#Triangle wave: fire | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ckret2 · 5 months ago

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Chapter 85 of human Bill Cipher getting a ✨💅 makeover 💇‍♀️✨ so he can seduce a government agent into not arresting him and/or the Mystery Shack gang: a flashback to Scalene & Euclid on Bill's birthday, Pacifica receiving the world's most inept lesson about fatphobia, and the continued adventures of the Pines family attempting to get a flash drive out of a goat's guts.

####

Scalene braced one shaking hand with the other as she reapplied her lipstick—a red so bright it was nearly orange, all the better to make her look a little less sickly than she felt.

She tried to pretend she didn't notice Euclid glaring daggers at her.

She'd come out of her swoon as she was being helped outside by several shapes, including Euclid supporting her with one arm and carrying Bill in the other. Once they were outdoors, someone had shoved the trophy and knives Bill had won into Euclid's hands, and then they'd been left outside as everyone else's attention turned to dealing with the mysterious fire that had spontaneously ignited inside; and for the past few minutes, Scalene had been putting herself back together while Euclid tried to soothe Bill.

Finally, once she deemed herself sufficiently presentable, she held out her arms to Euclid and their still-whimpering child. "All right, I can take him."

Euclid didn't move.

"Come on! You're not gonna hold a grudge against me for fainting, are you?"

Euclid said, "What did I tell you?"

"I brought my cane," Scalene said indignantly.

"Well, where was it?"

There was a long silence.

"Lene..."

"Oh, don't give me that look, it was just behind the curtain! I wasn't about to bring it on stage, I had to make sure Billy looked good!"

"What does your cane have to do with how good he looks?!"

"And the mayor didn't hand over the trophy fast enough," she said, ignoring Euclid's question. "If he had, I could have leaned on that. But no, he just kept yammering on..."

Euclid's copper blue eye had the most piercing glare in town. The fact that he also had the worst eyesight in town did nothing to dispel its power. Scalene much preferred when it was aimed at other people.

But then Bill wiggled his tiny hands toward Scalene with a displeased coo; and with a warning, "Careful," Euclid finally handed him over. "So. He didn't do too bad for his first outing. We've got a winner on our hands?"

Scalene was off the hook. She relaxed. "I think we do. The judges were very impressed he showed up to his first contest on his birthday."

"You'll only be able to do that once," Euclid pointed out.

"Sure, but for the rest of his life he can tell judges he went to his first pageant on the day he was born—can't you?" She directed the question to Bill. "Yes you can! That shows real ambition!" She poked one of his sides just beneath his eye. "And they were impressed by his good looks and how calm he is."

That was well deserved. Bill had entered the world with eye wide open—rather than face scrunched up and eye retracted to cry like most infants—and looking around for his parents, as though he were already used to the light and recognized his surroundings.

"Glad the judges didn't find it creepy, at least," Euclid said.

Scalene waved him off. "What did those nurses know? They should've been grateful to get a kid that isn't wailing in their faces! They couldn't appreciate how adorable he is—but look at him. From the front you'd think he's an oval." It was true: his corners were soft and rounded, and his angles were so flexible that his top angle squashed down toward his feet, making it look more like a right angle than acute. On top of that, his bright, shining pupil was so wide it took up half his face. "One of the judges said he looks downright cherubic. That's going on your resumé, young triangle."

Bill blinked sweetly up at his mother. He would never in his life need to write a resumé, for all the worst reasons.

"And—" Euclid lowered his voice, "—none of them realized how many birth defects he has?"

She swatted his arm. "Shh! No. Everything we've got is too obscure. As far as the pageant circuit is concerned, they're birth assets. My corners were still round when I started competing, and the judges thought I was adorable, too. As long as he goes on stage without braces on, they'll think he looks unique instead of deformed—just like I did."

"If he keeps going on stage without braces, he'll need a cane before he's middle-aged, just like you do."

"Not until his best pageant years are behind him," Scalene said icily. "Besides, we'll do better by him than my mother did for me. We already know what he has—"

"—we think we do, you left before the doctors could examine him—"

"—and I've already got appointments lined up for him with the best orthopedic doctor in the county and your and Euler's optometrist. We'll make sure his face stays pretty, his angles sharpen up, and his organs don't collapse in on themselves. He's just lucky he's got a mother that knows how to make that big eye of his look cute instead of bulgy." She pointed at the trophy, "As long as his good looks keep winning prizes, he'll be able to pay off his own medical bills and bring home a few bonuses."

For the first time, Euclid turned his attention to the trophy and the Knifeco gift box, and he laughed sharply. "Knifeco's still got the myor convinced that the next sample set he gives away for free will get everybody excited to order a full set from him, huh?"

Scalene scoffed. "I don't know why anybody would bother to order one. If they wait long enough and show up to a few city events, eventually they'll win a full set. How much of his own money has he spent on knife sample sets by now?"

"Last I heard? 30, 40k? We probably won't find out how much he's embezzled from city funds 'til next election."

"Otto's an idiot," Scalene said. "After all these years, you'd think he'd figure out the only way to make money at that company is to recruit more salesmen and get a cut of the profits from the kits they sell."

"You'd think." Euclid shrugged impassively. "But as long as I'm still getting 5% from each of his sales to himself, I'm not about to tell him that." He rubbed a thumb on one of Scalene's corners, rubbing off a bit of waxy red side liner to expose the duller pink underneath. "We probably wouldn't be able to afford your makeup habit without him."

Scalene swatted Euclid's hand away. "Well, we can throw away your old chipped set." She patted the dark wood box. "From now on, we're using the set Billy won for us—isn't that right, Billy?" She bounced Bill lightly by her side. He was staring at the box, transfixed. "I think he likes it! That's right, these are your birthday knives, sweetheart."

When his parents looked at the box, they only saw the dark wood; but Bill saw through the wood—over the wood—to the silvery needlelike knives within. They gleamed with starlight shining down from a higher dimension. And then Bill looked up at the stars, glittering far above. He wiggled in Scalene's arm, but couldn't figure out how to move his limbs in the direction he saw above.

Euclid looked at the wiggling child, and tensed up. "Lene. Look at his eye."

She did, and sucked in a sharp breath. "What happened to him?"

"If this is because you dropped him..."

Bill's pupil had disappeared, leaving his eye looking empty and bloodshot silver. But at the change in the tone of his parents' voices, he blinked and focused on them curiously, his pupil back where it belonged like it had never disappeared.

They stared speechlessly at him.

"Did you and Euler's eyes ever do that?" Scalene asked. "Before those surgeries you got as kids?"

"Not—not that I remember. But I could ask Mom and Dad," he said, already knowing the answer would be no.

She stared at Bill's eye a moment longer; but when he didn't do anything but stare back innocently, she sighed. "Well, that's something else we can ask your optometrist. Maybe he'll have a fix for it."

####

While Pacifica was in the bathroom cleaning up after their makeup experimentation, Goldie stood from his folding chair to lean on the desk next to Mabel, staring with a look of intense concentration into the air over the chair about where his head had been.

"What's up?" Pacifica asked, leaning out of the bathroom.

Distractedly, Goldie said, "Nothing, just watching you do my face."

Pacifica frowned. "What? I'm over here?"

Mabel leaned between them, laughing nervously. "What he means is, he does this thing where he, uhh, imagines that he can see what happened around him in the past, so he's... pretending he's watching you put makeup on his face a few minutes ago." At Pacifica's skeptical look, Mabel hastily added, "It's not like a psychic thing or anything! It's just a... um..."

Goldie mumbled, "Mindfulness visualization exercise."

"Yeah! It helps him memorize stuff! Right?"

"You bet. All the best venture capitalists are doing it."

Pacifica said, "Oh, I think a CEO my dad invited over was talking about that. Is it like a meditation thing? You think about what you want to get it?"

"Say it until you believe it, believe it until it's true!" Mabel said.

Goldie elbowed her. "Look who's been paying attention." She beamed at him.

Pacifica packed the makeup, brushes, and spare hair ties and pins he'd need in a bag, and handed it over. "Okay, that should take care of your face. When you shower tonight, remember to wash all the makeup off, you do not want this messing with your pores; remember to moisturize or your skin will crack apart like a mummy's"—one of her mother's favorite threats—"get Mabel to help pin your curls tomorrow, and just do what I showed you for the rest. Now we just have to worry about clothing." She sized up his hair color, his skin color—couldn't quite bring herself to look at his eye color, though. "I think you're a spring. You can probably pull off some autumn colors too. But usually springs are supposed to tan easier than they burn..."

"I do!" He gestured at himself, sunburns and all, and said proudly, "This took hard work!"

That answered a question she'd been asking herself all day, and brought up half a dozen more. "Not going to ask. So, you want to go for bright, clear, warm colors. And you'll look better in gold accessories."

"I know," he said smugly.

Colors were the easy part. She wished she'd had time to call up her personal tailor to bring by some dresses that could be adjusted. Goldie had such a weird body shape—narrow shoulders, sticklike arms, slender calves, and then a wide waist and even wider hips. There couldn't be much clothing that fit him, masculine or feminine. "Do you have any cute clothes in colors that flatter you? Feminine clothes?"

"What's feminine? Dresses?" Goldie turned to Mabel. "Everything else is hit-or-miss, but dresses and skirts are still universally feminine around here, right?" Pacifica was dying to know what Goldie's life had been like.

"Yeah," Mabel said, "I think we managed to get that yellow summer dress at the mall."

Pacifica winced. "Is a summer dress all you've got?" Not the worse choice, depending on the cut, but it probably wouldn't do his figure any favors.

"It's either that or Jesús's grandma's skirts," Goldie said, shrugging. "Did we manage to snag that sparkly dress with all the pink peacock feathers?"

"That's more of a third date dress. You don't want him to think you're out of his league," Mabel said. "It's too bad we didn't get that galaxy print skirt."

"You know what I could really use? Halter top trapeze dress. Maybe stick a petticoat under the skirt for extra volume. They've gotta make trapeze dresses with petticoats somewhere."

"I could probably make one," said Mabel (who wasn't even sure what a trapeze dress was but was over the moon to see him voluntarily express an interest in human clothing).

Pacifica's face twisted in a grimace. Pityingly, she said, "Oh, you really don't know your body type at all."

He gave her an unimpressed look. "Don't I?"

The thing was, a trapeze dress in and of itself wasn't a bad idea: it was tight around the bust, flared out like a tent underneath, and stopped before the knees; so it could highlight his slim shoulders and arms, let him show off his thin calves, and do at least a bit to conceal those thunder thighs and flabby waistline. But... "A halter top would make your shoulders look way too narrow; and a petticoat would completely undermine the flattering effects of a trapeze dress, and—where would you even position the petticoat? Trapeze dresses doesn't have a waistline."

"About where the skirt starts," Goldie said, drawing a line in the air around bust height.

He couldn't be serious. "Absolutely not. You'd look like a walking triangle."

A smile of near maniacal glee stretched across Goldie's face. Before he could say anything, Mabel grabbed his arm and said, "I think you should just go with what Pacifica says! Pacifica, what do you think?"

"Just—stick with the dress you already have." Between a triangle trapeze dress, the threat of pink feathers, and galaxy print, suddenly Pacifica was grateful for the yellow summer dress. "It's great. Summer dresses are flirty. Do you have shoes that match it?"

Goldie pointed at his fish slippers. "It's these, black oxfords, or foam clogs."

"No," Pacifica said. "Sandals, flats, or open toe heels. And throw away the fish slippers."

"Never."

Mabel said, "You could reuse the sandals you borrowed from Dipper for your Summerween costume?"

"Please don't tell me what they look like," Pacifica said. "Okay, dress, shoes—accessories... just, get something nice but understated. And classy. Do I need to explain what 'classy' looks like?"

"Relax, I used to have a collection of gold that put Albion Art to shame," Goldie said. "I know how to do 'classy.'"

"I'm going to pretend I trust you," Pacifica said. "Okay, underwear—got to wear a bra unless the dress has built-in support; and if you hurry, it's probably not too late to go wherever poor people shop and grab some shapewear for your..." she gestured vaguely toward Goldie's abdomen, "problem area..."

"No," Goldie said flatly. "I'm drawing the line at shapewear. I look fine."

Ooh, not good. His attitude toward everything else about his looks ranged from "apathy" to "disgust," why was flaunting his not-flauntworthy curves the point where he chose to push back? She should've been more direct with him. "Hon, I love the confidence, but..." Pacifica grimaced apologetically. "You're fat. Like, really fat. And you're not gonna win this guy if he thinks you've let yourself go."

Mabel shot from slouching to sitting straight up. "Pacifica!"

"What, it's true! He probably thinks having skinny arms hides it, but back me up here—it is not subtle."

"Don't say that, he's beautiful!!"

Pacifica had been braced for Goldie to be outraged, embarrassed, ashamed, go into denial, something—just about anything except snort with laughter. He waved them off when they looked at him. Pacifica wondered whether he'd misunderstood the conversation. "Listen to you two! You're letting the subtext do so much of the heavy lifting that you don't even realize half the things you're saying." His gaze on them was cold and faintly amused; and for a moment Pacifica felt like a bug whose behavior was being studied by some immense alien being, and who had been judged inferior.

"Anyway, I'm not trying to hide anything—and I'd make it less subtle if I could. I love my shape!" He pantomimed his shape with his hands—although, where most people would sort of draw an hourglass shape if they wanted to their body's curves, the shape he drew in the air looked more like a triangle. Which, admittedly, was more true to his actual appearance. "And you're changing it over my dead bo—" He winced, muttering, "Maybe not the best way to put that."

Now Pacifica wondered if she'd misunderstood him. "What."

"Look, kid..." Goldie stood straighter, put a hand on Pacifica's shoulder, and adopted the most patronizing tone she'd ever heard. "I know your parents taught you the only things contributing to your personal worth are how rich you are and how attractive other people find you, so let's agree that's all that really matters, right?"

"Um," said Pacifica, who was pretty sure she was about to receive some twee lesson about 'inner beauty' but had never heard one that started with the lecturer agreeing that wealth and looks were the most important things.

"And I know Missy Priscy's got you convinced that your beauty and your weight are engaged in a battle to the death over the right to terraform your flesh. So this might blow your mind—but you've been lied to! The sight of a human female over size 4 doesn't cause the contents of a human male's gonads to curdle! Fat chicks have been successfully getting hitched and passing the genetic baton to their offspring for all of human history—and reproduction is the only objective benchmark evolution has to measure who's hot and who's not, so you can rate that higher than the opinion of a tarnished trophy who thinks enough botox will make her immortal. Hear what I'm saying, Alpaca. Absorb it. Incorporate it into your worldview."

She bristled at the description of her mother, but swallowed back the urge to lash out. He was bitter and taking it out on her. He was feeding her a load of sour grapes. This was just the kind of thing fat people told themselves to feel less bad about being fat. "Riiight."

Goldie's patronizing smirk curled down at one corner in irritation. "Ah, who'm I kidding! You're not gonna believe me! Your mom, your modeling job, the pageant world, the beauty industry—they've burrowed way too deep in your head, and there's no digging them back out without a lobotomy." He scoffed. "You're one snide jab at the wrong time away from an eating disorder."

"Hey! How dare you!" Pacifica thought that was way meaner than anything she'd said.

Mabel snapped, "B—Goldie! Be nice! What's gotten into you two!"

"Yeesh, touched a nerve! Excuse me!" He raised his hands apologetically, but he was grinning impishly. "Anyway—" he raised his voice as the girls attempted to scold him again, "Anyway! More to the point—our target looked me up and down in a bikini and asked if he could help slather sunscreen around my waist, so I think he thinks my body looks great in the shape it's already in. And getting the guy is the only important thing—right?"

If Goldie was telling the truth, Pacifica couldn't think of any other reason some guy would volunteer to rub sunscreen on him—even if she found it hard to believe. And if he was making it up, then whatever, he could sabotage himself if he wanted, she didn't care. She rolled her eyes, grit her teeth, and muttered, "Fine."

"Not fine! Both of you hold on!" Mabel stood, decided she wasn't tall enough, and climbed on the folding chair. "You two were just really mean to each other! That's terrible—especially after you were getting along so great! Apologize to each other!" She crossed her arms, glaring them down.

Pacifica stared at her in disbelief, brows raised. "I beg your pardon?"

But Goldie didn't look like this was odd to him at all. He just rolled his eyes—"All right, all right,"—and looked at Pacifica. "C'mon. You can't be that mad. You've heard worse."

She scowled at him, but she supposed she had. From her mom, her old pageant coach, her manager that got her modeling jobs—she was just more used to warnings about getting fat than she was to warnings about fearing getting fat. "So have you."

"Worse than you can imagine," Goldie said. "We're good?"

"We're good," Pacifica said.

Goldie looked at Mabel. "We're good!"

Mabel looked between the two of them suspiciously. "That was an apology?"

"Got the job done, didn't it?"

Mabel didn't look pleased, but she sat down on the folding chair and crossed her arms.

Pacifica said, "Okay, you're off the hook for shapewear—but if he thinks you look like a slob, it's on you."

He rolled his eyes. "Noted!"

"But you've got to wear a bra. What are the straps like on the summer dress, do you have a bra that'll fit under it okay?"

Goldie groaned. "We can reuse my bikini and pad the cups or something. We don't have time to go to the mall and figure out what size I am."

In horror, Pacifica quietly asked, "Do... do you not even own a bra."

"Why would I?" Goldie asked, like he couldn't imagine a single practical reason. Hard to tell his size through an oversized t-shirt; he was definitely small, but it wasn't like he was flat. "I've never really cared about local fashion outside of batiks, brocades, tie dyes, and sarcastic t-shirts, but now that it's affecting me personally? I cannot wait for that particular fad to die."

Since when were batiks local. And who calls bras a fad. That's like calling shoes a fad. "What is your life like," Pacifica asked.

Goldie grinned. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

####

"That's it. That's all I can do for you," Pacifica said. "Good luck on... whatever it is you're doing. Because I'm pretty sure you're not actually into this guy?"

Mabel said, "Wooing a federal agent to avoid getting the whole family arrested!"

Pacifica nodded. "Oh, cool. Let me know how that goes."

Mabel stopped to hug Giorgio on the way out.

As they left Pacifica's barn, Bill turned to face Mabel. "Welp!" He pantomimed like he was playing a violin, "Ready to bow on some poor sucker's heartstrings until we yank out his aorta?"

"Ha ha. Yeah. Sure." Mabel tried to smile and it came out as a grimace. "Sounds great."

"Hey, don't give me that look!" He shoved Mabel's shoulder. "You've heard me say gorier things than that!" He flashed her a grin she could only describe as bloodthirsty, and bounced off toward the road back to town, so cheerful he was very nearly floating.

And she watched him go, biting her lip.

Something had been bothering her since his argument with Pacifica:

She couldn't figure out why he wasn't better.

####

Bill nudged Mabel. "Hey. Am I in trouble?"

"What?"

"You've been giving me the silent treatment since we left." That had been about fifteen minutes earlier. "Is it because of the eating disorder thing? Do I have to apologize to you for that? It's not like I was insulting her! If anything, I did her a favor by warning her—"

She gave him a sour look—that had been very rude, even if not Bill's typical existential horror cosmic nightmare level rudeness—but said, "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking about stuff."

"Are you gonna share it, or do I have to wait until I can crawl inside your head again to find out?"

Mabel was silent a moment. "Do you actually like tie-dye?"

"That's what's bothering you?" He pulled his eyepatch back on—Pacifica had told him putting it back on would probably mess up his makeup, but that didn't really matter until tomorrow. "Of course I do, who doesn't! It's chaos on a shirt." He shrugged. "I've never had any—but, y'know, it's nice to look at, anyway."

"Wait, never? We should do tie-dye together! I can get us some white shirts and we can dye them outside," Mabel said. "Maybe I can invite Grenda and Candy!"

"Sounds like a party! Let me know when, you know what my schedule looks like."

"Great!" She beamed at him.

But as they walked, her smile slowly faded as she drifted back into her own thoughts.

His ideas about flirting were very hit or miss, but Mabel thought they were probably hits more often with aliens that thought dead salmon smelled sexy. He'd had a girlfriend, at any rate.

And he'd gotten chummy with Abuelita (even after she tried to poison him), he'd charmed Gideon's mom in like ten seconds, Wendy thought he was cool and so did half her gang, Candy and Grenda said he was fun, Mabel was pretty sure Stan kinda liked him even if he wouldn't admit it... He'd even managed to develop a rapport with Pacifica—Pacifica!—which had taken Mabel like two-thirds of the summer!—and he'd done it even though they'd insulted each other!

He was charming, he was fun, he clearly got romance...

So how come he didn't have true love and best friends that weren't evil?

The question itched at her brain.

Mabel firmly believed that the only thing that made people bad was not getting enough love. Family love, friend love, romance love, adorable cuddly pet love, whatever. Put love in, get love out; put nothing in, get a swirling vortex of loneliness and hatred where the love should have been stored. Like Prickly Bee in Color Critters! Who during season one had been one of the color-hating bad guys, but in season two had inexplicably joined the good guys due to network executive meddling, and it wasn't until season three that they did a flashback episode showing that the critters had won her over by showing her the kindness and caring that her old boss Serpent Grey never had!

And at the beginning of summer, after Mabel helped Bill get his hair back, he'd said it had been a long time since anyone had been nice to him; and he'd been nice to her since then, so that seemed to support her theory. All it took was a little love!

She just couldn't figure out why he didn't already have enough.

He had all those monster friends he'd tried to conquer the world with last year, but maybe they were those "people who claim to be friends but are actually allies who hate each other" that you see amongst cartoon villains. (Like Serpent Grey's minions.) Was it because they were aliens? Were aliens not good at friendship? Had he been deprived until now?

She remembered how heavy even the smallest glimpse at his pain had been—listening to him grieve over his own death. It was clear that, whatever he'd had before, what he needed now was better love, more friends—enough to share that psychological weight without collapsing—but how much would be enough to untwist his crooked morality?

Mabel was running out of time. Summer was almost halfway over. She only had seven more weeks to reintegrate Bill into society—to help him make amends for everything he'd done last summer—or else... or else she'd failed. She'd failed him.

And she knew she was making progress with Bill, but she didn't know if it was enough. She wished he'd go faster. She wished summer would go slower. She wished she had more time.

She remembered what had happened the last time she'd wished for a little more summer.

So she'd just have to figure out how to save him in the time they had left. She couldn't just pick up a broken teacup, glue half the pieces together, then abandon it half-repaired to leak tea all over the floor. She was a problem solver, it was what she did. She had to solve this problem—or else everything she'd done this past year would be for nothing.

As they walked, she reached out to grab Bill's hand. He gave her a curious look, but he didn't pull it back.

"Was all that stuff true about you doing pageants as a kid?" (There must have been something in his past to explain why he didn't have enough love—maybe in his childhood.) "Or did you just make that up to make Pacifica relax?" (She guiltily remembered him accusing her of trying to "fix" him—how badly he'd been hurt by the thought.)

She felt his hand tense in her grip, but he shrugged dismissively. "They're not exactly identical to human beauty pageants—no real fashion component, for one thing—but, yeah. Did 'em as a kid. I went to my first pageant on the day I was born."

"So you lied when you told me you didn't do them yourself?"

"I did not," Bill said indignantly. "I just didn't correct you when you guessed wrong!"

At Mabel's sour look, Bill rolled his eye and said, "What, am I supposed to correct you every time you say something wrong? Because humans are wrong about just about everything—"

"Bill."

He huffed. "The specifics weren't any of your business, okay? It's—not something I talk about with humans. Or any other aliens, for that matter."

