#weird and random stuff like this use to be all over the place like two years ago

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various recent pictures of things

[ilovettrpgs]

rip Magnus Carter you would have loved causing problems for the general public and also not having mad cow syndrome

[chelseeebe]

just a taste

18+. mdni. smut. kinda perv!eddie x fem!reader. he is a lil freaky in this i'll admit.

a/n: i just love the idea of the citrus six all living together lol idk i think it’s so nice also i have never watched cheers i just googled 1991 american tv shows and picked one at random LMAO ++ for the movie, i thought it’d be a nice lil easter egg for them to watch something with winona in:,)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

eddie doesn’t know who you are or why you’re coming to visit or why exactly it was him that was being made to vacate his room for the two weeks that you were here. 

“c’mon eddie,” robin pleads, nay, demands, “you sleep on the couch most nights anyway, what’s the difference?” 

“uh, maybe because it’s my room? i don’t want some random girl in there touching my stuff,” almost flabbergasted that she’s even asking. 

“she’s not a random girl,” robin frowns, “she’s my friend and she needs somewhere to stay.” 

“tell her there’s a great hotel in town,” rolling his eyes, trying to leave the conversation before she breaks out the puppy dog eyes. "i'll even give her a ride if you ask nicely," no longer interested in entertaining this conversation.

“i’ll give you fifty bucks,” robin deadpans, using her last resort.

this was bribery of the highest order but eddie's not stupid. fifty bucks is fifty bucks.

“now?” 

she sighs, sliding her wallet from her pocket to reluctantly hand over the bill. she stops just before it touches his palm, “promise you’ll clean your room.” 

eddie goes to grab the paper but robin’s faster, jolting her hand into the air, “and change your sheets.” 

“okay,” he huffs, holding his palm outstretched. 

she graciously places the note down, smiling wickedly as she does so before skipping off back to her own room. 

he can only roll his eyes, turning around to the shit hole that was his room, wondering if fifty dollars was worth having to tackle it. 

-

eddie’s sat on the couch when you arrive, barely looking back as robin begins to fuss, talking loudly about your journey. he doesn’t really care enough to involve himself, besides, elvis presley had just given sam a very important message. 

“eddie,” robin hisses, standing in front of the screen, “don’t be rude, say hello,” her hands firmly on her hips like she was his mother or something. 

he looks up at the looming figure by the couch, hoping his eyes hadn’t given his immediate shock away too much. 

you flash him a sheepish smile back, waggling your fingers in a short wave. 

two weeks on the couch didn’t seem so bad now. 

not if you were sleeping in his bed. 

it’s just a shame that he wouldn’t be in there sharing it. 

“hey,” he stands, hoping to indiscreetly catch his breath, “i’m- uh, i’m eddie,” offering his hand out, though he regrets it as soon as it’s done. 

who shakes hands now? christ. he needed to get a grip, and badly. 

“hey,” you reply, your name dripping from your tongue. though you do shake his hand, not bothering to hide your confusion in the process. 

“eddie very kindly said you could have his room,” a bright, big sarcastic smile on her lips. 

“yeah.. no biggie..” christ, he’s almost panting. “do whatever you want in there.. or you know, just- just make yourself at home.” 

his desperate pleas for the earth to split open and swallow him whole go unanswered. instead, robin shoots him a concerned glare before ushering you away from his weird, longing gaze. 

'pull it together loser' she mouths before disappearing, leaving him to reflect upon how utterly hard he had just fumbled that entire situation. 

-

when everyone’s home from work and you’ve exchanged niceties and greetings with the rest of the house, robin brightly suggests a movie. 

eddie usually hated movie nights in the house. 

jonathan would want to watch some indie cult classic that no one else had ever heard of, steve wanted to watch some dumb comedy that only he’d find funny and then nancy and robin typically opted for the romance genre. 

leaving eddie and argyle with absolutely no choice but to sit in silence as they bickered. 

tonight it’s different, you get to pick. 

and now he’s not saying that whatever you choose will forever change the way he views you but.. well, that’s actually exactly it. 

you land on edward scissorhands. 

not the worst choice you could’ve made, and hey, his mom used to call him edward when he was in real bad trouble. 

in the end, it doesn’t really matter what you had picked because eddie can’t muster up enough energy to actually care about the film. not while your thighs are peeking out from underneath your oversized shirt. he can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like wrapped around his ears. what previous sounds would fall out of your mouth in response.

at some point during the movie, you stand up and walk out of the room to the kitchen but that doesn’t stop him. staring through the open door, marvelling at the way the hem of your shirt lifts, exposing the tiny shorts you had on underneath. 

he’s practically hanging over the back of the couch to get a look, craning his neck at a ninety degree angle just to get a glimpse of your soft, pillowy skin. pinching himself as he tries to resist the urge to just sink his teeth into your inner thigh.

robin jabs her elbow into his ribcage, drawing his eyes back to the room with a grunt and a harsh glare thrown her way. 

“you’ve been staring at her all night,” she whispers angrily into his ear, “stop it, or next time it’s your balls,” a harsh warning he didn’t find entirely necessary. 

you sidle back into the room, drink in hand and eddie can’t help but let his eyes wander over again, short glances that robin hopefully wouldn’t pick up on. 

he can’t help it, some magnetic force swaying his gaze in your direction. he wishes so badly that he could just crawl out of his head and tell you how much he wanted you. 

unfortunately for eddie, he’d instead spend the night dreaming of your ass and all the ways he could have you if he’d only grow a backbone. 

-

living alongside you is an entirely new feat eddie’s not sure he’ll survive. 

it’s torturous. 

testing the limits of how ridiculously horny one man can get without self-imploding. 

so close and yet so far. each night you’d tuck yourself into his bed, doing god knows what in between his sheets all without eddie getting a look in.

of course he’d made up a hundred different scenarios to fall asleep to each night. 

his favourite being the one where he walks into his bedroom to find you mouth open, legs apart, too encapsulated in your pleasure to notice him. only until you do, inviting him closer, between those supple thighs of yours, a forbidden nirvana he’ll never get to know. 

though more often than not he’s cruelly forced back into reality by robin ripping the curtains open at the ass crack of dawn, blaring sunlight on his face as you slip away from the grapples of his dream land. 

now is his opportunity, the house quiet, bar the muffled giggles of you and robin upstairs. he’s safe for now, he thinks, rather foolishly. it’s late, the rest of them asleep or too busy in their own rooms to catch him in the act. 

eddie’s never done anything like this before. it’s disgusting, perverted to the core. 

good grief, this is prosecutable behaviour. 

tiptoeing down the hall to his room, the door open just a crack, enticing him in further. he can still hear you on the floor above, giving him enough confidence to push it open a little more, edging inside with a quick glance back down the hall, just in case. 

gratefully it seemed that you were just as messy as he was, your clothes strewn across the floor. his eyes immediately turning to the peeking of lace from under the pile. glancing one last time at the cracked door, ensuring that absolutely nobody would see him. 

reaching down to gather the fabric in one quick swoop, bunching them in his palm as he lets out a quick sigh of relief. 

oh fuck. they were so soft, fingers spreading to really get a feel. he wasn't even going to take them, he'd just wanted a little look, something to help his overactive imagination get all the important details right.

“what are you doing?” startling him in this precarious position, the lace of your underwear entangled around his fingertips. 

eddie freezes, he can feel the heat rising through his chest, all the way up to the tips of his ears. scarlet red. 

“uh.. i..i-i don’t know..” he hasn’t done anything like this before, he swears. 

your mouth is open in a sort of half-smirk, half-perplexed gawp, closing the door before he could bolt. 

you move around the mess, creeping closer until he can feel you brushing against his side, peering over into his hand. 

“oh wow..” you remark, breath hot and sweet against his cheek, “what were you gonna do with those?” 

eddie feels sick, trying not to projectile vomit across his room. there’s no way you wouldn’t tell robin. fuck. he could hear you now, voice full of disgust, robin laughing at how pathetic he was. 

“n-nothing i swear..” stumbling through his sentence, “i was just..” excuses fail to come to mind, “i was uhm.. looking for something,” the absolute best his flustered mind to muster up. 

“oh really?” reaching around to untangle them from his hand, “you sure about that?” 

there’s no anger to your voice, but he doesn’t dare turn around to look at your face. afraid of what he’ll find. your eyes pitying, sad that he has to root around your dirty laundry to get off. 

“i’m- i’m sure,” though the crack in his voice gives him away. 

you hum, coming around to stand in front of his gormless face, “so you don’t wanna keep these?” holding the evidence up to his face, the hem just barely grazing his cheek. 

eddie’s knees almost buckle, his breath shuddering as any semblance of composure he had left, floats right out the window. 

“here,” reaching forward to tuck the baby blue fabric into the waistband of his sweatpants, your eyes never once leaving his as you do so. “you keep those.. but next time just ask, okay?” 

he nods like an obedient dog, lapping up the scraps you were throwing him. he could stand here all night long, keeping up the weird little power game you’d started. 

“goodnight eddie,” you smile, giving him a gentle nudge, a sign for him to get the fuck out. 

you were the master, he was just the lap dog, eager to please. 

-

at breakfast the next morning, he struggles to even keep his eyes open. having spent an embarrassingly long amount of time on the couch last night shamelessly sniffing the lace you’d gifted him. 

you don’t even acknowledge it, or him for that matter. happily chatting along with nancy about some news article. 

“oh and eddie,” robin begins, flashing him a stern look, “i don’t appreciate finding your fucking panties in between the couch cushions,” 

he chokes on his mouthful, his knife clattering against the table in shock. a multitude of eyes turn to stare at the spectacle he was making. 

“they’re- they’re not mine,” clearing his throat as he clears his name, though he doesn’t dare look in your direction, terrified that he’d absolutely lose his mind if he did. 

“well whoever’s they are, i don’t care, stop leaving them on the couch.. i’m sure our guest doesn’t want to sit amongst dirty underwear,” she bites, calming down now she had gotten her point across. 

if only she knew. 

eddie must’ve fallen asleep with them still attached to his hand, thanking his lucky stars that no one had walked in on him with them pressed to his nose.  

he keeps his head low, focusing on the plate in front of him. nothing had ever been as mortifying as this. not even the time he had slipped off the dinner table in the middle of the cafeteria. 

cutlery scrapes and clinks against the china, uncomfortable silence until argyle clears his throat, “gnarly meal robin, thanks dude,” seemingly settling the tense atmosphere, for now. 

everybody hums in agreement, getting back to their food without another word. but your eyes peek up, meeting his with an indescribable glint. and really, the worst part is that eddie would sit through this horrific situation a hundred more times, just for one more measly sniff at your panties. 

-

eddie can’t take it anymore. 

he’s never been so pent up in his entire life. and he’s tried to hold on until he could move back into his room but he couldn’t last any longer. 

but he’s careful, waiting for everyone to trundle on off to bed, listening carefully for the muted click of the light switch and even then, waiting another hour to be sure. 

the clock glares an alarming 1:04 by the time his belt clinks and his jeans come down, the first of them would be awake in just a few hours, ready to take you on to the airport. 

he wishes it would’ve played out differently, that he wouldn’t be sat here on the last night of your stay alone. but alas, eddie’s never been particularly brave and especially not in regards to hot women. 

your panties wrapped around his right hand as he spits on his left, wrapping around his stiff cock while his fingertips play with the lace in his other hand. 

“ohh fuck,” he hisses, wanting nothing more than to start hollering the house down. 

robin wouldn’t be too pleased if she ever found out what he’d done. and he can’t really afford to get the entire couch dry-cleaned so he really must be careful. 

thinking quick, he shoves his t-shirt into his mouth, muffling the chorus of grunts and groans threatening to spill over into the dark room. the muted light from the tv illuminates his face, breathing loudly through his nose 

he hadn’t heard the door open or the soft sound of your feet padding down the hall, only made aware of your presence when he reopens his eyes, near enough jumping out of his bones. 

how long had you been there watching him shudder and whine?

“fuck,” he exclaims, fist still wrapped tight around his throbbing cock, too aroused to care about it too much. 

“you want some help with that?” 

eddie looks at his dick, then back at you, mouth hung open in a mixture of awe and confusion. 

it’s not very clear but you move closer anyway, sinking to your knees and nestling in between his spread legs. 

“okay?” maintaining eye contact despite how difficult it was, eyes bright and eager. 

he nods, unable to comprehend what was happening. knowing he’d wake up from this twisted dream to some soggy boxers and a whole lotta shame. 

your palm wraps around the base of his cock, shooing his hands away to make room, smiling as your lips wrap around the already leaking tip. were you a psychopath? were you placed on this earth to goad and tease him?

this isn’t real. this isn’t real. the voice repeats around his head though it’s quickly silenced by your tongue swirling circles around the tip of his cock, readjusting his t-shirt to bite down harshly on the fabric. 

eddie’s hands lay useless on his thighs, twitching to intertwine with your hair, still doubting the reality of the situation. this could all be a dream and the second he touches your hair, you’d disappear from in front of his eyes.

the t-shirt falls from his lips, “fuuck,” grunting into the tense air, gritting his teeth so as to not expose your precarious position to the rest of the house. 

the wet sounds of your lips wrapped tight around his cock make his toes curl, his hands find your hair, not without prompting from you. tugging gently at the tendrils as his head starts to spin. 

when your eyes look up to meet his, eddie thinks he might just cum right down your throat then and there. he can see that troublesome glint in your eye, a roaring fire that he so desperately wants to keep stoking. 

your fingers slide up his thigh, finding his neglected balls and with a slight smirk, you grab ahold, gently fondling them as his brain melts out of his ears. 

no one had ever, ever made him feel so good. collectively losing brain cells when you hum on his cock, getting just as much out of this as he was. 

“oh yeah, fuck- shit fuck, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming,” eddie’s mouth rushes, louder than he ever should’ve been. bright flashes of light fill his peripheral, using your scalp as leverage to keep himself on the couch. 

his hips stutter, thrusting into your mouth with his fingers tight in your hair, yanking harshly in an effort to get your lips off of him before he came everywhere. 

you don’t budge, nails digging into his thigh as his release seeps down your throat, his eyes squeezing shut as his fist instinctively comes up to muffle his mouth, moaning into his clammy palm instead of alerting the entire house. 

eddie’s other hand lets go of his strong hold on your hair, allowing you to get off of his dick, panting happily as you sit up between his knees and with lips glistening with his release, you kiss him. all soft and gentle while his brain fails to compute. 

it should be gross. but eddie just can’t find it in himself to care, because in reality, this was the hottest thing that had ever happened in his measly little life. 

“please let me taste you,” he begs between kisses, grasping desperately at your waist, the fabric of your shirt slipping between his desperate fingers.

you giggle, pulling back to look at him through the dimmed light, “not now,” you hover just above, constantly teasing and unobtainable

“well when?" jutting his bottom lip out in hopes it'd convince you to change your mind.

"when i'm back," letting him down gently. eddie'd count the seconds till you came back if that was what it took to get even a tiny glimpse of your pussy.

“what time do you leave?” he pants, chasing your lips. eddie was nothing if not a chancer, though if it hadn't happened already, there's a miniscule chance of it happening now.

“seven,” whispering back, a hint of annoyance that this build up had only crescendoed now, just as you were about to leave. he'll blame robin for that, poking her nose in and trying to turn him off. it shouldn't have worked. he should've been braver.

“but it’s your turn,” an awful sadness and regret overcoming him. someone better, someone like steve, would've had you pinned to that couch by now, his head between your thighs and your slick dripping down his chin.  

“next time,” only repeating yourself, smiling coyly before you plant one last kiss to his longing lips before standing fully upright and disappearing back off to his room, leaving him reeling with a story nobody else would ever believe.

[sardonic-the-writer]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ warnings: alastor being a bit egotistical

↳ song: si j'étais blanche—joséphine baker

↳ notes: got any ideas for stuff i should do next? reblogs are appreciated

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• It wasn’t your fault you’ve always had a messed up sleep schedule

• Even while living, nighttime had never been able to tame you. It was just your luck that the habit carried on into hell. Figures that the world wouldn’t give you a break even in death

• You weren’t exactly an insomniac, per se. It was quite the opposite in fact. Just a simple case of falling victim to spontaneous naps in the most random of places. Yet never at night

• Narcoleptic & nocturnal were the terms that your friends used to use for you. With grins, they’d compared you to an owl; always up at night wandering aimlessly. Sometimes for days on end you’d carry on doing this and that, only to curl into a ball the next day and remain that way

• The habit never was anything more than a nuisance until you’d started living at the hotel. The place was just so big, with so many places for you to lie down before the thought of your bedroom even crossed your mind

• Angel Dust was the first person to find you passed out. He had been strolling into the kitchen, looking for something to consume that wasn’t drugs for once, when he spied you hunched over the counter snoring softly

• In your hand was a wooden spoon covered in a creamy batter of some sort, a bowl beneath it with the same concoction. Almost as if you had been making something before passing out

• Briefly checking his phone, the spider confirmed that it was only two in the afternoon, and approached you with a sly smile

• You were promptly startled awake by a loud shout directly next to your ear

• “I’m sorry—“ Angel laughed wildly as you fumed, not sounding sorry at all. “—but you should have seen your face.” He clutched his stomach as he fell into another laughing fit

• “Hey! Watch it!”

• He ducked with a frown as you sent the spoon flying at his head, just barely missing the porn star’s styled hair

• Everyone quickly made their own discovery about your weird sleeping habits soon after. Each in their own embarrassing ways

• Vaggie witnessed you lying on the stairs looking positively drained one morning, and Charlie even found you face first on the bar counter while Husk wiped away at a cocktail glass

• “Too much to drink?” She asked the cat, lifting up one of your arms between her thumb and forefinger carefully, almost as if you’d wake if she pressed to hard

• Husk laughed to himself at the question, remembering how he had turned to make you a shot before coming back to the sight before him now

• “Not exactly.” He huffed

• Perhaps best example of just how bad your timing was came in the form of an impromptu staff meeting

• Alastor had called everyone— more like demanded them —into the main parlor for an announcement one day. A mere week after the kitchen incident with Angel, in fact

• With a flourish of shadowy magic and a twirl of his hands, the overlord presented some sort of home made commercial on the age old TV the place had, looking very amused with himself as he did so

• You tried to pay attention, you really did. But at one point the actors and stray blood splatters started to look like the back of your eyelids

• By the time it was over, Alastor was tapping his fingers along the top of the picture box rhythmically while everyone looked at him with awkward smiles

• But you? Well—

• “So!” Alastor cheered with a cheesy grin as he spun on his heel. The rest of the members in the room watched him awkwardly, not noticing that your head had hit the back of the couch at a rough angle. “What do you all thi— are they asleep.”

• Static bled into the demons voice at an alarming rate as you let out a half jolt at the shift in mood, falling off the couch with a yelp in your wake

• You took a moment to swipe at your face wildly before blanching at Alastor towering over you nervously

• “Uh, my bad?”

• Alastor’s smile strained itself so thin, you thought it would split his face in half

• “Glad to know I’m keeping you entertained.” He all but laughed happily. But the white knuckled grip on his microphone told you otherwise

• You recall Charlie telling you something about ignorance being one of Alastor’s least favorite things. Especially when it came to his little spectacles

• “Maybe we’ve had enough peer feedback for today—“ Vaggie cut in cautiously

• “I concur.” Came your quick agreement

• You made sure to avoid Alastor for a few days after that

[alchemistc]

Donato spots it first - Tommy's been fidgeting with the just-too-short sleeves of his shirt for the past ten minutes, fingers curling into the ends of the arms, thumb sliding along the hem like maybe he could make them long enough to fully cover his wrists just by thinking really hard about it. It's stretched tight across his shoulders, the neck hole feels too high, biting into his skin, and Tommy is absolutely certain it's been hemmed in at the fucking waist, because he can barely keep the damn thing tucked into his pants.

(The cost of having those fucking magnificent gazelle legs is apparently torso space.)

"You shrink your shirt in the wash again, Kinard?"

Tommy's been begging their vendor to switch to a jersey blend for years because 100% cotton undershirts are a goddamn bitch and a half to maintain.

Tommy thinks about ignoring the question entirely. They've been razzing him for weeks about the way every single smile line in his face has been putting in overtime lately.

And then she gets a closer look at it. The merch is usually the same cross-department, but every once in a while some probie will get stuck with the task of ordering a few extras to have as backups around the station and they'll go a little too hard on customization. Like, for example, the one he'd picked off the top of his clean laundry basket without looking in his rush out the door this morning.

Lucy's eyes narrow. She reaches forward, pinches the 118 emblem blazing across the breadth of his shoulder, takes in the color and sturdiness of a shirt he definitely can't play off as being old enough to have been from his own time at the One Eighteen.

Donato grimaces so mockingly Tommy nearly warns her that her face'll get stuck like that. "Christ, Kinard, how fucking domestic are you two?"

(Three days off together after a week of getting by with random texts, their schedules nearly opposite, and when Evan had stared at his overnight bag on day two and realized he didn't have any spare undershirts he'd pouted up a storm about the fact that if he had to go back to his place it didn't make a lick of sense to turn right back around to Tommy's, so Tommy had just thrown Evan's dirty undershirt in with the rest of his own laundry. And then prompted Evan to throw all his other stuff in the wash too. Halfway across the city, Evan is definitely rolling too-long sleeves over his palm with the tips of his fingers and Tommy does not have time to think about how much he likes the idea of that )

"He doesn't even know my how I take my coffee," Tommy snipes, like that avoids the question, and across the locker room Johnson slams his locker shut with a snort.

"Because you've been using his increasingly more desperate attempts to figure it out as some weird intricate mating ritual for three months now."

"It's about --."

"--the journey, not the destination," they both interrupt, eyes rolling, and Tommy doesn't bother to try to hide the grin in his face.

"He just wants to get it right so bad."

Donato's face is unimpressed. "Ugh. Can you please stop being so smitten right in front of me? I'm gonna throw up."

Tommy leans in for the kill. "Your wife ever buy you flowers, Johnson? Because I've been trying to decide how much thought went into the arrangement he brought me on Saturday, and I figure -." He dodges the palm Johnson extends towards his face with a bark of bright laughter.

---

Evan 2:15 PM

Boyfriend privileges are a SCAM

Evan 2:15 PM

Why is YOUR NAME on the back of this shirt? There's no way that's standard

Evan 2:16 PM

Chimney's being homophobic

Evan 2:19 PM

Nvm Gerrard saw it and now I'm just sad he didn't actually have a heart attack about it

[alllgator-blood]

I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.

I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.

I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."

But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...

Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK

Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this

[kalims]

ㅤlikey likey

premise. certain situations bring out the realization that they like it, and they can't help but appreciate it.

featuring. vice dorm leaders + ruggie

content. gender neutral reader, fluff

note. can we all agree that ruggie is savanaclaws vice dorm leaders at this point

trey likes it when you accompany him when he's in the kitchen, or anywhere for that matter but he's got a pretty big preference for his favorite place. maybe he thinks it's endearing to witness you acting like a little helper and following him around when he's just lowering the heat on the stove.

but he's used to the kitchen being so empty, with you there. the sound of the ticking oven is overshadowed by your light chatter, he'd thought he would perform better in a quiet environment to focus but turns out his treats come out more delicious than ever with the thought of you.

ruggie likes it when his hand brushes against yours, it's his personal favorite when he takes certain items from you. be it dangling your phone away from you, or a stray donut you just happened to be eating and didn't even think to share with him! :( .

initially he was just stealing stuff from you as a way to mess with you, he thinks it's funny. (it's totally a ruggie love language trust me. he'd never rob someone so obviously.) but now it's just another reason to use so he can cover up the 'I wanna touch you but idk how without getting called out.

jade likes it when you're both up in the mountains scouring for dangerous mushrooms to take home and claim as pets. you're a pretty prominent figure if he's actually telling you that you can't take that one home because it releases a poisonous spore when touched, but he says that there's another way of taking then home..?

especially when you're just crouching down, admiring them (from a distance usually because you've grown a fear from how many times he's warned you about a variety.) you're too immersed in it and jade can't pinpoint whether to be pleased or iffed that your attentions not on him. well it's always a pleasure to see his two favorite things together.

jamil likes it when you see him midst conversation and he sees you visibly brightening up. it doesn't matter if it's in a sense that everyone can tell but to him he can see your energy jolt when your eyes seem to sparkle. even better when you come up with some half-assed excuse to get out of said conversation and instead approach him to start another conversation.

the fact that you'd be so willing to abandon a talk with someone for a talk with him sends his soul ascending to the heavens and doing cartwheels. you're lucky cause he usually avoids talk with other people but he can't seem to make a lie to get out when you're looking a him like that.

rook is an eccentric man so his like for you is a little.. strange? he likes it when you greet him, weirdly simple for someone like rook but wait! he likes it because over time him speaking up from some random place like a tree, or a window doesn't scare the shit out of you as it used to. so to be short you're accustomed to his antics so you just greet him casually.

he always grins brighter when he hears it, his eyes crinkle and he always comes up with the poetic compliments before giving a variety of greetings each time. he doesn't mean to scare someone when he does it, they usually all run away when he wants to talk so you're just so fantastic! <4

ortho likes it when you visit. actually he likes you a lot! you're one of the few people in the entirety of nrc that are 1.) isn't scared of him or 2.) not weirded out. you're just like another big sibling to him! his favorite time of the day is around 8-10 PM because that's when you usually come around for your daily visit to catch up with him, gossip, or whatever. ortho will support you in whatever.

a crime? he expresses concern but is fully willing to aid you with whatever :) (HES SO CUTE.)

lilia likes it when you kiss his nose. he loves any affection you show him at all, kisses on the lips, fingers, temple whatever. he's gonna gobble every single second of it. his personal favorite though? for some reason its the nose. he insists its the inner bat in him, since bats do show affection through rubbing each other's noses together. you aren't one though so a kiss there is probably the closest to that.

plus points if you do it when he just jumpscares you after dropping from the ceiling, hanging upside down in his favorite position while you kiss his nose? oh goodness, he's in heaven! plz don't hold back, kiss him more... if you don't wanna he's gonna trick you either way (with love ofc)

note. HIHIHI sorry this isn't much but I figured I better feed the vice dorm leader stans 😭 not pr its midnight rn hel

Ill just link this tom, I'm gonna sleep 😓

[standfucker]

Gremlin Reader Headcanons - Straw Hats, Whitebeard Pirates, Heart Pirates, Kid Pirates

CW: shenanigans, tomfoolery, and hullabaloo

Straw Hats

You and Luffy are BEST BUDS. You butted heads when you first met just from being a bit too similar, but now you understand each other like no one else.

