#really bad place and-ya know-HUMAN RIGHTS
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âitâs not about canon fucking capital!â nandor spits in the air between them. guillermos jaw drops a bit, and it all starts to feel like a bit of a sick joke to nandor. its never easy, not with guillermo.
he shifts and narrows his eyes. âbeing a janitor had its good moments,â nandor admits. âi liked being the barrier between the cleanliness of productivity and the filth of failure. also those paper towels were very powerful, they didnt even leave any streakies!
âbutâŠâ nandor lets his shoulders drop and he suddenly cant look at guillermo. âbeing around humans all day is kind of shitty.â
guillermo huffs. âtrust me, hanging around vampires all the time isnt all its cracked up to be either. ya know, i spent so many years cleaning up shit and say what you will about panera but atleast cleaning toilets there got me a free pastry-â
âwhy do you always leave me?â
it shocks them both into silence. guillermos jaw clicks shut while nandor hunches his shoulders, as though he could curl away from his own confession. he was literally commanding an army, but here was where words failed him.
guillermo swallows. âleave you? im right here.â
âno you are not,â nandor hisses. âyou are with celeste and then you are with derrick and then it is freddie and laszlo and now you are with jordan.â he steps forward, which makes guilermo step back. conquering lands, even here and now.
âwhy must you always leave? why do you want to leave, and why do i want you to stay? it was not like this with other familiars, ill have you know!â
nandor thinks about all the snide comments made by laszlo and nadja over the years. their familiars were always easy come, easy go. but guillermo was always there. he would misplace an ugly sock or leave his toothbrush in the open.
guillermo has always been different. guillermo has always been the exception.
it makes all the leaving he does very painful. nandor doesnt know why.
âother familiars donât pledge almost half their lives to one master,â guillermo counters. âother familiars wouldve left a long fucking time ago.â
it takes everything in nandor not to shudder at being referred to as master by guillermo. âi dont give a shit about other familiars. not even my own old familiars. they were just⊠blips in the radar.â
âand me?â guillermo whispers, finally reclaiming the ground covered by nandor and placing them almost chest to chest. âfifteen years for a vampire doesnt seem like much of anything.â
âyou were my purpose, guillermo,â he says. âto make you into a fucking cool vampire. and then you decided it wasnt actually what you wanted and after that annoying ceremony that i put a lot of hard work into, you wanted to leave again. so now i have no familiar, no purpose because you are not a vampire. i have nothing.â
guillermo stays quiet for many seconds and nandor can see his eyebrows twitching in thought. it had been so long since nandor has stood this close to guillermo so if nothing else, the proximity was a nice touch
âmy purpose was to be turned into a vampire, by you,â guillermo says. âand then i realized it would never happen unless i did something, so i did. but it doesnt change the fact that i spent so many years knowing that iâŠâ he swallows and to nandors delight, his cheeks turn crimson under shitty lighting. âi was meant to be yours, turned by you.â
âyou are driving me crazy,â nandor says quietly. âi do not know why you keep leaving me and why i care so much. you really hurt me, you know! every time you leave it hurts!â
âi know why i keep leaving,â guillermo says. âand i think i know why you want me to stay so bad. the reasons are pretty similar, if i had to guess.â
âtell me,â nandor growls, his hands coming up to grip guillermos biceps so that he cannot flee, not again. âtell me.â
with the same drive behind the words that would compel weaker men, guillermo looks up at him, and before nandor can even think about speaking again, guillermo surges up and crashes their lips together with his hands tangled in nandors hair and knocking the head piece off in the process.
before it can even begin, guillermo pulls away. he is panting and then pulling a vibrating telephone out of his pocket. nandor watches with blazing eyes
âits jordanâŠâ he trails off, looking thoughtful while nandor feels murderous.
a small smile creeps onto his face as the still vibrating phone goes back into his pocket. âbut Iâve got better things to do.â
guillermo smiles at nandor and for once, he looks settled, not ready to bolt. nandor knows the same expression is reflecting on his face as well.
as he makes his move towards a willing guillermo, he hopes the camera crew is more engrossed with whatever antics nadja and laszlo and colin robinson have gotten into.
#space.txt#space snips#wwdits#wwdits spoilers#what we do in the shadows#what we do in the shadows spoilers#nandermo#who said all of this#where am i
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Scale, Seth and Haru husband headcanons pls?
ngl I think all 3 of these dudes would have a weird adjustment period to being husbands, though frankly I think Scale would maybe have the easiest time (well-- MAYBE Haru, but okay---)
Scale
I think the biggest change from boyfriend to husband is going to be him questioning if he should continue his assassin work
He's not going to set down his knives quickly or lightly but like----
he has a spouse now
he doesn't want them becoming a widow/widower
OR EVEN WORSE GETTING CAUGHT UP IN HIS BUSINESS??
bruh, he would DIE
I highly doubt he'd actually end up quitting but there WOULD be some changes around here
for starters--- he has a better divide between his personal and professional life
This is maybe me watching too much venture bros but I really do like the idea of Scale adopting a sort of on the clock/off the clock mentality ("That's my business-- but we're not at the office right now, ya see")
also he gets WAY more protective
your home is probably laced with all kinds of booby traps
and he DEFINITELY makes you run drills
like fire drills but instead of fire it's enemy assassins
Aside from the stuff pertaining to his career, he's actually a very sweet and loving husband
Not necessarily a 'I made a home cooked meal in my apron' every night kind of loving but more a 'I stopped by that place you like and got us dinner' type
also def kind of nerdy husband but less about magic or dnd and more about weapons and armor (though don't get it twisted, he'll get down hard on some dnd)
lots of quality time whenever he's home
lots of texts when he's away
lots of cuddles on the couch and falling asleep in each others arms
he knows your favorites and brings flowers when he's been gone for a while
you're his home <3
and frankly he's very protective of that home
Seth
okay honestly
Seth is probably the one who has to step up to being a proper husband the most
at the start he's definitely bad at this whole 'being a good husband thing'
but all it takes it you getting visibly frustrated with him a handful of times and he realizes he needs to up his game
his life is REALLY different now, but if he gets to spend it with you it's worth it
and for what it's worth he's actually really good at apologies
and also good about being sincere about them too, it's not just fluff to get him out of trouble
he's also very protective of you but he's not as 'DECLARATION OF HIS UNDYING LOVE AND PROTECTION AGAINST THE LIGHT OF THE MOON' as Scale is about everything
also is actually really good at listening to you vent/share work drama
also always offers to send your annoying co-workers to hell
you say no but the offer still stands
is only really good at barbecue and baking so anything too far past that you're gonna have to order in or cook for the night
also I don't know if he'd suggest this first but if the subject of having date night comes up he's actually really really about date night
likes to take you somewhere nice or fun or both
also will try to convince you to adopt a hellhound
this will be a forever conversation in your marriage, just letting you know now
Haru
so look
I'm not saying Haru would ever cheat on you
actually far from it
BUT I WILL SAY that going from a long ass life time of tom catting around every night to a committed long-term monogamous relationship is going to be a major life change for ANYONE
including Haru
that being said that's actually kinks you worked out early in your relationship
I do get the sense that Haru low key misses his old life a bit, but knowing you has changed him too much and he could just--- never go back ya know??
and frankly he wouldn't want to
but again that's like--- also stuff that was dealt with during boyfriend stage
actually honestly, once you're committed to each other, he legit doesn't see you as anything other than his mate
married or not his attachment is the same honestly
marriage isn't JUST a human thing but it's more of a you thing that a Haru thing
as far as he's concerned you two are as good as married already
all though who could pass up a party to show you off and celebrate your union???
so yeah-- you'll have to bring it up, but Haru is down to marry you right away
so I think with Haru, YOU'RE going to have to change your life the most due to marriage
he's kind of the leader of a whole group of people
he's not going to make you come live with them, but you ARE gonna have to at least be next door
that's gonna be the biggest marriage hurdle depending on who you are
though if push comes to shove he is willing to find a successor and run away with you
but low key please don't make him do that cause his people need him and he loves them and also he'd feel guilty about it FOREVER haha
but yeah past that married Haru is not much different from boyfriend Haru except he's a little bit more clingy/up front about pda etc cause HEY that's his SPOUSE, he's allowed
he also does REALLY LOVE calling you his spouse in front of anyone and everyone as many times as he can
#bear text#blush blush game#blush blush#bear talks#bb game#sad panda studios#Scale#Seth#Haru#scale blush blush#blush blush scale#seth blush blush#blush blush seth#haru blush blush#blush blush haru
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Remember when the Audrey villain leaks came out and then we saw the offical c4 and s3 outfit reveals and saw the c4 on the isle and the s3 in an auradon forest and we all thought there had been some sort of time spell where Audrey twisted time and instead of the c4 coming to Auradon it was the s3 so Audrey stayed with Ben and there was a whole adventue to fix the timeline? no? just me? okay
#i remember the theories they were so interesting#like how dr. Facilier ran an underground motorrace and the vks had to race to get the key to Hades lair#and we all thought Harry and Gil had dyed their hair blue becuase that reveal photo of the s3 looked so odd for Harry's hair lighting and i#looked blue#and we all thought Audrey had gone to a wishing well like in ouat and had cast a time spell and the vks had to work together to get their#timeline back#Uma#Mal and Audrey and Hades are the only ones who remember the last timeline#aka demi-gods#person who cast the spell#and god#and Mal goes to see Hades and confronts him cuz hes a god and might know where cronos sundial is so she can get her timeline back#but she also notices alto of the isle is-way better than what she and her friends had done?? theres fresh food-no one is wearing ratty old#clothes that were trash from auradon#the air is better#and theres no propagana pictures#Mal asks-not so descretly-what happened and Hades just goes 'uma.'#Uma made it her whole ass mission to make the isle a better place in gernal becuase even if they're steadely getting kids off-its still a#really bad place and-ya know-HUMAN RIGHTS#Ben is very supportive and the isle becomes less an inhumane prison and more just a isle of solitude where the villains live without magic#the barrier was edited personally by FG and Uma to allow fresh air and water in and out of the isle becuase it was really fucked up that#once ANYTHING gets in it cant go out so the isle waters were really really poluted and bad and FG was like- "how did i not know it was this#bad!?â and uma is just like â....really?â#anyway i have feelings about the fandoms old theories about d3#anyway Mal goes through teh deliema of either going back to her timeline where the isle is still really bad but shes happy or#stay in the timeline where the isle is much better but she's still stuck and not with Ben/becoming queen#so she has the same choice in this alt timeine that she gets in d3 but its much more-just on her-becuase she knows Uma wont twist back#the timeline-shes happy#Harry and Gil are happy-lots of kids are already off the isle#and Ben looks happy too...hopefully
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It sucks so much once you realize how entwined someone is in your life, then it just sucks more when you have to scrub away the traces it existed. That it was there, and it was good, until it wasn't anymore.
(Ignore my angry venting it's 3am I'm cranky and want chocolate.)
#vent#i feel like my hands are soaked in blood that soap cant clean#'blood is thicker than water' they say but that just makes it all the harder to scrub away once it goes bad#i loved you so much and i still do but now everything is just bitter and rotting and i hate it so much#and im just ranting to myself about how unfair it is that im doing so much better but i still miss what i had#that it wasnt your fault i didnt get help sooner- i believed so badly that i didnt deserve help.#that if i just waited long enough id rot away and be done with it all.#and i never got to say 'thank you for loving me when i couldnt love myself' at the worst time of my life.#you tried to help me. i can appreciate that#but i can be bitter that you still abandoned me. i have that right. i am going to be better and do better but you dont get to have that.#im still learning how to be a proper human. one that can learn to love herself and not distrust any form of affection.#but im going to do that on my own and when im better i hope you see it. i really hope you do.#you both still abandoned me though so fuck you both for that. im not gonna be nice about it anymore.#i didnt wanna hurt feelings even though mine were CONSTANTLY trampled over. so yeah. fuck you. that feels good to say.#fuck you for never apologizing. fuck you for abandoning me in a city i had no place else to go in. fuck you for giving me false hope.#fuck you for making promises you couldnt keep. fuck you for all the times i felt alone or excluded or just plain unwanted.#fuck you for constantly picking each other over me. fuck you for all the times i had to swallow how i felt because it was 'mean'.#fuck you for making your love conditional. fuck you for never even trying to understand how i felt. fuck you for taking years of my life.#and mostly just- fuck you for making me think i was worth it.#i felt like i had to do all the work in that friendship. starting convos and game days and INTERACTING.#the friends i have now dont do that shit. they COMMUNICATE WITH ME. Fuck you for that too by the way! not communicating!#rant over. fuck you. im gonna sleep now knowing you wont see this cuz ya BLOCKED ME.
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nix having like tasks, little missions on earth but pretty strictly meant to keep to himself doing do? the way nix 100% is engineered and could be quite an weapon/messenger.... especially given he quite literally isn't meant to be perceived by anybody- his extra energy reserves and all that.
just the difference between not so direct actions/direct actions made and how much more it matters that he's so soft,etc
#<< shine it over here >> wishlist#(another one of the big !!! thoughts in my head right now)#(sure antichrist duties etc as ive rambled about before- but this is like him having it as an often thing?)#(thinking about how lethal he could be and so forth)#(like he's got that extra flight/energy reserves etc and that could be ya know utilized for good or bad)#(the emotional aspect if it's in place of his siblings? of nix being like 'look if you really want that human dead fine- send me')#(it being him just doing what he's meant to do and does generally but differently)#('well that reset didnt work out as planned')#(nix just like hm let's not opt for more bloodshed- i can fix it another way if you let me instead of making an rush decision)#(this version of nix just like with added horrors especially of the direct sort)#(like sure it's one thing to be used to fine tune weapons or whatever- but another for him to be the literal weapon)#(for him to snuff an life out when he finds so much beauty in everything and do so with his own hands?)#(and other times it's the complete opposite like 'make sure this one survives this situation')#(just !!! chipping away at the isolation barrier? but especially him post abandonment- such an wreck but quick to be kind/friendly despite)
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âąAlastor x Cupid FemReader Tasked with making a demon believe in true love or you canât return to heaven, things immediately go off the rails when you hurt yourself and Alastor catches one of your most troubling arrows; Mania
I managed to finish this despite, ya know, the aforementioned: (Ž°̄̄̄̄̄̄̄̄Ï°̄̄̄̄̄̄̄̄ïœ)
Ëâ · »-âĄâ Week 1 and Week 2 (keep reading)
Ëâ · »-âĄâWeek 3 and Week 4 smutđŠ
Ëâ · »-âĄâWeek 5, Week 6, Week 7, and Epilogue smutđŠ
ăwarnings/promises: Alastor x CupidFemReader, broken bones, feet washing, normal sized Luci, you know the outfit in my PFP? Youâre wearing that but soft purple and the bottom half is ambiguous because idk baby whatever you feel best in itâs your story, Husk has a bad time, Alastor has a bad time, You have a bad time, Charlie has a great time đđŒ, not chokingă
Minors this one is chill but the next two imma need you to Dni đ â„ïž đ§človingly
You had made a mistake, yes, but Hell? Really?
Sure, you had dropped an arrow into the water supply of a nunnery which did lead to some unholy behaviors. But! The nuns seemed quite happy. Wasnât that the point?
Tossing you to Hell through a hastily opened portal was honestly unprofessional. You ended up dropping three stories, upside down, in front of a butcher's shop.
In the seconds between Sera telling you, âYou can return when youâve made a sinner believe in true love.â and Lute kicking you square in the chest through the hell door, you thought it wouldnât be so hard. True, you couldnât use your arrows as that wouldnât be âtrue loveâ and also too easy, even gods weak to your shots, but ultimately sinners were still human. Humans were pushovers! Pliable, gentle at their hearts, desiring love and tenderness. How bad could the naughty ones be?Â
And then you landed shoulder first onto the pavement. It hurt. Things didnât hurt in heavenâŠ
Your arrows scattered, quiver spilling when you inverted. Wincing, you scrambled to grab as many as were within reach. Your right shoulder was burning, a new sensation.
You counted them by name as you gathered: Eros, Agape, Philia, Pragma, Philautia, Ludus, Storge⊠panic.Â
ErosAgapePhiliaPragmaPhilautiaLudusStorgeâ Mania wasnât there. Arguably the arrow that caused you the most trouble, the sting of Mania would cause a madness that led to obsessive behaviors, possessiveness, jealousy.Â
Pulling yourself up, arrows clutched in one hand, the other holding the place near your collar was throbbing, your eyes were frantic in their search.
âWhatâs this?â
You finally looked up from the sidewalk, a manâs back to you before he turned. Bile rose and burned your throat as he pulled Mania from where it had pierced his chest pocket.
His eyes, shades of red heaven didnât even entertain, made a simple trip from the arrow's head to your face.
The man went so still you thought for a moment he was a hologram, but you could see the tiniest rise and fall of his chest. A deer facing down a bright light, he remained frozen in place as you began to approach him.
âExcuse my manners, but thatâs mine and I really need it back.â Your injured arm moved first and the pain made you see white, a cry so sharp people turned to look. He snapped back to his senses, and with an odd sound you couldnât quite place, he seemingly disappeared into the ground.
Mania was left behind, shining smugly against the dirty pavement. You didnât want to make a reach for it, fear flooding you. Youâd never felt pain before.
Youâd seen it in humans, but never in your existence had you experienced it. Would both arms hurt?
You let the left hand abandon its guarding place and grabbed the errant arrow. Tucking into an alley, you crouched and returned the arrows to their quiver with immense difficulty.
Okay, yes it was Hell but maybe you were a little paranoid. A sense of being watched wouldn't leave you even after you re-emerged from the darkness of the alley.Â
The enormity of your task set in as you surveyed the area. You, an obviously heavenly creature even without your wings out on display, would need time to make anyone believe in any form of love. Where would you go in the meantime? And now injured for the first time in your life? How long would that need to mend?
Expanding your view, you saw the currently defunct doomsday countdown hovering above the embassy. Perfect, holy ground would atleast keep you safe for the night, which was falling with a malignant speed.
They couldnât have given you some time to change? Or pack a set of clothes? Your short sleeved button up a (literally) glowing shade of white was attracting too much attention, golden sandals now cloudy from various fluids across Pentagram cityâs streets. Your heart shaped overalls a powdered purple, you looked like an adult child among a sea of very tired professionals.Â
When you got to the embassy you only had one good arm to open the heavy doors, which unfortunately didnât budge. Perhaps you needed two? Trying to muster up some adrenaline, you began to pant. Deep breaths like the women in labour you sometimes worked your magic on.
As soon as you gripped the handle you saw something that made you jump back, muscles flexing around whatever damage youâd done in your body from the fall. A large black snake? Some demonic squidâs appendage? Something unholy grabbed hold of the handle as soon as you had and gave such a tug the doors violently shook.
You spun around to the dark neighborhood behind you. Nothing. Turning back the thing was gone. And so was all of your hope. It was locked. The tears were unwanted and unnecessary, but just-- you were hurting so much, you were dirty, you were alone, and now essentially homeless.
If there was ever a reason to cry, you decided to let yourself have this one.Â
The lamplights flickered and the entire street went pitch black. Because of course it did.
Hyperventilating now entirely without intention, you watched as one light to the left popped on with a static buzz. Desperate to be out of the darkness you ran to the spotlight. As soon as your foot entered the beam, the light beside it lit up. Your eyes wandered to heaven above, were they helping you? Had you not been entirely abandoned?
Of course! Yeah. They sensed you at the doors and sent off some guidance. How silly of you. Relief washed over you as you ran through the lights until your foot left one spotlight but the next hadn't popped on.
Twirling back to the embassy, you saw all of the lights shut off in succession behind you.
Just you and the one lamp now, and the glow of some TVs in the shop window to the right. What was the meaning of this?Â
That weird sound you heard earlier but couldnât place⊠electricity but dusty and barely contained. Your gaze was drawn to the radio in the shop window in front of you. You hadnât noticed it until it buzzed to life. It lit up faintly, dial turning on its own until a high and smooth voice rang out, âLooking for your way to heaven? Youâre in luck! The Hazbin Hotel is now accepting any and all willing to find redemption!â
This must have been the message, I mean, heaven was never good at being subtle.
âJust make your way to the left and toward the looming building atop the hill!â
Your head turned to your left and then up slightly. Bathed in red and white lights stood a behemoth of a building on the edge of a cliff.
Head still facing the hotel, your eyes flitted back to the radio.
âReception is open 24 hours a day!â
You touched your arm, then patted at your pockets. Not a wallet or ID card on you. You were the 17th Cupid incarnation, why would you have a fucking ID card? But didnât those places need such things? Youâd seen every romcom earth had ever produced. There was always some issue with hotel check ins.Â
âNot a red cent needed! We literally do not care who you are!â
Oh. Wait. Was this a trap?
âCreated by the Lucifer Morningstarâs daughter! A foolish young woman who genuinely believes in reforming sinners!â
Lucifer?? The former angel, yes, but the word angel carried much more weight now. Perhaps he would have a modicum of pity given your circumstances.
You took an unsteady foot forward and toward the hotel when the street lights all buzzed back to life.
The path to the hotel was long, many demons stopping you on your way but quickly losing interest after a second or two of pestering you. You gave a silent prayer to the archangels for that blessing.
It must have been nearly 1am when you finally made it to the hotelâs doors. When you entered you found an empty reception desk and a poorly written note:
Before the bellâs hammer even hit the metal, a man popped up from behind the counter.
The man.
The man you shot with Mania.
âWelcome to th-,â
You were outside and leaving the awning before he could finish, but just as quickly as you left he appeared in front of you, âStill missing your manners?â
He blocked your path with his remarkable size. Why were demons so tall? What was the use of it?
âDeer got your tongue?â He bent over unnaturally at the waist.
âWhat?â
âWould you like-,â he began.
You walked around him and down the driveway. He moved briskly beside you, slowly growing larger and larger until his body was several stories tall and entirely blocking the gates of the premises.
A horror. Hell was full of horrors.
He crouched, large toothy smile now baring down at you.
If you stabbed him in the eye with an arrow, which would cause the least trouble? It was a rule to never give a double love bite but this was a dire situation.
But if you were sent to hell for a little nun love fest, what would purposefully stabbing a sinner do?
He rapidly shrank, hands coming to his front to catch a summoned microphoneâŠCane? Staff?
âYouâre injured. Just, come back inside. I promise I donât bite without consent.â His head cocked to the side, a quiet, âUsuallyâ tacked on.
Weâre you visibly hurt? How bad was it? You looked past him to where sounds of yelling and music were rolling up the hill.
âYou donât have many options, angel.â He hissed the word through clenched teeth. Disgust almost seemed to lace his voice, but why, then, was he offering help?
âNot an angel. Cupid. Different.â Kind of. You gave the quiver a shake.
âAh yes. That explains why you shot at me earlier.â A large hand came to your side and directed you to turn back around. He kept it there, pushing softly to keep you moving.
âI didn't shoot you.â, You huffed, crossing your arms before doubling over in pain. He stopped walking, hand resting now against your spine. Regaining your composure, you continued towards the hotel lobby, âMy arrows fell out andâŠyou caught one. With your body.â
âMy pocket made quite the lucky catch. Now!â He snapped, a key appearing and floating into his hand with a sparkle of neon green, âLetâs get you to a room and cleaned up.â
âDo you work here?â You asked as he escorted you to one of the upper floors. The room was surprisingly clean and well decorated. You had expected a dingy highway motel. And while the room was largely dark wood and rich colors, it wasnât as offensive as the rest of hell had been.
âAh! My my, forgive me! I am Alastor, the radio demon and hotel manager here.â He bowed and offered his hand for you to place yours in. You did so without thinking, and he kissed your knuckles once but his mouth lingered over your flesh. Eyes half lidded, he glanced back up at you, âIt is an absolute pleasure to meet you.â
There was no way to reverse Cupidâs arrows. Not by force. Love could only die by the hands of the ones who held it. Others could definitely bruise it, but ultimately it was up to the beholder. Mania was a little different, obsession could be dispelled by shattering whatever illusion the holder felt.
If the holder thought someone was the epitome of genteel chastity then a show of wanton sexuality could break the spell. If someone was convinced the object of their desire was very smart and savvy then acting ignorant could make the obsession fall flat. But there was no indication he had any illusions of you. Not yet, atleast.
Mania was now his, and he would keep it in his heart until he lost it or killed it. He could, technically, be possessed by, and be in the possession of, Mania for eternity. A sinner had never been shot before, that you knew of.
He didnât noticeably react as you took back your hand. With a hum, he snapped again and you found a chair pulled up behind you and knocking into the back of your knees. You fell into the plush armchair, watching a metal basin of steaming water slide against your feet.
âExcuse youâ ExcUU-,â you pulled your legs back but he pulled harder, Alastor removing your dirty shoes and tossing them off to the side like trash.
âYou can't clean yourself with that broken collar bone. Allow me.â His hand gripped your ankles and dunked both into the water, âI insist.â
âItâs broken? How could I break a collarboneâŠ,â the humor wasnât lost on you, sinner washing holy feet, but your focus was entirely on the concept of a broken bone.Â
âFalling twenty five feet head first, apparently.â Alastor rubbed soap into your calves.
âBut I donât break.â What happened to you, what had that kick into hell done? âYou saw me? Also, that isnât dirty.â you pointed at your calf.
âPeripherally.â
Did he mean the dirt or witnessing the fall? You sat in silence while he hummed, returning your feet to their original color.Â
âNow,â he rose, patting his hands dry on a small towel, âUnbutton your top.â
Your expression was apparently quite loud, Alastor putting his hands up quickly, âNot like that. Iâve no interest in that sort of thing. I need to see your shoulder and upper chest.â He waited patiently, staring at you the entire time. His smile was so wide, teeth yellow and sharp. Unsettling.Â
He really did look like he could eat you. Youâd heard of such demons.
You slipped off the straps of your overalls, and began to open your shirt. He did away with the water, coming to kneel directly to your right as he watched. You couldnât see anything without some kind of mirror. If it was bruised or swollen, it was out of your line of sight. Long clawed hands came to the front and back of your shoulder, pressing inward. You pulled away, a firm grip now as his right hand held at the left side of your waist.
âAre you a doctor?â Hotel manager and doctor would be an unlikely combo, but the day had been odd from start to finish.
A shake of the head, âBut when I was alive, I did have quite a lot of experience with the inner workings of anatomy.â You grimaced, how could he say such sinister things with such a lovely voice? âMaybe not broken. But Iâd say at least a fracture. Perhaps your heavenly body didnât take full damage. It hurts when you move your arm, correct?â You nodded.Â
He hummed, another click of his fingers and a fabric unfurled into his waiting hands. âTake it all the way off so I can set this.â
You were exhausted. The pain was gnawing at your nerves. No more fight in you, you just wanted rest, so you slipped off the shirt entirely and let him wrap your arm up into a simple sling. You were surprised his hands were so warm. Demons seemed like theyâd be cold to the touch. Like lizards or pearls.
When he finished, you sitting in the large chair with your arm wrapped in a silky black sling, no shirt, and pastel purple heart-shaped overalls folded down your torso, you considered having another cry. You felt your chin tremble. You couldnât recall ever crying from sadness before today.
It was just a mistake. You hadnât meant to drop your arrow. Why were the archangels so angry? Whatâs some sex between nuns?Â
Alastor bristled, hand coming to your cheek. It was an unwelcome gesture. You batted his hand away with your only free one, but he just sighed and set it on your thigh. You pushed it off, shooting him a glare. The audacity.
You thought you saw his eye twitch.
With what little energy was left in, you stood and open the door for him, âYou have been very kind and helpful. Thank you very much. You can leave now.â Oh, right, âPlease.â
He stood, pausing as he passed you. He was so tall. Shoulders wide. You felt your heart rate pick up. Even with two good collarbones you knew you couldnât take him in a fight.
Alastor leaned down to your level, you backing up and into the door, âUntil the morning.â
When he said it you had thought he was just going about formalities. But he wasnât. You awoke some hours later to a knock. When you opened the door he was looming in your doorway again.
You tried to close the door but he put his foot in the gap, then a strong hand wrapped around the doorâs edge and he pushed his way into the room.
You sputtered, arm flailing a little as you choked on which reaction to give first. You were undressed, in just your under things.
