#like any time somebody is sitting somewhere or leaning on something or using something as soon as i move an INCH they're up and about

[skinnypig2]

[paradlselost]

Everybody 𝓛oves Somebody

earving x gn!reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ this was supposed to be fluff when i started writing but it sorta turned to hurt/comfort 💀. write an actual happy scene challenge (impossible) for me i guess. anyways this is the first fic I’ve posted on here with no smut so you know i have to make a part two with it 🙏

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ light breaking and entering 🤷 , hurt/comfort , Earving being a bit insecure , DEAN MARTIN ON THE TRACK WOOO , Earving being completely smitten with the reader , also being kinda a dork about old music , literally like 3 lines of dialog , no beta reading we die like Noir . 1.6k words

He doesn’t need to talk for you to understand him; the way desire laps at his every movement like cleansing flames. It’s what drove him here at this hour, to your little apartment in the city. And, if he had a bigger ego, to give you the opportunity to bask in the presence of one of the Seven.

His silence is unnerving in your quiet home. Somewhere in the distance cars go by and horns blare but it is muffled and seemingly unimportant in this room you stand in. There is a monster of a man in front of you, flakes of dried blood still marred the matte black armor that had become a second skin long before you two ever got acquainted.

You are acutely aware of his gaze from behind his soulless mask and every fiber of your being knows that, in this moment, you are his.

It feels strange sitting on his tongue; unable to escape his lips and be formed into words, how long has it been since he craved speech? How long since he had something for him and him only? He doesn’t know if he can answer that question, Vought takes everything sacred and turns it green. But he won’t let that happen, not this time, not with you.

If you weren’t pressed up against the counter by now, you would have been when he took a step forward. Measured and calculated; not too close as to push any boundaries or make you feel trapped, but to allow him to have a better view of you and your entirety. How beautiful you were, you are, to a being like him - who walks the line between monster and man so gracefully you might think he takes pride in it.

His breathing is audible and labored; like an overexcited dog, he pants against the balaclava that covers his lips and nose. A pitiful noise escapes his lips; choked and raw as though he hadn’t attempted to use it in years. He had learned to stop trying, to become the silent and deadly machine Vought had wanted him to be all along. But with you he suddenly found himself feeling inadequate.

Under the roof of your apartment and the stars in the night sky above; he is nothing but Earving, and that may be the scariest thing he’s ever had to face. Being entirely himself, entirely yours.

“It’s late, I didn’t think you would show up.” Your voice is soft as it breaks the quiet atmosphere, a hand gently reaching to caress his face through the thin black fabric. You’d never tire of the way he leaned into your touch.

A soft noise is all you get in response, something between a grumble and a murmur that lets you know how sorry he is to have kept you up so late, to have scared you with his entrance. It is never his intention to make you afraid; his heart simply yearns for the comfort of normalcy in a life with you.

It’s just him; no monster hiding in the shadows or figure at the end of the hall, he buries those for you - forces himself to push aside his machine like conditioning and display his heart and soul for your eyes only. How lucky you are, how lucky he is.

He wishes he would’ve met you sooner; that you could see him without his mask in the back of some room after a Payback meeting. That you could’ve kissed away the bruises left by Soldier Boy or the hot tears that stained his skin after not making his dream audition. What he wouldn’t give to have you then, to be able to whisper sweet nothings in your ear and feel the giddiness of a teenage boy falling in love for the first time.

But he has to be content with the here and now; and while the feelings still drum in the back of his mind and fill his heart he can never be complete again. Never leave Vought to be yours, never take you to his grandmother's ranch upstate, never get married or give you children. He is broken and flawed, pieces of his past self flaked off and buried in time.

And you love him all the same; you look at him and his mask like he was crafted by the gods to answer any prayers you whispered to yourself in the dead of night. He hates it, in a way, because you give him all of you and he knows he can never return that. He knows in sixty years you will be dying and he will only just be feeling the effects of aging.

How cruel is the world that he only thinks these things around you? That when he sees your smiling face and feels the warmth of your touch he is reminded of how fleeting it all is; of how in a second it can be stripped from him like his speech, like half his brain.

You only watch as he steps away for a moment, he shys away once again and leaves you standing there, fingertips lingering with the warmth of his mask. He is careful as he makes his way over to a shelf in your living area, like he’s worried about breaking the floorboards under him or waking up your neighbors with his boots. It’s practiced, you’ve picked up on by now, how he is acutely aware of every sound he makes and how to minimize them.

Though, the quiet doesn’t seem to matter for long. A record is set on its player; Dean Martin’s “Everybody Loves Somebody” crooning through the room. He seems stagnant over it for a moment, fingers grazing the speakers to feel the vibrations that leave it. He’s always been enamored with vinyls but he especially loves yours, loves using the music as an excuse to see you.

For tonight he can bury the insecurities that bubble in his chest and remind him how human he truly is; he can turn and take your hand in his and invite you to dance with him. And God, can he relish in the blush that coats your cheeks as you wrap your arms loosely around the back of his neck. He is lucky, he doesn’t need to remind himself of this fact.

His gloved hands rest on your hips, feeling the sway between the two of you. How he always wished to have someone to think of like the men in older songs sang about. The kind of pining and love one could only feel from someone truly special; he knew it was you, every moment away from your presence only meant you were the first thing on his mind constantly. Meetings, missions, his mind would wander back to his love he would be able to see again.

His heart yearned for nights like these, when your chest was flush with his and you rested your head against his breastplate. You don’t mind the blood that is still caked to him, a contrast between the black and dark silver accents of his armor. An arm moves from draping over his shoulders to tracing lazily around the now deep crimson.

The song was near complete by the time his gloved hand traveled up to grasp your chin gently, to tilt your head up and meet the eyes of his mask. He wants to be complete for you, to give you everything he has even if he’s a broken mess. He wants to show you the scars that mar his skin and let you be privy to the pain he has gone through, to the dull ache on his burns and the milky white of his eye.

He wants to lift his mask and kiss you for the first time; to let you feel his rough lips against your own.

But his prayers aren’t answered, wishes aren’t granted as a sudden knock on your door drives you two apart. It’s late, far too much so for uninvited visitors, you’re tentative as you step over to the door and peer through the hole. A sigh gracing your lips at the sight of your neighbor on the other side.

“Hey, could you turn the music down? It’s late and I have work in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sorry.” Grumbles are the only thing you’re met with as they walk off, back down the hall to their own door. Soft crackles sound through the room now, the song over and leaving you with nothing but the end of the vinyl.

The living room is empty when you return, he’s gone, having taken his leave sometime during your two second conversation with the neighbor down the hall. It’s not a surprise, though it leaves you with an empty feeling in your chest. How close you had been to getting to see the man behind the mask, to feeling his lips against yours. You know he can’t stay, that he won’t jeopardize his job for you. Or, better yet, jeopardize you with his job, but the feeling still isn’t one you like.

The record player is turned off after a moment, leaving you back in the silence you had just left, but this time without him standing in front of you. Maybe he won’t ever show you his face, let you be privy to his life before his silence, but you hold the knowledge that the machine of the Seven will always flock to you like a lamb to its shepherd, walls up and all.

And for now; that is enough.

[ckret2]

On chapter 38 of human Bill Cipher is still the Mystery Shack's prisoner, the most exciting, gripping, action-packed, page-turning chapter so far:

Bill gets locked in the bathroom.

He handles it super well.

####

Bill thought he heard a door slam somewhere far off in the shack—but every time he peeked around the shower curtain, there was no sign of anyone else would come into the bathroom any time soon. Good. Last thing he needed was a human coming upstairs to give him trouble for the crime of daring to be naked with a door open. (Of all the stupid things. He wasn't embarrassed, he was used to floating around in nothing but a top hat and bow tie, if he wasn't bothered why should they be bothered, was what he wanted to know...)

As Bill dried off and dressed, he considered what he'd do next. If someone else was back in the house—Dipper, probably—then Bill wouldn't be able to continue his planned mischief. Pity. He'd hardly had a chance to abuse his freedom. But then, Dipper loved to avoid Bill. Maybe Bill could chase him upstairs and have the living room to himself until Mabel got back.

He dressed, pulled the towels off the mirrors, quickly poked his wet hair into something approximating a triangular cloud, and turned toward the door.

Somewhere during the process of getting dressed, he must have bumped into the door, because it had swung halfway shut. Not a problem. He'd found that as long as a door was open at all, it was possible to get through the gap. Even if it was a narrow gap. If you tried to squeeze through it, it somehow widened for you. Such was the illusive trickery of doors.

But. But. Why should he try to squeeze through? His current 3D flesh body was not made for gliding through infinitesimally small gaps. And he wasn't about to let a door be the master of him. He knew how to handle them now. He'd done this in the living room. Time to show off a little.

Bill turned his back on the door, shut his eyes, simply visualized walking straight through an open doorway and out into the hallway, and confidently walked backwards.

The door made a click sound. It stopped moving. Bill froze, back pressed against the wood.

Something went wrong here.

Bill turned around. The door was very firmly closed. He leaned against it experimentally. It remained closed. It sure didn't seem like an illusion he could walk straight through. Had he done it wrong?

After several more failed attempts to walk through the doorway, Bill reluctantly conceded that for some reason this door wasn't about to yield to his mind tricks. He was quite firmly trapped in the bathroom.

Oh, how embarrassing.

No, no—no, it didn't have to be embarrassing. This would be funny. Somebody else would need the bathroom eventually, right? He could just wait here until the humans returned—maybe sit on the toilet, meditate a while—and when someone opened the door, he'd calmly say, "Hey." And after they jumped out of their skin, he'd stroll out the door. They'd never know how he got in there. It would haunt them.

He shut the toilet lid, sat, crossed his legs, shut his eyes, and settled in to wait.

####

He lasted three minutes.

Bill groaned and dragged his hands down his face. "Ugh, it's been hours. Where the heck is everyone!" He stood and angrily pounded on the door. "Okay, I'm sick of this! My lifespan's too finite to waste it in here!"

Who was here? Probably just Dipper, right? Somewhere downstairs? "HEY!" He stomped on the floorboards. "I'M TALKING TO YOU, UH—uhh, uhhhh—MABEL'S BROTHER?! Name?!" What was his name. He and Mabel had those cute matchy twin names—same length and same first two letters— "MARIO? MATTY? MAGNI? MABON? Isn't it Mabon? That sounds right, I'm sure it's Mabon." He stomped on the floor again. "It's really petty of you to ignore me until I get your name right, Mabon! No, wait, he went by a nickname, what was his nickname." Bill paced back and forth across the bathroom floor. "It was a constellation, right? ORION? No. TRIANGULUM? No, I'd remember if it was Triangulum. What's his sign—VIRGO? C'mon, kid!"

Bill glowered at the door. It showed no signs of opening any time in the near future. Where was that brat?

####

Dipper's lungs were heaving and his heart pounding as he pedaled toward the spot where Bill had cracked open the dimensional rift and started Weirdmageddon.

It was easy to find. He just had to locate the fault line that had opened in the ground and follow it until the view of the trees around him began bending oddly in the air, as though being refracted in water—the air was so thick with invisibly-sealed miniature dimensional rifts. He kept going until he found the sign they'd planted last summer:

Mabel's Fault

He still cringed every time he thought of the name they'd given the scar in the earth. He'd proposed it before realizing how it sounded; but Mabel had laughed hysterically and the name stuck.

He didn't see any sign of them around the fault. "MABEL! Can you hear me?! Bill, where are you!" There was no reply. Dipper screamed his frustration at the top of his lungs.

He was a terrible brother. He'd been one then and he was one today. He never should have left Mabel alone with Bill.

Where else could they have gone? Maybe Bill's corpse? Dipper abandoned his bike and ran off the trail, deeper into the woods. "I'm coming, Mabel!"

####

Bill frowned contemplatively at the mirror, finger tapping his chin.

He had painted his zodiac on the glass with tooth paste.

He pointed around the mirror one symbol at a time. "Okay, that one's Jesús," he said, "that's Wendy, that's Stanley—Pine Tree!" Bill smacked the sink triumphantly. "YOUR NAME'S PINE TREE! Stop ignoring me, where are you!"

There was no answer.

"Maybe he went out again," Bill muttered.

Mabel had to be back soon, right? Bill pressed his face to the bathroom window. He could see Stan's car and Waddles below; no Mabel.

"HEY SHOOTING STAR! Are you back yet?!" Bill listened for a reply. "Star girl? Mabel? Buddy? Pal? My hero? My only friend? Please?"

####

Mabel was biking back from the hardware store, her bike's basket stuffed full of spray paint cans. She'd brought along the flashlight with the height-altering crystal so she could shrink down the bags of spray paint cans to fit in the basket. It was a good choice. There had been a sale. She had sooo many colors now.

She passed the grocery store; weird, the parking lot had filled up with a crowd since the last time she passed by. Did she hear music?

She slowed to stare at the crowd—then hit the breaks. "Candy?! Grenda?!"

Across the parking lot, they turned and waved. "Mabel!"

Mabel pedaled up to them. "Hey guys! What are you doing hanging out in a parking lot!"

"Radio station live appearance," Candy said, pointing toward a red van parked next to the grocery store. A vinyl wrap around the van identified it as affiliated with Falls Radio. In front of it, Bodacious T was struggling to set up a tent over a white folding table. Candy went on, "We are here to win cheap prizes at the games. They have trivia, 'name that tune,' a prize wheel..."

Grenda pumped a fist in the air. "I'm gonna win a water bottle and a tiny backpack!"

"Oooh." Mabel craned her neck, trying to peek between the crowd to the front table. "What are the prizes?"

Candy said, "Radio station t-shirts, CDs, gift cards..."

"The grand prize is concert tickets for some old guy," Grenda said dismissively.

"The gift cards are a better value," Candy said.

"What old guy?" Mabel caught sight of a poster taped up to the side of the van. She gasped. "Phrancisco?! From Invisible Yellow Plastic?!"

"You know him?" Candy asked, surprised.

"Yes?! Invisible Yellow Plastic was this amazing 80's band! They were pioneers in the local new wave scene! I've got some of their albums!" Courtesy of Grunkle Ford, who had hyped them up to her in the first place and also told her everything she knew about them. "And based on the album covers, Phrancisco was so hot thirty years ago?"

Candy and Grenda absorbed this new information with thoughtful looks.

Mabel climbed off her bike, stuck the tiny bags of spray paint in one pocket, and used the height-altering flashlight to shrink her bike and stick it in the other pocket. "Ladies. We have got to get these tickets. I'm dropping everything for this quest." She put her hands on Candy and Grenda's shoulders. "With our powers put together, we can win all the gift cards, tiny backpacks, water bottles, and concert tickets we could ever want. Are you with me?!"

Candy and Grenda raised their fists. "Yeah!"

"It's time for radio station live appearance mini games."

####

Bill sat leaning against the bathroom cabinet, idly flipping the toilet lid up and down to entertain himself, staring at the door.

"I'm sure Mabel will be back any minute," he told himself.

####

Bill had constructed a sensory deprivation tank in the bathtub.

He'd filled the tub with about a foot of hot water, dumped in an entire bag of bath salts he'd found by prying a wooden board out of the side of the cabinet, plugged his ears with cotton balls held in place with bandaids, turned out the lights, and draped a towel over the tub.

He was going to meditate in that, and use the boost to his psychic capabilities to send a telepathic SOS to Mabel. Mabel or whoever was sensitive enough to receive it. He wasn't picky.

His nerves were too frazzled for him to drop straight into a trance. He tried to calm himself. Deep breath—wow, the bath salts reeked of lavender—deep breath through the mouth then. Calm down. Be still. Empty mind. Everything would be fine—everything would always be fine for him—there was no need to stress.

Slowly, he relaxed.

Bill's sleep schedule had been in a state of utter disarray since the moment he'd been dumped in a body that needed sleep. Over the past day, the sum total of sleep he'd gotten had been an unplanned nap last night before dinner, and a fretful nightmare-laden spell from 3 a.m. to dawn.

Bill fell asleep in the tub.

His head sank below the water. He spluttered and flailed his way back to sitting upright.

He took the towel off his head and threw it to the ground. "That didn't work." Kinda comfortable though. He lay back in the tub. What else could he try?

Maybe Wendy would come back. She said she liked hanging out here when she was avoiding people, and it sounded like she wasn't too keen on her friends—maybe she'd get sick of them and return? Yeah. Yeah! Sure, Bill was sure she'd do that. "Wendyyy! Hey! You didn't happen to come back, did you?!" He waited. "Come on! I know you're here!"

####

"No wait, this'll be sick," Nate said. He was laying down on the walkway around the top of the water tower, wriggling out under the safety railing so his face and shoulders hung out in open air.

Wendy laughed. "Dude. What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna spray paint something on the bottom of the floor. Everyone'll go, 'How did that get there?'" He waved a hand at Lee. "Gimme a spray can."

Lee handed Nate a can of purple paint, and he slid out a little bit farther. His belly button was level with the edge of the walkway.

Wendy stopped laughing. "Whoa," she said. "Careful. What are you, crazy?" She put one hand on the railing.

"Yeah. Crazy genius. It's cool, look." Nate slid out another couple of inches. "I can just—lift my legs and hang from the railing by my knees, like a monkey—" He lifted his feet off the walkway, and immediately lost balance and slid forward. "Hey—"

Time seemed to slow down. Wendy had trained for this, the water tower's wooden legs were basically thin tree trunks, if she slid under the railing she could grab Nate and swing into one of the tower legs, they could slide down that to the bottom—

Lee dropped flat on Nate's legs, using his weight to pin him in place. "HEY!"

Wendy grabbed Nate's shirt. Together, she and Lee dragged him back onto the walkway. Nate rolled onto his back and stared at the sky, eyes wide.

Lee sat beside him and laughed nervously. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Whoo. Gimme a sec."

"What the heck, Nate!" Wendy was gripping the railing hard enough her arms shook. She tried to sound calm. "You almost got yourself killed, you dummy!" Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

"I'm fine," Nate said shakily. "I'm fine, just... lay off."

"Fine. Sor-ry. I'm just trying to make sure you don't literally die."

Lee gave Wendy an exasperated look. Nate closed his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, okay, mom."

The back of her neck went hot. Oh no, absolutely not. The mom friend was the opposite of the cool girl. That was the boring friend who drove everyone around and was too busy worrying to have fun. She'd never been mom-friended in her life.

"Hey, are you okay?" Lee asked Wendy. "I mean—this idiot's near death experience aside—" (Nate punched Lee's knee.) "—you've been kinda high-strung lately. Is everything cool?"

"Of course I'm cool," Wendy said automatically. Be cool, girl. "Sorry. Work junk's got me stressed. Soos keeps randomly closing at the last minute, and I'm losing hours, and... it's been getting to me, I guess. I just need to chill." She took in a deep breath. "Nate," she put a hand on his shoulder and said solemnly, "if you want to fall on your head and lose your last eight brain cells, I won't get in your way. I support your dreams, man."

"Pssh, shut up!" Nate shoved Wendy off and sat up, laughing. "Okay, new plan. What if I just—stay on the floor, but reach my arm under the side to paint it."

Lee asked, "How are you gonna see what you're drawing?"

Nate considered that. "You can reach under and use your phone like a mirror."

Wendy bit back the urge to tell them they were idiots. Were her friends not maturing fast enough, or was she just getting boring?

She leaned against the water tower and shut her eyes.

####

Laying on the bathroom floor, Bill said, "You know what, Cool Girl? I'm beginning to think you're ignoring me too." Everyone was here and everyone was ignoring him.

He heaved himself to his feet. How long had he been in here. Time lost all meaning in a sensory deprivation tank. It could have been days. He was beginning to get hungry. What would he do when his body needed food? Not to mention dehydration! Where was he going to get water in a bathroom?!

Bill did not, at that moment, possess the greatest clarity of mind.

He flinched in surprise at the sight of another human in the bathroom, and then his hopes went up—and then they went back down. Oh. Right. He'd taken the towels off the mirrors. Just him.

"Thanks for disappointing me," he snapped sarcastically at the human body in the reflection. "Again. As usual." He pointed at the reflection. "Hey—hey! What's that look on your face for? Don't you take that attitude with me, buster! It's your fault I'm in this mess!"

His reflection continued to glare wrathfully at him. It made him madder. The reflection's wrath deepened.

"WHAT?!" Bill demanded. "You keep your mouth shut, I'm the one shouting here! What do you have to be angry about?! I've never done anything to you! You owe me everything! I feed you, I clothe you, I wash you, and what do you give me in return?! Backaches and headaches! I could have been home partying with my friends by now, but do you know who's holding me back?! YOU!" He jabbed his finger against the mirror. The reflection jabbed a finger back. Voice cracking with rage, Bill squawked, "Don't you raise your hand at me, you little—!" He curled his hand in a fist, intending only to threaten the reflection; but when it shook a fist back at him, he reared back with a roar and punched the mirror. The glass crunched beneath his knuckles. His knuckles also crunched.

