#every time he says his name his face just lights up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kasagia · 2 days

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Mastermind

Pairing: Benny Cross x fem!rich! reader Summary: Benny sees you at one of the car picnics the Vandals have invited themselves to. You catch his attention immediately. When his eyes land on you, he knows that nothing ia gonna stop him from getting you. Unfortunately, you're with some rich bastard. Luckily, Benny is a mastermind. And he won't stop untill you will be his. Taglist for Benny: @aleemendoza2425-blog My mumbling: To be honest, I don't know what it is, I just had this idea in my head and this fic took on a life of its own. Benny Cross' Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

"Who is this girl?" Benny nods in your direction. You eye one of the more decent cars, glancing every few moments at the Vandals’ abandoned bikes a few feet away.

But your gaze isn't full of disgust or fear. No. It's pure curiosity, excitement, a yearning for the thrill of danger. And who is Benny to ignore the call of such a beautiful girl?

At first, at a very first glance, he was simply interested in you. You were beautiful, dressed in expensive clothes, out of his league, but Benny liked a challenge and the thrill of the chase.

But when he saw you save one of the Vandals' kids from being hit by a moving car and calm the kid down, entertaining him without a shadow of aversion to the bikers' kid, until he forgot about it and went back to his parents, something in Benny clicked. No one else saw it but him. But that's the moment Benny knew you were going to be his wife.

"Don't even think about it, boy. Princess of Chicago. Her father sleeps on the cash register, it's a miracle she's even here and hangs out with commoners like us." Johnny pats him on the back, laughing. But Benny's got a plan. And he'll stick to it until he gets you.

"I asked for a name." Benny replies calmly, still glaring at you even after some stupid rich spoiled kid who spat at Vandal earlier walks up to you and wraps his arm around your waist. Benny wants to rip the man's hand off of him for that desecration of you.

"Y/N Y/L/N. The apple of her father's jewelry company's eye. Future heiress to the fortune and out of your reach, boy." Benny nods at this information, still watching you.

"You know what they say... Strategy sets the scene for the tale."

He lights a cigarette and sees you pointing at a beautiful black Triumph Fury from England. Benny doesn't say it's the best choice, but he's seen worse cars. You had... quite good taste.

His blood boils when your stupid boyfriend snaps something at you, but instead of listening to his shit, you just walk away from him and leave him alone by the cars.

Benny giggled a little.

You lean against one of the trees and reach for a cigarette. Your flame in the lighter fortunately refuses to obey. Benny sees his chance.

In a few quick steps he's in front of you while you're still struggling with the lighter. You lift your head at him and Benny swears his heart stops for a moment as your eyes finally land on him.

He watches your face carefully, inhales the scent of your sweet and probably expensive perfume as he carefully raises the lighter with the flame to your lips painted with a sinful red lipstick and lights a cigarette for you without a word as you stare at him in amazement. Benny tenses his muscles just a little to look better in front of you.

"Thanks." You mumble and grab a cigarette in your hands. You lean against the tree and exhale, calming down from the nicotine smoke and not caring about his presence.

"No problem." Benny nods and leans silently against the tree next to yours.

He refrains from looking at you and instead looks at the bikes in front of you. He barely suppresses a smirk as he feels your piercing gaze on him.

"What are you?" You ask him, looking him up and down carefully.

Benny shrugs and taps his Vandal pin on his chest a few times with his index finger. You roll your eyes at him and blow smoke from your red lips, making Benny want to inhale the cloud you exhale.

He was so lost...

"What do you want?" You ask him angrily, assuming that lighting you a cigarette wasn't a selfless act. Because it wasn't. Benny had his purpose in doing it. But you didn't need to know that yet.

"Nothing." He shrugs and lets go of the cigarette, holding it between his lips as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks at you the way you look at him.

"Then why are you standing here?"

"And why are you standing here, sweetheart?" He answers your question with one of his own. You frown, and Benny smiles softly to himself at how adorable you look all irritated and wrinkled.

"I have a boyfriend." You respond coldly. Benny, however, is not put off by this. He just throws one contemptuous glance at the loser who is your boyfriend and goes back to looking at you.

"And I have a bike." You snort at his words before you can stop yourself, and when Benny hears your soft giggle, his heart skips a beat.

A smirk tugs at his lips, adrenaline pumping through his veins from the excitement of making you laugh as he watches you intently, as if trying to memorize the exact image of you.

"Oh, I've seen." You mumble dismissively, but Benny sees your gaze fall on HIS bike.

The mere fact that you know which one belongs to Benny makes you unconsciously show him that you are at least the slightest bit interested in him. And that is exactly what Benny needs for now.

"Like it?" He asks, approaching you. He leans against the same tree as you, his bare shoulder brushing yours.

Goosebumps rise on your skin and you try to hide your reaction to his proximity by casually throwing your cigarette to the ground without looking at Benny.

"Did you steal that Harley?" Benny gives you a mischievous, mysterious smirk at your accusation.

He takes another step towards you and stops right in front of you. He's clearly invading your personal space, but he's far enough away to leave millimetres between your bodies. Your scent intoxicates him, and the heat of your body calls to Benny like a siren's song to sailors. And how much he wanted to be devoured by you...

"Who said it is an origianl one, little shrew?" You swallow and look away from him to analyse his bike again.

Benny can see the gears in your head turning, the way you squint as you try to find the difference between his bike and the original. And god, Benny is only a man, of course he took advantage of your moment of inattention and checked you out. Especially the valley between your breasts...

"Wait... you made it? On your own?" You ask impressed and he simply nods.

Unfortunately, you don't get to talk any longer. Your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend walks up to the two of you and, ignoring Benny completely, tells you that you have to go back to some stupid family dinner.

I can see in your eyes that if it were up to you, you would stay longer, but you're reluctant to leave Benny's side and follow your boyfriend.

"If you ever want a real ride, look for Benny!" He shouts after you. Out of the corner of his eye he sees you turn around but he's not looking at you anymore.

He goes to his bike and starts it with a loud roar. He adjusts the side mirror to get a good view of you and does a few of his signature stunts before he drives off.

He smiles to himself, realizing you've been watching him the whole time. The bait worked.

"Holly shit." You mumble to yourself as you stand on the side of the highway.

You sigh as you get out of your car, wondering how the hell you're supposed to get to the city now that your boyfriend's tires are flat. He's fuming, cursing at the car while you calmly smoke a cigarette sitting on the trunk of a broken-down car.

"Why aren't you doing anything?! Do something! I'm not pushing this into town. Take off that sweater and try to hitchhike." Your boyfriend yells at you angrily. You raise an eyebrow at him and continue smoking calmly, refraining from punching him in the nose. Just then you hear the loud roar of an engine.

You turn your head and see the same Vandal from the car picnic. You look at each other for a moment, intently, your boyfriend stares at you in surprise but you don't pay much attention to him anymore.

"I would use that ride now." You tell him and throw the cigarette on the road. Your boyfriend shouts something at you but you completely ignore him, staring at the Vandal in front of you.

"I thought you had a boyfriend." He says, sending you his mischievous glare. You shake your head with a small smile.

"Not anymore." You say while looking at your now ex-boyfriend.

"What the hell, Y/N?! You're really going to go with that outcast and leave me here? I'm the hottest catch in town, and you know it damn well!"

"No, no, no. I AM the hottest catch in town, honey." You correct him and grab your bag from his car. You walk over to Benny's bike and sit behind it, rolling your dress up to your thighs so as not to give anyone a show. "Have fun with your ego. God knows you two will be just fine pushing this junk through. You could always drop your pants and try to catch some desperate old lady to give you a ride. Although with your calibre it'll sooner be some guy." You wave at him as Benny gasps his bike and accelerates with a screech of tires, leaving your ex far behind.

You scream and grab the biker by his jacket, unprepared for such a fast ride. You dig your nails into his muscular torso and cling to his back, riding a bike for the first time.

Benny is in heaven. Your perfume is carried by the wind, making the ride on his bike even more enjoyable.

You press your front against his back, so he can feel every delicious curve of yours. And the way you dig your fingers into him makes his mind wander to other situations you could be doing this in. And this, surprisingly, seems much more enjoyable than riding his bike completely alone.

You rest your cheek against his back and gaze at the scenery around you. Benny is racing so fast you can barely see anything but him, your heart is beating wildly and a strange feeling of excitement inside you makes you wish he would never make it to town, but would just race you through the cornfields.

At some point, however, your ride ends. Benny parks outside the Vandals' bar and waits patiently for you to get off his bike and let him go. Although he is not at all pleased that your hands are leaving his body.

"Thanks. If not you, I would stick with that asshole." You say, and he leans against the wall of the building. He slides you one of his cigarettes, but you shake your head and take yours out of your purse. "How much do I own you?" Benny frowns at your question and stares at you as you wait for his answer, already looking for the money for him.

"I don't want your dad's money." He surprises you again. You stop all your movements and blink a few times, almost dropping the cigarette from between your lips.

"But... for gasoline..."

Benny simply shrugs as you continue to process the fact that he really doesn't want anything from you. There had to be some hidden meaning to it. There always was. Everyone wanted something from you, there was no selflessness in hanging out with you. It shouldn't be any different with this Vandal.

"My bike, my petrol."

"You drove me halfway across town and off the fucking highway. That's a lot of petrol. I insist." You say, practically shoving the money into his pocket. But Benny pulls away and grabs your wrist, before you can pay him for this little ride.

You swallow as his thumb lazily strokes your skin, bypassing the gold bracelets on your wrists to caress your skin instead of the expensive metal.

"If you care so much, you can buy me a drink, little shrew, because I won't take any money from you." Benny mumbles hoarsely and reluctantly lets go of your wrist. Before you can respond, he's already heading to the bar.

With no other option, you sigh and follow the Vandal to the bar. You try to avoid the ripped, fat men and follow Benny like a shadow, hoping that none of them will bother you.

The atmosphere of the club is thick, you can almost feel the cloud of testosterone in the air, piercing through the smell of cigarettes and strong alcohol. A real den. You've never been in a place like this. And with man like him.

"Two beers." Benny nods at the bartender. He hands you both your drinks and you quickly put your money on the table. Benny puts his arm around yours and, holding your drinks in both hands, leads you to a less crowded part of the club.

Benny's arm around yours makes you feel a little safer and more comfortable in the sea of tattooed men. Some whistle at the two of you but you follow Benny's example and ignore them, trying to focus on the man who was leading you.

Benny was different from most guys you knew. Most of them couldn't change a tire on their own car, hadn't dirty their hands with hard work, and basked in their families' fortunes.

Benny was the definition of masculinity, danger, and self-sufficiency. He was something new, exciting, titillating. Every good little rich girl's wet dream. And maybe if you were younger and more naive, you would have fallen into his arms and let him destroy you completely to his own liking. But you knew all too well how guys like him behaved. And even though Benny drew you like a moth to a flame, you preferred to keep your distance from him and any trouble he could bring. Or at least you tried hard to.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask him, getting straight to the point as you sit down at the table.

"Doing what?" He asks, sipping his beer. He looks at you like you're the only interesting thing in the world. And as much as his intense gaze sends a pleasant tingle through you, you're afraid you won't be able to resist him for long.

"This. Don't look at me like this." You say, swallowing hard. Goosebumps rise on your skin as Benny pulls his chair closer to yours, leaving only a mere centimetres between you and you can smell his scent mixed with grease, cigarettes, and the wind from the fast ride.

"Like that?" He asks innocently, resting his hands on the back of the chair and flexing his muscles.

He sips his beer, wrapping his full lips around the neck of the bottle and his gaze never leaving yours for a second. You clench your thighs and shift in your chair, embarrassed by the effect he has on you.

"Benny! Will you introduce me to your company?" With a small sigh of relief, you turn to the man who interrupted you. Benny is slouched and sulking in his chair, furious at Johnny for interrupting him when everything was going his way.

"Johnny. Club leader. Y/N. My girlfriend."

"I am not your girlfriend." You snap at him, turning your angry gaze at him. And that bastard just smiles sweetly and shrugs.

"I'm sorry. My little shrew." He corrects himself with a sly smile. You narrow your eyes at him, wanting to punch him in that smug face of his, but then his Johnny starts talking to you.

You sit in the club for a moment longer and then go to their phone to call someone from your residence to come pick you up. Once you have all the details sorted out, you don't go back to the table, you just run straight for the exit.

Unfortunately for you, Benny is very attentive.

"Stop, kid." Johnny says and gently pushes Benny into a chair. "She's not the girl for you. Better let her go and forget about it. Girls like her don't fit in with people like us."

"The first time that I saw her, I knew I wanted her badly. Nobody will stop me, Johnny. Not even her. I've already made up my mind. The dominoes cascading in the line." Benny answers confidently and runs after you.

He leaves the bar and looks around. He sees you walking far down the street, turning a corner out of his field of vision. He gets on his bike and starts it faster than ever and follows in your footsteps.

He was so close to making you care even a little as much as he did, and he wasn't going to stop now that he had you practically within reach. Benny knew that if he let you go now, all his efforts would be for nothing. And he wasn't going to start from scratch with you. His engine roars furiously beneath him as he chases after you. He smiles to himself when he sees you waiting outside one of your father's stores and pulls up to you. He stops right in front of you and doesn't turn off his engine. He doesn't look at you, just ahead on the road, waiting for your next move.

Benny hopes he doesn't show how stressed he is about what you're about to do, how impatiently he waits in the cold, deafening silence.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" You ask him, shoving your hands into your pockets. Benny sees you twitch slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm waiting for you to get in." He replies calmly, taking his hands off the handles of his bike to rest his elbows on his thighs. You raise an eyebrow at him, wrapping your hand around the keys you carry in your pocket. Just in case. After all, you didn’t know that guy.

"I have no intention of doing so." You talk tough. But Benny is just as stubborn, if not more so. He won't let you off the hook that easily.

"Then I'll wait until your driver comes to pick you up and then I'll follow you to your house."

"You are lying. You can't do that. That's fucking stalking. And from what I know, you already have enough problems with the police."

"So you're interested in me after all, princess?" He gives you a dirty, wolfish grin and a wink, making your heart race. You find your reaction very pathetic, but you can't control yourself at all when this ridiculously handsome Vandal is flirting with you and doing things like this. He's a little unsettling, but also very exciting. No guy has ever wanted you as much or shown as much interest in you as this one. "Test me." He challenges you and calmly pulls out a cigarette to light it. The bike beneath him continues to roar furiously as he awaits your decision.

"Why are you doing this?" You ask, narrowing your eyes at him suspiciously. “You don’t want my money, but you follow me around like a lost puppy. What’s your problem, man?”

"You." He mumbles in that sinful raspy voice of his, staring at you as if he was tearing your soul apart. You swallow, trying to avoid his intense gaze.

"And what about me?"

"I fancy you." He shrugs like it’s an obvious thing to state. You stiffen as he dismounts his bike and walks over to you. You take a few steps back, gasping as your bare back hits the brick wall behind you.

"Me?"

"Uh-huh." He purrs and leans toward you. You hold your breath in some strange form of anticipation as you stare at him and wait for his next move.

A shiver runs through you as his fingertips brush your cheek. He caresses your red-hot skin, stands close to you, inhales your scent, and acts as if he's doing nothing out of the ordinary, as if being this close is proper and normal.

"I think about you. Often. When I am on the road. And I wish that you could sit behind me and hold on to me as we both race with the wind."

It's such a trite line. The one he probably fooled a lot of girls with. But God, how can you think logically when he's standing so close to you and telling you things that every girl dreams a guy will tell her?

"You'll take me home or what?" You ask, swallowing, trying to hold on to the last bit of control you have as his hand lazily brushes your jaw, tracing a line along your neck and stopping at your shoulder.

His hand is large. Warm. Rough but comfortable. His fingers dig into you, the cool metal of his rings calming you down a little. But your heart is still beating wildly, wanting to break free and give itself to the man before you. Even though he was a huge pain in the ass.

"Get in, little shrew." He says and nods to his bike. Not trusting your legs too much, you take small steps and carefully place yourself on his bike.

You shiver when he suddenly puts his warm Vandal jacket on you. You accept the cover without looking at him and put it on yourself. You almost moan as his warmth and scent envelop you, and his large, threadbare, grease-smeared jacket suddenly becomes the only one you ever want to wear.

Benny climbs onto his bike. He starts it, the engine humming and shuddering beneath you, but Benny doesn't move yet. You frown, wondering what he's waiting for. You quickly get your cue when he reaches behind your hands and wraps them around his torso. You blush, feeling his abs much better now that he's wearing just a black T-shirt.

"Harder, princess. I'll go fast." That's the only warning you get before he starts the engine. You scream and grab him hard, practically digging your nails into him. And Benny just laughs at it. Or at least that's what you gather from the way he trembles under your hands.

Because of the speed you're going, you arrive at your gate pretty quickly. The security guards stare at you in shock, but only for a moment before they return to their professional demeanor. They let you through, and Benny parks right under the steps to your entrance. You thank God your dad is away on business and won't see you riding Vandal's bike.

You get off your bike and stand there stupidly next to Benny wondering what the hell you're going to do with him now. Will he get bored and ride off? Or will he wait outside your house? Or will he want to come inside?

"Will you ever get the fuck away from me?" You ask him angrily, not knowing what to do.

"Is this what you really want?" Benny asks calmly and lights his cigarette.

You don't answer that. Somehow this Vandal became.. close to you. You don't want him to go anywhere, to leave you alone. Somehow it was exciting to run into him from time to time. But he wanted more...

"I won't date you. My dad would kill me if he saw me with one of you. Or disinherited and thrown out of the house." You tell him right away, hoping that he'll get bored and leave you alone. Because you can't tell him to fuck off anymore. You can't seem to get it out of your throat and sound sincere.

"Then it's a good thing I don't want you to date me." You try to keep a straight face at his words. You nod and turn to go home, probably get drunk and try to forget about those damn striking blue eyes. But then Benny's scream stops you. "You will marry me, princess!"

An involuntary smile forms on your lips, and that familiar, pleasant excitement returns. He really wants to race and play this game with you. Somehow, it seems much more enjoyable than the advances of those rich assholes. This one really tried and put an effort in chasing you.

"Not even in your wildest dreams, biker-boy!" You shout over your shoulder and go to your house.

Benny stands by your door for a moment longer. He finishes his cigarette and watches the lights in your house blink. Once he figures out which window is yours, he smiles at himself and starts his engine.

The real game has begun.

"Oh my God, how romantic!" Your hairdresser squeals above you, glancing over her shoulder every now and then to watch Benny lean against his bike, smoking a cigarette, watching you through the window, waiting for you to finish your hair appointment.

"Rather frustrating." You comment without taking your eyes off your reflection in the mirror as your hairdresser does your hair.

"Honey, do you know how many women come here? And do you know how many men wait of their own free will for them to leave while we finish doing their hair? NONE. And that handsome guy on the bike... get after him before one of us grabs him in our claws."

You roll your eyes at her words and light a cigarette, trying to push down the ugly feeling of jealousy at the thought of some hag riding your Vandal's bike and hugging him from behind like you do.

Not. Fucking. Happening.

"As if I cared." You mumble and let her finish your hair.

You pay her and chat for a while at the cash register when out of the corner of your eye you notice Benny, who is still leaning on his bike and waiting outside the hair salon for you to come out, now talking to some girl.

You say goodbye to your hairdresser and leave. You walk closer to the two of them and your anger flares when you hear the other girl flirting with him.

"So... do you have a girlfriend?"

"I don't know... do I, princess?" Benny shifts his gaze from her to you and raises an eyebrow, smiling stupidly and maliciously when he sees the fury written all over your face.

Without a word, you get on his bike and wait for him to join you. Benny quickly abandons the girl he was talking to earlier and starts the engine.

You dig your fingers into him a little more painfully than usual and press your body against his. You rest your cheek against his back and give the other woman a warning look, marking your territory.

Luckily Benny doesn't see it. He drives ahead with you in the back and only then do you realize your stupidity. You let him take you wherever he wanted just because you had to point out that he was yours. He wasn't yours, but...

"Here we are." He pulls you out of your thoughts. It's only because of him that you realize he took you out of town to one of the infamous Vandal picnics.

Your dad will kill you if he finds out.

You feel a little out of place in your white mini skirt among all the bikers and their women in leatger jackets, but Benny doesn't care that you don't fit in with his company with your Chanel bag.

He takes your hand and pulls you closer to the fire. A few people whistle behind you, and you involuntarily move closer to Benny, seeking safety. Seeing this, he puts his arm around you and pulls you into his side. And you wonder why the hell you're letting him drag you like a rag doll.

Benny sits on a log and waits for you to join him. You decide to sit on his lap since you don't want to get your skirt dirty on the branch of wood.

"Don't think too much about it." You mumble at him and he just smiles evilly, feigning innocence.

"I would never dare."

You spend the evening with the bikers, listening and laughing at their stories, sitting on Benny's lap. A few of them called you Benny's girlfriend and you didn't feel like correcting them. Besides, it would be hard to explain your relationship… you don't know exactly what it is that connects you with the biker.

You think about it as you ride cuddled up to Benny on his bike again. The night air hits the two of you, and you're glad you're wearing Vandal's jacket. You sigh, thinking about how over the past few days he's changed your routine and crept into your life, like a thief taking away bits of your time until you practically spent the whole day with him. And surprisingly, it didn't bother you one bit.

It's only when you stop that you notice that Benny hasn't been driving you home. Instead, you're on the outskirts of town, near a small forest. You breathe in the fresh night air and look at the stars above you.

Benny moves on his bike so you can lean against his chest. He envelops you in the embrace of his strong, tattooed arms and rests his nose against your hair, sighing your scent. You sit there for a moment in blissful silence, listening to each other's breathing and the sounds of nature. You've never known such blissful silence as with Benny.

"You enjoyed today." He states, doesn't ask.

You know him well enough now that you know he's been watching you closely all night, and your every little reaction to his Vandal family. And he was right, you quite liked it. But spending one evening like that, and all of your potential life with Benny, is a big difference. And you don't know if you'll be able to keep up with his crazy life, since you've been accustomed since you were a child to having the best comforts and living in complete safety and control.

"I did." You reply, lazily tracing patterns with your finger on his arm. You almost giggle when you see the hairs on his arms stand up in response to your touch. "But I still won't be your girlfriend."

"And I think I've already told you that I want a wife, not a girlfriend."

"You hardly know me." You adopt a new tactic, trying at all costs to dissuade him from this idea, to prove that you do not belong together at all.

"I know enough to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. The moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you. And when I get to know you and your character, I realized that we are meant for each other."

The way he looks at you now, his closeness, the warmth, the smell of cigarette smoke and the beer he's been drinking make it hard to think straight. Especially when he's practically opening all his cards to you.

"I hardly know you." You mumble in shock, prepared for the fact that someone might actually care more about you, that someone is chasing you and not your dad's money, that someone wants you and not the privilages of your last name.

"You will have time for getting to know me, princess. Besides... I think you know about me much more than you are willing to admit to yourself."

You swallow hardly. Benny's hand plays with the button on his jacket that you're currently wearing. You sigh as his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer to him. His fingers travel under your shirt, and you bite your lip hard, holding back a moan as you feel his cool, long fingers on the heated skin of your stomach.

"My dad will kill you." You mumble in warning, not really paying attention to it yourself now as his roving hand gently caresses the skin of your stomach and brushes teasingly over the material of your bra.

"I'm stronger than you think, little shrew." In proof, he tightens his grip around you. You sigh slightly, biting your tongue hard to keep from moaning his name as his hand cups your clothed breast. "Nothing can stop me… unless you really don't want me." He whispers hoarsely in your ear and presses his lips to your temple.

It is both a warning and a promise. He can leave you alone, but you must reckon with the consequences. You know that a man like him leaves with the first goodbye, with the first sign that he is an undesirable element in your life. But what can you do when he pulls away from you, stops rubbing your breast teasingly, and gets off his bike, depriving you of his warmth and the strong embrace with which he protected you from the outside world? How can you reject him once again?

You have not such strength in yourself. You are already glad that you lasted that long with turning him down and didn't give in to him at the very first meeting, when he came to you and lit up your cigarette.

"I can't just marry you. It hasn't even been a month since we first met." You remind him and yourself, but you feel that along with his hot, intense gaze on you, any remnants of your common sense are melting away.

You want him. No matter who disagrees with it or how people react to it, you feel that you can no longer live without him in your life. He was everything you never had. Freedom, wildness, passion, boundless, sick love that makes you swallow you whole, and you are able to do stupid, irrational things. And you want all of it. Even if you have to sell all your nice things and walk around covered in grease and gasoline like him.

And that was a big declaration coming from a rich, spoiled daddy's little girl like you.

"Sometimes you just see and know. You can't say you don't feel it, princess. You're meant to be mine. You know it." After his words, silence falls between you. You are in a kind of staring contest, since you try to endure his deep look.

You feel that you are slowly losing control, that your life is slipping away in a completely new, unknown direction, and honestly, you do not want to turn back for a moment. But your parents raised a cautious girl.

"We are making a prenuptial agreement." Benny snorts with laughter but nods, obediently agreeing to your terms.

"I've told you before, I want you, not your money, but fine. If that makes you feel safe, fine, we will sign one." You stare at him in deafening silence, unable to believe that this was really happening, that he was really running after you just to have you, to be his. You. Not your parents' money, not the expensive things you could buy him, not the job you could offer him at your father's company. Just you. It's just you.

"You are crazy." You laugh in disbelief. His jacket wraps around you snugly, providing comfort from the cold night wind that ruffles Benny's hair, making you want to run your hand through it yourself and see if it's as soft as it looks.

"You're crazy too. You finally agree." He says with a small smile, and you blush.

You roll your eyes and shift your gaze to the forest beside us. Benny won't be having this. He steps up to you and takes your chin between two fingers, forcing you to look at him again. You swallow, your gaze travelling from his eyes to his plush lips.

"I want a ring. And fancy motorcycle's wedding. With the cans attached to your bike and everything."

"Deal." He whispers back and cups your cheek in his hand. His thumb strokes your skin, his touch searing, igniting a flame of desire so great within you that you wonder how the hell you could have lived without knowing such a feeling.

"And I want to settle down someday and have real house, family and so on."

"Okay." He mumbles and presses a kiss to your other cheek. You sigh shakily, grabbing his bike with all your might to keep from tearfully and desperately digging your fingers into Benny and pulling him closer to you. You're fucking trembling, and the guy hasn't even touched you properly.

"Seriosuly? You are going to do so and agrree just like that?"

"I told you. I want you. I will do everything to have you."

You envy the calmness in his gaze and actions as he lazily presses kisses across your face. Cheek, temple, forehead, nose, other cheek, the edge of your jaw… anywhere but your damn lips.

"You didn't even kiss me yet." You remind him angrily, and Benny can only chuckle deeply at your indignation. He tugs a strand of your hair back and takes a step towards you, standing between your spread legs as you remain on his bike.

"A mistake I intend to fix." He mumbles, and finally, after many years, centuries, enoahs, of waiting, he presses his lips to yours.

You sigh, grabbing him by his shirt and balling the material into a fist, pulling him closer to you. His lips move in such a wonderful way, caressing yours, tasting you intently as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, every little gasp at his caresses, and everything about you.

His touch is electric. It fires up every neurone in you, turning you into a whining, needy little mess as his tongue connects with yours in a mad dance. You stop caring about anything in the world, just being as close to him as possible; that's all that matters; all that matters is Benny. You break the kiss only to have him angrily rip his shirt off of him, and you quickly silence any attempts he makes to mock you and your haste by capturing his lips in another bruising kiss as you explored his muscular torso that you've been clinged to so many times while riding his bike.

