#first time trying out this outline effect!

[lyn31]

First Time (Explicit)

Note:

As it say, this is actually just the extended/explicit version of my other short fanfic, First Time, so If you want less explicit and much more emotional focus, it's there! and if you're looking for something more explicit, hey welcome lol it's nothing crazy ofc, I just got carried away as usual.... anyway! Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader College AU, smut, first time, oral, fingering, penetration, teasing.

Ao3 link

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Zayne’s hands are warm, firm, kneading you in a way that sends a shiver through you. He’s touched you before, but never like this—never with such focus, like he’s trying to commit every curve to memory. Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a sound. Not yet.

Zayne’s touch trail up your body, his touch firm as he finally palms your chest. You exhale shakily, arching into his hands as he kneads, his thumbs rolling over your nipples.

“Really into my chest, aren’t you?” you tease, voice breathy but playful.

Zayne hums, his fingers slipping beneath the lace. “And?” His tone is dry, almost unaffected—but the way his thumbs keep rubbing against you betrays him.

His fingers slip beneath the fabric, unhooking your bra with an ease that makes your breath hitch—like he's done this in his head a dozen times before. When the lace falls away, his gaze drops, and for a second, he just stares. His fingers flex slightly, his breathing slows—like he’s seeing something he’s wanted for too long. Heat coils in your stomach, your skin burning under the weight of his attention. You expect him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers reach out, rolling your nipple between them, watching every tiny reaction you give him.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your teasing edge, but it’s difficult when he’s touching you like this—slow, focused, like he’s savoring the feeling. Then he leans in, dragging his tongue over the peak before closing his mouth around it, sucking lightly.

A sharp inhale escapes you.

Whatever teasing remark you had dies the moment his tongue flicks over you, warm and wet and thorough. He lingers, taking his time, switching between licking and sucking, occasionally biting just enough to make your stomach tighten. His other hand isn’t idle either, fingers rolling and pinching your other nipple in tandem with his mouth.

A whimper escapes you, and you feel him smirk against your skin.

Your hands tangle in his hair, trying to keep some semblance of control, but it’s useless. He’s relentless. He alternates between soft and sharp, lazy licks and teasing pinches, his pace just slow enough to make you feel everything. Your body writhes beneath him, thighs pressing together in search of friction, but it isn’t enough.

“Zayne,” you breathe, voice caught somewhere between frustration and need.

His tongue flicks over your nipple again, unhurried and intent.

You glare weakly, but the effect is lost when your breath stutters at the sharp tug of his fingers. His teasing would be unbearable if you weren’t so desperate already.

Your hands slide down, tracing over his chest, lower, until you reach the hem of his shirt. You push at it, fumbling slightly, and he huffs a laugh before pulling back just long enough to yank it over his head. Your gaze drops instinctively, tracing the lines of his stomach, the sharp dip of his hips. Your fingers trail over him, nails scratching lightly, and you don’t miss the way his stomach tenses under your touch.

Then your hand moves lower, pressing against the outline of his erection through his pants.

His breath stutters.

You do it again, dragging your fingers slowly, palming him through the fabric, and he groans, the sound low and rough. The noise sends heat straight through you, your own body burning with need.

Zayne exhales sharply, his grip on your waist tightening as he matches your movements—His hand dips between your legs, the pressure teasing through the fabric.

You gasp.

The pressure is just right, firm but teasing, matching the slow drag of your hand over him. Your hips move instinctively, chasing the friction, and Zayne groans again, pressing against you harder, his touch growing more deliberate.

He lets you tease him, his breath growing heavier, his grip on your waist tightening—but just as your fingers tighten around him, he catches your wrist, stopping you in an instant.

You barely have time to react before his fingers are back on you, pressing down, rubbing slow circles that make your breath hitch. Your hips jerk toward his hand, needy, desperate, and he watches you—eyes dark, lips parted.

“Too much?” he asks, voice low, controlled.

You can barely form words, your body pulsing with need. Instead, you shake your head, hips moving insistently against his touch. Your hands tug at your waistband, fumbling, desperate to get rid of it.

Zayne exhales sharply, then helps you, urgency matching yours. The moment your pants hit the floor, his gaze drags over you, eyes dark and heated. He licks his lips, and you expect a teasing remark, but he doesn’t speak. He just looks—hungry, focused.

You open your mouth to say something, but then his fingers part your folds, sliding against your bare skin.

The words die in your throat.

His fingers stroke over you, teasing, parting your folds as he watches your face. Then he presses in, sinking one finger inside, then another, stretching you just enough to make you shudder. His pace is slow at first, exploring, feeling you out.

Then he lowers his head.

His mouth finds you before you can react, tongue gliding over sensitive skin, heat sinking deep into your core. His tongue flicks over your clit, slow at first, then more insistent as his fingers move inside you, curling just right. A broken moan escapes you, loud and unfiltered, and you feel his smirk against your skin.

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he doubles down, sucking at your clit just as his fingers thrust deeper, setting a rhythm that has you unraveling far too fast. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard, but he doesn’t waver, doesn’t let up—just keeps going, building the pleasure higher and higher until your whole body tenses, aching for release.

It hits you before you can stop it.

Your orgasm crashes through you, blinding and relentless, and Zayne doesn’t let up. He draws it out, tongue still moving, hands still gripping you, until the pleasure crests into something too sharp. A whimper slips out, your body twisting as you push at his head, and only then does he relent—though not without one last slow lick that makes you jolt.

When he pulls back, his lips are slick, his pupils dark and dilated, his breathing uneven. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze flicking up to meet yours. For a second, he just looks at you—wrecked, trembling, his—before his fingers trace slow, aimless patterns along your thigh. Your heart is still pounding when you hear the crinkle of foil.

Your eyes flicker open just in time to see him rolling the condom on, his length standing hard and flushed. You swallow, heat curling through you at the sight, at the way his jaw clenches as he strokes himself once, twice.

Then he’s hovering over you again, his shaft pressing against your entrance.

A hesitation lingers in the air, heavy and unspoken. The teasing, the urgency—it all slows, funneled into this single moment. You look at him, meeting his gaze, and it’s like the whole world narrows to just the two of you.

His chest rises and falls, breath shallow. His grip on your waist tightens, like he’s grounding himself. For the first time tonight, there’s no teasing in his expression, no restraint—just want. But beneath it, something else.

He exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. He doesn’t ask the question aloud, but you hear it anyway.

Your answer is silent—fingers sliding up his arms, gripping tight, hips tilting in wordless permission.

His throat bobs as he swallows, and then he kisses you—slow, deep, like he’s savoring you, like he’s committing this to memory. And then, finally—he pushes in.

Your breath catches, nails digging into his back as he stretches you open. He groans, low and guttural, his grip on your hips tightening as he buries himself inside you.

The first few thrusts are slow, measured, like he’s holding himself back. But then your hips move, meeting his, and that restraint snaps.

Zayne curses under his breath, pulling back only to thrust in harder, deeper.

Your moan echoes in the room.

His pace picks up, his body pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your skin. The pleasure builds with every movement, every snap of his hips. And when his hand slides between you again, fingers finding your clit, it’s enough to push you over the edge.

Your climax crashes into you, and he follows, his rhythm falters as he groans against your skin, burying himself deep as your body pulses around him.

For a while, neither of you move—just breathing, just feeling, the warmth of him grounding you in the moment.

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Notes:

And now time for me to disappear again! :D oh and for anyone that likes this series, I did write 2 other short fanfic in one is about Scavenger Hunt event and the other is well this, if you didn't already check it out, go ahead!

[gothsuguru]

getting an iced pumpkin chai in the morning and then my personal goal is to spend the whole day writing and i hope i can come back to this post tomorrow and rb w how much progress i’ve made!!!

[fxrheisenn]

Andrus Laansalu talked about making Disco Elysium at EKA (Estonian Academy of Arts)

"Initially, the church wasn't a focal point. There were certain characters that needed to visit this location, and I asked, "Seriously, what do we have in our church?" The others replied, "Nothing at all. Our church is completely bare—just a wheel, really. It's quite basic."

That's when I decided to unleash my creativity in the design. For example, they chose to install a glass structure at the top of the church to create a reflective surface. It was like placing an optical clock up there. Therefore, one of the most crucial aspects of designing the church was ensuring the lighting was just right to create the desired atmosphere."

"Let me show you an example of Baroque architecture, which is rich in detail. We're also designing the interior of the church based on large cathedrals. However, the foundation you use might not yield the expected results, because the church itself doesn't require such intricate details. Sometimes, it's about simplifying the design."

"I used Articy for the initial scriptwriting of Disco Elysium. The image only represents a tiny fraction of the text and choice variables involved. This system was also the reason I eventually abandoned the project after a year of outlining the script and shifted my focus to becoming a sound designer. My mind struggled to keep up with the dynamic graphic rules, but fortunately, a more talented writer took over afterward."

"In terms of sound design, it's essential to develop different layers to bring out the charm of the church as a cohesive space. Although this represents only a small portion of the overall design, each layer actually requires a significant amount of time to compose the whole....... Whenever there's a shift or a change due to the dialogue itself, you need to adjust the background sounds. Each time you modify the details in the dialogue, I have to refine the background audio, ensuring that these elements build upon each other like an intricate layer of work."

"It's funny how many scenes involve characters getting smacked in the face. My job was to recreate those, so I locked myself in the bathroom with a recorder and hit my forehead until it turned red.

As a sound designer, I really dig those unsettling, drill-like sounds. So, I mixed in creepy lectures, metal scraping, moans, and cries of pain—because I just love that stuff! (laughs)

Players will be moving through all kinds of areas, so it's super important to make the sound transitions feel natural, trying to create a more immersive vibe in certain spaces.

With all the scenes featuring big cranes, you can hear them from far away, and I wanted to capture that eerie ringing in your ears. That's going to be a thing throughout most of the game. I've found ways to really mess with players while they're playing!"

"I've come across a lot of old objects (like phones and radios) that I needed to perfectly replicate the sounds. I started to become a bit of a hoarder, buying up different models of old phones whenever I found one to add to my collection. The sound effects I can simulate from them are really impressive."

"Some of the devices don't actually exist in real life—just a mix of architecture and tech. When I need to create sound effects, I first look for something similar that exists in our world, then I try to simulate what the sound and appearance of that thing might have been like a century ago.

Towards the end of the game, there's a character carrying a fuel canister. We needed the sound of the canister, so we dug one up from our garage—it had been sitting there since it was five! I realized this would make the sound perfect. So, it had been there for 50 years, and after 40 years, it finally found its purpose.

In some places, I needed unique sound waves, and recreating them was a real headache until one day I happened to walk by a swimming pool and stumbled upon an old wartime torpedo. You can rotate the torpedo's probe, and it slowly rises up, like a proud zombie head. The sounds it made were exactly what I needed!"

🙋How did you manage to get funding?

"Well, since we're in Estonia, you just need to know a wealthy person. You don't need five people—just two who can network, hang out together, and convince them to keep investing! (laughs) Back then, we constantly ran out of money and would tell them, 'Oops, looks like we spent it all! Can you invest a bit more?' That's how we made it through!"

🙋How did you all come together to make the game?

"Luck. It usually doesn't happen this way, and that's the key difference. It has to be. If not, you couldn't create a game of this scale - well, I mean in terms of budget. But creatively, Estonia definitely has writers and artists who can pull it off. With such a small population, there are a lot of quirky folks who are good friends. We were really lucky, though - lots of fortunate circumstances came together. It brought the right people together, allowing those talented fools to collaborate with us. They had experience but hadn't tackled projects of this magnitude before. So yeah, luck is pretty important!"

Lecture experience shared by 白兔YIYANG SUN on 小红书, reposted & translated by me with her permission.

[lalalunel]

Game Movie Night

lowkey.. based on this twt link .... it had to be done i fear

wc: 1406

cw: leon and reader are perpetually horny, lil tit gropping, dry humping, lil overstimulation, cum-stained clothes (gross)

enjoy?

Movie night never just ends when the movie does, no matter how much you and Leon say it will. 

Cuddled up with a bowl of popcorn and other various snacks and your drink of choice, you two get through the first two movies with little to no interruption. But sitting still so close has never been a good idea for you two. The same couple who could barely keep from sucking each other’s faces off after only being apart for 2 hours. 

It starts with an innocent kiss against your temple from Leon, his hand on your waist drifting to your hip and then just a bit lower, your hand suddenly resting comfortably on his thigh. It starts off innocent, yet it never stays that way for long.

You’re halfway through the third movie when you feel Leon’s thigh shift beneath your hand. It’s a sudden shift forward so he can lean back, that ends with your hand just shy of the.. tent in his pants. Well that wasn’t there before. 

Your eyes trail from his very apparent hard-on to his face. He’s staring forward at the TV as if nothing was amiss, but you notice the unmistakable red hue that graces his ears, the way he bites the inside of his cheek. You know him. 

You decide to play along if he wants to play the ‘I'm hard for you but I'm not going to show it because it's movie night’ game. You’re so damn good at that game, so it's no skin off your back as you slide your hand to rest completely over the tent in his pants, palming him almost as you snuggle comfortably into his side and ‘watch’ the movie. 

You know your touch has an effect on him from the way he stiffens, his grip on your hip flexing. You can see Leon look down at you out of the corner of your eye, yet you pay the attention no mind. This is a game of playing it cool, isn’t it? 

Leon catches on to what you’re getting at pretty quickly and decides he won’t be shown up in a game he started. His hand, which had been resting basically on your ass before, slides up. He slips his hand under your arm and your shirt to cup your left tit. Maybe that affected him more than you though. 

You weren’t wearing a bra. Of course you weren’t wearing a bra, you were in your own place and comfortable watching a movie with your boyfriend. It made sense, but god did it make him twitch in his boxers all the same to feel it hand first- first hand. Oops. Same thing. 

He isn’t shy about it as he tenderly massages the soft mound, his thumb brushing over your nipple over and over until it hardens under his ministrations. It brings him a different sense of pride when you tense, relax, and let out a string of curses under your breath, trying hard to act like it didn’t feel as good as it did. 

You return his groping by fully palming your hand against his dick, feeling the outline of his length through his sweatpants. His grip on you flexes and he swears softly as his eyes slip shut for a beat. You’re suddenly struck by a realization that makes this all seem really stupid. 

You both don’t even know (or care about) what movie you’re watching, and you’re both really horny. What does it matter if you get a little (or a lot more than a little) touchy?

Leon seems to be struck by the same realization as he mutters a ‘fuck this’ and loosens his grip on your tit, instead hooking a hand under your thigh to pull you onto his lap. He wastes absolutely no time in grinding you down against his hard on, pulling a moan from you and him as he nudges firmly against your clit through your thin shorts from the motion. 

He repeats the motions over and over again sharply, swearing as he tips his head back against the couch and bites his lip, feeling dizzy from the pleasure. His fingers dig into your hips, surely leaving his hand print in the form of bruises from how tightly he’s holding on to you. 

You can’t bring yourself to care about the pain when everytime he pulls your hips, he rocks his own up against you, giving you the friction you wanted in large enough doses to make everything seem like nothing. The dull ache is a little added bonus if you really think about it anyway.

The friction, while good for a while, just isn’t enough though. Feeling Leon through his sweatpants and your shorts, while so damn good, just isn’t enough. 

Leon sure seemed to feel the same way when he’s reluctantly lifting your hips away from his and working your shorts off your legs. It’s clumsy, and you can’t stop yourself from giggling when he mutters about how you should never wear clothes again if it takes this much effort to take off, but he does eventually get the stupid shorts off. He’s met with the delightful reward of seeing you in your panties, and he has to fight the urge to come in his boxers when he catches sight of the wet patch that graced the front of them.

He’s all caught up in admiring the sight (and thinking about what you taste like) when he feels you tugging at his sweats, tugging down the waistband to expose his boxers. If you couldn’t straight up bounce on his cock (mainly because you’re both a little too lazy at the moment), at least you could grind on each other with minimal clothing. 

Nothing like a little dry humping to spice up movie night, right? 

