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reveryfics · 1 month ago

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Saliva

Mark Grayson "Invincible" x Male Reader

Summary: Mark stumbles into your room, the aftermath of a brutal fight etched onto his skin in bruises and blood. Without hesitation, your instinctively drawn to mend his injuries.

A/N: I was going through different healing powers, and saw healing saliva......I could've picked something different, but I chose this.

TW: Blood - Broken bones - Injury - Licking - Comfort - Pre-established relationship

The corner of the room radiated a soft, internal warmth, the light emanating not from a harsh bulb but seeming to bloom from the very air. A solitary antique lamp, perched precariously on the edge of a small, scarred wooden desk, cast a butter-yellow circle that barely kissed the faded floral wallpaper. Within this gentle illumination, you were a study in muted tones, a dark silhouette against the brighter backdrop. Over-ear headphones, well-worn and comfortable, cradled your ears, a private concert of hushed melodies filling the otherwise silent sanctuary of your bedroom. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of your fingers danced across the worn keys of your laptop, the only other audible sound, occasionally punctuated by a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken thoughts.

The laptop screen, its brightness turned low, bathed your face in an ethereal, cool glow, starkly highlighting the delicate lines of fatigue etched around your tired eyes. They felt like they were filled with sand, heavy and resistant to blinking, and every few minutes, your fingers would instinctively find the bridge of your nose, pressing firmly in a futile attempt to release the mounting tension. A long, drawn-out breath escaped your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. You leaned back in your creaky wooden chair, its once-velvet upholstery now flattened and worn smooth by countless hours of use. Your gaze drifted aimlessly, finally settling on the tall, standing mirror tucked awkwardly beside the overflowing closet door. A fleeting, almost ghost-like image of yourself stared back – hair slightly askew, the once-gray t-shirt now a canvas of abstract art created by spilled coffee and errant streaks of ink, a testament to the countless hours hunched over forgotten documents and late-night research. Beneath it, the waistband of plaid boxers was twisted and bunched, a physical manifestation of the constant shifting and fidgeting that accompanied intense concentration.

With a soft, almost reluctant click, the music paused, the sudden silence amplifying the low, persistent hum of the ancient refrigerator emanating from the next room. You closed your laptop with a decisive thud, the dim screen fading to a final, absolute black. Gently placing the headphones on the cluttered desk, you pushed your chair back, the worn wheels whispering a soft protest as they rolled across the faded floral carpet.

The faint, diffused light filtering through the heavy, closed curtains of the living room window served as your only guide as you padded silently through the familiar confines of your small apartment. The layout was etched into your muscle memory, each step automatic, a well-rehearsed dance in the near-darkness. You reached the kitchen, pausing momentarily in front of the refrigerator, its white surface marred by a collection of magnets holding up grocery lists and faded mementos. Your eyes lingered on one photograph in particular, held precariously by a cartoonish cat magnet – a picture of you and Mark, impossibly young, their smiles wide and gap-toothed, radiating a carefree joy that felt a lifetime away. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips, a momentary softening of the tired lines around your mouth. You reached for the cool metal handle of the refrigerator door, the sudden chill a small shock against the warmth of your hand. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar, slightly chaotic contents. After a brief scan, your fingers closed around the smooth, condensation-slick surface of a cold water bottle. With it clutched in your hand, you turned and retraced your silent steps, the soft carpet muffling your return to the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom.

The faintest rustle of your bedroom curtains, a sound barely perceptible against the ambient quiet, snagged your attention the instant you stepped past the doorframe. An instinct, primal and immediate, surged through you, and your hand shot out, fumbling for the familiar cool plastic of the light switch. The sudden burst of artificial light that flooded the room felt almost blinding after the hours spent in the dim glow of the lamp and screen.

Your breath hitched in your throat, a strangled gasp that caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips. Your eyes widened in stark, disbelieving panic as the familiar yet horrifying contours of Mark’s face swam into focus. Bruises, a sickening tapestry of purple, blue, and yellow, bloomed across his skin, stark against the pallor of his complexion. Dried blood, a dark, viscous crimson, matted his hair and streaked his jawline. He was crawling through the narrow gap of your slightly ajar window, his movements clumsy and labored. A strangled cry escaped your lips as you nearly tripped over your own feet, rushing towards him, your hands instinctively reaching out, grasping at his arms, his torso, desperate to support him before he could collapse onto the floor. His body was dead weight against yours, heavy and unresponsive, as you gently, painstakingly, laid him against the soft cotton sheets of your bed. His breathing was shallow and ragged, a wet wheeze accompanying every strained inhale and exhale.

His body was a canvas of brutal violence. Deep lacerations, jagged and raw, crisscrossed his arms and legs, some still oozing a slow trickle of blood. His once-sharp suit was ripped and torn, the expensive fabric soaked in blood and grime, clinging to him like a second, gruesome skin. One arm lay at an unnatural angle, the bone visibly protruding through a tear in his suit. while his leg was twisted beneath him, a clear indication of a severe break.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to quell the rising tide of nausea. With trembling hands, you cautiously worked at the remnants of his ruined suit, the stiff, blood-soaked fabric resisting your efforts. You finally managed to peel it away, discarding the shredded mess somewhere on the floor, your gaze never leaving his ravaged form. Your fingers, hesitant at first, then grew bolder as they ran lightly across his abdomen. His ribs felt wrong under your touch, a sickening crunchiness betraying the extent of the internal damage, mangled as if they had borne the brunt of a savage beating. Your eyes swept over his body, cataloging each injury with a growing sense of dread and a desperate surge of protectiveness, as you moved to cautiously hover above him. Mark sucked in a ragged breath, a low moan escaping his lips. His uninjured hand shot up, grabbing your wrist with surprising strength, raw panic blazing in his eyes.

“Shhh,” you whispered, your voice trembling, trying to soothe his fear. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do.” You leaned down, your breath fanning over a particularly deep, gaping gash that bisected his abdomen. The metallic, coppery scent of blood filled your nostrils, thick and cloying, and then, moments later, it filled your mouth as you dragged your tongue deliberately against the raw wound. Mark’s back arched violently off the bed, his grip on your wrist tightening, his other hand moving from your wrist to clutch at your hair, a strangled cry of pain and shock escaping his lips at the sudden, intense stinging sensation. The torn flesh of the wound began to writhe and pull itself together, almost imperceptibly at first, then with increasing speed, thread by thread of muscle, nerves, and skin knitting back together as your saliva soaked into the damaged tissue.

Your powers, you knew, were far more potent when channeled directly from you, undiluted by the processes required for the General Defense Agency. They could mend bone and muscle with astonishing speed, even regrowing tissue that had been completely severed. You had never directly used them on another person in this way before, never truly witnessed their immediate, visceral effect firsthand, despite having possessed them since childhood. The clinical detachment of your work at the GDA was a stark contrast to the raw intimacy of this desperate act.

You nearly gagged as Mark’s blood, thick and metallic, coated your tongue and throat, your Adam’s apple bobbing visibly as you fought down the waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. You looked up at Mark, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain, shock, and a dawning comprehension as he slowly relaxed back against the pillows, the frantic tension draining from his body. Without a second thought, driven by a desperate need to share the healing, you leaned into Mark, pressing your lips against his in a fierce, almost frantic kiss. You forced your tongue past his parted lips, your saliva mixing with his own, a silent offering. His throat bobbed convulsively as he instinctively drank in every bit of moisture he could.

Beneath you, his mangled bones snapped and cracked with sickening pops and grinds as they began to realign and repair themselves, the fractured ends knitting back together with unnatural speed. The grotesque tapestry of bruises that had blossomed across his skin began to fade just as quickly as they had formed, the angry purples and blues dissolving into a healthier, albeit still pale, complexion. Mark’s hands, which had been gripping your hair, now clutched at the back of your t-shirt, bunching the fabric between his fingers as he finally pulled away from your desperate kiss, his chest heaving with each deep, shuddering breath he drew in. His eyes, still wide and slightly unfocused, locked onto yours above him as you wiped the blood from your mouth on the back of your hand, leaving a crimson smear against your skin.

Mark stuttered over his words, his voice hoarse and shaky, before finally managing to express how incredibly disgusting yet strangely, undeniably hot it had been to see you lick his wound. A shaky sigh escaped your lips, a mixture of relief and lingering nausea, as you shifted, moving to straddle his hips, your knees pressing gently against the mattress on either side of him. You shook your head, your gaze apologetic. “I panicked,” you whispered, your voice still thick with the taste of blood. “I would never… I won’t do that again.” Another wave of nausea washed over you, and you swallowed hard, a visible gag reflex rippling through your throat. Mark, his color returning slightly, pushed himself up on his elbows, his hands finding your hips, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice still rough. “It’s okay. I… I’m sorry. I could’ve gone to Cecil. I just… I panicked too. I didn’t want to worry you.”

You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips, a reassuring rhythm after the frantic chaos of the past few minutes. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his before pressing a soft peck to his lips. “It was much faster this way,” you murmured, your breath warm against his skin. “But don’t make it a habit of needing me to shove my tongue down your throat, okay?” A weak chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he pressed another, more lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Duly noted,” he whispered, a faint smile finally gracing his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

#mark grayson #mark grayson x male reader #invincible x male reader #invincible #mlm #fanfic #fanfiction #x male reader #xmalereader #healing power #comfort

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jellyfishsthings · 7 months ago

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Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, HOTCHNISS IS A THING bcuz i said so, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

The ending was based on this fic by @nereidprinc3ss

part 1, navigation

It had been one month since the Incident—a term that spoke volumes without revealing too much. The Incident was the moment everything changed, the day the world they've fought to protect threatened to swallow them whole. One harrowing act of violence had almost stolen her from the living, leaving scars deeper than flesh, echoing through the halls of the BAU and private lives of those who cared.

For Aaron Hotchner, the air was thick with the weight of his own guilt. He wandered through days shrouded in shadows, each movement a reminder of his instinct to protect, to lead, to ensure the safety of his team. And how had he failed? He coped with drowning himself in whiskey after a long day's work—a futile attempt to numb the regret clawing at his insides. In the back of his mind, the echoes of her screams lingered. They came back to him every time he closed his eyes.

His office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. He stared at a framed picture of the team at some holiday gathering, her flashing one of her radiant smiles, arms flung around Morgan and Reid. It should have been the happiest memory, but now it felt like a ghost lurking in the corner, reminding him of what could have been lost forever. Where there should have been laughter, the room was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sound of ice rattling in his glass.

Then there was Emily, who wore her pain like a second skin. Each night, she gave in to silent tears that left her breathless. Hotch held her, wrapped her in his arms, wanting to lend strength but unsure of how to piece together the fragments of their shattering experience. It was during these quiet moments, swaddled in darkness, that they both recognized the fragility of their connection. What they had once built was now tempered by guilt and fear—fear of losing a woman, a kid practically, they had helped qrow and turn into the amazingAgent she was.

Meanwhile, in a sterile white room, Spencer Reid kept vigil at her bedside. He had transformed into a specter of the man he had always been. Days blended into nights, and he often felt unmoored. The memory of her laughter used to be a melody he longed to hear; now it haunted him. In the clinical light of the hospital room, he counted the rhythmic beeping of the machines, which stood stark contrast to the chaos within him. Every time he heard her heart, steady and strong, he found a flicker of hope. But hope was an elusive thing, dampened by the anxiety that had seeped into his bones.