Your thinking goes out the window when all you can feel and worry about is Benny.

Benny presses you against his bike and deepens the kiss as you moan into his mouth, feeling every muscle of his against your body. He practically rips your shirt and bra off of you, leaving you in nothing but his Vandal's jacket as he trails his kisses from your jaw, neck and collarbone to your chest.

You tangled your hand in his hair, pulling him as close to you as possible, and it made Benny feel like he was in heaven. You wanted him as desperately as he wanted you, and Benny was going to give you exactly what you wanted and needed.

Benny smiles against your silky skin as he leaves his marks on you. He had managed to do exactly what he had planned. And he was extremely happy about it.

And with your soft moan and the clumsy, quick fumbling with the waistband of his pants, he only has one thought on his mind.

Checkmate. Benny couldn't lose.

And now you are only his.

#benny cross x reader #benny x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross #the bikeriders #benny the bikeriders #austin butler benny #oneshot #fluff #fools in love #inspired by taylor swift #strangers to lovers #chasing a girl #courtship #mastermind #look at him #i love him so much

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cosmicdahlias · 2 days

Text

Can Bill Come Out To Play?

a ford x reader fic

MINORS DNI

warnings: smut, possession, masochism, consensual torture, knife play, blood play, blood as lube, oral, spanking, choking, bruising, fainting, slapping, dubcon impreg, putting cigarettes out on you

okay y’all this one is supremely fucked up, i know i’ve written my share of dark fics but this one takes the cake if the warnings are any indication. it was a request by @thegrovesheart but i probably went way more overboard than what they were asking for. i’m sorry y’all are about to see how bad my kinks are, hopefully you’ll still enjoy the ride 🤞

It was late at night, you and Ford had just finished a long day of working on the portal. You were cuddled up in bed, him pressed up against you as the big spoon. He was lazily tracing his fingers over the curves of your body. You had been about to fall asleep, but the sensation of his hands on you was too arousing. You rolled over, facing him and slipped your hand to his cock.

You stroked him and he let out a soft moan, his eyes closed in pleasure. You kissed him deeply, when you pulled back he opened his eyes, they were different, wild and yellow with reptilian slits for pupils.

“Ford?”

He laughed, even his voice was off, higher, more sinister. He smiled wide, almost like the corners of his mouth were about to split open.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. The name’s Bill Cipher, I’m your good old boyfriend here’s muse. I figured if I’m gonna be in his mind I might as well get acquainted the little minx that occupies his thoughts when they’re not about me. That’s right, kid, the man’s absolutely obsessed with you, well, not more than me, but you’re a close second.”

“So what do you want with me?”

“Well, dollface, I’ve been taking a peek into your dreams and I gotta say, you are quite the freak. I’m honestly impressed, most humans don’t enjoy pain nearly as much as you do. Have you told Fordsy? I doubt it, honestly he’d be too much of a pussy to do any of the shit you think about. And that’s where I come in, you love fucking Ford, but he’ll never truly satisfy you in the way you want. I have no hangups about causing pain, hell I love it! If you agree, I’ll give you everything you want and more. What do you say?”

After your time researching things like demonic possession the idea of being fucked by a demon always excited you. And the fact that he’d hurt you in ways that Ford never would? Fuck the hell yes. You should have been terrified, but when you looked into those yellow eyes you only felt desire.

“Deal.”

“Ahahaha, perfect. Let’s get started.”

Ford’s hands traveled down your body, his grip rougher than normal. He put a hand to your neck and sank his teeth into your throat. You yelped as he drew blood, it seeped down your neck and Ford dragged his tongue over the crimson liquid.

“Fuck, I forgot how good that tastes.”

He got up, searching for something.

“I know sixer keeps one around here somewh- aha!” He said, pulling out a large hunting knife.

He walked back over to the bed, getting on top of you. He dragged the flat end of the blade against your skin, every so often testing the waters by poking you with the tip light enough to not slice into your flesh, not yet. Goosebumps formed from the sensation, no one had ever done anything to you like this, you were on cloud nine.

“I think you’ll like this.” He smiled.

He let the knife travel to your inner thigh and begin to cut the soft skin. You winced and moaned. Bill let out a cold laugh.

“God you’re fucked up, kid.”

He took his time carving the words “Bill’s slut” into your thigh, pearls of blood forming at the surface. Satisfied with his work he gathered your blood on his fingertips.

“Open that pretty mouth.”

You did so and his fingers entered, the metallic taste hitting your tongue. He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his lips aggressively to yours, tongue shoving its way into your mouth, searching for the taste of blood.

He pulled away. His wide smile hadn’t left his face since he took hold of Ford. He reversed his hold of the knife, gripping the sharp blade in his hand. He teased the entrance of your pussy with the hilt. You were dripping at the idea, inching yourself closer.

He shoved the handle aggressively inside you, fucking you with it. He didn’t let up on his grip, the knife sinking into Ford’s palm, blood trickled down the knife.

“Whoops, might as well make the best of it.”

He pulled the handle out of you and covered Ford’s blood in it before resuming fucking you with the hilt.

“Bet you never used blood as lube before have you? And judging by how wet you are I’d say you’re enjoying this.”

You whimpered, bucking your hips. Blood continued to drip from Ford’s hand, staining the sheets. He pulled the knife out and dragged you headfirst to the edge of the bed, tilting your head back back. He stroked his cock and thumbed your tongue.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth and I’m not gonna stop even when you choke and gag on Fordsy’s cock, sound good?”

You nodded.

“Good, just try not to puke on his dick, I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

He lined the tip up with your open lips before violently forcing his way into your mouth, holding a hand to your throat the entire time.

He thrusted relentlessly and you began to gag, saliva pooling on the floor. He pinched your nipples hard, you let out a muffled moan.

“That’s right, moan on his cock.”

He carried on fucking your mouth. Savoring your desperate attempts to breathe. He debated on covering your nose just to make things harder, he loved to see you struggle.

He pulled out, you coughed and gasped for air. He picked you up and flipped you over on your stomach, shoving your face down into the pillow and raising your ass. Ford bent over and picked up his belt. He came up behind you and brought it down hard on your ass. You moaned as a welt began to form. He continued lashing you until your legs began to shake.

“Man you really can take a beating.”

He flipped you over again, this time on your back and slipped the belt around your neck then climbed on top of you, hand tugging on the leather.

“I’ve always wanted to know what pussy feels like, Fordsy makes it sound even better than pain with the way he describes it”

He didn’t waste any time preparing you, brutally shoving his full length inside you, pumping rapidly. He moaned loudly.

“Ah ahahaha, fuck, now I see why sixer fantasizes about this all the time. It feels fucking incredible.”

He pulled hard on the belt, choking you. You tightened around his cock. Capillaries in your neck started to break, you were going to be left with one hell of a bruise. He was ruthless, fucking you with cruel intensity.

He pulled the belt even tighter, you began to asphyxiate. Finding this insanely hot, but still valuing your life you tried to tell Ford to loosen his grip, but your windpipe was being crushed. All you could manage out was a guttural choking noise as you clawed at the belt.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t quite make it out.” He said, ignoring your obvious attempts to breathe. He pulled as tight as he could, you couldn’t even gasp. “Oh well, must not be important.” He shrugged, continuing to fuck you.

Despite what felt like a threat to your life you found yourself incredibly turned on. Your vision started to go black. The last thing you heard was a maniacal laugh.

When you came to Ford was still fucking you.

“Whoa hey you’re back, thought we lost you for a second there.” He said with his twisted smile.

His hands found your hips, he gripped them, nails digging into your flesh hard enough to break the skin.

“Say my name, slut.” He demaned.

“Nnngh, Ford.” You moaned.

He backhanded you. “I SAID SAY MY NAME, YOU STUPID CUNT!” He shouted.

“B-Bill.” You whimpered.

“That’s better. Remember who’s really in control here, sixer will never fuck you like this.”

He pounded you into the mattress. He felt himself close to cumming.

“So you’re gonna find this hilarious, I’ve been having sixer switch out your birth control with sugar pills. That’s right, they do jack shit. I’ve always been fascinated by human pregnancy and I mean hey, you’re young and fertile. And it’s too late to stop me now. Ahahahaha!”

Before you could even think to push him off you he pinned you down by the wrists, cumming deep inside you. He bucked rapidly, ropes of hot cum shooting inside you. He grunted, refusing to stop even when his cock began hurt. God he loved causing Ford pain. He didn’t know how humans got anything done or why they didn’t just fuck 24/7.

Ford took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Well this was fun, but it’s probably time for me to give old Fordsy his body back, don’t yo- oh wait, one last parting gift.”

He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a lighter and pack of cigarettes. He took one out and lit it up, taking a long drag and puffing the smoke in your face. He grinned wildly, turning your head to expose your neck and putting it out on your skin. You screwed your eyes shut and moaned loudly. He bent down and licked the burn.

“Oooh wee, you sure are fun. I’m definitely coming back for more, but I think I’m satisfied for now. Okay byeeeeeeeee.”

Ford’s head snapped back. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, his eyes returning to normal.

“Ugh, wh- what happened? Did I black ou- “ He looked down at you and gasped in horror, backing away from you to the foot of the bed.

You were a shaking mess, you honestly looked like you’d been through a bear attack.

“Y/N! WHAT HAPPENED? WHO DID THIS TO YOU?” He started to hyperventilate.

You sat up and took his face in your hands. “Hey hey, it’s alright, I wanted this.”

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY? SHOULD I TAKE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? SHOULD I FILE A POLICE REPORT? DID I DO THIS? WHY AREN’T YOU SAYING ANYTHI-“ he froze. “D- did you say you wanted this?”

You kissed him.

“Look, I have been having some… fantasies and Bill and I both agreed that you wouldn’t be able to do them to me on your own.”

“You met Bill?”

“He was possessing you, but yeah I met him.”

He stared at you, looking terrified before attempting to fix his face to a more neutral expression, almost like he was afraid he would be punished for showing fear.

“That’s- that’s wonderful. I always hoped he’d let you meet him someda-“ now that the adrenaline had settled he got a good look at you. “Oh baby your neck.” He looked down. “Y- your thigh.”

Blood was trickling from both wounds. He looked at you with great concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Like I said, I wanted this.”

Without saying a word he got off the bed and left the room, he returned with a first aid kit. He sat next to you.

“Come here.” He whispered softly.

You leaned into him as he saturated a cotton ball in disinfectant.

“Now this is going to sting quite a bit.”

He applied the soaked cotton ball to your neck wound, you drew in a sharp breath at the sensation.

“I know, I’m sorry baby.”

“No it’s okay, I like the pain.”

He gave small chuckle. “So I’ve heard.”

He took a second cotton ball, wetting it with disinfectant, pressing it to the branding that Bill had left you. You winced.

Ford kissed your cheek. “Almost done, stardust. You’re doing so good.”

He pulled gauze and medical tape out of the first aid kit. He started with the bite, lining up the gauze to cover it and securing it in place with the tape. He then turned his attention to the words carved into your thigh, doing the same.

He got up and inspected you carefully from every angle until he noticed the cigarette burn.

“Ah, hold on.”

He left the room again, coming back this time with a soapy wet rag. He sat down next to you again and gently cleaned the wound.

“You can’t use disinfectant on a burn, slows the healing.”

He then dressed the burn the same way he had for your other injuries.

He had always secretly liked treating and bandaging your wounds, he found it to be quite intimate, not even in a sexual way, just that it allowed him to be close to you.

He cupped your cheek in his hand and went to kiss you when he realized he’d gotten blood on your face. He looked down at his hand and shook his head.

“Guess Bill got me too.”

“Don’t worry, I got it.” You smiled.

You took his hand, treating and dressing it just as he had done for you. As you finished wrapping is hand in tape you kissed his knuckles.

He laid back in bed and patted the space in front of him. You crawled up next to him, returning to spooning position. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck and sighed deeply. You were seconds from falling asleep when your eyes snapped open, remembering what Bill had done to your birth control.

“Oh yeah, so uh… Bill might’ve made you knock me up.”

“WHAT???”

In the morning Ford would make you stay in bed, insisting you needed rest. For the next few weeks he watched you like a hawk, secretly recording any possible pregnancy symptoms. He pretended to be nonchalant about you being knocked up, only entertaining the idea if you did, but deep down the thought of you pregnant excited him.

He had always imagined continuing his legacy, teaching his child everything he knew. One day he was going to be gone and someone was going to have to continue his work, and he wanted to keep it in the family. He spent his nights after working on the portal holding you, rubbing your stomach after you fell asleep, hoping, praying even that Bill had given him a miracle.

#ford pines #ford pines x reader #ford pines smut #ford pines fanfic #gravity falls

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corviiids · 7 hours

Note

oh would love to see ur breakdown of whether or not miles could do it tho. if not him then do u think polly could do it

verdict: miles edgeworth could beat kira but not without help and significant damage to his psyche. as a player character he could do it with support. as an npc he would support phoenix to figure it out but would argue the entire time

could miles edgeworth intuit the mechanics of the death note

not at first instance. probably not at all. i think if miles edgeworth received the right combination of clues and/or (but preferably and) was forced to eliminate literally every other option, he would accept the mechanics of the death note as factual. however i don't think 'magic notebook that kills people' would ever enter miles edgeworth's mental realm of things that are possible without someone/something very firmly pointing him towards that fact. he would not arrive at this conclusion on his own. also, phoenix meekly bringing up the possibility in court would give him a migraine.

could miles edgeworth identify light yagami

yes. i think edgeworth would ultimately be able to kira even without intuiting the death note's mechanics. i think figuring out how the book works is the very last stage in this inquisition. but i think he would be able to ID light as a person of interest even without solid information on means and i also think he would really enjoy his verbal battle with light yagami and by enjoy i mean miles edgeworth enjoys talking to people that make him want to tear his hair out. can we all take a second to imagine mind chess/logic chess light yagami edition? can we please think about that

could miles edgeworth survive

yes - see my post about shi long lang:

yes i think he survives owing to the rules of the ace attorney universe which he brought with him, namely that a culprit in ace attorney will politely sit and cooperate while you argue with them and will admit when you've defeated them in argument, which is the least realistic thing about ace attorney. so i think light wouldn't make a move to try and kill lang until his Culprit Breakdown, at which point lang could simply kick him in the shins and pluck the notebook out of his hands because light is three toothpicks taped together.

(miles wouldnt kick light in the shins but if lang, franziska, kay, or gumshoe is there they would do it for him while miles does that arms crossed eyes closed pose about it.)

also noteworthy is that miles would give a speech about how he would gladly risk his own life to kira if it means uncovering the truth

(i put apollo under the cut because this post is too long)

verdict: apollo justice could beat light yagami but i think he would need trucy for help and motivation

could apollo intuit the mechanics of the death note

not organically but i think in true trained by phoenix wright tradition he'd kind of arrive there in a moment of panic by pure accident. trucy would say something nuts and apollo would be like

APOLLO The only thing the witness has on him is a notebook!

TRUCY

Hey, anything can be a murder weapon if you try your best and believe in yourself!

APOLLO What's he going to do with a notebook, write me to death?

APOLLO .........

TRUCY Uh, Polly? You've got a weird face on.

APOLLO I just had a really bad idea.

could apollo justice identify light yagami

i think apollo would be taken in by light for the most part like, kind of kristoph style... listen the bracelet is a weird mechanic. people literally lie all day long forever and apollo only catches specific, gameplay convenient things, just like phoenix with the magatama. (we're back at 'why dont you just question your client with your truth telling powers from the beginning' and the answer is because it is a video game with a narrative that needs gameplay and stakes.) so i think apollo catches light in a couple of white lies and then dismisses it for the most part as like, light's just one of those weird guys with a fakey persona but who is mostly harmless, and light generally tries not to lie directly in favour of speaking vaguely around the truth, so it doesn't really ping apollo as particularly strange until near the end of the case where apollo is like. ive been getting weird vibes from this guy from the start what if that like. means something

anyway i think he'd figure out that it's light in like a tense moment where he feels like trucy or himself or someone else is in danger

could apollo justice survive

yes for the same reasons as above but i think it's a close thing. like i think light gets "Apollo Justic" written in the book before trucy throws a knife at him and nails the death note to the wall and then apollo is like (Y-y-yikes!!! That was close!)

#asks #could they beat kira the game #thank you for playing :')

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spacebagfullofstars · 1 day

Text

Evolution X-Men meeting Deadpool for the first time

An idea for the first episode Deadpool would appear in the show. It'd take place during early season 2. I don't have enough ideas to write the whole thing but here's the introduction

After the Brotherhood fled and the old warehouse was empty once more, the X-Men could finally focus on their unexpected guest. Through the darkness where he stood, they could see him sheathing his katanas and stretching his arms.

"Phiii-ew! Nothing like a good workout after a mind-numbingly boring sail home!" He said, rolling his neck and shoulders. "Warms my cold, unfeeling heart to see the streets just as crime-infested as I left them!"

After a second, the man stepped towards them and into the light. The younger members of the X-Men couldn't help, but gasp when he revealed himself to them.

The person who joined their fight was wearing a red and black costume that covered his whole body, including his face. Outside of the twin katanas on his back, he had two gun pouches attached to the sides of a multi-pocketed belt. His white eyes stared at them with unclear intent.

"You?!" While Kitty, Rogue and Kurt were intimidated by his presence, Scott and Jean stood their ground. They appeared to be more disgusted than afraid. Surprisingly, the man seemed to recognise them as well.

"Jeanie! Scottie! Long time no see! Come here and give uncle Deadpool a hug!" He said, spreading his arms. Before he ran at them, Jean used her powers to throw him into the air. His enthusiasm faltered.

"Cold. I guess you don't want all the radical gifts I bough you abroad!" He said, starting to levitate upside down. "Do kids these days still say it? Do they say 'radical'? I hate that word. I hope it'll die out quickly."

"You know this weirdo?" Kitty whispered to them.

"He calls himself Deadpool." Jean stated. "He used to break into the Institute regularly."

"That's all you have to say about little ol' me?" Deadpool interrupted, then traced a line from his eye down his cheek. "You can't see it, but I just shed a sad tear. I thought we were friends."

"We're not-"

"As (I'm pretty sure) my pop used to say, if you want something done right, do it yourself!" The mercenary clapped his hands, interrupting her again. He kicked his legs and pushed himself back up so he could face them properly.

"I go by many names! Deadpool is one, but some prefer to call me the Merc with the Mouth!" He stated, pointing his thumbs at himself. "The world-famous mercenary willing to do any kind of job for a good pay, weapon expert, master of all known fighting styles and three times Champion of Hot Dog Eating in West Virginia! This city used to belong to me, but the merc job is unforgiving and I had to leave it for like twenty years!"

"We haven't seen you in two years." Scott corrected.

"It felt like twenty to me, so it must've been! Now I come back and see that you X-Dorks grew in numbers!" Deadpool continued, then crossed his arms and looked away. "Not that I'm bitter, or anything. I can do so much better than your little rich kid houseclub anyway."

"... Wait, he was an X-Man?!" Rouge asked, baffled.

"Professor tried giving him a chance once." Jean sighed. "He almost blew up the mansion."

"Like that old thing doesn't blow up every other week, am I right, guys?" Deadpool snorted and rose his hand. Outside of the distance between them, no one was willing to give him a high five. He waited a few more seconds and then high fived himself.

"Is it bad that he kinda reminds me of Kurt when he has too much sugar?" Kitty snickered.

"Don't even joke like that!" Kurt didn't like that.

"The only difference is that Kurt isn't..." Scott began, then whistled and swirled his finger around the side of his head.

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'able to think outside the box', three eyes." Deadpool overheard them and air quoted. Without any warning, he disappeared in a small flash of energy.

"What the-?!" Kurt cried out as they all stepped back in surprise. After a second, the mercenary reappeared behind them.

"And who those adorable new faces might be?" His voice startled them all. "No, no, don't tell me! You look like Jessica," He said, pointing at surprised Kitty. "Your super power is shrinking. You look like Bridget and you love being different!" He pointed at Rogue, making her scoff at him. "And you look like Elvis! You have an eternal bad hair day!" He said, pointing at Kurt.

"What?" The blue boy squinted.

"Deadpool, stay away from them!" Scott warned, flashing his visor in readiness. "Whatever you came here for, you're not getting it from us!"

"Look at you all grown up and shouting orders like a boss man! Relax, kid, I have no quarrel with you today. I just wanted to catch up and meet new people! Speaking of..." Deadpool said, then reloaded his gun that he suddenly grabbed. Something darkened in his eyes. "Where's Wolverine?"

The other X-Men could see Jean and Scott getting tense. It seemed that despite their distate, they were scared of the man after all.

Suddenly, Deadpool seemed to hear something and his head perked up a bit. They could almost see a smirk forming on his face.

"Right on the clock." He mused. He spun his gun in his hand, then without any warning, whipped back and fired a single shot.

Wolverine had entered the warehouse and managed to sneak behind them. He quickly released his claws and slashed the bullet mid-air. Before other X-Men could stop him, Deadpool switched, pulled out his katanas and teleported again. He reappeared right in front of Logan and took a swing at him. His weapons and the mutant's claws clashed.

"Kurt, get everyone outta here!" The X-Man shouted. The boy nodded. The kids came closer and he teleported them away, leaving the two alone.

"I had a feelin' I smelled a rottin' brain somewhere!" Wolverine growled.

"You're the one to talk, dog-breath!" Deadpool retorted, trying to slash him again. Wolverine blocked him. "Dog, or bear, or some other animal that smells bad! I don't want to say badger, because I feel like I'd be beating a dead horse at this point-"

"I miss the silence already!" Logan said. He roared and tried to throw a punch.

Meanwhile, the group reappeared outside.

"What does this Deadpool guy want with Logan?!" Rouge couldn't help, but grow concerned.

"They have... history." Scott explained. "I'm pretty sure they hate each other."

"Like he and Sabertooth?" Kitty asked.

"Honestly? We have no idea." Jean admitted. "It's best to just stay out of the way and let Logan handle it. He always does."

As soon as she said that, they heard an explosion that made them jump. Suddenly, Wolverine fell out of a window with a trail of smoke following him. Deadpool jumped after him and skilfully landed on the ground. When he stood up, the kids saw that he was holding a bomb with his face painted on it.

"He has explosives?!" Kurt shouted, tugging his hair. Logan returned on his feet, smoke from the explosion still dancing on his body.

"I thought you were done takin' bounties on me!" He shouted.

"I am, but it's an emergency!" Deadpool said, throwing the bomb from hand to hand. "I need this money more than I need food and water!"

"A sellout through and through!" Wolverine said, then charged back. Deadpool let him get close, teleported, and then tried to throw a bomb at him from the distance. Logan kicked it right into the ocean and it exploded in the water.

The mercenary quickly switched back to his katanas and charged with full force at his opponent. There was a lot of slashing, dodging and rolling involved. Neither of them managed to reach each other for a good while. Finally, Wolverine used an opportunity to pin Deadpool to the ground with one arm behind his back.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!" He cried. "That's foul play! You're disqualified for being a bad sport!"

"Cry me a river, Wilson." Logan tsked. "Whoever hired you must've not known that you always lose to me."

"Yeah. That might be true." The mercenary said, another almost visible smirk appearing on his face. Little did Wolverine know, his free arm was trying to reach for a hidden pocket in his costume. "By the way, don't think that I forgot to bring a souvenir or two for my bestest friend. Why don't you let me go so I can show it to you?"

"I ain't lettin' you go that easily, bub. You're gonna tell me exactly who sent you and what kinda money made you break your promise."

"Oh, I love to talk! Especially with you!" He quietly unzipped the pocket and reached inside. "But you know I can't talk about my employers. Merc 101. Buuuut, I can tell you all about the crazy places I've been to for the past two years! I learned like three different languages! Do you want me to say something in Chinese?"

"If you're tryin' to make me angry, it ain't gonna work. We've been doin' this song and dance long enough for me to know when you're lookin' for a distraction."

"Awww, you care about me enough to know my strategy! You so deserve that little treat I bought you!"

"Logan, look out!" Rouge shouted, but she was too late. Logan felt a sharp sting in his leg. He gasped and quickly pushed himself off Deadpool. He looked down and saw a dart sticking from his thigh. The X-Men were ready to intervene.

"Do not get involved!" Logan snarled, sensing their intent. His head was already beginning to spin.

"Yeah, you better listen to Papa Wolvie! This is between us adults!" Deadpool shouted, looking at them as well. The mutant suddenly fell to his knees, trying to fight whatever Deadpool injected into him, but it seemed stronger than his healing factor. His eyes started feeling heavy, and finally, he fell lifelessly on the ground.

"Logan!" The kids yelled. Jean was already floating whatever she could to throw at Deadpool.

"Don't worry, X-Kids! I promise to give him back as soon as I get my money! Follow your dreams and stay in school!" Deadpool gave them a peace sign before he kneeled in front of Wolverine and teleported away with him.

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starimusprime · 1 day

Text

Caught

An OpLita fanfic 💜

Word count: 2,432 Continuity: TF: One

Summary: Optimus takes Elita to see the Hall of Records. They kiss. They kiss a lot.

❗️CONTAINS BIG TF ONE SPOILERS❗️

As the two walk with languid strides through the lit archives of the Hall of Records, Optimus occasionally stops to point out his favorite sections or where he had almost been caught by the guards when he was Orion.

They round a corner and he pauses, glancing back at Elita with a soft chuckle as he gestures to a bot-sized grate at the end of the aisle of shelves.

“The last time I came here, I busted through that grate with a security drone in my servos and almost died.”

"I remember hearing about that incident," Elita says. "You were always one for the dramatic exits, Orion."

“Hah. And entrances,” he adds.

A soft smile graces his face as he recalls who he had been not even a quartex ago. Hearing his old name…it doesn’t feel like it’s no longer his name. He’s still getting used to being called Optimus, not to mention Prime.

"And how many times did D-16 have to bail you out of trouble?" she asks playfully, walking closer to him.

He stops mid-stride, his gaze falling to the floor. He takes a deep breath.

“Please, Elita,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to talk about D…”

She steps closer and places a gentle servo on his arm. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned him... Are you okay?"

Optimus vents. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“No,” he admits. He then looks at her with a gentle smile. “But I will be.”

Elita nods understandingly, her optics softening. "Let's talk about something else, then."

He nods back. His optics return to their usual brightness and he beckons her to follow him down one of the aisles. They come to a junction with a holovid table in the center. He walks over to a shelf and picks up a holovid drive, blowing the dust off of it as he returns to the table.

“This is an old favorite of mine,” the Prime explains before gently inserting it into the table’s drive slot.

Elita watches with curiosity as he activates the table, a holographic projection springing to life in the air above it. The image is grainy but powerful: two colossal figures locked in combat, one radiant with light, the other shrouded in shadow.

A narrator’s voice emanates from the table, recounting the legendary tale as the projections of Primus the Creator and Unicron the Destroyer fight each other. Unicron desired full power over the universe, while Primus believed that balance was essential. Optimus’ optics glow a little brighter as he allows himself to be immersed in the story of Primus becoming Cybertron.

Elita watches the ancient battle play out in awe. The story is told to every Cybertronian when they are forged, so she knows the tale by spark, but there is something about seeing it play out before her that makes her spark thrum stronger. She glances at Optimus, his new, yet familiar frame reflecting the light from the holographic projection.

The holovid comes to an end and he removes it from the play slot.

“I would always watch it when I saw it,” he says as he returns it to its shelf. “It gave me great inspiration for what I still believe in.”

