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dira333 · 2 months

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Bakugo x Reader, 6 parts, Timeskip AU

Not everyone is born with a Soulmark. But even if you are, it doesn't make things easier.

Warnings: None, Angst to Fluff.

Chapters are going to be posted daily.

Part 1

Deku’s Soulmark is on his shoulder, barely noticeable in the mess of freckles. He’s got it just shortly after Katsuki, of course because Katsuki always gets things first. Like his teeth, or his Quirk. Katsuki thinks his Soulmark is a lot cooler, something like a tribal pattern, but it looks even better. The only annoying thing about it is the placement. It’s a fat, blueish-black mass on his left ass cheek and his mother has told him not to show it around.

Not that he would. He only showed it to Deku to prove that he got his mark first.

The dream is always the same.

Flakes of Ash are flowing through the air like snowflakes. Upturned tables and chairs make it hard to navigate the room, but he’s on it, moving through the Chaos.

Katsuki spots a leg first, lifts the desk you must have tried to hide under.

Your face is covered in soot, your features barely recognizable. He sinks to his knees at your side, cradles your head in his hands.

“Wake up,” he begs you, his heart hammering in his throat. “Wake up.”

You never open your eyes. Instead, he’s the one who wakes up, stares at the ceiling above him, and curses.

It’s known to happen. Just another symptom of his bond. The longer it takes you to find your Soulmate, the more of this you get to experience. And it’s not like he’s not looking. But it’s a different kind of looking, now that he’s the Number 2 Hero in Japan.

Katsuki hits his pillow a few times, settles again. If he falls asleep now, he can get another hour of much-needed rest.

But rest won’t come.

Instead, he thinks about Deku, who’s already found his Soulmate. Just another win over him. Though, he doubts Deku’s counting them like he is.

When he closes his eyes, your face is the only thing he sees. So still, covered in dirt. If only he could brush away the dirt, maybe he’d be able to find you.

If only he could dream a little longer.

“Soulmate Mark finally spotted? Read more about Dynamight Secret.” Katsuki snorts as he clicks on the link. As usual, it’s nothing but speculation and a blurry photograph of him. This time, they claim a new bruise on his biceps as a possible Soulmark. If only they knew. Hah!

His mother had been right, all these years ago, to tell him to keep it covered.

Not that he’d have been running around, presenting his buttocks to strangers, otherwise. But he’s seen the crazy. Still remembers all those fake Soulmarks, the exasperation in Shoto’s voice when he’d been the first - and worst - victim to fall to it.

He’s not going to let that happen to him. He’ll find you. But on his own terms.

“Hey, Man, you’re up?” Kirishima knocks on his door. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Let me do it,” he insists, stepping out of his room. “I want it to be edible.”

Kirishima grins. “You could just admit that you’re going to miss me.”

“As if,” Katsuki grunts, pushing him out of the way. Kirishima laughs, the sound familiar and warm. Yes. Katsuki is going to miss him.

But he has no time for that now. The weather is nice today, granting them a blue sky and no clouds. Katsuki’s sweating his ass off, leaving handprints on cardboard box after cardboard box. Mina’s running circles around them, Kaminari as usual not lifting a finger. He claims he’s responsible for the music, the food delivery, or the navigation, never mind the fact that Kirishima could drive to Mina’s place blindfolded by now.

And then they’re done, crashing on Kirishima’s dark red Couch that eerily fits into Mina’s vibrantly colored living room. Kaminari’s handing out beer from the fridge, phone awkwardly tucked between shoulder and ear as he talks to his girlfriend.

She’s nice, Katsuki knows. A little uptight at first, but with a good head on her shoulders. Able to deal with the crazy Kaminari’s dishing out. Speaking of crazy. “I want to crawl into your skin and wear it,” Kaminari sings into the phone at this moment, grinning like a madman.

Katsuki rips the beer from his hand. “Please don’t,” he grunts, listening to Mina and Kirishima laughing.

He’s the only single guy among his friends.

It’s a thought that seldomly plagues him but when it does, it does.

His phone rings and he considers not picking up, seeing the unknown number. But he’s hung up a few flyers about looking for a roommate so he accepts the call anyway, getting up to talk in the tiny bathroom to get some privacy.

“Bakugo?”

“Ah, yes, hi.” The voice is distinctively female, soft enough to send a shiver down his back. Or maybe he’s just lonely.

“Hi.” God, is he trying to sound nice?

“Hi.” There’s a rushed giggle, then a deep breath. “I saw your ad. For the apartment. I- I work for Manic!Design.”

His parent's firm. He’d asked his father to hang it up, to not make a big fuss about it. No one in the agency had looked twice at the little hangout after all.

“When are you free?” He asks, rubbing his pointer finger over a stain on the mirror. “To look at the apartment?”

“I’m free today. Next week is a little tight, but I can push some things around? Maybe on Tuesday?”

“We can do it today. My roommate moved out today so it’s a little messy still, but that way you can see it right away.”

“Oh, yes, okay.” He can hear the hesitation in your voice, can feel the unease in his own heart.

“Or Tuesday, if that works better for you.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll see you… does half an hour work for you?”

He calculates quickly. If he leaves right now, he will make it on time.

“Yeah, no problem.”

He regrets not showering.

His shirt sticks to his body in awkward places and he can see the imprint of his right hand on his pants. His right hand. Katsuki lifts it, like he often does, to inspect it. Despite having lived with an intact limb far longer than he had to live with a messed up one, he still can’t help but marvel at it, and feel unease at the change. Does it sweat more now than it used to before the war? Why is that scar still there but the other one isn’t?

“Hey!” Your face pulls him out of his reverie and he lets his hand sink to muster you.

You look familiar in a way that has his heart speed up uncomfortably, his skin prickling. He really should have showered beforehand, pushed that meeting a little further back.

“I like your shirt,” you point out, your own hands pushed into the pockets of your jacket. Oversized, black leather. He likes it immediately. It looks like one he owns too.

“Thanks,” he rumbles, opening the door for you. “Come in.”

“Just so you know.” You lift your left leg to rub your feet over your right knuckle, a nervous habit if he’s ever seen one. “I work for your parents.”

“Figured.”

Your eyes flicker up to his and back down again. “I don’t… I don’t want them to think weird of me. I mean, they haven’t really noticed me, yet. But they will, for sure. I just-”

“Spit it out.”

You grin, a sharp, yet sweet thing that has him hold his breath.

“I don’t want them to know we live together.” You say it like it’s already a done deal. Like you’ve already moved in when he’s not yet decided if he wants you on the lease or not. He likes that. You’re decisive.

“They wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” You cock your head to the side and his tongue turns dry at the sight. “Don’t they visit?”

“Not really. I want- I want my privacy. I usually go over to their place if I want to see them.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’d take it then. If you’re okay with it.”

He offers you his hand to shake, not quite thinking about what he’s doing until you shake it. His palm is slick with sweat and he cringes at the feeling but your face does not show what you think. His bones, mended back together yet not really, feel like pudding in your grip.

What is going on?

- x -

You’ve perfected your morning routine.

You snooze your alarm once for a blissful ten minutes of more sleep before you roll out of bed, check the weather with a toothbrush in your mouth, and choose what to wear. That’s always the hardest and best part of each day.

A heavy knock on your door alerts you. “Bathroom’s free.”

Yeah, that’s the first change in your morning routine.

Bakugo’s done most of the heavy lifting yesterday, making the heaviest of your boxes look like they weigh nothing.

Toothbrush still in your mouth you grab your clothes for the day and rush through the hallway. It’s not that you don’t want him to see you right now, messy hair and crinkled pajamas, but you don’t really want him to see you right now.

Not when he’s probably looking like a young God, blond hair the perfect amount of messy, blood-red eyes never missing a thing. He’s way too good-looking to be your roommate, but you don’t doubt he’s looking for anything more. Not with you, at least. He’s a Hero, after all. Number 2 if you’re not mistaken. And your bosses son.

You wipe the mascara from under your eye and open the bathroom door. If you leave in five minutes you’ve got just enough time to catch the bus. That’s a record.

“Here,” a plate with Omurice appears under your nose. “Breakfast.”

“Oh,” you blink. “I don’t… I don’t eat breakfast.”

“Hah?” Bakugo looks like you’ve personally offended him. “Who doesn’t eat breakfast? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“I don’t have time for that. I’m just getting a coffee to go for the bus ride.”

“I’ll take you then.”

“What? No. My bus is coming in five minutes.”

“Sit.” Bakugo pulls out a chair with his other hand. “Eat. I’ll take you. It’s on my way anyway.”

“What about your parents finding out I’m living with you?”

Something like a blush works its way up his neck. Or he’s getting angry. Who knows?

“I’ll let you out at the corner.”

“Still-”

“Eat.” He thunders and you take a seat, eyeing him. “What if I’m allergic to Omurice?”

“Who’s allergic to Omurice? It’s Omurice.”

“There’s egg in it.”

He groans. “What do you want to eat then?”

“Omurice is fine.” You pull the plate toward you, digging in. It tastes heavenly and you bite back a groan of delight. Who knew you were this hungry?

“Hey, I’m going to the store.” You push your head through the door, trying not to look too closely at where he’s currently doing push-ups. “Do you need anything?”

“What?!” Katsuki drops, rolls, and glares at you. “It’s ten pm.”

“Yeah, so? The store is still open.”

“You’re not going alone.”

“I’m grown up, I can walk by myself.”

“Not this late.”

“Okay, Dad.” You roll your eyes. “I’m fine. Do you want something from the store or not?”

“I’m coming along.”

A heartbeat long you’re left speechless, watching him as he gets up and slips a shirt on. But then, your fight awakens.

“Not if I’m already gone,” you rush out, slamming the door shut behind you.

You’re out of the apartment before him, heart hammering in your chest as you race down the stairs. You forgot your shoes in the apartment, but it’s a little too late now to turn back around, especially when you can hear the door closing, Bakugo calling your name through the staircase.

Is it childish to run away from him like that? Yeah. But it’s also incredibly fun.

He catches up to you halfway down the street, a murderous look on his face.

“What the fuck?!” He yells, trying to grab your arm. The illusion vanishes in front of him and you cackle, just a few steps ahead, hiding behind a sign for Thai Massages.

He’s at your side in a heartbeat, but he does not grab you this time.

“I can look after myself,” you tell him, still trying to catch your breath. “I’m not your kid.”

“No,” he starts, teeth grit, but he doesn’t end the sentence. If there was ever a sentence to begin with.

“Now that you’re already out and about, you can tag along, I suppose,” you offer, leading the way. “But if you need to accompany me at all times things are going to get real awkward real son. I like to go dancing sometimes too, you know. Or Karaoke. Do you do Karaoke?”

“Yes,” he grumbles. “Who doesn’t?”

“What’s your go-to song?”

He grumbles something.

“Sorry, didn’t hear you there.”

“The Allmight theme song,” he repeats, a little louder this time.

“Catchy, Good choice.” You nod.

Snooze your alarm, brush your teeth, pick your outfit, race to the bathroom.

Today’s breakfast is Miso Soup, rice, and grilled fish, the table already set for two. You take a deep breath, steel yourself for the conversation ahead.

“You need to stop this.” You say, both feet planted on the ground. “You can’t cook for me every morning.”

“I cook anyway,” Katsuki’s not looking at you, glaring holes into the coffee maker instead. “It’s not much work.”

“Still. It disrupts my routine, I’m sure it disrupts yours as well-”

“It is my routine.” He disagrees and your mouth falls open.

“You always cook for your roommate?”

“Yeah!” You don’t imagine the blush that’s now rising up and up, lighting up his cheeks. “What about it?”

“Did she break up with you?”

“What the hell?!” He bursts out. “No one broke up with me! Kirishima moved in with his Soulmate.”

“Ah. So…”

“Nothing. Sit down and eat.”

“Only if you promise to stop cooking for me. And following me around.”

“I needed to protect you.”

“You don’t need to do shit for me.”

His head swivels around at the swear word. “Surprised?” You grit out. “I’m a grown-ass woman, I can take care of myself. If I’d wanted a boyfriend, I would have gotten that.”

“I’m not your boyfriend.” He disagrees hotly.

“You act like it, though.”

Silence falls. “Fine,” he eventually huffs. “Sit down, we can talk about it.”

You send him one last glare before you slide onto the chair.

“You need to stop-”

“Breakfast or dinner.” Katsukis's voice is harsh, cutting through your sentence. “You can pick. Either or, I’m cooking for two.”

“I don’t know when I’m home.”

“Breakfast it is then.”

“No, wait-”

“Breakfast or Dinner. You decide.”

“What about neither?”

“Breakfast or Dinner.” He stabs his chopsticks into the grilled fish like it personally hurt him. “Make it quick.”

“Sheesh,” you grunt. “Fine. But if I pick breakfast you have to take me to work or I won’t make it in time.”

He nods. “I take you to work in the morning and don’t follow you in the evenings.”

“Wow. Such a huge sacrifice on your part.”

“Oh, because it’s so hard to play passenger princess?”

“Maybe it is!” You bite back. His brows furrow. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it hard to be a passenger princess?”

You snort. “It’s not that hard,” you admit. “I mean, sure, I can listen to my own music on the bus, but-”

“Send me your playlist then,” he orders. “And eat. We’re going to be late.”

“Sheesh, I’m eating, I’m eating.”

You’re home alone that evening. Katsuki didn’t leave a message when he’s going to be back, so you’re not sure what to do with yourself, sending out a tentative invite to some of your friends. Nothing much, just if they want to check out your new apartment…

A key turns in the door and you fumble your phone, trying to delete the text. You’re not ready for them to meet your new roommate just yet.

“Oh-” That’s not Katsuki in the door though. Broad shoulders, wide smile, bright red hair. “Are you the new roommate?”

“Ye-Yes, yes. I’m… are you?”

“Kirishima.” He offers his hand. “I think I left something behind. At least I can’t find it anywhere. Did you possibly see…” He blushes a pretty shade of pink. “Pink boxers? They’re my lucky ones.”

“I’ll go check if you-”

“No, no, I’ll do it myself. Bakugo is pretty intense about the laundry.”

“That too?” You ask. He halts in the doorway. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he… he insists on making breakfast.”

“Ah,” Kirishima smiles. “Yeah. He’s not… He’s not good with words. He likes to show he cares through actions, you know. If I can give you any advice, look at his actions and not at his words. That will always steer you right.”

