#men make me unfocused

[sednas]

i wanted to write something nasty but it ended up being quite sweet, don't blame me i just need love

⠀ૈ☆ ex-husband nanami x fem!reader

𓏲 ࣪₊♡ tw: [n]sfw, breeding kink, jealousy, possessiveness, fluffy ending

it only took one look, just one look across the room full of guests to reignite something that had never really been extinguished.

nanami's grip around his glass of wine got a little tighter, his eyes flashing at you and his heart starting to beat fast.

he became more muscular since your divorce, his shoulders looked stronger, carrying him with much more confidence and charisma than before.

maybe he finally quit his shitty job, you thought to yourself, trying to act cool as you saw him coming closer...

yeah he definitely quit his job, you think to yourself again, laying on your back while his cock is splitting you open.

"I missed you so much my love..."

familiar goosebumps hit your skin and his hands slide along the curves of your waist, the tip of his cock pushing against your cervix.

all you can do is take it, unfocused eyes watching your ex-husband thrusting inside your dripping pussy. nanami grunts, his body pressed against your own, his breath fanning over your neck, and you can't help but moan his name and wrap your legs around his hips, trying to meet his thrusts.

"'missed you too kento..." you try to speak, your hands reaching out to hold his face.

you missed everything about him, the warmth of his skin, his cologne scent, how messy his blond hair gets when you run your hands through it, and the way he knows every single one of your weak spots.

he never fucked you this hard in the past, of course he was rough sometimes, but you can tell something has changed, snapped.

not that you're complaining about it.

your back arches off the bed, making his pelvic bone touch your spasming clit.

"this time I'm not letting you go angel..."

his eyes get darker, thinking about the potential men and women who had you since your divorce, it makes him fuck you harder, deeper.

"mine..." he whispers, more to himself than for you to hear.

he takes your hands to pin them above your head and smiles when he hears you whine.

"you're gonna cum angel?" he asks, not slowing down his thrusts.

he knows you by heart, and he smiles when you nod, his mouth starting to suck on the soft skin of your neck, marking you.

"that's okay, I'm gonna cum too..." he says, and you can feel his hot breath hitting your skin.

he keeps rubbing your sweet spot, completely lost in the feeling. god he missed that feeling, you're the only one who can make him lose his mind like that, he can't believe he let you go when you're this perfect.

"you're still not on birth control?"

and he smiles again when he sees you shake your head. so perfect.

"gonna put a baby in you yeah? gonna make you a mom... will you let me angel?"

you mindlessly nod your head, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, your whole body is trembling and you feel his cock twitches inside of you.

"please... breed me..." you sweetly asks, and he can't deny you.

your vision gets blurry, your eyes roll back and you violently cum around his cock as he does the same in you, still thrusting to push his cum deeper. you both stays silent for a few seconds, nanami's head buried in your neck, inhaling your familiar scent, closing his eyes of content when he feels your hands rubbing his back.

"I love you, I've never stopped loving you, even after six years..." he whispers, his voice sounding almost vulnerable as he kisses your shoulder.

you ruffle his hair, and you whine a little as you can feel his cock still pushing against your cervix.

"I'm here now, I won't leave."

he hums, his arms wrapping around your waist and you can feel yourself slowly drifting off to sleep.

this time you both won't let go of each other.

jjk masterlist

[masuchu]

“𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒” [GENSHIN MEN]

ways that the genshin men fuck you on your period ‧₊˚

genre. filthy smut, period sex, mentions of blood (obv), mentions of overstim (childe), cunnilingus (childe), mentions of punishment sort of, body worship (kaveh), sort of brat taming ?? (wriothesley) reader is femaleeeee

characters. childe, zhongli, kaveh, wriothesley

love, masu. aaaaaa i am on my period rn so this is so so self indulgent . it is also filthy . felt very very shameful writing this . (◞‸◟) neuvillette was also supposed to be in this but i have bigger plans for him …

(公子) 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄 ‧₊˚

We all know Childe is a menace on the battlefield. Obsessed with combat, addicted to duelling. Can not form friendships without fighting the person first. Needless to say, his bloodlust is perpetual and never ending.

You never really expected it to traverse into the bedroom, though.

Childe looks feral. His eyes are wide and hungry, unfocused and utterly hypnotised by your pussy. He presses a thumb into your clit, ignoring your cries and pleads of sensitivity, and watches as a large glob of blood ooze out of you.

“Ajax, please. M’ sensitive, it hurts…Agh!”

He completely ignores you. After a moment of intense staring, his mouth is back on your throbbing pussy, slurping both your juices and your blood. It is filthy, completely taboo. So why do you like it so much? Why are your thighs clamping down onto his head, as though you wanted to squeeze him into nothing? Why are your moans echoing and rattling the room, surprising even yourself with the depth and pitch of them?

You are broken out of your daydreams by a malevolent bite on your clit. A compressing pain spikes across your body, yet with it comes such an addicting pleasure that your pleads become garbled and unintelligible.

“Ajax, please! Too much, please, please, p—please!”

“What are you begging for, pretty girl? You get what you’re given. Now, fancy shutting your pretty mouth before I shut it for you? Feel free to stop wriggling too!”

You can tell that the pause he took from devouring you angered him immensely, and though his words were spoken as if he was asking nicely, you know him.

You know him well enough to know he would not hesitate to ruin you if you didn’t listen.

“God, your blood is so pretty. Would never hurt you, so let me have this, yeah? Makes me so fucking horny, you don’t understand.”

And with that he is back to devouring you. Your wide eyes peer down and find that he is in fact, not looking at you. No, his attention is entirely on his meal. Blood is smeared all over his face, making him look so horribly sexy. It pains you to admit it. His pupils are dilated, you only just now notice his nails digging into your hips. Keeping you anchored on the bed. Keeping you vulnerable for him.

You think— as best as you can in your state— on his words. Of course, the throb in your core and desperation to cum makes you biased, but you conclude that maybe you should let him have this. He is focused on you, so the worst you will deal with is a few more orgasms than necessary, right?

You know what they say, never make decisions while you’re horny!

(钟离) 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈 ‧₊˚

Zhongli loves you unconditionally. His love neither wavers nor falters, no matter what challenges the two of you face together. May it morph and evolve? Of course, but it is firm and loyal to you. And only ever to you.

So what does he care that you are on your period? He is still hungry— greedy — for you, and no amount of blood will stop him from having your sweet pussy sheathed on his cock.

“Zhongli, you really don’t have too— Ngh..”

The man in question presses a thumb onto your lips, effectively quieting you and leaving you shy and flushing. Hips roll up into you once more, his length hitting exactly where you love it. His eyes burn into you, filled with infatuation and lust. How is it possible that those eyes are locked onto you, of all people? You don’t dare question it, an endless fear of jinxing it.

“Do not have to what? I do not have to love my partner? To pleasure them, hm? I would rather lose everything than never be able to have you like this again, my dear.”

Zhongli’s hips roll into you again at the most opportune time; damn tease, he knows how much his tender words get to you. Unable to do much but take his punctual thrusts as and when they come, you wrap you arms around his neck and nuzzle into his chest. His own palms find themselves gripping your waist, carefully lifting you up with ease and hauling you down again, slamming his cock into you at the same time. The feeling paralyses you, but the worry of your blood still lingers in your mind.

“Are you sure you don’t mind? My blood will get every—Oh!” It’s a vexatious thing he does often, silencing you. Divesting you of your ability to speak coherently, and enkindling your heart slowly and maliciously. You aren’t sure you have ever finished a sentence he hasn’t wanted to hear. Not in bed, at least.

“I have seen enough blood in my days. Though, I am admittedly much more pleased to see yours in this way, rather than another. Do not worry yourself, I want to ravish you always. A little bit of blood will not put me off.”

At this his hips resume at a much faster pace, splitting you open on himself with no care of your hoarse whimpers. With each frantic thrust, he breathes heavier and your body is bounced higher and faster. His hands are always there to guide you, dropping your aching body down onto him again, again, and again. You allow your moans to fall out of your mouth and reverberate throughout the room, not at all coherent enough to fathom the mountain of pleasure you are feeling, let alone the noises you are making. All your can think about is that delicious pressure building up inside of you, and the slam of his cock in and out.

Needless to say, new sheets were purchased the next morning. And it has been harder to doubt Zhongli’s love for all aspects of you ever since.

(卡维) 𝐊𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐇 ‧₊˚

“Does this feel better? Tell me what you want, love, I’ll give it to you.”

Kaveh’s fingers ruthlessly plunge into you, hitting places you didn’t even know existed. He had instructed you a few moments ago to hold your thighs for him, to allow him easier access. It didn’t register that it meant not only you couldn’t hold back your obscene moans, but also that he could bury himself so deep into you that you could taste him.

“You’re so beautiful like this… I wish I could sketch you. Another time. Keep moaning for me, pretty.”

The blonde in question had felt horrible all day. When he saw you occasionally hobble out of your room, hands gripping your stomach in attempt to stop the pain, his frown sunk deeper into his face. He had brought you everything you asked: ice cream, water, medication, kisses, new towels. Every deed was appreciated, but he couldn’t help wanting to do more. To take the pain away like a lover should.

A fitting explanation for how you found yourself in missionary with Kaveh’s fingers ambushing your pussy like no tomorrow, hm?

The blond in question traces his free hand along your shuddering body— squeezing any plush skin there is to squeeze, caressing absolutely anywhere you will allow him. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes concentrated. His pays attention to every beauty mark, every curve, every detail.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Every part of you is provocative, you know. Can’t believe this body of yours was in such pain, it’s cruel!”

His delicate fingers thrust into you again, such pretty hands turning you into a mess. It’s a humorous juxtaposition, really. His effortless beauty, and you— a moaning heap, heaving and sniffling like a whore. He wouldn’t agree, you knew he wouldn’t.

Before you can even contemplate how dirty and blooded his fingers will be, let alone complain, his lips press into yours and strangles your cries in a passionate kiss. He is not usually a biter, but he nips your lower lip and watches in awe as it bounces back, swollen and jutted. He swears on the Seven that you will kill him one day. You’re too goddamn sexy!

“Had me running around all day, when all you needed was this? Don’t worry, I’m not complaining, baby. Would run—fuck, a million miles around Sumeru City if you asked me too.”

A second hand rubs at your clit. Your body has been pushed so far up the bed from his fingers, that when your back arches from the new sensation, your head slams into the headboard. Writhing, wriggling, screaming. Nothing frees you from him, from what he’s giving you. Both the fingers in you and on you continue their ministrations rapidly, and all at once, everything becomes nothing, and then too much. The taut string in you core snaps, and a flurry of arousal overcomes you entirely.

You ignore how Kaveh’s eyes widen, how he bites his lips and groans out a slow ‘Fuuuuck..’. You have no mind to worry about how you look right now, every bodily function betraying you as you lay lifelessly on the satin sheets. Mindlessly, your eyes attract like magnets to the beauty of a man still above you. Though, what you see immediately rekindles the flame of arousal in you.

Kaveh, his fingers in his own mouth. Sucking, slurping, devouring the lewd mixture of your blood and slick. It’s completely vulgar, almost foul. And yet you can’t help the way your mind goes crazy for the potential of having his dick inside you.

“Ngh, you taste so good on my fingers. Gotta make you do that again…”

“W—what did I do…?”

“You squirted, love.”

(莱欧斯利) 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 ‧₊˚

Don’t get him wrong, Wriothesley feels extremely sympathetic for you. He can’t imagine having to undergo what is often excruciating pain, bleeding heavily and treacherous mood swings on the daily. Not to mention on top of his regular workload! It’s hell on earth, he’s sure of it, and he will do anything in his power to make life even a smidge easier for you.

But he can only withstand so much of your bratty behaviour. Only so many ‘Ugh, you’re so annoying!’s before he starts to tick. You are in pain, yes, but it isn’t his fault! You can only bully him for so long before it begins to get under his skin.

“Just needed something to fill you up, huh? Does it make it feel better, sweetheart? You’ve certainly lost your— ngh, spark now.”

Wriothesley slams into you so hard you body writhes, and the bed you were thrown upon only a couple of minutes ago seems to disappear beneath you. A floating sensation engulfs you, and you grip the sheets in a fear of loosing all ground. A chuckle leaves his lip and taunts you, but you can’t imagine snapping back before he is, yet again, pounding into you and plundering all ability to breathe.

“Where’s that brattiness gone now, hm? If it’s still there, be sure to let me know. I’d be happy to fuck it out of you. Fuck, my cock is covered in your blood…”

The sight of your ichor coating his length entirely spurs him on, if his borderline monstrous thrusts are anything to go by. An overwhelming nothing settles in your brain, absolutely nothing except him, him, him, and the pleasure he is blessing you. Your lewd moans echo throughout the room, intensifying when his fingers travel down to press mean circles onto your clit. A divine surge of arousal flows through your body, and all at once, an orgasm swallows you whole.

“Cum for me, that’s it. Good girl.”

Lifelessly, your body flops onto the bed, no longer able to sustain the position on your hands and knees. With a few more bone rattling thrusts, Wriothesley finally reaches his peak and fills you up with his thick cum. He rides out his high with short little grinds, before joining you in succumbing to the comfort of the bed. The pads of his fingertips traces patterns along your arm before travelling up to caress your face. It’s hard to talk with the helplessly lovestruck and spent daze your brain is under, and with your face pushed into the pillow, but you meekly moan out;

“M’ sorry for shouting at you, Wrio. Didn’t mean it, I promise.”

“It’s perfectly okay, missy. Wouldn’t have an excuse to feel how tight you at this time if you didn’t.”

You scoff into the bed and let out a muffled insult, something along the lines of “dirty scoundrel.” Wriothesley pinches your hip, but he isn’t angry. He just chuckles breathily. The silence is tender and soft, until:

“Fuck, will this blood stain my clothes?”

2024 © masuchu , do not repost, reword, plagiarise, take inspiration, translate or share my work anywhere!

[cherubfae]

Can you write Alastor x a Reader who works in radio? I don't think Alastor would let them on air since he doesn't seem the type to have a co host to me but maybe he'd have a intern who gets him coffee or a script writer.

Good To Be Back On the Air || Alastor x reader

tags: gn!sinner!reader (described to have horns but is an otherwise ambiguous demon!!), fluff, pre-established relationship, mentions of death, true crime, vox being vox lmao, jealous alastor, blood/bloody play (sorta??), Valentino is his own warning (threats of SA but nothing happens), mentions of injuries and being kidnapped (use of chloroform), implied VoxVal

a/n: I hope you enjoy!! This got a bit long!

Much like Alastor's life before he died, you were also quite the popular radio host for your time. Engaging, funny, and respectable. Your audience loved tuning in the early hours of the morning to you recanting the strange occurrences of the multiple killings of men from the late 1920s until that stream suddenly stopped during the year 1933 within New Orleans, Louisiana.

True crime has always been your passion, in life and in death. You certainly didn't think you'd end up in Hell for taking the life of someone trying to mug you on the street. A tall, masked man who saw to it that you'd never see the light of day again. A couple gunshot wounds to your abdomen proved effective as you rest against the wall, bleeding out onto the concrete with your soon-to-be killer lying facedown and dead mere feet from you. Killed by the very thing you sought to bring awareness towards. Quite poetic in a way.

As your gaze clouds and vision becomes unfocused, you look up at the stars. The ares around you was beautiful. It was one of your favorite parts of town, even your death wouldn't taint the beauty of the stretching oak and maple trees reaching tall towards the skies. The faint sound of smooth jazz playing from the record shop only a few paces away mixing with the swirling scent of coffee. At least you were dying in a place that you loved.

Now, here you are. In Hell. Doomed to total damnation for all fucking eternity. You'd been down here for a couple months, taking up residence near Cannibal Town, yet still unsure of what to make of all the carnage, debauchery, and depravity. You didn't think you belonged in Hell, even if you took the life that simultaneously extinguished your own.

"What's wrong, dearie? I've known you to be quiet but today you are exceptionally so." Mused Rosie, her gentle tone pulling you out of your reverie. You glanced down at your tea, sighing.

Leaning your cheek against your palm, you meet her charcoal-black eyes. Genuine concern etched onto her politely beautiful face. "I'm just feeling lost is all, I guess. I told you how I ended up in Hell, right?" Solemnly, Rosie nods.

Placing down her tea cup, Rosie wiggles towards you a bit. "Maybe you just need to find that old spark again! Something that roused you when you were alive! I have a friend who was a radio host, same as you. He may be able to have a job for you! Alastor is as charming as they come!" She grins, her mouth full of pointed teeth on full display.

Your brow quirks. "Alastor? The Radio Demon?" Rosie nods, excitedly. Alastor had been the prolific serial killer that haunted New Orleans back in the 1920s. It felt weird that the main man-- subject, you studied in life would soon be your acquaintance and potential boss in death. You'd heard many hushed tales about the aforementioned Radio Demon dealing in bartered souls and how he wreaked havoc against his fellow Overlords overnight. He definitely seemed like the kind of demon you didn't want to make light of, or worse, be on his bad side.

"He's a quirky one, for sure, but don't listen to all those rumors and gossip!" Rosie waves her hand with a laugh. "Alastor is still a gentleman and I'm sure he'd be delighted to offer you a job! Maybe you can intern for him? Besides! If he's ever rude to you, ol' Rosie will kick him in the shins! I'll wear my extra-pointy boots!" She giggles, holding your hands in hers. "You'll be in good hands, my dear! I'll let Alastor know you're coming right away!"

Staring down at the neatly folded paper in your hand, you double and triple check the address scrawled in neat calligraphy.

Hazbin Hotel.

Was it normal for a former serial killer slash radio host to become a hotelier that's trying to rehabilitate sinners?

With a shrug, you made your way up the incline taking note of the rather ominous looking radio tower jutting out from the far-right side of the hotel. A sign displaying the words on-air was currently unlit and it looked quite dark inside from what you could see from the ground. Perhaps the great Alastor wasn't at home.

Knocking on the front door, you're greeted by a tall, deer-like demon with two-toned hair and sharp yellow teeth dressed in a dapper red-pinstripe suit complete with a microphone-like cane. Scarlet eyes stare down at you like a lion watching a gazelle. You feel utterly and completely exposed, like he's peeling back your every layer, surveying you, before he even said a single word.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel, my dear! Quite a pleasure! You must be the little darling that dear Rosie sent, yes?" Alastor places his hand on your lower back, guiding you past the hotel's front doors and into the welcoming comfort of the establishment's front lobby and reception area. "This is a place where wayward sinners such as yourself can find peace and be led on the path of redemption to ascend to Heaven by Hell's very own princess, Charlie Morningstar!"

On queue, a blonde-haired girl sprints up to you squealing and flailing her arms a bit. She takes her hands in yours and offers you a big, delighted smile. You like her immediately. "Oh, my gosh! Welcome, welcome to Hazbin Hotel! I see you've met our gracious host Alastor! He's mentioned that you're going to be interning for him-- how exciting! We are so thankful to have you!"

To think, all those months ago had been the start of your journey with your friends. You had felt so out of place in Hell, in your new skin, uncomfortable with the weight of sharp horns protruding your skin and the strength of your clawed hands. You were quite pleasantly surprised at what you could withstand now as a demon.

With the attention directed back at him, Alastor grins with a whine of radio static. It was the equivalent of a lazy smirk with his half-lidded scarlet eyes taking you in one more, searching for any potential risks you may pose though you didn't intend any of that sort. You felt your skin begin to heat the longer his gaze remained on you, and hesitantly break the eye contact with the demon in favor of Charlie, who has been excitedly talking about all of the hotel's features.

"I brought your coffee, sir." Alastor hums out a soft 'thank you' yet continues to fiddle with the buttons and tracks on his console, not raising his head to look at you. "Rosie gave me some venison for you. She said aid it's your favorite when it's fresh and raw." Placing Alastor's simple black coffee on a small side table, you revere your boss with a fond expression. Rosie had been truthful she said he was the charming sort. There certainly was an air of respectability about him that men lacked from your time.

"Our dear Rosie is certainly a clever one, and she is quite correct. There is no better way to enjoy meat than having it served fresh. Preferably off the bone but this will do." Alastor tilts his head, turning to the side to regale you from the corner of his eyes. Those damn beautiful scarlet gems. "Something the matter, my dear?" Alastor's voice is a soft crackle.

Stumbling in surprise, you wrack your brain for a plausible answer. When you find none, you shake your head from side to side cursing the heat that sets your cheeks ablaze.

Alastor smirks, standing from his stool and approaches you. He grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger; his claw lightly dragging across your lower lip. Blood beads up following the path his claw created. He swipes it up, licking it in front of you.

"Tasty," Alastor grins, leaning down and bumping his nose into yours. "As I said, meat is best when fresh." He squeezes your cheek lightly, chuckling at the exudes into his palm. "If I wasn't certain, I'd say you have a little crush on me, hmm?" He turns his back to you, those damned scarlet eyes that see straight through your soul strike you where you stand. "That'll be all now, dearest. Thank you for your time and your blood."

You couldn't get out of there fast enough. You weren't afraid of him, no, you were more scared of kissing him now more than ever. A fantasy of both of you pressed tight to one another with mouths soaked in blood would be all you can think of for hours.

Whatever was going on between you and Alastor continued on much like a game of cat and mouse only he seemed to be going out of his way more and more to fluster you, saying things that would catch you off guard.

"I don't think of myself as much of a man who desires a relationship beyond friends and family, but cohabitating with you as lifelong partners does sound desirable."

"Hmm, tell me. Are your horns sensitive?" His breath ghosts then one day, causing you to shriek and cover them. You pout, turning your head to glare at him. Alastor's grin only seemed to stretch further. "Only teasing, darling, no need to get so uppity."

It was a slow evening, Alastor had sent you off on another errand. There was a sense of apprehension worrying his brow, glancing at the analog clock. The hour hand strikes the 3am mark. He'd sent you off almost an hour and a half ago, so where were you?

Interference crackles onto his radio, Alastor hissing as the feedback screeches. With ears pinned back, his eyes narrowed further when a familiar voice crosses.

"Ugh, I will never understand why thr fuck you use this shit, Alastor." Groaned Vox. "Anyway, I got your cute assistant here. You should see them, shaking like a leaf." The radio glitches in tune with Vox's laughter. "Valentino here has been itching for a new plaything, doesn't that sound good, sweetheart? Maybe we can broadcast that for all of Hell to see, right Al--"

Smash. Alastor's fist smashes through the radio cutting off Vox's boastful rant.

On the other side of the city, Vox blinks in confusion. "I lost the radio signal? Oh, fuck, God this shit is so old." He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Spinning around, he gives you a wry smirk. "Guess we'll see if the Great Alastor comes to rescue his lost pup, hmm?"

Glowering at him, left bound and gagged, sitting on the cold, hard floor. Valentino gives a harsh tug on your hair, your teeth sinking into the cotton gag shoved in your mouth, a muffled grunt leaving you.

An electric feeling in the air has your hair rising. Vox and Valentino share a confused look. A large fist blasts inside of the V Tower, claws sharp as they did through the metal like it was butter.

"Oh, fuck, it's Alastor!" Vox shrieks, scrambling to get away from the broken window. A second fist smashes through sending Vox into the opposing wall with a deep thud. Valentino runs to his friend's aid, helping him up.

"Well, this is what you wanted, honey."

Vox groans in protest. "I know."

Green electricity crackles, a dark shadow pooling into the room and with a shriek, manifests into Alastor.

Paying the two no mind, Alastor crosses the threshold and kneels down before you. His clawed fingers are gentle as he removes the gag around your bruised mouth. "Sorry it took me so long, mon cour." A tentacle bursts through his back, spiraling directly into Vox and Valentino, sending the two into the neighboring room with a loud crash.

Scooping you into his arms, Alastor calmly walks through to the next room, his hand cupping the back of your head. "Rest." He regards the other two males with a snarling crackle.

"If I didn't have more important matters to attend to, I would eviscerate you two gents. Touch what is mine again and I'll broadcast your fucking screams all over Hell." Alastor hums, exiting V Tower.

"Holy shit! Did you see?? He finally sees me as his rival!" Vox cheers, tossing both arms into the air in celebration.

"This may sting, but I trust that you can handle it." Alastor says, rubbing off the blood from your brow with a cotton ball doused in isopropyl alcohol. Wincing softly, you take the moment to look at him closely. You'd never seen Alastor so disheveled. Even with dealing with enemies, he was always composed. But, tonight, he had been anything but the picture of composure. He looked positively feral.

Valentino sighs, "Honey, you need psychiatric help."

"Is there something about my face you find interesting, dearest?"

Squeaking, your face flushes, shaking your arms frantically. Gasping you quickly place a hand to your ribs. Guess they really did fracture something when they knocked you out.

Alastor stills your hands with his own. "Easy now, pet. You're in no state to be moving around like an interpretive mime. I was only teasing you, my dearest. You had me worried tonight."

Hanging your head low, you turn your gaze away. "I'm sorry, Alastor. I don't know how they got the drop on me. I was walking home and smelled something odd--," you gasped in realization. "Chloroform. It had to be."

Alastor growled tensely at that. He tied the bandage around your arm and with a snap of his fingers the medical kit disappeared and a serving tray appeared carrying a kettle full of hot chocolate and a staple 1920s dessert: pound cake. This one was drizzled with a bitter chocolate and filled with strawberries.

Alastor takes your hand and gently kisses your knuckles. "Care to join me for a treat?" His tone was a touch more gentle than it had been a heartbeat ago. You smile, nodding eagerly. He grins and begins to cut the cake, serving you first. "One more thing."

|| I DON'T GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORKS TO BE REPOSTED, RESHARED, OR EDITED. TUMBLR IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT AND THE ONLY PLACE WHERE I POST MY WRITING. ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNERS, THE STORY BELONGS TO ME. || CHERUBFAE © 2024

Softly, Alastor kisses your cheek. It was the lightest of touches and over as soon as it happened. He busies himself by pouring two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, the apples of his cheeks were a rosy hue.

[rizsu]

+ love, ‘su: he's so crazyyyy!!! can't take him anywhere lol XD ── tw. mentions of murder (not u)

yuta’s been acting weird, but you can’t put your finger on it. you’ve this aching gut feeling that something’s off with him, but he hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary.

he’s still acts like your loving boyfriend who refuses to sleep unless his arms are wrapped around you. each time the thought of yuta suddenly changing crosses you, a pang of guilt hits you.

you don’t want to doubt him, but it’s getting difficult to not suspect him. he’s no longer punctual — you can’t predict his timing anymore. even the hour he returns home is now a guessing game.

what happened to him? something’s weird — no, not just weird. it’s terrifying. physically it’s your yuta but is it really? why are his eyes unfocused all the time? is something or someone bothering him?

questions after questions swirl through yet there isn’t an answer that can satisfy you. you need yuta to speak, but he dances around the questions, refusing to give in.

the more you pry the more he gets annoyed. he doesn’t show it, but his firm answer never fails to stop you.

“baby, i said nothing. is. wrong.” he’d insist, warmingly smiling at you before he follows up with a question. “don’t you trust me?”

like usual, you’d remain silent, unable to drag it on. the conversations continued to run in circles. soon you gave up.

you can’t shake off the feeling, nor can you make him talk. as unfortunate as it is, it’s better to go with the flow. it’d be meaningless to anger him with butting in his business.

as for yuta, it pains him that he’s acting so cold, but that’s the only way to get you to stop. he loves you — worships you — but it’ll be detrimental if you were to find out that he isn’t your sweet boy.

you shower him with praises everyday, he can’t imagine what life would be like if he loses you. you’ve always said his hands are your favourite, which is why he bought multiple pairs of gloves. he can’t have the hands you adore be tainted. it’s a bit sloppy to cover his traces, but it’ll do.

after all, he’s not skilled in killing humans yet. his expertise is knowing how to murder curses, but maybe he can transfer those skills to humans too.

truth be told, this has been going on for some time. if he were to recall correctly, it’s been approximately twenty-three days since his first killing. he didn’t plan for it to happen — heavens, no! it just… did.

yuta’s self control is something worthy to be jealous of, but he lost every ounce of it that night. he gifted you a new dress, one that’s perfect to be dolled up in an expensive club that’s part casino. so said, so done.

you were his woman, ever so beautiful, but like moths to a flame, you attracted unnecessary attention. the amount of men that attempted to whisk you away exceeded the number ten. he couldn’t keep count on his fingers anymore. of course, you never hesitated to reject them. you even went as far as to slip in “i’m here with my boyfriend” whenever they approached.

but they were filthy flies. flies aren’t able to read the room, nor can they handle rejection. they’ll always come back to the meal — even if all they got was a whiff of the scent. flies are known to be pesky, greedy animals. unless you see them to their death, they’ll never leave.

the night played out smoothly, but yuta’s annoyance wasn’t soothed. he wanted to relieve it physically. he needed absolute dominance over something — something that’ll be easy to register a power imbalance with. what’s better than to overpower one of the flies? they’d be drunk and yuta happened to have held his alcohol, so he’s quite sober.

once he’s assured you were in deep sleep, he quietly left to set his plan in motion. he never thought that he’d feel ‘the hunter and the prey’ emotions against a human, but here he is. life is truly unpredictable. it’s unfortunate the random fly that was singled out couldn’t predict his murder.

a death by asphyxiation. the easiest way to kill someone if it’s your first time. yuta didn’t bother to clean up, simply opting for dragging the body in a back alley. there’s been a number of violent crimes the past week, he was sure it’ll be played off as one of those crimes. in that way, he won’t ever be suspected, and he was correct.

however, yuta, too, fell to greed. the adrenaline rush, the feeling of seeing someone struggle, the continuance of the life of someone being his decision to make — he wanted more. he couldn’t settle for just one. with long eyes that yearned for more than he should’ve, yuta’s killings didn’t stop. it soon became a pattern: every two weeks he’d kill someone — it didn’t matter who, as long as they did something he deemed wrong. yuta believed he acted on justice, but he knew he was just as wrong.

he became a vigilante to some, and a serial killer to others. regardless of what the public viewed him as, it caused unrest. the only time he stopped was the day you refused to go out in fear of the increase of murders in your city. your pain is his pain, he couldn’t bear to watch you cower in fear at the thought of becoming the next addition to the kill count.

the stop only lasted for one scheduled killing. he returned to his usual activities, becoming more and more skilled. with each murder he became braver — sometimes taking a limb off depending on if he liked the person or not.

but every secret was bound to be revealed, and his almost got caught when you found a patch of blood on his sweatpants.