"The balance," she agrees, nodding her helm slightly. "You've always had a strong sense of justice."

Optimus turns to her with a gentle smile. “Yes…although, it seems it’s too strong for my own good sometimes.”

"I think it's your biggest strength," Elita says, her optics searching his. "And it's what makes you a great leader."

His optics widen slightly and his smile fades. “But I’ve only been Prime for a quartex… I still have so much to learn about what makes a good leader.”

She steps closer, her servo resting gently on his arm. “You’re doing great, Optimus. You’re still the same Orion I knew, just with a little extra wisdom now. And a really cool new name.”

Her touch is unexpectedly soothing, but Optimus shies away from her optics. He can feel his spark thrumming in his chassis, threatening to remind him of the sight of D-16's enraged face when he took the killing blow for Sentinel Prime.

“Thank you… You have also done well as my commander so far. I'm glad I chose you to be by my side."

"You've always had a knack for making the right decisions, even if you do execute them in stupid ways sometimes," Elita says with a playful smile. She takes a step back to give him space. "But tell me, how are you really feeling? This is a lot to handle in such a short amount of time."

He shakes his helm. “I am recovering. Slowly, but…I am. My frame still aches from the reformat, but it’s getting better.”

She looks at him with concern. “And…emotionally?”

He vents and shifts his weight on his peds. “I’d really prefer not to talk about it right now. I’m sorry.”

"You don't have to be sorry," Elita says softly. "We all have our burdens. I just want you to know I’m here if you ever want to share yours."

He nods, his smile returning. “Thank you. I do appreciate it.”

They resume walking through the archives, Optimus leading Elita through the maze with such efficiency that one might have thought he had worked there.

As they stroll, Elita can’t help but notice how the light from the archives' dim lights dances across the Prime’s red and blue armor.

“So, uh," she says with a teasing lilt, "have you ever been in love?”

He nearly trips on his own ped. His battle mask snaps over his lower face, and it takes him a second to realize it’s his new frame’s automatic response to his own face heating up. He tries his best not to show that her question has caught him off-guard, but he isn’t confident that it works.

“Uh…um…no, I don’t think I’ve been in love…before.”

Elita’s smile widens, and she lets out a light laugh. “Oh, come on, Optimus. Surely a scrappy mech like you had at least one lover?”

She playfully nudges his servo with her own, her armor brushing against his.

Optimus feels his blush deepen and he tilts his helm up slightly, trying to hide it from her prying optics. “No, I…I’ve never had that. No one ever found me attractive in that way.”

She chuckles lightly, her optic sparkling with mischief. "I find that hard to believe. You've always had a certain charm to you, even as the annoying, foolhardy miner you were. And now, as Prime, some say you’re quite the optic candy."

His engine sputters at that and he stops, looking down at her with wide optics. “Wh…what?”

Elita laughs. “You really don’t know, do you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. He shakes his helm, his spark thrumming hard in his chassis.

“Don’t know what?”

She steps closer to him, her gaze unwavering. “The way you blush so adorably when you’re flustered. It’s charming, really."

Static gets caught in his vocalizer and he resets it, offering a nervous smile that he forgets she can’t see with his mask in the way. “You really…think I’m charming? You aren’t just trying to make me feel better?”

Her optics widen, then glow brighter with adoration. She brings her servo up to gently stroke the side of Optimus’ smooth, angular battle mask.

"I wouldn't say something like that unless I meant it," she says gently.

“Elita…I…” He takes a deep breath, then wills his battle mask to disengage. It retracts with a series of clicks, fully revealing the soft blue glow under his optics. “I don’t know what to say. I…I never thought this would be…mutual…”

"I know we've both been through a lot lately, but I think we could use a moment to just...be ourselves." She reaches up to caress his cheek with her servo. "I've had feelings for you for a little while now."

His spark skips a thrum. “…you have?”

Elita nods, her gaze locked with his. “I have. Since before your transformation. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Optimus finally lets his optics meet hers again. After a long, tense moment of silence, he slowly lifts his own servo, hesitantly sliding his digits up her jaw. His servo stops at the side of her neck, just under her audio receptor.

“Elita…”

She leans into his touch. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I needed you to know how I feel.”

He lets out a shaky breath. So much has happened in quick succession over the past two quartex, but this…this is all he can focus on. It’s time.

“I have been in love with you since the solar cycle you became my mining captain, Elita,” he confesses quietly.

She stands frozen for a moment, processing his words. Then she leans in, her servo sliding behind his neck to pull him closer.

He feels her warmth as she presses into him, his spark fluttering and engine purring. This is what Orion had always hoped for, but he had never dared to believe it could ever be real. He lets her pull him down to her, his own servos trembling as he cups her helm and tilts his. Optics closed, he gently kisses her lips, ever cautious with this act that's so brand new to him.

Elita’ optics close and she kisses him back just as gently. Her servo slides from his neck to his back, drawing him closer as she melts into his tender embrace.

His servo lingers at the side of her neck, feeling the quick pulse of her spark in her fuel line as he kisses her more deeply. His other servo drifts downward and he wraps his arm around her waist, holding her close as if he's afraid she might vanish into thin air.

Elita's other servo moves to the side of his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek. His inexperience is palpable, but the way he holds her, the urgency in his kiss, speaks volumes.

Optimus pulls away just enough to breathe out, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” then kisses her more passionately, leaning into her.

Elita giggles softly at his eagerness, reaching her servo up to gently caress one of the two finials on his helm, her touch light and exploratory.

The sudden contact on his finial makes him jerk his helm away with a gasp.

“Oh, careful…” Optimus chuckles sheepishly as he tentatively rubs his overstimulated finial. “Sorry. These are still quite sensitive…”

She pulls back, looking slightly apologetic, but her gaze lingers on the prominent new pieces on his helm.

"They're cute," Elita purrs.

His blush deepens at the compliment and he smiles, shyly lowering his helm back down toward hers with a nod.

“It’s okay, you can touch them. I was just…startled.”

She laughs softly, a warm sound that fills the coldly lit metal hallway. "You're so cute when you're flustered."

She leans in and places a gentle kiss on his finial, pulling back with a curious glint in her optics.

The Prime’s optics widen at the unexpected gesture. He smiles at her, his engine purring from the gentle contact.

“What was that for?”

"They're part of you now,” she says. “I just wanted to...welcome them."

Optimus chuckles softly. “I’m sure my finials appreciate your welcome.”

He pauses, his processor lagging with the reality of the situation. Him…Elita…in the Hall of Records…alone. Flirting. Kissing. It sounds fictitious.

He resets his vocalizer again and quietly asks, “May I…kiss you more?”

She grins and nods, leaning into him as her engine purrs louder. “Please do.”

With a low rumble in his chassis, he wraps his arms around her waist and leans in to kiss her again. This time, a little more familiar with the act, he’s regained some of his old Orion Pax confidence. He kisses her deeply, pressing against her until her back meets one of the shelving units. The datapads on the shelves rattle from the light impact and one clatters to the floor, but he simply nudges it out of the way with his ped.

Elita giggles at the way he keeps his attention on her. She wraps her arms around his neck, her digits tracing the subtle grooves in his helm.

“Orion...” she purrs softly between kisses.

Optimus feels alive in a way he never has in his life. Not when he was mining. Not when he was scaling buildings. Not when he was sliding down them. Not when he was getting caught by the authorities. Nothing compares to Elita.

The weight of his new title feels momentarily lifted as he’s just Orion again, finally holding the femme he’s always loved. His servos trace the smooth contours of her armor, savoring every inch of her, as his kisses grow bolder.

Elita cautiously begins to run her servos over his chassis, exploring his new form with an eager yet respectful curiosity.

The Prime feels a warmth spread through his entire being as Elita’s servos caress his new frame. For a moment, he’s lost in the feeling of her against him, the scent of her armor, the soft sounds of their servos sliding over each other’s armor.

The clearing of a vocalizer snaps Optimus into fight or flight, his powerful engine revving and armor flaring as he turns away from Elita. It’s Jazz, the smaller silver and black bot leaning against the wall with a slag-eating grin on his face. Optimus’ thoughts scatter.

"Jazz," he stammers, "I...uh...we were...just...inspecting the archives for any signs of structural damage. Yes."

Elita's laughter rings through the hallway, a light, melodious sound that fills the space with warmth. She steps back from Optimus, her own cheeks a soft shade of blue.

"Okay, you caught us," she says, her voice playfully chiding. "Couldn't you see we were busy?"

She crosses her servos in front of her chassis, trying to compose herself. She glances at Optimus, the amusement in her gaze purely affectionate. The sight of his flustered state is adorable and somehow comforting, reminding her of the Orion she knew before he became Prime.

"Ah, I see. Structural inspection, huh?" Jazz winks at Elita, his optics shifting between the two of them. "I can't say I've ever tried that particular method before, but to each their own, right? But, as delightful as this is, Prime, we do have some serious business to attend to."

Jazz holds up a data pad, at which Optimus lets out a heavy vent before gesturing for Jazz to enlighten them.

#transformers #maccadam #optimus prime #elita one #transformers one #tf one #orion pax #oplita #tf one optimus prime #tf one spoilers #transformers one spoilers #spoilers #omg they kiss for so long how did i do that

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tsxkkis · 2 days

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# sugawara koushi - next door

a/n: idk why but i really like this one (it's kinda stupid, but i still like it for some reason) :33 anyways, let me tell y'all i HATE school rn i can't stand it but i also don't want it to end.

summary: your next door neighbor is incredibly helpful. and nice, and sweet, and oh so charming.....

warnings: none!

sugawara particularly enjoyed the peace of living alone.

it was a complete one-eighty from the nature of his work; as an elementary school teacher, his day to day life was incredibly loud. kids weren't exactly the calmest creatures on earth, and even though they caused a lot of mischief and problems, he couldn't say he didn't like his job. quite the opposite, in fact - he loved it more than anything, but after a long, tiring day spent with these little monsters, he appreciated some peace and quiet.

that was, until a new neighbor moved in right next to him.

'is everything... alright?'

sugawara was caught off-guard by the sound of his doorbell ringing, even more so when an unknown person appeared right in front of it, a can of what seemed to be anti-bug spray in one hand and a terrified look gracing their face.

you knew that meeting your neighbor for the first time in a circumstance like this one wasn't exactly ideal; you'd much rather come to his door with a freshly made batch of cookies, introducing yourself like in those rom coms your mother used to watch on a daily basis. instead, you ended up in front of sugawara's apartment with fear in your eyes and a request you wouldn't normally make when first meeting someone.

'there's a big, really big spider in my apartment. can you help me get it?'

the silver-haired man blinked at you a few times, as if he was processing your words, which shoot out your mouth at lights speed. he tilted his head to the side as silence took over for a few seconds, popping out of his bubble after a short while, lips curving up into a warm smile.

he stepped out of his apartment, closing the door behind him.

'where is it exactly?'

from that day forward, sugawara didn't experience even an ounce of his previous, peaceful home life. but he didn't exactly complain.

to his surprise, you popped up in front of his door the day after he helped you kill that spider. and the day after that, and the day after that. it was almost a routine for the two of you at this point; every time he came back from work, he would await to hear the doorbell ringing almost impatiently. you became a vital part of his day, and it wasn't full without your presence, so much so that even his old high-school friends, daichi and asahi, could notice that something has changed in the life of his silver haired colleague.

he was shocked to see that after a few months of your little 'thing', you didn't appear at his door.

sugawara immediately took notice of how odd it was; and took action even faster, putting his slippers on as he headed to the door of your apartment, his eyes quickly glazing over the clock hanging next to the door, the time reading barely after 7pm.

he knocked once, and then again, nervously shifting his weight from one leg to another.

he could barely hear some mumbling on the other side of the door, paired with quick footsteps and after a few minutes of waiting, he was met with your face standing on the other side of the door, an apron on and face smudged with something that he couldn't quite name.

'oh, you're alright.' he mumbled, lips curving into a smile the moment his eyes landed upon your figure, a feeling of relief washing over him. 'you didn't show up at my apartment today. i guess i got... worried.'

he stopped for a quick second.

'not that you have to come to my apartment every day, of course! if you're busy then-'

'no, no, that's not it.' you barged mid sentence, opening the door just a little bit wider. 'come in.'

the first thing he noticed was the smell; his nose picked up on the multiple spices mixing in the air together, head turning to the side as he noticed your kitchen being an absolute mess.

it makes sense, he thought. you were just busy. it was nothing to be worried about.

'i wanted to make dinner for the two of us.' your voice echoed from behind him. 'you know, to thank you for helping me so many times throughout these past months. as you can see, though- i'm no masterchef.'

sugawara chuckled when hearing all this; his smile warm as he looked closer at the food.

'it looks perfectly good to me.'

'you don't have to lie.'

'i'm not.'

the apartment fell silent for a short while, the silver haired boy's eyes darting away from the kitchen and towards the open living space, the table already set with candles, even though the food wasn't even half-made, and you took notice of it right away.

'i wanted this to be special.' the tips of your ears turned red, eyes turning away from the man. 'you know, a date.'

a date?

he looked at her, dumbfounded.

sugawara didn't consider himself remotely as interesting as his other friends, so it came as no surprise when they had more admirers than him. he was just kind of... there.

to hear that you, of all people, had thought of him as something more than just a friend, made his heart beat faster.

he smiled from ear to ear, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

'ah, so i guess you beat me to it.' he sighed, his body leaning against the kitchen counter. 'i certainly waited too long with asking you out.'

you looked down at your feet, face flushed pink.

'maybe a little bit.'

'well, i can help you finish cooking this and we can go through with the date.' he proposed, his body involuntarily moving towards yours, taking a few small steps. 'if you'd like that, of course.'

and who would say no to sugawara and his charming smile?

'yeah. i'd love that.'

taglist: @moonswolfie @wyrcan @kitsune-kita @haechansbbg @luvvrgirll @serotoninbarbz @sugaraddict301

#tsxkkis #sugawara koushi #sugawara x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #karasuno x reader #sugawara fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff

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thirtysomethingloser92 · 2 days

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2. Trusting You To Hold My Heart.

Mini-series based off Cherry Lips. Summary: One night with world famous Remy Lebeau turns into something neither one of you expected. Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kinks, Bondage, Spanking, Choking, Threesomes (Amongst so much more), angst, fluff, romance.

A name of a hotel.

That was it. That was the message that woke you up at 6:15 a.m., your phone vibrating softly on the nightstand beside your bed. Still groggy, you blinked a few times, trying to adjust your eyes to the early morning light filtering through the curtains. You squinted at the screen, the name staring back at you: The Langston Hotel.

For a moment, the message didn’t fully register. Your brain was still foggy, your body still heavy with sleep. But then, slowly, the weight of it started to sink in.

He’s here. Or at least, he would be soon.

You sat up, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your heart began to race, a mixture of excitement and something else—something more hesitant, more uncertain—bubbling up inside you. Your thumb hovered over the message for a moment, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts all at once.

That’s when a second message came through.

Pack a bag.

You stared at the words, your breath catching slightly in your throat.

See you soon.

Your stomach flipped.

Remy. He was really coming. After weeks of late-night conversations, of playful banter and those deeper moments where you’d both let your guards down, he was flying in just to see you. It still felt surreal, like you were living someone else’s life. How did this even happen? How did you, the person who loved your quiet apartment with the overgrown garden bed and the peeling wallpaper, end up here—waiting for him?

He’s coming here, you thought again, the reality settling in.

But with that realization came a flood of emotions. You stood up from the bed, pacing the room, your mind spinning.

Excitement, yes. You couldn’t wait to see him. To be near him, to hear his voice in person rather than through a phone or a screen. There was something about him that made everything else fade away when he was around. He had a way of making you feel seen in ways no one else ever had. And the idea of spending time together—of having him all to yourself, even if only for a day—sent a shiver of anticipation through you.

But there was also hesitation. Anxiety.

Because as much as you were looking forward to seeing him, there was still that gnawing voice in the back of your mind reminding you of how different your worlds were. He was Remy LeBeau. The Remy LeBeau. The one whose face was plastered on magazine covers, whose name was whispered about in every corner of the world. He lived a life of limousines, red carpets, and flashing cameras. And you? You were just... you.

You liked your anonymity, your quiet life. You liked walking down the street without anyone paying attention. You liked tending to your little garden out front and making dumb without it being scrutinized on Twitter.

But this wasn’t normal. This was something else. Something bigger than you ever imagined for yourself. And as much as you were drawn to him, as much as you liked the idea of being with him, there was a part of you that was scared—scared of what this could mean, of how much your life might change if you let him in.

You walked over to the window, pulling the curtain aside to look out at the street below. It was still early, only a few people out and about, the world still waking up. You could see the small garden bed you’d planted out front, the flowers you tended to as a way to keep yourself grounded. You loved this place—your sanctuary. It was safe here, quiet.

And yet, all you could think about was him. The way he made you laugh when you were having a bad day. The way he’d stayed up with you on the phone for hours, even when he was exhausted, just because he didn’t want to say goodbye. The way he talked about you like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

You sighed, pressing your forehead against the cool glass of the window. You knew you were overthinking it. You always did this—let your mind spiral out of control, imagining a million different scenarios, most of which would never happen. But there was something about this... about him... that felt like it was worth the risk.

Your phone buzzed again, pulling you from your thoughts. Another message.

Flight lands in three hours. Can’t wait to see you.

You swallowed hard, the words making your heart thud in your chest. Three hours. That’s all the time you had left to prepare—not just physically, but emotionally.

You glanced around your bedroom, at the half-unpacked laundry in the corner, the books scattered across your nightstand, the cup of half-drunk tea from last night still sitting on the windowsill. Your life was messy and real, but so yours. And now, in just a few hours, Remy would be stepping into it.

You moved over to your closet, pulling out an overnight bag, hesitating for a second before tossing it onto the bed. You started grabbing clothes—nothing too fancy, just something comfortable. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared about appearances, at least not with you. He always made you feel like you didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to be anything other than exactly who you were.

But still... there was that excitement bubbling up inside you. The thrill of seeing him again. The uncertainty of what might happen when you did.

What was this to him? What was it to you? It was hard to define, this thing between you two. It wasn’t just casual, but it wasn’t something you were ready to label either. Every time you thought about it, you felt your heart race, a mix of fear and hope twisting inside you.

As you packed the necessities—clothes, toiletries, a book you’d been reading—you glanced at your phone again, checking the time. You had a few hours. Enough time to get ready, to prepare yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the bag on your bed, your mind racing. What if this changed everything? What if seeing him in person wasn’t the same as talking on the phone? What if the reality of who he was and who you were collided in a way that didn’t fit?

But then, you reminded yourself of all the times you’d doubted yourself and been wrong. Of all the times you’d convinced yourself that you weren’t enough, only to have someone prove you otherwise. Remy wasn’t just anyone. He was someone who chose to fly halfway across the world to see you. Maybe that was enough.

You zipped up the bag and set it by the door, taking a deep breath.

Whatever happened next, you would figure it out. Because, for once, you were letting yourself take the leap. You were letting yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could be something real.

And with that thought, you picked up your phone and sent a quick reply.

See you soon. At exactly 9:00 a.m., you were sitting in your car, parked just outside your apartment complex. The engine hummed quietly beneath you, its steady rhythm doing nothing to calm the whirlwind of emotions churning inside. Your hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles white as your fingers dug into the leather. You stared blankly at the empty street ahead, your thoughts far from the world outside.

You let out a long, shaky breath, but it didn’t bring the relief you’d hoped for. The exhale felt hollow, heavy, dragging your insecurities up to the surface, where they clawed at you with a persistence that left you feeling raw and exposed.

What am I even doing?

The question echoed in your head, relentless, demanding an answer you weren’t sure you had. You and Remy had agreed to keep things loose, undefined. You’d even told each other you’d “see where it goes,” but deep down, you couldn’t see how it could ever go anywhere beyond this—beyond stolen moments, fleeting weekends, and the brief reprieves from your vastly different lives. The arrangement had been clear from the start: no expectations, no promises, just a way for both of you to scratch an itch you hadn’t been able to satisfy with anyone else.

Yet here you were, gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing holding you together, wondering why it didn’t feel that simple anymore.

You shifted in your seat, trying to ease the tension in your body, but the anxiety gnawing at your chest wouldn’t let go. You knew why you felt this way. It wasn’t just about today. It was about everything—about Remy, about the way your heart clenched every time you saw him on the cover of a magazine or in some tabloid photo, always with another woman on his arm. Women who were perfect in the way you could never be. Women who made you hyper-aware of every flaw you’d ever tried to hide.

Those women.

They were tall, leggy, their hair always perfectly styled, their skin flawless. They wore designer clothes like they were born for it, gliding effortlessly through the same world Remy inhabited—a world you’d never quite fit into. Every time you saw him with them, it was like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder that you didn’t belong in his world. You couldn’t help but pick at your own insecurities every time you saw their photos, comparing yourself to them in ways that left you feeling small, insignificant.

You don’t fit.

You tried to remind yourself that this arrangement was about satisfying a need. That’s all it was. A way for both of you to indulge in something that felt good, something that let you escape from the realities of your lives for a little while. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that. You weren’t supposed to care like this. You weren’t supposed to feel this ache in your chest every time you thought about him.

But you did.

You leaned back against the seat, closing your eyes for a moment as you tried to steady your breathing. You had to pull yourself together before you saw him. You couldn’t let him see the cracks, couldn’t let him know how tangled up you were becoming in something that wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Not to him, at least.

Remy had never made you feel inadequate. He’d never once compared you to the women from his world. He didn’t treat you like you were any less than them—if anything, he made you feel wanted in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time. But that didn’t change the fact that you were different. It didn’t change the fact that you could never truly be a part of his world. And it didn’t change the fact that this… whatever this was, had an expiration date.

The thought weighed heavily on you, but you pushed it aside, determined not to let it ruin today. You and Remy had made an agreement, and you’d stick to it. No expectations. No promises. Just… this. A mutual exchange. A way for both of you to explore your fantasies without judgment.

Even though your growing feelings for him complicated things, you knew—you had to know—that this was all it would ever be. Anything more was impossible. You couldn’t imagine a future where you fit into his life, and you doubted he could either, no matter how intoxicating the moments you shared together were.

With another deep breath, you sat up straighter, forcing the tension out of your shoulders. This was just another day. Another moment to escape reality for a little while. Nothing more.

Because that’s all it ever would be.

You knew better than to let yourself hope for anything else. <><><><><><><><><>

You parked the car in the underground garage, the low ceiling and dim lighting giving the space a quiet, almost eerie feel. The echo of your tires on the concrete was the only sound until the engine’s hum faded into an oppressive silence. For a moment, you just sat there, fingers still gripping the steering wheel, your heart thudding against your ribs as if it were trying to escape.

This is it.

With a deep breath, you reached over to the passenger seat, grabbing your overnight bag. The leather strap felt cool and solid beneath your fingers, grounding you as you stepped out of the car. The chill of the underground garage hit you immediately, the air damp and still, clinging to your skin. As you slung the bag over your shoulder, you glanced up at the looming structure of The Langston Hotel above.

The building was sleek and imposing, all polished glass and steel, reflecting the overcast sky in a way that made it seem almost ethereal. It was the kind of place you’d only seen in movies—the kind of hotel where the rich and powerful stayed, where lives were lived in excess behind closed doors. The kind of place that made you feel like you didn’t quite belong.

You looked down at your jeans and oversized jumper, the fabric soft and comforting but suddenly feeling woefully inadequate. Your reflection in the car window confirmed it—there you were, standing in the shadow of this luxurious monument to wealth and status, looking exactly as out of place as you felt. The person staring back at you wasn’t the kind of woman who walked confidently into a hotel like The Langston without a second thought. She wasn’t the woman who appeared in magazines, dressed in couture, flawless and unbothered.

She was… you. And right now, that didn’t feel like enough.

But Remy didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about the clothes, the appearances, the world of status and wealth he was constantly surrounded by. When he looked at you, it wasn't through the lens of celebrity and glamour. He always saw you. The woman who had captured his attention in a way none of those flawless women ever had.

You swallowed hard, pushing the doubt aside as best as you could. You had to hold onto that. You had to believe it, even if it didn’t always feel real.

You made your way toward the hotel entrance, your footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the garage. The soft thud of your boots against the concrete was the only thing anchoring you in the moment, each step closer to him, closer to the escape you both craved.

As soon as you passed through the glass doors, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The oppressive quiet of the garage gave way to an overwhelming sense of luxury. The lobby of the hotel was nothing short of breathtaking—designed to impress, to dazzle. The marble floors stretched out in every direction, gleaming beneath the muted light of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. The chandeliers themselves were works of art, catching the light in sharp, glittering fragments that danced across the room.

A grand reception desk stood at the far end of the lobby, manned by perfectly poised attendants, their smiles polished and professional. They greeted each guest with the kind of warmth that came with years of practice, their eyes flicking over you without a hint of judgment, though you couldn’t help but feel like you were being sized up all the same.

The scent of fresh-cut flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood and leather. Massive vases, filled with intricate arrangements of orchids, roses, and lilies, stood like sentinels in the center of the room, their vibrant colors almost too perfect, too curated. Everything about this place was designed to make you feel small in the face of its grandeur.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought aside, but it buzzed persistently in the back of your mind. With a sigh, you pulled out your phone, your fingers trembling just the slightest bit as you typed a quick message to Remy.

Hey, I’m here. What’s the room number?

The message sent, and you stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, waiting. It didn’t take long for his response to pop up.

Penthouse. Elevator to the top floor.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read his reply, your eyes lingering on the word penthouse. Of course, Remy would be staying in the penthouse. Why were you even surprised? It was just another reminder of the vast difference between your worlds. You smiled despite yourself, shaking your head at how effortlessly he moved through this life of luxury, while you were standing here, just trying to keep your nerves in check.

You slipped your phone back into your bag and made your way toward the elevator, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet garage. The soft music playing in the background as you entered the lobby did little to soothe the tension building in your chest. You felt like you were walking through a dream—everything around you was too pristine, too perfect. Every detail screamed wealth and status, and it only made you feel more out of place.

But you were here. And so was he. That’s all that mattered.

You stepped into the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting a version of yourself that looked… hesitant. You pressed the button for the top floor, your finger lingering just a second longer than necessary before you let it go. The doors slid shut with a soft whoosh, and the elevator began its smooth ascent, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound in the enclosed space.

As the floors ticked by, you caught your reflection again. You looked nervous—more nervous than you had expected to be. Even more so now that you were so close to seeing him. The distance had kept things safe, hadn’t it? All those late-night phone calls, the texts that made you smile, the flirty back-and-forth that had grown into something more over the weeks—it had all felt so easy when there were miles between you. It was simple to let your guard down when you weren’t standing in front of him, when you didn’t have to worry about how you looked or how you’d react in person.

But now? Now you were moments away from seeing him face-to-face, from stepping into this life that felt so far removed from your own. Your thoughts raced as the elevator continued its ascent.

What if this feels different in person? What if the connection you had felt over the phone didn’t translate when you were standing in the same room? What if the chemistry you’d shared was just a product of the distance, of the safety that came with not having to look into his eyes and feel the weight of everything that was left unspoken between you?

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. He’s here for you, you reminded yourself. He had invited you here because he wanted to see you, because whatever this was between the two of you, it meant something. Stop overthinking this. But that was easier said than done, especially when the doubts and insecurities you’d been trying to keep at bay came rushing to the surface every time you thought about the life he lived—the life you weren’t sure you could ever fit into.

