#holy shit on stilts

[deliasmoothie]

🍕FNAF Security Breach Pizzeria Horror Attraction🍕

I'm surprised I haven't seen this on tumblr yet, so I decided to talk about it. [SS Credits]

This is not CGI, its a real place located in Boulevard City, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. It's a haunted/horror house, and you can see the full video here:

🐻They actually remodeled the place because it used to have the OG FNAF Mascots but switched it to SB this year.

🌕The roaming stilt walker mascot at that time was The Puppet! And guess who they went for this year? The Daycare Attendant, Moon!

⭐Unfortunately, visitors are not allowed to record the insides of the premise but these are the few pictures that have been sneaked in. [Source]

☆ It's a shame because it'd be interesting to know how they spook people inside! But yeah! Wanted to share this cause I hadn't seen others do so and if you have any more information- feel free to add!

[soup-future]

season 3 of penny dreadful sucks. sad! i think the whole season should have been ethan being sad in the desert and vanessa going to therapy

[osaka-lilac]

can’t believe i’m actually writing a fic. technically. holy shit. this is insane

[salparadiselost]

Christmas, Kansas

“Yello” said Jason, elbows deep into the Batmobile because while the Bats away the Robins will play and all of that shit. Really, it was Bruce’s fault for giving Jason a pair of keys back into the Manor. What was the man expecting? For Jason to not take advantage of Bruce’s corporate trip to LA and pass up the opportunity to give the Batmobile a few “upgrades”?

“Jason? Oh, thank god, you have to come get me.”

Jason hummed. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jason remembered some vague discussion about Bruce being gone and Dick starting to get concerned about it. 

“And why would I do that?”

“I’m trapped,” Bruce’s voice was starting to get a bit frantic. “Look I don’t know how much time I have left on this pay phone, but you need to get your siblings and come get me. I’m in a town called Christmas, Kansas. It’s at approximately 39 degrees north by 101–”

“Wait, the town is called Christmas?”

“Yes,” Bruce growled this word out with so much disdain that Jason was reminded about how the man talked about the Joker. “The town is trapped in Christmas. It’s trying to get me to feel the Christmas Spirit.”

Jason’s eyebrows crinkled together. “But you're Jewish?”

“That’s what I said! But no, apparently, anyone can feel the Christmas spirit, and I’m trapped here until I feel it, too. But I don’t feel shit except for the cold, because did I tell you, but it snows all the time here. It’s May! Jason, it’s May! And we have had three winter storms that have trapped us inside to force us to bake cookies and decorate trees and I’m going insane, Jason. I’m going insane! This might be what breaks me! I’m not singing Fa La La La La in fucking May, Jason!”

Jason had frozen, eyes widening as Bruce’s tirade ended, and all he could hear was his dad heavily panting into the phone. 

“Holy shit,” Jason whispered. He had heard Bruce at some of his worst and it was rare to hear Bruce sound so miserably exhausted. He was more used to Bruce sounding like he had a fair amount of control on things, but this man… this sounded like a man breaking. 

“Please come get me,” Bruce was practically pleading now. “I called Clark, but he’s been taken by this town’s delusion and apparently enjoys being here.”

Jason huffed a ragged laugh. “Of course he would, that man bleeds small-town Americana. He’s probably trying to get you to do all the Christmas traditions with him.”

“Yes,” Bruce said so miserably that it actually made Jason feel a bit bad for the guy. 

“Give me a few hours,” said Jason, sighing internally as he signed himself up for getting into more of this family’s bullshit. “I’ll have Tim trace the call, and we will come find you. In the meantime, go enjoy a cup of cheer.”

“I think if I drink another hot cocoa I’m going to have a sugar induced heart attack.”

“Cocoa? Who the fuck was talking about cocoa? I mean whiskey, Bruce. Or vodka. Or anything else strong and alcoholic that will tide you over until we get there.”

Bruce gave a grumbly, stilted laugh into the phone that definitely didn’t mess with Jason’s heart a bit and made him feel like he was twelve again. 

“Alright, Jay, I’ll see you soon.”

[onceonafullmoon]

Meet Cute

Micheal Kaiser x GN! Reader

No warnings, just pure fluff! Reader is in college and from America. Reader is an anxious mess and a football fan. Apologies if the german is shit, I did my best. This fic is kinda scuffed but I wanted it to be done lol

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question. He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you peruse the selection of the ice cream tucked away in the freezer section, but you can’t help but smile to yourself at the welcome sight.

Yes, it was that time again, that familiar time in every college student’s life, the time to eat away your feelings after struggling your way through midterms.

Fuck midterms.

And fuck proper societal conventions as well.

Because here you are, in your pajamas, doing a late night grocery run and regretting it with every strange look served your way.

Sometimes you forget that you aren’t in America anymore, and your people-of-Walmart activities will inevitably lead to your downfall, but at least that day isn’t today.

Well, it was a small mercy that no matter where you were in the world, whether in Germany or America, that at least ice cream was a true constant that remained in your life.

You analyze the see-through fridges with slight disappointment as you realize the selection you have to work with is slightly smaller than what you’re used to, although maybe upon further inspection you’d find it refreshing not being swung at visually by 15 brands in one shelf, all desperately vying for your attention.

Either way, you find yourself drawn to the same flavor you always pick, a true creature of habit, and you pull open the fridge door to grasp at the item of your choosing.

At least you are until you find your hand colliding with another, a silent gasp parting your lips before you pull your hand back in surprise.

��Sorry!” You blurt out before realizing your mistake. “...err, I mean– entschuldigung!”

(Your German is hardly passable to be frank, but you figure you should at least try speaking the language of the country hosting you for the semester.)

Anyway, the sound of your stilted dialect is enough to bring out a light chuckle from the person, the man judging by the timbre of the voice, next to you and you finally look over to see…

Holy shit.

Is that Micheal fucking Kaiser?

You stare shell shocked at the blond superstar soccer (football, you correct in your head) player next to you, as he begins to speak.

“Kein Problem.” He says smoothly, and you have to make a conscious effort to shut your slightly parted mouth as you continue to stare at him with widened eyes.

At this point, the best thing you could do for yourself would be to grab your ice cream, pay and leave before you embarrassed yourself, but unfortunately for you, your mouth didn’t catch the memo.

“S–Sind Sie Michael Kaiser?” You blurt out, before mentally face palming at the stupidity of your own question.

He laughs again, a slightly smug look on his face at being recognized before responding. “Ja, ich bin Michael Kaiser.”

You feel your cheeks start to burn in embarrassment as the realization dawns on you that you’re standing in front of a world class athlete in the middle of a grocery store in a wrinkly, old, oversized t-shirt and shorts.

“Sie möchte ein Autogramm?” He asks amusedly, giving you a subtle once over that you normally would have missed had you not been so self conscious.

“Ja, bitte.” You say, fishing for a pen and paper in your bag.

“...I don’t normally look like this, I swear.” You can’t help but add as you find your paper and pen, switching over to English out of a combination of embarrassment and lack of language knowledge.

“You don’t?” He asks lightly, humoring you and switching over to English before taking the pen and paper out of your hands. “I would have thought you looked like this everyday.”

“What, messy?” You ask in a light tone despite being slightly offended as he scribbles his name on the paper.

“No.” He says with a smirk as he finishes, handing you the paper. “Gorgeous.”

You blink at him for a moment before you feel your cheeks warm up again, averting your eyes to the side to avoid his gaze as you try to process the fact that a celebrity, more importantly, an attractive celebrity is flirting with you.

“Ah– um, well I– uh, thank you.” You eventually get out before willing yourself to look back at him, your stomach doing a flip as you see the same smirk on his lips that you’re used to seeing on TV.

“Kein Problem.” He repeats again, that same amused lilt in his voice. 

“I mean–” You start again and you feel yourself regretting the fact that you decided to speak again. “For both uhm, the autograph and the compliment.”

You pause for a bit, unbelievably flustered, before you blurt out. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m so awkward, I’m just gonna leave now.”

He laughs at this, his eyes seeming to soften a bit before he speaks in a quieter tone, almost as if he’s afraid to scare you off. “No you’re fine… it’s cute.”

Your heart thumps in your chest rapidly, like you’ve just gotten done running a marathon, and you feel the heat rush to your face along with a fluttering feeling in your stomach. All these sensations combine to force a rather undignified sound from deep within yourself, sounding equivalent to a mouse caught in a glue trap.

You feel your face heat up further from the strangled sound that emitted from your very being and scrunch your eyes shut for just a moment away from Kaiser’s prying gaze.

When he laughs, you feel the embarrassment return tenfold, although the fluttering feeling in your heart might just be also because of the rich timbre of his chuckle.

“Hey, look at me.” He says after a few seconds, and despite your longing to keep your eyes closed you can’t help but obey his command.

So, slowly you open your eyes, taking in the sight of his handsome visage, his lips quirked up in a smile and it almost feels painful how your heart thuds.

“...what?” You question weakly.

“Just needed your eyes on me for a second while I do this.” He says before leaning over ever so slightly to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, his hand lingering at the apex of where your ear meets your cheek before finally pulling away.

“...” You can’t help the way you gape at him, momentarily speechless as he takes in your facial expression with his signature smirk.

“Sorry Liebling, your hair was bothering me.” He offers up as an explanation, but you can tell from the delighted gleam in his eye that he’s lying.

“Y–yeah, right.” You stutter out despite your best efforts to remain unphased and straighten up. “Anyways, it was nice meeting you, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“No, it was a pleasure.” He says smoothly, and you can’t help the twinge of jealousy that runs through you at his composed demeanor. “Take care, would you?”

“Of course, y-you too.” You manage to get out, and he smirks at you one last time before confidently striding away from you, leaving you slightly shell shocked in the ice cream aisle.

It would be a while before you fully collected your thoughts after you paid and exited the store, and that’s why perhaps you didn’t notice three things in particular.

One, that you forgot to pick up the goddamn ice cream that you were so looking forward to getting. 

Two, that your beloved celebrity had also forgotten to get his ice cream that he was reaching for because he was also that flustered despite his confident demeanor.

And three, the little number written next to your autograph with the small written letters next to it “Ruf mich an <3”.

---

Taglist: @gigiiiiislife

[rogueddie]

Steve doesn't really mind the jokes about his intelligence. Not anymore, anyway. He's gotten used to them. Even when they did get to him, he knew that they were just playing. Kid shit.

But he slowly starts to notice... El always watches for his reaction. Almost like she's waiting for something.

So, he starts to watch her too.

He's more subtle about it though. She turns her whole head and body towards him, pointedly staring.