He eagerly leans back as he pulls your hips down against his again, hissing softly when he pulls you down in that same grinding motion from before and you both buck in response. Fuck, just a few layers less and it feels like heaven. 

Over and over and over and over again, he drags your hips in a hard roll against his stiff cock, driven utterly insane by how good it feels and how sweet you sound moaning in pleasure, leaning in towards him so the head of his cock nudges more consistently against your clit, pulling even more moans from your lips and his.

His mind feels blank as his grip tightens on you, pulling you faster against him as a pit forms deep in his stomach. He can’t take it. His boxers grow damp from all the friction with your soaked panties, though he’s sure his precum is also the source of the wetness. Lube source aside, It’s getting harder and harder for either of you to resist the burning heat flooding your stomachs. 

You’re the first to cave to the pressure, head dropping forward against Leon’s shoulder as your body tenses, your thighs shaking lightly as your body throbs. A string of curses follow your orgasm as Leon keeps your hips in motion against him. 

He mutters a low string of praise against your ear, something along the lines of ‘fuck, you feel so good baby’ and ‘m so close, gonna come so hard’. It all melts together in your mind when he’s still rutting against your throbbing and aching clit, overstimulating you as he chases his own orgasm using your body. 

He doesn’t hold you pleasure-hostage for much longer when he’s suddenly bucking up sharply against you, groaning lowly as his cock throbs and twitches in his boxers as he finishes and he finally lets you still. 

You spend just a moment laying against each other, catching your breath and trying to let the fog pass from your minds. The forgotten movie fills the silence along with your breathing, a sudden burst of clown music jolting you from the post-coital haze and making you laugh a little.

Leon can’t help cracking a smile as well, though the moment of amusement was cut short when you shifted and immediately reminded both you and him of the sticky mess you now had to attend to. Cold, cum-stained panties/boxers are a sensory nightmare, and a shower is in the cards for you both. Showering together to fix the mess wouldn’t hurt..

