#Will be writing a fic based on this

[clowneryandshenanegans]

Theory time!!!!

TADC one this time, here we go go go go on an adventure

so we know that in the circus there’s three types of characters, AI’s (Caine, the moon and sun, bubble), NPCs (candy kingdom residents, gummygoo, gloink queen), and humans (main cast). (To specify: AI’s are characters who have not been created by an outside character and are not player characters, NPC’s were created by an outside force and are not players, humans are, well, humans)

But what if our main guy Caine is a part of that last group?

Hear me out. I doubt that the technology of the time when the circus supposedly takes place (probably around 70’s-90’s) would be able to support something as powerful as an all knowing, practically all powerful AI.

We know that the way the main cast most likely got in the circus was from a headset linked to a computer, which probably either made a complete perfect replica of their brain that was placed in the game while the original was killed, or their consciousness was somehow transferred into the computer.

So what if instead of Caine being an AI created by whoever made it, he was human? What if there was a human that was hooked up to the system way before the circus was even made, which then became a part of the game?

If Caine was put it the game before the circus was even there, the original human’s consciousness could have melted into the game until it seemed like an ai. Caine could have been a human placed in when the program was nothing but a void, who then went insane so far to the point his brain practically collapsed, then rewired itself to be a part of the game, to where he basically became god once his brain had been far enough melted into the code.

after all, which would be easier; develop an entire code fo years to properly run a program, or put a perfectly working brain, one of the highest quality “computers” out there, into the game, then wait it out until it became its own AI?

The circus is shown to have quite a few glitches, with clipping, character models going wack, and abstraction if it’s a glitch in the game. These could all be the results of a brain not functioning automatically like a computer would.

then there’s the theory of the NPC models. If the only thing that made the candy kingdom was Caine, and Caine is an AI, why would he have character models below the map?

character models below the map are something developers use when making a game, in order to have the models fully ready in case one glitches, goes missing, or is messed up in some way. This way, they don’t have to recreate the entire model if it glitches, and can just replace it.

but if Caine is an ai, he wouldn’t need the character models, since he could just spawn one automatically from storage.

but if Caine was originally human, the Candy Kingdom could have been one of the first things he built, believing he needed the models under the map to avoid having to redo the model.

So, my theory? Caine is a human, who was trapped in the circus for so long that his consciousness melted into the code, rebuilt itself, and embedded itself into the code to make him into the games “ai”.

[the-raindeer-king]

The quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach.

That's how the saying goes. You never realized just how true it was until you started working as Captain John Price's assistant. It had started off innocently enough, bringing him a tea or coffee when he asked. Maybe scolding him whenever you found out he skipped lunch.

You had been baking brownies, trying out a new recipe, and you just needed someone to taste them (and maybe help you get rid of the batch if need be). So, you brought them to work, left them in a pretty box on Price's desk when you dropped off his coffee.

You certainly hadn't expected the rest of the task force to come around to your desk, begging to know why you didn't bring any for them. Turn out that not only did Price brag out your baking skills, he's refusing to share with the rest of the task force, despite the fact you had brought more than enough for all of them.

Looks like you're going to have to make more.

[emphistic]

"Why is the laundry still not done?"

Sukuna shrugged, continuing to mindlessly tap away on his phone. He was, without a doubt, playing one of those little games that he downloaded specifically for when he had no WiFi. Block Blast? You couldn't remember.

"I'll do it later," he began—his eyes still glued to his screen, "juste après que je te do."

For extra credit, your boyfriend, Sukuna, once took a French course during college, and now he spends most of his time saying short French phrases to you—on purpose, because he knows you won't be able to know if he's cursing you out, or just shamelessly flirting with you.

"You are such an ass," you groaned. "I reminded you this morning, before lunch, and after lunch; it's six in the afternoon, 'Kuna."

"Ma chérie, relax. It's not good to be so tense all the time," Sukuna teased, finally turning to face you. "Thankfully, I know a way to get rid of your stress."

"I wouldn't be fucking stressed in the first place if it weren't for your laziness, you little—wait. . . What's the French word for 'asshole'?"

"Meilleur et le plus beau petit ami du monde entier."

"That's . . . too many words." You crossed your arms over your chest, amused. "Clearly, you're bluffing."

"Or, clearly, I'm just a man in love," Sukuna said, a sultry look on his face, "—with his beautiful, amazing, smart, and did I mention, sexy, girlfriend. I'm just so moony-eyed these days, and my heart is just so full of you that I cannot even remember to do the laundry."