But Steve leans, casual as always, tilting just enough to see her out the corner of his eye. He isn't able to get a great read on her like that, but he sees enough.

He slowly realizes that the insults that he's getting are upsetting her.

When Dustin dismisses his questions because they're stupid, her hand twitches just before she turns to him.

When Mike calls him an idiot, she flinches, almost jerking around to look at him. Her hands stay on the edge of her chair, gripping tight enough to whiten her knuckles.

When Max scoffs at his suggestion, talking louder, as though his ideas are too stupid to consider... Els hands shake. She moves slower whenever it's Max making the cutting remarks, as though they cut deeper.

It's when Hopper joins in, patronising when he ruffles Steve's hair and tells him that 'yeah kid, they know, he's the jock. He's the sports guy, not the brains'.

The noise El makes is too quiet for Steve to really hear. All he knows is that she sounds... wounded. Upset.

"Alright," Steve finally says. He slams his glass down on the table. "That's enough. You've had your fun. The dumb jokes stop here."

"Don't be such a baby," Mike scoffs. "They're just jokes."

"And they're not funny anymore, so cut it out."

"Steve, c'mon-" Dustin starts.

"No. Nope. Nuh-uh. I'm putting my foot down."

"It's not our fault you ask dumb questions!" Mike says.

"Hey, it might be," Max says, smirking slightly. "He's taken a lot of hits to the head for us."

El jumps to her feet, suddenly enough that it startles everyone into silence. She opens her mouth a few times, visibly struggling to speak.

She turns to Steve gesturing for him to follow her.

When the others get up at the same time, trying to follow as well, she finally finds her words.

"No!" She snaps. "You stay here. I am going to talk to Steve."

"What's wrong?" Mike asks, stepping closer, despite her glare. "El?"

"You are wrong."

She grabs Steve's wrist, leading him into her room. She sits on the bed, smiling a little when he sits next to her.

"You need me to be quiet for a minute?" He asks, voice hushed.

"Yes."

Steve nods, giving her a reassuring smile. He looks around her room while he waits for her to gather her thoughts, determined to wait as long as she needs and-

"Holy shit, is that a diorama of the solar system?!" He jumps up, excited, hunching over so he can look at it closer. "What the- El, this is amazing! Did you make this?"

"Oh, yeah. It is ok." Her smile is a little timid, hands shifting into her lap so she can pick at her nails.

Steve doesn't notice, looking back to the diorama. "This is amazing - I know, I already said that, but... Jesus, El."

"Thank you, Steve." Her voice is stiff, stilted- sad.

Right, Steve remembers, cringing at himself.

"Sorry, uh... I'll... I'll shut up now."

"No. It's nice. Will helped me a lot but he won't to let me tell anyone."

"I won't tell," he crosses his heart. "You doing ok?"

"No."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"They are mean to you."

"They are."

El narrows her eyes at him, frustrated. "They should not be mean to you."

"You're right."

She looks even more frustrated, but Steve thinks that this is his best little technique of getting people to talk. Especially about emotions. It works on Eddie like a charm.

"I do not like when they are mean to you."

"Why?"

"Because it is not nice!"

"You're right, it isn't."

"They are supposed to be your friends!" El jumps to her feet, voice raised so much that the others can undoubtedly hear her. "They are supposed to be my friends! I do not understand either! If you are an idiot, so am I!"

"So, you're upset because they think you're stupid?"

"No! I know they do not think I am stupid! They are being mean! They are being bullies!"

Steve nods, pausing for a long moment, waiting for her to calm down a little.

"You remember what Eddie told you about bullies?"

"They are sad with themselves so they have to make others miserable too so they can feel better." She glances at the door. "He also called them assholes."

"Do you think that's what they're doing?"

She considers that for a second, before shaking her head. "No. They... do not understand."

"They're not going to understand if we don't talk to them." He raises an eyebrow when she frowns. "You could stay here, let me do the talking?"

"No. I will talk to them. You are too nice."

"Alright," Steve snorts, gesturing to the door. "Let's give 'em he'll."

part two

[riki-riks-chick]

jay suggestive pls

Could Get Caught ┃P.JS

jay x fem!reader

jay is horny, but reader is skeptical because they're at his parents' house

nsfw! mutual masturbation? dry humping? risky engagement!

═════════════

Third Person POV~ 

 "Baby.. It's okay. We won't get caught. My parents are heavy sleepers.." Jay whispered in your ear, wrapping his arms around your waist as his erection pressed against your backside.

Usually you'd leap at the opportunity to fuck Jay, but you're currently visiting his parents, and you refuse to make yourself look bad by fucking their son in their house. "Honey, we're at your parents house.. Keep it in your pants."

He had only groaned, pressing further against you. "Please baby.. I need you so bad." He mumbled, keeping his voice down as he slowly moved his hips against yours.

You were starting to get more and more aroused the more he begged, but you refused to let your guard down.

"No, Jay.. Stop asking. If you're that horny, go get off in the bathroom." You reply as he chuckles. "Y/n.. Please? At least let me rub against you to get off."

It was so hard not to say no. You had finally nodded, and he immediately pushed you to lay on your back, placing himself between your legs as he leaned in to kiss you.

He's cupping you through the thin fabric of your shorts, his other hand sliding up your shirt to grip your chest. You're struggling to kiss back due to his fast pace, but eventually you catch the rhythm, cupping his jaw to take slight control.

"Jay.." You pant, pulling away from him as he stares down at you, his eyes dark and filled with desire.

He was almost too impatient, the outline of his erection clear through his sweats. He had freed his length, pressing it almost directly against your clit. He let out a groan, biting his lip as he moved his length against your clothed center.

You almost instinctively moved your hips against him, covering your mouth to avoid moaning as he used you to get off.

His erection slid swiftly across the now soaked expanse of your shorts, his free hand tugging you closer to press his hips flush against yours.

"You feel so good.. Holy shit.." He let's out a quiet moan, his hips moving slightly faster as he rutted against you.

You were struggling to keep quiet yourself, not having expected this to feel that good, but fuck you were wrong. The pressure of his tip pressing against your clit with every forward movement of his hips, it was heavenly.

You found yourself inching closer and closer to the edge with him. "Jay... Baby.." You trail off, letting out a stilted moan as he leaned closer to you, whispering in your ear. "I wish we were home right now.. I'd fuck you so hard, baby.."

His words make you whimper, the arousal pooling between your legs as he moaned lowly in your ear, only making you more horny.

"Please... Fuck.." You're squirming beneath him, hips moving of their own volition as Jay moves slightly faster, taking you both over the very apparent edge.

He bit down on your shoulder to quiet himself, causing you to gasp as you covered your mouth, the feeling of his jolting against you drawing multiple moans out of your throat.

He had pulled away, kissing the bitten skin of your shoulder before kissing you softly, glancing down at the cum-stained and soaked fabric of your shorts.

Jay teasingly rubbed at your clit through the shorts before kissing you once more. "See.. We didn't get caught.."

═════════════

[fleurywiththesave]

Starting feeling things about the game tonight, so

Matthew’s been trying so hard to pretend that nothing is wrong. To ignore that they've been talking less and less often in recent weeks, that it's stilted and uncomfortable when they do. That their conversation on his birthday barely lasted five minutes. That he can’t seem to say anything about hockey without pissing Leon off.

That he hasn’t heard from Leon at all in three days.

He tried to call him the night before they left for Edmonton, and he tried to call him right before getting on the plane, and he’s texted more times than he can count. He knows that Leon didn’t disappear off the face of the earth — he’s seen proof of life from the Oilers media. He just doesn’t want to talk to Matthew.

“He’s breaking up with me,” Matthew says glumly at the poker table.

“Or he’s just trying to keep his head in the game,” Benny suggests.

“He could keep his head in the game and still talk to me,” Matthew insists. “He’s breaking up with me and he’s being a wuss about it.”

“Then go talk to him yourself,” Benny says. “You know they’ll have morning skate tomorrow. Go to the rink.”

“That’s…not a terrible idea,” Matthew says slowly.

“I know. I’m brilliant.” And then he wins a hundred of Matthew’s hard-earned dollars. Jackass.

But he’s a jackass who’s right at least some of the time, so Matthew slips out of the hotel the next morning while the rest of the guys are still eating breakfast and calls an Uber to the arena.

It doesn’t occur to him until he gets there that they’re not just going to let him stroll right in, which means he has to swallow his pride and call Connor.

“Uh, hello?”

“I’m outside, come tell the security guard to let me in.”

“You’re outside,” Connor repeats disbelievingly.

“Leon won’t answer any of my messages and if he wants to dump me before this game then he needs to do it to my face, so come let me in.”

There’s a pause before Connor sighs.

“Give me ten minutes.”

He doesn't look too pleased when he shows up, but at least he tells security that Matthew is allowed in.

"I told him you're here," Connor says. "He's waiting for you in one of the trainer rooms." They don't talk at all while he walks Matthew over, which means there's ample opportunity for his anger to turn to fear. This is it. Holy shit, this is it and then he's going to be miserable for the rest of his life. Maybe he should just let Leon ghost him instead of having to look him in the eye and burst into tears while begging him to reconsider.

"Here," Connor says, stopping outside a room. "Don't be idiots, okay?"

Leon is sitting, but he stands up as soon as Matthew opens the door. They both hover where they are, a good six feet apart.

"Hi."

"Hi."

It's a long, painful moment of silence before they both start to speak at the same time.

"I'm sorry I—" "Please don't break up with me!"

"Wait, what?" Leon says.

"Don't break up with me," Matthew repeats, wincing at how pitiful his voice sounds. "Whatever it is I did, just let me fix it. Don't do this."

"I'm not—" Leon scrubs at his face and groans. "I'm not breaking up with you, Matty, good god."

"......You're not?"

"No. I—can we sit?"

Matthew thumps into the chair next to him. He suddenly feels very, very tired.

"I know I've been kind of an ass," Leon says. "There's just been so much attention on this game and I've been stressing about it and...I don't know."

"And you didn't want to talk to me about it," Matthew says.

Leon sighs. "No, I didn't. You're the enemy on the ice right now, Matthew. You told me yourself how pissed off you were the first time you played Vegas after losing to them. Don't you think I feel the same way? I just needed to focus on my play and my team."

Oh.

"I guess I didn't think about it like that," Matthew admits.

"Shocking," Leon says flatly, though there's a brightness in his eyes. "Look, I know I haven't handled it that well — believe me, Connor keeps telling me. I didn't mean to shut you out completely. I just didn't want to get into it. I'm sorry I was an idiot."

"I was an idiot too," Matthew says. "So I'm sorry too. And you—you're not breaking up with me?"

