Which. Is basically a marriage proposal. At least by Ancient standards.

Pebbles doesn't realise this, mostly because that is a tradition practiced purely by the People. And since he's not exactly aware or paying attention to his own feelings he doesn't clock it for what it is.

He does send them back a ring though. Basically treating it like exchanging friendship bracelets or something 💀 Suns about has a heart attack. From what they know he doesn't share their feelings, and they're too much of a coward to inform him about what the gesture meant, so. They end up unofficially officially married. And then unofficially divorced once the second pearl reaches him in Spearmaster's campaign

Pebbles finally gets his shit together sometime during Arti's campaign. She brings back a pearl about marriage traditions and it suddenly clicks for him. Not really the best time to find out, honestly. What with everything going on. Not even truly Finding Out, since he can't actually ask them if thats what the whole thing meant. 

They never speak again, and neither gets closure about it. They both keep their rings though.

-

Now a little bit about SolarFlare specifically because they actually get together and meet in person in that! Wont be able to say too much without brain getting on my case for revealing too much though lmao. SF sunstone are Extremely exaggerated in their everything, so obviously not saying canon compliant off the string would be quite like this 🙏

They dont become a thing until they've actually met in person, though the line between being close and being Close was blurred for a bit before this point

Pebbles is the one that says something first, and they become official after that

They're like,, really abnormal about eachother. Like its genuinely obsession for them. They be jealous and posessive and codependent as hell. Both of them. Its not healthy, but they are genuinely really happy with eachother. Kinda made for eachother in that way. They're eachother's favourite people and they Will make it other people's problem

End up marrying at some point (after having an actual conversation about it this time), and its both because they wanna show love and devotion but also because they're very about it being a way to claim eachother. And that being visible to others

I love them and their weird relationship

[ahmuseme]

He made a noncommittal sound, his expression betraying nothing, though Octavia wasn't wrong in the slightest. As both a Duke and a senior officer in His Majesty's Navy, he was accustomed to being the one who offered help—not the one who sought it. There were few he could turn to for assistance; when he did, it was usually for matters of the utmost importance. To ask for help for something as mundane as getting dressed seemed beneath him, a blow to his pride he couldn't easily accept. Yet his injury had left him with little choice. Anders could only bring himself to accept Edmure's assistance because of the trust they had built over years of military service. The former subordinate had proven himself, and their friendship allowed him to endure the humiliation. From what he had observed, Octavia seemed kind and sincere, and her offer was not born from pity but the thought of her helping him—no matter how genuinely intended—still unsettled him. Anders wasn't ready to trust her at his weakest, not yet.

"Not just in the evenings," he replied. "I take an injection every few hours—four to six times a day, depending on the pain. The physician used to be my primary caregiver, but with such a large staff, I couldn’t justify taking up so much of his time. Now, he focuses on managing my pain and monitoring my overall health, while Edmure has taken over as my primary caregiver, which is mostly overseeing the exercises that keep the atrophy at bay and picking up things off the floor for me."

The Duke listened quietly and once she finished, he regarded her with a soft, understanding gaze. "It’s not stupid to cry about it. Sometimes anger needs a release, and tears are just another way of letting go of what’s been bottled up. What he did to you, how he treated you—it’s not something you can just forget, but it'll become easier to look back on as time passes. You're stronger than he ever gave you credit for, and he’ll come to realize that. In the end, he’s the one who will look foolish. I’ll be sure to emphasize how well you handled our discourteous guest and established the boundaries as my future wife and duchess to my mother—I'm certain she's flustered by what she saw and hasn't yet taken the time to consider what actually transpired between you two."

Reminded that they would have to return to the ball soon, Anders let out a weary sigh and leaned his head back against the chair. The lingering nausea from the injection made his stomach churn, leaving him with little appetite for the dinner bell that would ring shortly. "I think we've had a rather productive first meeting, wouldn't you agree? Is there anything you'd like to ask now, so we can get it out of the way?" he asked, trying to divert his attention from the nausea while also filling the silence as he waited for Edmure to return. He needed to escort Octavia back to the ball without causing a scandal—though, truth be told, they were already in one simply by being alone in the room.

"I can't imagine that to be true," Octavia replied, actually managing a smile as she tried more successfully to match his tone. She also wasn't stupid. Even when his coat was fastened, she could see that Anders had somehow managed to remain in good shape and with it unfastened, she could see it more. She couldn't help but let her gaze linger. If he was the grotesque monster he kept claiming to be, she could think of worse monsters to be married to.

