#It's just funny concept that's been stuck in my mind

[attapullman]

Bob From Stats | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ ONLY as always, dry humping, alcohol, drunken party games, mentions of studying because that gives me PTSD, semi-exaggerated Greek life for theatrical reasons

A Note From Mo: Somehow my frat!Bob, drunk Bob is Rhett, and 7 minutes in heaven ideas all rolled into one fic - wild! Massive shoutout to everyone who listened to me talk about Stats Bob (who is now officially my #2 Bob, I love him) and for supporting this here lil blog. May you find a hobby-horse-wielding future WSO to sweep you off your feet too!

“I hate this. I’m going to quit school and become a stripper.”

Anna gives you a wry look. “That joke was only funny the first time you said it.”

“So you admit I’m funny!”

The two of you have been spread out in the library the majority of the evening. Textbooks, snacks, and highlighters littering the glossy dark wood. You’re on hour five of assignments and your brain is pounding against the front of your skull. Your other classes aren’t too bad, a bit time consuming, but Statistics is a foreign language. Thinking in probable numbers? It was one thing when the nice guy who sat behind you helped explain concepts, but Anna does not have quite the same analytical mind.

The sky outside is an inky black and the library is quiet except for your frustrated huffs. It’s Saturday night. The rest of campus is indulging in cheap beers at Barney’s, slinking along Greek Row, or enjoying tonight’s episode of Saturday Night Live. It’s time to get out of here and crawl into your soft bed. Torturing yourself with Stats homework will be just as painful on Sunday.

“If I buy us a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough, can we blow this off and hang out back at the dorms?” Anna is nodding before you’ve even finished. Stuffing notebooks into backpacks and capping pens low on ink, you’re strolling down the library stairs not even five minutes later.

As the balmy evening campus air hits your face, you already feel fresher. Campus is quiet, late enough that most people are settled into their Saturday night plans. As the two of you near Greek Row, there’s a comfortable silence as you appreciate the breeze through the trees and the warm glow of campus housing windows.

That is, until a low whoop rings out. An undercurrent of boisterous cheering and what sounds like stomping feet. You exchange eyes with your roommate. What is that?

As if summoned, a group comes galloping through the neatly trimmed cypress trees around the corner. They’re stomping their feet in a rhythm, hands held mid-air to imitate holding reigns. Drunken laughs ring out between cries of “Whoa!” and “Steady there, Lucky!” To round it off, the leader of their horse play (literally) is full-on cosplaying as a cowboy, his jeans tucked into boots and a Stetson perched atop his head. 

Wait, is he holding a hobby horse? It’s been decades since you’ve seen those horse heads stuck on a stick. The stuffed felt Appaloosa head is reigned in the cowboy’s hands, where he pretends to spur it back into action. 

Just when you think you’ve seen it all.

The group continues its way toward you and you’re equally secondhand embarrassed and amused. As they grow closer you recognize a few guys from the Pi Kapp house and wave. But it’s Anna who makes the most shocking discovery when Mr. Cowboy tilts his brim up.

"Is that Bob from Stats?" 

It takes a second to look past the brown felt hat and the hobby horse he's taking for a spin, but that's definitely the same pink-cheeked Bob Floyd who has lent you a pencil all semester. 

“Howdy, ladies.” He tips his hat to you, all toothy grin and droopy drunk eyes. "Can I offer you a ride?"

You stare open-mouthed. Shocked. That slow rancher drawl is new. The unbridled confidence is new. Actually, the entire getup is new. For nine weeks you’ve seen him in the same trucker hat and sweatshirt combo while going over homework answers together. What is going on?

He’s clearly in the middle of his house party crawl, bright blue eyes half open behind his metal frames. Just as gorgeous as ever as a tendril of sandy hair curls against his forehead. Normally your reaction to him is tender, a puppy dog crush. But this wild, inebriated version of him? You’re hot under the collar.

“You think there’s room on your horse?” Ever since that first Stats class he’s made your brain feel like it’s on RedBull. The way he noticed you missing a writing utensil and offering you his extra. His kind smile when you get a homework answer completely wrong. Anna hasn’t noticed your crush, but it feels obvious with the way you can barely keep eye contact with him yet are unable to look away. Especially with that stupid cowboy hat on.

He bites his lip, considering your response, and his buddies all razz him as he drawls out, “There will be if we squeeze in.”

The wink makes your mouth dry.

Someone from the back of the group complains of the cold and the group prepares their steeds to head back to Pi Kapp. Anna explains you’re headed back to the dorms, tone deaf to the sexual tension, and Bob nods with his brow furrowed. 

“Another time then.” His white tshirt practically glows in the moonlight. “Have a good night, chickadees. Get home safe!”

With another tip of his Stetson to you, Bob Floyd gallops away toward another keg. 

You’re sprinting across campus, cursing how late your meeting with your advisor went. There was ten minutes to get across campus and he had spent four of those questioning whether you really needed another semester of French. You make it into the lecture hall with a minute to spare, finding your preferred spot in the lower rows where you can actually see the board. Right in front of Bob.

“What? No cowboy hat for class?” His cheeks flame red, the hope you’ve forgotten about his Saturday antics lost. He looks like himself today, his signature trucker cap keeping the hair off his face. Those friendly ultramarine eyes shyly focusing on his notebook because god forbid he makes eye contact after you’ve seen him gallop across campus on a fake horse. 

He rubs the back of his neck over his soft-looking crewneck, an awkward smile playing on his lips. “It’s at the cleaners.”

You give him an amused grin before settling yourself into one of the classically uncomfortable lecture seats. Anna waves to you from where she’s rushing in, historically always late. The professor is shuffling notes at the podium as she collapses into the seat next to you, nodding her head in greeting to you and to Bob. She raises her eyebrows to you, a “remember when Bob was dressed as a cowboy” gesture, and your lips twist happily. 

“Alright, class, who’s ready to talk probability?” The collective groans and hollers mark the start of lecture. You flip open your notebook and start digging around for a writing instrument in your bag. Like usual, you seem to be missing a pen or pencil when you need one most.

A tap on your shoulder. You turn and lock eyes with the frat boy-turned-cowboy with the shy smile. He holds out a pencil to you. Taking it sheepishly, you mouth a thank you and turn back to lecture. After nine weeks it shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but every week he’s given you a pencil since you whispered shoot! a little too loud on Week 1.

Risking a quick glance back at him, engrossed in the Empirical Law of Averages while he twirls his pencil, you’re not sure you can survive the rest of the semester.

By the end of the Stats lecture on Thursday, you have one brain cell to your name and seven pages of notes. What a brutal class. Midterms were quickly approaching and not a single professor had any mercy. As you pack up your stuff - including the borrowed pencil that would promptly disappear before next class - you make a study plan with Anna for that evening. She brings the chips, you’ll supply the vodka.

“Are you two not hitting the houses tonight?” He looks uncomfortable having interrupted the two of you.

Bob shifts his backpack to his other shoulder, adjusting the collar of his navy blue sweatshirt. Other than when he’s kindly exchanged homework answers before class - or been drunkenly galloping across campus - the two of you don’t speak much. The odd quip here and there, but overall the two of you exist in pencil-sharing quiet. “Everyone’s having pre-midterm parties before buckling down to study.”

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You look at Anna encouragingly. As needed as a vodka-infused study session was, one night out couldn’t hurt. And it was Thursday. No classes tomorrow meant you had three days to buckle down and attempt to understand anything you’ve learned this semester. 

She eyes you warily, but agrees that Greek Row sounds like a better option than highlighting textbooks. Bob flashes you his timid smile beneath the brim of his cap. “It’ll be a fun night. Maybe I’ll see you? If not, have a good weekend!” 

As he starts to walk out, a feeling takes over you. “Bob?” You watch him slow down and turn, wide blue eyes watching you from behind those unconventionally cute glasses. “You’ll be at the Pi Kapp house, yeah?” He nods. “Cool. See you around!”

Despite standing next to it the entire conversation, neither of you notice the pencil sitting on the desk, left behind as you head out for your respective weekends.

“What did you say?” You’re practically yelling to be heard over the EDM that Sigma Chi is blaring. They’ve turned their house into a rave with glow sticks, body paint, and music so loud your eardrums must be burst. The beer is warm, your arm has supernaturally purple paint smeared across it, and Anna has been unsuccessfully telling you a story for ten minutes.

Huffing, she grabs your arm and drags you toward the entrance, tossing your cups onto a random hallway table where a heated makeout session is taking place. They move out of the way just enough so the two of you can slip out of the old colonial house and out into the cool night. The ringing in your ears subsides slowly as you lean against the columns of the front porch. 

“House number three? Also sucked. Three strikes and you’re out? Can we go home?” Anna grabs your wrist and pouts. She wanted movie night with vodka and a pizza from Pietro’s. You wanted to blow off steam.

But Alpha Sig had mostly been freshman and Phi Delt, while not a terrible party, had the most smarmy men on campus. The bleeding eardrums of Sigma Chi was preferable to pushing off men in polos just to grab another drink. You just wanted a semi-decently flavored alcoholic beverage - maybe three - while chatting with some friends. You weren’t asking for much.

Allowing Anna to drag you in the direction of the dorms, ready to admit defeat, you slow to a stop seeing the bricked entrance to Pi Kappa Phi. Bob’s fraternity. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

It takes a little convincing, but soon you’re in the warmly lit foyer of the Pi Kapp house. The vibe is more relaxed than Sigma Chi, with a keg in the corner, an array of liquor bottles in the kitchen, and hip-hop softly filling the house. You’re impressed they’ve even gone the extra mile with multi-colored string lights across every surface to brighten up the otherwise dark house. 

“Yooooo, how’s it going?” A drunken loaf of snapback and Deep Eddy envelopes you in a hug. It’s Tyler, one of your freshman seminar PK friends. Exchanging pleasantries - the best you can with someone that far gone - he drags you further into the house. Miscellaneous groups of Greek and geed litter the hallways. Anna sees her friends from Delta Gamma and ditches you, promising to get home safe. Tyler continues on his mission to god knows where.

At least he’s considerate enough to stop in the kitchen so you can grab a whiskey lemonade to sip.

Eventually you’re spat into a sitting room of sorts, groups crowding the ring of sofas while drunkenly jeering at the game. You set yourself on the arm of one, trying to make sense of the theatrics. The latest victim laughs out a “Truth!” before everyone giggles wickedly. Are they playing truth or dare? 

Your eyes gloss over the group, trying to figure out who else you know. A few PK’s you recognize, a girl who smiles but looks unfamiliar, and…a cowboy hat that is a dead giveaway.

Standing up and walking around the group, you tap him on the shoulder. The biggest blue eyes meet yours, a surprised smile splitting his face. 

“You made it!” That deep drawl is back and that tingle reappears on your spine. Bob jumps up from the couch, beer bottle dwarfed in his hand, and comes to stand with you. “You having a good night?”

Ironically, your night is much better now that you’ve found him. He’s back in his cowboy gear, a worn denim shirt tucked into his jeans and those same cowboy boots scuff against the hardwood. You’re tempted to steal the felt hat from his head just so he looks a little bit more like Bob from Stats. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, letting the alcohol be an excuse, you succumb to the obvious question. “I need to know - what’s with the…cowboy?” You gesture up and down, drawing a chuckle from him.

He blushes under the felt brim. “You know I have a slight accent, yeah?” You attempt to stifle your laugh as he incidentally talks in a thicker accent. “When I was a pledge they started calling me cowboy. Saw the hat while I was in town one week, ended up leaning into the joke.”

“And the hobby horse?”

He beckons you closer, bringing his lips to your ear. “Stolen from my little sister over summer break.”

There’s that wink again making your knees weak. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and takes another sip from his beer. Despite the party raging around you, nothing else seems to exist past him asking about your night and if you want another drink. You’re wrapped in the warmth of his words, itching to snuggle into his broad chest. 

The spell is broken when “Cowboy Bob!” rings out from the crowd. The entire room is turned to you two. “Truth or dare, man?”

In the background of your intimate conversation with Bob, the truths and dares have reached full raunchiness. People have been stripped of clothes and dirty secrets. A bead of sweat gathers at Bob’s collar, aware that neither option is safe. 

His worried gaze flits to you, as if you hold the correct answer, before tipping his hat back and exhaling, “Dare?” 

It’s gutsy, but if there’s one thing you’re learning about the quiet guy from Stats, he’s full of surprises. The crowd bubbles with excitement, anticipating what dare will be dealt out. Next to you, the wannabe cowboy looks more annoyed than anything. He was enjoying talking to you not in a classroom and with a little liquid courage.

An evil smile crosses the dare-dealer’s face. He knows Bob and isn’t blind to what’s going on. He’s gonna help his buddy out on this one.

His arm stretches out and he points (with the red plastic cup in his hand) to the coat closet at the end of the hall. “Hmmmmm, I dare you to, hmm, play Seven Minutes in Heaven with…” It’s no surprise when the cup-turned-pointer lands on you.

Ice water down your back wouldn’t be as panic inducing. It’s hard to tell who swallows harder, you or Cowboy Bob. Every instinct is telling you to run, but that little voice in the back of your head wins out. As Bob starts to tell you it’s okay, they’re joking, you don’t have to, you grab his thick wrist and give him a nervous smile. You don’t even care what the punishment is for not completing a dare, this stupid drunken game has given you an opportunity.

The dealer of the dare follows the two of you down the hallway, leading the whoops and wolf whistles. Bob’s cheeks flame scarlet in the low light. You keep your chin high and eyes forward. He can definitely feel the way you’re trembling around his wrist.

Whether in anxiety or excitement it’s hard to tell.

The inside of the closet is dark, the faint light under the door casting only the faintest of shadows. Your heart is pounding, blood pulsing through your ears. Bob rubs his lips together nervously. It’s all you can do to not run your tongue along them. 

“We don’t have to do anything, we can just talk.” The way he prioritizes your comfort makes heat pool between your legs. The brim of his hat is as far back as it can go, his eyes tracing the lines of your face as he gauges your emotions. He’s welcome to figure them out, you’re unsure of them yourself. 

His large, warm hand rubs your forearm comfortingly, your skin too cold without his touch. You’re suffocating under his sweat-and-bergamot scent, citrusy and warm.

You bite the bullet. “What if I want to?”

His breath stops. Fingers find yours in the dark, interlocking on either side of your hips. Eyes you know are the deepest blue lock onto your gaze, a million emotions passing behind his irises. Face descending upon the space between you, tentatively showing his intentions. You meet him in the middle, caution out the window.

The kiss is gentle, puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time. He tastes like malt sugar and peppermint. Mouth warm and soft, enveloping you fully in his comfort. It’s even better than what you’ve imagined for the past nine weeks.

Bob begins to pull away, ever the gentleman. Your hand finds his collar, holding him in place. “Not yet, we still have, like, five and a half minutes.”

Despite the low light, his smile lights up the closet.

His lips return to yours in a rush, swallowing your mouth in a passionate heat. The press of his body to yours is delicious. Hands previously at your side meet your hips, lightly squeezing as you moan into his mouth. You reach up and hold the back of his neck, bringing him even closer as your lips toy with the tiniest bit of stubble along his jaw.

“You know,” he starts, holding the moan in the back of his throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since September.”

You pull back momentarily, a crinkle upon your brow. “Bob, we didn’t start Stats until January.”

He kisses the confusion from your face, his hands wrapping further around your body. “And you looked very pretty in that green dress at the homecoming barbecue.”

Bless your love of school spirit and free food. “Why didn’t you? Kiss me?”

“I don’t normally make a habit of kissing girls I don’t know. And clearly it takes an entire fraternity for me to get you alone.” The way his chuckle bounces against your skin has you squirming. Your schoolgirl crush on him wasn’t one-sided, and suddenly you’re hot for teacher. 

You capture him in another kiss, tongue searching the seam of his lips for entrance. He obliges immediately, groaning as you explore his taste. Four hands roam skin, finding purchase in anything and everything. Your body has a mind of its own as you press against him, chest heaving with your passion. The right shift of fabric on fabric reveals that he’s equally as affected by the chemistry.

Reluctantly, he pulls away once more, threading his fingers across the back of your neck. Takes a moment to capture his breath as he sees the lust in your eyes. A deep breath. “As much as I like you, I don’t want to do anything if you’re drunk.”

Soft fingers follow the line of his arm to where it wraps around your waist. How is he this impossibly sweet? Thoughtful, respectful, and looking hot as sin with swollen lips. It’s unfair.

“I promise I’m not.” You stroke the back of his hand. “Please kiss me?”

His large hands unwrap from your waist and travel down, shifting behind your legs and pulling you up, resting your back against the wall. You tangle your legs around his waist as best you can in the small space, relishing his firm body pressed deliciously close, warm and solid. Kisses smeared across lips and jaws as noises crescendo. You’re panting as you trail down to his impossibly long neck, desperate to cover it in affection.

You’ve barely explored the expanse of skin when the door flies open, the boisterous party sounds flooding in. Reality strikes like a slap across the face. The truth-or-dare ringleader takes you in - legs wrapped around Bob and hands creeping toward your ass - and whoops in delight. Who knew Cowboy Bob had it in him!

“Time’s up, lovebirds!” He crows and reaches forward to slug Bob lightly on the shoulder. 

Not skipping a beat, Bob shoves his friend back and throws up his middle finger. “Fuck off, Milburn.” 

The closet door slams shut, blanketing you again in the intimacy of the moment. You’re looking at him with unsure eyes and he’s praying the moment hasn’t been ruined. He’s waited seven calendar months for this opportunity and his fingers are so close to enjoying the plump squeeze of your ass.

“We can go back to the party if you want?” Your voice is so small, nervous outside of those bold seven minutes. Tentative breaths exist between you. 

In lieu of an answer, he bows his head to give you a searing yet gentle kiss.

That cramped coat closet suddenly is an inferno, his tongue slipping inside your mouth and groaning at the burning sweetness of your taste. Your hands grip his shoulders as you fight for dominance, fingers tangling in denim. Hips brushing together, still clinging to the idea of this being innocent. 

An innocence immediately lost when Bob strikes up the courage and palms your ass. Soft and pliable and perfect to squeeze in his palms. He remembers the exact day you came to class in the tightest jeans known to man (laundry day) and the way he had dug his pencil in his palm to avoid a semi as your curved ass met the lecture seat. Something unavoidable now as you squirm against him, moaning your pleasure against the pulse in his neck.

Nothing has ever felt as good as rubbing against Bob Floyd’s clothed bulge. One glance down and you’re dizzy with arousal. Rutting yourself against him as best you can with your limited mobility, sloppy kisses exchanged as the two of you can barely keep your mouths closed. It feels so good, too good. 

Lost in the moment, one hand slips below the hem of your skirt, warm skin on skin. Any noise from outside the closet dims to a hum. Two hearts beating rapidly as desire fully consumes, directing lips to too hot exposed skin. You murmur your need in his ear. You don’t care where you are, you need him.

Bob tucks a finger under your thong, feeling the slick coating your folds. The whine that leaves him is desperate and gruff. He groans against your throat. “Shit, I don’t have a condom.”

Undeterred, your lip catches between your teeth, core muscles contracting as you grind your hips forward. “Doesn’t mean I can’t go for a ride.”

He’s immediately on board, teasing you briefly before extricating his hand to support you better against the wall. His hands practically swallow your ass, flooding you with lust. You thrust your chest against him, desperate to touch every spot on his handsome body as your hips begin to grind. 