“Th-Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

#my writing #Soulmates in Denial #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo family #bakugo angst #bakugo fluff

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kivino · 20 days

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LOST AND FOUND || ZOMBIE AU || PLATONIC PARENTAL FIGURE!SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X CHILD!READER

my masterlist

ao3 link to this fic

Word Counter – ~5.6k words

Tags/Warnings – Reader is 11-13 years old, Simon is their parental figure, and their relationship is purely platonic. Mentions of family dynamics, blood, gore, guns present; gender-neutral Reader,as per usual with my works.

Summary – You both were lost in this new world, but at least you had each other to lean on.

a/n – so uh. it’s been a minute! this is a fic i’ve been trying to finish since november of 2023, so that’s nice, lmao. i hope you guys like it! please, tell me what you think about it in the comments and enjoy the reading!

“Kid. Hey. Wake up.” You ignore the quiet mumble in your ears that interrupts your precious sleep and only mutter something unintelligible, rolling over on your side, trying to get away from the voice. “Come on, rise and shine.” You hum in protest, pulling the sleeping bag over your head and basking in its leftover warmth, that slowly slipped away into the breezy morning air. If you saw Simon right now you’d witness him rolling his eyes, despite the rapidly growing smile under his mask.

The winter was coming closer and closer each day, so obviously you preferred the company of that old sleeping bag and moth-eaten blanket stuffed inside of it to whatever outdoorsy activities were waiting for you when you had to pack up and go on your way to next place Simon had in mind. He kept pestering you about having to go south. South, south and south, that was your only direction. But you suppose it wouldn’t get any warmer if you went north, so maybe he was right. You’re not going to tell him that though. He’ll be too full of himself if you do.

“Hey there, come on. We don’t have all day.” He waits a few minutes before saying that and shaking your shoulder carefully. Still, you hear some impatience in his tone. You wouldn’t have been able to tell if you didn’t know him as well as you do now. You don’t really have any control over your body, so you try to swat his hand away, the repetitive motion just annoying you further, but then you realize you’re still stuck in that sleeping bag, and that motion only yanks you over on your other side. Damn, you hated mornings.

Simon only scoffs at this unsuccessful attempt to get rid of him. Quiet and breathy, but you hear it. His laugh is always breathy.

“Get up. I won’t carry you.” Oh, you know he will if you ask him. Nicely. Several times. He pats your shoulder and you open one eye, looking up at him, all angry and annoyed. Just like you are every other morning. You like sleeping, what can you say?

You can barely see anything besides the glint of his eyes in the cold, blueish darkness, his figure towering over yours even despite him sitting down near you. You didn’t need to see him right in front of your eyes to remember each detail of his appearance etched into your mind permanently at this point. Dark brown eyes that looked similar in color to the fresh, crumbly soil in the forest, dirty blond hair that would get too long too fast, so he’d ask you to chop it off as best as you could, and if you were to get right into his face you’d notice a line of freckles right where this eyesore of a balaclava exposes his skin.

“Do we need to get up at the ass crack of dawn each time?” you grumble, wiggling your arm out of the sleeping bag and unzipping this insulated monstrosity that made you look like an overfed caterpillar, covered in some stains that came from who knows where.

“Language.” Simon reprimands (and you can already picture his gloomy frown) while packing up your and his stuff into a giant duffel bag, with his voice sounding similar to a growl of a stray, old dog. He always reminded you of those little guys for some reason. Sad that you don’t see many of those anymore. Probably because they got eaten by those ugly undead. You try to shake off the unpleasant thought.

“Ass is not a bad word.” you return, as you roll out of the sleeping bag and start putting on the heavy worn boots over two pairs of socks that felt a bit damp to the touch. “Besides, you constantly swear, why can’t I do it too?” You were genuinely curious – it felt a bit unfair after all, that he would place some responsibilities on you, but then turn around and still treat you like a kid…which, you definitely hadn’t completely felt like one in a long, long time.

“What’s the first rule?” He asks without actually turning to you, choosing instead to start shoving bottles of water into the bag. You roll your eyes at this but comply.

“Whatever you say goes.” You grumble, while tying your shoelaces, that already started fraying on the ends…you’ll need to cut them, or just use Simon’s lighter if there is any gas left in that ancient thing. You’ll totally forget to ask him, that’s for damn sure.

“Whatever I say goes, that’s right.” He repeats with you, like it would help hammer down the thought into your mind better. Honestly, you’d rather take his sledgehammer to the head rather than go on an extensive trek through misty, damp fields with air that burned your lungs from how cold it was. “Second – once you’re grown up then you’ll say those words. Now you’re just a kid, so you can act like it. I’ll take care of all the adult stuff, which includes swearing.” Simon’s voice is so parental you could almost roll your eyes again. He’s not usually as serious, opting for light-hearted teasing instead so you guess…something might be bothering him. And if it’s true, you’d have to probably torture it out of him to find out.

Because Simon was a big-big, awfully quiet liar. He never talked much about his feelings, preferring to stay silent and listen to your constant blabbering while you two were on the road. You had to pester him for hours just to find out his surname, or what he used to do before the world went downhill. Which, you were pretty sure he lied about. Do mechanics get taught how to use knives that well? You didn’t know, but you were sure that the answer would be “no”. Simon was so secretive and quiet when he found you, barely speaking, at the time his voice reminded you of the way the school bus engine roared when a gray-haired driver drove away from your house.

You missed your old life. You wanted it back.

Slowly but surely you got used to Simon, though. He wasn’t this huge shadow, that silently followed everywhere behind you and regularly gave you heebie-jeebies anymore. Now he was a reassuring huge hand on your forearm. Or a gentle pat on the head. Like a blanket that you’d wake up in after you fell asleep while rereading the same book with your flashlight on. He said that he’d look after you until you find your parents. But you weren’t dumb, you knew that most likely, you’re never meeting them. With endless amounts of those undead things you saw, chances of them surviving seemed pretty slim. You tried not to think about it too often, because tears would inevitably start prickling at your eyes, and your nose would become runny in a blink of an eye. You wanted to bawl and cry, and scream, but then you’d remember Simon’s words.

“Don’t be loud or you’ll attract more of them”

And there was nothing more stupid than dying when you just needed a good eye-burning cry. So, you bottled it up. Of course, Simon would ask you about your parents. So many times, he would try poking and prodding as delicately as he could, and you could only visualize his attempts at subtly approaching your feelings as a polar bear trying out lace-making or embroidery. You didn’t blame him though, it felt like he was coming from a good and genuine place when he asked you all of those questions. Where did you like to go on the weekends? What did your parents do for work? What did your mom usually make for dinner? What did your dad teach you?

Then his voice would become quieter and softer, as he cradled you in his arms, warm as a damn furnace, hands gently rubbing your back as you broke down into small pieces at the memory of your parents. Your heart was tearing apart, and it hurt so bad, and it just wouldn’t stop, tears flowing like a river down your face, as you tried wiping them until your cheeks were raw. Simon would apologize profusely for bringing up your parents and making you sob your eyes out, reassuring you with an easy lie.

“We’ll find them, honey. I’m sure they’re waiting for you.”

You knew you would never find them. But for some reason, it still brought you comfort. They were waiting for you somewhere out there, didn’t matter if it was on this earth, or someplace else. So, your fingers would dig into the thick leather of Simon’s jacket, clinging closer for comfort, as your tears and snot soaked his sweater. Your parents weren’t for you here right now, but Simon was. He’d wipe off the tears off your skin, a lot more gently than you could ever do it. He’d tuck you into all the blankets you two had after you managed to calm down at least a little bit, violent shaky sobs turning into soft sighs. Simon would swipe the hair away from your face, and offer you some water to rehydrate after you cried your eyes out.

“You’re alright, kid. You’re okay. I’m here.”

And things didn’t seem so bad after you heard Simon say it. You didn’t know why he just picked you up like a lost puppy when he found you. You would’ve surely been dead by now if he didn’t, and you were thankful for whatever influenced his poor decision-making. You heard the way occasional groups you came across talked to Simon about having you with him, maybe they thought that your age also made you completely deaf and utterly stupid. And the only thing you wanted those idiots who thought you couldn’t hear them to do is get fu-

“Ready to head out, kid?” Simon shakes your shoulder snapping you out of your thoughts, with your backpack lying near your feet, instead of hanging on your shoulder. “Almost” You nod, as you pick up the bag and continue shoving your sleeping bag inside. “Hurry up, or I’ll leave without you.” Simon grunts, putting on this annoyed and grumpy front. “You wouldn’t.” You chuckle in response, finally zipping up your backpack and carelessly throwing it over your shoulders. You were sure Simon would never leave you. He wasn’t like that and you knew it.

“Careful, this is a hunting rifle, so if you hold it wrong the kickback can bruise you. Not like a handgun.” Simon corrects your stance, making sure you’re doing it just the way he’s been taught. Years ago, memories so hazy, he can barely recall that world. Almost feels like a dream, with how cloudy and unreal it looks in his mind. “Good. Now, open your mouth. Like this, alright.” Riley puts a hand with a worn glove on your lower jaw, pulling it down gently, until you feel the bones click in place. “We don’t want you walking around all woozy with ringing in your ears, right?” You nod, determined and concentrated, eyes directed at the makeshift shooting range in front of you. Simon’s palms cup your ears for added protection.

The sleepy glow of the sun played in the bottles put around the ruins of a burnt-down cabin, which stuck out of the ground like sharp scorched bones. There were also planks, big branches and other trash Simon carefully set to imitate the training ground for you. A kid’s gotta learn how to hold their own, so he put as much creativity as he could to make this hellscape into something decent. Breaking down some of the crumbling walls that turned into straight charcoal with his trusted sledgehammer, which rang like church bells each time he put it to use, covering “the shadows” burned into the floor before you spot them with your sharp eyes, and digging around for anything that can be the target for you. Anything so you can at least defend yourself when he’s…not around. For whatever reasons, that were most likely connected to getting mauled by a crowd of undead.

He keeps thinking about it. Simon can’t escape these thoughts.

That sooner or later he won’t be there to protect you. To laugh with you. To heat up your food and flick your nose for your dumb jokes, wrap you up in a blanket and give you a boost so you could climb the fence with ease. The more death and ruin brought by endless waves of undead you both see, the more it haunts him, like bloodhounds following his trail all over the country, sniffing out every single footstep and campground. And he’s sure it’s dragging behind your thoughts too, affecting the way you see world.

Simon won’t be there to see how you turn out. He knew it, felt it in his bones even. But that was the price he’d pay for deciding to raise you. Like a contract Riley signed with his own hand the say he saw you with your eyes swollen from crying. Simon won’t be there to see how all this bloodshed influences you, if it’ll break you like a fragile, ceramic vase, or temper, like good, reliable steel. He had hoped that this harsh world would make the latter out of you, but he wouldn’t blame you if you were to just…give up. It wasn’t easy out there. Especially if you’d end up alone.

Simon kept thinking about all of those endless groups that you two have been through on your way south. How inevitably, when you two would settle in a for a little while he’d have folk coming up to him for a talk. How he’d see those pitiful, sad looks in their eyes for him - a single father raising a kid in a world that has gone to shit eons ago. How someone’s hand would rest on his shoulder, fruitlessly trying to reassure him, meanwhile hiding even more heart-crushing sadness in the pair of dull, lifeless eyes.

And what he hears is a variety of voices, along with an array of faces that didn’t match any names he could recall. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to make them follow you?” whispers a woman with tight curls and a scar across her cheek. “They’re just a kid, and you drag them around with you?” accuses an older missus with a knitted scarf. “It must be rough out there” mumbles an older gentleman with a rasp that suggested he enjoyed the company of tobacco more than the company of people back in the day. “You won’t be able to defend them if you continue on like this” sighs a man with deep canyons of wrinkles racking through his greyish skin. Quiet and heartbroken. Speaking from his own experience. A father. And Simon believed that voice.

And that trust is what caused him so much doubt now, when there was no turning back on caring for you. He knew it will end badly. For either or both of you. But Simon would never hand you over to anyone, unless it was your wish to leave him. You were his blood now. His kid. That would never change, in a thousand of years.

BANG. Simon’s ears start ringing, one of his palms now rests on your shoulder as he points towards one of the bottles and squints his eyes to see better in the distance.

“Good job. See? You shot the neck off.” His gloved finger points at the accurately shot bottle and pride swells in his chest. Simon hopes you turn out to be a good shot. You’ll need that.

Almost the whole day passed with the two of you on the road, shuffling through the dead leaves, varying in the hues of brown and grey, yet it still felt like Simon was drowning in his own thoughts like some damn quicksand. And the more he tried to distract himself with some mundane, routine questions of where to find food, shelter, and water he just kept circling back to those doubts, sinking down, deeper into the unwelcoming depth and the unknown.

Even now, when you two finally stopped for the night, tent already set up near the neat, small fire that you managed to make thanks to instructions Simon gave you ages ago, he just sat there, silent. Head heavy with worry, eyelids burning from observing the fire too close, it didn’t matter anymore. Simon was sure his figure was that of an undead right now – round-shouldered and tired. One more similarity between him and those…creatures. Simon was sure that if he wasn’t on leave when all of this shit went down, he would’ve been one of the first people to go. And he didn’t like the quiet, nagging thought that he would’ve preferred that.

That thought dissipates into the thin air the moment he slightly turns his head and sees you in your blanket pulled up to your ears, eyes owlishly staring into the darkness, where you could hear cricket’s song and shuffles of small rodents in the short, dry grass and layers of leaves. If he wasn’t alive you probably wouldn’t have been either. Weird stinging in his chest became even more intense when he looked at you. Life has a weird sense of humor.

Simon wanted to avoid being a father or a parental figure for as long as he could, preferably for his whole life. Being made into a killing machine, a mindless weapon to get rid of the enemy by any means wouldn’t make for a great father material, he figured. He also lacked the necessary emotional vulnerability to meet anyone who’d want to bear his child and stay with him. So, he never tried. Not that he thought he was missing out on something – he felt alright as he was, plus who wanted the responsibility that came with raising another human being? It was never as easy as just keeping a pet or a potted plant, if you fuck up it would take you years to find that out. Possibly through your own blood and flesh going no contact on you and deciding not to reconcile ever.

And despite how much Simon hated the thought, he was his father’s son. It would be too arrogant to assume he’ll be a good parent, if his own fucked him up so much. Simon heard all of these things about “ending the circle of abuse” but he would rather end himself if he ever remotely resembled the monster that was responsible for bringing him into this world.