"Stop trying to seduce me, dickhead."

"Pfft, I am not seducing you; I am simply avouer mon amour to la lumière de ma vie."

You paused, whipping out your phone and doing a quick Google Translate, before saying,

"*Si tu n'arrêtes pas de parler français . . . je vais te mettre une baguette dans le cul."

"Merde," Sukuna gasped, in disbelief, before realizing his mistake. "Fuck. Baby, no, I meant—"

[tarvek-sturmvoraus]

bats: tim are you going to tell us anything you did while searching for bruce tim: not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch of stuff really quickly

[stervrucht]

[buckyscap]

5 times people think deadpool has a new gf and 1 time they find out how wrong they are vs 5 times wade goes around telling people he's dating the wolverine and 1 time they finally believe him

[rocketkit]

fourth scene from a nonexistent fic

[decapod-appreciator]

Miss floke and her guard dog

[dxxtruction]

divine indulgence

[pcr-alice]

DPxDC - Subtle Signs

also on AO3

Danny slipped through the shadows quickly, trusting the alarms to cover the noise of his footsteps. He still wasn’t fully used to having his wakizashi hooked to his back again after all this time. It was throwing off his balance. Subtly, but enough to matter. He had considered leaving it behind when he had to run (again). But seeing as he couldn’t exactly get rid of the...gift...his time with the Fentons had given him, he might as well keep the one from his time with the League of Assassins, too. Who would have guessed a sword from a literal death cult would end up being one of his least death-touched possessions.

He reached what remained of the entrance to the now fully crippled GIW facility and paused. There was something wrong. The smallest pressure in his ears, the faintest blur through the sky, the slightest feeling that someone – multiple someones – had entered his space. He crouched further into the shadows and mentally mapped out several escape routes.

What he wasn’t expecting was for one of those someones to drop from the sky. Nor for them to be dressed in bright colors, nor for them to be masked, nor for them to –

“Damian?”

The name was out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Directly between two blares of the alarm. Clearly loud enough for that someone to have heard, judging by the way they jerked into a fighting stance and stared directly at his hiding place. They drew a katana that Danny would recognize anywhere and leveled it at him aggressively.

“Show yourself!”

Two green slits appeared from the darkness next to the collapsed entryway. Damian tensed, shifting into a more agile stance and subtly tapping his wrist comm for backup. The glowing eyes shifted, as if the head they were attached to was moving. They inched forward toward the light but didn’t cross the threshold. A single hand extended from the darkness, clenching a long, thin sheathed blade. A wakizashi, judging by the length and curve, with minimal decoration on the mounting save for...

“Danyal?”

Damian dropped his guard, katana dipping to point at the ground in front of him. A figure crept into the light, taking up their own relaxed stance, sheathed blade still held in their off hand. Their eyes were bright Lazarus green, and their hair was subtly glowing white, barely visible under a hood. Their foot was slightly out of position, arm just barely low of where it should be, all still ingrained in muscle memory to perfectly complement their mismatched heights and Damian’s own style while fighting at his side. There was no doubt. That face was etched into his memory, his very being. He would recognize it anywhere. This was Danyal.

Then the wakizashi was drawn. Danyal’s green eyes flicked to Damian’s right in panic just as he heard the smallest crunch of dirt. He tilted his katana up in front of his face and raised his other hand to his side firmly, signaling Father and Grayson to stay back.

They did. But they spread out to better form a perimeter around this unknown (to them) armed (more than he seemed) potential threat (if he wanted to be). And they watched intently, ready to pick up on even the smallest detail. He would have to be cautious. His subtle head shift let the others know he knew Cain and Brown just landed on his other side. Danyal’s eye flick meant he saw them, too.

“How are you here, Danyal? You died.”

“You should know better than most, Damian. Death is not always final.”

Damian was off. Cass noticed it immediately. His stance was different. He was tense in a way she’d never seen him before. His words were hesitant, and when he did speak, his fingers twitched around his katana’s grip. He gave them a small flick with his hand, signaling for them to stay back, then took a step forward. The other boy – Danyal, she presumed – followed his lead step for step, never dropping his guard, even if his stance was slightly imperfect. His hands twitched even more than Damian’s.

Then he flinched and took a step back, eyes snapping to where Batman had taken a step forward. Damian scowled angrily.