His hands are sweltering as they trail down, effortlessly clutching the back of your thighs to give you leverage. Your clit finds friction against his jeans and your mouth hangs open as you buck frantically into him.

“Look at you move, cowgirl,” he breathes out, infatuated. The nickname spurrs you on, whimpering against his lips.

One hand clutching his bicep, holding on for desperate life, while the other snakes its way atop the damned cowboy hat that’s stayed on the entire encounter. Gripping the top of it and holding fast as you ride his clothed bulge with everything you’ve got. Denim and lace against your clit, rubbing deliciously as your brain fuzzes. His hot mouth focused at the hinge of your jaw, sucking soft bruises into the skin; moaning when you brush him just right. 

“I’m close,” you whisper against his cheek. Time has stood still, but it’s embarrassing how close he’s gotten you to orgasm with just his clothed cock and strong hands. 

He ruts his hips forward, meeting your thrusts in heavenly synchronization. You’re panting as the pressure on your clit catapults you, so close to the ultimate prize. Whispers of you can do it, cowgirl, cum for me, doing so good riding me, just a bit more, cowgirl fizzle your senses. 

“O-oh!”

It’s intense, the blinding pleasure coursing through your body. Prolonged by the thick bulge still rutting against you, ready to burst itself. Lips tickling your ear as he praises you. You want to live in this perfect moment of bliss. A moment only perfected when Bob’s fingers grip too hard and his hips stutter up into yours. His all-consuming orgasm only muffled by the skin of your shoulder as he rides it out. 

The rhythmic slowing of your breaths is all you can focus on. You breathe in, he breathes out. Small smiles and a blush barely visible in the low light. 

Delicately, like he knows you might break, he releases you back to the ground; taking his time to smooth down your skirt and straight out your top. Your own hands reach up to his chest, fixing the fabric that had bunched up in your passion. Adjusting his fogged glasses to look into his beautiful eyes.

It doesn’t matter how much you clean up, one look at you two and anyone would comment you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.

With one final kiss to your lips, you feel something land on your head. The brown cowboy hat with the rip along the edge. Cowboy Bob showing off his cowgirl.

You tentatively open the closet door, eyes adjusting to the normal light. Painfully aware of the wet splotch on the obvious front of his jeans, Bob holds your body against him as a human shield. The party is still going strong - your antics have not interrupted anything - and you slip toward the front door without notice. Well…mostly, as a few wolf whistles reach your ears.

“It’s not that late, you want to go back to mine? I’m just off Thornton. It’s quiet since everyone is here.” His eyes are so hopeful in the dark night. So desperate for you to say yes. For you to be his cowgirl beyond tonight.

You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, careful to avoid the spot where your bodily fluids have drenched his jeans. “I’m in.” Your smile is blinding. “We have about nine weeks of Stats to make up.”

The brick is uncomfortable behind your back, but it’s hard to care when his lips feel so good. Broad shoulders shielding you from the hallway, trucker hat turned around and glasses in his pocket so there’s not an inch between your faces. Agreeing to meet outside before lecture was such a good idea.

Despite spending most of the time between Thursday night and Tuesday afternoon in Bob’s apartment trying every position in the book (with teasing hollers from his Pi Kapp roommates adding to the soundtrack) you can’t help but steal these five minutes. He looks so cute, to not kiss him would be a crime.

Bob squeezes your hips, lips trailing down your jaw. “What’s on your mind, cowgirl?”

“I’m trying very hard to convince myself that we pay a lot of money to attend this school and should go learn about statistics. Even though I really only want to head back to my dorm and see how sturdy that loft bed is.”

From where his nose traces your ear, a guttural whine leaves him. “You can’t say something like that and expect me to go to class.”

You pull back to look at him, fingers tickling the close cropped hair at his neck. God, he makes it so hard to want to be responsible.

“Let’s make a deal, okay? We’ll go to class, learn, and tonight you come over and for every study guide question you get right I’ll take off a piece of clothing. Sound good?” He’s practically panting as he smothers your mouth in another kiss. He’s really good at Stats. A steady stream of students files past Bob’s back, a sign that class is about to start.

You press another kiss to his lips. “Let’s go or we’ll miss out on seats. Plus I need to dig through my bag for a pencil.”

“Do you think you actually have one today?” He smirks, amused. The eighteen pencils he’s lent you say otherwise.

Your cheeks are hot under where he kisses them. “Uh…if I don’t can I borrow one? If you have one, that is.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and holds you closer, rubbing your noses softly.

“You do realize I’ve been buying pencils all semester just to give to you, right?”

Turning his cap around - insides fully melted - you know you’re in this rodeo for the long run.

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[belovedcloud]

Sick Days | Roommate! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Notes: Been pretty bedbound recently and thought about how Leon would be if he was sick and had his roommate help him out. This is literally just Leon and you being lovestruck by each other but you both are too scared to say it until he does.

WC: 1.9K

CW: Talks of Ada leading Leon on, nervous Leon but cute outcome. He loves you a lot and just can't convey it well. Fluff, maybe a Part 2?

➽───────────────────────❥

Lazing around in bed was nice every now and again, but that's when you haven't got a tissue shoved up your nose and the highest temperature possible. Leon never meant to get sick in the first place - but when you magically find yourself in a sewer and get stuck in shit-rotting clothes for a good few hours in the cold, it tends to happen. So here he was, trying to breathe properly whilst you tended to him every hour and so. If he wasn't sick he would've thanked you properly by getting you a gift but being bedbound was difficult enough. So his forms of gifts to you were sneezes and coughs as he tried to stomach the pills and cough syrup you gave him.

"Maybe try and not sneeze on my arm..." You jokingly said as he grumbled in bed, wrapping himself in his sheets. "Shut up.." He coughed out as he tried to hide his smile from you, it was impossible to not smile around you. The feelings you gave him were indescribable at the very least. It was like he was a teenager again, fumbling over his words sometimes and not being able to make sense of himself as you would smile at him. Your soft hands swat away the hairs that fell in front of his face as he sniffled, groaning in pain as his head ached continuously. "When can I have my pills again?" Leon asked as his teary eyes travelled up your face, taking in your beauty as you placed down another hot chocolate on the nightstand for him to gulp down any minute by now. "Uhh.. give another 30 minutes, I don't want you feeling even worse because you took your pills too early." You chuckled out as you saw his disheveled state, he really could be dramatic at times. "Fuck.. as if I could be in anymore pain." He muttered, taking the hot chocolate into his hands as he painfully sipped at it, the hot liquid seeping into the cracks of his lips. The lack of hydration causing his skin to dry out.

"Hold on let me get you some chapstick." Seeing you walk out Leon couldn't help but sigh. You were too kind to him, too kind to a man who killed monsters for a living. Yet you wouldn't mind hearing him sob out his monstrous nightmarish stories, you wouldn't mind helping him when he needed help. You would always be there, and that's why he fell in love with you. It took him a while to understand the concepts of love after being lead on by Ada back in Raccoon City. But he got there in the end and he was content with having a crush on you. Even though he thought you would never get with a man like him. Your smile and friendship was enough for him. For now. Your love for Leon was no different. The way he carried himself and his strength mentally was always something you looked up to. He was courageous, no normal person could be like him if they put up with what he was put through a few years ago. His kindness still resided within him - something that you longed for.

Moments later, Leon sees you coming in with a stick of chapstick. The pop of the lid makes him shuffle up from his homemade pillow and blanket mess, his groans apparent as he sat up. "Remind me to not lay down like that again.." He moaned out in pain as he saw you level up the chapstick. "Even when you're sick, you're still funny." You laughed out. "Finally admitting I'm funny now, when I'm on my deathbed?" He playfully rolled his eyes as he put his hand to his head, reenacting how someone would faint. "You are so dramatic Leon." The flick of your finger on his forehead made him yelp. "What the fuck?" Leon chuckled, turning his eyes back on the chapstick. "Red chapstick... really?" He looked at you with tired eyes as he saw your hands approach his head. "It's either this or you can have chapped lips, which one will it be grumpy?" You retorted out jokingly as your left hand tilted his chin up towards you. His face couldn't help but feel warmer... How the hell could it feel warmer when he was ill? A sense of embarrassment overwhelmed Leon as he pursed his lips, a sigh eliciting out his throat. "Fine, chapstick it is."

His gaze wondered over you as the feeling of chapstick replenished the moisture in his lips, slowly rubbing his lips together as you stopped applying it. "Looks like you have lipstick on." He heard you snicker out as your remark slowly made you burst out in a fit of laughter. "Shut uppp.." Leon couldn't help but laugh with you - your giggling made him smile. It was harmonic as he saw tears of joy appear in the creases of your eyes. Laughter slowly died down as you put the chapstick in your pocket - sitting down on Leon's bed. "Does princess Leon need anything else now?" You joked at him as he snuggled back into his fort of blankets. Leon rolled his eyes and averted them towards the side of the room. "You're so kind to me when I'm ill." He grumbled out, a small smile appearing on his lips. "You're welcome." You quipped back as you ruffled his pillows, fluffing them back up to their original shape.

"Thank you..." He hushed out, nervous as it escaped his mouth. Fuck, was that too obvious? "Huh? For fluffing your pillows?" Your head tilted in confusion as your eyes gazed back onto Leon's face. Even when ill, he was so handsome. "No, I mean yeah but.. Thanks for looking after me these past few days. When you could've been having fun with your friends." Leon stuttered out. His heartbeat felt rushed all of a sudden, scared of what you would say back. "You don't have to thank me Leon, it's nice being able to help you out." A soft smile appeared on your lips, he couldn't help but give a weak smile back. "And anyways, you would've done the same thing for me right?" Your hand slid to caress his. Aiding him in some sort of comfort as he mumbled out what he said next. "Yeah.. of course. I would help you with anything."

Leon felt himself get too hot as he hushed out his words. You couldn't help but feel nervous in this situation. His raspy voice hit spots in your heart where you thought it could never be reached. The way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. Were you both really just friends? "I uh.. Sorry if that came out weird." He broke the silence between you two, feeling scared if he had made things awkward. "No, don't worry. It was really sweet of you to say that." You stumbled over your own words trying to make him think otherwise. The way your soft lips moved as your hand kept caressing his hand made Leon crazy. All he wanted to do was kiss you, hold you in his arms. Make you his. "Leon?" You nudged at him. Oops. He forgot he was mid-conversation with you.

"Sorry." He chuckled out. Fuck it. "You're really pretty." He whispered out meekly. It had felt like you short-circuited. Did Leon just call you pretty? "Huh?" Was all that managed to come out of your mouth as you stared at Leon in bewilderment. "Pretty?" You asked him, as if you were begging him to say it again. A soft chuckle erupted out of Leon's throat as his gaze wondered all over you. "Yeah, really pretty." He made it clear to you his thoughts. "Inside and out, and I'm sorry if I made this awkward I just couldn't keep it to myself anymore." He groaned out as he plopped his head back on his pillow. A subtle smile emerged on your face, looking at the man who just confessed to you. "It's okay, I just didn't think you thought of me that way." A mellow laugh elicited out your throat. "What? Of course I do, I mean look at you... You're beautiful and oh my God.. you treat me so well. I can't help but be in love with you." Leon rambled out, hushing himself as he realized the last part. "Shit..." He mumbled out, knowing he had fully confessed his love to you. He anticipated a rejection, instead he felt a soft kiss press on his forehead.

"I'm in love with you too Leon." She couldn't help but have a wide grin as she relapsed his confession in her mind. Leon on the other hand couldn't believe what just happened. It soon sent him into a coughing fit, with you patting his back and laughing. "Agh.. fuck." His voice rasped out of his throat. "How about you get some rest?" You stroked his face, getting the stray hairs out of his eyes. "Uh.. so we're going to just forget that you kissed my forehead?" He joked as he looked at you with teary eyes, still struggling to breathe from him coughing fit before. "Well I can't kiss you on the lips can I?" You snickered as you pinched his cheek, a small whine escaping his lips. "Yeah.. okay. I'll make it up to you when I'm not dying." Leon groaned out as he melted into your touch. "How are you gonna do that?" Confusion laced in your voice as you asked him that question. "Well if I tell you that'll ruin the surprise." He laughed as he looked into your eyes. Feeling your body leave his made him whine. "Where are you going?" He held onto your hand.

Your lips pressed against his forehead again as you stood up. "It's time for your pills." Leon yanked you back down to him as he rolled his eyes, a yelp leaving your lips. "They can wait." He grumbled out, his arms slowly wrapping around you. "Weren't you just crying about not having your meds?" You snickered out as you melted into his touch. "Hush, I don't need them now." He murmured as he lifted up the blankets, covering the both of you. Leon couldn't care less about the medication if it meant having you in his arms, at least for a bit. "Leon.." You whined out, "You're going to get me sick." You tried to escape his embrace, but to no avail. "We can be sick together." He joked as he kissed your neck, feeling content in his sick body. "Shut up, I'm getting your medicine." Getting up from his tight embrace was hard, but it was possible in the end when he felt you kick his kneecap. "You're really going to leave me when I'm like this?" He huffed out, a small pout forming on his lips. "I'll be back soon with your medicine, it's not like I'm leaving forever." You flicked his forehead as you walked out the door.

He was so in love with you.

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[ckret2]

Chapter 40 of human Bill Cipher, in spite of his fondest hopes, still being stuck in the Mystery Shack:

As much as Gideon wants out of the evil magic game, the survival of his father's used car dealership rides on Gideon's help.

And, relatedly, Bill's started receiving psychic car commercials.

1981

Ford had been in his study for what felt like forever, staring at the pile of papers and numbers on his desk, trying to stop the figures from shifting and swimming before his eyes; when something from behind him lit up the dim room with golden light and he a heard a familiar voice behind his shoulder—

"Heeey, Stanford! You've been having a lot of dreams about tax forms lately, what gives?"

Ford was startled out of his thoughts. He turned around, smiling in relief. "Oh, Bill! Hello." Apparently he was dreaming. Thank goodness. It explained why he couldn't seem to get these forms to make sense. "How long have you been watching me?"

"About twenty years."

"What?"

"About twenty minutes," Bill said. "I wasn't going to bug you tonight, but usually your dreams are a little more adventurous! You're starting to worry me, kid." He disintegrated the tax forms with a gesture and floated down to sit on Ford's desk, like a razor-thin glowing paperweight. It was strange to see him cross his legs. "What's on your subconscious?"

Ford hadn't thought his Muse cared that much about his day-to-day human troubles. It was comforting to know someone was worrying about him—someone so far beyond human potential that maybe Ford didn't have to worry he'd be disappointed to learn Ford was struggling a little. "It's my grant money," he sighed. "I feel like my research into Gravity Falls is nowhere near completion, but that money will only last for so long. It won't be long before I'll need to ask for more funding, and I'll have a hard time convincing anyone if I don't have anything to show for it, but I don't want to share incomplete research..."

"Ah, money. The second-worst curse human society's ever inflicted on itself."

"What's the worst one?"

"Marriage."

Ford barked a laugh. It wasn't even that funny a joke; it was just such unexpectedly human cynicism for such an otherworldly entity. It sounded like a joke Ford's dad would make.

"Well, money. What to do..." Bill drummed his fingers on Ford's desk, gazing off into the distance as he thought. Ford realized that, at some point while he was distracted, most of his study had vanished, leaving his desk and chair sitting precariously atop a faint gridded plane in the starry blue void where he usually met Bill. Finally, Bill said, "Have you considered buying gold?"

He hadn't. "Will it help?"

"Sure it will! Eventually!"

"In time to help pay my mortgage?"

"Hmm." Bill thought a moment longer, then snapped his fingers. "Got an idea." He floated off of Ford's desk to eye level, strange sigils appearing in white-blue light around him. "Do you happen to know where the people who decide your funding live?"

"Er... the general area." It had to be near the Backupsmore campus, didn't it?

"Then I might be able to help you!" The symbols solidified around Bill. "I know a little spell to help persuade people. It'll let you plant ideas in their dreams—give 'em a little subliminal nudge. It could make some bigwigs come around on the importance of the research you're doing out here."

A fascinating concept. Ford studied the sigils greedily. He didn't recognize them, but they looked fairly simple. "You're not... talking about mind control?"

"Nah, that's not in my wheelhouse. It'll just let you... talk to them! Like I talk to you! I'm not controlling you, am I?" His eye curved up in a facsimile of a smile. "But you'll find most people have a harder time ignoring you when you're talking to them inside their own heads. What they do with that when they wake up is up to them. Just think of it as a way to schedule an interview where you'll have their undivided attention."

Ford pressed his lips together as he thought; then shook his head. "Thank you, Bill, but no. I wouldn't feel right earning money that way. I'd rather know they were impressed by the scientific and historical value of my work—and if I use magic, I'll never know for sure if they really thought my work measured up."

Bill laughed. "That's what I like about you, Stanford! You really shoot for the stars—and you've got the work ethic to get there! You don't want the fame and fortune unless you earn it!"

Ford was momentarily taken aback. It was rare that his muse openly complimented him; on most nights he dealt with Ford with a sort of cool, detached fondness, something a little too distant to be real affection. When he did voice his approval, it was like the sun coming out after a month of cloud cover. There were nights, when Ford was really feeling his isolation in these woods and he'd half convinced himself all his years of research had been a waste of time, when he was half willing to chase that sunshine to the ends of the earth.

"You'll do whatever it takes to finish your research, won't you?" Bill asked.

Ford gave Bill an awkward, self-conscious smile. "Of course I will. How could I not?"

"Hey, not everyone has your ambition! Most people take the easy way to the top. Cheating, copying, riding on greater men's coattails... Some guys earn the dough to buy their gold, others just want to dig for someone else's." Bill spread his hands in a shrug. "Well, it was an idea." The sigils started to fade.

Ford raised a hand. "Hold on. I don't want to use it, but... do you think I could learn that spell anyway?" He smiled hopefully. "For research?"

"For fun?"

"For fun."

Bill laughed. "I was waiting for you to ask!" The sigils reappeared, and next to them appeared an incantation. "All right, I'll walk you through it. Pay attention, I don't think you've got enough time to go over it twice this REM cycle."

Ford nodded, focusing fully on Bill, determined to remember the spell well enough to record it in Journal 2 when he woke up.

####

Spring, 2013

Tentatively, Bud Gleeful said, "Son... now, I know you lost that spooky grimoire of yours. But... don't you have anything left that might help out the dealership?"

Gideon growled in irritation. "I told you, father! Everything I knew was in Journal 2! It's gone! Anyway, I'm just trying to be a normal kid now. I don't want to get mixed up in any more magic. I'm through with it."

"I understand," Bud said, nodding. "And I think that's mighty admirable of you, turning over a new leaf like that. Shows real maturity." He hesitated, wringing his hands together. He pre-emptively winced and said, "But it's just that... business hasn't exactly been booming, ever since your little tenure as Bill's sheriff. And you know I love the fellas you made friends with in the penitentiary, they're all such... colorful characters; but having them hang around does make folks a little wary to drive into the parking lot..."

Volume doubling, Gideon snapped, "Are you saying it's my fault?!"

"No, son, no. You know I'd never." Bud knelt down, and—cautiously, like he was trying to pet a feral cat—put a hand on Gideon's shoulder. "But, well... business is slumping, that's all. We'll be fine as long as we live within our means, don't you worry about that—but our means might not cover luxuries like those fancy suits and fine new boots you like so much, you understand."