"Why not? Was it—"

"Because it's ancient history," he said sharply.

Mabel gave him a worried look. When he didn't elaborate, she said, "So, is it really as stressful as you and Pacifica made it sound?"

"Stressful!" Bill scoffed. "Name a part of life that isn't stressful. School, work, breeding a family, yadda yadda—better to learn how to handle it early, right? And it's only stressful if you're bad at it! I was good. I was very good."

"Good at what?" Mabel asked.

"Uh..." Bill had to grasp for a moment. "Being... cute. Charming the judges. Wowing 'em at the talent portion—when I wasn't starting fires. I really did play the piano! I mean—not a piano, but the closest equivalent my world had. There's nothing cuter than a kid playing an instrument he can hardly reach each end of." At Mabel's continued worried look, he said, "What! It was harmless. It was just a bunch of baby shapes bumbling around the stage looking adorable, that's all! It wasn't that bad!"

He was quiet for a moment; and then he repeated to himself, "It wasn't that bad."

####

"Don't get any closer," Stan said. "This place is about to be a toxic waste dump."

Bill and Mabel looked around Stan. In the middle of the clearing behind the Mystery Shack, a tent had been set up. Inside, a goat bleated in a plea for help.

Mabel asked, "Why?"

"Poindexter and your brother's plan to get that computer doohickey out of the goat the old-fashioned way didn't work. He wouldn't eat the concoction they mixed up. So they're getting it out of him the other old-fashioned way."

"Vivisection?" Bill asked hopefully.

"No—" Stan fell silent, squinted at Bill's face, and decided not to comment on his new look. "Vomit. You remember that witch's brew we used to chase off the flying eyeball that you—er—you knew?"

Mabel screwed up her face. "Oh, yuck, that was the worst thing I ever smelled."

Stan tipped his head toward the tent. "Well, they're about to detonate what's left of it."

"'Detonate'?"

Ford's voice came from the tent: "On the count of three! One... two..."

There was a muffled boom. The walls of the tent billowed outward and an orange ball of fire illuminated Ford, Dipper, and Gomper's silhouettes. Gompers let out a loud bleat of distress.

Voice strained, Dipper said, "Ugh, that smell—I think I'm gonna be—" He had to try a couple of times to unzip the tent, then stumbled out and landed on his hands and knees in the dirt, gasping for fresh air.

Ford—wearing a gas mask—ducked out of the tent. "I told you you'd want a mask."

"Smelling it in close quarters is way—" He clapped a hand over his mouth and gagged, "—way worse than I thought."

"Well?" Stan called. "Did anything come up?"

Ford peered back into the tent. "No."

Stan flung his hands up.

"Don't lose hope," Ford said. "I have a spell to induce vertigo somewhere. I don't remember all the words, but..."

Bill spent several seconds pretending he didn't notice Ford was staring directly at him before he said, "Can I help you?"

"You know the spell, don't you?"

"What, the Maximus Vertiginous? 'Course I do. Classic prank."

Ford stared at him expectantly. Bill said, "What?"

"How does it go?" Ford asked impatiently.

"Oh, you expect me to teach you?" Bill rolled his eye.

Mabel frowned up at him. "Come on, Bill, don't be a jerk."

The back of his neck started heating up as he realized the whole family was staring at him. He stood a little straighter. "Listen to you, ya little hypocrite! Aren't you the one who keeps showing me those cute cartoons telling me to be myself?" To Stanford, he said, "I don't tutor my dropouts. Go find your own notes, Stanford Pines."

Ford glowered at Bill, but then he left the tent, zipped it shut behind himself, and trudged toward the shack. His irritated muttering was muffled by the gas mask.

As soon as the door shut, Stan clapped his hands. "Okay! Ford's gone, now we're doing this my way." As he passed Dipper, he said, "C'mon, kid, chop chop. I need your help, your hands are smaller than mine."

Dipper groaned, but got back to his feet, pulled his shirt over his nose, and trudged back to the tent with Stan. "What are we doing?"

"The same thing you and Ford were—but more assertive! Sixer nixed my plan, but his obviously didn't work." Stan unzipped the tent's flap. "All right. I'll hold the goat's mouth open, you reach in."

"Ohhh no."

Bill's face lit up. "Heeey, that sounds fun! Let me try! My hands are small and I can actually see the flash drive!"

"Oh no you don't," Stan said. "We can't risk you picking up the eyeball repellant stink, you've gotta stay pretty until loverboy shows up!"

"What, so suddenly I'm too pretty to grope a goat's guts?" Bill stared at Mabel in disbelief, waiting for her to commiserate over this injustice.

Mabel—who was still a bit miffed about being called a hypocrite—said, "Let's just go in." As they walked to the porch, she said, "'Be yourself' doesn't mean be a jerk. It means 'don't hide your talents' and 'keep doing your hobbies even if other people think they're boring' and stuff."

"Yeah, well, what if one of my talents is being a jerk?"

Mabel groaned. "There's gotta be an episode that covers this."

As Stan entered the tent, he said, "Phew, that reeks! Hey, zip the tent when you come in."

Dipper hung back nervously, half in the tent and pinching his nose shut. "Grunkle Stan, I'm not sure about this idea."

"Come on, it—it can't be hard! Farmers do this. I think. Look, I'm doing the hard part, all you have to do is reach down his throat! Lemme just... get my fingers between his jaws...

Gompers bleated angrily. Stan hollered in pain.

"Oh, no!" Dipper dove for Gompers and landed in the dirt as the goat shot past. From the porch, Mabel and Bill could only watch as Gompers headed the other way.

Soos walked around the corner of the shack. "Hey, du—whoa!"

"Soos!" Dipper shouted. "Catch him!"

Soos dove to the side to get out of the way of the charging goat, watched him vanish into the forest, and said, "Aw—dude, I just did the opposite of what you asked me to do. That's totally my bad."

Ford opened the back door with a handful of papers and his gas mask pushed up on his forehead. "I heard shouting, what happened?"

"Uhhh," Soos said. "Gompers just escaped into the forest."

"What?! How?!"

Stan stumbled through the tent's flap, cradling a hand. "It was—it was totally unexpected. Just ran off for no reason. Completely unprompted," he said. "He also bit my hand. Don't ask why my hand was so close to his mouth."

Ford said, "Which way?! We have to follow him immediately! If the agents detect the drive's signal before we retrieve him—"

"Don't bother," Bill said. "As long as he's in the forest, if he doesn't want to be caught, he won't be. There's nothing you can do until he comes out."

Ford narrowed his eyes. "How are you so sure?"

"He ate some magic rocks."

"Ah. Well." He shrugged in defeat. Nothing they could do if he'd eaten magic rocks. "But what if he does want to be caught?"

Bill gestured toward the forest with a flourish. "If you think he's eager for more of the hors d'oeuvres and perfume you've been offering him today, go get 'im."

Stan cleared his throat. "Well—the good news is, when the agents get here, they won't find the thingamajig in the Mystery Shack! Eh? Ehhh?"

"Oh, yeah, that's what I was coming over to tell you guys," Soos said. "I was taking out the trash, and I saw this car parked just up the road, and it looked like the car the government dudes were in today, so, I think they're watching the shack now?"

There was a long silence as the group processed that.

"We can't be outside," Ford said. "If they see Stan they'll want to interrogate him, if they see Bill here after hours they'll know he's not a passing tourist, and if they see me they'll realize I'm not a superior officer from Washington—"

Bill slammed his fist on the back door. "Then stop rambling and let me in!"

Ford opened the door and ushered everyone inside. "Hurry!"

"But what about Gompers?" Dipper asked. "We've gotta at least try to find him before the agents do!"

"What if the agents follow you to Gompers?" Ford asked. Dipper hesitated.

Mabel said, "We can make disguises so they won't recognize us!" She took off her half of the enchanted friendship bracelets, chucked it toward the coat rack just inside the door, and ran upstairs. "Come on!"

Dipper shot one last worried look toward the forest, then followed her.

Ford shut the door and asked Stan in a low voice, "How long is Gompers usually gone when he wanders off?"

"No telling. Sometimes I don't see him for weeks at a time."

Soos said, "So if they're gonna keep looking until they find that drive, but we can't go looking because they're watching us, and Gompers doesn't come back, so we can't find the drive, and they can't find the drive... then, how do we get rid of them?"

"We don't," Stan said. "Unless they find something more interesting than the drive."

As Bill added his end of the bracelet to the coat rack, he was keenly aware of three sets of eyes on him. He could see the cold gray walls of his cell in the— of the surgical suite in Hangar 618. Oh, he was certainly a billion times more interesting than some lousy drive; and if the eagles figured that out...

"Distracting them for a few hours won't cut it, will it," Ford asked him.

Bill pushed away the phantom psychological weight of heavy ankle cuffs and cheap orange fabric. "Doesn't look like it. You'll need some other way to make them leave."

Grimly, Ford said, "It looks like your job just got a lot more important."

####

(Your "what was edited due to TBOB" roundup: as mentioned in an earlier chapter, some of the specifics of the pageant scene came from TBOB—the name of the "best baby ever" award and the mayor handing out free knives. But everything else was plotted well before TBOB—including Bill being born able to see the stars, having a condition that makes him unusually flexible (which lines up with Baby Bill's squishy look quite well), and his parents getting him medical treatment at a very young age due to, among other things, his weird eye. Most of the rest of the chapter was written pre-TBOB.

Although my god did i rewrite the conversation about Bill's weight a hundred times. This has been a high priority to work into the fic for some time! I wanted to make it clear that Bill's body shape isn't merely a cosmetic part of his character design but something with actual in-world impact, that for him it's a positive and not meant to be punitive or a joke, and that Pacifica's got issues and we're gonna be dealing with them. The hard part was doing all that while avoiding Bill sounding like an enlightened angel spreading the gospel of fat positivity to the ignorant masses, rather than what he actually is: a selfish alien who realizes humans are being stupid but whose only personally investment in this issue is convincing a 13-year-old not to make him wear spanx.

Next week, the agents are finally back, and Bill gets to put all that flirting practice into action! I'm sure he'll do a great job.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gompers #(<- for the art. i feel like gompers doesn't get much art so this is worth highlighting.)#pacifica northwest #scalene cipher #euclid cipher #(<- for the actual chapter)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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elryuse · 6 months ago

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LOVE TO HATE ME pt.1

WINTER X MALE READER X GISELLE

Tags : Break Up, Seduction, Love Triangle, Deep Romance, SMUT, Kissing, Cheating?

Words : 3,999 Words

This Is A Commision Work For My Friend @Pizza_anon on Ko-fi. This will be a 5 Part Series. So yeah, Hope you liked it buddy.

The whiskey burned, a welcome fire against the icy ache in your chest. You needed to numb the pain, to drown out the echoes of her voice, the ghost of her smile. You needed to forget.

Winter. The name itself tasted like ashes in your mouth. A love story that had once painted your world in shades of rose, now reduced to a smudged watercolor, bleeding into a melancholic gray.

"My studies are my priority right now," she'd said, her voice a fragile whisper, "I can't afford distractions." Distractions. You, with your messy hair, your impulsive laughter, your tendency to get lost in daydreams instead of focusing on your future. You were a distraction, a delightful, messy, all-consuming distraction.

Now, the silence in your apartment screamed with her absence. Every corner whispered her name, every shadow cast her ghost. The worn-out movie tickets, the half-finished painting of her eyes, the scent of her favorite perfume still lingering in the air – all mocking reminders of a love that had slipped through your numb fingers.

You poured another generous measure of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking against the glass. The amber liquid swirled, mirroring the turmoil within you. You were drowning, gasping for air in a sea of grief, the waves crashing over you relentlessly.

Then, there was Giselle.

Giselle, with eyes the color of a stormy sea, her laughter like the chime of wind chimes, and a kindness that always made you feel seen, even when you were lost in your own despair. Giselle, Winter's best friend, who had always been there, a comforting presence in the periphery of your relationship.

Giselle, who had been your confidante, your shoulder to cry on during countless teenage dramas, your partner in crime in countless midnight adventures. Giselle, who had always held a special place in your heart, a place you never quite acknowledged until now.

You remembered the day you first met Winter. It was at a college party, a cacophony of noise and laughter. Winter, radiant in a burst of color, had been surrounded by a group of friends, her laughter infectious. You, captivated by her vibrant energy, had been drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Giselle, ever the observant one, had introduced you, her smile a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Winter," she'd said, "This is Y/n. He's been eyeing you all night."

Winter, blushing, had extended a hand, her touch surprisingly warm. "Hi, Y/n," she'd said, her voice a melodic chime. "It's nice to meet you."

And that was it. The beginning of a whirlwind romance, a love story that had consumed your every waking moment. But now, the whirlwind had subsided, leaving behind a trail of wreckage and a heart aching with a profound sense of loss.

Giselle had been there through it all. She'd listened patiently as you recounted every detail of your blossoming relationship, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness for you. She'd offered advice, both solicited and unsolicited, always with a gentle hand and a reassuring smile.

She'd been your refuge during the inevitable arguments, the silent listener as you vented your frustrations, the one who always knew how to coax a smile back onto your face.

And now, she was your anchor, a lifeline in the stormy seas of your grief.

"Come on," she'd said, her voice soft, "Let's get some air. This place is suffocating you."

And so, you'd stumbled out into the night, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of colors through your alcohol-glazed vision. Giselle had listened patiently as you poured out your grief, her silence a comforting blanket against the storm raging inside you. She had offered you her shoulder to cry on, her apartment a refuge from the loneliness that was threatening to consume you whole.

You, drowning in your misery, had clung to her like a lifeline.

The days that followed were a haze of blurry memories. Days spent in a melancholic stupor, punctuated by stolen moments of solace in Giselle's company. You'd spend hours talking, dissecting your relationship with Winter, analyzing every nuance, every missed opportunity, every "what if."

Giselle, ever insightful, would offer her perspective, her words a balm to your wounded soul. "You loved her deeply, Y/n," she'd said, her voice laced with a sadness that mirrored your own, "But sometimes, love isn't enough."

Her words, though laced with a poignant truth, only served to deepen the ache in your chest.

One evening, while curled up on her couch, a worn-out movie playing silently in the background, you felt a shift in the dynamic between you. A subtle change in the air, a unspoken current running beneath the surface of your friendship.

Giselle, sitting beside you, her gaze fixed on the flickering screen, reached out and gently placed her hand over yours. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through you, a shiver down your spine. You turned to look at her, your breath catching in your throat.

Her eyes, usually bright and mischievous, were now pools of darkness, mirroring the storm brewing within you. A storm that had been brewing for a long time, you realized with a sudden jolt of awareness.

You'd always been drawn to Giselle, her vibrant personality a stark contrast to your own introspective nature. You'd admired her strength, her independence, her unwavering loyalty. You'd been captivated by her wit, her infectious laughter, her ability to find beauty in the most unexpected places.

But you'd always kept your feelings at bay, afraid to jeopardize their precious friendship. Afraid of the potential for heartbreak, afraid of losing her altogether.

Now, those carefully constructed walls were crumbling, crumbling under the weight of your shared grief, under the weight of unspoken desires.

"I've wanted this for so long," she whispered, her voice husky, her gaze finally meeting yours. "Ever since…"

You didn't need her to finish the sentence. You knew. You'd always known, on some subconscious level, that there was a simmering intensity beneath her gentle facade, a fire that had been waiting to ignite.

The words hung heavy in the air, unspoken yet deeply understood. The unspoken confession, the years of unspoken longing, finally finding voice.

And then, all pretense was gone.

The movie faded into the background, the flickering images replaced by a dizzying kaleidoscope of emotions.

Their lips met, a tentative brush at first, then a desperate hunger taking over. Giselle tasted of wine and regret, of unspoken desires and a shared grief.

The kiss was a whirlwind, a collision of broken hearts, a desperate search for solace in the arms of another. It was a whirlwind of passion and desperation, a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Winter's absence.

They explored each other with a fierce intensity, their bodies moving in a desperate dance of need and longing. Giselle's hands traced the contours of your face, her fingers tangling in your hair, her moans a low, primal sound.

You lost yourself in the moment, the world fading away, leaving only the raw, primal sensation of her body beneath yours.

But as you lay beside her afterwards, the silence that followed was deafening. The weight of your actions, the betrayal that gnawed at you, the lingering ghost of Winter, all threatened to suffocate you.

You had found comfort in Giselle's arms, but at what cost?

The answer, you realized with a chilling clarity, was a price you might never be able to pay.

The guilt weighed heavily on you, a constant, suffocating presence. You were consumed by a sense of betrayal, not only to Winter, but to Giselle as well. You had used her, exploited her vulnerability, sought solace in her arms while still carrying the weight of your lost love.

You tried to push the guilt aside, to focus on the fleeting moments of pleasure, the comfort of her presence, the warmth of her skin against yours. But the guilt remained, a persistent shadow that followed you everywhere.

The days that followed were a tortured existence. You avoided Giselle, your guilt making it impossible to look her in the eye. You were haunted by the memory of her touch, the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes had lit up when she looked at you.

You were trapped in a cycle of self-recrimination, unable to escape the weight of your own guilt. You had hurt Winter, you had betrayed Giselle, and you had betrayed yourself.

One evening, weeks after that fateful night, you found yourself standing outside Giselle's apartment, your hand hovering over the doorbell.

You had spent the entire day battling with yourself, wrestling with your demons. You needed to talk to her, to apologize, to explain.

But as you stood there, the weight of your guilt pressing down on you, you were unsure of what to say, unsure of how she would react.

You had hurt her, deeply, irrevocably. And you were terrified of losing her altogether.

You took a deep breath, the cold night air filling your lungs. What were you doing?

This was a disaster waiting to happen.

But the need to see her, to hear her voice, to apologize, was overwhelming.

Taking a shaky breath, you reached for the doorbell.

The doorbell echoed through the quiet apartment, its chime cutting through the thick silence that had settled over you like a heavy blanket. Your heart was pounding in your chest, each beat a deafening reminder of the storm raging inside you. The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions.

And then, the door swung open.

Giselle stood there, her figure silhouetted against the soft glow of the apartment lights. She was wearing something you hadn’t expected—sexy black lacy lingerie that hugged her curves in all the right places. The sight of her hit you like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her lips curved into a knowing smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice low and sultry, like the purr of a cat. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

You froze, your mind scrambling to process the scene before you. What was happening? This wasn’t the Giselle you knew—or maybe it was, but a version of her you’d never allowed yourself to imagine. Her eyes, dark and full of mischief, locked onto yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t look away.

She giggled, a soft, melodic sound that danced in the air between you. Then, without a word, she reached out, her fingers curling around the front of your shirt, and pulled you inside. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in the warm, dimly lit space that smelled faintly of her perfume.

“Giselle,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I didn’t—”

“Shh,” she interrupted, placing a finger over your lips. Her touch was electric, sending a jolt of heat through your body. “No more talking. Not tonight.”

You could feel the tension between you, a palpable force that seemed to crackle in the air. Her hand moved from your lips to your chest, her fingers trailing down the front of your shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You could feel your heartbeat quickening, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” she whispered, her voice dripping with desire. “Waiting for you.”

Her words sent a surge of heat through you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering just beneath the surface. You reached for her, your hands trembling as they found her waist, pulling her closer until her body was pressed against yours. She let out a soft moan, her hands tangling in your hair as she kissed you with a hunger that matched your own.

The kiss was intoxicating, a whirlwind of passion and need that left you dizzy and craving more. Her lips were soft and insistent, her tongue teasing yours in a way that made your head spin. You could feel the heat of her body through the thin fabric of her lingerie, the way her curves molded against you, driving you wild.

She pulled back slightly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she looked up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Do you want this, Y/n?” she asked, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Do you want me?”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the storm of emotions raging inside you. Yes, you wanted her. You wanted her more than you’d ever wanted anyone. The guilt, the pain, the grief—it all faded into the background, replaced by the overwhelming need to be close to her, to lose yourself in her.

She smiled, a slow, seductive smile that made your heart race. “Then take me,” she whispered, her voice a sultry promise.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands moved of their own accord, trailing down her body, exploring every inch of her. She gasped as your fingers found the hem of her lingerie, her breath hitching as you slowly slid it down her legs, leaving her bare before you.

She was breathtaking, her body a perfect blend of soft curves and delicate lines. You could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her skin trembled under your touch. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, then lower, tracing a path down her chest, her stomach, until you reached the apex of her thighs.

She moaned, her hands clenching in your hair as you teased her, your tongue flicking over her sensitive flesh. She was slick with desire, her body trembling with need as you worked her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

“Y/n,” she gasped, her voice a desperate plea. “Please…”

You didn’t need to hear the rest. You knew what she wanted, and you were more than willing to give it to her. You straightened, your hands gripping her hips as you positioned yourself at her entrance. Her eyes fluttered closed, her breath coming in shallow gasps as you pushed into her, slowly, inch by inch, until you were completely sheathed inside her.

She moaned, a low, primal sound that sent a shiver down your spine as she wrapped her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. You began to move, your thrusts slow and deliberate, each one drawing a gasp or a moan from her lips. Her hands clung to you, her nails digging into your back as she urged you on, her hips meeting yours with each thrust.

The room was filled with the sounds of your passion, the soft slap of skin against skin, the ragged gasps and moans that spilled from both of your lips. You could feel the heat building between you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

And then, just as you felt yourself on the brink of release, the doorbell rang.

You froze, your body stiffening as the sound echoed through the apartment. Giselle’s eyes flew open, her breath catching in her throat as she looked up at you, a mixture of surprise and anticipation in her gaze.

“Who—” she started, but before she could finish, the door swung open.

Winter stood in the doorway, her hair slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed. She looked… different. The usual prim and proper Winter was gone, replaced by a version of her you’d never seen before. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips curved into a seductive smile as she stepped inside, her gaze locking onto yours.

“Looks like I’m just in time,” she purred, her voice low and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine.

The door clicked shut, cutting off the sight of Winter's retreating figure. Giselle leaned against it for a moment, her chest rising and falling as though she’d just run a marathon. She glanced back at you, her stormy eyes wide with a mix of panic and something else—something darker, more primal.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, running a hand through her tousled hair. “That was… close.”

You were still frozen in place, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure Giselle could hear it. The air in the room felt electric, charged with the near-miss and the lingering heat of what had almost happened between the two of you. Your mind raced, flashes of Winter’s flushed face and sultry smile mingling with the memory of Giselle’s lips on yours, her hands gripping your shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

Giselle pushed herself off the door and crossed the room toward you, her movements slow but deliberate. The black lace of her lingerie clung to her curves, the delicate fabric doing little to hide the way her body trembled slightly. She stopped just inches away, her gaze locked on yours.

“Y/n,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her attempt to steady it. “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t speak. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. All you could think about was how close you’d been to crossing a line you hadn’t even realized was there until tonight. And now, standing here with Giselle, her scent filling your lungs, her presence overwhelming every rational thought, you wondered if you’d already crossed it.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you reached out, your fingers brushing against her arm. Her skin was warm, alive, and the contact sent a jolt through you that made your knees weak.

Giselle inhaled sharply, her eyes darting down to where your hand rested on her. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then, with a soft exhale, she stepped closer, closing the distance between you until her body was pressed against yours.

“We shouldn’t…” she murmured, but the way her hands slid up your chest contradicted her words. Her touch was hesitant at first, but then she gripped the front of your shirt, pulling you closer still. “But I… I don’t care right now.”

Her lips found yours again, hungry and desperate, and whatever restraint you’d been clinging to shattered. You kissed her back with equal fervor, your hands sliding down her back to grip her hips, pulling her flush against you. The taste of her was intoxicating, a heady mix of wine and something uniquely her, and you couldn’t get enough.