“Quit eating stuff off the floor!” Nami snaps as you and Luffy reach for a cube of steak that fell from your plate. “Five second rule,” Luffy says. You both smack at each other’s hands, but he ends up maneuvering and grabbing the meat first thanks to his stretchiness. You respond by shoving his entire hand, still holding the steak bit, into your mouth. Luffy shouts, then laughs. Nami yells, “Y/N, ew! That’s even worse!” “You don’t know where that’s been,” Zoro adds. Luffy screams for real when you bite his hand, but he also lets go of the steak, so it’s a win. (It was yours in the first place.)

While your bathing habits are better than Zoros, it’s not by much. If you’re a girl, expect Nami to literally drag you to bathe with her and Robin. She’ll wash your hair for you if you promise to stop using soap bubbles to give yourself a beard and call yourself the “Saponicus the Bath Wizard.” At least Robin finds it funny.

Also, if you’re a girl…you put Sanji through it. Rather than getting a broom to shoo you from your perch on top of the fridge, he tries to coax you down with sweet words and sweeter foods. Instead of yelling at you for eating off the floor, he’ll wash off whatever fell for you. If you try to eat a piece of what he’s cooking, he’ll simply make you a small side plate to tide you over. To Sanji, your weird habits are endearing. But if you’re a guy? He’ll just kick your ass. 

If you occupy that odd space in between genders (or lack thereof,) however, the poor cook does not know how to deal with you. After much stumbling over the subject and at first treating you how you most closely present, he ends up finding a neutral middle ground that makes you both happy.

You play with Franky a lot. You like to climb him like a jungle gym–he’s just shaped so perfectly for it. Sometimes you’ll sneak up behind Franky, jump and reach around to boop his nose to surprise him and change his hair. Every now and then he anticipates your strikes and catches you by the arm, holding you off the ground as penance for your crimes. You swing and wrap your legs around his rectangular arm to retaliate, and he’ll wave his arm to try to jostle you. It’s all fun and games until you get flung off the ship.

Once you discovered how light Brook was, you realized you could pick him up. This led to you plucking him off the ground at random and using him as a jousting lance with which to harass Zoro. Brook started to wisen up to that gleam in your eye, using his cane to keep you at a distance or jab you lightly.

Whitebeard Pirates

There are a lot of crewmates, and you manage, somehow, to be the most feral of them all. Marco calls you “the ship’s pet, Y/N” as a joke.

Unless it’s snowing, you go barefoot everywhere. The soles of your feet have thickened considerably, and you occasionally entertain your brothers by showing off how you can stick safety pins through the very bottom layers of skin. This leads to Marco yelling at you to stop playing with sharps, and that you’re going to accidentally hurt yourself.

Poor Marco has to look out for you often, especially because you do things like get into wrestling matches with the biggest crewmates. You don’t have the size to do much, but if you get pinned, you cheat by biting your opponent. This usually worked for you until you cracked a tooth on Jozu, earning a stern “I told you so” from the first division commander.

Ace is a reformed gremlin and so takes you under his wing. You remind him of Luffy, so he’s quite fond of you compared to the rest. The two of you bring out the worst in each other’s bad habits, indulging the other. If you two are ever spotted together and giggling, the others know to be concerned, as you’re certainly up to something, usually pranks.

The only person who can get you to behave is Whitebeard, and he doesn’t bother most of the time, feeling it better for his children to “sort themselves out”. But he’s not wrong–the crew takes care of you no matter what mischief you get up to.

“I bet you can’t steal Vista’s hat,” Thatch challenges you and Ace one day. You’re always well-mannered toward Thatch, because he’s in charge of the food, but that doesn’t mean you guys won’t challenge each other to dares. “I bet I can steal it before Ace does,” you immediately respond. Ace protests fiercely, and the game is on. Ace takes a straight-forward approach, sprinting down the deck like he’s going to run past Vista, leaping into the air, and going to swipe it off. Vista blocks his hand with a raised arm. “What are you doing?” Vista questions. “Nothing,” Ace says, jumping again and promptly getting grabbed by the arm and tossed aside. This repeats, with Ace making big, energetic attempts to steal that hat and getting thrown around instead, over and over with no success. You wait until Ace has calmed down, then approach Vista. “Can I tell you something?” you ask, motioning him to lean in closer. Vista’s smart enough to know why you want him to bend down, but his reflexes are quick, so he leans over anyway. “Yes?” You stick your fingers up his nose. Vista makes a muffled, indignant shriek, flinching. Completely caught off guard, he’s too slow to stop you from snatching the hat off his head. “Run!” Ace screams, and you book it with Ace joining at your side. You wave the hat and yell, “Burn it, Ace!” mostly joking. “I’ll gut you both!” Vista shouts, hot on your heels, drawing his swords as he chases you two down, the sounds of your crazed laughter echoing through the deck. Marco sighs and gets ready to heal you again.

Heart Pirates

You would tire out Law, but you’ve been a part of the crew for so long that he’s used to your antics. Really, you tire out Bepo, who’s in charge of keeping you in line.

The Polar Tang has a ventilation system to keep airflow and environmental controls during dives. You like to crawl into the vent shafts for fun and because they’re a cozy, private space away from everyone else. Whenever no one can find you, Law locates you on the ship and uses his power to teleport you out. You’ll be napping peacefully, shirking your duties, and suddenly you’re falling through the air and onto the floor in front of your captain–whoops, busted.

Once you tried to steal Law’s hat as a joke. He removed your hands for the rest of the day, stating you’d lost hand privileges.

“Aw, but Captain, your hair looks so nice,” you whined, and Law’s cheeks turned pink. “You’ll get your hands back tomorrow,” he ignored your statement and tossed your hands into a sack, tying it shut.

After that you had to mop the Polar Tang by biting the mop handle, which your crewmates said you took to way too easily.

You’ll sometimes leap onto Bepo’s back, gently tugging on his ears–they’re so round and cute. Resigned, he just supports your legs and lets you. When you can’t resist and end up biting his ear, he yelps, then states that you remind him of the folks from his home island of Zou, and finds it almost soothing.

You, Penguin and Shachi have an ongoing prank war. It’s one you all keep contained so that it doesn’t reach Law, but is otherwise ruthless. Shachi’s been pantsed by you so many times you’re pretty sure you’ve seen every pattern of underwear he owns, but it’s his fault for letting his guard down so frequently. None of you are safe falling asleep first around the others lest you get your face scribbled on, hence your habit of napping in the air vents.

The Polar Tang doesn’t get visitors, but very rarely will gain a new crewmate. As one of the first handful of people recruited, you liked to make noises in the air vents and had certain newbies convinced the ship was haunted. It didn’t help that you told creepy stories of ghosts of people who died deep underwater, where the ship was currently sailing through… Ikkaku always chided you to stop freaking people out.

Though most would expect Law to get annoyed by you, he actually takes comfort in your antics. You’re consistent, at least, in a chaotic world. He can always count on you to keep spirits up and to keep the rest of the crew on their toes.

You’re settled in an air vent with a flashlight and a book one day. You hear a muffled “Room,” from somewhere, then Law appears next to you, having to hunch over so he can fit. “Oh, hey, Captain,” you say. “You know,” Law says, “I think you’ve actually got the right idea. Some days the Polar Tang, despite everything, feels too big... Some days even my quarters feel too big.” “Is today one of those days?” you ask as Law inspects the vent walls. They’re clean–likely your doing–which surprises him. He nods. “You should try taking a nap. It’s very cave-like and cozy here.” “Do you just lay out on the metal?” he questions. “Yep. But if that’s uncomfortable for you, well…” you pat your lap, completely nonchalant. Law studies your face. You give him a cheery smile. He sighs, and stretches out. It’s more comfortable this way. He rests his head on your lap. You continue reading quietly, angling your book and the light away from Law’s face. He adjusts slightly and deflates, relaxing. Right before falling asleep, he takes off his hat.

Kid Pirates

You fit right in with the Kid pirates. No one gives you so much as a second glance for most of the things that you do. For the most part, your level of gremlin behavior is not that much more intense than some of the other crewmates. 

Though Kid/Killer/Wire will pick you up by your jacket hood when you act up too much. You retaliate by pinching the offender’s nostrils shut. This leads to you getting scolded, but you start laughing because they talk with a “congested” voice. Eventually you get threatened with being thrown overboard, which finally makes you fall in line.

You’re good with electrical work. Aside from using a stun gun in battle, you like to take the little metal creatures that Kid makes and soup them up with lights and sounds. Usually you just add glowing eyes and fins as an accent, but sometimes you use your powers for evil: once you added a timed speaker to a doll that went off in the middle of the night, scaring the bejesus out of the sleeping crew.

Killer is strict about not eating food before it’s ready, but it doesn’t stop you from trying to snack on ingredients. You’ll sneak into the kitchen (poorly–you are not quiet) and try to swipe food when you think he’s not looking. Killer will see your hand reach up in his peripheral vision and feel around the countertop. He plunges a knife into the countertop inches from your fingers, making you freeze before slowly withdrawing. However, you know he would never actually stab you, so you never really give up.

You’re really good at making Kid laugh with your antics. He doesn’t even realize it until much later on in the time he’s known you. You and Kid are watching Killer cook one day, steaks sizzling beautifully on the pan, and more raw meat is piled on a plate on the table before you, waiting for its turn. “Why does raw meat look so appealing?” you say. “I kind of don’t want to wait for it to cook.” “I’m not feeding you raw meat,” Killer says. You open your mouth to make the obvious lewd joke, but Kid shoots you a look that says don’t. You close your mouth. “I know what you mean,” Kid says. You both look at the raw steak. The filets are ruby-red, glistening, with cream streaks of fat that promise to melt once on the pan. “I just want to bite into the whole thing and shake my head like a dog,” you voice your thoughts. “Then do it,” Kid says offhandedly. You pluck a raw steak from the pile, sink your teeth in, and do exactly that, growling as the steak whips from side to side. Kid bursts out laughing, caught by surprise, while Killer snaps out your name, far less amused. As Killer scolds you, Kid thinks about how impulsive you are and how often you make him laugh like that and how much he likes you. And then it hits him–wait, oh god, oh no. You’ve taken the steak out of your mouth and are laughing at yourself, and you look so nice when you’re smiling oh NO. Kid’s gone red in the face while you try to appease Killer. “My mouth germs will burn off when you cook it,” you argue. “That doesn’t matter. You’re going to get sick,” Killer grumbles. “Don’t do it again.” “Okay, fine…Hm? Kid?” you tilt your head at him. “You okay? You look a bit flushed.” “Shut up! I’m fine.” Kid says defensively. “Okaaay, moody. Sheesh, sorry for caring.” And that just makes it worse, because Kid’s now also realizing you do actually care, don’t you? Bringing him things when he’s holed up late at night in his workshop, bothering him when his mood’s down and he needs to be distracted, helping him oil the parts of his metal arm and laughing it off when you get covered in grease. “Don’t get all sweet on me, you little punk.” Kid mutters. “You’re right. I ought to stick to salty things. Like Killer’s mea–” “STOP.”

[sugarlywhispers]

ex!b.katsuki x reader ; m.izuku x reader — bakugou cheats on his gf, with midoriya's girlfriend.

☆– warnings; ANGST. mention and description of panic attacks, swear words, cheating (bakugou to reader; uraraka to midoriya), description of a fight. But it ends in fluff~ c;

☆–a.n; honestly, i don't know if i'm going to add another chapter... i still have a bit more of ideas for this, but i don't know ._.

in the meantime, i hope you liked this new part! <3

also, i hope ya'll have a wonderful beggining of 2024!!! may this new year bring lots of good thing for everyone, lots of love and adventures, new amazing things and wonderful people to your lives!

love ya'll so much, wish you all ALL the good things life can bring; no more tears, except happy ones. <3

A few weeks go by, and Midoriya and you keep in touch, texting almost everyday. Talking about random stuff, important stuff, whatever the mood is. But it's mostly cute, random stuff, getting to know each other kind of feeling. It's funny how you both have been around each other for so long and did not actually know one another. 

The texting was cute. Like a picture he sends one afternoon, when his shift is calm and almost finished, when the sun is setting, taken from up high in a building. A beautiful sunset picture that you use as a lock screen wallpaper on your phone. Or that one selfie he sent when he shared patrols with Hero Shoto; you remember thinking how cute he looked posing next to the hot and cold Hero, with two fingers of one of his hands pulled up on a peace sign. Or a picture of a little puppy Hero Deku found on a rainy morning shift. He took it to the closest vet so they could help the little animal, and you find that so fucking heroic it makes your heart jump from the cuteness.

"I wonder… who has you smiling like that? Oh , I know… Mister Greeny," Mineta mocks, his eyebrows shaking up and down suggestively.

"Shut up," you bark and hit him on the upper arm strongly. He simply laughs.

Three months pass faster than you actually realize. You're better, you feel better. You haven't had a single panic attack since Midoriya Izuku entered your life. Which is good… it means good.

He is good.

Since that first Friday you grabbed coffee together, you both decided to make it your day. Each and every Friday morning, Izuku and you would go to grab coffee at that same shop you went to the first time; then he would walk you home as the gentleman he is.

It's Friday and you're waiting for him, it's a bit late already, but you know he is coming. He had a night patrol but he insisted to not break the new tradition - his words. You found it cute, so you didn't protest.

But now you're worried, because it's almost 30 minutes since you have been waiting and he hasn't come yet. Then it becomes 40, 45, 50 minutes. You feel your neck itchy, but you try to ignore it, looking at your phone. Waiting for a notification, waiting for Mid‐ Izuku to contact you. But nothing.

It's already been 1.10 hours long and no sign of him. You sigh and decide to go home, it's been more than an hour already. Probably he had something coming up at the last minute, or he simply forgot. He probably had a rough night and he didn't have time to meet you. You're not as important as his job, obviously.

You grab your things and exit the place, the kind girl behind the counter smiles sadly at you and waves her hand as goodbye. You smile, or at least try, in her direction and leave the coffee shop.

You feel itchy all over. This… This is… weird . Why are you feeling like this? You have no right to feel… disappointed, hurt . He's a Hero. He's freaking Number One, pro hero Deku. His job will always come first. But you can't help it. It's like…

You're not my priority, Y/N. Understand that you'll never be. I have to concentrate in my job if want to fucking be Number one.

You haven't heard his voice in your head for a long time now. And hearing it again is… painful. Hurting. Choking .

Every sound around you feels a hundred times louder as you walk, every light blinds you and you don't realize you're bumping into almost everyone around. The pressure on your neck is getting stronger and you can't breathe. You can't think. Your vision is turning black, like that night at the ramen shop with Mineta. A panic attack . You're having one in the middle of the street. How embarrassing . How pathetic . 

You want the blackness to finally evolve you, and don't let go.

And then you see it, you feel it. Green eyes and strong hands grabbing your shoulders. You know those green eyes, you have seen them before. He's moving his mouth but you can't hear his voice. He looks worried; why is he worried? You feel rough hands that grab your face as softly as he can, and they are cold. You aren't used to the cold, but you like it. It's refreshing.

"...hear me? Y/N, please breathe, okay? Breathe with me," his voice is comforting, so you follow him, you breathe with him. "That's it… You're okay. We are okay."

The sight around you starts to clear, the blackness dissipates and you see clearly. His face is the first thing your eyes find. You know him. "Izuku?"

" Yes! Yes, it's me… Hi, love," he smiles relieved. You look around realizing you're in the middle of a circle, with him. People are watching, some worried, some annoyed. Embarrassing .

You realize then that Izuku's hands are around your face, holding you with no intention of letting go. "Izuku…"

He blinks, realizing then probably your surroundings and nods. "Yes, come one, let's go…"

Izuku helps you stand, his arm surrounding your waist pulling your weight on him so he helps you walk. Everyone starts clapping, clearly recognizing hero Deku even in his civilian clothes.

He walks you to your apartment in silence. Until you walk into the building, "There's no elevator?"

"No, it's been broken since before I got here," you know your voice sounds throaty, and the expression on his face says it worries him.

He sighs looking at the long stairs ahead. He knows you live on the fourth floor. "Okay, then," he says before picking you up, bridal style.

"Izuku! I can walk!"

"No, you can't. You have been putting your weight on me the whole way here."

"Still, I…"

"Shut up. Let me help," his tone it's so authoritative you have no other option than to do that. Shut up and let him help, because you know you wouldn't be able to climb those stairs up on your own even if you tried.

On the way up, you can't avoid watching him. He looks… angry . You have never seen him like that, or better said, you have never experienced his anger, you have seen him angry on the TV, fighting villains.

"I'm sorry," you say, and he stops midway, his eyes traveling to your face.

"You're apologizing for having a panic attack?" He's frowning, his tone incredulous, but serious. It makes tingles run your body.

"I'm… Yes, it's embarrassing ," you feel your voice crack a bit, and you hate that.

"Y/N, it's not embarrassing. It's a trauma response. And it's okay to go through it. But you need to heal…"

You look away from his face, tears already burning your eyes. You can't help but hear his voice again.

Having panic attacks in public is embarrassing, Y/N. You have to control them. Don't be fucking weak.

" He said… he said they were embarrassing."

You know you shouldn't be saying this to Izuku, but you said it even before you could actually think it.

"��Who said-…" Izuku stops mid sentence. Takes a deep, deep breath, and continues climbing the stairs in silence. You don't dare look up. He's so tense and angry, you don't really have the courage to witness that right now.

When you arrive at the fourth floor you signal him which one is your apartment. And even when you are in front of the door, he doesn't put you on the ground. He stands there, waiting patiently, as you search for the key card on your bag and when the door is open he enters with you in his arms. He of course takes his shoes off at the entrance and walks inside.

He doesn't say anything as he sits you over the small couch and sits next to you, his arm touching yours and taking almost all the space around you. His smell is around and you like it.

His face is even closer to yours when he asks, worried, "When were you going to tell me you have panic attacks?"

"I… I don't want to bother anyone with them." You tell the truth. You can't lie to him.

"That's what he told you? That they are a bother?" You simply shrug, not really wanting to answer. "Y/N, I'm not angry or feel like this is a bother. I'm worried, you need help."

"I am going to therapy. I've been going since I'm five, Izuku. I had a handle on them, they weren't recurrent until…"

"Until he left you," he finishes for you, slightly shaking his head and you nod.

Izuku sighs, standing up and you watch him. Is he going away? Is he embarrassed and going away, deciding not to involve or do anything with your broken self?

"Do you mind if I make us both tea?"

You shake your head rapidly in answer. He smiles and walks towards the kitchen. You follow his every move, being a small apartment it's easy to do it.

Izuku is… staying . For tea. He's not leaving. He's not leaving you alone after a panic attack. Like Mineta. But he's your best friend, Mineta has always been there; like you have been there for him even after the war he had to be part of at such a young age and he tried to push you away. Izuku doesn't have that obligation. Izuku… is your friend? Well, that's how you like to think of him since you got to know him this past months. But the category of best friend was not there for him yet. You were just getting to know each other. So, why is he here? Why does he stay?

"It's ready," he suddenly says, sitting back next to you with the two mugs of tea. He gives you one and you accept it a bit startled.

The sudden smell of lemon with honey tea that invades your nose as you bring it closer to drink immediately relaxes you. You smile after taking a sip.

You look back at him and he's watching intently at you, like he's waiting for your reaction.

"You remembered," you say and you really want to cry now.

He smiles, a hand flying to the back of his head to scratch it nervously, "You said it was your favorite."

You did. On a text message, when the topic was favorite drinks . But the fact that he remembered that you said it, it is… overwhelming.

Silence again. On your part it's more relaxed, but you can feel him a bit anxious. You decide to give him space, time to say whatever it is that it's inside his mind.

Until he does.

"You're not the only one… struggling still… with all that happened." He says as he sets his mug on the little coffee table in front of you. It's very small, mostly for decoration. Only space for the two mugs you're using at the moment. Izuku then lays his elbows over his knees, fingers fidgeting in the middle clearly showing his nervousness. "I have nightmares. Very bad ones, since the war. Uraraka used to help a lot, she was always there for me when I needed her."

This is the first time he talks about her this willingly, so you just keep silent and give him the space he needs to say whatever he wants.

"I was finally getting better… and then… she wasn't there anymore…"

"The nightmares came back?" He simply nods. You can't help yourself but to direct your hand towards his shoulder in a form of comfort, which he accepts with a small smile.

"I guess… we are two broken people, trying to pick up the pieces left. Aren't we?"

His eyes shine with tears he refuses to set free, probably also what your own looked like. He smiles sadly at you, before patting your hand that still holds his shoulder.

You both stay in silence for a little while before Izuku breaks the silence again.

"I'm sorry about today. I had…" He sighs. "I had a discussion with a partner."

Partner? You know Izuku doesn't have many partners. One is Hero Shoto, who also is his best friend. You doubt he had a discussion with him, you couldn't actually see Shoto in a heated discussion at all. And the other one is… Oh .

"What did he do now?" You don't even have to mention his name. You and Izuku know who you're talking about.

The green-haired man rolls his eyes. "We have been civil. For the sake of everybody around us. And if I'm being honest, we work well together. In fights, we understand each other perfectly. So we decided to just be professional and not bring up anything that happened."

You know this. Izuku had already told you this once, when he called you on his lunch break to talk to you about a cute little butterfly that he would send you the picture of when he was less busy and you heard Bakugou's voice on the back calling for Izuku. They had been on a mission together.

"Until…" Izuku continues, "Until this morning, when he decided to bring up our Friday morning's coffee."

" What?! " You frown. How did he know? Nobody knew, besides Mineta and probably Shoto on Izuku's side. Nobody else knew… unless…

"Paparazzis discovered us. I don't know how. I'm always careful when meeting you. I take a lot of turns and I disguise myself the best I can so they don't recognize me. But they found out." He sighs, a hand sliding his green and black curls back. "They released an article yesterday. About us."

Izuku takes out his phone, searching for something before showing it to you.

NEWLY BACHELOR, NUMBER ONE PRO HERO DEKU, FOUNDS NEW SWEETHEART?

Yes, my readers, this is apparently what it looks like. A young, pretty lady like this caught the attention of the Symbol of Hope quite fast, if you ask for my humble opinion.

We don't have much information about her, sadly. Only that this lady has our favorite Pro Hero on her clutches... Look at the way he looks at her in the following pictures!

Isn't it cute? Let me be honest, as a fan of Deku myself, I can't avoid feeling a bit heartbroken, but I also think that this man deserves all the happiness anyone can give him. Don't you agree? And after that sudden break up with Pro Hero Uravity that caught everyone by surprise, makes me think… Does this lady have anything to do with it? Did she catch Pro Hero Deku's heart from before, causing the break up? Mmm, so many questions, readers, that we don't have the answers yet! But no mind, we will try our best to find them! Be patient, and in the meantime, show a bit of support for our favorite Number One Hero.

You feel like vomiting. Your picture, clear as day, has never been on the front page of a magazine. Bakugou has always protected his privacy so meticulously, and that included you. The media and his fans knew he had a relationship, but he never let anyone get a glimpse of it.