“Stay back, Father!”

Cass hadn’t heard that much venom in his voice for many years. Nor had he ever broken codename protocol while they were in costume. Nor had he ever fidgeted or been this nervous. His emotions were strong, barely restrained, confused and angry and somehow eager. He wanted to charge forward, but for what she didn’t know. He was barely holding himself back.

The other boy was unfamiliar, so she had no reference. She couldn’t even see his full face. But he had to be even more nervous than Damian with the way his whole body squirmed minutely when his hands twitched. His anger was colder, deeper, an undercurrent compared to Damian’s storm. There was no confusion, not even at ‘Father’, but there was fear, a suffocating amount of it. He was unsure of himself. Wanting to charge like Damian, but wanting to run perhaps even more. The indecision left him rooted to the spot.

“Why are you here, Danyal?”

“Tying up some loose ends. You?”

“Investigating the destruction of government facilities on behalf of the League.”

Danyal tensed at that.

“The Justice League,” Damian was quick to clarify.

Danyal took that even worse. He curled into himself, the fear overwhelming all his other emotions, his eyes going narrow and glowing a brighter, somehow harsher green. Cass spared a glance back to Damian, whose twitching had spread to his non-sword hand now. Worry was breaking through both his anger and confusion. Movement out of the corner of her eye made her look back to Danyal, who had begun to slide back towards the shadows.

“Danyal, wait!” Damian stepped forward, and to her surprise Danyal did in fact stop moving. “Why are you running?”

He stopped twitching entirely and stared Damian down.

“I will not be taken by either of your Leagues.”

That was confirmation that he was familiar with the League of Assassins, perhaps a former member like Damian.

“The League of Assassins has been dismantled. I can guarantee the Justice League will not harm you.”

“Yet you are here on their behalf.”

“I do not understand, Danyal.”

He wasn’t alone in that. Cass risked a glance to the others. Steph was firmly at her side, waiting for a signal to get involved. Bruce was tense, confused but calculating, processing the apparent familiarity not just with the League, but with Damian and his identity. Dick was clearly confused too, but the concerned for his little brother was even clearer.

“There is much you don’t understand, Damian.”

“Then tell me.”

Damian’s hand gave the smallest of twitches before he charged forward at Danyal, who charged back as if he were expecting it. But this wasn’t one of his normal attack patterns. He was slower and more rigid. This wasn’t right. She raised her arm to Spoiler’s chest, stopping her from joining the battle, her fist clenched to signal the others to hold. Spoiler glanced at her, confused, but stayed at her side. Batman and Nightwing heeded her signal as well after taking a few steps forward.

Their blades clashed as they pressed together, faces nearly touching. Cass swore she saw Danyal’s lips move briefly before they pushed each other back, both already angling for their next attack. What followed was a set of perfect strikes and parries, one for one, back and forth, all much below what she knew Damian’s speed and strength to be. All telegraphed well in advance. Until Danyal pivoted unexpectedly, twisting directly into the path of Damian’s katana.

She saw Damian’s shock, his fear, saw him try to pull back his strike, but it was too late. Danyal raised an arm to shield himself from the blow that was about to cleave into his flesh, but he wasn’t worried. Wasn’t surprised or scared, just...sad?

The katana didn’t hit. A bright green armor plate flashed into existence on Danyal’s arm, and Damian’s blade bounced off it with a clang, vibrating through his arm and tipping him off balance. Danyal dropped his weight and kicked forward, hitting Damian in the chest and knocking him backwards much farther than expected.

Damian twisted in the air and rolled as he hit the ground, leaping back into a defensive stance. Cass saw no anger, just surprise and worry and more confusion. She stomped her foot and shook her fist, insisting that everyone keep holding back. This brought Danyal’s attention to her.

His eyes flicked over to pierce into her. She felt seen, and she couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through her spine. He didn’t look at her with any emotion she expected, merely annoyance. He flicked his eyes back to Damian after sparing her a second at most, and then he was empty. No emotion at all. Nothing. Cass gasped. She felt Steph press against her arm gently, a question. She pressed back in response, still holding her fist. Steph placed a hand on her back, silently grounding her.

With Danyal not giving her anything, she shifted her focus back to Damian. He tilted his katana to look at the blade, which she could tell even from a distance had been greatly dulled where it had made contact with the phantom armor. When he pulled his hand away from his ribs, she could see small drops of frost fall to the ground.