“yuta, did you injure yourself and didn’t tell me?” you asked him with a disappointed tone, holding up his sweatpants to show the blood.

his heart stopped, a sick feeling in his stomach bubbled up. he didn’t injure himself, but he injured (killed) someone else. it’s not like he can say that and hope you bypass it.

“oh — i, i did,” he answered, nervously laughing. “i accidentally dropped the knife on my leg, sorry baby.”

it was a half-assed excuse, but since you trust him, you’ll believe it.

“then you should’ve told me!” you pouted, jokingly thinking that he didn’t trust you.

“sorry, sorry. but next time, don’t wash my clothes. i’ll do it.” it was a sudden demand, subtly killing the mood.

your eyebrows furrowed. you found it weird, but didn’t question it. yuta knew how absurd he sounded, but he can’t have you connecting the dots. sooner or later you would’ve realised his lies.

however, even without the clothes, you still found holes in his behaviour. you kept quiet about it until you couldn’t, but that resulted in him redirecting the conversation.

you’re too smart for your own good, if you were to cast aside your trust in him and realise your worries aren’t insane, you’d leave yuta in a heartbeat. he can’t have that. he won’t settle for it. heavens know what he’d resort to just to keep you in his arms.

yuta’s your sweet boy, and he’ll continue to be. if it meant giving up the killings, he’d do it. it won’t be too hard to find a replacement to satisfy his needs. but, would he need to give it up? if you find out, can’t he keep you tied down with him? he’s the hunter, after all.

[tswwwit]

Here's the Finale of Cult AU! Part Five was here and that's got links to all the others.

Hope you all enjoy!

Good worshipers devote their whole heart to god.

The typical way to display devotion is through acts of service. Whether it’s speaking the words granted to them in dreams, following the commands of his interpreted mysteries, or keeping his altars clean - everyone has a role in the Great Plan. 

Dipper’s thing has always been the art of study. And he was good at it. 

Nobody really objected, at first. Following the knowledge of Cipher would surely bring him to the true path of righteousness

That… didn’t pan out as expected. For a list of reasons that starts with Bill’s sheer unrighteousness and only gets longer from there. 

And somehow, eventually, impossibly - it ended up with him here.

A quick glance up shows Bill in the same position. Lounging in his armchair, staring off into the distance with a zoned-out expression on his face.

There’s an argument to be made that he doesn’t have to study Bill anymore. Nobody’s here to care, except for Bill, who doesn’t mind… pretty much anything Dipper does. At worst he’d be miffed about the lack of attention. 

But old habits die hard, and Dipper’s always been curious. 

Bill Cipher’s right here in front of him. In the strange, oddly human flesh. How could he not be interested?

At the moment, there’s not much to glean from his actions. No mysterious words, or weird signs to interpret. Just Bill lounging around, head propped in a hand with his eye unfocused. 

At first glance, everything seems normal; just some human-ish guy having a lazy weekend. A second glance would show that the hand under his chin isn’t his own. The tattered remains of a sleeve and ragged, severed flesh dangle against the upholstery. Occasionally Bill clacks the jutting arm bones together like the world’s worst pair of tongs. 

He has no idea where Bill got the limb. Could be a prize, maybe Bill made a ‘lend me a hand’ pun that went too far. Mostly, he wishes he’d throw the damn thing away. 

Bill wants to magpie a bunch of souvenirs from around the multiverse? Fine. But he should stick with things that aren’t biodegradable. 

Dipper makes a face, then another note in his journal. 

Dismemberment, not for ritual purposes. Just because Bill’s super weird. Probably thinks it’s ‘funny’.

If the cult scriptures were right about even one thing then… it wouldn’t be great. The ‘god’ they depicted wasn’t the best. But at least he wouldn’t have to make up a Bill-Cipherpedia from scratch. 

Dipper flips to a half-completed page in his book - glances up at Bill, who’s still distracted, eye unfocused - and starts adding to his notes. 

Besides, this is what he’s supposed to be doing. Probably. 

Bill’s had mortals before, and all of them had a role to play. Dipper’s the latest in a long line of mortals. Evidence abounds that this has been going on for a long time, even if Bill himself isn’t cooperative.

Dipper even has the mark to prove it. 

Whatever compels Bill Cipher to keep a human hanging around - it almost always has that in common. Even with the scant resources at hand, Dipper’s sure of that. 

Someday, he’ll get to the bottom of that mystery. Why Bill keeps snagging up a series of impressive men, other than the fact that they’re all strong and smart and interesting and cool. 

Weirdest of all is that they sure as hell weren’t devoted to any cause. Or at least any that make sense. 

From the scraps Dipper’s put together - Each of them seemed tasked with fending off the machinations of this demon. Thwarting him, in short, and….. Being kind of successful at it. The results seem mixed. Still pretty impressive, in that anyone won even once.

How the mark ended up on Dipper of all people is anyone’s guess. 

Kind of a cosmic gaffe, honestly. Sticking some constellation on nerdy loser who doesn’t fit in anywhere. Not in his old cult, not in the world in general. Definitely not in a madman’s nightmare dimension. 

Maybe removing the piece of flesh that bore said mark was -  he stops thinking about it. 

Anyway, it’s back now, and he…. Probably has a job to do? Even if he can’t do any of the other stuff, he can sure as hell take notes.

The others had the right idea there. Keeping a log of their adventures, interesting historical facts. Details on spells, written down in code that’s not too tough to crack. A ton of practical, sensible, logically organized advice. For someone who’s bound to be a demonic companion, he’s sure they’ll be invaluable. 

But when it comes to dealing with Bill Cipher himself, Dipper’s journal is going to be way more helpful. The best, even. 

He’s already filled fifty pages and it barely scratches the surface.

For one, Bill Cipher is not a god. Just a really super powerful demon who can pass for one on a good day. His ‘guidance’ should be taken with a heaping helping of salt, and his ‘path’ veers so far away from righteousness that it almost seems like Dipper was on the right track. 

Bill enjoys chaos. Violence, murder, and arson. Tricks and schemes. He starts bizarre and unpredictable bullshit all the freaking time. He loves things that by all stretch of sanity and reason shouldn’t be, and does it with aplomb. A total goddamn menace.

So really, observing him is the right thing to do. Since he’s got eyes everywhere, someone should keep an eye on him. 

And for lack of anyone else, that task falls to Dipper.

He checks back on his subject - still calm and quiet. A rarer sight than one might think. 

Bill stares off into nothing, face nearly blank. His eye remains unfocused as it flicks around in short, rapid motions. If Dipper had to guess, he’s concentrating on one of his many external eyes. Pretty deeply, too; maybe going through several at a time. 

The expression, though, is odd. Because he’s not smiling. Not that Bill’s upset or anything, he’d be more active if he was, it’s just. 

Without that eternal grin, or his constant chatter, or that fast-paced energy, it makes him look. Kinda different. 

There’s no mask being worn here. No lies. It’s just… Bill.

“You’ve been quiet,” Bill says, out of the blue. 

Damn it. Dipper thought he wasn’t paying attention. Now Bill’s turned, waving at him with that detached arm instead of his own hand. 

Dipper pretends to ignore him, ducking his head down and focusing on his journal. 

“Hey!” Bill again, more insistent, and slightly amused. “What’s so interesting, sapling?”

“Nothing,” Dipper lies. He traces another line on the paper, and frowns.

So much for capturing the moment. Bill totally ruined it by moving. 

Dipper glares at the half-finished sketch. He just can’t quite get the angles of Bill’s face right, or the shading of firelight on his skin. Yet another way that jerk is difficult to pin down. 

Bill lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that lie was terrible! We gotta get you back up to speed on deception before you try anything subtle. Should only take a few years.” He scrunches his face up in mock thought, tapping the severed arm’s finger on his chin. “So! I think you’re up to something!”

“And you’re not?” Dipper’s not an idiot. He knows this guy by now.

“No idea what you’re on about!” A flash of smile, and a wink. 

That’s a lie. Dipper can tell in the way Bill’s smile goes just so, and how he manages to pose even more louchely in the chair. 

He makes another note, ignoring Bill’s pointed stare. 

It’s not like Bill doesn’t know what he’s researching. Though he hasn’t directly commented on it, every once in a while he tries to offer up ‘interesting facts’, or go on some random story. Most of which are pure lies. 

Dipper doesn’t bother responding. Another thing to note for future humans - don’t encourage him. He’ll only take it further than you’d like.

Something shifts in his peripheral vision - Bill, sitting up straight. The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk, and his eye glows a faint and eerie blue for a moment, before returning to gold. Looking smug. Too smug.

As Bill finally drops the severed arm, rubbing his hands together in sinister delight - Dipper stares suspiciously over his journal.

And there’s the other reason he’s recording all of this.

Bill really is up to something. 

The way he’s giggled to himself around the penthouse the last couple of days. Taking time to spy on something, or someone. That doesn’t take a mind-reader to figure out, just a pair of eyes.

“Speaking of things,” Bill says, a segue that has Dipper doing a double-take.. He leans over to grin at him, chin thankfully propped on his own fist. “Ever think about expanding your wardrobe?”

“Uh,” Dipper hesitates. “Like, literally? I don’t think I need the space-”

“I’m not talking storage. I’m talking fashion!” Bill springs up from the chair, arms wide “More than just jeans and flannel and the other grubby stuff you scrounged up. Something with style.”

“Uh,” Dipper repeats. He shuts his journal, plucking at his t-shirt. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

The derisive Bill look gives him speaks volumes. Dipper slouches in his seat. 

Yeah, okay, it’s not the most fashion-forward, but it’s not, like, weird. He could wear this basically anywhere and it’d be fine.

“One of the suits in said wardrobe should be good to start with. I know there’s a few tucked in the back,” Bill continues. He gives Dipper a long once-over as he stalks closer. “You can’t tell me you’ve never tried one of those on.”

“I haven’t, actually,” Dipper admits. Under Bill’s intent gaze, he shuffles back on the couch. “They’re not really my thing?”

“Yeah, figures.” Bill sighs, with a dramatic eye-roll. “Try one on this evening, then! We can get it adjusted if you’re a little…” He hovers a hand near Dipper’s head, palm flat, raising and lowering it. “That craphole you called a cult kinda stunted your growth.”

Warmth flushes Dipper’s face. He’s not short. Bill’s just stupid tall. “I don’t even know how to tie a tie.”

Bill’s eye and mouth both go wide, and Dipper knows he’s made a huge mistake.

“Oh, that I can do something about.” Bill claps once, and starts rubbing his hands together. The grin makes its triumphant return. “Right now.”

Which is how Dipper ends up standing in the middle of the living room, stuck in a stuffy dress shirt and jacket, as he tries, desperately, not to sweat.

“And finally,” Bill’s voice is low, above and just to the right of Dipper’s ear. Arms over his shoulders, and long fingers brushing his throat. “Nice and tight around your neck.”

Dipper stares forward. The words enter his ear and instantly evaporate into pink mist in his mind. “Okay.”

“Like this.” One swift tug cinches the tie around Dipper’s neck; not tight, not loose. A silken, obvious weight. “Got it?”

“Yeah.” Dipper’s voice is half an octave too high. Clearing his throat, he says. “Yeah, I got it.”

With another laugh, Bill pats him on the chest. In the mirror, Dipper can see the dangerous curve of his smile. He’s tall enough to peek over the top of his head, holding him by the shoulders with long elegant fingers. A picture of perfection, looming behind a scrawny nerd with a beet-red face. 

Though the suit does fit, despite Bill whining about needing adjustments. He’s just too picky. The real problem is the person inside looks deeply, hideously uncomfortable. 

God, Dipper wishes Bill wouldn’t be so close.  It’s too warm. Too - 

Dipper wipes at his forehead, then around his neck. 

Sometimes he wishes he knew less about Bill. Ignorance would be bliss. 

Bill’s eye narrows. He looks Dipper over thoughtfully, smirk slowly morphing into a frown. “The look’s decent enough but…” He waggles a hand, a so-so gesture. “Kinda missing something. Probably needs accessories.”

“Great,” Dipper says, still staring in the mirror. “You do that.”

He watches Bill depart, feels the touch leave his shoulders, and the coolness it leaves behind. He shuts his eyes and tries to ignore it.

Brushing off the suit doesn’t help. Neither does adjusting it. Taking it off in the middle of the living room is out of the question, not least because he doesn’t have anything to change back into. Bill vanished his other clothes the instant they came off. 

No matter what he does, Bill’s touch lingers.

Which is stupid, it’s not like - He breathes in, then out through his nose. 

All this learning, and for what? It’s only gotten him into trouble. He delved too deep, asked questions he shouldn’t. He spent too much time learning about Bill, a dangerous endeavor in its own right. 

Now there are facts hovering in the forefront of his brain, and he never could stop thinking. Even when it was a bad idea. 

Dipper rubs at his face, and undoes the tie. It’s uncomfortable and he should - yeah. Preoccupy himself with trying to redo it. He caught at least seventy percent of the instructions.

The silk slides under his fingers. The knot refuses to tie at first - and when it does, it’s lumpy and weird and awkward. 

Bill would know how to do this better. He knows everything. Dipper wishes Bill didn’t know that much, or at least about… things that aren’t sinful. 

Maybe it’d be better if those things were sinful, because then Dipper could keep everything bottled up tight, knowing there’d be terrible repercussions. Pushing it back so deep that even the most thorough mind-probe would never find his crimes.

Dipper glares, and the man in the mirror glares right back at him. A short, scarred, semi-wreck of a person. Barely kept together by stitches and willpower, and god he looks so… small. He’d never qualify. 

Anyway, it’s stupid. Dipper’s just some random former-cultist who Bill’s reforming into a barely presentable companion. Interesting guys are taller, and cooler; they go on adventures and fight monsters. Guys who don’t panic when their god looks at them too sharply, or hide under any beds. 

He sticks his tongue out, looking at the small pink mark. One that wouldn’t be there anymore if Bill hadn’t intervened. One arguably shouldn’t be there at all. 

Plus, Bill’s Bill. There’s probably a million billion reasons that getting involved with him is a bad idea, so really, it’s for the best. 

Clearing his throat, Dipper tries retying the tie again. It’s almost a distraction.

By the time Bill returns, Dipper’s found his resolve, and he’s not thinking of anything weird. If only because the damn tie won’t turn out right. One of his fingers is stuck in the knot. 

“Ha! Wow, that’s almost impressive!” Bill says. With one quick yank, he frees the the unfortunate digit. “Where’d your little mortal mind wander this time?”

“Where’d you go?” Dipper snaps. He shakes his arm to get some feeling back in his index finger.

A question for a question. Sadly, Bill doesn’t take the bait this time.

“Just picking up a few things! You musta really drifted off to screw up like that, though.” Bill says, sounding amused. He reaches up to ruffle Dipper’s hair. “Every time I think you can’t get cuter, here you are tying yourself up for me.”

“Sh- damn it.” Dipper shuts his eyes. He scoots away from the hand in his hair, and tries to straighten it out. 

He has to keep a better eye on himself. Having a tongue again has made him too careless. If anyone knows better than to say whatever comes to mind, it’s him. The consequences loom too large.

Or… well, he could say anything. Maybe. Sort of. Here, at least. 

But it’s one thing to want Bill to shut up, and another to order it. Spending the massive leeway he has on a minor annoyance is just dumb. 

“Hold still,” Bill says. Tone light, but serious enough that Dipper goes still. 

Bill examines him for a long moment, circling around with his eye narrowed. Then he snaps his fingers. An idea has struck him. “Alright! How ‘bout this?”

Something cold and heavy drops around Dipper’s shoulders; another thump hands directly on his head. He staggers under the sudden weight, twisting the heavy circle off his head and flinging it away. “What the fuck.”

“What?” Bill says, with calculated innocence, as a triangular crown-thing rolls across the carpet. “Too much?”

“It’s heavy.” Dipper says, lifting the other weight - what is this, a doily for his shoulders? All interwoven gold, laced with intricate designs. It’s bright and gaudy and - He chucks the thing with a frown. “Okay, even I know this clashes with the suit.”

Bill blows a raspberry, looking annoyed. But he’s not arguing, which always means Dipper’s right. He even vanishes the jewelry with a snap. “More understated, then.”

Whatever’s happening, there’s no way it’s gonna deescalate. As Bill paces, Dipper turns slowly to keep an eye on him, watching for sudden movements. 

This isn’t just some game of dressup. Dipper’s escaped those before. This attention has too much focus, and too little fun. 

No, Bill’s preparing for something. Involving Dipper. 

Maybe it’s another demon event? But Bill hasn’t dragged him to one since the first debacle, and he didn’t need to get decked out for that. If they’re going somewhere, it would probably be demon-related, or -

“Aha!” 

Uh oh. Bill has an idea. 

“You gotta have something of mine. Over the top won’t do for now, so obviously-” He wheels around, back facing Dipper. A swirl of magic stirs in manifestation. “We gotta go subtle.” 

When he turns back, it’s with a flash of silver. One palm outspread with two small, golden studs rolling around. 

The other pinches a bright, sharp needle, flashing in the light.

“Alright, turn your head.” Bill says. Then, at Dipper’s obvious alarm - a sigh. “Aw, come on! Tons of humans have their ears pierced! Two little jabs,” A quick, pointed demonstration has Dipper backpedaling. “And bam! New decoration holes!”

Dipper gives that the skeptical look it deserves. Bill’s smile somehow gets even brighter, eyebrows wiggling. 

No way, no how. He is so done with having any sharp things jabbed into his anywhere.

Problem being, Bill has a plan in mind. One he’s prepped over long hours, and he’s far too clever. Any protest will be met with cajoling and convincing, and somehow, inevitably, wrangle him into doing something dumb that hurts. There’s no point in arguing.. 

So Dipper simply… doesn’t.

“Okay.” He says. Keeping his tone quiet, he ducks his head until his chin nearly hits his chest. “If you. Think I should.”

“You should think it’s cool!” Bill’s voice is still cheerful. Totally upbeat. Anyone less knowledgeable might miss the hint of tension. “Just a coupla pokes and it’s over. Then you get to wear great stuff that looks like me!”

Dipper nods. He does it very slowly, deliberately silent. 

There’s a soft noise. Not quite annoyance, but not frustration either. A few footsteps tap on carpet, coming closer before they abruptly stop. 

Bill lets out a low hiss, then mutters something before finishing his approach. Just a little more, then. 

When he’s within arm’s reach, Dipper looks up. 

He meets Bill’s eye, keeping his own wide. Blinking a few times to moisten them, and wearing the biggest, bravest face. The look of a man ready to do as he’s told even though he’s so, so afraid. 

And for the kicker, Dipper makes his lower lip quiver. Just a tad. 

Striking the balance between ‘tremble’ and ‘deliberately twitch’ is hard; he hopes it lands. Keeping up this stupid expression is hard. 

Bill’s eye twitches, he takes a sharp breath. Lip curling up in a near-sneer, reaching out - 

And with a sound of disgust, he throws the needle directly into the wall. It quivers in place while he groans in disappointment.

“Ugh! Whatever.” Bill stalks away, throwing his arms in the air. “Keep your stupid ears intact.” He  folds his arms over his chest, tapping a bicep with one annoyed finger. “You’re missing out, you know!”

Dipper’s shoulders drop; he loosens his tie again with a relieved sigh. Over by the couch, Bill huffs and puffs and stomps around. He blows out a bunch of words about a certain mortal being a ‘killjoy’, and ‘fashion backward’, and so on and so forth. 

But there’s no real venom in his tone. Only frustration, with a hint of fine whine.

All of that, and Dipper stands where he was. Untouched. No poking or prodding and absolutely no punishment forthcoming. No terrible consequences. 

Incredibly, and impossibly - the ‘sad face’ gambit works. Part of Dipper knew it would, just. The idea that any human emotion could derail Bill Cipher’s plans seemed pretty improbable.

He really can get away with anything, if he plays it right. Being ‘special’ kind of rules. 

For a while, Dipper wasn’t certain about that adjective. He still isn’t, not entirely. Overthinking has led him to stranger places, and growing up among the faithful didn’t help. They made a whole religion from reading into things that weren’t actually there. 

But Bill patched up his wound. Showed him around, gave him a place to live. Worked for weeks to find a way to restore his tongue, an impossible, incredible gift. Add on the dinners, the attention, the conversation and the hanging out. The warm touch so often present-

Bill, in his own, bizarre, insane, and purposefully obscured way - kinda, maybe, cares about what Dipper wants. 

It’s only sometimes. Not always. It’s not perfect or complete. 

But the idea is too weird for Dipper to come up with on his own, and there’s like, a billion tons of evidence.

He watches Bill tap his shoe on the floor, an annoyed but thoughtful beat. Already coming up with some other scheme, now that he’s been temporarily thwarted. 

Special. A strange conceit. It’s a dispensation to do whatever he desires. Whatever limit there is, he hasn’t found the edges yet.

Under any other circumstances, he’d be thrilled.

Except that makes two facts that Dipper knows, and they go all too well together.

As Bill sulks, off in the corner of the room, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets and resolutely does not walk forward.

Touching Bill, especially to reassure his already too-bloated ego, is simply a bad move. Even if he’s always making exceptions for this one useless human.

Even if he has had certain... past proclivities.

Dipper clenches his hands into fists, glaring down at the carpet. Biting his tongue both literally and metaphorically.

Said proclivities don't include people like him.

Bill likes people who are cool and smart and strong. Dipper's only special because... it's probably the birthmark. Something magical, that doesn’t actually mean anything. Acting on his stupid impulses is a terrible, horrible idea. A lesson he should have learned by now. 

Testing a few limits is fine. Pushing them is another, and that’s never, ever worked out in Dipper’s favor, not even once. Even when he thought it was an exception, or had a good reason. 

Getting caught taking too big a step means getting taught not to do it. As firmly as needed.

He can’t risk that. Not with Bill. Not with all he’s done and given him and… everything.

Anyway, it’s probably fine. It’s okay. Insanity is practically normal here, and Dipper absolutely knows how to keep his damn mouth shut.

All he has to do is stop thinking about it. Keep his hands at his sides, and his eyes off Bill’s face, and his everything and just. Stop. Don’t push it. No matter what Bill does, or how close he gets. He can manage that, at least. 

He has to, before Bill figures him out. 

Bill must really be distracted, too, because he’s not making some quick remark at Dipper’s tense posture, or the look on his face. 

“We gotta find you a ‘fit, kid. Don’t get me wrong, this is cute and all -” Bill says, waving over Dipper. Glaring at him gets a smirk in return. “Just not quite what ya want for… certain activities.”

“Any chance you’re going to tell me what those ‘activities’ are?” Dipper knows the lack of an answer already - but he might as well try.

“Eh, you’ll see! Gotta figure out what kinda symbols I can leave on ya, since I know you’re not a robes kinda guy anymore.” Bill pauses when he sees the look on Dipper’s face and snorts. “Don’t worry, sapling. I’ll get this sorted well before your surprise is ready!”

And he winks. 

Dipper stares back at him. The lingering bits of daydream drop away as it’s rudely shoved aside by other, more insidious thoughts.

Symbols. ‘Surprise’.

Robes.

Short and stupid and scared he might be, but the one thing Dipper’s never been is a fool. 

As Bill starts pacing again, he forces a ‘cute’ smile on his face. 

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Got to delay him. Convince him to delay. Now that he’s caught Bill’s attention, he throws in extra spice by walking in and patting his bicep. “Take your time, okay?”

“Easy, Pine Tree, I got this!” Bill’s chest puffs out the instant Dipper touches his arm. Now muscles flex under Dipper’s palm as Bill pats the back of his hand. “I think we can go with the suit once I getcha the rest of the stuff.”

He rambles on, about ‘symbolism’ and ‘making an impact’. Dipper lets the words wash over him without paying them mind. They’re not important. He needs space and time to think about all the rest of this horrible debacle. 

No time to ask any more questions. Or be here, while Bill sorts his own part out. The picture’s crystal clear. 

“I should go and… do a thing.”

“Sure, sure,” Bill says, waving him off absentmindedly. Already there’s a tangle of ties in his hand; he glares at them like he’s wrangling a bunch of snakes.

Dipper’s room isn’t far. He makes it there easily, and doesn’t even slam the door behind himself. 

With his back against the solid wood, and the demon far behind him, Dipper grits his teeth. “Shit.”

A trip, Bill says. Something ‘fitting’ Bill says. Suggesting gold depictions of himself and flattering attire and the awful goddamn robes. Part of a presentation.

Damn it, he knew this plot was in the works. He just didn’t think it’d come so soon. 

Bill’s bringing him back there. Back to earth, and to everyone back at - 

The stupid tie is too tight. Dipper pulls it off and over his head, swearing as he throws it aside. Whatever. Bill’s going to replace it, anyway. 

Dipper lived in that conclave for… well, as long as he can remember. His parent’s aren’t part of it, either they left or died or - hell, maybe they were sacrificed. He doesn’t know and nobody ever answered when he asked. 

Two decades of chanting and conforming and absolute idiocy. A lifetime of never knowing what was going on, yet always knowing too much. Years and years of the same halls and the same people and the same place. 

The conformity, of course, was by design. When he was in the cult, everyone was supposed to meld into their molds. Everyone else did, taking their places, following the strict scripture. And even with everything pushing him into place, Dipper still stood out like a sore to be picked at until it bled. 

Just him. Set apart, somehow, even in identical clothing. Belonging to, but never with.

He thought he was done with that place, damn it.

He still can picture the walls of his room, and the dust on stone. The musty concrete and rickety furniture of the aboveground buildings. He can smell the candle wax, even now, cloying and - 

Swearing, Dipper slaps a palm over the candle on his desk, snuffing it out even as it stings his palm. 

Deep breaths. Calming, careful ones. Eyes open so he can see his hands on the wood of the desk, and feel the lacquer curl up under his fingernails.

Not having to think about where he came from took a weight off he didn’t realize he was carrying. Going back is - 

This has just thrown him off a bit, that’s all. Too many memories. A little bit of shoving and he can shut that mental door again.

If only he’d had more time to prepare, this wouldn’t be so bad. Didn’t Bill suggest it only, like, a couple weeks ago? A week, maybe? Time’s hard to keep track of, and the idea felt so distant. Like they’d never get around to it.

Now time is limited. As is Bill’s patience. Maybe he could keep him waffling about one tie color or another, that’d last a good few hours. 

Only once he’s done, they’re still going to go. 

Getting revenge. Everything he dreamed of, curled up in bed and aching and full of helpless anger, finally possible with the power he’s been granted. Bill Cipher by his side should only be a bonus.

Except now there’s pressure because it’s not a dream, and not just Dipper yelling at everyone with his newfound tongue. 

Bill Cipher is gonna be there and if Dipper knows anything about the guy - 

It’s that he’s going to want to make it a whole damn show. 

He’ll want to pick the place apart. Including very last dramatic twist and turn Bill finds entertaining -

And Dipper has to participate. 

Before anything else, he has to find his other notes. Why didn’t he get a folder or something? All the papers are scattered over the desk, piles sitting unsorted in the drawers. He kneels beside the left hand drawer and tries to figure out where the hell he put those spells. 

On paper, scribbled spells remain half-finished. A few concepts he didn’t even get to That stage on, suggestions with question marks at the end. A quick little sketch of the priest with the knife in his chest and Xs for eyes.