Made the mess together, might as well clean up in the shower together too, right?

~~~

actually made with re4 Leon in mind for once (maybe also DI leon tho...)

[nemisuki]

A Special Day

Dating AU | You never felt the need to celebrate this 'special' day every year. But time it's different, the first year with your explosive boyfriend. And seems like he thinks differently.

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, pure fluff, no angst, aged up, oneshot, bkg is a softie, gift giving, 1.3k word count

"So do you have any plans tomorrow?"

The sound of his voice breaks the silence between you two. The only other noise being the scribbles of her pencil and flipping of paper.

Her eyes don't break away from the math problem in her notebook, the source of her misery for the past 10 minutes.

In response to his question, the girl exhales a short hum while erasing her failed attempt of multiplication, "Not really."

A small pout begins to form on her face as she concentrates on the equation.

What sane person puts letters in math?

Listening to her reply, his eyebrows furrow with slight confusion, his hand pausing from completing the assignment in front of him.

He takes this opportunity to pause his studies, leaning back in his chair to stretch his limbs.

A small sigh exiting his mouth as he stands up to lift his arms over his head to give relief to his aching muscles.

"It's your birthday, don't ya want a party or go out to eat?"

At his movement, she takes a peek in his direction.

Her gaze roaming his backside - noticing the outline of his back muscles from that tank top he's wearing.

The combination of his shirt and the grey sweatpants loosely hanging on his waist was deadly.

It's even worse that he is completely unaware of the effect it has on her.

Seeing him take a break gave her an excuse to do the same.

She props herself off his bed with her elbows, now sitting up on the edge of his mattress with a small yawn, "Not really. I don't usually celebrate it."

"Like at all?" he turns back to look at her, noting the aloof expression on her face.

"I mean maybe when I was younger but not anymore.”

He examines her body language intensely, only to find no signs of discomfort.

So she really doesn’t want to celebrate huh.

I mean he understands, he wasn’t one to care about his own birthday either.

He steps closer to plop down beside her, looking at the alarm clock on his bedside table, “we should call it a night.”

“Yeah I should head back to my dorm now” she smiles, looking at how the moonlight accentuates his features, only enhancing the vision beside her.

“Just sleep over” he mumbles, already moving to lay down on his bed. Making room for her as he scoots towards the wall.

“And your roommate?”

“Shitty hair said he’s crashing at Raccoon eyes dorm. So turn off the lamp and come over here yeah?”

She couldn’t help but to laugh at his blunt demands, reaching over to shut off the lamp then resting beside him in an instant.

There's no way she'll let an opportunity like this go to waste.

With that, the blonde drapes the blanket over the two, looking almost offended that she didn't wrap her hands around him like she always does.

He isn't one for physical touch but he's gotten used to hers.

She seems to feel his stare and immediately scoots closer to curl up beside him, leaning her face into his chest.

Thankfully dismissing all his dramatic thoughts in an instant.

He wraps his arms around her torso to hold her close, "Real tired. Gonna sleep now, night."

"Mhm good night 'suki. I love you" she whispers back, closing her eyes to relish in his warmth.

A feeling she loves all too well.

"....love you too" he replies after a few seconds. Before his eyes fall close, allowing himself to drown in the feeling of her presence.

Already knowing what he must do tomorrow.

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ     ⎯⎯ ✦

Her eyes squint in response to the distant sound of raining pattering outside the window.

The once dark room is now filled with morning light peeking through cracks in the curtain.

A groan escaping her as she rubs her eyes awake, attempting to fight the invisible force that's trying to pull her back to eternal sleep.

Though under the covers, she shivers at the chilly room she's woken up too. Expecting to be tangled under the covers with her favorite blonde, yet is only faced with an imposter - a pillow taking his place.

It takes her a few minutes of mindlessly staring at the ceiling for her to sit up, but only due to the sound of the door slowly creaking open.

His figure comes into view as he closes the door behind him, placing a mysterious bag on his desk as he takes off his coat and tucks his umbrella away, "You just woke up?"

"Yeah just now. Where'd you go?" she tilts her head, ruling out the option that he had class since he doesn't have his bag.

She stands up and begins approaching him but he holds his hand up, making her pause in her tracks.

"Close your eyes for a minute" he mumbles quietly, all of a sudden avoiding her questioning gaze.

Despite her confusion, she doesn't ask to investigate further as her eyes flutter shut.

"Don't peek or I'll kill ya."

An amused smile appears on her face at his snarky comment, "I won't but if you don't hurry up I might fall back asleep."

The sound of rustling was heard in the room, as well as a small clicking sound shortly after.

"Can I look now?"

"No."

"What about now?"

"I told you already, not yet!"

Laughter escapes her as she impatiently waits, fidgeting her fingers as she hears him step closer.

"...Alright you can open them now."

She hums and her eyes slowly open, slightly squinting to adjust to the light of the room once again.

Once done, she looks ahead of her and is met with an overwhelming sight. Complete shock taking over her face.

Bakugo is standing there, holding up a small birthday cake with lit candles on top.

Her heart thumps louder in her chest, so much so that it almost drowns out the noise of rain happening outside the room.

And she wonders if he can hear it too.

"I uh... know what you said yesterday but it just-" he holds the cake closer to her face, "didn't feel right to me."

Her gaze roams across the cake, pretty cursive letters in frosting spelling out 'Happy Birthday Y/N' on the surface. Along with her favorite pieces of fruit scattered around the edges.

"You didn't have to" she mumbles, a thankful smile taking over her face the more she stares at the cake.

"Well I wanted to. Now blow out the candles, nerd."

Holding back a laugh, she takes a moment to look at him, "Not gonna sing for me?"

"Hah! In your dreams maybe. Hurry up would ya? My arms getting tired here" he rolls his eyes at her teasing, the tip of his ears turning a soft pink from embarrassment.

She holds back a wide smile and blows out the candles before he grows more shy.

"What flavor is it?"

"You're favorite one, obviously" he huffs, stepping away to set the cake down on his desk.

As her gaze lingered on him, a sudden feeling took over her whole body.

She notices the small puddle forming under his wet shoes, a mini bouquet of her favorite flowers resting in a vase he must've bought earlier and a gift bag carefully placed on the sidelines.

Katsuki Bakugo hates the rain. Avoids it at all costs.

Yet he willingly went out in this downpour to buy her these things.

Ah....

"Oi do you want a one slice or-"

His words falter when her hands suddenly wrap around his waist from behind. Her face resting against his back, not wanting him to see as silent tears trickle down her cheeks.

"Thank you Katsuki."

He stays silent, feeling the back of his shirt grow damp from her quiet cries.

A sigh exits his mouth as he prys her hands away, spinning around to hold her close to his chest. Rubbing her back in gentle circles and whispering rare words of reassurance.

"Yeah yeah let it all out. I got ya" he mumbles, knowing exactly how to calm her down.

She just needs him there to hold her as he always does.

And he'll stick around - for her.

"Happy Birthday Y/N."

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

A/N ||| hey hey everyone! It's actually my birthday today so I quickly wrote this up hehe. Sorry if it's a bit choppy, this was rushed. Anywaysss I finally made a taglist - so if you want to get tagged in my bakugo fics then click on this link!

[mariswxt]

hyperthermia

Summary: Based on a request by @yinorathedragontamer. You needed a break from hunting, so you didn’t go on the latest one, but found you needed something to occupy your time. Just your luck that the Winchesters happened to return home when you were washing Baby, and you caught the eye of a certain someone.

A/N - Banners in use by @cafekitsune, first entry for Jensen-A-Thon!

TW: Set in S9 (so hot, scruffy Dean guys), and blatant checking out/fantasising

Want to request something? Drop a message in my ask box!

Want to join my Dean Winchester (or any other Jensen character) taglist? Go to my main master list and find the Forms link!

Dean and Sam ambled back into the bunker, duffel bags carried by their taut arms like they’d done a million times before, so what should be a bag of bricks was a feather. Dean swept his hand over his mouth while Sam’s went through his hair, both ready to crash from the wear and tear of the hunt.

“I swear, m’ready to goddamn pass out.” Dean chuckled, nails scratching over the scruff that had grown on his cheek. He’d been hit a few times - not enough to cause bruises and whatnot - hard enough to cause fatigue once the adrenaline of the fight was used and faded.

Sam could only grunt in agreement, trying to rub the effects of a long drive from Oregon out of his eyes, paired it’s the disgruntlement of having to listen to rock tracks in the car. “You and me both. But hey, we should at least visit-”

“Roger that.” Dean cut Sam off before he could finish, in search of you. You were always a sight for sore eyes after a hunt, no matter what you were dressed in or if you were covered in blood; he enjoyed the vision that you were. More than he cared to admit.

He checked your bedroom, but he only found an unusually neat bed and a clean room, which was a rare occurrence for you and had him thinking that you were kidnapped, which prompted him to take out his gun.

You never did up your bed.

He crept through the hall, hoping to the good God that his boots didn’t squeak, but then familiar humming of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ caught the attention of his ears, originating from the garage. Followed by his arrival there, where he spotted you. And it wasn’t only just the sight of you that had him standing up straight.

You, in nothing but a soaked through plaid shirt tucked into some tight denim shorts, the sleeves of the plaid rolled up to your elbows and drawing his attention to your pretty hands. Hair damp and falling just right and had him biting his lip and fighting off the urge to ruin your friendship entirely. Droplets of water running down your neck, that damn sexy curve of your slightly bent legs and trailing beneath the v-shaped neckline that the collar of your shirt made that he was starting to think was made on purpose to make him go insane.

The image was too damn sinful. And he was suddenly not so tired and ‘ready to goddamn pass out’, more like licking his lips and biting the bottom one as he folded his arms over his chest. Eyes trained on you. Yeah, not so tuckered out anymore and ready to catch the full nine.

His bed can go to hell, he wanted you pinned against the bonnet of his Baby, legs spread wide so he could fit in between and show you how much he appreciated the job well-goddamn-done. Did he mention you were washing Baby? Probably not, he was too distracted with the way your hips were swaying as you stepped to cover another part of his beloved Impala with soap suds that then trickled down your own body and made your attire that much more see through and you that much more delicious.

Holy Jesus of Nazareth, you were giving his self control a run for its money. And his self control was likely to lose the money and go bankrupt if he wasn’t distracted pronto.

Wait- but why was he objectifying you? You were doing him a solid by cleaning the other girl of his dreams, why the hell would he think about your legs like that? And your body clearly outlined by the wet, clingy material of your shirt that he was starting to feel jealous of because he wanted to be that close to you.

No. Bad Dean.

He licked his lips again, his hips shifting slightly as he fought a clearing of his throat in case it’d alert you of his presence. His mossy eyes trained so precisely on you, it’d probably let you know he was there anyway, heat radiating from his gaze.

He didn’t want to think about the curve of that pretty neck. Or the way it’d feel under his lips.

Neither did he want to think about those delicate hands - that he knew were tough as hell - holding the sponge that was lathering up his Baby. Or the way they’d feel working his - nope, too far.

Definitely not the way the shirt looked like it now had to be peeled off your skin to reveal the treasure underneath, because god-holy-damn he had managed to catch a glimpse of black lace underneath that plaid. He’d happily unwrap you like a frickin’ present and it wasn’t even Christmas for about six months.

“Damn, pretty girl.” He muttered, running a hand through his hair that was begging to let his feet walk over, grab your hip and pull you into him so he could lick up your neck to collect all the water droplets running down them. What he wouldn’t give to just pop the button on those shorts, get to his knees and work you until his tongue ached.

Right there. Right-frickin’-there. Against his Baby-

“Pretty girl? That’s what we’re calling her now?” Sam muttered into his ear with a snort, not loud enough for you to hear as you bent over Baby’s bonnet in just the right way to have Dean’s eyes sliding down to that gorgeous ass framed in those shorts that should damn well be illegal.

Dean was snapped partially out of his thoughts, left embarrassed and disgruntled and somewhat still ogling that God-blessed ass before he followed Sam through the halls, the latter of which was sporting a smug smirk. “H-Hey, I was just-”

Sam raised his hands in surrender with a small laugh, looking back to Dean knowingly. “Hey, if you wanna check out her ass, do it at your own risk.”

“I wasn’t checking out her…” Dean got an image of it again and smirked slightly, jerking his head to the side, “yeah, maybe I was, so what? Can you blame me? That thing’s-”

Sam held up a finger, shivering in borderline discomfort as his mind filled the blank. “I’m gonna TMI you before you say it.”

“I’m just sayin’, I’m a man. I have needs, where a female who’s a badass hunter and also happens to be gorgeous and also happens to live with us is concerned. And it’s worse when she’s handlin’ my Baby.” He gave Sam a sheepish grin, but the younger Winchester only shook his head in mock disapproval, grabbing the duffel with his pyjamas.

“I’m going to bed.”

“You do that.” Dean grabbed his own duffel, heading to his room which, to his luck, passed the garage and you working on the car. You managed to lock eyes with him, and you gave him a cheery wave. He returned it, and as you turned, his eyes slid down to the curve of your ass again, eyebrows pumping once as a smirk stretched his pouty lips.

“I’ll see you in my dreams, sweetheart.” He muttered before he disappeared off to his bedroom to live his fantasy.

Meanwhile, you dried your face and neck off with a chuckle, going back to your room to change into some get into some drier and more comfortable clothing with a smug smirk on your face.

You’d noticed Dean through Baby’s newly cleaned mirror that you could probably sing ‘Reflection’ from Mulan in. His eyes taking you in and licking his lips like you were the latest snack he wanted to devour. His hands itching to touch you, his mind going blank when you pushed out your ass on purpose in order to catch his attention.

That was just phase one of your multi-step plan to strip Dean Winchester of his self control where you were concerned.

“Mission accomplished.” You muttered under your breath with a giggle.

I’d really appreciate feedback, loves! Have a great day!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @hobby27

[waterfallofroises]

Little Black Dress

Roommate Vi x Reader

Warnings: none? (Lmk if there are)

Vi was sprawled across the couch when you stepped out of your room, the soft rustle of the fabric of your dress catching her attention first. Her gaze shifted up, her eyes widening as you spun to face her, revealing the backless dress. The deep black fabric clung to your curves, and the way the dress cut away at the back left Vi momentarily speechless.

She took in the curve of your spine, the faint, delicate line of muscle tracing down your back, and the small scar just below your shoulder blade. It was a part of you she’d never noticed before—something so personal, so subtle, yet so striking. Then, her eyes lingered on a sliver of ink peeking out just above the waistline of your dress: the faint outline of a vine tattoo that seemed to wrap its way around your side.

You weren’t the type she’d ever expect to get a tattoo—at least, not one like that. It was bold, intricate, like a piece of art that told a story only you knew. She couldn’t quite place why, but the sight of it had her throat going dry. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.

"Vi, should I wear my hair up or down?"

Your voice snapped her back to reality, though it was almost a second too late. She blinked, trying to refocus, but you were still standing there in that damn dress, completely unaware of the effect you were having on her. The question was innocent enough, yet it made her pulse quicken in her chest. You spun around, lifting your hair to show her both options—up versus down—while your bare skin glinted slightly in the low light.

"Vi?" you repeated when she didn’t immediately respond.

She glanced up, finally catching your gaze, and saw that tiny, teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. She could feel her heart skip a beat as she stammered.

“Uh… yeah, yeah,” she muttered, her throat tight. She didn’t know how she managed to speak at all. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from your back, from the way your skin seemed to glow under the soft lighting. “Wear it up," she blurted out, the words escaping before she even had time to think. She swallowed hard. Her mouth felt so dry, she thought she might choke.

You nodded in agreement, a knowing smile on your lips as you turned to face her. "I was thinking the same thing," you said with a quiet laugh. Your smile was a small thing, but it made Vi’s chest tighten, like her breath was getting stuck somewhere between her ribs.

“Are you sure you’ll survive without me tonight?” You teased, a playful glint in your eyes. The joke didn’t quite reach her brain. Her thoughts were still racing at a million miles a second.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, Cupcake,” she replied, the nickname coming out a little breathless. Her voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t seem to notice, or maybe you were just being nice. She wasn’t sure which one was worse.

It felt like hours later when you finally reappeared, walking out of your bedroom again, dressed to the nines. Vi could feel her pulse quicken just from the soft click of your heels on the floor as you stepped into the hallway. You were wearing the same black dress, but now with the addition of lipstick—bold red against the soft curve of your lips. She was still on the couch, trying to act casual, but it felt like she was trapped in some kind of fever dream.

You caught her eye as you paused in front of the mirror, adjusting the shade of red on your lips. It was just enough to drive Vi wild—everything about you screamed confidence, sophistication, beauty. When you turned to her, her chest tightened in a way that felt almost painful.

"How do I look?" You asked, your voice light, teasing, as you did a slow 360 in front of her. The heels clicked again, sharp and rhythmic, and it felt like every step was somehow messing with Vi’s heartbeat.

It took everything in her to keep her hands to herself. Her mind was swirling, her body on the edge of doing something she couldn’t undo. She clenched her fists to keep from reaching out and touching you. The way your skin looked so soft—too soft—made her want to trace every inch of it. The way your dress clung to your curves made it feel like she was drowning in desire.

“You look amazing,” she managed to say, the words coming out as a strained smirk. She had to look away for a second, pretending to focus on anything but you. She tried to sound confident, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. Not even herself.

You beamed at her, your smile widening. The way your eyes sparkled, the way you tilted your head ever so slightly, made her wonder if you even knew just how much you were affecting her.

“Thanks,” you said, voice softer now, as you walked past her, your scent lingering in the air like a reminder of everything she couldn’t have. "Now, let’s see if you can survive without me tonight."

Vi barely heard you over the pounding in her chest. If she wasn’t careful, she'd end up doing something incredibly stupid—like admitting that she couldn't survive a second without you.

[rindreamery]

HALLO NISHI !! congratulations on reaching 300 followers, i’m so proud of you!! i’m always so excited seeing ur works 🍀

for your cafe event i wanted to order rin, sweet flavor, laying your head on their chest + best friends to lovers ><

ORDER 5: READY TO GO !

rin + sweet + laying your head on their chest + best friends to lovers w.c. 1.4k+