“Danyal...when did –”

“I have never set foot in the Lazarus Pits.”

Damian dropped his arms to his side. Cass could see more shock on him now than any emotion she’d read on him ever before. He’d never left himself so open and unguarded at any time she could remember. Despite all that – or perhaps because of it – his hands kept twitching.

“How…”

“I told you, Damian. You don’t even understand just how little you don’t understand.”

Despite not reading any nervousness from Danyal – no emotions at all – his hands kept twitching.

“Then tell me.”

Damian’s voice was soft, more vulnerable than it had ever been. His off hand kept twitching in the same pattern, over and over.

“I can’t.”

Danyal took a step backwards toward the shadows. Damian stepped forward and yelled.

“Danyal, please! I want to understand!”

But he took another step backward, his own off hand twitching in the same pattern as Damian’s.

“Goodbye, Damian.”

Damian took another step forward and raised his hands to his side in a peaceful gesture.

“I will understand, Danyal.”

He switched to his first language, the one he had spoken as a child, and pleaded.

“I swear it on the first star’s light, on the first bird’s song.”

Danyal flinched mid-step. And his facade shattered. Emotions burst through stronger than before. Scared and exhausted and angry, but the tiniest sliver of hope pushing past the wariness. His head tilted up, letting the light pierce the shadow of his hood to reveal bright white hair that somehow shifted under its cloth covering. And his face looked nearly identical to Damian’s.

His flurry of emotions slowly, excruciatingly slowly, steadied as the tension in his body loosened. She watched him take a deep breath and let it out, emotions shifting into pure determination. His off hand twitched again and – no, not a twitch!

They had been signaling to each other.

And then they were charging again. Cass dropped her arm and wrapped it around Steph’s, who tensed at the two boys’ movement, but relaxed as Cass leaned against her. Batman and Nightwing did charge. It was clear they wouldn’t make it in time, even if Danyal’s speed weren’t obviously enhanced.

The boys flipped their swords to hold them backhand and twisted them such that the dull end faced forward. They collided harshly, sword arms clasping around each others shoulders. Danyal knocked Damian back a step, but they held each other tightly, neither allowing the other to fall. Batman and Nightwing stuttered to a stop several feet away and stared in surprised confusion as the boys raised their off hands to cradle each others necks and press their foreheads together.

“I missed you, Brother.”

[lilisettean]

Phantom Touch | Headcanons

About: It was one thing to video call him, it was another, however, to call/answer while you were barely clothed.

Pairings: Xavier/Reader, Zayne/Reader, Rafayel/Reader

Notes: This idea came to me when Rafayel video called MC in the middle of the night (Lv 20 Random Painting). Also should I do Caleb's as well?

Warnings: 18+ only please! Enjoy :)

Xavier

It was by accident when it happened. You were trying to find your favorite hairpin after your shower but it was nowhere to be found.

You searched high and low, flipped cushions and threw your blankets onto the floor. Nothing. Goddamnit you can't afford to lose that hairpin- it was one of the gifts Grandma gave you, you just simply can't lose it.

In an act of desperation, you called Xavier on your phone, not caring whether you pressed on normal call or video call. You just needed him on because you might've left it in his place.

To say Xavier was surprised the moment you came on screen would be an understatement. He almost dropped his phone (it did slip from his hands but he was quick enough to hold onto it), and not a word you said has registered in his brain.

His eyes were fixated upon the water droplets that clung to you skin, following the trail a drop of water left behind as it slid down from your neck, to your decollete, and between your cleavage. His mind was busy tearing that insolent piece of cotton fabric into shred for daring to shield you from his gaze.

It was only when you shuffled forward and waved a hand in front of the camera did he snap out of his less than innocent daydream.

"Xaiver? What are you staring at?" "Are you aware of what you are wearing?" "...Shit-"

"No, don't." He said the moment you tried to cut the call, and instead, with much strength he could muster not to ogle at your form again, he diverted your attention.

He found your hairpin lying on his bedside table and when you were about to thank him, a mischievous smile crept up his face, and you just knew what he was about to ask.

"Can I have a reward for finding it so quickly?" Xavier asked, his gaze predatory as he flicked his eyes down to stare at the towel that was clinging onto you for dear life. With slight trepidation, you settled down on the sofa, and slowly peeled off the towel that you knew he wanted off. Now.

You squeezed your thighs together and bit your lower lip when you heard the soft Mmh over the phone. He greedily drank in the sight of you, your bare, still unmarred skin glistening under the soft lights.