"Of course I am, Matthew. I could handle you winning the Cup against me, I could go to your Cup Day, but this regular game when we're not even halfway through the season is just a bridge too far. I'll send you a box of your stuff."

"Shut the fuck up." Matthew feels about a thousand pounds lighter than he did half an hour ago. Leon grins and leans in, stopping just before kissing him.

"But I'm going to kick your ass up and down the ice tonight."

Matthew smirks and closes the distance.

[thewertsearch]

@skelekingfeddy asked: (1/?) from hussie's now-defunct tumblr, re mindfang's journal: Mindfang’s journal entries were always intended as narrative departures in which I would deliberately drag the story into what I call “The Bad Fanfiction Zone.” Without necessarily laying it on TOO thick (because holy shit, fanfiction can be REALLY bad), I specifically emulated some common impulses of fanfiction writers to open this backstory portal, to fill in some world building details and contextualize the arcs of the troll kids. (2/?) It’s kind of bombastic, character-aggrandizing, uncomfortably erotic, and florid. I wanted to leverage the Bad Fanfiction Zone for useful story purposes, primarily because this was a funny idea to me. It’s one of those gags which I don’t expect the majority of readers to pick up on. Some people LOVE the Mindfang stuff because, among other reasons, they’re often the sort of people who genuinely like to read fanfiction! Whereas some others HATED the journals, probably without even fully (3/4) understanding why. The reason is because I bombed my own story with bad fanfiction, and tricked them into reading it. This is absolutely the most hilarious consequence of this gag. But don’t get me wrong. Just because I call it the Bad Fanfiction Zone doesn’t mean I actually think the Mindfang stuff is bad. All the lore is good and I like the indirect filling in of events and details of alien culture as you’d reveal through study of historical documents and journals. But the execution is (4/4) humorously heavy handed, somewhere between lavish old world prose and an enthusiastic fandom hackjob, and this was a conscious layer of the gag. And there are some people who do pick up on this.

Hmm - this is verbatim Hussie, right?

Honestly, I'm not sure I understand the joke. I've read a decent amount of fanfiction, and Mindfang's journal didn't match any fic tropes I'm familiar with. To me, the hallmarks of bad fanfiction are things like stilted dialogue, pacing issues, or a misunderstanding of the source material - none of which, in my opinion, is exhibited by the journals. Sure, Mindfang's language is overly flowery, but that's clearly because she's completely full of herself. She adores the sound of her own voice, so she'll always write a paragraph when she should have written a line.

All this to say - I don't really know what Hussie means when he says the journal is a 'bad fanfiction'. I am quite interested in what he's getting at, though, so if anyone did get the joke, I'd very much like to know what sort of fanfiction 'impulses' Hussie is riffing off here.

[paragonraptors]

YEHAW DA:V REVEAL THOUGHTS BELOW!!

Overall: Feeling so excited for this game. I'm climbing up the walls. I can't believe that was 20 minutes, it felt like 10. Need this in my hands yesterday.

What I liked:

-Holy fuck wow wow wow the hair looks like nothing I've seen in a video game before.

-Combat seems very different but also a natural progression of gameplay past. Real-time turn-based was always a little on the clunkier side, and while it never really bothered me, moving towards something more ME-style was expected. Very excited about being able to aim a bow. Would like to know what difficulty they were showcasing bc I'm considering jumping right into a Nightmare run.

-Now that I've been soulsborne-pilled the prospect of a parry mechanic has me buzzing.

-I feel like people are gonna dunk on the "stiffer" animation, but I prefer it so much more than the BG3/HZD constant wobbling. It'll make the key performances stand out instead of mostly jangling keys in front of a baby and letting the big moments get lost in the sauce. (Not that the aformentioned games didn't have good animation, just. If your characters don't need to move their whole body to convey dialogue I'd prefer if they didn't.)

-The sublety in the facial animations is CRAZY.

-The roleplay dialogue seems really reactive!! And the cuts to inject the unique dialogues feels smooth. I'm sure there will still be moments where it's easy to tell, but still cool. Seems like they're gonna be paying more attention to your personality type like DA2 too.

-So excited about Harding and Neve as companions and can't wait to meet everyone else.

-Neve's staff/wand makes me excited to see what kinds of focus options we'll get as a mage AAAA.

-God the costumes have so much swag. One of my hottest of many BG3 takes was that the costumes were overall flavorless. (Really hoping they didn't change the Grey Warden uniforms though that would really disappoint me.)

-Cinematography looks fantastic. Lots of well set up shots.

-NGL I felt something when Solas showed up. Wasn't expecting that. And while not perfect, I liked his interaction with Varric. Their relationship from Inquisition really slips under the radar if you're not bothering to look.

-Varric has never gotten over the trauma of what happened with Anders and it breaks my heart in a good way. God you could see it in his eyes!! [chef's kiss]

-However, I definitely have to kill Solas now for what transpired in this preview.

What I'm iffy about:

-The voice peformances feel a bit stilted. Not really what I'm used to from Bioware and I feel like it's important when the animations are more subdued. Hopefully this feeling will change when I get more of the game.

-The dialogue also felt a bit dumbed down. "Solas is doing his ritual!" "Yes. Solas' ritual. The ritual that we have to stop." Again, hopefully this is symptomatic of a tutorial level/trying to onboard newbies quickly and not the whole game lol. While I prefer this to dialogue that tries to sound smarter than it is, I'm really hoping we see an overall improvement from Inquisition.

-Sort of wish they went with the Andromeda dialogue system instead of bringing back Inquisition's, but I do like that it seems all dialogue options are getting tonal indicators again and they're not as easily conflated with morality. (Though I imagine people will STILL interpret it that way.)

-A little confused about them introducting Minrathous' panopticon shit and then immediately swerving into Solas' ritual. Would have liked some breathing room on that kind of worldbuilding.

- While I'm generally open minded about the change, I Do Not Love not being able to switch to playing companions. Might turn around on this if your ability to issue them commands opens up the closer you are to them/the more you grow into a leadership role. I do like that it seems you will eventually be able to command when they use abilities a la OG Mass Effect bc that was my biggest beef with the Andromeda gameplay, esp on Nightmare/Insanity difficulty.

-Not crazy about the new Pride demon design where are their leggies.

-Not really a Criticism, but they are definitely setting up for Varric to die and while I get it, narratively, I'm NOT HAPPY. Dragon Age has been almost allergic to scripted deaths so it's also gonna feel like being dunked in an ice bath. EVIL STUFF. IN DENIAL.

[fayes-fics]

It Had To Be You: Chapter 8 - I've Changed My Mind, I Take It Back

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: The fallout from the best night of your life was never going to be pretty…

artwork credit @colettebronte

Warnings: none, really... just some swearing and brief references to sex. Bit of angst and some arguing.

Word Count: 4.0k

Authors Note: A multi-chapter modern rom-com retelling of When Harry Met Sally. In this chapter, both reader and Benedict deal - poorly - with the aftermath of their amazing night together. Yup, it's a slice of angst while hopefully still serving some laughs. This is what has to happen before these idiots can finally see the truth in the next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for the advice and betaing and @sorryallonsy for cheerleading and feedback. I hope you enjoy <3

The next morning, you watch silently, covers pulled up under your chin, as Benedict dresses—your stomach in an odd knot. It’s barely dawn, and you are both uncaffeinated, but still, it's the morning after the best sex of your life, and it’s awkward. And you don't know what to say to make it, well, unawkward.

“I have to go, stupid breakfast meeting about a gallery opportunity. But I'd like to see you later if you are free?” his tone is hedging as he sits on the end of the bed and pulls on his shoes.

“Err, sure. Dinner later?” you offer as he stands up and walks around to your side of the bed.

“Dinner sounds great,” he smiles with relief and leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your forehead.

You try not to wince, but a giant ball of something in the pit of your stomach wants to either push him away and make a joke, tell him to “knock it off, mate,” … or, much preferred, grab him by his stupid bloody shirt collar and give him a proper kiss, tongues and all. Haul him right back into your bed and ride him until you are both screaming.

He hovers over you, and your eyes meet, his dilating as if he reads where your thoughts slid, and with a sharp inhale, he pulls back and folds a lip under his teeth as if forbidding himself from taking action, too.

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and nod your farewell, burrowing deeper under the duvet, not wanting to see him to the door, not wanting a more stilted goodbye than it already is. You both know there is a shit-ton you need to talk about, but neither of you is capable of the intellectual space to unpack it at 6:30 am on a Friday morning.

As you hear your front door snick closed, you take a deep breath and reach for your phone. To contact the only person who might even begin to understand how seismic this is. 

—

“Holy shit!!” Kate shrieks, startling Anthony from his slumber.

“What?!? What is it?!?” he sits bolt upright, half-asleep but panicked, her tone causing bile to rise in his throat. Whatever it is has to be serious.

“It fucking happened!” she exclaims, clutching her phone to her chest, an almost maniacal grin claiming her beautiful features as she leans back against the headboard and kicks her feet up gleefully.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Anthony urges, anxiety rolling off him in waves.

She thrusts her phone towards him, and he snatches it, alarmed. There is a pause while he reads a text, and then he sighs, slumping his head into his hands.

“Kate,” he exhales, rubbing his eyes, “for fucks sake. I thought the world was bloody ending! Or at least someone had fucking died. Not that my brother had sex.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Kate retorts, taking back custody of her device and staring at him as if he is some alien creature. “Our best friends just fucked. HOW IS THAT NOT WORLD-CHANGING NEWS, VISCOUNT ANTHONY BRIDGERTON?!?”

Anthony slumps back onto his pillow with a huge sigh. “Okay, no need to whole name me. I thought you said it was bound to happen someday?” he stifles a yawn as he asks it.

“Yeah, so?! This is still huge news,” she argues, gesturing wildly, absolutely nonplussed by his total lack of reaction.

Anthony hums noncommittally, closing his eyes. Just then, his phone starts vibrating on his bedside table; the display lit up with a photo of his brother's drunken face.

“Is that him?! Get all the gossip!! I need deeeeeetails!!” Kate swats his bicep affectionately.

Anthony rolls his eyes and clicks the green button.

“No one I know would call at this hour,” he grouses in lieu of hello.

 —

Benedict spends most of the ride in your building’s lift with his head pressed into the cold mirrored surface, eyes screwed shut, wondering if the world could swallow him up so he doesn’t have to think about anything. It takes every fibre of his willpower not to run back, fling your damn door open and bury himself inside you again. But that might make it weirder.

There's only one voice of reason he can think of.

