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dreamerstreamer · 4 years

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Driver’s License

Pairing: Dream / Clay x f!reader

Summary: [High School!AU] You’ve had a crush on Clay ever since he was first assigned to be your lab partner, and you finally muster up the courage to confess your feelings to him. But sometimes, not everything goes the way you hope it does.

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: this was requested by an anon who wanted some angst inspired by olivia rodrigo’s driver’s license! i hope i captured the right mood with the setting and story, and i sincerely hope you enjoy! <3

You glanced down at your phone, your thumb pressing on the power button before the screen flickered to life. The time flashed back at you in a white, clean font, and you chewed on your lip, your toes curling in your shoes.

There were only seven minutes until the bell—he was going to be late, wasn’t he?

Sighing, you picked up your phone and pushed your thumb against the home button, opening up your text messages. You scrolled down the list of contacts that stared back at you, your thumb hovering the one name that sent your head spinning in a flurry of pink hearts and white stars.

Clay.

Of all the people to have a crush on, of course it just had to be him. After all, how could you not fall for him? He was tall, cute, funny, and, well—he was a dream come true. It was almost like the universe had just set you up to fall, and really, you had no one to blame but yourself. It wasn’t like he liked you back, either. He was the cool, fun quarterback that was friends with everyone, while your only claim to fame was that you were his lab partner.

Should I text him? you wondered, fidgeting your fingers. I feel like I should text him. I know we’re technically just lab partners, but we’ve texted about other things, too. It wouldn’t be weird if I just asked him where he was, ri—

“Hey, you.”

You whipped your head up, immediately shutting your phone with one hand as your eyes wide went wide, your heart tripping in your chest. Standing by the desk next to you, Clay waved, amusement flickering across his face at your shocked expression.

“Hi, Clay,” you said, suddenly feeling breathless all at once. You could already feel the warmth blossoming in your chest, as his eyes locked onto yours. You really were too gone for your own good.

Sliding into his seat, he flashed you a bright grin as he dropped his bag onto the space beside him. “What’s up? Anything exciting happen to you?”

You turned away from your notebook with a soft smile. “Not really.” Trying to force down the heat crawling up your neck, you wagged a finger at him, a teasing lilt seeping into your words. “But you, my friend, are actually early—for once.” You shot him a thumbs up, winking. “Congratulations.”

Unzipping his backpack, Clay rolled his eyes at you, something like amusement flirting across his face. “Look,” he said, rummaging through his bag, “not all of us can be as early as you.”

Your lips twitched, and you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms over your chest with a triumphant look. “Well, I’ll have you know that I drove myself here today.”

He froze, his hand pausing as he looked up to blink at you with wide, fascinated eyes. “You did?” A grin slowly spread across his face, and he pulled out a notebook before setting his bag back down on the ground. “Does that mean what I think it does?”

You nodded your head eagerly, electricity buzzing up your skin as you pulled out your wallet from behind you. “It sure does!” Flipping it open, you held out a small, plastic card towards his face with a giddy smile. “I got my license.”

In an instant, he was cheering, his eyes as wide as saucers as he clapped his hands in celebration. You had half the mind to be embarrassed that more than just a few people were looking at you now, but you were far more focused on Clay. “Woah, congrats!” he said, lifting a hand tentatively toward you. “Can I...?”

You nodded, watching as he gently pulled your license from your fingers. He turned it over in his hands once, his lips curling up into a crooked grin before he tapped at your photo. “Look at you,” he said, mirth dancing through his emerald gaze. “They got your good side.”

You raised a brow at him, holding your palm out toward him. “Are you saying I have a bad side?”

Clay shook his head, sliding the card back between your fingers and your hands brushing. A spark ran up your fingertips at the touch, sending a dizzying surge of heat rushing into your chest. “Nah. Every side is your good side.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he turned back to his desk, his gaze leaving yours. Your fingers curled tighter around your license, and you swallowed. How could he say something like that so casually? It was so unfair. You already liked him enough, and then he just had to go and say something like that. Of course. Stupid, dumb, handsome Clay. It was not your fault he was so... attractive. Totally.

After a long moment, your fingers curled a fraction tighter around your license, the plastic digging into your skin as you softly said, “Thanks.”

He waved a hand at you, his eyes curving into crescent moons. “Anytime.”

Your stomach tightened into a knot in your gut, tingling elation shooting through you and wrapping around your lungs. Tucking your license back into one of the wallet flaps, you watched as he flipped his notebook open to a blank page, quickly scribbling the date in the corner of the paper with a focused gaze. With a reluctant sigh, you tore your eyes away from him to look back at your own paper, pretending to write something down that wasn’t just his name. It was almost embarrassing how easily you could just stare and get lost in everything he did. You never thought you would be one of those people, yet here you were.

“Hey, by the way,” he suddenly said, his voice making you jump while his eyes flickered to meet yours, “do you happen to have any plans for Friday?”

Catching your breath, your pencil stopped in its tracks on the page. Friday? You furrowed your brows, the cogs in your head churning before you slowly nodded. “I think so.” A grimace tugged at your lips, and you held back a quiet groan. “I’ve got a project due on Monday that I need to get done, but I can’t work on it until Friday, so...” You gestured vaguely. “You know.”

There was a moment of silence, and Clay’s lips curled into a slight frown. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

You could have sworn you saw disappointment flit through his face, but it was gone in an instant. Leaning toward him, your eyebrows knit together in concern. “Hey,” you murmured softly, “is something wrong?”

In a flash, he was smiling again, and you couldn’t tell he had been frowning even a split second earlier. “No, no, I was just curious, that’s all.” He raised his hand toward you, tapping a finger against your nose. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

Your cheeks burst with warmth, his eyes brightening at the way your lips curled. Reeling back, you raised your chin at him, huffing. “Hey, this pretty little head is the one saving you from a C in chemistry, right now.”

He chuckled, his arm dropping back down to his side as he leaned back in his seat. “You sure are, and I hope you knows how much that means to me.”

Your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest. All at once, it felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Did he... could he—?

“Good morning, everyone.”

You jumped at the sound of your chemistry teacher’s voice, your hand tightening around your pencil as you watched him send your class a smile. “I hope you all had a good weekend. Today, we’ll be...”

Soon enough, you were already tuning him out, your mind drifting back to Clay’s words.

I hope you knows how much that means to me.

Something soft and fuzzy rolled over in your stomach, and you felt hope bubbling up in your throat.

Maybe your crush wasn’t as one-sided as you thought it was.

You dashed through the halls, your backpack bouncing against your shoulder as you weaved in between groups of friends leaning against the lockers and couples holding hands as they walked. You stifled a curse as you dodged someone’s arm, grumbling to yourself as you finally pushed past the doors that led outside. Couldn’t people learn to just not stand in the middle of the hall? People needed to get places—people like you.

Inhaling the fresh, spring air, you bounded across the dewy grass toward the familiar picnic table underneath the school’s willow tree. It was the only spot on school grounds that actually had enough shade to keep your head from overheating in the simmering Florida sun, so naturally, it became your and Wilbur’s go-to spot for lunch.

As the bench drew nearer, you felt your face brighten, spotting Wilbur already sitting in his usual spot, his beanie askew atop his head. The two of you were unlikely friends, to say the least, but after having spent years living next to each other, you were more than proud to call him your best friend, even if he did make you want to smack him more often than not.

Wilbur offered you a brief wave as you finally reached the bench, tugging open his sandwich bag with his other hand. Above you, the willow tree swayed, the branches and leaves scattering sunlight across his face. “Hey, how was chem—”

“Today, our hands touched when I showed him my license,” you blurted, not even pausing for breath.

Wilbur blinked at you once, stunned for a brief moment. Then, a groan flew from his lips, and he pressed two fingers to his temple, grimacing. “[Y/N],” he said, drawing out the syllables of your name, “I can’t keep doing this.”

You blinked as you sat down in the space across from him, dropping your bag onto the seat with a thud. “Keep doing what?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Keep listening to you endlessly pine over Clay without doing anything about it.” At your bewildered expression, he sighed, taking another bite of his sandwich as he pushed his glasses up further onto his face. “It’s been, what? Four months, at this point?”

“Five,” you said immediately.

He stared at you. “Five,” he repeated. When you nodded, his frown deepened. “You do realize how bad that sounds, right?”

A wave of embarrassment crashed over you, and you curled back into yourself, grumbling, “Let me live my life.”

“Not like this, I won’t.” Wilbur leaned over the table with a firm look, pointing his finger at you. “You need to ask him out.”

Your eyes widened at his words, and you felt your jaw drop open in disbelief. “No way,” you said, slapping your hands onto the table. “Absolutely not. I am not doing... that.”

You could practically see Wilbur’s impatience wearing thin, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “[Y/N]. C’mon. You like him—it’s so obvious.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back, then shook your head, closing it—Wilbur knew you too well to even try. “Probably, but not to Clay. To him, I’m just his lab partner.”

“His cute lab partner,” he pointed out, lifting a finger. “Who is also pretty, and smart, and funny, and interesting and—”

The smile was stretching across your face before you could stop it, and you whined, feeling your chest grow warm with genuine appreciation. “Stop, please.”

Wilbur’s lips split into a teasing grin, and he poked a finger to your side. “You know I’m only calling it like I see it.”

When you glowered at him, he only laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. Scoffing, you reached your arm toward him. “Well, if it’s only as much as you’re seeing it,” you said, “I guess I’ll just have to take these, then.”

Before he could react, your hand had wrapped around the side of his glasses, and you were pulling them off his face in a whirl. He jumped at the sudden change, and you watched as he fumbled with his sandwich, gaping at you as he whipped around. “Hey, give those back!”

You leaned back, sticking your tongue out at him as you held them above and behind your head. “Not until you stop.”

Now, it was his turn to glare at you, and he clenched his jaw with a long exhale. “Fine,” he said, focusing his attention back to his lunch. “I guess I just won’t tell you what’s happening on Friday, then.”

His glasses went limp in your hand, and your voice dropped down to a meek whisper. “There’s something happening on Friday?”

Wilbur only shrugged, humming softly. “Maybe, maybe not.”

Resting your elbows on top of the table, you pursed your lips, leaning forward to scan his face. “Will,” you said, your tone firm and demanding, “please tell me. Clay asked me if I was free on Friday and now I regret telling him no—you can’t just leave me hanging like this.”

Wilbur lifted his head to meet your gaze, a look of pure shock and disbelief shooting across his face. “He asked you if you were free and you said no?” He paused for a moment, then sighed for what must have been the millionth time. “Maybe you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

You scowled, but didn’t say anything. Instead, you lifted your head to slide his glasses across the table toward him. “Here,” you said, the tiniest tinge of desperation soaking into your voice, “I’ll even give these back.”

He raised his eyebrows at you, picking up his glasses with a soft whistle. “That was easier than I thought,” he murmured, ignoring the glare you shot him. Sliding his glasses back onto his face with practiced ease, he turned his attention back to you with a gleam in his eye. “Fine then, I��ll tell you.”

You held your breath as he leaned forward, opening his mouth. “There’s a football game on Friday,” he said, “and Chrissy’s throwing a party for after the game.”

You stared at him, then frowned, confusion swirling in your eyes. “Chrissy?” you parroted.

Wilbur nodded. “Yes, Chrissy.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. While you didn’t really know Chrissy yourself, you most definitely knew of her. That was the case for a lot of people in your school. After all, how could you not know Chrissy? She was the head cheerleader and practically the face of the school. With shiny, golden hair and a dazzling smile that put the sun to shame, it was basically impossible to miss her—you’d have to be blind to.

On one hand, you wanted to believe she was stuck-up and catty like all the cheerleaders you saw in movies, but deep down, you knew you had no right to make that judgement. People said she was nice, and you had never spoken to her yourself, so who were you to stereotype her? But on the other....

“What does Chrissy have anything to do with this?” you blurted, your eyes scanning his face for even a hint of something more. “We’re talking about Clay, not her.”

Wilbur only stared blankly at you, his eye twitching in agony. “How you pass your classes and still manage to be this dense is beyond me.”

You let out a groan, hanging your head in your hands. “Wilbur, you know I’m stupid. Now, will you please just get to the point?”

Wilbur dragged a hand over the bottom half of his face, sucking in a deep breath before lifting a hand toward you. “Chrissy is the cheer captain, [Y/N]. Clay is the quarterback. It’s an after-game party. He’s definitely going to be there.”

Silence washed over the two of you, and for an excruciatingly long minute, you simply stared at him, the dots slowly connecting in your head to form a full picture. After a few moments, Wilbur sighed again and looked away, giving you some time to think. Your head spun with thoughts of Friday, Clay, and your project, and you watched distractedly as Wilbur shoved the last bit of his sandwich into his mouth, chewing while you eyed him up and down.

A party, huh? you thought to yourself. Maybe, just maybe...

Just like that, something suddenly snapped inside you, and you felt your chest swell with determination. You could not believe you were about to do this.

“Wilbur,” you said, calm and slow, “this changes everything.” When he silently cocked a brow at you, you tightened your jaw. “We’re going to that football game, then we’re going to Chrissy’s party.”

He nodded, only half-listening as he stuffed his now empty sandwich bag into his pocket. “Sure, yeah, good for yo—wait.“ He froze, and you almost let yourself feel a sliver of pride as he gaped at you. “You said we.”

You ignored the sense of slow, sinking horror settling into your gut as you swallowed, squeezing your hands into tight fists. “Yeah—we. Because I’m going to need the moral support.”

Wilbur blinked once. Twice. Then, a slow grin began to spread across his face, and you could already tell you were about to regret telling him that. “Does this mean you’re gonna—?”

You swallowed thickly, your throat bobbing as you threw back your shoulders and nodded, firm and true. “I’m going to confess to Clay.”

Wilbur was on his feet in an instant, his hand shooting forward to clap you on the shoulder. “Attagirl!” Pulling back, he crossed his arms over his chest, smiling eagerly. “Sure then, I’ll come with. But you’re driving.”

You furrowed your brows at him, pulling yourself up until you were also standing. “You know I’ve only had my license for, like, half a week.”

He slung his arm over your shoulder, his lips twitching at the way you stumbled at his sudden movement. “That’s all the more reason to celebrate. Let’s go get ice cream.”

You gaped, somehow even more confused than before. “Celebrate? What are we celebrating? My driver’s license?”

Reaching down, Wilbur patted your head, grinning brightly. “You’ve made a step forward to finally being less of a wimp. That’s something.”

You sent him another glare, but shoved your hand into your pocket nonetheless. A few moments of rummaging later, you pulled out your parents’ car keys with a defeated sigh. “You’re lucky I like ice cream. But don’t blame me if I crash the car.”

“Hey,” he said, unwrapping his arm from its spot on your shoulder to pick up his bag, “even if you do, at least that way I’ll miss my stats test tomorrow.”

You gasped, frowning at him as you smacked his arm. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he simply hummed at you, his eyes gleaming in the sunlight. “Sometimes, the truth hurts,” he said, “and you just have to accept it.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he waved a hand, gesturing to your backpack. “Enough of the melodrama, though—get your stuff. I want ice cream.”

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes at him again, leaning down to grab your backpack with one hand and your keys with the other. As the two of you began to make your way across the field, squinting past the blinding sunlight, you felt your heart flutter in anticipation.

Friday—you could wait for Friday.

The roaring applause was absolutely deafening around you as the football slammed into the grass, claps and shouts ringing across the bleachers like nothing you’ve heard before. On the other side of the field, you watched as the cheerleaders shook their pom-poms, Chrissy landing a flip in front of the crowd with a stunning grin. With a slight wince, you grimaced, your eyes flickering to the scoreboard. Your team was losing 24 to 37, but from the way everyone was yelling, you’d have thought they had just won a war. Did they just get a point, or...?

“You don’t know anything about football, do you?”

You whirled around, tearing your eyes away from the scoreboard to find Wilbur sitting beside you with a bucket of popcorn sitting on his lap. You frowned at his unimpressed look, resolve etched into your features. “I know things. Like, um—” You paused for a second. “Like, Clay is the quarterback.”

A sardonic smile stretched across his face, and he cocked his head at you. “That’s great,” he drawled. “But do you know what a quarterback does?”

You stiffened, digging your thumb into the palm of your hand. “Plays football?” you offered sheepishly.

Wilbur deadpanned, picking at a stray thread on his mustard yellow sweater. “You’re hopeless.”

You let out a whine, burying your face in your hands to at least try to ignore the aching warmth creeping onto your cheeks, a prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. “I’m trying, okay?”

A hand settled onto your shoulder, familiar and warm. “I know, I know,” he murmured, sounding reassuring for once, “and I’m proud of you for that.”

You lifted your head, your wide eyes meeting his earnest ones. “Really?”

He smiled. “Really. But,” he added, something flashing in his gaze, “as your best friend, it is also my responsibility to clown you at every given opportunity.”

You pushed his arm off your shoulder with a pout. “You’re right, but I hate that you’re right.”

With a chuckle, he stuck his hand into the bucket on his lap, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Look,” he said, casting a worried glance at you, “I’m just trying to lighten the mood a little—you look like you’re stressed out of your mind.”

Your voice came out louder than you would have liked, your nails digging into your palms. “Because I am! I am, okay? He...” You trailed off for a moment, searching for the right words. “...he means a lot to me, and I really like him.”

Wilbur’s gaze grew soft, his hold on the popcorn bucket growing loose. “I know you do.” He paused for a moment, then nudged your shoulder with his. “Tell you what,” he began, “if we win the game, you tell him, but if we lose, we can just go home.”

You stared at him, the weight on your shoulders suddenly feeling a lot less heavy. “Seriously?”

He nodded, his lips quirking. “Yes. I don’t want to push you into doing something you’ll regret.”

You turned back to the scoreboard once more, your gaze darting back and forth between the 24 on the sign and the grass. Down below, you caught a glimpse of a uniform with the number one plastered across the back dashing across the field as the crowd cheered. The gears in your head whirred, and you felt your gut churn. Did you really want to leave and give up, now? Were you really okay with that?

Memories of emerald green eyes and loud peals of laughter flashed across your mind, and you felt your chest grow hot.

“Okay,” you breathed, quiet yet firm. “Okay, I think I—”

You stopped, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Sucking in another breath, your eyelids shot open and you swallowed. “I can do this.” Your eyes flitted to Wilbur’s. “Yeah?” You nodded to yourself. “Yeah.”

Wilbur sucked on the inside of his cheek, his fingers nervously tapping on the side of the popcorn bucket. “We can still go home, it’s okay. We can leave now if you wa—”

You shook your head, and his words fell quiet. “No,” you sighed, feeling both nervous and relieved. “No. I’m gonna do it.”

His fingers stopped, surprise seeping into his expression. “You are?”

You watched as the football soared across the air, spinning in a perfect spiral. Something inside you flipped, and you found the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.

“I am.”

Flashing lights scattered broken rays of rainbows across the ceiling, moving bodies jumping and dancing against one another as their eyes glimmered with excitement. Some pop song you were pretty sure you had heard on the radio that morning was blasting through the speakers, making the floor shake beneath your feet. You blinked down at your shoes, feeling your arms tingle at your side with discomfort.

“I kind of regret doing this.”

Beside you, Wilbur let out a long sigh, shaking his head as he poured himself another glass of... whatever he had been drinking. “I literally told you we could leave earlier.”

Your hand trembled at your side, your thumb pressing against your side as you shuffled back and forth anxiously. “Do not remind me, please. I’m already on the verge of losing my mind right about now.”

Wilbur glanced down at you, taking in your shaking lip and nervous expression, then smiled, bending over slightly so that he was eye-level with you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice still reaching your ear despite the deafening music, “you’ve got this, okay?” He pushed his cup toward you, gently tapping your arm with it. “I’m still here for you, even if goes badly. Remember that.”

The sting crawling up your spine grew a little fainter at his words, and you bit your lip, shooting him a sheepish smile. “Thanks. I’ll, um, find you later?”

Reaching his hand up, he ruffled your hair with a reassuring smile. “Of course. Go on, now.” Patting your back one last time, he bumped his side into yours playfully, pushing you forward. “You can do it.”

You pursed your lips one last time, willing the butterflies in your stomach to die down before turning on your heel and making your way through the house. You could do this—yeah, you definitely could! What was the worst that could happen?

You stepped past wild movements and braying laughter, weaving your way through the maze that was Chrissy’s house as your eyes swept over the bustling crowd. You never knew Chrissy lived in such a nice place, but really, you weren’t all that surprised, and you weren’t really complaining. After all, it was a nice party, and more than a great place to celebrate your school’s victory.

Although you would wished that it wasn’t as big as it was, if only so you could actually find Clay.

As you slowly pushed against the torrent of mingling people, your mind began to wander. I wonder if I look okay. Does my hair still look alright after Wilbur messed with it? He better not have ruined it. Or maybe Clay would find it cute? Your face burned, and you shook your head to yourself, muttering under your breath. You weren’t sure anymore, but you could tell that the nerves were starting to get to you.

You found your pushing into the kitchen, nearly toppling over someone’s leg as the dangling lights came into view. Reaching forward, you grabbed onto the counter to balance yourself, blood pumping in your ears. Were parties always this crazy, or was everyone just high off the adrenaline from the game? You couldn’t tell.

It was then that a voice called out over the deafening music echoing in your ears. “Yo, [Y/N]!”

You whirled at the sound of your name, your eyes scanning the kitchen for the owner’s voice before landing on a familiar face leaning up against the counter. “Sapnap?” you said, eyes widening as you walked over.

Sapnap flashed you a welcoming smile, raising his cup to his lips to take a small sip. “Hey,” he said, his voice somehow sailing across the blaring bass, “it’s good to see you. I feel like you never come to parties.”

You nodded, tucking some hair behind your ear as you offered him a sheepish smile, shrugging. “Just thought it would be nice to spend some a night out for once, you get me?” It was right when Sapnap nodded that you gasped, clapping your hands together. “Oh, by the way, have you seen Clay?”

Sapnap paused, fiddling with his cup. “Clay? I’m pretty sure he was with Chrissy out in the backyard.”

He jutted his head toward the glass, sliding door on the opposite side of the room, and you sent him a grateful grin. “Awesome, thanks.” Raising your hand in a wave, you turned. “See you around!”

He raised his cup in return, smiling back at you. “See ya.”

Your anxiety had blossomed into excitement now, a grin tugging at your lips as you leapt around the dining table and grabbed the door handle, sliding it open with a grunt. Stepping outside, you heard the splashing of the pool and bursts of giggles echo around you, washing the dim, evening clouds with a pale, swimming glow. Like the rest of her house, Chrissy’s backyard was big—bigger than you’d have thought. With a pool and a gazebo to boot, you were shocked by how unsurprised you were.

Sapnap said he was out here last time he saw him, you thought, wiping your damp palms on your bottoms. Your heart raged against your rib cage, beating wildly as you sucked in a deep breath. I guess it’s now or nothing.

Plastering a smile to your face, you lifted your head, taking a step forward only for your eyes to catch on someone moving in the gazebo.

Your heart stopped.

Tucked away under the gazebo’s arching roof, there sat Clay, his arm wrapped around Chrissy’s waist as he gazed at her with warm, fond eyes. He dipped his head down to whisper something into her ear, and you could only watch as she giggled, tilting his head down to press her lips against his in a soft, sweet peck.

Your lungs were constricted in your chest, and you suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe. Every breath you took felt like a weight of bricks had been set into your bones, your vision hyper focusing on the sight lying a few feet away from you.

Her hands in his. His eyes focused on her. The sound of her laughter, light and pure. The flash of his smile, loving and kind.

He... Clay... and Chrissy...?

It was almost as you had ducked your head into the pool, everyone’s voices sounding murky and unfamiliar. Beside you, you could vaguely make out the conversation of two girls chatting away with one another, their smiles bright and gazes eager.

“Hey,” one murmured, “do you know how long Clay and Chrissy have been together?”

The other paused. “I think he asked her out after they won the game, right when everyone was coming over. Romantic, right?”

There was a gasp. “Really? That’s so cute. They’re perfect together, aren’t they? Head cheerleader with the quarterback—” A dramatic sigh. “—it’s like a movie or something.”

You heard a noise of affirmation. “And they’re both so nice. Like, gosh, no wonder they ended up together.”

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat, your eardrums ringing inside your head. The world suddenly felt like it was a million miles away, like you were hearing everything through a tunnel as you stumbled your way back toward the house. Voices chatted around you and bodies jostled you as you walked, but all you could think about was the thought of Clay’s lips pressed to Chrissy’s, the image burned to the back of your eyelids.

Wilbur, you thought through the jumbled mess of your thoughts. I need to find Wilbur. Where is he?

Someone laughed beside you—it sounded too much like Clay. Everything was too loud, too bright. You were going to be sick.

Just then, a swathe of mustard yellow caught your attention from the corner of your eye, and in an instant, you were turning on your heel, pushing past strangers and acquaintances alike with only one goal in mind. Wilbur was taking to someone you recognized as Eret, the British transfer student from a little while back. They looked like they were getting along well, what with the way Wilbur was smiling, but right now, you couldn’t wait another second to get your best friend’s attention.

The moment you reached him, your hand was already gripping onto his arm, tugging at him. “Wilbur,” you said shakily, feeling like your knees were about to give out, “we need to leave. Right now.”

Wilbur turned, the bright lights making his eyes gleam in the dimness. “Oh, [Y/N], how’d it g—” His smile fell from his face the second his eyes met yours, worry flooding his features. “What happened?”

Your throat felt tight as you curled your fingers tighter into his sweater, the fabric bunching up in your hand. “Wilbur, please.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, then he nodded, his gaze softening. “Okay.” Turning, he sent a quick wave to Eret, muttering some excuse before dipping his head closer to you and placing his hand on the small of your back. “I’ll drive,” he murmured. “Where to?”

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest, a small, tight noise leaving you as your lips struggled to form a sentence. “I don’t know—my house... yours... the park?” You clung to his arm like an anchor, half-feeling like you would drift off into the endless sea without him. “Just... anywhere but here.”

Wilbur scanned your face, his fingers twitching against your backside before he nodded, nudging you forward ever so slightly. “Park it is.”

You were only vaguely aware of being pulled away from the party, walking down the front steps of the house and into the passenger seat of the car as Wilbur turned on the ignition. Your vision grew blurry as you felt hot tears begin to stream down your cheeks, the world outside the car windows turning into a hazy mess of colour and shadows. Inside your chest, you felt the shards of your heart dig against your lungs. Heartbroken didn’t even begin to describe the anguish you felt.

At least you weren’t the one driving.

You kicked your legs back and forth on the squeaky swing set, the loud creaking digging into your skull like a thought you couldn’t shake. Your insides felt heavy underneath your skin, and you felt the back of your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

Your eyes slowly lifted to meet Wilbur’s, who was standing in front of you, his face contorted in concern as he quietly waited for you to respond. “I...” you began softy, swallowing. “I’m not sure.”

He simply watched you for a moment, then nodded, murmuring a soft, “That’s okay.”

In the distance, you could see a lamppost flickering in the darkness, the light fading in and out of view like it was just barely grappling to stay afloat. A wave of sadness rolled over you at the sight, although you couldn’t name why, as you found yourself opening your mouth, the words tumbling from your lips in incoherent sentences.

“It’s just... I just... I, um. I—” You stopped, letting your eyes fall shut before you managed to whisper, “He was with Chrissy, you know?”

Wilbur froze, his eyes slowly widening as he took in your words. “He was?”

You nodded your head, something cold and broken rattling in your chest at the movement. “Yeah.”

Fury flashed across his face like a wildfire, and he crouched down before you, his jaw clenched tightly. “Even after he asked you if you had plans...” He scowled, cursing under his breath. “What a prick.”

You let out a soft laugh, but it felt forced, the smile immediately slipping off your face the moment you closed your mouth. “He was all over her, you could tell,” you whispered, clutching your arms tighter around yourself. “He was looking at her like... I dunno, like she had done something wonderful, like she was the greatest thing in the world.”

The back of your eyelids stung, and you sucked in a shuddering breath. The hollow hole in the pit of your stomach suddenly didn’t feel so empty anymore as something cold and sad began to pool around your lungs as you continued. “And like, gosh, just... you were right when you said the truth hurts, Will.” Beside you, you saw him since, his expression blurry from the tears starting to fill your eyes. “It hurts. A lot. It really, really does.”

Your hand clutched at the fabric covering your heart, almost as if you were trying to cradle the shattered pieces. “I know I can’t control his feelings, and I shouldn’t have expected anything,” you whispered, “but I just felt like we had something, you know? Like we could have been something. But now it’s all—”

Your voice suddenly cracked, your sentences cut off by an empty, choked out sob. Hot, wet droplets spilled down your cheeks, and you squeezed your eyes shut, your sides trembling. In an instant, Wilbur’s arms wrapped around you, and you felt him tug you into his chest, your head resting against his shoulder while you whimpered.

“Oh, [Y/N]...” he whispered, his hand stroking against your back.

You hiccuped against him, shaking like a leaf as you buried your face into his sweater. “I’m sorry for roping you into this—I really thought I had a chance, but what was I thinking? She’s Chrissy, and I’m just...” You sobbed. “I’m just...”

All of a sudden, Wilbur pulled you back from him, his hands gripping onto your shoulders tightly as his eyes bore into yours. “You’re you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your eyes going wide. Wh-What?

Before you, Wilbur’s fingers dug sternly into your shoulders, his stare unwavering as he spoke clearly and true. “Look,” he said, “I can’t tell you what he was thinking, and I can’t tell you why he did that. But...” He paused for a moment, and you watched his face soften as his tone grew warm.

“I can tell you that he just passed up the best girl in the whole, wide world.”

You felt tears prick your eyes once more, but this time they didn’t burn. “Y-You’re just saying that,” you whined, reaching a hand up to wipe at your eyes.

He shook you gently in his arms, prodding you with his hands. “I’m not, I promise, even if I do think you’re my loser best friend.”

When you laughed this time, it didn’t feel nearly as heavy as it did before. You caught a glimpse of his smile as you pressed the sleeve of your shirt against your eyes, soaking up your tears. “Thanks, Wilbur,” you whispered as you sent him a smile—a real one. “Really.”

He grinned at you, dropping his hands from your shoulders. “Anytime, [Y/N]. Now,” he said, rising to his feet, “how do you feel about getting ice cream?”

You blinked at him, taking in the sight of his glimmering eyes in the light of the shining moon. “Please don’t tell me you’re calling this a celebration.”

He shook his head, but you caught the way his lips twitched in amusement. “No. Sometimes you just get ice cream because it makes you feel better.” He stretched his hand out toward you. “Here.”

You slipped your fingers between his, letting him pull you up from the creaky swing set with a slight huff. Once you let go, you held your palm up toward him, waiting. “I’ll drive.”

He cocked his head at you, slowly pulling your keys out of the pockets of his jeans. “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”

You shook your head at him, picking the keys up from his palm. “It’s alright.” Tossing them once in your palm, you flashed him a grin. “Hey, if I crash the car, I won’t have to hand in that assignment on Monday.”

Wilbur blinked at you once, then twice. Then, he burst into laughter, clutching at his chest as he keeled over, wiping a tear from his eye as he smacked your arm with his. “You know what?” he gasped between breaths as he stood upright once more. “I’ll pay for ice cream, this time.”

A cheer tore itself from your lips, and you pumped your fist in the air as you went racing down the hill toward your car parked by the sidewalk, the wind whipping at your face. Behind you, you could hear Wilbur shout your name as he chased after you, his voice echoing into the cool, dark night.

Maybe things weren’t as bad as you thought. Clay was happy, and while you weren’t quite there yet yourself, you knew that one day, you would be, too.

After all, while the truth may hurt, it wasn’t all bad, either.

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universitypenguin · 2 years

Text

A Near Death Experience in Chemistry Lab…

A dramatic retelling by University Penguin

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Why has my blog not been very active for the past month?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I’ve had a crazy schedule. That’s basically the whole answer. Grad school picked up, there were problems at work and I ended up roped into putting in extra time to help fix things. Then, to pile on top of that, I got stuck covering a lab for another grad student who was sick. It was supposed to be just a one time thing.

And let me tell you… never teach chemistry lab to a bunch of 19-20 year olds. It is not safe!

