#and there's no opening theme song that takes three minutes to get through

[mabith]

I'm in a mood so I rewatched the first episode of Somewhere Only We Know/Exclusive Memory and DAMN that show. Used the single first episode to cover events that would have taken other shows three to five episodes of nonsense. I love these idiots so much.

[whimsiwitchy]

Controversially Young Girlfriend (part three)

Hugh Jackman x popstar!reader 

series masterlist & main masterlist

summary: y/n is a globally beloved pop star. She is known for her talent and dedication towards her craft. Recently, she has also been known for her preference for older men. After a breakup with her former older boyfriend, she had a run in with the hottest dilf right now, Hugh Jackman. Y/n tried to warn him, but what can she say, she has an effect on hot, older men. 

warnings: age gap (23/55), cursing, y/n used, implied shorter reader, afab reader, she/her pronouns, sexual themes, fighting (verbal).

warnings will change as the story progresses! all descriptions of real people in this story are FAKE. I do not know these people and this is purely fiction. Please let me know if I missed anything!! <3

authors note: idk yall, this kinda ate ngl. I’m so proud of this and I really hope you all enjoy it as much as I did! <3 also I’m sorry to all the Pedro girlies…I had to. 

part three: uninvited

The past few days seemed to drag on slower than you wished they had. The rest of your time in London was spent doing various interviews centered around your upcoming album release and Ashley dragged you around to every possible tourist attraction around. It was all rather mundane- every interview was the same and every attraction too crowded for your liking. You were being a grump but you were tired and anxious. All the hype around your sophomore album delighted you, truly it did, but the doubts always took up more space in your mind than you cared to admit. With this album, you took a lot of inspiration from the pop girlies of the early 2000s, Britney being the biggest influence. You allowed yourself to explore your sexuality and true self. The songs were erotic in the best way and in just a few weeks, everyone would have access to that side of you. The image you’d been portraying wasn’t that of a ‘soft good girl’ per say but you hadn’t been this open and honest before. It was terrifying. 

You landed at LAX around two in the morning, giving you a few hours of sleep before your 11am meeting. This was one of those times you didn’t mind using the perks of your fame. You had a car waiting to pick Ashley and yourself  up to take you straight home, allowing both of you to get some sleep as the driver fought through the airport traffic. The moment you reached your small house, you threw your luggage across the living room and dropped face down into the couch, falling back into a deep sleep with Ashley right next to you. When your alarms go off at nine am, you’re banging your head into the couch cushions, the seven hours of sleep feeling like a blink. You roll slightly allowing yourself to fall the short distance from the couch onto the floor. “Ow…” You mumble, rubbing the back of your head. Dragging yourself up, you sluggishly made your way to the bathroom to take a quick shower. It was something you should have done last night. Just thinking about all the germs sitting on your body right now made a quick chill of disgust roll down your spine. You heavily disliked sleeping in your ‘outside clothes’ but the tiredness beat the cleanliness last night. 

Sweat pants and a hoodie weren’t exactly meeting appropriate but it wasn’t anything serious, just a little gathering to figure out some last minute details for the album listening party being thrown for your friends and family. You didn’t want it to be a huge deal but your label saw it as a marketing opportunity. If it were up to you, it would be a simple get together at your house but they insisted on it being at some club that would have paparazzi waiting to take pictures. You aren’t even sure why you're needed at the meeting because your input wasn’t even being considered, you just sat and gave the ‘stamp of approval’. Ashley was still knocked out when you walked to your kitchen to grab a small breakfast- a protein yogurt and some apple slices. You’d much prefer french toast but your trainer has been onto you about your diet with a tour coming up. You needed to be in good shape to dance and sing at the same time, it was ridiculous how hard it was. 

“Hey Ash, imma head out, i’ll be back soon.” You shake her shoulder lighty. She opens her eyes to some degree and mutters, what sounded like, an ‘okay’. You sighed as you started the engine to your 2000 green Toyota Corolla. It had been making a funny noise before your trip overseas that you had forgotten all about it. A lot of your newer, richer, friends have made fun of your car but you couldn’t find reason to part with it. It still ran and got you where you needed to be. You loved your fugly little car. The car ride was surprisingly short, traffic light. Pulling into the office parking lot, you sent a quick text to Stacy. 

You: please tell me you’re here already 😭

Stacypoo <33: I am. 4th floor, take a right. I’ll wait in the hall for you. 

You sent a thumbs up and made your way to the front doors. The elevator ride was quick, luckily you were the only one in there, saving you from making any awkward small talk with some random person. You were too tired to keep up your friendly demeanor. Stacy was standing outside of an office door when you first saw her. Giving quick hellos, she motioned you into the room. 

“How long do you think they’ll have us sitting here this time?” You ask jokingly. You’ve made yourself as comfortable as possible in the cheap plastic chair with a thin cushion on the seat. With your elbows propped up on the table, your head sat heavy with both hands holding up your cheeks. 

She lets out a snort before responding. “Who knows. I swear these people make us wait on purpose as some kind of power move.” 

Stacy had left London a day before you had. The moment your last interview was over, she was jumping on the first flight back home. She looked well rested and put together. You envied her ability to bounce back into routine so quickly. The two of you filled the small room with back and forth conversation about the day in London she had missed. Three people from your management/ label came tumbling in fifteen minutes later. As you suspected, you were doing a whole lot of nothing. 

“The team we hired are allowed to go into the club at noon to start decorating and the party will start at 10pm.” One of the people spoke, you think his name is Mark, but you aren’t completely sure. 

“Will y/n need to be there at a certain time or is 10 fine?” Stacy asks. 

“She can show up at ten but she won’t be in the main room until 10:30 so she can give a speech and introduce the album.” Stacy gives a nod and types that into her laptop. You didn’t like the idea of giving a speech. 

“Okay, let's go over the guest list one more time and then we can wrap this up.” Mark, you think, says. You’re paying closer attention now, they hand you a list and you skim it. There's a lot of names of people who you consider more of an acquaintance than a friend but you can’t really uninvite them. 

“Um, can I actually add two more people to this list?” You ask and Mark nods. Stacy is giving you a questioning look. 

“Can you add Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman? I um.. I met them the other day and they said they were fans. It would be cool to have them there.” You smile and from the corner of your eye, you can see Stacy pursing her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. One of the other people in the room, not Mark, adds their names to the guest list. Stacy and Mark talk for a few more minutes before the meeting is coming to a close. Once Stacy and yourself are enclosed in the elevator, she’s looking over at you with a lopsided grin, shaking her head slowly. 

“What?” You give her a small chuckle, feeling extra giddy. 

“You're unbelievable. Why even extend the invite to Mr. Reynolds when all you want is to see Huge Jackman.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at the play on Hugh’s name. 

“So not true. They like my music, why not invite them to hear the album before anyone else?” You deny her accusations. 

“Whatever you say y/n.” She drags out the ‘ever’ a little too long to emphasize just how much she doesn’t believe a word you say. The elevator is opening and the walk to the parking lot is silent. Stacy bids you goodbye and says that she would be in touch soon before she’s walking away. 

“Wait! Stacy!” You call out to her and she’s turning back to you.  “I need you to track down Hugh’s number, I want to personally invite him.” You smirk and she’s just shaking her head in a joking manner. 

“Byeee Stacypoooo!” 

—

When you got home, Ashley was awake and watching tv on your couch. You sat with her and talked about everything you had learned at the meeting. She was more excited for the event than you were, it was her type of scene. You knew you'd end up having fun once you were there but you were nervous. You might have left out the fact that you had invited Ryan and Hugh as last minute guests- it was something she could find out the day of if they showed up. She left not too long after, leaving you to pick up your home a little bit. You cleaned it pretty thoroughly before leaving the country but you felt a little overwhelmed by the unpacked luggage that sat in the middle of your living room floor. You packed too much clothing for the short trip, a lot of what was in the suitcase never even got worn. You decided to throw it all in the washer anyway. Dirtys clothes touching clean clothes makes them all dirty in your mind. In the middle of moving your laundry into the washing machine, your phone quacked signaling that Stacy had messaged you. She earned her own notification sound after the endless mixed texts and calls over the first few months of her working for you. It was a terrible habit you had, not answering your phone, but you usually paid attention to it when you were expecting contact. You pressed start on the machine and sauntered over to the kitchen counter your phone sat on. 

Stacypoo <33: the deed is done…have fun loser 

There was a second text that contained a number to which you assumed was Hugh’s. You smiled brightly as you texted Stacy a quick ‘thank you, love you’ text with a million heart emojis. You wasted no time, immediately creating contact for the man you were so eager to see again. 

You: hey hugh, it’s y/n! my label is throwing a listening party for my album that’s coming out soon and I thought it would be really cool if you were there. no pressure to come if you don’t want to but it’s on september 14th at Disco Lights at 10pm. 😊💕

You hit send, put your phone back on the counter, and ran across your house, needing to be as far away from the device as possible. Keeping yourself busy was probably your best option right now, so that’s what you did. You continued where you left off by putting your suitcases back into the storage closet in your hallway. Living alone made you realize how neat of a person you were. Back home it felt like you were constantly cleaning but you didn’t have to do as much in your own home. It was a simple three bedroom with one and a half bathrooms. Two of the three rooms weren’t used that frequently- one being a guest bed and the other being an at home studio/ office. The most you had to do was an occasional dust and sweep. You ran out of things to do too quickly. It had maybe been an hour since you sent the text and you were too nervous to even take a peek at your phone yet. You walked over to the counter comically slow and stared down at the phone screen, too afraid to look at the notifications. There were only three outcomes to this situation- one he doesn’t respond, two he can’t come, or three he agrees to come. You were hoping it was the latter option. The worst outcome was him ignoring you, you hated being ignored. It would also overall be the awkwardest outcome because his team will more than likely extend the invite to him as well. Maybe it would have been easier that way but you really wanted an excuse to get his number and talk to him. 

It felt like eternity had passed before you finally grabbed your phone, but in reality it was probably only a minute, you’ve never had the best self restraint. You unlocked it, opening the home screen, not even bothering to look at the pile of notifications, instead opting to go straight into the message app. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Hey y/n. I’d be delighted to come. 😁

You let out a loud screech after reading the message. If you were laying down, you’d be kicking your feet in the air and twirling your hair. You knew he was old but the way he texted did something to you. It was weird but the simplicity in his words was such a turn on. Everything about him turned you on, he was sex on legs, and he was coming to your party. You checked the time he sent the message to see that he responded only ten minutes after you had sent yours. You felt bad for leaving him hanging for so long. 

You: YAY!! I’ll see you there 😘

The added kiss was bold and flirty, you’d hope he would see it as such. You wanted to continue texting him but didn’t want to bother him, so you left it up for him to decide to text you back or not. Just as you were about to swipe out of the app, three little dots popped up at the bottom of the screen. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: What should I wear? I haven’t been to a club in awhile. 

You: wear whatever you want. I'm sure you’d look good in anything ;)

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Thank you sweetheart. I genuinely do need help though. I’m too old to pick out club clothes. 😂

You: hmmm.. if it would help I could send you a picture of my outfit? maybe it will inspire you 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah we can try that. 

Ashley begged you to go shopping with her the moment you told her about the event and you both have had outfits picked out for a few weeks. When you got home that day, you put on the outfit, snapping a quick mirror picture to send to your hair and makeup artist so she could start brainstorming. You opted to send the same picture to Hugh. 

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Oh! That’s nice. 

You laughed at that. The picture of you wasn’t the best quality but you still looked hot. You were wearing a silver mini skirt that was lined with large sequins, ones that reminded you of a purse you had when you were younger. The top was a silver latex halter top that made your cleavage look devine. To top the look off, you wore a pair of shiny silver heels that could almost be classified as stilettos, but you wanted to be able to move around comfortably. You could have easily pulled the outfit out of your closet and snapped a picture of it but you wanted to tease him.

You: thank you! did that help at all? 😊

Hugh Jackman 🥰: Yeah, it did... Thank you sweetheart. 

You: no problem! 

He didn’t respond right away this time and being the menace you are, you were hoping it was because you made him flustered. 

—

The two and half weeks leading up to the listening party seemed to drag on now that you were more excited for it. Now that Hugh was coming, you were also extra nervous. While you got your hair and makeup done, all you could think about was how everyone was about to hear about your sex fantasies for almost an hour straight. You were counting on the beat of the music and the fact that this was everyone's first listening to distract them from processing the lyrics right away. You hadn’t heard much from Hugh and you were scared that you might have offended him with the picture you had sent. You decided to send a text two days ago asking if he was still planning on coming, to which he replied positively. 

Butterflies danced around your tummy as you posed for a few pictures before you went out to join the party. You could hear it in full swing, a playlist that you had curated playing in the background. Breathing in and out slowly, someone handed you a microphone and you were being ushered to a small stage that sat in the back of the club. The music got turned down and the lights centered towards you, a wave of quiet flooded the room. 

“Hi everyone! I’m beyond thankful for everyone here tonight. This album has been so much fun to make and I feel like it really represents me as an artist. It pays tribute to the amazing women of the late 90s and early 2000s who changed the pop game and who inspired me to make music. I really hope y’all like it! Without further ado, here is ‘Secret Sounds’!” The gathering of your friends, family, and acquaintances cheer as the first song starts to play. You rush over to the side to hand the mic back to the crew member and you begin to make your rounds. You stop here and there, speaking to people you hardly know, thanking them for being here. The club was packed, making it hard to move around without stopping to talk every step you took. There were only a few people you really wanted to see right now. A smile is glued to your face, soaking in all the love in the room, with it only being partially forced. You can see Ashley across the crowd and you start making your way towards her. You don’t make it far before there's a hand on your shoulder stopping you. 

“Hey baby.” A familiar voice comes from behind you causing your smile to drop as you turn around. 

“Pedro…what are you doing here?” You ask with a mix of shock and irritation in your voice. 

“You invited me, remember?” He’s smiling as if he hadn’t broken up with you in the cruelest way almost two months ago. 

“I thought you’d be smart enough to take the breakup and me ignoring you as being uninvited.” You roll your eyes. 

“Don’t be like that baby.” He’s smiling down at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. He reaches down to grab your waist but you step back before he can. 

“Don’t touch me!” You say louder than anticipated but no one’s paying attention to you over the loud music. “You broke up with me, remember?” You’re thoroughly pissed off. 

“I know, baby and  I regret it everyday. I want you back y/n. I need you back…” He’s reaching for you again, you step back again. 

“I said don’t touch me..” You don’t yell this time. You need to get away from him. This was supposed to be your night and he’s ruining it. You go to turn around but you’re stopped by a very hard object.

“Is everything okay over here?” A gruff voice asks and you feel two hands grab either side of your arms. “Are you okay?” You look up to see Hugh looking down at you, concern in his eyes. 

“Hugh..” Your voice is weak and breathless. 

“Oh don’t tell me you already moved on?” Pedro lets out, anger lining his words. “What is he, your boyfriend? I wasn’t old enough for you y/n? You had to run and fuck my friend?” His voice grows louder and louder but miraculously no one seems to notice the commotion. 

“He’s not my boyfriend…” You mumble, too embarrassed by the situation. 

“What’s it to you? Huh? Why don’t you mind your business and leave.” Hugh’s voice matches Pedro’s energy effortlessly. He lets go of your arms and instead points an angry finger at Pedro. 

“You know what, I don't need this and I don’t need you.” Pedro says looking into your eyes with a malicious stare. “Good luck with her, she’s nothing but a good fuck and trouble.” He’s walking away before either of you could answer. You felt Hugh go to move towards the directions Pedro went but you stop him by putting your hand on his chest. 

“Don’t…” You whisper and you weren’t sure if he could hear you over the music. Tears were starting to pool at the bottom of your eyes, threatening to escape. 

“Are you okay y/n?” Hugh asks and that’s all it takes before you let out a soft sob. He puts his hand under your chin and is lifting your head. “Let's get you out of here, is that okay?” All you can do is nod. You grab his hand and walk towards the hallway that leads to the room you got ready in. You open the door and make your way to the couch that sits along the wall. Hugh follows behind, closing the door and takes a seat close to you but not too close. He doesn’t say anything, what could he say?

“I’m sorry.” You let out, tears still falling. You pull your knees up, trying to hide the tears from Hugh, even if he already knew they were there. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.” He cautiously places a hand on your back and rubs it in soft circles, soothing you. You untuck your head for a moment. 

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” You frown at him. 

“What he did is not your fault. Okay?” You can’t find the energy to answer him right away, not sure if you truly believe his words, but you nod anyway. 

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come.” Sadness fills your voice.

“What? Why not?” He asks confusingly. 

“Everyone is going to think what Pedro thought, that you’re my boyfriend. We shouldn’t be seen together. It won’t be good for you.” 

“Hey, don’t think like that sweetheart. Whatever we are is our business, nobody else's. I want to be seen with you, I'm here to support you. I don’t care what people have to say. I’m not him.” His hand stopped moving around your back, eyes filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

I’m not him

You don’t respond but you do feel better about the whole situation. You can hear the fourth song of your album playing and you get hit with another rush of sadness. 

“I should probably go back out there, people will start to wonder where I am.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. 

“Let's get you cleaned up. Stay right here.” Hugh stands up and grabs a tissue, wetting it slightly by pouring a few drops of water from a water bottle onto it. He walks over and bends down, sitting on his knees right in front of you. Even at this angle, his head is still resting above yours. Hugh grabs your chin lightly and begins to dab the tissue, wiping your tears away. You can feel the heat from the air leaving his nose hitting your face. It’s comforting in a way.

“There we go, good as new.” He says with a big smile. Your faces are inches away from each other and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull him in. 

“Thank you Hugh. For everything.” You return his smile, eyes locked onto his. You took a moment to appreciate his appearance. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a gray, almost silver button up, as if he tried to match with you. 

“Don’t mention it sweetheart” He stands up and offers his hand to you. “Now let’s get the star of the show back out there, yea?” 

You grab his hand and smile. “Do I look okay?” You ask, afraid that your disheveled state might have ruined your hair or outfit somehow. You pull him towards a mirror to check your full appearance, a firm grip still on his hand. It engulfed yours beautifully. 

“You look gorgeous.” You can tell he means it by the look in his eyes and the small smile that sits on his face. You see a flicker of something in his eyes, you don't fully catch it, but before you can think it over, he’s leaning down to leave a soft kiss on the crown of your head. 

“Let’s go.” He says pulling you out of the room and back into the sea of people, never letting go of your hand.