“I know I'm sorry…” he replies abashedly to his brother's less-than-cheery greeting.

“So uhh, it happened, eh?” Anthony cuts to the chase, and Benedict realises you must have already contacted Kate. “How was it?”

“It was good. REALLY good. But then, this morning, it was like we didn't know what to say to each other. I just had to get out of there before I did something stupid like suggest we do it again. SHIT!! I have no idea what to do.” 

“You want to come over for breakfast?” Anthony asks, then raises his eyes to a frantic Kate, making a cutting motion. Anthony can only surmise she has just offered the same to you.

“No, I'm not up to eating. I'm just going to get a coffee and a shower and try not to think about whether I've just fucked up the best friendship I've ever had…” he sighs.

Anthony shakes his head at Kate as she sighs in relief. “Listen, so maybe it didn't work out. It would have been great if it did, but…” Anthony shrugs and mouths, ‘What?’ at Kate, as she smacks his arm and gesticulates wildly.

“Hang up before you make it worse,” she growls as mutely as possible. Anthony knows better than to argue with that face. Last time, he ended up on the sofa for two nights.

“I've uh got to go, but we’ll talk later, okay?” Anthony offers.

“Sure,” Benedict trails off and hangs up.

“God….” Anthony flops onto the mattress, already disliking the day that has barely begun. “Tell me I will never have to be out there again,” he sighs, turning his head to look at Kate.

A beautiful smirk claims her face, and he is pleasantly surprised when she swings a leg over and straddles him, leaning in.

“Baby,” she breathes seductively into his ear, “you will never have to be out there again,” she adds silkily.

And suddenly, his morning is a thousand times better.

—

“It was a mistake,” you blurt out, unable to handle the silence any longer.

You have met Benedict for dinner at Pierre Victoire —something about their Beaujolais and Entrecote Steak et Frites just what you need to face this encounter; hence, it was your suggested spot. But you have barely exchanged a word since greeting each other.

A look of surprise briefly clouds his face, and then he agrees, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for your taste.

“I’m so glad you think so. I couldn’t agree more,” he gusts, a hand clamping over his heart in seeming relief at the break in tension. “I’m not saying it wasn’t great….,” he adds.

“It was,” you cut in, somehow needing him to know that more than anything.

He nods and continues, “It really was…we just should never have done it.”

“Agreed,” you chime in, mirroring his big exhale like a burden has been lifted.

“I’m so relieved,” he sighs as the waiter puts down your steaks.

And somehow, you are back to silence, unsure what else to say to each other. In fact, it stays like that for what feels like an age.

“It’s so nice to be able to sit with someone and not have to talk,” he opines at some point halfway through dinner.

All you can do is nod and take a huge gulp of wine.

Difficult, difficult, lemon, difficult.

—

“Okay, so most of the time when you sleep with someone new, you’re just getting to know each other; you have stories to tell,” you puff, feeling like you are dying.

Kate has dragged you to SoulCycle for a ‘fuckfest postmortem’ first thing the next day. It’s Saturday morning, and frankly, right now, you are wishing she was more of a Bellini-brunch-at-a-gastropub kind of person. She used to be; it's her drive to be ultra fit for her wedding that is at fault - it somehow now being a danger to your health.

“Sure…” she nods, looking enviably unsweaty and beautiful in her tiny lycra outfit. 

“But with him, we know all of each other's stories already. So once we had sex, it was like we just didn’t know what else to say to each other,” you struggle out.

“Hmmm,” Kate hums distractedly, checking her Apple Watch.

“Maybe you get to a certain point in a relationship where it’s just too late to have sex, y’know?” you shrug, certain a coronary is about to happen. To the point, you are almost grateful when your shoe slips off the pedal and you fall to the floor in an undignified puddle.

Yup, that seems about right.

—

“Is she bringing anyone to the wedding?” Benedict asks, pulling on the brocade waistcoat handed to him by the kindly old gent.

“Really, you want to do this? Here? Now?” Anthony shoots back exasperated, gesturing pointedly to his full white-tie outfit.

It's three weeks after the ‘incident’, as they have taken to calling it, and the boys are getting suited up for the wedding at the same outfitters on Savile Row that the Bridgertons have been going to for generations. One of those old-fashioned wood-panelled places that doesn't even have a real sign outside. 

“I was just asking…” he replies, defensive.

Anthony sighs. “She is seeing some software developer,” he admits, fiddling with some cufflinks. “I don't think it's that serious; Kate says he's not coming to the wedding.”

“What’s he like?” Benedict inquires, and Anthony wants to laugh at how badly he is masking his obvious jealousy with faux indifference.

“Rich, handsome, intelligent, athletic—your basic nightmare,” Anthony shrugs.

The sour face Benedict pulls tells him everything Anthony could ever want to know about just how bad his little brother has it.

—

BB: Miss you, Bluey.

It’s never a good idea to text at 1:30 a.m. Especially not someone you’ve been too embarrassed to contact for a month. And especially when you are pretty drunk and hiding in the toilets of a nightclub, avoiding your inebriated younger brother, Colin, on his birthday. Except here Benedict is, doing precisely that, chewing on his nail, awaiting a response.

Y/N: Bluey….?

Ah, shit.

In his drunken state, he temporarily forgot that’s a private nickname he’s given you. His lovely, little blue lobster. He doubts you even remember that FaceTime call all those months ago. He is trying to find a witty excuse when another message pops up.

Y/N: Miss you too, Nudey-face.

He barks a laugh, still entertained that you find his lack of a beard amusing, even though it's been nine months since he shaved it off.

Y/N: Don’t like that? I've got others…

BB: Oh, this ought to be good.

Y/N: Apple-guzzler

Y/N: Dance-ninja

Y/N: Half-assed-peeping-tom

He is giggling, something in his being so fizzy and light that you have slipped right back into your old ways of texting as if nothing happened. 

Y/N: Duvet-hog

That last one makes his heart leap, and his chest constricts, memories of your magical night together flooding back. Something wistful tugging in his gut; the idea that you could have more nights of fantastic sex as well as this fun, playful dynamic he has missed so much. But then he recalls with a bitter taste that you have apparently moved on. Emboldened, he decides to tackle that elephant in the room, whiskey doing the typing as much as he is.

BB: I hear you might have a +1 for the wedding…?

The three dots appear twice over, but then nothing. After eight minutes - he counts - he sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket.

Ah, fuck.

—

You chew your lip. Guilt burning behind your ribs, even as you know it’s ridiculous to feel as such. Part of you feels a hollow victory that he was the one to reach out first, but you know it’s pure liquid courage. Kate texted an hour ago that she had dipped out of Colin’s party, leaving all the brothers worse for wear. 

Twice you try to craft a response to his last message, simple then jokey, but both feel wrong. You decide it’s better to not respond. At least not at almost two in the morning with that possible plus one lying asleep next to you. It’s not even something you have broached with him, going to the wedding, and now you’re sure you don’t want him there. He’s nice, but you know it’s a rebound thing—an ego boost, a mildly pleasant distraction at most.

—

“Wear the fucking penises, you coward!” Kate slurs bossily, handing you the cheap plastic deeley boppers with glittery gold cocks.

You sigh. “Fine. But don’t blame me if they don’t let us into this place,” you grumble, tugging your coat tighter around your body and bouncing on your strappy-heeled sandals, trying to fight off the seasonal chill.

This is Kate's hen party weekend in Bath, and it’s not going as you’d planned. After the pampering spa day and fancy meal you had arranged as maid of honour, the evening has descended into debauchery. Her sister Edie had booked a male stripper who was almost traumatised by just how feral Kate turned after the vodka luge (also an Edie addition). Now you are all queued up outside some cheesy nightclub that wasn’t on the cards, but Kate insisted.

“How’s your fancy man?” Eloise asks, bumping you with her shoulder and winking. 

“Meh,” you shrug noncommittally, unwilling to confess that you dumped him the morning after Benedict texted.  “How’s the Bridgerton clan?”

Eloise pulls a face. “Colin and Pen are fucking too loudly. Hy had a new hobby, taxidermy. Yeah exactly. Greg is now into karate. Oh, and a friend is trying to put the moves on Ben. You know, the usual family ridiculousness…”

“Yeah?” You try to hide your acerbic reaction; part of you is desperate to know more, but another part never wants to hear anything about any woman he may be with.

“Yeah, she’s a baker.” Eloise continues, kicking a stone into the gutter. “She makes 3,000 trifles a week…”

“We’re in!!” Kate yells triumphantly as the bouncer unhooks the velvet rope in front of you.

“But Ben doesn’t even like custard….” you mutter, frowning, as unseen by you, all the girls exchange knowing looks before piling into the club.

— 

“Eloise’s friend still hitting on you?” Colin leans in, smirking.

Anthony’s stag do is a paintballing weekend. Colin had lobbied hard for a sleazy weekend in Vilnius, but Anthony had baulked, far too scared of Kate’s reaction to that idea. So here they all are, being rained on and sitting in a muddy ditch somewhere in Berkshire. 

“I don't know the polite way to say fuck off,” Benedict professes, screwing one eye shut to stare down the barrel of the rifle. 

“Why not have some casual fun?” Colin shrugs, reloading his paintball gun.

“Because when I asked her what she was doing when Boris resigned, she said, ‘Oh, I don't know, was he your assistant or something?’” he deadpans, with a terrible impression, unable to hide his disgust at her ignorance.

“No!” Colin guffaws, disbelieving.

“Exactly…” Benedict retorts, but it morphs into a pained yelp as a paintball smacks heavily into his chest.

“You’re dead motherfucker!!!!” Anthony yells, materialising from nowhere, a Rambo-style headband and vest in place, camouflage streaked across his face, seemingly having the time of his life. He ducks and sprints away before anyone can retaliate.

“Aren't we on the same team?” Colin scowls wearily, watching his retreating figure darting between the trees.

“Yeah….” Benedict sighs, staring at the bright pink splotch and already feeling a bruise blooming on his sternum. 

Just bloody great…

—

The wedding day. Kate looks beautiful. Aubrey Hall looks beautiful. The weather is beautiful—a crisp autumnal day with the trees at peak colour all over the grounds, golds and fiery reds glowing in the sunshine. It’s all too much, frankly. 

Then, to top it all off, Benedict walks in wearing his custom-fitted best man’s outfit, and you almost trip over your damn feet, even standing entirely still. You haven’t seen him in person since that awkward dinner, and you quickly duck behind a pillar before he can spot you as he takes his place in the processional. It’s only when you reach the doorway that you realise he’ll be standing right next to Ant as you walk up the aisle alone. 