Giselle moaned softly against your mouth, her fingers tangling in your hair as she deepened the kiss. Her body arched into yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of her heart through the thin fabric of her lingerie. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every thought consumed by her—the feel of her, the sound of her, the way she moved with you like this was where she’d always belonged.

But then, reality came crashing back in.

The image of Winter standing in the doorway flashed in your mind, her dark eyes filled with a heat that mirrored the one burning inside you now. Guilt twisted in your gut, sharp and unrelenting, and you pulled away from Giselle with a ragged breath.

“Wait,” you said, your voice hoarse. “We can’t… Winter…”

Giselle froze, her expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place—hurt? Regret? Anger? Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a mask of calm that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Winter doesn’t have to know,” she said quietly, her hands still resting on your chest. “This… this is just us. Just you and me. We don’t owe her anything.”

You stared at her, trying to reconcile her words with the storm raging inside you. Did you owe Winter anything? She’d ended things with you, walked away without a second glance. But Giselle… Giselle had always been there, a constant presence in your life, a source of comfort and strength when everything else fell apart.

And yet…

“Giselle,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can do this. Not like this.”

She studied you for a long moment, her eyes searching yours as though looking for something—truth, maybe, or clarity. Finally, she sighed and took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield her body from the cold air that suddenly seemed to fill the room.

“Okay,” she said softly. “If that’s what you want.”

But the way she looked at you, the way her voice trembled ever so slightly, told you it wasn’t what she wanted. And deep down, you weren’t sure it was what you wanted either.

Before either of you could say another word, there was a soft knock at the door. Both of you froze, your eyes darting to the entrance as though expecting Winter to burst in again. But when no one entered, Giselle exhaled shakily and turned toward the door.

“Who is it?” she called, her voice steadier than you expected.

There was a pause, and then a familiar voice replied, “It’s me. Can we talk?”

Your stomach dropped. It was Winter.

Giselle shot you a panicked look, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What the hell…?” she muttered under her breath. She hesitated for a moment, then squared her shoulders and opened the door just enough to peek out.

Winter stood on the other side, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression unreadable. She glanced past Giselle, her gaze landing on you for a brief moment before returning to her friend.

“What’s wrong?” Giselle asked, her tone carefully neutral.

Winter hesitated, her lips pressing together in a thin line. “I…I need to talk to someone. Can I come in?”

Giselle shook her head almost imperceptibly, her hand tightening on the edge of the door. “Now’s not a good time,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “I’m… busy.”

Winter’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned forward, trying to peer past Giselle. “Busy with what?” she asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

Giselle shifted to block her view, her jaw tightening. “Just… something personal,” she said vaguely. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

For a moment, Winter just stared at her, her expression torn between frustration and hurt. Then, she sighed and nodded, stepping back from the door. “Fine,” she said, her voice tinged with resignation. “But we need to talk, Giselle. Soon.”

Giselle nodded, her fingers tightening on the doorknob. “I know,” she said softly. “I promise.”

Winter lingered for a moment longer, her gaze flickering to you again before she finally turned and walked away. Giselle closed the door slowly, leaning against it with a shaky breath. Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy, until Giselle finally broke it.

“Well,” she said, her voice trembling with nervous laughter, “that was… unexpected.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed too, the sound strained but genuine. “Understatement of the year,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair.

But as the laughter faded, the weight of what had just happened settled over you once more. Winter knew. Or at least, she suspected something. And now, you were left wondering what would happen next.

Giselle watched you carefully, her stormy eyes full of questions you weren’t sure how to answer. “Y/n,” she began hesitantly, “what do you want to do?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. What did you want to do? Part of you wanted to run, to leave this tangled mess behind and pretend none of it had ever happened. But another part—a deeper, hungrier part—wanted to pull Giselle back into your arms and lose yourself in her again, consequences be damned.

Before you could decide, Giselle took a step closer, her fingers brushing against your hand. “Whatever happens,” she said softly, “I’m here. Okay?”

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. But the question remained: what were you going to do?

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hangesophtalmologist · 5 months ago

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playing with fire burns like hell

part 2

previous title: the salesman’s obsession

(part 1), part 2

pairing: squid game’s salesman x f! reader

synopsis: you played with fire. the salesman wants to make sure you get burned.

a/n: 1,6k on part 1 y’all are actually crazy, tysm for the support!! I do apologize for taking sm time to write the rest, I usually get really productive in writing when I have important tasks that I ignore, but those were unfortunately impossible to ignore this month.

Days passed, but the Salesman couldn’t shake you from his thoughts. The slap had left an indelible mark—not on his cheek, but somewhere deeper, in the dark, cobwebbed corners of his psyche where he kept his ugliest desires

Each game he won, each slap he gave, each life he condemned tasted bland since your encounter – since you, he had tasted the bitter humiliation he imposed on the lowlifes. He was thirsty for something more than the usual pathetic pleas.

Finding out about your money problems wasn’t hard. Your family had helped you out of a terrible addiction, but despite their financial support, you were still drowning in debt, one step away from taking out a bank loan to keep yourself afloat. Maybe he was too eager to have you back in his claws – he didn’t elaborate a plan. When he approached you again, an invitation card in his pocket and a professional smile on his face, you weren’t surprised to see him.

“You’re persistent,” you had glanced at him dismissively, focusing back on your phone.

“Thorough, I’d say. One must be when dealing with large sums of money.”

You didn’t take the bait. He doubted you would – you were slier, prouder, more deceiving.

“Right,” you smiled with a hint of mocking—a fake, perfect smile he also mastered. “Nothing to do with being a sore loser, Mister?”

He let out a chuckle, ignoring the exhilarating rush of adrenaline filling his veins. He sat next to you, intoxicated by the proximity and the appeal of the game.

“Mrs, what do you think about life?”

You ignored him, but he didn’t mind. He liked your defiance; it would make your submission much more pleasurable.

“I like to think life is game,” he started. “Right now, I am winning. I can do anything I want, buy everything I need, dispose of what I do not like. Tell me, Mrs. Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue like he was savoring it, tasting its foreign sound. “Do you think you are winning at life?”

You weren’t. He had spent the last few days watching every single thing you did—how you held back the queue in the supermarket because you didn’t have enough to buy that bag of rice. How you zoned out so that you didn’t have to listen to your boss lecturing you and insulting you. How you couldn’t enter the crowded bus at night and had to walk home for an hour. You were miserable. Poor. Mistreated. With no exit door. He knew you were desperate – he just had to make you admit it to yourself.

You remained silent. The Salesman didn’t realize he had leaned toward you, greedily scrutinizing each of your movements to see the moment where you’d betray your own shame. So, when you turned your head to the side, your lips were inches apart from his, your cold eyes boring fiercely into his, and he felt something dark, something hungry gnawing at him.

“Such a handsome face,” you murmured, gaze traveling over his features, “hiding such ugly thoughts. Shame.”

Your words sounded like purrs to his ear, your disdain fueling the lustful beast inside him.

“Truths are often ugly, I fear,” the man replied slowly, enjoying himself. “That is why people like you usually lie to themselves. Mrs. Y/n, I can help you win something more than a ddakji game.”

Your eyes caught the light reflected on a golden card between his fingers. Triangle, circle, square. No name, no business direction. You scoffed.

“Don’t you have a family to play games with, Mister?” you asked, mocking and cold. “Because I do. Even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t go around begging people and waving dollars to their faces so that they’d spare me a minute. But remind me again, who’s winning at life?”

The Salesman cocked his head, licking his lips—enjoying the venom in your voice. The fierceness in your stance when you stood up to walk away. The fire in your eyes. What a pretty little thing you were. And you had just taken the first step in his trap.

“I won’t need to remind you,” he smiled, a smile that could have seemed genuine if not for the threatening undertone of his words. “Take care, Mrs. Y/n. Times are tough.”

You rolled your eyes, dismissing him completely. You made a mental note not to slap lunatics again—they didn’t get over it easily. Casting one last glance at the handsome man you left behind, you shook your head. Too bad he’s a psycho.

The next morning, your phone buzzed—an automated message from the bank. You groaned in your bed, rolling over, and nearly deleted it without reading. Yet your eyes caught the words through your half-closed lids, and your heart dropped. “Loan application denied.”

You stared at the words until they blurred.

It wasn’t possible. You hadn’t defaulted. You hadn’t missed payments.

Yet the numbers didn’t lie.

By noon, you were in front of the bank, jaw tight, as the teller fidgeted behind the glass. His eyes flicked nervously to the side, barely listening to your protest.

“There’s nothing I can do, miss,” he repeated, voice thin and tired.

You sighed, hand twitching as you rubbed your temples, shaking your head in disbelief. But just as you stood up to leave – you saw him. Across the street.

The Salesman.

Leaning casually against a vending machine, a satisfied smirk curled his lips. Watching you intensely. You stared at him, pulse thudding in your ears—it wasn’t possible, was it? He can’t possibly have…

He didn’t wave. Didn’t move. Just smiled. Then he turned on his heels and disappeared in the crowd.

Your heart pounded, ringing in your mind like a daunting alarm, and for the first time, you wondered who exactly was the man you had offended. And just like that, he started haunting every second of your life. Each day brought its share of new problems, piling up like they intended to crush you—and it was too big to be a mere coincidence. A new landlord raising the rent, your company suddenly merging with another one and having to downsize, your car breaking down in the middle of the day. Even without seeing him again, you couldn’t shake off the daunting feeling that the Salesman had something to do with your misfortune.

As days stretched into weeks, the shadows of frustration and despair crept into your movements, your half-smiles becoming taut and forced, and your answers to your family’s worry becoming more dismissive. One day after work, exhausted from the workload of your now-fired colleagues, you sat down on an empty alley, resting your head on your forehead.

Fuck, you thought. How am I going to make it? Life had never been so hard.

Life? Who were you kidding? Your life didn’t change—the laughter of your friends, the taste of food, the warmth of a morning sun—these things hadn’t changed. But suddenly, life wasn’t just yours to experience - you had to earn it, bargain for it, prove yourself worth it again, again and again until you finally lost the last ounce of strength in your body. And it was money - money, money, money, money—and every single thing was about money, and you knew it before, but you didn’t care enough until you had not a single penny in your pocket anymore.

Well. I can probably blame myself a bit for this.

Your eyes fluttered shut, lassitude winning over your body. And when you finally thought you could offer yourself some peace, a muted thump right next to your feet startled you.

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was paper bills. Scattered all over the dirty ground. You almost laughed at yourself—were you so miserable that people now believed you a beggar?

“I don’t need th-“ your words died in your throat when you looked up.

A voice you hadn’t heard in weeks sent a thrill down your spine. “I think you do.”

The Salesman had made his move.

He was towering over you, a pleasant smile on his lips, dark hair framing his beautiful face. There was a flicker of something behind that nonchalance, behind his careful appearance. It was taking him every ounce of self-restraint to tame the rush in his veins. After spending so much time dissecting each aspect of your life, stalking each of your movements, spying on each of your actions—from afar – he finally had you back in his claws, a little mouse pined down mercilessly by the metallic snap of his trap. It was thrilling, to be so close to crushing you. You had never looked as pretty as you did now, broken down, dark circles under your hopeless eyes, colors drained from your cheeks.

But he had to be patient—there was one last hypothesis to test.

“Care for a game?”

A scoffed escape your lips, chuckling until you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. You stood up, facing him with the same fierceness he couldn’t tame.

“I knew it was you.”

Standard protocol would have been to deny – but the Salesman wanted you to know it was him. Him all along. That made you miserable. That had all the power over your life since the day you met. He eagerly drank up each tick of your muscle, each flicker in your eyes. He licked his lips, unable to stop the victorious smirk tearing his face in two.

“Fuck your games,” you muttered, your tone icy, leaning until your faces were inches apart, his gaze falling on your lips. “My life isn’t a game. Stay the hell out of it.”

His expression softened—mocking, theatrical empathy. “If you didn’t hate the game when you thought you were winning, Mrs Y/n, knowing others were losing, are you really allowed to hate it when you finally lose?”

You scoffed—the audacity. Burying the voice in your head telling you he was right and the other screaming at you to scramble to the ground to pick up the bills, you pushed past him. Bumping into his shoulder purposefully, you spat, “Spare me the shabby moral.”

He followed you, hands in his pockets with a widening predatory smile, fingers twitching with excitement as he felt himself get under your skin. “Isn’t moral what led you to help that man in the subway?”

Your feet came to an abrupt stop. You spun, facing him with that same venom in your eyes and in your words—the one he loved to taste and ear. The one he knew was intoxicating your veins, numbing your mind with irrationality. “No. Slapping the living lights out of your mind was the main motivation, actually, Mister. See, I love to see your kind of people, who hate my kind of people, choke in their own egos. Wouldn’t have missed the opportunity.”

“Really?” he cocked his head to the side, a hungry smirk adorning his lips. “No interest in morals or money…? Then how would you explain why you keep glancing behind me, Mrs. Y/N?”

Caught red-handed, the anger that had slipped in your body rushed straight to your brain, drowning every single thought. You swore at him, storming off, pushing the dollar bills out of your mind. You knew he was right behind your heels, but you didn’t care—trying to calm yourself down, gather your thoughts, escape the trap you could feel tightening around you. Yet every time you quickened or slowed your pace, he was following you—a devil on your shoulder, luring you into his games. I understand, life is hard, he’d say. Repeating how much it’s hard to earn enough nowadays. For a moment, you foolishly thought you’d just have to ignore him until he gave up, but-

“And your father’s birthday coming up too. What a shame that you cannot buy him that watch he wanted so-“

The last thread finally snapped – you violently pushed him against a wall, your forearm pressed against his chest. The storm in your eyes sent arrows of thunder. If looks could kill, the Salesman would be burning in hell. Yet now, he was burning in another way—burning from the proximity, from the rage radiating off you, from the thrill of being your undoing.

“Quite a nice watch, really,” he kept going, a mask of professionalism covering his satisfaction as he easily got out of your handle, letting his fingers linger on your skin. “I would know.”

The Salesman smirked as he saw your gaze search at his wrists, finally landing on the gift you had been ogling at for the past week—the watch your father had been wanting for years. The one you couldn’t afford right now. Your heart tightened, your head spun, and a wave of sadness washed over you. Every single fiber of your being wanted to offer your family a better life, fix your mistakes and fulfil from their smallest to biggest dreams – yet you hadn’t been able to gather enough money to buy that one little thing.

His pulse quickened, chest heaving rapidly as he watched something unfold in your gaze—here. He had you; you were right here, in the middle of his claws. He just had to close his hand.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, his voice smooth, almost tender—a dangerous veneer for the predator beneath. “It can be yours. No catch.”

She tightened her jaw, conflicted, her emotions now exposed in an open book he could read with his eyes closed. “I don’t trust you.”

His smile widened, a flicker of something sharp in his eyes. He leaned in. “You don’t need to trust me, Mrs Y/n. Put your trust in yourself, and in your…” his fingers revealed a card. Not his business card—a Queen of Hearts. Using the edge of it, he pushed a strand of hair out of your face, the caress sending a chill down your spine. “Abilities.”

He knew. You grated your teeth. Of course he knew. You hated his tone, the smug certainty that he had you figured out—that he knew your darkest, most shameful secret. The watch disappeared from your mind, intoxicated by the challenge—his unbearable condescension. Still, you masked your growing anger. “I don’t gamble anymore,” you said flatly.

“Oh, that’s right,” he said, feigning a look of realization. “Your little promise. Family bailed you out, didn’t they? Noble of them. But if you won this, imagine how proud they’d be—erasing the weight of their sacrifice. Especially your father... how old is he?”

Her jaw tightened. He was prying, and you’d let him get too close. Your father’s face popped up in your mind—his kind but tired eyes. The promise he made you swore—that you’d never, ever touch a deck of cards again. That’d you step far away from that dark hole you had once fallen, and he had one pulled you from, and never look back.

The choice should have been easy—your parents had told you countless times. If you have problems, we can figure it out together. But for once, you wanted to be the one to solve your own issues.

“One game.”

His eyes darkened with something lustful, hungry, obsessive—and your stomach tied itself into knots. Deep down, a part of you wondered—were you doing this for the watch, or for the pride of proving the man wrong? You could see it in his confidence, in his arrogance—he thought you a fool. A prey. There was a thrill to being the object of all his attention—but an even greater adrenaline at making him pay for it.

You didn’t feel fear when he led you to a shabby yet clean apartment—that so happened to be located in your neighbourhood. Snapping him a glare, he simply smirked, like he knew the effect he had on you. The room was suffocating. It wasn’t the space—shabby yet sterile—but the energy in it. A predator and his prey, locked in a game. Your heart stuttered when his hand grazed your lower back to guide you to the chair. He’s a psycho. He’s a pyscho. He’s a psycho. That was what you kept repeating yourself as he prepared the game, setting up the both of you, until he slid a deck of cards onto the table, a challenging brow raised at you.

When he removed his jacket, displaying the white shirt tightening around his muscular body, your mind raced with forbidden thoughts. Clearing your throat in an attempt to clear your mind, you sat straighter, resting your elbow in a daring position. “So. What do I get when win?”

“Isn’t the watch enough?” he cocked his head to the side, sly eyes traveling over your face. “I thought money didn’t motivate you.”

“How well you know me,” you replied sarcastically, leaning toward him more, the thrill of control intoxicating you. You weren’t blind—you knew how desperate he was to make you play. You’d use it to your advantage. “What can you offer me?”

“Anything,” his answer was immediate, cocky—like he genuinely thought his money made him all-mighty. “Your price is mine.”

“I want you to leave me alone.”

The silence stretched between you—you had to repress a smirk upon seeing his jaw clenched. Surely he was expecting a material answer—you had his weakness figured out. The Salesman couldn’t see past his own conceptions of poor people—ungracious, desperate, shameless. He was blind to the humanity of individuals, to the emotions, the bonds, the feelings—and could only think through money.

His gaze was heavier on you than the weight of the world you seemed to carry lately—it was an uncanny sensation, but you ignored it. Finally, his predatory smile returned, shattering the last remains of his polite businessman mask.

“Aren’t you going to ask what will happen if you lose?” the words curled around your ears, sounding so husky yet threatening.

“Don’t worry,” you said slowly, letting the words roll off your tongue. “I won’t lose.”

The cards moved in his hands like water, fluid and hypnotic. Each shuffle was seamless, effortless, as though the deck existed to obey him. You watched his hands closely, trying to decipher whether the grace of his movements was meant to distract you—or unsettle you.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. His smirk widened, just slightly, and for a brief moment, his eyes flicked to yours before returning to the cards. That single glance made your chest tighten, though you refused to let it show. He was toying with you already, probing for cracks in your armor.

The air in the room was thick, and not just because it was small. There was something oppressive about the way he sat there, utterly confident, completely in control, as if you were merely an accessory to his performance. He dealt the cards, each one landing on the table with a soft slap.

“You know,” he said casually, his tone like silk over a blade, “this doesn’t have to be painful. Unless, of course, you like it that way.”

You stiffened, your grip on the cards tightening. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, waiting for a reaction. When you gave him none, he chuckled softly and picked up his hand, finally deigning to look at the cards he'd dealt himself.

You did the same, careful to keep your expression neutral as you surveyed your cards. Not a terrible hand, but not an easy victory either. You were acutely aware of his eyes on you as you decided your next move, his presence a constant, gnawing pressure.

You refused to look at his face, though you felt his gaze like a physical weight. It was heavy, deliberate, crawling over you in a way that made your skin prickle. Your pulse thudded in your ears, but you kept your expression calm, masking the slight tremor in your fingers as you adjusted your cards.

“You’re nervous,” the Salesman said suddenly, his voice low and smooth, like the stroke of velvet over steel.

It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t look up. “Wishful thinking,” you shot back, keeping your tone steady, clipped.

A soft chuckle escaped him, and you could practically feel his amusement, sharp and cutting. He leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but predatory, like a wolf testing the strength of its prey.

“Are you always this bad at bluffing?” he murmured, his voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I thought you were a pro.”

You finally met his gaze, forcing yourself not to flinch at the intensity in his eyes. “Are you always this desperate to win?”

For a moment, his smirk faltered, just a flicker of something colder beneath the surface. But then it was back, sharper than ever. He leaned back in his chair, a picture of casual arrogance, and gestured lazily to the cards in your hand.

“Go on, then. Prove me wrong.”

The first hand played out in agonizing silence, every card placed on the table another move in a battle neither of you was willing to lose. When the cards were revealed, the sting of defeat was sharp and immediate. His smirk deepened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Hmm,” he mused, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Guess I was right after all.”

Your throat tightened, heat rising to your cheeks. He was baiting you, daring you to snap.

His smirk widened as he leaned back, his posture triumphant. He leaned back in his chair, his arms resting lazily on the sides as though he had already won everything

Your face remained stoic, but inside, your pulse hammered. Yet you had a card he didn’t suspect in your game—an idea that spurred from the dirtiest corner of your mind. If the Salesman could set trap for you, so could you. Nodding as if you were accepting your defeat, you reached for the thin scarf around your neck, slipping it off casually, your movements as indifferent as you could muster.

He didn’t even glance at it—too eager to catch any expression of your frustration.

“Your turn,” he teased, but his eyes betrayed something darker, a simmering hunger. He wanted to see you crumble.

His confidence was maddening, his smirk infuriating, but you knew that arrogance could be a weakness.

This time, you studied him. The way he held his cards, the way his eyes flickered just slightly when the stakes were raised. You caught the faintest twitch in his jaw when he realized you weren’t folding, and it spurred you on. You could feel it sip back in your veins—the intoxicating feeling that made you fall down the rabbit hole before. Not only that, but you couldn’t even pretend to ignore it—you were chasing the high.

He noticed you watching, of course. He always noticed.

“You’re trying to read me,” he said after a moment, his voice soft and mocking. “Cute.”

“I don’t need to read you,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “You’re already predictable.”

His smirk froze for the briefest moment before it sharpened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Careful,” he said softly, the warning in his voice unmistakable.

The game continued, every move stretching the tension between you to its breaking point. When the cards were revealed, your stomach twisted in relief. You’d won.

The smirk slipped from his face, replaced by something tighter, more calculating.

“Well, well,” you said, leaning forward, your tone laced with mockery. “What are you going to remove?”

His eyes narrowed, the lasting silence betraying his confusion. There was a tension in his posture now, a stiffness that hadn’t been there before.

“Tsk tsk tsk, how disappointing,” you shook your head in a mocking pout. “Didn’t do your research very thoroughly, did you?”

Like a fish caught in a hook, he was hanging to your lips – hiding the delicious hard pounding of his heart against his chest at seeing you this way, so like him yet so foolishly pretentious.

“My specialty was,” you taunted, your smile sharp. “Strip poker.”

For the first time, his mask cracked. A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe even surprise—crossed his face. You saw your opening and took it. His gaze was burning on you now, like your words had unleashed a monster. His laugh was low, almost inaudible. “Is that so?”

How thrilling it was to have him look at you that way—impressed, somehow, but so much more lustful than ever. “Try to keep up,” you chirped, daring him with your gaze.

Yet he didn’t falter. Slowly, deliberately, he removed his tie, skillful, big fingers easily untying the knot. Folding it with precision before setting it aside.

“You must think highly of yourself to think you can distract me that way, Mrs. Y/n,” his voice was a rumble, his gaze unwavering, not blinking once. If you didn’t know how much of a psychopath he was, you’d say he was already plenty distracted by the prospect.