âI donât want you to hurt yourself further when you get dressed. Iâll undo the sling and help.â Closing the door he then spun back around to face you, smile as bright as it was earlier that same day.Â
âNo! Absolutely not! Leave! Please!â
As he guided your arm through the shirt, you struggled to process what had happened. One minute you were indignant and stubborn and then he was so close to you, hands warm and gentle, and then already he was untying the sling and your shirt was just there and-
âSee? Wasnât that easy? No harm in accepting help.â Alastor looked you over from top to bottom. Â
âAccepting? What part of any of that did I accept.â You stood bottomless in a button up, trying to get the overalls from the hanger with just your left hand. His chest pressed into your back, nearly forcing you to fall into the armoire, to assist you.
âThe part where you didnât actively fight me. I think we can call that acceptance until you learn better.â His words shook through your ribs and to your front.Â
Annoyance rose in your chest, what was he thinking? Humans had no right to touch you let alone a sinner. âYouâre an eldritch horror, please back away from the divine creature before you.â Alastor laughed, backing away with the clothes in his hands. Hand out, you motioned for him to pass it over. He tossed it on the floor, and took a seat on the bed with crossed legs. âOh, I see. Youâre an asshole. Perfect.â Pretense gone, manners not needed.
You grabbed it with your left hand and managed to get both legs into it before slinking it up and onto your left shoulder. While you tried to figure out how to do the right side, realizing the flaw in your order of processes, Alastor leaned over and unhooked the left strap, overalls falling to the carpet with a soft thud.Â
You stood there for several moments, staring at him with purple fabric pooled around your ankles, him staring at you with a shiteating grin.
After finally getting dressed, preferring to not think about how, you were followed down to the lobby.Â
âBreakfast?â He asked, you both in the elevator as he hadnât gone more than three feet from you since he entered your bedroom.Â
âNo, no appetite. I need to find Lucifer.â You were sure he could help somehow. Somehow he could doâŠ.something. Details about Luciferâs powers and abilities, his strengths and skills were all kept hush-hush. But if nothing else, you could find someone who understood your position.Â
Your hand was being vigorously shaken before the elevator doors even closed behind you. Charlie Morningstar was not what you expected. Chipper and bright, she was bursting with energy.Â
âGentle, Charlie. Our dear Cupid is injured.â Alastorâs hand came to the small of your back. You reached back with your left hand and knocked it off of you.Â
âLike, the real actual cupid?!â Charlieâs eyes were shining, you could almost see the hearts floating up around her face. You felt Alastorâs hand again, now on your hip. You took three steps to the right, slipping from his fingertips.
âYes, that is exactly what I-.â You were cut off, Charlie launching into a speech about sinners and heaven and redemption and so much more you couldnât process.Â
The energy she gave us was very angelic, which was confusing. Until you saw her father entering the common area.
The most hated creature in all of creation. Your best hope for a tiny sliver of comfort.Â
Alastorâs hand reached for yours, fingers trapping your wrist and stopping you from approaching the king of hell.Â
You shook your arm. His hold stayed. You tugged. He was unaffected, talking to Charlie now about your injury as if you werenât right there.Â
As Cupid, or at least as a cupid, you werenât physically strong. You really werenât meant to exist for a long time, just for as long as your body held up to repeated trips to the human realm. But, in heaven, you were never capable of being harmed. And of course, on earth, you werenât really corporeal so no harm could come to you. You werenât built for tug of war with a 7 foot tall demon.
âMr. Devil! Sir!â You waved your foot, shouting out to the normal sized man. As he saw you, his eyes widened, âHello there! Sorry to be a bother, Iâm from heaven and-â You jerked your hand free, power walking to Lucifer, âIâm here on punishment. Itâs a pleasure to meet another member of Elysiumâs caretakers. Former or otherwise.â
Flustered, Lucifer fumbled with his phone before dropping it. âOh! Shit! H-hello!â
You reached down to retrieve it for him, seeing black and red shoes behind you as you did.Â
âWhat â why are you here?â Lucifer was looking at Alastor now, which was great news because for a second you thought he was talking to you. A sneaking feeling leaked into your chest that heaven hadnât actually told him you were coming.Â
âJust keeping an eye on my guest! As you can see she got injured and Iâve taken to the task of her safety while sheâs in hell.âÂ
âNo one asked him to do that, sir.â Your smile was strained, you could feel Alastorâs shoulder was touching yours. You looked to where you were connected and then back to Lucifer, âAre all sinners like this?â
âHonestly? Yes. Theyâre all pretty terrible.â Lucifer sighed, âWhat did you do?â
A cold sweat, âMisused an arrow. I canât leave hell until I make a demon who doesnât already believe in true loveâŠbelieve in it.â
âOh no! Thatâsâ youâre gonna be here awhile.â Lucifer pulled at his collar in a mock attempt to release the awkward heat of the conversation. He saw you wither, and Alastor seemed to bloom, so he quickly changed pace, âBut! Uhhh, you can totally do it! Charlie has some of the best of the worst here. If I can ever help, just ask!â Nervous laughter that did not put you at ease. He seemed so silly. So sweet and easily flustered.Â
You felt your hope dash for a second time in less than a day. How long would you be in hell? How long was awhile?
âShe is my responsibility now. She wonât be needing anything from you, your majesty.â
A darkness came over you as the two demons began to bicker. You now had your own obsessed shadow; a large and creepy sinner following you around. How on earth could you get close enough to a demon to complete your task? Convincing someone of true love would require trust and time. This would be impossible with Alastor attached to your side.Â
You spent the first week in hell in the hotel. Everytime you got the courage to leave and explore the areas outside, youâd find yourself shadow portaled âback to safetyâ by Alastor. It was like the human film âGroundhog Dayâ, always starting over back in the lobby.Â
No matter where you went in the hotel, he was either beside you or where you had been headed. You saw the sky less often than Alastorâs grin and you couldnât stand it. You took to hiding, leaning against darkened stairwell corners and sitting on the floor of the ladies restroom.Â
It bought you a little time to yourself, but the second you moved he was there again. Asking if you were a lost little doe, hand reaching for your waist to pull you near him, red eyes threatening to swallow you whole.
Toward the end of the week, while helping you get dressed as he did daily, Alastor took a step back. âI could get you some new clothes. Cannibal town has the finest duds.â He lifted the lace that lined the top of your pocket, âYou stick out. No demon is going to let you trick them into believing in true love like this.â
You could have screamed. No, no demon would even approach you with Alastor standing behind you. It absolutely wasnât the clothes. You politely rejected the offer and went about your day.
The next morning you awoke to find your floor littered with strips of something. Flinging open the armoire you found two empty hangers. You turned back, noticing the white and purple color to the fabric confetti.
The march to Alastorâs room was easy, as it was 10 feet in front of your door. He had placed you directly across from him, because, ya know, Mania.
He clearly hadnât expected you to leave your room in your underwear, eyes like saucers as he yanked you in.
âWhat in heaven are you doing?! Anyone could see you.â He hissed, closing the door with a little too much force.
âWhose fault is that?!â You seethed in return. Anger was something you rarely ever felt but he was inspiring new things in you. âSomeone shredded my clothes.â
Alastorâs ears folded back, eyes looking to the left and up, âOdd. Are you sure? Maybe you accidentally threw them away.â That devilish grin youâd come to expect. He knew damn well how stupid that was.
You stomped your foot, if you had two working hands youâd try to rip his antlers off, âAre you serious?!â You turned to leave, kicking the door before attempting to open it.
A large hand pressed back on the door, slamming it shut. His breath was dropping down the back of your neck despite his considerable height, âYou will not be leaving this room in such a state of undress, my dear.â
His voice was so low and close, had anyone ever spoken to you with such a commanding tone? A new feeling twitched in you. You blocked it out.
âYou donât get to make decisions for me,â said too softly.
His other hand came to press on the door, too. An arm to either side of you, trapped, as he leaned in. You pressed yourself against the door to make distance from his body.
âOh, I absolutely do. Who is going to stop me? You?â Alastorâs voice had noticeably dropped an octave as he whispered what felt like a challenge against your hair.
Who indeedâŠyou had no strength, an arrow would either be useless or complicate things. Lucifer seemed preoccupied and jittery. Heaven wasnât returning your prayers.
He took your silence as an answer.
âExactly. Now, Iâll only ask nicely once.â His hands left, warmth on your neck fading. You turned to look at him, sensing his eyes burning holes into your back.
He was holding a two piece set. Older style, 1920s American maybe. Black and burgundy. When did he have time to get this when every hour seemed to be spent near you?
âMay I help you get dressed?â
Youâd gotten quite close with the few residents who didnât run at the sight of Alastor. Husk was one of them. You became fast friends, often drinking and lamenting about Alastorâs general existence as Alastor sat some 15 feet away on the sofa. Still not allowed outside the hotel gates, your second week you spent many hours at the bar talking to the surprisingly kind grump.
To your delight Alastor didnât seem bothered by it, oddly, as long as you were in eyesight he seemed content.
You thought maybe his mania was already waning. Sure you hadnât attempted to leave the hotel, and you hadnât argued when he dressed you, butâŠAh, hm. Fuck.
Mania can look like Love when you don't struggle against it. A fly motionless in a web can elude the spider for a little bit.
Don't push against the restraints and you can forget they are there entirely.
But push you did, accidentally. Husk was making some new cocktails, trying to enjoy himself and be creative.Â
âYeah, thatâs it.â He grinned.
âGood?âÂ
He took another sip before handing the glass to you. You grabbed it, taking a taste. Sweet but a bite as it went down. Something with citrus. When you looked up from the glass, he was gone.
A choking noise from behind the bar made you stand up in your seat, eyes flying from Husk to Alastor. A glowing green leash dragging Husk across the floor, his hands desperately pulling at the collar as he struggled to breath.Â
âStop!â You shouted, crawling over the bar and grabbing the chain with your good arm. You tried to pull back, to slow the choking force, but got pulled along with it. âAlastor!â You screamed as your shoulder hit the floor and sent searing pain down your arm.Â
You could hear Husk gasp, the green glow disappearing from past your clenched eyelids.Â
âWhy canât you-,â Alastor started to speak a he came to your side. Husk scurried away, crawling back from the demon. You hit the hand Alastor offered you but were surprised to see his face painted with concern.
âI said stop.â After rolling to your feet you began to march away. âEvery time I find something nice in this piece of shit domain you remind me Iâm in hell.â
You had almost made it to your room when a hand pulled you by the good shoulder and pushed you against the wall. It still hurt.Â
âDonât you know? Sharing a drink, itâs as close to a kiss as you could get without bringing your mouth to his.â
âIt was a drink, Alastor. You had no right.â
His hand settled on your throat. No grip, just a gentle placement, âI have every right.â His brows knit together in worry, in confusion. âWhat should I do to make you understand me?â His hand came to your chin, thumb ghosting over your lips.
âIf I let you go too far, someone will surely take you. Who wouldnât? Please. Stop pushing me so much.â His eyes were almost loving as they shined down at you. His breath was picking up. You could hear the desperation in his voice.Â
Those damned eyes were unrelenting in their stare into your own. There was no creature in presence or audacity in heaven like Alastor. Youâd never encountered anything like him.Â
âOf all the Love you had to take a stray hit from, Mania really was the cruelest accident.â You held your hand at the crook of your neck, wondering if you did more damage. No, if he did more damage.
âMania? Is that the arrow I caught? How fitting.â His finger pulled down on your bottom lip. Youâd seen this movie, youâd been there for these scenes in dorm rooms and under rainy awnings, in darkened beds and sunny fields. You could move, no part of him was actually holding you physically. âYes, maybe I am obsessed. But whose fault is that? Will you take responsibility for it?â His chest was shaking with every breath. Why didnât you move? Just walk away. Knock off that touch as you had been doing. You hadnât noticed how quickly you were breathing, too, until his hand was pulling your chin up and towards his face.
It only came out as a whisper, half said as it was only half meant, âdonât.â
A laugh, âAt least pretend you mean it.âÂ
Your knees came together in some desperate attempt to stop the feeling creeping up your legs and to your lap, âApologize to Husk.â
âWhy would I ever do such a thing?â His breath was so warm on your mouth, face tilted to keep his nose from hitting yours.
âWhat a terrible reply!â You slid down the wall and slipped under his arms, âIf you shadow work your way into this room I will fuck that horny spider on camera just to spite you.â You opened your door, pausing to make sure he was still down the hall, âAngel on Angel, working title.â
Your whole body went slack, the sounds of a wild animal loose in the hallway rocking the door as you took shaky steps to the bed, paintings on the walls rattling as he did unseen damage. Sounds of an unknown, unholy animal raging just past the thin drywall.Â
Had you ever seen Mania work so quickly with so little fuel? Hand coming to your mouth, a burning where his finger touched you.Â
No one had touched your lips before. No one could ever hope to. Humans were beyond the realm of feeling you, and you didnât allow kissing with the partners you took in heaven. Personal rule. As in, it was too personal.
The lights in your room flickered, briefly shrouding you in darkness before coming back to life.
Deja vu.
Oh.
What had he introduced himself as? The radio demon? It wasnât heaven who brought you to the hotel. Of course not.Â
No. Obviously not.
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#alastor#alastor x reader#alastor smut#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel#alastor x you#hazbinhotel#hazbin hotel fandom#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin alastor
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Suit Anomaly. (Oneshot)
hoshina soshiro x reader â 919 words. established relationship, kissing, making out, mentioned 'she' pronouns for reader.
Just a small break from my ongoing Narumi fic, which is linked on my pinned post! Please do check it out too đ«¶
Click here for part 2! Cross-posted on Ao3.
Requests, prompts, or any messages are appreciated! Just open my ask box.
A staring contest in the middle of the highly confidential training facility has apparently been going on for a couple of minutes. You maintained a good distance between Soshiro and yourself, just enough to bend your upper body forward and stare into the eyes of Kaiju no.10 in his suit. (The Kaiju, in fact, refuses to open its eyes).
"Can this guy see anything?" you asked.
Eh? This guy?
Soshiro can't believe you just addressed the Kaiju in his suit as just some guy. What were you even doing? Testing the No. 10 suit wasn't on his schedule today, but you managed to pester Okonogi into "checking it out for anomalies" because of how bad they performed in yesterday's target training.
It was Okonogi who answered you from above, "Yes. Because its consciousness is fully retained, you can still think of it as a Kaiju, albeit taking the form of a Defense Force suit."
"Why's it ignoring me then? Soshiro, is this like a pet of yours? Maybe you need to tame it, you're good at that anyways." you said, now standing upright, still staring at the eye hole of the suit. "Your performance was still shit yesterday, Kaiju No. 10."
Finally, it opened its eye. "I'm not this bowlcut's pet!" it growled at you.
"So you do have an eye. You can do better at target practice, yeah? Your tail is aggressively wagging, by the way." you said, your stare turning cold now that it decided to open its eyes.
Soshiro clapped his hands once, a sign that you both need to stop arguing. Scratching the back of his head, he whined your name. "It's supposed to be my off-day from training, ya know? What was the anomaly check ya said yesterday?"
You sighed, a hand in one hip. You walked closer, ignoring the panicked warning of Okonogi that you're entering dangerous territory. Soshiro was uncharacteristically taken by surprise when you hooked a hand behind his neck and comfortably placed your other hand on his chest, pulling him closer.
Before you can even do anything, you hear the suit's tail wave around more aggressively than before, almost destroying the floor behind Soshiro. "... So that's what's up." you said, still retaining the quite intimate position you both are in.
"Fine! FINE!! You got me, can the both of you stop doing that every damn time?! You humans are so weird!" the Kaiju wailed.
And it closed its eye again.
Confused, Soshiro placed both his hands on either side of your waist. "Dear, what's goin' on?"
"I'm afraid we shouldn't work together on the field if you're using that suit."
He frowned, "But nothin' else tops our teamwork. Are ya worried this suit will kill you?"
You feel laughter threatening to spill from your lips. 'How adorable. For a hella smart guy, he's so clueless this time; they really refuse to read each other's mind, don't they?' you thought.
You cleared your throat to control yourself, explaining the anomaly you discovered. "Dear, the Kaiju is flustered."
He's so dumbfounded right now.
"This Kaiju? Flustered?" Is that even possible? "From what?" he asked.
Suddenly finding the entire situation funny, your attitude from earlier drastically changed. "Allow me to elaborate, then!" you said, humor visible from your eyes.
"Its tail wagging aggressively and eye closing during your target exercises whenever I'm aroundâbecause you kiss me so much, it can't stand seeing me without remembering it!" you laughed.
You hear Kaiju No. 10 grumble a complain, sounding something like what a "needy bastard" Soshiro is.
Ah. "Well buddy, ya gotta learn how to cope with it. She's my partner on-field and off-field. Ya can stand my blades, but not a kiss?" Soshiro said, slightly amused at the situation.
Its tail got aggressive again. "Shut up! You're basically devouring her mouth! Do humans really need to hold each other closely while doing it?! I'm your suitâI can feel your body heat up from it, you bastard!" it spouted.
You raise your eyebrow at him. "Oh?"
Okonogi took this as a sign to temporarily leave the room, sighing at how silly this entire thing is.
"Well, m'dear, the Kaiju didn't lie." he teasingly said, grinning as he pulled you even closer and cupping your face in one hand. "How 'bout we give it a sample right now? It needs time getting used to us, don'tcha agree?"
Before you were even able to reply, he dipped and kissed your lips fully.
You let out a surprised sound, feeling him angling his lips better as his tongue prodded access to your mouth. 'Such intensity for a sample,' you thought. Your hand subtly pulled on his hair, the both of you moaning as your tongues danced with each other.
He reluctantly pulled away as he felt you pat his chest, a silent plea for air.
"How are ya feeling?"
"Beyond amazing. Might need more later."
You jumped at the voice that boomed from the suit, "You bastards done? I may be able to close my eye, but I can hear everything!! You're both the most disgusting humans ever!"
Soshiro huffed, "Quit whinin', you're such a drama queen. Get used to it, it's part of yer training."
"Ahem." You both hear a voice from above.
Ah, it's the Captain. Did Okonogi fetch her?
"Don'tcha worry Captain Ashiro, we're wrapping up already." he said.
Soshiro and you made your way back to the control room, announcing that the anomaly has been "taken care of".
#kaiju no. 8#kaiju number 8#kn8 writing#hoshina soshiro x reader#soshiro hoshina#axia writes for fun#kn8 x you#kn8 x reader#hoshina soshiro fluff
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hiiii could you write some nsfw headcanons for chilchuck with a reader whoâs insecure about their body?
gn + implied human! reader + kinda dominant chilly chuckles
<3
oh my, that man is not good with emotions. one of his flaws is that heâs kind of bad at dealing with them since they leave him in a vulnerable state. it was no secret that heâs emotionally constipated, his past wife left him because of that.
but ever since you came along, chilchuck has been slowly improving, not wanting a repeat of what happened. heâs acknowledged that by loving someone, he needs to be able to be open with his feelings and become mindful of yours.
once you work up the courage to tell him, he visibly stiffens up. chilchuck is silent for a few seconds, he really wasnât expecting this while he was kissing you up.
he spends a few moments awkwardly fiddling with the buttons of his half done shirt as he thinks of the right words to say.
ââŠ. i⊠donât really care about what you look like.â
okay. he couldâve worded that better.
âi-i mean! i enjoy being with you⊠for who you are.â
chilchuckâs biting his lip, looking at you hesitantly as he reaches a hand out to you. heâs looking anxious before you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
he yelps as heâs tucked into your chest, letting out a sigh of relief that you donât seem upset. you pull away and look down at him with a smile.
âyou suck at this.â
âi know.â he sends you a grin.
placing one hand around you, he pushes you gently to sit on the bed. he stands in front of you and holds your face, nuzzling into your nose which brings a laugh out of you.
âi know iâm bad at⊠this kind of stuff but i meant what i said.â he looks at you seriously, big ears twitching as hair strands falls to his face, rough and messy after your heated lip-lock earlier.
âiâm nothing but an old, brooding man. i love the way you make me feel and i want⊠you to l-love how i make you feelâŠ. regardless of what you look like.â
he can see how youâre biting back a snicker as he tries to get his act together. chilchuck can feel his face getting hotter as he hears your bubbling laughter. but heâs glad youâre less nervous as before.
ây-you think this is real funny, do ya?â he yells out.
heâs kinda grumpy after all that, feeling a bit embarrassed that you laughed at him. after a few kisses smothered on to his face, he slowly gets back into the mood, making sure to pay extra attention to your reactions.
if you ever cover yourself up, he will give you a peck while slowly taking your hands off and whispering reassuring phrases.
he will kiss down your body as he keeps his eyes on you, forcing you to watch him. when he finds out which part makes you insecure the most, chilchuck will leave open mouthed kisses and suck a hickey on it.
with his enhanced hearing and senses, your quiet whimpers and gasps gets him going as he touches and feels you thoroughly with his fingers.
since this is your first time being intimate together as a couple, he makes sure to treat you softly and gently. heâs attentive to the spots that make you moan out the most, notices how you grip the sheets harder when he licks and sucks on a certain area. all of them noted in his head so he can figure out what else youâll like.
chilchuck groans breathily, heâs kind of ashamed to lose control of himself, thinking itâd only embarrass himself.
âam i not making you feel good..?â
âwhere did this come from?â
âyou donât⊠make as much noises as i do. iâm wondering if iâm not doing enough.â
once he hears your reason, he immediately rushes to assure you. though still a bit hesitant, heâll try to let go more the next time youâll get intimate.
can i just say heâs skilled at giving oral. his hands and fingers can take you to god and back once he finally finds out what specific things you like. he loves being all in there, loves your smell, your sounds, your fluids.
he doesnât say it out loud though. which makes you wonder why he keeps asking if you could fuck his face whenever you two do it.
âis this some sort of kink of yours?â
âjust say yes or no!â
after one round, he can get pretty spent. but if youâre still needy, he can muster some energy to make love to you slowly.
oh, and he lives for lazy morning sex. sometimes youâll wake up to him kissing down your shoulder and arm, whispering small âwake upâs to your buzzing ears.
aftercare with him is⊠well, lazy too. heâll drop to your side, breathless as he stares up at the ceiling. after a few moments heâll sit up and look down at you on the bed, whispering sweet praises as he holds your face.
heâll smoke for a bit, facing away from you. he doesnât want you to cough from the smoke after all.
drags you to the bathroom after a few moments. he hates being sweaty and youâll have to kill him before you force him to snuggle right after sex.
chilchuck just doesnât like feeling gross, heâd want to be clean as soon as possible. he will fuss over you during bathing. divorced father of three but with the way heâs acting makes him look like a mother.
he will scrub you down to the bone but will be less aggressive if you tell him it makes you uncomfortable.
âput your clothes in the basket, dry your hair, make sure you brush your teeth properly.â
âi always do! follow your own advice, you alcoholic.â
âi will drown you in this tub.â
what a nice and loving man, am i right
after bath time, heâll lay on his side with nothing on but some underwear. his arm is around your torso as you fall asleep while he watches you with a soft smile, fingers tracing soft shapes on to your skin.
8/10 for being emotionally constipated but an A+ for trying. (iâm kidding heâs great)
#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#chilchuck tims#chilchuck x reader#dunmeshi#delicious in dungeon x reader#dunmeshi x reader#dungeon meshi x reader#chilchuck tims x reader
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The concept of Bad Man Simon Riley who's aware he's a Bad Manâąïž is one I hold very dear to me.
Masterlist đŠ
Simon Riley is, fully and completely, what people envision as a bad man. He's a convoluted character who carries a lot of baggage, and that same weight has crushed him into the beast he is today.
His reflection is his constant reminder of the bad things he's done and endured. And when you have such a blatant, ever-present memento of how dark you really are, it's hard to forget.
He doesn't bother putting up a facade. Won't help the lady cross the street, nor will he take a bullet for someone else. No one has ever done that for him, so it's only natural to give the world a taste of its own medicine. He doesn't even try; it just happens.
It takes him nothing to leave Soap behind in Las Almas and find shelter in an abandoned church. Sure, he'll cover for himâif the lad is fast enough, that is. Saving Alejandro afterwards is a mere ploy to make this blasted mission end soonerâtrue, no one fights alone, but he'd like to get out of there as soon as possible, thank you very much.
Barely brushes the concept of Price's injury when he faints due to the inhalation of some Sarin gas of sorts. Can only think that if he'd died, he would have to take the captain's place in leading the operation. A fucking bummer alrightâbut cap's fine, thankfully, right? One less thing to worry about now.
Won't try to start relationships, because what good can he bring when he can't even drop a kind word for himself? He's awful, inside and out, and he's aware.
What happens, then, when he's suddenly loved?
What happens, then, when you're sliding under his skin, pretending you don't see the rot and the grime?
The question of "why" is pinned to the front of his brain like an annoying leech that plagues him day and night.
On the couch, you're absolutely unbothered by his dark presence next to you. You're just munching on popcorn and watching some film he doesn't even remember the name of.
"Y'should go," he says out of the blue.
You barely spare him a glance. "Film's not over yet."
No, that isn't what he meant, but he has an inkling that you've gathered that already.
"Ain't good for ya," he insists. "Ain't good for anyone, but that's a whole 'nother story."
You side-eye him from your end of the couch. "Self-deprecating at dinner time? Could you move it up the schedule a little, likeâbreakfast or somethin'."
He doesn't understand. Won't get through his skull. Share a home with him, and for what? What's he giving you that you're coveting so hard, enough to find it easy to snark back at a beast like himâpoking the bear while wearing flimsy cotton shorts and a band t-shirt?
"Y'don't understand," he grits out. "I ain't a good man, love."
"Oh, I know." You say, popping a handful of popcorns in your mouth. "And?"
It irks him. Wants to bite off your head, but, surprisingly, he still has morals, and he wouldn't even dare touch you with ill intent.
"Don't act stupid, now." He warns.
"Ain't acting stupid." You reply as if there is some obvious thing he isn't getting. "You've done bad things, and bad things were done to you. That it?"
He hums as a frown paints his face.
"Should I love you less?" You go on, "Or not love you at all?"
"The latter."
"Wrong." You add as soon as he responds. "Wrong, because that's what you believe, not the truth."
He cocks a brow at your apparent arrogance. A nod in your direction, "What's the truth, then?"
You place the bucket of popcorn on the coffee table. "Truth is that you're human, Simon."
Now that's a word he wouldn't associate with himself.
Monster. Beast. Bear. Wraith, or demon. Ghost.
"As a person, good and bad can coexistâthere is no such thing as night and day." You go on, seemingly unaware of the turmoil you've unleashed on his poor heart.
Keep saying the word person around him this often, and he'll start believing he is one.
So, you have seen the rotten flesh and the mud coating his insides. You have buried your hands in his viscera and coated your skin with his blood and the one he's spilled.
You know, and yet you're here. You're here because you've also seen something else, something he's not aware is there.
Same thing that made his heart lurch when Price wasn't waking up. Same thing that made him hide, prone in the bell tower of a Mexican church, making sure Soap would get back in one piece.
Same thing that has him gaze at you now, with eyes that sting with clear, fresh water. No rotting liquid, no oozing pus, or sickening blood.
You shrug, "Maybe your sun is a little eclipsed, but there's that. I can still see it, y'know?"
You outstretch your leg. Press the tips of your toes against his thigh. The world is suddenly in technicolor, and his chest warms like a rekindled flame.
You wink. "And it's bright as hell, too."
#theo drabbles#simon ghost riley#cod#simon riley#call of duty#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod mw2#ghost x reader#need him biblically#Simon Riley is bad at feelings#my favorite tag#character analysis#maybe?#headcanon#Simon Riley HC#simon riley hcs
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LAZARUS SERUM || Steve Rogers x F!Reader
Part I
Part Two | Part Three Words: 8.5K Themes: Very Angsty?, Break-up, Violence, Kidnapped, Super Human transformation, Action, Attempted Assault, Lovers to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers. Summary: Set in 1942. Steve allowed being a Super Soldier inflate his ego. After a breaking up with Steve, your world shatters then you're abducted and subjected to a mysterious experiment. A/N: I was washing the dishes when this came to me. I thought Y/N was really BADASS at the end. Baby girl is bad bitch, she on Fire. Paint the town red can be her song. A reblog would be noice <3
The sun was setting over Brooklyn, casting long shadows across the streets. You and Steve walked side by side, your fingers intertwined, the cool breeze of the evening wrapping around you both. Steveâs small hand fit perfectly in yours, a comforting reminder of the years you had spent together, supporting each other through thick and thin.Â
It wasnât easy being with him, especially with how the world treated himâjust a scrawny, sickly guy who never knew when to give up.Â
Your parents disapproved and your friends laughed at you for choosing Steve over James. You always tell Steve, âIf they laugh, then fuck'em all.â
He has a good heart and you loved him for itâ for his determination, his kindness, and his unwavering sense of right and wrong.