Reid often found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the moments that brought them all together, the little things that made them a unit—a family of sorts. He remembered their case that had turned deadly, the precision of her instincts leading them into a dangerous trap. But he also remembered the resolve in her eyes as they fought, a fierce determination that now seemed barely a whisper in the sanctuary of her hospital room.

For a while, recovery felt like an unattainable vision—like a mirage shimmering just beyond their reach. It was a miracle she was still alive even in a sedated state. When she was admitted in the hospital the doctors wore horrified looks as they finally located her file, asking for goverment permission to unseal it and rightfully so. When Spencer himself read it he felt nauseous to his core and ready to lose his hold on reality.

Bones broken more than one time.

Broken back that function only with a chip insisted in the spine.

Various signs of abuse, which could be traced back to her childhood at eight years old.

Signs of sexual assault and rape to a terrifying degree.

She was covered in old scars.

Yet he knew that the worst damage must live inside her head. What a scary life she had lived. And she was only a few months younger than him. The memories that must haunt her ... he only felt sick at the thought, he could imagine how it would be like to live with them.

Still it made sense. How good she was at fighting, that she was an excellent shot, how quickly she adapted into this new lifestyle. He was filled with questions, how, why, are you well, I still love you you do not have to hide I promise. But he didn't have a choice and so he waited for what seemed an eternity.

Days passed, and with them came the wait. But her eyes still remained closed, and so did the door to their shared perception of certainty. A week turned into a month, and the seasons shifted outside like a clock wound down to a dim hum.

Then, one evening, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital, a breakthrough came. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing quickened, and suddenly—her eyes opened, revealing the storm brewing inside them. Spencer was at her side, gripping her hand gently, his heart hammering in his chest. Ready to fall down on his knees and thank every diety for bringing her back.

“Snoopy?,” he breathed out, the air catching in his throat. Using after what seemed the longest time the nickname he had for her, the one he only used because he was the only one who knew her crazy obsession with the cartoon.

Her gaze was unfocused at first, wandering into the corners of the room as if piecing together where she was. But recognition slowly dawned on her, and the corners of her lips managed a faint curve.

“Reid?” she croaked, her voice raspy yet threaded with life.

Spencer felt a swell of emotions. Relief surged through him, casting away the shadows that had clung tightly for weeks. “You’re back. You’re really back.”

She blinked, and as realization dawned fully, the weight of her condition pressed down on her. “What happened?”

The moment reverberated with unspoken understanding; the memories were shrouded yet defined by the pain they collectively held. But what mattered now was her presence, the warmth of her being returning to where it belonged.

Yet nothing would ever be the same again.

Her transition to get back to work was tedious and long, but she faced with extreme determination and stubbornness. But one bright Monday morning at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the scent of hope lingered in the air like freshly brewed coffee. The team was abuzz with excitement—she was finally back after her traumatic injury. The office was a cacophony of cheers, “Welcome back!” and “It’s about time!” amid the clatter of keyboards and the rustle of paperwork.

She smiled brightly, radiating enthusiasm as she exchanged warm hugs and playful jabs. Despite feeling a little stiff, she was ready to jump back into the chaos that was the BAU. Her final physical test had gone splendidly, and she had passed with flying colors, much to the delight of her colleagues.

“Just don't overdo it, shortcake,” Derek Morgan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t want to break a sweat before lunch.”

“I think my stitches would disagree with you,” she replied, tossing her hair back and puffing out her chest, “but who needs stitches when you have determination?”

She winked, but even she could feel the tight twinge near her abdomen as she waved dismissively.

A few hours later, as the excitement faded into the hum of agents at work, she started to feel a slight tugging pain. Her physical test had been strenuous, and perhaps she had overexerted herself a tad too much. Dismissing it as minor, she continued her duties until, unceremoniously, during a particularly animated discussion with Spencer Reid, she felt something give way. Looking down in horror, she saw her bandage had opened—one stitch had given it all up.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Not now.”

The bathroom was not far, but the urgency and pain propelled her into a sprint that was definitely not recommended for someone still healing. She burst through the bathroom door, clutching her midriff, and locked the door behind her.

Meanwhile, after Snoopy had vanished for a suspiciously long time, Spencer felt a tickle of worry. She had burst into action rather enthusiastically, but it had turned into hours of radio silence. Ever the nerdy detective, his mind began churning. What if she had passed out? What if the bathroom monster had gotten her?

Spencer stood up, adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly edged toward the restrooms, bursting into the first one. Empty. Next, he slammed the door of the supply closet, scanned the room, found it empty, and moved on. He was a bull in a china shop—he knocked on a few more doors before finally giving in and charging towards the ladies’ restroom.

“Snoopy?” he called out hesitantly. “Are you in here? Did you win a new Olympic event—like bathroom hiding?”

Inside, she was struggling for a fresh bandage, maneuvering between the threading of her clothes, still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite her predicament. “I’m fine!” she half-shouted. “Just dealing with some wardrobe malfunctions. You know how it is!”

“Are you sure? You sound a little… flustered.” Spencer pushed through the door—pride was overrated, and so was personal space when it came to friends in need.

There she stood, half-naked, staring wide-eyed at Spencer. She was trying to maneuver a roll of bandages across her back, struggling with the awkward angles as she attempted to wrap around her injuries. The moment was a whirlwind of awkwardness and genuine surprise that left Spencer rooted to the floor.

“Oh, uh…!” Spencer stammered, his eyes widening. “I—Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

She blushed, realizing the comedic irony of a boy who often got caught in his brain's overdrive now turning into a flustered mess. “Spencer, a little warning next time? I’m just trying to change my bandages!”

“Oh! Right! Of course! Bandages!” He shuffled awkwardly, racking his brain for something—anything—that resembled confidence. “Do you need help?”

“Help?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With what? Watching me struggle or ensuring a full-fledged theatrical performance?”

Reid swallowed hard and stepped forward, grabbing the roll of bandages. “I have a PhD in cognitive neuroscience, but bandaging wounds shouldn't be too complicated, right?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that diffused the tension as he gingerly held the fabric ready to assist her. “You say that, but let’s just put your academic prowess to the test.”

As he meticulously began to wrap her wounds, their banter threw open a door to easy flirting. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to writhe around like a fish out of water, I wouldn’t have had to barge in here like a raging bull,” he teased, focusing on the bandages but stealing glances at her.

She snorted softly. “And if you hadn’t decided to play the role of ‘Spencer the Bull’ and barged in like that, I might have had a more dignified experience here.”

“Next time, I’ll knock,” he agreed. “But first, if I let you get hurt again, I’ll have to rat you out to HR.”

She feigned shock. “Spencer Reid! How could you? Aren’t we a team?”

He didn’t dare reply immediately, wrapping the bandages with precision while his own cheeks flushed. “They also say you can’t handle a little risk in the name of love—because that’s totally what HR deals with.”

She grinned. “Oh please, they’d love the gossip. ‘Reid and Snoopy engage in dangerous bandaging maneuvers!’”

“Right?” He chuckled. “They’d probably get the wrong idea, and we’d spend our afternoons dodging accusations.”

“Accusations? Of what? Excessive flirting under the guise of medical assistance?”

Their eyes met, and the emphasis was palpable—a line they’d somehow danced across during the cheerful mockery. As the gentle laughter enveloped them, both realizing they had easily slipped into a territory where playful banter morphed into flirty undertones, Spencer’s heart thumped against his chest as he finished the bandage and fought the impulse to lean in a little closer.

“So,” she started, cutting through the air of comfort, “do we have a pact then? No more HR rumbles if you keep barging in on me uninvited?”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Spencer replied, a charming smile emerging on his lips.

As they shared another laugh, an understanding settled between them—one wrapped in bandages, hints of crushes, and adventure, leaving behind awkwardness and opening the door to a world wrapped in flirtation and camaraderie, all set against the delightful backdrop of the BAU.

Tags: @sturnioloenthousiast

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds

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peacheeeliz · 11 days ago

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023. not that i care

six months later. wooyoung & y/n are no longer friends. pirate's melody have broken up, but hwiyoung & y/n are still going strong.

synopsis ⤏ when wooyoung, mr. "scared of commitment," finds himself catching feelings for you, his supposed friend with benefits, he struggles between keeping things casual or possibly ruining your friendship.

a/n: a little filler before we get back to the drama 😼😼

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@potatos-on-clouds @kookieswithjung @cheruphic @17ericas @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @lezleeferguson-120 @roronoas-wife @injunnie-lemon @ateezswonderland @jaytheatiny @lcvejjoong @staytinyzen @justcruisingalonguntilbamkpop @starzzinies @kysstar @lovergirl08 @asherthehimbo @t-102 @va1entinaa @milkfromacow @d3kstar @rikiiss @sweetiejaeyun @beckxisxinxlovexwithxjin @yunhorights @bookishcaptain @sparda1234 @xh01bri @matchahintonagar @xryusarax @desssss-0 @alwayswonbinning @spenceatiny18 @reikaxslvr @drkbluedream @sannieflix @douqhnxtss @cherryangel-coke @hadesforpreswrites @betda @conwunder @banez @i03jae @p1hbrook @arusio @cixrosie @wooyoungsbrat @thedistractedwriter @sanniesdimples1 @hsified

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop smau #kpop social media au #kpop fanfic #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez social media au #ateez smau #ateez scenarios #wooyoung #wooyoung smau #wooyoung au #wooyoung fanfic

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ckret2 · 10 months ago

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Chapter 71 of human Bill Cipher trying to debate his way out of still being the Mystery Shack's prisoner. Soos has found the stolen Journal 4 in Bill's possession and has to decide what to do about it in light of everything else he's learned about Bill lately.

[*this chapter was renumbered to squeeze in the Axolotl plot arc! If you. Haven't read it yet, go back to ch 61 and read it!]

Soos stared dumbfounded at the journal with a 4 on the cover that he'd pulled from Bill's hiding place. Ford had lost Journal 4 last fall—he'd said gnomes had stolen it. How in the world had Bill gotten it?

Soos sat in the attic window seat and flipped through it. The first few pages were Ford's journal entries—his observations of the dimensional rips they were glueing shut in Gravity Falls post-Weirdmageddon, a hand-drawn map highlighting various places around the globe he wanted to investigate, a few drawings and observations of paranormal beings he hadn't seen his first time in town, half a sketch of a gnome that ended with a jagged scribble across the page followed by a page that said "Shmebulock" over and over.

And then a page that said, in an unfamiliar handwriting of jagged, narrow gray letters: "CURSED BOOK! If your name is Mabon Mason Pines, STOP READING NOW or ENJOY YOUR HEX!"

Bill had written page after page of some weird code of gray and yellow-green dots and dashes. A few sentences in English—every one of them was a threatening message to Ford. "Everything would have been fantastic if you'd just helped me finish, Fordsy." "You'll regret not siding with me when you had the chance." "You should have known better than to let your idiot brother turn you against me." "Sixer, you're lying to yourself every time you say you never worshiped me, and you know it. You spent the first third of your life running away from the god you were raised with and the second third chasing after me. Don't waste your last third denying it. YOU'RE MINE." A small, worrying diagram of what looked like the interdimensional portal. And a sticker.

