#go ahead and ruin that fragile skin for me

[sidemari]

• NSFW Drabbles •

Pairings: Kaeya, Alhaitham, Neuvillete, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha, Dottore, Ayato, Wriosthesley [separately and in this order] x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mature content ahead, so only 18+ are allowed to interact. Read responsibly and enjoy! Forgive me for any mistakes. This is a repost to check my blog's reach on this platform.

Kaeya

Helpless

"Ah, ah… Don't move" His voice was a mere whisper against your neck. Gelid fingers touched the very right places to make you squirm under his touch. You managed to overcome the sensation until his fingers caressed your bundle of nerves with the exactly intensity so a helplessly whimper could leave your lips. "Please… I-" "Be a good girl for me and take it like I please"

One of the ways Kaeya can make his lover helpless is using his powers. The sudden change of temperature always manages to get the most curious reactions out of you. Besides that, showing to his beloved he's the one who decides how, when and where things will happen based on his will is amusing to him. Seeing his baby completely at his mercy, unaware of what will happen next or what will be his next move make the adrenalin run through his veins. That feeling is addictive.

Alhaitham

Breeding kink

His grip around your hips was strong enough to almost leave marks on your skin. His pace wasn't really fast, he took his time savoring the sensations that your already claimed sex gave him every single time he almost got out of you just so he could bury himself inside of you once again. Soft whispers about his deepest fantasies and desires filled the cold air. "Alhaitham…" You barely managed to mumble. How long had you both been there? "Just one more time, love. I need you dripping with my seed" A vulnerable moan left his lips before his movements started faltering. "Do you want that, baby? Do you want to be claimed as mine this filthy way?"

You couldn't form words. His only answer were your whimpers.

"Do you need me to fuck my cum inside your womb? Can your little cunt take it?" His essence was already mixed with yours as your lovemaking marked the sheets.

Was it filthy? Disconcerting? Fuck it, his only goal that night was impregnating you for good.

"Will you be a good partner and bear our child inside your womb?" You assented weakly. "Kiss me like you mean it"

Neuvilette

Breeding kink

You were driving him insane. He needed to have his way with you soon or else it would be his ruin. Controlling his urges was an easy task till the day he saw you for the first time. So innocent, so ready to be his. So pretty, so alluring. You were the only thing that occupied his thoughts the last weeks. Neuvilette finally made the move and now you were finally his, completely bounded.

His eyes didn't leave yours while he kept pounding his cock inside your heat. The sounds you and your bodies made filled the Court of Fontaine's ambience. He knew that was outrageous but something about taking away your innocence in the place he exercised his authority every single day was enough to make him almost arrogant. It was him that was claiming you over and over again at that very salon. Your body was already fragile by the exhaustion but he kept going. He had to. His strong hands managed to support your body as he lifted you from his lap just enough so your hips could meet again. Every single encounter of your heats was enough to send shivers down his spine. His heart only desired one thing that dawn and it was bonding your souls forever with an heir. The only goal crossing his mind was making sure you left that place with his child being formed inside your womb. "I could mark you like this every day if that meant you'd be forever mine" Your hands squeezed his shoulders, earning a moan from his lips. "You like that? You squeeze me every time I say you belong to me and only me" His mouth sucked the skin from your neck so a hickey was now very visible. "Neuvi…" Your orgasm finally happened once again as the sun was now completely raised. He followed you, filling you up completely once again with his essence. You melted against him. His hands caressed the small of your back with delicacy, while soft reassuring words were mumbled against your ear. "You'll be such an angelic mother to our child" But was that even right? You both met not long ago. Little did you know he actually managed to breed you raw that occasion. Still, you suspected that was already happening by the time you kissed him deeply. "Make me yours once again. Claim me the way you always wanted, love"

Childe/Tartaglia

Breeding kink

Coming from a big family himself is only natural that Childe plans to have a family of his own. The only thing that was intriguing was how far he would get in order to make sure you'd be the mother of his children. He would leave the country for a mission that had to deadline to finish and that filled his being with angst. How long would you stay apart? How long will his dream have to wait? You had been trying for a child it's been a while, still that didn't really happen. He kept reassuring you every single time it turned out you weren't pregnant, but it was inevitable that Childe's heart just sank at the possibility of never having his own family. "I'm sorry" You whispered that night. "I just don't know what's wrong with me" "Hey, look at me" His fingers cupped your face. "We'll figure it out together, deal? Just don't feel guilty about any of this" Cleaning your tears with his thumb, he started undressing you with delicacy.

It would be your last night together until heaven knows when you'd be reunited.

He made love to you that night. It wasn't just about sex. It was about tying your souls together while you both tried to conceive a life. The ultimate sign of your love. The proof of your love.

He pulled you to a kiss that lasted as long as it could, only being broken whenever you both needed to breathe properly or when his movements were somewhat harsher. When you parted, your hands caressed his soft hair as you admired him. "What's it, my girl?" He asked before a giggle left his lips. "Do you want me to go harder?" "I just want you so much" His skilled fingers rubbed your sensitive clit while his tongue worked around your nipple. "Fuck… Just like that…" Your back arched when his tip reached the deepest part within you until now as the constant sucking at your nipple made you crumble under him. "Fill me up, please" You begged, as you squeezed your legs around his waist. "Say that again, doll" "Fill me to the brim. I need all of it" "Does my girl need another load of her lover's cum inside of her? Tell me, what does my pretty girl want from me?" "I need you to cum inside of me, don't stop until I'm full of you"

He smiled. He would give you exactly what you wanted.

Once again he finished inside you, filling your walls with his seed. He pounded it into you a few more times as your walls squeezed him. He was still inside of you when you guided his hands to your lower belly, pressing his palm against the discrete bulge his cock created. "I promise when you return, we'll have had our son" He smiled against your lips. "How do you even know it will be a boy? Or if I even managed to knock you up?" "Intuition"

You were right. The next winter was spent with the newest addition of your family: a little copy of his dad.

Albedo

Aftercare, Breeding kink, and "Sadism"

It was snowing when he first met yout. Such a cold day and still you were at Dragonspine. All alone and quiet. You always managed to take care of yourself even in the most dangerous place of the nation. Nothing of the dreads of that biome managed to caught you unprepared. That was the main reason he started paying attention to you whenever he saw your frame from his laboratory.

"Why were you even there that day?" He caressed your wet hair, letting all your worries dissappear for some minutes. "I was looking for some time alone"

The warm water from the bathtub felt like heaven after an entire day at Dragonspine helping the alchemist.

"I see…" He muttered, before getting lost in thoughts once again. "Albedo?" "Yes?" "You're so quiet… Is everything alright?"

His eyes finally met yours after long moments of waiting. "I'm good, yes. Why the question?" "You're different since this afternoon" "That kid seemed to like you" He ignored your statement. "What?" "The lost kid, remember? The one we helped finding their parents at the camp today" "Oh… I think they were just scared. Drogonspine can be terrifying sometimes" "You looked so beautiful carrying him"

He broke the eye contact. But you noticed his gaze getting darker.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, still afraid of his answer. "I just can't stop imagining you carrying a child of ours, is all. But I guess it's just an ephemeral thought, it'll pass"

It wasn't an ephemeral thought. And it didn't pass for his ruin. Over and over again the only thing that kept taking his focus away was the idea of claiming and breeding you with all of his devotion.

That night he would get what he craved. He needed to get what he wanted.

You said you'd think about trying for a baby and long weeks passed since you promised that. He started getting impatient.

"Bedo, your tea is ready come and-" You said softly before you felt him hugging you from behind. "Clingy, aren’t we?" "Have you made up your mind?" "I did" His eyes lifted to meet yours, searching for the unspoken answer. He pulled you to a kiss that took you a moment to accept. "Finally" He mumbled against your lips. He guided you to your bedroom as fhe tea got cold on the counter.

(…)

You were on all fours as he pounded inside of you mercilessly - almost reaching your cervix with every single thrust of his.

Was that your forth or fifth orgasm? You didn't really know. The only thing that mattered to you was the perfect way your lover was fucking you raw that night.

"T-Too much…" You gasped, unable to stay in the same position for much more. The grip on your hair became strong enough to cause discomfort - a whimper of pain leaving your lips. "Stay on the fucking same position if you still wanna cum tonight" Now both of his hands were on your hips, nails sinking into your skin - causing discomfort and still, you begged for more. "You're so pretty like this… You're taking me so well, my love"

He stopped his movements. "Albedo?" "On your back"

Pining you against the mattress, he started pounding you once again. His tongue swirled around your sensitive nipple while his hips didn’t falter one single time. Leaving your hips for some seconds, his hand went to gather a device from the pocket of his jacket, still it wasn't the time to use it. The constant sucking of your nipples brought tears to your eyes as you struggled to stay present in the moment.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked, taking away the hair from your face. "Fuck no… I need to get the most of you"

You weakly guided his hand to your neck. He understood what you wanted. Squeezing your neck enough to see you melt under him, his movements continued. "Harder" You whimpered. He squeezed your neck once again but his grip was way more firm this time. "Say that again" "Fuck me harder" He smiled. "You're perfect"

His thrusts became so vicious you knew you'd be sore in the morning. But still, you ignited a flame within him you didn't regret.

"It hurts…" You gasped when you felt his teeth sank against the soft flesh of your neck. "I'm glad it does"

He was marking you all the ways he could. You'd now carry those marks who would take long days to fade away.

"Do you like when I do these things to you?" You could only weakly agree.

One single touch at that point and you'd be squirming under him. You were so close.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to sink him deeper within you as you both finally finished together.

Uneasy breathing. Sore bodies. Devotion.

"I wish I could stay right here forever" He sighed, before pulling out. Quickly enough to not waste a single drop out of his essence, he put the small plug that once was hidden in his pocket to use.

Collapsing by your side, he pulled you to a kiss, caressing your cheek with him thumb while his hands cupped your face. "Did I went to too far?" You shook your head. "It was probably the best night I've had"

A chuckle left his lips. "Let me check you" The tip of his fingers trailed your skin with delicacy, checking for anything that could cause you discomfort later.

"Those hickeys look like they'll be hurting in the next few days" He touched one of them, noticing how you shivered under his touch. "I'll make sure I'll kiss them better everyday until they're gone" "Does your neck hurt?" He pressed kisses against your neck and collarbones. "No, no at all" "Good"

The knuckles of his fingers caressed your lower belly with love as he looked lost in thoughts. You kissed his forehead. "Already thinking about them?" "Am I so predictable?" "I guess you're sometimes"

Putting his hair behind his ears, you pulled him to another kiss that last longer than before. You thought you were done for the night till you felt his erection against your thigh.

"What about the tea I made?" He smiled. "Forget the tea" He breathed against your lips "Let me love you again, until dawn comes"

Kaedehara Kazuha

Breeding kink, Exhibitionism

The smell of rain was almost fading by the time you both entered the onsen. The sun was almost setting as you both walked through the warm waters. Feeling the stress melt against his touch, you sighed loudly, allowing his firm hands massage your tension away. "I wish we could stay like this forever" He kissed your shoulder. "Let us enjoy the few moments we got alone tonight" His hand traveled to your breasts, squeezing them just so he could get a gasp from you. "Kazu… Here?" "I don't really mind anyone seeing me claiming you under the moon, my muse" You could feel his grin against your nape. "May I?" You consented.

His lips pressed kisses against your shoulders as you took your hair out of the way. His fingers abused both of your nipples with the perfect pressure and movements. You sighed his name when he pulled you against his body, making you feel his erection. "See what you do to me, love?" His fingers opened your mouth. "Suck them"

You did. Just like the way he pleased.

His hand hoovered against the skin of your hips until he finally reached your heat, opening your folds so he could prepare you for him. "Just do it already…" You begged.

He listened something. The same sound as if someone was fuzzing around the sand covered floor.

"I think someone may be watching us" He whispered against your ear. "I'll let them know who you belong to" His hand guided his cock to tease your sex, collecting some of your own essence so he could bury himself into you with ease.

You whimpered. He smiled, knowing that if someone was truly watching you they'd be startled by now.

Setting a fast pace, Kazuha abused your sensitive hole deliciously as you struggled to stay grounded. If it weren't by his strong grip on your waist, you'd be on your knees because of his hard thrusts. "Kazuha-" You gasped as your body jerked with the shock of his hips meeting yours. "Harder"

He wasn't really fond of spanking. But he had to put up a show for the stupid man watching you.

His hand slapped your ass strong enough to make you squirm. Your walls squeezed him harder as precum already painted your insides.

"You like that?" Another slap came. "Do you like when I fuck you like this, my girl?"

You didn't manage to answer. So he stopped his movements abruptly.

"Kazuha?" "Answer me if you wanna cum"

A sinful moan left your lips when his hand gripped your hair. "Say it. Say how you like it and how much you need me fucking you dumb" His thrusts started once again, for heaven's sake. "Fuck… Just l-like that" You gasped. "Fuck me until the only thing I think is you"

It was the first time you both didn't use protection but you or especially him couldn't give a single fuck about it.

It was finally time his deepest fantasies would be fulfilled.

"Do you want me to cum inside of you, uh?" The hair pulling became stronger. "Do you want to feel for once what's like being filled up with cum?" "Fuck yes… Please d-don't stop" "What would people think if they knew their so loved (Name) is begging to receive a creampie?"

He teased you about the thing you cared the most - the reputation of a pure person. Your cheeks got red at the thought. But you couldn't ignore your urges.

"Would you still beg me to breed you? Would you simply ignore people's opinions about how dirty you can be?" "Yes… Yes, if that meant you'd claim me over and over again, marking me whole"

Was the person still watching? He smiled at your devotion.

You both came together. Your legs faltered when your orgasm hit you, but he managed to hold you in place as thick ropes of cum filled your insides.

"Warm…" You mumbled. "How does it feel?" He asked, still thrusting his cum inside you as if he could make his seed reach even deeper within you. "Archons… It feels s-so good"

He pulled out, soon noticing the shadow of someone was still there outside. His lips curled in a smirk. His little show was a success. But the person didn't leave.

You felt some of your mixed essence seeping against your inner thigh right before Kazuha spoke amused; "Oh, you're wasting it. I think I may need to fuck you again" The man guided you to the corner of the onsen, where he laid on the ground. "Come here, allow me to clean you up before I claim you again"

You were always shy about that particular and common invite of his, but his soft gaze reassured you it was alright. He truly meant it.

Positioning your sex right at his mouth, your hands leaned on the sides of his head as he gripped your hips firmly. His warm tongue swirled around your clit as you pressed yourself more against his face.

"Fuck, just like that…" Kazuha moaned when you pulled his hair and guided his head soflty upwards against your heat. "I can never get enough of you" His words were sloppy.

He finished his task with some kisses against your thighs just so he could tease you again.

"So clean and so ready to be ruined again"

You adjusted yourself so your lips were on the same level as his. Pulling him to a kiss, you tasted yours and his own essence on his tongue. It was addicting.

"What if I knocked you up? Ah, f-fuck" He broke the kiss but didn't get to finish his line as you buried himself inside of you once again. "I'd gladly carry our child"

Dottore

Breeding kink, Obsession

The room was torturously cold. As he was writing the results of his latest research, you were nearby curiously watching him. He noticed your gaze way quicker than you expected. "Is something the matter?" He said softly, tapping his lap so you'd stay closer to him. "I'm fine" You mumbled, adjusting yourself on his lap. "I'm just cold"

By that time you already knew that following all of his commands was the only thing you could do to save your skin. Show hesitation, resistance or even fear had always awaken something even worse inside of him. Something you weren't willing to deal with that night.

One of his hands caressed your hair as the other finished his notes for the day. "Haven't you got used to the temperature by this time?" He smiled against your forehead. "It's been months since I rescued you"

Rescued.

More like taking you away from your own life.

But why? Why did it feel so right being by his side?

"Take off your clothes, pet" He purred, his eyes challenging you.

Dottore's dark gaze never left yours as you obeyed, removing your shirt and trousers to reveal the frame he was obsessed with. He licked his lips as he looked at you, admiring every curve of your body, the way your nipples were so sensitive to the room's temperature, the blush on your cheeks… Fuck, he could ruin you right now.

You were wet by just looking at him, your body responding to his dominant presence and the anticipation of what was to come. Turning around, you landed gracefully against the bed.

Your eyes locked as he closed the distance between you, stepping onto the sheets. His movements were calculated, confident, hungry.

He reached for you, pulling you close and crushing your lips together, your tongues dancing as they tasted on each other's lips.

You moaned, feeling your whole body light up at his touch.

You could feel his stiff cock pressing against your stomach and your core throbbed with desire. She pushed him away, just enough to look him in the eyes.

You leaned in and whispered in his ear, "I want you to fuck me. I want you to breed me." Your words ignited a primal urge in him. Dottore grabbed your hips and pulled you closer, positioning himself at your entrance. "Are you ready for me, pet?" He asked, his voice husky with desire. "Yes… I'm always ready for you " You breathed, your voice barely audible as you looked into his eyes.

He thrust into you, filling your tight pussy with his thick cock. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as he began to pound into you, each thrust was harder than the last, leaving you breathless and dizzy with pleasure.

"I can't get enough of you," He grunted, as he continued his movements. Your whole body was shaking with pleasure as he filled you up, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Harder…" You begged, reaching up to grip into his arms. Dottore obliged, ramping up his speed and force until the release was so close you both couldn't postpone it anymore. He painted your insides white, a chuckle leaving his lips. "Perhaps capturing you wasn't a bad idea at all, huh?"

Kamisato Ayato

Foreplay and Teasing

Heading a clan was exhausting. Sometimes it could be terrifying. But he had you, and that meant everything would be okay in the end. He truly believed that.

Ayato pinched his eyebridge in frustration. "Ayato… I can call this meeting over" "It's okay, I think they'll shut up at some point"

Your hand traveled down the table so you could caress his thigh. Your nails were the right lenght to send shivers down his spine while you kept hovering against the fabric of his clothes - going up towards his waist, before almost reaching his knees and swirling patters against his inner thigh. "Love… I-" "Shh, they'll notice something if you change your behavior" You mumbled against his ear.

His was already hard. So little stimulation from you was enough to drive him completely insane.

You squeezed the bulge that ached against his pants and soon your fingers were occupied caressing the exact area of the tip.

You could see some of his tension being washing away and his impatience were switched to retrained uneasiness.

Some other important members of the Tenryou Commission were speaking the most obvious things an Inazuma person could hear. The both of you didn't deserve that.

Ayato faked he was fixing something on his gloves to try and distract himself from the fact your hands were now at the brim of his pants, ready to touch his aching cock.

"May I?" You asked for consent with your gaze. He assented.

He was seeping some tea when your fingers started stimulating his tip. Swallowing hardly, Ayato's just hoped your actions wouldn't be noticed. Using his precum, you managed to make small movements against his shaft just so he could squirm in his place, as if he was adjusting himself against his seat.

"This isn't fair…" He muttered when an agitation rose between the guests of the reunion. "I can't wait to be inside of you" - It sounded almost as a cry. "I can always call the meeting over but I guess you just like being teased" "You're so done when I get to have you"

He managed to keep it cool and fake everything was alright until his orgasm was almost hitting him.

"I think we can discuss the rest later" He said firmly, as you stopped your dirty work and fixed his clothes without earning attention.

"My office?" "Sure, I'll be there"

He was already so ready when you arrived. Completely naked, sat on his armchair. Only with a thin sheet covering him - thin enough so you could see his frame while he stimulated his tip with his index.

Locking the door, you got on your knees.

"Did you plan any of this?" He asked quietly, letting the sheets slip against his body and form a puddle on his feet. "It wasn't like you" "You mean I can't be a tease?" "No. I mean I'm the one who usually teases you. But I'm willing to see more of that"

You licked his tip before taking part of him inside your mouth. "Fuck… Just like that" His hands guided your movements, but you still didn't take him fully in your mouth, instead, you played with his balls while you sucked him the way he pleased. "It may feel so good having you mouth occupied for once, uh?" With that, your hand squeezed hard the part of his cock you couldn't take in your mouth. "Oh fuck… You're so hot like that… Suck me dry, love. Be a good girl for me and let me cum in that mouth"

One of your hands went to your heat. Archons, you were dripping. So ready to take him completely. So ready to be fucked raw inside that office.

His hands pulled your hair up. He was almost there. For once, you took him entirely inside your mouth, fastening your movements. "Cum, master" You said before you licked the precum seeping out of his tip. "I want you to cum inside my mouth"

He did. And you showed your mouth full of his seed to him before swallowing all of it. You licked his cock clean before pressing his tip against your lips in a final kiss.

He was still hard enough to continue. Sitting on his lap, you teased his tip with your folds, wetting his cock just enough to bury itself into you with ease.

"Show me if I did good to you this morning"

Wriosthesley

Offer

He didn't seem to like your presence a single bit, his eyes swallowing you mercilessly as an dissatisfied expression was all over his face. "Do you need anything more, my grace?" You asked quietly, trying to return to your dorm as quickly as possible.

He could be terrifying if he wanted. His presence by itself was already so full of authority you felt your heart race at the thought of possibly irritating him.

"Come closer" He finally spoke. "No need to stay so far away when you're talking to me" You got closer to him awkwardly.

"Anything else I could do for you?"

He chuckled.

"So formal…" He took a sip of his tea. "Could you lock the door?" "I beg your pardon, my grace?" He got out of his place

What was he up to? You obeyed him. Looking at him curiously, you kept silent.

Leaning in to a kiss, he locked the door behind you before pressing your body against the door frame as he gained dominance. "I missed you" He said between kisses. "I thought we wouldn't keep in touch after last time" "Staying away from you would be the ruin of me" His lips pressed against that exact sensitive spot of your neck that always had you squirming under him in those past nights. "Wriosthesley…" You breathed out. "I should go now. It's the best I can do" "Your body says otherwise"

His fingers played with the buttons from your shirt, as if he was testing your fidelity to the promise you made long ago about not mixing work and feelings.

"One last time together and I'll set you free"

What a cunning offer.

"One last time" You whispered, before pulling him to a kiss.

Like a butterfly trapped in a spiderweb, his presence was enough to always pull you towards him.

"Get on your knees," He commanded, his voice dripping with lust as he broke the kiss.

You obeyed, sinking to your knees as you looked up at him. His gaze was full of hunger and dominance, a heady combination that made you even wetter. You reached down and wrapped your hand around his cock, feeling its hardness straining against your soft palm.

You stroked him gently, teasing him as pre-cum dripped from the tip of his cock.

"Fuck, that feels so good," Wriosthesley groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he continued to gently stroke him. "Be a good girl and suck me dry"

[poekaryote]

skeptic (you don't think they actually love you back)

ft. dazai, chuuya, atsushi, akutagawa

dazai.

you’ve always known dazai is ten steps ahead. he reads people like paperbacks—knows when they’re about to cry before they do, knows which lies they want to believe most. you weren’t naive enough to think you were any different.

so when he told you he loved you, you didn’t believe him.

not fully. not really. how could you? he always knew just what to say. he could read your silences and lull your fears to sleep with a smile, kiss your doubts away with that maddening, calculated gentleness. his words felt too perfect. too easy.

but he kept saying it.

softly, often, sometimes without sound—just in the look he gave you when he thought you were asleep, or in the way he’d steal your laundry from the line just to press his face into the fabric.

he’d whisper it when he tied your scarf. when he touched your cheek after you cried. when he watched you wake up, they were the first words that left his lips in the morning. like he couldn’t stop himself.

“you don’t have to say it back,” he said once, his voice low, arms loose around your waist. “just believe me when i say it.”

and he really did sound like he meant it. really!

but your brain kept chewing it up, spitting it out. dazai was brilliant. he was bored. he was dangerous. if he loved you, then he must’ve decided to. calculated it. scripted it. it couldn’t be real, could it?

one night, the thought slipped out. too sharp, too cruel.

“you don’t actually love me,” you whispered. “you just know how to play the part.”

silence.

you saw something flicker in his eyes. not hurt—he hid that well—but something quieter. sadder. like disappointment, not in you, but in himself.

“…i was afraid you’d think that,” he said eventually, inching his hand closer carefully. “i’ve been trying so hard not to sound like i’m lying.”

he looked so tired. so genuine. like someone who’d been rehearsing the truth because no one believed it when he said it.

“but you’ve lied to so many people,” you said.

he doesn’t ask you to take it back.

he doesn’t get defensive. doesn’t crack a joke. doesn’t smirk like it’s funny to be misunderstood — he just sits with it. shoulders low. eyes down. the silence stretches like something sharp and fragile between you.

his fingers ghost over yours like they’re afraid of being shaken off. he turns your palm upward, cradles it with both of his hands like something precious, delicate — something he's ruined before and doesn't know how to fix.

you watch him lower his head.

his lips press to your knuckles. once. then again. and again.

a soft kiss to every ridge of bone, every dip of skin. patient. reverent. like prayer.

“i do love you,” he says into your hand, voice almost trembling.

another kiss.

“i know i’m not believable. i know.”

another kiss.

“but it’s the only thing i haven’t lied about.”

your breath catches. you want to believe him. truly. but the part of you that’s been gnawed on by doubt, shaped by fear — it twitches, recoils, prepares for the hurt that always seems to follow when you let yourself soften.

he looks up then, lips still resting lightly on your fingers. his eyes are tired in that way he never lets people see — the kind of tired that isn't about sleep, but about being alive too long. about fighting to be understood in a language no one trusts.

“i don’t expect you to say anything,” he whispers. “i just… need you to know it’s real. even if you can’t feel it yet.”

you don’t speak. your hand is still in his. he doesn’t let go.

he kisses the inside of your wrist next, so gently you barely feel it — like the ghost of a promise he’s not sure he’s allowed to make.

no happy ending. not tonight.

but he holds your hand like he still believes in one.

chuuya.

you never said it out loud, but part of you always felt like chuuya was too much to love you back.

too composed. too powerful. too sure of himself. he carried the weight of the mafia on his back like it was nothing, and he’d walk through hell with his head held high just to come home and kiss your forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you didn’t think someone like that could really be in love with someone like you. not for long, anyway.

because when he held you, it felt too safe. too warm. like he knew exactly how to make you feel wanted—like it was muscle memory. like it was easy.

so the thought crept in. he doesn’t need you. not really.

chuuya, who could take down an entire building with a flick of his wrist, who spoke in sharp orders and careless remarks, who wiped blood from his knuckles with one hand and cupped your cheek with the other.

he deserved someone better. and you were sure, so sure, that eventually, he’d realize that too.

he noticed, of course.

he always noticed.

you’d shrink away when he tried to spoil you—brush off his compliments like lint on your sleeve. he’d kiss your shoulder and feel the way you tensed beneath him. you never believed him when he called you the best thing that ever happened to him.

so one night, after you flinched away from his praise for the third time that evening, he said your name in that quiet, low voice he only used when he was scared.

“why don’t you think i love you?”

you froze.

his hands were still in his lap, fingers fidgeting like they couldn’t settle. you sat across from him, knees barely brushing, and your breath hitched when you met his eyes. his hair was mussed, his lips slightly parted like he’d just said something he couldn’t take back. and he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that hadn’t slipped through his fingers yet.

“i know i’m not perfect,” he said quietly. “but i’ve never been this certain about anything before. and it’s—god, it’s frustrating. i’ve let my guard down more than i ever have, and you still think it’s a game.”

you blinked at him, startled. “i just… you’re chuuya, and i’m…”

the the rest of the sentence felt too small, too pathetic, and too terrifying to say out loud.

you looked down instead, afraid that if you said how you really felt, he’d realize you weren’t worth all this effort after all.

“don’t,” he cut in, shaking his head. “don’t do that. don’t make yourself small around me.”

“i love you,” he said, firm. “not because i planned to. not because i should. just because i do.”

your chest caved in. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.

“...you really mean it?”

your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. like if you said it any louder, the moment might shatter.

chuuya’s gaze didn’t falter. his eyes, usually so sharp and sure, softened at the edges. he looked at you like he wanted you to see yourself the way he did. like if he stared hard enough, it would make all your doubt disappear.

“i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.”

there was no trace of annoyance in his voice. no impatience. just quiet truth.

and chuuya didn’t move. didn’t rush to kiss you, didn’t pull you into some grand, sweeping embrace. he just stayed there—close enough to touch, but still, careful. letting you be the one to reach across the space, if you wanted to.

and maybe that’s what made your chest ache most of all.

he wasn’t trying to convince you anymore. he was just… waiting. hoping.

and you didn’t know if you believed him completely yet. but something in the weight of his stillness, the quiet way he was holding back just enough, made you think—maybe.

maybe he meant it.

maybe he wasn’t going anywhere.

you looked down, blinking fast, your voice barely a whisper when it came.

“…okay.”

he didn’t say anything. just exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath, too. his knee brushed yours, and for once, you didn’t pull away.

atsushi.

he’s too nice to tell you the truth. that’s what you think, sometimes.

he holds doors open for strangers. he thanks waiters by name. he flinches when people raise their voices, and he forgives even when he probably shouldn’t.

so when he says he loves you—of course he does. of course he thinks he does.

but a part of you is convinced he’s just being kind. soft-hearted. careful not to hurt your feelings. maybe you looked too sad that day. maybe he felt sorry for you. maybe he thought you needed someone to say it.

and of course he would. atsushi would take a knife to the heart before he took away someone’s hope.

you don’t want to doubt him—but when you think about it logically, how can you not? he’s like this with everyone. kind, patient, gentle to a fault. maybe he doesn’t even know what real affection feels like. maybe that’s why he takes it from you—someone who, honestly, isn’t all that special at the end of the day.

you’re both sitting on the edge of the bed. he’s behind you, brushing your hair with gentle hands, like it’s second nature. you feel your chest twist, aching as your head gets too loud—too crowded with thoughts you’ve tried to ignore.

your eyes blur a little, focused on nothing in particular. the way the light hits the floor. the faint sound of his breath. it all feels far away. like you’re not really here. like you’re watching from across the room. 

you swallow hard as the thoughts eat your brain to its core.

he doesn’t notice at first—he’s focused and careful. he’s afraid of pulling too hard on your hair, pressing the comb too hard into your scalp. but eventually, he senses it. the way your shoulders stay stiff. the way you won’t look at him.

“did i do something wrong?” he asks, soft, unsure.

“you don’t have to keep pretending,” you say suddenly.

the words come out raw, unplanned—like they slipped past the filter you’ve been holding up for weeks.

“pretend what?” he asks, his voice breaking just a little at the edges.

“that you’re in love with me.”

his hand stops moving.

his lips part—like he wants to say something. anything. but nothing comes out.

because how is he supposed to speak when it feels like the ground's dropped out beneath him?

you’re the only person who’s ever made him feel like he matters. like he’s more than what he used to be—more than the monster people called him, more than the coward he thought he was. and now you’re sitting here, hands clenched, voice cracking, thinking he doesn’t love you?

thinking he’s just pretending?

his throat tightens. he can’t breathe past the ache in it.

how did i mess this up? how did i not love you loud enough to be believed?

he’s panicking quietly, heart splintering as he scrambles for the right words—until your voice cuts through the noise in his head.

“you’re too nice to say otherwise,” you mumble. “i wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t feel that way. i know i’m not…” you swallow again. “i know i’m not easy to love.”

for a moment, it’s quiet. you think maybe he’ll laugh, gently. maybe he’ll say you’re being silly, or that you’re wrong. maybe he’ll try to convince you, tell you how wonderful you are, list reasons like it’s some quiz he studied for.

but he doesn’t.

he just pulls you in. wraps his arms around you like you’ve said something awful and he’s holding you through the guilt. not to argue. not to fix. just to be there.

his face presses to your shoulder. you feel the shake of his breath.

“i’m not saying it because i’m nice,” he says quietly. “i’m saying it because i can’t not say it.”

you freeze.

“i tried not to,” he adds, almost embarrassed. “when i first realized. i thought, you know, maybe i was just… grateful. maybe it was too soon. maybe i’d hurt you if i said anything.” his grip tightens. “but i couldn’t help it. not then. not now. and if you ever stopped loving me—i’d still feel this way.”

your throat stings. he’s so close. his voice is low and trembling, nothing performative about it.

“i’m not here because i feel sorry for you,” he whispers. “i’m here because i love you. just you. not who you try to be. not who you think i want. just you.”

he smiles a little, glancing down at you with a pure glint in his eyes.

and you want to believe him. want it so badly it almost hurts.

so you don’t say anything. you just nod and let yourself stay where you are—tucked in his arms, heart still doubting, but quieter now.

and atsushi doesn’t ask for anything more than that.

akutagawa.

he makes you feel small. not on purpose, maybe. not always.

but he’s spent his entire life convinced that strength is the only thing that matters. he will never let himself succumb to the weakling that his mentor once looked down on everyday. 

you feel small next to him. unsure. slow to speak and slower to act, especially under the weight of his gaze. he’s never called you weak, not directly, but you see it in the way his jaw clenches when you hesitate. the way he looks away when your hands shake.

akutagawa despises weakness.

so what does that make you?

you try not to ask. you don’t want to hear the answer.

but you feel it in every touch you turn down. every kiss you don’t ask for. if he reaches for you, you let him. but you don’t reach back. if he praises you, you brush it off. pretend you didn’t hear. pretend it didn’t matter.

because if you let yourself want those things, if you clung to him . . .

he’d see you for what you really are.

“you’re doing it again,” he says one night, quietly.

you blink. he’s sitting across from you, coat half shrugged off, his eyes cold but not cruel. not tonight.

“…doing what?”

“looking at me like i’m going to leave you.” his tone doesn’t accuse. it states.

you take a second, hoping not to reveal how nervous you are.

“…you hate weakness,” you mutter, trying to be as monotone as possible. “i know you do.”

his stare doesn’t shift.

“and?”

your hands curl in your lap. your chest tightens. “and i’m—” you shake your head. “i’m not strong like you are.”

you don’t mean for your voice to crack. but it does.

you expect silence. rejection. that sharp, flat voice of his saying then get stronger.

but instead—he exhales. and he looks… sad.

not annoyed. not disappointed. just… upset that he can’t express himeslf.

“…i do hate weakness,” he says. “but not in the way you think.”

you don’t move. you don’t breathe.

“i hate it when people pretend,” he continues. “when they do anything for pity. when they refuse to try. when they lie about what they are just to feel safe.”

his hand comes to rest beside yours, not quite touching.

“but you’ve never done that. not once.”

you glance up. his face is unreadable—but his hand is steady. open.

“you try, even when it terrifies you. you don’t lie about the parts of yourself that hurt. you let me see you—even when you’re scared of what i’ll find.”

his voice lowers. “that’s not weakness. not to me.”

your eyes burn. your throat tightens. you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear that.

you look down at his hand. it hasn’t moved. it’s still there. still waiting.

his fingers curl outward a little. he doesn’t want to make you take it if you don’t want to, but he needs to let you know that you can.

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 6

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 7.6k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Once again, you find it hard to sleep. How could you not?

You’ve been alternating sides, closing your eyes, and staring up at the ceiling or a random spot on the wall, but none of it works. You know it’s only been maybe an hour since Gojo has been on watch. However, an hour of straight restlessness feels like three. 

With a sigh, you sit up. You stare across from you at the peeling wallpaper of a decade-old wall, eyes flickering over to the chair Gojo sits at. He seems to be watching the window, eyes focused on any possible movement from the outside that could be perceived as dangerous. When he hears sheets rustling, he looks over and notices you standing up from the bed. You stretch your arms above your head, his eyes peeking down to the sliver of skin that shows from your shirt. “Not sleeping?”

“Gonna use the restroom.”

“Just pick a corner,” he waves his hand. 

You scoff and narrow your eyes. “I’m not a disgusting man like you, I’m using an actual toilet.”

He dramatically rolls his eyes. He too stands with a grunt, grabbing Nanami’s bat. “Alright, fine. I’ll—”

“I can go alone,” you’re quick to interrupt, eyebrow raised. 

Gojo gives you a pointed look, lips quirking up just slightly. “And if something’s in there? You planning to charm it with your sparkling personality?”

You cross your arms. “I’ve survived this long, haven’t I?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice, but not his smirk. “Barely. You’re concussed, remember? One wrong move and you could faint mid-squat. What then?”

You roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you whiplash. “That’s such a weirdly specific scenario.”

“And yet completely plausible,” he shrugs, already making his way toward the door. “Just let me make sure the bathroom isn’t booby-trapped or haunted or whatever. Then I’ll wait outside like a gentleman.”

You hesitate, but his tone lacks the usual smugness, his concern, however masked, just barely peeking through. You sigh and follow him out of the room, your footsteps soft against the moldy carpet. The hallway is darker than you remember, the moonlight casting long shadows from the broken windows. He walks ahead of you without a sound, his bat resting casually against his shoulder, though you can guess he can swing it with lethal precision.

He pushes open the bathroom door with the tip of the bat, peering inside.

“Clear,” he says after a beat, stepping aside. “Don’t fall in.”

You mutter something under your breath as you slip past him, closing the door behind you. It’s cold in the bathroom, and the cracked mirror reflects a face you hardly recognize anymore—tired, haunted, and wary.

But it’s yours. And you’re still here. 

You walk over to the toilet, squatting above the actual seat and relieving yourself. When you’re done, you wash your hands. You spend a few minutes just looking at yourself in the mirror again, then down at your hands and your surroundings. The realization of everything hits you like a truck once more, the fact that everything has changed. You don’t know how many more people have survived, or if those things outside are waiting diligently for you all until the morning. You’re scared, rightfully so. 

You’ve never had to fight for your own survival before, and it’s damn near breaking you. Your fingers clench around the rustic sink, jaw clenching. Breathe in, breathe out. 

You hear a knock, looking up into the mirror just in time to see his head pop in, a hand covering his eyes.  

“Time’s up. I’m giving you a two-star Yelp review for hogging the apocalypse bathroom.”

His voice is light, almost teasing, but you can hear the careful undercurrent of tension in it like he’s nervous or something. Or maybe just tired of waiting in the dark.

