#also: people come up with the most interesting prompts!

[howlingmod]

I never asked anyone like you for a request (beacuse I just never asked for it) but can you do a father figure 007n7 x reader? If you don't mind, I might refrence your work into mine if i ever wanted to because i think it looks nice

[hugs from zyran]

summary - 007n7 + child reader (platonic), also c00lkid is here

misc - So. I may have gotten carried away. this doesn't fit the prompt the best. (MY BAD. genuinely very sorry i was struggling). but i would be more than happy to do follow up or something im really a fan of this reader. lot of fun ideas to be had

-You were a weird kid. You couldn't remember much of where you came from and how you got where you were, couldn't think of anyone you could call your family, couldn't think of anywhere you could call home. With nothing to tie you down, you had to learn how to adapt to your surroundings.

-You learned how to lay low, hiding in plain sight and vanishing into crowds. If people did take notice of you, you knew exactly how to lose them in aisles and busy cities, making sure you got lost in all the action before they could get anywhere near you. You didn't want (or need, thank you very much) anyones help. You heard enough stories to let you know you'd just get tossed in with the rest of the unfortunate to be forgotten until you turned 18, and you'd much rather spend your days seeing the world.

-With all that you picked up from your surroundings, you eventually gained an interest in exploiting. You'd only seenn it yourself a few times, watching some other teens clip through walls to steal a few drinks from a gas station or something equally mundane, but you'd heard enough stories to have you hooked. You'd heard enough tales that people whispered to eachother about, seen the strictly-titled books detailing some of the most infamous that lined the scarcely visited corners of libraries, and you knew what you had to do next.

-It wasn't easy, not by any means, but you made it work. It's not exactly easy to get tutorials on something so looked down upon, especially the more advanced hacks, but you had all the time in the world to explore. Over time, you honed your craft, moving from slamming your hands into walls when it didn't work to effortlessly slipping through them. You just had to keep practicing and time would tell.

-Since it wasn't exactly easy to consistently secure food without any money or alerting others to your orphaned state, you started to implement your newfound skills to your daily routine. Only problem was it just forced you to realize some of the errors in your practice. It came to a head one night when you decided to try your luck with a local pizza place.

By that point, you were starving. It'd been a while since you'd eaten anything and you were exhausted from researching all day. Looking back on it now, that was probably big part of why things didn't go too well that night. You'd come up late, wanting to limit the number of possible witnesses.

There was one employee you'd spotted while cloaked heading out for a smoke break, so you'd have to carry out your attack before they got back. After sneaking around them, you'd looked in through one of the very corners of the windows, spotting one cashier and two customers. Not great conditions but you could make it work, at this rate you had to with how your stomsch was killing you.

Readying your nerves, you'd walked back to what you presumed to be the exterior walls of the kitchen. With another breath, you stepped forward, slipping through them with ease and starting your mental timer before the other employee returned. You had to be quick, analyzing your surroundings the moment you came to, completely unaware your sudden entry wasn't at all hidden from the customers thanks to a large doorway you weren't able to see from the window.

There were a few pizzas that seemed ready to go, though they weren't yet boxed up. You looked around for a stack of cardboard, hastily snatching one up the moment you spotted them and slipping one of the pizzas into it. You'd underestimated the weight of it, watching it slip off the lip of the box and onto the floor with a muted splat. You hissed, biting your lip in embarassment before brushing it off. You only had so much time, you couldn't cry over spilled pizza.

The next one went in fine, much to your hushed delight, and you made your way back out. The moment you passed the walls threshold you stopped. One pizza could last you a day or two but two pizzas could last you even longer. Without a second thought, you set the first box down, turned around, and made your way for another. This time, you didn't pick up on the exchange that started with your arrival.

"Papa! Look!" C00lkid cheered, pointing into the kitchen excitedly.

"Huh?" 007n7 looked where his son was pointing, being met with nothing. It was curious but he couldn't pay attention to it right now, busy with ordering.

You found another two pizzas, carefully inching them over into boxes and stacked them up. While you were at it, you decided to pick up a few sodas, you could use the sugar, you were getting pretty tired out lately. Once you'd carefully arranged your haul, you sized it up. It would be a lot to carry and you weren't too confident in balancing it all as you walked. There had to be some bags around here...

Just as you began to scour around, C00lkid separated from his father, quietly padding over to get a better look into the kitchen. He stood and watched as you dug around, looking in boxes and scrambling through the contents of drawers. Finally, you'd managed to find a stack of plastic bags in one box, temporarily struggling to peel one away from the others before you began to quietly open it up, wincing as it crinkled.

At the same moment you got back to your pile of food and began to put it away, everything came crashing down. The back door began to swing open, the other employee walking in with tired eyes before they caught sight of you, shooting wide open.

"Papa, look! There's a-"

"THIEF!"

You jolted upright, staring back like a deer in headlights before scrambling to get everything into the bag. One can clattered onto the floor, narrowly missing the plastic. They stood in shock while the cashier rounded the corner to see you as well, immediately darting over to try and catch you. Just as their arms tried to cage you in, you clipped through them, just barely keeping your bag with you.

"HACKER?!" The other employee shouted, still in shock.

The commotion had pulled n7 from his daze, drawing him over to his son, if only to make sure he didn't get caught in the crossfire. He wasn't sure what he expected to see when he looked into the kitchen, but he certainly wasn't expecting you. He'd seen you just a few seconds before you managed to get back through the wall, hardly disturbing a thing in your way. He recognized the exact exploit you were using as one of the first ones he'd ever learned. You were a novice for sure but, this young? You were well ahead of where he was at your age.

"Oh, for the love of God," Elliot groaned, staring at the spot you'd been moments prior before hiding his face in his hands.

"Should we like .. call someone?" The other asked, giving him a lost look.

"I don't even care, man."

-For the next few days, n7 couldn't stop thinking about the whole ordeal. Sure, he'd seen plenty of hackers before, of all different times and from all different scenes but .. you stuck with him. You looked so scrawny, so small. Maybe being a parent had made him soft- No, it definitely had, but he couldn't stop thinking about you. He did the same thing but he just did it for fun, you clearly had some need for it. Kids don't just look like that, learn this and steal food for no reason, that wouldn't make sense. You were long gone by the time they got outside, not like he'd expected you to stay around the scene long. C00lkid had helped him look around for a little bit to no avail, you made yourself vanish within seconds.

-It'd rained a few days later and he couldn't help but feel sick. He didn't know your situation but the guilt of just watching you run off was eating him alive. He found himself staring out the window, looking for something that never showed up. That night, he laid awake, staring up at the ceiling and listening to every drop hit the roof. The hours crawled by and sleep never found him. He couldn't live like this.

-The next day he'd dropped C00lkid off at school he'd asked Noli to pick him up and watch him till he got back, as he'd be busy with something. Noli had tried to ask him about it but only got a 'I'll tell you later,' in reply. He was too caught up in your case to explain himself right now. He'd tried to look for any reports on similar, recent cases but came up with next to nothing. You'd been keeping your exploiting on the down low for a while now if he had to guess, going off how .. iffy, your pizza heist had gone, that had clearly been your capstone project, an over extension of your abilities.

-You'd been keeping yourself out of trouble then, which was good. However, it gave him one location to go off of, which wasn't as good. Considering you hadn't teleported away, he figured you either A) hadn't learned how to yet, or B) lived in the area. With little else to go off of, he had to hope it was B, as he began his search. He looked into every alley he passed by, reluctantly going down each of them and scouring every corner of them. In a few especially embarrassing examples he'd been caught looking into dumpsters and turning over cardboard boxes, offering up a half-assed excuse about losing something that made most people narrow their eyes and slowly turn away, if only to make distance between him and them.

-He'd continued looking until the sun was just a few hours from the horizon with not a single clue or lead under his belt. Dreadfully, the idea that you were whole cities away began to creep into the forefront of his mind. It was only when he'd stopped into a convenience store for water that he'd gotten a lead.

"Long day?" The cashier asked, eyeing him up suspiciously. He wasn't in the best shape out of breath and distressed by hours of digging through dirty streets and other people's garbage.

"Ah, something like that," he laughed breathlessly, rubbing at his neck. He looked around the store idly, spotting the typical monitor of security cameras hanging up near the ceiling. He'd gazed into it, finding himself in one of the sightlines. Without a second thought, he asked, "Have you had anything get stolen recently?"

"Oh, are you kidding me? Every day some punk comes in here trying their luck, thinking they're a tough guy," they huffed, irritation hardening their voice, "Why? Is that a threat?"

"Oh! No, no, nothing like that! I just ... I know this is going to sound crazy, but I'm looking for someone and uh, the only thing I know about them is that they ..."

"Rob innocent people?"

"Borrow things," n7 winced, "Listen, I know that sounds bad but they're just a kid, I'm worried about them. I've got a son of my own and I just can't imagine what I'd do if I saw him in that kind of state doing things like this."

They cooled a little at that, shoulders lowering.

"I know you've probably got every reason not to tell me but I have to try, they deserve a chance, don't they?"

n7 stared at them, watching as they tapped their fingers on the counter and looked everywhere but at him. After a few long moments, they cracked, hunching over with a sigh, "I think I might know who you're talking about. I caught them here a few nights ago, from what I've heard they live somewhere near the park, under the bridge or in that storage shed, I'm not sure. Not my circus, not my monkeys."

n7 lit up at that, perking up instantly, "Oh- Thank you, you don't know how long i've been looking. Really, I can't thank you enough."

"Just get that kid far away from my store, I already deal with enough sticky fingers as is," They grunted in response.

-The moment n7 had paid for his stuff, he was out the door heading towards the park. Honestly, that should've been one of the first places he checked. He didn't have enough time to criticize his past decision, busy searching for a familiar figure.

-The bridge had been completely abandoned, only a few wrappers and empty cans left behind to insicate anyone had ever been there. Anything from your robbery was absent, leaving him to check the storage shed instead. He didn't pay any mind to the hefty padlock on the door, it was more for show than anything, if this really was where you were staying.

-Sure enough, the boxes and soda cans were one of the first things he found inside. There were a few raggedy sheets and a makeshift mattress out of a few others. You'd built up quite the stash of miscellanious belongings. Clearly, you'd been on your own for a bit, but just how long...? The pit in n7's stomach reappeared, deeper with even more guilt.

"Are you stalking me?" The sudden voice had caused him to nearly jump out of his skin, whipping around to see the owner of it. You were standing a few feet behind him, eyeing him up cautiously with a laptop tucked in one arm, the other clenched at your side.

"Wh- No, no I'm not stalking you. I just want to help you is all, it's not safe for you to be alone," He tried, making his voice as small and nonthreatening as possible. With the path you were on and your situation, he hardly expected you to be accomodating. He had to be careful of what he said here, one wrong word and the whole thing would fall apart.

"So you're stalking me."

"No, I'm- That's not," n7 stammered, struggling for the right thing to say. He wasn't exactly an expert in handling delicate situations, he barely even knew what he was doing with C00lkidd half the time.

"Weren't you an exploiter?" You asked, curioisity bleeding into your voice. There it was, that was an opening he could use, right? Find common ground then go from there ...

"Yes, I was. I see you've been learning. You're pretty impressive for a kid," you almost smiled at that, a twitch of the lips that was snatched away in an instant, corrected as soon as you noticed the slip-up.

"You aren't anymore. Why'd you stop?"

"Well, exploiting can hurt a lot of people. I ... I just wasn't proud of who I was, that's why I'm so w-"

You cut him off before he could even try segwaying into your situation, "That's stupid. You learned all that just to throw it away?"

n7 stiffened at that, this was clearly veering down the wrong path, derailing right before his eyes, "It's not throwing it away, it's just that you can't take advantage of people like that."

"Why shouldn't I? Not like they've done anything for me " you hissed, pulling your laptop up over your chest.

Fuck. This was going bad, really bad. You'd already taken a half-step back, you were so close to just running off and starting this whole process again. He got down on a knee, lowering to your height, "Listen, I know people haven't been kind to you and I'm so, so sorry for that. I can help you figure this out, I've got plenty of space and food- I've got a son just like you, actually."

You'd relaxed a little, setting your foot back down on the ground.

He smiled, "Or, if you don't trust me, I'd be happy to help you find someone else. I know there are plenty of people who'd be happy to take you in."

That set you off again. Instantly, any of the consideration you had was replaced with something more active, more aggressive. You clutched your arms around your laptop, hunching over it and grit your teeth, leering up at him, "Like I need your help! I'm not falling for this stupid trap, I'm not just gonna throw this all away! Just leave me alone!"

With that, you spun on your heel and ran through the wall, leaving him to spring up and stumble after you.

"I didn't mean it like that- I'm not gonna turn you in or anything. Just wait!"

He'd only caught you for a few seconds before he blinked, opening his eyes to see nothing. Where you'd been darting off moments ago, you were gone. Did you teleport? He hadn't seen any menu... He stared for a few seconds longer, scanning the horizon. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was around. You'd completely vanished.

He looked up at the sky, being met with sunset. The later half of one, too. When had it gotten so late? It'd been noon not too long ago. The sky was tinted with red, absent of any answers. Reluctantly, he turned away, heading back home. He'd have to try something else, maybe he should just call someone, he didn't have time to run around like this with C00lkidd. Speaking of which, how was he doing? He hoped he hadn't been too much trouble for Noli.

-***-

Your bones hurt, or maybe it was your muscles. Something was hurting, that's all you knew. You weren't too worried about it. From the way that shadow had made it out, you had all the time in the world to get better, stronger. The menu in front of you was stacked with new exploits, you'd been scrolling through it with glazed over eyes, each name drawing your interest with all the possibilities.

As you limbs laid heavy on the ground, your hand kept scrolling. You stopped briefly on one, '/fling.' You looked past the menu, finding a nearby log and typing in your best approximation of its ID. The second you hit execute, you watched it go flying, soaring through the sky until it inevitably hit the ground with a distant 'splash.' You smiled, a weak little laugh prying its way out of your scratchy throat. You spared your legs a glance, they looked so strange. Did you always look like this? Had you always had such sharp nails? Is that why everyone looked at you like that?

"Hey! That looks just like my dads!" A voice cried next to you, echoey and distorted. The owner plopped down by your side, leaning into your field of vision with a grin.

"He uses it to teleport us to school!" He beamed, rocking back and forth, "Can you teleport?"

You stared at the small boy out of the corner of your eye, meeting his excited, expectant eyes. Numbly, you shifted your eyes back towards the menu, finding the '/tp' and digging through your mind for a random ID number. Your fingers found the keys before they even registered in your mind, the screen an extension of your arm more than anything. As you hit 'execute,' a soda can fell and tipped over next to your knee.

The boy gasped, snatching the can up giddily, "Awesome! What else can you do?"

You found yourself looking for another command before you could even process his words, scrolling for the next object of interest. 'He looks so strange,' you thought, not too far off from how you looked, though. As he settled in to watch you work, you found you didn't mind either of your appearances.

[loki-zen]

This is intentionally a separate post from the one about how it always fucks up for me.

This is about assessing it at work as a tool to use in work contexts. As you know, I'm not in software. The clinicians I support can often barely use email. When what you are trying to do is assess its readiness to be used in an informative fashion by untrained people, the only reasonable way of doing that involves assessing its output when untrained people are using it!

As an aside, I am in fact testing stuff they intend to charge for, some of which doesn't even have a prompt type interface, as well as some of the more standard stuff. in a lot of these cases it wasn't me prompting it. I have been trying different ways of approaching the stuff that is prompted, but timewise most of this is at work so it's necessarily in a particular subject area.

I have *no* idea where you're getting the notion that any of these failures aren't failures; seems pretty cut and dried to me. Could you elaborate on that? I can certainly elaborate on why they're a problem.