The elevator chimed softly, signaling that you had reached the top floor. You stepped out into a lavish hallway, the kind that looked like it had only ever seen the most pristine shoes. The plush carpeting muffled your footsteps as you made your way down the hallway, past doors that likely led to equally opulent suites. Your heart pounded harder with each step, the weight of the moment settling onto your shoulders.

And there it was. His door.

You stopped in front of it, your hand hovering uncertainly over the doorbell. This was it, wasn’t it? The moment you’d been building toward for days, weeks. The moment you’d been thinking about endlessly every time you checked your phone for a message from him, every time your heart raced when his name lit up your screen.

You hesitated, the weight of everything that had led to this moment hanging heavy in the air. You could turn around right now. You could walk back to the elevator, go down to your car, drive home, and pretend this never happened. You could avoid the risk, the uncertainty, the vulnerability that came with stepping into his world.

But you didn’t want that.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to know what this—what you—could be. You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for whatever was to come, and pressed the doorbell.

There was a brief pause, a moment where everything seemed to stand still. And then, you heard movement from the other side of the door. The sound of footsteps, the soft click of the latch, and finally, the door swung open.

And there he was—Remy, standing in front of you, his familiar, lazy smile spreading across his face as his eyes met yours. He looked even better in person, if that was possible—his dark hair slightly tousled, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a glimpse of his chest. His presence was magnetic, overwhelming in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice warm and intimate, like you were the only person in the world who mattered in that moment.

For a second, you just stood there, taking him in. The way his eyes softened when they settled on you, the way he reached out and gently took your hand, pulling you into the room with a confidence that made the rest of the world fall away. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you in the quiet, dimly lit space, the soft hum of the city below barely audible from this height. The penthouse was, as expected, stunning—almost unreal in its beauty and sophistication. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the far wall, offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The hazy midday light filtered in through the glass, casting long, golden shadows across the room. Beyond the windows, the city stretched out endlessly, with its buildings and streets sprawled like a living, breathing entity far below.

The space itself was expansive, open, and filled with an effortless elegance that made you feel like you were stepping into the pages of a high-end design magazine. The furnishings were modern, sleek, and luxurious, each piece carefully chosen to exude both comfort and style. A large, L-shaped leather sofa in a muted gray sat in the center of the living area, perfectly positioned to face both the view and the oversized flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Plush throw pillows in deep jewel tones were artfully arranged along the couch, adding a touch of warmth to the cool, minimalist decor.

To your right, a glass-and-marble coffee table held a small, understated arrangement of white orchids, their delicate petals catching the light from the massive windows. The table was flanked by two armchairs in soft velvet, their deep emerald hue adding a pop of color against the neutral tones of the space. A low-hanging pendant light above the table cast a soft, ambient glow, making the space feel intimate despite its grandeur.

Near the windows, a sleek, modern dining table made of dark wood sat with enough space to seat at least eight, though it looked untouched, more like a piece of art than something anyone would actually use. Beyond that, you could see a fully stocked bar, its polished surface gleaming under the soft, mood lighting. Bottles of expensive liquor lined the shelves behind it, their labels a testament to the kind of luxury this place embodied.

To your left, an open kitchen flowed seamlessly into the rest of the space, all stainless steel and marble, with state-of-the-art appliances that looked more like they belonged in the home of a professional chef than in a hotel. The countertops were pristine, not a single item out of place, as if the kitchen had never been used. A large island sat in the center, its surface bare except for a bowl of perfectly arranged fruit that looked more decorative than anything else.

And then there was the art. Large, abstract paintings adorned the walls, their bold strokes of color standing in stark contrast to the soft, neutral tones of the room. They were the kind of pieces that could easily be worth more than your entire apartment, but here, they were just another detail in a space that oozed wealth and sophistication.

The entire penthouse felt like the epitome of luxury, from the marble floors that gleamed beneath your feet to the subtle scent of fresh flowers and expensive wood that lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that felt almost unreal, like it belonged to someone who lived a life of constant indulgence and privilege.

But none of that registered. Not really.

Because all you could focus on was him.

Remy stood in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his presence grounding you in the midst of all this overwhelming beauty. His eyes locked on yours, a quiet intensity in them that made the rest of the world—the penthouse, the view, the luxury—fade into the background.

In this stunning, extravagant space, he was the only thing that mattered. For a moment, the room was filled with silence, but it wasn’t the kind that made you want to fill it with nervous words. It was the kind of silence that spoke louder than anything you could say—the kind that was thick with anticipation, with the weight of something unspoken hanging in the air between you. Remy stood just a few feet away, his eyes locked on yours, and for a second, it felt like everything had come to a halt. Time, space, the world outside—none of it mattered in that instant. It was just the two of you, standing there, both knowing that this was a moment you’d been waiting for longer than either of you wanted to admit.

His gaze softened, the intensity in his eyes melting into something warmer, something deeper. You could feel the weight of it—the way his eyes traced the lines of your face, as if he were trying to memorize the moment, to commit every detail to memory. There was something in his expression that made your heart stutter, a quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here, standing in front of him. Like he’d been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

And then, without saying a word, he stepped forward. The movement was so fluid, so sure, that you barely had time to process it before he was right there, closing the distance between you. His hand slid around your waist, his touch firm but gentle, as if he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

You felt the warmth of his body immediately, the solidness of him against you as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. It was a feeling you hadn’t realized you’d been craving until now, the weight of him grounding you, making everything else disappear. For a second, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You just stood there, frozen in the moment, your face pressed against his chest, your ear catching the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

The world outside the penthouse might as well have ceased to exist. The city, the noise, the chaos—it all faded into the background, leaving only the two of you, entangled in this small, quiet space. In his arms, the tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying for weeks seemed to melt away. The distance, the uncertainty, the doubt—they all evaporated in the warmth of his embrace, like fog lifting under the sun.

It felt right. More right than anything had in a long time. Like you’d found something you hadn’t even known you were searching for.

After what felt like a small eternity but was probably only a few seconds, Remy pulled back just enough to look down at you. His hand gently traced the side of your face, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, almost reverent, and when your eyes met his again, you could see something new in them. The usual mischief, the playful glint that had always made him seem untouchable, was still there—but now, it was mixed with something deeper. Something raw. Something vulnerable.

He smiled, that easy, lopsided grin that had always made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the weight of the moment shifted, lightened. “So,” he said, his voice teasing but soft, “did you get lost on the way up here, or were you just building suspense?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “Lost?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Please. I practically own the penthouse life.” You gestured vaguely around the opulent room, your sarcasm dripping. “I mean, this is obviously my natural habitat.”

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, yeah? You’ve got a whole fleet of these places, huh? I should’ve known I was dealing with a secret real estate mogul.”

You laughed, the sound coming out a little shakier than you’d intended, but it felt good. Normal. “Obviously. I mean, I thought I’d let you borrow this one for the weekend, you know, just to see how the other half lives.”

He chuckled, his arm still loosely around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Well, thank you for your generosity. I’ll be sure to leave it spotless when I’m done. Maybe even fluff the pillows.”

You rolled your eyes, your fingers lightly tracing over the fabric of his shirt. “Please. You don’t know the first thing about fluffing pillows. Remy grinned, “Well maybe you can show me then?”

You swallowed, your gaze flicking to his lips for the briefest of moments before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe,” you said, your voice softer now but still teasing. “If you’re lucky.”

His smile softened, the playful glint in his eyes giving way to something more tender. “I’m already lucky,” he said quietly, his hand sliding up your back, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours.

And just like that, the teasing banter faded into the background, replaced by the quiet, unspoken pull between you, the moment stretching out like an eternity. You could feel the warmth of his breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

Then, without waiting anymore, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, like he was savoring you .

And in that kiss, everything else—the city, the penthouse, the doubts—faded away. All that was left was the warmth of his lips against yours, the feel of his hands holding you close, and the quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was real. <><><><>

The morning passed in a slow, lazy haze, the kind of morning where time seemed to stretch and soften around the edges. You were laying between Remy’s legs on the oversized couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around you. The suite was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the rhythmic sound of his breathing. His fingers trailed absentmindedly up and down your arms, leaving a trail of warmth wherever they touched. It was the kind of touch that was soothing, familiar—the kind that made you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

You closed your eyes for a moment, just letting yourself sink into the feeling of him, the solid weight of his body beneath yours, the way his chest rose and fell steadily, keeping time with your own breaths. The world outside the hotel—your doubts, your fears, the chaos of everything that had brought you here—felt distant now, like a bad dream you were slowly waking from. Here, in this quiet bubble of space, it was just the two of you, and for the first time in a long time, you felt... peaceful.

It was strange, being so close to him after all the months of talking, of wondering what it would feel like to be in the same room, to share the same space. And now that you were here, it felt surprisingly natural, like you had been doing this all along. His presence was grounding, his warmth wrapping around you like a safety net, pulling you back whenever your thoughts threatened to drift too far into uncertainty.

“Y’know,” Remy’s voice broke through the quiet, the familiar lilt of his accent sending a warm shiver through you. “I gotta admit, chérie, this is a pretty sweet setup we got going on here.” His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, his tone playful, but there was an undercurrent of something softer in his voice.

You couldn’t help but smile, your lips curving upward as you shifted slightly to glance up at him. “Yeah, I bet you think so. You’re not doing any of the hard work here.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into that familiar, lopsided smirk that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “Hard work? You call layin’ on me hard work? If this is tough for you, sweetheart, we got bigger problems.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the small laugh that escaped your lips. “Hey, it’s a tough job, but someone’s gotta do it.”

His hands stilled for a moment on your arm, and you felt him chuckle softly behind you, the sound rumbling through his chest like distant thunder. “Glad it’s you then,” he muttered, the amusement clear in his voice. The banter that had filled the room moments ago seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet intensity that wrapped itself around you both. His fingers resumed their gentle tracing along your arm, the light sweep of his touch sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

It was hard to believe that you were really here, that this was actually happening. After all the late-night phone calls, the teasing texts, the doubts that had plagued you during the weeks apart—it all felt so surreal, like you were still waiting to wake up from a dream. But here, in his arms, the reality of it all was undeniable. The way his hands held you, the way his breath mingled with yours, the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek—it was real. And it was better than you had ever let yourself imagine it could be.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. The only sound was the soft hum of the city far below, the distant murmur of traffic a world away from this quiet, intimate space. But then, out of nowhere, the comfortable silence was broken by the soft growl of your stomach, loud enough to make you cringe. You felt Remy’s chest shake with quiet laughter, his arms tightening just a fraction around you.

“Well, looks like relaxation time’s over,” he teased, his voice thick with amusement. “Either that, or your stomach’s tryin’ to tell me somethin’.”

You groaned, burying your face in his chest, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I swear that wasn’t me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his tone dripping with playful skepticism. “Sure it wasn’t. I didn’t hear my stomach growlin’, chérie.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you tried to swat at his arm, though the gesture was half-hearted at best. “Shut up,” you muttered, your cheeks warming even more.

He easily caught your wrist, his fingers wrapping gently around it, his touch warm and reassuring. He tilted his head slightly, his grin softening into something fond. “C’mon,” he said, his voice dipping into that low, smooth tone that always made your heart flutter. “You wanna grab lunch or somethin’? I’m sure there’s a place ‘round here that’s got somethin’ decent.”

You hesitated for a beat, the playful banter slipping away as something more serious crept into your mind. You shifted slightly, lifting your gaze to meet his, your expression thoughtful. “Is there… I mean, is there anywhere around here where you wouldn’t get, you know… recognized?”

Remy’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and his smirk grew wider, a slow, mischievous grin that made your stomach flip. He leaned down slightly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Room service it is, then.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

He pulled back just enough to wink at you, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m a man of simple tastes.”

“Simple tastes?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow in mock skepticism as you glanced around the lavish penthouse. “You’re staying in the penthouse, Remy.”

He chuckled, his hands slipping back around your waist, pulling you a little closer until your bodies were pressed together again. “Hey, I can appreciate the finer things in life,” he said, his voice playful. “Doesn’t mean I wanna go out there and deal with people. Not when I got everything I need right here.”

His words were casual, teasing even, but there was something in the way he said it, in the way his eyes softened as they held yours, that made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t talking about the penthouse. He wasn’t talking about the lavish surroundings or the privacy. He was talking about you.

Your smile softened, leaning into him more, your head naturally resting against his chest as you let out a contented sigh. “Room service sounds good to me,” you murmured into his shirt, your voice soft but full of warmth.

“Good,” he replied, his voice low and warm, that familiar southern drawl wrapping around the words. “’Cause I ain’t plannin’ on sharin’ you with the rest of the world just yet.”

The way he said it—the quiet conviction in his voice, the way his arms tightened around you—sent a warmth spreading through your chest, a fluttering happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was strange, how natural it felt being here with him, how right it all seemed, like you’d found something you hadn’t even realized you were missing.

Remy shifted slightly beneath you, one arm still wrapped around your waist as he reached for the phone on the side table. He brought it to his ear, his eyes never leaving yours as he placed the order with the kind of smooth confidence that came easily to him. He rattled off a list of dishes that sounded far too fancy for you to have ever thought to order, but you smiled at the way he did it—so effortlessly, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

When he hung up the phone, he set it aside and settled back into the couch, his arms wrapping around you once more. “Food’ll be here in a bit,” he said, his tone casual, but there was a softness in his eyes that made your heart stutter.

You nodded, resting your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “Good,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I’m not ready to leave this spot yet.”

A slow smile spread across his face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Neither am I,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely at ease, like everything in the world was exactly as it should be. You didn’t need anything else. You didn’t need to go anywhere or do anything. Here, wrapped up in Remy’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. A slow smile spread across Remy’s face as his fingers resumed their soft, lazy tracing along your arm, sending small sparks of warmth through your skin. “Mmm, neither am I, *ma chère*,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, intimate tone that made your pulse quicken. His Cajun accent, thick like sweet molasses, wrapped around the words, making them feel even more personal, more intimate.

The knock on the door broke the quiet, intimate moment, and Remy groaned softly, untangling himself from you. “Ain’t that just perfect timing,” he drawled, his tone playful as he reluctantly pulled away. The warmth of his body left you as he stood, but you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him move with that easy confidence that always seemed to follow him.

He returned with a silver tray piled high with covered dishes, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Room service, as requested,” he said, lifting the silver lids with a flourish, his Cajun accent adding a teasing lilt to the words.

You laughed, shaking your head at both his showmanship and the impressive spread. “Did we order for the whole building?” you asked, your eyes wide at the sheer amount of food. There were artisanal sliders, a decadent pasta dish draped in creamy sauce, a side of truffle fries, a charcuterie board, and even a dessert tray that looked like it had been plucked straight from the streets of Paris.

Remy shrugged, popping a fry into his mouth and grinning. “Well, chère, I didn’t know what ya liked, so I jus’ figured I’d get a lil’ bit of everythin’. Ain’t no harm in dat, right?”

You popped a truffle fry into your mouth, the taste hitting you with a satisfying crunch. “Can’t argue with that logic,” you said, settling back into the couch.

The conversation flowed easily as you both began to dig into the food, every bite punctuated by playful teasing and lighthearted banter. Remy reached for the charcuterie board, grabbing a piece of prosciutto and holding it out to you. “Here, try this one,” he drawled, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow, taking the meat from his fingers. “What, is this some kind of test? If I don’t like it, do I fail?”

He grinned, his voice deep and teasing. “Now, chère, I ain’t that cruel. But, I might take it a lil’ personal if ya don’t like what I picked out.”

You rolled your eyes but popped the prosciutto into your mouth anyway, only to make a face the second the flavor hit your tongue. “Ugh, no. Not for me,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

Remy’s laughter was rich and warm as it filled the room. “Well, more for me,” he said, popping another piece into his mouth with a smug grin. His Cajun accent thickened as he added, “Don’t know what you missin’, ma belle.”

Grinning defiantly, you grabbed a slider, taking a big bite. “Fine, but I’m eating all of these,” you declared, voice full of mock authority.

“Oh, really now?” Remy’s eyebrow quirked, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “You gon’ claim all them sliders, huh?”

Before you could answer, he leaned forward and flicked a piece of prosciutto at you, hitting your shoulder dead-on. You blinked at him, stunned for a moment as the meat slid down your arm, before narrowing your eyes in disbelief.

“Did you just—?”

He was already laughing, his accent thicker with amusement. “What? You said ya didn’t want it!”

“Oh, it’s on now, LeBeau.”

Grabbing a fry, you flicked it at him with a quick motion, hitting him square in the chest. He looked down at the fry, momentarily stunned, before his grin grew even wider.

“Oh, chère, you gon’ regret that.”

Before you could react, Remy grabbed a handful of fries and flung them at you. The room erupted into chaos as food started flying, your laughter mixing with his as you ducked and dodged pieces of cheese, fries, and even a spoonful of pasta.

“Remy, stop!” you cried between laughs, trying to shield yourself as he reached for more ammunition.

“Not a chance!” he shot back, his grin wicked as he flung another spoonful of pasta in your direction.

You squealed as the creamy sauce hit your arm. “Oh my God, you’re impossible!”

“You started it, chère!” he said, laughing as he dodged another fry you flung at him.

“This was your idea!” you retorted, grabbing a handful of salad and launching it at him.

He ducked, but you still managed to hit him with a piece of lettuce. His eyes darkened with mock menace, and he wiped the lettuce off his shoulder with slow deliberation. “Oh, you in for it now, ma petite,” he said, his voice low and dripping with playful danger. His Cajun drawl sent a shiver down your spine, even in the midst of the food fight.

Before you could escape, Remy lunged forward, grabbing you around the waist and pulling you into his arms. You squealed, laughing uncontrollably as he lifted you off the couch and spun you around. In a final act of revenge, he grabbed a handful of pasta and smeared it across your face, the creamy sauce cold and sticky as it clung to your skin.

“Remy!” you half-cried, half-laughed, wiping the sauce from your cheek. “Why are you like this?”

His grin was wide and mischievous, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Only for you, chérie,” he teased, his accent thick and smooth, making everything he said feel like a caress.

Your laughter began to fade as the reality of the mess around you set in. The room was a disaster—truffle fries littered the floor, pasta sauce was splattered across the marble countertop, and bits of salad clung to the edge of the couch. You looked around, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well,” Remy said, breaking the silence as he plucked a piece of prosciutto from his chest and held it up like a trophy. “Looks like we done made ourselves quite the mess, huh?”

You snorted, trying to wipe away the worst of the sauce from your arm. “You think?”

He chuckled, stepping closer to you, his eyes softening as his hands found their way around your waist again, completely ignoring the food still clinging to both of you. “Coulda been worse,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low drawl. “We coulda gone out to eat. Now that woulda been somethin’.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his body against yours as he pulled you closer. “I’m pretty sure they would’ve kicked us out after the first flying fry.”

He laughed, the sound rich and deep, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. “You think they’d let me back if I offered to clean up?”

You sighed dramatically, leaning into him, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your hands. “I don’t think anyone could be paid enough to clean up this mess.”

Remy’s grin widened, his hands tightening around your waist as he pulled you even closer. “Good thing we already home, ma belle. We ain’t gotta leave.”

Your breath hitched as the playful banter gave way to something heavier, something warmer. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along your back, his touch light but intentional, and you could feel the heat of his body seeping into yours.

“Guess we’ll clean up later,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His lips curved into a slow, teasing smile, his Cajun accent making your heart race with every word. “Plus tard, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a rush of heat through you.

The playful tension that had woven itself through the room transformed, shifting into something deeper, something electric. Remy’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate tracing along your spine, sending faint shivers through your body as his touch lingered. His lips, still so close to yours, hovered just out of reach, teasing, tempting, as if daring you to close the distance.

His breath was warm against your skin, the spicy, rich drawl of his Cajun accent making your pulse race. “You know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating through the small space between you, “I’ve been waitin’ for dis moment for a long, long time, ma belle.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your body responding instinctively to the deep, intimate tone of his voice. His hands, which had been resting lightly on your waist, slid up, tracing the curve of your sides with a slow, sensual intent. You could feel the strength in his hands, the restraint, the way he was holding himself back, as if savoring every second.

Your breath hitched as you tilted your head up, your lips brushing just barely against his. It was a soft, tentative touch, but it sparked something between you—a growing hunger that neither of you could ignore any longer. You felt his grip tighten around you, pulling you closer, pressing your body flush against his.

“Remy,” you whispered, your voice breathless, filled with anticipation.

He groaned softly, the sound low and rough in his chest, vibrating through you. “Chérie...” His voice was thick, his accent curling around the word like a caress.

There was a vulnerability in his question, one that made your heart swell even as the heat between you continued to build. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his dark, tousled hair, pulling him down until your lips finally met his in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The moment your lips touched, everything else faded away. The mess, the laughter, the chaos of the food fight—it all disappeared as the kiss deepened, as the connection between you grew more intense. His hands slid down to your hips, his grip firm but tender, and you could feel the heat of his body radiating through his clothes.

The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding, as if neither of you could get enough of the other. His lips were soft but insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, seeking entry. When you parted your lips for him, the kiss turned molten, his tongue tangling with yours in a slow, intoxicating dance.

Remy’s hands moved again, one sliding up your back, his fingers splaying wide as he pressed you even closer to him, his body hard and unyielding against yours. The other hand dipped lower, grazing the small of your back, pulling a soft gasp from your lips as his fingers teased the edge of your shirt.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, filled with need. His accent was thicker now, each word dripping with desire as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I ain’t never wanted anyone like I want you,”

His confession sent a thrill straight through you, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a deep ache building as his hands continued their slow exploration of your body. Your fingers slid down his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, your breath coming faster as your hands worked to pull his shirt up and over his head.

When his shirt finally hit the floor, you took a moment to drink him in—the way his chest heaved with every breath, the way his muscles rippled under his skin as he reached for you. His eyes, dark and hooded with desire, locked onto yours, and the look in them made your knees weak.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft but full of certainty.

Remy grinned, that familiar, cocky smile curling at the corners of his lips, but there was a tenderness in his eyes that took your breath away. “Chérie, if I’m beautiful, you must be a damn angel.”

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, harder this time, more desperate, as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your back, your hips—pulling you closer, touching you like he was memorizing every inch of you.

Suddenly, the world seemed to tilt as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips never leaving his as he moved with that easy, confident grace, his body strong and sure beneath you.

He kicked the door open with his foot, the sound barely registering as he laid you down gently on the bed. His body hovered over yours, his gaze sweeping over you with a mix of awe and hunger that made your heart race even faster.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way. His lips found yours again, his kiss softer this time, more controlled, but no less passionate. His hands worked with practiced ease, tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, revealing your bare skin to him.

The cool air in the room made you shiver, but the heat between you was undeniable. Remy’s lips left a trail of fire as they moved from your mouth to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down. His hands followed, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, his touch reverent, as though he was worshipping every part of you.

His words, his touch, the way he was looking at you—it was all too much, and yet not enough. You needed him, needed to feel every part of him, and the ache inside you grew unbearable.

“Please, Remy,” you breathed, your hands sliding down his back, pulling him closer. “I need you.”

The air between you was thick with anticipation, every breath shared, every touch electric. As Remy pressed his lips softly against yours, his hands never stopped moving over your body—slow, deliberate, as though he was savoring every single moment. But there was something more in his touch now, something darker, a tension that made your heart race even faster.

His mouth left yours, trailing down your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way it set fire to every nerve in your body. His hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your waistband, but he hesitated, his lips ghosting over your ear as his voice—low and intimate, dripping with that irresistible Cajun drawl—broke the silence.

“Chère,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’... somethin’ I wanna try with you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening as you swallowed hard. “What is it?” you asked, your voice breathless, barely above a whisper.

Remy pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze dark and full of intent. His lips quirked into that familiar, mischievous grin, but there was something deeper behind it now—something that made your stomach flip with both excitement and anticipation.

“I got somethin’ special, ma belle,” he said quietly, almost teasingly, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. “But I only wanna use it if you trust me.”

You blinked at him, trying to steady your breathing as the weight of his words settled between you. “What do you me The sight of the handcuffs and blindfold on the nightstand sent a wave of anticipation rushing through you. The sleek, polished metal of the cuffs gleamed under the soft light, and the black satin of the blindfold seemed to beckon you into something deeper, something more intense. You could feel your heart pounding harder in your chest, each beat a reminder of the unknown that lay ahead.

You weren’t naive to what Remy was suggesting. You understood the implications—the idea of surrendering control, of letting go completely and trusting him to guide you through the experience. It wasn’t just about physical restraint; it was about giving him the power to heighten every sensation, to push you to the edge of your comfort zone in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of being bound, of not being able to predict his next move, sent a delicious thrill through your body.

Remy’s eyes, dark and intense, never left yours as he held up the cuffs, the soft clink of the metal seeming to echo in the quiet room. His gaze was steady, filled with both desire and something deeper—an unspoken promise that he wouldn’t take you anywhere you weren’t ready to go. His voice, low and husky, dripped with that familiar Cajun accent that always made your pulse quicken. But there was something more in it now, a layer of vulnerability, as though he was offering you not just a new level of intimacy, but a new level of trust.

“I been thinkin’ about this for a while,” he said, his thumb running over the smooth surface of the cuffs, his tone laced with both mischief and sincerity. “I wanna see you—feel you—when you ain’t in control. I wanna take care of you, chérie.”

The way he said it, the way his voice wrapped around those words, sent another jolt of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You could feel the weight of what he was asking—he wanted you to trust him completely, to let him take you somewhere new, somewhere raw and vulnerable. The idea of being bound, of having your hands restrained, was intoxicating enough. But when your gaze flickered to the black satin blindfold, your breath hitched again.

The blindfold. He didn’t just want to take control of your body—he wanted to take your sight, too. He wanted to heighten every sensation, to make you feel every touch, every kiss, every breath in a way that bordered on overwhelming. With the blindfold on, you wouldn’t be able to see him. You wouldn’t be able to anticipate his next move. You’d be left in the dark, relying solely on the feel of his hands, his lips, his breath as he explored every inch of you. The thought was almost unbearable in its intensity.

Your mind raced with the possibilities. What would it feel like to be so vulnerable, so open to him? To let him lead you, tease you, take you wherever he wanted? The idea wasn’t just thrilling—it was freeing. You realized that part of you wanted to give up control, to let him take charge completely, to trust him to push you to places you hadn’t gone before. It wasn’t just about the physical act of being restrained; it was about surrendering to him, knowing that he would take care of you, that he would know exactly how far to go.

Your pulse quickened as you met his gaze again, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no doubt in your mind that you trusted him. Completely. And the thought of what he could do with that trust—the ways he could heighten your pleasure, the ways he could take you apart and put you back together—was more intoxicating than anything you’d ever felt before.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with anticipation. “Remy,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but full of certainty. “I trust you.”

The look in his eyes when you said those words was everything. His expression softened, a mixture of desire, affection, and something deeper—something that told you he understood the weight of what you were offering him. His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and he leaned down to kiss you, his lips soft but insistent as they pressed against yours.

“Bon,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with anticipation and promise. “You ain’t gon’ forget this, chérie.”

And with that, the handcuffs and blindfold were no longer just objects on the nightstand. They were symbols of the trust you were placing in him, of the deeper connection you were about to explore. The thought of giving yourself over to him—of letting him take you somewhere new, somewhere intense and overwhelming—made the anticipation almost unbearable.

You knew that whatever happened next, it would be more than just an experience. It would be a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you would truly let go and let him take control. And the thought of that—of trusting him so completely—was more thrilling than anything you had ever imagined.

