#not a vent. well maybe a little. but I’m decent!!

[canid-carnival]

Sometimes u need to just be held on ur partners tummy/chest and be upset and cry and maybe fall asleep a little to feel better

Reminder just in case: PROSHIPPERS FUCK OFF YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE OR ANYWHERE NEAR ME

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

[keferon]

Hmmmm. New infection: Blurr/Swerve

Your writing has radioactive qualities but in a comic book super powers granting kind of way.

Merry Christmas from me to you.

———————————————————————

There was single spark of Christmas in the deepest dark of space. Far, far from the warm fire of Earth.

With the sort of warmth reserved for children’s holiday specials, Swerve and Jazz exchanged small improvised gifts.

Prowl also participated, with all the stone cold concentration of a bomb defusal.

Turns out, there was a decent amount of dropped shanix down various vents that Jazz had gotten a hold of. Swerve helped him pick up a gift for Prowl the next time they stopped at a trade depot. It was some of the most fun he’d had since waking up.

Prowl. ALSO, required Swerves help in picking out a gift for Jazz.

Never, never, never again.

Later, Swerve would watch as Jazz helped Prowl loop a striped scarf over his shoulders and across one half of a chevron, laughing and smiling all the while.

Swerve wasn’t jealous. No no no. He really was happy for them! He was! And maybe a little sad.

Prowl nodded at something Jazz said and took his leave to head back to his, their hab suite. Jazz jogged over to where Swerve had been slowly been drilling a pen into the drawing pad Jazz gotten for him.

“So you going to go see them?”

Swerve abruptly dropped the pen and flattened a hand over the sketch he’d definitely not made of the person he totally wasn’t thinking about.

“Whaaaat? No, no I’m sure they’re fine. Not! That I was still thinking about him! THEM.”Swerves optics darted rapidly from Jazz to the drawing, making sure any evidence was fully concealed.

“Besides, I’m not gonna leave you alone on Christmas Eve.” He said a bit more seriously, remembering Jazz’s current isolation. Unlike him, Swerve could visit Earth whenever wanted.

“Actually, Prowl was talking about some silent holovid earlier, so we were going to watch it tonight. It’s cool man, go check on your boo.”

Jazz looked, well, happy. And his field (wow, Swerve was still mind blown that humans had those the entire time) reflected that.

Swerve did a poor imitation of nonchalance. “I mean, only if you’re totally sure.”

Jazz put his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet a little, “Hmmm, you could always join Prowl and I for the holovid. You know, the one we’re gonna watch together? Inside his room?”

HA!

Hahahahhaha!

Oooooh Swerve saw THAT trap and did not need the stress induced nightmare fuel that’d surely come from third wheeling on a date with Prowl.

The Christmas Shopping was enough.

With Jazz’s blessing, and Prowl’s glaring, seriously he could feel it through the wall, Swerve wished them a Merry Christmas and went to his room. Just a little bit quicker than necessary.

———————————————

Blurr’s hospital was one of those really fancy ones that looked more like a hotel room from the right angles.

There were simple decorations, extra furniture like a nightstand and a small couch, as well as fairly thick curtains framing a large clear window.

Christmas lights were strung up outside, adding to the ambient glow of the city lit up below. Snowflakes drifting through the air fuzzed the details. Made everything a little soft.

Swerve zeroed in on closing the curtains out of habit.

“Leave th-“

Swerve shrieked, nearly clipping through a wall with how hard he jumped.

Lying on his good side on the couch, Blurr merely blinked at him slowly before finishing his sentence.

“Leave the curtains open, please.” He pulled a blanket that didn’t look thick enough a little more securely over his shoulder.

Blurr didn’t resume looking at the falling snow, instead he took Swerve in with a half lidded eye.

“So are you my ghost of Christmas past, present or future?”

Swerve was uncomfortably reminded of how he looked at the moment. Colorless, grainy and mostly transparent. Slowly, he turned up the sliders on his holoform. “Heh, uh, option D? None of the above?”

Blurr didn’t have an IV in, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still on some other form of painkillers. Either way, he seemed a little more aware than what Swerve was prepared to deal with.

So why was he moving to get Blurr a better blanket?

Eh, he probably won’t remember this, but his recovery will. Swerve rationalized. He thinks I’m a Christmas ghost anyways, it’s just a dream to him.

When Swerve was almost out of sight, he was stopped by a small, “Stay?”

Swerve stayed.

He shuffled where he stood, Blurr continued to look at him. Slowly, the former racer tried to sit up.

Swerve was there right away, moving softly as he helped him up. In order to support Blurrs weight as best as possible, Swerve ended up sitting halfway onto the couch where Blurr had been laying.

Blurr placed a hand on his arm for support, and when he was most of the way upright, Swerve felt him sigh and rest all of his weight onto his holoform.

Comfortable.

Trapping him.

Holoforms can’t explode right?

Swerve was living both his greatest fanfic dream as well as his second greatest real life nightmare. He really, really hoped holoforms couldn’t explode. Fuck knows he’d put this poor man through enough.

How many layers of guilt were there again? There’s the initial parasocial idolization thing. There was the time Blurr saw all of his destroyed merchandise. So he thinks Swerve hates him. Did. He did actually hate him. Not really, but he wanted to. Oh and then Swerve left him for dead! Because he treated him like he wasn’t an actual living person who could feel fear! Or pain! Or. . . Alone.

On Christmas.

Swerve got a little more settled onto the couch, letting Blurr use him as his personal cushion a bit more comfortably. Leaning his head on his shoulder, Blurr was watching the snow again.

“When I was a child, I spent every Christmas at a ski lodge to the north” Blurr spoke quietly enough that the silence stayed resilient.

“I’d stay up late, watching the snow drift down through the mountain lights for hours. It felt a lot like this.” Blurr’s eye was fluttering more and more the longer he spoke. Each time it closed, Swerve could see the effort it took to open again.

Blurr, readjusted his body one last time me. Then mumbled. “You’re very warm for a ghost.”

Swerve, desperately, wished he could remember a single smart thing he’d ever written. “I got a slider for that.”

Swerve was going to find the self destruct button.

Blurr snorted a genuine single laugh. His eye had closed and he’d stopped fighting. Gradually, Swerve felt him breath a little slower, sinking into him and the couch. Swerve held still, until all the screaming, embarrassing panic in his mind resolved into white noise.

Swerve stayed for as long as he could. And when his time was almost up, he carefully lowered Blurr back onto the couch. Getting him a thicker blanket, and a non-Swerve pillow, for Christmas.

———————————————————————

- SSTP

"Prowl. ALSO, required Swerves help in picking out a gift for Jazz.

Never, never, never again."

LMAO

"Oooooh Swerve saw THAT trap and did not need the stress induced nightmare fuel that’d surely come from third wheeling on a date with Prowl."

AHAHAHAJFJGMGJGKRJ WHEEEEEEZE HELP

ANON. SSTP. DEAR. MY TREASURE. MY SWEET NUCLEAR POWER PLANT OF A WRITER. I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE THEM. BOTH JP AND BLURWERS. YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS TO BE THIS FUNNY AND CUTE /J

Also The scene with Blurr is just SO cozy auughhggj I wanna wrap them both in a blanket and send to the magic ski resort where nothing bad ever happens*

[communistkenobi]

I love finding new communists blogs because you immediately have to scroll through all the posts to see if you wanna follow them or block them lmao. Anyway from what I understand you work in western academia to some degree and as a student taking some classes in the social sciences it’s such a pain in the ass trying to even bring up a Marxist perspective. How do you deal with how much pushback socialism has in academia?

I’m doing a PhD in sociology ! And please feel free to block me, we are all annoying etc 

I would say that resistance to socialist ideas is a major source of frustration for me in academia - a learning curve for me has been gearing my writing & research to work around that type of institutional hostility. It depends on the discipline as well. Given that Marx is such a titanic figure in sociology I find it easier to engage with his work openly (although you will be mocked for it lol - it’s viewed as a dead-end project in the West since the USSR collapsed), whereas more history- or politics-based courses I’ve taken have been extremely hostile to even tepid Marxist analysis. I have friends to vent to and have found other people in my discipline who are like-minded, which has helped. You will need to do a lot of tactical retreats - I’ve found that tying your analysis to state policy helps a lot, it helps you get grants, and academics trade in policy-talk across disciplines so it will prepare you for that if you want to stay in academia.

I have also been making peace with the fact that academia is not really the place to “do” socialism - it is a deeply political job, and my ideological commitments motivate me to do work and research that I hope are beneficial to the world, but I think the authority and privileges afforded to academics, not academia itself, is the better avenue to conduct political activity - participating in student & left-wing actions, giving money and resources to activist groups, using your prestigious position to publicly speak on issues, sign important documents for vulnerable people (profs are counted as authorities to sign off on name change documents for trans people in Canada for example, as well as visa and citizenship proof I believe?), things like that. There was that Canadian doctor, Dr. Yipeng Ge, who was suspended from his university position for speaking out against Israel and went to Palestine on a medical mission, Engels used his family’s money to fund Marx & socialist actions, Lenin went to law school, etc (i am NOT remotely comparing myself to any of them to be clear lol, just demonstrating that there is historical precedent for this way of thinking). I’ve done a decent amount of union + community work and the reoccurring lesson I keep learning is that there are many little, vacant positions of power sprinkled throughout the world that will help you organize and agitate above and beyond your individual capabilities. And the right wing knows this! They take over local school board committees and town halls and run for office in their local neighbourhoods all the time, often unopposed, and use that to exert terrible political influence.

I try very much to resist the “one of the good ones” mindset re: my own career in academia and is one I struggle with pretty often. being pragmatic about what academic research actually does in the world is still something I’m grappling with. Academia has provided me with an incredibly prestigious education and a lot of social capital that I hope to use for some amount of good. I’m also betting on what is essentially a lottery ticket, given how rare tenure-track university positions are, so maybe all of this will be irrelevant anyway lol. I’m not sure if that’s helpful but it’s not a settled issue for me either, so if this reads as vague or wishy-washy that’s why!

[navybrat817]

Soiled

Pairing: Motocross!Curtis Everett x Female Reader Summary: Curtis can't stand you. At least, that's what he tells himself. Word Count: Over 820 Warnings: Very mild eventual enemies to lovers, quick judgement, light banter, Curtis doesn't want to admit he wants you. Motocross!Curtis Everett (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Meet Rusty and Princess! My first time writing for Curtis. Excited to dive into their eventual romance. Thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for looking this over, @buckyownsmylife for the Rusty nickname, and @nocturne-pisces for previous discussions. Any and all mistakes are my own. Header by yours truly, banner by the amazing @sgt-seabass and divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

Curtis Everett couldn’t stand you from the moment he laid eyes on you.

When he wasn’t racing or practicing, he worked at the salvage yard that your father owned. He didn’t mind the work and the pay was decent.

Between his job and the tracks, he was bound to be surrounded by dirt and grime.

While he enjoyed working for your dad, who showed time and again that he was a hard worker who respected his employees, you were a different story.

The first time he spotted you at the yard, you walked toward the office with a casual sort of haughtiness that made him sneer.

Your purse likely cost more than his entire paycheck, as did the rest of your outfit.

Glancing at your manicured nails as you stopped walking, he wondered if you ever worked a day in your life.

A princess amongst peasants. He knew the type all too well.

“Excuse me,” you said, sliding your sunglasses down to stare at him with a cool, assessing gaze when he didn’t say anything. “Excuse me.”

“What do you want?” Curtis asked, thankful that it wasn’t his customer service skills he was paid for.

“You’re kind of standing in front of the door and I’d like to go inside.”

“Please, tell me you’re not applying for a job here,” he said before he could stop himself, looking you up and down. “You’re a little overdressed.”

He did not sweep his gaze over you because he found you attractive.

You lifted your chin with a grin. “I have a job, thanks. I’m actually here to see my dad.”

Curtis glanced at the door over his shoulder before looking back at you. “Your dad?”

“Yeah, my dad,” you said, taking a cautious step forward, like you were afraid you’d scuff your shoe. “He owns this place.”

Looking you over again, he couldn’t imagine you as the boss's daughter.

Your blue collar father who tore it up on the track before he stopped racing years ago didn’t seem like the type to raise a spoiled brat.

To be fair, Curtis didn’t actually know if you were a brat. He knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

But he already placed you in the “first class” section of his mind.

Too good for someone like him.

“So, may I please go inside?” you asked, sliding your sunglasses back up. “You’re still standing in front of the door.”

“By all means, princess,” he said, taking a bow before he stepped to the side.

You scoffed as you brushed past him, the sweet scent of your perfume lingering in the air. “Aww, if I’m a princess, does that make you my brave knight?”

“Not a chance,” he muttered, torn between purposely bumping into you to get your clothes dirty or shoving you against the door and kissing you.

No, he was not going to think of how your lips would taste. He refused.

“That’s too bad,” you said over your shoulder. “So nice to meet you, Rusty.”

“My name is Curtis,” he said through his teeth, wondering why he bothered correcting you.

“Tell that to the name on your shirt and the dirt on your face. Bye, Rusty!” you said, shutting the door behind you.

"It's Curtis!" he shouted, snatching the hat off his head and almost throwing it in frustration.

He vented later that day to Daisy, one of his only female friends.

“Just because she dresses well doesn’t mean she’s stuck up. Maybe she just likes to look nice."

"No, she's a stuck up pretty princess," he argued.

"You just called her pretty."

"When are you gonna ask Steve out?" he asked, changing the subject because he refused to focus on the fact that you were pretty.

No, he already made his mind up about you.

It didn’t matter that you started stopping by the yard more to bring your dad and the crew food, which he grudgingly accepted after Edgar gave him a hard time.

"She's just sucking up," Curtis said, wiping his hands before he grabbed a sandwich.

"It's working," Edgar said with a mouthful of food.

It never once got under his skin that you still called him “Rusty” with a smirk whenever he called you "Princess".

"You know my name, Princess. Watch where you're stepping."

"Careful, Rusty," you teased. "I'll start to think you care if I get dirty."

And it didn't mean a thing when you stepped into the office late one night to help sort your dad's paperwork when he had to leave early.

Which was the first time he saw you look less than perfect when he caught you wiping a stray tear away as you headed back to your car.

He thought of calling after you to see if you were okay, but he didn't. He was probably seeing things.

Besides, it wasn't any of his business. You weren't his girl.

A princess like you never would be.

What do we think, lovelies? And, yes, Daisy is another reader who is totally crushing on Steve Rogers. Curtis approves. Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Dialed In Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lazzzybabydoll]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⋆˚✿˖°𐙚 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝒜𝐵𝒪𝒰𝒯 𝑀𝐸

Name: I WANT TO KEEP IT PTIVATE!૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò ⑅₎ა

Age: PRIVATE TOO [I’m a teenager and that is all you need to know𝜗𝜚⋆]

Where I live: I LIVE IN Sweden 🇸🇪 but keep in mind that I'm not Swedish! I'm just raised in Sweden 🇸🇪!

What I LIKE!: I like to sleep ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁, I like OLDER MEN[ I dunno why tho, maybe because of my daddy issue ฅ(≽^˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣^≼)ฅ], I LIKE TO LISTEN TO MUSIC, I like to do my Pilate or go to gym, I like to shopping, I like to cook, I like to learn, I like making money, I like to spend money on clothes, I LIKE BOBA TEA🧋and a lot more stuff…

Language: I am fluent in Vietnamese, Swedish, and English. I also speak Spanish and French, but I'm still learning them and not yet fluent.

WHAT I DON'T LIKE!: PEDOS, RACIST people, RUDE people, STUDYING, EXEMS, BOYS MY AGE AND WAKE UP EARLY FOR SCHOOL!

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟI enjoy listening to every type of music except for rock and heavy metal.♫⋆♪₊˚♬

Talent: stalking and making up scenarios in my head. 𐙚

If ya need someone to talk to or vent on something then just dm me cuz I'm always here for my girlies.

🧸ྀི𝒜𝐵𝒪𝒰𝒯 𝑀𝒴 𝟤 𝒯𝒞🧸ྀི

TC M ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა rawr!

He is 35 years old and has a wife and three kids, the kids are probably under 10 years old. He is my math teacher, and he is incredibly smart and nerdy. He has dirty blonde hair with a few gray strands, which makes him look like a sexy daddy. His dark blue eyes are so dreamy. He is about 6‘2ft or 6’3ft tall and is very fit, with an attractive athletic build, plus those veiny arms! He wears black round glasses, he has some basic but decent style and his jawline is sharp. He low-key looks like NICK FROM The Crush 1993 MOVIE.

TC N

ฅ/ᐠ˶> ﻌ<˶ᐟ\ฅ

He is 30 years old, has no kids, but has had a girlfriend for 7 years. I think they are going to get married soon, dunno😭. I’m not sure how tall he is, but he is around 6 feet or 5’11. He is a gym enthusiast who practices kickboxing and Judo [He can fight 🤭], and his physique is more athletic than M's! He has a lot of tattoos on his arms and possibly on his back as well. He teaches History and is very smart. He has dark brown hair and brown eyes. He is not Swedish, but M is Swedish. I don't remember which country N is from, but it's somewhere in Europe. He looks a little like EZRA from Pretty Little Liars but older tattoo version. We call him N!

I don't plan to do anything weird, like a teacher-student relationship, because that's not going to happen. This is just a crush, nothing more.🎀😋

OKI, THAT IT MWUAHH BYE. ⋆˚🐾˖°

/ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⠀

[delusinaldreamer19]

Vent/Rant incoming. Feel free to disregard.

(But also maybe don’t, idk)

Something that’s become apparent to me as I’ve posted more frequently on Ao3 is just how disheartening it can be to feel like I’m performing for a silent crowd.

Dgmw, it is very much that I am just a sensitive & insecure person by nature. (I’m incredibly embarrassed abt posting this, but again, just venting.) And its not that I’m trying to directly beg for ppl to read and comment on my works, but I am sort of…indirectly doing that.

I just can’t help but feel a bit like ‘what am I doing wrong?’ I’ve both intentionally and unintentionally written a decently wide verity of fanfics for Kuro, whether it’s shorter oneshots or longer multi chapter fics, as well as tonally with things being funny, sad, mysterious, contemplative. I try and pay attention to what gets the most interaction so that I know what people are most interested in reading. But even with doing that, I can’t really tell. Like I want to write stuff that people enjoy reading, but it sometimes feels impossible to tell if I’m doing that.

(Pls excuse me, I’m about to start very much complaining)

I don’t even know why I tend to feel that way, I’ve got six stories posted and half have over 1000 hits (two that are over 2000 hits). But again, I’m a horrifically insecure person with an adhd brain that never shuts up.

I know that I’m doing nothing but preaching to the choir when I say ‘authors really want you to comment on their works!!’ And it’s not that I don’t ever get comments (and I swear that I am extremely thankful for each one despite how what I’m about to say sounds), but I just feel like the nature of them is what gets to me sometimes.