You scoffed. “I think lowly of you, Mister. Maybe being exposed by someone you look down on will be enough for you to choke on your own ego.”

He smirked. What an arrogant piece of shit, you thought as his eyes fell down the length of your body, telling you more than any word could.

“Likewise.”

When he threw the next cards, the air was heavier than ever. The game became something else—less about cards and more about dominance. The stakes climbed higher with every hand, the tension between you thickening like a storm cloud.

You could feel his frustration building, masked by that infuriating smile. He was losing ground, and he hated it. You even thought he’d snap when he finally won, but all you removed was a necklace—he was hungrier than he ever was. But he was clever, too clever, and every move he made was designed to throw you off balance.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, his voice soft, almost seductive.

“You’re not?”

His gaze burned into you, his pupils dark, predatory. “Oh, I am. But I wonder—are you playing to win, or just to spite me?”

You didn’t answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

The next round dragged on, every move stretching the silence between you like a taut wire. Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears, but you kept your face calm, your movements steady. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, his eyes dissecting every twitch, every breath.

“Looks like your luck’s run out,” you said, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you.

He didn’t respond immediately; his eyes locked on the cards in front of him. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned back in his chair, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves. The motion was slow, deliberate, his forearms flexing as the fabric slid back.

Your eyes flickered downward for half a second before snapping back to his face, but he caught it. His smirk returned, sharper than ever.

“Staring is quite impolite, Mrs. Y/N.”

“Please,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Try to blink at least once before you say this.”

His eyes darkened, the heat in his gaze unmistakable now. For a moment, the game, the cards, everything else fell away, leaving only the tension between you—dangerous, electric, and impossible to ignore.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“So are you,” you replied, your words as much a challenge as they were a warning.

Maybe you had underestimated him—you thought his superiority complex would prevent him from completing the game. Yet somehow it didn’t feel like the humiliation you had planned for him—instead, it felt like something quieter, hungrier, forbidden, but excruciatingly thrilling. When you removed your top, heart pounding in your chest, and locked eyes with him, you were suddenly grateful for the games you were playing. The rules seemed the only thing that kept the Salesman from ripping every last piece of clothing from you.

His gaze was fire, slow-burning, consuming. You had stripped the moment of control from him, yet somehow, the shift in power only seemed to excite him. His smirk remained, but there was something new behind it now—something sharper, darker.

The room felt smaller. The weight of the moment pressed against your skin, against the pulse hammering in your throat. He watched you with an intensity that made your breath catch, his head

The cards sat untouched between you, but the game had moved beyond them. This was about leverage now, about control that shifted like sand between your fingers.

You didn’t flinch as he reached forward, picking up his glass and taking a slow sip, his gaze never leaving yours. He was stretching the silence, making you sit in it, daring you to break first.

You wouldn’t.

Leaning forward, you rested your elbows on the table, mirroring his stance. "Your move," you reminded him, your voice smooth, unshaken.

His smirk deepened, a predator recognizing another.

Instead of speaking, he picked up the deck, shuffled it with that same fluid grace, the sound of the cards brushing against each other whispering between you. His hands were precise, controlled, but you saw it now—the slight flex of his fingers, the subtle way his jaw tensed. He was enjoying this, the push and pull of it, but he wasn’t unaffected.

Good.

He dealt again. The cards landed neatly, but your attention remained on him. Every twitch, every breath, every flicker in his expression—it was all part of the game now.

As you picked up your hand, his voice broke the silence. "Tell me, Mrs. Y/N," he mused, rolling the words slowly, deliberately. "What happens when you finally meet someone who plays better than you?"

Your lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I'll let you know when it happens."

Something flickered in his eyes. Approval? Amusement? Whatever it was, it sent a thrill down your spine.

The game continued; the stakes unspoken yet palpable. Every card turned was another thread pulled tighter between you. He was pushing, pressing, waiting for the moment you would falter.

But you weren’t just playing to win anymore.

You were playing to break him.

And the best part?

You could see the exact moment he realized it.

You straightened, meeting his gaze one last time. “Game over.”

The storm brewing in his eyes made a chill ran down your spine. There, you had him. Of course, he hated losing. You knew he was seconds away from snapping—the mighty defeated by the lowly. The silence stretched. The only sign of his rage was the twitch of his hand on his naked thigh.

You expected him to explode—waited for him to lash out, to yell, to freak out. Instead, he got up slowly, exposing his glorious body to your eyes. Your throat dried. He slowly walked up to you, the same confidence he had as always, like despite his nakedness he was still superior to you. How you hated this disdainful, scornful man that made your life a living hell for the past weeks—and your treacherous body should remember it too, instead of shivering in anticipation. His warmth surrounded you, but it felt cold, dreadful, yet so enticing.

His fingers trailed up your collarbone, softly, before he roughly grabbed your jaw, swiping his tongue across your lips. Your mind was dizzy, clouded with desire—that you shouldn’t even allow to take over each parcel of your body. Your breath was shallow, heart pounding against your ribs. His fingers dug into your jaw, his breath warm against your lips, teasing, daring. His touch was rough and possessive, but there was restraint beneath it—like he was waiting for you to yield.

But he had already lost. There was something hungrier than desire in your core – ego. You had crushed the man who thought you insignificant. You couldn’t give in to the shallow lust.

You tilted your chin up, feigning surrender, letting him believe he had you right where he wanted. His smirk deepened, satisfaction flickering in his storm-dark eyes.

And then—

"Winner’s prize. Leave. Me. Alone."

Your voice was soft, almost tender, but the words struck like a whip. His grip faltered for just a fraction of a second, confusion flickering across his face. It was enough.

You slipped out of his grasp, smooth, effortless, and stood. The air between you crackled; his gaze bore into you, sharp, predatory, but you didn’t flinch. The sleek, expensive watch he had stripped from his wrist in his arrogance, certain he wouldn’t lose, was on the table—you snatched it.

In less than a second, you had disappeared from his claws - you didn’t run. You didn’t look back. You simply walked away, your pulse thrumming with exhilaration.

And in the days that followed, you heard nothing.

No calls. No texts. No messages sent through mutual acquaintances.

You had won his game. And he couldn’t go against his own rule. This sick, twisted, obsessive bastard was played. At first, you felt relief. This was it—the moment he realized you weren’t like the others – and he was wrong about all of you. That he couldn’t toy with you, that he couldn’t break you. You told yourself he was too humiliated to come back from this, that he would move on, find someone else to play his twisted games with.

And yet… something gnawed at you. A quiet unease, an instinct whispering that this wasn’t over.

But days passed. Then a week. Then two.

Maybe you really had won.

It was like the game had never happened—except you had gotten a taste of your old addiction, and you could feel the drug take its effect. The way the cards felt between your fingers, the sharp thrill of reading his every move, of pulling him in just to cut him down. You told yourself it was just the rush of winning. That you had beaten him, humiliated him, and that was why it lingered.

But then you started playing again.

At first, it was just one game. A harmless distraction. Then another. Then another. The old hunger stirred deep in your veins, that pulse of anticipation as the stakes climbed higher and higher.

Ironically, you had won enough to buy the watch on your own – which you did.

But you were foolish. Naïve. You didn’t realize until your father’s birthday.

The restaurant was warm with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversation. You let yourself relax, let the normalcy of the evening wash over you. Being with your family soothed your worries and warmed your heart. Perhaps because you craved their love so much, you didn’t notice the veil of concern in their eyes.

But you knew something was wrong when your father’s smile faltered when he opened his gift, making your heart break in half. You thought you imagined it, but your mother’s frown and the awkward moment of silence before cheers erupted made you uneasy.

“Dad,” you lead your father to a quieter room in the family house, worry on your face. “What’s wrong?”

His lips tightened, a conflicted expression on his face. “Y/n, how could you afford this?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. “Um, I got a promotion.”

Your dad shook his head, pulling you into a tight hug, desperate hands crawling at your back, holding onto you.

“Stop before it is too late, Y/n. Your mother and I- we can’t lose you again.”

No. No, no, no- there was no way they could have known. The burn of shame tore your insides apart, and suddenly nothing made sense—why you’d let herself go down the rabbit hole again.

Tears were starting to cloud your vision, and as you were about to respond, your words died in your throat.

You saw it.

Sitting innocuously on the table beside your father’s gift boxes. A small black card.

A rectangle of shadow against golden linen.

You knew it before you even touched it.

Heart pounding, you slipped from your father’s hold, his voice far away in another world- and you reached out, fingers brushing over the familiar gold-embossed symbol.

The squid game card.

Your stomach dropped. Your mouth went dry.

He had disappeared, yes.

But not because he had given up.

No.

He had only been waiting. And you had fallen right into his trap

#the salesman x reader #the salesman #squid game imagine #squid game

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pineconepie · 4 months ago

Note

What do you think about platonic yandere mermaid with a willing reader?

TW: Attempted kidnapping, parental yandere, infantilization, depressed reader (nothing too sad),

...

Life has never been easy for you. It's dead end job after the next, stress toppled upon stress, and no time to do what you love. At least, when you still had the energy.

As the years have dragged on, that fire inside of you seemed to dim. Hobbies that once filled you with passion became a chore.

The only thing that brightens your day are walks to the beach, like today.

You sit at the dock and take off your shoes. No one ever really visits this place. Even if people did come by, it's too cold for most people to enjoy. Not you though. You wiggle your toes in the icy ocean water as it laps over your feet.

Something gently brushes your leg, making you jolt.

You relax when you realize it was probably a large wave or a piece of seaweed. The calm quickly dissipates when it happens again, this time more insistent. You look around for whatever was touching you, but can't find anything.

Recently, your visits to the beach have been different, more strange. Sometimes you'd feel like you were being watched, and when you came to the beach to talk to yourself and lament your own sadness, you'd find a pile of seashells or a dead fish next to you, that certainly wasn't there before.

Though it unnerves you, no one else has shown up to claim the dock as theirs, and it's a routine you don't want to break just yet.

"I think I'm finally losing it," you laugh to yourself, rubbing a hand over your face.

"No, I do not think so."

You almost jump up in surprise, looking behind you to see who said that. When you turn back to the ocean, you're faced with a... man?

He has long, slightly messy off-white hair and vibrant blue eyes.

His ears are longer, too, pointing into triangles at their tips. He stares at you curiously, eyes wide with interest.

"Oh my God!" You put a hand over your heart. "Jeez, you scared me! How long have you been watching me?"

The man shrugs. "Long enough." His voice is gravelly and deep, as if it hasn't been used often. "I did not mean to startle you." He blinks slowly at you.

"Yeah, well..." you mutter, turning your head away from him. Now you feel embarrassed with the knowledge that someone heard you talking to yourself. "What are you even doing here? Where did you come from?"

"The sea."

"Yeah...okay," you deadpan. If you're crazy, at least this guy beats you in that department. "Well, since you've apparently seen me here many times, you know my life story. Who are you?"

The man thinks for a moment before speaking. "Indigo. And you're (Y/n), yes?" he smiles widely when your mouth drops open. "I told you I've watched you a lot. Besides, you speak so often to yourself. About how much you despise your job and other such things. A child shouldn't need to go through all of that stress."

A what? You gape at him. This is so strange. Everything about him feels strange.

He sinks down below the water only to resurface moments later with a handful of shells and assorted beach items. One hand holds them all out to you.

"Would you like these?"

Maybe you are the crazy one, because you hesitantly reach out to take them. They're beautiful, like all the other shells you'd find next to you. You blink. "Were you the one giving me shells and... fish?" Indigo nods. "Why?"

He smiles. "I don't like seeing you sad, which seems to be often. I wanted to cheer you up. And the fish is to make sure you don't go hungry, but you never take it." He pouts and rests his arms on the wood beside you. "I hope you aren't neglecting yourself. Younglings like yourself should not be doing so. It makes me sad."

You must admit, he's very sweet. For a moment, you're about to thank him, when you see something sparkling under the water.

"Are you wearing a mermaid tail...?"

Indigo meets to where you're gazing at, chuckling. "It isn't a costume, little one."

You huff in offense and cross your arms, but lean over the edge of the dock to get a better look at his tail anyway. He gently splashes you with it, making you jolt back in shock.

"W-what?" It takes you a moment to comprehend it, and when you do, you gasp, pulling him closer by the shoulders to look closer at it. It sparkles with iridescence, looking beautiful in the raising moonlight. You're breathless. "This is—wow! Am I hallucinating right now?"

His hands land atop yours on his shoulders, a big grin spread across his face.

His skin feels slick and moist, probably because he spends most of his time underwater. "No, sweetheart," he says fondly. "I am as real as you are. I hope I'm not scaring you even more. Humans are easily startled things, I've noticed."

"Oh, no, not at all," you laugh. Your mind spins with excitement, not fear. "I mean, I've always known there had to be things existing besides humans, but to see it myself is... wow." You realize you're still holding onto his shoulders and let go. "Sorry about that, um..."

"It's okay, sweetheart," Indigo giggles. His fingers wrap around yours loosely. He hums, running his thumb across the palm of your hand. "Your hands are smaller than mine. Soft too. I've heard your rants; to me, it sounds like human life isn't quite meant for you." He looks up at you.

"Probably," you shrug. "If I could've, I would have stayed a kid forever." As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel embarrassed for saying them in front of him.

He smiles though, not a single sign of judgment in his gaze. "Then why don't you?"

"I can't, really. That's not how it works," you try to explain. Indigo doesn't look any less confused. "When you're an adult, you have to grow up mentally too, or else people think you're weird. Even if it's something small, like sleeping with plushies or watching cartoons." You pause to glance at him. "You know what those things are, right?"

Indigo nods. "I can get the idea, I think." Then he frowns. "But that sounds dreadful. Merfolk get to choose when to mature and leave the nest whenever they want without judgment."

"That does sound nice." You can imagine it; the freedom to just exist the way you please.

It almost reminds you of some fictional world out of a fairy tale.

Something from a movie.

He pauses, then pulls himself upwards to sit by your side, much to your shock. The air feels cold against you, until his arm drapes over your body. Despite being wet, he's warm. You find yourself leaning into his hold.

"How long has it been since someone held you?"

The question catches you off guard. How long had it been? You lean further into him. "I can't even remember." Indigo holds you tighter. He smells salty, like the sea itself. It makes you want to fall asleep. When was the last time you got a good night's rest? You close your eyes.

His chest rumbles when he speaks. "Merfolk have strong familial instincts. I have read books on humans stating they also have the same instincts, but it doesn't appear so for you. If it were true, your parents would still be taking care of you," he coos. A hand strokes your cheek. "You must be feeling so neglected. Unloved, unwanted."

"I've learned to accept it, at least," you say sadly.

"Don't!" he exclaims loudly, and you jump. Immediately he sighs and holds you closer. "Don't say that, little one. No one should be without the affection and attention they deserve, especially children like you. I cannot bear seeing you cry like that anymore." His voice lowers to a whisper. "Please let me help you."

Something wet lands on your forehead and slides down your face, making you wipe it away in confusion.

Indigo leans away from you with an apologetic smile on his face. You stare up at his tear-stained face in shock.

"A-are you okay?" you ask with worry lacing your tone. You reach up to touch the side of his face, wiping the tears away with your thumb. Indigo only seems to sob harder at that.

"No matter what I gave you, it never made you smile. For days I watched you crying about how you hated your life, all alone. I just wish I could—" he chokes on his words and stops, wrapping his arms around you. It hurts, almost suffocating you because of how strong he's holding you. "Whenever you cried, I cried with you. It always broke my heart to see you so sad." He buries his head into your hair and sniffles.

You have no clue what to say, so you just rub circles into his back. This poor man just wants to see you happy, but none of the items he'd bring you worked, no matter how beautiful or shiny they looked.

"If I had known I wasn't just going crazy, I would've appreciated them," you try to comfort him.

"Then why didn't you eat any of the fish I gave you?" He looks at you with his sapphire blue eyes, sad.

You nervously smile. "Well, uh... humans usually need cooked food or else we could get sick." You watch in shock as another bout of sadness overcomes him again and he hugs you back to his chest.

"I did not know that!" he cries. "Oh Gods, I could've gotten my own child sick..."

You're about to say that you're not actually his kid when you decide against it.

He obviously thinks very strongly that you're still young, and you're sure he knows that you're an adult. Something tells you that it'll only hurt his feelings if you argue about it, so you stay silent, letting him have his moment.

After awhile he calms down, loosening his grip but not letting go. "Please... live with me," Indigo says. "I live in an underwater cave far below here, where I can keep you safe and hidden from everyone else. Let me protect you from all of it. I'll cook your meat and warm your bed and love you more than your parents ever did. Please let me take care of you."

You sigh. "I can't do that." As much as you want to. "I have a life here, and I barely know you."

"But you are miserable."

"I think living in a cave with nothing to do sounds pretty miserable too, all things considered."

He looks distraught for a second, but then calms himself. "Okay."

"Well, I'll still visit," you offer. He says nothing. "Well... uh, I gotta go..."

Just as you stand, he tries to pull you back into the water. Inhaling sharply, you clutch onto the wooden beams of the dock. You manage to kick him off and scurry out of reach.

Your blood runs cold when he glares at you, demeanor changing as he cries and yells for you to stop and come back. The expression feels scary, not right, like it goes against the laws of the universe to see on him.

You feel a mixture of terror, guilt, and heartbreak as you rush off the dock and don't look back at Indigo. At least he can't chase after you.

...

A few weeks pass by, and life only gets more stressful, even worse than before.

You keep thinking about Indigo and his offer. What would happen if you just said yes? What could possibly await you if you took his hand and followed him into the ocean? What if you just abandoned your old life altogether and accepted the new one he spoke of?

An escape.

The thought lingers in your head long after it had came.

Your life is already horrible enough as it is; bills and taxes to pay, friends turning their backs on you and talking badly behind it, a boss who does everything to make your life hell for no reason...

Is there any reason to say no?

Before you know it, you're standing back on that same old beach with a suitcase. You hope most of the things inside it won't be ruined by the water.

It's night time, and you wonder if Indigo will even be around, let alone willing to speak to you after rejecting his offer and running off.

You stand by the edge of the dock and call his name.

No answer.

You sigh and sit down, burying your head in your hands. It takes you a few minutes to notice the sound of the water sloshing quietly. It gets louder as you lift your head.

"(Y/n)!" He lunges for you, pulling you into his trembling arms. The hug is so tight you feel you might choke. "(Y/n)... (Y/n)...!" His tail swishes around in happiness. He pulls back to repeatedly kiss your forehead. "Please don't ever do that to me again!"

He's acting like he presumed you were dead, and you wouldn't be shocked if that was a genuine worry of his. You pull away slightly. "I-I... wanted to talk about... you know, your offer..." Indigo looks at you with wide, hopeful eyes. You breathe in slowly before continuing. "If it still stands... I wanted to tell you I—"

"Yes!" Indigo grabs your arms. "Yes! A thousand times yes! Oh, Papa will make you so happy and loved, sweetheart! Don't you worry; no more bad guys or work. Nothing bad will ever touch you again, not my baby." He squeezes you tight and nuzzles his cheek to yours.

Despite everything, despite the suddenness of it all, something about this feels so right. You feel safe in his embrace. Even better, you're happy. Genuinely happy, like you haven't felt in years. Indigo looks at you with the widest grin you've ever seen when you hug him back.

"Papa?" you mumble, not thinking much of it before saying so.

Indigo blinks in surprise, then beams. He picks up your chin and kisses your cheek.

"You'll always be safe here with Papa. Safe from all the big, scary monsters," he smiles widely.

"I brought a suitcase," you tell him, gesturing to all your items. "Uh, blankets, changes of clothes, essentials, some plushies..." At 'plushies,' Indigo practically shimmers with happiness.

"Aww, you have toys," he croons, looking like he could burst from excitement. "Oh, you're going to love it down here, sweetheart. Just wait until you see our home. Hold your breath now, and hold onto Papa." He lifts you up in one swift motion with just one arm. Its clear merfolk are naturally stronger, as he holds onto your suitcase with the other. "Ready?"

You nod and suck in a breath, closing your eyes shut when he dives underwater. Instead of coldness like you expected, Indigo's body warmth protects you from the chill.

It isn't long before you open your eyes and take in the sight around you, in awe. There's schools of fish swimming along coral reefs of vibrant colors, and the moonlight hits the water surface, illuminating the dark depths around you two.

He swims into a cave, and lifts you out of the water.

When you wipe the water out of your eyes, the first thing you notice is how cozy it looks for a cave.

There's no electric appliances anywhere, so torches are lit on a rock for light. Everything is handmade looking. There's seashells everywhere, decorating walls, chairs, and shelves of old, worn books.

At the corner is a nest-like pile of what appears to be seaweed, woven together as bedding.

It looks lived in and sweet, something out of a children's book. When you glance back at Indigo, he has the widest smile plastered across his face. There's hope and excitement twinkling in his eyes.

"What do you think?"

"It's cute."

His chest puffs out in pride. "Thank you." He walks towards the makeshift bed. "This is where we sleep, of course. The nest is a lot softer than it looks." He gently tosses the suitcase down. He notices your confused frown. "Ah, merfolk's families tend to share one giant nest with their offspring for years. It's good for their protection."

"Won't you, like, suffocate, if you sleep out of water?"

He laughs. "No, of course not. My gills work both ways, so whether I'm above or below water, I'm fine. Oh, and I have learnt how to cook food as well. Thermal vents aren't very convenient for cooking meat, but I figured it out." He notices you're shivering and gasps, rushing to your side. "Are you cold, sweetheart?"

"I mean, yeah, kind of..." You look up at the cave roof. Water drips through the cracks. "It's pretty chilly down here."

"I apologize. I should've thought of that sooner. Merfolk don't exactly require large amounts of heat, so I forgot. Papa's going to get you out of those wet clothing, is that okay?"

You nod, lifting your arms up and allowing him.

He makes quick work of it, humming under his breath and wrapping a large fur blanket around you securely. "We can wait for your other clothing to dry properly, but until then, this will have to do."

When he cradles you back to his chest, you feel like a newborn - swaddled in his arms and pressed against his bare skin. He carries you somewhere deeper into the cave, into an area that you hadn't noticed before.

In the middle is a crack in the ground under the water, where steam emits, as if its connected to the thermal vents Indigo mentioned. He sits you down gently on a nearby rock and grabs a nearby raw fish, stabbing it with a stick.

He swims back to the bottom, and though you can hardly see anything through the water, you can assume he's cooking it with the vent.

In less than ten minutes he resurfaces with cooked fish. You're impressed.

"It smells great," you comment. "You are aware you could also probably just use the torch, right?"

"Oh, I know," Indigo replies nonchalantly. "It'd just take longer than this method, which can cook meat fairly quickly. Besides, fire is quite dangerous." He sets the fish down on a plate made of something similar to clay and places it in front of you.

He watches you closely, smiling expectantly at you.

"You didn't give me silverware," you mutter.

He chuckles. "You'll eat with your hands now, little one. I heard humans eat with weird metal objects, which seems quite frivolous to me. We are all animals, after all, even if humans aren't connected to nature the same way others are." He reaches forward with his sharp claws and caringly slices your fish into tiny pieces. He moves a chunk closer to your face. "Here, Papa will feed you."

And you let him, opening your mouth and swallowing down the surprisingly delicious fish. Indigo seems pleased. It continues on like that until your tummy feels full. He claps.

"My baby ate all of their dinner. Good job." He kisses your forehead. "Now, I think today has been tiring for you, so let's get ready for bedtime, hm?"

Your eyelids droop slightly as you realize how tired you really are. He smiles softly, understanding as he lifts you up in his arms yet again.