“I’m decent,” you mutter, drying your hands on your pants because there’s no towel in sight. “You can uncover your eyes, perv.”

Gojo drops his hand, revealing a crooked grin and raised brow as he leans lazily against the doorframe. “You’ve been in there long enough to redecorate.”

You cross your arms. “Sorry. Didn’t know we were on a schedule.”

He shrugs, stepping fully into the dim light, eyes flickering over the cracked tiles and chipped sink like he’s searching for ghosts. “Well, if you get possessed, I’m gonna need a warning. Wouldn’t want to have to put you down.”

You snort quietly, the sound breaking some of the heaviness inside you. “I’ll send you a text.”

Gojo’s grin softens, and for a moment, he looks less like the invincible, smug guy you know, and more like someone just as tired and worn as you feel. “You okay?” He finally asks.

You hesitate, then nod, even though you know the answer is more complicated than that. “I’m still here. That counts, right?”

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “Yeah. It counts.”

A silence fills the air. You turn away from the sink with a heavy exhale. Your hand raises to scratch the back of your neck, a nervous tic. Looking down at your feet, you bite the inside of your cheek. “Look, I’m just—I’m not sure how much longer I could do this. We ran from death more times than one should. It’s…it’s really starting to get to my damn head. Just last week, everything was normal.”

He stays quiet, letting you rant. When you finish, he offers a small hum, resting the bat against the wall. He steps forward, just a bit, like he’s careful not to spook you. His presence isn’t overwhelming—it’s quiet, grounding. For once, Satoru doesn’t crack a joke or offer one of his usual light-hearted quips. He just looks at you with something softer, something real behind those eyes that always seem too bright for the world around them.

“Yeah,” he finally says, voice low. “Last week, I was arguing with my friend Shoko over which coffee place has the best espresso. Now I’m making rounds with a bat like we’re in some damn horror movie.”

You let out a short breath, a weak laugh laced with bitterness. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“It’s not supposed to,” he murmurs. “But it is. And I know it’s easy to start thinking maybe… maybe the next run’s the one we don’t make it out of, that the luck runs out. That the next thing that slams through a door or a window takes your face off.”

Your breath hitches, and your fingers twitch against your thigh. He’s voicing your thoughts like he’s cracked open your chest and read them straight from your heart.

“But,” he continues, “you’re still here. And I know that doesn’t magically fix anything. Doesn’t make the nightmares go away or bring back what we lost. But you are here. That counts.”

You look up at him slowly. “I don’t want it to count just because I’m breathing.”

Gojo nods. “Then make it count for something else. Make it count because you kept going when everything in you told you not to. Because when the world went to hell, you didn’t curl up and quit—you’re still fighting. That’s not nothing.”

You press your lips together, a sharp sting pricking the corners of your eyes. You blink fast, willing it away, but Gojo notices. He leans against the sink beside you now, idly twirling his fingers. His shoulder brushes yours lightly. “If you’re gonna cry, then cry. No use holding it in.”

“I’m not crying,” you snap. 

“Then why are your eyes watering?”

“Because you smell like shit.”

Gojo huffs out a laugh, the sound warm despite the chill clinging to the air around you. “Yeah, well, hot water and a loofah haven’t exactly been easy to come by lately. Unless you wanna find me one.”

You roll your eyes, but it lacks real heat. The bite in your words is dulled, worn down by exhaustion and the weight pressing on your chest like a brick. “Not worth it. I’d rather cry.”

“Fair,” he murmurs, letting the silence settle again. He glances at the cracked mirror, at both of you standing side by side, reflections warped by time and ruin. “You don’t have to be okay, y’know.”

You glance at him.

“I mean it,” he says, voice quieter now. “Nobody gets through this kind of shit untouched. You’re allowed to break down. You’re allowed to be scared. I’ve seen soldiers lose it with less going on.”

Your brows furrow. “Soldiers?” 

He nods, a look of pride in his eyes. “Yup. I was in the military before I pursued being a surgeon. Special operations, to be specific.”

You blink, stunned. “Special ops? You?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but there’s a tension in his jaw now, something buried deep beneath that casual front. “Yeah. Four years active. Deployed twice. Ran black-site extractions, recon missions… the usual cloak-and-dagger crap no one talks about at dinner parties.”

The air seems to shift with the weight of his words. It’s not that you didn’t know he had layers, but this? This was a part of him you’d never seen. The man beside you, with his dry humor and crooked smirks, suddenly feels older, withered. 

He tilts his head slightly, voice dropping lower. “It was either that or college, and I wasn’t ready to sit in a lecture hall after everything I’d already been through by eighteen. At least in the field, things made sense. You had a target. You had orders. You knew what counted as a win.”

You study him, unsure what to say. Part of you is still reeling from the fact that this is him. That the same guy who makes terrible puns once held a sniper rifle in a foreign country. That the hands that now stitch people back together once pulled triggers without hesitation.

“What made you leave?” you ask, your voice quiet.

Gojo doesn’t answer right away. He exhales slowly, eyes drifting toward the cracked mirror again. “We lost a kid on a mission. Fourteen. Wrong place, wrong time. I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t good enough. I stared at his body for three hours while we waited for extraction. Swore I’d do something different if I made it out.” A pause, then: “So I did. Got out after some time. Enrolled in med school with what little sanity I had left and thought maybe—just maybe—I could start saving lives instead of ending them.”

Your heart aches. Not just from what he’s saying, but from the way he says it. Like it’s a confession, not a story. It’s like he’s handing you a piece of himself he doesn’t like people seeing. “I had no idea,” you murmur.

“Didn’t really want anyone to,” he says with a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t think it mattered anymore. But now… now I think maybe it does. Because this—” he gestures vaguely at the crumbling bathroom, the walls outside, the silence that follows all their nights now “—this feels a lot like then. Same stakes. Same nightmares. Same guilt.”

You nod silently, looking back down at the floor. 

He softly chuckles, moving some hair out of his face. “But it wasn’t too bad. My sister would send me letters every other weekend, all scolding me to come back and yadda, yadda, yadda.”

Sister. That must be the girl you saw the picture of when you were at his house. You bite your lip in contemplation, unsure of how to bring it up without sounding too intrusive, but just the right amount of curiousness. “…How old is your sister?”

“Would’ve been 30 last month,” he replies.

The words hang in the air like a fragile glass waiting to be shattered. You want to ask more, to understand, but the weight of loss is palpable, a silent echo you both seem to carry.

He leans back slightly, voice soft but steady. “She took her own life three years ago.”

Your breath catches, sharp and sudden, like the world just shifted beneath your feet. You stare at the cracked linoleum, feeling the weight of his words settle heavy between you. The room feels colder now, the silence stretching out, raw and unforgiving. You want to reach out, to say something—anything—but the right words seem to dissolve before they can form. Gojo’s eyes darken with a familiar pain, but he doesn’t flinch or shy away from the memory. “It’s not something I talk about much. Not because I’m ashamed, but because… it changes how people look at you. Like suddenly you’re this broken puzzle no one knows how to fix.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “That must have been… so hard.”

He shrugs, a bitter smile twitching at his lips. “Hard doesn’t even begin to cover it. But it’s part of why I’m here, why I keep fighting. For her, for all the people who didn’t get a second chance.”

A beat of stillness. 

He sighs, looking up as he reminisces. “You know, I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he murmurs. “Just stood there, frozen, while my coworkers wheeled in my little sister on a stretcher. There was blood in her hair. She had a scrape on her chin. She was DOA, but I didn’t know it at the time; they didn’t let me attempt to work on her. I kept thinking about how she used to fall off her bike and cry about scrapes like that. And this time…”

His voice cracks ever so slightly. He clears his throat, biting down on the emotion.

Your gaze meets his then. Steady, raw, and real. In that moment, you slowly realize how much you’re both carrying beneath the surface, how grief and guilt weave through every step you take. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds are the creaks of the old pipes and the wind slipping through broken glass.

“Why are you telling me this?” You quietly ask.

He shrugs. “I’ve been to enough therapy to learn that talking about it makes the grief just a tad bit more bearable.”

“And you thought it would be good to talk about it with me?”

“Why not?”

“We barely know each other.”

“And that’s perfect, don’t you think?” He slowly laughs in a tired way, leaning his hands back against the counter. Looking across at the sorry excuse of a toilet, he hums. “I’m not looking for comfort, validation, or anything really. Especially from you. Just thought I could help take you out of whatever mindfuck you were just in. Sometimes, all you need is a pair of ears and some really good lips.”

Your brow furrows, not quite sure if you should be offended or laugh. “Was that supposed to be deep…or just your way of hitting on me?”

He snorts softly, barely managing a shrug. “Bit of both, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a quiet pull at the corner of your mouth—something just short of a smile. You’re not sure if it’s the exhaustion or the honesty. 

“I’m not great at this,” he says suddenly, not looking at you. “Being vulnerable. Sitting still. Letting shit hurt.”

You nod, because yeah, you get it.

“I figured,” you murmur. “Most people who carry the weight the loudest are the ones trying hardest not to drop it.”

His head turns slowly, eyes narrowing just a little, like he wasn’t expecting that from you. Maybe he underestimated you. “You always talk like that?”

“Only when people open up to me about their dead sisters and follow it up with a compliment about my mouth.”

A dry, surprised chuckle slips out of him. “Not my fault.”

“Kind of is.”

“That’s your opinion.”

“And how would your sister feel about that?”

“She’d probably smack me.”

You run a hand through your hair, scratching down the back of your neck. “Your sister…” You start slowly, testing the words. “What was she like?”

He blinks, and a softness floods his features, gentler than anything you’ve seen from him before. “Rina was…” He exhales through his nose, a dry chuckle escaping him. “She was pretty quiet, kept to herself a lot. Smarter than me, which she never let me forget. She used to write these essays for school that would make teachers cry. Could never decide if she wanted to be a novelist or a lawyer. Fierce as hell when she believed in something.” He pauses, a faraway look in his eyes. “She’d probably be pissed at me for still crying over her.”

“She was someone who mattered.” You concede, moreso to yourself.

“She did,” he says simply. “Still does.” He glances at you again, quieter now. “Sometimes I think she was the strongest one out of the two of us. I guess she just…couldn’t hold on.”

You don’t answer right away, because what can you say to that? The pain in his voice is the kind that doesn’t want a solution. It just wants to be heard. And you can’t even relate to him, either. “I think strength looks different on everyone,” you say carefully. “Maybe hers was just…spent.”

His throat bobs, like he’s swallowing something thick. “Maybe.”

Then, softer, more to himself: “I still see her sometimes. In dreams. In people. In songs she used to play too damn loud when she was pissed.”

Your lips part slightly, but he shakes his head, like that’s enough. Like the window’s closed again. You don’t push. Instead, you clear your throat and push off the sink. “We should head back, rather not spill our guts in a dirty bathroom any longer.”

He chortles a small huff, following your lead and grabbing the bat on his way out. “Not today?”

“Or ever.”

“Never say never.”

“I have no ghosts to open up about.” Your face hardens, showing your hands in your pockets as you both walk back out into the hallway. “So don’t try.”

He peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, catching the sudden edge in your voice. “Noted,” he says, tone more subdued now. “Guess I’ll keep my ghost stories to myself then.”

You don’t reply. The air between you smooths a little, still slightly complicated.

The hallway greets you with its usual hum of flickering lights and chipped paint. It’s like stepping back into reality after brushing too close to something too raw and too real. He swings the bat in his one hand, the other dusting his jeans. “You always shut down like that?”

You shrug. “When people think I’m an open book just because they chose to dog-ear a page? Yeah.”

A quiet whistle escapes him. “You’re good at that. Throwing up walls that look like doors.”

“Don’t read into things,” you mutter.

“I won’t,” he says, but there’s a knowing twist in his voice. “Wouldn’t want to spill my guts in a dirty hallway either.”

This time, you almost smile. Almost.

Because even if you won’t say it out loud, some ghosts aren’t ready to be seen. And some stories are better left where they belong—for now.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Ino stammers out, straightening up. 

Nanami narrows his gaze, looking from Ino to over a few feet in front. Ah, that’s why. He deadpans as he focuses on Ino, who currently tries to hide the blush in his cheeks. “You are not to be a pervert.”

“What?! I’m not!” He gasps, whipping his head back to Nanami. “It’s just…s-she’s stretching. I mean—just look.”

Nanami sighs, already regretting pausing his patrol to check on Ino. “No,” he replies flatly, adjusting his collar with a crisp flick of his wrist. “I will not look. Because I am not twelve. And unlike you, I’m capable of basic self-restraint.”

Ino’s shoulders hunch as he mutters something under his breath, cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. “She’s just—she’s really flexible, okay?” he mumbles, sneaking one more glance at you in the splits before Nanami steps directly into his line of sight with all the subtlety of a brick wall. 

“Go look for a reliable weapon. Now.” 

“Yes, sir!” Ino nods briskly before turning around and scrambling around for a blunt force object on the ground. Nanami sighs to himself, muttering a small line under his breath before going over to where Gojo sits. 

He approaches the other man, patting the bat into the loose grovel. Gojo, busy with ensuring he has everything needed before they all head out, tips his head up slightly. “What’s up?”

“What are we doing about her?” 

Gojo follows Nanami’s chin jutt, just in time to get the best view of your ass on display as you bend over to touch your toes. “What about her?” He echoes back, eyes unstraying. 

Nanami sighs. “What I mean is, is she tagging along indefinitely? Or does she have her own group to go back to?” 

“Trying to kick her out?” Gojo looks up at him. 

“Not at all, just wondering.”

He exhales through his nostrils before zipping up his backpack and standing. “Far as I know, it’s just her.”

Nanami frowns slightly at that, arms folding across his chest. “That’s not sustainable.”

Gojo shrugs, slinging his pack over one shoulder. “Neither is the world right now, Nanamin.”

“That’s not the point.”

Gojo casts a glance your way again, softer this time, watching the way you stand up and brush off your knees, unaware of the conversation unfolding nearby. “She’s useful. Sharp. Quick on her feet. She hasn’t slowed us down.”

“Yet,” Nanami counters. “We don’t know her at all. Her limits. Her intentions.”

“You think she’s a threat?” Gojo raises a brow.

“I think she’s a wildcard,” Nanami replies. “And wildcards get people killed.”

Gojo clicks his tongue, lips curling faintly. “Coming from someone who wears…a tie in the apocalypse,” he flicks the polka-dotted tie his colleague adorns, “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Nanami scowls, but doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he takes a look over his shoulder—toward Ino, still rummaging, and you, now standing with hands on your hips, looking around curiously. “Just keep an eye on her.”

Gojo’s smirk dims. “I already am.”

Nanami eyes him for a moment, reading between the lines. “Don’t.”

Gojo’s gaze doesn’t leave you. “Too late.”

With a final adjustment of his holster, patting his firearm, he whistles out. “Ino! Heading out now, c’mon.”

Ino scrambles to his feet, nearly tripping over a loose brick as he rushes over with a makeshift crowbar in hand. “Coming! Sorry, just—uh, triple-checking our perimeter.”

Nanami doesn’t dignify that with a response, already moving forward with crisp strides, his focus narrowing as the tension of impending travel settles into his shoulders. Gojo lingers just a second longer, glancing back toward you.

“You good to move?” he asks, voice casual but laced with a silent check-in.

You nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder and falling in step beside him. “Better than staying here.”

He hums in agreement, eyes scanning the hallway ahead. “Stick close, yeah?”

Your mouth quirks slightly. “Wasn’t planning on wandering off.”

“Good,” he says, tone light. But his hand lingers near his weapon, just in case. “Let’s get going then. Daylight’s wasting.”

The four of you make your way back to Gojo’s dramatic BMW. You take shotgun like last time while the two newcomers get in the backseat. Satoru enters through the driver’s side, sticking his key into the ignition and starting the car. 

“So,” he starts, looking both ways as he drives carefully down the small trail you came up from yesterday. “Like I said, we need a sustainable safehouse for a good amount of time. But, if we plan to stay there, we’re gonna need more essentials. Food, water, that sort of thing.”

“So raid a grocery store?” Ino asks. 

“Grocery stores are tapped out or crawling with those biters,” Gojo replies, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “We need something off-grid. Less obvious. Think smaller, smarter.”

“Smaller like what?” you ask, glancing at him.

“Private pantries, abandoned campsites, hunting cabins…hell, even storm shelters. People have probably been hoarding like crazy at the start of all this shit. You’d be surprised what they left behind.”

Nanami sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I doubt any of us even know—”

“There’s this rapper I used to occasionally hang out with. Had a whole guesthouse full of shit in case of a ‘nuclear apocalypse’,” your air quotes are followed by a sarcastic huff. “Didn’t know he wouldn’t be too far off. But he also did meth, so.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Gojo holds a hand up, eyebrows raising at you. “You just casually know a drug addict with a secret bunker?”

“Yeah…?” You reply easily, looking between the three men in the car. “You guys don’t?”

They all stay quiet. 

Then, Nanami speaks, looking at you like you’re an idiot. “Why the hell would we?”

“Right, forgot you all associate with only law-abiding citizens.” 

“And you don’t?” Nanami retorts. 

“I know rappers, producers, athletes, singers, dancers, CEOs. 99.99% of those fools partake in extra fun activities. But I’m no snitch.” You peer at Nanami from over your shoulder before focusing on the dirt road ahead. Foot tapping against the floor mat, brief memories of after parties that lasted well into the morning, indulging in substances you’re too cowardly to admit out loud in front of doctors. 

Gojo steals a glance at you out of the corner of his eye, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips like he’s watching a show he didn’t expect to enjoy so much. “Man, just what the hell were you doing before the world ended? Sounded like a full-time job just keeping up with your contacts.”

You snort, eyes half-lidded as you rest your head back against the seat. “Networking. Some of us had talent, Satoru.”

Nanami exhales sharply, as if regretting asking in the first place. “And this bunker. Where is it?”

“About an hour out. South-east, maybe a little off I-85. Guy said it was his ‘doomsday crib’,” you mimic his air quotes with practiced flair. “Has his own well, solar panels, and enough freeze-dried food to outlive us all. I didn’t pay much attention back then. Thought he was just high.”

“You’re telling me,” Gojo says, knuckles tightening briefly around the steering wheel, “that while we’ve been barely staying two steps ahead of whatever the hell this is, you’ve had a potential goldmine tucked away in your memory bank the whole damn time?”

“Didn’t realize you were desperate enough to trust the judgment of a guy who freebased in silk pajamas,” you reply coolly, picking at a thread on your sleeve. “But now that you mention it…”

Ino leans forward between the seats, his crowbar awkwardly pressing into the side of the leather. “Does this guy have, like, guns? Ammo? A flamethrower? I feel like if I did meth and prepped for the end, I’d totally have a flamethrower.”

“Pretty sure he did,” you murmur. “Or at least talked about it a lot. Honestly, he had so much cash he could’ve bought half the military if he wanted. But that was before the world fell apart.”

“Christ,” Nanami mutters, rubbing his temple. “We’re trusting a meth-head rapper’s fever dream of survival.”

Gojo exhales a short laugh, head tilting with an almost impressed nod. “I mean… stranger things have worked in our favor.”

You look sideways at him. “Like what?”

“You,” he says, matter-of-fact.

You blink. “Cute.”

“Not cute. Just factual.” He pauses, then turns onto a cracked road swallowed up by overgrowth. “Alright. Let’s go see if this tweaked-out Mozart left us an apocalypse symphony or a death trap.”

Behind you, Ino whispers, “God, I hope he left weed. I mean—who said that?”

Nanami doesn’t even look at him. “Shut up.”

After an hour of driving, you reach a cracked and weed-laced turnoff that curves into an arching driveway. The BMW rumbles over uneven pavement, its tires crunching over gravel and dead leaves. Towering pines line the narrow path, their branches clawing overhead like crooked fingers, casting shifting shadows through the windshield.

The further in you drive, the quieter it gets. No birds. No wind. Just the hum of the engine and the occasional creak of the forest. The air feels heavier here, like it hasn’t been stirred in weeks.

Then, it appears.

At the end of the drive, half-swallowed by ivy and time, sits a sleek, low-built guesthouse made of black stone and dark wood. Solar panels glint faintly on the sloped roof. The windows are boarded up from the inside, but you can tell from the design alone that this place wasn’t made for modesty—it was made to look good in a music video. You remember being offered a great sum of money to feature in it. 

Gojo slows the car to a crawl. “Well,” he says, leaning forward on the wheel. “Here it is.”

Nanami clicks off his seatbelt but doesn’t move just yet. “Don’t get comfortable. If it’s still here, someone else might’ve found it first.”

Ino’s eyes dart around the treeline as he grips his crowbar. “Place gives me the creeps.”

You unbuckle and open the door, your boots crunching down onto loose gravel. “He was paranoid. Said the guesthouse was just for show—bunker’s hidden under the back porch. Motion-sensor lights, coded locks. Whole nine yards.”

“How do we know your friend isn’t already in there?” Ino asks, following you all out of the car. 

“Last I heard, he was in Italy for a month.”

Gojo hums slowly. “If he put half as much effort into staying sober, he might’ve actually made it through this.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “Don’t talk shit till we’re inside. This place might save our asses.”

Nanami’s already circling the car, scanning the surroundings. “Let’s sweep the perimeter first. Quietly.”

The four of you move in sync, the silence only broken by the rustle of underbrush and your footsteps. You half-expect to find signs of a break-in—or worse—but everything seems untouched. Still. Watching.

Gojo runs a hand along the front wall, then glances at you. “You sure about the code?”

You nod. “I watched him put it in once. Weird memory for stupid things.”

He steps back, gesturing toward the back porch with an exaggerated flourish. “Lead the way, then.”

You climb the steps, kneel by the edge of the deck, and brush away a pile of leaves covering the keypad hidden beneath a wooden panel. The keys light up faintly as you punch in a six-digit code you haven’t thought about in a while.

There’s a click.

Then a deep, mechanical whirr as a section of the porch slowly shifts, revealing a narrow steel stairwell descending into darkness.

Gojo stares for a moment, brows lifting. “Well, shit.”

Ino blinks. “This dude was not playing around.”

Nanami just sighs. “Let’s get inside before someone sees the door open.”

You go first, hand grazing the cool metal railing as you descend. The air grows colder with each step, heavy with the scent of dust, metal, and something preserved. At the bottom, motion-sensor lights flicker on, revealing a hallway lined with shelves. Shelves are stacked with supplies. Food. Water. Medical kits. Batteries. Weapons. Even clothing is in vacuum-sealed bags.

You hear footsteps behind you, a soft exhale of disbelief. “Be careful with what you touch, some orgies happened down here, too.”

Gojo pauses mid-step, his hand hovering inches from a stack of vacuum-sealed MREs. He slowly draws it back, turning to stare at you with a deadpan expression. “I was this close to trusting the chili mac.”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose again, like it’s the only thing keeping a migraine at bay. “Why the hell would you bring us to a place where—”

“Hey, supplies are supplies,” you interrupt. “Just don’t touch the velvet couch in the corner. Or the pool table. Or… actually, just touch nothing with a weird texture.”

Ino grimaces, already turning in place like the air’s grown ten degrees thicker. “This is so not the bunker vibe I pictured.”

Gojo snorts, rifling carefully through a plastic container filled with water bottles. “You thought the apocalypse was gonna smell like pine and virtue? Grow up.”

You sigh. “This place was built for two things. Surviving and sinning. Sometimes both at once.”

Nanami mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a prayer.

You move past a shelf of canned goods and gesture to the far end of the room where a keypad locks another reinforced door. “The real valuables are probably back there. Guns, cash, probably more drugs than we want to deal with.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “You think this guy left money behind?”

You nod. “He didn’t believe in banks. Said ‘capitalism is a house of cards waiting to burn’—then bought a tiger and a cryo chamber in the same week.”

The room goes quiet for a second.

“…God, I wish I met him,” Gojo says, almost wistfully.

Nanami exhales like he’s aged twenty years in five minutes. “Just make it quick. Grab what we need and let’s move. The less time we spend in someone’s post-apocalyptic sex dungeon, the better.”

“Careful,” you murmur, shooting him a sly look. “That’s where the chili mac lives.”

“Why can’t we just call this place our safehouse?” Ino’s voice comes from the right side of the place, currently digging through a bin of old pornos. 

“Because it’s a sex bunker, you idiot,” you say flatly, tossing a dusty protein bar onto a growing pile of salvageables. “And it smells like regret and air freshener.”

Gojo chuckles from across the room, a small flashlight tucked under his chin as he rifles through a crate of emergency lanterns. “Also, it’s too exposed. No fencing. No natural barriers. One horde gets curious, and this place turns into a buffet.”

Nanami grunts in agreement, prying open a military-style storage box with the back end of a hammer. “There are too many entrances. We need somewhere defensible. Something with elevation. This is a last-resort stash, not a base.”

Ino lifts a magazine with a curled corner and squints at the cover. “Still think it’s kinda cozy.”

You shoot him a look. “You’re standing next to a bucket labeled ‘party fluids.’”

He immediately drops the stack like it burned him. “Okay, ew—forget I said anything.”

Gojo laughs outright this time, holding up a second flashlight triumphantly. “On the plus side, it’s fully stocked with batteries, canned food, and trauma. I say we strip it clean, then torch the linens and never speak of this again.”

You glance around the bunker’s plush, bizarre mix of survivalist prep and celebrity decadence. Neon lighting in the corner. A stripper pole next to an industrial-grade water filter. A shrine to chaos.

“Deal,” you mutter. “Let’s load up and leave before the carpet starts whispering.”

Nanami doesn’t respond—he’s too busy gagging into his elbow.

“Hey,” Gojo says to you, hands on his hips. “You said this place conducted orgies.”

You hum in approval, focused on looking for any food that seems somewhat good. 

“Ever participated in one of ‘em?”

You don’t look up right away, choosing instead to inspect the expiration date on a half-crushed can of peaches. “What is this, truth or dare?” you mutter, tossing it into the salvage pile with a dull clunk.

“Can’t a guy be curious about the mysterious past of his favorite apocalypse buddy? I mean, you did say it like you knew from experience.”

You snort, going back to rummaging through a drawer that smells faintly of weed and regret, tone dry. “I said orgies happened, not that I was handing out condoms and playlists. I wasn’t that close with Meth-Mike and his crew. Just crashed a couple parties, took free drinks, judged everyone silently, then left.”

He steps closer, tilting his head playfully. “So you’ve seen one?”

You toss a vacuum-sealed beef jerky pack at his chest. “I’ve seen plenty. Doesn’t mean anything. Half those people had coke-nose and unwashed sheets. It wasn’t sexy, it was more like a petri dish with strobe lights.”

Gojo catches the jerky with one hand, smirking. “Kinda hot, actually.”

“You actually need therapy.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’ve got jerky, so I’m emotionally stable for the next hour.”

Nanami walks by at that moment with a crate of canned food and mutters, “I regret everything about this partnership.”

“You love us,” Gojo calls after him.

“Like a rash,” Nanami replies flatly.

Satoru focuses back on you. “But you don’t deny you’ve participated.” He grins, bright and unbothered.

“I didn’t confirm it either,” you shoot back, turning toward another shelf of supplies, “and even if I had, it’s not exactly something I’d unpack in front of that old man over there while he’s elbow-deep in doomsday spam.”

From across the room, Nanami doesn’t even look up. “Thank you.”

You glance at Gojo again, face scrunching with judgment. “You ever been to one?”

He winks. “Define ‘been to.’”

You toss a glove at him. “Gross.”

Ino, who’s reappeared with an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels and a pack of glow-in-the-dark condoms, chimes in like an idiot, “Wait, are we actually talking about orgies now?”

You sigh. Loudly.

Satoru, still amused, raises both brows as he slowly backs away. “Alright, alright. Noted. No comment. Mysterious past. Adds to your charm.”

The rest of the scavenging is spent in half-hurdled grunts and complaints about what’s left of a disgusting place like this, most of them echoing off the concrete walls of the bunker-turned-apocalyptic treasure trove. It smells like sweat, mildew, and faintly—unfortunately—like latex and regret.

Ino curses as he pulls open a drawer and finds a tangled nest of restraints. “Why the hell did they need this many handcuffs?”

“They were thorough,” you mutter, sifting through an old bar cart loaded with half-full liquor bottles and dusty bags of protein powder. “I’ll take these, though.”

Nanami, ever the picture of reluctant professionalism, rifles through a closet filled with silk robes and sequined masks, his face set in a line of pure disapproval. “This isn’t stocking up,” he says flatly, holding up a long red feather boa like it’s personally offended him. “This is punishment.”

“I don’t know,” Gojo says from across the room, holding up a box of unopened iodine and some water purification tablets with an exaggerated flourish. “Looks like someone was prepping for the end and a good time. Can’t knock the hustle.”

You find some canned soup tucked behind a rusted mini-fridge, mostly intact. Not ideal, but edible. “Soup and condoms,” you say, holding up both. “That’s our dinner and protection. In that order.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gojo murmurs, grinning around the flashlight tucked in his mouth.

“Speak louder and I swear I’ll throw you in the orgy tub,” Nanami says darkly, nodding toward a heart-shaped monstrosity in the far corner.

Gojo’s laughter echoes too loudly in the low-ceilinged space, almost drowning out the grim reminder of the world above. But amid grotesque relics and faint absurdity, the four of you move with practiced rhythm. Searching, sorting, surviving.

With a grunt, you stand to your knees from your crouched position. You brush the grime off your jeans, ignoring the faint smear of something unidentifiable on your palm, and start toward the narrow stairwell that had ushered you all into this absurd den of apocalypse prep and sex cult energy.

“Where you goin’?” Satoru asks, a ridiculous pair of golden, oversized sunglasses perched on his face like he belonged in a 2003 music video.

You stop and give him a look over your shoulder. “Air. Real air.”

“I can go with you!” Ino quickly volunteers, raising his hand like he’s in class. “Just to make sure you’re safe and don’t get—” 

You cut him off with a shake of your head, the weight of the stale, recycled air pressing down on you like a physical thing. “I’ll be fine. Just need a minute outside.” The tension in your shoulders eases just thinking about it. The faint breeze, the open sky, even if it’s cloudy and gray.

Gojo watches as you move toward the stairwell. His voice is lighter, but there’s an edge underneath. “Careful up there.”

Ino frowns, clearly torn between wanting to keep you close and respecting your space. Nanami just gives a brief nod, already half-focused on packing the last of the supplies. You step up the stairs, each step creaking under your weight. The muffled voices fade behind you as you push open the heavy metal door. A rush of cold, crisp air hits your face, sharper than you expected. It’s bracing, like a slap, but in a good way.

For a moment, you just stand there, letting your lungs fill with something real. The sky stretches overhead, overcast, but endless. Somewhere distant, birds call out, a reminder that life still stutters on.

Behind you, faint footsteps echo on the stairs. Ino’s voice, softer now, breaks the quiet. “I’m still coming.”

You groan heavily and dramatically, looking just in time to see the man come up beside you. Your arms cross, giving him a harsh one-over with a scrutinizing gaze. He shifts awkwardly, rubbing his neck. You don’t bother saying anything, looking off into the distance. 

He follows your line of sight, lips pursing in thought, but his brain comes up empty. Standing next to one of, if not his favorite idol ever, is nerve-wracking. He thought the first time he would’ve seen you would be at one of the games, not in an apocalyptic world where humans have turned into man-eating monsters. 

“You’ve…survived.” He wants to slap himself after sounding both idiotic and almost insulting at the same time.

“Meaning what?” You snap. 

“Nothing!” He’s quick to backtrack, hands held up in surrender. “I-I just mean like, probably not a lot of people did. I mean, Nanami and I barely did. You must have a lot of will to live.”

“And you seem to be looking too deep into things.”

Ino stiffens at your words, visibly thrown off, his expression flickering with the realization that he may have overstepped. “Right,” he mumbles, looking down at his boots like they might offer some kind of dignity. “Sorry. Just trying to make conversation.”

Silence settles over both of you again, thick and mildly uncomfortable, but you let it hang. You weren’t exactly in the mood to talk, and definitely not about survival, especially not with someone who still looked at you like you were something untouchable. Some gilded, glamorous ghost of a world that no longer existed.

He shifts beside you again, shuffling a foot against the cracked pavement. “For what it’s worth,” he adds, voice quieter now, “it’s kinda cool you’re still around. Not because you’re, like, famous or whatever. Just… you didn’t quit. That’s all.”

You exhale slowly through your nose, arms still crossed, eyes tracing the jagged skyline ahead. The words weren’t revolutionary, but something about the rawness in how he said them, the hesitant sincerity, smooths down a bit of your irritation. “You talk too much,” you mutter without bite.

Ino chuckles softly, clearly relieved that you hadn’t turned and shoved him back down the stairs. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Another beat of silence, but this one doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

You finally glance at him, letting your gaze linger this time. His face is still a little flushed, his shoulders drawn tight with nerves, but his eyes meet yours with earnestness. It’s not hero worship anymore—not exactly. It’s something realer. Messier. Human.

“You don’t have to keep hovering over me, you know?” Your arms drop, twisting your body to face him. “I’m not some messiah, it’s best to stop treating me like one.”

Ino blinks, clearly caught off guard, but to his credit, he doesn’t immediately retreat or try to laugh it off. He just stands there, letting your words settle, really considering them. The wind tugs lightly at the edges of his jacket, the world around you quiet except for the rustling of trees and the occasional far-off cry of something you don’t want to name.

“I’m not trying to,” he says after a moment. “I mean, maybe I was at first. It’s weird seeing someone you’ve only ever seen on screens, you know? Posters. Commercials. But now? You’ve been bleeding and dirty and pissed off just like the rest of us. I get it.” His gaze sharpens a little, like he’s trying to match your seriousness. “But even if you weren’t anyone before all this, I’d still think it’s cool you’re alive. That you’re fighting. That’s not worship. That’s just…respect.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, not out of anger, but because it’s hard to tell if he means it, or if he’s just the kind of guy who always tries to say the right thing. Still, something in his voice—unguarded and simple—makes it feel like maybe he actually does see you. Not just the curated version from another life, not the broken pieces you carry now, but the whole thing, for better or worse. You exhale, the tension leaving your shoulders for real this time. “Respect’s fine. Just don’t call me an inspiration. I hate that word.”

“I won’t,” he promises, smiling faintly. “Honestly, I’m barely inspired to get out of bed some mornings. You’re safe.”

You huff out a laugh, soft and reluctant. “Funny.”

Ino lights up a little at that, and you immediately regret giving him even that much. He leans against the rusting metal railing beside the stairwell, attempting to puff out his chest subtly and seem much cooler than he actually is. It’s laughable at best—shoulders stiff, chest puffed out like he’s auditioning for a post-apocalyptic boy band. You shoot him a flat look.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying too hard.”

He deflates slightly, rubbing the back of his neck again with a sheepish grin. “Right, right. Just…figured I should try and keep up the image. Y’know, in case this is the part where you suddenly fall for me.”

You snort, turning your gaze back toward the horizon. “Keep dreaming, fanboy.”

“I do,” he says without missing a beat. “Usually right before I wake up in a sweat after nearly getting eaten alive.”

The chuckle slips out of you before you can stop it—dry, amused, tired. But real. It hangs between you both like a shared secret, something lighter than the weight of the world you’ve been dragging behind you. Maybe this new world is full of rot and monsters and broken people pretending they aren’t, but for a moment, this banter, bleak humor, and cracked sincerity feels like something worth surviving for. Ino doesn’t say anything else. He just stands there, a quiet presence beside you, not crowding, not pretending to understand everything. Just…there. 

You draw in a long breath. “I don’t date my fans.”

He pouts. 

“But I do have fun with them.” Ino’s eyes are glued to you. He practically feels his entire body on fire when your hand grazes along his arm, walking past him and back down the stairs. “So if you wanna have some, find me and we can put what you stuffed in your pocket to use, yeah?”

Ino chokes on nothing. Maybe on his breath, his dignity, saliva, or the sheer audacity of your words. His face goes bright red in record time, ears tinged with pink as he stares after you, dumbfounded. You don’t even look back, just toss the words over your shoulder like they’re nothing, like you didn’t just flip his world upside down in one breath and a brush of your fingers.

He fumbles for a response, any response, but all he manages is a strangled, “I—uh—y-yeah, okay—!”

You’re already halfway down the stairs, shoes echoing against metal, your figure swallowed by the shadows below.

Ino stands there for a moment longer, staring into the space you just left behind like he’s trying to reboot his entire nervous system. Eventually, he exhales a shaky laugh and mutters to himself, eyes wide, “I am so dead.” His hand reaches back, feeling around the packs of condoms he put in there. 

And then he follows.

(if i forgot to tag you, pls let me know) taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @simplymygojo @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

@ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast @beabamboo @dickktektive

@sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @beabamboo @lovely-maryj @n1vi

@ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5 @ritsatoru @sadmonke

@zoeyflower @topmeyelena @sourairi @jlandersen01 @vamppirez

@ac27dj @aquariusscollection @itzkawaiix @a-trashbag @satorugirlie

@bottomlesschaps @soobiary

[ethereal555]

CHEETAH PT.4

virgil van dijk x black!reader

As tight as cornrows—no that wouldn’t do it justice. It was a grip so tight it bordered on pain, his hands trembling with such a fierce and fragile emotion.

 Anger. 

That was the extent of Virgil’s grip on Ameena wrist, dragging her unapologetically through the decreasing sea of bodies in the club.  His muscles rippled under his shirt rigid with fury—a testament to his anger for Ameena. The relentless grip pressed her Van Cleef Bracelet’s gold chaining into the surface of her wrist’s thin skin painfully, but her winces and pleas for him to release his grip were lost amongst the cacophony of noise in his mind planting more seeds of rage. Virgil was aiming straight for his car and his pace reflected that; so much that none of the starstrucked fans and blogs in his way dared to approach or film them. With a strut– or literal dragging– this fast it was truly a miracle that Ameena’s short dress didn’t ride up all the way up her ass. Now that would be the cherry on the cake of social embarrassment. She felt like she was being dragged by the arm like a hissy toddler by their fed up parent.