Dipper really should have prepared for ‘vengeance’ better. Especially since he knew it was coming. 

It’s just…

Clutching the papers in his hands, Dipper tries to think of what to do - then winces, smoothing the papers back out on the desk. 

Part of him thought maybe they could forget to do this for, y’know. Maybe another two decades or so. About as much time as Dipper spent in the stupid cult himself. That’d be equal. Practically equilateral, even.

Is it too much to ask to stay here? Where things are chaotic as hell, but actively don’t suck?

Maybe it is. Bill would think that’s too boring.

That’s what Dipper gets for hoping, he guesses. The clock ran out when he wasn’t paying attention. Now he has to muddle through and hope it doesn’t go sideways. Like everything else. 

Judging by the sounds from the living room, Bill’s stopped pacing in thought. The eerie silence is broken by cackling laughter. 

Dipper has maybe ten minutes, give or take a few. 

He shuffles the scraps of spells around the desk, discarding this one and that. Most of these aren’t feasible, either too complicated or not even revenge-related. That might not matter if Bill takes over everything. Pretty likely he will, too, since that’s his whole deal.

And the things he can imagine Bill doing are… 

Maybe he won’t go that far. They’re all terrible idiots and cruel and… and just stupid - but he won’t be that annoyed, surely. 

Good thing, too. Dipper learned all about Bill’s wrath, even before he met the guy. Without him being really pissed, though…. That doesn’t leave much cover. Dipper’s going to have to be careful not to draw his attention, lest Bill notice that he’s…

Shit, who is he kidding. Bill will take the lead, but Dipper will have to participate, somehow. He’s already dressed up for the occasion. 

Damn it, what does Bill want from him? 

Dipper can’t do stuff that’s too complicated. Power is easy enough to come by, but finesse is another. Even then, he’d still need a concept to work with, and Dipper’ss not sure he can manage, without anger pushing him on. Some of the old ideas that seemed so perfect back in the day just make him feel sick.

Everything’s a muddle. Dipper has basically nothing that’s not stomach-churning doodles or a half-scrap of experimental spellcraft. This one he doesn’t think he can pull off, and one that…. He was angry when he wrote that. Thinking about the stump of his tongue after a bad dream, one that wasn’t Bill’s fault. 

Actually…

The framework of this other spell isn’t bad. A curse, of sorts. One that’s dumb, and kind of silly - but it might have something to it.

Time to get to work. 

Dipper loses himself in the equations, lines of text and runes, coming together neatly in thin little columns. 

He’s good at this. He knows he is. As one of the few magic users in the cult, Dipper found brief moments of respite when he got to do this. Nobody would bother him. Not when he was the best. And what he made could never be used on him. It was calm. Quiet. So, so safe. 

And the process of solving a problem, seeing the result full and complete in front of him, has always been very satisfying. 

The door slams open. Dipper nearly stabs his thumb with the pen, swearing in surprise. 

Shit. Fuck. He’s out of time, he has, like. One completed curse idea, and it’s the dumbest one he had in store. 

Why didn’t he prepare for this.

“Found it!” Bill exclaims, waving a hideously gaudy golden tie in the air.  “Ready or not, here we go!”

And what can Dipper say to that.

“No need to fret, sapling. They all know we’re coming already!” Bill waves off the worries in a way that’s probably meant to be reassuring. “There are people who’ve dreamt of this moment.”

It doesn’t take a genius to know why that would be. Or where they’re going, if Dipper didn’t know already. An anvil would drop more lightly than that hint.

He gets up from his chair. Lets Bill put the new tie on him, and adjust his shirt. Looking just over Bill’s shoulder and a bit to his left. 

All the while, Bill goes on and on about thinking about this for ages’ and ‘way easier to mess with ‘believers’’ and ‘no time like the solstice, am I right?’

Okay. That’s that. This is what Bill wants to do, so they’re doing it. It can’t take very long, either; At worst it’s a few hours and Dipper can turn his head away from any messy parts. 

Dipper nods whenever it sounds like something important was said. Bill’s wearing his typical yellow, he notices. Dressed about as sharply and cleanly as Dipper’s seen, like he’s just gotten back from the dry cleaners.

They’re going. Actually going. 

No more delays, no clever excuses. Heading to Earth and that one particular set of caverns. 

No escape. 

What will it be like, after all this time? The priest is gone. That has to have changed things. Has someone taken his place, or are they arguing about who’s in charge? Is Bill leading everything, now that he’s paying attention? He could if he put in some effort, but how would that change things? If he’s even bothered at all.  

Of course, if Bill’s been messing with the cultists - and he’s admitted as much - then one thing’s certain. They’ll be very worked up. Practically in a state of fervor.

Dipper’s only seen that a few times in his life, it’s pretty rare. The one event where everyone really got hyped up was …

He rubs at his mouth with the back of his hand.

The sound of a creaking doorknob catches his attention. At some point they entered the living room; Dipper startles a bit as Bill pulls him to the door out of the penthouse, wide open in front of them.

“First things first - back to your crapsack planet.” Bill reaches in for a cheek pinch, then looks surprised when Dipper doesn’t dodge. He tilts his head, shrugging that off. “You’ll be doing the honors, of course.”

“Yes, my lord.” Dipper says on automatic. He catches the look on Bill’s face and grimaces. “I mean, yeah. Sure.”

There’s a long moment where Bill simply. Looks at him. His gaze feels like it could penetrate into Dipper’s brain, reading down to his deepest thoughts - 

And shit, that can’t happen. Too much pushing and Bill could learn that he’s -

“So what do I do?” Dipper interrupts before Bill can delve too deep. He pastes a smile on his face, and hopes it comes across as sincere. “Is it like - a spell, or  an artifact, or a gesture, or-”

“Ha!” Bill claps his shoulder, grinning again. Distracted. Good. “Nah, it’s easier than that! Here-” And he takes Dipper’s hands in his, elegant fingers tracing along them. “Lemme show you.”

And it is easy. Surprisingly so. 

One nudge of magic against magic, and Dipper sees what to do. Lit up by Bill’s power, pouring down his arms and into his chest. Like a switch he can flip, except inside. He’d never noticed it before.

“Oh.” He looks up at Bill, eyes wide. Shit, of course, he’s got the birthmark. He can do that, and it’s -. “Wow.”

Bill grins back at him. “Whatd’ya say, kid? We gonna get going or what?”

If only ‘or what’ was an option. 

Dipper nods, once. Concentrates, hard. And -

The transition is, for lack of a better term, wibbly. Dipper suddenly empathizes with a sheet of laminated paper, except when *he* shakes the sound is only internal. He clings to Bill’s arms as the room around them shifts.  Light stings his eyes; he has to squint and shade them. 

“See? No big deal!” Bill says, with deep approval. “Even got pretty close to the goal!”

They’re in… 

He can see a tree nearby, kind of sparse. A footpath, and grass, and - there are a lot of buildings, not too far away. But they don’t look like anything like the ones in the compound. Too large, too complicated. 

It looks like they’re in… a grassy clearing? A park, maybe? Some bit of green amongst the bustle of a goddamn city. 

This is… Not where he thought they’d end up. 

He reels on Bill, and the shock must be evident on his face because he’s smirking. “Wait, this isn’t…”

“Isn’t what?” Bill says, raising an eyebrow. “I know you’re an amateur, kid. I might not do the transfer, but I can jog your elbow on the steering.”

Interesting, but. This isn’t the place he was expecting, not by a long shot. “I just thought-”

“Thought what?” Bill asks, almost teasingly. The look he’s wearing says that he knows Dipper’s caught onto his plan, but that being cryptic is way more fun than fessing up. He claps Dipper on the back. “No point in starting things off on an empty stomach. We’re doing brunch first.”

With that said, he takes Dipper’s hand in his own, and yanks him forward into the bustling streets. 

Dipper follows in a daze. There’s a city outside of the compound, an hour or two away - but he’d never seen it. Only heard about it in whispered rumors. That it was terrible and filthy and full of sin, a place too dangerous to even think about. 

He grips Bill’s hand tighter, dawdling behind him as he takes in the view. 

He never thought it would look like this. 

The buildings are so tall. The roads are so busy, and the *people* - Dipper’s never seen this many people before, walking the sidewalks and hanging at bus stops, milling in and out of buildings. The sound of the cars is practically deafening but nobody else seems to react. 

Even the Fearamid isn’t this busy unless there’s a party going on. Everything’s noise and light and not-so-great smells of pure, busy humanity. There’s so many people around that even Dipper could disappear into that huge mass of bodies.

Clutching Bill’s arm still seems like the best option, though. Just so he doesn’t wander off and leave Dipper standing alone in the streets.

“Boy, that craphole cult was real repressive, wasn’t it?” Bill sounds deeply amused. He pats Dipper’s hand, leading him into some restaurant. Dipper’s never been in a restaurant, how do they do this-  “Later on we gotta bring you to an actual metropolis. Culture shock’s a cute look on you!”

Hold on, Dipper’s not shocked. Just. A little thrown, that’s all. 

Bill did have a point, though. Brunch is excellent.

The spread is almost better than Bill’s place, though mostly because it’s thematically consistent. Dipper stares wide eyed at the crowd, listening to their conversations and stuffing his face with french toast. Bill, meanwhile, downs several glasses of something orange and fizzy. 

Before too long - Bill keeping the conversation flowing, Dipper almost certainly acting like he’s some…. Country hick or something, with all the staring he’s doing - Bill gets up, and pats him on the shoulder.

Dipper glances down at an empty plate. Frowning faintly. They’ve only been here, like, an hour, maybe two. There’s more to the city, he’s sure; he hasn’t seen even a single percent of what he wants to - 

But fine. Bill says go, then Dipper’s gotta get up and follow.  

They head out on the busy streets. Bill seems totally in place here, even though he should stand out like a sore thumb - or maybe he does, because a lot of people are backing away from him as he strides down the sidewalk..

The garage is another surprise, and the third is when a nervous old man hands Bill the keys to a bright red car without a top on it. Something out of date, even to Dipper’s inexperienced eyes. Possibly from the last time he was on Earth, which would make it - Dipper doesn’t even know how old.

Either way, there’s no time. Before he can ask too many questions or even think too much, they’re driving at a high speed down the highway. 

Already on the move. Just like Bill; he doesn’t stay still often, he has too much energy. Kind of a shame really. Dipper could have spent a lot longer in town than just brunch. 

Dipper watches the buildings go by, chin resting in his hand. Sure, that was. A Lot. But he’s used to dealing with things that are A Lot by now.

And it was… Beautiful. Messy and complicated and beautiful.

Why does Bill want to change reality? It already has plenty of chaos. Even if it’s not Bill’s type, or not enough for him - so what?  He has the Fearamid for that. A multidimensional pyramid larger than three of those huge skyscrapers put together, packed with thousands of demons who all obey his whims. 

All his power, and all the chaos he could possibly conjure. Bill has plenty of everything he wants, and Dipper got, like, three hours of seeing the place. Fascinating, busy stuff that Bill would bulldoze over on the slightest whim, before he could - 

It’s not fair. 

Bill drives on blithely, as Dipper hunches over in his seat. He must not be reading Dipper’s mind, because he isn’t reacting to the incredibly heretical thoughts bubbling up.

Like how it isn’t fair that Bill has fucking everything. All the power and the knowledge and the immortality. The sheer confidence to see what he wants, and take it. 

Even with everything going for him, Bill’s still not satisfied. Nothing will ever be enough, including his own bed of chaos and destruction, he has to take and want and consume. He always wants more. 

Dipper grips the seatbelt. It cuts into his palms; he holds on tighter. 

Earth isn’t Bill’s, and it has to stay that way. He doesn’t need this place. Ruining stuff for a tiny bit fun is just… evil.

Somebody should stop him. 

A light touch on Dipper’s arm has him flinching. It’s just Bill, though. Taking Dipper by the wrist and prying until the deathgrip on the seatbelt relaxes. He laces his fingers through Dipper’s, whistling a cheerful tune.

Dipper relaxes a fraction. He sits back in his seat, and gives Bill’s hand a squeeze.

Not like, stop-stop him, though. More like… whack him with a broom, or rolled-up newspaper until he stops goddamn sniffing around someone else’s stuff. 

Good thing he can’t actually take over Earth, then. Whatever keeps Bill in line, Dipper hopes it sticks to him like glue.

Then Bill laughs, and Dipper jolts against the seatbelt, gripping the car for dear life as they screech around a corner. On the straightaway they slow down a tad; The trees are less a blur. Dipper can make out each individual one again. 

His heart still beats fast, a rapid rabbiting pace. 

They’re close. He can tell. Something in the air, the scent of it. That one large tree in the distance, and it’s not like Bill’s going to turn around for him. They’re too deep in at this point, heading back to -

There it is.

He can see the buildings, low and almost ramshackle compared to the town. The heavy canvas of some surface tents, the metal doors to the lower cavern passages, where the main bulk of the cult resides and  - judging by the time - likely is in the middle of their mid-afternoon devotions. 

Bill slows the car, turning in a lazy semi-circle to head towards the entrance. He hums for a moment, then slows to a stop. Apparently thinking over their approach. 

Time for contemplation. That’s a first. Not that Dipper’s going to complain; even a brief reprieve gives him time to think. 

Frankly, he’s not sure how they’ll get in... But it’s not like there’s a lot in their way, either.

The fence around the compound is barely seven feet tall. Chain link wire with a lock on the gate. It ropes around the buildings, all encompassing - but very, very thin.

And from the outside, it looks so… Small. 

Months ago Dipper would have said it was impossible to pass. Climbable, yes - but then where would he go? Into the world, with all the heretics and criminals, the sinful mass of man? Where he knew nobody, and had nothing? A world of trouble and terror and people who could hurt him. Too many unknowns to risk.

After spending time with Bill, though, he can see it as the demon would - absolutely pathetic. 

There isn’t even razor wire on top. 

Kind of funny, really, that what keeps the cultists in is more mental than physical. Literally the only thing that even vaguely fits their ‘god’, and they weren’t even trying.

Then he hears the engine rev. Bill gives his hand a squeeze, turning towards him with a vicious grin, as the car accelerates at a terrifying speed, running straight towards -

“Wait! You’re going to hit-!” Dipper says, at the same time he realizes that’s the point.

The fence crashes down around them with a tangle of twisted metal and a noise so loud that it must be audible even underground. Bill laughs like a madman, spinning the car around to a stop in the midst of the buildings in a smoking circle. For the seventh time today, Dipper’s extremely glad he put on his seatbelt.

“Woo!” Bill exclaims, turning off the ignition and leaping over the driver’s side to stand on the ground. He sets fists on his hips, examining the compound like a particularly interesting new piece of land to conquer.  “Nothing like a bit of wanton destruction to start off the day, am I right?”

Dipper’s still too rattled to move; he feels around for the latch to the seatbelt. Once it’s undone, he simply. Sits in place. He needs a moment. 

“No sense dallying, kid.” Striding around the car, Bill opens the door and half-helps, half-lifts Dipper bodily out of the seat. “We got a lot of vengeance to take!”

Dipper hesitates. Then he nods, not sure what to say.

Bill glances at him. A quick once over, then a big bright smile. “See? You’re fine.” Another quick pat on the back, then a palm pressing against it as he steers Dipper around the car and forward. “Ready or not, here we come!”

The packed earth of the conclave kicks up dust under Dipper’s feet. It’s getting all over his shoes. He feels a little pang - Bill really wanted him to look presentable, and now it’s getting all messed up. He should maybe go back to the car and try and clean it up - 

Another insistent push. Dipper straightens his back, pulling his arms around to his front while he still can. Before - no, Bill wouldn’t grab like that, or drag him along the dirt. Not after getting him dressed up, it’d ruin all the work he put in.

Right. And he’s not in trouble, this time. Bill’s - it’s fine. He has to remember that.

Dipper forces his head up, glancing around the buildings.

Welp. Here they are. Back at the cult. The sight and the surroundings and the smell of the place bring memories bubbling to the surface. 

And their dramatic entrance caught considerable attention, because the doors to the caverns slam open with a resounding ‘clang’. 

Two bulky cultists storm out - no robes, just ‘regular’ clothing, ready to investigate the interlopers - then screech to a halt as they see their God approach. Dipper swears their heels leave tracks in the dirt. 

“Hey, fellas,” Bill says, with a too-casual wave. “Didja miss me? I know you missed me!”

Dipper watches their expressions change, from stony focus to wide-eyed alarm. One of them drops to his knees, while the other stays still as a statue. 

“Now that’s what I like to see.” Bill heads over to the two shocked humans, pulling Dipper along in his wake. He sets hands on his hips, smirking. “Ahem. Proper deference is due, dontcha think?”

He snaps his fingers, and the other grunt buckles. He hits the ground, knees first, then flops over nearly on his face, both hands pressed together in prayer, with sweat building on his thick forehead. 

Oh hey.  Dipper knows these guys. 

He’d almost forgotten - how could he forget - that these were the two that pulled him up to the altar. For his ‘sacrifice’. Where he nearly…

A quick glance over at Bill shows no recognition. But then - right, he wasn’t there for most of that. And most humans are beneath his notice. 

“Much better,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. Pulling Dipper along behind him, he strides past the two guards. One of them groans; Dipper barely catches Bill’s leg pull back from what was a very solid kick.

Sunlight dips out of view as they head down the stairs. It’s cooler underground, though not by much so far. Even then Dipper feels oddly clammy. He keeps wiping his hands on his clothes and still they feel cold and damp.

Here they go, then. 

Now it’s time to show off all he’s learned, and the power he has now. The gifts Bill has given him, and the favor he’s been shown. 

Dipper swallows, though it’s difficult. His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth. 

Behind the ‘welcoming committee’, a small crowd of robed figures huddles on the cavern steps. One yelps at the sight of Bill, whispering about ‘prophecy’. Another, younger man scuttles off, calling down the hallways. The rest stare at Bill with a mix of stunned looks, and absolute reverence. 

Dipper knows these people, too. A couple of the older group, a few younger. The middle-aged man with the weasley too-eager look; frankly Dipper’s surprised he’s here, instead of back at the altar. He would have sworn that that guy was planning on stabbing the priest before Bill did, and for more ambitious reasons. 

“What are you doing. Our lord has come to us!” The ambitious one hisses, tucking the hood of his robe up and elbowing the other cultists around him. “Be presentable for him.”

There’s a quiet rush to cover up faces; adjusting trinkets and bowing in a rush. Dipper watches the pale, shocked face of one of his classmates, too stunned to pull up her hood until an older man shoves it on with enough force to nearly topple her. 

A gentle tug on Dipper’s wrist catches his attention. He turns towards Bill, blinking up at a wide, wicked grin. 

“Y’know, I didn’t really get a good look at the place before, kid.” Bill says, lifting his chin to survey the winding tunnels of the cavern. He squeezes Dipper’s wrist. “Before we start the main event - how ‘bout a little tour?”

Dipper hesitates. That’s not very exciting, but. It’s true that Bill sort of showed up and dipped out without looking around. He’s a curious guy. He would want to take a look with his own eyes, not just the images of them. 

Another tug, followed by a teasing nudge. “What, you forget your way around?”

Dipper shakes his head, but before he can figure out what to say, the ambitious man steps forward. 

“My lord,” He simpers, bowing so low he nearly loses his balance. “A mere acolyte - a blasphemer - does not deserve the honor of guiding you. Let me-”

His words cut off abruptly. Bill moves lightning-fast, and his grip on the exposed throat slams skull against the stone wall.  

The man squirms at the end of Bill’s arm like a worm on a hook. His eyes bulge out, stark white in the bright red of his face as he scrambles for purchase, both trying to find his footing and not daring to claw at his ‘god.’ The hand on his neck tightens further, a sickening squeeze. Flesh bulges between Bill’s fingers like dough. 

“If I wanted your opinion,” Bill hisses, teeth bared in something not-quite a smile. “I’d scoop it outta your skull with a dessert spoon.” 

There’s a wet noise;something cartilaginous crunches, and Dipper shuts his eyes. His knuckles have gone white where he’s holding Bill’s arm. 

“Ha!” Bill sounds amused. There’s some thumping, then a ‘thud’ as he lets the body drop.  “Boy, humans are squishy.” 

The girl cultist hiccups, in a way that suggests she’s about to cry, wavering like she’ll fall. All the rest have backed away, sticking to the walls like barnacles. 

Dipper makes a low sound in the back of his throat.  All he gets in return is a quick flash of smile, and a pat on his hand as the last struggles die down at the end of Bill’s arm. 

“Figures. Some jackasses just can’t mind their own business!” Bill says, rolling his eye. “But enough with that, kid. Let’s get going!”

Yes, definitely, absolutely. Dipper nods again, holding tight to Bill’s arm and shuffling past the robed and staring cultists. 

Anything to get away from that. 

A tour, though. There’s very little that can go wrong with that, because there’s not a ton to see. Dipper can walk him around some tunnels and wave at the poorly decorated rooms. Then it’ll be done, and they can-

At some point the other, unstrangled cultists started trailing in their wake Dipper does a double-take when he notices, and catches a glance of his classmate, and her wide, wet, slightly reddened eyes. 

He can’t believe that after all of… that, they’re still following. 

“So! Why not start with your digs?” Bill nudges him with an elbow, with a teasing smile. Like he’s completely forgotten . “I’ve been meaning to see how you lived it up!”

The pointy bit of his elbow hits Dipper’s ribs, and he doesn’t flinch. This is fine, and normal. It’s not a punishment.

Bringing him to his old room though… He doesn’t think Bill would like that.

Dipper shakes his head, once. Lips pursed together, not sure how to explain. 

That it’s not… the guest room back at Bill’s place is better. This one was ransacked before he even left. If Bill wants to know more about him, he could just barge into Dipper’s new room and figure everything out. 

For some reason, Bill’s looking at him weird. 

After a moment, he nudges Dipper in the side again, smiling wider.. “Can’t be anything I haven’t seen before, sapling. I’ve been all around the multiverse!” He throws an arm out before him.  “Lead the way!”

An order. 

Dipper straightens up. He can’t exactly disobey that. Not in front of - Bill asked him to do it. It’s not that big a deal. Maybe it won’t be bad. 

And it’s not like he can stop their ‘tour’ now.

Word must have gotten out about their arrival by this point. The messenger did his work. Still doing it, actually; Dipper can hear him calling out and knocking on doors, and the bustle of footsteps on stone goes from a few taps to a quiet thunder. 

Their company hasn’t left to join the summons. A few more have peeked out of their rooms, a small bustle of robes behind them. Looking for signs from this incredible supernatural being. Taking in their every move.

The back of Dipper’s shirt is cool with sweat. Hopefully it doesn’t show through the suit. Bill wouldn’t like that. 

He guides Bill Cipher along the halls of the conclave, feet treading familiar stone. Even through these thick-soled shoes, he knows every inch of this uneven rock. He never misplaces a step. 

Bill doesn’t stumble either. Not even once. In that his recovery’s so fast that almost nobody would notice, if he wasn’t holding tight to Dipper. 

And that’s how a god should be. Unapproachable, untouchable. Never a single flaw. A firm hand, holding him on his upper arm, guiding the believer with perfect knowledge.

Despite everything, Dipper’s still not a believer - but he hopes his expression is appropriately devout. Bill’s right beside him, yet he’s the one leading the way. A sheep leading a wolf.

Gotta make it look good. For Bill. That’s what he wants.

Getting to his old room doesn’t take long. It’d be nice if there were more hallways to meander, and put this off.

But Bill did order it andDipper hasn’t forgotten his place. He doesn’t think he ever could. 

As they pass by the dormitories, he slows to a near crawl. Bill casts another glance over, then rolls his eyes. 

“What’s with the dawdling?” Bill says, bright and amused. He jogs Dipper’s arm in a playful waggle “Too many pictures of me? Some racy sketches?”

Dipper purses his lips, and doesn’t dignify that with an answer. He shrugs instead. 

Bill lets out a sharp breath, but doesn’t add on. There’s that faint frown again, brow furrowed. Not in a ‘disappointment at no banter’ way, something different.  Dipper can’t place it.

Not that he has time to work it out. They’re here. 

He lurches to a stop in front of his old room. Bill makes a confused noise, looking between Dipper and the crowd behind him. Then, squinting, at the door to his left.

“What, that’s it?” Bill glances between the entrance and Dipper. “No, ‘come on in’, or ‘oh no, don’t go in there’? Not even a ‘home, sweet, home’?”

It’s so hard for Dipper not to bite his lip. He’s glad he doesn’t, though; his teeth are gritted so hard they would snip right through.

This is just a place he stayed, once. It’s not a great one, not even a good one. He never belonged here. 

There’s a beat of silence, then - Bill lets out a huff. The metal hinges creak as he pushes the door open, and storms into Dipper’s former lodgings with a grunt. 

Dipper hovers near the doorway, but doesn’t enter. He already knows every inch of the place. There’s nothing else he needs to see. 

Two steps in, Bill pauses. Probably because there wasn’t enough space to truly storm in. 

For a moment, he even looks… surprised? 

Dipper frowns. Like. What was he expecting, another palace? It’s pretty much the same as any other low-ranking member; if anything Dipper was lucky it wasn’t a literal cell. 

Bill takes another step, pausing in the middle of the room. Stalks forward a few paces, then seems to measure the length and breadth of it with his steps. His shoe taps a fast rhythm on the floor, and Dipper sees his eye twitch - then he turns. Touching the back wall, where admittedly there are a few marks. 

No Bills, though. Just tallies from the days Dipper wasn’t allowed out. There aren’t too many, really. It could have been worse. 

Dipper turns to let Bill do… whatever he’s doing, without being spied on - then instantly turns back. 

He rests his head on the cold stone, just near the doorway. Inside, he can hear Bill muttering something under his breath. 

The little group of cultists tagging along has swelled to a pretty decent one. Dozens of people packing the halls, with tentative whispers and quiet mutters of reverence. Watching everything Bill does, albeit with some confusion as to why he’s poking around some loser’s room. 

And Dipper, too. 

They know him, same as he knows them. A familiarity borne of years of experience. And while yes, he did disappear in the presence of their god - he’s still the same person. He’s been here since he was young, running carelessly around the halls and getting his robes tangled. They’ve had years of hearing what he said, and memories of the ceremony. Where absolutely everyone had to attend. 

Clothes aren’t going to fool them. They see who he really is. 

This blasphemer, sticking out like a sore thumb next to the elegance of their god, and he can’t… What if they aren’t wrong, for once.

Any moment now they’ll raise their voices, loud and ringing with chants, and he’ll be back in that room alone. Locked in and - 

“Ha!” Bill storms out of the chamber, snorting and taking Dipper by the shoulder. “Whatever. You’ve got plenty of cool stuff back at my place!” 

One firm pat nearly sends Dipper reeling; he wasn’t braced for it. He straightens up and looks attentive. 

Everyone’s watching. Best behavior, no slipups. 

Bill watches him, head cocked to one side. He’s got a weird expression on his face. Smiling, but thinly. A tension around his eye that - He looks away before Dipper can get a good look. 

“Gotta say though, I’m not impressed,” Bill says, turning a look to the crowd. Their bodies shuffle against each other in terrified silence, before his eye flicks back to Dipper. “But hey, I’ve seen worse! Mostly when I’ve caused it!”

Dipper keeps staring at the opposite wall. He doesn't want to see anyone’s faces, even in the shadow of their hoods.

Bill mutters something under his breath, then says, “Let’s get going.”

And so the tour continues. Despite everything. 

They pass the dining hall - Bill scoffs, and drags a finger through today’s basic food. He makes a disgusted face at the thin oatmeal dripping from his finger, before barging into the back kitchen and coming back with fresh donuts. 

He offers one to Dipper, who recoils without taking it. That’s for high-ranking members, not - He can’t. Turning his head away, he shuffles backwards into the hall. 

They’re touring, not having snacks. Best to move on before Bill can throw a fit about whatever he decides isn’t worthwhile this time. 

Bill thankfully moves on when Dipper leaves the room. A little quieter, with that thread of tension drawn a little more tight. can almost feel all his eyes activating, a subtle thrum of power that rings in his senses and has the cultists trailing them let out whispers of prayer. 

There’s nothing that interested him most places; he skips half the rooms Dipper tries to usher him into, striding past in a manner that brooks no argument. 

Dipper should protest. He keeps a steady pace instead, stuffing his hands in the uncomfortable pockets of his suit.

Why can’t they just get things over with now. Nearly everyone’s here, and the others could be gathered shortly in the altar room. It’d take like, five minutes, they’ll do what they came for and it’ll be done.

When they reach the library though. That’s a hit. 

Though not for the reasons their tagalongs would want. 

“Seriously?” Bill scoffs. He thumbs through the several-decade outdated volume, looking wryly amused. “This is the kinda crap they keep around for education?”

And despite everything - Dipper has to let out a snort. God, he wishes he was joking. It’s the worst.