But for that poor kid, eyes wide from terror, hands hugging their own body, trembling and terrified when he had found them a little less than a year ago, he was willing to try, even if it cost him his life.

“Something’s wrong with you.” He hears your quiet, but confident remark. Your eyes glimmer in the light of the fire, focused and attentive. For a moment it felt like there was no escape from your gaze and many questions hiding behind it.

“You don’t have to worry about me, kid.” Simon waves his palm, almost dismissively, but he doesn’t mean any harm. You have enough on your plate already, being a kid during the end of the world. There is no point for you to trouble yourself with his fears and doubts.

“That’s what you always say. Yet you keep making that face when you think I can’t see you” Instinctively, man’s hand reached out to touch his jaw, and when his fingers could only feel the rough, dirty fabric, a slight sigh of relief was torn out of his lips. Though right now, one would think it was his way to express annoyance. It wasn’t quite the case though.

“But you can’t see it.” Simon says with a lighthearted rise in his voice.

“Well, I see the eyes. What are you thinking about?” Stubborn as always. Well, if you were so curious then he has to tell you at least something, right? Been a long time since the two of you had a heart to heart talk with each other. Still, there was a reluctance deep in Simon’s heart. It was unfair that you had to grow up like this. Among walking corpses and ravaging beasts instead of people surrounding you around every corner.

“About how I want you to be able to protect yourself. That good enough answer?” Simon quietly barks, not intending to sound strict, but failing at it miserably. “Now go to sleep. We’re rising early tomorrow” Simon cuts the conversation short rather bluntly, not fond of the idea of sharing more than necessary.

He doesn’t want to tell you about all those nightmares where you scream in agony, torn apart by the undead, innards spilling onto the cold floor, teary eyes looking at him and begging for help, reaching for him, dirty fingers with blood under your nails looking to claw at something to relieve you of at least a sliver of the immense pain shooting through you.

“You’re an ass” You give a firm verdict, turning around and crawling towards the tent, seemingly ready to finally reunite with your sleeping bag and doze off. Your blanket drags behind you over the ground, until Simon quickly reaches out and carefully drapes it over your shoulders again.

“Well, the company you keep.” The man barely contains the laughter at the offended expression you give him after turning your neck so fast that Simon can almost hear your vertebrae cracking from such sudden movement.

“Hey!”

“And what did I tell you about swearing?” Riley immediately reminds you, raising his eyebrow, and you could swear that if you gave him a moment, he’d cross his arms over his chest like suburban soccer mom with a bad bob. Maybe he’ll call a manager after that…

“Sorry.” You mumble to the side, before disappearing in the tent and only hearing a low gruff in response:

“Much better.”

“Now, remember what I told you? In and out, quick and quiet. Whatever there is, don’t pick a fight.” He told you before going in to look for supplies in that hospital. Before the two of you climbed the fence (somehow still mostly intact after almost a year of it not being used and upkept like you would a normal hospital), then crawling up the rusty and unsteady fire escape, which Riley helped you climb, naturally.

Simon wasn’t a fool, not by any extension of the word. He also did not consider himself reckless, at least not to the point of endangering others with his recklessness. He knew that the hospital would be the prime place for a horde of walkers, but the rapidly dwindling supplies (along with your cough and stuffy nose that were getting worse by the day; it was a mystery to him, how you were not yet feverish) and the dangers the not well-scouted area for you were too much. So, he decided it’s better if you keep close to him.

He should’ve taken more time, should’ve been more careful, should’ve investigated the building beforehand, like he always does. Simon thought it would be okay. He knew the kid could handle dozens upon dozens of corpses littering the floor, turning to dust in patient rooms and locked up in medical staff rooms; for so many months they’ve seen only death and decay around. Riley knew that the (most likely) overflowing morgue would be off-limits, not only because of undead activity, but also because of the toxic (once again, most likely) expired chemicals there.

Simon could’ve made it another teaching moment for you, sharing telltale signs of undead presence, besides the smells and the sounds that can be concealed by weather. The undead always leave traces, whether their dulled (or absent) conscience is aware of it or not.

Simon could’ve done so much to prevent this. But he just didn’t. His worst fucking nightmare turned reality in a matter of seconds and he could not do shit about it.

He barely heard anything while rummaging through the supply cabinets in the room right behind what probably once was a nurse station. Which was weird. He always heard everything. He had left you to keep guard near the entrance to the room, because as much as Riley trusted you, it was probably safe to assume that he knew what kind of drugs to take better than a prepubescent teen. Next thing he knew when he looked outside of the door – the undead flooded the corridor and you were nowhere to be seen. His heart dropped, nothing but concern and pure terror in his mind. A sudden ringing in his ears deafened him for a moment.

You could be dead for all he knew. Torn apart by the undead, begging for your life, bloody and crying, or with your neck broken, from the attempt to escape from one of the windows that was not boarded up, or bitten and left to the terrors of this sickness that will eat you alive in no time. Replacing his poor kid you with a decaying husk, bearing your eyes and your face. It would be extremely dangerous and foolish to attempt looking for you. Downright idiotic.

Good thing his father always called him an idiot, because he won’t leave without finding you. Alive or…otherwise.

Simon had to time to plan everything out, every second contributed to whether you’re walking out of here, or being carried out the building by him. He swung the door open, ready to take the fight head-on.

The smell of the hospital alone was enough to make his eyes tear up. You nor him could ever get used to it, no matter how often you stumbled upon that smell – rotting, nauseatingly sweet, fleshy and suffocating. It was even worse when the undead who emanated this stench stumbled through the corridor towards him. The mask was not helping much.

Riley could not help that primal irrational part of his mind from taking over, it was hard not to, when someone you cherish so deeply is possibly in grave danger. Almost every movement was precise and short, nothing but pure instincts, reflexes and muscle memory taking the ownership of his mind.

He was on the battlefield once again.

Fast jab, swing, push, step, crush, dash, push, swing, crush, jab, shove, swing, crush; it all flowed into one monotonous dance macabre, low hum of something dark puppeteering Simon’s limbs. He could feel that familiar buzz of satisfaction in his head with every skull shattered either by his heavy boots or with the pleasantly heavy sledgehammer. Each kill bringing Simon closer to you, and you – closer to complete safety within these walls. He promised himself that he won’t have to do…all this anymore. But if it meant unceremoniously grabbing you from the embrace of death, he was willing to let himself loose a million times more, until his hands are stained by blood forevermore.

The worry and pure terror for you took over him completely, his heavy blows kept landing wherever there was even the slightest movements and he did not stop. Simon’s hands did not tremble even for a single second. Covered head to toe in guts and rotted, sticky blood, he was more beast than man, shoulders rising and falling, heavy breaths drawn through the several dirty layers of cloth on his face filling him even further with the urgency, with hurry and the continuous urge to maim and kill anything that threatened your and his possible survival.

Because what was Simon, if you, the only thing he carefully and lovingly put all his remaining humanity into, were not here anymore? It was all that would be left of him, if you…

Nevermind. Simon shouldn’t be thinking like that. But how can he not, when he’s been warned all these times that, given some time, one of you will die, protecting another? What else was he supposed to think when day and night the only thing he was worried about was if he was a good enough father to you, or if you would be better off under the care of anybody else, who’s just…not him?

The metal of Riley’s sledgehammer was filthy with brain matter, skin and hair, and his clothes heavy with blood soaking them through and through. He could not comprehend how he was not bitten yet. Line of decaying corpses kept trailing him like a wicked serpent through the stuffy corridors of the hospital.

Until finally Simon saw a familiar pair of eyes looking right at him through the filthy glass of a storage room.

You were terrified out of your mind, shaking and crying, not only because you thought you were going to be torn apart just mere moments ago. There were more possibilities – if it were not for the rotten, jagged teeth finding you, Simon would’ve found you and be furious at you for being a reckless idiot and almost getting yourself killed, running away like that in an unexplored area (even though he never screamed at you in all this time you spent together, and even if he did, that would only attract more undead). Or, worst case scenario, you’d just find Simon’s body somewhere in the hospital, being gnawed on by several undead, coppery, vile smell in the air. You knew that chances of you walking away without losing something were razor-thin.

Yet here he was. Some irrational part of you was convinced he’d yell at you, hit you, throw something at you putting the safety in no regard. You flinched, feeling you body shake against the cold floor. A second passed and the giant of a man swooped you into a bone-crushing embrace, shushing you and slowly rocking you in his arms. You felt more sobs bubble inside of your throat, when you hear him murmur reassurances into your ear.

“It’s alright, kid, I’m here. I’m right here.” His voice is coarse and rough, but so utterly familiar, you feel like you’re being wrapped in a warm blanket when dad Simon talks. To hell with being stubborn and independent. You don’t to leave him ever again.

“I’m so…so sorry, Simon” you managed to get out, violent sobs interrupting your words. “I didn’t, didn’t want to lead them to you…” Because that would entrap both of you with the undead that flooded the hallway much too quickly, his mind finished the thought that you were not able to articulate in your deep emotional distress. “I tried, I tried…”

Simon’s heart shattered.

He was silent for seconds that stretched akin to hours. Pressing your face into the soaked shoulder of his rough jacket that smelled like smoke and the undead, you had no idea that Simon’s eyes were glistening with tears as well. You felt his hand gently stroking your head, attempting to soothe you to the best of his abilities.

“Shhh, I know, I know. You did you best. You did good, kid. You did good.” The way dad Simon said it made the hot tears pour down from your eyes even stronger, like a sudden storm in the middle of a summer day.

“I was so-, so- scared, I-I thought you were going to be so mad at me.” You whole body trembled with every shaky breath that you took and Simon did not fail to notice that, his arms closing around you even tighter, which you only welcomed, clinging onto him like he was your lifeline.

“Please, don’t be scared. Why would I be mad at you?” Riley’s voice is so painfully soft and quiet. He came for you. He could’ve left, but he came for you. It dawned on you, how easily you could’ve lost each other in these minutes spent apart, and your fingers clawed into the bloodied fabric even harder.

“I-I don’t know…”

For a split second, you thought you felt Simon’s giant stature shake around you with a barely audible noise that reminded you of a sob. Simon pulled away, his big palms still resting on your shoulders, grounding you, reminding that everything is alright and the both of you are alive.

“Dry your tears, kid. It’s going to be alright.” You could see the corners of his eyes crease in a smile, moisture still shining in them, and you could feel the tears burn your own eyes once again. You, however, tried your best to put on a brave face, not wanting him to see you cry even more than you already did. You reached with your hands to rub your eyes in exasperation. The man, instead, delicately started wiping off your tears with his blood-stained fingers, not even realizing that he was making things worse. But you didn’t care. Simon was here for you. That’s all that mattered in this moment.

Silence felt like it lasted forever until you opened your mouth and quietly asked for only one thing:

“Promise you won’t leave me. Ever.”

Good God, your voice sounded sad. Simon did not respond at first. He knew he couldn’t make promises like that, but the guilt and all these unbearable thoughts of losing you just moments ago got to his rationality, making it absolutely useless. If it meant you’d be willing to stay a kid a little while longer, he was ready to make a false promise he would never be able to fulfill.

“I promise, kid.”

Maybe someday you’ll lose each other to the horrors of this world, lurking beyond what any living soul can perceive. But it won’t be today.

check out my masterlist for more fics or send me a request/comment!

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meo-eiru · 1 month

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Hi ^^ just have a quick question :>

I really want to make some fan art of Elias and my Oc and wanted to know if that was okay?

And if I can, I just wanted to know what his colour palette is? I saw that he has like, light pink hair but I have no idea what colour his eyes are. I don't remember the exact color but I think I saw somewhere that it was like maybe a little purple and blue?? Or green and blueish??

Thank you^^/

You don't have to ask go ahead and draw :D!

For his eyes I was imagining a darkish blue and for his hair this type of color:

This person actually drew a pretty accurate version of him

#asks #elias #yandere pretty boyfriend

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daystud · 3 months

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Ive noticed an evolution from THH characters' designs to V3 to newer Kodaka games'

THH's cast looks warm and toned down and soft while the school setting is flashy and creepy

SDR2's cast is colorful, has thick lines and has a more cartoonish feel

V3 has eye catching designs but the cold light coloring and angular features make the vibe more unsettling and depressing (ive seen various fangames replicate this style)

Tribe Nine, Rain Code and Hundred Line definitely follow V3's artstyle prolly for Komatsuzaki's evolution through the years. His older artworks although already iconic and recognizable: dynamic lines, strong character presence, weird anatomy, clothes that look they havent been ironed since the 1800s and semirealistic coloring (Im not a digital artist but basically he sketches in b&w first), they looked like they had a constant sepiatone filter, maybe its the scans' quality. Nowadays he uses a clear blueish tint which makes the characters look like theyre in a constant sci fi setting and it shows in the upcoming game as well.

Not to mention Kodaka's characters are starting to get more and more twinkish through the years but i'm not complaining.

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bandgie · 1 year

Text

Predator & Prey

a/n: 6th and FINAL chapter omg

warnings: somno, fire, biting, blood, dark thoughts from Nyryx, one degrading word said (whore), uhh I think that's it

6.8k words gyyaattttt

Maybe it was your nerves, but you wake up just as the birds start chirping. You could fell Nyryx solid beneath you, his chest softly heaving as he slept. You laid on top of him, your own personal bed. You felt bad that he slept on the cold ground, but his calm, neutral expression showed that he didn't care much. His wings were wrapped around you, keeping the heat in. You smiled.

You gently picked your head up, looking at the early morning sky. There was faint pinkish color against the blueish heavens. It had been so long since you woke up so early. You rarely admire the beauty in the waking sun, but against the snowflakes and cold, white powder makes you cherish the sight.

Though you could easily fall back to sleep, especially with Nyryx under you, you don't. It's your first time being awake before Nyryx. When you traveled in the woods, he would be the one to wake you. It's a weird gift you've been granted on your last morning with him, and you're going to take advantage of it.

You looked back at him, loving how soft his features looked. Nyryx usually had a frown, or contemplating look, but there are no traces of hard lines. Instead his eyebrows are relaxed, mouth slightly open, and eyes closed with long lashes to compliment him. He sleeps peacefully, as though neither of you had sent a village ablaze only hours ago.

Your fingers reach up to trace his details. His skin was a little rough in your fingertips, but you still smiled as you felt him. Nyryx didn't stir in his sleep when you played his with lips, but his nose did twitch. You help back a laugh at the cute movement, instead trailing your hand to his cheeks. You decided to travel a little more down and place your hand on the side of his neck.