As you walked, a heavy silence hung between you. The reason was clear: James or known as Bucky Barnes, was shipping out to fight in the war. The three of you had been inseparable, a trio bound by shared history and deep affection. But now, Bucky was leaving, and the thought of losing him weighed heavily on your heart.
âWell, I guess this is it. Iâm heading out tomorrow.â Bucky finally stopped and turned to you both, forcing a smile that didnât quite reach his eyes.Â
You nodded, trying to keep the sadness from showing on your face. âItâs not going to be the same without you, Bucky.â
He gave a small chuckle, though it lacked its usual warmth. âYouâll manage. Youâve got this punk to keep you busy.â He playfully nudged Steve, who smiled weakly in return.
âI should be going with you, Bucky,â Steve said, his voice tight with emotion.
âYouâre gonna be fine, Steve. Youâve got that heart of yours, and thatâs stronger than any muscle.â Buckyâs expression softened, and he reached out, placing a firm hand on Steveâs shoulder. He turned to you, his gaze filled with concern.Â
âAnd you, Y/N⊠take care of him, will ya? Someoneâs gotta keep him out of trouble.â
You forced a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. âI will, Bucky. I promise.â
Bucky pulled you into a tight hug, holding you for a moment longer than necessary. When he finally let go, he clasped hands with Steve, their handshake lingering as they both tried to hold onto the moment.
âDonât do anything stupid while Iâm gone,â Bucky said, trying to lighten the mood.
Steve gave a small laugh, but it was strained. âNo promises.â
With one last look at both of you, Bucky nodded, then turned and walked away, his figure disappearing into the distance.Â
As he left, the weight of his absence settled over you like a thick fog. The world suddenly felt colder, emptier without Buckyâs presence.
âHeâll be okay,â Steve said quietly, more to himself than to you, as you both stood there in silence, watching Bucky disappear.You leaned into Steve, seeking comfort in his presence.Â
âI hope so. I donât know what weâll do if something happens to him.â Steve squeezed your hand, trying to be reassuring.Â
âHeâs strong. Heâll make it back.â But deep down, both of you knew there were no guarantees in war.
Ă Ă Ă ĂÂ
A few weeks later, the day finally came when Steve received his enlistment notice. You were there when he got the news, a mixture of pride and worry swirling in your chest. He had finally done itâhe was going to fight in the war, just like Bucky. But that also meant he was leaving you behind, just like Bucky.
âI canât believe it,â Steve said, staring at the paper in his hands, his voice filled with excitement. âIâm actually going.â
You smiled, though it was bittersweet. âI knew you would. Youâre the most determined person Iâve ever met, Steve. Theyâd be crazy not to let you in.â
 âI couldnât have done it without you, Y/N. Youâve always believed in me, even when I didnât believe in myself.â Steve looked up at you, his expression softening.
You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. âIâm so proud of you, Steve. Youâre going to do great things. Just⊠promise me youâll be careful.â
Steveâs eyes were filled with emotion as he pulled you into a tight embrace. âI promise, Y/N. Iâll come back to you. I swear.â
But as you held him, a deep sadness settled over you. First Bucky, now Steveâeveryone you cared about was leaving, going off to fight a war that seemed so far removed from your life in Brooklyn. You couldnât help but feel a sense of dread, a fear that things would never be the same again.
Ă Ă Ă ĂÂ
The day Steve came back from the super-soldier program, everything changed. You had waited anxiously for news, praying that everything would go smoothly, that he would come back to you safe and sound. When you finally saw him again, it was nothing like you imagined.
The first time you laid eyes on the new Steve Rogers was outside a government building, where a crowd had gathered. You pushed your way through, eager to see him after weeks of silence. When you finally spotted him, your breath caught in your throat.There he wasâtall, muscular, and impossibly different. The boy you once knew was gone, replaced by a man who exuded power and confidence. It was Steve, and yet it wasnât.
âSteve!â you called out, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd. You tried to make your way toward him, but the throng of people pushed you back, jostling you aside as they clamored for a closer look at the hero.
Steve seemed oblivious to the crowd around him, focused entirely on the conversation he was having with a woman by his sideâPeggy Carter. You had heard about her, of course, but seeing them together was different. There was an ease between them that made your heart sink.
âSteve!â you called out again, louder this time, but he didnât hear youâor if he did, he didnât acknowledge it. You watched as Peggy leaned in closer, her hand resting on his arm in a way that felt far too familiar.
Then, as if in slow motion, you saw Steve get into a car with her, leaving you standing alone in the crowd, feeling completely invisible.
It wasnât supposed to be like this. He was supposed to see you, to run to you, to hold you in his arms like he always did. But instead, he was driving away with someone else, and you were left behind, forgotten.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
A few weeks pass by with not one word from Steve, the last time you heard his voice was on the radio, giving a speech that would motivate the soldiers out there or in the newspaper. You were sitting by the window, reading a book while your cat rested peacefully on your lap. Then, there was a knock at the door. You kept your ears attentive, though your eyes were focused somewhere else.
You heard your mother answer it, and you listened as she exchanged a few words with whoever was at the door. A moment later, she called out to you, âY/N, thereâs a soldier here to see you.â
You furrowed your brow in confusion as you walked toward the door. A soldier? Why wouldâ?
As you reached the doorway, your breath caught in your throat. There, standing in the threshold, was Steve Rogers, but not the Steve you remembered. He was taller, broader, wearing an army uniform that fit him perfectly, and his entire presence seemed⊠different. The frail, sickly boy you had known was gone, replaced by a man you barely recognized.
âDo you know this gentleman, dear?â Your mother, still standing by the door, looked between you and Steve, clearly confused.Â
âItâs me, Mrs. L/N, Steve Rogers.â Steve gave her a warm smile, his voice deeper than you remembered.Â
Your mother blinked, looking Steve up and down before recognition finally dawned on her face. âSteve? My goodness, look at you! I didnât even recognize you. You look⊠Well, you look like a different person altogether!â
âYes, he⊠he certainly does.â You forced a smile, still trying to process the fact that he's standing there.Â
âWell, Iâll leave you two to catch up. Iâll be in the kitchen if you need anything.â Your mother gave you a strange look as she walked past, heading back into the house.Â
The heck was that about?
As she disappeared into the other room, you turned your attention back to Steve, your heart pounding. You looked up at him, which was something you weren't used to. He's so. . .tall.
âSteve⊠is that really you?â
âItâs me, Y/N,â Steve replied, his voice deeper than you remembered. âIâm sorry I havenât been in touch. Things have been⊠crazy in the last couple of days.â
âIâm just glad youâre okay.â You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment.
Steve smiled, a hint of the old Steve you knew shining through. âIâm more than okay. I want to make it up to you. How about I take you out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us.â
Your heart lifted at the thought. Maybe this was your chance to reconnect, to get back to the way things were.Â
âIâd like that,â you said softly. âIâd like that a lot.â
âListen, I need to go back but I'll see you at our favorite spot? Six-thirty?â He reaches for your hands and kissed the back of it.Â
âIâll be there,â you chuckled at his romantic gesture.
âDonât keep me waiting.â He winks at you, and you couldnât help but giggle. This new playful side of him, got you hooked like a fish.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
âGood evening, Ma'am. Do you have a reservation for tonight?â the hostess asked politely, her hands poised over the guest book.
âYes. Steve Rogers?â
The hostess scanned the list, her finger trailing down the page. âTable 11. Right this way.â She smiled warmly and gestured for you to follow.
Your heart quickened as you anticipated seeing Steve, but when you reached the table, your smile faltered. The chair opposite you was empty. The hostess pulled it out for you, and with a quiet sigh, you sat down, your eyes flickering anxiously toward the door.
âCan I offer you any refreshments?âÂ
âNot at the moment.â
âNo problem. Let us know if you need anything.â With a nod, she left you alone, leaving the weight of the evening to settle over you.
Minutes turned into an hour, and you found yourself glancing at the door every time it opened, only to be met with disappointment as someone other than Steve entered. As the hours passed, your hope began to wane, replaced by a growing knot of irritation in your chest.
But as the hours ticked by, your hope began to fade. The restaurant was closing, and still, there was no sign of him. The waitstaff was cleaning up around you, giving you sympathetic looks as you sat there alone, trying to hold back the tears.
The restaurant was winding down, the waitstaff quietly cleaning up around you. Their sympathetic looks were hard to ignore as you sat alone, struggling to keep your emotions in check. You felt a lump in your throat, your eyes stinging as you blinked back tears.
âMiss, I donât mean to be rude, but weâre closing,â a waiter said gently, approaching you with a cautious smile.
You nodded, trying to muster some semblance of dignity, âIâm so sorry. Iâll be on my way.â You snuffled and smiled as you got up from your seat. Getting up alone was hard, the weight of embarrassment was weighing you down.Â
Just as you turned to leave, the door swung open. Steve rushed in, his face flushed and hair slightly disheveled. âY/N, Iâm so sorry,â he blurted out, hurrying over to you. âI got caught up in something important. I didnât mean to be late.â
The staff paused in their work, their eyes shifting between you and Steve. There stood the dashing soldier, looking every bit the hero in his crisp uniform, yet here he was, unmistakably late. As their gazes turned to you in your lavender shirtwaist dress, it was clear they understood why you had waited so long.
âItâs eleven.â Your voice seethed after glancing at your watch, noticing a red smudge on his collar, âTheyâre closed. Letâs talk outside.â
Without waiting for a response, you cleared your throat and walked out, brushing past him intentionally to make your anger known. Steve followed closely behind, sensing the storm brewing between you two. This was the first time he had been this late, and you were struggling to decide whether to forgive him easily or let him feel the full weight of your emotions.
âSteve, where were you? I waited for hours,â you said, trying to keep your voice whole, this feeling like you were losing him is foreign and hard to keep internally.
âIâm sorry, Y/N. I got caught up with something⊠important.â Steve barely met your gaze, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.Â
âMore important than us?â The words slipped out before you could stop them, the pain of being pushed aside finally surfacing.
Steve sighed, his shoulders slumping. âItâs not like that. You know Iâm trying to do the right thing. Thereâs so much going on, and Iââ
âForgot about me?â You didnât want to be this person, but the loneliness and the fear of losing him had been building up for too long. Without Bucky around, you had no one to turn to, no one to share this burden with. âI understand that you have responsibilities now, but you made a promise.â
He finally looked at you, guilt flashing in his eyes. âY/N, Iâm not leaving you behind. I just. . . things are different.â
âI can see that,â you said, you look at him from head to toe. The man standing in front of you wasnât the same Steve who used to hold you and make you feel like the most important person in the world. This was someone else, someone who had outgrown you, âYouâve changed, and Iâm not talking about your appearance.â
âIâm still me, Y/N. But now, I have responsibilities, people who rely on me.â Steve looked down, guilt flashing in his eyes.Â
âAnd what about me?â you asked, the hurt evident in your voice. âDo I even matter anymore, or was I just someone to keep you company when you had nothing else?â
âDonât say that,â Steve replied quickly out of spite, âMaybe⊠maybe you were only with me because you felt sorry for me. For who I was.â
His words cut deep, and you recoiled as if he had struck you. âYou think I was with you out of pity? Is that what you believe?â
âI donât know,â Steve said, his voice strained.
âHow could you think that?â you said, your voice rising with a mix of anger and hurt. âI was with you because I love you, Steve. Not because I felt sorry for you. I believed in you, and I loved you for who you were, not because of what you couldnât do or how you appear.â
âIâm just not sure where I fit in this new world, and Iâm not sure where you fit in it either. I'm trying to woââ
Your chest began feeling tight because of his words. You had always known that things would change after the serum, but you never expected him to question your feelings like this.Â
âSo, what are you saying? That thereâs no place for me in your life anymore? That I donât belong because youâve become someone else?â You emphasized his structure with your hand.
Steve shook his head, looking frustrated. âI donât know what Iâm saying. I just⊠I feel like weâre both hanging on to something thatâs already gone.â
âAlready gone? Nothing was gone, at least not on my part.â Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought to keep your voice from cracking, âIs there someone else? Is that why youâre looking for a way out?â
âNo! Of course not. It's because for once in myself I feel like I'm worth something,â he said, running a hand through his hair.
The finality of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. You had fought so hard to hold onto him, to keep the love between you alive, but now it felt like you were losing that battle. You had wanted him to stay tonight, to make things right, but now you werenât sure if there was anything left to salvage.
Finally, you couldnât take it anymore. You turned away, the tears you had been holding back finally spilling over.Â
âYou know what? Just⊠go, Steve. Do whatever it is you have to do. I will not think less of myself just because you do not know how to love me anymore.â you said, your voice heavy with resignation.
âY/NâŠâ Steveâs voice was soft, filled with regret, but you couldnât face him. Not now.
âPlease, Steve. Just go.â
What you really wanted to say was, âPlease stay. Show me that I still matter to you.â But you couldnât bring yourself to say it. You were too afraid that he wouldnât fight for you, and the thought of that was too painful to bear.
Steve hesitated, his eyes wandering as if trying to find the right words. He just stood there, saying nothing.Â
You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you walked closer to him, his face softening as you reached up and gently adjusted his collar. Your fingers brushed against the fabric, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.Â
Then, in the calmest voice you could muster, you said, âLemon helps with removing lipstick stains.â
Steveâs eyes widened in panic, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the spot where your fingers had been.
âY/N, I seriously don't know how this got hereââ he began and it almost sounded genuine, his voice filled with panic as he tried to close the distance between you.
But you took a step back, your eyes now red and brimming with tears. You raised a hand to stop him, your voice breaking as you sobbed deeply, âDonât. Just⊠donât.â
Steveâs heart shattered at the sight of you sobbing, your pain a statement in every tear that fell. His instinct was to reach out, to hold you, but your outstretched hand and the heartbreak in your eyes kept him rooted to the spot.
If Bucky were here⊠The thought pierced his mind like a knife, and suddenly, jealousy coursed through him, hot and irrational. Bucky. The one person who had always managed to make you smile, even when he couldnât. The one who could draw out your laughter with just a word, a look. The one who, despite being his best friend, had always been a shadow in the corner of Steveâs mind when it came to you.
Was it easier with Bucky? Did you love Bucky more than him? Had you ever thought of Bucky in ways that Steve couldnât bear to imagine?
âYou shouldâve just chosen Bucky.â Steve muttered and with one last, tortured look at you, Steve turned away, his steps. He walked away, leaving you standing there, your tears flowing freely now. He didnât look back, too afraid of what he might see if he did.
Your breath caught in your throat, the shock of his words slicing through the already unbearable pain. You stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to process the bitterness in his voice, the finality of his statement.
The Steve you had known was gone. You didnât know if looking for him would be worth it because you knew how it would feelâit would feel like reaching for smoke.
Heartbroken and feeling more isolated than ever, you decided to walk home alone. Your cries echoes the street, water gushing out of your eyes like itâs being released by a dam. The echo of your footsteps on the empty streets was a haunting reminder of just how alone you felt. Steve had left, and with him, it felt like a part of your heart had been ripped away.
Steveâs words replayed in your mind, cutting deeper with every repetition. The idea that he thought you might have been with him out of pity or that you're better off with Bucky was a knife to your heart, twisting with every breath.
The streets of Brooklyn were eerily quiet, the usual bustle replaced by an unsettling stillness. The lamps cast long, distorted shadows across the pavement, and every sound seemed amplified in the silence. You quickened your pace, trying to escape the weight of your thoughts, but it was no use.Â
As you turned down a narrow street, the familiar surroundings suddenly felt foreign and oppressive. You hugged your coat tighter around you, your mind racing with a mixture of fear and despair. Ahead, the road forked into two directionsâone leading to your home, the other into an even darker, narrower alley. You turned towards home, your heart pounding as you tried to shake the feeling of being watched.
Then, without warning, you heard the screech of tires on the asphalt. Before you could react, a van skidded to a stop in front of you, its headlights blinding in the dark street. The doors flew open, and three men in dark clothing jumped out, their faces obscured by shadows.
Panic surged through you as you spun on your heel, trying to run, but it was too late. They were on you in an instant, their grips like iron as they dragged you towards the van.
âNo! Let me go! Help! Please someone!â you screamed, thrashing against their hold, but your voice was swallowed by the night, and the empty streets offered no help. Your heart raced, the fear consuming you as you struggled with the best you can.
A cloth was suddenly pressed against your mouth and nose, and a sickly sweet smell filled your senses. You tried to hold your breath, to fight against the drowsiness that quickly overtook you, but it was no use. The world around you started to blur, your vision darkening as your body went limp.
The last thing you heard before everything went black was the sound of the van doors slamming shut and the dull roar of the engine as it sped away into the night.
Ă Ă Ă Ă
DAY ONE
When you woke, the world was a haze of pain and confusion. The first thing you noticed was the cold metal pressing against your back, you were naked. Your wrists and ankles were strapped to a metal table, the restraints biting into your skin. Panic clawed at your chest as you struggled against the bonds, but they held firm, keeping you pinned down.
Your vision was blurry, your head pounding from whatever they had used to knock you out. Slowly, the room around you came into focusâbare, clinical, with walls of stark white. You werenât in Brooklyn anymore. You werenât anywhere you recognized.
You heard voices, cold and detached, speaking in hushed tones. You couldnât make out the words, but the tone sent chills down your spine. Footsteps approached, and a shadow loomed over you.
A manâs face came into view, his expression devoid of any warmth or compassion. âSheâs awake. Prepare the serum.â
The word âserumâ sent a jolt of fear through you, and you renewed your struggles, trying to break free. But the restraints didnât budge, and the man paid no attention to your terror or the muffled screams that bounced off the walls.
You felt a sharp prick in your arm as they injected something into your veins. Immediately, a searing pain shot through your body, like liquid fire burning through every nerve. You tried to scream, but your voice was caught in your throat, choked off by the agony that consumed you.
The pain was unbearable and you could feel your body convulsing on the table, your muscles seizing as the serum spread through you. It felt like your entire being was being torn apart, every cell screaming in protest. You began to foam in the mouth, the scene your captors watched was like out of an exorcist movie.
And then⊠nothing. The world around you went dark, and you slipped into unconsciousness, the pain finally giving way to merciful oblivion.
âSir, should we stop?â One of them said, âHer vital signs are getting dangerously out of limits, she might go into cardiac arrest.â
âNo, keep going until that last vial is finished. I want to see whatâll happen. Then we repeat until thereâs signs of success.âÂ
DAY TWO
You awoke to the sensation of your body being dragged, rough hands gripping your arms as they pulled you across the cold, unforgiving floor. Your vision was clouded, your mind struggling to grasp onto reality as the fog of unconsciousness began to lift. Every inch of you ached, a dull, throbbing pain that seemed to seep into your very bones.
As you were hoisted back onto the metal table, the cold surface pressed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The restraints clamped down on your wrists and ankles once more, their cruel bite familiar by now. The room around you was still the sameâsterile, white, and devoid of any humanity.
You tried to speak, but your throat was on dry and on fire, your voice barely a whisper. "Please... stop..."
Your plea fell on deaf ears. The figures in lab coats moved around you with the same clinical detachment as before, their faces obscured by surgical masks. One of them approached, holding a clipboard, his eyes scanning the data as if you were nothing more than a lab rat.
"Her vitals stabilized overnight," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "But... the readings are inconsistent. I'm not sure if the serum is taking effect."
The man from beforeâthe one who had ordered the serumâstepped into view, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. He leaned over you, his eyes scrutinizing your face with a mix of curiosity and impatience.
"Let's see if she can handle more," he said, his voice flat, giving nothing away.
Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you remembered the excruciating pain from the day before. You tried to struggle, but your body was too weak, too drained from the torment they had already inflicted on you.
The man nodded to one of his colleagues, who approached with another syringe, the liquid inside glowing with an ominous, sickly hue. You watched in horror as the needle approached your arm, every muscle in your body tensing with dread.
"No... no, please..." you begged, your voice breaking.
But they didn't stop. The needle pierced your skin once again, and the liquid fire coursed through your veins, more intense than before. The pain was immediate, searing through you like a thousand white-hot knives. You thrashed against the restraints, your screams tearing through the air, but there was no escape from the agony.
The world around you blurred as the pain became all-consuming, every nerve in your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding erratically, your vision darkening at the edges. It was too much, too overwhelming.
But this time, there was no merciful oblivion waiting for you. The pain persisted, dragging you down into a nightmare from which there was no escape. Your body convulsed violently, your muscles seizing as the serum wreaked havoc within you.
The voices around you became distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but their tone was one of cold observation, detached from the suffering they were causing.
"Her body's reacting... but the patterns aren't consistent. Itâs hard to tell if itâs working or if sheâs just... rejecting it."
"Increase the dosage," the man ordered, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched your writhing form. "We need to push her further. If there's any sign of success, we'll see it soon enough."
"But sir," one of the lab technicians hesitated, his voice uncertain. "If we push too hard, she might not survive the next round. The readings are already erraticâshe could go into shock or worse."
"Thatâs a risk Iâm willing to take," the man replied coldly. "We wonât know until we push her limits."
Your heart sank at his words. There was no end to this. They were going to keep pushing, keep testing, until either the serum took hold of your body or gave out entirely.
As you lay there, barely conscious, the pain began to ebb slightly, leaving you trembling and drenched in sweat. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your chest heaving as you tried to cling to consciousness.
"Prepare the next dose," the man ordered, his voice devoid of any empathy.
This time, your heart sank even deeper. The nightmare wasnât just beginningâit was accelerating, and there was no way out. You were trapped in this hell, at the mercy of those who saw you as nothing more than an experiment, a means to an end. And whether or not the serum was taking effect, you knew that whatever happened next would push you to your breaking pointâand beyond.
DAY EIGHTY
When you woke, the familiar chill of the metal table greeted you. The room was as stark and clinical as ever, but something had changed within you. The pain was still there, a constant, gnawing presence, but it no longer controlled you. You had become accustomed to it, numb to its bite. It was just another part of your existence now.
Eighty days.
Eighty days of torment, of relentless experimentation, of feeling your body and mind pushed to their breaking points and beyond. You had lost track of time somewhere around the third week, the days and nights blending into a seamless blur of agony and darkness. But even as the days passed, you remained conscious, awareâalive.
The door to the room opened, and you didnât bother to turn your head. You knew who it was. The man with the cold eyes approached, his footsteps echoing on the hard floor. He had become a constant in your world, his presence as regular as the pain he inflicted.Â
âYouâre still with us, I see,â he remarked, his tone as detached as ever. He moved closer, inspecting the restraints that held you down. âMost impressive.â
You didnât respond. You hadnât spoken in daysâthere was nothing left to say. Every word, every plea had fallen on deaf ears. You had learned long ago that silence was your only companion in this hell.
âHer vitals are stronger,â a technician noted, glancing at the monitors that tracked your every heartbeat. âWeâve noticed a significant increase in her strength and resilience. The serum seems to be taking effect.â
The man nodded, though there was no satisfaction in his expression. âEighty days,â he mused, as if talking to himself. âEighty days, and youâre still here. Stronger, faster⊠more than we ever anticipated.â
He turned his gaze to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. âBut are you in control, I wonder? Or has the serum taken control of you?â
His words hung in the air, but you didnât flinch. The battle for control was something you fought every day, every hour. The serum coursing through your veins had changed you in ways you couldnât fully understand yet, but you were still youâor so you told yourself.
âLetâs see if we can push it further,â he said, signaling to the technician.
The restraints were released, and you felt the cold metal slide away from your wrists and ankles. You didnât move, not yet. You had learned to conserve your strength, to hold back until the moment was right.
âSit up,â he commanded.
You obeyed, slowly raising yourself into a seated position. Your movements were deliberate, controlled. You could feel the power coursing through your body, every muscle coiled with potential energy, but you kept it in check.
The man stepped back, giving you space, watching you closely. âStand.â
You slid off the table, your bare feet touching the cold floor. You stood, swaying slightly as the blood rushed to your head. But you remained upright, your gaze locked on the man who had been your tormentor for nearly three months.
âWalk,â he ordered, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.
You took a step forward, then another. Your legs were shaky at first, but you quickly found your balance. Each movement felt strange, foreign, as if you were inhabiting a body that wasnât entirely your own. But you continued, step after step, until you were standing directly in front of him.
âGood,â he said, nodding approvingly. âVery good.â
He reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch was light, almost gentle, but you could sense the underlying threat in it. âNow, letâs see just how far we can take this.â
You didnât react as he motioned for the guards to step forward, their weapons at the ready. You knew what was coming next. This was another test, another attempt to push you beyond your limits.
The guards surrounded you, their faces expressionless, their grips tight on their weapons. The man gave a slight nod, and they moved as one, striking out at you with calculated precision.
But this time, you were ready. The serum had done its work. You were faster, stronger, and as their blows came toward you, you reacted with a speed that surprised even you. You deflected the first strike with ease, the second with even greater efficiency. Your movements were fluid, instinctual, a dance of power and precision.
Within moments, the guards were on the ground, groaning in pain, their weapons scattered across the floor. You stood over them, breathing heavily, your heart pounding with adrenaline. The power surging through you was intoxicating, overwhelming, but you were in control. For now.
The man watched you with a hint of something in his eyesârespect, maybe, or perhaps something more sinister.
âYes,â he murmured, more to himself than to you. âThis is what weâve been waiting for.â
You stood there, the blood rushing in your ears, your body alive with the thrill of what you had just done. But beneath it all, there was a gnawing sense of unease. You had changed, become something different, something more. But at what cost?
As the guards were dragged away, the man turned to you once more. âEighty days,â he repeated, a slight smile playing on his lips. âAnd now, the real work begins.â
You didnât respond. You had nothing left to say. The battle was far from over, and as you looked into the cold, calculating eyes of your captor, you knew that whatever came next would push you even further into the darkness.
But you were ready. Because after eighty days of hell, you had learned one thingâyou would survive, no matter what.
DAY 100
The pain had reached a point where it was almost surreal, as if your mind had detached itself from your body to protect what was left of your sanity. You lay strapped to the cold metal table, your skin clammy, your breaths shallow. The serum that had been forced into your veins was taking its final toll. Your vision blurred, the edges of your world darkening as you teetered on the brink of consciousness.
The man with the cold eyes stood over you, his expression hard as he watched the monitors tracking your vitals. He had been relentless, pushing the experiments further each day, determined to force the serum to work. But today, something was different. The lines on the monitor were becoming erratic, your heart rate spiking and dipping unpredictably.
"Her vitals are deteriorating rapidly," a technician warned, his voice tinged with anxiety. "She's not stabilizing. We should stop."
The man clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. "Weâre too close. Increase the dosage."
"But sir, she won't surviveâ"
"Do it!" he barked, cutting off the protest.The technician hesitated for a moment before injecting you with another dose of the glowing serum. The liquid fire surged through your veins, and the world around you exploded into pain once again. But this time, it was differentâthis time, your body couldnât take it.
You convulsed violently on the table, the restraints digging into your skin as your body fought a losing battle. Your vision darkened further, the room around you fading into an indistinct blur. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, a desperate rhythm that couldnât keep pace with the assault on your system.
And then, it stopped. The world around you went silent. your life flashed before your eyes, beginning with the warmth of your childhoodâthe comforting embrace of your mother as she read you stories at night, the sound of her laughter filling your small apartment in Brooklyn. You remembered the day you met Steve, the shy, awkward boy who had tripped over his own feet trying to impress you, and Buckyâs teasing grin as he nudged Steve forward, encouraging him to finally ask you out. There were memories of long summer days spent in the park, the three of you inseparable, sharing ice cream and dreams of the future.
But then, the memories shifted. The warmth drained away as you saw Steve walking away from you, his back turned, his footsteps echoing in the empty space between you. . .