And here you are now, on the front page of Go-zzip Hero magazine, the picture showing you sitting in front of Izuku in that coffee shop, talking so close to his face it practically looks like you're kissing. Oh, shit . You do that? You actually speak that close to him??

You swallow thickly, looking back up at Izuku.

"I am so sorry, Izuku, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know. None of us did. But I'm sorry I wasn't more careful…"

"Don't be silly. This is not your fault."

"Yours either."

You both smile shyly at each other. This is… chaotic. Being involved with him is… OH, SHIT.

"What? What is it?" He asks as he sees your eyes open wide in fear.

"Your fans are gonna kill me..."

"No, they aren't…"

"Yes, they are! Oh my God!" You stand, after putting your mug over the table next to his, a bit wobbly on the legs which makes him react fast to hold you if you fall, but you don't. You start walking one way to the other of your small living room. "I'm so food for the fishes… they are going to kill me!"

Izuku chuckles. "No, they aren't, Y/N…"

"Don't laugh! Yes, they are! Especially after what that journalist said! They even hinted that probably I was the reason you broke up with Uraraka!"

"Which is not true. I'll call my manager and PR team and ask for an interview with the magazine and clarify this. You don't have anything to worry about. Neither does Mineta. I'll clarify that we are just friends…"

That makes you freeze in place, frowning. "Mineta? What does he have to do with this?"

Izuku frowns too, looking confused at you. "Aren't you… Isn't he… Aren't you dating ?"

"WHAT?!" By Izuku's flinching, you realize you raised your tone a bit louder than you intended. "Sorry…Mineta is my best friend, Izuku. He's like a brother to me."

Izuku looks so confused, "But… But you always speak about him. He cooks for you, he is… he is here almost everyday for you, and he did all that stuff to piss off Bakugou for you, like a…"

"Like a brother would." You smile. "I do think that somehow our souls are connected, because I know I could leave apart from anyone, except him . He's that annoying sticky thing you get used to living with and don't want to unstick, because if you do something will miss. Because he's my brother. I wouldn't be able to live without his annoying ass." Izuku laughs with you. You walk back to sitting next to him as silence comes back. Then, you keep talking, "Mineta has been there when I had no one. Even when we were five years old and my parents died in a car accident, provoked by a hero-villain fight." Deku tenses, but keeps his attention on you. "We used to play heroes when we were kids and fantasize about how we were going to be Number One. Both of us, together. And then the accident happened. I was left alone. I didn't have much family around, only my old great-grandma that was barely suitable to raise a child. So I was given to the state. I went to an orphanage."

You don't know why you're baring your soul to Izuku like this. This was a painful, very intimate part of your history nobody knew but Mineta. Not even Bakugou knew. He never insisted for you to tell him. He simply accepted that you were Mineta's best friend, end of sentence. He never questioned anything. Now you wonder if that was a good or a bad thing.

"That's when your panic attacks began?" He asks a bit timidly. You nod.

"It happened that same day, when I was given the news about their deaths. A kind lady had been there with me, explaining what it all meant. She was kind, but she didn't have much experience. Imagine walking into a room as a kid where your parents are lying dead in two stretchers and being told these are your parents and you're not gonna see them anymore ." Izuku flinches again, a chill clearly running down his back. "A few hours later, I had my first panic attack. I lost consciousness for almost an hour. It was the longest one I ever had and doctors were worried not enough oxygen had gone to my brain, considering that even when I woke up I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Until Mineta and Auntie Asiki came to see me at the hospital. The second Mineta lay down next to me in the hospital bed, I started crying, and he held me. We were kids, not knowing anything about life, and he still understood that I needed him. Auntie Asiki offered to bring me home with her and Mineta, but the forms to the orphanage had already been filled and accepted. It would take a lot of money, lawyers and procedures to let her, a single mother, take my custody. And while her heart and intentions were hugely appreciated for even thinking about it, it was impossible."

"I didn't know Mineta's mom was a single mother." Izuku frowns, probably guilting himself about it, because of everything they, as class A, had been through their years at UA.

"He doesn't like speaking about it. He really has to trust you to tell you about it."

Izuku nods, instantly respecting that decision. He then scratches his neck again. 

"So, you and him are not…"

You chuckle. "Not even if he was the last man on Earth." Izuku laughs too.

" Ouch , that wounds me so deep, bun," Mineta's voice is heard from the entrance as he walks inside your apartment.

Shit , you haven't heard him at all. The worry on your face is visible, because you have been talking about him, about his private life, and you hadn't consulted him before. You feel so bad, so worried he'll get mad at you.  

Mineta sees you and simply shrugs, "It's okay, bun, I trust Midoriya." He then winks at you and you feel the worry disappear completely.

"Thank you, Mineta. I promise I won't speak about it to anyone."

"It's okay," Mineta answers Izuku, pulling his thumb up in his direction. You smile watching their interaction. "I'm not here though to have this conversation." Your best friend gets closer to where you are, a worried expression on his face. "I was told you had another one, in the middle of the street.." You sigh, looking down at your hands that lay in your lap. "Was it because of him again?"

You nod and Mineta is the one who sighs this time.

"About Bakugou?" Izuku asks then, frowning.

You nod again. "My therapist is helping, but yes, they appear after I remember something, random things he once had said to me."

"Why it doesn't fucking surprise me…" Izuku barks as he stands from the couch and walks, just like you had moments ago. Mineta opens his eyes wide, watching amused at Izuku's reaction.

"He's such a fucking jerk… But we already knew that, didn't we?" 

Izuku immediately agrees with Mineta.

"I should have punched him harder," Izuku's comment makes you choke on the tea you were about to swallow.

"You what?!" Both you and Mineta speak at the same time. You look worried about the whole situation, the discussion clearly hadn't been a simple one if there had been fists involved. Mineta looks like a kid given the awaited present on his birthday.

"What really happened, Izuku?" You ask, worry clear on your tone.

"He saw the article, clearly. I came back from night patrol and was changing in the locker rooms, the whole night shift was there preparing to go home at the same time the morning shift was getting ready to start their patrols. And he started making comments about you and me, about how I apparently like his leftovers, about how you are a gold digger and now went for me."

"He did not fucking say that!" Mineta stands up, ready to beat some ass, Bakugou's, specifically.

"He did! I couldn't not do anything. I tried to be civil and only told him to stop talking about us, that he didn't know anything. And I told him to stop playing the victim, because he was none. The only victims in this story are you and me," Izuku looks at you like he's assuring you, "They don't have the right to even comment on this." 

"Hell yeah, Midoriya!" Mineta cheers, raising his hand for Izuku to high five him, and the green-haired does, animated. You shake your head trying to hold your smile back. "What did corn-head say then?"

Izuku laughs at Mineta's nickname for Bakugou, bumping his fist again with the man in agreement.

You roll your eyes. Jesus , men are such idiots with nicknames. 

"He then said that… I don't know if I should repeat it…" Izuku and Mineta both look at you, Mineta already intuitively knows.

"He talked… he talked about our sex life, didn't he?" You ask after a minute of silence.

Izuku nods.

"Tell me you did punch him hard though…" Mineta is fuming, you can see the smoke coming out his ears, metaphorically. 

"Of course I did. Twice, before someone pushed me away."

"Well done, man." Mineta high fives Izuku again.

"You shouldn't… you didn't have to…"

"I won't let him or anybody speak about you that way, Y/N. Now that I know all you've been through, I won't even give them a chance to."

You move before you think, again. One second you're seated on the couch, and the next you're hugging Izuku. Arms around his neck strongly, as your face hides in your arm and his shoulder. It takes him a second, but he reacts by hugging back, strong arms surrounding your waist as delicately as he can, but also firm and securely.

You heard Mineta walk out of the living room towards the kitchen to entertain himself with anything.

And you feel… safe . You feel so safe in Izuku's arms, it's so comforting and nice.

You feel him take a deep breath over your head, as if your smell was comforting to him. You like that idea. That at least in something so insignificant like your smell, he finds comfort and peace. Relax and ease.

"Thank you, Izuku," you whisper only for him to listen.

He shakes his head, "You have nothing to thank me for."

"I do, though. Not only for those punches," you say backing away just a bit so you can see his face. He smiles proudly at the mention of the punches. "But because you helped me with my panic attacks… Twice."

"Twice?" He asks confusedly, but you nod.

"The first Friday we went to have a coffee, remember?" He nods, "I was waiting, and because it was my first time out of my apartment without Mineta I was feeling overwhelmed and… and then you appeared at the door. And all I felt was relief… I felt safe with you there, so it stopped even before it began."

You are looking at his eyes, and you can see the emotion in them as you speak. He then rests his forehead on yours and takes a deep breath, clearly pushing his emotion back in so he can speak.

"I'll be there for you… I want to be there for you, if you want me…"

"I want you," you immediately answer, "I want you to be here."

"Then I will."

"I also want to be there for you," you scratch the back of his head softly, as he bites his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. He looks like he's trying to control himself from doing something then and there, and that makes you smile.

"I want you . I want you to be there too." He repeats your exact same words, making you feel tingles all over your body as you feel his fingertips caress lightly, timidly, the bit of skin showing at your waist.

"Then I will."

You feel him moving, his nose caressing yours in a cute manner. Slowly getting closer, lips barely touching and…

"Sorry to be a cockblock, but your phone is ringing, Midoriya."

The bubble is popped , so you both back away, clearing your throats and fixing your clothes out of nervousness.

"Oh, yeah, ummm…" Izuku walks back towards the kitchen to search for his phone. "It's Shoto. He's probably heard already about the fight this morning. I should pick this." You nod, signaling to your room for his privacy and he thanks you as he walks there.

Your eyes follow him until the door is closed, and then they go towards the kitchen, where Mineta is standing, hip against the counter and a bowl of snacks in his hands he found somewhere, eating them slowly as he looks at you accusatory. A knowing smirk in his face.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything… yet."

You roll your eyes. "Spit it out." You walk towards him, picking some of the snacks on the bowl and eating.

"I have nothing to say, Y/N."

That's impossible, he always has something to say. 

"Or should I call you Ms. Midoriya from now on?" 

Ah, there it is.

You punch him in the arm and he laughs out loud.

PART I - PART II - PART III

[pinkbeanii]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝓓𝔂𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝓗𝓪𝓲𝓻˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

-an unconventional date night w/ jongseob-

A/N: inspired by @soulseobie and their Soul one shot, also @kisseobie made the og prompt. This is my first time posting my writing to tumblr so please be nice!! Constructive criticism is welcomed!

Warnings: mentions of wandering hands but entirely sfw, pet names (baby, babe, beautiful, sweetheart), like two-ish kisses but no details, shirtless jongseob but no description

It doesn't matter if you have experience or not with hair, Jongseob trusts you implicitly.

He has so much confidence that even if you have no clue what you're doing it'll turn out okay, and if not then-

“it's just hair baby, it'll grow out eventually!”

Seobie is pretty laid back about the color, obviously he has opinions but yours are more important to him.

Definitely wants to go with you to get supplies, and he's attached to your hip the whole time. It's fun honestly, how involved he wants to be.

"what about this one babe? think I could pull off neon green?"

"oooo, they have rainbow bowls! we have to get some!"

"do you think we'll need a hair treatment for after?"

Very insistent on paying, saying that it's his hair you're doing and it's the least he can do. Tbh, hair stuff can be pretty expensive so you really aren't complaining.

Once you have all the supplies and your space is set up (covered in paper and plastic wrap as to not stain anything) Jongseob is practically bouncing in excitement.

He's gotten his hair done before, obviously, but it's his baby who's doing it this time, ofc he's excited!

Jongseob is dressed in some random old band tee of his, and forced you to wear one as well. It doesn't matter if you were wearing stuff you didn't mind getting dye on, he insists on his shirt.

"no, this is not just bc I like how you look in my clothes, I just don't want you to get dye on your pretty outfit!"

[It definitely is, and he is absolutely pouting when you accuse him of it]

Assuming his hair is already blonde (it is at the time of writing this) you guys start with color right away. He wants to be surprised, so he doesn't even look while you're mixing the color or applying it.

He's very chatty the whole time, still feeling excited and energetic. Which was cute and sweet at first, but he kept moving his head, causing you to mess up in certain areas and get dye places it really shouldn't be.

"babe, you gotta stop moving, I got dye on your neck again!"

"I'm sorry! I'll try not to."

He tries his best not to move too much, but as you finish up the back and move to the front, the moving becomes touching.

Seobie is normally pretty touchy with you, but as nice as his hands feel running up and down your thigh, it's also really distracting.

His hands don't wander too much, he really doesn't want to disturb you! But it's an unconscious thing, his hands just gravitate to your skin whenever they have a chance.

If you point it out he'll get kinda sheepish-

"oh, I didn't realize. your skin is just so soft and warm!"

When you're applying near the roots of his hair, towards his scalp, he gets shivers from the cool temperature. No matter how many times you get your hair dyed, it's always a weird feeling to have goopy dye on your scalp

As you get to his bangs and move in front of him, he gets an idea.

It's pretty obvious, at least to you, when Jongseob has a plan to do something, but being so immersed in applying the dye you didn't notice.

Just as you finish painting a stripe of dye, he pulls you fully onto his lap. Hands gripping your hips making sure you can't squirm out of his reach.

"JONGSEOB!"

"what? I want you here with me, isn't it easier than trying to stand?"

"you could have given me some warning, and what if I'd gotten dye on you? and I don't think that-"

*kiss*

"I want you here, please."

Not being able to say no to his pleas, and feeling quite comfortable in his lap, you stay seated.

Finishing up the front was easy. Using your gloved hand you massage any left over dye into his hair, making sure every strand is coated.

With your hands in his hair Jongseob relaxes even more, leaning into your touch and letting out a whine when you stop-

"felt good, keep going?"

Ofc you indulge him for a while longer, he's so sweet when he asks so it's only natural.

After finally pulling your hands out of his hair and removing your gloves, you hand him the neon orange shower cap he'd insisted on at the beauty store.

Seobie smiles when you turn around, the neon shower cap stretched over his head. He reaches for you again, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you between his legs.

"wanna play switch while this sets?"

After about 30 minutes the timer you'd set rings, signalling that it was time to wash out the hair dye.

You both got settled in the bathroom. Jongseob on the floor, upper body resting against the bathtub, neck stretched so his head was over the tub.

You tucked a rolled towel under his neck, hoping it would help lessen the uncomfortable feeling. Seobie gave you a thumbs up-

"thanks beautiful, feels fine don't worry."

You both thanked the universe that the shower head was detachable, and began the rinsing process.

Jongseob relaxed as your hands entered his hair again. He'd always had a soft spot for you playing with his hair, something you used to your advantage whenever you could.

As you worked to rinse his hair water splashed around, landing everywhere. No matter how hard you tried to minimize it, the water had a mind of its own.

By the time you were halfway done the floor outside the bathtub was damp and so was Jongseob, mostly his shirt. Which he promptly took off as soon as you gave him a break to sit up.

Seobie balled up the tshirt and tossed it up to the counter, turning to you shamelessly.

Ofc you'd seen him like this before, but it still left your face hot and needing to look away.

"what's got you so shy sweetheart, nothing you haven't seen before."

This boy... He's just... Cocky isn't the right word, but it was more than confidence. Maybe comfortable is a good word for it. He knew he was safe with you, so being shirtless didn't leave him feeling "exposed"

Once you got ahold of yourself it was time to continue rinsing.

It took quite a bit before the water ran clear, during which you took advantage of your position to occasionally glance at the shirtless boy under you. No matter how many times you'd seen him, it was still a very pretty sight.

When the dye had been fully rinsed out you pulled Seobie to sit up, plopping a dry towel over his head and drying his hair gently.

Neither of you felt like using a hair dryer, so once his hair was mostly dry, tho still slightly damp, you helped him stand.

"ready to show me babe?"

Covering his eyes you walked him in front of the mirror-

"3,2,1!"

Jongseob looked at his new hair with a wide smile, turning his head side to side, admiring it.

After a thorough appreciation of your hard work, he turned to you and gently held your face-

"it looks absolutely perfect baby, knew you could do it!"

His words left your face hot again, making him giggle at your sudden shyness. In turn, he peppered your face with kisses, light pecks scattered everywhere, ending with a sweet kiss to your lips.

An overall enjoyable experience, with a fun outcome. Seobie would definitely ask you to do it again next time he wanted a change.

Thanks for reading!! I hope this was enjoyable, the plot and idea kinda got away from me at times, but I had fun writing it!

Also, in my head the colour would be like a pinky orange, bc I love Seob's orange hair (let's be real, I love all his hair colors) and my favorite hair color on me is pink, so therefore: pinky orange lol

[tswwwit]

Cult Part 5! Here's One, Two, Three, and Four if ya missed 'em.

“Whatever he’s up to,“ Dipper leans forward in his seat, glaring. “It’s not what you think it is.”

His warning goes unheeded. His glare, unnoticed. The man not only keeps talking to Bill, he does it in the stupidest way possible.

“I don’t believe you, vile tempter,” says the dark-haired man, folding his arms, turning away in a huff. His hips tilt in a way that makes those tiny shorts look ten times stupider than they already were. “Your infinite cunning and dire convincing cannot sway a human pure of heart!”

“Oh, how pure it is.” ‘Bill’ says slowly, capturing the man around the shoulders. “But think about it, mortal - What’s the worst that could happen?”

Some of the pouty defiance fades from the human’s face. His slow, dramatic turn towards Bill is focused in a close shot, so their faces are both in frame.

“Alright,” He says softly, “You bastard.”

Ugh, of course he’d give in easily. Even though it’s a terrible idea.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dipper mutters, and stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

He’s seen his fair share of bad television - more so in the last week than ever before - but this bullshit really takes the cake. 

Dipper stumbled on this drama while flipping through the billion options of Bill’s TV. Somewhere in the middle of random shows and channels, a brief clip caught his eye. Mostly because he thought the main guy looked like Bill, and it paused his thumb for a second.

Turns out it is Bill. Or rather, an actor playing him. The looks don’t quite match, and they’re using a different name - but the likeness is unmistakable, right down to the triangle motif.

For the first five minutes, Dipper had to just boggle at the very concept. Only the most devoted followers know the Truth. The clever plans and private nature of Bill Cipher are solely for those who are initiated in the deepest secrets. Ones that the ignorant masses could never comprehend.

A hundred-some odd episode tv series blows that theory out of the water. He guesses that’s more bullshit he learned from a bunch of ignorant, sheltered jerks.

Honestly, meeting Bill should have clued Dipper in earlier. A guy who talks about himself that much isn’t going to keep a low profile. Seeing it on Bill’s own TV was also weird until he remembered, right. Multidimensional sight. That’d show him things from all over. And pulling all the episodes on a dedicated channel in his living room? That’s an egomaniac’s move. 

So of course Dipper would run into this. There was no better place. 

The next episode starts. The opening credits roll for the dozenth time. Dipper doesn’t move from his position on the couch, but he does roll his eyes at the stupid smile actor Bill gives at the camera. Completely off-base, it’d be way more smug.

He should really stop watching. The first episode alone nearly had him grimacing at how idolatrous it was, and Dipper lived in a cult. Problem is, the worse it gets, the more compelling it becomes.  

Then the theme song ends, and Dipper looks again down at the tiny text at the bottom. The one that reads, ‘based on real events!!!’. 

Sure, it’s the most highly dramatized bullshit he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. Including the soap operas his cult classmate smuggled in all the time. And yes, it’ll be difficult to tell how much is true when it’s less reliable than an overheard rumor. 

But it might give him some leads to go on, and Dipper can’t pass that up.

Suffering through shitty dialogue is a small price to pay, when it comes to unraveling the tangled thread that is Bill Cipher. Especially because his subject keeps trying to wrap up into a whole friggin’ gordian knot whenever he’s not looking.

Besides, Dipper’s already on episode twenty-seven. He might as well see how this season ends. 

The plot picks up on the same convoluted scheme. Judging by last season, it’ll end in some climactic battle for no particular reason. The characters on screen continue their bickering, an intense-back and forth. One that ignores the very insightful commentary from anyone watching. 

Halfway through, ‘Bill’ double- or perhaps triple-crosses his human rival/friend, and Dipper spends a few seconds to feel very I-told-you so about it. The plot thread isn’t resolved though, so there’s no way to know how that turns out without watching another episode. 

And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.

He contemplates the dish first, then the TV. Whether to get up and refresh snacks, or stick around to see how ‘Bill’ ruins that guy’s day for the seventh time. A tough decision. 

He’s just about decided to raid the kitchen for snacks, when the front door ominously creaks open.

Bill Cipher, Lord of Dreams, King of the Nightmare Realm, storms into the room with irritation in his terrible gaze, and furious purpose in his stride. He wears a scowl on his face that would make even the most apostate follower cower in terror, a demeanor that speaks of his infinite violence. The thrum of magic in the room builds, intense as it always is in his so-called glorious presence.

As that single golden eye alights on Dipper, he waves and says, “Hi.”

All the tension slides off Bill like a particularly messy sloughing of skin. “Hey yourself, sapling!” He waves back with more enthusiasm. “Been one heck of a day, lemme tell ya that.”

It sounds lighthearted. A pretty decent act. Tough luck for Bill, though; Dipper can read him pretty well by now. A check of Bill’s body language gives him all the info he needs.

Huh. There haven’t been many bad days since he’s met this ‘god’. But by the look of it, this one was more than most.

“That bad?” Dipper asks. Then, since he’s not doing much anyway - “Wanna complain about it?”

A blasphemous question. No follower should delve too deep, for that is the purview of divine revelation. The wisdom of Cipher - his most terrible secrets - are only revealed at his discretion. Not something to be pried at by the greedy and curious. 

Dipper still marvels at how wrong they got all of it. Total misses on absolutely everything. Bill’s got secrets, sure. ‘Wisdom’ is questionable.

And when it comes to learning about his life, prying is unnecessary. 

Stopping him from talking is the hard part.

“Don’t even get me started!” Bill says, clearly delighted.. He spreads his arms wide. “But you did! Too late to take it back now.”

“Mmh,” Dipper agrees. He’s got another episode queued up. That’ll be a nice distraction. Bill’s rambling can be interesting, but his complaints are longwinded. When you think about it, he’s really doing this ‘god’ a service by listening to all the bullshit.

He really doesn’t know what his old cult was talking about. Clearly they’d never met the guy. When this is how Bill talks to some random human, it’s amazing he has any secrets at all.

He waits for the oncoming onslaught as the show keeps playing on. The theme song finishes and the scene opens. There’s a new location, too - god, this better not be another timeskip. Demons might keep track of that stuff easily, but Dipper’s had to start taking notes. 

It takes a second before he notices Bill’s… actually not talking. 

A quick glance over - yep, just like he thought. Staring like a creep again. One of Bill’s favorite pastimes. This time paired with a pleased smile, and his hands on his hips.

“What’s up?” Dipper asks. There’s no rhyme or reason to the creeping so far - but he’ll figure out the pattern one day.

“Hm.” Bill gives him a slow onceover. The corner of his mouth quirks up another fraction. “Nice outfit.”

A quick check reveals… Nothing particularly interesting. His clothes are identical to, like, the same three outfits he always wears. Jeans and a t-shirt - though today he ditched the flannel for this big hoodie he found in his laundry. It’s remarkably soft. “Uh. Thanks?”

Bill says nothing. The smirk grows even wider. Very suspicious. Dipper narrows his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?” “Who knows?” Bill says, teeth showing in his smile. “Interesting outer layer you got going on there.”

Dipper checks the hoodie. No, he doesn’t sense any magic. If there were pins he would have felt them, and a curse would have kicked in by now. It’s just a random hoodie that’s admittedly too broad in the shoulders, but very comfortable. It even smells good.

He waits a few seconds - Bill keeps staring, oddly smug - but with no information forthcoming, Dipper decides to chalk it up as another ‘weird demon thing’. There’s a lot of weird demon things. Most aren’t as innocuous as random fashion critique, so he might as well let this slide. 

“Cute as that look is, you did ask for the rundown, sapling.” Bill loosens his bowtie, letting the ends drape over his shirt. “You know what my least favorite part of today was?”

“Dealing with idiots.” Dipper replies. It’s always idiots. He rifles through popcorn kernels to find any remaining puffs.

“Sure, sure. Most times!” Bill strides over, sighing dramatically. “But today it was dealing with sycophants.” 

Dipper runs that through his mental dictionary - then frowns. “They weren’t flattering enough?”

“Close!” With a grin, Bill leans on the arm of the couch. “More like praise comes in a lotta different flavors, and this one -” He stops mid-sentence, with a sudden frown.

Pausing? That’s unusual. Dipper rips his attention away from the show, glancing up.  “This one was…?”