Ugh.

Some back story. I have Fridays off and the lab period in question is on a Friday morning. When the other graduate student got sick, I was a logical substitute. Not knowing what I was getting myself into, I agreed.

…. I am an idiot! (More on that later.)

Scene: my college’s chemistry building; Lab Room 108

The students are coming in. I’ve read through the lab hand out twice, diluted the right concentration of reactants from the stock chemicals, etc. I’m feeling prepared and confident. I start the lecture on safety, because that’s what you do first - when their attention span is fresh.

Of immediate notice, a guy in the front has a remarkably blank look on his face. Next to him is his lab partner, who’s mouth appears stuck to be stuck in a permanent smirk. They’re barely paying attention. Already, I know who my problem students are going to be. Since I’m a substitute, I don’t bother learning names. They’re going to be referred to as Thing 1 and Thing 2 from here on.

I quickly realize Thing 1 and Thing 2 have made it to mid-semester because they didn’t bother to drop the class before the cut off. They’re not familiar with the reaction mechanism and can’t even tell me what the function of a Lewis Acid is. Now I’m not wondering how they made it to mid-semester; I’m wondering how they made it through the prerequisites to be in this class at all.

Everyone takes the safety quiz. In order to do the experiment you have to pass this in class quiz first.

Thing 1 has to re-take it three times before he passes. Thing 2 only has to retake it once.

The rest of the class is already well into their experiment when I get these two started. Knowing they’re not serious about the work, I stick close and keep an eye on their progress.

Thing 1 collects the right glassware for our reaction from the cabinet. My low expectations have been exceeded - some optimism returns to my spirit. He even sets up the correct heating apparatus. Maybe there’s hope? Thing 2 finds the right chemicals, measures them out, and only spills a small beaker of acid in the process. Fortunately, it was under the safety hood. No big deal.

Still. I’m twitchy about them doing the next steps and go over to watch. They’re goofing off and Thing 1 is watching an Instagram video.

Am I going to be a Karen and call him out on it?

This is an option. However, I’m not getting paid for this and he’s an adult. Too much trouble. Instead of dressing him down, I turn my attention to Thing 2.

“You have to pour in chemicals A and then add chemical B. You swirl the flask to mix them and wait until they’re cool to add chemical C. Okay? You mix the first two. Then you wait for the glassware to be cool enough to touch. When it’s cooled off you can add the last reactant.”

Thing 2 gives a nod of understanding. It is not a convincing nod. I have him repeat the steps out loud before stepping back to observe.

Thing 1 has been scrolling Instagram this entire time. I’m well aware he’s not processed a single word I said. While I’m not being paid to substitute for this lab - lowly graduate student status for the win - I’m not so lazy I won’t at least talk to the guy.

“You should see this next step, it’s very cool.”

“Mmhh.”

I realize from the lingering smell he might be high and wonder if there’s a rule against smoking weed before chem lab. Probably not. In undergrad, my physical chemistry professor was high for every lecture he gave. He told us about his favorite THC tinctures and said (in a full classroom) that he went into chemistry because he was into drugs. Both making them and taking them. Anyways, back to the main plot. Thing 1 is high. Fine. Whatever.

Thing 2 pours the first chemicals together.

Reactant A and Reactant B mix without issue. He reaches for Reactant C far too quickly.

“Wait for it to cool down,” I remind him.

He picks up Reactant C.

Before I can speak, it’s poured into the flask.

😳

*moment of denial* 😐

*internal screaming* 😱 🫣

*panic* 🙊🙈🙉

*crisis mode* 😑

This is not good.

It’s very, very, bad.

When combined at a certain temperature, reactants A, B, and C make liquid TNT.

Of course, the color change that’s supposed to occur in our lab doesn’t happen. I see Thing 2 is check his lab print out, confused. He picks up the flask, staring at it for a moment and… swirls the liquid.

😬

“I’ll take that!!”

He’s startled when I snatch the flask away, using both hands. When I move to block him out from trying to take it back, as if the flask is a football and he’s the left tackle for the opposing team. He holds up his hands in surrender. The look on his face says ‘lady, what’s your problem?’

At this point I become aware that:

I’m holding a chemical bomb.

The flask is still hot, so I can tell that the reaction is continuing. 🫤 GREAT NEWS!!

There are fifteen students in the room.

If this goes off, it will level the lab room we’re all standing in. Maybe even the entire building.

Should the TNT detonate, the stock room next door will also explode. The contents in it would keep a hazmat team busy for a month.

“Alright, everyone needs to leave the lab!”

Complaints from the other students erupt. They’re in the last step, but I could care less.

“You’re dismissed. The assignment will be altered, we’ll figure it out. Leave the lab - right now.”

“Like, just us? Or everyone?” Thing 1 asks.

“Everyone get out! I’m canceling lab.”

“Shouldn’t we clean up first?”

“No, you don’t have to clean up, I’ll take care of it. Get out.”

Remarkably, I don’t sound too panicked. Bitchy, for sure. The students left.

Okay, the students are safe. But now I’m holding a liquid chemical bomb in an empty college lab. To make a bad situation worse, it’s Friday. Morning lab sections on Friday aren’t most students first choice when they’re picking classes. Hence, the only lab being conducted in the building was ours. Given the bomb in my hands, knowing I’m alone helps settle my nerves. Feeling a bit calmer is great, because for my next trick, I have to dispose of this stuff without help.

Guess what I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon doing?

Yes. Disposing of liquid TNT.

In conclusion, I offer this advice: never substitute for a sick graduate student TA. It’s not worth it. You might end up disposing of a bomb created by a 19 year old sophomore with a Zac Efron haircut and braces.

I wish I could be writing more and I want you all to know that I haven’t forgotten about the requests I promised. They’re in progress. Very slow progress.

The thing is, I’m covering this lab until the end of semester. The other grad student who has been their TA is actually sick. I found this out after I told the lab coordinator what had gone down with the chemical bomb and unintentional TNT synthesis. She was impressed by how I’d handled it and proceeded to recommend to the department that I get paid to cover the rest of the semester. Thing 1 and Thing 2 have been removed from the class, so I said yes.

I am an idiot. But at least I’m an idiot who’s getting paid for being so stupid.

#alice rambles #tales from the chemistry lab #grad school #substitute teacher #chem lab #penguin blog update #penguin’s bad day

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kaijime · 4 years

Note

I dunno about you but I wanna get wrecked by both my salty king, Tsuki, and my chem nerd, Kuroo. So can I get a smutty, poly, fic for them? Thank you <33

tsukishima + kuroo threesome

cw. fem reader, bondage, dub-con, small size kink, degradation, spitting, competition?? Double penetration, degradation, small praise, creampie

The reunion had gone great, you thought. Bokuto, Akaashi, Kuroo, Tsukishima and you, once high school friends after meeting at the gym late at night in a training camp, had a small get together at a corner cafe just to catch up after a few years of finishing high school.

It was supposed to be a casual thing, but when your ride ditched you and you asked Tsukishima for a ride it became somewhat awkward. Specially when Kuroo decided to join along because the tension between the two men was almost unbearable.

Somehow, the subject shifted from old times with volleyball practice to how good they could please a woman. As if you, a woman, was not in the same space than them. If you look back at it now, it might’ve been what brought you here, on the bed, your hands tied with Kei’s belt and watching as Kuroo nibbled at your inner thigh while Tsukki teased your nipples.

Your hips grind themselves to what you need the most, Kuroo’s mouth. His tongue licked at your pussy and his nose grazed your clit, making your back arch at the feeling.

“Please... I w-want it- ah” oh how you wished you could take tuffs of his hair in your hands. When you tried to do so Kei would grab your tied hands and pull them up, clicking his tongue and reminding you how you should be a patient little whore.

“Are you really that desperate to be filled up? Maybe we should give it to her Kuroo, give he what she’s begging for” Kuroo instantly realeases from your pussy and positions his length to your cunt, dragging his tip over his puffy lips.

He enters you groaning, giving light praises about how good your tight cunt is taking him. All the while, Kei has two fingers in your mouth to try and keep you quiet. You whine, the stretch feels too good and you can’t help from grinding your hips against his, trying to gain any sort of friction he could give you,but he put a hand on your lower stomach to ensure you stay still.

At the same time he held you still, he felt himself inside your tummy, pressing down to feel the bulge he left.

“Is this really me darling?” He knows the answer to the question, who else could it be? He just wants to hear it from you. He just wants to hear you beg for it and watch you squirm to take him. The way your cute little tears roll down your cheeks drives him all the more to fuck you senseless.

“She just loves being stuffed by a fat cock. Don’t you Y/n?” You nod your head absentmindedly, thinking of nothing else but the way Kuroo makes you feel so full. You create a small place of peace in your mind while he waits for you to adjust to his size, but it’s all crumbled apart when he moves, his tip kissing your pelvis lightly before abruptly hitting it.

“Fuck- she’s so tight, should try her” he spoke as if you weren’t there. As if you were just a little cum-doll, only here to service them as a tight hole. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want them to call you that.

Tsukishima was already having a great time watching the small tears that streamed down your face, hearing the small sobs you cried out.

“Don’t worry, I will” you grab onto nothing in a relentless search for release, but with the way he was fucking you with the only goal to make you go numb, it was almost impossible. “I bet she’d like to have her small hole filled to the brim with cum”

“She’d like it, wouldn’t you doll?” Your too busy with your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your tongue lolling out of your mouth. The knot in your stomach burst with a silent scream that you held back, gushing around Kuroo’s cock and not seeing the end of this round anytime soon, he was still rock hard and railing into your sopping pussy.

You feel Kei’s fingers prodding at your mouth, not even waiting for you fog ran them any access and just putting them inside without a second thought.

“Suck” he commanded “And maybe I’ll let you suck on something else”

You swirled your tongue around his digits, a nice distraction from the overstimulation the black haired male was giving you. You could feel his dick twitch inside of you until he pulled out and came, your pulsing cunt covered with his white slick as he watched closely, inspecting his small masterpiece.

“Fuck- so good-!” He exclaimed.

“Alright, my turn” Kuroo barely had time to recover from his orgasm before Tsukishima was pushing him away from your entrance, guiding his tip inside of you. He did it slowly but you were still sensitive and you couldn’t help but release a heavy moan.

“It’s so good- your cock is so fat Kei-!” He smiles at your words, if your mind was clear you wouldn’t be saying these things, which is what made them more enjoyable for him. “I love it! I-I love your cock!”

“Such a little cock-whore, shouting how much you like my cock. Do you like it better than Kuroo’s? Hmm?” Kuroo sent a death glare his way as he waited for your answer. It was clear that you were going to answer what you found more convinient right now, if you gave the wrong answer their would probably be a punishment involved.

“Yours! I like yours b-better!” Kei flipped the positions so that you were on top of him, you immediately moved your hips to meet with his in hard thrusts.

“Better than who’s cock?”

“I like your c-cock better than- better than Kuroo’s” At that moment you felt a tall figure towering behind you, leaving sweet nips at your neck before grabbing it harshly. He pulls your head up and you gasp at the sudden grab.

“You better watch your words. Just because I wasn’t on the bed doesn’t mean I couldn’t hear you. Now open your mouth you bitch” you do as told, tongue almost lolling out of your mouth before he leaned close to your mouth and spit inside. You quickly close it and swallow what you’re given, tasting his saliva as you grip the back of his hair with your spare hand, asking for more. “What a little slut. Letting men spit in her mouth and still asking for more”.

Tsuki sits up, you’re still moving yourself up and down while Kuroo positions himself behind you, but you’re too busy to mind whatever he’s doing. Then all of a sudden you feel another thing prodding at your filled entrance. Kuroo.

“Since you’re such a cock-whore, I think you should be able to handle two at once, right?” You shake your head, trying to prevent him from going any further but now he’s balls deep inside of you, his thrusts meeting up with yours and hands in front of your chest rubbing your nipples with his thumb.

“‘s too much-! Feels s-so... ah- fuck, it’s so g-good” your cheeks were wet with your tears, rolling down at the immense feeling and you grab Kei’s forearms for leverage, leaving small scratches that he wouldn’t be able to cover up. “Gonna cum!”

“You want to cum? You have to make us cum first baby, so get working on it” you clench at his words, making them throw their head back. “Gonna fill you with my cum baby- fuck, you’re so good, clenching around us”

Kuroo came, painting your walls with his cum and staying still inside of you while riding out his orgasm.

“Please... I wanna c-cum, can I cum?” Tsukishima nodded his head, too lost in his own release to put up a fight with you. He slides a hand down to stimulate your clit, slapping the sensitive bud as you came all over his dick. With the way you were squeezing him tight he realeased inside, mixing his cum with Kuroo’s and watching it drip when he pulled out.

“Oh fuck... that was so good”

taglist.

@kiyobbie @g0runt @rana-kun @ghostlydiamond135

©️ kaijime | all content belongs to kaijime, do not modify or repost

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #smut #haikyuu #tsukishima kei #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima #kuroo #kuroo smut #kuroo x reader smut #kuroo x reader

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apocalypticbadass · 4 years

Text

Sapphic Vampire Lovers (Smut)

A/N: Hey guysss it’s Alice smut time. Haven't been able to get the woman out of my head recently so here are my musings. You live with the Cullens and Alice is your girlfriend, but no one at school knows. You’re basically an adopted sibling so I might refer to the kiddos as your brother/sister. Also I’m not saying Alice can't see the future in this but like...lowkey...it’s hard as hell to write for her when she already knows everything lol.

Warnings: Smut, cursing, I think that’s it.

----

You sighed loudly as Mike Newton continued to prattle on about unimportant matters by your side. The bell signaled the beginning of class, and you feigned an apologetic look, which Mike believed wholeheartedly as he scurried to his seat. Poor boy. You turned to Emmett, your “brother” who sat next to you in Chem.

“He doesn’t give up, does he?” Emmett snickered.

You shook your head and sighed. “Oh shut it, Em.”

“You should just turn him away at this point. It’s going too far. Alice is starting to really notice.”

“Wait actually? She can’t possibly think I would ever pick Mike Newton over her.” You replied, getting quite nervous that Alice might be upset with you.

“I’m just sayin’. He’s always flirting with you, the last thing you want is for Alice to get the wrong idea.” “Yeah, you're right. Thanks Em.”

He smiled at you and ruffled your hair before you both turned towards the front to pay some attention to your teacher. You couldn’t sit still for the entirety of class, Emmett kept having to pull your hands out of your mouth to stop you from biting your nails or rest his hand on your knee to keep your leg from bouncing. The bell rang after a painfully long class, and all you wanted was to get out of there. It was the last period of the day, so you and Emmett grabbed your things and booked it out of class, he understood your desire to leave. What the both of you had missed while you were too busy worrying about your anxiety, was that Mike Newton had left class 10 minutes early with Eric Yorkie and Tyler Crowley. How Emmett’s incredible hearing and sight had missed that, you’ll never know. Or maybe he just thought it was unimportant. The rest of your family caught up with you, and Alice linked her arm in yours.

“Hi baby.” She said with a smile.

“Hi Ali.” You answered, nuzzling into her shoulder as you walked.

As you all got closer to the parking lot, Emmett gasped. “Oh my fucking God...”

“Oh Jesus, here we go.” Rosalie sighed.

Draped across the side of Mike’s minivan, made of canvas and paint, was a sign that read “(Y/N), will you go to prom with me?”

You stopped dead in your tracks.

This could not be happening.

No way was this happening.

You turned, horrified, to look at Alice’s face. She was staring straight ahead, jaw set, eyes unreadable. You softly disconnected your arms and rushed over to Mike, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

He beamed as he saw your urgency. “So, what do you think?”

“Mike, take it down right now.” You pleaded. “I’m sorry but I won’t go to prom with you.”

His face fell as Eric and Tyler moved to take the sign down and save Mike a little bit of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry Mike, I have to go.”

“Yeah, no, it’s cool.” He said, rubbing the back of his head.

Your family was on your left and they were already getting into the car. Alice was at the back, and you grabbed her wrist while begging her to turn around and talk to you. “Alice, please, can we talk?”

“What is there to talk about?” She spat, venom in her voice. “Clearly you gave him a reason to think he should ask you. You’re very friendly, and I love that about you, but I think flirting with someone when you have a girlfriend is way too far.” “Alice you know I would never do that. You know how loyal I am to you, Mike could never hold a candle to you. I swear I’ve never flirted with him in my life, he’s just obsessed or something.” Your eyes shone with tears. “Please, baby. Trust me, not him. I swear on my life I only love you.”

You could see the slightest softening of her defensive exterior as your (y/e/c) eyes bore into her deep amber ones.

She stepped closer to you and sighed. “You’re right, I’m overreacting, I suppose. You haven’t given me any reason to believe that you’d flirt with him.” Alice placed her lips below your ear. “Unfortunately for you, you’ll have to pay for poor Mike’s mistake. I’ll have to remind you who you belong to, just incase you needed a refresher.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a blush creeping onto your cheeks since you knew that your family could hear you quite clearly from inside the car.

“I’ll meet you at home.” She said before turning on her heel to walk home, she’d be back before the rest of you.

You got in the car behind the passenger seat, head in your hands as Emmett laughed from the other side of the car. “What did I tell you?”

“Drop it, McCarty.” You glared at him.

“She’ll come around.” Jasper said, hand on your knee. “She’s not actually mad, just jealous that he can be so carefree with his feelings while you both have to hide yours.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Just sucks.” “At least you’ll get good sex out of it.” Rosalie said nonchalantly, looking at her nails, which she had painted last night.

“Get some!” Emmett cheered, which made you bust out laughing.

The car ride home was comfortably quiet, everyone else’s mind wandering to other things, Rosalie and Edward speaking to one another in a nearly inaudible tone.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach when you pulled up to the Cullen house, met by Alice leaning against her Porsche, arms folded neatly across her chest. Jasper squeezed your shoulder in encouragement, feeling your nerves flow, and eased your anxiety as best as he could, one last time. Alice got in the car before you could get over to her, and just before she shut the door, she gave you a “come hither” motion. You opened the passenger door and sat carefully inside of the car, careful not to track in any mud.

“Hi.” You said softly as she began to drive.

“Hello.”

You fell into silence, zoning out while looking out the window, wondering where the hell you were going. You tried very hard not to let her know how nervous you were, but the attempt was futile because she could hear your erratic heartbeat.

“Where exactly are we going?” You managed to say, in a calmer voice than you thought you could muster.

“You’ll see. It’ll be fun.” She said lightly, tossing you a wink.

20 minutes later, Alice pulled into a hotel parking lot, probably the fanciest building you had ever seen. You knew you were in Seattle, but had never been to this secluded area with these fancy buildings. You felt severely underdressed, the both of you casual, but her level of fashion much higher than yours, her walk far more graceful. She gave the keys to the valet as they pulled luggage out of the trunk. Alice took one bag for herself and handed one to you. She kept her hand on the small of your back and led you through the massive glass doors, which were opened for you of course. The gorgeous decor of the lobby kept your gaze until Alice had signed you both in.

“Come on now, love.” Her voice was like melted honey.

Your gaze flipped to her and you followed her to the elevator, where she pushed the button for the top floor. Your eyes went wide as you remembered peering up to the peak of the building and how high it was. As you stepped out, there was one single door in front of you. Alice swiftly unlocked it and ushered you inside, bolting the lock shut immediately. As you walked around in awe, you felt yourself being whisked away, vision blurring as Alice ran you both into the bedroom, where she tossed you onto the silk duvet. Her dainty, but incredibly strong hands pushed your shoulders back onto the bed.

“What to do with you?” She pretended to think before pulling a pair of cuffs from behind her back.

You bit your lip as you felt butterflies down below. Your wrists were in one of her hands in a second, cuffed to the headboard before you could even blink. “Are you going to be good for me, darling?”

“Yes baby, I will.”

“Good.” She muttered into your ear, tearing your shirt off to suck on the exposed skin of your breasts. All you wanted to do was tangle your fingers into her short hair as she marked your body. Your wrists audibly struggled against your confines and you groaned. Alice laughed. She tore your bra off in a fluid motion, gently worrying one of your nipples between her teeth.

You sucked in a breath. “Ali, please. Wanna touch you.”

She swiftly flipped you onto your stomach. “No ma’am. Not allowed.”

She then pulled your pants and underwear off in one go, leaving you completely exposed. Alice slid a finger towards your clit, circling it slowly. You whined and squirmed, so she ripped all contact away from you. You felt her cool breath at your ear and her disapproving tsk. “I thought you said you were going to be good for me.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You better.” She replied, swiftly inserting one finger into your vagina. You took a sharp breath through your nose, trying to keep still. She curled her finger into your g-spot at an incredible pace, causing you to take a mouthful of the bedsheets to keep yourself quiet. She was pleasantly surprised at how good you were being, so she added another finger, scissoring you open. It took absolutely everything in you to just stay still and quiet.

Once you felt stretched enough, she placed a kiss at the base of your spine and retracted all contact, flashing across the room to grab a bag. You were unable to see this, but her clothes were off in an instant, and she had fastened one of her many straps around her hips. She’d chosen your favorite attachment, a hot pink dildo that measured around 7.5 inches. She leaned down to whisper in your ear while allowing the toy to nestle into the cleft of your butt.

“You’re not even gonna remember Mike Newton’s name after this.”

With that comment, she slid the tip of the toy into your entrance, slowly pushing into you, stretching you all the way out. “You can make noise now, love.” She purred.

Immediately, a string of profanities left your mouth. “Holy fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good inside me.”

After a few moments, you felt her icy hips hit your butt, felt her lips sucking marks onto your shoulder blades. “Move please, baby.” You whined, trying not to struggle against her. She pulled out of you slowly, and entered you once more. Taking her time, Alice picked up a pace that made your toes curl, she hit your g-spot every single time.

“Jesus fuck, Ali, God you’re so good. Feels so good, so fucking good, babygirl.” You babbled on as she drilled you into the bed at an inhuman pace, hands tangled into your hair.

“You just needed a little reminder, didn’t you, doll? Just needed to remember who you belong to. Mike Newton could never fuck you this good.” She growled, nipping at your earlobe. You wanted to make a sarcastic remark, but your words couldn't get past the way Alice was making you feel. Your clit gained some friction as each thrust pushed your body into the mattress a little further.

“Alice I’m so fucking close babes, please don’t fucking stop.” You cried out, the inferno in your stomach threatening release.

“Come for me, love.”

With her words, you came hard, squirting all over the duvet, leaving it soaked. Alice pushed all the way into you and stilled for a moment, relishing. “You were so good for me, babygirl. So beautiful.” She praised, pulling out of you and flipping you over.

“Wanna taste you.” You whined. “Sit on my face.”

Alice smirked at you and quickly unfastened the strap before positioning her dripping pussy over your mouth, settling softly with a moan. She had remained untouched until now, so the contact was quite welcome. “Christ, babe. Your mouth feels so good.”

Your tongue explored her walls, licking every surface, nose bumping her clit every so often. She leaned back and placed her hands on your thighs, squeezing them softly to get a grip. You moved to her clit, lips wrapping around it and drawing it into your mouth, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lover. You fervently continued, fully putting your mouth to work.

“Please, gonna come.” She rasped out, just before coating your face with her slick. “Oh my God, (y/n), so incredible.” Alice moaned while you continued to suck on her, drawing out her orgasm. You gazed at her with doe eyes from between her legs before she got off of you, reaching for the key to unlock your cuffs. She rubbed your wrists to soothe them before nuzzling into your neck and tangling her legs into yours.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over the way you taste.” You said after a few moments of silence.

Alice giggled. “I can absolutely say the same for you. That was amazing.”

“Totally. I love you. Sorry Mike asked me to prom.”

She let out a belly laugh, pulling you on top of her. “No need to apologize. I’m sorry for overreacting, quite dumb of me to be honest.”

“It upsets you that we can’t express our emotions for each other as freely as Mike can express his emotions for me.” “I just wish people could understand our love, understand that our gender is totally irrelevant.” She sighed, stroking your hips as she spoke. “I just love you so much and I wish I was able to show it in public without fear of something happening to you. God forbid anyone got violent.” “I know, baby, it’s really scary sometimes.” You cupped her face, stroking her cheekbone with one hand, combing through her hair with the other.

“I don’t want to say it, but you know what I’m thinking.” Alice whispered, expression growing serious.

“I’ve been thinking about it recently as well, I think we have to do it. Sometime soon, I want to be with you forever. We’ll set a date.”

Alice gave you a lopsided grin. “Can’t wait to be sapphic vampire lovers until the end of time.”

You laughed, leaning down to kiss her. “Oh hell yeah.”

#alice cullen #the cullens #alice cullen imagine #alice cullen x reader #alice cullen smut #alice cullen x reader smut #twilight #new moon #eclipse #breaking dawn #midnight sun #vampire #sapphic #lesbian

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kalinawtokilig · 4 years

Text

A Silly S/O that shares one braincell with his best friend

Who doesn’t love a silly, goofy, S/O?

Pair(s) : Akaashi x Reader, Kenma x Reader, Suna x Reader, Kunimi x Reader

(((Ahhhhhahhh bruhhh I literally put the dying inside parted hair dark beauties here,,, ✨ blessing it ✨)))

{This is my first time doing headcanons,, i apologize as it is very early morning and i dont sleep so i may be passing out as soon as i post this ahahahhahahaahha)))))

{Akaashi Keiji x Reader}

(Ohh shi- Aight, we startin off with setters huh)

------

To be fair, Akaashi met you through Bokuto, you chaotic duo, whilst Bokuto being a particularly sunny, bubbly guy, its fair he’s friends with someone as goofy as him

It’s like,,, one of those kinds of friendships you have with Akaashi, whenever you guys are seated next to each other for a group project or simply having a one-on-one convo, you seem to have enraptured him with how funny you are

for example, you being a silly person, you seem to have gotten into a argument with Bokuto, seeing as there was only one braincell, thus being you as the only braincell between the two of you, a juicebox and two of you being dumbasses,,, You proposed to Bokuto to poke a straw through the box so you both can drink from either ends of the straw,,,while bokuto,,, proposed of cutting,,,the juice box,, in half,,, to share,,,

(No cap, i saw my brother and friend argue and do this,,, it was a waste of a caprisun and i had to drink wine to forget that this is what I put up wit,,,yet i recorded it

Akaashi may have facepalmed when you told him this, but the genuine look of truth and kindness made him soft for you when you continued about your small mishaps

This mans smiles faintly, so when you talk about a joke or something stupidly funny, he can’t help but have a full on smile, cause you speak so passionately about your small and oblivious situations you keep getting yourself into and the endearing solutions you have

when you get together, it’s no boring life at all

Akaashi is always there to rope you in when things get too hectic, especially around Bokuto, but when its you, he can’t help but grin at how bright you can be when you think of funny ideas for today and the next day

Kozume Kenma x Reader

(OHH SHI- another pretty setter, lucky day :3c)

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Ohhh boi this is gonna be so many jokes

You and Kuroo share a braincell, that being annoying Kenma ((That’s what Kuroo thinks at least))

Kenma never can get a break,, you being the manager of Nekoma and being good friends with Kuroo, even Yaku is getting a headache

Kenma looks forward to you talking to him ((He finds you genuinely interesting when you pointed out a creative way - more like a newfounded loophole - to one of his video games,, he got kinda hooked on you when you kept telling him possible ways to beat the boss using a weak weapon,, he thought you were buggin,,, nah,, he won and trusted your somewhat foolish advice,,, beating up a miniboss with a stick that had been leveled up from being used worked,,, he doesn’t know what goes on your mind,,, but he wants to know more)))

You tell Kenma funny jokes about the newest character in the game he’s playing, not to mention your own headcanons about them

Kuroo joins in, much to Kenma’s dismay, but with a small smile he likes seeing you enjoy yourself as you talk odd with his best friend

You call him alot of nicknames due to his hair and attitude

“Aye,, wassup puddinghead?” - “Lil’Calico, how’s it hangin?” - “Tiramisu cup, ya lookin sweet today!”

Its,, really cute how you think of him, make up nicknames and have this real attitude when you see him

Kuroo kinda ruins them tho, adding an annoying comment about the nickname and Kenma S C O W L S

OHHHH When you ask him on a date, you use the most creative one liner

“Instead of me being support how bout I join your party and be your player 2? We’ll use Kuroo as a support, Rooster-Attack!”

*cue adorable pose*

-Kuroo in the back : “ROOSTER, WHO YOU CALLING ROOSTER YOU-”

You start attacking him with chemistry insult and he dodges it with another chem attack

Kenma has never been so flustered nor entertained before

Overall, Kenma believes that you being a cute, silly, s/o is literally the best thing that has ever happened to him,, (Besides meeting Shoyo of course,, but then again,, that’s always the best thing that can happen to anyone, have you seen that boy’s harem?)

Suna Rintaro x Reader

((ooooo,,,, man,,,, this mans,,,, he got me,,,, everywhere,,, lmao i pimp him and he isn’t the only one)))

-------

Suna ,, I pimp you

OH GAWD, the MIYA TWINS

It’s like,,, an extra Miya,,, but more like,, cousin instead of sibling Miya but still family Miya,, ya get me????

You transferred in during your second year and man,,, having Atsumu and Osamu pushing you to be their manager,,, its been trouble ever since,, even Aran cannot handle the amount of boondoggle that happens in practice

Okay, listen, you, YOU, are the type to be silly, yes, but in a way that makes Atsumu and Osamu start arguing over something silly you said and the twins start fighting because they started to drift somewhere else.

Basically you drench the kerosene, light it, and leave it for the twins to fan the flames,, they are rolling and causing chaos

You and Suna always record it to blackmail them

Not to mention, you being the wacky person you are, you rope the twins into your shit,,,

Since your last name is NOT Miya, but your other parent’s name, many of Atsumu’s fangirls don’t,, appreciate you

You can’t help but dangle funny insults towards your ego-filled cousin, having the fangirls wreak havoc and chase you around

you would and can stop,, buts its too funny seeing them get mad over silly things like how you perceive Atsumu to be an ugly sleeper that farts and wakes up from it (( You lived it as kids when you and your family slept over the twins’ place, Osamu and you have many videos of it))

Suna is usually the one hiding you away from the rabid fans who seem to want to defend Atsumu’s perfect image honor.

This man cannot fathom the amount of trouble you get into sometimes, esp. with the twins

When you two get together, you think of the most diabolical and hysterical plans, Suna there to record and by your side when things start to get out of hand

Suna doesn’t express many emotions, but when you finally get him to show a reaction cause of something you did, whether it be a joke or starting a Miya Twins brawl, he can’t help but have the small ghost of a smile when you’re not looking

Kunimi Akira x Reader

(((ooo another parted hair dark male,, Me likeyy)))

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You and Kindaichi are like,, a mesh of puns and anger

Puns on your side and Anger on Kindaichi’s side

For Kunimi, he finds it entertaining, the dynamic you two have

Though Kunimi doesn’t express emotions as much, ((like the other parted hair babes)) he likes to fan the flames to see his best friend angry

Kindaichi doesn’t get ‘Mad’, he knows its for jokes,,, it’s just,,, your way of thinking can be so mind blowing that he doesn’t know how some of the things go your way it makes him want to know but he gets annoyed when you tease him about it

Kunimi likes to see the way your accomplished smile shines, despite having silly pranks or stupid puns, you seem to get his type of humor

you like to play jokes on Kindaichi, usually poking him when he’s not looking that he jumps out of his skin and he pokes you back and you poke him back, then it becomes a poking war and Kunimi steps to side to see you laugh and when you accidentally poke Kindachi too hard in the gut, he topples over and gives you the finger

You say something among the lines, “Me? If anything, I won and you’re just salty, like that blond beanpole from Karasuno. Right, Kunimi?”