(For example - incorrect/arbitrary use of linking words such as "however" and "therefore" can turn true statements into misleading ones, and is generally harmful to the sort of immediate comprehension that is needed when you are so strapped for time that you're considering having AI summarise things for you.

Only drawing from abstracts is useless because abstracts are already summaries, and when you apply the additional layer of non-specificity that is "summarise ten of these into one paragraph", you wind up so non-specific that you're not saying anything at all. Also, it's not what the company says its tool can do, so it's misleading the user into thinking they've done more than glance over an abstract, when that's in fact the absolute most that this can substitute for.)

Anyway: I am being fucking civil on this thread? I have posts where I am more ranty (because it's Tumblr and I may have used up my Polite for the day at work or whatever) but when I'm tryna have an actual conversation and say what I'm thinking a considered way (instead of like the uncharitable shit that crosses your mind when shit's frustrating, eg) I do not exhibit the kind of complete dismissal of other people's experiences that you're attributing to me here.

(I also think you might be confusing things a little: I don't think you guys are taken in by marketing hype. I think people I know irl, who do not work in software, are often taken in by marketing hype. This isn't because they get better outputs than me - some of what is in this post comes from me evaluating the outputs they got! I think they're taken in by marketing hype because they demonstrably have not felt the need to check!)

This - me posting about my experiences, and engaging with other people who have different ones - is me being curious! I'm not calling people liars, but I am noticing that we seem to be reporting different experiences! It would be interesting to tease out why. Is it the subject matter? Is it that you're an expert user? If so, how should that affect our assessment of the readiness of products, given that we can guarantee that most people won't be? What actually works to get better results and how do you implement that both in and outside of a back-and-forth chatbots type situation?

what i feel like people on here don't get when i wind up in these arguments is that I really am seeking out LLM tools - mostly the ones my coworkers are excited about - and testing them out. And when I actually examine their output in detail* they disappoint every single time. I think I'm actually remarkably charitable about people's claims that they're getting good and useful results given the amount of times this has happened.

* "in detail" meaning that I did one or more of the following:

Genuinely considered what I would have learned from this informative-writing-shaped object if I didn't know anything about the subject (a skill honed as a creator and editor of writing designed to inform the public about complex subjects)

Checked to see if its citations went to real publications, and if so, whether they were used in a way that would lead me to conclude that the writer has actually read the thing they're citing (the best I've ever seen an AI do on this was something I'd generously call a 90% hit rate on literal, is-this-the-right-article and-does-it-contain-that-claim accuracy - however, this was a product advertised as being for summarising research articles, and every single reference it made was to something from the abstract of the article in question!)

Where the LLM task was to describe or summarise a piece of writing, actually opened that piece of writing to compare it to the summary

Checked whether the tone/structure of the output was appropriate to its context - for instance, when asked to summarise a number of specific research papers on a given topic, does it sound like it's instead giving a broad overview of the topic?

Checked whether the grammatical and semantic elements actually pair up. For instance, if it starts a sentence with "however", does the content of that sentence in some way contradict, contrast or recontextualise the contents of the previous sentence? If it says that x or y "highlights" or "further demonstrates" z - does it?

Checked its implications. If it says that "these findings suggest a need to begin incorporating considerations of X into our models of Y, in contrast to traditional Q-based models", is that a reasonable thing to say or have our models of Y actually been largely X-based for fifteen years now?

In many cases, IMO - actually read the output! Like actually read each word and each sentence, attempting to construct meaning from the sequence of characters displayed upon the screen

To me these seem incredibly basic, and yet every single time it turns out that I'm the first one to examine it in this much detail before raving to my colleagues about how great it is. I feel like I'm being gaslit.

[puimoo]

Dick Grayson ficlet requests open

Because of my desperation to try and write anything through my oppressive writer's block, I am opening my messages/inbox to any 300-word Dick Grayson-related fanfic prompts - often the more specific, the better (with the reminder that these are tiny little ficlets on offer)! They can involve any other characters/weird and random AUs/the darkest angst and the lightest fluff (etc) as long as Dick is there as part of the request.

(If this doesn't work, the next step may be to hire someone to take one of my cats hostage)

[morganbritton132]

Oh geez this might be a double ask because my phone glitched out when I tried to send previously BUT just wanted to say that I love ur Steve has older siblings au

I also need to say that I shamelessly combined that au with ur post about Tommy knowing Steve the best. Just picturing Steve’s sibs zoning out when his mom lists what he can’t eat because they assume she’s just being difficult. Flash forward a few years and they accidentally poison Steve with like peanut butter cookies and are realllly lucky that Tommy was staying over that weekend and knows he’s allergic.

anyways thx for all ur writing!

I only got this ask once so we’re good! The Steve Has Older Siblings AU has kinda been on hold for a bit because Dustin is either the easiest or the hardest character to write and right now, he’s being difficult for me.

BUT! I love this.

I’m going to change it around a bit because I’m on this kick right now where Steve is allergic to aspirin. Also, with the way that Steve’s mom is written for this AU, she is negligent but protective of her son. I don’t think she’d allow peanut butter in the house if Steve was allergic.

She wouldn’t allow aspirin either but Richard insists that it’s the only thing that cures a migraine (hangover), and Steve’s eight. He doesn’t even like taking his Flintstone vitamins so she’s not concerned about him getting in the medicine cabinet.

It’s not common that Tommy stays over at Steve’s when they’re sick.

Typically his mom watches them at their house but she had to go wake up his grandma (“That doesn’t make any sense. Why can’t she set an alarm clock?”/”I dunno, Steve. That’s what Mommy said. She had to go to Granny’s wake.”) so Mrs. Harrington was babysitting them.

Mrs. Harrington isn’t very good at taking care of them. Tommy wouldn’t tell Steve that because it’ll make him sad, but his mom kinda sucks at this. She doesn’t even give them popsicles for their sore throats or kiss their foreheads to check their temperature. She just disappears for long periods of time to yell into the phone.

Tommy’s kinda happy when she has to go into the office because he thinks Claire might look after them, but she’s apparently studying in her room so Steve’s brothers are doing it.

Tommy secretly likes this better because Jason and Richie are very nice to him, and they tell him that he’s cooler than Steve. No one has ever said that before! Not even Carol and they got married under the jungle gym.

Tommy likes hanging out with them even if he feels icky today.

He is standing in the kitchen next to Steve, watching Richie cut a little orange pill in half with a knife. Richie keeps muttering under his breath about running out of the ‘liquid S H I T.’ Tommy thinks it’s funny that he said a bad word, but can’t laugh about it because he can see the bottle that the pill came out of and –

“I don’t think we take that,” He voices but Richie brushes him off. He says it’s like candy. Tommy has brothers too, so he knows that sometimes you gotta give in or they’ll rub your face into the carpet until you get rugburn, but, “I know but… but what if only I take it?”

“You take half,” Richie tells him. “Stevie over here takes the other half and then we’re right as rain. It reduces fever.”

“Yeah,” Jason adds from behind them. “So your brain doesn’t leak out your ears.”

Tommy looks over at Steve but he isn’t fully awake so there’s not much of a reaction there. Plus, he’s not a very good reader so Tommy’s not sure if he even knows what the bottle says. He tries again, ignoring Jason, “That’s not what Mrs. Harrington gave us earlier.”

“Yeah, I know. This is better.”

“Steve can’t take that,” Tommy tries again after he crunches the medicine between his teeth. He sticks out his tongue so Richie can see that it’s gone, and then adds, “Mommy gave that to him once and it made him really sick.”

“It did?” Steve croaks, snatching his hand back when Richie tries to hand him the pill. Richie tries to force the pill into his mouth but Steve presses his lips together. It makes his brother swear and gesture to Jason, and then Steve is snatched off his feet with a hand pinching his nose shut.

He struggles and Tommy wants to help but he – he also wants Richie and Jason to like him so, he doesn’t help. Steve gasps for breath and the pill goes in…and Steve is fine. He’s angry and out of breath, and his nose is still stuffy so he still kinda sounds like a frog but he’s not.. he’s not blue like last time.

Tommy thinks, oh. He thinks, cool.

Everything is fine for fifteen minutes and then Tommy is yelling out the door of Steve’s bedroom that they need help. Steve is breathing weird and – “and, I – I think he’s going to die!”

A lot of stuff happens at once. Claire leaves her room, Jason and Richie come up the stairs, and they all start yelling and blaming each other. No one really jumps into action until Tommy bursts into tears. Then it’s movement and car rides, and Tommy is sitting in the waiting room at the hospital without shoes on.

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been sitting there when Mr. and Mrs. Harrington rush into the room. The only thing he does know is that he’s never seen anybody look as angry as Mrs. Harrington did when she sees them.

She looks like she’s going to yell at them but Mr. Harrington grabs her by the arm and drags her to the reception desk. They disappear behind the white double doors that Steve went through.

It only makes Tommy cry harder.

[isekyaaa]

Venti, Zhongli, and opposites. Venti, Zhongli, and opposites. I do not want to write Venti, Zhongli, and opposites.

[ubike-official]

date back on for sunday now. His friend is okay. thank god. And uhhh, yea now we're finally be fr about the "hey we met on a dating, lets be so fr about what our experience has been" uncharted territory besties. we're not at "so what are you looking for?" but i already essentially told him my approach is to just really try getting to know ppl i find interesting and letting a spark develop from there w/o pressure. kinda like in school where you consistently see people in casual settings. and he thought it was a good plan so uh. here we are.

[fingertipsmp3]

I seriously am a colossal bitch when I’m sober, it’s completely unnecessary. I’m absolutely sick of myself and it’s only been two weeks.

[starcurtain]

A Closer Look at the Phaidei Memory

I've seen so many people talking about this scene with Phainon and Mydei and making fun of how blatantly obvious Phainon is about his... respect for Mydei's... conspicuous body, but one thing I feel like a lot of people missed (or at least I haven't seen anyone discussing) is that this memory seems to come from very early on in their acquaintance.

Looking at it closely, it's clear that the two aren't particularly familiar with each other yet in this memory sequence. For one, Phainon questions things that he should easily know if he was well-acquainted with Mydei already.

First, very comically: "Do you even bathe, bro?"

And second, Phainon questions why Mydei isn't immune to the black tide:

This suggests that, up to the point of this memory, Phainon had not been in enough battles with Mydei (or at least close enough to Mydei) to see him be affected by the black tide. Apparently, this memory-Phainon-and-Mydei don't have years of rushing into battle side-by-side to defend Okhema yet.

It's also hilariously clear that the Phainon in this memory has absolutely no idea how to talk to Mydei.

Breaking this scene down, it's literally Phainon just trying really hard to strike up conversation, doing his best to try to crack the tough exterior and get Mydei to actually interact with him. He jumps around through topics rapidly--the baths, the black tide, their personal sparring--looking for anything that will catch Mydei's attention.

Meanwhile, we can tell that Mydei is not particularly familiar or comfortable with Phainon yet because his dialogue is so different from any of his other scenes in the game. Although Mydei is obviously not the game's biggest yapper, he does always have full sentences to contribute to other conversations and banters readily with Phainon whenever he's baited into it.

In this memory, he instead starts off polite but also completely aloof:

This is the exact sort of response you'd have to a vague acquaintance coming up and trying to talk to you like you're best friends. Phainon skipped at least four steps of familiarity here, and Mydei is obviously at a loss for why the conversation is even happening.

He responds by blatantly stonewalling, answering Phainon's (slightly pathetic) attempts to start an actual conversation in nothing but single word answers:

You can even see Phainon recognize how bad he's failing half way through the conversation, which prompts him to vocally declare that he's going to make a complete topic switch:

And this time, it works!

When Phainon brings up their personal duel or spar, whichever it was, finally, finally Mydei caves and engages in the conversation with him:

Which prompts Phainon to laugh (in relief? lol) and flat out crow about how he's finally cracked the code and figured out how to get Mydei to notice him:

Poor Mydei, however, did not seem to realize his slight display of interest was going to lead him into a full conversation, and he responds to Phainon's blatant invitation to keep talking with a confused:

Witness Mydei accidentally turning down Phainon's request for a date in real time.

The only thing that complicates the situation is what Phainon says late in the memory: that they've battled "all this time." However, looking at his earlier comments, this last statement may just be in a general sense, as in "two Chrysos Heirs who have been fighting the titans for years," especially as the rest of the line "How do you train? Would you consider teaching me?" once again indicates a lack of close familiarity.

(It's also possible this line is just poorly translated in English, and was actually meant to refer to their legendary ten-day-long duel: "We battled all that time, yet I never saw you fatigued." Given the rest of the lines in the memory, I think "dodgy translation" honestly makes the most sense here, and would also just have really funny implications: Phainon and Mydei didn't fall in love at first sight; they fell in comically-long-duel at first sight. Okay, maybe for Phainon it was both.)

Phainon's earlier statements in the memory make it clear that he isn't very experienced with fighting Mydei specifically, with the overall implication of the dialogue being that they've just had their first duel against each other recently:

So anyway, where I am going with all this?

I know a lot of people got distracted by Phainon's (accidental?) pass at Mydei in the first line, but I think taking a step back and looking at the scene as a whole, in context, makes it even more hilarious and off-the-cuff:

Phainon and Mydei aren't well-acquainted in this scene.

Phainon literally walked up on a guy he barely knows and the first words that fell out of his mouth were "Dan Nicky your bobbies." "I would know that body anywhere."

Even Mydei was weirded out at first!

Like, Phainon has absolute foot-in-mouth syndrome around his new "friend." He spends the whole conversation narrating his own attempts to communicate ("Ah, I see I am unwanted. Instead of leaving, I shall try another tactic. Is it working yet?" and "Yes, yes, yes, it worked!") like this is a remotely normal thing to do around a person you're not even close with yet.

You can see his puppy tail wagging. He wants to be friends with Mydei so bad.

He is actively making up excuses to try to get Mydei to spend time with him here--first the comment about "Yay, you're here!" at the baths like he expects them to bathe together, then the whole "Why don't we go somewhere and have a long conversation about the insights we gained from rolling around in the dirt together?" to finally just flat out asking Mydei to train with him.

It's so charmingly earnest, straightforward, and even a bit awkward that I think this scene is really under-rated by the fans. It's not just another example of Phainon commenting on Mydei's muscles--it's a glimpse into what they were like before they were close and just how much Phainon wanted to connect to Mydei, how willing he was to explore to discover exactly what Mydei would be interested in so that he could seize that common ground between them.

Really a masterclass in showing us fans characterization right on the cusp of changing, and for showcasing both Phainon's charming audacity and Mydei's surprisingly-reserved-around-strangers behavior.

And, since we know the future that memory-Phainon-and-Mydei are headed toward... we also know it worked! Mydei is smiling by the end of the conversation! He and Phainon are going to become vitriolic best buds--er, rivals--and Phainon is going to get all the spars he wants.

Persistence pays off!

[annwrites]

⸻being billy's best friend, who he's in love with, would include:

· ꒰a/n꒱: fem!reader | gif | pink dividers

The day you meet Billy is his first day at Hawkins High.

You're assigned as his cute lil' tour guide, who's supposed to show him around the school—making sure he knows his ins & outs, & has all his ducks in a row before leaving him to his own devices.

He doesn't pay much attention to what you're saying, however. He's far more focused on watching your backside sway as you flit from classroom to classroom, and veer around various corners, babbling and pointing things out, which you deem to be of interest, all the while.

You're a sweet, studious little thing, he gauges right away. If you weren't, the principal wouldn't have specially picked you for the job of metaphorically holding his hand as he catches his bearings from the absolute sense of whiplash this podunk town has given him.

He's been here only a handful of days, & already he despises it. But, as he observes you with a smirk, he thinks there might be a couple things worth paying notice to.

"So," you chirp while turning back to him with a swaying skirt. "Do you have any questions so far?"