You lay your head against his collarbone, wrapped up in the soft warmth of the fur. He takes you back to the nest, laying you down gently atop the smooth, soft surface, then crawling in himself.

He settles with his tail coiled around both of you and presses your ear against his chest. With the rise and fall of his breath and the steady beat of his heart, you quickly begin to fall asleep.

"G'night, Papa," you whisper. For some reason, calling him that feels right.

Indigo chuckles, voice breaking. "Goodnight, my little one. Papa loves you so very much. He'll never let go of you."

You're too sleepy to even register he's crying while holding you fiercely. You just bury your face deeper into his arms and drift off.

#yandere #parental yandere #platonic yandere #yandere mermaid #yandere x reader #yandere oc #familial yandere #tw infantilization #yandere age regression

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kurikurikur1 · 6 months ago

Text

FILM NAME:—꒰˖⁠♡; ℭ𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔲𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔡!

1nfo;♡⁠˖⁠꒰— priest!nanami x succubus!reader [?] —inspired by @baobei-bu's art of the same concept ♡

RATED-R:—Penetration, cûmplay, mouthfucking, hair pulling, —slight lore and full on smut?-

[ ! not proof read, will edit tomorrow with the mistakes </3 ]

file loading...

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

"Nanamii.."

"Get lost. Go somewhere else."

After a few hours of helping around the village with the other reverend Gojo, and cleaning the church house up a bit more led to Nanami walking across the dirt stoned ground, at midnight, every step echoed thrice. Unfortunately for him, a curse—succubus was around, aka—he found you. Curses like you were a small annoying nuisance, who could be easily exorcised if not for Nanami's tired eyes to not have enough strength to deal with it now, you're just a small curse who'll leave at some point, right? "If you don't wanna exorise her, I will—" "No." Nanami cut Gojo off, "I'll be fine walking home, she'll leave soon enough." Gojo shrugged at his airy response before leaving with a wave of goodbye to his own cottage—"alright, whatever you say Nanami!... Goodnight!" And then the six-eyed man was soon long gone.

You look at him with heart shaped eyes as you giggled, flying slightly up to wrap your arms around his neck before looking at him with awe, Nanami continued walking further, unbothered with your presence—you point a finger at him, causing him to close his eyes in hidden annoyance to avoid how close you are to him. "Na-na-min..!" "Get lost." You simply avoided his requests but lowered down to the floor, following him instead.

He opens the wooden door to his abode, the fireplace crackling softly as he sits down on his soft green couch after locking the door with the metal key, You followed sitting beside him as he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. As he relaxed, you thought this would definitely be the perfect time to tie him up, he seems a bit distressed, doesn't he? Why don't you take off the pent up tension...

"what are you doing?"

You giggle at his question, your sharp tail wrapping around his leg as you purred a hum, gently opening up his legs before getting surprised with his hard-clothed cock. Your fingers lift up, wrapping around the edge of his inner thigh then wrapping around twice against his arm.

"untie me. Now."

You mischievously giggle again, taking his glasses and putting on his head, giving him the view of you leaning down, cheeks flushed, eyes filled with lust, a mouth thats begging to be fucked, your sweaty skin glistening from the fire as a strap and a triangle of a fabric try to cover you up, Nanami's eyes widened, his cock hardening in his pants tighter as the hidden tip spurts out a bead of precum that's getting sucked in by his trouser's clothing.

He said your name calmly, eyes controlled with not even a hint of lust in. Fortunately, the ropes around him were enough for him to break with his strength, but God forgive him because he had the odd urge to not break it, the feeling stirs up even harder as you lean closer to his boner, hands wrapping around the rim of his trousers as you undressed his lower body, pulling out his long, reddened angry tip that was already squirting out precum, Nanami gulped nervously, saying your name in a harsher tone before being cut off with your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, sucking harshly, he threw his head back, muttering out an apology to the lord above him as his eyes furrow in pleasure.

"d- dear lord... Darling stop it-"

Your eyes widened in excitement of how big he is, your small hand running up and down on his shaft, desperately trying to make him cum. "Stop. S- stop it" as your pace grew faster, you wanted to swallow more of him. Your body is lifting up with a "mph!" Around his cock, vibrations sending right through him before swallowing him all, sucking harshly. With that—Nanami's urge bursted, ripping off the pink rope, with a loud, and deep groan, he took a bunch of your hair, pulling your head off his throbbing cock before pulling it right back in to fuck your mouth.

"wanna get used so fuckin' bad hm? Well then I'll fucking use you like you're- hah- supposed to be."

His pace was so fucking harsh, his hips meanly slapping against your face as he thrusted his large cock in your mouth, "mph- Nami-" you mumbled against his dick, looking up at him with cock-drunk eyes as he looked down at you angrily, his pace not stopping before his head throws back and shoves himself all inside your mouth, your tongue swirling around his pale base as squelching of his cum went down your throat, he groaned, forcing your head to stay before pulling back. Taking his cock and smacking it on your wet face, small amounts of his cum shoots out hitting your cheek.

"you wanna' get used hm?" You nod, tears from gagging around his cock water in your eyes, "Y- yes, please Nami- need you s' bad. Wan' you to fuck me.."

He pulled your hair up and on to the couch. "You aren't God's creation, are you, you lustful freak?" He slapped your face with his hand. "S' pretty, who created you, hm?" "Such a shame you're so lust hungry." He widened your legs, ripping the flimsy piece of fabric off. "You've wanted this for so long, s' why don't I give it to ya then? Hm?"

He pulled your hips, rubbing your numb aggressively before suddenly pulling you closer, penetrating you with his thick cock as you in sync moaned out his name. "S' f- tight f'me, darling.." "Gonna ruin this pretty cunt." He started thrusting his cock into you vigorously, with each thrust you mewl loudly, maybe loud enough for his neighbors to hear. "Can't have them hearin' somethin' unholy." He ripped the remaining small fabric on you as he stuffed it in your mouth, thrusting harshly and hard enough for the couch to shake. "F- mph! N-Nami- fuck-"

"You wan' my cum? Don't ya?" "Well I'll give it to you." He gripped your upper ass, holding the flesh tight and on go his cock as he pumped his seed in you, his chest heaving up and down as you let out a high pitched whimper, creaming down on his cock as your eyes shine a bright red heart of the feeling on his cum swirling inside you, so full that a creamy ring splurts out making squelches echo in the room.

"what a good girl you've been.."

He pulls out his softening cock out of you, watching your sticky cunt spew out loads of his cum that can't fit in. You stretched out in thr couch, eyes still fully dilated. He gasps out, what the hell? Did he just break a rule?

"Y'know..mph- u- us curses have immense agility.." with the sound of your voice, his eyes darken again, what the hell was happening to him?

"oh. You're saying you want more, darling?"

"I'll give you more, then."

end of file...

↻ ◁ ▶️ ▷ ↺

Been wanting to write this one, stayed up till 2 to finish to bring you this <3

#((⁠✷ 2am writes.#jjk #jjk men #jujutsu kaisen #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami smut #jjk kento #kento smut #jjk nanami #jjk nanami kento #kento nanami #smut #priest!nanami

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buddie-buddie · 1 year ago

Text

Buck wakes with a strangled gasp, visions of the scenes he’d just seen in his fitful sleep still vivid and chilling as they flash behind his tear-filled eyes.

His breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps as he blinks his way into consciousness and tries to shake off the nightmare that still has its claws sunk deep into his racing heart.

“Shh.” There’s a warm, familiar voice in his ear, thick and heavy with sleep. Everything settles. Buck’s breath comes a little easier, the rapid rise and fall of his chest evening out as he registers the warm, grounding weight of Tommy’s arms around him.

When he was a kid, his nightmares looked a little different. Instead of 100-foot waves and snipers in broad daylight, he used to see monsters and ghosts. When he was older, he had a recurring nightmare of a man who looked a lot like Doug dragging his sister away kicking and screaming. He used to slip out of his bed and shuffle down the carpeted hallway to Maddie’s room, where she’d wake up to the creak of the door and the triangle of light bleeding into the dark room and say, “Evan? What is it?”

He’d sit on the side of her bed and she’d take his hand in hers and ask him what he wanted to dream of instead. He’d say riding our bikes or the ice cream truck or building sand castles at the beach and Maddie would fold his still-shaky fingers down to lock the good dream in and she’d ruffle his hair and send him back to bed feeling lighter and safer and loved.

It’s different now, but somehow still the same.

He still drifts back to sleep feeling calm and safe and grounded. Only instead of Maddie tucking good dreams into the palm of his clammy hand, he has Tommy pressing kisses into his hair and whispering promises against the shell of his ear. It’s different, but it’s good.

It’s so fucking good.

It’s good even now, as Buck’s breath catches on a shaky inhale, a tiny whimper slipping past his lips.

Even if he tried, he couldn’t find the words to explain the sick and twisted things he just saw in his dreams, nor could he get them out past the lump in his throat. But he doesn’t try and Tommy doesn't expect him to, doesn’t ask him to relive the worst moments of his life for the second time in one night. Buck’s already made the introductions between Tommy and the ghosts still so intent on haunting him.

Tommy knows that on the nights they come back around, Buck would rather be held. He would rather be reminded that he’s here and he’s alive and that it all didn’t end on the pier that day, beneath the ladder truck that night. That his heart started to beat again in the eighteenth second of the third minute, that he came back. And that he’s not alone.

Tommy shushes him again, warm and reassuring. “S’okay, baby.”

His arms tighten around Buck’s waist, pulling him back against his chest with a sleepy, contented hum. He mumbles something into the side of Buck’s neck that Buck can’t quite make out, yet understands perfectly when followed by the gentle, almost reverent press of Tommy’s lips to the side of his jaw.

Hot tears prick at the backs of Buck’s eyes, and he’s not sure if they’re a product of the nightmare or the fact that, even in his sleep, Tommy shows up for him.

Tommy always shows up for him. Physically, sure– Buck will never forget the sight of him all but tearing through the hospital doors, sooty and sweaty and smiling, despite the bone-deep ache that comes from sixteen hours on the scene of a fire. But emotionally, too.

He’s levity when Buck needs it and sincerity when he doesn’t. He’s generous with his affection and even more so with his praise. He’s a steady, grounding force, an anchor in the sand when Buck starts to feel unmoored, when the waves get too high and it all gets to be just a bit too much. He’s patient and charming and kind and he’s such a nerd. And he’s aware and attentive in ways that still make Buck’s heart swell and his chest ache.

It’s like he has a sixth sense, how he’s so tuned into Buck, how he always seems to know what it is Buck wants, what it is Buck needs. He knows just what to say, just what to do. Even now, half asleep. Tommy shows up for him. Always. In all ways. And Buck could cry about it.

No, scratch that.

Buck will cry about it. He tries blinking the tears back, but it’s no use. They’re heavy and hot as they roll down his cheeks. Tommy’s voice is still deep and gravelly, thick with sleep as he holds Buck close and murmurs, “I got you.”

He hasn’t said it yet, but Buck knows. He knows. He feels it deep in the marrow of his bones and in the warmest corners of his soul. He hasn’t said it yet, but he will.

Buck can hear it in the silence that settles over them just before they drift off to sleep, tangled up in each other’s arms. He can feel it in the moments between slow, steady heartbeats as they move around Tommy’s tiny kitchen, cooking breakfast and swapping coffee-laced kisses and stories from their shifts. He can see it in the warmth of Tommy’s smile and the fondness in his eyes any time he walks into a room. He can feel it in the reverence with which Tommy touches him, the way he says his name like a prayer and a promise all at once.

Which is why, just as much as he knows that he loves Tommy, Buck knows that when he does say it, Tommy will say it back.

also on ao3

#my writing #bucktommy #this is.... absurdly soft at the end #buckley siblings #evan buckley #tommy kinard #maddie buckley #they can't just put that scene with madney and jee's nightmare in an ep and expect me not to have Buckley Sibling Brainrot (TM) about it #buck x tommy #tevan #kinley #kinkley #firepilot #and whatever else we're calling it these days

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burningcheese-merchant · 3 months ago

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I said sometime ago that Matar Paneer has a bird friend. Behold

To summarize, since I already explained before and don't want to bore anyone: Paneer found him in a tree as a little peachick, tragically orphaned after his family was attacked, killed and eaten in their nest by a predator. Not wanting him to be alone, she brought him back home and fought for him to stay, to which her parents eventually agreed (Paneer does not take "no" for an answer ever). Besides Pepper Jack, he's her best friend in the whole world and they're practically inseparable.

Extra bird factoids:

Obviously, his physical appearance is extremely abnormal. Instead of the typical green, his train/display feathers are a bold and impressive mixture of reds, oranges and yellows; nothing but warm, vibrant colors that almost make him look as though he's catching fire. Furthermore, and perhaps even more strangely, he seems to be made up of triangles: triangular "eye" patterns in his feathers, triangular markings underlining his eyes, triangular crest feathers, even triangular pupils... No one is certain why he looks like this; it's mostly been waved away as a bizarre phenotypic mutation

He is also abnormally intelligent. He appears to understand human/cookie speech and even responds when directly addressed/conversed with (as much as he can, being a peacock). He understands photos, he recognizes himself in mirrors, he's even demonstrated some problem-solving/critical thinking skills a few times. Extremely impressive for an animal (esp for a peacock, which are pretty dumb irl)

He sits at the table with the rest of the family during meals. His first night with them after being taken in, Paneer set him down next to her plate so he could reach the food (he was super smol), which her parents didn't like. They argued about it until Paneer grabbed Paravani + her food and sat down to eat on the floor in protest (Paravani is family, family sits at the table, if he can't sit there then she can't, either), after which they caved (MP is STUBBORN you have to understand) and let him sit. He sat on the table proper while he was a chick and got his own chair when he grew large enough

Paneer considers him her friend and her equal and does not take kindly to him being referred to/treated as a pet

He mimics Paneer's actions often. Like, if she tilts her head to one side, he'll do the exact same thing. It's cute

Paravani is very curious and adventurous in nature, and normally quite friendly/approachable unless you give him a reason not to be. Even then, he's slow to anger and usually becomes skittish instead; to truly anger him, you have to hurt Paneer, whom he is very protective of

As a chick, he would hide in Paneer's hair when he was scared

He does get along well with the rest of the family - but while he got on with Pepper Jack and Golden Cheese right away (bird people + he could sense their kind natures immediately), he was terrified of Burning Spice for quite some time (it's mostly because of how he looks. He looks like a predator to him). It took a while of Spice deliberately appearing docile/nonthreatening and the others insisting that Spice is nice for Paravani to overcome his reservations. Nowadays he's as fond of Spice as he is everyone else

As I mentioned here, Matar Paneer takes after Kartikeya, Hindu god of war and victory and Shiva's second son. Kartikeya is known for having a peacock as a mount, named Paravani. Keeping in line with this, not only did I give Paneer a peacock as a companion, but one day, her Paravani will grow big enough for her to sit and ride around on, just like Kartikeya's. No one knows why this happens, either. It freaks a lot of people out. Once again his unique features are written off as "mutations + lol Beast-Yeast creature")

Matar Paneer always blames herself for his family's deaths. She thinks that, if she'd found them in time, she could've fended off the predator and saved them, and Paravani wouldn't have been orphaned. Giving him a home and good company was the absolute least she could've done for him...

#Shadow Milk is dying to study Paravani and all of his wonderfully bizarre attributes...#...but so far he's only been allowed to look at him + keep a couple of his train feathers #SM is very self-absorbed and inconsiderate towards Paravani and there are fears he will harm him in the name of “understanding” him #BS threatened to kill him + PV if he touches that bird so now he sticks to observing him with his eyeballs #also. meta note. I kept his name as Paravani bc I couldn't think of a more “Cookie Run” sounding equivalent lol #and I ended up liking “Paravani”. it's a pretty name. so that's the name he'll always have. consider it an easter egg haha #cookie run kingdom #burningcheese #goldenspice #matar paneer cookie #can you tell i had fun with the colors? haha #my amateurish skills are really apparent here... moreso than ever before i think #I'm no good at animals. or shadows/lighting. or much of anything #sorry i suck guys I'll get better eventually #paravani

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thelostprincessposts · 6 days ago

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Heat Waves [Painted Verso x Reader NSFW]

Pairing: Painted Verso x Reader

Summary: a trip to the hot springs gets heated with Verso.

Rated: R

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal intercourse. Minors DNI. This is smut with very little plot.

Author's note: received a request for sexy times with Verso involving *the* swimsuits. Thank you so much for the request! Requests are still open and I have a few to get to yet 😉

This was the dumbest thing you could have agreed to. You stood in the washroom compartment in a train car eyeing yourself in the mirror. The swimsuit left little to the imagination. In fact, when the Grandis designer initially handed it to you you thought it was not yet finished. Now the flimsy triangles barely held your breasts up, let alone covered all your bits.

The team was making camp at Monoco's Station after exploring nearby. It made more sense to make use of the train cars than to make camp in the snow. Monoco started reminiscing on how he and Verso used to take advantage of a nearby natural hot spring to soothe their bodies after sparring, to which Sciel demanded they take you all to. That's how you ended up here, desperately attempting to stretch the fabric over your body.

You couldn't deny that the thought of some relief from the hot springs sounded nice, but you were exceedingly nervous about the swimsuit situation. You and Verso had stolen shared conpliments and heated glances over the campfire, but going from flirtatious eyes to practically undressing yourself was quite the leap.

You sighed before shrugging your jacket on over the swimsuit. You weren't trekking in the snow in this get-up.

"Everything alright?" Lune asked as you met the team outside.

You plastered a smile on to garner some confidence before replying. "I'm great. Let's go!"

The walk to the springs was only a few minutes. The pool was hidden in a cavern - the tunnel already felt steamy and warmed your extremities.

There were lanterns lit around and above the pool, courtesy of Lune's fire magic. Moonlight streamed in from a berth in the ceiling above making it cozy.

The team started to shed their coats and boots, but you hesitated at seeing their swimsuits actually fit them well. Especially Verso...you couldn't stop yourself from staring at his unclothed chest as he waded into the water.

"Oh, this is heavenly!" Lune exclaimed as she entered the pool. You stood there contemplating if you were actually going to take off your jacket until Sciel interrupted your thoughts.

"Come on, Y/N. What's going on?" She called from where she sat on the edge of the pool letting her legs dangle in the water. Verso eyed you carefully before you sighed.

"Okay, admittedly, I think the Grandis messed up my swimsuit a little bit. Don't get me wrong - I'm thankful for the gift, but it doesn't fit me very well. Maybe I'll just head back for the evening."

"Come on, it can't be that bad. You're amongst friends. Get in here!" Sciel encouraged. Your eyes met Verso's and for a half second there was another shared look of laughter dancing in his eyes. It felt like you were full of inside jokes. He raised his eyebrow slightly in challenge to see what you'd do.

"Fine," you managed to get out as you slipped your boots off and undid the clasps on the jacket. You turned away before letting the jacket fall to your feet, and Sciel immediately howled.

"Holy ass!" She laughed. You turned around to show off the rest of the suit, causing immediate belly laughing from Sciel. Her laughing was contagious - you couldn't help but also giggle at how ridiculous you looked until you were both in a laughing fit.

"Y/N, I think the problem is not that the suit doesn't fit you, but that it fits you too well," Lune managed between her own laughter.

As your laughter eased up, you noticed that Verso was hardly laughing. His cheeks were heated as his eyes locked onto yours. He, in fact, made a show of letting his eyes roam over your body while the rest of the team was still distracted.

You fought the urge to wrap your arms around yourself and instead made for the pool's entrance to join the others. "At least it doesn't really matter once you're in here. The steam makes it hard to see anything under the water," Maelle offered. Always the one to make the team feel better in a silly situation.

"True, thank you," you replied softly and gave her a small smile. The pool was a little deeper than your waist, so you dipped into the water to submerge yourself.

Lune and Sciel were laughing reminiscing about a past trip to the beach with some of their work crew. Verso gave you a half smile and a discreet nod to the place next to him. You made your way over to the rock ledge and settled in next to him, sighing at how easily your body relaxed in the water.

"Nice, huh?" He chuckled.

"I didn't realize how tense my muscles were until this very moment. This is incredible," you replied closing your eyes to enjoy the moment.

"You should have told me. I could have massaged your shoulders for you," Verso said lowly into your ear.

Your heart raced at how close he was and at his proposition. Your knew your face was betraying you with a heavy blush.

"I'll keep that in mind," you smiled back at him. You felt his hand brush your leg underwater in a light caress. Whether it was intentional or not, it sent a jolt of energy through your core.

The team chatted in the water a while longer replacing your nightly chat over the fire. All the while, Verso's hand never left your thigh. His fingers drifted about making patterns you couldn't follow. It wasn't long before Maelle was yawning and Monoco accompanied her back to camp. Lune wasn't far behind, stating that she needed to update the expedition journal. "I think that's my cue to leave. Behave yourselves," Sciel teased, giving you and Verso a pointed look and laughing.

The second she left the cave you covered your face with both hands and couldn't help letting out a laugh. "Did you conspire with them to get me alone?"

You felt Verso pulling your hands away and saw he was grinning as well. "No, and thank goodness I didn't. Watching you blush from embarrassment is enough of a reward."

"Well, you got plenty of that today." He moved in front of you and his hands reached for your waist. He still kept a respectable distance, his arms out-stretched to reach you.

"I think I need to impose a new rule that you're only allowed to wear that swimsuit. No more expedition uniform," he grinned devilishly.

"Absolutely not. I'm burning this when we're done here."

"I can work with that. We'll skinny dip everywhere," he suggested as his fingers once again found themselves tickling your skin. This must have been what it felt like to be the keys he pressed upon when he played the piano.

"A compromise then - if I have to wear my suit everywhere, then so do you," you replied. You took the opportunity to reach your arms up around his neck. It felt right; it felt natural to be in his atmosphere.

"Ah, so you were checking me out, then," he mused with another suggestive smile. You felt your cheeks redden again, as if you hadn't blushed enough today. Your arms around his neck brought you closer to him. Verso's eyes were searching yours feverishly through this whole exchange.

"Admittedly, I can't complain about the lack of clothing," you confessed. Both of you spoke softer the closer you got. Verso opened his mouth to say something, but then quickly closed it.

There was a moment of comfortable silence in which you let your hands tangle in the bottom of his hair. Something shifted when you noticed Verso look away and his hands stalled their movement on your hips.

The way his eyes met yours when he looked back at you was enough to make your heart beat uncontrollably. He was searching for something again when he spoke. "Tell me I'm not imagining this...thing between us. I feel crazy each night, the way I want to have you next to me, but I don't want to act on this if you aren't feeling this too."

His words were careful, like he thought you might disappear. His grip on your hips felt tentative as he second guessed himself. Now you definitely thought your heart really was going to beat out of your chest.

"Verso, I want it. You're not imagining it. I wouldn't put myself in this position with anyone I considered just a friend," you said with a half smile. Your fingers wove their way into his hair and he let out a breath you didn't know he was holding.

"I've been imagining what I'd do if I ever got you alone and now that we're here it's like I've forgotten everything I've ever known," he said sheepishly. Your eyes began to search his the way he was searching you earlier. You inched your way closer to him as your arms pulled his neck towards you.

Your noses were nearly touching and your nervous breaths mixed with his equally heavy breathing. "Maybe we start with a kiss. It's always the first thing I think of doing when I think of you," you suggested. His nervous breaths were interrupted by the most genuine smile you'd received from him before he nodded and brought his right hand up to cup your face. His left hand remained by your hip gripping it gently while he brought his lips to yours.