Bill stared at the broken glass, snapped out of his rage by the pain. Dozens of fragmented reflections stared back at him. He rubbed the stinging cuts on his knuckles.

"Of course," he said. "The solution's so obvious! Blood sacrifice!"

####

As Dipper passed the water tower, he spied an incomprehensible purple squiggle spray painted to the bottom of the walkway. How did that get there? Had Bill and Mabel been here? Maybe Mabel had done it with one of her spray cans to send a signal? Or maybe Bill had used his magic to float up and spray some magical alien rune from below.

He climbed up to look.

Nothing. No signs they'd been here, either. Dipper pulled out a town map he'd marked up with the locations Bill was most likely to hit, and peered toward them one by one from his vantage point; but he didn't see Bill or Mabel, nor any evidence of Bill's influence terrorizing the town. He was out of leads.

He climbed back down. He'd bike back to the shack, call Soos, maybe call the police, look for clues around the shack, chug some Mabel Juice for energy—desperate times—and join the hunt again...

As the Mystery Shack emerged from behind the trees, he saw, from another direction, Mabel biking up. His heart leaped into his throat.

Mabel waved. "Hey, Dipper!" She kicked down her kickstand and dismounted. "Did you find the wigglers?"

"Mabel!" Dipper almost tripped in his haste to get off his bike and pull her into a tight hug.

"Dipper? What is it?" Mabel awkwardly hugged him back. She whispered, "Why do you smell so bad."

"Are you okay?!" He held her out at arm's length, looking her up and down. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Wh—? No, I'm great! I might've kinda exploded a couple of tiny spray paint cans in my pocket, though." She pulled up her sweater, showing the purple and orange stains on one side of her skirt. "Buuut—" She held out four slips of colorful card stock. "Guess who won awesome concert tickets!"

"What about Bill," Dipper demanded, "did Bill kidnap you?"

"What? No." Mabel shook her head, bewildered. "I locked him in the shack while I went out for more spray paint."

"Well, he's not there now! I searched everywhere!" Dipper gasped, "Then—he must have escaped while you were out."

"What?! But—how—"

"I don't know, but I searched the whole shack a couple of hours ago—"

"A couple of hours?!"

"—and there's no sign of him—"

"Then he could be anywhere by now!" Mabel squeezed her hands together, crushing her tickets. "Oh, this is bad. It's all my fault if he causes trouble! We've gotta find him before Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford get home!"

"But where?" Dipper asked. "I've already looked everywhere he might go! The basement, the fault, his corpse, town hall, that street with all the katanas in the gutter for some reason..."

"You're thinking like Bill the evil overlord, I can think like Bill the party animal! We've talked about all kinds of fun places he'd go if he was free!" She got back on her bike. "Come on, I'll tell you on the way to town, we can split up to search!"

Dipper got on his bike to follow, but said, "Come on, do you really think he'd waste time doing something fun now that he's free to be evil again?"

"Fun and evil are the same thing to him! Dipper, I can guarantee you, if Bill summons his terrible friends back to town, the first place he's taking them is the Putt Hutt," she said. "Because he wants to force the townspeople to run through giant minigolf obstacles, and also teach the Lilliputtians to do war crimes."

"Okay, I believe you," Dipper said. "Lead the way."

####

As Mabel and Dipper biked away from the shack, Bill cried, "Wait wait, no! Come back!" He pounded both fists on the bathroom window and let out a prolonged, anguished, "NOOO!"

They didn't hear him.

Waddles did, though. He pulled his face out of the dirt and looked up at Bill, muddy snout twitching.

"Waddles," Bill gasped, relieved. "Good pig. Smart pig. You know, I'm—I'm really very impressed by your scientific work. Especially that jet pack, wow. Seriously. Just between you and me, I don't think Fordsy's quite the biggest genius in the house, you know what I mean?"

Waddles blinked.

"Listen. I need a little favor. Go get help." He pointed toward town. "Go get Mabel and tell her I'm— Or, or just free me yourself! Can you do that? Come on up here?" Could pigs open doors? Bill couldn't think of any reason why not. It wasn't like Waddles was cursed.

Waddles tilted his head slightly, contemplatively. He didn't look persuaded.

"It'll just take you a second," Bill pled. "And then I'll owe you one! Big time! Listen, if you help me, you'll go down in history! You think that stupid hog with the fancy spiderwebs was special? He's nothing! I'll rearrange the constellations to form your face! It'll say 'Greatest Pig In The Universe!' How's that?!"

Waddles stared at Bill.

"Have we got a deal?"

Waddles snorted, his nose twitching upward.

"More?! What more could you want! An infinite feeding trough! A hundred sows! A Nobel prize! The most luxurious mud puddle in the world, what?! Just—tell me what you want!"

Waddles lay down and shut his eyes.

"You're a lazy bum, Waddles!" Bill smacked his hand on the window. "You hear me?! You could've had a brilliant academic future in any field from bioengineering to quantum technology, and you squandered it all to mooch off a twelve-year-old! All potential but no work ethic! You're pathetic! You're nothing!"

Completely unashamed and satisfied with his life choices, Waddles fell asleep.

Bill groaned in frustration. "I'll never get out of here!" He kicked over a box, kicked a shampoo bottle, kicked one of the many ancient cursed sigils he'd inscribed on the walls in his own blood, and kicked a towel. "They've abandoned me in this shack. They're never coming back. They're gonna burn it down with me inside. Those brats just came by to taunt me! Mabel's probably been in on it all along! They all have. After all I've done for them! Those ungrateful—"

Bill stomped across the bathroom and hammered on the door. "Was this your idea, Stanford Pines?! I know it was you! You've had it out for me ever since we finished the portal and you decided you didn't need me anymore! It was your big plan to trap me in here! You're just waiting to see if the hunger or the boredom gets to me faster, aren't you?! Gonna record that in your journal, huh? A cute little experiment to see whether my body or my mind gives out first?" He gave the door another violent pound. "You're an evil, sadistic freak, Stanford! And not even the fun kind! I know you're laughing at me right now! I know that's what you're doing!"

####

Ford kept his gaze fixed firmly on the Dontium generator as he blindly groped across the card table for the deck. "Where's—?"

"Here, I've gotcha." Fiddleford pushed a playing card into his hand.

"Thanks." Ford groped around the table until he found the three cards that had already been placed down, flipped the new one over, and carefully set it next to the others. "What's this one?"

"Four of clubs."

"Remind me why I'm responsible for dealing the community cards when I can't look at them and you can?"

"Because it's real distractin'," Fiddleford said, "Which is just what you need to keep you from thinkin' about the... oh."

Oh. The Dontium.

Sitting at the generator's controls, Soos said, "Aw, dudes. Needle's back down at zero."

Ford shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.

Sitting on a folding chair faced away from the Dontium generator, Stan groaned. "Seriously?! Again?"

Fiddleford said, "Sorry, sorry."

"Start from the top," Ford said tiredly. "Stan, you just focus on your part and I'll focus on mine. Or... not focus on mine, as the case may be."

Stan groaned again, but said, "Fine!" and crossed his arms irritably.

"Right," Ford said. "Where were we? Remind me what the current community cards are?"

"King of hearts, seven of hearts, two of diamonds, and four of clubs."

"Hmm." It wasn't an inspiring bunch of community cards. No chance for a straight, no chance for a flush, slim odds for four of a kind. He tried to mentally calculate the probability of a win. "And..." Ford waved the two cards he was holding. "What's my hand?"

"I'd tell ya, but last I checked, peekin' at yer opponent's poker cards is still considered cheating."

"Right," Ford sighed. That was going to make calculations harder.

"I could look," Stan said. "I'm allowed to look anywhere except the one place I'm not, right? If I tell you your cards—"

"You can't," Fiddleford said irritably, "because then you'll think about poker when you're s'posed to be thinkin' about—er..."

Soos laughed awkwardly. "Aw, dudes. You'll never guess what."

"Darn it!" Stan got to his feet and pointed at Ford. "You started thinking about the thing again!"

"You stopped thinking about the thing again!"

"How am I supposed to think about the thing when there's a game of Texas hold 'em five feet away?!"

"I knew we should have switched to a game Stan doesn't like." Ford looked at Fiddleford—it didn't matter, they weren't making any progress. "What if we try...?"

Firmly, Fiddleford said, "Stanford, I'll do many things for science. But you ain't getting me to play that diabolical hocus-pocusy wizard game."

Ford groaned. "We're going to be here all night."

Soos slowly raised a hand. "I have an idea," he said. "What if you both put on headphones. And Stan's plays a recording that just says 'think about the NowUSeeItNowUDontium generator' over and over. And Ford's plays—uh—I don't know, an audiobook with cool science facts or something?"

They considered that. Ford slowly nodded. Stan shrugged. "Eh, can't hurt."

####

Were shirts edible?

Nothing in this accursed bathroom qualified as human food. But if Bill could eke out just a few calories, maybe he could survive until the humans came by to pry the gold fillings from his starved corpse and turn the tables on them. Shirts were plants. They might accidentally contain a mineral or two. Right? Maybe? Bill knew a great many things about Earth, but he had never once needed to learn whether cotton yielded any nutritional benefit to human beings.

It was probably better for him than trying to chew up the wooden counter. He peeled off his shirt, steeled himself for the least appetizing meal of his life, and began distastefully chewing on the hem.

Several minutes in, it suddenly occurred to him to check the shirt's tag for nutrition info. He peered in the collar.

65% polyester, 35% cotton.

Well. He wasn't wasting his time on a shirt that was two-thirds plastic. He'd burn more energy chewing than he'd gain.

He pulled his shirt back on and lay on the bathroom floor. He could already feel his famished body metabolizing his own muscles for fuel.

If he returned to his true form when he died, the first thing he was doing was heating every ounce of polyester on the planet to five hundred degrees and melting it onto the skin of the humans stupid enough to wear it.

####

"Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..." Mabel was muttering to herself in sync with pedaling the bike. She'd spent most of the ride along the road back to the shack alternating between this chant and berating herself in more detail: "I'm so stupid, augh! Why is it always me? Why am I always the one who lets Bill get out? Because I'm an idiot!"

"Whoa, hey. Don't say that," Dipper said. Granted, he did think leaving Bill home with no guards was kinda stupid, but Mabel was already punishing herself far in excess of what Dipper thought she deserved. And he'd left Bill home with one guard, so was he much better? "It's not all your fault—"

"Yes it is! I'm the one who decided to trust him at home alone! I'm the only one who's been trusting him at all! I knew he'd try something like this eventually!" Mabel tilted her head back and let out a long noise of frustration at the sky.

Dipper opened his mouth to try to offer more reassurance; but then he paused. "Wait. If you knew he'd do this, then why did you trust him?"

"Because...!" Mabel fell silent for a moment. "Because, I know he's a bad person... but I really, really do think he can get better." She had that little waver in her voice that she got whenever she was trying not to cry. "I'm figuring out how he thinks, I'm teaching him manners, I'm getting him to lie less... But, he can't prove he's getting better if he isn't given room to do the wrong thing, so he can choose the right thing instead. If he can't choose, then he's not good, he's just controlled. So I've... gotta give him chances."

Dipper stared at her, momentarily lost for words. "And—you're willing to risk the safety of the whole town—?"

"I mean I didn't think he'd escape entirely!" Her front tire wobbled; she slammed on the breaks. Dipper skidded to a stop just a few feet ahead.

Voice thicker, Mabel said, "I just—with Grunkle Ford so close to figuring out how to kill him, I really... really wanted him to prove he can be better."

All this time, watching her playing and goofing around with Bill, Dipper had assumed she was just ignoring how dangerous he was. But if anything, she was thinking about it more than anybody else. All the rest of the family had to worry about was Bill finding some way to destroy the world; while Mabel was worrying about Bill destroying the world, and Bill not making enough progress on some nebulous road to being "better," and whether he could prove himself to everyone else before it was too late.

Dipper didn't think Bill could do anything to prove himself. He thought Bill deserved to die. But that just made Mabel's position even worse.

"Oh, Mabel," Dipper murmured. "I'm sorry. I... didn't realize how much pressure you're under." All this time, Dipper had been seeing this as a battle where Bill won if he escaped to restart Weirdmageddon and the Pines won if they killed Bill. But for Mabel, she'd lose either way.

No wonder she'd learned so much about him, so fast. No wonder she was spending so much time around him. She didn't have any time to waste. And to think Dipper had been jealous of her bizarre new expertise. He didn't want to be doing what she was doing.

"S'fine. It's stupid." Mabel rubbed her nose on her arm, eyes downcast. "I'm the dumb-dumb who tried to be friends with an evil space criminal."

"You're not a dumb-dumb," Dipper said. "You're like, one dumb maximum."

Mabel snorted and laughed weakly. "Seriously, Dipper."

"You just want to help. Maybe too much."

She shrugged. "I guess." She rubbed her face again, then got back on her bike. "C'mon, it's almost dark. We should go."

"Yeah." Every second they wasted was one more second Bill could spend putting some devastating plot together.

They were headed back to the shack, but only long enough to regroup. They had already split the cereal bars and jerky that Dipper kept in his backpack for excursions, but they needed to get some proper food before they continued the hunt. And—as much as they dreaded it—they'd conceded they couldn't fix this themselves, and they had to call the adults to tell them they'd let Bill escape.

As they biked, Dipper said, "Hey. What did you mean, you're 'getting him to lie less'? Bill tells like four lies a minute."

"Oh. Right," Mabel said. "I guess I don't exactly see it as lying anymore because I understand what he really means."

"What, is he talking in some kind of code?"

"Sorta? I'm not sure if this is only a Bill thing, or if it's how people talked back on his planet? But he just doesn't have conversations like a human. When he says something, he doesn't really care about if it's true. He's telling you what he thinks should be true. So it's not like he's actually trying to lie, he's just... trying to use words to make a better reality." Mabel shrugged. "You've just gotta negotiate with him on the details of the new reality so you both like it."

Dipper blinked in bewilderment. "Mabel, that's objectively insane."

"It works, though!" Her proud smile wilted. "I thought it did, anyway."

Once they found Bill and had finally figured out how to kill him, Dipper would kill him twice for breaking Mabel's heart.

####

"Where haven't we looked for him yet?" Mabel asked, packing fresh provisions in Dipper's backpack. Waddles, who had come in with them and could tell something was wrong, had sat down reassuringly in the exact center of the kitchen.

"I didn't explore much of the forest." There was a lot of forest. "He's probably out there with a pair of scissors cutting open the dimensional rifts we glued shut last summer."

"Or taking over the radio station to broadcast a mind-control signal."

"Or breaking into the buried UFO to summon an alien invasion."

"Do you think we need to check the UFO?" Mabel asked. "I've never gotten to see it."

"Probably. If I was an evil triangle trying to restart an apocalypse, that's where I'd go." Either that, or hitch the first ride out of town—but that wasn't an option for Bill. Their one blessing was that they knew Bill still had to be nearby. He couldn't be farther than the weirdness barrier. "We'll need the magnet gun." Dipper headed for the stairs.

"And my grappling hook!" Mabel called. "Can you grab it for me?"

"You got it!"

As Dipper jogged past the bathroom, something rattled the door so thunderously that Dipper jumped sideways like a startled deer. The door howled, "Let me out, you monster! I'll kill you! I'll atomize you! I'll turn your intestines into a Klein bottle! I'll anti your matter—!"

Dipper stared. He opened the door. The bathroom belched forth a cloud of artificial lavender fragrance.

Behind it stood Bill Cipher, both hands on the doorframe, arms shaking, chest heaving, face contorted in rage. The moment the door was open, the rage melted away into a look of profound relief and his knees buckled under him. 

Dipper said, "What."

"You saved me!" He placed one hand reverently on the floor boards outside the bathroom. "You're my hero. I knew you wouldn't abandon—" He blinked, squinting up at Dipper's face. "Oh. It's just you. Eh."

Dipper said, "What."

"I was trapped!" His hair was disheveled; his hands were covered in scrapes and cuts; and his shirt's hem was shredded and tattered. There was a wild look in his dark-ringed eyes. He looked like a man who'd been crawling through the desert for a week, who'd then crawled into an active minefield. "I couldn't get out! I tried everything!"

Dipper gazed past Bill. The bathroom walls were coated in mysterious sigils drawn in toothpaste, makeup, and blood. One mirror was shattered, and the other had a smeared drawing of Bill's zodiac. There was a pile of wet cotton balls and used bandaids on the floor.He'd started writing his will on the shower curtain. He'd written an invocation to something called ⅃TO⅃OXA on the ceiling.

"I thought I was gonna die in here." Bill crawled across the hall, leaned back against the opposite wall, and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. "I had to eat shampoo to survive." He hiccuped up several soap bubbles.

Dipper stared at Bill, stared into the bathroom again, and stared at Bill. "How long have you been in here?"

Dragging his hands down his face, Bill declared, "All afternoon! And evening!"

"You resorted to drinking shampoo in one afternoon?"

"I was hungry! Do you know how much fuel human bodies need?! It's insane!"

And that was the moment Dipper realized that all along, Mabel had been half right: Bill probably wasn't becoming "better"; but even so, they no longer had anything to fear from Bill Cipher. He wasn't haunting their dreams, he wasn't opening rifts. This, this was all he could bring to the table. He was so harmless it was pathetic.

Dipper would never be afraid of him again.

"Welp," Dipper said. "Enjoy your freedom, man. Bye." He turned to leave.

A hand closed on the back of his neck. Bill snarled in his ear, "Ohhh, no. You're not going anywhere. We're going down to the kitchen, and you're opening the fridge for me."

Wow, right, Bill couldn't even open the fridge by himself. Wow. Wow. That was so sad.

They had to slow down at the stairs; Bill was stumbling down them with the weariness of a soldier who'd survived a week in the trenches. As they went, Bill said, "Hey. What's your first name?"

"Wha—?" Somewhat offended, he said, "It's Dipper."

"No. I know that, obviously. Why wouldn't I know that?" (He sounded defensive.) "I meant your—your baby name. Birth certificate."

"Why do you need to know?" Was this like a fae thing? Was telling Bill his real name dangerous?

"It's been driving me insane all day." With the eyes of a desperate man grasping at the last fraying threads of his sanity, Bill said, "Is it Mabon? I could swear it's Mabon. Tell me it's Mabon."

"What? No, that's stupid. Mabon isn't even a real name."

"Yes it is, it's Welsh."

"It's Mason."

"HA!" Bill screamed triumphantly in Dipper's face, "MASON!" He was way too loud and looked way too ecstatic.

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

Mabel was in the living room on her phone. "Hey, Soos? Could you put Grunkle Ford on a second?" She paused, then took a shaky breath and said, "Grunkle Ford? Hey. I've... got some bad news... We, uh..."

"Psst," Dipper hissed from the doorway, "Mabel!" He pointed at Bill. Bill pointed at himself.

Mabel's eyes widened. "We... ate all the leftovers! Haha, yeah, sorry, thought you should know! Anyway, love you, bye!" She lowered the phone. Dipper faintly heard Ford say, "What leftovers?" before Mabel ended the call. "Bill! You came back!"

"He never left the shack," Dipper said.

"You didn't?!" Mabel bounded across the room and flung her arms around him. It nearly knocked him over. "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

"Yeah, of course not. You can count on me, kid." Bill glanced sideways at Dipper, brows raised questioningly. What?

Flatly, Dipper said, "He got locked in the bathroom."

"What?!" Mabel stepped back, looked Bill up and down, and said, "You look awful! What happened?"

"I was trapped," Bill said wretchedly. "I thought I was a goner." Dipper rolled his eyes.

"Oh my gosh, you poor thing!" Mabel hugged him again. "Tell me all about it."

"In the kitchen."

"Of course! You must be starving."

"I am," Bill said, hand on his heart, the most pitiful thing you ever did see. "That was the worst afternoon of my existence. You know—being stuck in a human body makes waiting for anything absolute torture. An energy being can wait indefinitely, but a flesh being can feel the passage of time via its own cycle of slowly decaying flesh. The flesh knows it's got less than a century til its expiration date. Compared to the length of my entire life, one afternoon to a human is proportionate to, like..." There was a pause as Bill did some mental math, "over nine million years of my life? So I was basically in there for nine million years!"

"That's awful! I'm so sorry, if I'd had any idea..."

Bill was enjoying this performance, Dipper was sure of it. If he were any hammier he'd be a pork chop.

Still—and Dipper never thought he'd be grateful for this—at least Bill was here.

He followed Mabel and Bill into the kitchen to get some proper dinner.