Thank you for reading!!

part four

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[tittiesnhrtz]

hi hiiii idk if you’re still doing reqs 😭 if sooooo can you write ab eating ellie out while she’s on the phone 😞🙏

my apologies if this doesn't hit 😻

warnings: oral, public sex

ellie was on her iphone ten again, the poor thing adorned with spiderweb like patterns, having endured more tough days then you’ve ever seen. the light bouncing from it illuminated her face, highlighting the freckles dotted across her cheeks like the cherry blossoms scattered on the streets of the foreign city you both were meandering through.

this was supposed to be a family trip but of course your parents had to wind up in a work related meeting, leaving you with unused plane tickets and hotel reservations. you couldn’t let their money go to waste, so you asked your girlfriend to tag along. if you knew she’d be on that device ever since you both arrived this morning, you’d have cancelled the trip altogether. “just tendin to a niche game, babe. give me ten minutes.” ten minutes stretched into an excruciating five hours and thirty four minutes. not that you were keeping track. not that you were borderline desperate for her attention. not at all.

you cling onto her like a koala, encircling your arms around her torso, seeking for any sort of attention she can offer, even if it’s something as meagre as the faint sound of her heartbeat responding to your touch. “ellie.” you whine out her name, a pout painting itself on your face. in any other situation, she’d be a horny mess, yearning for more of those pretty sounds falling off your lips, but there was a seasonal event going on and she needed to collect all the weapons. “yeah?” she looks up for three milliseconds, “i’m kinda hungry, let’s go eat.” she intertwines your hand with her calloused one, the coldness radiating from her skin blending with your warmth, making you satisfied for now.

“whaddya wanna eat?” your eyes dart around at the cafés and restaurants passing by, lingering on a certain cat themed cafe. “ellie, look.” you beam, nudging her to shift her gaze at the cafe. “eh.” is all that leaves her mouth. “but you love cats.” your eyebrows furrow. “cause you love em.” you know that’s not true. she’d literally adopted a cat with sleek ginger fur from a sordid alleyway even though you’d warned her about the diseases it could carry. she ended up naming him ‘bricked up monstertruck pussy’ or ‘bump’ when she got tired of calling him by his full name. just when your mouth parts open to speak again, she pockets her phone with her other hand, her thumb caressing the back of your hand. fucking finally. you almost break out into a wide grin, biting on your lip to conceal the desperation that previously resided in you.

“babe, we have to go there.” she starts leading you to a sci-fi cafe, her battered converse moving with enthusiasm. a sound mimicking an airlock opening echoes when ellie steps inside with you in tow. “that’s so cool.” she giggles. the cafe is dimly lit with metallic blue lights, the high ceiling painted with an array of alien stars and galaxies. you slip into a booth at the far end, taking a seat opposite of ellie.

the waiter takes your orders; ellie gets a drink with syllables you can’t even decipher and a burger. you decide on a strawberry milkshake, something basic, and the same burger she chose. “that’s so you.” her face splits into a lopsided grin. “what does that mean?” you play with your bracelet, relishing the feeling of her eyes on you. “dunno…like, you’re sweet..like strawberries.” a smile lingers on your lips, nearly making you forget how she’d been technically ignoring you, until you hear the faint buzz of her phone— a fatuous theme song from a movie blaring as her ringtone.

she has the audacity to hum to the rhythm before picking it up to answer jesse. she rambles on about how she’d managed to beat six levels in just twenty minutes, an obvious lie. you know better, you’d been the one suffering all day. five minutes slip by, fleeting like the rocket in the hologram video flickering on the wall. you’ve had enough, you decide.

you sneak under the table, the tablecloth shiny with neon green glitter concealing you almost completely. she’s manspreading on the couch, giving you easy access to settle between her legs. she doesn’t notice you’ve moved until she feels two hands resting on both of her thighs. you let out a small giggle as she looks down at your head peering through the tablecloth, surprise etching on her face. her breath hitches at the sensation of your cheek resting against her thigh, the rasp of denim against flesh. she secures your chin in the palm of her calloused hand to make you look up at her dilated pupils, green eyes taking on an inky darkness. it feels sinful to be looking at you in this angle. even in the dim light, she can make out your doe eyed expression, and her boxers suddenly feel uncomfortable.

jesse’s voice fades away into the background, his words ringing through the other line but not quite making it into her ear. swiftly, you unbuckle her belt and tug on her jeans, the denim whispering down her thighs. you don’t care that you’re in public, the lighting, the very few people and the fact that you’re in the far end of the cafe should obscure whatever you’re about to do. her grasp on your chin releases and her fingers tangle in your locks as she leans back against the couch. with bated breath, she watches your head settle in between her thighs, stifling a moan when you kitten lick at the damp cotton. her hand clenches at your roots, “atta girl.” she mumbles incoherently.

“el, you there?” you pull back, hearing the faint sound of jesse’s voice. you pat her thigh, “answer him.” your fingers hook into the waistband of her boxers, pulling them down to join her jeans. the cool air dances along her warm exposed skin, as the plush of your lips pucker around her throbbing, swollen clit.

“mngh..y-yeah, yeah.” she grunts, pushing your face further, making you bask in her nectar. your fingers glide against her thighs languidly, as your whimpers get muffled against her core. this feels like an atonement of some sort, the attention you’ve been craving so badly, now all yours. you look up at her through your eyelashes, taking in how she’s biting on the palm of the hand that’s holding her phone to hold back the noises threatening to cascade.

“uhm, ellie..you okay?” she barely registers his confused voice over the feeling of your tongue sliding up and down her folds, making her eyes flutter shut. her juices flow down your chin and onto the leather couch below, as you close your eyes too, messily swirling your tongue in circles around her clit now. jesse repeats his question and she brings the phone closer to her again, “dude, i’ll call you lat- fuck.” her words get cut off by a moan at the sudden intrusion of your warm muscle thrusting inside her weeping cunt.

the phone falls from her grasp, landing somewhere on the ground with a soft thud, probably adding a new crack amongst the ones already marring the screen. she doesn’t even care, her mind clouded with pure bliss. both of her hands card through your hair, feeling the softness of it against her roughness. her forehead rests against the table, back hunching as she quietly whimpers, her thighs closing around your head. the moan you let out reverberates through her body, teetering her to the edge. you spread her pussy lips wider with your fingers, gliding your tongue up and down again.

“gonna…fuck..i’m gonna..” she mumbles against the fabric of the tablecloth, tugging on your hair gently. one of her hand moves to rest on the nape of your neck when she comes, seeing the whole of orion belt as her eyes roll to the back of her head. she lets out a throaty breath as she no longer feels your mouth on her core. lifting her head up from the table, she pulls her boxers up the first thing. she tilts your head up and lets out a moan at the sight of your chin glistening with her juices, not even bothering to lower her voice. the pad of her thumb runs along your slightly parted lips before lingering on the bottom one. she leans down to plant a velvety kiss on your forehead, clamping your cheeks together. “you’re so fucking paying for this when we get back to the hotel room.”

[seijorhi]

Etched in Red: Vermillion (Part One)

Event Masterlist

Okkotsu Yuuta x female reader

Part Two

w.c 1.4k

tw: yandere themes, kidnapping, implied dub/non-con, non-explicit gore

There’s nothing… wrong with being weak.

It isn’t a moral failing or anything to be ashamed of, it just is. For most people – normal people – that’s okay. They accept it, adjust their lives accordingly and move on. 

The thing is, most people don’t actually need to be strong, not in the physical sense. 

Most people aren’t jujutsu sorcerers.

Yuuta frowns, watching you laugh as Inumaki offers a hand to haul you up to your feet, brushing the dirt and grass of your skirt once you’re upright. Another sparring session that ends the exact same way all of them do; you, flat on your ass, wholly at the mercy of whichever of his friends is standing over you.

Problem is, they’re going easy on you; Maki leaving her left side wide open, Panda practically telegraphing his hits. Lately, he’s noticed it with Yuji and the other second years, too. It’s like an unwritten rule that they never go too hard, never push you too far. Trying to help you without hurting you in the process.

Because the simple, painful truth is, you aren’t strong enough to take it.

And believe it or not, he does get it… sort of. When Gojo dragged him into this he was petrified. Useless. He got thrown in the deep end, first first with Maki and then with Inumaki, and he had to figure it out fast, but… he also had Rika. 

He also had his cursed technique. 

Three years in, with graduation looming, you’re a step above a window. Still a grade four, although unlike with Maki it’s not some political, sexist bullshit keeping you there.

For right now, that’s okay. They’re your friends, none of them think any worse of you for it. They cover you on the missions you’re sent out on, and that’s not gonna change any time soon, but–

“Everything okay, Yuuta?”

He exhales a shuddering breath then straightens and turns your way with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” he asks, idly toeing at a rock by his feet. Maybe you won’t notice the flush colouring his cheeks. “Looked like you hit the ground pretty hard back there.” 

You laugh, waving it off like it’s no big deal, and to be fair it isn’t – you go through this multiple times a week, but that doesn’t mean it rankles him any less when you say, “Nothing I can’t handle. Toge was taking it easy on me.”

You don’t know the half of it. 

“C’mon,” you tell him. “Panda says you’re up.”

—

Forty minutes later, breathless, aching and bruised all over, Yuuta shuffles with you and the others back to the dormitories to shower before eating when a familiar head of white hair pops into view.

“Yuuu-taa,” Gojo greets in a sing-song voice, altogether too happy for the group of exhausted, hungry students glaring back at him. “A word?”

Not remotely a request, considering he’s got an arm looped over Yuuta’s shoulders, steering him away from the rest of the group before he can get so much as a word out. 

Leading him into an empty classroom well away from the dormitories, Gojo props himself up against one of the desks, leaving Yuuta to stand awkwardly in front of him, trying his best not to feel like a misbehaving child about to be lectured. 

When he speaks, there’s no trace of levity left to soften the blow. “What happened?” 

Gojo isn’t talking about the training session outside.  

Yuuta swallows, stiffening. “It doesn’t matter, does it? You read the report. As long as she’s with me, Rika and I–”

“So you expect the higher ups to send you along on every mission she’s assigned?”

His cheeks flush again, this time with indignation. “They can’t send her alone! She’s not– she… ” Isn’t strong enough.

At his floundering, Gojo lets out a heavy, over-dramatic sigh, as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders alone. “Yuuta, you’re a special grade. Do you really think they’ll let you play babysitter just because you have a crush?”

His heart squeezes, a thick lump lodging itself in his throat. He doesn’t deny it, there’s no point. Blindfolded or not, Gojo sees everything.

Not that his Sensei has room to talk about crushes. 

“I don’t care, I’ll go anyway! I’m not letting her get hurt.”

“Special grade or not, you won’t be able to stop it,” Gojo tells him, a strange sort of smile teasing at his lips. “They’ll smell her coming a mile away, that inexperience, overconfidence. Such a weak, tasty little sorcerer. Easy pickings. She’ll draw them in like flies to honey, one after another, until there’s too many to fight all at once – that’s what happened last time, didn’t it? You lost focus.”

Yuuta stills entirely. 

Gojo tugs at the bandages over his eyes, revealing one brilliant, blue iris. “She dies. That’s the only way this goes. You understand that, don’t you?”

—

It kills Yuuta that Gojo turns out to be right.

The body lying on the cold, metal table can barely be called that. Half a torso and a leg. That’s all he got back after getting rid of the curse. 

“Okkotsu,” Ieiri’s calm voice breaks through his reverie, and he glances up to find her tired eyes boring into him from across the room. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think she looked concerned.

“‘m fine,” he mumbles, letting his head tilt back to fall against the cool tiles. “I’m not the one who died.”

Ieiri opens her mouth, only to close it a moment later. “Of course.”

And so it goes. Inumaki, Panda and Maki hover, quiet and subdued. No one knows what to say, but none of them are surprised, he can tell that much through the thick, strained silence. 

Death is pretty much a constant for them. Jujutsu sorcerers don’t tend to lead long, happy lives, but this isn’t just losing a classmate seven days out from graduation. A pang squeezes at his chest and he doesn’t bother holding back a heavy exhale. 

“I’m tired. I’ll… catch you guys later, I guess.”

Yuuta doesn’t wait for an acknowledgement, turning on his heel and leaving them there outside the gym, staring uselessly after him.

But he doesn’t head back to his room. There’s nothing for him there. 

No, Yuuta walks for a long, long while. Back to civilisation, to the city teeming with people and curses, each step more surefooted, eager than the last.

By the time he reaches the apartment, he’s pounding the pavement, and takes the stairs two at a time. His hand shakes as he slots the key into the first lock and twists, then the second, his heart’s halfway to his throat when he pushes it open, heading straight for the bedroom–

The knot in his chest loosens, a relieved sigh escaping him at the sight of you, spread out in his sheets in nothing but your underwear, fast asleep. Safe, where he left you.

It takes him no time at all to toe out of his sneakers, shed his jacket and climb up onto the bed next to you, mindful not to jostle you too much, not to disturb the thick metal links coiled loosely at the bottom of the mattress. Your eyes are still puffy, cheeks wet with the sheen of tears when his fingertips glide over them, intent on smoothing your hair back from your face. 

Poor thing, you must’ve tired yourself out. 

Yuuta has every intention of letting you sleep for a little while longer yet – he’d meant what he’d said to Maki and the others, there’s a bone tired weariness that’s been clinging to him since he dragged himself back to campus that morning, and it’s only now, here, lying next to you that he feels it start to leach away, like poison syphoned off. 

A small, soft smile tugs at his lips. 

Perfect, beautiful girl. 

Gojo was right. You had to die. There aren’t enough sorcerers to deal with the increased curses plaguing the city. Weak or not, they would’ve kept sending you out, and he wouldn’t always be able to guarantee that he’d be there to protect you.

You had to die so they’d leave you alone. So that he could keep you safe. 

Nestling closer, he thumbs at the curve of your cheekbone again and brushes a kiss against your lips, doing his best to ignore the hot pulse of want that burns through his blood, coiling tightly in his guts. 

There’ll be plenty of time for that later. For now he just wants to lie here with you, safe and tucked away. Together. 

It’s better this way. You’ll see.

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 9

Warnings: none. just pure fluff and only a sprinkle of angst. no Steve in this one, he will be back in part ten! It's not proofread very well so if you find any mistakes, just ignore it pleaseee

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Your friends surprise you on Christmas night.

Word count: 5.6k

series masterlist

-

Halloween used to be your favorite holiday, Christmas used to be your second favorite. 

Now you can’t stand either of them. 

Both days remind you of him. 

Halloween reminds you of the heartbreak and the pain. 

Christmas reminds you of the happiness and the joy you used to feel when he was still yours. 

You used to celebrate it, but now it’s just a day filled with painful memories. 

You’re home alone, your mom was supposed to have the day off but an emergency call forced her back to the hospital. Now you sit in the lonesome living room with a box of Christmas cookies on the table. The room smells like pine from the christmas tree, the TV is on, the light of it illuminates the darkness in the room. 

You pull the soft blanket higher and lean your head on the pillows behind you. You stare blankly at the screen. It’s been three days since you shared your last day with Steve, you haven’t seen or heard from him ever since. He let go, just like you asked him to. 

There is still so much pain but the numbness overweighs it all right now. Minutes and days have passed yet you feel like nothing is moving forward. You are stuck in a vicious loop of self doubt and hopelessness.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your thoughts and startles you a little, you sit up and push the blanket off of you. A second knock sounds through the house. Rolling your eyes, you get up from the sofa and leave the living room. You hear voices on the other side of the door and you instantly know who it is. 

You open the door and just as you had suspected, you find your friends standing on your porch. Chrissy, Heather and Eddie. You can’t help but feel surprised to see the three of them together. 

He is holding a brown bag, you can already smell the fast food. Heather is holding another bag that you can’t help but take a peek into, you see the Christmas themed wrapping paper right away. 

Chrissy and Heather greet you as excitedly as always. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Eddie grins, waving his fingers at you.

A smile tugs at your lips, you furrow your brows as you look at them. 

“Hi, what are you guys doing here?” 

You haven’t seen Heather and Chrissy since the night at the dance, they have been busy with Christmas preparations. Eddie was working on Wayne’s car with him and busy writing songs with Jeff and you were busy trying to get over some things. You open the door further and step to the side to let them in. 

“To spend Christmas with you,” Heather smiles and moves past you. 

Chrissy walks in next, looking at you with a bright smile on her face as she whispers hi again. 

“Hi,” you giggle. 

“We brought the best Christmas food,” Eddie jokes as he hands you the bag of fast food. He closes the door after he steps inside. 

“Benny’s burgers are the best,” you say as you look into the bag. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be with your families?” 

“My mom invited a bunch of people over, including the Carver’s,” Chrissy mumbles with a disgusted look on her face, “I sneaked out, she won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“Jason Carver is at your house?” Eddie asks, looking just as disgusted as Chrissy does. 

“Yeah,” she rolls her eyes. 

“I spent Christmas eve with my parents, they told me to spend the day with you,” Heather shrugs and then gives you a stern look, “and why did we have to find out that you’re alone tonight, through him?” She asks, nudging her chin towards Eddie. 

“Wait what?” 

Eddie chuckles, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and looks down at you, “I ran into your mom this morning, she told me that she was called in for work so I called your girls and here we are.” 

Your eyes soften as they lock with his. 

You and Eddie have been friends for almost two months now and while you had been spending a lot of time together, there haven’t been any occasions where your friends had joined your hangouts. He had briefly talked to them a few times but that’s all. To know that he had put in the effort into making your night better, calling your friends up to come here, warms your heart.

“You’re the best,” you whisper, “but what about Wayne?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about him, he was called in for work, like your mom.”

Chrissy looks between you and Eddie, a slight frown appears on her face, one that only Heather seems to notice. 

“Uh let’s eat!” She says and grabs the bag out of your hands after placing the one with the presents on the ground. 

You and Eddie look away from each other. He clears his throat and you turn to look at your friends, Chrissy isn’t smiling anymore, if anything, she looks annoyed, “I’m gonna get some plates,” she says and walks into the kitchen.

“Are we gonna eat in the living room?” Heather asks. 

You nod at her and go after Chrissy. 

“Are you okay, Chris?” You ask as you step into the kitchen. 

“Yeah!” She says as she reaches for the plates in the cupboard, she turns back around with a smile on her face, “why wouldn’t I be?” 

You can see the forced smile, the look in her eyes that is anything but happy. 

You shrug, “I don’t know, you seem tense,” you say as you open the fridge to get some drinks. 

She hesitates for a moment, she stares at the back of your head and shifts on her feet. 

“I– it’s just, Jason.”

It’s a lie. You know it is. Heather and Chrissy might have spared you all the details about their love lives because they knew how much you were struggling yourself. Despite you telling them that you are always there for them, they still wanted to protect you from any kind of negativity. Which you hate. You want to be there for them, just like they are always there for you. 

“What about him?” You ask and turn around to face her after closing the fridge, “did he do something?”

She shakes her head, “no, he’s just very persistent but it’s nothing new,” she sighs and looks down, “he’s trying to get me to go on a date with him.”

You roll your eyes at her words, you hate Jason Carver. You hate the way he thinks that he can have anything and everything. 

“I’ll never understand how some guys won’t take no for an answer,” you mumble, “I could kick his ass for you.”

She giggles, shaking her head.

“Or we could find you a boyfriend who will kick his ass.”

You watch her closely and you can see the way her eyes flash with something unrecognizable. Her smile falls but only for a second, if you weren’t watching her so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed it. 

“Are you guys coming?” Heather asks. 

“Yeah.” 

You nudge your head towards the doorway, “come on.” 

As you walk back into the living room, you sense the awkwardness right away. You notice the smug look on Heather’s face and the blush on Eddie’s cheeks. You furrow your brows as you look between them, wondering what she had said to him to make him look so embarrassed.

You look down and place the drinks on the table. 