note. thank you rurumi <33 once again, exceeded 1k+ but are we even surprised atp? i literally dk how to make my fics shorter LMAO (and again, ty minjee for proofreading)

interested in more? check out the lounge !

starting your morning by waking up wrapped in someone’s arms was unexpected, to say the least. 

as you started to make sense of your surroundings, trying to blink away the traces of sleep, you came to realization that you must have knocked out from exhaustion. that would be the only logical reasoning as to why your apartment was in the state that it was. an absolute mess. wrappers from your midnight snacks were still scattered on the ground, and you could make out the blurry outline of a mug of some drink, placed on the console table, across the room. the music from your playlist, one you vaguely remember putting on last night, was still quietly playing from your phone. it was somewhere in the room, but your mind was foggy, and you couldn’t recall where you had last placed it. 

you didn’t care all that much, though. there were more pressing issues, starting with the first. you winced as you tried to lift your head, immediately placing your head back down as the feeling overwhelmed you. there was a slight throbbing and pressure on the crown of your head, your whole body felt heavy, and your eyes were blurry and unfocused— a product of countless all-nighters. every once and a while, you would be hit with the sensation of pinching in your brain, and you would have to bite back a groan each time. 

there was that issue, and then there was this. maybe the effects of sleep deprivation were finally starting to catch up with you. because, frankly, you weren’t sure how you ended up in this position. one minute, you were slumped over the coffee table, with piles of notes and textbooks scattered across its surface, trying to make sense of the words as they all blurred into one blurry block. somewhere along the way, the feeling of sleepiness had crept over you, one that you had desperately tried to stave off.

evidently, it won. because the next minute, you were waking up— you tried to crane your head to glance upwards, and your heart stilled for a second— in rin’s arms?

in this situation, your initial reaction typically would’ve been to flinch, immediately jump out of his arms, and potentially wake him up and aggravate him along the way. but your body was still exhausted, and he was much more inviting and comfier than you had anticipated him to be. (well, not that you thought about laying on his chest often. definitely not.) admittedly, a part of you didn’t want to leave. 

the steady rise and fall of his chest was soothing, and with the side of your head pressed against his chest, you could hear the slow and rhythmic beating of his heart. his body felt warm against yours, a contrast to the chilly winter air that slipped past your windows, and he was your equivalent to a blanket. this position had also given you a somewhat unobstructed view of his face. he looked serene, at peace, the calmest he’s probably ever been. the semi-permanent crease between his brows had softened into a more passive state, and the frown of his lips was nowhere to be seen. it was a rare sight to see.

you realized that this would be the closest you would ever be to him (though, unintentionally, you think?) so, of course you wanted to stay, but you knew better. you tried to wiggle your way out of his arms, but his hold on you was surprisingly firm. 

you took a deep breath, shifting slightly, trying to reach behind you to peel his arms off of you. he’s stubborn, even in his sleep, you realize, and his arms go right back to where they were the second you take them off. you bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to sigh out of frustration, careful to not wake him up. but it’s uncomfortable reaching behind you for extended periods of time, and your shoulders were starting to cramp from stretching backwards. and after two more failed attempts, you give up, letting your arm awkwardly rest at your sides.

you lay there, frozen and at a loss for what to do. then, your mind starts to spiral. would he get mad? will he yell at you? will he push you off and onto the floor the second he wakes up? the twitching of rin’s hand, his palms sliding over from the small of your back to the sides of your waist, snaps you out of it. 

you glance up at him, hoping he wouldn’t be awake, just to be met with teal eyes staring right back at you. you throw him a sheepish and awkward smile as he blinks at you, before you look away. looking anywhere but him. another second passes, and he blinks again— “you’re up,” he points out, voice rough from sleep, and completely unphased. 

“yeah,” you respond, trying to act casual. your heart was in overdrive at this point, and you were mildly confused at the lack of reaction from him. was he not mad? “looks like i fell asleep on you, haha.” internally, you cringe at your awkward laugh. 

he blinks again, clearly still under the haziness of sleep. 

he doesn’t respond to you immediately, however, instead grunting as he moved so that you weren’t practically falling off of him and the couch. which, you hadn't even noticed up until that point. but you were now directly laying on top of him, cheek smushed against the fabric of his shirt, feeling his muscles flex with each movement, and becoming increasingly aware of just how close he really was. (it hit you before, but it was really hitting you now.) 

“you fell right on top of me and then knocked out,” he finally responds, after a few seconds. completely brushing over the fact that he had essentially pulled you closer, rather than pushing you away. acting normal. “you were studying hard, so didn’t wanna wake you.”

“...oh,” you mutter dumbly. it was all you could think to say. “oops. sorry.” 

rin scoffs at the lame apology, but there was softness in his eyes as he glanced down at you, one that told you that he probably wasn’t as annoyed as he tried to make himself out to be. “don’t get used to it,” he mutters, though, there was no malice in his voice. “and don’t overwork yourself.”

there’s a thump in your heart, and you ignore it. 

“yep, noted.” you agree. there’s a momentary pause as you collect yourself, wondering what to say next and whether you should finally get up. though your heart was begging you not to, your mind was trying to be logical. “i should probably get up now, i still have some material to review.” 

but rin’s response is immediate, this time. “you’re still sleepy, aren’t you?” his deep voice was still as flat as ever— yet, with a hint of gentleness? oddly adamant about not letting go of you, but you don’t question it. “just go back to sleep, i don’t care.”

he was trying to avoid saying, "i don't mind," but you know him better than that.

your eyes widen at his words, shooting to meet his gaze, and for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. a part of you wanted to joke around and ask, what did you do with the real rin? but decided against it, at the fact that he might actually push you off this time.

maybe you were simply deflecting.

because the thought of going back to sleep in his arms, laying on his chest, made you feel weird. a good, but also anxiety-inducing, type of weird— like the feeling of swarms of butterflies fluttering uncontrollably in your stomach, or the jittery excitement passing over your body in waves, and the way your heart jumps at the idea of him letting you stay this close. it makes you feel all fuzzy inside. 

“uh— are you sure?” you try to unravel yourself from him, but his hands ever-so-slightly tighten their grip around your waist, keeping you flush against him. his nonverbal cue to make you stay. but still, “i know you don’t really like it when people are all up in your personal space, like this.”

he sighs, and you see the way he refrains from playfully rolling his eyes at you. “just go back to sleep, idiot.” 

“right, okay,” you mumble, still unsure, but letting your head rest against his chest again. it's instantaneous. one of his hands immediately creeps onto the back of your head, fingers threading through the strands of your hair, and he’s practically cradling you. you fail to fight back the contented sigh that slips past your lips at the feeling, and you don’t see the small smile on his face. “maybe just a little longer.”

and the two of you settle into one another.

rin doesn’t say anything more, letting the silence fall over the two of you as you’re lulled back into sleep. he simply adjusts his hold on you, one hand still on the back of your head, the other arm now loosely wrapped around your waist. 

“sleep well,” he mumbles softly, careful not to rouse you.

© rindreamery, 2024

[muntitled]

𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫

Summary: Visiting home brings up old feelings for the boy next door…

Myung Jaehyun x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Boy Next Door AU, Non-idol!AU, Language, Mutual pining, Hyperfeminine!Reader, Childhood friends to lovers, Smut +18 (Minors DNI), dry humping, slight ddlg themes, praise kink, dom/sub themes, Dom!Jaehyun, Needy!Jaehyun, Hyperfeminine!reader, Premature Orgasm, Loser!Jaehyun, Needy sex

The lack of actual boy next door fanfic for Boynextdoor is harrowing...

You did not hate your childhood. In fact, you would venture to say that you should look quite fondly of most of it because most of it had taken place here- in a picturesque wasteland of suburbia, and as you drive through the narrow main road, staring at glimpses of childhood relics, you begin to frown. Every memory was so unequivocally perfect except, maybe, for the ones containing him.

"Can you at least try to sound like you're not going kill yourself while you’re there?" Your best friend's voice drones on from the car speaker. Her words, no matter how valid, elicit an eye roll from you, effectively stopping your journey down memory lane. "It would be awful to have to drive down to your childhood home just because you tried to kill yourself, I refuse to have that be the way you introduce your college best friend to your mother."

"Relax," you affirm in a voice groggy from underuse. Spending an entire 15 hour drive beguiled to your car without any company except for maybe of course your Destiny's Child album and a swelling sea of dread in the pit of your stomach.

This would be the first time in a year that you were visiting your childhood home since you left for college. The first time anyone who mapped the outline of your childhood, would perceive you as the budding, blossoming, depressive adult you have become. You felt like a storm coming back into your picturesque childhood neighbourhood, threatening to sweep everything away. That feeling of dread only doubles when your driveway appears on the bottom of a hill. The cul-de-sac of your childhood with all its trimmed hedges, neat fencing and constantly perfect shudders, sends you hurtling into nostalgia and once again, common ordinary dread.

"What If I just turn the car around right now, would that be bad?"

"I have never met a college student so unhappy to be home-" Your best friend mumbles, "You're going to be living the dream!? Actual balanced meals!? Please take one for the team,"

Almost immediately, her words trigger a rumble of hunger from your stomach and you groan as your car curls into the cul-de-sac. Your heart is hammering in your ear, not for the reasons anyone might think, but because of those memories locked in your childhood. As you drive, you try to keep your eye on your house. Your perfect homely house.

Your eye doesn't even stray to the house beside it!

Honest to God!

Not even once.

"Is there a reason you don't wanna go home so bad?"

"The weather is so bad," you say almost automatically, "I think the line's about to cut,"

"Bitch, you only avoid my line of questioning like this when it's about some dick-"

"Jeez, the weather’s messing with the connection."

"If you drop this call TRUST you will be dealt w-"

"I'll call when I unpack, love you-" when you drop the call, your car is parked in the driveway and your shoulders are slumped over. You contemplate waiting around in the driveway until some relative forcibly pulls you out but that thought is quickly made obsolete when you hear a harsh knocking on the door. Your stress levels gravitate to an all time high as you watch him, waving frantically at you from the other side of the glass. His smile is bright and just as crooked as ever. His wave is frantic and energetic; Jaehyun is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, so unequivocally happy to reunite with his childhood best friend.

His only friend. The return of that voice in your head is one of things you had been anticipating on this trip. Mainly because your childhood had been riddled with so much self esteem issues, your feelings practically metamorphosed into that voice you now hear now. That's all you'll ever be to him. All you've ever been, Your mind remarks in a distasteful spit of venom.

"Get your face off of my windows unless cleaning my car for the foreseeable future is a job you're actually interested in." You say coolly as you slide out of the vehicle. Jaehyun gives space for you to stretch, all while shuffling from one foot to the next, picking at the sleeves of his flannel with a dopey smile like he was one second away from proudly telling you he 'frew up at school'.

"Still as homicidal as ever." He says your name with a familiarity that nearly knocks you unconscious. You focus on lifting your arms to the air, and ironing out tje various aches in your back.

"How long has your ass been waiting here anyway?" It's Jaehyun's turn to nearly evade eye contact at your question. He finds it exceedingly difficult to follow along with what you're saying when you so very clearly have boobs now.

"Since my mom told me you'll be back,” He says before immediately adding, “hey- how long have those been there?" You drop your arms with furrowed brows as you look at him.

"What?"

You await a response that doesn't arrive. Jaehyun only points nonchalantly towards your chest. You look down at your v-neck and back at Jaehyun. "I don't know what you're talking about," you roll your eyes as you shuffle past him.

"YOU HAVE BOOBS NOW?!” He exclaims, “EW-"

You turn around to face him, pushing your acrylic nail into his sternum, "I've always had tits- sh-shut up-"

"You literally finished high school without them. I would have noticed as the tiddy connoisseur, trust me."

You find yourself embarrassed, not by his avid teasing (this is something you've been forced to deal with every single day of your childhood and adolescence,) but you find your stomach warming for completely different reasons. Your Jaehyun-obsessed brain wants to pick apart and dissect his entire statement. Maybe he's finally noticing you now? Maybe this age-old crush will evaporate and metamorphose into something else.

You cannot speak because your nail is still digging intently at his sternum and he's staring down at you, as if waiting for whatever venom laced comeback you had waiting for him.

All you're able to focus on however, is the way in which you're staring intently at each other. For him, this proximity is probably nothing, but for you... "Also when you get in there, please for, the love of God, act surprised."

The spell is immediately broken and you're once again brought back down to earth.

The cul-de-sac.

The driveway.

The afternoon sun, surrounded by a cooling breeze.

"Please don't tell me I'm about to walk into another family dinner," your eyes grew heavy with fatigue at just the mere thought of all your family dinners before. 'Family' being used very loosely because he always somehow found himself in every single one.

"You know how our moms can get," you did. You really did.

"Ugh," you exclaim, trudging up the house steps, "1 hour of this and I'm done." Your hand pauses before the doorknob and you turn to Jaehyun with a bored, almost questioning stare. "Aren't you gonna get my things?"

His grins a wolfish grin before clutching at the t-shirt under his flannel, "Oh how I've missed being bossed around by you-"

"Fuck you-" You chuckle out. Jaehyun only turns his torso sloppily as he continues walking to your car.

"A guy could hope!"

And just like that, that smile is gone. The moment is sour. Because whatever he meant, you knew from childhood experience that it did not mean what you wanted it to.

-

Meeting everyone all at once had been as jarring as you expected it to be. You ceremoniously heeded Jaehyun's advice, acting so completely shocked when your relatives and Jaehyun's family yelled 'Surprise' in unison. Everyone was sporting smiles that crinkled their eyes and arms open for hugs. Before you were made privy to every line of questioning surrounding school, Jaehyun's mom swept you into her arms.

"How's is my daughter in law-" there was no time for her to watch you grow tense at her words because Jaehyun who was lugging your luggage in, calmly affirmed, "She has tits now, apparently-"

"MYUNG JAEHYUN-"

The evening had progressed with all the domesticity that you lacked during college and you found yourself at immense ease throughout dinner. Home is still home. Jaehyun is still Jaehyun. Everything that once was, still is and you took a second after dinner to ruminate in the feelings of comfort seeping into your entire being.

That is until your mother ruined it by inserting a very unnecessary, wholly uncalled for fact during dessert drudgery.

"Any boys on campus?"

"It's campus," you snorted as you stuffed your face with malva pudding, "of course there are boys," Throughout the course of your dinner, Jaehyun, who is dutifully seated directly beside you, has taken to swinging his leg against yours. A provocation from childhood that you almost immediately latch onto until you are both playing a violent game of footsies under the table.

"No boys to smooch on campus," Jaehyun speaks up, petulantly puckering his lips at you. All you're able to do is try and ignore him which proves to be a dangerous feat.

"I should think there's a new boy." Your mom says before pointing at you and Jaehyun with the flick of her utensils, "The primary school crush you two had on each other has gone on for way too-"

"MOM!?"

Your mother's slip of the tongue instantly grabs all of Jaehyun's attention. He's perking up in his seat like a rottweiler at attention with his head snapped in your direction.

"Crush?" His eyes falter, scanning the side of your face as if he was perceiving you anew. All traces of a smile are gone as he dumbly asks "What crush?"

"I've been driving for an insane amount of hours," you begin by pushing yourself out of your dining chair, "I should unpack and get to bed-"

"W-Wait I can help." You glare daggers at Jaehyun, that look alone should be enough to stop him from rising from his seat.

"Don't be rude. Your best friend hasn't seen you in ages" your mother scolds, lightly prompting your hands to curl at your sides, "We'll take care of the dishes."

-

Your ascension up the stairs had been charged with tension and filled with something else entirely. You walk ahead of Jaehyun as if trying to distract yourself from his presence, but everything about him is so completely there, "I can feel you staring at my ass," you mumble, needing to fill the air with something, anything at all as you reach the upstairs landing. "Guilty," he says as he follows you into your childhood room which is much the same.

Jaehyun beelines for your twin bed, almost immediately flinging himself on the childish quilted bedspread. "This place is still the same..."

"So are you actually going to be useful, because if not," you fold your arms as you stare him down, "You can leave?"

His mouth hangs open in a lopsided grin as he reaches around to grab at the very first plushie he finds. One of many.

"You still sleep with these?" He asks instead, as if your question meant nothing at all. He plays idly with the stuffed dinosaur in his hands as he leans his head back against the pillows. Seeing him here, amongst your things, brought an avalanche of nostalgia and a wave of hopelessness. He is still so attractive, even after all these years.

You sigh, "Jaehyun if you're not gonna-"

"So was that true?" There it is. The shotgun question that had been hanging like damp washing between the two of you. With your nerves shot to hell, you decide to lower your behind on the very edge of the twin bed as you busy your hands with folding your clothes. Your back is turned to him but you can feel those piercing, smiling eyes watching you.

"Is what true?"

"C'mon, don't do that,'' there is a noise of shuffling behind you. Your heart hammers in its cage with the dip in the bed sheets and you can feel him seated directly behind you. You look down at your lap to find that he's placed your plushie there, as if to distract you from the fact that his legs were now framing yours, his front pressed against your back.

"You know what," he whispers straight into your ear, sounding as serious as you've ever heard him.

Craning your neck backwards to let your eyes fall on Jaehyun would prove to be a cataclysmic mistake. It only heightens the wobble in your voice as you say, "The crush I had on you was juvenile and childish and frankly didn't mean any-"

"Dude..." he whispers, eyes seemingly boring into every single square inch of your face, "I've dreamt about being your boyfriend since I fucking found out what a boyfriend is." His words knock the breath cleanly out of your lungs and your voice grows quiet as he lifts his hand to the side of your face. "What..."

"Yeah!"

His voice is loud and boisterous but you're still somehow locked tightly in your stupor.

"Nu uh," you mumble, your eyes daringly drifting across his lips, "You're lying?"