Wait, hold on.

A sticker. One of Mabel's. The rest of the page was the same as the others, the two-tone dots and dashes, except for the sticker, and an arrow drawn from one paragraph to the sticker.

A yellow smiley, its round edges filled in with black marker to make a triangle, over the words "Good job!"

Soos stared at the sticker.

####

A couple of weeks ago, Melody had texted to let Soos know that there was a mess in the upstairs bathroom, and the kids said they'd been fighting a werewolf ghost.

When Soos had gotten home the next morning, Melody had pulled him aside and quietly told him she hadn't wanted to worry him and the Stans, but she did not think it was a werewolf ghost.

When Soos saw the bathroom, he didn't think it was a werewolf ghost either.

It was a scene from a horror movie. Menacing magical sigils painted all over the walls in blood and toothpaste, Bill's zodiac painted on one mirror, the other mirror broken, glass and water all over the floor. It looked like the site of a really wet demon summoning. This contained none of the hallmarks of ghostly or werewolfish activity. Why would Bill do this?

Soos was kind of reluctant to ask Bill. Bill still sorta scared him sometimes. Sure, he looked like a lost 18-year-old, but Soos knew what teens were like in a fight. So he asked Mabel instead.

Mabel pursed her lips uncomfortably. "Ask Dipper."

So Soos asked Dipper.

Dipper winced and. "Promise you won't get mad."

Soos considered that. "Yeah, I guess that's a fair deal."

Dipper confessed that Bill got accidentally locked in the upstairs bathroom for like a whole day, because he and Mabel didn't hear him yelling. Not because they were out of the house when they shouldn't have been. They were just... somewhere else in the house. Doing something loud. For the whole day.

While Bill was trapped alone.

####

Soos had vented to Abuelita about cleaning the bathroom. Like sure, he got Bill was annoyed about being stuck, but that seemed excessive.

Abuelita had made the observation that sometimes people in profoundly bleak and oppressive situations would just... destroy whatever was around them. Like punching a hole in the wall or snapping a pencil when you were angry, but much more so. Not because they wanted their surroundings to be destroyed, but because that was the last and only thing they had power over, and they needed to feel like they were in control of something. Even if that thing was merely changing their environment from ordered to chaotic.

Bill didn't have control over very much. He probably hadn't since he died. Soos didn't know what kind of space triangle afterlife Bill had been in before he showed up as Toga Lady, but it couldn't have been great if he'd come straight back here.

Soos could remember the one time weeks ago he'd let Bill into the bathroom to shower and forgotten to come back and let him out. How Bill had screamed so all the Mystery Shack's tourists could hear; how he'd seethed in Soos's face, how he'd said he'd rather blow their collective cover and throw them all on the mercy of the town's law enforcement than remain locked in the bathroom a second longer than they'd agreed upon. Soos had thought Bill was just impatient and hotheaded.

Standing in the bathroom, looking at the material evidence of Bill's claustrophobic terror—the broken glass, the spilled blood—he wondered.

####

The same day, he had felt a breeze in the gift shop and found the trap doors to the roof left open. He'd climbed up, shut them, and in between tours he'd visited his office to check yesterday's security tapes.

He saw Wendy coming into the shack to hang out the morning before. That was fine. Soos had discovered she did that from time to time on days the shack was closed, but she wasn't doing anything bad and she hadn't brought it up yet, so Soos didn't bring it up either. Maybe she just needed a private place to hang. Teen stuff. He was just glad Wendy felt that safe at the Mystery Shack. Maybe she'd just gone up to hang out on the roof and forgot to shut the trap doors...

And then, right there on screen, Soos saw Bill letting himself into the gift shop, through the door, which he shouldn't be able to open. A chill shot up Soos's back. The door curse was their only real means of containing Bill. If he could use doors now, he was out, there was no way they could trap him without doing something crazy like locking him in the bunker and hoping he didn't kill himself.

Or could he use doors? Soos thought back to the frantic messages on the bathroom wall, written in Bill's own blood—his desperation over being unable to escape. Maybe he could use doors but not doorknobs. That was okay, maybe?

On tape, he saw Wendy run into Bill. He saw Wendy take Bill onto the roof. Out in the open air, where he could just... do whatever. But he didn't do whatever. Soos fast-forwarded the tape until Wendy and Bill came back down, and Bill simply returned to the living room.

He'd had the perfect opportunity to shove Wendy off the roof or escape. He didn't take it.

If all Bill was using his new door skills for was ducking into the gift shop and hanging out on the roof with Wendy, Soos thought maybe it would be kinda mean to take that away from him. There weren't a lot of other places Bill could go in the shack. (Soos kept seeing the blood on the bathroom wall. He kept trying to imagine what kind of helplessness would drive someone that far.) Maybe Bill needed the open air.

So Soos had put the security tape on his desk, not sure what to do about it.

####

A couple of day after that, while Soos was restocking the gift shop in between waves of tourists, he'd seen Wendy reading an oddly dull-looking booklet instead of one of her usual magazines. He tilted his head to glance at the cover. The Oregon state driving manual. "Aw dude, gonna get your learner's permit?"

"Think so," Wendy said. "Don't tell my dad."

Soos remembered Wendy groaning about her dad wrangling her into doing errands if she ever got her license. "Your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks."

"What made you change your mind? You were totally against getting a license a week ago."

"It's probably those stupid Gleeful Auto commercials that have been worming into my dreams." Wendy laughed. "I'm just waking up in the morning like, neeeed caaar."

"Oh yeah! Heh, funny coincidence, Melody says she had a dream like that too. Sometimes she gets these like, dreams about monsters watching her in bed? But one time, the monster was Bud Gleeful, whispering in her ear about a big car sale. She totally woke up laughing!"

"Ha! Annoying car commercials should be banned, man. Why do we need to be told multiple times a day to spend thousands of dollars?"

"You make a salient point."

They fell silent for a moment as Wendy read a couple more paragraphs. Then she said, "That, plus... I was talking to Goldie the other day."

Soos looked up from the t-shirt he'd been putting on a clothes hanger. "Oh. Yeah?"

"About where we wanna go when we get out of town."

"Huh." Very casually, Soos asked, "What did Goldie say?"

"He wants to go on some big vacation. Like a world cruise or something, I dunno."

"Huh." Soos wondered if that was true. He tried to imagine Bill Cipher as a tourist. Floating triangle in a Hawaiian shirt with a camera hanging from a strap and a fanny pack. What kind of places would he even visit? Soos bet he wanted to visit the pyramids. Heh. (Was that stereotyping? Maybe that was stereotyping.)

"And I told him I'm moving to Portland for college."

"Oh, hey, I didn't know you were thinking about college."

"I... actually, never told anybody else before," Wendy said. "I've been thinking about it for years, but part of me felt like it's just a fantasy? But Goldie said when he got out of high school, he did the same thing—moved to another town, made a new group of friends, all that. And... I don't know, actually talking to him out loud about it just... made it feel real, you know? So I thought, if I'm gonna move to Portland, I should probably start planning for it. Starting with how I'm getting there." She held up the driving manual.

Soos nodded slowly. "Huh. Yeah. That's a pretty mature way to look at it."

And that was what Bill was talking to Wendy about on the roof? Just... listening to a teen vent and helping her figure out her future?

And so, Soos took the security tape off his desk and put it in a drawer.

####

A few days later, Soos had heard the downstairs bathroom sink running for several minutes, assumed someone had forgotten to turn it off, and went to turn it off himself—and had caught Bill, in the dark, half undressed, washing himself in the sink.

After Soos had backed out and profusely apologized, he'd asked, "But—how come you're washing in the sink? I can let you in the upstairs bathroom if you need—"

"Worry about your own grooming habits and leave mine alone," Bill snapped. "As long as I don't smell, what do you humans care how I do it. Soap is soap and water is water."

It took Soos several days to realize he didn't think Bill had had a shower since he got locked in the bathroom. And nobody had noticed, because Bill made sure nobody noticed, because he'd been keeping himself clean in the bathroom he couldn't get locked in.

####

Dipper would go all summer without showering if he could get away with it; Stan showered like once a week and had constant old man smell; Abuelita also showered weekly and had a more refined old lady smell; Soos didn't know when Ford showered, but he'd never caught him doing it and Ford always smelled weirdly like burned hair. Soos showered almost daily during tourist season—that Mr. Mystery suit was hot—but outside that might go three days at a time. Mabel showered near daily.

From what Soos had observed, Bill was showering like, at least twice a week. He didn't know how often Bill cleaned himself in the sink in between.

That meant he was showering more often than two-thirds of the house.

Yet he was the only one in the house living under the threat of being thrown in the tub at 3 a.m. if someone decided he hadn't bathed enough for their tastes.

The reason Bill had refused to shower during his first week of imprisonment was so he could use the condition of his body as a bargaining chip—with no physical possessions in the world, his own body was the only bargaining chip he had—to try to buy a little more dignity. In return, his captors had taken more dignity away. They permitted Bill less autonomy over how to take care of his body than the household's children had.

Dipper had never gotten forced into a bathroom he couldn't let himself out of.

####

The day after the eclipse, Ford had pulled Soos aside and said quietly, "Soos, as soon as you have some time—could you repair the door to the kids' room? Before the end of the day? The latch has been broken since the tooth fairy's attack."

"Uh, sure, I can probably do that," Soos said. "How come?" The latch had been broken for a couple weeks, and the Pines hadn't been worried about it before.

"Right now, the door can swing freely with just a push," Ford said. "I think Bill's figured out how to use that to get in. Which is worrisome, since he shouldn't be able to use any doors..."

"O-oh." Soos thought about the swinging door into the gift shop. "Yeah, uh... sounds bad. Byyy the way—how'd you figure out he knows how to use the door?"

"Dipper says Bill somehow got in and out of the room last night," Ford said. "Mabel fell asleep in the living room and Bill carried her upstairs. I really don't like the thought of Bill being able to get his hands on the kids while they're asleep and defenseless."

Ford was mad at Bill for tucking a kid into bed? That was the big red flag? "No problem! I'll fix the door right after work."

The next time Soos visited his office, he took the security tape out of his drawer, rewound it, stuck it back into the tape recorder, and let that day's security camera footage overwrite and erase the evidence of Bill's visit to the gift shop.

####

And now, today, carrying Journal 4 in both hands, Soos trudged downstairs, trying to figure out what to do with it. He had to return it to Ford, obviously—but Bill and the Stans were already in the middle of a discussion that sounded a lot more like an argument. Flinging a stolen journal into the middle of the proceedings would just make it worse. Maybe he should wait until they were finished and everyone had cooled down a little—?

While Soos was upstairs, the discussion had apparently moved into the kitchen. He hovered awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, watching.

"What do you mean, you need kitchen access," Stan was asking, "you already have kitchen access. It's never been off-limits! Even after you peed in the sink!"

"It's not kitchen access if I need to ask someone else for permission to eat anything but snacks."