With that, he kissed you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours, his hands moving quickly now, unlatching your bra and sliding it down your arms to be discarded on the floor. His hands roamed over your bare skin, sending waves of heat through you, and you could feel the growing tension between you—the need, the desire, the anticipation of what was about to happen.

Remy sat back slightly, his eyes raking over your body, his gaze hungry. “Lay back,” he murmured, his voice a low, commanding drawl that made your pulse race even faster. “Le’me take care of you.”

You did as he asked, your body trembling with excitement and a little bit of nervousness as you lay back against the pillows. Remy leaned over you, his hands moving to your wrists, his touch gentle but firm as he guided them above your head. The cool metal of the cuffs clicked into place around your wrists, the sensation foreign but thrilling.

He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours, making sure you were still okay. You nodded, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and his smile widened before he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips soft but insistent.

The next thing you felt was the soft slide of satin as he wrapped the blindfold around your eyes, plunging you into darkness. The absence of sight made everything else sharper—the feel of his hands on your skin, the sound of his voice, the way the bed shifted as he moved.

“Can you see, chère?” he asked, his voice soft but full of that dangerous edge that made your body hum with anticipation.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with excitement.

“Good,” he replied, his Cajun accent thick and teasing. “Now, jus’ relax. Let me show you somethin’ real nice.”

You could feel his breath against your skin, and the anticipation was almost unbearable. Every nerve in your body was on fire, your entire being focused on the sensation of his touch, the way he was driving you to the edge with nothing more than his lips and his hands. The darkness beneath the blindfold was absolute, amplifying every other sense to an almost unbearable degree. Remy's words, a low rumble laced with that Cajun drawl, vibrated through you, sending shivers down your spine. Anticipation thrummed through your veins, making your skin tingle. You were a live wire, every nerve ending crackling with the promise of his touch.

His breath, hot and heavy on your neck, was a prelude to the gentle pressure of his lips. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, lingering on your skin as if he wanted to savor the taste, the texture, the very essence of you. His hands, large and warm, roamed your body with a featherlight touch that belied the intensity burning in his gaze. You could feel the heat of him even where he wasn't touching, a palpable presence radiating against your side.

He kissed a path down your neck, each touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His lips lingered on the curve of your shoulder, then trailed lower, tracing the line of your collarbone with agonizing slowness. You arched into him involuntarily, a silent plea for more. The inability to see, to predict his next move, only intensified the experience. Every touch was a surprise, a delicious shock to your system.

When his lips finally found your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple, a gasp escaped your lips. Your body, no longer under your control, arched off the bed, seeking more of his exquisite torture. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound both dark and playful, sending a fresh wave of heat through your core.

"You like that, ma belle?" he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something else, something that sent a thrill of fear and excitement through you.

You couldn't answer, not with words. Your mind was awash with sensation, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. All you could manage was a frantic nod, your body trembling with need.

Remy’s touch became bolder, his fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear. He took his time, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of your hips as he slowly peeled the fabric down your legs. The cool air hit your bare flesh, making you shiver, but the feeling was quickly chased away by the warmth of his hands. He caressed your thighs, his touch possessive yet tender, before parting your legs and settling between them.

The weight of him, the heat of him radiating against your sensitized skin, was intoxicating. You were completely at his mercy, your senses overloaded, your body thrumming with anticipation. Every tiny movement, every rustle of the sheets, every sigh that escaped his lips, sent a wave of longing through you.

His touch, no longer teasing, became more deliberate, his strong hands mapping the curves of your body with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. You felt the warmth of his breath against your inner thigh, followed by the gentle scrape of his teeth as he grazed the sensitive skin there. A gasp escaped your lips, your hips instinctively canting upwards, seeking more of his touch.

He hummed low in his throat, a sound of approval that vibrated against you, before his lips continued their exploration. Each kiss was a spark against your sensitized skin, igniting a fire that spread through your core. He took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of you, making you acutely aware of your vulnerability, of the power he held over your senses.

And yet, there was no fear, only a thrilling surrender. The trust you felt for Remy transcended the boundaries of the physical. It was in the gentle strength of his hands, the whispered words of encouragement against your skin, the way he seemed to sense your every need before you even did.

As his mouth moved lower, his tongue tracing the delicate skin of your inner thigh, you felt a knot of anticipation tighten in your belly. Your hands, unable to reach out, clenched in the sheets, your body thrumming with a need that bordered on unbearable. You were on the precipice of something unknown, something exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and you could only trust Remy to guide you through it. "Doucement, cherie," Remy crooned, his voice a low rumble against your heated skin. "Patience."

But patience was a virtue you no longer possessed. His touch, though agonizingly slow, had stoked a fire within you, a desperate yearning that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins. You wanted to beg, to plead for him to end this exquisite torture, but the words caught in your throat, replaced by breathless moans that only seemed to fuel his amusement.

He continued his slow, deliberate torment, his fingers working magic against your most sensitive flesh. You felt the pressure build with every stroke, every circle of his thumb, until you were sure you would shatter from the intensity of it. Your hips bucked against his hand, seeking a friction he expertly denied, drawing out the pleasure until you were whimpering with need.

But just as he tipped you towards the edge, just as your body tensed, ready to shatter, his touch vanished. A gasp of protest escaped your lips, your eyes flying open despite the blindfold, only to meet darkness.

"Remy?" you breathed, confusion warring with the desperate need still thrumming through your veins.

"Shhh," he murmured, his voice closer now, laced with a husky warmth that sent shivers down your spine. You felt his weight shift above you, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the cool air that suddenly kissed your damp skin.

And then, his mouth was there, hot and demanding, replacing his fingers with a primal hunger that stole your breath away. A choked cry escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively against his mouth. The feeling of his tongue, swirling against your most sensitive flesh, sent a jolt of electricity straight to your core. It was too much, too intense, so different from the teasing strokes of his hand.

"Remy," you gasped, your voice a broken plea. You were drowning in sensation, teetering on the brink of release, but it was different now, wilder, uncontrolled.

"Hold it, cherie," he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your clit. "Not yet."

Frustration warred with the overwhelming pleasure that pulsed through you. You wanted to disobey, to let go and succumb to the exquisite torture of his mouth, but there was something in his tone, a primal command that held you captive, that made you ache with the need to obey.

He continued his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem, driving you further and further towards the edge, but never quite letting you go. Each time you neared the precipice, he would pull back, replacing the searing heat of his mouth with a cool emptiness that left you gasping, desperate for his return. "That's it, cherie," he growled, his voice rough with desire, "Let go."

The permission, the command in his tone, was all it took to shatter the last vestiges of your control. You were no longer capable of holding back, not with his mouth working such exquisite magic against your oversensitized flesh. The world contracted until it was just the two of you: hands, no longer content to simply hold you in place, roamed your body, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer, urging you to shatter around him.

You were lost in a sea of sensation, your body no longer your own. It moved instinctively, bucking against his mouth, seeking a friction that only intensified the pleasure spiraling through you. His name became a litany, a prayer whispered against his lips, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

And then, just when you thought you could take no more, when you were certain the pleasure would consume you whole, he shifted. His mouth moved, trailing a path of fire up your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You cried out, a sound of protest and longing, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips lingering on yours as the last tremors of your climax subsided.

Even as your body returned to you, piece by trembling piece, the echo of your pleasure lingered, a sweet ache that pulsed in time with the blood rushing through your veins. You lay there, boneless and pliant, your senses still reeling from the force of what had just transpired.

Above you, Remy chuckled, a low, satisfied sound that sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. He tasted of you, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of your shared desire. It was intoxicating, addictive, a reminder of the primal dance you’d just shared. He didn't let you recover, didn't let you find your footing in the maelstrom of sensation. His mouth trailed fire down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as he muttered against your skin, words you couldn't quite grasp, a mix of French endearments and breathless praise that sent shivers down your spine.

"Tu es magnifique," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin behind your ear, "So beautiful, mon amour."

His hand cupped your ass, urging you to shift, and then he was leaning back, the pressure of his weight shifting on the bed. You whimpered, the sound lost against his lips as he found yours again, kissing you with a hunger that stole your breath away.

"Wrap your legs around me," he commanded, his voice husky with desire.

You obeyed instinctively, your body moving with a will of its own. He guided your legs, his hands strong and sure, until they were wrapped tight around his hips. You felt him shift again, felt the press of his erection against your entrance, and a fresh wave of anticipation coursed through you.

"Finally, when you thought you couldn’t take it anymore, he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You ready, chère?”

You could only nod, your body trembling with need, your mind a haze of pleasure and anticipation.

And then, he was inside you, filling you completely. His length stretched you, the sensation both unfamiliar and exhilarating, and you cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure that was swallowed by his kiss.

"Oui, comme ça," he groaned, his hips snapping upward as he buried himself deep inside you. "You feel so good, cherie. So fucking good."

He began to move, a slow, deliberate rhythm that drove you wild. The cuffs held your hands in place above your head, the blindfold keeping you in darkness, and all you could do was feel—feel the way he moved inside you, the way his breath came in short, ragged gasps, the way your bodies fit together with a perfection that bordered on the obscene.

Every thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, building higher and higher until you thought you might come undone. Each movement was deliberate, powerful, driving you closer to the edge. Your body responded instinctively, arching against him, seeking more of the intense sensation. His name became a litany on your lips, a prayer whispered between gasps and moans, a testament to the power he held over you in that moment.

“Come for me,” Remy whispered, his voice a low, husky growl that vibrated through you. The words were a command, a plea, and a promise all rolled into one. “I’m right there with ya’.”

His breath was hot against your ear, the Cajun drawl in his voice adding an extra layer of intimacy to the moment. The knowledge that he was just as affected, just as lost in this shared experience, sent a fresh wave of heat through your core. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, anchoring you to him as he drove deeper, harder, chasing the same release that was threatening to consume you.

Every muscle in your body tensed, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the tension building, the pressure mounting, until it was almost unbearable. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. His name escaped your lips again, this time a desperate plea, a cry for release.

“Remy…”

He groaned in response, the sound low and guttural, a primal echo of your own need. His hips snapped forward, the force of his thrusts pushing you over the edge. The dam finally broke, and the waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in sensation. Your body convulsed, your muscles clenching around him as the orgasm ripped through you, leaving you shaking and gasping for breath.

Remy followed right behind you, his body shuddering as he reached his own climax. He buried himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips tightly, holding you in place as he rode out the waves of his release. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, mirroring your own as he slowly came back down from the high.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, slowly returning to a normal rhythm, and the gentle rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was charged with a mix of emotions—a deep sense of satisfaction, vulnerability, and an overwhelming connection that transcended the physical.

Remy’s grip on your hips softened, his hands sliding up your sides in a slow, tender caress. He leaned down, his lips finding yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings. The kiss was not one of raw passion this time, but of tenderness and gratitude, a silent thank you for the trust you had placed in him.

As he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re incredible, chérie,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and affection.

You smiled softly, your eyes still hidden behind the blindfold, but you could feel the warmth of his gaze, the intensity of his emotions mirroring your own. “You’re not so bad yourself I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, still laced with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Remy chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, vibrating through you. He reached up, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw before moving to the blindfold. Slowly, he lifted it away, allowing the soft light of the room to filter back in. You blinked, your eyes adjusting to the light, and when you finally focused on him, the look in his eyes took your breath away.

There was a mix of desire, affection, and something deeper—a vulnerability that he had only ever shown to you. In that moment, you knew that this experience had changed something fundamental between you both, strengthening the bond that had been growing since the beginning.

Remy’s hands moved to the cuffs, his touch gentle as he carefully unlocked them. As your hands were freed, you instinctively reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him back down to you. The kiss was slow and deep, a dance of tongues and breaths that spoke of a connection that went beyond the physical.

He shifted slightly, his body still pressed against yours, but now with a tenderness that was almost reverent. His hands roamed over your skin, not with the urgency of desire, but with the gentle exploration of someone rediscovering a familiar landscape. Every touch was a reminder of the trust and intimacy that you had shared.

As the minutes passed, neither of you moved to separate. Instead, you lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies still intertwined, your hearts beating in sync. The world outside could wait; for now, this moment was all that mattered. You both knew that whatever came next, whatever challenges or joys lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by the unbreakable connection that had been forged in this intimate, profound experience.

In that quiet, peaceful moment, you both found a sense of completion and understanding that transcended the physical. It was a moment of pure, unfiltered intimacy, a moment where you both let go and surrendered to the depth of emotion that consumed you. And as you lay there, wrapped up in each other’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, this moment was all that mattered. <><><>

The room was bathed in the warm, fading light of the setting sun. The golden rays filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on the bed where you and Remy lay tangled in the sheets. His arm was draped over your waist, fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin. The world outside felt far away, distant, almost like it didn’t exist.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as the quiet between you stretched. It was a comfortable silence, but underneath it, something lingered—something unspoken. You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the feel of his warmth, the way his hand moved lazily on your skin, but it was there, gnawing at you.

Your phone sat on the nightstand, the screen dark, but you could still feel the weight of the articles you’d read earlier. The rumors, the gossip—all the things that made it hard to fully let go. You didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to spoil the moment, but the jealousy simmered beneath the surface, a quiet hum you couldn’t quite shake.

Beside you, Remy shifted, his body relaxing deeper into the mattress. He wasn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel that he was tuned into you, aware of every little shift in your mood. His fingers paused their idle movements for a beat, and you wondered if he could sense the tension in your body, the way you were holding yourself just a little too still.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured, his voice low, the familiar Cajun drawl soft in the fading light.

You swallowed, your eyes flicking to the window, watching the sun dip lower on the horizon. “Just thinking,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your voice lacked the ease you wanted it to have.

Remy didn’t press you. He didn’t ask what you were thinking about. Instead, he let the silence settle again, his fingers resuming their slow tracing along your side. But you could feel it—he knew. He always seemed to know when something was weighing on you, even when you tried to hide it.

A few long moments passed, the golden light growing softer, casting shadows across the room. And then, out of nowhere, Remy’s hand stilled again. His thumb brushed over your skin, and you felt him shift slightly beside you, his gaze dropping to meet yours.

“You know somethin’, chérie?” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of something more. “When I’m with you… it’s like the rest of the world don’t exist.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, a warmth spreading through your chest, but they didn’t fully ease the quiet tightness that had been building inside you all day. Still, you smiled softly, meeting his gaze, trying to let yourself sink into the sincerity of what he was saying.

“Yeah?” you murmured, your fingers brushing lightly over his chest, tracing the outline of the tattoo near his collarbone.

He nodded, his thumb continuing its slow, steady movement on your side. “Yeah. All that noise out there—” he shrugged slightly, his eyes soft but serious. “It don’t touch this. Don’t touch us.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to let those words wash away the lingering doubts, the nagging thoughts about the rumors and the articles. And in this moment, with the fading light casting Remy in a soft, golden glow, it was easy to forget everything else. He made it easy.

But the truth still lingered. The world wouldn’t stop spinning just because you were here, wrapped up in this quiet moment together. And eventually, he’d have to leave.

You shifted slightly, your head resting more comfortably against his chest as you spoke, your voice soft but hesitant. “When do you have to fly back?”

There was a pause, just long enough for you to feel the weight of the answer before he even said it.

“1 a.m.,” he replied quietly, his voice tinged with regret.

You closed your eyes, letting that sink in. 1 a.m. It wasn’t that far away. The thought of him leaving—of the quiet, peaceful bubble you’d built tonight being popped—made your chest tighten again. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to ruin the moment, didn’t want to remind him of the world outside this room.

Remy’s hand moved to your hair, his fingers threading through the strands in a soothing gesture. “Still got some time,” he murmured, his voice soft, almost like he was trying to reassure himself as much as you.

You nodded against his chest, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. You still had time, and right now, that was all that mattered. You would deal with the rest later—the articles, the rumors, the jealousy. But for now, you were here with him, and that was enough.

The sun had now almost fully disappeared, leaving the room painted in soft twilight. The last traces of daylight clung faintly to the horizon, but the world outside had already surrendered to the steady hum of the evening. You lay wrapped in Remy’s arms, your body nestled comfortably against his. His warmth and the steady rhythm of his breathing were grounding, and for a while, it felt like time had slowed, like the rest of the world had paused just for the two of you.

Neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need to be filled. His fingers lazily traced patterns on your arm, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink deeper into the quiet intimacy, feeling the weight of every second you had left together.

But beneath the surface, a familiar ache was beginning to stir—the knowledge that time, as always, was slipping away. He would have to leave soon, and you weren’t ready for the moment when this bubble would burst, when the world outside would intrude again, pulling him back into the whirlwind of his life, leaving you behind in the stillness.

You shifted slightly, resting your head more comfortably against his chest, your fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on his shirt. “That’s what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace in the room. “A few hours?”

You tried to keep your tone light, playful even, but the sadness lingered there, just beneath the surface. Your chest felt tight at the thought of him leaving again—another flight, another city, another stretch of days, maybe even weeks, without him.

Remy’s hand stilled on your arm, his attention sharpening on you. You felt his gaze lower, the weight of it gently pressing against you. “What were you thinking?” he asked softly, his voice low and warm, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You hesitated for a second, biting your lip as you fought the urge to give voice to the emotions swirling inside you. You didn’t want to talk about goodbyes, didn’t want to admit how much the idea of him leaving again was getting to you. So instead, you opted for the easier route—the one that made you both laugh, the one that kept things light.

Sitting up, you turned toward him, your legs still tangled with his beneath the sheets. You met his gaze, a mischievous spark lighting up your eyes. “Well, those handcuffs were fun,” you said, your voice teasing, your lips curving into a wide grin as you let the memory of earlier replay in your mind.

Remy blinked, and then that familiar, lopsided smile of his slowly spread across his face, his eyes dancing with amusement. He leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, his gaze never leaving yours as his expression shifted from surprise to a playful smirk. “Oh, chérie,” he drawled, his voice low and full of the kind of slow-burning heat that made a shiver run down your spine. “You really wanna go there again?”

You shrugged, but the grin on your face only grew wider, your heart beating a little faster in anticipation. “Why not? We’ve got a few hours, right?” You leaned in slightly, the playful challenge clear in your voice.

Remy’s eyes darkened a little with something more than amusement, his smirk softening into something more intense, more focused. He reached up, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek before trailing down to your chin, tipping your face up so that you were looking directly into his eyes.

“Careful, ma belle,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, the teasing edge still there, but now laced with something deeper. “You’re temptin’ me to miss my flight.”

You laughed softly, though the sound was breathless, and your heart flipped at the idea of him staying just a little longer. “Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered, your lips hovering dangerously close to his.

For a moment, the air between you seemed to thrum with a tension that was both familiar and thrilling. His fingers lingered against your skin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your breath hitch. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, the intensity that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface whenever the two of you were alone like this.

But then, just as quickly, he pulled back slightly, his hand slipping down to rest on your thigh, his grin returning, though this time it was softer, more thoughtful. “As much as I’d love to stay,” he said, his voice still low, “you know I can’t miss that flight.”

Your smile faltered for just a second, the reality of the situation sinking in again. You tried to hide the disappointment, but Remy saw it—he always did. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

“I know,” you whispered, closing your eyes for a moment, letting yourself savor the feel of his closeness. “I just… I hate watching you leave.”

Remy’s hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your skin. “I hate it too, chérie,” he admitted, his voice softer now, the playful edge gone. “But I promise, I’ll always come back. You know that, right?”

You nodded, leaning into him, resting your head against his chest again. “I know,” you whispered, though the ache in your chest didn’t fully go away. You knew he meant it—knew that he would always come back—but that didn’t make it any easier when he was gone.

For now, though, you pushed those thoughts aside, choosing instead to focus on the time you still had together. You shifted in his arms, your hand resting on his chest as you looked up at him again, your smile returning, though this time it was softer, more tender.

“Well then,” you said, your voice playful once more, “we better make the most of the time we’ve got.”

Remy’s grin returned, that familiar spark of mischief lighting up his eyes again as he leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was slow and sweet, filled with the promise of the hours you still had together.

“Guess we better,” he murmured against your lips, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer.

And as the night continued to creep in, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of him, in the warmth of his touch, in the quiet comfort of knowing that—for now—the world outside could wait just a little longer."

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addicted-to-dc · 2 days

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Jekyll/Hyde Part 2 - Taskforce 141 x Reader

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this. Thank you!!! @greeniegreengreen @aeilani @poetslastdeath

Link to Part 1

Content Warnings: Typical CoD violence, ptsd, reader is going to be unhinged (even more so in the next chapters).

The computer does all the work for you nowadays. Honestly, you expected this to be your time to think things over. ‘Meditate’ as Laswell calls it. Rumination sits better on your tongue. How in the world can you ruminate in conditions like these? The overhead lights are buzzing, a high-pitched constant ringing that’s giving you a migraine. It feels like an ice pick was shoved through your eye socket, the cold metal turning warm as it disturbs thousands of nerves.

The seclusion you needed has fucking left the building, leaving you alone with a team of walking dead men. Laswell didn’t tell them why you had so many deaths. One would assume that the common denominator (i.e. YOU) are the reason why families mourn their loved ones. With every step you take you can hear the jingle of all those tags, so many souls gone because you couldn’t stop digging for the truth.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to drag yourself out of your exhaustion. Your efforts only reward you with a sharp pain in your skull. Checking the time, you internally groan. Less than an hour until your dogs are here. Fuck, you miss them.

There’s a flick of a lighter, the scent of leather and wood assaulting your nose. Then tobacco invades your senses. “What’s on your mind?”

Captain Price, the man who started it all. He’s a survivor. He might stand a chance at what’s coming next. It’s been a while since you’ve interacted with a man this intense. He’s a smart one. The cigar erases the mustiness of the room. Smells like home. You can feel your body relax, albeit slightly. Maybe you just need a smoke.

“The only family I have left,” you reply, yanking out your cigarettes. Your only photo lies folded in the nearly empty pack. You flick it to Price, your aim true as it rolls to the edge of the table. “Three dogs. Sir, Bear, and Ruse.”

Ghost shifts slightly in his chair, dark eyes on the photo as soon as Price uncrumples it. “Cerberus?”

You can see recognition flash in Price’s eyes. In all of theirs. At least they don’t try to hide it. Sunshine leans forward, his eyes reevaluating you. “You’re The Huntress.”

It’s not a question. He knows. They all do. Price hands the photo to Mr. Mohawk. You shake your head, “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

“Fuckin’ unstoppable is what you should be called,” Mr. Mohawk chuckles, looking up from the photo. “I’ve seen yer work. Thorough, precise, efficient, and batshit crazy.”

“They say you’re a sniper hunter,” Ghost states, eyes blazing with intrigue. “That true?”

You nod, your index finger running over the scar on your chin. Mr. Mohawk’s bright ass blue eyes bore into your own. “Why the name change?”

Your muscles tense, feeling the weight of hundreds of hands pulling you down, down, down… Broken nails tear at your flesh, opening old wounds that never fully healed right. The screams ring in your ears, curses that taint your very soul to this day. “A story for another day.”

“Is this your original taskforce?” Price asks, pulling your attention away from his sergeant.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, lighting up your last cigarette. “Picked every single one of them myself. Two Polish battering rams, Maryna and Urszula Kowalski. They were always at each other’s throats, but they were the devil and angel on my shoulder.”

You take a long drag. They were the first ones to die.

The frequent migraines and metal plate in your skull are because of them, cracking your skull open before you could even walk off the transport. Their deaths were too quick, but watching the Semtex burst in the sisters’ faces was cathartic. Liars always fail to earn mercy from you. Traitorous ones at least. You exhale, releasing the tension. They don’t deserve to weigh down your conscience.

“August Lindemann, a German tech genius. Spoiled us with all the newest gadgets on the field.” You chuckle, dark eyes meeting Price’s. “I always said they’d make us lose our edge.”

For all the brains he had, they didn’t look so special splattered across the wall. You fought through the entire base to get to him. Cowering like the leach he was until he was the only one left. It didn’t even take cutting off his precious fingers to find out who organized all of this: General Sheperd. You know this leads deeper into the abyss, merely scratching the surface of this conspiracy.

“The last one is American; best shot I’ve ever seen and an even better medic. Dane Reid was a serious man, but he always kept everyone together.”

His ring lies against your chest, right next to yours. You scratch your right ear, digging your nails into what’s left of your upper cartilage. He was the best shot, but your dogs were loyal to no one except you. Even your husband. Using yourself as a decoy was risky, but Sir, Bear, and Ruse tearing him apart made the sacrifice worth it. And the bullet you put into his heart? Even more so.

You can’t wait to see them again.

“You and the dogs are the only ones left?” Sunshine asks, gently taking the photo from Price. “How did Laswell find you?”

“Wandering the Russian forest with stolen data,” you reply, picking at your broken nail. “She found me and the dogs months later.”

“An’ yer team?” Mr. Mohawk questions. “Wha’ about them?”

“I killed them all,” you answer, putting out the cig. You’ll save it for later, death usually ruins the taste. “They tried to sabotage the op. I only got one name when all of it was said and done, and you want to know who it was?”

You scan over every single one of them. The truth always hurts to tell, but you need them to live. You can’t lose anymore, not when Laswell holds these men to the highest regard. What did she say to them? Oh, yes, you need a team to survive with you. There’s too much death permeating the air. The smell of burnt flesh burns your nose.

“General Herschel Sheperd,” you snarl, the rage of Hyde breaking past Jekyll’s walls. “Laswell says you’re looking for him, and I want my pound of flesh.”

You’re sure they can see the insanity in your eyes, the ferality that consumed you in the forests of Russia and nestled its way into your very soul. Split into two beings, one desperate for peace and the other salivating for revenge. You’re not a Captain anymore. You’re nothing. Just a revenant walking amongst the living until your duty is fulfilled. Peace was never an option for you in life, only in death. You accepted that the day you lost your team, your only family. One gaze bears the most weight.

Your eyes catch Ghost’s. Dark eyes penetrate your soul, reading the scripture of your heart. Loyalty broken, trusted allies and friends betraying old bonds. Killing them. Broken, a living being inhabited by the scraps of its own psyche. Two peas in a fucked-up pod. Your phone vibrates on the table, one singular message popping up on your screen: They’re here.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble, pocketing your phone. “They’re here.” You’re itching to leave, to run to the last semblance of family you have.

Clearly, you’re too easy to read. Price stands, the others following suit. “Let’s go meet them then.”

Sunshine barely has the door open when you slip through, quickly maneuvering through the shitty corporate layout of the building until you reach the side lot. You can see them. Tears threaten to cloud your vision as you see Sir chase Ruse around the grass. Bear lays in the shade. Laswell notices your approach, giving you a small nod. You whistle loudly, their playtime immediately put on halt. It takes a second for the noise to bounce around their brains, immediately whining once it finally clicked. Sir, the eldest German Sheperd, is the first one to make it to you, whining and jumping in your arms. His love is always overwhelming, but it’s welcome.

Sir manages to hold onto your shoulders, forcing you to catch him to regain your balance. Only for Ruse, the younger Shepherd, to knock you to the ground. It startles a laugh out of you, a smile following soon after. God, it’s been too long since you’ve seen them. Bear in all her glory runs up and sits at your feet. Your smart girl. A Rottweiler mix, probably shepherd, but her fur pattern always draws you in. You coo, using whatever body part you can to pet all three of them. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

You sneak them treats, whispering sweet nothings to each of them as you try to make up for lost time. Six months away from them has been torture. Then again, you thought you’d never see them again. Every op feels like the last.

“Forgive them, it’s been half a year since we’ve seen each other,” you turn to the group, sputtering when Ruse licks into your mouth. “CERBERUS!”