“You’re—Oh my God—you’re  hurting me you fool.” her wrist starts to throb—an indication of the cuts being made to her skin with the scratchy gold chaining.

“I’m going to murder you, swear to God.” she seethes at the brink of angry tears as she feels her wrist pulse from the pressure.

By now, they had reached the car park and were staggering towards Virgil’s Black Urus. The backroad they were in was now completely empty with an exception of frosted over cars that belonged to people living on the street; only the sounds of leaves ruffling kept the world alive at this time of night and the occasional sound of buzzing street lights. But the streetlights were sketchy, flickering and barely illuminating the few meters ahead of them so Ameena clung close to him, just until they got to the car. She hated cats, rats and squirrels and at this time of the night those were animals she was likely to see.

Virgil reached into his pockets for his car keys and unlocked his car. His blinkers flashed and a small beep sounded throughout the night’s air. That's when she noticed he hadn’t actually spared her a glance the whole time so for him to assume she’d get in his car was bold. 

“Don’t you ever touch me like that again!” she exclaimed once they stood in front of his car, her voice cracked with thoroughness. Ameena knew he’d finally listen to her words because there were no more  external distractions, or internal ones. It seemed his heated thoughts were turning into vapor and leaving his mouth as clouds in the cold air by the time they got to the car...so she was able to wring away from his grip and speak her mind.

 It shocked him the amount of projection she was able to fulfill in her small frame as her words echoed through the carpark even whilst her breaths were shallow and she looked completely overwhelmed by his presence.

“I’m not getting in with  you, call me a taxi.” she spat. “Now.”

“The absolute cheek of you to think you can show up and ruin my night after you’ve had your little fun with your fucking  prostitutes. But the jokes on you, you’ve probably caught something anyways because you’re a whore.Sstay the fuck away from me” He glares at the smaller woman standing angry in front of him with frustration watching as she crosses her arms under her breasts. She glares back with just as much frustration but he’s not all ashamed to let her see his primal gaze glazing  up and down her short, curvaceous physique. Unknowingly, her breasts (glistening under the night skies twinkle) were spilling out of her green crochet dress inviting him to think primitive things about what he’d been longing to do to her small frame. His dick twitched underneath his zipper, but he consciously brings himself back to the very disappointing reality that was his girl misbehaving.

“Ruin what, Ameena? Fucking look at what you’re wearing I’m doing you a favour..” As angry as she was, and poised as she was trying to be, she could taste his sour words in her mouth and it took her aback, completely derailing her plan to intimidate him.

He knew she looked breathtaking to say the very least, but was too proud to admit that she was looking as good as ever in his absence. As a proud man, it was a tough pill to swallow.. He only wanted her to flourish when she was with him. She obviously looked good and always did. This was objective. But the thought of his horndog teammates even being able to look at her figure and that face and think nasty thoughts about his possessions sent him to a dark place, a dark place not even jealousy could take him. It was primal rage. 

“....what…?”she finally replies after a few blinks. She felt like the sexiest woman on earth  all day until now.

Only God knows what came over Ameena, the sudden wave of sadness that washed over her was paralyzing. Not for long though, she slowly became disgusted with herself. She was disgusted with the fact she was giving herself the victim label by continuously giving this man room to degrade her when he was the only one doing wrong. Feeling validated in her mind she lurches towards Virgil with determination written on her face and spits. 

“Fuck y-you!!!” her voice and the broken nuances echoed along the roads near them even louder this time, the trees stilled as they listened and the wind’s howling ceased. The world’s elements understood the pain behind a woman’s scream.

His neck tenses from the impact when it lands on chin with a splat, melting into his goatee. He rubs at his face with his shirt and, as if it was second nature, he grabs her arms with ease pulling her towards his body closing the space between them so they feel each other’s heart beating, racing. There was no scowl on his face, no hint of anger despite his telling grip. He was relishing the faint scent of floral musk that had wafted to his nose from her skin, her signature scent. Her scent was nothing less than hypnotic, persuading him to envision all of the ungodly acts he couldn’t wait to perform on her later. 

“I’m sorry” he whispers against her hair, gaining understanding of the kind of night she had through the smell of sweat in her hair. Ameena’s body is confused, she wants to relax into him but she’s angry. She doesn’t stop him from embracing her body; she finds herself melting into it for one more second before he pulls away from her to look down into her angry eyes. “I haven’t been good to you”.

He waits for the shift in her body language, specifically a look of surprise at his sincerity after such a disrespect as spitting. His body tingles with excitement. Virgil was going to take her when she least expected it. When her straight brows softened from their frown was his queue. The taller man thrusts his left hand into her head of hair, fisting her strands tightly from the back and pulling hard. Her head bent backwards, uncomfortably, as she shrieks.

“But spitting is not nice Ameena” He grips her hair harder only stopping once the pain becomes unbearable. Their eyes bore into each other, her scared ones and his determined ones. He won in that moment seeing her eyes pleading at him; cocky, he scans the car park briefly to check for people one last time before letting go abruptly as if  his hands burnt. Her hands find her head immediately to soothe her scalp. 

Ameena breathes heavily, regaining control of her neck and consequently her airways. She doesn’t need to utter an apology, it was written on her face.

“Y- you can hurt me all you want, you’re still going to have to work hard for me to forgive you, you can’t scare your way out of apologizing to me” she says boldly. 

But yet again, she feels frustrated with herself, it was all an act from her—acting angry and as though she didn’t need him. It was embarrassing that underneath her hard exterior she felt better, relieved to be in his presence, there was something about his presence that made her feel safe and alive, more alive than ever—he’d never know though.  

“I don’t apologize more than once” 

“I don’t accept  your two word apology. No, no way. You know how to work, so you’re gonna.” she bites out. 

His eyes narrow as she enunciates every word,“You’re being fucking difficult.”

 She scoffs, not surprised that once again she was being made out as the problem. She stomps on his foot, pushing away from him as the tall man groans in pain.

“I will be fucking difficult, but real men rise up to the challenge instead of bitching.”

He rotates his foot round and round on the balls of his feet and finds himself and can only laugh at her blatant disrespect. Wow, he thought, his absence was rubbing off on the way she was addressing him with inferiority, daring him to have to prove himself the opposite. Unfortunately for Ameena, he was a competitive man and not one to turn down a dare.

In the car

20 minutes prior.

“I need space—” she laughs, not understanding how serious he was about staying with him.

The grunt of irritation that comes out of him is priceless. 

“I need more time to understand what I want, and to figure out if this is worth it.” she drags on, opening Uber on her phone. Maybe she was overacting, because she did miss him, but she didn’t want him thinking he could have her back on his timing, like a damsel in distress. He had to work around her feelings too, she needed to humble him.

She tied her hair up in a high bun, the wind from outside had blown her hair in all possible directions and the mess was overstimulating whilst she was trying to find an Uber at this time of night—well technically, morning.

But that innocent action is when his world stops spinning just for a split second. He clocks the bruises spread across the skin of her neck almost immediately, some lighter some darker but there was no doubt those were hickies, fresh looking ones too.

This was his woman.

 He snatches her phone from her hand, there was no way she was leaving his sight now. He doesn’t spare her a glance after he does so, he just sits there and exercises his rights to remain mute. But the silence was so deafening… it was obvious to Ameena the reason behind it.

She mentally beat herself up for being so fucking stupid.

. Ameena lets her hair down in some foolish attempt to erase his memory of the love bites. In response Virgil nodded his head slowly, absentmindedly. Hurt invaded the planes of his face. It was evident, his hurt, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. His palms rubbed his eyebrows ferociously and in a fit of rage he hit the steering wheel with his fists. One punch, then went in for a second. Ameena jumped at the sound of the car’s horn sounding at such quiet hours of midnight, she really didn’t care for the theatrics she just wanted to home, shower and wash off the boy drama’s of today. How many times should a girl have to ask?

“Virgl take me home—please…I’m so tired and I-have so much…work.” she repeated for the third time in the span of ten minutes. Despite her mind telling her she was pushing it, she still voiced her desire irregardless of the icy reception she was receiving from him. How she rationalised it was, “he loves me, clearly, he is here away from his family at ungodly hours in the morning, for me. If he cares about me this much, then yeah, surely he’ll listen to me if I begged hard enough”.

She watched Virgil intently as his adam's apple bopped up and down before he sighed out a long drawn out breath.

  “I could crash the car with both of us in it if I start driving, if you want to live; be quiet and very patient” his request was slow and solemn with no humour whatsoever laced in his words and that frightened her, she’d known him for years but still didn’t know what to expect from him… he was the most unpredictable person she knew.

Chills licked down her spine making her sit up suddenly with an alertness she’d never had to all her life, all while she assessed his expression with wide eyes. She was ready to break the glass if she needed to. It was quick and instinctive–the sudden movement she made–but seeing as his eyes were now following her she had no choice but to sit back and listen to the shuddered breaths that escaped his clenched pearly whites. Every fibre of her being was pulling her to open the car door and make a run for it but the empty look in his eyes advised her against such a choice. So she sat glued, her fingers clawing into the leather seats beneath her thighs.

His eyes are devoid of any emotions. The gleam of love, admiration and care she usually saw in them was gone, or hidden behind the darker shade of brown that glazed over his eyes and in turn his soul. If they were animals by the look of his face alone she’d be eaten alive. Virgil’s eye connects to the pulse he sees on the side of Ameena’s neck beating increasingly faster. He was happy she was scared. She should be.

“I should skin your neck…” he trails off monotone, his eyes gluing to the purple hickies that lead down to her collarbone.

She tried to suppress the terror crawling up her skin but it only continued to manifest in the way goosebumps all over the exposed areas of her body appeared. For a second his gaze was so hot, so intense and burning into her soul that she forgot she had a choice to avert her gaze, and so she quickly did, staring longingly at the dull car park through the windscreen. Of course there was nothing interesting in the car park but it was better than facing him.

“Virgil, please—” she muttered, unamused. 

“Are you calling my bluff?” her eyes widened, of course she was he wasn’t going to do that as angry as he was.. Her silence served him no consolation, and with haste he slithered his slender fingers around her neck, squeezing it and drinking in her fear. He needed to know it was still there. She whimpered and it was music to his ears.

“You think revenge is sweet? You think you can give another man what’s mine, hm? You do.” he bites out. His iris’ expand with his desire to play out the dark thoughts in his mind. Meanwhile, Ameena’s throat had become painfully dry, unable to string coherent words. She gulps and he squeezes tighter, the pain and shock that zapped through her body made her believe she may be a breath away from falling unconscious.

“Mmhmm” she shakes her head, rebuking hysterically as tears welled up in her eyes. 

“Then why’d you do it?” he squeezes tighter and as if white spots weren’t clouding her vision she doesn't protest, she just lets him. Falling unconscious was miles better than being in his presence when his animalistic side got out. A testament to his anger was how shameless he was acting, they were in the front seat of his flashy car yet he still continued his assault, the anger he felt now in this present moment clearly prevailed over the consequences he’d face if they were to be spotted.

“Y-you hurt me..” she gasps out. “So you fuck another man?” 

Ameena huffed, staring into his eyes, unblinking as if the world and their current situation had vanished beyond her eyes. She was dissociating, whilst Virgil with his unwavering grip brings her closer to his face so that their lips are just whisper away and repeats the questions louder, emphasising the word ‘fuck’ with as much aggression as he felt. She flits in response to his loud words that feel like blows and loses her words in the sight of his lips, noticing that they hadn’t been this close since October and it was late January. Her pretty doe eyes flicker back up to his eyes and she smiles against the warmth of his lips.

 “...Yeah.And, I loved it.” she drags gutturally exuding toxicity in every syllable she pronounced. Virgil’s wicked expression completely drops and Ameena’s stomach flips. She embraces his eye contact and gives him a sly smirk. She does struggle to giggle with his grasp around her neck but  she couldn’t let him gaslight her into thinking she was the whore.

“And I’d do it again, he’s like an e-edgier version of you, a real freak.”

His stomach claws at him and snarls sound in the back of his mind. It was his ego. An awakening.

 It’s demand for attention wasn’t a formidable force…yet, so he continued to hang onto every word she said waiting for his little girl to feel like she was doing something. He wanted her to feel she was hitting some sort of nerve so when she was finished and felt most rewarded for her ‘empowering speech”..... Then. BOOM. He'd break her. He could tell she was taking his silence for a weakness, and frankly, it was exciting.

 “The dreads Virgil! Come on, you can’t blame me for jumping on that almost immediately…”

The starved animal in his body had been ramming its head into the cage’s door, seeking desperately for an escape. The cage rattled and the door shuddered under the force of its impact, the iron bars screeching in protest as the animal kept hurling itself and hurling itself. The cage was still held together, barley.

“And if your upset about the love bites on my neck then you don’t want the see the ones he made on my puss—”

The iron cage that had been undergoing unrelenting assault breaks free with one last nudge from the animal. His ego breaks free.

 How could any man hear that about their woman and stay composed and calm? He was going to punish her, defile her in a way he hadn’t before to teach the respect he’d spent all his life earning. Although Virgil would never throw this in her face, he funded her lifestyle and that alone should’ve acted as some form of restraint in her—but it didn't.

He released his grip on her neck, and looked around the perimeter of the carpack as she regained her breath. By this time the park had fewer cars parked all of them looked empty with frost growing on the windscreens. These cars looked like they belonged to owners living in the rows of terraced housing up the road.

 Perfect.

“Get out of my car, Ameena.” he smiles with just his lips. The enraged giant trains his eyes on her love bite and unlocks her door from his side of the car and beckons with a tilt of his head.

Words, coherent words, flee from her tongue and constructive thoughts evaporate from her brain leaving her dumbfounded. The sky was already dark, but it seemed the sky was foreshadowing the dark actions Virgil would follow as darkness bled into the horizon swallowing any remaining colour from the grey clouds, and covering the tiny stars that gleamed. 

“NOW Ameena, fuck!” he fumes.

“Wow, wow, wow Virgil. So original. See you should have told me you’d kick me out sooner then I would’ve gone home with him, prick!” and with that she got out of the car, slamming the doors behind her with so much force the car rattled behind her. Or she thought it was because of her power, but turning around debunked that.

Virgil with heavy, determined feet leaps out of the car and with long strides and pulls Ameena to the back of the car, bending her over the boot.

“You like to fucking disrespect me Ameena, all the time, and it makes me so mad.”

“You’re crazy…” she spits, defeated. His heavier body was pressed against hers, gluing her upper body like velcro against the cold metallic trunk.

My baby, she thought.  

She prayed he wouldn’t press her stomach any further onto the trunk. The temperature of the metallic car bit into the skin of all the exposed areas of her dress and pebbled her nipples. It was freezing. She was freezing. She shivers audibly and her teeth jitter against each other as she anticipated the worst, was he going to fuck her… here…where people would see?

If this was his form of punishment for her, then he’d be disappointed. This was thrilling for her, not only because her hormones had gotten her hornier lately but because Trent had left her high and dry and she was feening for a release, whether she was angry with him or not.

“I’m not fucking you— you dirty whore.” she whimpers at the foul words, and how unforgiving they sounded from his lips. There was something weird going on with Ameena whilst being in this compromising position– bent over her future baby daddy’s car with his crotch pressing into her booty. As much as she hated him at this moment, she couldn't deny the spike of adrenaline in her blood ushering her to buck her hips against him. It felt extra naughty because she wasn’t wearing any panties underneath the thin crochet material and anyone could see them. Her body swelled with desire.

His fingers trail up her dress to solidify in his mind why her hips were bucking so desperately. Her pussy was crying for him but the way in which she spoke in the car didn’t reflect a woman who wanted to have her guts destroyed so he was confused, women these days.. 

“You’re wet….” he shames, pinching her labia to which he squeals loudly.

“Was Trent not enough for your greedy cunt, you stupid girl ” he whispers in her ear and to all the world she mewls, pressing her cheek into the trunk to cool her increasingly hot body down. She loved when he spoke to her like that in intimate situations, she could orgasm from his words alone. Oh, the way his accent twisted his words into something sinful needed to be studied.

Virgil sends an aggressive slap to her bum and they both hear the sound echoing against the empty cars in this carpark, she bites her lip to stop her from screaming.

“You’ve ruined your value, your purity in my eyes by being with another man, I was supposed to be the only man who could say they fucked this”

“But you—”

“You’re a fucking woman, you can’t keep comparing yourself to me. I’m a man. By nature, we are promiscuous”

“Like, I can’t make this shit up. Look at you… leaving the house with no panties. Who are you?” He rips fiercely at the green, thin crochet dress, ripping it high enough to reach her lower back. Now her brown, round ass was bent over and exposed for him. 

“Embarrassing…” he teases, biting at her ear. He plays with the juices accumulating in her folds between the balls of his fingers.. He circles his paws around her thighs and pulls them further towards his lower body and kicks her left ankle further away from her right so her pussy is spread even perfectly and glistening in the moonlight.

He was indeed an animal, like a wolf in the presence of a full moon, all his movements were enacted with a hunter’s grace rough and to the point. She knew she was at his mercy and so went limp under his weight, no struggle would prevail. The hunt was over and now it was time to feast, but not in his conventional way.

“Two choices Ameena..” he informs, his voice had a low guttural edge as though he meant to growl as opposed to speak.

“You forgot your place again, and I’ll remind you painfully” her breasts were already hard from the feeling of the cold metallic car beneath her but they began to protrude even more, extending to its full length. Piercing the car wouldn’t be unrealistic, as his cold words descended into her body.

“Belt or hand.”

She shuffled underneath his weight, and quite frankly she didn’t know if it was discomfort or arousal. His voice had descended a few octaves, and she could feel his hardness against her hamstring.

“Virgil— this is so scary—what if someone sees me. You promised to protect me..” she whispers, her voice small through her jittery jaw.. The wind blows aggressively against her opening, and it's a feeling she can’t explain.

“The whole world has just seen you, practically naked, dancing on Trent in this skimpy, see-through, mess of a dress. This should be the least of your worries, no?” He slaps her hamstring hard. He admires his view of her ass, above the rise of her hips was a dip so graceful it looked sculpted by shadow and candlelight. It was a curve that invited a touch, reverent and slow. But today wasn’t the day for soft touching, quite the opposite instead. The arch was his personal shelf, he accepted the hint of pride he felt seeing her assume the position so effortlessly, his eyes scanned over the natural dips and curves that possessed her body before he says.

 “Once more, which should I violate you with?”

Her pussy clenched, his words shooting straight to her core. 

“Neither, I need you desperately, in a way this punishment wouldn’t satisfy.” Her attempt to change his mind was futile, the whisper of his belt slipping through the loops of his bottoms made her breath hitch. Virgil quickly loops the leather around his palm, making sure the buckle was tucked into his fist. He left an eye’s estimate of 3 inches out to use on her. 

Virgil tuts to himself, she was waiting for heads up, silly girl, his first blow landed sharp and unapologetic. Her knees buckled almost instantly and despite her teeth digging into her plush lips, a scream still ripped from her throat.

The leather’s powerful force connected to her skin, and rang throughout the carpark. Virgil salivated at the sight of her thick ass rippling as a result, but quickly regathered his thoughts. She went against him by giving her body to another man. Her wide eyes squeezed shut tightly, nearly crushing her own small eyeballs. Ameena’s hands struggled to find something, anything to hold onto. He made it clear he didn’t want her hands anywhere near him so she held them in tight fists either side of her head. 

“You wanna GO against ME and fuck-” SLAP. “other men, give my body to other men.” She would’ve fallen if his knees weight wasn’t keeping her against the car, her body flinched with every hit, everyhit was a warning drenched in fire that burned her skin. The stinging grew with every whip, she was breaking each time more and more, the car’s hood was wet but it didn’t stop him. The rhythm was jagged, so she could never anticipate the next hit, but it connected in the same spot incessantly and ripped at her skin blisters started to form on the surface of her ass. Her brown was now red, with hints of purple, but the bitter sight for him was only a reminder of her disrespect, as opposed to evoking pity.

Her screams had become straight rasps and gasps, open mouthed silence. Tears of discomfort and pain that trailed into her mouth were her only form of relief to her inflamed throat..

“Stop moaning, you did this to yourself. You like to see me mad, don’t you? Where are those hickies on your pussy you said he gave you?” he questions, slapping at her drenched pussy with his entire palm.

She rasped out incoherent words, and he lightly slapped her pussy with the belt, and she whimpered.

“N–noo, no belt there Virgil..” She was too sensitive to endure belt slaps there.

“You can’t answer my question, you want the eighth slap?” he taunts, clenching his belt at the ready if she said the wrong thing…

“I lied—so sorry.” she begs weakly, the burning sensation on her ass was taking her in and out of focus.

“Why?” he seethed, his nostrils flaring, he ran the belt down her slit pressing the tail of the belt, slightly, into her opening. He laughs as she yelps. 

“Because I– I like the things you do to me w-w-when you’re mad” she stutters in hiccups, waiting to see if he’d push all the leather in.

“Mmm” he smirks, “I can tell, you’re leaking everywhere. You’ve got slick dripping down your thighs” he mumbled entranced at the sight, there was no other scenario in the world where she’d be in this position spread in his presence and he’d not slide his jigsaw piece into her puzzle, but he resisted the urge.

“You know why?”she shakes her head against the trunk tiredly.

“Because I own you, your body too. It's for me.Only. Not even Trent could get you this wet, could he?”

“Hurts so bad. It stings so badly.. Pleaseh. Promise me you’re done” she wails, swapping the cheeks she layed on the trunk with, it had become warm with her hot tears. The cool sensation on her other cheek found a way to temporarily cool parts of her body, especially the ones that had been abused for minutes upon minutes.

The eighth slap landed on her imprinted, broken skin and she finally broke. She was totally unprepared, and slipped down the car.

Her wail became earcrushing and truly shook the concrete underneath them. She weeps as she slips to the floor, her lower body numbing by the second. Virgil drops the belt at the shrill scream and hoists her up by her waist, turning her to face him, allowing her to dig her face into his chest. It’s as if this is happening in slow motion for Ameena, her ears tingle and sound slowly drains out. This feeling of dissociation only intensifies as her vision becomes hazy and her breath is shortened. He works hard at  grounding her lower body to help her stand. 

“No more, no more Virgil.” she chokes out desperately. “I can’t feel my legs..”she wraps her arms around his shoulders for support and blinks away her teary vision when she tucks her head into the crook of his neck. He takes the time to examine her appearance, she still looked beautiful even with all her makeup smudged and running down her face.

Virgil was never a man who went back on his word, he saw it as a weakness that the women in his life, especially, would take advantage of. When he looked into her soul and studied her face he could see the desperation for warmth, not just physical warmth but emotional warmth. She pulls back and looks up at him. His punishments had rendered her vulnerable, and so there was no point forcing the charade that she didn’t care or want him around. It had been whipped out of her. Ameena’s red, wet eyes flicker between his lip and eyes; waiting silently for confirmation that he had gotten all his anger out and that they would be okay again. He would be her protector again. Their hearts beat in tandem with each other and she could cry with how much she missed these moments in the time they spent apart. It was crazy that now she didn’t care at all that her whole lower body was exposed from the waist down or that he’d just whipped her, she didn’t care that her favourite dress was hanging off of one of her body in strings. She cared to be in her man’s embrace again. 

“You didn’t answer my question” the silent moment of affection they shared losing his heart’s grip. She eyes him as if to say, ‘be so forreal’  eyes before  removing her arm from around his neck replying “You know, he can’t make me as wet as you can.”

A beat.

She inhales to speak but nothing comes out.. She couldn’t seem to grasp or pinpoint a singular emotion or thought she was experiencing.

“If you want to speak, speak.” he observes as thoughts scatter across her brain like birds before a storm. 

“It might make you angry, Virgil but I just really want to know.” He doesn't give her approval again, he just waits for her to catch the hint that he’s listening. His breath becomes less erratic as he watches her figure out the words to say so innocently.

“I guess I’m trying to figure out why you came here? Today. To get me? Did you just come here t-to like, eh, feed your ego…maybe?”

“How so?”  He tries to hide the amusement he finds in her nervousness but can’t help but let a smile rip. He scratches his chin to cover his smile.

Her eyes sting as she finds the words to help explain where her accusation, disguised as a question, had come from. 

“Virgil, this is the first time you’ve seen me in months and the first you do is manhandle and degrade me in a cold car park, like I’m a toy. It hurts because I’m supposed to be someone you love, someone you’ve sacrificed a lot for and that doesn’t show.”

He hums, understanding that she cares dearly for him and what they have  it warms his heart. His palms supporting her waist close to fists and travel down the curve of her back, strumming softly against her soft, silk skin. He slid his possessive fingers between her thighs cupping her sticky heat as if he owned it, his fingers seperated and explored her folds with precision invading her honey pot. Her tired eyes follow his fingers, helpless,  as they explore her most intimate area.

He brings his drenched fingers to her lips and watches as she sucks it, her eyes not leaving his. There was not an ounce of hesitation. Her neutral juices coat her tongue, and mix with the slightly salty taste of his fingers. She was turning to putty in his gaze, following every unspoken request. She mentally curses herself for being weak for dick, and for  allowing herself to just comply with every order that compromised her voice. It frightened her to admit that she was becoming like the girls she’d berate and laugh about on social for being too submissive. God, life works in mysterious ways! She was only just judging those women….now look

“I know what you’re about to say Virgil and that's not fair, what my body does in your presence and how it reacts is completely out of my control and you know that. You don’t give me much choice but to succumb to your…..demands” And now that she was pregnant and her hormones were all over the place this problem would only get worse.

“What demands Ameena?” he tilts his head to the side. 

A beat.

“I’m doing the best I can, don’t be a brat. How do you expect me to embrace you, or show you true affection of any kind with this shit on on your neck, it’s taking me a lot to even touch you now if I’m honest— I’m swallowing my pride. I just touched your pussy…that’s some affection,no? What else do you expect from me? You want two men in one day, is that it?”

“But don’t you miss me?” she asks exasperated, her volume rising a few notches higher with yearning and desperation.

They’re both tired by now. And Virgil, especially, needs space and time to think. He lets go of Ameena and goes to open the backdoor of his Urus. He grabs her, spins her around and lays her stomach down on the leather seats. 

“You don’t think Ameena, that’s your fuc—that’s your problem Ameena. You make yourself the victim every time. Do you remember how many texts I sent you asking for us to meet, granted, you were angry because of my mistakes but even still? Now today after weeks and weeks of you ignoring me and only texting me when you want money or something, I made the decision to check your location and pop up at this shitty club unannounced to take you home.”

“Use that drunk brain of yours to figure out what that means.” And with that he slams the back door and walks around from the front of the car to get to the driver’s seat, not before Ameena tucks her knees in. 

As hectic as this night has been, his hair is still neat and in this silence, where the outside world is filtered out by these steel, aluminum doors, she finally has time to take him in. The choppy beard he was growing out gave him a rough edge and should've been a warning to Ameena as to how the night would end— rough and sticky. She giggles in her head as his harsh but passionate words ring in her head, she knows exactly what they meant.

He cares about meeeee, he caress about meeeheeheee, my rich, millionaire athletic man cares about meeeeheee.

She sings, flapping her feet about like a kid, allowing herself to kick and scream for only a few milliseconds until he opens the driver’s seat.  Her body sinks into the warm leather after that musical outburst. Finally, peace of mind. Her life was crazy but she didn’t mind, clearly his aggression was only a way he could express his deep love and care for her. That was adequate for now, she aimed to teach him how to love properly for their child’s sake. 

Before he drives off, he takes a look at her in all her glory through the rearview mirror. What a waste of a dress, she thought to herself trying to rip the wooly threads with her fingers. The unweaving of wool made a green mess in the backseat of his car that she didn’t know what to do with.

Heat pricks to the surface of her skin with the rush of tempting thoughts. The idea that flowed to mind was beautiful, in that mischievous, forbidden way. She bites her lip, tucking some of the broken garment into the net compartment on the back of his car seat, alongside her anklet that was some semblance of herself with her initials– letter ‘A’. She hoped he wouldn’t see it, it wasn’t meant for him.

He clearly didn’t clean the backseat much because there was clutter everywhere presumably from his kids, like some small unfinished water bottles, pieces of papers with awful handwriting on them ,and some gold toffee wrappers that were sprawled all around the car’s interior. She drifted off into an effortless nap, comforted with the heat that devious action had given her. If she was ‘his’ like he had branded her one too many times, then he was her’s, but her possession would be public in the faces of the masses, known to his family most importantly. With her baby on the way, it would ensure her worst fear wouldn’t materialise. Ameena and her kid would be a priority. Two could play this possessive game.

...

 Ameena wakes up when the car jolts to a stop. The quiet sound of music doing a good job at trying to lull her back to sleep. The welts on her bottom made themselves known as soon as she sat up, the nap was so good she’d forgotten the trauma her body had gone through just minutes before. Her head drops in agony. Virgil, on the other hand, with no welt is sat perfectly on his bottom. In fact, he had reclined his seat back sitting as comfortably as ever with his forearms crossed over his eyes.

“Can you pass me my purse?”

The first thing she reaches for is her phone—finally. She couldn’t help but feel alarmed at the amount of calls and texts she’d received from her sister and Tamara. Bless them, they’d both clearly been panicking, fuelling each other's anxiety and all sorts. Hopefully they hadn’t called the police!  With that daunting thought she makes a group chat, naming it ‘I’m safe x’ and sends them a string of messages seeming overly jolly with no mention of Virgil to avoid getting berated by them. A weight is lifted off of her shoulders when telling her girls she was safe, she didn’t like feeling like a burden. 

She looks outside for the first time properly now that her phone had woken her eyes up but she doesn’t recognise where they are, partially because it’s dark and partially because as lush as her house was… it wasn’t in the middle of a bougie high street in Piccadilly. Looking at the time she sees it's 1:58, nearly two meaning it had taken them over 45 minutes to get here. Juggling her memory she remembers that the drive from home with Tamara was only a 15 minute ride to the Mayfair club. Her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

She felt the urge to state the obvious, “this isn’t my house..”

A beat of silence.

“We need to talk, no? You called me the other week about the Ritz. Today seems like the best day for that, I’ll be very busy the next few weeks.” his voice scratchy with exhaustion.

‘Busy’.. A key word that tickled her fancy to debunk, he was very vague in his wording. What exactly would he be doing in the next few weeks that would mean they couldn’t spend time together? 

“You’re saying… you wont have time to see me in the next few weeks? Is that what you mean by ‘very busy’?”

“Probably not.” His tone is nonchalant and she doesn’t like it. The feeling that she may have just gotten her hopes up at the chance of finally having support during her second and third trimester was excruciating.

“That's not going to cut it, I need a precise answer” he twists his torso from his seat to look back at her....up. Then down.  As if to say ‘pike the fuck down’.  It takes Virgil’s looks of progressive irritation  for her to realise how pushy she was being, and that he wouldn’t understand where she was coming from. She didn’t want to be alone -especially- during the first few weeks of her second trimester where she’d been warned symptoms would intensify and her body would make the most changes…..but he didn’t know this. He didn’t know she was pregnant. “....Training… ..amongst other things. It’s Nila and Jadi’s birthday coming up. Those birthdays are a week apart from each other but because they aren’t twins so we're wanting to do separate big parties. They’re turning nine and twelve so I need to be there, not only to celebrate my girls but to help to plan in the weeks coming. It’s non-negotiable.”

She couldn’t argue with that, he was showing up for his kids in the way she hoped he’d show up for theirs.

“Well, if you’re not back for the 26th of February…..We’re done.” she promises, reaching over to remove Virgil’s Prada jacket hanging  from the passenger's seat, wrapping it around her torso to cover her bottom half that was naked, bruised and fully exposed. 

Before she did so he clamped his hands around her wrist, the grip tight but not harmful. 

“What kind of man do you take me for, Mena?” His eyes followed her facial features as they morphed into some semblance of strength.

She shrugs, “I don’t know, but it’s a warning, not a threat. If you miss my birthday it’s over.” 

She didn’t cower to his use of physical contact, she laid her boundaries down unapologetically. Her birthday was the most important thing to her, her parents had gone all out for her birthday all throughout her youth and it was going to stay that way and the same treatment she’d have for her own kids. Additionally, now that her mother was dead, her birthday also acted as a celebration for her mother’s strength and all that she went through to get Ameena here.

“We’re not over ‘till I say we are, stubborn little girl.” He mumbles underneath his breath turning the engine off. 

They make their way to the hotel reception and a simple nod from Virgil was all the verification the male receptionist, Anthony, needed before the pair hand in hand made their way to the top floor, where a beautiful suite Virgil had insisted on having was waiting. He requested for the most isolated suite they had, private with  nothing less of a breathtaking view and these workers fulfilled this demand. It made her gasp, seeing the view of her city...London as they travelled up the lift. It was so beautiful at night, so peaceful, just a complete juxtaposition of the havoc and pollution that came about at midday. The sky was clear, free of clouds, allowing the stars to twinkle down on them. 

 Whilst they made their way Ameena’s thoughts were racing frantically, as nice of a gesture this was it seemed Virgil was adamant for this conversation to be had. There was no doubt in her mind, he’d drill it out of her–the reason she’d called him some weeks back with a wavering voice. She wasn’t completely naive, it was going to be a difficult conversation to have and a tough pill to swallow for Virgil —especially after the ordeal with Trent but all she had to be was apologetic. She prayed to God silently for a smooth sailing conversation that wouldn’t ruin her experience here.

The wave of superiority Ameena felt once entering the room was fulfilling. The room was lush and completely swept Ameena off of her feet, whilst Virgil played it cool. He’d probably been here with many other women, she can’t help but grimace.

“Is this where you bring your prostitutes for your threesomes?”she genuinely asks, whilst walking around the suite touching things, and smelling things. The room service menu caught her eye and she immediately ran to it, she was starving.

“Yes, I’ve brought you here haven’t I? She gasps, dropping the menu and runs to smack his back whilst he just laughs.

They were high above the quiet city, the top-floor suite suspended in luxury. Through the tall balcony windows stretched from floor to ceiling draped in sheer linen curtains that had been pulled back, was a blur of lights and motions from cars, silhouettes and infrequent planes sounding by, but other than that silence. The emerald velvet seats were cool to the touch, and added a splash of color to the mainly white and silver accented interior, it was very satisfying to the human eye. It was the kind of space where time slowed and every detail from the whisper of silk bed sheets that bounced off the bright lights overhead to the slow jazz that played through the hidden speaker spoke of wealth and taste. Everything they wanted for their future.

Virgil yawns, removing his black Prada shirt and kicking off his shoes, placing them side by side on the end of the bed and then disappears to the bathroom briefly. At that time, Ameena strips off what is left of her green dress, chucking it to the floor lazily leaving her naked in the remaining of her jewelry. 

“Robe” she utters absentmindedly to herself checking in the wardrobes for them. To her surprise they weren’t in there and so she checked in the bathroom. To her luck, she finds them folded on a heated metallic radiator and puts one on with haste to savour the warm feeling, ignoring the stares she sees through the mirror from Virgil who has just finished peeing. The rumbling toilet was a tell tale sign. 

“I’m going to wash my hands, then I’m going to rub your welts with some ointments.”

“Is it frag–?”

“No, I asked them for an unfragranced only— it’s on the glass table near the wardrobe if you want to check.”

Good boy, she jokes in her head, or out loud judging by the look of disgust on his face.

“Take the robe off, lay with your ass up on that bed ready for me and you be a good girl” The flirtatious edge to his voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

She scurries off to the bed, allowing the cotton robe to slip down her body and hit the floor. The feeling of silk cools her skin encouraging her body to relax and to sink into the mattress with not a care in the world if her body was not yet cleaned; she deserved rest and the distant jazz music was doing a good job in providing it.

The bowlegged man returns to the room silently; she couldn’t see him but she could feel his presence start to loosen her body. The micro hairs on the back of her neck stood like soldiers awaiting his touch. He slowly crouches onto the bed and straddles her legs warming the lotion in his calloused hands to prepare. He plants a kiss on the wound, and warmed by this Ameena mutters a small ‘thank you’ readjusting herself in between his legs. 

“Do you feel bad?” her question pierces through the silence between them. Through her peripheral she sees him shake his head, his brows furrowed in concentration.

There's a beat before he returns a question.

“Are you sorry? For forcing me to see the things he’s done to your body?”

She craned her neck over her shoulder to observe him.

“Yes. And I’ve paid the price for it so I don’t want you to hold it over my head anymore ok? We both fucked up..”

He doesn’t answer, instead just continues to rub his rough palms over her welts that were protruding from her skin’s surface. She whimpers softly, pushing her face into the mattress.

“Still hurts, mein kindje?” she nods her head. He kisses the spot again, climbing off of her and sitting on the edge of the bed. She slowly shifts robotically to lie on her stomach tucking her legs into premade bedsheets.

“No other man should touch you again or the consequences—just take my word for it, please. I don’t want to warn you again”

She listened intently because his eyes weren’t lying. She held his sharp, hard glare but swallowed some bravery before interjecting.

“Then you’re also mine right?” she treads carefully, bowing her head to his eye level.

His eyes narrow, “Where are you going with this?”

“I obviously know your….situation but when you’re with me you’re mine right? Just like I’m yours—”

He nods. “Good.”

He knows there’s more that she’s hesitant to say, so he clears his throat.

“You ring,  I don’t—I've been thinking about  this for so long. It just doesn’t feel right too see it and feel it when we’re intimate, it’s almost like you’re advertising that you’re married with that ring. I don’t…want to see…it. It also just makes me think of her—your wife and it takes me out of our moment.”

“I felt it when you were massaging my wounds and I have been keeping my feelings in for so long now but I don’t like it —I hate it when you wear it around me. Because it means nothing to you, clearly.” 