"No one's making you ask for permission! You can take what you want!"

"Okay, fine. So what can I eat?" Bill gestures at the shelves. "Go on. List anything you can think of. Anything."

Stan grimaced, and glanced at Ford to see if he was willing to walk into the obvious trap first.

Ford looked at the nearby shelves. "Cereal."

"One point for Stanford Pines! Cereal! So am I supposed to eat dry cereal for every single meal, or—?"

"No, of course not."

"All right, then what else?"

"Brown meat," Stan said. "We've got plenty of brown meat. It's good for you!"

"You didn't give me can opener rights," Bill said.

"Huh."

"So no brown meat," Bill said. "No canned soup, no canned chili, no canned fruit, no canned vegetables—"

Ford cut in, "Some of the cans have pull tabs, you don't need a can opener for those."

"Terrific observation! As soon as you realized I could open those cans myself, you moved them all under the counter because you thought I'd use the sharp edges as weapons!"

"It's... possible to open cans without a can opener, I did it sometimes while roughing it in other dimensions—"

"Yeah, wearing off the metal rim with a rock, right? Lemme just go outside and grab a rock—oh wait." Bill crossed his arms.

Ford sighed, and turned to Stan to suggest something else.

Stan surveyed the available supplies, spotted the bread, and said, "You could make sandwiches!"

"With what filling?"

"Uh..." Stan kept looking.

Meats and cheeses, of course, were kept in the fridge. Along with jelly, condiments, most vegetables... tuna or spam weren't options, they were canned... "Hey, we leave out some meats that don't need refrigeration. Sausages and stuff."

"Right, right. The ones that don't need refrigeration because they're wrapped in plastic you need a knife to cut," Bill said. "Sometimes I bite the plastic open with my teeth and rip off chunks of sausage with my fingernails, that's always fun! Then you put the leftovers in the fridge, and I'm out of luck until we buy another sausage."

"You could put... peanut butter on your sandwiches?" Ford tried. "Peanut butter's nutritious."

Bill fixed him with a hard look. "For the past five weeks, every time I've gotten a meal without asking someone else to help feed me like a baby, I've had nothing but peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peanut butter and jerky sandwiches, peanut butter and raisin sandwiches, and peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches. And we're out of bananas, jerky, and raisins." He pointed at the tortillas. "Once I decided to get creative and made myself a cold peanut butter quesadilla! I can't even add spices, because guess where the breakable glass spice jars are kept?"

"Pasta," Ford tried. "We could keep the pasta out."

"Oh, wow, that'd be great! I just love pasta! But I can't open the microwave and I can't turn on the stove! How do I heat the water, Stanford?"

Ford frowned. "Hm."

"I can cook, you know—not that any of you bothered to ask! It might not suit your tastes, but it suits mine! I wouldn't need your help to eat if you didn't make me need help! I am sick to death—" his voice went thick and took on an uncharacteristic waver, "—of having to beg to... eat." He cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. "Sh-shouldn't even—need to eat." He clenched his jaw to keep it from trembling.

Stan and Ford exchanged a guilty look. Stan said, "You don't have to beg— I mean, we know the, uh... position you're in..."

Bill was silent for a moment as he tried to get a tough face back on. His voice came out as a rough whisper—too thick to get any louder without breaking. "I had to negotiate to get burnt eggs."

Ford winced.

Soos was dumbfounded.

When had Bill had to negotiate for food? He could all too easily understand how it might have happened—Bill was an annoying guy, sometimes they had to pull out dumb bargains to get him to do stuff. But bargaining for food should never be on that list. Meeting Bill's basic nutritional needs couldn't be dependent on whether he was annoying that day. If it was, he'd starve.

It sounded like he was starving. Right under Soos's roof. He hadn't even noticed.

He thought about the piles of junk food trash upstairs and the bag of chips Bill had hurled across the room.

Ford said, "We'll... discuss it."

"We'll figure something out," Stan said. "I mean it."

Bill nodded silently. Head down, without uncovering his eyes, he hurried out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

He nearly bumped into Soos's chest without noticing him. Soos backed up a step, tucking Journal 4 under his arm. "Whoa, hey!"

Bill froze, head jerking up. "You." His voice was thick and his glare was watery and poisonous. "Don't you have anything better to do than eavesdrop?" He tried to elbow past Soos, smacking his leg with his umbrella. "Move."

Soos realized uneasily that Bill's face looked a little slimmer than it had when he'd arrived.

He stepped in Bill's way. "Can't go upstairs right now. Attic's being cleaned."

"I didn't ask you to clean!"

"I'm not cleaning for you, dawg. It's just gotta be cleaned."

"Fine! Whatever!" Bill veered around the staircase and stomped down the hall, muttering, "Can't decide when I eat, can't decide when I shower, why should I get to choose when my hovel's swept..."

Soos's leg hurt where Bill had smacked it. (Bill couldn't even control whether or not he cried; all he had control over was making someone else hurt.)

In the kitchen, Stan murmured, "Didn't even realize we don't keep anything decent out on the counters. They're so crowded..."

"Chip bags take up a lot of space." Ford sighed. "I assumed he'd get a serving with everyone else whenever Mrs. Ramirez cooks."

"He does, but she only does dinners. And he'll only eat it if he watched her cook it. I've seen him get lunch with Mabel, but I don't know what he does when she's not..." Stan spotted Soos on the stairs. He tiredly called, "Soos? You need something?"

"Uhhh..." Soos hid the journal behind his back. "Nope! I just thought I'd come downstairs! For no reason." He awkwardly walked up the stairs backwards, journal still tucked behind him. "And—and now I'm going up again." He stopped at the landing and scooted sideways up the next flight of stairs. "See ya."

He pressed the journal to his chest and returned to the attic.

####

When Soos and Abuelita moved into the shack, the first thing Soos had done was turn Ford's ground-floor study into a bedroom for Abuelita. Because she was a little old lady, and not quite as steady as she used to be, so Soos didn't want her constantly going up and down the stairs—because falling once, just ONCE, could send her to the hospital or worse. That was how serious it was! You don't mess around with that!

Bill tripped and fell on the stairs so often that they could use it to tell when he was awake. And nobody had thought to offer him a cane? Did anybody even ask if he was alright?

When Bill first arrived and tried to murder everyone, naturally, he came out of it pretty banged up and bruised. That was to be expected. It was self-defense. They'd gotten used to seeing Bill with scrapes on his arms and legs, rope burns around his ankles, and the angry purple-black bruises of chain links over his arms. But in all the weeks since then, Soos hadn't seen Bill bruise-free once. Bruises on his shins and arms, scrapes on his elbows and knees. Soos had seen him with a four-inch burn on his forearm. Bill had brushed it off.

In Bill's first few days in the shack, he'd resorted to peeing in the kitchen sink because nobody had bothered to give a guy who couldn't open doors a way to use the bathroom. And they were the reason he couldn't open doors in the first place!

He threw up in the living room in the middle of the night and went upstairs to sleep on couch cushions on the floor and nobody had talked about it.

He burned off all his hair and was so upset about it that he stole Soos's zodiac blanket and hid under it for half a week, and everyone but Mabel just ignored him.

In less than a month in the Mystery Shack, Bill had lost a tooth.

He had been dragged out of the house during a weird weather phenomenon while terrified out of his mind. Soos had seen Bill cowering on the ground in fear, Ford looming over him, grabbing him by the collar and snarling in rage. Bill had been pleading with everyone in hearing range not to make him go, and had come back in such a state of shock he could hardly walk.

And yet, he'd protected the whole town from getting hurt in zero gravity—and he'd brought a pet for Soos.

They'd tried to execute Bill two days later.

####

Soos sat in the window seat, flipping through the remaining filled-in pages in Journal 4. The last few pages were packed with stickers. A cat that said PURRFECT! A smiling fish that said A REEL PAL! Bill had started a little collection of pizza slice stickers for some reason. A couple of holographic rainbows, a smiling scratch-and-sniff sun. (Apparently, the sun smelled like lemons and oranges. Astronomy facts!)

Soos reached the current page. Bill was using several pieces of paper—regular printer paper and notebook paper, folded in half—like a bookmark. Soos unfolded them. A list of animals ranked by fuzziness. (Soos was satisfied that he'd been placed under the "smooth and squishy" category, but wondered whether he should be bothered by the fact that he shared the category with pigs and slugs.) A drawing of Bill riding a looping rocket ship and waving a fishbowl helmet above him. A drawing of a blue house with a couple of kids and a pig in the window. Several drawings of shape people kinda like Bill: a pink heart person labeled "Me in Flatworld," a stern-looking red stop sign wearing sunglasses labeled "Bill's parole officer," Bill dancing, the pink heart protecting Bill from some villainous-looking shapes—all clearly Mabel's art.

Several notebook pages in someone else's handwriting detailing names, addresses, and contact information, with statements Soos couldn't make sense of—as if maybe someone had been asking somebody else questions and writing down their answers. He thought the questions might be about how some people had reacted to the end of Weirdmageddon. He got the impression the people being discussed had known that Weirdmageddon was coming. He got the impression they were disappointed it hadn't happened. There were several questions at the end: How will we rendes-vouz? (Whoever was writing didn't know how to spell rendezvous, but to be fair Soos wasn't 100% sure either.) What supplies do you need? What are your interim orders?

Soos stared at the notebook papers.

He flipped back through the journal again, looking at each page more closely.

Sometimes the two-tone dot-and-dash segments had a stray human word: a few characters he recognized from his Teach Yourself Japanese workbooks, sometimes words Soos thought might be Arabic but honestly he didn't have a clue. At one point he listed half a dozen human names that Soos didn't recognize. The most common character was a stretched-out letter M (Mabel?), followed by a 6 knocked on its side (Sixer?).

The dot-and-dash segments had occasional amateurish illustrations. Sometimes they were human stick figures; sometimes the stick figures' heads had symbols off of Bill's zodiac wheel. He saw Stan's fish symbol, Gideon's star symbol, and Mabel's shooting star symbol. Ford's stick figures were the only ones with hands; Bill consistently gave them six fingers. The doodles were like particularly esoteric cave drawings; they were so bad that Soos couldn't tell what most of them were supposed to illustrate.

Except for one featuring Bill (as a triangle) and Mabel and some other inscrutable figures in a really awesome car with flames on the side, its coolness limited only by the fact that it was all in gray and yellow-green crayon. When Soos had been in high school, there had always been a couple of kids who didn't know how to draw anything except expensive cars or name-brand sports shoes, but they drew them in extreme realistic detail. Apparently, Bill was that kind of artist. Nothing but stick figures and the sickest crayon car Soos had ever seen.

It didn't do anything to dispel Soos's impression of Bill as a lost alien 18-year-old.

On one page, in sloppy lines of handwriting that meandered drunkenly up and down the paper, Bill had written, "I don't get why you won't give me a second shot. I asked you to join my gang. I serenaded you in a pyramid. I got a fantastic makeover. I offered you godhood. I showed you my dimension. I didn't torture you until I had to. I even made you a skin couch! I know how much you've always wanted a leather furniture set! I've given you everything from chicken zombification magic to jelly beans, what does it take? What am I missing?"