âDispose of the body.â
Ă Ă Ă Ă
D - 100
When you woke up this time, you werenât in the cold, sterile room. Instead, you were lying in an alley, discarded like trash. The hard, wet pavement was unforgiving against your body, and the chill in the air bit through your clothes. You donât know what day or even month it was.
Your once neat and tidy outfit was now torn and filthy, covered in grime and dirt from the alleyway. The lavender shirtwaist dress you had worn so proudly earlier was now barely recognizable, stained with mud and who knows what else.
Your hair, once carefully styled, was now a tangled mess, strands sticking to your face, damp with sweat and the moisture of the night. You could feel the grit and dirt under your nails, the remnants of your struggle to free yourself from whatever hellish place you had been held. Your hands were scraped and raw, the skin broken and bleeding in places.
Your face felt gritty, as if youâd been dragged through the dirt. As you lifted a hand to touch your cheek, you could feel the rough texture of dried blood and dirt clinging to your skin. Your body aches all over, every muscle sore from the strain of whatever had been done to you. The cold dusk air bit into your exposed skin, making you shiver as you struggled to push yourself up from the ground.
The street was dimly lit, the sound of distant traffic the only sign of life around you. The once-familiar streets of Brooklyn now felt alien and hostile, and in your current state, you felt like a ghost haunting the city you once knew.
You stood there, shivering and alone, the reality of your situation sank in. Whoever had taken you had done something to youâsomething that had changed you. But they had deemed you a failure, or perhaps an afterthought, and simply left you to fend for yourself.
You felt stronger, different, but the overwhelming sense of abandonment weighed heavily on your heart. You looked down at your hands, trembling as you tried to comprehend what had happened to you.
Just as you began to move, your disheveled appearance caught the attention of a group of men lurking in the shadows. They saw an easy targetâsomeone weak, vulnerable, alone. Their eyes locked onto you, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you like a predator sizing up its prey. But they had no idea what they were about to face.
âHey, look what we got here,â one of them called out, his voice dripping with malice. He stepped forward, a smirk spreading across his face as he took in your bedraggled state. âYou look like youâve had a rough night, sweetheart.â
Another man snickered, his eyes narrowing as he moved to block your path. âWhere you headed in such a hurry? We could keep you company.â
The men began to circle you, cutting off any chance of escape. Their leers and mocking laughter echoed off the walls of the alley, making your skin crawl. You backed away, your heart racing, but they kept closing in, their intent all too clear.
One of them reached out to grab your arm, but before his hand could make contact, something snapped inside you. The fear that had gripped you earlier was replaced by a cold, detached resolve.Â
With a sudden burst of strength, you lashed out, your fist connecting with the manâs jaw. The impact sent him reeling backward, blood spurting from his mouth. He stumbled, crashing into a pile of trash cans with a loud clatter, his smug expression replaced by shock.
The other men hesitated, their bravado faltering as they realized you were not the helpless victim they had assumed. But their hesitation quickly turned to anger, and they surged forward, determined to make you pay for their friendâs humiliation.
But they didnât stand a chance.
With a newfound power surging through your veins, you moved like a force of nature. You dodged their clumsy attempts to grab you, your movements fluid and precise. Every strike you landed sent them staggering back, their groans of pain filling the air.
One man lunged at you, his hands reaching for your throat, but you ducked under his grasp, spinning on your heel to deliver a powerful kick to his midsection. The force of the blow knocked the wind out of him, and he crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.
Another man tried to grab you from behind, but you twisted out of his grip, your elbow slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack. He howled in pain, clutching his side as he fell to his knees.
The last man standing looked at you with wide, fearful eyes, his confidence shattered. âWhat the hell are you?â he stammered, backing away.
You stared at him, feeling that cold detachment settle over you once more. âSomeone you should never have messed with,â you replied, your voice calm and steady.
Without another word, you stepped forward and struck him with a swift, powerful punch. He didnât have time to react before he was sent crashing to the ground, unconscious.
As you stood there, surrounded by the groaning forms of the men who had tried to attack you, the reality of what you had just done began to sink in. You had taken them down with ease, without even thinking. The fear that had gripped you earlier was gone, replaced by something elseâsomething darker, more dangerous.
You looked down at your hands, trembling slightly as you tried to process what had just happened. They were bruised and dirty, knuckles bloodied from the fight, but they were steady, powerful. You werenât the same person who had been taken from the streets and subjected to whatever hellish experiment had been done to you.
You were stronger now, and that strength came with a cold, hard edge that scared you as much as it empowered you.
But there was no time to dwell on it. You needed to get out of there, to find somewhere safe where you could figure out what had been done to you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before you began to walk away from the alley, leaving the men behind.
As you disappeared into the early morning light, the realization that you were truly alone settled in your heart. You had been discarded, left to fend for yourself. But you would survive this. You would become stronger, faster, more powerful than anyone who had ever underestimated you.
And if Steve had truly discarded you as well, if he had moved on and left you behind, then you would prove that you didnât need himâor anyone else.
By the time the sun began to rise, you were no longer the same person who had waited at that restaurant, hoping for a fresh start. The flame that once burned brightly for Steve had turned to cold, hardened embers.
You vowed never to let anyone discard you again.
.
.
.
.
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.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, you trudged through the streets, your skin a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one a testament to the brutality you had endured. The world around you seemed surreal, almost detached, as if you were walking through a twisted dream.Â
People noticed youâhow could they not? Their eyes lingered a fraction too long before they darted away, some filled with pity, others with fear or disgust. Concerned mothers pulled their children closer, shielding them from the sight of you as if you were a monster, something to be feared and avoided. Whispers followed you like a shadow, just out of earshot but thick with judgment, dripping with the cruelty of strangers who saw only the surface.
No one approached you. No one dared. The stares didnât bother you. In fact, you welcomed them. Let them look, let them fear. You would not be pitied. You would not be scorned. If the world wanted to see you as a monsterâthen so be it.Â
As you walked, a familiar part of town began to come into view. You knew these streets well, every crack in the sidewalk, every faded storefront. It had been a place of comfort, of familiarityâbut now it felt foreign, like you were an intruder in a place that no longer belonged to you.
Then, through the blur of people, you saw her. Your mother. She stood on the corner, frantically handing out pieces of paper with your picture on them, her eyes scanning every face that passed by, desperate and searching
When her gaze landed on you, her expression shiftedâfirst to shock, then to fear, relief, and heartbreak that hit you like a punch to the gut. Your heart clenched, a pang of pity slicing through the wall youâd built around yourself. You had steeled yourself against so much, but seeing her there, so fragile, so broken, was almost too much to bear.
âM-Mom?â Your voice cracked, a betrayal of the emotions you fought so hard to suppress. For a split second, you felt like yourself again, but then that cold voice in your head reminded you: no tears, no weakness.
She rushed toward you, disbelief widening her eyes, her hand trembling as she covered her mouth in shock.
âY/N? Is that you?â she gasped, her voice trembling.
You stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to speak as she reached out to you. Her hands, trembling, cupped your face, her touch so familiar yet so foreign. Tears welled in her eyes as she took in your appearance.
âWhat⊠what happened to you?â she whispered, her voice barely holding together.
The tears in her eyes reflected the pain you had tried so hard to bury. But you couldnât let it outânot now. Not after everything.
âIâm fine,â you managed to say, though the words felt hollow. You pulled away from her touch, the warmth of it almost too painful to bear.
âNo, youâre not,â she insisted, her voice shaking as she looked you up and down, trying to understand what had happened to her daughter. âWho did this to you? Where have you been?â
You shook your head, the emotions churning inside you too chaotic to form into coherent thoughts.
âIt doesnât matter,â you replied, your voice colder than you intended. âI just need to go home.â
Your motherâs brow furrowed, as she looked at you with a motherâs instinctive fear. âNo, we need to take you to the hospital. You need to be checked out, Y/N. Youâre hurtââ
âNo!â you snapped, the force of your voice startling both of you, desperation in your tone, âNo hospitals, no police report.â
âY/N, please. You need help. We have to tell someoneââ
Help? No one helped.Â
âI said no!â you repeated, your voice trembling with an intensity that silenced her. âThey wonât help. Theyâll just ask questions, questions I canât answer. They wonât understand, Mom. No one will.â
âBut, Y/Nââ
âI donât need a doctor. I donât need the police. I just need to go home. Please, Mom⊠just take me home.â Your breath came faster, panic rising in your chest as the thought of being in a hospital, of facing the police and their endless probing, became unbearable.Â
Her face crumpled with worry, but she didnât press further. Instead, she wrapped her arms around you, holding you tightly as if trying to shield you from whatever had hurt you.Â
Slowly, she nodded, though her worry was still palpable. âOkay. Okay, weâll go home. But promise me⊠promise me that if you need help, youâll let me know. Just⊠donât shut me out.â
You nodded, but the motion felt distant, like it didnât quite belong to you. âI promise,â you whispered, though even as the words left your mouth, they felt empty, a hollow reassurance to ease her fears.
Ă Ă Ă ĂÂ
The rain poured down like icy needles, but you barely felt it through your black raincoat. Across the street, through the glowing window, Steve and Peggy danced together, they danced together like a well-rehearsed melody, a song you had once known by heart but now could only hear as a distant echo. Their connection was a knife, twisting in the hollowed-out space where your heart used to be.
Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your nails digging into your palms as you stood there, seething. Every drop of rain that pelted against your coat felt like a reminder of the cold, hard truthâyou had been replaced. Forgotten. Left to rot in the streets while he found comfort in anotherâs arms.
Your anger simmered, bubbling up from the depths of your chest. You had been willing to fight for him, to stand by his side no matter what. But what had that loyalty gotten you? Abandonment. Betrayal? And now, as you watched them dance, that anger solidified into something colder, harder.
âY/L/N.â a deep commanding voice called your name.
Two officials stood in the shadows, their presence barely registering as you finally tore your gaze away from the window. They werenât there for the partyâthey were there for you. Without a word, you pushed past them and joined their side.
#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers imagines#steve rogers fanfiction#steve rogers x y/n#steve rogers x female reader#captain america x y/n#captain america x reader#captain america imagines#captain america fanfiction#captain america x female reader#captain america x you#captain america angst#steve rogers angst#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans x you
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hi mei! i absolutely love your stories! youâre a really great writer đ„°
i was wondering if uâd be interested in doing a hotch drabble about him with a s/o who seems really intimidating but is actually really soft and sweet?
like maybe itâs her appearance that makes the team intimidated by herâedgy clothing and dark makeup and stuffâwhen she shows up to hang out with hotch on his lunch breaks. and sheâs like âi feel like your team doesnât like me :(â and heâs like âhoney, theyâre borderline scared of youâ but itâs fluffy.
if you donât wanna thatâs totally okay! i did a bad job explaining but iâm sure youâd do an amazing job :)
love ya!! hope ur having a good day
Aaron loves when you visit him at the office for lunch, but you don't look like you're in high spirits yourself. When you sit down its with a huff and a hiss of the chair accommodating your weight, only adding to your dramatics.
"This might be my career in profiling speaking," Aaron begins, his voice soft in case something is terribly wrong, "But something tells me you're not having a good day, sweetheart."
"You're good," You tease him, and he wishes you could laugh about it together, "Aaron, I think Doctor Reid is afraid of me."
Aaron has to bite his tongue not to laugh. Doctor Reid is afraid of buffets, he thinks, but it's not an abundance of germs that unnerves Spencer about you, it's- well, it's everything he knows about you.
"Honey," Aaron calls upon that sweet tone again, "He doesn't know you very well."
"You didn't deny it!" You groan, falling back into your chair and abandoning your soup on his desk, "I knew it. What did I do?"
Aaron looks into your eyes, black-lined and sharp. He watches you chew on your cheek, your black-stained lips moved by the nervous quirk. Below your tense jaw is a chain that rests against your neck, not a full choker but not loose, either. It nearly disappears into the hem of your jacket, black leather that falls over a rather graphic old band tee.
"It's not what you've done," Aaron explains tentatively, "It's probably- well, how you look."
Your nose scrunches, and Aaron marvels the fact that you seem to have forgotten your appearance, "How do I look?"
"Like a doberman pinscher in human form," Aaron bites off a corner of his sandwich, chewing it in lieu of pressing the matter further.
"I like dobermans." You supply weakly, "Why is he afraid of me?"
"You're just not what he's used to," Aaron sighs, swallowing his mouthful and leaning across the desk, hand outstretched, "He probably thinks you could dismember him with those nails."
You place your palm in Aaron's own, and he flips your hand around to showcase the rather impressively sharp acrylics you're sporting.
"And your boots are heavier than he is, I guarantee it," Aaron nods down at your thick-soled black boots, ones that give away your entrance from a mile away by the sound of their rubber hitting the ground.
"He's just..." Aaron searches for the right word, trying not to disparage you or Reid, "Skittish. You should talk to him, though, honey. He likes science, and literature, and Star Trek. Pick something from one of those categories, and I promise he'll never stop talking to you for the rest of your life."
You're mostly satisfied, but you let your hand rest in Aaron's for a moment longer, and he'd be a fool to drop it.
"Am I scary, Aaron?" You ask earnestly, and his smile is warm as he brings your hand to his mouth to kiss at your knuckles.
"Not to me. And not to anyone who knows you," He promises, "But... it is nice to not have to worry about carrying a gun when we go out together."
"Aaron!" You laugh, "I'm not a weapon!"
"You could be!" Aaron insists, tugging your hand over to his lunch and dragging your fingernail across his sandwich, "Here, honey, cut it for me, would you? They forgot to give us knives."
"Stop!" You insist, but your laughter gives you away as you turn back to your soup with burning cheeks, "Just you wait, Aaron. As soon as Penelope stops running whenever I enter a room, we're gonna talk shit about you for this."
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner scenario#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner one-shot#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner headcanon#aaron hotchner hc#aaron hotchner hcs#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner dialogue#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction
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Kinktober day 2
ftm yautja oc (Bhankui-ya) x male reader
Can Yautja be FTM? No idea, but this one can. Ive only watched one predator movie, so this is mainly just cooked up from my own imagination and attraction to Yautja, as well as the many fics I read. I used a generator for the name, so if itâs bad, blame the generator.
This is also more just âhaha funny relationship between a yautja and his oomanâ kinda vibes. very fun to write, i would love to write about Bhan again.
Mixed wording for the yautjas bits.
Kinktober 2024 masterlist
Dating a yautja was an⊠interesting experience. Bhankui-ya, or as you called him, Bhan, was no exception. But really, dating a scaley 8ft tall alien warrior who could rip your spine out of your body with his pinky really didnât get any weirder. You were never gonna complain though, except for the times he would sit his entire weight in your lap, and you were left gasping for air. It wasnât your fault that yautja weigh the same as three men of their size. You loved it though, and you had a feeling Bhan knew that.
How you came to date your partner, mate, as he called it, was another strange set of circumstances. You had a past of your own, and there wasnât much left to live for. So, you had set out to take down the people whoâd harmed you and your loved ones the most with you. Your body was littered with the scars they left on you, and your heart was covered in even more, aching for the siblings theyâd taken from you. Be it from their abuse, or your siblings taking their own lives because of them.
It hadnât truly registered at the time. You didnât know what a bad blood was, or that Bhan was an enforcer. You just knew that scaley fucker, who was already missing an arm and hissing like a wet feral cat, was trying to take your kill goal from you. Bahn would later tell you, after laying in bed feeling like hed just drained the very life out of you, that you fought more feral than a kiande amedha fighting for its queen.
You still didnât really know what that was, but you had seen skulls, trophies, Bhan kept of them. Apparently, they were a big deal, and seeing you acting like one got him wet. For some reason. But hey, you got hard seeing him cleaning his knives and spears, who were you to judge that he got heated up seeing you rip a bad bloods mandibles right out their face.
Anyways. In the end you came with him, since youâd âproven yourselfâ somehow. And having literally nothing and no one on earth, you just followed. You were no warrior or hunter, at least nothing compared to yautja. But you had a âlook in your eyeâ in Bhans words, or rather clicks. The implant to understand him still itched at times. You just âneeded to unleash itâ whatever that meant.
Turns out the one place you can unleash this so-called power is in the bedroom. Because, where yautja may be the superiors in many ways, it seems in the way of the body humans were still more advanced. Bhan would tell you it was because âOomans like you are controlled by bodily urgesâ, you just think heâs jealous you used to fuck a toy before you met him.
You honestly felt like you were on top of the world the first time you used a vibrator on his clits, because apparently his people had three. Seeing him rip holes in his seat and how he would arch, and roar made you feel euphoric, it had to be the same rush Bhan felt on a good kill. But instead, you got it from making him squirt so hard his legs were shaking.
You never got to live on that high for very long. Apparently Bahn liked to âpeel you back down againâ so you âdidnât get too confidentâ. Apparently, a confident hunter was a dead hunter, or something like that. It was pretty hard to think about his âlessonsâ when he was riding you though, his sheer bulk slamming down on your already aching human hips until you were making noises similar to the creatures he hunted when they were dying.
That didnât stop you from stocking up on toys though. The next time you came to earth, you scrounged up money one way or the other, and immediately entered the best quality shop you could find. Bhankui-ya was off doing whatever he needed to do, and in the meantime you were trying to find out which wand would work on him.
The conversation with the store clerk was embarrassing, to you at least. They seemed quite entertained as you fumbled out that you were trying to find something that would work on your âtaller than you can imagine, buff as hell and more dangerous than a tiger on steroidsâ partner. They were very helpful though, and even gave you some discounts and wished you luck on your way, as you stumbled out of the store with at least two bags on each arm.
It was only experience at this point that helped you remember where the ship was, since it was invisible and all that. But as you got inside you immediately clambered off to the bedroom, where you got to work. Bhankui-ya wouldnât know what hit him when he got back, you would make sure of that.
Of course, you shouldnât have been surprised when your mate came back beaten and bloody, but lugging the bad bloods head under his arm. You had gained a fascination with seeing the heads of his kills, alright? So, what if it made you morbid. And Bhan? He just seemed to almost preen as you oohd and aahd over his kill.
Patching him up was a coupleâs activity, mainly just because you liked patching him up, and Bhan liked when you did it. He could have easily fixed himself up with the many tools he got as a yautja, but where was the fun in that, when he got to see his little blood thirsty ooman patch him up instead. Bhan did have to stop you from licking his blood up at times, lest he decided to ride you right then and there.
In the end you forgot all about the wide array of toys youd laid out in the bedroom, in the order you planned to use them on him. You sent Bhan on his way, deciding to be a good mate and drag his heavy as fuck armour and weapons off to where they needed to go for cleaning and polishing. It caused aches in your back, but Bhans purrs made it all worth it.
Walking into the bedroom Bhankui-ya got to see your little plan, and if the hunt and your pampering, as well as that flicker of bloodlust in your eyes hadnât got him wet, then this did. How sweet of you, his little mate, to want to pamper him this way. Had you remembered it was your anniversary? (you hadnât) how could he not use the gifts you set out.
Walking into the bedroom to see Bhan fucking himself with one of the toys, a vibrator against his clits made you almost pass out. Hed even worked one of the plugs into his other hole, his muscular thighs spread wide open as he purred in your direction, his noise like a siren call that had you stumbling over your own feet, almost making you eat floor.
Bahn had tried to laugh at your stumbling, but you were on his slit like a starved animal. It was only the fact that Bahn let you that you got the vibrator away from his nubs, mainly because he loved your mouth on him. It was just so much nicer to have a human eat him out than a fellow yautja, he had taken lips for granted his entire life.
Having just gotten back from a hunt left him more pliable, and willing to go along with your whims. Which was how you got four of those wired vibrators strapped to his thighs, and up his cunt, set to the highest setting as you fucked into his ass. The wand youd bought was worth all the money as well, as you used it to swap from one bundle of nerves to the other, Bhankui-ya howling loud enough that your ears were ringing. You wouldnât be shocked if they were bleeding, but did you care? No, no you did not.
The adrenaline from his hunt, your powerful scent of want and hunger, and just the fact that Bhankui-ya didnât indulge in other mates before you, left him sensitive and so needy, something you gladly abused any chance you got.
The bed needed to be completely replaced afterwards, but thatâs how it went every time you got him like this. Never in your dreams did you think you could have someone as powerful and dangerous as Bhan, limp and panting, his entire body shaking and spent. Seeing his mandibles quivering always made your heart lurch, it felt like a symbol that you had done it all right.
Times like this were never about you or getting you off. But you also knew Bhan wouldnât accept it if you didnât get to finish too, so you always did it wherever he wanted it most. There was little chance of you two having offspring, mainly because Bhan had an implant that made pregnancy impossible. Because, unsurprisingly, yautja had even better prevention care than humans could ever dream off. You swore you heard him chirping about pups every now and then though, when you had him so wrung out that his eyes kept rolling back, even when you werenât doing more than petting his torso.
Aftercare was also something Bhankui-ya could appreciate that came from humans. Yautja did care for each other after mating, but it was mainly just to patch each other up if it got bloody, or feeding the other food and water. Being rubbed all over and massaged was enjoyable, so you wouldnât catch Bhankui-ya complaining.
You both knew you were gonna be the one shaking and limping in a few days though. He couldnât let you get too confident, now, could he? Maybe hed even show you how some of the weapons he owned could be used in more⊠fun and creative ways.
#male reader#yautja#alien vs predator#predator#yautja oc#alien boyfriend#monster lover#yautja x male reader#yautja x reader#yautja imagine#yautja headcanon#yautja x you#predator x reader#predator x male reader#predator imagine#predator headcanon#ftm yautja#can yautja be ftm?#idc Bahn is#i already love Bahn#please talk to me about Bahn#and his little freak ooman#i know nothing about predator and yautja culture#but i am obsessed
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â"RED LACED HEARTS" various
đmasterlist | đŹao3 link
sypnosis: leona, ace, & jamil with an s/o that gifts them a big bag of chocolates
âč [ cw ] â slight angst, hint of jealousyâ
âč [ tags ] â FLUFF.GN! READER | leona sugar daddy era, jamil wants to throw hands w your suitors, ace gets jealousâ
âč [ w.c ] â 1k+â
â©âLEONA KINGSCHOLAR:
"Happy Valen-"
"Didn't I tell ya' you didn't have to get anything for me?" Leona grumbles, taking the human-sized box of chocolates from you and dropping it onto his bedroom floor. Truthfully, Leona doesn't really see the use of valentines day. He hates the tacky gifts and how they're coloured in bright pinks and reds, garishly decorated and covered to the brim with hearts and laces.
What's so special about the holiday? You two are already a couple are you not? Isn't it only for mushy, lovesick idiots who can't even get past the hand-holding stage?
"I just wanted to give you a giftâŠbut if you don't want it then I'll just take it back. That cost a lot y'know." You frown, bowing your head down to the floor. Leona's ears droop a bit and he sighs, getting off his bed to walk over to you. He places his finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look into his emerald-green eyes.
"HeyâŠI didn't mean it like that." He mutters, stroking your cheek with the rough pads of his thumb. The lion pulls you down to lie next to him, his tail wrapping around your leg.
"Know damn well you don' got enough to go by. I'd like it better if you use that cash for yourself." He says, wrapping his arms around your torso and spooning you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. You smiled as you carefully undid the now-loose braids in his hair, running your fingers through his tresses.
Leona couldn't care less about chocolates, cheesy love poems, or teddy bearsâŠbut being the centre of your attention ain't so bad.
"Here." Leona takes your hand and places a thin plastic card in it. Confused, you examine the card for a while before turning to him. "Why are you giving me your credit card?"
"I'm taking you out shopping later. Use that, I'll pay for everything, no buts."
â©âACE TRAPOLLA:
Ace eyes the gigantic box of chocolates in your hands, a smug grin on his face. Oh, that was definitely for him. His sweet and adorable partner made him a special Valentine's Day present, making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Prefect, you truly had no idea just how much you inflated his ego.
He casually leans against a table, clearing his throat. Holding in a laugh, you pretend to ignore him and continue scrolling through your phone. Once again, he is attempting to play the cool guy.
Ace furrows his brows, leaning in closer to you and clearing his throat louder this time. You stay silent and continue looking down.
"âŠ"
"âŠ"
"Oi! Prefect!" You smirk, letting Ace wrap his arm around your shoulder. He caved in quicker than you thought. His hand sneakily drifts over to the gift, fingers curling over the cover.
"SooâŠwho's this for?" He beams at you, all excited like a puppy.
Ace looked so happyâŠit was too bad you decided to mess with him today. Smiling back, you snatched the gift away from his grasp.
"It's for Deuce!" You pipe up. His eyebrows rose to his forehead as his face and jaw dropped. He raced forward to try to grab the present away from you, screaming "DEUCE?"
You dodged him and ran to the opposite side of the room. He gawked at you, practically seething with anger and jealousy.
"I-I'm your boyfriend! Not him! Why-" He sputters out, hands grasping your shoulders. He shook you back and forth, whining.
"What kind of partner doesn't buy their boyfriend anything but give their best friend chocolates? "
"Calm down. Of course, it's for you." Rolling your eyes, you grasp his hand in yours. You dragged the box towards him before timidly brushing a kiss against his cheek. "H-Happy Valentines Day."
He seized the chocolates from you right away and gazed at them like they were the most priceless thing in the world.
"MAN! You really gotta pull these lame jokes all the time? These better be the best chocolates I've ever tasted!" Ace joked, popping a heart-shaped piece into his mouth. He sent you a boyish smile. "WellâŠsince it's coming from you, I'm sure it'll be the best."
â©âJAMIL VIPER:
Jamil scowled at the jumbled presents and love letters sitting atop your desk. His hands grasped a box of his own, itching to just rip every single gift out of there. How in the world was he going to get his present inside of that mess?
Even though he was your lover, he couldn't even get his present throughâdamn these suitors!
"Jamil?" He jumped and turned to face you, a sheepish expression on his face. You were looking up at him brightly, holding an enormous pink box in your hand. He noticed how your arms shook with the weight of carrying the entire thing.
"Happy Valentines Day!" You cheered, holding the box up to him. He gently took it from your hands, eyes soft. His irritation had melted away into something warm and gentle, these feelings making his heart beat faster and his palms sweat.
"Thank you, prefect. Oh, and this is for you." Jamil handed you the neatly wrapped box, filled will all sorts of handmade sweets and pastries. He rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly embarrassed at the somewhat lacklustre gift.
Jamil's eyes darted to the stack of presents atop your desk, he swore he saw a brand-new phone in there somewhere.
"I know it's not much but it's from meâŠIt's not as expensive or as flashy as some of the other gifts you received but-" He was interrupted as you hurried to sweep the heaps of presents off your desk and into Grim's, the cat looking more than happy to receive so many things.
You turned back to him, clutching the gift tight in your arms. "It doesn't matter! I only want your gift!"
Jamil felt his heart skip a beat. With a rare smile on his lips, he pressed the bright pink box against his chest.
"Me too."
Likes and Reblogs are greatly appreciated and really motivating on my end!
#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland#twst leona#twst ace#twst jamil#twst leona x reader#twst ace x reader#twst jamil x reader#leona kingscholar#jamil viper#ace trapolla#leona kingscholar x reader#jamil viper x Reader#ace trapolla x Reader#ace x reader#leona x reader#jamil x reader
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Cult Part 5! Here's One, Two, Three, and Four if ya missed 'em.
âWhatever heâs up to,â Dipper leans forward in his seat, glaring. âItâs not what you think it is.â
His warning goes unheeded. His glare, unnoticed. The man not only keeps talking to Bill, he does it in the stupidest way possible.
âI donât believe you, vile tempter,â says the dark-haired man, folding his arms, turning away in a huff. His hips tilt in a way that makes those tiny shorts look ten times stupider than they already were. âYour infinite cunning and dire convincing cannot sway a human pure of heart!â
âOh, how pure it is.â âBillâ says slowly, capturing the man around the shoulders. âBut think about it, mortal - Whatâs the worst that could happen?â
Some of the pouty defiance fades from the humanâs face. His slow, dramatic turn towards Bill is focused in a close shot, so their faces are both in frame.
âAlright,â He says softly, âYou bastard.â
Ugh, of course heâd give in easily. Even though itâs a terrible idea.
âDonât say I didnât warn you,â Dipper mutters, and stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth.