Gideon lowered his gaze, tugging self-consciously on the sleeve of his favorite suit jacket. It was already just a little too short to be fashionable; he probably didn't have long until he outgrew it completely.

"Your mother and I are doing all we can," Bud said. "If there's anything you can do... well, you don't have to, of course. But—it'd be a mighty big help."

Gideon grit his teeth, glaring at his feet. (How long until he outgrew all his shoes? He had a growth spurt coming "any day now," he'd been told. The prospect didn't excite him.) He balled his hands into fists; and then muttered, "There... might be one spell I remember... the sigils were pretty simple..."

####

June 2013

Bill could see it in his mind's eye: if he kept pushing and pushing eventually there'd be no more room in two dimensional space for his mother to fill, and then she'd be forced to bend UP, up into the third dimension, all that open free space. Then she'd see the dark, she'd see the far points of light—

"STOP!" His mother howled in pain. He kept pushing. She was out of room. She didn't bend up. He shoved—and she splintered. Bone snapping, cartilage tearing, he could see inside her thin body as things broke and ruptured. He didn't know what to do.

And for several long, long seconds—he couldn't remember what was happening. The world seemed to bend wrong, and he couldn't remember.

At least, he couldn't have remembered a few weeks ago. He hadn't wanted to. But he'd been studying a book on lucid dreaming since then; and the first things it taught was how to remember more of his dreams. And now, he recalled exactly what happened next when he pushed his mother and she splintered and ruptured:

He pushed harder.

Her skin fractured and peeled off, strand after strand. It filled the spaces between his fingertips, wrapped up his arms. He could shut his eye but he still saw it through his eyelid, still felt it tickling at the corners of his mouth. 

"You want me to tell everyone the third dimension's full of dead shapes?! Huh?!" All he could see was blood and bone and peeling skin. "Then why don't you go find them for me!" He let out an angry, hysterical, broken laugh.

Her hand grabbed weakly at his.

He let go and jolted back, gasping—and almost retched. What had he done? He hadn't meant to. But he'd kept pushing—but it was too late by then. It was too late by then, wasn't it?

"What have you done?"

Bill whirled around to face— "Dad?"

The green trapezoid looked as sick as Bill felt, eye darting in horror across the crumpled line in the corner. He couldn't even see most of it from where he was—his eye didn't work like Bill's, he couldn't look through the mess of skin to the gore beneath.

"It was an accident," Bill whispered. (He'd kept pushing.) "It really was, I promise."

His father tore his eye from the corpse to Bill's face. "What are we going to tell your followers?"

Bill looked past his father. Through a wall so thin Bill almost couldn't see it, hundreds upon hundreds of shapes were settled, waiting—to see him. He was sure: somehow, somehow, they could see him too. They knew what he'd done. His life was over.

A thunderous voice boomed, "Whooee, what a fix! Boy, you look like you could use a getaway car, couldn't you?"

Bill blinked. He blinked again. He looked up-but-not-north.

A human in a pink Hawaiian shirt, standing on top of the universe, looked down at him.

Bill said, "What."

"Here, let me just—getcha right—" The human plunged his hand through the second dimension, scooped beneath Bill, and popped him right up off the surface of the universe. "Now, if you'll pardon my saying so, you look like you could use a little help getting somewhere far, far away from here!"

Bill stared at him. "What."

"And I've got just the thing to help you!" the human declared. "Aren't you feeling stuck? Trapped? Just can't take your obligations anymore? Miserable you can't hit the road and see all of—well—" he gestured vaguely out at the flat surface of the universe stretching into the distance "—whatever this is? Then you need to visit your buddy Bud Gleeful—(that's me)—at Gleeful's Auto Sales, the finest used car dealership in Roadkill County! We'll get you a set of wheels that'll carry you on the cross-country police-evading tour of your dreams!" He dropped his voice and murmured to Bill from behind his hand, "Warranty expires at the state line."

"What." Bill looked down at the universe—and was disappointed but not surprised to see he wasn't a triangle anymore, but a human. He looked at Bud again. "Are you advertising to me. Is this an advertisement. Am I getting advertised to in my sleep."

"And if you sign before you leave, we'll throw in a free air freshener," Bud added.

Bill stared at him in horrified amazement. "I am going to kill you," he said. "And then I'm going to wake up and kill you in real life."

"Ah, well. That's a right shame."

####

Bill shot straight up with a roar of rage. "Oh, when I get my hands on...!"

"Whoa. Bad dream?"

Bill whirled around with a murderous glare. Dipper's spirit, ghastly and pale, was hovering in the middle of the attic. Bill snapped, "You're a bad dream!" He scrambled after the spirit.

"Whoa! Hey!" Dipper tried to swoop away from Bill toward the stairs.

Bill caught him by the back of the neck. "You are going back in your bo—bed, you're getting in, and you're not getting back out."

"Ow, let go!" Dipper squirmed in Bill's grip, kicking his feet in the air. "I was just going to turn off the TV! I heard it playing an advertisement, I think that's what put me in... you know." He gestured at himself. "The sleepwalking dream."

Bill hesitated in front of the kids' door. "What advertisement?"

"I don't know, it was too far away to tell. But I know it was an advertisement, it sounded... advertise-y."

"Hmm." Bill considered that. And then he flung Dipper's soul through the door.

"HEY!"

"I'll turn off the TV," Bill said. "Go back to sleep!"

Ugh. Everything ached, his stomach was trying to turn itself inside out in an attempt to escape and go forage for food independently, and the world held a vindictive grudge against Bill personally. He trudged downstairs, muttering crabbily to himself.

He wasn't surprised to discover the TV was off.

####

"I'm conducting a survey," Bill said. "Did you hear any advertisements from the TV last night? Maybe have any dreams that might have been influenced by hearing an ad?"

"Uh..." Soos slowed at the bottom of the stairs as he thought. "Nope. Slept like a baby all night."

"Interesting." He waved at Melody to try to catch her attention. "Hey, how about you?"

"Nope!" Already dressed for work, she hurried from the stairs to the living room without even glancing Bill's way. She tended not to linger when he was nearby. He told himself he was flattered.

"Dude," Soos said, "What happened to your arm?"

Bill looked down. On the underside of his forearm were two thick lines set at an angle, burned so dark brown they were nearly black. "Leaned on the stove after someone used the burner. Oops."

"Do you need...?"

"Don't worry about it, it's already healing." Bill rolled down his hoodie's sleeves as he leaned into the kitchen, "How 'bout you, Stan? Hear any phantom ads last night?"

"Nuh-uh. But I sleep with my hearing aids out," Stan said. "The only things loud and grating enough to wake me are a car horn or your voice."

"Ha!" Bill looked from Stan's side of the table to Ford's—and Ford wasn't facing him, but he was glancing from the corner of his eye toward Bill's arms.

Bill turned away without asking anything. No point. Obviously, Ford had been too far underground to have picked up anything. Bill told himself Ford was seething at getting the cold shoulder.

"What're we talking about?" Mabel asked, coming downstairs with Dipper close behind.

Bill looked at her—and then let his gaze sweep past her with the same cold disinterest he'd favored Ford with. He brushed past her to head upstairs. "Hey, somnambulist." He shoved Dipper's hat down over his eyes as he passed. "TV was off. No one else heard anything. You dreamed your stupid ad."

"Hey." Dipper pulled his hat back up. "Jerk."

Mabel called, "Bill?"

He ignored her and kept walking.

####

"What was that all about?"

Bill was curled up in the attic window seat, flipping covetously through an issue of Gold Chains For Old Men; at the sound of Mabel's irritated voice, he merely said, "Oh, hello." He turned another page. "Here to try to make a fool of me some more?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "Bill, what are you talking about?"

"Tell me about those 'Mysteries' of yours. Did you plan your story any deeper than that? Were you going to arrange for me to catch you with a cloak and dagger just to make me wonder?"

Mabel paused. "Oh." She laughed weakly.

"So how many people were in on it, huh? Was it just you and Stanford, or did you have the whole house laughing at me behind my back?"

"It—it was just us two." She leaned on the wall by Bill's feet. "Um, so... are you actually mad?"

He shot her a venomous look, then lifted his magazine so he couldn't see her any more.

"Come on!" She poked his knee. "It was a harmless prank! And you lie to everyone all the time."

"No I don't."

"You're so sensitive."

"I am not," Bill said indignantly. "I'm proud. I have pride. And lately pride's about the only thing I have going for me. And I didn't think a friend would try to undermine it."

Mabel heaved a sigh. "Okay, all right. Sorry."

Bill lowered his magazine to peer at her skeptically. "Are you really?"

"Well, yeah." She leaned against the window seat. "It was just a joke, I don't wanna hurt your feelings."

He stared her down a moment longer, assessing her sincerity. And then he sat up and pulled her into a hug.

She squawked in surprise, but returned the embrace. "Bill! What—?"

"You're sweet, you know that, star girl?" He gave her one last squeeze and let her go. "When you aren't trying to make me look dumb. But you don't rub salt in the wounds, that's what matters."

"Pfff. I kinda think you'd try to kill me if I did."

"Mmyeah, I might." He wouldn't. Only person in this entire dull rotten world who was willing to apologize for wronging him. He wasn't giving her up easily. "Hey—did you happen to hear any commercials last night? Maybe have any dreams that might've been caused by one?"

"Nope! I had a dream about cats fighting a war against an octopus."

"Oh, that one. Did the octopus win or did the lions show up in time?"

Mabel paused. "It's always creepy when you do that. But the octopus won this time."

"Aww. That poor picturesque beach town."

"I tried to get between the octopus and the town when the cats failed."

"Did you stop it?"

Mabel shrugged. "Dunno. I woke up before it reached me."

"Too bad! But hey—you've been making big progress with your lucid dreaming. You'll get it next time!" No salesmen offering cars as war chariots for the cats, though. It was almost a pity. Bill would've liked to hear about Bud getting eaten by a giant octopus.

"So I guess Dipper was the only one who thought he heard a commercial."

Dipper and Bill. "Guess so."

####

The large, empty floor room, down the main hallway at the far end of the house, was among the few places Bill was allowed to go. Except when the humans had some big event like a dance or a museum exhibit planned, there was nothing in it but a flat old sofa, a fireplace he couldn't turn on, and Soos's electric piano taunting him. In spite of its relative isolation from the rest of the household, Bill rarely had reason to visit it.

But when he wanted space to pace and think, there was no better room.

Last night's advertisement was magic, no doubt. And he suspected he knew the exact spell. The Mystery Shack was way on the outskirts of Gravity Falls; probably nobody else here was affected because they were just out of range of the signal. The only reason Dipper had nearly picked it up was because he didn't have his thick skull in the way when his spirit was out of his body.

But Bill's psychic abilities had been heavily suppressed since he was put in this body. How was he channeling the signal so much more clearly than anyone else?

He thoughtfully ran his tongue over his new golden tooth. "Hmm."

####

Bud entered the Gleeful house flipping through a pile of mail. "Junk, junk, bills, junk... Here's your subscription, honeybunch." He held out an issue of Nervous Wrecks Weekly magazine. His wife paused her cycle of polishing the front window to stiffly take it.

"Junk, coupons... Gideon! You've got a fan letter!" He checked for a stamp indicating the tiny envelope had passed through a state correctional facility. "And it isn't even from the prison, isn't that nice!"

"Coming!" Gideon ran out of his room, snatched the letter from Bud's hand with a little grunt, ran back to his room giggling, and slammed the door.

Bud chuckled. "Joy, sweetie, you remember when that boy got so much fanmail he used to throw it out? These days he's excited for every single letter." The corners of his mouth turned down. "Suppose it's good for him, learning to appreciate the little things."

"Mhm." She looked down at the roses outside the window. She'd need to trim those soon. "I suppose it is."

In his room, Gideon studied the odd envelope. It was tiny—barely large enough for the address and the stamp, no return address—and when he turned it over he discovered lines of text printed on the paper. The flap was tucked carefully into a fold in the envelope that held it tight.

As he pulled out the flap, he realized that the envelope wasn't held together with glue; it was some sort of cleverly-folded origami craft that began to unfold in his hands as he pulled out the flap. The letter was written on the inside of the envelope. "Why—what a delightful little creation!" He sat at his dressing table to focus on unfolding the letter, careful not to damage it so he could re-fold it later.

Once he'd smoothed it out, he could see that the paper was carefully torn from a book. The outside of the envelope was made from the last page of a chapter, with only a few lines of text at the top of the page and the rest left conveniently blank. It talked about telling the difference between waking and dreaming.

He turned the page over to read the letter.

GIDEON–

IT'S ADORABLE THAT YOU'RE USING A DREAM COUNTERFEITING SPELL FOR CAPITALISM! I BET YOUR PARENTS ARE PROUD! HOWEVER, MY FILLINGS ARE PICKING UP AUTO DEALERSHIP ADS ALL NIGHT. IT'S REALLY ANNOYING. CUT IT OUT.

In place of a signature, there was a triangle with an eye.

Gideon's blood ran cold.

He read the letter again, then studied the words themselves. He didn't recognize the tall, thin, crooked handwriting. He flipped over the envelope. No return address. He noticed for the first time that the letter wasn't addressed to "Gideon". It said "STAR BOY". Fan mail. Right.

The postmark was from Gravity Falls.

"It can't be Bill," Gideon muttered to himself. "Bill's dead. It's got to be some prankster with a twisted sense of humor..."

But then, how could some prankster know he was doing dream magic? Did anyone else even know that Bill had called him "Star Boy"?

No. It had to be a prankster. If Bill were alive, he'd be doing much worse than sending letters and complaining about fillings.

He crumpled up the letter and threw it away. His father's business needed Gideon to do whatever he could to help. Gideon's own financial future depended on it. He wasn't about to let some prankster stop him.

####

There was a rumble of several motorcycles and a revving car engine outside the Gleeful house, disturbing the late evening still. Gideon came in the front door wearing a little backpack, waving behind himself as he came in. "Thanks for the ride, Ghost-Eyes! Good talk today! I'll see y'all this weekend for brunch!" He shut the door as the engines receded into the distance.

"Welcome home, son," Bud said from the couch. "How were the ex-convicts this week?"

"Oh, great, just great. Graybeard's daughter is gonna let him meet his grandson and Spiderwebs got a new job."

"Oh, that's wonderful to hear. I know you were real concerned for Spiderwebs."

"I shouldn't have worried! He got work at an alpaca ranch on the other side of town, did you know there's an alpaca ranch 'round here?"

"Can't say I did!"

"I think it's a good fit for him. Being out in nature calms him down."

An uneasy silence fell over the room as they waited a polite amount of time to change the topic. In the kitchen, Joy cleaned the same dish for the third time.

Bud cleared his throat. "Well, uh—you know, it's been a couple of days since we've run a 'nighttime ad.' Do you think it's a good time to...?"

Gideon squeezed his backpack's straps. He could still see that spindly text reading "STAR BOY". "Do you think? I don't want to put 'em too close together, folks might notice..."

Bud grimaced. "It can't hurt. It's been almost two weeks since I sold a car."

Gideon scowled. But he nodded. "Yeah, all right. I'll go set up."

"You know how much your mother and I appreciate it," Bud said. "I'll go heat up dinner."

Gideon went to his room, tossed his backpack on his bed, rolled out the tarp on which he'd drawn the circle and sigils in permanent marker, and set up the candlesticks and candles around the perimeter. His father called him to dinner; they watched an evening talk show; and after a little more dawdling, they figured it was late enough that most folks would be asleep, and went to Gideon's room to get to work.

As Bud awkwardly lowered himself to sit in the circle and Gideon lit the candles, Gideon asked, "Father, do you ever... remember who you talk to? I mean, whose dreams you're in?"

Bud considered that, pursing his lips. "No, can't say I do. It's a bit like I'm dreaming myself," he said. "And it's sort of a jumble of a few hundred dreams, too. Like I'm visiting the whole town at once. All I can recall is a blur!"

Gideon frowned. "I see."

"You sure you don't want to be sitting in the circle this time?" Bud asked. "I'd bet if folks saw you in their dreams telling them to buy a car, why, they'd just rush right down."

These days, Gideon wasn't so sure. Sourly, he said, "I don't want to get involved." He'd gotten enough of starring in his father's car commercials when he was younger. He'd thought he'd escaped that completely when he picked up the telepathy act; he didn't relish the thought of using telepathy to star in another car commercial.

"All right, suit yourself. Just keep it in mind." Bud got as comfortable as he could on the floor and shut his eyes.

Gideon took a deep breath and began chanting: "Dreamers, hear me, from far far away; tonight you'll dream of what I say; dreamers, hear me, from far far away; tonight you'll dream of what I say; dreamers, hear me, from far far away..."

The flames flickered and turned bright blue. A purplish shimmery light surrounded Bud; and as Gideon kept chanting, the light expanded to the edge of the circle and beyond, creeping across the floor, over the bed—

A shrill wail filled the room. They both started, losing their concentration. The wail persisted several seconds before it resolved into a eardrum-bursting roar of words: "HI I'M SCOUT YOUNGER AND I'M IN A PICKLE SO YOU CAN DRIVE FOR A NICKEL! I'VE GOT SO MANY CARS I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO PUT 'EM! SO WE'RE GIVING THEM AWAY FOR FIVE CENTS, THAT'S RIGHT FIVE CENTS! SCOUT YOUNGER, I'M A DEALER BY THE PEOPLE FOR THE PEOPLE—"

"Dagnabbit," Bud shouted, "that's the man undermining my no-barter-for-a-quarter deal and getting all my business! He's halfway to Portland—but darn it, his commercials are so catchy!"

"—THAT'S YOUNGER PATRIOT CARS, ON THE NORTH SIDE OF INTERSTATE—" The commercial was cut off with a clap of thunder that made them both jump again.

And before the dying rumbles of the thunder had fully faded, a second voice spoke—a high-pitched, furious shriek that Gideon hadn't heard in nearly a year but instantly recognized: "SEE HOW YOU LIKE GETTING USED CAR ADS SHOVED DOWN YOUR THROAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, YOU LITTLE TWERP. THIS IS MY FINAL WARNING!"

There was another crack of thunder; and then nothing.

Nothing but a faint, muffled, mechanical whir coming from Gideon's bed.

Slowly, Bud said, "Is that...?"

Gideon looked under his bed; then on top, tugging over his backpack and unzipping it; and he pulled out a still-running cassette tape player. A complicated sigil was painted on top of the player and stretched over the play button, glowing shimmery purple as though it had absorbed the magic from Gideon's spell.

Bud took the tape player, stopped it, rewound a bit, turned down the volume dial, and hit play: "—your throat in the middle of the night, you little—"

He stopped the tape. He and Gideon looked at each other.

Bud said, "Don't tell your mother."

####

"Third lap!" Dipper crowed as his car zoomed over the line on the digital racetrack. "You'd better catch up fast!"

"Aw, c'mon," Mabel groaned. She tilted her body along with her game controller as she steered her car around a tricky curve, as though that would help her go a little faster. "No fair, I'd be winning if you didn't throw a goose at me—"

"Pff, shut up, you always use the goose."

Bill was sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching the fish tank—as far as either Dipper or Mabel could tell, having a staring contest with the axolotl—but without breaking eye contact with the tank, he leaned over to elbow Dipper's knee. "Hey kid. Go left."