I put a lot of time and effort into my stories (despite how quickly I’ve been updating), and I work really hard to write things that are well thought out, interesting, and while I don’t write smut (as of now), mature. I’ll look in other stories comment sections to see what other ppl have said about works that I’ve enjoyed, and I’ll see questions and commentary about specific things that happened in the chapter, and my works just…don’t tend to get a lot of that.

It could very well just be that my neurodivergent brain is upset about not getting that instant gratification, I get that. But I just wanna like- talk to people about my stories. I wanna have discussions about things in Kuro or things that I’ve written. I wanna hear when something I’ve created has garnered any sort of reaction. And because I don’t get a lot of that, my cursed neurodivergent and insecure brain translates it as meaning that I didn’t truly make anything that warranted a reaction.

I’m just incredibly prone to growing obsessive over things like this. I didn’t really ease into writing fanfiction over time, I sort of just hit the ground running and took off. For reference, I quite literally wrote all of my stories (a collective 146,000 words (I added it up cus I was curious)) in JUST this past year.

I’m kinda not sure what I should do. If I need to “work harder” and “do better”, or if I just need to wait for this influx of self doubt to pass. Or even take a small break from writing, which I don’t necessarily want to do since it’s still something that I greatly enjoy. But if that’s advice worth giving in regards to my predicament, then I suppose it warrants being considered.

(inhale) BUT ANYWAYS, that’s the end of my little vent session. As I said in the beginning, feel free to disregard, or don’t. I could probably use some advice tbh, but don’t want to beg for it. I haven’t had much of an active presence in fandom spaces (or really just active internet presence) for most of my life, so dealing with this sort of thing is still very new to me and I’m not really sure how to navigate it😭.

[e77y]

Long but relatively unserious vent/rant below the cut (sorry I added this in bc I realized how long this post is oops)

Being at the center of some kind of internet witchhunt (which ik is kind of buzzwordy but) is literally my biggest fear ohhh my god. Even a small scale one… I think I would Die. Maybe it’s because I had a similar thing happen with my friend group in high school where one of them convinced the others I was like evil and spread all these rumors about me… 😭 He was splitting on me but still. That’s an explanation, not an excuse. And it basically confirmed all of my intrusive thoughts about myself, and my personality completely self-destructed and changed, and I haven’t interacted with any of those people the same way since. I isolated from them for MONTHS and just loathed myself. Bleh

The reason it’s on my mind is bc I’ve seen this happen to friends and mutuals and even just people I’ve followed in small fandoms, where the whole fandom hates them bc of this little drama and like. I KNOW that fandom drama is not the end of the world, but truly I think that would destroy me for months. And I would never be able to set foot in those spaces again :’) Getting a handful of rude comments about a fucking transfem hc I had at like 14 made me stop writing fanfic for YEARS 😭😭😭 sigh. Just bc they said it was ‘out of character for him to want to be a girl’ 🙄 (<- character who canonically felt confident when dressed as a woman btw. initially for a disguise but then she grew to love it. BUT I DIGRESS KNSHFJW)

All this to say I think that’s why I tiptoe around everything I say online… I am SO scared of ruffling feathers, but I know that fandoms are places for like! Having fun! And it’s not a big deal! And it doesn’t affect my real life! But like idk.. I just hate the idea of being hated by anyone. I’m sure that I ANNOY some people, and that’s whatever; I talk a lot and make overly personal posts sometimes (like this lol) but I don’t wanna be HATED yk? And idek if it’s better to be hated and ostracized publicly or resented in secret by people who still interact with you… :( Agh. If you ever have an issue with me, please DM me instead of letting it build up into something worse!

ANYWAY LIKE.. with fandom stuff. Idk. I want to have fun! I want to write and post things on Tumblr and AO3 etc but I am just very scared of peoples’ opinions, especially now that I have a decently popular/well-liked longfic in DnDads. For some reason I have convinced myself that writing bad or self-indulgent NSFW will make everyone hate me lmao. Like girl the POINT of fanfic is to be self-indulgent……….. sigh I need to get out more

^ light-hearted… but also kinda true haha. I stay at home a lot just bc I don’t have many reasons to go out atm and only a handful of close friends to go out with. Hopefully that will change when I move next semester lol. And whenever I get interests, they’re VERY strong and long-lasting, and fanfic writing is one of my main hobbies, so I get REALLY into online communities. And rn that is kind of my little niche fandom Tumblr bubble… which is embarrassing and probably unhealthy but whatever. I just inevitably get a lot of anxiety about things that are important/fun to me (bc OCD), especially bc I’ve never really had mutuals/‘friends’ in a fandom before this, excluding my irls

Anyway this got longer and more vent-y than I intended so I will tag accordingly, and sorry to whoever is reading this lol; I just wanted to get my thoughts written down in a public forum bc idk… Makes me feel less insane when ik other people can see it, too. Helps me not take it too seriously and spiral lol.

[kinocomix]

devlog 19: parallel storytelling, Devlogs are not forever...

The script for TSTW is 21 chapters long. I estimate we’ve reached the point where it kicks into high gear, given the (hopefully) plentiful space i’ve put in to get to know the characters. when draft 1 is done, i’ll be sending it off to my beta readers who’ll let me know the inevitable places where I left things unexplained. but for now it’s moving along well.

Today we’re changing gears slightly. we’re veering away from the world of granular storytelling and instead taking a look at narratives that shine in their simplicity. Last week we talked about figuring out the inventory our characters have in order to determine how they would solve a given problem. this week, we’re figuring out the deal with these two:

Let’s talk about children’s books.

regardless of what age group you’re from, chances are you have a book you were fond of as a kid. for a lot of people it’s something like the hungry hungry caterpillar, or maybe if you’re my brother you’re fond of the french series “Meche au vent” and “Martine” 

There is something to be said about how the books you read as a kid influence you as an adult, and that’s why I’m doing this. In the story, Killouette has a book she really likes. Obviously, we need to make that book if we’re going to show it in the story. I love doing this- it’s called mise en abyme and it refers to when there’s a story within the confines of another story. I think it adds a lot of character and life to what’s being said if you bother to put as much effort into the side missions as you do the main quest. Originally i had drawn the image as an unrelated thing, having recently acquired two plushies that I thought looked great together: 

and… that’s that right? 

right?

so anyways the little lulu show is an animation series produced in canada that aired in 1995 through 1998, based on the comic strip little lulu by Marjorie Henderson Buell.

the arabic dub of the show, very popular among older folk made the rather curious decision to name the show after Lulu and her best friend which is something that gets acquired in translation i would suppose, but works really well for us because then we can name our two characters Loulou and taboush without worrying about copyright, because another company called studio 100 now owns it after having acquired one of the three companies that made the show and god forbid anyone is allowed to have any fun in this awful ecosystem of companies buying each other like stock. 

But yeah, why am I making a children’s book inside another book? well mainly cause i want to, and if everyone is going to reject publishing my books i may as well have fun making them and be experimental. when I spoke about the camera being focused on killouette and her feelings, that’s great but this comes with an unintended side effect: the clarity with which my characters usually voice certain ideas isn’t there anymore. This isn’t the worst thing in the world, not every piece of media needs to have a message behind it. A decent chunk of stories exist out there because they’re fun and for no other reason.

Regardless, one of the ideas at play is the notion of problems being about perception more than they are solutions. we’re applying this specifically to how someone views themselves, so here’s what i came up with:

The story centers around Tabbouch, a stuffed elephant who has lost the button that’s usually attached to his stomach. The exact event that led to him waking up with the button missing is deliberately blurred and the question left unanswered, because that’s the problem that we’re trying to perceive differently, and I think it would be a bad idea bloating such a short story with things that aren’t relevant. Tabbouch is greeted by his friend loulou, a small fairy that looks like a bear and she suggests doing a couple of activities that aren’t going to vibe well with tabbouch cause at this point tabbouch is still really sad about his button being missing. tabbouch leaves loulou and runs into a friend of his who feels down. after cheering them up,   tabbouch sees that the world around him is very pretty, feels good about that and by extension himself, concluding that although he still does want to find his button, he can still live without it. 

it really doesn’t need to be more complicated than that. no one needs to know why the plushies are sentient or why they conveniently have small stoves… I say this mostly for me. the life of a chronic tryhard is difficult, don't judge me. What's important is that it mirrors what the kids in our story need to do. They have long term problems they can’t immediately address, so the solution is to see the problems immediately in front of them a little bit differently. with that out of the way, we can talk about the thing that makes children’s books shine…

the         I   L   L   U   S   T   R   A   T   I   O   N   S

so it should be no secret at this point that I don’t really stick to any one way of drawing:

this one is how i did all of almost home, real ink with digital colors

this one is just linework with a fountain pen

watercolor:

image editing/glitching

special shoutout to MS paint:

there’s more but I don't want to put my entire portfolio in here so we’ll move on. This is good for me because I have the flexibility of figuring out how I want to show these images. I’ll have to fuck around and find out, but off the top of my head here’s a couple of things i’d like to try:

any of the above

scanning the inked linework and coloring the linework itself digitally (maaybe adding large flat areas of color? limited color palette?) 

good old watercolor. I can't go wrong with that.

digital rendering with textures (this could allow us to use halftones for example, but comes with the risk of overdoing it. closest example is the very first image in this post)

paper cutouts mixed with real images

I like the idea of having each page be a linocut print, but i don’t have access to that, and i’d need to look into woodblock printing.

for the most part, i’ve figured out most of the stuff that i wanted to for killouette. so the next devlogs won’t be called “devlogs”... they’ll just be called updates. This is because beyond now I don't think I'll have anything too substantial to share since I'll basically be writing and doing set designs. I’d still like to post on Tuesdays, we’ll see.

Updates on tuesdays.

[dlamp-dictator]

Thinking About Combat Schools

In an attempt to try and write at least one decently sized essay post that isn’t about Arknights for once (and god is that difficult) I’m going to talk about something else that is near and dear to my heart.

Combat School Anime/Manga.

Along side my thoughts of how Hypergryph is doing everything in their power to make Vigil suck as a unit I’ve been thinking a lot about the Combat School genre of anime and manga recently. It seems this odd sub-genre of the late 2000s and early-to-mid 2010s is making a mild resurgence with shows like The Iceblade Sorcerer Shall Rule the World, Reborn to Master the Blade, The Reincarnation of the Strongest Exorcist in Another World, Reign of the Seven Spellswords, and so on. The world is slowly but surely leaving the realm of isekai and going back the formula of classrooms about battle and facing enigmatic foes of various species and organizations.

And most of them suck.

Okay, I’m being a dick here, but they really don’t do anything I like and most of them feel like they have the same problems that Hundred. Few of them take the aspect of a school revolving around combat and martial prowess seriously since most of the students either don’t take the classes seriously or are at the schools for reasons aside from learning combat. Few of these shows give the protagonist a legitimately good reason for being at said school since most of them are unnaturally strong and dust through the classes with ease to the point of them being there is pointless. And very few of these series have protagonist that interest me since most of them boil down to the same Gary Stu archetype of being the best or having the most potential for greatness right out the gate with little trouble in terms of the combat portion of the combat school.

Like, folks, you can make this genre interesting.

But I digress. And rather than mindless complain about all I currently hate about the genre’s reemergence I believed it would be better to channel my venting into something worth a damn and just talk about some of the more interesting and fun points of the genre, maybe with a few recommendations thrown in as well.

But first, as always, a synopsis.

The Combat School genre of anime essentially focuses on a school setting that revolves around teaching students combat, martial arts, or efficiently utilizing their supernatural abilities in a semi-controlled environment for the sake of them graduating and using those abilities to better society. Most of the time the end goal of these schools is to work as a paramilitary academy to train students to either fight ambiguous monsters of some kind like in Katana Maidens or Hundred, and sometimes it’s to work under a government-sanctioned supernatural military force like in Absolute Duo or Chivalry of a Failed Knight. There’s also the third option of simply keeping all the super-powered teenagers under one concentrated location for the sake of keeping an eye on them, but that’s rarely done or discussed save for one series I can think of and mentioning it would be a huge spoiler of its premise so I’d rather not.

But anyway, onto why exactly I like this odd little sub-genre.

The Appeal

Originally I was going to break this down into two different types of appeals but I’m scrapping that going with just a few key points. This sub-genre has a lot of fun bits and aspect about it both from a mechanical writing perspective and emotional one, and for the sake of your time and my sanity I’ll be doing the appeals in a semi-short list form of each aspect I like about this series.

So... with that said.

Easy Action: Action junky I am, it’s pretty easy to show off action in a setting that allows and likely encourages both organized combat and unorganized combat due to the school’s very setting focusing on the eventuality of battles, and those battles will have the narrative weight of not only our characters having to be good fighters for the sake of not getting hurt, but being good students as well. High school can feel like a battlefield at times, and this genre can make that very literal.

Easy  Worldbuilding: This one’s a bit tricky to do smoothly, but a combat school setting being a school usually gives us, the audience, a good reason to quite literally be lectured to about the setting when it is an in-universe lecture that the main cast is also listening to. This can get boring if it isn’t done well or the teachers in question don’t have interesting ways of give that information, but usually it’s excusable by the nature of use needing to know this information as much as the character, no matter how boring the exposition might be.

Cast Diversity: This often depends on the world’s settings and other specifics, but it’s pretty easy to get a wide and varying cast of characters by the nature of it being a school, especially if the main character is a transfer student of some kind. Not to the mention the chance of getting an exchange student or some other outsider that isn’t the region’s usual demographic or ethnicity. Things like that are easy to justify in a school environment and gives a good reason to explore the world outside the setting without leaving it.

Easy Character Arcs: Being a school, the amount of personal stakes you can attach to things like tests, competitions, and even romance will be both natural and in character with a cast of teenagers. Plus the more intense settings could have more straightforward stakes like risk of injury or death depending on how gritty you want to make the series. You can also focus on more tertiary that aren’t explored as the main cast of students to keep things varied without it feeling out of nowhere. There were plenty of Assassination Classroom episodes that focused on the D-Cast without it feeling weird after all.

Power Levels/Powerscaling: As much as I want write essays on this topic I’ll keep things brief. Being a school that often revolves around learning how to either fight or use the world-specific powers to fight grants the writer a lot of interesting ways to limit and expanse the magic system/power levels of the world, letting them increase the escalation of the level of threats and powers in a smooth fashion. Teachers tend to be the aspirations in terms of power with professionals and graduates of the school being a step or two about that. It varies, but that’s the gist of things to make it simple.

There’s a few more, but these are the immediate advantages of the setting I can think of. Overall, the Combat School setting is very inclusive to a number of different ideas.

And... I’ve honestly seen only a few that do this well, and the handful that do usual have a massive asterisks in front of them.

Quick Notes on Other Combat Schools

Just going to make a quick list here since I don’t really have anything worth endorsing with confidence. Like I said, most other combat school series tend to have some kind of asterisk to it that makes it hard for me to recommend. With that said...

Absolute Duo has a pretty decent opening with a more down-to-earth setting compared to other combat schools that really understands the school is about combat, but it falls into a lot of fanservice and harem tropes that aren’t needed since Tor and Julie’s narrative journeys and general school activities are already interesting enough to hold the plot together without a needless panty shot.

Chivalry of the Failed Knight also takes the combat school portion of it’s setting seriously, but post anime a lot of the more... specific issues surrounding the big tournament and spoilers of the events during it tend to break my suspension of disbelief in terms of the antagonistic force in the setting that isn’t Ikki’s family actively screwing him over because of political reasons.

Hundred... I’ve talked about already, but to keep it short feels like an action series that takes place at a school rather than being a combat school series.

Armed Girl’s Machiavellism is actually a good series all things considered, with a main character that’s fun to watch, a female cast that’s interesting without them all being completely tied to the male lead, and some decent action shots in it, but I consider it more a school with a lot of martial arts and combat in it than a proper combat school. The setting is mostly a school where the student body knows martial arts and swordplay out of convenience rather than it being a part of the school’s curriculum, so technically I don’t think it should count.

Overall it just feels like a lot the more recent combat school series don’t see the fun potential in the genre and instead just... have school with some combat in it. And that’s just not fun, or at least not interesting. If I had to be honest I’d say the only decent Combat School series out right now is Reign of the Seven Spellblades with it actually taking the whole wizard thing seriously and letting the characters learn and understand the wonder and dangers of magic as well as the kind of place a school that encourages magical growth and experimentation is like. And even then I consider it more a magic school series than a combat school.

I don’t know. All this talk about the genre’s potential now has me in the mood to try and write my own. Tempting, but... I’ve got enough on my plate already.

Anyway, that’s all I wanted to talk about. A bit meandering, but just wanted to get my thoughts out somewhere. Maybe I’ll talk about something a little more concrete in the future. Anyways, be seeing you all later.

[wykart]

15 Questions for 15 Mutuals

Tagged by @yoursaltytears thankss!!

1. Are you named after anyone?

Apparently, the baby from The Color Purple, because my Mum loved that movie.

2 .When was the last time you cried?

I shed some happy tears when Aloy and Seyka kissed in Horizon Burning Shores, so...the 20th of April.

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. And it’s not going to happen.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Nooo I neverrrr do ;)

5. What sports  do you play/have you played?

I used to compete in Surf Life Saving from ages 10-16, and also did pool swimming comps. I was pretty serious about my training too! I don’t know how I did it.

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

I really don’t know. I guess their energy level/enthusiasm.

7. Eye colour

bluegh

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Scary movies. I rarely watch movies but when I do it’s usually horror of some variety.

9. Any special talents?

Idk about special. I used to be pretty good at classical guitar but it’s been like six years since I played. I used to play double bass in high school too. Other than that, I think I’ve developed a decent eye for colour when I’m painting that comes pretty naturally.

10. Where you born

Australia

11. What are your hobbies?

Reading, writing, drawing. It’s my activity trinity. Also gaming, both personally and watching playthroughs/speedruns. Also! Listening to music. I love listening to new music as often as I can.

12. Do you have any pets?

Cat called Lavezzi (my sister named him after the Italian soccer player)

13. How tall are you?

5′6

14. Favorite subject in school?

It was English until about halfway through high school when I started liking Physics, Chemistry, and Maths a lot more. I once took a video game design class where the teacher just let us mess around with Unity and 3D art programs, and I put a heap of effort into that.

15. Dream job?

Welllll, I used to want to be an academic researcher in AI and wanted to go into a PhD program after undergrad, but I decided it wasn’t for me. I’m not sure that influencing AI development in a positive direction is something I would have been able to do effectively from a technical position anyway, so my dreams of becoming irl Elisabet Sobeck are on hold.

I guess I’m reevaluating dreams at this point. I just want to do something that helps people and helps the world transition away from the current systemic rut its dug itself into. That’s not a salaried position, though! My current field is secure and pays well, but I’m hoping to maybe go public sector in the future so that at least my work is benefiting public services. Actual positive action has gotta come from somewhere else.