Octavia shook her head quickly, realising her mistake, "No, no. I am not uncomfortable," she said, "I wondered if you needed help but you seem like the type to not like help that could be misconstrued as pity," she explained, "Which it wouldn't be. Not from me," she added after a moment to ensure he knew, "And also if you are nauseous perhaps it is still not best to," she continued with a small smile, "Do you get this injection every evening?" she asked curiously. If she was to be the lady of this household, it would be better for her to know more about what happened within it.

When he asked why she was crying again, Octavia sighed, her perfect posture melting into a slightly exhausted slouch. She finally met his gaze, "I do not care for him anymore but I did care once and it occurred to me once more that he never did about me. He does not care that he almost ruined my life. All he cares for his position and power," she paused, "And I fear, despite his own engagement, he will not leave me alone," she shrugged slightly, despite it being unladylike, "Or perhaps, I am just reminded of how foolish I was to ever believe him in the first place. It's stupid to cry about it, I know, but that is just how my anger is coming out now."

[lucdoodle]

a lil animatic about Vox and Alastor (song: "Obsessed With You" by The Orion Experience)

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

underrated how laios finds shuros inability to communicate in a manner comprehensible to other human beings kind of exhausting and annoying

[akeemarcus]

He stared at him for a handful of seconds, gauging his reaction before his shoulders lifted and fell into a casual shrug, letting it go. ❝ Alright. ❞ He wasn't sure he believed him, drawing all sorts of wrong conclusions, like maybe he had a crush on Isla or something . . . but he wasn't bothered by it, either. He was, surprisingly, not a jealous person. Not when it came to the living.

❝ Sorry, man. I know that's not what you wanted to hear. ❞ Kingston knew it wasn't comforting, but anything else would be a lie. And while he was clearly capable of dishonesty, he wasn't a path logical liar or anything ; just a dumb kid in over his head. ❝ If it's any consolation, I think it just makes it mean more . . . when there's something to lose. ❞ Of course, everyone had different stakes, he could never explain how much was actually on the line with him. Maybe if he could, it would make Thomas' reasons seem less suffocating. Or maybe he would just instantly hate him.

❝ We're friends, ain't we? ❞ He knew as he said it that it wasn't entirely true ; though he appeared to be a social butterfly, Kingston didn't have friends, not really. A friend to all was a friend to none. It was hard to be close to people when they could never know you and he, Marcus, had always been more of a loner. He wanted to be loved, he craved appreciation like oxygen, but he did not care to be surrounded by people. Still, he liked Thomas enough — he liked all of them here, perhaps some ( Isla ) more than others, he cared about their well beings. But what did that matter, when he had cared about Luke's, too?

I was like his fuckin' pet or something. The words, though meant to be about himself, felt like a slap to Kingston's face. That was how he had acted, wasn't it? Like a stray dog following him around, lost the moment his owner was gone, not knowing what he was meant to do . . . who he was meant to be. He had practically worshiped the ground Luke walked on, let his charm win people over for him ; he did anything and everything he was asked without question, as if there was no reason to doubt him, no reason to take a step back and wonder what Luke was getting out of their friendship. He longed to be seen as his equal so much he was willing to give a life, though not his own, for it. Now, he drew a ragged breath, the air around them seeming to drop ten degrees with new realizations.

❝ He was my best friend, you know, ❞ he spoke after a moment, the words so genuine they felt heavy in a different way. ❝ First real friend I ever made. Well. I thought he was, anyway . . . guess I was a pretty shitty one, too. ❞ Arguably worse ; would Luke have gone looking for him, had he been missing? He didn't know . . . he didn't know which answer was worse. When he spoke again, a strange tone took over his voice, like a warning, his eyes trained on the distance, seeing something that wasn't there. ❝ It sucks, doesn't it? — When people don't turn out to be who you thought they were. ❞

AT KINGSTON'S QUESTION , thomas's head flew up , a heated flush crawling up his neck and dampening his features in a scarlet humiliation . " w-what ?? NO , man — god . fuckin' hell , i'm just — i'm not trying to say anything . " tom heaved a sigh , pushing his hand through his hair — fisting his curls , only to hiss in response to the agonizing irritation of the gash still tacky on the back of his skull .

thomas swallowed down the man's words , let them fester in his gut like a brewing sickness , and crinkled his brows as he moved the pad of his thumb to his clenched teeth . his bite found his cuticle , beginning to gnaw at it ferociously , his other arm wrapping around his torso to offer his bent elbow a post of stability . " there's no way someone doesn't get hurt , " thomas echoed , shaking his head , as if the response wasn't to his satisfaction and he was hoping — praying — for the man to say anything else .

thomas didn't necessarily believe in happy endings , but he was hoping there was some reality in which he and eliza got out of the predicament they were in unscathed . that camille would accept them , their connection , with open arms , minimal questions , and little restraint . little resistance . it was a fantastical concept meant to ease his own guilt , but kingston's words struck like a metal spear — a reminder that there was no way to get to the other side of this without someone , without camille , being there to break his fall .