Bill looks up sharply, eye suddenly alight with mischief. “Knew you’d agree, kid,“ He says, warmly smug. And winks. “Oughta show ‘em what this kind of crap deserves!”

With that said, he pulls out a book, throwing it over his shoulder. It lands with a crack, spine splitting, and several pages come loose from their leaves. 

Dipper leaps into action, seizing the book and making a grab at the pages. Before he can start stuffing it back back on the shelf, another one lands nearby. Then another. A third rockets past him, already on fire, and slops to a stop near the opposite bookshelf. Smoke starts to rise from the shelved volumes.

Bill cackles in delight. His rampage continues, careless of whatever happens and whoever has to sort out his goddamn mess. 

“Hey, what’s the problem? It’s all bullshit, anyway.” Bill says, turning to see Dipper scrambling to put out the growing flames. “C’mon, kid! Have some fun!”

He can’t have fun when things are messed up. People are going to get really upset. 

This catalog is supposed to be neat and orderly and undamaged, that was one of the very few responsibilities Dipper was trusted with back when he lived here, and half a minute into Bill being here it’s all going wrong. 

Even if Dipper wasn’t the one to do it, he was nearby when it happened. That’s close enough. 

But Bill’s too fast - Dipper has to race to get things back in order against a being of literal chaos, and he can’t keep up. There’s too much.

Vaguely he hears Bill say something else, but he’s not paying attention. He shoves another book back in place, bending down to scoop up another couple into his arms. One slips out of his grasp and he tries to get it again, only for more to fumble out of his hold. 

“Hey.” A loud voice. Then, louder, “HEY!”

Dipper’s yanked back up onto his feet, and the last of the books tumbles out of his arms. He looks up at Bill, and realizes that at some point he started breathing too fast, and too hard. Now he’s lightheaded, on top of being worried.

“That’s enough.” Bill says, voice flat. 

Dipper lets the last book drop from his arms, and holds very, very still. 

Shit. Shit. shit. He’s screwed up, things aren’t going nearly as smoothly as advertised, and now there’s going to be -

“Finally! Friggin’ useless goddamn-” Bill growls, sneering at the bookshelves and probably not at the useless goddamn acolyte, slightly shaking in front of him. “What’d’ya say we get moving?” 

Dipper nods. 

Bill looks at him with clear frustration, and gives him a jostle. 

Dipper nods again, more fervently. Yes, of course, he’s moving. They’re moving. Tour, yes, right. Back to the hallway. Another room, another show. His legs feel like they’re being puppeted, marching up and down on automatic. 

They pass by rooms, and caverns. Most bits of the cult Bill doesn’t seem interested in, so he moves on. They linger for a full few minutes at the priest’s old quarters - he doesn’t barge in like Bill does, waiting outside as is proper - but when Bill comes back out he can see the smoke rising in the room. 

Again, he’s taken in hand by a strong grip. Again, he marches. 

And with that painfully tight grip on his upper arm, the imposing figure behind hm, Dipper finds himself standing in front of a place he thought he’d never, ever, ever, ever have to go back to. 

Bill didn’t lead him to this place, his feet did. Happening on automatic, before it had time to become a thought. 

And = this time’s different. Bill wouldn't, he’s sure. He can get away this time. He doesn’t have to be here, nothing has been done wrong under Cipher’s all-seeing eye. It’s fine. 

He almost manages to step away before Bill’s grip  holds him short. 

“Oh? What’s this?” Bill says. Back to his lighter tone, genuinely curious. The poke at his ribs is probably intended to be playful. “This place a favorite of yours?”

He waits for a response. When he doesn’t get one for several seconds, he tries the door - locked. Frowning, Bill knocks on the door with a knuckle in a quick demanding rap. 

The door creaks open. The smell of cleaning chemicals doesn't quite cover other, deeper scents.

The elder scourger squints over his glasses, then wipes them on his shirt. Putting them back on, he looks at the crowd, then startles at Bill. Bowing deep, muttering some of the chants -  

Then his eye sets on Dipper, and he breaks out in a knowing grin. 

“Ah, I see the problem, my lord. I’ve handled this one before, always up to no good. Not surprised you had trouble with him.” He sets blunt fists on his hips, knuckles cracking under the pressure. “How many lashes today?”

Bill cocks his head to one side. Tapping his finger with a chin, and  letting out a long, thoughtful hum. 

It only takes a few moments for him to come to a conclusion, and then the flashing white of his smile is blinding. “Oh, there’s gonna be loads of ‘em! Oodles of beatings!” He says, bright and airy. Dipper feels his hand lift from his shoulder and pat his chest, pushing him back. “But I think I'll take care of the troublemaker myself.”

Is it possible to go so cold you die? Dipper doesn’t know if he’s breathing, or if his heart is beating, stiff and still like a statue. 

Then Bill kicks the elder directly in the chest, sending him toppling back into the correction room. Startled swearing rings against stone, along with a clatter of something toppling over. 

Dipper blinks, twice. He looks up. 

Bill sucks in a breath through his teeth, letting it out in a low hiss. The warm hand on Dipper’s chest eases him back until he feels rough stone behind him. He flashes a smile, and winks. “Wait here, kid.”

For a moment Dipper’s confused - he’s not in the room, and now Bill is, charging forward with furious intent, so. What was he saying about - 

The door slams shut. Silence.

Then a scream rings out, muffled by stone - and higher-pitched than it should be, from a grown man. 

Dipper presses up harder against the wall. Every inch of the stone is cool, growing cold against the damp shirt on his back. 

Noises barely heard through the cracks around the door. Ones he’s made before, words half-formed. Pleading, too, and cursing, that’s pretty common. Dipper’s said things he didn’t mean, when he was being corrected, it’s not surprising that someone else would. 

Strangely, Dipper can look off into nothingness. Letting the sounds all pass over and through him, like half-watching something on the TV back at Bill’s. It is happening, in a way, but one that’s distant and fake. No different than anything on that awful drama, or one of Bill’s preferred horror flicks.

Eventually it’s pretty quiet. Dipper’s glad that awful scene is over, it dragged out too long. 

Though even though the punishment’s over, he still hears wet, meaty thuds. 

Even Bill reemerging doesn’t affect him. Though he’s breathing hard, and the bright speckles on the suit jacket slung over his shoulder might as well be colorful paint, instead of - 

Dipper looks at the opposite wall again. Letting it all play out. 

Bill snaps something to one of the crowd, tugging his shirtsleeves back down from their rolled-up position. There’s a quiet response, one that makes him frown as he wipes his hands clean with a damp cloth. 

“So!” Bill says. Very bright. Far too bright, a forced enthusiasm. “Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I even gave him the ironic fate treatment! Kinda cool, huh?”

Dipper looks at his beaming face - too wide, clearly forced - then drops his gaze to Bill’s lapels. Three red dots are on his collar. A small amount, considering. They even look like they’ve already dried. 

“Hello, you listening? That guy is never gonna lay a finger or anything else on you, ever again.” He tilts Dipper’s head up with one knuckle, smiling more gently. “Seems like cause for celebration to me!”

Though his hands are clean, he might not have gotten under his nails. Or maybe it’s the open door, and the steady drip Dipper hears in the silence. Either way, the hallway reeks of blood, thick enough to -

Dipper’s arm darts out to brace himself as he nearly loses his brunch. 

“Whoa, steady there.” Bill tugs him back upward, holding his upper arms. His eye darts up and down, a quick once-over. “This is going better than planned! Wreaking shop, taking out the worst of the pack, everyone gathering for the Grand Finale…” He trails off. The frown increases. “Pine Tree?”

Dipper looks back up at Bill, but meeting his eyes is too much. He focuses on his chin instead. 

“Hey. HEY,” Bill insists. His eye flickers blue for an instant, roving over him, then returns to gold and shuts, very tightly. For a second, he simply grits his teeth together, then -  “Why won’t you say anything?”

Dipper’s throat works. He swallows, then purses his lips. Putting in more effort just locks his jaw up tighter.

It’s not like he can’t speak. He has a tongue again. All the bits are present and active and should be able to move. He’s not, like, cursed or anything. 

Distantly, he notices he’s shaking. But it’s not very much. If he’s lucky, Bill might not notice. 

He is not making a scene, and he is not complaining. At no point has he stopped things in their tracks, or argued. He kept pace with his god like a good believer, and didn’t throw up on his shoes or anything. He’s fine. He can’t even be corrected anymore.

There's a strange, lingering quiet. 

Not just that the crowd is gone, Dipper realizes, but Bill himself has stopped talking. 

For a few long moments, Bill simply watches him. No commentary, not even a snappy joke. Examining Dipper for some invisible sign. Whatever it is he’s seeing, he’s having a rough time parsing it out. Almost like he’s confused.

Then a lightbulb goes off, and the cloud lifts. Bill even snaps his fingers.

 “Hey.” Bill nudges him, adding a wink as he spreads his arms wide. “You wanna-”

Dipper launches himself into those arms before Bill can finish the sentence. The impact has Bill letting out ‘whoof’ of breath, staggering back a half-step. 

Whatever, he can handle it. Dipper’s just one human, Bill’s tough and strong enough to deal with that, and besides, he offered. 

Dipper shoves his face into the thankfully dry fabric of his lapels, gripping hard on the back of his shirt. Above him, he hears a low chuckle. Arms come up and around him, wrapping him tight in warmth until Dipper feels enveloped in his presence.

Slowly, Dipper breathes in again, then out. Repeating it in a rhythm, trying to keep it steady. 

Being in Bill’s arms smells like being in his wardrobe, only with extra Actual Bill. Slightly metallic and  a hint of his cologne, solid flesh filling out the fabric like a well-stuffed plush. Though one that’s a lot firmer, and moving slightly as he breathes. 

Clinging to Bill Cipher like this would be a death sentence, but fuck it, Dipper’s special. And it’s nice. Holding a person close, who wants Dipper to do it and holds him right back.

Against his back, a palm presses between his shoulderblades. Moving down his back, then up again. And between that and Bill, chest moving as he chuckles, and the steady beat of his heart. 

He doesn’t know how long they stand there. Or what Bill is thinking. But he’s not letting go. 

Eventually, Dipper feels himself relaxing. Tension drains out of tired limbs, leaving him looser in Bill’s grasp. 

Not all of it’s gone. But some. Knowing Bill’s here. Not dragging him around, or barking orders or - other stuff, just there in his arms. 

Another chuckle. Bill thumps his back twice, clearly having noticed.. Not that it’s hard, with Dipper going from ramrod-straight to nearly slumped. “Ha! Figures. Humans love this stuff!” 

Bill sounds particularly smug for figuring out a pretty base-level fact about people. If Dipper doesn’t roll his eyes, it’s only because he’s busy. 

It’s funny, because he’s pretty sure Bill isn’t all tense biceps and shoulders anymore either. 

They linger for a moment. There’s a silence that, for once, doesn’t seem like Bill needs to fill it - until there’s two pats on his back. “Better?”

Dipper sniffs. With his chin tucked on Bill’s shoulder, it almost feels that way. Given another five or ten or thirty minutes, he could maybe even believe it.

But Bill’s waiting for an answer.

Getting him one is a struggle. Dipper’s tongue feels sticky. The stubborn thing remains glued to the floor of his mouth no matter how he tries to get it moving. Swallowing doesn’t clear his throat from the block that’s settled in there, somewhere above his chest. 

Eventually, he manages, “Mh-hm.”

“Great!” Bill exclaims, arms rising up and away. He also steps back, clasping his hands together to rub them sinisterly. “‘Cause we got a lot more to do tonight. We haven’t even gotten to the best part!”

For a moment, Dipper wants to grab him again. Seize him by the arms and bring them back around and just-

He nods instead. 

This was the plan. Getting vengeance. They can’t chicken out three-quarters of the way through just because Dipper’s… he just had a moment, it’s whatever. 

When Bill takes him by the arm again, it’s not to grab and drag. Instead, he crooks his elbow, then places Dipper’s hand on the inside of it. And winks. 

“C’mon, smile, sapling!” He bumps Dipper with a hip. “Let’s make one hell of an entrance.”

Again, Dipper nods. Again, he lets Bill take the lead. His muscles scream in protest, unwilling to keep walking until he forces them to move. 

He follows a half-step behind as they tread the corridors. Eerily quiet ones now that the rest of the cult has rushed to obey the orders of their ‘god’. Unaware of what awaits them - or, considering everything, possibly terribly aware. 

Distantly, Dipper hopes that it’ll be quick. One and done and then they can leave…

Fat chance, though. Bill doesn’t want that. It’s not his style. 

He wants to make a goddamn spectacle.

Why did they have to come back here at all? Revenge is whatever, it didn’t have to be now. Not when he was this close to just. Forgetting some of this place. Or parts of it, the things that kept him up at night. With the cult out of sight and out of mind, it dulled the sharper edges, like how Bill poured that numbing liquid on his wrist so long ago.

The doors to the altar room are open. There’s a huddle of hunched figures, bundled in their crimson robes and bowed already. Lines of people hoping and waiting and muttering low, prayers of worship ringing distantly down the hall.

Dipper nearly backpedals, then takes a deep breath. Letting it out. 

Why is this happening. He could be sitting in his comfy chair right now, away from the cold underground walls and warmed by the fire, watching Bill ramble on about how ‘great’ he is, and maybe even finishing his drawing. Back in his room where it’s safe. 

But no. Dipper’s here again, just when he thought he could leave it behind.

His teeth hurt from how tightly they’re clenched. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and a ball of taut frustration, tight in his chest. 

Getting through this is going to be like a sacrifice. All it takes is gritted teeth and determination. Not showing weakness, not even a single tear. 

Just hold on for the ride, and hope it doesn’t hurt too much.

Bill takes in the room with a sweeping look, chin lifted. He smirks. Instead of an announcement, he stalks straight through the open aisle formed between the rows of cultists. 

Guess this ‘special event’ doesn’t call for much ceremony. He smiles and waves, giving little idle comments to whatever’s unfortunate enough to catch his eye. He lands a solid kick on a cultist who inched too close for his liking, and cackles. 

Dipper feels the burn of dozens of eyes, laser focused on his back. They can’t be seen under the hoods, but it doesn’t stop them from reaching out. He hunches over, using Bill to cover some of the sightlines.

This could still be quick. Showy doesn’t mean extended or even that Bill has something truly awful in mind…

One quick glance at the look on his face shuts that idea down. The smile on Bill’s face is so sharp he could cut himself on it.

“Boy, if I had a nickel for every worthless piece of crap in this room - I’d have a ton of equally worthless metal discs!” Bill chortles again, nudging Dipper with his elbow. Possibly to get his attention. “Am I right?”

Dipper stares at the floor instead. 

A beat of silence. Bill mutters something, leading him towards the altar at the front of the room. 

One, two, three steps up to the dais. Dipper doesn’t need to look, he barely feels them. Like he’s walking on air. 

Bill pats his hand twice, then pries it off of his elbow. He has to do it finger by finger. The process takes him a while, since they keep latching back on. 

The altar surface hasn’t been cleaned. Guess nobody got around to the messy parts in his absence. Brownish-black clots lining the three sides of Bill’s image, carved into the rock. Thin trails leading into the recess, leading back to a misshapen pool at the front.

Someone did pick up after them, though. A little. 

Because the decorative ritual knife lies in the center of the pattern. Still silver-bright and clean.

Dipper traces a thumb down the raised line on his wrist, clutching it tight.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other assorted assholes!” Bill’s voice echoes through the chamber like it was made for it. Maybe it was. “You’re all gathered here today to address some pretty shitty things you’ve been up to!” His tone turns coy, almost finger-wagging. “Gotta say I might have liked it! If you hadn’t picked the wrong friggin’ target.”

A soft muttering. A sound of discontent, even nervousness. 

That’s the first smart reaction Dipper’s seen from these people since they arrived. 

Some part of him is still surprised, though. Their ‘god’ is here. Shouldn’t that fill them with, like. Violent fervor? Vindication for their decades of worship, now that he’s finally arrived? That same intense energy, the cheering and shouting and excitement when a ceremony goes just…

Right. 

Considering what Bill’s done since showing up… Maybe Dipper’s not that surprised. It hasn’t exactly been what they expected.

Bill’s been talking. A tone common to most of his rambles, something something always watching, something something about ‘wrath’. Never quite saying why said wrath is arriving, since he’s a cryptic jerk about everything. 

A burst of blue light blooms, followed by a horrible, extended scream. Along with the sound of flames, a scramble of people trying to get away from the heat. Several other voices join the terror in a different kind of chorus, discordant as each person tries a different song at once. 

Dipper tries not to let that stick in his head. Think about anything else. Anywhere else.

Bill starts laughing, clapping as if he’s pulled off a fun magic trick. 

Maybe it’s not as bad as he thought. It could be - Dipper glances over his shoulder - 

And immediately averts his eyes. The smoke stings, and the smell of overcooked meat and carbon leaves him coughing. 

And not a single one of these idiots has fled. Nobody protests, or makes a comment about how he overcooked the barbecue, which would make Bill miffed and amused at the same time. Something that defuses his anger and gets him off this stupid track. 

The chorus grows in volume, settling on a single song. Several cultists have fallen to their knees, hands clasped in prayer.

Fuck, they're just-

Too much scripture. Too many lies. They don’t know what’s going on. Nobody’s ever told them, they never had a chance to figure it out. 

Even though Bill’s here in all his terror and… not quite all his power - no scripture could have prepared them for the real deal. 

If any of them had, they would have run long, long ago.

One voice speaks up. “My lord.” Quiet, hesitant. The girl’s voice. “I don’t think-”

“Ah ah ah!” When Bill speaks, it’s with a sneer in his tone. “Who said you could think? Much less talk back.”

What is he talking about? Bill loves that stuff - 

“Now there’s an idea,” Bill muses. His shoe taps the stone a few times. Then he snaps his fingers. “Hey, guys! Bring up our first demonstration of the night!”

Twin grunts sound from somewhere in the crowd. Dipper reels around, watching the guards from his sacrifice, grabbing the girl by the arms. 

Dipper mouth drops open - then he clicks it shut. 

“No, no, no,” Pleading, like that would work. Mascara is running down the girl’s face. He didn’t notice she was wearing any earlier. That’s forbidden here, a violation of the rules - “My lord, wait-”

“Ooh, you’re a mouthy one, aintcha?” Bill tuts, shaking his head. Despite his wry expression, there’s a hint of amusement. “Turns out I got just the ironic punishment for that! Kind of a what-comes-around-goes-around thing!!”

What?

With a jaunty whistle, Bill leans over Dipper to pick up the discarded knife. Metal scrapes against stone as he drags over the surface, a dramatic flourish.

Dipper’s eyes go wide. 

A twirl sends flashes of light off the edge. Bill toys with it a little more before testing the blade against thumb, and nods with pleasure. He grins, gesturing to the guards. “Hold her down and open that yap.”

The girl is shoved down to her knees. Dirty fingers shove against her jaw, into her mouth, until even with the struggling it’s pried open. The small pink tongue scoots to the back, a snail curling helplessly up in its broken shell.

Dipper  can feel his own, at the back of his throat. He knows the ache of having a jaw held open. The salt-warm of tears on cheeks, staring wide-eyed at a relentless force that won’t stop, even if you could speak, with shining sharp metal ready to remove that possibility.

An idea snaps into place, bright and sharp as the knife, and almost as cold.

All of this. Each and every horrible thing Bill’s done isn’t just to torment, because he’s never so simple as to have just one motive when he could have six, and he cares about what Dipper thinks. About what happened to him.

This is… revenge.

Bill’s doing this because he thinks that’s what Dipper wants. 

“Y’know, if I hadn’t thought of this first, I bet Pine Tree woulda personally requested it!” Bill taps the knife ons own cheek thoughtfully, then grins. “Say goodbye to your-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

The words echo against the walls, resonate around the cavern. Loud enough to cover up the wails, and stop Bill in his tracks.

Everyone goes still. Everything else has gone deadly, terribly silent. 

Dipper realizes he’s leaning forward, fists clenched. His throat feels rough and his own voice rings in his ears, but fuck it, at least it didn’t break and Bill has cut that shit out.

Bill turns. He straightens up and gives Dipper a look more puzzled than anything else, because he’s a goddamn fucking idiot. “Pine Tree?”

Instead of answers, Dipper just grunts as he storms forward. His jaw clenched so tight it hurts. 

Bill’s looking at him expectantly, but fuck him. He doesn’t deserve an answer, anyway. 

He should know better. 

With a low, thoughtful sound, Bill opens his mouth to say something. Before he gets a word out, Dipper slaps his hand with enough force to make even a demon let go. 

The blade skitters across the floor, going ‘ting’ against something in the background. 

Bill blinks twice. Then frowns, flexing his fingers to get sensation back. Rubbing them slowly, he turns fully away from the victim to face Dipper, head on.

It’s not a great look. The familiar smile has vanished, leaving something cool in its place.

And Dipper doesn’t care. 

A hot bright anger buoys him up above all the concerns, like he’s floating on a cushion of air. Beneath the rising fury all his worries look so small.

How dare Bill pull this. All of this, the ‘visit’, the tour. Bringing Dipper back here and bringing back things he didn’t want to remember. The screaming and fire and the things he’s done, all of them more and more wrong. And this huge, arrogant, total dipshit asshole -  

How dare he try doing that, and say Dipper would ask for it. 

“Excuse me?” Bill says. Not angry, exactly. But less than pleased.  He spreads his arms in an annoyed shrug. “Great you’re up and at ‘em, kid, but what’s the big deal? I was just about to-”

A shove doesn’t get Bill off balance - but it does get him to shut the hell up. He takes a half step back, surprise flickering back on his face. Dipper closes the space between them, fists held tight at his sides.

“Hey!” Bill holds his hands, palm up. Oh, now he’s annoyed. “What the hell, kid?”

“What the hell made you think this was a good idea?” Dipper snaps back. A sharp gesture at the victim - now staring, eyes wide - sends the burly cultists backing up and away in a nervous bulky shuffle.  “Just… this?”

“It’s ironic-”

“It’s evil.” Dipper insists. Louder than Bill’s voice, almost in a shout. 

For the first time in a long, long time, he’s not going to back down. Asking the hard questions and prying into the secrets of his god is what he does, damn it, and even though they tried to stop him years ago, well, Bill screwed up and brought it back.

Nobody else could get away with this. But Dipper can. 

“So what?” Bill rolls his eye.

So, he says. Just, ‘so what’. Like none of this is a big deal.

“So maybe you shouldn’t do evil things!” The argument sounds stupid even as he says it. Dipper swears and tries starting over.  “Or you should-”

“Uh, hello! Bill Cipher here, not sure who the hell you’re talking to,” He snorts, looking condescending as hell. “I get that you don’t wanna get your hands dirty - too squeamish, it’s whatever - but someone had to do something!”

“Nobody had to do any of this!” Dipper gestures at - everything, an awkward flail. “We didn’t even have to come back here!” 

“Oh no, no no, we definitely did.” Bill wags a chiding finger. Moving it back and forth, then tapping Dipper’s nose like a jackass. It sends a new surge of fury racing through his veins. “Like I’d ever pass up a chance for some chaos! Hell, it’s even justified this time, ain’t it?”

Punching Bill the second time isn’t as satisfying as the first. He only has like, half a foot of clearance and the bastard’s too tough to ever hurt. The return of surprise on Bill’s stupid face though - that’s great.

“It’s not. What are you even trying to do? Have some ‘fun’? Your version, which sucks.” Now that he’s started, Dipper can’t seem to stop. The words spring out before they ever pass through his brain, propelled by sheer anger. “You’re just an asshole. And- and a jerk and a moron and - and fuck, Bill, you’re not even a god. Just a dick.”

Bill’s lips firm into a line. Mouth screwed up, hands on hips; exasperated that he’s been called out with no great way to correct it. 

Somewhere in the distance, a series of gasps. Yes, it’s blasphemy. Totally heretical. Also it’s true.

It’s practically a scene out of that stupid shot. The plucky mortal, facing down the demon all dramatically, except real this time 

So what if Bill’s pissed off. The mortals that he’s had before probably all did this, at one point or another. They didn’t just roll over and do what he wanted because it was too hard to speak up No, they stood their ground. They stopped him.

Now that’s Dipper’s job.

“Huh!.” Bill smiles. One edged with irritation, with a flash of teeth like a minor threat. “That’s a pretty funny thing to say to the guy doing you a favor.”

He really thinks - how can he be so frustrating. 

“Stop acting like this is for me.” Jabbing a finger into Bill’s ribs, Dipper glares up at him.“This is all about you.” 

Bill’s lip curls. The lingering hint of smile evaporates. Now it’s all bare teeth. “Come again?”

“It is,” Dipper insists. “You wanted to come here. You made the plans, you wanted the stupid tour, and to have your stupid vengeance on people you’ve never even met.” He punctuates each point with another stab of index finger into ribs. “You wanted to have your little show. Not once did you ask me what I thought.”

“To be fair, kid,” Bill says, lilting like a teacher talking down to a little kid. “You weren’t exactly speaking up, were ya?”

That was a low blow. “Fuck you.”

“See! Total lack of constructive input!” Bill tuts. “What a shame.”

That smug, handsome face shows no signs of cracking. Dipper nearly stalks away in frustration - then reels back on Bill with another shove. One quick sidestep and he stumbles. Bill starts laughing, high and bright. 

Facing down a demon. A powerful one, strong enough to beat him into paste or light him  up like a match. 

Dipper should be scared. That’s the smart thing to do.

But instead of terror, there’s a weird electric energy, crackling in the air between them. Not Bill’s magic, though that’s probably part of it. Maybe just that he’s standing up against Bill Cipher and it’s - exciting, and energizing. Or at least giving him enough adrenaline that he doesn't have to think too hard. 

“Fine. You want my input? I’m telling you now.” Dipper speaks through gritted teeth. Getting in someone’s face is a game both of them can play. “You’ve done enough. Cut. It. Out.”

“Oh, please. That’s your big idea?. Just quit?” Bill scoffs. “You hardly know up from down half the time! Or what’s going on in your own head! Taking down the ol’ tormenter is a classic for a reason, sapling.” He spreads his hands wide, offering them palms up like a gift. Or an invisible enemy’s head. “It’s everything you ever wanted!” 

This time Dipper snorts. Clearly it isn’t. Obviously it isn’t. 

For some reason that sets Bill glaring, which in turn is - 

God, this idiot. Dipper runs a hand through his hair, letting out a tired laugh. “You have no idea what I want.”

If Bill knew what he wanted, they would have just stayed at the damn Fearamid. If he cared what Dipper was thinking he would have asked. If he read his mind to check, or just - anything, it’d be obvious. And he hasn’t. 

Because if he had the first goddamn inkling of what Dipper really dreamt of, lying in bed and feeling a pathetically desperate ache, he’d - 

React, somehow. Good or bad or weird, Dipper doesn't know, but he knows Bill wouldn’t keep a poker face for that.

And isn’t that ironic, really. Bill himself with no secrets from this one mortal, and Dipper the one with something hidden away. He’d never expect it.

“Then do it!” Bill snaps an arm out towards the crowd, sending cultists ducking in a rippling wave. “We’re right on center stage! Here’s the audience! You got some big plan up your sleeve? Nut up and go for it!”

Heat rises around them; Bill’s magic is leaking out. Dipper could burst into flames any moment now, by the mere whim of a powerful being, a near-god. 

 Dipper’s fingers flex. Shutting his eyes to block out Bill’s too-close face. Quelling the urge to do something amazingly stupid. 

“What is it you really want, Pine Tree?” Bill hisses, voice low. He leans in; a stupid attempt to intimidate that leaves him inches away. “Show me.”

Fuck it. 

Dipper seizes this stupid idiot awful asshole by the tie, ignores the way his expression shifts from irritation to confusion again - and hauls him in. 

His first thought is that Bill’s lips are very, very soft. The impact nearly clicked their teeth together, but with that cushioning it landed without major problems. He grabs at his shoulers, holds the back of his head, silently willing him to stay still for at least a moment.  

It doesn’t matter how Bill responds. So what if he shoves him away, or burns him to ashes, or takes back all the things he’s given him.

Totally worth it, if only because he surprised Bill for once. And he got this. 

He gets his moment. Two of them, actually. By the third, Dipper’s thoughts start catching up with him. Like how he has no idea what he’s doing with his lips, except mushing them up against Bill’s unresponsive ones. 

Honestly, Dipper’s probably kind of bad at this. Going into this without an exit strategy was not his best idea. 

Then a palm smacks against the small of his back, hauling him in close. That yellow eye flutters shut as Bill lets a soft ‘mh’ noise, tilting his head to meet him, cupping Dipper’s cheek.

Okay. Wow. 

One of them might not be good at this, but Bill can more than compensate.

Holding onto Bill’s shirt doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Where to put his hands, when all of Bill seems like a great place to touch. One slides around wherever it can, while his other hand twines fingers in Bill’s hair, running over and through it. Around his waist Bill tugs him as close as possible, like he’ll never let him escape. Which is probably the best plan he’s ever had. 