A daring thought suddenly struck you. Smiling at him, you brought your hands up to your breasts, propping them up and giving them a good squeeze (which he quietly groaned your name in response), before flicking your nipples.

You knew he was hard, with how he slumped against his sofa, one of his hands nowhere to be seen. The stuttered breath he let out made you wonder whether he was palming over his hard on as you gave him this little show.

He was. He was pressing his cock against his palm, rutting against it as you played with your pert nipples. He was imagining grinding his cock against you, fucking your slick folds as he buried his face between your breasts.

In a daring move, you tilted your phone downwards and lifted your legs, showing him the effect he had on you. But before you could spread yourself further to give him a better look, he suddenly stood up, giving you an eyeful of his clothed cock that was straining against the front of his pants.

Before he abruptly cut the call, he eyes drooped to a seductive narrow, and pinned you in place as he spoke.

"Don't move. I'll be there within the minute."

Zayne

Zayne, despite his icy demeanor, was a softie and a worrywart when it comes to you. He would always tell you to call him once you were home just so he knows you made it back safely.

So when he received a text asking if he was free and alone instead of a call, his curiosity was piqued.

As soon as he said that yes, he was alone and about to be off work, he received another text. A text that he did not expect you to send.

It was a picture of you on his bed, wearing nothing but one of his white button up shirts, if he can even call it that. You didn't button it all the way, leaving your collarbone and cleavage bare for him to see.

He immediately video called you, and as expected, instead of commenting on your attire, the first thing he asked was-

"Why are you in my bed?" "I knew you'd ask that first. Really?"

You explained with a huff that you wanted to surprise him a little. It has been a while since you two have seen each other for more than 5 minutes, with you two being busy with work and all. And with his day off being tomorrow, you jumped on the chance to be with him.

After a beat of silence and you fiddling with the hem of his shirt, he sighed, his features softened at your nervous fidgeting.

"Well, go on then. What do you have to show me?" "Show you- Aren't you still at the hospital?" "It's a peaceful day and I'm alone in my office. Would you give me a preview at what's in store for me at home?"

He stared on intently as you teased your nipples, brushing over them while they were still covered. Your pert nipples poked through his shirt, the outline of them fueling his imagination.

If you were on his lap right now, he would've done that for you whilst sucking on one of your nipples through the shirt you were wearing.

You were about to unbutton the shirt but his voice stopped you. "No, don't. Leave it on... Good."

He made no move to touch himself, as anyone could walk in at any moment, but by God did he want to. His eyes flicked between your flushed face and your body, already imagining the places he would leave his mark on.

He already knew what he would do to you once he got home. He would set you down on his lap, forcing you to feel how hard you made him with your little show, and leave open mouthed kisses on your neck while slipping his hands under his?- no, yours now, with how well you wear it, shirt.

But deep down he knew that once he got home, he would have no patience for that. He would most likely push you down to the bed and use one hand to grope your breast, while the other fixed your hip in place, allowing no escape as he rutted his stiff cock against you. He doesn't care if his pants get ruined, he just wants you-

"Zayne?" Your voice brought him back from his thoughts. And with much reluctance, he motioned for you to stop. "That's enough for now sweetheart. I still have to get home first." "Should I send you more pictures while you're on your way?" "No need. Just be a good girl and wait for me."

Rafayel

Being a painter, Rafayel would sometimes work late into the night, busy with his newest piece. And while he enjoyed the peace and quiet nightfall brings, at times he would find the studio too quiet, too suffocating, especially without you around. Thus, he would call you and ask you to keep him company as he painted.

And on this night, it was no different. Save for the brush strokes against the canvas, the room was too quiet for his liking. He had expected you to pick up within a few rings and show up disheveled on call, but as soon as you answered the call, the thought of teasing you like usual quickly dissipated.

"What- What are you wearing?" He diverted his gaze elsewhere, occasionally sneaking peeks at his phone screen while you blinked the sleep away from your eyes. Instead of your usual pyjamas, you were wearing a lingerie set he had not seen before.

He had half a mind to tell you to pull up the strap that had fell off your shoulder mid sleep, but the words died in his throat the moment you shifted and the strap slipped further down, revealing more of your decollete to him.

The blush that was already on his face intensified when he noticed the hickies on your skin, the evidence of him ravaging you highlighted by the moonlight shining through the window.