“Well, that’s gonna be the best Christmas dinner ever.”

“This is our turkey and mashed potatoes,” Heather jokes. 

Chrissy puts the plates on the table before she sits down on the armchair, crossing her leg over the other. 

Eddie scoots closer to the edge, already looking at you. You smile and sit down beside him. 

“What did you do after the dance?” Heather asks, looking between you and Eddie, the smug smile still present. She places the burger and fries on the plate, giving you the first one.

You and Eddie glance at each other. 

“We went to the diner,” you say as you reach for the plate, muttering a small ‘thank you’.

“Yeah and then we had a movie night and got high together,” Eddie chuckles. 

“And what did you do, Heather?” You ask, “when I left, you were with Billy.”

Eddie scrunches his face up in disgust, “Hargrove?” He asks with a judgmental look on his face.

Heather glares at him, “he can be nice.”

Chrissy snorts, “yeah, when he wants something.”

“Maybe he has a soft spot for Heather,” you smirk, wiggling your brows at your best friend.

She rolls her eyes, though the blush on her cheek isn’t hard to miss. 

“I still don’t like him,” Chrissy mumbles.

“You don’t like any of the guys we date, Chris.” You joke. 

“Yeah, maybe because you choose to date the shittiest guys,” she retorts with a sassy tone. 

You raise your brows in surprise while Eddie chuckles, his dark eyes flashing with amusement when he turns to look at you. 

“She’s right, Hargrove and Harrington aren’t really the best guys around.”

“There aren’t any best guys around in the first place,” Chrissy mumbles in annoyance before she looks at Eddie, “no offense.”

“None taken,” he chuckles. 

You agree with her partly. There are still some good guys around but there are also too many bad ones –  Steve might not be a bad person but he sure wasn’t the best boyfriend. You wouldn’t call him a shitty one though – but maybe that’s because you still love him. 

You wonder where he is tonight. 

Is he with his family?

Is he with her family?

Is he still with her or did he break things off with her after your night together?

Is he – no. Stop it, just stop thinking about him, you tell yourself. You force your mind to think about something else, about someone else. 

“I got the best guy around,” you smile and lean your head on Eddie’s shoulder. 

Chrissy sighs, her blue eyes are filled with annoyance but only Eddie seems to notice.

You look at Heather, she is furrowing her brows at something Eddie said, she looks confused but she still laughs. You had always been nervous about this. About your friends not getting along with Eddie. You are aware of how he feels about people who are popular and about the things people say about him at school, hell, you remember the way he was so nervous the first few times you spoke to him, he tried to mask it with humor and confidence but you saw right through him. You know that he had been nervous about meeting your friends – two popular cheerleaders who associate with guys like Billy Hargrove and Jason Carver. You were scared that they would hate each other but clearly, you shouldn’t have worried that much, besides, Eddie is not your boyfriend. He is just a friend. 

Now as you look at Heather and Eddie, you can’t help but notice the resemblance. They kind of look alike. Her hair is just as dark, long and curly as his. Pale skin. Dark eyes and pouty lips. They look like siblings. 

You can feel his eyes on you and you can also feel Chrissy’s eyes on you. 

You wonder what she is thinking about. Ever since your breakup with Steve, she has been fiercely protective over you and she gets mad at any guy who even looks your way. 

It’s cute. But you are not looking for new relationships any time soon so there is nothing for her to worry about, right? 

After your ‘christmas dinner’, you all exchange gifts. Eddie promises to give you his present later. By the blush on his cheeks, you can tell that he is too shy to give it to you now, in front of your friends. 

He takes it upon himself to use your polaroid camera to take pictures of you and your friends, not wanting to sit there awkwardly and stare at you as you unwrap the present you got from Chrissy.

He smiles when you squeal in excitement at the new book collection, your eyes light up and you throw your arms around her. 

“Psst.”

Eddie lowers the camera after taking a picture of you. He looks over at Heather, who scoots closer to him. 

“I see you’re having fun,” she teases with yet another smirk on her face. 

Eddie shakes his head and looks down. Something he never thought would happen is him getting along with your friends. He was incredibly nervous when he called them today, he did it for you. He wanted you to have a nice day, a day filled with new memories instead of old ones that will always take you back to someone who hurt you. 

Eddie shouldn’t have worried that much. Chrissy and Heather are nice. They didn’t throw him any judgmental looks nor did they snap at him the way other girls from the cheer squad would do. They are nice and they accept him – as your friend. 

“Yeah, I’m taking pictures of my friend.”

Heather snorts.

You push all your presents to the side and take a look at all the pictures Eddie took of you with your friends. A small frown appears on your face and you look up at him, “we need a picture together too.”

“You want one?” Eddie asks, smiling. 

“Yes!” 

“I can take one of you guys,” Heather says with a smug look on her face as she sends yet another smirk at Eddie. You don’t see it and you don’t see the way he huffs as he shakes his head. 

You walk towards him. He hands the polaroid camera to Heather. 

You and Eddie smile at each other, he holds his arm up and you curl under his arm, placing your hand on his back.

The mischief in Heather’s eyes should be enough of a warning to Eddie but when she tells you both to take a few steps back, he just knows. 

“Take another step back,” she says, gesturing you to go back further. 

“Just take the picture, Heather!” You say. 

“I’m trying to get the best position.”

And the best position is in the doorway.

“Oopsie,” Heather giggles, “look up.”

Mistletoe.

Chrissy rolls her eyes as she looks at you and Eddie. She turns away and begins to gather all the wrapping paper. 

You giggle and Eddie snorts, “seriously?” He asks. 

Before you can even react, Eddie wraps both arms around you and picks you up, he presses his lips against your cheek, kissing you loudly which only makes you giggle even louder. You wrap your arms around his neck and close your eyes with a smile on your face. 

You are not surprised by Eddie’s actions, he was always very affectionate with you. Eddie’s embrace always made you feel safe and secure.

Steve’s embrace felt different, you always loved having his arm around you, you loved it when he hugged you tightly and kissed the top of your head but while you felt at home, he always felt like he wasn’t there. Like his mind was elsewhere. Like he couldn’t relax the way you did when he held you. But as relaxed as you felt, you couldn’t help but worry and tense up a little whenever you noticed his absence. 

It’s different with Eddie. He is here and he feels relaxed and it all just feels natural but maybe that’s just because he is a friend. He doesn’t have to worry about the things that Steve worried about and you don’t have to worry about where his head is at. You are friends and your love is platonic – maybe this is what should have been between you and Steve. Platonic love. Maybe things would have been better. 

Heather takes the picture and laughs at the two of you. 

Eddie lowers you back on the ground. A strand of his hair gets caught in your eyelash and you both giggle. He pulls it away carefully. Neither of you notice the flash going off as Heather takes another picture of the two of you. 

Neither of you notice the look on Chrissy’s face as she stares at you, she frowns and her eyes are filled with sadness. Heather turns around with a smile on her face, one that quickly falls when she sees the look on her face. Guilt rushes through her, she knows how she feels. 

“Can we go?” Chrissy asks her and pleads with her eyes.

Heather nods.

“Wait what?” You ask as you pull away from Eddie to walk towards her, “you want to go already?”

Chrissy nods. She puts her hand on her neck and forces a smile on her face, “y-yeah, I don’t want to get into trouble with my mom.”

“Oh, right,” you mumble. 

You understand it but you know that there is more, something that she doesn’t want to tell you, something that she doesn’t want you to know. You aren’t the only one who noticed it. Eddie noticed it too. Her glances at you, the sad and longing look in her eyes. 

You pull her into a hug, she instantly wraps her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

You pull away from her to hug Heather, as well. 

When they both walk away, Chrissy turns around, she looks at you and for a moment she hesitates. She halts in her tracks and her lips part, the uncertainty in her eyes makes you question her. What is going on with her? You know she wants to say something, you know she wants to talk to you but something always pulls her back. Tonight, it’s the warning look in Heather’s eyes, it’s not a mean look, not at all. But when Chrissy turns to look at Heather, there is a knowing look in both their eyes and that’s when you know for certain, they are hiding something. 

Chrissy’s shoulder slump and she turns back to you with a forced smile, “bye.”

You smile weakly, the weird feeling in your chest returns – it’s the same feeling you always got when you felt that Steve was hiding something from you. 

“Bye,” you whisper. 

You hate it when people keep things from you. It makes you feel left out. Heather and Chrissy are your best friends, you have never kept secrets from each other, never. 

But now Chrissy is keeping something from you and Heather is hiding her secret from you. 

Does it have something to do with you?

What do they not want you to know? 

“Y/n?”

Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn around to see him holding two presents in his hands, a smile pulling at his lips. 

The frown on your face melts into a smile, “more presents?”

His dark eyes flash with excitement, he hands you the presents. You grin and bite your lip as you sit down on the couch.

“Which one should I do first?” 

He shrugs, “the small one!” 

“Okay,” you giggle. You place the bigger present on the table and begin to unwrap the small one. You throw the wrapping paper on the table and stare at the little box. You glance at Eddie through your lashes. 

“Open it!”

His excitement makes you smile even more. 

You open the box and he watches the way your eyes light up as you reach for the rings. 

“Oh my god! They almost look like yours!” 

Eddie chuckles, he sits down next to you, “that’s why I got them for you, I know how much you like them.”

“I love them!” 

You put one on your pointer finger, another one on your middle finger and you leave the one with the black stone for your left hand, putting it on your ring finger. You wiggle your fingers as you stare at the rings, “they fit perfectly.” 

“Give me your hand!” You say as you turn your body towards him. He reaches his hand out to you with a chuckle. You hold your hand up next to his and smile, “look, we’re twinning.”

Eddie leans closer and grabs your hand, “your hand is so tiny,” he says. He presses his palm against yours, smiling at the difference. 

“You just have a really big hand,” you chuckle.

You keep your palm pressed against his and look up to see him looking at you. He smiles when your eyes lock. His eyes roam your face and you can’t help but smile at him too.

“You have another one,” he whispers, nudging his head towards the other present. 

You blink. 

“Yeah,” you whisper and pull your hand away from his. You reach for the present and eye it, wondering what it’s in there. You tear the paper off quickly. You eye the leather with big eyes, “are you kidding me?” 

Eddie chuckles at your reaction. 

You raise the leather jacket to get a better look at it, “how? Eddie, it's the one I told you about!” You gasp and jump up to put the jacket on.

“Figured it would be a nice present,” he smiles, happily.

“It’s the best!” You squeal and look down at it with, “you shouldn’t have–”

“I wanted to,” Eddie interrupts you and stares at you with a fond smile on his face, “look at you, you’re turning into me.” 

You snort at his words. Though, he is right, kind of. After your breakup with Steve, you have slowly pulled away from the things you used to love or thought you loved. You started exploring, a little. New clothes, new colors, new music. Things that Eddie loves, you found a liking towards as well.

You throw your arms around him and hug him tightly.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his neck, “thank you for everything.”

Eddie had been more than a shoulder to lean on, in the past few months. He had been more than just a friend. He is a best friend, not like Chrissy and Heather are though. He is different somehow. 

He hugs you tightly, “you’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m glad you like your presents.”

You know that he must’ve used most of his savings to get you the presents, it makes you feel guilty. 

You pull back and smile, “I got you something too.”

His brown eyes flash with excitement and curiosity. You pat his shoulder and get up, reaching for his hand, “come on, it’s in my room.”

A playful smirk tugs at his lips and he wiggles his brows suggestively, “oh? A striptease?” 

“Shut up!” You laugh and shake your hand as you pull him out of the living room. 

He chuckles. 

You run up the stairs, holding onto the railing. 

“Slow down, cheerleader!”

“Can’t! I’m too excited.”

You rush into your room and turn on the light. You drop his hand and walk towards the present you have left on your dresser. 

Eddie eyes you, loving the excitement on your face. He sits down on the bed. You turn around and walk back to him, handing him the present. 

He eyes it, he can feel the thin paper, thinking that it’s an envelope, he sends you a teasing look, “is that a love letter?” He winks. 

“Yeah,” you joke, “I know it doesn’t look like much but–”

“Hush,” Eddie says, waving you off. He looks down and tears the red paper off. When he sees the tickets, he freezes for a moment. He stares at them for a long minute before he takes them into his hand, he slowly lifts them up. 

His eyes are wide and filled with shock, his lips part. 

“No fucking way,” he whispers. His heart jumps in his chest as he stares at the Metallica tickets. “You didn’t!” 

You clap your hands together and smile, nodding at him. 

“You got me concert tickets?” He gasps. He gets up and stares at you with wide eyes. “Metallica concert tickets?” 

You giggle at the shocked look on his face. 

“Y/n!” 

Suddenly, he jumps at you, he picks you up and spins you around, making you squeal again. 

“Eddie!” You giggle. 

He places you back on the ground and you both stumble forward a little, both laughing. He takes your hands in his, smiling brighter than ever. The happiness and the excitement radiates off of him. “I can’t believe you got me tickets, sweetheart!” 

“I had to! They’re coming to Indianapolis! You can take Jeff or Gareth o-or Wayne, of course!” 

“Are you kidding?” He asks, squeezing your hand, “I’m taking you, dumbass!”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course!” 

Eddie pulls you into another hug, he squeezes you tightly. “Best present ever, sweetheart.”

“I’m glad you’re happy.”

“I am happy,” he whispers. 

You didn’t think that your night would go this way, that it would bring you more than the numbness that you have been feeling the past few days. You are thankful for your friends who are always there to make things better. 

You are thankful for him. 

For the first time, you speak about the night with Steve. You didn’t tell Heather and Chrissy about it. You feel safe telling him about it. Eddie never judged you, as much as he always disliked Steve, he never judged you about anything that had to do with him.

He doesn’t judge you for getting drunk with him, for partying with him, for hugging him and letting him hold you, one last time. 

He was the one who pushed you to talk to him, he didn’t expect this but he can’t say that he is surprised. He would have done the same thing if he was in your place. 

You love Steve, you always will. 

A love like this will never fade away. It makes him sad to see you suffering but letting him go, is for the better. He thinks that you need this. To be by yourself and focus on things that bring you joy, things that won’t hurt you. He can see that you are ready to move on from the past. 

The music is playing, you somehow convinced Eddie to listen to The Smiths. Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now is playing. Eddie won’t admit it but he likes the song. You are holding your hand up and stare at the rings he got you. While Eddie thinks about the concert that he will go to soon, you think about what he said, a few days back. 

The song stops playing and for a moment, the room is silent. 

“Eddie?” 

“Yes?” 

“I think I’m ready.” 

“Ready for what, sweetheart?” 

“I’m ready to try new things, I’m ready for a fresh start.”

“What do you say?” 

He reads your eyes. There is longing for something more, uncertainty and fear of the future but also excitement. 

“I say that ‘85 will be your year, baby,” he smiles. 

“Hmm, I say, it will be our year. ‘Cause you and I, we are both snatching that diploma and getting out of here. Got it?” 

He chuckles, “got it, ma’am.”

“To ‘85!” You say, holding up your pinky to him. 

His eyes flash with amusement, “you’re supposed to drink to it but sure, to ‘85.” 

He hooks his pinky around yours and taps your nose with his other hand. 

You both laugh and lay your heads back on the carpet. A weird feeling rushes through you, it’s not a bad one. It’s one that tells you that everything will be okay. 

“You know what we should do?” You say after a moment of silence. 

“What?” 

You sit up and you quickly take your jacket off. He stares at you, confused. You jump up and replace the leather jacket with a flannel. You put your hand on your hips and look around for a moment, searching for something. 

“What are you looking for?” He chuckles. 

“Ah.” 

You walk towards your dresser and open the top drawer. Eddie watches as you rummage through the drawer until you finally find what you were looking for. A black hat and a scarf, you throw it at Eddie, “put it on!” 

The hat hits him in the chest, it falls to his lap and he looks down, still confused. 

“What are we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna have some fun!” You say as you put your own hat on, wrapping a red scarf around your neck and putting on some gloves. 

“I hate hats and scarfs,” he frowns as he already wraps the scarf around his neck. 

“I know you do, Eddie.”

You walk back to him and reach for the hat, forcing it on his head. 

“You’re a menace, sweetheart.” 

“Because I don’t want you to catch a cold?” 

“Why would I catch a cold?” 

“We’re gonna have a snowball fight!” You say, excitedly as you reach for his hands and pull him up. “And then we’re gonna drink hot cocoa and watch some Christmas horror movie.” 

You pull him out of your room, “and you can stay over if you want.”

He gasps playfully, “I get to sleep in the queen’s bed?” He asks as he puts his hand on his chest, “a peasant in a queen’s bed? What will the kingdom say about this?”

“Shut up, dork.” 

You rush down the stairs and you both put your shoes on hastily before you leave the house. The snow is falling, it’s cold but the air is nice and the silence is welcoming. It’s dark out but the Christmas lights on your porch gleam brightly in the snow. 

Eddie doesn’t even waste a second before he hits your back with a snowball. 

“Hey!” You laugh as you turn around, “we didn’t even start–”

He throws another one at you but you duck this time and reach for the snow, you form the snow into a ball and throw it at him but he ducks just the way you did. You walk backwards, your boots sink into the snow, making it harder for you to escape him quickly. 

Eddie laughs wickedly as he runs towards you with a snowball. 

You giggle and turn around, running through the snow in your yard.

“Run little rabbit!” He says with a deep voice. 

You lean down and gather some snow, “you’re not playing fair, Eddie!” 

He laughs and halts in his tracks, letting you run off. 

You turn around and hold the snowball up. He is standing in the snow, smirking at you, waiting for you to hit him first now. Instead of throwing it at him, you run off. 

“Oh you wanna play catch?” He chuckles as he watches you run behind the house. He follows you, running after you through the snow, “I hope you know that I hate running!” 

He hears your giggle but he can’t see you. He looks around, ducking to see if you are hiding behind the bushes or the trees but you are nowhere to be seen. 

“You’re mean–”

The cold snow hits him on his cheek, it was a soft throw but it caught him off guard. 

“Oops!” 

Eddie snorts, he turns towards you, finally, he sees you behind the big oak tree. He chuckles as he wipes the snow off his cheek, he runs towards you and you squeal in surprise, running into the other direction. 

You are both laughing as you run through the snow like little kids. As much as he hates running, he is still faster than you, it doesn’t take him long to catch up with you, when he does, he grabs your waist and pulls you back, picking you up again which only makes you squeal again. 

“Got ya!” He whispers in your air and spins you around until he trips on a tree branch under the snow, making you both fall down. His back hits the snow and yours hits his chest but it only makes you laugh harder. 

“That’s your definition of a snowball fight, sweetheart?”

You roll off of him, laying down on the snow beside him. 

“You started it,” you laugh. 

“It was your idea!” 

You giggle, you grab some snow and throw it on his chest. 

“See! You’re a little menace!” He laughs and does the same to you, making you giggle louder. 

You go back and forth that way until you both get tired of it.

He gets up first and reaches for your hands, pulling you up after dusting the snow off of his clothes.

It starts snowing harder than before, large snowflakes fall from the sky and a smile tugs at your lips as you tilt your head up to look at the falling snow. 