Kunimi, I feel, isn’t the type to full out laugh, but snort or hide his laugh with a scoff behind his hand,, you know,,, like all these other men seem to do,, i get that vibe from them

Dating, nothing changes but the teasing from your side is not overwhelming, yet its not underwhelming,, its actually a good wavelength to match with his own retorts

Kunimi doesn’t hate that you rope him into your schemes, no matter how ridiculous, if it means he gets to see you smile and look at him with those crinkled eyes that seem to glow with joy,,, he doesn’t mind the effort (But he won’t tell you that)

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((Ngl, this is kinda hard,, yet I tried lmao)

#akaashi keji x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi imagine #akaashi x you #kenma x you #kenma x reader #kenma imagine #suna x you #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #kunimi imagines #kunimi x reader #kunimi akira x you #kunimi akira x reader

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

a/n: drabble dump for our boy kuroo -- i love him loads and think about him endlessly. i also apologize beforehand for the awkward ending bc i’m terrible at ending things. hope you all enjoy! gonna go knock back a melatonin and sleep my wooziness away

w/c: ~2.4k; some angst, fluff, mentions of alcohol

you’re avoiding tetsurou, and he’s keen on figuring out why. college!au, friends to lovers.

“you’re not as slick as you think, y’know.”

instantly, a shiver creeps up your spine, electrifying you in quick, tiny bursts. those eight, nine words were more than enough to let you know who was standing behind you, peering over your shoulder in an effort to catch your gaze. his voice made your heart clench and lungs fight for oxygen – you begin to curse the high, intellectual level of tetsurou’s observational skills. you just wanted to make it another day without seeing his face outside of class, opting more for longer walks and just looking back to see the back of his stylishly mussed hair in the far distance. it frustrates you how much you’ve used the word ‘infuriating’ when it comes to him, but there’s no other better word you can think of without having to consult the thesaurus.

you have a few seconds to dart your eyes around, desperately searching for a way to escape. your productivity typically thrives within the library, but he’s always there, so with lots of pleading and promises of baked goods and decent coffee, you were able to borrow a close friend’s ID, a graduate student, and access the graduate resource room in a less traveled hallway. and in the expanse of that area, you’ve tucked yourself away into the back corner behind some shelves where almost no one visits. but it leaves you cornered and vulnerable – no matter which direction, in combination with his long legs, tetsurou would catch up to you in a heartbeat. you thought you had finally found a way to permanently escape his grasp, but apparently not.

much like you, he’s not supposed to be able to access this area. after all, you’re both senior undergrads so –

“how did you get in here?” you quietly hiss. you’re pretty sure you’d be booted out if you made any sound above 15 decibels, and you’re not about to let tetsurou ruin this haven for you.

there’s a rustle of clothing, a hand that rests on the back of your seat, and the hairs on the nape of your neck spike, before a delicate whisper informs, “you’re not the only one with grad student friends, love.”

if you weren’t so focused on keeping yourself rigid, body absolutely understanding of the effect that this man has on you, you definitely would’ve shivered from the proximity. but the gentleness in his tone sends you back to three weeks ago – you’re no longer under a fluorescent light tucked between cream-colored walls, but rather basked in a somewhat garish hue of crimson. your veins were tinged with alcohol, the substance leaving you feeling like you were on clouds, a silly smile breaking across your face uncontrollably. other bodies surrounded you but the only one you were focused on was the one in front of you, following your swaying movements to the beat of the music coming through someone’s speakers. even in the warmth of the house, tetsurou’s hands on your waist seared your skin, branding the feeling on you for eternity. his eyes twinkled with apparent affection, unbridled and screaming at you for you to understand the line he wanted to so desperately cross, that the alcohol pushed it behind his efforts to deny himself the one thing he’s been searching for in all these years.

“i’m a little drunk, but fuck, you have no idea how bad i wanna kiss you,” he had murmured just loud enough into your ear, then ghosting his lips over the shell of it. everything around you dissolved into a blur as you could only focus on his breaths and the tightening of his grasp on you. his confession wasn’t completely unwarranted – not at all.

tetsurou and you had met in the quantitative analysis lab freshman year, having been assigned as partners for the semester just by how the ta’s drew the seating chart. he was a friendly, kind soul – had saved your ass multiple times from overshooting your titrations, prevented multiple beakers and graduated cylinders from falling over, always down to compare numbers to help ensure that neither of you were fucking up too hard.

coincidentally, the two of you were registered to the same ochem lab the next year and immediately gravitated towards each other, grateful to find some familiarity in all the anxiety. he witnessed your breakdown mid-lab, did his best to comfort you and salvage your sample so there was enough for recrystallization because you somehow got landed with a shitty, leaking separatory funnel, and stayed back with you when you had fallen behind in the cleanup process. from then on, it was a weekly habit to study together and work on your lab journals and reports together, not taking long to become close friends.

tetsurou did his best to keep his growing feelings at bay, knowing that you had explicitly mentioned swearing off relationships as you tried to figure out your future first. he wasn’t oblivious enough to think that you didn’t feel anything for him whatsoever – you were stubborn and tenacious at best. the house party at miya atsumu’s was simply a suggestion for the both of you to relax after a brutal midterm in your inorganic chemistry course, to let loose and treat yourself. he really hadn’t meant to say what he said, but just looked so good, so lovely and beautiful and enthralling, and you were looking at him like he hung the stars and moon in the sky – he knows he’s sent that same look to you multiple times when you weren’t looking, completely sober and unfazed.

he couldn’t stop himself from leaning close into you that night and you hadn’t stopped in – he knows he should’ve resisted, but feeling your soft lips against his was easily one of the top ten highlights of his college career, and his love for you only surged beyond his hold, overwhelming him to the point where all he could think about was nothing but holding your cheek in the palm of his hand so he could get a better angle and let himself indulge just this once.

that’s all it was – kissing and kissing in the middle of the makeshift dancefloor until there was no more oxygen left in either of your lungs. like a decent human being, he dropped you off at your apartment and bid you goodnight, hoping that you wouldn’t forget all the events that had transpired. and maybe, just maybe, he wished that you would let it happen again, that you could make him the exception in your plans.

evidently, you did remember it, because suddenly your responses to his texts were delayed and dry. you were picking up extra shifts, showing up to class at the very last minute, and leaving as soon as the professor dismissed you, allowing practically no room for him to make small talk. and while he would usually pass you in the halls of the chem building at some point, you were always too far from him and scurrying away in a different direction. tetsurou did his best to give you your space, but the less he saw of you, the more nervous and frustrated he grew. there was a wrench thrown into his daily routine, and your presence had always managed to bring some peace to him. so when he realized that you had truly abandoned your usual study spot in the library a week and a half later, he set himself on a mission to find out exactly where you were hiding.

it honestly had been sheer luck that he saw your figure ducking around into a hallway he’s never bothered to go down, and by the time he caught up, the door to the graduate resource room had just closed on your and there was no way he could get in without some help. luckily, his mentor who had stayed at the university for their phd was pretty nonchalant about letting him borrow it for a few days, preferring to study at home or in a coffee shop off-campus themselves.

he knew that since you were hiding, you were probably going to be in the most inconspicuous spot possible. so while there was some time dedicated to navigating the new maze of an area, he immediately felt a sense of relief when he saw your back hunched over your notes, hair tied up into a messy bun, and your laptop open with a spotify playlist.

after you’re done reminiscing, you begin to pack your stuff up, opting to just nor respond to tetsurou and ignoring the pleasant sensation that his term of endearment for you brought. he pulls back and stands straight to give you some room, but the tapping of his foot against the tile floor speaks to his blooming agitation at your silence. you’re still wordless as you weave between the shelves to the exit, knowing that the man plaguing your dreams is not far behind. the game of ‘follow the leader’ (or is it ‘cat and mouse’?) continues until you both have exited the main door, and right before you can walk down the granite steps, tetsurou seizes the opportunity to run ahead of you and stand in your way.

“tetsu, please,” you sigh, avoiding his piercing stare by fiddling with the sleeves of your jacket. “is there something you need?”

“you can’t play coy with me,” he chastises, bending down slightly in hopes that you’ll finally look at him. “you know why i’m here.”

it’s a bad habit of yours to nibble on the inside of your lips when you’re searching for the right things to say. tetsurou only picked up on it just last year – the action itself is very subtle to the outside viewer, and he hadn’t been paying close enough attention back then. “don’t bullshit me right now.”

“do we have to do this now?” you whine a bit.

“yes, or else i’m never gonna get you to talk to me. come on, you don’t do this, love.”

“what do you mean?”

“you’re running away. that’s pretty cowardly, don’t you think? you’ve had 3 weeks—”

you start to walk forward and around his tall, lanky figure. “i’m not humoring you with this—”

“with what—”

“—you’re doing that provoking thing, you’re trying to get me to think that i’m wrong in avoiding you—”

“so you have been avoiding me—”

“i said not now!” you protest in a raised voice, path once again blocked. tears of frustration are beginning to build in the corners of your eyes, and you’re cursing yourself for feeling so weak in this moment. part of you wants nothing more than to run into his arms.

it’s dead quiet for a few seconds – the ambient noise of the wind and the occasional passing car this late at night fail to make themselves known over the pounding of blood in your ears. only tetsurou’s first knuckle underneath your chin to raise you up grounds you, and you can no longer avoid his gaze. small crests of guilt wash over you as you recognize the uncharacteristic brokenness in his eyes – the last three weeks must’ve been much harder on him than you thought.

“just hear me out for a few minutes, okay? you can make your decision then.”

he takes your nod as a signal to continue, but also softening a bit at how nervous you look.

“i’m in love with you,” he softly confesses, a smile of defeat gracing his complexion. “and i have been for a while. i don’t think i’m bullshitting when i say i think you feel something for me, too, but i knew it wasn’t in your plans. didn’t wanna push or force you into making a decision when you weren’t ready. so i held back – but i couldn’t help it at the party, and…i’m sorry, love. i really am.”

tetsurou doesn’t miss the flash of hurt that crosses your eyes. “so does that mean you regret it?” you bite out, nails clenching and digging into the fabric of your jacket sleeves. he shakes his head.

“i don’t regret kissing you at all – it’s all i’ve wanted to do for the last two and a half years. but i’m just sorry that i did it without your explicit, sober permission. i went against your wishes in a time of vulnerability, and that’s pretty shitty of me – i’m not gonna excuse myself either just because i was a little drunk, so i hope you’re able to forgive me.”

he watches you sniffle and fight the grin that’s trying to creep across your face. “someone had their shot of respect women juice this morning, didn’t they?” you chokingly tease.

“five shots directly injected into my veins, every morning,” he jokes back, thumb sweeping over to catch your falling tears. “but i mean it though – i’m really sorry.”

“you’re forgiven, and i appreciate that more than you know. but if i’m being honest…it was something i’ve wanted to do for a while, too. i was just really scared because it was so unexpected and i wasn’t sure if i was ready for our relationship to change, or like if i would be emotionally available enough for you, y’know?” you blubber, hand reaching up to rest against his on your cheek.

“hey—”

“i really want this to work out.” tetsurou can hear your voice shake, and he’s sure you’re almost trembling. “you’re one of my best friends – i can’t lose you, tetsu. and what about grad school? what if we end up too far away from each other and video calls aren’t enough? what if you get tired of me or—”

“i know you hate it when i interrupt, but honestly (y/n), you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried. i’m gonna do everything i can to make this work, too, mmk?”

“okay,” you whisper. “okay.”

his thumb gently sweeps back and forth against your cheek for a little bit before speaking up again. “not to ruin the moment, but do i have permission to kiss you now?” his eyes shine despite the midnight sky, and you can’t help the small chuckle that leaves your chest.

tetsurou swears up and down that your kiss in response is much, much sweeter than the one at the party, and he can’t wait to see what the future holds for you two.

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo angst #i fully stan the fact that kuroo is highly respectful of anyone and especially women #no one can fight me on this #stay hydrated and get good quality sleep and eat some nutritious food and take your meds!!!

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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years

Text

Upside Down (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being a Henderson, the Reader never thought the Billy Hargrove would even spare her a glance, but she was wrong. He absolutely fell for her. And she fell for him. But the Upside Down doesn’t like it when people are happy.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x f!Henderson!Reader

Genre: angst/ fluff

Warnings: descriptions of gross wounds and gore, swearing, could be potentially triggering to domestic abuse survivors, kinda PTSD

Word count: 7911 (a big boi)

I’ve mixed up the timeline and events a bit so that they fit this story :) Also note - I don’t condone Billy’s actions in the show. Abuse in any form is NOT okay. This is basically an AU! when looking at it

Hawkins was anything but what Billy had expected when moving to the small town. He’d set his mind on a place where nothing ever happened, the people were the dullest shades of grey, and the only resemblance of happiness he’d ever experience again, would be through the couple of pictures he’d managed to grab before moving from California. And he’d been right. Sort of.

Billy had been a wave of excitement that rolled into Hawkins High School in a long while, which meant all the attention was on him, and he liked it. He was splashy and wanted to make an impression, no matter how it went. He wasn’t there to make friends, just to finish his degree, and then he’d be free to go off and do whatever he wanted. But before he could do that, he had to make a statement.

The opportunity came to him at Tina’s Halloween party. Dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans, a bandana around his blond hair, Billy’s chest was left exposed, and when he sprayed out the leftover beer as he demolished the keg stand, he certainly cemented himself as the new king of Hawkins.

People buzzed around him, and he revelled in the attention, but then he saw something that turned his world upside down even more that it already had been. Or rather a someone.

Clad in a black beaded corset that rattled rhythmically with every step and sway of her hips, fishnet tights on her legs, sheer gloves that wrapped around her middle fingers up to her elbows, and a cheekbone length black bob, she was the epitome of a 1920s cabaret dancer; sultry and sexy, ready to destroy a man’s life. Some musical came to mind, but he couldn’t pinpoint which, because she took his breath away much like the cigarette smoke invading his lungs.

He nudged Tommy’s shoulder and pointed at the girl with his chin. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Nancy, come on dude.”

“No, I mean the girl next to her,” and this time he pointed directly at her.

Tommy’s eyebrows looked like they were about to shoot up in the stratosphere. “Y/N? You mean Y/N Henderson?”

That name changed everything, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

She was the other Henderson. A nerd, much like her brother, a bit shy but would never back down from a challenge and could never hold her tongue behind her teeth, even when it hurt her. She was the color the horrid town had lacked so much, and after how Tommy had put her down, Billy was just as surprised as she was when he started talking to her.

“Are you lost or something?” Y/N’s eyebrow rose as she faced the boy leaning against her neighbouring locker.

“Uhh, no?” he chuckled chewing on his bottom lip.

“Okay, so, have you already gone through all the girls that would let you? Because you can skip right along to the next one. I ain't it.”

Billy bristled a bit, shifting on his feet. He hadn’t expected the spunk. “Can’t I just talk to a pretty girl?”

“No, because people like you don’t talk to people like me.”

Don’t get her wrong, she by no means thought she was ugly or undeserving of attention. She just knew had it not been for Nancy, the popular crowd of Vicky, Tommy, Carol and the like, would’ve never given her the time of the day. And nowadays they didn’t. So, when the new king of Hawkins decided to strike up a conversation, things just felt odd.

“Nah, I just,” Billy fumbled a bit, “I uh, just wanted to get to know you. We didn’t get a chance to talk at Tina’s.”

Y/N closed her eyes and smiled before turning to Nancy and saying she’d catch up with her in chem class.

“Alright, Billy boy,” she turned back around to face the Californian. “Let’s get to know one another.”

The smile that appeared on his face was the most genuine he’d shown in a month. And somehow it didn’t end just there. He kept talking to her, meeting her at her locker, walking her to her car, or when it was at the repair shop, he offered Y/N a ride home. He laid his soul out to her on a silver platter, and instead of smashing it like he feared she would, Y/N took it in her hands and kept it safe within her grasp.

It was on a starry night when he’d chucked stones at her window to wake the girl up and made her sneak out of the house for a late drive to the ice cream shop when things took a turn.

“If Dustin comes back, and I’m not home, he’s gonna snitch on me, and I’m so gonna blame you,” she scolded Billy, but there was no animosity in her tone, and when she threw him a grin, it made his heart stutter in his chest.

It had been happening quite a lot recently. The stuttering. His heart skipped a beat when he woke up and thought of how he’d see Y/N waiting for him by her locker, it skipped a beat when he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her next to him, and it skipped a beat when she rolled her Y/E/C eyes at whatever he'd said, and then hid her face in his side. And it scared him.

He’d never felt that way before, but he understood what it meant, especially when his chest got being ripped apart whenever she wasn’t near, so that’s when he started to drive to her place for their nightly outings because he just needed to be near her. Not that he’d say anything to Max, nor Y/N would ever mention it to Dustin.

But unfortunately, as much as she laid out her own heart to Billy, there were also things she’d never tell him. Because her heart skipped a beat as well whenever the Californian entered her mind, and Y/N had already lost too much the year prior. His world hadn’t been the only one that’d turned upside down.

With his jacket draped over her shoulders, they crept around her house to the blue Camaro waiting a bit further down the driveway, so the lights wouldn’t give him away. Not that it would’ve mattered when her and Dustin’s mother was out of the town for the week, but they still liked to be as careful as possible.

Def Leppard blasted through the speakers, and they talked about what they'd done. It was a Saturday, so Y/N had spent the whole day at home, while Dustin hung out with the party. She needed the quiet as much as possible while dealing with a chem project, and that included Billy not visiting. When his phone had rung with her saying she was done, he was finally able to scratch the itch that was time spent without Y/N.

At that moment, they were sitting comfortably in the seats of the Camaro parked by Lover’s Lake and watching the scenery. She hadn’t told him how much nighttime actually scared her, but that was because, with him, she felt safe. It was alone when the thoughts of Barb and the Demogorgon came back. But never with him. Though what he said next, pulled her out of the dark reminiscing.

“Let’s go on a date.”

“What?” Y/N choked on her ice cream, looking over at Billy with eyes wide as saucers.

He took in a shuddering breath, but when he repeated the words they were as steady as ever. “Let’s go on a date.”

“Is this – is this some kind of a joke?”

Billy shook his head before taking away the melting ice cream in the little paper cup and placed it on the dashboard, taking Y/N’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers.

“Look I really like you. I have for a while, and yeah, it started off just like you’d like a friend, but now... when I see you, my heart does this weird thing where it starts beating really fast, and my stomach tosses and turns and shit… and that only happens when I think or look at you… so I like you. And I’d like to go on a date with you.

Stunned silence settled between the two teenagers as Y/N processed his words. He no longer could read her facial expression as it had turned into a blank piece of paper instead of the book, he used to be able to leaf through without any problems or hiccups.

A gentle finger pushed a piece of Y/H/C hair out of her face. “What’s going on through that pretty head of yours?” a nervous chuckle escaped him. “You know I can take whatever you throw at me. ‘S not gonna make me care less for you.”

“No, I uh,” Y/N snorted and shook her head, pressing her free hand to her mouth. “I just didn’t expect that from you.”

“What did you expect?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “I mean whenever you go out with girls, it’s never been with someone like me. And every time you did it, I pretended I was okay with it. Cause I cared about you too and wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

Billy’s eyes widened, and a small smile started pulling on his lips. “You were jealous?”

“Of course, I was! I’ve liked you for close to a month, but every time I heard you talk about taking a chick out, I pushed my feelings away.” Y/N looked at him and gave him a tight smile. “Love triangles aren’t like they show in the movies. Typically, there’re two happy people and one really sad who won’t show any emotions at all. Guess which one was me?”

He let out a short laugh and squeezed her hand a bit tighter, finally feeling free enough to press a kiss to the skin of her palm. “We’re both quite thick, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess we are,” Y/N agreed, looking at their clasped palms that fit together like two puzzle pieces. Sure, they’d held hands before, this wasn’t the first time, but it was the first time with the knowledge their feelings were returned.

“Can I kiss you?” Billy asked.

Y/N’s head shot up. He never asked to kiss someone, girls practically threw themselves at him to have their lips sucked off their face, but his shaky tone and scared eyes showed he was terrified she’d say no.

Slowly she leaned in, and when he didn’t pull back, Y/N pressed her lips to his. It was absolutely euphoric for both of them. The days and weeks of pent up frustrations and heartache inducing thoughts evaporated as they moved their lips in a dance.

He didn’t want to pull back, and neither did she, but their lungs burned from the lack of air, though Billy didn’t let Y/N get too far, bringing a palm to the base of her neck to keep her close, foreheads resting against one another. Not that she wanted to get away in the first place.

“So, go on a date with me?”

Y/N grinned caressing his face and pulling him closer, much as he did with her, taking hold of her waist and helping her straddle him in the seat, hands keeping her hips away from digging into the steering wheel. “I don’t just kiss all the pretty guys who bat their eyelashes at me.”

When she was close to him like that, his heart flipped and skipped and revved and started once more, but now he loved the feeling because, through the three layers of fabric that separated their skins, he could feel Y/N’s heart beating out of her chest as well.

“We can’t tell Dustin though,” she murmured pressing her lips to his in a quick peck. “He’ll rip our heads off.”

“Max too.”

“And Steve… and Nancy and Johnathan… basically the whole party.”

Billy nodded before diving in for another kiss. “Agreed.”

***

For a couple of weeks, they lived in a state of bliss. Now the late-night sneak outs were filled with kisses by the lake and hands that held one another as close as possible as if they’d disappear into thin air. But the happiness didn’t’ last long, and Billy couldn't find anyone to blame.

It was a pretty standard day for them, as he found Y/N talking with Nancy by her locker, up until he saw her facial expression.

“ -ought we were done with that,” Y/N hissed. “Fuck, I can’t! I can’t lose more people.”

Billy frowned when he heard that. Yes, he knew she’d lost one of her friends, though he didn’t know the details, he understood how much impact that'd had on Y/N’s life, but when she talked about it happening again and losing people again, his stomach churned.

“Everything alright here?”

Y/N jumped, not expecting the voice, almost slamming her head against the locker, and her reaction made Billy even more scared.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Nancy squeezed Y/N’s bicep before leaving her and the boy on their own.

Nancy wasn’t stupid and knew how much her friend cared for Billy and suspected there was more between them, so her heart ached at the thought how Y/N’s mind immediately went to the dark places where the Demogorgon lurked.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

His palms were like velvet as he cupped her face, and he didn’t care anymore if people found out they were together. All he cared about was what his girl was so fearful of.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. “Please.”

But when she shook her head and plastered on the fakest smile ever, his heart shattered.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just Nancy reminded of the chem test coming up, and I’m so unprepared.”

She was lying to him. Y/N never did that, and he didn’t lie to her either. It was an unspoken rule they’d made up that there'd be no secrets between the two, but Billy now realized his girlfriend might have quite a few things he was unaware of. And she wasn’t planning on sharing.

“You ready for calculus?” Y/N changed the subject and wrapped her hand around his waist, not even thinking of how people might start speculating. Even when they weren’t together, they were attached at the hip, and Billy was as soft as a feather around her. “Miss Baxter is gonna kill me with those equations.”

But Billy wasn’t listening to her rambles about math and unimportant things, because his heart was sinking with every step he took as the fear he’d had in him about Y/N rejecting him, came back almost tenfold. And when that cursed Halloween rolled around, it didn't help the situation at all.

Y/N was nowhere to be found, which was unsurprising to him at that point; she’d been pulling away hour by hour, breaking his already fragile belief in love. He was upset and pissed and had decided enough was enough. He wanted answers.

Just as he was about to leave the house, Neil barged in, enraged Max was still out after her curfew.

“She’s probably with those friends of hers,” Billy said. “She’ll be back in no time.”

Neil stepped inside the room, and instantly the atmosphere changed. “You’re gonna go and find her, and then get the fuck back home.”

Billy straightened out, facing his father. He couldn't let him ruin what could still be saved. “I have plans! I need to see Y/N!”

“Your whore can wait.”

“Don’t you dare call her a wh-“ Billy's head slammed against his wardrobe, sparks flying behind his eyelids, and a hand tightly wrapped around his throat, cutting off the air.

“Now,” Neil’s voice was like the calm before the storm. “You’re gonna go out there, find your sister, and then come home. You’re not gonna go and see that slut, and you’re not gonna go to your friends. Understood?”

The hand squeezed tighter around Billy's neck, and he barely managed to rasp out a ‘yes’.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Finally, Neil let him go, and he gulped breath after breath, his own hand going to soothe the skin where there would undeniably be finger marks left the next day.

A single tear rolled down Billy’s cheek, as his poor excuse of a father left, Susan’s sympathetic gaze the last thing he saw before the door slammed shut.

He crumpled down on the floor, fingers fisting in his hair. He felt so alone, and all he wanted was to be held by Y/N, but even she was pulling away.

Angrily he wiped away the salty pearls from his face and stomped to his car setting off on his search for Max but not before delivering a few punches to the wheel. When he got to the Byers’ house, he wasn’t feeling any better. In fact, he turned worse, seeing red when Max's face flashed through the window.

Like some angry bull, he went after Steve, pummeling him into the ground, and almost knocked a few punches into Lucas had it not been for Max and the tranquillizer she pushed into his system.

In all honesty, the night was a blur. He couldn’t remember how he ended up in his car, nor how he managed to safely drive to Y/N’s - the only place he knew someone would help him.

She had, but it backfired. He’d felt the distance between them grow even more afterwards, and he understood her reasons. Partially. After patching him up, he was left to rest in her bed, which gave her the time to find out what the hell had happened between him and the party. They had enough shit to deal with, with all the Demodogs and the Upside Down being back again.

When Max and Dustin spilt the beans (albeit reluctantly because they knew how happy their siblings were together), Y/N gave Billy the silent treatment for three whole weeks. She only started talking to him after he’d apologized not only to her but to the two boys one of which he'd beaten to a pulp.

But it only helped a little. He got her back into his life somewhat, yet not fully, and right before the Snowball dance it all crumbled as she broke up with him.

To say he was stunned would be an understatement. He’d gone to her place expecting them to talk out their issues, and he could end it with asking her to go to the dance, but instead, she’d stood twelve feet away from him, arms crossed, eyes on the ground saying they can’t be together anymore.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered looking at Y/N, hoping she’d meet his gaze. She didn’t. “I thought we were alright. If this is about Hallowe-“

“This isn’t about that night.” Y/N shook her head. “Well, it is. Kind of. But not all of it.”

“Then please explain, so I can fix it. Let me make things right.”

She let out a sigh and sat down onto the bed. “I can’t. And even if I did, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Is this about what happened to Barb?’

Y/N finally looked at Billy, her Y/E/C gaze meeting his blue. “Yes.”

That was it. No further explanations, no elaborations, no excuses.

“Y/N – “

“Can you please leave now?”

“Sweetheart – “

“Please,” she whimpered out, hugging herself. “Please just leave.”

And he did, but it felt like his body was fighting his mind, as his brain screamed to stay and comfort and hold, but his legs had their own agency, and carried Billy out of Y/N’s house, past a disappointed Dustin who’d been listening in on the conversation and shook his head, closing his door, and to his car where he sat for twenty minutes just staring into the distance trying to process what the hell had just happened.

When he went into school the next day, Billy was in a haze, his mind not really functioning.

“Where’s the leech?” Tommy H. cackled beside him, clapping Billy on the shoulder.

“What?”

“I asked where’s the other Henderson that’s always stuck to your side?”

“She uh,” Billy stopped mid-sentence. Tommy H. didn't need to know they dated. “We kinda fell out.”

“Fucking finally,” his ‘friend’ scoffed. “Told you she was a waste of time and space.”

Billy was just about ready to clock him, when his eyes befell on Y/N who finally entered the hallway. There was nothing left of the girl he used to know. She was now part of the grey mass Hawkins seemed to him in the beginning, but even then, she stood out, because even then she didn’t match the shades. She was darker, almost black without the spark that made Y/N Y/N. Billy wished she would turn grey, because he'd never been surer that's how it felt to look down an abyss.

The rest of the day was a nightmare. He had to watch from the side-lines as the person he loved most practically withered away. She was closed off, even to Nancy (which he found out after sucking up his ego and asking Wheeler), and he knew the issue ran much deeper than the simple confirmation of his suspicions, but he couldn’t help if she didn’t let him in.

He wanted to reach out, he wanted her to use him as a shoulder to cry on, to wrap her arms around him and mumble all her worries into his skin, but any time Billy even so much as looked at her, Y/N would turn her blank stare to the window or the wall or the floor. Anywhere that wasn’t him.

***

Though when summer came along… summer was a different beast. Billy got a job at the pool, and Y/N got a job at the newly built mall in a department store, and when he saw the girl as she came to pick up Dustin and the rest of the party, she once again looked full of life.

She was practically glowing, and Billy had to say a quick thank you to whoever invented summer breaks, as it seemed, being out of the school environment, was what Y/N needed.

The canary yellow one-piece bathing suit made her seem like the ray of sunshine the teenager knew her to be, and the cobalt wrap around her neck was the summer sky that appeared after the dark clouds dissipated. Though what irked Billy was she still kept her distance from him, and as a surprise for Y/N, he wasn’t giving up.

The girl was there to pick Dustin up once again because he wanted to see Steve at ‘Scoops Ahoy’ before meeting up with the rest of his friends, so Billy took his chance.

She’d scoped out the open pool area for the blond boy, and was relieved he wasn’t on his shift, think it'd be a quick in and out.

“Dustin, come on!” Y/N hollered. “We gotta go!”

But she wasn’t as sly as she'd hoped she'd be when a shadow started to loom over her.

There was no doubt in her mind who it was, and her theory was confirmed when Y/N came face to face with the naked chest of Billy. It wasn’t the first time, she’d been in that position, but the circumstances used to be different. Back then, when the hole that were the thoughts and fears of the Demogorgon was the size of a pebble, Billy would be like that on top of Y/N, her nails scratching along the golden skin and leaving loving red marks as her lips worked on the side of his neck to muster up some purplish ones for him to remember her by.

“Hey,” he breathed out taking off his sunglasses.

“Hey yourself,” Y/N breathed out as well. She hadn’t been this close to Billy even before winter break, so all the suppressed feelings were starting to bubble up again, especially when he cleared his throat and reminded her how shy he could actually be, and it pulled at her chest even more.

“Look, can we talk? Please? I just… I just want to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m alright,” she shrugged. “Happy?”

Billy sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “You know I don’t believe you.”

“Then what do you want from me?” she crossed her arms motioning with her head for Dustin to hurry up.

“I want my girlfriend back,” Billy muttered just so she heard him and not the prying ears of the classmates that had gathered by the poolside. “If not that, then at least my best friend. I miss you.”

And she couldn’t deny the fact she missed him as well. Y/N’s own body language betrayed her. He could see how much she wanted to be wrapped in his warmth, and Billy prayed she’d give in and melt against him.

Finally, she sighed. “Are you closing the pool tonight?”

Billy shook his head, blond curls bouncing. “Heather is, but I can ask and switch.”

“I’ll be here at eight,” Y/N stated right as Dustin bounded up to her ready to leave for the mall.

***

Eight couldn’t come fast enough. His shift felt like it was being dragged out by a supernatural force. By the time six rolled around, there was no one but Heather and him left to clean the poolside. Seven came, and Billy was on his own, mopping the men’s locker room, and wiping down the sauna door. An hour later, Billy was sitting on the edge of the pool, legs inside the warm water.

“Get any acceptance letters yet?”

Her voice brought him out of a trance, and he was about to jump up when she sat down beside him, putting her own legs in the liquid. In normal circumstances, Y/N would lean against him, and Billy would wrap her into his side, but they were no longer in the normal days.

“I mean I did only apply to UCLA, so waiting on that… if it even comes. Heather applied as well, and she received hers yesterday.”

“You’ll get in, Billy, don’t worry,” Y/N's tone was as soft as it was with him when they'd been together. “You’re smart, so don’t put yourself down, and I’m sure UCLA will see it too.”

“You?” he nudged her shoulder with his. “I remember you rambling on about NYU, Brown, Oxford and a bunch of others.”

She shrugged. “Not yet. Though with how last semester went dunno if I will. Kinda went off the deep end.”

Y/N knew Billy wanted to know exactly about that. Why did she suddenly shut down, what was the real reason she broke up with him and completely cut him out of her life, but the second she opened her mouth, finally ready to speak, the lights flickered around them. Instantly, Y/N froze and spaced out, much like when Billy had surprised her all those months ago by her locker.

“Hey, hey,” he cupped her face trying to get her attention. “Come back to me. You’re alright, you’re safe. It’s just me and you,” he placed a hand on her chest and one of hers on his. “Can you feel how I’m breathing?”

Shakily Y/N nodded.