He gets up and stretches his torso out, a yawn rips from his mouth. Her eyes instinctively drop down to his happy trail and they stay there for a second before darting back up to his eyes with a heavy gaze. There was an uncomfortable suspense eating at her pulse.

He strides towards the emerald, velvet chair where she had placed his jacket and shoots back…

 “Think carefully before you make a command like that again. Before you end up with more bruises.” 

She was astonished so much that her mouth dropped. Had her genuine question really struck a nerve for him to threaten her again? She felt mute in her own relationship, like she couldn’t express her deepest desires.

“Then I’m not yours. I couldn’t possibly be because you’re someone else—”

“Drop it Ameena.” And then the lights go down.

 He sinks into the chair in the corner of the room and fades into a neutral state of mind. He didn’t have the energy to entertain that question, it was unbelievably close to home. The truth of the matter was that his and Rike’s relationship had been on the rocks as of lately, bad. She’d filed for a divorce reasoning it as desertion, claiming he’d abandoned her and Ameena asking that question made his situation feel all too real. Ameena was always his point of escape and he loved it with her, but when both of his life's start to collide that's where the problem lies. He wants them separate and Ameena constantly questioning about his other life was far too exposing.

 It hurt to see her hugging the bed sheets alone from the other side of the room, but he found her disgusting; he couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as her. That was a riveting thought to sleep through, that one mistake she’d made had completely changed her value in his eyes. He disregarded her honesty and transparency as valuable traits and was more concerned with her body’s value. Her body was only temporary flesh, why didn’t her morals matter to him. Her heart ached, falling asleep was the only way to escape the ache. So she drifted off slowly allowing the jazz to take her there.

An hour later.

Virgil stares into space wide-eyed, a volcanic eruption behind his still eyes. He couldn’t catch even a wink of sleep. He spent the past hour slouched on the green velvet chair on the far end of the hotel room, manspreading. As upset and betrayed as he felt, he made a point to keep this hurt to himself, not wanting to take the full extent of this anger out on Ameena.

 It wouldn’t be fair to direct  all of the betrayal he’d been bruised with in his personal life as of recent on the woman he loved most (aside from his little girls). There were numerous culprits: Trent who didn’t understand the capacity of his actions, not only with fucking Ameena (which hurt the most) but with leaving their club and in return their longterm brotherhood, his wife for her attempt to take full custody the kids he financially took care of and Ameena for burning his mouth with the taste of his own medicine. In his silence he was understanding why being a man was the most prestigious title one could acquire, it was because he was forced to keep in all these debilitating emotions bottled up whilst keeping a clean sheet as a provider, as a father to young girls who saw him as a hero and as a captain. Now, that, was the toughest job. All he really wanted to do was lay his head on the lap of his mother or Ameena or his daughters’ and have them stroke his hair until he forgot all these problems. But, no. He was in silence, wearing his silence as armor, not because he wasn’t hurting enough but because feeling out loud, as rich as he was, was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

He wore shock on his face when Ameena's voice croaked out from the darkness. Abruptly breaking through the 50 minutes of Virgil’s streaming thoughts. Were his thoughts that loud that he had woken the woman up? 

“I really do hate you Virgil.” the weak voice from the darkness said as she uncomfortably shifts on the bed. She reaches over to her bedside table, turning on her stomach to rub more ointment on her bottom to soothe the stinging sensation.

(She hadn’t been spanked like that since she was maybe 3, and she definitely hadn’t been spanked that many times in the same area. Pure embarrassment was her current state of being, she was going on 23 still being treated like a toddler).

Unfortunately for her, her words weren't going to push him away, the word ‘hate’ had become desensitized in their relationship and he had to admit it was partly his fault, so he was going to let it pass…For now.

A click sounds in the darkness, followed by the bedside lamp closest to Ameena illuminating her side of the room. She looked like a princess with her hair sprawled out all over the crisp pillows, her torso tucked into the sheet to perfection leaving nothing out but her slender arms that fit his like gloves. She wipes sleep from her eyes looking over to him, their eyes met for a split second before Virgil reverted his gaze back to the darkness he’d found solace in before. He feared the light would expose his worries.

“D’you hear me?” she speaks up again. He simply nodded, not sparing her a glance. He felt if they locked eyes he may interpret her words as earnest and that would end him.

“It’s so hard to look at you—let alone touch you, you know.”, her voice breaks and Virgil blinks rapidly, fighting his urge to run to her side, enveloping her in his tattooed arms. 

“You really hurt me—you will never understand. And it’s so fucking annoying because as much as you hurt me, you still have something about you that compels me to— for fucks sake— like even after telling Amaya and Tamara how much I hate you and never want to see you again ‘m here with you in a hotel…naked and for what...”she sobs painfully.

“I wish I could make you feel the way you make me feel sometimes.”

“—I-I just remember the feeling of hearing them…Virgil on the phone”

Virgil’s eyes flicker to her belongings on the floor at the foot of the bed, his bottom lip flips. Their breaths became the only clock ticking in the room. Each rise and fall of their chests were their souls attempting to reconcile but failing, an inhale a secret and an exhale a confession that neither dared to say out loud. He didn’t know what to say—this was the first time in his life he recalled not having a solution. 

Virgil sits up, his voice raw as he replies, “You’ve gotten your revenge now with my brother.”

 Her mouth flies open, ‘brother’. 

“Brother my ass, jeez Virgil—any excuse to refer to me as a whore and you will.” she chortles bitterly.

“You did it first.” 

“And that makes it okay to fuck my brother?….The audacity to try ruin a friendship that started way before you” His face tightened like a fist, and his eyes burned cold towards her side of the room, but she felt hot ready to burn back, to scold him.

His response was quick but silence prolonged hers. She’s guilty, Virgil thought.

Unbeknownst to him, her silence was the kind of silence made before breaking.

“You’re the last one to talk about audacity. Like you didn’t have the audacity to choke me and leave me on the floor crying, after purposefully getting me—trying to get me pregnant. You’re the fucking monster don’t try make me out as one, I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your little ego by getting with Trent but that doesn’t even compare to the shit you’ve put me through. You were so bad!! Oh-oh-oh Virgil, you were so insensitive about my abortion that day and you still haven’t apologised for how that made me feel, you called me murderer.”

“Keep your fucking voice down.” he grits.

“No! You have no more power over me.” 

 Her nap had seemingly restored some common sense into her, after her punishment she felt silenced. She wanted to get into his good books because he was asserting dominance she’d never experienced before. It was second nature to cower down to him but that wore off. Ameena felt the need to let him know that how he’d been treating her just for keeping the same energy as him wasn’t okay. She was enraged.

Breath …she instructed herself, the baby…

 “I didn’t fuck him either, unlike yourself, you’ve had sex with two women since we’ve been together ONLY GOD knows how many more that me and Rike don’t know about.” His body shivers at the mention of his wife, she was doing it again– provoking him.

“ I’ve apologized, I’m not doing it again..” he let out a long breath and his palms press roughly onto his eyebrows, for a second she thought he was crying. His face reddened as seconds past.

“For what offence? For choking me with your dick, or for calling me a murderer? Or for cheating on me? Or for fucking me for three years just to ruin my life…Fucking look at my skin Virgil!! Look at it, you’re breaking me out, my eyes have never been this red in all my 22 years of life, not even with my parents.”

You’re still perfect in my eyes, he thinks to himself. It was gut-wrenching to hear that all the things she was struggling with in her personal life was because of him.

Silence invades the room again, he gets up and with every move he makes he’s intently being watched by Ameena. Not even his blinks escape her obsessive gaze. He buttons up his jeans. Her world stills when he grabs his phone from beside her on her nightstand. He wasn’t going to leave on her watch. She sits up at the speed of lightning and reaches instinctively for his wrist, keeping it in place on the stand. Now he would know how it felt to be dragged out of the club.

“Where on earth are you going? I haven’t finished talking to you. Sit down”

“You’re not talking to me, little girl, you’re violating my character. If I’m such a monster, and if all those things I’ve done and have already apologized for truly make you hate me still then…”

“Then what?” she clings onto his every move, every story told in his eyes, every emotion playing out in his eyebrows. The world finally halts. She thought it stopped moving when her parents died or when she had her abortion but it was in this moment she truly felt the stars that scattered the night sky dim, sounds from outside and the cars in the distance drain out. Only the moment between them remained alive, too alive for her liking, holding them in its tight grip.

“Then this.” Ameena doesn’t miss the movement from his Adam's apple, something tells her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.  

He motions between them both with his head. “Is done, forever.”

She maintains his gaze, wide-eyed like a baby. At a loss for words and like protocol her eyes glaze over. He can never look at her when she got like that, during sex sure, but with the gut wrenching stuff he became a wuss. He walks away, snatching free from her grip.

She mutter a small ‘ow’

“I swear.”

“Now I’m going to ask you for the last and final time, is what I’ve done unforgivable?” Her eyes never once left his person, in a state of bewilderment she shakes her head. Her mouth agape. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the concept of not having Virgil in her life forever, especially because of the reality of having his baby in her stomach. It made that concept feel unbearable.

No. 

Never.

She wasn’t going to do life without him, especially not whilst pregnant, she needed him. She’d spent hours talking to her sister about the crippling fear that would play hide and go seek in her subconscious everyday, her baby being fatherless. It’s in her hands now to prevent that, and she’d do everything in her power to.

She shakes her head, violently.

“Use your words, I hate it when you don’t.” he jabs with a piercing look

“No” she whispers, as if it was such an obvious answer to the question he had dared to ask her. 

“No, what?” he fishes “No it’s not unforgivable Virgil” her voice was small and hoarse. She wiped her face, waiting. 

Can everything go back to normal now?  She winced internally she couldn’t bear the anticipation she felt like she needed a remote in her life to press fast forward.

A slight nod from Virgil peaks her interest.

“Do you understand what that means, stout meisje?” He delivers, slow, low and controlled.

She starts to shake her head and then vocalises her answers when he starts stepping towards her.

“No, what does it mean Virgil?”

“It means you’ve had your chance to fuck about but now it's mine. You are mine. I don't want to hear you use that ‘hate’ word, it’s disgusting and it doesn’t sound good coming from your mouth. No more trying to be a big girl, I decide what happens next from here on out. I'm the leader in this relationship. Is that understood?”

She nods her head yes. He leans down in front of her, his fists planting into the mattress near her tucked legs.

“That means no defying me when I ask you to do something, Ameena.” he grits out.

She bites her lip, hard. “Yes Virgil.” He was being deadly serious but the thoughts in her mind weren’t. He was stone cold but that only set ablaze the fire in her heart for the only man who she’d let control  her. At that moment, she doesn’t entirely know what she’s signed up for, but nobody would blame her; her hormones were all over the place. What this conversation meant to her was that the happiness of their baby and consequently hers was secured.

 “Good girl.” he mumbles to himself.

Ameena’s brows cock up. He goes back to sit on the velvet chair and the space between them deflates the tension  in the room. Virgil is deep in thought again and Ameena is only just watching him.

Whew, she felt beads of sweat underneath her book, and in her pits. She sat in silence, most of the thing she wanted to get off of her chest she had, it was now all him. He did say he was the leader now.

“Since meeting you, those were the only two women I’ve fucked. I wouldn’t lie. I hope that puts your little mind at rest.” 

“Before you ask why, I just used their bodies to take my mind off of you. Simple. They were disposable pussy, like most woman but you are to me”

The look on Ameena's face is one of disbelief. “Ok. Have you slept with Rike since meeting me?”

He side-eyes Ameena, “You ask questions that get you hurt, why?”

“So that’s a yes, just say yes, why answer my question with a question.”

“Yes, I fuck her.” Fuck? Present tense…wow.

Ameena can’t help but to cry, not of sadness because she is well aware of what she got herself into, but of embarrassment.

“But I don’t remember the last time I’ve kissed her, or celebrated a Valentines with or a birthday. Nothing of substance.” She hiccups, and listens intently.

“But you, on the other hand, get 5 star hotels every other week, everything you were wearing today was a present, no? Weekly allowances, unlimited sex, I kiss you everywhere don’t I? Your cars…”

If Ameena was a few shades lighter, she’d be blushing but instead her stomach does somersaults and she looks down.

“Don’t hide that smile, come here..” He pats his outstretched lap and she gets up instantly, they both laugh at how submissive she now is. “But I don’t want you to fuck her, not anymore. Because you're mine just as much as I’m yours” she draws on lazily as the crisp sheets fall from her hourglass silhouette that Virgil couldn't help but to stare at. His stare pinned her in place and moved over her like a fire in slow motion, a raw hunger for destruction. His eyes didn’t just look over her but they claimed her. He enjoyed as her thighs jiggled with every step she took towards him, her breasts looked—big, bigger and her areolas bigger too than the last time he saw them..maybe she was just very cold. They sat up as if they were being supported by her belly… her belly. He stopped analysing too much before she became self conscious, but in the dimly lit room the shadows casted over her belly as she walked past the small light revealed a small bump that ended at her lower abdomen. Was it bloating… or was it what he’d been expecting since the day he last saw her.

She kneels on his lap, sitting any other way would be too vulgar considering she was fully naked. He keeps his arms on his laps, which was odd to her; she was expecting a warm embrace. It felt unnatural to just sit there without touching. She tried to move his arms but they stiffened in place, a whine erupts from her as she searches his face with confusion written on hers.

“What's wrong with–?” she catches his eyes flickering from her neck back to her mouth. Her shoulders start to heave for the upteenth time today. 

“Vee, I’m so sorry. I know you think I’m disgusting, but I’m not I swear, it was a moment of weakness.I- I can go and shower really quickly. Oh God, please don’t treat me like a whore. Virgill, hug me, do something!” she rambles hysterically.

He wondered if she’d downed a couple of drinks at the club. Maybe that would explain to him the ease at which she’d been falling asleep and all the emotional stuff. He can’t help but laugh at her theatrics, it didn’t help that she also had such an awkward crying face. His knuckles stroke her neck gently, “it’s hard to look at what he’s done to you that’s all”

“Were you drunk, is that why you let him?”  “I didn’t drink. I haven’t drank in ages, only Tamara did and Joe, I think.”

“Oh, so it was your sober mind, no liquid courage?” she sniffles and her shoulders jolt in tandem with them.

“Stop crying.. What’s done is done.” he looks down, his lip bottom lip between his teeth as he squeezes her thick thighs playfully as they’re spread in front of him, no one else’s compared to hers. Not even the Swedish whores he found himself in.

He was going to take advantage of her emotional state to probe about her past few months, his conscience told him there were bigger issues than what met his eye. 

“You got thicker?” he questions, and her mind freezes for a second. “Ye–no. I don’t think so. Have I? Do I look bad? I can lose–”

What has gotten into this woman? Before, she would’ve answered with a grinny ‘yes’ followed by a ‘so what?’ as sassy as she was but now she sounded…dare he say insecure? Maybe she was nervous as they hadn’t seen each other in ages.

His eyes flicker to her full  breasts, which bounce free with every movement she makes. They’re so close to him he can practically smell the familiar sweet scent of milk (courtesy of his wife and their 3 babies) or maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him. Wish fulfillment they called it. A smirk rides his lips and he goes to squeeze them hard, his tongue swiping over his top lip suspiciously. She screams, loudly. He continues to pinch her nipples, holding her back still with his left hand so that she doesn’t run from his….experiment. He places his nose in between her cleavage and places a few kisses there, planting them right on top of her crucifix tattoo. 

Extra sensitive, he noted. Her tits usually weren’t where she was most sensitive, it was her collarbone, clit and occasionally the small of her back. What are the odds?  he thought…

“Why are you playing with me so roughly? Are you still mad at me?” her chest rose and fell rapidly and her hands found his shoulders, squeezing onto them. Although she does feel mildly scared, she admires his striking face dripping with admiration, she missed him so much. His suave, how sexy he was, his quiet but sure dominance. His stare back mirrored the same feeling of relief to finally be in each other’s arms. Meekly, Ameena leans into the crook of his neck and sniffs the area, his cologne now a faint smell. It was such a comfortable position to be sat in for both of them, Ameena was on his lap with her face in his neck, and although he couldn’t see her sweet face he still had the perfect sight of her wham ass so he was fine. 

Before his hands  go to knead her ass, shemoves from sitting on her shins to straddling him, dangling her legs over each side of his lap with no care in the world for anything. She bucks her hips into him… his eyebrows shoot up.  This was the behavior of a very horny girl. That's how blatant her behavior was.

“Is someone excited?”

“Just wanna get comfortable” she mumbles, her soft voice vibrating on his skin. “You—w-wouldn’t fuck me anyways because you think I’m… you think I’m dirty.”

A beat.

Another beat.

After the third beat of silence, Virgil announces what has been lurking in his mind throughout their interactions in the chair. “....Are you pregnant, Ameena?......”

Her body stiffens around him and a sense of knowing consumes him. He rubs her back as warmth fills the depths of  his belly. “Why?” 

“ I’ve been observing you, I know your body almost better than you know it. Am I not your first?” “I also filled you up with my seeds the last night we spent together, you remember” She shivers.

She lifts up and avoids his eyes.  Ameena swallows hard before whispering, ‘I don’t want to cry again..”

His heart squeezes, he rubs his nose against her nose, lovingly so she could feel support from him in some way. He couldn’t kiss her, not tonight everything was still so fresh.

She nods, “I found out a week before the phone call… that's why it broke me so much its why I’m so mad at you—because I thought that was it for us and for the family we could have. The thoughts crossing my mind were scary, I thought that I kept the baby all for it to not have a dad because he had ‘moved on’ with those women”.

“Impossible.”

“Please don’t lose me Virgil, I can’t bear the thought of raising it without you.” He strokes her skin harder, enlivened with the thought of Ameena becoming heavily pregnant and in turn becoming the mother of his kid, like he always saw her to be. There were many questions needing to be asked and answered but they both held back for the sake of the moment. It was a big deal, a baby. A family finally.

“I’ll never lose you….well you’re stuck with me now, aren’t you? Forever eva eva” he sings in her ear, referring to a timeless Chris Brown hit. “Forever” 2012. 

She laughs, shyy.

A beat.

Her laughs, become giggles and then her thoughts bring her to silence.

“I, I hate that you won’t kiss me in this moment of all moments too….” She grabs his bun and pushes his face closer to hers, to which he swiftly jolts his neck away. Her hands move down to fist his top, pulling him towards her body. She sticks her tongue out to lick on his face, neck, lip anywhere. She was craving his affection.

“Ameena…” he warns.

She whines and tries to jump off of him but he holds her in place, he didn’t want their proxemics to be over, it had been ages. He was a happy man,but couldn’t show it in the way she wanted (through physical affection) for the simple fact that the evidence of another man was on her body. 

Virgil clears his throat, thinking carefully about the words he was about to say to her, aware of the emotional state his woman was in.

“But Ameena, as happy as I am about this, it’s a dangerous thing you did sleeping with another man with my seed in you.” he grips the back of her neck, not too tight but tight enough for her to acknowledge his sincerity.

“Very, very dangerous. You know how angry that makes me? I want to throw something, murder someone. Just for you—because of you.”he draws in a rattled breath. Her eyes glaze over with shame, she tries to speak…

“I didn’t have sex with him, I swear, on my womb.” “We kissed, and I grinded… on his dick and–and I wasn’t wearing any underwear so he tried to finger me— and he touched my pussy but he never entered me. I swear”

Virgil mouths form a sharp line, and his dark lashes hide the storm in his eyes. He taps her thigh and she gets up, he does too. Irritated. He scratches his head erratically walking across the room.. She sits back down, dumbfounded and uses her arms to cover her genitals.

“Fuck man—are you that easy?” he blurts out but the look on Ameena’s face causes him to immediately regret his words, her lower lip trembling as she registers his words.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that princess, I meant…. Trent not you.”.

“Don’t you trust me?” 

Virgil didn’t speak. He barely trusted himself, he knew how sneaky and deceptive he was at her age, so how could he expect her not to be the same. She was a spoiled 22 year old at that.

“Do you believe me?” she pleaded.

“Baby…?” She was tired of crying, and just sank into the seat. She just wanted him to forget but that was a big ask, especially for a man as possessive as Virgil. He stops in his tracks (from pacing about) and scans the gorgeous girl, he sees how obedient she was for him and how attentive she was. Her eyes, although tired, admired him and twinkled for him. This was a sight he’d prayed for for ages, but still there was something he needed… that he didn’t know how to articulate.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes,

“Let me feel it.. baby. Then I’ll believe it.”

Ameena’s mouth dropped and she looked down at her body and back at him. “I- I don’t quite understand.” She hoped he wasn’t thinking to…to  test out her tight she was, that would be absurd right?

“Let me feel your pussy, if I’m the only one that’s been in it then I’ll know.”

“You want to finger me, to feel how…tight…..Virgil, what is wrong with you?” her voice starts to waver and she now pulls his Prada jacket hung over the back of the chair over her body.

“I’m going to need to fuck you baby, finger aren’t enough.”

What?

She wanted the velvet chair to swallow her whole, and she’d be damen if it didn’t. She was firstly extremely embarrassed that he was inadvertently calling her loose to her face. Secondly, she had just announced her pregnancy to the man she loved, to the man who’s seed she was carrying and to think he was comfortable disrespecting the body she was growing his seed in was beyond her. Was he ever going to change? This obsession she had started to notice he had with controlling her body was coming suffocating and alienating, she had learned to completely disconnect her mind and body sometimes because of it. There’d be times, like earlier today where he’d carry out actions she didn’t want mentally but her body craved for and this was the exact same situation. He was currently punishing her because he was purposefully not embracing her with even a modicum of affection all day… and this… was the first intimate interaction they’d be partaking in for a while. But it wasn’t going to feel like the other times, this was going to feel artificial. She didn’t want that. But her body did, her body levitated at the reintroduction of sex, finally. 

There was an undeniable force that brought their bodies together, always, even during hardship.

“Get on that bed”  he insists, stripping out of his trousers. She flinches as the heavy material hits the ground with a thud, his keys and phone still deep in the pocket. He leaves himself standing in the middle of the room hawking at her. Standing rather intimidatingly in his black calvin kelis that were struggling to contain his growing cock. She felt like a victim under his alluring gaze, she wanted him to kiss her belly and rub all over her body and tell her how proud he was of her but no he was going to test her out, and ‘feel’ her.

“...I—V–Virgil, this is so inhumane. I’m carrying your baby and you want to test my pussy, to see if anyone has -what- stretched it out?”

He nods, as if there’s no problem in the world with his requisite.

“We both fucked up, I kissed a man i should and you fucked women you shouldn’t. You really must take my word for it, trust me, this is the only way this relationship will work, if you take my word for things. I didn’t have sex with him. I swear to God.”

“If you don’t want to move, I’ll fuck you on that chair.” he offers, taking small but sure steps towards her direction. His sultry, vulgar words changed the air in the room. A flush crept up her neck before she could stop it, her body was betraying her again. She was a puppet and he, the mastermind. The familiar sense of heat curled low in her stomach and her nipples stiffened. It was like every word was delicately picked to strike a nerve, hitch her breath. 

 Desire burned behind his eyes, as he stalked forward closing the distance between them slowly but surely, the pulse he could hear beating against her ears didn’t stop him, if anything it riled him like a horse being whipped. He closes the distance with one more stride and lowers to his knees. He disregards his jacket from her body, and takes both of her legs in his hand, spreading them far apart to hang off either end of the chair’s arms. There was no ounce of her core left to seek, everything he wanted was on display for him.

She whines, the vulnerability of the exposure gives her chills. She feels weak from his lips’ heat on her most sensitive area.

“Tell me to stop” he whispers, smooth like silk. His lip trailing from her inner thighs down to her left foot, where he bites her heels.

“Not fair, you know I can’t`’ she whispers back between laboured breaths.

“You’re driving me insane, Meme, I still want to devour every part of you why`/. No other woman can make me go against my morals. But you” he murmurs against her skin.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?”

He leans forwards and slides his arms around her waist pulling her to the edge of the seat.  He inches towards her wet, sweet core and her core and his lips share a breath only a hair strand away from each other. Her sweetness invades his lungs and darken the thoughts behind his eyes. As if the windows to his soul weren’t already onyx with want. He secures his arms under her thighs again because he knew she was a runner, and takes her pulsing clit into his mouth, sucking with all the pressure his tongue could muster. Virgil wanted to suck her sensations away so that no other man could make her feel a thing again, not after he was done. He nibbled, and pulled the skin around that muscle with his lip, pinching her thighs as she tried to wither her way out of his mouth. 

His pace increases sucking faster and faster humming to stimulate her clit even further, she squeals. Immediately,  her hands find his soft hair threading her fingers through the roots, gently buckling her hips against his lips. The hairs on his chin scratch against her slit and the desire in her spreads. She whines loudly, locking eyes with him silently pleading for more.

“Stop whining, tell me what you want?”

“Fuck me with your tongue.” he obeys his order, watching as her stomach tensed inwards when his tongue moves from her clit to explore her folds. Her slit contracts and relaxes to appease the throbbing she felt whilst desperately  waiting. He teasingly licks streaks up and down her sex, lubricating his tongue with her moisture until his tongue finds moist slit. Frantic, her hips buck uncontrollable she thrusts herself onto his tongue, too desperate to wait for him to initiate. His tongue dances spontaneously in and out of her, the taste of her sweet nectar exciting him to curl his sharp tongue inside of her to taste more. The flick of his tongue was skillful; the increasingly aggressive pulls to his hair weren’t a bother because he understood how good it would’ve felt, she was delicious and so were the moans to his ears. Her body was going into sensory overload becoming overstimulated with every slurp, slap of the thigh in addition to the  pornographic moans from her mouth. Her muscles all over her body begin tensing and her breath hitches in her throat when she feels an electrical current  unravelling from within her. She swirls her forefingers against her engorged clit flexibly as the release comes crashing down in waves, first taking her legs, then stiffening her arms and neck. Sounds of slurping fade out, and Virgil looks dreams away. She has no choice but to surrender to the omnipotent waves, falling limp and tired on the chair.

“Look at what you’ve done to my face, splashy.” He slapped her wet pussy.

She couldn't reply even if she wanted to, her brain was tired and her head was slouched on the head of the chair.

 His mouth rewaters as her wetness leaked in a trail past her second hole and darkened  the emerald beneath them. He carries her up from the chair and throws her lightly on the bed. She falls with a light yelp, and shuffles up to the headboard  as he pulls his dick out of his boxer’s fly.

He beckons to her with his index and middle fingers to move closer to the foot of the bed, a disappointed pout on his lips.

“Be careful, you don’t want me to get over there mein speeltje, you’ll have nowhere to run, little trackstar” he says with a menacing smile.

AMEENA’S POV.

“Let’s see if you were true to daddy, c’mere” he grunts, suffocating his cock with fast, tight beatings. I watched him jerk his hands back and forth until he came in his hands, it was an eerily beautiful sight. To see how his chest rose and fell rapidly sent flutters to my aching core and the low grunts falling from his lips damn near sent me into my second orgasm. But I knew I was in for some shit, he only ever did that to delay his next orgasm.

He knew just how to bring the whore out of me, without being asked I crawl over, taking his large palm into my hands and suck his ropes of warm and sticky come off of his skin, paying no mind to the hard dick that stood intimidatingly less than 3 centimetres from my face. I don’t take my eyes off of his as I swallow my kids.

“Good girl” he mutters under his breath, kissing my forehead.

“Now lay on your back for me..” he growls to me, holding himself back from manhandling me as my big doe eyes lusted for more validation after leaving his hands spotless.

I do as I’m told, laying on my black and he pins my legs behind my head, letting his spit trail down my drenched pussy.  He runs his oozing tip down my slit, pressing into it playfully so that only a third of his tip entered at a time only to be pulled out as soon as my muscles contracted around him.

I scream out with pure desperation.

“Just find out already, feel how tight I am for you already”  my needy hands find my full breasts and pinch, twist and pull them between the balls of my fingers. 

THIRD PERSON

Her words hypnotise his hips. They buck forward, fully inserting himself in her. Helpless, she lets out a guttural moan when seeing how her hole swallowed the entirety of his hard dick, taking on this wide circumference. She missed his dick, she felt high off of it. He sucks in harsh breaths when feeling her pussy contract tightly, almost spazzing around his cock, it was a fight to thrust himself in and out of its captivating grip but he was determined. He was adamant on ruining his tight dungeon, fucking her like an enemy to see how long she could go. He was thrilled to see her eyes get lost behind her head, and her teeth clenched, not an ounce of silence lingers in the air. Her pussy is just as loud as her. He pressed her legs further down into the mattress above her head, which in turn tilted her hips upward giving him leverage to go deeper. Virgil was chasing the feeling of her cervix, he wanted to bruise it and make a mark on her insides. 

His thrusts create ripples in her breasts and he salivates watching them bounce up and down, he can’t help but lean down and pop them in his mouth one by one. He couldn’t wait until he started to taste milk from them. He mentally promised to suck on them everyday until he could taste just a drop of her milk. Tears of pleasure flood her eyes because he doesn’t stop hitting her spot thrust after thrust. It was good they were on the top floor, otherwise they’d probably be banned.

 His breathing becomes jagged and his hips stiffen after one more thrust, and at the same time the knot in her  core unravels and Ameena’s legs shake uncontrollably. Her legs straighten in the air as the biggest wave of pleasure sears through her being, leaving her in a whimpering mess. She screams leaning into Virgil as their bodies sloppily bumped and grinded against each other at record pace. Their breaths were in time with each other, the lustful fire that resided in both their eyes riling each other to ride their respective orgasms.  

He lowers himself further down, going to plant a kiss on her lips. Before he can, she smiles cockily “Look at you now, swallowing your own words, who’s not tight anymore? You’re at my mercy.” The beads of sweat on his face told him everything she needed to know, his face was red, a testament to how worn out he was.

 There’s no rebuttal; instead he just drools into her mouth, and she invites it, letting his dna trickle down her throat. His pace slows significantly and she begins to queef,as her liquids splutter around his cock— he enters her and then completely pulls out— becoming weaker and weaker with each thrust. He releases one last grunt before pulling out completely and slapping at her cum filled pussy with his dick. Both their liquids dripped out of her opening, it was a sight to see.

Their panting drowns out the jazz in the room, and threatens to wake all London up, she coats her fingers with their mixed juices spilling out and fingers the liquid deeper into her core, wanting to feel completely stuffed. He drops to the bed, his sweaty body landing next to hers, and their legs tangled together.

She touches his ring finger with a small shake of her head, “your lover won’t be happy after this will she?”

He sighs deeply, pulling her body into his.

.........

(these versions will be free of mistakes once they make their way to wattpad.)

enjoy, thoughts??

[mandoalorian]

speak now [bucky barnes x f!reader]

horrified looks from everyone in the room but i’m only looking at you.

word count: 1,800

rating/warnings: 13+, angst, pre-established relationship with helmut zemo, hurt/comfort, happy ending (i imagined this with tfatws!bucky).

fic inspired by speak now by taylor swift ₊˚ෆ

: ̗̀➛ masterlist

The mirror felt cold beneath your fingertips.

“Are you okay?” one of your bridesmaids asked gently, fluffing the hem of your dress behind you.

You nodded, lips tugging upward into something that passed for a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

But you weren’t thinking about vows or flower arrangements or the champagne toast.

You were thinking about Vienna.

It had rained that night. Not enough to soak the rooftop, just enough to leave the sky glistening and the air charged with the kind of electricity that makes people say things they normally wouldn’t.

It had been just the two of you — you and Bucky — standing at the edge of a building overlooking the Danube, your mission gear still clinging to your skin, both of you catching your breath from a close call in the shadows below.

He’d saved your life that night. Threw himself between you and a sniper’s bullet like it was instinct. Maybe it was.

“I told you not to run ahead,” he said, voice low, a smirk barely ghosting across his lips.

“And I told you I hate being told what to do,” you shot back, though your pulse hadn’t stopped racing.

You hadn’t thanked him.

Not with words.

Instead, you stepped closer to him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his chest, the way his shoulders tightened when you reached up to touch his jaw — a small scrape blooming red from the scuffle.

“You’re bleeding,” you said softly.

He didn’t move away.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. “You’ve seen me worse.”

Your thumb traced the edge of the wound, careful, lingering longer than necessary. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”

The city lights stretched out behind him, but all you saw were his eyes. Tired. Guarded. Like he was holding in a war he didn’t trust anyone else to fight.

“I’m not going to stop worrying about you, you know,” you whispered. “No matter how many walls you put up.”

He swallowed hard. You felt it, saw it in the way his throat bobbed.

“I don’t want you to,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t understand. Not right away. But then his hand came up — hesitating — until it hovered near your waist. Not touching. Just there.

And that’s when you felt it.

That aching, fragile almost.

He was close enough to kiss you. Close enough to ruin everything.

Your breath hitched.

“Say something,” he murmured. “Before I do something stupid.”

You stared at him.

“I can’t,” you whispered.

And he nodded. Just once. Like it was exactly what he expected.

You both stood there, in the middle of a storm that never broke, hearts full of things neither of you dared say.

Eventually, he stepped back. And that was the end of it. Or so you thought.

You never meant for it to end this way.

Not with lace trailing behind you. Not with trembling hands wrapped around a bouquet that didn’t mean anything. Not with Bucky Barnes watching you walk down an aisle meant for someone else.

But then again, you and Bucky had never done anything the way people expected.

It started simple. Late nights at the compound, sitting shoulder to shoulder in silence that felt warmer than words. Missions that turned into inside jokes. Gloved fingers brushing yours when he passed you a cup of coffee. The way his gaze lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

You should’ve said something.

You should’ve asked him what he meant, that night on the rooftop in Vienna when he’d leaned in like he might kiss you but didn’t.

Instead, you let him pull away. And eventually, so did you.

Enter Helmut Zemo — elegant, composed, intelligent in a way that made you feel like you could finally breathe. He listened. He gave you space. And he didn’t come with ghosts clinging to his back like chains.

It was easier with Zemo. Simple. Predictable.

Bucky never was.

You and Bucky never even kissed. But, you never had to. The love was there in the way he always stood slightly too close. In the way his voice softened when he said your name. In the way he always watched you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to.

But he never said it.

And when Zemo did — when he got down on one knee with a vintage ring and a calm certainty Bucky never gave you — you said yes.

Not because it felt like fate.

Because it felt like a life raft.

You didn’t invite Bucky to the wedding. You couldn’t. Not after the way he looked at you when he found out. He didn’t say anything — just nodded, smiled like it didn’t kill him, and said he was happy for you.

You should’ve known that was a lie.

Now, you’re here. The aisle stretches endlessly before you. Guests turn in their seats. The quartet plays something soft and elegant. And at the end of the aisle, Zemo waits, handsome and steady.

But it’s not his eyes you look for.

It’s the man in the last row, sitting alone, head down.

Bucky Barnes.

His hair is shorter now, especially compared to the last time you’d seen him. You remembered one night at the compound, your fingers tangled in his hair, casually making a comment about how he’d look so good if he cut it. Either way, he looked good, but he had been complaining about maintaining it. And you liked the idea of seeing his face more, instead of it being hidden by unkempt bangs.

In spite of the changes, Bucky still had that same stubble grazing his jaw. And those same ocean blue eyes and pink lips.

He shouldn’t be here. But he came anyway.

He doesn’t smile. Just watches you like you’re walking toward your own execution.

You try not to cry.

The ceremony begins.

Zemo says his vows first. They’re poetic. Controlled. Exactly what you expected. Then it’s your turn. You open your mouth, but your throat feels dry, feeling Bucky’s gaze burn into you. You say your vows distracted, your eyes glazed with unshed tears. Everything about this felt wrong. And yet here you were, standing in front of your family and friends, about to be trapped forever.

You forced yourself to change your train of thought. This wasn’t fair on the man who stood at the altar, beside you.

No, nothing about this was fair.

Zemo was nice enough. He was intelligent and passionate and a good lover. He worked hard and earned enough money to take care of the both of you, and he always fought for what was important to him. Those were traits you could value in anyone.

He was handsome too. He dressed well, albeit not to everyone’s taste. He wouldn’t have dared to be seen in tactical gear. And you supposed you could admire that.

If you were to really force yourself.

Zemo was nice, but he wasn’t Bucky.

Every instinct told him to stay away. To let you be happy, even if that happiness was in someone else’s arms. Even if it killed him.

But Bucky Barnes had never been good at doing what he should.

So here he was. In the back row of a wedding he didn’t belong at, fists clenched in his lap, jaw locked so tight it ached. Sam had begged him not to go. “Move on,” he had told his friend with convict and care. But Bucky couldn’t. He’d tried and he couldn’t, and now he was running out of chances.

You looked like a dream.

No — not a dream. A punishment. A walking reminder of everything he wanted but never dared to take.

He’d lost you a long time ago.

That night on the rooftop in Vienna had been the closest he’d ever come to telling you the truth. The air had been damp with rain, the mission barely behind you. The city was still burning beneath your feet, but all he could think about was the way you’d looked at him — like you saw something in him worth saving.

You left the rooftop that night thinking nothing had changed.

He left knowing everything had.

And still… he stayed silent.

He watched you fall for someone else. Watched you laugh at another man’s jokes. Watched you wear a ring that wasn’t his. He convinced himself he was doing the right thing — staying away, keeping his distance, letting you be happy.

But when the music swelled and you walked down that aisle, he realised something.

He wasn’t protecting you.

He was just scared.

Scared you wouldn’t choose him back.

Scared he’d never be enough.

Bucky’s chest burned. Because he was back on that rooftop, rain in the air, the heat of your hand on his skin, and the weight of almosts on his tongue. Not this time.

“If anyone objects to this union,” the officiant says, his voice cutting through the hush, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Your palms were clammy. Your ears were cold.

And then—

“I do.”

It’s like a grenade goes off in your chest.

You whip around. Guests gasp. Zemo goes rigid beside you.

Bucky rises from his seat, face unreadable, hands clenched at his sides. But there’s no mistaking the tremor in his voice.