You rubbed your hand up and down, and without meaning to, your hips followed the movement. You really didn't mean to touch him with any sexual intent, but you just adore the way he feels under you; How still and compliant his is, another gift you've been given this morning.

You slowly adjust so your knees are on the cold ice below you, straddling him. You shiver when you make contact with the ground, the snow almost burning on your skin. Ignoring it, you shuffle so that you scoot down just barely, face lined with his chest. His wings move unconsciously, allowing you more movement. You kiss his chest in gratitude.

Nyryx doesn't move while you trail your kisses downward, hands holding his sides for balance. You would think such a killer would be on high alert even when asleep. Instead it's you that moves in a predatory way, stalking and slyly moving down his body.

Is this how he feels? You wonder as you take advantage of his unconscious state. Nyryx is the one who's supposed to take you like this, asleep and unaware. You're filled with excitement as you think of your reversal of roles. He must feel a power trip as he hovers over his prey, similar how he is to you right now.

When you reach his trousers, you stop. You're shaking, most likely from the cold, but also from the adrenaline in your veins. If he wakes, you don't know how he'll react. Would he be upset? Mad that you succumbed to your horny feelings? That you bested him in a game he plays most well? Or would he be happy? Would he like that surprise you woke him up with?

After all, this is like breakfast in bed for him.

Coming to your conclusion, you carefully free him of his pants. Pulling down just enough for his semi-hard dick to come out. It's less intimidating seeing him softer than usual. You have a lot more confidence this time when you take the tip of him into your mouth. He's salty, it makes your mouth water on instinct to dilute the taste. After what seems like forever, he moved. Legs opening a little wider to give you more access.

You stick your tongue out in the underside of his dick, tongue messily licking while you sucked on him. It didn't take much effort for Nyryx to grow exponentially, hardening in your mouth with a soft groan. You pull away and stroke him a few times, ignoring how cold your body is getting from being away from him.

You fear for a moment if the wetness between your legs can freeze, but you'll make sure to fix that before you have the chance to find out. Though the outside of your body is burning cold, your insides are burning hot. You swear your arousal alone could warm your entire body, but you'd rather have some of Nyryx's help.

You engulf him in your mouth again, bobbing your head to get some action going. Your hands aren't gentle anymore, they grip at his waist almost possessively. Your rough touch must wake him up at some point, but instead he continues to lie there. His body jolting when you suck his tip harshly, how you move your tongue down to lick his balls, the way your throat closes around him when you gag.

You can feel the spit dribbling down your chin, the saliva that coats your hand when your stroke when you can't fit in your mouth. You can't help but move your whole body when you take him, hips grinding on nothing but cold air. You pop him our of your mouth and you swear you hear him whine when you do.

You shiver as you sit up, discarding your pants and underwear when you do. Before you take your place back on his lap, you place your clothes on a rock near the almost dead fire. You don't want to be sticky having to put cold, wet underwear back on.

Once you finish, you scramble to sit on his lap. The morning cold is almost unbearable, but you're glad there's no wind at least. You take a good look at Nyryx's sleeping face, how it's not contort in what seems like impatience. You grab his hardness again, this time lining it up with you pussy.

You know it would be painful to take him in one sit. Nyryx always made sure to get your cunt doodling before you took him, but now that's all up for you do to yourself. So, despite the want and need you ache for, you grind on his cock. It's weird at first, how his hands are limp besides him, wings fluttering besides you as you hump his dick. Still, you find some disgusting satisfaction with you in control, with you on top.

Maybe you aren't as much of prey Nyryx thinks you are.

You hear the slickness of your pussy as you grind on him, looking down to the strings of essence that connects your bodies. You moan at the sight, giving you motivation to keep using him. After all, you are supposed to be teaching him self control. Who knows? Maybe this is the perfect way for him to get his meal.

You rub your clit on his tip, gasping at the feeling. You could feel every vein and even the crown of his head as you grind on him. You bite your lower lip to keep from moaning loudly, but it's more difficult that you originally thought. You're panting, legs starting to get sore from rutting against him. Still, the heat in your stomach encourages you further.

Your legs tremble as you approach your release, wet sounds emulating from beneath you. You find the strength to look at him, unbelievable seeing his eyes still closed. He has to be faking it at this point. He can't still be sleeping with your wetness on his thighs, his dick. How aggressively you're humping and even smacking your pussy on him.

Your body tenses, your orgasm threatening to spill out of you just before you decide to sit up, pulling away from his dick. You shake and tremble from your self edging, almost curing yourself for not finishing. It doesn't matter though, you would much rather cum with him inside you.

You wobbly adjust so you're actually hovering over him, his tip already leaking from the edging. Nyryx's fists ball up and and relax, body trembling as he fights to keep from thrusting into you in his sleep. Though you're now 100% sure he's not really sleeping. You're quick to catch him briefly open his eyes before he shuts them again. You laugh.

"Nyrryyyxx..." you teasingly sing his voice softly. He pretends not to hear you though, instead keeping his eyes closed and lifting his hips to let you know that you should get back to business. It only makes you laugh more at his eagerness. You reach down and grab the base of his dick, shoving his tip in.

You purposely do it slow, feeling every crevasse and vessel his dick as to offer. You love his irritated face, how he looks at you between his lashes. Though you're completely aware of his consciousness, he maintains his sleep like state. Staying (kind of) still and moaning softly as you push him halfway through inside you.

"I know you're awake, you don't have to pretend," you tell him. Despite being this close to his body, you're freezing. The sun is finally over the horizon, but it's far too early in the day for it to give any actual warmth. "I'm cold," you comment to him. You think it will make him break. Have him wrap his arms or wings around you to shield you.

Instead, he smiles, fangs poking out, "Sit on my cock properly and I'll reward you." You're stunned by his morning voice, how deep and gravely is sounds. Perhaps it's also because you're teasing him with the one thing that gives him life, but that's just a theory.

You push him deeper as you exhale, eyes rolling back at the painful stretch. You can feel yourself fully sit on him, ass to his thigh before he finally lift his wings up. Nyryx quickly wraps then around you, forcing you down on his chest for more heat. You moan at his warmth, inside and outside of you. He lets you adjust to the new position before he thrusts upwards gently.

You whimper, burying your head into his neck from the deep angle. In this position, you're also able to rub your clit on his pelvis. Nyryx also uses his hands to snake around your waist, using is was leverage to fuck up into you.

You bite down in his neck, desperate to not make any noise, but Nyryx is displeased with this. "Louder prey, I wish for the birds to sing your moans." His voice holds authority, and you obey. You had been forced to keep quiet with Nyryx in the spare room, but now there is no one to stop that. Only the trees and morning animals will keep your secret.

You let yourself moan with no restraint when he resumes. Nyryx is loud with his grunt, but they're drowned by the slapping of his skin on yours. All you can do is take it as you entire body is jolted by his movements. Drool pours from your lips when you feel him kiss your cervix, so so deep inside you.

Nyryx doesn't hold back in any aspect. You think he was treating you gently compared to now. He doesn't let the snow under him affect his fucking, not the early morning you woke him up at, not your loud moaning in his ear, nothing. Nyryx is still careful to not accidentally stab you with his talons, they're dangerously close to your stomach and trapped under his wings.

He could easily nick you, tear your pretty flesh open and watch you paint the snow red. Hurting you never gives him pleasure, he hates your sorrowful cries from his doings. It doesn't stop him from taking pleasure in the danger though. Your life is in his hands, literally. He could easily take everything from you. Nyryx could keep you from your world, your family. He could have you every second of the day just by threatening you with his power. He could consume your lust, fear, hatred, every emotion your body has to offer.

Nyryx hates how his thoughts turn wicked, how easy it is to make his delusions a reality. Your pleasureful moans though, pull him out. Goosebumps cross his skin as you cry, waking up every animals that still slumbers. He can feel you twitching, gushing out more lubrication when he reaches down to grasp your ass. He shoves you even harder on his cock. you swear you see stars from the deep penetration.

You're supposed to be teaching him control, but instead he's using you like a cocksleeve. You don't think he noticed that he was also drooling, his eyes turning scary wild as he keep his eyes past you, looking at your bouncing hips. He was mumble something, your name occasionally leaving his lips. You thought he was moaning or praising you, but he almost seemed in a trance.

You grew curious and slightly worried, but all you could was whine when he pushed you deeper on him, gushing your cream all over his cock. His dick must be painted white like the snow that surrounds you, but neither of you will ever know. Not when he keeps fucking into you and spreading your essence between you both.

Your mouth falls open and your eyes roll back, the noises that leave you are inhumane. Probably even a turn off, but Nyryx takes pride in your moans. You can feel the coil in your stomach, the tingling sensation near your thighs. Nyryx and his creamy cock are quick to notice your closeness, holding you tighter against him so that you could fully feel your clit being rubbed.

You're a babbling mess, not even bothering to properly kiss Nyryx back. All there is between your lips are spit, drool, and clashing teeth. The heat in your stomach builds, almost unbearably before you come crashing down. You sob loudly, feeling your orgasm drip down out of your pussy onto his cock again. Nyryx still beneath you, letting your twitching body come down from your high.

Your cunt is clutching him so tightly, Nyryx couldn't move even if he wanted to. It's not until you go limp against him he decides to move again. It's long before he hears your protests, your whines for him to wait. "Please Nyryx," you gasp. "I-fuucckkkk-you slow down please." Nyryx is riddled with guilt, but your pleas are so beautiful. He wants to keep ignoring you just to hear them more.

Against his primal desires he stops, almost cursing himself. "Just a little longer, prey," he whispers in your ear. "Let me have you." You moan at his words, your sensitive pussy aching for you to listen to him despite the one being abused. You bite your lower lip, eyes meeting his.

Nyryx looks so desperate, so fucked out. You forget that he also goes insane when you fuck, it's unfair for you to use him like you did earlier while not letting him get the same. You nod, eyes dropping to his lips you want to taste so bad. "Okay, but kiss me please," you agree.

Nyryx accepts your terms and condition immediately, tongue slipping in the same time his dick pounds into you. You cry into his mouth, moans unconfined. You can feel how the same pussy that was crying for him ram into it also cry for him to take it out. You don't know how you can take it, the feeling of his cock was too much to bear. Maybe you can't in a way, Maybe it's why you can't help the salty tears you taste on your own lips, the way your hips try to escape his deathly grip.

It doesn't take long for him to resume his violent thrusts, his tip touching the deepest parts of you. Nyryx doesn't stop kissing you, even opting to lick your tears and consume you in anyway he can. He snarls against your lips, a clear indiction of how close he's getting. He's sloppy now, uncaring of how hard he bounces you on him to meet his thrusts. You can taste the sweat on his skin, how it drips and mangles with your kiss, if you can call it that.

Your body trembles from overstimulation. You can feel how your stickiness has completely coated your lower body parts, including his. "Nyryx come, please please I need it," you beg. You do want to feel him come inside, but you also want it to end. You don't want to spray your essence all over the place again. You can't stand the thought.

"Shit, please. Baby I need it so bad, don't stop don't stop," you let a pet name slip you. You're not even sure if he understands the term of endearment, but Nyryx seems to enjoy your dirty talk regardless. "Is that so?" He taunts. "Want my seed deep inside. You are a lucky whore, I don't give it to just anyone."

Nyryx uses you like a rag doll, your body a mere vessel for him to use as he cums. His moan in so animalistic, the bids near by take flight. His warm ropes find their way deep inside you, it fills you to the brim. You moan with him, matching his heavy breathing. Your chests rise and fall together, your bodies in harmony.

Riding out his orgasm, Nyryx gives you a few more thrusts. They're much softer this time, almost lovingly in how he caresses your body. Rather than pulling out, Nyryx let's his cock stay inside you to soften. You're more than happy to comply, feeling your walls envelope him in a wet, warm blanket for him to snuggle in.

Though you both had woken up not too long ago, you were drained. The previous night was cruel, both in sleep and wakefulness. You yawned against Nyryx chest, ignoring the voice that screamed at you to stay awake. To spend every waking moment with Nyryx before night fall came. Your body had different plans though, his seemed to as well. He moved his hand from your ass to tilt your head up, looking at your sleepy eyes.

He placed a tender kiss on your lips, pulling away before either of you could deepen it further. "Rest now prey, you have a journey ahead of you."

The remaining day is spent with Nyryx inside you the moment you woke up again. It didn't matter the position, the location, or the weather. He loved being in your mouth, he learned. The feeling of you gagging around him, your dull nails digging into his thighs when he pushed too far 'accidentally.' The best part, however, was when you cried. The silent tears mixing with your spit and his arousal in your mouth. Despite the blissful, almost eager look in your face you still wept.

Not that he cared of course, Nyryx would pull you up to him by your neck. He would kiss you harshly, moaning into your mouth from all the liquids mixed together. He didn't even have to cum from you sucking him off of fucking you, he could lick your sobs away and finish in his trousers.

Though you also loved choking around his cock, you preferred riding him. Sure it was a lot more work (and he would do most of the thrusting anyway), but it was a great way to act like you were in control. The feeling of sinking all the way down on it, being able to maneuver your body so that you could hit all the right parts, the brutal grip on your ass, it was euphoric.

Not to mention how he realized his tail could wrap around your body, giving your clit harsh or soft rubs while his hands stayed on your hips. It was a great way to not only keep balance, but multitask on pleasing you in every way possible. You both loved the view as well. How Nyryx's face would twist in pleasure, his sharp teeth being revealed behind his lips, his dark eyes eating you up in the most vile way.

Nyryx's eyes couldn't leave your body, not when you bounced on him like that. As though you were chasing your own pleasure, that it was the only way you could live despite him being the incubus. Not to mention your tits, how they bounced and pebbled at the cold air around you. It was a fortunate circumstance that Nyryx could produce inhuman heat, and keep his wings around your body so you would stay sick-free.

You didn't feel hungry, completely satisfied with the amount of cum Nyryx poured into your belly. Maybe it was because you just simply didn't have an appetite, you didn't want to waste your time with Nyryx by eating. That didn't seem important to you, not when the demonic being was on top, hips driving into you roughly. You could feel the cold snow on your back, but it was actually soothing on your hot skin.

You were gasping for air, moans spilling out of your mouth when he grabbed your hips to wrap around his waist. With your ass off the ground, it gave Nyryx a better angle to drive into you, dick practically pushing through your cervix. He was going to bruise you for sure, but Nyryx was determined to leave you full of marks. I want you to remember these, he told you. His hips slowed for a second, fingers trailing your purpling skin. Even when you will have left me, these will stay.