They fall in line perfectly, ears perked and waiting for orders. A hand pops into view, and you take it. Sunshine pulls you up, chuckling at the slobber left behind. He tilts his head, eyes catching something on your chest.

Frowning, you look down. Your rings are exposed. Tearing off the necklace, you shove it into your pocket. You’re allowed to have your secrets.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

#taskforce 141 x reader #141 x reader #jekyll/hyde #cod fanfic #cod x reader #I really wish writing is as fun as I remember it.#How in the world did I post this much shit in high school?#I know the answer #but i digress #enjoy #my brain is talking shit but I'm posting this anyway.

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javelinbk · 1 year

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Paul McCartney tells the same anecdote for 60 years, #37925

#oh my god he loves him so much #look at his happy widdle chipmunk face #every time he says his name his face just lights up #that crush has not faded one bit since the first time he told that story #anyone else picture ahdn john with the ‘me sir sir!’?#paul mccartney #john lennon #john and paul #the beatles anthology #get back #india 1968 #javelin's gifs #javelin’s gifs: get back #javelin's gifs: fave

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ramonathinks · 5 months

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THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS — gojo, geto, toji, higuruma, nanami, choso, sukuna x reader ft brief kusakabe cameo

Summary: in order to become a full fledge succubus, you must have a meeting with the seven deadly sins in the underworld. but you weren't expecting a meeting like this.

Tags: (18+ MDNI), 8some(?)/gangbang/orgy, dirty talk, breeding, squirting, mention of a lot of kinks, anal play, fingering, handjobs, blowjobs/throat fucking, daddy kink, size kink, riding, cunnilingus, overstimulation, exhibitionism, slight impact play, orgasm control, nipple play, breath play, mutual masturbation, snowballing, praise, dumbification, degradation, dominance/submissiveness, cock warming, pet names, finger sucking, dacryphilia, hair pulling, ball stimulation, doggy, slight mlm scenes between Geto and Gojo ofc, full nelson, mating press, double penetration, anal fingering (female), etc.

tagging: @omgeto @screampied (also thank you bae for making the banner 😘🤞🏾) @hoshigray (thanks for beta reading babe!) @kingkonoha @kanekisfavoritegf

A/N: please for the love of god, don’t ask for no part 2. i think a lot of people underestimate how hard smut writing is and especially since this is an eightsome. THANK UUUU FOR 1.6k followers & for waiting as long as you did for this! (5.4k words)

“Well, there’s one last test you have to complete…” Yaga told you, his face was a bit flushed. “It’s rather — er — well… Actually, I’ll just send you to them so that they can explain it to you.” He did an awkward cough and escorted you to the elevator; where he clicked the illuminating number seven. “Just tell them you’re here for your last succubus test.” He gave you a thumbs up and let the doors close behind him.

“Okay, cause that wasn’t totally weird.” You muttered to yourself, watching the elevator’s number increase. Your heart hammering in your chest. You’d been training for this for the past two years, you couldn’t believe you had one last test.

When the door opened, your eyes widened. There were dark velvet color drapes that decorated the entrance of the room as you stepped off the elevator. Every step you took, you felt a deep sense of uneasiness erupt in the pits of your belly. “Hello?” You finally mustered up some courage to speak. “I’m here for the last part of my succubus exam!” You exclaimed, noticing the dimly lit lights above you creating an ominous yet sexual atmosphere around you. Your thighs trembled.

“Come in, little lady.” A man’s voice said as a door warped in forth of your body and pushed itself open. “Shoes off.” The man said. Hesitantly, you walked inside and slipped off your shoes. Your eyes roamed across the room as you noticed how wide it was – a velvet carpet floor that was soft between your white colored toes. Bits of fog clouded your vision; you could make out bodies but not faces.

“Oh, she’s quite a looker.” Another voice says around you – wrapping around your body like a snake.

You heard a snicker, “You’re right, and I could smell just how wet she is; that’s the best part. Can’t wait to eat her up.” You could practically hear this person lick their lips.

“She doesn’t even know what she’s in for… innocent little slut.” Your knees trembled at that. The way these men were speaking had you hot all over, even the air felt different as you stepped forward.

You swallowed, “I can hear you–”

“Oh, believe me… we know.” This time, when this voice spoke, he raised his hand and the fog split down the middle before completely leaving. Then, you were able to truly see the men who sat in front of you, and your body ran cold.

Seven men, who you were able to recognize from the many lessons you had drilled into your brain from your classes. You gulped as most of them chuckle upon seeing your eyes finally take in just who you were looking at. The legends themselves.

The Seven Deadly Sins: Sukuna Ryomen — Pride, Kento Nanami — Sloth, Suguru Geto — Gluttony, Satoru Gojo — Lust, Choso Kamo — Wrath, Toji Fushiguro — Greed and Higuruma Hiromi — Envy

You swallowed, “So — um— what’s exactly the final part of my exam? Do I have to…like… pretend this is Jeopardy and answer a bunch of questions?” You heard a small scoff.

“No. This is more the showing part of your exam.” Sukuna told you, his eyes trained on you. “We need to see you score high marks in satisfaction. Do you understand?”

You bite your lip; it was difficult understanding what he was saying and not be dripping wet. They were all so beautiful, your nipples prodding out of the thin layer of your dress. You’ve had sex before, but that was way before your genes had kicked it. Twenty-one, inexperienced and horny. Now, you’re older and had basically been celibate for two years (excluding your times of pure masturbation). You were convincing yourself this would be a challenge, and it was one that you were intrigued to take.

So, you slipped your dress down, standing out of it completely and stood stark-naked in front of their prying eyes.

“Yeah, this is going to be fun.” Toji smirked, walking towards you with his unbuttoned pants low on his hips. “The thing about sex is,” he pressed his palms to your shoulders and lowered you down. “It’s degrading. So, I want you to sit here on your knees and to keep your mouth open while I feed you this dick, got that?”

You nodded and opened your mouth. He was about eight inches and it looked heavy in the palm; he could barely fit it in one hand, so you wondered if it would fit down your throat. But as he put it in, you already knew your answer. He didn’t move, just stood still. It was something about him standing there with his hardening cock in your mouth that turned you on. “Suck,” he told you, and you did just that, like a good girl. Sucking around his cock with a wet mouth, pulling him out to tap his dick right on your tongue before tonguing at his slit. He hissed and pulled back before shoving it deep into your mouth, and your eyes rolled back.

Bubbling spit drips down to his balls and you squeeze them, taking him out of your mouth for a moment before trailing your tongue up and down his entire dick. Reaching his balls, you take one in your mouth and suck one then you trail your tongue back up to his tip. Spitting on his cock, you stroke him. “Damn, girl; you've been waiting for this, huh?” He grabs your head and focuses you to take the entire thing, his hips harshly thrusting in and out of your mouth.. You barely notice that someone’s behind you until they fondle your breast, and you jump a bit before relaxing. They kiss your shoulders and move up to your neck, making you shutter and moan around Toji’s cock. He groans above and snaps his hips against you, pulling you closer to his pelvis, “Fucking, mouth is killing me.” You suck harder when you feel a hand on your clit.

“Pussy’s so damn wet.” You can hear just how wet you are, and it’s embarrassing. The squelching noises fill your head and over makes your legs open more. “You like sucking his cock that bad? That you’re gettin’ this wet over it? Want my cock buried inside of you? Right here?” He taps your cunt and you groan, nodding your head and rocking your hips against his hand. “Can’t even speak with that mouth full and I can still hear you loud and clear, pretty girl.”

You’re still sucking Toji’s cock, putting your hands on the floor to truly get more around him, pushing your head even deeper into his hips. Pulling him out of your mouth, you press hot kisses on his tip end then place him back on your tongue, now looking him in the eyes. You could tell he was close with his eyes shut and his head pulled back. He was throbbing on your tongue and his hips were moving faster; they swirled a bit before he shook with a deep orgasm. His hot cum rushing down your throat, and he moaned loud, “Ah–fuck, fuck.. fuck***!” You kept sucking, the fingers on your clit moved in achingly slow circles. And when Toji pulled you off his cock, they finally slipped inside.

“Now gimme a kiss.” You did, with shaking hands and closed eyes. Sloppy and wet, drool dripping down the sides of your mouth before he pulled back and licked his lips. The fingers inside of your greedy pussy rubbed your insides, and you humped against them.

“Keep going, please.” Your eyes were closed as you rode their fingers, unsure of who it was but knowing that it felt good. A thumb on your clit and kisses on your back before colder hands lifted your breast, kissing and biting them playfully. “Oooh, please.”

He sucked, “You like that?” You whimpered out something even you couldn’t understand. Your body is simply a toy at that moment. His tongue moves over each nipple and makes delicate swirls around them. Finally, you open your eyes and see a bundle of long black hair – Suguru Geto, who sucks on your breast with his eyes closed and rubs at your other nipple with another. Arching your back into him more but also seeking comfort in the person behind you, who’s using their fingers to scissor your gooey insides. Briefly looking up, Geto pulls away from your breast and kisses the person behind you, only a small kiss but it makes you wetter regardless.

“Kiss me again, made her little pussy clench.” He kisses him again and your wetness soaks his hand.

“Satoru, you sure that was for her, not for you?” Geto chuckles, and you can feel a hardness pressing against your back. Geto moves back down to your breast when someone takes your hand and moves their cock inbetween.

“Thought you were gonna let us have all the fun, Choso.” Gojo snickers behind you, curling his finger enough to make you moan aloud. You see a good amount of precum and your mouth suddenly feels dry. Taking your hand, you jerk him once and he already looks as if he’s going to cum.

“Her hands are so soft. I..” He’s stammering. “Wait…Need to cum…” A small whimper leaves his lips and he uncontrollably jerks his hips up; fucking your hand. Applying a small bit of pressure to the tip, his eyes shut and he’s jumping back. Sticky wetness drips to the floor and he stands on shaky legs, his eyes pleading with you. Gojo rubs his fingers between your folds; keeping you in the palm of his hands as you play with the others.

“You wanna cum inside of me, hm?” The moment you utter that sentence he bends over, almost sobbing as he nods his head. Twisting your hand around Choso’s red leaky tip, you lick a trail up his frenulum. Winking at him you pull back and kiss Geto, swirling your tongue around in his mouth before Gojo pulls your face to kiss you. Moans take over the room while you roll your hips and move into Gojo’s fingers and Geto takes the opportunity to slip a nipple in his mouth and you try to ignore the feeling to focus on kissing. But you couldn’t focus, when you heard wet noises surrounding the room and you didn’t need to look up to know what it was; everyone was jerking off and it made your body scorching hot.

“Wait,” You whisper, close to Gojo’s mouth and gently pushing Geto’s head away from your breast, standing on trembling legs and walking to Choso. “Thought you wanted me, baby…” A flip switched, no longer at the whim of men. He’s speechless, just nodding his head and swallowing.

He mutters a quiet, “I do, please…” He kneels, rubs up and down your legs and you place your foot right on top of his sticky boxers.

“Want me to step on it, baby?” Your voice is low and condescending, a smirk tugging on your lips.

He’s gnawing at the skin on his lips and his face is flushed. “Y-yeah?” Your smirk twists into an evil smile before your foot presses down on his leaking tip and his head leans back. His hips raise but you don’t move an inch. He’s whining and sweet small whimpers leave his lips as his hips thrash against your foot.

“Beg for it.” He can only whine, no words to be spoken as he humps your foot with breathy broken moans filled the room.

“Baby—” He’s looking up at you with dark eyes, his confidence shining through, just a bit. Smiling at him you bend your knees and put his cock between your dominant hand.

“Ready?” You ask and he nods. “Need you to speak up...” Hovering your dripping pussy over his upright cock, almost close to entering, slipping the head between your hot folds is what makes him speak up.

“Ye-yeah.” He gulps and pulls his lips to yours, kissing you. Your eyes roll back a bit and you swear you can see stars, sliding the tip of his cock at your aching slit, you both shiver before you finally let his cock slip inside. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and his thighs clench under you. You pull back from him and salvia breaks apart, which he lips back up with an awkward smile. Putting weight on your knees, you bounced up and down on him, your tits on full display as they bounced with every move you made. The loud sounds of your pornographic moans filled the room along with the wetness noises of slapping skin; taking more of his cock inside of you each time you bounced down.

Turning your head, you look at Gojo and Geto and like a bee to honey they both rush over; Geto rubbing at your clit with a nipple in his mouth and Gojo kissing your lips, drinking your moans up.

“I think im going to lose my mind, the way she’s riding me… oh fuck, im not going to last.” Choso hisses underneath you and grips your hips, trying to slow your pace. Slowly, he fucks into you, dragging his cock into your inner walls and feeling your pussy squeeze him in a tight hug.

“You’re such a good boy Choso.” You lean down to kiss him as Gojo focuses on pressing kisses to your spine. Raising your hips and slamming back down you whisper in his ear, “Don’t you want to fill me up? Don’t you want to cum inside me all night like a good boy? Huh?” After that there was no more talking for a while as you fucked him, rolling your hips in circles and moaning in his ear. Choso’s body was wuthering trying to keep up with you; your pussy splattering out white cream as you kept a dangerous pace before his stomach caved in.

“Be gentle with me, please? Please baby or I’m—” he mouths out your name when he comes, thick ropes as his hips jerk, his eyes rolling back. He’s heaving loudly, digging his fingers into your hips as he comes down from his high as his body trembles.

You barely get a minute to catch your breath before Geto and Gojo slaps their cock on your cheek with dark smiles. You open your mouth, knowing that both can’t fit inside but hoping that the tips can. Their cocks graze each other and you swallow around them.

“Slutty mouth, taking both of us.” Geto whispers to himself as he shoves more inside, his hand on your head. You gag and they both groan with pleased looks on their faces, Choso’s cock twitches inside of you.

“Choso, don’t you think you're being greedy? I wanna fuck her too…” Gojo whines, looking down at your puffy wet eyes as you choke more on their dicks; both of them throbbing on your tongue. Lifting your hips, a small pop is heard and bits of cum leak out of you. Looking down at Choso’s half hard cock you grin, he’s breathing so hard with hooded eyes.

“Can’t wait to play with that ass,” Geto tells you and your eyes widen a bit. Slipping their cocks out of your mouth, you take his balls into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks so tight around him that he pulls you off.

Gojo is quick to turn your attention to him, he ignores Geto’s annoyed stare as he lifts you up. Turning you to the others, he holds your body for everyone to see. Your entire body was being stared at, pussy on full display — soaking wet with cum and your own slick— his cock hard and standing upright, teasing your clit. He grips your thighs and spreads them a bit wider, small strings from sticky folds breaking off as your pussy spreads.

He enters you, fills you up and your toes curl. “Fucking tiny, aren’t you baby?” His cock angled perfectly at this position, slick running down your thighs as he fucking directly into you. He’s hitting a deep gooey spot inside of you making wetness come out of you in spurts, your moans making Gojo shiver above you.

“Hold her still for a minute,” Geto whispers, face directly by your pussy, wetness shined on his face and you felt hot. He must’ve been there for a while. Licking up a long stripe from Gojo’s tight balls to his cock before he nuzzles his face into your cunt, pressing his tongue hard on your pulsing clit — your thighs shake when he pressed a small kiss there. He wraps his tongue against the bud and you jump a bit when Gojo does a small thrust, knocking you loose when he hits that spot again. Geto licks and swirls his tongue around before he moves back. “Just wanted a little taste…” He spits on your pussy and watches it slide down Gojo’s cock. “Looking fucking pretty with his cock inside of you, ya know that?”

You whine, barely able to talk at the sensation coming from your body. “Sloppy pussy making all that noise, hear that?” Geto urges you to listen to the plat wet noises that fill the room and once again, you feel something taking over you.

“Are you gonna let me come inside too? Huh, my little treasure?” Gojo bites your neck playfully, thrusting deeper, a long moan leaving your mouth. You don’t remember Geto pulling himself to stand but when you feel his cock slap right to your clit, you jolt. Running your slick and his precum.

“Let me stretch this pretty ass out, you think you can take both?” His face is flushed, his fingers circling your asshole before his thumb plays with it, you clench a bit before relaxing. “Oh? Already been played with.” He says, spitting on his hand and rubbing it in before he gently nudges his tip into your tight hole that’s stretching ready to take him.

Almost too easily, it slips in and he huffs out a laugh, “So proud of you, I knew you could take it both of them.” He’s stretching you open and your eyes are blown wide.

“Ohhhh!” Leaves your mouth as they both thrust inside of you, both holes clenching and unclenching around them. “Ohh, god.” Messy sounds between the three of you and two bodies come to your sides, both placing your hands on their aching cocks. Your eyes are so heavy you can’t tell who they are , but your hands move up and down regardless with their hips meeting every thrust you give them. An unfamiliar hand on your clit makes your back arch and you can hear laughing above you. “Gojo.” Your voice slurs out, his cock coming close to your cervix and twitching inside of your tightness.

Rough fingers circle your clit again and you gasp, “Please? Please?” You don’t know what you’re begging for until both Gojo and Geto do hard thrusts inside of you, making your thighs almost squeeze together.

“You like it here? Right here?” You can’t tell who’s speaking but Geto grinds his hips in circles, your bodies so close. The amount of wetness leaking out of you, makes you dizzy and now your tongue lolls out of your mouth before Geto kisses you hungrily massaging his tongue against your own, pulling back and spitting in your mouth, watching your throat swallow.

“Oh you like being full huh? Fucking stuffed…” Your voice is lost, you can only nod with a fucked out smile on your face. “Really gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” The softness of your insides squeezes them both and you can see Geto’s eyes close and you can imagine that Gojo’s is too when Geto throws his head back and both of their cum gushes into you.

“Fuck— fuck,” They say together, both slipping out a bit, panting. Cum splatters out of both your holes as your pussy and ass flexes, you whimper when they both finally slip. Your hands are still jerking the two other cocks as Gojo holds you tightly before one of the men grip your hair and shoves his cock into your mouth, completely to the hilt and your eyes water. You look up to see Nanami’s blonde locks and his deep brown eyes looking at you, Toji’s rubbing big circles on your clit and now squeezing one nipple with his other hand and Higuruma’s cock pulsing between your other hand.

“C'mon little love, pretty mouth needs to be soaked again, too.” You moan around him as he uses your throat, pulling you by your hair, groaning when he feels you swallow around him. Your eyes flutter close as you suck with your, pulling him out so that his cock can sit on your face while you catch your breath. You can feel Gojo hand your body to Toji and you feel empty for a second not realizing that Toji’s leading you to a bed.

He lays you flat on your back and Nanami moves between your thighs, bending over your body.

“Some men like to see you touch yourself, I'm one of those men. Show me and I’ll reward you like the good little girl you are.” Nanami whispers right next to your ear. “Then I’ll help you, yeah? Would you like that?” You nod quickly and he moves back, sitting to watch.

“Play with those pretty tits for daddy.” Your hands move faster than your brain and you reach for them, tugging at your nipples then squeezing them while you look at him. Your body is so overstimulated, you feel like you’re going to come any second. “Don’t come until I say so.” He reaches over to slap your clit and your thrash up, wanting him to touch you more. He slaps your pussy again and a wet stream follows down your ass before pulling again to just watch.

You circle your nipples, looking at your breasts and tempted to reach down to please yourself. “Look at me… look at me while you touch yourself.” You whine and with eyes clouded with tears, you look at him. “Touch your pussy.” He looks directly at your pussy when it clenches around nothing but the air.

You circle your clit but you ache for his fingers; they’re long and slender. Pressing deep into the bud with your middle and ring fingers, squishy gushing sounds while you work yourself up. Your fingers slipping inside briefly before you let out a frustrating sigh.

“Poor girl can’t even finger herself correctly, want daddy to show you?” You look up at him and he’s replaced your fingers with his and he’s curling them together, your legs quaking as his fingers fucks more squirt out of you. “Gotta get ‘em really deep to stretch this little cunt open.” He tells you, pushing against your g-spot a little, breathy moans leaving your mouth. Pulling his fingers out, he slips them into your mouth, twirling them around so that you can taste Gojo, Choso and yourself all on your tongue. “Your turn, put these fingers in deep.” He helps you put them in and curl them just like he did; he presses kisses to your lips and looks down at the puddle in the sheets.

Your eyes roll back and you can’t breathe, he pulls back and looks at you. “You’re so pretty like this, you know that? Prettiest girl ever, just for me to see.” But it wasn’t just for him to see. You were putting on a show for all of them. Touching yourself and spreading your lips as their hungry eyes looked over your body.

He moves between your thighs and with a gentle tap to your clit, you both moan. You bite your lip, “Daddy, I—” He ignores you, pushing himself through your soaked and wet lips. He slides up against your slit and you shiver. He gives you a wide smile and kisses your lips; licking against your tongue, shushing you. Pushing forward, he moves your legs up so that your knees are pressed against your chest, once he enters you, cum leaks into the sheet.

“This is what you want right? To be mine forever, to be ours forever? You don’t want to use your powers on anyone else… just me— just us?” He asks, pushing his cock deeper watching your face morn into a pleasureful expression. His cock has a curve in it and with the angle he has you in, you can feel every inch as he rams into you; fucking you while his cock fucks down and deep inside of your slutty cunt; his balls hitting the rim of your ass the harder he goes.

Higuruma comes next to you and puts his cock in your mouth, not moving. Gathering spit in your mouth, you swirl your tongue around the head, teeth grazing him a bit and he seems to like it by the way he grips your hair. Choso stands on the other side of you and pushes your head his way, you let his hips thrust harshly and his balls slapping against your chin before Higuruma grabs your face and jerks off with your eyes on him; which Nanami doesn’t like.

“Keep your eyes on me.” He grabs your face, his hips slamming against yours. “They can do whatever they want but when I'm inside of you, you keep your eyes on me.” That makes your eyes snap to his and even with the cocks in your face or in your mouth, your eyes are locked on his. His hips lose rhythm, stuffing you and he mutters a ‘fuck’, close to coming and you tighten your pussy to milk him dry. When he finally spills inside you get annoyed when you don’t cum.

“Tell us you want it. Say how bad you need it.” Nanami says, a smirk engraved on his face.

“I… I want it, I need it.” His hands slide up and down your thighs. “Please let me cum. It’s too much, I don’t think I can take it.” You needed to cum badly, pushing your hips up to his again. He slips out before slipping back inside and doing that over and over again before he slides in deeper, hitting that special spot inside of you harder than Gojo did and you cream around him.

“Thank you, so—hah— so much, daddy.” Your pussy is flexing open and close as you stare at him, taking Choso’s cock back into your mouth then switching to Higuruma’s and suckling on the head.

“Such good manners for a slut, don’t you think boys?” He says and you can hear the smiles on all of them as they agree and you feel giddy, almost satisfied.

Higuruma moves from your mouth and hurries to your pussy, not saying anything as he spreads the lips before diving inside, his tongue licking up every bit of everyone before him and his nose nudging against your clit, you pushed his head deeper, grabbing his hair and grinding your hips so that he nose can hit every nerve in your clit. “Ohhh, sir, please just keep it right there.” Applying the pressure yourself and wiggling your hips, your legs stretched far and your brain turned to mush. “Gonna come, so hard.” You gasp before your legs cramp up slightly when you push him impossibly deeper.

“How’s she taste?” Toji asks, looking at your face as you groan and squirm.

“So fucking sweet…” he meets your eyes. “Better than anything I ever had. Don’t think anything could compare.” He nibbles on your clit. “It tastes better than heaven.” That was your breaking point and what made you break, cumming hard and squealing as you did.

Toji doesn’t care about you cumming as he digs his face in and sighs at the taste.

Using his fingers to spread you open. “I see what you mean Higuruma, this fucking sweet nectar on my tongue,” Toji uses more of his nose and your hips grind more, trying to feel more of his nose on your clit.

Nanami’s cock is in your face and your head is upside down on the bed; head on the edge as you lie back and his cock fills up your throat, your eyes closed. He watches and feels you swallow around him and he mutters out a small, “Fuck, you’re killing me dollface,” when he can actually see himself, the outline of his cock inside of your pretty throat. He runs a finger up and down. He does a small squeeze to your throat as you suck, sloppily. But you wanted a bit more, the taste overwhelming your mouth making you move yourself to the edge of the bed, your nose on his pelvis and the small bush of his pelvic hair tickling your jaw. Even upside down, he could see the dazed look in your eyes, blown and bright as he slowly thrust his hips into your mouth. “There she is, there’s my girl.”

You can hear Gojo laughing when he says, “She’s so far gone, all she knows is that she loves this. Little brain doesn’t work without a cock filling her up.” Agreements are heard all around and you feel so small, but Nanami rubs your head, scolding them with a stare.

You can feel the presence of Sukuna before you see him; all touch around you disappearing before he bullies his cock inside of you, saying nothing. He just stares at you, your body humming as he rocks inside of you. “You like that? Gonna make a mess outta you.” He says, your mouth in a permanent ‘o’ shape, his heavy cock slamming down and filling your body up as the breath leaves your throat. “Dirty, filthy slut. Aren’t you, woman? All this cum inside of you and still want more, little pussy begging for it.” You clamp down on him and he hisses, still talking to you as he digs deeper inside of you – he probably has the thickest cock of them all, you can feel it in your throat. “You like being paraded around and fucked like a whore, like you’re nothing, you dirty little girl.”

You’re nodding, gasping for air and nodding as he speaks down to you, getting wetter as he speaks to you. “Mhm. Yes, Oh– I do.” He has a devilish grin and he moves forward to bite your lip and then kisses you deep.

“Just needed a real man to dig this pussy out the right way, yeah? To stretch you out. They weren’t doing it like me… c’mon, I know you’re close. So sensitive and wet for me. This fucking pussy’s crying for me,” And he was right, it was. It was weeping and with every stroke, more wetness covered his cock, dropping and splattering underneath you both. He licks the tears that fall from your face and asks you, “You like pleasing me? I can see it all over your face whenever I put my dick inside of you.” More tears fall and you can only nod your head at him, sobbing.

His pace gets faster and more rough, bending your knees so that they touch your ears and your thighs shake move than they have today, thin milk colored cream mixed with wetness and so much overflowing cum leaks out of you but he doesn’t stop, just continues, slows down and then speeds up again. You can’t keep up with him, just lying there as he fucks you; small soft moans still leaving your lips. He coos at you, kissing your forehead. “Gonna fucking, cum inside my pussy, okay? This is my pussy.” He asserts his dominance over you and your body more than any of the others. With a strained moan, he fills you up; just another load inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and eventually they close.

“Come back to us baby…” You hear murmurs around you, your body hot and flushed all over, your cunt and tits sore. your throat is scratchy. “I think she passed, right boys?” They chuckle and nod before Geto speaks again, “But, let’s try again to make sure she really gets it.”

Just then, the door opens and you can hear a shocked gasp, everyone looks in that direction.

“Hey, Kusakbe, wanna train to be a sinner today?” Your legs shook and you huffed, looking up at the man who just entered. He smirked at your vulnerable form.

“Well…What the hell, yeah.” He unbuttoned his pants. “Ready for me, pretty?”

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nochepsicodelica · 1 month

Text

Toji who got really drunk after a misunderstanding you left him to ponder upon one morning when you left for work. You missed a part of your routinely goodbye to him and at first it didn't bother him. He understood that you were running late, but once he started chugging the cold drinks and he sat with the sentiment, he realized it did strike him.