You forget everything for a moment and he can tell by the look on your face. You look at peace and the smile on your face is genuine, for a moment, you look happy and Eddie can’t help but smile as he watches you. 

Neither of you notice how intimate this moment looks. How you stand there chest to chest as you look up and he looks down at you. 

You and Eddie are just friends but to an outsider it looks more than that. 

To Steve, it looks more than that. 

Whatever had dragged him here, quickly forces him to leave again when he sees you with him. When he sees you standing on the same spot where he had kissed you for the very first time – now you stand there with him, with another man. 

And despite what happened between the two of you a few nights ago, despite the heartbreak he had already felt, he feels it yet again. 

You let him go but can he let you go? 

next part

-

Don't yell at me about the Eddie x reader in this one! This is still a Steve fic!

Tagging friends & mutuals!

@mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedcorpses @corrodedseraphine @screammunson @hellfire--cult @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sherrylyn628 @nemesis729 @somethingvicked @take-everything-you-can @taintedcigs

[theostrophywife]

Can I get a FIC abt the reader being Theodore’s gf and best friend and she’s embarrassed and alone in her dorm bc of cramps and they are REALLY REALLY bad and he just comforts her and they snuggle and he gives her his hoodie and fluffy!! (I’m dying from my cramps in my bed rn 🙏 I need comfort from my book bf)

heart shaped bruises.

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: toothpaste kisses by the maccabees.

author's note: i'm so sorry you're in pain, love. hope this makes you feel better 💗

Bloody fucking hell. 

You clutched your stomach, doubling over in pain as another wave of cramps crashed into you at full force. An anti period pain potion. That would be your first invention after finishing your education at Hogwarts. For now, you were forced to endure the pain and misery sans magic. 

The clock on your nightstand rang obnoxiously, rattling the various barrettes and books stacked atop the table. The alarm meant that Charms would be starting soon. With a rather hard smack, you silenced the clock and buried yourself underneath the covers. 

There was no way in hell that you were going to make it to class today.

You couldn’t even get out of bed, let alone walk to the other side of the castle. No, you were staying right here. Cocooned in the safety of your blankets so you could wallow in self pity in peace. 

Apparently, suffering in silence was too much to ask for because the minute the alarm finally stopped, there was a knock on your door. 

“Go away,” you yelled, the words slightly muffled by your goose down comforter. 

“Y/N?” A familiar voice called from the other side of the door. “Are you alright, love?”

Tears pricked the back of your eyes. No, you were definitely not alright. Your uterus was an active war zone, your emotions were a poorly assembled rollercoaster in an abandoned theme park, and to top it all off, you had a raging headache like someone had taken a bludger to your skull. 

But you couldn’t say all of that. You didn’t want to freak your boyfriend out. 

“I’m fine, Theo. Just feeling under the weather.” You clamped your eyes shut, trying to block out the migraine. “Go to class without me.”

There was shuffling from the hallway before your door swung open, revealing a very concerned Theo. He took in the sight of you in bed, your cheeks flushed and your eyes red from crying all morning. Theo was by your side in three strides. 

“What’s wrong, dolcezza?”

“Nothing, I’m just not feeling well.” A fresh set of cramps chose that exact moment to pummel your lower abdomen, making you wince in pain. 

“That’s not nothing, darling.” He knelt beside you, taking your hand. “Tell me what’s wrong, Y/N. I hate seeing you in pain.”

Your eyes watered again. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Of course not, love.”

“It’s these cramps,” you said slowly, shifting to face him. “I’m on my period and it’s just really bad today. Usually I take a pain relieving potion, but even that’s not working this time around.”

Theo’s face softened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You averted his gaze, flushing. “I guess I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“It is a big deal,” said Theo. “Everything that has to do with you is a big deal to me. I hate thinking that you’ve been suffering through this all alone.”

“I just didn’t want to bother you with something so silly.”

“You could never bother me, Y/N.” Theo gently pulled back the covers. “If anything I’m the one bothering you right now. Scoot over, darling. Make room for your Teddy.”

“But you’ll miss Charms.”

“I’ve skipped for less. This time it’s actually important. You need me. I’m not leaving you.”

You smiled softly and made room for Theo. He instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a snuggle. The familiar scent of sea salt and smoke felt like a warm hug in itself. Theo stroked your hair and kissed your temple. 

The cold air seeped in through your frosted glass windows, chilling you to the core. As much as you loved the ominous charm of living in the dungeons, this was one of its disadvantages. You shivered in Theo’s arms, cuddling closer for warmth. 

Your boyfriend radiated heat. You had no idea how when it was near freezing in your dorm. Theo liked to say he was hot blooded. You were just grateful to have your own personal heater. 

“Are you cold, darling?” 

You nodded, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “A little.”

Theo shifted beside you. He tugged at the hem of his hoodie and pulled it off in one swift move. “Arms up, love.”

You sat upright and did what you were told. Theo slipped his hoodie over you, smiling as the plush fabric swallowed you whole. It was warm and smelled like him. You wanted to drown in it. 

He kissed the tip of your nose. “It looks good on you, but don’t think that it gets you out of cuddling.” 

Theo pulled you to him, snuggling you from behind. He twined your legs together, making you giggle as his leg hair tickled the back of your thighs. You intertwined your fingers and kissed the back of his palm. 

The cramps may still be wreaking havoc on your body, but at least now you had Theo to comfort you. 

“How are you feeling, babe?” 

You turned, smiling. “Better now that you’re here, Teddy.”

Theo grinned and pressed a gentle kiss against your lips. “Get some rest, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 4

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

CW: POV depiction of anxiety and dissociation, How It's Made, reader character wearing a wig (positive, protective style), Soap (nosy), mention of sex toys, Simon Riley Is Honesty Just A Big Guy (TM),

Simon and Price are gone for less than a minute before you feel awkward. You’re almost done with the water, so you look around for the TV remote. It’s Gaz, absurdly pretty for some kind of international British SWAT team, who hands it to you with a half smile before wandering off, you assume to the bathroom.

That leaves you clicking through the TV while Soap does something on his phone. All of the local channels are in German, you know, so you look for something to stream. You chance a sidelong glance at Soap, but he’s already looking at you. He grins when you make eye contact.

“So yer LT’s girl, then?”

Fuck, that’s not a question you know how to answer. “Um.”

“Leave it, Soap,” Gaz says, returning from the bathroom. He smiles at you as he pockets his phone. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with. Lieutenant Riley’s a private person, we understand.”

“That’s… it’s okay.” You tap into the PictureTime channel, since it’s not one you usually have access to. As you browse through the educational options - ooh, How It’s Built! - you say, “I think we’re both… a bit surprised to see each other here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gaz says, sitting down at the other end of the couch. “Oh, I’ve not seen this one on puzzles and cheesecake.”

You tap into it, because you like puzzles, cheesecake, candles, and paintbrushes. Just in time to finish your water bottle. The armchair is a bit narrow and awkward, so you wiggle the cushion from behind your back so you can plop it, and yourself, onto the ground. You shuffle your legs to start your warm up as the theme song plays.

“How'd'ye come to answerin’ LT like yer military?” Soap asks. “’Acknowledge’, ‘acknowledged’, all o’ that?”

“Oh,” you answer, without thinking about it. “That’s just our protocol, to make sure I understand his directions.”

“’E’s givin’ you enough directions to need protocols?” He gives you a considering once-over. “Interestin’. Impressive that it held up in an emergency. That takes practice.”

Shit. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“’S he your, what’er they called? Dominant partner, then?”

God, Simon, why didn’t you take this one with you? “I’m… not at liberty to say?”

“Leave her alone, Soap,” Gaz says, exasperated. He tosses a throw pillow at Soap’s head. “She’s in shock, Simon’s trying to keep her calm and comfortable.”

“Ghostie adopts a civilian an’ ah’m supposed to have nae questions?” Soap grins at you. “She’s got a signal if she dinnae want to talk. Four fingers, right?”

“Bother Ghost about it, later,” Gaz says. He turns to you. “Do you know what you want to eat? There’s a few places open.”

Soap doesn’t pester you, after that. The three of you settle on Mediterranean food, and then they summarily leave you alone. Gaz seems content to watch the show, though Soap watches you do your floor stretches curiously.

You could probably have moved to another stretch a while ago, but you’re still in your work slacks and blouse. You think longingly of the yoga pants you laid out on your bed before leaving for meetings. And then you cringe to think of Simon coming in to sweep through the room and pack up all of your things. You hadn’t packed a lot, but you’d unpacked into the space to make yourself comfortable.

You realize that your sex toy is charging in the bedside table and cringe. You hope he doesn’t notice it. It’s good quality, but you can always buy another one.

And then you start to worry about your phone. You’d left your personal in the room because of the time zone change slowing down all of your personal messages. You’d lost your work phone and computer today with… everything that happened. Were people trying to get a hold of you? Had news of the incident made it to the US? Would Simon see your embarrassing phone background?

You resist the urge to get up and pace. Instead, you settle into butterflying your legs.

“You need more water?” Gaz’s voice startles you, but you nod and he passes a bottle to you on the floor. “Cap says that they’re done with the official stuff, he’s grabbing food while Ghost grabs your things. Probably less than an hour before they get back.”

Your anxiety shouts that that isn’t enough time. But since you can’t definitively answer the question For what?, you take a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

Maybe it’s because your heart is beating a little faster, muscles a bit warmer, but you have trouble settling Into the show. Your mind races. You have to remind yourself to relax, then have to clamber to your feet and shuffle off to the bathroom because you relaxed your pelvic floor a little too much.

Your eyes in the mirror are a little too wide. The wig - every time you wear a good one, you almost forget you’re wearing it - is holding up admirably, at least. It feathers around your face, a bit squished where you slept on it. But with the smudged eyeliner and mascara you can kind of pretend you’re in an action movie.

Thank goodness agent Ghost rescued me and the other hostages, you think to yourself, pouting your lips dramatically as you wash your hands.

The last time you washed your hands there was a dead body on the floor.

“Nope,” you say aloud, practically flinging yourself into the bedroom. “Nope. Nope.”

You pace in a tight circle, kicking the door closed when you catch Gaz and Soap looking at you with concerned eyes. Two circuits later, the room is too small, so you open the door again and shuffle out to sit in the armchair again, one leg pulled up for you to wrap your arms around.

Throwing your mind into action shots of specialty machinery, you try to force yourself to settle. Your whole body feels like it will shake apart if you pay too much attention to it, so you don’t pay it any attention at all. The episode ends and rolls into the next one, so you learn about bird cages and automated pharmacy drones. You hear Gaz say something soft, and Soap answers, the burr of his voice just as quiet, mixing pleasantly with the murmur of the narrator.

You must lose time, again, because the next thing you know, Simon is crouching in front of you again. Big hands smooth over your arms, and he shushes you as you jump.

“Got y’r stuff,” he says. “Where’s your head at?”

You open your mouth, close it. Hold up four fingers.

“Mm, day’s catchin’ up, again. Go into the bedroom, get changed. No zippers or clasps. Buttons okay. Acknowledge.”

“Bedroom, change clothes,” you confirm, heaving a big sigh. “Comfy. Acknowledged.”

He helps you stand, and you can’t help but tip forward to put your face into his chest. He smells a little. Like stale sweat and gunpowder. His arms stop yours when they come up for an automatic hug.

“Go change,” he whispers into the top of your head, “An’ I’ll get rid of the rest of ‘em, eh?”

The haze around you pops. That’s the only way to describe it. One minute, everything is distantly fuzzy, and the next thing you know you can feel the circulation of the air in the room and his heartbeat against your forehead. The TV is quieter, and you can hear Price and Gaz and Soap talking between themselves.

“Acknowledged,” you say into his sternum. “Gotta go change.”

He has to gently guide you around his bulk. But eventually you shuffle back into the bedroom. Your suitcase is waiting for you in the far corner, and it doesn’t take you long to dig out your lounge wear. Soft, thin pants with cartoon dogs on them and an oversized tee you got from a fundraiser. And then you take both off because that’s not sexy.

Why didn’t I pack nicer stuff? Can I play off these lacy panties as sleep wear? He saw it all and packed it, he probably clocked those as the only sexy thing I have. You shake your head at yourself. He said to wear something comfortable. He knows what you have. This is fine.

Your friend’s son’s basketball mascot grins up at you. You decide to compromise and switch the shirt for a black cami you usually wear under a nice blouse.

When you peek out of the room, Simon’s in the middle of the couch, and he’s blocked one end by dragging the table closer to where he’s sitting. His jeans have been traded for black sweats, but you can’t tell if his black shirt is new or not. Somehow, he looks bigger, but in a nice way. Softer. If a brick shit-house could look soft. A brick book nook.

“’Ey, pretty girl,” he says, leaning enough to put an arm across the back of the couch. “Come sit, we’re gonna eat and then we’re gonna talk.”

When you get close, you realize that there’s not enough room for both of you to sit unless you’re half on top of him.

You want to throw yourself entirely into his lap. But you can smell the food now, and you’re so hungry. So you perch as much of your ass on the couch as you can and swing your legs over one of his. You meet his eyes just as his arm comes down across your thighs. His hand cups the outside of your leg in a way that makes you remember what he said.

He’s not letting you go, now.

[tswwwit]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stopping him from talking is the hard part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The market for…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Special. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much of this is true?” He asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper glances at the screen. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s even doing it right now. 

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

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

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

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

Dipper speaks up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Bill doesn’t deny it. 

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

Holy shit. Dipper’s right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s only focused on one person.

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

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

Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special? 

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

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

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

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

A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nope!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Fun stuff’. 

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

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

“Is that… so.”

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

“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually. 

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

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

Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat. 

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

“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.” 

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

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

What will he do? When he goes back?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seems ‘uh’, what?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe he should replay it to check.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses - 

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

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

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

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

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

Better get to work. 

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

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

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

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

Dipper figures it out in about two minutes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…It’s all about misdirection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is there… actually nothing here?

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

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

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

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

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

Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasn’t taken back.

As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table. 

Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet. 

Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakin’ nap. He’s lucky to have pulled himself out of it. 

The bedside table doesn’t have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.

Sadly, there’s not much to look at. 

Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing that’s bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows it’s heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except it’s nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one. 

He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actually…

Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible. 

With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, it’s almost longer than he is tall.

Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here he’s half-worried he’ll feel something go ‘squish’ or skitter up his arm.

This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-

Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back it’s almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!

Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, he’ll fix it later. 

In his hands, there’s a picture frame.

Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.

A picture of Bill. What a surprise.

Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image. 

Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.

“Jackass,” Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon ‘god’ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers. 

Wait. Then - It’s not flush with the frame. There’s a gap, or - 

Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily. 

And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book. 

Whatever Bill’s got to hide here, he sure as hell didn’t make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good. 

A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -

Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, it’s - he just checked for magic, and there isn’t any here. 

It’s just a picture of… Dipper.

And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and he’s in Bill’s home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, he’s mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down. 

For a moment he wonders if this was one of Bill’s other humans - it’d be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable. 

Dipper stares for a while. He’s not sure what to make of this.

Why is this stashed away?  It’d help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.

Something taps on one of Dipper’s shoes, and he glances down.  

There wasn’t just one picture. 

With the backing removed, with the way he’s holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, there’s no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, it’s extradimensional.

“Shit,” Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.

Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.

Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case there’s another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself. 

How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It can’t be…

Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room. 

Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup. 

“Shit,” Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.

So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.

Okay, this - this isn’t a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesn’t need to know, it’ll be fine. He’ll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-

A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.

Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about - 

No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.

Shit.

Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now there’s no time left, he’s got to hide.

Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesn’t latch. 

No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.

That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy he’s trying to hide from is a terrible idea. 

Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Bill’s shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. It’s hesitant because he’s looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.

And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Bill’s room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Bill’s junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a gallery’s worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition. 

Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out. 

All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings. 

It’s too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.

The closet doesn’t judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits can’t talk. He’s even ninety-percent sure Bill doesn’t have any that could; it’d take away from his own rambling time.

Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. It’s a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Bill’s aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.

After a while, he remembers he’s clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. It’s warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now he’s not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesn’t fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thing’s too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.

Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen. 

The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall? 

Okay, it’d be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipper’s not watching him. 

It’s just… too quiet. Too furtive, really, like it’s trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipper’s all too familiar with the process.

And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only there’s no TV in here, and the pitch is off.. 

Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but he’s never even seen a spider in Bill’s rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly. 

He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide. The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipper’s own scream doesn’t match its pitch, but it’s a hell of a lot louder. 

Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -

Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing. 

The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.

Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow. 

At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all that’s left is empty space in front of him.

Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows he’s sweating, and there’s some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirt’s ripped, but there’s no blood. Everything’s intact.

Well. He’s intact. 

A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.

Nausea roils in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad. 

Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and - 

At Bill. 

A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced he’s about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.

Then he blinks. 

Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor. 

Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper can’t read the expression on Bill’s face.  It flickered through several before settling on blank.. 

“Well, well, well, well, well,” Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to!”

Dipper’s heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else. 

He’s been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god.  

What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldn’t, pushing when it’s wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. He’s ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does. 

“Look, I can explain,” He babbles, backing up a step. Bill’s quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. “Wait, I-”

A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Bill’s face is inches away, approaching fast, and he can’t help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.

At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple. 

“Mmmmwah!” Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipper’s face in both hands. “Boy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”

“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently. 

Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeyman’s craft.

Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. It’s a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened. 

“Now, as for you-” Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. “Creeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I don’t take kindly to peeping eyes that aren’t mine.” One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thing’s groin; it lets out a tinny scream. “And you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!”

Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.

Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.

“Gee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.” Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. “Who coulda possibly helped with that! It’s a real friggin mystery for the ages!”

A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solution’s clear now that it’s gone.

Getting through Bill’s front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of ‘small-timers’, as Bill would call them, he’d barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadn’t had the same idea. 

That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, he’d have second thoughts about his living arrangements.

Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.

“I’ll handle those losers in a second,” He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. “But as for you…”

Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action. 

Watching Bill about to enact his  vengeance is … Sure, it was spying. It didn’t do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and it’s looking really rough. Whatever Bill’s going to do is -

The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.

“Hm?” Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. “Yeah, what about him?”

On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipper’s shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.

“Oh, I see!” With a grin, Bill stalks closer. “You know what, you’re right! If I caught two spies in my place, they’d totally get the same treatment!”

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.

No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isn’t -

“But there’s a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.” Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. “There’s only one of those around!”

Dipper’s heart restarts, though it’s pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.

“See, you’re here uninvited.” Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. “And HE freakin’ LIVES HERE.”

Oh. 

There’s a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could. 

Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like he’d walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.

And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched. 

“There,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. “What a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.” Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. “Guess they’re forgetting what happened to the last batch.”

Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another. 

And he’s still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because he’s not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesn’t see him that way. He thinks that - 

“So, I’m…” Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. “I’m… not in trouble?”

“Sapling, you’re fine! Better than fine!” Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. “Hell, you could go through my freakin’ underwear drawer and I wouldn’t give a crap.” He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. “See anything you liked?”

“I’m-” Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. “Uh.”

Bill’s still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.

That’s a good excuse. Reasonable. He’s got goop on him, he’s sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now. 

“Suit yourself!” Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting he’d recently abandoned. “I got some business to take care of.”

Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him. 

He’s…

All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.

Holy crap, he’s fine. He really is. It’s okay. 

This wasn’t a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and it’d be fine. More than fine. 

He also wasn’t lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks. 

Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension. 

He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that it’s bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Bill’s home is downright amazing.

Though. It’s not just Bill’s home, is it. 

Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.

Like. Obviously Bill’s the owner, he’s the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim - 

But there’s another person around. One who’s not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.

Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Bill’s home, because he lives here too.

Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldn’t leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, that’d be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Bill’s hair. 

The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it it’s been a done deal for a while. 

Bill didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t think it was a surprise.

The concept’s so big that Dipper doesn’t know where to start.

Living here. With Bill. 

Dipper’s been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line. 

All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument. 

His assumptions have never been right. 

Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.  

Bill could be in charge, but he doesn’t care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasn’t heard an order leave his mouth in ages. He’s free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothing’s going to stop him - though that’s a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didn’t create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment he’s gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesn’t have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesn’t have any.

DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just. 

Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache. 

Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldn’t be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other. 

If he wants to step outside Bill’s home, he doesn’t need to abandon it.

They’ll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. He’ll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldn’t let him miss the ‘fun’. 

And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid. 

It’s an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesn’t have to choose. Going and seeing things he’s always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe that’s what a home’s supposed to be.

Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream. 

It’s weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipper’s felt in… forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.

How the hell is he getting away with all of this?

It’s not just the snooping from earlier; he didn’t find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk he’s giving a ‘god’. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because he’s a huge goddamn weirdo. 

Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Bill’s ever done is scare him a little, and even that’s odd considering the whole ‘nightmare king’ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.

The birthmark. It must be that.

The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions… He didn’t see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, that’s two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.

But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasn’t watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages. 

It could be magical. Maybe. Dipper’s never heard of ‘special birthmarks’ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Bill’s summon. Which would…. Do a thing. He thinks.

Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better. 

Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.

Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasn’t lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special. 

It’s… what, special… privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted it’s ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? It’s…

Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.

Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesn’t know the picture on the front of the box. 

Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. He’ll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Bill’s stubborn, oddly soft lips. 

Screw it. There’s too much to go through, and he’s so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow. 

There’s no rush, anyway. Bill’s not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.

Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bed’s already made in the guest room-

No, His room. Where he lives.

An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight. 

Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasn’t tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much that’s his.

The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and he’s never, ever going to take it for granted.

Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, there’s flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -

Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed. 

He knows what kind of night he’s in for. They’re infrequent enough lately that it doesn’t bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isn’t going to kill him. 

Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.

He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things he’s learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesn’t ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldn’t mind the company. He’s almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what it…

Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought. 

It might work, too. Being ‘special’ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldn’t normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily. 

He could use that.

Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesn’t expect to be up for long. He’ll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldn’t bother Bill much; it’ll barely take him a second. 

The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living room’s still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the ‘evening’, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.

And there’s Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace. 

He must have wrapped up his ‘business’ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk. 

Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north. 

“Hey there, sapling! What’s up?” Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. “Thought you were in for the evening.”

“No, not yet.” Dipper says. Already he’s awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. “Soon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.”

Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. “Sure, go for it.” 

Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully it’s not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, he’s pretty sure Bill’s not doing this on purpose. More like it’s an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.

Bill’s still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence. 

Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want to have bad dreams, so, uh,” He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it.  “Could you…um. Not? For tonight?” 

A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, “That’s not me, kid.”

Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Bill’s lies are better. “You’re the lord of nightmares.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m great at designing them, not the source of all of ‘em. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?” Bill says. He catches sight of Dipper’s glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. “Look, I’m not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?”

Dipper’s mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. “Or maybe you’re just not that great.”

He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.

He shouldn’t have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Bill’s power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill won’t just ignore it again.

Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.

And he does inflict a ‘punishment’. By getting super close and ruffling Dipper’s hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. It’s insane.

“Hey! I’m definitely the best.” Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. “You just got your perspective wrong!  Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating ‘em. You’re not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, y’know?”

“Well,” Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way - 

Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.

“Look. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One that’ll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then I’m the best in the biz!” Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. “But any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. That’s just nature.”

Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes. 

Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless. 

He’d guessed that Bill wasn’t inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit ‘accidental’, there wasn’t any pattern he could find. Learning they’re not Bill’s fault at all is surprising - but nice.

…That also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great. 

Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses. 

“Sorry. Or- yeah.” He squirms out from under Bill’s pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isn’t the worst, he’ll live. “I’ll just-”

“Hey, hey! Don’t sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!” Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.”

Or maybe… Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasn’t doing this, so-

“Really. One hundred percent.” That’s an exaggeration if he’s ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. “If you’re not making the nightmares, then that means you’re playing defense. You’re telling me you get every single one?”

“Always so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.” Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. “And better odds than you’ll get anywhere else.”

Fine, that’s true enough. Dipper doesn’t have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads. 

Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because it’s weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off -  but when doesn’t he?

Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Bill’s master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them. 

Wait, what are they doing here? 

The room’s just as clean as the first time he entered. There’s no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -

Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasn’t said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.

He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.

Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed. 

Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. “Hop on in, kid!” With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. “Get yourself cozy.”

“Uh. Sure.” Dipper hesitates, but. Bill’s nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before he’s even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room. 

Just as he suspected. It is a great bed. 

As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to. 

It’s not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill.  For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever. 

Even without any magic, Dipper’s tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Bill’s doing, so. He’ll just. Shut his eyes for a moment. 

“Hold tight for a sec! I’ll be with ya in a jiffy,” Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. “Lemme just slip into something more comfortable.”

Dipper’s eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. “What do yo-”

His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry. 

Bill’s shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back. 

Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline. 

Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Bill’s not, like. 

There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth. 

Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face. 

Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesn’t know how this ritual’s supposed to work. It’s not unheard of to be… unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Bill’s just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everything’s going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude. 

The pillow helps. He’s not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound. 

He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If it’s strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.

A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence. 

Or, the thought appears in Dipper’s mind. There’s no spell. It’s a ward. Which would require the warder’s presence, right. Totally reasonable. 

So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, that’s all. 

The cult didn’t leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days. 

But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. He’s seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is… honestly not that big a surprise. 

“Ah, now that’s nice.” Bill says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a thump near Dipper’s head - probably Bill lying back himself. “You don’t look all that cozy, though. What gives?”

Dipper tells him he’s fine, but he doesn’t know how much of it gets through the down covering. 

There’s a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up. 

It really is fine. He’s doing great, he’s comfy, Bill’s going to help him with something and it didn’t seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, who’s lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.

He can’t hold the pillow this tight forever, though. It’s getting hard to breathe. 

Then a thump, just near Dipper’s head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipper’s own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and  - and Dipper shouldn’t resist, should he? Bill is after something, he’s demanding and forceful, he’ll do anything to get what he wants. 

The pillow leaves Dipper’s loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.

And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading ‘Hungry Zixlor’s Burger Joint’. 

Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Bill’s put on the pine tree boxers.

“See? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.” Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didn’t have to get all over him just for that. 

He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipper’s half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to. 

Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight. 

Without warning, an arm slips under Dipper’s neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didn’t make a single sound, much less anything undignified.

Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Bill’s practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.

“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.

God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter. 

The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls. 

After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would. 

Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.

 None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really. 

…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward. 

Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient. 

Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective. 

Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Chapter Three

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word count; 2,507 (mayhaps I lied...but they will get longer in the future! Trust <3)

Themes; isekai, eventual smut

Rated; 18+ for swearing and some mature themes

Notes; Rafayel curses...once or twice (I believe this warrants a warning)

Prev || Next

Masterlist

The training honestly wasn't that difficult. There wasn't much to say about it. Just testing out different weapons on makeshift dummies that Xavier had created with his light evol or shooting targets from different distances. You warmed up to your gun rather quickly and while you could use other weapons, you preferred the versatility of a gun. You felt like you and Xavier grew closer during the training.

Today, however, was the day of the art expo. You decided to dress a bit nicer than usual, choosing a yellow dress with a choker and some sneakers just in case you needed to fight. Then, you catch a ride to Whitesand Bay where Rafayel's art studio ‘Mo Art Studio’ was located. You pay the taxi driver and start heading for the large metal gate, pushing it open and you go straight for Rafayel’s front door. You don't bother to knock since Rafayel never knocked on your door and this proves to be the right choice as it allows you to sneak up on Rafayel and scare him while he's painting.

“Boo!” You place your hands on his shoulder and Rafayel actually jumps, his paintbrush leaving a jagged red line across the canvas. “Ah, you ruined my- wait,” Rafayel pauses, holding his chin with one hand, “actually…This is going to be my best painting yet. Hold on for a second and go sit down somewhere.”

You flop down on the sofa near Rafayel so you could keep an eye on him painting. “Do you need my assistance again?” You tease and Rafayel looks over at you with a sassy look, “I think I can handle this on my own.”

After thirty minutes of waiting, you roll over on your stomach on the couch. “Are you done yet?” You whine, your feet kicking behind you as you scroll through your phone. “Almost. I just need to do the last finishing touches.”

“Thomas says you're going to be late.” You sing-song, having snitched him out to his manager as a way to make the artist hurry up. “Well then we'll be fashionably late, silly girl.” You pause at the nickname, blinking a few times before your ears turn a light shade of red and you clear your throat. “Are you bringing that painting to the expo?”

“Hmm no? I'm thinking…of giving it to you. Doesn't that sound so charitable of me?” Rafayel muses, finally setting his paintbrush down and he turns toward you, holding a hand out. “Want to take a look?”

You get up from the couch and walk over to Rafayel, taking his hand before he tugs you closer to stand between his legs. He turns you around so your back is to his chest and then rotates his chair to show the painting. It was an abstract piece of art but you could clearly tell it was supposed to be you, lying on your stomach on his couch. “I'll send it to your apartment later, yeah?” His breath brushes past your ear and you hold back a shiver.

“You're too kind.” You say dryly though the smile on your lips contradicts your condescending tone. “I'm happy to be your muse for today.” You turn your head to look at him and Rafayel quickly looks away as his face turns red from his blush. “Let's get going, Miss bodyguard.” He taps your side before standing. “Hopefully we won't encounter any trouble and we can keep your pretty dress clean. Did you dress up just for me?”

“Hmm, more like I dressed up for myself, mister artist.” You poke his chest before shrugging, “but if it helps you sleep better at night then yes, I did dress up for you.” You turn to smile at him with your hands behind your back. “Now let's go lover boy, we can't keep your fans waiting.”

The art expo was boring at best. Rafayel dip, dodged, and evaded every single reporter while you stood off to the side, sipping on a complimentary alcoholic drink. You could've sworn you saw a familiar head of white hair before Rafayel waves a hand in front of your face. “I've been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes. Don't tell me you've been ignoring me.” He pouts, putting his hands on his hips.

“How could I ever ignore you? You make it so difficult to even try.” You laugh behind your wine glass and Rafayel plucks the glass from your hand, tilting his head back to down the rest of it. He sets the now empty glass on a metal tray as a waiter passes by and rests his hand on the wall behind you, effectively trapping you between him and the wall. “Can you ignore me now?” He asks, leaning his face a bit closer to yours and you hold back a smile as you look away, “I can sure as hell try if that's what you'd like but I don't think you want that.” You glance back at him and he's clearly flustered, not used to you flirting back with him.

“I think you've had too much to drink. It's late, let's get you home.” Rafayel turns to leave but you grab him by his shirt. “Are you scared?” You whisper, raising your left brow as you challenge him. He scoffs, still blushing as he retaliates, “Why would I be scared? Shouldn't you be worried that you'll be in so many news articles? Oh, I can see the headlines now! ‘World renowned artist Rafayel has a mysterious girlfriend’? ‘Artist beloved by millions has his own beloved? Who is she?’ Does any of that sound fun to you?”

“I can always say I'm drunk and you're just helping me out.” you muse, clicking your tongue. “And then the news article would be ‘World renowned artist helps a drunk woman home? Where did he go after, did he go back home or…’ “ you trail off, tilting your head to the side as Rafayel groans, “You really need to know when to stop, silly girl. We're leaving, now.”

Rafayel tugs you outside by your wrist as you laugh, your head smacking against his back as he suddenly stops walking. “What's wrong now, lover bo-” Rafayel suddenly turns around and pins you to a column. “There's reporters at six o'clock. Unless you want everyone knowing you were with me tonight, act like you're so drunk you passed out.”

“You're no fun.” You pout, but rest your head against his chest nonetheless. Your drooping eyes closed as you actually felt a bit sleepy now. “Are you going to carry me out?” You whisper, a smile in your voice before Rafayel sighs and grumbles, “Don't push your luck.” Though you suddenly find yourself being lifted into the air and you wrap your arms around his neck. “Jesus, you can't give me a warning?” You whisper-yell and Rafayel chuckles, “What drunk person needs a warning before being picked up? Now shh, you're supposed to be drunk off your ass right now.”

You pause your retort at hearing Rafayel curse. Now that you think about it…the boys never cursed in game. At least, not that you remember. Curses sound almost pretty coming from Rafayel's lips. You close your eyes once more and rest your forehead against his neck, your hair thankfully covering your face so if any pictures surface, no one would know it's you unless…it's someone who knows you well like Xavier or Zayne but those two never check social media so you doubt they'd find out.

A few cameras go off but for whatever reason, you don't see any more bright shutters behind your eyelids and you end up being lulled to sleep by Rafayel’s breathing and unusually fast heart rate.

The next few days go by rather quickly. You're either chasing after Rafayel and going to Twinkle Toys with him to play the claw machines, training with Xavier and actively fighting wanderers as you're back working at the Hunter's association, or what you're currently doing- which is heading to Snowcrest in the Arctic with Zayne since your grandma's letter said you'd find some answers there with someone called Doctor Noah.

Apparently, he's Zayne's mentor so that makes it even easier to find the man. As you get off the train with Zayne, you notice multiple hunters and check your watch. There must be some metaflux anomalies around the Arctic but that's not what you both were here for. Since today marks a week since you were discharged from the hospital, the wound on your right eye is healed enough to not cause you constant pain.

“You know where we're going right, Zayne?” You ask as you hook your index finger through his belt loop so as to not lose him in the crowd. “You know, if you wanted to hold my hand, you should've just asked.” Zayne takes your hand from his belt loop and instead holds it as he walks. “I-” you pout, ears slightly turning red, “I just didn't want you getting lost.”

“Me getting lost?” Zayne chuckles and shakes his head. “Sure, we'll go with that.”

You talk to a few locals and they point you in the direction of the sleds since that's the only way to get to Doctor Noah's home, which is higher up on the snowy mountain but not too far. “Have you driven one of these before?” You ask as he steps on first and motions for you to stand in front of him. “It's automated.” He tugs you over by your gun strap since you didn't move fast enough, one hand resting on your waist as he presses his chest into your back so he can set a destination on the small, touch pad screen.

“Is this safe?” You ask after a few moments of silence. Zayne presses the last button on screen and sighs, “Do you think I'd be using this if it wasn't safe?” The robotic dog begins to pull the sled and after about thirty minutes of the chilly ride, it finally stops. You're cold, of course shivering but that doesn't stop you from petting the robo dog, even if it doesn't react.

“Let's head inside, you're getting a bit too cold.” Zayne says, tugging at your hand as you both walk toward the cabin.

The information you learnt from Doctor Noah wasn't much of a surprise to you, who is already aware of this information but like always, you have to act as if this is all new and surprising. Like your grandma working for Onychinus, experimenting on children with aether cores, saving you- their most prominent test subject after the Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034, saving Caleb as well, her leaving Onychinus with us and putting that life behind her. Every trail leads to Onychinus being the one behind the explosion that killed grandma and Caleb but you didn't feel so sure about it. Sure, they could've been tying up loose ends by why do something so obvious when they would've just assassinated her and left you and Caleb alive? Maybe they wanted you to be isolated since they want your aether core?

Honestly, even with all of your knowledge about the game, you still didn't know everything. You definitely didn't get every single card, not wanting to spend all of your money in the mobile game, and the game wasn't completed- seeing as an update was scheduled a few months before you entered the game. The only information you had about the next love interest was that his name was Sylus, he was devastatingly attractive with his white hair and red eyes, and his evol was dark red. You would guess blood manipulation could be his evol but that's just speculation. Oh, you also know he is the leader of Onychinus, so if anyone would have answers, it's him. You came to the same conclusion as the one who came before you, the N109 Zone and Onychinus would be where your answers lie.

Though that's easier said than done. The N109 Zone was a lawless area, having taken the most damage during the Catastrophe fourteen years ago. No real plants grow there, it's mostly dark and gloomy, it seems to be the area with the most crime and poverty. It's where orphans and the homeless go…it's where big gangs like Onychinus can run free, an illegal protocore market, all kinds of underground stuff goes on there so honestly, you're a bit worried how you'll fare there. But you have to continue the story somehow.

Doctor Noah's snow white fox Pie hops into your lap as you sit on his porch, blowing out smoke from your lips as you pet the soft creature. Doctor Noah had said Pie got his name because he'd steal pies from people’s windowsills like he was in a cartoon and when the doctor saved the little fox, he ate even more pies. It's a cute reason for a name and it made you want a pet. Your apartment always felt lonesome, even if you saw the three guys every other day. When you were on your own, you felt the most suffocated as the constant reminder that this isn't your world pressed down against your chest. You weren't sure what to do, if you could act differently from the game and what changes it would bring if you did. You didn't want to act too differently and flip the whole story on its head and you not know what the next course of action was.

At least currently, you still know what's left until the end of chapter eight. You still have a month before you're sent into the unknown. A month before you'll allow yourself to spiral, panic, and act differently from the original main character.

You hear the chair next to you creaking as Zayne takes a seat. He stays silent, allowing you to stay lost in your thoughts before he taps your thigh. Pie nips at his finger and nuzzles back into your lap and you turn to look at Zayne. “Look, it's the aurora.” He smiles, jerking his head in the direction of the sky and honestly, that's exactly what you needed. You lean back in your chair, head tilted up as you look at the pretty lights in the sky that only appear in the arctic. “It's so beautiful.” You murmur, cold hands lightly petting Pie to stay warm.

“It is.” Is all Zayne says and you know he's looking at you without even having to see his face. You knew how the game went and you knew you'd have to stay the night in Snowcrest before heading back to Linkon tomorrow. Then, a few weeks after that, you'd be going on a mission with Rafayel.

Honestly, all you wanted to do was rest. Especially with everything that's soon to come.

Your eyes slowly drifting closed and your hand falls from Pie's soft fur. Your last thought as you fell asleep was that you wanted to bring Rafayel here to give him some inspiration.

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

I hope no one minds double author's notes! To be honest, I'm losing my mind a little bit having to post this to three different sites but it's fun. Tumblr is by far the prettiest in terms of design though. Wattpad and AO3 are the bane of the existence but I don't mind posting to multiple platforms in case one story gets taken down. Then, I still have the copies! So, I guess, it's worth it in the end.

Hope you enjoyed this short chapter (I sound like a broken record) and I'm really hoping the next one is longer because I don't even remember...)

[eternalfae]

When You're Gone (pt 2/??)