Heâs seen his fair share of bad television - more so in the last week than ever before - but this bullshit really takes the cake.Â
Dipper stumbled on this drama while flipping through the billion options of Billâs TV. Somewhere in the middle of random shows and channels, a brief clip caught his eye. Mostly because he thought the main guy looked like Bill, and it paused his thumb for a second.
Turns out it is Bill. Or rather, an actor playing him. The looks donât quite match, and theyâre using a different name - but the likeness is unmistakable, right down to the triangle motif.
For the first five minutes, Dipper had to just boggle at the very concept. Only the most devoted followers know the Truth. The clever plans and private nature of Bill Cipher are solely for those who are initiated in the deepest secrets. Ones that the ignorant masses could never comprehend.
A hundred-some odd episode tv series blows that theory out of the water. He guesses thatâs more bullshit he learned from a bunch of ignorant, sheltered jerks.
Honestly, meeting Bill should have clued Dipper in earlier. A guy who talks about himself that much isnât going to keep a low profile. Seeing it on Billâs own TV was also weird until he remembered, right. Multidimensional sight. Thatâd show him things from all over. And pulling all the episodes on a dedicated channel in his living room? Thatâs an egomaniacâs move.Â
So of course Dipper would run into this. There was no better place.Â
The next episode starts. The opening credits roll for the dozenth time. Dipper doesnât move from his position on the couch, but he does roll his eyes at the stupid smile actor Bill gives at the camera. Completely off-base, itâd be way more smug.
He should really stop watching. The first episode alone nearly had him grimacing at how idolatrous it was, and Dipper lived in a cult. Problem is, the worse it gets, the more compelling it becomes. Â
Then the theme song ends, and Dipper looks again down at the tiny text at the bottom. The one that reads, âbased on real events!!!â.Â
Sure, itâs the most highly dramatized bullshit heâs ever had the misfortune of watching. Including the soap operas his cult classmate smuggled in all the time. And yes, itâll be difficult to tell how much is true when itâs less reliable than an overheard rumor.Â
But it might give him some leads to go on, and Dipper canât pass that up.
Suffering through shitty dialogue is a small price to pay, when it comes to unraveling the tangled thread that is Bill Cipher. Especially because his subject keeps trying to wrap up into a whole frigginâ gordian knot whenever heâs not looking.
Besides, Dipperâs already on episode twenty-seven. He might as well see how this season ends.Â
The plot picks up on the same convoluted scheme. Judging by last season, itâll end in some climactic battle for no particular reason. The characters on screen continue their bickering, an intense-back and forth. One that ignores the very insightful commentary from anyone watching.Â
Halfway through, âBillâ double- or perhaps triple-crosses his human rival/friend, and Dipper spends a few seconds to feel very I-told-you so about it. The plot thread isnât resolved though, so thereâs no way to know how that turns out without watching another episode.Â
And Dipperâs bowl of popcorn is empty.
He contemplates the dish first, then the TV. Whether to get up and refresh snacks, or stick around to see how âBillâ ruins that guyâs day for the seventh time. A tough decision.Â
Heâs just about decided to raid the kitchen for snacks, when the front door ominously creaks open.
Bill Cipher, Lord of Dreams, King of the Nightmare Realm, storms into the room with irritation in his terrible gaze, and furious purpose in his stride. He wears a scowl on his face that would make even the most apostate follower cower in terror, a demeanor that speaks of his infinite violence. The thrum of magic in the room builds, intense as it always is in his so-called glorious presence.
As that single golden eye alights on Dipper, he waves and says, âHi.â
All the tension slides off Bill like a particularly messy sloughing of skin. âHey yourself, sapling!â He waves back with more enthusiasm. âBeen one heck of a day, lemme tell ya that.â
It sounds lighthearted. A pretty decent act. Tough luck for Bill, though; Dipper can read him pretty well by now. A check of Billâs body language gives him all the info he needs.
Huh. There havenât been many bad days since heâs met this âgodâ. But by the look of it, this one was more than most.
âThat bad?â Dipper asks. Then, since heâs not doing much anyway - âWanna complain about it?â
A blasphemous question. No follower should delve too deep, for that is the purview of divine revelation. The wisdom of Cipher - his most terrible secrets - are only revealed at his discretion. Not something to be pried at by the greedy and curious.Â
Dipper still marvels at how wrong they got all of it. Total misses on absolutely everything. Billâs got secrets, sure. âWisdomâ is questionable.
And when it comes to learning about his life, prying is unnecessary.Â
Stopping him from talking is the hard part.
âDonât even get me started!â Bill says, clearly delighted.. He spreads his arms wide. âBut you did! Too late to take it back now.â
âMmh,â Dipper agrees. Heâs got another episode queued up. Thatâll be a nice distraction. Billâs rambling can be interesting, but his complaints are longwinded. When you think about it, heâs really doing this âgodâ a service by listening to all the bullshit.
He really doesnât know what his old cult was talking about. Clearly theyâd never met the guy. When this is how Bill talks to some random human, itâs amazing he has any secrets at all.
He waits for the oncoming onslaught as the show keeps playing on. The theme song finishes and the scene opens. Thereâs a new location, too - god, this better not be another timeskip. Demons might keep track of that stuff easily, but Dipperâs had to start taking notes.Â
It takes a second before he notices Billâs⊠actually not talking.Â
A quick glance over - yep, just like he thought. Staring like a creep again. One of Billâs favorite pastimes. This time paired with a pleased smile, and his hands on his hips.
âWhatâs up?â Dipper asks. Thereâs no rhyme or reason to the creeping so far - but heâll figure out the pattern one day.
âHm.â Bill gives him a slow onceover. The corner of his mouth quirks up another fraction. âNice outfit.â
A quick check reveals⊠Nothing particularly interesting. His clothes are identical to, like, the same three outfits he always wears. Jeans and a t-shirt - though today he ditched the flannel for this big hoodie he found in his laundry. Itâs remarkably soft. âUh. Thanks?â
Bill says nothing. The smirk grows even wider. Very suspicious. Dipper narrows his eyes. âAre you making fun of me?â âWho knows?â Bill says, teeth showing in his smile. âInteresting outer layer you got going on there.â
Dipper checks the hoodie. No, he doesnât sense any magic. If there were pins he would have felt them, and a curse would have kicked in by now. Itâs just a random hoodie thatâs admittedly too broad in the shoulders, but very comfortable. It even smells good.
He waits a few seconds - Bill keeps staring, oddly smug - but with no information forthcoming, Dipper decides to chalk it up as another âweird demon thingâ. Thereâs a lot of weird demon things. Most arenât as innocuous as random fashion critique, so he might as well let this slide.Â
âCute as that look is, you did ask for the rundown, sapling.â Bill loosens his bowtie, letting the ends drape over his shirt. âYou know what my least favorite part of today was?â
âDealing with idiots.â Dipper replies. Itâs always idiots. He rifles through popcorn kernels to find any remaining puffs.
âSure, sure. Most times!â Bill strides over, sighing dramatically. âBut today it was dealing with sycophants.âÂ
Dipper runs that through his mental dictionary - then frowns. âThey werenât flattering enough?â
âClose!â With a grin, Bill leans on the arm of the couch. âMore like praise comes in a lotta different flavors, and this one -â He stops mid-sentence, with a sudden frown.
Pausing? Thatâs unusual. Dipper rips his attention away from the show, glancing up. âThis one wasâŠ?â
âHm? Oh, yâknow.â Oddly enough, it seems like Bill genuinely wasnât deflecting. Simply thinking, his head slightly tilted. He snaps his fingers twice. âLike, suckups are one thing. Currying favorâs the most common grift in the universe! Itâs the⊠That kinda saccharine crap thatâs a hair too sincere. LikeâŠâ He wags his hand in the air, fingers wiggling as he tries to grasp for an invisible word. Grimacing when he doesnât find it. âUgh. English doesnât have the right vocab.â
A multilingual master of the mind probably does feel limited by speech. And every day, Dipper learns something new.Â
Demons have a different culture. Human customs donât apply. Learning it has been a whole process, more arduous than heâd expected - because itâs got an entirely new language, with a million new words.
Apparently said language has a lot of terms for âsuckupâ.
Dipper rummages around for an English word that might fit. âSo it was⊠Creepy?â
âClose!â Bill agrees, looking pleased. âLittle bit obsessive. A touch like theyâre up to something.â He makes a face. âOr worse, theyâre not! Even when every non-braindead being should know Iâm not on the market.â
âThe market forâŠ?â
âMost everything,â Bill says, with his usual amount of detail.Â
âI would have thought you get that a lot.â Dipper frowns. Power, money, fame - Billâs got it all. As the biggest shark around, he should be used to remoras.
âTotally! Everybody wants what I got, sapling. Power especially.â The couch barely bounces when Bill plops himself beside Dipper. âBut just âcause I have it in spades doesnât mean Iâm handing it out like eyeballs at a wedding.â
âUm.â Except he kind of is. Because. If he wasnât, then why has Dipperâs magic been so strong recently. Thereâs no way thatâs a coincidence -
Bill leans in closer, meeting his gaze directly. One eyebrow slowly lifts.
Dipper ducks his head, scooting an inch away. Bill hasnât said anything. He didnât need to.
Special.Â
Suddenly itâs very important that Dipper fiddle with the unpopped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. He was going to get more snacks. Right. Kitchenâs not far from here.
Before he can rise, Bill snaps his fingers and the bowl refills. Overflows, even, scattering kernels everywhere. Then he shoves his hand in up to the wrist, sending more of it flying.
âSo thatâs the losers I gotta deal with. Every day with these idiots! And Iâm supposed to meet up with a few of âem later. If we werenât talking an old favor, Iâd pass,â Bill says. He slumps back, with an uncharacteristic sigh. Then shrugs, kicking his feet up onto a previously nonexistent ottoman. âBut hey! Thereâs always time for a vicious betrayal!â
Dipper makes a soft sound of commiseration. Thatâs an interesting fact, too. Favors, deals. Those are demonic things, He wonders what those involve, and how -Â
âHa! Now this is a classic,â Bill says, interrupting before the question can form. Heâs watching the TV now, grinning wide. âHowâve you been liking the show? Looks like the main characterâs a real handsome guy!â
âItâs terrible,â Dipper says, flat. It gets a chuckle, but no argument.
âSure, Iâve seen better,â Bill says, nose wrinkling up at a particularly dramatic line from the actor on screen. He flips the TV off, then shrugs. âBut eh,â Hand waggling, an âiffyâ gesture. âWhen you got a billion-eye view of the multiverse, you see way dumber crap than this.âÂ
Fair point. Dipper shrugs, but doesnât comment. Something to think about, there. That Billâs seen this before, for one, but also-
âHow much of this is true?â He asks.Â
If this demonically produced drama is even slightly accurate, Bill will have a strong opinion. Once he starts talking, everything will reveal itself.
âGreat question! Iâd sayâŠâ Bill pauses to stroke his chin. Aiming for âsolemnâ, but mostly reminding Dipper that the jerk never needs to shave. âWhat does it matter if a narrative is factual or fictional? Everyoneâs got their own version of how things go down! Truthâs a suckerâs game when you really think about-â
An elbow to the ribs doesnât quite shut Bill up. Just gives him enough pause to let Dipper interject.
âPhilosophy doesnât suit you.â He nudges him again before he can derail the topic. Bill sticks out his tongue, and for a second Dipperâs tempted to poke it in revenge for before. âIâll settle for which parts actually happened.â
âSpoilsport,â Bill says, sounding oddly warm. âEh, they took a lot of artistic license in this series. And thatâs coming from me.â Shrugging, he makes a so-so- sort of gesture, weighing it in his palms. âCall it less than youâd like, but more than youâd think.â
Dipper glances at the screen.Â
The battle at the end of the episode is a poorly-cut fight. Bill, human-formed, faces off against seven gorgons. Which is bullshit, theyâre territorial - and the shoggoth at sunset brings it almost to the level of parody. The human of this episode has fainted in a way that leaves him leaning against Bill without somehow falling on his ass.
Yeah. That about tracks. Demon to human translation: âArtistic licenseâ means âtotal bullshitâ.
Almost on cue, Dipper feels fingers brushing against his hoodie. Thereâs a shift as Bill adjusts his seat, his arm unsubtly snaking over behind Dipperâs head.Â
Any minute now that ominous limb will drop onto his shoulders. Just like the last half dozen times. God forbid Bill not take up all the room he can; he thinks everything is his. Even gorgons arenât this territorial.
Dipper can live with it. Hell, if the worst thing Bill ever does to him is invade his personal space and talk over an already bad TV show, heâs basically set for life.Â
And truthfully, itâs not that bad. Less irritating than it should be. Having someone close, even if they are an obnoxious evil demon god, feels nice.Â
One day heâs going to know why heâs being bothered by Bill in the first place. What made him stand out among the rest. What heâs for. The question doesnât upset him like it used to, but he canât help but pick at it like a still-healing scab.Â
It feels like he has a decent amount of facts already. Between the journal in the guest room, watching the highly dramatized version of Billâs life, and talking to the demon himselfâŠÂ
Dipper glances over at Bill - still focused on the show, crunching popcorn - then down at the long line of his wrist.Â
Even Billâs providing clues, in his own, unique way. When he arguably shouldnât.Â
It would be so, so easy for him to cut it all off. Burn the books, break the TV, cage Dipper up and beat the curiosity out of him. Taking every step the cult did and more, in his âwrathâ and âinfinite crueltyâ.
But heâs not. He wouldnât, not to Dipper.Â
In fact, Billâs been - in a weird, exclusively Bill-ish way - kind of helpful. Hell, heâs having a great time.Â
He clearly delights in watching Dipper scramble around, trying to follow a breadcrumb trail of hints. Even more fun is occasionally dropping a bunch of clues down the wrong track, then hiding behind a tree to giggle. He especially likes to dangle something just close enough to grab, then teasing Dipper as he tries to make the leap.Â
So much of his time is spent making stuff annoying, teasing and taunting and tricking - but Billâs not actually stopping him. As hobbies go, itâs both incredibly dickish, and totally benign. Itâs almost likeâŠÂ
Dipper gets the sense that Bill expects him to figure it all out. Bill just also thinks he should make the journey very⊠âinterestingâ.
Jokeâs on him, though. Heâs left more hints than he intended. He may not even realize how far Dipperâs come.
The show plays on. The actor âBillâ argues with the latest, nearly-identical human guy. They change actors a lot; usually whenever thereâs a timeskip. They always have exactly the same role, too - âguy who argues with the demon in chargeâ. Probably because demons consider all humans interchangeable.Â
Thereâs some interaction between the various planes. Everyone knows that. Demons are pretty rare on the list, but lower-level entities occasionally get summoned, or break in through some magical mishap.Â
Back in the cult, Dipper learned that Bill Cipher has bothered and convinced and manipulated mortals for eons. His unearthly machinations twist the strings of his human puppets, all the time. Slowly building to the inevitable goal - the world, under Billâs eternal thumb. He never interacts directly; the physical plane is not yet his to roam.
But in the drama, Bill is on the physical plane. Not acting through haunting prophetic dreams, or divine revelations. Just bitching and prodding and poking in person.Â
And while the settingâs fictionalized version of the place, itâs definitely not under any demonic reign.
The implications took a while to sink in, but Dipper thinks he gets it now. Parts have clicked together; facts he didnât know were connected until just now.Â
Bill probably doesnât realize it, but heâs helped there too. Filling in the gaps. Adding extra detail.
Heâs even doing it right now.Â
The unasked for commentary track continues as Bill talks. Going on about how he hasnât been to that country in millenia, or how the seasons are wrong for this encounter. Elaborating on details, mocking others, going on about the stupid plotline and dialogue -Â Â
Totally bragging about his earthly knowledge. About the physical world. Because heâs been there.
Dipper sits up a little straighter. It bumps the hand trailing through his hair away, and he settles back to let Billâs idiot fingers continue their idle path.Â
He canât be totally certain without proof, though. And Bill has always liked it when heâs picked up the cluesâŠ
Dipper speaks up.
âI think more of this is real than youâd admit, Bill. YouâveâŠâ Didnât laud himself over them, no divine visitation- âHung out with humans.â
âHard not to! What with billions of you dreaming all over the place.â Bill says, deftly avoiding the question. Staring at the screen now, focused forward in a way that makes it hard to catch his eye. âYouâre everywhere on that scummy pebble you call a habitable planet.â
No confirmation, but no denial. Which means Dipperâs on the right track.Â
âI mean youâve been on Earth. In the, uh, flesh,â Dipper insists. No triangles were visible, maybe that form canât be sustained in reality - but this is no time to get derailed. He seizes the thread of logic, yanking on it with all heâs got. âWas-â
âPfft, who hasnât!â Bill interrupts. He flicks the question away, snorting in amusement. âPretty permeable place you got there.â
âThatâs at least two hundred years of human interaction,â Dipper insists. He jabs his index finger at the screen, then into Billâs ribs. âAnd I canât help but notice none of it is in your realm. Itâs on Earth. Which you havenât conquered-â Before Billâs mouth can open, he holds up a hand. The lie is so dumb he doesnât wanna hear it. âNice try, I was just there.â
âYeah, yeah, make a mountain out of a molehill.â Bill buffs his nails on his shirt, chin lifting. âIâve just been busy! Iâll get around to it!â
âSure you will,â Dipper says. He narrows his eyes. âIâve figured you out, Cipher. I know whatâs going on.â
Plausible deniability went out the window ages ago, thrown with such force that glass shattered everywhere. Leaving Bill standing in the middle, wondering aloud what happened, with a perfectly innocent look on his face..
Itâs about humans. About earth, and Bill, and Dipper himself. Why Bill never showed up before, in all those years - decades - of cult summons, the ones he never ever answered, even though they really tried. Not just that he didnât see them, or didnât care to.Â
Itâs because Bill Cipher canât do everything.
Billâs been evasive, per his usual. Heâs not quite meeting Dipperâs gaze, and keeping up a dismissive tone.Â
But he canât deny that heâs interested, even though he tries to keep his expression aloof. Itâs not working so great. His mouth keeps twitching as the grin starts to leak out around the edges.Â
âOh?â Billâs voice has a strange tone. He leans in until their thighs touch, sides together; he must be really interested in something. âGo on, sapling. Enlighten me!âÂ
Thatâs the core of a line of truth, leading somewhere important - if Dipper dares to follow. Heâs getting close, he can feel it. Itâs dangerous, but-Â
Getting the words out is harder than he thought. Challenging Cipher is - he starts talking before he can talk himself out of it.
âYou canât take over reality.â He keeps his voice level, daring Bill to interrupt. âYou donât have all your powers there.âÂ
A pause; Billâs oddly silent. His face is blank.Â
Before he can get angry, Dipper rambles out the rest. âOr at least not yet. Youâd have taken over already if you did. I mean, itâs not like you didnât have time. You canât get the world becauseâŠâ Here it goes - âSomethingâs stopping you."Â
He watches, tense, as Billâs expression sours. Looking askance at Dipper, he folds his arms in a huff. Muttering something under his breath about âstubbornâ and âannoyingâ.
But Bill doesnât deny it.Â
God, and even the look on his face. The one thatâs both annoyed but also, maybe, resigned? Like itâs an old, old roadblock that heâs both huffy about, and very used to, itâsâŠ
Holy shit. Dipperâs right.Â
His heart is racing. Merely guessing that Bill canât accomplish his main driving purpose is a far cry from him saying it, or even not arguing with it. The very thought makes his head swim. Â
But he canât stop now, not while heâs ahead.Â
âSo thereâs some obstacle even you canât get rid of,â Dipper says. Looking at Bill out of the corner of his eye, he pitches his voice in a tone of reverent, religious awe. âI canât even imagine how powerful that is. How incredibly-â
âHey! Donât get so full of yourself, Pine Tree, itâs just not the right time yet!â Bill sits up straight, indignant. He bares his teeth in a sneer. âMaybe thereâs something I still want from that miserable little rock, you ever think of that?â
Another admission. An unforced error. Bill winces very slightly as he hears his own misstep, and Dipper swells with pride.Â
Bill thinks heâs all high and mighty and oh-so-secretive. A master of mysteries. If only he didnât talk way too much. He didnât think Dipper was clever enough to trick him and he gave everything away.
âThatâs it. Thatâs why- why everything.â Dipper beams as he waves over, well, everything. âYou keep going back there, and you keep picking a human, wandering around with some random guy - because you canât get what you want without one.â
Not a cult, building power. Not a massive ritual spell. Nothing grand and showy; Bill would have done that if it was effective. Thatâs way more his style, and far more magically powerful.Â
Thereâs been none of that. Not in the show, not in real life. He hasnât used the cult, he doesnât have a base of power. Bill doesnât peddle with groups, both in the real-life cult and the cannon fodder in the show.Â
Heâs only focused on one person.
Out of billions of people he could bother, Bill latches onto a single, unfortunate guy and throws their life into total chaos. Itâs a curse, an annoyance, a bolt of bullshit out of nowhere - and would also ensure you donât bleed out until heâs had his âfunâ.Â
Being picked out from the crowd like that. Having the full brunt of Bill Cipher himself foisted upon you, laser-focused. Going from a nobody to someone who has all his attention -Â
Wouldnât that make someone kind of special?Â
No response, again. Bill has retreated to his last, mocking resort. Flapping his hand like a puppet as Dipper talks, and making faces.Â
Yes. Finally, Dipper got him. He followed the breadcrumbs, avoided the trap, set up one of his own - and Bill walked right into it.Â
Dipper gives him the smuggest, most annoying smile he can. Heâs got plenty of examples to draw from.Â
Bill glares, and flips him off. âSure, sure, live it up,â He says, rolling his eye dramatically. Waving off the loss like itâs no big deal, even though it clearly is. âYou donât have a clue whatâs really going on.â
A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either.Â
Dipper lets himself enjoy this win for a full minute. Rare chances like this should be savored. He has to hold onto the couch so he doesnât grab Billâs dumb handsome face and shake it, for being so very, very stupid. Heâs never going to let him live this down
âSo. Why do you need a mortal?â Dipper asks after a while. Bill isnât volunteering any more information, and thereâs one more part he hasnât quite figured out. âThe thing youâre after. Why canât you just,â He grasps at the air in demonstration. âTake it?â
Billâs eye twitches, once. He doesnât say anything.Â
âI mean-â Dipper hesitates. âThatâs a ton of work. Heading to a different realm, picking a new mortal every time - thatâs decades - no, centuries of effort. The human has to do something, right? You wouldnât do all that just for fun.â
âExcuse you, itâs plenty fun!â Lifting a finger, Bill wags it chidingly. âYou think Iâm above messing with some mortal just for kicks?â
Shit, heâs not. Ruining a random personâs life for the hell of it is so very, very Bill.
âAlright, maybe.â Dipper admits. This could be because Billâs a capricious dick. âBut Iâll bet thereâs more to it.â
âNever have one motive when you could have six,â Bill agrees. The grin widens, he wiggles his eyebrows - and he starts cackling.Â
So yes, thereâs more. And no, heâs not telling.Â
Dipper racks his brain for ideas. For clues. Whatever Billâs after must be extremely important if a literal demon god keeps chasing after it, over and over again. Nothing comes to mind, though.Â
Eventually he sighs, waiting for Bill to be done with his stupid smug laughter. It doesnât cover up his mistake.
âSo I guess that makes me your latest human⊠companion thing.â He prompts, once Billâs finally done with his smug, jerk laughter.
One of the first things he noticed - that room in Billâs penthouse. The one meant for a specific type of person, as clear as a fingerprint. How many of Billâs mortals stayed in that room? How many of them-
Those notes in the journal. Dipper has to go back and check them. Now that he knows it was someone in exactly the same position, there might be more to learn.
âCongrats, kid! Ya got parts of it! Well played! But I gotta ask one thing.â Bill cocks his head to one side. A brief, amused smirk. âThere are plenty of magical guys around! A lot of âem begging for demonic contracts!â The smirk widens, sharp teeth showing. âWhy do you think I picked you?â
Dipper opens his mouth. After a beat, he shuts it.Â
He was so busy thinking about the mechanics of his presence that he didnât think about the motive.Â
Obviously Bill grabs a human for practical purposes, so he can get that thing he wants on Earth. If itâs an entertaining person, thatâs a bonus in his eye. This time it ended up being Dipper, becauseâŠ
Not because heâs devoted. Or the most knowledgeable guy around. Heâs smart, but too aware of the experience he lacks. Weeks ago he would have said it was the ritual knowledge from the cult, but since thatâs less than worthless⊠Something else, then.
âBecauseâŠâ Dipper starts, then hesitates. Mind racing, trying to pin the strings between the bits of knowledge he has before Bill throws a wrench into it. âUh.â
Shit. Shit, heâs so close, thereâs a piece missing. A final step. He struggles to find it but thereâs little time to think; Billâs expectant expression demands an answer.Â
âConvenience?â Dipper hazards. He was right there, in the middle of a powerful ritual, directed at Bill, so-Â
Instantly he knows it was the wrong guess. By the way Billâs face fell, it was off by several hundred miles.
âOoh, nice try.â Bill tugs Dipper closer, hand dragging through his hair - Dipper ducks out of the way before he can start a âcompanionableâ noogie. âYou really missed the mark there!â
âAny chance youâll tell me what that is?â Dipper says, with no small amount of bitterness.Â
Damn it. He was so close he could almost taste it.
âNope!âÂ
âYou- hmph.â With a grunt, Dipper scoots away and out of his grip. Heâs used to all the deliberate frustration, but right now it just sucks.
âAw, donât make that face!â Bill scoots after him, trying to get his arm around him again. Dipper swats it away. âTell ya what - hereâs a hint! Youâre something a guy doesnât see every day, sapling.â He winks. âPretty unique.â
How very specific. Totally not opaque. How does Bill manage to give more facts and make things more mysterious in the process? Itâs a really annoying talent.
Dipper sulks then, for a bit. When Bill tries petting his air again, he smacks his arm away, muttering unflattering things under his breath. It makes Bill laugh again, cackling in delight.
âWhatâs the matter?â Bill nudges him, a teasing laugh. âEase up, kid. Given enough time, youâll figure out some real secrets.â
âMay Cipher hear your words,â Dipper says, the old phrase springing up before he can stop himself. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, cringing away from his own voice.
Thankfully, the slip gets Bill laughing. Dipperâs turn to not live something down; theyâre one for one today.
âOkay, some of the affectations are adorable,â Bill says, nearly pinching Dipperâs cheek before he elbows him in the side. âHardly worth all the other crap, but still!!â
âIt really wasnât,â Dipper says. He rubs at his left wrist. âAll the other crapâ barely covers it.
âDonât worry, sapling.â Bill says, voice low and satisfied. He squeezes Dipperâs knee, grip tightening. âOnce we got everything in order - weâre gonna wreak some havoc on those idiots! All the fun stuff and more!â
âFun stuffâ.Â
Spending time with Bill, even in Dipperâs position of relative safety, teaches you a lot about what he thinks is âfunâ.Â
Heâs not sure why he didnât see this coming.Â
âIs that⊠so.â
âIt is! Getting back at those who wronged you, tormenting the tormentors. Punishment returned with neat ironic twists!â Bill waits for a beat, then grins, jostling Dipper with a gentle shake. âCome on, you gotta have ideas!â
âA few, yeah.â A lot, actually.Â
Being favored by a âgodâ. Chosen, in a way. Having Billâs favor means having his full permission to enact vengeance.Â
Heâd be lying if he said he never thought about⊠what heâd do, if he could. Fleeting ideas from too many nights lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, feeling the burn in the back of his mouth, or the pain in his knees or the stripes on his back. Frustration and anger and hurt, bubbling up into red-hot thoughts that tasted like blood even with a missing tongue.Â
Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat.Â
âOoh, I bet youâve got a lot.â Bill purrs, wrapping his arm around Dipperâs waist. He walks his fingers up Dipperâs knee, trailing up his thigh. âWhatcha got in mind? Turning them inside out? Bone dissolving? Rearranging their legs where their ears should be and making them try to do a cartwheel?â
âUh,â Dipper says, then, âWell.âÂ
Bill is way more creative than Dipper is. Half the ideas heâs mentioned Dipper couldnât pull off, and even if he could itâd be⊠Messier than heâs comfortable with. In those moments of pain and rage, he would have - even then, itâd be a stretch.Â
Though maybe Dipper wouldnât mind when it came to the priest. Too bad heâs already dead.Â
What will he do? When he goes back?