He hated the entire process of getting drunk, hated that drinking was unbearable unless it was chased with sweet kisses from you, but there he was, downing bottle after bottle. He was starting to feel liquid full but even in this intoxicated state he didn't want to put down the bottles. At some point he starting feeling uncomfortable being by himself and didn't want to feel that way anymore, so he called and texted you. Multiple times. You finally picked up after the eighth call.

-Hi, baby! Sorry, I missed your calls. I just left work and i'm heading home.-

-Baby? Who are you calling baby?- He scoffs, a roll of his eyes following.

-You... Toji. It's you. Who else would I be calling baby?-

-Honestly, I...- He laughs, the sound not coming off as one of joy with the next words he speaks. -I didn't think you even loved me enough to give me stupid pet names. I feel very unloved by you and... mhm, just want you to know that.-

Now, that's just entirely untrue and it hurts to hear. You prove your love for him every day. What is this sudden false claim against you?

-Toji, love, what are you saying? I'm coming home, already. Maybe we should talk in person. This is hard to discuss over the phone.-

-Uh-huh, you do that.- He sighs, heavily, his eyes lidding with sluggishness. -Can't win a verbal argument, s-so you're gonna come over here and try to seduce me with your pretty face. I'm just gonna say no when you try to touch me. Just no.-

-I'll see you in a bit, Toji.- you say, before abruptly hanging up.

He sounded off. You knew something was up the second you saw his eight missed calls and a stack of messages just saying 'hey'.

Your keys jingled as you pulled them out of your bag to unlock the front door. The house was steady, no sign of Toji watching TV in the living room or of the shower running. You walked further in, calling his name. It was kind of eery walking through your silent house. You also knew of Toji's tendency of scaring you, so you were on guard for that as you paced around the house. You had one more room to check and it was the bedroom. You dragged your feet over to the room, knocking when you noticed the door was closed. There was no answer after two more knocks so you just opened the door.

The sound startled Toji who was lying against the headboard of the bed, almost falling asleep. The second he saw you his demeanor changed. He perked up like a dog when their owner comes home, before melting back to the stoic state he had been sitting in.

"Hey," you say, almost tentatively, as you walk towards your shared bed, sitting down on the edge. You're met with an acknowledging hum of a response. "What's wrong, baby?"

"There you go calling me baby again. Baby is for people who love each other, so stop it."

You look over the bed, spotting the evidence that led to the bite in his attitude towards you— those bottles that spill the remaining drops of their content and Toji's backwash onto the bed, making the sheets reek of alcohol.

"Well, I love you, so no, i'm not gonna stop calling you baby."

He crosses his arms over his chest, huffing like a child. "That so? It didn't seem that way this morning. I've never felt so forgotten about by you."

"I told you I was gonna be late for work, but you insisted on keeping me trapped beneath you. Bring that part to light, handsome." You can see the corners of his lips twitching. He's holding back the most wicked smirk at the short burst of memories from the morning. "Plus, I still gave you your goodbye kiss, so what are you on about?"

"You didn't say 'I love you'. That's part of goodbye with you, so you can't blame me for feeling this way." His eyes express something of hurt. Maybe it's enhanced by the drinks he had, but you can't leave him that way.

"You're loved, baby. Very much so. Me not saying it this one time doesn't diminish the actual feeling." He's been reduced to a cub over this, so as his lover, you step in to mend the feelings that were grazed.

"Can you..." he rasps, patting his thigh, signaling for you to sit. You drag yourself towards him, and plop yourself onto his lap. You can smell the alcohol on his breath as he rambles on about how you can't forget to say 'I love you' to him ever again, even if it's a blurted, rushed one that he doesn't get a chance to respond to as you rush out the door.

The look he reserves for you is entirely soft, his hands are hot against your clothed back as they feel the warm body he's missed for hours. "I still..." he pauses to sigh, tiredness imbued into the sound. "Still want you to call me baby," he starts again. "I was just bummed. Don't stop calling me baby. Don't ever do that." He's letting his hands roam all over you. Your back, your waist, your hips—everything.

"Are you gonna let me touch you or are you gonna say 'no'?" You grin, remembering his words, verbatim, just incase he tries to tell you he never said them.

"Why aren't you touching me? Why would I not want you to touch me?" He looks insulted by the question and you have half a mind to remind him of what he said to you on the phone, but the heat in his eyes dies out as quickly as it appeared. "Really need a hug, mama. Please, hug," he says, the last part muffled by your chest as he keeps his face buried into it.

You held him tight and murmured 'I love you' countless times, while he hummed in response and groaned quietly as you ran your fingers through his hair.

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ckret2 · 1 month

Text

who wants a prism break?

So, the Theraprism! The Theraprism sucks, right?

This is like, a good day.

The Theraprism clearly sucks.

Have a one shot of Bill escaping Theraprism with the most desperate escape plan imaginable: reincarnation.

(Warning for, as you might expect, psychiatric hospital abuse.)

####

There are fates worse than death. Like boredom, for instance!

####

Everything was black and numb and silent and cold so so cold but no he could only call it cold if he felt cold and Bill didn't feel coldness there was just the absence of a feeling the absence of heat the absence of light the absence of sound the absence of touch the absence of air.

The absence of everything.

Bill had loved a void once—a micro black hole. Every time they touched it slowly killed him, spaghettified his limbs, drained his energy. His energy was so vast that she never claimed a drop of a drop of a drop of his reserves—but it still hurt like nothing else to be crushed and stretched and ripped and consumed by her event horizon. The pain was wonderful. Being shredded was ecstasy.

This void was the opposite of her.

He couldn't even feel anything when he tried to scream—without air, he couldn't feel his vocal plates vibrate. He couldn't feel his hands, his face, his eye; he tried to bite himself just to feel something and he couldn't feel his mouth, he tried to rip open his wounds and couldn't find them; why couldn't he see his own light, why couldn't he see his blood, where had he gone, was he gone—

Reality returned like a light bulb being switched on.

The first thing he registered was a shrill sound on the verge of inaudibility; and then the pain in his eye, his sides, his wounds; and then the dull gray light, the hard floor under his knees, the antiseptic stench in the air conditioning.

He stopped screaming. The shrill sound stopped.

"Energetic as always, are we?"

Bill blinked blearily at the Orb of Healing Light hovering before him. He croaked, "I'll regurgitate you."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." A glowing translucent clipboard manifested in front of the Orb. "Well, you've gone through this enough times to know the drill! Do you need a moment to recover, or—?"

"No no, I'm fine, I'm fine." Bill slumped forward, trembling hands on the floor, waiting for the vertigo to pass. "I'm fine. Do your thing." He'd rather get the post-Solitary Wellness Void reorientation interview over with.

"Perfect. What's your name?"

"I'm ol' Vinegar Pete."

"No clowning, please."

He sighed loudly. "Bill Cipher."

"Good. Where are you?"

He considered saying hell, but decided he'd used up all the clowning he could risk for one day. He didn't want to go back in. "The Theraprism. Ward 333."

"Very good. When are you?"

"I was gonna ask you," Bill groaned. "How long was I in the hole this time? A million years? Ten million?"

The Orb checked its notes. "Eight minutes."

"Wh—no, no I know that time moves slower out in reality than in the prism. I'm not asking how much time passed in reality, I'm asking how much time passed here."

"Eight minutes," the Orb repeated. "Outside the Theraprism, one third of one second passed."

Bill groaned again and flopped flat on the floor.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Why are any of us here?" Bill asked the gray linoleum tiles. "Usually because some dumb beast tripped into the booby trap that sets off its reproductive process. How's your species work, you pop outta nebulas, right—?"

"I meant, coming out of the Solitary Wellness Void."

"Oh." Bill tried to remember what his infraction had been this time. "Because I failed to escape."

"Because you tried to escape."

If he'd succeeded, they never could have punished him. "Sure."

"Good, you seem oriented to your surroundings. Let's get you to the nurse and then back to your cell." The nurse? What did he need a nurse for?

He only realized then that he must have succeeded in reopening his wounds in the SWV: the never-quite-healed crack across his exoskeleton was wider, the edges chipped and bent. It hurt. His eye socket hurt too; he tasted blood. With the way his whole body usually ached after leaving the void, he hadn't even noticed.

Through the crack in his exoskeleton, his edges had frayed into fine golden threads. The sight of silvery blood on his hands made him nauseous; he hastily looked away and reminded himself it was only his own.

####

As Bill wearily followed behind the Orb and two security guards followed behind him, he had to periodically turn to hover sideways to streamline himself. These days he was so weak that he could feel the air resistance pushing back against him when he floated; with his wound reopened, he felt like the air pressure could snap his exoskeleton along the crack and break him in half.

"You're not Emmy," Bill said. "You're, uh..."

"A-AOX4."

"Oxyyy," Bill said weakly. "Heyyy. S'been a while. Usually I get a personal welcome back from the void, why didn't Emmy show? Don't tell me it doesn't see me as a threat anymore!" He'd be offended if it didn't. D-SM5 was the closest thing he had to a nemesis these days. Even if he couldn't beat it, he wanted to think he still irritated the daylights out of it.

"Director SM5 couldn't make it. It's overseeing the preparations for Paingoreous's reincarnation."

"That's today? Good riddance." Paingoreous had started getting sanctimonious the past few hundred group therapy sessions—don't you have any compassion for your victims and it's possible to live a happy life without slaughtering all your enemies first and maybe I should ask for permission before I vivisect my friends' faces—passive, self-defeatist crap like that. Vivisecting your friends and seeing who complained was how you found out who your lame friends were! Now that the wet blanket was leaving, the rest of them could get back to spending their sessions reminiscing about the glory days and trying to set the donuts on fire when the therapist was distracted.

"Yes," A-AOX4 said pointedly, "it is good he gets to leave to go become a productive member of reality. We're all so happy that he's rehabilitated enough to earn a new chance at life." (Bill rolled his eye. A-AOX4 ignored it.) "Wouldn't you like a chance to rejoin reality, Bill?"

More than anything. He'd been in this crystallized brain's perpetual dreamscape for what felt like both a thousand years and a single day—time never passing, an eternal inescapable moment. He'd tried to break out, sneak out, or bargain his way out more times than he could count; sometimes he was locked in the SWV as punishment; and sometimes the staff gently stopped him, confiscated his supplies, and chastised him for the effort—and the reminder that he was as powerless as a child was worse than the void. He'd gone delirious from the boredom, hallucinating screams and burning faces as his mind struggled to stimulate itself (and he'd been medicated for it). He'd so despaired of escaping that he'd looked for a way to burn up the remains of his energy and vanish for good (and he'd been medicated for it). He ached with the need to see the stars again.

But not enough to sell his soul for it. If he took the staff's route—let them break him down, sandblast off his rough edges, erase everything that made him him, and finally physically transform him into some alien creature—then whatever left the Theraprism would no longer be Bill Cipher.

"What, and force you guys to find a new 'unique case'? I wouldn't do that to you! I know how much you love me," Bill said. "Besides, why would I go through all that just so I can reincarnate as a sentient snowflake, or Mi-Go antennae lice, or..."

"A butterfly," A-AOX4 cut in, an edge of impatience creeping into its tone. "Paingoreous has chosen to reincarnate as a butterfly. We all think that's a very productive way to channel his desire to digest his own skin."

"Unless it's one of those blood-drinking butterflies, lame." Bill scoffed. "Wait—hold on, you said butterfly? Like an Earth butterfly?"

They were, of course, not actually speaking an Earth language, but an interdimensional pidgin that borrowed words and grammar from dozens of worlds. When around the Orbs of Healing Light that held half the staff positions, Bill tended to speak a dialect of the pidgin that used flashes of light for 40% of its vocabulary. It was perfectly possible that the word Bill knew as "butterfly" was also used for some alien creature, but—

"Yes, an Earth butterfly. A Vanessa atalanta, to be precise."

Aw, boo. Not even a cool butterfly. "He's reincarnating on Earth?"

"Yes. Many of our patients reincarnate on Earth. As long as you're careful about which region and century you reincarnate into, it's at the top of our recommended list of Goldilocks zones."

There was another phrase that Bill recognized, but this time he was sure his definition was not A-AOX4's definition. "Whaaat do Goldilocks zones have to do with reincarnation."

"You didn't pay attention to the orientation session on our outpatient reincarnation program, did you."

"What! I didn't get an orientation session!" said Bill, who probably didn't remember any such session because he didn't pay attention to it.

"Well—we rank millions of planets and their dimensional parallels based on their potential to help patients reintegrate into reality. We do try to set our patients up for success," A-AOX4 said. "To qualify as a Goldilocks zone, a planet has to meet the Theraprism's rigorous list of criteria: its lifeforms, cultures, laws of physics, and position in interdimensional society must all be conducive to a patient's continued recovery. We want to ensure that our patients' new lives are neither so difficult as to retraumatize them, nor so easy as to let them coast by avoiding continued personal growth, but right in the middle, so that they're emotionally and spiritually challenged without being overwhelmed. The Goldilocks zone: a perfect compromise between two extremes."

"Yeah, sure, sounds great." Bill could feel his eye glazing over in disinterest. Fight it, Cipher.

"Do you miss Earth?"

Bill tilted to glance askance at A-AOX4, and was surprised to see it had turned to focus a spotlight on him. Oh—it thought it had finally found a carrot to dangle in front of him. That was a popular strategy here: they figured out what a patient wanted most, and then used it to coax them into good behavior and "rehabilitation"—better still if they could attach a sense of urgency to it. Don't you want to see your descendants again before the last of them dies out? Don't you want to see your homeworld before its sun swallows it? Don't you want to reconcile with your god before the heat death of your universe?

But Bill had no universe, no homeworld, no family; no lovers or friends or gods that hadn't betrayed him and left him to rot here; and he'd remained smugly steadfast in refusing to give D-SM5 and its minions anything else it could use to get under his chitin. He was proud that he was too broken for even the famed Theraprism to fix him.

A-AOX4 probably thought it had finally found an opening. It might be useful to let it keep thinking that.

"You kidding me? Earth? Pfff! I don't miss that overgrown asteroid one bit!" He waved off the suggestion, and winced when the gesture tugged wrong at his reopened wound. "But hey, you don't study a world for millions of years without finding a few things about it to like. The music's pretty good. And the movies and literature, though if you ask me, they peaked between the first two World Wars. I like trees, evolution did a great job with trees. And humans really went off with the architecture. The pyramids? 10 out of 10. And some of the locals aren't bad, I've got a few exes from Earth."

"Do you? How many exes?"

"Living? Just a hundred forty or fifty," Bill said dismissively. "Earthlings just have those pretty eyes, you know? I'm a sucker for a pretty eye! But outside of that, no, there's nothing on Earth for me."

"I see," A-AOX4 said lightly, and dropped the conversation.

Hook, line, and sinker.

####

The original definition of a "Goldilocks zone" came from astrobiology. The Goldilocks zone was the ring of space around a star in which an orbiting planet could support liquid water and thus water-based life: not too close to the star and too hot, not too far and too cold, but just right. Earth, for instance, orbited Sol in its Goldilocks zone.

It was from this definition that other, more metaphorical definitions of Goldilocks zones emerged. Such as the Theraprism's: a world that was neither too stressful nor too boring for a newly brainwashed—sorry, "cured"—patient. And apparently Earth was in that Goldilocks zone, too.

Which was very interesting to Bill—because in their search for a new home, the Henchmaniacs had come up with their own definition of a Goldilocks zone. For them, it was a dimension close enough to the Nightmare Realm with a thin enough barrier that they could easily punch through it, but not so close and so thin that puncturing the barrier would pop it like a balloon and cause the dimension to immediately prolapse into the Nightmare Realm—which was a problem they'd had before. More than once. They needed a dimension they could easily cut a hole into, but control it, so they could slowly pump the Nightmare Realm's contents in. A barrier neither too vulnerable nor too strong, but just right.

And wouldn't you know it—but Earth happened to be in that Goldilocks zone too. Right next to a point in the dimensional membrane so thin, the Nightmare Realm could almost stretch through and kiss it.

####

Since Bill Cipher was infamously known as the last survivor of a trillion-years-extinct species, and had until recently been capable of instantly repairing himself, there were no medical records on how his anatomy worked. It didn't help that at some point eons ago he'd somehow managed to graft a 3D exoskeleton to his 2D anatomy without breaking his own physics, meaning no one had seen his true body in recorded history. Bill knew how he worked, but refused to offer any hints. So the Theraprism staff had to guess at Bill's medical treatment.

But Bill was still made of energy, and even weakened he could eventually self-repair. So whenever his injury was exacerbated, the nurse tended to just patch up his exoskeleton to keep it stable enough to send him back to his room.

On top of his mysterious anatomy, the staff had no idea how to medicate his physiology. They knew he could be medicated—Bill's personal substance (ab)use experiments were notorious far outside the Nightmare Realm—but they had to treat him like a newly-discovered form of life in figuring out what affected him, how it affected him, and how much it took. He'd been on and off hundreds of drugs as they tried to chemically stabilize a mind for which they had no idea what baseline stability looked like. D-SM5 had told him that between the enormous doses needed to impact his energy-based physiology and the vast variety of drugs he'd been through, Bill's medication regimen was the most expensive in the Theraprism. He took some pride in that.

He had very few things to take pride in anymore. He clung to what meager victories he could.

If Bill got his way, he wouldn't be medicated at all. None of the substances they wanted him on were what he'd call recreational. (Although for a while he had gotten away with not telling the docs that one of his antipsychotics had given him a side-effect of kaleidoscopic hallucinations.) Plus there was the fact that he'd heard rumors that quite a few pharmaceutical execs were good pals with a certain director—not that Bill would name names, of course!—that's his motto, Don't Slander Maliciou5ly!

But when he resisted taking his meds, they could send in the guards to pin him down so a nurse could inject a sedative so strong he wouldn't remember anything that happened for the next few hours to months (hard to tell) until they started tapering it off... and although he'd rather die than admit it, after losing that fight five or six times, even he had to admit to himself it was a lot less scary to just take their rotten drugs. Better to go through his days with his mind dulled and hazy than blacked out altogether.

To retain what little pride he had left, he'd reached a compromise with his jailers.

When the nurse had finished attaching the reinforcing splints around Bill's injury, they grabbed a medication measurement cup, filled it halfway with syrupy eye drops, and double-checked Bill's chart as they dropped thirteen different pills (plus a fourteenth pill for a painkiller) in the cup.

As Bill redressed, he eyed the unappetizing cocktail of antidepressants, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, and things he'd forgotten the purpose of but that probably weren't doing whatever the doctors hoped and definitely weren't doing anything Bill liked. "My straw?"

"Right, right." The nurse handed over one of the wide-diameter disposable white straws they kept on hand for patients who struggled to drink (or, in Bill's case, patients they struggled to get to drink).

Only a tiny fragment of Bill was actually locked up in the Theraprism—like pinching the glowing lure of an anglerfish in a trap while the rest of the fish thrashed outside—and because most of Bill's vast energy was elsewhere, he was nearly powerless. But he still had enough energy to heat up a finger, twist the straw around it, and hold it there until it had melted into a new shape.

The nurse sighed. "Do you have to do that every time? You ruin more straws than you get right."

Imperiously, Bill said, "Leave me to my whimsy." He tugged off the straw when it had cooled down to examine the corkscrew shape he'd made. The wall was a little flattened in one place, but he could pinch it back open. "See? It's perfect!" Cheerfully ignoring the nurse, he stuck the straw in his cup and slurped down his pills like tapioca balls. He tried not to remember what was in them.

A-AOX4 had left Bill with the nurse, but the two mall cops with medical kinks known as Bill's personal guards were still waiting nearby. The nurse's office was next door to the cafeteria—for ease of patients picking up their medications at meal times—in an anteroom that was connected to the rest of the ward by a set of locked double doors. A couple of guards were stationed near those doors at all times, and generally the guards assigned to Bill hung around with them while Bill was in the cafeteria or nurse's office. Bill floated up to them, regarding them with the disinterest of a king ignoring the servants he expected to open doors for him, and continued to ignore them as they escorted him back to his cell, one in front and one behind, while he sipped on his drugged cocktail.

The Dimensional Tyrant Ward was already one of the most heavily-guarded wards in the Theraprism; but to reach the maximum security cells, a patient had to pass several increasingly heavy security checkpoints with increasingly impenetrable security doors. The final door was warded against all magic, unhackable, unbreakable, and so airtight that even without his exoskeleton there was no gap Bill's 2D form could slide through. The doors to each cell—outfitted with tiny one-way mirror portholes, no latches or hinges on the inside—were a little less heavy duty, but packed with just as many failsafes. The Dimensional Tyrant Ward's max security hall had the most advanced security architecture of any psychiatric facility in the multiverse.

Bill had made a trillion year career of trying to break his way through a door nobody wanted him to go through. He could think of seven different ways to get through the doors. Sooner or later he'd find a way out of this place altogether.

A few of the doors had modifications: this one with a metal slab over the porthole to protect passersby from the occupant's petrifying gaze, that one with extra soundproofed padding coating the door. Bill was almost insulted his own door didn't warrant any special modifications.

His favorite door was The Beast's. A comfortingly yellow triangular sign on the door displayed a black symbol of a steak. Red signs above and below read "CAUTION! FEED UNSEASONED MEAT ONLY." "NO SUGAR ALLOWED." The Beast's heavy snuffing was audible through the door; his hot, sickly sweet breath seeped through the slot in the door that had been installed to deliver his food.

Bill's escorts automatically drifted to the far side of the hall to avoid The Beast. Bill, whose first medication was already starting to kick in, zigzagged lazily back and forth across the hall, heedless of how close he came to The Beast's cell.

Bill had never seen this door opened once in all his time incarcerated, and the dust settled on the additional chains and padlocks stretched across the door showed just how long it had been since the last incident. But some of the patients who'd been here longer than Bill still couldn't bring themselves to speak of the last time he'd escaped. Elder eldritch gods shuddered and gibbered nervously at the mention of his name.

Bill tilted over to try to peer through the food slot at The Beast. A quivering, sickly blue eye stared back at him. Honestly, Bill thought The Beast was adorable.

Outside Bill's door, the guards waited for Bill to finish his medicine, hand over his cup and straw, and open his mouth and lift his eye out of the way so they could check and make sure he'd swallowed them.

And then he was left in his cell.

####

A perfect cube of uniform dull grey tiles supernaturally lit by a uniform dull grey glow, no light source, no shadows; in a max security room in the Maximum Security Wellness Center, patients weren't even trusted around light fixtures. The staff had removed everything Bill had used thus far to commit violence or attempt escape, plus a few more things as punishments for various infractions: journal, paint, pens, books, magazines, puppets (he missed those the most), even the furniture. He'd never earned the privilege of a TV or radio. By now, all he was permitted were black, red, yellow, and blue dry erase markers to draw on his walls—and the red and blue had gone dry; the "Be a TRY-angle!" poster they'd replaced whenever Bill left the room until he gave up and stopped tearing it down; and the clothes on his back. He'd gradually gotten himself banned from every extracurricular and recreational activity the Dimensional Tyrant Ward offered. Whenever he was fresh out of the SWV, when his restrictions were highest, his schedule consisted of mandatory individual therapy, mandatory group therapy, med checks, and the cafeteria.

He spent the vast majority of his time in his cell, sitting curled up alone, day after night after day, barely moving, barely talking, barely eating, waiting for nothing at all.

####

The seamless door swung open and admitted an Orb of Healing Light.

Bill blinked blearily up at the Orb. It was hard to tell how slowly time passed here, but he was sure it couldn't have been more than a couple hours since he'd been returned to his cell: that was when his medications made his mind the foggiest. "Emmyyy. Where ya been? Didn't see you when I came out of the Solitary Dullness Void. Nice of you to, uh..." A second ago he'd had a clever quip about how D-SM5 had clearly dropped by because it missed Bill, but he'd forgotten how to word it.

"Well, I'm here now. I'm flattered you missed me, Mr. Cipher."

Bill blinked heavily. "You turned that around on me," he griped. "Not fair." Ugh, the room was spinning. He flopped on his back.

"A-AOX4 tells me you showed an interest earlier in our outpatient reincarnation program," D-SM5 said. "Since it looks like your schedule is light these days, I thought you might be interested in attending Paingoreous's reincarnation?"

It took him a moment to process the offer. "Really? That's something people can attend?" What was the catch?

"We usually only extend the offer to the departing patient's friends, and—exemplary patients. But... I thought you might benefit from watching the process for yourself. It may encourage you to take a little more interest in your future."

For it to push a possible lead so fast, it really was desperate to find some leverage they could use on Bill. It probably thought of this as a rare opportunity—a patient from Ward 333 wasn't ready for reincarnation every day.

"Wow. I sure am encouraged," Bill said. "You have no idea just how encouraged I am."

####

If an unambitious office building and a utilitarian hospital reluctantly got married out of a vague sense of heteronormative social obligation, had a depressed child, and the fae spirited it away to replace it with an even more depressed changeling child, the child's small intestines would look a lot like the Theraprism's interior hallways: it was windowless, it was labyrinthine, it was beige, and it was grey, and it didn't even care anymore. Monotonous commercial high-traffic carpet alternated with monotonous commercial high-traffic linoleum. The fluorescent lights buzzed just enough to be annoying, but not quite enough that you'd feel justified in snapping and screaming "I've had it!" as you swung a pleather-seated metal chair at the light fixture.

Even though Bill had been languishing in the Theraprism for hours and/or millennia (Bill couldn't tell; he couldn't feel the passage of time), he hardly knew his way around the Dimensional Tyrant Ward, much less the rest of the facility. As D-SM5 led Bill (and six guards) out of Ward 333 and into a lower security zone, he looked for any scant identifiable landmarks and tried to memorize which turns they took by coding the lefts and rights and ups and downs into a mnemonic word. The walk helped wake him from his medication stupor; but his mind never quite felt fully on.

Bill had only briefly glimpsed the Theraprism's reincarnation unit during intake, just one of many rooms he'd been whisked past as he was dragged to Ward 333 screaming and cursing the Axolotl's name. Entering the unit now, it looked like an occult sacrificial altar carved from marble that had been modeled after a 23rd century starship's teleportation platform, contained in a room that looked like a magic planetarium: glowing stars hovered around the dome of the ceiling. Against the back wall in pale pink marble was carved an impossibly long axolotl, swimming in a figure 8 so its vapid smile almost caught the tip of its ribbonlike tail. Bill glowered at it. Backstabber.

He, D-SM5, and the other observers who'd already arrived were in a connected observation room with an enormous, thick window and a sealed door. Next to the window was a large computer console encased in the same marble as the reincarnation altar. That probably controlled the process.

The audience consisted of three aliens who looked a little like Paingoreous might have with his face unpeeled, a few patients and staff Bill recognized, more he didn't, and Jessica with the shining spherical head and the thirteen fingers. Oh boy. If he'd known Jessica would be here he would have tried to polish. Bill straightened his bow tie and smoothed his rumpled orange jumpsuit.

Paingoreous himself was already in the next room, standing on the altar. At the sight of Bill, his exposed facial muscles twitched, as though trying to widen his eyes even though their eyelids were already long gone. "Bill? What are you doing here?"

D-SM5 answered before Bill could blurt out a witty retort. "I invited Mr. Cipher. I thought he would benefit from seeing what he can look forward to once he's improved. I hope you don't mind."

Paingoreous's face immediately smoothed out. "Yes—of course, director, if you say so. I remember how difficult it was in the early days. I'm happy to help my fellow patients in any way I can." Suck up. A dry note entered his voice, "Especially a more troubled patient."

Bill took one of the folding chairs lined up in front of the window and shot back, "I'm about to have one less trouble! Byyye!" (Did Jessica think that was funny? Sometimes she did. He snuck a sideways glance to see if she was laughing. Oh, right—she didn't have a face.)