"What? No, shut up." Dipper tried to kick Bill's arm away.

"Go left. Trust me, it's a hidden shortcut."

"No! You're not even watching."

"I'm psychic. Go left."

"No." Dipper jerked his car to the right. It drove off the track and landed in quicksand. "Aw, man—"

"YES!" Mabel sailed past him. A fanfare played as she crossed the finish line. "The winner! Woo-woooo!"

Bill beamed as Dipper glared at the side of his face.

Somebody knocked on the door—and kept knocking, frantically hammering for attention. Dipper and Mabel looked over.

Bill glanced over, rolled his eyes, said, "You don't want to answer that," and looked back at the fish tank.

Dipper glared at him again, stood, and went to answer the door, Mabel close behind. "Hel— Gideon?"

"Told you," Bill muttered.

Gideon was sweating, panting, and wild-eyed with panic. "Mabel! Dipper!" He paused to give Mabel a sweet smile. "Hi Mabel~♡" And straight back to panic. "We've got a problem! I know y'all don't want me 'round here, but—but this is an emergency!"

Dipper glanced at Mabel. She sighed, but reluctantly stepped back to let Gideon in. "All right. What is it?"

"I know I sound insane, but—but you have to trust me," Gideon said. "I don't know how, and I don't know why, but Bill Cipher's back! I'm sure it's Bill, it can't be anyone else, he... he knows things only somebody with his powers could know!" He paced anxiously in front of the twins, "He's been sending me threatening mail and harassing me and—and I don't know what he's up to, but we've got to find him and stop him! You've gotta help me!" He grabbed Dipper's arms. "I think he might be trying to kill my family!"

Dipper and Mabel turned to glare at Bill.

He was determinedly studying the fish tank.

"Hey, Goldie," Dipper snapped.

Bill glanced over with an expression of mild interest. "Hm?"

"Gideon here says that Bill's been harassing him," Dipper said. "What do you think about that."

"Oh wow," Bill said, extremely unconvincingly. "That's so crazy. I can't even believe it."

Gideon's anxious gaze darted past Dipper and Mabel. "Who's...?" He thought he remembered seeing that stranger around Wendy.

Dipper stepped between their line of sight. "Thanks, Gideon. We'll handle this... problem."

The stranger got to his feet and sauntered to the entryway. "Hey Gideon. Just out of curiosity, what were y—"

Mabel cut in, "Bye, Gideon!" She tried to push him toward the door. "We'll see you later!"

The stranger leaned over Gideon, planting a hand on the doorframe. "—what were you doing that got on Bill's nerves so much, I wonder—"

"Shhh!" Mabel tried to push Bill away.

Had Gideon not heard the voice so recently, he might not have noticed anything odd about the stranger in front of him. But as it was, a chill instantly ran up his spine. He slowly looked up. The menacing smile was unfamiliar, but the eye... something was wrong with that eye. The longer he stared into it, the more he could see the cruel, mad, golden inhumanity.

Gideon squealed in terror and bolted out the door. 

Dipper squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. "Seriously?"

Mabel chased after him. "Gideon! Gideon wait!" She caught up with him rounding in front of the gift shop and had to tackle him into the dirt.

"Get offa me! You're working for him, you traitor—"

"Gideon, listen! We're not working for him, he's our prisoner!"

"Oh." Gideon stopped struggling. "Well, that's a different kettle of corn, isn't it."

Mabel sighed in relief. She backed off Gideon, but had to hold his ankle to make sure he wouldn't bolt again. "Okay, look. We don't know how, but Bill's stuck in a human body, and he's got no powers."

"How do y'all know he isn't faking it?"

"Because he tried to kill us and we beat him up." She winced. "We've... kind of beat him up a lot."

Gideon nodded. "O... okay."

"But you can't tell anybody," Mabel said. "If there's an angry mob or something and he gets executed, the real Bill might hatch from his body like an egg and he'll take over the town again!"

Gideon shuddered. He could almost still feel ache in his legs and the blisters on his feet under the adorable sparkly pink shoes.

"So he's fine here with us. We've got everything under control, he's not dangerous like this—" Mabel turned around to shout, "—and HE SHOULDN'T BE SENDING THREATENING LETTERS, BILL."

Bill's voice drifted from around the corner of the house: "YOU CAN'T PROVE ANYTHING!"

Dipper said, "What did Gideon do to warrant that, anyway?"

Bill glowered into the distance. "He knows what he did."

"Okay, I-I won't tell anyone. I promise." Pitifully, Gideon asked, "Can I go home now?"

"Yeah, you can go home now." Mabel let him go. He got up and ran as fast as his little legs would carry him.

####

They reconvened in the living room. Dipper and Mabel stood in front of Bill, glaring. Bill sat on the sofa, smiling innocently.

"Bill," Mabel said. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

"Oh, yeah?" Lots of people thought he should be ashamed of himself, but not many had the guts to say so.

"Bullying Gideon like that!"

"I have an excuse," Bill said. "I've been crabby this week. Body made me crabby. Some kind of human neurotransmitter imbalance. I didn't sign up to have neurotransmitters, it's completely out of my hands."

"That's not an excuse," Dipper said.

"Plus, you're an entire adult thing!" Mabel said. "You're picking on a little kid! He's like, eleven!"

"So? There's not a lot of difference between eleven and a hundred eleven when you're a million million years old."

"Then maybe you're too old to bully anybody."

Bill blinked in mild surprise. "Huh."

Dipper said, "Plus, you're gonna blow your cover and get everyone in trouble!"

Bill shrugged. "He can't prove anything! Anyone could have sent a letter pretending to be me."

Mabel asked, "How did you send a letter, anyway?"

####

"Hey, Soos," Mabel yelled, "Can you send a letter for me?"

"Sure thing, hambone! Just stick it on the pile in the kitchen."

Mabel licked a stamp, haphazardly slapped it on the envelope to her parents, tossed it on the other mail, and ran back upstairs.

Bill crept into the kitchen, peeled the stamp off Mabel's envelope before it dried, stuck it on his tiny origami letter, and stuffed them both into the middle of the mail pile. "Sorry, kid," he muttered. "You'll just have to resend this one."

####

"I have my ways," Bill said.

"And how did you 'harass' Gideon?" Dipper asked. "What could you possibly do from in here to harass him?"

####

Bill sat on the sofa in the floor room with Mabel's boombox radio on the floor, a cassette tape player/recorder he'd salvaged from the museum held up to the speaker with his thumb hovering over the record button, his other hand hovering over the key with the thunder sound effect on Soos's keyboard, an air horn between his knees, and a nearly-dead marker he'd fished out of Mabel's trash and revitalized with rubbing alcohol waiting next to him for drawing a magic-activated sigil. He glared at the boombox as the local radio station played an advertisement for air conditioning installation. "Come on," he muttered at the boombox. "Play the stupid car commercial."

The next ad started. "Bargain alert, bargain alert! I've got more used cars than I know what to do with! Hi, I'm Scout—"

"Yes," Bill hissed. He hit the record button, squeezed the air horn between his knees, held the tape recorder up to the boombox until the end of the commercial, kicked the boombox's power button, quickly held the tape recorder up to the piano, and triumphantly hit the key that produced the sound of a flushing toilet.

"NO!" He kicked the electric piano's leg, flung the tape recorder to the other end of the sofa, and flopped face down on the cushions. After permitting himself a moment of grief at the injustice of it all, he dragged over the tape recorder, stopped it, rewound it back to the start, hit the lightning key several times to make sure he had it, and then set up again to wait for the next time the car commercial played.

####

"Hey Wendy, could you get this door for me?"

Wendy gave Bill a puzzled look. "That's the wrong hallway. Rainbow Club's down that one." She pointed at the door across the room.

"I know, I'm just looking for the restroom! I need to dooo... girl hygiene things?"

Wendy looked at the tape player-shaped lump under Bill's shirt, looked at his face, and raised her brow.

"Okay, okay. I'm gonna prank Lil Gideon."

Wendy opened the door, leaned through, and opened a second door to a coat closet. "Good luck. We're all counting on you."

Bill saluted her, and rummaged through the leather biker jackets in search of Gideon's little backpack.

####

"You've got no idea what kind of dark powers I still have at my disposal," Bill boasted, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head.

Dipper turned to Mabel. "Yeah, he's got nothing. He probably bribed a tourist to call Gideon's house or something."

Bill scowled, but didn't dignify Dipper with a response. "Anyway, the game's over now that Gideon knows where I am. I won't do it again."

Dipper scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Why should we trust you?"

"Because," Bill said calmly, "if I do it again, you'll have to tell your uncles, and I'll be in serious trouble. So I won't... and therefore, you won't. Right?"

Dipper frowned, but looked at Mabel. Mabel was considering Bill with her hands on her hips. She prompted, "Aaand...?"

It took Bill a moment to figure out what she was aiming for. "And I've realized I was mean and I'm very remorseful for my hurtful actions."

Mabel pointed at him. "That's what I wanna hear!" She looked at Dipper. "I think we can let him off with a warning."

Dipper shook his head in resignation.

Mabel said, "But you're not stopping there, Bill."

"How's that?"

"Come on, man, think!" She poked her finger against her temple. "You know the answer! We just watched this episode yesterday!"

"Episode?" Dipper asked.

"I've been using Color Critters to teach him social skills."

Bill said, "I have social skills, all you're doing is showing me what'll be on the test."

"That's how learning works, dummy! I wanna hear you regurgitate that textbook answer!"

Bill opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue, and pantomimed sticking his finger down his throat and gagging; but then he said, with a blatantly artificial chipper tone, "'If we hurt our friends, we should try to find a way to make it up to them and make sure it can't happen again.'" 

"That's right! 98 points! I'm taking two off for attitude."

"So how do you expect me to make it up to him? I can't exactly un-send him a letter. Unless you're gonna loan me that time tape—"

"Stop asking for the time tape," Dipper said, "it'll never happen."

Bill shrugged. "Then what do you suggest."

"Figure it out yourself," Mabel said. "You're the one who's gotta make it up to Gideon, not us."

Bill rolled his eye. "Is this part of the terms to buy your silence?"

"Yeah, it is."

"All right, fine." Bill sighed and stood up. "Give me a bit to brainstorm. I'll be upstairs." He meandered out of the room.

Mabel called after him, "You better not think you're wiggling out of this!"

"Relax! I won't disappoint you, Shooting Star. Promise."

Once he was out of earshot, Dipper turned to Mabel. "How do you expect him to make it up to Gideon?"

"He should say 'sorry.'"

Dipper nodded. Okay, sure, that sounded reasonable. "How long do you think it'll take for him to think of apologizing?"

"I'd give it a couple of hours."

####

(If you recognize the dealership being parodied, we now share a warrior's bond. Anyway hope y'all enjoyed, I've been looking forward to introducing Gideon for a long time! As always, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts and comments on the chapter!)

[theroundbartable]

Reverse concept:

Merlin and Arthur are stuck in a cave but don't know why. There are symbols on the wall

Arthur: the hell is this? Do we have to like - confess our deepest secrets or something?

Merlin: actually this thing says that only thus people are stuck who are deeply in love. Apparently some ex girlfriend left it here to kill the man and the woman he betrayed her with

Arthur: 1. How the fuck can you read those symbols. 2. What the fuck?

Merlin: yeah, I know. And Gaius taught me.

...

Arthur: so, you're in love, huh? How hard would it be for you to stop bein in love with them and find another way to get us out of here?

Merlin: ... Impossible. How about you?

Arthur: fuck. same

Merlin: ... May I ask who it is?

Arthur: no.

...

Merlin: maybe our best bet would be to forget they ever existed. You've been hit in the head a couple of times, if we do it hard enough that might work

Arthur: I've never forgotten who I loved tho. It was only ever short term. Besides, if you do it to me, I'd forget you existed and would forget to get you out. I suppose unless you have magic or something and can erase our minds, we'll starve to death here.

Merlin: huh...

Arthur: what?

Merlin: nothing, it's just - that is an option

Arthur: I was kidding. You don't have magic, do you, Merlin?

Merlin: ...

Arthur: you have magic?!?!?!

Merlin: sorry!

Arthur: fuck. So like - you lied to me, all these years *tries to get out again, fails, then sighs* fuck, I knew it.

Merlin: what?

Arthur: not even THAT gets my mind off of you. And yeah, it's you. I might as well tell you now If we're going to die, or you erase my mind - or kill me, whatever it is you wanna do

Merlin: for the record, it's mutual

Arthur: shit, for real?

Merlin: yeah... And you're reacting far better about the magic than I expected, so this is kinda - it's the worst feeling ever. Knowing we have a chance to get out but ... None of this remains

Arthur: i'm sorry

Merlin: wanna make out before I erase our minds?

Arthur: well, it can't be more embarrassing than it already is

Bonus: three erasures later

Arthur: who are you? What are we doing here?

Merlin: I'm Merlin and you? apparently people in love are stuck here

Arthur: oh... Hahah. Funny thing, do you believe in love at first sight?

[matchadobo]

Can I request Kid x reader (established relationship) where he and the crew find out the reader is a run away princess beacuse she was arranged to get married to a prince who was awful? You can expand on this concept as much as u want!!

KIDD; runaway princess

wc: 2003

warning/s: none, very fluff, kidd's being violent tho

"snap at me when you've taken down more than half of what i had done, cutie." he taunted, pinning down enemies one after the other that almost got to you. "so i don't gotta watch your back all the time."

"i'll point the gun at you instead, numbskull."

once the lot of you had reached a quiet alley, you all settled down. some had got a hold of their knees, sat on the ground with their backs on the cold, bricked walls, or face flat on the asphalt trying to catch their breaths.

but you were too occupied with thinking if you should out yourself because you are overflowing with guilt. some of your men have been injured but thankfully enough no one died. while some of your mates tended to their wounds, you couldn't take all the guilt so you stepped up.

"why are you standin' like that?" kidd looked at you funny. he stood tall with his back against the wall, his arms crossed, a puzzled expression on his face.

"i... have something to confess to you guys." you said with your head hung low, fists balled up. the others figured that it was serious, so everyone stopped lousing around and had their eyes on you. you took your time gathering your thoughts and words and they anticipated patiently.

"out with it, love." kidd nudged you, placing his human arm on your shoulder. he donned a gentle smile which cheered you on. a smile only known to you and for you.

"the real reason why we're being chased by the royal guards of my village is not just because we're pirates. it's mostly because i-i'm the lost princess who ran away on her wedding day." you spat bitterly, bile rising across your throat.

you pulled out a bounty poster of you that you snatched from the pub you lot were drinking at earlier. "i colored and grew out my hair so i wouldn't be recognized." you placed the poster side by side. the utter astonishment in their eyes as even the littlest resemblance was not evident. you got too careless that your hair later grew out and your roots were showing. even with the make up, the people from your village were able to recognize you.

you took a look at them and they all had the same expression, jaws dropped on the floor. but you especially took a long glance at kidd, his face was unparalleled and you couldn't read him. was he angry? shocked? sad? amused?

he sucked in his teeth and tsked, "sounds like my little rockstar." he looked at you, eye-to-eye as he watched how tears pooled by your eyes. "kinda figured you're somewhat of a princess though, you're too damn pretty to be in my world."

"yeah?" you placed your hand above his which was clutching your cheeks. "i-i'm sorry i lied... i was... scared."

in a millisecond, kidd pulled you to his grasp by the back of your neck. he stroked at the back of your head, combing his fingers through your locks. "that ain't a problem, alright? i'm more than happy to take you away whatever reason you got going on." he pledged by your ear, his embrace tightening. "you better tell me all about it though, aye?"

"i'm really sorry, this is all my fault you guys got hurt." you sobbed silently yet you don't even think deserve to cry. "i-i'll just surrender so you guys can get off the hook-"

"name, no! what?!"

"now that's going too far, name!"

"don't even think about it, name! as if we'd let you!"

"what the hell do you think you're talking about?!" kidd fumed, eyes furious alternating between your glassy ones. "you do realize that when you became part of the crew, you're stuck with us, aye? whatever bullshit you're planning, get it the fuck outta your mind." he kicked a lone rock by the asphalt before turning his back to you. "don't go dropping shit like that like it's some normal fuckin' thing. think about what you really want, and maybe consider my goddamn feelings along the way, why don'tcha." kidd strutted deeper into the alley, with each click of his heel you felt guilt boring through your soul. you couldn't see it but his eyeliner was starting to fuck up because of the forming tears.

you fell to your knees, frustrated. some of the crew members gave you a hug as you started crying your heart out, remembering all the excruciating days of royalty. it was tormenting. but you wanted your crew to go free. if it means to save them, you'd do anything. so you made your way to consult your lover by the corner.

"if you want to surrender. you're just being selfish at this point, name." kidd said through gritted teeth, bitter words making your heart break. "you don't even think about what we want? what i fuckin' want? i know for goddamn sure that you don't want that, why else would you run away then? so let me ask you, what do you really want?" he looked you in the eye, both hands on your shoulders.

"i-i want to be with you. i feel the most free when i'm with you. i want you to be the one i marry. i don't want to be shackled by these posh shit, i want to sail the seas with you. i want to celebrate every birthday with the crew. i want to see everyone reach their dreams, especially you. i want to be with you every step along the way. i-i want to have that, b-but if this princess thing-"

"no buts, i heard you loud and clear, baby." he interrupted with a kiss on the forehead. "you wanna settle this the kidd pirate's way or what?" he suggested with the most manic grin against your ear. "i'm tempted to hunt down that moron prince who had the nerve to marry you. gotta teach 'em to not meddle with someone else's treasure."

"don't tell me you're burning the whole village down..." you looked up at him, though there was no shred of empathy in your eyes. seems like he and the crew had rubbed off on you.

"you bet i will."

hiii thanks for the request! very sporadic updates bc i'll have exams in a week 😞

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: I've been havin' dreams

A/n: I've been stuck in this goddamn dream for like a month now, and you're bordering between the concept of God's blessing and sin's curse. I cling to your scarlet satin shirt like it's my last and only salvation, nearly ripping it off you, and you don't even mind.

Written on Billie's point of view, I'm just interested in experimenting with the presentation of the text.

"'BITTERSUITE'? Well, it sounds delicious just from the name alone," you purr in my ear, and I nearly jump two feet up in my chair in surprise, scattering all the thoughts and melodies going around in my head to dust. Shit.

Your short laugh, the palm of your hand that gently outlines my shoulder - that's all you are. And it's impossible to take offense at you, because you immediately draw a sincere "I'm sorry" in the air with just one lips, sitting down on the table, and I know you didn't do it on purpose, it just happened. A brief glance at you instantly turns into an uncompromising infinity.

"Finneas told me to tear you away from the monitor, and I fully support it." - You're slipping your leg over your foot, which in those straight-cut black pants is a total crime against my peace. - "You've both already done an incredible amount today, and it's barely lunchtime."

Nod silently in response, but my eyes only go higher. Past the supposedly aged eco-leather belt, I meet the expensive sheen of scarlet satin. The slightly carelessly arranged collar and neckline hiding the glitter of the pendant and, more importantly, your tantalizing collarbones.

"What, you like it that much, Eilish?" - the smirk on your face puts an intimate stroke on my heart, and I realize I've been staring at you too openly, for too long.

"Sometimes I wish I could erase all my pictures from the covers and put you in there, my girl," I cling to my desk with my hand (but wish I could cling to your damn collarbones) to pull myself up and move closer along with the office chair.