“Hm? Oh, y’know.” Oddly enough, it seems like Bill genuinely wasn’t deflecting. Simply thinking, his head slightly tilted. He snaps his fingers twice. “Like, suckups are one thing. Currying favor’s the most common grift in the universe! It’s the… That kinda saccharine crap that’s a hair too sincere. Like…” He wags his hand in the air, fingers wiggling as he tries to grasp for an invisible word. Grimacing when he doesn’t find it. “Ugh. English doesn’t have the right vocab.”

A multilingual master of the mind probably does feel limited by speech. And every day, Dipper learns something new. 

Demons have a different culture. Human customs don’t apply. Learning it has been a whole process, more arduous than he’d expected - because it’s got an entirely new language, with a million new words.

Apparently said language has a lot of terms for ‘suckup’.

Dipper rummages around for an English word that might fit. “So it was… Creepy?”

“Close!” Bill agrees, looking pleased. “Little bit obsessive. A touch like they’re up to something.” He makes a face. “Or worse, they’re not! Even when every non-braindead being should know I’m not on the market.”

“The market for…?”

“Most everything,” Bill says, with his usual amount of detail. 

“I would have thought you get that a lot.” Dipper frowns. Power, money, fame - Bill’s got it all. As the biggest shark around, he should be used to remoras.

“Totally! Everybody wants what I got, sapling. Power especially.” The couch barely bounces when Bill plops himself beside Dipper. “But just ‘cause I have it in spades doesn’t mean I’m handing it out like eyeballs at a wedding.”

“Um.” Except he kind of is. Because. If he wasn’t, then why has Dipper’s magic been so strong recently. There’s no way that’s a coincidence -

Bill leans in closer, meeting his gaze directly. One eyebrow slowly lifts.

Dipper ducks his head, scooting an inch away. Bill hasn’t said anything. He didn’t need to.

Special. 

Suddenly it’s very important that Dipper fiddle with the unpopped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. He was going to get more snacks. Right. Kitchen’s not far from here.

Before he can rise, Bill snaps his fingers and the bowl refills. Overflows, even, scattering kernels everywhere. Then he shoves his hand in up to the wrist, sending more of it flying.

“So that’s the losers I gotta deal with. Every day with these idiots! And I’m supposed to meet up with a few of ‘em later. If we weren’t talking an old favor, I’d pass,” Bill says. He slumps back, with an uncharacteristic sigh. Then shrugs, kicking his feet up onto a previously nonexistent ottoman. “But hey! There’s always time for a vicious betrayal!”

Dipper makes a soft sound of commiseration. That’s an interesting fact, too. Favors, deals. Those are demonic things, He wonders what those involve, and how - 

“Ha! Now this is a classic,” Bill says, interrupting before the question can form. He’s watching the TV now, grinning wide.  “How’ve you been liking the show? Looks like the main character’s a real handsome guy!”

“It’s terrible,” Dipper says, flat. It gets a chuckle, but no argument.

“Sure, I’ve seen better,” Bill says, nose wrinkling up at a particularly dramatic line from the actor on screen. He flips the TV off, then shrugs. “But eh,” Hand waggling, an ‘iffy’ gesture. “When you got a billion-eye view of the multiverse, you see way dumber crap than this.” 

Fair point. Dipper shrugs, but doesn’t comment. Something to think about, there. That Bill’s seen this before, for one, but also-

“How much of this is true?” He asks. 

If this demonically produced drama is even slightly accurate, Bill will have a strong opinion. Once he starts talking, everything will reveal itself.

“Great question! I’d say…” Bill pauses to stroke his chin. Aiming for ‘solemn’, but mostly reminding Dipper that the jerk never needs to shave. “What does it matter if a narrative is factual or fictional? Everyone’s got their own version of how things go down! Truth’s a sucker’s game when you really think about-”

An elbow to the ribs doesn’t quite shut Bill up. Just gives him enough pause to let Dipper interject.

“Philosophy doesn’t suit you.” He nudges him again before he can derail the topic. Bill sticks out his tongue, and for a second Dipper’s tempted to poke it in revenge for before. “I’ll settle for which parts actually happened.”

“Spoilsport,” Bill says, sounding oddly warm. “Eh, they took a lot of artistic license in this series. And that’s coming from me.” Shrugging, he makes a so-so- sort of gesture, weighing it in his palms. “Call it less than you’d like, but more than you’d think.”

Dipper glances at the screen. 

The battle at the end of the episode is a poorly-cut fight. Bill, human-formed, faces off against seven gorgons. Which is bullshit, they’re territorial - and the shoggoth at sunset brings it almost to the level of parody. The human of this episode has fainted in a way that leaves him leaning against Bill without somehow falling on his ass.

Yeah. That about tracks. Demon to human translation: ‘Artistic license’ means ‘total bullshit’.

Almost on cue, Dipper feels fingers brushing against his hoodie. There’s a shift as Bill adjusts his seat, his arm unsubtly snaking over behind Dipper’s head. 

Any minute now that ominous limb will drop onto his shoulders. Just like the last half dozen times. God forbid Bill not take up all the room he can; he thinks everything is his. Even gorgons aren’t this territorial.

Dipper can live with it. Hell, if the worst thing Bill ever does to him is invade his personal space and talk over an already bad TV show, he’s basically set for life. 

And truthfully, it’s not that bad. Less irritating than it should be. Having someone close, even if they are an obnoxious evil demon god, feels nice. 

One day he’s going to know why he’s being bothered by Bill in the first place. What made him stand out among the rest. What he’s for. The question doesn’t upset him like it used to, but he can’t help but pick at it like a still-healing scab. 

It feels like he has a decent amount of facts already. Between the journal in the guest room, watching the highly dramatized version of Bill’s life, and talking to the demon himself… 

Dipper glances over at Bill - still focused on the show, crunching popcorn - then down at the long line of his wrist. 

Even Bill’s providing clues, in his own, unique way. When he arguably shouldn’t. 

It would be so, so easy for him to cut it all off. Burn the books, break the TV, cage Dipper up and beat the curiosity out of him. Taking every step the cult did and more, in his ‘wrath’ and ‘infinite cruelty’.

But he’s not. He wouldn’t, not to Dipper. 

In fact, Bill’s been - in a weird, exclusively Bill-ish way - kind of helpful. Hell, he’s having a great time. 

He clearly delights in watching Dipper scramble around, trying to follow a breadcrumb trail of hints. Even more fun is occasionally dropping a bunch of clues down the wrong track, then hiding behind a tree to giggle. He especially likes to dangle something just close enough to grab, then teasing Dipper as he tries to make the leap. 

So much of his time is spent making stuff annoying, teasing and taunting and tricking - but Bill’s not actually stopping him. As hobbies go, it’s both incredibly dickish, and totally benign. It’s almost like… 

Dipper gets the sense that Bill expects him to figure it all out. Bill just also thinks he should make the journey very… ‘interesting’.

Joke’s on him, though. He’s left more hints than he intended. He may not even realize how far Dipper’s come.

The show plays on. The actor ‘Bill’ argues with the latest, nearly-identical human guy. They change actors a lot; usually whenever there’s a timeskip. They always have exactly the same role, too - ‘guy who argues with the demon in charge’. Probably because demons consider all humans interchangeable. 

There’s some interaction between the various planes. Everyone knows that. Demons are pretty rare on the list, but lower-level entities occasionally get summoned, or break in through some magical mishap. 

Back in the cult, Dipper learned that Bill Cipher has bothered and convinced and manipulated mortals for eons. His unearthly machinations twist the strings of his human puppets, all the time. Slowly building to the inevitable goal - the world, under Bill’s eternal thumb. He never interacts directly; the physical plane is not yet his to roam.

But in the drama, Bill is on the physical plane. Not acting through haunting prophetic dreams, or divine revelations. Just bitching and prodding and poking in person. 

And while the setting’s  fictionalized version of the place, it’s definitely not under any demonic reign.

The implications took a while to sink in, but Dipper thinks he gets it now. Parts have clicked together; facts he didn’t know were connected until just now. 

Bill probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s helped  there too. Filling in the gaps. Adding extra detail.

He’s even doing it right now. 

The unasked for commentary track continues as Bill talks. Going on about how he hasn’t been to that country in millenia, or how the seasons are wrong for this encounter. Elaborating on details, mocking others, going on about the stupid plotline and dialogue -  

Totally bragging about his earthly knowledge. About the physical world. Because he’s been there.

Dipper sits up a little straighter. It bumps the hand trailing through his hair away, and he settles back to let Bill’s idiot fingers continue their idle path. 

He can’t be totally certain without proof, though. And Bill has always liked it when he’s picked up the clues…

Dipper speaks up.

“I think more of this is real than you’d admit, Bill. You’ve…” Didn’t laud himself over them, no divine visitation- “Hung out with humans.”

“Hard not to! What with billions of you dreaming all over the place.” Bill says, deftly avoiding the question. Staring at the screen now, focused forward in a way that makes it hard to catch his eye. “You’re everywhere on that scummy pebble you call a habitable planet.”

No confirmation, but no denial. Which means Dipper’s on the right track. 

“I mean you’ve been on Earth. In the, uh, flesh,“ Dipper insists. No triangles were visible, maybe that form can’t be sustained in reality - but this is no time to get derailed. He seizes the thread of logic, yanking on it with all he’s got. “Was-”

“Pfft, who hasn’t!” Bill interrupts. He flicks the question away, snorting in amusement. “Pretty permeable place you got there.”

“That’s at least two hundred years of human interaction,” Dipper insists. He jabs his index finger at the screen, then into Bill’s ribs. “And I can’t help but notice none of it is in your realm. It’s on Earth. Which you haven’t conquered-” Before Bill’s mouth can open, he holds up a hand. The lie is so dumb he doesn’t wanna hear it. “Nice try, I was just there.”

“Yeah, yeah, make a mountain out of a molehill.” Bill buffs his nails on his shirt, chin lifting. “I’ve just been busy! I’ll get around to it!”

“Sure you will,” Dipper says. He narrows his eyes. “I’ve figured you out, Cipher. I know what’s going on.”

Plausible deniability went out the window ages ago, thrown with such force that glass shattered everywhere. Leaving Bill standing in the middle, wondering aloud what happened, with a perfectly innocent look on his face..

It’s about humans. About earth, and Bill, and Dipper himself. Why Bill never showed up before, in all those years - decades - of cult summons, the ones he never ever answered, even though they really tried. Not just that he didn’t see them, or didn’t care to. 

It’s because Bill Cipher can’t do everything.

Bill’s been evasive, per his usual. He’s not quite meeting Dipper’s gaze, and keeping up a dismissive tone. 

But he can’t deny that he’s interested, even though he tries to keep his expression aloof. It’s not working so great. His mouth keeps twitching as the grin starts to leak out around the edges. 

“Oh?” Bill’s voice has a strange tone. He leans in until their thighs touch, sides together; he must be really interested in something. “Go on, sapling. Enlighten me!” 

That’s the core of a line of truth, leading somewhere important - if Dipper dares to follow. He’s getting close, he can feel it. It’s dangerous, but- 

Getting the words out is harder than he thought. Challenging Cipher is - he starts talking before he can talk himself out of it.

“You can’t take over reality.” He keeps his voice level, daring Bill to interrupt. “You don’t have all your powers there.” 

A pause; Bill’s oddly silent. His face is blank. 

Before he can get angry, Dipper rambles out the rest. “Or at least not yet. You’d have taken over already if you did. I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have time. You can’t get the world because…” Here it goes - “Something’s stopping you." 

He watches, tense, as Bill’s expression sours. Looking askance at Dipper, he folds his arms in a huff. Muttering something under his breath about ‘stubborn’ and ‘annoying’.

But Bill doesn’t deny it. 

God, and even the look on his face. The one that’s both annoyed but also, maybe, resigned? Like it’s an old, old roadblock that he’s both huffy about, and very used to, it’s…

Holy shit. Dipper’s right. 

His heart is racing. Merely guessing that Bill can’t accomplish his main driving purpose is a far cry from him saying it, or even not arguing with it. The very thought makes his head swim.  

But he can’t stop now, not while he’s ahead. 

“So there’s some obstacle even you can’t get rid of,” Dipper says. Looking at Bill out of the corner of his eye, he pitches his voice in a tone of reverent, religious awe. “I can’t even imagine how powerful that is. How incredibly-”

“Hey! Don’t get so full of yourself, Pine Tree, it’s just not the right time yet!” Bill sits up straight, indignant. He bares his teeth in a sneer. “Maybe there’s something I still want from that miserable little rock, you ever think of that?”

Another admission. An unforced error. Bill winces very slightly as he hears his own misstep, and Dipper swells with pride. 

Bill thinks he’s all high and mighty and oh-so-secretive. A master of mysteries. If only he didn’t talk way too much. He didn’t think Dipper was clever enough to trick him and he gave everything away.

“That’s it. That’s why- why everything.” Dipper beams as he waves over, well, everything. “You keep going back there, and you keep picking a human, wandering around with some random guy - because you can’t get what you want without one.”

Not a cult, building power. Not a massive ritual spell. Nothing grand and showy; Bill would have done that if it was effective. That’s way more his style, and far more magically powerful. 

There’s been none of that. Not in the show, not in real life. He hasn’t used the cult, he doesn’t have a base of power. Bill doesn’t peddle with groups, both in the real-life cult and the cannon fodder in the show. 

He’s only focused on one person.

Out of billions of people he could bother, Bill latches onto a single, unfortunate guy and throws their life into total chaos. It’s a curse, an annoyance, a bolt of bullshit out of nowhere - and would also ensure you don’t bleed out until he’s had his ‘fun’. 

Being picked out from the crowd like that. Having the full brunt of Bill Cipher himself foisted upon you, laser-focused. Going from a nobody to someone who has all his attention - 

Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special? 

No response, again. Bill has retreated to his last, mocking resort. Flapping his hand like a puppet as Dipper talks, and making faces. 

Yes. Finally, Dipper got him. He followed the breadcrumbs, avoided the trap, set up one of his own - and Bill walked right into it. 

Dipper gives him the smuggest, most annoying smile he can. He’s got plenty of examples to draw from. 

Bill glares, and flips him off. “Sure, sure, live it up,” He says, rolling his eye dramatically. Waving off the loss like it’s no big deal, even though it clearly is. “You don’t have a clue what’s really going on.”

A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either. 

Dipper lets himself enjoy this win for a full minute. Rare chances like this should be savored. He has to hold onto the couch so he doesn’t grab Bill’s dumb handsome face and shake it, for being so very, very stupid. He’s never going to let him live this down

“So. Why do you need a mortal?” Dipper asks after a while. Bill isn’t volunteering any more information, and there’s one more part he hasn’t quite figured out. “The thing you’re after. Why can’t you just,” He grasps at the air in demonstration. “Take it?”

Bill’s eye twitches, once. He doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean-” Dipper hesitates. “That’s a ton of work. Heading to a different realm, picking a new mortal every time - that’s decades - no, centuries of effort. The human has to do something, right? You wouldn’t do all that just for fun.”

“Excuse you, it’s plenty fun!” Lifting a finger, Bill wags it chidingly. “You think I’m above messing with some mortal just for kicks?”

Shit, he’s not. Ruining a random person’s life for the hell of it is so very, very Bill.

“Alright, maybe.” Dipper admits. This could be because Bill’s a capricious dick. “But I’ll bet there’s more to it.”

“Never have one motive when you could have six,” Bill agrees. The grin widens, he wiggles his eyebrows - and he starts cackling. 

So yes, there’s more. And no, he’s not telling. 

Dipper racks his brain for ideas. For clues. Whatever Bill’s after must be extremely important if a literal demon god keeps chasing after it, over and over again. Nothing comes to mind, though. 

Eventually he sighs, waiting for Bill to be done with his stupid smug laughter. It doesn’t cover up his mistake.

“So I guess that makes me your latest human… companion thing.” He prompts, once Bill’s finally done with his smug, jerk laughter.

One of the first things he noticed - that room in Bill’s penthouse. The one meant for a specific type of person, as clear as a fingerprint. How many of Bill’s mortals stayed in that room? How many of them-

Those notes in the journal. Dipper has to go back and check them. Now that he knows it was someone in exactly the same position, there might be more to learn.

“Congrats, kid! Ya got parts of it! Well played! But I gotta ask one thing.” Bill cocks his head to one side. A brief, amused smirk. “There are plenty of magical guys around! A lot of ‘em  begging for demonic contracts!” The smirk widens, sharp teeth showing. “Why do you think I picked you?”

Dipper opens his mouth. After a beat, he shuts it. 

He was so busy thinking about the mechanics of his presence that he didn’t think about the motive. 

Obviously Bill grabs a human for practical purposes, so he can get that thing he wants on Earth. If it’s an entertaining person, that’s a bonus in his eye. This time it ended up being Dipper, because…

Not because he’s devoted. Or the most knowledgeable guy around. He’s smart, but too aware of the experience he lacks. Weeks ago he would have said it was the ritual knowledge from the cult, but since that’s less than worthless… Something else, then.

“Because…” Dipper starts, then hesitates. Mind racing, trying to pin the strings between the bits of knowledge he has before Bill throws a wrench into it. “Uh.”

Shit. Shit, he’s so close, there’s a piece missing. A final step. He struggles to find it but there’s little time to think; Bill’s expectant expression demands an answer. 

“Convenience?” Dipper hazards. He was right there, in the middle of a powerful ritual, directed at Bill, so- 

Instantly he knows it was the wrong guess. By the way Bill’s face fell, it was off by several hundred miles.

“Ooh, nice try.” Bill tugs Dipper closer, hand dragging through his hair - Dipper ducks out of the way before he can start a ‘companionable’ noogie. “You really missed the mark there!”

“Any chance you’ll tell me what that is?” Dipper says, with no small amount of bitterness. 

Damn it. He was so close he could almost taste it.

“Nope!” 

“You- hmph.” With a grunt, Dipper scoots away and out of his grip. He’s used to all the deliberate frustration, but right now it just sucks.

“Aw, don’t make that face!” Bill scoots after him, trying to get his arm around him again. Dipper swats it away. “Tell ya what - here’s a hint! You’re something a guy doesn’t see every day, sapling.” He winks. “Pretty unique.”

How very specific. Totally not opaque. How does Bill manage to give more facts and make things more mysterious in the process? It’s a really annoying talent.

Dipper sulks then, for a bit. When Bill tries petting his air again, he smacks his arm away, muttering unflattering things under his breath. It makes Bill laugh again, cackling in delight.

“What’s the matter?” Bill nudges him, a teasing laugh. “Ease up, kid. Given enough time, you’ll figure out some real secrets.”

“May Cipher hear your words,” Dipper says, the old phrase springing up before he can stop himself. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, cringing away from his own voice.

Thankfully, the slip gets Bill laughing. Dipper’s turn to not live something down; they’re one for one today.

“Okay, some of the affectations are adorable,” Bill says, nearly pinching Dipper’s cheek before he elbows him in the side. “Hardly worth all the other crap, but still!!”

“It really wasn’t,” Dipper says. He rubs at his left wrist. ‘All the other crap’ barely covers it.

“Don’t worry, sapling.” Bill says, voice low and satisfied. He squeezes Dipper’s knee, grip tightening. “Once we got everything in order - we’re gonna wreak some havoc on those idiots! All the fun stuff and more!”

‘Fun stuff’. 

Spending time with Bill, even in Dipper’s position of relative safety, teaches you a lot about what he thinks is ‘fun’. 

He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming. 

“Is that… so.”

“It is! Getting back at those who wronged you, tormenting the tormentors. Punishment returned with neat ironic twists!” Bill waits for a beat, then grins, jostling Dipper with a gentle shake. “Come on, you gotta have ideas!”

“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually. 

Being favored by a ‘god’. Chosen, in a way. Having Bill’s favor means having his full permission to enact vengeance. 

He’d be lying if he said he never thought about… what he’d do, if he could. Fleeting ideas from too many nights lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, feeling the burn in the back of his mouth, or the pain in his knees or the stripes on his back. Frustration and anger and hurt, bubbling up into red-hot thoughts that tasted like blood even with a missing tongue. 

Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat. 

“Ooh, I bet you’ve got a lot.” Bill purrs, wrapping his arm around Dipper’s waist. He walks his fingers up Dipper’s knee, trailing up his thigh. “Whatcha got in mind? Turning them inside out? Bone dissolving? Rearranging their legs where their ears should be and making them try to do a cartwheel?”

“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.” 

Bill is way more creative than Dipper is. Half the ideas he’s mentioned Dipper couldn’t pull off, and even if he could it’d be… Messier than he’s comfortable with. In those moments of pain and rage, he would have - even then, it’d be a stretch. 

Though maybe Dipper wouldn’t mind when it came to the priest. Too bad he’s already dead. 

What will he do? When he goes back?

He can see their faces in his mind’s eye. All the people he knows. The only people he ever knew, in that life that feels so far away.They’ll show up again in the room of ceremony, once they get wind of their god’s return. Except this time, he’ll be standing proud at the altar, with everyone in front of him, staring in…

He knows how they stared at Bill, at least. That mix of wonder and terror, their eyes wide. They’ve always believed so much. Hopeful in a way that Dipper never was - 

Or. Was, rather. Only when he wasn’t so stupid. 

And isn’t it just - so pathetic, and sad. Thinking things might turn out well. That something good might happen, when someone better knows it won’t. Those idiot, expectant moments before you know there’s a punishment coming, that leave you without a chance of defending yourself.

Dipper can feel the burn of Bill staring at him. Waiting to hear his most horrible, gory ideas, and bring them into terrifying technicolor.

“I’m not telling.” He states finally, sounding more prim than he would like. “Nice try. It’s, um. Going to be a surprise.”

“And I can’t wait to see it!” Bill beams, nearly bouncing in place. His enthusiasm is so powerful it’s almost catching. “Mark my words, kid - it’s gonna be a real party.”

“A super fun one,” Dipper says. “Totally.” He offers a smile back, waits for Bill to start cackling - then quickly looks away before his face gives up the game.

For such a consummate liar, Bill’s hit rate on detecting them is only 50/50.

Though. It isn't a lie, really. Dipper does have a lot of ideas. And what he ends up doing to the cult will be a surprise. 

In that he’s not sure what he’ll do until he gets there. 

“Take your time, sapling! Whatever you come up with is gonna be great, I’m sure.” Bill rubs his hands together, a glint of sinister anticipation in his eye. “I can’t wait to see it.”

Dipper lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I hope you’ll like it.”

Of course it wasn’t going to happen today. That’d be a quick turnaround by anyone’s standards. Even Bill himself needs longer than a few days to cook up a… what did he call it that one time? A ‘showy little number with a twist at the end’. Anything else would be disappointing. 

Anyway, it’s too early to make definitive plans. Bill said he should take his time, and Dipper believes him. Shoving his human back into the world half-cocked would ruin the entertainment. 

And when you think about it, there are so many options that it could take a lot of time to narrow them down. There could be setbacks, and stutters. It could take weeks, maybe months, to get everything just right. A punishment ironic yet powerful, subtle yet dramatic.

Who knows how long it’ll take until Dipper’s ready to head back? Certainly it won’t feel very long, to a guy who’s billions of years old. And as long as he’s making some progress, nothing needs to happen just yet. 

“Ooh, this one,” Bill says suddenly. He sits up straighter as something catches his attention. “I remember when - ah, but that’d be spoilers!”

Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?

Oh. A new episode started when he wasn’t paying attention. “It’s still a bad show,” He mutters. He could turn it off out of spite, just to bother Bill - but he did kinda want to see what happened with the twelve-ring summon the ‘bad’ guys were planning. 

Another episode would actually be kind of great, thinking about it. He could use the distraction.

Bad TV, Dipper’s learning, is nice. One of the few times where he can almost let his brain turn off. 

And having someone else who thinks the show is dumb somehow enhances it. 

The climactic battle has the worst dialogue, and terrible graphics. Dipper can barely look at the monsters, they’re so poorly rendered.  Bill agrees that they needed a better illusionist; half of the explosions look like they were drawn. 

Chatting about something so trivial makes everything so easy. Dipper lets out a laugh when Bill mocks his own actor’s performance, then swats at him when Bill teases him for being a dork.

Some idle comment sparks a bit of bickering. One of them throws popcorn at the other. Dipper doesn’t remember who started it - only that by the end, the bowl is empty again, and he’s smiling for what feels like the first time in hours.

Actor Bill hisses,“Oh, you are a vindictive, terrible mortal.” His suit has mostly melted off from the acid, leaving shreds of it hanging off his arms and chest. The shreds slide off his skin as he storms forward. “A pitiful being like you should never exist!”

“Yet I do!” Protests the human, standing with fists on his hips and a truly defiant look. One only partly ruined by his totally shirtless form.