Billy trails his eyes along your feminine form, drinking in even the most minute of details. He takes a small step forward, while you remain rooted, and he presses a callused palm to the painted brick wall behind you while gazing at your flushed face from beneath hooded lids, framed by long, dark lashes. "Mhm. Just a couple," he says while idly chewing his gum.

You blink up at him. "Fire away."

He gives a light shrug, then tenderly runs the back of his index finger down the soft skin of your arm. "Just wonderin' what you all do for fun around here, doll."

You grant him a smile which radiates warmth. He then wonders if you're this personable to everyone, or if his sexual allure is to thank for having such a pleasant time at your side this sunny Monday morning.

"Well, there's a few things. During the summer, most people go to Hawkin's Pool. There's also the Starcourt Mall for shopping, and it has a small movie theater on the third floor. Speaking of movies, we also have a drive-in that's about twenty minutes from here, as well as Hawkin's Video for rentals. Oh, and the Hawkin's Arcade, as well as a roller-rink. The latter-most is my personal favorite."

The more you drone on, the more his interests wane. This place really is a lackluster shithole.

The hell is an arcade in comparison to the goddamn ocean, anyway? Sometimes, if he concentrates hard enough, he can still feel soft grains of buttery-brown sand sifting between his toes, and the incandescence of the sun's rays soaking into his pores as he stands on the damp shore before wading into gentle, lapping waves.

But each time he opens his eyes, it's always to a rude awakening of a small town full of morons and cow shit.

"You like the rink, huh?" he inquires, trying to glean a scrap of information about your personal interests to better suit his flirtatious ways when he inevitably makes a pass at you.

You nod enthusiastically, causing his pink lips to twitch in amusement. Bubbly, he muses. Adorable.

"Well," he begins while smoothly tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "Maybe we can make that our first date. Say," he bobs his head from side-to-side. "Friday night?"

Your eyes bloom wide and he grants you a wolfish smile, thinking he has you.

"You just got here," you blurt out, prompting a snort from his wide, freckled nose.

"Well," he says with a salacious lick of his lips, which leaves them glistening beneath fluorescent overhead bulbs. "Just thought maybe you wouldn't want to stop being my own personal tour-guide with just the school. Maybe we could take our own private trip around town, too."

He comes even closer, ready to strike. "I've got my own car. A Chevy Camaro. Ever been in one?"

You chew your lip for a moment, and he grants you the time to mull it over, knowing you'll cave. They all do. Being Billy Hargrove means always getting what he wants. When it comes to attractive women, at least.

He thinks this, until you turn and begin heading down the hall once more, expecting him to follow behind like a lost, obedient puppy. "Your fifth period class is this way."

Meanwhile, Billy remains where he is, staring after you, quickly cooling, while wondering what the hell just happened.

Billy quickly deems you a challenge meant to be overcome & conquered.

You're precocious & exuberant—sometimes annoyingly-so—but he also finds it endearing.

Not that a dark storm cloud such as he would ever admit to thinking as much.

Honestly, you seem so oblivious to his carnal interests in you that he begins to wonder if maybe you're just into chicks instead.

Billy leans a broad shoulder against the locker beside your own while studying you. "So, what is it, then? I don't have the right equipment for you?"

You glance to him with a raised brow, curious as to what he's talking about. "Hm?"

He leans in, enveloping you in his signature scent of pungent tobacco, sharp mint chewing gum, and oaky cologne. You find it a bit dizzying. "You batting for the other team?" he explains slowly with a creased brow.

You flush. "No."

"So you like guys?" he presses.

You turn back to your locker and step onto the base of it so that you can reach a purple notebook on the top shelf. "Yes."

He frowns in indignation. "So it's just me that doesn't do it for you?"

You blanche and slam the top of your head off of the metal bar above you before stumbling down while clutching at your injured scalp with your free hand. "Ow..."

He smirks. "Need me to kiss it and make it better, baby?"

You brush your shoulder against the door to your locker, shutting it securely. "We could just try being friends, y'know? Just because we're each of the opposite sex doesn't inherently mean something more has to develop."

He raises a well-groomed brow. "I don't do friends, sweetheart."

You cock your head to the side. "How come?"

He comes up short when he finds himself lacking for a halfway-decent answer that isn't too intimate, thus leaving him open to mockery. Not that he really thinks you that sort of girl.

Because I don't do attachment, is the reply which floats to the forefront of his mind, but he can't speak such a sentiment aloud.

"I know what I'm after. Hanging out at the arcade ain't it."

You smile. A gesture which is meant to put him at ease, but the look in your willful eyes says otherwise—like that he shouldn't have opened this can of worms in the first place. "We don't have to go to the arcade. We could just drive around town, go to the park, or—"

He barks a laugh. "So we can have a sweet little picnic together? Sure sounds like a date to me."

"Not if we don't label it as one. Context is important, y'know?" you insist.

He feels adrift right now. You actually want to be his friend. He hasn't had that yet. Not here, at least. Not for...a long while, really, if he's being truthful.

He's developed quite the adept hand at not only keeping people at arm's-length, but willing them away at any given moment when he senses that they're verging into delicate territory he refuses to allow them permittance to. Such as into his heart, or the house he lives in. Or matters of his childhood.

It's easier to maintain the particular crafted image he's designed of himself that way—if he remains an enigma. Besides, chicks like mystery.

Except you, apparently. Pain in his ass that you are, even if you don't mean to be.

But this is you opening a door for him, and inviting him into your life, while simultaneously asking to be a part of his. Does he really want to reject the offer you've extended?

Does he want to keep being alone?

He decides that he can always renege later if he comes to regret this—just blow up in your face in a fit of anger, thus pushing you out, and away, for good.

"Fine. But I'm not doing some damn picnic."

You beam up at him, and he wants nothing more than to lay one on you.

He knows then that keeping his anger under wraps isn't going to be a source of concern with you, but wrestling control of something else which lies just below the belt will.

Billy Hargrove is absolutely fuckin' pussy-whipped.

And he's not even getting any, is the worst part.

The two of you have spent an innumerable amount of time together the last few weeks.

All because being with you is so intoxicating.

Because you're so goddamn nice to him—sweet, even. Just not on him, unfortunately.

He still makes passes at you every now and again, but you usually just brush it off or give him a look which says, quite plainly 'I know what you're doing, William Hargrove, and it's not going to work'.

He doesn't give up, though.

He ain't no quitter.

Nevertheless, he looks forward to seeing you.

Every. Single. Day.

He put an end to you needing to take the bus that first evening, after the discussion at your locker where he tentatively agreed to be your friend.

He'd caught sight of your dress disappearing through a crowd of obnoxious kids.

So, he followed along, wanting to stake a public claim.

Not that you saw it as that, innocent thing that you are.

Just as you were heading up the steps of the rumbling yellow bus which would drive you away, he gripped your hand in his and pulled, sending you tumbling backward into his chest as he hauled you—his strong fingers laced between your own—across the lot and to his car.

He didn't open the door for you, though.

Nor did he understand why he'd been so damn eager to race out the front entrance of the school in search of you in the first place.

Maybe because for the first time in a long time, he felt happy or excited about something—anything. Excited that...someone finally wants him around.

That a girl does. For more than just sex; his body.

And so he's been practically glued to your fuckin' side since then.

The first handful of days, he tried to keep a healthy distance, figuring you'd either finally give in to his irresistible charisma, or you'd grow bored of spending time with him because he's not something you're used to. After all, you already have a life here. Garnering familiarity with a stranger takes effort. Especially him.

Instead, however, you've given him your undivided attention.

He walks you to each of your classes, sits with you at lunch—playfully stealing items off your tray, but always nonchalantly & inconspicuously easing his own between the two of you, so as to ensure that you have enough to eat.

He drives you to and from school—even bothering to wait for you by the passenger door of the Camaro some mornings—golden curls hanging over his forehead as he pops your door open for you and shuts it gently behind you.

The two of you develop a sort of routine.

You educate yourselves on the other's mannerisms and habits.

"Knock it off."

Your lip twitches as you press the window down button again.

"Keep it up and I'll pull over right now."

Zzzzzip goes the window, inviting a tepid breeze in.

Billy sighs exasperatedly while shifting gears. "I should bend you over the hood of the car and spank you until your ass is raw for the way you're gettin' under my skin right now."

The window is then returned to its previous state of being submerged within the top seal, and Billy fills to the brim with disappointment.

Sometimes, he thinks you do shit just to be a tease; to rile him.

Like the Friday evening he came inside your house with you after school so you could change before you dragged him to the roller-rink.

You'd told him you'd just be a minute, but he had opted for being naughty instead when he snuck inside your room and silently watched you strip.

He hadn't anticipated that you would be changing everything, however, until you hooked your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and they pooled around your feet on the vacuumed carpeted floor.

When you turned to head for your dresser to retrieve a fresh pair, you had shrieked in terror at the sight of him watching you before falling backwards into your closet, sending a cascade of sweaters and dresses down upon you.

He'd meant to make you aware of his presence, but once you were nearly naked, the words got caught in his throat.

But your display had been unexpectedly hilarious—like something out of a damn comedy movie—so he began to laugh. Full on cackling and snorting. He even blew a snot bubble as he doubled over onto the floor.

Initially, you were fuming as you emerged from your makeshift pile of polyester and cotton—looking like a pissed-off kitten—until you saw how happy he was.

And you softened in an instant.

He never laughs. And all his smiles seem so empty all too often. So, to see the rare sight of him filled with joy...it filled you with love and blooming warmth between your breasts.

As you crawled toward him—still pantyless—his guffawing turned, instead, into an occasional chuckle.

He dragged you between his legs, then shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your bare shoulders before kissing your forehead and apologizing for spying.

Even if he by no means tried to seem genuine about it. Because he wasn't.

Having the knowledge that he was the first and only man to have seen you like that changed something within him.

He became...far more protective after that day.

Possessive, even.

Billy flops back onto your bed while gazing up at your gauzy white canopy, and he reminiscences on the first time you invited him in with a smile.

You'd cheerily shown him around the house while holding his hand—he appreciates how soft and smooth your skin is in comparison to his own—pointing out favorite knick-knacks and such here and there, before explaining how your dad recently remodeled the bathroom across from your room, and how you tried, quite poorly, to help by nearly knocking over a bucket of paint while dancing to pop music on the radio.

It had sounded like something you would've done.

And then you'd led him into your bedroom, thus causing his heart to lodge itself in his throat at the vision of the appealing downy bed found in the middle of it, piled high with pillows, and shoved against the wall to the right.

As he stared, and wrapped his mind around just how girly and cleanly and organized you are, you gushed about all your decorations and how you just adored one of your records, simply because it's pink and heart-shaped.

He had wanted to kiss you so fucking badly that day. Had wanted to lie you back on your bed, after slowly undressing you, before teaching you everything he could about the pleasure that can be had from a female body.

He's already aware just how overly-sensitive your own is.

He discovered as much one Saturday while tickling you relentlessly on the floor until you were breathless and giddy with giggles. He only ceased when you began to keen, begging him to stop before you wet yourself.

Finally, you emerge from your closet—he had promised he wouldn't watch this time—while holding up two different dresses.

"Which one?"

This is what he had meant about you being a tease.

You're clad in only panties and a sheer bra, which has everything practically on display between its decorative lace pattern.

He swallows thickly while feeling an erection swelling in his jeans.

"You tell me 'just friends', then stand in front of me like that," he hisses from a sense of building frustration.

You blink ignorantly, then glance down, as if you've forgotten the fact that you're not wearing any clothes. "Woops."

He crosses his arms with a frown. "I'm supposed to fuckin' buy that?"

You lift your head again. "You've already seen everything, anyway. And I've changed in front of girlfriends before. You're my best friend now, so—"

"I am?" he interrupts, taken aback.

You nod—the dresses bouncing in your grip. "Yes. We spend all our time together. Do you not...consider me yours?" you ask apprehensively.

He stands while shaking his head lightly, but not in reply to your question. Rather, more in a 'what am I going to do with you?' sort of way. He fingers the hem of a dark blue dress with little white flowers printed across the material.

"You know I'm not gay, right? I don't give a shit about fashion." His heated gaze bores into your own. "You could go naked for all I care."

You roll your eyes.

"Actually, scratch that," he says, continuing. "Because the only one who gets to see that much of you is me."

You open your mouth to reply, until he takes the blue dress from you, letting the hanger dangle from his finger. "This one."

Billy spends nearly all of his time at your house now.

Initially, his dad was up his ass about where he was taking off to all the time.

Billy had feared he'd get himself locked up if his old man even attempted at keeping the two of you apart.

It's like you're a piece of him now. The one he hadn't known he'd been missing, until you fell squarely into place in his directionless life.

As such, he refuses to let anything come between the pair of you.

When he informed him that it was a friend that he was donating all his time to, Neil had cut him deep by sneering 'What friend? Last I checked, boy, hardly anybody wants you around."

His words always hurt so much worse than his fists.

"Shouldn't be a problem that I'm away from home more often now, then. Should it?"

Neil had stalked closer, causing Billy to shrink into himself like a frightened little boy.

"What friend?" he'd spat.

"A girl from school."

"Another one of your fuckin' whores you keep on the side, huh?"

For the first time since he was young, Billy stood at full height, finally seeing just how many inches he has on him. He puffed out his chest and stared him down before stepping forward, and forward, and forward, Neil being the one to stare at him in fear.

"Don't you ever fucking call her that again."

Billy has been reticent in disclosing his home life to you.

Partly because he’s so envious of your own.

That you and your parents are the proper definition of a ‘nuclear family’.

Your mother is just as kind as you—he comes to quickly see where you inherited your temperament from—while the both of you are, without quarrel, your dad’s whole world.

Hell, your old man even helps Billy change his oil once.

Not that he actually needed the help—he’s done it numerous times on his own—but it had been…much appreciated, nonetheless.

He always looks forward to being home with you.

Billy emerges from the bathroom—your dad really did do a great remodeling job on it, while you and your mother’s feminine touches can be noticed right down to the bar of soap he just used—to hear you rummaging around in the kitchen.

Billy clears the corner, then leans against the entryway to the sun-drenched room you stand in, watching with a sense of relaxation as you place a nonstick pan on the stove-top. You glance to him then while fixing your hair into a ponytail. “Are you hungry, baby?”

His heart fuckin’ stops.

No one has called him that since…

Since…

That simple pet name alone is enough to nearly bring him to tears.

His ocean-blue eyes sting with them, but he forces them back, along with the lump in his throat.

To make it somehow worse, you didn’t even say it in a flirtatious way.

It was just…in a…hell, in a sugar-sweet maternal way.

Finally, Billy nods shyly. “I could eat.”

You open the fridge then. “Is grilled cheese okay?”

He smiles slightly while vibrating from nerves. “Sounds perfect.”

You begin doing it more: referring to him by terms of endearment.

At first, he wonders if you’re finally flirting back.

But, terrified that if he makes any sort of comment about it, you’ll permanently cease this new behavior, he keeps his mouth shut.

He gets antsy when it gets to being awhile between you referring to him as ‘baby’, ‘sweetie’, ‘sweetheart’, etc, however.

Honestly, he can get down-right cranky about it.

Like some spoiled snot-nosed little brat who’s not getting his way.

But when you ask him why he’s being moody, he never lets on the real reason.

He typically just makes up easy-to-swallow bullshit excuses.

You turn the dial for the radio down before turning toward Billy with furrowed brows.

He braces for a barrage of questions: Is he feeling okay? Is he hungry? Does he need something? Did you do something which upset him (as if you could ever)?

But even your mini-inquisitions make him feel better all on their own; a sign that you care. That you worry after him.

“Are you sure that you’re okay, baby?”

His lip twitches and he fills with a small sense of satisfaction.

“Just fine, doll,” he replies coolly while loosening his grip on the steering wheel and unclenching his jaw. Even his taught shoulders sag.