“I object.”

The room falls into stunned silence.

And you can barely breathe.

What is this feeling? Anger? Confusion? Relief?

“I know this isn’t fair,” Bucky says, stepping into the aisle, his voice raw. “And I know I should’ve said something sooner. But I can’t let you marry him without hearing this. Without knowing that I—”

He falters, then meets your eyes with everything he’s got left.

“I love you. I always have. I was just too scared to ruin what we had. I thought… maybe if I stayed quiet, you’d be happier. Safer. He can give you a stable life, and God knows you deserve that. But if there’s even a part of you that still wonders—still feels something when I walk into a room—then don’t do this.”

You can feel every eye on you. Zemo doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. His silence speaks volumes — he already knew.

Your throat tightens.

You’d convinced yourself you were over Bucky. That the softness in your chest whenever you heard his voice would fade with time. That marrying someone safe meant you were finally moving on.

But love was never supposed to feel safe.

It was supposed to feel like this.

Like heartbreak and hope, tangled into one.

You drop the bouquet and it hits the floor with a dull thud.

Then you run — past the flowers, past the altar, past everything that should’ve been enough but wasn’t. Bucky catches you like he always does, like he was built for it. You bury your face in his shoulder, breathing him in, shaking, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.

“You never did.”

And that was the truth.

Zemo doesn’t chase you. He just watches. Dignified. Quiet. Maybe he was never meant to be the villain of your story.

Just the man who helped you realize who the hero was.

“Bucky, I’m so mad at you.” you sobbed into his chest, tears dampening the material of his black shirt. He cradled the back of your head.

“I know,” he replied softly, regretting the time he’d lost with you. “And I deserve that. But please—“

You cut him off with a kiss. Hard, passionate, in love. The kiss you had deserved since Vienna. The kiss Bucky had dreamed of. Your lips taste like heaven against his, and you know now, that this was exactly where you needed to be.

You don’t look back.

You don’t need to.

Because Bucky was never behind you.

He was always the one waiting to be chosen.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

[hw4-l1z]

✨️Dick that sushi roll down✨️

Sub!han x dom!gn!reader

Warnings: feminization (reader calls han princess)// if you're reading as a female then pegging (dildo also spurts fake cum)// not any others I can see :))

NOT PROOF READ

°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°

"Baby what are you doing?" han says turning his head to look at you as you carry him through the living room and plant him onto the floor. You say nothing as you grab a thick fluffy blanket and lay it out next to him onto the floor. He looks at you in confusion as you pick him up again and lay him on it, close to the left side of it. He sits up slightly not understanding what's going on, "babe i-" you cut him off by pushing him onto his back, grabbing the side of the blanket and him and rolling him over until the blanket traps him in. "Why are you doing this?" He giggles as you pick him up and place him onto the couch, he sits there looking at you with big confused eyes.

"I'm helping you, I heard you had a bad day and I want to make you feel better" you say creeping your hand up his thigh and teasing at his waistband as a way of asking for his consent. He nods his head at you to continue as you begin to pull off his sweats and underwear. You grab the little tube of lube out your pocket as you squirt some onto your fingers, slowly pushing one inside of him. You lean down pulling him into a soft kiss as you push in a second finger and move them in and out slowly, letting him adjust to you. Little whimpers slip out as he grips the inside of the blanket, loving how restricted his movements are. You scissor your fingers in and out, stretching him open perfectly as he mewls with his head thrown back.

"Are you ready princess?" You whisper in his ear, he nods his head yes as you take your fingers out and begin pulling off your sweats and boxers. You pour some lube onto your cock as you line yourself up, teasing him slightly with your tip as he whines for you to put it in. "So desperate huh darling?" You begin to push into him slowly, letting him ease into it, not wanting to hurt him too much. Once you've bottomed out you begin to slowly pull out till only the tip is in and push back in at a slightly fast pace earning a loud moan for the small squirrel like boy. You can't help but absolutely adore the way he looks do small and fragile under you, making you want to ruin him completely.

"Fuck baby please move~"

"Tell me how you want it first"

"Rough...please" he whimpers out, thrusting his hips upwards desperately. You begin to pump into him at a faster pace, his legs wrapping around you as his hand grips even harder onto the the blanket, unable to move he mewls out at the rough thrusts of your cock. You move yourself into a better position that'll make it easier to pound him into the couch. Thrusting into him deep and harshly as he cries out in pleasure, you're rough thrust making his head spin and his body heat up even more under the warm blanket. The loud sound of skin slapping against skin can be heard echoing around the room as you ruin him, sweat dripping from his head as the heat become too much. He begins to feel dizzy "it's too hot, please can I take this blanket off" he cries. You continue your thrusts as you pull off the blanket with one hand, letting the cool air hit him he sighs in relief.

He strokes his cock as he feels himself twitching, cock begging for release. "Can I cum...please?" He whimpers, you give him the go ahead as his orgasm rips through him, shaking and crying out as his back arches off the couch. You pump in a few more times, finally coming down to your release with a grunt and a growl, filling him up so well. He wraps his arms around your neck and pulls you down onto him, regaining his breath he mutters out a small 'thank you'. You give him a small kiss on the cheek in return as your pull him up into your lap.

"Let's go clean you up yeah?". He nods in return, letting you pull him off your cock and carry him to the bathroom to clean him up.

°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°☆°

[ltash]

Take Me Back To Eden

SimonGhostRileyxFemaleReader

Contains Angst..

The ruins stretched endlessly, their jagged edges glowing faintly under a sickly, clouded sky. Ghost walked through them, his boots crunching on broken glass and charred concrete. His mask, a skull etched with memories of war, concealed his face but not the turmoil within.

In the silence, a melody stirred, one that had followed him through the years, echoing from the depths of his fractured heart. The lyrics whispered in his mind, unrelenting, as vivid as the memories they evoked:

"I dream in phosphorescence, bleed through spaces…

See you drifting past the fog…"

Your face appeared in his thoughts, luminous against the haze of his regrets. Your delicate features framed by dark hair, your almond-shaped eyes full of a warmth he had never deserved. You had been his tether to something brighter, his glimpse of Eden in a world shrouded in shadow.

He stopped and pressed his gloved hand against the crumbling wall of a once-grand building. Through the cracks, moss glowed faintly in the low light, an eerie phosphorescence that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. It reminded him of you, how you had found beauty even in the broken, the glow in the dark corners of the world.

“Why’d you have to leave?” he whispered, his voice swallowed by the ruins.

But the song offered no answers, only more memories.

He had walked with you once through a place not unlike this, a forgotten city overrun by nature’s quiet reclamation. The fog had been thick that day, blurring the edges of the world, yet you had moved through it with purpose.

“You see that?” you had said, pointing to a distant glimmer in the mist.

“See what?” Simon had asked, scanning the horizon.

“Life,” you’d replied simply, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

He hadn’t understood then. To him, the fog had hidden only danger.

Now, walking alone, Simon realized he had begun to see the way you had. Through the fog of his grief, faint glimmers of something more shone through, an idea, a memory, a hope. He pressed forward, the song swelling in his mind:

"Take me back to Eden, take me to the start…

Take me back to Eden, so we can fall apart…"

As he neared the shoreline, the salty breeze stung his skin, sharp and cold. The ruins gave way to sand, and before him stretched the ocean, vast, timeless, indifferent.

And there, at the edge of the water, he thought he saw you. You, glowing faintly, as if the light of a thousand stars had gathered around her. You turned toward him, your expression soft, your lips moving in words carried by the waves.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but you only smiled, your silhouette fading into the horizon.

The fog lingered, thick and impenetrable, but Simon felt its weight lifting from his heart. For the first time, he understood what you had seen. Eden was not a place but a choice. A way to dream in phosphorescence, to bleed through spaces, to drift beyond the fog.

As the sun began to rise, Simon pulled off his mask and faced the light. Eden was ahead, waiting for him to find it.

The ruins fell away behind him, swallowed by the rising tide of the ocean. Ghost stood at the shoreline, the brine in the air stinging his lungs as much as the memories that had clawed their way to the surface. The moon had sunk low, the horizon bleeding faint hues of dawn.

Your voice still lingered, woven through the lyrics that refused to leave his mind. He could almost see you, standing just beyond the misty veil, your figure aglow with the kind of light that didn’t belong to this world.

"But no one told you where to go…

My, my, those eyes like fire…"

Your eyes had always burned with something he couldn’t name, something that had drawn him to her despite the chaos of his world. He was nothing more than a moth, fragile and desperate, circling your inferno.

"I am a winged insect, you are a funeral pyre…

Come now, bite through these wires…"

The weight of his past coiled tight around him, like barbed wire slicing through his resolve. Every step forward felt like tearing himself apart, but still, he moved. Your voice, your memory, your fire, it demanded he push through, even as the gods themselves seemed to turn their backs.

"I am a waking hell, and the gods grew tired…

Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher…"

Simon clenched his fists, the sharp pain grounding him as he stared into the vast expanse of water. He wasn’t sure what lay ahead, only that he couldn’t stay rooted in the ruins of his grief. You wouldn’t have wanted that for him.

The song surged within him, a crescendo of raw emotion and unrelenting desire.

"Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire…"

He closed his eyes, the faint image of your smile etched into his mind, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Eden wasn’t a place, it was a promise, a choice to keep moving despite the darkness. And though you were gone, your fire remained within him, a flame that would guide him forward.

The dawn broke, casting the world in light. He opened his eyes, ready to write his own story on the blank lines of the horizon.

"Take me back to Eden…"

And so he walked on, not to find you, but to honor you. To build something new from the ashes.

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

A/N: Me when the title of the fic is "don't forget" but all I do is forget to update it on tumblr only

[Sans x Female!Reader]

13: It's So Great, If You're Not a Fucking Murderer

Caution Warning: Brief description of a developing panic attack. Though it does NOT happen, I thought a word of warning would be appropriate regardless.

♪⁠────✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

You were laughing your ass off sitting in the snow. Sans was less amused about the whole ordeal, laying on his back with a dead look in his eyes. Namely, you two covered in slobber after encountering Greater Dog. Poor Sans especially got the worst part of it since he’s literally bones. He only managed to get rid of him by summoning a bone and chucking it hard, very far away.

You shuffle a little closer to him, still full of giggles, “Here, ha-ha! Stay still for a second, yeah?”

He only grumbles from where he is, not bothering to get up. You untie your shawl and remove it from your shoulders. Your dress’s neckline is straight across, leaving a lot of your chest and shoulders exposed. You shiver from the cold, already knowing you’re probably going to get sick Actually no, you were probably already getting sick the moment you fell into the snow right outside the Ruins.

“You gonna get up and do it yourself, or are you gonna make me do it?”

“huh? do what?” Sans finally looks at you, “what’re you gonna do with that?”

“Clean your head. The snow is starting to freeze to that dome of yours.”

The monster sits up with a soft grunt, wincing at the feeling of the ice sticking to him. He waves a hand dismissively.

”nah, don’t ruin your fancy fur coat.”

It’s not made of fur, but sure okay.

Sans starts wiping his hand with his gloved hand but drops it after two seconds. “…..hold on fur a second, if you can throw me a bone here, that’d be great.”

Bro called your shawl a fur coat just to make that damn pun, didn’t he?

“Ha-ha! Yeah, yeah,” You get on your knees to shuffle closer, “Let me know if I accidentally rub too hard, okay? That’s what-”

“-that’s what she said. i beat you to it,” Sans rolls his eyes but his smile gets bigger.

”Ah! How dare you steal my thunder?!”

Despite being totally offended, you still help out the skeleton. You’re trying to be gentle since one, you barely know the guy, and two, touching a bone is so scary. Yes, you know he’s a monster, his skeleton is different from yours. But seeing a bone tricks your mind into believing they’re incredibly more fragile than they are.

So far he seems to like it. His eyes have closed and he’s leaning back a bit. This would totally be a nice moment if you were also freezing from the slobber drying on your own face. After a minute, you were confident you got it all off.

“There we go, just as shiny as the day you were born.” Wait a damn minute. “Wait, were you birthed from the pussy?”

“was i what?”

“WAIT, IS THAT OFFENSIVE TO MONSTERS?!”

Sans’ shoulders were shaking and miraculously, his wide grin was wobbling. When he talks he sounds like he was desperately trying to contain his laughter.

“w-wait, as-ask that again!”

“No way!!”

You scramble up to your feet and aggressively shake your shawl to take off the snow. You make sure to do it right in his face, smiling at his laughter that he’s now allowing to be free. You can see Snowdin town just up ahead! Right pass the bridge that is giving you the biggest burst of anxiety that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Letting the monster be, you finally get around to wiping off your own face. It was kind of pointless though since it’s already dried off.

Gross.

But worth it.

“Ugh, remind me to take a shower later,” You scrunch up your nose, folding the shawl over your arm, “We’re almost there, right? Let’s get crack-a-lackin’.”

Sans eyes you as he stands up, “you’re not cold?”

“Pfft—What, scared of a little skin?” You shake your head, “This thing is too dirty to wear now. I’ll be fine.”

He winces, “sorry ‘bout that.”

“Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who used it. Anywayyy, no more sulking, bone boy. The sooner we get to your place, the sooner I can take that shower.”

The skeleton monster grumbles playfully under his breath, walking by your side.

“‘m not sulking. you’re sulking.”

“Waa, waa, waa.”

You almost said the full video reference, but you have the feeling that you two aren’t there yet where you can playfully call him a bitch. Maybe one day, but you don’t know if you will actually call him a bitch. He’s not very bitch material.

Cock material, for sure. You’d even argue that he’s (mother)fucker material, too. But a bitch? He just doesn’t look like “bitch” would fit him well.

Top Ten Insults that Appropriately Fit Sans Undertale.

Number One:

…

Burger King Foot Lettuce-

“…hello? earth to [y/n]—uhm-this place to [y/n]?”

You shake your head to escape your thoughts, “Wha-Huh? Sorry, I zoned out.”

“yeah, clearly. you good? what were you thinking so hard about?”

‘Oh, dude. You do NOT wanna know.’

You notice that you two stopped right at the bridge. Your hand was on top of the left post that was holding the rope to the bridge.

The…

The long bridge…

Thousands of meters from the ground…

One wrong move, and you’re done.

One wrong step, and you’re falling.

Your natural reaction would be to do your best to maintain a feet-first landing. It would not end well for you of course: breaking your legs, pelvis, and lower-spinal column.

That would kill you.

That would…

Your heart feels wrong. Beating too fast and it’s just too heavy. It’s too big for your chest-it shouldn’t be in there. It makes you want to remove it from your chest to get rid of this feeling from your body.

If you breathe more, you can make more room in your chest. If you do that then—

But you have to do it now-You have to do it now because if you don’t then your chest will burst.

… Ah. Wait.

You blink owlishly, “Huh.”

“what is it?”

“I’m terrified of heights.”

“uhhh, crap.”

Sans hesitates before he gently takes your hand from post and forces you to take a few steps back by getting in your space. You frown at this, but allow yourself to step away. You feel a little light headed, but nothing a couple of deep breaths can’t help with. Woah, that was… that was a little too close for comfort.

“Sans, what are you doing?”

“come on, we’re gonna take a shortcut,” Sans gives you a wink, “didn’t you say you wanna take that shower asap?”

“Well, yeah, but…” But you don’t want to skip out on exploring Snowdin right now…. “If-If you could’ve teleported us-”

“-shortcut.”

“Sure. If you could’ve given us a shortcut the whole time, why not do that in the very beginning?”

“and make you miss out on the Snowdin forest experience?”

“…Okay, fine. But I just, um,” Well… You guess Snowdin Town exploration can wait another day. “It’s not going to hurt, is it?”

“only if you want it to.”

“I'm not a masochist, but thanks for the offer.”

“what the hell is a masochist?”

You start laughing.

There’s confusion (somehow) on his face.

“Oh, shit. You’re serious. You don’t know what it is?”

“am i supposed to?”

“You know what, bone boy? I think we can save this conversation for another day.” You hold your hand up for no other than that you like talking with your hands sometimes. “So uh, how does this work? Do I gotta click my heels three times?”

“you keep telling me these things that i’m pretty sure only make sense if you were tellin’ another human,” Sans snorts, “you don’t gotta do anything. give me your hand.”

“Ah-ha ha, uh, you still have it, Sans.”

You both look at your joined hands simultaneously. Your cheeks begin to warm up while Sans.

Get this.

He is blushing, though it was subtle, it was still noticeable since his skull is an off white color.

But it’s not blue.

He’s actually blushing red!

You suppose it makes sense…! During the date with Papyrus and even when you flirt with him, his blush is red. So of course Sans shouldn’t be any different if they’re both related.

Ah, but you’re so used to the guy being associated with cyan, that it threw you off!

It’s not a bad look on him at all though, just different.

“No need to be so shy about it, bone boy.” You give his hand a very light squeeze, “What’s next on the plan?”

“hah, well it’s only fitting for you to close your eyes now.”

You roll your eyes dramatically before doing as you're told. The skeleton monster takes a deep breath quietly, willing away his blush because that shit’s just embarrassing.

“now give me a sec to work my magic.”

“Sure thing, bone boy.” You reply with a smile, keeping your eyes closed.

Sans doesn’t actually need that second, it’s just an excuse to take this time to… observe you.

It looks like you’ve completely calmed down, thankfully. He’s had his fair share of panic attacks before and they’re a bitch to deal with. Luckily, you seemed to have recognized it on your own and brought yourself out of it. The monster hoped that his own intervention had helped somewhat, too.

Guess that means he should make sure you avoid extreme heights from now on. You’re really nice, so he doesn’t want you to stress out too much if he can just help you out.

Pretty dangerous for you to admit that so openly, though.

Also pretty embarrassing he forgot he was holding your hand this whole time, if he’s honest. Not to sound cliche and corny, but he didn’t realize because your hand just… it fit naturally with his.

Then again, he noticed that humans seem to have a similar structure to him and Papyrus. So he probably shouldn’t think too much of it.

Oh, by the way.

“we’re here,” Sans, to be nice, squeezes your hand the same you did to him, “bet you didn’t even notice, huh?”

Sans waits for you to open your eyes before finally letting you go finally. You blink in surprise, looking around frantically and rather dramatically.

“Goddamn it, Sans! Where the hell are we?!”

He can’t help but snort, “my house in snowdin town.”

Your eyes flicker to your left then they widen. Sure enough once you actually stopped goofing around and take a second, you are indeed standing in front of a house.

A wooden, two-story home with Christmas lights hung shrewdly around the left beam holding up the sun shade above the door. The lights are also hung on the very top shingles and balcony on the right side of the house. You don’t remember what they’re called (even if the Author knows), but on the front door there’s that typical Christmas decoration that’s just a bunch of leaves in a circle.

There’s also a pirate flag. At the top. For some reason. Maybe to help the locals identify this house as the skele-bros?

“This place…” You murmur softly, “It’s…”

Uh oh. Do you—Do you not like their house?! Is this a deal breaker?? Not that he gives a shit if you don’t like the house, but will you really refuse to stay here if it doesn’t fit your taste?!

“It’s so cute!” You beam, clasping your hands together, “Awe, what a cute little home!”

“…little?”

You laugh, “Ha-ha! Is that what you’re gonna focus on?”

His grin is one of relief, “would you rather i give you the cold shoulder?”

“Booo! The one was weak!”

“you did not just boo me.”

“And I’ll do it again, bone boy.”

“let’s just go inside. i’m sure it’ll be ice to meet brother.”

You nod nervously, “Right, right, right. You said he was your younger brother, so…I probably shouldn’t swear, right?”

Sans just shrugs,“preferably, but he’s a grown adult so it ain’t nothing he’s heard of before. also, i’m not gonna tell you what to do, so it shouldn’t matter what i say, anyway.”

Well, yeah but…

“Alright, we gotta talk about it before we go in. We should really put down some ground rules,” You face the other properly, crossing your arms, “This is still your house, Sans. Yours and Papyrus’. I don’t like being controlled, but you still need to put up your boundaries.”

You know what? Sans actually appreciates that. He was trying to be chill and nice about it, but it looks like you have more respect for him than he does for himself.

“hmph,” A small, airy laugh escapes him, “alright, alright. i’m convinced. if that’s the case then, let’s talk about it with my brother.”

You step back.

”Ppp-You first, buddy.”

He rolls his eye-lights while fishing out the keys from his pocket. However, just as he was about to unlock the door, it unlocks from the other side.

And the door swings open.

Taglist:

@lemonboy011

@adriixboo

[msanonymous]

the fleeting goodbyes

the train howls, a metallic wail slicing through the hush of twilight,

its wheels inching forward, dragging time along with it.

i need to hold you a little longer—

breathe in the scent of home clinging to your

sky-blue shirt,

twist my fingers into its fabric, tear it if i must,

but never let go.

even if the station fractures into a stampede,

the tide of bodies forcing us apart.

the world’s already in an apocalypse—

you can see it from my eyes if you don’t believe me,

the wreckage smoldering beneath rust-tinted glass,

a quiet ruin reflected in every blink.

and maybe that’s why they say i have yours—

the same swirls of caramel with flecks of rust,

like embers dying in a sea of honey.

but i always needed a mirror to see tears in them,

as if sorrow only made sense when it was mine alone.

i never thought a day would come when i wouldn’t—

when the glass would shatter,

and the gold would seep into sadness.

i'd get on a plane and fly to you in an hour if you ever called.

but will you?

when the world collapses around you,

when the walls close in,

when the sky forgets to hold the sun—

will you remember to call when you're supposed to run to save your loved ones from falling debris?

will you remember the one 622 miles away?

didn't i leave your world when i first decided to leave this word called ‘town’ we add ‘home’ before?

will you forget to remember?

or remember to forget?

the bus is leaving,

my vision getting blurrier with each passing moment,

like rain sliding down window panes, distorting the world between us.

it's harder now—to count the freckles on your porcelain skin.

will i ever feel them again beneath the pores of my fingertips?

or will the next time they come under my touch,

my fingers will be cold, cyan, and limp?

tell me they won’t.

i can't leave if you don't promise me they won't.

but i have to.

i can't, though.

can you do something about it—

the spiders that've made a home in my ribs,

spinning webs of quiet dread, tightening around my lungs with each breath?

do promises even matter?

when fate's already etched seven skies above, immutable and absolute?

should i pray?

or should i not?

in case the weight of my existence cracks the fragile thread of hope?

i need to spit it out of me—

the first and might-be-the-last "i love you."

but my tongue folds around it,

the words curling inward like a dove trapped in a cage.

i've always had the habit of swallowing them down.

who’d know better than you?

you, who would rub my back,

soft circles at the dastarkhan, encouraging me to let it all out.

but i couldn't.

a mess can't afford to create another mess.

& i—i’ve always been a splintered thing,

afraid to bleed where you might touch me.

you hold up your tiny toy car in the air, eyes bright with certainty, and say,

"i'll come pick you up and bring you back if you miss me too much!"

i smile, nod, and roll up my seat's window

so you won't see me swallow the lump of grief clogging my throat,

choking down the taste of a goodbye i never agreed to say.

grief

it sits heavy in my stomach, a quiet passenger on this journey.

i'm mourning the days slipping through my fingers like sand—

the day i won’t be there when you outgrow your favorite shoes (to buy you new ones),

when you scrape your knee learning to ride a bicycle (to band-aid the wound and blow the pain away),

when you first understand what it means to miss someone (to crouch down and open my arms to engulf your running form in them).

sure, i’ll come visit—

but you won’t ever be four years and two days old again.

that grief clings to my ankle like a toddler left hungry,

pulling, tugging, begging me to look his way,

even as the wheels of the car stir me away from you.

do i really have to trade your present for a future

that i’m not even sure exists?

is the road ahead worth the pieces of you i’ll lose along the way?

or am i just driving toward the echo of a childhood

i’ll only know through phone calls and whatsapp images?

the whites of our mosque gleam under the golden sunlight,

the intricate patterned mats and the cool feeling of the ivory marble

that once soothed the burn of my aching soles.

there's a faded, tiny you and a tiny me sitting on the inside,

relics curled into the corners of my chest.

my right eye aches as the wound from years ago strikes,

melting with the new one,

threatening to spill out as it gets too flooded for my fragile banks to hold back.

i foolishly search for you...

in the meaningless crowd of passerby faces,

hoping—stupidly, achingly... that maybe you'd be one of them.

a fleeting glimpse of you for me, caught in passing,

a wistful glance of me for you, left unnoticed.

if by some mercy it happens...

i'll turn and step onto the ivory floor,

pray a quiet shukrana on the intricate patterns beneath my feet.

but it's foolish, of course.

i realise as i see hope smiling wickedly,

clicking her tongue in mockery.

i stare down at my feet,

my toes crisscrossed against index ones—

an anxious habit you always made fun of.

hope stands above me, at the tallest minaret high in the sky,

holding my wretched heart in her pale hands,

fingers delicately uncurling around the grasp.

i close my eyes as i brace for the impact.

will the fallen shards of it on the road ever sting someone?

my worry flutters weakly through the air

as hope ramp-walks all over it with her pencil heels,

crushing it without even looking down.

why would you come?

when you don't even know of my departure?

so i force my feet to move.

walk past the minaret, past the phantoms, past the cemetery...

where i took a hold of my hope by the neck,

rubbed that cruel smile off her face,

and buried her alive—

without a prayer, without a stone, without a goodbye.

~ @msanonymous

[rawbonedhound]

Read from the beginning on AO3!

The golden morning light streamed through the tall, arched windows of the House of Mystery’s library, painting the rows of dusty tomes and ancient artifacts in soft hues. The air smelled faintly of parchment and candle wax, the quiet hum of magic a constant undertone. Raven sat on the massive oak desk at the room's center, her legs dangling over the edge. John's trench coat was clutched tightly against Raven’s bare chest, its oversized folds swallowing her small frame as she clung to it like a shield.

John worked behind her, crouched over the desk, muttering to himself as he painted intricate runes and spell circles onto the pale expanse of her back. The brush moved in precise, practiced strokes, its tip glistening with a viscous, dark-red liquid that shimmered unnervingly in the light.

“You’re quiet this morning,” John said, his voice rough, breaking the silence. “Hungover, are we?”

Raven didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze was distant, fixed on the glittering shards of the library’s enchanted chandelier. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost hollow. “Not really.”

John paused, studying her for a moment before dipping the brush into the small glass well beside him. When it came up dry, he sighed heavily, his frustration evident. “Damn it,” he muttered, reaching for the syringe lying nearby. He tapped the needle against the side of the well before rolling up his sleeve.

Raven glanced over her shoulder, her brow furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” John replied curtly, gritting his teeth as he prodded his arm, searching for a vein. “Just wish I hadn’t buggered up my veins back in the ‘90s, that’s all.”

Raven blinked, her concern growing. “How did you… ruin them?”

John waved her off with a dismissive snort. “Never mind that, love. Ancient history.” He finally found a vein, wincing as he drew a fresh dose of blood and emptied it into the well. “There we go,” he muttered, dipping the brush and returning to his work.

Raven stayed quiet again, but her unease lingered. She tried to focus on the runes’ sensation—cool, tingling lines being etched into her skin—but her mind kept wandering. Her thoughts were heavy, looping back to memories she couldn’t seem to escape.

As John finished, a strange sensation washed over her. The constant hum of her powers, the ever-present storm of emotions and darkness that swirled inside her, dulled into a distant whisper. For the first time in years, she felt muted, almost… normal. The weight of John’s pain, which she hadn’t realized she’d been sensing, faded too. It was as though he’d disappeared, and when he leaned close and blew gently on the back of her neck to dry the last sigil, she jumped.

“Relax,” he said, smirking as he set the brush aside and rolled his sleeves back down. “That should hold it back for a day or two. No promises after that, though.”

Raven turned to face him, clutching his coat tighter around her. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with something between gratitude and guilt.

John shrugged, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. “Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a long road ahead.”

Raven nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. The runes on her back still tingled faintly, a reminder of the fragile barrier now separating her from the darkness within. Even as the library’s warm light wrapped around her, she couldn’t shake the chill in her chest.

The library seemed endless, its towering shelves lined with ancient tomes, each a fragment of forgotten knowledge. Raven stood before one of the shelves, her arms already full of heavy books bound in cracked leather. Her frustration simmered as she eyed a volume just out of her reach, its spine gilded with intricate symbols. She raised her hand instinctively, willing it to float down to her. Nothing happened.

Her brow furrowed, and she reached again, standing on her tiptoes, straining to close the gap. The pile of books in her arms wobbled precariously.

“Need a hand, love?” John’s voice came from behind her, and before she could answer, he reached over her shoulder and plucked the book from the shelf. He handed it to her with a casual grin, his other hand holding a cigarette.

Raven took it, her cheeks flushing faintly. “Thanks,” she muttered, embarrassed by her inability to do what had once been effortless.

She returned to the massive oak desk, spreading the books out across its surface. Raven sat down and began paging through them, her fingers skimming over the brittle, yellowed pages. Every depiction of a cambion stared back at her in grotesque, mocking clarity—hulking male figures with jagged horns and fiery eyes. Some were chained, roaring in fury, while others were depicted in the throes of destruction, laying waste to towns and tearing through helpless victims.

There were no stories of redemption. No accounts of cambions overcoming their demonic nature. Every mention of them spoke of extermination, with detailed diagrams of weapons, binding rituals, and execution techniques. Raven’s throat tightened, the lump growing heavier with every page she turned.

“Hungry?” John asked, as the clock struck noon too quickly, already he was lighting another cigarette 

She shook her head quickly, not trusting her voice.

“Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug, heading toward the kitchen.

Raven tried to refocus on the books, though her vision blurred slightly as she stared at the grim illustrations. She flipped another page, her hand trembling, and the edge of the paper sliced into her fingertip.

She hissed softly, lifting her hand to examine the cut. A thin line of crimson blood welled up, and as it began to drip, dark, tendrils emerged from it, curling upward. Raven stared, transfixed, until the tendrils dissolved into the air, like smoke, leaving only the faint scent of sulfur behind.

Her breath quickened.

She picked up the letter opener from the desk, its brass blade dull but sharp enough. The abalone inlay on the handle glinted faintly in the library’s golden light. Gritting her teeth, she pressed the blade into her palm, driving it in until more blood welled up. This time, the tendrils burst out in writhing waves, filling the air around her, their shapes shifting and restless.

“Get out,” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. “Get out!”

The tendrils faded again, but the rage and disgust in her chest remained. She raised the letter opener to her wrist, placing it against the vein beneath her skin. Gritting her teeth, she drew the blade downward, crimson welling up in a clean, sharp line.

The darkness burst forth again, stronger this time, spiraling upward in chaotic, smoke-like coils. The clean, red blood dripped from her wrist onto the desk, pooling around the edge of one of the books. She lifted the blade again, her hand shaking violently.

“Raven!”

John’s voice cut through the haze like a clap of thunder. He burst into the room, crossing the distance between them in seconds. His hand shot out, grabbing the letter opener and wrenching it from her grasp.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his voice rough with a mix of anger and fear.

Raven collapsed forward, clutching her bleeding wrist as tears streamed down her face. “I can’t do this,” she sobbed. “I killed them. I killed all of them, and I can’t— I can’t stop this—”

Her words dissolved into incoherent cries as the weight of her grief and guilt crashed over her. John dropped the letter opener onto the desk and pulled her into his arms, wrapping her tightly in an embrace.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “It’s all right, love. You’re not alone in this, yeah? You’ve got me. You’ve got time. We’ll sort it out, I promise.”

Raven clung to him, her body shaking as the sobs wracked her. For a moment, the two of them stayed like that, surrounded by the quiet hum of the library and the faint glimmer of morning light filtering through the windows.

[iceiclehorned]

"Remember when I... said you could tease me? That still applies in here."

Fragility wrapped in a cushioned attempt to hide the arousal she was facing. Try as she might to come across aloof and strong, the redness of her cheeks would do little to hide a true demonstration of emotions.

Although he had made it clear that she did not have to hide with him, there was a slight uncertainty lingering. Arataki Itto is so pure, brimming with an untamed innocence. Every part of him deserved to be protected and held, no matter the cost of it. The original plan that she created was still in motion - to spoil him - but her? Within that mind, held countless fantasies, each one more experimental and primal than the last. There existed a need to experience letting everything loose, to enable that carnal streak to lash out.

Alas, for their first time, the Shirasagi Himegimi would learn restraint.

The teas that had been brewed were left forgotten on the table as their initial kiss cleared up. Everything felt as if it were doing by so fast, but so slowly within the same timeframe. One thing that was clear to her was that unending need to feel him in every possible way, especially now that her underwear had been completely ruined. When she had decided to go ahead and read her book outside within that time, seeing Itto had been the last thing she had expected. Now, they couldn't keep their hands to themselves -- instigating that desire truly was hard not to want to accomplish -- and every discovery that would take place between them would be happening in the tea room.

For a person who had grown up in a household as pristine as the Kamisato Estate, one would easily assume that an act like this would be frowned upon, especially by the youngest of the siblings. Given the fancy title and the way she was looked up at, wouldn't one assume that would be kept up at all hours of the day, stretching into night?

They would be dreadfully wrong. If anything, the wetness she felt seemed to flourish in an inappropriate circumstance.

During her adolescent years, Kamisato Ayaka felt insecure about her body. Though everybody grew and developed at different rates, her body wasn’t becoming what she wished it would be. There was an acknowledged awareness that one’s body did not change on command, but the realisation that her chest would remain quite small always gnawed at her. Steering away from romantic relationships seemed to have turned down the volume of that old, screaming worry. The full blast of it came back from the moment they had been revealed, yet with every kiss placed on her skin, paired with that gentle, sincere compliment? He stirred something within her very soul, triggering an emotional response. There had been a branding of acceptance thrown in her direction, and she was going to nurture that for as long as she lived.

“Do you really think so?”

The position itself was rather comfortable, close and intimate, which had been everything they wished they had outside. The heat within the room seemed to grow in intensity, yet there was a lingering, coolness to it that should have had her shivering. Itto’s body heat seemed to protect every inch of skin that had been revealed so far, easing that racing heart of hers. Part of the excitement came from watching her lover take off his own clothes in such a neat fashion, ensuring everything was folded in the nicest way possible. Yet, she had shamelessly -- messily -- decided to go for it in such an unladylike manner. An underestimation of just how much lust could guide a person oozed from every fineprint detail that put Ayaka together. Holding back from wanting to pounce was so hard, but put on the scales with how afraid she felt in that moment, too?

Her unwillingness to give up had to simply burn out the worry.

Pale hands would rest upon his chest, gently caressing each area of skin they traveled over. Leaning her head onto his own, she inhaled his scent affectionately, placing a kiss on his scalp. For a few moments, she silently stayed in that position, surprising him with a few lovesick kisses on those same horns he did his best to be careful about. "I will always love every part of you." Those words sprung forth, and there would be space given to him to enable those clothes to come straight off his body. If she was going to enjoy that dessert, there would be no point in keeping the wrapper.

"Y--you--" A cut-off in an attempt to drink in everything he had to offer. Archons, she was doomed. Even with the slightest of movements, those muscles would flex -- though, she was certain they were winking at her -- making her wonder what it would be like to be manhandled by him. A passing thought is harmless, right?

"You're so divine."

Hearing those deep, rough moans come from him only seemed to arouse her further, an ache so unbearable between her legs starting to form as a result. Grinding against the large-sized bump in his pants had been the only means for some relief to be made, but it wasn’t until her skin made contact with the cool metal buckle, causing a flinch and a piqued curiosity to blossom. Small hands find their way down, gently caressing his clothed erection the same way she had done when they were outside. Her cheeks flushed red as the realisation settles.

Doesn’t that feel incredibly uncomfortable for him?

“I-Itto?” A lustful gaze would slowly work its way to meeting those sunset eyes, her fingers working their way from his stomach, inching down toward his crotch ina painfully slow manner, taking seconds at a time to admire the "resting spots" the journey would take her intrigued hands upon. Once her own patience had dwindled, those slender fingers would work at massaging the erection as gently as possible, without allowing her hunger to consume every other sense in her body. “You… feel so big… in h-here.” 

Speaking like that truly was not her forte, but she was going to try her hardest to work around it, no matter what. All those years of extensive reading needed to pay off at this moment, right? There were a lot of things the Kamisato was willing to do to appease him, but would he accept that the known purity of Inazuma was actually rather depraved in her own way? A shiver runs down her spine at the thought of it alone, a slight stammer pushing forth. Expressing such perverse desire was potentially the most graphic one person would ever see her, and she only hoped her words (as well as her phrasing) did not worsen with time.

With the way Itto perceived her to be, there existed a fear that showcasing the depths she would be willing to go would scare him away.

“D-does it… not feel restricted in there?"

He didn't like thinking of that time anymore. He often avoided the topic of his ex and dating as a result of that pain he'd felt back then. The Oni had confided in Ayato and Thoma, the truth of what transpired, and why he was so hurt because of it. While the pain was still fresh back then, with the aid of those closest to him? He'd eventually gotten over it but kept his heard guarded. It was likely that guarding of his heart that made him unable to see his true feelings for Ayaka right away.

Of course, there were numerous times he could recall from back then, Ayaka would return to the Estate and spot him, yet not speak to him. Back then and likely even now, he chalked it up to her simply being too tired from traversing the islands. She'd been helping people all over Inazuma as far as he'd heard, so, of course, he'd figure she was too fatigued to deal with him. And he often left it at that.

He would reassure her whenever she did tell her side of the story from back then, that there was no fault in her actions. Auto-pilot or not, her emotions becoming tumultuous were by no fault of he own. Perhaps, both of them had loved one another even back then, and yet - they had made no attempt to show that. His pain was too fresh in his mind to think about love again even if merely seeing Ayaka had alleviated bits of it. Perhaps, the real reason he'd been around the Estate more was to get more of that pain to leave.