"How am I lying, angel?" you suck in a deep breath because his thumb is rubbing dizzying circles against your cheek now and his voice has descended a gravelly octave. He dips his head down, experimentally placing a feathlight kiss on the corner of your bottom lip. So innocent, but charged with so many expletives, the possibilities rush straight to your clit.

Still, you soldier on.

"B-Because remember what you said at our grade 6 dance?"

He's not listening. He's not listening because he's finally got a taste of you and he'd be damned if he didnt get more. Jaehyun cranes your neck until you're facing forward once more and you gasp when his lips descend on the skin between your neck and shoulder. "Enlighten me," he mumbles against your skin, placing more featherlight kisses there before he quickly grows bored and decides to stick out his tongue experimentally. You turn into molten clay in his hands and the whimper that escapes you is borderline pornagraphic. This is the stuff all Jaehyun's previous fantasies are made of.

"W-When you asked me out- you said..." your voice drifts off because Jaehyun can't help but let his right hand reach around until he squeezes your torso impossibly closer. All the pudge, all the skin, all the ways he's been dreaming about having you this close and you were there for the taking this whole time.

"Fuck, I'm obsessed with you…" He says, and he does a very odd thing. He buries his face in your neck and just sniffs. This momentary slip of weakness allows you to regain some of your senses as you say,

"Y-You asked me to be your date," Jaehyun is drunk on the very scent of you now and his cock throbs as he brings you impossibly closer against his lap,

"What else did I say, baby," he wants you to carry on talking. Anything that might distract you from wanting him to leave. Anything that might keep you here just a little longer. His cock throbs at that thought alone and it has him rubbing against your skin like a dog in heat.

"Y-You said you didn't have anyone else to go with-" you suck in a deep breath through your air as Jaehyun's hand venture underneath your shirt. He slithers his hand up in a hurry until his cool fingertips are grazing the flesh of your breasts. Like a crazed adolescent driven by his hormones alone, he pulls your bra down, all while tonguing and licking at your neck like his life depended on it.

"S'sorry," he mumbles incoherently behind you, and his hand on the side of your face cranes your head backwards so that you're facing him once more, "So'so'sorry," he places a sloppy, apologetic kiss on your mouth which immediately triggers a very deep desire that is almost as old as you are.

"I wanted you so bad-" you admit with a gasp, and Jaehyun feels your confession shoot straight down his spine. He plasters his front into your backside, pressing his hips against your ass in an apparent wave of lust.

"I've always needed you," he ventures to admit, pressing his bulge against your backside as if needing to persuade you further.

Those words of affirmation are all you need , all you've needed for a lifetime and you immediately turn until you're lumbering onto him before letting your knees frame his hips. His hands instinctively grip onto, your supple, full hips and the feeling of your softness on top of him alone is enough to have him groaning into the air as his hips stutter up at you.

While you crash your lips against his once more you lift yourself away but his hips follow, "The fuck are you doing!?" He mumbles against your lips before biting lightly at your bottom lip.

"Too heavy," you mumble, "I don't wanna be too hea-"

Your words dissolve in your throat and in its place, a yelp escapes as Jaehyun forcibly pulls you down onto his sweatpants-clad lap. "You did this to me," he says, watching you intently as if scolding you, "You did this to me and now you wanna run away?" He scoffs as his hands begins to guide your hips against his. You're both in very flimsy material. Him in his sweatpants and you in similar attire except your sweatpants were a dusky pink. "Youre so pretty grinding on me like that fuck-" he speaks quickly and fluidly as he leans backward onto your bed, making more space to watch you grind yourself on top of him.

His attention is utterly intoxicating and so you do nothing but listen when he says, "Take your top off, baby-"

You peel the item of clothing off, unclipping your bra with all the speed and sloppiness that came with your lust-filled fog/ Jaehyun doesn't help. He's all too focused on guiding your hips against his, watching you face contort into pleasure.

"Pants," he says, needing to see more of your open-mouthed moans, "Take your pants off," he whispers, "Make a mess on me," he swallows thickly, "Please,"

You lift yourself to momentarily push your sweatpants, Jaehyun lifts himself momentarily to grab at your stuffed animal.

"Whatre you-" When you straddle him again, you're completely naked while he's fully clothed. The juxtaposition only elicits another wave of lust. "Hold this while you ride me," he stuffs your plushie against your chest, watching your mouth hang open as you lower your clit onto his bulge,

"O-Oh my fuck, Jaehyun-"

"Just like that, angel, fuck,' he throws his head back momentsrily stumped by the weight of his pleasure. He's trying to be dominant for you. He's trying to keep his control for you, but you're moving your hips against his, with his bulge between your legs, using him for absolute filth. It ruins him entirely.

His voice cracks when he lifts his head to look up at you and say, "Oh my god, you feel so fucking good, oh my god," When Jaehyun curses, your cunt only presses down harder against him, prompting a needier response out of you.

Jaehyun swallows thickly, "Use me, baby," he says, "F-Fuck, just fucking use me," his hips stutter upwards and his hands on your sides grip you so tightly you know it'll leave marks. "Doing s-so well for me. Youre doing so fucking well-"

He watches with an open mouth at your tits, so pillowy and full, bouncing as you rub yourself against him and he completely loses it.

"Fuck- p-please cum, I need to cum so bad-" Jaehyun gasps, wracking another torrid moan out of you as you descend almost immediately into your orgasm. Jaehyun watches with an open mouth and half lidded eyes, unable to stop himself from fucking up into you. He wraps his arm against your waist and buries his face in your chest. You rake your fingers through his hair and he shivers

"No way you just made me cum in my pants," he is so incredibly overcome with embarrassment, he dreads having to look up at you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"No, Jaehyun, its-"

"I mean about not being honest sooner. That was bad of me, he mumbles into your chest and you chuckle at his petulance, "I'm sorry,"

"Apology accepted for making me wait so long..."

<3

© to @mphountitled on tumblr; do not repost

[amongemeraldclouds]

"if you're going to stare at me like that, at least buy me dinner first" | theodore nott | flufftober masterlist | 835 words

"Let's divide the project, do our part separately, and leave it at that," you stated, dropping your books on the desk beside Theo as if to punctuate your statement.

"Why hello to you too," Theo grinned, unperturbed by your stormy mood. Mostly because he knew it would further annoy you, and partly because he thought you were cute when you were annoyed. You may have been rivals who had the misfortune of being paired together for an important project, but he was not blind.

You settled yourself in the seat beside him, ignoring his sarcasm. Opening your book, you took out your pen to write down the project steps when Theo gave you a page he prepared that contained a detailed breakdown of what the project entailed and different steps you could take.

You reached in your bag to fish out your pair of reading glasses. Theo tried to ignore how adorable it made you look. He was already hyper aware of everything about you and the way you made him feel, he did not need to add more fuel to that flame.

You read the document and you hated to admit it, but it was excellent. It was another point he had won against you. Embarrassment crept up your cheeks as he managed to be a step ahead of you. "Well, this is certainly helpful," you said, trying to keep the neutral tone in your voice. You tried to hide how it ruffled you, except your blush revealed it all.

Theo reacted with a cocky grin, "stick with me y/n and you may learn a thing or two."

"I do just fine on my own," you narrowed your eyes.

"Except we do have to work on this project together. See that," he said, pointing to the third step he outlined in his document. You leaned in to read the section he indicated, your shoulders pressed together. The scent of his woodsy cologne invaded your senses and it took you by surprise.

You shifted your gaze from the page to his face. You blinked in surprise, he was so near. For the first time, you noticed his long lashes. The way his wavy hair fell near his eyes and you were tempted to brush it back. Suddenly curious how soft it would feel between your fingers.

Then he turned his gaze to you, piercing blue eyes stared intently into yours. It took your breath away. He often had a bored expression that you had no idea he could be this focused.

Your lips parted a few centimeters as your mind tried to snap you out of it. You were keenly aware this stare was longer than what was polite, but you couldn't find your way out of this maze.

It achieved the opposite effect as Theo's eyes shifted to your lips. From this close, he noticed how full they were. They looked so soft, he wanted to reach out with his lips just to confirm he was right. Heat bloomed within you as your heart pounded faster in your chest.

Seeming to catch himself, he looked back up, a secret desire swirling into ocean blue of his eyes. He cleared his throat, the spell of the moment over. Your eyes snapped back to the page as he took a second to remember his words.

"We need at least two pairs of hands to complete this step," he finished his sentence from earlier.

You sighed, deflated. There was truly no other way. "You might be right."

"What's that?" Theo leaned in, "you think I'm right?"

You scoffed, "don't get used to it.

He lowered his voice as he whispered in your ear, "but you know, if you're going to stare at me like that, at least buy me dinner first."

Your eyes widened as you opened your mouth to speak then closed it a few times, the words lost in the recesses of your mind. You stopped when you realized it made you look like a fish out of water. "You can't tell me what to do," you countered.

Theo continued, "pretty girl like you, I wouldn't say no."

You blinked, "you think I'm pretty?"

"I have eyes, y/n. I know you think you're better than me but come on. I'm not blind," he replied, waving his hand to dismiss the topic.

He brought the conversation back to the project, dejected by your horror at the thought of going out with him. But with the way you looked at him earlier, he could have sworn you felt the same way he did.

Theo was uncertain and he hated not knowing. Part of his academic prowess lent itself to his innate curiosity about things. He shifted slightly in his seat so his leg brushed briefly against yours and he enjoyed the electric rush from the contact.

As you both wrote down your plans, he made a mental note of another one. You were a question he was going to answer before this project was over.

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 7 - mutual masturbation logan howlett x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, mutual masturbation, fingering, handjobs

You're not sure how what was supposed to be an innocent movie night led to this. All you wanted to do was curl up after a long week and watch some scary movies with your boyfriend. Instead, you've ended up with his fingers resting knuckle-deep in your cunt, and your hand stroking his leaking cock.

"Fuck..." you whimper, looking up into Logan's eyes as your lip puffs out into a pout. His fingertips graze just where you like to be touched with every movement. The heel of his palm grinds on your clit from the motions.

He leans down and steals the sound from your mouth with a kiss, melting that huffy look into something much more compliant.

"Gotta be quiet, baby. Don't want anyone knocking on your door to investigate strange noises," he teases and pulls at your bottom lip with his teeth.

Your instinct is to whine again, but it is the middle of the night. Even in the privacy of your own room, you really don't want anyone else in the nearby rooms of the mansion hearing the effect Logan has on you in moments like these.

In an attempt to fight back, you give his cock a tight squeeze before pumping up and down faster. He hisses softly and shoots you a look.

"Funny," he says.

The movie you'd been watching continues to play in the background even though neither of you were paying attention to it at this point. Your fist keeps sliding back and forth. You angle your head above it to spit down onto his shaft, making your movements more fluid.

A groan rumbles in his chest. He pulls you closer with the arm around your body, nestling the two of you further into the collection of pillows at the top of your bed. His lips move in again, smashing on yours as a way to keep himself quiet this time. The entire time, his fingers continue to curl inside you and gently slide between your walls. It's unfair how easy this version of multitasking is for him.

Pulling away, breathless from the kiss, you look down and watch. The outline of his hand presses against your panties and then recedes rhythmically. Next to it, his cock stands angry red and dripping from your hand's treatment of it.

"Jesus, you're so wet," he grunts. His voice sounds as strained as it does when he's buried inside you for real. It's accompanied by the wet sloshing noises of your hole being filled.

Beneath his hand, the seat of your panties was soaked through with slick. You leak around his fingers like a broken faucet, getting his entire palm glistening with your need for him.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, babydoll?" he murmurs in your ear, "Gonna get all nice and tight and make me wish I had my cock inside you instead?"

You gasp out a 'yes' before throwing your head back and letting your body seize up. He smirks at you and keeps working his fingers within. You try to keep your hand going as best you can, but your movements become erratic under the waves of pleasure he's bringing you.

Luckily for you both, the sight of your body squirming for him and the sound of your voice cracking into whines is enough to spur his arousal into a release. His high doesn't crash into him as hard as yours does to you, but he lets out a quiet moan and lets his hips thrust up into your hand.

You watch his abs twitch as ropes of cum fly onto them. It pools on his stomach, dribbling down over his happy trail onto the skin of his pelvis. His eyes flutter and a deep sigh leaves him.

The both of you prolong the mutual ecstasy for as long as you can. You start to come down first. When he joins you in the plateau of the afterglow, you unfurl your fingers from around his length. He pulls his digits from your pussy and snakes his hand free of your panties.

You can see the evidence of your arousal glimmering with the reflection of the light from the television. It would be embarrassing if you didn't know how hot Logan found it. He does what he does every time this happens - brings his fingers to his lips and slots them inside, licks them clean of your nectar, and then brings them back out for you to suck on and get a taste.

After watching you suck on his digits a few times, he pulls them back out and goes in for one more kiss.

"Much more interesting than the movie, huh?" he mutters.

[space-cowgirllll]

Die With A Smile

Outbreak Day with ex-girlfriend Abby?

a/n: idk what lady gaga and bruno put in this song fr. I should have been studying for an Ochem exam but here we are lol.

"Government officials met today to discuss the recent spikes in hospitalizations all across the globe over the past week, with talks of setting up government run quarantine zones in all major cities." 

You perk up from your spot on the couch, trading the carton of ice cream in your hands for the TV remote. The local newswoman's voice fills the quiet space as the volume increases. You immediately recognize the hospital in the background. 

"Hospital staff everywhere are overwhelmed with the influx of patients coming in with symptoms of this mysterious virus. For the time being it is highly recommended that any travel plans be postponed. International flights have started being cancelled, leaving hundred of people stranded. The CDC advises everyone to remain calm  and continue to follow your city's imposed emergency curfews as they work towards finding the cause." 

The face-mask you'd slathered on earlier hardens as she lists off the symptoms to look out for: sudden mood changes, muscle spasms, and slurred speech. You can't wrap your mind around a simple virus causing all this. Your stomach sinks in realization, this is definitely more serious than anybody was letting on. 

Without even thinking you reach for your phone, quickly scrolling through your contact list until you land on the one person you've been avoiding. Abby, your ex girlfriend of six months. Your finger hovers over her number, wondering if this was worth breaking three months of no contact when loud screams come from the television. You look up just in time to see the blast of an explosion before the screen goes blank. Static stares back you. 

Your finger mashes down on the touchscreen with zero hesitation as you run to the sink, hands desperately scrubbing at your face while you wait for her to answer. You don't even stop to consider you might be blocked. 

Please pick up, please pick up, please.

"Hello?" Abby's panicked voice sounds through the phone. 

"Oh my god Abs. Are you okay?" You ramble. "I just saw the news and I- there was an explosion."

"I had to home to change. " Her voice is shaky, turn signal clicks faintly in the background. "I was still close enough to- OH MY GOD!" The sound of tires screeching drown out Abby's curses. A loud boom sounds off outside, this one feels closer. "I'm....to...you" Is the last thing you hear before the line goes dead.

You throw the phone across the room, a string of curses leaving your mouth. The open window of your living room lets you hear the chaos outside before you can see it. Helicopters fly overhead and sirens sound off in the near distance. One by one, porch lights come on as your neighbors step out of their homes, confusion etched on their faces.

The sound of a door slamming open catches everyone's attention. Out of the corner of your eye you see the outlines of two people moving towards the road. Your neighbor, Claire, yells as her husband chases after her. His movements far too quick and erratic for someone his age. 

Everyone watches in shock as he catches up to her, mouth attacking the side of her neck, effectively silencing her screams. The sight is gory. You stand frozen as some of the braver ones try to help, only to be met with a similar fate before he runs off into the middle of the road, searching for his next victim. Chaos quickly ensues, people run off back to their homes, garages pop open as some try to make a quick escape. You stagger back, knocking into the side table beside the couch. A picture frame falls over, shattering loudly on wood floor.

To your absolute horror, his head snaps to your window. For the first time, you're able to catch a glimpse of him up close. Gone was the sweet old man who would help you with yard work in those first few months after Abby moved out. The skin of his face is molted, almost as if something was eating away at it. Once sparkling blue eyes are completely glazed over. The bloodthirsty look on his face sends you reeling. 

His mouth parts open letting out a loud screech, ready to lunge through the thin window screen when a familiar black truck slams into him. Abby hops out, mouth moving quickly as she shouts something at you. Between the ringing in your ears and the loud screams outside you don't register what she says. Your eyes blink rapidly, hoping the sight of your elderly neighbor under her front tire is just your imagination. In your peripheral you see the front door swing open, Abby's keychain hanging from the lock. 

Strong hands grip you by the shoulders, shaking you out of your stupor. "Baby what are you doing? We have to go!"

Her woodsy scent envelopes you as she scoops you up and carries you out bridal style before tossing you in the passenger seat. Fingers clench into the leather as the truck reverses, disturbing the once perfect lawn. Your flowerbeds and mailbox becoming casualties in the process too. 

You peel your eyes off the dash, looking out the window as she flies through residential neighborhoods. More and more people are starting to trickle out from the safety of their homes. Some running with only the clothes on their backs, others quickly shoving personal belongings in their vehicles. 

Your voice is shaky when you finally speak up. "What's going on Abigail?"

She exhales heavily, looking exhausted. "I don't know."

"Are they all like that?" 

Her jaw clenches. "The ones I've been treating are in the early stages of their symptoms, but beds are full. We've been told to turn people away to recover at home." She huffs. "I don't even wanna know how many of them are out there running around like that."

You hesitantly rub her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, slowly pulling back when she tenses. Her throat clears and the skin of her knuckles turns white as she tightens her grip on the wheel. 

"So what are we doing?"

You're shocked when she shrugs her shoulders. Abby always had a plan. You wrack your brain, trying to think of something. 

"My parent's cabin up north! We could go there." You suggest. "Y'know until everything settles down."