Can you tell this is a sore point?

Anyway, thanks for the tag. I got to vent a little. For those interested: @mehoymalloy @melikochan @doccywhomst @picnokinesis @gabeorelse @rearranging-deck-chairs @zagreuses-toast @trisshawkeye 

[always-andromeda]

I’m so glad that you are moving onto things that you are more passionate about and I will always support you but one thing I ask of you is that even if you’ve moved on from danonation I ask if you will always keep your old paul dano fics up and not delete them. They have brought me so much comfort and I’d hate to lose them. But as I said I’m so glad you are moving onto more passionate things and I’m always going to support and love your writings <3.

Okay, I’m sorry, anon. Your ask kind of ended up being a bit of a vent post about my writing lately?? So, my short answer for this: I’m glad that my writing means something to you. For now, my old Paul content stays up. 😅👍🏻 Everything else I have to say is under the cut.

Whoo boy. Your timing is actually kind of impeccable since last night I was just having a little breakdown over my own writing. 😅 I was reformatting my Paul masterlist and got the chance to skim some of my work while doing so. Which is kind of a death sentence for my self esteem in most cases as I almost always kind of hate my own writing?

I just read through my stuff and get overwhelmed with embarrassment and my brain immediately goes into this panic where I’m convinced that I’ve never written a decent thing ever and I probably never will so I might as well just wipe my existence from this platform. Maybe it’s just the fact that I haven’t written something I’ve been genuinely passionate and prideful about in like…months? Maybe I’ll feel better about my work as I start variating things.

All I know is that where I am now, I kind of hate almost everything I’ve ever posted. And I still kind of want to delete my account and hide in a little hole until the end of time. ✌🏻🤪✌🏻 But more than that I just…want to be a better writer. I want to feel that fire I had for writing again. I want to write things I’m passionate about. I want to write those things well. I want to believe that I’m making people feel things again. And it’s been a long time since I’ve experienced any of those things with my writing. So, thank you, anon, for making me feel a little bit of that hope for a second.

[thatonegayship]

Hello, wonderful writer! I hope this reblog finds you well. I’m currently on leave due to a family emergency (rip gran-gran) and was unable to obtain a decent laptop until today; my sincerest apologies. While I read your post the day of its release, I’m afraid more pressing matters preoccupied the brunt of my free time, meaning I’ve only just now found the time to construct a reply to all of your hard work. Rest assured! I’ve gone over your document several times, and I hope my feedback meets expectations. Happy Ides of March! Go team!

-Yours truly, 

Thatonegayship

Okay, soooo ;3

Alright, so this starts out cute as shit, let’s start there, because like. How fucking adorable is it to see Dipper all awkward and horny over his husband, who’s off on “business,” while he just sits there trying to preoccupy himself with note-taking? I can’t tell if Dipper chooses to do any of this in the first place because Bill’s finally out of the house and it’s a small opportunity to get shit done, or because it’s the best way he knows how to make time move forward while he waits for his husband to come back. 

Either way, it’s so clear that he’d rather be doing other stuff (*Cough cough* Bill *Cough Cough*) than the boring nerd thingies he usually gets up to. I can just hear him thinking to himself, that these things honestly are boring, in the same way Bill would complain about it. Dipper’s usually the one to defend his habits, but without someone out there to go after his note-taking, he’s left to just sit around and accept that maybe it is boring, and he never noticed until something (Someone) started spicing up his life. And now he’s just gotta sit and wait for that spice to come back, poor thang ;-;

Oh, but he is a SAUCY thing today, isn’t he? Or. Well. Maybe that’s selling him short, he’s gotten much better about taking initiative. Let’s see: There’s the first time they had sex, and the leash thing, and when Bill wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Honestly, he has a far more impressive track-record than he’s given credit for. 

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s usually the one down to clown, even if Bill’s the horn-dog constantly shoving a hand down the front of his pants. Not to say Bill isn’t pushy for that bussy, but it’s a lot more equal than I realized now that I’m actually sitting down to think about it. Especially since the kinky stuff; Dipper’s been super vocal. I misjudged him, your honor. He is, in fact, cock-starved.

I love Bill’s stupid little text messages. You just know he’d be taking his anger out on literally anybody else if it weren’t Dipper on the other side of that screen. It’s so sweet to imagine this man having a bad day with a whole list of things going wrong and blowing up in his face (literally), and as he’s grinding his teeth, he shoots Dipper like 40 messages venting his frustration. Bill’s a chatty guy, and it’s not like you can really avoid seeing him upset when you know him long enough, but it’s so intimate for him to go to Dipper first with his anger. Not to take anything out on him. Just to share that emotion. It’s very sweet, I think, because you know he sees Dipper like an emotional support human :3

Yes, Bill is a sexy demon. He is also covered in slime. Dipper has standards v_v You go, girl.

Everything else can be summarized as “jjkdhjshadjkashdwe,” but we can do better than that, I guess.

Oh, to be so, so horny <3 God, we are really just letting this man become a stay at home husband serving cunt for dinner, aren’t we? And lord knows Bill eats it up every night before going back for seconds, thirds and fourths. Both of you. Dirty. Disgraceful. I love it. 

THE RETURN OF THE COLLAR!!!! We love to see it <3 <3 <3 It’s always great seeing Dipper take that final sexy step to seduce his demonic husband, and even better when he learns from his mistakes (Clothes are irreverent for this part, come on dude.) I will never get over Bill tilting his head up to latch that leash on jhfjdhsjkhsakhds Like yes, let Dipper be conquered and owned in the most literal of ways. Let him submit. The collar + leash combo is top-tier freaky sex stuff and I am here for it always. Always.

Now, you and I BOTH know I'm a sucker for edging. This whole thing stinks of it, to the point where I almost felt bad for poor Dipper... Almost. Sadly, I was not convinced that he didn't deserve it, therefore he gets all the sexual frustration.

But first. Voyeurism.

Okay, so like, I feel like I need to explain why this activity in particular is so goddamn sexy to me, because it doesn't do the feelings justice to just say "mmm yes touching penis so so hot." We had Dipper saying not too long before how anyone else receiving nudes from him would only reply to his efforts with an "Ew, why?" But thank God Bill finds him so attractive, right? It's just, Dipper has such an unhealthy self-image, you know as the viewer (and also self-congratulatory fangirls) that he's not even half the gremlin he thinks he is in his own head, but he doesn't know that.

He thinks any real attempt he makes at being seductive and coy and appealing is gonna fall flat on its face, and he'll just end up embarrassing himself in the process. Why bother, right? Maybe in his head, It's not even the body Bill likes, but the sensations attached to them. He wants how it feels. It's only when he realizes that Bill honestly thinks he's hot that he starts getting a little more vocal about things, more forward about what he wants, what he's willing to do. For example, masturbate in front of his husband. Despite not thinking he's hot shit, he knows Bill thinks the opposite, and that incentivizes him to be a lil more sexy, and just do what feels good. There's no shame! Bill loves to see every inch of him!

And also it's so satisfying to read Bill getting turned on just at the sight of Dipper. No need for stimulation when his husband is already the full package after all. To see him literally derive pleasure from Dipper touching himself, getting off on the things he does to feel good, and knowing he's only getting more and more turned on the more Bill speaks??? JHFJKSAKJHFJKH

God, that "Spread your Legs" line is gold. Honestly, anything pertaining to Bill ordering Dipper around turns my brain to mush. Dipper's usually so stubborn, he doesn't just move when Bill tells him to move, so seeing him follow along with what's cooking up in his husband's head is so much more special. It gives us a glimpse into what Dipper's willing to do, and how comfortable he feels actually doing them- not to mention we already know Dipper's a brat, and half the fun of pushing against orders is when you finally fall in line V_V

Bill playing with Dipper's chest??? 10/10. I am all for the tongue and teeth and pinching, a nice big ol' ice cream swirl of pain and pleasure, just UGH! It doesn't get any better than that. I love reading about Bill trying to work the sounds out of Dipper, because it's always such a battle between them. Even when he's so clearly enjoying himself, Dipper just has to make things difficult. Otherwise, he "loses." At least, that's how it used to be. Thankfully, they've come to an understanding, and the noises he makes afterwards are music to Bill's ears <3

Dipper communicating his desires has been a long uphill battle, but it's so nice to see more and more of that wonderful progress with each update!! Yes, it certainly DOES feel good, but you know what would be even better? All those little thoughts you have running around in your head. That "Just one?" line killed me honestly. Smh he's getting too spoiled V_V. The best part is knowing that Bill can always do worse (better), and Dipper- if anything- is just playing with fire whenever he complains like that. Don't ever say you can handle more, because Bill will give you so much more.

I'm glad Dipper decides to toss his inhibitions to the wind, since the proceeding sexiness is absolutely mouth-watering. Using the leash for bondage purposes is o//o very nice. It's nice to see Dipper all tied up and helpless against this demon, and even better knowing, no matter how frustrated he may be, he honestly likes it. That's the real kicker. He can't even hide how much he enjoys it, the proof's right there for Bill to see and tease him for.

"He'll make Dipper wait until it almost hurts." JHJKDSHAKJDHAKHQ I LOVE THAT LINE

Not my sadist self going crazy for those subtle pain + pleasure moments of being like "Ugh, don't do that" and "ooooOOOOOOAAAA!!!!" So good, I love it.

Bill is such a bastard for the way he treated Dipper during this whole experience, and by that I mean he is King. The way he just draws back from Dipper when he starts chasing after his fingers?? How he starts easing in, only to pull out just as fast, and when Dipper tries getting him inside, he only slips over him??? OOOOO YES YES MORE OF THAT SO MUCH MORE OF THAT I LOVE IT THANK YOU SIR/MA'AM THAT IS WHAT WE CALL EDGING AND TEASING IN ITS PUREST STATE I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH FOR THAT CHKJSDHJKHEKW

I'm not even at the part that drove me fucking wild, which was when Bill came inside of him (Without letting Dipper come). Okay, okay, so. This is like-. Oh my gosh, I don't even have the exact words for it, it just is. Forgive me for having rather extreme kinks, but I'm all for that whole "Using your body as a means to get off without letting you finish so that you can squirm and beg and feel that little bit of me still inside of you." It's degrading, but it's also objectifying in a very horny way. Sort of to say that Bill does it because that's what Dipper's built for, and Dipper derives pleasure from it for the exact same reason. Does that make sense? Like. That's supposed to happen to him, the same way you write with a pencil or sit in a chair or eat with a fork. Bill coming inside of him, and Dipper not being able to finish, it's like. I don't know. I can't put it into words, but I very much enjoyed it 😌

I guess it can pretty much be summarized when Dipper says "Like, I want it, and I don't have to say it, you just come over and have me, because you want me, 'cause I feel too good." The dots are connecting in my brain, but I can't explain exactly what I mean, just that this pretty much sums it up for me. A kind of Free Use agreement, but only for Bill, to do whatever he wants to Dipper, because that's what he's there for, and that's what he's best at, and that's what he likes.

I'm so happy for Dipper finally being transparent about what he likes; really made that "Do you like it more when I fuck you or when my cock's in your mouth" line 1000x more sexy. Oh, you don't know??? You can't choose between getting taken from behind and letting him fuck your throat??? DJFHWJHFEWHFWKJFH

Whore dilemma smh

Also when he says Bill is "Too Big." ��� Wow 👀 Interesting

The way he likes it rough, ugh. God-tier content right there, that's what I'm here for. I have so much I wanna say about this smut but it just keeps going and going and going the more I think about it. Just, everything is so sexy and awesome, and your brain is fantastic as ever, I love you 3000 and all that mess.

The mirror sex was so good, I lost my freaking mind when I realized what was happening. The way that Bill just admires what he's done to Dipper, and now Dipper can see it too, and he sees what he looks like during sex, it's so perverted. I think my favorite part is when Dipper watches Bill go inside of him, and he's like oh wow that looks way more impossible than it actually is, because Bill, of course, has the fattest cock in all of existence and it's just impressive to get the head in. You sir, are a true hero, taking as much as you did. The fact that he can FEEL it, too. Oh my god, that was so freaking awesome. Don't even @ me about anatomical correctness or what human bodies can and can't do. Bill is IN those guts. I can't express enough how much I love that Dipper can feel him inside because it's just so much and so big and Bill is fucking smug the whole time about his massive ego being the size of a blimp.

This is the sort of cock you get reincarnated dreaming about late at night before bolting out of bed with a raging boner. Poor Dipper thinks he's microscopic for a while because Bill's dick is the only real dick he's ever encountered offline. Everyone before was like "Porn is unrealistic! Dicks aren't all giants like they make them seem! It's just smoke and mirrors!" Made him feel a bit better before, but once he started doing the do with Bill, it was like- Oh god, wait, oh fuck.

That whole push-pull thing as Bill sits Dipper down on his cock is *chef's kiss* fantastic. The way he inches him down, only to pull back up until the head nearly pops out, and then he slides him down just a little bit further, and Dipper can't do anything but watch as it happens. It's so tantalizing. Pure fucking torture, the best kind. Dipper's about as impatient as it gets, and now he's gotta just wait for Bill to let him take his cock. How are you so good at writing???

Bill calling Dipper a "Good Boy" is always a yes from me and the fact that there's still evidence of his last time leaving traces on his cock 👀 I just feel like the farther these two go, the more depraved and sexy it gets, and I love it. Dipper seems like the type who loves being praised, but he's also messed up enough to enjoy the humiliation of a pretty degrading pet name. All of those scenarios he thought about while Bill fucked him, wowowowowwow!!!!! I'm all for hearing more about what Dipper wants done to him, it's especially interesting to read. Imagine Bill bursting in on him and just taking him, regardless of what he was doing before. Oh my God, Dipper would love that. Like, he'd be super confused, but still! I can absolutely see him being hauled up by the elbow and fucked face-first against the desk, all because Bill wanted to, and Dipper's always "free" in that way. Cock-sucking is always divine to read, but what really got me was the cock-warming. There aren't nearly enough stories where Bill sits Dipper in his lap or has him kneel between his legs all day with his cock inside of him, just in case he feels like fucking him, or using his mouth. Bill could be doing work, or at some kind of meeting, or a banquette of some kind, and his mortal husband would be locked around him for that single utility the whole time. I have many opinions on it v_v Good shit

And after ALL of that, they weren't even done because Bill STILL wanted to give Dipper another orgasm. This is what it's all about. If you're married to a demon, or if you are a demon and you're married to a human, aspire for this level of intimacy, always 🫡

Amazing work, I loved every second of it, and I hope you are resting (as you should) after such a monumental story. You're wonderful and talented and I love you I love you I love you. Oky, now to read this all over again <3

28.7% of you voted for this filth

NSFW! Here's some smut.

This won the poll, and here's what I ended up giving you in return. My condolences for this entire thing. 😔

Highlight below for kink/content warnings

Dom/sub, mild bondage, dirty talk, prostate massage, creampie/cum kink, mirror sex

Now here's the actual fic!

Dipper forces himself to turn away from his phone.

He takes a deep breath. Tapping his pen on the paper, where he has notes to make. Really important ones. In theory. 

Right now, he could be making progress on any of the dozen mysteries on his plate, or unraveling another half-dozen demonic plots.

Hell, there’s even peace and quiet. 

Being in Bill’s bedroom - their bedroom - means he has something like. Well. A secret lab, though a weird one. Definitely a private sanctum. Their room in the Fearamid is a profoundly private space to work in -  as long as Bill's not around - because nobody else would ever dare intrude. 

Time, and space, and power. Knowledge, even. Everything Dipper could ever ask for. For finding focus. For doing good.

Dipper catches himself looking at his phone again. This time, he gives it the glare it truly deserves.

It really is gaudy as hell, isn’t it. An eyesore if there ever was one. What a shame that magical function doesn’t always fit an aesthetic; golden’s what he’s stuck with, as long as he wants this thing to work.

The flipside is that nobody can deny that his phone’s very functional. 

No other device has interdimensional reception. Making calls even between other realms of existence, texting between worlds. Best phone connection in this segment of the multiverse, courtesy of one accidental life bond.

Dipper can’t exactly sell the patent, though. Since it’s partially created from semi-illegal bits scavenged from Ford’s lab, partly from a concoction of spells of his own creation -

And partly from Bill’s own exoskeleton. Hence the gaudiness.

Plus the internet gets finicky, which is kind of a hiccup. And while a life-bond makes it work, the average magic-user doesn’t have a good conversationalist at the other end. Sometimes the connection gets garbled, or the thing itself corrupts other magic around it. Apparently it radiates an aura, too. One that Dipper can’t feel, but is ‘vaguely creepy’.

But even Bill admitted the design was impressive, and that’s an accomplishment in any entity’s book. Sincere compliments from Bill freakin’ Cipher are very, very hard-won. He’s seen basically everything, knows so much, and what Dipper came up with was, quote, ‘pretty cool!’. 

Inevitably, Dipper finds himself staring at his stupid phone again.

It’s the way it catches the light, he swears. He’d spraypaint it if he could without compromising the spellwork. Like the major part of its physical makeup, it’s ridiculous, showy, and overly complicated. 

And oddly tempting.

Dipper keeps tapping his pen, point down, on the paper. He doesn’t have anything to write down at the moment, though he feels like he should. Even though he has the time to work out a thousand other things, a million investigations, his thoughts keep drifting towards. Other stuff.

Which is so dumb. Dipper could be doing any number of things, with all the power and knowledge he has on hand. Unfortunately, his stupid brain and dick are full of ideas too, and they’re ganging up on him. It’s very distracting.

If only things were more difficult, this wouldn’t be an issue.

Because if Dipper really wants a distraction, it's a phone call away. Basically no effort at all. He could have it within minutes - theoretically - because Bill tends to like this sort of thing. He’d be game for it, any time.

Dipper plants his elbows on his desk, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

But there’s so many reasons not to do it. 

Bill’s not here, for one. Dipper would be interrupting his entire ‘business’ day, and throwing a wrench into his ‘work’. He doesn’t know precisely what Bill’s up to this time, but there’s thousands of plans Bill could be enacting. Millions of beings to torment, or terrify. Bugging him for something this petty, pointless, and kind of perverted, is -

…Another reason Bill would like it. 

And, technically preventing evil from happening. Distraction goes both ways; Bill can’t do two things at once. 

Dipper glares down at the paper in front of him. No words there, just an exercise in abstract pointillism. 

Great. Now he’s talking himself into this. 

It wouldn’t even be difficult. No fire, no fighting, no clever mind games. Hell, Dipper could just literally just call, or even like, text, or something, and it’s not like he’d get a no.

Or rather, he might get a no. But it’d be with some very distracting responses that’d derail his own day, with a promise to make up for Bill’s absence. A sincere one, for once. 