It was slow and thoughtful, the way his lips moved against yours. You felt so afraid to breathe at first. The kiss was so perfect that it felt like you were frozen in time. If not for the sound of your heart pounding in your ear, you'd have sworn you ceased to exist.

You felt him smile against your lips and your eyes opened to see him starting to laugh. Your heart sunk in horror. "What?? Is something wrong?"

"No, mon couer. We're so stupid," he laughed again, placing his thumb under your chin. "We could have been kissing this whole time. Instead the most action I've gotten has been from Monoco snuggling me in my sleep."

You laughed along with him, taking in the way his eyes creased and the light shifted in his eyes. He kissed you again - this time with a bit more passion.

"Are you still feeling tense?" Verso asked when the kiss broke. You needed more of him; the thought of his hands on you was a blessing.

You shot him a smirk before stating, "I do believe you offered to rub my shoulders. Does the offer still stand?"

"It does," he confirmed before placing a kiss upon your forehead. "Turn around. I'll have you kneel on that rock ledge."

You did as he commanded, but you suddenly felt ridiculous in your swimsuit again. You snorted before reaching for the tie around your neck. "Alright, this thing has to come off. This string is killing my neck trying to hold these up."

Your fingers were having a hard time with the knot before you felt Verso's hands cover yours. He whispered into your ear from behind, "allow me."

You let your hands drop so he could undo the tie. Relief came swiftly once the top was released and thrown to the side of the pool. Verso's lips met your shoulder and then your neck, his hands resting on the sides of your arms. It was difficult not to feel his hardness pressing into your backside, which sent a whole new wave of redness to your face. Thank god this time you were turned around.

His hands moved to your shoulders and back, rubbing out any tension. Some un-lady-like words left your mouth making Vero chuckle behind you. Even just feeling his hands roaming your back was enough to spark goosebumps all over your body.

"Do I get to explore your back too?" You teased as his massage became more gentle and caressing.

"Anything you wish, my love," he rasped. You turned around on the ledge. With him standing in front of you and you seated on the ledge, your legs opened to cage his frame. With your top half exposed, your breasts sat just out of the water. He brought his forehead to rest against yours and your hand made its way to his cheek.

"What do you want? What have you imagined of us?" You asked. The question was purposely dangerous. Kissing him made you feel drunk and there was no sobering this moment now.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Verso whispered. Your eyes met his. The gaze he offered was so delicate, you thought he might break at any second.

Your thumb grazed his cheek and over his lips. "Tell me. Better yet - show me."

Verso's breath hitched at your command. His eyes darkened as he stared into yours. "One word and we stop. Got it?"

"Do your worst, Dessendre." His lips were upon yours again, hungry and needy. Your legs wrapped firmly around his waist, your core flush against his hard sex. Lips battled for dominance as his right hand groped your breast unapologetically and his left supported his weight against the rock wall behind you.

"So beautiful," he murmured against your lips before disconnecting and moving to suck on your nipples. His hand found purchase on your ass. You took the opportunity to loosen your legs from his waist and slide your hand down to stroke him over his shorts, eliciting a strained groan from his lips.

Your hand moved against his length until you could feel his hips grinding against yours. Verso wasted no time removing his hand from squeezing your bottom and brought it down the front of your suit, plunging two fingers inside of you.

His fingers danced inside, hitting glorious nerves and filling you with ecstasy. His mouth and tongue found yours again, swallowing any sounds you made. As your kissing became heated, your hand trailed over the hair snaking over his abdomen and into his shorts. Your hand closed over his bare member and he pumped himself slowly within your fist.

His fingers continued their movements and whimpers spilled from your mouth. "I wish I could listen to those sounds all day," Verso prayed against your mouth. When he started pressing his thumb against your clit you reached down to pull his hand away.

Confusion etched his features until you said, "Fuck me, Verso."

You removed the hand from his shorts as you moved to discard your own bottoms. He did the same, throwing your suits to the pool side again. "You're sure?" He asked as his hand cupped your face. Your eyes met his in reassurance.

"I need a...deep massage to release all this tension that's been building up. Fuck. Me."

"You're going to be the death of me, aren't you?" You shared a grin before he reached to pick you up from your thighs. He lifted you until he was positioned at your entrance, both of your bodies still mostly in the water. You nodded as he pushed himself in and you wrapped your legs around his middle.

The way he was squatting down to stay in the water and the way your bodies floated made the movements leisurely. "Verso, you feel so good inside me," you murmured against his lips. He let out a deep moan - a sound you wanted to record and remember the rest of your days.

You could feel him moving you towards the edge of the pool. He placed your lower back against the edge and braced an arm on the ledge for some leverage as he continued to pump into you. "Deep enough?" He asked cheekily.

You could only moan in response; your mind felt like jelly the way he filled you up. His thrusts got faster, which caused water to splash onto the ledge and outside the pool. You began to laugh as the water spilled over your breasts. The hot springs had become a wave pool and your waves were beginning to put out some of the candles on the side of the pool.

Verso started to laugh too, both of you becoming hysterical and he stopped his movements. As you tried to catch your breath you said, "I bet this isn't what you imagined it would be like."

He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "It's better. It's fun with you."

He reluctantly pulled out of you and gave you a kiss. You pushed yourself off the ledge and back into the water, instead turning around and bracing yourself on the ledge.

Verso came up behind you and cupped your breasts. He gently played with them while giving your neck some attention before positioning himself to take you from behind. The water splashed a lot less from this angle.

Verso's hands gripped your hips as he thrust in and out of you. You could feel your walls tightening; he was too good at hitting your sweet spot at this angle. The unholy sounds pouring from his lips weren't hurting either.

"Just like that, baby. I'm not going to last," you panted.

"Cum with me," Verso instructed against your ear. He held his body against yours, clutching your breasts, as he pounded his last thrusts into you. That was enough to send you over the edge - your walls tensing around him as he unraveled.

For a moment the only sounds were the panting from both of you and the water lapping against the sides of the pool. Verso's grip on your breasts loosened as he pulled out of you. Your body pressed off the pool edge to turn and face him.

Verso stole another kiss from you while wrapping his arms around your middle. "You alright? Was that okay for you?" He asked.

"It was perfect, but...I am pruning up," you cracked up after running your fingertips against his jawline. "I think it's probably time to head back." He placed a kiss on your forehead before releasing you.

"Alright, fine..." Verso followed you out of the pool and collected your suits to wring out. Your gaze couldn't help but roam over his naked body now that you had full view out of the water. "You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N," he smirked over his shoulder.

"Can't help it. I say we burn the swimsuits." He handed you your suit and slipped his on, along with the rest of your gear.

"Absolutely not. I'm not sharing you with anyone else," he said before stealing one last kiss and swooping you into his arms to carry back to camp.

#clair obscur #expedition 33 #clair obscur: expedition 33 #verso dessendre #verso fanfic #verso imagine #verso x reader #clair obscur fanfic

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isabeauwolf · 4 months ago

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Trafalgar Law x Pregnant reader

💛 Chapter 1 💛 Chapter 3

Chapter 2 - Somebody call a doctor?

"Could you be my doctor?" Jess snickers over the phone. She called you as soon as she got home. "Really Y/n?" She cackled even harder. "Girl, you want Dr Grumpy to be more than your personal doctor." Pausing for dramatic effect and adding, "You want his daily dose of vitamin D sooo bad."

You knew she had that smug assed grin on her face as you rubbed your forehead. You knew she was right which made you even more flustered and embarrassed. "I know, I know, Jess." You groaned, "I wasn't thinking and it slipped out."

"You are way too cute for your own good." She commented. "You do know that right?"

"So I've been told." You muttered, laying down on your bed and hugging your snow leopard Build-a-Bear. It was an impulse buy you bought yourself for Christmas. It reminded you of Law every time you saw it and held it, wishing it was him.

"Do you need me to go with you to get your first ultrasound?" Jess asked, pulling out her pajamas from her closet

"Nah, be fine." You replied. "Plus Law will be with me."

"Let me know," Jess pressed. "Max considers you family." Max was Jess' big brother and owner of the coffee shop. The pair of siblings thought of you as their own baby sister, even if Jess was a year younger than you.

"Yeah, I know." You smile, "Thanks." You roll onto your side, facing the door.

You hear the tiny pitter patter of tiny feet running through the house and jingle coming towards you as Onigiri comes rushing into your room like a tiny rocket.

You laugh. "Somebody's missed me." You pat the spot beside your bed. "Hey baby, c'mere."

Onigiri. The tiny puppy with pure white fur and a huge black shaped triangle on his head, reminding you of rice balls.

And somehow of Law.

He runs around in a circle and jumps into your bed, barking and nuzzles into your side. Panting as his tail wags.

"I missed you too, my little cutie." You coo gently, petting him as he crawls underneath your blanket and cuddles against your belly.

Well, guess that explains why Onigiri seems glued to your side lately. Animals have a sixth sense of these things or so you've heard.

"Awe, lemme see, lemme see." Jess gushes into your ear, using her baby voice.

"Hold on, hold on." You turn on the camera to face yourself and angle your phone down so Jess can see the picture perfect sight. "There. Can you see him?"

Jess squealed, taking screenshots. "Looks like Dr Love's got some real competition for your love Y/n." She teases, grinning wide. "Onigiri and your mini me. Talk about a handful." Tilting her head, "Hope Doc isn't the jealous type."

"Why do you like to tease the poor man so much?" You ask, laying back down and petting Onigiri. "Are you sure you don't have a bully crush on Law?" You knew she didn't but you had to tease her back, biting your lip to stay composed.

It didn't work, you snorted as Jess grew defensive. Gawking at you and grimacing as if you just drop kicked her grandmother.

"What?! Hell no. Mister tall dark and emo drug lord ain't my type." Jess makes fake gagging noises, which causes you to giggle louder. "Besides, I like'em big and dumb."

"Bepo isn't Law's second in command for nothing you know." You pointed out, laying your head underneath the crook of your arm.

"Oh, you know what I mean " Jess waves you off. "He's so sweet, adorable and knows material arts, loyal, really, really tall." She sighs dreamily, falling into her bed. "Blonde hair, blue eyes... so shy."

"God help that poor, poor man." You give her a dramatic sigh and make the sign of the cross over your heart, "Corrupting poor Bepo's innocence and cuteness with your overly horny witch craft and voodoo magic. Jess for shame."

"Oh hell yes, I would!" Jess fires back. "Don't you judge me after pinning for drop dead gorgeous Dr Heart Stealer Y/n." She points her finger at you, setting her phone into her bed and pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her cute purple lacy bra. "I would bet two hundred beri's.. no five hundred that you've had as many sinful, dirty thoughts and wet dreams for Law as I've had for my bear man."

You grew heated. "Fair enough." You couldn't deny it.

"I'll take your silence as a yes." Jess countered in a single song voice, slipping into an adult panda man onesie and fell back into her pile of panda and polar bear stuffed animals. "I'm home my babies." She scoops an armful and cuddles them, smiling wide.

You were honestly thinking you both had a taste in odd men.

Then again, being stuck in the winter island all your lives does make the world feel smaller.

"Alright, I'm going to bed." You yawn, rubbing your eyes and turn your lamp off on your nightstand.

"Night night, love ya." Jess blows you a kiss. "Give me the details tomorrow sexy mama."

You laugh, smiling. "Night, Jess."

You both hung up.

You peaked underneath you blanket to find Onigiri fast asleep, "Night, Onigiri." You whisper softly and layed back down, hugging your snow leopard closer to your chest as you unlocked your phone, thumb hovering over Law's name.

You knew you'd see him tomorrow, and yet, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Seriously, why did you ask your crush to become your doctor? Were you that desperate? At least, he didn't flat out call you an idiot to your face when you gave him a heart attack this evening.

Law's question rang through your mind.

Are you going to put the baby up for adoption?

Sure, it would be the responsible and logical thing to do. You didn't make enough to have a baby right now. You were barely scrapping by as it is. You did have some saving saved up for a rainy day. You had heard of couples try to conceive for years and were unable to, waiting for a miracle that never came. It would feel nice to help someone like that, but the real question was: Could you?

You were honestly surprised Law would agree to seeing you so easily. Surely, he was busy and had enough on his plate as it is.

You felt your lips curl upward.

Maybe the stoic, ice cold and straight laced doctor had a kind heart?

Taking a deep breath you decided to message Law first, nicknaming him "Snow Leopard" in your phone.

You: Good evening Law, thank you for talking with me tonight. I appreciate it. I'm going to bed now. I'll see you in the morning. Good night. :)

Three dots appeared when he messaged you back.

Snow Leopard: It was no problem at all, Y/n-ya. I was the one who offered in the first place. I am glad that you felt you could confide in me.

Good night and sleep well.

Your smile brightened as you set your phone down on the nightstand. "Good night, Law." You closed your eyes as your heart fluttered in your chest and went to sleep.

On the other side, Law sat down in his reading chair after taking off his reading glasses and the book he was reading, sitting in his lap. His phone in hand as he sighed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his palm.

He frowned look down at the message you sent. The pregnancy test you showed him was positive, but you still needed to be seen for a medical checking up and ultrasound. If you wanted him to be your primarily care doctor, he'd do it. He'd support you, offer medical advice, anything within his power and knowledge to help you.

Law set his glasses on the coffee table, put a bookmark in the book as he was reviewing and revising any material he had on pregnancy, labor and child birth on his selves.

He'd seem you around kids. You were always so kind, offering other pregnant woman a helping hand to the door or to watch their little ones while their mothers had to use the restroom or take a call.

He knew you would make a great mother someday.

He didn't expect for it to happen so soon and with someone else, even a one night stand. The tiny, microscopic percentage that you would get pregnant while using both forms of birth control wasn't unheard of, but the odds were their.

He wasn't aware that you were looking for a casual partner or hookup. He might have offered, if he'd known. Then again, he didn't ask and you hadn't brought it up.

Out of all the men on who came passing through this winter island, it had to be Ace. Luffy's big brother.

Law had Ace's number, knew it wasn't his place to inform the man that you were pregnant, it would be immoral and against doctor and patient confidentiality.

A tiny part of him hoped you didn't have any lingering feeling for the man.

The more he thought about it, the more his feelings he'd bottled up were festering. Jealousy, heartache and longing, to name a few.

Law never wanted you to think he was using his medical practice to coax you into anything you didn't want to do. Or for selfish reasons.

Setting the medical book down on top of the books he had littered and spread outs onto the coffee table. He glanced at it and decided to leave them and would pick everything up in the morning. He stretched and stood to his feet, turned the light off and figured he needed to shower and go to bed.

Law layed in bed, in the dark and stared at the ceiling. His hands tightened around the blanket, then relaxed. It felt dumb to be nervous about tomorrow, he's seen hundreds of patients, so why should tomorrow be any different? Scratch that. He knew why. It was you coming into his office, his new patient.

He scowled at the darkness, rolling onto his side, layed his arm underneath his pillow and slowly took in a deep breath and huffed it through his nose. Reaching for his phone, turning his head as to not blind himself when the screen lit up, glancing down at his lock screen of him and his adoptive father, Rosinante when Law graduated from medical school. Law felt himself smile as he unlocked it with the swipe of his thumb, oops, he forgot to close the text message with you.

He felt his cheeks burn in embarrassed as he backed out and returned to the home screen showing a picture of him, Bepo, Shachi, Penguin and Ikkaku during his uncle Doflamingo's annual Christmas party that Rosinante had taken last year.

Now, that he thought about it. It wasn't long after that he'd met you that night.

He had to rush back to the hospital for an emergency surgery on a patient, after working hours until the patient was stable Law had decided to grab a cup of coffee on the way home. He'd been exhausted, irritable after no sleep, he wasn't looking his best, if he was being honest.

Law had decided to walk down to the local coffee shop since the line in front of the hospital Moonbucks was jam packed and he didn't want to wait. So he went down the street, it was busy but quiet which surprised him. He noticed Bepo, Shachi and Penguin were waiting in line as well, then he remembered they'd mentioned the coffee shop had better service and a more cozy atmosphere. Something about the waitresses were cute and the owner was friendly.

Law didn't really care as long as the coffee wasn't too overpriced or tasted decent, or worse, tasted like watered down bean water. He didn't realize he'd been scowling until a feminine voice called his attention, making him return to reality.

"Long night, I take it?" You smile at him, tablet in hand, waiting patiently. Your hair was in a braid with tiny golden Christmas bells woven into it and you wore a black, blue and white sweater with polar bears wearing scarfs on them. "What can I get you?" You repeat gently.

Law's eyes widened, feeling his heart skip a beat and thud hard into his chest. Inwardly shaking himself and cleared his throat. "Medium dark roast, double shot espresso and cream, please." He felt his skin warm as he pulled out his wallet.

You type out his order, repeat it as he inserts his card. "Will that be all for today, doctor?"

Law's silver gaze met your own. "How did you know?"

Your smile widened, eyes lowering as you giggled. "You're still in uniform doctor."

What? No, he wasn't... Oh. Law glanced down at himself, he was so tired, he forgot to take off his surgical scrubs. Well, that's embarrassing. Thank God, he wasn't covered in blood. The surgeon felt his face grow redder as he covered his eyes with his spotted hat. "Oh, you're right." He muttered to himself, meeting your beautiful gems after typing in his pin and you handed him his receipt. "Thank you miss."

"Y/n." You correct, offering your hand. "Doctor?"

Law readjusted his hat, took your smaller hand in his own and shook it. "Trafalgar Law."

"That's a unique name Trafalgar." You tasted his name on your tongue, made him shudder. "I've never seen you around before. Are you new around here?"

"Law." He correct softly. "Trafalgar is my Last name." He didn't know why he felt the need to correct you, a stranger. He usually didn't care if anyone called him by his first or last name before.

You blushed as you lowered your hand. "Oh, I'm sorry." You cover your burning cheek, giving him a cute sheepish and apologetic smile. "I beg your pardon Law."

It felt right, hearing you call his name. He liked it.

"None taken, Y/n-ya." Law left his lips curl into a slight smirk causing your blush to deepen.

"Y/n-ya?" Your brows furrowed as you stared at him in curiosity. "Is that a strange habit of yours Law?" You lower your hand from your face and half turn, writing his name in a clear medium sized plastic cup. "Or is it how you usually greet people Law-ya?" You tease, eyes sparkling with a teasing lit.

Oh, you were spunky too?

Law's gaze flickered to your hand writing it was neat and cursive, pretty even. His smirk grew into something smug and playful, "Something like that." He commented returning his card into his wallet and back into the pocket of his coat.

"Thank you, Law. Your order will be right up." You fully turn, walking to the coffee machine to make his order.

His gaze lowered to your backside in those tight, stretchy black leggings and black boots. He felt himself swallowing, mesmerized by the sway of your hips before he shook himself, raising a hand to scrub his jaw as he glanced away.

Well, he was awake, flustered and horny now. Great, just what he needed.

Law shuffles awkwardly towards the pick up counter, waiting and pulling out his phone to distract himself when he feels someone sling an arm over his shoulder.

"Rough morning, Captain?" Shachi asked smiling.

"Rough night." Law grunts. "Some dumbass decided to fist fight Akainu and play with fire last night while drunk."

"Wow, seriously? On Christmas?" Bepo asks, appearing on the other side of Law.

"Who's that crazy enough to face that tight assed marine?" Penguins asks.

Law sighed, shaking Shachi off and pinched the bridge of his nose with his middle and index finger. "Monkey D Luffy, Garps grandson."

Bepo, Shachi and Penguin all parroted in shock, eyes wide. "Monkey D Garp has a grandson?!"

"Yes, apparently he's got three troublesome grandsons and Luffy, or StrawHat is one of them." Law admitted. "I talked with him and StrawHats mother last night in the waiting room. A reckless, stubborn kid was pissed off about Akainu insulting his older brothers."

"Law?" You called.

Law opened his eyes, lowered his hand and met your smiling face.

"Your order is ready." You lower his coffee onto the counter and scoot it towards him. "Careful, it's hot." You warned gently.

"Well, hello again gorgeous." Penguin purred.

"Captain, I didn't know you were hitting on this cutie." Shachi asked, wiggling his brows, covering his mouth to whisper into Law's pierced ear. "Go, cap. Did you get her number?"

"No, I'm not." Law bit out, gritting his teeth. "And get off." He shrugged him off, stepping forward to pick up his drink. His face softened as he sighed, already feeling mentally drained. "Thank you, Y/n-ya."

"Your welcome, Law." You replied, smile widening as you waved goodbye. "Have a good day and hope to see you again soon."

Law'a lips curled as he plugged his phone onto the charger and layed it down beside him. It figures that it quickly became a habit for him to have coffee at Max's shop from then onward. He had to see you again, even if, he wouldn't admit it at the time. Whenever Law was stressed or down, he thought of you and your smiling face.

Closing his eyes as he whispered gently, "Night, Y/n."

---------

You arrived way too early. At seven in the morning. Folder in hand with all of your important paperwork and your purse as you walked into the hospital and towards the receptionist who greeted you with a practiced perfect smile.

"How many I help you?"

"Did Doctor Trafalgar Law schedule me an appointment for an ultrasound and blood work?" You asked, feelings your cheeks heat up. It would be super embarrassing, if he had forgotten.

She raised a brow. "I'll check." Her eyes returning to her computer, hands hovering over the keyboard. "Name?"

You give her your first and last name.

"Yes, Doctor Law has you scheduled in." She picked up a clip board and handed it to you. "Fill these out please and he'll call you shortly." Her gaze scanning you up and down.

Why do you feel as if she's low key judging you?

"Thank you." You smiled back, picked a seat and sat down. Opening your folder and wallet, writing down your information. You were on the last page when some walked through the door and called your name.

"Y/n L/n?"

You raised you head, smiling widening as you gathered your things and stood.

It was Bepo. The giant man was dress in bright orange scrubs.

"Bepo!" You walked towards him. You ignored the receptionist stare on your back. "It's great to see you."

Bepo leaned down and hugged you, gently. "Garchu, Y/n!" The giant blonde man nuzzled the top of your head in affection. "Law told me you would be here this morning, but he didn't say what for." He pulled away, frowning in worry. "Are you alright?"

You forgot that Bepo was a huger. "Garchu Bepo." You laughed, hugging him back. "I'm fine. Just need to run a few tests." Well, you weren't wrong.

"Don't be nervous." Bepo holds the door open for you and let you in first before leading the way with his own clip board in hand. "First we will do a standard physical and then Law will be with you shortly." Glancing down at the clipboard in your hand he smiled, "I'll take that for you when you are finished."

True to his word, Bepo took your height and weight, standard physical. Gave you a plastic cup with your name on it and asked you to use the bathroom across the hallway to pee in a cup.

It always felt awkward peeing in one of those tiny plastic cups. You were lightly haunted the one time you had to use one during a standard drug test and your were on your period. That was embarrassing as you had handed it to the guy with a huge blush on your face.

Shaking your head you took the cup, did your business, washed your hands and very carefully watched back to the nurses station to hand her the full cup.

She thanked you and took the sample with a gloved hand and put it in a ziplock bag.

You made a beeline towards the room you were in to finished your paperwork. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it!

You placed the clipboard onto the desk when you heard someone knock.

"Y/n-ya?" Law's voiced called behind the door. "May I come in?"

"Yes, Law you may." You giggle. You really couldn't help it. You walked back towards your seat.

Law opened the door and walked in, a brow raised. "Someone slept well, if you are this spunky in the morning."

You try to ignore how incredible-y hot Law looks in his glasses, lab coat and the stethoscope around his neck. Not to mention, the black button down he's wearing with a few of the buttons unbuttoned and his sleeves roll half up his arms. Jesus, did he not care about the hospital dress code?