He can see their faces in his mindâs eye. All the people he knows. The only people he ever knew, in that life that feels so far away.Theyâll show up again in the room of ceremony, once they get wind of their godâs return. Except this time, heâll be standing proud at the altar, with everyone in front of him, staring inâŠ
He knows how they stared at Bill, at least. That mix of wonder and terror, their eyes wide. Theyâve always believed so much. Hopeful in a way that Dipper never was -Â
Or. Was, rather. Only when he wasnât so stupid.Â
And isnât it just - so pathetic, and sad. Thinking things might turn out well. That something good might happen, when someone better knows it wonât. Those idiot, expectant moments before you know thereâs a punishment coming, that leave you without a chance of defending yourself.
Dipper can feel the burn of Bill staring at him. Waiting to hear his most horrible, gory ideas, and bring them into terrifying technicolor.
âIâm not telling.â He states finally, sounding more prim than he would like. âNice try. Itâs, um. Going to be a surprise.â
âAnd I canât wait to see it!â Bill beams, nearly bouncing in place. His enthusiasm is so powerful itâs almost catching. âMark my words, kid - itâs gonna be a real party.â
âA super fun one,â Dipper says. âTotally.â He offers a smile back, waits for Bill to start cackling - then quickly looks away before his face gives up the game.
For such a consummate liar, Billâs hit rate on detecting them is only 50/50.
Though. It isn't a lie, really. Dipper does have a lot of ideas. And what he ends up doing to the cult will be a surprise.Â
In that heâs not sure what heâll do until he gets there.Â
âTake your time, sapling! Whatever you come up with is gonna be great, Iâm sure.â Bill rubs his hands together, a glint of sinister anticipation in his eye. âI canât wait to see it.â
Dipper lets out a breath he didnât know he was holding. âI hope youâll like it.â
Of course it wasnât going to happen today. Thatâd be a quick turnaround by anyoneâs standards. Even Bill himself needs longer than a few days to cook up a⊠what did he call it that one time? A âshowy little number with a twist at the endâ. Anything else would be disappointing.Â
Anyway, itâs too early to make definitive plans. Bill said he should take his time, and Dipper believes him. Shoving his human back into the world half-cocked would ruin the entertainment.Â
And when you think about it, there are so many options that it could take a lot of time to narrow them down. There could be setbacks, and stutters. It could take weeks, maybe months, to get everything just right. A punishment ironic yet powerful, subtle yet dramatic.
Who knows how long itâll take until Dipperâs ready to head back? Certainly it wonât feel very long, to a guy whoâs billions of years old. And as long as heâs making some progress, nothing needs to happen just yet.Â
âOoh, this one,â Bill says suddenly. He sits up straighter as something catches his attention. âI remember when - ah, but thatâd be spoilers!â
Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?
Oh. A new episode started when he wasnât paying attention. âItâs still a bad show,â He mutters. He could turn it off out of spite, just to bother Bill - but he did kinda want to see what happened with the twelve-ring summon the âbadâ guys were planning.Â
Another episode would actually be kind of great, thinking about it. He could use the distraction.
Bad TV, Dipperâs learning, is nice. One of the few times where he can almost let his brain turn off.Â
And having someone else who thinks the show is dumb somehow enhances it.Â
The climactic battle has the worst dialogue, and terrible graphics. Dipper can barely look at the monsters, theyâre so poorly rendered. Bill agrees that they needed a better illusionist; half of the explosions look like they were drawn.Â
Chatting about something so trivial makes everything so easy. Dipper lets out a laugh when Bill mocks his own actorâs performance, then swats at him when Bill teases him for being a dork.
Some idle comment sparks a bit of bickering. One of them throws popcorn at the other. Dipper doesnât remember who started it - only that by the end, the bowl is empty again, and heâs smiling for what feels like the first time in hours.
Actor Bill hisses,âOh, you are a vindictive, terrible mortal.â His suit has mostly melted off from the acid, leaving shreds of it hanging off his arms and chest. The shreds slide off his skin as he storms forward. âA pitiful being like you should never exist!â
âYet I do!â Protests the human, standing with fists on his hips and a truly defiant look. One only partly ruined by his totally shirtless form.
âYou never stood a chance against me,â Actor Bill purrs, slamming a hand into the bark of a tree, pinning his captive in place. âThereâs no escape, kid! There never will be!â
âOh yeah?â The manâs chin juts upward, a sneer of sheer contempt - totally unrealistic, nobody would get away with that - as he flips Bill off. âThen Iâll be your own personal curse, demon. Youâll never escape me either.â
The music surges, a broad orchestra thatâs⊠honestly a jarring clash to the argument that breaks out. You can barely hear what theyâre talking about over the grand music.
âJust shut up will you?â The man yells.
With a broad sneer, Actor Bill leans in, smug grin surprisingly close to the real version. âMake me.â
The human fumes, eyes narrowed. His fists clench as if heâs about to throw a punch. But when he extends his arm itâs too slow for that, and his hand is open. It seizes âBillâ by the back of the neck, yanking him in, then -
Dipper nearly leaps out of his seat, eyes wide. Only the pressure of Billâs arm over him keeps him from standing.
âThree stars for timing, zero for technique.â Bill gives the TV a thumbs down. âThatâs way too much tongue! This ainât slug wrestling for crying out loud.â
Dipperâs shoulders rise nearly to his ears. He doesnât dare glance at the screen. Only once the wet noises stop, and the credits music rolls, does he try darting one in Billâs direction.
Who seems entirely, implausibly bored. He cups a hand over his mouth as he yawns, loosely splayed over the couch.Â
âYouâre, uh. Okay with that?â Dipper asks. He tucks his hands between his knees, leaning forward. âIt just seems, uh.â
âSeems âuhâ, what?âÂ
âLike,â Dipper gestures vaguely at the screen, even though itâs faded to black. The credits roll, a series of ominously glowing symbols scrolling up the screen. âThat wasâŠâ He searches for a word, and fails.Â
âTerrible writing,â Bill says, bored. He shakes his head, lips drawn into a line. âYouâd think someone would come up with a better plot for this kinda crap. Itâs not like there isnât material to go on.â
âBut he kissed you,â Dipper says, before he can stop himself.Â
Itâs one thing to blaspheme a little, Dipper himself is no stranger to forbidden acts, but this one takes the cake. The whole bakery, even. To do that at all is bad enough, but to Bill or - or an actor playing him, obviously itâs not the same thing, but still-
âYeah, yeah, smooching, whatever.â The concept hasnât phased Bill in the slightest. He snorts, grin widening. âContrary to your idiot idolatry, I have been known to practice a liplock once in a while!â
âYou-â Dipper starts, then stops. âI-â He shuts his eyes, then blinks rapidly. âYeah, okay.â
So. Bill isnât surprised, because this is - he sees everything, itâs not like he didnât know about that kind of stuff.Â
Itâs just that. As far as heâs concerned, thereâs nothing to get worked up about. Because nothing that happened there was wrong.
Dipper presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub them, then draws them down slowly over his face.Â
Every time he thinks heâs found the bottom of the pit of bullshit he learned back in the cult, he finds another goddamn level beneath it. There may never be an end to all the lies.Â
Another one he can strike off the âsinâ list. Thereâs basically nothing left now, with Bill indulging in everything from gluttony to sloth to⊠that.
Every whim Bill has, he indulges. Often to excess, and always with aplomb. Dipper never had the opportunity or ability to do even a tenth of what Bill has, and - god, he wonders what thatâs like.Â
âDo youâŠâ How to phrase this. Dipper wipes sweating palms on his jeans. âHave you⊠kissed a lot of people?â
The words come out in a bit of a rush. Bill snorts in amusement, which is a relief; that wasnât the worst question to ask.Â
âDepends! Whatâs âa lotâ? Iâm pretty particular about my partners.â Billâs smile widens, and he wiggles his eyebrows. A quick squeeze Dipperâs shoulder, just above the bicep. âBut sure! Iâve known a guy or two worth putting a peck on.â
âOkay,â Dipper says. Then, because that feels inadequate. âCool.âÂ
Because of course he has. Billâs put his mouth on. Thoughts are spinning in his head now, rapid and light.Â
âCome to think of it, itâs been a while since Iâve dabbled in the dating scene!â Bill continues, with an odd tone in his voice. âPretty tough to find the right guy these days, when youâre holding out for something special.â A nudge, as his eyebrows go double-time.
God, and he would have options- Didnât Bill say it earlier? People pursue him. For power, sure, but thatâs only what he mentioned. Kind of weird, though, Dipperâs only heard of men chasing after -
Wait. Wait, no, how did he never consider this before? Maybe because his stupid upbringing blinded him; Billâs not human. The shape heâs wearing doesnât mean anything, metaphysically, doesnât speak to what he really is, and he just said that at some point heâs kissed a man.
âAre you a girl?â Dipper blurts. Staring wide-eyed at that angular face, at the arms and then a little longer at his chest.Â
The look of sheer incredulity Bill levels on him makes Dipper sink down into his seat.Â
âWhat?â Bill asks, and - oh god. Thatâs the first genuinely bewildered look Dipperâs ever seen on him.Â
âI thought - I was wrong.â Dipperâs face burns, he wants to cringe himself into a ball and then fall between the couch cushions. âSorry.âÂ
Great. Dumb guess, shitty concept. Now he looks like an idiot. His very first assumption was the right one. More fool him for overcorrecting.
âWhatever, kid. And donât say âsorryâ,â Bill flicks his fingers. Awkwardness slides off his back like water on a duck, heâs grinning again. âNone of your human crap applies, yâknow?â He brings his hands together, index fingers and thumbs forming a familiar, three-sided symbol. âIâm the shape you see on caution signs, not bathroom doors.â
âRight.â Dipper perks up. So he wasnât totally wrong, just... not at all right. Still embarrassing, he should change the subject. âUm. So-â
âBut I do have a dick, if thatâs what youâre asking.â Bill adds, grinning way too wide.Â
âI wasnât.â Dipper claps hands over his ears. It fails to cover up the delighted chortle beside him.
Guess heâs learning all kinds of things about Bill today. Just not ones he wanted.Â
Not helped by the way Bill leans in very closer, tickling him on the side in a way that makes him jump again. Heâs about to scramble off the couch or do something inadvisable like shove someone else off the dang thing - when Billâs ringtone goes off.Â
âUgh, are you- Blegh.â Bill says, moderately annoyed. He leans on Dipper for a moment as he fishes around in his pocket, a smothering weight. How is a simple human shape so heavy.
Whatever he sees on his phone screen has him sticking his tongue out. âUgh,â He repeats, frowning at. Lifting his arm off of Dipper, and holding up a finger. âBe right back! I gotta take this.â
Dipper hopes the jerk gets lost on the way and falls down a hole. Not really, just - it would be something to say when heâs at a loss for anything else. He just rolls his eyes instead, watching Bill depart with a pointed stride and a grumpy mutter.
Finally, some space to breathe. To think. The mind magic of Billâs presence always has Dipper scrambling for something to think about that isnât his too-powerful aura.Â
He taps the edge of the bowl, an idle beat. Feeling the chill on his side where Billâs body kept it warm.Â
Yep. Just Dipper, and the tv, and any remaining popcorn, all to himself. Nothing wrong with that.Â
He brushes around the bowl without any particular intent. Kernels rustle against his fingers, and he spends a minute swishing them around, even though his hand gets greasy.
The remote lies inches away. Easy to pick up if he wanted to distract himself. Finishing the season is an option, but feels wrong to keep watching when Billâs not here to see it.Â
Actually, Dipper could watch something better. Finding a show that doesnât suck, or have bizarre, blasphemous content. Just some real, semi-wholesome entertainment that doesnât raise more questions than answers. Â
Distantly, he hears Bill still on the phone. Sounds like the conversationâs going to take a while.Â
Dipper taps his fingers on the couch, creeping towards the remote.Â
Said remote also has, like, a million buttons, so it takes a while to figure out which ones to press. One goes back to the previous episode. This one skips forward, another pauses. This one goes back in fifteen second intervals.Â
Dipper leans over, checking - Bill, still well out of sight - then taps the volume button down until itâs nearly zero before hitting play again.Â
âMake me,â Billâs actor hisses again, before getting grabbed and - stuff.
Dipper sits forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. Living with Bill means exposing himself to new ideas. Since he didnât look before, nowâs as good a time as any.
Though - Wow, Bill really wasnât kidding. That is a lot of tongue. Even with the volume lowered itâs all wet and - it makes him feel odd, even though he knows itâs not sinful. Â
Maybe he should replay it to check.
The fourth time around, he pauses his research to inspect it closer. Aha -Thatâs what was bothering him, those arenât real abs. Theyâre enhanced with makeup. The lighting covers it a bit but when you really look, itâs totally obvious. The actor playing Bill has the worst version; the other guy just has a blotch near his -
âSon of a bitch.â Dipper says, standing up so fast the popcorn bowl dumps its contents on the floor.Â
The image burns itself into his brain. Dots and lines, laid out on skin. A pattern Dipper could never forget if he wanted to.
Oh, Bill got lucky earlier. Real lucky. The only reason he got away with it is Dipper had his eyes covered. If heâd seen it, he would have had that evil demon bastard as pinned as that human in the show.Â
Before he knows it heâs charging for the entryway.Â
He can hear the jerk still talking on his phone, muted voice growing louder as Dipper storms in his direction. Unaware of how heâs been found out.
Dipper doesnât have a plan in mind, which is the first thing thatâs probably going to go wrong - but heâs got to do it, right now, before Bill can run off on some errand or head to some party, evading and avoiding questions like he always does.Â
And before Dipper can lose the courage to confront him. A little confrontation might intrigue the guy - excite him, even - but the questions racing through Dipperâs mind arenât going to be fun.
Too bad. Billâs not going to wiggle his way out of this one.
He catches sight of Billâs back, turned towards the door and totally not paying attention. Dipper storms up behind him, intending to catch him by the shoulder and whirl him around. See how Bill likes it when he-
The door swings open. Dipper skids to a halt, rocking back on his heels.Â
That is. Many demons. Eyeballs peeking over the shoulder of something with spikes, another with wings too large to see around. A crowd clustered around the doorway.
Bill stuffs his phone back in his pocket, glaring at them all.
âYou call five minutes notice a âheads upâ? Then show your asses up here?â Contempt rings in Billâs voice, low and furious. âYou got a lot of nerve, and thatâs no compliment.â
âIt was urgent,â a voice burbles. Something soft and squidgy - oh, thatâs where the eyes were, on stalks - it bubbles literally as it speaks. âThe mistress-â
âYeah yeah, blah blah, Iâve heard it all before. Cram it.â Bill stalks forward, leveling a look at the group that has them all scooting away. âMaybe your âmistressâ should think ahead next time. Or think at all before calling in a last-minute favor from me.â
Slowly, inch by inch, Dipper backs away. If he keeps really quiet he wonât catch anyoneâs attention, theyâre all too focused on Bill to mind one small human in the room. Hopefully.Â
âYou got the thing?â Bill snaps his fingers impatiently. Thereâs some confusion - demons tangling up and shuffling each other around until they manage to wrangle something out of the group. âAlright, hand it over.â
A briefcase is shoved into Billâs eager grasp. He spends a moment examining it, then unlatches the clasps. Opening it the very, very slightest fraction of an inch - then rolling his eye, and slamming it shut again.Â
Thereâs some brief conversation - partially demonic, and partially too inhuman for Dipper to parse. The slimiest demon tries slipping past Bill, into the penthouse - only to get caught by the eyestalk. Green smoke rises, hissing and squealing as Billâs grasp heats to a burning flame.
âAh ah ah! Nice try,â Bill chides. With a snap of his fingers, another door appears. Dipper recognizes this one; it leads to a sitting room. âWeâll have our little discussion elsewhere.â
With minor threats and moderate violence, the demon crowd is forced through the open doorway. A miniature parade of odd shapes and sizes, skittering around under Billâs impatient gaze. He snaps his fingers and they all hurry up.
Dipper guesses heâs going to be preoccupied for a while. He wishes heâd asked more details about this meeting earlier, but neither of them thought it would happen today.Â
As the last of the demons flutters into the sitting room, Bill turns around. Raising an eyebrow, looking amused.Â
Dipper makes a belated attempt to duck back around the corner, even though heâs well and truly caught. Curiosity got the better of him, damn it.
âNo worries, sapling, you take it easy out here! I wonât be long,â Bill says, voice bright. He waggles his fingers in Dipperâs direction. âCoupla hours at most to milk these suckers for every penny they got.â
Dipper nods, once. He stays silent. Billâs beckoning him over, but no way is he getting close. He knows that look. As soon as he gets within armâs reach, heâll have his cheeks pinched or pulled into a noogie or something.
Bill makes a disappointed face as his nefarious plan is thwarted, then shrugs. The easy grin returns. âFine, be that way.â He gives Dipper a sharp wave and a wink. âDonât do anything I wouldnât! Or do! Iâm not a cop!â
The door shuts behind him with an ominous âclickâ. Dipper watches it for a while. No motion, no sound. No Bill popping back out, declaring that heâs already done and they can finish the drama.Â
Guess theyâre well and truly settled in for some weird, demonic business deal. For several hours. Or more.Â
God, thatâs frustrating. As much as Dipper wants answers, he canât just barge into a room full of strangers and start demanding them. Especially when those questions might be kind of⊠personal. Bill probably wouldnât be furious if it was just Dipper asking - but airing his dirty laundry in front of a crowd is a terrible idea on multiple fronts.
Damn it. And Dipper was this close to having him right where he wanted him, too.
He kicks the carpet a couple times. Then the baseboards. When the meeting hasnât resolved two minutes later, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slinks back over to the couch.Â
Itâs empty, with scattered cushions and a throw blanket disordered from their popcorn fight. He stares at the discarded bowl, and the cooled fabric.Â
Settling back down isnât nearly as appealing as it was five minutes ago. Heâs not sure he can.
Dipper feels his hands clench into fists, then forces them to relax. He tucks them behind his back instead.Â
Every time. Every freaking time. Just when he thinks heâs close to understanding, another curveball gets in his way.Â
Pacing back and forth helps a little. Thereâs plenty of space in the living room to work out this restless energy.Â
Whatever this - this thing is, itâs been going on for a while. Centuries of Bill picking up mortals, putting them through their paces, trying vainly to reach the object of his desire. A pivotal point of his unknown plan.Â
And since heâs still going after it, every human before Dipper must have failed.Â
Maybe Bill got distracted by dicking around. Maybe it really is too powerful to overcome. Or maybe his humans didnât even know what it was, since they were in the company of a cagey, manipulative asshole.
Dipper could go back and dig through the books in the guest room - but if they didnât know either, then thatâll be a wash. Thereâs the show, but itâs so full of bullshit that he doesnât dare make too many guesses.
Even at the best of times Billâs wrigglier than an eel, and a total stickler for details. If Dipper doesnât check off all the boxes on the list, finding everything he was supposed to - then Billâs going to tut and wag his finger instead of handing over the prize
Too many questions. Zero idea what itâs about. Only one person knows anything useful, and heâs a total dick about parceling out the facts.
Waiting for him to get back wonât take long. Itâs barely any time at all, even on a human timescale. Dipper can manage.
Itâs justâŠ
The idea of sitting around meekly, waiting for Bill to return. Hoping heâll come bearing information because Dipper needs his stupid hand held through the mystery just feels - pathetic.Â
Everybody keeps making decisions for Dipper that change his whole life. Nobody gives him a heads up on what theyâre going to do. People taking charge, over and over and - heâs just so tired of letting things happen to him.Â
If he just had one more thing. Something to prove that heâs right, not hearsay or guesses but physical evidence, that he could shove right in Billâs dumb face -Â
Dipper pauses in his rapid pacing. His head slowly turns.Â
There is one place that he hasnât fully mapped.Â
Technically heâs been in there before. Even more technically, Billâs said heâs allowed to enter. Dipper just hasnât gone back since that first time since. Well. Itâs a little too personal. It felt weird to poke around.
But if there was a place to find the deepest, most powerful secrets of Bill Cipher - it would be in there.
The doorknob to Billâs master bedroom is oddly warm for something metal. Like it has its own radiating heat, just like the demon who commands it.Â
Dipper takes a calming breath, then lets it out as he turns the knob.Â
The unlocked door opens easily, gliding without a sound. Funny, he almost thought it would have an ominous creak.
The carpetâs soft. It muffles his steps. Not that thereâs anyone to hear him; Billâs busy with his meeting several rooms and an unknown amount of actual space away.Â
Still, Dipper feels a semi-giddy thrill run through him as he walks back in - intentionally, not fleeing - into the most private sanctum of his âgodâ.Â
Centuries worth of humans. That could be dozens, even hundreds of people, depending on how fast Bill churns through them. And he loves his little trophies and knickknacks, having something to wave around while he brags.
If there is any proof, Bill will have kept it around.
Last time Dipper was here, it was during a panicked rush. He didnât really look at the room, or check for anything that might explode or devour him - and then Bill was there, and it was. A lot.Â
This time, he can really take in the place. Get a real sense of what might be going on.Â
Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses -Â
Then winces. He eases back until the flare of magic is no longer blinding.
Everything in the bedroom is soaked in Bill-essence. Not surprising, really. All of it has marinated in god-demon magic for hell knows how many years, so thick it feels like it could be wiped up with a finger.Â
For all that, itâs remarkably unthreatening. The sensationâs not welcoming, that word would be too strong - More like it could be dangerous, and deliberately choosing not to be.
âRight,â Dipper says aloud - checks over his shoulder on a paranoid impulse - and sighs when nothing happens. He claps his hands together. âThis should be good.â
Timeâs limited. Bill claimed itâd be a couple hours, but his company wasnât invited. Depending on how annoyed he gets, that meeting could be over in seconds.
Better get to work.Â
Circling the room, Dipper trails his palm over the wall, checking for cracks that would indicate a door or a safe. He brushes fingers over a shelf for secret switches, then rubs them together. Not even a hint of dust.Â
Thereâs got to be somewhere he would hide a private journal, or⊠or a list of human-selecting criteria. Or like, an elaborate carving of every human heâs ever had, with all the information about their lives and when and why he grabbed them. Details.
Sure, thereâs plenty of magic around. Tons of it. Itâs in the absurd amount of Bill-shaped knicknacks, and the variety of miscellaneous thingamajigs. Itâs in the paintings, in the tapestries. The little statues and trinkets and amulets displayed on the mantle. An extravagant collection if youâre generous, clutter if youâre not.Â
Another person would consider this quite the find. Dipperâs stumbled over a dozen artifacts pulsing with power just lying around like cast-off socks. Finding what Bill likes the most or considers the best is nearly impossible to parse.Â
Dipper figures it out in about two minutes.Â
The only thing to glean from this horde? Is that Bill picks up too many souvenirs.
He scowls at one particularly annoying statuette, towering over a field of presumably conquered human-things. A crowd of bowing figures, prostrating before the much-larger Bill in a series of miniature lines. He checks over his shoulder, then flicks the statueâs golden hat off.Â
On the one hand, itâs careless as hell. Leaving an amulet that rips off all your skin, lying half-under a chain that summons a horde of flying eyeballs, is a recipe for disaster.Â
On the other hand, itâs⊠maybe a little clever. A type of misdirection.Â
Sure, some artifacts have elaborate puzzle elements, and half of them likely contain mystical secrets - but Billâs decorative habits are so busy, it covers up the fact that none of them are important.Â
No, Billâs real secrets arenât so easily found. Theyâre held much, much closer to his chest.Â
Putting them behind a puzzle wouldnât work. Someone could solve that. Hiding them in plain sight is an option, but not particularly Billâs style. Guarding them with a series of traps⊠Probably not in his bedroom, where he could accidentally set them off and ruin his suit.Â
But then, that would be what people expect, wouldnât it? That Bill would have a bookshelf that swings out into a secret room, or a seal protecting a hidden vault. A big scary door, with mystical, nearly impenetrable lock.Â
âŠItâs all about misdirection.
Dipper drops the edge of the painting he was toying with, and heads to the dresser instead.Â
Part of him can feel the weight of the all-seeing eyes. The portraits of his âgodâ, omnipresent and watching. Unblinking, unmoving. Always watching.
Dipper shuts that idea out of his mind. Thatâs not true and he knows it, for a fact. Bill doesnât pay attention to even half his eyes on a good day. Most times itâs like a single digit percentage.Â
Odds are he wonât find out. Besides, heâs too busy at the moment to care. What Bill doesnât know canât bother him, so itâs totally fine if Dipper rifles around in his underwear drawer.Â
Dipper holds up a pair of boxers, frowning at the pattern. Tiny blue pine trees against the most garish yellow ever. Truly hideous.
This is both worse than the triangle ones, and more inexplicable than ones with the heart pattern. Hardly what heâd pictured underneath the suit.Â
Not that heâs ever pictured it. That would be weird. But if he had, it would have been way cooler than this.
This search comes up with nothing, other than confusion at Billâs fashion sense. Just clothes in the drawers, along with several unsheathed knives, a Bill-shaped keychain, and three glass eyeballs. Dipper does find a drawer with a lock set in the bottom, but he doesnât have the key. Even then, opening it would just swing the bottom open and let all the pants fall out, so. No dice.Â
The closet is a walk-in. Dipper stands in the entrance for a minute, staring at the lines of suits and shirts and clothes and cloth and -Â
He shut the door again. Nope. That went back way too far. Diving in there might get him lost in the bespoke suit dimension.
Checking under the bed reveals⊠exactly the same stuff as last time.Â
More dustbunnies than anything useful. Thereâs a magical ring thatâs bent with the gem fallen out, weakly emitting a tiny skull-shaped cloud. One actual sock lies discarded under there, half-balled up from its removal. It has little blood-soaked knives on it.Â
Dipper rubs at his eyes, staring up at the bedsprings. He sneezes, then wipes his nose on his sleeve.Â
So far, so⊠nothing. Disappointing, and weird.
He crawls back out from under the bed. Brushing off the dust, he gets up and sets fists on his hips.Â
Most of the obvious hiding places contain exactly what one would expect. Worst of all, itâs weird stuff. Just weird enough that heâs certain heâs not in a fake, illusory version of Billâs bedroom, but the actual real place. Itâs just less exciting than heâd thought itâd be.Â
Is there⊠actually nothing here?
Not that the evidence doesnât exist. It has to be somewhere. The idea of Bill not having any secrets is impossible. Like a duck not swimming, or most mammals not breathing; a necessary part of their nature.Â
So it might actually be a different, hidden room. Figures. Getting to Billâs secrets wouldnât be as easy as opening his bedroom door.Â
And if thatâs the case - Dipperâs out of luck. Finding an access point would be hard enough with his limited experience. Billâs secret horde would have a set of quantum puzzles and a spike trap, at minimum.
He sits down on the bed, sighing heavily - then blinks.Â
Wow. The bed is incredibly nice. Just touching the sheets is a smooth, luxurious experience; Dipper presses his palm into those soft covers, stroking along the edge. Bouncing slightly on the mattress, just to test.
Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasnât taken back.
As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table.Â
Hold on - he hasnât checked that yet.Â
Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakinâ nap. Heâs lucky to have pulled himself out of it.Â
The bedside table doesnât have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.
Sadly, thereâs not much to look at.Â
Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing thatâs bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows itâs heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except itâs nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one.Â
He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actuallyâŠ
Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible.Â
With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, itâs almost longer than he is tall.
Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here heâs half-worried heâll feel something go âsquishâ or skitter up his arm.
This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-
Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back itâs almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!
Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, heâll fix it later.Â
In his hands, thereâs a picture frame.
Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.
A picture of Bill. What a surprise.
Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image.Â
Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.
âJackass,â Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon âgodâ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers.Â
Wait. Then - Itâs not flush with the frame. Thereâs a gap, or -Â
Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily.Â
And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book.Â
Whatever Billâs got to hide here, he sure as hell didnât make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good.Â
A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -
Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, itâs - he just checked for magic, and there isnât any here.Â
Itâs just a picture of⊠Dipper.