“You never stood a chance against me,” Actor Bill purrs, slamming a hand into the bark of a tree, pinning his captive in place. “There’s no escape, kid! There never will be!”

“Oh yeah?” The man’s chin juts upward, a sneer of sheer contempt - totally unrealistic, nobody would get away with that - as he flips Bill off. “Then I’ll be your own personal curse, demon. You’ll never escape me either.”

The music surges, a broad orchestra that’s… honestly a jarring clash to the argument that breaks out. You can barely hear what they’re talking about over the grand music.

“Just shut up will you?” The man yells.

With a broad sneer, Actor Bill leans in, smug grin surprisingly close to the real version. “Make me.”

The human fumes, eyes narrowed. His fists clench as if he’s about to throw a punch. But when he extends his arm it’s too slow for that, and his hand is open. It seizes ‘Bill’ by the back of the neck, yanking him in, then -

Dipper nearly leaps out of his seat, eyes wide. Only the pressure of Bill’s arm over him keeps him from standing.

“Three stars for timing, zero for technique.” Bill gives the TV a thumbs down. “That’s way too much tongue! This ain’t slug wrestling for crying out loud.”

Dipper’s shoulders rise nearly to his ears. He doesn’t dare glance at the screen. Only once the wet noises stop, and the credits music rolls, does he try darting one in Bill’s direction.

Who seems entirely, implausibly bored. He cups a hand over his mouth as he yawns, loosely splayed over the couch. 

“You’re, uh. Okay with that?” Dipper asks. He tucks his hands between his knees, leaning forward. “It just seems, uh.”

“Seems ‘uh’, what?” 

“Like,” Dipper gestures vaguely at the screen, even though it’s faded to black. The credits roll, a series of ominously glowing symbols scrolling up the screen. “That was…” He searches for a word, and fails. 

“Terrible writing,” Bill says, bored. He shakes his head, lips drawn into a line. “You’d think someone would come up with a better plot for this kinda crap. It’s not like there isn’t material to go on.”

“But he kissed you,” Dipper says, before he can stop himself. 

It’s one thing to blaspheme a little, Dipper himself is no stranger to forbidden acts, but this one takes the cake. The whole bakery, even. To do that at all is bad enough, but to Bill or - or an actor playing him, obviously it’s not the same thing, but still-

“Yeah, yeah, smooching, whatever.” The concept hasn’t phased Bill in the slightest. He snorts, grin widening. “Contrary to your idiot idolatry, I have been known to practice a liplock once in a while!”

“You-” Dipper starts, then stops. “I-” He shuts his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “Yeah, okay.”

So. Bill isn’t surprised, because this is - he sees everything, it’s not like he didn’t know about that kind of stuff. 

It’s just that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing to get worked up about. Because nothing that happened there was wrong.

Dipper presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub them, then draws them down slowly over his face. 

Every time he thinks he’s found the bottom of the pit of bullshit he learned back in the cult, he finds another goddamn level beneath it. There may never be an end to all the lies. 

Another one he can strike off the ‘sin’ list. There’s basically nothing left now, with Bill indulging in everything from gluttony to sloth to… that.

Every whim Bill has, he indulges. Often to excess, and always with aplomb. Dipper never had the opportunity or ability to do even a tenth of what Bill has, and - god, he wonders what that’s like. 

“Do you…” How to phrase this. Dipper wipes sweating palms on his jeans. “Have you… kissed a lot of people?”

The words come out in a bit of a rush. Bill snorts in amusement, which is a relief; that wasn’t the worst question to ask. 

“Depends! What’s ‘a lot’? I’m pretty particular about my partners.” Bill’s smile widens, and he wiggles his eyebrows. A quick squeeze Dipper’s shoulder, just above the bicep. “But sure! I’ve known a guy or two worth putting a peck on.”

“Okay,” Dipper says. Then, because that feels inadequate. “Cool.” 

Because of course he has. Bill’s put his mouth on. Thoughts are spinning in his head now, rapid and light. 

“Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve dabbled in the dating scene!” Bill continues, with an odd tone in his voice. “Pretty tough to find the right guy these days, when you’re holding out for something special.” A nudge, as his eyebrows go double-time.

God, and he would have options- Didn’t Bill say it earlier? People pursue him. For power, sure, but that’s only what he mentioned. Kind of weird, though, Dipper’s only heard of men chasing after -

Wait. Wait, no, how did he never consider this before? Maybe because his stupid upbringing blinded him; Bill’s not human. The shape he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, metaphysically, doesn’t speak to what he really is, and he just said that at some point he’s kissed a man.

“Are you a girl?” Dipper blurts. Staring wide-eyed at that angular face, at the arms and then a little longer at his chest. 

The look of sheer incredulity Bill levels on him makes Dipper sink down into his seat. 

“What?” Bill asks, and - oh god. That’s the first genuinely bewildered look Dipper’s ever seen on him. 

“I thought - I was wrong.” Dipper’s face burns, he wants to cringe himself into a ball and then fall between the couch cushions. “Sorry.” 

Great. Dumb guess, shitty concept. Now he looks like an idiot. His very first assumption was the right one. More fool him for overcorrecting.

“Whatever, kid. And don’t say ‘sorry’,” Bill flicks his fingers. Awkwardness slides off his back like water on a duck, he’s grinning again. “None of your human crap applies, y’know?” He brings his hands together, index fingers and thumbs forming a familiar, three-sided symbol. “I’m the shape you see on caution signs, not bathroom doors.”

“Right.” Dipper perks up. So he wasn’t totally wrong, just... not at all right. Still embarrassing, he should change the subject. “Um. So-”

“But I do have a dick, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bill adds, grinning way too wide. 

“I wasn’t.” Dipper claps hands over his ears. It fails to cover up the delighted chortle beside him.

Guess he’s learning all kinds of things about Bill today. Just not ones he wanted. 

Not helped by the way Bill leans in very closer, tickling him on the side in a way that makes him jump again. He’s about to scramble off the couch or do something inadvisable like shove someone else off the dang thing - when Bill’s ringtone goes off. 

“Ugh, are you- Blegh.” Bill says, moderately annoyed. He leans on Dipper for a moment as he fishes around in his pocket, a smothering weight. How is a simple human shape so heavy.

Whatever he sees on his phone screen has him sticking his tongue out. “Ugh,” He repeats, frowning at. Lifting his arm off of Dipper, and holding up a finger. “Be right back! I gotta take this.”

Dipper hopes the jerk gets lost on the way and falls down a hole. Not really, just - it would be something to say when he’s at a loss for anything else. He just rolls his eyes instead, watching Bill depart with a pointed stride and a grumpy mutter.

Finally, some space to breathe. To think. The mind magic of Bill’s presence always has Dipper scrambling for something to think about that isn’t his too-powerful aura. 

He taps the edge of the bowl, an idle beat. Feeling the chill on his side where Bill’s body kept it warm. 

Yep. Just Dipper, and the tv, and any remaining popcorn, all to himself. Nothing wrong with that. 

He brushes around the bowl without any particular intent. Kernels rustle against his fingers, and he spends a minute swishing them around, even though his hand gets greasy.

The remote lies inches away. Easy to pick up if he wanted to distract himself. Finishing the season is an option, but feels wrong to keep watching when Bill’s not here to see it. 

Actually, Dipper could watch something better. Finding a show that doesn’t suck, or have bizarre, blasphemous content. Just some real, semi-wholesome entertainment that doesn’t raise more questions than answers.  

Distantly, he hears Bill still on the phone. Sounds like the conversation’s going to take a while. 

Dipper taps his fingers on the couch, creeping towards the remote. 

Said remote also has, like, a million buttons, so it takes a while to figure out which ones to press. One goes back to the previous episode. This one skips forward, another pauses. This one goes back in fifteen second intervals. 

Dipper leans over, checking - Bill, still well out of sight - then taps the volume button down until it’s nearly zero before hitting play again. 

“Make me,” Bill’s actor hisses again, before getting grabbed and - stuff.

Dipper sits forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. Living with Bill means exposing himself to new ideas. Since he didn’t look before, now’s as good a time as any.

Though - Wow, Bill really wasn’t kidding. That is a lot of tongue. Even with the volume lowered it’s all wet and - it makes him feel odd, even though he knows it’s not sinful.  

Maybe he should replay it to check.

The fourth time around, he pauses his research to inspect it closer. Aha -That’s what was bothering him, those aren’t real abs. They’re enhanced with makeup. The lighting covers it a bit but when you really look, it’s totally obvious. The actor playing Bill has the worst version; the other guy just has a blotch near his -

“Son of a bitch.” Dipper says, standing up so fast the popcorn bowl dumps its contents on the floor. 

The image burns itself into his brain. Dots and lines, laid out on skin. A pattern Dipper could never forget if he wanted to.

Oh, Bill got lucky earlier. Real lucky. The only reason he got away with it is Dipper had his eyes covered. If he’d seen it, he would have had that evil demon bastard as pinned as that human in the show. 

Before he knows it he’s charging for the entryway. 

He can hear the jerk still talking on his phone, muted voice growing louder as Dipper storms in his direction. Unaware of how he’s been found out.

Dipper doesn’t have a plan in mind, which is the first thing that’s probably going to go wrong - but he’s got to do it, right now, before Bill can run off on some errand or head to some party, evading and avoiding questions like he always does. 

And before Dipper can lose the courage to confront him. A little confrontation might intrigue the guy - excite him, even - but the questions racing through Dipper’s mind aren’t going to be fun.

Too bad. Bill’s not going to wiggle his way out of this one.

He catches sight of Bill’s back, turned towards the door and totally not paying attention. Dipper storms up behind him, intending to catch him by the shoulder and whirl him around. See how Bill likes it when he-

The door swings open. Dipper skids to a halt, rocking back on his heels. 

That is. Many demons. Eyeballs peeking over the shoulder of something with spikes, another with wings too large to see around. A crowd clustered around the doorway.

Bill stuffs his phone back in his pocket, glaring at them all.

“You call five minutes notice a ‘heads up’? Then show your asses up here?” Contempt rings in Bill’s voice, low and furious. “You got a lot of nerve, and that’s no compliment.”

“It was urgent,” a voice burbles. Something soft and squidgy - oh, that’s where the eyes were, on stalks - it bubbles literally as it speaks. “The mistress-”

“Yeah yeah, blah blah, I’ve heard it all before. Cram it.” Bill stalks forward, leveling a look at the group that has them all scooting away. “Maybe your ‘mistress’ should think ahead next time. Or think at all before calling in a last-minute favor from me.”

Slowly, inch by inch, Dipper backs away. If he keeps really quiet he won’t catch anyone’s attention, they’re all too focused on Bill to mind one small human in the room. Hopefully. 

“You got the thing?” Bill snaps his fingers impatiently. There’s some confusion - demons tangling up and shuffling each other around until they manage to wrangle something out of the group. “Alright, hand it over.”

A briefcase is shoved into Bill’s eager grasp. He spends a moment examining it, then unlatches the clasps. Opening it the very, very slightest fraction of an inch - then rolling his eye, and slamming it shut again. 

There’s some brief conversation - partially demonic, and partially too inhuman for Dipper to parse. The slimiest demon tries slipping past Bill, into the penthouse - only to get caught by the eyestalk. Green smoke rises, hissing and squealing as Bill’s grasp heats to a burning flame.

“Ah ah ah! Nice try,” Bill chides. With a snap of his fingers, another door appears. Dipper recognizes this one; it leads to a sitting room. “We’ll have our little discussion elsewhere.”

With minor threats and moderate violence, the demon crowd is forced through the open doorway. A miniature parade of odd shapes and sizes, skittering around under Bill’s impatient gaze. He snaps his fingers and they all hurry up.

Dipper guesses he’s going to be preoccupied for a while. He wishes he’d asked more details about this meeting earlier, but neither of them thought it would happen today. 

As the last of the demons flutters into the sitting room, Bill turns around. Raising an eyebrow, looking amused. 

Dipper makes a belated attempt to duck back around the corner, even though he’s well and truly caught. Curiosity got the better of him, damn it.

“No worries, sapling, you take it easy out here! I won’t be long,” Bill says, voice bright. He waggles his fingers in Dipper’s direction. “Coupla hours at most to milk these suckers for every penny they got.”

Dipper nods, once. He stays silent. Bill’s beckoning him over, but no way is he getting close. He knows that look. As soon as he gets within arm’s reach, he’ll have his cheeks pinched or pulled into a noogie or something.

Bill makes a disappointed face as his nefarious plan is thwarted, then shrugs. The easy grin returns. “Fine, be that way.” He gives Dipper a sharp wave and a wink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Or do! I’m not a cop!”

The door shuts behind him with an ominous ‘click’. Dipper watches it for a while. No motion, no sound. No Bill popping back out, declaring that he’s already done and they can finish the drama. 

Guess they’re well and truly settled in for some weird, demonic business deal. For several hours. Or more. 

God, that’s frustrating. As much as Dipper wants answers, he can’t just barge into a room full of strangers and start demanding them. Especially when those questions might be kind of… personal. Bill probably wouldn’t be furious if it was just Dipper asking - but airing his dirty laundry in front of a crowd is a terrible idea on multiple fronts.

Damn it. And Dipper was this close to having him right where he wanted him, too.

He kicks the carpet a couple times. Then the baseboards. When the meeting hasn’t resolved two minutes later, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slinks back over to the couch. 

It’s empty, with scattered cushions and a throw blanket disordered from their popcorn fight. He stares at the discarded bowl, and the cooled fabric. 

Settling back down isn’t nearly as appealing as it was five minutes ago. He’s not sure he can.

Dipper feels his hands clench into fists, then forces them to relax. He tucks them behind his back instead. 

Every time. Every freaking time. Just when he thinks he’s close to understanding, another curveball gets in his way. 

Pacing back and forth helps a little. There’s plenty of space in the living room to work out this restless energy. 

Whatever this - this thing is, it’s been going on for a while. Centuries of Bill picking up mortals, putting them through their paces, trying vainly to reach the object of his desire. A pivotal point of his unknown plan. 

And since he’s still going after it, every human before Dipper must have failed. 

Maybe Bill got distracted by dicking around. Maybe it really is too powerful to overcome. Or maybe his humans didn’t even know what it was, since they were in the company of a cagey, manipulative asshole.

Dipper could go back and dig through the books in the guest room - but if they didn’t know either, then that’ll be a wash. There’s the show, but it’s so full of bullshit that he doesn’t dare make too many guesses.

Even at the best of times Bill’s wrigglier than an eel, and a total stickler for details. If Dipper doesn’t check off all the boxes on the list, finding everything he was supposed to - then Bill’s going to tut and wag his finger instead of handing over the prize

Too many questions. Zero idea what it’s about. Only one person knows anything useful, and he’s a total dick about parceling out the facts.

Waiting for him to get back won’t take long. It’s barely any time at all, even on a human timescale.  Dipper can manage.

It’s just…

The idea of sitting around meekly, waiting for Bill to return. Hoping he’ll come bearing information because Dipper needs his stupid hand held through the mystery just feels - pathetic. 

Everybody keeps making decisions for Dipper that change his whole life. Nobody gives him a heads up on what they’re going to do. People taking charge, over and over and - he’s just so tired of letting things happen to him. 

If he just had one more thing. Something to prove that he’s right, not hearsay or guesses but physical evidence, that he could shove right in Bill’s dumb face - 

Dipper pauses in his rapid pacing. His head slowly turns. 

There is one place that he hasn’t fully mapped. 

Technically he’s been in there before. Even more technically, Bill’s said he’s allowed to enter. Dipper just hasn’t gone back since that first time since. Well.  It’s a little too personal. It felt weird to poke around.

But if there was a place to find the deepest, most powerful secrets of Bill Cipher - it would be in there.

The doorknob to Bill’s master bedroom is oddly warm for something metal. Like it has its own radiating heat, just like the demon who commands it. 

Dipper takes a calming breath, then lets it out as he turns the knob. 

The unlocked door opens easily, gliding without a sound. Funny, he almost thought it would have an ominous creak.

The carpet’s soft. It muffles his steps. Not that there’s anyone to hear him; Bill’s busy with his meeting several rooms and an unknown amount of actual space away. 

Still, Dipper feels a semi-giddy thrill run through him as he walks back in - intentionally, not fleeing - into the most private sanctum of his ‘god’. 

Centuries worth of humans. That could be dozens, even hundreds of people, depending on how fast Bill churns through them. And he loves his little trophies and knickknacks, having something to wave around while he brags.

If there is any proof, Bill will have kept it around.

Last time Dipper was here, it was during a panicked rush. He didn’t really look at the room, or check for anything that might explode or devour him - and then Bill was there, and it was. A lot. 

This time, he can really take in the place. Get a real sense of what might be going on. 

Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses - 

Then winces. He eases back until the flare of magic is no longer blinding.

Everything in the bedroom is soaked in Bill-essence. Not surprising, really. All of it has marinated in god-demon magic for hell knows how many years, so thick it feels like it could be wiped up with a finger. 

For all that, it’s remarkably unthreatening. The sensation’s not welcoming, that word would be too strong - More like it could be dangerous, and deliberately choosing not to be.

“Right,” Dipper says aloud - checks over his shoulder on a paranoid impulse - and sighs when nothing happens. He claps his hands together. “This should be good.”

Time’s limited. Bill claimed it’d be a couple hours, but his company wasn’t invited. Depending on how annoyed he gets, that meeting could be over in seconds.

Better get to work. 

Circling the room, Dipper trails his palm over the wall, checking for cracks that would indicate a door or a safe. He brushes fingers over a shelf for secret switches, then rubs them together. Not even a hint of dust. 

There’s got to be somewhere he would hide a private journal, or… or a list of human-selecting criteria. Or like, an elaborate carving of every human he’s ever had, with all the information about their lives and when and why he grabbed them. Details.

Sure, there’s plenty of magic around. Tons of it. It’s in the absurd amount of Bill-shaped knicknacks, and the variety of miscellaneous thingamajigs. It’s in the paintings, in the tapestries. The little statues and trinkets and amulets displayed on the mantle. An extravagant collection if you’re generous, clutter if you’re not. 

Another person would consider this quite the find. Dipper’s stumbled over a dozen artifacts pulsing with power just lying around like cast-off socks. Finding what Bill likes the most or considers the best is nearly impossible to parse. 

Dipper figures it out in about two minutes. 

The only thing to glean from this horde? Is that Bill picks up too many souvenirs.

He scowls at one particularly annoying statuette, towering over a field of presumably conquered human-things. A crowd of bowing figures, prostrating before the much-larger Bill in a series of miniature lines. He checks over his shoulder, then flicks the statue’s golden hat off. 

On the one hand, it’s careless as hell. Leaving an amulet that rips off all your skin, lying half-under a chain that summons a horde of flying eyeballs, is a recipe for disaster. 

On the other hand, it’s… maybe a little clever. A type of misdirection. 

Sure, some artifacts have elaborate puzzle elements, and half of them likely contain mystical secrets - but Bill’s decorative habits are so busy, it covers up the fact that none of them are important. 

No, Bill’s real secrets aren’t so easily found. They’re held much, much closer to his chest. 

Putting them behind a puzzle wouldn’t work. Someone could solve that. Hiding them in plain sight is an option, but not particularly Bill’s style. Guarding them with a series of traps… Probably not in his bedroom, where he could accidentally set them off and ruin his suit. 

But then, that would be what people expect, wouldn’t it? That Bill would have a bookshelf that swings out into a secret room, or a seal protecting a hidden vault. A big scary door, with mystical, nearly impenetrable lock. 

…It’s all about misdirection.

Dipper drops the edge of the painting he was toying with, and heads to the dresser instead. 

Part of him can feel the weight of the all-seeing eyes. The portraits of his ‘god’, omnipresent and watching. Unblinking, unmoving. Always watching.

Dipper shuts that idea out of his mind. That’s not true and he knows it, for a fact. Bill doesn’t pay attention to even half his eyes on a good day. Most times it’s like a single digit percentage. 

Odds are he won’t find out. Besides, he’s too busy at the moment to care. What Bill doesn’t know can’t bother him, so it’s totally fine if Dipper rifles around in his underwear drawer. 

Dipper holds up a pair of boxers, frowning at the pattern. Tiny blue pine trees against the most garish yellow ever. Truly hideous.

This is both worse than the triangle ones, and more inexplicable than ones with the heart pattern. Hardly what he’d pictured underneath the suit. 

Not that he’s ever pictured it. That would be weird. But if he had, it would have been way cooler than this.

This search comes up with nothing, other than confusion at Bill’s fashion sense. Just clothes in the drawers, along with several unsheathed knives, a Bill-shaped keychain, and three glass eyeballs. Dipper does find a drawer with a lock set in the bottom, but he doesn’t have the key. Even then, opening it would just swing the bottom open and let all the pants fall out, so. No dice. 

The closet is a walk-in. Dipper stands in the entrance for a minute, staring at the lines of suits and shirts and clothes and cloth and - 

He shut the door again. Nope. That went back way too far. Diving in there might get him lost in the bespoke suit dimension.

Checking under the bed reveals… exactly the same stuff as last time. 

More dustbunnies than anything useful. There’s a magical ring that’s bent with the gem fallen out, weakly emitting a tiny skull-shaped cloud. One actual sock lies discarded under there, half-balled up from its removal. It has little blood-soaked knives on it. 

Dipper rubs at his eyes, staring up at the bedsprings. He sneezes, then wipes his nose on his sleeve. 

So far, so… nothing. Disappointing, and weird.

He crawls back out from under the bed. Brushing off the dust, he gets up and sets fists on his hips. 

Most of the obvious hiding places contain exactly what one would expect. Worst of all, it’s weird stuff. Just weird enough that he’s certain he’s not in a fake, illusory version of Bill’s bedroom, but the actual real place. It’s just less exciting than he’d thought it’d be. 

Is there… actually nothing here?

Not that the evidence doesn’t exist. It has to be somewhere. The idea of Bill not having any secrets is impossible. Like a duck not swimming, or most mammals not breathing; a necessary part of their nature. 

So it might actually be a different, hidden room. Figures. Getting to Bill’s secrets wouldn’t be as easy as opening his bedroom door. 

And if that’s the case - Dipper’s out of luck. Finding an access point would be hard enough with his limited experience. Bill’s secret horde would have a set of quantum puzzles and a spike trap, at minimum.

He sits down on the bed, sighing heavily - then blinks. 

Wow. The bed is incredibly nice. Just touching the sheets is a smooth, luxurious experience; Dipper presses his palm into those soft covers, stroking along the edge. Bouncing slightly on the mattress, just to test.

Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasn’t taken back.

As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table. 

Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet. 

Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakin’ nap. He’s lucky to have pulled himself out of it. 

The bedside table doesn’t have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.

Sadly, there’s not much to look at. 

Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing that’s bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows it’s heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except it’s nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one. 

He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actually…

Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible. 

With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, it’s almost longer than he is tall.

Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here he’s half-worried he’ll feel something go ‘squish’ or skitter up his arm.

This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-

Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back it’s almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!

Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, he’ll fix it later. 

In his hands, there’s a picture frame.

Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.

A picture of Bill. What a surprise.

Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image. 

Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.

“Jackass,” Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon ‘god’ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers. 

Wait. Then - It’s not flush with the frame. There’s a gap, or - 

Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily. 

And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book. 

Whatever Bill’s got to hide here, he sure as hell didn’t make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good. 

A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -

Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, it’s - he just checked for magic, and there isn’t any here. 

It’s just a picture of… Dipper.

And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and he’s in Bill’s home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, he’s mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down. 

For a moment he wonders if this was one of Bill’s other humans - it’d be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable. 

Dipper stares for a while. He’s not sure what to make of this.

Why is this stashed away?  It’d help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.

Something taps on one of Dipper’s shoes, and he glances down.  

There wasn’t just one picture. 

With the backing removed, with the way he’s holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, there’s no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, it’s extradimensional.

“Shit,” Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.

Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.

Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case there’s another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself. 

How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It can’t be…

Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room. 

Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup. 

“Shit,” Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.

So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.

Okay, this - this isn’t a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesn’t need to know, it’ll be fine. He’ll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-

A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.

Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about - 

No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.

Shit.

Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now there’s no time left, he’s got to hide.

Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesn’t latch. 

No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.

That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy he’s trying to hide from is a terrible idea. 

Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Bill’s shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. It’s hesitant because he’s looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.

And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Bill’s room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Bill’s junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a gallery’s worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition. 

Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out. 

All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings. 

It’s too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.

The closet doesn’t judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits can’t talk. He’s even ninety-percent sure Bill doesn’t have any that could; it’d take away from his own rambling time.

Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. It’s a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Bill’s aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.

After a while, he remembers he’s clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. It’s warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now he’s not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesn’t fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thing’s too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.

Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen. 

The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall? 

Okay, it’d be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipper’s not watching him. 