I need wine… lots of wine…

His eyes bore into you as you take the slow, silly shuffle that you are required to. A weight on your being that seems to slice through right you, and the claret red silk you wear. You feel you deserve a medal when you make it without stumbling on your heels. You shake your shoulders fractionally as you take your place facing him, a frisson in your spine that feels dangerous.

‘You look beautiful,’ he seems to mouth as the bridal procession pipes up while everyone else’s attention cuts to the doorway. And fuck do you wish he were either a thousand miles away or less than an inch from you, his breath ghosting warm over your skin….

—

The reception is in full swing, the band playing and people dancing when a familiar scent that makes your heart leap fills your nostrils. 

“Hi…” it's soft, almost hesitant, as he pulls up beside you.

“Hello…” you try to modulate to casual, but it probably comes off as mildly haughty.

“Beautiful ceremony,” he offers, both of your eyes tracking Kate and Anthony as they dance, blissfully absorbed in each other, radiating joy.

“It was,” you concur politely.

A waiter materialises with a tray of canapes, and you take one, but you don't eat it; just spin the skewer in your hand. Something to fiddle with to deal with the discomfort.

God, I miss the way we used to be…

“How have you been?” you ask a little stiffly.

“Fine,” he offers, and you can tell from a mere sideways glance that he’s lying.

“Why can’t we get past this? This awkwardness. Are we going to carry this around forever??” you blurt out. It's exasperation, not words you have thought carefully about, just a knee-jerk response to your own frustration about how weird things are compared to how they used to be. 

“Forever?! It just happened!” he exclaims, his hands gesturing in frustration. 

Seeing that you are drawing the attention of people nearby, you spin around and walk out of the room. If this is all going to come out now, which apparently your brain has decided it will, you prefer it not to be witnessed by friends and family. Or be a talking point at your best friend's wedding.

“It happened five weeks ago!” you argue over your shoulder as you stalk down a narrow hallway beyond where the guests are mingling. You know that is not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but feeling the need to argue your corner.

“Yeah, well, you must live in dog years cos it sure as fuck didn't take you very long to find someone else. Obviously, it meant nothing to you,” he spits out, a world of hurt behind the spite in his tone.

You stop dead and spin around, an ache in your chest that is pure indignance mixed with self-hatred for how right he is. He can always hit the bullseye every bloody time when it comes to knowing you better than you know yourself. That fling was a classic rebound, an outlet for your frustrations. Moreover, a distraction from letting yourself spiral about how petrified you are that things will never be the same between you and Benedict and how you feel utterly powerless to fix it, even if you can never bring yourself to regret it. It was too spectacular for that. 

“Meant nothing to me?!” you hiss, having to temper your urge to scream. “Really?! You are the one who left! That very next morning, you couldn't wait to get out of there. Who the fuck has a breakfast meeting about art? You are such a liar and a coward!”’ you raise your voice, all your emotions about it finally bubbling over. 

“I didn't walk out!” he argues, frowning.

“No, sprinted is more like it!” you bite back bitterly, then turn your heel again, furiously tossing your untouched canape into the first rubbish bin you see. 

You flounce down a stone staircase at the back of Aubrey Hall, his footsteps loud behind you, ending up in the kitchens, bustling with catering people. 

“We both agreed it was a mistake!” he points out angrily.

“Worst mistake I ever made!” you hurl at him, uncaring of the catering staff around you, watching you both as if a soap opera, eyes pinging back and forth like it's a damn tennis match.

“What do you want from me?” he asks, holding his hands up.

“I don't want anything from you!” you lie, wanting to throw yourself at him. He looks so good in his crisp, tailed suit that it takes every effort not to.

“Let's clear something up,” he starts, jabbing his finger pointedly at the ground to his side. “I did not come over that night to make love to you. That is not why I came over. I came over to look after a friend, you asked me to. But you came onto me, and it took every ounce of my being to say no. You were drunk and emotional; I couldn't take advantage like that. But then, when you sobered up, you looked at me with those big, soft eyes and kissed me. And for fucks sake. What was I supposed to do?! I am only human…” you are transfixed by the vein pulsing in his neck and hate yourself for just how aroused you are by it, by this, by this argument, this fire between you.

“What are you saying?!? That I was a pity fuck?!” 

You know full well that is not what he's saying at all, but you just can’t help but poke the proverbial beast. Wanting to goad him into something. Ideally, kissing you senseless.

“There you are!!!” 

You both turn around to see Anthony in the doorway, well, more accurately, leaning heavily on the doorframe, apparently quite tipsy. You have no idea how much he may have overheard. “I've been looking all over for you shits. Kate is mad you disappeared. Sent me off to find you. Ooh, I did it. I’ll get an excellent husband gold star, won't I?” he perks with a triumphant arm raise, and you realise he's probably had a lot of champagne and no food.

Both you and Benedict exchange looks, knowing your window of opportunity to hash this out just slammed shut. 

Benedict wraps an arm around his sibling’s shoulder. “Come on then, brother. Can't keep the bride waiting. Let's go,” he accommodates, steering them towards the steps with a glance back at you that is weighted. 

You trail behind as they walk back to the reception, lingering so you are not drawn into any conversation. By the time you enter the room, Anthony is back at Kate’s side as she is making a toast to the crowd. Benedict is still hovering near the door off to the side, almost as if waiting for you.

“Everybody, I'd like to make a toast to our maid of honour and best man. To y/n and Benedict,” she raises her glass towards you, and everyone turns to see you both standing awkwardly about six feet apart. “If Anthony or I found either one of them remotely attractive, we would not be here today. So thank you!” 

The crowd laughs along good-naturedly, and all raise their glasses to you. Kate tilts her head sideways with that beautiful but shit-eating grin she uses when stirring up trouble before taking a swig, staring at you challengingly. Almost as if she can read exactly what has just transpired, or maybe Anthony told her something of what he saw. Either way, You can feel Benedict's eyes on you as you attempt bemusement at her toast and nod with a brittle smile.

Just fucking great…

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

[tojisun]

LMAO AS A KOREAN SPEAKER FUCKING WITH KONIG ALONGSIDE HORANGI WOULD BE SO FUN I'M LITERALLY FUCKING GIGGLING THINKING ABOUT IT

OMG RIGHT?

thinking about how horangi spits out his drink the first time konig confesses about how he feels for you in stilted korean while you’re right there, hearing and understanding all of it.

konig’s too busy butchering the language to notice the way you dropped your phone in your surprise, before you and horangi make shocked eye contact from above konig’s head.

it takes the two of you exactly five seconds to think: oh. oh but this is funny.

and so began the ‘fucking with konig’ agenda 😭

horangi always makes sure you’re in the room when konig begins his butchered confessions, but it’s not like that’s a hard job anyway. not when konig himself seemed to only pull this silly whenever you’re around.

calisto and rose are the next to figure things out, and it becomes this squad pass time LMAOO

​its so funny thinking about horangi and you two teaming up against konig omgg like just you genuinely becoming more bold with how you talk to konig or how you dress around him.

you’re blatantly flirting at this point and yet—

“‘rangi, is it me or i’m being ‘spoony with’?” konig asks, and you get this image of him pouting underneath his mask.

you choke mid-chew on your apple; horangi barely stops himself from smacking his own face with his hands.

“it’s ‘flirted with’,” horangi finally mutters after a whole while of loaded silence. “not ‘spoony’.”

you finally run out of the room to guffaw.

holy shit.

[angelofacidx]

Self indulgent drabble

Dark! Soap x reader

CW: Alcohol use, gaslighting, cnc.

Local shitty dive bars around whatever base he’d been stationed at became almost a second home to Johnny. He liked the predictability, the dinginess, and the burn in his chest of the night’s pick of the poison. The entertainment was nice too, a few pretty girls to bed later or a brawl started between two intoxicated sweaty men. What more could he want?

Soap wasn’t used to big cities. Scratch that. Big American cities. He found himself right at the heart of one after a mission involving some high profile bastard, rather easy to hunt down and giving him time to kill. After all was said and done his hotel room was still paid for and his flight back to base didn’t leave for another two days. A quick google search of the area brought up more bars than he’d ever seen in his life with a myriad of pretentious names and neon banners.

It wasn’t long until Johnny found himself standing outside between two crimson velvet ropes in a line full of people and dressed down in his civvies. The music vibrated the walls loud enough to seep outside, the bass of some shitty Sean Paul song already setting the prescient for the night. He had half a mind to try another place until your form burned itself into his brain. A short black glittery dress, the hem ending just below the swell of your ass. Long lithe legs and calves flexed from being stilted on black heels. Fuck, you were a vision.

Eavesdropping on your conversation let him know you were already tipsy, one of your friends calling you “Sooooo crazzzyyyy tee hee” for killing off the last of her Tito’s before the group had left the house. It was apparent the more he soaked you in, the glossy eyes and slightly mussed hair. The way you stumbled slightly on your heels just standing like a foal taking its first steps. Johnny could work with this.

He stalked behind your group for an hour or so, watching the drinks flow and your inhibitions slipping further and further. The DJ in this place knew how to work girls your age. The trashy Y2K dance music and alcohol made your hips sway in circles as you held onto your friends shoulders and half screamed lyrics at each other. The ministration held his attention, making his eye twitch slightly and his brain short circuit. He wondered if you could ride cock like that.

He gets the courage to approach you then, tapping your shoulder and taking you out of your trance as you turned to face him. His eyes drifted from your face to your tits for a moment before refocusing back to your eyes. Behave, Johnny.

“Hey! It’s been so long since I seen ye! Jason’s mate.” Johnny said with a big smile, his eyes trustworthy as he prayed to god the generic American name would make a connection somewhere in your brain for him to prey on.

He watched you study his face in silence, trying to place him but the alcohol doing no favors to jog your memory.

“Wait. Bri’s ex Jason or Jason from the frat?” You slurred, eyes still scanning his face and figure.

“Bri’s ex. Can’t believe I ran into ye here.” He said with an assured nod, reaching out to hug you.

Your breasts squished against his chest in the hug, arms wrapped around your lower back and he was practically foaming at the mouth restraining himself from grabbing your ass. He let go of the hug begrudgingly but smiled with teeth bared when you handed him an extra shot your friend has ordered.

Holy shit. It was that easy. He was in.

As the two of you talked about “Jason”, your job, his “finance major”, and everything in between he fed you drink after drink. Your words and thoughts became less coherent—not like they were to begin with, the aforementioned pregame hit you hard. Your body leaned against him as you danced, your ass grinding into the hard bulge at the apex of his jeans, earning a deep growl.