Had they spoken back then they'd likely have come to the same realization that happened on this day, but back then there would have been a minuscule chance the Yokai would have even made any sort of move, let alone voiced how he felt. It was better that years had passed since that situation. There could be no doubt of his feelings for her.

Kamisato Ayaka was most certainly not a rebound for him and she never would be.

The gentle caresses coupled with his claws gently pressing into sensitive skin on her thighs while they kissed, would elicit some rather deep noises from him. Her scent growing ever stronger the more he explored her soft skin. As their lips remained meshed together he'd shift just barely so they could both be somewhat comfortable. While they were inside the Estate they were in a room meant for tea not that it appeared either of them were thinking about that at present. Much too focused on the exploration of one another to care more than likely.

As she untied the bow that kept her dress on, during their kiss, he'd hear the shifting of the cloth. Feeling her arch into his touch prior to sucking upon his tongue would cause him to moan into it as well. He hadn't expected such an erotic side to Ayaka but there was no reason to complain about such a thing. Not when he was finding every reaction and noise she made so incredibly arousing. The kiss had been deep and passionate, showcasing their genuine attraction for one another.

"It is true, ya have no reason to be shy around me,"

As she let go of the untied bow, and her dress pooled against her lap, and over his thighs, the armor would likely press against his belt or part of his lower abdomen. He'd have to lean back briefly to take in what was newly revealed though he found absolutely nothing imperfect about her appearance. He'd lean down and press his lips to part of her newly exposed skin, and he'd do so a few times, peppering her skin with very gentle kisses before reaching her ear.

"I think you're perfect, Ayaka."

He'd remove one of his hands from her thighs and move to wrap it around her. It may be for but a fleeting moment, but it was doubtful either of them would really complain, she could press against him however she saw fit. He'd given her his consent to do so already. As she rolled her hips against his lap he'd let out a few moans, the noises deepening as the feeling from earlier once more filled his body. That delicious rush of tingling heat that had been subtle returned with a vengeance, and the more she rocked her hips into his the more she'd feel what she was doing to him, too.

"'s fine, not too much. Ya feel real good against me, princess."

He'd lean his head against her shoulder being mindful of his horns so he didn't inadvertently hurt her with them, both of his hands would be removed from touching her as he removed his jacket, partially folding the cloth and putting it to the side with his ropes on top. The armor he wore on his forearms, and the spiked cuffs coming off there after being added to the small pile of his clothing. His shirt would likely come off next, the purple and yellow thing clung to him, but it was easy enough for him to remove. The black straps he wore would become fully visible to her now, the crisscross they did over his chest didn't disguise much even when he had his shirt and jacket on. The ones that were on his biceps would flex with each movement he made.

He'd more than likely pulled away from her shoulder to remove his shirt, so she would see more of his body at that moment, and for however long he remained leaning away from her. Her eyes could watch more of how his muscles tensed and flexed with each subtle movement he made. The more she ground against his lap, the harder he grew inside his baggy pants. He knew his belt wouldn't be comfortable should she rub against it, the metal was cold despite it being so close to his warm body. Prior to her apology he'd let out a fairly deep moan, his hands moving to touch her some more.

"Don't... be sorry, feels really... really good t'me too, Ayaka. If it gets to be too much... I'll tell ya."

[bored-storyteller]

This is more than a year old, someone had asked me for the first meeting with Sally Face, I post it now but rest assured that I go ahead with the requests.

Sally face, Sal Fisher x reader

"Yellow as the sun"

"Argh!"

"Hey! Buddy, are you all right? "

"I can swear this bucket wasn't there before."

And Sal could really swear it. He could swear that bucket of water just came out of the ground under his feet to soak his pants on purpose. He would not be surprised, everything on this day seems to be rowing against him.

He had all started with his facial prosthesis, which in the night had acquired its own consciousness behind it and had managed to slip into the most unlikely corner of the room, the bedside table. Sal still hates a vague what Gizmo centers on, but for God's sake, that cat never lets you try, and so all the poor boy got was ten minutes late for his medical examination.

From there, things didn't go much better. They are not serious facts, but small inconveniences which, however, are capable of ruining the mood of the day; like the hair tie that suddenly disappears from his hands forcing him into a single ponytail - even though Larry says it fits -, his short stature not short enough to avoid that branch that must have grown overnight, the house keys that appear and disappear at will, here, small facts that however add the nervousness in the poor boy.

And so, to crown that series of unfortunate accidents, here is that bucket of water left in the middle of the road, which he has absolutely not seen.

“Damn…” he murmurs, examining the extent of the damage. Well, of course he has lived through worse in his life, but having the feeling of soaked cloth stuck to the skin is not the best.

"Well ... at least it's just water ..." Larry's mutter is subtle as he scratches the back of his head in perplexity. It's not that the two of them are the luckiest pairing of friends in this world.

"What was it supposed to be ...?" Sal asks terrified, while he looks at the empty bucket thrown on the ground that has finally stopped the distant din.

"Oh my God, just what we need!" A new voice is added to their "I'm so sorry-"

"I'd like to say that too ..." Sal's distracted moan overrides your apology as he strokes the wet fabric.

It's when he looks up and finally conceives of someone else's presence that he realizes he may have been misunderstood.

Your eyes look at him heartbroken, your body motionless, under accusation.

"I'm mortified ..." you murmur with too much anguish in your voice for the situation. Your tired eyes slide on his legs undecided on what to do, while you bend down to see what happened “I… I… oh my God, can I dry you somehow? Maybe there is something in the shop ... hell, it's my fault, I didn't remember leaving the bucket out here. "

You're certainly not in your best shape, Sal can easily tell from your dark circles and shaking shoulders as if the weight of the world lay upon you.

"Oh ... hey, don't worry, it's okay!" He is quick to reassure you even before he realizes what's going on.

Your eyes penetrate his - or his only present eye -, and for a moment you think you have never seen a kinder look than his, but you immediately go back to yet another disaster of your day.

“I… if you come to the shop I can…” Your hands slide over your green apron as if it could magically give you a solution.

"No ... no, that's okay, really." If previously Sal was focused on his bad day, now all he sees is your dejected face. You're so upset that you haven't even noticed his facial prosthesis, and the thought of helping to shrink you so hurts his heart. He looks like such a sweet and fragile person now.

Your eyes scan his, looking for any foothold that can reassure you that everything is really okay and he, for some damn reason, would do anything right now to see what your smile is like.

“Hey, my friend is certainly not afraid of these things! Take it easy!" Larry, who until then had been watching the scene without really understanding what the hell was going on, finally steps forward, wrapping one of his long arms around the blue-haired boy's shoulders.

Your pupils lift towards the speaker, and finally your lips curl in a slight smile of gratitude.

It's a nice smile, Sal thinks, it's a sweet smile. Well, he would have been happier if he could have made you smile.

But neither you nor the taller guy seem to intuit his thoughts: “Do you work at the flower shop? It's weird, I've never seen you… ”Larry asks continuing to smile at you friendly.

"Oh ... yes ... yes I work here at the store ... I just moved in, let's say ..." You smile again, but your eyebrows just squeeze as your interest turns to the ground "... this ... it was a work of luck."

You lean down and your fingers gently lift the bucket off the ground.

What did that bucket do to deserve so much sweetness from you? Sal doesn't think he can answer this, or why he asks if he does.

"Well ... it's ok ... I had to organize myself quickly ... let's put it this way."

Both Sal and Larry acknowledge an unconscious prayer to your words, but he is the second to speak first: “Ah, I felt like I never saw you! More or less, I always know who's around. " He shrugs his shoulders slightly. “Well, you're lucky you tripped us over that bucket! I'm Larry, and he's Sal. "

The younger boy would have really wanted to tell his friend that in reality the only one who tripped over the bucket was he, as if this gave him the right to introduce himself first to you, or at least give him the right to introduce himself alone. .

"Yes ... I'm Sal ... nice to meet you."

“Oh…” Your smile becomes more sincere when you say your name softly, while you absent-mindedly fix your unkempt hair “my pleasure. I'm sorry to present myself with this disastrous look. It seems that I slept under a bridge, right? "

"Well, as a wretched look I think I beat you." Sal's fingers lightly tap his facial prosthesis, to make it more noticeable than it already is. It's strange to him that no one commented on his mask on the first meeting, are you really so worried that you didn't notice?

Your lips part in a small whispered "o", but soon they bend again slightly upwards: "Well ... it's interesting, you know? It has a certain charm. "

Oh man. Did you feel his heart beating too hard in his chest?

“Are you sure everything is fine? Can I do something for you?" You still insist kindly.

"For real." Sal just chuckles "Nothing serious happened."

“Oh wait.” You quickly turn to the flower pots displayed outside the shop door. They are beautiful, colorful and fragrant.

You examine them for a while, before gently extracting a sunflower from the water pots. You observe it for a few seconds, before turning your eyes to Sal.

The radiant yellow of the sun under the blue of the sky.

"Here ... it's for you."

Sal finds himself confused by what he sees. For him? A flower for him?

His hand almost trembles as he strokes the stem, to welcome it.

"I ... for me ...?"

He doesn't know if you're laughing at him now or for something else, but he believes your laugh is pleasant.

"Take that as a sign of apology, okay?" You tell him, smiling kindly.

It seems that the weight on your shoulders has decreased a bit.

"Excuse me guys, I have to go back, but if you pass by here every now and then, well, I'd love to ..."

"Surely."

Sal's response makes Larry laugh: "Definitely." He confirms.

Sal watches you come back through the glass door unable to take his eyes away from you until you are out of his sight, and then all that exists for him is that big yellow flower in his hands.

Had anyone ever done such a tender gesture for him?

"You can give me flowers on my next birthday if you want, Sally Face."

Larry's piercing voice awakens him.

"But ... maybe instead it would be better to invite them for a drink, what do you think?" The big hand pats the shoulder of the shorter, accomplice.

Sal looks at him, and then giggles. He makes it easy, he always makes it too easy. But you gave him a flower while you smiled at him as if your day had improved.

Well, strangely, now Sal's has turned into a beautiful day too.

[clickerflight]

Oh, how far you've fallen Part 2

I'mma go ahead and call this story uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, actually, IDK. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna continue this story for a bit so if you come up with a good title for this, let me know.

Also, I hope this all makes sense. I've been really out of it today so hopefully that doesn't reflect in my writing. I was fighting for my life figuring out what happened next and then made potential for a whole series. Wild times out here.

Content warning: somewhat dehumanization? Kidnapping. For sure selling someone into being a lab rat, electrocution

Part 1

.........................................

Agent/Henchman - Ivan/Gale

Villain - Kolt

Scientist - LeAnn

…………………

Kolt was so incredibly delirious, but thankfully was too tired to struggle in Ivan’s arms. Ivan was convinced that Kolt didn't even know what was going on. He murmured indistinguishable words as Ivan carried his old mentor’s impossibly thin frame through the halls of the labs, outrunning the flashlights behind them. 

Ivan turned a corner, the map of the building clear in his mind. He did everything he could to keep from being cornered. He only had one chance here. 

Well, less than one chance, really. He was royally screwed no matter if he succeeded or didn’t since being here was an extreme middle finger to his handler. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was each new breath, each new step that didn’t slip on the slick tile, each new heartbeat he could feel under Kolt’s skin. 

The fire escape came into view and a relieved laugh bubbled out of Ivan, mimicked softly by Kolt. He shouldered his way through, alarms screaming through the building making Kolt flinch. Down the stairs, leaping down onto a dumpster in the alleyway, and he was off. 

He was in the clear now. 

Well, he thought he was. 

A dark van pulled up, blocking the alley, and equally dark clothed men came pounding out of it, guns in hand. 

Ivan was torn between running and staying still to try and explain himself to his agency. His choice was made for him when Kolt whimpered, pressing his horribly scarred and bruised face into his shirt, trembling. Ivan sighed, letting the tension drain from his muscles and he stood still as the agents took his weapons from him and led him into the van. 

With that, they were off. 

The getaway vehicle was, admittedly, convenient. 

……………………

“Terribly sorry for keeping you up, Kate,” Ivan said, a little ashamed as he stepped out of the van, still holding Kolt who refused to let go of him. 

Kate stood with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised. “That’s all you have to say? Ivan, do you not remember how long we’ve been working in that lab? You have quite possibly ruined everything we have been working on for months!”

Ivan didn’t reply, simply shifting Kolt in his arms so she could see the scars and injuries he carried on his frail body. Kolt was nearly unconscious at this point. 

She frowned. “Kolt?”

“Yeah,” Ivan said, tucking Kolt against himself again, sharing his body warmth with the man in a way he had never imagined he would. He had never imagined Kolt being small enough for him to carry in the first place. 

Kate frowned thoughtfully. “Come on,” she sighed. “We’ll figure this out inside.”

They walked through the underground garage, Kate's heels echoing around them as Ivan watched her walk ahead. He had no idea how this was going to play out. He remembered what happened when he was captured back when he was still Gale. He had the scars to remember it by. Would they do the same to Kolt? There was no way. He was so fragile. Besides, Ivan doubted that Kolt even remembered anything interesting and had been trapped in that building for long enough that he wouldn’t know anything that had happened in the last few months in the villain community. 

Kolt was finally unconscious as they reached the elevator, and only a couple of the darkly clothed agents joined them in the elevator as the others headed to go take their gear off. There was silence in the elevator for a moment before Ivan cleared his throat. 

“So, what happens now?”

“We will discuss that when my guest gets here.”

“Alright, but Kate. Please keep in mind that he’s-”

“I understand, Ivan,” she snapped, not even turning to look at him. “But you are not in a position to ask for anything for him. Understand me? I appreciate why you have done this, however, that does not change the fact that you are most certainly in trouble and have made my job much harder.”

Ivan huffed silently, annoyed but he didn’t dare argue with his handler. He stared at his reflection, still horrified with how tiny Kolt had become. He’d been taller and more bulked than Ivan. He had been intimidating, once, though you wouldn’t be able to guess that now. 

The door opened and Kate led the way down to the med bay. “Drop him off here. You’re coming with me to speak with my guest.”

Ivan gave her a look and very reluctantly lay Kolt down, coaxing his unconscious fingers out of his clothing and into the sheets on the bed. A medic came out from the back, rubbing his eyes and he winced when he saw Kolt. 

“See what you can do for him,” Kate told the medic, who nodded. 

Ivan hesitated for one moment before he followed Kate back to the elevator. The silence this time was longer and more uncomfortable. Ivan was glad when they reached the conference floor. He wanted to get his reprimand over with. 

Kate turned into one of the rooms and Ivan froze. 

Dr. LeAnn stood up, a prim smile on her face. “Hello, Kate,” she said as one of the agents shoved Ivan into the room, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to guide him to the seat next to where Kate was getting seated. 

“What’s going on here?” Ivan asked, voice trembling with anger as he shook off the agent’s hand. 

Kate sighed. “Ivan, sit down.”

“No! What is she doing here?!”

Kate shared a look with Dr. LeAnn. “Ivan, we have been working on infiltrating that lab for months. LeAnn was our informant on the inside in exchange for a favor.”

“Oh, so your name is Ivan?” LeAnn said, eyeing him over. She curled her lip and said, “You shouldn’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. I hear you were Kolt’s dog for a while. One would think you would know how to obey after all of that.”

Ivan hissed, his anger becoming incomprehensible. 

Kate sighed. “See what I’ve had to work with? I do apologize for all of that. There is an issue, however. Kolt cannot go back with you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” LeAnn asked, turning her anger on Kate as agents held Ivan back. 

“You have damaged him far past the point the contract has allowed. And according to the records we have from your conversation with Ivan, you have allowed him to become useless. We asked you to turn him into a weapon, not do this to him.”

“Trust me, I tried,” LeAnn said with a shrug. “Weapons take the right base to make, and he wasn’t it. He broke before I wanted him too, and I wasn’t even getting started. I did, however, learn a lot about his genetics. All I need is a base who will withstand more than he could and I could give you a weapon per the contract.”

“Kate,” Ivan growled warningly. She glared over at him. 

“Shut up, Ivan. I am trying to clean up the mess you made here.”

“You were trying to turn him into a weapon!? What could you possibly want him for!?”

Kate closed her eyes, taking a slow and steadying breath like she was talking with an impossible child, and Ivan started seeing red as indignation fueled the fire already started in him. 

“Ivan, to fight villains, sometimes you need a villain weapon. Is it that hard to understand?”

LeAnn was eyeing him again, something hungry in her eyes as Ivan tried to keep his anger at bay, the fear that dropped into his stomach helping somewhat. 

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, we are,” LeAnn said. “You’re lucky I have so much pull at the lab. I should still be able to pull enough trust to continue using their equipment and experiments after this debacle… that is, Kate, as long as I start working on a project.”

Kate looked between LeAnn and Ivan and Ivan felt the fear of God enter into every cell in his body, images of Kolt’s wretched state flashing behind his eyes. 

“No! NO NO! There is NO way that I am going to HRNGG-”

Ivan fell to the floor twitching as two agents held stun batons to his ribs. 

Kate clicked her tongue, watching Ivan writhe on the floor. “He might make a good base. He handled training here surprisingly well. I’ll just need to call the boss and get permission first.”

LeAnn nodded, that hungry look in her eyes becoming ravenous as the agents let up and Ivan lay gasping on the floor. 

Ivan came to his senses as a soft ringing tone sounded from Kate’s phone, the silence stretching on as he tried to get his limbs to work for him and get him off the ground, to escape, to find Kolt, to anything. 

Someone picked up and Kate began. “Hello, it’s Handler Kate. You are aware of the incident, correct?”

Silence.

“Dr. LeAnn is requesting Ivan. She thinks she can give him Kolt’s powers and turn him into the weapon.”

Silence.

“Yes, sir. We have Kolt in custody. Dr. LeAnn’s professional opinion is that he will be useless for the project.”

“No,” Ivan said weakly, getting his arms underneath him, but someone put a heavy boot on his back and shoved him back down, making it hard to draw a full breath. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you. Would you like us to get rid of Kolt?”

“No, I might need him for extra DNA,” LeAnn said quickly. 

“Ah, nevermind. Dr. LeAnn said she still might need him.”

Silence.

“Perfect. Good evening, sir.”

She ended the call and smiled at LeAnn. “Well, he’s all yours.”

“Perfect,” she said with an excited though professional lilt to her tone. “You heard her boys. Get him ready for transport.”

Ivan scrambled at the floor, the plastic threads of the carpet scratching at his fingers as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and then he knew no more.

Part 3

Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

[ererokii]

Sooo... This request thing. You're aweosme 👉👈

Ooh boy it's a long one (changed it a bit)

-Erens so cute when he purrs and when you mention his curiosity and twitching ears ears and gentle touch, so as not to hurt the reader.

-when he kinda is paying attention to, analysing the reader or protecting them its SO cute

-It would maybe end as like cuddles and things and just... Talking. To him and him grunting or just nodding or thinking replies.

-Maybe be at night.

-Maybe it would start with... Eren In human form.

-Maybe he figures out that you don't think his titan form is so ugly but still a little new and scary and that maybe you like it

- Bam if you can somehow NSFW that... Uhmm?

So he... Turns into a titan and then. Some NSFW or just. Maybe he like. Scares or teases the reader on purpose for a reaction?

-And then NSFW somehow if you wanna put that in. Sorry for the way I type I'm kinda doing it as it all appears in my head lol

-I like your cute, and desperate eren, but also attentive and caring. I haven't seen you write a very cheeky or playful titan eren so maybe that would be nice.

I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING THIS ONE. Here you monsterfuckers, take your TITAN SMUT.

WARNINGS: MONSTERFUCKING. Oral (f receiving), mention of voyeurism, overstimulation, dumbification, multiple orgasms, edging, characters are 18+.

If these themes make you uncomfortable or you rather avoid, please block the tag “AOT SMUT” WC: 1.7K

Also thank you to the amazing @galair for this beautiful art🥺 everyone go check her out

Eren stays deep within his thoughts as he hums to himself, staring up at the starry sky. His loose strands tickle the shell of his ear, itching to scratch away at it but refuses. He can’t recall the conversation before the silence. It’s always been on his mind, but he’s been inquisitive as to what you saw him as, even if he knew the answer.

Am I a monster to you? Or am I just like you?

You knew Eren was quite insecure with himself when it came to his titan powers; no matter how many times he asked you that, you always gave him the same answer.

You were never a monster; you’re just a broken human like me. 

For some reason, that has never failed to put a smile on his face. Being able to categorize himself with humans made him feel complete, separate from the monster people used to call him when he discovered the powers. 

But know that he’s aware (once again) of how you feel, does he scare you?

Maybe he could ask you--, but he doesn’t want to ruin the mood at all. Now that he thinks of it, he can’t recollect a moment where you’ve seemed scared to be in his presence, unlike other comrades who look like they’ll leak themselves any moment. 

Without even thinking, he blurts out the question. His eyes widen slightly when he realizes the words slipped past his lips.

“Am I scared of your titan form?” you ask, glancing over at him as you sit up, staring down at him from your position. “I mean, it is always somewhat overwhelming to see something so much bigger than me, and when I sit in your hands but no, besides that, I'm not.”

“Do you think it’s ugly?”

“I don’t,” you say with a smile, legs crisscrossed. “I think it’s unique. You know, just for you. I think it’s quite cute and--” you trail off, glancing over to the side. “--somewhat hot,” you cough in between words, hoping he missed that.

“Hot?” he asks, a hint of smugness evident in his tone.” You think it’s hot?” he leans up on his elbows, a smirk curled at his lips. “Why is that?”

“W-Well, I’m not going to tell you that! That’s too personal.”

“What if I turned right now?”

“Y-You can’t! Captain Levi and Hanji would come to chew you out if you did!”

“Hanji gave me the go-ahead to transform whenever I wanted to, just not to cause destruction,” he gets up with a grunt, backing up a few feet back. By the time he was in position before you could speak, lightning struck the earth, the ground crumbling from the shock. 

You dug your fingers into the ground, lowering your head from the gusts of wind. In no time, it calmed down as you avert your gaze upward, emeralds stare down at you from high above, brown tresses swooshing in the air. 

“You did,” you breathed out, releasing your grip on the dirt. Your hands are unsteady, still trying to compose yourself from the sudden change.

He’s not moving, standing as still as a statue before he drops to his knees, the birds sound asleep in the trees now awake and flying away from the commotion. Your heart feels as if it could burst from the confinements of your chest. 

Your left eye peeks open, cowering within yourself. Your body freezes when you see how close he is. His body is lowered to the ground; knees pushed in like a Sphinx. His eyes glow in the darkness, a new feeling taking over your body. 

His heavy breathing fans over your face, his head cocked to the side as if he was examining your small figure. He finds humor in your expression, nudging your body with his nose.

From the small force added, it caused your body to get pushed back. His ears twitch, the tips sticking upward. He moves forward, doing it once more.

“Eren, quit it,” you huff, sticking your arms out to keep him from doing it again-- which he’ll end up doing too. There’s no doubt that in that nape, he’s having the time of his life. 

He wonders what else he can do like this. He thinks for a minute, noises emitting from his throat. He sticks one of his hands out, shakily raising a finger, and places his hands in between your legs. 

He catches your gaze, his tongue peeking as he leans forward, barely pressing the tip against the bare skin of your neck. The new sensation causes your breath to hitch in the back of your throat, eyeing the pink flesh before gulping lowly.

Eren pulls away, looking at your skirt that happened to ride up your legs. His eyes seem to darken as his mouth closes, teeth grinding against each other. 

“Eren?” you question him as he inches closer, his head lowering slightly to the ground. You’re about to call for him again, but his tongue makes an appearance also, pushing the material up more. Your eyes enlarge, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt-- to which looks like fear in his eyes. 

A noise of somewhat sadness comes from him, his ears lowering. 

“N-No, it’s okay, Eren,” you stutter, face heating up from his motions. If you were honest, you could feel a small wetness pool in between your legs. 

Before you know it, the tip of his tongue is in between your legs, the muscle lapping over your clothed cunt. Your arms are shaky as you let out a little gasp that sounds so cute to his ears; he can’t help but circle it around your clit. 

A predatory look is in his eyes, looking down like you were his meal. The muscle goes sound, poking at your slicked entrance. Panting, you glance down at the position and pull your panties aside, shivering from the chilly wind and hot breathing in between your legs. 

His jaw slacked; he works wonders on your needy cunt. The texture and saliva are enough to make you sensitive on the spot. Your eyes roll back as you chant his name, his tongue licking stripes up and down your folds, squelching noises occurring from his rapid movement. 

Your legs are shaking from the overwhelming sensation. God, it’s becoming too much, but you can’t stop him, nor if you wanted to. You felt as if you would fall to the depths of the earth but yet stayed in reality. 

The tip flicks at your folds, an incoherent noise getting stuck in the back of your throat when he begins to move it side to side rather than up and down. 

You’re so needy for him at this point. You want him to stuff your tight cunt with his cock, to feel him stretch you out as he fucks you to no end. Having him do this to you was on another level of ecstasy, but you would accept it if this came up again. 

The pressure he puts on your fragile body is enough to send you backward, but the way your heels dig into the ground and his gentle touches prevent that from happening. The slick left in between your thighs trickle down to your ass; the feeling becomes uncomfortable but erotic. 

“Fuck baby,” you whisper, head falling back, staring up at the sky with lidded eyes. “Fuu..p-please don’t stop,” you slur, thoughts clouding with nothing but immense pleasure.

God, what if someone caught you? The adrenaline running through your body wouldn’t even let you care about that. But the thought of someone hearing you moan out pathetically as Eren licks away at your cunt, have you moaning out. 

You wouldn’t be surprised if someone overheard. Eren’s tongue was a gift that meant to be cherished, even if that meant having him do this every day for you to get used to the sticky yet warmth radiating from the muscle.

The inside of your legs trembles, your head spinning in circles, rubbing small lazy circles on your puffy clit, desperate to be touched by his tongue. Your hole was being circled, his tongue barely pressing before retracting; the little shit was teasing you. 

One of his fingers gently places over your leg to keep you from moving so much. His finger alone is enough to make you feel weighed down. 

Your lips are moving, but nothing is coming out; no noise, no words. You’re completely out of it. Your fingers are clenching and unclenching around nothing, barely holding onto whatever it was you were. If someone were to ask you what day it was, you wouldn’t be able to tell the time of day or where you were at. 

“ ‘M gonna cum,” your voice comes out soft yet needy, shifting your hips side to side, bucking your hips to the best of your ability. “I wanna cum on your tongue.”

His eyes flicker, a stripe licked up between your folds before resting on your clit-- a place that desperately needs attention. 

Your delicate body is on the brink of defeat; an orgasm after orgasm washes over your body, and he shows no signs of stopping. You’re practically gushing at this point, your juices running down his jaw. You’ve made many feeble attempts to push him away; a growl would emit from him when you tried to do so. 

Sweat trickles down your face into your clothes, causing the front of your shirt to stick onto your skin—short breaths of air, hiccups erupting from your throat. Your eyes roll back as your body finally gives out, falling backward onto his hand that was keeping you upright. 

As you fall, a purring sound reaches your ears as his tongue finally retracts from your mess cunt, his eyes glancing at your slick sticking to you. His finger rubs the inside of your thigh, gently wiping away the transparent substance. His ears flicker as he listens to your heavy breathing, trying your best to catch the air that was taken away from you. 

He lovingly nuzzles his nose against your patella, his dark tresses tickling your supple skin. After being pushed through multiple orgasms, you weren’t even sure if you could walk or get up from this position. 

But he finally got his answer as to why you thought he was hot. 

Taglist: @trafalgar-temptress @galair @shisoaya @eremiie @bakuhoesworld @sweetdanibear @blueelionn @grabakitcata @erenstellar @onyxoverride @vinishsama @cellarhapsodos @connieswifey @murmikaa (please message me to be added!!)

[thatonegayship]

Hallelujah! Everybody, rise up! Bring out the serpents! The religious text! Ten percent of your worldly earnings and your best Sunday vest, we’ve been blessed beyond recognition once more by the one and only Tswwwit themself!!!!

Oh, how I wish I could pour all my feelings for this out through the ear, onto a piece of paper, or in a novel full of blank pages, and just SENT it to you. I feel like the words I come up with just don’t cut how this chapter made me feel. It’s such a lighthearted change of pace from what I’m used to! It even took me a moment after they started talking that I remembered, “Oh, this is the TRAUMATIZED Dipper, who literally JUST regained his ability to speak.” I could not be happier seeing how they’ve begun to settle in together - there’s still a ways to go, but Dipper’s LEAGUES ahead from when Bill picked him up originally. 

I know you didn’t say anything like this in the story, but I imagined Dipper’s skin having just a little more color than before, and his cute little cheeks being nice and round now that he’s eating properly. I imagine Bill pinches his cheeks PLENTY. Careful that he doesn’t haul Dipper in one day and outright GOBBLE his cutie-patootie face.

The opening scene had me SCREAMING!!! I was so confused at first. Did Bill bring Dipper to work? Is he trying to squeeze a deal out of some foolish mortal who is very clearly reading things more in his favor than they actually are? I mean, no WAY would Bill actually feed into his delusions, right? RIGHT??? Oh, no, it’s just one big super parody of ALLLL of Billdip. I cannot lie, my soul wept. Yes, yes, Dipper IS the twinkiest little twinkle who ever pranced the earth in most fanfictions, and Bill takes every opportunity he gets to pin him against a wall, or tilt his chin, or gently but threateningly squeeze his throat, leaning in and growling “now now kitten >:))) Don’t make daddy angy hehe.” LIKE AHHHHH?????? I’m being exercised by a priest after this. The fact that Dipper is getting LORE DROPS FROM A SHITTY ADAPTATION OF HIS PAST LIVES???? 

I felt that scene, “Why is this guy agreeing to this demon’s deal so easily? It doesn’t even benefit him :(.” Okay, but shut up, this is my world, and in my world, what I say goes. You’ve taken my fragile, hopeful heart and crushed it between your fingertips. Wretched. Deplorable. Some other word to save me the embarrassment of my own contribution to this horrendous trend. “Yes, YES >:D now call him a Good Boy, MUAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” I’m ruined. My reputation is soiled.

I love how Bill’s mood immediately brightens when he sees Dipper there. Yeah, so his day was shit, he met an over-eager fan wanting a lick at his angles, but look at the cutest human he’s ever laid eyes on, just lounging around his house like it’s no big deal! Like he’s NOT wearing his big ol’ hoodie and looking cute and cuddly watching trash television. That ABSOLUTELY makes up for the freak he just had to deal with! Oh, and I’ll bet the smell Dipper was smelling on that hoodie was Bill - the thing he said smelled *good.* Once again, association has Dipper making all the right decisions to dissolve Bill into a pink-tinted puddle sloshing around the floor chanting “CUTE CUTE CUUUUTE” in his head all day long. Does Dipper even realize how much power he holds over this demon? Nope. Sadly not.

At this point, I’m begging Dipper to figure out some of these terms. “On the Market for what?” Be so fucking for real, dude. I’m just imagining Bill leveling him with the biggest possible bombshell about sex, or relationships, or what a dick is or ANYTHING. God, even going a little more in-depth about kissing would have him curling into a tight ball with the most astounded (and curious) expression on his face. You saw him rewind that kissing scene? Hmm. Very reminiscent of when most kids realize they get a little tingle in their gut over the extra hot weather lady on channel 5. 

It’s a really fun concept to explore, imagining Dipper THIS sheltered, that all the usual stuff most people discover in their pre pubescent years, Dipper’s just now starting to uncover as an adult. He STILL doesn’t have the right idea about it. It’s just confusing feelings and random zaps and electricity through his body, feeling kind of hot, being squirmy and uncomfortable, but not unhappy. He is way, WAY behind schedule. Praying he catches up with the rest of us eventually. Mayhaps Bill can help him in his journey, cough cough.

I get that Dipper doesn’t see himself as a Big Deal, but come on, dude. You think Bill’s just loaning out magic to ANYBODY??? Get the hint! Yes, you’re special, but you’re also his Very Precious Totally Adorable Smoochie Smooch Pumpkin Pie. GRAAAAA!! JUST GET IT ALREADY!!! HE SLUNG AN ARM OVER YOUR SHOULDER!!! HE PLACED A HAND ON YOUR THIGH!!! YOU’RE DADDY’S LITTLE DISCORD KITTEN GAHHHHHHHAAAAAHHA AAA!!!!!!

Ugh, the just the WAY Dipper finally gets one up on Bill! Sure, he doesn’t have all the facts, but he DOES uncover some pretty embarrassing information on this so-called “All-powerful” demon. He quote “Can’t take over reality.” Why, you may ask? Hmm, perhaps there’s something still IN reality that wouldn’t take too kindly to being enslaved, or have the planet they love so much tampered with in a Not Safe For Work Gore Fest. Let’s not forget the pact they made all those years back ensured Bill *wouldn’t* take over reality, at least as long as Dipper stuck around - I might be remembering that last piece wrong, but I’m, like, 80% sure they argued upon those terms. 

Either way, the whole (most) reason Bill isn’t enslaving Earth, aside from not being *quite* so strong in that realm, is all thanks to OG Dipper coming in with the big save. And now Bill’s having to deal with the consequences of *loving* him, and not *wanting* to harm the place he calls him, if only to know the little brat’s not growing up in a wasteland overrun with flesh-eating parasites and man-sized bugs. Reincarnations get much trickier if there’s too low a population to reincarnate into! Oh, Bill. You really shot yourself in the foot this time.

“The thing you want. Why can’t you just - Take it?” Dipper, you are KILLING this man. I swear I was screaming at Dipper the whole time through most of this. First place, number one reigning champion for most clueless guy to ever walk the earth. I have never experienced such effective torture in my life.

Damn, Bill’s REALLY trying to corrupt this one, huh? Bringing Dipper back for his Revenge on the cult, showing all those stupid followers who’s boss, certainly his Good-Natured-Ness won’t get in the way of that. I mean SURE, they were *all* manipulated by the priest into dedicating their lives to a higher power who never actually heard them, and maybe Dipper’s more mad at the system of abuse itself than all the people it caught in the net, but still! He’s got Big Plans for all those dang worshippers, and he can’t WAIT to exact his revenge! And- and show Bill just how ruthless and cool his plans are, since HE’LL certainly be watching with bated breath. Yup! Dipper’s *totally* ready to bring down the hammer!

Can I take a minute just to say I *looooove* reading all the little sprinkles of Trauma Lore you leave for us? Does Bill know about these stripes on his back? I assume these are referring to lashes as punishment, which - yeah, religious symbolism, that tracks. Chances are Bill hasn’t been quite so lucky yet, he’ll have to wait for Dipper to finally let his guard down and strip out his hoodie - ooh la la! Then he can discover all the little scars left behind by the cult. Not so suave and sexy now, are you Bill? Don’t make Dipper insecure about his scars, he’s already giving you a peek at what’s underneath! Honestly, if lashings are a normal punishment, Dipper might not even *notice* them anymore; they’re probably more common to come across for worshippers with Rebellious histories, though Dipper is by far the worst case scenario. 

God, I’m such a fan of the scar on Dipper’s wrist being a permanent reminder of the world he left behind. Everytime he looks down and sees it, I get a little sinister. A little evil. I love these small visual details that hold greater implications, hehehe. 

Honestly, fake-Dipper cooked with this line. “Then I’ll be your own personal curse, demon. You’ll never escape me either.” That goes so hard. If you’re trying to parody bad fanfiction, you failed miserably. Your fingers were made to birth perfection. This rocked my world.

UGHhhh Dipper, how did you NOT get it when Bill literally just said he was waiting for someone “special” to date??? Dipper Overanalyzing Pines somehow MISSED the most obvious hint in his life, and for what? Though, this *did* throw a pretty funny line at us. Dipper’s only heard about Men Chasing Women. Oh, boy. The heteronormality is beating him over the head with a stick, it has him asking Outrageous Questions. No, Bill is NOT a girl. He is a Triangle. That’s such a funny concept to me, but also like. A really good visual illustration to conceptualize how Bill views himself and his own gender. Girl and Boy are both limiting and frankly *wrong* answers to that seemingly simple question, it makes sense that his answer would be something that’s so impossible to grasp, yet so easy to roll with. Yeah, okay. Triangle. Bill’s gender is a Triangle.

He still has a dick, though.

I want to know what was in that briefcase. Now. Urgently. Is it a special thing ordered for Dipper? :333 I would very much like a clue

It’s so funny how like, I was totally groaning and sighing and begging Bill to come back after that phonecall just for Dipper and him to have more Fun Tv Time, but the second I caught wind of a little tomfoolery brewing in Dipper’s head, I was immediately hooked again. Buckled up. Ready for anything. Don’t think I’m not about to scream in your face, because this ENTIRE scene is so very, very cursed, I hope you can’t sleep at night.

Dipper found.

A fucking butt plug.

HNGGG!!!!!!!!!!!

Stop, stop, wait, you’re telling me Bill just has that shit on his bedside table? Of course he does. Lube, handcuffs, maybe even the *sleep mask.* Nothing innocent about them, but leave it up to poor sheltered Dipper to completely miss their intended nature. I was half-expecting him to uncap that bottle of lube for a flipping taste test. Of COURSE he’s drawn to the butt plug. Freaking of course. It’s his inner voice, guiding him through past lives. I swear, that thing must’ve been made out of fucking titanium to have done the damage it did to that demon. Either that, or the buttplug was blessed during one of their many priest/alter boy roleplays, and now it constitutes as a sacramental that repels low-ranking demons. 

Rest assured, I screamed and clawed out my eyes the moment it started vibrating, and Dipper caught a felony for assault with a deadly weapon. Amazing, the bug-demon knew what it was getting battered with, but NOT Dipper. I can’t wait for him to regain his memory and look back on that. Can’t even blame Bill this time, it was his own fault for rummaging through his stuff. That’s a raunchy cocktail party story that never dies, thanks to his jackass husband always managing to bring it up when it’s most mortifying for him.