Infinite knowledge is great, he should have expected that. Should have guessed Bill knows what he’s doing, warm lips and teeth and his touch on Dipper’s back, briefly on his thigh. Slow motions that leave him shivering, because this is actually happening. 

Even over the kiss it’s a dizzying thought. Bill’s *into* this, and - how did -  Maybe there were hints he missed? Maybe Bill actually knew? Or maybe - There’s too much to process. 

And when a quick flicker of tongue darts out, Dipper lets out a little noise from the back of his throat. 

Then Bill - who is, still, inevitably, an asshole - pulls back. 

Dipper tries to drag him back in, but the bastard only laughs. How can someone look so stupidly smug with his hair all ruffled and his clothes messed up, it’s insane.

“Cripes, sapling.” Bill’s grin is wilder than usual, and equally wide. He gives Dipper a gentle shake, half-laughing. “You shoulda said something!”

“Um,” Dipper looks away. Embarrassment has started trickling in again. And it’s hard to think of a response with soft lips on his cheek, moving to his ear. “I dunno.”

“We have gotta,” Bill murmurs, in a very distracting way that involves planting kisses on Dipper’s neck between each word. “Work on your talking skills.”

There’s probably a retort for that. Unfortunately, most of Dipper’s brain is occupied. Whatever going to say vanishes in a puff of pink mist. 

And when Bill finally lets up, it’s while looking all too smug, and wiggling his eyebrows. Dipper sighs, cups that stupid smug face in both hands. Slowly, he strokes a thumb over an angular cheek.

Damn it. Bill was right. Dipper should have said something ages ago. Instead of this entire stupid awful mess, they could have figured this out and done actually fun things. Maybe they could have even kissed on the couch all evening, which is totally possible now and sounds fantastic.

Most of all - Dipper can’t believe this worked. That he can have this. 

The brief silence is nice, but it won’t last. Any second now, Bill’s going to make some really stupid comment, Dipper can feel it in his bones. If he thinks quick, maybe he can preempt the dumbest possible result. How-

Something goes ‘crack’ against the altar, just beside him, and Dipper jerks back. Hot wax splatters from the candle, which didn’t hit but still makes a tiny but spirited attempt to set his suit aflame. 

Bill rears up, snarling. The hold around Dipper’s waist goes painfully tight, shoving him hard enough to let out an involuntary ‘oof’. 

“Blasphemer! Heretic!” The shrill voice sounds tinny in the too-quiet room, and a little rough. Not surprising, since the owner had just been kneeling and crying recently. “How could you?”

“What are you-” Dipper starts, then tries to duck another flung candle. Bill snags it from the air; it melts in his grip like water. 

Bill’s slow turn towards the girl should cow her, or - at least get her to shut up. Dipper can’t see the expression on his face but there’s no way it’s a good one. It’s like she’s just not paying attention…

Then again - a quick check of the room confirms that nobody is. Not to Bill, at least. They’re all staring at… 

Dipper. 

“You…” With one trembling arm, the girl points at Dipper with furious accusation. “You pervert!” 

Huh. All the kissing must have really done a number on Dipper’s brain. It almost sounded like she said… 

Now the gears start grinding back to life, putting that phrase through the machinery and coming up with… “What?”

“You can’t even go one day without committing sacrilege!” She stomps her foot, mascara-streaked cheeks puffing out in frustration. “You’ve corrupted our god!” 

“What?” 

That’s the most ridiculous, misguided, ass-backward thing he’s- they can’t actually believe that crap. Right?

But in the room of ceremony, the crowd is stirring. Whispers grow and bubble. A slowly rising murmur, with brief pops of agreement.

Soon there are calls for Bill to come to his senses, cursing Dipper’s name and his horrible influence. Hands are wrung in lamentation for god himself taking in such an unworthy creature of dark purpose, this… 

Are they seriously calling him a ‘temptress’? What the hell? Anyway, the right word would be casanova, and that’s… really an overstatement. 

Dipper struggles for something to say - and for his balance, because Bill’s started laughing so hard he’s almost doubled over.

After years and years of total conformity and respect for their teachings - the cult finally rises to their feet in revolt, driven by furious purpose. 

Not at the incredible violence, though, oh no. Or the orders, or the chaotic dream god, or any of the other bullshit that they all went through. 

At him. 

All because of a freakin’ kiss where their stupid god was totally participating. 

Truth doesn’t matter, he supposes. Or what’s real, or right or wrong. What matters is that they didn’t like what they saw, and someone’s gotta take the blame.

Guess Dipper isn’t a ‘worthless’ acolyte. He makes a great scapegoat.

“Seriously? I just saved your lives.” Dipper steps forward, hands up. The only reason the next projectile doesn’t hit is because Bill’s put up a short wall of flame between them; it keeps the mob from advancing. “What the hell.”

“This is what I keep telling you! The hero crap is a dead end, sapling. No good deed goes unpunished.” Bill smacks him on the side, straightening up with a grin. He steps forward, cracking his knuckles. “No worries, though! Not my first rodeo with an unruly mob.”

“No.” Dipper blocks him, arm outstretched. A weak barrier at best, but one that makes Bill pause in his tracks. 

Bill glances over, one skeptical eyebrow raised. It’s true, he could take care of it. In a way. One with a police report writing ‘no survivors at the end.

And as much as they’re all assholes, it’s not really right. Not just morally, but because the punishment doesn’t fit. 

“It’s my vengeance.” Dipper insists. He tugs Bill’s arm, urging him back. “I’ll handle it.”

That gets a smile. Bill, eternal nightmare demon, spreads his arm over the crowd with a flourish, and steps aside, bowing deep. 

Okay. Wow. That worked, somehow. 

Maybe because Bill wants to see him in action. Possibly because he’s curious what Dipper will come up with. 

Or even, maybe, because Bill wants him to enjoy the result, and that’s possibly the weirdest reason of all. 

Standing in front of the crowd, fire alight between them - Dipper tries cracking his own knuckles, but they don’t pop. He just looks stupid, and his joints are weirdly sore now. 

“Sinner-” “Heretic-” “Just the worst, I always knew it-”

The voices drift over him; he barely hears their words. It barely takes effort to bring the magic up, thrumming through him. A net of warmth in his body, running through his veins. 

And if he channels it like this, and commands it like so, with all of Bill’s power behind it and his own will directing the flow, a form takes shape inside, weighty inside his chest. Ready to be let out at his word.

He built this curse. He planned every part, designed from the ground up. He knows precisely what it’ll do and - yeah, okay. This does feel pretty cool. Bill will probably even like it. 

Magic burning under his skin, Dipper takes a deep breath, and a second step forward - then lets the power out with a shout.

“Would you all just SHUT UP?”

A tidal wave of invisible energy rushes in the room, washing over the floor and dissolving into the air. For the second time, the room goes quiet. Eerily so, because the crowd still writhes in a formless mass. People throw their arms in the air, shake their fists. But except for the rustle of cloth and footsteps on rock, it’s a pretty noiseless riot.

Bill raises an eyebrow, and Dipper coughs into his fist. Okay, not really dramatic. Guess the concept takes a second to hit. 

It only takes a few seconds. First one person touches their face, another claps hands over their throat. A slow, near-silent panic ensues.

Dipper folds his arms, watching them all mouth words. One person is pulling at their tongue, another squishing their lips. Someone starts looking for paper and pen. They’ll find out how fun that is pretty soon. 

Not being able to talk isn’t so great, is it. Especially, say, for exactly as long as Dipper couldn’t.

See how they like it. 

“Aw, really? That’s barely anything!” Bill complains, obnoxious and loud. He waggles a hand, a so-so gesture. “Five outta ten, maybe.” 

“It was ironic.” Dipper protests. “Because, y’know.” He points at his own mouth, frowning when Bill snorts. He gets his hair ruffled for his efforts. “Points for style, sure, but what about suffering? This crap isn’t even permanent.”

Why does Bill have to talk all the goddamn time? Everyone heard - He runs a hand down his face, hissing through his teeth. 

“What? I’m just saying-”

Dipper seizes him by the tie, dragging him nearly face-to-face. “They didn’t know that.” 

Bill’s eye goes wide. For a long moment it’s locked with Dipper’s - then it darts away, looking absolutely anywhere else. His lips clamp tight as he finally, for at least a second, shuts the hell up. 

Dipper takes a long, long look at his face, the lines and the angles of it. He needs to remember this expression. Who knows if he’ll see it again. It might even be a first in history. 

Bill Cipher, demon and nearly-god, realizing he thoroughly put his foot in it. 

“Lord of Nightmares, huh,” Dipper says, quiet and thick with sarcasm. “A real master of psychological torment.” 

“Shut it.” Bill snaps, still unable to meet Dipper eye-to-eye. “Hardly an issue, a quick spell adjustment and we’re-”

“No, we’re going home.” Before any argument can start, Dipper shoves him towards the altar.  “Now.”

Dipper’s tired from casting the curse, and he’s tired from dealing with the memories. Tired of this place and the people in it. Revenge happened, it’s off the checklist, and he is so, so done with everything. Total waste of his day. 

Better get while the getting’s good. Before anyone gets any ‘fun’ ideas, and while Bill’s still deflated from his misstep. Dipper has maybe three minutes of being able to push him around, tops.

Shoulders rising, Bill bares his teeth - then mutters something under his breath, folding his arms over his chest. He’s in a full-blown sulk now, and his cheeks are the faintest shade of pink. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bill says, flicking his fingers. “I was done with this half an hour ago anyway.” With a huff, he stomps over to the altar.

What a liar. Bill would have continued, done more and worse, if someone hadn’t stopped him. This wouldn’t be half as easy if he wasn’t eager to put his fuckup behind him. 

Well, whatever works, works. Dipper rolls his eyes, tugging at his arm. With a sigh, Bill finally, grumpily, relinquishes his hand and Dipper takes it in his own, squeezing it gently.

Bill sticks his tongue out, but doesn’t protest. He rolls his eyes, as Dipper takes one look back. 

In the disarray of cursed cultists, no particular person stands out. A mass of red and gold, milling in confusion and fear. Not understanding what’s going - and probably not wanting to. 

There’s a lot he could say. If Bill were doing this, he’d have some snappy line ready to go, accompanied by a gore-filled finale of fireworks. Dipper’s different. He doesn’t have a plan in mind. Half the time he doesn’t know what to say, even when the situation isn’t completely fucked. 

Good thing there’s not much he wants to. 

Summoning the transport is easy. Simply touching the power is like drawing a breath, feeling the veil between worlds start to part. Dipper knows how to do it, going back to Bill’s realm is as easy as flicking a switch. 

“You know what? You’re all assholes.” Dipper says, just as the magic catches and he feels the world around them start to fade. “But you deserved a better god.”

The world flickers around them; it fades. Dipper keeps walking forward across nothingness. The dream dimension spins around them with its flickering images and aurora-like colors, the fragments of a subconscious mind.

Damn. Dipper’s aim is off. The Fearamid’s like, miles away. Either he’ll have to get Bill to do some space-manipulation, or prepare for a hell of a hike. 

That’ll have to wait, though. Behind him Bill mutters sulky, ego-soothing complaints, though not too loud. It’ll be a while before he’s back at full power, metaphorically speaking. 

A very fortunate circumstance, considering. Dipper’s reeling from what just happened. Adrenaline drains out of him, leaving him jittery and very, very tired. 

Away from the compound. He’ll never ever ever have to go back, nothing can make him. He’s out in another dimension, where he’s free.

And isn’t that the most messed up thing. That Dipper can stand on nothing in the middle of a dream realm, a dimension of insanity, and that helps him calm down. 

He just faced down a god. Sort of. 

He really did it. He can’t believe he did it, but somehow, in the moment. He couldn’t not do it, it was an impulse impossible to resist. The whole thing felt like… a knee-jerk reflex. An unused muscle kicking back into life under the electric shock of ‘Screw You Bill’. 

Just like those other guys, from so long ago. The braver, stronger ones who knew what they were doing - 

Maybe they didn’t really know, either. 

Dipper takes a steadying breath. He lets it out, and feels a knot of tension slowly release. 

He doesn’t know if he can live up to the birthmark, or even what it means. Another thing he’ll have to drag out of Bill, slowly and in pieces. But apparently, amazingly - he can do this. 

And he’ll have to, because holy shit, Dipper really gets it now. Somebody has to keep an eye on this demon, or hell knows what he’d get up to.

Looking back at Bill, still fuming, a sulking huff of breath out his nose. That handsome face is so annoyed, and it looks so, so good on him that Dipper wants to grab it again and kiss him stupid. For being stupid. 

Of all the mortals Bill could have been saddled with - 

God, Dipper’s glad it’s him.

Hopefully it’ll be a good few months before he needs to do that again, though. That metaphorical muscle friggin’ aches. 

“And what was with that parting shot, huh?” Bill’s voice finally rises back to its normal volume. He gives Dipper a haughty look. “I think I make a great god!”

There are so many things wrong with that, that - Dipper groans, stalking away across the dreamscape. No way he’s starting that conversation, it’ll take hours. 

What really sounds good is taking a shower, and collapsing on the couch to watch something brainless. Given some time to calm down and let the stress dissipate, he can handle Bill’s bullshit again. With a little encouragement, he might even get Bill to join him and they can - 

Mostly chill out. Maybe some other stuff. 

“What, you sulking?” No ground means no footsteps to warn Dipper when Bill pops up right next to him.  “Forget those idiots, kid. That’s all behind you! Let ‘em marinate in their misery like they deserve.” He rests a hand on his chest, self-important. “Just like I deserve at least three smooches for helping you get them theirs.”

Because he did such a great job of that. Dipper sets his mouth in a line, watching Bill grimace. Yeah. He knows what he did. 

“Whatever, you’ll get over it,” Bill says, bright. That ego bounces back like a rubber ball; the hard it lands the faster it comes back. He takes Dipper’s hand, lifting it to his face. “I happen to be a master manipulator.”

“No.” Dipper turns away again, forcing himself to frown. “I’m mad at you.” The words come out weaker than he’d like. 

“Not for long!” Bill gives him a rakish grin, and kisses the back of his hand.

Dipper ignores it. He’s a very strong and determined weird mark-bearer thing guy. Totally resistant to this demon’s terrible wiles. He is resolute as stone as Bill plants more kisses on the back of his hand, then works his way up his arm, to his shoulder and cheek. 

“Never letting you live that down,” Dipper mutters. These schmoozing attempts have no effect on him. He’s strong and brave and totally not melting a little into Bill’s arms. “You screwed up my revenge.” He adds, more annoyed.

“Ugh.” Bill's groan has a bit of embarrassment behind it. Just a twinge, but enough to make Dipper smile a bit himself. “Fine. Fine! I guess you need some recompense, whatever. I’m thinking…” Bill taps his chin, smirking. “Some kinda lip-based repayment plan. Whatd’ya say?”

Bill Cipher is a vile tempter, is what he is. Pulling Dipper’s strings like that, super easily. Damn it, he knew there’d be a downside to Bill figuring him out - 

Though admittedly - the upside is pretty great. 

Dipper pretends to think about it for a long second, watching Bill. The expectant look returns, his eye goes bright - and smiles. “I think we could make a deal.”

Welp. This is his life. Years and years of the cult, then kidnapped and dragged around and taken into the den of this absolutely ridiculous being. 

Fitting in back there was impossible, but. Dipper thinks it makes sense, a little bit. Between the mark and Bill himself, with his arm over Dipper’s shoulders and his heart beating fast -

He was a puzzle piece out of place. Part of the wrong picture, trying to be shoved in where he obviously didn’t fit. 

Being here, with Bill, feels… correct. Really good, too, in the way that a burn feels better under cold water, or a wound feels better all stitched up.

And deja-vu, almost. A sense that things are right. 

In the middle of terror and nightmares and chaos, Dipper’s always been part of the picture, in a way. 

He has a place where he belongs. 

“That’s my favorite mortal.” Bill grins, wide and wild, and swings Dipper up into his arms. “C’mon sapling. Let’s get you home.”

[catcze]

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

「 ### : 」 Modern AU ish !! GN Reader gets drunk at the club !! But Navia and Clorinde stay with you through it tho, because they're your good friends !! This is literally just humor and reader not recognizing Wrio but gushing over your husband so so much !! Reader swears when drunk bc same lmao

Had a vision. No editing. Feast on this while I feast on my Nissin Bulalo cup noodles.

The moment Wriotheseley steps into the club, he immediately spots you. Even over the painful strobing lights, the sea of dancing bodies, he can single you out a mile away— regardless of the fact that you're slumped over the bar, drunk out of your mind.

"Navia, Clorinde," he greets with a wave, hurrying over. His voice has to be almost a yell to be heard over the loud music.

They sit on either barstool beside you, bracketing you between them. When he approaches, Clorinde hands him your phone, and he knows who he has to thank for the 'come pick your bae up' text. The moment he's close enough, he's already looking you over, making sure you're alright.

"Sweetheart," Wriothesley tries to rouse you, but you just mumble and splay out further on the bar. Your hand knocks into a mostly-emptied glass of what he can only assume was tonight's poison of choice.

"How many—"

"More than five," Navia tells him, grinning sheepishly, just as Clorinde says, "Nine."

Your husband shakes his head fondly, sighing, and turns back to you. "Sweetheart," he tries again, voice a bit louder. He places a heavy hand on your waist, coaxing you up. "Let's g—"

But at the touch, your eyes —still hazy and unfocused on account of the nine drinks you've had— shoot open, and you whirl on him in your seat. If not for the hold he still keeps on your hip, you may have just toppled over. There's a look of unbridled, drunken rage on your face, more comical than actually terrifying.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you hiss, slurring, as you wrench his hand off of you and fling it away with such contempt that he has to stifle a laugh. "Keep your hands off of the masterpieces, bucko."

Not even giving him a moment to breathe, you shove your left hand in his face, vehemently pointing at the ring that sits on your fourth finger. "I! Am! Married! If I tell my husband that you're out here getting handsy, he's gonna come and kick your ass sooo hard. He's gonna rock your shit, you trick ass bitch, if i don't do it myself!"

Wriothesley shouldn't find this funny— he shouldn't. But Navia and Clorinde and fighting smiles behind their palms themselves, and he can't help the grin that breaks across his face.

"Oh? Is your husband that strong?" He can't help but ask, and you scoff.

"Is he that strong— you wanna find out for yourself? Huh? Wriothesley could— could—" you hiccup, and he has to fight the urge to coo. "He could knock you out with just a flick of his fingers, you know!"

"And is your Wriothesley more handsome than me?"

You turn your nose up at him, scowling. Once, twice, you try to cross your arms in contempt as you drunkenly look him up and down.

"You're alright," you begrudge, "but my Wriothesley is the— the most handsomest man in the world! The fucking prettiest! No one holds a candle to my husband and his broad shoulders and his thick thighs and his... and his adorable smile."

Wriothesley has to bite his lip to control his grin. Navia is fighting for her life to stifle her giggles, and Clorinde hides her amused smile behind a cough.

It's like that loosened your tongue though, and you continue on, oblivious to the embarrassment you'd face the next morning.

"And he— he'll be very upset when he finds out that you're here, hitting on someone who is very happily married to one of the best men on this side of the fucking galaxy, so— so you can fuck off!"

He really, really tries his best to not laugh.

You huff, patting down your pockets and grumbling incoherently about your phone, not even questioning it when Wriothesley hands it back to you himself. It takes only a second of you furiously tapping your screen before his own phone buzzes in his pants.

[Sweetheart ♡]

babe pookie pick e ip plrase im drunk and i wanna go homd snd yhere's this assholr hitting o me love yoy [location attached]

As soon as the texts go out though, you yawn and the energy leaves you in one fell swoop. Wriothesley manages to catch you before you face plant back on the bar and break your nose, maneuvering you to lean into his chest. The fight escaping you, you nuzzle into his black button up, rubbing your face against him like a big cat.

"Mmm. I know that cologne." Blearily, you look up and make eye contact with those pretty, pretty blue eyes, and your face immediately lights up in the most delighted grin. "Wrio!" you gasp, arms coming to wrap around his waist and pull him towards you. You're still drunk, still pretty out of it, but it melts his heart how overjoyed you are to see him.

"Hi sweetheart," he says fondly, running a hand through your hair. Happily, you lean into his touch. "Have a fun time with Navia and Clorinde?"

"Mhm. Missed you though." Then, your eyes pop open and you sit up, looking around furiously as if you're looking for someone. When you don't find this person, you lean in to whisper conspiratorially in his ear— "There was this guy who tried to make the moves on me, you know! But I told him that I'm super duper married and with the bestest husband ever— if you wanna double team him, I'm sure the guy's around here somewhere."

But your husband just chuckles, pulling you back into his embrace. Smoothly, Wriothesley has you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist so he can easily pick you up and into his arms.

"You two need a ride home?" He asks the two, but they shake their heads.

"Appreciated, but we only split a drink between us," Clorinde says, already standing up alongside Navia. "We'll be fine."

"Get home safe, you two!" The blonde says, waving you off, and that's that.

Wriothesley easily maneuvers the two of you out of the club, you having already fallen asleep on his shoulder. He can hear your soft breaths in his ear and feel the way you cling to him even in your sleep. No doubt you'd have a raging hangover tomorrow, but that's okay— because you'll have him to take care of you, too.

Bonus!!

You wake up to hands down the worst fucking headache in your whole life. Your temple hurts so hard that you swear your head's gonna crack open like an egg. Groaning, you pull the covers over your head and roll over, blotting out the mid-day sunlight as best as you can.

There's a chuckle from the other side of the bed, then weight moving across the sheets— then your husband's face appears in front of you, under the blankets too.

"So, darling sweetheart of mine" he starts, voice soft as to not aggravate your headache, and you're grateful. "What were you saying about my broad shoulders and my thick thighs?"

You're suddenly not as grateful.

Promptly, you kick him out of your blanket cave, and he goes with a laugh. He leaves you grumbling on the bed, cursing out all the drinks you had last night and swearing to never ever ever drink again.

Wriothesley grins, shutting the curtains of your bedroom as he ambles out the door, dead set on getting you water, advil, and something to eat.

Maybe by the end of the day, you'd add 'endlessly doting' to the list.

[ #Taglist registration here !! ]

[bandgie]

All For You | Armageddon Event

Request: Charity | Seo Changbin & Lee Yongbok (SKZ) by anon song!

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, pussy eating, mxm themes, 3some, double penetration (brief) boobs/nipple play, hair pulling (m!), brief handjob, cum eating (brief)

1.9k words

Dinner is still hot. The smell of cooked meat and kimchi infiltrates your nose. It should make your stomach growl and your mouth salivate. Yet, the reason for your hunger and drooling is not because of dinner at all. It’s the two men, your two lovers, that draw such reactions from you.

It’s quite a juxtaposition to see blonde hair and black hair side-by-side. The tops of their head move concurrently between your legs. You can feel how their tongue mingle and mix while suckling on your clit. Their lips smack and kiss over every inch of your cunt. It makes you arch off the couch just slightly.

“Mmm, just like that.” You intertwine your fingers in their hair. The men hum, vibrating your clit almost like a toy. You let a whimper, bucking your hips from the sensation before their hands grip each hip, putting you back down on the couch.

Felix’s lower half is soaked. You can see how it glistens when he pulls away, letting Changbin take your pussy whole in his mouth. “Just lay still for us.” His deep voice sends shivers throughout your body. “We’ll get you there. There’s no rush.”

You don’t argue with him, nodding obediently. 

Now with more access to you, Changbin doesn’t hold back in sucking you between his lips. He takes your clit into his mouth eagerly, bobbing his head just the slightest while his tongue laps over you.

You can feel how their hold strengthens on your ass as if you might try and grind into the air again, but you manage to keep yourself planted onto the cushions while Changbin pulls on your bundle of nerves.

Instead, you twitch. Your thighs tremble and you tug much harder on Changbin’s hair. 

He lets out a yelp. The pull caused him to pop off your cunt with a wet sound. His unfocused eyes finally settle on you and you babble to apologies. “I-I’m sorry. Did I hurt you? I’m sorry, Binnie. It just felt so good and-”

He smiles, his wet chin shining proudly. “It’s okay, bubba. It didn’t hurt, I promise. You can pull as much as you like if it makes you feel better.” 

Felix giggles, runnung his hand through Changbin’s curly hair and looking at him fondly. 

“You’re so cool, hyung.”

Now Changbin blushes, his lips turning downward into his signature shy smile. “Come help your cool hyung eat this pretty pussy, Yongbok.” Felix chuckles again, adjusting his knees until he’s beside Changbin. You watch his pink tongue push through his lips, but just before he gets a lick in, his warm eyes lock with yours.

“Do you want both of us to taste you, baby?” Felix's small fingers kneed your inner thigh. “Is this what you want?”

You’ll take anything they give you and more. Changbin’s plush lips already feel so good on you, his tongue swiping down to collect your arousal and smear it on your clit. It would be hard to get him to share, you think. Changbin likes eating diligently and eagerly licking his plate clean. He’d make some room for Felix if you asked, but you’re quite content with one mouth on your cunt.

Even then, you don’t want to deter Felix from what he wants to do either. “What do you want, Lixie?”

The groan Changbin lets out in your folds matches Felix’s. “Nuh-uh, don’t do that. Tonight’s about you. Not me or Changbin. It’s okay to tell us what you want.”

Tonight has been all about you. The now-cold dinner is your favorite. The homemade brownies in the oven are for you. Since you woke up, your boyfriends have been more doting than ever. Just because, they told you when you asked why.

Just because.

You feel like you don’t deserve them in the slightest, but as Felix patiently waits for your answer while kissing up and down your thigh, you feel like you belong.

The shirt is already ridden up just below the curve of your breasts, but you pull up the material even more to expose your bare chest. You move your hands to grope the flesh of your tits, pushing them together and pinching your nipples between your fingers.

“C-can you kiss me here?” Despite them seeing you naked countless times, you can’t help the stuttering. And despite those amount of times, Felix’s eyes still widen and Changbin sucks a little harder at the sight of your boobs.

Felix is next to you in a flash. His hips press against your own while he curls his legs on the couch. One hand holds your breast and the other wraps behind your back to bring you closer. 

“Of course, baby.” Felix leans his head and brushes his lips against your bud. “I can kiss you anywhere.”

You hum appreciatively, placing your hands down into their hair. Felix is always tender with you, opting to press chaste kisses to your breasts. He focuses everywhere but your hardened nipple. The warmth of his mouth makes you buck into Changbin’s who happily widens his jaw. 

Felix sucks just above the curve of your breast, turning the skin a pretty pink before it will inevitably darken to a purple hue. The way his tongue laps over your skin has you mewling. A soft sound that makes Felix suck a little harder.

Then he kisses down, down until he finally catches your bud between his lips. With circular movements of his head, Felix runs it over his soft lips. It feels so good, so gentle that you feel yourself gush in Changbin’s mouth.

Your strong lover greedily moans. The wet sound of your cunt and mouth mingling is almost as loud as your whimpers. Felix gets the cue to take your nipple in his mouth, opening his jaw to try and fit your breast in his mouth. 

And when he sucks in correspondence with Changbin, your eyes roll back. Your hips can’t stay planted on the couch anymore that your orgasm builds. Changbin’s head moves with you, keeping his mouth stuck where he belongs.

“F-fuck!” You pull on Felix’s long hair. “Making me feel so good.”

You can feel how Felix smiles against your skin. Hear how Changbin whines affectionately.

Pulling on Felix’s hair suddenly doesn’t feel like enough. You trail your hand lower until you catch his erection underneath his sweats.

“Mmm. So hard.” You palm him, feeling how his tongue swirling on your nipple stutters from your ministrations. He releases your bud and places a kiss on the hickey forming.

“You don’t have to do that.” Felix uses a hand to gently push yours away. “We want to focus on you.”

“But-but you’re so hard. You’re both so hard.” Even if you can’t see Changbin’s lower half, you know he’s humping the bottom of the couch from how his body jolts and shudders. “I want to.”

This catches their attention. Even Changbin, who could mostly likely cum from your taste alone, raises an eyebrow and hesitantly pulls from your cunt. “Want to what?

Rather than telling them, you show them. Your shaky fingers leave their hair and go between your legs.

Looping your arms underneath your thighs, you spread your folds indecently. Slick and spit oozes from your cunt and Changbin licks his lips like he’s about to get another taste for himself, but your whining stops him.

“Inside. I wanna feel you inside.” Your hips buck from the thought of them filling you up. “I wanna cum with you deep in here.”

Changbin’s already nodding, standing up to chuck his shorts down, but Felix smoothes a hand down, rubbing over your cunt.

“You’re not just saying that because you feel bad, right?”

“No!” Gosh, you feel like you could cum just from Felix’s little palm over you. “I want to feel you. I need to feel you. Just fuck me.”