Nobody else could get that. Not from Bill. Sincerity. Earnestness. Even if it’s about his desire, it’s something so rare that it’s almost - 

Dipper sets the pen down with a decisive click. 

Screw it. 

He’s young, he has…. Feelings about stuff. Ones that he can actually do something about, unlike his awkward teenage years. With someone who thinks he’s hot. 

Really, he’d be betraying himself by not taking advantage. There were times he would have done way more embarrassing things, for far less attention. 

Dipper nods to himself, and picks up the phone. 

Worst case scenario, Bill’s too caught up in stuff to duck out, and he has to wait a few hours. Best case Bill’s going to be distracted himself, Dipper gets something he wants - and less evil happens. A win three times over.

…And maybe he shouldn’t have put his phone on silent, because he has over forty missed messages.

Dipper turns that off, and starts scrolling. Up, then down again. 

There sure is. A lot.  

Bill’s sent ninety percent of the texts in the last half hour, every one of them in his typical all-caps. Without any bragging, hardly any bullshit, and basically zero smug asides. Not even a bunch of cryptic comments about what a clever demon Bill is. 

Dipper starts smiling.

Guess things aren’t quite what Bill was expecting when he took up this latest ‘business’ trip. 

In fact, if Dipper’s any expert - and he is - Bill’s been having a shitty day. 

So. It’s not selfish, really, to want him to get up to something else. It’s actually a fantastic idea. 

Dipper taps the phone against his chin. End goal in mind, plan… not created yet. That requires some thought. 

Does he just... Ask? It seems simple enough, but how is he supposed to phrase it. One way seems too forward. Another one might sound like some weirdo stole his phone. Can’t get too subtle, either, Bill’s missed it when he veiled it too much before….

Dipper manages to come up with two or three lines that aren’t totally cringy, before the buzz against his face interrupts his train of thought.

Bill, again. More messages in his ranting missive.

“SUMMONS, FOR CHAO’S SAKE. DOES THIS GUY EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS OR DID HE JUST PICK UP THE RIGHT INTERDIMENSIONAL PHONE BOOK”

“I’M CONSIDERING DELETING MOST OF THIS GALAXY NEXT CHANCE I GET. JUST TO GET RID OF THE CONTACT INFORMATION”

“A SUMMON IS NOT A *SERVANT* FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, THERE”S A DEAL AND EVERYTHING”

“DO THE WORDS ‘CONTRACTOR AGREEMENT’ MEAN ANYTHING OR DOES IT GO IN ONE EAR AND OUT THE OTHER TWO”

“WHY DO YOU CONTACT AN EXPERT AND NOT TAKE THE ADVICE??? IT WAS ALMOST FREE!”

Dipper rolls his eyes. 

Yet another reason he should go ahead with his idea. If he doesn’t nip the complaining in the bud soon, Bill’s going to ramble on forever. 

Serves him right, anyway. Bill may not be able to be summoned to Earth, but he’s sure as hell still taking calls from other realms. Dipper can’t even tell Bill he’s sorry one’s gone wrong; it’d be too obvious a lie. He’ll settle for not commenting.

Dipper taps the back of the phone for a second, thinking. Then responds.

“I take it you’re not having much fun”

“OH NO, I'M HAVING A HELL OF A TIME”

“COULDN’T FIND A BETTER PARTY AT THE INTERGALACTIC DMV”

Not a great sign. Bill knows that Dipper doesn’t want to know the details of his work - but the metaphor’s a clue. That it’s complicated, and annoying. 

Dipper frowns. There’ll likely be a wait. 

“So… pretty busy.”

“YEAH THIS COULD DRAG ON”

“SERIOUSLY SCREW THIS GUY THOUGH. CAN’T TAKE A HINT, CAN’T MAKE HIS OWN PLOTS? I’M UP TO HERE WITH THIS LOSER.”

“THE SECOND I CAN PULL A DECENT DOUBLE-CROSS I’M GOING FOR IT”

Huh. Usually Bill’s better at finding chances. Dipper doubts the summoning was that ironclad; loopholes are too common. More likely than not, Bill simply hasn’t found something entertaining enough yet.

“I’m surprised you haven’t found one already.”

“HEY! DOUBLECROSSING IS AN ART, KID.”

“GOTTA COME UP WITH JUST THE RIGHT THING TO REALLY RUB SOME SULFURIC ACID IN THE WOUND”

“Yeah, fine”

Yep. Just like he thought. Dipper sticks his tongue out at the screen. 

Typical Bill. Can’t get his ass off the metaphorical couch unless it’s interesting. Without the promise of a prize at the end, Bill’s more likely to laze around with a martini than put effort into complicated plans. Or chores. Even if he could literally wave his hand and take care of things, if it’s not entertaining-

Actually.

There’s an idea.

Dipper hops up from his seat and heads over to his dresser. Tugging the middle drawer open, and rifling through it until he finds the prize. The slick black wood is easy to find, he hasn’t moved it in a while. 

He drops down on the bed this time, and sets the box on his chest. Heart beating a bit faster, a little tense with nerves. A little excited. He sends the next message in a rush.

“Maybe I could help out?”

“WOW!! THAT'S A FIRST! PINE TREE, I’M BOTH INSULTED YOU THINK I NEED IT AND FLATTERED YOU OFFERED!”

“ALRIGHT WHAT’S GOING ON” 

Dipper unlatches the box, and picks up the collar. 

The black leather is soft between his fingers. He lets it dangle for a moment, tag jingling slightly as he holds it above his face. It’s not heavy with anything but implied meaning.

This particular item doesn’t see a ton of use. It’s not always the right time, because Dipper’s not always in the right mood. Once it is, though. When Dipper puts it on….

That’s. Offering power to an infinite being of pure energy, who shouldn’t even need the token to take it. And once he has it, he’ll be very, very thorough about using it. Something that sounds pretty intimidating, because it is pretty intimidating. 

Right now, if Dipper’s being honest with himself - it kinda sounds great. It’s always worked out really well for him. 

And there’s no way Bill won’t find this interesting. 

“Thought I could uh. Give you some motivation?”

“???”

Welp. Here goes. 

Without hesitating (much), Dipper wraps the collar around his neck and clasps it shut.. Feeling a light chill from the golden triangle tag on his neck, just above his collarbone. The leather not-quite tight against his throat. 

He shuffles into the blankets, getting comfortable. Time to go for it. 

Clearing his throat, and breathing in, then out, Dipper holds his phone up with both hands. He takes the picture.

…it doesn’t look as cool as he thought it would.

The first three don’t look great. Another he’s not - well, a glare can be sexy, in Bill’s mind, but this one just shows how annoyed he is with trying to take a stupid picture. 

Dipper spends longer than he wanted just futzing with the camera and the view he’s about to provide. Bill’s a stickler for angles especially, Dipper wants to get it right.

Another buzz from his phone. Damn it, he should just send something, he’s leaving Bill hanging. For once, Dipper has like, some kind of ‘seduction’ momentum going, he can’t lose it now. 

He holds his phone up again, and makes himself relax. Just a pic, doesn’t need to be fancy. 

Dipper smiles, tilting his head back, neck arched with its strip of black leather fully on display. He snaps the photo and hits send before he can hesitate. Take that, second-guessing, Dipper got ahead of it this time.

Maybe it’s not the best photo, but it doesn’t have to be great. Just as long as it shows the important parts. Dipper’s not trying to do a model shoot for crying out loud. He’s just. Sending an invite.

One he hopes Bill will accept.

He lasts about three seconds before he nervously adds a text. Just in case Bill got the wrong idea. Not that Dipper’s sure what that would be, but still.

“Bedroom in half an hour?”

He’s left on read for a full, anxious two seconds.

“!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“YOU KIDDING? BE THERE IN THE”

"*TREE"

“THRE MAYBE FIVE"

"OKAY TEN MINUTES TOPS”

“DON’T GO ANYWHERE”

Dipper drops back on the bed, letting out a soft laugh. 

Wow. That was easy. 

Somewhere, through their bond, Dipper can feel Bill bustling around at a far distance. The trip back’s going to be a bit, he guesses. 

Dipper sets his phone on the bedside table - then pauses. Heart beating a little faster, a tent in his pants -  then tugs the drawer below it open. They’re going to need the lube soon anyway. Might as well snag it. 

Still, the bed’s comfy and Dipper wasn’t doing anything anyway.  He settles down to mess with the internet on his phone - spotty, again, it never works right in Bill’s place.

About nine minutes later, he realizes he’s obsessively checking the door now.

Totally normal, though. Bill’s usually later than he says he’ll be. Dipper knew he was in for a wait, though for once he’s oddly impatient. As soon as Bill gets here, he’s going to - 

…Not be able to do much, since Dipper basically has nothing set up but the lube. Might as well get on that now before it makes another delay.

Dipper sighs, shrugging his shirt off, and kicking off his shoes. Shuffling out of his pants, and casting them aside. The underwear has to go, too. Last time Dipper tried a ‘seduction’ with his boxers still on, Bill teased him about it. 

Lube, check. Collar, on. Being naked in their bedroom isn’t uncomfortable even on top of the blankets, with that eternal fireplace burning. Dipper kicks the last leg of his boxers off just as the thumping of footsteps sounds from outside the door.

Eleven minutes of waiting. Something to tease Bill about in a minute. 

Then a thud. The locked knob jiggles for a moment. A muffled swear - then the brief zap of the magical locks unclicking.

Bill’s not only eager, it’s like he’s worried that he’ll miss out on the chance. Like Dipper would pull this and take off, leaving Bill to arrive back at an empty bedroom.

Which, okay. Dipper could. But he’s not going to. Bill may be a multiversal asshole, but he’s done nothing to Dipper to deserve it.

Years ago, he wouldn’t have had any reason to send racy messages to someone. Knowing any picture he did send would get an ‘ew’ or a ‘why’. 

Clearly, he hadn’t met the right person yet.

It’s really hard not to smile, so Dipper doesn’t even bother trying.

The door to their bedroom slams open, and Bill Cipher emerges. Still holding the door handle, arms spread wide with a wild, brilliant grin on his face. 

Dipper sits up, gives him a little wave, and a slow onceover - 

Then raises an eyebrow.

Bill’s grinning. Bill’s delighted. He’s full of all his impeccable confidence, radiating ‘infuriatingly smug’ in a way that Dipper could spot through a blindfold -

But his hair is rather messy, and his suit is in ruins. 

Bill stalks forward, and the door slams shut behind him as he starts undoing his tie. “Well, well, well, well, well!” His tongue runs briefly over his teeth, eye roving. “What have we here!”

Dipper shrugs. Normally he’d have a response, but. Eying Bill again doesn’t change the disaster of his clothing.

There’s certainly a lot of something on Bill’s jacket. Greenish stains, brown on his cuffs. Odd purple flecks gobbed on him like clumps of glue. Typically when Bill’s had a summon, he ends up in less dire sartorial straits. There isn’t much blood - Dipper doesn’t think any of it is Bill’s, it’s too drippy - but the stains are unmistakable.

“There was a lotta stuff around for the summoning. No biggie.” Bill shrugs, nonchalant. He flicks an unidentifiable blob goo off his sleeve, offering Dipper an impeccable smile. “And when things go south in a deal, sometimes you gotta get a little hands on!”

The shirt’s also very. Holey. It’s surprising Bill hasn’t made a pun before stripping it off.

“What happened to you?” Dipper folds his legs under himself. Bill’s still his focus, but now the interest is less specific. “Bad spell? Weird summoner?” Another lookover; it makes him grimace. “A toxic waste dump?”

“Don’t count on it.” Dipper dodges the finger to his chin. In his peripheral vision, he catches Bill looking disappointed. “You’re not getting anything at the moment.”

Dipper folds his arms, and says nothing.

“Now look at you!” Bill practically purrs, striding in to flick the tag on the collar. His eye roves over Dipper, gleaming bright. “What a style! Coming from a fashion-comatose guy like you, of all places.” He tucks two fingers under the collar, and leans in with a leer. “I could get used to this.”

Dipper knew what he was implying with his. Invitation. The terms were set a while ago, and the sign of their ‘deal’ is wrapped around his neck. He knows that Bill’s supposed to be in charge -

But, like. There are some limitations.

“Aha! So that’s the game today, huh?” Bill  rubs his hands together, eye lighting up. “I can-”

“Nope.” Dipper smacks a palm on Bill’s chest. Bill blinks, but stops gloating enough to look surprised. “Hold on a minute.”

“What?”

“You’re a wreck, Bill.” Like it wasn’t obvious. Bill glances down at himself. A flicker of a grimace crosses his face, and Dipper gives him a couple quick pats on the chest. “Go clean up first.”

“Oh, is that the problem?” Bill’s grin returns, leaning in anyway. Dipper dodges the kiss, only to have it land next to his ear. Squirming doesn’t help, because Bill plants a few more, nipping briefly at his earlobe - and chuckles. “I thought you liked things messy.”

Dipper feels heat rise into his face. Now he gives his idiot husband a shove. “Not like this.” 

“Aw, c’mon!” Bill puckers up to an absurd degree, hands clasped near his chest. “Give your husband a smooch. It’s the least you could do!”

“Nope.” Dipper isn’t going to smile. It’d only encourage him. His next push doesn’t move this obnoxious dick, so he gets up to add more force behind the shoving. “Go on, get moving.”

Bill starts cackling. Dipper ends up having to dig his feet in the carpet, bearing down as Bill keeps trying to kiss his face, nudging him in the vague direction of the bathroom. Adding an elbow, for emphasis. At this point, he’d settle for getting Bill to the dresser to change. 

“What, not into the acid-splattered gooey look?” Bill backs up slowly as Dipper presses him along, with a teasing grab or two at his butt - though eventually, he raises his hands. “Alright, alright. Hang tight here. I’ll be back in a sec.” 

Bill clicks his tongue as he finally backs into the bathroom with double finger guns and a wink. Dipper flips him off, just because. Sticking his tongue out in Bill’s direction for good measure - then at the mark on his left palm.

Off in the bathroom, he hears a distant chuckle.

Not the most elegant start to the evening. But then, he doesn’t think they’ve ever had one. 

Dipper sits back down on the mattress. Bouncing in place a few times. At least the bed is comfy. Waiting here is more than tolerable. It’s not even chilly, with the eternal fire burning in that fireplace. 

A little more waiting won’t matter, anyway. Bill will be out within moments, as quick as he can; Dipper can hear the rush of water, and his husband humming a cheery tune to himself. 

Once Bill’s done changing. Once he’s wiped off the residue and changed his clothes. He’ll be ready, and wanting things from one young human, who’s - not technically helpless, but for the moment pretending to be. He could make all kinds of demands.

Dipper runs a finger under the collar. 

Bill’s enthusiasm, in fact, carries over into all the things he does. Especially when he wants to entertain, or if he’s on a mission to conquer. 

Technically this situation qualifies for both.

Dipper rubs his slightly damp palms on his thighs, and breathes out slowly.

He can already imagine Bill bursting into the room, with a show of power. Throwing the door open, alight  with fire, full of all the energy and violence that a nightmare demon can display. His strong arms braced against the doorframe, and a wicked grin on his face. Ready to shamelessly ogle the present he’s arrived to collect.

The lube’s close by. Dipper fumbles for the bottle and clicks it open. 

It’s cool against his palm and cooler against his dick as he takes himself in hand.

He already knows what Bill looks like when he’s naked, and it’s easy to picture the lean lines of him, all the bare skin and the shape of his muscles. Bill’s unfortunately attractive. Oddly compelling. Dipper has to hand it to himself; he did an amazing job on the human shape, even unintentionally.  

The form enhances what should be absurd. Someone. Demanding. Conniving and evil and selfish, taking what he wants, and he wants Dipper, badly. Undeniably so; Dipper's felt it before, in his palm or in his mouth or inside him. 

Letting a slow sigh, Dipper rests back on the bed. He slows in his strokes, running his thumb over the head of his dick.

Soon, Bill will loom over Dipper and take him by the collar, tugging him up with undeniable force and an evil grin. Maybe with his pants unzipped, his thick cock hard and -

“Already getting started, are ya?”

With instincts long-honed from many lonely nights, Dipper yanks the blanket over himself. 

“Aw, someone’s shy!” Bill walks closer, wearing both a smug look and a fresh set of clothes. He throws in a wink in response to Dipper’s glare, and starts rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Ease up already. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Right. Just Bill. Dipper feels his shoulders drop; he still flips Bill off again, out of sheer contrariness. Bill may have seen everything before, but he also didn’t have to make a startling entrance. Probably part of the fun for him. Because he’s a jerk.

Dipper sighs, and tosses the blanket away. “You could have told me you were ready.”

“Oh, I’m more than ready.” Bill responds easily. He waves off Dipper’s comment as he walks to the side of the bed. As he draws his arms apart, a thin line of black connects them. Pulled straight into existence, with all the power he has. And winks. “I’m prepared.”

Dipper swallows, touching the collar again. His eyes follow the long, long line of the leash, held in Bill’s solid grip.

He knew what he was in for. What he signed up for, technically. Having it be so certain makes him want to tremble - and also makes his traitorous dick very, very hard.

Bill stalks in, nudging Dipper’s chin upward with a grin - and clicks the lead onto the collar.

He nods to himself, once. Wraps the very end of the leash around his palm. Then simply stands there, hands on his hips. “Go on.”

That’s. Kind of a vague prompt. Dipper hesitates, he’s not sure what to do- 

“I mean, don’t stop the show, sapling.” Bill settles back, tucking his thumbs into his pockets with a wicked smile. “Touch yourself.”

“Oh.” Dipper feels his heart start to race. 

Bill’s watching intently, with a pleased smirk on his face, expecting his ‘show’ -  And, while he’s ogled Dipper going at this before, it wasn’t in this context. 

Typically, Dipper doesn’t let Bill push him around. Definitely never listens to his weirder requests. But this time, Dipper asked for it. He knew what he was getting into. When he called Bill over. When he made himself available, when he invited Bill to take advantage of it - and that means following Bill’s lead.

Dipper lies back on the mattress. Shutting his eyes, and taking his dick in hand again. 

If he doesn’t look, he can pretend that Bill’s not watching. Not that it helps much. Jerking off feels different, it’s hard to keep it slow. Bill’s keeping quiet, but Dipper can feel his gaze on his skin like heat.

“That’s it.” Bill’s voice drops a little, lower and more intent. “Very nice.”

Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Now he presses his lips together to cover a moan. Knowing Bill’s watching him always makes him self-conscious no matter what he’s doing. Especially with this. Keeping note of how he holds himself, to how much Bill can see - whether he should arch up or angle himself differently, it’s embarrassing and exciting, like the picture he sent but with Bill right there watching. Dipper burns with awareness, and heat rises into his face.

There’s a soft shuffle of steps. Like Bill’s getting closer - no, he is, Dipper can tell by the pleased sound he makes. “Spread your legs.”