####

Dipper pulled a tray of dinosaur chicken nuggets out of the oven. "Okay, dinner's ready. You guys want any condiments? Ketchup? Barbecue sauce?" He looked at Bill. "Shampoo?" Mabel snorted.

The absolute picture of dignity, Bill said, "Shampoo's really more of a dressing than a condiment." Once he'd raided the cabinet for snacks, Bill had gotten bored with the woe-is-me act and was now acting like he was above any petty jabs about his bathroom adventure. "I'll take maple syrup."

Mabel looked at Bill like he'd just invented a brand new number. "I'll take maple syrup, too."

Dipper split the nuggets on three plates—they weren't quite divisible by three, so he gave Bill the plate with one fewer.

"By the way," Bill said conversationally. "How was dumpster diving?"

"Shut up." Dipper took one more nugget from Bill's plate.

Once they were all seated around the table, Bill said, "So! Let's talk alibis."

Dipper frowned. Mabel said, "Alibis for what?"

"I might have been safe at home all day, but you two didn't know that, because you both decided to leave the big scary triangle here alone. I mean, anything could have happened. What if I'd burned the house down?" Bill feigned a grimace. "I don't think you want the grunkles to know you left, do you?"

Mabel winced. Dipper said, "So, what—are you blackmailing us?"

"Nooo. I'm saying we need to get our stories straight in case they ask. After all, I'd hate for you kids to get in trouble."

"I think you're just embarrassed they might find out what you were doing all day."

Loftily, Bill said, "I don't see why I should be embarrassed by your negligence."

After half an hour of rigorous debate, they agreed that, if anybody asked, they'd never left the house and had spent all afternoon battling a ghost werewolf. It was the one thing they could think of that made them all feel sufficiently cool, but was mundane enough it wouldn't call for any follow-up questions.

They collectively decided they didn't know anything about the state of the bathroom.

####

(I hope y'all found that half as hilarious to read as I found it to write. If you enjoyed I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts! Next week: the complete emotional opposite of this week.)

[thefoxtherapist]

could you write aalto x a nerdy reader who doesn't go out much going on a date? bonus points if the reader works together with him

Nerdy readers my beloved, I hope you like it!

You yawned as you stared at the screens in front of you. “Hey!” You lifted your head, looking over your monitor at the man standing in the doorway. But as quickly as you saw him, misty figure was left in his place. You shook your head as you looked around the room, waiting for him to appear somewhere.

A blake bloom appeared beside you and you turned your head to look up at him as he held the flower out to you. You smiled softly, taking the flower and tucking it in your hair. 

“Dinner?”

“Ooh you're letting me out of the office?!” You pushed your chair back, Aalto tripping slightly now that he couldn't lean on your chair. You stood up, stretching your arms upwards before dropping them to your side again. 

“Encore is with that Patroller and Rover and we finally get some time to ourselves!” Aalto held his hand out, body slightly tilted forward as if he was mimicking a bow to you. You took his hand, letting him pull you in close, he interlaced his fingers with yours. 

You found working for the Black Shores rewarding, but it was time consuming, often taking you both away from your relationship. Especially since you spent all your time in the office while Aalto was out in the field. But you giggled when he dipped you, kissing your cheek with an Aalto certified flourish.

“Any plans in that pretty head of yours~?”

Aalto straightened you two out, bringing your clasped hands up to kiss the back of yours. “I was thinking dinner at Panhua's Kitchen, a walk around the ponds, then maybe we could come back here and watch something.”

You beamed up at him, thoroughly enjoying his undivided attention and affections. “I'd really like that. I just need my jacket!” He nodded and released you, disappearing from where he stood to go stand by the door while you grabbed your jacket from nearby. You bounced down the steps towards him, heart already aflutter.

Aalto wrapped his arm around your waist, using his free hand to put his sunglasses on before he pulled you outside of the office. The setting sun reflected against his shades as you locked the door behind the two of you. You leaned into his side as the two of you left the residential area, his grip somewhat tightening on you as you passed by others who didn't spare you much of a glance.

“How's the field been?” You questioned as you walked. But Aalto made a small face, shaking his head. You were colleagues, sure, but you were more than colleagues. And he wasn't interested in talking about work. You could understand that, even if you thought his position in the field far outranked yours in the stuffy office. So you pivoted instead.

“And Encore is enjoying Jinzhou I assume?”

“Oh, she loves it.” Aalto laughed, head tilting back. You smiled looking up at him, he always managed to look so carefree. “She's been complaining about you locked up all week though, we should go somewhere with her. Wanna check out those csc ruins some more later?” 

You thought it over, well not really, you were going to say yes. But for his sake you pretended to at least think about it. “Sure! With you and Encore there I'll be fine.” You released his arm once you got to the only empty table at the restaurant. And though Aalto hesitated to release you, after a few seconds he finally did, allowing you to sit.

“I'll pay.”

You snorted as you leaned on your hand, looking at his partially obscured face. “Somebody got a deal.” He was so easy to read when he let himself be read. When he let his guard down and showed you a different side of himself. Aalto reached out, gently smacking your nose with the menu in his hand. You could only laugh, swiping the menu from him despite already knowing what you wanted.

“Hey.”

He paused.

“Hey!”

You finally looked at him.

Aalto snuck a kiss from you, lips cold but soft. You wanted to giggle, but bit the inside of your cheek in order to kiss him back instead. Aalto always had surprises up his sleeves, but he also had a level of consistency that he granted you that you loved about him. He knew how to make you feel safe, wanted. 

He swiped the menu back.

“Aalto!”

It was his turn to grin as he leaned back in his chair.

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya!”

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (7)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder case. She also never thought she’d encounter her one-night-stand again—the awkward stranger who isn’t exactly that good in bed… Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong.

Part Summary: She finds herself in a compromising position.

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide

a/n: this is my first time writing suspense and crime-mystery, so bear with me if you find any inaccuracy

IF THERE WAS ONE THING SPENCER WAS SURE OF, IT WAS BEING SLEEP DEPRIVED. Fatigue, like an invisible shroud, draped itself around his shoulders, draining all of his energy while his mind stumbled through a labyrinth of exhaustion.

He stifled a yawn, his mind trying to focus on the situation at hand and not the lack amount of sleep he was having. When was the last time he actually slept on his bed? When was the last time he went through his days without constantly refilling his cup with too much caffeine? The muscles around his eyes were starting to twitch with restless energy, a sign of a restless mind faltered under the weight of weariness.

Yet amidst it all, a strange resilience emerged within him. He still managed to focus his blurred vision, scanning his eyes around the room as he pushed away any fatigue and the desire to be somewhere else.

His gaze finally ceased on Garcia, engrossed in her own digital world, a sleek laptop perched on the round table before her. She leaned in, her eyes fixed on the vibrant screen which illuminated her face with a soft, cool glow. "Alright, so, I did more digging onto our recent victim, and let me tell you this, Jamison Lynch wasn't exactly the boss of the year."

Jennifer Jareau—who most of them regarded as JJ—looked up from the document in her hand, sitting across from Garcia. "What do you mean?"

"Jamison Lynch was somebody you wouldn't want as a boss. There were a lot of complaints coming from his subordinates—which surprisingly, most came from female workers."

Spencer's eyes scanned the large board in front of him adorned with a labyrinth of interconnected information. Photographs of the two crime scenes were pinned up, highlighting key details, while strings of marks and drawings crossed the board. "He was very different from the first victim."

"Exactly. Kevin Marshall was the epitome of boss of the year, and everybody just loved the guy, which was why no one could guess how something terrible could happen to him."

"There's a chance what happened to him isn't related to his job," JJ offered.

"Maybe not," Garcia muttered, throwing Spencer a curious look. "But the question is still unanswered, how are the two victims linked to one another?"

"The Unsub's memo is clearly done to punish them," Spencer explained, his attention started to gather all the information gripped onto his brain. "The verse written on Jamison Lynch's body was Romans 6:23, For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in our Lord."

JJ leaned over the desk with a pointed stare. "One thing for sure, the Unsub has a strong religious background."

Spencer nodded. "All the verse they used highlights the notion that sin carries consequences, and death is described as the 'wage' or payment for those transgressions. In his mind, they may interpret these verses as a justification for his vigilante actions, believing that he's carrying out divine punishment on behalf of God."

"A religious upbringing," JJ suggested. "The Unsub could have grown up in a deeply religious environment, where strict interpretations of scripture might be emphasized."

"Most likely a distorted belief system." Spencer's hands were all over the place as he continued with his elucidation. "Over time, the Unsub's religious beliefs may have become twisted and distorted, leading him to believe that he possesses a unique calling to carry out punishment on behalf of a higher power."

He then studied the picture of the first crime scene, his eyes raking over the lifeless body covered in a pool of blood. "Kevin Marshall might seem like the golden citizen, but he must be involved in something that could be illegal..." He suddenly looked over to Garcia. "Did Jamison Lynch start his career as a journalist?"

Her fingers danced across the keyboard. "Yes, he published a lot of his work since 2004."

"Search any articles he wrote that might involve Kevin Marshall, or maybe the company he worked for. "

"Or legal cases that he was assigned with," JJ added.

"That could be a start, although it might take a while because sleuthing without much lead is difficult." Garcia peered at the two of them by the rim of her eccentric, colorful glasses. "But do not fret, I am known to be the best."

Footsteps suddenly emerged into the room as Aaron Hotchner glanced around the three of them. "Garcia," he mentioned, standing behind her. "Did you find any old cases that might be involved in the victims?"

"Ah, yes, the system was searching through the database based on your queries this morning and it took me a while before—" A sudden ping echoed from her device. “Well, that was perfect timing."

Her fingers clicked across the keyboard as her eyes scanned the dimly lit screen. Everyone in the room stood frozen in their tracks, their faces etched with a curious mix of trepidation and curiosity.

Garcia's eyes widened, revealing the turmoil that echoed the collective sentiment of the room. "Whoa."

JJ stood up and circled her way around the table, standing close to her. "What is it?"

"I started looking through the database for any similar crimes in surrounding areas this morning." Her attention shifted between the other three people in the room. "There have been enucleations in other cases, but none recently, and none close by. No similar murder case was shown, but suicide on the other hand..."

"Harvey Webb," JJ read, looking at the photo of the deceased man. "Suicidal death?"

"Thirty-nine-year-old landlord took a tumble off a sixth-floor balcony two years ago, exactly on the apartment complex he rented out."

"Why are we looking at a suicidal case?"

"That's the thing, the local authorities ruled out that he might've not jumped on his own accord, although his wife at that time determined that he had been having suicidal thoughts for a long time and decided to close the case." Garcia did more tapping on her keyboard and somehow pictures of the crime scene were plastered across the screen in front of the room. "Harvey went through depression and a lot of suicidal attempts, there were always cuts along his arm except—"

"There was a writing on his body?" Hotch guessed.

Garcia nodded as she clicked on a clearer picture of the victim's arm. "His autopsy came in that while there were definite signs of attempt self-hurt, this was written between the cuts."

"Galatians 6:7," Spencer read, his eyes fixated on the screen as he recited, "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows."

"Definitely a vigilante on the loose," JJ remarked.

Spencer hummed a positive response and walked over to the board, a marker in his hand as he wrote down the verse. "This verse underscores the concept of reaping the consequences of one's actions, which could further justify the Unsub's belief that his victims deserve punishment for his perceived sins or mistakes."

Hotch studied the pictures of the recent victims and the one shown on the screen. "The way the words are carved across the skin is definitely done by the same person," he noted.

JJ looked between the three pictures before nodding. "I agree." She then glanced up at her co-workers. "So why the different MO? Something connects these three victims, and yet this one"—she pointed to the photo of Harvey Webb—"died in a completely different manner. He either jumped or was pushed. We don't even know if it was a murder, just that he was branded the same as the other two victims."

"The timeline doesn't add up," Spencer claimed, his brows furrowed deeper. "There's too much of a gap between the first victim and the second victim, we're looking at two different stressors that triggered the Unsub."

Hotch stood beside him, crossing his arms as he studied the evidence they had collected these past few days. "If this was his first victim and the two men were his second and third, it's possible he's advancing, that his fantasy is developing."

Spencer looked back at the three pictures. What connected these three dead people, two murdered in violent, heinous ways, the third a potential suicide victim? What wrongdoings might they possibly sin? And now he couldn't help but feel the weight of Hotch's words and how revolting one could act in this series of crimes, proclaiming them as fantasies, his skill, and determination more distinguished than ever before.

"If that's the case..." he pointed out, a certain tension hanging in the air. "He's only getting started."

Y/n must be mad—utterly, completely out of her mind.

She always considered herself a very sensible person characterized by an ability to think critically, or make rational decisions on logical reasoning. But her thoughts, once orderly and coherent, twisted into bewildering shapes because here she was, perched right in front of an apartment door she once closed behind and never looked back.

Why did she think it was a good idea to come here uninvited at this time of hour? How did she end up being here when she was lying in her bed a few hours ago?

She recalled turning around in her sleep, or perhaps, her attempt to rest her eyes, because she found herself staring into the dark with an unsettling feeling in her gut. Maybe all the turmoil of emotions piled up in her chest had her going into a panic frenzy, relentlessly moving in her bed when she should've been fast asleep.

Somehow amidst dwelling on her anxiety, she was suddenly on her feet, putting on a jacket before calling a cab. Her mind was too tangled to be driving on her own, and when the driver asked her where she was heading, she recited the area she was familiar with. Did she remember the building she wanted to go to? Yes. Did she know the exact address? Apparently not.

Although it was easy to spot the building. The old but clean apartment was recognizable, the sturdy wooden door, adorned with vintage brass fixtures, welcomed her after she tipped the driver her fair. The cool air hit her face, her hair flying around her shoulders as she spotted a residence walking out of the building. She quickly slipped in, seeking a very much-needed warmth, yet now she was starting to question her common sense.

But it was too late to turn back because her hand was already curling into a fist as she knocked on the door. Once, twice, three times. When there was no answer, she wasn't sure whether to be glad or disappointed. She knocked once again, and when she was met with silence, she decided it was a sign that she was indeed making the wrong decision.

So she exhaled a breath she wasn't even aware of holding, turned around, and completely froze when she was met with a familiar pair of hazel eyes. There he was, almost a week since the last time she saw him, standing on the last step of stairs.

Time seemed to stand still. Her heart skipped a beat, his presence exuded a captivating charm. His chiseled features were accentuated by a sculpted jawline, leading up to a pair of intense, deep-set eyes that seemed to hold a hefty amount of fatigue. Dark circles cast shadows beneath his eyes, hinting at nights spent wrestling with restless thoughts.

He was dressed in a rumpled shirt and loosely fitted trousers, his attire mirrored the fatigue he wore upon his face. The fabric seemed to hang upon his frame, lacking the crispness that usually accompanied his wardrobe. But despite his weariness, there was an undeniable pull emanating from his presence. It should be illegal how handsome he still looked even when he looked like he needed some rest.

Spencer took a tentative step closer, looking reminiscent of a puppy with his eyebrows pinched at each beginning in a way that can only mimic either confusion or concentration. "Y/n?"

"Hi," she awkwardly greeted, suddenly feeling out of place.

"What brings you here?"

"I..." she trailed off, her brows furrowed as she tried to find a reasonable answer. But somehow she found herself telling him the truth. "I honestly don't know."

His eyes fixed upon her, silently studying her figure. A cascade of lustrous hair framed her face, falling gracefully upon her shoulders.

"Do you want to come in?"

"I don't want to impose on you—" she stepped aside, letting him unlock his door. "Or disturb your much-needed rest."

A ghost of a smile curled on the corner of his lips as he fished out his keys. "I look terrible, don't I?"

"I wouldn't say terrible, just... you look very tired."

"I haven't had proper sleep in days." With a steady hand, he inserted the key into the lock before a satisfying click echoed in the air. With a gentle push, the door swung open, and he gestured to her with a nod.

She looked between him and his apartment. "Are you sure?"

"Come in," he offered. He walked inside his home and pulled the door ajar. "Please."

She studied him for a while before nodding. The floor creaked as she stepped into his household, and as the door swung shut behind her, she scanned the room that seemed familiar yet foreign at the same time. A sense of warmth enveloped her despite the predominantly dark colors that adorned the space. Soft, ambient lighting emanated from placed lamps, casting a gentle glow upon the room.

She walked past him and noticed the chessboard splayed across the coffee table. "I didn't know you play chess." She sat down on his couch. "Looks like you were in the middle of a game… was someone else here?"

He wasn't sure whether he heard a note of jealousy in her voice, but he smiled nonetheless.

"Actually, I was in a game with myself," he answered sheepishly, shrugging off his suit jacket before placing it over his couch. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No, it's alright." She leaned forward, her gaze fixed upon the chessboard. Her eyes darted back and forth, analyzing the board with a keen interest before moving a chess piece, placed with precision and purpose.

Genuine surprise crossed his face as he settled beside her. "You know how to play chess?"

"A little. I used to play with my father growing up."

"You don't play with him anymore?"

She shook her head. "He passed away when I was young. Both of my parents did."

"I'm sorry," he gently spoke. He leaned back and turned his body toward her. "Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope, just me."

"I'm an only child too." Then he assessed her carefully while her eyes wandered beyond her striking features, a subtle tension betrayed a deeper complexity lurking beneath the surface. "Now are you going to tell me why you're here?"

He noticed the subtle language of her body where uncertainty weaved on her face. It was in the way she looked between him and her hands, a balance between wonder and reservation that hinted at the lingering doubt within. Then she took a deep breath, her brows furrowed as her voice filled in the silence.

"Does it make me a bad person that I didn't cry after everything that happened?"

He frowned, taken aback by the sudden question. "What do you mean?"

"There was a memorial service for Jamison a few days ago, and while everyone mourned, I just... stood there." She looked down at her hands. "What happened to him was very unfortunate, it just happened that, apparently, I have no emotions.”

His head fell back onto the couch as he watched her. "It doesn't make you a bad person. Grief is a deeply personal and individual experience, and people respond to loss in different ways. Crying is just one expression of grief, but it isn't the only definitive indicator of how much someone cared for or was impacted by the loss of a person, especially given how you saw what had happened."

"But it makes me feel kind of heartless." She glanced back at him. "I mean, he wasn't exactly the greatest boss, and I should've felt a certain kind of sadness, but I... I don't know how I feel, to be honest."

"Y/n," he gently called, his expression softening. "It's important to remember that everyone grieves in their own way. What matters most is that you find healthy ways to navigate and process your emotions surrounding the loss, whether it involves crying or not."

She hummed in response. "I guess you do have a point."

"I do, and I'm right most of the time." Spencer smiled when she rolled her eyes and a comfortable silence settled between them. "Now tell me the truth."

She quirked an eyebrow. "What truth?"

"You obviously have a lot on your mind right now and I'm trying to wrap my head around why you chose to be here."

"Do I need to have a reason?"

As his gaze lingered, he found himself drawn to her eyes—a delicate blend of curiosity and trepidation. They shimmered with a gentle vulnerability, revealing the depths of her longing to be seen and understood.

"I would like to know your reason."

She weighed her words carefully. "I couldn't sleep,” she decided to say. “My mind was constantly turning its gear, then it got too overwhelming?” She shook her head. “I-I guess I needed the comfort..."

As she tried to find her voice, her words become entangled in the turmoil of her emotions. With a deep breath, she gathered her courage. The words spilled forth, unfiltered and vulnerable, resonating with a sincerity that echoed through the room.

"And somehow you were the first person that came to mind."

Spencer felt an unfamiliar intensity washing over him—a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty that tugged at his heartstrings. And then suddenly, completely out of nowhere, the desire to embrace her consumed him, both thrilling and terrifying. It was such a baffling thought because he found hugs to be overwhelmingly intimate for his liking, yet there was this urge to hold her close, to feel the warmth of her body against his.

The weight of uncertainty pressed upon him, urging caution and restraint. But logic lost its battle with instinct, and caution lost its wrestle with impulsive longing as he found himself asking, "Can I give you a hug?"

Her body tensed, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. But as he kept staring at her, she realized that he was being serious. And she found herself nodding, yearning for the warmth radiating from his body.

He carefully drew closer and a magnetic force guided her movements, gently pushing her into his arms. Nervous excitement coursed through her veins, infusing a sense of vulnerability.

Bodies entwined, they breathe in unison, inhaling the essence of closeness as senses unfold—the warmth of skin against skin, the familiar scent that filled the air, the weight of the world momentarily faded away as they surrendered to the pure simplicity of human touch.

His head was spinning with longing and somehow he managed to pull her body gently onto his lap. She silently accepted his tug, placing her legs on either side of his thighs as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Amidst her relishing the gentle press of his body against hers, she couldn't help but find amusement in this new position.