Paingoreous didn't dignify him with a response. Too good for the likes of Bill, no doubt. Paingoreous wasn't obligated to answer anybody—except the staff, of course.

Bill had never met the real Paingoreous. By the time Bill was committed, the monotony, medication, and mandatory therapy were already well on their way to killing whoever Paing had once been. No way the offensively bland sap leaving now was the same one who'd come in with his face skinned and muscles pinned open.

A technician was already turning on the computer console, running through a whole list of checks as the machine booted up. A hum filled the room as the altar began to softly glow. To all appearances Bill was facing forward, slitted pupil aimed straight at Paingoreous; but his anatomy was built for watching things out of the corner of his eye and his real attention was focused on the reincarnation technician. "So how's reincarnation work in this dump?" Bill asked D-SM5. "I didn't get the orientation."

"Yes you did," D-SM5 said. "I was there."

"Oh yeah? Well, I don't remember seeing you."

D-SM5 sighed. "First, Paingoreous's memories of his current life must be erased, to give him the best fresh start possible and to comply with Earth's soul sanitization regulations."

"Seems like a big waste of time. His head's already empty enough."

One of the Paing-ish aliens a couple seats over shot Bill a dirty look. "That's my son in there."

"Not for much longer, he isn't."

"Be respectful," D-SM5 said warningly.

Bill ignored it. "So once you've scrubbed his brain clean, what then?"

"Then, we reincarnate him. We've already carefully selected his destination and species; except for special circumstances, we generally don't customize the patient's body further, as the program is already set up to divinely design the body most well-suited to the soul about to inhabit it."

"If these bodies are so perfect, why customize them at all?"

"We wouldn't want, say, a recovering pyromaniac to be reborn with pyrokinesis." (Bill felt unfairly targeted.) "Once his species and destination are entered into the program, off he'll go to start his new life as an egg."

"An egg?! Sheesh, wasn't going through childhood once bad enough? I assume his childhood was bad, anyway! Nobody with competent parents ends up like him."

The Paing-ish alien beside Bill bolted out of their seat and lurched aggressively toward Bill. (Ha. Too easy.) The next alien over tugged them back by the arm. Bill was sure he heard a whispered, "Careful, do you know who that..."

D-SM5 said, "One more crack like that and you're going back to your cell."

"Fiiine. Why can't he skip straight to being a butterfly, though?" What he really wanted to find out was how to skip straight to adulthood.

"For starters, because spontaneous generation has been heavily restricted on Earth since the 15th century, and banned completely outside of special circumstances since the 19th century."

Spontaneous generation. The creation of fully formed life from unliving matter: maggots that emerged from flesh, geese that emerged from barnacles, snakes and crocodiles that wriggled out of the mud of the Nile. He'd always planned to legalize it again when he took over. So if the only reason the Theraprism couldn't do it was because it was banned, then they must have the technology for it, right?

Bill tuned D-SM5 out as it prattled on about the mental health benefits of restarting life and beginner's mind and boring therapeutic psychobabble, and ignored the flashing lights and divine music as Paingoreous's memory, personality, and identity were all wiped clean. He was only interested in what the reincarnation technician was doing. (Although when Bill briefly glanced at Paingoreous, his shape seemed somehow uncertain, as though his molecules had only just walked into the room and promptly forgotten what they'd come in for or who they were supposed to be. Ready to be reshaped into something else.)

The technician opened up the primary reincarnation program, checked a box confirming that the patient's previous incarnation had been erased, and began setting up the specifications for his next incarnation. Choosing the reincarnation world was easy enough: under the drop down menu, the "Goldilocks zone" worlds were sorted first. Earth was sixth on the list. Choosing a dimension was just as easy.

However, choosing the location and time period looked more complicated; rather than searching through a handy list of continents or geological epochs, the technician checked Paingoreous's patient file and typed a couple of long strings of numbers into the blanks for the coordinates and time. They didn't look like any date system or coordinate system Bill was familiar with. How the heck would he work with that?

And selecting the species, to Bill's horror, meant scrolling down a menu ordered by how frequently a species had been selected for reincarnation at this facility. That was insane! The Theraprism always discharged patients as unambitious species where one member was nearly incapable of making a meaningful impact on the local biosphere—anything useful like an octopus or a goat would be buried amongst the literal billions of species that had received zero reincarnations. Couldn't you just start typing the species's name to jump down to—? But no, the Theraprism's keyboard didn't have characters to type human loan words. The technician seemed to be scrolling manually.

That was fine! That was fine. Whatever Bill left as, he wouldn't be it for very long. He wasn't shopping for a makeover; just for an escape pod.

The technician located Vanessa atalanta (147 prior reincarnations) and kept moving, tabbing past a dizzying array of options—sex, size, coloration, visual clarity, caterpillar spine distribution, a whole list of health conditions and mutations the technician skipped—and every box she tabbed past automatically filled in with the word "DEFAULT". How many boxes could be filled in with defaults?

Bill leaned toward D-SM5. "So do you chuck these suckers out anywhere random on the planet or what?"

"Of course not," it said promptly. "What a thought! We take a deep interest in our discharged patients' well-being. We never leave where they spend their next lives at the whim of the computer's randomized decision."

But they could leave it up to the computer. Still watching sideways as the technician scrolled past an "advanced settings" button without touching it (was that where the spontaneous generation option was hidden?), Bill asked, "Do youalways choose for the patient, or can the patient make requests?"

Dryly, D-SM5 said, "Unless you make some enormous progress, I doubt you'd get clearance to reincarnate anywhere near that town you terrorized, if that's what you're wondering."

"What! Who said I want to visit that crummy valley! All those mountains and trees? Ugh! No, do you know what kind of place I like? The Greater Cairo metropolitan area. Dry! Sandy! Flat!" said Bill, who detested flat landscapes with all his heart. "Covered in pyramids! Sometimes with my face on them! Plus there's the Nile! I love the Nile! I love being in the Nile! I'd spend all my time in the Nile if I could! I've had some loser ex-friends say that living your whole life in the Nile is an unhealthy coping mechanism to avoid addressing problems in your life, but if you ask me they're just jealous of how amazing my life is—"

"Ready for reincarnation," the technician said. "Proceed?"

D-SM5 left its seat, hovering closer to the glass to catch Paingoreous's attention. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," said Paingoreous, who clearly wasn't certain what he was claiming to be ready for.

"Proceed," D-SM5 said. Bill fell silent, paying close attention to how the technician began the reincarnation process.

She clicked a button that said "EXECUTE" (gruesome), clicked through a couple more confirmation screens, and then the faint background hum grew to a rumble and the magical stars glowed brighter. "Ten seconds," she said. "Nine... eight... seven..."

"Hey!" Bill shouted through the glass. "Friendly tip for Earth! Humans love when you fly into their eyeballs! You should do that!"

D-SM5 rounded on Bill, glowing furiously at him. (Maybe it was Bill's imagination, but he thought Jessica looked amused. Worth it.)

The soon-to-be caterpillar formerly known as Paingoreous stared in confusion at Bill. "Okay," he said—and then there was a bright flash of light.

He let out an awful wail of pure soul-rending agony.

When the light faded, he was gone.

The observation room had fallen perfectly silent.

"That's fine," D-SM5 said. "That's—that's normal."

####

Every once in a while, the Theraprism got something right. It was one of the few big government-sponsored "respectable" institutions that didn't make a fuss about how Bill ate. They just let him go to the cafeteria, strip down, unpeel his exoskeleton, and hang out with the photosynthesizers for half an hour or so in the corner under the grow lights. No gasps of horror or screams of outrage—not from the staff anyway; some of the patients took a bit to get used to it when they were new. It was a refreshing change.

On the other hand, even though they were willing to turn a couple lights high enough to melt most mortals' eyeballs when Bill was feeding, he never left feeling truly energized. The grow lights were designed for species with leaves and solar panels; they weren't designed to fuel up a god made of energy. A few bright lightbulbs didn't measure up to raw starlight.

He figured there wasn't any point in complaining. As much as he hated feeling like a gas tank trying to burn a dust mote for fuel, he knew that they knew that long before he even reached 1% of his usual power, he'd be strong enough to vaporize the Theraprism with the snap of a finger.

When he'd had his daily dose of light, he folded shut, redressed, and drifted over to the actual food for dessert. He grabbed a bottle of an allegedly "lemon" nigh-flavorless clear soda—this would do—and hovered toward the exit.

The cafeteria monitor stationed in the door elbowed her way in front of Bill. "Ahem."

"What?"

"You know the rules. No food outside the cafeteria."

"What! This isn't food, it's a soda. Beverages aren't food, everyone knows that." The monitor didn't budge. Bill tried whining. "C'mooon, I got injured in the void today. Look at this!" He gestured demonstratively at his splints. "Look how much pain I'm in!"

The Solitary Wellness Void made this cafeteria monitor uncomfortable. She'd never said so directly, but she tended to turn a blind eye when patients who'd just come out of the SWV were more aggressive than usual or tried to sneak extra desserts. One time when Bill had come out of a week in the SWV, she'd wordlessly slipped him a couple of packets of low-sodium fear sauce, a condiment usually distributed exclusively to the obligate phobophages in the ward. "Besides, it's my birthday! I'm a birthday triangle! You wouldn't deny a birthday triangle a soda, right?"

"Is it really your birthday?"

"Heck if I know. It could be. I don't know it isn't."

She was trying not to smile. "Fine. Just one time. Don't let anyone catch you with it and finish it before you're back in your cell."

"You got it, toots." Bill glided past her.

He slipped from the cafeteria into the nurse's office before his guards could catch sight of his illicit drink. "Hey, bartender! I'm here for my nightcap."

The nurse prepared Bill's evening battery of drugs. He bent his straw into a fun zigzag—honestly it was really more of a sad N shape—slurped down half the eyedrops, and opened his soda to refill his cup.

The nurse looked over at the hiss of the cap opening. "Hey! Hey—"

"It's just soda!" Bill protested. "The cafeteria monitor said it was fine! Besides, what's a little soda gonna do? Nullify all seven of my antipsychotics before I reach my cell?" (Bill had overheard the nurse grumbling to a colleague about the amount of antipsychotics he was on. They thought it was utterly excessive, considering that they'd had no evidence the drugs were doing anything but making him more erratic—which was something, because Bill had seen patients near drooling catatonia from their meds without any of the nurses questioning their current dosage. Conversely, the docs thought Bill's odd biology meant they needed to give him more if they wanted any hope of impacting him.) "Come on. It's not even caffeinated!"

The nurse took the soda bottle to check the ingredient list, then relented. "Fine. I suppose it won't do any harm."

"You're a peach." Bill topped off his cup, poured the rest of the soda over his eye, crushed the bottle, and consumed it too.

"The plastic probably isn't good for you, though."

"I like the way it melts in the back of my throat."

As he drank his medicated soda and got escorted back to his cell, he lazily drifted back and forth in the hall as far as the guards would let him go, dawdling more than usual—he knew they hated it when he dawdled, but they knew he hated spending one second more in his cell than necessary and grudgingly put up with a little lollygagging to keep the peace. But their tolerance ran out in the max security hall as Bill slowed down even further near The Beast's cell. The guard behind Bill pushed him. "Hurry up."

"Hey!" Bill wobbled off path and stumbled into the wall, spilling some of his drink. "What's your problem!"

"You stopped moving."

"I did not! I'm just taking my time! Enjoying the weather out here."

"Well, take less time."

"Ugh, fine. Didn't realize you had plans I'm keeping you from." Bill rolled his eye and kept moving.

"Hold it!"

Bill froze. He turned around. The guard was pointing at a streak of clear fluid that had spilled from Bill's cup and rolled down the door. His bones frosted over.

"You dropped a pill," the guard said.

Bill's gaze focused on the circular soap-green tablet on the floor. "Are you kidding?! Aren't the other twelve enough?"

"No exceptions, Cipher."

"You don't expect me to eat it off the floor!"

"Do you want to go all the way back to the nurse's office for another?"

Bill groaned in frustration. "Fine!" He snatched it up, wiped it off on the guard's sleeve, and popped it in his mouth. The guard raised a fist; Bill bared his fangs; and after a tense moment, the guard backed down first. The Theraprism had taken nearly every other power from Bill, but it couldn't take his teeth—and though he knew the guards would win any fight, Bill could make it hurt.

They returned him to his room; Bill handed over his cup; they checked to make sure his cup was empty, inspected his mouth, and locked him in.

He hoped they wouldn't notice that half his pills had stuck in the zig-zag bend of the opaque white straw.

He hoped they wouldn't notice The Beast's tongue thrusting through his food slot to lap up the spilled soda that was running down his door and over the bright red "NO SUGAR ALLOWED" sign.

His entire plan hinged on it.

####

Bill was drawing on the wall with his scant art supplies when he felt reality ripple around him, like the wave in a still pool when someone new quietly slides into the water. He looked up from his work. It was happening.

There were several thuds; then a crash; and then the peal of a prison alarm piercing the air. The alarm melted into shrill dolphin-like laughter, and then the frenetic staccato of a hyper speed dance song that threatened to fracture Bill's internal organs. He shuddered as the sound tore at his wound like freezing ice crystals expanding a crack in a boulder.

But he rose into the air and turned to face the door, ready.

Just in time for the door to vanish. The Theraprism melted away like mist in the sunlight—and oh, the sunlight was glorious. The wide open sky pulsed maddening colors so vivid that the faraway rainbows looked monotone in comparison; the land consisted of rolling hills of candy-coated tongues and stomachs and muscles, the paws of enormous buried corpses thrusting up into the sky, the crevasses between burial mounds running with artificially-flavored saliva. It was Bill's kind of place. He wished he had time to hang around.

Before him, orange fur matted with a fine dust of powdery sugar, wild eyes contracted to pinpricks, stood The Beast.

"You did it, you beautiful monster!" Bill shrieked with laughter. "I knew you'd come through!"

The Beast rumbled, "Em deerf evah uoy."

"You're welcome! You can return the favor later! Me, I have somewhere to be." While The Beast was asserting his personal reality on top of the Theraprism's idea of reality, none of the Theraprism's walls or doors existed. Bill wasn't sure exactly how far The Beast's radius of influence extended, except that it was at least far enough to get him out of the maximum security hall—but he had to move now, before the guards rallied to sedate The Beast. Bill slipped a finger into the band of his ankle bracelet and found that under the influence of The Beast's physics, the stiff plastic stretched like a warm rubber band. He tugged it off and tossed it aside. "Seeya, pal!"

But The Beast held up a paw, blocking Bill before he could zip off. "Noob ym tpecca," The Beast said. "Hself ym emusnoc."

"Oooh. Woww." Bill looked at The Beast's candy paw. "Oh, man. Generous offer! You have no idea how tempting it is to take a taste, but I've really gotta get somewhere, and I've gotta be at least sober enough to pull that off..."

"Emusnoc," The Beast insisted. "Hsur ragus eht fo ssendam gnilims citatsce eht ni em nioj. Rehtegot srorroh letsap dna serusaelp kcis hcus wonk lliw ew. Evarg lufituaeb ym ni em htiw tor."

Bill stared again at the paw. The tip of his tongue slipped out beneath his eye to lick hungrily at his waterline. When was the last time he'd been on something that felt good? "Oh, what the heck!" He took The Beast's paw. "I can do this buzzed! How much damage can one little lick do, anyway?"

####

The guard heaved open the maximum security hall's door. The floor was covered in tacky pools of neon candy and removed ankle monitors. "It's just like we feared," the guard shouted into a walkie-talkie, glancing quickly through each cell door's window. "Every single max security patient escaped under The Beast's reality-altering field."

The guard stopped at the sight of neon yellow and orange, peering through the window at the triangle flopped flat on the ground and surrounded by powdery pink sugar.

"Well," the guard said, "all of them except Cipher."

Through the walkie-talkie, D-SM5 tiredly said, "He licked the paw, didn't he."

"Looks like it, boss."

D-SM5 groaned. "All right! Positive thinking! That's the second biggest threat in the ward already accounted for! Silver lining to Mr. Cipher's substance use issues. Assist in securing the others."

####

The good news was that The Beast seemed happy to frolic randomly around the Theraprism rather than head toward the exit, forcing the other escapees to follow along to remain under his reality-altering protection rather than get stranded in small rooms and locked-down halls. The bad news was that his meandering route let him pick up more and more revelers. After an hour, only a third of the max security patients had been re-captured and dragged back to their cells, and twice as many medium security patients had joined the riot.

A-AOX4 was on hand in the maximum security hall to supervise as the guards brought in super-powered escapees. Most of them came back loopy on either The Beast's toxins or on the sedative that had been injected to keep them calm. A-AOX4 was checking them for awareness of their surroundings—name, where are you, when are you, why are you here—as each one was locked back in their cell.

And each time it passed by Bill's cell, it glanced in, concerned.

Bill had been almost pleasant when he'd come out of the Solitary Wellness Void—maybe after all those sessions in isolation he was finally ready to be more of a team player. And D-SM5 had said that he'd been unusually well-behaved and attentive during the reincarnation. A-AOX4 had hoped their most surly patient was finally opening up. It would be a shame if this incident with The Beast resulted in his new progress backsliding.

Plus, it took a heavy dose of anything to impact Bill at all, much less knock him out cold. He'd already had to go to the nurse earlier today; what if he needed medical attention?

So after locking up the latest subdued prisoner, A-AOX4 said to one of the guards, "Take over monitoring incoming patients. I'm checking on Cipher."

It unlocked the door and hovered into the room. "Cipher?"

No response. He was plastered flat to the floor.

"Bill?" It floated lower to check his condition.

He was paper.

Paper meticulously colored in with yellow marker and folded into a triangle; scraps of paper colored black, carefully torn into hand and feet shapes, and shoved in the sleeves and pants of his prison uniform.

A-AOX4 lifted up the paper. On the other side was Bill's "Be a TRY-angle!" poster. He'd written across it, "IS THIS TRYING HARD ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

It turned toward the door—and discovered Bill had filled the wall with a drawing of himself making an obscene gesture, with a word bubble that read, "GIVE MY REGARDS TO THE AX! And tell Jessica I said bye xoxo"

It zoomed out into the hallway and grabbed its walkie-talkie. "Director SM5! Cipher's escaped his cell! He left a decoy! He's not with The Beast, we don't know where he is!"

There was a moment of dead air. And then the director growled, "I think I have an idea."

####

Trying to keep his giggles as quiet as possible, Bill looped through the Theraprism's halls, drifting between The Beast's rolling fields of hard candy corpses and the Theraprism's rigid monotone halls. What had he been worried about! Getting hopped up on astralplanar sugar before escaping his cell had been a great idea! It gave him instant shortcuts through half the walls! And he could handle a little buzz like this! He was totally in control of his actions and knew exactly what he—

How long had he been flying the wrong direction? He turned around. Wow was he high, he could barely focus on anything but all the colors. He wondered if The Beast's toxins had any weird interactions with his meds.

He was lucky The Beast had decided to dawdle around the Dimensional Tyrants Ward: here at the far end of the Theraprism, there were no signs of crisis beyond the sealed doors indicating the facility was under lockdown—and once he was outside a high security ward, there were plenty of cracks, gaps, and vents that Bill was thin enough to slide through. He hadn't even seen a guard since he'd left his cell. By the time he reached the reincarnation room, The Beast's landscape was fading out and the sugar crash headache was fading in, but the facility was still on lockdown and no one seemed to be looking for Bill. He slipped beneath the locked door and powered up the console to the reincarnation machine.

He skipped straight to the reincarnation program and checked the box that said, yes, the patient's brain had been washed. He paused when a warning pop-up blocked the screen. The technician hadn't gotten a pop-up. He had to read over the two-sentence warning three times before he understood what he was looking at. The soul sanitization routine hadn't been run recently, was he sure the patient's memory was erased—ugh, yes. He irritably clicked the confirmation and hoped that would be the last of it.

Bill quickly selected Earth and dimension 46'\; he tabbed past the coordinates and date, and they both automatically filled in "DEFAULT." D-SM5 had said the computer would make a "random" decision if you didn't plug in a time and place, but the staff didn't know Earth like Bill did. If he left the time and place up to the whims of fate, then something as weird as a trillion-year-old alien chaos god escaping a criminal insane asylum to spontaneously generate as a fully grown mortal would be sucked straight into the weirdest place and time on Earth. Gravity Falls: August, 2012. Weirdmageddon. He was willing to bet his life on it.

He was betting his life on it.

After that, with any luck, he'd be able to shed his new body like any other puppet and return to his castle in the sky. If for some reason he couldn't get out of it, he'd only need to pull a couple of magic tricks outside a normal mortal's capabilities to catch his past self's attention, find a way to prove his identity—heck, with any luck, they'd be seeing through each other's eyes and that would instantly confirm it—warn his past self about the Pines' treachery, prevent his own death, save Weirdmageddon, restructure the universe in his image, and rule his new party paradise as god-king for all eternity. Easy.

He scrolled down the list of available creatures, looking for something that would be easy to reach the Fearamid and prove his intelligence with—something with vocal cords that could speak eye-bat would be useful, it'd save him a lot of trouble if he could just shout at his sentinels in their own language and startle them into listening—but, to his surprise, the first useful species he found was humans, down amongst the species that had received a single-digit number of reincarnations from the Theraprism. Really, humans? They allowed that?

Over the blaring alarm, a voice made an announcement. He completely tuned it out—and only realized a moment after it ended that he'd heard his own name. They knew he'd escaped.

Bill didn't have time to search for anything better. He selected humanity.

He tabbed past dozens of features he could choose from for his body—default default default default—who cared what the body peed out of, he wasn't keeping the thing long enough to fill its bladder! He clicked open the advanced settings—there, spontaneous generation! He hoped this thing wouldn't drop him on the sidewalk as a baby, but usually when a human suddenly popped into existence, it was an adult sculpted from clay or something, right? He'd be fine! He checked the box for spontaneous generation.

He got another error message. He groaned. He wasn't sober enough for this.

Something about spontaneous generation being banned on Earth after 1859, is he willing to assume the liability if the patient generates after—yeah sure whatever, he clicked yes. Another pop-up prompted him for the digital signature of the person assuming liability. He typed in D-SM5's name.

As soon as he clicked enter, another error message popped up. "What!!"

He flinched at the sound of a muffled pneumatic hiss. Outside, somebody had unlocked the doors to this hallway. The alarm was still blaring; the Theraprism wasn't coming off lockdown. That meant whoever had unlocked the hall was coming for him.

"Focusss." He skimmed the new warning. Something about humans being on a list of species for which spontaneous generation was restricted—what loser had written a law about that! Who cared if a fully-formed, brand-new human popped out of thin air in the middle of town! What about Bill's wants?! He checked another box YES HE'S SURE HE WANTS TO SPONTANEOUSLY GENERATE A HUMAN YOU MONSTER and pounded enter.

Another pop-up. It wanted to know on which god's authority the spontaneous generation had been authorized.

Bill froze. Why did it need to know. Would it check? A machine that could reincarnate a soul was probably also a machine that could shoot off a prayer. Or was Bill supposed to have some kind of divine authorization code? Which gods were even allowed to authorize that kind of thing? He didn't know which stupid legislative body had made this stupid law or what their stupid definition of a god was! Gods weren't even real, they were just stupid, arrogant, stuck-up jerks who were powerful enough to trick people into thinking they were important! Like Bill! What name were they looking for?!

He heard voices in the hallway. He darted over to the door, slid his fingers through the seams around the doorframe to crush the latching mechanism so it couldn't be opened, and darted back. That wouldn't hold them long; he knew from experience that the guards could bust down the doors in these low security wings without much difficulty.

"Bill Cipher!" That was D-SM5. It had come personally? In any other circumstance, he'd be flattered. "Open up immediately!"

"Has that ever worked?" A god, a god, a god... his eye caught on the bas relief at the back of the next room. If there was any god this place would accept orders from... The guards were ramming the door; the bending metal groaned. He typed "THE AXOLOTL" and hit enter.

The button grayed out but the pop-up didn't go away. The screen froze. "What." Bill tried clicking again. The cursor turned into one of those little spinning balls that meant the computer was quietly having a stroke. "No no no no—"

D-SM5 hollered, "You know what the consequences will be if you don't—"

"I'm not listeniiing to yooou!"

"You're only going to hurt yourse—"

Dropping his voice to a demonic boom to drown out the director, Bill recited, "'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited! People were not—" There was a shriek of tearing metal, and then a bright glow behind Bill as D-SM5 peered through the gap in the door. Bill started talking faster, "'Were not invited they went there they got into automobiles which bore them out to Long Island and somehow—'"

The pop-up disappeared. The cursor returned to normal. The box next to spontaneous generation was checked. Bill stared for a split second, then quickly closed out the advanced settings, scrolled to the bottom of the page, and hit "EXECUTE."

Someone blasted the door out of its frame; based on the blinding glow that accompanied the blast, Bill suspected that wasn't one of the guards, but D-SM5 itself. He frantically clicked through the next two confirmations, flung a couple of folding chairs toward D-SM5 and its thugs, and dove beneath the door to the next room. Ten seconds.

"Cancel the reincarnation!" D-SM5 snapped.

A guard ran to the console. (What if they saw where Bill had gone? They could probably guess the planet, but would the computer keep records of his destination, what his new body looked like—) "I don't see a cancel! I don't think—"

"Then get him off the altar!"

Five seconds. Please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please— Bill hadn't broken the door between the observation room and the altar; the guards easily unlocked it. "No no no—!"

"Don't let him esc—!"

Three seconds. An impossibly bright light shone down on Bill. He reflexively peeled open his exoskeleton to accept it. LIGHT—oh, he felt even more alive than the time he'd stolen a bottle of stimulants from the nurse station, ground them up, and snorted them off Mrs. Mirrorcube's back. His eye widened, taking in as much free energy as he could—and then he focused his gaze through the window on the console, focusing the infinite light into a laser powerful enough to instantly melt through the window and explode the computer. The guards fell back, trying to shield their tender mortal flesh from the fury of Bill's fire. Enjoy the blisters.

D-SM5 bellowed, "Bill Cipher, you mo—!"

"CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SUCKA!" He could feel his body ripping apart, cracking open at the wound. It hurt, but not the hurt of dying; it was the euphoric hurt of spaghettification, of being infinitely sucked beyond a beautiful event horizon. Bill's triumphant cackle filled the air—

—and then the room was silent and dark, and Bill was gone.

####

(If you're new here: I posted this as a one shot because I think we could all use a little Bill escaping from Theraprism, yeah? However it's ALSO part of my ongoing Bill-stuck-in-a-human-body fic I'm currently editing for TBOB compatibility. So, if you enjoyed this and want to see where post-reincarnation Bill goes, check out the fic!! And if you DON'T want to read the rest of the fic, I hope you enjoyed the one shot and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

If you do check out the main fic be forewarned it's only 100% TBOB compatible up to chapter 6. After that it is, bizarrely, 98% TBOB compatible, because somehow I accidentally wrote a fic that lines up with the book so well that I'm legit worried people could use TBOB to work out fic spoilers. But I still need to edit the remaining 2%.

If you're NOT new here: hey gang this is the new chapter 6!!! I finished editing this chapter about fifteen minutes before post time so it's not as polished as my usual chapters, but I hope it didn't read that way. Anyway, I look forward to hearing what y'all think!)

#bill cipher #theraprism #the book of bill #the book of bill spoilers #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(posting this like a oneshot because it basically is and i want people to be able to read it like a one shot)#(however it's ALSO the new chapter six)

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