Nyryx knows he shouldn't, he knows he should send you back without any suspicion of where you've been. The aftermath of two worlds colliding would be far worse than the humans hunting him, far worse than anything both of your worlds have endured. Still, he can't help himself. Not when you seem more than willing to let him claim you, inside and out.

Nyryx's dipped one of his hands down to your pussy, fingers playing and rubbing on your sopping folds. You arched your back even more, clamping down on his dick. You cried out at this over stimulation, body shaking from the painful gratification he gave you. Nyryx groaned at your tightness, his torso leaning down to place hot kisses on your face. He didn't care if he got your mouth multiple times, only that he got his lips on your flesh.

It was disgusting really, the horrifying way you were crying. Like you were being murdered, like the incubus above you was taking advantage of you as he's supposed to. It didn't help that your hips instinctively tried to get away from him, jolting and pulling away from his own. You gave thanks for the snow and trees drowning out your sound, eating the way you sobbed and the way Nyryx ate you.

When Nyryx came, it was anything but devilish. He looked angelic, his loud moans in your ear, his dominating grip, the convulsing of his body. You took him all, your pussy drinking his release happily. You quivered beneath him, whispering his name like a chant. Nyryx kissed your neck sloppily, ignoring the way you cried when he clamped his teeth harshly on your sensitive skin.

You were tired, so tried that you didn't notice Nyryx laying you down down on the snow. You couldn't feel the burning cold, but you could see Nyryx rushing to grab clothes, your clothes. Wordlessly, he began dressing you. Each leg, one by one through the warm pants. Then to your arm, carefully placing them into the long sleeves before pulling it down your stomach. He reach for your shoes, struggling on the laces before he gave up.

By the time he was done, you realized why he was dressing you. The sun had began going down. The moon was beginning to shine, not to its fullest, but a reminder of the power it was grant Nyryx. A part of you felt like you wasted the day, fucking into oblivion. You should have spoken with him instead, telling him how much you'll miss him, his world, what could have been.

Yet, when Nyryc picked you up, carrying you in the way he liked most, you realized you did communicate to him, and he to you. How his body moved against yours, how you met his thrusts restlessly, the way you kissed, the feeling of not being close enough despite him being in the deepest parts of you. Maybe you didn't talk through words, but you've always been told that the sword is mightier than the pen.

In this case, the sword was very mighty.

You let him walk through the woods, going deeper than what you expected. The trees once beautiful in white became eerily close, as if they were whispering when you walked by. They became tangled within each other, not even the birds dared to rest of their branches. "Where are we going?" you didn't bother hiding the fear in your voice as you asked.

Nyryx kissed your forehead soothingly, taking notice of the quiver in your voice and the increase in your heat beat. "We should be out of sight, no where near humans. If they see what I can conjure, there will be no stopping in the hunt for me. For the others of my kind," Nyryx speaks slowly, as if he's carefully you understand that he doesn't intend on scaring you. It's for both of your safety.

You nod, releasing a breath you didn't realize you were holding. Nyryx walked for a long time, filing the silence with questions you didn't expect him to ask. He ranged from asking about your family, if you also worked at a bar back at your world, what Easter was and why boiled eggs was so important. Despite being with Nyryx for over 2 weeks, it was one of the first (and last) times he asked you about your personal life.

It was cute of him, being curious about your life. You answered him happily, occasionally complaining about your troubles that he couldn't help but laugh at. Nyryz wasn't necessarily the talkative type, opting to listen and only really talk when it was naughty. This however, made you recognize that he was nervous. He was just as anxious as you. Nyryx didn't want you to leave, didn't want to say goodbye and never see him again.

Despite being satanically bred, he had obvious human emotions.

The stars were bright in the sky, and you recalled the night in the bathtub, how bright they shone there too. When Nyryx found a spot he deemed worthy, he set you down gently. You sat on a near by rock, dusting off the snow. Just a few feet in front of you, stood two trees. Their roots wrapped around each other as did their branches. The only opening was between their trunks, like a passage way. You knew that on the other side was more snow and more trees, you could see it under the starry sky.

Still, you felt the chill on your spine, the tremble of your legs. It was ghostly, almost, the way the trees ominously intertwined with each other. You looked away, rubbing your neck to feel some type of warmth and settle your uneasiness.

"Is this the portal?" You asked as you kept your eyes down at the snow. Nyryx was clearing the fallen sticks and branches from the ground, seemingly unaffected by the sinister atmosphere. "Yes, it's quite the eye catcher, no?" He smiled. Nyryx could taste your fear, and it was tempting to play into, but he held back. He wouldn't want you leaving pissed off at him.

Instead, Nyryx busied himself with work. He stomped on the uneven snow, attempting to make a steady runway for you to walk on. He gathered his found sticks into 3 piles, small enough to fit into his large hands. You picked your head up, curious at what he was doing. Nyryx paid no attention to your stare, instead taking deep breaths to hone into his energy.

He stood at a distance from his piles, his long fingers creating a shape you couldn't quite see from your place. The silence was deafening, you could practically hear the blood rushing in you veins. "You said there is no magic in your world?" Nyryx voice makes you jump. "Y-Yeah," you compose yourself quickly. "Not real magic at least."

Nyryx looks in your direction, and you shiver. Every fiber in your body is screaming run despite you knowing he is the only person you're safe with. His eyes are full blown black, new red orbs staring into your eyes. His horns are protruding at a length you've never seen before, curving inward at the tip. His wings, even have seemed to grow larger, his wingspan stretching out from him. He gives you a wicked smile, fangs reaching down to his chin, "Then, I suppose it's up to me to show you real magic, prey."

With a loud inhale from his chest, Nyryx turns his head to focus on the sticks. He whispers softly, so lowly you thought it was the wind tickling your ear. Nyryx exhales, strings of fire coming from his mouth that whirlpools into the piles, bringing them to flame. You don't dare to make a noise, not even to gasp when he steps close to the fire. He breaks the formation in his hands to slit his palm with his talons, blood oozing from the wound.

He drips his blood onto the fire, and they seem to grow bigger. Each fire gets so big, that they reach beyond Nyryx's height. They wrap around each other similar to the trees that's your portal, thinning out as they grow taller before bending downwards. The flames start to form a circle around you, Nyryx, and the trees. Your hair whips in your face from the force, the heat so strong, your chest begins hurting from breathing.

"Bleed," Nyryx commands, his voice almost unrecognizable. It takes a second to register that he's talking to you. With a shaky breath you stand, walking to the wall of fire behind you. Your eyes scan for something to prick yourself with, trying to stab your fingernails into your palm to no avail. You don't notice Nyryx's silent steps toward you, you don't notice him until he grabs your wrist. You gasp when he turns you around, taking your wrist into his mouth until he bites down, hard.

You scream when his teeth dig into your flesh, blood pooling from his lips onto the snow. Tears welt up into your eyes, arm aggressively pulling away from his as you slap his chest with the other. Nyryx releases you, but you don't miss the way he cruelly smiles with your blood on his teeth.

He spits into the fire, and it roars in response. You hold your injured arms into your chest, tears spilling while you violently sob. You're scared, you're cold and hot at the same time, your wrist is burning from pain. You're experiencing fear, fear at it's rawest form once again. Nyryx hates himself for taking pleasure in it, your pitiful form practically begging him to soothe you. He can't though, not yet.

The moon brightly shines above you, and it's really the only thing you can find comfort in. Not matter the world, the moon and sun rise and set just the same. The fire travels in circles until it finds its way between the portal of trees, red sticking onto the trunks. You think for a moment that it'll catch ablaze, but instead the fire start turning into a solid. The flames continue to pour into the center of the opening, turning it a blue color.

Nyryx is still besides you, eyes rolled back to his head as he chants softly. Blood starts dripping down his nose, his ears, and you swear you could see it starts seeping through his eyes. With your good hand, you wrap your fingers around his. He grasps your hand desperately, squeezing comfortingly before the final bits of fire create the portal. Now you see why he needed so much energy, animal blood wasn't going to cut it.

It feels like an eternity before silence falls in the woods once again. The roaring fire stops abruptly, leaving you gasping and choking your weeps. Nyryx stumbles backwards, finding balance in your enveloped hands. "Nyryx! Sit down," you voice is laced with concern. He listens though, plopping down on the rock you were sitting on. He still look deadly, even more so with blood all over his face. Though, his horns had shrunk in size, his eyes no longer blood red, but still pitch black.

Nyryx doesn't let go of your hand, holding it close to his face as he leans forward. While you tell him words of comfort and ease at his level, he gathers snow. He tenderly takes your wounded wrist and places the snow on it. You hiss at the pain, but quickly find solace in the numbness. Nyryx kisses you passionately, ignoring your groans of protest from tasing your own blood.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead on your forehead, breathing heavily. Before you can start talking again, he places another kiss on your lips.

"Would you believe me if I said that was my first time opening a portal?"

You both stood before the portal, it was hazy and blue, giving the impression of the beach you were at. You almost cried when you heard the waves crashing, hand tightening around Nyryx's. It was here, it was real. Home is on the other side, your family is on the other side. You could taste the salt on your tongue already, feel the wind in your face. Nyryx could smell it too, his nose flaring at the sour aroma of the beach.

"Holy shit," you breathed. "I can't believe it's really here." The temperature had drop significantly in the night, your breath fogging as you spoke. You couldn't even tell though, too entranced at the sight. Nyryx nodded, "It is."

You turned to face him, and he to you. Your eyes locked, and before you could get any words out, your cried. Babbling incoherent words while he laughed, bringing you in for a hug. It was awkward as first, his stiff body against your weeping one, but Nyryx quickly found solace against your body as he molded into it.

You didn't want to pull away, but Nyryx did. He held his arms on your shoulders, "You cry so easily. I think that will be what I miss most." You laughed and sobbed at the same time, throat scratching at the mix. You took shuddering breaths, your hands clapping over his, "Will you really be okay? You don't need anything?"

Nyryx hummed thoughtfully at your question, "I would rather you somehow keep you...essence here, but I suppose I'll have to go back to eating pig's blood." You rolled your eyes at him, no longer feeling sorry for the demon. When you released him from your grip to turn to the portal, he called your name.

"Yeah?"

Nyryx held is hand out, a large, black feather in it. His own feather, you don't have to ask to know. You carefully picked it up, holding it up in the moonlight to inspect it. You smiled thoughtfully, holding it tightly in your fingers, "What's this for?" Nyryx thought for a moment, as if he was careful on what he was going to say next. "So you don't forget me," he concluded.

You wiped your tears and cocked your head to the side, "What do you mean? How could I forget you? Or anything that's happened?" You started to laugh, but seeing his serious, solemn expression made you stop. You eyes him cautiously, breath stuttering in your chest. "Nyryx," you started, "I'm not gonna forget anything, right?"

"You should hurry," he ignores your question, "The moon will lose its power. The portal won't hold forever." Nyryx pushes you closer to the portal. You wriggle out of his grasp, whirling to him. "Am I really going to forget everything? This world? The bar? Meredith? You?" Your voice was breaking again, but you tried to not let any tears fall.

Nyryx tensed, and for the first time, he was noticeable scared. "Truthfully, prey...do not have high hopes that you will remember. Not many do, it's what happens when you cross the border between worlds. It's what maintains the balance between us and other worlds." Nyryx wipes the tears that betray your wishes and fall, keeping his hand at your face. His thumb rubs soothingly on your cheek.

"So," you hiccup, "You'll forget me?" Nyryx shakes his head, his lip jutting out into a pout. "No," he confirms. "If I were a human, maybe. But I am already a supernatural being, this will not affect my memory." You nod against his head, trying to find some comfort in his words, at least one of you will remember.

For the last time in your life, in either of your lives, you kiss him. It's gentle, careful. You kiss like he'll break, like he's the purest thing on Earth. He kisses you the same, shivering as he wraps his arms around your torso. You pull away slowly, not missing how his lips chase yours just for a second.

"Thank you," you whisper, not ready to see goodbye. Nyryx gives you a sad smile, his eyes darkening for a second like he's going to cry. "Of course prey. Should we be born again, I hope to spend that life with you. Without being hunted." You laugh at his joke, tears halting from spilling. "Reincarnation? You really believe in that?" You ask.

"Well," Nyryx contemplates, "If it is possible to travel between worlds, I suppose reincarnation is not inconceivable." You tilt your head side to side, also thinking about the thought of being reborn. "Yeah I guess you're right. I also, would spend that life with you, if it exists."

He smiles as you, releasing you from his grip. It takes a second to adjust to the cold again. You ignore how lonely you feel, you step closer to the portal. To the gentle breeze that calls you, begs you to come home.

You take a last look at Nyryx, "So, see you later alligator?"

He looks puzzled at your words, but nods nonetheless, "Yes, but I am not an alligator."

You stumble out of the cave disorientated. Your dress stickily clings to you, it's so humid. Your heels find balance on rocks, the sand. It doesn't help that the sun is beating do harshly on you. When did it get so hot?

You can hear your name being yelled in the distance, coming closer. You look up to see your younger sibling running to you, dressed in nice attire like yourself. They have an annoyed look in their face, obviously not as disorientated like you.

"There you are!" They yell, panting. "Mom and dad have been waiting forever! We still have to take pictures come o- what's in your hand?" You quirk an eyebrow, eyes following where your sibling is looking until you see your hand. Between your fingers is a black, gigantic, feather. It swallows light, as if it doesn't want to be seen.

"I dunno," you shrug, eyes still on the feather. When your sibling reaches for it, you pull away, almost protectively. "Hey!" they complain. "I want to see it!" You raise the feather well above your head, a place they can't reach at all. "It's mine, go away," you brush them off.

Your sibling continues to complain, but gives up soon. "Whatever! Hurry up!" They run to your parents without another word. You roll your eyes at them, but you can't shake how you reacted to the feather. You didn't care much about feathers, you didn't even like touching them. So why this one?

You shove the feather into a pocket, deciding not to wonder about your feelings. You made your way to your family, their hands waving you down and shouting for you to hurry up. Surprisingly, you find yourself walking faster, almost fully running to them. Your chest aches, your throat bubbles like you're going to cry. You don't know why, but you're actually happy to take pictures with them.

Despite the overwhelming happiness you feel, a shadow of longing also fills you. You reach in your pocket you squeeze the feather, oddly comforted by it. A weird part of you thinks this mere feather is a gift. From what? You have no idea. Mother Nature perhaps.