When you finally got back to your flat your heart was pounding. You practically ran inside, part of you still not believing he would really be there. You tried to not show your excitement as you opened the door, still in your uniform from work. You heard the TV on and Andrew was humming along with the opening theme song of some show. You could already see him laid out across your couch, so perfectly relaxed as if nothing had happened. You stepped in and closed the door behind you a little too hard, startling him. 

“Well, don’t you look excited to see me?” He had to crane his neck to see you, a small smile resting on his face. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes while you tossed your bag on the table near the front door. A catch-all table littered with anything someone could ever need. “A strange man broke into my home while I was at work, why wouldn’t I be delighted?”

He cocked a brow at that, face going serious. “That sounds like a big deal. You know who did it?”

You sat next to him on the small couch. “The cops are already on their way.” A moment of silence passed between both of you before you crossed your arms and turned to face him. “Why are you here, Andrew?”

“I finished, obviously.” He looked a little proud of himself, like a cat bringing you a mouse. 

You couldn’t help your attitude. While you were happy to see him, you were mad that he’d leave you alone long enough to miss him. “When?”

He frowned. “About three days ago. Quite frankly, I thought you’d be more happy to see me.” You felt trapped by the almost sad look in his eyes. You took him in for a moment, beard unkempt, hair a bit longer than what it was when he left. He definitely needed a trim… and a shower. He smelled strongly of cologne, probably to cover up the smell of the long train ride back home. You loved his cologne. 

“I’m very happy to see you. I just wish you would have told me you were coming back. I could have planned something!” You threw your hands up dramatically for effect. 

“We can still do something fun; go out to the pub,” he offered. You shook your head in response and he frowned again. 

“I don’t want to go to the pub immediately after getting home from work. Order some delivery while I shower and we can watch a movie or something. I want to relax.” His smile returned and he nodded, quickly taking his phone out to order from his favorite local place. Fifteen minutes later you were dressed in your comfiest pajamas, towel-drying your hair quickly before you made your way back out to the living room. “Do you want anything to drink? I pretty much have the entire pub in my kitchen.” You leaned over the back of the couch, resting your arms on it as you watched him.

He looked up from his phone and nodded. “Please,” he answered simply, “But surprise me.” 

You nodded and wandered back towards the kitchen, slightly distracted by the ad currently playing on your TV. You managed to peel your eyes away as you stepped into the kitchen. You contemplated your liquor cabinet for a moment before you pulled down a bottle of Midleton whiskey, something you always saved for special occasions. Warm light shone through the glass, and you filled it up with maybe a bit more than you should’ve, but you didn’t care. After dropping some ice in, you brought the drinks back to the living room. He took the offered glass silently and you sat next to him, relaxing into the plush cushions. 

You sipped your drink and let your brain go empty, desperately trying to just forget about everything and relax here with your best friend. You couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the warmth radiating off of the man next to you, a direct opposite of the chill your damp hair was sending down your spine. He wordlessly took the remote and switched it from the show to one of his favorite movies, Grand Budapest Hotel. You took a swig of your drink, craving the warmth that was teasing you from your right, and grabbed a blanket that sat on your couch to bundle up in. 

The alcohol seemed to do barely anything to warm the chill in your bones. You were utterly exhausted from work, though, and the alcohol wasn’t helping. You felt yourself dozing off within the first ten minutes of the movie. You were rudely awoken, however, by the sound of the doorbell. Oh, yeah, your food. You mumbled to yourself as you went to get up, but a hand on your leg stopped you. A warmth spread immediately from that spot that rivaled that of the alcohol in your veins.

“I’ve got it.” Andrew stood up and waved at you dismissively to stay sitting as he walked toward the door, stealing your warmth. You craned your neck a bit to watch him, but couldn’t hear their voices over the movie on the TV. You ended up relaxing and stretching out on the couch while you waited for him to return. Not long after, you smelled your food approaching. You hummed happily and sat up once again. “Your favorite.” He set the box down in front of you and opened it up, the smell causing you to practically drool.

“You’re a saint. Thank you,” you smiled up at him and he simply nodded and returned to his spot on the couch. He scooted closer to you as he reached for a slice and you were painfully aware of his knee touching yours. You willed yourself to ignore the thoughts racing through your head as you grabbed a piece for yourself. Your thoughts finally faded to the back of your mind as you ate, more or less watching the TV.

Once you had your fair share of food and liquor you could feel the exhaustion of your workday catching up with you. You pulled your legs up onto the couch and got cozy while the two of you sat in a comfortable silence watching the TV. You started to doze off again and was vaguely aware of the man next to you getting up from the couch. 

Right when you were about to open your eyes to see where he went, though, the couch sunk again and a blanket was placed over you both. One of his arms went around the back of the couch and, totally only because the couch was making you go that way, you found yourself leaning against the tall man with your head on his shoulder. As sleep took over your body now that you were adequately warm, you felt his arm come off the couch and move to around you. With one hand resting on your shoulder, you barely even heard his words. 

“I missed you so much.”

[cariantha]

Talk is Cheap (2/2)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: General Warning: Mentions of pregnancy Category: AU; Angst (with a happy ending) Word count: 2.7K Prompt: What would have been the outcome if Sawyer had discovered that she was pregnant whilst Ethan was in the Amazon? A/N: The theme song for this fic is “Go Get Her” by Restless Road.

Part One

It took Sawyer two days and ten chewed up fingernails to work up the courage to call. And it took three unanswered calls to realize that her heart wasn’t done breaking. 

“Ethan, it’s Sawyer. Please call me as soon as you get this message. I really need to talk to you.”

Ethan listened to the message several times. There were only two possible reasons for her call: something was wrong, or she wanted to talk about them. The only clue he had, her shaky and hesitant voice, was not enough to go on. Worried that weeks of strategic silence and self-inflicted loneliness would be for nothing, he determined that the safest course of action was to call his mentor. Speaking to Naveen would rule out several of the “something wrong” scenarios that were racing through his anxious mind. 

Ring, ring. “Hello, Ethan. It has been a while,” Naveen answered. The two hadn’t spoken since the video call that ended with Sawyer darting away from his office in tears.

“Naveen. How are you? How have you been feeling?”

“I’m fine, son.” 

“Did you have your check-up with Baz this month?”

“I did. My labs were normal.”

“Good… that’s good… uh, how’s the team?”

“They are managing quite well, and June is taking full advantage of her time at the helm,” Naveen chuckled.

“I don’t doubt it. And the interns? Have they killed anyone while I’ve been away?”

“The interns?” Ethan’s attempt at small talk was already suspicious, but asking about the interns was a dead giveaway. “Or one in particular?” Naveen pressed. 

Giving up his pretense, Ethan confessed, “She left me a vague message. I was concerned that something had happened. That one of you might be sick or hurt.”

“I think it’s safe to say she’s hurt, Ethan,” Naveen challenged. 

“You know that’s not what I meant. Is she okay? Has there been any more backlash from the trial? Has Nash been harassing her?”

An exasperated Naveen sighed, “I don’t know the reason for her call, Ethan. And even if I did, I would tell you to speak with her yourself. Tell me, how are you planning to work together if you’re not on speaking terms?”

“Our relationship will return to that of a strictly professional one. Working together on your case, sharing that secret… the lines got blurred and I let things go too far. It was the result of heightened stress and frequent exposure to-”

“Bullshit,” Naveen interjected.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. We both know if that’s all it was, you wouldn’t have bothered to call me. You wouldn’t care this much. Now, swallow your pride like that over-priced whiskey you drink and call her.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

The following day, Sawyer stood outside of Naveen’s office. “Hi Danielle, any chance the chief has some free time in the next day or two?”

“Let me check his schedule, Dr. Brooks,” the assistant answered, clicking her computer mouse.

“Sawyer? Is that you out there?” Naveen called from inside his office. “Come on in.”

Sawyer offered a thankful smile to Danielle and then stepped into Naveen’s office, closing the door behind her. “Thanks for giving me a few minutes.”

“I can always spare a few for my grand-mentee.” He gestured to one of the seats in front of his desk. “What’s on your mind, dear?”

Sawyer took a grounding breath, then proceeded. “A lot actually. I, uh…” She paused, nervously biting her bottom lip. Then as if ripping off a Band-Aid, she came right out with it. “What is the policy for taking a leave of absence? And if I did, how would that impact my fellowship?”

Naveen pursed his lips, mentally diagnosing the situation. “Well, that depends on the type of leave being requested.”

Sawyer hung her head for a moment, and when she looked up, her eyes were glassy. “Maternity leave.” 

He followed her eyes when they shifted to a picture displayed on the hutch behind him, confirming his suspicion. Naveen hoped that Ethan had taken his advice last night. With a sympathetic air, he leaned forward and folded his hands. "Does he know?"

She shook her head and bit her lips, trying to prevent the spill of tears. “He hasn’t returned my calls," she finally managed.

“I’m so sorry, dear. Is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you?”

Sawyer reached for a tissue. “I just need to know what my options are.”

He nodded.

“And if it comes to it… the process for transferring my residency.”

He couldn’t help the frown on his face. “Of course.” A short while later, with a hug and another offer of support, Naveen said goodbye to Sawyer. 

"Danielle, would you mind letting Dr. Cyrus know that I am running a few minutes behind?" Closing his door for privacy, he retrieved his phone from the pocket of his white lab coat.

Later that night, in his tiny studio apartment in Atalaya, Peru, Ethan sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled through his phone contacts. He stared at Sawyer’s profile picture for a long while, gathering the strength to stay firm in his resolve, while also preparing for the worst. If she was sick, he would call in every favor he was owed. If she was moving on with someone new, he would hate it, but wouldn’t interfere with her happiness. If she was quitting… leaving… he would break. 

With his thumb hovering over the call button, he was startled when the phone pinged. Tapping on the notification, he read the incoming lines of text and quickly realized that he had not anticipated this scenario.

In her bedroom in her Boston apartment, Sawyer paced back and forth. The word “Read” appeared after the last line of her text message and she anxiously chewed on her thumbnail waiting for any kind of response. Preferably a call, but she would settle for three bouncing dots and a few lines of text. A half hour later, accepting the silence as his response, she powered off her phone and tossed it aside. Curling up in her bed, she cried herself to sleep.

In those same thirty minutes, Ethan stared at the sonogram picture and choked back tears. His knee bounced up and down nervously, carefully considering what to say and do to make things right. When he finally pushed the green call button, he immediately heard her voice on the other end of the line. “Hi there, you’ve reached Sawyer. Leave me a message.” He redialed several more times, but each time it went straight to voicemail. “Dammit!”

Ethan stood and raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. He spun around taking in his humble surroundings, considering his current obligations. “To hell with it.” After calling for a ride, he tossed his phone on the bed and began shoving his belongings into his open suitcase.

An hour later, from the backseat of a taxi, Ethan made another call. “Dr. Stehl, it’s Ethan Ramsey. I’m sorry to do this, but something has come up back home in Boston. A family emergency. I’m on my way to the airport now…”

After twenty-four hours of cramped bus rides and connecting flights, and a quick stop at home to freshen up, Ethan stood outside of Sawyer’s apartment door. Taking a deep, calming breath first, he knocked.

Elijah greeted him a half minute later. “Dr. Ramsey? I didn’t know you were back.”

“Yes, just. Is Sawyer here?”

Elijah moved backward and gestured for him to enter, assuming that Sawyer was already expecting him. It wouldn’t have been the first time she entertained Dr. Ramsey in their apartment, after all. It would also explain why she passed on going to Donahue’s with the other roommates for “Ladies Night” half-priced drinks. “She’s in her room. You remember which one, right?”

Ethan nodded. “Thank you.”

“By the way, I like the beard,” Elijah remarked, closing the door. “Maybe I should try to grow one so my patients won’t think I’m fifteen anymore.” 

“Hmph,” Ethan huffed in amusement as he moved deeper into the quiet apartment. 

He inhaled and exhaled slowly before gently knocking on the last door at the end of the hall, the door to Sawyer’s room. Though light emanated from underneath the door, there was no answer. He knocked again, and when she still didn’t answer, he carefully turned the doorknob and peeked inside. 

Sawyer was fast asleep, hugging a pillow close to her body.

Quietly shutting the door behind him, he softly padded to the side of her bed and carefully sat on the edge. Her laptop lay open behind her. On the screen, an application for residency at the Mayo Clinic in Arizona, which made Ethan’s stomach sink.

Odds were she hated him at this point. Despite the risk, he reached out to touch her. Tenderly skimming his fingers along her hairline, he brushed a few loose strands out of the way. “Sawyer,” he quietly said her name. When he repeated it, she finally began to stir and then opened her eyes.

Shocked, she bolted upright and backed away, nearly knocking her laptop to the floor. “W-what are you doing here?” she asked, trying to get her bearings. 

“I came to talk. To apologize. To try to make things right.”

“Ethan, I–”

Sensing her distrust, “Please, give me a chance,” he implored. “I know I don’t deserve it, but will you please hear me out?” When she didn’t protest, he continued.

“I have been so selfish, Sawyer. When Naveen appointed you to the diagnostics team, I feared a scandal if people discovered we were together, especially with the ethics trial still fresh in people’s minds. I could never, in good conscience, put you in a position like that. You worked so hard and earned this fellowship. It’s a rare opportunity that I don’t want to get in the way of.” His eyes begged for understanding. “Please believe me when I say this… I want to be with you. So much so that I considered stepping down as team leader. Hell, I even considered resigning from the team altogether.” He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “As much as I care for you, Sawyer, I couldn’t give it up. I have spent my entire career preparing to one day fill Naveen’s shoes. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, until you. But everything between us happened so fast. It was still so new-”

“Ethan, I would never expect you to make that kind of sacrifice. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you did,” Sawyer firmly cut in.

“I know, Rookie, and that’s why I told myself the only way forward was as colleagues, and nothing more.” He made a point of looking her in the eye. “But the problem is we’ve never just been colleagues, have we. There’s always been something more between us. I took advantage of the distance, hoping that if we cut ties for a while, the connection would fade and make it easier to leave what we had in the past.” 

Sawyer shook her head in frustration. 

“You don’t have to say it. I can probably guess what you’re thinking,” Ethan acknowledged.

“That you’re an idiot?” she quipped.

“Yes, and you’d be right to think so. I had convinced myself it was a solid plan. As long as we still worked together, I would still get to see and talk to my best friend without the constant worry of holding you back or jeopardizing your career.” Sawyer followed when he tipped his head to the laptop screen behind her. “Knowing how badly you wanted to be at Edenbrook, and how hard you fought for the fellowship, I hadn’t considered the possibility that you would leave. When you said you might move back to Arizona, I realized my plan backfired.” 

Ethan gave her a moment to process.

“Why didn’t you call or write me back after I told you about the baby?” she demanded an answer.

"I know this will be hard to believe, but I swear I was just about to call you when I got your text. You can blame me for a lot, but you can’t blame me for the sudden shock of learning that I was going to be a father. It took me a while to catch my breath and find my words. When I finally got my shit together, I tried calling. Several times. But I kept getting your voicemail.” Ethan absent-mindedly stretched his hand toward her. “Sawyer, we both know words without action are meaningless. You mean so much to me and-”

“You have a real shitty way of showing it,” she interjected.

"And I'm here now because I want to change that. You deserve better than a phone call, and certainly more than a text message. You, Rookie, have the unnerving ability to read me like an open book. I want you to be able to look into my eyes and see the truth in my words when I tell you how I feel."

Protectively clutching her pillow to her chest, she braced herself. “And how do you feel?”

“About you?” he paused, his eyes darting between hers. “I am hopelessly in love with you, Sawyer Brooks.” 

She swallowed, nervously anticipating his next words. 

“How do I feel about this baby?” He sighed softly. “I’ll be honest, I never pictured myself settling down or having a family. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours on buses and planes alone with my thoughts, and they were consumed with the idea of becoming a father. For the first time in my life, Sawyer, I could picture it… a family of my own... but only because you were with me in that dream. And I’m worried that I’ve fucked it all up.”

Overcome with emotion, Sawyer hid her face with her hands and sobbed.

“Sawyer?” 

“Arrrrrgh,” she growled into her hands before lowering them. “I’m still furious with you… I’m not sure where we go from here… how to trust that you won’t walk away again.” She wiped her tears away. “But I guess we have a lot to figure out…” she said, her voice cracking, “because despite myself, I’m still in love with you, too.”

A wave of relief washed over Ethan. There was hope, even if the space between them made it feel like they were still on different continents.       

“How are you feeling?” he asked, looking her over.

“I’ve had a little morning sickness, but mostly I'm exhausted.” She opened her mouth to say more but stopped herself. 

“What is it?” 

Her bottom lip quivered when she continued. “I’m scared to death.” 

Ethan gently removed the pillow barrier and drew her near. “Come here.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and murmured, "It will be okay."

“You’ve said that before,” she mumbled into his chest.

He pulled back to look her in the eyes. “I’m sorry for letting you down before. I know that it will take time to earn back your trust. But I promise you, Sawyer, I’m here for you… for both of you. You can count on me,” he assured, his fingers twining with hers. “I will be the man... the partner… that you need me to be.”

They held onto each other in comforting silence for several minutes.

“I missed you, Asshole,” she whispered, then lifted her head to really look at him. 

Ethan smiled. “I missed you, too, Rookie. Every minute of every day that I was away.”

Sawyer ran her hand over his scruffy beard, then over the soft leather of his jacket. “We’ve got ourselves a brand new Ethan Ramsey,” she assessed.

“This jacket’s been through a lot with me.” 

“It suits you.”

Scratching his cheek, “And the beard?”

She studied him for a moment, then with the playful smile that he had missed so terribly, she teased, “You look like a dad.” 

Seven months later…

Ethan stared in awe at the carefully wrapped bundle his wife held in her arms. The newborn’s tiny hand wrapped around the tip of his finger. Without letting go, he carefully nestled next to his wife on the hospital bed. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he leaned in and pressed an appreciative kiss to her temple. When he pulled back, she turned to him with a smile, soliciting another kiss but this time on her lips.  

“I love you. How are you feeling?” he asked.

Before she could respond, there was a gentle knock on the door. Two older men bearing flowers, balloons, and teddy bears quietly entered. While the silver-haired man exchanged cheek kisses with Sawyer, the dark-haired man in the sweater vest moved to the other side of the bed and placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder.

“Dad. Naveen. Let me introduce you to your grandson,” Ethan announced. “Brooks Winter Ramsey.”

[fan-goddess]

His pretty muse {3)

Pairing: Modern!Aegon Targaryen x reader

Summary: Aegon finds what he thinks is love simply by looking through his camera lens. The only issue is, you don’t know how much he truly admires your beauty and how much he comes to crave you

Warnings: Dark themes mentioned, masterbation, pervy!aegon, talk of male oral, (any I missed let me know)

Story Taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy, @chompchompluke, @flrboyd, @teazlic, @sajida-cameron, @valeskafics,

Author Note: If you wish to be added to the taglist then please comment. If you wish to be taken out of it then say that here aswell. If it’s in bold I am unable to tag you

Other Chapters: one, two, three,

Other links: My Pretty Muse Masterlist

Aegon doesn’t regret a thing when he wakes up that morning and uses you as a way to rid himself of his morning wood. His hand finds itself sliding under the thin blanket he slept in last night and grips himself tightly. Your name is muttered like a prayer under his breath as his head goes back to those images of you last night.