"Rafayel? What is it?" You asked, still half asleep. You wondered why he was quiet until you found him staring intently at your chest and- Oh. Of course.

You had bought it because you wanted to surprise him by taking pictures of it. But it seemed that you were too tired and fell asleep in the process. "...Surprise? I wanted to show you earlier but-" "Wait. Hold that position."

You did as you were told and froze. He was studying you again, perhaps for future reference. As much as you liked being his model, you pouted at his antics. Not even a single reaction? Sighing, you broke the silence between you two.

"I could come over and wear this for you, if you want." "You would do that for me?" "Of course." "Then come." "What?" "You said you would come over, no? Then come now. But before that..."

"Would you mind showing me more before I tear it off?" And how could you say no to a request like that?

Settling your phone down, you bent forward to show him your cleavage before standing to show off the lingerie you were wearing.

"Turn. Now hold it." You fidgeted as you faced away from the camera, wondering what he was doing as he marveled your form. The faint sound of rustling clothes and a belt unbuckling floated from the speaker, and you instantly knew what he was up to.

"Do you enjoy it that much?" "And what about it? Turn again."

As expected, he was sitting on an armchair, slowly stroking the base of his cock as he watched the thin fabric flutter around you. Heat pooled within you when caught his eyes roaming all over you, his face flushed and lips parted as he touched himself.

He groaned when you parted your legs to show him more of you, his cock throbbing at the sight of your slicked folds. Precome beaded at the tip as he stroked more, with some of it sliding down his tip and to the underside of his cock.

Something within snapped the moment you dipped your fingers into your wet entrance. And with one smooth motion, he stood up, unintentionally (or perhaps intentionally) giving you an eyeful of his stiff cock, and picked up his phone.

"Enough. Come to me now." "Just don't tear it when I'm there." "No promises." "Rafayel-" "Hurry now, before I come find you instead."

[starrystevie]

18+ | cw: improper use of plumping lipgloss, mentions of alcohol, oral sex, it's steddie endgame i promise | crossposted on twitter

it’s no secret, steve likes making out. likes isn’t a strong enough word. he loves making out. loves grabbing hold of someone and pulling them close, loves laying over them on a couch, on a bed, hips just barely moving as he takes them apart with lips and teeth and tongue.

that doesn’t change once he’s had a few drinks either, body tingling with tequila or vodka or something equally strong that has his inhibitions thrown to the wind. he’s always able to find someone willing to dance with him, hips pressed together and arms wrapped around shoulders.

it’s usually girls, pretty things with pretty hair that draw steve in like a punch drunk happy moth to an overzealous flame. they’ll turn their heads with a flirty shy smile and follow him out to the dance floor before pressing up tight against his front.

they’ll curl their fingers into his where they rest low on their hips and keep him close. they’ll drop their heads onto his shoulder and let their breath ghost over the side of his face until he gets the all too obvious hint.

steve likes making out on a dance floor. no, not likes.

loves.

that is until his lips are covered in sticky, sweet lip gloss and he’s pulling away because his tongue is on fire, tingling from something other than alcohol and the thrill of being in a pretty girl’s mouth.

“what is that?” he yells into her ear over the bumping bass.

“sorry,” the girl says sheepishly, “it’s my lipgloss. it plumps my lips.”

she goes back in to kiss steve once more and he isn’t exactly going to deny her. her lips are pretty just like her, plump and shiny and all too inviting, so he kisses her back. the gloss is spicy on the cracks of his lips, on the tip of his tongue when he he pulls her lip in between his teeth. it’s addictive in a way. he wonders if his own lips will plump up from the contact alone.

later, when they say their drawn out goodbyes outside of the club, he’ll ask to borrow the lip gloss since his night isn’t over yet. she’ll pull it out with a grin and apply it so sweetly to her own lips and then to his. her touch is gentle and precise before she puts the tube back in her purse and then connects their lips for a final time.

steve likes to make out. no, not likes.

loves.

so he goes to a bar around the corner, robin hot on his coat tails with some blonde she picked up attached to her side, and he’ll order a vodka soda that he can sip through a straw so he doesn’t destroy his pretty glossed lips. the bar is grungy, but steve almost prefers that, able to blend into smoky shadows and dark corners while he watches the crowd.

while he watches someone in the crowd watch him back.

he has wild curly hair and handcuffs on his belt and steve swears he’s staring at his lips and the way the light is bouncing off of the gloss, but he isn’t too sure. not until there’s wild curly hair and handcuffs on a belt standing right in front of him.