Demanding as always; why does he have to, isn’t this enough? Dipper’s already so exposed and - There isn’t much space, sitting like this -  but he lies back and props his feet on the bed. Knees lifted and legs open. 

There’s a soft click, and a softer groan. Dipper blinks an eye open. 

Bill’s undone his belt; his fly open and his pants pushed slightly down. He’s hard and standing out against his shirt, at least as turned on as Dipper is - and taking himself in hand with slow strokes that Dipper watches with a sharp spark of arousal. 

Maybe it’s more like outright staring. Who cares; Bill’s doing it right back to him, fair’s fair. 

Dipper tightens his grip. Dick throbbing at the knowledge that Bill likes what he sees. Knowing he’s admiring him, that for some reason Bill loves watching this, he’s said as much before.

None of which helps Dipper keep the pace slow, he’s wanted to come for a while and now he could, if it wouldn’t ruin the upcoming events.

“Now that’s what I like to see.” Bill sets a palm below one of Dipper’s raised knees, sliding it downward. “Every bit of my eager little mortal, ready for me.” His eye trails over Dipper’s own frantic grip on his dick, stroking himself at a far more measured pace. Watching Dipper like he’s fascinating, like this embarrassing display is a delight. “All mine.”

“Shut up. It’s not -” Dipper wants to clamp his legs together, but Bill shoves them back apart. Thumbs tracing the skin of Dipper’s thighs, leaning in to plant a kiss on the skin. Dipper takes another breath. “I just wanted…”  He stumbles over what he was going to say, as Bill settles in between his legs, leaning over him - and Dipper lets his head drop back with a groan. “Fuck.”

“Oh sure, in a minute. Though honestly, I could watch this all day!” Bill keeps petting his legs, and yeah, definitely looming - while looking terrifically smug about it. “But I think you called me in ‘cause you wanted a hand.”

“Yeah.” Of course Dipper wants a hand, or. More than that. He could jerk off anytime, that’s simple, he didn’t need to get Bill involved for that. It's just that what Bill does to him is so much better. ”Please.”

Bill hums for a moment, considering his prize. Tapping Dipper’s sides briefly, before leaning in to lick at his nipple, sucking it into his mouth before nipping, teeth light on the flesh. 

Dipper holds back a gasp. That sent a spark of heat right down to his dick. Bill’s tongue lathes over it again, warm and wet, while he takes the other between two fingers, rolls it around, and pinches, both sharp and good.

“God.” Dipper keeps a deathgrip on his dick, slowing down. The other grips Bill’s hair. He’s not sure if he wants to push him in or pull him away - and Bill’s hum against his chest sounds like he’s covering a laugh. “You bastard.”

Bill mutters something that might be ‘you like it’, shoulders shaking with amusement. Moving on, and kissing further down Dipper’s stomach. Much less intense. Warm, and pleasant. Dipper lets out a held breath. 

Only to pull another in, quick, because now Bill’s switched. Taking the already teased one in hand to roll and pinch when it’s already oversensitive from his tongue. It’s a bright shock of pleasure, of pain, and Dipper arches up with a gasp, before clasping his free hand over his mouth.

“Hey!” Bill stops his descent suddenly, pausing just above Dipper’s navel. He’s frowning, mouth inches away from Dipper’s dick. “What did I say about noises?”

Wait, why is Bill - Dipper sits up, blinking down at him.

He heard what Bill just said, but retorts are. Difficult right now. Made worse because he’s watching Bill’s lips, and the way his tongue moves, so close to where he wants them. 

But wait, right, he remembers this. It was…. Dipper stares at him, unable to think. “Uh.”

“It was ‘make lots of ‘em’, if you need the reminder. Say whatever comes to mind!” Bill slides his hands down Dipper’s chest, rudely squeezing his thighs again. His smile widens, bright with enthusiasm. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Dipper swallows. What Bill’s asking for is-

No, he can’t. He has so many thoughts, all the time, and during sex they’re all dumb and horny. Downright ridiculous. 

Right now, his mind’s drawing a blank. Even for the stupid stuff.

For Bill, it’s easy. He always says what he’s thinking, especially in bed. Hell, he can go on a full on monologue; has, at times, and it’s always something filthy and insane and arousing. Half of the things Bill says sound absurd in the light of day - but in the moment they’re actually pretty great. 

And Bill’s seen thousands of minds and dreams, he’s encountered every situation, seen infinite fantasies. Dipper doesn’t think he has enough imagination to get weird enough to match.

Dipper turns his head away instead, keeping his mouth shut. Hearing - and feeling - Bill’s impatient sigh.  

There’s also no way Bill’s going to move forward without being told something. But. Dipper can’t think of anything good.

After a moment, Bill smacks him lightly on the side. “Speak up already.” He plants another wet kiss on Dipper’s stomach, so close to his dick. Offering up a wide, teasing smile. “What do you want?”

A lot of things. Some other stuff. A myriad of ideas, none of which Bill knows about, because - 

Dipper sits up. The idea snaps back into place. 

Because Bill can’t get into Dipper’s head. 

He’s been million brains, encountered a million fantasies - but none of them are what Dipper thinks about when he jerks off. 

Dipper takes a slow calming breath. Bill’s been waiting, mouthing against his hip, hot breath ghosting over his groin. Distracting, but not enough to truly help.

In theory, this is simple. Just like his invitation, it doesn’t have to be perfect, so long as the intent is there.

Really, Bill might love whatever comes out of his mouth, because in this one, specific circumstance he’s not a mind-reader. It must drive him insane, that he can’t reach in and drag out every fantasy Dipper’s ever had, and use all of them against him.

And Dipper’s supposed to do what Bill wants.

Bill’s drags his teeth against the soft skin of his thigh, leaving red lines; his thumbs digging into the juncture of his hip fingers on his stomach - it’s a lot and not enough at the same time, it - 

Dipper shuts his eyes. Takes a shuddering breath, and says, “Feels good.”

“Is that so?” Bill’s voice drops to a purr. Dipper hears the bottle of lube click again. “How good?”

Just. Good? Dipper doesn’t know what to tell him, so he ends up saying, “A lot.” Then, “Can you use your mouth?” But that’s not quite it, and now that the words have started tumbling from him Dipper finds he can’t stop -  “And I really want you in me again.”

So awkward, without any of Bill’s eloquence. Dipper can’t match him, he just stumbles trying to get it out.

But the way Bill’s eye literally lights up makes Dipper feel a bit better. And the way he groans against Dipper’s skin, and sucks his cock into the hot wet of his mouth, dragging his tongue on the underside, makes it feel fantastically, absolutely better. 

Dipper bucks his hips up, tangling fingers in Bill’s hair. Urging him on. Bill moves with it easily, and Dipper feels a low vibration of a held back laugh that makes him groan.

Okay. Not exactly the hottest thing in the world, but, fuck, it didn’t have to be. If it works, it works; Dipper will take the embarrasment, and say way, way dumber stuff, all the time, if it gets Bill to do this. 

Bill pulls away, all too suddenly, leaving Dipper bereft and annoyed. Glaring up at Bill’s smug grin, and handsome face.

There isn’t any reason to startle when Bill’s finger pushes in, but. Well, the lube’s cold, and it was sudden. And also...

“Just one?” Dipper frowns up at Bill as his finger works slowly inside him, dipping in and out. Thin and firm, not nearly enough - and Bill’s smirking, too, the jerk. “You can do more than that.”

“I dunno. Should I?” Bill purses his lips, like he’s contemplating it. “I haven’t heard how it feels yet.”

This asshole. Dipper wants to swear, but. That’s useless, so he squeezes his legs around Bill instead.

This jerk just wants to drag things out, doesn’t he. Won’t let up until he’s satisfied. Bill might have control, sure. But he thinks Dipper’s hot, and that means there’s some leverage. 

Since Dipper's not getting what he wants. Then he’ll just have to tempt him. 

Bill wants to hear him? Fine, no more repressing. Even the soft panting has clearly raised his interest, and Dipper can totally do less to hold himself back.

He knows Bill can do worse. That he wants to be inside, so he’ll help him imagine what else he could be doing - 

“It feels great, okay?” Dipper glares up at him. Bill licks his lips, finger curling - and the involuntary moan Dipper lets out makes Bill’s cock visibly twitch. Dipper arches up and strokes himself again, while Bill’s occupied. “I can take more. I want it.”

Bill opens his mouth. Like he’s about to interrupt, or tease - Before he can say anything, Dipper reaches down and hauls Bill’s hand closer, urging it in.

“Ah ah ah! Fantastic performance, sapling.” Bill catches his wrists, forcing them up and away.  “Until you got too cocky.” And winks at his own awful pun. 

Damn it, Dipper wants to swat him. He was almost - he tries to yank away, but Bill’s too strong and his grip too tight. Leaning over him, and drawing his arms over his head. over him now, kneeling between his legs. 

Bill slides the collar to the side, wraps Dipper’s hands together with the long leather of the leash. Not tightly, but firm. He leans over Dipper, chest above his face - and damn it, Dipper’s halfway tempted to just bite some of the buttons of Bill’s shirt open. 

Then he sinks back, and grins. Dipper moves to swat him, and can’t. He yanks at the leash again, strains against it,  but there’s barely any give -

And when he glances up at the headboard, Bill’s looped the end onto a hook. The leather drawn tight, keeping Dipper's arms raised.

Glaring at Bill gets a temporary reprieve as Dipper glares at his restraint instead. Then back at Bill, who’s unbearably smug about his stunt. Dipper sinks back on the mattress with a huff. 

“Can’t have you coming too soon, y’know.” Bill releases his arms, tracing down Dipper’s neck, fingers trailing around the collar. And throwing in a wink for good measure. “Not when we got all night to play around.”

Oh god. That doesn’t bode well. Or rather, it does, but. In a very specific way. 

Dipper tugs at his restraints, arching up and finding no escape. Okay. Better brace himself. Bill’s always loved to torment; he’ll take his time with things. Touch and tease and taunt without truly being satisfying; he’ll make Dipper wait until it almost hurts; it’s going to be terrible and great, just like the demon himself. 

“Now!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them with anticipation. “Where were we?” Not waiting for a response before slipping a finger - no, two - back inside, rougher than before.. 

If Dipper does whimper, he’ll deny it later. It makes Bill raise an eyebrow, smile growing a fraction; Dipper pushes into his fingers only to find Bill retreating with a grin. He’s not going to let Dipper urge him on. Definitely won’t let him come by himself, or get there before he’s allowed. Everything’s under Bill’s control, something both incredibly frustrating and. Interesting.

And Bill’s too experienced. Bill’s too clever. The way he presses inside is unfortunately great. They’ve been together long enough that Bill knows exactly where he needs to touch, and does it with aplomb - 

Dipper clicks his teeth shut against another sound. Breathing slowly, and shutting his eyes.

And just enough to tease. 

The stretch is good. The pressure, so much better; warm and invasive. Arousing. Bill rolls inside him, presses and strokes, his hand pushing against Dipper hard - then retreating - only to fuck into him again like Bill could make Dipper a mess just with his hand. 

Which he is, the asshole. Because it is good. Really good. A firm pressure and a repeating touch, sending a throb of pleasure each time, and making precome drip from Dipper’s dick. Withdrawing, then returning with a hard push, in and out, a burst of pleasure only to deny it again. Slow, then fast. A quick slide and a long press that makes Dipper see stars in his vision, only to pull back out. It’s Bill, curling his fingers in the way that makes Dipper arch up and moan - then suddenly leaving him empty and nearly gasping.

Dipper can’t - His teeth are gritted, he doesn't want to sound so needy - but he whines, and doesn’t choke it back.

“Look at you. So responsive! You must have really missed me, huh?” Bill sounds delighted.  Adding a third finger - and this time Dipper couldn’t cover the whimper he makes even if he wanted to. “It’s adorable.” 

God, everything he’s doing is teasing. Deliberately not-quite-enough, on purpose. Keeping up that low, intense pressure without letting Dipper come, just driving him close to the edge and backing off like a bastard.

“It’d be easy to make you come like this.” Bill kisses down Dipper’s dick, then. Licking up the length with a wet sound that makes it jump under his tongue. He kisses the head with a smirk - “Could be fun to make you lose it.”

He could, he really could. His tongue on Dipper’s dick and his fingers inside - Dipper strains against the leash, swearing under his breath. It would be good, sure - but he wants to reach down. Make Bill do more. To stop the teasing and taunting, treat him rougher, and he ends up blurting, “Don’t.”

“Oh?” Bill curls his fingers; a firm shock of pressure, and the heel of his hand nudging his balls. Spreading wide inside him for an aching stretch.“Then why’d you call me here?”

“Because I wanted it.” Dipper says, out loud. Speaking is the only way to get Bill to move on, and it’s easier to ignore the embarrassment, when the burn of needing to come is so much more. Bill licks his lips, anticipatory - and Dipper admits, “I wanted you to fuck me.”

All he gets is Bill’s fingers withdrawing and that sucks. Dipper whines, teeth bared. Now he feels empty and urgent and Bill’s not touching him, the jerk.

“Well, why didn’t you say so!”  Bill shuffles his pants down, stroking another palmful of lube over himself, a little faster than usual.  “Not a problem. In fact,” He pushes Dipper’s legs further up, and winks. “It’d be my pleasure.” 

Dipper slumps. He goes with Bill’s positioning, rude and insistent, letting himself be pliable this time. Though he feels empty, he knows that won’t last, and he’ll have what he wants.

Finally. 

Bill rubs the head of his cock against Dipper, smugly enough to make Dipper swear - then laughing. Holding himself steady, and pushing in, just enough for Dipper to feel the slight jolt as the head enters - then withdraws again, tapping against him. A motion that doesn’t have any intent of really going for it -

Frustrated, Dipper tries hauling Bill in with his legs - for a moment, thinks he’s succeeded -  but Bill’s cock slips away to rest against him, brushing against Dipper’s own. It leaves Bill cackling with amusement; Dipper wants to swat him, or maybe kiss him. Since he can’t do either, he tugs at the leash again. “Bill.” 

“Gotta take my time, kid!” No remorse; the torturous bastard leans over him, and guides himself in, with a low, lingering stretch, one Dipper knows so well, heavy and hard inside.. Bill surges forward, fully seated and Dipper has to gasp, back arching -  “You’re always.” He shuts his eye, a brief flicker as his hips rock in. “So tight for me.” 

“Hn.” With nothing to protest, Dipper nods instead, rapid and eager. Bill’s cock hits just the right places, Dipper can’t help but move into it. Arching up, pushing his. his hips into that filling weight, feeling Bill fucking into him, deeper and so much that Dipper has to yank at his restraints - “You’re just. Too big.”

“So that’s what you were thinking about,” Bill hisses. There’s a throb inside, a surge forward that makes Dipper gasp, open his eyes. Seeing Bill’s own eye alight, glowing gold. The weight of his presence and his quickening pace makes Dipper want to grab at him, anything to get him closer. “That’s what gets you off.”

“Yeah.” Mostly what Dipper was imagining, but not quite - and shit, he should just say it. He could come like this, it’s good, it’s great, but Bill’s not quite putting his back into it the way Dipper would really like. If he’d do a little more, he could almost -  “Like. I wanted it and. I didn’t have to say it, you just.” He shuts his eyes, thinking about half-remembered sessions alone - “Come over and have me, because you want me.” He takes a shaking breath, Bill’s hands are suddenly tight on his hips - “‘Cause I feel too good.”

Bill swears, loud and urgent - and the next snap of his hips makes Dipper strain against his bonds. That’s it. Strong and demanding, and rough, he missed it. 

“You got that part right.” Bill breathy, his tongue flickering over his lips. He adds another startling pinch to a nipple that thrums down Dipper’s body, electric pleasure. “I’ll take everything I want from you.” A violent thrust, Bill’s breath hitching as Dipper moans -  loud enough to make him want to cringe -  but must Bill like it, because his voice lowers into a growl. “Have my way with you. Make you come on my cock.”

If he keeps this up. If Bill puts his back into it, Dipper would, definitely, it’s already a lot and nearly enough -

“Yes. Please.” Now that he’s started he can’t seem to shut his mouth. Thinking about Bill, shoving him down, or up against a wall, giving Dipper what he wants and then -  “And you’ll come in me. So much.” Dipper blurts, and hears Bill suck in a sudden breath. “You always - I really like it.”

Bill slows; he nearly stills in place. Dipper can see his chest heaving, his eye bright - Then he captures Dipper’s face with both hands, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Dipper opens up for it, groaning into it. Wanting to draw his arms down around the back of Bill’s neck. Since that’s impossible, he kisses back. Trying to tell Bill how much he needs this, with just his mouth.

Until this bastard, this asshole. This absolute monster, pulls away and out. 

Dipper nearly kicks him. He definitely swears. He needs to come and Bill’s being twice the bastard than usual; he tries to get a hold of his dick, but he’s trapped, left to writhe, helpless, with Bill staring down at him.

Bill shuffles out of his pants, unbuttoning his shirt. Looming over Dipper again, with his bare chest almost distracting from that horrible wide smile. So close, but so far away, unable to be touched - 

“Glad to hear it, kid,” Bill purrs, low and pleased. Jerking himself off again, quicker than before, his grip tight. “‘Cause I’ve been thinking about that all day.” 

Dipper’s eyes widen  - oh, he’s really going to -

And Bill slides inside again, the pressure heavy inside. Dipper groans at the return. Only one thrust, though. A brief second, Bill’s hips tight against his own -  then, fuck, Bill’s coming. Unmistakable, making Dipper whine between his teeth, muscles tensing. Watching the  flutter of Bill’s eyelashes, feeling his thick cock pulsing and the heat inside. And Dipper wants to match that pleasure, touch himself as well, get off, but Bill won’t let him. This is unfair. 

“How’s that feel, kid?” Bill asks, squeezing Dipper’s thighs for a moment, before he grasps Dipper’s dick and jerks it, with quick, effective motions. “Having demon come inside you.” 

Making words is a struggle, so Dipper simply nods again. Face burning, arms pressed together. He can feel it hot and deep inside and fuck, he does like it, he can’t hold Bill in place forever with his legs but he wants to keep as much as he can. Knowing how it means Bill wants him. How much he can make Bill feel good, and having the proof, right there.

Bill pulls out again, after a few slow thrusts, gazing down with a smug, satisfied look that Dipper wishes he was wearing. He wants Bill to come back. For him to fuck him, he’s left Dipper bereft and empty, with an aching throb between his legs. With urgency fading, and the pleasure dropping from the peak, it’s going to be a while before he gets to feel the same way. Building things back up is going to take so long.

Then Dipper’s arms are freed, and he’s hauled up to sit by the tight grip on the leash. The relief of that tension, at least, is something. Dipper rubs his wrists, blinking back at Bill. What -? 

The next tug forces Dipper up to his knees, and Bill draws him in for a kiss, free hand buried in Dipper’s hair. Dipper responds as best he can. Would love to grab Bill back, in the same way -  but his arms are shaking. He settles for touching Bill’s chest instead, in slow petting motions.