At first I was irritated with Bill for having a framed photograph of just him on the beach, but I became a giggling school girl the moment Dipper uncovered the innumerable pictures of him stored away in the back. Hopefully he didn’t tear any of them in his rush to hide them away! I have no doubt he brutally dog-earred at least a dozen. If he were anybody else, Bill’d have put him on a stick and roasted him nice and slow over a fire. Alas, the pictures were of him, in Very Cute Poses, which is. Something. Surely not *nothing.*

 Mayhaps Bill kept them for surveillance reasons, to make sure Dipper was staying in his place. But that doesn’t make much sense with the eyes all around them. If Bill was so worried about keeping him in line, all he’d have to do is trail him through a small statue or something. The pictures barely serve surveillance purposes, it doesn’t make any kind of sense. If only he were slightly more informed about literally anything, then maybe he could uncover the Very Confusing and Not Obvious At All reasons behind this weird behavior.

I’ll never get over Dipper finding comfort in things that remind him of Bill. What’s that? The scent lingering on Bill’s suits calms your beating heart to something more manageable? The Bill plushie in your arms makes you feel safe? God, I freaking eat it up every time. Never change, author. Never change.

I cackled so hard at Dipper going from “Bill, don’t kill the bug :(( Aw I feel really bad, stop,” to “End this man’s life NOW.” Dipper recognizes a nark when he sees one. No witnesses. I’m sure Bill’s very proud.

He’s SO proud, he gives him a nice, wet kiss on the forehead!! Does this count as their first kiss? Well, maybe the first kiss Bill’s landed on him, Dipper wasn’t really a participating party in the whole ordeal, though from the looks of it, he didn’t mind it either. Things are finally starting to wake up, huh buddy? What’s this electric current coursing through your body oh so insistent? Let’s not forget Bill said you LIVE here, either. Looks like you finally belong to a home that actually wants you! What’s that? Feeling a bit fuzzy in the feels? Maybe a little cozy? Does somebody feel LOVED? Oh, I do hope you know the word and understand the many implications, because Bill’s gonna smother you in it the moment you least expect it. You cannot escape the many traps laid out for you. You are prey. Prey, I tell you!

I’m not going to bring up the underwear scene, because I know that’s exactly what you want me to do. I didn’t see it. I didn’t register it. My mind went perfectly blank from start to finish and all I have in place of it is a white space with the vague outline of its treacherous spirit. You are a heartless author. Spare my soul the harsh reality you put it through even now.

Aw, Dipper having nightmares after busting that guy’s chops made me so sad :(( hasn’t our boy been through enough? Hopefully he doesn’t have PTSD from that vibrating buttplug, otherwise they’re gonna have a LOT of issues down the line, mostly pertaining to. Um. Certain reserves. But it’s great that he feels comfortable going to Bill for help! Even if it came to nothing, it’s a big step from where they started, with Dipper cowering in fear, unable to utter a word for MULTIPLE reasons, because his God was intimidating, and Stole His Speech, and would Certainly Punish Him if he stepped out of line. It’s so nice seeing how their trust has grown over the last couple of weeks; Dipper’s slowly but surely coming to realize that Bill really ISN’T responsible for all the misery in his life, and he wouldn’t just beam nightmares in his head for the fun of it. Like, that’s actually so sad. You thought *he* was sending you those spine-tingling dreams? It’s great they cleared that up.

Lord, bless Bill for having the stellar idea of stripping off his shirt in front of his awkward, sheltered amnesia husband, that was actually the best move he could’ve pulled right there. I swear, I am gnawing at my cage trying to keep things professional here, but you’re really testing my limits here, Bill being a massive slut and just sliding outta that shirt to show his defined back muscles to Dipper, his poor unsuspecting christian eyes forever tainted. Horrific. Who would do such a thing? I sincerely hope these small acts don’t create a snowball effect that makes Dipper sexually frustrated and equally-so guilt-ridden and Very Confused about what the hell he’s even feeling right now for his god, who is Not a Man, but who Does have a Dick. How does one react when there’s a sexy demon looming over him in such a comfortable and weirdly cool bed? 

*Through gritted teeth* THank GOD Bill woRe a shirt tO bed. Thank GOD.

Okay, but there’s no way Bill doesn’t know what he’s doing in that bed. Wrapping your arms around some sleepy mortal? Alright. Forgivable. But you traced patterns on his STOMACH. You pulled Dipper back against your CHEST. You did a little CHOMP next to Dipper’s EAR. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING, MAN!! Dipper needs all the rest he can get, and Bill is allowing exactly ZERO. I mean, come ON, don’t let the demons take TOO big a bite??? You’re absolutely filthy for that. Shame on you. You’d better not wake up with morning wood, or Dipper’s gonna pass out from adrenaline and/or shock. Really, what kind of husband are you?

Some of your best work thus far. You fed me so good this eve, and now I’m tubby and round and must be transported around by forklift. I sound like a broken record here, but I’m so grateful to have found your works, and to still have you produce new material after all these years. Not many people can make the same two characters feel consistently new and fresh and well developed after so many years of writing, but you’ve really made them your own. I loved this chapter so much, and I’m so excited to see how you decide to wrap things up! Much love, go pet your cats <333

Cult Part 5! Here's One, Two, Three, and Four if ya missed 'em.

“Whatever he’s up to,“ Dipper leans forward in his seat, glaring. “It’s not what you think it is.”

His warning goes unheeded. His glare, unnoticed. The man not only keeps talking to Bill, he does it in the stupidest way possible.

“I don’t believe you, vile tempter,” says the dark-haired man, folding his arms, turning away in a huff. His hips tilt in a way that makes those tiny shorts look ten times stupider than they already were. “Your infinite cunning and dire convincing cannot sway a human pure of heart!”

“Oh, how pure it is.” ‘Bill’ says slowly, capturing the man around the shoulders. “But think about it, mortal - What’s the worst that could happen?”

Some of the pouty defiance fades from the human’s face. His slow, dramatic turn towards Bill is focused in a close shot, so their faces are both in frame.

“Alright,” He says softly, “You bastard.”

Ugh, of course he’d give in easily. Even though it’s a terrible idea.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dipper mutters, and stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

He’s seen his fair share of bad television - more so in the last week than ever before - but this bullshit really takes the cake. 

Dipper stumbled on this drama while flipping through the billion options of Bill’s TV. Somewhere in the middle of random shows and channels, a brief clip caught his eye. Mostly because he thought the main guy looked like Bill, and it paused his thumb for a second.

Turns out it is Bill. Or rather, an actor playing him. The looks don’t quite match, and they’re using a different name - but the likeness is unmistakable, right down to the triangle motif.

For the first five minutes, Dipper had to just boggle at the very concept. Only the most devoted followers know the Truth. The clever plans and private nature of Bill Cipher are solely for those who are initiated in the deepest secrets. Ones that the ignorant masses could never comprehend.

A hundred-some odd episode tv series blows that theory out of the water. He guesses that’s more bullshit he learned from a bunch of ignorant, sheltered jerks.

Honestly, meeting Bill should have clued Dipper in earlier. A guy who talks about himself that much isn’t going to keep a low profile. Seeing it on Bill’s own TV was also weird until he remembered, right. Multidimensional sight. That’d show him things from all over. And pulling all the episodes on a dedicated channel in his living room? That’s an egomaniac’s move. 

So of course Dipper would run into this. There was no better place. 

The next episode starts. The opening credits roll for the dozenth time. Dipper doesn’t move from his position on the couch, but he does roll his eyes at the stupid smile actor Bill gives at the camera. Completely off-base, it’d be way more smug.

He should really stop watching. The first episode alone nearly had him grimacing at how idolatrous it was, and Dipper lived in a cult. Problem is, the worse it gets, the more compelling it becomes.  

Then the theme song ends, and Dipper looks again down at the tiny text at the bottom. The one that reads, ‘based on real events!!!’. 

Sure, it’s the most highly dramatized bullshit he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. Including the soap operas his cult classmate smuggled in all the time. And yes, it’ll be difficult to tell how much is true when it’s less reliable than an overheard rumor. 

But it might give him some leads to go on, and Dipper can’t pass that up.

Suffering through shitty dialogue is a small price to pay, when it comes to unraveling the tangled thread that is Bill Cipher. Especially because his subject keeps trying to wrap up into a whole friggin’ gordian knot whenever he’s not looking.

Besides, Dipper’s already on episode twenty-seven. He might as well see how this season ends. 

The plot picks up on the same convoluted scheme. Judging by last season, it’ll end in some climactic battle for no particular reason. The characters on screen continue their bickering, an intense-back and forth. One that ignores the very insightful commentary from anyone watching. 

Halfway through, ‘Bill’ double- or perhaps triple-crosses his human rival/friend, and Dipper spends a few seconds to feel very I-told-you so about it. The plot thread isn’t resolved though, so there’s no way to know how that turns out without watching another episode. 

And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.

He contemplates the dish first, then the TV. Whether to get up and refresh snacks, or stick around to see how ‘Bill’ ruins that guy’s day for the seventh time. A tough decision. 

He’s just about decided to raid the kitchen for snacks, when the front door ominously creaks open.

Bill Cipher, Lord of Dreams, King of the Nightmare Realm, storms into the room with irritation in his terrible gaze, and furious purpose in his stride. He wears a scowl on his face that would make even the most apostate follower cower in terror, a demeanor that speaks of his infinite violence. The thrum of magic in the room builds, intense as it always is in his so-called glorious presence.

As that single golden eye alights on Dipper, he waves and says, “Hi.”

All the tension slides off Bill like a particularly messy sloughing of skin. “Hey yourself, sapling!” He waves back with more enthusiasm. “Been one heck of a day, lemme tell ya that.”

It sounds lighthearted. A pretty decent act. Tough luck for Bill, though; Dipper can read him pretty well by now. A check of Bill’s body language gives him all the info he needs.

Huh. There haven’t been many bad days since he’s met this ‘god’. But by the look of it, this one was more than most.

“That bad?” Dipper asks. Then, since he’s not doing much anyway - “Wanna complain about it?”

A blasphemous question. No follower should delve too deep, for that is the purview of divine revelation. The wisdom of Cipher - his most terrible secrets - are only revealed at his discretion. Not something to be pried at by the greedy and curious. 

Dipper still marvels at how wrong they got all of it. Total misses on absolutely everything. Bill’s got secrets, sure. ‘Wisdom’ is questionable.

And when it comes to learning about his life, prying is unnecessary. 

Stopping him from talking is the hard part.

“Don’t even get me started!” Bill says, clearly delighted.. He spreads his arms wide. “But you did! Too late to take it back now.”

“Mmh,” Dipper agrees. He’s got another episode queued up. That’ll be a nice distraction. Bill’s rambling can be interesting, but his complaints are longwinded. When you think about it, he’s really doing this ‘god’ a service by listening to all the bullshit.

He really doesn’t know what his old cult was talking about. Clearly they’d never met the guy. When this is how Bill talks to some random human, it’s amazing he has any secrets at all.

He waits for the oncoming onslaught as the show keeps playing on. The theme song finishes and the scene opens. There’s a new location, too - god, this better not be another timeskip. Demons might keep track of that stuff easily, but Dipper’s had to start taking notes. 

It takes a second before he notices Bill’s… actually not talking. 

A quick glance over - yep, just like he thought. Staring like a creep again. One of Bill’s favorite pastimes. This time paired with a pleased smile, and his hands on his hips.

“What’s up?” Dipper asks. There’s no rhyme or reason to the creeping so far - but he’ll figure out the pattern one day.

“Hm.” Bill gives him a slow onceover. The corner of his mouth quirks up another fraction. “Nice outfit.”

A quick check reveals… Nothing particularly interesting. His clothes are identical to, like, the same three outfits he always wears. Jeans and a t-shirt - though today he ditched the flannel for this big hoodie he found in his laundry. It’s remarkably soft. “Uh. Thanks?”

Bill says nothing. The smirk grows even wider. Very suspicious. Dipper narrows his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?” “Who knows?” Bill says, teeth showing in his smile. “Interesting outer layer you got going on there.”

Dipper checks the hoodie. No, he doesn’t sense any magic. If there were pins he would have felt them, and a curse would have kicked in by now. It’s just a random hoodie that’s admittedly too broad in the shoulders, but very comfortable. It even smells good.

He waits a few seconds - Bill keeps staring, oddly smug - but with no information forthcoming, Dipper decides to chalk it up as another ‘weird demon thing’. There’s a lot of weird demon things. Most aren’t as innocuous as random fashion critique, so he might as well let this slide. 

“Cute as that look is, you did ask for the rundown, sapling.” Bill loosens his bowtie, letting the ends drape over his shirt. “You know what my least favorite part of today was?”

“Dealing with idiots.” Dipper replies. It’s always idiots. He rifles through popcorn kernels to find any remaining puffs.

“Sure, sure. Most times!” Bill strides over, sighing dramatically. “But today it was dealing with sycophants.” 

Dipper runs that through his mental dictionary - then frowns. “They weren’t flattering enough?”

“Close!” With a grin, Bill leans on the arm of the couch. “More like praise comes in a lotta different flavors, and this one -” He stops mid-sentence, with a sudden frown.

Pausing? That’s unusual. Dipper rips his attention away from the show, glancing up.  “This one was…?”

“Hm? Oh, y’know.” Oddly enough, it seems like Bill genuinely wasn’t deflecting. Simply thinking, his head slightly tilted. He snaps his fingers twice. “Like, suckups are one thing. Currying favor’s the most common grift in the universe! It’s the… That kinda saccharine crap that’s a hair too sincere. Like…” He wags his hand in the air, fingers wiggling as he tries to grasp for an invisible word. Grimacing when he doesn’t find it. “Ugh. English doesn’t have the right vocab.”

A multilingual master of the mind probably does feel limited by speech. And every day, Dipper learns something new. 

Demons have a different culture. Human customs don’t apply. Learning it has been a whole process, more arduous than he’d expected - because it’s got an entirely new language, with a million new words.

Apparently said language has a lot of terms for ‘suckup’.

Dipper rummages around for an English word that might fit. “So it was… Creepy?”

“Close!” Bill agrees, looking pleased. “Little bit obsessive. A touch like they’re up to something.” He makes a face. “Or worse, they’re not! Even when every non-braindead being should know I’m not on the market.”

“The market for…?”

“Most everything,” Bill says, with his usual amount of detail. 

“I would have thought you get that a lot.” Dipper frowns. Power, money, fame - Bill’s got it all. As the biggest shark around, he should be used to remoras.

“Totally! Everybody wants what I got, sapling. Power especially.” The couch barely bounces when Bill plops himself beside Dipper. “But just ‘cause I have it in spades doesn’t mean I’m handing it out like eyeballs at a wedding.”

“Um.” Except he kind of is. Because. If he wasn’t, then why has Dipper’s magic been so strong recently. There’s no way that’s a coincidence -

Bill leans in closer, meeting his gaze directly. One eyebrow slowly lifts.

Dipper ducks his head, scooting an inch away. Bill hasn’t said anything. He didn’t need to.

Special. 

Suddenly it’s very important that Dipper fiddle with the unpopped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. He was going to get more snacks. Right. Kitchen’s not far from here.

Before he can rise, Bill snaps his fingers and the bowl refills. Overflows, even, scattering kernels everywhere. Then he shoves his hand in up to the wrist, sending more of it flying.

“So that’s the losers I gotta deal with. Every day with these idiots! And I’m supposed to meet up with a few of ‘em later. If we weren’t talking an old favor, I’d pass,” Bill says. He slumps back, with an uncharacteristic sigh. Then shrugs, kicking his feet up onto a previously nonexistent ottoman. “But hey! There’s always time for a vicious betrayal!”

Dipper makes a soft sound of commiseration. That’s an interesting fact, too. Favors, deals. Those are demonic things, He wonders what those involve, and how - 

“Ha! Now this is a classic,” Bill says, interrupting before the question can form. He’s watching the TV now, grinning wide.  “How’ve you been liking the show? Looks like the main character’s a real handsome guy!”

“It’s terrible,” Dipper says, flat. It gets a chuckle, but no argument.

“Sure, I’ve seen better,” Bill says, nose wrinkling up at a particularly dramatic line from the actor on screen. He flips the TV off, then shrugs. “But eh,” Hand waggling, an ‘iffy’ gesture. “When you got a billion-eye view of the multiverse, you see way dumber crap than this.” 

Fair point. Dipper shrugs, but doesn’t comment. Something to think about, there. That Bill’s seen this before, for one, but also-

“How much of this is true?” He asks. 

If this demonically produced drama is even slightly accurate, Bill will have a strong opinion. Once he starts talking, everything will reveal itself.

“Great question! I’d say…” Bill pauses to stroke his chin. Aiming for ‘solemn’, but mostly reminding Dipper that the jerk never needs to shave. “What does it matter if a narrative is factual or fictional? Everyone’s got their own version of how things go down! Truth’s a sucker’s game when you really think about-”

An elbow to the ribs doesn’t quite shut Bill up. Just gives him enough pause to let Dipper interject.

“Philosophy doesn’t suit you.” He nudges him again before he can derail the topic. Bill sticks out his tongue, and for a second Dipper’s tempted to poke it in revenge for before. “I’ll settle for which parts actually happened.”

“Spoilsport,” Bill says, sounding oddly warm. “Eh, they took a lot of artistic license in this series. And that’s coming from me.” Shrugging, he makes a so-so- sort of gesture, weighing it in his palms. “Call it less than you’d like, but more than you’d think.”

Dipper glances at the screen. 

The battle at the end of the episode is a poorly-cut fight. Bill, human-formed, faces off against seven gorgons. Which is bullshit, they’re territorial - and the shoggoth at sunset brings it almost to the level of parody. The human of this episode has fainted in a way that leaves him leaning against Bill without somehow falling on his ass.

Yeah. That about tracks. Demon to human translation: ‘Artistic license’ means ‘total bullshit’.

Almost on cue, Dipper feels fingers brushing against his hoodie. There’s a shift as Bill adjusts his seat, his arm unsubtly snaking over behind Dipper’s head. 

Any minute now that ominous limb will drop onto his shoulders. Just like the last half dozen times. God forbid Bill not take up all the room he can; he thinks everything is his. Even gorgons aren’t this territorial.

Dipper can live with it. Hell, if the worst thing Bill ever does to him is invade his personal space and talk over an already bad TV show, he’s basically set for life. 

And truthfully, it’s not that bad. Less irritating than it should be. Having someone close, even if they are an obnoxious evil demon god, feels nice. 

One day he’s going to know why he’s being bothered by Bill in the first place. What made him stand out among the rest. What he’s for. The question doesn’t upset him like it used to, but he can’t help but pick at it like a still-healing scab. 

It feels like he has a decent amount of facts already. Between the journal in the guest room, watching the highly dramatized version of Bill’s life, and talking to the demon himself… 

Dipper glances over at Bill - still focused on the show, crunching popcorn - then down at the long line of his wrist. 

Even Bill’s providing clues, in his own, unique way. When he arguably shouldn’t. 

It would be so, so easy for him to cut it all off. Burn the books, break the TV, cage Dipper up and beat the curiosity out of him. Taking every step the cult did and more, in his ‘wrath’ and ‘infinite cruelty’.

But he’s not. He wouldn’t, not to Dipper. 

In fact, Bill’s been - in a weird, exclusively Bill-ish way - kind of helpful. Hell, he’s having a great time. 

He clearly delights in watching Dipper scramble around, trying to follow a breadcrumb trail of hints. Even more fun is occasionally dropping a bunch of clues down the wrong track, then hiding behind a tree to giggle. He especially likes to dangle something just close enough to grab, then teasing Dipper as he tries to make the leap. 

So much of his time is spent making stuff annoying, teasing and taunting and tricking - but Bill’s not actually stopping him. As hobbies go, it’s both incredibly dickish, and totally benign. It’s almost like… 

Dipper gets the sense that Bill expects him to figure it all out. Bill just also thinks he should make the journey very… ‘interesting’.

Joke’s on him, though. He’s left more hints than he intended. He may not even realize how far Dipper’s come.

The show plays on. The actor ‘Bill’ argues with the latest, nearly-identical human guy. They change actors a lot; usually whenever there’s a timeskip. They always have exactly the same role, too - ‘guy who argues with the demon in charge’. Probably because demons consider all humans interchangeable. 

There’s some interaction between the various planes. Everyone knows that. Demons are pretty rare on the list, but lower-level entities occasionally get summoned, or break in through some magical mishap. 

Back in the cult, Dipper learned that Bill Cipher has bothered and convinced and manipulated mortals for eons. His unearthly machinations twist the strings of his human puppets, all the time. Slowly building to the inevitable goal - the world, under Bill’s eternal thumb. He never interacts directly; the physical plane is not yet his to roam.

But in the drama, Bill is on the physical plane. Not acting through haunting prophetic dreams, or divine revelations. Just bitching and prodding and poking in person. 

And while the setting’s  fictionalized version of the place, it’s definitely not under any demonic reign.

The implications took a while to sink in, but Dipper thinks he gets it now. Parts have clicked together; facts he didn’t know were connected until just now. 

Bill probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s helped  there too. Filling in the gaps. Adding extra detail.

He’s even doing it right now. 

The unasked for commentary track continues as Bill talks. Going on about how he hasn’t been to that country in millenia, or how the seasons are wrong for this encounter. Elaborating on details, mocking others, going on about the stupid plotline and dialogue -  

Totally bragging about his earthly knowledge. About the physical world. Because he’s been there.

Dipper sits up a little straighter. It bumps the hand trailing through his hair away, and he settles back to let Bill’s idiot fingers continue their idle path. 

He can’t be totally certain without proof, though. And Bill has always liked it when he’s picked up the clues…

Dipper speaks up.

“I think more of this is real than you’d admit, Bill. You’ve…” Didn’t laud himself over them, no divine visitation- “Hung out with humans.”

“Hard not to! What with billions of you dreaming all over the place.” Bill says, deftly avoiding the question. Staring at the screen now, focused forward in a way that makes it hard to catch his eye. “You’re everywhere on that scummy pebble you call a habitable planet.”

No confirmation, but no denial. Which means Dipper’s on the right track. 

“I mean you’ve been on Earth. In the, uh, flesh,“ Dipper insists. No triangles were visible, maybe that form can’t be sustained in reality - but this is no time to get derailed. He seizes the thread of logic, yanking on it with all he’s got. “Was-”

“Pfft, who hasn’t!” Bill interrupts. He flicks the question away, snorting in amusement. “Pretty permeable place you got there.”

“That’s at least two hundred years of human interaction,” Dipper insists. He jabs his index finger at the screen, then into Bill’s ribs. “And I can’t help but notice none of it is in your realm. It’s on Earth. Which you haven’t conquered-” Before Bill’s mouth can open, he holds up a hand. The lie is so dumb he doesn’t wanna hear it. “Nice try, I was just there.”

“Yeah, yeah, make a mountain out of a molehill.” Bill buffs his nails on his shirt, chin lifting. “I’ve just been busy! I’ll get around to it!”

“Sure you will,” Dipper says. He narrows his eyes. “I’ve figured you out, Cipher. I know what’s going on.”

Plausible deniability went out the window ages ago, thrown with such force that glass shattered everywhere. Leaving Bill standing in the middle, wondering aloud what happened, with a perfectly innocent look on his face..

It’s about humans. About earth, and Bill, and Dipper himself. Why Bill never showed up before, in all those years - decades - of cult summons, the ones he never ever answered, even though they really tried. Not just that he didn’t see them, or didn’t care to. 

It’s because Bill Cipher can’t do everything.

Bill’s been evasive, per his usual. He’s not quite meeting Dipper’s gaze, and keeping up a dismissive tone. 

But he can’t deny that he’s interested, even though he tries to keep his expression aloof. It’s not working so great. His mouth keeps twitching as the grin starts to leak out around the edges. 

“Oh?” Bill’s voice has a strange tone. He leans in until their thighs touch, sides together; he must be really interested in something. “Go on, sapling. Enlighten me!” 

That’s the core of a line of truth, leading somewhere important - if Dipper dares to follow. He’s getting close, he can feel it. It’s dangerous, but- 

Getting the words out is harder than he thought. Challenging Cipher is - he starts talking before he can talk himself out of it.

“You can’t take over reality.” He keeps his voice level, daring Bill to interrupt. “You don’t have all your powers there.” 

A pause; Bill’s oddly silent. His face is blank. 

Before he can get angry, Dipper rambles out the rest. “Or at least not yet. You���d have taken over already if you did. I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have time. You can’t get the world because…” Here it goes - “Something’s stopping you." 

He watches, tense, as Bill’s expression sours. Looking askance at Dipper, he folds his arms in a huff. Muttering something under his breath about ‘stubborn’ and ‘annoying’.

But Bill doesn’t deny it. 

God, and even the look on his face. The one that’s both annoyed but also, maybe, resigned? Like it’s an old, old roadblock that he’s both huffy about, and very used to, it’s…

Holy shit. Dipper’s right. 

His heart is racing. Merely guessing that Bill can’t accomplish his main driving purpose is a far cry from him saying it, or even not arguing with it. The very thought makes his head swim.  

But he can’t stop now, not while he’s ahead. 

“So there’s some obstacle even you can’t get rid of,” Dipper says. Looking at Bill out of the corner of his eye, he pitches his voice in a tone of reverent, religious awe. “I can’t even imagine how powerful that is. How incredibly-”

“Hey! Don’t get so full of yourself, Pine Tree, it’s just not the right time yet!” Bill sits up straight, indignant. He bares his teeth in a sneer. “Maybe there’s something I still want from that miserable little rock, you ever think of that?”

Another admission. An unforced error. Bill winces very slightly as he hears his own misstep, and Dipper swells with pride. 

Bill thinks he’s all high and mighty and oh-so-secretive. A master of mysteries. If only he didn’t talk way too much. He didn’t think Dipper was clever enough to trick him and he gave everything away.

“That’s it. That’s why- why everything.” Dipper beams as he waves over, well, everything. “You keep going back there, and you keep picking a human, wandering around with some random guy - because you can’t get what you want without one.”

Not a cult, building power. Not a massive ritual spell. Nothing grand and showy; Bill would have done that if it was effective. That’s way more his style, and far more magically powerful. 

There’s been none of that. Not in the show, not in real life. He hasn’t used the cult, he doesn’t have a base of power. Bill doesn’t peddle with groups, both in the real-life cult and the cannon fodder in the show. 

He’s only focused on one person.

Out of billions of people he could bother, Bill latches onto a single, unfortunate guy and throws their life into total chaos. It’s a curse, an annoyance, a bolt of bullshit out of nowhere - and would also ensure you don’t bleed out until he’s had his ‘fun’. 

Being picked out from the crowd like that. Having the full brunt of Bill Cipher himself foisted upon you, laser-focused. Going from a nobody to someone who has all his attention - 

Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special? 

No response, again. Bill has retreated to his last, mocking resort. Flapping his hand like a puppet as Dipper talks, and making faces. 

Yes. Finally, Dipper got him. He followed the breadcrumbs, avoided the trap, set up one of his own - and Bill walked right into it. 

Dipper gives him the smuggest, most annoying smile he can. He’s got plenty of examples to draw from. 

Bill glares, and flips him off. “Sure, sure, live it up,” He says, rolling his eye dramatically. Waving off the loss like it’s no big deal, even though it clearly is. “You don’t have a clue what’s really going on.”

A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either. 

Dipper lets himself enjoy this win for a full minute. Rare chances like this should be savored. He has to hold onto the couch so he doesn’t grab Bill’s dumb handsome face and shake it, for being so very, very stupid. He’s never going to let him live this down

“So. Why do you need a mortal?” Dipper asks after a while. Bill isn’t volunteering any more information, and there’s one more part he hasn’t quite figured out. “The thing you’re after. Why can’t you just,” He grasps at the air in demonstration. “Take it?”

Bill’s eye twitches, once. He doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean-” Dipper hesitates. “That’s a ton of work. Heading to a different realm, picking a new mortal every time - that’s decades - no, centuries of effort. The human has to do something, right? You wouldn’t do all that just for fun.”

“Excuse you, it’s plenty fun!” Lifting a finger, Bill wags it chidingly. “You think I’m above messing with some mortal just for kicks?”

Shit, he’s not. Ruining a random person’s life for the hell of it is so very, very Bill.

“Alright, maybe.” Dipper admits. This could be because Bill’s a capricious dick. “But I’ll bet there’s more to it.”

“Never have one motive when you could have six,” Bill agrees. The grin widens, he wiggles his eyebrows - and he starts cackling. 

So yes, there’s more. And no, he’s not telling. 

Dipper racks his brain for ideas. For clues. Whatever Bill’s after must be extremely important if a literal demon god keeps chasing after it, over and over again. Nothing comes to mind, though. 

Eventually he sighs, waiting for Bill to be done with his stupid smug laughter. It doesn’t cover up his mistake.

“So I guess that makes me your latest human… companion thing.” He prompts, once Bill’s finally done with his smug, jerk laughter.

One of the first things he noticed - that room in Bill’s penthouse. The one meant for a specific type of person, as clear as a fingerprint. How many of Bill’s mortals stayed in that room? How many of them-

Those notes in the journal. Dipper has to go back and check them. Now that he knows it was someone in exactly the same position, there might be more to learn.

“Congrats, kid! Ya got parts of it! Well played! But I gotta ask one thing.” Bill cocks his head to one side. A brief, amused smirk. “There are plenty of magical guys around! A lot of ‘em  begging for demonic contracts!” The smirk widens, sharp teeth showing. “Why do you think I picked you?”

Dipper opens his mouth. After a beat, he shuts it. 

He was so busy thinking about the mechanics of his presence that he didn’t think about the motive. 

Obviously Bill grabs a human for practical purposes, so he can get that thing he wants on Earth. If it’s an entertaining person, that’s a bonus in his eye. This time it ended up being Dipper, because…

Not because he’s devoted. Or the most knowledgeable guy around. He’s smart, but too aware of the experience he lacks. Weeks ago he would have said it was the ritual knowledge from the cult, but since that’s less than worthless… Something else, then.

“Because…” Dipper starts, then hesitates. Mind racing, trying to pin the strings between the bits of knowledge he has before Bill throws a wrench into it. “Uh.”

Shit. Shit, he’s so close, there’s a piece missing. A final step. He struggles to find it but there’s little time to think; Bill’s expectant expression demands an answer. 

“Convenience?” Dipper hazards. He was right there, in the middle of a powerful ritual, directed at Bill, so- 

Instantly he knows it was the wrong guess. By the way Bill’s face fell, it was off by several hundred miles.

“Ooh, nice try.” Bill tugs Dipper closer, hand dragging through his hair - Dipper ducks out of the way before he can start a ‘companionable’ noogie. “You really missed the mark there!”

“Any chance you’ll tell me what that is?” Dipper says, with no small amount of bitterness. 

Damn it. He was so close he could almost taste it.

“Nope!” 

“You- hmph.” With a grunt, Dipper scoots away and out of his grip. He’s used to all the deliberate frustration, but right now it just sucks.

“Aw, don’t make that face!” Bill scoots after him, trying to get his arm around him again. Dipper swats it away. “Tell ya what - here’s a hint! You’re something a guy doesn’t see every day, sapling.” He winks. “Pretty unique.”

How very specific. Totally not opaque. How does Bill manage to give more facts and make things more mysterious in the process? It’s a really annoying talent.

Dipper sulks then, for a bit. When Bill tries petting his air again, he smacks his arm away, muttering unflattering things under his breath. It makes Bill laugh again, cackling in delight.

“What’s the matter?” Bill nudges him, a teasing laugh. “Ease up, kid. Given enough time, you’ll figure out some real secrets.”

“May Cipher hear your words,” Dipper says, the old phrase springing up before he can stop himself. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, cringing away from his own voice.

Thankfully, the slip gets Bill laughing. Dipper’s turn to not live something down; they’re one for one today.

“Okay, some of the affectations are adorable,” Bill says, nearly pinching Dipper’s cheek before he elbows him in the side. “Hardly worth all the other crap, but still!!”

“It really wasn’t,” Dipper says. He rubs at his left wrist. ‘All the other crap’ barely covers it.

“Don’t worry, sapling.” Bill says, voice low and satisfied. He squeezes Dipper’s knee, grip tightening. “Once we got everything in order - we’re gonna wreak some havoc on those idiots! All the fun stuff and more!”

‘Fun stuff’. 

Spending time with Bill, even in Dipper’s position of relative safety, teaches you a lot about what he thinks is ‘fun’. 

He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming. 

“Is that… so.”

“It is! Getting back at those who wronged you, tormenting the tormentors. Punishment returned with neat ironic twists!” Bill waits for a beat, then grins, jostling Dipper with a gentle shake. “Come on, you gotta have ideas!”

“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually. 

Being favored by a ‘god’. Chosen, in a way. Having Bill’s favor means having his full permission to enact vengeance. 

He’d be lying if he said he never thought about… what he’d do, if he could. Fleeting ideas from too many nights lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, feeling the burn in the back of his mouth, or the pain in his knees or the stripes on his back. Frustration and anger and hurt, bubbling up into red-hot thoughts that tasted like blood even with a missing tongue. 

Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat. 

“Ooh, I bet you’ve got a lot.” Bill purrs, wrapping his arm around Dipper’s waist. He walks his fingers up Dipper’s knee, trailing up his thigh. “Whatcha got in mind? Turning them inside out? Bone dissolving? Rearranging their legs where their ears should be and making them try to do a cartwheel?”

“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.” 

Bill is way more creative than Dipper is. Half the ideas he’s mentioned Dipper couldn’t pull off, and even if he could it’d be… Messier than he’s comfortable with. In those moments of pain and rage, he would have - even then, it’d be a stretch. 

Though maybe Dipper wouldn’t mind when it came to the priest. Too bad he’s already dead. 

What will he do? When he goes back?

He can see their faces in his mind’s eye. All the people he knows. The only people he ever knew, in that life that feels so far away.They’ll show up again in the room of ceremony, once they get wind of their god’s return. Except this time, he’ll be standing proud at the altar, with everyone in front of him, staring in…

He knows how they stared at Bill, at least. That mix of wonder and terror, their eyes wide. They’ve always believed so much. Hopeful in a way that Dipper never was - 

Or. Was, rather. Only when he wasn’t so stupid. 

And isn’t it just - so pathetic, and sad. Thinking things might turn out well. That something good might happen, when someone better knows it won’t. Those idiot, expectant moments before you know there’s a punishment coming, that leave you without a chance of defending yourself.

Dipper can feel the burn of Bill staring at him. Waiting to hear his most horrible, gory ideas, and bring them into terrifying technicolor.

“I’m not telling.” He states finally, sounding more prim than he would like. “Nice try. It’s, um. Going to be a surprise.”

“And I can’t wait to see it!” Bill beams, nearly bouncing in place. His enthusiasm is so powerful it’s almost catching. “Mark my words, kid - it’s gonna be a real party.”

“A super fun one,” Dipper says. “Totally.” He offers a smile back, waits for Bill to start cackling - then quickly looks away before his face gives up the game.

For such a consummate liar, Bill’s hit rate on detecting them is only 50/50.

Though. It isn't a lie, really. Dipper does have a lot of ideas. And what he ends up doing to the cult will be a surprise. 

In that he’s not sure what he’ll do until he gets there. 

“Take your time, sapling! Whatever you come up with is gonna be great, I’m sure.” Bill rubs his hands together, a glint of sinister anticipation in his eye. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Dipper lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Of course it wasn’t going to happen today. That’d be a quick turnaround by anyone’s standards. Even Bill himself needs longer than a few days to cook up a… what did he call it that one time? A ‘showy little number with a twist at the end’. Anything else would be disappointing. 

Anyway, it’s too early to make definitive plans. Bill said he should take his time, and Dipper believes him. Shoving his human back into the world half-cocked would ruin the entertainment. 

And when you think about it, there are so many options that it could take a lot of time to narrow them down. There could be setbacks, and stutters. It could take weeks, maybe months, to get everything just right. A punishment ironic yet powerful, subtle yet dramatic.

Who knows how long it’ll take until Dipper’s ready to head back? Certainly it won’t feel very long, to a guy who’s billions of years old. And as long as he’s making some progress, nothing needs to happen just yet. 

“Ooh, this one,” Bill says suddenly. He sits up straighter as something catches his attention. “I remember when - ah, but that’d be spoilers!”

Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?

Oh. A new episode started when he wasn’t paying attention. “It’s still a bad show,” He mutters. He could turn it off out of spite, just to bother Bill - but he did kinda want to see what happened with the twelve-ring summon the ‘bad’ guys were planning. 

Another episode would actually be kind of great, thinking about it. He could use the distraction.

Bad TV, Dipper’s learning, is nice. One of the few times where he can almost let his brain turn off. 

And having someone else who thinks the show is dumb somehow enhances it. 

The climactic battle has the worst dialogue, and terrible graphics. Dipper can barely look at the monsters, they’re so poorly rendered.  Bill agrees that they needed a better illusionist; half of the explosions look like they were drawn. 

Chatting about something so trivial makes everything so easy. Dipper lets out a laugh when Bill mocks his own actor’s performance, then swats at him when Bill teases him for being a dork.

Some idle comment sparks a bit of bickering. One of them throws popcorn at the other. Dipper doesn’t remember who started it - only that by the end, the bowl is empty again, and he’s smiling for what feels like the first time in hours.

Actor Bill hisses,“Oh, you are a vindictive, terrible mortal.” His suit has mostly melted off from the acid, leaving shreds of it hanging off his arms and chest. The shreds slide off his skin as he storms forward. “A pitiful being like you should never exist!”

“Yet I do!” Protests the human, standing with fists on his hips and a truly defiant look. One only partly ruined by his totally shirtless form.

“You never stood a chance against me,” Actor Bill purrs, slamming a hand into the bark of a tree, pinning his captive in place. “There’s no escape, kid! There never will be!”

“Oh yeah?” The man’s chin juts upward, a sneer of sheer contempt - totally unrealistic, nobody would get away with that - as he flips Bill off. “Then I’ll be your own personal curse, demon. You’ll never escape me either.”