You decide that you should keep it. Maybe it's a good luck charm.

a/n: holy shit and thats it. did I check for typos? no! if you see them, no you didn't. thank you for being with my on this journey! I'm pretty rusty from writing, and I feel like I could do a lot better in the future with dialogue and shit, but still, thank you everyone!!!!! I'm thinking about writing like a second part where reader and Nyryx meet in a different life, but I'm debating on different scenarios, I might put out a poll???? anywho yeah, that's that and im totally gonna work on my dead dove I need more gore >:(

taglist: @whatamidoing89, @panda-wolf, @fatgumsbby

update: second part is here

#smut #chapter update #dark fic #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #demon oc #demon smut #monster fic #monster fun #tw monsterfucking #monster fucker #monster #tw #chapter 6 #last chapter #angst #teleportedintoanewworld #predator & prey #somno fantasy

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pbforeva · 3 months

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my nails are so damaged rn, I need them back to being healthy and long by september 🙏🙏

but enjoy

part 7!

—

Evelyn pov:

We just arrived at the party, and I've gotten comfortable around Aubrey, Azzi, and KK, so i think i'm going to let loose tonight. I just can't take thinking about anything that has happened, mostly from the past few days.

We walk into the party together, many people already drunk because the party started a few hours ago. I head straight to kitchen with Paige, and we both grab drinks. Not wanting to dance, Paige and I just talk while sitting on a couch.

"So, I really only know your name, and not even your last name," I giggle out. Clearly, I'm a lightweight because I'm only halfway through my second drink, and I'm already being this outgoing.

"Well, if you must know," she says dramatically, before taking a breath and continuing with, "The name's Bueckers, Paige Bueckers." I burst out laughing at her corny joke, her stupid smile making me laugh even harder. She speaks up again, this time saying, "Now that you know that top secret information, you have to tell me a few things about you."

"Hmm, well I'm 21, uhh, oh I was born in Alaska, and I guess I have a boyfriend, well kinda, it's complicated right now." I say, and then I down the rest of my drink, needing a reason to get out of the now awkward situation.

Paige's pov:

I notice the uncomfortable glint in Evelyn's eyes after she finishes rambling about her maybe boyfriend. I watch her, in silence, as she finishes her drink, and then she gets up saying she needs a new one.

I watch as she walks away and disappears into the kitchen. All I can think about is this supposed boyfriend of hers, it seems they're never together, so how close are they really?

I look around the room until my eyes land on Aurora, wait I bet she would know Evelyn's situation. I get up from my position on the couch and head over to where Aurora is dancing.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" I ask as soon as I get up to her.

"Yeah, what's up?" She says while looking up at me.

"Is there something going on with Evelyn's boyfriend? Cause she gets uncomfortable every time he gets brought up." I say with a hint of concern in my voice.

I watch her face drops and she begins to say, "Well, I'm not sure of their current status, and it's not my place to tell you any details, but I don't like him. He's not good to her, and ever since she got with him, she's become a lot more skittish." She finishes with a low tone.

"Oh, I mean I've never met him, is there anything particularly off about him?" I question her further.

"Umm, I don't know I haven't really spoken to him much either, but whenever I do, he is always controlling of Evelyn, and not in a loving way. But she just brushes me off and distances herself whenever I say something about it, so I kind of stopped mentioning it." She says while letting out a breath it seems like she was holding in.

"Oh, that's not good," I say before I start thinking about the reasons he could be controlling. Is he just insecure? Does he not trust her? Maybe he's just toxic? I don't even know, when I look up from my thoughts, Aurora is dancing again, so I head back to my previous seat.

I try to find anyone I came with in the crowd from my place on the couch, and the only one I spot is Evelyn. She's dancing next to Aubrey, who towers over her. I analyze her face, her features are carefree and blithe.

I watch as she raises her hands in the air, along with Aubrey, for a particular dance move. My eyes move down to her now exposed stomach. Her stomach looks flawless, her skin is tan, even in the dim lighting, and her body is toned. As I look further, I see a few purple and blueish marks across her stomach. I search further across her body, and I notice most of the skin covering her ribs are the same purple-blue color. Her whole stomach looks like a nasty bruise. It looks painful, and fresh?

What could that possibly be from, I worriedly ponder. Wait, is that why she grimaces everyone someone hugs her? What is happening to her?

What if- No, it couldn't be. I try to shake the unfinished thought from my head, but it keeps coming back bearing new evidence. Her boyfriend, how controlling he is, and the distance. Maybe he isn't just toxic.

I feel sick to my stomach, there's no way this could be going on. But what if it is? I can't shake the feeling, so I try to find Aurora again. It takes a few minutes, but eventually find her, I walk up to her and begin to speak.

"Aurora, I need to talk to you," I say with a gaunt tone.

"Yeah, what's up?" She asks, her smile slowly fading as she notices the doleful look on my face.

I don't say anything, instead, I motion for her to follow me outside, so we can have a bit of privacy.

I don't know how to start, so I ask an open ended question, "Do you think there could be a more dire situation with Evelyn's boyfriend?" I express cautiously.

"Umm, I don't know, I haven't really thought too much about it because I assumed if something was wrong Evelyn would tell me. Why?" She asks while looking at me suspiciously.

"I was watching her and Aubrey dance and her shirt was lifted, and I noticed quite a few bruises on her stomach." I say, while letting out a breath.

Aurora looks at me heartbroken and she brokenly mumbles "What?" while her voice cracks.

"Yeah, I don't know, but I thought it would be best to come to you, since you know her the best." I try to reason.

"No, no, you're wrong, I would've noticed," she says in accusing tone, "Oh gosh, I should've noticed," she finishes before she breaks down and falls into my arms crying.

I help her i got her car we brought, while consoling her, before going inside to grab the others. We all drive home in silence, except for Auroras sniffling. Everyone is confused, especially Evelyn, because her best friend won't tell her what's wrong.

But all I can think about is how long of a day tomorrow is going to be for Evelyn.

—

You really thought we were getting a happy chapter? you should lowkey know me better than that by now.

#uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige x fem oc #wlw post #aubrey griffin #azzi fudd #kk arnold #lesbian #lgbtq #bisexual

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ckret2 · 1 year

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Time for chapter 7 of "Human Bill Attempts To Murder The Pines And Ends Up Their Prisoner/Involuntary House Guest," which will eventually get a title, I'm sure.

Featuring an explanatory flashback on how the hell Bill made it from reincarnation to an attempted murder at the Mystery Shack; his first full day as the shack's prisoner; and angst.

The masterpost for the full fic is available here! Chapter edited 9/23/2024 for TBOB compatibility!

The first thing the reincarnated Bill Cipher's new ears heard was a crack of thunder.

And then he felt the damp soil beneath him and the chill air above him, the position of his limbs, smelled the green forest life.

He was alive, he was... he inspected his teeth with his tongue (ooh, wisdom teeth)—he was an adult human, and he had his memories. It worked. His head felt clear, freed of the constant antipsychotic drug fog. He was still Bill Cipher. He could pick up where he left off.

Just as soon as he oriented himself.

It took a moment to remember how to peel open his two new eyeballs. He was half-laying half-sitting in a freshly dug hole too small for his whole body, limbs splayed out over the dirt. Had the Theraprism's reincarnation machine spontaneously generated his new body straight from dirt? How Pandoran.

He was in the center of a tiny clearing, surrounded on all sides by a ring of evergreen trees but with a view of the cold, clear sky above. His brain registered it as a hazy something-blueish—the color Earth's sky usually appeared when he was looking through human eyes. And that meant one thing:

Whenever and wherever he was, it wasn't Weirdmageddon.

No way had that dumb reincarnation machine actually accounted for Earth's uneven weirdness to randomize when and where he landed. It would ruin everything if it had!

He climbed unsteadily to his feet, searching the area for any identifiable features.

Through the trees, in the distance, he saw the cliffs that the Trilazzx Betians had flown their ship through. Okay! Great! Just as he'd hoped, Gravity Falls's Weirdness Attractor Zone had drawn in an ancient reincarnating alien soul like a flame drawing in a moth. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

He just wasn't when he wanted to be. Why hadn't he landed during Weirdmageddon? What moment in all of Earth's history could possibly be weirder?

The stone bridge over the hole left by the main body of the ship had collapsed, and human train tracks bridged the gap. That left a pretty narrow window he could have landed in, a little over 200 years around Weirdmageddon.

Maybe Weirdmageddon was too weird to hit. Bill had killed time itself. Maybe rather than falling into the weirdness barrier surrounding the town, he'd slingshotted around it like light around a weirdness black hole's event horizon and been flung somewhere else on the timeline. Did the barrier work like that? He wasn't sure, he'd have to ask—

No. Bill wasn't asking him. This time, he'd figure out how to bring down the barrier himself.

But if Bill was in Gravity Falls, there was a chance his backstabbing pawn was currently here, too. And if so, that meant he could personally show him just what happened to people who crossed Bill Cipher. Maybe he'd strangle him with his bare hands, just so he could look in his horrified eyes as the life left them—

His fingernails dug into his fleshy palms as he imagined wrapping his hands around Ford's throat. This body would never do, though; he'd have to shed it. If he were post-Weirdmageddon, his corpse had to be somewhere in the area; he could repossess it and pick up where he left off. If he were pre-Weirdmageddon, he wouldn't be able to obtain physical form, but he could just return to the Nightmare Realm and redo Weirdmageddon in a few years, no loss...

He shut the body's eyes and focused on degloving the expendable corpse from the immortal energy being within.

And nothing happened.

He tried again to peel off the body. Nothing. Trying to leave his body felt like sticking a car key in a plastic toddler car: not only did it fail to start the engine, but there wasn't an engine there to start.

Had the reincarnation process altered his soul? Was he no longer a triangle?! Had he been reshaped into a human spirit to match his body, was he gone, had Bill lost himself—?

He didn't realize until he broke skin that he'd started trying to claw his skin off. He forced himself to stop.

But no, that didn't make any sense. Humans could astral project their souls from their bodies. He'd personally taught humans how to do it, so he knew the process. Even if his soul was human, he should have been able to escape this body. So something else was keeping him in.

But what? Some magic? Something stitching his soul into this body?

The horror ripped raw all his fears, his doubts, his denials; for a moment, he couldn't lie to himself about his situation. So here was the truth:

During the entirety of timeless captivity, he had told himself that the rest of himself, his full self, with all his energy and all his power, had been locked outside the Theraprism; while only the little triangular avatar he used to interact with the world—his anglerfish's lure—was pinched inside, pinched tightly enough that the rest of his power couldn't flow in and could only thrash impotently outside.

But the truth was, he didn't know that. He hoped that, but he didn't know.

The truth was, he hadn't been able to feel his power since the Axolotl dropped him in the Theraprism. The truth was, he wasn't sure if he'd even felt them at all since the moment Stanley's mind began to burn.

It was true that Bill's little triangular avatar was just the little glowing lure dangling from the vast, vast anglerfish of his powers. It was true that Bill's power was contained externally. It was true that he'd been told clearly during admission to the Theraprism that he wouldn't have access to his power.

But he didn't know whether his power was sealed off—like squeezing the walls of a straw shut so no liquid could be sucked through it—or if he'd been cut off from it, like beheading a dragon.

He couldn't feel any of the metaphorical psychic "muscles" he typically used to climb in and out of puppets—as though they'd been amputated. He couldn't feel most of his powers. Why?

Was it because they'd been sealed off at his admittance to the Theraprism and he'd skipped a step during reincarnation that would have unsealed them?

Or because the Theraprism's reincarnation machine, as a therapeutic tool, was designed to prevent recovering patients from fleeing their bodies before they'd finished fully reintegrating into mortal society?

Because he couldn't reach the Nightmare Realm from here?

Because all his power had been destroyed?

Because the reincarnation had truly, irreversibly turned his soul human?

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried, at least, to feel the shape of the energy trapped inside the matter. Was he still a triangle? Or had he been remade human?

He couldn't feel anything. Just blackness and numbness and silence and cold. The space beneath his skin may as well have been a hollow void.

He didn't realize until the blood trickled down his wrists that he'd started clawing his skin again. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to prevent them from clawing again.

When his head bent forward, he spied a mass of golden yellow filaments dangling from the top of his head. Several internal organs automatically convulsed and spasmed at the sight; white lights and awful gory memories and the cold silent suffocating void and the room he'd died in flashed by his mind's eye; he accidentally bit down on his fingers and felt the flesh on the inside of his throat struggle to thrash around; he had to yank them out and seal a rubbery hand over his mouth to keep from regurgitating whatever was inside him. He closed his eyes to hide the awful filaments dangling down from his scalp but now he couldn't stop feeling them brush against his cheeks and shoulders and all he saw was the dark, the endless dark—

He was dizzy. He dropped to his knees, dug his fingers into the soft earth, and tried to remember how to breathe. For a long moment he was paralyzed in place, heavy breaths whistling through his ridiculous little nose tubes, mentally battling his own body's attempt to revolt against him in his moment of weakness.

Somebody would die for this. The Pines family, the zodiac, that backstabbing Axolotl, D-SM5 and all its condescending cronies, the Henchmaniacs who'd abandoned him to the Theraprism, the whole Earth, the whole universe—everyone who'd been responsible for Bill ending up like this. He'd kill and kill and kill until he stopped feeling like he'd been buried alive in hell.

His eyes burned, but he didn't cry.

####

There was a rustling behind him and a human grunt. He turned—and saw, behind him, the beforeimage of a fight a few seconds in the future: a short wide-hipped human female with curly gold hair and a tall narrow human male with straight black hair. There were both naked. Why were a couple of naked humans about to fight in front of him?

Wait—he grasped for a handful of the sickening yellow filaments peeling out of his flesh and pulled it into his peripheral vision. Curly gold. Oh, that was him fighting in the future. He shuddered and let go of the hair. So why was he about to fight a human?

He could figure that out later; he studied the near-future battle in the space in front of him, the blurry moments with several possible outcomes, squinting at the possible futures where he won to see how he did it. He seemed to win in most timelines. Opponent was pretty clumsy—

Even though Bill could see exactly when the human would stumble out from between the trees, the moment still arrived sooner than he would have liked. The human glared down at Bill, panting and sweating in the chill air; and then he asked, suspiciously, "Bill Cipher?" What?