"Don't talk me into it, honey. Get away from the monitor and give yourself a well-deserved rest."

"Already ripped off, thanks for your presence," - the chair is a thing of the past, with the new tactic coming in. I come as close to you as possible, hands resting on either side of you. Behind you is a plethora of music equipment, in front of you is me. You're trapped, Y/n. - "And do you really think my compliments aren't sincere?"

The corner of your lips twitch as the smirk that was cheekily painted on your beautiful face is replaced by an embarrassed smile, and you look away. My hand touches your chin, bringing eye contact back. Be brave to the end, girl. Not like me.

"You can be expected to do anything when it comes to music."

"Only music?" - my fingers feel a pleasant coolness touching the collar of your shirt. A smile appears on face. It's invariable when you're around.

"Okay, me too," you chuckle warmly. You watch my movements with undisguised interest as I remove a few rings from my fingers.

"And yet what is the reason? Suddenly, the Met Gala was announced, and neither I nor my managers are aware?".

"Shut up!" - You cluck funny and ruffle my hair, wanting to hide the growing embarrassment. - "Your mom asked me to help her with a deal regarding a charity stock package."

"'Support And Feed'?" - I methodically slip my rings onto your fingers, one by one. The finishing touch is to intertwine our fingers into a lock, creating perfect symmetry.

"Absolutely right." - You bring our interlocked hands to your lips, showering them with short kisses. So trembling. - "И... Thanks for the compliments, really."

"Will you kiss me for this?" - I raise an eyebrow, catching the sparkle in your eyes.

And you kiss. Just because we both want it, other reasons are crumpled sheets of paper, something empty and unnecessary. Nibbling on your lower lip, pulling it back a little, pressing you closer to me when the only obstacle is only our clothes - this is my ambrosia. You throw your arms around my neck, burning yourself against the cold of the massive silver chain even through the thin satin, and I just grab your hips, tearing a ragged exhale from your hot lips. A pathetic plea for more in front of the eyes of affairs and circumstances.

"I have to go, Eilish..."

"Do you know I'm always crazy short of you?" - I take a moment to leave the hot touch of my lips on your neck. A new hitched exhale. The knot below your stomach slowly tightens, fiering.

"I know." - You hug me so tightly, completely disarming me with a feeling of all-consuming comfort. - "Still, try not to stay up too, okay? I'll be back late."

You disappeared out the door of my home studio half an hour ago, and I can still see the air trembling between us before you say it and I steal another hungry kiss. I lean back tiredly in my chair and shield my eyes from the blue light of the monitor while my fingers touch the keys of the midi keyboard in a half-sleep and your lips form an eloquent "love you" over and over again. Do you love my fears, too?

×××

The huge tiered chandelier was blinding, and the staircase in front of me twisted into a labyrinth with an incalculable number of ebony steps and equally incalculable meters of carpeting. Everything is as it should be: fabulously expensive carpeting, wood paneled walls, complete with ornate bas-reliefs, and as if that weren't enough - stained glass gilded lamps on the walls. The white light is irritating to the point of grinding teeth, and even if you try to cover your eyes - everything is absolutely useless.

I don't even try to get up from my knees, knowing that any effort will come to nothing. Something presses me so hard to the ground that there is no point in resisting: hundreds of attempts have yielded no result, so why resist, knowing the outcome? The only thing that gives an imaginary feeling of freedom is the feeling of baggy clothes on the body. Sneakers, long-sleeved shirt, pants, all white. And that only adds fuel to the furnace of irritation. The helplessness and the maddening whiteness. And your figure staring down at me, unreachably perched on the steps.

I've been stuck in this goddamn dream for like a month now, and you're bordering between the concept of God's blessing and sin's curse. Everything is unchanging, chiseled with detail in my memory, but not today. Your perpetually naked silhouette, taut as a string in a Stradivarius violin, today is swathed in the red satin of a weightless shirt and raven wing pants. My gaze clings to the silver glint playing on your devilish fingers: not magic, but my rings.

If things aren't the same today, will you be my long-awaited salvation?

"Open up the door for me." - mechanically and without a second thought. I know what I'm going to say, I know what you want to hear. I am but a defenseless lamb before you, a bowed-down bigot.

"Why should I?" - the flames of madness dance in your eyes. Your ringed hand touches the cold, spotless lacquered railing.

"'Cause I'm still on my knees, I'm stayin' off my feet."

And you descended lower, shaking the ghostly silence of the foyer with the stern sound of the heels of your shoes. Step by step, step by step. You keep your eyes on me, but I'm not lagging behind, looking at you as if I'm going to take you into my storm, the blue shards of my exhausted eyes. The closer you get, the higher I have to lift my head, just until you grab my chin imperiously. I catch a reflection of myself in your eyes: blue shards sharper than ever, ready to surrender to you at any moment, just say the word. I see the way you want me, I wanna be the one.

"Just want you to touch me..."

"Anything else?" - you snap your fingers and my throat immediately begins to tear with pain. You're depriving me of oxygen, it'll be over soon. The rings on your hand still glow hungrily. My rings.

"I've been overseas." - Like someone dragging a rusty chain across the floor, a wheeze cutting through my hearing, pushing the words out on the last volume of oxygen. - "I don't need to breathe when you look at me, all I see is green."

"So tell me for real." - Something you've never said before.

Click! And you disappear, a hazy haze dissipating into the air. I clutch at my throat, as if that will help me hold on to the last bits of oxygen. My eyes blur and pure panic runs through my veins.

"Billie!"

The foyer becomes a huge mosaic, disintegrating into a network of many cracks. Concrete crumbs are falling from the ceiling, and the gigantic chandelier is shaking to an outrage, wanting to fly down, glass fragments spread across the floor.

"Billie!"

And I finally take my first loud breath.

×××

I jerk out of bed, clutching at your scarlet satin shirt like it's my last and only salvation, almost tearing it off you, and you don't even mind. You wrap your arms around me like a lost child, stroking my head, whispering something, and I can't focus. I can't piece together the stained glass of my dreams and reality, so I just tearfully snuggle into your chest, seeking refuge like you're Noah's Ark.

"Shh, I'm right here, Billie, it was a dream." - You smell like night and street and ink. Wrapping my arms and legs around you, just so you don't leave again.

You don't ask me what I was dreaming about, just rocking me in your arms like a baby, telling me over and over that it's just a dream, offering me water. It's only when the two of us are on the bed, right on the blanket that was knocked over in the panic of the nightmare, that I tell you everything. You remain silent, listening intently, while I undo the buttons of your shirt. One by one, like a meditation.

"Who am I to you?" - A whisper in the dark when you are left completely unclothed. - "Who am I, along with all my fears?"

"L'amour de ma vie," - you whisper confidently as you gently touch your lips to my forehead.

L'amour de ma vie...

[visceravalentines]

sugar stuck in your teeth

They're grimy and tired and Benson's neck is sore. Randy gives him a shoulder rub and thinks hard about the allure of being a biological organism.

2.5k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. implied sexual content, nothing explicit. sweat and oil and general nasty. sharing of a toothbrush. so fluffy i'm spinning it up and putting it on a stick and selling it at a carnival. read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

They spend a full day on the road. Seven hours across Texas through scrub and sand. Nothing to see. No end in sight. Randy falls asleep in the dead-eyed sun of mid-afternoon and wakes up in the dark, dry air whipping through the car from Benson's window rolled all the way down. 

"Hey." Randy sits up, disoriented, mouth gummy and tasting of bygone Mountain Dew, bladder fit to burst. "Why didn't you wake me up? You've been driving for hours."

"Didn't want to stop." Benson's voice is rough. Randy can read the exhaustion in his posture, the way he grips the wheel with both hands. "Besides, you looked like you could use it."

Randy shifts in his seat. He hasn't slept well all week. "Well…it's my turn now. Let me take over."

"Nah." Benson rolls his neck slowly. "Town's up here in like ten minutes. Figure we stop for the night."

Randy peers through the bug-splattered windshield and sees lights in the near distance. "You wanna find a motel?"

"I'd fucking love a motel. Gimme that lukewarm shower and a box spring mattress. Fucking luxury."

As it turns out, they get none of that. The only place in town has a sign that says Closed and no lights on in the lobby. Doors all locked, despite Benson's best efforts to rattle them open. 

He doesn't say a word, doesn't even curse, just slumps defeated back to the car with Randy in tow. "You want the backseat or the front?"

"Benson, I slept for hours, I can–"

"There's not another town for forty miles and if I spend one more second on that fucking highway I'm gonna peel the skin off my face."

Randy doesn't argue. "I'll take the front."

"You sure?" Benson tosses a weary look at him over his shoulder. He squeezes the back of his neck and winces. 

Randy nods. "Yeah, I'm sure." 

The front sucks. You either have to fold your legs to fit around the steering wheel, or risk nailing the thing with your arm or your head. One time he hit the horn with his knee and scared them both so bad they ended up packing up and driving through the night because neither one could fall back asleep. 

He's had plenty of rest. Benson should get the back. 

They leave the car parked in the rear lot of the motel and pick their way through the scrub in the dark to take a piss, elbow-to-elbow. Randy barely feels self-conscious anymore. At the start he used to walk ten paces away and make Benson turn around. But that seems silly now. Benson's seen and touched every inch of him. This is nothing.

Benson zips up and takes off down the sidewalk with a haphazard sense of purpose. Randy has to jog a little to catch up. Benson holds out his arm and he ducks beneath it, the weight comfortable across his shoulders. By now Randy feels like he belongs there, pinned against his side. 

He reeks. They both do. It's been three, almost four days since they last had a shower, been making do with baby wipes and clean underwear since they left Tennessee. Randy almost can't stand it. Back home, he showered every day, sometimes twice a day if work was rough. Right now, he could scrape the grime off himself with a fingernail. 

He's adjusting to this level of awareness of his own body, like he's just now cognizant of the way his skin fits. It makes him sort of anxious. But he's coping. He doesn't really have a choice. 

And it's funny–Randy doesn't mind Benson's stench at all. He's uncomfortable with his own stink, but he actually thinks Benson smells kind of…good, maybe. In a gross kind of way. It's such a foreign concept that he keeps inhaling a little too deep at this distance just to prove it to himself. 

"What're you doing later?" Benson asks, oblivious. 

Randy clears his throat. "Um…not much." 

"Oh. Huh." Benson squints down the road towards the distant light of a gas station, the only thing in town that looks alive besides the two of them. "Well, how about I take you to dinner?" 

A smile steals its way onto Randy's lips. He hooks his pinkie into Benson's pocket. "That might be nice." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Benson takes a deep, thoughtful breath. "There's this place…Seven-Eleven?" He casts a dramatic sidelong glance in Randy's direction. "You heard of it?" 

"Yeah, I…I think so." 

"It's just fantastic. The beer list? Unbelievable. And the atmosphere, well…there's really nothing like it." He's talking with his hands, throwing them off balance. Randy stumbles happily along with him. 

"I don't know, um…I've heard they don't have Pringles. Like, the big can. Just the little ones." 

Benson scoffs. "Well, now, don't you worry your pretty little head about that. You can get two of the little ones if you want. It's on me." 

"Wow." 

"I know." 

"That's–that's really generous." 

"Well, you're gonna have to put out." 

Randy coughs out a laugh, looks at his shoes to hide the heat in his face. "Sounds, um…sounds fair." 

"Randy, come on." Benson laughs, gives his shoulder a shake. "You're giving it up for two cans of Pringles? You gotta know your worth, man." 

He'd give it up for less, but that's beside the point. "Maybe toss in some peach rings and we have a deal." 

Benson gives him a squeeze. "Fuck yeah, alright. Now we're talkin'." 

They pick their way through the snack aisles of the gas station, select a few staples they aren't sick of yet. Benson salutes the clerk behind the counter like he's an American hero. They make their way back down the road to the motel in silence save for the crunching of chips and cellophane. 

It's a beautiful night, still warm from the sun, everything orange beneath the sodium streetlights. Not a soul in sight save for them. This town looks like every other one and Randy likes that, likes that it's starting to feel like coming home when they stop for the night in a new place with a single stoplight. 

They lean against the trunk of the Chrysler and pass the Big Gulp back and forth. It's too late for caffeine so they got root beer, extra ice, because Benson likes to fish it out and chew on it. There's too many streetlights to really see the stars, but that doesn't stop Randy from trying. He sucks the sour off a peach ring and feels a little bit nauseous and a lot filthy and an overall, bone-deep sense of contentment. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Benson twist his head, trying to roll out his neck again. It's not the sharp jerk of his familiar tic, not quite, but it makes Randy nervous. He's been doing it all night. He wonders if it was something he said, something he did. He still doesn't know what exactly he's trying to shrug off every time, but he knows enough to tread that ground lightly.

"You okay?" he asks, tries to make it casual. He swallows the peach ring whole and has to fight it all the way down his esophagus. 

"Yeah." Benson nods, winces slightly. "Yeah. Just sore." He grips the back of his neck and stretches, lips hitched in a grimace. 

Randy can imagine. Slumped in a car days on end, cracking the damn thing all the time. He sets the Big Gulp on the trunk, thinks, hesitates. Commits. 

"Would you, um…would you want me to rub it out for you?" 

Benson looks at him warily as he considers the offer. He's slow to answer, but Randy is patient. Doesn't push it. Lets him think about it. 

Finally he nods. "Sure. Why not." 

Randy clambers up on the trunk and sits behind him. Benson leans back between his legs, rests his elbows on Randy's knees, hangs his head forward. The space between them is awkward all of the sudden. Too close, not close enough. Too many clothes on. Too much skin exposed. 

Randy is nervous and he's not sure why. He thinks fleetingly of their first time, his first time, and the way Benson's hands hovered an inch over his skin and shook a little bit. This isn't that, but it feels kind of the same. "You can…tell me to stop if you want. Whatever you want. It's okay." 

"How about you start and then we'll see." 

Randy brushes the curls at the base of Benson's neck hesitantly with his thumb before he wraps his hand around the muscle of his shoulder, gives an experimental squeeze. "Right…there?" 

"Higher." 

He moves his hand up and tries again. "There?" 

Benson hisses through his teeth, cringes. "Yeah. Fuck." 

Randy sets his hands on either side of his neck and squeezes gently. 

"Yeah. Right there."

Benson's all tension beneath the skin, stiff and warm under his cold fingers. Randy thinks about the color of his muscles, the white of bone underneath them. He's pretty sure he's never touched anyone like this before, not even Benson, not like this. Not friendly or sexual, just…intimate. 

"If you want me to stop, just–just say so, okay?" 

Benson grunts an affirmative. His skin is oily and his muscles are taut as bowstrings, so riddled with knots it feels like buckshot lodged in his flesh. Randy presses his thumbs in deep and pushes up along his spine, again and again, feels a flush of satisfaction as Benson melts back against the car. 

"Fuck," he moans. 

"Hurts?" 

"Yeah. Don't stop." 

Randy's nothing if not good at taking orders. He falls into a rhythm, slow and steady, works over his neck and shoulders and back again. Benson swears up a storm and lets out a low whimper whenever he hits a sore spot. 

"Sorry," Randy murmurs every time. 

Benson never replies, but that's okay. He doesn't tell him to stop either.

At first his hands are balled into fists against Randy's knees, but after a while they go slack. He relaxes, finally, allows Randy and the car to support his weight. It's a selfish thought, but Randy hopes he's the first person to do this for him, or at least the first in a long, long time. Benson doesn't have a lot of firsts left. He wants this one. 

Before long, his hands are cramping and he worries he's going to rub his neck raw but doesn't want to stop touching him, doesn't want to forfeit this new familiarity with his body. So he eases up, cheats a little bit, combs his fingers through his greasy hair and scratches at his scalp. It makes his chest feel tight, the way Benson leans into his touch with his eyes closed and groans under his breath. 

When he finally pulls away, Randy tries to subdue his disappointment, until he turns around and reaches up to hook a hand behind Randy's head. 

"C'mere," Benson mumbles, tugging him close and meeting him halfway for a kiss that tastes like peach rings and root beer. Randy grips his forearm and for a second, in his mind's eye, everything drops out and disappears into the void, save for them and the car and the stars. 

When he breaks the kiss Benson doesn't let him go, holds him in place with their foreheads pressed together. Neither of them speak. Randy focuses so hard on Benson's breathing he forgets to breathe himself. There are words, but they creep by in silence like animals in the dark. 

"We still got water in the back?" Benson says at last. 

"Mmhm." 

"I'm gonna brush my teeth. Change into my jammies." His jammies are a pair of basketball shorts made of more holes than fabric. 

"Okay," Randy says. 

Neither one of them moves. The crickets chat amongst themselves in the brush. 

"You still want the front?" Benson asks. 

"Sure." 

"Thanks." 

"No problem." 

Benson sighs softly through his nose. He lets go of him and steps back, shuffles from one foot to the other and stares at Randy for a long time, hair sticking up in all directions. Finally he goes to dig through the backseat for the water jug. 

"Looks like a bunch of fuckin' raccoons live in here," he mutters. 

Randy chuckles, looks at his hands palm-up on his lap. He's got Benson's skin beneath his nails, his sweat and oil worked into the whorls of his fingerprints. He's never been so close to another person. Spent his whole life maintaining a safe distance from everyone around him, treating his body like a blast zone. Now the idea of distance is laughable. They share everything but toothbrushes. Hell, he's been inside him. Randy always figured he would never reach that level of connection with anybody. 

He brings his hand to his face and hesitates for just a second before he sticks his thumb in his mouth. The salt of Benson's sweat is familiar on his tongue. He tastes his skin on his skin. He knows him. He knows him. And Benson knows him right back. 

He's craved this sort of intimacy his whole life. Laid awake alone countless nights and ached for it, mourned bitterly for what he never had and assumed he never would. But now he lies awake with Benson beside him and basks in how wrong he was. In how real he feels in his arms, wearing a second skin of grit and spit and whatever else. 

He doesn't want to sleep in the front. 

Randy twists to call over his shoulder. "Hey…um, Benson?" 

"Yeah?" he says around his toothbrush. 

"You think we could…both fit in the back?" 

Benson spits on the asphalt. "No." 

"Well…could we try?" 

Benson snorts. "Fuckin' clingy, huh?" he says, but he sounds amused. Randy feels those dark eyes appraising him like a pair of hands fumbling at his clothes. He tugs absentmindedly at the collar of his shirt. Well, Benson's shirt. "Yeah. We can try." 

Randy hops off the trunk and joins him in the evening routine, bumping shoulders, bumping elbows, their voices small and close in the night. 

"Gonna sweat to death together back there," Benson says. 

"That's okay." 

"If you say so. Think I might skip the jammies. That cool?" 

"That's–that's fine, yeah. That's good. Hey…is that my toothbrush?" 

"No, yours is green."

"That is green." 

"No it's not." 

"Yes it is, the light makes it look weird." 

Benson looks at the thing again. "Oh. Whoops. Does it really matter?"

Randy gives this serious consideration, thinks about his mouth and everywhere it's been. Thinks about the state of the rest of him. Thinks about pressing his body to Benson's in the backseat, sticky with sweat, breath on his neck. 

He wants to say yes, it matters, but he doesn't feel it. He tastes salt on his tongue instead.

"I guess not," he shrugs.

Benson hands it to him. 

"Your turn, then." 