“So,” Billy says while capturing one of your checker pieces. “Guess who’s trying out for the basketball team at school next week?”

Your head shoots up. “Really?” you ask with excited astonishment.

“Mhm,” he hums, trying to play it off with a casual shrug. “Wanted to know if my little good-luck charm would come and sit on the bleachers so I have a better chance of making the team.”

He lifts his head while pinning you in-place from beneath his lashes. “If I get drafted, I could give you one of my extra jerseys to wear to all our games.”

Because you’re the only one I can count on coming, he thinks, but absolutely does not say.

You stare at him for a moment—you can certainly be a bit of a space-cadet sometimes; not that he doesn’t find it charming when he catches you occasionally gazing across the room at nothing while he presumes elevator music is playing in your head—and then you launch yourself across the board game between the two of you while tackling him down onto your fluffy pink rug, sending checker pieces scattering across the carpet.

You pepper his face with tiny kisses and a luxuriant smile forms upon his lips at the affection you’re granting him without reserve.

You’ve never been one to hold back when it comes to showering him with love and kindness.

Finally, you pull back while smoothing tangled curls from his forehead. “I’m so proud of you for putting yourself out there, sweetie.”

He slides his hands down your waist. “You’ll come then?”

You press your forehead to his. “Of course.”

You reassured him numerous times that whether he’s chosen or not, you’re immeasurably proud of him.

But he wants this. Not necessarily because he’s hyper-passionate about the sport itself, but because without surfing…lifting weights only does so much to keep his body in-shape and his mind focused.

Because when he allows it to drift, it’s always to thoughts of inevitably losing you.

Do you still not want more? Do you not…feel what he does when you’re alone together?

He’s tried to force some sort of emotive reaction from you in varying ways as of recent, to see if this…feeling is truly one-sided.

Like inviting you over one afternoon—an extreme rarity that he opts for his house instead of yours—and popping a movie in the VHS player before suddenly ‘getting bored’ twenty minutes in and deciding to lift weights right in front of you instead. While shirtless, no less.

Billy flexes his abs while putting on quite the show…that you’re not even lending your attention to.

“Thinkin’ I should up how much I’m lifting,” Billy grunts while curling a steel bar toward his slick chest.

You turn your head in his direction and stare at him with mild interest. “Oh?”

He bites his lower lip while assuring his stance—hoping he looks like a delectable piece of eye-candy. “Seventy just doesn’t give me much of a challenge anymore. Maybe I should go for ninety.”

“You could look at yard sales.”

He settles the weight back on his bench press. “Huh?”

“For new weights. I think people sometimes sell them at yard sales. Garage sales, too. Or—oh! Maybe an estate—”

He steps over to you then, closing the space between you as his wide form comes suffocatingly close. He leans down with his biceps bulging on either side of you. “You can be a real airhead sometimes, y’know?”

You glower at him. “That was mean. I was trying to be helpful.”

He smirks and a droplet of sweat slides off his chest to instead soak into your top. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing. Think it’s kinda cute, actually.”

He gives you a peck on the lips before returning to his toilsome hobby, leaving you flabbergasted at you and Billy having had your first kiss.

You flush more often when you’re around him now.

So, too, does he give you more pecks on the lips.

But still, nothing more seems to grow between you.

Even during tryouts, he shows off. It feels like his mind is split in half—one portion focuses on the ball he’s dribbling across the gleaming, polished court, while the other hopes you’re impressed by his physique as he seamlessly dodges his opposing classmates.

But when he allows himself a split-second to look at you, you’re on the edge of your seat—practically breathless from anticipation—with eyes only for him.

And once he makes the final winning throw, you nearly trip over yourself as you bound down the reverberating metal steps of the gym’s bleachers to instead throw yourself against his damp chest, and he lifts you into the air.

He tries to kiss you with the knowledge of just how many pairs of eyes are watching, but he’s jilted when you pull away.

Getting tired of wooing you with nothing to show for it, he opts for a more…assholish route.

He hooks up with a girl from school.

And he hates the entire evening he spends with her in his bed.

He can’t get her out the door fast enough.

The clarity that hits him once he finishes in his condom is blinding.

Only one girl revs his engine now.

Nevertheless, he wants to evoke a sense of jealousy from you.

“Sorry about last Friday. Me and Vicki hooked up, so I was busy.”

“Oh.”

He glances to you, watching as you stir soggy cereal around a little plastic bowl.

“That’s it? We’re best friends. Think I’m at least due a high five for nailin’ her finally.”

You gather your untouched breakfast and suddenly stand. “I’m going to throw this away.”

Billy watches as you walk sullenly across the cafeteria.

What if he went too far?

You’re hurt. He can tell.

But it doesn’t engulf him with thrilling fulfillment. Instead, he feels like dogshit.

You don’t even return to the table once you’ve disposed of your uneaten food. Instead, you make your way out and across the hall to the girl’s restroom.

He waits for you at your locker.

And when you reach it…you’ve been crying.

He can tell.

He really fucked up.

But y’know what? It pisses him off a little, too. You getting all emotional—trying to guilt-trip him—when you were the one who made it clear that you desire nothing more than friendship between you.

“You not like her, or something?” he presses while crossing his arms defensively.

“I’m happy for you, Billy.” A beat of silence. “I’ll get your jersey back to you tomorrow.”

His hackles stand on-end. “What?”

You pop your locker open then. You haven’t looked at him once all morning.

“So you can give it to Vicki to wear. I’ll…keep my distance. I know some girls can… People… They don’t always like it when their partner has a friend of the opposite sex. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

He’s such a fucking moron.

He always does this. Always ruins everything. Give him something good and he won’t stop until he’s destroyed it—turned it to shit.

“We’re not…” he grasps for words, feeling like the rope which binds the two of you together is slowly fraying and that the last fibers are about to snap, causing him to lose the only thing he has left.

Again.

“We’re not going together. We just…screwed. That’s it. I don’t want anything else from her.”

You close your locker then while shaking your head. “No wonder why I refuse to date in high school.” you look at him then with red-rimmed, glassy eyes, and a sharp jolt of pain shoots straight through his chest. “You’re all after one thing.”

That’s why.

Why you’ve not asked for more.

You think… You think that he’d use you up and toss you aside, too.

Not that it’s right that he did as much to Vicki, as well as a parade of other chicks.

But…he didn’t love any of them.

He never has.

Until…

Until you.

Final class of the day: Math. Which is Billy’s favorite, but your least.

He’s helped you with your arithmetic many times, and had been quite pleased to see your grades much-improved before long, all thanks to his aid.

Halfway through the worksheet you’re all completing together, the teacher calls you to the front of the class to solve an equation.

On your way there, however, the boy seated in front of Billy snorts. “I’m surprised Little-Miss-Airhead can even solve how to get her locker open.”

Billy’s rage rears its ugly head, and he grabs the back of the shitstain’s shirt in his fist while jerking him backward, forcing the front legs of his desk off the floor. “Call her that again,” he growls lowly from between clenched teeth. “And I’ll beat your ass behind the bleachers once the final bell rings until you’re coughing up a mouthful of teeth.”

He releases him then, sending the prick sputtering for air.

Your eyes briefly meet with Billy’s, and you give him a small, solemn smile. Thank you.

Billy is ready to crawl out of his skin on the way home, but he knows he needs to say something.

He has to fix what he’s nearly broken.

He’d rather die than lose you.

“The jersey is yours. I gave it to you for a reason. Besides, with…Vicki…” he trails off and grips the wheel impossibly tighter.

Meanwhile, you remain eerily silent, willing him to continue.

“It wasn’t even fuckin’ enjoyable, alright? I couldn’t get her out the door fast enough afterward. And, yeah, maybe I used her for sex. As if plenty of chicks haven’t done the same to me in the past. But she’s not some victim of a broken heart. We both had our reasons for screwin’ each other.”

You remain still while watching trees and street signs flit by the window you gaze out of. “Can’t imagine what those would be.”

“To make another jealous.”

You turn cautiously toward him then, not wanting to make the thought-process which just went through your mind blaringly obvious. “W-who?”

He shrugs. “For her, her ex.”

“And…you?” you ask while nervously fidgeting with your tinkling charm bracelet.

He glances to you with an arched brow. “You really gotta ask?”

You blink with wide eyes.

He returns to the road ahead. “Guess it worked.”

By that weekend, everything is back to normal between the two of you.

Well, ‘normal’ is a relative term.

Because your dynamic has most-assuredly shifted.

Like during breakfast or lunch, when Billy sits next to you, he’s begun testing the waters by sliding a callused hand up your naked thigh, to just above the hem of your skirt.

Neither of you make any pertaining comment to how the aforementioned limb trembles as he stares into your eyes with a wavering look about him—just waiting to be told to get his paws off.

You’ve also started giving each other fleeting pecks on the lips before you get out of his car when he drops you off.

You occasionally hold hands in the halls at school as well, and Billy glares daggers at any facet of the male population who dares to look at you too long for his liking.

The pair of you can’t help yourselves before long from toeing the invisible line that’s slowly eroding away, leaving no boundaries to be crossed, because they no longer exist.

Like when you emerge from the shower one Friday after school, ready to change into something more comfortable so the two of you can watch a movie together on the living room couch.

And you drop the item on your bedroom floor, letting Billy take his fill of your naked body.

You’re quivering from nerves—of course you’re self-conscious; terrified he’ll be disgusted. Until he pads over, takes your hand in his, and forces you to cup his erection.

“See what you fuckin’ do to me?” he breathes before retrieving a pair of panties from your dresser and kneeling to slide them up your bare legs.

He does grin with amusement when he goes to find you a shirt, only to find one of his own stuffed into your pajama drawer, however.

You’re laid back on the couch, while Rocky plays quietly on the box TV that’s but a handful of feet away.

Meanwhile, Billy is sprawled across the sofa as well, but he’s resting wholly on top of you. His lean frame presses against your body, radiating heat across every inch of your exposed skin.

You continue your ministrations of massaging his scalp—as his head is currently resting between your breasts—while your other hand rubs small, soothing circles along the middle of his back, beneath his shirt.

The movie is only halfway through when he begins to snore.

And you can’t help but smile in contentment at the fact that he feels at-ease enough to fall asleep in your arms.

You close your eyes then, too, while brimming with giddiness at this intimate moment.

When you wake, it’s to Billy’s head shoved beneath your shirt and him suckling at one of your nipples.

“Billy! What’re you doing?”

He doesn’t retort. Instead, he merely trails his wide, wet tongue along your horripilated skin, cresting the valley between your breasts before bestowing his undivided attention upon your opposite nipple.

 You whine while arching your back and wiggling your hips, and Billy merely slides a hand under your shorts while grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing.

“Ah! Billy—”

“Tryin’ to concentrate,” he mumbles before lapping at your right breast again.  

You lie there, and your eyes flutter closed as warmth blooms between your thighs and wetness begins to seep from between your legs.

With you trapped beneath his heavy weight, however, there’s little-to-nothing you can do to relieve the growing pressure which is forming in your panties, due to him.

The same can’t be said for Billy, however.

Eventually, he pushes your shirt up and above your head before situating it behind your neck so you can each have a full, unperturbed view of one another.

And once you do, he takes your left breast in one hand while slipping his opposite in his pants so that he can slowly stroke his throbbing erection.

You swallow thickly, finding that your mouth has suddenly gone dry.

“You know how many times I’ve jacked off to the thought of you?” he rasps.

Your skin is flushed and your eyes are glassy, while your ears are lightly ringing, but a moment later to do you finally shake your head after having ingested what he’s asked you.

“Too many,” he states before diving down and capturing your lips with his own.

Each time he strokes himself, his knuckles brush against your pulsating cunt.

You whimper in frustration against his lips and his exploring tongue that slips along your own with deft experience, while lifting your hips, wanting to grind against him—against anything so as to gain a modicum of friction to relieve your swollen clit.

Finally, he eases his pants down, then shoves his hand inside his briefs again while situating the tip of his cock against the front of them.

“This what you want, baby?” he asks between breathless pants.

You nod enthusiastically. Yes, it is.

He releases himself then, only to hook his index fingers under the waistband of your shorts.

His darkened eyes meet yours, you nod, and then he pulls them down and off your body in one fell swoop before dropping them onto the floor.

“Spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he coos, and you promptly do as you’re told.

He runs his thumb through your slick folds while cursing under his breath. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

His eyes flit to yours. “Anybody ever told you how pretty this pussy is, baby?”

You shake your head.

He smirks. “Course not. ‘Cuz I’m the first. Gonna be the only,” he murmurs before easing a single finger inside you.

You gasp while throwing your head back, then cross your arms to tug the shirt you’re wearing the rest of the way off.

And once it’s no longer of consequence, you’re entirely bare before him, leaving your body at his complete disposal to pleasure and tend to the sexual needs of.

Billy begins to so. So achingly slowly does he pump that single finger in and out of your red-hot heat while only occasionally swiping the pad of his thumb along your twitching clit.

Tears brim in your eyes from frustration, but it only makes him impossibly harder.

“Not gonna let you cum anytime soon, sweetheart. Not until I’ve decided you’re good and ready to.”

You whimper his name while your walls pulse around his thick digit.

And then he eases in a second one.

“So tight, angel. So fuckin’ wet and pretty and perfect.”

“Squeeze my fingers, baby. There you go. Good girl.”

“Oh, I know, honey. I know how good it feels. Shh.”

“That’s it, sweetie, just let your pussy do all the work. Your body knows what it needs. What to do.”

“Such a good girl for me, huh?”

Finally, once Billy’s hand is absolutely covered in your slick, he removes his fingers from inside you, and just as you feel ready to burst into tears from the loss of something to clench around, he begins to stroke his swollen erection, using your own arousal as a natural lubricant.

He lays his body atop yours once more, and you spread your legs wide before throwing them each over his hips.

Through his briefs, he presses his weeping tip firmly against your pussy and you gasp in satisfaction while turning your head to the side and he begins to nibble on the sensitive skin of your neck with his lips and teeth.

He slides the bulbous head up to your clit, then back down, and you shudder in pleasure.

He plants small, wet kisses up to your ear before moaning into it, saying so many dirty, and wonderful things to you.

“You like my cock, baby girl?”

You nod while sliding your fingers into his soft curls.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I thought so.”

“Take your time, baby. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

“You’re fuckin’ dripping for me.”

“Wanna slide my cock in that needy little hole so bad.”

“I’d fill you up until you’re stretched to your limits. Make you feel so goddamn good while I have my way with you.”

“Cum so fucking deep inside. Let you squeeze out every last drop until my balls are empty.”

“C’mon, baby. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

Your hips undulate against him and you’re no longer even trying to contain the ridiculous mewling sounds which escape your lips or get caught in your throat.

All you can concentrate on is the feel of him. How impossibly warm you are all over.

His hard, erect member prodding against your entrance and teasing your clit repeatedly.

Between the two of you, the front of his briefs are absolutely soaked through now; your fluids mixing together.

Billy’s tongue is practically fucking your mouth, willing you to take advantage of everything he has to give you tonight.

Finally, he returns his fingers to being inside of you—but three this time, which slide in so easily.

He curls them upwards and gently massages a hidden ledge between your legs.

You arch your back and he takes a taught nipple into his mouth while scraping his teeth carefully along the pink tip.

“S—so…close,” you stutter as your body trembles.

He licks a searing path down to your navel. “I know, baby. But not like this.”

Your eyes pop open just in time to take notice that his head is now between your legs.

“Gotta have you coming another way,” he says with a wink before he swipes his tongue through your folds and begins to suck on your clit.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, no longer thinking straight.

Billy positions your legs over either of his shoulders while burrowing the tip of his tongue inside of you.

You turn slightly toward the right, wanting more attention on your clit.

And then he hits it just right and you squeal his name, begging him—“right there!”

He groans into you before grabbing either of your hips and pulling you down toward him.