Soos reread Bill's other messages to Ford. All that "you'll regret not siding with me" junk wasn't threats. It was the impotent rage of a socially inept teenager who didn't understand his own creepiness had driven his friends away. It was the whiny moan of some guy going "Why doesn't she like me anymore" about an ex-girlfriend who had told him five times she didn't like him anymore because he didn't listen to her. Like that guy Wendy dated last summer. So like, a jerk, but not a terrifying world-ending monster jerk, just an annoying creep jerk. A regular jerk. A human jerk.

Soos stood, gave one last look at this journal—clearly stolen, definitely a violation of Bill's "no writing materials" restriction, completely stuffed full of mysterious messages to outsiders and some kind of weird alien code that could say anything at all and might have been super dangerous—and he slid it back into the ripped seam in the attic seat cushion where he'd found it.

He finished vacuuming up the potato chips Bill had flung across the room, thinking about how offended Bill had been that Soos had given him any food except what he'd asked for, remembering what Abuelita had said about people who destroy the things around them when they feel like that's the last and only thing they still have power over.

Enough was enough.

####

(Hope y'all enjoyed! Next week we may interrupt our regularly-scheduled programming to post a TBOB-based chapter I'm inserting early into the fic—it depends on if I get it done by next Friday. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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runninriot · 4 months ago

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hold on together

for @stervrucht, inspired by this beautiful art piece | rated T | wc: 625 | tags: dealing with post UD trauma, nightmares, emotional hurt/comfort | also on ao3

"We're alive."

The words hit Eddie like a punch to the gut. He feels like someone’s dropped him into ice cold water, startled awake by the impact. Slowly, the world around him comes into focus.

"We're alive and we're safe and whatever you saw in your dream isn't real, okay?"

Strong arms wrap around him, giving Eddie something to hold on to, keeping his trembling body steady.

"You're okay, Eddie. We are okay."

A sob forces its way out of his throat but doesn't have the chance to get very far. Not with Eddie's face pressed against Steve's shoulder - held tight against warm skin. Skin that is damaged, covered in scars that will always remind them that the horrors are real.

Were real.

"It's over. They can't hurt us anymore. You're safe, I promise."

Steve's voice is a soothing vibration against the shell of his ear, the hand at the back of his head encouraging him to bury his face where he always feels safest, hiding in the space between Steve's shoulder and neck.

"I'm here, Eddie."

He always is. Always is there to get Eddie through the nights when the monsters seem too real and he can't escape, can't run from his own mind when it's playing those images over and over again. When he can feel the teeth sinking into his flesh and smell the blood. When he feels so cold, so alone, so scared. When he wakes up screaming and drenched in sweat, unable to breathe.

Steve holds him through all of it, never complains about losing sleep, never makes fun of Eddie for crying.

"I'm sorry, Steve," he says weakly, the words offering no real solace for how fucked up he feels. "I'm so, so sorry for being such a mess."

"Shh, don't worry. I got you, Eddie."

Steve always does. Is the only one who gets to see Eddie like this. The only one who can catch Eddie when he's falling.

"It's all gonna be okay. Do you hear me? I love you, baby."

Loves him despite how broken Eddie is. Loves him with all his flaws, loves him with all the burdens of a tattered mind, the trauma, and barely healed wounds. Loves him and keeps him close. Lets him fall apart in his arms before he helps him pick up the pieces time and again.

"I don't deserve you," Eddie snivels before he dares to look up, teary eyes searching for Steve's hazel ones, "You shouldn't have to put up with me."

Steve takes him in for a few seconds, eyes flitting between Eddie's, seemingly searching for the right words to say. And then his lips curl into a lopsided smile.

"You're not getting rid of me that easy. Sorry to break it to you but you're stuck with me forever. We're trauma bonded for life, baby."

Eddie laughs, all wet and choked up - he must look disgusting with his puffy eyes and red, blotchy face but Steve kisses him anyway. Kisses him, and holds him, and it's like a dream. A beautiful dream that slowly replaces every last memory of the nightmare he had.

"Feeling better?" Steve asks when their lips part and Eddie nods, wordlessly follows Steve back underneath the covers where he crawls into waiting arms, quickly drifting, falling back asleep.

Maybe tomorrow, he will be the one offering comfort. Right now, though, Eddie can rest safely in his boyfriend's arms.

Hopefully one day, the recurring nightmares will finally end for both of them. Until then, no matter how hard it gets, they have each other as their anchor. Protected by love as their armour. Two hearts beating for one another, their rhythmic melody a reminder that they made it.

They are alive.

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie drabble #for ster #small riots

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alastor-simp · 1 year ago

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Be My Valentine - Alastor x Female Reader

♥️HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE! Also I know Alastor is AroAce, but lets just assume in this fic he is not. Enjoy♥️

It was finally Valentine’s Day in Hell, a little holiday that some demons enjoy doing with their partners and others that find it absolutely ridiculous, like a certain deer demon. Alastor didn’t much care for a silly little festivity like this. He found romance a bit ridiculous, but he wouldn’t go as far as to make fun of someone else in a relationship, it wasn’t who he was. He did find Charlie and Vaggie’s relationship adorable, since he saw how happy the two of them were together. The little sparks between Husker and Angel were easy for him to spot, and it led to lot of teasing at the hands of Alastor, which earned him a middle finger from a certain cat on occasions.

Since it was Valentine’s Day, Charlie thought it would be a great idea to decorate the hotel. Heart paper strings were hanging from the ceiling, along with XOXO and heart balloons on the walls. It wouldn’t be Valentine’s Day without some sweets, so Charlie along with Niffty made some chocolate covered strawberries and pretzels for everyone else to enjoy. You were trying to figure out how to help liven the mood. “Music would be nice” you thought. Heading over to the record player, you skimmed for any good songs to play. Frank Sinatra was what you picked, and you decided to play that. The melody began to carry out all throughout the lobby, catching everyone ears, causing them to sway. “Ah! Excellent choice my dear!” You heard Al’s voice call out from behind you. He was sitting on one of the chairs, with a hot cup of coffee in his hand, wearing a pleasing smile. Smiling back, you made your way over to the couch and took a seat, listening to the tunes.

Soon Charlie came running back, “Okay everyone! Ready to start the Valentine gift exchange!” Before the decorations were put up, Charlie suggested that everyone pitch in and do a Valentine gift exchange. The gifts would be exchanged between two individuals: Charlie + Vaggie, Angel Dust + Husk, Niffty + Sir Pentious, and You + Alastor. Everyone got together and presented the gifts. Charlie had given a bottle of perfume and new hair bow for Vaggie. Vaggie gave Charlie a unicorn plushie and T-shirt with their faces on them. Angel got Husk a fancy bottle of Italian wine. Husk gave Angel a popular perfume from the Lust ring plus some mini outfits for Fat Nuggets. Niffty had actually handmade mini plushies of Sir Pentious and his egg bois. Sir Pentious got Niffty some roses plus a new sewing kit.

Now it was time for you and Alastor to exchange gifts. While you did have something for Al, there was something else you wanted to give him, but it was a surprise. Alastor was smiling down at you, hands behind his back, holding a mini box and bouquet. “Here you are my dear!” He handed you the box and flowers. Ahh he remembered how much you loved (your favorite flowers). Thanking Alastor, you opened the box, which contained a beautiful ruby necklace

“W-ow Al! This is beautiful! Thank you.” Holding the necklace up, you looked up at Alastor, face flushed. “You’re welcome, my dear! Allow me!” Grabbing the necklace from your hands, he motioned his body behind you, helping to place the necklace around your neck. Turning back around, you pulled out your gift and presented it to Al, “Happy Valentines Day Al” Grabbing the black box with red ribbon from your hand, he opened it, revealing a new rose tinted monocle. He had broken the one he had before, and didn’t have the time to replace it. “Ah I needed a new monocle. Thank you kindly, y/n!” Smiling you nodded your head and faced back towards the others

Al looked into the box again and saw a little piece of paper that was placed underneath the monocle. Turning away, he took the paper out and read it:

“ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴏꜰᴛᴏᴘ ᴀᴛ 8 ᴘᴍ”

Well well, what was this? Another surprise, perhaps? Smile widening on his face, He placed the paper in his suit pocket, before turning back to everyone like nothing happened. The day continued as normal, with everyone chatting about random topics and participating in some bonding activities like board games and watching some random romance movies. It soon gotten late and it was time for everyone to head to bed, or so you thought. The glances you saw between Charlie and Vaggie hinted that they were going to be doing something else. Even Husk and Angel dust, especially since you saw Angel dragging Husk into his bedroom, well good for them, they make a cute couple. Going to head up and finish your plans, your eyes caught Al who had looked right at you. You smiled and walked away.

**8 PM- Alastors POV**

"Hmm I wonder what the little darling has planned for me?” Al thought to himself, as he made his way to the location you told him in the note. Ascending up the stairs, Al arrived at the door that led to the rooftop and opened it slowly. His eye widen at what he saw. In front of him was a small dinner table with chairs, decorated with candles and roses.

He was left stunned by what he saw. Walking closer to where the table is, he admired the little set-up. "Do you like it?" Turning his head around, Al saw you standing there, wearing a flowy black dress, bright smile place on your face. Alastor looked back at the table, then at you, "Was this the little surprise you had planned for me? If you wanted to have dinner with me, all you had to do was ask, my dear." Alastor gave a soft smile, making his way to you, lifting your chin, "You look positively radiant, darling." His words caused you to flush, "T-thank you. Go and take a seat Al. I'll be right back," Alastor smiled and let you go, heading over to the chair to take a seat.

Soon, you came back holding two plates, the aroma wafting off of them was mouth-watering. Placing them down, the smile on Al's face had widen. In front of him was a tender venison steak, his favorite, along with a side of salad and baked potatoes.

After that, you had grabbed a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, and poured it into the wine glasses for both you and Al. Once everything was set in place, you slowly took a seat on the other side of the table. "This is my first time cooking venison, so I hope you like it." You fidgeted with your fingers under the table. "This looks spectacular! Thank you my dear!" He grabbed his wine glass and held it up in front of you, "Cheers, my dear!" Smiling, you grabbed your glass, bumping it against Al's, letting out a small clink. The both of you started to eat the meal you prepared, well you were watching Al more than eating, monitoring his reaction. You knew about his diet and what he mainly ate, so last thing you wanted was for him to try the venison you prepared and do a spit-take. The fork in Al's hand, held a piece of steak, and slowly it made its way into his mouth. The whole time you were sitting there, gazing at his reaction to see if he liked it. His expression didn't change, but he went back in for another bite, and another, and another. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that he liked the meal, letting you go back to your meal.

Soon the both of you had finished eating, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Delicious!" Al said, wearing a pleasant smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Are you in the mood for some dessert?" You said as you got up from the table, and made your way over to grab the dessert that was hidden. Walking back, you placed a bowl of chocolate covered strawberries on the table.

"My dear, you know I'm not a fan of sweets." Al said to you, while looking at the bowl with strained face. "I made these myself using dark chocolate, so they won't be as sweet, trust me." Grabbing one of the strawberries, you held it up towards all, "Say ahh." Al raised an eyebrow at that, but he shook his head, amused at your actions, before taking a bite. Looking at him, you were expecting him to spit it out, but surprisingly he swallowed, "Not bad!"