steve has a different confidence with guys. maybe it’s because he has to read them a little differently. maybe its because he gets read by them a little differently, too. but flirting is flirting all the same and steve finds himself biting at his lip and licking away some of the spicy lip gloss with a wince as it burns the inside of his mouth.

curly hair handcuff guy is cuter once they start talking for a while, all animated and vibrant, a bright shiny beacon in a dingy bar. he finds out his name is eddie with a lingering handshake that means something, fingers trailing and tingling like they had a spice to them, too.

they don’t dance, but they do end up out back, sharing a cigarette as drunk people stumble around them. it’s easy enough for eddie to light, flame from the lighter sparking in his big, brown eyes.

“so steve,” he says, flicker of some other kind of spark in his eye, “where to?”

and steve knows how to do this part. he grabs the cigarette out of eddie’s mouth and puffs on it himself, blowing the smoke over his head. “is it too forward to say i don’t think i can last much longer without getting my mouth on you?”

eddie grins and lets his eyes flit down. “no. is it too forward for me to say that i’d let you do anything to me, mouth or otherwise?”

he takes the cigarette back and steve can see his trace left behind on the filter, can see when the hint of gloss hits eddie’s lips if the wrinkle of his eyebrows is anything to go off of.

he doesn’t say anything, just winks over at steve. he doesn’t say anything, just drags him into a taxi. he doesn’t say anything, just wraps a hand high over steve’s thigh, just pushes steve up against his apartment wall, just fumbles over handcuffs and pushes down his jeans.

steve likes making out. no, not likes.

loves.

if he loves making out, then he really fucking craves giving head. he feels like a cartoon animal with hearts popping out of his head as he pulls eddie’s cock out of his briefs. he licks his lips like he’s starving and regrets it when the gloss singes his tongue.

steve looks up from his knees and swipes a finger over his lips, holding it up high for eddie to see. “taste it,” he whispers.

eddie’s eyes widen, but he obediently bends his neck, tongue lolling out so he can lap at steve’s finger. “your lip gloss is spicy,” eddie says flatly as he recoils.

steve nods. “and it’s going on your cock unless you say otherwise.”

which is how steve finds himself turning eddie into a writhing mess. his hands hold onto the backs of eddie’s shaking knees as he works over his cock. his hair stings as eddie tugs on the strands. his eyes water as he sucks him in deeper and deeper into his throat, spicy lipgloss tingly on his tongue and cheeks.

“you are a fucking wonder,” eddie whines, hips humping as he grinds himself further into steve’s mouth. “just fucking made for this, huh?”

steve pulls off and spits on his cock to jack his hand over it as he pulls the head to his lips. he rubs the sensitive tip over his lips just to watch eddie twitch.

“you have no idea.”

he blows a line of cool air over the gloss that’s left there and drinks in the way eddie’s eyes roll back in his head before swallowing him back down, reveling in the spice that hits the back of his throat as he does so.

when eddie comes, he pulls steve off so he can paint his pretty, puffy, plump lips with it, dragging his cock over them to make a mess. it’s not a surprise when steve licks it off, spicy and salty and a special kind of sweet that he thinks is all eddie. he leans up to place a kiss into the thatch of hair over eddie’s cock, smearing behind come and shiny lip gloss.

“you gonna wait for me to come in my pants or can i go fuck you?”

steve likes making out. no, not likes.

loves.

and he loves giving eddie head. and he loves fucking eddie. and he loves waking up with a spicy, sticky residue on the side of his cheek after falling asleep with his head on eddie’s chest.

and maybe, just maybe, he’ll love eddie someday, too.

[starbase777]

When you have the desire to write four paragraphs of deep lore about your OC's history including a fine combination of angst and character progression but have no energy to do it

[steddie-there]

Steve is bitchy. It's a known fact. He's a reformed mean girl and bitch is like a second language to him. Whether it's scathing commentary about Family Video customers almost before they're out the door,

"So apparently it's national hit on someone young enough to be your granddaughter day, who knew we had such a gross holiday?"

snarky conversations with the kids,

"Well, whaddya know, Dustin, would you look at this?" "What? "It's the coke you said wasn't in the fridge! Isn't it amazing how it just magically appeared?" "Oh, shut up, Steve." "I'm just so completely in awe!"

or calling out the people that still give Eddie nasty looks (and doesn't that make Eddie's heart grow three sizes and threaten to pop out of his chest and burrow into Steve's?),

"You know, Carol, if you keep making that face, it might stick like that. But look on the bright side, at least then the outside would be as hideous as the inside!"