His eyes flutter closed as he loses himself to it—to you.

You whimper and whine and gasp, all while he remains concentrated on the task at-hand.

And then that pressure begins to build.

You curl your toes, arch your back, tighten your muscles.

Billy becomes practically animalistic with need when he clocks what’s about to happen.

He’s moaning and groaning against your weeping entrance, unable to help himself.

He feels like he’s about to fucking cum all over his briefs just from pleasing you alone.

Something which has certainly never happened before.

Finally, you reach your crescendo and you say his name in a garble of letters between other words which only half make sense as you begin to fall.

And once you’ve calmed, Billy gives your cunt one last kiss before crawling onto the couch again beside you and pulling your naked body flush against his own as you begin to shake.

He tugs a blanket from the back of it while wrapping you in it, and then his arms around you while you cry softly.

“I love you,” he whispers while tenderly kissing your forehead. “I love you.”

You’re each inseparable from the other from that night forward.

He calls you every evening to tell you goodnight and that he loves you.

You always say it back. Sometimes, with a teary voice, which, in-turn, makes him an emotional mess as well.

He’s happier than he’s ever been.

And he doesn’t even try to hide it.

So Neil does what he can to destroy his own child’s joy.

He gets physical one night.

Something about Billy forgetting to take the garbage out on the right day, and how he’s always drinking up all his beer.

Once Neil has gone to bed, Billy tears out of the driveway headed in one specific direction.

It’s almost midnight when you hear a soft rapping at your bedroom window.

You’re initially frightened and think to get your parents up.

You’re grateful that you didn’t opt for doing as much when you see that it’s just Billy, however.

But…something is wrong.

He’s…he’s crying.

He climbs in through your window and collapses into your arms in a heap of tears and apologies, and the explanation for his sorry state comes out in a nonstop barrage of words.

Everything comes spilling out.

From his childhood, to his mother leaving, to his being forcibly moved here with a new family he wants no part in being a member of, and being threatened near-daily by his father.

You hold him close while stroking his curls and giving him soft, comforting kisses on his damp cheeks, ensuring him over and over again that everything he is saying about himself is absolutely not true.

He is not stupid.

Not worthless.

Not a waste of space.

Not a piece of shit.

Not a bad son.

Not a bad person.

Not a weak, pathetic excuse for a man.

And no, you are not going fucking anywhere. He is your life now. Period.

And he most certainly does not deserve the things which have happened to and been inflicted upon him.

“Baby, I am so sorry,” you say, choking back a broken sob. “I’m so sorry she left you behind. That he has done this to you.”

He curls around you and you cradle his head in your hands. “So, so sorry, sweetie.”

Eventually, you coax him into bed with you. He strips down, then climbs in next to you and buries his face between your breasts while quietly sobbing.

All you can think to do is hold firmly to him as he lets it out. As you repeat soothing words and grant him comforting, maternal gestures.

And then Billy tells you the truth.

“I don’t just…see you as my girlfriend or best friend now.”

You remain silent while you press a handful of kisses to the crown of his head. “Tell me, baby.”

“You’re—” he stops, swallows down the bile rising in his throat, then takes the plunge. “Sometimes…you feel like… The way you treat me… Like the mom I lost.”

You begin to sob again while repeating how much you dearly love him, and how happy that makes you to hear. You assure him that he has always been, and will always be, safe with you.

The next morning, you’re each worn thin, but Billy kisses you anyway.

Trails his hands along your body.

Slips a gentle hand between your thighs.

You don’t need words for this.

For what you’re each saying with your eyes alone: it’s time.

You nod toward your bedside table, and he slides open the top drawer, and then his brows furrow at the small collection of prophylactics he finds inside.

You rest a dainty hand upon his chest. “For you.”

It’s slow, and tender, and you each weep slow, quiet tears at this last piece falling into place in your relationship.

Billy glides his hands up your back while you gaze down into his eyes with absolute adoration and commitment.

You rock your hips slowly against his; his erection positioned firmly inside of you, where it belongs.

Where he does.

You had read about this position in Cosmopolitan once—lotus flower? A beautiful name for a beautiful way to make love, you think.

You cup the back of his head while softly pressing your lips to his. And then you smile. “I’ve always thought your curls were so adorable.”

He actually blushes.

So you kiss his pink-hued cheeks.

Billy swallows down the lump in his throat.

“I love you,” you begin while cupping his cheek. “William Hargrove. Do you understand me?”

He nods, and you watch as tears brim in his ocean-blue eyes.

“I will never love another man. Only you. You are my world. My everything.”

He rests his cheek between your naked breasts, and you hold him there, where he listens to your pounding heart.

“I’m so glad we found each other. That you came here. But one day, when it’s right, we’ll go back. Together.”

His cock twitches.

“You are everything I could’ve ever wanted. Beautiful, kind, selfless, loving, strong, and so, so smart.”

He moans while guiding your hips with his hands.

“You’re perfect. We’re perfect for each other.”

He groans, and his cock strains where it’s lodged inside you.

“I’m yours, Billy. Forever and ever. Maybe the stories are true,” you whisper while leaning back just enough to look into his eyes again, and you swipe tears from his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. “I found my prince charming.”

Billy tangles his fingers in your hair then and forces your lips down upon his own as he finally climaxes.

Shortly before graduation does Billy present you with a ring which once belonged to another woman he had once loved.

Though, in a different way.

He’s shaking, and he stumbles over his words, while practically gasping for breath.

He pours his heart and soul into the proposal he’s making to you.

You get down on both your knees as well, and wrap your arms around him while granting him kiss after kiss after kiss. “Yes, of course I’ll be your wife. I don’t ever want to be anything else.”

Your parents are so glad for you.

Even if the news of your faraway move brings them both to tears.

But they knew this day was coming: their little girl growing up, finding love, and moving away to discover her own life somewhere else.

Your mom clutches you to her as Billy stands at the passenger-side of the Camaro, waiting for when you’re ready.

Ready…to let go of this: your childhood home and the town that raised you… You need only look at your future husband to know it’s a fair trade, though. Besides, you’ll both come back to visit once you’re completely settled.

Your father shakes Billy’s hand, then pulls him into a bear hug. And you watch them both battle against brimming tears as he forces Billy to promise him that if things don’t work out, that he’ll call him immediately, and he’ll get you both back home, and you’ll all figure things out together. To not be ashamed if California doesn’t go as planned—that this is a huge step, not to be taken lightly.

Billy merely nods, mutters a ‘yes, sir’, then quietly tells him: “I’ll be glad to get a new father once I’ve married your daughter.”

Finally, once goodbyes have come to a close, you jump off the front porch steps and into Billy’s arms while squealing with excitement.

You watch from the passenger seat, while holding tightly to your fiancé, as your parents grow smaller in the rearview.

But you know, as you look upon the man next to you, that everything is just as it should be.

· tagging list: @emilynissangtr @highsummon @shes-an-odd-bird

[steveseddie]

clarity

written for @steddiebingo hop into spring mini event | prompt: first time | rating: e | wc: 2,9k | no cw | tags: minor steve/male character, feelings realization, friends to lovers, first time, frottage, hand jobs

read on ao3

Steve hoped that coming here would clear some things up for him. It’s why he suggested driving to Indy and going to a queer bar when Robin said she wanted to do something fun for the weekend.

Of course, Steve told her it was so she could meet a cute girl. He never said he wanted to find a cute boy to try to figure out some things about himself. As far as she knows, he’s just being a supportive friend, that’s all.

Only now that Robin has disappeared into the dance floor with a pretty brunette, leaving Steve alone by the bar, he can stop scanning the crowd for girls that Robin might be into and start looking for guys that he might like. Because that’s the question Steve is trying to answer– whether or not he’s into guys.

A few of them catch his eye, but that doesn’t clear anything up– Steve has always been able to appreciate a hot guy when he sees one. That doesn’t mean he’s attracted to them, just that he has eyes. Or at least that’s what he thought until he asked Robin if everyone else did that. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

“I don’t,” Robin said after thinking it over for maybe two seconds.

“No?”

“Nope, like, I know what most girls find hot, but I’ll look at those guys on posters and magazines and I just think they’re– eh,” she said, sending Steve into a spiral for the rest of their shift.

Maybe that’s what he’s doing here, he thinks. Maybe those hot guys are just guys he thinks girls would like. Maybe it doesn’t say anything about him.

He has almost convinced himself of this when he makes eye contact with a guy leaning against the bar. When he smirks at Steve and starts to approach, he feels less sure about it. 

He’s seen guys try to hit on Robin a few times, and he’s seen firsthand the uncomfortable and panicked reaction that comes with being approached by someone you’re not interested in at all.

That’s not what Steve is feeling right now.

He’s panicking a little, yes, but his stomach is also flip-flopping in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.

It reminds Steve of how he feels when he’s with–

“Hey, darling,” the guy says, sliding into the stool next to Steve’s.

The pet name throws him for a loop, and he blushes. “Hi, uh, hey.”

“First time here?” The guy asks, giving him an obvious once-over.

“Yeah, I’m here with a friend. She’s– she’s dancing.”

The guy cocks his head, grinning. “Do you want to dance too?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He lets the guy drag him to the dancefloor, lets him put his hands on his waist after guiding Steve’s arms so they wrap around his neck. They’re pushed against each other by the people moving around them, and Steve’s stomach flip-flops again when their chests and hips press together.

Maybe his plan was a good idea. This does clear some things up.

Turns out Steve is into guys. Huh.

He’s definitely into dancing with someone as tall as he is, and he’s into big hands gripping his waist and the scratch of stubble when they move closer and their cheeks press together.

He’d probably be into kissing this guy, grinding against him, dragging him back to his car for more–

Or at least he would if his mind didn’t keep drifting to someone else– the reason why, after years of blissfully ignoring this part of himself, Steve finally decided to explore it.

Eddie. And Steve’s now confirmed crush on him.

He can’t help but think about him when the guy’s warm hands sneak under his shirt, wondering if Eddie’s would feel cold because of his rings. When Steve’s hand tries to tangle in the hairs at the back of the guy’s neck, he’s a little disappointed when he doesn’t find soft, long curls to grab onto. When the guy starts to lean in, his blue eyes sparkling with interest, Steve wishes he could be staring into big brown eyes instead.

“Shit, uh, sorry, I–” Steve stammers out, placing a hand on the guy’s chest.

“Everything okay?” He asks, pulling away.

Steve brushes his hair back. “I can’t– it’s just– there’s this guy–”

“Ah, did you come here to try to forget about him?” The guy asks, he seems a little disappointed, and Steve can’t blame him for that, but at least he’s also giving him a sympathetic smile.

It’s probably what makes Steve want to tell him the truth. "No, I– I came here to try and figure out if I really like him. He’s my friend, I don’t want to hurt him if I’m just– confused, you know?”

“Are you? Confused?”

“No,” Steve says without hesitation. There’s that clarity he came looking for. “I do like him.”

“Well,” the guy says, squeezing Steve’s hip. “You should tell him that.”

With that, he walks away. Steve leaves the dance floor and heads back to the bar. His spot is no longer available, but it’s fine; he feels like getting some fresh air anyway. He scans the crowd, looking for Robin, and finds her still dancing with the same girl. When their eyes meet, Steve gestures towards the door to let her know where he’ll be, getting a thumbs up in return before her attention returns to the pretty brunette.

Shouldering his way outside, Steve steps out into an empty alley. He’s only been there for a few seconds when the door opens behind him and someone else walks out.

“Stevie!”

The flash of panic he feels at being recognized in a place like this is quickly replaced by a fluttery feeling when he recognizes the voice.

He turns around and sees Eddie, and when his breath catches in his throat as he takes him in, from the eyeliner and the cropped shirt he’s wearing to the bright smile he’s flashing at him, Steve feels a little stupid for ever doubting he was into him.

“Hey, Eds,” he says with a little finger wiggle.

“I knew it was you! I’d recognize that Farrah Fawcett hair anywhere,” he says, and Steve remembers he needs to make Henderson pay for spilling that one. “But I gotta say, Stevie, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Steve could say the same thing. Eddie might be the reason why Steve even knows about this place, but he never said he was planning to come here anytime soon. He didn’t even tell Steve he was driving to the city!

Then again, Steve didn’t say anything either.

“Well, Rob wanted to do something fun, and we remembered you mentioned this place– She’s inside, dancing with a girl.”

Eddie whistles. “Get it, Buckley!" He says, and Steve chuckles. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Did you dance too? Pretty boy like you must’ve gotten quite a few invitations,” he says with a wink that makes Steve feel warm all over.

“Oh, uh, yeah, there was this guy,” Steve says, noticing the way Eddie’s finger tightens around the pack of cigarettes in his hand. “We danced for a while until–”

“Until the guy got handsy and you had to tell him you’re straight and only here to support your lesbian friend?”

Steve thinks about the guy he danced with, the reason why he turned him down, how he urged Steve to tell Eddie, and he thinks about the jealous tilt he can hear in Eddie’s voice right now–

“That’s not the only reason why I’m here actually,” Steve says, which makes Eddie pause in the middle of lighting a cigarette. “I– I thought this was a good place to figure some things out.”

“What things?” Eddie asks, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He realizes that the hand that’s holding the lighter is suspended mid-air and brings it to the end of the cig, flicking it and lighting it up, taking a quick drag–

Only to start coughing when Steve says, “Whether or not I’m into guys.”

“You– what?” Eddie sputters in between coughs. “Uh, I didn’t know– uh, did you– did you figure it out?”

Steve’s lips twitch at the hopeful yet cautious look on Eddie’s face. “I did.”

He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Good, good, that’s– but you know, you didn’t have to come to Indy, Stevie. I could’ve helped,” he says before his eyes widen and he starts shaking his head frantically. “Not like– not like that! You know, like, talking since I’m into guys myself.”

Steve smiles amusedly at Eddie. It was his own feelings that Steve needed clarity on, not Eddie’s, because Eddie always wears his heart on his sleeve. Or rather, his face. Right now, he looks hopeful but a little scared, so Steve decides to make things easier for him.

Anticipation runs through him as he moves closer, pressing Eddie against the alley wall. “I couldn’t talk to you about this.”

“Um, why not?” Eddie mumbles, his eyes widening as Steve presses closer.

“Because I was also trying to figure out if I’m into you.”

Eddie curses under his breath. “And are– are you?”

Lips curling into a grin, Steve reaches for the cigarette between Eddie’s lips and puts it out against the brick wall before letting it fall to the floor.

Then he grabs hold of Eddie’s neck and surges forward, pressing their mouths together. Eddie makes a surprised noise but starts kissing back instantly, his hands settling on Steve’s waist. He shivers when the cold metal of his rings comes in contact with his skin, where Steve’s shirt rides up, much like he figured it would be like.

Steve’s hand shifts to the back of Eddie’s neck where it grabs a handful of hair, fingers tangling in the soft curls. He gives them a playful tug, angling Eddie’s head a little better so he can deepen the kiss.

When he pulls back so they can catch their breath, his gaze meets Eddie’s big, doe eyes, blown and a little darker than usual.

Steve is so glad he waited for this to be the first time he kissed a guy. For Eddie to be the first guy he ever kissed.

He’s also the second, and the third, and the fourth– and after that, Steve loses count. One kiss mingling with the next as they make out against the wall.

“Is this– did the guy you danced with– did you kiss him too? Is that how you–” Eddie mumbles between biting Steve’s lip and licking into his mouth.

“No, he was going to, but I stopped him,” Steve admits, trailing kisses down Eddie’s neck. “He was hot, but all I could think about was you– doing this with you.”

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, and then he’s shoving Steve’s back against the brick wall, switching their positions. “Stevie– Jesus, I’ve thought about doing this for so long, sweetheart. I hoped, but I can’t believe–”

Steve shuts him up by hitching up his leg and hooking it around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer. It brings their hips together, and he feels that Eddie is hard in his jeans. Steve isn’t far behind either.