You swallow, stealing a glance at his tattoos, not to mention the hint of muscle peaking though. Oh, how you wanted to trace the hidden pattern of ink with your fingers or tongue. Inwardly telling yourself to shut up you answered, "Something like that."

Closing the door behind him, Law went towards the sink to wash his hands, dry them and slip on a pair of latex gloves. "Other than yesterdays vomiting. Are you showing any other symptoms of pregnancy? Anything you can think of or might have missed?"

You hum, counting off your fingers. "My period being two weeks late, having to go to the bathroom more often, I have this weird craving for bbq and having cramps, but no period.... that's about it."

"Everything seems normal." He concluded, picking up your paperwork and skimming through it. "Do you remember what set off your nausea?"

"Yeah, pickles from Max's sandwich which sucks." You pout. "I love pickles."

Law glanced up and opened his mouth to say something when there was another knock on the door.

"Come in." Law answered without peaking over his shoulder.

"I'm coming to collect Y/n's paperwork and to give her this gown to change into." Bepo replied sheepishly, "Sorry." The poor man got easily discouraged and depressed.

"It's fine, Bepo." Law waved him off, handing him the clipboard, taking the blue dressing gown from Bepo and handing it off to you before he stood. "I'll let you change while I wait outside."

"Thank you again, Law." You smile causing the doctor to pause.

"Your welcome, Y/n-ya." Law gave a hint of smile then closed the door behind him.

You released the breath that you didn't know you were holding. Just think of this as a regular doctors visit, Y/n. Don't make it weird. Law's not here to be ogled and drooled after. You mentally scolded yourself, feeling yourself growing flustered. He's doing his job. Get those fantasies out of your head!

Ugh, why did Jess slip that stupid doctor romance novel into your email this morning?! You know she did it on purpose.

Didn't help that it had you hooked when you found out of the male lead was a grumpy doctor. Who had you immediately think of Dr Heart Stealer himself.

Folding your clothes into the chair beside you on top of your folder and purse. You felt yourself shiver from the cold air in the room when you were completely naked, except for your fuzzy socks. You knew it would look stupid, but you knew the floor would be cold if you took them off. So you slipped on the hospital gown. Uh oh. How were you going to tie the back, if you can't see what your doing?

Okay, think about it as a bigger apron. That's all it is, yup... nope. Dammit.

You jumped as your heard another knock on the door. "Yes?" You sat down in your seat, on the white crinkly thin assed sheet of paper they always put on these seats. You knew it was for sanitary reasons, but you always hoped you never tore it.

"Y/n-ya? Are you decent?" Law asked.

"I.. uh.. I might need some help." You admitted, mentally groaning. "Can you help me, please?"

Law opened the door. "What's the matter?"

You pout and half turn while completely covering your ass, yet you felt the cold air hit your back. "I can't seem to tie it."

"Is that all?" He chuckled, step forward and slipping on new medical gloves. "I can always ask a female nurse to-"

You cut him off. "It's really no bother, Law."

"Alright." Law nods, slowly approaching as you fully turned and moved your hair out of the way. The man towers over you, reaches out, his inked hand hesitates before he helps you tying the hospital gown closed. His skilled fingers move with practiced easy. Gaze flickering down to your skin, noticing the map of goosebumps, It's from the cold in the room, he tells himself, even if, he secretly wished it was from him having such an affect on you.

With your back completely bare before him and being unable to see his transfixed and greedy stare as his cheeks warm and his heartbeats and thunders hard in his ears. He'd love nothing more than to trail feathery light kisses or his inked digits along the nape of your neck, press you closer into his chest and cause a new litter of goosebumps to pebble and rise.

God, Law doesn't know what he wants to do more. Hold you, tease you, kiss you or all three? Was this a bad idea or mistake having you as his new patient? A cute distraction that he didn't need. A temptation to test his patience as he forced himself to not act on impulse or his intrusive thoughts? Swallowing thickly, he lowered his hands. "There." He backed away to give you space as to not intimidate you. Law hoped you didn't think he was being a creep with how long it look him to tie the damned gown closed.

You fully turn and smile at him. "Thanks, Law."

"Your welcome, Y/n-ya." He meets your beautiful eyes. Once again, he found himself checking impulse after impulse with you, ignoring the yearning he felt or simply reach out to cup your face to run his inked thumb along the apple of your cheek.

Your gaze lowered dreamily to his lips. Would he taste like mint and coffee? Cinnamon, or spearmint?

There was another knock on the door, causing reality to come crashing back down, washing away the sexual tension and raw, burning haze from you both.

Yes, he's The Doctor and you as his new Patient.

Law's jaw clenches. "What is it?" He calls without glancing away from you before half turning to fully glare at whoever the hell was behind that goddamn door.

The door opens, Penguin peaks his head through and smiling sheepishly. "Sorry to disturb you but uh.... the newbies in training and interns are growing bored." His gaze flickers to you, his face and eyes brighten, apologetic smile turning smug. Oh, that's why Captains been fidgeting and antsy since he clocked in at 5am, secretly passing his office.

Law's heated glare turned seething, clicking his tongue. "Can't they follow simple orders or expect me to hold their hands?" Slipping his gloves off and throwing them in the trash as he storms towards the door, pauses and glances back at you from over his shoulder. "Excuse me, Y/N-ya." His face and angered expression softened a smidge, noticeable, but there.

"Don't worry." You wave your hand in a shooing gesture. "I'll be right here. "Don't be too harsh on 'em Doctor Law." You giggle.

Law nods again, giving his back to you. His eyes darken and his long legs making quick strides in Penguin's direction who immediately backs away to give his friend and boss more room. His inked hand tightens around the handle, the metal groans as he swung the door open, his frame taking up the full space as he goes off. "What the hell are you lot stranding around for? This is a hospital. A place of medicine and healing, not an amusement park or get away."

You hear apologies flying, feet shuffling at Law's command as if he's God himself.

"Sorry Doctor!"

"Right away, Sir!"

"But I already finished my task."

"It's my break, Doc." Someone complained. "Been working since last night."

Law's jaw continues to clench and grind. "I don't want to hear excuses," he growls, causing all of them to take in their boss' demeanor. Sure, Law's a crabby, stick in the mud and can bark out harsh and cold comments, but... The Surgeon of Death looks more angry and close to snapping.

It's like he's a man possessed by the devil himself.

Bepo looks worried.

Penguin huddled closer to Shachi, whispering in his ear that you are here. The pairs shoulders shake, trying to keep in their snickers. "Caps, gone full territorial mode."

Of course, Law heard that. "What was that?" A tick mark formed on the corner of his forehead. "Are you volunteering for Clinic Duty this morning, Shachi?" He tilts his head, voice dripping in venom. "How kind of you. Now hop to it."

Penguin and Shachi flinch. Their eyes widening, meeting cold, liquid silvers.

"But Cap, it's Pen's turn.." Shachi correctly.

Law's eyes narrows. "Did I stutter?"

Shachi shuts up and followed orders.

Being left along, you were left with your thoughts and observing. You were reminded of seeing him in his blue scrubs the first night you two met.

Law seemed like the kind of angry and grumpy doctor who rarely smiled or glares and barks orders, a gorgeous asshole with a coffee addiction, clearly overworked and an insomniac.

It makes sense, that he's grouchy.

You will admit that you felt a spark rush through you when your eyes connected with his stormy, smoldering silver eyes. They're beautiful and overpowering.

You think that's the first time you've been Law's stoic mask crack into a murderous glower. Dare you say his angry expression was cute? Watching from a distance, he looked like a tiger stalking his pray, it should make you feel unnerved and scared.

You can't pull your gaze away from the scene.

Then again, this is the first time you've seen Law in his element, his work place and stomping ground. The growl and authority dripping from his deep voice causes your thighs to press together, his shoulders are tense as his inked hand tightens around the door frame, muscles flexing underneath his inked skin.

His demeanor is more intimating. His agitation vibrates through the chill in the air conditioned room, causing goosebumps to rise and spread across your skin and your nipples hardened as you bite your lower lip. Sweet mother and Christ, scold me and command me like that Doctor Law and I'm all yours. You feel your face grow inflamed as you mentally scold yourself again. Dammit, go away, naughty thoughts, go away! You yell inside your head and mentally waving your arms, growing more embarrassed. Stupid Jess! Stupid raunchy Doctor romance novel! I blame you!

Hearing the door close, your straighten your shoulders and try to act as if you weren't mentally arguing with yourself and thinking something kinky about your new, hot Doctor.

Law lowers his frame back into his seat, scooting it closer as the wheels roll across the tiled floor. He releases a huff, shoulders relaxing as he runs an inked hand through his dark, unruly tresses. "Apologies, Y/n." This close, you can see the faint dark circles underneath his eyes, become more pronounced as it brings out the color of his bewitching liquid metal orbs.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, mouth feels dry. "Can I have some water, please?"

"Of course," Law nods, standing to his feet, walks out to the nurses station and comes back with a chilled bottle of water. "Are you alright?" Offering you the water with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Yup, I'm fine." You take it and try to open it. Brows furrow as you try again. "What the hell?" Again, its not budging. "Did they glue this on or something?"

Law pressed his lips together to bite back a laugh. "Here, let me before you make a mess." He reaches out and gently, taking the plastic bottle into his hand, twisting it and like magic it opens with ease. Resealing it and handing it back to you, watching as you reach out and squeeze the offending plastic a bit too hard, not caring, if a few big, fat droplets fall and land on your thin hospital gown.

"What kind of bullshit is this?" You glare at the bottled water as you took a few gulps to quench your thirst. You blink, feeling yourself grow even more heated and re-screwing the cap. "Wow, these mood swings are seriously no joke. Oh, thank you by the way."

This time Law did laugh. "No problem, Y/n-ya." He cleared his throat while his shoulders shook as he grinned, it looks boyish and made him appear younger as he answered. "Loss of strength, hormonal changes, mood swings and fatigue are all normal during the first trimester."

"I can't exactly run to you every time I can't open a bottle of water Law." You replied, hand tightening around the bottle. "You are a busy guy. People need you."

"Yes, but I'm your doctor now and I always take good care of my patients. You are a top priority now, don't ever forget that Y/n-ya."

"Playing favorites now are we, Doctor Law?" You tease, leaning back down onto the table.

Law was tempted to say yes, but kept his mouth shut as he pulled the mini ultrasound machine closer.

He takes what looks to be a white vibrating wond, if you've ever seen one. Slipping a condom over it, opening a bottle of lube and smearing it on the device. "Now, I want you to guide this to the opening of your vagina and I'll do the rest." His tone is serious, he isn't joking.

Your eyes widen. "What?" Your face reddening.

------ End of Chapter 2 ------

💛 Chapter 1 - Coffee and Confessions

💛 Chapter 3 - Heartbeat

I know, I know, I'm late. I'm sorry! But I hope this makes up for it! The Cliff hanger was an impulse XD Gotta keep ya'll on your toes, don't I?

Happy Valentines Day, my peeps and Law!

Tag List: @m0sigma7 @angelblueflame @pandora-writes-one-piece @short-honey-badger @supreme-burrito @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @cherry-queens-blog @fairymama624 @mrstraffy @kira-scarllet @strawheart-pirate @thekatisspooky @lunulatalux @physics-of-one-piece @honeyshiddendesire

#law x reader #law x you #law x y/n #Law x pregnant reader #Isabeau Writes #Isabeau fanfic #Soft Law #Fluff #Slow burn #friends to lovers #Chapter 2 #trafalgar law one piece #Trafalgar Law x you #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar law x reader #It's here!#My Valentine's Day gift to you!

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truefandemonium · 8 months ago

Text

Welp I’m back and so is Bill

Please enjoy the drabble <3

a mind ensnared pt.2

a billstill ficlet

(inspired by the AU by @jellynut)

TW: self harm

…

It hurt like hell. And Stanley knew hell.

Hell was the lifetime he spent wishing he hadn’t hurt Ford. The lifetime he wasted running from the family he should have made amends with.

The lifetime he could no longer recall most of.

Ford was easing him back into reconnecting with his past— both of theirs. He shared stories they’d experienced as kids in Jersey… the good times they’d shared in high school… moments in between where they didn’t hate each other’s guts.

But it hurt.

Stan pressed his palms against his eyes with a low groan. “I’m sicka this.”

“Stanley, we can stop,” Ford said calmly. “This is for you, remember.”

“Remember. Right,” Stan scoffed. His attitude had plummeted in the last half hour since his headache had grown from a dull ache to a sharp throbbing in his right temple.

Ford rolled his eyes, shutting the scrapbook and shoving it back into the small shelf inside the interior of the boat. The name of the author was scrawled in glitter gel pen on the inside: MABLE PINES. “We can revisit it later,” Ford said, keeping his tone level.

Stan hated him for always being reasonable and kind despite his own short temper. Who gave him the right to be so forgiving?

Sure as blue skies wasn’t me! If anything, I helped him find his fiery side— Ol’ Fordsy never would have hurt you before I came along…

Ford never hurt me. This was never his fault, no matter how much I want to believe it was. Stan shifted to look at his feet, hiding his gaze. He didn’t know if Ford could see it; the way his eyes changed when Bill spoke. Maybe no one could see it… but Stan felt it. It clawed at the back of his brain like long tendrils of flame, licking until they could reach the glassy surface of his eyes, where they’d stare out.

Oh really?

Stan could practically see that damned Triangle grinning now.

Remember this?

Fire. This time, not just behind his eyes. It ate away at the flesh of his back, just at his wing, where the deep burn scar remained. Lately, Stan would run his fingers over the grooves in his flesh, as if he could pry the memory out of his skin, desperate to recall the moment in which he gained the scar.

But now he didn’t need anything to evoke it. It all came back like a tidal wave, floodgates opened and ready to drown him in the deep waters of his own mind.

Stan pushed himself up from the table, his chair clattering to the floor behind him as he reeled. The pain made him dizzy, and Ford’s brow furrowed deep as he looked up at him in concern.

“Alright, Stanley?”

“Headache,” Stan barked.

So worried for you. How sweet. Brotherly love is such a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Why don’t you go ahead and ask Sixer about that scar, Mystery Man?

Flashes of memory threatened to knock Stan to the floor. The deep pain of the burn on his back. The cold of the earth as he fell to his side in agony. A distant cry of, “Stanley… I’m so sorry…”

But why? Why had Ford burned him? Why had they been fighting at all?

ASK HIM.

“Stanley, are you sure you’re alright?” Ford stood, his chair creaking as he pushed it back and stepped around the table toward his brother. “You look—”

“I’m fine!” Stan snapped, grabbing Ford’s collar and holding him at arm’s length to stop him from getting closer. Stan looked up and glared into the soft eyes staring back, his grip tightening.

You’ll never know if you don’t ASK.

“I don’t need to,” Stan whispered, the words falling from his lips against his will.

Ford’s eyes flashed fearfully. “What?”

Panic suddenly gripped Stanley— the man shoved his brother back and growled, “I said I don’t need you. This stupid memory thing isn’t helping me— and neither are you.”

“Stanley, you don’t need to—” Ford lifted his hand and Stan stepped back again.

“Just leave it alone! Leave me alone, and stop trying to help,” Stan ground out, clenching his fists at his sides and pivoting to leave the underbelly of the ship.

Ford yelled something else as Stan left, but he didn’t turn around. The screaming inside his head was too loud to think— to breathe.

On a fishing boat in the middle of the ocean, there weren't exactly many places to isolate oneself. Still, Stan managed to find solace in the crow’s nest. Cold wind buffeted his hair as he tried and failed to catch his breath, chest hammering as Bill raked at the inside of Stan’s skull.

YOU IDIOT

NOW YOU’LL NEVER KNOW WHY FORD GAVE YOU THAT SCAR— YOU’LL NEVER REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAID TO HIM TO MAKE HIM SNAP—

“Shut up, shut up,” Stan seethed, his hands coming up to frame his head, closing his eyes. “I don’t want to know, you stupid triangle. I don’t want to remember…” Stan shook his head, voice dissolving into a whimper. “I don’t want to remember him at all.”

It was the thing that was killing him; the memory of how he’d betrayed Ford at every turn, destroyed his chance at happiness. And Bill wouldn’t stop reminding him of all of it.

“I just wanna forget everything,” Stan hissed into the wind, the breeze taking his words and tossing them to the sea. “Just for a minute…”

For the first time in a long time, there was silence. And then,

I can make that happen.

All at once, Stan felt his body heat. Not the fiery pain of the past, but a gentle warmth like the rays of the sun beating down on him. He opened his eyes and inhaled a sharp, small gasp.

He was sitting in the crow’s nest of the original Stan ‘O’ War on Glass Shard Beach, the hot summer sun baking the wooden boat as it sat on the shore. Stan stood cautiously, raking his eyes over his surroundings.

He was looking for something. Some one. Yet he couldn’t manage to remember who. The memory felt blurry in his mind, like a permanent marker had been scrawled across the image— the thick, choking fumes of the ink making Stan’s vision cloudy and head swim.

And yet he welcomed it. The sensation of not remembering… it was as peaceful as it was oddly painful.

But something was tugging him— calling him. Stan pushed off from the wooden nest and crawled down the rickety wooden slats that served as steps to the main deck, then jumped down to reach the shore.

Normally a leap like that would knock him to his knees— and it almost did— but the pain in his joints seemed to have vanished. He felt like… like a kid again.

A sudden breath of excited air filled Stanley’s lungs as he straightened and examined the terrain. Sure enough, everything was as it was in his childhood. Every stone, every tree— every glass shard.

Except the presence of that unknown entity clawing at the inside of Stan’s mind.

As he wandered the beach, Stan’s anxiety grew, soon overwhelming the joy he’d felt at being back home. Until he saw it.

Saw him.

A faceless figure he knew so well. Part of him knew, anyway.

No name would lend itself to Stan as he raced forward, one hand extended into the air in greeting.

The faceless man sat placidly on a near broken down swing set, rocking forward and back in gentle motions.

Stan’s heart pounded as he got a good look at his face. Or rather, the emptiness that was there. His hands, too— his whole body seemed to flicker with obscuring yellow light. Light that shone so brightly Stan had to back up several steps.

But then it dimmed, and somehow, that was so much worse.

Before Stan stood a stranger. A stranger he’d grown up with, a stranger he loved. A stranger who had done so much for him and he did nothing in return.

“Hey, uh—” Stan started, his eyes trying to focus on the ever changing clawed out space that the man should reside in. “Who are you? This place is— this is Jersey, isn’t it?”

The stranger turned, his face a shroud of scribbled yellow that flickered with his movement.

Then, a sharp, loud, incessant static began to pour from him. No words, just agitated sounds in a garbled mess.

The sounds welled until Stan couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his hands over his ears and cried, “I’m looking for—”

And then he stopped. Because… who was he looking for? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember.

You wanted to forget. A grinning, gleaming flash of yellow appeared beside Stan. The single eye of the floating angular shape glinted with malice. So now he’s gone. Enjoy the spotlight, Stanley.

No, no, no no no no. Who did he forget? Who had Bill taken from him? And just when he was starting to remember—

But remember what? Even now, the memories were starting to fade. The image of the beach around him started to feel fuzzy in Stan’s mind. Everything but the glimmering shards of sun soaked glass that protruded from every corner of the beach.

The pain in Stan’s head, too, was beginning to grow. The aching that came with trying to uncover lost memories, the splintering sensation as the static noise penetrated his skull.

The sadness he felt when he looked into the space of the stranger’s face where his eyes should be.

The sound of glass shattering seemed to break him. Scrambling through the warm sand below his feet, Stan searched until he frantically pulled a shard of sharpened glass from the dirt.

Without hesitation, he lunged for the stranger, pressing the glass hard against his obscured throat. Stan felt the soft, kind hands of this unseeable man land on his shoulders. Confused. Comforting.

“Who are you?” Stan wailed. “I’m looking for someone! I— I can’t do this without him…”

Heaving for air, breath coming in short bursts as his heart hammered in his chest, Stan bleakly lifted the glass to his face and peered at it, retreating from the stranger.

Back then, he had terrible eyesight. He just never told anyone. He didn’t get glasses until he was in his late thirties and even then he hardly wore them. He didn’t feel like he deserved them. But his— someone— had loaned their own to Stanley. As a child, he borrowed someone’s glasses. Someone he looked up to and treasured and—

Fuck, the pain of forgetting was too much. It was like fire burning down the carefully crafted buildings inside his head. And the smoke was filling up his skull.

Maybe he could relieve the pressure. Clear the smoke and put the fire out.

Remember.

Ever so carefully, Stan placed the point of the glass shard against his right temple, and pressed. The pain was nothing compared to the sounds of agony his own brain was creating in this moment. The glass pierced his skin, drawing dark blood as Stan dragged the edge from his temple toward his eye.

Maybe he’d see better with just one eye.

STANLEY.

A horrible sound rang out. A mix of Bill’s voice and… someone else. As the rest of Jersey fell away, only the figure of the stranger remained: grabbing Stan’s shoulders and shaking him hard.

All at once, Stan’s eyes flew open. He was huddled on the floor of the ship, down below, one eye filling rapidly with blood from the long slice along the side of his head. Hand planted on the ground before him as he gasped and dropped the glass from his other.

“Stanley!”

That voice. Stan spun his body, revelling in the feeling of a familiar six fingered grasp on his shoulders.

And his own face staring back at him. For the first time in a long time, Stanley couldn’t get the words out. Until finally, “Stanford.”

Ford grabbed his brother and yanked him into a tight hug, his breathing frantic and horrified. “Stanley— oh for God’s sake, Stanley— I thought you were— it was like he had— but your eyes— oh thank goodness—” Ford’s rambling soothed Stanley.

His brother. He’d been looking for his brother all this time. And Bill had taken him.

Stan pulled away from the hug and slammed his fists into his brother’s chest, startling him into a sharp gasp. “Stanley, what are you—” he started, wondering and fearful.

The memories came back, finally, finally. The fight. That terrible moment when everything changed.

“You left me behind, you jerk! It was supposed to be us forever.”

And then the ever present searing pain in the flesh of Stanley’s right shoulder. Ford didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean any of it.

But he’d left him. And now he was back.

Stan rasped out, “Don’t ever leave me.”

“You ruined my life.”

Ford’s brows knitted over his eyes. “Stanley, you’re my brother,” he said gently. “We’re in this together.”

“You ruined your own life.”

“Forever,” Stan wheezed. Even through the dripping blood, and slowly darkening vision, Ford’s face was so clear now.

And Stan decided he would take the pain of remembering over the hell of forgetting. Always.

Forever.

#really wanted to mess around with the idea of Bill playing God inside Stan’s head.#messing with his memories #possessing him #yk the usual #gravity falls #standford pines #stan pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #stanley pines fanart #sorta #billstillau #bill cipher #ficlet #my writing

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ckret2 · 1 year ago

Text

Chapter 55 of human Bill Cipher finally having a little fun for the first time in over a month of captivity in the Mystery Shack:

Bill does his level best to teach Mabel everything he knows about everything as fast as possible (while Ford eavesdrops). In the process, he finally reveals something about his home dimension!

But not everything about his dimension.

"Did you have rainbows in Flatworld?" Mabel had started drawing her shapesona again at the bottom of a fresh piece of paper. The heart was holding out one hand with several strips of glue shooting in a beam out from the palm; Mabel started shaking glitter onto the glue strips to make them rainbow.

"Not natural ones."

"Awww!"

"We could make them with flashlights and prisms, though."