" i dunno , " the man shrugged , frowning at the blanket of soot-caked grass . " there's just , " thomas sighed . " there's this girl , i uh , i met her , , , , back home , " not a lie . " — that's why i'm askin' . SHE'S why i'm askin' . and i don't know if you know this but my only friend , that isn't my sister , turned out to be a demonic shit bag . though , now that i'm fuckin' thinkin' about it , i don't think he was ever my fuckin' friend to begin with . i was like his , , , his fuckin' pet or something . " rambling now , thomas cleared his throat , finally prying his thumb from his mouth to drop his chin to his sternum ; " god , i don't even know what i'm talkin' about . i need a fuckin' smoke . "

[aalghul]

i think often about how teen titans ‘03 failed from start to finish to portray a team and relationships worth investing in. were we reading about a team or 3 characters the writers liked + a cast of extras they threw around as they liked all the while not even having the favoured characters interact with each other in a worthwhile way

[heartintact]

Sienna, contrarian and filterless, had to avert her gaze in an effort not to argue. She knew he meant it and didn’t believe she couldn’t ruin this. But she’d destroyed precious, valuable things before—relationships, friendships, opportunities; she’d let them slip between her fingers and watched them shatter after saying or doing what she wasn’t supposed to. So it made sense for her to need to check in with him, to grin up at him when she couldn’t focus on anything but the brown of his eyes, words sounding tempting. “That doesn’t sound catastrophic,” she assured, letting herself get dragged by his explanation with ease. After all, she liked the sound of it. Casual. Fun. Just two friends acting emboldened during one night. Frustrated chuckle abandoned her as the elevator ding announced their arrival to her floor. “Yeah, I know. Oscar will have so many questions.” Joking about the building’s security guard's hypothetical voyeuristic tendencies let her overlook how naturally her hand found his, allowing herself to be guided towards her own apartment. If it were one of those movies she watched with her sister when one of them was feeling particularly blue, she would’ve opened up the door confidently, pressed her back against it as soon as it closed behind them, and just pulled him closer until there was no space between them. But she wasn’t that girl, and putting on a show of pretense for Wes was something she’d never do. He was better than any act. So Sienna protested softly when she tried to use the wrong key, laughing victoriously once she finally got it right, ceremoniously opening for them to step inside. Her place was colorful and a bit messy, framed vintage board games hanging next to posters she loved, a mixture of white, soft oranges and pastel pink taking over most of the space. It was a bit like her, she liked to think. Loud and a bit eclectic, but still nice. She took a couple of aimless steps before turning toward her best friend, a playful smile already on her face before she broke the silence, trying to sound as nonchalant as her eagerness allowed. “So… Do you wanna sleep now? I know you have an early flight.” The suggestion seemed almost genuine, if it weren't for the way her attention belonged completely to him.

While encased in the elevator, Wesley's mind once again went to the fact that they were enclosed in a small space. His eyes watched Sienna intently, following her even when she wasn't looking at him, wondering what was going on in her mind. As she came close he stilled, slightly taken aback by the way she wrapped her arms around his shoulders so casually. It felt good, though, a comfortable kind of newness as he looked down at her, smiling fondly at her. Tentatively, his hands ghosted over her hips and then took hold, wanting to emphasise the reply he gave her with his actions. "I don't think you could fuck it up." He reassured, shaking his head. Again, proving his point, his arms wrapped around her waist. His head swam with thoughts, mostly about the fact that he didn't want to overwhelm her. It wasn't like he was ready to spout love confessions, this was something unprecedented for them, to kiss casually or kiss at all. If Sienna said it didn't have to change anything, that she didn't want to fuck it up, that indicated one thing to Wes: if he wanted this, he had to let it not be a big deal. Maybe it was a misguided thought, but he truly believed he could when he knew it meant he could lean down, nose bumping against hers as he chuckled. "I think... we can just let ourselves enjoy it, right? It doesn't need to become this catastrophic thing. Two friends kissing." Wes began to lean in again, so tempted by her, but then of course the elevator doors opened and he looked up past her. Exhaling, he pulled back, reaching for her hands. "Maybe lets get into your apartment first."

[prismatica-the-strange]

Nope, I'm still crying

[m0e-ru]

annual realization where this gas station’s operations and my life owe it all to visualive i’m serious