And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and heâs in Billâs home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, heâs mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down.Â
For a moment he wonders if this was one of Billâs other humans - itâd be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable.Â
Dipper stares for a while. Heâs not sure what to make of this.
Why is this stashed away? Itâd help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.
Something taps on one of Dipperâs shoes, and he glances down. Â
There wasnât just one picture.Â
With the backing removed, with the way heâs holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, thereâs no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, itâs extradimensional.
âShit,â Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.
Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.
Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case thereâs another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself.Â
How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It canât beâŠ
Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room.Â
Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup.Â
âShit,â Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.
So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.
Okay, this - this isnât a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesnât need to know, itâll be fine. Heâll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldnât be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-
A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.
Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about -Â
No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.
Shit.
Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now thereâs no time left, heâs got to hide.
Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesnât latch.Â
No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.
That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy heâs trying to hide from is a terrible idea.Â
Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Billâs shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. Itâs hesitant because heâs looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.
And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Billâs room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Billâs junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a galleryâs worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition.Â
Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out.Â
All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings.Â
Itâs too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.
The closet doesnât judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits canât talk. Heâs even ninety-percent sure Bill doesnât have any that could; itâd take away from his own rambling time.
Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. Itâs a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Billâs aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.
After a while, he remembers heâs clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. Itâs warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now heâs not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesnât fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thingâs too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.
Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen.Â
The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall?Â
Okay, itâd be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipperâs not watching him.Â
Itâs just⊠too quiet. Too furtive, really, like itâs trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipperâs all too familiar with the process.
And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only thereâs no TV in here, and the pitch is off..Â
Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but heâs never even seen a spider in Billâs rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly.Â
He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide. The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipperâs own scream doesnât match its pitch, but itâs a hell of a lot louder.Â
Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -
Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing.Â
The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.
Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow.Â
At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all thatâs left is empty space in front of him.
Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows heâs sweating, and thereâs some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirtâs ripped, but thereâs no blood. Everythingâs intact.
Well. Heâs intact.Â
A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.
Nausea roils in Dipperâs stomach. Itâs not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad.Â
Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and -Â
At Bill.Â
A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced heâs about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.
Then he blinks.Â
Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor.Â
Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper canât read the expression on Billâs face. It flickered through several before settling on blank..Â
âWell, well, well, well, well,â Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. âI canât believe what youâve been up to!â
Dipperâs heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else.Â
Heâs been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god. Â
What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldnât, pushing when itâs wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. Heâs ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does.Â
âLook, I can explain,â He babbles, backing up a step. Billâs quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. âWait, I-â
A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Billâs face is inches away, approaching fast, and he canât help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.
At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple.Â
âMmmmwah!â Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipperâs face in both hands. âBoy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.â
âWhuh,â Dipper says, intelligently.Â
Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeymanâs craft.
Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. Itâs a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened.Â
âNow, as for you-â Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. âCreeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I donât take kindly to peeping eyes that arenât mine.â One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thingâs groin; it lets out a tinny scream. âAnd you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!â
Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.
Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.
âGee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.â Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. âWho coulda possibly helped with that! Itâs a real friggin mystery for the ages!â
A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solutionâs clear now that itâs gone.
Getting through Billâs front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of âsmall-timersâ, as Bill would call them, heâd barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadnât had the same idea.Â
That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, heâd have second thoughts about his living arrangements.
Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.
âIâll handle those losers in a second,â He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. âBut as for youâŠâ
Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action.Â
Watching Bill about to enact his vengeance is ⊠Sure, it was spying. It didnât do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and itâs looking really rough. Whatever Billâs going to do is -
The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.
âHm?â Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. âYeah, what about him?â
On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipperâs shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.
âOh, I see!â With a grin, Bill stalks closer. âYou know what, youâre right! If I caught two spies in my place, theyâd totally get the same treatment!â
Dipperâs heart leaps into his throat.
No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isnât -
âBut thereâs a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.â Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. âThereâs only one of those around!â
Dipperâs heart restarts, though itâs pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.
âSee, youâre here uninvited.â Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. âAnd HE freakinâ LIVES HERE.â
Oh.Â
Thereâs a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could.Â
Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like heâd walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.
And Dipperâs still standing there. Untouched.Â
âThere,â Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. âWhat a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.â Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. âGuess theyâre forgetting what happened to the last batch.â
Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another.Â
And heâs still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because heâs not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesnât see him that way. He thinks that -Â
âSo, IâmâŠâ Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. âIâm⊠not in trouble?â
âSapling, youâre fine! Better than fine!â Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. âHell, you could go through my freakinâ underwear drawer and I wouldnât give a crap.â He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. âSee anything you liked?â
âIâm-â Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. âUh.â
Billâs still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts.Â
âIâm gonna go take a shower.â Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.
Thatâs a good excuse. Reasonable. Heâs got goop on him, heâs sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now.Â
âSuit yourself!â Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting heâd recently abandoned. âI got some business to take care of.â
Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him.Â
HeâsâŠ
All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.
Holy crap, heâs fine. He really is. Itâs okay.Â
This wasnât a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and itâd be fine. More than fine.Â
He also wasnât lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks.Â
Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension.Â
He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that itâs bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Billâs home is downright amazing.
Though. Itâs not just Billâs home, is it.Â
Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.
Like. Obviously Billâs the owner, heâs the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim -Â
But thereâs another person around. One whoâs not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.
Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Billâs home, because he lives here too.
Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldnât leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing⊠whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, thatâd be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Billâs hair.Â
The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it itâs been a done deal for a while.Â
Bill didnât even try to hide it. He didnât think it was a surprise.
The conceptâs so big that Dipper doesnât know where to start.
Living here. With Bill.Â
Dipperâs been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line.Â
All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument.Â
His assumptions have never been right.Â
Billâs home is a different beast entirely. Â
Bill could be in charge, but he doesnât care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasnât heard an order leave his mouth in ages. Heâs free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothingâs going to stop him - though thatâs a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didnât create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment heâs gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesnât have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesnât have any.
DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just.Â
Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache.Â
Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldnât be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other.Â
If he wants to step outside Billâs home, he doesnât need to abandon it.
Theyâll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. Heâll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldnât let him miss the âfunâ.Â
And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid.Â
Itâs an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesnât have to choose. Going and seeing things heâs always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe thatâs what a homeâs supposed to be.
Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream.Â
Itâs weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipperâs felt in⊠forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.
How the hell is he getting away with all of this?
Itâs not just the snooping from earlier; he didnât find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk heâs giving a âgodâ. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because heâs a huge goddamn weirdo.Â
Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Billâs ever done is scare him a little, and even thatâs odd considering the whole ânightmare kingâ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.
The birthmark. It must be that.
The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions⊠He didnât see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, thatâs two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.
But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasnât watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages.Â
It could be magical. Maybe. Dipperâs never heard of âspecial birthmarksâ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Billâs summon. Which wouldâŠ. Do a thing. He thinks.
Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better.Â
Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.
Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasnât lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special.Â
Itâs⊠what, special⊠privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted itâs ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? ItâsâŠ
Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.
Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesnât know the picture on the front of the box.Â
Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. Heâll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Billâs stubborn, oddly soft lips.Â
Screw it. Thereâs too much to go through, and heâs so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow.Â
Thereâs no rush, anyway. Billâs not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.
Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bedâs already made in the guest room-
No, His room. Where he lives.
An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight.Â
Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasnât tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much thatâs his.
The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and heâs never, ever going to take it for granted.
Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, thereâs flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -
Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed.Â
He knows what kind of night heâs in for. Theyâre infrequent enough lately that it doesnât bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isnât going to kill him.Â
Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.
He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things heâs learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesnât ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldnât mind the company. Heâs almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what itâŠ
Huh. Now thatâs an interesting thought.Â
It might work, too. Being âspecialâ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldnât normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily.Â
He could use that.
Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesnât expect to be up for long. Heâll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldnât bother Bill much; itâll barely take him a second.Â
The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living roomâs still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the âeveningâ, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.
And thereâs Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace.Â
He must have wrapped up his âbusinessâ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk.Â
Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north.Â
âHey there, sapling! Whatâs up?â Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. âThought you were in for the evening.â
âNo, not yet.â Dipper says. Already heâs awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. âSoon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.â
Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. âSure, go for it.âÂ
Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully itâs not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, heâs pretty sure Billâs not doing this on purpose. More like itâs an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.
Billâs still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence.Â
Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.
âI donât want to have bad dreams, so, uh,â He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it. âCould youâŠum. Not? For tonight?âÂ
A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, âThatâs not me, kid.â
Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Billâs lies are better. âYouâre the lord of nightmares.â
âYeah, âcause Iâm great at designing them, not the source of all of âem. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?â Bill says. He catches sight of Dipperâs glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. âLook, Iâm not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?â
Dipperâs mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. âOr maybe youâre just not that great.â
He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.
He shouldnât have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Billâs power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill wonât just ignore it again.
Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.
And he does inflict a âpunishmentâ. By getting super close and ruffling Dipperâs hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. Itâs insane.
âHey! Iâm definitely the best.â Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. âYou just got your perspective wrong! Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating âem. Youâre not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, yâknow?â
âWell,â Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way -Â
Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.
âLook. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One thatâll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then Iâm the best in the biz!â Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. âBut any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. Thatâs just nature.â
Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes.Â
Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless.Â
Heâd guessed that Bill wasnât inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit âaccidentalâ, there wasnât any pattern he could find. Learning theyâre not Billâs fault at all is surprising - but nice.
âŠThat also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great.Â
Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses.Â
âSorry. Or- yeah.â He squirms out from under Billâs pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isnât the worst, heâll live. âIâll just-â
âHey, hey! Donât sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!â Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. âI got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.â
Or maybe⊠Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasnât doing this, so-
âReally. One hundred percent.â Thatâs an exaggeration if heâs ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. âIf youâre not making the nightmares, then that means youâre playing defense. Youâre telling me you get every single one?â
âAlways so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.â Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. âAnd better odds than youâll get anywhere else.â
Fine, thatâs true enough. Dipper doesnât have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads.Â
Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because itâs weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off -Â but when doesnât he?
Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Billâs master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them.Â
Wait, what are they doing here?Â
The roomâs just as clean as the first time he entered. Thereâs no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -
Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasnât said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.
He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.
Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed.Â
Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. âHop on in, kid!â With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. âGet yourself cozy.â
âUh. Sure.â Dipper hesitates, but. Billâs nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before heâs even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room.Â
Just as he suspected. It is a great bed.Â
As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to.Â
Itâs not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill. For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever.Â
Even without any magic, Dipperâs tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Billâs doing, so. Heâll just. Shut his eyes for a moment.Â
âHold tight for a sec! Iâll be with ya in a jiffy,â Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. âLemme just slip into something more comfortable.â
Dipperâs eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. âWhat do yo-â
His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth thatâs gone suddenly dry.Â
Billâs shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back.Â
Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline.Â
Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Billâs not, like.Â
There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth.Â
Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face.Â
Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesnât know how this ritualâs supposed to work. Itâs not unheard of to be⊠unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Billâs just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everythingâs going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude.Â
The pillow helps. Heâs not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound.Â
He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If itâs strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.
A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence.Â
Or, the thought appears in Dipperâs mind. Thereâs no spell. Itâs a ward. Which would require the warderâs presence, right. Totally reasonable.Â
So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, thatâs all.Â
The cult didnât leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days.Â
But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. Heâs seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is⊠honestly not that big a surprise.Â
âAh, now thatâs nice.â Bill says, voice slightly muffled. Thereâs a thump near Dipperâs head - probably Bill lying back himself. âYou donât look all that cozy, though. What gives?â
Dipper tells him heâs fine, but he doesnât know how much of it gets through the down covering.Â
Thereâs a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up.Â
It really is fine. Heâs doing great, heâs comfy, Billâs going to help him with something and it didnât seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, whoâs lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.
He canât hold the pillow this tight forever, though. Itâs getting hard to breathe.Â
Then a thump, just near Dipperâs head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipperâs own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and - and Dipper shouldnât resist, should he? Bill is after something, heâs demanding and forceful, heâll do anything to get what he wants.Â
The pillow leaves Dipperâs loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.
And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading âHungry Zixlorâs Burger Jointâ.Â
Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Billâs put on the pine tree boxers.
âSee? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.â Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows.Â
âYeah, sure. Whatever.â Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didnât have to get all over him just for that.Â
He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipperâs half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to.Â
Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight.Â
Without warning, an arm slips under Dipperâs neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didnât make a single sound, much less anything undignified.
Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Billâs practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.
âGood night, sleep tight,â Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isnât cold. âDonât let the demons take too big a bite.â Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.
God, of course he wouldnât just- just let this be calm and nice, heâs Bill frigginâ Cipher. âJerk,â Dipper mutters, and feels Billâs chest shake with silent laughter.Â
The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Billâs chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, theyâre practically a set of nesting dolls.Â
After that⊠nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would.Â
Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipperâs stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.
 None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows itâs not wrong. He does, really.Â
âŠJust because itâs not sinful doesnât mean itâs not awkward.Â
Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. Thereâs a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient.Â
Bill wasnât lying about preventing nightmares. Heâs terribly effective.Â
Dipper canât have bad dreams if he doesnât get any sleep.
#One day I will relearn how to write short things#Today was not that day and tomorrow's not looking good either#By the end of this miniseries I'll have basically written a dang novel#RIP my writing hands#I will now have some chocolate as a reward#Fun Fact: I know I'm finished editing when I reach what I call the 'fuck it phase'#Which is when I'm sick of looking at the dang thing#So here it is!!#This is why it's hard to leave tumblr - not a lot of other sites let you drop huge blocks of text like this
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Chapter 5: The Aquarium
AO3 Link | Masterlist
Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader
Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.
Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and âsinâ; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (theyâre both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; sorry (but not that sorry) to any Owen fans, but heâs kinda a huge asshole in this
Note: I added chapter titles and finally figured out exactly where Iâm going with this story lol. Hooray for having a plan!!
(Sorry it took more than two weeks to get this chapter out! End-of-semester craziness, ya know? I hope this chapter being like twice as long as usual makes up for it!)
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Abby realized too late that she probably shouldâve warned you about the life-sized whales on the ceiling.
By the look on your face, she could tell youâve never seen anything like it.
Which made sense. She hadnât either before she and Owen found this place three years ago.
She paused to watch you for just a second, taking in your amazed expression as you marveled at the enormous hanging sea creatures above you.
Abby could easily remember what her first time here was like. How incredible and other-worldly this place felt. She imagined it must be even more overwhelming for you, this fractured piece of a world you were not a part of and knew little about. A world where humans built a place where they could go to look at fish for no reason other than that it was entertaining. A world where people did things just for fun.
Of course, Abby had also never been a part of that world, but at least she knew about it. Sheâd caught glimpses of it, carefully and intentionally gathering bits and pieces. She watched films and documentaries. She read novels and history books, newspapers and magazines if she could find them.
Knowledge was power. And, to Abby, having power was important. Having power meant being able to keep the people she cared about safe.
And if you had enough power, no one could ever take it away from you.
So she dedicated herself to becoming powerful, both of mind and of body. Itâs all she had known and cared about since she lost her dad.
Itâs why she lost Owen.
She still wasnât sure if that had been a good thing or a bad thing, but she knew she felt guilty about it.
Three years ago, Owen had quickly claimed the aquarium as his own. He cleaned it up, made it feel as homey as possible, and spent as much time here as he could get away with. Abby didnât tell anyone, not even the rest of the Salt Lake crew. It was right around the time they were breaking up. She felt like she owed him her discretion at the very least. Not that it really made up for anything.
Yesterday morning, when Nora told Abby that Owen was missing, she assumed heâd come here.
God, she hoped she was right.
Abby shifted the injured Yara in her arms, her muscles burning from carrying the girl for so long.
It was early in the morning now. The sun had just begun to rise as the four of you had been making your way into the aquarium.
âOwen!â she shouted, leading the way down one of the hallways off the main entrance. Abby thought he would most likely be out on the boat, either sleeping or continuing in his never-ending attempts to get the thing in working order.
âOwen!â she called out again. âOwen! Are you here?â
She paused for a moment, listening. Nothing.
âOwenââ
âIâm here.â She heard his voice just before he rounded the corner, stopping short when he saw the whole group of you. âAre those Scars?â he asked, genuinely surprised and definitely confused as hell.
Abby ignored the question. âI need whatever medical supplies you have.â
Before Owen could respond, Alice came barreling around the corner, barking aggressively at the perceived enemies.
The next few seconds were chaotic to say the least.
You screamed and jumped back. Lev reacted quickly, his bow drawn and an arrow notched.
âAlice, no!â Abby yelled out.
Owen grabbed for the German Shepherd, holding her back as she continued to lunge forward, trying to attack.
âPut the bow down! Itâs okay!â Abby shouted.
Owen gripped the dogâs harness tightly. âPut that down!â
âAlice, shut up! Lev, put the bow down!â
âAlice, stopâAbby, what the fuck?!â
âLev, listen to them! Put it down!â you insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder as you tried to push him behind you.
All of this happened simultaneously, muffled by the sound of deafening, echoing barking.
âAlice!â a new voice, one that Abby knew belonged to Mel, shouted. To her, the dog listened, sitting down obediently with one final bark.
Mel stood next to Owen and Alice, staring.
There was a moment of silence.
Abby turned to the young boy. âLev, lower the bow. Itâs okay.â
Reluctantly, he listened.
âAbby, who are these people?â Mel asked.
âThey saved my life,â she said, hoping that would be enough of an answer for now. âCan you take a look at her?â Abby looked down at Yara, who seemed to be barely conscious in her arms.
Mel dropped a hand on Aliceâs head, instructing her to stay, as she slowly stepped closer, eyeing you and Lev cautiously.
âThis is Yara,â Abby said before nodding over to the kid at her right, âThatâs Lev. And thatâsââ She stopped short. She wasnât about to introduce you to them as Prophet.
Behind her, you spoke, offering up your name. Abby and Levâs eyes both swung to you, widening for two entirely different reasons.
Abbyâs because she was hearing your name for the first time. It was your name. It was like she discovered a brand new piece to this puzzle she had been frantically trying to assemble since the moment she saw you.
She wasnât sure why Lev looked shocked, but it seemed like a big deal, for you to use your name in place of the title that had been forced upon you by the other Scars.
Abby quietly repeated the name, committing it to memory.
Mel gave a small nod, unaware of the mini revelation that was happening right in front of her, instead focusing on Yara with a concerned look on her face.
âWhat did this?â she asked, looking down at the girlâs mangled arm.
âA hammer,â you said, stepping forward until you were standing right next to Abby.
âIt wasnât me,â Abby quickly added. Guilty, despite her innocence. She was ashamed that she needed to make that clarification. Worried about what you would think about it. Â
Mel hesitated, regarding each of the Scars one by one again before sighing. âAlright. Letâs lay her down.â
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The pregnant womanâclearly someone Abby knew but wasnât exactly friendly withâdecided that Yara had compartment syndrome, which apparently meant they would have to cut her arm off.
While everyone else argued about the best way to accomplish that task, you stood off to the side, feeling sick. If you had been able to stop Emilyâs men last night, this wouldnât be happening.
It shouldnât be happening.
Yara was going to lose her arm or die because you failed her.
You were trying not to spiral. Trying to be helpful now. (Too little, too late.) Trying to pay attention to the Wolvesâ conversation.
They didnât have the supplies they needed to perform the amputation safely. Yara didnât have time to wait the couple days it would take Abby to travel all the way to the hospital and back.
âWhat if we could get you there in two hours?â Lev asked, hands grasping the metal table where Yara laid in the center of the room. âThe Wolf hospital, right? On the west side?â
The manâOwenâstood, interested. âHow?â
âThe bridges,â you said, realizing what Lev was getting at. All eyes turned to you. âOur people built them. High up.â
Lev nodded. âItâs how we get around the flooding. And⊠you people.â
After a quiet moment, Abby stepped forward. âCan she handle two hours?â
The woman considered this, her hand comfortingly placed on Yaraâs shoulder. âProbably, yeah.â
Abby nodded. âThen make a list of what you need.â
Owen stepped closer, joining the circle the rest of you had formed around Yara. âWait. Are you serious? Abby, these bridges are used by Scars.â
The fact that he was arguing against the plan frustrated you. Yara didnât have time for this.
âThey only send in small groups at a time,â Lev said.
âYou heard that? Small groups.â Abby said, watching as the other woman jotted down the supplies on a loose piece of paper and handed it over.
âThis isnât a joke.â Owen looked only at Abby, trying to catch her eyes. She seemed to be actively avoiding making contact.
Instead, she turned to you and said your name, followed by, âLetâs go.â
You looked up at her, at a loss for words. It was sad that something as simple as hearing your name could have this effect on you, but it had been eight years since youâd heard it⊠And this was already the second time Abby had said it.
You wanted to turn and walk right out the door with her, happy to follow her anywhere, but reality set it.
âI canât,â you said. âI donât know where the hospital is. And I donât know our bridges well enough to guide you. It will have to be Lev.â It looked like Abby might argue with you, or at least tell you to come with them.
You wanted to. The idea of letting Lev go back out into danger without you made you sick with worry. But, foolish as it may seem, you trusted Abby to look out for him. And you didnât understand these other Wolves and the strange dynamic at play here. You certainly didnât trust them to be alone with Yara.
âSomeone needs to stay with her,â you said, holding Abbyâs gaze.
She nodded, grabbing her backpack off the floor. âAlright. Lev.â
He looked to you, taking your hand in his. The group splitting up mustâve felt wrong to him, too.
Almost on instinct, you did what you had been trained to do. You offered a bit of comfort.
âMay She guide you,â you said quietly, giving him a small, encouraging smile as you squeezed his one hand between both of yours.
The words were familiar to you both, a common Seraphite mantra. He reciprocated your tight grasp and finished the line, âMay She protect you.â
When you released his hand, he placed it on Yaraâs shoulder, as if to tell her goodbye as well. She was unresponsive.
You felt a hand fall on your own shoulder and looked up to find that it was Abby. She nodded her head to the opposite end of the room, impatiently taking your wrist in her hand and leading you over there when you didnât immediately catch her meaning.
She didnât let go.
Abby stood close, speaking quietly so that no one else could hear. âWeâll be back as soon as possible. Yaraâs going to be fine, okay. And Iâll keep Lev safe.â
You couldnât help the slight upward curve of your lips. âI know,â you said. âI trust you.â
She blinked, caught off guard, but continued. âI wouldnât mention the whole you-being-the-Prophet thing to Owen and Mel if I were you.â
âIâm not a prophet,â you deadpanned.
She let out an exasperated breath. âOkay, sure. Well I wouldnât tell them that the Scars thinkââ
âSeraphites,â you interjected.
ââSeraphitesâJust⊠you get the point. Donât mention it, okay?â
âWhat if they ask questions?â
âDodge them. Be vague.â
âYou donât trust your friends?â you asked, more serious now.
âNo,â Abby said. âNot with you.â
You couldnât begin to guess what she meant by that.
âI trust them⊠for the most part.â She glanced at them over your shoulder before meeting your eyes again. âI just donât know how they would react to that information. Itâs not exactly a small thing. I donât know what they would do with it.â
You looked at her for while longer, then nodded your head. âOkay. I wonât say anything.â
âAbby?â the manâs voice came from behind you.
She let go of your wrist immediately, as if she had been caught doing something she wasnât supposed to.
You turned around to find the womanâMelâand Owen both looking at you like they were witnessing something truly insane, instead of just two people having a conversation.
Lev stood on his own by the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eager to get moving.
From behind you, you felt Abbyâs hand wrap around your wrist again, squeezing lightly and then letting go.
âWeâll be back,â she said, this time at a normal volume. She joined Lev by the door, opening it and leading the way out.
âAbby!â Owen said again, moving to follow them out.
Mel groaned, frustrated. âGod! Owen, just let them go.â When he ignored her, she went after him, the door slamming loudly behind her.
You stayed behind with Yara.
She was blinking slowly, barely awake, her shallow breaths too few and far between for your liking. You felt helpless, knowing there wasnât much you could do other than sit and wait.
You pulled up a chair.
Just outside the door, the two Wolves were arguing. Although, you only caught bits and pieces of it.
Something about Abby and Scars and a cloak⊠Something about someone who looked like she just stepped out of The Lord of the Rings. You didnât know what that meant, but it was clear they were talking about you.
Again, you unfastened the cloak and freed yourself of your top layer. Whether that was due to embarrassment or a sudden recognition of the uncomfortable warmth of the room, you couldnât tell.
âDid you see how she was looking at her?â âOwen, why do you care? Why does it matter to you?â you heard through the door.
The dynamic here was becoming more and more confusing.
Youâd assumed that Owen was the father of Melâs child, just because they seemed to live here together. But that didnât explain Melâs rather apparent unfavorable opinion of Abby. And it definitely didnât explain Owenâs preoccupation with Abby.
Their conversation continued for several minutes, volume rising and falling periodically. There wasnât much you understood and even less of it seemed important or interesting to you.
Eventually, the door swung open again, making you jump in your seat. Mel reentered the room, offering you a strained smile as she checked on Yara. You quietly watched her work.
âThereâs not much we can do for her until Abby and your friend get back,â she said to you, eyes still focused on Yara. âIf you want, I can get you set up with a place to sleep while we wait.â
âNo,â you said, too quickly to be polite. ââŠThank you. Iâll stay with Yara.â
Mel pulled her lips into a tight line and nodded, leaving the room again. She came back a few minutes later with water and a shiny red apple, offering them up for you to take.
âSorry. I know itâs not much. Owen isnât well-stocked on food right now,â she said after youâd accepted the snack.
You smiled. âThank you. Youâre very kind to be helping us at all.â
Mel didnât really answer, instead gesturing to the door as she walked toward it. âWell, weâll⊠be around. If you need anything. And Iâll come in and check on her periodically.â
You nodded, quietly thanking her again. The discarded cloak that youâd left on a table by the door caught your eye. âOh. Wait.â
She turned to face you again, eyebrows raised in question.
âWhat is The Lord of the Rings?â you asked.
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An excursion that was supposed to take two hours ended up taking nearly all day.
But hey, Abby had done the best she could.
She faced her deeply-rooted fear of heights on that sorry excuse for a bridge. She fought off Infected and Scars. She was, letâs say, detained by her fellow WLF soldiers at the hospital. And then she had to fight and kill what mustâve been the biggest, gnarliest, freakiest blob of cordyceps infection to ever exist.
She barely got out of there alive, but she managed to leave with the medical supplies in hand. Plus tons of new material for her future nightmares.
Mel had started operating as soon as they got back to the aquarium, with Owen assisting her.
You and Lev sat just outside the door the entire time.
The surgery had gone well. Yara was doing okay, all things considered.
After, Owen handed Abby a pile of sleeping bags and blankets and walked off without saying a word.
Abby handed them off to you and carefully lifted Yara again, this time to move her to a more comfortable spot to rest. She led the way to the next room, you and Lev trailing behind.
There was a long couch in the new room. You motioned for Lev to lay down on one end while Abby set Yara down on the other.
She stepped back and watched, amused, as you fussed over the two of them for a few minutes, using most of the blankets on your young friends.
When you were sure they were both as comfortable as possible, you left them to rest and walked back over to Abby. In your arms, you held the two sleeping bags that you hadnât used on the kids.
You offered one of them to her.
She shook her head, motioning to the space on the floor in front of the couch where there was an old, worn-out rug.
âLay mine out for me? I have to go do something before I go to sleep.â
âYouâre leaving?â you asked, looking concerned.
âI just need to talk to Owen. Iâll be right back.â
You studied her face, like you were trying to figure out whether or not she was being truthful.
Abby doubled down, pointing again. âGo. Get some sleep. Iâll be back.â
You sighed but went where she had pointed and began laying out the two sleeping bags.
One for you. One for her. Right next to each other on the floor.
You had been doing a good job of hiding it, but Abby could tell you were exhausted. She couldnât blame you. Hell, she was exhausted. And the sooner she touched base with Owen, the sooner she could come back.
She turned and went out to track him down.
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You didnât know what was wrong with you.
You had been awake for almost forty-eight hours, but you couldnât fall asleep. Your mind was racing. Filled with worry for Yara, concern about her condition, guilt for having been unable to prevent the injury from happening in the first place. Thoughts of your own people hunting your friends with the intent to kill them. Fear that, despite your desire to keep them safe, your lack of knowledge and experience in the world outside of Haven would make that impossible.