Whew, glad he liked them. Now it was time to tell him what you were thinking/feeling. "Um Al? Can I ask you something?" Alastor looked at you, smiling like the joker. "Of course my dear! What is it?" He leaned in, placing his elbows on the table, lifting his head up with his hands. The butterflies in your stomach were going crazy, and your palms were sweating. Your eyes looked down at your hands, until you turned your head back up to look at Al. "W-will you be my valentine?" Alastor eyes widen at that statement, but he continued to gaze at you. Feeling nervous, you looked back down to your hands, "Y-you don't have to answer, I understand you find romance and stuff a hindrance." you said. The two of you were sitting in awkward silence, until you heard his chair scrap across the ground, indicating he had gotten up. You knew it, he was going to leave. You had made him upset.

A hand was placed under your chin, making you look up. Alastor hadn't left, he had only gotten up to get closer to you. "Stand up, my dear." He said to you. Moving slowly, you got up from your chair and stood in front of Al. He continued to look down at you, his eyes flashing crimson. Then he got closer, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug. "What an adorable request! I must admit, developing relationships with another is still new to me. However! I wouldn't mind forming one with you, my dear. I accept!" He whispered all of this in your ear, causing goosebumps to form. Your eyes got teary, as you hugged him back. After a while, Alastor moved a bit, placing one hand under your chin, and the around your back. He had a small smile on his face and his eyes were soft. "Happy Valentines day, my doe." His head moved closer to yours, causing you to slowly shut your eyes, letting his lips press against yours in a soft kiss.

~END~

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

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myeyebagsaredesigner · 1 month ago

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Uhh, concert band au because I (a former band kid) say so. Here's the bats and co. in a couple situations that I have witnessed or experienced from my time in band.

Alright, in my mind, we got:

Dick on tenor sax, Jason and Tim on trumpet (Tim because he'll probably follow Jason wherever he goes), Damian on clarinet, Steph, Roy, and Babs on percussion, Cass on Euphonium, Wally on trombone, Kon on French horn, and Jon on alto sax. Duke doesn't want to be there but is forced to handle passing out music. And Bruce as conductor, obviously. Bear with me now.

Walking down the halls and transporting instruments after a performance

Dick, rolling a timpani, struggling: "I don't get why I have to take this broken ass timpani. I don't even play it."

Jason, holding a cymbal: "Yeah, good luck with that."

Tim, walking back to the band room: "Dude, that was so bad. I cracked like half those notes."

Damian: "I would've been fine, had my reed not chipped."

Tim: "Yeah, that's the thing to blame."

*Hears a loud thump and turns around, seeing Dick crashed the timpani in the doorway and Jason cackling on the floor*

Tim: *Turns to Damian*

Damian: ".. We were never here."

Kon: *Leaving to get water*

Jon: *Takes his mouthpiece and passes it to the back row*

Jason, taking the metal: "Haha, this is so much funnier when it's not happening to me." *Passes it down the line to Wally*

Kon, coming back: "The fuck? Where's my mouthpiece?"

Bruce: "Alright, horn on measure 15"

Kon: "Where- WHERE'S MY MOUTHPI-"

Duke and Babs chatting:

Roy in the background, gearing up to smack Dick's ass:

Wally: *Playing his music*

Cass, in the middle of rests: *Flips his page upside down*

Wally: *Panic*

Percussion having a lil jam sesh, AKA being called out and worked on by Bruce:

Everyone else: *Silently bopping their heads and dancing every time Bruce looks away*

Duke, in a mocking voice: "Duke, go pass out music! Duke, Collect all the originals! Duke, go find me an overture! Duke-"

Bruce, calling out from his office: "Duke, go make me copies!"

Duke:

Bruce: "Okay Jon, this run we're playing through your solo, so be prepared to go on."

Halfway through the piece, before the solo

Roy: *Farts audibly*

Jon: *Giggles*

Jason and Tim: *Grabbing onto each other in silent laughter*

Steph, head in her hands on the marimba: *Snorts*

Jon misses his entrance and the solo is replaced by silent giggles across the room. Bruce does not stop conducting, sighing in disappointment.

Roy, trying to cover up the boards:

Steph, very much in his way, trying to hump Cass while she packs up her horn:

Bruce: *Working with percussion*

Tim, sighing: "Man, it's always the percussion."

Steph: *Hits him on the head with a drumstick* "You take that back"

Duke, passing out new sheet music: "The fuck is a bassoon? Are any of you a bassoon? What even are you, you all look the same."

*Moves on to brass*

Duke: "Are you a trumpet or a cornet?"

Jason and Tim: *Shrugs*

Duke: "I- whatever, have both."

Duke: "Finally, Cass. Someone reasonable. Are you baritone or euphonium?"

Cass: *Shrugs*

Duke:

Dick and Jon watching a Minecraft parkour video from the phone placed on their stand:

Tim, Jason, Wally, and Cass watching from the row behind them:

Anyone needing to play a solo:

Everybody turning around to stare into their soul:

Jason, minding his own business:

Wally: *Snatches his music and passes it down a row*

Jason: "Hey wait- nO-"

Damian, counting his rests on his fingers: *Looks over to Jon*

Jon, with a different amount of fingers up even though they have the same amount of rests: *Panic*

Damian and Jon, silently communicating and panicking about the rests, both missing their entrance

Jason, squinting at his music: "The fuck? Why the hell is there a 6/8 in here?"

Tim: "How do you count 6/8 again?"

Jason: "That is a very good question." *Mumbling the rhythms to himself* "1 and 2, 3 and, and- no that's not it.. 1 e a 2? 1..2?"

Tim:

Jason:

Jason: "Maybe Damian has the same melody before us."

Tim: "Yeah, let's just listen to him."

#batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #duke thomas #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #jon kent #conner kent #roy harper #wally west #band au #for funsies

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lemoncrushh · 1 year ago

Text

Her Album

Summary: Harry has finished recording his album, and he wants her to hear it.

Warnings: Angst, lots of feelings

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: A short one-shot written in 2019 in first person from Harry's POV. While this is not necessarily a reader fic, the woman's name is never mentioned. This was written before Fine Line was out, so it's pretty wild to think about it now.

The album was done. I’d made a visit to the studio to hear the final mix and then had lunch with Jeffrey and Glenne. As I drove home, I listened to the songs again in the car, deciding not to stop at my house when I got there, but instead to keep going so I could give one last listen straight through.

I’m not sure how I ended up on her street. It used to be automatic, like taking my shoes off before my trousers, or putting the cap back on the toothpaste. I’d driven down her block so many times before, I probably knew it better than my own neighbourhood.

I sat in the car for a long time, staring up at her window. I wasn’t even sure if she was home. I couldn’t tell if a light was on, but it was the middle of the day and that window was her bedroom, so she could’ve been anywhere else inside. I let the album loop around to the first track again, the opening chords hitting me in the chest just like the first time I’d heard them.

I wanted her to hear them too. I wanted her to listen to the melodies and have them bring back the memories that had inspired me to write them. I wanted her to listen to my lyrics and know they were all about her, even the ones that weren’t as obvious. Songs about love and loss. Songs about sex and lust and forbidden fruit. Songs that sounded like they were about something completely different, hidden behind loose meanings and innuendos.

But they were all about her.

I scrolled through my phone and opened the contacts to her name. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, maybe even months. I’d lost count. Being in the studio had helped to heal my broken heart, and my pride, but it certainly hadn’t erased her memory. She was with me every single day, every moment that I worked on a song.

I almost tapped on her name, my thumb grazing over it. But I stopped myself, turning off my phone, and then my engine. Climbing out of the car, I walked around it to the pavement in front of her building, once again looking up at her window. For a second I considered being like John Cusack in Say Anything, holding up an 80s boom box and serenading her with my music so she’d notice. But I reckoned that was borderline stalking, not to mention disturbing the neighbours, so I made my way to the stairs and climbed them to the second floor.

I stopped in front of her door, staring at it for a good two to three minutes before I even lifted my hand. I took several breaths, wondering if I was making a mistake. She probably didn’t wanna see me, let alone talk to me. She didn’t give a shit about my album. She had moved on.

But I was there. I felt like something had brought me there for a reason, and that reason was to play her my music. Let her know exactly how I felt about her - how she drove me crazy and how she’d hurt me and how I’d hurt her. How in love with her I’d been. How I still…

Finally, I knocked, a little too softly at first, but I didn’t want to startle her. At least that’s what I told myself. When no one responded, however, I knocked again, much louder and with determination.

“Jesus, I’m coming!” I heard her yell from inside. “Hold your-”

She stood before me with a half-eaten apple in her hand, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She wore a t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back in a loose bun and no makeup. She looked beautiful.

“Hey,” I said, my voice not quite cooperating so I sounded like a frog.

“Harry.” She said my name in almost a question, though she knew it was me. She just wondered why it was me.

When she didn’t say anything else, I shifted my eyes up and down the hall and shrugged.

“Can I come in?”

I admit, I expected her to nod and step back to let me inside her apartment. But when she shook her head, my face fell.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she remarked.

“Um...why not?”

“Because…” she began, her tone hard as steel, “I just got over you.”

“Over me?” I gulped.

“Yeah. It’s taken me a while, but I finally am,” she explained, placing the apple on the table by the door. Then wiping her hands on her shorts, she leaned against the door frame. “You haven’t shown your face here in nearly three months. I can’t just let you waltz on in here and undo everything.”

“‘m not…” I stumbled, “‘m not undoing anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her gorgeous but stern eyes glared at me, piercing through my heart. I looked down at my feet, thinking I’d made a mistake by coming. She didn’t want any more to do with me. I’d waited too long and missed the window. Maybe there hadn’t even been one.

Lifting my head, I looked at her beautiful face again. It was then that I recognized the shirt she was wearing - my old AC/DC t-shirt.

“Looks like you’re not completely over me,” I pointed. I dunno why I said it. It was petty and juvenile.

“What?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

She looked down at the emblem on her chest, seemingly just realizing what she had on. With a sigh, she dropped her arms.

“I just like it,” she said, her head held high. “And you basically gave it to me anyway.”

“No, I didn’t.” Shut up, H, you’re making it worse, I thought to myself.

“Well, you left it here. And I ended up sleeping in it. And you never came back, so…” She crossed her arms again in defense.

She was right. The last time I’d been in her apartment, we’d had a massive fight, and I’d told her it was over and stormed out. She’d tried calling and texting me for a couple days, but I’d ignored her, stubborn with pride. When I’d finally agreed to talk to her again, I was only being a right twat, unable to see or accept her side. So, we only ended up fighting again until she said she needed some space.

“I was giving you your space,” I muttered, knowing damn well I sounded like a wanker.

“For six weeks?” she snorted and shook her head. “You have some nerve, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What was that?” she stepped closer to me, her brows furrowed. “Did you really just say you’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Sorry for what? For breaking my heart? For being a dickhead? For not calling or texting or even saying one word to me for freaking ever? For telling me it was over in the first place? Or for showing up here now when I’m finally over you?”

I blinked. “All of it,” I admitted.

Her lips twitched, and for a second I thought she was going to smile.