He felt the subtle shake of her shoulder as a burst of soft laughter escaped her mouth. He suddenly tensed. "Is there something funny?"

The confusion etched in his voice had her pulling away, a small smile lingering on her face. "Yes," she answered. "It's amusing how you like having me on your lap so much.”

A slight warmth spread along his face as he became aware of her weight settling on top of him. "I didn’t notice."

She wasn't sure whether it was the glimmer in his eyes, the bashful smile on his lips, or the way he didn't pull his gaze away from her, but before it could register in her mind, she drew herself closer to him. The sudden shift of her movement caused a friction underneath her, and it was at that moment she realized how compromising of a position they were in.

Her fingers brushed against his skin, and an electric current surged through her veins, awakening a longing she had not anticipated. Her eyes flickered with a newfound intensity—a hunger that shimmered in the depths of her gaze as she could only focus on the pulse settling between her thighs. 

As her longing deepened, she became acutely aware of his proximity. The scent of him enveloped her, intoxicating her senses, and her mind was consumed by allowing herself to surrender in this newfound need. 

So she slowly rolled her hips, feeling his body beneath her, and suppressed a moan when she felt the outline of his bulge stroking against her core. Her breath hitched, betraying the innocent intentions that had initially brought them together. 

She felt him tense from the friction and his heart thudding hard against his ribcage, her heart beating to the same rhythm. "Stop doing that," he suddenly said, eyes darkening as he stared at her, voice deep and raspy. 

"Why?" She whispered.

A whirlwind of emotions churned within him. His heart ached to offer solace, yet primal longing tugged at his core, igniting an undeniable urge to keep her closer, to indulge in the sudden pull of desire.

"Because if you don't," he grunted, his hand sliding up her neck, burying it in her thick hair as he tilted her face. He pulled her closer, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat. The heat of her presence lingered on his fingertips, tempting him to pull her into an embrace that transcends mere comfort. "I won't be able to stop myself."

His gaze then traced the contours of her form. The subtle curve of a hip, the graceful arch of a back, the gentle swell of a chest—all become objects of fascination. He watched as her tongue wiped along her bottom lip while she slid her hands across his shoulders, stopping right on his chest, hovering above his heart.

"Then don't," she softly pleaded, moving her hips once again, igniting a moan deep within his chest. “I don't want you to stop."

It was the only push he needed as he closed the distance between them, finally crushing his lips to hers.

>> NEXT PART

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[deafsignifcantother]

sanctum

♥ summary: after being flabbergasted at meeting a deaf person for the first time, and after husk gives him a little lesson, angel approaches with an apology. based off of if music be the food of love woot woot but i changed the reader to be a little less obvious it's the other protag so it's easier to consume for people who aren't interested in the series bc i love my audience :3 ♥ relationship: angel dust and x deaf woman reader (platonic) ♥ word count: 2.2k ♥ notes: for @glitched-out-dusk , reader talks with alastor a lot bc i actively hc alastor knows asl and i'll never change that in my stories

The first time Angel saw you, he didn't try to communicate. He just analyzed you, staring you up and down, wondering if you were faking your Deafness. You stared at him back with a small smile. The moment only lasted a few seconds since Charlie decided it was time to butt in and start a conversation with you. Angel kept glancing over, his arms crossed, watching your body movements and how your eyes flicker around. You stare at others' lips, which is a weird habit, and though you have a clueless look in your eyes, you never look away from others' faces.

You are the first visitor in months after Sir Pentious. Since he came, Charlie hoped another visitor would seek redemption, and her positive affirmations came true. Angel only has expectancy this day. It's not like any other person will come knocking on the door.

His brain sinks into dirty thoughts while he watches you: how loud would you moan if you were doing the nasty? What would please a deaf girl most?

Husk can practically hear the porn star's thoughts, but Angel Dust's forcing those thoughts into his head to repress what he really feels. His heart decides on feeling a tinge of forsaken loneliness, he's going to be forgotten again, isn't he? But you're the one most isolated with the language barrier. You might be the forgotten one, right? Does he, selfishly, want that?

It is all Angel can do to imagine what you must be feeling, understand the situation you've found yourself in; dealing with everybody and losing social interaction. He's become a part of that cause, hasn't he?

Damn you. Damn you for forcing him to learn something new. Damn you for making him realize how empty he feels in the group and how he doesn't want you to feel the same way.

So sometimes, after you go to sleep, he'll stay up with Husk, both cooing at him and begging him to teach basic sentences.

Simple signs stick with Angel, even as drunk.

"Is hello that easy?" He asks. Husk just laughs.

"Some signs are a lot easier than you'd think."

Husk is rusty in his ability. He's only had to use the language a few times when he was alive, and he doesn't remember ever interacting with an actual Deaf person. Surely, he had learned it for a good reason. His soul is so long gone that he can't even remember.

But the alphabet sticks with him, and so do gambling-related signs. He picks apart those sentences and tries to teach Angel the words rather than their meanings when pieced together.

And one night, not even a week since you arrived, somebody tapped Angel's shoulder as he leaned over the bar's counter.

He turns, hair bouncing with the whip of his head, and he bites the inside of his lip when he sees you. He finger spells your name, and you can only give him a sympathetic smile in your sleepy haze.

"Good job," you sign to him before turning to Husk. "Do you have water over here, or is it in the kitchen?"

He stares at you blankly. You, water, pointing to the bar, pointing somewhere else, question face. "Yeah, give me a second."

Angel eyes you, taking notes in his head. Your hands move slower when you sign to Husk, compared to signing with Alastor, and you tend to sign high so Husk can focus on your hands instead of your eyes.

Holding back a yawn, you rub your eyes while sitting on a stool, taking the very full glass of water and sipping the top. If you sit here, they'd have to acknowledge your presence, but they need to be more confident to hold a conversation. What could they even talk about? Card dealing? Sex?

You look between them and smile to yourself, dropping your head and looking away in case they try to start signing. You're just here for water, not to be a test subject. The more they practice, the better they'll be.

A small groan leaves your throat. As you turn to Angel, he stops talking to Husk, closing his lips and searching your lifted hands. You sign your name, giving him your name sign, hoping he'd understand. When he stares at you in panic, you fingerspell your name and then wave it off, signing your name again.

Husk speaks up, dropping his voice. "It's her name. You don't gotta fingerspell it all the time."

Angel glances over, whispering as if you'd overhear. "Do I gotta use it everytime I see her? When do I use it?"

"It's a fucking name, you don't go around naming Charlie every time you see her."

Your eyes flicker back and forth between the two of them. Husk pauses, and so does Angel, almost in alarm.

"Idiots." You're not even sure they understood the insult, but you keep going. You grab the glass with one hand, signing with the other. "I know you filled this up just to keep me here."

Husk shrugs, pretending to understand, and grabs a bottle (copying your actions) and drinks it. Angel stares with red cheeks, awkwardly holding his own and mimicking the movement.

You fight a frown; they're so annoyingly cute.

So you chug the drink, closing your eyes as you do so. Angel would have preferred if you had stayed, but he had to say his goodbyes with his hand twitching as if he was waving wrong. You get up from the stool. "See you tomorrow," to Husk and a simple wave to Angel.

They both watch you walk off.

"Could have been worse," Husk mumbles.

"Great. What if she thinks I'm a dumbass." He puts his check in his hand, his elbow pressing hard into the wood of the counter. The words sound faint coming from Angel. The change of heart has Husk grinning behind a bottle. "What's come over you?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "Nothing, it's whatever."

.

Once again, once you wake up, you walk downstairs and head straight to the bar. But Husk isn't there. A prominent frown falls onto your face. The water you drank last night was the most comfortable liquid you've ever had the pleasure of drinking in Hell. It cleared your throat and overstayed its welcome in your need for hydration. You enter behind the bar, eyeing the crazy amount of bottles and the array of fridges. How does he remember all of these products? Perhaps he just drinks them and hopes they do something. Your hand runs across the area for mixing, feeling the sticky covers. Maybe he's not the best bartender.

You grab a glass, wiping off the rim just in case, and you eye the hose-like thing nearing the sink.

Husk watches from afar but your focus is too direct to perceive his presence. You push down on a trigger as lightly as possible, and a powerful burst of water fills the cup, wetting your arms. You place the glass on the counter and use a hand towel to dry yourself off. Is this thing stained? You hope not. It's so unclean back here.

You see the blurry colors of Husk in the corner of your eye before you look up at him. He can't help but give you a small, unadorned smile.

You figured the water out yourself; that's cute; the whole ordeal was a show he would have paid to watch.

He crosses your body and stands next to you, grabbing the hose from you and showing you the switch on it. It's not a button but a pressure-related scale. Your mouth forms an O.

Angel isn't the only one who wants you to feel welcomed.

Vaggie is having issues letting Angel be the second guest getting so close to you. She knows that he is undoubtedly someone who can't read the room and will fit sexual words into any conversation. His ability to read the room is either nonexistent or actively ignored. She watches him practicing signing with Husk whenever he can. Maybe he's trying to learn complete sentences before harassing you.

She also notices that whenever he hears the click of your shoes against the floor, he'll look up with excitement, clenching his fists to calm down his delight. He always tells himself, 'this is the day I'll actually talk to her.' The day doesn't come for a while since whenever he sees you, you're by Alastor. Alastor will tell you stories about his life (lies?) and things that happened in the hotel. He'll describe the nightshade assemblages before explaining how often their railings have fallen apart.

Angel can't understand anything that demon says but glimpses at your hand shows how comfortable you are around him. Angel stares expressionlessly at the two of you, signing back and forth, and your smiles, wide. The jealousy heats him constantly, but nothing ever comes from it.

It will take a while before he can talk to you like that. The realization puts him on the brink of giving up.

Beer dribbles downward, discoloring the tips of his chest fur. The bar is messy, as if it's not the middle of the day. His confidence rises when he drinks. All he needs is a moment where you're alone. Or not.

With all his might, he drags himself sloppily towards the lounge and almost flops onto the couch next to you. He steps over the threshold, inhaling deeply. Alastor eyes him with his every step, and you follow his gaze, staring at Angel. Angel braces himself by gripping the top cushions when he staggers close enough to the couch. He raises his right hand, fingers wiggling in thought. It almost comes across as a "wait."

Alastor's eyes go to you, half expecting you to look back at him and roll your eyes, but you continue your stern gaze at Angel.

Angel drops his head, looking up at you through his eyelashes, "I'm sorry."

The chandelier darkens his face from above, and gravity pulls down the fluff of his head that seems to have been unbrushed this morning. At your silence, his confidence melts leisurely down from his head to the tip of his fingers.

"Sorry for what?" You drop the smile that was on your face and adjust yourself to face him a little more. The major thing you notice is him signing with one hand comfortably.

"I'm sorry you only have him to talk to." Angel's interpretation of 'him' wasn't a point but a wave in the direction, almost a 'that guy over there.'

You laugh. "We are talking now, aren't we?"

More apprehension burns a hole in his chest. He finally stands up, using two hands instead of one. "I'm running out of signs I know."

"Are you sure?" You finally switch your position on the couch to face him completely, ignoring Alastor at last. Your eyes look him up and down. "You look tired."

Tired, he knows that sign.

"Just a little."

You hum, reaching out to him. Your fingers brush his fur, feeling the drip, trying to wipe it away. "Sure."

You unveil a smile that looks as if it were snatched from Charlie's at her bondings. But your eyes continue to stare intently. "You should go to sleep. Stop drinking so much. It's not even night."

"I got things to do."

"Really? Astonishing."

He snaps into focus. One day, he was worried about whether he was waving right, and days later, he signs simple sentences you understand. His vision aims at your eyes, the area he wonders he should actually be looking at.

His thoughts are interrupted by the clearing of a throat. "I'm afraid you're intruding," Alastor says. Angel frowns at him, and you follow his gaze.

"Alastor," you sign with a psah, "he's just practicing."

"Rather annoyingly, my dear. I don't know how you do it."

"With patience."

Patience, Angel doesn't know that sign. When you whip your head back and give a playful shrug, you lean in. "He's going to get pissy if I talk any longer. You're doing a good job, Angel. Don't doubt yourself."

You grab his hand, holding his pointy fingers and maneuvering his fingers to form a thumbs-up. If he doesn't understand half of your signs, at least he can understand that. And then, with a wink, you turn back to Alastor, who lets out a hum in disapproval at the whole ordeal.

The flicker of the lights went unnoticed as Angel marched over to Husk, a big smile on his face. He had left a manly collection of bottles surrounding the area, which Husk had politely taken care of.

Husk chuckles before Angel can even get close. "Yeah?"

"You won't believe it," Angel boasts. "I actually got her approval."

"Wow," it almost sounds sarcastic. "Good work."

Angel plops down on a stool, holding the edge counter to stretch out his hands, dramatically straightening his shoulders and putting pressure on the middle of his palms. "Now, whiskers, do I get a reward? I've been a good boy."

Husk grimaces as if he's smelled a foul odor. "Not excited for the day you learn how to sign that."

"She'll be ecstatic," Angel smiles at himself. "Won't even see it coming."

[justmymindandstuff]

Where's my fucking teenage dream? - Lip Gallagher x Milkovich Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Lip behaves strange since a few weeks and hardly has any time for you. Then your birthday comes round and everyone around you seems to have forgotten about it. You're having a shit day, but Lip manages to cheer you up with a surprise.

Words: 4.676

Warnings: slightly angst, smoking,swearing, underage drinking, fluff, brief mention of sex

Titel: Brutal by Olivia Rodrigo

A/N: I rewatched Shameless and just wanted to write this. No use of Y/N // GIF not mine // AO3

Hope you have fun :) Just love to you.

The ringing of your alarm clock tears you out of your sleep. You turn from side to side and bury your head in the pillow. But, of course the alarm does not stop "Turn that fucking thing off." you get hit by a pillow. You get out of your bed and turn off your alarm. It´s finally quiet, but not for long, than your cousin Milly has decided to start her day with insults towards you.

"Fuck off and get a job." you say unimpressed. You sigh and put on a old sweater over your top. You leave your room and slam the door into the lock with a loud bang to get on your cousins nerves. You go through the stuffed hallway and to the bathroom.

You turn on the shower and wait a minute, but the water doesn't get hot. Of course, somebody forgot to pay the fucking bill. Annoyed you get into the shower, the cold water wakes you up, but it not helps you to relax. Your day is already fucking shit and its not even 9 a.m. And because it is never been quiet in this fucking house, the bathroom door opens. "I'm taking a shower." you shout angrily and bend past the shower curtain. Your brother Iggy looks at you, turns his eyes and then just sits on the toilet.

"Not my problem" he says, and lits a cigarette. You sigh frustrated, grab your towel and turn the shower out. You wrap yourself in your towel and then run out of the bathroom before your brother can really start his business. In the hallway, you run against a couple of empty beer bottles. You go back to your room, Mandy's bed is empty, but Milly is still lying on her mattress, but she's already asleep again. You slide into some fresh clothes, tie your hair back and leave your room again. The staircase is gnawing as you run down, you take a cigarette from one of the packages which are lying around everywhere here. You ligh it when you go downstairs. You look at the couch where Terry is sleeping. He smells like beer and vodka. It's a habit to feel if he still has a pulse and then turn his head to the side. You don´t want him to suffocate on his own vomit. You don't feel like removing the dead body, it's definitely a lot of work. Again you stumble over half-empty beer bottle as you go into the kitchen. You're making yourself a coffee while you're putting dirty dishes aside. Tired you lean to the kitchen counter, somewhere in the house your brothers start screaming. You close your eyes, sigh and put out your cigarette. You don't care why your brothers scream. Terry calls something from the couch, but you're sure he will fall back asleep in a few seconds. The house is always noisy. It's full of your brothers and sisters and some cousins appearing and disappearing again. Your uncle lives here, when he is not in prison.

"Is there still coffee?“ Micky comes into the kitchen, you turn to him.

"Yes." you say and give him a cup out of the cupboard in front of you.

"By the way Happy Birthday." he says and puts a kiss on your cheek.

"Thank you." you are surprised that he thought of your birthday, but that´s why he is your favorite brother after all. Micky poured coffee, opened the refrigerator and then closed it again. He leans against the kitchen counter an lights a cigarette. "What are you doing today?“

"Gallagher." you answer, and Micky nods.

"I have a few things to do, after that I will come too" he says and disappears again from the kitchen. You drink your coffee, grab your jacket, and put on your shoes. Three of your brothers are coming down the stairs. Colin calls your name before you get out of the door.

"What?“

“We want to repaint the cars today. Come with us?“ he asks, his breath already smells like beer. Does he brush his teeth with it?

"No time," you say.

"What about Mandy and Milly?“

"Mandy is not here and Milly is asleep."

Your brother nods and takes a sip of his beer.

"Everything else?" you ask annoyed. Your day started shit and you just want to get out of this shit house.

"No, why?“ You roll your eyes and just disappear from the house. When the door falls behind you, you breathe deeply. The sun shines in your face and you light another cigarette. Of course you didn't expect your family to throw you a birthday party, but the fact that Micky was the only one how think about it is a little disappointing for you. But what did you expect? You try to not let it get under your skin and swallow your sadness. You can't expect anything from your family, and yet they're always manage to dissapoined you. Damn Milkovich junk. You run down the street. You can follow the path blindly and without really having to think about it your feet automatically lead you to your boyfriends house.

His little brother Ian just comes out of the door in sportswear and running shoes. When he sees you he smiles and greets you with a hug. You're happy to see him.

"Will you come for a run with me?" he asks.

"No, not today.“

"What's in your hair?“ he wipes some shampoo out of your hair with one finger and you sigh .

“Iggy decided to fucking take a shit while I was in the shower. I just run."

Ian starts laughing. “Just go finish the shower here. We even have hot water at the moment.“

"I love you, Ian.“

"Don't let our brothers hear this.“

"Is Lip still asleep?“

"No, he was already gone when I woke up.“

"Where is he?“ you ask, surprised. You actually thought he would be here and you would spend the morning and day together.

"I don't know." Ian shrugs his shoulders. “He was home late yesterday so we couldn´t talk very much."

You bite your lip. Your boyfriend has been gone a lot in the last few weeks. And most of the time he didn't tell you where he was. He even forgot a datenight. Something that has never happened before. Your stomach tightens. Even if you don't want to, the thoughts have already occurred to you. Is he cheating on you? Again and again in the last few weeks you thought about it. Lip had become inattentive and hadn't been home even though he said he would be there. Suddenly he had less time for you.

"Does he have another?“ the words just slip out of your mouth. Ian looks at you as if he was hit by lightning, then shakes his head.

"Not that I would know.“

"Would you know?“ you asks quietly.

“Lip tells me everything.“ he answers in a confident tone and smiles at you. "Do not worry. Would Lip also tell him that he cheats on Ians best friend?

"Okay. Then I'll just wait for him." Ian nods to you and then puts on his headphones in, you turn around and run up the stairs to the Gallagher - house, while Ian goes for his run.

The door is not locked and when you enter you are welcomed by the smell of coffee and breakfast. Fiona rummages around in the kitchen with panes, pots and plates, while Debby and Liam sit at the table. A cell phone clamps on Finoas ear and she talks with somebody on the phone in a stressed tone. Nevertheless, she smiles when she sees you.

"Good morning," says Debby.

"Good morning Gallaghers," you greet them all.

"Lip is not there," says Debby as she eats her bread.

"I know," you say.

"Debs, we have to go." Fiona ends her phone call and claps in her hands. "Can you wake Carl up? I have to go to the dentist with Debby and Liam."

"Yes, I do. Is it okay for you if I wait here for Lip?"

"Of course. Liam shoes.” Fiona slides past you stressed and throws a jacket at Debby. The little girl pushes her bread into her mouth and then lifts the little Liam out of his chair. Five minutes later, the three are out of the house. You run up the stairs, the door to Lip's, Ian's and Carl's room is slightly opened and you push it up. Carl is lying on his bed, sleeping deeply and firmly. You bow down to him and shake him slightly on the shoulder.

"Waken up Little One." He's just rumbling and turning away from you. You just take the blanket off him. "I said wake up."

"I don't want to."

"You have to. Get up."

"It's summer holidays."

"Summer holidays have been over for two weeks."

Carl is annoyed, but then sits up in bed and wipes the sleep out of his eyes. "But it's weekend."

"You have to get up anyway."

"You're worser than Fiona."