He knows he could easily just go get his laptop to look at the pictures more clearly, but he’s way to lazy to go and grab it even if it’s only a few steps away. Besides, he’s already moved on from thinking of those photos to thinking of scenarios of you in such scandalous positions it’d make the maiden blush. His favourite by far, and the one that makes him cum, is the thought of you on your knees in-front of him looking up at him through your lashes while you struggle to take all of him in your mouth.

He grabs a random sock on the side of his bed and wipes himself down when he’s finished, before trailing to the shower and blasting himself in some cold water. After he dries himself off he debates on what to wear to take you on a supposed tour of the town, but to be perfectly honest, he knows jack shit apart from a spot that famous for suicides. Though he honestly doubts he’ll be able to weave that fact in without making you run for your perfect fucking family…

He decides on some butt ugly polo shirt he accidentally stole of his brother years ago when he left. It’s slightly tight on him cause of how bigger he’s gotten practically living of fish and chips, but hey, anything for his girl right? He even puts some weird conditioner thing in his hair before ultimately rethinking about how freakishly like his brother he became in that moment. “Like a god damn vampire…” he giggles slightly when he looks at himself in the mirror, before sticking his head under the tap and rinsing it to start all over again.

He’s eventually done though, and walks to the direction of your house with his hands in his trouser pockets and his camera tucked away on his desk, for once by on him. He refuses to scare you away just yet, even though the thought kind of excites him. He even whistles a part of a song he heard walking past a house with an open window. He thinks it’s called pumped up kicks or something like that.

When he gets to your house, he finally gets a chance to look at it in the sunlight. It’s a decent sized bungalow, but the paintwork is fucking ghastly. It’s supposed to be a golden yellow, a colour he knew well in his former life, yet here it’s changed into some sickly jaundice piss stained yellow. If you ever ask if he wants to help with housework, he’s starting with this whether you agree with him or not.

The house he can hear has already come alive with people. Children’s screams and adults shouting echo of the house in waves. He even hears his own ‘name’ shouted. “Sissy your lover boy is here for you!”

It almost brings a sort of smile to his face when he knocks, and the chaos within seems to get ten times louder. He hears you most clearly. Demanding your parents/grandparents to keep the kids away from the town that day so you can’t run into them, with the whining of the kids following swiftly afterwards. You come out a couple minutes later. Your cheeks are red with he assumes is embarrassment yet his head can’t help but think of the possible reasons for having red cheeks.

“Sorry about them. My family’s kinda annoyed I’m not going with them on this stupid walk they planned, yet gave no one else a heads up on about until this morning-“ Usually he finds himself wanting to smack ramblers who can’t get to the point. Yet while you do so he can’t help but find it cute and endearing. He hears you talk but he doesn’t really listen, cause all he can think while you’re doing it is how cute you are. Your hands are moving in time with your voice. When it rises, your hands rise too. It’s an awfully funny thing to witness not that he’s noticed it.

He doesn’t even realise that the two of you are walking though while he pretends to listen to you. Yet your sudden direction of voice brings him out of this little bubble he made just for you. “I thought you said about giving me a tour?” You giggled as you spoke, yet when you raised your eyebrow almost daringly you somehow manage to turn something so perfectly innocent, into something so damn seductive.

“Well sorry princess. Kinda got caught up in your story. I mean, what is a guy supposed to focus on when a beautiful womans talking to him? Not give her attention? Now that’s just cruel of him.” His fuckboy charm doesn’t seem to have any problem coming back to him. Even after a couple years of not using it it seems he still has the swagger. It practically roars in remembrance when you blush at the compliment.

“Wow you’re a real charmer aren’t you PM…” That fucking nickname mixed with the fucking smile you have, it nearly makes him pop a boner there and then.

“Hell yeah I am princess.” It’s a simple response mixed with a simple lazy wink, yet that combo seemed to make you react the most. Your face turns a light pink and your mouth moulds itself into a bashful smile. It’s got to be one of his best works yet he’s got to say.

The walk he hadn’t even realised they were on continues. He halfheartedly talks about the buildings they pass, playing into that tour guide thing he said he’d do but had no intention of actually doing. He makes sure to put in his own personal spin to it though. He makes sure to say stories about the people who live their or frequent there.

“A man named Paul lives there. He’s goes absolutely fucking mental when you step on his grass. Parently he sprayed some little kids with his hose a couple years ago when they played on it. Even gave one a bloody nose cause they fell down getting sprayed or some shit.”

“No!” You gasped. It goes on like that for around an hour. Just him and you messing about discussing gossip about people like the weird women at his mothers boring as fuck book club.

Whilst he’s in the middle of the rumour on one of the fisherman shagging the fish however, you stop, and when he looks back you’ve got a massive grin on your face.

“Something wrong pretty girl?” He asks. It’s strange, as he both does and doesn’t mean the sentimental tone behind it. You don’t respond immediately, only pointing to something behind him with that grin still on your face.

When he turns around, the memory of it hits him like a freight train. It’s an ice cream shop, and he said he’d buy you an ice cream. An internal panic hits him suddenly. What if he has no money on him? Would you think he’s poor for not having any money on him? (Even though he knows he technically is no doubt) or would you pity him and try and play a sympathy card?

While you walk to the entrance, his hands frantically shake and pull at any and all of his pockets, and low and behold the faint sigh of relief when his hand clasps on a lim forgotten twenty pound note hidden away. His footsteps slap against the hard shop as he enters and finds you grinning with rosy cheeks waiting for him.

“You already know what you want princess?” He asks.

“I’m thinking vanilla. It’s basic but a classic.” You ponder. When he looks at the flavours he remembers why he never comes in here. He’s an indecisive little shit.

“Good choice!” The kid behind the counter smiles. It’s obvious the kids not entirely thrilled to be there. The smiles too forced and the eyes look way to dull. Even the way he spoke the generic saying Aegon would bet his boss told him to say, was as if the freaking Terminator voiced him. And the cherry on top, the kids name tag says his names Geoffrey. What kind of sick fuck names there kid Geoffrey in this time? Sociopaths from the fucking thirties, that’s who.

When you turn to him, the kids eyes seem to droop down to look at your tits, and it takes everything in him not to leap over that counter and beat him till he’s unconscious with that stupid ice cream scooper he’s holding.

“Hey kid” The attentions of the tits now, and the kid can no doubt see the anger in his eyes. “I’ll get a vanilla too. In a tub, not a cone though.”

He can already feel the judgment radiating off in waves. Reflecting off the once vibrant now sickly shade of yellow of the ice cream parlour walls. The two of you don’t have to wait long till the kids calling for the two of you, as unsurprisingly enough, no one wants to go in the piss coloured ice cream parlour.

When he walks outside, holding the door open for you like from some stupid romcom movie his sister always raved on, he leads you to an old bench overlooking some trees. It’s like one of those things old married couples do. Sit on an old bench no doubt dedicated to some old person and feed the ducks.

Before the two of you have even sat down, he’s already ditched the pathetic pink plastic spoon the kid gave him. So instead, he uses his preferred method of eating ice cream. Holding the tub to his lips and licking it straight from the tub. He can feel your eyes watching him. Though whether it was from the way he was eating it or the tub itself he has no idea.

“Oh princess your staring” he practically sings. From the corner of his eye he sees your head quickly turn back to your own food and lick it a couple times. It takes everything in him to not groan out loud when he eagerly watched you kitten lick the white liquid that already begun to drip down your hand from the heat.

The silence between him and yourself though he finds is strange nice. Every so rarely often with the move of his arm his elbow brushes against your own arm, and Aegon has to stop himself every time from obsessing in his mind over the small contact.

Eventually the sun gets to his ice cream, leaving the dessert to pool in his cup. So he does what any sane person would do. He tilts it back and drinks it like a shot. He can see your head turn to him while he does this, the slurping sound not silent in anyway whatsoever. When he’s done and wipes whatever remnants stayed on his face he hears a little giggle coming from his left. A little giggle coming from you.

Aegon turns to you with a lazy grin. Mainly to tease you about the giggle, yet his gaze seems to zero in on a small dollop of ice cream that hangs in the corner of your mouth. He can’t even find himself able to look away. The once lazy grin he can feel fade as his hand moves with a mind of its own to wipe away at the white stuff with his thumb. It doesn’t end there, as he next licks at that very same thumb to get rid of the ice cream while making direct eye contact with you.

“Sorry…” He awkwardly smiles. Deep inside, he knows damn well he doesn’t mean the apology. He’d probably do it again if it meant he could touch you over and over. He’s probably even lick the remnants straight of your skin if you asked him to.

“It’s okay” you still someone manage to smile so cutely with a blush that’s taken your face hostage. “Why do you do that? Eat ice cream with a tub?”

Aegons never really had to think about it. Even though no one ever asked. Maybe it was cause he always hung about with the sheep kids in school. The ones who only hung onto your every word cause you had more money than them, and by the seven did he have a lot. “I’ve never had a cone before. Plus It always seems to go soggy whenever ice creams there for too long and all I can think about when I see it is wet cardboard.”

“Okay.” That’s all you say? Okay! Where’s the judgement?! Where’s the calling him a weirdo?! Where’s the normal human response?

“You don’t think it’s weird?” He’s insecurity creeps up on him as his nail gets pushed further into his palm. It’s a bad habit yes, learnt straight from mother dearest, but it distracts him from the humiliation with a nice feeling of pain. So why stop when he’s having fun?

“We all have our preferences, and you just have yours. Who am I to judge?” You say with a shrug as you go back to eating your cone. It’s simple how you said it. It was so simple and short. Yet why does he feel like he’s having a heart attack?

Aegon doesn’t speak for the rest of the ice cream part of the, is it a date? Do you count it as a date? He probably would count it as a date but only if you-

“You okay?” It’s your voice that brings him out of whatever mind melt he just went through. Yet he could never tell you that. If there’s one thing he got beat into him, men don’t show emotion. Or at least that’s what he was taught and shown anyway.

“I’m fine princess.” Again, the fuckboy smile comes out and is rewarded with a blush. His heart goes fast at the sight of it. It beats even fast when there’s more white ice cream on the corner of your lip, slowing dripping down the side of your mouth. If there’s a god out there, he’s currently torturing him.

It’s only worse for him when this time, you feel the ice cream and lick it away with your tongue. The sight of it makes his pants stir.

“What now- oh shit!” The shocked face you make leaves his head spinning. He turns his head a couple times to see if it’s something around the two of you which made you act so… surprised, but there’s no one but him and you, as-well as some old cat that wonders around. You couldn’t be that much of a cat lady right?

“I still don’t really know your name! I’m practically on a date with a complete stranger! Good gods for all I know you’re planning on taking me back to your place and locking me in a basement!” That’s actually sort of close… only he doesn’t have a basement. Should he invest in a basement?

“No one knows my real name princess. That’s kinda the point of why people call me PM.” Aegon attempts to diffuse the sudden tension with another fuck boy smile, but if anything it seems to make it worse…

“So you’re telling me no one in this entire town knows who you really are?”

“Nope.” It’s a simple answer, for a simple question. Yet it makes him think about it all. No one in this town does actually know who he is. The hair should’ve been a dead give away for who he was, yet no one questioned him about it. No one in any conversation he’d ever had in this town ever really asked him questions about him…

“What’s it begin with?” Your voice breaks him out of the tangent, yet when he turns his to look at you he’s forced to look straight into your eyes. Your very pretty, very close to him eyes.

“What?”

“Your name. Your real name. Not some made up alias you came up with but your actual, parent given or whatever adult given name. Tell me what it begins with if your not comfortable to say it fully.”

Aegon sighs in defeat when he sees your determined eyes. Again, your very close to him eyes that make his own want to drift to your lips and see if they taste of the vanilla ice cream. “My father picked my name, mainly cause he was a traditional cunt. It begins with an A.”

“Anthony?”

“Like that Bridgerton dude?”

“You watch Bridgerton?”

“No I remember when I was on the beach and a bunch of girls in skimpy bikinis were talking about the dude. Sounds like a dick for ditching his betrothed for her sister if you asked me.”

“Gonna just ignore that for the bigger issue… Arnold?”

“GET TO THE CHOPPER!”

“Dear gods give me strength… How about Archie?”

“Nope”

“Archibald?”

“Is that what I am to you princess? A fucking duke from the m 1800’s? I’m very harshly offended!”

“Achilles?”

“Are you trying to ask insinuate something princess?”

A frustrated sort of growl rips from your throat, and Aegon can’t help himself from thinking that’s the most hottest thing he’s ever heard. It almost naws at his head the idea that you growl like that in bed. When he takes you from behind, would you growl like that just for him while he’s cumming inside and paining your insides white? He certainly hopes so. He’s not very sorry for the fact he can feel himself getting hard in front of you. As why should he? He’ll be hopefully fucking you soon enough.

“You are so annoying!” You moan with your hands clenched in what he assumes is frustration. It makes him subconsciously smile from amusement.

“That’s the goal princess.” He winks for what feels like the tenth time today. That inner fuck boy really seems to be coming back full swing, though the worst part is he can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad thing. The good part is, he’s able to flirt with you like a bird flying. Scoring a couple deep blushes he’ll store the image of later. The bad part however, now that part of him is unlocked, the thoughts of that lifestyle are hitting him full force.

The images of you with that ice cream on your lips sending his mind racing. Sounds of you groaning playing again and again as if they’re on some old record player he can’t turn off. The taste of the ice cream is what he’s thinking your lips would taste like if he was to kiss you.

To be honest, the rest of the date not date went like a blur. As if he’d somehow snorted some sort of coke and was in some hallucinagenic high or something. Yeah, he remembers showing you the rest of the shitty buildings and telling you peoples secrets like you and him were on some shitty quiz show (unlike catchphrase if you ever dissed catchphrase he’d probably have to kill you). But honestly, it was as if he was watching it from above. The only way he can think of to describe it is from that marvel movie Dr Strange with the weird ghost thing they do.

The only way he’s brought back to his own body is when he felt the sudden warmth of your body on his. The feeling like his soul was entering his body hitting him harshly and quickly as he realised what was going on. You were hugging him. Your hands were wrapped around him and your head was in his neck.

Aegon can’t deny he didn’t enjoy the feeling of your warmth, but he also can’t deny the uncomfortable feeling of the hug itself. His arms though did not move, only limply and awkwardly stiff at his sides. His chin was brushing against the shell of your ear. Worst of all, he could feel his chest beating like he ran one of those marathon things, it’s almost worst that he doesn’t know if why his heart was beating so fast whether because it was from the sudden affection, or because while you hugged him he realised he could feel the imprint of your breasts.

You look up at him with your chest still in quite close proximity to his own, and your hands placed on his forearms. You seem to ponder something with a raised brow, as your mouth already begins to move.“You’re not a big hug kinda guy are you?”

“No I guess not.” He simply shrugs. His arms still hang limply, while your face is still close. He’s almost tempted to lean forward and close that gap. See if your lips will taste like the vanilla ice cream you were licking not long ago. He can’t deny though that he likes this act even better than going for the taste. A small torture for a large reward. Maybe it’s the masochist in him? Or the sadist that revels in the cat and mouse game your not even aware your playing. Call him insane, it’s not like he’s never heard it before anyway.

[chishiyae]

— MISSION IMPOSSIBLE ! [𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜] hobie brown.

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊hobie was bored, and you needed to get back to HQ for a mission. but he's also been wanting his brows slit, so what better way to keep you at home than to have you do it for him?

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊0.9k words. gn!reader. hobie mildly frustrating the reader. established relationship. suggestive themes. reader is a spider themselves & is apart of spider society.

a/n. — idk how i feel abt this but here i go posting it … using @/jasminesfury dialogue prompt

almost everyone has an addiction, and hobie's (shameless) addiction was kissing you. he’ll seize any opportunity to catch your lips, no matter where you are or who’s nearby. truthfully? that's fine. you tend to give in to that craving, but not when you're trying to shave a clean slice through his brow.

"sometimes the urge to punch you is just — unbelievably strong," you sigh, setting your clippers on the bathroom counter.

"other times?" hobie spoke up, sitting too calmly on the toilet seat for your liking.

you simply glared. “less strong, but still there.”

when he offered the idea, you agreed only on the condition that it be quick enough for you to return to HQ in time for your next mission.

you could’ve finished all three of the brow slits he wanted by now. but, hobie kept disturbing your job by either not staying still or getting way too close to you. both were issues that lasted much too long — it's as if he doesn't want them at all.

hobie tugs on your belt loops, dragging you between his legs and, more crucially, closer to him. you push away, only for his arms to lock around you. making the idea of escaping practically impossible.

you sigh once more, your arms defeatedly limp on his chest. a brief moment of silence passes, with just the gazes you sent each other and tickling sensations of your boyfriend's fingers to remind you that you're not alone.

they also remind you that, as much as you wanted to stay in his hold, you had a mission to get to. one that couldn't easily be denied last minute.

"all you have to do is sit there and look pretty," you reach over to get the clippers. "it shouldn't be that hard.”

when he mumbles his reply, you're moving into a straddle position. both the shifting and the sound of the clippers muffled his words.

“huh?”

"d’ya even know how to do it? i mean, don’t you brush the brows before y’start shavin’?”

you raise your brow, the clippers in hand. “we’re supposed to be quick—”

“c’mon love, i want the full experience,” he argues, his calloused hands resting on your thighs.

your mouth opened to speak, but the sound of your watch cut you off. hobie's head tilts, his eyes scan you with interest, and you cast a short glance between him and the watch before answering the call.

for a millisecond, miguel's voice cuts in, "whe-" before your watch slid off your wrist. the slim hand that takes it away gets your attention.

“hey!” you grab for it, but he blindly throws it instead.

that shit’s gotta be broke.

you lowered your leg from his body, only to have him pull it back up. if looks could kill, your judgmental look on him would.

“‘m not worried, y’know i can make a new one,” he winks.

and he is capable. you and he are both aware of this. but that's beside the point. the gist is that you're trying to get to work, and he's preventing you from doing so. there's no getting around it. and he won't let you go until he has his new look. atleast, even if he doesn't, you'll have a better chance.

"after this? i'm never staying with you before a mission again," you mutter as you inch yourself closer to him.

you approached his right brow gradually and shaved an opening near the end of it. you cleaned it up with a razor, using a tissue to remove excess hair.

you concentrate on the hair you're working with, but your attention is drawn to the smirk on his lips. “what are you smirking at?"

“nothin’, just,” he shrugged, “got a new song idea.” at the mention of his music, he starts tapping one of his beats on your thigh. it's distracting, yet you let him do it anyway. the patterns alternate before the taps halt and a massage begins.

it's not consistent, but that's not surprising. the word even being one of his pet peeves. the way his thumbs circle the inner of your thigh was surprising — if not shocking, given how you flinched. each time they rose up, they seemed to move closer to your center.

“hobie,” you pull back, “cut it out.”

you can tell the confused look of his face is forced.