“Motherfucker–” Eddie curses with a wounded noise when their erections brush together. “Stevie, as embarrassing as it sounds, I’m gonna cream my fucking pants if we don’t slow down.”

Eddie’s words do the opposite of what he intended. They urge Steve on, making heat pool in his stomach. He grinds against Eddie again.

“Fuck, Steve, we’re– are you sure you don’t want to– oh fuck, go somewhere else?”

Steve shakes his head. “I know you’ve hooked up here before,” he says, grabbing Eddie’s shoulders for leverage so he can keep rutting against him. “One time when we got drunk you told me and I– fuck, Eddie, I was so jealous. I thought I was just pent up and annoyed that you were getting any and I wasn’t, but– fuck, I was jealous of the guys who got to do this with you.”

“Oh my God, Steve, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Eddie gives in and tucks his face into Steve’s neck, matching the movement of his hips.

“I wanted it to be me, Eds. I wanted it to be me who jerked you off, who– who sucked you off,” he admits, tugging on Eddie’s hair, making him whine against his neck. “Fuck, Eddie. Wanted to be the one you fucked.”

It’s the last part that drags a strangled moan from Eddie and makes his hips stutter, his entire body shuddering as he comes in his jeans.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Steve,” Eddie pants as he comes down. Steve is painfully hard and twitching in his jeans so he does his best to move them so he can get friction from Eddie’s stomach without grinding against his overly sensitive dick.

“Eddie, Eds–” He moans because making Eddie come in his pants is probably the hottest thing Steve has ever done, and while the friction feels good, he needs more if he’s going to come.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, his lips brushing against Steve’s neck, pressing kisses against his pulse point.

“Touch me,” Steve pleads and feels Eddie grin.

“I got you, big boy,” he whispers, letting go of Steve’s waist and pushing one hand between them. He undoes Steve’s pants and reaches inside his underwear to pull out Steve’s cock, wrapping his fingers around it and giving it a few strokes, which are almost enough to make Steve lose his balance.

Because Eddie’s hand is big and his fingers are rough and calloused, but they move expertly, and they feel so good. Steve doesn’t think he’s going to last.

“God, Eddie, I– I’m close,” he stammers out soon enough, his voice breaking when Eddie thumbs at the slit.

“Already, sweetheart?” He asks, half-teasing and half-awed.

If Steve’s brain wasn’t melting out of his ears he’d make a bitchy comment about not coming in his jeans at least this but he can barely string two words together as it is.

“Y–yeah, please, Eds,” He whines brokenly when Eddie speeds up his hand, pleasure building up almost painfully. “Oh, fuck!” He moans as he topples over the edge, his knees buckling as he comes all over Eddie’s hand.

Eddie has Steve pinned against the brick wall, which is probably the only reason why he doesn’t collapse to the ground after his legs stop working. Resting his head back against the rough surface, he tries to catch his breath. Meanwhile, Eddie reaches into his back pocket for his bandana and uses it to clean his hand before tucking Steve back into his underwear and zipping up his pants.

It’s still blatantly obvious what the two of them were up to– their hair is sticking every which way, their faces are flushed, and their clothes are a mess, not to mention there’s a wet spot in the front of Eddie’s jeans. But at least this way, they won’t get arrested for public indecency if anyone decides to step out into the alley for a smoke. It’s already a miracle no one has walked through the door yet. They really should go before anyone does.

“We should head back inside,” Steve says, playing with a lock of Eddie’s hair.

“Er, you go ahead. I’m–” He gestures at the front of his pants, and Steve bites down on a laugh. “Hopefully I’ve got a change of clothes in the van or it’s gonna be a very uncomfortable drive home.”

“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly.

Something hot flashes across Eddie’s face, and he cups Steve’s jaw. “Fucking worth it,” he says with a low voice and a wink.

Steve wants to kiss him again, but if he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop, and he really needs to head back inside–

“I gotta find Rob, we should be heading back too,” he says, averting his eyes from Eddie’s tempting pink lips.

“Think she got lucky too?” He says with a ridiculous eyebrow waggle.

Steve cocks his head. “Is that why you came here? To get lucky?”

Eddie shrugs, tugging a lock of hair across his face. “I thought– I figured it was a good way to get my mind off– well, you, Stevie.”

“Was it working?”

“Hell no, when I saw you, I thought I was losing my mind, that I was hallucinating you.” A laugh tumbles from his lips. “I’m not sure I ain’t hallucinating this.”

“You’re not,” Steve says, tucking the hair behind Eddie’s ear. “I really like you, Eds.”

“I really like you too,” Eddie says with a giddy smile.

“Hey, wanna come over for breakfast tomorrow? Rob will be there, but she’ll probably want to sleep off her hangover, so we could–” He grabs the hem of Eddie’s cropped shirt, trailing off.

“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll come over,” Eddie says, giving Steve a short kiss. “Now go find Birdie. I’ll see you back home.”

“Bye, Eds.”

Steve watches the way he awkwardly waggles towards the street, laughing to himself, before heading back inside.

Where he bumps right into Robin.

“Dingus! Guess what? I kissed a girl!” She says, aggressively shaking Steve’s shoulders. “A girl kissed me!”

Grinning, Steve offers his hand for a high five. Then he blurts out, “I kissed a guy! Hooked up with him actually.”

Robin’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “You– what?”

“It’s Eddie!” He says, and her eyes grow impossibly bigger. "Also, we might be dating now."

At that, her jaw goes slack. She gawks at him before her face scrunches up. “I can’t believe you’ve been gay for five minutes and you’re already better at this than I am. Ugh!” Grabbing Steve’s hand, she starts pulling him towards the exit. “We’re leaving, dingus,” she says, “I need all the details.”

Steve sniggers. It’s a good thing that the drive back to Hawkins is two hours long.

[esoteric-goblin]

on worldbuilding, and what people think is going on

there is one facet of fantasy worldbuilding that is, to me, the most interesting and essential but i don't see it come up in worldbuilding guides or writing prompts or anything, and that is the question of:

what do the inhabitants of your world believe about how the world works, and how are they wrong? a lot of fantasy media will set up their cosmology, gods, magic systems, planar systems, concepts of the afterlife, &c., and proceed as though the inhabitants of the world know and understand them.

from someone whose entire academic career is focused on studying human culture in various regions and time periods, with a focus on belief systems (religion, occultism, mythology, folklore): that sort of worldbuilding is unrealistic and missing out on so much fun.

people are always seeking new understanding about how the world works, and they are mostly wrong. how many models of the solar system were proposed before we reached our current one? look at the long, turbulent history of medicine and our various bizarre models for understanding the human body and how to fix it. so many religions and occult/magical traditions arise from people disagreeing with or adapting various models of the world based on new ideas, methods, technologies. many of them are wrong, but all of them are interesting and reflect a lot about the culture, beliefs, values, and fears of the people creating/practising them.

there is so much more to the story of what people believe about the world than just what is true.

to be clear: i think it's fine and important for the author to have a coherent explanation for where magic comes from or who the gods are, so they can maintain consistency in their story. but they should also be asking what people in the world (especially different people, in different regions/nations and different times) think is happening when they do magic, or say a prayer, or practise medicine, or grieve their dead. it is a rich vein for conflict between individuals and nations alike when two models of the world disagree. it is fascinating how different magic systems might develop according to different underlying beliefs.

personally, i think it is the most fun to spawn many diverse models of the world, but give none of them the 'right' answer.

(bonus points if you also have a thriving academic system in the world with its own theory, research, and discourse between factions! as an academic, it is very fun to imagine fictional academic debate over the topics i'm worldbuilding. sometimes i will be working out details for some underlying mechanic of the world and start imagining the papers being written by scholars researching it)

[anxi04]

Tim meeting Lex at a gala when he’s young. and becoming gossip besties with him

i finally wrote it after it infesting my brain enjoy

——————-

Tim thought the gala was going to be like most of the others, boring, annoying, nothing happening. And then he saw Lex Luthor. And he's a smart man, probably the only other smart person in here so why not start a conversation?

Lex thought this gala was going to be boring and a waste of time. And then this small child comes up to him talking about gossip that he didn't even know? And mentioning his incredibly secret cloning project he just started a week ago? He's going to be a villain and Lex wants to be on his good side.

————————

Tim sighed, annoyed. Gala's have always been incredibly boring, the only slightly fun things that happen at them have been either Bruce Wayne "tripping" over something and drenching someone else with whatever drink or liquid is near, or overhearing gossip, such as Robert Dewitt cheating on his wife with his brother. That was a fun day.

This gala is looking to be about the same as always, just even more boring. Bruce Wayne isn't attending (understandable, The Joker just broke out of Arkham again. He's sure there's a cover story for why Bruce isn't here but he doesn't care about that), no one is drawing attention to any scandals yet, or at least not in his ear range.

The only vaguely interesting thing here is Lex Luthor actually attending it for once. The man usually never spares a moment for anything aside from Metropolis (disgusting) and Superman. So there's at least one other smart person here but he also happens to be a super-villain (not that the general public knows) so… Not like Tim can just walk up to him and talk right?

"So as I was saying it really is quite unfortunate that your son won't take the company, I always thought he was a rather charming young man-" Fuck it Tim's gonna go talk to the super-villain.

"Have you heard about Rebecca Strawling?" Tim asks Lex, who absolutely did NOT jump at this child sneaking up behind him (seriously how did he do that? Even Superman, a man who constantly floats, can't sneak up on him.). Lex blinks for a second because, yes he had and holy shit what a thing that is, and also how does this child know? Also why is this child talking to him?

"That… Depends. What have you heard?" Lex says hesitantly. Despite Rebecca's… everything, she still hid it incredibly well. If Lex wasn't so bored at these gala's he would never have known, so either this child is just incredibly nosy, or possibly an actual smart person in this room. Either option would prove far more interesting than what he had been doing.

"Well I've heard about the several affairs she's had with everyone she claims to hate. Business rivals, the poor, queer people, her husband's family, and if it's to be believed her own family." And… Holy fuck, Lex had not been aware of that last bit. He raises an eyebrow at the ending which prompts a slight grin from the child as he takes his phone out. "I have evidence."

Does Lex actually… Enjoy being near a kid barely in the double digits? Absurd.

"You know Tim, that man over there? He's almost bankrupting his company and family by sending their money to a 'client.' I believe all his business partners are looking for someone to replace his spot." It's been an hour and a half. This is the most entertained Lex has been at one of these in decades. If Tim finds himself following the black hair, blue eyes orphan trend Lex will take him in himself so help him God. He's insanely smart, not only is he excellent at reading people and finding dirt on them easily, he's incredibly skilled at hacking without any proper training on it. This is a villain in the making and Lex will not let himself fall on his bad side.

"Now, I have a moral question for you Tim. What do you think the ethics on making a weapon out of a clone would be?" He's been toying with the idea of cloning Superman lately, however the actual… Making it a weapon has been bothering him. If it comes out an adult man it could easily decide it wants to do something else and rebel, however what would the effects be on making a child weapon that was created for that sole purpose? The effectiveness of it?

"Easy. Don't make the clone a weapon. It's either an adult clone who could choose to be a soldier, and actually listen to you, or decide it won't listen and possibly end up exposing you. If it's a child clone then sure you get a weapon for a few years but not having a choice would end up making them resent you. Give them a choice on it, just like the Sidekicks, like Robin, Kid Flash, Speedy, all them. I'd assume you would want a meta clone anyway and most meta's feel a sense of duty with their abilities so it'd be likely for them to decide something along what you want. Just a matter on if they like you and go with you, or turn to the other side." Tim answers without missing a beat and wow what a concerning sentence that would be to hear from a child if he were anyone else. As it is he's delighted by the response.

"Although cloning a Kryptonian would probably alter it, simply wouldn't get enough material so you would likely have to substitute some of the material for human and at that point use your own and raise the clone as a child." What. That's far too specific. "Oh, sorry I probably should've kept it more broad. Anyway you should update your security systems." Definitely a super-villain in the making. One that he very much wants to be on the good side of. On that note now he needs to update his whole system.

"Ah, Tim I'm glad you picked up. I'm a father now! I'd like you to meet my son, his name is Kon-El-"

"Oh, I've already met him. You actually interrupted our call. Kinda late on telling me." Of course.

"You know I could adopt you as well, get you from that bumbling buffoon that is Wayne."

"Yeah but then my crush would become incestuous." His what? Know what he can work with this. Tim is joining his family one way or another.

Finally. A moment of peace for Lex to sit down, drink some coffee, and watch a rerun of his favorite show. "Luthor!" Oh great, the boy scout here to ruin his plans. Oh and is that his group for comic-con? There's the man of steel himself, Wonder Woman, Batman and… Wait. Oh this will piss Kal-El off to be ignored.

"Timothy! I was just about to call you. You remember Robert Dewitt, correct? You'll never guess what he's done now." Lex grins, standing up. He was meaning to update Tim on this particular… Creature. He's one of their favorites to catch up on, purely because of the absurdity of his debauchery. Although this time does have a reason, after all there's reason for dear old Robert to get locked up this time and he's been making some comments about Lex lately and well he can't just let that slide now can he?

Tim blinks for a second then realizes what Lex just said. "Wait you know? Of course you do why wouldn't you.. Actually wait that doesn't matter what the fuck did Robert do? Last I knew he wasn't allowed outside without an escort so I was expecting longer." Lex has a feeling it does in fact matter very much if the way Batman's eyes narrow and his jaw clench indicate anything. Lex needs to continue on or possibly get put in a hospital.

"Oh he's no longer allowed near animal shelters, so-" Kal-El cuts him off, incredibly rudely if he might add.

"What… What is going on here?" Poor man sounds so confused. Lex is savoring this moment.

"Well I know Timothy Drake is Red Robin. Clearly. Red Robin is the hero closest to becoming a villain which fits Tim quite well, and also Tim is the only Gothamite smart enough to be Red Robin. And infuriating enough to personally annoy Ra's al-Ghul on a regular." It's very simple honestly. Lex has no idea what's making this so complicated. "If it helps make you all feel 'safe' and 'secure' I could tell you about the time Timothy told me he had a crush on Kon-" And now Tim's thrown something at him. What is this, interrupt Lex day?

"Shut up! What if I told them about you and Clark Kent?" Ahh, expose his crush, get his own crush exposed. Well unfortunately Lex has no shame about that.

"You mean the man who could lift a 200 lb person with no effort? One of the very few good reporters?" Odd that Kal-El's face is getting red and confused but oh well. "Honestly though, who cares. You know Tim my offer for adopting you still stands. I know it must be absurdly easy to hide being Red Robin from your… family. However I think I could be of more assistance still." Batman's hands are clenching now. Interesting. "I mean you made a fake uncle to get out of being adopted by the oaf, I don't know why you didn't just let me." Ah, Batman's hands are unclenched. He must have thought that uncle was also real. Surprising, really, from 'The World's Greatest Detective' however they clearly have the wrong bat. "And does he even know about your missing spleen? Really, I should get him locked up for child neglect. Even I would notice if anything happened to Kon-El."

Tim's eyes widen at that and snap to Batman's equally wide eyes. They both jump into a sprint, Tim leaping out of a window with the Bat close behind. "Oh, did he not know? Oops."

Perfect. Hopefully that'll have been absurd enough that the Justice League leave him alone, and he can watch his show in peace.

[willyoubemycherryy]

𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (𝑭. 𝑻𝒊𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒂𝒓)

I’m still in love with him and he envelopes my every thought. I won’t apologize for it. Here’s my heart, it’s yours.

Contains: flirting, fleeting touches, denial of feelings, budding relationship, first meetings, mutual longing, sweet & fluffy, some sexual innuendos (this is written by me after all 0///<)

Basically a little background to how foresight reader and Fiyero met

⋆⁺₊❅.° *

⋆°. ⁺₊ ❅ . .