"Thank you. Should I make you breakfast?“

"I can do it myself." he looks around the room. "Where is Lip?“

"I have no idea. Out somewhere.“

"Again?“

"Apparently." you say in a sad tone. Luckily Carl doesn't notice it and yawns. Then gets up from his bed. He goes pass you to the bathroom. You look around in the boys' room, dirty clothes, shoes, garbage and other stuff is all over the place. You fall on Ian's unmade bed and take a cigarette out of the pack from the windowsill. While you smoke your cigarette, you think about cleaning up the room for a while, but then you reconsider. You don´t even clean your room, why start with the Gallagher Boys room? You see Lips math textbook and pick it up form the floor. You open it on the page where the tasks for your homework are. Thank God Lip has already written the solutions to the sides in his messy handwriting. You throw the cigarette out the window and get out of bed. You search through the things on the table for pencil and paper and start to write down the solutions. Why do you have a genius as a boyfriend if you don't sometimes steal his math homework? When you're done with copying, you put the textbook back. Then you get up, you listen to Carl down in the kitchen, hoping he won't burn the house down while trying to make breakfast. You go to the bathroom and take a shower. As Ian promised, the water warm up after a short time. You quickly slip out of your clothing and get under the hot shower. For the first time today, you feel relaxed. You don't know why your day is so shity . Your birthday isn't so important to you that the fact that everybody but Micky forgot about it should ruin your day, but it still makes you sad. Besides the constant doubts about whether Lip is cheating on you or not brings your mood further down You close your eyes and let the hot water run over you. As you finally wash the shampoo out of your hair, you feel a little better. You turn off the shower again and put on your clothes again. You're glad you found a clean towel for your hair.

You go down the stairs, Carl has managed to make cereals and is sitting at the table now.

"I made you coffee," he says.

"Thank you, Carl," you say, and take the fresh cup.

"Fiona said I can go to the old tracks today," he lies.

"Fiona didn't say that." Carl looks to the side and pushes his lips forward. "I'm not Fiona. I won't forbid you to go."

"And you won´t tell Fiona anything?"

"I won't lie if she asks." Carl smiles, jumps up and leaves the house. Immediately you are surrounded by silence. When you woke up this morning, you wanted silence. Now the silence in the house makes you feel lonely. You drink your coffee, which is a little too strong, but you're touched by Carl's gesture. He's chaotic, but he's a nice boy. The door opens, you turn around and your heart jumps when you see Lip. Without being able to prevent it, you have to smile.

"There is my birthday girl," he says when he sees you. He comes to you through the living room into the kitchen and puts a kiss on your cheek. "Have you been here for a long time?" he asks and sits next to you. Immediately his hand finds yours.

"No, maybe an hour. Where were you?"

"Outside" he answers you. You nod and your stomach cramps again.

"Where are the others?"

"Everybody is on the way. But Ian should be back soon."

Now Lip nods and stands up. "I'll be right back, wait here," he says and goes up the stairs, confused you stay sitting at the kitchen table. A few minutes later, Lip comes down the stairs again. "Are you ready?"

"For what?" you ask.

"For your birthday surprise," he says. Immediately your heart beats faster again and you can only smile. A birthday surprise? For you?

Quickly you tie your still wet hair in a ponytail and get up from the table.

"I'm ready," you declare. Lip smiles, bends and expresses a quick kiss on your lips. Then he takes your hand and leads you out of the frontdoor. There is a car in front of the house. You don't know enough about cars to recognize the brand, but you know enough to realize it is a expensive car.

"I have borrowed it from Steve" Lip answers your unspoken question.

"You borrowed a stolen car?"

"Yep. But before you say anything, all your brothers' cars are also stolen." You're turning your eyes, but he's right. Lip opens the passenger door for you and you slide onto the soft leather seat. You've never been in a car that expensive. It's not comparable to the car your father drives and you sometimes secretly borrow to practice driving. No driping oil, no cigarette-smelling, dirty seats, no crumbling engine. Lip sits on the driver's seat and starts driving, after he turns on the engine. Lips driving does not reveal that he doesn't have a driver's license. You press the button on the door and the next moment the windows roll down and the warm summer breeze blows around your ears and hair.

"Where are we going?"

"To a nicer place." Lip puts its hand on your thigh as he drives through the south side and a pleasant tingling spreads under your skin. It's almost disgusting how in love you are with him. For a second, you ask yourself if these hands have touched another woman this morning, but you quickly push away this thoughts. Today is your birthday and you're spending it with Lip. He has planed a surprise just for you. He wouldn´t do that if he didn't love you. The area is rapidly becoming better, the shops with broken windows, the graffiti-sprayed house walls and the unmaintained courtyards disappear from your sight as you leave the Soutside behind you. It doesn't take long and Lip parks the car in the parkinglot of Grant Park. "Grant Park?"

"It's beautiful here. Perfect for a picnic."

"We're going to have a picnic?" you ask surprised, but you can't get the smile out of your face. It sounds dumb, but a picnic is something you always associate with bored housewives and teenagers from rich homes. Sitting on a blanket in the park and eating snacks? Only people in movies do that. Milkovichs don't have time for that. Your family more likely spend the days stealing, drinking, smoking, fighting and other criminal things to get some money in your pockets.

"Stupid idea?" asks Lip, and uncertainty flashes through his eyes. You turn to him, bow over the car's middle console and kiss him.

"Perfect idea," you say. Immediately the smile is back on his face again, he kisses you again quickly and then gets out of the car. You grab the door handle, but Lip calls a quick. "Don´t touch this." and you're pulling your hand back. He comes around the car and opens the door for you. Then he reach for your hand and help you out of the car. You didn't even know your boyfriend was a fucking gentleman. If his brothers would see him now, they would laugh at him.

The sun shines in your face as you look around. People are everywhere and everyone seems relaxed and happy. You see mothers with their children, elder people on a walk, and families running across the meadows. Everything seems somehow slower here, nobody seems stressed. Lip goes to the trunk, takes out a bag and a cooler and comes back to you. You reach for the bag to take something off him, but he pulls the bag away from your hand, hangs it over his shoulder, and instead grips your hand. You go hand in hand into the park and find yourself a nice place for your picnic. Lip lays out a blanket he brought and places the bags on the side of it. You make yourself comfortable on the blanket and hold your face in the sun.

"You're beautiful."

You have to bite on the inside of your cheek so you don't laugh because of the awkward feeling Lip's words left as you turn your head to him. He's sitting next to you and just stars at you. "I know I don't say that often enough. But you're beautiful." You can feel the red on your cheeks. You've never been good at accept compliments.

"Softy," you say with a smile and kiss his cheek. Lip slips closer to you and puts a arm around your shoulder. You cuddle at him and breathe his familiar smell. "Also it's not true."

"What do you mean?"

"You often tell me I'm beautiful. But usually only when you're balls deep in me."

Lip laughs. "Shame on me that I speak the truth when I come." You also have to laugh and roll your eyes. Lip kisses you, the kiss is more passionate than you have expected. His lips wander over your cheek and he kisses your earlobe before he whispers in your ear. "I'll tell you later again after you came screaming on my tongue and my cock." after his words, he bites slightly into your earlobe, and a pleasant shiver runs over your neck and arms. You push him slightly to the side and laugh.

"Stop with your dirty Southside tongue you are ruinng our fancy picnic." you laugh.

"Oh yeah, of course. Wait, I'll be the gentleman you deserve again." He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deep. Then he opens his eyes again and puts a gentle, innocent kiss on your lips. Your heart almost explodes and you beam at him like a lovesick teenager. To be honest you are a lovesick teenager.

"Idiot."

"Your idiot. But you are right its time for our picnic." he turns to his side and opens the cooler. He takes out a bottle of champagne, two large boxes full of sushi and a bowl of strawberries covered with dark chocolate, and places everything on the blanket in front of you. You love sushi, it's your absolute favorite food, even if you rarely eat it. The supermarket sushi tastes like shit and real sushi is usually too expensive for you. You always have to save on it to enjoy it, but that just makes it more special. Chocolate strawberries is your favorite dessert. You're briefly surprised that Lip knows this about you. But why shouldn't he? He knows everything about you.

You look at him shocked. "Are you crazy?" you ask. Of course you can recognize the logo on the To Go boxes. It belongs to a fancy sushi restaurant in the city, the store is said to have the best sushi in the whole city and is of course fucking expensive.

"Crazy for you."

"Lip that must have cost a fortune."

"Nonsense. Don't think about it. Today is your special day and I wanted to do something special. Besides, I can't hear your complaints anymore that you can never taste the best sushi in the city and that it breaks your heart to have to die without having tasted such a delicious treat." He overdramatizes your tone, with which you once complained that this restaurant is so expensive. You have to laugh and salp him in the side.

"Thank you," you come out and your voice shakes slightly, you're so moved by his gesture that you have to swallow in order not to cry. Maybe you are the softy.

"Everything for you, my birthday girl," he smiles. He pushes the bottle into your hand and takes two plastic cups out of your bag. "Would you?" he asks with a nod to the bottle.

"No. " you say, and you put the champagne in his hand. The last time you tried to open a bottle with a cork, you only spread the content on the floor and on your clothes. Lip takes the bottle and starts opening it. You're watching how his thumb hold on to the cork and just gently let it slip out of the bottle.

"Is there something you can't do?"

"If so, I can learn it. I'm a smart boy."

"And not arrogant at all," you laugh and roll your eyes.

"Give me the cups," he just says, and you give them to him. Lip starts pouring the champagne into the plastic cups. You take the cover from the sushi boxes and take out the chopsticks that come with it. You want to rub them together to get rid of small wood pieces, but then you realize that the wood is coated and has no wood pieces. Even the fucking chopsticks from this restaurant are fancy. Lip gives you a cup and you give him his chopsticks. You slide a little back and forth on the blanket until you have found a comfortable position to eat.

"Cheers to you," says Lip, holding up his plastic cup. You laugh, klings your cup at his and take a sip. The champagne prickles on your tongue and you can´t get the smile out of your face anymore. You look at every piece of Shushi and think about what your first bite will be. Lip is watching you closely, and a smile dances around his lips. You make your choice and when the taste of the sushi floods your mouth you have to moan, so delicious it is. You've never eaten anything better in your life.

"And as delicious as you imagined it?"

"Better," you answer.

"Thank god. I don´t have a plan B." Lip laughs and only now takes a piece of herself. You enjoy your food in pleasant silence. The sun shines on you, you hear the laughter of the people around you and everything is peaceful. Champagne and delicious food. This is the best birthday you've ever had. You're so fed up with all the sushi that you only eat two chocolate strawberries before you lay back.

"If I eat one more bite, I'll blow up."

"Me too," says Lip, but pushes another strawberry into his mouth before putting it back into the cooler. Then he whipes his hands and gives you a cigarette and a lighter.

"Are you ready for your gift?" asks Lip after you both smoked relaxedly and you actually wanted to make yourself comfortable again his chest.

"I thought this was my gift?" you ask confused.

"No, this was just the right frame for your gift," replies Lip, bending back to the bag and pulling out a coffer. "This is your gift." He handed it to you and you just stared at him for a moment. You didn't expect another gift. Lip looks at you, but the way his fingers hit the blanket next to him and the slight wiping of his knee next to yours reveals that he's nervous. You can feel tears accumulating in your eyes becouse you are moved by his gesture, you quickly blink them away.

"Thank you," you say, even if your voice sounds a little thin.

"Open it before you say thank me. Maybe you don´t like it."

"I won't." you say, but you still open the gift. On a small pillow lies a silver necklace with a small silver heart charm. There is an "L" engraved on it and your heart is beating faster. The necklace is beautiful. Now you can't hold back your tears. You can feel them running over your cheek. Lip not just remember your birthday, he even arranged a picnic and bought you a gift, and it is a nice one. No one has ever did something like this for you." "Thank you," you bring out and your voice breaks.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. Can you help me?" you hold the necklace to him and he nods. You turn around and hold your hair out of the way, so Lip can put the necklace around you. You turn around again and smiles at him, than you lay your hands on his cheeks and kiss him.

"Thank you so much Lip, for the picnic and the necklace and the sushi. You are the best boyfriend that ever existed." you say.

"I will do everything for you." he says and smiles. His nervousness has disappeared. Your hands start to play with the chain. It's unusual for you to wear jewellery, you don´t even have real jewllery. You sigh contentedly. But suddenly a thought occurs to you.

"Did you steal it?"

Lip starts to laugh. ‘No! I bought it.After all I'm not a Milkovich." You slap him lightly on the shoulder again, even though the comparison isn't far off.

"How did you get the money for all this Lip?" you ask and your fingers touch the metal around your neck. Warmth fills your heart at the feeling of the necklace on your neck. He has given you a token of his love, for everyone to see.

"I helped Steve a little bit with the cars and gave some extra tutoring." he replies.

"Thats the reason why you had so little time for me. To finance my birthday present?" and a wave of guilt overwhelms you. He worked his ass off to fund you a nice day and a gift and you thought he was cheating on you.

"Yes, what did you think I was doing?" You bite your lip and look embarrassed to the ground. You can feel his gaze on your side, yet you don't look at him as you speak.

"Fucking another woman." you whisper quietly, but of course he heard you. He says your name, but you don't look at him. You're too ashamed of your thoughts. Lip gently puts a hand on your cheek and turns your face so you have to look at him. He sighs.

"I would never do that. Do you hear me? Never! I love you! I love you so much that it hurts. You're the only reason I don't get crazy with all the shit with my family and Frank and school and everything else. You understand me, you know exactly how shit the Southside is, how shit it is to be poor. I love you so much and you make me so happy. And I promise you I'll make sure I get us out of here. I'll make sure we have a better life. Together. You and the thought of our future together is the only thing that keeps me going." this time you can't stop the tears running over your cheeks, and your heart almost jumps out of love. You bow down and kiss him.

"I love you, too. Forever."

[potchi-fics]

Sundo | part two of 8 ball

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sundô. imagine being so tired from studying, from using your brain so much that you just feel like collapsing. but you remember that at the end of the day, someone's waiting-- waiting for you. a simple gesture yet it makes you feel so many things all at once: happiness, excitement, comfort... and wonder.

NOTE: sundo means to fetch someone from somewhere.

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Y/n leans back on the chair she has been sitting on for hours now. she checks her phone and she sees that it's 5:59 pm. she got too busy with academic work, she always wants to finish her projects as soon as possible because she doesn't like procrastinating.

she sighs through her nose, holding the bridge of her nose, she's so tired. even her ears hurt from the hours of wearing her headphones.

and of course, her friends are studying alongside with her... but they all fell asleep. thankfully, though, they got their work done.

"wake up," she gently shakes Aiki, who whined and shooed her away. she moved on to Monika who woke up with just a nudge. "Noze, it's almost time to go home."

"god," Noze cracks her back, "my whole body hurts. good thing we don't have any classes for two days."

"you're goddamn right about that. somebody wake Aiki up." Monika groans out in defeat.

Y/n tries again, "Aiks, c'mon, it's time to go home."

the three struggled to contain their laughter once they see Aiki's state: drool all over her cheek and table, and the thousand-yard stare.

"aw gross, wipe your face, Aiks." Noze hands her wet wipes.

Y/n struggled even more when Monika showed her the picture she took of Aiki when she woke her up. she looks like a toddler who just woke up.

"is it time to go home? what time is it?" Aiki groggily asks.

she was about to tell her when something caught her eye; a text message from Bada. it read:

"what time's ur dismissal?"

it was sent four minutes ago. she texts back:

"6:30, whyy?"

she didn't get to put down her phone because it buzzed. it's a reply from her:

"i'll come and fetch u. where r u?"

Y/n's weirdly excited about this? and also a tiny bit nervous? nevertheless, she replied:

"library with my friendsss."

and she waits. she can't even stay still, and the other notice it.

"jesus, can you stop with the pen clicking?" Monika complains.

Y/n mutters out a soft sorry.

Noze looks at her with a funny expression, "who were you texting?"

a beat passes before she says Bada's name.

the trio have their what-the-hell faces on. before she could defend herself, they already started teasing her relentlessly; saying things like she's excited to see Bada, or that they were gonna go on a date.

"guys," she starts, "it's not a date and why would i be nervous? it's Bada." she rolls her eyes. "i could squeeze that punk easily."

but she is nervous. she doesn't know why. is it because of what happened at that billiards place? why did she even do that in the first place.

time seems to really pass by because six-thirty comes and they start tidying their place. making silent conversation. they come out of the library and see someone squatted down.

it's her.

Y/n thinks-- god, she's so handsome and pretty, she's not even doing anything. she malfunctions because she did not just think that? that is so not Y/n coded of her, she adds.

her friend's loud voice caught their attention, "hey, Bada!"

"yo," Bada stands up, looking at Y/n. "are you guys done? can i steal her away from you now?"

Y/n could only roll her eyes, "what do you mean by steal me away? as if i would let myself be taken."

"so grumpy," Bada tease, "careful now, you look like that one angry bird."

"well, in that case, i'm a pretty angry bird." she retaliates.

her enemy pats her head, "sure, sure.. let's go. bye guys!"

the trio shakes their head, even walking, the two seems to fight. they witness how Bada tries to carry Y/n's things but she wouldn't let her. however, eventually, Y/n gives in and gives Bada her things.

bada opens her car door for Y/n, receiving a soft thank you from the girl. she puts the things in the backseat and finally enters the drivers seat.

"you hungry?" she asks.

Y/n nods, too tired to talk. she closes her eyes and feel the car start up, she assumes that Bada knows a place.

during the car ride, comfortable silence envelops the pair. it continues that way not until she feels a hand on her thigh. Y/n opens her eyes and her gaze fell on the hand that is on her thigh.

Bada couldn't resist-- she caresses her thigh, rubbing circles on it, even slightly moving it up. she notices that the girl's breath is uneven. she thinks about removing it when a hand stops her.

the tension, even before what happened at the pool table, got so much thicker. it's so thick that they feel like suffocating.

sadly, they arrive at the place they're gonna eat at.

"c'mon, we're here." Bada parks the car.

they both thought the same thing: pussy blocker.

they go in the restaurant and order, wherein Bada insists that she treats her. of course, Y/n tries to pay for her own food but Bada is stubborn gal.

they take a sit once they get their order and start eating. surprisingly, their conversation is easy-going.

"so, what made you fetch me today? missed me that much?" Y/n asks with her mouth full of food.

Bada chuckles at the cute sight, "you're delusional. i just wanted to annoy you."

"oh, trust me," she answers in a grumble, "you're annoying me so much."

"is that why we're enemies?" Bada cackles out. "'cus i'm annoying? you didn't find me annoying back in middle school, though."

yes. they're childhood friends- err, childhood enemies. they're one of those typical rivals where they grew up together. they just haven't told anyone, but not because they don't want to, but because it wasn't just brought up until now.

she pouts out, "i wouldn't say enemies.. but yeah."

a loud laughs emits from the person in front of her again, can't believe the reason.

"stop laughing," Y/n gigges, "it's not funny. i'm just glad i don't have any classes, i'm so tired. and hungry."

Bada watches her with a smile, even though the girl in front of her is stuffing her face with food-- Bada still thinks that she's beautiful.

"stop ogling at me, i know i'm pretty and all," she flutters her eyelashes at her, "are you falling in love with me?"

"you sound so stupid." this time, it was Bada's turn to roll her eyes. "say, you wanna come over to my house after this?"

Y/n makes a playful shock face, "oh my? and you say you're not falling in love with me? but yes."

Bada feels like she's on cloud nine. what is wrong with her?

they finish their meal and she checks the time. it's seven-forty. they exit the place and Y/n complains about being so bloated now. to which Bada teased her by saying that she's always bloated.

banter ensues, even all the way to Bada's house, they're still bickering like children.

time check: eight-twenty-three.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

should i make the next part smut? or continue with fluff

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

[erstwhilezealot]

Boot Worship

《NSFW》 《Minors DNI》

Simon Riley × afab reader (they/them pronouns used)

TW: BDSM with no pre-set rules, consensual degradation, no after care

Words: 4,026

Some trashy smut by yours truly. Simon Riley catches you pleasuring yourself while clutching his shirt in the locker room and pushes you into telling him you want to be degraded by him. Title is pretty self explanatory.

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Simon always found himself frustrated with the non-comabt duties of being a Lieutenant, the monotony of paper-work and sitting at a desk making him feel like a caged animal.

He was able to avoid this for the most part, until he took a nasty fall during a mission, injuring his arm to the point where he needed a month of recovery.

Despite plenty of grumbled complaints on his part, he was taken out of commission and, even worse, saddled with a platoon of privates to train.

They were fresh, they were dumb, and Simon found himself taking his frustration out on any one of them who stepped out of line.

One Private in particular had caught his attention repeatedly. He wasn't sure what it was, but he found his eyes finding them day after day, berating them every time they fell over or held their gun slightly off.

He knew it was unfair, but something about standing over them and shouting them down was satisfying to him. The way they would quiver under his gaze as he got into their face, a pink flush spreading over their face.

He made excuses to himself, pushing it off as frustration or wanting them to do better. But every once in a while the thought nagged at him that maybe his focus on them was a little more then work related.