The music surges, a broad orchestra that’s… honestly a jarring clash to the argument that breaks out. You can barely hear what they’re talking about over the grand music.

“Just shut up will you?” The man yells.

With a broad sneer, Actor Bill leans in, smug grin surprisingly close to the real version. “Make me.”

The human fumes, eyes narrowed. His fists clench as if he’s about to throw a punch. But when he extends his arm it’s too slow for that, and his hand is open. It seizes ‘Bill’ by the back of the neck, yanking him in, then -

Dipper nearly leaps out of his seat, eyes wide. Only the pressure of Bill’s arm over him keeps him from standing.

“Three stars for timing, zero for technique.” Bill gives the TV a thumbs down. “That’s way too much tongue! This ain’t slug wrestling for crying out loud.”

Dipper’s shoulders rise nearly to his ears. He doesn’t dare glance at the screen. Only once the wet noises stop, and the credits music rolls, does he try darting one in Bill’s direction.

Who seems entirely, implausibly bored. He cups a hand over his mouth as he yawns, loosely splayed over the couch. 

“You’re, uh. Okay with that?” Dipper asks. He tucks his hands between his knees, leaning forward. “It just seems, uh.”

“Seems ‘uh’, what?” 

“Like,” Dipper gestures vaguely at the screen, even though it’s faded to black. The credits roll, a series of ominously glowing symbols scrolling up the screen. “That was…” He searches for a word, and fails. 

“Terrible writing,” Bill says, bored. He shakes his head, lips drawn into a line. “You’d think someone would come up with a better plot for this kinda crap. It’s not like there isn’t material to go on.”

“But he kissed you,” Dipper says, before he can stop himself. 

It’s one thing to blaspheme a little, Dipper himself is no stranger to forbidden acts, but this one takes the cake. The whole bakery, even. To do that at all is bad enough, but to Bill or - or an actor playing him, obviously it’s not the same thing, but still-

“Yeah, yeah, smooching, whatever.” The concept hasn’t phased Bill in the slightest. He snorts, grin widening. “Contrary to your idiot idolatry, I have been known to practice a liplock once in a while!”

“You-” Dipper starts, then stops. “I-” He shuts his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “Yeah, okay.”

So. Bill isn’t surprised, because this is - he sees everything, it’s not like he didn’t know about that kind of stuff. 

It’s just that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing to get worked up about. Because nothing that happened there was wrong.

Dipper presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub them, then draws them down slowly over his face. 

Every time he thinks he’s found the bottom of the pit of bullshit he learned back in the cult, he finds another goddamn level beneath it. There may never be an end to all the lies. 

Another one he can strike off the ‘sin’ list. There’s basically nothing left now, with Bill indulging in everything from gluttony to sloth to… that.

Every whim Bill has, he indulges. Often to excess, and always with aplomb. Dipper never had the opportunity or ability to do even a tenth of what Bill has, and - god, he wonders what that’s like. 

“Do you…” How to phrase this. Dipper wipes sweating palms on his jeans. “Have you… kissed a lot of people?”

The words come out in a bit of a rush. Bill snorts in amusement, which is a relief; that wasn’t the worst question to ask. 

“Depends! What’s ‘a lot’? I’m pretty particular about my partners.” Bill’s smile widens, and he wiggles his eyebrows. A quick squeeze Dipper’s shoulder, just above the bicep. “But sure! I’ve known a guy or two worth putting a peck on.”

“Okay,” Dipper says. Then, because that feels inadequate. “Cool.” 

Because of course he has. Bill’s put his mouth on. Thoughts are spinning in his head now, rapid and light. 

“Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve dabbled in the dating scene!” Bill continues, with an odd tone in his voice. “Pretty tough to find the right guy these days, when you’re holding out for something special.” A nudge, as his eyebrows go double-time.

God, and he would have options- Didn’t Bill say it earlier? People pursue him. For power, sure, but that’s only what he mentioned. Kind of weird, though, Dipper’s only heard of men chasing after -

Wait. Wait, no, how did he never consider this before? Maybe because his stupid upbringing blinded him; Bill’s not human. The shape he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, metaphysically, doesn’t speak to what he really is, and he just said that at some point he’s kissed a man.

“Are you a girl?” Dipper blurts. Staring wide-eyed at that angular face, at the arms and then a little longer at his chest. 

The look of sheer incredulity Bill levels on him makes Dipper sink down into his seat. 

“What?” Bill asks, and - oh god. That’s the first genuinely bewildered look Dipper’s ever seen on him. 

“I thought - I was wrong.” Dipper’s face burns, he wants to cringe himself into a ball and then fall between the couch cushions. “Sorry.” 

Great. Dumb guess, shitty concept. Now he looks like an idiot. His very first assumption was the right one. More fool him for overcorrecting.

“Whatever, kid. And don’t say ‘sorry’,” Bill flicks his fingers. Awkwardness slides off his back like water on a duck, he’s grinning again. “None of your human crap applies, y’know?” He brings his hands together, index fingers and thumbs forming a familiar, three-sided symbol. “I’m the shape you see on caution signs, not bathroom doors.”

“Right.” Dipper perks up. So he wasn’t totally wrong, just... not at all right. Still embarrassing, he should change the subject. “Um. So-”

“But I do have a dick, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bill adds, grinning way too wide. 

“I wasn’t.” Dipper claps hands over his ears. It fails to cover up the delighted chortle beside him.

Guess he’s learning all kinds of things about Bill today. Just not ones he wanted. 

Not helped by the way Bill leans in very closer, tickling him on the side in a way that makes him jump again. He’s about to scramble off the couch or do something inadvisable like shove someone else off the dang thing - when Bill’s ringtone goes off. 

“Ugh, are you- Blegh.” Bill says, moderately annoyed. He leans on Dipper for a moment as he fishes around in his pocket, a smothering weight. How is a simple human shape so heavy.

Whatever he sees on his phone screen has him sticking his tongue out. “Ugh,” He repeats, frowning at. Lifting his arm off of Dipper, and holding up a finger. “Be right back! I gotta take this.”

Dipper hopes the jerk gets lost on the way and falls down a hole. Not really, just - it would be something to say when he’s at a loss for anything else. He just rolls his eyes instead, watching Bill depart with a pointed stride and a grumpy mutter.

Finally, some space to breathe. To think. The mind magic of Bill’s presence always has Dipper scrambling for something to think about that isn’t his too-powerful aura. 

He taps the edge of the bowl, an idle beat. Feeling the chill on his side where Bill’s body kept it warm. 

Yep. Just Dipper, and the tv, and any remaining popcorn, all to himself. Nothing wrong with that. 

He brushes around the bowl without any particular intent. Kernels rustle against his fingers, and he spends a minute swishing them around, even though his hand gets greasy.

The remote lies inches away. Easy to pick up if he wanted to distract himself. Finishing the season is an option, but feels wrong to keep watching when Bill’s not here to see it. 

Actually, Dipper could watch something better. Finding a show that doesn’t suck, or have bizarre, blasphemous content. Just some real, semi-wholesome entertainment that doesn’t raise more questions than answers.  

Distantly, he hears Bill still on the phone. Sounds like the conversation’s going to take a while. 

Dipper taps his fingers on the couch, creeping towards the remote. 

Said remote also has, like, a million buttons, so it takes a while to figure out which ones to press. One goes back to the previous episode. This one skips forward, another pauses. This one goes back in fifteen second intervals. 

Dipper leans over, checking - Bill, still well out of sight - then taps the volume button down until it’s nearly zero before hitting play again. 

“Make me,” Bill’s actor hisses again, before getting grabbed and - stuff.

Dipper sits forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. Living with Bill means exposing himself to new ideas. Since he didn’t look before, now’s as good a time as any.

Though - Wow, Bill really wasn’t kidding. That is a lot of tongue. Even with the volume lowered it’s all wet and - it makes him feel odd, even though he knows it’s not sinful.  

Maybe he should replay it to check.

The fourth time around, he pauses his research to inspect it closer. Aha -That’s what was bothering him, those aren’t real abs. They’re enhanced with makeup. The lighting covers it a bit but when you really look, it’s totally obvious. The actor playing Bill has the worst version; the other guy just has a blotch near his -

“Son of a bitch.” Dipper says, standing up so fast the popcorn bowl dumps its contents on the floor. 

The image burns itself into his brain. Dots and lines, laid out on skin. A pattern Dipper could never forget if he wanted to.

Oh, Bill got lucky earlier. Real lucky. The only reason he got away with it is Dipper had his eyes covered. If he’d seen it, he would have had that evil demon bastard as pinned as that human in the show. 

Before he knows it he’s charging for the entryway. 

He can hear the jerk still talking on his phone, muted voice growing louder as Dipper storms in his direction. Unaware of how he’s been found out.

Dipper doesn’t have a plan in mind, which is the first thing that’s probably going to go wrong - but he’s got to do it, right now, before Bill can run off on some errand or head to some party, evading and avoiding questions like he always does. 

And before Dipper can lose the courage to confront him. A little confrontation might intrigue the guy - excite him, even - but the questions racing through Dipper’s mind aren’t going to be fun.

Too bad. Bill’s not going to wiggle his way out of this one.

He catches sight of Bill’s back, turned towards the door and totally not paying attention. Dipper storms up behind him, intending to catch him by the shoulder and whirl him around. See how Bill likes it when he-

The door swings open. Dipper skids to a halt, rocking back on his heels. 

That is. Many demons. Eyeballs peeking over the shoulder of something with spikes, another with wings too large to see around. A crowd clustered around the doorway.

Bill stuffs his phone back in his pocket, glaring at them all.

“You call five minutes notice a ‘heads up’? Then show your asses up here?” Contempt rings in Bill’s voice, low and furious. “You got a lot of nerve, and that’s no compliment.”

“It was urgent,” a voice burbles. Something soft and squidgy - oh, that’s where the eyes were, on stalks - it bubbles literally as it speaks. “The mistress-”

“Yeah yeah, blah blah, I’ve heard it all before. Cram it.” Bill stalks forward, leveling a look at the group that has them all scooting away. “Maybe your ‘mistress’ should think ahead next time. Or think at all before calling in a last-minute favor from me.”

Slowly, inch by inch, Dipper backs away. If he keeps really quiet he won’t catch anyone’s attention, they’re all too focused on Bill to mind one small human in the room. Hopefully. 

“You got the thing?” Bill snaps his fingers impatiently. There’s some confusion - demons tangling up and shuffling each other around until they manage to wrangle something out of the group. “Alright, hand it over.”

A briefcase is shoved into Bill’s eager grasp. He spends a moment examining it, then unlatches the clasps. Opening it the very, very slightest fraction of an inch - then rolling his eye, and slamming it shut again. 

There’s some brief conversation - partially demonic, and partially too inhuman for Dipper to parse. The slimiest demon tries slipping past Bill, into the penthouse - only to get caught by the eyestalk. Green smoke rises, hissing and squealing as Bill’s grasp heats to a burning flame.

“Ah ah ah! Nice try,” Bill chides. With a snap of his fingers, another door appears. Dipper recognizes this one; it leads to a sitting room. “We’ll have our little discussion elsewhere.”

With minor threats and moderate violence, the demon crowd is forced through the open doorway. A miniature parade of odd shapes and sizes, skittering around under Bill’s impatient gaze. He snaps his fingers and they all hurry up.

Dipper guesses he’s going to be preoccupied for a while. He wishes he’d asked more details about this meeting earlier, but neither of them thought it would happen today. 

As the last of the demons flutters into the sitting room, Bill turns around. Raising an eyebrow, looking amused. 

Dipper makes a belated attempt to duck back around the corner, even though he’s well and truly caught. Curiosity got the better of him, damn it.

“No worries, sapling, you take it easy out here! I won’t be long,” Bill says, voice bright. He waggles his fingers in Dipper’s direction. “Coupla hours at most to milk these suckers for every penny they got.”

Dipper nods, once. He stays silent. Bill’s beckoning him over, but no way is he getting close. He knows that look. As soon as he gets within arm’s reach, he’ll have his cheeks pinched or pulled into a noogie or something.

Bill makes a disappointed face as his nefarious plan is thwarted, then shrugs. The easy grin returns. “Fine, be that way.” He gives Dipper a sharp wave and a wink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Or do! I’m not a cop!”

The door shuts behind him with an ominous ‘click’. Dipper watches it for a while. No motion, no sound. No Bill popping back out, declaring that he’s already done and they can finish the drama. 

Guess they’re well and truly settled in for some weird, demonic business deal. For several hours. Or more. 

God, that’s frustrating. As much as Dipper wants answers, he can’t just barge into a room full of strangers and start demanding them. Especially when those questions might be kind of… personal. Bill probably wouldn’t be furious if it was just Dipper asking - but airing his dirty laundry in front of a crowd is a terrible idea on multiple fronts.

Damn it. And Dipper was this close to having him right where he wanted him, too.

He kicks the carpet a couple times. Then the baseboards. When the meeting hasn’t resolved two minutes later, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slinks back over to the couch. 

It’s empty, with scattered cushions and a throw blanket disordered from their popcorn fight. He stares at the discarded bowl, and the cooled fabric. 

Settling back down isn’t nearly as appealing as it was five minutes ago. He’s not sure he can.

Dipper feels his hands clench into fists, then forces them to relax. He tucks them behind his back instead. 

Every time. Every freaking time. Just when he thinks he’s close to understanding, another curveball gets in his way. 

Pacing back and forth helps a little. There’s plenty of space in the living room to work out this restless energy. 

Whatever this - this thing is, it’s been going on for a while. Centuries of Bill picking up mortals, putting them through their paces, trying vainly to reach the object of his desire. A pivotal point of his unknown plan. 

And since he’s still going after it, every human before Dipper must have failed. 

Maybe Bill got distracted by dicking around. Maybe it really is too powerful to overcome. Or maybe his humans didn’t even know what it was, since they were in the company of a cagey, manipulative asshole.

Dipper could go back and dig through the books in the guest room - but if they didn’t know either, then that’ll be a wash. There’s the show, but it’s so full of bullshit that he doesn’t dare make too many guesses.

Even at the best of times Bill’s wrigglier than an eel, and a total stickler for details. If Dipper doesn’t check off all the boxes on the list, finding everything he was supposed to - then Bill’s going to tut and wag his finger instead of handing over the prize

Too many questions. Zero idea what it’s about. Only one person knows anything useful, and he’s a total dick about parceling out the facts.

Waiting for him to get back won’t take long. It’s barely any time at all, even on a human timescale.  Dipper can manage.

It’s just…

The idea of sitting around meekly, waiting for Bill to return. Hoping he’ll come bearing information because Dipper needs his stupid hand held through the mystery just feels - pathetic. 

Everybody keeps making decisions for Dipper that change his whole life. Nobody gives him a heads up on what they’re going to do. People taking charge, over and over and - he’s just so tired of letting things happen to him. 

If he just had one more thing. Something to prove that he’s right, not hearsay or guesses but physical evidence, that he could shove right in Bill’s dumb face - 

Dipper pauses in his rapid pacing. His head slowly turns. 

There is one place that he hasn’t fully mapped. 

Technically he’s been in there before. Even more technically, Bill’s said he’s allowed to enter. Dipper just hasn’t gone back since that first time since. Well.  It’s a little too personal. It felt weird to poke around.

But if there was a place to find the deepest, most powerful secrets of Bill Cipher - it would be in there.

The doorknob to Bill’s master bedroom is oddly warm for something metal. Like it has its own radiating heat, just like the demon who commands it. 

Dipper takes a calming breath, then lets it out as he turns the knob. 

The unlocked door opens easily, gliding without a sound. Funny, he almost thought it would have an ominous creak.

The carpet’s soft. It muffles his steps. Not that there’s anyone to hear him; Bill’s busy with his meeting several rooms and an unknown amount of actual space away. 

Still, Dipper feels a semi-giddy thrill run through him as he walks back in - intentionally, not fleeing - into the most private sanctum of his ‘god’. 

Centuries worth of humans. That could be dozens, even hundreds of people, depending on how fast Bill churns through them. And he loves his little trophies and knickknacks, having something to wave around while he brags.

If there is any proof, Bill will have kept it around.

Last time Dipper was here, it was during a panicked rush. He didn’t really look at the room, or check for anything that might explode or devour him - and then Bill was there, and it was. A lot. 

This time, he can really take in the place. Get a real sense of what might be going on. 

Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses - 

Then winces. He eases back until the flare of magic is no longer blinding.

Everything in the bedroom is soaked in Bill-essence. Not surprising, really. All of it has marinated in god-demon magic for hell knows how many years, so thick it feels like it could be wiped up with a finger. 

For all that, it’s remarkably unthreatening. The sensation’s not welcoming, that word would be too strong - More like it could be dangerous, and deliberately choosing not to be.

“Right,” Dipper says aloud - checks over his shoulder on a paranoid impulse - and sighs when nothing happens. He claps his hands together. “This should be good.”

Time’s limited. Bill claimed it’d be a couple hours, but his company wasn’t invited. Depending on how annoyed he gets, that meeting could be over in seconds.

Better get to work. 

Circling the room, Dipper trails his palm over the wall, checking for cracks that would indicate a door or a safe. He brushes fingers over a shelf for secret switches, then rubs them together. Not even a hint of dust. 

There’s got to be somewhere he would hide a private journal, or… or a list of human-selecting criteria. Or like, an elaborate carving of every human he’s ever had, with all the information about their lives and when and why he grabbed them. Details.

Sure, there’s plenty of magic around. Tons of it. It’s in the absurd amount of Bill-shaped knicknacks, and the variety of miscellaneous thingamajigs. It’s in the paintings, in the tapestries. The little statues and trinkets and amulets displayed on the mantle. An extravagant collection if you’re generous, clutter if you’re not. 

Another person would consider this quite the find. Dipper’s stumbled over a dozen artifacts pulsing with power just lying around like cast-off socks. Finding what Bill likes the most or considers the best is nearly impossible to parse. 

Dipper figures it out in about two minutes. 

The only thing to glean from this horde? Is that Bill picks up too many souvenirs.

He scowls at one particularly annoying statuette, towering over a field of presumably conquered human-things. A crowd of bowing figures, prostrating before the much-larger Bill in a series of miniature lines. He checks over his shoulder, then flicks the statue’s golden hat off. 

On the one hand, it’s careless as hell. Leaving an amulet that rips off all your skin, lying half-under a chain that summons a horde of flying eyeballs, is a recipe for disaster. 

On the other hand, it’s… maybe a little clever. A type of misdirection. 

Sure, some artifacts have elaborate puzzle elements, and half of them likely contain mystical secrets - but Bill’s decorative habits are so busy, it covers up the fact that none of them are important. 

No, Bill’s real secrets aren’t so easily found. They’re held much, much closer to his chest. 

Putting them behind a puzzle wouldn’t work. Someone could solve that. Hiding them in plain sight is an option, but not particularly Bill’s style. Guarding them with a series of traps… Probably not in his bedroom, where he could accidentally set them off and ruin his suit. 

But then, that would be what people expect, wouldn’t it? That Bill would have a bookshelf that swings out into a secret room, or a seal protecting a hidden vault. A big scary door, with mystical, nearly impenetrable lock. 

…It’s all about misdirection.

Dipper drops the edge of the painting he was toying with, and heads to the dresser instead. 

Part of him can feel the weight of the all-seeing eyes. The portraits of his ‘god’, omnipresent and watching. Unblinking, unmoving. Always watching.

Dipper shuts that idea out of his mind. That’s not true and he knows it, for a fact. Bill doesn’t pay attention to even half his eyes on a good day. Most times it’s like a single digit percentage. 

Odds are he won’t find out. Besides, he’s too busy at the moment to care. What Bill doesn’t know can’t bother him, so it’s totally fine if Dipper rifles around in his underwear drawer. 

Dipper holds up a pair of boxers, frowning at the pattern. Tiny blue pine trees against the most garish yellow ever. Truly hideous.

This is both worse than the triangle ones, and more inexplicable than ones with the heart pattern. Hardly what he’d pictured underneath the suit. 

Not that he’s ever pictured it. That would be weird. But if he had, it would have been way cooler than this.

This search comes up with nothing, other than confusion at Bill’s fashion sense. Just clothes in the drawers, along with several unsheathed knives, a Bill-shaped keychain, and three glass eyeballs. Dipper does find a drawer with a lock set in the bottom, but he doesn’t have the key. Even then, opening it would just swing the bottom open and let all the pants fall out, so. No dice. 

The closet is a walk-in. Dipper stands in the entrance for a minute, staring at the lines of suits and shirts and clothes and cloth and - 

He shut the door again. Nope. That went back way too far. Diving in there might get him lost in the bespoke suit dimension.

Checking under the bed reveals… exactly the same stuff as last time. 

More dustbunnies than anything useful. There’s a magical ring that’s bent with the gem fallen out, weakly emitting a tiny skull-shaped cloud. One actual sock lies discarded under there, half-balled up from its removal. It has little blood-soaked knives on it. 

Dipper rubs at his eyes, staring up at the bedsprings. He sneezes, then wipes his nose on his sleeve. 

So far, so… nothing. Disappointing, and weird.

He crawls back out from under the bed. Brushing off the dust, he gets up and sets fists on his hips. 

Most of the obvious hiding places contain exactly what one would expect. Worst of all, it’s weird stuff. Just weird enough that he’s certain he’s not in a fake, illusory version of Bill’s bedroom, but the actual real place. It’s just less exciting than he’d thought it’d be. 

Is there… actually nothing here?

Not that the evidence doesn’t exist. It has to be somewhere. The idea of Bill not having any secrets is impossible. Like a duck not swimming, or most mammals not breathing; a necessary part of their nature. 

So it might actually be a different, hidden room. Figures. Getting to Bill’s secrets wouldn’t be as easy as opening his bedroom door. 

And if that’s the case - Dipper’s out of luck. Finding an access point would be hard enough with his limited experience. Bill’s secret horde would have a set of quantum puzzles and a spike trap, at minimum.

He sits down on the bed, sighing heavily - then blinks. 

Wow. The bed is incredibly nice. Just touching the sheets is a smooth, luxurious experience; Dipper presses his palm into those soft covers, stroking along the edge. Bouncing slightly on the mattress, just to test.

Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasn’t taken back.

As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table. 

Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet. 

Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakin’ nap. He’s lucky to have pulled himself out of it. 

The bedside table doesn’t have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.

Sadly, there’s not much to look at. 

Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing that’s bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows it’s heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except it’s nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one. 

He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actually…

Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible. 

With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, it’s almost longer than he is tall.

Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here he’s half-worried he’ll feel something go ‘squish’ or skitter up his arm.

This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-

Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back it’s almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!

Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, he’ll fix it later. 

In his hands, there’s a picture frame.

Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.

A picture of Bill. What a surprise.

Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image. 

Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.

“Jackass,” Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon ‘god’ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers. 

Wait. Then - It’s not flush with the frame. There’s a gap, or - 

Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily. 

And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book. 

Whatever Bill’s got to hide here, he sure as hell didn’t make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good. 

A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -

Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, it’s - he just checked for magic, and there isn’t any here. 

It’s just a picture of… Dipper.

And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and he’s in Bill’s home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, he’s mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down. 

For a moment he wonders if this was one of Bill’s other humans - it’d be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable. 

Dipper stares for a while. He’s not sure what to make of this.

Why is this stashed away?  It’d help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.

Something taps on one of Dipper’s shoes, and he glances down.  

There wasn’t just one picture. 

With the backing removed, with the way he’s holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, there’s no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, it’s extradimensional.

“Shit,” Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.

Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.

Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case there’s another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself. 

How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It can’t be…

Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room. 

Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup. 

“Shit,” Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.

So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.

Okay, this - this isn’t a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesn’t need to know, it’ll be fine. He’ll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-

A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.

Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about - 

No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.

Shit.

Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now there’s no time left, he’s got to hide.

Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesn’t latch. 

No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.

That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy he’s trying to hide from is a terrible idea. 

Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Bill’s shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. It’s hesitant because he’s looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.

And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Bill’s room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Bill’s junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a gallery’s worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition. 

Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out. 

All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings. 

It’s too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.

The closet doesn’t judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits can’t talk. He’s even ninety-percent sure Bill doesn’t have any that could; it’d take away from his own rambling time.

Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. It’s a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Bill’s aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.

After a while, he remembers he’s clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. It’s warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now he’s not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesn’t fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thing’s too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.

Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen. 

The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall? 

Okay, it’d be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipper’s not watching him. 

It’s just… too quiet. Too furtive, really, like it’s trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipper’s all too familiar with the process.

And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only there’s no TV in here, and the pitch is off.. 

Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but he’s never even seen a spider in Bill’s rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly. 

He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide. The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipper’s own scream doesn’t match its pitch, but it’s a hell of a lot louder. 

Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -

Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing. 

The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.

Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow. 

At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all that’s left is empty space in front of him.

Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows he’s sweating, and there’s some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirt’s ripped, but there’s no blood. Everything’s intact.

Well. He’s intact. 

A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.

Nausea roils in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad. 

Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and - 

At Bill. 

A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced he’s about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.

Then he blinks. 

Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor. 

Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper can’t read the expression on Bill’s face.  It flickered through several before settling on blank.. 

“Well, well, well, well, well,” Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to!”

Dipper’s heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else. 

He’s been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god.  

What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldn’t, pushing when it’s wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. He’s ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does. 

“Look, I can explain,” He babbles, backing up a step. Bill’s quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. “Wait, I-”

A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Bill’s face is inches away, approaching fast, and he can’t help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.

At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple. 

“Mmmmwah!” Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipper’s face in both hands. “Boy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”

“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently. 

Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeyman’s craft.

Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. It’s a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened. 

“Now, as for you-” Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. “Creeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I don’t take kindly to peeping eyes that aren’t mine.” One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thing’s groin; it lets out a tinny scream. “And you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!”

Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.

Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.

“Gee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.” Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. “Who coulda possibly helped with that! It’s a real friggin mystery for the ages!”

A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solution’s clear now that it’s gone.

Getting through Bill’s front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of ‘small-timers’, as Bill would call them, he’d barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadn’t had the same idea. 

That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, he’d have second thoughts about his living arrangements.

Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.

“I’ll handle those losers in a second,” He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. “But as for you…”

Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action. 

Watching Bill about to enact his  vengeance is … Sure, it was spying. It didn’t do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and it’s looking really rough. Whatever Bill’s going to do is -

The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.

“Hm?” Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. “Yeah, what about him?”

On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipper’s shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.

“Oh, I see!” With a grin, Bill stalks closer. “You know what, you’re right! If I caught two spies in my place, they’d totally get the same treatment!”

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.

No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isn’t -

“But there’s a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.” Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. “There’s only one of those around!”

Dipper’s heart restarts, though it’s pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.

“See, you’re here uninvited.” Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. “And HE freakin’ LIVES HERE.”

Oh. 

There’s a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could. 

Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like he’d walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.

And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched. 

“There,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. “What a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.” Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. “Guess they’re forgetting what happened to the last batch.”

Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another. 

And he’s still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because he’s not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesn’t see him that way. He thinks that - 

“So, I’m…” Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. “I’m… not in trouble?”

“Sapling, you’re fine! Better than fine!” Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. “Hell, you could go through my freakin’ underwear drawer and I wouldn’t give a crap.” He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. “See anything you liked?”

“I’m-” Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. “Uh.”

Bill’s still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.

That’s a good excuse. Reasonable. He’s got goop on him, he’s sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now. 

“Suit yourself!” Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting he’d recently abandoned. “I got some business to take care of.”

Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him. 

He’s…

All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.

Holy crap, he’s fine. He really is. It’s okay. 

This wasn’t a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and it’d be fine. More than fine. 

He also wasn’t lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks. 

Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension. 

He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that it’s bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Bill’s home is downright amazing.

Though. It’s not just Bill’s home, is it. 

Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.

Like. Obviously Bill’s the owner, he’s the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim - 

But there’s another person around. One who’s not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.

Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Bill’s home, because he lives here too.

Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldn’t leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, that’d be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Bill’s hair. 

The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it it’s been a done deal for a while. 

Bill didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t think it was a surprise.

The concept’s so big that Dipper doesn’t know where to start.

Living here. With Bill. 

Dipper’s been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line. 

All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument. 

His assumptions have never been right. 

Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.  

Bill could be in charge, but he doesn’t care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasn’t heard an order leave his mouth in ages. He’s free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothing’s going to stop him - though that’s a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didn’t create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment he’s gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesn’t have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesn’t have any.

DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just. 

Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache. 

Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldn’t be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other. 

If he wants to step outside Bill’s home, he doesn’t need to abandon it.

They’ll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. He’ll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldn’t let him miss the ‘fun’. 

And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid. 

It’s an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesn’t have to choose. Going and seeing things he’s always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe that’s what a home’s supposed to be.

Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream. 

It’s weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipper’s felt in… forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.

How the hell is he getting away with all of this?

It’s not just the snooping from earlier; he didn’t find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk he’s giving a ‘god’. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because he’s a huge goddamn weirdo. 

Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Bill’s ever done is scare him a little, and even that’s odd considering the whole ‘nightmare king’ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.

The birthmark. It must be that.

The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions… He didn’t see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, that’s two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.

But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasn’t watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages. 

It could be magical. Maybe. Dipper’s never heard of ‘special birthmarks’ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Bill’s summon. Which would…. Do a thing. He thinks.

Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better. 

Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.

Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasn’t lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special. 

It’s… what, special… privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted it’s ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? It’s…

Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.

Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesn’t know the picture on the front of the box. 

Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. He’ll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Bill’s stubborn, oddly soft lips. 

Screw it. There’s too much to go through, and he’s so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow. 

There’s no rush, anyway. Bill’s not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.

Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bed’s already made in the guest room-

No, His room. Where he lives.

An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight. 

Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasn’t tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much that’s his.

The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and he’s never, ever going to take it for granted.

Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, there’s flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -

Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed. 

He knows what kind of night he’s in for. They’re infrequent enough lately that it doesn’t bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isn’t going to kill him. 

Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.

He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things he’s learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesn’t ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldn’t mind the company. He’s almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what it…

Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought. 

It might work, too. Being ‘special’ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldn’t normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily. 

He could use that.

Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesn’t expect to be up for long. He’ll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldn’t bother Bill much; it’ll barely take him a second. 

The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living room’s still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the ‘evening’, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.

And there’s Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace. 

He must have wrapped up his ‘business’ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk. 

Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north. 

“Hey there, sapling! What’s up?” Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. “Thought you were in for the evening.”

“No, not yet.” Dipper says. Already he’s awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. “Soon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.”

Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. “Sure, go for it.” 

Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully it’s not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, he’s pretty sure Bill’s not doing this on purpose. More like it’s an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.

Bill’s still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence. 

Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want to have bad dreams, so, uh,” He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it.  “Could you…um. Not? For tonight?” 

A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, “That’s not me, kid.”

Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Bill’s lies are better. “You’re the lord of nightmares.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m great at designing them, not the source of all of ‘em. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?” Bill says. He catches sight of Dipper’s glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. “Look, I’m not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?”

Dipper’s mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. “Or maybe you’re just not that great.”

He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.

He shouldn’t have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Bill’s power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill won’t just ignore it again.

Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.

And he does inflict a ‘punishment’. By getting super close and ruffling Dipper’s hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. It’s insane.

“Hey! I’m definitely the best.” Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. “You just got your perspective wrong!  Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating ‘em. You’re not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, y’know?”

“Well,” Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way - 

Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.

“Look. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One that’ll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then I’m the best in the biz!” Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. “But any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. That’s just nature.”

Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes. 

Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless. 

He’d guessed that Bill wasn’t inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit ‘accidental’, there wasn’t any pattern he could find. Learning they’re not Bill’s fault at all is surprising - but nice.

…That also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great. 

Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses. 

“Sorry. Or- yeah.” He squirms out from under Bill’s pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isn’t the worst, he’ll live. “I’ll just-”

“Hey, hey! Don’t sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!” Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.”

Or maybe… Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasn’t doing this, so-

“Really. One hundred percent.” That’s an exaggeration if he’s ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. “If you’re not making the nightmares, then that means you’re playing defense. You’re telling me you get every single one?”

“Always so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.” Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. “And better odds than you’ll get anywhere else.”

Fine, that’s true enough. Dipper doesn’t have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads. 

Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because it’s weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off -  but when doesn’t he?

Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Bill’s master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them. 

Wait, what are they doing here? 

The room’s just as clean as the first time he entered. There’s no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -

Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasn’t said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.

He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.

Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed. 

Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. “Hop on in, kid!” With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. “Get yourself cozy.”

“Uh. Sure.” Dipper hesitates, but. Bill’s nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before he’s even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room. 

Just as he suspected. It is a great bed. 

As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to. 

It’s not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill.  For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever. 

Even without any magic, Dipper’s tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Bill’s doing, so. He’ll just. Shut his eyes for a moment. 

“Hold tight for a sec! I’ll be with ya in a jiffy,” Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. “Lemme just slip into something more comfortable.”

Dipper’s eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. “What do yo-”

His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry. 

Bill’s shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back. 

Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline. 

Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Bill’s not, like. 

There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth. 

Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face. 

Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesn’t know how this ritual’s supposed to work. It’s not unheard of to be… unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Bill’s just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everything’s going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude. 

The pillow helps. He’s not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound. 

He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If it’s strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.

A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence. 

Or, the thought appears in Dipper’s mind. There’s no spell. It’s a ward. Which would require the warder’s presence, right. Totally reasonable. 

So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, that’s all. 

The cult didn’t leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days. 

But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. He’s seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is… honestly not that big a surprise. 

“Ah, now that’s nice.” Bill says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a thump near Dipper’s head - probably Bill lying back himself. “You don’t look all that cozy, though. What gives?”

Dipper tells him he’s fine, but he doesn’t know how much of it gets through the down covering. 

There’s a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up. 

It really is fine. He’s doing great, he’s comfy, Bill’s going to help him with something and it didn’t seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, who’s lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.

He can’t hold the pillow this tight forever, though. It’s getting hard to breathe. 

Then a thump, just near Dipper’s head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipper’s own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and  - and Dipper shouldn’t resist, should he? Bill is after something, he’s demanding and forceful, he’ll do anything to get what he wants. 

The pillow leaves Dipper’s loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.

And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading ‘Hungry Zixlor’s Burger Joint’. 

Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Bill’s put on the pine tree boxers.

“See? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.” Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didn’t have to get all over him just for that. 

He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipper’s half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to. 

Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight. 

Without warning, an arm slips under Dipper’s neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didn’t make a single sound, much less anything undignified.

Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Bill’s practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.

“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.

God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter. 

The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls. 

After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would. 

Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.

 None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really. 

…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward. 

Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient. 

Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective. 

Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.

[djemsoresu]

Scene from an obikin F1 AU I’m kind of writing? Obi-Wan tries to leave their team (albeit not willingly) and Anakin is evidently not having it:

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Anakin storms into his motorhome much like a tornado, the same way he stormed into his life a decade ago.

“I’m- I’m coming with you.” The blonde says, pacing around the space in front of his sofa. His hair, now almost to his shoulders, flaying around in a craze. Force, he loves this man.

“How could they do this! We’re supposed to be together we’re a team. The Team.” Obi-Wan now sees his Anakin for what he is, his youthful face highlighted by his red rimmed eyes.

“Anakin.” He speaks, calls softly, attempting to stop Anakin in his crazed muttering. “Anakin, dear one.”

The other man’s head lift from the floor, their eyes meeting each other. A single contact, a single glance, and Anakin’s fragility seams to shatter in a single instance.

“They can’t. You can’t. I’m leaving if you are.” and oh does Anakin’s tears leave a tear in his heart, the droplets flowing down unmarred skin.

“No.” he says, firmly.

Anakin stops. “No?”

“You can not come with me, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan sees right then, how Anakin’s shoulder tenses, his body bracing to pounce.

But then small, as if a wounded animal, “Do you… not want me with you? Is that it?”

and oh, Obi-Wan stands in an instant. He approaches Anakin, taking his face in his hands. He feels Anakin’s soft curls brushing along his skin and wipes away the flowing tears in his eyes.

“Never, dear one.” He says, taking the taller man’s head into the crook of his neck, softly brushing his hair. “Trust that I will always want to be with you.”

“Then why?” he murmurs into his shoulder, voice muffled by Obi-Wan’s now stained jumper.

“You’re… Anakin, look at you.” he lets go of the grip he has on Anakin, letting him let up his head so they could once again have their eyes trained on each other. “You are young still, my dear. You have… so much of your career ahead of you. I can not, in good conscience, allow you to make such a move.”

“Well fuck that. I don’t need your permission, I don’t need another championship, a fancy factory with a wind tunnel!”

Obi-Wan, after knowing Anakin for their entire lives, knows full well what a frantic Anakin Skywalker looks like. After spending a decade by Anakin’s side in their garage, after endless nights in bed on every continent of the planet. He knows what Anakin is, and what Anakin Skywalker needs most. Knows too, how though he doesn’t need, he wants.

“I just need you, I just want you, I just want to be with you.” and oh the tears stream even harder now, his long lashes dropping them down to his team shirt.

“I know.” he sighs, feeling his heart clench the hardest it ever had since a crash at Eau Rouge. “I know, Anakin.”

“But I will not let you do this to yourself, I will never forgive any possibility of ruin towards you due to my own doing.” if Obi-Wan were a weaker man, he would already be kneeling on his knees.

“I can’t, Anakin. Please don’t make me watch that, please don’t allow me to be complicit in it.” And oh he so reveres in the altar of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin, with his glistening blue eyes and soft golden hair. Anakin, with his glowing skin and tight muscles. Anakin, with his endless laugh and utter devotion.

His Anakin. The love of his life.

Obi-Wan would not stand for any threat towards Anakin’s dreams, of his wants to beat every record in the history of Formula 1.

No, instead he will kneel for the opposite.

And so he does, placing himself in front of his love, head directly above his knees.

He closes his eyes, “Please.”