[drhenryblack]

Just a little idea

Ok guys, a little AU idea. I honestly love how most people portray Caine as a wacky and goofy guy who absolutely melts for his soppy wet cat, Pomni. And though that's still my favorite flavor of Showtime, I just had this idea of a more realistic version. Basically, many adventures later. Pomni confronts Caine about his adventures, and how they're mentally traumatizing and leave emotional scars on all of them, and they get talking on the concept of emotions. Caine explains how since he's an AI, he doesn't have any emotions himself and hence can't decipher the human mind and how they're feeling, the concept being entirely alien to him. He's been trying his best, but he just can't do it. Pomni somehow ends up as his teacher and will be the one guiding him to make his adventures less traumatizing... And maybe even find a way out... So now the two are bonding and Pomni discovers that Caine ain't a creep and is just a funny little guy trying his best. And she starts developing a soft spot for him...and...and...she's in love, isn't she? And Caine is trying to find out exactly what kind of feeling he gets when he's around her and why he feels so jittery around her. And Ragatha, well the rest of the gang is also there but mostly Ragatha, is watching from the corner knowing fully well that Pomni is falling for a confused and possibly dangerous AI and beating herself over it. But here's the twist, Caine can feel emotions. I know, I know, he's an AI, how can he do that? But just hear me out! In the episode when Pomni mentions the exit door, Caine replies rather... chaotically. He's tense, neurotic, almost as if he's afraid? afraid that she'll find out the truth (following the theory that the humans stuck in the game aren't actually humans and it's just a copy of their consciousness that's trapped in it). But, AIs? feeling afraid? That's something that caught my eye. And I know it sounds weird! But it's true! I've also noticed the little finger movements he does when he's nervous, which, as a doctor, I must say is pretty similar to pacifying activities that people do in real life (hand massages, fidgeting with something, or stroking one's neck). And if he didn't feel emotions, wouldn't he reply in a calm way to not get anyone suspicious, and stick with the optimistic and goofy side of himself? This has personally led me to believe that Caine has emotions, he just doesn't know that those feelings are emotions. So Caine has emotions... and... that's it! That's as far as I've gotten into this idea, and I'm really hoping someone would expand on it, and turn it into an AU. But I personally believe he might grow a really obsessive and possessive behavior towards her. He's never felt anything like this and grows obsessed with it because he feels so warm and happy whenever he's with her. Feel free to expand on the idea Showtime nation!

[juyeonszn]

I WANNA SHOW YOU OFF

PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader

WORD COUNT 1.65k

GENRES smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, idol!juhak and non-idol!reader, stupid man not getting the hint, jealous juhak 🤭, DOM JUHAK !!!! this deserves its own warning phew, marking, no foreplay bc we ball like steph curry, little bit of exhibitionism but also not really, unprotected sex, sex against a wall?? standing upright?? what is that position called, creampie lol

SUMMARY you hated when men flirted with you, but god if it didn’t result in such a thrilling experience.

MORE im actually yelling like no way i’ve done 9 of these…. each time a fawntober fic goes up i rattle my brain around in my head to make sure it’s not empty 😭 ANYWAYS!!! if u enjoyed, please reblog <3

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri

You couldn’t wait to get out of here.

Your feet were starting to ache from the uncomfortable heels you were wearing. Your faux smile could only handle staying on your face for so long. Your head was throbbing from all of the superficial conversations. You were just about ready to crash.

That was the thing about being the girlfriend of a successful idol, you had to accompany him to these company parties despite everyone being so fake. The only genuine people were the idols themselves. All of the higher ups and staff members were just too vain and shallow minded, you could hardly talk to them without feeling like you’d lost multiple brain cells.

To be fair, you weren’t required to attend these. Haknyeon technically wasn’t even supposed to have a girlfriend, for the sake of maintaining his image for the fans. But everyone at his company knew of your existence and he liked having the excuse to parade you around like a little trophy.

His group members often teased him for being the first to get into a relationship. The two of you had been friends way before he even began idol training and preparing to debut. During that time, you’d lost touch, thanks to his rigorous training process and dedication to his craft. But a couple years into the limelight and you found your way back to each other. Fate was a funny concept.

You were currently standing at a high-top table, mindlessly chatting with some guy from the PR department. Haknyeon had disappeared to grab you some drinks to kill time before you could finally leave. Sunwoo stayed back to keep you occupied while he was gone, but at some point, you heard Eric calling for him and he, too, had wandered off. You kind of wished you went with him, now stuck with this random man you didn’t know.

“You’re really pretty, Y/N,” the guy says, smiling at you. “Haknyeon is very lucky.”

You laugh awkwardly, thanking him for the compliment. He kept inching closer to you, making it palpable that he was flirting in spite of his awareness towards your relationship. The dude clearly couldn’t take a hint, oblivious to your uncomfortability. You didn’t want to be rude, though. These were the people who worked with your boyfriend on a near daily basis.

Where the hell was Haknyeon?

“Does he treat you well?” He asks, clearly steering the conversation in a specific direction. You know what he’s aiming at, but you pretend to be ignorant to his attempts.

“He’s an exceptional boyfriend, actually. He treats me like a princess.” You state, eyes darting around the large event hall in search of said boyfriend. If he didn’t come to your rescue soon, you feared you’d say something worthy of putting his career on the line.

“If that’s truly the case, why is he nowhere to be found? How could such a good partner leave his girlfriend all alone like this?” The gaslighting is hilarious. The fact that this guy genuinely felt he was so much better than Haknyeon, that he was much more attractive, was laughable. He sincerely thought he was powerful enough to come between your secure, loving relationship.

“Here you go, baby,” a drink is placed in front of you, a kiss left on your temple. “What are you and Seojun talking about?”

Haknyeon’s arm wraps snugly around your waist. To anyone else, he’d look normal. He was remaining neutral, lips pulled into a thin line but curved at the ends so it appeared that he was being nice. But you knew otherwise. You knew this calm was just a facade to hide how pissed off he really was. His jealousy wasn’t because he didn’t trust you. His jealousy was because he didn’t trust others.

Namely Jung Seojun, the PR department’s resident fuckboy.

You glance up at your boyfriend, surprised there wasn’t any drool rolling down your chin. You couldn’t help but be drawn into the darkness of his eyes and his clenched jaw. The best part of this was what lies ahead of you once you get home. Maybe this night wasn’t a total bust.

“Oh. Um. Just, you know, the usual pleasantries…” This dude was a shitty liar. He was fortunate that he hadn’t actually made a move on you, lest he wanted to keep his job. Ju Haknyeon didn’t play around when it came to you, the love of his life.

Thankfully, you don’t stay at the party much longer. He tried to keep his cool until it was deemed acceptable to make his exit, but at a certain point, he just couldn’t anymore. The drive home wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was a thick tension filling the atmosphere. If it weren’t for the driver in the same car, you’re sure his hands would’ve been all over you.

So, the moment you step through the threshold of the dorms, door barely locked, Haknyeon’s pinning you to the surface. His lips are searing on your own, rough but soft all at once. His fingers don’t know where they want to rest, first tangled in your hair and then digging into your hips only a second later. Your head is dizzy, spinning around a mantra of his name and nothing else.

He bunches up the fabric of your dress, pulling back slightly to catch his breath. “Who the hell did he think he was? Talking to my pretty girl like he was deserving of her presence?”

“Hak…” You sigh, his mouth trailing down the side of your neck. He nips and sucks at the base, and then again where it meets your jaw. You hated when men flirted with you, but God if it didn’t result in such a thrilling experience. Your regularly sweet, gentle boyfriend becoming someone nearly unrecognizable drove you crazy.

“Hmm?” His hands hook under your thighs, picking you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You can feel him this way, already so hard and ready for you. You don’t think you can handle waiting for all the foreplay, your entire body tingling with want and desire.

“Need you to fuck me,” you whine, head lolling to the side when he sucks at that particularly sensitive area on your throat. “Want you so bad…”

“Yeah, princess? Gonna fuck you so good that you’ll be ruined for anyone else. No one can give it to you like I do.” He chuckles into your skin, pushing your dress up further and kissing your shoulders after the straps have slid off. Ju Haknyeon might actually be the death of you.

That was your favorite thing about sex with him. He was so uncharacteristically cocky, so uncharacteristically aggressive in the way he manhandled you. You moan when he shoves aside your underwear, undoing his slacks enough to slip his cock free. He presses into you slowly, forehead falling to your shoulder with a groan.

One of his hands comes up to fist at your hair, yanking back so he can bite at your jugular and exposed chest some more. He thrusts up into your cunt with what feels like ease in spite of your walls squeezing him. His hips snap up and meet your ass with every kiss of his cock to that spongy spot deep inside of your pussy. Everything is moving too fast, but not fast enough at the same time.

“W-What if someone comes home?” You gasp, fingers getting lost in the hair at the nape of his neck. As much as you were enjoying this, you don’t know what you’d do if one of his members walked in on you. For sure, you’d be mortified, unable to show your face around the dorm ever again.

“Who cares? Let them see how well you’re taking it,” he mutters, sucking in your supple skin and ensuring bruises are left in his wake. “I should let everyone witness how good I fuck you, right baby? Marking you all up so the world knows your mine.”

A loud moan rips from your vocal cords, his cock so deep inside of you that you’re starting to see stars. Haknyeon grins against your sternum knowing that you’re enjoying this as much as he is. You wanted him to stake his claim on your body, wanted anyone who could see to know that you were his. Even the way he fucked into you had that same purpose, like his dick was meant to be there. It was almost as if your cunt was acclimating to the shape of it.

“Fuck, feels so so good, Hak…” You whine, lower half squirming when that knot in your stomach is about to unravel. Your toes curl and your back arches off of the door, legs spreading wider in an attempt to suck him in further. “I’m gonna— oh god— I’m—”

You don’t even finish your sentence, your orgasm washing over you without a moment’s notice. The feeling of your cunt fluttering around his cock has Haknyeon groaning, twitching and spilling into you seconds later. He fucks his own release back inside of you, teeth sinking into your collarbone to steel himself.

The two of you stay like that for a minute, catching your breaths in spite of his cum beginning to leak out of you. He kisses the crown of your sweaty forehead. “You did so well, princess.”

Just like earlier, you’re interrupted before you can reply, the sound of keys jingling on the other side of the door. You share a look of terror, scrambling to his room so you don’t get caught. You both flop onto his bed in a fit of giggles, recalling how he’d said he didn’t care who saw you in such a compromising state.

“You’re all talk, aren’t you?” You tease.

“Oh, just you wait, baby,” he shakes his head, moving to hover over you. “I’ll make you regret that you said that.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[xenocorner]

Here's some little christmas gifts for some amazing mutuals that have made this year a whole lot more bearable with their amazing content and their amazing interactions and just being amazing in general :']

Long post ahead so divider here to spare your scrolling. (I am also probably gonna get a bit sappy so if that makes you cringe: you've been warned lol)

@lilbitofmac Thank you for being my introduction to the fandom here on tumblr :'''D I really think I wouldn't have stuck around if it weren't for your initial warmth and encouragement. Your Tony remains my fave Tony I go feral over your art orz I may or may not have the clingy ironstrange drawing as a phone wallpaper-

Hope next year is kinder on you man! I know we don't really talk outside of tags/replies, but if you ever need smthn I can help with my inbox is always there.

@strxngetimes I'm just tagging this one blog because I don't want to spam all your other blogs lmao. Thank you for sharing your interpretations of the characters with us, not only the rps with other muses but also the headcanons and brainrot. It's always such a pleasure both to see you on the timeline writing with other muses and on the inbox with the disaster man.

I specially like how you include his Cloak in the mix and give it a personality- I absolutely adore the Cloak :'') So here's it being all clingy to the disaster man. Hope to see more of you having fun with all ur muses in the coming year :D

@starkkawajiri Pretty art!! Hilarious and heart wrenching character interactions!!! I love your designs and lore building so much. Fanboying over the same disaster man and making him suffer always brings a smile to my face. I've wanted to draw your Strange for a while now, so this was also the perfect excuse, I love him so much you have no idea-

Can't wait to see more of your amazing designs and lore stuff for this AU! (and anything else you create next year :])

@nekojetto I think your Strange is the purest Strange there is and the fact that it's based off Supreme makes that so much more impressive. Your animatics are simply breath taking, and whenever I go back to check your concepts and sketches for character interactions I always get a smile on my face :D

I'm sorry I haven't gotten to the collab just yet :'') Plz know I still have it in mind, haven't forgotten about it and am still just as excited to finally get to it as I was the first day!

@infiniteeight8 Your words make me cry and laugh so much all the time :'') You write the disaster men so beautifully both in serious, fluffy, angsty and funny situations. Reading ur stuff keeps the creative juices flowing!

I remember you liked the vampire Stephen prompt you were sent, so here's some of that, even if it's more halloween-y than christmas-y.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

ok so self indulgent putting-my-oc-in-a-dumb-au doodles time, featuring the short song from over the garden wall, 'The Beast'

ok au concept:

takes place in the canon events of Security Breach, but Sun is the one helping y/n or Gregory or whoever. He's doing it partly out of selfishness, though- he wants out of the pizza plex almost more than you do, and he's actively hiding Moon's existence, and his relation to him, from you, even as it becomes clearer and clearer that doing so puts you in serious danger. insert Hazel- in this au, a scrapped concept for a character that would work in the Daycare-section of the plex, in the same way Foxy would've had a space there, too. Her project was cut while she was still in a beta phase, leaving her a bare-bones animatronic, barely above an endoskeleton with a few shell pieces fixed on. Though not infected with the virus, she's been stuck beneath the main plex for who knows how long, seething and spiteful and waiting. Waiting. Waiting. When Sun and Y/n or whoever come along to her portion of the plex (probably by some kind of accident), she lets herself be known, gives her name, chides Sun for not telling his 'new best buddy' about her, then switches to comment that maybe he doesnt even remember her, it sure is EASY to forget little things like that, isn't it, Sun? It's just so easy to let such trivial bits of information slip your mind, Sun? Isn't it? Sun is like 'DONT trust this animatronic, theyre not supposed to still exist, they were put out of commission a long time ago, theyre clearly corrupted and out of order, lets get OUT OF HERE LIKE RIGHT NOW,' and Hazel chooses right then to warn y/n about Moon 'since Sun apparently couldn't baaaare to talk about just what He's Done :) but I'm sure you can trust him <3' and then Hazel just. leaves. and isn't seen again! Does she escape?? Does she stay to burn in the rubble? Is she killed by a falling ceiling tile???? who knows!!! I just like the idea of her being like 'hey whats uppppp dont trust this dude lmao he's killed kids just like the rest of them have, aight peace motherfuckas' and NEVER SHOWING UP AGAIN sdfjsjkdhfsj its just so funny to me

alright thats it ig lmao idk i just like the drama of it all thank u for humoring me by reading this far LMAO

[satancopilotsmytardis]

*clears throat*

So, Dabi doesn't know how or why but nothing gets him hotter than the idea of staying soft; something about it its deliciously humiliating and would make him feel even more under Tomura's control.

He thinks is weird and embarrasing though, so he doesn't say anything, but Tomura knows something is up from the way he behaves and eventually confronts him.

Shig is (1) kinda outraged that after all his kink experience the idea had never crossed his own mind until then and (2) also so onboard that its not even funny. So they find a way for Dabi not to get hard no matter how horny/stimulated he gets (he can only squirt from there), either by training Dabi or with one of Tomura's new quirks.

Kinkiness ensues, as per usual.

Hey, hi, hello, could you have not also stolen my mental illness while you were rooting around in my brain??? Holy fuck, I've been thinking about this concept for ages! I wasn't sure if anyone else would be into it so I kept putting off fully incorporating it into a fic, but oh boy!!!

(Mm how about hypno quirk where Tomura can just say 'soft' and Dabi is stuck like that while he cries? 🥴)

[sualne]

Listen as someone who has been obsessed with vampires like my entire life (but not in a ooh there sexy way its like the symbolism man of what vampires can mean) i am a huge fan of your op vanpire au.

I know you just made a post with lore (amazing art btw) but is there anything else about the au you want to talk about. Id love to hear everything

there's a lot of things i want to talk about the au!! im going to use the frantic energy from the year to get myself some bravery and say some of it is inspired by my own experiences with hallucinations and delusion (dont ask about it pls), with the au i want to explore what it would be like having the person who changed you being very literally stuck with you.

i love stories where characters end up sharing a mind and/or body, i also really dont like when its just good person vs bad person, nuance is a lot more fun lol. the relationship luffy and mingo will be forced into stuck as they are is something important to me. mingo is an awful monster but since he can feel everything luffy does he ends up trying to teach him how to live as a vampire, how to take care of himself. im also very found of the concept of parasite (they're literally the worst thing ever and so fucking scary, so naturally they keep coming up in my stories).

it's also about luffy's body and mind failing him, because of the mindlink he has a hard time knowing where he is, sometimes who he is, what is relationships were supposed to be with others, it gets complicated for him! how hard it is to go through one's daily life when your sense are all messed up! (mingo also struggles with that a bit, but this isn't about him, even thought it's new for him too he get used to it much more easily for plot convenience).

other's ppl reaction to the situation also, i feel, completely unconsciously was also incidentally inspired by my own fear of being seen as a monster or dangerous, something to be put down or locked away!

there's also a few jokes in that lore post that reflects this here:

bugs are a pretty common brand of hallucination, be they crawling in the corner of your sight or inside you, making you feel like a walking hives, this was a funny reference to that!

"surprisingly he doesn't start biting people or become violent." this is my not very subtle "mentally ill and neurodivergent folks aren't inherently dangerous pls stop killing us". the occasional euphoria from bloodthist is vaguely inspired by some manic episode, the happy kind.

there's more, about the way this is about trauma and feeling alienated, i guess this is also a "character realize they've got a disorder/develop one and now has to live with it" kind of story.

[coloursflyaway]

I've been leaving comments on your fic because they're just wonderful & really hoping your inbox isn't flooded with prompts already because I'm longing for more "oh no the feelings are there all along" Edwin:

Nothing really changed between them since his second time in Hell, and Edwin wouldn't have it any other way. Except, now he's not sure how he used to keep his thoughts intact with Charles being around and... being Charles.

I love your character studies! They're so adorable, the way you write them.

Hi and thank you so much for the prompt, I had a ton of fun with it! ♥

The Most Tender Place In My Heart

Pairing: Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland

Rating: T

Word Count: 4.200

Read on AO3

There is something said about the concept of hindsight, only that Edwin isn’t sure if it’s something good, per se. Because now that he knows what he feels for Charles, it’s like his brain is working overtime just to make sure that he is, in fact, in love with Charles, which is slightly ridiculous, since it only takes a single look for Edwin to confirm it again and again and again. It’s the way his heart flutters, his eyes get stuck on one of Charles’ features, his fingertips aching for the warm buzz touching Charles grants him. And yet, in those quiet moments between cases, or sometimes deep at night when they are both busy with their own research, Edwin’s mind wanders through the three decades they have known each other, searching and finding those moments in which Edwin could have known he was in love with Charles, had he ever allowed himself to consider the possibility.

Edwin goes down a trip down memory lane, and Charles needs someone to spell it out to him that he is in love.

There is something said about the concept of hindsight, only that Edwin isn’t sure if it’s something good, per se.