She makes a sharp right, following the signs pointing her to the nearest on ramp. Her fist slams against the wheel when you pull up to the main highway just five minutes later. It seems like everyone had the same idea. Cars are honking, people are screaming. Nobody is moving. The thought of sitting in bumper to bumper traffic right now doesn't sound like a smart idea.

"My apartment's in the city." Abby suddenly states. "They were setting up barricades when I left for work this morning. Flyers talking about a quarantine zone." 

She doesn't wait for your approval, sending the truck speeding towards her place. The closer you get to the city, the more erratic Abby's driving becomes. It's clear your little suburban bubble was late to the news of the outbreak. Downtown Seattle is absolute madness. Everywhere you look there's something happening. Those infected chase people up and down the streets, tackling the ones too slow to outrun them. Shops that you can remember being there your whole life are now ablaze. 

You grip onto the handle above your head watching wide eyed as Abby plows through debris in the street. Bile rises in your throat when you realize she most likely driving over the dead bodies left behind. 

The truck slows to a crawl. Concrete barricades were placed closer together here, making it impossible to get through. She silently curses at the fact that you're gonna have to leave the safety of the car and make the rest of the journey on foot. She grabs your face between her hand, forcing you to look her in the eye.

"Get ready to run baby." 

Your hand is on the handle when something crashes into your door. A scream gets caught in your throat as the infected bangs on the glass of your window before setting it's sights on the blonde. She's halfway out of the truck when she gets tackled to the ground. Her hands shoot out using all her strength to keep it from attacking her 

"Abby!"

She screams at you to run. Her arms are getting tired of holding this ridiculously strong freak back. Her hold is quickly slipping. Accepting her fate she screws her eyes shut bracing for the inevitable. A loud whack and she doesn't realize there's no longer any weight holding her down until your panicked voice is in her ear. 

"Holy fuck! Are you okay?"

You crouch beside her, a bloody metal pipe in your hands. Keeping a watchful eye on the body laying just inches from hers. She slaps your hand away, wincing when she gets up on her own. 

"Why would you do that?!" She whisper yells, unsure whether to kiss you for saving her or punching you for putting yourself in danger. "I told you to run!"

"I could never just leave you like that. You're welcome." You say through labored breaths. With a roll of her eyes she grabs your hand, sprinting in the direction of her building. 

You're thankful it's a short run from the car to her place. The two of you able to successfully hide from any other infected. It doesn't take long for either of you to realize that their vision sucks. 

The stairs up to her place are a feat of its own. You huff and puff up to the nineteenth floor, legs on fire when you finally walk through the door. 

Her apartment is spotless, because of course it is. Floor to ceiling windows give you a clear view of what seems to be the end of the world. 

"Oh my god." You stand in the middle of her room, watching in horror as explosions go off in my the distance. The ground beneath you shakes as they get closer and closer. 

Abby shakes her head in disbelief clearly putting two and two together. 

"It's so heavily populated here. They don't see the point in trying to separate the healthy from the infected." She whispers. Tears well in her eyes watching a plane purposefully fly into the ground off in the distance. The large blast setting fire to everything around it. There are more right behind it. "We're so fucked."

You watch as the fight leave her body. Your throat locks up, unable to scream at her. Wobbly legs pace back and forth in the small space trying to think of something that might work. Deep down you know it's pointless. There's no way you'd make it out of the city alive. Soft sobs wrack your body at the realization that this really is the end. 

Her shoulders slump as she sits on the bed. She gnaws on her lower lip to keep from crying too loud. "Can I hold you?" 

You nod, legs feeling like jelly. Abby reaches for you, pulling you up towards the headboard. The two of you lay beside each other breathing heavily with your hands intertwined. Tears stream down her face and onto the pillow under her head. 

She reaches over and kisses you, her shaking hand plays with the baby hairs on the nape of your neck. "My biggest regret was letting you go."

You watch face as she continues talking, lips moving against yours. "I had to stop myself from driving past the house every single day." She laughs. "Would have sat outside your door until you took me back."

"I wish you would have." You admit through a watery smile. 

"I never stopped loving you. I just want you to know that." She whispers, lips moving to kiss your temple. 

"I should have never left." Your lips meet the skin of neck tasting the salty tears that have pooled there. "I love you too Abby. So much it hurts." 

"I can't believe this is what it took for us to realize how stupid we were." She mumbles into your hair. Your face burrows into the crook of her neck. "I'm so sorry baby."

"I'm glad you came for me." You tell her, but you know she doesn't hear it. 

The walls start shaking, sending everything tumbling to the floor. You're no longer able to hear anything over the sound of a loud engine approaching. Her arms tighten around you, the two of you curl into each other. 

There's a jarring beeping in your ear just as it all goes black. 

You shoot up in bed, heart in your throat. The sound of your heavy breathing almost drowns out the harsh beeping of your alarm. Reaching over you rip the cord from the wall sitting in silence for a moment while your heartbeat returns to normal. 

The sun is shining outside, laughter from the kids across the street flows in through the small opening of your window. A lawnmower goes off in the distance.

Shaking hands fist the cool cotton of your sheets. The soft material grounding you. You look around the small room. Everything looks just as you left it. There's an empty bottle of wine on the dresser and you roll your  eyes at yourself. 

That explains it. 

You're okay. 

It was all a dream.

You jump out of bed, rushing to the bathroom before taking the stairs two at a time almost snapping an ankle. The entryway table shakes when you snatch the keys from on top of it. The warm August breeze that hits you when you walk outside makes you feel renewed. 

The quiet neighborhood looks as it always does. A couple of people are out watering their lawns while some head out for church. Claire sits on her front porch drinking a cup of coffee, giving you a little wave when she spots you pulling out of your driveway and it's a miracle you don't burst into tears. Using muscle memory you quickly punch in the number you know by heart, waiting with bated breath for an answer.  "Hello?"Your shoulders drop in relief at the sound of her voice. She's okay.

"Where are you?"

"At home," she pauses "why?"

"Perfect." You hang up before she can reply. Tossing the phone on the passenger seat you press your foot down on the gas. 

You make it to Abby's apartment building in record time, parking haphazardly by the curb. There's a ninety nine percent chance you'll come back to a parking ticket stuck to your windshield but you don't care. 

There's a moment on the elevator ride up to the nineteenth floor where you second guess yourself. Aware of how ridiculous you look in mix matched pajamas going to try and win your ex girlfriend back. You steel your nerves reminding yourself of how horrible those last few seconds of your nightmare were.  If she kicks you out you can at least say you tried. 

Abby answers the door looking mouth watering in a black tank top and gray shorts, her messy hair pulled back in a low bun. "Alright, how many traffic laws did you break on your way over here?"

"You don't wanna know." You pant, throwing yourself into her arms. 

She catches you with a soft grunt, hesitating for a second before wrapping her arms around you. The familiar scent of pine engulfs you.  

"Not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here?" Her teasing tone makes your face heat up. "I don't think random house visits on a Sunday at 8 AM fall under no contact." She quips. 

"I love you!" The words are out before you can stop yourself. "I love you and I don't want to go another day without letting you know that walking away from you was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I regret it every single day."

Abby leans back against the door with her hands still on your hips. There's a tiny grin on her face watching you spill your guts, you’re too worked up to notice. "I know we're both at the peak of our careers. I know we're busy, and there will be days we don't even get to see each other, but I'm tired of living like this. I miss you." 

You sniffle pathetically into her chest. "The world could end tomorrow and I don't want to regret never telling you how I felt." Thumbs wipe gently at your tears. "And if you don't feel the same way I underst- mmph!"

Her lips meet yours in a soft kiss, hands wandering under your shirt to caress the soft skin of your back. Neither of you make a move to deepen it, content to take it slow.

Abby pulls back first. Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she stares down at you. It suddenly hits you how much you've missed her. She brings her forehead to rest against yours. 

"Took you long enough baby."

[littlelamy]

An au request idea I can't get out of my head......Rafe is a cowboy and does rodeo shows with bulls and has just started dating Reader, On their first date, he takes her to his stables where he has a fake saddled tied up to mimick being pulled and dragged around (so he can practice). Rafe helps her up on it for fun but realises he has made a mistake when he starts having dirty thoughts from how sexual it looks and tries to be a gentlemen, being super awkward barley holding it together while she's shy and obvlivous

parings: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: none

rafe adjusted his hat, a grin playing at his lips as he led you down the dirt path toward the stables. his boots kicked up little clouds of dust with every step, the quiet hum of the countryside wrapping around the two of you like a comforting embrace.

you’d been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and this was your first proper date. rafe had been eager to show you his world, the place that meant everything to him. his excitement was infectious as he talked about the bulls, the rodeo shows, and his life as a cowboy.

“you ever been around bulls before?” he asked, glancing at you with those piercing blue eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

you shook your head, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “never been this close. it’s a little intimidating.”

“don’t worry,” he reassured you, his hand brushing lightly against yours. “i’ll keep you safe.”

when you reached the stables, the scent of hay and leather filled the air. rafe led you inside, pointing out the different stalls, the various equipment he used for training. your eyes widened as you took it all in, fascinated by the glimpse into his world.

then he stopped in front of a contraption that looked like a bull, but made of leather and wood, with a saddle strapped on top. it was rigged up to ropes and pulleys, clearly a practice setup.

“this here’s for training,” rafe explained, a hint of pride in his voice. “helps me get used to the movements, stay in shape for the real thing.”

you tilted your head, curious. “so you just…ride that?”

he chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “yeah, pretty much. want to give it a try?”

your eyes widened. “me? oh, I don’t know…”

“it’s safe, i promise,” rafe said, holding out a hand. “i’ll be right here the whole time.”

your heart pounded as you took his hand, letting him help you up onto the makeshift bull. his hands were strong and steady as they guided you, making sure you were comfortable. once you were seated, he stood back, watching you with an almost boyish excitement.

but then something shifted.

as you adjusted in the saddle, leaning forward slightly, rafe's breath hitched. the way your hips moved, the curve of your body as you tried to balance—it sent a jolt straight through him. you shifted your weight to get comfortable, causing your chest to bounce slightly with the movement, your breasts rising and falling in a way that rafe couldn't ignore.

he swallowed hard, his eyes fixated on the subtle motion. the gentle sway of your body, the way your thighs gripped the saddle—it was all too much. the way your shirt clung to you, outlining your curves, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you laughed—it all burned into his mind. he cursed himself silently, trying to push the images away.

“this isn’t so bad,” you said, oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

“uh…yeah,” rafe stammered, his usual confidence slipping. he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to focus on anything but the way your body moved so naturally, so sensually on the saddle. “you’re a natural.”

you giggled, shifting again, bouncing lightly to test the movement of the saddle. the slight jiggle of your breasts with each bounce had rafe's jaw tightening, his jeans suddenly feeling a little too snug. he took a step back, his hands twitching at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure.

“maybe…uh, maybe that’s enough for now,” he said, his voice a little strained. “don’t want you to get too sore.”

you frowned slightly, confused by his sudden change in tone. “oh, okay. did I do something wrong?”

“no, no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “you were perfect. just…you know, safety first.”

he helped you down, his hands lingering a moment longer than necessary on your waist before he let go. as you landed on your feet, you stumbled slightly, pressing against his chest. the warmth of your body against his, the softness of your curves pressed into him—it was nearly his undoing. he sucked in a breath, stepping back to create some distance.

as the two of you walked back toward the house, your hips swayed naturally with each step, and rafe found himself trailing just a bit behind, his eyes betraying him as they followed the movement. every step, every sway—it all stirred something primal in him. he clenched his fists, trying to focus on anything but the growing tension in his body.

“you okay?” you asked, glancing back at him, a hint of concern in your eyes.

“yeah,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “just...thinking about what to eat.”

you nodded, your shy smile returning. “i’m fine with anything.”

rafe's eyes lingered on your lips as you spoke, imagining the taste of you, the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. he shook his head slightly, trying to shake the thoughts away, but they clung to him like the scent of hay in the stables.

rafe felt the tension between you grow. every glance, every accidental touch seemed to spark something deeper. and as you walked side by side, he knew it was only a matter of time before his restraint snapped, and he’d show you just how wild you made him feel.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @heywardsdoll

[ckret2]

Chapter 57 of human Bill Cipher is no longer the Mystery Shack's prisoner—but at what cost:

The execution of Bill Cipher.

Saturday, 6:30 a.m.

Ford hadn't slept well.

He'd elected to spend the night on his cot down in his study. Even though he had no proof and a solid metal barrier in his head, there was an irrational part of him that feared Bill might be able to read his mind and predict his plans if he was too close to him. He'd decided it was easier to just sleep somewhere "safe" than spend all night trying to argue his own brain out of its paranoia.

The safety hadn't been much of a comfort. Every time he opened his eyes, he was sure he could see the outline of the Quantum Destabilizer laying on the worktable across the room.

He gave up and got up for breakfast an hour after sunup.

When he exited the vending machine, the first thing he heard was muffled pop music and laughter from the living room. He pushed open the door; Bill and Mabel were up with the sun as well and had apparently elected to throw a spontaneous dance party. Mabel had set her boombox on the TV, was blasting the soundtrack from one of her cartoons—"Let's tag along, with Cinnamon, 'cause all you have to do is believe!"—and was unsuccessfully attempting to teach Bill a dance move.

"You have to do it like this," Mabel said, pointing at her legs, which were crossed at the knees with her left foot crossed over her right foot.

"That is what I'm doing." Bill's left foot was positioned straight in front of his right foot.

"No it's not! Look, you've got to move your left foot further to the right!"

Bill looked at his feet, looked at Mabel's dubiously, and looked back at his own; and then hesitantly scooted his left foot a few inches to the right.

"Yes," Mabel sighed. "That's step one, okay?"

"Okay."

"Now step two!" Mabel swung out her right foot and crossed it over her left ankle.

Bill swung out his right foot and placed it down directly in front of his left foot.

"Bill!"

"What!"

Mabel cracked up and leaned against Bill's side, hugging him, while he protested, "I'm doing the same thing you are! It looks exactly the same! Don't play mind games with me, Shooting Star."

Curious. Was this a second dimensional thing—did crossing his legs over each other not come naturally to Bill? But Ford had seen him cross his legs while seated plenty of times. Maybe it was only when he was trying to dance? Ford had been taking notes on Bill's body language in human form; maybe he should make a note of this—

Why bother? What value did the information have? When Bill would be gone forever in a few hours.

Bill had coaxed Mabel into giving up the dance lesson and switching to something more freeform, grabbing her hands and spinning around the room with her to a far goofier song with annoying sound effects. His gaze glanced over Ford, glanced away; and then he stopped and did a double take, almost throwing Mabel off-balance. "What's with the sour face?" he demanded, breathing heavily from exertion. "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" Mabel glanced back at Ford.

Ford just shook his head dismissively and hurried through the living room, heading to the kitchen. He had the unsettling feeing that Bill had seen more than he let on in Ford's face. He told himself, again, that Bill couldn't read his mind. Not like this, anyway.

####

6:35 a.m.

Ford was making breakfast when Dipper came downstairs. Dipper glanced into the living room, then lowered his eyes and hurried past without greeting Mabel. He couldn't meet Ford's eyes, either.

That was kind of how Ford felt, too. "Eggs and bacon?"

"Just eggs."

"Scrambled?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

He added a couple of eggs, and a couple more for Mabel.

"Good morning!" Stan's greeting made both Ford and Dipper flinch; it was far too boisterous for the somber room. It almost sounded forced. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Ford glanced toward the window. The sky was gray and overcast. "Eggs and bacon?"

"Yeap, thanks."

He added more to the skillet. "You're cheerful this morning."

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, a shade defensively. "Aren't you?"

Ford offered him a wan smile. "Of course."

Dipper just stared at the table, looking slightly sick to his stomach.

####

6:40 a.m.

The only ones who seemed to be in a genuinely good mood were Mabel and Bill, bounding into the kitchen, still breathing heavily from their exercise. Mabel moonwalked across the kitchen until she bumped backwards into a chair. She sat and flopped over the kitchen table, arms stretched out across the tabletop, and only sat up when Ford sat a plate in front of her. Bill looked at the filled chairs, the four Pines with their four plates of food, and the empty skillet, and leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. "No, that's fine," he said, still catching his breath, "I didn't want breakfast anyway. Thanks for asking."

"Bill! Ask nicely," Mabel said.

"Please don't make me starve, while I watch you eat, because you've magically ensured I can't feed myself."

Mabel pushed her chair out to stand, but said, "I don't think that was nice."

But Ford sighed and stood first. "I'll deal with it." Maybe providing the death row inmate his last meal would help assuage Ford's misguided conscience. When Bill saw Ford get out the eggs and bacon again, he frowned and looked almost ready to say something; but he just shrugged moodily and looked away.

For a few minutes, an awkward silence reigned over the room as Ford cooked Bill's breakfast. Stan cleared his throat and said, "So, uh—hey, Mabel. What're you up to today?" As if he didn't know full well. Ford had told him last night why they'd scheduled Bill's execution for Saturday.

"Thanks for asking," Mabel said, like she'd been just waiting for someone to bring it up. "I'm going out with Candy and Grenda! Grenda's mom's picking me up at seven." No wonder she was up so early.

"At seven?" Stan repeated, checking his watch. "That's less than twenty minutes, isn't it?"

Mabel processed that. She looked out the window. It wasn't light yet; but then that was only because of the cloud cover. "Oh." She started shoveling eggs into her mouth.