But of course, the human hadn't actually said "Bill Cipher." That's just a convenient translation for a word that can't be rendered in any human orthography. Bill Cipher was one of several names Bill used on Earth, a couple of human words Bill gave to humans as his name because they could pronounce it; he handed out different names to different species. The name this human had said, although heavily accented, was still recognizable as one of the names Bill used in—

—the Theraprism.

His rib cage twitched as he laughed—a high, hissing titter, the first time he'd used this body's voice. "Heyyy, were you one of the guards? Did you get too close to the altar when—"

"You," the guard snarled. "You've gone too far this time. I'm taking you down, Cipher." He charged toward Bill, fist raised.

And Bill just grinned. He had a lot more experience being human than this joker did—and he knew all their weak spots. He'd already seen how this ended.

He let the guard get close enough to begin swinging his fist—then kneed him right in the human design flaw, rammed his head through the guard's nose, and knocked him on his back. The guard was out cold before he hit the ground. Bill stood on his throat until he was sure the guard was never getting up again. He could feel his lungs expanding and contracting and his blood pulsing through his neck; he could feel the adrenaline in his hands and brain like a drug.

He laughed.

It turned out he only needed to kill one person to stop feeling like he'd been buried alive in hell. Now he just felt like he was partially submerged in heck.

Bill was great! Everything was fine! He totally hadn't had a panic attack within five minutes of reincarnation, he definitely knew how to breathe, and he felt fantastic. In fact, he didn't mind being trapped inside a human body at all. It was funny! So, so funny! Funny little prank reality had played on him.

See? He was a good sport. He was the best sport.

Well, he'd get reality back.

####

As he walked in the direction of town, he took stock of his current body and what he could do with it.

He still had his first most important power—the one that even the Theraprism hadn't been able to take away without keeping him drugged out of his mind: his all-seeing eye.

He'd been born with a strange eye that let him see into one higher dimension than everyone else. From the second dimension, he'd been able to see into the third dimension: the starlight and sunbeams shining down on his world. From the third dimension, he could see into the fourth: the past and future superimposed onto the present like transparent ghosts showing him where everyone had been and would be, blurry around the moments where he saw multiple possible futures.

He looked at the sun. At full power, Bill could see days into the future and past—multiple white streaks across the sky tracing the sun's path as it rose and set—and further with a basic telescope; but now, based on the short streak of white light he saw before it trailed off into the blue, he suspected he could only see about fifteen minutes into the future and past if he squinted. And he couldn't see the brilliant ring of extraturquoise that should have haloed the sun. Human color vision was an embarrassment.

In the second dimension, his all-seeing eye had also been able to see through objects—or, rather, over objects, bent up slightly into the third dimension so it could look down upon the flat world. When he tried to bend an eye up into the fourth dimension, he could see through the nearby trees, but it felt like his eyelids were trying to pop his eyeball like a pimple. His eye hadn't started bleeding immediately, so it was easier than trying to peer into the fourth dimension with a puppet's eyes, but not by much. He'd have to use that sparingly. And he'd better not risk attempting pyrokinesis unless the fire was more important than his eyeball.

And finally, for the first time, he turned his full attention to his new prison. He'd gotten a glimpse of it when he'd been watching his future actions, enough to tell it wasn't bad looking for a human. Pretty triangular body shape. Neck was too narrow, though—he hated how goofy human necks looked.

Four limbs with five mini-limbs each, it was nice to have ten fingers again but he didn't see any interesting mutations or deformities, yawn. He'd hoped he might mutate fractal phalanges. And on top of looking disgusting, human skin came in such boring neutral tones; he'd have to redecorate. He flexed his finger joints experimentally, imagining his hand encased in gold rings and bangles. Maybe he could stab some graffiti into his dermis, too. He could live with that until he found his way back to his real body.

Aside from the expected patches of lighter and darker melanin, there was no variation in his skin tone except for a band of slate grey splotches stretching from his left shoulder down to his right hip. They looked like two-day-old bruises, the hemoglobin dull and blackish-blue—but why would an hour-old body be created with a two-day-old bruise?

It took a moment of inspection to recognize that the "bruises" were birth marks, and they took the same path across his torso as the fatal crack that had split his exoskeleton in half. Ugh. Moving on.

He hopped on one foot at a time to inspect the bottoms (and tripped and tumbled into the dirt twice in the process). All 20 toeprints and fingerprints were, unexpectedly, still triangular—Bill wondered if the Theraprism did that on purpose to make reincarnations easier to track—head line like a river, absolutely hideous heart line.

Skin was reasonably elastic. So-so melanoma resistance. Healthy-looking cellulite pattern. How was his design flaw looking?

While in the middle of trying to contort himself like a cat licking its butthole, from the corner of one of his eyeballs, Bill saw two time cops emerging from the trees and heading his way several minutes before they would arrive. Of all the rotten luck— He contemplated running, considered how far he'd get in a fresh, uncalloused, nude body before a sharp rock or broken branch ripped his bare feet open—he'd already had to slow down and adjust his footsteps to be more tentative just from walking toward town—and instead he to hide behind a cluster of trees.

As the officers drew closer to the moment Bill saw them pass his spot, he heard one say: "Would you put that stupid thing away and focus? We're suppose to be on the lookout for Cipher."

Bill's heart leaped into his throat. (He was pretty sure it wasn't actually his heart, but it sure felt like that. Huh. That's one baffling English idiom explained.) They'd found him already? How? Maybe it wasn't too late to run—

"But this is stupid," another voice grumbled. "The energy signal from Cipher's resurrection is already fading, he's got to be long gone by now! Assuming the signal wasn't just an instrument error caused by the dumb ship under town!"

"There's no way it was an instrument error."

"If Time Baby really thought he'd still be here, he'd have sent more than a handful of us! This is worse than hover car crosswalk duty—"

"Look," the first officer snapped, "the tantrum Time Baby threw after the Theraprism notified him that Cipher's at large and probably headed back toward Earth is the worst I've ever seen. Think about the lives lost, man! The cities leveled! How much angrier will he be if no one finds him—"

"I know, I know—"

"—and Time Intelligence is sure that if he's coming back to Earth, it will be here! Need I remind you we've got officers swarming Roadkill County for six months in both directions from Weirdmageddon, and checking the site yearly for the first century in either direction, centennially for the first millennium, millennially anniversary for the first—"

"—I know, I know—"

"—as well as checking out every suspicious energy reading on the whole timeline! I don't know about you, but I do not want to be transferred from 'check out suspicious energy reading' duty to 'six-month stakeout' duty! But if we return to Time Baby with nothing—"

"But what if there is nothing?! Think about it—if Cipher were still here, wouldn't he be, you know, conquering the world?"

(Oh, he wished.)

"It's not our job to make sense of the mind of an escaped alien madman. It's just to find him if he is here—Would you put that away!"

Of course the Theraprism had sent a warning to Time Baby! Time Baby and D-SM5 probably adored each other, pair of dictators that they were.

But: Time Baby and his goons didn't actually know Bill was here. He could still take them by surprise.

And that gave him an idea.

Bill peeked around the trees. The cops were so close to the moment they would emerge from the trees and pass Bill's hiding spot that he could see the irritation on one's face and the handheld game console in the other's hands; and he was also beginning to see the fuzzy shape of his own future self approaching them as a plan formed in his head. He hid again. Only one shot at this. Would a human think he looked harmless and vulnerable? Those uniformed slabs of muscle were two feet taller than him, and he was naked. Check and check.

He waited until they turned the corner, then stepped out from behind the rubble pile, waving. "Oh, thank goodness, the police!" Probably the first and last time he was ever saying that. "I'm terrified confused, and can't seem to find my clothes. Can you he—" He tripped on a root, yelped, and had to grab the officers for balance. "... help." Okay. That was good. Extra harmless-looking. He meant to do that. But he made a mental note to spend a few more minutes on walking practice once he got away.

Grumpy Officer was looking toward the sky. "Oh." Gamer Officer was hiding his face behind his game console. "Oh dear." Grumpy Officer cleared his throat and said, "Of—of course. We're happy to help, Miss...?"

Heck. Think of a human name fast. "Tomato."

Gamer Officer said, "What seems to be the problem, Ms. Tomato?"

Now think of a story. "I... I witnessed a murder!" He pointed back the direction he'd come from. "It's just that way! Hurry!"

Grumpy Officer said, "That's the direction of the signal from Cipher's resurrection! Show us!"

As Bill led them back toward the guard's body, Gamer Officer asked, "Do—do you need some clothing, ma'am?" He patted down his jumpsuit and found no removable clothes.

"It's fine, it's not that cold."

"Did you... lose your clothing during the murder?" Grumpy Officer asked.

"Yep! Sure did!"

"How?"

That was a good question. "I'm not sure, it's all such a blur!"

As they emerged into the small clearing, they stopped dead at the sight of the body. Gamer Officer took one look at its face, turned away, and covered his mouth. Grumpy Officer knelt by it, careful not to touch it as he examined the damage. "He's definitely dead. This doesn't look like Cipher's usual work, though."

Trying to shield his eyes from the body, Gamer Officer asked, "Did you see what did this?"

Did he want to confirm to Time Baby's agents that Bill Cipher had been in the area? Probably not—last thing he needed was more Time Police. "I'm not sure! It could have been a bear."

"Hmm." Grumpy Officer rubbed his chin. "Well—we'll get you to the contemporary authorities, ma'am. This looks like a case for them."

"You go," Gamer Officer said, voice strained. He pulled his time tape off his belt. "I'll report this to HQ."

"Good idea." Grumpy Officer paused. "Hold on. We don't look like contemporary authorities. How did you know we're cops?"

Both officers were desperately avoiding looking directly at Bill's naked body, one was kneeling by the corpse, the other was turned toward the woods and had his time tape extended inches in front of Bill—now. Bill flung his whole weight on Gamer Officer's arm to wrench the tape away from him, kicked Grumpy Officer's butt to knock him sprawling over the corpse, pulled out a random length of time tape, and snapped out of the year before the officers could registered what happened.

####

The first jump was just to escape. He popped open the time tape with his teeth and a sharp rock and packed it with dirt—it'd probably kill the tape after a jump or two but it would block Time Baby from being able to detect it, which was more important. The second jump took him to a ruined battlefield in the middle of the Time Baby War—Bill knew his human history—where Bill could dump this cheap police time tape riddled with temporal tracking technology and scavenge a military tape off a fallen rebel soldier. Rest in peace, brave rebel—Bill really wished they'd won the war against Time Baby. Maybe he could fix that for them once he was in charge.

By the time he found a tape in good condition, his abdomen, eyes, and head had developed an assortment of overlapping aches. Nothing he couldn't ignore. But it was worth the effort: the rebel military tape was less prone to overheating, more lax on permitting temporal doubles and time loops, and built to hide from Time Baby and his forces with paradox-cloaking stealth tech. Even if the time cops followed him this far, they'd never know where he went next.

He was continuing where he'd left off.

He'd love to return to the moment he died and murder the Pines on the spot—or, better yet, warn himself ten minutes before it happened. But even the best time tape would struggle to target a temporal paradox as complicated as Weirdmageddon—and if his reincarnation had taught him anything, it was that Weirdmageddon clearly sent travelers aimed toward it astray. The pigs had said Time Baby had them patrolling Gravity Falls for six months in either direction of Weirdmageddon; Bill could return to Gravity Falls before then, start the portal up earlier than Stanley managed to, invite himself through and give himself a few warnings about what to watch out for from the humans...

But that wasn't good enough.

Time moved wrong in the Theraprism. He felt like he'd experienced millennia surrounded by its grey tiles and fluorescent lights; but he also felt like time hadn't passed since his death.

His death was as fresh in his mind as if it had been an hour ago.

And the Pines family would pay for it.

First, he'd murder the Pines and anyone else in their stupid shack. He'd decide what to do next from there. Maybe he would jump a few years into the past and start Weirdmageddon early.

Or maybe he'd just continue where he'd left off. He'd find his corpse—he knew it was somewhere out in the woods—and keep it safe in the shack. He'd dig up the treasure Pine Tree and Shooting Star had buried during the summer and liquidate some of the gold. He'd fast-forward until the murder investigation was over and the shack was back on the market, buy it himself, repair the portal, and then, he'd shake his corpse's hand. He'd restart Weirdmageddon in his enemies' own home, wearing his true form—and as soon as that portal opened up, all his power would come rushing back to him from the Nightmare Realm. Maybe not the most efficient plan...

But so satisfying.

He could figure out how to pop the stupid weirdness barrier around the town as he went. Minor details. For now, all he cared about was killing the two-faced twins who'd dared try to stop him.

And he couldn't wait to see the look in Stanford's eyes.

He set his time tape for February 25, 2013—six months and a day after Weirdmageddon.

####

He appeared in a suburban backyard, snatched a bedsheet drying on a clothesline and a couple safety pins from a nearby laundry basket, and made himself a chiton.

Bill Cipher had billions upon billions of eyes on Earth. There were a million in Gravity Falls alone—stuffed into wallets, peering out of grocery store shelves, nestled into book pages, growing on the trees. He shut his flesh eyes to peer through the others, looking for his corpse...

And saw nothing. When he shut his eyes, his vision went completely black. That had never happened before.

It looked like the solitary dullness void.

He shivered and opened his eyes. He could find his body later. He didn't need it! He had his memory, he had his identity, and he had his all-seeing eye. Eyes. Once upon a time that was all he'd needed to liberate a dimension; and it was all he'd need now to liberate himself.

Provided he also had a portal. And that meant he needed to murder some enemies.

He headed for the Mystery Shack.

####

In retrospect, he probably should have planned the murders a little more thoroughly.

####

June 2, 2013

Bill was locked back in the cellar until the humans could Bill-proof the house—cutlery moved out of the kitchen, phones relocated where he couldn't reach them, dangerous chemicals locked away, etc. His cuffs and restraints were removed, he was handed a few granola bars and water bottles and awkwardly gifted a bucket that he received with an expression that suggested he wasn't quite sure what the humans expected him to use it for, and he was locked in.

And at last, everyone could get some sleep.

It was past five in the morning when Dipper and Mabel collapsed back in their beds. With time travel thrown in, they had been up for thirty hours with only an hour or two of napping. And yet, for all their exhaustion, when the first hint of morning grayness lightened the sky outside, both of them were still awake, staring at dust motes and the old wooden ceiling beams.

Mabel sighed heavily.

Dipper said, "You too?"

"Yeah. I guess it's the chocolate shake and pancakes. What's your excuse?"