Bill makes a pleased sound, drawing back with a smile. “You like it better when I fuck you?” He prompts, shifting behind Dipper to grab his chin, tilting his head back. A firm thumb runs over Dipper’s bottom lip. “Or when I take your pretty little mouth?”

Which is - Dipper doesn’t know. He wishes he could think straight, but most of his thoughts are drawn to the unfulfilled throb in his groin. He likes taking Bill in his mouth, likes what Bill does to him in bed, all of it, he couldn’t choose - “I…  don’t know.”

“Eh, that’s fair! I couldn’t pick a favorite either.” Bill pats Dipper’s hip, drawing him in until his back is pressed against his chest. “It’s all fun.”

Then Dipper’s wheeled around, quick enough to be startling. Behind him, Bill settles down comfortably, drawing Dipper fully into his lap. 

It’s a comfortable enough position. Dipper even hears a soft ‘thump’ as Bill drops back against something soft. Likely he’s conjured another pillow pile, or something other surface to relax against. All cozy enough that Dipper would normally lean back with him, tuck Bill’s arms around him, and wriggle in an interesting way that might get him to help. 

Instead, he stares ahead for a long few seconds - then scrambles at the sheets in surprise. 

So much for the headboard. Bill’s taken a new tactic, thrown in a new addition. In this case, a very reflective one.

Dipper guesses the ‘show’ isn’t over. 

He blinks - his reflection blinks back at him - and Dipper’s suddenly nervous. He can’t back up, it only puts him further into  Bill’s grasp. “What-” 

“What a sight.” Bill sighs, sounding very, very pleased with himself. He grabs Dipper’s thighs, parting and squeezing them. “One of my favorites, honestly.”

The ‘sight’ is. Something.

Dipper stares at himself in the mirror. God, he looks like a total mess. Face red, marks from Bill’s mouth, hair disheveled - ‘fucked’ would be a good description, in multiple senses - And there’s Bill, sitting behind him with a smug, pleased grin. Dipper meets his gaze in the reflection momentarily -  then jerks his head away. He can’t look at this, it’s not -

“And why wouldn’t it be?” Bill continues. His breath is hot against Dipper’s neck, hands slipping around and under Dipper’s thighs - “When I get to see this.”

When Bill pulls his legs up, Dipper squirms - hard not to, he’s flexible but still, rude - and tenses at the sight. Bill’s a pervert, of course he likes staring at this, but Dipper can’t just. Look at what Bill’s done to him. Not without feeling a burn of shame and arousal curling in his stomach. Bill’s come has slightly spilled, wet on his thigh, dick still standing up, so obvious that he’s been taken and fucked, that he’s let himself be used, and behind him Bill’s practically gloating at how thoroughly he’s left his mark.

“I see you’re a fan as well!” Bill sounds all too chipper. He shifts slightly, nuzzling against Dipper’s shoulder. “You got good taste, kid.”

This jerk. Dipper’s brief attempt at glaring at him  means he catches sight of himself in the mirror. With his traitorous dick leaking a bead of precome, and his face so red, he looks like he’s sunburnt. 

“Y’know, I’d say how much I love fucking you, but eh. You won’t take my word for it. You’re a guy who loves having proof.”  Bill’s voice lowers, as he leans further back - “Good thing I left you plenty.”

Dipper glances at their reflection again, grimacing - then does a double-take. Because Bill’s cock has risen with interest again, nearly covering Dipper’s own embarrassing sight. And well. He’s only human. He might look a little bit longer at that. 

“You want another round?” Bill asks, almost nonchalantly, all-too innocent. Fuck, yes, of course Dipper does, he doesn’t know why Bill asked -  “You wanna come on my cock?” Dipper nods again; he swallows. Yes, he really does, he’s aching and empty and been left hanging - And Bill laughs.  “Then go ahead, sapling.” Voice lowered, deeply amused. “Put it in.”

Bill’s really going to make him - Dipper slumps a little, realizing that of course he is. Bill’s not in position to do it himself, and it’d be stupid to let him just poke around and hope it found its mark. If Dipper wants -  then he’ll have to - 

Dipper hesitates, then reaches down to get Bill into position. Hard and throbbing in his grip. Strokes it once, just to feel it, and hear Bill moan. Teamwork is rare, but as Bill lowers him slowly, Dipper adjusts his hips and holds him steady. 

The blunt head of Bill’s cock pops in easily; Dipper draws his hands back up. Glancing, inevitably, at his reflection.. He already knew Bill was impressive, he’s handled it hundreds of times. Watching is different.

The very sight of Bill’s cock entering looks so much more impossible than it is. Like it shouldn’t feel as good as it does. Dipper’s own cock twitches and he takes a quick breath, watching as Bill slides him down his length, inch by inch.

“That’s it. So ready for me.” Bill moves his hips in slow motions, small, teasing thrusts. A slow push-pull that makes Dipper want to slap his hands away and sit down, take the rest in already. With Bill holding him, all he can do is watch. As Bill guides it in, then draws back, nearly popping out before making him take more, and Dipper can see the length of his cock streaked with white from his previous release.  “Good boy.”

Dipper nearly shoves a hand into his mouth - no, he’s not supposed to cover the sound - then grips tight at the sheets instead. Shit, those words shouldn’t affect him this much, but they sound really good. Or maybe it’s the way Bill finally sets Dipper in his lap, fully seated, and lets go of his legs. One of the two leaves Dipper shaking, and pushing against that heavy length inside.

Bill takes one of Dipper’s hands, gilding it down. For a moment, Dipper thinks he’ll have to touch himself again, but Bill just presses his palm on his stomach, just over the base of his dick.

“Feel that?” Bill pushes his hips up, and the bulge that rolls under Dipper’s palm - Bill, moving in him, filling him - Dipper whimpers. Being so full, so completely taken, he can feel it inside and it’s so much, enough to almost make him lose it- “You got all of it in, kid.”

Bill adds a particularly vicious thrust behind the words. No hesitation, no gentleness, and Dipper braces himself, getting his legs under him. Because he can take it, he wants to - and joke is on Bill; he has no idea what he makes Dipper feel. Why he asked for him. Why he thinks of him when he jerks off, and why he wants this, exactly this; Bill inside him, treating him roughly, it’s going to make him - 

Dipper’s aware he’s talking, this time. Making sounds, and words, both too loud and too embarrassing- but Bill got him started on it and now he can’t stop. A meaningless ramble, total nonsense about how it’s good, how he likes it, urging Bill to fuck him, no harder, all in a stream of thought that he can’t stop, even though his face burns.

Which Bill really likes.. Even his rhythm occasionally stutters. Like he can’t help but move when Dipper says something he truly likes, and that seems like every other word, with his touch constantly roving. Straying from Dipper’s hips, just to grope at his chest or his stomach or legs.

“You want it so bad. Like you were made for me.” Bill growls, finally setting his grip on Dipper’s waist, leaning back more to jerk up into him -  “Have you any time I want. My own personal slut.” Bill’s not only fucking up into him, he’s now holding Dipper tight, strong arms lifting and shoving him down, ; it takes everything to try and match his pace - “A perfect little toy.”

And Dipper would let Bill have him, like it if Bill took him, whenever. He could be trying to make notes at his desk and Bill would walk up and shove him down, taking him just because he wanted to, or was bored; make him kneel and suck his cock, heavy in his mouth - or sit in his lap, feeling Bill staying hard inside, impossible and inhuman, waiting for Dipper to be ready to get fucked again, fill him up with every load of come Bill has, over and over - Bill’s touching his dick, but he barely needs to stroke twice before Dipper’s coming in and over his hand. 

Behind him, Bill swears again, long and loud. Then he’s coming again, his chest heaving and his cock pulsing inside. Dipper pushes into it with a few nudges of his hips.

They sit there for a moment. Both catching their breath Dipper lets his head loll back. god he needed that.

Getting up should probably. Be one at some point. But Bill’s still petting his sides, and his legs feel like jelly. 

Lesson learned: Calling Bill over for this. For, essentially, a booty call, was a fantastic idea. No need to doubt it, it’s quick and effective and great. Absolutely the right choice. 

Cuddling like this is nice, but with the pleasure faded it’s. Vaguely sticky. Dipper shifts a bit, trying to get up the urge to move - but Bill takes the initiative, and Dipper lets out a little ‘mh’ as he’s lifted up and plopped on his side onto the mattress. The gesture’s oddly disappointing - 

“Ugh,” Bill groans, and follows a moment later. He tucks an arm under Dipper’s head, another pats his hip. “Y’know, I used to hear all the time about how getting hitched really killed the bedroom stuff.” His fingers idly trace nonsense patterns on Dipper’s side, over his stomach. “No idea what they were on about.”

Dipper huffs out a little laugh. Figures that Bill would pick up on that cliche, over all the time he’s been around. One even Dipper’s heard of, for that matter. 

All he can do is shrug. “They must be doing it wrong.” Dipper suggests. Behind him, Bill hums in agreement.

Not that Dipper really knows much about how other people go about their relationships; he’s only had the one himself. Plus, well, demon involvement, that always complicates things. Especially a marriage so strange and unnerving. Complicated, and weird, unexpected in some ways, a billion things. Something neither of the people actually in the damn thing have completely figured out.

Though Dipper can’t deny that it’s very functional. 

He wouldn’t trade it for anything else. 

When Bill nuzzles into his hair, Dipper takes his hand in his own. Holding it up against his chest, where Bill can feel the beating of his own heart. And because Bill is a jerk, he takes that chance to sneakily pinch a nipple again. Which leads to the predictable bickering, though it’s a little calmer than usual.

Eventually, it kind of just. Trails off. Dipper guesses they’re both too pleased to put real effort in, even for appearances. With a sigh, he rolls onto his back and stretches. Feeling a lingering ache, but mostly relaxed - and Bill’s warmth, so close, is adding to the latter. Plus, everything that Bill’s done to him. Even now, he feels a bit tingly from all the touch.

After a moment, he reaches up to the collar, lazily searching for the clasp.

“Hmmm.” Bill props himself up on one elbow, narrows his eye, and catches Dipper’s hand with his own. He draws it away from the collar, interlacing their fingers with a grin. “Not just yet.”

Oh. Surprising, but not unpleasantly so. Dipper glances down, then back up again. He gives Bill’s hand a squeeze, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Ahem.” Bill rises up, smacking a palm on his chest with pride. “You summoned me, sapling. Trust the contractor you contacted! I’m a real expert in this stuff, ya dig?”  He leans over Dipper, planting a kiss on his chest, then his shoulder. “And I don’t think you’re gonna be satisfied with just one.” 

Dipper swallows. Right now he’s doing just fine. Relaxed, a little achy, and satisfied. But. 

Okay, Bill does have a point; he was in a particular mood earlier. One that’s not completely gone. Even the suggestion has sort of exacerbated the problem.

Though he’d be an idiot not to make it a little tough for him. Just for kicks. 

“I summoned you for one thing,” Dipper retorts. He swats his husband on the top of the head, then squirms a little, like he’s about to wriggle out of his grasp. Predictably, Bill reacts by grabbing onto tighter. “You can’t change the deal now.” 

“Ha! Didn’t prepare for a double-cross, didja?” Bill draws him back down, looming once more. Pressing Dipper’s shoulders into the bed and grinning, white and wild. He clicks his tongue. “Classic rookie error.” 

“You monster.” Dipper presses the back of one hand to his forehead, turning his head to the side - and watches Bill’s shoulders shake with repressed laughter.  “I’ll need a minute, though.” Some people have a refractory period, for crying out loud.

“Sure, no problem! The night is young, so are you, and best of all,” Bill says, cheerful enough. He smacks another kiss on Dipper’s forehead, stroking his sides in a not-at-all subtly possessive gesture. He throws in a wink.  “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

Arrogant ass. Taking charge of things is par for the course, but now Bill’s acting like this was his idea. 

Fine, let him have it. It’s nothing but a pretense, anyway. Dipper rolls his eyes.

They both know who really had the clever idea this time. 

Though he does surge up, arms around Bill’s neck, to drag him in for a kiss. “Right back at you.”

[jadedvibes]

Warm Comforts

Summary: A sudden breakup causes you to feel self-doubt and insecurity about your situation. Fortunately, it’s nothing your sweet roommate and a little Legally Blonde can’t fix.

Pairing: Beefy roommate!Bucky x reader

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, so much fluff, swearing, soft Bucky being the absolute best to a disheartened reader, Legally Blonde references, pet names, hot cocoa consumption, a breakup comfort fic.

Word Count: 2.1k

Like, comment, and/or reblog to put a giant smile on my face ♡

Clutching your phone to your ear, you paced through your kitchen, venting out the drama from your evening. “He told me that he didn’t think it was going to work out in the long run, and then he had the audacity to say that this breakup would hurt me more than him. What kind of asshole says something like that?!” you grumbled to your best friend Wanda.

Just as you were about to continue, your roommate Bucky unlocked the door and came into the kitchen. He moved in three months ago after your prior roommate moved out to live with her boyfriend.

Bucky nodded cordially, cognizant that you were on the phone.

You continued because you needed to let it out. “I’m not great... I saw a real future with this guy, and yeah maybe I romanticized things but I thought that this was it. Or maybe I wanted this to be it — so that I wouldn’t have to bother with the whole dating thing anymore.”

“Dating can be a real mess, that desire is understandable. Gosh, I’m so sorry, babe. You didn’t deserve that,” she said kindly.

“Thanks, Wan. I’m just going to take a shower and deal with my feelings,” you mumbled.

“Okay, well call me if you want company or need anything.”

“Will do, talk soon,” you assented before putting your phone down and exhaling a heavy breath.

Bucky pulled out some leftovers from the fridge before speaking up, “Do you want me to pretend like I didn’t hear anything?”

You sighed deeply, “No need. Quentin and I broke up.”

“I’m really sorry, even if I thought he was kind of a prick,” he said with a sheepish grin, trying to make you smile.

You rolled your eyes at him, a small smile gracing your lips. “Yeah, he knew that too. And it turns out you were right.” ​​Taking a deep breath, you shook your head as you looked down at the countertop. “I just finally thought I had a stable thing with a decent guy. It wasn’t some beautiful romantic thing with him, but I had hope. And now I feel like an idiot for ever thinking it could be real.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

You shrugged as you glanced up at him. “Then I’m naive for thinking someone could like me for longer than a couple months.”

Bucky shook his head, his eyes softening, and his expression warm. “There’s nothing wrong with having hope, sweetheart. It was brave to put yourself out there and try to work things out.”

You smiled weakly, “Thanks, Buck.”

“And for the record, any guy would be lucky to love you for a lifetime. You’re the complete package — please don’t let him make you think otherwise,” he reassured you.

“I —” you couldn’t find the words. Hearing that simple reassurance when your mind told you otherwise meant a great deal. And in that moment, it was exactly what you needed to hear.

You silently stepped towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He wrapped his big strong arms around you instantly, engulfing you and allowing you to feel the warmth radiating off of his body. You relished it, enjoying the sense of security and peace you felt in his arms. Even if his touch was new, even if you hadn’t known him all that long, you couldn’t deny that it had been far too long since you’d felt so comfortable and safe.

You felt him press his lips against the top of your head, and your heart melted. The influx of emotions from the evening finally took its toll on you as your eyes watered, causing you to subconsciously pull back to wipe it before he noticed.

“Will you be alright, can I make you anything to eat?” he whispered, wordlessly wiping away your stray tear as it fell.

“That’s okay, maybe I’ll make something later. I’m gonna grab a quick shower and wallow now,” you murmured, slightly embarrassed by your display of emotions. Bucky was kind enough not to mention any of it though.

“I can keep you company if you’d like? For the wallowing part,” he said with a soft smile.

“Bucky, I’m not going to pull you into my sadness.”

“You’re not pulling, I’m willingly coming in,” he said reassuringly with a boyish grin.

You couldn’t help but smile, he was too kind. But you needed to process the events of the day in private, at least for a little while. “I think I need to be alone tonight. I’m gonna watch Legally Blonde and drink some hot cocoa. You don’t have to worry.”

“Well you know where to find me.”

┈┈┈┈┈・・

While you slipped away to shower and get ready for your solo movie night, Bucky got to work. He swiftly preheated the oven so that he could have a pizza ready by the time you got out, then he got to making your favorite hot chocolate and airpopping some popcorn just the way you liked. By the time you were back he had created a sweet little spread for you and had the film queued up and ready to go.

Being the good friend that he was, he also respected your wishes and was nowhere in sight upon your return.

“Ah Bucky, you didn’t have to do this for me,” you mumbled to yourself. Ever since he came into your life you felt his thoughtfulness and care in everything he did. You were grateful that your path crossed with his.

Deciding to thank him later, you grabbed some food and your favorite blanket before getting comfortable on the couch. Reaching out for your mug of hot cocoa and the remote, you were ready to unwind from the day's turmoil.

As the song “Perfect Day,” started playing to introduce the film, you began to feel a little better. And Bucky’s delicious cocoa certainly filled your chest with a warmth you didn’t know you needed, but definitely appreciated.

You adored Legally Blonde because it showed you how wonderful life could be when one forges their own path and cuts out a thoughtless partner. Elle’s worth did not diminish simply because Warner lacked the ability to see it. She rose above those that didn’t believe in her, and she did so while staying true to who she was at her core. In the end, she saved her client based on her own merits and extensive knowledge of hair care. When Warner finally came to his senses and saw that she was always amazing, she was able to see that he was not worth a second thought.

After you finished the movie you were filled with positivity, and this made you realize that it truly was Quentin’s loss. You didn’t want someone who lacked the capacity to see your worth. You were kind-hearted, wonderful, and deserving of someone who appreciated you just the way you were. And you thought back to Elle, and how in her path to becoming the best version of herself she met Emmett, a guy who valued her and respected her from the moment they met.

Maybe the right guy would show up when you least expected it. Now that the space for someone better opened up, perhaps the universe would deliver just that. Knowing that a world of amazing possibilities existed filled you with hope and made you feel so much better. Regardless of what came next, you knew you would be alright.

As you started to clean up and move your dishes to the sink, your roommate reemerged.

He looked at you softly, unsure of how you were feeling. “Hey, I just came out for some water. You can leave the dishes in the sink and I’ll do them in a bit.”

“That’s okay, and you can stay out here now, my movie and my wallowing are done.”

“Oh okay,” he said, still a little hesitant.

As you started to scrub your dishes, you remembered you had to thank him. “Thank you for the little set up by the way. You made me my favorite things, and I really appreciate it,” you smiled.

He chuckled quietly, coming up next to you with a dish towel, “If you’re gonna wallow you might as well do it with comfort food.”

You handed him the wet plate with a grin. “Can’t argue with that,” you said as you looked into his eyes. “You even used my favorite giant mug — it’s like you know me too well,” you said, before looking back down and scrubbing the sizable cup.