“Fuck you, Harry!” she exclaimed.

Stepping back, she grabbed the door, ready to slam it. But I brought my hand up and stopped it.

“I want you to listen to it,” I said, remembering why I’d come.

“Why should I listen to you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Not to me. To the album. It’s finished, and I want you to hear it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t be serious. You came here so I’d listen to your new music? You really are a douchebag.”

“No, you don’t understand, I-“

“You’re right, I don’t,” she interrupted. “But seems to me you had weeks to explain yourself, Harry. I’m done crying over you.”

She was about to shut the door again when I called out, “I’ve been crying over you, too!”

She stood still, her hand on the door that was opened only a crack. Leaning her forehead against it, I could tell she was holding back tears. I didn’t want her to cry now, at least not over this.

“Liar,” she croaked.

“It’s not a lie, ba-” I almost called her baby, but I knew she wouldn’t like that. Not yet. “Please. Let me in. You don’t even have to talk. Just listen to the album.”

I stood silent for a moment, watching her eyelashes flutter against her pink cheeks. Finally, she let out a sigh and stepped back, opening the door to allow me to step inside.

“Thanks,” I muttered low as she closed the door behind me.

She didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t even look at me as she grabbed her half eaten apple and went into the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for her return.

“Okay,” she gestured toward me as she plopped onto the couch. “Go ahead.”

Spotting her laptop on the coffee table, I pointed. “Do you mind?”

She merely nodded and I sat down next to her and opened it. Then sliding my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the USB drive and plugged it in, bringing up the files I’d saved in the studio. With a click of the mouse, the first track began to play, those familiar chords ringing once again. I sat back and watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction on her face.

But none came.

Not when the first track ended, nor when the second song started, the first lyric blatantly about her. I started to get restless, rubbing my palms on my knees and bouncing my leg. I ran my fingers through my hair, a habit she used to tell me was endearing, only now she didn’t give any indication that she even noticed.

Finally, during the third song, I saw her make the slightest move, leaning against the arm of the sofa and resting her head in her hand. We made eye contact for a second before she quickly looked away, her eyes hazy. I wondered what she was thinking. I wanted so badly to ask, to pry it out of her, but I’d promised she needn’t talk.

We were halfway through the album when I caught more movement out of the corner of my eye. I’d been sat with my head down, unable to look at her during track seven, the most intimate and personal song I’d written. My gaze lifted to her, and I noticed her shoulders were shaking. Her head was still in her hand, her cheeks now wet with tears.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her in my arms. God, I wanted that so bad. But I let her be. I knew she needed to cry without me giving false promises that everything was okay. None of this was okay.

I’d cried when I’d written that song. I’d broken down in the recording booth when I’d sung the chorus for the first time. I only just realized as I watched her body shake with sobs that I’d been an idiot for not telling her how I’d felt. But maybe...just maybe she could finally hear me through my songs.

By the time that track ended, I was in tears too. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, sniffling as I tried to compose myself. I sat back on the couch again, my head leant back. I shut my eyes and listened to the next song, one a little more uptempo. I tapped my fingertips on the cushion at my sides, humming softly. This song was about happy memories, when we’d laid on the beach or beside my pool last summer. When we’d been so in love and hadn’t a care in the world. Before all the fighting and jealousy and…

I almost didn’t feel it at first, her hand brushing mine. It was such a light touch, I thought perhaps I was imagining it, lost in the song. But my eyelids fluttered open when I felt it again. I stared at my right hand on the cushion, her slim fingers over mine. She used to like to do that, when we’d be sat together watching a movie, or lying in bed reading. She’d trace my hand and knuckles with her fingertips, her delicate hand dancing over mine before I’d smile and thread our fingers together. It was an unspoken gesture of affection we’d had. I missed it.

God, I missed her.

I raised my head to look at her. I half expected her to be looking at me too, but she was focused on our hands. Her expression wasn’t one I’d hoped either. She looked sad, her cheeks still tear-stained. I wanted to kiss them, make it all better.

I opened my mouth to say her name, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and she looked at me. I turned my hand over then like I used to, wanting to thread our fingers together. But she pulled away, her jaw set.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, my voice a deep rasp.

They were the first words either of us had spoken since the music started, and I instantly regretted it, knowing I’d meant to stay silent until the end. We were on track nine now, a couple more songs to go. I still wanted her to hear all of it. I wanted her to know I still felt the same, even though I wasn’t completely over the anger, over the heartbreak. But I’d spilled my guts out in my songs. I was shit at communication, I knew that. I hoped that she could understand it all in my music.

“I...I don’t know,” she whispered.

She crossed her legs then, sat in the corner of the couch. She reached behind her head and pulled at her bun, letting her hair fall freely down her shoulders. She seemed comfortable, at least less resistant than she had when I’d knocked on her door. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she kept her mouth shut because I’d told her she could. I also felt like she was really listening though. And that was really all I wanted.

“That was a really good song,” she surprised me after track ten. But she didn’t say anything more.

Clearing my throat again, I sucked in my lips when the final song started. If track seven had been the most personal, this was the companion to it. This was me giving my heart, me asking forgiveness and giving it back. This was me wanting another chance to prove how I felt about her. I’d known as I was writing and recording it that the possibility of that happening was slim to none. But I had to take a chance. I was tired of keeping it bottled up, being a stubborn prat because I’d wanted my way and had to be right. I was all kinds of wrong. I knew I wasn’t fully to blame for our break-up, but I was taking responsibility and owning up to my part in it. I hoped she could hear that in my voice.

By the time the song was over, my head was in my hands. I perched on the edge of the sofa shaking. I’d already listened to it a handful of times in the studio and in my car, but it hadn’t had the effect it had now, sat in her living room with her beside me. I was sobbing like a baby.

“Harry…” I heard her whisper.

When I lifted my head this time, she was right beside me, her face so close it startled me. Her hands were in her lap, and she wrung them like she was either nervous or was trying to keep herself from touching me.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “For everything.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I heard.”

“Will you forgive me?” I asked, turning to face her. I wanted to lift my hand to touch her face but thought better of it. Instead, I hesitantly reached for her hand. I was pleasantly surprised when she let me take it.

“Only if you forgive me, too,” she said.

I let out a deep breath and leant forward. I wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure if she was ready yet. Lifting my hand this time, I grazed her cheek and wiped a tear away with my thumb.

“I still love you,” I admitted. “I never stopped. I’m just so sorry I waited this long.”

She bit her perfect bottom lip, her big eyes blinking fast.

“I thought I was over you,” she said. “I thought you were over me.”

“Guess we were both wrong.”

She leant into me then, and I took it as my cue. I took her into my arms and kissed her, like I’d wanted to kiss her for months. She felt so good against me, and I quickly found myself shedding more tears.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” she whispered when I released her lips.

“I know,” I agreed. “I promise I’m not walking out this time.”

“Good,” she nodded before kissing me again.

We ended up listening to the album again together while we prepared and ate dinner. There were more tears, but also lots of conversation. We had a long way to go, but I was hopeful.

Something had made me drive down her street. I guess it was me.

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 3 months ago

Note

What about Defy with an s/o who's more artistically inclined? That sounds like an interesting scenario. (Or at least just AK-15)

(GFL) AK-12, AN-94, AK-15, RPK-16, and Angelia with an artistic S/O

12 understands human art. She is able to decipher if something looks pleasing, but not exactly what makes it beautiful.

Though not because she couldn't process, it's mainly because she didn't really care or find it interesting.

Being a state of the art combat T-Doll doesn't exactly leave much room for appreciating anything else other than efficiency or lethality.

And yet, not only was 12 able to even have a significant other, but to appreciate their drawings. Mainly because they were of herself.

Peeking her eyes open at their sketchbook, smiling and handing it back to them as her closed again.

(AK-12) "You do a pretty good job drawing by hand, all things considered."

S/O chuckled, leaning back into their chair.

(S/O) "Think you could do better?"

(AK-12) "Naturally. I can draw a perfect circle, to start. But, I think I'd lack that 'human touch' that a lot of people seem to care about."

(S/O) "Psh, don't seem to be that broken up about it."

(AK-12) "Meh. Listen, if you wanna get some interesting drawings, I could always-"

(S/O) "I already know what you're going to say, and my answer is no. You aren't going to get a rise out of me that way."

12 just hummed in acknowledgement, genuinely admiring their little sketch of her.

Though she pouted slightly at the small note of "needs to look more smug" by the side of her face.

94 grasps the concept of art, to a certain extent. She understands what is human art, but she doesn't get how it is made.

Although her question of what is art was just an attempt at small talk, it ended up getting into a deeper discussion than she intended, just lying in bed with S/O as they attempted to explain it in a way she could understand.

(S/O) "Art comes...I guess both from the mind and heart, so to speak."

94 leaned onto her side, facing S/O with her face beaming with curiosity, her voice raising above her usual monotone into something warmer, and admittedly cuter.

(AN-94) "Is it human imagination that allows you to create your paintings?"

S/O ran their hand through her hair idly, nodding in response.

(S/O) "Yeah. Things like grief, happiness, all sorts of emotions help me envision something to paint. Like a landscape, or a person."

(AN-94) "But what makes a painting good to others? Is it the passion alone?"

(S/O) "Hm...Well, yes and no. It has to be pleasing to the eye as well, or maybe standout."

(AN-94) "Isn't that subjective?"

94 wants to understand, but has trouble actually doing so, surprising neither of them.

To 15, lots of human customs never made sense to her, like believing in Santa, for example.

And human art is especially lost on her, both not understanding and not particularly caring.

That is, until RPK-16 and S/O tried to get her to broaden her worldview, introducing her to many things.

And S/O was playing a piece on a piano they had found, slaving away to repair it and hear its beautiful notes once more.

15 stood near S/O as the keys of the piano rang out a lovely melody, or at least she assumed it was nice.

(AK-15) "...You're smiling."

(S/O) "Hm? Oh, yeah. it's a song I heard from my childhood. I think it's a rather beautiful song!"

(AK-15) "I'll take your word for it."

(S/O) "Do you not like music?"

(AK-15) "I have no preference. I tend to prefer the silence rather than any noise."

(S/O) "But surely there must be something you like. It's kind of hard for me to imagine that there's absolutely nothing you care about."

(AK-15) "I can't say that I've had much experience listening to music in my downtime at all, S/O."

S/O smiled, gently grabbing her hand to sit down near them.

(S/O) "Then maybe we can start with mine? You;re not annoyed by what I'm playing, right?"

(AK-15) "I am not. And I suppose we can start with that."

Scooting over to give them room to play, AK-15 simply sits in silence, watching as S/O played, the music registering in her ears but not reacting all too much.

Though, overtime she began to get used to the sound of S/O's music, able to go into resting mode with it in the background.

16 was fascinated by human art, asking just as much questions as AN-94, if not even more.

Though she was startlingly very well adept at interpreting human art, to the point it was uncanny.

Almost as if she were an actual human herself.

(RPK-16) "This painting is rather...haunting, wouldn't you say? The expression on the woman's face is full of sorrow."

(S/O) "I'm...surprised you can tell that much just by looking at it."

(RPK-16) "It's obvious to anyone who cares enough to pay attention. I'd like to hang it on our wall."