He wanted to bend you over then and there, grab the soft flesh of your hips and rut into you like an animal in front of God and everybody in that bar. His restraint wore thin with another push of your ass against him, a whine rising to his throat. He took out his phone then, calling an Uber for the two of you.

You were clearly trashed, a potential safety risk to yourself he told your shitty friends. Let him take you back to your house, he’ll even text them when you arrive safely. He knows where you live. He’s Jason’s friend and they can trust him, so they do. With a hand on your lower back ass, he guides you outside to the curb and tracks down the Uber, opening the door for you.

…

The morning light is absolutely blinding. You feel disgusting and sweaty, reeking of alcohol and sweat. Your arm reaches for your bed side table where you pray your phone is only to be met with air. Huh?

You sit up quickly, your head throbbing as you do. Your eyes open slowly and your surroundings are completely unfamiliar. A hotel? You attempt to get out of bed but the pounding in your head and your cunt stop you, muscles betraying you and your throat letting out a guttural groan.

A man steps out from the bathroom then, white towel around his waist and dark hair sopping wet. His face brings back memories of last night; the club, the dancing, getting fingered in the uber, being folded in half as he begged to cum in you even though you told him you weren’t on any contraceptives. That seemed to make him blow his load immediately.

But now with his face clearer than before you can see he is not Jason’s friend.

“Who the fuck…?” You trail off, pulling the blanket over yourself for some form of modest.

“Johnny. Real pleasure to meet ye.” He says with a shit eating grin, moving towards you with the same animalistic look in his eye that he had last night.

[sepulchralsmile]

give me your watchword, give me whatever you like

my harringrove relay race contribution following @kaizenkhaos! hope you all like!!

Well, it’s official. Steve has finally lost it.

And he thought he was doing so well, too. 

Forget all the probable brain damage from concussions over the years, all the times he’s dealt with the supernatural and alternate universes, every nightmare he’s had since junior year of high school. Sure, it wasn’t great, but he was still able to trust his own sanity, of all things.

At least until now.

Right now he’s almost completely certain he’s hallucinating. Because there is no way in hell he sees Billy fucking Hargrove on the dance floor at the gay bar he and Robin are in; shirtless and sweating and dancing. 

And like, the last time Steve saw Billy was right after Starcourt, when he was stuck in the government hospital all the way in Indianapolis. He’d driven Max there a couple times, when her step mom wasn’t feeling up to it, and had popped into Billy’s room maybe three times in total. Each time he went Billy was the same: quiet, pale, and looking entirely too fragile in the hospital bed. Not like the loud, boisterous, larger-than-life Billy Hargrove that he’d thought he’d known. They’d had a couple of stilted conversations— most of which consisted of Billy just staring at him— and that was pretty much the end of their interactions. About a month later he was transferred to Chicago, and then the only one to see him after that was just Max.

But he’d figured Billy would probably leave Chicago the second he was cleared and book it back home to California. Max was there with Lucas. Apparently, he’d stayed.

And apparently, he was at the same bar the exact same night Steve and Robin went. The same gay bar.

So, yeah. He’s officially lost his marbles. Sucks that it has to be now, like, right at this moment. But it was probably inevitable, to be honest.

“Hey!” Robin screams in his ear, leaning close and shoving a shot into his clammy palms. She’s been up at the bar for the last ten minutes, fighting against the crowd to get them drinks. She furrows her brows at whatever’s on his face. “What’s wrong? What’s with the look?”

Instead of answering right away, he throws the drink back first. Resists the instinct to ralph it back up immediately, focusing instead on swallowing through the burn down his throat. Fuck. He has to screw his eyes shut for a second and try to breathe through his nose. It’s been a while since he’s had tequila, but Robin’s been pushing him all night to just relax, so it figures that this is what she would poison him with.

It at least helps soften the edges of everything, so when he finally opens his eyes and blinks past the burn of alcohol, he’s brave enough to point across the room. “Tell me what you see, please. And be honest. Even if there’s no one there.”

Robin’s head swivels in the direction that he’s pointing, and her mouth immediately drops open, while his stomach sinks into his gut. No way. No fucking way.

“Holy fucking shit!” Robin screams, punching him in the shoulder, “That’s fucking Hargrove!”

“So you see him too?” He asks weakly, mouth clicking on a dry swallow. 

“Um, it’s kinda hard not to,” Robin rolls her eyes at him, shoving him in the chest this time. “I mean— just look at him.”

He is. Steve’s been staring at him this entire time. Billy’s still in the middle of the floor, just moving with the music, dancing with no one in particular. He’s completely shirtless; scars on full display but not looking like that’s bothering him in the slightest. He’s grinning to himself. There’s perspiration on his chest, making it shine when the strobe lights beat down on him. 

He looks the same as he did in high school but… bigger. So much bigger. No longer suffering from the extreme weight loss and muscle atrophy from Starcourt. His hair is glossy and shiny, reflecting the colors of the lights strobing around him. He looks so healthy, too, it’s like he’s practically glowing. Which could be the effect from the club’s lights— but he’s not entirely convinced. There’s no doubt about it: Billy looks good.

It’s all just making Steve hot under the collar, but it’s like he can’t look away. It’s just… fucking insane. That’s why he can’t stop looking. No other reason, at all.

When he turns back, Robin is watching him now— eyes narrowed in a way that only spells trouble for him. She opens her mouth, ready to say something that’s probably about to completely disrupt his entire existence and peace as he knows it.

“Do you think he knows it’s a gay bar?” Steve blurts before he can think better, screaming over the bass. Fuck, that shot is getting to him. His cheeks go warm.

Now Robin is looking at him like he’s the craziest thing in here. “Uh, yeah Steve. I’d say he probably knows this is a gay bar.” Her eyes narrow into slits and she leans in closer. “Why are you acting so weird?”

“Me?” 

“Yes, you!”

“He’s— he’s in a fucking gay bar!” He gestures towards Billy’s direction, verging on hysterical. Robin doesn’t seem to understand how fucking crazy this information is, though, laughing at him outright.

“I hate to point this out, honey— but we’re in a gay bar, too.”

“Yeah, but we’re—” he waves a hand in between them, “you know.”

She quirks a brow. “And what if he’s ‘you know’ too?”

He scoffs, shrugging her off. Refuses to even let himself start thinking in that direction. “No way.”

“Steve, he is literally in a gay bar,” she looks over his shoulder and her eyes get big and wide, “and he’s also coming this way, so. Look alive!”

He wheels around and— sure enough, there’s Hargrove. Making his way towards them, eyes pinned directly on Steve. Slinking over to them, smooth and deadly like a big cat; prowling like he’s just seen a tasty cut of meat. He doesn’t look mad, or anything, but the intensity is enough to have Steve backing into Robin. 

“We gotta go,” he hisses out the corner of his mouth, hand reaching behind him to find her.

But Robin, the fucking traitor, pushes him forward hard enough that he goes stumbling right into— oh, yep. That’s Billy’s chest. His naked chest. The one that’s hard as a rock with packed muscle. The sweaty one. And yeah, that’s definitely Billy holding him by the forearms and straightening him out. Oh, Christ. He’s so warm. This is so bad.

“Harrington,”  Billy drawls, grinning like the cat who got the canary. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Steve flaps his mouth open and shut for a couple seconds, desperately trying to find something to say that isn’t just holy shit holy shit holy shit. His voice is deeper than it was in high school. It’s currently Doing Things to Steve, right now. Billy just quirks the corner of his mouth up, amused, eyes roving over Steve’s face before settling on Robin behind him.

“Hey, Buckley,” he greets, like it’s no big deal, like they see each other every Tuesday, or some shit. “How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good; just living life, all that jazz,” Robin babbles from behind him. Steve’s expecting the light push on his back this time, firmly fighting against it and staying in place instead of stumbling into Billy again. Gritting his teeth and trying to think past the pounding pulse in his neck.

“Good to hear,” Billy nods, eyes flicking to Steve to give him a full-body once over before shifting back to her. “Cat got Harrington’s tongue or something? I’ve been told I can make people speechless.” He tosses a wink her way, and Steve can hear her gagging audibly over the pounding bass.

“Are you gay?” he blurts out before he can stop himself. The second the words are out of his mouth he clamps his jaw shut, wishing there was some way he could wire it closed before he says mortifying shit like that. It’s just that… he has to know. He has to. Like, it’s not enough that Billy’s here— but he’s gotta hear the words too, like an extra form of assurance.

Turns out whatever he was worried for was all for nothing, though, because Billy just tosses his head back and laughs. A full on belly laugh, too, like this is the funniest shit he’s heard all week. Which, you know, is fair. And he’s not ashamed to admit it’s an attractive laugh, so.  Steve’s cheeks go even hotter, if it’s possible.

“Holy shit,” Billy wipes a tear from his eye, still giggling a little. Steve desperately tries not to hone in on that sound. “Damn, I needed that. Yeah, Harrington, I am. Which is why I’m celebrating my birthday in a gay bar.”

“It’s your birthday?” Steve latches on to the most random part of the statement, trying to get his head to stop spinning about the fact that Billy just came out like it was nothing. Like it’s not throwing his mind through an absolute loop. Completely erasing the previously formed perception of the macho, straight Billy Hargrove that he knew in high school. Upending his idea of reality as he knows it.

Billy’s grin is softer, now. It looks really good on him, Steve finds himself noticing. “Yeah, pretty boy, it is.” 

And— oh god, he hasn’t heard that in so long. That’s the only reason why he gets a full body shiver at the nickname.

Of course Billy notices, though, because his smile sharpens into something more deadly. He leans into Steve’s space, and it takes all of his self control not to pant like a dog at the combined scent of Billy’s sweat and cologne. It’s heady and overwhelming; making his nerves light on fire while his mouth gets wet. Fuck, this is bad. This is way bad. Billy’s canines look sharper in the pulsing overhead lights.

“So, Harrington,” he purrs, so close now it’s impossible not to hear him over the thumping bass. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine. “You gonna give me a birthday dance? A little present just for me?”

He’s pretty sure he short-circuits then. Just, like, goes completely offline while he stares at Billy, mouth hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies, or something. Of all the things he expected— it wasn’t that.

Billy just watches with an easy grin, one eyebrow going up as he glances over Steve’s shoulder.

“Should I take that as a no?” He asks Robin, teasing, “Or is going speechless a good sign?”

“A good sign!” Robin yells over his shoulder, before she leans forward into his ear and grabs him tightly around the biceps, “Say something, you idiot,” she hisses in his ear.

He fucking would if he could, okay? As it is, he’s having trouble even taking in air without choking and hacking on it like he’s deranged, or something. Billy Hargrove is offering him a dance. Scratch that: a gay, shirtless, indecently sweaty Billy Hargrove is offering him a dance.