Sitting in his office one evening, trying to get some work done he glanced up to see them quietly walking past, a small bag held in their hand.

Just the sight of them and his frustration bubbled up, wanting to follow them and demand what they were doing up so late, walking past his office and distracting him.

He imagined it, thinking of how they would look as he planted a hand over them on the wall, growling at them about sauntering around the barracks at all hours, distracting him from his work.

He imagined their whimpered apology, imagined leaning closer

"If youre so intent on distracting me."

He would growl,

"Then come into my office and make yourself useful."

The image of them under his desk, that same flush on their face as they sucked him off pushed itself into his brain.

He could feel his cock pulsing as filthy images of them letting him push his hand into their hair as they soaked his cock with their saliva.

He pushed himself back from the desk with a start. Jesus, where did that come from? He admonished himself under his breath,

That's your subordinate, you sick fuck

The thought didn't do anything to dull the uncomfortable pressure between his legs.

He rose to his feet, deciding a cold shower would dispel the unwanted thoughts.

He made his way down the hall, glad to see it was completely empty as he made his way to the locker room.

Rounding the corner to the locker room Simon heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. A voice, their voice coming faintly from inside the locker room.

He got closer, straining to hear what they were saying and he stopped dead as he realized they weren't talking, they were moaning. Their voice coming out choked.

"Sir, please."

Their voice was low and breathy, he could tell they were attempting to keep quiet but the echo of the locker room carried the sound to where he stood, filling him with a fiery rage.

Deep down he knew that he had no business deciding what his subordinates got up to while outside his training but this didn't stop the stream of rage fueled thoughts.

Who did they think they were, fucking somebody somewhere they could be heard so easily? And calling them sir? He was their superior officer, not whatever nitwit private was shagging them against the lockers.

He stilled himself, waiting to see if their was a response. His pulse thrumming in his ears. He was going to tear them and whoever they were shagging a new one.

There was a long silence, then a little gasp from their lips.

Simon rounded the corner, his vision too clouded with anger to grasp exactly how inappropriate he was being.

From over the lockers he could see the top of their head. Sat on one of the benches, alone. Simon couldn't see the rest of their body but catching a movement of their hand he realized with a start that they were touching themselves.

He told himself he should leave, that this was inappropriate. They weren't actually shagging anyone so he should just leave them to it. Or make a sound like he had just come in and not heard them.

But he didn't.

He approached them, moving with a practiced silence. He could see them now, back facing him, sat on a towel on the low bench. They leaned back in a position that didn't look fully comfortable, their shorts bunched around their spread legs.

He could see their hand moving in quick circles, the exertion spreading a pink flush over their back.

And over their nose was a shirt,

His shirt.

The thought landed just as he realized that his locker hung open next to them. That he must've forgotten to lock it that day after training.

Another quiet moan from their lips,

"Please Lieutenant."

Him,

They were thinking of him.

He did not think, before he acted. Purposefully setting a boot down heavy enough for them to hear.

Your POV

A sound that could only be described as a squeak fell from your lips as you heard a footfall behind you.

Scrambling you attempted to secure your shorts around your waist, as you turned your head.

As your eyes locked on a white skull mask your already sinking stomach hurtled to the floor. Another squeak, whilst you struggled to shuffle to your feet, shorts bunched low on your hips.

Snapping up to what remnants of a salute you could muster, you stared at him, eyes wide, entire body burning.

"Sir-"

You began weekly

"What were you doing private?"

His voice was low, dangerous. He eyes you, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"I- I'm so sorry sir. I shouldn't have- I should've..."

He took another step towards you,

"I didn't ask for an apology private. I asked you a question. What. Were. You. Doing?"

You couldn't dare meet his eyes, fuck you were done for,

"I was... touching myself Lieutenant, sir."

"Touching yourself."

He repeated you in a low, level tone.

There was a long pause and you wished that he would just take the gun from his hip and put you out of your misery.

"While holding my shirt."

It wasn't a question. You squeaked as you followed his gaze to your hand, realizing you were still holding the shirt. Your first instinct was to drop it but wouldn't dare let his shirt touch the grimy floor. You resigned yourself to your fate,

"Yes sir."

"Why?"

The single question was the worst possible thing he could've asked. Again, a bullet would be preferable to having to explain your feelings to the brick wall in front of you.

"Beacause I ah- sort of... like you... sir."

It sounds so lame, so fucking juvenile. He was your superior officer and you "liked" him.

He clicked his tongue, his expression still painfully unreadable.

"You like me, so you sit here and touch yourself clutching my shirt. S'that right?"

You nod pathetically.

"I'm out here cursing and shouting at you about trigger discipline, and you like me. Why is that private?"

This was hell, you were in hell. And he was here to torture you. God, you thought him torturing you would be fun. You were wrong.

"I... I dunno sir I guess I... like, that sort of... thing."

"You like it."

God you wished he would stop repeating you.

"So you think about me... what, shouting at you while you touch yourself?"

"Uhm, well not particularly."

"Then what?"

Was he asking you your kinks?

"Sir I don't think-"

He took another step toward you, and you could smell the scent of his aftershave.

"What do you think about private?"

You knew his low tone meant danger,

"You... degrading me... sir... calling me names."

"Names like what?"

Your voice was weak, the words hard to choke out,

"Like... you calling me, a- uh, slut."

Another long pause,

"Are you?"

"Wh-what... s-sir?"

"Do you think you're a slut? You, sneaking into my locker the one time I forget to lock it to get yourself off while you smell my shirt. Does that make you a slut?"

A whimper choked it's way up your throat,

"I... that is a bit um... slutty. Sir."

Another silence

"So you're a slut then."

Your breath caught in your throat, what was happening? He was supposed to be marching you out of here for a dishonorable discharge, not whatever this was.

"Sir?"

"Say it. Tell me your a slut."

Your stomach did a flip, pinned in his heavy, expectant gaze 

"I'm a slut... sir"

It came out as a question, as you tried to puzzle out what he wanted from you.

He sighed. Apparently that was the wrong choice.

"Like you mean it private."

God with every sentence he unraveled you mentally more and more. At this point you just wanted to run but his hulking figure blocked ant escape route.

"I'm a slut sir."

The words hung in the air, and you scanned his face, waiting to see if that was the right answer to this surreal game

"That's right, was that so hard private? How am I supposed to call you a slut if you don't even believe it?"

Your mouth opened and closed, air completely gone from your lungs.

"Is it just me you think about... or would you be touching yourself for any superior officer who shouts you down?"

"N-no sir. It's just you. You're all I think about."

He cocked his head, and with a panic you realized how that sounded. Like you loved him. You searched for the words to explain yourself, to remedy the damage. None came.

"S'that right?"

He closed the distance between you more, towering over you. His body was so close your legs started to quake a little.

"A slut just for me then?"

Tilting his head to the side, he placed a hand on your hip. The touch sending a jolt of electricity to your core. His fingers skimmed lightly over the curve, continuing to stare as if admiring it. You were breathless, your gaze only able to fixate on his hand as it made smooth motions over your hip.

"Seems a bit odd then don't you think? If you're supposed to be my slut, for you to be here, touching yourself without even asking. Helping yourself to my things."

His hand gripped your hip tighter and you gasped, his words settling on your chest like a brick,

"Seems like you might need to be taught to keep your hands off of things that aren't yours, hm?"

"S-sir... I- I don't understand."

He chuckled darkly,

"What's not to understand private? You said you wanted me to degrade you hm? So are you going to be a good slut and let me, or were you jus' playing with me? Cause' I don't take too kindly to being played with."

"N-no sir... I want you to."

"Then take these off."

His hands tugged at your shorts, still rucked halfway down your hips.

Your movements were slow and unsure, looking at him for reassurance as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband.

He sighed at your hesitancy, reaching out with a fluid motion and pulling them down around your legs. You gasped, the cool air highlighting just how exposed you were as you stood naked in front of him.

"Back on the bench again pet. I want to see what you've been doing to my property. And let's be quick about it, I don't like my time being wasted."

As if there was motor controlling your actions, you sat back on the bench with a small thump, kicking off your shorts from around your legs.

Staring up at him, you felt like a dog waiting for a treat, wanting his approval desperately.

"Spread your legs."

The simple command sent warmth pooling at your core. You didn't give yourself time to second guess as you did as he asked, pushing your knees apart.

"Feet on the bench pet. Need to see how wet you've gotten yourself"

God he didn't even have to touch you and you were already a pathetic mess for him, whimpering while you exposed yourself to him completely.

The silence was heavy as he cocked his head to the side, staring at you. Through you. Assessing your most private bits like a butcher about to slice into a choice cut.

After a long moment he reached out a gloved hand, still eyeing you as he reached two fingers to spread you open, leaning in to get a better view.

It made you feel like some sort of lab experiment. Him, fully clothed, assessing and prodding your naked cunt with a cold precision.

You gasped as two fingers slid through your folds, slicking his hand with a thin sheen of your juices.

He held it up, regarding how you had soaked his glove, expression ever unreadable.

"Fuckin' soaked yourself, haven't you? Just the scent of my t-shirt and you're dripping wet."

He hissed a breath through his teeth,

"Absolutely filthy."

You gave a weak nod. He could say whatever he wanted about you, just as long as he kept talking like that. Kept looking at you like he was going to devour you whole.

Coming towards you again, he held his hand out toward your face.

"Clean it off."

Your face burned as you wrapped your lips around the fingers, meeting his eyes with a look that you hoped was sultry, trying to ignore the fact that looking directly into his face terrified you.

He rewarded you with a small grunt from deep in his throat and your insides felt like they would melt out completely.

Shifting the fingers deeper into your throat, he cocked his head to admire how deeply they pressed into your mouth, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your tongue.

You sat up, reaching for him, wanting to feel the solid expanse of his chest through his shirt. But his bear-like paw caught your wrist, pulling it away.

"Tch, pet. What makes you think I should let you touch me? Without even asking nonetheless? This about teaching you to keep those filthy hands to yourself."

You gasped,

"I'm sorry sir. Please forgive me."

"Are you really?"

He dropped your wrist, and you wanted to whine at the loss of his touch.

"You don't seem sorry. You seem like a filthy little whore. Fucking yourself off in the locker room where anyone could see you. Gripping my shirt, touching your little cunt that belongs to me. Then as soon as I even touch you, you want to jump all over me. Fucking slut."

A pathetic whimper left your throat

"Please sir, I'm sorry. I can be good, I want to be good for you."

"Not sure if I believe you love. Might need you to prove yourself for me."

He wrapped a hand through your hair, tugging  gently at the strands, tilting it to the side.

"But what to do with you hm? I'm sure this little throat would look good bulging with my cock, but you need to earn that."

"Maybe, since you're so desperate for me. You can hump my boot hm? Prove that little pussy is mine by grinding it into my boot while I watch."

Another dumb nod as his words turned you into a puddle.

His voice was low and husky,

"Get to it then pet."

You hesitated.

"Uh, here sir?"

"Where else?"

His tone was impatient, like you were a child he was explaining something very basic to.

"Shouldn't we go somewhere more... private, maybe?"

He laughed,

"Well pet, I don't think you thought of privacy when you were fucking yourself here, hm? 'Sides, if anyone walks in I'll tell them to fuck off. Or..."

He smirked at you,

"Better yet I could let them watch.  Let them see what a little whore you are for your superior officer. It's my choice isn't it? Since you are my slut after all. So. Get to it."

Knees shaking, you dropped down in front of him, the cement floor cold against your bare legs.

You looked up at him, dark eyes drinking you in as you awkwardly shifted yourself to hover over his boot, trying not to grip his leg too hard. His expectant gaze heavy as you gave a hesitant grind into the leather of his boot.

The material was smooth and hard against your soaking cunt, the seams around the toe cap dragging across the squishy flesh in a surprisingly pleasant way.

You rocked yourself forward, attempting to find a rhythm against the unyielding leather but struggled to find purchase without clutching onto the Lieutenant's leg like a child.

You continued to grind pathetically, not daring to meet Ghost's eyes as you made your sad attempt to fuck his boot.

A hand in your hair, grasping a fistful of strands loosely,

"Harder pet."

Whining pathetically, you desperately tried to work yourself against the smooth leather harder, the slickness between your legs causing you to slip, ass meeting the cement floor.

His grip in your hair tightened a little and your mind went fuzzy with the firm pressure of his hand tugging at your head,

"Mm, this is pathetic isn't it? Can't even fuck my boot properly. Thought you were my slut, hm? Guess I shouldn't bother."

He made a motion to pull away from you, and the horror of loosing his attention made all attempts at retaining your dignity fly out the window.

Upon instinct, your arms locked around his leg desperately. Your face pressing into the rough material of his jeans as you shoved your hips against his leg sloppily.

"Please sir... I- ah fuck- I can do it sir. Plese let me."

Wanton whimpers fell from your lips as you rutted your hips against him, focusing on nothing but your slick cunt sliding over his boot.

He chucked darkly, pursing his lips at you, almost mockingly,

"That's better pet. Look at how desperate you are for me. Like a bitch in heat, aren't you?

"Mm, yes sir. G-god I need it."

You kept going, your cunt making obscene squelching noises as your slick coated his boot almost completely.

Another tug at your hair, pulling so your chin pointed up at him,

"Look at me while you do that pet. Wanna see how dumb your eyes look while you grind into me."

You already knew they did. It was like every braincell you had was melting out from your aching cunt and onto his boot. 

"Yeah, that's a good sight. Dumb little pet, humping my fucking boot. Down where you belong."

His hand unraveled from your hair to move to the front of his jeans,

"Now, pet. I'm gonna get my cock out, and I'm gonna stroke myself off. And you're gonna watch, an' keep fuckin' my boot so I can use that pretty mouth to cum, yeah?"

You nodded, desperate hunger plain on your face,

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that. Fuckin desperate to swallow me aren't you."

You swallowed thickly as he unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock and running a hand over the thick length.

It was like you were studying a fucking art piece, tracing each raised vein under the slightly red skin with your eyes. You wanted to touch it, to feel the soft warmth in your hands, to see how small they looked wrapped around it. To hear his soft grunts as he pressed it into your throat. But you didn't dare try to touch him again, contenting yourself to grind your aching cunt over his boot as he began to stroke himself with quick, languid strokes.

"This what you've been wanting pet? To be my little toy to make do whatever filthy little thing I please?"

His words were intercut with soft guttural grunts, his hand moving over his prick with precise strokes.

You gasped out an agreement, clutching to him like he was a god you were worshipping with each rut of your hips.

"S'what I thought love, greedy little thing you are. Don't worry pet, now that you've shown me who that little cunt belongs to I fully intend on using it. Whenever I like."

He accented his statement by shifting the tip of his boot to press up, further into the folds of your pussy, drawing a gasp from your lips.

His words sent another gush of heat coursing through you. Your Lieutenant, Ghost, wanted to fuck you. Wanted to use you in whatever way he pleased. The thought sent you into a near frenzy, thrusting against his boot with quick, needy strokes.

You both set your own wordless rythym,  him pumping a single, strong hand over the length of his cock as you kept pace with your desperate grinds of his boot. Your small gasps and his quiet grunts the only sound passing between you.

He leaned his head back, his strokes becoming shorter and quicker as you could see his peak approaching. A single, large hand shot out and gripped your hair, pulling your face towards him.

"Open."

The single word was all you needed to stretch your mouth wide, your tongue outstretched and waiting for him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes hooded.

"Fuck you look perfect like that. Little slut all ready to swallow my cum."

He pulled your face closer to his cock, tapping the head of it against your tongue a few times, his pre already leaking into your mouth.

He hissed out a shallow breath as a few more strokes brought him to his peak, ropes of his cum painting your tongue and lips. His voice was choked as his cock twitched, grip on your hair tightening with his unraveling.

"S'a good slut. G'na swallow me yeah?"

You nodded, the movement brushing his cockhead lightly over your tongue causing him a final twtch as the last of his cum dripped onto your tongue.

He breathed deeply, watching you as you pulled your tongue in, his taste filling your mouth.

"Mm, that taste good pet?"

You gave a swallow,

"Yes sir."

He smirked,

"You haven't finished yet though. Look at this mess you've made of my boot. Absolutely soaked it "

He nudged the glistening boot toward you,

"Clean it up."

Your hazed over brain couldn't comprehend his meaning. You reached out with a tentative hand to wipe your juices from the leather of his boot.

"Stop."

He sighed,

"You really are like a dumb puppy aren't you? Need me to spell everything out for you? Lick. It. Up."

A flush filled your face. Stooping, you pressed your tongue to the tip of his boot, the tang of your arousel mixing with the earthy taste of the leather.

Planting a hand on either side of the boot, you lavished long strokes over it, not wanting to chance not doing a good enough job. You didn't stop to look back up at him until you were sure you had reached every drop.

Meeting his eyes, you saw his head cocked as if he had been admiring the sight of you licking his boot.

"That's a good pet."

He knelt to your level, tilting your chin to meet his eyes.

"And now, you're gonna go back to your bunk to rest. And you're gonna keep those filthy hands off of my things."

He leaned in close, his voice low.

"Cause' if you lay a finger on that little cunt. I'll know. And I'll fuckin' wreck you. Understood?"

You nodded weakly,

"Thas right pet. Course..."

He tilted his head,

"I might just wreck you anyway."

He rose, his boots retreating from your sight as you lay on the cold floor, still breathing heavily.

[katnisspeetaprim]

BTS Reaction A photographer Tries To Photograph Under Your Skirt (Maknae Line)

BTS Reaction; A Photographer Tries To Look Up Your Skirt

Hyung Line Here!

Masterlist

Warnings: Female reader (character wears a skirt) being in an uncomfortable situation, creepy guy with camera.

If you guys have any rrequests of reactions for me then please let me know! I want to practice my writing as much as possible and would love some prompts!

You and your group mates were currently at an awards show, sitting in the audience surrounded by many other idol groups.

You loved your stylist you really did however, you had once again been given a too short skirt and safety shorts to wear.

The rest of your group got to wear shorts or at the very least longer skirts to these type of events, it’s always you who draws the short straw. As you sat with your group you realised that there was nothing to cover up with, like a pillow or a blanket, so you decided on just staying as still as possible and strategically placing your hands together in your lap.

Park Jimin

You were extremely conscious of the fact that pretty much all of your legs were on show, due to the fact that a particular photographer was getting a little too confident with his camera angles. You tried your best to turn at an angle so he wouldn’t see anything, but that only caused you to display more thigh instead.

BTS were sat behind you in the venue, so from Jimin’s position he could see you fidgeting about uncomfortable while keeping your eye on the man in front of you. Jimin’s eyes widened when he realised what the man was trying to do, so he quickly started looking around for something for you to use.

Once he found something suitable he was scurrying towards you and you for one, had never been so relieved to see a pillow before! You took it with a grateful smile and a bow of your head, before he quietly leaned in to ask if you were ok or needed him to do anything else.

Kim Taehyung

You caught Taehyung’s eye when you stood up suddenly from your seat to quietly excuse yourself. There was something wrong with the shorts under your skirt because of course there was, and you didn’t have time to run to the bathroom so you tried to find somewhere a little secluded at the side of the seats to fix yourself. You ended up standing near to were BTS were seated.

Tae noticed as you fiddled with your outfit that you were unintentionally showing off more than you probably (definitely) meant to. It was at this moment that he spotted a bold photographer, not so subtly making his way over towards you, camera at a low angle facing up.

Without a second thought, Tae got up and made his way over to you, to place himself between you and the guy. The guy couldn’t help but pull a disgruntled face at Taehyung as he obstructed his view, all the while Tae had a calm but also hard look on his face as he kept eye contact with the photographer, not backing down. He wasn’t about to be intimidated by a low life such as this creep.

Once you finished fixing yourself you were  blushing mess at having been caught in such a predicament, but made sure to thank Tae profusely for protecting you the way that he did. Tae of course ever the gentleman, made sure that you got back to your seat with no further issues.

Jeon Jungkook

Your group had just won an award and were on your way back to your seats , when Jungkook noticed a man below the stage pointing his camera up at you as you walked by. Obviously you were too busy celebrating your win to notice the invasion of your privacy, but Jungkook saw and he was certain that the creep now had an inappropriate photo of you.

Jungkook didn’t really know what to do in that moment, had the guy been doing that all night to other idols or just to you? The thought sickened him that somebody like that got into this place.

Calling over the steward in charge of caring for the idols that night was all he could really think to do, at least then he could point the guy out and get him dealt with, so he did just that.

He let out a sigh of relief when just a few short moments later, the photographer was escorted out after having his camera confiscated.

Jungkook knew that you hadn’t noticed the photo being taken, and he didn’t plan on telling you right then and there either, not wanting to spoil your night. He was sure your manager would tell you once they heard the news anyway.