You thought about the woman you killed yesterday. How sheâd so tenderly and earnestly called you her Prophet just moments before you snuck up behind her and ended her life.
You wondered if you too were now an apostate. If the Seraphites had found the bodies of Emily and her men and assumed you were dead, or if they somehow knew that you betrayed them all the very moment you were given the chance.
You wondered if your mother knew what you had done. If she would be punished for your sins.
You thought about Abby, hoping that your faith in her was not misplaced. Hoping that your attraction to her hadnât clouded your judgment.
This was crazy. All of it. It was too much.
You had tossed everything and everyone youâve ever known aside, thrown the first twenty years of your life to the wind like it meant nothing at all, and run off into the forest with a Wolf without a second thought. And now that you, Yara, and Lev were finally (seemingly) not in immediate danger, you had time to think things through. Contemplate what youâd done and try to figure out where it left you.
By your own hand, your life had been irreparably changed forever. It was done. There was no undoing it. No going back.
You would stay with Lev and Yara. You would stay with Abby if thatâs what she wanted.
But where would you go? It wasnât safe for any of you to stay here.
That wasnât a question you could answer. You didnât know of anywhere else. You wouldnât know how to find a place that was safe.
All of these thoughts bombarded your mind at once, taking turns at the forefront. Contradicting emotions swirled, adding to the chaos.
There was a sadness, a sense of loss for the people you had always belonged to.
Guilt and shame. Two feelings that were not at all foreign to you, but you had never felt as strongly as you did now.
A lightness. A happiness. Almost a thrill. A hopeful nervousness for the freedom you had claimed for yourself, the agency you had uncovered, and the possibility of what was to come.
Sadness, again, for the mother you would miss, and the realization that you had already been missing her for a very long time.
Frustrationâsimmering angerâfor your childhood that was stolen and the shame that did not originate within yourself. The unrelenting voices that lived in your head, weighing in on every thought and critiquing every action. But those voices were not your own. You would take your dagger and cut their presence from your mind, carefully carving them out of your head and disposing of them yourself if you could.
And, amongst everything else taking up space inside of you, demanding your attention, it felt stupid and frivolous and wasteful, but you couldnât keep Abby from your thoughts. She kept appearing, in the middle of it all. This was something that you truly did not have time for and should not be putting energy toward.
But you had never felt intrinsically drawn to someone in the way you were drawn to herâŠ
Behind you, you could hear slow, heavy breaths coming from either end of the couch. You were glad that Lev and Yara were getting some rest. Youâd do your best to make sure they got their fill of it this time.
You got up quietly, trying not to disturb them but feeling like you needed to move. You shook out your arms, rolled your neck around, wiggled your fingers, stretched your legs.
Honestly, you wanted run. Or hit something. Or scream. Loudly and for a long time. Until you ran out of air and your voice was ragged.
But you didnât do any of those things.
Instead, you went to look for Abby.
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âSeriously? Youâre telling me Isaacâs top Scar killer just⊠turned over a new leaf? Decided to befriend and help three Scars?â Mel was staring into Abbyâs soul, her words dripping in disbelief.
Abby had found her and Owen upstairs, in the same room that had once housed the boat manâs skeleton and the coupleâs Christmas stockings (not at the same time, of course).
Owen was angry. Exactly what she had done to earn his anger, she couldnât say. He held a jar of his homemade moonshine. A jar that was somewhere between three-quarters and one half full. Abby assumed it had been filled to the top just a few minutes ago.
He had apparently decided to be a silent, brooding drunk tonight, so Mel had been the one to interrogate her.
Abby tried to explain everything, albeit keeping things pretty vague. She didnât want to give them too much information about you specifically, and she didnât want them to get the wrong idea about you, so she made sure to omit the part where you nearly gutted her. And the part where you were the new Scar Prophet that Isaac was after.
Mel wasnât buying the part where Abby simply had a change of heart.
She shot Owen a cautious look before she said, âAbby, do youâI thought you mightâIs it possible that youâreâŠâ Mel stopped, gathering her thoughts, trying to find the best way to word it. âItâs not⊠like⊠a problem that sheâs a woman. Itâs just⊠it is kind of a big deal that sheâs a Scarââ
âAbby isnât into a fucking Scar,â Owen interjected, his knuckles white around the mouth of the jar. âAnd sheâs not fucking gay.â
Then he started chugging the jarâs contents, forcing down swallow after painful swallow.
The women were both silent for a second, surprised by the anger in his words.
Abby didnât know what to say. She knew she was into youâand sheâd be lying if she said that wasnât at least part of the reason why she was helping you and your friendsâbut she had never considered if that made her gay.
She honestly didnât really care to label herself as anything either way. It felt stupidâin the honest-to-god post-apocalyptic hellscape that they lived in, where they had been engaged in a never-ending war since they were kidsâto care about that kind of thing.
Why should it matterâwhen her family was dead, her friends were constantly in danger, and there were enemies closing in from every angleâif she was romantically or sexually interested in men or women or both? Wasnât that almost guaranteed to be the least important detail at any given moment? And why should she waste any of her time or energy trying to define herself in that way?
This was all really new to her. She hadnât really let herself be interested in anyone since Owen, and she honestly wasnât sure if she had ever been into him for the right reasons. Again, she remembered how uncomfortable it made her feel to kiss him, to be touched by himâŠ
She couldnât imagine that it would feel like that if you touched her. And just the fact that she hoped one day sheâd find out was probably telling enough.
So maybe, in the Old World, people wouldâve called Abby a lesbian. Maybe she wouldâve identified with that title if things were different, if her life was lower stakes, and if sheâd had more time to explore herself and her interests.
What-ifs didnât matter. What mattered was that she was here now. You were with herâand she needed to figure out a plan of how to proceed from hereâso she could make sure to keep it that way. She could figure out the rest later.
Mel was the first to speak, annoyed, but addressing him calmly, like she was talking to a rabid animal. âOwenââ
He didnât even let her get a word in.
âNo. This is bullshit! Abbyââ He looked past Mel to meet Abbyâs gaze, insistent. âIâm going to Santa Barbara to find the Fireflies. If youâre smart, youâll ditch the Scars and come with me.â
Mel slammed her hands on the table, causing both Abby and Owen to jump. âWhat the hell do you mean, youâre going to Santa Barbara?! We are going to Santa Barbara!â They werenât used to seeing violent outbursts from Mel. She was the queen of passive aggression, but she rarely lost her cool. âWhat is wrong with you, Owen? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? This is all so seriously fucked up.â She turned away from them, clenching her fists at her sides, looking like she might cry. Or hit something. Or both.
But for the first time in years, Abby wasnât on the receiving end of her disdain.
Guess all she had to do for her old friend to stop seeing her as a threat was get entangled with the Scar Prophet. No big deal.
Owen, in a moment of clarity, seemed to realize how huge of an asshole he was being to the mother of his child. He set down his jar, stood, and walked over to Mel, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her into him, her back pressed against his front. He was swaying on his feet, his cheeks flushed, hands clumsy. If he hadnât been drunk before, he definitely was now. âHey, I didnât mean it like that. We are going to Santa Barbara. Of course itâs we. Hell, the Scars can come too for all I care. Weâll make it a party.â
Abby rolled her eyes at his quick switch-up and turned to go. Clearly this conversation wasnât going anywhere productive tonight, with Owen drunk, Mel upset, and all of them exhausted beyond belief.
There was a creak by the door, and all three of them turned to look, Owenâs reaction far more delayed than Abby and Melâs.
You stood there in your long white dress, hesitant to come in. Shy, having clearly interrupted a tense conversation.
Abby wondered how long youâd been standing there unnoticed. Her instinct was to meet you in the doorway and take you back to bed, away from Owenâs rude drunkenness and Melâs inquisitive eyes.
âHey! Scar! How the hell are ya? Come join us! We were just talking about sunny California. Ever been?â Owen pulled away from Mel and plopped back down on the couch, finding his jar again.
âUmmâŠâ You looked to Abby for guidance, but she was just as unsettled as you. âNo. I havenât⊠Sorry, I was just looking for Abby.â
âYeah, I bet you were,â he mumbled under his breath. Abby wasnât sure if you caught that, but she wasnât interested in having you hear any more of this.
âLetâs just go,â she said to you, moving toward where you still stood in the doorway.
âNo! Come! Sit! Letâs talk,â Owen insisted, slapping the spot next to him on the couch.
You gave Abby another hesitant look before walking past her to join Owen. Mel sighed and lowered herself into a nearby chair. When it became clear to her that retreating with you wasnât an option right now, Abby walked back over. She stood right across from the couch so she could see you, leaned against the wall behind her with her arms crossed over her chest.
You sat next to Owen, although not so close, putting as much distance between you as possible.
âAtta girl,â he chuckled. Abby wanted to punch him.
All of this was out of character for Owen, but she knew that he was always kind of unpredictable when he got drunk. With everything that had happened and emotions running so high, everyone really should just be going to sleep.
With that in mind, Abby would continue to stand nearby until you were ready to leave. She wouldnât let things get out of hand.
âSo⊠Scarââ
âSeraphite,â Abby corrected him. He scoffed and took another swig.
You smiled softly at her, looking grateful.
âScar,â he said again. âCan I perhaps interest you in some hooch? Made it myself.â He offered up the jar for you to take, tilting it towards you with unsteady hands.
âNo,â Abby immediately answered on your behalf. âShe does not want any of your hooch.â
âWell give the girl a chance to answer,â he slurred. âWhat? Your little girlfriend canât speak for herself? She canât make her own decisions?â
You glanced back and forth between him and her, reaching for the open jar of clear liquid, properly baited by his taunting words.
Abby tried to remember that Owen was her friendâher best friendâand that he wasnât usually like this.
âWhat is⊠hooch?â you asked, staring down into the glass jar suspiciously.
âItâs moonshine,â Abby said. When that didnât clear things up for you, she added, âAlcohol.â
âLike wine?â you asked, tentatively sniffing it.
Owen laughed. Abby nodded, âKind of, but itâs much stronger. Seriously, you wonât like it.â
There was a flash of something that looked like defiance in your eyes, offense taken at the idea that you wouldnât be able to handle something that others could.
You put the jar to your lips and tilted it back enough to take in a generous mouthful.
Abby watched as your eyes went wide and you struggled to swallow it. Honestly, she was impressed that you didnât immediately spit it out. You managed to choke it down before breaking out in a harsh coughing fit.
Owen laughed, accepting the jar as you shoved it back into his hands. Your eyes watered as you tapped on your sternum, taking a second to regain the ability to speak.
âYou made that?â you wheezed in disbelief.
âYep!â
âOn purpose?â
Abby laughed at that, leaning back against the wall again once she was convinced that you werenât dying.
âHey, thatâs prime hooch! You should be thanking me right now.â Owen took his own swig of it, lounging back against the couch with his arm resting along the back.
âThank you?â You squinted your eyes but tried to be polite.
âI was kidding, princess. You donât have to thank me.â
Abby, again, resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
âSo,â Owen began, âtell me. How is it that youâre a Scar⊠but youâre not scarred?â He chuckled to himself, as if he had made a joke.
Your eyes shot to meet Abbyâs, clearly unprepared to answer that question.
âNot every Seraphite has facial scars,â you said, keeping things vague.
âEvery Scar Iâve ever seen does.â
âYouâve seen me, havenât you?â you shot back.
Abby let out a surprised laugh. Owen clenched his jaw.
âEvery Scar has face scars. Itâs like your defining thing. Itâs why we call you Scars.â He was adamant, unyielding. And the playful mask was starting to slip back into anger. Abby could tell this wasnât going to end well.
âWell I guess you donât know as much about Seraphites as you thought you did.â You were frustrated now, pressing yourself further into the far end of the couch to put more distance between the two of you.
Owen opened his mouth with a rebuttal, but Abby jumped in. âLay off, Owen.â
He threw his hands up in surrender, leaning back against the brown cushions. âFine, fine. Whatever. Forgive me for having questions. Fuck me, I guess. Iâve just never seen a hot Scar befoââ
Before he could finish the sentence, Mel was on her feet. âAlright. Thatâs it. Youâre done.â She had been sitting silently up until then, ready to intervene if things got out of hand, just as Abby had been. Apparently, Owen calling you hot was where she drew the line.
Abby was glad Mel was saying something. Because if things had gone much further, she really mightâve hit him.
âGet up,â Mel instructed firmly, standing over him. âYouâre going to bed.â He let her take the jar out of his hands and, with much effort, pushed himself up off the couch and started walking toward the door. Mel was right behind him, hands hovering on either of his sides in case he lost his balance. He was grumbling under his breath the whole way, like a toddler whose bedtime was being enforced.
Abby watched them go.
Once they were out of sight, she looked down at you, only to find that you were already looking at her.
âSorry,â she spat out. âAbout him. Heâs not usually like that.â
You nodded, but you didnât seem sure that you believed her.
âSo you guys are⊠friends?â
Abby cleared her throat. âUh, yeah. Weâve known each other for years. Joined the WLF together. Me, Owen, Mel, and a few others.â
You considered this for a second before responding. âWhere were you before?â
âSalt Lake City,â she said, looking down at her feet. âUtah.â Abby didnât know if that would mean anything to you.
âMel doesnât seem to like you very much,â you said, observant, not trying to offend. Abby smiled, despite the meaning behind your words. You added, âAnd Owen doesnât seem to like me.â You stated it like it was a fact, like it was neither good nor bad, just true.
âHeâll get over it. Heâs just drunk.â Abby didnât know if that was true, but she wanted to comfort you in that moment, not that you actually seemed to care all that much about Owenâs opinion of you.
âCan I ask you a question?â You were looking up at her, eyes wide and vulnerable.
Anything, Abby thought. Out loud, she said, âSure.â
She pushed away from the wall and came to sit next to you on the couch, filling the spot where Owen had been.
âWhy do you people keep calling me princess?â you asked. Abby laughed quietly under her breath, turning her body to face you.
âI donât know. Thereâs something about you thatâs very princess-like I guess.â
You made a face at her. She smiled wider.
âItâs not a bad thing. You just come across as soft. Delicate. I donât know⊠Graceful.â
âI am not delicate,â you said, defensive.
âI know.â
âIâve killed.â
âI saw.â Abby was being serious, although she did find the conversation amusing. âYouâre very skilled with a knife.â
You nodded, satisfied with her response, and fully turned to face Abby. âAnd what does hot mean? Why did he call me hot?â
âOhââ Abby stuttered, âUhâHe meant⊠He was saying that youâre very pretty.â
âOh.â You considered this, eyes wandering away. âEarlier he said I look like The Lord of the Rings.â
Abby smiled again. There was something about you that felt like it mightâve been taken straight from the high fantasy genre.
âDo you know what that is?â she asked.
âYes. Sort of. I asked Mel. She said it was a film about a magical land. With fairies and stuff.â
âThey were books first.â
âHave you read them?â
âYeah.â
âHave you read a lot of books?â you asked, genuinely curious.
âI try to read as much as I can. Whateverâs available.â
You nodded, thinking, letting the conversation die down.
After a moment, âAbby?â
âHmm?â she hummed. She liked the way you said her name. Just the sound of it made her heart beat a little bit faster.
âOwen also called me your girlfriend.â You were studying her face, trying to read her reaction.
âYeah. He did.â Abby said, looking into your inquisitive eyes.
âDoes that just mean friend? Or is it something else?â
âHe was just trying to piss me off.â
âSo it does mean something else?â Your eyes were on her lips now, and you were ever so slightly leaned forward. Almost subconsciously.
âIt doesnât matter,â Abby said. âIt doesnât mean anything.â
She was pushing you away, and she didnât know why. She couldâve answered that question so differently. Maybe she shouldâve.
Abby wanted you. And she was almost certain that you felt the same way. At the very least, there was a curiosity. A hesitant attraction.
But she couldnât shake the feeling that it was wrong. That anything with you would be something she wasnât good enough for.
Something she didnât deserve.
Something she would ruin if given the chance.
So tonight, she didnât give herself that chance.
Was that noble or cowardly? She wasnât sure.
You pulled away, turning to face forward as you let out a long breath, puffing out your cheeks.
âIâm tired,â you said, standing. âAnd I should check on Yara and Lev.â
âYeah.â Abby nodded. âOkay.â
She remained in place, ready to mentally beat herself up some more and stew in her thoughts alone for a while.
You cleared your throat lightly, swaying on your feet. âUmm⊠Iâm not sure that I can find my way back to the room. Can you⊠pleaseâ?â
âOh.â Abby hopped to her feet. âOkay, yeah. Iâll⊠I guess Iâll go with you.â
She avoided eye contact, leading the way into the dark hallway.
#the wolf and the prophet#my writing#abby anderson#abby anderson x fem!reader#abby anderson x reader#abby x fem!reader#abby x reader#abby tlou#tlou2#abby anderson fanfic#abby anderson fic#abby anderson x seraphite
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Hi may i please request swerve trying to be the human liason on the lost light's wimgmech untill they jump grab his shoulders do a pullup and smooch him.
Thank you! Hope your flights arent horrifically delayed.
Thank you for the request, and sorry for how long it took to finally get it out lol! Coincidentally my flights ended up being okay despite the hell I went through to get onto the planes.
I put a lot of thought into this request, and I wasn't entirely sure what you meant with Swerve being the reader's wingmech, so I went down this route. I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it's on the shorter side. Thanks again! :D
Wingmech
Pairing: IDW Swerve x Human Liason Reader
Word Count: 2181
Summary: After noticing you are lost in love with an anonymous mech, Swerve decides to help you prepare for going after the secret crush you have.
  Swerve has been watching you for a while now.
  Itâs not uncommon for the Lost Lightâs crew to focus on you. You are, after all, the only human aboard the Cybertronian exploration ship. Though youâve been here for months, no bot can help but find you fascinating. And Swerve? WellâŠheâd never admit it to anyone, but his interest in you goes well beyond mere fascination. Yes, you're small, smaller than even him. Yes, you're soft, and squishy, and adorable, and sometimes he really wants to scoop you up into his arms and kiss you right on the lips after confessing his love-
  Okay. So maybe he has a bit of a crush on you. But thatâs all it is! A crush that compels him to keep tabs on where you go and what you do. Heâs learned about you from the various conversations heâs listened to during busy nights. He knows you adore dogs and melt at the sight of cats (What are dogs? What are cats? Like hell he knows. He isnât particularly caught up on his Earth knowledge). He knows you like to turn in early and wake up late. He knows you arenât exactly a party person, and sometimes being surrounded by robots three times your size is incredibly overwhelming. And following that little tidbit, he understands you donât like coming to his bar.
  So why are you here now?
  Heâs watching you while he makes drinks. Your little form is tucked away in a corner at one of the smaller tables reserved for minicons, hunched over a notebook, eyes focused on the pages of written material he canât read. Even when he zooms his optics in, your writing is far too small for him to coherently pick up on from this distance. With one hand propped against your cheek and the other idly tapping a pen against your head, you look far too troubled for someone whoâs currently spending time in a place where all troubles are drunken away. It makes him curious and concerned. Why would you, someone who hates large crowds and loud environments, be writing in such a place?
  He needs to get to the bottom of it.
  Now, he knows what someone might say about this: âSwerve, it's none of your business. Swerve, they clearly donât want to be bothered. Swerve, eavesdropping is bad.â
  Well, you know what he would say to all of that? âIâm a bartender. My business is everyone elseâs business. Thatâs what being a bartender entails.â
  So yeah, heâs snooping. But itâs all for a good cause. Being around you is worth it. Heâll always take the chance to talk to you if he can.
  âWhatcha writing?â he asks when he pops up behind you with surprising stealthiness. You let out a surprised shriek and nearly jump right out of your seat. He barely catches a glimpse of your notebookâs contents before you slam it shut and cover it with your arms.
  âSwerve!â you yell, fleshy human cheeks flushing a wonderful pink color (Oh, how he loves the way you blush like that. He wants to make you do it more). âDonât scare me like that!â
  âSorry. Couldnât help myself. You humans make the cutest sounds when you're startled.â He folds his servos behind his back and leans forward a little. âI donât see you in the bar often. A place like this isnât really the best for writing stories, ya know.â
  You sigh and slip your notebook into the knapsack you always carry around. Darn, he thinks, how will your secrets be spilled to him now? âIâm not writing stories. Iâm justâŠdoing research on something.â
  âResearch,â he says. âIn a bar.â
  âYes. Research in a bar. Is that so hard to believe?â
  He does a quick scan of your features. The blush on your cheeks has deepened to a shade of red that almost matches his paint job. You're fiddling with your knapsack and guarding that notebook with your life. Suddenly, it comes upon him like a tidal wave; his smile widens with the victorious air of someone who just won a medal. âOh, I know what's going on here,â he says. âYou've been spying on someone, havenât you?â
  Your reaction only further proves his theory. You look horrified, and the way you frantically rush to defend yourself is like a bright neon arrow pointing directly at your head. âWhat? No! Nonono, why would you think that?!â
  He laughs. âOh, you totally are! Your notebook is probably chock-full of evidence, amiright? Wait, donât tell me! Let me guess!â He circles the table and plops down across from you. âIs it Ratchet? Nah, too grouchy. Cyclonus? Mm, too weird. Oh, oh! Itâs Rodimus, isnât it? It has to be Rodimus!â
  âWhat are you talking about?â you ask him.
  He leans forward and smirks. âYou're in love, little one. Am I right, or am I right?â
  âI-Iâm not-thereâs no-â You stutter for a moment longer, then get a hold of your emotions and reel them in. Sitting back and going stone-faced, you stare at him with only the color of your blush signaling what you are currently going through. âIâm not in love.â
  Does it hurt to know you have a crush on someone who isnât him? Absolutely? But telling you that would mean admitting the feelings he has for you, and no way is he doing that now. His spark aches with the sting of rejection, but he hides it well and decides messing with you will make him feel much better. âCâmon, squirt. You canât lie to me. Itâs as clear as day that someone on this ship has you smitten.â
  âItâs not someone on this ship. Iâm a human.â
  âYou being a human and us being mechs means nothing. How many months have you been aboard this ship?â He counts off his digits. âTwo? Three? No, itâs been five months, hasnât it? Five months with us and your little spark has finally decided humans just donât compare to mechs anymore. Aw, how adorable.â
  You look like you want to jump across the table to snap his intake shut. Instead though, you slump back in defeat and groan, rubbing your hands across your face. âIs it really that obvious?â
  âTo me? Yeah. But thatâs only because Iâve picked up on your reactions. Plus, the fact that you came here to jot down ânotesâ meansâŠâ Now he gets excited. âIt has to be someone in this bar.â
  You regard him cautiously. âAnd what if it is? What will you do about it?â
  He shrugs. âNothing! My job is to pour drinks and listen to peopleâs woes. What kind of reputation would I be giving this fine establishment if I were to go around tattling on my loyal customers?â He taps his index digit against his dermas. Scrap, this is really going to hurt him. But he wants to see you happy. âI could help you, you know.â
  âHelp me?â you echo.
  âYeah, why not?â he forces himself to say with enthusiasm. âIâm always ready to help a pal! Iâll be your wingmech! Howâs that sound?â
  A wide smile splits across your face and you cover your mouth to muffle your giggle. âWingmech? Seriously? Thatâs so cheesy, Swerve.â
  By the Allspark, hearing your laughter is music to his ears. Heâs envious of whoever you are crushing on. Theyâre one lucky mech to have someone like you chasing after them. But he swallows down his jealousy for your sake and puffs out his chassis proudly. âCheesy or not, Iâm sure I can help you woo your future sweetspark. All you gotta do is learn to use a little bit of the olâ Swerve charm and bingo, this bot will be yours in no time. So, whattaya say? You wanna employ my humble services?â
  You bite your lower lip and look down at your knapsack. âI donât know. The Swerve charm may not exactly work on the mech Iâm thinking of.â
  âAha!â He stands up and points at you. âSo you admit you're in love!â
  You give him a pointed look. âAlright, alright, fine, I admit it! Yes, thereâs someone on this ship I really like. Iâve been writing down things he may or may not enjoy so I can come up with ways to show him thatâŠthat I want toâŠaskhimout.â This last part comes out as a weak mutter. Itâs obviously difficult for you to admit it, but oh boy is Swerve glad you have.
  âSo itâs a he. Hm. IIIInteresting. Mind telling me what heâs like?â
  You smile. âWell, heâs outgoing. And very enthusiastic about what he does. He always has an upbeat attitude and definitely knows how to make me laugh. Some might think heâs a bit of a wise-ass though.â
  Swerve chuckles. âSounds like a real dream boat.â
  âYouâŠhave no idea.â The way you say it sounds strange to him, but he doesnât think any more of it. You drum your fingers against the table. âWhatâŠwhat would you do if you wanted to tell him thatâŠthat you like him?â
  I wouldnât. Iâd tell you I like you and no one else. âIâd probably do something bold. Something that would really grab his attention, ya know?â He thinks. âDoes he like you back?â
  âWell, you seeâŠI-I think so? Iâm not sure. I talk to him a lot, but weâreâŠkind of different. Iâm definitely not like him, but we get along. The more I hang out with him, the more these feelings grow.â You stare at your hands. âI donât know if I should be admitting all of this.â
  âNo, no, itâs okay!â Heâs quick to reassure you. âI want to help! Seriously! I said Iâd be your wingmech, and Iâm going to uphold my word! So, letâs think! You think he likes you, and you definitely like him back. Heâs the extroverted type, bold and brashâŠso give him a show! Really show him that you want him and you to be together, and you appreciate all of the good company heâs given you since you boarded the ship. The key is to really hit him here.â He thumps his chassis. âRight in the spark. Itâs all emotions, squirt! Nothing else to it!â
  âEmotions, huh?â Once again, that odd look crosses you. âDo you think we couldâŠpractice?â
  âPractice?â
  âYeah, like, working on what Iâll do when I finally admit my feelings to him? Would that be okay with you?â
  âOh, yes, totally!â He stands up. âCâmere, letâs go through it. Think about what you want to say, and then act it out to me.â
  You stand up as well and walk over to him. Looking down, he sees just how small you are compared to him; you barely make it up to his chassis. You study him, biting your bottom lip. You look so nervous. It makes him want to be gentle.
  âDonât be shy,â he says softly. âThereâs no reason to be. Itâs just you and I here, yeah? No one will pay attention to us.â
  You draw in a deep breath. âOkay, Okay.â Shaking out your arms, you fixate on him determinedly. âIâm not going to say anything. Iâm going to do something. Is that okay?â
  âOh,â he says, a bit confused. âSure, yeah! What are you going to do?â
  You take a step back. Then, you jump forward, and heâs startled when you grab his shoulders and pull yourself up. His optics widen when you lean in and give him a short kiss. Every mechanical nerve in his body sings when he feels your lips on his, and he seems to lose control of himself, becoming nothing more than a statue.
  Then, itâs over. You let him go and drop back down, taking a step back and looking at him anxiously. He stares at you, air whooshing in and out of his intake as his systems attempt to cool.
  âItâsâŠItâs me?â he whispers.
  You lower your head and nod.
  He canât talk. He canât make a sound. Itâs only for a good few seconds, but when he finally regains control of his vocalizer, he begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And then heâs picking you up and spinning you around in a tight hug. âYou like me!â he cries. âYou like me, you like me!â He couldnât care less if anyone else in the bar is watching this. The one heâs been crushing on for months has been crushing on him back!
  You laugh along with him. âIt took you this long to figure it out? Iâve been dropping hints since we started this conversation!â
  âThatâs why youâve been doing research in the bar! Primus, how did I not realize it sooner?â He holds you back so he can see your brilliant smile. It makes him melt. âI canât believe you really like me,â he whispers.
  You cup his faceplate in your hands. âIâm guessing your happy about it, Mr. Wingmech?â
  He kisses you again, leaning into your touch. âWellâŠlooks like my humble services paid off.â He pauses. âSoâŠwhat did you think of the Swerve charm?â
#gator writes#gator requests#idw swerve#swerve x reader#transformers swerve#mtmte swerve#transformers#transformers idw#mtmte#transformers lost light#tf idw#reader insert#transformers x reader#transformers x human reader#maccadam#not my best work but I really enjoyed writing it!
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