Billy waggles his eyebrows. “Well?” One of his hands sweeps along Steve’s side, grazing his arm on the way down before landing on his waist. All the hairs on his body stand up, like he’s been electrified. “C’mon, pretty boy, don’t leave me hanging.”

And, like. God. That old nickname is really doing something for him. Makes him go hot all over, cheeks heating up under Billy’s gaze. Erasing any and all forms of higher thinking in his brain. It’s enough to make him nod at Billy, like he’s in a trance. Mouth going as dry as cotton and clicking with every swallow.

Luckily, Billy doesn’t seem to mind the fact that he’s gone nonverbal. He just flashes another smile at Robin with gleaming white teeth— something shark-like about it— and tugs on the hem of Steve’s shirt, dragging him out onto the dance floor.

Steve follows him, mouth still dry as dust and heart rabbiting in his chest. Trying to keep his breathing calm and steady. There’s so many bodies that they’re practically pressed together as they weave through the crowd, settling some place between the center of the dance floor and where Robin is standing on the outskirts, sending him a quick thumbs up when his anxious gaze catches hers across the room. Good luck! she mouths, making big eyes at him. Steve just swallows down his nerves and turns back to Billy.

Jesus, he used to be smooth. Once upon a time he was a real lady-killer with a silver tongue and an endless vat of confidence. Now he feels like a deer in headlights, waiting for Billy to make the first move.

And he does. One second he’s staring at Billy, motionless and tethered to the spot. Holding his breath in anticipation and waiting for whatever happens next. The next moment, Billy’s using his grip on Steve’s shirt to twist him around, so his back is plastered to Billy’s chest. Billy’s sweaty, naked chest. It’s like a firm brick wall behind him, making him shockingly aware of how easy it is to manhandle him around— also making him fucking salivate. Billy’s so goddamn strong, it feels like his head is spinning.

Before Steve can start fucking hyperventilating, Billy’s other hand falls to his hip. Both hands grip him tight, slipping under his t-shirt to touch his waist, skimming his fingers along the skin underneath lightly. His hands are so warm Steve’s pretty sure he’s about to spontaneously combust, or something. Deep breaths, he tries to tell himself, just keep taking deep breaths.

When Billy starts nudging him a little to move his hips, Steve goes with the movement. Sort of. He tries to sway to the beat, but he can barely hear past the roar of blood rushing in his ears. Can’t even hear the music playing. Trying not to seem like a robot, even though he’s shifting all stilted and weird like he’s never danced a day in his life before.

He’s just having a hard time getting out of his head, is the thing. It’s throwing him through fucking loop, trying to reconcile the image of Billy he’d had up until this point— and the knowledge that he’s been dead wrong probably this entire time. All he can think is a constant loop of holy shit, I’m dancing with Billy Hargrove in a gay bar. 

Behind him, Billy huffs into his ear. His hot breath ghosts down Steve’s nape, sending another round of goosebumps breaking out over his skin. “You okay, baby? Need some help?”

And. Wow, um. Okay.

He’s so caught off guard by the sheer wave of want lurching through his gut that he doesn’t even reply, just nods desperately and pushes himself closer to into Billy’s chest. Relishing the way Billy tightens his grip even more, moving his hips into a smooth, steady grind. Grumbling low and deep behind him, like he’s satisfied.

Steve should probably be ashamed of panting openly in the club, eyes shutting tightly as his jaw hangs loose. He can’t find it in himself to give a shit, though, especially when he can feel Billy’s ragged breaths on the back of his neck. Billy’s hands go from clenching the sides of his hips to smoothing down, lowering closer to his center, holding him around the front of his hip bones. Dragging fingers across his stomach in a way that makes Steve shake where he stands. Still firm and unyielding, physically dragging Steve back into the clutch of his hips as the bass around them pounds relentlessly.

He feels the light imprint of lips on the back of his neck, followed by the quick, darting lick of a tanuge.The frisson of white-hot heat that’s been building in his gut feels like it bursts through his stomach and spreads across the rest of his skin, making him shiver back into Billy’s grip and desperately scrabble at something to hold onto; eventually gripping Billy’s forearms and feeling the cord of muscle tighten under his fingers with each movement. 

Billy makes a choked noise behind him, right in Steve’s ear, making him feel wild. He can’t help but laugh out loud in disbelief as he recognizes the scene he’s currently in: pressed up against Billy Hargrove in a gay club grinding with his mouth open, looking all sorts of wanton. He doesn’t even wanna think if Robin’s still watching at this point. He’s almost close to no shame, pushing back into Billy’s grip and turning his head so their mouths are closer.

“Harrington,” Billy grounds out, and Steve hates how much he already misses pretty boy instead, “you’re driving me crazy, pressed up against me like that.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s breathless, feeling a little manic. Shoves his hips back into Billy’s while giggling all high and desperate. Trying to maybe get those lips on the back of his neck again. Or somewhere else. Can barely even recognize himself when he asks, “You gonna do something about it?”

Billy makes a low noise behind him, fingers tightening enough to bruise as he drags Steve back towards him again, breathing hot down his neck. Steve jumps at the cold press of Billy’s nose to the side of his throat, but calms down a second later when he feels warm breath fan out over his nape. 

“You saying I should?” Billy grits out roughly. The vibration against his neck has Steve fighting back a gasp, squirming in his hold and digging his fingers in the meat of Billy’s forearms. He feels like he’s about to catch on fire in the middle of the club. 

It feels like he’s been possessed or something; scooped out of his own body and replaced with a pod person. It’s the only way he can explain the hot rush that spreads like a wave through his body. It’s also the only way he can justify tilting his head to the side. Asking without really asking. Hoping that maybe Bilyy understands what he wants, even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

They lock eyes over Steve’s shoulder. Billy’s eyes are bright and magnetic, fixed on Steve’s face with a sort of hunger he’s pretty sure he’s never seen actually directed towards him. Billy looks like he’s burning up too; sweaty and seeming just as desperate as Steve feels.

“Lemme taste you, pretty boy,” Billy practically begs into his ear, breathing gone harsh and choppy. Steve feels all the air leave his body at once as a hot rush of a tidal wave knocks him down, raising his temperature by a couple thousand degrees. “C’mon, baby, just wanna get my mouth on you.”

God. He just. Can’t help but shiver at pretty boy and baby.

And it’s Billy’s birthday, okay? Who is he to resist the wishes of the birthday boy? What kind of a person would he be? It’s pretty flimsy reasoning, he’s aware, but it’s the final hurdle he clears before he’s nodding in response, tilting his head back just another inch so Billy can lean in and finally close the distance. He screws his eyes shut and holds his breath, waiting for Billy to pounce.

And he does. Without waiting another second, he swoops in; twisting Steve so they’re facing each other head on. There’s barely a second for Steve to get startled by the abrupt change in movement before Billy’s leaning forward, licking into his mouth without any other preamble. The first kiss is more like a chaotic frenzy: teeth clacking together as they pant into each other’s mouths, Billy licking behind his gums and going straight up to the roof of his mouth. Trying to taste every inch of Steve’s mouth, it feels like. Steve’s hands scrabbling for purchase on his biceps. Before long, though, it peters into something less harried and desperate, and more into something wide and enveloping. Without a second thought he’s winding his arms around Billy’s neck; one hand gripping onto his sweaty shoulder while the other wanders up to his hair, digging his fingers into the curls at the root. At that, Billy makes a low noise, and pushes into him further.

It feels like he’s losing his mind. Losing time too, for sure, because at this point it feels like they've been kissing in the middle of the dance floor for hours. He kisses Steve in a way he’s never been kissed before: pure want and need  practically pouring from him in every movement. Steve breaks away to take in a gasp of air, head spinning, and Billy quickly draws him back in with a hand on his jaw. His fingers grip tight enough to make Steve open his mouth a little more, and he nearly collapses when Billy immediately licks behind his teeth, holding him there firm as he gets a thorough tour of Steve’s mouth. The last time he made out with someone was like three months ago, and it was nothing compared to this. No kiss he’s had has ever been something like this. Something that makes him feel so desperate he’s gonna die if he doesn’t get more.

Billy finally takes pity on his mental state by gradually lightening up on the pressure, slowing down until he’s just sucking wet kisses to the side of Steve’s mouth and jawline as he tries to get his breathing back under control, staring blankly at the jumble of bodies ahead of him as he tries to get oxygen back up to his brain.

Holy shit. He can’t help but shake in Billy’s arms a little, wrecked from the continuous attention, squirming at the kisses pressing down from his jawline to the side of his neck. His fingers tighten in Billy’s hair involuntarily, and the huff he gets against his neck in response almost has him dragging Billy back up to his mouth. He resists. Barely.

Billy finally pulls back from his neck with an audible pop! and eyes that look just as dazed as Steve’s probably do. Steve can only watch, entranced, as Billy licks a line of spit from his shiny red mouth. Lips swollen from practically mauling Steve’s face just a minute ago. Billy’s eyes never leave his. Steve’s panting like he just ran a marathon, and his arms shake where they’re tightly wound around Billy.

“Woah,” he breathes, and then immediately wants to smack himself after. Woah? That’s all he can say? After Billy Hargrove just tongue-fucked him for like ten minutes straight in the middle of the club?

Billy lets out a breathy laugh, hands smoothly moving down from his waist to dig into his back pockets. Steve stops breathing for a second. Billy flexes his fingers in the pockets, cupping Steve’s ass through the denim. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Steve blinks back at him, thrown. His mouth drops open a little. “Really?” 

He’d honestly thought it was the fluke of the century; making out with Billy Hargrove in a gay club kind of seemed like a serendipitous anomaly that the universe chugged out maybe once every ten thousand years. One of those things that made sense at the time and with the circumstances, but if he’d actually heard it he would never believe it. Finding out that Billy actually wanted to kiss him? And it apparently wasn’t the first time he wanted to do it? Steve was pretty sure his brain was melting in between his ears, trying to make sense of the whole thing. It takes him a minute to blink past the confusion so he can ask, “For how long?”

Billy throws his head back and laughs the second time that evening. Steve can’t help but admire the lines that crinkle around his mouth and eyes. Somehow, Billy even makes wrinkles look good. He tightens his grip around Billy when he notices others admiring, too.

“For-fucking-ever, babe,” Billy finally gets out, eyes roaming over Steve’s face. Looking intense and searching as he bites his lip. Steve’s eyes track the movement, and he feels his own mouth go dry. Making him feel breathless and squirming as Billy keeps on looking. “If I could’ve had you that first day, I would’ve.”