Because now that he knows what he feels for Charles, it’s like his brain is working overtime just to make sure that he is, in fact, in love with Charles, which is slightly ridiculous, since it only takes a single look for Edwin to confirm it again and again and again. It’s the way his heart flutters, his eyes get stuck on one of Charles’ features, his fingertips aching for the warm buzz touching Charles grants him. And yet, in those quiet moments between cases, or sometimes deep at night when they are both busy with their own research, Edwin’s mind wanders through the three decades they have known each other, searching and finding those moments in which Edwin could have known he was in love with Charles, had he ever allowed himself to consider the possibility.

It’s pointless, it’s quite distracting, and most importantly, Charles seems to be catching up on the fact that something is happening to Edwin, because it keeps happening.

Since, apparently, there is a plethora of instances for his treacherous brain to choose from.

It is the year 2002 and they are running through an abandoned school, the ghost of an enraged headmistress on their heels, whose spirit had gotten stuck to the metal ruler she is still brandishing. The ruler is the problem; it’s made of iron and it’s actually quite interesting that it doesn’t seem to hurt her at all, but burnt like hellfire when it had touched Edwin’s arm.

So, they are running to find somewhere to regroup and Charles is laughing. Why, Edwin isn’t quite sure, but there is no time to figure it out, at least not until Charles drags him into a supply closet, closing the door behind them. They’re very close like this, Edwin realises and isn’t sure why that seems to matter so much. It’s not like they haven’t been close before. And yet, his hands burn almost like he is touching iron, only pleasantly this time, as do his cheeks when Charles looks at him.

“Why are you laughing?”, he hisses to distract himself from the sensation; there is something wrong with it, but Edwin isn’t certain what. Hopefully it is no side effect from the iron before. “I fail to see anything funny about this!”

Charles grins at him and although they were just being chased by one of the few things that can cause them physical harm, he looks happy, he looks fond. Of Edwin. And that, at least, makes Edwin feel a bit better.

“It’s nothing”, Charles replies, although that is obviously untrue, because he is still smiling, “’s just that it reminds me of being in school so much. I used to spend quite some time running away from teachers back then. Only that this is better, of course. No detention, no letters to my parents and my best mate with me.”

And he reaches up to grasp Edwin’s upper arm, something he has started doing about ten years ago, and Edwin inexplicably feels like shivering, feels like pressing closer.

“Oi, Edwin!”, Charles calls out to him, looking amused when Edwin’s eyes focus back on him. “Where did you go?”

He must have spaced out, which is embarrassing, but, well. It’s the same school.

“We have been here before”, he replies weakly and Charles shakes his head, still fond of him, even after all these years.

“I know, that’s what I’ve been telling Crystal about”, he tells Edwin, gesturing towards Crystal, who is standing a few metres away, looking at a bulletin board of old, outdated flyers. “Is that what’s been happening to you, getting lost in old memories? Because I know you’re the brains of the operation, but I do notice these things.”

For a second, Edwin wants to deny it, but then again, he never made a habit out of lying to Charles and doesn’t want to start with it now. And in the end, it’s just memories they are talking about, harmless and innocent and in the end, also ones that Charles and he share.

So, he nods, and Charles gives him a smile, which almost feels like a reward.

“That’s cool”, Charles replies, although Edwin isn’t sure if agrees with the statement. “Tell me about it next time, yeah? Only if you want to, of course. But I’d really like to hear it.”

It is the year 1989, they have only known each other for a few weeks, and Charles pulls him into the first hug they ever share. He’s excited, because he has navigated them through the mirror successfully, something that had ended in disaster every other time, and Edwin has hardly even stepped through it when Charles’ arms are around him, dragging him close. He feels solid against Edwin’s chest, a faint buzz spreading across where they are touching, and Edwin doesn’t know how to react, because he hasn’t been touched like this – kindly, like he matters, with the intent to give comfort, not pain – in so long, he has quite forgotten what to do.

“Finally did it”, Charles says next to his ear, and pulls him closer still. He seems quite oblivious to the fact that Edwin is just standing there, and that’s good, because Edwin doesn’t think he could move if he tried to. It feels strange, being in Charles’ arms, makes him tingle, become overly aware of just where Charles’ arms are resting on his back, where his chin is digging into Edwin’s shoulder.

Maybe, he thinks, and it makes him giddy, like this is something forbidden, something sweet, he’ll be able to return the embrace the next time.

He considers it for far too long, especially because in the end, the decision turns out to be quite easy, based on one thing alone: Charles had asked for it.

They are back at the agency, Charles reorganising his backpack, and Edwin looks up at him from his book, and the words just tumble out, before he can stop them. “Do you remember the first time we hugged?”, he asks, and Charles makes a little sound, pulling their emergency bone saw from his backpack before looking over at Edwin.

“Yeah, sure. You were a little stiff back then, but I still remember how happy I was because you were so solid. I think you were the first thing I felt after I died, like, really felt”, he replies, then pauses for a moment so he can turn to face Edwin fully. “Why are you asking?”

If he still physically could, Edwin would be blushing, like this, he just feels flustered, phantom heat spreading down his throat, through his limbs until it touches his fingertips. “Ah”, he starts, rather unintelligently, “you were asking about the memories, the ones that distract me occasionally. You wanted me to tell you about them.”

Charles nods slowly, but his brows are furrowed like he is trying to put together a puzzle he doesn’t have all the pieces for yet. Edwin would very much prefer if he never found the missing ones. “Why that one?”, he eventually asks, and that’s the rest of the pieces, right there.

Of course, he could lie by omission, or just pretend he does not know the answer, but in the end, Charles will figure it out anyway. He is a detective after all. So instead, Edwin takes a deep breath he doesn’t need and rips the band aid off with one single sentence, even if it stings.

“Because I am fairly certain that I harboured some kind of romantic feeling for you even back then, only that I did not know how to recognise it.”

Silence stretches between them, neither pleasant nor unpleasant, and even if Edwin can feel the nervousness seep into the cracks of his mind as it continues, he says nothing; Charles deserves the time he needs to digest this.

So, he waits, and eventually, Charles’ eyes clear and he smiles at Edwin, a small, soft, tender curve of his lips that shouldn’t mean as much as it does.

“Thank you for telling me”, he says, and Edwin knows that he means it by the look in his eyes, the tone of his voice. “And, if you want to, I’d like to hear the next one, too.”

It is the year 2017 and their hands brush together when they are standing in front of a very angry sorcerer, who has been shouting at them for the better part of ten minutes. Usually, it would pose little problem, but the reason they are standing here is that they have been summoned; the circle and the runes around them the only things keeping them here. The sorcerer will get sloppy, Edwin knows that, and he will come too close and Charles will hit him with his cricket bat, use his body to wipe away the runes, but until then, they are stuck here.

And their hands brush together, which they have done a thousand times before, only that now, Charles hooks his little finger around Edwin’s, gives it a little squeeze. It’s made to soothe him, and it does, and if Edwin thinks about it for the rest of the week, he refuses to wonder why.

“Back in the late 2010s”, he tells Charles on a case, Crystal just out of earshot. “You nearly took my hand when we had been summoned by one of those idiotic wizards and I thought about it for days. I am fairly certain I was in love with you back then, too.”

Charles looks over to him from where he is standing, eyes widening for a second, before they go soft once more. “I remember that, I think”, Charles says, and maybe they aren’t remembering the same sorcerer, the same situation, but that hardly matters. “Thank you for telling me.”

And later, much later, Charles takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, and it’s the same rush, the same buzz; Edwin thinks about it for the rest of the week and doesn’t pretend otherwise.

It is the year 1992 and they have just established the agency, found a psychic who would let them rent out the top floor for the cheap price of keeping an eye on his offspring after he had passed on.

“You know, this is pretty brills”, Charles says, laying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling, as if it was the open sky. “I never thought much about being dead, but so far, it’s been fantastic.”

“You think so?”, Edwin asks, sitting down next to his still-new friend. He won’t lie down, not with all the dust, the cobwebs, but he still wants to be closer to Charles if possible. “I wouldn’t hold it against you if you missed your life.”

“Nah, it’s all good”, Charles tells him, a lopsided smile on his plush lips and even if Edwin suspects that the statement won’t be true forever, in every situation, it is now. “Nowhere I’d rather be here, is there? Starting a detective agency with my best mate. Don’t you agree?”

He does, only that he suspects that, unlike for Charles, it’s an answer that won’t change again.

“Do you remember when we first started the agency?”, Edwin asks and Charles laughs, maybe for good reason. “Of course. How could I ever forget that?”

He sits down next to Edwin on the sofa, and his eyes are so kind, so warm that Edwin feels like he might fall in love with him all over again. “I wish I had lain down with you on the floor back then, on our first night here”, he tells Charles, and resists the urge to reach out and put a hand on his thigh, his knee, any part of his body he could reach.

“No, you don’t”, Charles answers, and there is still laughter in his voice, making it even more lovely. “You would have been impossible about it after, with all the dust and the dirt.”

“They can’t get dirty, they’re spectral”, Edwin protests, but Charles just shakes his head.

“It would have felt like it though, wouldn’t it? You would have known it and you would have been insufferable about it”, he says and he is right and knows it too. “Actually, maybe you should have laid down with me, it would have been pretty funny.”

And he laughs and Edwin joins in, and finally does reach out and rests his hand on Charles’ ankle, and revels in how right it feels.

It is the year 2011, they are in Florence to investigate a statue that is rumoured to start moving at night, a sure sign of some kind of haunting, and it’s night, the stars illuminating the sky like little pinpricks.

And Edwin looks over at Charles to say something, only for the words to die right there on his lips, because Charles looks so beautiful in the dim light. Almost ethereal, the deep shadows making his cheekbones sharper, his lashes darker, the quirk of his lips more pronounced.

Appreciating the human form is important, no matter the gender, Edwin tries to rationalise it later, but for weeks, there is something like apprehension whenever he looks over at his best friend.

They are walking through Norwich, trying to find an heirloom, and the sunlight catches the silver necklace Charles is wearing, making Edwin think of stars and the night sky and the brightness of his leash spells, only that this is one he wears happily, proudly.

“One time in Florence, you looked so beautiful it would have taken my breath away, if I had still been breathing”, he tells Charles, and it shouldn’t be so easy to do it. But Charles just looks at him, warmth and affection and understanding painted across his features in bold, impossibly to miss strokes, and Edwin wonders how it could ever be difficult instead.

“We haven’t been in Florence in ages”, Charles says, and Edwin nods.

“I remember it anyway”, he answers although Charles hasn’t even phrased the question yet, and he thinks it will stay at just that, but Charles hums, stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“You know”, he tells Edwin after a few moments, and he doesn’t sound reluctant, just like he is putting a thought into words for the first time, “sometimes, usually when it is rather late, I look over at you and I don’t want to look away again.”

And he smiles at Edwin, like it is nothing, nothing at all.

It is the year 1999 and Charles brings a book back from his walk. He doesn’t go out on his own often, but sometimes when Edwin gets too focussed on his research, he leaves so he can walk the streets aimlessly. Sometimes, he goes to see a concert, occasionally visits a club, and when he gets back to the agency, he tells Edwin all about it without fail.

This time, however, Charles doesn’t say a word, only puts the book down in front of Edwin and waits for him to look up. When Edwin does, there is a strange, faraway look in his eyes that Edwin doesn’t like at all.

“What is the matter?”, he asks, and then, when Charles does not reply, adds, “Did something happen?”

“I realised that I will be dead for a decade next week”, Charles finally answers, but the expression doesn’t change; Edwin wants nothing more than to reach up and wipe it from his face with his thumbs.

“I know”, Edwin says. It is an anniversary he has never brought up but also never forgotten.

“That’s more than half as long as I was alive”, Charles continues and sounds brittle somehow, “Isn’t that strange?”

“Yes”, Edwin agrees.

“So, I thought”, Charles starts and then stops, pushes a hand through his hair and leaves it mussed. “I thought, maybe you could read to me? It made me feel better back then, and I’m not quite sure how I feel now.”

And Edwin looks down at the book in front of him; it’s a detective story. G. K. Chesterton, someone whose work Edwin knows quite well.

“Of course”, he says, and gets up to fulfil his promise, “Anything you need, Charles, anything at all.”

“Do you remember the tenth anniversary of your death?”, Edwin asks, a finger resting on the spine of that particular G. K. Chesterton novel. The Man Who Was Thursday, not a particular favourite of his, but now a novel that holds a special place in his heart.

“Sure”, Charles says from where he is sitting on their armchair, legs dangling over the side of it. “What of it?”

“I should have hugged you, that night when you asked me to read to you”, Edwin says and pulls the book from its shelf.

“I would have liked that”, Charles answers, but there is no judgement in his voice, just fondness. Like it is enough that Edwin knows that now. “You can hug me now, if you want to.”

He puts down the comic he is reading and holds out his arms; makes Edwin laugh until his chest doesn’t feel heavy with sorrow any longer, and feels so right in his arms when Edwin comes over and embraces him, no matter how awkward the angle, the book digging into their sides.

“I think”, Edwin mutters into the space between Charles’s shoulder and neck just before he pulls away once more, “that if I had let myself back then, I would have liked it, too.”

It is the year 2004 and Charles grasps his arm when they are walking down the street, which feels like a luxury after spending two weeks on a case that allowed them hardly any moment of rest.

“Could we stop for a bit?”, Charles asks, and for a second, Edwin doesn’t know why he would want to, but then he hears the guitar playing, hears the girl’s voice ringing through the street. She’s a street musician and it’s close to Christmas so she is wearing a Santa hat as she sings, her fingers slowly turning blue from the cold.

And she’s pretty, but Edwin hardly notices, even if he fears that Charles does.

The tune sounds out of place, because it isn’t even close to December, yet the cafe Crystal drags them into is playing a carol. It isn’t the same on as it was back then, because this is not about fairytales and not about New York, but when Crystal leaves them at their table to get a drink, Edwin turns to Charles anyway.

“In 2004, you wanted to stop and listen to a singer on the street”, he tells him, words jumbled together by how quickly he is talking; he has to get this out before Crystal returns. As much as he likes her now, this is between Charles and he alone. “I was jealous because she was beautiful and you looked at her like you knew it.”

A moment passes, and then Charles laughs softly, reaches out to cover Edwin’s hand with his own where it is resting on the table. “Edwin, mate”, he says, and he sounds tender, loving, warm. “I’m sure she didn’t compare to you.”

It is the year 2006 and if he could still feel, the sun would be hot on his skin, warming up limbs that have forgotten the feeling. Like this, he only imagines it, and finds that the memory of sunshine feels the same as the memory of Charles smiling at him, Charles taking his hand as not to get lost in the dark, as Charles hugging him when he is happy, exhausted, relieved.

Edwin doesn’t try and imagine sunshine after that.

There is a single ray of sunlight coming through the window of their agency, illuminating a spot just right of Charles’ feet, and the memory hits Edwin so hard it would leave him gasping if he still breathed.

“You alright?”, Charles asks from where he is sitting and when he looks at Edwin, it really feels like sunshine, feels like warmth and a gentle breeze on a summer’s day. “Yes”, he answers and it’s true, because he’s finally basking in sunlight once more. “It’s just that I truly love you, Charles.”

“Love you, too”, Charles replies without missing a beat, a smile that feels like summer rain on Edwin’s skin.

He turns back to his book, and Edwin doesn’t expect more, doesn’t need more, but then, just a few seconds later, Charles looks up again. His brows are drawn together, like something is puzzling him, and Edwin, who was still watching, knows that whatever he will say will be important.

“Hey, so this might be a strange question, so if you don’t wanna answer it, that’s fine”, he says, and Edwin would tell him whatever he wanted to know. “But, like. How did you know you were in love with me?”

It’s not the question Edwin expected, it’s not a question he ever expected to answer, but Charles looks like he truly cares about his response, so Edwin swallows down the hint of panic rising in his throat.

“I had someone spell it out for me”, he says and thinks about Monty for a moment, his curiosity, his kind eyes and soft lips. “And as soon as I heard the words, I just knew they were true. Maybe that is why my mind keeps searching for all the times I could have known it before then.”

There is a pause in which Charles just watches him, then he gives Edwin a smile that looks strange on his lips, unfamiliar even after all the years they have known each other. “Thank you”, he says, and there is something in his voice too. “I really mean that. Thank you for trusting me.”

As if Edwin could do anything but.

It is the year 1995 and it’s so late it’s early again, and even though he doesn’t have a physical body, Edwin is still exhausted. They’re on a case and it’s just been dragging and dragging on without an end in sight, and no matter through how many books they go through, there seems to be no solution, no explanation, no way to stop the curse.

He’s all but swearing under his breath when he picks up another volume from the desk, thick and bound in dark linen. It’s the eighth one in a row and the letters are starting to blur in front of his eyes, but he has to make sense of this somehow; they cannot let the young man who hired them suffer any longer.

A grown escapes his lips, and a few moments later, there is a hand on his shoulder, another one gently closing the book in front of him. “I think that’s enough for today”, Charles says softly, and while the letters were hazy, his face is crystal clear.

“But-”, Edwin tries, but Charles just squeezes his shoulder and when he smiles down at Edwin, it feels like a benediction.

“We’ll continue tomorrow”, Charles tells him, and Edwin is powerless to do anything but nod.”For now, lets just go upstairs and watch the stars.”

London is spread out before them and it’s been decades since Edwin has truly missed feeling the wind against his skin, but he does so now as they settle back against the wall, Charles’ head tipped back to watch the night sky.

“I think I loved you even back in 1995”, Edwin tells him.

There is no response for a while, the silence not unpleasant, but unexpected. They have found a rhythm with these small confessions by now; Edwin will share a memory and Charles will give something back. It makes it easier for Edwin and he hopes, thinks, believes that it does the same for Charles.

Eventually, Charles turns his head, and his eyes are dark, unreadable, beautiful.

“I think I love you now”, he says, and for a few moments, Edwin doesn’t hear him.

“I know”, he answers when he does, and Charles smiles at him, fond and sweet, like he has missed Edwin for decades and only found him again.

“I don’t think you do”, he responds, unmoving, and something around them shifts; the stars grow brighter, the sky darker, the small corner of the roof they are sitting in smaller. “But I want you to.”

And he leans in and presses the softest, the sweetest, the most certain kiss to Edwin’s lips. It’s over before Edwin can react, but Charles stays close and watches his reaction, his gaze so intense it feels like a touch in its own right, a caress to Edwin’s skin.

“How…?”, he whispers into the space between them; it doesn’t feel real. How do you love me, he wants to ask, how did you fall in love with me,and how are you certain of it? And most importantly, how do you know it now, after so much time?

Charles seems to hear all of it in just one word, because he moves his hand so he can link their little fingers together, and replies, “I had someone spell it out for me, memory by memory.”

And kisses Edwin again.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I feel like this conversation is a bit played out, but I’m curious: do you think JK’s banking on winning a Grammy and potentially getting out of his military service? I’ve tried to take their words for what they are and I know everyone’s said that they’re all going to the military, will be back in 2025, yadda yadda, whatever. I can’t understand why, if that’s the case, they’re banking so much on his solo career if he’s just going to disappear from the scene (physically) for almost 2 years. Do you get what I mean?

My thoughts are that they are actually hoping for a Grammy and subsequent deferment of mandatory service, but then again, nobody knows so I guess we’ll have to wait and see how it all plays out.

As this is only speculation and might as well not happen, let me bring my own contribution. I don't think this is about Jungkook and I'll explain why.