“Only a little well,” he said sweetly. “And um, how are you feeling?”

“Honestly, much better. The movie did wonders for me,” you said confidently.

“Really? Because I’d be willing to run out for your favorite ice cream if you wanted me to.”

You let out a laugh, “What did I do to deserve you?”

Bucky chuckled, “You don’t have to do anything to deserve a little kindness.” He took the final dish from your hand and nudged you, “You’re one of the greatest people I know. You don’t deserve to be mistreated.”

He met your gaze after he put down the cup. You couldn’t understand how a guy as sweet and warm as Bucky could exist. “You make me believe that good guys exist out there,” you whispered.

Casually leaning back against the counter, he crossed his large muscular arms as he stood next to you. “Well you are worthy of the best of them.”

As you looked up into his cerulean eyes, you thought about how grateful you were to have him in your life. “Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow?” you asked abruptly. You weren’t sure why the words slipped out of your mouth, you only knew that you wanted more time with him.

Bucky furrowed his brow with a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You want to take me out… on a date?”

Did you? “No, I mean yeah… a friend date,” you stuttered, heat rising to your cheeks.

For a split second, you thought you saw disappointment flash across his face. “Sure, that sounds great.”

Your heartbeat increased, “Did you want it to be a real date?” you asked shyly. You needed to know, and you knew that if you didn’t ask, the thought would gnaw at you.

Bucky nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he blushed under your gaze. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous, but I am aware that this is the first time that we’ve both been single since we’ve met.”

You blinked in surprise. “Hmm, so it is,” you murmured.

His vivid blue eyes looked deeply into yours. “So it is,” he repeated.

You bit your lip as you started to see your roommate a little differently. Were his eyes always that blue? “Right so we do the friend date, and then um, we’ll just go from there.”

He nodded, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, that sounds good to me,” he said with a broad smile.

Your lips quirked up in a half smile because you could not fathom what was happening. “Well, I should head to bed,”

His eyes widened slightly. “Right, me too,” he said abruptly, finally conscious of the close proximity between you two.

“Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, unable to comprehend your feelings and ready for a moment to process.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” he said, gleefully bemused by the situation.

And while he wished you the best of dreams, it was him that night that dreamt of you. After holding you in his arms, and feeling the need to protect you, something changed. You altered his subconscious and shifted the way he saw you. Your gorgeous smile, your sweet voice, and the way you looked at him before walking away — it consumed him.

When he woke, he decided that he would give you all the time you needed to fully get over Quentin. But he would make sure that his intentions were known — because a girl like you, well it wouldn’t be long before someone tried to win your affection. Bucky only hoped that he had enough charm and luck to be the one to earn it first.

As he entered the kitchen that morning, he saw that you left him a hot cup of coffee in his favorite wolf mug. He beamed, grateful for your thoughtfulness. She knows my favorite mug too. As he got a little closer, he noticed a little sticky note attached to the cup with a heart drawn on it and he melted. She’s too cute.

Bucky felt in his heart that this was the start of something, and he had a strong feeling that things would work out even better than he imagined.

And lucky for the both of you, he was right.

[mywritingonlyfans]

One Shot with Ethan Torchio // It's a bit Fluffly, Smut and Angsty

prompt: in which, ethan always need/visit you when he's not in tour + casual sex(?) with ethan tying you up so you don't touch him i'm telling you this but isn't a hardcore smut

warnings: it's smut. a fluffly kinda sexy(?)maybe it's just sexy bc it's ethan smut ig fem!reader

(he is so hot. i'm crying all my tears, and that's fucking pathetic.)

Your head hurt, you knew your face was probably red due to your desire to go home and cry, but yet, your friends convinced you to go out for a drink. According to them nothing was too bad that a beer couldn’t improve, you doubted it.

Somehow, you found yourself happy to have accepted.

You didn’t know Ethan was back in town, you briefly wondered why you didn’t know, since he always contacted you when he was near (or at least that was what it seemed to be). Still, you were glad to see him. He was always able to make things better, even if only for a short period of time; which in your case was very short one as he wasn’t yours to have.

Ethan complemented your friends, they were all too familiar to him. He hugged you, giving a small kiss to your head while sitting next to you. Suddenly, you felt like a stronger drink would do you good.

It wasn’t hard to tell what was going to happen in the next few hours, after a couple of years going through that, you knew the time you spent together would always be the same. You guessed that you were able to put his head in place, just as he did with yours; and that's why he always came back to you. You'd never be able to tell if it was luck or mischance.

“Was it too hard to find me?” You asked him.

By now, your friends had moved to another corner. “I mean, I’m not complaining, I’m glad you did.” You offered him a weak smile. He did the same.

He looked tired, yet deadly cute.

He shuffled his chair closer to yours, letting his leg touch your bare knee. “Not really, Victoria said she called you in the morning, then told me that you intended to visit here for the night,” he mumbled, signaling to the bartender that he needed a beer, and so did you.

“She’s a gossip,” you wrinkled your nose, causing him to provide offer you a nasal laugh that you had learned to find lovely over the years. “But what has been happenin’ in your life lately? You’re good?” You tried to sound casual, but deep down you knew he wasn’t there entirely for you. Something was bothering him, he was looking for someone to rest on.

“Pretty much the same,” he sighed heavily. He wasn’t tired just physically. “We finished the last album, I feel exhausted.”

He looked at you like a lost puppy, watching your face, analyzing if you were in the mood to listen to him, or even if you were okay with having him around. After all, he came to you out of nowhere.

He’d never make you uncomfortable around him, maybe he hadn't noticed that yet. “C’mon, let it all out. I haven’t seen you for too many months for you to deprive me of the details.”

“If I tell you,” he pondered, “ you’ll tell me why you have a runny nose to match your watery eyes?” He poked your cheek, dragging his fingers so he could put some strands of hair back in place.

His seat was now so close to you that you'd be able to rest your head on his shoulder if you wanted to without creating any bodily discomfort.

“I guess life just hasn’t been all that gentle with me lately.” You giggled at him. “I lost my job last week, the same life shit is goin’ on as usual, and when I finally managed to move to a decent place, I’ll now be actually going back to sharin' apartment with strangers, because, y’know, I can’t afford bein’ in there anymore.”

Ethan was quiet for a while, you needed him more than he needed you. Listening to you made him realize how his worries were nothing at all. He knew that you didn't mind sharing an apartment with someone, but the loss of perspective was always tough.

Without further thinking, he pulled you to himself, fluffing your hair and holding you tight in his grip. You didn’t cry, yet it was possible to read your emotions. It was little, but Ethan knew you.

You took your head off his chest while he still had his arm around your waist. Taking a deep breath, you stared at your laced fingers, feeling it slow down. “I guess it’s all happenin’ at the same time, I’m just not sure how to handle it at the moment,” he held your face in his hand, his mouth close to yours as he ran his fingertips over your chin, until his lips were on you.

He was soft and wet, he had the same taste you still had etched in your mind, at that moment it seemed to be all you needed. He let go slowly, distributing pecks on the corners of your mouth, letting his forehead rest against yours.

You two stayed like that for a few minutes and you could bet that anyone who passed by could see how much of a fool you were for him. You tried not to think about it too much, it was better to have little of him than to have nothing. “Ethan?”

“Huh?” He murmured with his eyes closed, giving your lips a tickling sensation.

“Kiss me more,” and then he did. Ethan was holding you in place while your hands intertwined around his neck. You played with the chain of his necklace, savoring the touch of his tongue on yours, focusing only on him while pulling at his hair to hear his soft moans.

It didn’t take long for the bartender to come get your attention. You laughed nervously against him, you were embarrassed because you didn’t even remember where you were, still Ethan seemed untouchable about it. He wasn’t one to be embarrassed over small things like that, at least not with you. The bartender was quite irritated with the two of you and just now you noticed that your drinks had arrived and hadn’t even been touched; he was rightly pissed.

Ethan stood up, lifting you up with him. You looked in your pockets for your money, but then Ethan said it was okay and that he’d pay. You would argue, yet any money left over would be welcome. You held both beers in hand as he paid, thanking the old lady for the service, still feeling your skin burning with embarrassment, and then headed outside to wait for Ethan.

“Are you drivin’?” He asked, laughing at your state of awkwardness.

You bumped into his shoulder slightly, laughing along with him. “I am not, I’m living nearby,” you whispered as he put his hand inside your skirt pocket, bringing you to his side for a walk. “In the apartment that soon won’t be mine… how ‘bout you?”

“Not drivin’, I thought about staying somewhere to spend the night.”

He was close to home, but not that close, it would take about 3 hours to get to where he lives; it seemed plausible that he wanted to stay. “Are you only here because of me?” You risked asking.

“Yeah,” he took his hand out of your pocket and ran it through his hair. “I didn’t think it‘d be a bad idea.”

There was a silence, but it was far from being uncomfortable. “You know you can stay with me.”

——————-

Considering that you were in the process of moving to another place your house was a bit of a mess. Ethan wouldn’t be bothered by that, somehow your instinct of wanting things always in place - aka Monica from Friends - made you wander around the space in an attempt to make Ethan at home.

“What ‘bout the new album?” You asked, dragging one of the boxes away from him. It wouldn’t even bother anyone, but the thought that it would be in the middle of the room while someone was at your house bothered you.

“I don’t really know, I feel anxious about releasin’ it. It’s not that I don’t want to release it or am afraid of doing so, far from that, it's just, I don’t know… ” His voice fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

You turned to him, wanting to ask him what he had said, after all, that didn’t sound like Ethan, you felt as his hands touched your hips, pulling you on his lap. “Y'know I don’t care about your mess, right? Just, please, stop walkin’ 'round the house dragging boxes.” He said with his face close to your neck, hugging you from behind. His warm breath was in contact with your soft skin, providing heat to your body. Well, there was a minimal percentage chance that you were trying to make the place look good for Ethan, just because he made you a little nervous.

“Okay, fine. I’m fine,” you exhaled, turning to face him. He was smiling with his eyes almost closing; he still looked tired, but at least you were improving his mood. “You know you’re good at what you do, Ethan. You shouldn’t worry 'bout those things.” You held on to his shoulders, breaking something that could turn out to be a pity silence.

He squeezed your thigh at the same time as he laughed humorlessly at your words. “I know that. I guess that this is the short time they gave us to finish the album – it was drivin’ me crazy. The album isn’t bad, not at all, it’s honestly very good. Dami did a incredible job, still if it weren’t for the time it could have been even better. That’s crazy how I’m still letting myself get stressed over this, don’t you think?” He vented, moving his hands up your skirt.

“I know it’ll be good, I can’t think of anything you did that ended up bad!” You ran your fingers over his covered shoulders, down to his chest, going to the first open button of his t-shirt. “But if it’s just stress I can help you.”

He lubed his lips, nodding assiduously, putting you properly on top of him. That way, you were stuck to his body, feeling the rough of his jeans along with the zipper against your underwear. You gulped as he held your face, sealing your lips with his. You were relieved he always guided you through that; the leading up part was way better when it came from him.

You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt in middle of sloppy kisses and grips. Running your hand over his belly, tracing your fingers to the back of his neck while moving your hips lightly. You lugged on his hair, pulling him away to catch your breath. You opened your eyes to find Ethan with a deep pink mouth and brown eyes more intense than normal, at that moment you could have sworn that he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You spread his shirt to the sides, sensing your body getting hotter, when Ethan smirked at your rush, managing to hold both of your hands behind you; stopping you in place.

“No need to rush, we have plenty of time,” he clenched you in his hands. You arched your back, breathing heavily at each touch of his fingers on your wrists.

He ran his nose over your neck, placing kisses and bites on the way to your collarbone, leaving wet tracks that would later turn into dark marks.

Your legs ached from that position, the couch wasn’t the best, but feeling Ethan getting hard under you as you writhed yourself against him, made you want to stay there for as long as he wanted you to. It was crazy to think that at the beginning of the day you were sure that the rest of it would be a pure disaster, and now being spoiled by Ethan’s lips your worries seemed to fade away.

Temporary as that would be, you were determined to give him your all, making his and yours next hours one of the best escapes from both of you. Unnecessary to say that you were lost in your own mind by now, craving for having his strands in-between your fingers, wanting him tugged into you furiously, causing you to ache. Your mouth was ajar, your vision was just white dots as he played with your sensitive skin, driving you insane. Ethan paralyzed when his grip became too strong around your fists and you got louder than usual.

“D’you like that?” He did it again, but this time pushing your body backward. He kept his devilish grin on his face, watching you from top to bottom. You bit your lips, containing your noises to yourself. Such an angel in his eyes. “Up, babe. I need to see something.” He didn’t let you answer, not as if he needed to. You stood up in front of him, legs shaking with your head definitely not in the right place. “Undress.” He rested his elbows on his knees.

His face was serious, and you didn’t see any problem in obeying his voice, but perhaps, due to the lack of his body being glued to yours, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it when I tell you what to do,” He caught you by the hem of your underwear, helping to take it off while you got rid of your blouse. “Especially, when I just got you off my lap, almost unconscious 'cause of some kisses to your soft neck, pet.” He added, drawing circles on the inside of your thigh, smoothly going up to your center.

You felt your breath come to a halt. “You’re just too bossy.” You teased, confirming that your breathing was faulty.

He patted his nose over the damp stain of the fabric, placing a kiss there. “And you love it.” He pecked you a few more times, teasing you by running his fingers on the edges as putting the cloth to the side; never touching you where you needed him.

Almost involuntarily you took hold of his hair, bringing him closer to your core. And then, you understood his previous question, it wasn’t just about not being able to touch him, but also about the power he was having over you.

He cut his actions short and got up, hovering over you. “Tonight, you won’t be allowed to touch me, all right?!” He whispered, tossing your hair behind your ear.

That’d be comical in any other situation, yet with his body and eyes fixed on your frame you felt in his domain.

You nodded, diving into the way he pulled at the hair on the nape of your neck firmly so that you were looking at him. “Go on, babe,” He insisted on having the words he wanted.

“Yes, it’s all right, Ethan,” it was far from all right, you couldn’t do that. How could you go without touching, making a mess of his hair or marking your nails on his back?

“That’s my girl,” he praised you in between sighs.

He was excited while your face was overflowing with nervousness; not out of fear, but out of curiosity. He finished removing his shirt and indicated with his fingers for you to lie down on the couch.

You shut your eyes tight, with his voice echoing 'my girl’ in your mind, Ethan was lugging your wrists above your head as you did what he told you to do. He tied them with his shirt. “Is this hurtin’ you? Are you comfortable?” He tightened it in a knot.

Your head and elbows were on the arm of the couch, only your hands were unsupported. Although you weren’t uncomfortable, it was to be expected that pain would appear the next day; it’d be worth it. “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” You assured him as he knelt beside the couch, running his hands down your torso, making you squirm.

He went down to the hem of your underwear, taking it off with the help of your legs kicking the lace away. “Good then,” he warbled, pattering lines on your pubic hair. “Needy and in your proper place.”

“Bastard,” you swore through clenched teeth.

He grinned, admiring how your breast rose and fell in a quick but punctual rhythm while your hips fidgeted at his touch. You looked like a piece of art he had just created, swollen lips, filled in lovely marks on the collarbone. He found himself in need to concentrate on his breathing while watching you, to control his pulse as he reached his fingertips to your pussy.

“Ethan” you breathed out, forcing your fists. “Go on, please,”

With that, he held your hands, forcing them down and slid a finger inside you. Your lips opened in a sigh and he took the opportunity to kiss you, running his tongue over your bottom lip and nipping it to his mouth, keeping things on a slow pace.

You wanted to hold his hand, make him go faster or be able to pull the locks of his hair until he understood how much you wanted him, but you had no way of doing that, and you knew he was just doing that to provoke you.

His lips traveled over your neck again, this time giving light kisses, blowing air on the soft fresh he had left in there.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said without even opening his eyes, delighting in your skin as he sped up, now rubbing his thumb gently over your bud.

You whispered something almost inaudible that Ethan recognized as his name. He raised his head, coming face a face to you. “Right there, huh?” He asked, focusing on the spot that was blurring your vision.

You groaned. The satisfying delight running through your veins. You closed your legs, wishing you could hold on to his body, but all he did was laugh, shoving his fingers leisurely into you.

“No, no Ethan,” you looked at him properly, thinking that if you hadn’t been with your wrists tied you’d have slapped his chest.

He wiped his hand on your thigh, and stood up slipping his jeans down his legs along with his underwear. You sighed at him, stretching your arms, staring at the ceiling to disguise yourself. Not that it was necessary, Ethan was already too much of a show-off when it came to you for your liking.

“You good? How’s your arms?” He doubted, getting on top of you.

He had his hair damp, falling over the spots on his forehead. Some of his locks was glued to his chest and his golden pendant dangled in front of your eyes. For a split second, you though about saying that you missed him, but you were wise enough to know better than doing such a thing.

“If I say that I’m not good. Are you goin’ to untie me?”

He pressed his chest to yours, your body sticking to his since you were both sweaty.

“Not even a chance,” He stroked your neck with his thumb, up and down, with a silly look on his face.

You grunted as soon as you felt how solid hard he was against your thigh, he aligned himself in-between your knees, holding on to your shoulders, and without hesitation he filled you up. Your body tingled and your voice failed, causing a silent moan to slip from your lips. His head fell over the crook of your neck and you could feel how dysrhythmic his breathing was. His warm body along with his breath hitting on your neck added a pleasant feeling in your stomach, leaving you dizzy under him.

“Move Ethan,” you tried to sound understandable, embracing his waist with your legs.

He thrusted deeply in you, leaving a breathed sigh of relief in your ears. You stretched out your arms, tightening your thighs around him. He held the shirt in your hands, preventing it from coming loose.

“No, I wanna touch you,” you whined.

“You will, just be patient, babe,” he squeezed your wrists in his hand.

Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the way his body was over yours, every movement and every delicate touch.

He went slowly at first, making sure you were taking all of him before going faster. Once he felt your walls clenching around him, he murmured a breathless 'fuck’, letting go of your hands so that you could finally feel him. You dug your nails into his back, kneading your body against his at the same time as he hugged you.

As you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, with an intense gaze, building you up to feel sexy and wanted.

Both of you were a mess; sweaty and sticky. You felt a tingling ecstasy take all over your body, your toes twitching as you emptied yourself into him. He kept working on you until his body collapsed into yours, filling you up to perfection.

The last thing you remembered was having your fingers entwined in his hair, patting at it slightly as he whispered sweet nothing against your skin; just like a lullaby.

———–-------

You woke up to the noise of the television, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the daylight. Failing to stretch, you felt how sore your body was.

Your eyes searched for Ethan, finding him sitting opposite to you with a lazy smile and a cup of tea in hands, his attention was all on you. Friends was playing on the television, but you doubted he was really watching it.