His adam’s apple bobs and he nods. He shrugs his joggers off too, putting them in a pile with Changbin’s who’s already stroking himself.

“Who do you want first, baby?” Changbin huffs. “Tell me.”

Shit. You don't want to choose. “Both! I don’t care how. Just please fuck me already.”

It’s quick how they move you. Changbin has the strength to be under you, holding your thighs apart with his cock just under your ass. It throbs being so close to your entrance, waiting for Felix to place one knee on the couch in front of you and bend just slightly so his tip aligns with you.

They’ve done this before, but not often, and most definitely not in the living room. Still, they couldn’t say no to your desperation. That aroused look in your eyes only intensifies as Changbin uses a hand to grip the base of his cock and find your opening.

“Shiiit.” You moan when his head sinks in. Changbin’s girth spreads you in the first intrusion and Felix has a front-row seat as to how your pussy caves for him.

Changbin breathes in your neck, pressing deeper until his chubby cock fits snug. Your walls pulse around him, cream leaking onto his balls. Felix’s eyes lock on the white substance, reaching a hand down to collect the slick.

You watch with hazy eyes and an open mouth as Felix shoves his fingers between your lips. You happily taste the substance, moaning at the musky flavor of yourself and Changbin. Felix presses his digits deep much like Changbin’s cock, pressing against your tongue to feel your tongue swirl around him.

“Fuck, baby.” Felix moans. “You’re so fucking hot.”

A string of saliva connects you to him even as Felix pulls his fingers away. You grin at him seductively.

“And tight.” Changbin groans in the shell of your ear. “Get in here, Yongbok. She’s waiting.”

It feels like you could finish from just pure excitement. Changbin doesn’t need to thrust. You could cockwarm him while Felix watches. Their presence is enough to feel undeniable pleasure.

That exhilaration multiples when Felix strokes himself. He nods to Changbin’s words, mouth moving to agree, but you can’t hear. So much blood is rushing to your head that you feel faint. Your heartbeat pulses in your ear and all you can hear is its increased rhythm as Felix’s tip touches your clit.

He drags it down, meeting Changbin’s few inches that stick out. He gives you a look. One of caution, trust, and love. 

“Please.”

He sinks in. Your lovers don’t have much length, but their cocks have enough girth to make up for it and more. It feels like you’re being clawed with pleasure, searing your insides with heat. Changbin moans in your ear when Felix presses deeper. Your cunt seeps with more arousal, accommodating the unbelievable stretch.

Changbin widens your thighs to add more room, to let Felix keep going in so his pelvis is flush against your cli-

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound of the alarm rings throughout the house. Felix jumps and Changbin holds you tighter as if the sound is threatening. It takes you a second to register that the beeping is coming from the kitchen. 

“What the fu-”

“Ughhh, fuck. The brownies.” Felix grumbles. His grip on your thighs adjusts like he’s about to pull out. You feel his inches slowly slip about before you reach your arms forward and bring him close.

“No! Just leave them.”

“Leave them in the oven?”

“Yongbok.” Changbin’s strangled voice breaks through. “I’m balls deep. You were about to be balls deep. The brownies can wait. They need to cool down anyway.”

Felix’s flushed face turns confused. “How can they cool down in the oven if-”

“Felix!” “Yongbok-ah!”

“Sorry.”

[bunnliix]

When Eight Becomes Nine - Chapter Eight

Okie, I know I said this wasn't gonna get finished tonight. I lied. But to be fair, I was able to relax and write this at the same time, also I had idea help, so thank you @ja3hwa baby!! I love youuuu <3 <3 *kiss kiss*

Pairing: Ateez x 9th member!reader  Summary: Y/n heads to the pack den with Mingi and Wooyoung, shenanigans ensue, and a cute moment with a member. wc: 1.8 k AU: a/b/o  Genre: Fluff/Angst  warnings: anxiety?, dissasociation kinda?, cursing as always, yelling and people getting mad, Hongjoong interrogating others, mentions of injuries, mentions of a hospital, mentions of the scandal/Dispatch bs, y/n is just struggling a bit rn, but Wooyoung and Mingi have her. I think that's everything?? Honestly we're working with half a braincell here rn I'm sorry! masterlist

Y/n hadn’t really processed the day so far. Frankly, it had been a blur, and she was grateful for the two men for helping her. She never envisioned getting into a scandal, let alone one with the members of Ateez. She just stared out the car window, watching the scenery go by as Wooyoung held onto her hand.

“Are you okay, baby omega?” She heard him ask, and she found she could only nod her head to tell him she was okay, she didn’t feel talkative at the moment. All of her courage from the day seems to have disappeared into thin air.

She felt him squeeze her hand as she continued to stare at the window. She tried to shake herself out of this unfocused state, but only succeeded in making her a bit more aware of her surroundings. She realized that Mingi kept looking back at her through the rear view mirror, a look of concern clearly seen on his face. She imagined that Wooyoung had the same look on his face.

As she had this realization, Mingi pulled into their spot at their apartment building. “We’re here.” Wooyoung gently informed y/n. She shook her head, looking over at him with slight confusion in her eyes. She hadn’t exactly been listening to what the omega told Mingi when they got in the car.

Mingi noticed her confusion, “Wooyoung asked me to bring us back to the pack den.” He told her gently.

“Oh. Okay.” She replied, not sure what to say to that. She wasn’t pack, so she couldn’t think of why Wooyoung would bring her back to his pack den. She had her own nesting materials back at the dorm, so she would have been fine to go back there instead.

She zoned out once again, until she realized she was being picked up and held in someone’s arms. She squeaked in surprise, looking up to find she was in Mingi’s arms once again. She squirmed and tried to get out of his arms, only for the tall alpha to hold her tighter. “Don’t try and get down. It’s better for you to stay here, with your injury.” She was told by the alpha.

Once in the building, it doesn’t take long for the trio to reach their floor and then to reach the aforementioned pack den. Y/n was still not allowed to walk as they entered the apartment, as Wooyoung took it upon himself to take off her shoes after removing his own, and was given y/n as Mingi took off his own shoes. Y/n took this as an opportunity to escape, taking the chance while Wooyoung held onto her loosely, and she squirmed and successfully got out of the other omega’s grip. The problem was that Mingi blocked the entrance, so she decided to run for one of the rooms and hide out for a bit. Was it a smart idea? Probably not. She went with it anyways, it’s been a day and her brain wasn’t exactly working at 100%.

“Yah! Get back here!” Wooyoung yelled after her as she took off, quickly finding a room and hiding in it, finding a walk-in closet to hide in. She hid herself in between the low hanging clothes and quieted her breathing. There didn’t seem to be anyone in here, but the smell of the clothes was very nice. It was a very calming scent that surrounded her, and due to her exhaustion after only part of a busy day, she ended up falling asleep quicker than she realized.

With WooGi…

“Well, fuck.” Mingi said simply. “Good job Wooyoung. Now we have to go and find her.” He deadpanned, and Wooyoung whined at the scolding he received.

“I didn’t think she’d try and get out of my hold. She seemed like she had calmed down by the time we got up here.”

“Well now we have to find her, idiot.”

“You’re an idiot too, you just stood here with me!”

“Why are the both of you fighting?” Seonghwa interrupted them, an eyebrow raised.

“No reason.” The two say in unison, making Seonghwa even more suspicious.

However, before he could try and get more out of them, Hongjoong comes through the door. He pushed past the two younger men and quickly disappeared deeper into the dorm, ignoring the other occupants.

He had not had a good day, after sitting in on every single interview and trying to find out who had sent those pictures to Dispatch. It was unsuccessful, besides the expulsion of the beta who assaulted the sole omega trainee of the group, over her involvement in the photos. Hongjoong didn’t blame her in the slightest, he knew how vicious the industry and the fans were, and she had done nothing wrong. She hadn’t even touched a hair on two of his packmates, he knew that from the staff member’s assurances. All he wanted was his favorite hoodie and to disappear into the home studio to produce for the rest of the night.

Heading into his room, he found the door slightly ajar, not really thinking much of it, since the others did tend to steal his stuff if they needed the reassurance that came from his scent and he wasn’t around to provide that calm himself. The omegas were the ones who often stole his clothing the most. He quickly headed into his closet, finding the piece of clothing he was looking for, but as he tried to pull the hanger out, he found that he was unable to. Maybe it was stuck on something? He thought, and moved the hangers on one side of the hanger in question, only to find someone holding onto the sleeve of his hoodie as they slept. It wasn’t one of the boys, none of them would do this. They would have just taken it from his closet and room. He squatted down, taking a closer look and finding it was the omega, y/n. How did she even get here? He was concerned, but not for how she got here, that she felt safe enough to fall asleep in his closet.

They weren’t close, they hadn't had the chance to talk much, other than the day before. So it was odd that his scent, because he knew that’s what it was, was already something her omega found safe. His alpha found it endearing, that she felt protected and safe surrounded by things that had his scent. He felt protective over her, and he didn’t quite know where this feeling came from, but it was similar, if not the same, to the feeling that he felt with his other members when they were originally paired together over half a decade ago. He felt the tiniest bit of a smile make its way onto his face.

“You just had to go and find yourself here, didn’t you? I’m surprised you didn’t find Hwa’s room instead, I figure he would have been more comforting, yes? Though I wonder who brought you here, since I doubt you knew that we lived here, or how to get in.” He talked to himself really, since y/n was deeply asleep.

He couldn’t leave her here, she’d be sore when she woke up. He steeled himself for what he was about to do. Hongjoong carefully and slowly pulled her out from underneath the closet rail, and then gently took her into his arms, freezing when she stirred slightly, before falling back asleep. He quickly, but without jostling her too much, moved her from the closet floor, deciding that the easiest place to put her at that moment was on the bed, his bed. He gently placed her down on his bed, before pulling the blanket out from underneath her, trying his best not to disturb her. The only movement from her was to pull the rest of his hoodie closer to herself. He chuckled softly, so quietly it was almost inaudible. Once freeing the blankets from underneath the omega, he pulled them over her, tucking her in, and completely on instinct, placing a kiss on her forehead, just like he would with Seonghwa or Wooyoung when they fell asleep in odd places.

He froze once he realized what he had just done, and quickly turned around and left his room, having decided on giving up on his original mission. He made his way to the living room, where he found the three members he bypassed earlier while entering the pack dorm. He walked closer to the three, as he asked, “Who wants to tell me why I had an omega, specifically y/n, the trainee/auditionee, asleep in my closet? Let alone why she was here in the first place, at the pack dorm?”

Wooyoung immediately looked away from either of the ‘98 liners, who immediately knew that it was his choices that led to this.

“Wooyoung wanted to go see y/n because of Dispatch, I wouldn’t let him go alone because he would have made stupid decisions and I didn’t want to get in trouble for letting him go alone. We found y/n in the practice room, one of the betas had injured her earlier this morning and Wooyoung had made the injury worse after tackling her, so we took her to the hospital to get it treated. Wooyoungie felt so protective over her and decided we were coming here instead, I assume because he was either going to trap her somewhere in the apartment, maybe the nest.” Mingi quickly explained, since the younger omega had no intentions to.

“Thank you for explaining, Mingi-yah.” Hongjoong thanked him.

“She’s okay?” Wooyoung asked, concern in his eyes as he looked at Hongjoong.

“Yes. She is okay. However, how did she end up in my room in the first place?” Hongjoong said, to which Wooyoung sighed in relief before looking away again.

“She may have gotten out of my arms after Mingi wouldn’t let her down, and then she was passed over for me to carry while he took his shoes off. Then she ran for it, and ended up in your room.” Wooyoung said, still not looking at either of the older members.

Hongjoong sighed, though he was grateful for the explanation. “Well, she’s asleep in my bed now. She fell asleep in my closet holding onto my favorite hoodie. She seemed exhausted, so we will let her sleep. No Wooyoung, you are not to go into my room and potentially wake her up. She’s had a troublesome day, she deserves the sleep.” He told them, practically ordering Wooyoung.

He turned to Seonghwa, “I’m sorry for ignoring you earlier, darling. I’ve had a bit of a long day at the company.”

Seonghwa nodded, though he had an amused look on his face. ”I figured, love. It’s okay, I understand.” He said as he stood up, coming over and kissing the pack alpha’s cheek, before heading to his own room.

“Okay, I’m heading to the studio here for a while. Mingi, keep an eye on Youngie please.” He received a yell in response to his request, from said person. “Don’t let him wake her up. If he does, you’ll be responsible and punished for it.” He told the younger two, before heading off, hearing arguing as he headed down the hall to his little home studio.

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Taglist is: open!

[americanwh0rerstory]

Party at the x mansion [peter maximoff]

SUMMARY: whilst the other x-men were on a mission, some of the students at the school had some other ideas…

drunk!peter x f!reader.

CONTENT WARNING: alcohol, brief mentions of vomiting (not detailed), suggestive ending with discussions of sex

READER DISCRETION ADVISED. SUGGESTIVE ENDING WITH NO EXPLICIT NSFW

A/N: If you want a part 2 it would contain the nsfw scene. i need opinions on this

flashing lights bombarded his senses, the thumping bass of the party music blending with the faint sounds of puking invading his eardrums. he stumbled down the stairs with wavy vision and made his way back into the main party area after taking a quick detour to sort his looks out. after all, Y/N was here. the one girl who could break the speedster’s usual attitude. for the first time he couldn’t use his mutation to get around the party quickly, the alcohol clouded his vision so he’d most likely run into a wall.

with a red solo cup clutched in one hand, he poured himself another cup of WooWoo from the nearly empty pitcher. his hand trembled and his vision unfocused with how drunk he currently was. looking out into the sea of people, he couldn’t spot Y/N anywhere but the alcohol finally gave him the confidence to make the first move to - hopefully - going out with her. he didn’t wanna be like the stereotypical party jerk who only wanted women for sex, no, he wanted to shower her with affection, and love; the proper princess treatment.

eventually he spotted her on the other side of the party, drinking whatever her choice of poison was with a grin on her face. despite what seemed to be right he took the risk and dashed over to her, leaving a blur of silver hair behind him.

“hey, Y/N” he said with a lopsided grin, a faint blush already painting his cheeks with a rosy hue. his mind was racing faster than any speed he could run, trying to get over the fact he was talking to the only person to have ever made him fully short circuit.

“wanna go somewhere after this? i’ll run you to anywhere you like babygirl” he slurs slightly. he tried his hardest to seem composed but it was obvious by the way he was bouncing on his heels and fidgeting with his hands that he was nervous, a trait you had never seen in the speedster

the pet name also took you by surprise, but you dismissed it as a drunken mishap or one of his platonic affectionate terms that he’d use on anyone he could. you also didn’t know where to go. at this time everywhere would be shut, and he was in no condition to go on a date in a high end restaurant. even sober you couldn’t take him there, the klepto would end up stealing a fork thinking it was real silverware.

“the only place you need to go is to bed. you gotta sleep this off peter, maybe we can do something when you’re sober” you say politely and softly, politely turning him down but agreeing to go out another time. however judging by the pout that fell onto his lips, he wasn’t liking that answer.

“bed? i don’t wanna go to bed, not unless you’re with me” a sly grin crept onto his face as he said the last part of his sentence, but you knew peter well enough to know he wouldn’t try to take advantage of you. he’d never even dream of it. so you agreed to go back to his form

he put a hand behind your head and wrapped the other around your waist. “just a warning: whiplaaaash” he murmured into your ear before speeding you back to his room.

once you was in there, he gave you a quick and affectionate kiss on the cheek before grabbing a box of twinkies and offering you one, or maybe 10 with the amount of twinkies he had in his room.

a movie marathon, twinkies, cuddles, and marching pyjamas is how the night ended. it was serene despite peter’s inability to keep still. his knee was constantly bouncing, or he’d randomly zip over to an arcade machine just to move around a little. either way it was a nice evening. once he finally settled down, he lay with his head between your boobs just burying his face in between them whilst you cuddled him.

“mhhhhm” he mumbled from in between your chest. “this would be great post-sex, and during, and pre-sex” he slurs drunkenly, lifting his head slightly to look up at you through half-lidded eyes

a smirk came over his lips, lighting his whole face up with an expression that couldn’t be described as anything less than dirty.

“wanna test that theory out?”

A/N: oh my god i spent like a week on this. lost motivation so often. pls PLS tell me if this is good or not, cause i’m hating it

[winternimbus]

i don't often talk about transfem issues and transmisogyny by myself on this site (with the regards to me reblogging stuff from the girlies to essentially keep the rent low) because the real meat of what i discuss is usually reserved between my friends and i over on discord and my personal discord but considering the recent influx of shit getting slung at outspoken transfems, and other TMA people on this site--i'm making an exception to my clause because great googly moogly it got bad here, huh! i have anons off for a good reason but the aforementioned influx of things getting sent to outspoken transfems & TMA people here in regards to that pretentious ass "public service announcement diagnosing you with baeddelism" or whatever terminally online goobledygook that you can only find in insular as all high hell online spaces with a predominant TME population. putting aside the very clear underlined corrective r/pe statement in that message--the statement of viewing trans women as objects to be sexualized is very clear, and i don't think the statement that "most people don't view trans women as women, rather objects to be debated about, sexualized, or stomped underfoot entirely" needs to be repeated here. years of having to sit through that fucking debate about astolfo and ferris argyle really does one hell of a number to you when you're the one directly effected by that transmisogynistic stereotype--even if from what i'm aware, there has been a focused effort to reclaim those two characters the other clear issue is that the modern-day queer community was founded by black trans women. are you doing marsha p johnson any favors by going into the dms of trans women and basically going "hahaha no don't be vocal about issues that you firsthand face in the queer community have sex with me instead :)", especially in a time of unfettered and unchecked transmisogyny, and rampant anti-trans legislation that can and WILL personally effect you and people you know--if you don't make an organized, focused effort to stop it? that being said, the unspoken rule is that when a marginalized group of people are speaking about issues that they personally face--you don't stick your nose up and argue with them. you sit down and listen to them. because they know what they're talking about. apologies if this is long and a bit unfocused and/or disorganized. i'm understandably very miffed about all of this, and i needed to get my thoughts out on this all. something something trans men are the men of the trans community. something something saint-dionysus and nothorses and their consequences have been disastrous for the queer community as a whole

[iheartcake123]

hello! first of all I love your fanfictions so much!

When I discovered your account, I literally binge read all of the fanfictions. There are barely any fanfictions of sweet home military men.

I really like the way you write the romantic part.Like when I read them I am giggling and kicking my feet.

Can I request a sweet home Park chan young fanfiction?

Angst + fluff?

I am a big fan of angst.

the reader is a part of the platoon member she and Chan young got into a pretty bad fight. They didn't talk to each other for a few days. yk the scene where the military devices detected a monster nearby? The platoon suspected that the reader was the monster. She was not. Park Chan young got worried, defended her,etc.

I will leave the rest of it to you.

Have a great day! :)

ahhh honestly thank you so much!! it truly means a lot <33 heres your request!! i hope you like it (and sorry for the abrupt ending💀)

Masterlist

park chan-young x f!reader

you slapped chan-young’ arm as you held back your laugh. the two of you were patrolling the area and he kept trying to distract you and make you laugh.

“you’re going to get us in trouble. you know what happened the last time sarge saw us unfocused while we were on patrol” you were trying to be serious.

“i know, i just like seeing you smile” chan-young admitted and you felt your heart quicken as you awkwardly cleared your throat “and i like when i smile too”

he then quickly added on and you nodded your head as you both fell silent.

the next couple of minutes you both walked in silence. neither one of you saying a word. that was, until you both spotted eun-yu who was making her way to an area that was off bounds to civilians.

“come on” chan-young whispered to you and you both followed eun-yu.

eventually, she arrived to an opening that led out of the stadium.

“stop!” you called out to her.

you were familiar with eun-yu, you had spoken to her a couple of times before but never became close with her.

as she turned to look at you and chan-young she let out a sigh.

“just act like you didn’t see me and let me go” she glared towards you, making her way out of the opening.

chan-young began to follow and you grabbed his arm.

“we are not going after her” you shook your head.

“y/n, we have to. she could die out there. she’s not even got a weapon with her” he argued back.

eun-yu looked back at the two of you briefly before beginning to walk away.

“it seems like she’s done this before. we can’t just go after her. we’d be putting our lives at risk for no reason! we have no back up” you were trying to pull chan-young back as he was making his way to follow eun-yu.

“fine. you don’t want to risk your life, that’s your choice but i have to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. don’t worry, i’ll bring her back as soon as possible” he yanked his arm from your grip and started to quicken his pace as he followed eun-yu.

“don’t do this!” you yelled at him but he ignored you.

with a groan you shook your head and made your way back into the stadium. you were annoyed that chan-young hadn’t listened to you and you were worried for his safety.

you chose cover for him when sergeant kim asked where he was but you hated having to lie. and you hated the feeling of waiting for him to return.

if he would even return.

it was so dangerous and you worried for his safety.

a couple of hours had passed and you were now in your room. you were pacing up and down. he should’ve been back by now.

maybe you should’ve told the rest of the platoon where he went because what if he was in danger?

so many different scenarios from good to bad ran through your head.

why did he always have to be so selfless?

after about ten more minutes, you heard a knock at your door. you rushed to open it and when you saw chan-young. as soon as he entered, you immediately wrapped your arms around him.

“woah, what’s that for?” he was taken back.

“what was that for?” you couldn’t believe him, the relief of him being back quickly washed over you and was now replaced we fury “you’re an idiot you know that? you left here for god knows how many hours and i didn’t know if you were dead or alive! i don’t understand why you always do this”

chan-young’ eyebrows furrowed.

“why are you being so rude? you knew i went to go after eun-yu and it’s good i did. she was almost killed” he answered back.

“you don’t get it chan-young!” you were now raising your voice “you can’t just keep putting your life on the line for these people especially when they’re sneaking out! i had to lie for you!”

“i didn’t ask you to lie for me! i can take care of myself”

“you didn’t have to! i did so anyway because i- you know what? forget it. im done with this chan-young. if you want to keep putting yourself at risk then please do so. i can’t be your friend any longer”

“fine” chan-young scoffed before storming out your room.

over the next few days, you asked sergeant kim to switch all your shifts that you had with chan-young. you made up an excuse about wanting to do some medic training instead so that he wouldn’t question you too much about your request.

while no one said anything, they all noticed your change in behaviour. your once bubbly self who wouldn’t stop talking, especially to chan-young, was now quiet and you kept to yourself.

you hated not speaking with chan-young but you told yourself it was for the best. you couldn’t get too close and keep worrying about him like you had done. more importantly, you couldn’t have feeling for him. you couldn’t love him.

that’s what you told yourself.

you sighed as you slowly sat up from your bed. you didn’t feel well. your head was pounding and your sinuses felt blocked.

the good thing about you was that you hid your pain well, there’d been many times where you just wanted to be in bed hiding from the world but you always managed to push past all of that. this time was like no other.

you got dressed and made your way to the main platoon area.

“you look rough” one of the platoon members commented as they saw you and you shook your head.

“just tired” you lied as you then sat down waiting for the morning brief.

chan-young had noticed you from across the room and he could tell something was wrong.

but he didn’t dare approach you. so, instead he made sure to keep an eye from a far.

as the day went on, you felt worse and worse. doing you best to power through it all.

of course, nothing was going right and people were constantly causing a disturbance meaning you and the other platoon members had to deal with it.

you were now stood in the command room with some of your other fellow soldiers who were trying to use the radio.

“the radios have stopped working..” jin-ho raised his eyebrow in confusion but suddenly alarms sounded from multiple devices.

“sir, it seems that there’s a monster within the stadium” jin-ho then held his device up to sergeant tak who hummed in response, now also holding a device that was making loud sound.

“we need to find it” sergeant tak put the device down.

everyone followed his orders as they made their way out the room and to the main platoon area.

as you all gathered around, waiting for more orders from the sarge. you felt a lump in your throat as suddenly the room became hot and your face couldn’t hide how you were feeling anymore.

“yah! y/n, why do you look like that?” one of the soldiers near you commented loudly and heads turned in your direction.

“that’s true, why is she sweating so much and why does she look ill? what if she’s the monster?” another said and you shook your head but it was evident how ill you were.

“she has been acting strange! what if she’s been one for a while but has just been hiding it?! we can’t risk our lives” more soldiers kept adding to the conversation.

“i promise im not” you just about managed to say as the room began to spin.

this wasn’t good.

“really guys, i promise” you breathed out finding yourself unbalanced.

you were going to pass out.

more soldiers began to accuse you and eventually you blocked out all the voices. you were trying to focus on not passing out. if that was even possible.

“look! y/n isn’t the monster, if she was she would’ve turned long ago” chan-young suddenly piped in.

he had been watching everything unfold and he could tell something was wrong with you. and it wasn’t that you were a monster.

“how do you know? she’s been acting strange!” one of the soldiers then held his gun up at you and chan-young immediately put himself between you and the other soldiers.

“seriously! she’s not a monster. she can prove it by cutting her arm-just give her a chance” chan-young was trying to reason with them.

everyone was then in an uncomfortable silence and it was only broken by the sudden sound of a thud.

your body hit the ground and everything went dark.

you had passed out.

“see! she’s a monster!” the soldier holding his gun motioned to your body now on the floor “now move so we can stop her from fully turning”

“y/n, wake up” chan-young was now by your side, he lifted your head onto his lap and was gently tapping you face “wait, let me prove it. she’s not a monster-just ill”

“let him” sergeant tak finally spoke up and chan-young let out a sigh of relief.

he pulled out his knife and gently cut your arm.

blood gently trickled from the wound and after a couple of minutes when they realised you weren’t healing, only then the soldiers who were accusing you backed down.

“see, she’s not a monster” chan-young fired at them before turning this attention to you fully.

he was worried. why had you fainted?

with one quick movement, chan-young swiftly lifted you with his arms and carried you to your room. he gently placed you on your bed and removed your socks and any unnecessary gear from you. he then got a rag and put cold water on it before dabbing it on your forehead until you finally woke up.

you were beyond confused.

“what happened? chan-young why are you here?” you questioned, realising you were in your room.

“im so glad you’re awake. you fainted and you had a really high temperature” his voice was soft as worry was all over his face “are you okay? you don’t seem well at all”

“i think it’s just the flu or something, i’ll be fine” you muttered and tried to sit up but chan-young stopped you.

“stop being stubborn y/n!” he scolded, his voice came out louder than he wanted and you slowly nodded before laying back down.

“im sorry for raising my voice. it’s just you’re not well and you should rest” he softened his voice again and you felt yourself tear up.

you had really missed him.

you turned your head away from him as you felt a tear roll down your cheek. you hated crying in front of other people.

“y/n, what’s wrong?” he asked but you didn’t respond “you can tell me”

chan-young waited a couple of minutes but you weren’t talking or answering him.

he let out a defeated sigh.

“i’ll leave you to be alone, if you want to talk im always here” he said and turned to leave but you quickly sat up and grabbed onto his arm to stop him.

“don’t leave” you sniffled looking up at him and chan-young wrapped his arms around you and you held on to him tightly “i’m sorry for getting so angry and ignoring you. i’ve missed having you around so much, i just worry when you’re not here and-“

chan-young returned the hug and rubbed circles on your back as he shushed you.

“stop apologising. y/n ive missed you so much too. i shouldn’t have been so careless, i…” chan-young then paused “i love you y/n”

as soon as he said those words your heart skipped a beat.

had you heard that right? chan-young loved you?

you slowly pulled away, face in shock.

“what?” you whispered.

“i love you” he repeated reaching to hold your hand.

“i love you too chan-young” you admitted with a smile and chan-young brought your hand up to his lips.

he had a huge grin on his face as he then kissed your hand.

[wordy-little-witch]

Okay but One Piece being in the pirate era and the lack of a frankly inordinate amount of sea shanties hurts me. Like you know DAMN well Roger was a partier, Buggy and Shanks undoubtedly know an incredible amount of shanties, from their first crews, from the new crews, from exploring and seeing and experiencing the world so thoroughly from such a young age.

Shanks would be the type to belt them, top of his lungs, but always adhere to the Codes, though he does think on it for a moment. People think he'd be a pirate head to toe, through and through, and he is! Truly, he is. He just doesn't really live by the Code and die by the Code the way some of the older generation does.

Buggy, despite popular belief, is the one to cling to those Codes with all he has. It's subtle, in the way he hums certain songs to himself but never sings the full lyrics without Meaning. He will sing and dance and party with his crew, they will make merry but they will do so properly. He's avant garde and nouveau expressionism but he's also old fashioned.

When he finds out Shanks taught this scrawny rubber twink everything the kid knows about piracy through sporadic meetings over a year, nearing a decade ago, he is absolutely livid. The swordsman is stupid but has a decent head on his shoulders for behavior. The redhead, from what he sees, knows more than most. He decides to put class in session.

