Alia Lucille (headache personified)

This is my favorite fic in this whole fandom. Everyone needs to read it. Everyone. Its nothing like runaways au. In fact its the opposite: “what if ilya makes everyone good about it.”

The amount of time and effort and love in this fic sends me over the moon every chapter.

Chapter 28 just got uploaded. Go read the whole thing.

there's gotta be an incident where the two are fucking around on a rooftop and Jason accidentally gets hurt real bad; like almost fractures his spine real bad, and they tell Bruce that he got hurt during a 'dock raid' or whatever, and Bruce fully believes them right up until Tim sends him the link to a youtube video the next day, because as it turns out the roof was low enough that a civilian in their apartment across the way could see them and got the whole thing on video.

footage shows Red Hood and Nightwing laughing hysterically with each other as Red Hood takes off his helmet, leaving nothing but his eye mask, as the two proceed to try and pull off stupider and stupider trick shots to get the helmet back on his head. the video captures as they both get very excited when Nightwing successfully 'bottle flips' the helmet back on, and then captures as they get bolder and Nightwing starts holding the helmet like a matador with a red cape off the edge of the building so Red Hood can dive into it and try to catch himself with a grapple before actually plummeting.

'holy shit these guys are pros,' the civilian can be heard from behind their camera, as he pulls it off second-try. two cheer so loudly it can be heard from beyond the closed window.

unfortunately the video then abruptly ends as Nightwing puts the helmet down on the floor hole-up and dares Hood to try and dive into it. Red Hood almost breaks his neck and the camera-person lets out a loud and empathetic 'OOH', right before the rootage cuts out, Nightwing standing over his brother's crumpled body.

by gurlsrool

issue is Dick fully thinks they're reinforced, which is why he was never afraid of breaking them while swinging as a kid, and as such he doesn't realise that it will be any different trying to swing on them as a fully grown, ripped to shit adult man. he decides to show the younger siblings how to have fun in the manor years later and Damian, Duke and Tim get front row seats to the sight of Dick launching himself off the banister, grabbing a chandelier with both hands, instantly snapping it out of the ceiling, and fracturing his spine in the fall.

Jason rocks up to the cave and spots the three standing silently in front of the medical bed Dick has been sedated on after the accident.

"...What happened here then?"

"Dick's a fatass."

Puppies and some quick fanart for The Long Game

double wedding bells~ 🔔🕊️

you’ve only just crossed that line; sex started careful, reverent almost, his hands careful like he’s handling something priceless, kisses passionate but never bruising, thrusts measured and deep enough to make you see stars but never rough enough to leave marks that last past morning.

he always checks in, voice low and soft in your ear asking if it’s too much, if you’re okay, if you want more, and every time you nod yes because it feels good, god it feels incredible, but lately there’s this itch under your skin you can’t scratch.

you want it nasty. you want backbreaking. you want it questionable to your self respect.

you want him to pin you down so hard the headboard rattles, want his fingers digging into your hips leaving fingerprints for days, want him to fuck you like he’s trying to ruin you for anyone else, like the leash he keeps on himself finally snaps.

but he’s so careful. so goddamn respectful. the way he cradles your face when he comes, the way he murmurs praise against your throat like you’re fragile glass, the way he pulls out slow and gentle afterward to clean you up himself, it all makes your chest ache in the best way, but it also makes you squirm because you’re dying for the other side of him. the one you’ve glimpsed in flashes: the dark glint in his eyes when you push back against him a little too hard, the low growl when your nails rake down his back, the way his grip tightens just a fraction when you whisper “harder” like it’s a dare.

you don’t know how to ask for it. every time you try the words stick in your throat. you’ve thought about straddling him on the couch and grinding down filthy, thought about bending over the kitchen counter in nothing but his shirt and waiting for him to snap, thought about texting him something shameless but then you picture his face, those crimson eyes going soft with concern instead of heat and you chicken out.

what if he thinks you’re not satisfied with what you’ve had so far? what if he pulls back even more, thinking he’s hurt you somehow? he’s already told you once, mid kiss, that he never wants to push you past what you’re ready for, that he’s waited too long for this to rush it now.

so you’re stuck simmering. every time he fucks you slow and sweet you arch harder, moan louder, claw at his shoulders like you’re begging without words. you bite his lip a little too sharp one night, grind back against him until he hisses, and for a second, god, for a glorious second, his control slips. his hand fists in your hair, yanks your head back just enough to expose your throat, and he thrusts once, hard and punishing, deep enough that your vision whites out and a broken sound rips from your chest.

then he freezes. lets go like he’s been burned. “im sorry, kitten. too much?” he’s already easing out, turning you over gently, checking your face with those worried eyes.

you want to scream. instead you grab his wrist, pull his hand back to your hip, and whisper, voice shaking with want, “no. do it again.”

he stares at you for a long beat, pupils blown wide, something hungry and dangerous flickering behind the concern. “you sure?”

you nod, frantic. “please. i want it. just- fuck me like you mean it.”

the air shifts. his smile is wicked, predatory, the one that makes your stomach flip. he leans down, mouth brushing your ear, voice a low rumble that vibrates through you.

“careful what you wish for, sweetie. once i stop holding back, i might not stop until you’re begging me to.”

then he flips you onto your stomach, one massive hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned, the other yanking your hips up exactly how he wants them. the slick sound of him sliding back in, thick and unrelenting, and the first brutal snap of his hips that punches every thought out of your head.