“Okay,” he nodded back. “Now try to breathe the same way. In,” he took a breath and watched as Y/N mimicked him. “Hold. And out.”

For five minutes as the lights continued to flicker and then finally went out, they kept on with the pattern.

“It’s just a blackout, sweetheart. And you’re not alone. Not if you don’t push me away,” he whispered pressing his forehead to hers. “Please let me in. Please let me be there for you.”

“You can be there for me without knowing why,” her voice still shook from the fright, but with Billy’s presence it slowly levelled out.

His grip on her wrist tightened and he brought it to his lips. “How can I protect you without knowing what to protect you from?”

“Why can’t you just trust me with this? That it’s better not to know.” This whole episode had proved Y/N's point to her – it was safer to not know. Especially for Billy. He already had enough shit to deal with at home.

“Because you don’t trust me to keep you safe.”

“I do,” Y/N sighed, standing up, defeated that he wouldn’t give up and stepped away. “And I love you even more, but I’d prefer if you were alive.”

“You can’t just say shit like that and then tell me not to worry! You can’t tell me I could die from knowing and walk around without me scared shitless!” he jumped up and walked after her, but when Y/N spun around, tears of anger in her eyes, he stopped mid-step.

“I’ve been dealing with this shit for three years now, and I lost one of my best friends because of it! Dustin almost lost one of his best friends! I can’t lose you too,” the last bit came out like a choked back whimper. “I’d rather you hate me than be dead.”

***

That night hadn’t gone how she thought it would. Sure, Y/N had expected to be pretty much interrogated by Billy, but she hadn’t expected the blackout and the all-encompassing fear that erupted throughout her body when the lights blinked out. It was two days later when she finally decided to talk to someone about it

“I’m alright, Nance,” she sighed rolling over in her bed as she talked to her friend. “It was just… fuck. I don’t know when this shit will end. It’s like any time someone turns off the light, I start to see the shadows move and shit. I can’t go on like that.”

She heard some shuffling and muttering from the other end, and Y/N could only guess Johnathan was with her. “Look,” Nancy came back. “Maybe… maybe you can tell him. About everything. He could help us… he could help you, fuck, a blind person could see how much he calms you down.”

“I can’t do that; you know it, Nance! I can’t put him in unnecessary danger.”

“If you’re thinking about Barb, then please stop. This is not the same, in fact, it’s the opposite,” a thick silence settled between the two girls as they thought back to their friend. “Maybe had we known; I wouldn’t have let her leave.”

“Nancy, it wasn’t your fault,” Y/N choked back. “It’s no one’s fault but that monsters.”

“I know, but I’m saying had she known… had we all known, maybe we could’ve been more careful.”

Y/N had nothing to say against that. Had Barb known, maybe she truly would still be with them, and they’d still have their weekly girl’s nights.

“I just don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to lose him,” she whispered to Nancy. “I can’t lose

him.”

“You’re already losing him by pushing him away.”

She hated Nancy was right, absolutely despised it, but it was Y/N’s safety mechanism, not only to keep the other out of harm’s way but herself as well. If she pushed away enough, maybe once Billy left her, it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Look, Johnathan and I will come over and we can have a chillout. Some shit’s been going on, so we need a bit of a break as well,” Nancy said. “And I ain’t suggesting. So, get cleaned up, we’ll come round and help you with the house, but if you look like a homeless man when we arrive, I’ll personally shave off your head.”

There was no room for arguments, especially when the long beep announced Nancy had dropped the call. So, with a sigh, Y/N peeled herself off from where she’d practically melted in the bed and trudged to her adjoined bathroom. She’d almost physically fought Dustin for it, but the ‘older sibling’ card had ultimately won.

Per Nancy’s instructions, Y/N started to pull herself together. She ran a bath, adding some lavender bubbles and applied a facemask to the sun-kissed skin. It felt kind of tight after being outside by the pool when typically, she barely let the rays touch her, so it definitely needed some moisturizing.

For the first time in a long while, Y/N felt relaxed, as the hot bubbles encased her. She let out a soft moan when her body was fully submerged and rested her head against the side of the bath. A soft smile appeared on her face when she thought back on the times, she’d done this with Billy and used him as a place to lay her head against. His rough palms would gently caress her sides and massage the knots that'd settled in her shoulders before bringing in her lips for a kiss. But that was the past.

She pulled her hand out of the liquid cocoon and reached for the razor on the side of the tub. Her skin was slathered enough, that Y/N just decided to go for it, though, with the first stroke of the blades, a sharp sting wrapped around her ankle.

“Shit,” Y/N hissed, instantly wiping away the blood and licking her finger. “Shit, fucking hell, really?”

As quickly as she could, she shaved both of her legs, without any injuries this time, and got out of the tub to go search for a band-aid. She dried herself off and pulled the old Jaws shirt she’d stolen one night from Billy and refused to give back, saying she preferred to sleep in something of his when he couldn’t be next, and took a pair of work out shorts as bottoms because the heat of Hawkins was unforgiving.

A glance at the fridge where two notes stood, one from her mom saying she’d be out of the town for the remained of the week on a work trip, and the other from Dustin threatening Y/N if she even so much as looked at his portion of cookies while he was out he’d snap her neck, she scoffed and grabbed a couple of the chocolate chip circles.

“Dickhead,” Y/N muttered through a stuffed mouth, reaching for a stool to get to their first aid kit.

Red drops had seeped through the tissue paper she’d wrapped around her ankle and splattered onto the floor.

A light flickered.

When Nancy and Johnathan pulled up, all they saw was the lights in Y/N’s house going haywire accompanied by screams.

***

Meanwhile, Billy had had the shittiest couple of days of them all. After getting nowhere with Y/N, just more concerned for her wellbeing, he’d spent the nights in the garage working on his beloved Camaro, or inside his room, headphones on and AC/DC blaring through his Walkman.

He’d tried calling, but when the phone went unanswered or when Dustin picked up telling how Y/N wasn’t even talking to him, Billy gave up. Maybe it was finally time to let it go and let her go. She seemed to have one hundred percent decided it was either Billy put on a mask of ignorance and they went back to how it used to be, or she wanted nothing to do with him. And Billy couldn’t pretend he didn’t care.

Aggressive banging against his door jerked him out of the self-pity hole he’d been in the past couple of days and towards the invader. Max’s face was unimpressed when he ripped open the door.

“What?” he growled. “What do you want?”

Pretty much everyone that lived in Hawkins piled into his room without a single uttered word – Dustin, Mike, Lucas, the new girl El, Will, Max, but what surprised him the most was Steve.

“What are you doing here, Harrington?” Billy puffed out his chest. “Need another round?”

“Do that, and you’ll never get back with my sister,” Dustin started, going over to Billy’s curtains and drawing them closed. “And you do want to get back with Y/N, right?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Billy scoffed.

“A simple yes or no,” Max butted in. “If it’s a no, then we’re leaving and you can continue to wallow in your misery, or you can sit down and let us explain.”

A sarcastic snort escaped him, but he relented. Plopping back onto the bed, he rolled his eyes giving Y/N’s brother the go for him to get on with whatever the hell he had to, as long as they’d leave him alone after this and never came in a five feet radius.

“You have to keep an open mind, cause this shit will sound absolutely crazy, but it’s a hundred percent true,” Dustin looked around at the rest of the people. When everyone had given an affirmative nod, he dove into the tale that began two years prior.

Throughout the whole recounting of how Will and Barb had gone missing, how Nancy, Y/N and Johnathan had ventured into the woods at night and had been greeted by a monster with a meat flower for a head and had had to hide for their lives, and how the kids had found El, all leading up to where she’d destroyed it with telekinesis, Billy was practically emotionless, apart from the moment when Steve said while him, Johnathan, Nancy and Y/N had been fighting the thing at Byers’, she’d barely escaped from the Demogorgon and had almost been caught in the flame trap they’d set.

“We thought we were done with that shit, but last year it came back, and it's back now too,” Dustin sighed looking over at Will who’d hung his head. “That’s why Y/N was pushing you away. Things were getting out of hand, and she was afraid the Mind Flayer might get to you. She was just trying to protect you in a really dumbass way.”

“So,” Billy cleared his throat leaning on the edge of the bed and resting his chin against his clasped hands. “You’re telling me your sister broke up with me because an interdimensional monster was terrorizing you and she was afraid it would go after me?”

Dustin chewed on his bottom lip. “Well when you say it like that, it sounds insane.”

“Because it is!” the blond exploded. “God, if Y/N didn’t want to see me, she could’ve just told me she didn’t have any feelings anymore, not make you tell me some bullshit story. I get you, Henderson, and I know you’re a dick, Harrington, but I didn’t believe you had that little brain left to go along with this shit.”

The bitter chuckle that made its way out of Steve’s mouth was almost like a cue for everyone to leave. “Yeah, well the thing is, I’m going along with it because it’s the fucking truth. But it’s your loss. She was always way out of your league anyway.”

The sudden shrill ring of the phone made everyone jump before Max ran out of Billy’s room to pick it up.

“Did you not hear about the part where we said El’s got literal superpowers?” Mike butted in absolutely done with Billy, which made the older boy scoff.

“Of course, I fucking did, but I decided to block it out, cause given how the whole story’s bullshit, it makes even less sense!” he gestured towards the girl, who’d been standing somewhat behind Mike the whole time. “Come on then! Give us a show!”

“No, you know what, El?” Will popped in. “Don’t. If he doesn’t want to believe us, then so be it. You’re not some circus freak to entertain people. Like Steve said – it’s his loss. This whole thing was a waste of time.”

As everyone left Billy’s room, leaving him to ponder what the fuck had just happened, he heard Max’s panicked voice, and how the kids with Steve in tow sprinted out of the house.

“Hey!” he yelled after the redhead, who only stopped for a second before rushing to Steve's car. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“To Dustin’s. Y/N’s hurt.”

***

Those words, no matter what they’d told him before, struck true, and Billy bolted to his own Camaro, following Steve almost to the point he crashed into the vehicle a couple of times when the other guy pressed on the brakes.

Yells of pain greeted him when he jumped into the night air and rushed inside the now-demolished house. Lamps and glass littered the ground in jagged pieces, couch and pillow fillings dusted around like sprinkles on a cake, but the worst sight was the scarlet drops of blood on the walls and ground, some places oozing black like puss from a wound.

“Fuck, shit, fuck,” Billy could hear Y/N’s panting from where her room was, and practically showing her brother out of the way, ran to the pain-filled voice, but was stopped in the middle of the doorway when seeing Johnathan with a blazing white knife in hand. It made bile rise in Billy’s stomach, but what put him on the verge of throwing up was what happened next.

“What the –“ Johnathan exclaimed, noticing the Californian’s arrival, but instantly switched when the kids ran in Y/N’s room, completely unaffected by how everything looked. “El, hold her down,” Johnathan said, and in an instant, Y/N was no longer trying to get away from him.

She was stiff as a statue, eyes wide and filled with fear and pain, while El’s nose had a little stream of blood running from it, an outstretched hand towards Y/N, radiating unseen power that immobilized the girl he loved.

Everything the kids said, had said had been true. All of it, him being a witness to El’s telekinesis firsthand. Mike's gagging made him snap out of the daze and run to Y/N’s side where he pulled her to rest against his chest

“There’s something in there!” the youngest Wheeler shouted as Johnathan moved closer, kneeling down on bloodied rags that reeked of metal and alcohol.

“I know, what do you think we’re trying to do?” he said it as if he was calming himself down not Y/N. “Quick and fast.”

When the knife moved closer to the open wound, whatever was inside moved away, and it visibly caused Y/N pain, as tears streamed down her cheeks in an endless river.

“No, please,” Y/N whimpered. “It hurts, Billy. Please make it stop.”

“I will, baby, I promise,” he kissed the side of her head where it had lolled to rest against his shoulder. He had to process this quickly to help her. “I will. But you gotta hold on, alright? It’s gonna hurt only for a bit, and after that, it’ll be alright.”

But she kept shaking her head with every inch that the white-hot steel moved closer to her. The knife hadn’t even touched her. Her whimpers turned into screams. Finally, Billy snapped.

“Can’t you see you’re only hurting her?”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Nancy yelled back. She was crying as well; it was giving her no pleasure seeing one of her closest friends in such an immense amount of pain. “We gotta get it out and cauterize the wound. She could bleed to death.”

It was like a lightbulb went off in his head.

“She could pull it out,” Billy turned hopefully to El. “Right? If you can hold her down, why wouldn’t you be able to pull out whatever it is?”

“It’s still gonna hurt,” her voice was quiet and apologetic as she looked at Y/N, who only shook her head as if saying ‘it’s alright. I forgive you’, now freed from El’s hold, and able to sag against Billy’s front.

“Probably not as much as that would’ve.”

This gave them a few seconds to recuperate, and Nancy ran to her room taking three steps at a time before sprinting downstairs with a can of hairspray and a belt, as the rest tried to somewhat clean Y/N’s room and the house. Billy didn’t want to think about how much of the blood was hers and how much the monsters.

“What happened?” Billy muttered into Y/N’s hair and inhaled the scent of grapefruit and chamomile. He’d missed that smell. He’d missed falling asleep next to her, where he could hide his face by the crook of her neck and just drift off into a peaceful sleep.

The girl shuddered when he exhaled, the warm puff of air which used to be so soothing, now an unwelcome sensation, courtesy of the part of the Mind Flayer stuck in her body. “Was taking a bath,” Y/N murmured. “Decided to shave and accidentally cut myself. Next thing I know, all the lights started to flicker and this… mass of goo with tentacles was practically throwing me around the house. Luckily Nancy and Johnathan got here, and we were able to stave it off, but when she axed off one of the legs or whatever, I guess not everything retreated.”

A moan of displeasure invaded Billy’s ears, as she shifted a bit. “What are you doing here?”

“Dustin told me everything.”

She grunted straightening out in his hold. “I swear if I didn’t feel like someone played paper shredder with me, I’d kill him.”

“The question is why didn’t you tell me?”

“Had I, would you have believed me?”

Billy looked at her chest and focused on how it moved up and down in short quick breaths while thinking back on the confrontation and how the truth had been laid out to him a mere hour ago. His silence was her answer.

“Did you ever think maybe I was trying to protect you? It’s bad enough the kids are involved. This isn’t just shits and giggles. This is life and death. And if you somehow manage to get through this, you could go to jail. If you can’t tell, I’m not having the time of my life right now, Billy and –“

“I won’t let you do this without me. Not anymore.”

There was no room for discussion. The intensity of his gaze paralyzed Y/N, and as much as she hated to have him involved with the Upside Down business, as much as she hated he was now a possible target, she no longer could tell her heart no, so, she wove a hand into his curls and pulled him down for a kiss.

For a moment both forgot the situation they were in, and nothing but the sweet taste of the other existed. It was like their souls had been revived and their hearts synced to once more beat in the same rhythm.

When they pulled back and looked around the room, no one was watching, giving the pair some resemblance of privacy, and it made her chuckle, though the levity was soon eradicated when El stepped up.

“Bite on this,” Nancy handed the leather strip to Y/N, who only weakly nodded, and Billy fished out his lighter, tossing it to her.

“The second it's out, light it on fire.

Y/N was fully pressed against Billy now, his arms like a vice around her waist and shoulders, and hers on top of his biceps.

“You ready?” Steve asked kneeling down and putting both palms on her upper thigh, so she’d be as still as possible while El tried to extract whatever thing lurked underneath the tissues of her leg.

Y/N bit down harder on the belt and tightened her grip on Billy. He held her back just as tightly. For reassurance. For security. For safety. She was no longer in this alone. Billy would keep her safe. And she him.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28

Billy Hargrove’s tag list: @la-reina-tigresa @youcanstandundermyumbrella @ephmrl-love

A/N: I hope everyone’s staying home and is alright during these crazy times. I was in quarantine myself, I got out of the UK in the nick of time so that I could wait this out at home (I wasn’t in contact with people and I was in a safe space away from everyone). I did have the sniffles and a sore throat which is chronic at this point and luckily it’s was just that, as I did go and get tested for COVID-19, but even if you’re like me - please check your temperature 2x a day, drink loads of tea with lemon and honey, and eat a lot of garlic. And don’t forget WASH YOUR FUCKING HANDS! I HAVE SHIT TO DO AND PLACES TO BE AND I NEED THIS OVER BY JUNE!!! (please note I do hope we can get back to our normal lives by the end of May, (April would be amazing) but we need to listen to the medical professionals and advice from them. Not politicians, unless they tell you to stay the fuck inside, but actual people who know about disease and viruses. Trust them. They’re putting their lives on the line by being around the infected and treating them while we can sit home on our couches. If not for the respect of other people, then for the ones actually out there trying to curb and combat this.)

Stay safe my frens, and please know - if you need anyone to talk to don’t be afraid to message me. I know i’m quite bad at replying, but I’ll try to be more active at this time, as I know we’re supposed to be “social distancing” but I’d like to call it physical distancing. Heard that somewhere, didn’t make it up myself :D humans by nature are social creatures and as big of a homebody I am, I’m kinda going crazy (was in quarantine for 2 days and was already bored out of my mind). We all need people to talk to. If you need a vent or just someone to have a chat with for 5 mins, I’ll be here :) (P.S. please note I most likely have a huge time zone difference with everyone, so replies might be at off times :D)I’ll be trying to post more fics, but I do have my assignment still (we now have another 2 week deadline extension and I’m so fucking confused as to when are my new deadlines. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish everything in my quarantine, and I’ll be able to write some shizz up)

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. what did ya think?

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ironhusband · 4 years

Text

5 Times Tony Said I Know A Place + 1 Time Rhodey Said It

-1-

It started small, which, contrary to popular belief, is something Tony can start with. Maybe only when he was a fifteen year old kid with no experience or confidence, and not the billionaire persona Tony developed, but still. When it first happened, Rhodey and him didn’t know each other very well, but still felt concocted due to their early admissions and having to shout to be heard. But they weren’t best friends who knew each other so intimately back then. They were just roommates slowly going through becoming friends.

So it started with Rhodey frowning at his C.

“What’s the matter, sourpatch?” Tony asked, and unconsciously, Rhodey hid the paper away from his eyes. Tony glanced at the paper Rhodey hid. “You seem… concerned?”

“It’s nothing,” Rhodey dismissed, not wanting to admit to getting a bad mark, “do you want to get take out tonight?”

“It’s not nothing!” Tony ignored his question, “you’re upset!”

Rhodey pursed his lips, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tony’s shoulders slumped, “oh. Okay.”

Rhodey folded the paper neatly and put it in his drawer, trying to put the mark and conversation behind him, “okay, so do you want take out?”

“Actually, I know a place,” Tony said and then offered him a hand for Rhodey to take, “let’s eat out.”

~~~

In the next half an hour, Tony actually managed to bring a smile to his face, “I can’t believe you took me to Chuck E. Cheese!”

“Hey, say what you want about my methods, but I get results,” Tony grinned back at him, “I-I get to see that beautiful smile.”

Rhodey couldn’t help but have his smile spread at Tony’s downright adorable attempt at flirting. Then his smile dimmed slightly, as he brought his hand to his mouth in curiosity, realizing what that meant, “you did this to cheer me up?”

Tony snorted, “no, this is where I bring all my dates to.”

“Shut up,” Rhodey shoved him but didn’t object to this being called a date, “why here?”

Tony shrugged, “it’s where my butler used to bring me as a kid when I was upset. Always managed to make me forget what made me cry. Thought you could use this place too.”

Rhodey shook his head. It didn’t make sense how Tony managed to effortlessly understand him. Some people might have forced him to talk about what made him upset or took him anywhere else that wasn’t used to cheer a child up. But not Tony. Tony knew just what he needed.

“You’re ridiculous,” is what he told Tony and brought into a one armed hug.

-2-

“Hey, you’re back!” Tony cheered, “how was the test?”

“Good, I think,” Rhodey shrugged, “c’mon, you know me. And it’s physics. I’m good at it.”

Tony stuck his tongue at him, “don’t rub it in.”

Rhodey only smirked in response. “Okay, I'm studying for chem now, so be quiet.”

“What did you just say to me?” Tony gasped.

Rhodey chuckled, “I’ve only got a window for an hour. I gotta use it.”

“You just aced a test and you’re studying again?” Tony shook his head and stood up detremindly, “unacceptable. We, Rhodey Rhodes, are going out to celebrate. And I know just the place.”

“Tony, I can’t-”

Tony put a hand over his mouth, “I won’t hear it.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes but didn’t try objecting again.

~~~

“No, you’re wrong, the pool is way better than the beach!”

“I can’t believe you’re standing in front of this beauty and saying this!”

Rhodey glanced at the beach, “but the water is salty.”

Tony snorted and he sarcastically drawled, “okay, you win.”

“You know, you should be taking my side,” Rhodey pointed out, “out of the two of us you’re more likely to get a visible sunburn.”

Tony bristled, “yeah, but waves.”

“That’s a con.”

“No, it’s not!”

Rhodey smiled at him, “I’m not having a yes no argument with you.”

“Okay, then I win.”

Rhodey laughed. Rhodey went on to ace both of his tests and Tony grinned and said, “I take credit for giving you a much needed break.” Rhodey pinched him playfully but didn’t tell Tony how he was running on only coffee at that point.

-3-

“Honeybear, you’re gonna love me,” Tony announced to him.

“I already love you,” Rhodey told him and showed his point by rubbing his nose against Tony and briefly pressing a kiss to his lips.

Tony giggled, and what a wonderful sound it was. “No, I mean really love me. Like trying out that thing I keep suggesting love me.”

“Impossible,” Rhodey said and dropped what he was doing.

Tony smirked and said, “I got us two tickets to Guns n’ Roses.”

Rhodey gasped, “no!”

“Yes!”

Rhodey lunged at him and cupped Tony’s face in his hands, “oh my God, I do love you.”

Tony pecked him, “told you.”

“But wait,” Rhodey paused, “they’re all sold out. I made my sister camp out. How did you…?”

Tony bit his lip, “yeah, about that...”

Rhodey looked at him suspiciously, “what did you do?”

“Don’t worry, I just know a place.”

~~~

Tony ended up finding them the best car to drive them to the concert almost halfway across the country. He told their teachers they were sick with a high fever. Rhodey chastised him for it, but it was still the best concert he ever went to so it was half hearted. He was forever grateful to Tony for letting him see his favorite band live.

-4-

Rhodey felt like crying his eyes out with frustration. His CO wouldn’t let him do anything important, his CO didn’t believe he could do anything important and most importantly, his CO wasn’t letting him prove he could do anything important. He didn’t know what to do and he felt helpless and at loss. Rhodey hated feeling like that.

He burrowed his face into his boyfriend’s neck, the safest, most comforting place on Earth, “will you still date me if I quit MIT?”

“No actually, I have three other back ups I know won’t flunk,” Tony quipped but at the way Rhodey’s hands tightened around his middle he said, “just kidding, honeybear. You know you’re the only one for me. MIT or no MIT.”

Rhodey hummed, feeling warmer at the praise, “what if I go to CalTech?”

“Don’t even joke, Rhodes,” he rubbed his hands comfortingly around the arms on his waist, “why do you think you’re flunking?”

“I’m not flunking,” Rhodey mumbled, “but my CO sure wants me to.”

Tony groaned, “that guy’s a jerk. He doesn’t know what he has in his hands.”

Rhodey smiled into his neck, but he didn’t feel any less frustrated or any more hopeful.

“Hey, I think I have something that might cheer you up,” Tony said, “I was saving it for your birthday, but I think you might want it now.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Rhodey grumbled.

Tony chuckled, “get your mind out of the gutter. I know a place.”

~~~

Tony took him to a small airport. All through the drive Tony teased him about wearing a blindfold, so to not ruin the surprise, which did not ease Rhodey’s anxiety one bit. But when they got there… Tony showed him the most amazing plane. “It’s your favorite model, right?” Tony asked, “you told me so.”

Rhodey started at him and then at the plane and then back at Tony, “you remembered that?”

“Course I did,” Tony scoffed at him, “I needed something for your birthday. Come, this isn’t all.” Then Tony took him by the hand and introduced him to the pilot, “he’s gonna take you for a spin.”

Rhodey couldn’t believe what Tony was offering him, and it took him a while to recover enough to nod and get into the plane. The pilot flew him, twisting and turning and going upside down with the aircraft, making Rhodey shriek in delight. When they were done, the pilot allowed any and all questions, even letting Rhodey touch the controls to “test fly” the plane while it was turned off.

When he came to land Tony told him, “you’re not going to flunk.” He cupped Rhodey’s face gently, “you’re going to pass ROTC with flying colors, go on to get an amazing position that will make your CO jealous and fly a plane just like this one day. Just you wait.”

Little did Rhodey know by then, but Tony was right.

Rhodey kissed Tony with a smile still stretched on his face, “I don’t think you can find another gift for my birthday to top this.”

-5-

Rhodey was homesick. He hadn’t seen his family in a long time and he was starting to miss them. What put him in an especially sour mood was when his sister got a part in a play she was excited about, and Rhodey couldn’t come and watch it.

“I hate you when you’re in this mood,” Tony complained, “just want to make you feel better.”

Rhodey sighed, “I know this is hard for you to understand because your dad is an asshole. But I don’t know… I just miss them. And Philly too. God, I miss Philly.”

Tony looked thoughtful before a grin showed on his face, “I have an idea.”

“Oh no,” Rhodey teased.

Tony stuck his tongue out at him, “I think I know a place that will cheer you up. You trust me?”