Once the show was over, Jungkook headed backstage hoping to find you but all he found was your manager who gladly gave him your number.

He would be calling you the next day to make sure that you were ok and to also congratulate you on your win!

[wonijin]

HOTSHOT (R U NEXT/READER)

survival shows are hard as it is. why must you make it more complicated for yourself and entangle intense feelings with vulnerable emotions. but it wasn't your fault, they fell prey to you one by one, all by themselves. maybe you weren't the fool in this mess after all.

TAGS: 3.3k words. series. chapter one. mostly fluff and angst with a little spiciness. reader is very gay and get girls left and right. "everybody falls for y/n" type of fic. reader is also a walking red flag.

WARNINGS: the setting is a survival show so its bound to have kinda depressing themes.

“when will we have female idols as special coaches. i’ll be so motivated if somebody like newjeans minji coaches me,” you voiced as you plop down at the staircase.

the trainees assume their places at the foot of the staircase forming three rows. it was only a matter of time until you get called one by one to come through the orange curtain and pick; vocal or dance.

you sit between jiwoo and jeemin. the latter intertwining your arms, as she lights the room up with her smile. both of them looking at you as you confess your wishful thoughts.

“why would you want someone pretty when you already have me,” jiwoo asks, sending her sharp gaze to you. she raise an eyebrow and you look away, swallowing your saliva.

these kinds of comments from her were nothing new. you should’ve been used to it by now but you find yourself loss for words each time. she’s always been the type to blurt out these kind of comments without thinking of the implication. maybe she does and she just fakes innocence to not deal with the consequences.

before you could rack your malfunctioning brain for a verbal reply, jeemin saved you the trouble and changed the topic. “what will you guys pick? i’m leaning towards dance.”

“you’ll do great in dance. for me, i’m gonna be safe and pick vocal,” jiwoo answered. “what about you?” she added, looping her arms around yours. the sudden proximity would’ve been fine any other time but her remark earlier kept you on your toes.

“me? i don’t really have much of a choice, you know,” you say, pointing to your grey badge with a huge silver “L”. low levels don’t get to choose, they only get the higher level trainees’ leftovers. cruel but you were confident in your abilities to stay afloat whichever category landed at your feet.

“you’re so dramatic. there’s only two options, im sure you’ll get to choose,” jiwoo reassures you after giggling at your antics.

“choose dance so we can be on the same team,” jeemin clutch your arms tighter and starts to shake it lightly as if it would persuade you.

“or i could end up competing against you. no, thank you,” you pull your away from her grasp only to reconnect your hands together.

jeemin pouts in return and your stomach clench looking at her. somewhere deep inside you had the urge to kiss it away. which you find weird because why would you want to kiss your friend. yes, she’s cute. but why would you want to do that. friends don’t do that.

before you get swallowed by your thoughts you hear jeemin’s name get called. it was time for her to choose. she gave your hand one last squeeze before bidding both you and jiwoo good lucks and good byes.

“choose vocals,” jiwoo whispers next to you after a few seconds.

jiwoo is always the type to be assertive but never aggressive. she’ll always be commanding but leave just enough room for you to pull away if you want to. but you don’t think you ever will. you like that side of her. and its son jiwoo, only fools dare to refuse her.

“i don’t know, maybe,” you whisper back playfully, keeping your head faced forward while you still feel jiwoo’s gaze on the side of your head.

jiwoo scooches closer and nudges her head onto your shoulder. to the untrained eye, it must’ve looked like jiwoo’s just clinging onto you. well, its technically right but something in you screams that its not just simple ‘clinginess’. “come on. wouldn’t you like to be teams with me? it’ll be fun.”

you would’ve answered. although, you didn’t know what but you would’ve blurted out. but before you could open your mouth, jiwoo’s name echoed throughout the lobby. saved by the bell, again.

“well, i’ll see you on the same team,” she flashes a smile before walking away.

waiting patiently for your turn, you chat idly with the other trainees to pass the time.

you pull the orange curtain back to reveal the girls in lines. jeemin’s eyes caught yours and give her a smile. the girl in front of her, jihyun, noticed the interaction and waved. you mimicked before walking toward the board containing different stickers. two for dance and vocal each. one of the two vocal badges was for a leader position.

you look behind you to see who’re the other leaders. almost immediately, your scanning gaze locked onto jiwoo’s, as if she was waiting for you to turn around just so she can meet your eyes.

the eye contact lasted for a split second before you turned around and grab the vocal position. the normal one, without the leader position.

jiwoo stands in front with yunah and jeongeun next to her. on her farthest left is yewon, another leader.

you stand in a line together with the other trainees who chose the same category as you, waiting for your name to get called by either of the two. beside you is wonhee and seoyeon. suddenly, anxiousness plagues your insides as you realize you’d be either in the same team as them or end up competing against them.

“so, jiwoo its your turn to pick next. who will it be?”

your eyes avoided jiwoo. you were afraid that desperation would be seen as plain as day on your face and holding eye contact with her would solidify that.

so you turn your attention to the person in front of you. which happened to be minju. her face morphs into confusion at your sudden focus in her. you only smile and minju furrows her eyes in turn. the action only made your smile wider, ‘how cute’.

“y/n.”

jiwoo’s voice broke both you and minju out of your trance. and it took you a second to understand that jiwoo wants you on her team. you look back at jiwoo to meet her unreadable face, her gaze going from minju to you.

“you looked worried there for a second,” yunah teases you as soon as you joined her and jeongeun, putting her arm around your shoulder comfortably.

“as if we’d pass up the chance to be with you,” she adds as she pinches your cheeks with her free hand.

“although, it looked to me you wanted to be with minju more” jeongeun added, joining in and putting her arms around you as well. while her other arm punches your stomach lightly.

“shut up,” you say, laughing at their teasing.

it has been a few days since practice started and your group has been going through some hiccups. well, its mostly yunah.

“yunah, you can tell me whats wrong. im here for you,” jiwoo’s words were nothing but soft and comforting. you were about to reach your friend when jiwoo’s eyes flicker to yours. ‘i’ll handle this.’

jeongeun and wonhee had already moved out to their own corner to continue practicing. you refused to leave yunah alone but jiwoo’s hard stare says all you need to know.

let the leader do her thing.

so, you distance yourself from the pair and roam your eyes around the practice room to look for something to do. you could use the time to practice, yes. but you’re sure that you would bury yourself six feet under the ground if you hear the song one more time.

the empty water dispenser gleamed at your search, the perfect opportunity to do something different. you walked towards it, detached the empty gallon and put it over your shoulder.

you left the practice room, heading to the cafeteria where they store the refills.

that is when hyewon saw your silhoutte from outside their practice room and called out your name. “y/n! what are you doing?”

“im getting refills,” you enter their practice room with ease, “bang!” blaring through the speakers yet nobody was really practicing. they were all doing their own thing, scattered across the vast room.

“great timing!” hyewon exclaims as she walks towards their own water dispenser. just like the one in your practice room, it was empty of any water.

“here! fill ours too,” she smiles at you brightly, her eyes twinkling in mischief. suddenly, her soft hands grips yours, the thin veil of sweat clinging on to you. she opens your palms and put the neck of the gallon there.

“what? no! you fill it up! its yours!” you exclaims as you take her hands and forcefully shove the gallon back in her grasps.

“come on. do me a little favor, won’t y-”

a cough intervenes hyewon’s pleading and forceful words. you turn around to see youngseo, who’s already boring her fiery eyes through your soul. then, her eyes travels to you and hyewon’s intertwined hands.

just like opposite magnets, both of you retreated your hands quickly causing the gallon to fall into the floor with a thud. you and hyewon both wince at the sound but youngseo however did not flinch.

instead, her gaze remained hot towards you. “i’ll be coming with you,” she says softly with her underlying firmness. her voice was always like that, sweet and subtly strong.

how you missed it. when was the last time she addressed you directly again?

“you don’t have to, i’ll be fine alone,” you convince her. it has been a long time since you both spoke to each other. truthfully, you weren’t ready to face her yet. its been too long and you have forgotten what being around her is like.

“no. i want to,” her firmness surfaced through her small voice. you decide that its really not up for debate. when youngseo has made up her mind, it’ll be hard to break her resolve. what youngseo wants, youngseo gets.

maybe remembering the feelibg of her company isn’t bad at all.

you watch as she picks up the gallon from the floor and head towards the door, you follow her until you were both walking in the hallway, side by side.

youngseo didn’t talk. as much as you wanted for her to say something, you knew she wouldn’t open her mouth unless it was to reply to something you said. or so you thought.

“how’s practice coming along?” her question puts an end to your thoughts. if you weren’t surprised by her accompanying you before, you were now that she was actually speaking to you.

“we’re…” you paused, thinking of the right words. choosing the right words carefully, you didn’t want to come across as overconfident. “we’re moving along, i guess”

you see her nod lightly in you peripheral vision. your eyes find the floor. there was so much you both needed to talk about. yet you were talking about practice.

“im happy you chose the vocal team. the world needs to hear your voice more,” youngseo’s voice flew like water against the air, natural and unwavering.

you snapped your head towards her and she turn hers just in time to catch the surprise look in yours, like she knew you were going to look at her.

it was the first time you’ve actually held eye contact after a long time. you drink in the familiarity you’ve lost and among it are a thousand words you can’t decipher. something flicker in her face before she breaks the stare.

“yeah, i just feel like i’ve been branding myself too much to dance lately,” you say, knowing it would end the conversation. a test to see if youngseo will surprise you again and start a new one.

but she didn’t. and the whole walk continued in awkward silence. so many unsaid words hanging in the air, the burden getting heavier each step closer to her practice room.

‘look, how about we just forget everything and start over?’

'we both know it won't work'

the past looms over both of you like dark shadows and you both know it. yet, youngseo did make any move to open the skeleton in your shared closet.

'let's talk, youngseo. you can’t keep ignoring me forever’

‘im sorry, i just need more time’

she’s ignoring it so why shouldn’t you. if someone’s going to peel the scab, it wouldn’t be you. you already did your part. a long time ago.

'i need space.'

‘you already got your space, youngseo. what about me? it's been months. if you've found peace then let me find mine!'

before you knew it, the door to her practice room is in sight. a part of you felt relieved to finally be free from her presence, while another part was longing to be with her a little longer.

youngseo stands beside it, holding the doorknob with one hand. she smiles at you sweetly. then waves at you lightly, “i’ll see you soon! good luck on your practice!”

the thoughts come pouring in as the door shuts in front of you. she was gone like she had never been there. you would’ve wondered if the last few moments were real if it weren’t for her voice replaying vividly on your mind. just like a melody you can’t get enough of.

just like that, you find yourself getting stuck in her web. again.

the following days went by quickly. but youngseo never once left your mind. you know you shouldn’t think much of her actions, youngseo’s too unpredictable.

after everything, why now?

“are you even paying attention?” jeemin’s whines mixed with the song blasting through the speakers.

it was late into the night and you decided to stay back with the tall girl to help polish her moves. you thought her moves were perfect the first time she showed it to you. and by the nth time, your mind can’t help but drift.

jeemin couldn’t believe it when you agreed after all the stage is coming up soon, there’s no time to loiter around. but she didn't have to know that you can never refuse her.

“are you okay? we can go home if you’re tired.” jeemin’s offer sounded sweet, she’s as nice as ever. but you witness the fire burning in her eyes, begging for her passion to translate into her performance. you knew it will never be extinguished completely, she was born to be a performer. so you let it burn you a little more.

“im fine, don’t worry about me and carry on,” you gesture for her to continue. and she restarts the song all over again. this time, you poured her all of your attention.

it was a wonder how your mind sailed before when jeemin is tight in front of you. her performance was impeccable as ever, the hard work and talent prominent in every sway and stroke.

“you’re off to space again,” jeemin narrows her eyes down at you playfully. her raspy voice was a blessing and her smile was godsend. an angel looks down at you.

“i wasn’t this time! i swear! i was just mesmerized.” your hands flew up in defense as you stand up to join her in front of the mirror.

“stop lying!” she smacks your arm lightly, her laugh gracing the whole room. you were glad nobody else was in the room, it made the privilege of making her laugh sweeter.

“fine then. if you were actually paying attention, at least give me some feedback.” your heart leaped at the sight of her crossing her arms.

“you were perfect!” jeemin let out a big sigh. as much as jeemin likes being praised, she needs actual feedback. something she can work with for these next few days leading to the stage.

“give me something more specific,” jeemin rolls her eyes lightly. but even then her cheeks stay up and her smile never faltered.

“well,” you think for a bit. “i liked how you start of the song. it really set the mood for the song.”

in front of you, jeemin’s pink turn a bright shade of pink.

“i think you also killed the omona part. you’re naturally cute so plus points for that. and then this move,” you didn’t know the name of the move so you demonstrate it to her.

jeemin bursts out laughing at your attempt. your awkward movements reflecting wholly through the mirror and you follow after jeemin, throwing your head back. “stop laughing, im not that bad.”

but jeemin continued giggling and so did you. the joyful sounds filling the entire space and drowning the faint sounds of the speakers.

you calm down after a few seconds but one look from each other sent you both into another spiral again. soon, both of you were lying on the floor, clutching your stomachs.

“ah- my stomach hurts from laughing so much.” jeemin blurts out between breaths and gasps.

“who said we’re done yet? you just made fun of my dancing.” you hands flew to her sides before she can fully comprehend what you said. another round of laughter echoes throughout the room as you tickle jeemin mercilessly.

somehow, she managed to get free from your grasp and now a tall baby is chasing you around the practice room.

jeemin catches your arm and pulled you to her, lightly but it was enough for your bodies to collide. she uses the momentum to turn your back to the wall, effectively locking you.

“got you,” she smiles brightly at you, a thousand watts on her lips.

the laughter comes to a gradual halt as silence blankets the both of you. her grin turns into a soft smile and her eyes felt endearing against yours. you couldn’t look at her in anything but adoration.

you anticipated it would happen. in fact, you hoped for it. but it still caught you by surprise when her lips press against yours. soft and gentle just like everything about her.

you wanted to press harder, for it to last longer. but you were already living in a dream and a second longer would be asking for too much.

jeemin pulls away in haste. you would’ve dived in for one more if you hadn't seen the panic flashing across her features. she blinks once, twice until the haze in her eyes clears.

she remained stiff for a moment. she looks up at you and the look of regret she gives you haunt you even after weeks.

“im sorry, i shouldn’t have,” she whispers, pupils still blown wide.

reassurance was a the tip of your tongue but you held back. but what were you going to say? that its fine and to just forget it ever happened?

immediately your mind reverts back to youngseo for a split second. it didn’t turn out well when you said that to her so what good would it do to say it to jeemin?

jeemin looks at your face, trying to make sense of your incomprehensible expression just to take a peak at your thoughts.

but each moment felt eternity to jeemin. and trepidation sets in her veins deeper and deeper until it roots and sprouts into anxiety. all while you weren’t aware of the consequences your silence had brought to her.

“jeemin-”

before you can finish, she was already out of door. from the practice room, you hear the echo of her dashing footsteps. as it died down, you were left wondering if you just let history repeat itself.

another friendship broken in the name of fleeting romance. but will this time be worth it?

[everydayfrimmel]

July 22, 2024

"The L Word (Love and/or Leaking Roofs and/or Late-Night Cable Television)" words, roommate au, part 15/15

This place has a leaky roof that patching never seems to fix, a refrigerator that hums ominously, and no air conditioning. Its small sideyard fills with weeds if they’re not careful, and though most of the trash that used to live there is gone now, a single punched-out window screen leans forlornly against the wall and leaves a rectangle of brighter blue where the peeling paint on the wall has faded around it. No one can leave the driveway until the stray cats that come for the food Himmel leaves out for them disperse for the morning. Half of the place sits empty where it hadn’t before.

Frieren is starting to love it. 

She wasn’t supposed to stay here, out in the country in this broken-down house in dire need of care and attention she was unwilling to give. It was always her plan to use the twelve-month lease to look for somewhere better to live. Not that she was itching to leave—Frieren rarely itches to do anything—but it was never a permanency. 

Then, May had arrived, and Frieren hadn’t even thought about finding a replacement home, and Himmel looked so crestfallen when she mentioned it that she hadn’t had a reason to keep looking. And the lease had been renewed. And Flamme had started calling her up asking when that boy is going to take you off my hands. And Frieren had become rather confused, but not unpleasantly so, and then she’d simply accepted her lot in life and called the exterminator for the roaches in the basement so Himmel could put a treadmill down there (for the winter, apparently) and stayed. 

No amount of small improvements ever make the house seem any less decrepit. The paint is still peeling. Frieren slightly suspects that the hideous Victorian wallpaper in her bedroom is radioactive. The hot water heater likes to fake its own death. Flamme and Himmel, sick of hearing Frieren talk about the carcinogens in her wallpaper and starting to grow slightly worried that she might be right, team up to get the landlord’s permission (he’s all too happy if it brings the price up) and pay somebody to take down the wallpaper and paint her walls instead for her birthday. It’s nice, it really is, but the old stuff haunts her even beneath a thoroughly sensible coat of light-blue paint. A lot of things about the house are like that.

But it’s become theirs, and she starts to overlook its shortcomings the way she overlooks Himmel’s constant chatter and buzzsaw snore: not without exasperation, but with a great deal of fondness. Like one does with all the things one loves.

“We can fix all that,” Himmel keeps on promising, but Frieren’s not half as optimistic. They can tear up anything they want, but the version that sticks in Frieren’s head will be the one she met when she arrived. The only thing that’s ever given this crumbling place a half-measure of its fading life back is Himmel, and that would be too embarrassing to tell them. 

“Doubt that,” she always replies. But it’s only half about her doubt in his abilities. Truthfully, Frieren doesn’t know if she wants it to be fixed.  

It won’t look like it did when she met him if they do that. The kitchen won’t be the same kitchen where she kissed him for the first time. She won’t hear his singing in the shower after a workout the same way if they knock down a wall to enlarge the bathroom. Her bedroom is all right to change for the sake of her health, and because her most prominent memories of it do not involve Himmel; and perhaps she wouldn’t mind being rid of the sagging couch, but the living room absolutely must stay as is.

She doesn’t like change where it concerns something she cares for. It always surprises her how sentimental she can get when she’s reminded of that. 

But then, change is inevitable. Change means that sleeping in her own bed so she can sprawl out like a spider means Himmel thinks she’s upset with him, and learning that it is probably for the best to avoid that. (He lets her sleep like a starfish all the same.) It also means having to do things like admit she has a personal life to her boss because she needs her untouched time off to go on a honeymoon, and put someone else on her tax returns, and endure questions from the old people in town about babies that make both Frieren and Himmel flush for different reasons. Not all of those things are unbearable.

And some of them are excellent.

When she reads now, it is not under compulsion, because Flamme, in all honesty, would rather discuss Himmel and how she’s getting on with him than anything else. And sometimes, when Himmel is around and unoccupied with grading papers and sleepy, it is aloud, resting the book on his head like a stand while he lays in her lap. 

He does not keep whole pallets of cup noodles in the cupboard anymore, takes on some ridiculous affectation of health-consciousness (as if he hadn’t always been going for runs) and cooks real food as if it is his spousal duty to swear off his bachelor diet of candy, bananas, and things that could be prepared in a microwave. This benefits Frieren, who is lazy, very much.

There is always someone home when she finishes work.

She is allowed to accompany him to meetings of the parent-teacher association and sit in the corner eating the baked goods that the parents of his students bring in. 

Sometimes he can be convinced to wash her in the shower if she is feeling too lazy to do it herself, and on airplanes, his shoulder makes a very reliable pillow. She likes the way Himmel coaxes her awake far better than an alarm clock. 

So there are good changes, she supposes. All of those. Late-night movies and late-night drives. Always being seen together. Watching Himmel sing in the kitchen or the car, feeling more than she thought she was capable of. Liking this decaying house for having Himmel in it. Not being so used to loneliness anymore. No longer counting down the days until she can go home for a visit like she did in college and her first few months in the country, craving warmth without knowing it, hungry for love. 

Because, after all—home is here now. 

[call-me-a-simp]

Heal My Wounds

Will you..? (part 25)

Rhea Ripley x Reader

Tw: physical and sexual abuse, toxic relationship, selfharm, eating disorder

Summary: You are in a toxic relationship with an abusive man but manage to run away. A tall, black haired woman picks you up from the streets just in time so your ex doesn't get you. But who is she and why does she seem so familiar to you? As you get to know each other you start to notice weird feelings you never had before whenever she's around.

Your drinks arrive and you just can't wait any longer. "Rhea please, you know how unpatient I am" you whine.

"Ah ah, not so fast sweetheart" she teases you even more. "After we've eaten okay?" "Fine.." you grumble.