“Good mornin’ babe,” his husky voice echoed through the room. It was the best thing to hear in the morning. “How’s it? Hurtin’?” He asked when you started examining your marked wrists.

He was fully dressed and although you weren’t, he had managed to get a sheet to cover you.

“Good mornin’. It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt,” you mumbled, scratching your eyes, curling up on the sheet. “How long will you be stayin’ in town?”

“Not long,” he paused thoughtfully. You already expected that he wouldn’t be with you for long, still sometimes you liked to think that it’d last longer than just a few days before he disappeared to another continent. “I need to go home in a few minutes, I’m going to take a flight at night to adjust the final details of the album.”

“Sounds nice,” you wanted to have the courage to tell him how he made things in your life look just right, as if he were some kind of piece missing from your puzzle. “I can’t wait to hear it, hear what your great fingers are capable of.” You ignored your thoughts. He laughed.

However, you truly believed that not saying anything was a wise move.

He lifted a cup from one of the boxes next to him, holding it out to you. “I made one for you too, I hope you don’t mind.”

You didn’t mind it, in fact, you loved the way he made himself at home so quickly. The home that soon wouldn’t be yours anymore. You wished Ethan could remedy your worries for more than just one night.

“Thank you,” you took the still warm drink in your hands, looking at him as if he were part of your decor. “You can smoke in here, I don’t mind that either,” you spoke up. You couldn’t even imagine that he’d have gone without lighting a cigarette all morning.

“The place is all clean, and smells nice. I bet you never lit one yourself, I wouldn’t do that.” He was right.

“Well, y'know that I don’t care about the smell, I just don’t see the need to leave the house impregnated with it.” You explained, remembering that Ethan’s house was a perfect description of that smell, yet you loved his place.

“I know this is going to sound strange,” he started. “But if you can’t find a place in time to live in… you can stay at mine, I mean, you know I am never home and as I’ll be travelin’ you could make yourself at home.”

He said it casually, and you knew he wasn’t lying, if you wanted to he wouldn't even think twice about letting you stay at his.

“No need, I’ll be fine. I do appreciate it though.” you took a sip of your now cold drink.

He bobbed, checking what you thought could be the time on his phone.

“You have to go, I guess?” You asked, your soft voice revealing you didn’t want that.

“I need to,” he gave you a small smile, getting up. “It’s gettin’ a bit late for me.”

“I see,” you went to him, adjusting the sheet on your body, feeling ridiculous for still being undressed. “I guess I’ll see you, right?” You added it while he picked up your stuff on the couch; keys, wallet and the pack of cigarettes. There was no answer for your question.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, heading to the door. “You could come and visit, spend a few days with us. It’d be nice.”

“On tour? Like a groupie?” You wrinkled your nose. His arms wrapping around you. You’d miss it.

He squeezed you into his chest, his tiny beard tickling your cheek. “You know you are much more than just a groupie for me, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer that. He pulled away and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t.

“See ya Y/N,” instead, he kissed the top of your head. “Think about it, both about comin’ to visit and also about needing a place to stay for a while.”

“I’m sure I will, thank you Ethan,” you watched him, from his rumpled shirt to dark circles under his eyes. He’d always have a special space in your heart. “I guess I’ll see ya then.”

>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<

taglist ( 'cause someone actually wanted to be tagged, i didn't even force anyone😁): @maybanksslut , @oro-e-diamanti

[oh-for-fic-sake]

It’s A Match Chapter One

Masterlist

Disclaimer

Summary: Filming is over and Henry returns home to and empty house. And he doesn't like it, things are getting to him and he doesn't want to be alone anymore. Then his brother suggests online dating, it sounds mad but henry decides to give it a shot. If worst comes to worst he just deletes the profile. He has nothing to loose right?

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Cheese, Self Indulgent Fic, Rpf, Plus sized reader.

A/N: so I wrote this before the whole 'girlfriend' shock and everything that has followed. I was of two minds whether to ever post it but honestly, this is my blog and I've clearly stated that i am going to continue writing Rpf. I want to do a little ficlet/mini fic and well here we go. It wont be smutty just  somewhat angsty then fluffy. Enjoy~

Taglist: In Reblogs.

Henry slumped back on the seat in his conservatory and sighed, from here he could see his brothers and their wives outside, each snuggled up on the out door wicker sectional he had got to have the family over. It was the first family get together for over a year. He was happy, god it was amazing to see them but... He couldn't help being a tad envious.

They all had a family, wife and kids to go through this shitstorm in. He had no one, well he ha Kal. But that was it he sighed and looked away sipping from his cup slowly takeing a moment for himself. He needed to just chill, but it was getting hard... This year had really knocked him back he was at an all time low he hadn't felt like this for a long time. He knew he was depressed, he felt stupid there was no reason to be but there we go.

Henry had been getting himself all twisted for a while now, filming the Witcher helped but now that was over and he was home alone. Left with his thoughts in a big empty house.

"Sooo little brother want to tell me what's going on or am I gonna have to get mum in here?" Henry jumped at the voice and spun around to face his brother who was keeping a safe distance at the door. Wiping his hands down clearly just having washed them again.

"I ah its nothing, you know me I'm a worry wart" he said waving off his older brother he didn't want to bring down the mood of the small gathering, it was why he had come in here to take a breather.

"You called us all here for a visit hen, out of the blue when lockdown is still being eased out. Its clear you don't want to be alone, yet your sitting in here alone." His older brother said leaning on the door frame folding his arms trying to figure out what was really going on. He could see his little brother was hurting he wanted to help.

"I've got Kal" Henry said with a chuckle and looked about for the bear only to frown and sigh seeing the room was empty apart fro  him and his brother.

"Kal's outside with the kids hen, what's up? You can tell me you know" henry sided as his sibling  moved sitting in the small seat across from him. He knew that his family would listen but he felt so... spoilt like he was asking too much and was being selfish. It wasn't like him.

He grunted leaning back choosing not to look at his brother instead focusing on the cup in his hand. He spun it slightly then heaved a sigh. He wasn't getting away with not speaking about it, he was going to air out his worries one way or another. With his brother or his mother, and he loved his mother but this was? He wanted to keep this issues close to his chest. So far only Kal knew about his problems.

"I... I've had enough... just had enough of fucking covid and being alone... i felt isolated before all this shit kicked off and now?" He vented releasing all the fears he had. It was tough, he was a family man without his own little family, he hadn't managed to find anyone to share his life with and it got to him. He tried being sincere and polite, he took care of himself and tried staying true to himself but... something was missing it had to be! On paper he was a safe bet a good man! Yet his relationships never worked. There were different opinions or his other half couldn't handle the life style or they tried changing him or they couldn't put up with the way he loved so furiously- so openly wanting to always hold and kiss them. It just never quite worked.

"Its- fuck everything has just caught up with me...worries I've had for a few years now I could ignore them you know? I had other stuff going on, was always out and about meetings and press tours I was busy! But now?" He tried putting his feeling into words but he was conscious, he didn't want to whine or bitch about his life. He loved his work and the life he had made for himself he just? Wanted someone to share it with.

"Now after covid you've got all the time in the world to think?" Henry nodded agreeing with his brother. Covid had made him face these fears head on. He has been alone for the best part of a year with the uncertainty of his work and filming quarantines and isolations.

"Yeah, it hurts I'm... I'm in deep and I? I don't know how I'm getting out of this slump" henry finally said outloud, his brother dipped his head listening to him as he ranted. Started letting out all the frustration and anxiety out but stopped short with another growl closeing his hand around the cup tightly hissing in frustration then looked away.

"And what's caused it? I know you hate being alone but?" Henry sighed shaking his head as his brother tried coaxing more out of him. He drew in a shaky breath wanting to cry, he was just so lost and upset over being upset and alone.

"Two lock downs... Two alone- I? If this carries on for the next few years I don't... I don't want to be alone anymore! I want to settle down, I want an actual personal life! A relationship a family and? How? How am I gonna find all that? They want fame or money or something! Women never seem to want me for me, they say the do then judge me for my hobbies- I'm a geek I like tech and games and fantasy! And women don't like that" he spewed the words like they were venom, half ashamed of being so dramatic but the fear was real. Henry was scared, he wanted love. He wanted a family of his own, and it seemed impossible, now more then ever.

"I want to meet someone who will take me as I am, for me and I just I'm giving up. I'm giving up on it I can feel it, almost forty and look, alone unmarried no kids-I have no one to share my life with, it hurts am I not good enough for that?"  He hung his head as he spoke the final words put loud. He felt so vain and full of himself when he said them out loud, his skin crawled.

But it was how he felt, being the muscular decent looking man he was didn't go with his personality. He was a geek and the woman who were drawn to him didn't want that. And the woman that shared his hobbies normally weren't confident enough to even speak to him. Society's views on acceptable couples had put Henry in no mans land.

"What about online dating?" His brother spoke up but Henry just grunted rolling his eyes frustrated.

"What? No I cant do that I'd be fucking swamped" he hissed in irritation frustrated at the mere suggestion of him trying to date online.

"Whoa hold your horses let me finish I mean come on Hen there's bound to be hundreds of shy sweet women on there, I mean girls that are into your hobbies and stuff aren't usually the ones out and about partying and stuff, so its more likely they will be online" his brother quickly explained before Henry could pop off on one and shut him down.

Henry opened his mouth and stopped himself. That was a good point. Many of the women he would click with weren't going to be in bars or fancy parties. They were normally shy and at home most of the time reading or playing games.

"I... You really think i could meet someone? Meet the one online?" He asked in a small voice warming to the idea. His sibling smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes little brother, your a down to earth guy, just make a profile and have a look, if you don't like what you see you can delete the profile" henry nodded slowly thinking it over. There'd be no harm if he failed well he'd be no worse off, a little disheartened but that's about it.

"Look write down a few things you want in your dream girl, have a pseudo name like fucking I don't know Hank! Or something and say your a runner on set or something" his brother spoke up quickly as Henry sat back and actually thought about it seriously. He was right, henry could tweak things and be careful about what he shared and if he did meet the one then she'd understand... He could explain the predicament he was in. That he just wanted someone who liked him for him. And he would only reveal himself to her if she was the one and he was sure she would understand. As long as he was himself and honest about everything else in his life then there was no harm... and if he used proper photos of himself just... half cropped out then? It wasn't catfishing? Because he was being himself just using the nickname his mother used to call him.

"O-okay so be myself but... Just tweak a few things? So they don't know its me?" He reiterated to his brother still trying to figure out the morality of this whole idea.

"Yes! No full on pictures, no photos of Kal either new photos henry not old, maybe of your eyes up or something? Girls love blue eyed boy- not your right that brown will give you away... you could even fuck em up with a behind the scenes character photo? I mean come on how many men use a superman photo for their profile these days?" He encouraged wanting more then anything to cheer up his little brother.

"I yeah... That could work ,thank you- I'm sorry I got so worked up it... Its just getting to me now" henry apologised but his brother shook his head and chuckled standing up to go back outside to the others that were all happily chatting in the garden.

"I know Hen, look just give it a go, you might be surprized... come on lets get back out there, after all you are the host~ you cant just run off and hide" henry grinned standing and following his brother. It was decided, he'd give online dating a go!

A week later Henry sat at the computer everything was ready, he'd taken some precise photos and had spent the last half hour writing a profile up. He had felt a little guilty about this... Was he lying? Technically it was him, he was going by Hank which was a nickname his parents gave him as a child, luckily this site didn't require a surname because honestly? He had no clue! To fend off some guilt he had thrown in a behind the scenes photo of himself as superman it wasn't much but it helped take the edge off. The other photos were cropped and there were a good few just so that the women knew he wasn't technically a catfish; he even did one with him covering half of his face with a piece of paper with Hank scrawled across it. At the time he felt silly but it helped with his anxiety over the whole thing.

He paused for a second eyeing the screen rereading the profile over and over trying to make sure it was alright and honest. And it was, he had explained a little about himself, his hobbies and interests and his job... Only brushing over he worked for the film and tv industry recently working for Netflix he hadn't exactly explained what he did but there was enough information.

With a deep breath he clicked the button his mouse hovered over going live with the profile. Now all he had to do was wait and hope he caught a good womans eye. Within moments a few profiles popped up, matches. He scanned them flicking through some of the profiles and felt his heart crack. They were all full of badly filtered photos and used slang that to be honest he didn't even understand. What was so hard about using plain English?

He growled growing frustrated clicking through what were clearly a bunch of wannabe sugar babies. Each profile had a main photo a little bit of info then a few more pictures added to them. He scanned each one quickly going through the motions judging each one. 'Too far away... Your clearly not even eighteen?... Oh you like dc? Really hate to break it to you but thor is not a dc character' Henry grunted as he bypassed what felt like hundreds of women each with their own 'duck face' selfie most advertising their Instagram pages some even ballsy enough to add their only fans pages.

'Wait a second who was that?' He paused and scrolled back up and eyed the image on screen. It was a face on photo a cute woman smiling uncomfortably. Unlike everyone else's there was no distorting blur or heavy editing, the only make up was in the form of eyeliner in a set of black slightly uneven cat eyes. A slightly skewed black flicks making a point of no editing on the photo.

She was a full figured woman with proper kissable round cheeks and a sweet nervous grin. Her eyes were what got him, they were kind and genuine he could see she was uneasy about the photo but she was beautiful. She lived about half hour away which wasn't to bad.

Henry clicked the profile and scrolled down she didn't smoke, drunk occasionally and had no children. She did however have a college education in animal care and ran a small business. Centred on dogs by the looks of it. He moved further down reading the profile.

Y/n, 30, business owner, e/c, 5'4, curvy

I'm shy so will take a while to warm up to you. A honest woman, sometimes to honest I don't seem to have a filter 🤗 I'm laid back and tend to be sarcastic and I love animals I'm a kc certified dog breeder as well as run a small successful business that caters to dogs. So if you are allergic or don't like dogs then leave now but thank you for clicking🙃

I spend most of my free time gaming or reading. I enjoy the fantasy genre and love dc and marvel (though I love dc just a tad more🤫)

I have one fur baby in the form of my lovely girl Amii who is a three year old malamute. Yes malamute not a husky or Akita so again if you don't like dogs or big dogs I'm not the girl for you.

I'm looking for someone to have fun and maybe build a life with. Covid has been tough being single and decided that it was about time I tried this whole online dating thing. If you want to chat pop me a message 🥰

I do not have a personal Instagram, snapchat or only fans! Stop asking for pictures!😠😠

Henry's face split into a huge grin. She seemed to good to be true. She was wholesome, successful in her own right and looked fun. She didn't seem to be full of kale and bullshit. Just genuine and? Henry couldn't put his finger on it but there was something drawing him to this woman.

True to her word there was no Instagram link, no only fans or snap chat or anything. He scrolled further seeing photos of her and the biggest fluffiest dog he had ever seen in his life. She was sitting down next to who he assumed was Amii her dog and he melted. Y/n looked happy and content, living her best life.

There was nothing that sent alarm bells ringing, no racey photos or 'Netflix and chill' innuendos. The profile was clean and genuine.  He was right the woman was a little chunky but extraordinarily beautiful. The curves suited her and made her look more... cheerful and he could tell she was strong aswell, you had to be to have a huge dog like that about you.

There were photos of her walking a large pack of dogs in the wood; that he recognised! They were the very same he took Kal to only ten minuets down the road, he even recognised the small logo of her company on the jacket she wore. He had seen dog walkers wearing the same jacket so he knew of her brand. I he remembered correctly the company offered dog walking, grooming and kennel facilities as well as offering Breeding services helping stud dogs and stuff. They also helped advertise registered breeders and took in rescues for rehoming. It was a brilliant little company that he had even used for Kal once or twice to get his teeth cleaned and nails clipped, because Kal was a bugger for his pedicures!

He moved further down seeing more photos of the woman a small section with the games and tv she liked. Witcher was in both the tv and games category aswell as peaky blinders, Vikings and a few other shows.

Henry paused as he saw the chat button. Should he? He but his lip twisting on the spot in he chair rocking from side to side. What harm is there? He could just send a message she looked like a fun loving woman, he shared the same interests and stuff... so why not?

His fingers hovered over the keys ready to type out the words. But he choked. His mind ran blank what does he say? Hi? I saw your profile? Does he ask for a date? What does he do?

He let his hands fall and growled. Then scanned over the side of the message bar seeing a few pre-typed responses.

'It's a match!' 'You look fun, lets chat' 'I like your profile picture'

He winced they all seemed... wrong? Somehow they were polite and all but it- they wasn't personal or anything just... not quite right. He looked down as Kal came padding over and slumped next to him resting his chin on his foot with a loud sigh. With that Henry had an idea typing away a little message and hitting send before he could really think.

You sighed typing away the latest wage slips and added up all the various overtime, you really needed some more staff on now that lockdown was coming to an end. Thankfully animal care was essential so you hadn't been hit too hard a few staff were on furlough as they were extreme high risk and shielding but you were going out of your way to make the premises covid safe. Luckily it wasn't too hard as much of the business was just a few staff and lots of dogs.

You frowned when a chat icon popped up in to corner of your screen. 'Hank?' You though trying to remember if you knew a Hank? Maybe a client or some old friend... but you honestly couldn't recall. You l saved your document and clicked the small icon bringing up a chat and frowned a you read the little message.

'I call my dog bear but he has nothing on Amii, Shes the fluffiest dog I've ever seen in my life she looks perfect for bear hugs😅'

'what the hell?' You cursed scrunching your nose up at the screen rereading the words. That's a bit random... you clicked his icon a small photo of half of his face then froze as a dating profile opened up. 'Oh... shit' you said seeing that your own profile you'd set up a few days ago out of curiosity had garnered the attention of the handsome blue eyed stranger. You swallowed biting you lip thoughts of finishing updating your records now gone as you scanned Hanks profile and a small smile crossed your face.

Hank, 37, works in the film industry. Blue eyes, 6ft, muscular.

Decided to finally try this online dating, unsure what to say other then I'm looking for a life partner. I like to think I'm funny and laid back. I'm fit and active but that doesn't mean you have to be, but maybe my lady could come for walks with me and my four legged son? I promise he's my best freind and a good boy.

My job is tough and I'm away for long periods of time, but when I'm home I like to play games and am into warcraft. I paint miniatures when I can. Fantasy and superheroes are a big part of my hobbies so if you don't like all things geek then I'm probably not for you.

But if they are? Then feel free to message me, I will reply when I can.

You read and re-read the profile And your hands hovered over your chicklet keyboard. Biting your lip, do you respond? He seemed sweet and real... if that made sense. You took a deep breath. What was the worst that could happen? Asking for a plane ticket? You decided to take a chance and typed back a reply hitting send whilst you had your nerve and then flushed.

"And they say fluffy dogs only lure in women~" You giggled to yourself  moving a hand over the huge fluffy girl beside you giving her pets whislt thinking of a reply.