Rhodey wanted to say something teasing but what he ended up saying was, “with my life.”

~~~

Tony took him to the Charles Hayden Planetarium because Rhodey once told him it reminded him of the Franklin Institute back at home. They watched the stars together and Rhodey nuzzled his neck and told him, “the stars in your eyes are more beautiful.” By the end of the night, Rhodey still missed home but he felt he was just as lucky to be with his other home, with Tony.

-+1-

Tony wiped the tears from his face, embarrassed that Rhodey saw his outburst of emotional weakness. Voice shaky and watery, Tony looked away from Rhodey’s concerned gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Rhodey didn’t say anything and Tony didn’t watch for his reaction. Eventually, Rhodey sat beside, pressed himself against Tony and nudged him gently. “I think I know a place,” he joked.

Tony laughed quietly, the laugh coming out broken. The line had long since become an inside joke for them, as Tony had a habit of repeating it too much. Rhodey usually wasn’t serious when he said it, but this seemed like more than a joke. He wondered what place Rhodey could be talking about. A burger joint? A robotics lab? Maybe a music store?

But instead, Rhodey brought him to his arms and hugged him tightly, hands on Tony’s back drawing comforting circles.

Tony frowned, confused, “what’s the place?”

Rhodey hugged him tighter, “right here,” he said, kissing the top of Tony’s head, “home.”

#userpavi #userduckyy #usersae #ironhusbands #iron husbands #rhfe #rhodeytony #tonyrhodey #james rhodes #james rhodey rhodes #rhodey #tony stark #druwrites #ironhusbands fic #rhodeytony fic #Iron Man #war machine #iron patriot #Tony is 15 at the start but rhodey is just one year older than him in this fic. some parts are when they're 18

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agustdomain · 4 years

Text

October Ink | #3

Fall isn’t all fun and games. With your chemistry class weighing down on you, Chan knows just the right remedies to lift your spirits.

“So Coraline and pumpkin spice lattes. That’s our Saturday date?” Chan asked, ignoring his friends chattering in the background. It was funny how you could hear Felix’s screeches and Jisung’s swearing through two devices.

Changing into more comfortable clothes, you confirmed his words. “Yup. It’s tradition. I usually do it myself, just to get into fall spirit. But now that you’re around,” You teased, smiling when he laughed in response.

“Yeah, I guess I can be pencilled in,” You could hear the humor in his voice, easing the nerves rattling your breathing since you’d checked your phone around twenty minutes ago. With that thought, you crawled onto your bed and opened your laptop.

“Okay. I’m logging in,” You let your voice drag out as you typed in your password, neck aching with the strain of holding up your phone. “Ugh, hold on. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“Okay, baby,” You smiled at Chan’s stuffy voice, familiar with the way he sounded with a full mouth (trail mix was your guess). Jisung was always yelling at him to stop doing it through his headset, but you found it kinda cute. “Just breathe, okay?”

You clenched and unclenched your fist as the screen loaded, letting you into your school website. Specifically, for your grades. On your way home from work, you’d gotten an email letting you know your professor had posted your grades for your chem midterm. If it was any other class, you wouldn’t have been struck with a wave of nausea like you did when you saw it.

This chemistry class, in short, had been kicking your ass since day one.

The only person who knew the extent of your stress was your boyfriend, Chan. Loving, supportive, always cheering you on. He had his own worries, so you tried your best not to dump your concerns all over him. However, he knew how freaked out you were over this. Your skin flushed at the memory of a few nights ago, calling him and crying about your fear of failing.

No matter what you did or how hard you tried, you just couldn’t do well in this class. He constantly reassured you, tried to give you pep talks, but at this point there was nothing you could do but hope for the best.

As you hovered over the class name, the sound of Chan talking to his friends on his game faded away. If you bombed this test, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to recover. Gnawing at your lip, you clicked the class, your breath hitching at the little notification on the grades tab.

“You alright, baby?” Chan whispered. His voice released the breath you were holding, eased the tension in your shoulders. As long as you’ve known him, he tended to everyone. Everyday, you worked to make sure he was seen and loved.

“I’m- I’m about to see.”

“Whatever happens, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” You clicked on the tab, waited for it to load. It loaded too quickly, so you purposefully scrolled down as slow as possible. Chris wasn’t talking to his friends anymore, but you could hear his fingers tapping away at his PC.

When your eyes found the number, you wondered if your heart actually cracked. Pushing your laptop away, you fell back on your bed, covering your eyes with your hands. You breathed out, tried to tell yourself not to cry but only made the urge worse. Like a sudden storm that you should’ve known was coming, the tears fell.

“Y/N? Baby, you there?” His voice was coated in concern, as if he sensed the shift in your silence. Swallowing thickly, you raised your tone, tried to come off nonchalant.

“I’m here. I’m fine... Don’t worry.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you prayed that you fooled him.

“Hey guys, I gotta go,” You heaved a sigh, hearing him say his goodbyes to his friends somehow making things worse. You were such a failure. “No, no everything’s fine. I’ll just catch up with you guys later.”

He waited, and even without saying anything, you knew he meant it. There was a purpose to his silence, patient like he was reaching through the phone and holding you.

You couldn’t take it, not right now.

“I gotta go,” You whispered, eyes trailing to your laptop as you reached over and shut it.

“Y/N…”

“I just need some time, baby. Just play with your friends okay? I’ll call you back in a while.”

“Okay,” You moved to hang up, distracted, but he called your name again.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A few hours later, you were feeling a little better. You had The Office and Chan’s sweater to thank for that. Cozying up on the couch, you forced yourself not to think as you let the episodes start and end, not touching the remote and turning off your mind. If you didn’t, you were sure you’d cry again.

You didn’t feel good about being so short with Chan, but the two of you learned healthy communication over time. He was aware of how you got sometimes, and gave you space when he knew you needed it. You still felt guilty, because you knew he was worried.

The doorbell rang. With a sigh, you got off the couch and dragged your feet to the door. Furrowing your eyebrows, you stared out the peephole, wondering why no one was there.

Nervous, you unlocked the door and opened it a crack, peeking out. Eyes trailing down, your heart warmed at the latte on your welcome mat, a sticky note pasted on the lid. Looking out into the hall, searching for Chan, you picked up the drink and read the note.

I’m here when you’re ready. Pumpkin spice doesn’t need to wait until Saturday. Love, C.

Sipping at the drink, the sweetness filled your tongue, the tension in your body faded away- just like it did when Chan was near.

He knew how to make you feel better even when he wasn’t here.

Running your fingers over his handwriting, you closed the front door, a smile poking at your lips.

The next morning, you woke up to your phone going off. Blinking away your drowsiness, you tapped at your phone, seeing a new text from Chan.

New surprise at your door. Hint: it’s not me.

Suddenly awake, you threw your blanket off of you as you raced to the door, throwing it open. The smile bloomed on your face as you crouched down, picked up the pumpkin spice latte and stuffed black cat.

You sipped at your drink, double checked to see if Chan wasn’t hiding around the corner. The note said, I figured you’d want your own Charlie. Three days until Coraline! <3

Snapping a picture of the cat snuggled up against the drink, you sent it to Chan.

You’re the best, you know that?

Second best.

No.

Yes.

I love you…

I love you too, Y/N.

When you woke up the next day to the doorbell ringing, you were prepared. Jumping out of bed, you slid on your slippers and raced to the door. Throwing it open, your heart jumped, Chan nowhere in sight. Was he really that fast? Scooping up his gifts for the day (your favorite candies and another latte), you ran down the hallway, ignoring the elevator as you headed for the stairs.

Just as you started heading down, you heard the door on the first floor slam closed. He was close!

You ran, pretty sure you looked terrifying as the smile on your lips grow bigger. Bursting out of the door, you headed to the front of the complex, looking both ways before racing down the sidewalk toward where he usually parked.

When you made it around the corner, your heart jumped in your chest, ever excited whenever you spotted its owner.

Chan hadn’t noticed you yet, and you sighed when his long strides relaxed into his normal pace, his hands in his pockets. His hair was messy like he just rolled out of bed himself, sporting his favorite red hoodie and sweatpants.

Running up behind him, you yelled his name as your arms went around him. He jumped, reeling to look at you with wide and scared eyes. It only took a split second before a laugh broke out of his lips, his arms going around you. Looking at you with raised eyebrows, he said, “You ruined my surprise.”

“I was ready for you today.”

He hummed, trying to bite back a smile. “Were you now?”

“Mhm.” He pressed a kiss onto your lips, distracting you as his hands reached and snatched the drink out of your hands. “Chan!”

“Well, since you ruined my surprise, I might as well take this,” He twisted his body as you tried grabbing it back from him, crying out as he guzzled the latte. He stopped, exaggerating a sound of praise before handing it over.

Cradling the drink, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Latte thief.”

“Surprise ruiner.”

Dropping the act, you intertwined your fingers with his, swinging them between you two. His face softened, and it made you shy because… well, everyone said it. You could feel his love for you whenever he looked at you like that. The dimples helped.

“Thank you, Chan. I… I know I’ve been really down and not really as enthusiastic as I’ve always been.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that. You can’t be happy all the time. None of us can. I just wanted to make sure you had something to lift your spirits, even when you need your space.”

“I loved it. These lattes? I need to learn to make them because wow. And Charlie? You almost made me cry.”

“Lattes huh?” You saw the idea forming in his face, knowing that he was concocting some plan to probably learn how to make them himself. Patting his chest, you leaned forward and pecked his cheek.

“You are an angel.”

“Just like you, love. And I hope you know that this class? The one that’s making my girl so unhappy? It’s temporary. You are going to go on and do incredible things. You just don’t know it yet.”

Even with the doubt and disappointment squeezing your heart, the conviction in his voice broke apart those vines, planted a precious seed called hope. One that you knew he’d help in guarding.

“Well,” You looked off to the side, acting casual, “I’m kinda free today. I decided to call in to work. I feel like I deserved a day off. If someone isn’t busy… maybe we can watch Coraline?”

Chan tilted his head, humming as he feigned consideration. A big smile broke out as he wrapped his arms around you, picking you up and then setting you down. “Sounds perfect.”

“Like you?”

“Ohhhh,” He pointed at you as you both started heading back to the complex, “That was smooth.”

Throwing his arm across your shoulder, pulling you close, there was no negative thought that could creep into the oasis that you and him had worked so hard to build.

Chemistry? You’re important, necessary for your major. But with Chan by your side, you’re not so scary anymore.

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bqstqnbruin · 4 years

Text

Teach me something 3

The Bruins winning the series means another part of this fic (I’m so sorry to my canes followers [if I even have any wait do I?] I still love you pls don’t hate me but as someone from Connecticut we’re still bitter that the Whalers left and went to Carolina in the first place again don’t hate me)

Will I ever write the requests that y’all have sent in? Who knows (JK you know I will)

I hope you like this!

ALSO a warning, this partially takes place in the hospital

Read the other parts: part 1 // part 2 // part 4

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“Good morning, everyone, and welcome to Chemistry class!” you say in what was probably perceived as an overly chipper tone, but you were genuinely excited to start the new school year, especially after missing the end of last year. “I’m Mrs. Tkachuk, and I know that most of you probably hate ice breakers, especially since you’re going to be doing them all week, but today is just going over the syllabus, getting to know me, and then we’re going to spend the rest of class doing a little chemistry-related ‘get to know you’ activity.” Some of your students roll their eyes, some even groan. “It’s chem class, guys, what did you expect?”

You spend the first part of the morning with the boring stuff, the class expectations, listening to them groan over the fact that you give what weren’t technically pop quizzes, but were something very similar, having them break into chatter when you said you gave one partner test per quarter, and that they got to pick which unit was the partner test expect during the third quarter, and then have no reaction at the chemistry jokes that you made throughout the class.

“So, do you guys have any questions for me?” you ask, glancing over at the clock. You had half the period left to go through your little PowerPoint, then have them do their activity. One of the boys in the back of the room raises his hand. “Robbie, right?”

“Yeah, are you related to Matthew Tkachuk?” A few of the boys around him start to murmur over whether or not you were, definitely excited by the possibility, especially since they were all wearing jackets for the hockey club they were part of.

“I meant about the syllabus, but I’ll answer that in a sec, ok? Any questions about the syllabus before I tell you about myself?” you ask the class, none of them raising their hands in hopes of knowing whether or not Matthew was related to you. God, you hoped not. “Ok, then.”

You turn on the projector, the screen filled with a short PowerPoint that you showed every year, updating every so often. You started telling them about where you were from, where you went to school, even that you used to dance with the Stampede. “So, I’m not related to Matthew Tkachuk,” you say, the boys seemingly deflated by that fact. You switch slides, a picture of you and him on the ice after their most recent Stanley Cup win, the one from your wedding that was your phone background for so long, one of you, Matthew, and your son, Oliver when he was a year old, and the newest one, the two of you with you a now three-year-old Ollie, and your newborn daughter, Tessa. “He is my husband. You might have heard that I was out for the last two months of last school year because of maternity leave, and I’m also surprised that you didn’t already know I was married to him considering he’s come with me to school events plenty of times. Maybe you’ll even get to meet him.”

The rest of the class goes fine: the students making ‘their elemental symbol,’ which they surprisingly like doing; their initials were the symbol, and they decorated it with things they liked and things that represented them. You told them you would be making a class periodic table on the windows behind them, leading to all the hockey boys begging to be together so they could do one coherent background image. You couldn’t help but laugh, thinking of how Matthew would get his friends to do the same thing if given the opportunity.

Every period brought up the same questions about you and Matthew: the girls wanted to know how you met (you met at a bar but that seemed a little inappropriate to tell your high schoolers, saying you met at a charity function was what you went with), how’d you come up with the names for your children (weird, but fine: you came up with Oliver just because you’ve always loved the name, Matthew came up with Tessa because it was the closest name to his sisters that he could think of without actually naming her Taryn as well, and he adores his sister, so why not?), the boys asked how much of his team you knew (all of them), how many games you went to (as many as you could but it was hard with children), can you get them free tickets (no). Teachers weren’t supposed to share a lot about their personal life, but the students could probably find enough of this information out on social media, even though you kept your own accounts private.

You have one more period before the end of the day, luckily you had a prep time, even though there wasn’t much to do since it was the beginning of the year. While browsing through your roster for your last class, your room phone starts to ring.

“Chucky’s room,” you answer, using the nickname your husband’s teammates used for him.

“Hi, Y/N, your husband called. He said he needed you to call him back and that it was urgent. Margot said she would cover your last class,” the school secretary says from the other end.

“What? Is everything ok?” you ask, trying to stretch the chord of the phone long enough to reach your phone at your desk.

“He didn’t say, he just said to call him. I’m assuming you have to leave, so you’re good to just go.”

You hang up, starting to panic. What happened to him? What about Ollie? What if it was Tessa? Oh my god, what if something happened to all three of them? You start to panic, preparing for the worst as you dial Matthew’s number and pack up your bag as fast as you can. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“You need to meet us at Alberta Children’s Hospital as soon as you can, ok?” you hear him say, the same panic in your voice that you started to feel.

“Matthew, what happened?” you say, Margot standing in your doorway, sensing your panic. ‘What’s going on?’ she mouths to you as you hold up a finger to her, waiting for Matthew’s answer.

“It’s Oliver, don’t worry, just get here, please. I need you.” He hangs up before you can say anything else.

“Telling me don’t worry and get to the children’s hospital because of Oliver in the same sentence is oxymoronic,” you say to Margot, not really knowing what else to tell her, “Just tell them they can hang out or something, not to get too loud. Hand out the syllabus, tell them don’t worry about it because I’ll see them soon. Tell them I’ll be emailing them tonight so to check their school accounts, but I had a family emergency,” you spit out to her as she just nods along.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but he’ll be alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

She brings you in for a hug, trying to calm your nerves even though it didn’t really work. You run out of the door right before the bell rings, students swarming around you as you try to beat them down the staircase. The upperclassmen who had study halls this period were also allowed to leave, a privilege none of them had lost yet since it was the beginning of the year, which means you had to battle with them to get out of the single entrance your school had.

You were shaking, trying to plug in the directions to the hospital as you were walking to your car, praying that it would save you some time to just get the hell out of there and go see what happened to Oliver.

Why didn’t Matthew tell you what was wrong? How bad was it that it could only be said in person? Or was it something trivial and he just didn’t want to say it over the phone? Either way, why didn’t he tell you? What was wrong with Oliver? Your mind was racing the entire drive there, nothing that you could think of or listen to could take your mind off the fact that your husband was waiting in the hospital with your son, for who knows what reason?

You rush into the hospital, bag on your arm, hands shaking, ready to cry and just wanting to find your son. “I’m looking for Oliver Tkachuk? T-k-a-c-h-u-k. I’m his mother,” you frantically say to the lady at the desk.

“Sorry, I can’t give you any information right now, the doctor is still with him,” she says, trying to give you a reassuring smile.

“Is there anything you can tell me? Where he is? If his father is here? Where his father is? Anything about how long it will be?” you start to spit out, a constant stream of panic running through you, “Sorry, sorry, that was a lot. Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me about my son? If I can where my husband is can I go to him?”

You didn’t mean to panic at her, if that was a thing, but it just kind of happened anyway. “Yes, if you can find him that’s fine. If you take a seat right now, I can tell you something as soon as I find out if you’re still here,” she says, reassuringly. You do as she says, digging out your phone from the bottom of your bag to see if Matthew has sent you anything.

‘Hey, I’m in the emergency waiting room, where are you?’ you send him, just in case he’s in the middle of something with a doctor. Your phone buzzes immediately, him telling you where to find him. You get up, the lady at the desk nodding at you, probably assuming you were going to wander to find Matthew.

“Y/N!” you hear Matthew call once you get up to the floor. You run to him, the panic in his voice pushing you to the verge of tears. He takes you in for a hug. You can feel his body shaking.

You look up at him, tears filling his eyes. “What happened?”

He buries his head in your shoulder, the two of you standing in the middle of the hallway, probably in the way. “We were outside playing after lunch and I turned my back for two seconds because Tessa was crying and then I look and Oliver is crying and there’s blood everywhere because he fell, and,”

“Matthew, Matthew,” you say, trying to get him to stop.

“I feel so bad. I can’t believe I let our son get hurt. And then I couldn’t get a hold of you because your phone was off and I just panicked and brought him here” You can feel tears soaking through your shirt.

“Babe,” you say, pulling him off your shoulder. You’ve never seen him so upset before. He looks just like Oliver did when you told him he couldn’t have dessert before dinner. “Kids get hurt. That happens. He’s probably going to need some stitches, yeah?”

“I can’t believe I let this happen,” he says, the two of you walking to go sit down.

“You were watching two small children at once. It was going to happen at some point, and it could happen to either of us,” you tell him, trying to get him to calm down. “There is no way you never busted your lip open or something like that when you were a child. He just takes after his father.”

“Oh no,” he says, the color nearly draining from his face as he realizes Ollie was practically going to be his mini-me.

“Speaking of: where is our daughter? I really hope you didn’t leave her alone.”

“Oh, god, no. She’s with Rory.” You look at him, shocked that he would leave her with Rory of all people. “Ok, she was the only one within a ten-mile radius that I would trust and could reach. Out other option was Johnny. Do you trust him with our newborn daughter?”

“Point taken,” you say, suddenly thankful for Rory. “Has the doctor said anything?”

“Just that it’s going to be a while and that he’ll come get us when he’s ready to,” Matthew says, looking down at his hands.

You take his hand in yours. “Ollie will be alright. I promise.”

“How are you so calm? How am I the one who’s freaking out? God, being a parent has made me soft.”

You can’t help but laugh: his last game of the season he got flat out ejected from the game because he was fighting. If that’s soft, you don’t want to see him any other way. “If both parents are freaking out that never ends well. So I’m just freaking out internally,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

He kisses the top of your head, “God, I’m lucky to have you.”

“I know.” You look up at him and smile, him rolling his eyes at your modesty. “Ollie’s going to be fine. This happens to kids all the time.”

The two of you sit there in silence, watching doctors and nurses walk by, parents and siblings going around probably trying to find their child. Matthew seems to have calmed down, a little at least. You both knew Oliver was going to be fine, but shit, was it scary to not know anything.

You lean down to your bag, digging through it to find your computer. You might as well start drafting an email to your students now while you have time. “What are you doing?” Matthew asks, curious as the family picture you used in your slideshow pops up as your lock screen.

“I have to email my last class. They should be out of school by now and I told Margot to have them watch for an email from me.” Matthew looks almost angry, but why? “You should come into school one day if we can get Rory to watch the kids; the boys went crazy when they found out we were married, I think they would love it if you did an experiment with them.”

“We’re literally in the hospital for our son, and you’re thinking of your students, instead?” he snips, his face starting to turn red.

You weren’t thinking of your students instead of Oliver, you were thinking of them and Oliver, just not at the same time. “Sorry that in addition to our two children, I also have, what, four class rosters of thirty students each? And my junior homeroom class? And a study hall section? My entire life is occupied by children, so sorry if I have more than just ours on my mind.” You knew this anger was coming from his worry of Oliver, but that doesn’t mean he has the right to take it out on you. “Matthew, I’m just writing them an email, and then I don’t have to worry about them until tomorrow.”

“I mean, it’s getting a little annoying that I have to stay home with the kids all day while you’re at work. I couldn’t even reach you because you don’t check your phone, and then the school said I would have to wait to hear from you until you have a free period because they couldn’t find anyone to cover your class. Do you even care about Oliver and Tessa?” He can’t believe he just said that to you. He knows your two kids mean more to you than he probably does. Before he can say he’s sorry, you start.

“Ok, four things. One: we talked about me returning to teaching and both agreed that it was something that we were comfortable with me doing. You only have to stay home with the kids for another week before Tessa starts at daycare and Oliver starts preschool. Two: you know that I can’t have my phone out during the day. It’s not like I can call you in the middle of practice or during a game, so you being irritated about that is ridiculous. Three: the school being understaffed isn’t really my fault. Yes, they were wrong to not get a hold of me, but that, again, is not my fault. And four: the only reason you are acting like this is because you are worried about Oliver, which I understand, because, and this may shock you: I am, too. But that does not mean that you have the right to turn your worry into anger, and then take it out on your wife,” you say, surprising yourself by staying calm the entire time. “So if you excuse me, I’m going to go call Rory and check on Tessa, unless that’s something you think you should do because maybe I don’t care enough about my own children.”

You get up and go to the end of the hallway before he can say anything. “Hey, Rory, it’s me. How’s my girl doing?”

“She poops. So much. Did you know babies poop this much? I think I’ve changed her diaper three times since Matthew dropped her off.” Maybe Johnny would have been better than Rory, but then again, you could see Johnny using a curtain as a diaper a la Uncle Jesse and Joey in Full House.

“Yes, remember, Tessa is my second baby. Oliver pooped a lot, too,” you say, laughing.

“I don’t remember pooping this much as a child,” you hear her say, obviously switching her phone to speaker. “Like I see why you love because she is just so cute,” you hear Tessa laughing as Rory is probably tickling her or making a stupid face as she does baby talk to her, “But the poop!” “Ror, you wouldn’t remember pooping as a child, you don’t start forming explicit memories until you’re two, but implicit memories when you’re seven. But other than the poop, how is she doing? Is she giving you any other trouble?”

“You know too much about science for a teacher,” she says, you rolling you eyes at the comment, “But, nah, she’s great. She’s probably going to nap soon? Matthew had mentioned that she normally naps around now?”

“Yep, she’s typically asleep when I get home, so put her down for a nap and keep an eye on her, please. I don’t need both my children in the hospital.”

“Well, who else would you trust with your child?”

“Most other people I know.”

“Johnny?”

“I said most.” You finally hang after she reassures you four times that Tessa is fine with her, telling her that one of you will call when you’re leaving the hospital, whichever parent doesn’t have Oliver will go to Rory’s, and that you’ll text her with updates on Ollie if you have any.

You walk over to Matthew, sitting in the chair with his head in his hands, his fingers intertwined with his curls. He looks up when you sit down, the look on his face saying that he was sorry for what you said.

“You are the best mother our kids could have,” he says.

“Mr. and Mrs. Tkachuk?” a man in a white coat, stethoscope and clipboard stands in front of you. You stand up and go to him, both of you hoping for good news as Matthew puts his arm around you. “Your son is fine; he just needed stitches and a cast on his left arm. If you follow me I can take you to his room.”

“A cast? You said there was just blood,” you look at Matthew, wide-eyed and unsure if you were confused or shocked.

“There was blood! I don’t know, you’re the science teacher, you should know this stuff,” he says, trying to defend himself.

“You do understand that biology and anatomy are different from chemistry, right? Like, I love you so much, but how do you know nothing about science? I never stop talking about science.”

He just shrugs as the two of you stand outside the door of the room your son was in. “I went to school in America, babe.” You roll your eyes as he takes your hand. “Ready?”

You nod, both of you walking into the room to see your so sitting on the bed. He looks so small with the blue cast on his arm, stitches stretching across his chin. “Mommy! Daddy!” he screams, “Look! It’s blue!”

You can feel yourself start to cry at the sight of your son hurt, even though his curls are going in every direction as he tries to jump off the bed to show you his cast. “Oh sweetie, your chin,” you say, tilting his head up so you can get a better look at it.

“Aren’t they cool?” he screams again. “And look! They gave me a lollipop!” he holds up the yellow candy in your face, you not even noticing that he had to begin with.

“He really is your son,” you say, looking at Matthew as Oliver squirms around on the bed.

“The stitches can be taken out in five days, so you’ll need to bring him back here to have them removed. Then for his arm, I’ll want a check after two weeks, but it probably won’t be coming off for five to seven,” the doctor starts spitting out. He hands Matthew a piece of paper from his clipboard, Matthew looking at it like it’s written in a foreign language before stuffing it in your bag. “You can take your son home, just sign the discharge papers,” he finishes, leaving the room.

“You sign the papers and get Tessa from Rory’s, all take Ollie home?” you say to him, picking up Oliver in your arms.

Matthew nods, kissing Oliver on the head. “Daddy, can we have ice cream for dinner?”

You both laugh, Matthew’s mini-me giving you the same puppy dog eyes that Matthew gives you when he wants something. “Only if Mommy is ok with it, but only because you got hurt.”

“We’ll get some ice cream on the way home, bub,” you say, kissing Oliver on the cheek as he squeals with joy. “See you at home, babe? With Tessa.”

“See you at home.”

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #flames #flames imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine

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lyssismagical · 4 years

Note

Hi! Are you taking Parkner prompts? can you write one where Peter discovers he has to get glasses but is really insecure cause it reminds him of his pre spider bite days so Irondad and Harley reassure him with fluff? thanks!

Peter first got glasses when he moved in with Ben and May. He’d thought the strange blurry vision was just endless tears, the blurriness looked exactly like when he was crying and he had to squint through them to see the world clearly.

He didn’t realize he needed glasses until Ned pointed it out in their English class. His sister had glasses, so he knew how to spot the signs. It wasn’t too hard to tell anyway, Peter kept asking Ned to read the board for him and he was squinting to the point where his eyes were shut.

At first it wasn’t that bad.

He got glasses and he wore them without complaint, and he didn’t mind. It made life easier so there was no point in fighting it.

Until he reached high school.

It wasn’t really a big deal, there was plenty of people with glasses. The difference between him and everyone else was that he was also the biggest nerd. He was on Academic Decathlon, chess club, and robotics, he was kind of a teacher’s pet. Not by choice, just because he was nice and smart.

It got worse when he started getting shoved against the lockers or hit occasional by stray elbows.

May and Ben didn’t have the money for replacement glasses more than once a month, so he was left with cracked lenses, barely held together with tape.

When he got bit by the spider, everything changed. He suddenly didn’t need glasses, he didn’t have asthma, he could stand up for himself and help instead of feel helpless all the time.

He finally felt comfortable in his own skin.

And then, a year and a half later, it was ripped away from him.

He knows it’s not a big deal.

It’s just a pair of glasses. Black square-framed, not as strong of a prescription as he used to have, that he has to wear to see long distance.

But he hates it.

It’s a small thing, a small change, but it reminds of a time where he felt helpless, a time where he wasn’t comfortable being him, a time where his glasses got stepped on when he was shoved into lockers and teased relentlessly.

He hates it.

He doesn’t wear them.

It gives him godawful migraines at school, squinting at the board or taking photos to copy off his phone instead. The worst is leaning over to copy MJ’s notes in Spanish because he can’t possibly see the notes on the projector.

He shoves his glasses case into the bottom of duffel bag when he stays over at Tony’s. Harley’s living at the tower, and the last thing he wants is to wear the glasses in front of the two most important people in his life.

But it only takes a couple hours in the lab before he wants to tear his eyes out. A headache throbs behind his eyes as he squints up at his computer and down at his webshooters, vision foggy and worse than normal.

“You okay there, kid?” Tony asks.

Peter’s too far away to make out the expression on Tony’s face, but he nods anyways. “Just a little tired, is all. I think I might call it an early night, if that’s alright?”

Harley comes up behind him, hands resting on his waist as he presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Let me walk you. You look like you’re one breath away from collapsing.”

He nods and lets Harley lead him out of the lab and to his bedroom.

He’s about to close the door behind him when Harley grabs his arm. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m just tired, Harls. I didn’t sleep well last night, I had that big chem lab due and I stayed up late to finish it. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah, alright. I love you.” Harley kisses him quickly before flashing one of his dorky grins and stepping out of the way of the door.

“Love you too.”

When morning rolls around, Peter’s sick of not being able to see anything. His head still throbs angrily and he tries, despite himself, to blink away the unrelenting blur.

He can hear Harley and Tony in the kitchen already, coffee machine humming and pan sizzling.

So he figures he’ll bite the bullet.

He fishes his glasses out of his duffel and shoves them on, holding back the residual anger that makes him want to snap them.

He almost chickens out when he passes the mirror. He looks like the nerdy kid from before the spiderbite. The kid who had thick glasses and wore braces for all of his seventh year, the kid who got pushed around and teased and floated through middle school with only one friend. The kid who couldn’t run in gym class without needing his inhaler and who couldn’t go more than one class without talking about Star Wars.

Hair mussed from sleep, glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, wearing his old Hello Kitty pajama pants and one of Harley’s hoodies that make him look small and young.

He looks like a child, the one thing he was always trying to prove he wasn’t.

Bite the bullet, get it over with. He tries to convince himself he’d rather have vision and self-consciousness than to stumble through another day blindly.

So he steps out into the hallway and forces one foot in front of the other until he makes it to the kitchen.

He pretends to act nonchalant, moving straight for the fridge so he can try to cool his burning cheeks, waiting for the teasing to come, but when he turns around, he’s met with his boyfriend’s wide-eyed stare, and Tony just lifts an eyebrow at him.

“You need glasses?” Tony asks, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t wearing them yesterday.”

Peter shrugs, looking down at his socked feet, shuffling awkwardly. “I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like them?” Harley repeats incredulously. His eyes are almost comically wide as he shoves a hand through his bedhead, a failed attempt at flattening his wild curls. “Why would you ever try to hide this from me?”

He doesn’t know whether it’s a genuine question or not, if Harley’s really asking him to explain the reasons that’s kept him from wearing his glasses, but before he can even try to explain any of it, Tony speaks up, “Didn’t you used to wear glasses as a kid? May’s shown me a few pictures.”

“We thought the spiderbite cured it, but…” he trails off in confusion, part of him still tense as though waiting for someone to tear them off his face and throw them to the ground. He pushes his glasses up his nose and frowns. “I don’t like feeling like the kid from before.”

Tony nods as though he perfectly understands it all, he turns without a word and disappears down the hallway. A moment later, he reappears, a glasses case in hand.

“I, uh, I don’t really wear them all too much, but I suppose getting older sometimes means it’s necessary,” Tony explains. He opens his case and slides the glasses on. “Reading glasses.”

Warmth floods through Peter’s chest. He’s known glasses are normal, he knows there’s a huge number of people who needs them. But seeing Tony, a superhero, needing glasses, that’s a gamechanger.

The shock has Peter silent in return, gaping wordlessly at Tony like this is groundbreaking news.

“My little sister has glasses too,” Harley says, shrugging. “Long distance. She used to get teased in school for it, but pretty much everyone at school got teased for something.”