"or i’m gonna give you more than just a slit," you assert, pointing to his face.

shivers accompany his fingertips as they trace up and down your arm. "don't y'want me to look good when i'm on stage?"

"as if you need eyebrows to sing.”

"i said look good," he noted, lightly squeezing your arm.

“that either.” you roll your eyes.

the following moments are slow. everything seems slow, starting with you shifting closer to find a proper shaving position. he grunts, and you know it's because you're moving too swiftly on top of him, so you apologize.

he replies by kissing your cheek. it's comforting that even when he draws back, he stays close. dangerously close, even. it was a shame you felt his breathing. the twitching of your lips locking his gaze.

his eyelids begin to droop, as do his wandering eyes. you're trying hard not to look at him, but it seems as though your body has more control than your head. it keeps drawing into him, allowing him to press you firmly against him. allowing him to caress the side of your face and you to land your lips against his. those that don’t take action to reciprocate your movements. they do, however, smile. he fucking smiles and returns to his previous posture, "so we gonna finish my look or wha'?"

© 2023, CHISHIYAE

[strangerquinns]

Deadly Reunion| Chapter 28

Eddie Munson x female!reader // a stranger things apocalypse au

summary: You and Eddie have been best friends since childhood. But when the outbreak happened five years ago, you were torn from one another in the chaos. but now you’re left alone, after your group was killed by another radical crew, leaving you to seek out what was once home. // zombie apocalypse Hawkins set in 1993

warnings: angst + adult themes w/ descriptions of violence, blood, torture + other zombie apocalypse related issues (no use of y/n)

word count: 2.1k+

⪻ previous chapter | next chapter ⪼ | stranger things masterlist | chapter one

A few more days passed before you fully came back to Eddie. In those few days he would follow the routine of waking up, making coffee, checking in, finishing his rounds as quickly as possible before he spent the rest of his night by your side. He’d either bring a book and read it, to himself or out loud to you, or write songs or lyrics in his little book. It brought him a small bit of comfort when he didn’t have your voice to hear.

But it wasn’t till an early morning when he was still drinking his morning coffee and going through the motion, that there was a soft knock on the door. Eddie’s back straightened for a moment before the knock sounded again – a little louder this time. He placed his mug down on the counter before walking the short three steps to open the trailer door. The last person he expected to see on the other side of the small metal door was Chrissy Cunningham. She smiled at him.

“Uh…hi,” Eddie spoke awkwardly as he stared down at her.

“Morning,” Chrissy spoke, her blue eyes brightening more, “I-I wanted to make sure I kept my promise…come and get you if anything happened.”

Eddie’s thoughts went negative the moment her words were able to fully settle into his mind. But would she be smiling if anything bad happened?

“She woke up about twenty minutes ago,” Chrissy continued after he stared down at her with a blank look for a long moment. “Uh…when I left to come and get you, Joyce was looking her over.”

It took about thirty seconds till Eddie moved from the doorway. He quickly grabbed his boots and barely slipped them on before rushing back up toward the main building. He didn’t even wait to see if Chrissy had followed up behind him. The only concern and focus on Eddie’s mind was getting to you.

He rushed down the halls and through the double doors before he finally saw you. Eddie couldn’t explain the feelings moving through him when he saw you propped up on your cot, pillows stacked behind you for support. The bruising along your face faded away from the nasty and brutal blacks and purples and instead faded into the muddy greens and yellows. It was like your body knew that he was near, your eyes connecting with his as he came through the door and a small smile lifting the corner of your lips.

“Sweetheart,” He spoke when he got close enough, caressing your cheek and pressing his forehead to yours. Before pulling back and gently caressing along your cheeks, “Are you ok? Is everything ok?”

Eddie looked between you and Joyce who was still standing off to the side checking over a few things. You let out a soft and gentle chuckle as you reached to hold him closer to you, even with him sitting on the edge of your cot he didn’t feel close enough.

“Everything is looking up, from what we can see.” Joyce started “Bruises and cuts are healing nicely, and her ribs are healing back properly.” Her eyes switched over to you, “And we’re going to listen and actually take it easy so they can continue to heal. The last thing we need is a broken rib puncturing something.”

You nodded your head and held tightly to Eddie’s hand, your fingertips running gently along the back of his palm. “I will take it easy; I promise.”

Joyce gave a knowing look to Eddie, “I’m going to hold you to making sure she keeps still.”

“I’m not taking my eyes off her,” Eddie spoke, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Good,” Joyce spoke, “Her concussion, head injury, we wanna keep a close eye on the next few days. Make sure we’re not sleeping too long and staying away from strenuous work.”

“Copy, doctor.” You nodded your head, before smiling at her.

Joyce walked away from the two of you and went to check on another in the medical wing.

Eddie looked down at your joined hands before looking back at you.

“Gave me a scare there, baby,” Eddie spoke softly, his thumb rubbing along the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, causing Eddie to shake his head quickly. “What happened? Joyce didn’t really know when I asked.”

Eddie sighed, “You got to Steve and me after we’d separated. You found Wendy, from what I understand from her, you killed the man in charge of the militia group. Took a beating, because not long after we’d found you, you dropped in my arms. There was blood…I-I didn’t know what to do other than run back here.”

“I vaguely remember that,”

“You’re actually listening to Joyce this time, gonna be sitting and doing nothing for a long, long time.”

“I can’t just sit and do nothing,” You shook your head, “I have to help in some way.”

“You can go back to working on the farm, still have a little of that to do even with the weather changing. The basement gets flipped to a greenhouse.” Eddie shrugged “But no more raids, no more runs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but seeing the look on Eddie’s face, you quickly closed it.

“I can’t go through nearly losing you again,” Eddie explained. “I can’t…think you’ve aged me about twenty years.”

“I will sit,” You agreed. “I did like being out in the field. Tending to the chickens, so I guess that won’t be so bad.”

“They are gonna need to help, especially after losing Vicki.”

You cringed “How is Robin?”

“Last I saw her; she was a little better. She would come and see you between shifts when she could.” Eddie paused “Wendy is still down at quarantine.”

“How long have I been out?” You questioned.

“A few days, but…it’s not really to make sure she’s not infected. More so cause Hopper doesn’t know what to do with her.”

“She’s trustworthy,” You argued, sitting up straighter and hissing as you felt a pain shoot up your side.

“I trust you; I do. But the rest of the camp doesn’t know her. She’s just someone from the group that has tried to kill us – and has killed many of us already.”

“I’ll talk to Hopper,” You spoke with determination. “What else are we to do with her?”

“Exile her out.” Eddie shrugged “It’s happened before.”

That caused an angry look to cross over your face, “That’s not happening. I’m not losing her again, I won’t, Eddie.”

“Alright, Alright,” Eddie spoke noticing that you were starting to get upset. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder to calm you. “We’ll talk to Hopper. I’ve been checking on her, she’s been ok. Been taken care of.”

“Thank you,” You spoke gently, before relaxing back against the pillows. “I want out of here, want to be in our bed.”

“I want you back home too.” Eddie paused in thought, “What do you say to officially move into the trailer with me? I mean, you sleep there mostly, can grab the rest of your things from your room upstairs and you can stay with me.”

You smiled slightly, “You asking me to move in with you, Munson? Make this official?”

He nodded eagerly, “That’s exactly what I’m asking you.”

You held onto his hand for a moment and gently fidgeted with his fingers, before bringing his hand up to your lips, kissing it softly. “I would love to move in with you.”

It only took about another day and a half till you started getting restless in your cot. It wasn’t a hidden secret that you weren’t one to sit and relax for too long. Made you even more anxious than you already were. Halfway through the second day since you woke up, you were throwing off the thick blanket and moving to slip on your shoes.

“Woah! Sweetheart, why don’t you take it easy, ok?” Eddie spoke hurriedly as he rushed to stand at your side, grabbing your arm to either steady you or stop you – you weren’t sure which.

“I’m tired of sitting and lying down.” You whined, moving your hand out of Eddie’s grasp. “I need to walk around, stretch my legs, see something else other than these four walls and the same five faces.”

Eddie sighed heavily, knowing it was pointless to fight you, and instead kept close in case you needed him. The moment he saw a stumble, sway in your steps or any sign you were pushing yourself too much – he was dragging you back to bed.

Your steps were slow, but you walked with a confidence that Eddie couldn’t ignore. With the bindings around your ribs, you were a little stiff but otherwise ok. The two of you walked along the halls together till a sign caught your eye that pointed to an elevator. An elevator you were very familiar with. You started heading that way and clicking the down button before Eddie could stop you.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to go down there?” He questioned.

“It’s been nearly two weeks since everything at the mall, and no one is letting her out. She needs to see a familiar face, and I need to see that she is truly ok.”

“You don’t trust the Hopper, or anyone else for that matter, would take care of her?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust them. But my mind won’t rest till I see with my own two eyes,” You said at the ding of the elevator sung through the mostly quiet hall, the metal doors opening. “You should understand that feeling, Eddie.”

Eddie hung his head, a few curls calling in front of his face, slipping from the messy updo he’d done earlier. You stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button you knew would take you down to the quarantine level.

“You coming or not, Munson?” You asked.

Eddie only hesitated for a second before stepping onto the elevator with you. The ride down wasn’t long till the two of you stepped off and down the sterile white hallway lined with doors. Your heart jumped a little to your throat as you remembered when you were down here. How scared you were, and you had known people within this camp. When Wendy only had you.

Slowly you walked so you were able to peak into every room through the small window. Most of them were empty, only a few held others inside. You turned to Eddie with a confused look on your face when you came upon the first one.

“Scratched during the raid, just keeping a close eye to make sure it doesn’t turn into a full infection.”

“It’s been nearly two weeks, surely that wouldn’t changed already. You saw how fast that bite moved through Mike’s veins before we took his arm.”

“That’s a direct bite, scratches work differently,” Eddie explained before nodding his head to the other end of the hall. “Come on, she’s down this way.”

Eddie led the way down a few more doors till you came to one near the end of the hall. You hurried your steps a little before coming upon the door and looking through the glass. Wendy was sitting on the small bed that was pushed against the wall with a book in her lap. A small gasp left your lips as you reached a hand up to knock on the glass. Almost instantly, Wendy’s head looked up at you before a while smile spread across her face. Your name passed her lips with excitement before she sprung from the bed and rushed to the door.

“What are you doing down here? How are you down here?” She asked in hurried succession.

“I was tired of sitting in bed all day,” You spoke through the glass.

“I’m so glad to see that you’re ok. I was so worried when you fainted, I-I thought the worst.”

“I’m ok now,” You confirmed, “I’m more worried about you.”

“They are taking care of me. Getting food and water, and the big guy isn’t so scary.”

“Hopper? Yeah, he’s the Chief,” You sighed “I’m going to talk to him, ok? Make sure you get out of here soon.”

“Don’t advocate for me if it’s going to affect you. I don’t want to mess anything up.” Wendy spoke quickly, a pleading look in her eyes.

“You’re not going to mess anything up.” You reached and pressed your palm against the glass. “You’re the last bit of family I have left, and I’m going to make sure you’re out of here.”

Only two chapters left, and then this story comes to an end! Please reblog/like if you enjoyed it helps a lot!

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday. Happy 2024

@mopeymopeymouse / @aris-house / @brxkenartt /@akiratoro420

@stylesxmunson/ @aactuaaltraash / @fandomgirl17 / @ches-86/ @chaoticcancer / @munsonology / @bellamy-barnes / @theonlyh3artbreaker / @idkidknemore / @familyvideowithsteve / @eddiesdingus / @thefemininemystiquee / @the-world-is-a-mess-and-so-am-i / @xdarkcreaturex / @lunr-flwr / @cherry-omi/ @im-emma22@munson-enthusiast / @munsonmecrazy / @jupitar-jul / @katiemrty/ @maddie-luvs-eddie /@eddiemusworld/ @ih3artdanielle / @eddiesguitarskills / @hargrovesswifee /@chaoticcancer / @rh1nestonecowg1rl / @atombombbibunny /@munson-enthusiast / @hellf-1-re / @fangirling-4-ever / @corrcdedcoffin /@sidthedollface2 / @emma77645 / @eddiiiieeee /@beep-beep-sherlock / @moldy-khunt / @bokutoswifey /@trixyvixx / @lma1986 / @plk-18 / @sav12321

[whowantslovergirl]

Daddy’s Home

Gojo Satoru x influencer! reader (gender is not specified)

warnings: fame au!, gojo is a famous actor, HIS THEME SONGGG, established relationship (married), and that’s it hope you enjoy my lovers 🤍 miscellaneous masterlist 

Summary: Y/N teasing Gojo with his theme song

posted: September 22,2023

The first time you saw an edit of your husband to a song that has the lyrics of “daddy’s home” you laughed.

Then you started seeing more and more. His fans calling it ‘his theme song’ and Gojo had no idea this is happening.

So you show him.

_____

Gojo was on his way home from a day at work he couldn’t wait to see you and tell you about his day.

_____

You set up ur phone to the door so your fans can see the door.

“Ok so I’m teasing Satoru with his theme song for the rest of the week.” You laughed and you hear his coming through the gate.

“Oh my god he’s here!” You were rushing to get the song ready. Then you hear his keys.

Do your damn thing all I wanna hear

Is you say, "Daddy's home, home for me"

And I know you've been waiting for this lovin' all day

“What the hell?” He said closing the door.

You were playing the music so loud that you can barely him plus you were singing loud.

He motions you to pause it and you did. “Y/N what the hell are you doing? The fuck is daddy’s home?!” You were laughing at his reaction.

“I’m just playing a song Toru.”

“What the fuck?!” He went to his room with a shocked looked on his face.

After he left you stopped the video and posted it immediately.

After a few minutes the comments and likes came flowing in.

User1 BYEE HIS FACE IS KILLING ME 😭

Gojoiswifey “the fuck is daddy’s home 😰”

Y/nislife THIS IS TOOO FUNNY

User2 i love how he’s so clueless

User3 THE WAY HE DOESN’T KNOW HIS THEME SONG IS KILLINGGG ME 😭😭

_____

“Welcome to day two of teasing toru with his theme song.” You can hear his keys. “He’s here!” You say out of excitement.

He opened the door and sighed from disappointment.

Daddy's home, home for me

And I know you've been waiting for this lovin' all day

You know your daddy's home

Again you were singing from the top of your lungs and dancing all over the place.

He’s just standing there. With the look of confusion.

You paused it and looked at him.

“Hey daddy!” You say spreading your arms out waiting for a hug.

“Y/N!”

You laughed again and put your arms down. “What Toru?”

“Is this like an everyday thing now? Why are you doing this?”

“It’s your theme song Toru.”

“What theme song?! I don’t even know the song!” He ran his hands through his hair out of stress and walked to his room.

You started giggling as you ended the video.

hsydn BOY WAS STRESSED OUTTTT 😭😭

gojosoprettyfr he already had enough 😭

y/nistooofunny “i don’t even know the song 😰😰”

nina💅💋 THE SIGH OF DISAPPOINTMENT

User173939273903 THE SPEED WALKING BYEEEE 😭

_____

“Day three of teasing Toru with his theme song.”

When he came in the room he just looked at you and walked to his room. You paused it out of shock.

“Gojo! You’re not gonna say hi to me?!”

He came rushing back. “I found out your little game. Yea I called Nanami and he told me that people are making edits of my roles to this song.”

You just stood there letting him rant.

“We all have ‘our theme songs’ and mine is daddy’s home! And you liked the videos! So you’re not slick Y/N!” He went back to the room. And you went over to end the video out of shock.

no💋 HE FOUND US GUYS TAKE COVER 🫡

onechancey/n WHY ARE YOU STANDING LIKE THIS 🧍‍♀️

lover 🤍 THE LOOK OF SHOCK I CANTTTT

notthis 🥳 not him finding out 🫢

_____

The next day when you came home from running errands. You hear a specific song.

She’s maneater

Make you work hard, make you work hard

Make you spend hard, make you want all of her love

Your theme song.

“How do you like it?!” Gojo exclaimed.

An: DADDYS HOMEEEEE this was a random fic as well but until i post again my lovers 🤍 *hint: not the nate jacobs x reader 🤪*

[bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon]

Moving Meditation Motivations Discovering the Right Focus Technique

There are some people who can sit through meditation while other individuals simply cannot. During a passive meditation they find themselves fidgeting and unable to focus. This leads to further frustrations, and an unwillingness to try any sort of meditation again.

The advice most people hear is to try again or that they were not doing it right. Well, guess what? There are other ways to possibly reach a meditative state of mind when your body is in motion. Moving meditation, if done accurately can give a person the same benefits as passive meditation where one sits.

How to Choose Your Activity

It should be something that engages you and holds your focus for an extended period roughly anywhere from 15 to 30 minutes a day. To gain a better meditative state one must do something that is continuous, fluid, methodical, and repetitive so that the movements become more automatic in time.

For example, a walk in the park at a steady pace putting your attention on your breath, and taking in the sights that surround you such as:

how the sun feels on your skin

the clouds overhead

if there is a wind breeze

examining the trees and their own leaves

It's all about the state of mind you're able to achieve being one of mindfulness, of living in the moment, of relaxed awareness.

Other Suggestions

Walk a Labyrinth: One walks clockwise in a circle or in a particular pattern towards the center of a destination point. It should not be like a maze where you find yourself frustrated towards the end, but choosing a pattern that fits you and your needs.

Qigong: This is a 5,000-year-old Chinese health exercise technique. Its goal is to synchronize the breath with the mind's intentions. One moves with flow and grace as they further learn this skill.  A regular practice can lower your blood pressure and boost your immunity, flexibility, and circulation.

Example:

1. Relax your body, imagining that your feet are sinking deep into the earth. Your hands are in front of your lower belly, palms facing each other, forming a ball of energy.

2. Inhale. Open your arms to the sides as if to expand the ball, while raising your arms, to shoulder height.

3. At shoulder level, turn the thumbs back and the palms up and exhale, releasing any tension from your body as you drop and relax your shoulders, elbows, and hands.

4. Inhale, as you raise your arms up over your head.

5. Palms facing down, deeply exhale as you lower them, “showering” the body with cleansing, revitalizing energy. Repeat three times.

Yoga Exercises: There are several different methods of yoga, some having religious dogma attached while others focus primarily on the exercises themselves. Everyone has different preferences, but if you are looking to simply relax and reach a meditative state then I suggest trying out the exercises themselves. This is a practice to connect the body and mind into one.

Tai Chi:  Short for Tai ji quan, or T'ai chi ch'üan, is an internal Chinese martial art practiced for both its defense training, its health benefits and meditation. The term Taiji refers to a philosophy of the forces of yin and yang.

Karate Katas:  A practice of detailed patterns of movements either solo or in pairs. Karate kata are executed as a specified series of a variety of moves, with stepping and turning, while attempting to maintain perfect form.

Art: painting, drawing, etc.

Crafts: knitting, crocheting, paper folding, weaving, anything rhythmic.

Exercise: stationary bike, weightlifting, elliptical machine, step climbing, sports, etc.

Playing a game that has a repeating theme and is not too difficult that one can get into.

Music: focusing on the song's rhythm, beats, and possibly lyrics. Pick something that reached out to you as an individual.