Eddie adores all of it. Loves Steve's mile-wide mean streak. Loves how he can use it to tease the people he loves or decimate the latest idiot he's been forced to deal with.

But Eddie's favorite, the best, the most wonderful, absolutely fantastic moments of Steve's bitchiness? Those happen while he's driving. It doesn't matter what exactly has him riled up about another driver, Steve always has something sarcastic on the tip of his tongue to bitch about them with.

"Do you look as stupid as you drive? Dumbass."

"Jeeze, I never knew the white line was for driving on. What an amazing thing you've discovered!"

"Oh, apparently I missed the memo where 35 mph got changed to 55. Eddie, remind me to check the speed limit sign the next time we drive through here. God, what an impatient asshole."

No matter what it is, it always has Eddie stifling his laughter behind his hand. But this last time - they're at a four-way stop and the car turning across from them definitely went before it was their turn and Steve says, "Hmm, seems someone missed the lesson on taking turns in kindergarten," with that little bitchy tilt to his head - Eddie can't help the guffaw that bursts out of his mouth.

Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye. "What are you giggling about?"

"You. You just - you get so bitchy at the other drivers and, I swear to god, man, it's the funniest shit." He laughs again, says fervently, "Christ, I love you, Stevie."

And then he freezes. Realizes what he said. Takes a deep, horrified breath. It's too soon, they only just started dating, he can't say something like that, he's... He backtracks. "Uh... I mean, uh, I love when you - "

And then freezes again when Steve slides his hand off the steering wheel and onto his thigh, fingers curling around the inside. "So, you love me, huh?"

Eddie chances a glance over at Steve. Despite the teasing tone in his voice, there's something soft around his eyes and the edges of his smile. Something almost... hopeful.

Eddie swallows and decides fuck it. "Yeah, yeah I do," he tells Steve quietly.

Steve makes a quiet sound that goes straight to Eddie's heart. When he peeks over again, Steve is looking back and forth between Eddie and the road and his expression is so open and tender and happy that Eddie doesn't regret for a second what he said, even if it is too soon. "I love you, too, Eds," Steve says and Eddie feels his stomach swoop with butterflies. He puts his hand on Steve's, squeezes it, tangles their fingers together, grins bright at this man he loves so very much.

And if, after that, Steve goes out of his way to play up his bitchiness whenever Eddie is in the car and Eddie never stifles his laughter at it again, well, that's between the two of them, isn't it?

[monzterbatz]

hi tacomic fandom

[stervrucht]

“We need to defrost the freezer,” Steve tells Eddie when he walks out carrying a tub of ice cream.

Eddie sighs, head resting on his hands while he overlooks the empty shop. “I wish someone would defrost my will to live.”

Steve finds it funny. In a guilty snort sort of way, because Eddie’s jokes are kinda dark and he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to laugh. But yeah, working at Scoops is a drag at times, and Steve understands it at some level.

It escalates from there. 

Steve will tell Eddie they’re out of hazelnut ice cream, and Eddie will get a look on his face that doesn’t promise anything good.

“I’ll hazel your nuts.” Eddie cocks his head, staring at him in that ridiculous sailor uniform with mischief painted on his face.

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

Steve tries to pretend he’s weirded out, but when Eddie laughs at him like that, Steve can’t help but crack up as well. 

But that’s the normal stuff — because sometimes Eddie’s comments are hard to play off, and Steve doesn’t really know whether he’s joking at all.

“Morrison really fucked us over with the new schedule.” Steve frowns at the paper on the wall because they got like four evening shifts that week, including Friday and Saturday, and it’s messing with his dating life — even though that’s barely hanging on by a thread right now.

“I wish you’d fuck me over,” Eddie says as he cleans the glass display window with lazy motions.

It makes Steve stop in his tracks; makes his mouth run dry and his heart rate pick up. But Eddie just stares at him, same smile as always, waiting for Steve to shoot something back.

“Maybe I should.” The words are out before he knows it and Steve feels a little mortified by how much he meant it. When he looks over at Eddie, his lips are slightly parted, cheeks a little red, and the hand cleaning the window has stopped in its tracks.

Steve thinks that maybe Eddie meant his words as well.