And— what?

He can’t keep the surprise off his face even as Billy lets out another bray of laughter. He’s too busy trying to comprehend a reality where Billy apparently wanted him this whole time and— “What the fuck?”

Billy at least has the decency to look sheepish, peering at Steve from under his thick lashes. Knowing exactly what that look is doing to him. “I never said I was smart about it. I wanted you so fucking bad, I couldn’t even think.”

Steve has to shut his eyes. Shake his head past the disbelief and utter shock he’s experiencing right now. “Fuck, Billy, I—”

“Why do you think I was always on you, huh?” Billy’s voice is right in his ear again, deep and smooth. Making Steve’s hands drop to his shoulders and grapple for purchase. “Had to always have your eyes on me, no matter what. Couldn’t help myself.”

And, okay. Yeah. Now that he says it like that, Steve has a way easier time believing that Billy’s actually wanted him for this long. All at once his mind brings up every interaction they had in high school, rolling down through the words and images and lighting up with understanding— followed by embarrassment at somehow not seeing it before. Jesus, Billy was obvious in high school, now that he actually thinks about it. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, it was pretty fuckin’ embarrassing,” Billy laughs, shrugging his shoulders. Squeezes Steve’s ass again, making his head spin. He leans closer, and Steve feels the air between them ignite. “But I have your eyes on me now, don’t I?”

When Steve doesn’t answer at first, still too overcome by everything, Billy tightens the grip on his ass through his back pockets, digging his fingers into the meat of his cheeks. Tugging and kneading so rough that Steve gasps wetly, writhing in Billy’s grip and pressing himself forward. “Don’t I?”

“Yes,” Steve practically sobs, fingers straightening and curling over Billy’s sweaty skin, fingers slipping as he tries to regain balance and control. He can feel it slipping fast; the scales tilting into further desperation as Billy holds him close, whispering hot into his ear.

“You gonna let me take you home?” Billy practically purrs now, one hand reaching up to cup his jaw again. Pulling him back a little so they’re looking into each other’s eyes. His grip is tight, but his gaze is warm as he asks again, “You gonna let me treat you right, pretty boy? Show you what I wanted to do to you in high school?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” He blabbers back, not able to say yes fast enough. Maybe there’s a part of him that should feel ashamed at how eagerly he accepts, but it’s easy to ignore when Billy keeps staring at him like how he is now: utterly obsessed. Looking like he’s about to devour Steve right there in the middle of the club, and— oh fuck. “Wait,” it’s a conscious effort to fight past the cobwebs clinging to his brain, “Robin.”

Billy snorts, nodding at something over his shoulder. “Pretty sure she’ll be fine for the night, baby.”

When Steve cranes his head over his shoulder he sees Robin hovering by the bar, engaged in an animated conversation with a girl that involves way too many hand gestures. Still, she looks like she’s holding her own. And it’s kind of reassuring to know that she wasn’t just, like, staring at him making out with Billy for the last ten minutes. Even out of morbid curiosity.

Feeling bold because of the kiss, and more brazen than he’s ever felt in a while, Steve turns back to Billy. Slides his hands up his chest, resting over his pecs. Thumbing at his nipples, getting his fill of warm, sweaty skin beneath his palms. Reveling in the way Billy shivers beneath his touch, gripping him even tighter. “Okay, birthday boy: take me back to yours. Rock my world.”

He feels a little shaky saying it, but the answering grin he gets from Billy is worth it for the trouble. One of Billy’s hands leaves his back pocket to hold his hand, fingers intertwining with Steve’s in a way that has his brain melting even further. Oh, god. How is hand holding the thing that’s fucking him up the most?

“C’mon, pretty boy,” Billy tugs at their tangled fingers, “let’s get outta here.”

Billy pulls and Steve stumbles after him, sending one quick wave Robin’s way before he follows; cheeks red and eyes bright. When Billy turns to glance behind him he just gives him a smile. Billy squeezes their hands once before turning back around. Steve lets himself be tugged, running a free hand through his hair as he lets the goofy grin spill across his face. Jesus. He’s probably about to be fucked by Billy Hargrove tonight. And he’s excited about it. Whew. High school Steve wouldn’t know what hit him.But high school Steve apparently affected Billy a lot, so— he squeezes his own fingers around Billy, going breathless and smiling back softly when Billy tosses a fond look over his shoulder. Yeah, tonight’s gonna be good.

~~~

i hope you all liked it, i'll be posting it on ao3 as well later :) next in the race is @writer-in-theory!!

[according2thelore]

can i mention ls/es verse on this mommy monday? bc the old versions seem like such a fucked up fountain of that ☺️

YES YOU MAY MENTION THAT, AND YOU SHOULD!!

putting a cut for brief nsft and a dash of mommy monday

it's hard to say which dean truly out-mommies.

on one hand, LS!Dean is so domesticated, and "is nesting" so like. obviously. yes.

he makes sam sandwiches and wraps him in little towels and lovingly tends to sammy's injuries while saying how proud he is of his little boy and how important he is.

he tells sam no with a strong voice, and sam really only follows through with a lot of it if he has dean's permission, lmao. like for the trials, S!1-2 sam would absolutely attempt do them behind dean's back anyways, but they actually have a conversation about it in S!8 (as stilted as it is) and he gets his mommy's permission! so nice!

but on the other hand ES!Dean is A MOMMY! he's overprotective and controlling and tries so desperately to get sammy's approval. sammy is his preteen and has decided that dean's not cool anymore, so dean is frantically trying to bring up things they did when he was younger like "oh haha don't u remember that time that we fought that werewolf in jackson? good times 🥺 </3"

he cradles sam's face in his hands and places thumbs at the back of his neck so sammy can't break eye contact, because he can tell from just one look if he's going to be okay.

he brushes off sammy's worse injuries like the classic "get up, shake it off" and jumps head-first off of a three-story bridge because sammy goes first.

ES!Sammy is dean's misbehaving thirteen-year-old that wears uneven black nail polish and combs his bangs over his eyes and talks about the "darkness in his soul" and dean is cooing over him and insisting that "my kid's not the problem. YOUR little brat on the other hand..." and rolls up to PTA meetings with chunky highlights and a purse filled with bricks.

but in the ES/LS verse, i think LS!Dean would probably ultimately out-mommy.

because like...c'mon.

LS!Sam and LS!Dean have settled so much into that dynamic, into the quiet dance of caring and being cared for, of power being already negotiated and traded. they're a lot more comfortable in the language of tending (even though they're definitely Still Weird), whereas ES!Sam&Dean tend to inject caring and caretaking with a power struggle that they're not used to yet. ES!Sam gets a little frustrated and resentful when ES!Dean's concern/attempts at mothering (to be frank) come off as patronizing. LS!Sam seems a lot more accepting that LS!Dean's attention can chafe, and while he sometimes still snaps, he also kind of basks in it. he loves when dean gets a little possessive or protective and loves it when dean becomes reassuring (thinking S!8 finale). they definitely negotiate that power more deftly than in ES, and so ultimately, i think they're more comfortable with the idea of "mommy."

but also, LS!Dean is putting his whole pussy into mommying. he's got TWO little baby brothers to look out for? mommy overload.

like...

LS!Dean is showing ES!Sam how to fix the engine on some random, shit-ass ford pinto in the bunker's garage, and when he gestures ES!Sam over with a quiet "c'mere baby, you see how the--" not even thinking about it, and ES!Sam goes absolutely perfectly fucking still because oh my god? holy shit?

and LS!Dean crowds in behind him, voice low in his ear, "you see how the rotor's not connected here? so what do we do when the fan's tilted like that?"

and sam shakily picks up one of the wrenches and makes some adjustment, and a hand slaps down low on sam's waist, turning the skin into live wires. sam jumps a little at the touch, not used to something so openly affectionate, to the sheer size and weight of the man behind him.

"good boy, sammy," LS!Dean murmurs, right into his hair, "you're payin' attention so well."

the words white-out sam's brain, fuzzing warm and hot and spilling over like a pot on a stove. and ES!Sam is suddenly, achingly hard, chest heaving, leaning back into LS!Dean's chest, almost blind with how bad he needs...something.

something is crawling up his throat and down his legs and he should feel patronized--he's not a fucking dog--but the praise goes straight to his cock and to the back of his neck, prickling the hairs there and his heart is hammering and his mouth opens and--

anyway. happy mommy dean monday!

-lizzy

[moonspirit]

Okay so there is an upcoming political ball, but the Ambassadors don’t know how to dance. So they practice together.

Annie masters the sport but it so socially stuff it just looks wrong.

Pieck can barely walk in hills let alone dance.

(Also because Pieck practices with Jean and Annie with Armin Connie and Reiner waltz together and somehow get it down perfectly)

Hello anon!

Ahahahaha xD You know who's winning THIS?

It's Connie and Reiner. Single bros forced into a union of sorts to keep The Sad™ away now that the other four are Very Much Not Single.

I actually hc that Annie's really good at dancing, the footwork comes very easily to her, but... she can only be handled by the Holy Trinity (Pieck, Connie and Armin). She dances with a scowl on her face, you might as well assume she's going to twirl with you on the floor and kill you in some horrible dancey way.

The truth is that it's all just a grand way to hide her embarrassment and when she's dancing with Armin, he becomes very annoying about it, giggling and whispering cute teasing nothings into her ear every five minutes until she just becomes a ball of goo.... or something.

(That said, Armin's initially not too good at dancing but hey, he gets to learn from the best).

Pieck and Jean are in a constant state of battle over who can do BETTER. Both of them think they're the best and the other sucks. And the height is a real problem. Pieck jokes that she has to dance on stilts and calls Jean funny-looking. He gets enraged and calls her a pipsqueak. Welp. There's never a normal dance between both of them - it's probably turns into some Beyblade-battle type of shit.

So what's left... Connie-boy and Reiner-man... to dance with each other... and they're sad at first... so, so sad... two single-bros... dancing sadly and single-ly... with each other....

But hey... wait... waaaaaaaiit.... it's actually.... kinda... feels GOOD?

Like... Connie isn't a bad looking guy... He's actually... pretty hot at close quarters? He's got that serious look now... and he makes really bad jokes that are so bad they're good.... he's a chill dude... and a decent dancer...

And... Reiner's a really good looking guy... in this very sad way... big and bulky... kinda like a chonky depresseed cat? Feels kinda nice to... dip him like a dainty princess.... he seems to like it too.... his light eyes are sparkling happily... woah man.... what's happening...

So is born.

The ACTUAL most normal, most happy couple on the Rumbled Planet.

Reiner x Connie.