You're kinda mad because you don't like waiting but you still smile at her. God I love her so much. How can somebody be this perfect?!

"Hey love, wanna share this? It seems like they're serving pretty big portions here" Rhea says. "Yeah of course" you smile. "What about you guys?" you add.

"I think I'll go for number 56" Dominik answers "and I'll take.. This! Whatever it is but it sounds interesting" Finn states. Damian chuckles and waves for a waiter to come over.

You all order and then talk a little until your food arrives. "Yep, you were totally right with big portions" you mock Rhea, cause they were actually pretty normal sized and you needed to order another one so you both could get fed.

"Mh, this actually tastes really good. Anyone know what it is?" Finn asks you all. "Let me try" Dom says excitedly. "sure here, take this" Finn answers and you all laugh as Dom does his little happy claps.

You continue your dinner and chat and laugh throughout the entire time. That is, until Dom decides he can't hold back any longer.

"Rheaaa, when are you finally going to do iiit" he whispers to her, except the whole table could hear it. "Dom Dom!" she scolds him and shoots you a kinda angry and also apologetic look as you chuckle.

"Sorry.." Dominik mutters, although he doesn't give up just yet. "But-" "No!" Damian and Finn say simultaneously. Rhea laughs at Dom who pouts now.

"You know, I'm kinda on Dom's side, I think we waited long enough" you look at Rhea with a warm smile. "I know I- I'm just not quite ready yet.." she says and blushes slightly.

You chuckle a little "it's okay, take your time. Wanna get some dessert?" "Oh oh, yes, I want ice cream!" "Dom stop acting like a little child!" Damian laughs.

You wave a waiter over and order an ice cream for Dominik and a "family surprise" for the rest of you. "I wonder what they'll bring us. I hope it's got something to do with chocolate" Finn says.

Rhea leans over to you and whispers "can you let me out real quick? I need to go to the restroom" "yeah sure, is everything alright?" "ye, ye don't worry" she smiles reassuringly.

You get up and take a step away to make room for your girlfriend to get out of the corner. You sit back down without noticing that Rhea isn't even walking in the direction of the actual bathrooms.

You look around a bit as the boys were chatting about whether you were supposed to eat Nutella with or without butter.

You spot a camera team outside the window. Probably because the whole Judgement Day was there and they finally got to see you and Rhea together somewhere else than on the parking lot from the arena.

The restaurant also got pretty full. Lots of people were there, chatting and eating and glancing over at you every now and then.

"Hey guys" you try to get the boys attention "why is this man standing there with a mic?" "I don't know, let's see" Damian smirks. It's a little awkward but you still have no idea.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could please get your attention" the man with the microphone says. "I'm the owner of this place and today is a very special day!"

You see the camera team walking in, trying to get the best shots and catching everything that's being said.

"Please turn your attention to Demi Bennett, better known as Rhea Ripley!" the restaurant owner says and Rhea steps out from behind the corner. "Thank you" she leans over to the man and speaks in his mic.

She walks over to you and you just look at her confused. She smiles from ear to ear and gets down on one knee. "Y/n L/n. I've only known you for about three to four months, although you knew me for a lot longer." she says.

Slowly but surely you knew where this was going and why all the people and the media were here.

"I know, your past experiences with relationships were quite.. Njeah let's say difficult. But I want to change that and I think we've already made a great start. I can't imagine my life anymore without you in it, so.. Y/n, will you marry me?" she asks and pulls out a beautiful, really expensive looking wedding ring.

You're too overwhelmed to think" I- yes! Yes of course I wanna marry you!" you shout and jump up to hug her. Rhea laughes and let's out a sigh of relief. Everyone's applauding and congratulating you.

You both smile at each other and kiss, resulting in even more applause and cheers from the croud." I love you so much, I can't even find the right words to describe it" you smile at your now fiancee. "I love you too, more than anything in the world!" she answers and pulls you in for another kiss.

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

Part 25 and finally you get the surprise you've all been waiting for, hope you enjoyed it ;)

Taglist:@babybatlover @legit9thlunaticwarrior @thatonepansexual2000 @nox-fire

[spaceghostswim]

this is a very jumped probably very incoherent rant/vent... i just need to let this out somewhere somehow because i don't know how else to express myself. i have also exhausted every single possible irl resource so the dying internet is all i have left. this little website is the last place that feels like home on earth.

how can we be there for each other when the world is on fire?

i feel so guilty and selfish for needing a shoulder to lean on right now but everybody that i know or used to know is hurting too.

i know that bad times always happen but there is something very very wrong and disconnected in the world right now, i wish i could express what i am trying to say without sounding off the rails...

life is way more simple than we let it be, i am so sick of not even being able to express my feelings about society because that word alone is so tarnished by irony poisoning. otherwise, i have nothing to say about capitalism & the folly of man that won't sound like a broken record, that hasn't been said by somebody who could put it into better words.

i am quite literally dying for community of any sort, every single thing in my life has to do with money, i feel guilty about every single piece of food i purchase and that's not fucking fair. and if i am too soft and that's "just how the world is" then i guess that's it, i was not built for the unrealistic standards people who died years ago set for me.

but y'know, if a single person had the capacity to just sit down and make art with me i would probably be able to bare this all a lot better. just a year ago i had sooo many people around me, then so many things happened to me that people think i am paranoid & exaggerating when i tell them.

each friend i reach out too is hurting too, if not worse, and even the ones who have the abilities to use their hands & live securely are miserable... it breaks my heart to see how quickly people accept circumstance.

i am looking for a person in my life who is eager and hungry to try something different each day. i want to collaborate and talk about so many things, i want to share interests & hobbies. it's not that i don't have friends, i just feel so disconnected & unable to be in the same book, let alone on the same page as my current peers. i just need some change, i wish i could travel literally anywhere, but i can only walk so far with -$50 to my name.

also if i have to sell myself in any capacity i am giving up on trying to get myself an ID and i will just disappear. it already feels like i already died i simply walk the earth not even to appease others, because they all cry when you're dead, simply because of the symbolism. fascinating.

and if anyone is reading this, funnily enough i know i will feel and logically should be fine. i am just having constant negative thought loops and i truly don't know how to shut em up anymore. my logic brain is screaming "you are spiralling mentally please express your emotions" and like i wish i could hear that and the emotional side of me just be like "oh yes this is very irrational and a poor attitude" but I. Need. Anything. to believe in...

[slashingdisneypasta]

Wheezy Weasel x Fem!Reader x Greasy Weasel || Oneshot

Plot: Inspired by 'Bro Code' by Brantley Gilbert. Reader and Greasy have been growing apart; He's rarely around to spend time with you, which is leaving you to spend a lot more time, alone, with Wheezy, and... feelings start to develop... Wheezy decides to do the respectful thing and warn Greasy about it.

Better show that girl a good time If you don't, it's gon' be goodbye And if you take it for granted You hand her to another man It's a matter of time, bro

It's a matter of time

Now, I know it ain't my business But I gotta insist that if this was somebody else Your deal is already finished because Bro code goes out the window Just be glad it's me lettin' you know, bro

Warnings: Me writing serious romance stuffs for toon gangster weasels. ... Love triangle? XD I'd say its handled pretty well though

"Hey Wheezy!"

"Hey- " You plop down on the couch with him suddenly; Your head in his lap. It honestly surprises him for a moment, the affection - though not unwelcome, - having come out of nowhere and could be interpreted as innapropriate, by some people... considering who you really belonged too around here. "Y/N... "

Giving a little, teasing smile, you dont address the elephant in the room- deciding to rather just move on, fiddling with your fingers above your stomach. "What are you up to, tonight?"

"Smokin'... " Obviously. "Was gonna watch some TV, too. Nothing much- nothing exciting, anyway. What are you doing? Wasn't Greasy taking you out somewhere, tonight?"

At this, the mention of your boyfriend, the bright light flickers out of your pretty eyes a little bit. You look away from his face, a frown tugging at your lips. Wheezy frowns, too, the three cigerettes he was puffing away on held away from his face between two fingers; This can't be good. "Oh! We were... " Your voice is polite, almost cheerful still in a totally fake, forced kind of way. "But, um... I guess we got our signals crossed, or something. I thought I was supposed to meet him here now, but Smarty says Greasy's out doing something for him tonight, so... " Giving little shrug, you force the sadness out of your eyes and take a deep breath. Wheezy's frown only worsens, though. That explains why you look so nice... well, nicer then usual. That seems to be happening damn often, recently, too. "I'm free, now! Was hopin' you might be willing to share your evening, with me?"

... There's a cheeky glint in your eyes that Wheezy can't help grinning back at, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure. Whatcha wanna watch?"

"Oh!" You hop up off his lap and into a sitting position, crossing your legs and picking up the remote- focused on the TV. "I have the best movie in mind. I think its started already, but not too long ago so we should be fine. You'll love it! Promise."

~

"This is the dumbest fucking movie I have ever seen Y/N- " Wheezy's saying, much to your dismay even though you grin- his frustration a source of amusement, to you. He's cute, you decide; His words are biting, but the expression on his face is soft, and relaxed. You like it. You like him- he's a good friend!

"No way!-" Giggling, you shake your head at him.

"Dont you show this to the boss, he'll blow a gasket. Is this supposed to be gang representation? Hell- "

"Its the best kind of gang representation!" You reply, not looking at him as he turns to give you most incredulous look possible. "... makes you guys look so dumb- fella's watchin'll think they can outsmart you and be so much easier to deal with, don'tcha think?"

"Pfft," Wheezy rolls his eyes, but he's grinning; Theres something cute about your theory, there. He's gotta admit. "We gotta deal with enough idiots, don't you be pushing any more on us."

"Hmm," Humming, you lean back into the cushions behind you; Eyes glued to the screen as some 'gangsters' play a game of poker. "Plus, they're all gorgeous... would you say that's misrepresentation, too?"

He scoffs again, shaking his head. "Depends on the gang, doll."

As soon as that slips out of his mouth, he just about has a stroke and freezes to the spot as you just continues to watch the movie, like she didnt hear it. Hanging out with your pal's girl all alone is one thing, even sitting this close to her can be interpreted as a close friendship, but calling her doll?? Thats got to be breaking every damn rule there is about pal's and their ladies. Greasy would lose his damn mind if he heard that, and Wheezy wouldn't really be able to blame him.

Except... you didnt react at all to him using that name with you- for you. As well as the fact that you haven't been seeing much of Greasy, lately. At all. He hasn't been around. And not just for a week, no- you two have been missing eachother for months now, slowly drifting apart. Greasy used to stress out like the damn Queen was coming over to the apartment if he ever had to dissapoint you, the two of you used to be so attached to eachother all the time that it made everyone else sick (And really uncomfortable, at times), you used to hang out in Greasy's room if he wasn't around when he said he would be... But not anymore. For weeks now you've been spending your time with him - Wheezy, - , almost treating him like your boyfriend...

Like a stand-in. But that doesn't mean that when you're together you aren't treating him like him- that you're using him as a place holder for Greasy at all, no- its just... like...

Instead of Greasy getting to spend his nights with your legs in his lap- it's Wheezy. Instead of Greasy getting to make you laugh- it's Wheezy. Instead of Greasy making you smile... its Wheezy.

And he doesn't think he should really have to feel guilty for enjoying it, anymore.

It's time to give Greasy a warning, Wheezy decides as he relaxes back into the cushions to watch the rest of this dumb movie that you like.

If Greasy doesn't buck up, soon, then he's going to let you know that he's throwing his hat into the ring.

~

Greasy's eyes are narrowed after what Wheezy says, disbelief and betrayal written all over his face. "... what, amigo?" His voice is quiet but emotionless, giving Wheezy one chance to take it back, his proclamation. His absurd, ridiculous, traitorous proclamation. If he did, then all would be fine- he would forgive and forget it. You're beautiful, and wonderful... he cant blame the man for falling under your spell for a moment. But if he doesnt-

"You heard me Grease." Intimidation is one of Greasy's favourite tactics- Wheezy's close to him, so he knows that. Plus... you can't really be intimidated by a man after you've heard him singing in the shower. "... I'm just warning you. As it is I'm not gonna do a thing, not unless she makes a move on me, because you're my friend- but if you don't start putting in more of an effort again, stop standin' your girl up... you're gonna lose her. And it might be, to me."

"Hm. Brave, fumador, you're very brave... So, am I to believe you haven't don't anything behind my back?"

"Yes."

... Greasy nods. He believes him- of course he does. Like Wheezy said, they're friends. He knows when he's lying and when he's telling the earnest truth, and besides he trusts him.

... and also- Wheezy isn't the lying type. Never has been. Greasy has never really had to worry about that, with him.

So... that brings him to a different thought. Another issue. One that makes his heart restrict inside his chest. "So then... Y/N... she has been sad? Missing m- "

Wheezy rolls his eyes deeply and groans, his hands in his pockets so he doesnt smack Greasy. "Of course she's been fucken sad, you little freak. She loves you, moron. And you've been everywhere but with her- where you should be." Some 'ladies man', this one. Wheezy thinks. Doesn't even know when he's making the biggest damn mistake of his life.

Sure, it might be Wheezy's gain... this mistake of Greasy's... but he won't take it lightly. This is a fucked up situation they're in, and whoever ends up with her is going to have to live with knowing the other is having to live without.

Greasy's heart squeezes and squeezes... forcing him quiet as thoughts rush through his mind about how bad he feels and how he didn't realise this, his working more lately, would affect her badly... and how if he had then he would have never...

Ugh, he thinks. He wishes he could say he was doing it for more money, to buy her an engagement ring or something... but he was not. Dammit.

... thats a prety good idea actually. Maybe he can still do that-

"What the hell are you two morons doing in my kitchen?" Smartass suddenly appears in the doorway, catching both their attentions with his frustrated tone. Greasy opens his mouth to explain, but their boss is already on it. "What I tell you??? No snacks past 6.30! Dinner's in the damn oven- what do you want from me here?? Damn vultures. What- you can't wait 15 minutes?? Sheesh."

This time Wheezy opens his mouth to explain for them both, but also gets cut off as Smartass pulls on two oven mitts. "And Y/N's just got here. Go bother her for a while, wouldja?? Both of you. Out."

Barely a millisecond passes and Greasy is already out the door, leaving a Greasy-shaped dust cloud behind him as he races to find you. Wheezy takes another moment, sucking in a good long puff of tobacco, before strolling after him.

When he finds you, standing by the billards table with Psycho and Stupid, Greasy's already attached himself to you like a damn leach.

"-so sorry, mi vida... Lo siento, Y/N... All my apologies... I didn't realise that I had been gone so much... " He's trailing kisses all over you- your cheeks, your forehead, down your neck... Psycho scowls at you both, before covering his eyes. Wheezy wishes he could do the same without feeling like a fricken 12 year old. "I mean of course I noticed you were away from me... and I missed you but-... you know? Why don't we go and spend some time- alone?~ " Finally he pulls back, looking you in the eye, a flirtation smirk on his face. "I will be sure to thoroughly make it up to you for my mistakes. Prometo~ "

Giving a giggle at it, you allow yourself to fall right back into familiar patterns, with him; Tucking hair behind your ear and letting your hands fall to his arms as he holds you, and tilting your head to the side. "I don't know~ Why don't we?"

You're just glad he's back.

Wheezy watches Greasy's wolf-like smirk broaden, all sorts of - likely, - depraved shit going in his head, and lean into your ear. He whispers something you that has your eyes widening and your fingers tightening onto his suit.

... you look cute as hell, but Wheezy would rather not know what it was that had that affect on you. Or at least not until he can figure it out himself.

Then Greasy's disconnecting from you, pressing one final lasting kiss onto your cheek, before heading to his room. You would follow in a moment, absolutely, but you're just reeling for a moment from how he went from 0 to 100 all of a sudden.

... woof. You give a smile, shaking your head. Whatever it was, you aren't about to question it. When you notice Wheezy standing in the doorway, smoking to himself, you catch his gaze and give a bright grin. He's back, you mouth, pleased.

He nods, blowing smoke. Yep... "Sure is."

Approaching him, you hold your arms behind your back and stand just beside him; Watching the Psycho and Stupid play billiards while Wheezy watches you. "I wonder what knocked some sense into him?... or who???" You ask, twisting in place and carefully peering up at him.

Immediatly he looks away, taking a draw from a cigerette. "Oh- don't give me the credit. It was allll him."

Without really thinking, you throw your arms around Wheezy; Giving him what was supposed to be a quick, warm hug. Of thanks.

But then he wraps his arms around you too, and you pull back not far... just enough to look at eachother and for a split moment, with both your heads slightly at an angle and your breath on eachothers lips you stay there; Inches apart and hearts beating erratically inside chests.

Something changed in the few seconds you were hugging him. The way you looked at him all of a sudden was different, like- realisation. Then surprise.

Then horror.

Quickly you wipe the wide-eyed look off your face and cautiously let go of Wheezy, stepping back. Theres a heat in your cheeks betraying you. Wheezy- you think, an odd and terrifying mix of shock and something really lovely and warm swarming inside your chest. Tall, laid back, sexy, comfortable... Wheezy.

You must look at him for too long, because he reaches out to grab your hand. "Y/N? Are you- "

Quickly you yank your hand out of jis reagh, surprising him. "Um- I'm fine! Yeah, I just- Greasy. I gotta go to Greasy. So- um- yeah. Uh, bye!"

Then you flash a awkward smile, to comfort him and show everything is alright, then rush up the stairs to Greasy's room.

[inthehytes]

13. “ i won't let any danger even touch us. ” for sashnetrcia 😳😳 (sasha/anetra/marcia)

I won’t lie, it took me a minute to come up for an idea for this one so I hope you enjoy it!

I’ll be reblogging more dialogue prompts soon because these were so fun, so I hope to see y’all request some more!

“Netra, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. You guys go ahead and I’ll just wait in the car until you’re done.” She felt a little tug on her hand as Marcia squirmed uneasily beside her. The lobby was loud with the commotion of people spilling out of the escape room’s exits and the chatter of the people waiting to take their place.

“But you were so excited to come? Why would you wait in the car baby?” Anetra turned to fully face Marcia, letting the younger girl take both of her hands in her own. She could see panic beginning to creep into the corners of Marcia’s eyes, her expression pinching with fear with every muffled slam they heard.

“I thought we were going to one of the other escape rooms, I didn’t know it was going to be scary.” Her lips almost pushed out into a pout as she tugged at Anetra’s hands once more. “Maybe we can tell the others I’m not feeling well and decided to sleep it off in the car!”

“Marsh, angel, we’re not lying to our friends and our girlfriend about something like this. It’s okay to be afraid, you just have to remember that it’s all just pretend. Everyone in those rooms are just playing a part, yeah?” Anetra tried her hardest to connect to the performer in Marcia, knowing if she could make her think about the logistics of the storyline she wouldn’t be so afraid.

“I dunno,” Marcia whined softly, edging closer to Anetra’s warmth even as Sasha came bouncing back over, neon wristbands in hand.

“Wrists everyone c’mon we’re up soon!” She waved the bright straps of paper at them, reaching for Marcia’s wrist to help her with it. Sasha froze when Marcia flinched back a little with a frown. “Marcia? Are you okay?”

“She’s scared.” Anetra filled in, allowing Sasha to wrap her wrist in the offensively orange band and ignoring the little affronted huff Marcia let out.

“Scared? Oh honey c’mere.” Sasha pulled Marcia over to a secluded section of benches, sitting immediately and tugging until Marcia was practically in her lap. Anetra quickly claimed Marcia’s other side and they pressed in on the younger girl until they felt her relax a bit. “Do you really think Netra and I would take you somewhere where somebody could hurt you?”

“No.” Marcia answered with a quiet sniffle, leaning her weight back on Anetra more.

“Or that we would let something happen to you?”

“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head this time.

“You know we would protect you and get you out if it became too much right?” Anetra asked this, rubbing soothing circles on the strip of skin Marcia’s cropped top exposed.

“Of course!” Her nod is enthusiastic, she trusted the pair with her life.

“Good baby, I won’t let any danger even touch us.” Anetra promised, leaning forward to plant a sweet kiss on her cheek.

“Besides, no monster is going to even try to mess with Anetra and her RBF, we’ll be the safest in the room.” Anetra could see Sasha’s giant grin over Marcia’s shoulder and rolled her eyes fondly. “Now c’mon we’re up next and I want to see how long it takes for Sugar and Spice to get caught.”

Sasha’s up and bounding toward their friends, already fishing more wristbands out of her purse with an enthusiastic wave.

“Netra?” Marcia asked as Anetra helped her up and planted one last kiss to her lips.

“Yeah Marsh?”

“You’re going to feed Sasha to the zombie first aren’t you?”

“Now what makes you say that?”