You were sad.

No- scratch that; you were more than just-run-of the-mill sad.

You are melancholy. Seemingly full of an almost listless longing.

That’s the first thing that came to Fiyero’s mind after finally seeing you, having caught his eye without those dark glasses of yours for the first time. That, and the fact that your face was quite fair in beauty. You had the type of beauty was best accompanied by snowfall, chilling and soft but also cozy and alluring. Large doe eyes and a constant frown on the loveliest heart-shaped he’s ever seen.

Why did you always seem so sad? Maybe he was overstepping, maybe you weren’t sad. He’d never spoken to you before thanks to your elusive nature so he probably just didn’t know you well enough to read your emotions. You were probably fine just naturally pouty, kitten-out-in-the-rain-faced.

Call it purely unbiased curiosity; his reason for going out of his way to speak to you.

Sticking with his usual method of approach, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Disappointingly enough, I don’t think we’ve ever truly met. I’m Fiyero Tigelaar o-“, you cut him off as you finish for him.

“Of Winkie Country. Charmed.” Well, that was unexpected. The unenthusiastic sarcasm dripping from that last word giving him whiplash.

“My apologies but have we met?” The way you spoke to him as though you’d crossed paths before had him doubting himself. Even if you had, he knows for certain he’d remember you. The sound of your lilting voice brings him out of his budding internal crisis.

“Not in any future you’d remember.” Hmm. Cryptic too. He waits for you to say more but you don’t. Interesting. Most are always eager to engage conversation with him but you clearly are a girl of few words.

“I see. Are you always this…riveting?” You tilt your head to the side, ignoring his strong gaze, humming as you pretend to think.

“Depends on if you’re always so persistent.”

“Ooh la la. So, always then?” Cute. He was cute. Very.

“Mhmm. Wonderful observation by the way. You’re quite bright aren’t you?” You ask with a condescending nod of your head, false awe in your raised eyebrows.

Oh. He liked this game.

“Why yes..and I’m surprised you noticed my brightness with those dark glasses you always wear.” And for the first time in the conversation, you were speechless. Prompting him to continue,

“Why do you always wear those anyway?” You sputter for a few seconds as you try to come up with an answer that’s a more shallow version of the truth.

“B-because I need them..”

“Need them for what?

“My face, obviously.” The snark makes him smile, finding your prissiness absolutely endearing.

“But there’s nothing wrong with your face, darling.”

You will your cheeks not to warm and darken because of the way such a petname sounded from the lips of such an attractive man but it seems to not work very well from the way Fiyero smirks at you.

“How would you know what’s wrong with my face?”

“Because I’m looking right at it”, and unbeknownst to you, the two of you had moved quite close during your game of cat and mouse. Your close proximity dawns on you when you feel his warm hand brush your hair away from your face. Peering at you even closer, “and it’s exquisite.”

He-! Oz, you hated attractive people.

You lower your head, finding his direct attention overwhelming but surprisingly, allowing his closeness.

“…not my face exactly- my eyes.”

Oh your eyes, yeah. He’d noticed them.

“Besides their beauty, what about them?” Pompous, flirtatious, irritating pain in your a-

“Will you stop flirting with me?! I have foresight damnit! The glasses help dull my visions, so they’re less intense.” Oh. No wonder you looked so sad. Foresight. It was extremely rare, gracing only few in hundreds of thousands of generations. That was a heavy gift too, seeing all kinds of futures whether you could do something about them or not. Well now that he had somewhat a reason for your melancholy, he wanted now to see your smile.

“Even lovelier. It suites you. Light but full of depth.” You’re stunned into silence again because he doesn’t run for the hills at you practically being a bad omen and that he thought your gift was lovely, well suited to you.

Bashfully, you release a small hum before speaking.

“Thank you-“

“So have you seen me in your future then? I’m sure you’re in mine.”

Your eyes widen in shock before creasing as a smile breaks over your face and you suddenly start laughing. Laughing as though you hadn’t just killed him with the tinkling warm sound coming from your pretty smile. You eventually quiet to giggles but those only added to the longing Fiyero felt for you as he too felt himself smiling.

You couldn’t help it, he was cute so you should have expected the cheesy future pickup line but for some reason; be it his easygoing charming demeanor or those big eyes; it caught you off guard.

“Wow, I’ve definitely never heard that one. You’re actually a good time Fiyero”.

Oz the way his named sounded from your lips. Clearing his throat to regain some of his composure and feign as though he wasn’t already completely taken by you; he smiled, “Glad to show you one, I do aim to please.” Enjoying the way your smile widened, shaking your head with a light smack to his chest when he shot you a wink.

As he leaned more into your space, you made no room to move and neither did he. You were melancholy, yes…but you were plenty of something else too. He liked it more by the minute. Liked you.

“You know….you’re quite the treat yourself.” You scoff at that, rolling your eyes.

“I thought I told you to quit flirting with me.”

“Force of habit.”

“Oh? It’s a new condition of yours?”

“Not at all, but it’s harder to maintain with you.”

Oh. You change the subject back before you fluster too much.

“I can’t be a treat. Believe it or not, I’m not the sweetest around.” Fiyero quirks a brow at you.

“No?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was talking to you like that on purpose. All low and sweet. Ignoring the seemingly permanent warmth to your face, you awkwardly pat his broad shoulders as you move to put some space between you two before you end up putting a name to the type of growing tension you two have.

“Well, I’m off to go study and practice. Making your acquaintance was surprisingly…fun. Nice, I mean.” You’re being completely genuine and Fiyero doesn’t even try to stop the tender grin from coming. Cheeks dimpling as he looks down at you fondly.

“The pleasure is all mine”, he says warmly. Catching you off guard again as he takes your hand, bending down as he lifts it to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. Glancing up into your eyes before returning your hand to your side.

You don’t move for a second until he tilts his head with a grin, clearing his throat.

“Oh right! I need to- yes”, and then you’re hurrying off, heart pounding in your chest.

Fiyero watches you go, eager to see you again only it’s not the same as that longing he had earlier…

because he’s sure you feel the same.

[deadghosy]

I was wondering if you could do a miniso penguin reader being a delivery boy for all of hell (mostly hazbin)

I JUST LOOKED IT UP AND OMGGGG ITS SO CUTEEE🦆💗🦆 AND YES I WILL! THANK YOU MY GHOST

HAZBIN HOTEL X PENGUIN! READER

prompt: you deliver mail all over hell, but mostly to your favorite place!

Okay starters off….you definitely get petted by the sinners who walk by you. Like you are so adorable!

I headcannon that you have a magic barrier that activates when you are in danger. Like say for example, a sinner tried to stab and mug but a bubble appears around you as you quack and roll away.

But like…you are the most known person in hell. YOU COULD BE WALKING AND GIVING MAIL AND IMMEDIATELY- “Hey [reader]!”

Yeah you’re quite known🦆🔥

The overlords love you! Carmilla adores you as you help her move her things around with her supplies of angelic metal. And Alastor….he joked about eating you up because of how cute you are..you definitely hide behind carmilla as she glared at him.

Alastor said sorry as he buys you ice cream for scaring you. (Charlie made him do it after carmilla snitched on him)

The most place you love giving mail to is the hazbin hotel! You like it there as you always get greeted by the people there gently. Charlie would pet you as she gushes how cute you are and how you should’ve been an angel.

Husk just pokes at your chubby and cute body as you quack and rub your face in his leg. You are the size of a penguin so guess how small you are 😭💗

You and fat nuggets are best friends, dead ass you both speak animal to each other and just gossip… “quack…” “oink oink..” “QUACK?!” You yelled pointing to Alastor as fat nuggets nodded seriously. Angel tried to record it but he just couldn’t help but laugh

Lucifer loves you! Like at first he would just watch you around hell secretly as he didn’t want to scare you off too easy. But soon he felt over protective at how pure and nice you are to other sinners and hell born

I headcannon every time it’s extermination, you would be forced to be at the hotel as you bake cookies to past the time helping Charlie and the other feel less stress as the angels kill the sinners.  

“So like…do you lay eggs or somethin'?” Angel asked looking at the egg boiz under you as they are sound asleep. You just stay there like a mama penguin as you shrugged.

“[READER] I CHOSE YOU!” Vaggie yells as you waddle to a person and hug them in need. Its funny to imagine you being used a Pokémon who’s only attack is “HUG SURPRISE!”

I headcannon you to use a rolling attack. LIKE FOR EXAMPLE, you are getting chased so you roll like a ball and BOWLING BALL THEY ASS! STRIKEEE‼️‼️

You have a room in the hotel, it’s just you don’t stay there often. But the other would loved if you stayed at the hotel with them as they find you lovely to around. Like imagine how cool it is to be tired from delivering mail all day just to go to the hotel and see your own room.

Immediately passing out in the soft bed😭🦆

I imagine you walking, more like waddling and the egg boiz just copy your waddling as they are still baby chickens in eggs.

Velvette definitely has you go to her section of the vee tower so you can wear those cute sailor boy outfits 😭 like imagine how cute that is….

Sir Pentious and nifty love you also as they find you adorable. The egg boiz love you, and nifty….she just finds you interesting how every sinner knows who you are and wants to be your best friend.

I can see you being sick and not coming to deliver mail to the hotel, and immediately you wake up sniffling as you waddle to your door to see a bunch of gift baskets as you quack surprised at all those candies and get better cards….man you are loved

[pedrettilov3r]

Darling Part Two

Pairing: Remmick x Female!Reader

Warnings: Vampires, violence, smut, blood sucking, language, death.

a/n: Part two is here! Thank you to everyone that reading this, it has really got me back into writing fics. Let me know if there are any prompts you have for Remmick fics! My characterization is a little different from the ones I have read on here, I feel like he has more of an awkward charm and I thought it’d be interested to have him with a bolder reader. And I was listening to Father Figure while writing this 🙏 Sorry guys I was ovulating when I wrote this

You walked with determination outside and towards the group that was currently playing a song together. You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit anxious about approaching them. You knew you could hold your own, you grew up with the twins after all, but something about this group was off and it sent chills up your spine. Their song was eerie and they kept singing even as they watched you walk up, you had to admit they did sound good, in the same way that sirens sounded good. Remmick with his gravelly voice especially caught your ear, you knew your voices would pair beautifully together. You made your way towards him and took a sit next to him on the log he sat upon. He stared longingly, almost hungrily into your eyes as he sang to you, his face lingered dangerously close to yours and you could feel his breathe on the side of your face as he sang. Something about the way he was looking at you made you even more attracted to the man. You didn’t know what you were thinking this was not the time for distractions, you simply had to get information from him and then be on your way. You couldn’t lie, the way he was looking at you like he wanted to drink you made you want to do unspeakable things to the man, but you knew the twins would kill him if they knew he touched you. They would be suspicious if you stayed out here too long, but something about him made you not want to leave.

They ended their song and you gave them a round of applause chuckling “Wow that was amazing! Maybe I could join you in your next song?” He smiled at your kind words, now it was his turn to blush. The man had such an awkward charm to him, he was bold and smooth but also awkward and seemed nervous at the same time. “Why thank you darling. You looking for a some of fresh air?” He asks. “I just come to apologize for the way the twins rejected y’all like that. They can be a bit aggressive at times but I promise they don’t have bad intentions, you understand? And I wanted to see if y’all was good people.” You smiled at him. “Aw darling, that’s so sweet of you. We most surely are.” You knew there was something more that he wasn’t saying but you guess that went for the both of you so you couldn’t really judge. “And y’all got money to spend” you questioned. He chuckled at your forwardness “Oh yeah, plenty of money. You wanna see?” You inched closer to the man, “Well yeah I wanna see.” The other man pulled out two coins of solid gold and placed them in your hand. You scoff in surprise at what you’re seeing, this kind of money could change everything for the twins right now. “What type of money is this?” You question suspiciously. “The solid gold kind darling.” He smirks whispering into your ear. You feel like your skin is on fire at how close he is. You have to take a deep breathe to stay focused. “Where is this from?” You question “It’s from a different place and a different time but it spends just the same.” His hand wraps around yours and closed your hand on the coins “You can have it.” You look at him confused as he continues “but it’s no good to you.” The woman beside you echoes his words sending chills up your spine. “Yeah and what makes you say that?” You ask, your confidence coming back to you. He looks at you with a look of seriousness “Cause you in some deep deep pain. That money. Can’t fix. Am I right?” You look at him surprised, how could he possibly know that? Images of your mother flash through your mind. “You came over her for fellowship and love.” The woman echoes him again and you stand to your feet “Okay cut the bullshit. I came over here to talk you,” you say annoyed at his distractions and he looks a bit surprised “so can we have a conversation..alone please.” You say looking at his companions. He chuckles at your annoyed manner and stands to his feet, handing his banjo to the other man. “Of course darling”

He places a hand on your lower back and takes you to a clearing in the trees where the other two can’t see or hear you. “This better?” He questions scanning your face, “Yes, thank you.” You huff letting your annoyance leave your body, he doesn’t miss this and a smirk creeps onto his face. “What do you really want?” You question suspiciously. He slowly steps closer to you “What do I want?” He chuckles and you don’t miss the suggestive undertone of his voice as he continues walking closer to you. Your breath catches in your throat as your back presses up against a tree. He isn’t stopped by this as he continues to slowly move closer to you, teasing you, until his mouth is pressed against your ear. You’re waiting desperately for what he will say and he seems to enjoy this because you feel the smile that forms on his lips. His breath dances in your skin as one hand slides onto your waist while the other makes it way into your hair. Your breath has caught up with you now and he whispers softly into your ear “I want you darling.” That awkwardness you were first met with has been replaced by a quiet confidence that makes you want to let him do whatever he wants with you.

You want this. You want him. Your hands find his hair and pull his head from your ear to look into your eyes. He has that smirk on his face and that desperate look in his eyes that you find irresistible, and you swear you see his eyes flash red for a moment before you pull him into a passionate kiss. It’s messy and heated at first from your haste, but you both find your rhythm as you melt into the kiss. Both of your hands roam and he pushes you into the tree as his knees finds it way in between your legs. “Remmick” you gasp at the friction and his hand moves from your hair to around your throat “yes love?” He whispers. His voice is dangerous to you right now, you find him so irresistible you need him desperately. Your hands pull his suspenders off and desperately move to his buttons to begin undoing them. He watches you fumble with his buttons and a smirk grows on his lips, “You that desperate huh?” He teases you and you shoot him a glare, “just help me.” He chuckles but you see his eyes grow dark with desire for you. “Yes ma’am” he quickly unbuttons his shirt and throws it on the ground. His bare chest almost leaves your mouth agape as you take it in. Your hands quickly find themselves foaming his chest as you pull him into another kiss by his hair, he moans at the tug and you smirk into the kiss. He moves his lips down the side of your face and down your neck as his hands slip under your dress and to your breast. He rubs your nipples between his fingertips and a moan escapes your lips. His lips make their way to your chest and then to your nipples taking your breast in his mouth leaving a trail of love bites as he makes his way down. He drops to his knees and pulls your dress up to your thighs. “What are you doing?” You ask, no man you’ve been with has ever wanted to do that. He smirks and looks up into your eyes basically pleading “I just wanna taste you.” You nod, speechless at how badly he wants you. He disappears under your dress and you feel his mouth begin to kiss up your thigh. He throws your legs over his shoulders and you gasp in surprise. The slow kisses teasing you and making your stomach tighten from anticipation “Remmick please” you cry and hold onto the tree behind you. You feel him hum onto your thigh in response as he licks his way up to your cunt and takes a good taste. “You taste so good darling” he whispers in his gravelly voice and continues to lick and suck on your pussy. You can’t take it anymore, your hands reach for him and pull him from his knees and into a messy kiss. You taste yourself on his lips and your hands make their way to his pants pulling his belt off. “I need you,” you beg. You unzip his pants and let your hands slip under, finding their way to massage his cock. He moans at your touch “bend over” he demands, and you look at him surprised. He turns you to bend over on the ground and his hands find your hair, you moan at the tug. He teases your entrance with his cock before slowly siding it into you. He feels so good inside of you. He thrusts deep inside of you and you can’t help the moans that escape your lips. “Shh baby we can’t have anyone hearing us.” He demands. You place your hand over your mouth to quiet your cries. You can feel he is close and so are you as he continues to thrust into you. “I’m so close” you cry and he moans at your voice. You are both nearing the edge and you’re both breathing heavy and as he pounds deeper inside of you. You feel yourself tighten, you’re so close. He leans down his lips kissing up your back and all the way to your neck as he thrusts into you. “Yes right there” you scream as you feel yourself finally release and you feel something sharp sink into the back of the back of your shoulder, it’s his mouth. His thrusts become sloppy as he finishes and you ride out the high together. Your body is feeling high from the moment and you swear you felt yourself black out for a moment as you finished. You let out a shaky breath, your heart is pounding and your skin is still burning from his touch. He slides out of you and lays down beside you.