He's surprised to be beaten so thoroughly and then furthermore to be removed succinctly. He's not gonna let it slide, obviously, but he'll play along. Sure. Could be fun. He was getting bored anyway.

Shit just so happens to hit the fan with this decision and all that follow. Shanks, knowing the truth of things, is simply VERY amused and Buggy is debating fratricide.

He's been playing this role for so long, it feels unnatural to drop it. It feels wrong. It makes him panic, makes him Itch.

It only comes to a head years later as he's humming to himself late in the evening on a certain day in September, having spent a good chunk of the day on his own, away from company and to the surprise of very few. Crocodile and Mihawk are among those who do not know why, but they alone are the ones to look for him.

Finding Buggy, singing softly to an animal as he gently brushes out their fur, surrounded by calm animals who seem to nearly build a wall with their bodies between himself and the world, was not anticipated to either men. Nor was hearing Buggy's voice, usually so shrill and rasped, flow gently over a melody with a grief filled expression. Ritchie, among the ones closest, gently head butted the clown with soulful eyes. Mihawk and Crocodile simply watch, seeing Buggy groom and pamper the creatures within the stables this far from town as he sings a specific sequence of songs.

Mihawk realizes first just what they're witnessing, and he grips the logia user's arm, guiding them both back. Crocodile, startled, goes to ask, and Hawkeyes simply shakes his head sharply. It is only once they are far enough that Mihawk breaths a stunned, "He's performing Rites."

"What?"

"Rites," the swordsman reiterates, sending the other a suspicious look. "The Rites of the Code."

The mafioso takes a drag from his cigar, gesturing for the other to go on.

Mihawk sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I forget," he remarks dryly, "how uneducated in ours ways you are."

"Excuse me-?!"

"Rites," the other interrupts, "are a form of mourning. Frequency varies, and the honoring actions can be altered as well. The constant component are the shanties sung in remembrance and the flags flown. For some, a single instance can be sufficient..." Golden eyes drift to the side, unfocused, as he continues. "For others, there is a need to continue doing so. Often, it is a crew mourning a commanding officer. Unlike Marines, Pirates all share an unspoken connection. Though paths may vary and goals may differ, we all care Her in our veins."

Violet eyes love to the expanse of blue, the horizon bleeding across the world. He knew. He may lack some of the nuance of the Code from his priorities laying further inland, but he knew this. How could he not when his own blood sang salted sprays? He knew this much at the very least.

"So the clown is in mourning."

"Yes."

".... why?"

"...... ....... it is September."

"And?"

"The 28th."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You were there, too, 25 years ago. Loguetown."

Silence falls.

The wind rustles branches overhead. It carries the faintest wisps of a voice. The two men pointedly ignore it and the choked quality it had.

".... I see."

"..... yes. That is my theory, at any rate."

"............. Hawkeye."

"What?"

"He was on the King's crew."

"Yes, this has been established."

"Why?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Why him? Why the clown? He's not even 40 yet, so that day... he'd have been, what, 15, at the most? He'd have been on the crew for years by that point. He was there before the man was crowned, after all."

"Shanks was, as well. I believe the earliest mention was when he mentioned an incident from their childhood. He'd said they were... oh, what was it? Seven? Thereabouts. To be on a crew so young..."

"To be there so long, Hawkeye. The brat would have been with them since childhood. That crew was infamous for the things they did - the clown does not fit the pattern."

"He does not boast anything nearing the decorum expected of a fledgling of a King..."

"He knows the Codes, something never mentioned to us nor taught explicitly to his crew that we know of. He served under the King and kept it hidden from the world government for decades. He escaped the Grandline and settled as an East Blue nuisance for years. He was imprisoned in Impel Down with no sea stone."

Golden eyes widen. "You believe he has been hiding more than simply his heritage."

"What makes more sense? This, or what we have thought so far."

"How would we confirm it?"

"Just ask me, maybe?"

Neither man will admit to being startled when a new voice chimes in, soft and hoarse, drowsy. Buggy leans into Ritchie's side as the lion purrs loudly, the clown rubbing his eye.

He continues. "Tomorrow, though. It's late, I'm not feeling well, and Ritch and I have a date with my blanket nest."

"The lion?" / "Blanket nest?"

Buggy giggles softly. "Weighted blankets are expensive. Weighted Ritchies only cost snacks and chin scritches," he remarks softly. "As for the blankets, nests are the way to go. Good night."

Two dark haired men are left by a drowsy clown and lion in the woods on the edge of town with much to thing on and a list to compile for the next day.

The first question? How Mihawk had not sensed him whatsoever on approach.

[hazelfoureyes]

The most important question of all: What type of drunk is everyone in the hotel?

Deeply held personal beliefs here lmao

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹ Alastor

𖦹Alastor loves being the center of attention and he drops his need for an air of mystery when he’s a few fingers deep into the rye. He grabs unwilling participants by the wrists and swing dances with them, despite their clear lack of understanding on how to swing.

𖦹He hums and sings under his breath while sitting in a comfy chair.

𖦹Loqacious! Vaggie would like him to shut the fuck up, Charlie is alarmed because he always reminisces about his real life murders like discussing a loving partner long gone. He is a talkative drunk through and through.

𖦹 Next day: No shame the next morning. Everyone’s annoyed and he might be a little sheepish, but ultimately he doesn’t care.

𖦹Smutty: Never lets you top, but once he’s had a few and has relaxed, will happily lie back and let you take care of yourself with his body while he watches you. Rarely vocal during sex, he’s suddenly talkative and showering you in groans and moans.

Lucifer 𖦹Lucifer doesn’t drink. He really doesn’t. Oh geez, okay well if Charlie is asking so sweetly and everyone else is what’s the harm in-

𖦹Shirt unbuttoned halfway, everything he says sounds like a double entendre even if it isn’t. Cannot stop flirting, even accidentally. The flirty drunk has arrived.

𖦹He stays put, picks a chair or stool and just hunkers down, watching happily over the gathering.

𖦹Pet names for everyone. CharChar, Magpie, Legs, Whiskers, Bambi… Niffty is just Niffty. Even drunk he is a little scared of her.

𖦹Next day: No hangover, excitedly and nervously listening to all the stories of things he did. “Yeah that sounds like me hahaha”

𖦹Smutty: Slow love making, takes his time and moves over you like molasses. Doesn’t care about finishing, just likes the feeling of being close to you and hearing the sounds you make. 50/50 you fall asleep together with him still in you.

Angel Dust

𖦹Angel handles his liquor like he’s handles his men; with an open throat and a smile. It’s genuinely hard to tell if he’s drunk unless he’s so gone his pitch of voice has changed. 𖦹With a little inebriation, he’s leaning into his friends and talking really openly about his feelings and problems in life. 𖦹Drunk? Like— drunk drunk? He’s loud and hanging on everyone for stability. Every grin borders on sleazy, but if the wrong person made a move they’d get four hands to the face pushing them away. Alastor thinks he is the life of the party; Angel is the party.

𖦹Next day: Angel has no memory of what happened the night before and even if he does he will just pull his sunglasses down and pretend he doesn’t.

𖦹Smutty: Angel likes drunk sex, because he can feel his body disconnect from his mind. His eyes would be unfocused, and no matter the lover his gaze would always be at the ceiling. His attention purely on the sensations his body was offering him. He’d be quiet, just enjoying himself.

Husker

𖦹Husk is usually ornery, but when drunk he becomes the wise old man who wont stop talking to you like a kid. Husk, I’m a grown ass adult? Ha, in my day you would still be in diapers. That doesn’t make any sense Husk. Sense? Your lot don’t know shit about sense.

𖦹When he isn’t pretending to be everyone’s drunk Gandalf, compliments flow like booze from a tipped bottle. You’re real pretty when you smile. Wish I saw more of it. — That’s what I like about you, you always get back up.

𖦹Husk is always topping up everyone’s glass, and even when drunk he’s the one who registers when someone’s had enough. On many occasions he has replaced Angel’s drink with just orange juice and soda water when he wasnt looking, too drunk to notice.

𖦹Next day: Yesterday didn’t happen, order a drink or get the fuck out of the bar.

𖦹Smutty: Husk doesn’t like sex when he’s drunk, he doesn’t like the implication anyone may not be fully aware of what’s happening. He’ll cuddle, caress, kiss, but no sex unless you’re relatively sober or you had explicitly made plans to enjoy a drunken romp. In which case, he relishes in changing positions often to find new ways to make you gasp out his name. Tipsy or not, his hands are always steady.

Charlie

𖦹Charlie is the happiest drunk to exist. Her confidence sores with a little liquid courage. She’ll clamor onto the bar and declare she is going to redeem all of Hell, making the Pride ring a glorified bus stop between death and the pearly gates.

𖦹Clumsy. She talks with her hands and spills her drink everywhere. Constantly running into things with her hips and feet. She will trip over nothing, and apologize to the air for the misstep.

𖦹Charlie oscillates between talking nonstop to being dead silent, big doe eyes watching intently as you speak. She’s hanging on every word.

𖦹Tells everyone she loves them, then cries about how much she loves them.

𖦹Next day: Hungover, doesn’t understand why people drink so often, this sucks. Slightly embarrassed about getting up on the bar but otherwise has no issues knowing she doted on everyone.

𖦹Smutty: The Morningstars are similar in that they take their time. They need to hear every little gasp, every held breath. Charlie would spend hours exploring the places she could make bring you pleasure. Little giggles from between your legs as she gives herself mental pats on the back.

Vaggie

𖦹Drunk Vaggie is similar to Sober Vaggie. Serious but caring, and relatively quiet. She wouldn’t become overly showy or loud. Your only indication she’s been drinking is the slight slur to her words and the way her hands tip her drink a little too much when talking.

𖦹Goes on full rants about heaven if the topic comes up. Just bashes the hypocrisy and curses her fellow angels.

𖦹Slips more into Spanish, her words dipping between the two languages.

𖦹Little more handsy, resting her chin on her darling’s shoulder and letting her hands come around their waist while they are talking to people.

𖦹Next day: Needs everyone to shut the fuck up and turn the lights off. She swears she’s never letting Angel mix her drinks again. Mortified to hear she was necking in the lobby.

𖦹Smutty: Drunk Vaggie just wants to kiss and hold you, enjoying the way the room spins a little around you both as you lose track of time. She’s down for more, but only if you’re taking the lead.

Niffty

𖦹Please stop handing her drinks.

𖦹Fuck, she’s drinking other people’s drinks when they aren’t looking.

𖦹She’s dusting the ceiling, she’s vacuuming the sofa, dear God she’s scrubbing Angel’s hands with pure bleach shrieking, “Diiiiirty.”

𖦹Unhinged. More so. Somehow. Makes everyone a crown of trash.

𖦹Next day: is she still drunk? No? This is just her natural state of being?!

𖦹Smutty: Bad boys welcome, everyone else can get shanked.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @alitaar , @maddiemouse-1226 , @christineblood , @zombiesnips-blog , @readergirlstuff

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot

[kakushino]

Hullo fabulous writer! If you're still taking requests, could I beg kindly for a Genya x female reader? While I would love an NSFW with him, I understand if you would prefer not to. I love the boi so much and he needs love!

Fuck me

Shinazugawa Genya x Fem! Reader

He thought you were a boy. He was wrong.

Horny thoughts took over, sincerely sorry this doesn't have more plot

orz

Tags: sex pollen trope, first time, exhibitionism (kinda? they're alone in the forest tho) Word count: 1,3k

Masterlist

You had met during training under Himejima. 

Him, a kid hurt and hurting, and you, a runaway trying to find a place to go on in.

Genya was confused why you had a separate room from him in the sanctuary but he reasoned it had something to do with your past, and given his own, he wasn't about to pry.

You bonded over the brutal training Himejima put you through.

Sitting under a waterfall for hours brought you closer, shared misery from the cold and the aching muscles forging a friendship based on silence, on gritted teeth and on wet hair. Both of you had to shave most of it off as it took too long to dry, and the risk of catching something was too high. More than once, you'd stripped off your tunics and huddled close to share your warmth.

That was before either of you hit puberty though.

You had learned Total Concentration Breathing from Himejima, where Genya was unable to do so. That sent you to the Final Selection a year earlier than him - and while you came back victorious, you also came back with a bandaged chest. You never took them off in Genya's presence. It was alright; if he could, he'd also hide the facial scarring he had.

A year went by and he joined you in your journey as a demon slayer, the pair of you traveling together, training together, eating together. You would sometimes get irritable, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Everyone has a grumpy week here and there. 

Despite your closeness, there was still a wall between you - you never went to the onsen together, you never slept in the same futon, even if sharing one would be easier, and you each did your own laundry.

Years passed. 

The demon you faced today was elusive. That was all there was to it. It ran to the forest and hid in the mist, the air smelling like overripe fruit as you trudged through the flowers growing from moss.

Genya had his gun out and loaded, you held your katana ready, both of you covering each other's blind spot. The darkness of the forest made your hunt crawl at snail's pace.

In the end you didn't find the demon, it found you.

With a screeching laughter, it launched itself at you, you barely blocked its claws with your blade. The force of it knocked you off balance, and you fell to the soft mossy flower bed, clouds of white mist spewing up from the ground, the tumble making the demon roll off of you.

A gunshot rang through the forest. A few soft steps. 

"Are you alright, pipsqueak?"

You groaned, a strange heat spreading from your lungs outward, the strange sweet scent overpowering. “Just fine. I-” Then, it hit you like a landslide.

You cried out, oversensitive and overheated. You rolled onto your side, sheathing your katana. Your binder chafed against your nipples, sending electric shocks to your pussy, and you knew you were soaked in seconds. “Fuck-!”

“What’s going on? Hey-”

Eyes unfocused, your hand brushed against the flowers you were laying on when you tried to get up. It was the damn flowers. A fog as heavy as the flowers created settled over your mind in that moment.

"Fuck me, Genya," you rasped out in desperation. You had tears in your eyes as you clumsily tried to unbuckle your belt, kneeling now. 

He was staring at you wide-eyed, arms raised in a placating gesture. "But, we're both men." A flush took over his face, and his breathing deepened. He’d also inhaled some of the pollen.

You froze momentarily. "Genya, I swear to god-" You finally undid the belt, and ripped open your jacket, being a little gentler with your shirt. "I'm a woman."

His flushed face became even redder, this time it was him who went as still as a statue. But despite that, there was an incessant need crawling under both of your skins. The aphrodisiac made you stop undressing to paw at his clothes instead. You needed him.

"Fuck, get naked. I can't go on much longer-!" You tugged his purple tunic off, undoing the buttons of his jacket as he hesitantly reached for his belt. 

“Are you-?”

“Yes! Now, strip!” you gave up on his shirt and just undid his belt, pulling both his pants and underwear off. Tsk, as if you wouldn’t be sure. Not sure when molten rock flowed through your veins and urged you to be faster, to find something to fill the emptiness, to stop the heat, to-

Genya’s world was spinning. Not only because of you manhandling him in ways that made his dick throb, nor because of the fog you’d both inhaled, but because he just found out his best friend of years and years was in fact a woman. 

How had he been so blind? You pushed him onto his back into the damned flowerbed that rocked his world. How had he not noticed? He grabbed your hips and pulled you against his aching cock, dry humping against your covered cunt, the feeling so good but not enough.

“Genya~”

“Fuck-” 

You moaned his name so prettily, he needed to hear more, to feel more of you, he needed-

You rolled to the side to tug your pants and panties off. As fast as you disappeared off his lap, you re-appeared and now it was your wet cunt against his cock and it felt so good he never wanted it to stop. 

If you continued for much longer, he’d cum before he even got to be inside of you. “[Name], I-” he was about to tell you so, but you only raised your hips a little and lined him up to your entrance. His hands gripped your thighs in a bruising hold when you started to sink on his cock, both of you moaning in sync as you felt a small amount of relief.

You didn’t hesitate and started a pace of rising and dropping down, quick and messy. Each time your ass met his thighs, you felt like screaming; it sent shocks of pleasure from your tummy outwards, your pussy kept fluttering and tightening as you chased the ecstasy you needed.

Genya was struggling to hold out. Your snug cunt was too divine - the first time you sank down, he was about to lose his mind. He could do nothing but take it, hips bucking up to meet you erratically, as desperate for his pleasure as you were for your own.

Who knew sex felt this good?

This was better than his own hand by far.

Before he knew it, he cried out, grabbing your waist and slamming you down onto him, spilling deep inside of you, making you groan in turn. Genya cursed like a sailor, gritting his teeth.

He may be finished but you weren’t. 

You dug your nails into his arms so he would let go of you. When he did, you continued your desperate movements. 

Genya keened like a wounded animal, overstimulated. “Wa-wait-! I can’t-!”

“You have to-!” You stared at him as you rode him through the pain and pleasure; his face was red, eyes glazed over, lips open and a little bit of drool gathering at the corner of them, tears streamed down his cheeks. You could not stop, would not stop. It felt too good to stop.

“Ngh-” He clenched his eyes shut, clawing at the moss underneath him. This wasn’t how he imagined losing his virginity.

One hand braced on his shirt-covered chest, you slipped the other to your clit, trying to get off quicker. 

You were riled up enough that one, two, three tight circles on it made you shatter. 

You threw your head back, muscles taut, pussy milking Genya’s cock for all it had left. Your ears rang, someone was whimpering, someone was whining, you didn’t know who did what, you just collapsed onto a warm chest, arms wrapped around you as you trembled in post-orgasmic bliss.

“That was… something,” Genya panted out, hands rubbing your back as you tried to catch your own breath.

“Thank gods- hah- that you killed the demon, ugh, before this hit, huh?”

Taglist: @sunandflame @flametrashira @misty-angerose @irene9900 @i-literally-cant-with-this @gingerspicelattemix

dividers made by the amazing @/benkeibear

[weemssapphic]

You Make Me Feel

Larissa Weems x f!reader

Summary: At 49 years old, Larissa Weems is the principal of Nevermore Academy - a successful career woman whose dominating energy demands respect from everyone she comes into contact with. She is also a virgin. What happens when she finally meets someone who wants to have sex (and so much more) with her?

Words: ~6.6 | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: virgin!Larissa, internalized homophobia, hurt/comfort, nsfw (sickeningly sweet smut) - cunnilingus, vaginal fingering

A/N: after reading Hot Chocolate on ao3, I couldn't get the idea of virgin Larissa out of my brain so... here we are lmao

Larissa didn’t really know how it happened - the years had simply passed her by in a blur. She was a studious teenager, scoffing at her horny, unfocused peers. It’s not that she never had the opportunity, per se - there were boys who asked her out, who tried to ‘seduce’ her in that awkward, teenage boy way. They all disgusted her - she would wait until college, she reasoned, where she could find someone more mature.

So she left Nevermore behind for her studies. Here, the men - if they could be called such - were just as crude, just as unappealing. The thought of being touched by any one of them filled her with disgust. 

It wasn’t until her senior year of college, when she found herself smitten with one of her female professors, that she entertained the thought of being anything other than straight. It was a thought that had only crossed her mind once before, when she’d accidentally caught her roommate at Nevermore, Morticia Frump, getting undressed. She’d felt oddly… aroused at seeing the girl’s bare skin - and immediately pushed down those feelings. Larissa Weems was enough of a freak as it was - she didn’t need the label ‘lesbian’ stamped on her as well.

But at the age of 22, Larissa had to admit that it was strange she’d never wanted a boy to touch her. She’d gotten close once, during a heavy drunken make-out session with some boy at a freshman party - before freaking out completely and leaving the poor boy squirming uncomfortably at the edge of the lake. And so, at the age of 22, Larissa finally had to confront her very un-platonic feelings for women.

By the age of 49, she’d gone through all the stages of grief regarding her sexuality: she’d vehemently denied entertaining the very thought of being anything other than straight. She’d been angry, oh so angry - at herself, at the world, at Morticia, at the boy she’d kissed. She’d gone through all the what-ifs: what if she’d made a move on Morticia, what if she hadn’t been so uptight, what if her family had been more accepting. She’d even fallen into a bout of depression, realizing how sad and pitiful she was for being a lonely virgin who hated herself for something she couldn’t change.

She’d finally settled on acceptance. Larissa had accepted that she was a lesbian. But, through all those years, she’d been too busy hating herself and throwing herself into her work to entertain thoughts of actually dating. So now she was 49. And a virgin. And who would want to be with a 49 year old virgin?

Sometimes, Larissa could ignore those thoughts, push them down. Sex and dating aren’t everything, she’d reason. She didn’t need anyone else. She had a successful career that kept her busy enough, after all - it was her dream as a teenager, wasn’t it? 

Some days, though - days like today - it was harder to drown out the lonely, self-pitying thoughts. Days where she had a one-on-one meeting with you, for example. 

As one of the teachers at Nevermore, Larissa found you particularly alluring - everything about you seemed to draw her in, leave her wanting more. You carried yourself with such confidence, you challenged Larissa in ways that both delighted and aroused her. You were kind and chatty, interested in what Larissa had to say - she felt she could talk to you for hours.

And you looked so delicious. In her weakest moments, Larissa imagined how it would feel to have a woman’s hands on her body - and more often than not, it was your hands she pictured, your face that surfaced in her mind as she pleasured herself. She yearned to feel your lips on her own, your body pressed against hers. How delightful it would feel to finally, finally be touched, to finally feel desired.

Today was no different - when you knocked on her office door for the start of your quarterly review, Larissa had to take a moment to compose herself before calling out “come in.” Her breath hitched in her chest as you strode up to her desk, grinning widely and taking a seat across from her.

The review of your performance took no time at all - you were honestly one of her best teachers, well-liked by the staff and the students (even Wednesday Addams had yet to cause an issue in your class). With twenty minutes left of your scheduled meeting time, the two of you began to chat about various, non-school-related subjects. Larissa found herself relaxing more and more, and before she realized what she was doing, she found herself asking if you’d like to join her in her quarters at the end of the day for a glass of wine and a chat.

“Of course, Larissa.” You beamed, sounding eager - was it Larissa’s imagination, or had a faint blush crept up your cheeks?

After agreeing to come by at 7, you took your leave to prepare for your afternoon classes - Larissa walked you to the door, which she leant against as soon as it shut behind you. Oh God, what had possessed her? An entire evening in your presence would be torture for her… 