It’s just… too quiet. Too furtive, really, like it’s trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipper’s all too familiar with the process.

And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only there’s no TV in here, and the pitch is off.. 

Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but he’s never even seen a spider in Bill’s rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly. 

He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide. The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipper’s own scream doesn’t match its pitch, but it’s a hell of a lot louder. 

Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -

Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing. 

The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.

Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow. 

At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all that’s left is empty space in front of him.

Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows he’s sweating, and there’s some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirt’s ripped, but there’s no blood. Everything’s intact.

Well. He’s intact. 

A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.

Nausea roils in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad. 

Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and - 

At Bill. 

A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced he’s about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.

Then he blinks. 

Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor. 

Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper can’t read the expression on Bill’s face.  It flickered through several before settling on blank.. 

“Well, well, well, well, well,” Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to!”

Dipper’s heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else. 

He’s been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god.  

What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldn’t, pushing when it’s wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. He’s ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does. 

“Look, I can explain,” He babbles, backing up a step. Bill’s quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. “Wait, I-”

A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Bill’s face is inches away, approaching fast, and he can’t help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.

At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple. 

“Mmmmwah!” Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipper’s face in both hands. “Boy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”

“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently. 

Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeyman’s craft.

Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. It’s a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened. 

“Now, as for you-” Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. “Creeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I don’t take kindly to peeping eyes that aren’t mine.” One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thing’s groin; it lets out a tinny scream. “And you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!”

Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.

Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.

“Gee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.” Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. “Who coulda possibly helped with that! It’s a real friggin mystery for the ages!”

A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solution’s clear now that it’s gone.

Getting through Bill’s front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of ‘small-timers’, as Bill would call them, he’d barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadn’t had the same idea. 

That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, he’d have second thoughts about his living arrangements.

Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.

“I’ll handle those losers in a second,” He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. “But as for you…”

Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action. 

Watching Bill about to enact his  vengeance is … Sure, it was spying. It didn’t do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and it’s looking really rough. Whatever Bill’s going to do is -

The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.

“Hm?” Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. “Yeah, what about him?”

On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipper’s shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.

“Oh, I see!” With a grin, Bill stalks closer. “You know what, you’re right! If I caught two spies in my place, they’d totally get the same treatment!”

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.

No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isn’t -

“But there’s a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.” Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. “There’s only one of those around!”

Dipper’s heart restarts, though it’s pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.

“See, you’re here uninvited.” Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. “And HE freakin’ LIVES HERE.”

Oh. 

There’s a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could. 

Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like he’d walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.

And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched. 

“There,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. “What a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.” Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. “Guess they’re forgetting what happened to the last batch.”

Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another. 

And he’s still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because he’s not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesn’t see him that way. He thinks that - 

“So, I’m…” Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. “I’m… not in trouble?”

“Sapling, you’re fine! Better than fine!” Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. “Hell, you could go through my freakin’ underwear drawer and I wouldn’t give a crap.” He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. “See anything you liked?”

“I’m-” Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. “Uh.”

Bill’s still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.

That’s a good excuse. Reasonable. He’s got goop on him, he’s sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now. 

“Suit yourself!” Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting he’d recently abandoned. “I got some business to take care of.”

Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him. 

He’s…

All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.

Holy crap, he’s fine. He really is. It’s okay. 

This wasn’t a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and it’d be fine. More than fine. 

He also wasn’t lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks. 

Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension. 

He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that it’s bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Bill’s home is downright amazing.

Though. It’s not just Bill’s home, is it. 

Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.

Like. Obviously Bill’s the owner, he’s the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim - 

But there’s another person around. One who’s not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.

Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Bill’s home, because he lives here too.

Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldn’t leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, that’d be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Bill’s hair. 

The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it it’s been a done deal for a while. 

Bill didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t think it was a surprise.

The concept’s so big that Dipper doesn’t know where to start.

Living here. With Bill. 

Dipper’s been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line. 

All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument. 

His assumptions have never been right. 

Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.  

Bill could be in charge, but he doesn’t care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasn’t heard an order leave his mouth in ages. He’s free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothing’s going to stop him - though that’s a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didn’t create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment he’s gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesn’t have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesn’t have any.

DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just. 

Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache. 

Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldn’t be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other. 

If he wants to step outside Bill’s home, he doesn’t need to abandon it.

They’ll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. He’ll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldn’t let him miss the ‘fun’. 

And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid. 

It’s an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesn’t have to choose. Going and seeing things he’s always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe that’s what a home’s supposed to be.

Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream. 

It’s weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipper’s felt in… forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.

How the hell is he getting away with all of this?

It’s not just the snooping from earlier; he didn’t find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk he’s giving a ‘god’. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because he’s a huge goddamn weirdo. 

Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Bill’s ever done is scare him a little, and even that’s odd considering the whole ‘nightmare king’ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.

The birthmark. It must be that.

The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions… He didn’t see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, that’s two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.

But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasn’t watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages. 

It could be magical. Maybe. Dipper’s never heard of ‘special birthmarks’ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Bill’s summon. Which would…. Do a thing. He thinks.

Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better. 

Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.

Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasn’t lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special. 

It’s… what, special… privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted it’s ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? It’s…

Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.

Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesn’t know the picture on the front of the box. 

Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. He’ll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Bill’s stubborn, oddly soft lips. 

Screw it. There’s too much to go through, and he’s so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow. 

There’s no rush, anyway. Bill’s not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.

Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bed’s already made in the guest room-

No, His room. Where he lives.

An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight. 

Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasn’t tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much that’s his.

The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and he’s never, ever going to take it for granted.

Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, there’s flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -

Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed. 

He knows what kind of night he’s in for. They’re infrequent enough lately that it doesn’t bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isn’t going to kill him. 

Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.

He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things he’s learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesn’t ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldn’t mind the company. He’s almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what it…

Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought. 

It might work, too. Being ‘special’ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldn’t normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily. 

He could use that.

Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesn’t expect to be up for long. He’ll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldn’t bother Bill much; it’ll barely take him a second. 

The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living room’s still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the ‘evening’, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.

And there’s Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace. 

He must have wrapped up his ‘business’ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk. 

Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north. 

“Hey there, sapling! What’s up?” Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. “Thought you were in for the evening.”

“No, not yet.” Dipper says. Already he’s awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. “Soon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.”

Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. “Sure, go for it.” 

Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully it’s not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, he’s pretty sure Bill’s not doing this on purpose. More like it’s an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.

Bill’s still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence. 

Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want to have bad dreams, so, uh,” He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it.  “Could you…um. Not? For tonight?” 

A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, “That’s not me, kid.”

Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Bill’s lies are better. “You’re the lord of nightmares.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m great at designing them, not the source of all of ‘em. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?” Bill says. He catches sight of Dipper’s glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. “Look, I’m not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?”

Dipper’s mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. “Or maybe you’re just not that great.”

He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.

He shouldn’t have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Bill’s power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill won’t just ignore it again.

Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.

And he does inflict a ‘punishment’. By getting super close and ruffling Dipper’s hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. It’s insane.

“Hey! I’m definitely the best.” Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. “You just got your perspective wrong!  Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating ‘em. You’re not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, y’know?”

“Well,” Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way - 

Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.

“Look. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One that’ll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then I’m the best in the biz!” Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. “But any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. That’s just nature.”

Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes. 

Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless. 

He’d guessed that Bill wasn’t inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit ‘accidental’, there wasn’t any pattern he could find. Learning they’re not Bill’s fault at all is surprising - but nice.

…That also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great. 

Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses. 

“Sorry. Or- yeah.” He squirms out from under Bill’s pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isn’t the worst, he’ll live. “I’ll just-”

“Hey, hey! Don’t sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!” Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.”

Or maybe… Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasn’t doing this, so-

“Really. One hundred percent.” That’s an exaggeration if he’s ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. “If you’re not making the nightmares, then that means you’re playing defense. You’re telling me you get every single one?”

“Always so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.” Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. “And better odds than you’ll get anywhere else.”

Fine, that’s true enough. Dipper doesn’t have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads. 

Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because it’s weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off -  but when doesn’t he?

Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Bill’s master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them. 

Wait, what are they doing here? 

The room’s just as clean as the first time he entered. There’s no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -

Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasn’t said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.

He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.

Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed. 

Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. “Hop on in, kid!” With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. “Get yourself cozy.”

“Uh. Sure.” Dipper hesitates, but. Bill’s nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before he’s even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room. 

Just as he suspected. It is a great bed. 

As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to. 

It’s not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill.  For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever. 

Even without any magic, Dipper’s tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Bill’s doing, so. He’ll just. Shut his eyes for a moment. 

“Hold tight for a sec! I’ll be with ya in a jiffy,” Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. “Lemme just slip into something more comfortable.”

Dipper’s eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. “What do yo-”

His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry. 

Bill’s shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back. 

Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline. 

Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Bill’s not, like. 

There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth. 

Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face. 

Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesn’t know how this ritual’s supposed to work. It’s not unheard of to be… unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Bill’s just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everything’s going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude. 

The pillow helps. He’s not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound. 

He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If it’s strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.

A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence. 

Or, the thought appears in Dipper’s mind. There’s no spell. It’s a ward. Which would require the warder’s presence, right. Totally reasonable. 

So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, that’s all. 

The cult didn’t leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days. 

But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. He’s seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is… honestly not that big a surprise. 

“Ah, now that’s nice.” Bill says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a thump near Dipper’s head - probably Bill lying back himself. “You don’t look all that cozy, though. What gives?”

Dipper tells him he’s fine, but he doesn’t know how much of it gets through the down covering. 

There’s a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up. 

It really is fine. He’s doing great, he’s comfy, Bill’s going to help him with something and it didn’t seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, who’s lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.

He can’t hold the pillow this tight forever, though. It’s getting hard to breathe. 

Then a thump, just near Dipper’s head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipper’s own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and  - and Dipper shouldn’t resist, should he? Bill is after something, he’s demanding and forceful, he’ll do anything to get what he wants. 

The pillow leaves Dipper’s loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.

And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading ‘Hungry Zixlor’s Burger Joint’. 

Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Bill’s put on the pine tree boxers.

“See? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.” Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didn’t have to get all over him just for that. 

He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipper’s half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to. 

Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight. 

Without warning, an arm slips under Dipper’s neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didn’t make a single sound, much less anything undignified.

Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Bill’s practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.

“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.

God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter. 

The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls. 

After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would. 

Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.

 None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really. 

…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward. 

Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient. 

Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective. 

Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC-Elsa Matthews)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Unprotected P in V, oral (male receiving), power dynamics, size kink, creampie, deep throating, mild arguing, kink discovery, consensual use of degrading names (slut, whore, etc)

Summary: Jake and you discover a new mutual interest in the bedroom, all because you talked to a random guy named Darren at the bar.

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.1k

Fun Size

"El, you had to keep pushing? Didn't you?" Jake spits, angrily hanging up his jacket by the door.

"I have no idea what you're talking about,” you sigh, taking off your heels.

"Oh, I think you do. You were flirting with that giant meat head fuck,” he says, brushing past you briskly towards the kitchen. You follow and take down two glasses for water, filling them and handing one to Jake as you respond,

"Hardly Jake, I was talking to him, not flirting. You were playing pool and I was bored. He seemed nice."

"He grabbed your ass. Your ass, El!” he shouts, setting the glass down heavily.

"And I shut it down. You saw that,” you answer back, your voice raising in exasperation,

“He's got two very sore balls to think about now.”

Jake runs his hand through his hair as he sighs loudly.

"He wanted to fuck you!"

"And I don't want to fuck him. End of story. What's really going on here, Jake? Since when do you get jealous? Have I done something to make you doubt me?" you ask, making sure to soften your voice.

"No, no, I trust you completely,” he pauses,

“I don't know, El,” he says quietly. He leans, placing both hands on the counter and looks down towards the floor.

“Just seeing that fucking giant next to you, leering at you, it did something. It fucked with my brain, okay?" he answers, turning away from you. You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder and turn him towards you. He goes easily and pulls you into his arms.

"Jake, babe, talk to me. What's going on?”

He leans down and tucks his head in your neck.

"It's weird and I'm not sure I want to talk about it," he sighs.

You turn your head to kiss his temple as you wrap your arms around his waist.

"If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, Jake, but you can't be mad at me for something I don't know about. Hmm, okay?"

"I know, El," his voice goes quiet,

"I just got the image of him fucking you and something about it made me hard. You're just so tiny and he was so…..big, like a fucking giant."

“Okay,” you hum back, your lips on his temple, your hands rubbing soothing circles on his back, encouraging him to keep talking.

"I could imagine him just throwing you around, using you anyway he wanted….like some fuck toy. I don't know why but it turned me on. And I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

"Do you want to do that to me, Jake?” His breath stills, and you know you're getting closer to the truth.

“You're the same height as him, and in way fucking better shape.”

He rewards you a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing.

"Want to use me?" Your hands start to wander lower down his chest and abs to drag a fingernail along the zipper of his jeans.

"Manhandle me right where you want it? Put my little cunt where ever or however you want to fuck it?"

"Fuck, El, you can't just say stuff like that,” he pants into your neck.

“Does it turn you on? Think about it, just how much bigger you are, how big your cock is in my pussy. How it took some time before I could take it all. You can just lift me up and fuck me anywhere."

He groans, this time more aroused than embarrassed.

“You're not some object to fuck because I think it's hot, El–,”

You interrupt, one finger on his lips,

“What if I want you to? Hold me up while you fuck me hard?”

He groans as you slide your hands down his arms to grab one of his hands.

“You're so much bigger than me,” you say as you align your much smaller hand in his, palm to palm, the difference blatant as he curls the ends of his fingers over yours. You guide his hand down your shoulder and bring it to rest on your throat. Threading his fingers around your neck, you talk into the space between you,

“I love that about you, how much bigger, stronger you are,” your other hand travels down and slides down the front of his jeans to cup his now hard cock,

“I feel safe, protected, loved when you're all wrapped around me.”

He bucks into your hand, seeking more. Jake's eyes are closed and his face still looks conflicted.

“But the idea that you can just throw me around, dominate me, take me in any way you want makes me very, very wet. You want to see?” you ask, and he nods. Taking his other hand, you slide it under your skirt and between your thighs. Jake's deft fingers push your underwear to the side and glide down your dripping slit.

“Fuck, El,” he groans, eyes snapping open as he slides his fingers further into you,

“You want this, don't you?”

“Yes, fuck me hard, use me,” you cry out bucking your hips down to get more of his fingers inside you.

“You want me to fuck you hard like the little slut you are?” he asks, and you moan and clench around his fingers at the thought. Jake chuckles, low and dark, and the look on his face fades from apprehension to lust,

“You do want it, what a little whore. Gonna let me take you anyway I want, put my big cock in that little pussy while I hold you up like some fuck toy?”

“Fuck, Jake,” you moan, fucking yourself on his fingers seeking more.

“You're gonna need to say it, baby. Ask me nicely, to use your little pussy how I see fit. Fuck you hard with my big cock.”

“Yes, yes, Jake! Fuck me with your giant cock. Use my little pussy, please, please!” you shout, getting desperate now. With that enthusiastic response Jake pulls his fingers from you, earning a dissatisfied whine from you, he laughs at your frantic state.

“Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you,” he says, unzipping his jeans and taking off his shirt.

“On your knees, slut,’ he commands, low and steady.

You sink to your knees, a welcome relief for how wobbly your legs have become in this buildup. Power in your relationship has always been a baton you and Jake passed back and forth easily, both of you taking care of each other's wants and desires. The words are harsh coming out of Jake's mouth, but he knows that with your intense job that the opportunity to step out of that realm of control into this one, is welcomed and relished by you. Your absolute trust in Jake allows you to fully submerge into the fantasy and let go.

The cool tile is soothing on your overheated skin. Jake pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down, his cock finally released in all its glory.

Automatically you lean forward with your hands reaching out to grasp him.

He takes a step back out of your reach and you whine.

“Don't worry, you'll get my cock soon enough. Strip, leave that slutty little thong on for now. I want to see it on your ass as you blow me.”

With lightning speed you strip, breathless with anticipation, very happy with how the night is going.

Jake steps back to you and strokes your face gently.

“Use your colors, tonight, okay, El?” he says seriously, his face full of concern.

“Yes, sir,” you respond, keeping eye contact. He grunts at the honorific,

“Green, very green,” you answer back, voice breathy in anticipation.

“Good, now show me how well you can suck my cock,” he growls as he slides his thumb across your bottom lip.

You lean forward and take his cock in your hands, stacking them on top of each other to cover the whole length. Even then there's still a sizable amount left to slip into your mouth.

Jake hisses as your warm mouth slides over the head of cock. You swirl your tongue around the tip and slide in more of his cock till your mouth is stuffed. Your rhythm of sucking and sliding lasts a few more repetitions till you pull off and tongue down his entire length. Your tongue dances across each pulsing vein until you reach the base, where the neatly trimmed hairs tickle at your lips. You give a soft kiss to each of Jake's balls before you lay his cock across your face. The length of it nearly reaches your hairline from your chin.

Blown out green eyes look down from above. Before Jake can say anything you start talking and running your hands along his length, rubbing the velvet soft skin all over your face,

“Look how big your cock is, Jake. It's amazing I can fit it anywhere in me. It should split me in half, instead I get the best sex of my life. I love it and you so much.”

You place a sweet kiss on the tip to emphasize your point.

Jake reacts more in grunts and the urge to continue rutting his dick along your face but you have other plans. You run your, now undoubtedly, smeared red lipstick adorned lips along him and line his cock up to your mouth, just the head dipping in. You take a deep breath knowing what comes next, and without any warning you swallow Jake to the root. You lack a discernible gag reflex; a lucky find a few months ago one tipsy night after the Hard Deck and something Jake has thoroughly enjoyed. Above you a surprised moan erupts out of Jake as he realizes what you are doing to him. Jake's cock surges through your mouth as your lips get closer to the base. His cock slips past the back of your throat. When the hair at the base tickles against your nose, you grab Jake's hand and place it on your bulged out throat.

“Fuck, El,” he groans out above you, a light thrust from his hips pushing it deeper.

“You're choking on my cock, you gotta have it all, don't you, dirty girl?”

The filthy words go straight to your now pulsing core and you moan in response.

“You like it, don't you?” he asks, still caressing your throat wrapped around his cock. You nod as much as you can in your position and he huffs out a small laugh,

“My little slut.”

You moan as much as you can as your deep breath from before runs out and you tap Jake on the leg twice and he slowly pulls out of your mouth, watching as you pull in big gulps of air. Your chest heaves as Jake’s face softens and he holds your cheek in his hand.

“Color, El?”

“Green,” you reply quickly. A devious smile forms on Jake's face, as he reaches down to grab your hand where it is resting on his thigh and pulls you up to a standing position. He kisses you hard, his tongue in your mouth seeking any last tastes of his precum. His hands are on the globes of your ass, kneading hard as he walks to you back to the wall of your living room. The cool plaster of the wall startles you and Jake, lightning fast, catches the back of your head in his big palm before you bump against the wall. He pulls his other hand down quickly and rips apart the flimsy fabric of your thong, the tearing sound causing you to clench around nothing. The expression on your face must give you away, because Jake chuckles lowly,

“So desperate for it, aren't you, El?”

His intense green eyes focused on yours along with that signature smirk.

“Need you, Jake,” you pant.

Jake thumbs at your lower lip before kissing you hard, mashing you between his insistent lips and his palm on the back of your head. Your hands are scrabbling along his back, trying to find an anchor before you get swept away in the feeling.

He pulls back from the kiss and silently offers you his index and middle finger at your lips. Much like you take his cock, you eagerly get his fingers wet for what you hope comes next.

“Good girl,” he coos, withdrawing his fingers. They slide down your body to part your soaked folds, a ghost of a touch on your clit before he slides one into your dripping slit.

“Fuck, Jake,” you groan, your head tipping back against the wall as he pushes into you easily.

“So wet, so needy, El,” he teases, scraping his light stubble down your exposed throat,

“As much as you want it, sweetheart, got to get you ready for me.”

You tense around his finger and whine at the thought of him, of his cock inside you.

Smirking lips are felt against your throat, and he slides another finger in a light stretch pulling a moan from you.

Pumping his fingers slowly inside you, he grips your hip tightly as your legs start to buckle under you. Jake works his lips back up your neck, across your jaw, and to your ear.

“You ready for me, ready for this cock?” he rasps against your ear.

“Yes, Jake,” you nearly sob, as you reply eagerly.

Jake withdraws his fingers, leaving you empty and needy. Before you can say anything, Jake has slid his hands under your thighs and pins you against the wall, his strong thighs and hands supporting your weight.

Your legs are splayed out, your dripping core on full display for Jake. He stares hungrily at you and lowers you the slightest amount to tease you with the head of his cock. The hot tip against your clit is a temporary relief from the need for release clawing inside you. You squirm trying to get more, more of him.

He looks down at you with an amused look, and says,

“So desperate, El. You want this cock? You gonna take it all, baby?”

“Yes, It's so big, I don't know if it's gonna fit?” you question, playing into the fantasy. A flicker of heat flashes across Jake's eyes and he says lowly, still teasing you with his searing hot tip along your clit and folds,

“This little tight pussy is going to take every god damn inch and you're going to beg me for it.”

You try to move in response, trying in vain to get Jake inside you, your level of desperation building.

“Please, sir, give me your cock, I want it–,” you gasp as Jake thrusts into you, finally,

“Fuck, I need you!”

He bottoms out as he fully lowers you, impaling you fully on his length. Your head rolls back, and Jake latches onto your neck with his mouth, brutally sucking the soft skin. Each time he lifts you and thrusts up into you, he somehow goes impossibly deeper. The feeling of fullness and absolute pleasure floods your brain and pushes any other thought than that of Jake out of your brain.

“Fuck so good, El,” he grunts into your neck, he pulls his head back. His hand cupping your chin and guiding it down so you are staring into his eyes as he fucks you with a steady rhythm.

“Thank me for this cock,” he commands. Your walls tighten around him with this display of dominance. He slows his hips as you try to form the words, his eyebrows raised in question. Your desperation builds and you frantically shout,

“Thank you for your cock, sir! Thank you.”

“Atta girl,” he replies.

Fully seated inside you, he pulls away from the wall, and you cling to him with your arms wrapped around his neck and legs hooked around his hips. Jake walks effortlessly through the house, all while bouncing you up and down his cock. His hands firmly on your ass as he fucks you up and down on his cock. He's in control of it all, you're merely along for the ride.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Jake grunts stepping into the bathroom. He stands side profile to the mirror.

“Look at us, El,” he commands you, and you turn your head from where it's tucked into his neck to stare into the vanity mirror.

You're treated to the sight of Jake's tall profile, muscles rippling as he draws you up and down on his length, a light sheen of sweat coating both of you.

“Watch yourself get fucked,” he growls, increasing his speed.

“Fuck, Jake,” you gasp, the sensations building as Jake pummels your cervix.

“Is this what you saw when you thought about me getting fucked by that giant at the bar?” you ask, breathy.

You can't help poking the bear, wanting to see how he reacts.

“This is better,” he grunts and pulls you off of him, earning a discontented noise from you. Jake places you down on now wobbly legs. As you find bearings, he turns you around so you're facing the mirror, your back to his chest. He pulls you close, a hand snaking up your neck to pull you in for a kiss that feels oddly sweet at the moment. The honey sweet moment only lasts a few seconds before Jake breaks the kiss and turns your head towards the mirror. He stands up his full height behind, the top of your head well below his chin.

Jake's hands come down to cup your breasts, your entire chest covered by his large hands.

“Look at us, El,” he purrs into your ear, massaging your breasts and grinding his hard on into your ass as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“I love the way I can completely wrap you up in my arms,” one hand slides lower and the other comes up to your neck. You gasp when his hand cups your entire pussy in his palm, two fingers parting your folds to stroke your clit. The other hand is gently laid across your throat, his thumb gently sweeping across your pulse.

“I love this little pussy, makes me feel so good and makes you feel good,” he rasps, moving his hand around to get the fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit.

“I want you to come on my fingers, before you earn the privilege to come on my cock,” he murmurs into your hair, his pace quickening. The familiar coil starts to tighten low in your belly and you start to rock against Jake's hand, desperately seeking your high. Your climax starts to build, and you plead,

“So close, Jake, can I come, sir?!”

He laughs lowly and gives you the answer you're hoping for and answers in a slightly condescending voice,

“Yes, you can come slut. Come on my fingers and then you can come on my cock. Now watch yourself.”

His hand on your neck holds your chin in place so you can watch yourself fall apart. You shout as the band inside you breaks and you find your release.

“Fuck, Jake! Oh my God!”

He keeps a steady rhythm extending your high, the waves of pleasure crashing around your body.