“Yeah, me too.” The self-consciousness is finally fading. He’s not particularly confident, but he feels a thousand times better knowing the people who’s opinions matter are perfectly happy with it. “Back before the spider, I used to get bullied a lot. I mean, I can’t really blame them, I was the easiest target. Asthma, glasses, dorky, tiny kid who wouldn’t tattle or fight back. I guess I was happy not having to be that kid anymore.”

Tony’s forehead creases, jaw clenching. He never takes that kind of information well, he looks just about ready to get in the Iron Man suit and murder the kids who used to bully him. “You never deserved to be treated like that, kid, and I swear, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. If anybody gives you trouble, you come to me or Harley and we’ll take care of it.”

Finally, a smile graces Peter’s face and he can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Thank you. I know I’m being kinda irrational about all of this, so thank you. Really. It means a lot.”

Harley grins, arms sliding around Peter’s waist to tug him into a hug and he kisses Peter’s forehead.

Tony pretends to gag, like he always does whenever the boys are within a foot of each other, but he’s still smiling, shaking his head in amusement.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina @spideygirl2003 @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @pj-hermes-tonystark-obsessed @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester @emo-girl10 @justme--emily {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

#lyss writes #lyss answers #parkner #irondad #tony stark #peter parker #harley keener #Irondad and Spiderson #parley #irondad fic

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skia-oura · 4 years

Text

Dipper’s Day Around the World

A/N: This is 21k written over the span of like 6 months, so buckle in folks.

ao3

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December 4th, 5:58 AM EST

Dipper didn’t exactly sleep, anymore, but he was close enough to rest and unconcern with the matters of the rest of the world, sandwiched between Torako and Bentley in their bed, that the sting of the summons—friendly, from a personal circle, not from the standard one that strangers used—startled him into a disgruntled moan. Torako, a lighter sleeper in the morning, the early bird between them, twitched and then hummed an inquiry. “Izza…summons,” Dipper mumbled back before he turned and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

“Mmm,” she said. After a while, she asked, “Someone you know?”

He could hear her voicebox buzzing under the skin at his lips, could feel it vibrating lightly into the cartilage (manifested cartilage, yes, but cartilage as long as he wanted it to be) of his nose. A very dim part of him strengthened by still-waking awareness wanted to open his mouth and bite down into the flesh a little, just to feel it echo more directly into the not-bones of his teeth. The rest of him knew that it was a bad idea and was a sure way to get the heel of her palm slamming into his nose hard enough to break and hurt. It wasn’t even omniscience that told him this, just unfortunate prior experience.

She still let him close, though, and so he nuzzled in. “Yeah,” he sighed, but he was mostly awake now. “It’s a friends and family circle. Even though it’s at—oh, look, it’s 6 AM,” he said.

Torako reached over and up and ruffled at his hair. He sat up and smoothed it flat, glowering down at her. The motion dislodged Bentley’s arm from his waist but the Bentley that lived in this house was a deeper sleeper than the Bentley that returned to the apartment he’d been kidnapped from, and so he did nothing but scrunch up his nose (adorable) and sleep-mumble unintelligible noises before relaxing back into deeper sleep. Dipper sighed and relaxed shoulders he hadn’t even realized were tense.

“Go gettem, Dips,” Torako whispered, eye cracked open in a half-awake smile. “We’re gonna have breakfast bout nine, ok? Ben’n I got busy days planned.”

“Okay,” Dipper said. He bent down and pressed a kiss to Torako’s forehead. “Let Bentley know where I’ve gone when he wakes up, okay?”

“Mmmkay,” Torako said, then yawned and snuggled back into the covers. “Later gater.”

The summons stung him again. Dipper hovered above the bed for a moment, wings spread, then melted from comfortable (but elegant!!) pajamas into a more formal (but somewhat casual) suit before focusing on tracing the summons back to its locus, and slipping from bedroom on the East Coast to elsewhere.

December 4th, 11:01 AM BST

Elsewhere turned out to be another bedroom, in front of somebody he knew (Soos, no—Olla, her name is Olla) in England. He also knew that her mother would destroy them if she found them together, and it was the middle of the day and wait, what was Olla doing home anyways?

He blinked down at her. “Why are you even in your dorm? Don’t you have classes?”

“Alcor,” Olla moaned. Her hair was a mass of messily plaited braids, ribbons bright but askew. “You gotta help me. You’re my only hope of passing this stupid chemistry class I decided to take with my friend but we’re both hopeless—not hopeless, but definitely for sure 100% in over our heads—and for some weird reason most of the people in class aren’t keen on talking to me long enough to do studying or they’re busy or they’re just pain rude, please save me.”

Dipper sat down on her bed, which was next to the desk she was sitting at. Olla Sussally twisted the chair around in place, leaned forward to heave something up off the floor, then turned back around. In her hands—fingernails painted vivid, somewhat chipped colors that shifted weakly from hue to hue—was a very large tub, and in that tub was the biggest horde of candy Dipper had seen anywhere other than a grocery store. His mouth, despite any efforts to the contrary, began to fill with saliva.

The memory of Olla’s mother was just terrifying enough to remind him that his skin was actually prickling with discharged magical energy. “Your mom changed the wards again, didn’t she? It’s a shame they didn’t work, but she’ll know you summoned me, she always does, and she’s always so pissed even if I didn’t technically approach you.”

Olla moaned and tipped her head back for a moment. “I know I know, it’s so dumb and I hate it yet my mum really is the best and I love her n’all, but like, I have got to get this chemistry in the brain space as fast and fully as possible so can we talk about mum later? I have a candy bag per concept and you’re, like, supposed to be super smart, right? You’re supposed to know everything.”

Dipper cocked his head at her. Olla wasn’t smiling, not even nervously. Well, Dipper thought to himself, Mrs. Sussally couldn’t be too mad if this meant Olla a) was less stressed, and b) passed chemistry.

“Okay,” he said, sticking his hand out. “Deal.”

“Oh gosh oh thank you you’re the best,” Olla breathed out, then reached out and shook his hand vigorously with both of hers. Blue fire bloomed, then sputtered when she whirled around and pulled a textbook towards her—which, considering the fact that Olla was one of the most laid-back and calm people he knew, was concerning. “Okay, so, let’s start with chemical formulas, because hoo my man—my demon? I’ll have to ask you later—but, like, there’s molecular formula, and then there’s empirical formula is sometimes the same but sometimes different, and it has to do with math which is fine but I still don’t get why.”

Dipper blinked at her, then reached forward and pulled a bag of malted biscuits from Olla’s candy stash. She had swiped several worksheets and class notes up to hover in the air between them. “It’s easier to deal with some chemical equations that way,” he said.　“Look—here, at this problem…”

_______________________________________________________________

Halfway through explaining the Gillespie-Nyholm theory in regards to double and triple molecular bonds, Olla’s phone rang. Dipper stopped, stared at it. Olla looked down. The display read: ‘Mum <3 <3 <3.’ The hearts twirled in circles and threw off little digital glittery sparks.

“Aw,” Olla groaned, tipping her head back. “It’s only been, like, an hour. Come on, mum!”

“Maybe she hasn’t noticed yet?” Dipper ventured. He stuck his fingers in his mouth to lick off the sour sugar particles and eyed the still mostly-full tub of candy. “If she hasn’t, we could definitely get through another few concepts. I’ve only had four bags.” He wanted at least another three. Maybe five. Ten would be best.

Olla stuck out her tongue at him, took a deep breath, and then answered the phone. “Hey, mum, what’s up, howsit going, what’s on, you at lunch or something, it’s so weird for you to call me now haha you know class just finished!”

There was a muffled noise, the sound of somebody talking just out of earshot. Dipper tipped his head to the side. Would eavesdropping even be worth it?

“Woah, that’s weird, the wards are juuuuust fine here!” Olla cast her eyes up at the ceiling. Dipper looked up as well, and winced a little at how almost soggy some of the wards looked, bent out of space from where he’d pushed his way through. Well, their cover was blown. He cast a longing look at the candy bags, and wished for a reality in which he could earn them. “I guess your alert app is just fritzing out again!”

Silence. Then, several garbled words, Olla’s eyes widening and cutting to him. She laughed a little nervously. “What do you mean, mum? Sure, I wasn’t in Mid-Millenium Literature class, but that’s just because chem is kicking my ass into a sad bit of lumpy dough and I needed to take time—no, no, no tutors, just me and my cute little—wait you’re right outside the building??”

Dipper froze again. He met Olla’s eyes. As Olla’s mother started talking again, Olla flapped her free hand at him frantically, mouthing go go go!! as she listened.

If he really wanted to, he could take Olla’s mom. But a) he respected her, b) Olla really loved her, and c) Olla’s mother actually kind of just a little bit intimidated him when he wasn’t hopped up on anxiety and possessiveness and fear for his Mizar’s safety. So Dipper grimaced, lifted a hand in farewell, and blipped out of Olla’s dorm room with the fleeting thought of the next place he could go on such short notice.

December 4th, 9:29 PM AEST

It was, perhaps, not the best idea to suddenly appear on the couch right next to Tommy and Filara Hangar—they were a little jumpy—but Dipper wasn’t anything if not dramatic. He slung one leg over the other, slipped into something a little more formal mid-blip, and set his hands on top of his knee so that the fingers were curled a little over the kneecap. “Hello,” he said, pitched just high enough to be heard over the evening news.

Next to him, Tommy Hangar screeched and nearly scrambled over the back of the couch. Filara Hangar seized a wineglass off the table and flung it at him with incredible accuracy. Taken off-guard, Dipper had only a split second to decide whether to let it land or whether to pluck it out of thin air. He hesitated, and the decision was made for him—the glass smacked into his nose and red wine splashed up and over his face. Blinking, liquid clinging to his eyelashes, Dipper said, “Well, that was rude but I get it, I guess.”

Tommy wheezed from behind the couch. “What the fuck, you feathering fuckwit,” she said. “Holy shit you can’t do that to us without giving a ring or tapping out a coupla knocks first. I hate it when you do that! It freaks me the fuck out.”

Filara, on her part, was staring at her outstretched hand, bewilderment blooming all over her aura like morning glories. “I threw a glass of wine at Alcor the Dreambender,” she said, a little faintly.

“And hit,” Dipper groused. He materialized a stylish handkerchief from out of his vest pocket, snapped it open, and dabbed at his face just to emphasize his point. “You’re lucky that this suit is literally materialized out of the power I possess and isn’t actual fabric, because that would be a bitch to clean.”

“Die mad about it,” Tommy said. Dipper opened his mouth to respond to that, but Tommy widened her eyes at him and he wisely shut his mouth. She hauled herself back up and over the couch to sit squarely between Dipper and her wife. “We wouldn’t pay for it anyways, it’s your own feckin fault for slipping in here out of thin air at—” she glanced at the news “—9:34 PM, what the hell and why are you even here?”

Dipper waved the concern aside as though it were a physical thing he could clear the air of. He finished dabbing the wine off his face and snapped the handkerchief again to disperse it from its momentary existence. At the same time, the wine was pulled out of the non-fabric of his clothes and vanished. “My last appointment was cut very abruptly short, and I’d been meaning to check in on you two so I figured that now was as good a time as any. How are you?”

Filara blinked at him. “I hit Alcor the Dreambender with a half-full glass of wine,” she said, a little glee in her voice and in her eyes.

“Yes you did, honey,” Tommy said. She patted her wife’s hand and smiled. “It was a hot damn moment of glory and I love you even more than I already did.”

“Didn’t you throw ice water on him a few months ago?” Filara cocked her head and looked Tommy up and down, lightning bright sparks of realization fading into soft ombre appreciation.

Dipper frowned. There was no need to rub it in, he totally could have stopped that from happening—both the wine and the water. “Yes she did, and we’ve already covered the wine stuff, how are you?”

“It’s 9:34 PM,” Tommy drawled, turning her attention away from her wife to glower. “What do you think??”

“Now, now,” Filara said, rubbing at Tommy’s shoulders from behind. “I know it’s late, but we haven’t seen him in a while and I threw wine on him, so I think that it would only be fair to entertain him with a little conversation, don’t you think? I’m sure he’s a little lonely, aren’t you?”

Filara smiled at him. She looked nothing like Lionel, but Dipper read him into the quirk at the corner of her mouth that said she was still smugly amused at her unintentional victory over him. The little heartache that came with the thought moved Dipper to look past it and the quite frankly presumptive opinion that he was lonely, he wasn’t lonely. He was fine.

“No,” he said, “but Bentley and Torako are busy sleeping right now, and I’m awake and out so I wanted to talk to you.” The more he thought about it, though, the more tempting the thought of blipping back home and crawling into bed for snuggles was. He absolutely was not lonely.

Tommy wrinkled her nose. “That’s right, it is stupid early over there still, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, though stupid early was a relative term when it came to individualistic habits and sleep patterns. For some people in the same time zone, it was stupid late.

Filara leaned over and propped her elbow on Tommy’s shoulder. Her near-invisible lenses flashed a little, and she grinned. “So how are Ms. Gorgeous and Mr. Sigils?”

“Adjusting.” Dipper leaned back into the arm of the couch and twisted a saccharine drink out of nothing to sip at. “We just finished settling into the new house nine days ago. Torako or Bentley might have sent you pictures?”

Tommy had been frowning at Dipper ever since he pulled out his drink. “Dude,” she said, slowly, “I know you’re a demon and all, but that’s rude, man, just ask for a drink.”

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” Filara said, patting Tommy’s arm. “If he brings his own drink, that means that there’s more wine for me. And yes, Torako did send me pictures of the house. Bentley didn’t, but he made up for it by sending me updates on how things were going, and I very much appreciate it.”

With a sigh, Tommy leaned back into the couch and crossed her arms.

“Did she send you pictures of the tables?” Dipper drawled, swirling his drink around in its glass. “Mine was the best one.”

“That’s not what she said.” Filara raised her eyebrows. “In fact, she said that you all voted hers the best, and that’s the solid truth there.”

Dipper sniffed and took a sip of his not-beverage, mentally pulled together his arguments in favor of not Torako winning their unofficial competition, and launched into them with a passion that Bentley would have described as ‘overkill’ and Torako as ‘desperately in denial.’

_______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 8:39 PM PHT

Dipper only burned through an hour before Tommy had enough and kicked him out during a lull in conversation, citing that she actually wanted to spend time with her wife, not the dude who came around to pick her wife’s brain and engage in furious debate over the most mundane things before turning around and treating the most abstract concepts with the same fervor. He’d relented and accepted a couple drinks—overly sugary and laden with alcohol that couldn’t affect his non-existent metabolism—and found himself having made off with one of the Hangars’ drinking glasses on accident. He shrugged, sent it off to the Mindscape Shack, and figured it would make a good excuse for another visit.

In the meantime, it was time to visit somebody very new to their current life.

Dipper closed his eyes and followed one of the faint bonds inside of himself to a small apartment of Cebu—Grand Courtyard Bldg 5, apartment 607, nursery with the window facing north-east—in the evening, when its sole occupant was sleeping soundly, parents in the other room finishing dinner and relaxing before the baby woke up again. There was a personalized cam-monitor in the corner, anti-tamper sigils that reminded Dipper of Bentley (and when he looked at them for more than a split second, he saw Bentley working on them as part of a senior project for undergrad, and how strange, how incredible to think that they’d gone so far from that point, blooming into existence under his fingertips), and Dipper only spared a single thought to artificially looping the input past the anti-tamper sigils (they were Bentley’s, of course he knew how to get around them) before drifting closer to the crib.

Lloyd Remnit had not lasted long after their visit, after Dipper tore the information from his mind and Fantino had died as a result. Stan had always given everything for family, and it always hurt when he failed to protect them. (many Stans had summoned him over the years. Some paid the ultimate price for their loved ones. Some paid a different price, but it all fell to pieces around them anyways. Others, ones who hadn’t summoned him, had summoned others instead—one had given away her soul to be consumed. Dipper had torn that demon to pieces).

This time around, given how his last incarnation had ended up at odds with Alcor, he was determined to have Stan on his side. Which meant—this.

“Hey,” Dipper said softly, breathily. In her crib, María Elena ‘Inyang’ Dimayuga lay on her back, fingers curled into soft fists. He took a moment to take her in—a little on the large side, for a two-month-old, eyelashes dark and soft against her puffy cheeks, baby hair thin clouds across the crown of her skull. “Hey. I’m going to be your Uncle Dipper. Your parents don’t know yet, but they don’t know a lot of things about you yet either, do they? They’re still calling you Aweng. Don’t worry, they’ll figure it out eventually.”

Inyang shifted in her sleep and scrunched her nose. Dipper stilled, but her eyes didn’t open, and her barely-there, underdeveloped aura didn’t shift suddenly in that telltale breath between sleep and wake that infants tended towards. After a few moments, he slid from stillness into careful motion, chin propped in the heart of his palm, elbows on the edge of the crib, ankles-crossed mid-air. His wings fluttered once or twice. He sighed a little.

“It’s been a few years since I’ve interacted with somebody so young,” Dipper confessed. “Not since Lata, at least. Nobody’s been stupid enough to summon me with a newborn sacrifice recently, and the chances to meet babies like you are otherwise pretty slim in my line of work.” He laughed a little. Inyang let out a breathy sigh of an exhale. “But you’re family, you know? I should—I should stick around for you.”

Inyang’s fingers tightened into fists, then relaxed. He looked at her nails. She probably needed them trimmed, soon. Dipper remembered sharp baby nails, and they were a somewhat discordant experience when the rest of them was so soft, so malleable, so easy to swallow—

Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in and out, and chased the thought down into the deepest, most terrible part of him. Then he opened his eyes and looked back down at Inyang.

Inyang looked back, dark eyes large in her small face.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, Inyang frozen by the uncertainty of an unfamiliar face hovering over her, Dipper by the very human instinct of ‘maybe if I don’t move, this very small child will just go back to sleep instead of crying.’ Despite being a dream demon who didn’t need moist eyeballs, Dipper was the one who blinked first.

Inyang’s aura twisted. She let out the start of a choking cry. Galvanized by memories of caring for babies over the years, Dipper started shushing her, reaching into her crib on reflex. His sharp talons faded into stubby nubs, his gloves melted away to materialized skin. “Hey, hey, no, it’s all right—”

Footsteps outside the door. Moments before he managed to pick Inyang up, Dipper frantically twisted himself into the shadows under her crib. Seconds later, the door opened.

“Oh, that’s odd,” the parent said. Dipper blinked, and there it was—Alisha Dimayuga, journalist, wife to Jolan Dimayuga, owner of a small clothing boutique that custom-sized for all its customers. “The camera didn’t pick up on you waking up—hush, hush, sweet little Aweng, here I am, it’s okay. Why don’t we go see your Zaza, hmm? Zi would love to hold you, love to kiss your precious little nose and all the pain away.”

Dipper stared up at the bottom of the crib, seeing Alisha pick up Inyang and soothe her without physically seeing it. Alisha rocked from side to side with each step, murmuring about how hard it was to be a baby as she slowly made her way out the room, Inyang still crying pitifully in tired-sleepy-pain-overstimulation. She was going through one of her growth spells, Dipper knew suddenly, though he’d always known it. It hurt, to grow so much all at once and not understand anything, and thankfully it was knowledge that faded quickly. Dipper still remembered his second birth, how things changed and ached and felt like fire melting and reforging and melting his bones all at once. The pain of it, over and over, all at once after stretches of nothing.

He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

Dipper considered revealing himself to Alisha and her partner. He thought about introducing himself, but the thought of Alisha’s fear and Jolan’s terror-courage and the rift that would possibly set between him and Inyang made him hesitate, caught between the soft shadows of the nursery and the light spilling in through the open door. He stayed for a few moments, listening to Alisha and Jolan’s soft voices in the other room, hearing Inyang’s cries get quieter and quieter until she was silent.

Maybe another time, Dipper told himself. He coalesced back into his humanoid form next to the crib, with its whale-patterned sheets and its pale linoliwood bars. He looked out the door, into the sliver of the hall he could see, and remembered other babies over the years that he had raised, or helped raise. Later, he told himself firmly. For sure.

Dipper closed his eyes, breathed in deep, and blipped—

December 4th, 8:54 AM EST

—into his designated seat at the dining table, aka the chair that Torako had snatched for her temporary bedside table and kept falling out of bed for. Dipper might have—in the previous months—maybe on occasion scooted it just far enough out of reach that she would tumble out of the sheets. Just maybe on occasion, though. Not every night. That would just be suspicious.

“Morning,” he chirped at Torako, who was sipping at a cup of coffee. He eyed it—hazelnut creamer, oof, she was anticipating a Day.

“Hey,” Torako said. Across the table, Bentley’s forehead was flush against the wood surface. He groaned out something that Dipper interpreted as a greeting.

“You never jump anymore,” Dipper complained. He crossed his arms and set them on the table, leaning forward. “It’s so disappointing.”

“Dude, we’ve lived together for, like, eight years, of course I don’t jump anymore,” Torako said. Dipper hummed in absentminded agreement in order to hide the fact that he was as of that moment making plan after plan to startle the snot out of her. “Besides, now I have a Dipper-sensor as long as Bentley’s around—he moaned out something a second before you popped up.”

Very kind of her to tell him what situation he needed to avoid in order to succeed. Torako really was her own worst enemy, because she should know by know that Dipper wasn’t nearly nice enough to not take advantage of such facts. “I had forgotten about that.” He actually almost had. “Bentley conscious yet?”

Bentley groaned again. Torako picked up her fork, stabbed a sausage on her plate, and shoved it in her mouth. Dipper squinted his eyes at the remaining sausages and wondered if he could get away with sneaking one off her plate.

“Kind of. I think he had a rough last hour of sleep; he was really groggy when I finally shook him awake.”

Half-formed schemes of how he was going to make Torako scream in surprise fell to the back burner as he cast a more appraising eye over Bentley and his aura. Bentley kept saying that he didn’t want them to treat him like something fragile, like those delectable sugar cubes that were 90% air, 9% sugar and 1% flavoring and were so thin they fell apart the moment they touched your tongue, but Bentley was also dealing with PTSD among a host of other problems so Dipper was going to worry. Especially since, you know, exhaustion crept and shifted slow through his aura in a way that Dipper hadn’t seen since last week.

“Hey, Ben. Looking tired there.”

Bentley didn’t make a noise. Instead, he lifted his head up just enough to glare at Dipper. Dipper winced, both at the animosity and at the tiredness strung at the corners of his eyes and in the crease of his forehead. Bentley glared even more.

Torako whistled. “I’m not sure, but it might have actually gotten worse?”

“Shut up,” Bentley groused. He reached out and nearly knocked his mug of coffee over (and if it weren’t bad enough that he was drinking coffee, it was worse because even all the way across the table, Dipper’s teeth could feel the half-cup of sugar Bentley had poured in) before tugging it close and sipping. It must have tasted awful. Bentley didn’t blink an eye.

Dipper looked at Torako. Torako glanced at him. They both decided that shuddering was probably not the wisest course of action, with Ben so grumpy. That being said, Torako still opened her mouth. Really, she was her own worst enemy.

“So you’re…still going to work today?”

Ben grunted and shifted his gaze to her, narrow-eyed. “I gotta,” he said. “There’s a new sigils company being built here, and there’s a…what’s the word…mandatory, right, there’s a mandatory meeting at 9:30 about it.”

“What about a teleconference?” Torako speared another sausage. Dipper, momentarily distracted, looked down at her plate and stretched nonchalantly. If his hand was a little closer to her plate than before, well, that was just coincidence.

Shaking his head, Bentley took another sip of his coffee before saying, “Confidential information. Gotta be in person.”

Dipper, after a blink and a quick rush of information, thought that it might be more that Bentley was being stubborn about ‘earning his keep’ and less about ‘having to go to the meeting in person.’ Dipper was actually pretty sure that Karl Svinhish would happily come to visit just in order to fill Bentley in on the details. He considered the pros and cons of actually saying that, and decided to keep his mouth shut. Instead, Torako distracted, he set his fingers right at the edge of her plate.

Torako snorted and pointed her fork at Bentley. “And Karl Svinhish wouldn’t bend over backwards for you, no, no he wouldn’t.”

Bentley actually hissed at her and bared his teeth. Torako’s face went—not pale, no, but she had the expression of somebody who has just realized that they’re treading right at the edge of too far and should really go back before they’re mauled. She stabbed down for her sausages.

Dipper, right on the edge of getting himself a tasty salty snack, howled as her fork stabbed right into the back of his hand.

“Oh fuck,” Torako said, jumping out of her chair. “Oh fuck, how the fuck did your hand get there, what even—”

Dipper felt torn between cackling and screaming. It really, really hurt in all the best and worst ways. “You stabbed me!”

Bentley, at some point, had half-pushed himself out of his chair. He lowered himself down into it, lifted his coffee mug, and raised his eyebrows as Torako pulled the fork back out of Dipper’s hand. He sipped.

“Shut up,” Dipper giggled at him, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m too tired to be nice,” Bentley muttered. “You were asking for it.”

Torako blinked. She looked down at her sausages. “Were you—trying to take my breakfast?”

“No,” Dipper lied. He licked at the puncture holes in the back of his hand, then willed them to go away. His blood tasted almost like copper, today. “Of course not.”

Torako glowered at him, and pointed the fork. “You were.”

“Never,” he said. There was a tug somewhere in his gut, and he recognized family—friend—Batoor a split second before he said, “and you can’t prove otherwise, Batoor’s calling, see you guys later bye!”

Torako threw her fork. He disappeared before it could reach him.

December 4th, 4:09 PM GMT

Dipper blipped back into physical space upside-down and in a pretty snazzy pair of electric blue ruffled slacks. He craned his neck back to look Batoor in the eye. “You called?”

“Someday, I hope you realize how old you sound when you say that,” Batoor complained. He was sitting on his desk, a textbook in his lap and a pencil stuck behind his ear. His curtains were open, the dorm courtyard below empty but for the few students taking advantage of a clear afternoon to get some much-needed sun. Dipper tilted his head and pointed.

“Is that kid stacking chips on her nose?”

“Undoubtedly,” Batoor said, not even looking. “It’s a new fad. You wouldn’t understand them, being an old geezer.”

Sometimes, Dipper regretted introducing Torako to Batoor. He extra regretted that Torako and Batoor had exchanged contact information, and that Batoor was picking up on some bad habits of Torakos, like bullying Dipper with no regard for how impressively powerful he was. No respect these days.

“I understand fads,” Dipper grumbled.

Outside, chip-stacking student made it to four chips high. Four chips wouldn’t be nearly so impressive if they weren’t being stacked corner to corner. Dipper was kind of jealous—he wasn’t sure he would be able to do that without taking advantage of his powers.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Batoor said. “Anyways—I need help with this history paper. You know about history, right?”

Dipper fancied that, if he’d never become a dream demon caught in the claws of near-eternity (he knew that he wouldn’t last forever, but it may as well be—it basically would be, as far as this universe was concerned, and more than that he couldn’t quite wrap even his demonically-altered brain around), he would have been a scientist, or a mathematician, or an over-qualified pizza store manager (which if it came with free pizza, wouldn’t be a half-bad gig.) At almost-thirteen, he hadn’t been as interested in history beyond conspiracy theories and supernatural stories. Now, though—“My middle name may as well be Historical Record,” Dipper said. He flipped over mid-air. His braid fell over his shoulder as well.

Batoor blinked at him. “Those pants are…new,” he said, in English. Dipper narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Not really,” he said. “What, you don’t like them?” Mabel had been the one who pestered him into conjuring them for himself in the first place. He’d gotten a whole cheesecake out of that deal, and the mortification of them had barely been enough for his young-demon ego to deal with. Now, though—they were ruffled, and bright, and Mabel’s, and that was enough.

“And the braid is different,” Batoor said.

Dipper looked down at it, pulling it further into view with his left hand. He flipped the end of it between his fingers. “ Yeah, I don’t usually go for this style. It’s fun, to change things up.”

Batoor blinked. The scales around his eyes shimmered. “Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, “I guess so. Anyways, I need help with the history paper. About history. In English. I am older so class is harder? It’s a high-level class.”

“Okay,” Dipper said, easily enough. It wasn’t like Torako or Bentley would be better company now, and they were going to be busy anyways. “What you got to pay me, then?”

Grinning, Batoor opened a desk drawer with his foot. Dipper perked up despite himself, shoulders dropping and eyebrows raising. “Candy,” Batoor said, “and snacks. From Kabul.”

Not as easily obtained as gummy peaches, here in Ireland. “Oh,” Dipper said. “I see what you’re doing. You’ve been talking to Torako.”

“Of course,” Batoor said, before switching back to Dashto. “She’s the only one that can handle you, other than Bentley, and she’s the one with the Demonology degree. She’s been very helpful in my studies.”

Dipper stilled. He narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were doing a degree in Community-Building and Inter-Species Relations,” he said, slowly.

“I am,” Batoor said. He reached inside the desk drawer and picked up a couple packages, one carefully-preserved mini gosh-e fil stuck in stasis, powdered sugar and chopped pistachios kept in place through the power of food-regulation preservation spells, and the other an assorted bag of koloocheh. A few of them were broken despite the spells, and Dipper knew they had to be good. Koloocheh were brittle cookies by nature, after all.

“Oh,” Dipper said. He couldn’t look away from the treats for a second, then made himself because he could get a major deal out of these if by some small chance Batoor didn’t know any better. “They’re pretty good, but for a whole paper?”

“And proofreading,” Batoor said. He smiled, as sweet as the sacrifice he was offering. “I know exactly how valuable these are. They’re not only delicious, they’re sentimental. My Oware bought them for my Transfer-Day. I haven’t had gosh-e fil since we left Afghanistan.”

Oh fuck, Dipper thought. He felt a trickle of unease down the back of his neck a second before the realization hit him and he sunk to standing on the floor like a dumbass. “Oh,” he said again. “You’re doing a specialization in community law and advocacy, aren’t you.”

Batoor grinned. “Demonology overlaps with law-writing classes a lot, you know. Anyways. For help finding relative articles about my history topic in both English and Dashto, assistance refining my arguments, and thorough proofreading of my English composition, I will give you both of these very valuable, sentimental treats, and maybe we can have some video game time together if my roommate doesn’t come back too early.”

“That’s a big if,” Dipper said. “Do you have the new Red Rider game? The one that’s set in a magicless urban wasteland that you have to carefully scavenge tools and make intelligent allegiances in order to strategically rise to the top of the crime syndicate that’s taken over the city and make the ultimate choice whether to rule over all with an iron fist or transition to a better societal system?”

Batoor stared for a moment. “Yes,” he said slowly. “You like that game?”

“Well,” Dipper said. “I suppose I kind of do, yes, but not too much.” Dipper carefully did not mention that the open-story ending that mimicked the rewards and consequences of living a high-stakes human life scratched the same itch he had tried to, over and over and over in human skins that lasted not long enough. He also didn’t mention that the mathematics that went into calculating story paths from individual choices was jaw-droppingly incredible and he needed to see it in play for himself.

Batoor nodded. Dipper narrowed his eyebrows in suspicion at the sparks of mirth and slowly unfurling anticipation in his aura.

“Stop being amused,” Dipper said, pointing his lace-gloved finger at Batoor and scowling. “I kind of like it.”

“Sure,” Batoor said with a perfectly straight face that was very at odds with the emotions that Dipper was reading. He held out his hand. “Anyways, I do have the game and we can play it if there is enough time. If there isn’t, we’ll play at the next opportunity feasible for both parties. Do we have a deal?”

Dipper looked at the sweets. He tilted his head and thought about the promise of the game—which he was guaranteed to have a chance to play—and then about the difficulty of the task before him. He didn’t mind proofreading either, especially because English had cast off a bunch of the fiddly rules about punctuation that honestly Dipper thought were still needed. He could make sure that Batoor’s teachers weren’t teaching him too much that was wrong.

Grinning wide, Dipper reached out and took Batoor’s hand. “Deal,” he said. Blue fire licked up from between their palms briefly, and Dipper felt himself get—sharper, smarter, stronger—for a brief flash as the deal lanced through him. Then he let himself slide into that state of mind where he was—not compelled to do a task, no, but it was similar.

“Great,” Batoor said, grinning lazily. He leaned back against the desk and looked very self-satisfied. “Because my Red Rider game’s multiplayer option hasn’t been used since the time my roommate agreed to try it out with me.”

Dipper tipped his head. Something niggled at him. “How long ago was that?”

“Two months ago,” Batoor said. “The day I got the game.”

Anticipation tingled up and down Dipper’s arms. He felt himself lift back off the ground. “Oh? Why not? It’s an excellent game.”

“He said I was too intense.” Batoor picked under his fingernails at imaginary dirt, but Dipper could still see the grin on his face.

“Oh,” Dipper said again. Then, he said, “Well, we should finish that paper as quickly as possible, shouldn’t we? I doubt that you’re more intense than I can be.”

“We’ll have to see,” Batoor said, eyebrows raised.

________________________________________________________________

They did not, unfortunately, get a chance to see. Writing papers was harder than Dipper remembered, and Batoor had chosen to write about anti-preter sentiment in Ireland two hundred years ago and the impact of the laws enacted during that time had in the centuries following. There weren’t too many papers on the matter in Dashto, and any articles that they could find were harder to understand the further back they were, so Batoor was stuck with English and translated Gaelic sources.

Halfway into Presumption of Guilt: How Lawmakers Built a Sinister System in the Absence of Politically Powerful Preternatural Citizens that Resulted in the Summer Riots of 3784, Batoor’s dorm buzzed. They froze.

“Hey, Batoor!” Dipper heard. He swung his head around to look at Batoor, who met his gaze. “Why you lock the door? You got company?”

Batoor flushed. “No!” he yelled, voice cracking a little as he flapped his hand at Dipper. “I just was studying!”

Dipper snatched what remained of the delicious snacks that Batoor had traded and stopped just short of blipping out. “When are we going to play Red Rider?” he hissed quietly in Dashto.

Apparently Batoor’s roommate had very, very good ears. “Batoor?”

Batoor leveled the nastiest glare that Dipper had been subject to from him. Dipper threw up his hands in frustration and tried to communicate, with his eyes, that he was just asking, no need to get pissy about it! To which Batoor shook a finger at Dipper, waggled his eyebrows in I-told-you-we’d-get-to-it-when-we-get-to-it, and gestured for Dipper to stay quiet for good measure.

“I was only talking to myself!” Batoor yelled back. “Let me get the door for you—”

Dipper felt a tug in his gut. Thankfully, he let himself follow the summons, twisting out of existence from Batoor’s Irish University dormroom and—

December 4th, 9:44 PM EAT