"You're ditching me today?" Bill groaned in exaggerated irritation. "I don't believe it. I'll be bored out of my mind."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "You'll live!" (Ford winced.)

"At least leave me with the Color Critter tapes so I can entertain myself."

"No! We have to watch those together! Especially the two-parter, that's up next."

Bill let out the loudest, longest sigh. "Fine. Leave me to suffer."

"You big baby."

Ford offered Bill a plate of eggs and floppy bacon. Bill took it without saying anything; but he looked at his plate with three strips of bacon, Ford's as yet untouched plate with two, and his eye flicked to Ford's face. Ford's breath froze; for a moment his panicked mind was sure his pity offering had given him away.

But then Bill looked away with a deliberate air of indifference. He grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and started shoveling eggs in his mouth like he hadn't had a decent meal in days. (When had he last had a decent meal?)

As Ford sat again, Mabel asked, "Grunkle Ford! Do you want me to pick up one of Phrancisco's solo albums? He only went solo after you got stuck in space, right?"

He tried not to think about Mabel bringing him home a gift just to discover that he'd executed her friend while she was out. (Would she ever speak to him again after this?) "N—no thanks, Mabel, that's fine. You should buy something for yourself."

Bill groaned. "You two and your terrible taste in synth pop." He slurped down half a strip of bacon. "Hey, if he isn't getting anything, pick me up a CD by Mysterious Mo's Average Joes, would you? They should be in the rock section."

Mabel laughed. "Who? They're not gonna have that!"

"Why not! They were really popular. In the 1960s. For seven weeks. Any decent record store oughta have them."

(What kind of music did Bill like, Ford wondered desperately. He knew what songs Bill had referenced, he knew what songs Bill taunted him with—Bill's soundtrack was as carefully curated as his dreams were choreographed, designed to evoke a specific effect—but what did he like? It was too late for Ford to learn.)

"I'm not going to a record store," Mabel said. "I'm going to a Phrancisco concert."

"What?! Since when!"

"Since I won tickets like, two weeks ago! I told you!"

"No you didn't."

There was an unexpectedly vicious edge to Bill's voice that made Ford tense up. He met Stan's gaze; he'd clearly noticed it too.

"Oh," Mabel said. "Well. I'm going to a concert. That's what Candy and Grenda are coming over for."

"Huh." Bill leaned back against the counter, nibbling at his second strip of bacon. There was something darkly calculating in his eye as he stared at Mabel. "So that talentless hack is in town? Where's he playing? He can't be at the convention center, no way he could pull a crowd that size."

"He's not in Gravity Falls, he's in Portland."

"You're going all the way to Portland?!"

Mabel leaned slightly away from Bill. "Yeah?" She sounded wary now. Ford didn't blame her; he'd never seen Bill snap at her like this before. 

"W—Pff!—It might have been nice to know earlier!"

Mabel shrugged helplessly. "Well... sorry! Now you know!"

"Fine." Bill sighed angrily. "You're going all the way to Portland for a show—so you're not getting back til, what, dinner time?"

Mabel sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Actuallyyy, we're staying in town overnight and coming back tomorrow."

"WHAT!"

"Yeah, it's a late show. And Grenda's mom has some kind of reward thingy at a hotel she wants to use—"

"And you DIDN'T ASK ME?!"

The entire room fell silent, staring at Bill. Dipper's gaze darted between Mabel and Bill, bewildered. Stan put a protective hand on Mabel's shoulder.

Face strangely neutral—controlled, Ford thought—Bill said, "I meant. You didn't... tell me?"

Stan growled, "Not an improvement, Cipher."

"Warn, didn't warn me."

With a chill Ford hadn't known she possessed, Mabel said, "Excuse me? Was I supposed to?" Ford didn't know a lot about adolescents, but he recognized that voice. That was the quiet rage of the teenage girl offended. That was the voice that got fruit punch poured in your hair.

Bill stammered, "I mean— That— Well—!" He paused, ate a large mouthful of eggs to give himself time to regroup, and said, "Through no fault of my own, I'm completely dependent on you for any kind of mental stimulation, kid. You don't think maybe a 'hey Bill, would it bother you if I'm gone all weekend' would be polite?"

"So what if it does bother you!" Mabel's outburst was so vehement that Bill flinched in surprise. "I'm just one kid, you're a—an ancient psychic ghost triangle thing! You can't depend on me for everything, that's insane, I don't even know how to be whatever you need! Do you think I'm gonna stay inside the shack all summer just because you want me to?!"

Bill's mouth worked uselessly for a few seconds, grappling for words. Voice strained, he said, "I mean... not 24/7, but..."

"Unbelievable." Mabel shoved her chair back. "I'm gonna pack. If you'll permit me, Mr. Bossy." She stormed from the room.

"Hey, hold on—!" Bill started to follow, but stopped in the doorway—glancing back over his shoulder, worriedly, as if searching for something—and looked directly at Ford, for just a moment. And then he was gone, stumbling up the stairs trying to catch up with Mabel.

Bill knew. Ford was sure of it. He could tell the future, even as a human, they were aware of that. He couldn't see very far, from what Ford could tell; but this was a strange, powerful weapon, perhaps its beam was visible from chronologically farther away. Or maybe Ford himself had betrayed it somehow—in his face, in his body language—he remembered the way Bill had stopped dancing to stare at his face. Or maybe it was just intuition. But whatever the case, Bill could tell something was coming.

He wasn't trying to get Mabel to stay because he was worried about getting bored; he knew she was probably the only thing that might shield him from execution.

He knew that if she was out of town, he'd be defenseless.

####

6:50 a.m.

Their voices rose until they were audible from downstairs: "—But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

"Ridiculous to WHO! Ridiculous to you?! If you think you can just—just—manipulate me into staying here forever—"

"Manipulate?! Oh, all right, is that what you think of me! You've got some nerve, Shooting Star—"

Ford looked at Stan. "We should—"

"Yeah."

They hurried upstairs, Dipper close behind.

"Wait—" Dipper caught Ford's coat and tugged him back before he reached the bedroom door. "Don't, we should let them work this out."

"Are you serious?"

Dipper lowered his voice. "She's... been under a lot of pressure because of Bill. She's been acting like it's her job to save him. Maybe it'd be good if she... sorta figures out..." He screwed up his face. "Okay, I just want her to start hating him again, is that so bad?"

Well. At least it was honest. "If he gets angry enough to hurt her—"

"Then she'll flip him on his head and break his arm. I'm really not worried about her safety, Bill's pathetic," Dipper said. "Really, really... really pathetic."

Stan said, "Yeah, she'll be fine, she's a baby tiger. And maybe this'll be good for her! She won't... you know. Miss him as much. Silver lining."

Ford was worried about how bad she'd feel once she learned the last conversation she ever had with Bill was a fight; but maybe Stan was right. If Bill had died the day after Ford had discovered his true plans for the portal, would Ford have regretted that their last conversation was a fight—or would he just have been relieved that Bill was gone? Ford hadn't regretted that fight a single day since then.

He hoped Mabel would feel the same about it.

####

7:00 a.m.

There were no sounds of violence through the bedroom door—just stomping and thudding as Mabel packed. And the argument, which only seemed to be getting worse, Bill's strident voice drowning out most other sounds: "—and on top of that, you won't even give me the stupid cartoon tapes so I can at LEAST entertain myself while you're gone?!"

"AaaAAARGH THAT'S ALL I'M GOOD FOR TO YOU, ISN'T IT? I'M JUST YOUR ENTERTAINMENT!"

"Well—! Well SO WHAT! Like YOU'D spend any time with ME if you didn't think I was fun! What ELSE am I to you if not just your FUN SUMMER FIX-IT PROJECT?!"

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!" 

All three eavesdroppers cringed.

"WELL! If you're gonna act like this just because I wondered what you're up to, maybe NOT!" (All three eavesdroppers cringed harder.) "What kind of fun are you good for, you wouldn't even be into burning a house down!"

"OH YEAH, WELL—YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!"

"OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Shrilly, Mabel shouted, "SHUT UP!"

"All right," Stan muttered, "This is just getting petty, I'm breaking this up."

Dipper moved like he was considering getting in the way. "But Grunkle Stan—"

"I think we're way past the point of your sister hating that demon." Stan opened the door a crack. "Hey—!"

Bill and Mabel rounded on Stan, faces red, tears pricking at the corners of Mabel's eyes. They both shouted, "STAY OUT OF IT!"

Stan quickly shut the door. A sweater gently thudded against the other side. Stan said, "Maybe we oughta let 'em work it out."

"It isn't getting violent, is it?" Ford asked.

"Only verbally."

Ford hesitated; but then nodded uneasily.

####

7:05 a.m.

Mabel said, "Grenda's mom's outside, I'm LEAVING."

"FINE! GO! Who needs you?! I could DIE and you wouldn't care!" Bill's voice cracked on the word. 

Ford was sure he knew.

"MAYBE I WOULDN'T!" (All three eavesdroppers cringed harder still. Ford hoped she wouldn't remember saying that tomorrow.) "Get out of my room!"

"No, YOU get out! I'm staying right here!"

"Fine!! Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

"FINE!"

"FINE!"

There was some final angry rustling and the zip of a backpack; and then Mabel was storming out of the bedroom. She slammed the door, rubbed her eyes, and glared at the guys.

They tried to look like they hadn't been listening.

"Leave him in there," Mabel snapped, pointing at the door. She was shaking with anger. "He's in TIME OUT."

Ford and Stan nodded. Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..."

Mabel glared into his eyes.

Dipper raise his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine."

As Mabel stomped downstairs, Ford nudged Dipper and whispered, "It's fine. He won't be there very long."

The reassurance made Dipper look faintly sick. "Yeah."

####

7:07 a.m.

Candy and Grenda grinned as Mabel burst out of the shack, ran to the car, pulled open the back door, and slid in. Grenda cheered, "Mabel!"

"Are you ready to board the Party Bus?" Candy asked.

Grenda whispered loudly, "That's the new name of the car."

Instead of answering, Mabel slammed the door, fastened her seatbelt, and hugged her backpack to her chest.

Grenda and her mom turned around to stare at Mabel from the front seats. Grenda's mom asked, "Is everything alright, sweetie?"

"'M fine, Mrs. Grendinator," Mabel said, staring at her knees. "I just... fought with a friend this morning."

"Oh, honey..."

Voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Her hands were trembling.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window; but no one looked back.

####

7:10 a.m.

Candy reached over to rub Mabel's upper arm. "Who did you fight with?"

Grenda asked, "Was it Pacifica?" Both of them had a lot of thoughts about Mabel's deal to help at Pacifica's alpaca ranch, which they were politely swallowing down until and unless Mabel and Pacifica had a falling out and it became acceptable to be mean about Pacifica again.

Mabel shook her head. "No, it's... You don't know him. The new guy staying at the shack."

Grenda and Candy exchanged a glance. They didn't know very much about the "new guy" at the shack, except that he was the reason they couldn't have sleepovers at Mabel's place this summer; but Mabel insisted he was actually really fun; but also she couldn't tell them his name or anything about him. They already didn't think too highly of this mysterious new guy.

Warily, Candy said, "The new guy who you said is like a cool big brother-slash-sister?"

Mabel winced. "I... don't remember saying that."

"You said that."

Grenda threw in, "Like three days ago! When we were jumping off Candy's roof and you said he could probably do all kinds of cool low gravity tricks if he was there! Remember?"

Mabel groaned and thudded her head against the window.

Grenda said, "He sounds like an uncool big jerk-slash-loser if he made you upset." Candy nodded emphatically.

Mabel didn't answer for a moment. "I used to think he was," she said. "Now I just... think he needs friendship. More than I can give him by myself."

It was a miserable grey morning as they got on the road.

####

7:25 a.m.

They'd left Gravity Falls, passed beneath the defunct railroad track, and were almost to the highway when the Triple Digit Truck Stop's lumberjack statue appeared between the trees. That was the place where the Pines and Bill had negotiated the terms of his captivity. Mabel and Bill had traded pancakes there.

Quickly, voice tight, Mabel said, "I forgot to use the bathroom at home. Can we pull over?"

"Sure, Mabel."

"Sorry."

Before Mrs. Grendinator had turned the car off, Mabel had already opened the car door and was sprinting for the truck stop's attached convenience store, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she went.

"Mabel, wait!" Candy unfastened her seatbelt as fast as she could and ran after her.

Mrs. Grendinator put her hand on Grenda's before she could get out of the car. "Who is this friend of Mabel's?"

"We don't know," Grenda said. "She won't say a lot about him. Candy and I think he's some kind of werewolf catboy they have to keep hidden from the public. You know what the Mystery Shack's like."

"Hmm." Mrs. Grendinator watched Mabel, lips pressed together in worry.

When Grenda caught up with Candy inside the convenience store, Candy pointed toward the restrooms. "Mabel went into the unisex restroom," she said ominously.

Grenda winced. The one restroom with a real door. It was the only one you could cry in with total privacy. "So it was a fight fight, huh?"

"We should grab her extra road trip snacks." Candy eyed an aisle filled with various forms of jerky.

Grenda nodded, "Definitely extra snacks."

####

7:35 a.m.

Candy and Grenda were admiring a souvenir plastic skull painted with a patriotic stars and stripes pattern when Mabel finally emerge from the restroom, face freshly washed, eyes scrubbed, looking significantly more cheerful. "Hey guys! Are we looking at cheap souvenirs?"

"Yeah, check out this cool skull!" Grenda said.

"And it has babies." Candy held up two miniature starred-and-striped skulls.

Grenda held out a plastic bag. "Hey—while you were busy, we got a bunch of snacks: Nyumalums, Gummy Koalas, Cheese Boodles..."

"Ooh!" Mabel rummaged through the bag. "And... plastic dinosaurs?"

"So we can make Mabel Juice at the hotel!"

"Aww, guys! That's—really thoughtful, thank you."

"Of course, any time," Grenda said.

Candy said, "We know you don't want to talk about your other friend, but... we want you to know you can if you ever want to."

"And if you don't, we're here for you anyway!"

Mabel gave them both a watery smile. Without a word, she pulled them into a tight hug.

They hugged her back; Grenda squeezed them both and lifted them into the air for a second.

Mabel said, "You're the two best friends I could ever ask for, you know that?" She pulled back, put her hands on their shoulders, and said, "I'm putting the whole thing at the shack out of my head! I'm not letting it ruin our trip to Portland! We're going to have fun and watch some old guy play a synthesizer!"

"Yes!" "LET'S GO!"

They left the convenience store together, chanting, "Syn-the-siz-er! Syn-the-siz-er! Syn-the-siz-er!"

####

7:50 a.m.

Dipper, Ford, and Stan had kicked aside Bill's sofa cushion bed and taken over the attic window seat so the could uneasily hover near the attic bedroom and listen for anything inside.

Bill was completely silent.

"Probably meditating or something," Stan said. "Spitefully meditating. I keep catching him meditating on the downstairs toilet. Usually in the middle of the night."

"I've seen him in the living room," Dipper said. He remembered coming downstairs when he was out of his body and catching Bill watching Dr. Calligraphy—the radiant golden aura that had surrounded Bill on all sides until Dipper broke his concentration.

Ford muttered, "As long as he isn't breaking anything."

The Quantum Destabilizer was a powerful weapon; its beam could be seen from miles away. Ford had never seen it at work fully unobstructed on Earth, but in the Nightmare Realm any missed shot had still been visible, a bright streak in the roiling dark, long after any other beam of light would have faded to invisibility.

At least Gravity Falls was in a valley, hidden from the rest of the world by mountains and trees; but it was an overcast day and only getting darker. They wanted to make sure Mabel was far out of visual range before they fired the quantum destabilizer.

They decided to execute Bill at noon.

It was a long wait.

####

11:55 a.m.

Ford went down to the gift shop; waited five minutes for the tourists to empty out as Soos escorted them into the museum for the noon tour; and slipped behind the vending machine. When he came back up with the Quantum Destabilizer's carrying case, Melody stared for a moment from the cash register, then quickly averted her gaze.

Mrs. Ramirez had been watching television in the living room since she'd finished breakfast around ten. As Ford passed through again, he paused awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of the destabilizer's carrying case. "Mrs. Ramirez," he said. "We're, ah... going to make a bit of noise upstairs. Just—don't worry when you hear it, it's all under control." She'd gone to bed before he'd given Soos the news and woken up after the shack had opened; he didn't know whether Soos had had a chance to tell her.

Mrs. Ramirez took in Ford's nervous expression, his stiff posture, and his mysterious black case, and quietly asked, "It is time?"

Ford nodded solemnly.

She merely nodded back, her expression placid and unreadable. "Okay," she said. "Before you go, please turn up the volume for me. The remote is missing."

"Of course." Ford knelt down to turn the volume knob. When she said it was high enough, it was almost twice as loud.

Dipper and Stan were both standing right outside the attic door when Ford came back upstairs. Dipper looked like he was about to be eaten alive by anxiety. He flinched when Ford put a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't look away from the door.

Voice low, Stan asked Ford, "You sure you don't want me to do it? I know this isn't the first time you've shot at him, but it's, uh... it's a lot easier to shoot in self-defense than it is to execute a helpless prisoner."

Ford elected not to ask questions. "No, it should be me. I designed this weapon, I know how to handle it." He gave Stan a wan smile. "Besides—it's high time I shoot Bill without your head in the way."

Stan laughed wryly.

Dipper sat on the floor and put his head in his hands.

"Are you alright?" Ford knelt next to Dipper.

"Yeah." Dipper waved Ford off. "Just... didn't get much sleep. Little dizzy."

No stomach for murder. Ford had been preparing for this for over thirty years; Dipper hadn't. And that was a good thing. "You can go downstairs if you..."

"No no, I'm fine, I..." Dipper took a deep breath and lifted his head. "I'll face it."

Stan nodded. "Good man."

Ford should have made it an order—he could have told Dipper to keep Mrs. Ramirez company—but he just nodded.

He stood, took a deep breath, and gripped the door knob. Time to face it.

####

12:05 p.m.

The room was still; the only light came indirectly from the window. There was no sign of Bill.

Ford frowned.

Moving as quietly as he could, keeping his back to the wall, Ford crept around the perimeter of the room, checking the closet by the door, Dipper's bed, Mabel's bed.

On the nightstand by Mabel's bed was a disheveled stack of papers; Ford recognized them as her crayon drawings from yesterday's lesson. In the top picture, Mabel had drawn Bill in his true triangular form alongside a pink heart-shaped Flatworlder shooting magic rainbows and blue fire. "FIGHTING EVIL WITH RAINBOWS! (BILL'S ON PAROLE TO HELP.)"

He picked it up to study the pink Flatworlder—Mabel?—and saw another picture underneath: Bill floating in the sky, blue flames again hovering over his raised hands, staring out of the paper as if he could see Ford; beneath Bill, Mabel had written, "I BELIEVE IN YOU. YOU CAN CHANGE!"

Ford's stomach turned. He grabbed and stuffed the second drawing in his pocket—he couldn't stand to look at it—and turned away from the others, trying not to think of Mabel, trying not to think of Bill standing on top of the TV excitedly lecturing about two-dimensional genetics and driving to the moon.

It wasn't until then that he saw the sign.

A bent pink posterboard read "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" in Mabel's round handwriting. The I's were dotted with hearts and the rest of the poster was covered in stickers of triangle-shaped objects. It had been angrily, crookedly affixed to the ladder up to the loft over the bedroom with too much duct tape, half warning, half flimsy barrier.

When Ford backed up to the window to try to see further up onto the loft, he could just see Bill, laying on his side, hood up and shoulders hunched, back to the room. No wonder he was so quiet. His tantrum must have exhausted him—and he certainly hadn't gotten enough sleep over the past week; he'd climbed to the highest point he could find and went to sleep.