“You taste so good darling.” He breathes out. There’s an undertone to his voice that you haven’t heard before and you turn to face him. Your breath catches in your throat when you see him. His mouth is covered in blood as he licks his fingers and lips. His eyes glow that same red that you swear you saw earlier in them. He looks at your slightly frightened and confused face and gives you a reassuring look. “Sorry I had to hurt you love but, you’re all better now I promise.” He kisses the spot where his teeth had sunk into a moment before. For some reason you didn’t mind, something in you had changed but you didn’t know what. You stare at the man beside you “I’m hungry.” He chuckles at that and he brings his mouth to your ear and whispers “I know how to fix that darling.”

@horror-moviehoe

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 2) part 1

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The solid hand at your back guides you through the dusty streets towards the courthouse in the middle of town. It’s not an easy walk. Your shoes catch on the skirt of your dress a handful of times in Price’s haste, each time almost causing you to tumble forward before you manage to catch yourself. 

It’s patently unfair. The strides of his long legs would easily have you losing him in a crowd were it not for the way he refuses to leave you behind; every time you so much as slow down a tad to catch your breath, the firm hand on your low back presses you forward again. You’d be snippier if you weren’t still addled from the events of just five minutes previous.

“I beg you, please—” you plead, heart skittering in your chest when you chance a glance up to find Price’s face set. Everything about him feels purposeful now, driven. “If you just—if you would just let me explain!”

“Nothing more to know, darling,” he says, not bothering to meet your desperate eyes. Clearly not in any mood to continue arguing with you on the status of your identity. 

He tugs you along when he takes a right turn down a road leading into the center of town. The belt of bullets around his waist rattles with every step. It’s a constant reminder of who you’re with and why you should not be with him. Every step feels like a step towards your own sentencing, like accompanying your jailer to your cell. It’s perhaps fool’s luck that the sheriff hasn’t inquired further into your identity or your reason for coming into town. Makes you think that perhaps there isn’t yet a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe that’s only to come. 

“Sure there’s more!” you insist. “There’s—there’s—” It’s like the words fly right out of your head, bucked off like a bronc rider. Too much has happened in too short a time. “There’s the matter of—oh, would you quit that, I am walking!” The last bit comes out snappish, peeved as Price pulls you towards the stone steps of a red-bricked building. 

The words County Court House are inscribed above the second-story door girdled by a wrought iron balcony. It’s a simple building, far from the colonnaded buildings from back home with their cupolas and hand-carved lintels. Even in size it hardly compares, a meager three stories with perhaps a basement. Still, it catches the eye in a town as small as this, by far the most imposing building for miles around.

It’s also the one he pulls you towards, hand moving from the small of your back to take firm hold of your waist. You flinch at the touch and the way his fingers dig in, almost proprietarily. It’s a physical shock to your system. While you’re not unaccustomed to the rougher ways of men, you’ve also been largely shielded from it yourself. By chance or fortune or luck. Men may take an attitude with you, as they’re wont to do, but none have yet manhandled you the way Price feels free to do. 

“Take a big step there now, darling,” he says, lifting the front of your dress for you a tad, to your shock. “No accidents before the wedding.” 

“The wedding?” you shriek, face heating at the heads that turn to look over at the two of you. 

The courthouse is bustling with townsfolk, still not as busy as in the bigger cities back east, but still clearly at the center of all business activities. The few people that pass you by on the way out of or into the courthouse are bold in their perusal, eyebrows lifting when they take notice of Price at your side—and how could they not, with the size of him and the badge pinned to the lapel of his vest that glimmers when it catches the light. 

“If you were expecting something grander, you should’ve turned up last month when I sent for you,” Price says, stern again. In the foyer of the courthouse, you can see the way the long hallway cuts through the building, leading into the adjacent rooms until finally culminating with the courtroom at the very back. You watch as a man slowly closes the door to the last door, shutting the occupants in. “Might’ve been more amenable to it then.”

“I’m not asking for a nicer ceremony—”

“Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

“—but that’s because I’m not the woman that you intended to marry in the first place,” you finish, quieting to a hissed whisper, conscious of those still lingering close enough to eavesdrop. In all likelihood, the other people milling around probably already know that the sheriff has been waiting for his mail order bride to arrive. They wouldn’t be the first people to mistake you for her.

He pulls you into an alcove off the side of the foyer. When Price turns to face you, no longer just the heavy presence at your side, it takes a moment for you to gather your bearings. He seems larger somehow, with his arms crossed over his chest and feet rooted into the floor, drawn up to his full height. The hair on his forearms draws your eyes momentarily before he steps into your space, forcing you to meet his eyes again. 

He stares down at you with an intensity that makes you flinch. “Now, far be it for me to say that I know my wife-to-be by her demeanor alone, given that we’ve hardly corresponded beyond our initial agreement. But I find it mighty strange that a single, unaccompanied woman would show up in town with all of her earthly belongings as I’m expecting my own woman to show up any day. Hardly seems coincidental.”

“Don’t you think I would have sought you out if we were intended to wed?” you ask beseechingly. “Or that I would put up such a fuss now? What sort of bride would do that?”

“You want to know what I think, darling?” The timber of his voice deepens as he lowers his head slightly, wrapping the conversation in a layer of intimacy despite its public nature. There’s a darker note to his voice now, a thinly-veiled anger. “I think you’ve been keeping yourself housed and fed off the back of men like me and the money you’ve been sent to compensate for the rough journey. I think your guilty conscience brought you here because you know that the Lord doesn’t look too kindly on swindlers and thieves.”

“I’m not a thief,” you hiss in protest, affronted. Ironic that you’d be insulted by his words when the truth is far worse. 

“I’m sure you had your reasons,” Price permits, a reluctant softness in his voice. “But your conscience did you right. Marriage will suit you far better than a life of crime ever could.”

If only he knew. “You’ve still got it all wrong—I’ve never once even glanced at the matrimonial pages or the personals. And I certainly didn’t come to town expecting to be wed.”

You did, however, arrive in town with a guilty conscience. Even you’re wise enough not to mention that, though.

“Then if you're not her, who are you?” he asks. 

It’s clear from his tone that Price doesn’t believe you, but the question itself makes you antsier than even the thought of marrying this man. He still stares down at you in challenge, an eyebrow cocked. If you wanted to, you could easily answer his question and even furnish proof—a letter from an aunt or uncle or a telegram from a previous employer. 

That last thought makes your throat squeeze tight. You could furnish proof, but at what cost? You’re still unclear on how much information has been disseminated or whether you're a wanted woman. Though only weeks have passed since the event that caused you to flee in a haste, there’s no telling whether a warrant has been put out for your arrest, no telling whether word has reached a town this far west. 

“Not that it matters, but I’m from New York,” you say, scrunching up your nose. 

The look he gives you is unimpressed. “I’m sure you lost the accent on the train ride.”

Embarrassment makes you dig your heels in deeper. “I didn’t grow up there, it’s just where I’ve lived for the past few years.”

“And what’s your name?”

“…Elizabeth Smith.” 

It’s the first name that occurs to you, but the moment the words come out of your mouth, you can’t help feeling like you’ve made a huge mistake. Price must sense it too because he draws back up to his full height, lips twitching into a small smirk. 

“You have family or a post back in New York, Miss Smith?” he asks in a patronizing tone. 

“Family.” 

“Alright, then it shouldn’t be too hard to get confirmation and settle this whole issue.” He points behind you to one of the unoccupied rooms. “Telegraph’s office just behind you. We’ll get in touch with the Census Bureau and ask them to confirm your identity. And, if you are who you say you are, Miss Smith, then we can put this issue to rights.” 

Your blood goes cold. “That’ll—that’ll take time though. I can’t marry you today if they only get back to you in a week’s time.”

Price nods, his expression dissatisfied but resolved. “Wouldn’t be proper for you to stay at the house either, but I’ll make sure the inn lets you stay free of charge until this is settled. You’ll be in good hands under the Pattersons’ watch.” 

He doesn’t say it outright, but you hear the implication in his words. You’d be essentially under house arrest, perhaps free to move about town, but certainly not free to take the next train out. 

Your pulse thumps nervously at the base of your throat. Even swallowing takes effort now. The weight of his stare takes root in you, a living coil in your belly. No getting out of it. There’s no getting out of this. You don’t know why you thought you could, how you tricked yourself into thinking for even a moment that a man as formidable as the one set in front of you would simply give in. Let you go. You’ve hardly even moved the needle. 

It’s there still in his eyes. Not even doubt—something quite far past that. Certainty. 

“‘Elizabeth Smith of New York’, was it? Come, we’ll have them start the message and you can give me your birthday as well so it’ll be an easy find—” Price says, attempting to slip around you to head to the telegraph’s office. 

“No.” 

It slips out of you inadvertently, high and panicked. He pauses at the word. More than just your words. When you look down, you notice your fingers clenched in the fabric of his sleeve, bringing him to a halt. It pulls taut against the muscle of his forearm. 

Softness bleeds back into him at your touch. You can see it smooth out the lines of his forehead and the jut of his brow. He ignores the onlookers still hovering by the double doors to twist back to you, now obscuring their view of you. The breadth of his shoulders nearly blocks the rest of the foyer from sight when he looms over you like this. Down the hall, you can hear a gavel pound down on wood and a litany of raised voices in unison from behind a shut door. 

“You don’t have to make up stories,” Price murmurs, drawing a hand up to cup your cheek, holding it like a precious thing. “I told you before—all’s forgiven.”

His words remind you of being trapped in his office, drawers stripped down your ankles and skirt pulled up to your waist. Your bottom still smarts from the palm of his hand, still hot and sore to the touch. It’s hardly been long since then and yet it feels like an age ago, like trying to find your way in a dust storm. 

You open and shut your mouth, lost for a way out. Caught between a rock and a hard place. Marriage or a jail cell. You swallow. Both sound like a sentencing. 

But there are the cold, metal bars of a cell, and then there’s John Price. The first man in an age to elicit more than a passing glance from you. Deep blue eyes crinkled with the folds of old laughter, wide shoulders, and barrel chest. In another time, you think you would’ve jumped at the chance to be courted by a man like him. Keeled over at the very thought of being chased the way he hunts you down now. 

“Alright,” you say instead, giving in. The hand fisting his sleeve shakes. “Alright.”

It’s not a pleasant giving in. Your permission is handed over with shot nerves. The coil bunched up in your core burns white hot, hissing and spitting like a rattlesnake. 

Still, when he drags a thumb over the slope of your cheek, you fight not to let your eyelids flutter shut. “Good girl. We’ll make it work, love. Won’t be easy, but it never is.”

You don’t anticipate that it will be, but your mouth stays shut. Price must think you mollified, soothed rather than resigned to your fate, because he passes his thumb once more over your cheekbone, this time so tenderly that you wait for his lips to descend upon yours again, sure from the heat in his eyes that he won’t be able to keep from stealing another kiss. You lick your lips out of habit—not just to see the way his eyes follow the motion. 

Then the door at the back of the building bursts open to a cacophony of shouts and hollering voices. The moment broken, Price drops his hand away from your cheek, only to take your hand in his this time, pulling you down the hall towards the register’s to await the circuit preacher. He makes you walk on the side closest to the wall, shielding you from the men that burst out of the courtroom, surging towards the doors. You think that someone must have been found guilty because the lot of them look joyous, clamoring over each other for attention. 

You think that you might be spared another minute or two, enough time for them to clean up and reset the courtroom, but you’re shocked to find the circuit preacher ready to conduct the ceremony in the cramped register’s office. He and Price shake hands enthusiastically, the preacher turning to you to grasp your hands in welcome before turning back to the sheriff. They have a camaraderie that speaks of old friendship. 

The cramped room where you’re married smells of patchouli and moth wings, like holes burrowed into sweaters at the back of a closet. The bookshelves along the walls are stacked with books old enough that you know they’d crinkle deliciously if opened. You try to listen as the preacher begins the introductory prayer. Behind you, another man slips into the room, a witness. He hardly bothers to introduce himself for such a brief affair. 

You haven’t been to many weddings, but you always imagined that yours—if you were privileged enough to have one—might have more fanfare. The wedding you actually get is a brusque affair, a brief recital of vows that ends only when the preacher enjoins Price to kiss his wife. 

His wife. 

Your eyes go wide when a hand flattens along your spine and pulls you into a hard chest, John dipping his head down to kiss your mouth again. His kiss is less chaste this time, not restricted by convention as earlier. This time, his tongue licks hot into your mouth, like no kiss you’ve ever had before, beard scratching your face. His mouth tastes like something you’ve never had before, like heatburst. Hot and wet. Soft and suckling. Any kiss you’ve had before pales in comparison—juvenile fumbling, all dry and half-humiliated, unsure of yourself. Nothing like being kissed by your husband.

Your husband. 

He only pulls away when the preacher finally clears his throat, a tad embarrassed. You’re too dazed to feel the same, fingers still sunk into the lapels of Price’s vest, clutched there. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and your hands to unclench. You feel Price tug your hands away and slip something onto your finger.

The few documents needing to be signed hardly takes any longer. You finally notice the man that had slipped in behind the two of you, a masked man even larger than Price, who nods at him before glancing at you only long enough for you to notice that his eyes seem curiously blank. 

“Thanks, Simon,” Price says as the man—Simon—signs under your names, but he only grunts. The ink is still wet when he leaves. 

“How was it so fast?” you ask absently, staring at the papers as the ink sits drying and the preacher takes his own copy before handing John his. 

“Everything’s practical out here, darling.” His hand holds you by the waist again, relaxed this time. Not worried about whether you might run. “Even the weddings.”

“You don’t…you don’t even serve dinner? Invite guests over? No gifts?” The questions are irrelevant, but you ask them anyway because it’s a way to focus on anything other than the preacher handing you the final copy of the papers and Price leading you back down the hall and out the doors. 

There’s a ring on my finger, you think, looking down. It sparkles when you twist your hand from side to side. Topaz, instead of diamond. 

“Maybe if you’d showed up on time,” Price reminds you. He no longer sounds upset about it, but it still seems to come out as an admonishment. 

You don’t respond to that. Perhaps you’re still shell-shocked, looking at the world through new eyes. It feels unreal that in the span of less than a day, you’ve been plucked up and married off, to the sheriff no less. The one man you would’ve tried your hardest to avoid crossing paths with. 

No chance of that now. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, still in a daze. The sun makes you squint when you leave the courthouse, making you miss the hat back in your room at the inn. Maybe you can convince Price to let you go back to collect your things.

“I think we’re due for a honeymoon, don’t you, darling?”

You go doe-eyed at that. When you look up, your husband is already smiling down at you, crow’s feet wrinkling at the sides of his eyes. 

“Let’s go home.”