—into a small bedroom with sparsely decorated walls, a pale tile floor worn right to the edge of minor neglect, and a small child sitting on a patterned rug right at the edge of his circle.

Dipper swallowed back his customary greeting and instead asked, “What’s up, kiddo?”

They hugged their knees closer to their chest, squashing what looked to be a very sentimental stuffed manticore. “Sshh,” they said, so quiet that Dipper had to readjust his hearing. “Aunty Adi is asleep.”

“Oh,” Dipper said. He sat cross-legged a half-inch above the wobbly chalk lines. After a moment, he whispered, “I like your scentless candles.”

The child ducked their face into their knees and the stuffed manticore’s fuzzy mane. “Thanks,” they said, but then said nothing else for a long time. Their aura shifted between embarrassment and hesitation and quick flashing bursts of smothered pride. Dipper made the decision to wait for them to speak, and instead cast out his senses more to assess his new surroundings. There was a small bed in the corner, third-hand but well maintained, a nice new desk bought at a bargain, temperature-regulated sheets, a little bookshelf that was crammed overfull, a tablet for children open to what seemed to be a digital copy of a centuries-old summoning how-to that had never been legally published but had found its way around anyways. Down the hall to one side there were three other signatures—two more children, one adult, each in separate rooms, and to the other seemed to be a living space complete with kitchen and a harmless little snake that curled up in a hole in the wall, sleeping off its latest meal. The night air was cool in such a way that suggested the previous day had been hot.

“Are you really a demon?” The kid asked.

“Yeah,” Dipper said, wiggling his claws at them. Their eyes were big and dark in the candlelight from right over their knees. “Alcor the Dreambender, at your service.”

Another very long pause. Dipper waited.

“The book said you were nice,” they said. Dipper tilted his head. The book had been distributed during one of his nicer, more mentally present phases. Fortunately for this child, he’d had over a decade of recent socialization with human beings, so he wasn’t super tempted to take advantage of what the kid thought.

“Right now I am,” he said. “What you want, then, kiddo? People usually don’t summon me unless they have a deal in mind.”

They looked away and buried themselves further into themselves. The minutes passed. Outside, bugs sang and small lizards rustled in pursuit. The candles flickered, burned wax into vapor that wafted away, slow and lazy but inevitable. Dipper kept himself breathing, steady.

“…Aunty Adi doesn’t like me,” they said.

Dipper blinked. “Oh?” he asked, and looked closer. No broken bones, a bruise on their knee (legitimately tripped and fell), short curly hair (useful for the heat), crooked fingers (an accident when they were two years old), missing tooth (their adult teeth were coming in). Whatever it was, it wasn’t overt physical abuse. Dipper narrowed his eyes. “What does she do? Where are your parents?”

They shifted one foot over the other. “I act funny,” they said instead. “Mom and Dad are busy working in Lilongwe, so they left me with Aunty Adi.”

There was a lengthy silence. Dipper had started getting that uneasy prickling along the back of his neck, the one he got when kids weren’t safe and happy, and he had to breathe in deep and out slow to stop himself from getting ‘intense,’ as Torako put it.

“Other kids don’t like me either,” said the kid. “I don’t get it, I laugh when they want me to and follow all the rules, the ones they don’t say but are there anyways, but they still don’t like me.”

Lonely crept over them like a purple shroud, heavy and dark and bruiselike. Dipper watched it settle and shift for a few moments, and turned the words over in his head. They waited.

“Do you want a friend?” Dipper asked, finally.

A heartbeat, two, and then a nod.

“Do you want me to be your friend, tonight?”

A double nod.

“I’ll need something in exchange,” Dipper said, because it was true (though not really, no, he could totally absorb the backlash that came with spending a night playing with a kid but this wasn’t Mabel) and the kid should know that, but also— “maybe some candy? Kids have candy, right?”

He’d really, really prefer the manticore. He almost asked for it. Then he thought of what Torako would say and do to him if she found out he’d taken a beloved stuffed animal from a lonely, friendless child and figured that stealing candy was a comparably minor offense.

Their wide dark eyes stared into his, and then they very slowly nodded, and even more slowly pointed in the direction of their desk. “In the drawer,” they said. “Milk drops.”

Dipper tilted his head over at the desk and blinked. “Okay,” he said and extended his hand. “Is it a deal?”

After a short moment, they nodded and extended their hand over the shaky, weak chalk lines of their summoning circle. “Deal,” they said, their hand in his, blue fire flaring up between them for a second before dying down.

Dipper tilted his head, blinked into something a little softer (more comfortable, something that would set the kid at ease) and asked, “So, kiddo, I’m yours to play with for a while. What you wanna do?”

The kid didn’t smile, but hesitant happiness spread like frail roots through the heavy purple lonely in their aura. “Well,” they said, quietly, “there’s this—card game, that I got to play once…”

_______________________________________________________________

It took several hours of very quiet playtime for the kid to finally get tired enough to fall asleep. Dipper tucked them—tucked Pili—into their bed, sang a slightly off-key lullaby until their tired eyes finally blinked shut and their chest rose and fell softly and their grip on their Manticore (Nadine) loosened. He thought for a moment, then summoned a Dream to curl up next to them and a Nightmare to stand guard until Pili woke in the morning.

“You keep an eye on them, alright?” Dipper said. The dream baa’d and snuggled in close to Pili, who relaxed further. Himmwichlint, the Nightmare, blinked its five eyes independently and huffed out a derisive what, you think I wouldn’t at Dipper. Dipper huffed back and rolled his eyes.

“I’m not saying you can’t or won’t,” Dipper complained, crossing his arms. He was wearing a very soft sweater that Pili had exclaimed quietly over before stroking for a solid five minutes. “I’m just saying what I want you to do.”

Himmwichlint rolled its eyes back at him. The effect it had was really similar like those plastic googly ones that Belle had once used to bedazzle a pair of sneakers into a constantly-rustling horror show. She had worn them every day for a month to class. Dipper had ended up making a deal with Lionel to have them disappear.

“No respect,” Dipper complained. “What is it with everybody in my life refusing to show me respect? I am a very powerful dream demon, you would think people would remember that more.”

The Nightmare chuffed low in its gizzard, and its wool shook in laughter. Then it turned itself around to lay on the ground at the side of the bed, very purposefully looking away from Dipper.

Dipper threw up his hands. “Unbelievable,�� he whispered, turning around himself to leave the room. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

He very quietly swung the door open and then stepped into the quiet hallway. Another step, and he shifted from the soft sweater and comfortable sweatpants he’d put on for Pili into a sharp black suit, dark and imposing and shadowy. He didn’t need to close his eyes for more than a few seconds to know that he wanted the room at the very end of the hall. He walked forward on the thin air just a hair off the ground, passing by several pictures on the walls and a totem lodged in an inset shelf near the ceiling. It was supposed to protect the inhabitants, but the spirit that was supposed to be there was missing. It had been missing for years at this point.

Not that it could have done much of anything if it had been there, Dipper thought to himself with a little grin. It could not have stopped him from having a little chat with Auntie Adi. He doubted that it would have even tried.

In moments, he reached her door. The insects outside had fallen silent. He pushed the door open, soundless, and entered her room.

It was dark. A thin sliver of slightly-overcast moonlight drifted through the crack between the curtains. In the middle of the room was a wide bed, thin summer blankets draped over a sleeping figure. When he looked around, the room wasn’t overly different from Pili’s—the same well-cared-for furniture, clothing bought at a bargain and a few priceless treasures (gifts, or inheritances, or simply items loved to the point of powerfully tempting)—but there was something about it that cradled the sleeping figure. There had been a lot of love in this room. There was a lot of love, and care, and fondness. Pili’s room seemed so much emptier by comparison.

Alcor made his way to the edge of the bed. He flicked out his cane, threaded his hair back into a ribbon-tied ponytail, and then sat down.

Adi didn’t respond for several moments, still deep in sleep. No matter. He knew that the deep part of her responsible for living, for detecting danger and escaping from it was slowly waking up. With every breath, it was pulled closer and closer to the surface, a buoy rising to the surface of a wide dark sea, dragging consciousness up with it. Her brow started to furrow. The soft lines along the edges of her mouth began to deepen. Her eyes tensed. Inhale, exhale, and her eyes fluttered open.

It took two breathing cycles for her to register that there was a strange person in her room, sitting on her bed and looking down at her. She jerked into motion, opened her mouth, and screamed.

Alcor smiled into the silence. He had already borrowed—not stolen, he might still give it back—her voice. “Now, now,” he said, softly. “You shouldn’t disturb the children’s sleep. Let’s be quiet, all right?”

Her eyes are wide. The sclera is bright against the darkness of the room. Her hand feels at her throat, which is bobbing with fruitless effort to speak.

“I know this is frightening,” Alcor said. His grin widened. The fear shooting up from Adi in sparks set him on the most wonderful edge. It buzzed against him, just enough to turn his teeth a hair past sharp and blow his pupils a clawtip longer. “But really, this is quite important—can I trust you not to scream?”

She nodded. What a fool—he already knew he couldn’t. He knew she would scream as loud as she could, and then her children would come in, and then Alcor would have to figure out how to deal with them in non-lethal ways. What a mess that would be. Instead, he chuckled before reaching out and tracing a claw against the bottom of her jaw. Adi froze. Her chest barely moved, quick and light.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled, leaning in a little. Her eyes darted from his teeth to his eyes and then back down again to his teeth. “I already know I can’t. Anyways, this will be a far more productive conversation if you aren’t doing any of the talking.”

With a sharp inhale, she clenched her fingers in the blanket pooled at her waist. Alcor tapped her chin. She nodded again, this time short and jerky. Her fear really was quite exhilarating, Alcor thought to himself absentmindedly. He’d have to make sure to milk as much out of her without compromising his position, or Pili’s.

Ah, yes. Pili’s. A no-name soul that he hadn’t had any meaningful prior relationships with. But children were children, and no-name souls could earn names, couldn’t they? Lionel and Torako and Georgi were all excellent examples. He would have to keep an eye out for Pili—make sure that Adi didn’t do anything unfortunate.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,” Alcor said, leaning back a little. Adi exhaled shakily, and nodded again. “Well, it has to do with your nibling. Did you know that they’ve managed to access quite the outdated collection of demonic academia? Their circle was a little wobbly, but it’s supposed to be simple enough for a child to draw with a bit of effort, if they’re desperate enough.”

Alcor noted the sudden tension in Adi’s shoulders, the sourness of jealousy that rose up among misplaced gangrene anger, the mist-like waft of dark guilt that drifted off as quick as it drifted in.

“You see,” Alcor said, crossing one leg over the other and wrapping his hands leisurely around his knees, “children have to be desperate enough to draw my circle. That’s not even taking into account the effort many go to in order to get the information needed to draw my circle, and say the incantation, and gather the necessary supplies. Children, you see, don’t often have the resources or freedom an adult does. Please, do me a favor and consider—how desperate must young Pili have been to go to the effort of all that?”

Adi’s anger flashed and deepened. She lifted her chin, eyes narrowed, and opened her mouth to retort before she tried to speak and remembered exactly who it was she was talking to. Fear drowned out the anger. She curled back in on herself, shifting back on the bedsheets with a near-silent rasp.

Yes. This was what he deserved. This was the respect he had earned, that he had been deprived of the last few hours. He breathed it in deep.

“I know you haven’t laid a hand on them,” Alcor drawled. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Trust me, we would be having a—different conversation at that point. Perhaps off in the desert, where you could scream and I could enjoy it without having to worry about your spawn ruining everything. But that’s also the problem, because—you haven’t laid a hand on them in love, either.”

Silence. Her aura spoke volumes. He let it balloon up between them, bobbed his foot as she swallowed past a rabbit-quick heartbeat. The pale moonlight coming in through the crack in the curtains glinted off the shiny cap on the toe.

“Your nibling summoned me because they were desperate for a friend,” Dipper said, very very quietly. “They wanted somebody to play with. To love them, even if that love wasn’t as real as what they really needed. Even just for a night. You, as their guardian, have failed them. You have neglected them, for terrible, petty reasons that have nothing to do with who Pili is, and have everything to do with who somebody else is—one of their parents, I’m assuming.”

Adi bristled again, shoulders drawing up and back in indignation. Her sleeping cap shifted, exposing some of the kinked hair it was protecting. Alcor reached over. She stilled, heartrate jack-knifing as he pulled the cap back into place.

“You don’t have to be their friend,” Alcor said. He smiled. “But it would be such a shame if you didn’t learn how to be kind to them and how to be supportive of them. Such a shame indeed. There are always…repercussions, you see, for these kinds of actions.” He leaned over, resting his chin in one palm, fingers curled in a precisely calculated mimicry of danger. Adi trembled, swallowed. Sweat tricked down her brow and along the lines of her slender neck. Dipper watched it drip down, and felt her terror spike.

“What a shame indeed,” he said. He glanced up, still smiling, and caught her eye. The shallow inhale she was taking hitched. Her pupils shrunk despite the darkness. Alcor tilted his head to make sure the light glinted across his sharp teeth. Then, he drew back.

“But I suppose it would be better for Pili and your other children if I actually gave you the chance to learn,” he said offhandedly, and looked at his claws. The next exhale broke out of her, ragged and loud in the silence. “I’m trying to be a better person, you see, and I suppose you haven’t done anything egregiously worthy of…such harsh retribution.”

Alcor stood. He picked imaginary lint off his shoulder, pulled his eight-ball cane back into the physical realm, and leaned on it. “I don’t suppose I have to inform you that if things don’t get better, I will know,” he drawled. Adi’s hands were clutching at the fabric over her heart. “But, for the purpose of all transparency…if they don’t, I will know. I doubt you’ll enjoy what happens afterwards.”

With a grin that was satisfyingly wide, Alcor bowed and faded out of sight. A moment later, he released his hold on Adi. He watched her place trembling hands over her mouth and hyperventilate for several minutes. She eventually calmed enough to slide out of bed and stand on shaking legs, though it took her a few tries to be steady enough to walk on her own. She checked her eldest son’s room, then her daughter’s, and then finally –with no little hesitation—her nibling’s.

Alcor grinned as she stifled a gurgling scream at the sight of Himmwichlint curled up in front of Pili’s bed. Himmwichlint lifted its head, blinked its five eyes at Adi, and then yawned on purpose to show off its incomprehensible but terrifying teeth and its two whipcord tongues. Adi whimpered and stumbled back. Alcor, upside-down on the ceiling, hummed and grinned wider.

Himmwichlint tilted its head up, made eye contact with him, and huffed.

Alcor rolled his eyes back at Himmwichlint. He did not need to get out of here, not when this woman’s reactions were absolutely hilarious. He hadn’t been front-row seats to a horror show with so little blood in ages.

Himmwichlint snorted, looked back at the woman, and nestled itself back in. On the bed, Pili sighed and snuggled the dream closer. The dream obliged.

Aunt Adi dropped her fist, just a little. She stared at her nibling, eyebrows furrowing. Soft surprise echoed out in the spaces between her terror and horror. If he looked closely, he could see the beginnings of wonder peeking out from behind the residual film of jealousy and anger.

Oh, he thought. Maybe she would learn. What a disappointment, almost to the point he was the slightest bit mad about it. He’d been looking forward to eking out some more terror from her, maybe indulging in snacking on a finger or two, possibly a kidney, nothing life-threatening. Her actually cleaning her act up was going to ruin things for him.

Oh, he thought after another moment. Maybe—maybe he did need to go somewhere—else. Dipper closed his eyes and as quietly as possible, tessered into the mindscape, lay in the grass among his Nightmares and Dreams, and simply was.

________________________________________________________________

§¢ɷʘϠϰѬ ҈۝†‡₰ ʯ͚:ͼǂ Nightmare Realm

It was nice, for an indeterminable amount of time, to let the manic buzzing energy and self-righteous anger and the hunger for justice (revenge, the kind that benefited him and him alone) seep out of the front of his mind and down into the back. A couple Dreams nestled up to his sides, and one had decided that his chest was the best place to curl up on. It chewed on his lapel absentmindedly. Dipper would have minded more if it a) wasn’t easy to fix, being made of thought, and b) weren’t the case that the Dream was in the top tenth percentile of cute Dreams—which were altogether adorable as it was.

The Nightmare taking advantage of the situation to snuffle into his hair was another thing entirely.

“Erschie,” Dipper said, eyes closed but eyebrows furrowed down. “What are you doing.”

A pause, then Erschie snorted warm sulfuric air directly into Dippers mostly-made-up scalp. Dipper waited a few seconds for something else to happen, then opened his eyes. The moment he did, he felt Erschie’s fangs and sharp front teeth start to scrape at the top of his head.

“Gross,” Dipper said, even as he felt the skin slice open just a little. “Disgusting.”

Erschie paused, then withdrew. Dipper blinked. Erschie then licked at Dipper’s hair with all the gross slobber in Erschie’s dumb gross mouth.

Dipper bolted upright, the Dream on his chest now in his arms and the other two left to flop into the grass and baa irately over the sudden lack of support. “ERSCHIE!” Dipper screeched. His hair stood up on end. He could feel the slobber starting to trickle down the back of his neck. “WHAT THE FUCK.”

Erschie blinked up at him, closed its eyes, and then let out a wool-rustle throat-croak hoof-stomp that Dipper knew to indicate Erschie’s general amusement at being a nuisance in Dipper’s life. The Dream snuggled into Dipper’s arms. This, unfortunately, limited what response Dipper could take.

In order to demonstrate to Erschie that he was a dangerous, serious, terrifying dream demon, Dipper opened his mouth, displayed all his rows of teeth, and hissed at Erschie. For some reason, that just made the Nightmare express Amusement more exuberantly.

“You’ve been conniving with Himmie, haven’t you,” Dipper said. He resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “You’re both out to show me as much disrespect as possible.”

Erschie clacked its teeth together and flicked its ears.

“What do you mean it’s not hard?? I am Alcor the Dreambender, Devourer of Souls and Lord of Nightmares, King of Darkness, Destroyer of Light, the Infernal Star! I’m literally the Scourge of All Beings Living and Dead and you say it’s not hard to disrespect me??”

With an exaggerated snort, Erschie dipped its head down and up twice before flicking its ears in succession.

“I do not embarrass myself!!” Dipper howled, throwing his arms up in the air. The Dream previously occupying them fell to the grass with a disgruntled bleat, and glared up at him as ferociously as it could manage. Dipper looked down at the Dream and winced.

Erschie performed its most vigorous Amusement dance yet.

Dipper pointed at Erschie and glowered. “Shut up,” he said.

Predictably, but disappointingly, Erschie did not listen. Erschie continued to do its best to convey its Amusement at Dipper, adding insult to injury by throwing in a mirthful head-shake.

“Can’t get any respect around here,” Dipper grumbled, squatting down and papping the Dream to show his remorse as was only appropriate. “They’re all out to get me. But you won’t be like that if you ever become a Nightmare, will you? You’ll be appropriately respectful, unlike that ungrateful troll over there. Yes, I could eat it, but no, I am merciful and abstain like a good demon. And this is the thanks I get.”

The dream looked up at him and blinked. It turned its head to take in Erschie, who was now turning around in a circle as it continued to mock Dipper. Then the dream looked back up at Dipper and flicked its ears just like Erschie was.

Dipper stood and put his hands on his hips. “Wow,” he said. “The rebellion really does start early. I can see I’m not welcome here, in my own Realm.”

Erschie blew a raspberry. All three Dreams watched Erschie in clear curiosity, then turned around to Dipper and did the same.

“Rude,” Dipper growled, and pulled himself away into another place chosen on a whim.

________________________________________________________________

December 5th, 1:58 AM, AZT

Dipper found himself outside a small home with a bright blue door. The outer walls were made of corrugated metal that had also been painted blue, and a birdhouse had been set between two of the windows. It was cold. Dipper breathed out, then in, then suffused heat into his next exhale just to see the condensation rise and dissipate into the air.

He turned around, looked down the footpath that meandered down the slope the house was set into. There were more houses, roofs illuminated by moonlight, windows largely unlit. It was 2 AM in this small town of Laza, after all. There wasn’t very much to do, unless he really wanted to terrorize the inhabitants by tap-dancing on their ceilings or whispering traumatizing thoughts into their dreams. He thought maybe that might just possibly be a not great thing that Bentley would get quiet and frustrated with him over, though. Instead, maybe he could just eat some of the goats that one of the houses kept down below. Dipper hummed and tapped his finger on his chin.

Eating goats was probably something he would get in trouble for, on second thought. He could just terrorize the goats. That was still fun, but didn’t hurt any people. Actually, Torako would get a kick out of some selfies, he could do that. Tempt her into another passport-less road trip, for the fun of it. They could take Bentley too, this time. It would be much lower stakes. Yes, a picture would be good. Dipper took a step forward, absentmindedly casting his mind around to count the souls in the vicinity, and then froze.

He turned back around, looked at the blue house with the blue door and the birdhouse set into the side of it. A gust of wind blew through him, then around him as he made himself just a little more solid. In turn, he stared through the house and at the soul on a couch. The soul had dozed off while watching the news, which had turned off automatically an hour ago. Dipper stared, then—because he really didn’t have anything better to do—blipped from outside to just in the living room.

She had become an old, old man, this time, Dipper realized. A very well-groomed and well-dressed old man, even in sleep. She didn’t seem rich this time, he thought to himself, taking in the heirloom table and the rugs worn with age and use, but then again, Pacifica tended to bounce up and down the economic scale from life to life.

Dipper took a seat in the thin air above the table, on which there was a lone, empty cup that had held coffee at some point. He tilted his head at the old man, watched him breathe in (a little raspy) and then out (almost a snore) for several minutes. Dipper closed his eyes, and saw Pacifica’s death—

Tunar, in a hospital bed, age 146, seven weeks and two days before his birthday. He breathes in, and then out, and then in, slower and shallower each time. The heartbeat monitor chimes weakly, but steadily. His nephew holds his hand, an old man himself, and his great-great-grandniece is smoothing down the sparse hair on Tunar’s head.

Tunar does not open his eyes. He has already said goodbye, said it in the hour he was awake before he slept, said goodbye the same way he always did before falling asleep—with a soft ‘I love you,’ a kiss on the forehead or on the hand or on the cheek, and a small little sigh as he set his head into the pillows and closed his eyes again. His other grandnibling has gone with the rest of their family to get something to eat and bring food back for the two who stayed behind. This is probably for the best—there are nineteen of them, you see, because Tunar had loved well and was well-loved in turn.

His death is slow, as easy as death is capable of being. Medicine has brought the human body far, but there will never be immortality. There never is immortality, not for humankind, not for the dayflies who are born at dawn and die at dusk, not for the oldest of vampires or the fairest of dragons or the coldest of yukionna. All things die, eventually. All things pass.

Tunar takes a slow, slow breath in, lets it out, and does not inhale again.

—and opened them only to see that the old man had woken up, 137, still nine years left to him, and was looking right at Dipper.

Dipper startled a little, but didn’t move. The old man did not startle, but instead stretched after a moment in the way that old people do to get stiff muscles to cooperate again.

“Ah, I fell asleep on the couch again,” Tunar muttered. His hands shook a little as he clapped them once. The lights came on, dim. “I really should stop doing that, it’s very bad for my back and for my sleeping schedule. This face isn’t getting any younger, you know.”

Dipper cocked his head. “Do you want it to?” he asked.

Tunar scoffed and pushed himself to sit up straight before reaching for an elegant white cane. His hands, wrinkled and adorned with liver spots, wrapped thin fingers around the gently curved top of the cane. “You think you’re so smooth,” he said, narrowing thick eyebrows at Dipper. “I know better than to make a deal with you, Soul-Devourer.”

After a brief pause that stretched on to the edge between acceptable and too long, Dipper said, “Actually, it was mostly curiosity.”

“Mostly,” Tunar drawled, leaning back into the cushions and looking down his nose at Dipper. Dipper was reminded almost viciously of Pacifica and how she would stare at him, unimpressed, after whatever shenanigan he’d pulled recently that pissed her off. It froze Dipper for several long seconds, his heart in his throat as he couldn’t stop seeing her face over Tunar’s. Then Tunar sighed, and the spell was broken.

“I suppose you’re not actually here to reap my soul for whatever reason, though.” Tunar tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “I know you caused a big hullabaloo a few countries over several months ago, but they’re saying that the river is purified and that there were minimal casualties, which really is quite surprising.”

“Well, old man,” Dipper drawled, leaning over, “what makes you think that would stop me from taking what I want?”

Tunar blinked, looked closely at Dipper, and said nothing for a long time. His eyes were dark, if a little clouded, but piercing in a way that had Dipper twitching his foot. The light buzzed overhead. The clock in the other room slid nearly-silently to the next minute. Outside, Dipper could hear grass rustling in the wind if he concentrated enough, or too little.

A hum brought his attention back to the Pacifica in front of him. Tunar had leaned forward, placing his face and throat closer to Dipper, close enough he could reach out or lunge if he really wanted to.

“Well then,” Tunar said, smiling, his prosthetic teeth shining somewhat brighter than the few natural ones he had left, “seems to me that you don’t want to eat me.”

That wasn’t completely accurate—it never was—but it was accurate enough that Dipper found himself flushing. He withdrew and hunched his shoulders, looking at the pictures set into the wall as though he’d never seen anything like them before. Fingers wrapped around his knee, he managed to respond, “Says who?”

Torako would have gleefully needled the truth out of him. Bentley would have stared at him, arched an eyebrow, and said “Says me,” with the slyest little grin on his face. Pacifica would have lifted fingers to her mouth and chuckled, eyes half-lowered in a kind of superiority-fueled amusement.

Tunar snorted, eyebrows shooting up higher, and leaned back. “Can’t believe I thought you were some kind of suave, smooth-talking master-villain,” he said. “You’re a dumbass.”

Dipper scowled at Tunar. Tunar grinned unapologetically, sharp at the edges. “You suck,” Dipper said, finally.

With a cackle, Tunar finally lay his cane across the top of his legs. “I’m thirsty,” he said, finally. “Make me some coffee.”

“Make—you have a demon in your living room, and you’re telling him to make coffee??” Dipper said, voice momentarily going shrill.

“That’s right,” Tunar said, eyes creased in a self-satisfied smile.

“I could—I’ve manufactured deaths for less offense,” Dipper said, even though it wasn’t much of an offense.

“I’m a hundred and thirty seven years old,” Tunar said, archly. “Even if I thought you would do that, I wouldn’t be frightened. I’ve lived a long time.”

Dipper stared. “Unbelievable,” he finally said. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been dealing with this kind of disrespect all day. You don’t even know me.”

“You just have that kind of face.” Tunar reached out with his cane and poked Dipper in the arm. Dipper’s jaw fell open. “Now. Coffee. I like mine with heavy cream and a scant spoonful of cane sugar. Get to it.”

It took Dipper several moments to get his jaw closed. Then, he stood up, feet firmly on the rug below the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen to do as Tunar said. He was never, he thought to himself, introducing Tunar to Torako or Bentley. Never.

________________________________________________________________

In the middle of a story about the time that an acquaintance, unaware of the fact that Tunar wasn’t particularly interested in romantic or sexual entanglements, tried to set Tunar up with xir grandchild ten years Tunar’s senior when Tunar was 23, Dipper’s phone rang. The lyrics to Dancing Queen blared in the air between them before Dipper could answer it.

Tunar tilted his head. “You have a phone?”

Dipper sent a glower at Tunar, then answered the phone. “Yes?” he asked, in an approximation of what passed for English these days.

“Oh, thank goodness you answered,” the voice on the other end of the line said. Dipper blinked and took a second to place the voice—Reynash, right. “Listen, Lata’s sitter dropped out on us again, he was supposed to pick him up from school today but we just got the call that he didn’t, could you—”

“Yeah, yeah, no, give me five, ten minutes,” Dipper said, tipping his head and calculating the closest point to Lata’s new school that he could feasibly tesser to and remain anonymous. “I’d teleport right to him but that might be a bit—”

Reynash laughed, a little too tight to be completely sincere. “Ahaha, yeah, no, we would appreciate—no, thank you, I’ll let the school know that Lata’s Uncle Tyrone will be coming to get him.”

“Sounds good,” Dipper said. “I’ll message when I pick him up, okay?”

“Thank you again,” Reynash said. “I’ll be home after five, maybe five-thirty, so if you could keep him company until then—”

“Yeah, no problem at all!”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Reynash said. “Thanks again, see you.”

“See—” Dipper only managed to get out one word before the dial tone sounded. He looked down at the phone, and then said, “Well then, he really is busy I guess.”

“Alcor the Dreambender has a mundane social life?” Tunar said, droll. Dipper relaxed, purposefully, then tilted his head at Pacifica’s latest incarnation. He looked at Tunar through half-lidded eyes, Stan held in the back of his mind—Pacifica did like her fame, he remembered absently. She liked being the center of attention, and what better way to be the center of attention than to have a juicy news scoop to sell to the highest bidding news agency?

Tunar took one look at Dipper, humphed, and then smacked Dipper in the knee with his cane.

“Hey!” Dipper protested. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t you get snippy at me,” Tunar said, wagging a finger in Dipper’s face. Dipper was seized by the childish urge to snap his teeth at it. “I could see you getting all paranoid on me. On me! After I’ve spent the last unbelievable amount of time talking to you about my life and all the personal details in it. I even let you slide on reciprocating. The least you could do is let me have this.”

Dipper narrowed his eyes at Tunar. “You going to tell anybody?”

Tunar snorted. “Tell people that Alcor the Dreambender came by for coffee and a chat and ended up taking a phone call in my presence? I’d either end up with terrified Demonologists tearing up my house or being prescribed a variety of medication for hallucinations and fits of fantasy. Perhaps I would have been tempted in my youth, but these old bones are done with all that drama.”

He watched Tunar’s aura, saw it peppered with the lightest of lies—Tunar was plenty tempted now—but it was enough that Dipper leaned back into the couch and took a final sip of his coffee. “Okay,” he said.

There was a beat of silence. “So,” Tunar said, “you have to leave, I’m supposing.”

“Yes,” Dipper said. He leaned forward, set the cup in its saucer with a light a clink as he could manage, and stood up. “My apologies for intruding.”

With rolled eyes, Tunar set his cup on its saucer as well with far less care than Dipper had taken. “Bah, you’re not sorry. I expect to see you here next week—though possibly at a more reasonable hour. My Doctor says that I really need to keep myself on a better sleep pattern.”

Dipper’s hands stuttered over where they were needlessly straightening out his collar. “Next…week?”

“Of course,” Tunar said. He stood with the help of his cane and grunted with the effort. “What, you think I started that story with the intention of leaving it unfinished? No, you will be back next week. And—you have a phone. Call me before you come so that I am ready for company.”

Dipper could only blink. “But I don’t know—”

“It’s written on the stasis fridge, top left corner. Take a look at it when you bring the cups in to the dishwasher.”

Spluttering, Dipper said, “I—you expect me to wash the cups?!”

“And you can let yourself out, I assume,” Tunar said. He turned a genial grin on Dipper, but Dipper was savvy enough to see the slyness in the corners of it. Also, the amusement in his aura helped matters a lot. “Seeing as you let yourself in.”

“...I am an all powerful demon, and you expect me to wash your cups for—”

“That just means I am all the more assured you are capable of such a simple task,” Tunar said. He reached out a slightly shaking hand, patted Dipper on the shoulder, and then said, “Well, I am off to bed. Again, I expect you next week. Do try not to show up in the middle of the night again, it’s not good for my heart.”

With that, Dipper watched Tunar shuffle off around the coffee table and down the hall beyond the other side of the television screen. He blinked a little, completely blindsided—though he probably shouldn’t be. Pacifica also had a tendency of bulldozing through most of her social interactions.

Sighing, Dipper reached down, gathered up the teacups, gave them a little rinse with the sink tap before setting them in the washer, and entered Tunar’s number into his phone. He looked down at it, displaying up at him with deceptive innocence, and furrowed his eyebrows. Then, he saw the time, said, “Oh, crap,” and blipped out of the darkened kitchen.

December 4th, 4:13 pm, PDT

Lata screeched with joy as he barreled into Dipper with all the force of an exuberant six year old, face pressed into Dipper’s waist and arms flung around Dipper’s legs. Dipper, dressed up in his nicest, most disarming and charming human persona, grinned down at Lata.

“Hey buddy,” he said. “How are you doing?”

“I was so bored,” Lata said, nearly yelling the last two words. “But now you’re here so I’m not! Can we go get ice cream?”

“Ah,” Dipper said, before deciding fuck it and nodding his head. “Yeah, sure, but I have to sign you out first and let your dad know we got you, okay?”

Lata appeared to have stopped listening after ‘sure,’ and released Dipper to go have a good old jump-and-punch-the-air-in-victory dance. Dipper re-evaluated the intelligence of giving this already hyper child more sugar, then shrugged because he wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout, would he?

“Uncle Tyrone, I presume,” the secretary said, grinning a little. At first glance, she looked like an older middle-aged woman, but Dipper saw the fangs and the sunglasses and thought vampire. She tapped a few buttons, and a screen lit up in front of her window for Dipper. “Please verify your identity with this security question chosen by the child’s guardians and then sign.”

Dipper peered down at the question. What did you suddenly yell at Reynash Pines that one time that had him scream, launch a full package of Choco Piecies into the air, and tumble back over his home office chair which meant he had to go to the hospital and get three stitches behind his right ear?

He blinked, then toggled the keyboard to input, What U Cravin. The system thought for a moment, then blinked green before showing him the field to write in his signature. Dipper took hold of the stylus it materialized for him, signed, and then said goodbye to the secretary.

Lata had, in the meantime, decided that he needed to be crawling around on his feet and hands like some kind of humpbacked bear cub. “Are you done?” Lata asked, turning around in a circle, still not standing. There was dirt on his hands. Dipper resolved to get Lata to wash them as soon as they could find a public restroom.

“Yes, I’m done,” Dipper said. “You wanna ditch this lame joint?”

“It’s not lame,” Lata said, twisting his head to look at Dipper in such a way that Dipper wondered how he wasn’t snapping his own neck. “School is really really awesome, it’s just that everybody’s already gone home and I could only just wait for people to come pick me up, and waiting is boring.”

“That tracks,” Dipper said after a pause. Lata looked back down at the ground and then started walking forward, down to where the entryway doors were. “You gonna keep walking like that buddy?”