Ford could shoot Bill in the back without ever waking him.

He carefully unpeeled enough duct tape to bend the posterboard to the side, made sure the Quantum Destabilizer's strap was slung securely over his chest, and climbed as quietly as he could.

Bill lay curled up in a ball, as small as Ford had ever seen him, beneath the round golden yellow and sky blue stained glass window on the far end of the loft; as though waiting for a sunbeam through the window that would never reach him.

####

12:08 p.m.

The longer Ford was in the room, the more queasy Dipper looked. When Stan was worried he was about to get the kid's half-digested eggs on his shoes, he hissed, "What's taking him so long?" (Dipper started.) "Did he lose his nerve—?"

####

12:09 p.m.

The atmosphere abruptly grew eerily quiet and still. There was a shrill, whistling shriek and a blast of blue-white light so brilliant it pierced the cracks of the wooden boards in the attic bedroom's walls.

Every light in the house went out. The air conditioning was silent. The television in the living room turned off. Abuelita waited in the dark, staring at the screen, her expression calm and unconcerned, her hands in her lap laced so tightly that her knuckles were white, until the whine upstairs faded and the TV flickered back on.

####

Soos and his current tour group fell silent, staring at the ceiling as the strange blue lights between the boards faded and the electric lights turned back on. A mom gripping her two children's hands demanded, "What was that?" A few other tourists started murmuring.

"Oh, that?" Soos laughed nervously. "Probably just our resident mad scientist, testing out death lasers from space again, heh."

There was a pause, and then the tour group chuckled appreciatively.

"Haha, right? Hey, speaking of mad scientists—if any of you guys are hungry, stick around after the tour, I'll give you directions to Greasy's Diner. Sometimes Fiddleford McGucket gets coffee there—you know, the famous inventor guy?" Soos pointed over the crowd. "But first, let's go this way to see the invisible man. Or—heh—not see him. You dudes know what I mean!"

As the tour group moved on to the next exhibit, Soos paused to flip up his costume eyepatch and frown at the ceiling.

####

Stan and Dipper rushed into the bedroom. The air was hot, stagnant, and stuffy. Dipper was the first to spot Ford in the loft. "Great Uncle Ford?" He rushed up the ladder, Stan following as fast as his bad back would allow.

Ford was kneeling on the floor, the Quantum Destabilizer dropped across his thighs. There was a hole through the wall straight in front of him, and a pile of ashes three feet in front of his knees. The destabilizer's beam had clipped the loft's stained glass window and shattered it. 

All the tension had drained from his face. All the skin sagged into a deep frown.

"Grunkle Ford...?"

"It's done."

Dipper swallowed hard. "So... Bill is...?"

Ford turned to look him in the eyes. "Yes, he's dead."

Neither one of them needed to say anything else to know what the other was thinking. They just shared a look—the two most miserable co-conspirators in Gravity Falls.

Stan, unenthusiastic, said, "Great. Let's go downstairs and celebrate."

####

12:20 p.m.

They got soda and pie, sat in the kitchen, stared into space, and didn't eat.

####

1:00 p.m.

The streak of empty sky opened up by the Quantum Destabilizer's beam had sealed shut again.

It began to drizzle over Gravity Falls.

####

During Soos's lunch break, he went upstairs to quickly patch the hole in the wall before the rain could intensify enough to flood the attic. Everyone downstairs pretended not to hear the hammering.

Stan crossed paths with him when he came downstairs to grab a few more supplies. "Soos? Why are you going upstairs with a broom, a dust pan, and a flower vase?"

Soos said, "Well, I was gonna clean the attic, but it seemed kind of disrespectful to vacuum Bill up, so..."

Stan grimaced. "I'm sorry I asked."

Before the next tour started, Soos brought the sofa cushions downstairs and finally returned them to the folding sofa bed.

####

Dipper went down to the cellar to play video games on the old TV. Abuelita was still in the living room, and Dipper didn't want to use the TV he and Mabel had set up in the attic nook last summer. He didn't want to be anywhere near that bedroom.

"You sure you don't wanna play pinball?" asked Tumbleweed Terror, for the fourth time.

Dipper lost another life. He sighed irritably. "No, man. You tried to kill us last summer, remember?"

"Only on account of your cheatin'," Tumbleweed said. "If'n you don't cheat, I reckon we could get along just fine."

"No. I don't even like pinball."

There was a chilly silence. "Now, them's fighting words." It shot off threatening green sparks.

Dipper scooped Rocky the geodite out of his lap, stood, turned the TV at an angle, and sat down farther away from the pinball machine.

It gave up sparking and sighed. "Hey—whatever happened to that blonde prisoner?"

Dipper flinched and looked at the pinball machine. "What? Who?"

"The one y'all kept locked down here for a day sometime last month. Golden-haired gal with jaundice dressed like a Roman emperor. She, uh... mighta sweet-talked me into letting her play a few rounds for free. Didn't make no difference—terrible reflexes like hers, she weren't no high score candidate anyway." It sounded really defensive about having given someone free balls. "Said her name was 'Goldilocks'. I didn't buy it—but she seemed like a real desperado type, figured it weren't none of my business if she wanted to keep her name secret."

Dipper frowned. He turned away from Tumbleweed Terror. "You won't see her again."

"You sure? She said she might come back, I've been keepin' track of her last score—"

"She's gone. Just—stop talking about her." Dipper lost his last life. He groaned in frustration, and started the level over again for the fifth time. None of it was familiar. He wasn't thinking about the game.

####

"Fishing," Stan said, calling through the open guest room door as he finished another lap of the hallway. He'd taken advantage of Bill's absence by flinging open every door that had remained shut all summer.

"Hm?" Ford was seated at the guest room desk, consumed with writing in his journal like a possessed man trying to exorcise his demon through ink.

"We oughta go fishing," Stan said. He'd been wandering around the shack like a restless ghost since the rain started, loudly making plans now that the rest of summer was freed up. "Fishing season's been open a month and we haven't gone yet! You're gonna love it—the kids and Soos are great fishing buddies."

"Great," Ford said distractedly.

"I bet the guys at the Mackerel lodge think I haven't been out there because I'm embarrassed they kicked me out," Stan muttered. "It's not like I can tell 'em why I couldn't get out of the house..." He trailed off, looking at the ring on his left pinky with the symbol of the Royal Order of the Holy Mackerel—the one Bill had shoplifted at the mall.

He crossed his arms, pinning his left hand against his ribs. "My boat might be a little too small for all five of us, though," Stan said. "I wonder if Soos has repaired his since last summer?"

"Yes, yes," Ford mumbled.

Stan frowned. "Hey, Poindexter." He leaned on the desk to peer over Ford's shoulder. "Whatcha writing?" Ford hadn't seen anything that interesting lately, had he?

Ford froze, shoulders tensing, one hand sliding under the cover like he was about to slam it shut. A page and a half were completely packed with words, crammed together without any of Ford's usual headers or esoteric margin doodles, the only illustration a small diagram of a planet encircled by a ring, a moon, and what looked like a sea serpent.

Guiltily, Ford said, "As much as I can remember."

Stanford skimmed the page. The writing was too cramped for him to read most of it, he could only pick out a few phrases that Ford had capitalized in lieu of properly sectioning off his thoughts—"POLYGONAL GENETICS," "SPHERICAL GEOMETRY," "BISHOP BISHOP," "WHAT IS 'EYM'???" Stan pressed his lips together and nodded. Fine. However Ford got it out of his system, as long as it was out.

Stan pushed off the desk and wandered from the room. "We could get fishing gear tomorrow," he said, knowing in his heart no one would be in the mood for it once Mabel got home. "Drizzly, cloudy weather is great for fishing. This is the perfect time to go out on the lake."

Ford had already buried himself back in his journal, writing as fast as he could.

####

Abuelita had dozed off in her seat with the TV still playing soaps.

She was the only person in the house whose conscience felt clean.

####

7:00 p.m.

For the first time since the beginning of summer, Melody stayed over for dinner. 

It was a very quiet dinner.

####

10:30 p.m.

"I don't... wanna sleep in the attic tonight." Dipper hovered awkwardly in the guest room's doorway. "You know. With... Mabel gone and all."

"How come," Stan said, "you scared of ghosts?"

Ford shot him a look. "Stan."

"What!" Stan shrugged. "There shouldn't be a ghost anyway, right? That's what your fancy gun is for? It destroyed his... soul or whatever he's got?"

Guilt briefly flashed across Ford's face. He nodded sharply. "Dipper—I'll be sleeping down in my study tonight. You can sleep in my bed if you'd like."

Stan almost asked why Ford was still sleeping downstairs, with the demon out of the picture; but he figured it was for the same reason Dipper wanted to stay out of the attic. Scared of ghosts. Not necessarily literal ones.

"Hey," Stan said to Dipper, when Ford had left and the door was shut. "It's—fine if you want to stay down here. Really. Spending the night in the same room as a dead body's no joke."

Dipper opened his mouth, decided he didn't want to know, and shut it. "Thanks."

Stan was settling into bed and about to take off his glasses when he glanced around the room, flinched, and swore under his breath.

"What?" Dipper glanced across the room. He cringed.

Soos had placed the flower vase on the guest room's fireplace mantle.

####

10:32 p.m.

Dipper carried the vase into the living room, set it on the table, and ran back to the guest room.

The axolotl in the fish tank studied it curiously.

####

11:59 p.m.

In a hotel room in Portland—the Grendinators sharing one bed, Candy and Mabel sharing the other—Mabel waited silent and still for Candy to fall asleep. When Mabel was sure Candy was out, she took her phone off the bedside stand, hid under the covers, and turned the phone's volume down to the smallest sliver of sound possible. She looked up the song "We'll Meet Again," pressed play, and held the speaker up to her ear.

She wiped her tears with the bed sheet.

####

Sunday, 10:15 a.m.

The rain was coming down even more heavily than yesterday.

Soos had been reminded of a broken umbrella Ford had given him a couple weeks ago, and gone looking for it to fix it. He'd now been searching for it for over half an hour.

"I'm sure I left it in the office," Soos said, checking the coat rack in the entryway again to see if he'd hung it up there and forgot.

Stan grunted. "Everything's going missing. The remote's been missing for days." He, Ford, and Dipper were sitting in the living room watching some feel-good Sunday morning news story about a performance troupe that did interpretive dance to bird song. No one was enjoying it. "I don't think I've seen the remote since before the whole eclipse-or-whatever."

"Oh, I found it," Soos said.

"You did? Where?"

"Yeah, it was in my Monster-Mon backpack for some reason? It was pretty waterlogged though. I've been trying to dry it out in the office."

They processed that. Then Ford let out a bark of laughter. "Did Bill bring it along when we went camping just so no one could use it?" He sat up and sucked in a deep breath to shout the question to Bill—and then remembered. The air whooshed out of him in a long sigh. He slouched back onto the sofa.

They heard a car pulling around the house.

Every head turned toward the door.

Outside, Mabel's muffled voice said goodbye to her friends.

There was a moment of dreadful hesitation; and then Dipper, Stan, and Ford were on their feet and moving to the entryway.

Stan opened the door before Mabel could reached the doorknob. "Hey, sweetheart! How was the show?"

Mabel started. "Oh! Great! Hi guys!" She looked between their faces warily. "Whaaat are you all doing here?"

They all avoided meeting her eyes in different directions. Stan said, "We were just—watching the TV and heard you pull up."

"Oh," Mabel said. "Well. The concert was amazing! I got an autograph!" She pulled up her sweater (which today had what looked like two kissing parrots with her sleeves serving as their wings), to reveal she was wearing a pale blue t-shirt of Phrancisco's first album cover, signed in black marker. "Yesterday we went to a cool bookstore, and we got those fancy donuts this morning! Grunkle Ford, we got a lot of pictures of that weird crystal shop sign on the way home!"

"Ah," Ford said. "Good."

She swung around her backpack on one strap to unzip it. "I got two CDs—one of Phrancisco's new stuff and one with acoustic covers of his greatest hits! Except I don't think he had any hits? So I guess they're just his favorite songs." She pulled out the acoustic album. "I... got this one for Bill. I'm gonna ease him into liking synth pop by taking the synth out first." She looked between the guys. "Where is he?"

They winced in three different ways.

Cautiously, Mabel asked, "Is he still in the attic?"

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan lost the silent argument. He looked at the weathered porch between the door and Mabel's shoes and mumbled, "Weshotim."

"Say wha?"

Stan cleared his throat. "We got that—space gun of Ford's working. We shot him. He's... I'm sorry, sweetie."

Mabel stared at Stan. She dragged her gaze from his face to Dipper's. Dipper bit his lips, staring at his feet. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

She looked from Dipper to Ford. "Grunkle Ford?" Her voice was small. "Is it true?"

For a long moment, Ford said nothing. He dragged his eyes up to meet her stare, took a deep breath, and nodded. "He's dead."

Mabel's eyes widened.

She backed out of the doorway, face blank with shock. Stan reached for her, "Sweetie—" but she jerked her arm away before he could touch her. She turned, leaped off the porch, and ran around the shack toward the main road, her sweater making her look like a colorful bird fluttering away into the gray rain.

"Mabel—Mabel!" Stan stepped out onto the porch. "It's pouring out there, you can't go out!"

Dipper ran several steps after her; then stopped and glanced back at Ford, searching his face for a cue—now what?

Slowly, Ford put a hand on Dipper's shoulder, holding him back. "She... probably doesn't want us to follow."

Dipper's shoulders sagged, but he nodded.

"She'll be fine," Stan said worriedly, "right? She just—needs time. Gotta grieve in her own way. She'll be back later."

"Yeah," Dipper said, voice thin. "She'll be fine."

Stan stared into the rain a moment longer; then nodded sharply, turned, and shuffled back inside.

Quietly, Dipper asked, "Did we do the right thing?"

Ford didn't know. His stomach had been twisting with guilt and doubt since yesterday. His conscience had kept him up half the night. "I hope so." He feared they'd have second-guessed themselves no matter what.

Ford looked at the Hand Witch's ring; but its cabochon remained a steady, deep blue.

####

8:00 p.m.

Mabel returned to the Mystery Shack when dinner was almost over, shoes and knees muddy, hair hanging in wet tangles around her shoulders.  Stan sent her upstairs to change into something dry before she ate; she obeyed without saying anything.

Soos quietly hustled into the living room to grab the flower vase and hide it back in the guest room.

By the time she came back downstairs, everyone had finished eating and Abuelita was washing the dishes. Mabel was wearing a sunny yellow t-shirt. Nobody said anything.

Abuelita had set out a plate for Mabel; she ate alone in the kitchen. Nobody disturbed her.

####

8:45 p.m.

Mabel stopped in front of the living room on her way to the stairs, looked in at her family—Stan, Ford, Dipper, Soos—like she wanted to say something; but she changed her mind and headed up. After a few minutes, Dipper quietly slid off his seat, said goodnight, and followed Mabel upstairs.

"Whaddaya bet that poor kid's in the doghouse now?" Stan muttered. "Bet he'll be back down here in a few minutes."

Ford shook his head. "She—probably needs her brother right now."

Dipper didn't return.

####

Monday, 1:00 a.m.

Stan had said that now that they finally had the house to themselves again, he was gonna enjoy one of the privileges of being an adult he'd missed all summer: staying up to watch boring late night movies. Ford and Soos sat up with him.

None of them cared about the movies. They just couldn't think of sleeping.

During a commercial break between movies, Soos said, "So... I figure we can put the door back up on the downstairs bathroom, huh?"

Stan gave him a tired look.

There was a knock on the back door.

All three of them whipped around to face it.

"Dude," Soos whispered. "It's like, one."

Stan said, "Who the heck...?" He glanced at Ford.

Ford was just staring at the door, eyes wide and mouth turned down, face sick with dread, like he was sure he was about to get arrested for murder.

Stan slowly stood, looked around for a potential weapon, remembered that any potential weapons had been cleared out of the common areas, and cautiously went to open the door.

Standing outside, pants soaked up to the knees, one ankle hooked over the other, hand on hip, using a broken umbrella like a cane, wearing top hat and black gloves and a sequined gold tailcoat—

"Hiya, Stan!" Bill Cipher beamed brilliantly. His gold tooth matched his new coat. "Didja miss me yet?"

Stan punched Bill in the nose.

####

I considered ending the chapter right after the execution when they were eating pie lol.

Comments? Questions? Theories? Thoughts? Questions? Emotions? More questions? I have been DYING to hear what y'all think of this one!

[idiopath-fic-smile]

this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that. 

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing. 

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together. 

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it. 

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

[ddejavvu]

MEI. MEI, MY MOST FAVORITEST FANFIC WRITER. IVE HAD AN IDEA.

PENELOPE (Garcia) AND READER GOT THEIR PERIOD CYCLES SYNCED, AND SO THEYRE BOTH OVULATING AT THE SAME TIME, AND SO DURING DOWN TIME THEYRE IN GARCIAS OFFICE LOOKING AT BABY PICTURES, AND MORGAN COMES IN, AND READER LOOKS AT HIM AND GOES "Derek, put a baby in me." AND JUST LIKE EKDBJEGDHE

RELATIONSHIP PRE ESTABLISHED OR NOT, IDC, I JUST NEED THIS. 🙏🙏🙏

i love the idea of being cycle synced with penny she's my girl <3

--

"This is my niece," Penelope tilts her phone towards you, and beneath her hello kitty phone charm that dangles in front of the screen, you can see the chubby outline of a baby girl dressed in pink frills and a comically large hairbow.

"Oh, the baby," You gush, voice raising an immeasurable number of octaves, "Her little fingernails are painted pink!"

"I know!" Penelope wails, anguish worked into the wrinkles her frown etches into her face, "God, she's so teeny-tiny and she's such a babbler, she coos at you and she holds onto your finger and she looks at you with these big pretty eyes, and-! I need a baby so bad."

"Me too." You nod resolutely, "Okay - here's the plan. We're gonna go out after work tonight, and the first guy that comes onto us, we're gonna jump him and have his babies."

"Several of them," Penelope catches on, "And we'll send him away and raise them as the BAU's children so that they grow up with Reid's smarts and Emily's kick-assery."

"Amazing. No notes." You stand from the cushy couch in the corner of one of the BAU's rec rooms, "Let's go find ourselves a baby daddy, Penelope."

Before she can stand and join you, the door opens, and your eyes meet the strong, sturdy figure of Derek Morgan. He's clueless as to what he's just walked into, but you study his features briefly.

Strong shoulders. Balanced face. Pretty eyes.

"Derek," You hold your head high, standing strong, "Put a baby in me."

Nothing moves but his eyes, which widen against the smooth tone of his skin. He's effectively frozen in place, and Penelope speaks in his place when she stands beside you and urges, "Me too!"

"We're looking to get pregnant," You explain, which doesn't ease the stiffness in his posture the way you thought it would, "And you seem like a good candidate. Our babies will excel at kicking in doors."

"Uh, that sounds like a concern for a sperm bank, ladies," His voice is slightly weaker than it usually is, but a faint smirk begins to grow on his handsome features, "But I s'pose if you really want, I can open up my own."

"On second thought," Penelope stage-whispers to you, her cherry-flavored lips beside your ear, "I don't want our babies to have his cockiness."

"Hey, you asked me-"

"You're right," You nod back to her, eyes still trained on Derek protesting before you, "Maybe Reid?"

"We'd have to pay for glasses." Penelope laments, "And Hotch's would be born frowning."

"We're out of luck." You sigh morosely flopping back down onto the couch, "The men of the BAU are all disqualified."

"Nuh-uh," Derek grins, something evil glinting in his eye as payback for your earlier teasing. You eye him suspiciously, a distasteful frown already worming its way over your face. But of course, he's Derek Morgan, and he excels at goading. "You forgot Rossi. You ladies ever try Italian sausage?"