"Bill ordered coffee for the table, and nobody told me I couldn't have it, so..."

Mabel laughed. "Evil chaos demon got you! You fell for his trap!"

"Oh nooo."

Neither of them needed to admit that it wasn't the caffeine keeping them awake.

"Hold on." Mabel got out of bed, scooted around Waddles—he took up more of the floor than he had last year—and trudged to her suitcase. She tossed half her clothes on the floor, and pulled out—

Dipper laughed weakly. "You brought those?"

"I thought we might need them. You know—being back here, reminded of everything."

Almost as soon as they'd gotten home last summer, Mabel had started knitting throw blankets depicting the anti-Bill zodiac that Ford had drawn. She gave the first to Dipper as his bar mitzvah gift. She kept the second herself. She mailed the other eight to the other members of the zodiac. (The family therapist their parents had started taking them to said self-expression through art was a great way to cope with difficult experiences.)

Ford had told them the zodiac drawing merely represented a list of people, like a chart with table seating arrangements. They knew the symbol itself didn't do anything. It held no magic, it couldn't protect them. Nevertheless, sleeping under his blanket had done more for Dipper's Bipper nightmares than any dream catcher ever could. Mabel thought wrapping up in it felt like a hug from their friends in Gravity Falls.

She handed Dipper his red blanket with the zodiac embroidered in dark green yarn, and pulled out her own rainbow blanket with black embroidery. Mabel wrapped hers around her head and shoulders like a huge hooded shawl and slid back in bed, her mind and dreams now properly shielded. Dipper stared at the face in the middle of the zodiac for a long moment, before he turned the blanket over so Bill's ever-watching eye could only see the dark surface of Dipper's bedsheet.

And then, at long last, they were safe enough to fall asleep.

####

"So then he said—" Bill put on his best impression of Stan's voice, "'Do you expect us to baby-proof the whole shack in five minutes? No! You're going in the cellar!'" It was actually a very good impression. "And now I've been here for hours. If they think they can trick me into staying down here..." A pinball fell between Bill's flipper bats. He sighed and launched another ball.

"It's downright disrespectful, is what it is," the cowboy skull in the pinball machine said. "Sounds like you've had a rough night, pardner."

"You don't know the half of it." Bill lost another ball in the gutter. "Gimme another three."

"That's supposed to be Game Over."

"Come on, I'm having a bad day. Just a friendly match! Look at my reflexes in this body, you and I both know I'm not high score material."

"Okay, okay. Here."

Ford cracked open the cellar door, flung a wad of fabric down the stairs, and shut the door again. "All right," Stan shouted through the door. "No tourists are around. Solitary confinement's over. Put on some normal clothes and knock when you're done."

"It's about time." Bill lost another ball between the flipper bats. "Sorry, 'partner.' Looks like we'll have to finish this game another time."

Stan, Ford, and Soos automatically took a few steps back as creaks and thuds drifted through the door from Bill climbing up the stairs, as though he were a monster they expected to break through the wood and attack them. He shouted, "Hey, how long does it really take to move a few knives to another room, anyway? I was starting to think you planned to leave me down here."

"We needed sleep! We were up all night!"

"How is that my problem? I never told you to sit up all night staring at me—"

After a few more minutes of back-and-forth grousing, Bill knocked on the cellar door to be unleashed. The shack household had scrounged together an XL yellow-beige pine tree t-shirt (surplus from the gift shop), a set of Soos's winter sweatpants (which Bill found too long and set aside), an elastic-waisted plain green skirt in case the sweats didn't fit (some old thing Abuelita never wore), a pair of old swim trunks (to compensate for the fact that nobody had the energy or motivation to go buy their prisoner underwear today), and mismatched flip-flops (from the Mystery Shack's lost-and-found).

The shack household had not scrounged together a broom to give to Bill, and yet when they opened the door, he was holding one, bristles pointed up, like a poorly-dressed witch waiting to go on an evening flight. The potential weapon was promptly confiscated, and Stan, Ford, and Soos escorted Bill around to the back of the shack. He stared out toward the woods as the door was opened for him, but it was impossible to tell whether he was looking for something specific or just getting one last glimpse of the sky before he was incarcerated indefinitely.

The moment Bill stepped inside, Abuelita was in front of him, shoving a hot plate of chicken and enchiladas in his chest. "Welcome. You are staying with us for a while, yes?"

Bill tried to take a step back, bumped into Soos, and automatically took the plate in both hands. He blinked at Abuelita, eyebrows raised in polite bafflement. "Yes?"

"Yes. Soos told me. You missed dinner." There was loose plastic wrap still half-covering the plate, which had been labeled in black marker: para Bill Cifra - NO TOCAR! "I saved you a plate."

"Oh yeah," Soos said, "Abuelita put that in the fridge for you before we ate last night. She's big on hospitality."

"Well!" Bill beamed. "At least you have some manners—unlike some people around here who apparently don't care if I miss dinner." He shot a sly look at Ford. "Say, didn't I tell you never to call me—"

"Watch it," Ford said warningly. Stan gave him a baffled look.

Bill chuckled. "So! Does this come with silverware, or—?"

"Here." Abuelita offered him a plastic orange baby spoon. "Soos says you do not get the good silverware. So you cannot kill people."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the routine." He tossed the plastic wrap on the floor and attempted to saw off a chunk of enchilada with the soft edge of the spoon. "Between you and me, I'd be more likely to stick a fork in the microwave than try to kill someone with it—but hey, I'm not the warden."

"You threatened to stab me with a fork this morning," Ford said.

"Nooo, I told you why I wasn't going to stab you with a fork. That's the opposite of a threat," Bill said. (Ford exchanged a sideways glance with Stan, who rolled his eyes.) "Anyway, show me what you've done with this place since I last saw it!" He wove past the humans to duck into the kitchen. "I see you finally got rid of that second stove! Really frees up the space in here, doesn't it! Too bad you kept the gas one. I didn't wanna say anything about this last year, but fix that slow gas leak, would you? If you want to get haunted by carbon monoxide demons, that's your business, but I owe a tokoloshe money."

Stan blinked. "The slow what?"

Ignoring them, Bill went on, "You're gonna have to do something about all this." He waved his baby spoon at the fridge and cabinet doors. "You don't want me to come ask for help every single time I need to eat."

"Actually, that might be preferable," Ford said. "It would ensure you can't tamper with our food when we aren't looking."

"You'll get sick of it," Bill said confidently.

He finally freed up a spoonful of enchilada, stuffed it in his mouth, and tore off a chunk of chicken with his teeth—and then stopped, staring down at the plate in amazement. With his mouth still full, Bill said, "Oh wow, this is delicious! You know, I haven't had a home cooked meal in centuries! And that nutty aftertaste? Mm! You're a daring chef, lady. I love it."

He spat his mouthful back onto the plate. "But unfortunately, I think I'm allergic to one of your ingredients!" He held the plate out to Abuelita, grinning widely. "Would you mind giving me a portion with less cyanide?"

Everyone stared at Abuelita.

She shrugged placidly. "It was worth a try." She took back the plate.

Bill licked the last of the poisoned food off his teeth and spat it on the kitchen floor. "Mil gracias, señorita Silloncito."

She gave the floor a displeased look as she passed to wash off the dish in the sink, but merely said, "Un placer." She gave Bill another dirty look as he shoved in front of her to wash his hands in the sink before she could get started on the plate.

Dubiously, Ford murmured, "Silloncito isn't Mrs. Ramirez's first name, is it?"

"Nope." Stan grinned. "While you were busy studying the Odyssey, I was in South America learning Spanish—you know, a language people actually speak."

"What does 'silloncito' mean?"

"I dunno."

Soos had been gaping at his grandmother since Bill said the word "cyanide." He finally managed to work his jaw enough to say, "Abuelita, what...?"

"Do not worry about it, mijo," Abuelita said sweetly, pulling out a mop.

"Did you just try to...?"

"We can talk later." Abuelita gestured to the door, where Bill was meandering out of the kitchen. "I'll clean now. You go with the others."

As Bill left, he called back, "Next time, I'm making my own plate! Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice..." He swept past the humans into the living room. "Hey, you finally got enough seating in here! This place is really starting to shed that 'lonely old bachelor' stench—ey, Stanley?"

"Watch it."

Where Stan's old recliner once sat, Abuelita had put her sofa with the pastel yellow floral print. Her blue armchair and Stan's recliner were lined up at a right angle to the sofa to form a seating area around the TV, which had been turned to face all the seats. Atop the decorative T-Rex skull sat a small vase with a few fresh flowers.

Soos dragged his distracted gaze away from the kitchen to point at the floral sofa. "You, uh... you can sleep on the sofa bed. It folds out. We're kind of out of other rooms. I'm in the master bedroom, Abuelita's in the study cuz she gets her own bathroom there and doesn't have to use the stairs, we made the parlor a guest room for the Pineses, the kids are in the attic... and that's pretty much all the bedrooms we've got, dude." Soos shrugged. "Me and Melody, we were talking about walling off the empty attic area to make a sick gaming room? I guess maybe we should think about making it another guest room instead—"

"Which Bill wouldn't be able to use," Ford said, "if it has a door. Besides, I doubt Bill will be here long enough for you to finish any large construction projects."

Airily, Bill said, "Think you'll figure out how to get rid of me that fast?" He didn't even look at Ford; he was busy taking off the sofa's cushions to inspect the foldout bed underneath. "Last time you tried it took you thirty years, and you're 0 for 4 murder attempts so far." Bill tried, unsuccessfully, to lift the folding bed out of the sofa. "Not—counting—all the times—" he grunted with exertion, "—you failed to burn my book."

Voice icy, Ford went on without acknowledging Bill. "And at any rate, I'd rather have him out in the open where we can all keep an eye on him."

Soos glanced back and forth between Ford and Bill as they shot verbal barbs at each other, his fingertips pressed together. "Oookay! So. Sofa bed it is. I like sofa beds! It feels kind of like camping, but without going outside."

"Bet I'm not allowed to start a campfire in the living room." Bill gave up on the sofa bed and looked around the room—and his face lit up like a child who'd just received a pirate ship-shaped birthday cake. "Hey! Is that me?" In his rush to cross the living room, he tripped over Abuelita's blue armchair, flopped flat on the floor, and got back up like nothing happened.

Where Ford had once hung his father's banner from the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel, Soos had put up a new decoration: a knit tapestry depicting Bill Cipher, framed in apocalyptic lightning and hovering over a sea of fire...

... and encircled by the Ten Cosmic Symbols of the zodiac prophesied to witness his defeat.

Bill's smile dimmed. "Ah."

"Oh, hey! That's the blanket Mabel made me." Soos stood next to Bill, admiring the zodiac blanket. "Yeah, she made us all blankets to commemorate our epic battle and everything? She called us up to ask how we wanted them customized and stuff. I suggested the flames and the lightning bolts! Thought they'd look rad. Heh. It's—it's pretty cool, right?"

Bill's gaze slowly traced the confining ring of symbols; and then met the gaze of his own, true, proper face. And he turned away to face Soos and forced his smile wider. "Question Mark, I like your sense of decor."

"Ha—wait, seriously?"

"Heck, if I'd commissioned a portrait myself, I'd have requested the same! Remind me to show you some tapestries the Northwests have been keeping of me, I think you'd appreciate them!"

"Oh." Soos rubbed the back of his neck. "Huh. You know, I didn't think you'd think cool things are cool. Kinda."

"You kidding?! Fire and lightning! I love it! Like a party with natural pyrotechnics! It's nature's way of trying to unleash a bit of anarchy on an otherwise disappointing little world!"

"Uh..." Soos quickly glanced toward the Pines in a silent plea for help with this conversation, then looked back at Bill. "Yeah, totally dude! It's like... got that boom factor, you know?"

"Boom factor! Ha! You're all right, Questiony." Bill turned his back on the zodiac and swept across the room again. "So! What have you done with the rest of this dump!"

Soos stood rooted to the spot until Bill left the room.

He looked at Stan and Ford. "Do you think Bill, like... knows my name?"

Ford shrugged and made a so-so gesture.

Soos nodded. "Okay." He pulled out a chair at the living room table. "You guys wanna go ahead without me? I think I'm gonna... sit here. And process the fact that Abuelita is an attempted murderer."

As they followed Bill, Stan lowered his voice and asked Ford, "So, uh—what was with that thing about Bill telling you not to call him something?"

"Oh." Ford grimaced. "When we first met, and Bill had me convinced he was some muse of knowledge," (Stan snorted) "I asked if it was alright to just call him Bill. It... seemed too informal for a god." (Stan snorted again.) "Stop that." Ford spoke with great displeasure, as though he were repeating a particularly distasteful joke: "He said I could call him anything but don't call him late for dinner."

"Ah." And that was all they had time to say before they caught up with Bill, Ford had to rebury his memories of the years he'd thought Bill was his friend, and Stan had to force himself to stop wondering about them. It seemed inappropriate to think about Bill making friendly jokes.

####

On Bill's first proper night in the Mystery Shack, he woke in the middle of the night, gasping for air so loudly it sounded like a reverse scream.

Waking didn't improve things.

He was back in the room where he'd died, no light but the eerie blue of invisible flames licking up the walls, his vision framed by golden filaments spilling out of his head. He rolled over and heaved on the floor—and between his stomach's convulsions he made direct eye contact with an axolotl, cold, serene, staring dispassionately at him from an illuminated fish tank—and past the axolotl, he saw an image of himself trapped flat on the wall, surrounded by a ring of his enemies, fire lapping at his heels. And it was just like dying again, he was powerless, he could see his body coming apart in his peripheral vision, he couldn't even float, pinned to the ground by gravity—

He had to claw at his skin until this human body's uncomfortable alienness overrode the memory of his gold exoskeleton shattering.

His rebirthmark burned.

The next morning, the household found no signs of Bill in the living room except for a puddle of dried puke.

The sofa bed's mattress had been dragged halfway up the stairs, and then abandoned at the landing where the stairs turned a right angle.

They found Bill in the attic, laying on the floor atop a makeshift bed he'd assembled out of sofa cushions. He was curled up facing the wall beneath the seating alcove where, just a few months ago, there had been a window of his face.

####

(I hope y'all enjoyed!! I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you read the original and are back now to read the edited & updated version, I'd particularly love to hear your thoughts—even setting aside the TBOB edits, I think this new version of Bill's first moments alive is much stronger.

Plus he gets to kill a dude. Good for him.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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