“Yeah,” Lata said. “This is the bear walk! We learned it today in Activities. We also learned the frog leap –though I already knew it—and the lizard crawl, and the earthworm, and the kangaroo hop. Nobody believed me when I said I went to Australia to see the kangaroos, though. They said that you can’t just go to Australia, because there are big spiders.”

Dipper paused a moment to take in that information. He opened the door for Lata, watched him crawl down the front step and onto the rougher—colder—pavement. Lata frowned at the ground, but kept going. “Your…teacher said this?”

“No,” Lata said in his best are you stupid voice. Dipper felt affronted that he was turning it on Dipper, his most favorite Uncle Tyrone. “You and Mom and Dad all said not to tell any adults, so I didn’t! But kids don’t count, so I told them. And they didn’t even believe me!”

Letting the door close behind him, Dipper politely ignored the person walking their dog that stopped in their tracks to first stare at Lata, then turn away with their hand over their mouth and their aura splashed all over with viridian amusement. “Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” Dipper said. “You don’t even have a passport yet.”

“What’s a passport?” Lata asked. His steps forward were far more ginger than they were earlier, inside on the tile flooring of the hallway.

“It’s, uh,” Dipper said, looking down at Lata’s animal-print backpack. It had shifted over entirely to one side of Lata’s back, unbalancing him a little. He reached down, adjusted it, and continued. “Well, it’s a special document—like a little book, I think, though maybe that’s changed—that they scan at Ports when you go from one country to another country.”

“Huh,” Lata said. He took another step, stopped, and then stood up. At the sight of his hands, Dipper moved hand-washing even further up the list of priorities. If he’d thought inside was bad, it was nothing compared to the brief jaunt down the path up to the school. “Do you have a passport?”

“No,” Dipper said.

Lata looked up at him, tilted his head so that the leaves on his antlers bobbed a little. “But you have to, to go to another country, right?”

“Most people have to,” Dipper amended. “It’s expected.”

They passed by a couple arm-in-arm, a single long scarf wrapped across both their necks. Dipper looked down at Lata. “Where’s your scarf?”

“In my bag,” Lata said, like that was the best place for it on a chilly December afternoon.

“And your gloves?”

“In my bag, duh,” Lata said, rolling his eyes.

“Hey,” Dipper said. “You really want to pull an attitude with somebody who said they’d get you ice cream in such cold weather?”

Lata hummed, his finger on his chin in thought. A cold breeze had him shivering a little before he answered, “Maybe?”

Dipper sighed. “Well,” he said, really elongating the word in a way that immediately caught Lata’s attention. “Maybe we don’t need ice cream after all. It’s about 3 degrees Celcius right now, after all.”

Lata gasped. “No, you can’t take it back! No take-backs! You said we’d go for ice cream!”

They were now by the public bathroom that Dipper had initially blipped into. “Let’s wash our hands then,” he said, pointing, “in preparation for ice cream.”

Lata screeched in victory, did a little dance, and then started running towards the bathroom. “First one there gets to eat as much as they want!”

Reynash would demolish him if Dipper let Lata eat as much ice cream as he wanted. Dipper burst into a very graceless, very hasty run, and didn’t really consider that he wasn’t beholden to any deal he hadn’t verbally agreed to.

________________________________________________________________

“I cannot believe I let you get all that ice cream,” Dipper said, having blipped them to a nice ice cream place down in New California before bringing Lata and their spoils to the Pines home.

Lata giggled and stuck his spoon into his Custom Mouse Sundae, complete with five scoops of ice cream molded into the shape of a mouse and topped off with two round waffle cookies that made the mouse’s ears. He dug out the piece of chocolate that made up the eye and stuck it in his mouth, kicking his legs.

“I would’ve beat you if you hadn’t used your superpowers,” Lata said, trying to pout but failing in the face of the massive, self-satisfied grin that kept breaking through. “You had to be nice to me. It’s only fair.”

“Your parents would hate it if I had let you eat the Turtle Family Sundae, the Spaghetti Ice Cream Set, and the Mouse Sundae,” Dipper said, pointing his spoon at Lata from across the table. He had gotten a custom ice cream Mega Bowl, and had filled it with a variety of ice creams and toppings. Lata kept glancing at it with unashamed interest.

Lata leaned back in his seat—Dipper reached across and pulled the chair back onto all four legs with his foot—and groaned. “But it would have been so delicious,” he said. “So worth it. It’s not like they can do anything to you! They can’t ground you, or take away TV privileges, or game privileges, or have you write letters of Recon-ciliation to exchange with each other.”

Dipper blinked. “Letters of Reconciliation?”

Lata carefully carved the tip of the mouse’s nose, cherry and all, off from the rest of the ice cream. “Yeah,” he said, before taking a break to stuff his mouth.

“What’s that?”

“It’s when we have a disagreement, and I write a letter saying what I thought and how I felt about the thing, and Mom and Dad write a letter saying what they thought and felt about the thing, and we give them to each other and read them and then talk about it. It’s so boring.”

Rain tapped against the roof and windows—rain might be a bit of a misnomer for the half-rain, half-ice slush that was falling from the sky, but nevertheless Dipper was glad they hadn’t been caught out in it before heading down to NewCal. That would have been super messy, and cold, and gross. Dipper scooped up a bit of ice cream, swallowed it almost immediately, and then responded. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he said.

“Ugh, you’re such an adult,” Lata whined. He leaned down and pulled one of the cookie ears out of the mouse with his mouth. When he bit down, the part of the cookie that wasn’t in his mouth fell onto the ice cream below, which was starting to melt a bit.

“You’ve gotten sassy since entering Kindergarten,” Dipper said, narrowing his eyes at Lata. “Where’s the little monster that kept saying things like ‘rawr’ and ‘I’m a nibble monster’ and all? Also, I’ll have you know that I am essentially eternally twelve. That’s not an adult.”

“But it’s still old!” Lata yelled, suddenly. He leaned back on the rear legs of his chair. Dipper reached out with his foot and pulled his chair back down with an ease that was somewhat frightening after so many years of not parenting. “You’re old! I asked Dad how old you were and he said you were thousands of years old! That’s so many years. I watched him write out all the zeros, and then we counted out rice and it was so much rice and took so long.”

Dipper scowled and crossed his arms. “I bought you ice cream, and this is how you repay me?”

“I’m just saying the truth,” Lata retorted. “It’s the truth, so you can’t be mad about it.”

Dipper snorted. “Now that’s not how things work,” he said. “Plenty of people get mad about the truth. They do it all the time.”

Lata blinked at him. “But why? It’s the truth. You can’t get mad at something that’s true. Hans told me so.”

As Lata began licking the ice cream, hands fisted on either side of his take-out bowl, Dipper hummed and tapped the flat of his spoon against his own ice cream. He cycled through the examples in his head—everything died, but plenty of people sought immortality—it was true that if you caught a knife to the throat, you would not last long but people got so upset about that—people worshipped or didn’t worship in many ways, and yet there were those who decided that those ways were wrong and got mad—kids grew up, and there were some dumbasses who resented how those children grew up into their own skins with their own experiences and opinions instead of staying malleable, agreeable, naïve—preternatural citizens existed, and yet—governments weren’t perfect, but—and finally hit upon one he thought Lata would understand.

“Well,” he said, slowly, “have you ever watched something on TV and gotten mad about it?”

Lata maintained eye-contact while licking across the ice-cream-mouse’s head. Savage. “Mom says that we have to look up stuff that they put on the TV sometimes, because it’s not always right, and when it’s not right then of course I’m allowed to be mad about it. Because it’s not right.”

Right then, maybe not that. Perhaps he ought to take a different approach here, let Lata provide the basic scenario. “Okay, buddy, how about you tell me all the things that make you mad.”

With a hum, Lata took a huge bite right out of the scoop of Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise in front of his mouth. Dipper watched and wondered how effective that technique actually could be. “Um,” he said, completely ignorant of the melted ice cream smeared over his nose and lips and even chin, “well, I guess I get mad whenever Ri-Ri lies to me about the places she goes with her parents. And when Toma writes on my papers when I tell zir not to. Or when the lady on International Animal Discovery Channel is absent and her coworker comes in and covers for her, because he’s stupid and gets stuff wrong all the time. And when I have to go to bed at eight thirty, even though all my friends get to go to bed later. It’s so stupid! Why do I have to go to bed earlier? It can’t just be because it’s good for me because I’m a kid, because if it was my friends would go to bed earlier too! And also when Mom says she can’t come pick me up at school because she has an emergency meeting, like today, because she goes to work before I go to school and I don’t get to see her until I get out of school. And—”

Dipper swallowed the entire scoop of classic mint before holding up his hand and waving it. “Okay, okay, I think I have enough to work with there, thank you. Let’s talk about bedtime, okay? You’re mad because you have to go to bed earlier than your friends, right?”

Lata slumped and poked his ice cream with his index finger. “Yeah,” he mumbled, before sticking his finger in his mouth and sucking the melted ice cream off of it. “I guess.”

“Right,” Dipper said. He paused, suddenly doubting that he was the right person to tell Lata about this part of life. This seemed like a very—very parent-to-child conversation, not an Uncle-to-nibling conversation. It was kind of heavy.

He paused too long. “So?” Lata said. Dipper looked up to see that Lata had resorted to grabbing the ice cream with his full hand and was licking it out of his palm. What a mood, Dipper thought, but instead narrowed his eyes at Lata.

“Hey, use your spoon, not your hands,” he said. “And actually—here, use this napkin to clean your hand off. If you put your hands on something, it’ll get dirty and then we’ll both have to deal with the consequences, aka your parents.”

“Okay,” Lata said, reaching with his dirty hand to take the napkin Dipper had pulled out from the 100% biodegradable takeout bag he’d gotten at the ice cream shop.

“Probably should get the ice cream on your nose and chin while you’re at it,” Dipper said absentmindedly, watching Lata scrub at his hand with the paper napkin. Lata was a good kid, Dipper thought to himself. Lata would understand what Dipper was trying to say. This wouldn’t be too hard.

Lata wrinkled his nose, but got most of the ice cream off his face. Good enough, Dipper thought, and then he launched into his little speech.

“Right, so, it is true the kids need a lot of sleep, because they’re still developing their brains and bodies. The reason that babies sleep so much is that they’re growing and learning so much, and everything is new, so it’s exhausting. You’re still learning a lot of new stuff, and your brain is,” Dipper squinted at Lata and tilted his head, “currently, it’s learning how to handle complex and somewhat abstract concepts such as time, numbers, is expanding its capacity for vocabulary, and is beginning to develop the pathways needed to understand things such as life and death and your place in the cycle. You already have a very good grasp on concentration and a decent awareness of places existing outside of your home and school, though, that’s pretty impressive at your age.”

Lata’s eyes went a little unfocused. Dipper dialed it back. “Point is, your brain is working hard, and it needs that sleep to recharge, refresh, and retain—keep—all the information that you’ve been learning. Your friends should probably be going to sleep around the same time you are if they’re waking up when you are, though every kid is different and every family is different.”

Slowly, Lata tilted his head at Dipper. “What?”

“Your parents are right,” Dipper said after a short but deep inhale, “that you should go to bed at 8:30. Your friends also need the amount of sleep that you do. It’s the truth. Are you still mad at it?”

Lata thought for a moment. “Kind of,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Lata grumbled, “This is worse than Reconciliation Letters.”

“Why thank you,” Dipper said, grinning a little, “So? What’s got you so mad then? It can’t be that your friends are right and your parents are wrong for sending you to bed early, right?”

“I think you’re like all the wrong people on the TV,” Lata said, frowning, not meeting Dippers’s eyes. “I think if I look it up you’re going to be wrong.”

“I’m an all-powerful omni—I mean, all-knowing demon,” Dipper drawled, quirking an eyebrow at Lata. “I know things that Ping never would, and I know all the things that Ping is wrong about. Wanna try again?”

For a long time, Lata stayed quiet. He kicked his legs under the table and glowered at his ice cream. Resentment breathed slow, auburn in his aura, and frustration sparkled at the edges like dew on stinging nettle. Dipper sat on the urge to interject what he wanted Lata to learn, and waited.

After a whole six minutes, twenty-three seconds and four-hundred ninety-eights of a millisecond, Lata said, “’Cause I wanna watch Seawitch Adventures like Ri-Ri and all the others get to.”

Dipper had not known about Seawitch Adventures, but it made sense. He translated, “Because you don’t like it. It goes against what you want the world to be like.”

Lata tilted their head in a shrug and papped at the dining table surface with their hands. There was still a residue of ice cream lingering on the one hand, but Dipper decided that was whatever and Reynash or Kanti could deal with it later. He was doing awesome at this conversation thing.

“People don’t get mad when things are factually wrong. They get mad when things aren’t the way they want them to be. And that’s okay!” Dipper said, after a length of time. “Everybody does it. The problem is when you choose to take that anger out on other people, people who don’t deserve it.”

Lata paused, and looked up. “Do you do it? Take it out on other people.”

Dipper felt his heart stutter in his chest. “…Sometimes.”

“Is that why Daddy and Mommy were afraid of you?”

Dipper held a desperate lie against the back of his many teeth before closing his eyes and letting it melt away, unheard. “…yes.”

“Don’t you know it’s a problem, though?” Lata asked.

Dipper shies away from that truth. He gives a not-quite-lie. “I forget, sometimes.”

Rain splashed against the roof, the windows. The stasis fridge hummed in the kitchen. Lata had stopped drumming against the table. Dipper felt almost compelled to pick it up in his stead.

“…what did you do?”

“A lot of things,” Dipper said, quietly. He opened his eyes. “A lot of very bad things that I forgot were bad.”

Lata stared at him. His dik-dik horns, so much smaller than Henry’s, than Paloma’s, seemed to embody all of Dipper’s regrets and failures for a brief moment. Dipper felt the phantom slide of a soul down his throat. He swallowed, met Lata’s gaze and tried to push the feeling away. Lata’s eyes looked right into Dipper’s until Dipper looked away, a little scared of what Lata was reading in them. Scared, maybe, that Lata might just see his own soul between Dipper’s teeth, even though that was impossible. Anyways, the only soul Dipper had between his metaphorical teeth was—

“Even now?” Lata asked, again.

“No, no, now is better. I forget…less,” Dipper said after a beat. Thoughts of souls faded to the back of his mind. They never really left, though. The temptation was always there, like the background hum of a generator, or the near silent slide of the second hand of an analogue clock. “Now is—I can control how mad I am. I remember that it’s not right to take my anger out on innocent people. I understand that sometimes I’m mad at the wrong thing. Usually I can pull myself back. I never remember to pull myself back when I’m…when I’m like what your parents learned about.”

“Oh,” Lata said. They were quiet for a long time, the two of them. The ice cream in their bowls continued to melt. Dipper stared at his, watched the strawzzleberry cheesecake ooze into the peanut butter fudge scoop.

“I yelled at Mama when she made me go to bed,” Lata said, in a quiet voice. “I said I hated her.”

Dipper winced. That had always hurt—his children, his sister, his niblings saying they hated him in fits of anger. He’d known they didn’t mean it, usually, but it still hurt. Sometimes it hurt more than others. Sometimes he’d lashed out in response. And sometimes, a very few sometimes, he had hurt them far more than they had.

He shied away from the thought. “How—what did your Mama think of that?”

Lata shrugged, poked his ice-cream soup with his spoon. “She frowned at me and said I was going to bed no matter that I hated her.”

Dipper remembered putting on a strong front. He worried lightly on his bottom lip. “Ah,” he said.

After a few moments, Lata looked up at him. “Do you think I hurt her?” he asked. He shifted in his seat, but kept looking Dipper right in the eye.

Dipper opened his mouth to say yes, because he’d always been hurt (even if just a little bit), but Lata looked so small and worried, undertones of dark guilt hovering around his shoulders. He swallowed the yes, then said, “Maybe. Maybe not. You—you have to ask her.”

“Oh. Okay,” Lata said.

They sat in silence. Rain hit the window, the roof. Dipper stared at his own ice cream soup for a while, colors having swirled into a muddy mess. He passed his spoon through it once, twice, a few more times, before sticking it in his mouth with a sigh. In his periphery, he saw Lata blink at him. Incredulity lanced over his head. Dipper stifled a grin and set down the spoon on the table with a light clack. Hyperaware of Lata staring at him, he sighed in exaggeration before picking up the ice cream cup and pouring the contents down his throat.

“Ew, gross,” said Lata.

Dipper swallowed and licked his lips, glancing up at Lata. “What? It’d be a waste to throw it out. You don’t want your own sugar soup? I’ll drink it for you.”

Lata screwed up his nose at Dipper, then pushed the cup at him. His guilt was still present, but disgust and also amusement were sliding over it, burying it from the moment. Soon it would be nothing more than an aftertaste, something Dipper would have to concentrate to be able to sense. “All the flavors are mixed now, it’s so gross.”

“Excellent,” Dipper said, before taking the ice cream and swallowing that, too. There are soggy chunks of cookie in it. It’s not particularly appetizing, but it’s also not a rule breaker, and the mixed flavor is a mystery on his tongue. He closes his eyes and tilts his head, swishing the last of the mixture around in his mouth to try to figure out what was in it.

“Ewwww, what are you doing,” Lata said, giggling. “It’s not mouthwash!”

Dipper swallowed. “Definitely Raspberry Crunch and Honeyed Alfalfa,” he said. “You got something chocolaty in there, right? Some kind of—fudge, fudge something, oh! Fudge Mountain Caramel Surprise, right?”

“You can’t taste everything,” Lata accused.

“If I work hard enough I can,” Dipper said, opening his eyes and smirking. There’s a tug at his navel that means summons, but honestly this is more important (and probably more fun). “Five scoops, right? And I’ve already figured out three of them.”

Lata pushed himself to kneel on the seat of his chair, semi-sticky hands flat on the table and eyes wide. “You can’t,” he breathed.

“Can so.” Dipper hummed and thought to himself. “There was a nutty kind of flavor in there, nutty and a little salty, but it wasn’t cashew, it was a little less fatty, it was—right, I remember you pointing to the Wonderful Salted Walnut.”

“Noooo!” Lata leaned forward even further. Dipper cast an absentminded eye at the pressure that was placing on the front legs of the chair and whether they were likely to tip and smash Lata’s face into the table. It was pretty low, only 28%, so he let it be. “That’s still not all! There’s still one left!”

Dipper cackled and spun the empty ice cream carton on one talon. With a nudge from his mind, it balanced perfectly and continued to spin unnaturally fast. The summons tugged again at his stomach, but he smothered it. It wasn’t anybody he knew. It wasn’t important. “I think you mean only one.”

He closed his eyes to focus on the last flavor, and that can be the only reason that he only realized they weren’t alone when he heard, “And what are—did you have ice cream??”

“Oh shit,” Dipper said without thinking, eyes flying open.

Lata said, with the absolute worst timing known only to children under the age of ten, “Oh shit! Welcome home, Papa!”

Reynash Pines leveled him with the most incredulous glare he’d seen in a while. “Ice cream and swearing?”

Suddenly, the importance of the summons skyrocketed from rock bottom to very near the top of his priority list. Dipper dropped the carton on the floor. “Oh, hey, Reynash, buddy, how’s it hanging, uh, sorry to skip out but I actually just got a summons, you know how they are haha, can’t help that work life, on call twenty-four-seven, see you later hope you’re not mad byeeeee!”

Reynash spluttered. Water dripped off his bangs and onto his forehead. “No, you can’t just bail on—Dipper!”

But Dipper had already clenched the connection to the summons in one metaphorical hand, had tugged, and was gone.

_______________________________________________________________

December 4th, 9:39 PM BRL

The first thing Dipper noticed was that the candles were scentless. He billowed up from nothing in the most dramatic smoke he could think of, pulled the reverb in his throat to mild extremes, and said, “Who presumes to call upon Alcor the Dreambender?” into the dark of the blue-lit room.

The second thing Dipper noticed were the chalk lines—exact angles, minimal differences in stroke width, painstakingly duplicated symbols. Its perfection was mathematically precise, and there were even three layers of binding spells woven into the circle. Dipper casually pulled his cane out of thin air, coalesced his top hat from residual smoke curling into the space above his head, and smiled to himself. Binding spells weren’t much more than a nuisance to deal with.

The third thing Dipper noticed were the people in the room—elegantly dressed adults in formal suits and skirts, beautifully crafted silver masks over their faces, hair coiffed and pressed and sprayed. Their arms were uplifted, frozen in the moment they’d succeeded in summoning him. There were nine of them. Dipper glanced over them, saw their determination and hard-edged stubbornness and solid righteousness in their auras, the colors subtly different for each person.

“Lord Alcor,” one of them said. Dipper blinked, and knew they were he. “We come to offer you an exchange: a solution to our troubles for a worthy sacrifice.”

Dipper hummed, leaned on his cane, and didn’t let them in on the fact that he’d already surreptitiously snapped one of the binding circles. “Oh?” he drawled, a lazy little grin curled into the corners of his lips. “Tell me, what are your troubles?”

“Our beloved country,” the Speaker said, “is being cast into ruin and shadows by those currently in charge. We seek only to remove the…obstacles facing our country’s future.”

“I see,” said Dipper, and then he really did. He was in Brazil, in New Fortaleza, and the government was currently making social reforms that benefited those in the lowest economic tier. There were many people pushing for those reforms from places of influence—born into and risen up to alike. He raised his eyebrows. “And…what would your idea of a fair exchange be?”

The Speaker turned his head and nodded to the woman next to him. She nodded back, then turned around to head away from the circle and towards the stairs at the edge of the wide space they had chosen for his summoning. Dipper watched her go, and did not blink. Absentmindedly, he slid his power around and under the second barrier spell. This one would be a little trickier—raw power would only alert them to its failure, so he would have to play a subtler hand.

One of the summoning group shifted xir weight almost imperceptibly. Dipper blinked to look xir way. Xi made eye contact through the mask and flinched.

“Be steady,” the Speaker said. “Lord Alcor, it would not go unappreciated were you to…refrain from any posturing or intimidation tactics.”

Dipper chuckled, refocused back on the Speaker. “Condolences,” he murmured, pitching the tone so that it echoed off the far walls regardless of the volume. “I cannot control how much terror your…acquaintances feel. I am a demon. Instilling fear in those who look upon us is an unavoidable part and parcel of this existence, you understand.”

The Speaker said nothing, but swallowed. Dipper counted that as a victory in and of himself—he was getting the sense that this man enjoyed talking, and enjoyed even more than that the chance to hear himself talk.

The soft whir-click-swoosh of a door being unlocked and opened echoed through the empty room. It whispered off the walls. Dipper watched the Speaker’s aura twist in uncertainty before determination smoothed it out, hot shmellow oozing over dirty blue-green until it was smothered. He held the Speaker’s gaze until the footsteps started echoing around the room too—the steady tread of the woman’s shoes, followed by a hesitant, uneven, sometimes scraping cacophony of quiet noise. The breath halted in Dipper’s useless lungs. Nobody seemed to notice; his chest had hardly been rising and falling anyways.

Nine children followed the woman. He could hear their shallow breaths, their hitching hiccups, barely restrained tears. He could smell the acrid-sweet scent of fear, the way it spiked and swelled when he leaned back on thin air. The second barrier snapped, and he was just barely aware enough to stop it from flickering with bright thunder. He wanted this. He hated this.

The Speaker waited for Alcor’s attention to shift to the children, but when he didn’t comply, he swept an arm out to call attention to the newcomers. “Nine lives, from nine of us, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to our country. We have learned that you…like…children, and their lives would be yours to do what you see fit with.”

It was strange that these types always learned all the wrong lessons about children, he thought absentmindedly, almost vapidly. It was strange that they always dismissed the possibility of more ethical sacrifices, like candy or sentimental items or factories worth of ice cream. Dipper cast his gaze over the children, his face frozen in that way it was when he felt like he was on the cusp of something terrible. They were cleaned—recently, from the faint hint of chemically-recreated pomegranate on the air—but some of them had clearly had better care than others. He skipped from terrified face to terrified face. The youngest of them was—six, dark curly hair, bought from desperate parents like human lives were commodities, teeth digging into a bottom lip and eyes welling with tears. Then there was—seven and petit, ten and too tall for her age, eleven and barely scared enough the fear drowned out the anger, two eight-year-old twins with vitiligo on their palms (and no, Bentley didn’t have vitiligo, but the splotchy color difference was enough to make him burn colder, right in his chest), nine and born blind, six-and-a-half and missing a finger, and a twelve year old on the cusp of turning thirteen. Tomorrow was xir birthday.

The Speaker’s voice turned soft. “Jamilla, come.”

The twelve year old inhaled sharp and quiet, but went. Xir hands twisted in xir gold shift. Blue fingernail polish flashed in the light, like all the other children’s. Dressed up pretty, their individualism smoothed away as best as possible, for the very ends of their lives. “Papa?”

The Speaker waited for Jamilla to come to him. Alcor kept his eyes on Jamilla every step of the way. He watched how xi quivered, how xi glanced over at him over and over. He thought about thirteenth birthdays and never reaching them, thought about his puffy blue vest and that stupid pine-tree hat that he had loved with all his heart, and how it was hard to even think about wearing things that casual for very long. His power rolled over to the third barrier and began to eat at it.

“This is my own child,” the Speaker said, setting his hands on Jamilla’s shoulders. “Xi knows how important the future of our country is, and was willing to sacrifice xirself for it. While most of the children here are orphans, or as good as, this is a token of my dedication, of my seriousness.”

“…I see,” said Dipper. He tilted his head. Jamilla shivered and averted xir gaze, but did not move otherwise. “Dedicated indeed, to sacrifice somebody you love. Very powerful.”

He cast his eye, slowly and deliberately, over the other children. He tried to catch their gazes where he could. Everything around him felt—slow, almost. He stared into the eyes of the angry-scared eleven year old, whose name was Leilani and whose ambition was to become a child caretaker because children deserved people who protected them and nurtured them and loved them, whose anger had left silvery scars between her knuckles from how many times she’d split them over on somebody else’s face or gut or kidney, whose eyes were dark, furious brown and who could have lived to forty-one, dying young and tragic but not as young and tragic as this.

“Indeed,” the Speaker said. “Now, do you agree to the terms laid out?”

Dipper held Leilani’s gaze a moment longer, before breaking away to fix his attention on the Speaker and his child, his poor, youngest child (who had been loved and cherished but raised with the knowledge that this may happen someday, who had been prepared and taught to step into xir own death of xir own fledgling, undeveloped will). Dipper smiled.

“Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country, correct?” Alcor passed a whisper of blue flame between his fingers as he spoke.

The Speaker waited a moment. His hands tensed over his child’s shoulders as he thought the words over. “The nine lives we offer you, to do with as you please, for the lives of those on this list.”

Alcor looked down on the list. Two career politicians who had slowly turned over new leaves, a charismatic rabble-rouser, three underpaid and overworked lawyers with a talent for defending their wrongly-accused clients, a university professor whose lectures were widely distributed and widely influential, an old farmer with a penchant for speaking up loud and proud in defense of reforestation and traditional farming methods, and a janitor who had convinced their coworkers to unionize and strike for better wages. Influential in all the ways the Speaker and his cohorts disapproved of.

As few as twenty years ago, Alcor would have taken advantage of the situation to cause as much carnage as possible while keeping the children safe. He would have gotten 18 souls and probably an additional nine life-debts from the children, to cash in as he pleased, when he pleased. Ten years ago, he would have settled for 9 souls, 9 bodies, and 9 traumatized children placed at the nearest orphanage.

Today, Alcor remembered being angry, and terrified, and determined in the face of the world ending. He remembered the terror of being watched, the nightmares about rearranged faces and deer teeth. He remembered dying.

“Like I said,” Alcor drawled, eyebrow raised. “Nine lives, from the nine of you, for nine whose lives must be cut short to prevent ruin to your beloved country. Or, if you want me to be a little more transparent, nine souls in here for nine lives out there and a whole lot of chaos thrown in.”

The Speaker hesitated. “Chaos?”

Alcor laughed, leaned on his cane a little more. The third barrier dissolved under his power at last with a flicker that he disguised by flaring his flames just a bit higher. Fury burned colder and deeper in his chest, at the very core of him. “What do you think nine people dying suddenly is going to cause?! Especially nine people as influential and high-profile as the ones on your list, and all at the same time! It’s going to be unbelievably chaotic. You might have a little trouble controlling the investigation that follows, but I’m sure you can squash things like freedom of the press and the people’s right to assemble in a jiffy, what with your very powerful positions. I’m all here for that, props to you!”

“You’re taking their souls?” One of the other politicians said, a quiver of trepidation in their voice. Hesitation and guilt began to seep through their aura, dark and damp and almost physically heavy. “But I thought…”

“Young souls are the best,” Alcor said. He had—he shied away from the thought, comforted himself with the many many times that other demons had spouted the same things he was now. “They’re very soft, not nearly as entrenched in their fleshvessels. Absolutely delicious.” He swallowed the drool that had begun to pool at the back corners of his mouth.

“I…”

“Enough,” the Speaker snapped, hands tightening on his child’s shoulders again. Xi was beginning to have terrified second thoughts. The only thing keeping xir where xi stood was xir father’s presence behind xir and years of conditioning convincing xir that this was the right thing to do. “Alcor the Dreambender, do we have a deal?”

Alcor grinned, extended a hand that arched in a graceful, almost indolent line in the air. “I thought you’d never ask,” he purred.

The Speaker flushed with a victorious, vicious kind of pride, then reached out to shake Alcor’s hand. The flames licked up between their palms, and Alcor grinned even wider.

“It’s a deal,” Dipper said, before he took a step forward and plunged his hand down the Speaker’s throat and hooked his claws into the soul nestled at the base of the man’s neck, cradled in the hollow of his clavicle. As the others in the room started screaming, as fear saturated the air around them within seconds, Dipper looked into the Speaker’s confused and angry and terrified, determined eyes, lifted the soul up to his lips, and sunk his teeth into it.

The Speaker screamed, physically, metaphysically, and collapsed as though suddenly boneless. His child screamed and went down with him, panic and terror readily apparent even if Dipper had been unable to see xir aura. The other children stumbled back, one twin tripping and scraping his palms against the ground, the eleven year old stepping in front of the seven year old with an angry snarl on her face. Dipper paid them no mind. He was too busy licking his fingers to catch any residual soul energy that had leaked out when he had bit down. After he had finished cleaning them off, he looked up to see that some of the summoners were making for the opposite door. He cocked his head. Energy thrummed through him. He laughed, high and maybe a little unhinged, before following.

He had eight more souls to collect here before he could get to work, after all, and they’d gone to all the trouble of summoning him to fix their country in the first place! It would be—disrespectful, he considered as he tore open the ribcage of the closest summoner for no other reason than he could, if he wasn’t as diligent as possible.

________________________________________________________________

December 4th, 11:12 PM EST

Dipper blipped into bed and shifted into elegant pajamas in one smooth motion, still a little buzzed from all the souls he had eaten and all the life debts he had collected over the past hour and a half. Finding the children suitable homes had been—difficult enough that he had burned off a lot of the energy gained from the deal, but he was still twitchy and half-guilty over how he had acted in the basement. Right after he had lectured Lata about acting out of anger! Lata was never finding out about what happened.

Next to him, Bentley shifted from half-asleep to half-awake. “Huh? Dipper?”

Dipper hummed. He wiggled so that he was curled up against Bentley, set a still-clawed hand against Bentley’s sleep sweater (he wore sleep sweaters now, it was terrifying that he kept being so cold even when he should be warm) and curled it so that the fabric was in his loose grasp. He had to fight to keep it loose. Everything was—too bright, too sharp, and he felt like he was balancing on the edge of that precipice again, that if he fell it would be too easy to go back to him half a century ago.

“Dipper, you okay?”

He felt an arm reach over him, a hand rub at his back. On Bentley’s other side, Torako snuffled in her sleep, snorted, but didn’t wake up. Dipper pressed his face into Bentley’s chest and nuzzled the fabric without giving a solid answer. The world dulled down to something almost manageable.

Bentley’s chest expanded and then contracted with a sigh. He wiggled down just enough that Dipper’s head fit under his chin. Something seemed—off, in that moment, because Dipper could swear that his feet should be below Bentley’s in this position, but when he reached out with his toes they brushed Bentley’s shins.

“All right,” Bentley said, the sound of his voice reverberating against Dipper’s forehead. “All right, not tonight. It’s—it’s late anyways. You can tell me what happened tomorrow, okay?”

Several moments passed before Dipper felt relaxed enough to nod. All the while, Bentley’s hand rubbed up and down his back.

“Okay,” Bentley breathed out. Dipper didn’t want to see the relief in his aura, so he kept his eyes shut and just focused on the warmth surrounding him. Then, Bentley said, “You wanna sleep between me and Torako tonight? I can move you if it’s too much trouble.”

There was something weird about that statement too, because Bentley was strong but it could be awkward for him to haul something larger over his own body, but Dipper thought about how nice it would be to be sandwiched between two souls he loved (one was his, the other may as well have been but he would never, ever, ever take it, because look at what happened to Henry even though he loved Henry?) and the weirdness of the situation melted away. He nodded again.

“Right then,” Bentley murmured. Dipper felt him wriggle his left arm under Dipper’s chest to wrap around his back. There was a pressure at the spot right above the space between his wings, and then they were turning over, Dipper’s legs pinned lightly between Bentley’s. Seconds later, Dipper’s back was to Torako’s front, and his face was still smooshed up against Bentley’s chest. Dipper hadn’t even had to open his eyes. He let out a soft breath. His hand unclenched from Bentley’s sweater to curl up against it instead, knuckles brushing wool.

“There we go,” Bentley said. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dipper’s head. There was a rustle, Bentley’s body shifting against his, and then he heard Torako groan a little before she was flush up against his back, breath fanning the back of his head. She was snoring lightly, and Dipper couldn’t help but smile a little.

“There we go,” Bentley said again, a little quieter. He rubbed his hand up and down Dipper’s back for a long time before he finally fell asleep.

Dipper listened to them. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and let himself be home.

#fic #tau fic #my fic #dipper pines #transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #lata pines #reynash pines #bentley farkas #torako lam #olla sussally #tommy hangar #filara hangar #plus more #reincarnations #so many reincarnations #batoor el-amin

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