“Are you going to thank me? Seems like you enjoyed that,” Jake sneers, his mouth next to your ear as you thrash in his grip. He pushes hard on your clit when you take too long to answer and you gasp,

“Thank–, thank you, ahh, sir!”

His mouth breaks into a satisfied grin as he watches you come back to earth, your head against his shoulder and your eyes closed.

“Sweet El, color?” he murmurs in your ear, his arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace.

“Green, so fucking green,” you answer as you start grinding your ass on Jake's still present and insistent hard on. He chuckles,

“You just got off and you want more, what a greedy little whore.”

“Please, need you,” you pant, your arousal building again as you continue to grind against him,

“Need your come inside my little pussy. Need it dripping out of me.”

“Fuck, El, you're going kill me with that talk,” Jake groans, moving his arms.

You expect him to turn you around and pull you onto the counter, but he slides his big palms to the underside of your thighs and pulls you up towards his chest.

You yelp in surprise and Jake responds with more commands,

“Arms around my neck, and get those feet on the counter.”

You comply lifting your feet and planting them firmly on the counter, Jake holding you open. When you look in the mirror you turn your head in embarrassment at your puffy, well fucked cunt is on display, your legs spread eagle. Jake grunts in disappointment,

“Look at yourself, look how good I've fucked you so far.”

Your face burning, you turn back to the mirror and catch Jake's gaze, the green of his irises invisible with how blown out his pupils are.

“There you go, good little slut,” he coos as he lifts you up and slides you easily over his cock.

You can't help moaning at the feeling of fullness and spots inside you he's hitting at this angle.

“Look at that,” he commands as he starts to slowly fuck up into you, his hands under your knees pulling you up and down,

“That little cunt is taking it all like a champ.”

“Please, more, Jake, plea–”, you plead.

He responds by thrusting up hard into you,

“Such a eager little whore, can't get enough dick in you and now you're begging for more.”

He speeds up his rhythm, you feel completely debauched and so good as he pumps into you fast and hard. His moans becoming shorter and more clipped as he approaches his climax.

“Touch yourself, El. Make yourself come on my cock, you gotta earn this come,” he orders you and you quickly comply, your hand immediately on your clit.

“There you go, gonna come for me?,” Jake says,

“Come and milk my dick, suck that come out of me. Want to see it dripping out that little pussy.”

The combination visual of you trussed up like a pornstar and Jake's filthy mouth brings your end quickly and harshly.

“Oh, fuuuck!” you scream, Jake's rhythm speeding up as he comes.

“Fuck, fuck, there it is. Take it all, slut,” he shouts. Warmth floods your core as Jake continues to fuck up into you as he rides out his high, the sound of his come in your pussy echoing obscenely against the hard walls of the bathroom. He holds you hard against him, the last spurts of come adding to the mess inside you. Still holding you up, spread open, he slowly withdraws from you, watching intently in the mirrors as his come drips out of you onto the counter.

Gently he lowers you to the ground and turns you to wrap you in his arms. Leaning down he gives you a sweet and long kiss, his hands cradling your face. The kiss breaks and he leans his forehead against yours and asks, voice full of concern,

“Are you okay, El? I don't know where that came from…sorry I sprung that on you.”

You cut off his worrying babble, your hands on his cheeks and looking into his uneasy eyes,

“Jake, we're okay. Great even. I wouldn't hesitate to let you know if I wasn't into it. You know that, I know that and we trust each other, completely.”

A light rush of air fans across your face as he lets out the breath he was holding.

You continue,

“It was hot as fuck. I love that we stumbled into a mutual kink.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, and questions,

“Kink?”

“Yup, you have a size kink and apparently so do I.”

He smirks, and teases,

“Who knew you were so kinky? El?”

You rolls yours eyes affectionately,

“Only you, Jake. Only you.”

He smiles brightly in response and you step out of his embrace with a mischievous gleam in your eyes.

“I'll have to send Darren from the bar a thank you note for initiating such a good night for us,” you say, waiting one second for Jake's reaction before you bolt towards the bedroom. An outraged squawk comes from Jake as he starts to follow you, bellowing,

“Woman! You'll do no such thing!”

The sound of your satisfied giggle rings out through the house.

--

This is by far the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Hope you enjoyed it.

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

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[anjelicawrites]

Fun to be had

Paring: Michael Gavey x reader

Synopsis: you’re studying alone on a Friday night, and decide to, finally, face the weird guy following you. Fun ensues.

Warnings: dry humping in public (in a library), almost getting caught, kissing, biting, scratching, Michael’s accidental stalkerish behaviour.

A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used.

It’s Friday night and you should be out, getting drunk at the pub or dancing your arse off at the club, instead, you are at the library, different editions of the same poem opened in front of your face, not because you are cramming for a paper, but because you don’t feel like having to deal with people, irritated as you are with life now.

You have those days where you don’t feel like being sociable, instead, you have this need to live through the words of others, pouring over different editions of the same work, until you are satisfied with the results of your own translation. This specific Friday is one of those days, and you are elated that the library is empty, or almost.

You are not truly alone, hidden in this corner because, sitting at the other table of this little nook, there’s a guy.

You are almost positive his name is Michael, Michael something, mathematical genius and nerd at the end of the social hierarchy. The guy who has been following you, changing his sitting place every single time you did in the past few weeks.

You didn’t see it at the start, with the library always packed you started sitting wherever you could find a free spot and thought nothing when he did the same, you didn’t even noticed him!

You realized when you started studying late in the evening.

With the library half empty, this Michael guy could have picked any spot, every single time, instead he kept sitting at a table next to yours, always with a good vantage point. Yet, you kept telling yourself that maybe he just didn’t want to sit somewhere alone in a place which becomes creepy at night time, nothing to truly see here, but, but… If you have to be blunt about it, he doesn’t give you the idea of a chap who is afraid of being alone; if he is who you think he is, then having no friends it’s his norm.

You could have left it at that, forget about the whole thing, but you are curious, far more than what’s healthy for you, so you concocted a plan, quite stupid really, to gauge his reaction. You partner in crime, albeit without knowing it, had been you friend Ellie, who was studying for a chemistry exam, quite complicated and hard to pass. One night you two were studying and she was getting more and more frustrated, you decided to act.

“So.” You asked her. “What do you think about science?”

“Fuck science!” Right on cue she gives you the answer you need.

Staring in the direction of Michael you said loud and clear.

“Yeah, fuck science indeed” right the second he was looking at you.

It might have been a random coincidence, but he became bolder after your little experiment, his eyes not leaving yours whenever you stared up from the books and even changing tables, whenever a spot nearer yours was freed, and he was already sitting somewhere else, as if he wanted you to know what he was doing.

But what was that he was hoping to achieve by acting like a stalker?

You lift your head and there he is, seemingly engrossed in his own work, glasses low on his long nose and the irritation you’ve felt all day spikes up, red and warm in your belly and you know you shouldn’t do a single thing, but pack your stuff and go back to your dorm, you know you should, yet you stare at him again and he’s looking at you, unabashedly, with that pretentious smile on his face and you throw all your good intentions out of the window.

You stand up, the old chair scraping on the floor and march towards him. He looks startled and huffs in surprise when you straddle his legs and pop his thick glasses up his head.

“I think it’s time we greet one another properly, don’t you think? You’ve been following me around, after all!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

In his panic he tries to slide you off himself, but your ground yourself against his body, your hands grabbing the backrest of his chair, forgetting that you are wearing a skirt tonight.

“Care to tell me why you’re acting like a stalker?”

“I’m not a stalker!” He seems to have managed to grasp control back, the mask of surprise gone from his face. “Get off me!”

“I will, when you’ll tell me the truth!”

Michael had noticed you during a sunny afternoon in the library.

He was slaving over some physics homework, more boring than hard for him and he had let his eyes wander, just to distract himself for a moment.

You were sitting at his same table, facing him and a bit on his right side; you had a fortress of books around you and were furiously taking notes, that’s what had made him stop his gaze: how hard you were studying.

Michael knows many people come to the library as a mean to see and be seen by their peer, others truly try to work and can’t hold their focus for too long you, on the other end, didn’t look like the kind of person who would truly work their arse off so early in the semester, yet there you were, making use of the ridiculous amount of colorful post – it notes in your possession. He had snickered when noticing the animal themed stationery you were using and but hey! You shouldn't judge the book from his cover, right?

Almost absentmindedly, he had started looking for you, when at the library, just to see if he was right in his early observation, and you kept surprising him with the way you would single – mindedly concentrate on your work.

One afternoon, it was very late and most people were already gone, he had taken a peak at your notes, while you were looking for another book, curious to know what you were studying with such a passion and discovered it had to do with linguistics. He had no idea what your coursework talked about, but a quick look at your scrambled handwriting, revealed him a smart mind. This was his tipping point, when he had decided that he wanted to get to know you, if only he had the slightest idea how to!

He had never thought that, casually, sitting nearby you would have been stalkerish, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to start a conversation with you, he’s not that kind of guy! If you were in one of his courses, he would have found a way to get to know you better, but you don’t, and you pay your fellow students no mind, when you are at the library. What’s a guy to do but keep an eye on you, waiting for the right moment to act?

After the whole ‘Fuck science’ shenanigans, he had thought you must have caught wind of what he was doing and maybe you would have started something yourself, but you didn’t. Until tonight.

You realize how embarrassing your position is, when his hands fly on your hips to still your movements, and you register his hardening cock against your wet pussy (and when did that happen?)

“Are you done?” He asks, piercing eyes fixated on yours. “I’m Michael, since you wanted to greet me properly. What’s your name?”

You stare at him dumbly. What have you just done?

His hands curl on the meat of your hips and you yelp in surprise. You need to abort this mission, immediately, but now he’s the one who’s not letting you go.

“So?” He says mockingly. “You were in such a hurry to invade my space, and now you’re acting shy?”

He is well aware of how ridiculous the whole setup is, that he should let go, but you are staring at him with wide, surprised eyes, that he can’t help himself and see how far you’ll let him go.

“Talking big from the guy who’s been stalking me for weeks!”

You’re desperately trying to find your footing again; what the hell were you thinking?

“I wasn’t stalking you! You’re truly hard to know!”

“What?”

You need to check your bearings for a second: when did you fall in a Beckett play?

“I just said that you are hard to know.”

“And you thought that… whatever that was, was an actual good idea? Aren’t you supposed to be the smart guy?”

“You are acting dumb yourself, love, straddling your supposed stalker like that!”

The whole situation is so surreal, that the two of you stare at one another, and start laughing, until you are both breathless, and your faces are incredibly close.

He is pretty, extremely so, long eyelashes and high cheekbones, a beautiful, kissable mouth when it’s not curled in his signature, mocking smile. His eyes are slightly unfocused, the brilliant blue losing against the expanding pupil. And he is so warm, his hands on your hips clench and unclench, following the fast rhythm of his breathing.

You hadn’t realize how handsome he is and now he is taking your breath away.

He licks his dry lips and you can’t help but follow the motion, imagining how his tongue would feel against your cunt. Without you even noticing, your hips start moving again against the rough material of his jeans, your lips hovering over his, his hands pushing your closer against his hard cock, you two moan, lips almost touching and he decides to take the matter in his own hands.

Grabbing your nape, he pulls your face towards his, tongue entering your parted mouth without asking for permission, seeking your clumsily, and you let him take the wheel.

He’s desperate in the way he is kissing you, no finesse or control, just his mouth slanted against yours, his tongue fucking your throat and his hands in your hair to keep you where he wants you. You’ve been kissed better, but never with such a passion and need. You can barely breath, your body crushed against his, and you don’t care.

You are both breathless when your lips part, a thin line of spit connecting the two of you.

“Please, tell me you have a condom.” You beg, your forehead finding home against his.

“I don’t. I’ve never -”

The embarrassment in his voice stops you.

Oh Christ on a bike, you think, oh fuck. This, you didn’t expect. Not that you’re an expert yourself, only having a past relationship to account for, but your ex hadn’t been a virgin, you were.

“I’m sorry.” You say, trying to dismount, to no avail, his hands are like manacles on your hips.

“Stay.”

The way he says it, he’s not begging you, he’s telling you what to do and you feel it in your cunt, molten heath growing there, expanding in your tummy, turning your legs into jelly.

“I’m not going to have unprotected sex.”

Michael cocks his head to the side, his eyes dark with need.

Never, not even in his wildest dreams, he had imagined to find himself in this position. If he���s not going to have sex with you, and he will not without a condom, he’s not stupid, he still wants to quench the thirst he sees in your eyes and feels in his own loins.

“Me neither.” He pushes you downward against his painfully hard cock, the friction delicious and cruel.

You hide a moan against his neck, your lips landing where his pulse is, sucking the sweaty skin with desperation. You start canting your hips again against the rough material of his jeans, his hands helping you find the right angle against his erection, pain and pleasure take possession of your body, your lips desperate on his, your teeth biting his lower lip and he forces you even tighter against his crotch and it hurts, the pleasure burns your skin when he grinds your hips, your clit feeling the brunt of his punishment even through the layers your are wearing. Your hands grab his hair and his hide under your skirt, his long fingers grabbing your ass, squeezing hard, nails catching in worn fabric: he needs you, needs to become one with you.

He whimpers when you bite his shoulder through his sweater, one hand finds its way under your jumper and rakes down your back, you whimper, so close, so close.

Your orgasm shatters you, your teeth biting Michael’s shoulder harder and deeper as he keeps rutting against you; you want to tell him it’s too much but he’s making delicious sounds, half strangled moans of pleasure that inflame your body again, a smaller orgasm hitting you when he comes, his face hidden against your neck.

“Is anyone there?”

The haziness of pleasure is broken the second you hear footsteps heading in your direction, and panic follows.

Mrs Daniels, the librarian pokes her head in the small alcove at the far end of the library.

“Sorry to interrupt you.” She says. “Did you hear strange sounds just now?”

The two students stare owlishly at her: poor kids must be studying their arses off. They look like they’ve just ran a marathon, hair sticking at weird angles, and the boy’s cheeks are apple red. Youngsters these days!

“No. We were having a chat, a little break.” Says the one behind a huge row of books.

“Yeah, we were just chatting.” Adds the one she thinks is named Michael, with a smile she can’t truly decipher.

“Oh well, I must have been mistaken then, there’s only the two of you around at this point. Goodnight then.”

The second you two are positive the older woman is far away enough, you two start laughing, barely hiding your guffaws behind your hands.

“Well.” You manage to finally say. “That was close!”

You try not to feel embarrassed when your eyes land on Michael, whose stare is piercing behind his thick glasses.

“Yeah. And I still don’t know your name.”

Heath pools in your lower tummy at the way his voice is low and raspy, desire clear in the way he rakes his eyes down your body.

“You can always come by my dorm and find out.”

Christ, the way Michael’s lips curve, tells you he’s going to discover more than your name tonight.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

[cowgirlfawn]

FREAK SHOW 🩰

^ྀི plot: your best friend finds your tumblr where you’ve been posting…questionable things about him

^ྀི warnings: fem!reader, she’s like just weird and sensitive ??, smut, friends to lovers, oral (r!receiving), reader posts about wanting to be used by suguru, no use of y/n .

^ྀི wc: 1.2k

^ྀི notes: this one is for the sensitive chronic tumblr posting girlies!

you’re tumblr was your safe space, you could post whatever you wanted there without anyone knowing . you posted your outfits and your random thoughts . it was truly a place where you could be yourself, all your mutuals were just as raw as you

your best friend, suguru, was oblivious to it . he had no idea you even had tumblr . even though you two were as close as can be you really couldn’t show him your tumblr, why? because over the past couple months you’d been posting rather questioning things, thoughts but they were—sexual, and to be specific they were about him

you would rather die then let suguru know you had a raging crush on him

it was a quiet tuesday, suguru was hanging out on your couch with you, your head rested on his shoulder as you scrolled on your phone, his arm around your shoulder . you opened tumblr and suguru noticed, to your knowledge he had no idea you had tumblr, but turns out you were wrong . he knew and he was determined to get your user, he needed to know what you were posting

he paid attention to your profile, he saw your theme, god it was so you . he tilted his head and finally got your username, now he had something to do tonight . you noticed his eyes glued to your phone, “hey! are you spying on me?!” you lifted your head to look at him . “no!” he raised his hands in defence

“you were! what did you see?” he shook his head at your question, “i saw nothing! i swear!” you narrowed your eyes at him . “fine, i believe you” he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair . the rest of the night was peaceful, suguru went home and practically jumped to his laptop . he sat down on his couch and typed in “tumblr.com” in google

he singed in and now he could finally see what you were posting, he put in your username and found you, ha! you used a fake name so no one would find you . yet he did . he stared at your page for a while, looking at your intro and your theme . everything was really like your personality, he scrolled down and the first post was just you talking about new clothes

as deeper he scrolled he got to the darker stuff, well maybe now dark but the…horny stuff . whining about being sexually frustrated or in your words “needing dick”, specifically your best friend's, but he hadn’t gotten to that yet! it looked like your posted a lot so it took him a while to scroll down to when he finally saw the first hint of who you liked

“i want him so bad”

was all it said, who? who did you want? and why did he feel a bit jealous . as he scrolled he saw more and more about “him”, one post caught his eye “i wish my best friend would just use me:<“ something he never would have expected from you . he scrolled a little more before accidentally liking a post from months ago, panic set in and he immediately took the like off

you got the notification that “sugu00” liked your post and you knew it was him, then you received a text from him

sugu🫶

“sorry”

fuck . you were in deep shit

the next couple of days there was no interaction between the two of you, he didn’t text you and you didn’t text him . he kept stalking your blog, he even had your notifications on . he noticed that you posted less, but you still made sure to rant at least two times a day . he watched you change your theme to something slightly different almost twice a day . his blog was blank, he didn’t have “time” nor the will to change it

everything was going well till suguru suddenly got the urge to talk to you, not text you, but to talk to you . so he made his way to your apartment, he had a spare key so he just unlocked the door and stepped inside . he shut the door behind him, he immediately noticed his dimly lit your house was and how your door was closed . he called out your name once . then twice . he heard shuffling from behind your bedroom door and it clicked open

he stood in front of you . your hair was dripping wet from your recent shower, you pjs sticking to your damp skin . “hey” he coughed out, “hi” you said in a weak tone, as if you didn’t want to talk to him . “i saw your post about…me” your breath hitched, “oh…i figured” you cleared your throat, “can i come inside your room?” you nodded and stepped aside

he walked in and noticed the only thing on was a couple lamps, your room like the rest of the house was not very bright . had you just been sulking these days? he sat down on your bed, “so...” he trailed off . “i’m sorry you had to see those posts” your voice cracked mid sentence as you felt tears well in your eyes . his head perked up, “hey don’t worry, i knew that you—had feelings for me, i just didn’t know they were so…extreme”

you started to sob, your freshly done makeup going to waste, “i’m sorry” you chanted, he walked over to you and brought you into a hug . “you want me to make you feel better? to make it all go away?” you looked up at him and nodded

he brought you to your bed and laid you down, he tugged on your pj shorts, “can I?” you just nodded, “words, baby” he taunted, “yes, you can” he pulled them down and your lacy panties with a little bow on them caught his eyes, “awh” he looked up at your embarrassed face, “oh c’mon, i think it’s cute” he placed a kiss on your clothed cunt, the feeling earring a whimper from you

“so sensitive” he teased, he oh so slowly pulled your panties down, your dripping pussy coming into sight, “there we go” he licked a stipe from the bottom of your slit to your clit, “ngh!” you moaned out, “sugu don’t tease me!” you whined and he chuckled . “you ever had someone fuck you?” you shook your head, he nodded in an understanding manner

“can i be your first?” you giggled, “yes, please” you practically begged . he kissed your clit before attaching his mouth to it, sucking on it harshly . your head flew back and you moaned, “sugu!” his fingers made they’re way to your hole, he slipped one the two in . your warm gummy walls wrapped tightly around them, he curled them as his tongue flicked your clit . he pumped his fingers in and out of you, with every movement a small noise escaped your throat

you felt a feeling bubble up in your stomach, “so close” you mumbled, he continued his pace, flicking his tongue . you felt yourself clench around his digits and cum, your eyes shut tight and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth . “that’s it” he praised, your legs shook as you came down from your high . you felt tears sting in your eyes and suguru put your clothes back on

“what’s wrong?” he whispered as he cuddled up against you, holding you tight . “i love you”

you confessed, “like a lot” you sobbed into the sleeve of his sweater . “hey it’s okay, i love you too” he placed gentle kisses on your head as your crying slowly stopped and was replaced with a light snore

[radiance1]

Teddy bear Danny au strikes again! With its partner in crime being the Uncle Waylon au!

So, Teddy Bear Danny ends up in Gotham because he heard his dad mention some man named Waylon in passing, so he decided to put his (figurative) big boy pants on and head out to find him!

He even had a little bag his mom made him, that he filled up with snacks, his allowance, and various Fenton gadgets he could get his hands on without his parents noticing- like the lipstick. It could also, and he's never sure how his parents managed to do it, hold way more stuff than it should looking at how small it is.

So then he left Amity Park with his family none the wiser, thinking about how awesome it would be when he shows up with his uncle!

He went through a few cities, getting weird looks here and there, playing with some kids he's met, being kidnapped by a few, being kidnapped by decidedly not children, practicing stranger danger- sometimes and others following random people he's just met when they said they knew who Waylon Jones was after he showed them a picture!

A picture he drew himself in crayon, thank you very much. His family said he was quite the artist!

He never managed to actually find his uncle though, even with showing random people his picture. So eventually, he always had to hop buses to the next city he could, though he was unfortunately running low on his allowance...

So low that, when he managed to think about it, could only drop his off at one more city, if he didn't want to impose on the amount he set aside to get him and Waylon back to Amity Park. So, he set his sights on Gotham City, hoping that he would be able to find his uncle there!

When he did get there, he psyched himself up, striking a few poses he saw on Tv once and then running off to go find his uncle.

Once again, a few people looked at him weirdly, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to, but for some reason he got kidnapped more so than usual, not even by kids! Which were his usual kidnappers, sometimes they even tried to mug him for some reason.

So he gave them a snack.

Some took it and let him leave, others... not so much. So he had run away from those ones, fading through a wall or hiding behind a dumpster, or losing them in the crowd were all very effective methods!

He showed some people his drawing, and nobody still didn't know who he was asking about! Which was stupid, in his opinion, because his drawing was very detailed and very accurate! He was about to give him, thinking that nobody would be able to help him, and was just about to head back home.

At least until he ran into somebody, quite literally falling over due to his sides. It was an accident, but still! People should really be considerate of Teddy bears roaming around!

The guy bent down and apologized for running into him, which was a very rare thing when he stepped out of Amity! So this guy had an instant improve on him on that alone, so he got up, dusted himself off and showed him the drawing of his uncle.

The guy who introduced himself as Brucie Wayne actually recognized him too! He said he was on his way to meet him, to be exact, and Danny saw an opportunity when he saw one, so he climbed onto Bruce Wayne and practically forced the guy to take him alone.

He gave him one of his favorite snacks as payment.

Actually two, because he was nice and fun. But no more than that because these are his snacks, and some were also for his uncle!

So when he got to the place his uncle was being held at- Arkham Asylum-, he was informed that his uncle is currently held here in captivity for something, something, something that he didn't bother to remember if he was being honest.

So of course, the most natural thing and reaction to do was to plan a prison break.

He stayed on Bruce's shoulder, using him as a free ride throughout Arkham Asylum while directing him towards his uncle via picture. It took a while of insistence, but they eventually got to his uncles, so he got down, gave Bruce a handshake, phased through the glass of his uncles cell and stared up.

And up.

And up.

And up.

Sweet macaroni! He didn't know his uncle was so tall! he was practically taller than his Pa! Which said something considering he was like, the tallest person he'd ever seen in the history of ever. But regardless he managed to find him, so he jumped around him a bit in happiness, and showed him the picture.

===

Waylon Jones, otherwise known as Killer Croc, was exceedingly confused about why there was a tiny, sentient teddy bear in his cell. Who seemed happy being in his presence of all things.

It showed him a crudely drawn picture of him after jumping up and down around him, and he doesn't exactly know the significance of it, but it implied that the toy was trying to find him, he watched it dig through its bag and pull out a wide variety of snacks, all of which were thrown at him.

Quite literally.

So he decided to just, sit down and eat them. Not everyday he gets free snacks like this, so.

While he was chowing down, it took out a crayon and paper and started drawing, then after that it showed him a picture of Jack- helpfully labeled- and his family, which the teddy bear was on there along with another girl in the kids section.

Which, huh, he supposes he has a nephew and niece.

Then in the middle of eating the last snack, guards stepped into his cell to extract his nephew. His nephew's time was up, it seemed, so he waved goodbye and stared trying to plan a prison break to meet his nephew outside of prison the next time they saw each other.