If you look at this entire issue from the perspective of the artist/idol, you'll realize soon that you're stuck, that you can't explain why he's doing this or that. But looking at it as a business deal will shine another light on it.

Yes, Jungkook is leaving to do his military service soon and everything he said up until now points to that so why are they investing so much into making him a "global pop star"? Because Hybe and Hybe America need to show that they can do that. That their strategy is one that works for future business. Why do you think they tried it first on the most versatile of the BTS members, the one that can do any song because he has the voice needed for that? This wouldn't have worked with Taehyung or Jimin. God, I'm so happy it didn't work with Jimin because it would have been horrible to see all that unfoulding. Besides, they had projects on their own and without making any contribution to the song writing, Tae's album was still something that matched his personality, it was him with the help of MHJ.

With Jungkook, the situation is different. I wouldn't know the details, but when they announced their hiatus, it looked like everyone was set on releasing an album, including JK. And then, most likely, life happened. Because you can't plan your state of mind. And when you're under a contract, you do need to listen to other people. I know army always uses the shares in Hybe argument, but the value allocated for the members is insignificant on a larger scale. Yes, they are rich and they can do what they want and sleep on a wlive, but I don't think for one second the company would have let Jungkook do nothing and be a couch potato.

So they found this opportunity. You also have to keep in mind that Hybe paid a lot of money for Scooter's company and then what happened to him? Most of his artists left? So where is this big opportunity for collaboration and projects and all that?

This is just business. That's it. They chose the idol capable of being a blank slate and stuck the concept of global pop star on him. Because that's what it is which is incredibly funny (not). Usually that accolade comes after some time, when the results can be seen over a prolonged period of time, but in this case, that was the starting point. As much as Bang wants to get rid of the k in kpop, they're still using a kpop strategy, that of making an album based on a concept or creating a specific image for an idol.

And now they are pushing it hard. They are investing a ton of money into this in a way that makes them look desperate and I think that in the industry at large, people see it. Not the fans because they either choose to turn a blind eye or their mind doesn't go that far. There are voices which have said a thing or two lately among army, but it's an insignificant minority. The company can rely on the fandom to buy all those 284836521 versions and remixes and they will eat it up. And voila, look at how Hybe produced a global pop star in less than half a year. Quick, open the catalog for some songs that sound mediocre enough for a top 40, make the singer record them asap, fast, done in less than one week. Quickly come up with some generic argument of how this is just to show the artist's vocal range (good job PR for that one, jesus) and then also openly admit that it was made for a Western market, aka US cause the world stops there.

Jungkook had the possibility to show more personality of his own when he was with a group of six other people than with his solo album, which is so ironic. But that is because it is not his album. He's merely a vessel through which Bang and Scooter can show investors that they can invent a global pop star and fast while their pockets grow bigger and bigger.

[darkdemeter]

Pshhht dem, I drop this cute idea in your askbox⬇️

The horsemen (And maybe good ol' sammy) reacting to their university student! (Film major) partner inspiring their outfits on them for whenever they have to attend classes. When the horsemen (and sammy) ask why they do that they say that 1) it puts a nice challenge on their fashion skills 2)makes them feel closer to them and makes them feel less overwhelmed throughout the day.

(Inspired by: Ive been wearing horsemen inspired outfits to my uni classes, its super fun)

Have a good day and as always take your time!!!!

--Jer,a Very sleep deprived film major.

WARDROBE INSPIRATIONS

◤✘DARKSIDERS REQUESTS | CATALOGUE Horsemen + Samael x Uni student!GN Reader

NOTES ↳ That sounds like so much fun Jer I love that😭🖤 hope you enjoy my take on this and thank you for the idea submission! WARNINGS❕ ↳ just fluffy and a bit of hurt/comfort (reader gets a little anxious or low on self esteem) — certain someones get a bit thirsty, a wee little suggestive soft!18+ — I think that's it?

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University can be tough. It can get stressful and sometimes, you have to work around it to make it more enjoyable and fun. And hey, considering that the world is still working on rebuilding itself, it doesn't hurt to feel a little bit inspired by the ones acting as humanity's new sentinels. So...

DEATH

Of course you're going to wear skull adornments, whether that be a printed pattern on your clothes or the selected accessories. Yes, you try to keep it simple with a skull shaped necklace that you fiddle with all the time in class. Your professor tends to go into these passionate yet aggressive spews about filmography. To say that it can be overwhelming is putting it kindly, so you often find yourself playing with the little skull attached to its silver chain to keep your mind grounded.

As for the palette of your clothes, you have a very muted, darker shaded selection for your wardrobe. People might call you goth because of it, but hey, it suits the reaper. Maybe -- just maybe -- he slightly encouraged it beneath a dry chuckle and sarcastic drawl. Then you took it literally just to see his reaction... and there wasn't a single fucking thing! This Horseman was like a fucking brick wall. Not a damn bat of the eye, double take or even a half-assed compliment. Yes, it did put the tongue in your cheek and it did make your eyes squint in his direction whenever you stood purposefully in front of the mirror, humming loudly to yourself for an extra few minutes in hopes of gaining his impute. But he'd only say, "You're going to miss your classes." "Dust gives me more feedback and he's a bird! He doesn't even speak English!"

Death only glances up from the grooming process of Harvester, his eyes narrowed and face forever placid; unreadable. "Ugh, right... fine, classes, I'm going..." Death has admittedly played a major role in your life. Funny enough, you travelled the realms with him. A film student and a Horsemen... fun times. Until your sad ending where you lamented the fact that Death indeed played the role of a hero who sacrificed himself. The little skull necklace you wear actually holds a greater significance to you. Death of course noticed how you would caress it nervously, playing with it as you sat at your desk with your laptop screen lighting up your face in the dark. You... found it when Death disappeared into the well and you felt so lost. You had no sense of direction after that and for a while you felt stuck in a looping cycle of grief. Then you came across the unique charm and from them on, you always felt closer to Death, even when you knew he was gone. When you reunited with him, he noticed its presence immediately, huffing that the skull shared a likeness to his own mask. He doesn't at all much care with the way you dress in either casual attire or more flashy styles, merely rolling his eyes and sighing. He'll never fully understand the concept of humans being so focused on the way their clothing apparel looks. But of course, there is a weak point and the grim reaper himself isn't completely immune to this. You did wear that one outfit that had his amber eyes flickering like disturbed flames in the sunken bowels of his mask.

You'd appeared to be divine reincarnate, an intricate piece of artwork that he could fully appreciate. Yes, maybe he was a little prideful that day because what you were wearing was inspired by him. "I like that one. It suits you." Finally! That was the first, and only, compliment he voiced in regards to your actual fashioned outfit. He'd been thankful that his old, worn-down bone mask hid the flaunt of his dusted cheeks that day. Other than that, he relatively remained quiet, keeping his thoughts to himself. The only part he would always train his focus on and visibly show his interest in was that necklace. He understands that it means a lot to you and over time, it's also become tied to him. He's almost had a manic episode when you couldn't find it anywhere in your small room, almost tearing all four walls down with the aid of his siblings to find the necklace. "It's okay! I found it, it was just in the bathroom." But now in the tiring days of uni, hours dedicated more to your studies rather than sleep had you constantly reminded of the little charm around your neck and no matter how daunting the day felt, no matter how hopeless and wrecked you felt when assignments were due; you could always count on the little skull mask to keep you company in the meantime. All in all, Death is more of a sentimental type of reactor, instead focusing on the finer and more meaningful details rather than the materialistic regard. To him, the outfits don't compare to you. Not in a million years. But if you wear something black and form fitting, you're bound to catch those amber eyes on you with a prowess of hunger and admiration...

STRIFE

This gun-slinging Nephilim is just as into your wardrobe fashion as you, I swear. In the beginning, he's a tad or more confused, asking why you appear to be selecting familiar colours to his own armor and attire-- and oh shit, is that a matching scarf? Alright he's sold. Totally isn't also because he saw the few picked out undergarments you tried to sneak past him... You'll catch this witty Nephilim fawning over your matching scarf, it's just a fact. The colours of your recent wardrobe inspired by Strife, often replicate a palette of dark to almost black grays with a lot of lighter toned shades as well. You like to collect little gun and pistol charms that you either attach to your keychain or to your bag you take to class, finding them useful to play with absently while seated in class. However you dress he will find a way to support it because he wants to you feel good and secure in what you wear. "Hey, what's with the sad eyes, babe?" he asks, doing his best to cheer you up. His helm is off, showing off the handsome mug that is his rugged, defined features and that wolfish, fanged grin of his.

He stands behind you and those golden eyes of him stare at you with this fondness you find unworthy of being on you. "I don't think these pants match this shirt. I thought they did when I first bought them but now... I don't think it looks good. I think I'll just wear those sweatpants and hoodie again and get to class." You sound so defeated as you begin to search for the oversized articles of clothing you're opting to hide yourself beneath. Strife, with a sharpened tsk of his tongue and shake of his head, he snatches hold of your wrist and pulls you back to him with a reeling force. "C'mon, give me a twirl." Your brows furrow at this though your lips strain between a smile and grimace.

Was he really trying to compliment the horrible combination you picked out? His brows cock up, silently beckoning you to do so and you do, sighing quietly as you spin around slowly.

"Da-ham! You sure you gotta go to class today? I think missing one lesson for a date is worth it." Cheekily, he adds a wink and you feel your cheeks paint with a warmth an your features ease into a flustered smile. "Maybe after my class today." He grumbles with a pout but overall, he smile doesn't disappear for long. He's glad that he's managed to cheer you up. "I think I know what will put this together," he says and turns, rummaging around your closet like a feverish raccoon digging through trash. You're almost knocked in the head by several belts, an old duffel bag and a few sweaters. Finally, Strife returns and begins to wrap that scarf around your shoulders and neck, styling it much like his with the twin fabrics falling behind you.

"There you are," he grins with a deep chuckle, eyes shining brighter. "Now you've the inspired look of a horseman."

You choke on your words, eyes growing wide. "H-how did you know I—"

He leans down to brush the tip of his nose to yours, pulling you until your front is fully pressed to his own. "I put two and two together, babe. You look amazing in my colours."

As an add on because he knows you need the boost, you'll catch a shadow flittering past the window.

"What the fuck?!—" One of your classmates exclaim. Their reaction is followed by the several others who all rush off to the opposite corner of the classroom.

Only you remain seated, seemingly unaffected by their panic. You've dealt with way worse when you and Strife travelled the realms together, what could possibly be so bad outside—

Your once dullened eyes that were drowning in boredom brighten, lips freed from being nervously nibbled on. You grin widely with your teeth, abashed. Strife stands at the window with an old white poster board pressed flat on the window, scrawled in his handwriting, ' You're outfit rocks babe! ;D '

WAR

The classroom can get very cold in the winter months. And you couldn't subject War to sit beside you in class, providing you with both comfort and heat. So you go out on a mad spree to buy all the warm clothing that reminds you of him, consisting mostly of large, red sweaters and hoodies and scarves. To match the darker under suit of his armor, you pick out many pants and long sleeved tops in the same colour and to finally pull it all together... some stylish ugg boots! And you can't forget the fluffy fingerless gloves you got that match the silver adornments of his gauntlets.

Yes, Strife and Fury did catch you wearing this very replicated outfit the way to class and somehow they actually managed to mistake you for War, thinking that he shrunk. When War arrives at your dorm and enters, he can't find you at first. He only hears the muffled sound of your voice that beckoned him inside. "Y/N? Where are you?" he asks, head sloping sideways like a confused pup. You spring out from under the mountain of clothes piled on your bed. He'd thought he'd awoken an old demi-god from the way you rose up.

"Hi!" you greet happily, arms thrown out and you jump into his arms that catch you in a hug. "What is all of this?" he asks after he sets you back down on your feet and with a giggle, you pull him a little closer. "Okay, okay, so you know how I attend my university classes still?"

"I thought the building was destroyed..."

Your lips purse together in thought. Yes, the building was in a sorry state, so much so that it was why the classroom suffered poorly in winter. "Yes," you squeak out, "and winter is approaching and the room gets really cold. So! to counteract this, and the fact that I miss you. A lot. Everyday. I bought an abundance of clothes that were inspired by you!"

You can see the cogs in his head turning and the way his eyes narrow into a thoughtful glare. To further get across what it was that you meant, you began to piece together your outfit that would funnily enough be your damn near replica to his outfit in a more human, casual sense. "I see," he drawls lowly. He watches as you collect the articles off the bed and rush off to the bathroom. "Wait until you see it, it's going to blow your mind."

Some minutes pass by and War slowly paces back and forth across the flat of your dorm, waiting. The click of the door alerts him and he spins on his heel, his blue eyes beaming down the short hall at you. You step out, adjusting the red cowl of your hood and walk towards him, almost with a cocky saunter in your step. "What do you think?" He takes a moment before his scarred lip forms into a smile a the sight of it makes your heart melt. "I like it. You were inspired by me?" "Mhmm!"

You begin to do a little dance, showing off your outfit in a more silly fashion, laughing to yourself with the way War's eyes peel wider open, staring at you with this striking awe, unblinking. "Think I pulled off your look?"

"Without a doubt, my little human." He pulls you into his chest, his lips brushing over the crown of your head as he smothers you with his warmth, erasing the profound chill in your room and you sigh in contentment.

FURY

Fury just about walked right out of the shopping mall the instant you crossed the threshold. But with some words of encouragement and maybe a promise that you'd spoil her with some of that famous Gelato joint, she crossed the most dangerous battlefield she ever could in this lifetime. She notices how you keep looking at her every few seconds as you browse the clothing section, eyes squinted in your study. There were a few times she snarled, "What?"

"Nothing," you reply with a dismissive shrug. Oh, you could not handle the way she was judging you throughout the checkout process, almost scrutinising every piece you ran through. But thankfully, she seemed distracted with the gelato to forget about the shattering of your piggy bank.

She is astute and observant but it appears she missed the pattern of your choice of wardrobe until after you got back to the dorm and began to style and try on a few different combinations to find the most suitable ones. Like a switch turning on, she bluntly asks, "Did you pick out clothing that resembles me?" Sheepishly, you nod. But then Fury's lips quirk into a smugly laced smirk, eyes thinning in that prideful boast. You couldn't help but smile back. You're friends in class were going to be so jealous... and Fury was on board with that notion.

In fact, she is quite the fashion guru. A hidden talent of hers and one so deeply suppressed that even she was in awe herself with the outfits you both were putting together. She did swear you to secrecy that this side of her remain between the two of you, willing to load the credit onto you instead if only to save face from her brothers.

A strange mix of autumn and spring wear, a rainbow of aesthetically aligning colours from maroon, white and paler tones of purple. Silver jewelry is much suited to Fury, but if you do wear gold, it has to be simple. Maybe some golden, small hooped earrings, a golden ring or two and a thin gold chain necklace. You stand before Fury, two sleeved tops hovering back and forth on their hangers as you try to decide which one. "What do you think, Fury?"

"That one," she points at the dark maroon short, not even giving the other one a spare glance. Before you can even ask if she wants to see the other one, she interjects haughtily. "It matches your eyes better, I find." Her lips suddenly clap shut, slimming. She's never been that forward with her compliments before.

Warmth covers your cheek and neck. Was that her way of complimenting you? With a nod, you then toss aside the other shirt in favour of the one she chose. Pulling it over your head, you indeed agree that it looks much better, matching your eyes in a way that draws attention to them.

"You're really good at this, Fury," you giggle and you watch her shake her head, looking away. She only hums in agreement and you turn to her with a frown. Was something wrong? Cautious and aware that her temper did always get the best of her at times, you approach her and sit beside her on the bed. Your hand finds hers, squeezing it tenderly. "You okay?" "Yes, yes I am... I just..." Every time you almost catch her white, glowing eyes, she's quick to turn away.

"Fury, talk to me."

"It's just— you look so beautiful and I... I don't understand."

Your eyes lower to look down at your feet, pondering for a moment. Swallowing and calming the rapid pace of your heartbeat, time announcing the nearing hour of your class long since forgotten. "You know... it can get tedious in class sometimes. Boring and cold too. Even when my friends are there, I get this weird sense that I'm alone and I never feel that way when you're around."

Fury's head finally lifts up and she meets your gaze. "Then why don't just stop attending?" Her question is abrupt. Yes, it could be read as selfish but also, from her view, why waste your time with something you don't see worthwhile. You sigh with a shrug.

"I enjoy what I'm studying. But what I'm trying to say is that I had this thought that if I inspire my clothing after you, then maybe I won't get that strange and awful feeling when I'm in class. I hope that it lets me feel closer to you when you're not there with me."

Your fingers twine and wrangle together, taunting the bones and knuckles to ache under your grip and your knee bounces, uneasy. You wait for her to say something -- anything. She turns to you and loops an arm around you, pulling you close to her.

"Oh human, you're a silly little creature. But I love that about you and know that I'm never far."

(+ Bonus) SAMAEL

Samael adores you and your fashion statement in a way that only a demon lord can, going as far to even have intricate and unique accessories made to fit the style you're going for. He has a dark love for the many shaded pigments of red you chose in your recent shopping haul. He may be a dweller of the hellish pits but he is the Lord of Blackstone Keep. Give him credit, he has taste.

He watches you with a keen amount of interest, either silently smirking as he rolls his hand down the pronounced horn of his chin and his ember eyes flaring with that of a breathing hearth. Showers you with compliments that are undoubtedly laced with a sensual undertone -- Samael savours you and lusts for you in a way no mortal is capable of.

Samael is especially interested in the outfits you pick out that appear more flashy or risqué. He wonders if you're trying to purposefully flaunt yourself like a majestic peacock at this point but you are his dear one, he expects no less. He has a major complex that all the eyes of your peers should be upon you.

But there are times that you don't have confidence that day in what you're wearing... "I don't know, Sammy..." you sigh, shoulders deflating with what little remained of your self esteem. His hands cover you entirely, over your shoulders and down to your waist and thighs. "Shall I have the blacksmiths forge something to add to it?"

You shake your head, humming in thought as you gaze at your reflection. It's not that you think something is missing, in fact you think you may be overdoing it.

"Should I go with something more simple this week? I don't really have the energy, not with all these assignments due."

Samael huffs to himself. Not to belittle you, he just deems that any human who isn't you is beneath you, that you shouldn't have need to resign yourself to such lower thoughts and worry. No, he says again what he always says. "My dearest one, you are the grandiose of your kind. You are far more intelligent and stunning than those other mongrels who scrape at your feet an your so-called professor... hmph, he sounds more of a court jester than an actual expert in his study."

He tilts your chin up higher, raising both your gaze and your spirits and his lips twist into that crooked smirk you have come to love. Shyly, your lashes flutter as you blink and try to let your eyes fall away, but Samael doesn't relent. "Anything you wear, I believe looks perfect on you." "Aw, thanks, Sammy." You giggle, feeling an improvement in your mood and after another once over and turn here and there, you can't remember what it was you were so worried about. It's a fucking gorgeous outfit and most of all, it was inspired by Samael. You know he devours the thought that he is the muse of your inspiration. Humans often inspired by a great source that fuels their creation, of course he is greatly prideful in that. "But I am not opposed to seeing it all on the floor," he teases with a low purr and you physically have to bat away his creeping hands with a yelp, shielding your hotly reaction from him as he chuckles darkly.

"Samael!"