The worst part, somehow, was the fact that she knew you liked women - you’d brought up an ex-girlfriend once, Larissa had been taking a sip of coffee at the time and had nearly begun to choke. It was entirely plausible that you could… Larissa quickly shook the thought from her head. Even if you returned her affections, surely you’d hightail it out of there the second you found out how little experience Larissa had.

~~~

The afternoon passed quickly and soon Larissa found herself nervously pacing the length of her office, smoothing her sweaty palms over her dress to remove non-existent wrinkles.

Your knock sounded for the second time that day, and Larissa jumped at the sound. With a deep breath, she slipped into the persona she’d begun to adopt when dealing with the Mayor and other important figures - authoritative, even slightly seductive. It was the only way she wouldn’t crack under her nerves.

“Hello, darling,” Larissa husked as she opened the door and stepped aside to allow you to enter.

“Hey!” You’d changed out of your clothes from earlier into a low-cut blouse and a short skirt. A pair of simple black heels added two inches to your height, a fact that Larissa couldn’t help but find incredibly alluring. In your hand you held a bottle of Chianti, which you offered to Larissa. “Didn’t wanna come empty-handed,” you added with a nervous giggle.

“Oh…” Larissa’s heart fluttered at the kind gesture. “You didn’t have to.” She accepted the bottle with a grateful smile, hoping her blush wasn’t too obvious.

“I know, I wanted to.” You grinned at her, finally stepping into the office and closing the door behind you. Larissa reached past you to click the lock - and immediately paled as you smirked at her.

“My, my, Principal Weems, trying to trap me here and get me drunk?” you teased. Larissa’s panic must have been evident on her face because you burst into laughter and placed a reassuring hand on her arm - her skin burned at the contact as if it had been branded.

“I-I just don’t want students bursting into my office after hours, I…” Larissa trailed off lamely, unable to focus when your hand was still on her arm. It was so warm, so soft… she found herself imagining that hand on other parts of her body, trailing along her skin…

“Relax, Larissa, it’s okay,” you said, your face softening. “Either way it’s fine by me.”

Either way? Larissa nodded, swallowing thickly and trying to regain her composure. You’d always been very friendly, borderline flirty even, but something about being alone with Larissa outside of school hours seemed to relax you even further.

Larissa took a deep breath. A bit of teasing she could do - she was no stranger to a healthy bit of flirting to get what she wanted. Granted, her heartbeat was a bit more erratic this time, as she was actually attracted to the person across from her. Regardless - a bit of flirting couldn’t hurt. It didn’t have to be more than that.

“Would you like to take this to my quarters?” Larissa purred, plastering a seductive smile on her face and nodding in the direction of a door at the back of her office.

“I would love that.”

Minutes later, you were settled on the couch in Larissa’s living room and she was pouring two generous glasses of wine. She kicked off her heels and made herself comfortable beside you - you followed suit, taking the liberty to scoot just a bit closer. Larissa noticed, quirking an eyebrow - you laughed in response.

“Sorry, too forward?” You were still smiling as you made to shimmy back a bit - Larissa found herself placing a hand on your thigh, stilling your movements.

“You may stay,” she replied airily, grateful you couldn’t pick up on the way her heart was thundering loudly against her ribcage, seconds away from bursting. You placed your hand atop Larissa’s and she took a sip of her wine to mask the blush that was spreading across her face. Out of the corner of her eye, Larissa could see you mirror her movements, bringing your glass up to your mouth and taking a sip, watching her intently over the rim of the glass.

“Didn’t your parents tell you that it’s rude to stare?” Larissa murmured playfully, watching your cheeks go pink.

“No. They didn’t, actually,” you teased, before turning slightly more serious. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… you’re really beautiful. Just want you to know that.”

Larissa felt butterflies erupt in her stomach and she turned to face you fully - you looked so cute, staring into your wine glass, cheeks pink… It had been so long since Larissa had been called beautiful - she was so careful not to put herself into situations where rejection could be the possible outcome. “Thank you.” You looked up and Larissa smiled.

“Larissa?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know why you invited me here tonight. I was hoping… Well, I have to confess something, I want to be open with you.”

Larissa could feel her heartbeat in her throat, and she nodded slowly, suddenly becoming aware that her hand was still on your thigh.

“I’m interested in you, Larissa. Now maybe I’m interpreting this all wrong, and if so I’m very sorry - I promise I won’t let it affect our professional relationship. But maybe the feeling is mutual…?”

She could hardly believe her ears. Of course the feeling was mutual. Larissa felt warm and tingly all over, her heart pounding and her head reeling. All she’d ever wanted was suddenly in her grasp  - it was now or never…

Larissa’s eyes flicked down to your lips. Something in her expression must have given her away, for you leaned in and pressed your lips to hers - Larissa was helpless to stop you. It was just as she imagined - better, even. Your lips were soft and warm against hers, gentle - a stark contrast to the boy she’d made out with in college.

You quickly deepened the kiss, licking at Larissa’s lips which she parted almost out of instinct, allowing you to explore her mouth. You tasted of red wine and the lipstick you were wearing - Larissa couldn’t help but let out a soft noise of pleasure as heat pooled in her core. She felt you take her wine glass out of her hand and briefly pull back to set the two glasses on the coffee table - then your lips descended upon hers once more, the kiss quickly gaining intensity.

A wanton groan escaped your throat as you pushed yourself into Larissa - it was a beautiful sound, and Larissa could feel her underwear growing damp. She squeezed her thighs together for some much-needed relief, an action which you immediately noticed. 

“Where’s your bedroom?” you rasped against Larissa’s lips. Her heartbeat stuttered in her chest - this was moving so fast. She wanted to protest but with the way you were looking at her, eyes half-lidded, pupils wide, cheeks flushed - she found she couldn’t summon up the courage to deny you, despite how her stomach began to burn with anxiety.

Instead, she stood and led you to her bedroom, allowing you to guide her backwards onto the mattress. She felt your fingers toy with the zipper of her dress and push it down to pool at her hips - then, suddenly, your lips were everywhere at once. You planted urgent, demanding kisses down her chest, her stomach - your hands caressed the bare skin of her waist. 

These were the touches Larissa had yearned for for so long - your soft fingertips leaving marks on her waist as your warm breath caressed her skin, your lips and tongue and teeth peppering her body with kisses as evidence of your desire. But she wasn’t enjoying them. It was too much, too fast - she was overwhelmed with sensations. The throb between her legs no longer felt pleasant - it felt daunting, dirty even. What would happen when you’d fuck her and notice how skittish she was? What would happen when you’d expect to be pleasured in return and she would, inevitably, fail miserably?

As your lips moved up her body again, Larissa knew she needed to slow this down and confess, before her inexperience became evident and disappointed you. She took a deep breath.

“I don’t have much experience,” Larissa confessed quietly - the words sounded foreign to her ears. She could feel her nerves rising further as she wondered if you would hate her for it, leave immediately and never touch her again - she waited with baited breath to see what you would say.

“A woman like you? I find that hard to believe,” you murmured playfully, your voice low and sultry as you began to trail kisses all along Larissa’s jaw, as your fingers dug into her hips.

You weren’t getting it. Larissa felt, for the umpteenth time in her life, shame well up inside her, warming up her skin and pricking at her eyes. She felt her throat begin to close as panic overtook her body, and she tried to no avail to calm her racing heart with deep breaths as her eyes glazed over with tears.

“Larissa? Larissa?” Everything sounded like she was under water, your voice was so far away. Eventually, she recognized her name and turned to meet your gaze. You were no longer kissing her - you looked down at her in concern, brow furrowed, frowning as your lips sounded out her name.

Larissa took a deep breath to steady herself. She felt foolish for getting so worked up - surely you would think she was some sort of freak. 49 years old and unable to even so much as make out with a woman without having a panic attack.

“Larissa?”

“Yes?” She tried to sound normal, nonchalant, but her voice betrayed her as it gave out, even on that one syllable.

“Where’d you go? What’s going on up there?”

Your fingers caressed her cheek in a soothing gesture and she allowed her eyelids to flutter shut, leaning into the warmth of your touch. She found herself craving it so, so badly, but she couldn’t allow herself to enjoy it - not when it would surely be the last shred of affection she’d ever receive from you. She stared at the ceiling, a hollow feeling settling in her chest.

“We don’t have to do this, we don’t have to do anything. You know that right?” You shifted off of her, lying on your side to face her and propping yourself up on your elbow. When Larissa failed to meet your gaze, she felt your fingers grip her chin, urging her to face you. “We could just watch a movie or something?”

I don’t want to watch a movie. I want to fuck you. I want to be fucked. I want my body to let me have this. 

Larissa nodded numbly.

You sat up, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Larissa moved as if on autopilot, pulling her dress back up and sliding off the bed, guiding you wordlessly back into her small living room. She gestured to the couch and you took a seat. 

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked, clearing her throat. 

“Just water, thanks.” You offered her a grateful smile, and Larissa winced - she was going to need something stronger than water to get through the evening now, but she didn’t want you to think she was an alcoholic either, so she nodded and padded to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water.

When she returned you were focused on the television, flicking through Netflix. You paused to take one of the glasses out of her hand, careful not to allow your fingers to brush against hers as you did so - Larissa swallowed nervously and averted her eyes, taking a seat next to you - close enough to feel your body heat, but not touching you.

“I feel like Netflix took all the good movies off,” you whined with a slight pout - if Larissa hadn’t been so in her own head, she might have chuckled, finding you quite endearing. “Is there anything you want to watch?”

Larissa felt herself shrug. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying your interactions leading up to now, internally berating herself for letting on that she wasn’t okay. If she’d only been able to play along better… it was something even teenagers did, for fuck’s sake - it shouldn’t be a big deal. If she could just get it over with, then maybe -

“Are you more of a romcom or action kinda gal? Ooh. Maybe you wanna watch a horror movie or something? What about-”

“I’m a virgin.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

You hadn’t heard her. Larissa once again felt the sting of oncoming tears. “I’m a virgin,” she repeated, a bit louder, unable to stop her voice from rising in pitch, eyes trained on the floor in front of her.

The silence that enveloped the two of you was deafening. 

A warm hand was placed on her thigh - she whipped her head around to face you, confusion and insecurity marring her features.

Your own eyes shone with care - Larissa felt her heart pound wildly against her ribcage.

“Thank you for telling me,” you said softly. “I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you earlier - I shouldn’t have moved so fast.” You looked almost ashamed, which confused Larissa further… What were you apologizing for? Clearly she was the one with the issues. She shook her head lightly, a bit dazed.

“No, I’m sorry…” Larissa hesitated, swallowing against the lump in her throat and fighting back tears. “I’ll walk you to the door, we can forget this ever happened.” As she stood, she felt your fingers gently encircle her wrist.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Larissa. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

Larissa scoffed, but she made no move to extricate herself from your grip. Not when your warm fingertips were the only thing that could bring her comfort.

“I’ll leave if you want me to… but I’d rather stay and make sure you’re alright - if that’s okay?”

A part of Larissa was screaming, begging, pleading with her to kick you out so she could do what she always did - drown herself in her own self-pity (and maybe half a bottle of wine) and cry. But when she glanced down at you and saw the worry in your eyes, the adorable little crease between your brows that deepened at whatever you saw in Larissa’s own eyes, she nodded and sat back down.

“Is it… would you rather I not touch you right now?” you asked as you dropped Larissa’s wrist. There was a healthy distance between the two of you on the couch - it couldn’t have been more than a foot or two, but it felt like miles to Larissa, who felt the crushing weight of loneliness descending upon her again as you retracted your fingers.

“You can touch me,” she whispered, ashamed at how desperate she sounded. She felt the couch cushions shift next to her, and soon your warm thigh was pressed against hers - then your hand found her own, intertwining your fingers together. Your skin was so soft, your hand fit so perfectly within Larissa’s that it made her breath hitch in her chest, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of your small, feminine hand clasping her own. She wished her hands weren’t as clammy as they were, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“I hope I didn’t scare you away,” you said timidly. “I really like you and I… I didn’t mean to push you into anything. Fuck, I didn’t know, I’m sorry. I thought…” You trailed off, watching Larissa apprehensively.

“You really like me?” Larissa’s ears had perked up as you’d said it, she figured she must’ve misheard you. You smiled shyly then, and Larissa felt butterflies in her stomach. “Even… even now?”

You let out a low chuckle, giving Larissa’s hand a squeeze. “Even now? Is you being a virgin supposed to change my mind?”

“I’m 49…” Larissa whispered in anguish, her heart constricting in her chest as she realized she was admitting things to you now that she’d never told anyone.

“And? I mean I guess I’m curious why - it can’t be your looks or your personality, because you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and you’re so easy to talk to… But it doesn’t bother me or anything.”

Larissa sighed, dropping her gaze to your intertwined hands. When she spoke, it was barely audible. “I was never attracted to men, so I didn’t want them to touch me. I didn’t realize I could be attracted to women until college and by the time I’d come to terms with that… let’s just say I’m certain no one would want to deflower someone in their 40s.”

“I would,” you said with a shrug, so nonchalantly that Larissa whipped her head around to face you. You chuckled at her bewildered expression. “Come on, Larissa. I don’t care about that. I like you as a person and I find you attractive. I want to have sex with you, if you also want to have sex with me. I don’t care how many other people you’ve been with - I really don’t care if the answer to that is zero.”

Larissa took a moment to mull over your words. They sounded almost too good to be true - she never thought she’d find someone who would be so calm, so gentle, so unfazed about the whole thing. And, well, that it just so happened to be the woman she had a crush on… she could feel herself nodding at your words.

“But we don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. Obviously.”

“I want to,” Larissa said firmly, if a little too quickly - it made you smirk, and her cheeks turned scarlet.

“We’ll go at your pace then.” You brought Larissa’s hand up to your lips and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles. The soft brush of your lips made a rush of heat pool in Larissa’s abdomen. “Only what you’re comfortable with. And if you want to stop, we stop. I want you to have fun, Larissa. I want this to be good for you.”

“Thank you,” Larissa whispered. The smile she received in return was blinding, and her heart felt just a smidge lighter. 

“Do you want me to leave for tonight?”

Larissa shook her head no. You snuggled into her side and picked up the abandoned remote again, flicking through a few more options before finally settling on Carol - Larissa felt herself slowly begin to relax as the film started.

A few minutes into the movie, Larissa felt your fingers begin to trace absent-minded patterns on her knee. She shivered at the touch - she could feel herself start to get worked up. She wondered if there was any way to salvage the evening - her attraction to you had only grown through your show of empathy, and maybe now that you knew her secret, her body could feel safe enough to let go.

Larissa turned towards you - your head was resting against her shoulder, it would be so easy to just lean in and-

You turned your head and met her gaze. “Now look who’s staring,” you teased. Larissa’s eyes were glued to your lips as you spoke. You were such a good kisser, you tasted so good. She leaned forward, focused on her goal - your lips curled into a smile as you leaned in as well. Larissa’s eyes fluttered shut the moment your lips met and she let out a breathy moan. You didn’t deepen the kiss - you simply pressed your lips to hers, humming and gently cupping her face in your hands.

Larissa felt emboldened by your gentleness - she parted her lips slightly to lick at yours. You opened your mouth for her, allowing her to explore your mouth before gently flicking your tongue against hers. She felt a mad fluttering in her abdomen at the deepening of the kiss, a little whimper escaping her throat at all of the sensations once again flooding her body.

Pulling back once she’d run out of air, Larissa rested her forehead against yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingled with her own, her skin tingled with electricity.

“I want to try this again,” she whispered resolutely.

“Really?” You pulled back, your eyes flicking between hers. Your expression was a mixture of concern and excitement, and Larissa nodded.

You stood, extending a hand for Larissa to take and helping her up.

This time you climbed onto the bed first, settling against the pillows and waiting for Larissa. She followed suit, lying down next to you and pressing a hesitant kiss to your lips. She could feel the affection and tenderness with which you kissed her back and quickly relaxed, allowing her hands to rest on your waist and tugging you closer. You wound your arms around her and held her tightly - she felt safe in the minutes that you spent making out, heat slowly building within her.

Larissa froze as your fingers played with the zipper of her dress, her breath quickening. Noticing the change, you removed your hand and sat back on the balls of your feet.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked - there was no judgment detectable in your voice, only sweetness and worry. “Yes, I am, I’m sorry.” Larissa took a deep breath, trying to relax again.

“What if I got undressed first?”

She considered for a moment - yes, perhaps that would make her feel less vulnerable. She nodded and you began to unbutton your blouse.

“May I?” she asked. You smiled and dropped your hands, shimmying a bit closer. She unbuttoned the blouse the rest of the way, pupils dilating as it fell away from your front to reveal your lace-clad breasts. You slid the blouse from your arms and reached behind yourself, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside - your breasts jiggled slightly as you did so, and Larissa felt her mouth go dry.

Shimmying your hips, you slid your skirt down your legs and tossed it aside, before doing the same with your underwear. There you sat, completely naked, thighs parted slightly to reveal the wetness that glistened between your legs. Larissa’s own pussy throbbed with desire at the sight - she felt an overwhelming sense of euphoria at the fact that you were so aroused, in spite of everything that had transpired that evening.

“All for you,” you purred seductively, smirking as you noticed Larissa’s eyes glued to your cunt. Larissa snapped her gaze up to meet yours and you leaned forward again, pressing a soft kiss to her lips as your fingers once again found her zipper and began to drag it down. She moved her body accordingly so you could slide the dress down her body - nodding as you cocked your head in question when the dress pooled at her hips. You slipped her out of the dress completely, then crawled up her body and settled next to her, toying with the clasp of her bra. 

“You can take it off,” she whispered, almost amused at how fast you complied. 

The hunger with which your eyes roved over her torso, drinking in the milky expanse of her soft stomach, the swell of her breasts, her pink nipples that slowly hardened at the chill in the air - it felt like a drug to Larissa. She’d never had anyone look at her like that - no one had ever seen her naked in such a context, and she felt her chest flush.

Part of her wanted to cross her arms over her chest, her anxiety rising at the unabashed attention - but then you lowered your mouth to her right nipple and gently soothed your tongue over the bud, and her brain short-circuited.

Arching her back off the bed, Larissa let out a strangled, breathy sound - your tongue on her nipple felt like velvet, divine and soothing, and it sent tingles down her spine. Then she felt you roll her other nipple between your fingers and groaned - it was a filthy sound, and her hand shot up immediately to cover her mouth.

Your tongue stilled and you looked up at her with a smile. “No, I want to hear you. That was a very pretty sound you made.” Larissa blushed, removing her hand from her mouth. Your tongue resumed its ministrations, slowly causing the small, pink bud to harden, and Larissa whimpered at the shocks of pleasure that originated behind her navel and rippled outwards in waves.

“Does it feel good when I do that?” you murmured, moving your mouth from one breast to the other, and Larissa nodded fervently.

“Please, keep going,” she breathed, a tightness coiling in her abdomen as your hand joined your tongue to knead at the soft flesh of her breast.

Once you’d showered each of her breasts in ample attention, your lips began trailing down her stomach - much gentler this time, much slower. Larissa almost felt embarrassed at how her body was reacting, how excited she seemed to be getting, as your lips left a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Can I take these off?” You toyed with the waistband of Larissa’s underwear - she paused for a moment, before finally nodding again.

Your fingers brushed against her skin as you tugged her underwear down her legs, then settled between them. With you suddenly this close to her pussy, Larissa began to worry whether she should have shaved. She felt her nerves rising again as she waited for you to tell her how disgusting you found her - then she felt your lips begin to press reverent kisses to the little curls, as if you could sense her anxiety and were trying to reassure her that it was okay.

“Is it okay if I use my mouth?” you asked sweetly. Her eyes widened and her face suddenly felt hot - you were being so considerate, asking all these questions, making sure she was okay with everything, and Larissa wished you didn’t have to do that - she wished she could just be okay with whatever you wanted to do to her.

“I’m sorry, this must be terribly tedious,” she mumbled, her voice dripping with insecurity that, in any other context, she simply did not possess - she hated herself for it right now, and she was unable to meet your gaze because of it. A light slap to her thigh shocked her into looking at you, however. You frowned up at her from between her legs. “Hey. Don’t say that. Making love to you isn’t a chore, Larissa. I want this. So bad. And I want you to enjoy yourself as much as I am. Understood?”

“Yes,” she replied, breathless at your display of dominance.

“Good girl.” Larissa let out an involuntary moan - she had never considered that she would enjoy being called a ‘good girl’, but she couldn’t help the way her cunt throbbed at your words. “So. Is it okay if I use my mouth? Or do you want to stop?”

“N-no, I don’t want to stop… you can use your mouth.” 

You beamed up at her, before carefully hooking one of her legs over your shoulder - Larissa could feel herself being spread open at the action.

Soft lips began littering her inner thighs with gentle kisses. Larissa tried her best to stay still, not to squirm - but when your mouth finally met her cunt, your tongue slowly trailing up her slit, she couldn’t help but buck her hips into your face.

A soft groan left her lips when she felt your tongue flick against her clit - she was so sensitive, and the touch was so different than when she pleasured herself - it made every hair on her body stand on end. Your lips closed around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking gently and drawing little whimpers from Larissa’s throat as her back arched. She felt herself quickly getting lost in the sensation.

“Does this feel good?” you murmured, pulling back for a moment.

“Y-yes,” Larissa panted - her breathing was already beginning to get heavier.

“If anything doesn’t feel good, if you don’t like it, tell me, okay?”

Larissa hummed and you began licking at her folds, gathering her juices on your tongue and letting out a loud moan of delight. “Fuck, you taste amazing.” Larissa couldn’t help but blush again, but her embarrassment was forgotten the second your tongue circled her clit. She shut her eyes and tried to focus on relaxing.

She found herself unsure what to do with her hands - she briefly brought them to your head, then fisted at the sheets next to her. Then she felt something brush against them and opened her eyes to see your own hands blindly reaching out and grabbing for hers. She intertwined your fingers, her heart leaping in her chest as you gave her hands a squeeze.

The coil in Larissa’s stomach was tightening by the second. She felt herself growing more comfortable with every passing minute, allowing unfiltered moans to pass her lips, spurred on by the noises you were making - the breathy groans, the wet sound of your tongue lapping at her folds. When you gently circled her entrance, she couldn’t help but whine and buck her hips.

“C-can you go inside?” she asked quietly, rolling her hips against your face. You groaned in response, slowly pushing your tongue into her hole. Larissa’s walls fluttered against your tongue and she let out a guttural moan. 

“Good girl,” you purred between thrusts of your tongue. “You’re doing so well for me, love.”

Larissa could feel herself getting closer, her thighs trembling - she tried to keep her legs open but the next thrust of your tongue caused her to snap them shut around your head.

Slowly she began to unravel, her release cresting like a wave as you alternated between teasing her hole and sucking her clit. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she lost herself completely in the feeling of ecstasy overwhelming her body.

She felt your tongue soothe over her folds, then her thighs, lapping up the evidence of her orgasm. You gave her hands a gentle squeeze, before gently extracting your fingers from her grip and crawling up her body. Larissa’s eyes were still closed when she felt your lips on her own. At your tongue’s insistence she parted her lips, whining at the taste of herself as you licked into her mouth.

When you pulled back and cupped her cheek, Larissa opened her eyes. She was almost shocked at the sheer amount of affection and adoration that swirled in your pupils as you searched her face - it made her heart flutter in her chest.

“How was it?”

Larissa hesitated - what was she supposed to say to that? It was everything I’ve ever wanted and more, because it was with you… She buried her face in the crook of your neck and sighed, inhaling the scent of sweat and your sweet perfume on your skin.

“Really good, darling,” is what she settled for as she contentedly nuzzled her nose into your pulse point. She felt your arms wind around her and allowed herself to be held as her breathing slowed. A chaste kiss was pressed to the crown of her head and she smiled against your skin. 

You shifted next to her, wrapping your legs around hers, and Larissa could feel your slick rub against her thigh. Tentatively, Larissa allowed her hand to trail down your bare waist, over the swell of your hip. She could feel you shiver against her as her fingertips brushed against your mound.

Larissa reached between your thighs and pulled back to get a look at your face - you watched her intently, pupils blown, lips parted to let out shaky breaths. Slowly, Larissa spread your folds with her fingers, gasping as she felt how wet you were. She gathered some of your juices on her fingertips and massaged them over your swollen clit, enraptured by the soft moan you let out, the way your eyes fluttered shut and your hips twitched seemingly of their own accord.

With your eyes closed, Larissa allowed herself to admire your beauty, the way you gave in to her touches. She touched you the way she normally touched herself, and it seemed to please you - your face was gorgeously flushed, the most obscene noises slipping from between your swollen lips. When you arched your back, Larissa’s eyes fell to your nipples, hardened with arousal. She lowered her mouth to your breast, flattening her tongue and soothing it over the pink bud, drawing a moan from your chest.

“Bite,” you murmured. Larissa paused, glancing up at your face - then felt your hands on the back of her head, pushing her into your chest. She licked your nipple once more, before grazing her teeth against it and gently biting. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you mewled, and Larissa bit down again, the heat within her own body building at the string of obscenities dripping from your lips.

You rolled your hips against her hand as she continued to stroke your clit. She felt your fingers encircle her wrist, guiding her to your dripping hole. “Two fingers,” you instructed breathily.

Larissa complied, first pushing in one, then two fingers, inadvertently biting down on your nipple again as she felt your walls draw her fingers in. She curled her fingers, experimenting with the pace of her thrusts until she heard your breathing stutter.

“Shit, you’re so good at this,” you praised, your thighs beginning to shake and the rolling of your hips becoming more and more erratic. Your face contorted with pleasure as you rode Larissa’s fingers - she felt your cum drip down her hand as you tensed around her, then you sighed and relaxed into the mattress.

Larissa sat up, pulling her fingers out of your cunt - the needy mewl that left your lips caused a shiver to run down her spine. Your eyes met hers, full of affection and desire, and she felt emboldened - she brought her fingers up to her mouth and licked them clean, moaning at the taste. It was intoxicating - she knew she could get addicted to that taste.

“C’mere,” you murmured, holding your arms open for Larissa. She settled into them, slinging an arm around your bare waist and tugging you closer. You pressed a kiss to her lips. “That-” kiss “felt-” kiss “incredible” kiss. 

Larissa felt herself blushing at your compliment - she couldn’t have asked for a better experience for her first time. It might have come some twenty years later than she’d hoped for, but if it meant she could be here with you right now, your fingertips tracing soothing patterns on her back, your breath tickling her cheek - she’d wait those twenty years all over again.

“I’m glad it was you, you know,” she whispered.

“I’m glad, too,” you whispered back, a gentle smile tugging at your lips.

x

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[the-karma-cafe]

Alll My Moneh | Arthur Morgan

(also posted on ao3 under same username)

based on Arthur's silly drunk line "I lost allllll my money... can I ... have *yours* laydey ?" yes arthur my babygirl you can have all of it

also fun hannibal reference cause i llove

“Bye Ernie!” I called over my shoulder. The man behind the bar smiled and waved as I left the saloon, the doors swinging shut behind me. I brushed my hands off on my dress and stepped down the first couple of steps, eager to head home and away from the drunkards of Valentine. The job was fun, sure, but more often than not-

“I lost allll my money...” A sad voice called out to me from the street.

I glanced over, confused. The man in the dirt street stared at me through unfocused eyes, his stance crumpled and wobbly. He seemed to be searching for something to lean on.

“Can…” he hiccuped, “Can I have yours… laadyy?” his southern drawl lengthened the word.

Despite having dealt with drunk men all evening, I smiled, tilting my head to the side. “You alright sweetie?” He looked like a lost puppy, and, unlike the other patrons of the saloon, he wasn’t saying anything untoward.

The man gave a dopey grin upon hearing my voice, stumbling forward. “M’yeah.” 

I paused, glancing around the street. He didn’t seem to have any buddies with him. I stepped towards him, my hands out and ready to catch him if he suddenly pitched forward. “Hope you don’t mind my sayin’, but you don’t look it.” I pursed my lips. “Where’re your friends, baby?” 

He shrugged and almost fell into me before catching himself a foot away. “Camp.” 

I furrowed my brow in worry. I couldn’t in good conscience let this poor drunken fool wander around the street at night—he was sure to get robbed. “You wanna tell me where that is so we can get you home, cowboy?” I gently touched his arm and he leaned towards the feeling, eyes closing and opening at random intervals. He nodded mutely. 

I went to guide him over to my horse before he wobbled out of my light hold and back into the street, shaking his head. “No! Nooo.... No I don’ wanna go to camp.”

I sighed. “You’ve gotta go somewhere, darlin’.” 

He tried to focus his eyes on my form. “Why you..” he shook his head, planting his feet. “Why d’you care?”

I gave him a pitying look. “I don’t know, mister, but just let me help.” I searched around the street, my eyes lighting on the hotel. I looked back at him, hoping my expression was as comforting and gentle as possible. “You want a room in the hotel instead?”

He eyed me for a beat, suspicious, before nodding and humming in acquiescence.

I held out my hand to stabilize him and he grabbed it instead. I blinked down at our intertwined hands. Not exactly what I had intended, but not… unwelcome. He was closer now, and I could see that he wasn’t like the drunkards I was used to. Much more handsome, and so far, much nicer as well. 

Before he could question why we hadn’t started moving, I guided him towards the hotel, fortunately only a couple doors down, and helped him up the steps and inside. 

The receptionist welcomed us in, noting our joined hands. He smiled knowingly. “Not too loud, now.” He joked. I flushed, stammering out an excuse about how that was not what it was like at all, before paying for and receiving a room key. 

The man with me kept his eyes on me the whole way up the stairs, making no move to help me get him up there. I huffed. He wasn’t a small man. 

We reached the top of the stairs and I dragged him into his room, closing the door behind us. “Alright, mister, let’s get you situated.” His weight was fully on my side and I had to remove my hand from his grip (notably difficult) and wrap my arm around him to keep him upright. I grunted, working my way towards the bed.

He turned and I felt a cool rush of air on my head. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you- Are you sniffing me??” 

He coughed, whipping his head away. “D’fficult to avoid.”

I chuckled good-naturedly. “Hope it was everything you dreamed of.”

I pushed him onto the bed and he flopped over, immediately snuggling into it. I straightened up and exhaled, looking down at him. He looked… cute, like this. He was almost like a child, fisting the blankets and tucking his legs up near his torso. I shook my head, breaking that line of thought. This was silly.

Good deed for the day done, I placed the key on his nightstand and turned to leave. 

“Wait!” A warm weight held my wrist. I turned back to find him looking up at me from the edge of the bed with the sweetest pair of puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen. “Please stay.” He mumbled, like he didn’t want to say it, and definitely would not have if he hadn’t been in such a state. 

I tore my eyes away, looking at the ground. I didn’t know this man. It was enough of a risk just to take him up here—it was even more to stay and sleep here. 

His grip loosened, sensing my indecision. “I understand.” he nodded, not looking at me. “‘M scary.” 

My heart warmed. He was so cute. I reached out and cupped his cheek, guiding him to look at me. He leaned into my hand, eyes closed. “You are so sweet.” I cooed, brushing my thumb back and forth. 

He snorted, eyes opening. “‘M not.” His gaze wandered over my face. Heat rose to my cheeks, not expecting his eyes to hold such warmth and reverence in them. He reached out, his hand aiming for my face but falling and holding my arm instead. His palm was warm. “Yer gorgeous.” The heat in my cheeks flared, painting them a bright red. 

I knew I shouldn’t. 

But he was so sweet... despite his burly appearance, he seemed like he couldn’t hurt a fly.

I sighed and moved my hand from his cheek to run through his hair. He hummed happily, his head nodding forward slightly. “You want me to stay?” He looked up, eyes hopeful.

“Yes.” he breathed. His hand dragged down my arm, shifting and stopping at my hip. My breath hitched. “Please?”

I ignored the warmth seeping into my body from my hip, smiling at him kindly. “How could I say no to that face?” My hand at his neck brought his head closer to me. I heard him hiccup. I pecked the top of his head and ruffled his hair, pushing away from him. 

His hand fell from me limply, his eyes never leaving me as I rounded the bed, shedding my bag and shoes. I contemplated taking off my dress. I had undergarments on but… no, I’d be fine sleeping in my dress. I crawled into the other side of the bed, heaving an exhausted sigh at finally being able to lay down. 

It was quiet in the room, for a couple of minutes. I faced the ceiling, but felt his gaze on me. I turned. His face still held that reverent look. I blushed, unable to fight the smile twisting my lips. “You should get some sleep, sweetheart. That headache when you wake up’ll kill.”

He nodded, slumping over onto his side, facing me. I mirrored his posture, facing him. His eyes wandered all over, but never strayed from my face, despite this being one of my lower-cut dresses. My heart fluttered.  “What’s your name?” I whispered.

His face twitched. “Arthur.”

“Like the king?”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “What’s your name?” He asked instead, just as quiet. I told him. He smiled dreamily. “’S pretty. Suits you.” 

“Thank you, Arthur.” His smile grew hearing his name. “Though I can’t say you’re very kingly presently.” I teased.

He didn’t answer, instead reaching out, brushing hair from my face. I faltered, flustered at how gentle he was. Did he even hear me? His gaze dropped to my lips. “Can I kiss you?” 

I blinked in surprise, searching his face. He pulled his hand back, dragging it over his face and groaning. “Ohh, I’m a fool.” He rolled onto his back, covering his eyes with his hand. 

I wanted to kiss him. I was surprising myself left and right today.

I reached out and touched his shoulder, pushing myself up onto my elbow. He shifted his hand to look at me with one eye. I forced myself to hold his gaze, feeling silly. “You can, Arthur, if you’d like.” 

Arthur dropped his hand. “Would you like?” I nodded.

He moved slowly, like he didn’t want to scare me off. He turned, moving his hand to cup my cheek. I tilted my head up, feeling my stomach flip nervously. He stopped, lips brushing against mine. 

Slowly, I pressed into them.

He groaned into my mouth, his hand moving towards my neck to bring me closer. I sighed happily, moving my hand to his chest. I wanted to explore further, feeling him up and down, but kept myself in check. Kissing was one thing, but... I didn’t want him to do something he would regret. He moved against me, trying to get impossibly closer.

I internally scolded myself. No further than this. I softly, regretfully, pushed against his chest, parting from him. He whimpered at the loss of contact, looking at me with sad eyes. I shook my head. "You're drunk, Arthur."

He frowned. "So?" His hand slid down from my neck, rubbing against my waist. He tugged a little, experimentally. His hand felt hot on my side, pressing me into the mattress. 

I bit my lip. "'S not right, cowboy, you know that." I poked his chest weakly. "If it was me you found out on the street like that, you wouldn't." 

He avoided my gaze. "Wouldn't I?"

"I don't know." I whispered, smoothing my hand over his chest. "I don't think you would, though." I didn't know why I was so sure. There was something about him.

He grunted, pushing into me and nuzzling his head into my neck. I made a noise of surprise, falling onto my back. "You don' know me." His lips tickled my neck as he spoke. 

I smiled, reaching my hands up to tangle in his hair. No, I did not know him, but I sure wanted to after tonight. He relaxed against my touch, almost crushing me under his weight. I didn't mind. I kissed his head, smoothing my hand down to rub circles on his back. Within minutes he was passed out, snoring softly. 

I debated leaving, but he had wormed his arms around me, snuggled in to my chest so cutely that I couldn't. I sighed, shifting my head on the pillow. The hotel was closer to the saloon than my house, anyway. This just made it easier to clock in come morning. (A flimsy excuse, but enough.)