He could have never expected for him to be turned into a smaller, stuffed version of himself and phasing through the walls of his cell.

===

Danny liked his uncle, he was nice! But it was a bit unfair that he was still way taller than him, even when turned into a doll.

Anyways, he had a prison break to complete, and then he could drag his uncle back home to his family's utterly surprised faces!

[solar-wing]

🦇 Surviving Damian: BatBro's Life 🎞️

I don't know why, but the way Damian turns to look at Dick in this clip has me rolling

🦇 🎞️ A/N → A continuation of my Batbro Headcanons with everyone's favorite little assassin, Damian. This is also inspired by this post from @batsiblingfun. This mixes in a lot of different elements from different DC shows and movies, but still all tie together. Conner x Reader along with Damian x Raven included. WARNINGS: None really. family fluff, minor threats of violence. You and Damian conspiring together. Bruce needs his lawyers. Mentions of trauma and therapy. Joker being Joker.

🦇🎞️ Summary → It's one thing to find out Bruce Wayne is your biological father. It's another thing to find out you also have a half-brother from the same father who also didn't meet him until around the same time you did. Now, some would consider getting a new older brother to be a good thing. Of course, when they point out what they see as an ideal image of that, Damian Wayne is more or less far from it. Truthfully, you'd need an entire documentary to explain that trauma. But, in his defense, he did warn Bruce not to make him a middle child. Oh well...

🦇🎞️ Word Count → 5.3k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

🦇 ENJOY 🎞️

— Some may imagine having Bruce Wayne as your father entails a glamorous and extravagant life.

— "Oh wow! Your dad is Bruce Wayne? That's so cool!" "I bet you've been to so many great places." "Have you met any celebrities before?" "Your life must be so interesting!"

— To answer that, depends on the day. The watchtower is cool, but not as interesting as what you saw on that one trip to Puerto Rico. Would Superman even be considered a celebrity? And, define interesting.

— Because if you mean 'interesting' like waking up every day wondering if it's going to be some random supervillain that unalives you, or your own brother, then yes, your life is fascinating.

— What most people don't consider when they find out your father is Bruce Wayne is not only did you all of a sudden get a new parent, but you also got new siblings. As your eldest brother Dick once said, "I went from being an only child to living in utter chaos every day." The only difference is that Dick actually somewhat thrives in chaos. Which is weird considering you'd think it'd be someone more like Jason who lived by that statement.

— You, on the other hand, would rather go without the constant weird shit that goes on with your father and siblings all being a bunch of vigilantes who save your city and the world from crazy clowns and guys who clearly like to live every day like it's Halloween.

— But, the thing is, 90% of the shit you have to deal with doesn't even come from those creeps and villains. It's literally from your own house, specifically one person.

— At one point in your life, you wished to have a sibling. Someone you could share that irreplaceable bond with. Fighting over small stuff like the remote, or who got first dibs on Alfred's cookies. Only to kiss and make up later when one of you got bored or hungry. Insulting and torturing each other only to join forces if someone outside of you two decided to mess with the other. Coming up with crazy schemes that would inevitably shorten your father's life expectancy.

— You know, normal stuff.

— You'd think Dick would get the title of 'most stable' among your siblings, but surprisingly, that was awarded to Jason, which, I know right?! Mind you, 'stable' was being used on very loose terms here. But, Richard was almost more like a second dad than a brother, which you figured came with the role of being the oldest sibling. Since he had the most experience dealing with an emotionally absent Bruce, he'd pick up where he fell off. Of course, Bruce got better over time and learned how to not distance himself whenever his feelings got even a little poked, but Richard was always your go-to whenever you needed support.

— You'd almost considered Jason for the title of most unstable, but then you met Tim, and realized Jason was actually better than you thought, considering what he's been through. Your second oldest brother wasn't really open towards you, but as you two started to spend time together, you grew on him and vice versa. At one point, the Red Hood persona vowed to not only do everything he could to keep you safe but as innocent and pure as you could be. He would not let Bruce and his questionable parenting ruin another child. His earlier methods were probably not the most effective. CPS was still calling at least once a week.

— There weren't enough words to describe Tim. When you first came to the mansion, he seemed completely normal and sane for the most part. Then, after you discovered your father's side hustle, you realized how opposite the reality was. You remembered something your mom said about the only things she was scared of. "I only fear two things in this life; God and the IRS." Well, you'd definitely be adding a certain Red Robin to that list. There were just things Tim would say or do that he thought was completely normal, and you'd be discreetly dialing a mental hospital, fearing for your safety. Why did you know the number for one off the top of your head? Let's just say you had your reasons. But, you'd rather have Tim as an ally than an enemy, so you refrained. That didn't stop you from keeping them on speed dial though.

— Yes, you definitely had some interesting siblings, but none of them compared to your other brother. The one you regrettably shared blood with. Hopefully, he didn't hear you say that.

— It was one thing to have Bruce Wayne as a father. It was an entirely different thing to have Damian Wayne for a brother.

— The first day you two met, Damian had already been at the manor for a few months when Talia had left him with Bruce while she went to handle business. What business that entailed, your father kept you in the shadows, and quite frankly, you were grateful. After your mom left you on the manor's doorsteps with a note that just read, "Trust me, he's yours," your life was never the same.

— You remembered being excited that day. You finally got to meet your dad, and you got a brother out of it too! Multiple brothers and sisters actually! Whoever was out there listening to you had answered your deepest wishes.

— Now, you wished they just minded their damn business.

— Unlike Damian, you were not aware of your father's secret identity. So, when you met, you were a little more than put off by Damian's first greeting towards you.

— "Father, I thought we discussed your habit of  picking up street rats and turning them into your next apprentice."

— Truthfully, that was actually more than a pleasant start to your relationship with the trained assassin. When you eventually heard the story of how Dick and Damian "met" for the first time, you suddenly felt grateful at the fact there were no sharp objects nearby...that you knew of.

— If you happened to start locking your bedroom door at night and setting booby traps to alert you if anyone came in while you were sleeping, that was no one else's business but yours.

— The thing was, you tried to connect with Damian, but he would keep brushing you off. Bruce really wasn't that much help as he didn't have the best track record with his first three kids.

— The issue was you and Damian came from two completely different backgrounds, despite your shared parenthood.

— Damian was raised among an organization of highly-trained assassins and was molded from the second he was born to take over from his grandfather who was the equivalent of an undead lich, only he was actually alive. You had a normal childhood for the most part. You went to school, made friends, tried different hobbies, etc.

— You saw Damian as uptight and weird, and he saw you as naive and weak.

— Of course, as everything does in this family, shit only got more intense.

— After Bruce ran a DNA test and confirmed you were indeed his son, they got you set up in the manor and your new life. Your last name was officially changed to Wayne with you wanting to keep your mother's surname hyphenated in there.

— You wanted to decorate your bedroom, so you asked your dad to take you shopping, fully intending to take advantage of your newfound wealth (your mother taught you well). Bruce figured it'd be a great way for you and him to get to know each other as he was trying to be more of the supportive dad that Dick and Jason lectured him about. And if CPS decided to give him another one of their 'visits,' he'd rather not provide them with any more reasons to be taking down notes. He was still trying to find a way to punish Jason for that stunt.

— And at Alfred's suggestion, he brought Damian along, thinking it'd be great family time for the Wayne men, and it'd give his firstborn a chance at being an actual kid since Damian never decorated his room when he first got there.

— You went all out. At some point, Bruce wondered if everything he was buying was starting to become too much, but you threw him the puppy dog look you mastered at three years old, and he folded like a lawn chair. Your mother had grown resistant to that trick so, it was great to finally be using it again. Posters, knick-knacks, a new desk, a whole gaming set-up, LED lights, a gaming chair, you name it, you got it. You'd even tried to get Damian to get a few things for himself, wanting to get to know more about your brother.

— "I don't need materialistic objects to satisfy myself like you and other low-lives do. Besides, you're only doing this to 'make up' for the more than likely poor life you lived before with whoever your harlot mother is."

— Alright, that did it. You tackled Damian in the middle of the mall, throwing all your weight on top of him. Of course, you were unaware of his combat training so he threw you off pretty easily, pushing you to the ground and twisting your arm behind your back to where he almost broke it. Bruce had to yank him off you and grab you as well to prevent you from charging him again while everyone else around was taking pictures and videos.

— Bruce's PR team was not happy with the stories and articles on the gossip websites the next morning. But, they managed to twist it around into a positive light, painting the Billionaire Playboy as the role model male, doing his best to raise his two boys as best he could being a single father.

— "Oh, he's such a family man. #EvenMoreAttactive". – @Supermom92

— "He's a good man, Vanessa. A good man." - @mooreswhore

— "This is what we need more of. Strong men taking charge in their son's lives." – @topalpha

— "#GladTheyAin'tMyKids." – @aynonymous

— Of course, this did nothing to help the relationship between you and the youngest Boy Wonder, but Alfred's reassurance eased Bruce's headache.

— "Truthfully, Master Wayne, it would seem to me they are already falling quite well into their new roles as brothers. It will get better over time."

— When exactly was better? Because things only seemed to get more tense between you two. The fights didn't end there. As you spent more time in the manor, you'd gotten to know your other adoptive siblings. And particularly, spending time with your second oldest brother, you'd learned some defensive moves in fighting that only led to your fights with Damian getting worse now that you could hold your own a little more.

— Only there were some moves that you knew that Damian didn't, which really caused a shit storm.

— It may have taken Dick and Jason's combined strength to hold Damian back from trying to literally slice your throat open after you introduced him to the art of the cheese neck. Jason thought it was hilarious and low-key well deserved since your half-brother decided to cut open one of the stuffed bears you had since you were four. Alfred was able to put him back together, but that didn't help the need for revenge you had in the pit of your stomach.

— Since he couldn't murder you, he decided to go with the next best thing he had in mind; mental torture!

— He knew you loved Scooby-Doo, but had a slight fear of some of the monsters and scenes from the show. Look, shit from back in the 70s could be creepy with how they decided to do specific stuff. And sadly on your part, Damian had amazing resources thanks to dear old Papa Bruce.

— So, one day when you thought Bruce was on a business trip (he was on a League mission, and Dick, Jason, and Tim were nowhere to be found along with Alfred), you had the manor to yourself. Or, at least, you thought you did. 

— Let's just say Damian decided to place you in your own Scooby-Doo episode, only a tad bit more rated R. Last time you checked, the vampire from that one episode didn't actually have blood and guts dripping from his teeth while chasing Shaggy and Scooby.

— Yeah, Bruce low-key had to invest in a therapist for that one. And CPS definitely took a note down when they saw part of the costume had fallen out of a trash bag and your "concerning" reaction to it. Damian had no shame.

— "Next time, he'll think twice about whose neck he's slapping."

— "Master Bruce, I really do think they're starting to grow on each other, if I do say so myself." This time, Alfred's words were not reassuring for the billionaire.

— Eventually, you and Damian came to a mutual understanding. You stay out of his way, and he would stay out of your way. And it worked! At least until you found out the big secret, and no not the one where Tim...actually, never mind.

— It was an accident, really it was. At least that's how Jason and Tim tried to spin it when he had to explain to Bruce how you thought Red Hood and Red Robin broke into the manor. In truth, they thought you were at a friend's house studying, and the tracker that was stitched to your backpack showed that.

— Hold up... tracker?

— You'd grill them and your dad for that later.

— Now, you were constantly in the Batcave and working Damian's last nerve. You kept asking to help on missions or patrol, and shockingly, this was the one time when Bruce put his foot down and said no to having an adolescent child fighting crime with him.

— Who would've figured?

— The most he'd let you do was help Alfred with comms and computer stuff. Of course, that'd only lead to you and Damian getting into one of your brotherly spats over the comms.

— "At least I have competent training to be in the field. You can barely defend yourself against a cat." Damian sneered into his mic while roundhouse-kicking a thug.

— "First of all you stuck-up brat, Alfred the Cat and I have a lovely relationship and we were play fighting. Secondly, the only thing you're competent at is proving what happens when you forget to use protection!" You quipped right back.

— Dick and Tim tried holding back their laughs while Jason just shouted "DAMN!" Bruce had to pretend not to notice Damian's glare through the domino mask and Alfred pretended to scold you while giving you a fist bump. The Boy Wonder was grinding his teeth.

— Then, a miracle happened. Well, really it was a traumatic experience that Bruce would have to pay for more sessions with your therapist but still was a miracle in the end.

— In another one of his crazy schemes, Joker decided to target Bruce Wayne again, but this time, the newly discovered heirs to Wayne Enterprises, at least, that's what the media was referring to you as.

— He hired some goons to abduct you and Damian from your school and hid you both in one of his many secret hideouts around Gotham. And Joker, never one for subtlety, of course, decided to send out a televised message to Brucie Poosie, a name disturbingly similar to Joker's nickname for Batman. He'd addressed that later.

— Your father and siblings immediately jumped into action of course and started searching the entire city, checking all of Joker's known hideouts and connections. Only, Joker had apparently taken some inspiration and notes from Riddler because while he was busy taunting and trying to shake down Bruce Wayne for everything he could, he was leading Batman and his little birdies (his nickname for all the Robins) on a wild goose chase.

— The more and more time went by, the more and more they got worried for you. Of course, they were worried for Damian as well, but he was used to these kinds of situations. This was your first (and frankly, probably not last) kidnapping.

— At first, you weren't scared (much). No offense, but, Joker always kind of seemed like a joke to you. The fact his whole persona was based on a mad clown really didn't help. You had also never really watched the news or heard people talking about some of the horrible things he had done. You always just heard the part when Batman swooped in and kicked his ass.

— Well, if you made it out of this, you'd definitely have nightmares and a new fear of clowns to add to your list. May have to start considering two-hour sessions with your therapist.

— But, to your surprise, Damian had helped to keep you calm and protected you from seeing more of Joker's 'fun side'. Whenever the clown or one of his thugs got a little too close to your holding cell for your brother's liking, he always placed himself in front of you, just in case they decided to fuck around and find out so he could be ready.

— When the green-haired villain went on one of his disturbing tangents or talked about his plans for you two in case your father didn't follow through with his demands, Damian would cover your ears. Of course, it didn't do much, but the sentiment was appreciated. Your older brother, despite his 'quirks', actually did have a caring side to him. It just took being kidnapped by a psychotic clown and your lives being in terrible danger for it to show. Go figure.

— Of course, your father and siblings eventually tracked you and Damian down and came to your rescue. From what you had seen from your father and brothers in their fighting style, they always were more smart and sneaky with their attacks and ambushes. Jason was more of the impulsive and brash one who liked to rush in, but he grew more into the Bat's style over time. Especially seeing how the last time he rushed into something concerning the Joker, well, there's no need to go down that road.

— But, nope. This time, Bruce was not forgiving with his 'justice' towards Joker. Honestly, you and your siblings were a little worried that Bruce would break his number one rule on no killing for the first time, but he still held back. In the middle of all the chaos, you'd even managed to surprise Damian when some goons tried to surprise you and him after he broke you guys out of the cell. And who said video games couldn't teach you a thing or two about fighting?

— Damian was impressed, and more than curious to see what kind of games you were playing that taught you the fastest way to incapacitate a 200-pound man with a few jabs and well-placed strikes. That or you were insanely lucky to have a man who could barely defend himself against a child. Either way, a win was a win for you.

— Obviously, things changed a bit when you two returned home. 

— For one, your family became a lot more clingy and overprotective than before. And that was saying something considering they had a tracker stitched into your backpack without your knowledge before. There was a rotation between the brothers of who would drop off and pick you up from school. This was already a rule before, but now, it was just even more intense with you not being able to leave the manor or go anywhere without someone from the family accompanying you. Bruce started training you in self-defense and combat, with regulations and supervision from your brothers so he didn't make the same mistakes he made with them with you.

— You appreciated it all, and it definitely did help you feel a bit safer (in the beginning), but, really one of the most shocking changes not just to yourself, but everyone else was Damian's change in attitude toward you. Of course, he wasn't outright hugging you or anything crazy like that, but he was more cordial and almost friendlier you could say.

— It was also very apparent Damian had developed a similar protective stance toward you. You being the only non-vigilante in the family meant you kept an aura of innocence and light-heartedness the rest of your family had lost a long time ago. They were more than determined to make sure you kept that light and never lost it like they did so many years ago.

— Thankfully, your time with Joker wasn't anything too traumatic. Joker was actually on one of his schemes for once and didn't do anything too drastic. But, that didn't stop your brother from glaring down any suspicious figure who got too close to you for his liking. If you asked to hang out at a friend's house, Damian took over Bruce's role of asking for details on your friend, they're parents, where you'd be going, and all that extra stuff. If you were aware of the fact that Damian was running full background checks on your friends and their families whenever you went to hang out with them, you pretended not to notice.

– Bruce also had a teary moment of being a proud father seeing how Damian was showing already to be just like him. Which, if we're being honest, was actually a terrifying thought.

— But, it wasn't just Damian who started making an effort to build a more friendly bond between you two. You'd contributed as well. Showing Damian the ways he could learn to let loose and actually be a kid instead of a trained assassin all the time.

— You'd invited him more than once to hang out with you and your friends that you made from school. Hesitant at first at the idea of hanging out with others that weren't you and his family, you managed to convince him when Dick, Jason, and Tim got into one of their own brotherly spats, and Jason decided to start chasing the two around the house with a rag wet with a 'mysterious' substance.

— "Your local comrades quarters it is then." Damian muttered before quickly ushering you out the door with Alfred towing behind since you needed someone to drive you. Damian offered since he kept claiming he knew how, but Bruce still wasn't going for it.

— With your help, Damian actually learned to make friends with kids his own age. He developed hobbies and interests that had nothing to do with anything sharp or pointy (that didn't mean you weren't gonna booby trap your room still just in case).

— He even joined an art club at school and you both decided to enroll in a martial arts club together as well. It'd actually become quite the inside joke between you two. There was one guy in there, Carter, who swore he was the best fighter in the entire school and he could take any one of these 'runts' down, including you and Damian.

— Now, you were still learning and getting comfortable fighting from your lessons with your dad and brothers. When Carter decided to pick on you and Damian as the Wayne brats and challenged you both to a sparring match, boy he did not know what he was getting himself into. Especially when you and your brother looked at each other with the most mischievous evil smirks anyone had ever seen.

— When Bruce got a call from the school later that some parents were looking to try and sue him for the 'extensive harm' his kids did to their kid, he could only raise an eyebrow when you and Damian appeared in his office, smiling like you both were innocent angels.

— "See, Master Bruce. I told you if you'd given it some time, they'd grow on each other." Alfred said to him later that evening.

— Only Bruce was now more concerned than ever. When you and Damian basically hated each other, he only had to worry about the terror and havoc you two would unleash inside the manor. Now, that you were basically best buddies, he'd have to worry about inside and outside the house.

— "I'm gonna be meeting with my lawyers more frequently, aren't I Alfred?" Bruce asked.

— Alfred gave a small chuckle as he patted the man's shoulders. "Oh, Master Bruce, most certainly."

— The butler wasn't wrong.

— You and Damian became like a force that everyone was scared to cross. Even your own brothers were slightly afraid of the kind of shit you two could get into. You'd come up with the crazy schemes and ideas, mapping out any and all details while handling any technological stuff which you had gotten really good at considering the time you spent with Alfred in the Batcave monitoring missions. And, Damian would do the more physical acts required as well as sneaking and sleuthing around if need be.

— Bruce had a meeting with his attorneys at least once a week because of you two.

— You'd even developed your own sense of overprotectiveness over your older brother. Some guy in the art club Damian had joined at school decided to try and pick with him and messed up one of his paintings. Surprisingly, Damian was calm about it and didn't even yell or react at him. Just scoffed at the guy and called him pathetic.

— You did not have a similar reaction.

— When word got around the school and managed to reach your ears, you were for lack of a better word, feeling quite revengeful. The next day at school, that guy became the laughingstock of your entire class when a private photo mysteriously made its way into every student's locker in your grade.

— When Damian found out, he immediately confronted you about it, and you could only smile innocently while feigning ignorance.

— "Why, brother?! How could you even think to accuse me of such a vile act of one's breach of privacy."

— "Y/N..." Damian said.

— "Fine, it was me. But, you have to admit, it is quite a lovely picture. And besides, nobody messes with my brother except me." You smiled.

— Damian only gave a small smile, grabbing you to give you a noogie on the head before walking for the exit of the school to head home. He tried not to let such a small statement get him overly emotional since he'd never really had anyone before you and your family be so caring and defensive over him. Not even his mother. 

— The older you two got, the more close you became. At one point, Dick even started to joke that if one of you had gotten involved in some stupid and even dangerous plot, it wouldn't be long before the other got involved as well.

— "You'd even given yourself the nickname of the Blood Brothers since you and Damian liked to remind your other siblings more than once who Bruce's actual kin was, especially Dick whenever he went on one of his tirades about being the first Robin blah blah blah...

— Tim did happen to point out your chosen name's disturbing similarity to one widely known supervillain to which you scoffed in response.

— "Oh please, Brother Blood wishes he had half the brains and looks me and Dami have. Isn't that right, bro?" You said turning to Damian holding out a fist bump.

— "I refuse to get involved in this."

— And given your bond with each other, it was of course all too expected that you would each get involved in each other's love lives. When Damian was sent away to Titans Tower to learn how to be part of a team, you were very pissed at Bruce since he was breaking up you and his team.

— Honestly, Bruce hadn't even considered that, but he was happy and looking forward to the much-needed break from his weekly meetings with his lawyers concerning his sons and their growing stack of attempted lawsuits.

— It was a shock to not only you but to Damian from how you knew when he returned from the tower on a visit, and you asked "Who is she," with your arms crossed and tapping your foot against the ground.

— From your daily calls and messages, you'd picked up quite fast that Damian was crushing on someone, you just didn't know who. You figured it may have been that Tara girl you heard had joined the team, who should consider herself lucky she succumbed to her own fate and not the one you'd planned for her after finding out what she did to your brother and his comrades.

— Superman and Wonder Woman were still campaigning to put you on the League's high-priority watch list after hearing and witnessing some of the things you got up to with and without your brother. So they and everyone else in the League who had the fortune (or misfortune) of meeting you had no qualms that whatever you planned for the blonde earth-powered girl, was nothing short of maniacal.

— When you found out it was Raven after your dad brought you along to Damian's surprise party at the Tower with the rest of the team, you managed to get a chance alone with the half-human, half-demon girl, exchanging some friendly banter and humor. You'd also jokingly (but also not jokingly) warned her that if she hurt your brother in any way shape or form, you'd give her a fate worse than anything her father could ever imagine.

— Weirdly enough, she smiled and gave you a pat on the shoulder.

— "I promise, you don't have to worry about anything from me. And, I can see now why he cares a lot about you. You both protect each other."

— To which you replied with a simple, "He's my brother." Nothing else needed to be said between the two of you. You both were aware of Damian's past, you more than Raven of course, so you knew Damian sometimes needed some extra care and love. You could clearly see that was something she had every intention of making sure he got.

— You approved.

— Now, if only you could get Damian to approve of you and Conner.

— Let's just say, neither your father nor your brothers were anywhere near please when they found out about you and the half-Kryptonian's relationship.

— Dick just couldn't fathom that both of his baby brothers were dating someone from the two teams he helped co-found.

— Jason didn't like that you were dating someone he couldn't really intimidate or threaten the way he wanted since the dude was a literal teen Superman.

— Tim was oddly okay with it at first. But, when you started abandoning him and your regular scheduled gaming sessions for your dates and hangouts with Conner, he was more than ever determined to take down the half-Kryptonian.

— Damian didn't like the idea of you with someone so much stronger than you and could hurt you very easily. To which you pointed out he was dating a half-demon whose father has more than once tried to take over the universe and she almost helped him in succeeding.

— "Not the point, little brother."

— You did have to warn your boyfriend though, because, unlike your other brothers with the exception of possibly Tim, Damian had his own hidden secret cache of Kryptonite for emergency if it was ever needed.

— How you knew?

— Well, after you and Conner announced your relationship, you noticed your father and brother consistently making trips to the vault where all the Kryptonite was stored. And, you once caught your dad making a smaller version of the 'special' jewelry he used to fight Superman that one time, which you figured had to be for Damian.

— "Oh come on! I don't see anyone walking around with crosses and holy water whenever Damian goes out with Raven. But, y'all are ready to pull out all the stops whenever Conner and I even look like we're about to hug!" You yelled at your family.

— Damian stepped forward, placing what was supposed to be a comforting hand on your shoulder.

— "I do apologize brother. But, you should really be blaming Father for this, since I did technically warn him what would happen if he made me a middle child.

— "He did." You heard your father's day from behind.

— Someone really needed to make a documentary about your life.

BONUS:

☀️ | Bat Family | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️