"That's something." Still, it wasn't as cool as a real rainbow. She started carefully drawing Bill floating above her shapesona. (She probably should have drawn him before she put down glitter. She had to push up her sleeve and lift her wrist to avoid smearing the glue.) "When's the first time you saw a real rainbow?"

Bill didn't answer.

Mabel glanced at him. He had a hard look in his eyes. "Bill?"

####

For the first time in his life, the triangle was up—up but not north—in space, in the third dimension, looking down but not south at the plane where he'd spent his entire existence. It shuddered and rippled and cracked, contracting, as the entire universe crunched together around him.

Great walls of pale blue flame half a googol light years wide erupted into third dimensional space, where stars were caught and crushed between the quickly collapsing cosmic tectonic plates. He hadn't known his flat universe had stars of its own.

His home world shattered and crumbled, shrapnel and rubble spraying out, stone instantly pulverized into dust. Distant oceans rode the waves of the convulsing universe, flinging billions of gallons of water into space in a fine thin spray, glittering in the sunlight.

As the triangle watched, a great flickering rainbow ring formed in front of the ejected ocean, like the hollow eye of a hostile god staring at him in judgment.

He stared back.

And he felt himself fill with more and more and more power.

####

"Bill?"

"Sorry, I was trying to remember!" Bill sat back, laced his hands behind his head, and shrugged, "It's not coming to me. But I'm sure it was after I took charge of Dimension Zero. From time to time planets with weather systems would fall in through a wormhole, I must've seen a rainbow on one of them!"

"Oh." The answer disappointed her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. She puzzled over it as she drew a fireball shape around Bill's hands in glue and shook on pale blue glitter.

Bill nodded at the page, "So what are we up to?"

"Fighting evil! With rainbow lasers and... whatever that magic fire thing you do is!"

"Hey, superheroes! Sounds fun. Who are we killing?"

"Superheroes don't kill people!"

"Fine. Who are we sending to the hospital with third degree burns?"

"I don't know, I haven't made up a villain yet." She almost asked Bill what kind of monsters existed in his world; but the question died in her throat. That might be too depressing a question. She added a heart-shaped glue outline around her shapesona and shook on a glitter rainbow, and set the picture aside to dry. She grabbed a fresh paper and tried to imagine what a two-dimensional butterfly would look like. Would it just have flat little stick wings since that was more aerodynamic? That sounded boring. She started drawing a two-dimensional squid instead.

Bill studied Mabel's latest finished work—the glitter-outlined heart, the glitter rainbow laser, the glitter fire, and the plain him. After a moment, he casually mentioned, "I used to wear body glitter."

She blinked at him. "What?"

"Earlier you asked me about glitter in my dimension," Bill said. "Body paint was makeup to us. I wore it when I went dancing."

"WHAT!"

"And I'd cut open glow sticks to paint my arms and legs!"

"What color glitter did you wear?!"

"Usually gold."

"What?! Bill!" Mabel laughed. "You're already yellow!"

"But I didn't glitter. That's important!"

"You're boring."

"Shut up! I was gorgeous and I knew it! Why mess with perfection?!" He gestured down at himself, perfection, as though he'd momentarily forgotten what body he was in. "Listen, club fashion gets repetitive. If you've seen one equilateral in cutesy primary color gradients, you've see 'em all. There's beauty in simplicity—not a lot of shapes can pull off a solid color with a little light highlighting and still look flashy!" He'd sat up straighter, chest puffed out proudly, as he talked about how pretty he thought he'd been. "Buuut sure, sometimes I highlighted my points for fun. And to keep from stabbing people—it's hard for other people to judge distances with strobe lights on."

"What colors."

"Usually red, blue, or purple. You know—nice contrasts with gold."

Mabel grabbed another paper and started drawing Bill dancing. He leaned closer, elbows on the table, watching with more interest now. Mabel asked, "You had clubs with strobe lights?"

"Of course we did, we aren't barbarians." Bill picked up yellow and black markers out of Mabel's supplies, leaned over to her drawing in progress, and started adding a decorative border around the nearest edge of the paper in dots and dashes.

"What kind of music did you listen to?"

"It was... It's closest to the music in— You've never been to that dimension. Well, it kind of sounds like... I'll never hit those notes with human vocal cords." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Hold on. Let me get Questiony's piano."

####

It turned out that Flatworld club music sounded kind of like a broken tornado siren.

"It doesn't sound very good on a human piano," Bill said, giving the electric piano balanced on his knees a disapproving look. "The intervals between notes are tuned wrong, it's about four octaves short, and it's missing that tympanic membrane shredding tremolo when the treble jumps."

Mabel regarded the piano with some dismay. "Do you know how to play anything else?"

Bill sighed.

He played "Don't Start Un-Believing" for her. He even did that cool thing where you drag a finger up half the keyboard at once.

####

By now, Bill seemed a lot happier to answer Mabel's questions about his world; but she quickly worked out which ones he'd actually give a direct answer. He was the most free with science-y questions, hit or miss on the fun cultural questions, and instantly evasive when asked about his own life or uncomfortable political issues.

When she asked if shapes and their houses just kinda floated unattached to anything because they didn't have a home planet, Bill said they did have a home planet—hundreds of miles below, marking south by its gravitational pull—and they lived in the sky in between their planet and its rings. When she asked what kind of clothing they wore, Bill said they usually didn't wear anything, unless it was for practical purposes (gloves for gardening; goggles for chemistry; elbow-, knee-, and corner-pads for spelunking), and when she asked about his top hat he said slyly, "You mean my telescope?" and gleefully refused to explain further.

But when she asked if it was true that equilateral triangles were the lowest rung you could stand on before getting knocked off the social ladder altogether, Bill said that was a pretty rude question to ask a triangle. And then he said his world didn't have ladders.

When he casually let slip that he'd been able to see the third dimension when nobody else could, she asked how that was possible. He'd paused, looked up from his seventh completely incomprehensible drawing of an animal (she'd asked him whether Flatworlders had pets), and, with an eager gleam in his eye, he asked, "How much time do you have?"

####

Ford heard Bill's voice the moment he opened the door—"All right, star girl, pop quiz, let's see how much of that you kept in your noggin."

"Oh, I'm so ready!"

Baffled, Ford leaned in the living room doorway. The room was absolutely plastered in crayon-covered papers—illustrations, lists, mathematical and scientific diagrams—stars, cells, planets, vehicles. At the moment Bill was pointing at six papers taped together with a diagram on them that Ford thought was a Punnett square that had been expanded into a four-dimensional tessaract. "A polygon's sides are determined by...?"

"Genetic inheritance!" Mabel announced, the proud student who knew all the answers. "You have however many sides your parents have genes for!"

"And the idea that polygons increase by one side each generation...?"

"Is propaganda! Because if everybody hides their kids without enough sides, and they only talk about the kids that did go up a side, it makes everyone think that's what always happens and their family is the only one that's failing!"

"Perfect! And the highest natural amount of sides a shape can have?"

"Twelve! Decadoggins!"

"Close enough, dodecagons! But this isn't Greek class, I'll give you full points. So, any shapes with more sides than that got them through—?"

"Random mutation!"

"Correctamundo! Meaning the only way to get shapes with hundreds of sides is..."

"Crazy bonkers inbreeding! Because the same rich families just keep marrying each other!"

"With consequences including—?"

"Um..." Mabel puffed out her cheeks as she thought. "Skeletons getting all crackly, having a hard time making babies, and high—uh—infant morality!"

"Mortality."

"Lots of dead babies."

"Yes! And remember: when a mutation makes a body produce so much more of something than it needs that it starts harming the body, that's called...?"

"Cancer!"

"Meaning circles are...?"

"Tumors!"

"And what do we do with tumors?"

"EXECUTE THEM!"

"YES!" Bill ripped the Punnett tesseract off the wall. Behind it was a piece of paper that read, in blood red crayon, ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCISM. "You're ready to man the guillotines! A+, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"Yes!" Mabel peeled a sparkly purple star off a sticker sheet and stuck it on her cheek. Her face had over twenty star stickers.

Ford leaned against the living room doorframe, watching the scene inside with wonder. He was more than a little iffy about the political lesson—he, personally, was incredibly opposed to the idea that it was morally imperative to execute anybody with extra body parts, nobility or not—but the presentation of it was certainly captivating. It had been a long time since Ford had seen Bill like this. (It had been a long time since Ford would have trusted any lesson out of Bill's mouth.)

"Now let's get back to biangles." Bill picked up a fake crystal ball that he'd drawn various lines and shapes on with a marker.

"Awww, again?!"

"Hey. Listen," he said firmly. "I believe in you. You'll get it this time, I know it."

Ford looked around the room, taking in the scene more fully. The floor was scattered with drawings of aliens. A few of them were various polygons—regular and irregular, with the irregularities further broken down by whether they otherwise showed radial or lateral symmetry—each with thin limbs and an eye on a corner. Most were fantastical alien animals, a few that Ford had seen or been warned about on other worlds. Some had been scribbled out and redrawn when Bill's limited artistic capabilities didn't live up to his unknown standards; a few were in Mabel's art style, meaning Bill must have described them to her while she drew.

Twenty pieces of paper had been taped together on the wall behind the TV, with a drawing of a planet surrounded by a circular ring of small blobs—a planetary ring?—and a moon further out. The empty atmosphere between the planet and the ring was filled with squares and rectangles, which were grouped together in red blobby circles that were each labeled by letter: "Country △," "Country B," "Country C," "Country D (communists)," etc. A badly-drawn sea serpent slithered along the outside of the ring with the words "Here There Be Monsters" written over it.

A tall column of taped together papers was covered in examples of alien writing systems—some of them Ford recognized from his travels through other dimensions. From the ones he understood, it looked like the words were demonstrations of Mabel's name in dozens of alien writing systems. Sometimes Bill spelled her name Maybell or Mabelle.

And there were so many papers scattered around the room with little graphs and symbols and arrows Ford couldn't make sense of. And in the center of it all, Bill, alive, energetic, his full attention enthusiastically focused on his student.

Bill had to be up to something; but Ford couldn't imagine what, based on the bizarre assemblage of information in front of him. What nefarious purpose could be behind showing Mabel how to spell her name in alien languages? Unless his goal was to so enchant her with tales of other worlds that he could persuade her to help him open a new portal...? No, even for Bill that felt like a stretch.

He looked at the wall again. Surely, that wasn't Bill's homeworld. Ford had spent years of his life trying to find the world Bill was from; surely Bill hadn't just drawn it in the middle of Ford's living room. Had he?

"Okay, let's start with spherical geometry from the top," Bill said, polishing the crystal ball on his leggings to rub off the marker lines. "Don't tell anyone I can do this." He held up the ball, tapped it twice on the bottom, and it hovered in place when he let it go, freeing up both his hands to hold a ruler and marker. (How long had he been able to do that? Had he even noticed Ford was standing right outside?) He drew a line across the surface of the ball, "Pretend it's a planet. If you draw a line on a sphere, it's obviously curved, right?"

"Right," Mabel said.

"But now pretend you're on the planet. The surface of the world is a flat plane to you. From your perspective, you can walk in a straight line from point A to point B."

"But it's actually a curve. From space."

"Now you're catching on. That's what makes spherical geometry a little weird: when you're on the sphere you treat everything around you like it's 2D even though when you're off the sphere you can see it's 3D." Why in the world was Bill teaching Mabel about spherical geometry?

Bill drew two more lines to connect to the first. "So! You can draw a triangle on a sphere, no problem, right?"

"Right."

"And something you can only do in spherical geometry... is... pretend this is the North Pole and the South Pole..." Bill carefully rotated the ball under his marker as he drew a straight line from one "pole" to the other, and then drew a second straight line from pole to pole next to it. "Ta-da! If a tri-angle has three angles, a bi-angle has two angles. You've got yourself a two-sided polygon. Right?"

Mabel hesitated. "Right."

"You with me so far, Shooting Star?"

"So far," she said, with a tone that suggested she expected that to change very soon.

"But if you try to transfer that shape from spherical geometry to Euclidean geometry—" Bill turned to an expanse of still partially-uncovered white papers taped to the wall like a makeshift whiteboard, drew two points, and drew two straight lines, red and blue, between the points, "—it just doesn't work. You can't see a biangle in a flat world."

And now Mabel was squinting suspiciously at him.

Bill said, "I lost you."

"But where does it go!"

Bill shrugged. "You lost it when you lost the third dimension."

"But you said when you're on the sphere it's two dimensional!"

"From your perspective it's two dimensional, but there's still a third dimension enabling the sphere to exist."

"Then from my perspective when I'm on the planet shouldn't a biangle look like that?" Mabel pointed at the two straight lines on the piece of paper. "Since everything looks all 2D to me? But it doesn't! It's like flying from the North Pole to the South Pole through America and then flying back through China! China and America don't just squish together into the same place just because you're going in a straight line on a sphere!"

"I'd kill to hear you give a geography lesson to a Flat Earther convention."

Mabel gave him her best angry scowl.

"It was a compliment! I think you'd inspire some hilarious arguments, that's all!" Bill put two dots on the paper and offered Mabel the marker. "Look, try it for yourself! Draw a biangle."

Mabel took the marker and, after a moment of thought, drew two curved lines between the points, making a football shape.

"Those aren't straight lines, kid."

"Argh!" Mabel pulled the paper off the wallpaper, bent it into a curve, and shakily drew a straight line between the two points; but no matter how else she twisted or bent the paper, she couldn't find a path that would let her draw a second straight line between the points without overlapping the first line she'd drawn. She crumpled the paper, tossed it on the floor, and whispered, "It's witchcraft, Bill."

He burst out laughing. "I could name a few horror writers that felt the same way about non-Euclidean geometry."

"But whyyy does the biangle disappear when it goes from a sphere to normal flat paper."

"Because..." Bill groped for an explanation he hadn't already tried. He crossed an arm across his chest and tapped a knuckle just under the bow tied in his hoodie's draw strings the way some humans might tap a hand to their chin, his eyes narrowed in thought. How many times had Ford seen him make that exact same face in his true triangular form, whenever Ford was struggling to understand a lesson on portal physics and Bill was struggling to find a way to translate it into concepts Ford had encountered in his human education? "Let's try this another way."

The scene made Ford ache.

Look past the paper and the crayons, and the graph- and figure- and writing-covered walls looked so much like the advanced physics lessons and blueprints that Bill had coated Ford's starry blue dreamscape in during his sleep. Look past the flesh and bone, and Bill moved and gestured and spoke the way he had when he was teaching Ford how to build a bridge between worlds.

It was the first time since Bill's death that Ford had seen 100% of his personality shining—unhindered by grief, secrets, or a disdainful human audience. It was the first time in decades that Ford had seen Bill at his best.

In that moment, for a split second, Ford forgot how to hate Bill. He couldn't see Bill the traitor, Bill the invader, Bill the homicidal party animal. The only person in that room with Mabel was Bill Cipher the Teacher, Mentor, and Muse that Ford used to know so long ago. Like an ancient god who'd chosen to spend a day roleplaying as a giddy professor—Bill was holding back a tsunami's worth of vast, ancient, unintelligible alien knowledge so that he could drip out revelations at a faucet's pace, slow enough for his student to catch each drop in her hands.

Over thirty years ago, there had been moments when this Bill peeked out behind the above-it-all façade—and that had been the Bill that Ford was happiest to see, the Bill that Ford had thought of as a friend rather than a mere teacher... but each time, it hadn't been long before Bill seemly caught himself and turned off the faucet for the night.

Because he couldn't let Ford learn too much, or he would have seen through Bill's ruse.

Hatred tiredly crept back in.

"I've got it!" Mabel triumphantly flung her hands in the air. "It's like orange slices!"

"Orange slices?" Bill repeated.

"Be right back!" Mabel zoomed to the kitchen, shouting, "Hi Grunkle Ford!" as she passed.

Ford watched her go, then looked back at Bill; Bill had glanced at him for the first time. But all he did was frown and mutter, "I don't remember inviting you to audit this course."

Before Ford could decide whether to retort, Mabel charged back into the living room with an orange and a sharp knife. "Okay! If you draw a triangle on the orange," Mabel said, doing so with a marker, before cutting into it with the knife, "and then you—you cut it out all the way to the center..."

"Be careful with that," Ford said. Mabel was holding the orange in one palm and stabbing into it from the opposite side.

Bill said, "Lay off, Six Fingers. I'm keeping my eye on her, she's not gonna hurt herself."

"I'm being careful!" Mabel was struggling to get an even wedge cut all the way to the center of the orange; she eventually gave up and dug into the orange with her fingertips to tug out a messy mangled handful of fruit, attached to a roughly equilateral patch of orange peel about two inches to each side. She shook orange juice off her fingers. "Pretend I cut that out better."

"I dunno what you're talking about," Bill said. "It looks flawless."

She pointed at each corner of the peel triangle. "Okay so, these are the three corners of the spherical triangle, right?"

"Right."

"And if you want to make a regular flat triangle, you can... try to cut a straight line between the corners, like..." She squeezed the rest of the orange between her knees, held the edges of the triangular peel with her fingertips, and sawed off the orange pulp underneath, trying to cut a flat level plane as near to the triangle's corners as she could. Ford almost warned Mabel about the knife again, but glanced at Bill's face and his expression of unworried, keen curiosity, and kept quiet. Bill reached out and caught the sawed-off chunk of orange pulp before it hit the ground.

Mabel held out the peel slice. "There! Right? Spherical triangle on top and flat triangle on the bottom!"

Bill considered that, one hand on his hip. He popped the orange chunk in his mouth. "All right. So far so good."

"But if you make a biangle..." Mabel drew two lines between the top and bottom of the remaining orange, and cut a wedge free. "There isn't anything extra to cut off to let you make a flat shape. There's just a straight line between the two points!"

"Ha! Okay, all right, that works! Brilliant! What do you need me for? You just taught yourself the whole lesson!" Bill ruffled her hair so enthusiastically that he knocked her headband askew.

She shoved him away, laughing, and straightened out her headband. "Bill!"

"What did I say! Didn't I tell you you'd get it?" Bill was beaming at her, impressed, delighted, proud. "Congratulations, you've just mastered college-level geometry."

"Wh—What? Are you serious? This is college stuff?" She shook her head. "No way, you're lying."

Bill pointed at Ford without looking at him. "Tell her."

He felt a little like a dog being commanded to bark; but he said, "He's right. I didn't start studying spherical geometry until my second semester in college." He was sure he could have studied it sooner, if his high school had offered it; and he doubted Mabel had absorbed an entire semester's worth of spherical geometry; but he didn't see any reason to point any of that out when Mabel's face lit up in excitement.

Bill said, "There you have it! Way to go, star girl! Two big stickers."

"YES!" Mabel peeled off two jumbo-sized star stickers with smiley faces and stuck them onto her earrings. "So does that make a biangle a girl or a boy?"

And Ford was immediately lost again.

"No," Bill said.

Mabel sighed loudly and tried again. "Does that make a biangle a line or a polygon?"

"Still no, but for a different reason. Externally, they look like lines to anyone who isn't psychic. Internally, their anatomy usually functions like a polygon's. But socially, you've gotta ask. Some of 'em consider themselves lines, some polygons, some claim biangularity is neither linear nor polygonal. Personally, I say they're whatever they say they are. Because," he said grandly, "I'm just that open-minded and accepting."

Ford stifled a derisive snort. But Bill's self-aggrandizing aside, Ford's mind was reeling trying to keep up—spherical geometry, the (gendered?) socialization of shapes, Flatworlder anatomy—what did psychics have to do with anything? Ford's fingers itched for a pen. He wished he had his journal with him.

Bill grabbed several papers off the floor and the floating crystal ball and climbed on top of the wooden TV cabinet. He left the ball hovering behind him seven feet up in the air, tossed aside several papers he'd already used both sides of to let them flutter back to the floor, and taped the rest to the wall with their blank backsides turned out. "Now back to remote viewing." He drew a grid in blue lines on the papers, said, "Toss me that triangle wedge," used a marker to draw an eye on the triangular orange peel, tapped it twice like he had the crystal ball, and stuck it against the grid, where it sat unmoving.

And the entire time, Ford watched with his arms crossed tightly.

Almost a month ago, Bill had given Ford his manipulative trap of a birthday gift, a miniature grimoire, five pieces of paper, margins filled, two rows of text per line, packed with as diverse an array of magical spells and occult knowledge as Bill could fit. It wasn't a gift, it was a boast and a taunt: look at everything I know that you don't; look at what I could teach you if you let me live.

It was something Bill could have given him all along—effortlessly, with no cost to himself—but didn't, until Bill wanted something from him.

On his birthday, Ford had wondered, furiously: when this was what Bill could have been—gift-giver, wish-granter, teacher, guide, friend—why did he choose not to be?! It was an internal scream of rage, the howl of a wounded victim at the condemned criminal as he was marched to the gallows: you monster, you monster, you monster, when it would have been so easy for you to be something better, why instead are you a liar, manipulator, torturer, murderer, life-ruiner, world-ender? Answer for yourself: why are you this instead of someone better? How dare you?

It had made Ford want him dead even more.

This was the exact opposite of the grimoire.

The question in Ford's head wasn't a scream of rage anymore. It was grief. It was a plea. It was one last desperate attempt to understand:

Instead of being who he was, why couldn't Bill have been this person? This charismatic, energetic, ecstatic muse who ruled like a king over a classroom he'd constructed himself, eager to share a trillion years of collected wisdom with a fragile mortal mind, lighting up with joy whenever she grasped something that was trivially simple to him? This guide to the vast wonders beyond Earth, competent and encouraging and funny, delighting in the weirdness of the wide wide universe? The Bill that Ford had once liked so much—the Bill that he'd called his friend?

"Okay," Bill said, all sunshine and excitement, "Back to how to view the third dimension from the second dimension—"

Mabel said, "Can you view the fourth dimension from the third?"

Bill hesitated a split second, but said, "Sure! You can view any dimension from any dimension! You've just gotta bend your eye the right way to see higher ones!"

"What does the fourth dimension look like?"

"Well—hm. Imagine the way that the third dimension looks different from the second, and that's the way the fourth dimension looks different from the third."

Mabel stared at Bill.

"Eddie wrote an entire book about a square meeting a sphere because that was the closest he could get to telling other humans what seeing the fourth dimension is like! If I could still visit dreams, I could just show you, but..."

"Isn't the fourth dimension time? Blendo showed us the time stream! Is that what it looks like?"

"Nnn—close! You're close. The fourth dimension isn't time, but time is in the fourth dimension."

"How's that different."

Bill pointed at the floor. "If the carpet's the second dimension and the lamp's shining on it, the third dimension isn't light, but light is in the third dimension."

"Ohhh." Mabel gasped. "That's why you called some weird thing flying around in a higher dimension an eclipse! Because eclipses were in a higher dimension in Flatworld!"

Bill's face lit up in surprised delight. "All right, skip three lessons ahead, why don't you! In a week's time you'll be teaching people how my dimension works." He turned back to his papers and started drawing a branching river. "So! That time stream you saw isn't time itself! It's a visual metaphor being generated so humans can see time too—sort of a hologram projecting from the fourth dimension into the third—have I explained that the universe is a hologram yet—"

Why weren't you this person, Ford wondered. Why did you choose not to be this person? When it was so easy for you to be this? When this made you happy, too?

Why couldn't you have been this person?

Why are you only like this now, when you're about to die?

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed Infodump: The Chapter. This is one of those chapters with something hidden in it that'll unravel the whole fic if you happen to find it, so have fun searching for that. Let me know what you thought of this week's chapter! And get excited—we've got Big Things coming up... soon.)

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