(S/O) "Hah, m-maybe not this one. It sort of creeps me out."

(RPK-16) "Why? It's just a picture. Does it remind you something out of a nightmare? Or something here in reality?"

(S/O) "More of the former. Just not the kind of thing I'd want to look at first thing in the morning."

(RPK-16) "Then what would you like to see in a painting? What is pleasant to you?"

(S/O) "...You just wanna see my reactions to a freaky painting, don't you?"

(RPK-16) "Well, yes! But I'd still like to hear your actual answer."

Angelia didn't care too much about art, considering her line of work. No time to appreciate how pretty a picture is or whatever when bullets are whizzing by your head.

But at the very least, she glanced at whatever S/O was doing.

(Angelia) "You're typing up a storm there, and something tells me it isn't a report."

(S/O) "Ah! Sorry if it's distracting, just writing something for my novel."

Angelia let out a small titter, putting her tablet down momentarily to look over at her S/O.

(Angelia) "You write fiction?"

(S/O) "Yeah! Got lots of ideas after being with you and the rest of the girls."

(Angelia) "Nothing classified, I hope?"

(S/O) "Of course not! All purely fiction in a medieval land!"

(Angelia) "Hm. I don't seem to recall you ever mentioning that you published anything."

(S/O) "Well, that's what I save up a chunk of each paycheck for. Hopefully I can find someone to publish it en masse. I would hope that I'm not fighting forever. Heck, might even be a nice cushion for us, we could even get a nice house!"

Angelia shrugged, but she had a small smile form on her lips.

(Angelia) "It'd be impressive if a book could land us something in the Green Zone...Remind me to read one of your works if I ever get the time, I guess."

(S/O) "Hah, so never?"

Angelia rolled her eyes playfully, but her expression softened ever so slightly when she turned to S/O.

(Angelia) "I can't promise it'd be anytime soon but if it's for you? I'm sure I could make time."

#girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline x reader #girls' frontline headcanons #ak 12 x reader #an 94 x reader #ak 15 x reader #rpk 16 x reader #angelia x reader #ak 12 gfl #an 94 gfl #ak 15 gfl #rpk 16 gfl #angelia gfl

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hwangjoanna · 27 days ago

Text

'Red Light, Green Light.'

SKZ Squid Game AU

Hyunjin X Reader

Enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers

Dom/Hyunjin, Sub/Reader

Possessive & jealous Hyunjin

Hyunjin, Seungmin & Minho are all mean (sorry)

Felix and Jisung Besties (Soft boys)

Warnings- mentions of blood, mentions of dead body, mentions of death, grief, angst, pining, swearing, nightmares, mentions of sex.

A/N - Once again thank you for your patience! This one is a hard chapter, a lot of grief and angst, let me know your thoughts and thanks again for all the support!

Word Count - 6,530

Chapter 8 - Here!

Chapter 9

In the harsh light, Jisung's hair pooled around his head like a halo, its dark strands entwining with shadows, creating an ethereal framing reminiscent of a fallen angel. Each lock carried the weight of sorrow, shimmering with an otherworldly lustre as if touched by the ghostly hands of fate. It whispered of lost dreams and forgotten love, a silent testament to beauty intertwined with grief, an exquisite melancholy that lingered in the air like a haunting melody. In that moment, he became a tragic figure, embodying both grace and despair, forever suspended between realms of light and darkness.

“NO! NO! NO!” you screamed a scream that you never thought your lungs capable of making. It bounced off the walls in the small room where the five of you and a stranger stood—deafening, blood-curdling. The kind that grew from a place deep inside your soul, you had never felt loss like it, apart from when your parents had passed, leaving you alone in the world.

Now, though, you weren’t alone in your grief, Minho stood stiff as a board, his eyes boring into Jisung’s face as it turned a blueish grey. For a moment, all that could be heard was your loud sobs, small whimpers leaving your wet lips. Felix still had his arms around your waist, you could feel your T-shirt moist from his tears leaking into the garment. He cried quietly while he held you, his face buried into your back.

Hyunjin and Seungmin felt unworthy of the same grief, they stood as if they were voyeurs to the despair. You leaned back against Felix, “Why him? WHY!” You unashamedly wept.

Seungmin approached Minho, tears had started to fall down his features, but his eyes burned with anger, and Seungmin felt Minho's searing energy radiate from him as he placed his palm against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “I’m sorry, Min,” he said softly to the older man.

Minho turned to Seungmin as if his words had broken him out of a trance. Without a word, he moved away from him and towards the man who had been the reason Jisung didn’t join them in the room. Minho was all adrenaline and hate. It flooded his senses as he punched the man in the jaw. Number 090, the stranger cried out in pain, but his breath was stolen mid-yelp when Minho’s fist came in contact with him again.

Then, he just kept swinging, the sound of number 090’s bones crunched loudly under the weight of it. Blood spurted in droves, and his eye socket collapsed.

The four of you watched in shock, though you felt no remorse for the man. Like each hit brought you closer to relief. You had never felt blood lust like this, you wanted to see the stranger in pain. A primal urge that you didn’t even know was inside of you.

“Minh- please stop!” Felix cried out. “You’re killing him!”

Felix’s words only spurred him on, his punches becoming stronger and faster now and then, the stranger just stopped breathing, his face mangled and disfigured.

Minho paused and was just staring at the man’s bloodied body on the ground, you couldn’t see his face as he had his back to all of you. Then, he turned slowly, controlled. The malice from his features completely vanished, and his eyes were soft and hollow.

The guards were outside moving Jisung’s cadaver into a box, his body limply dropped into it like a bag of bones.

He was gone.

You turned back to Minho, his face dripping in a mix of his sweat and tears. His features were covered in blood splatter. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, smearing more crimson over his honeyed skin.

On instinct, you went to him, slowly approaching him calmly like he was a dog known to bite.

He just watched you intensely quiet, like someone had placed their hands over your ears. The silence was deafening.

You bought your palm up to his cheek, and he leaned into it, “y/n”, he whispered like a lullaby.

The sound of your name leaving his lips broke something in you. Minho, who was usually teasing, a little cold and reserved, was speaking to you like you were the salvation to his pain.

But you weren’t, you couldn’t be. Jisung was never coming back.

You pulled him into your embrace with no hesitation, you didn’t give a fuck that he was covered in blood as his soiled hands wrapped around you.

Seungmin had come to Felix’s side and allowed the blonde to lean on him as he continued his quiet sobs. Hyunjin’s back was against the opposite wall, his eyes puffy from his own silent tears.

Then an alarm, the door swung open, but none of you moved.

“The game is over, please follow an assigned guard back to the main room.”

You heard the announcement echo coldly. Relief washed over you briefly. You wouldn’t lose another friend, not today at least.

You pulled away from Minho only to take his hand in yours. Hyunjin followed behind, and Seungmin wrapped his arm around Felix’s waist to help him walk on his shaky legs.

You all exited the room in silence, none of you looked back.

◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️◼️⚫️

Author POV

The control room was bathed in a sterile, blue-white glow. Rows upon rows of monitors stretched across the wall, each screen flickering with grainy footage of the contestants—eating, sleeping, plotting, praying. It was quiet, save for the soft hum of surveillance equipment and the occasional click of a keyboard.

Perched in the centre of it all stood the man in the black mask.

He didn’t speak often in here. He didn’t need to. Every blink, every tilt of his head, every subtle clench of his gloved hand carried weight. Authority.

His eyes were on you.

Camera 42. Bed 9. You were sitting cross-legged on the mattress, head bowed, fingers nervously plucking at the edge of your sleeve. He zoomed in. The dark circles under your eyes had deepened. You were exhausted after the game. Since you’d watched blood pool beneath your friend’s crumpled body.

“You’re not breaking yet,” he muttered, more to himself than to the silent guards behind him. “Interesting.”

You were unpredictable, a wild variable in a game that thrived on control. He had reviewed your file over and over. Quiet, stubborn, analytical. He thought you’d fold in the first round.

But you didn’t.

On the screen, you suddenly looked up, straight at the camera. Not at it, not really, but the timing felt intimate. Like you knew you were being watched.

The masked man leaned closer.

“She’s aware,” one of the triangle-masked guards said behind him.

“No,” the man in black said, still watching you, “she’s calculating.”

It wasn’t just about surviving anymore. You were starting to understand the system—the rhythm of the guards’ movements, the way the games were announced, the pattern in the meals. He saw it in the way your eyes tracked the magenta-suited workers, in how you never took more than one step without checking your surroundings.

This wasn’t good.

Or maybe… maybe it was.

His fingers twitched at his side, as if tempted to reach for something. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned to another monitor, one showing the main hallway where the next game would begin in a day.

He imagined you standing there again, chin lifted, blood drying on your collar, but eyes sharp, alive.

“She’ll make it through the next round,” he said flatly. “Prepare accordingly.”

“Yes, Leader.”

But as he stared back at the screen, his and yours gaze lingered.

A part of him wondered, if you knew who was behind the mask… would you still fight to survive?

Or would you fight him?

Y/N POV

You didn’t sleep that night, you couldn’t, every time you shut your eyes, Jisung was there.

His eyes as he wept, his voice.

“I love you.”

“I’m sorry, Jagiya.”

His lifeless form a heap on the ground.

Scarlet floors.

Nothing you could do would force you to sleep. Felix had moved down into Jisung’s bed, you could feel every toss and turn of his body above you. The bunk rattled under his weight.

He huffed a sigh. “Lix,” you whispered. A pause, “yeah?” He replied.

“You can’t sleep either?” You asked, another pause. “No,” he said with a sad tone.

“Wanna go for a walk?” You said gently.

You felt him move above you, the bunk swayed slightly as he made his way down the ladder slowly.

“Come on, Angel,” he whispered, offering his hand to you. You took it and rose from your bed. The two of you walked towards the bathroom.

The lights in the room blinded you temporarily, a harsh contrast from the darkness in the main room. Your eyes adjusted quickly, and you both jumped up onto the counter on the side wall. Your legs dangling off the edge as you got comfortable.

You spoke first, “I can’t believe he’s gone,” your voice cracked.

Felix hummed before he replied, “I didn’t say I love you back, I-” he hung his head down in shame. Tears pricked in his beautiful eyes and fell against his freckles.

You held his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as you began to cry with him. “I didn’t either, but-“ you stopped to catch your breath. “He knows we did, we do.”

“You think?” He sniffled.

“I know,” a small smile on your lips.

Felix broke down, his sobs grew in volume, echoing against the bathroom tiles. He slipped off the counter and stood between your legs and leaned into your body, his chin resting on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. Trying to hold him as tightly as you could while you cried together.

‘Doong-geul-gae doong-geul-gae, jjag bing-geul-bing-geul dor-a-ga-myeo chum-eul chub-si-da, son-ppyeo-geul chi-myeon-seo.’

Screams

“I’m sorry, Jagiya.”

‘Doong-geul-gae doong-geul-gae, jjag bing-geul-bing-geul dor-a-ga-myeo chum-eul chub-si-da, son-ppyeo-geul chi-myeon-seo.’

Six.

“I love you.”

His sorrowful expression, his body on the floor.

Blood, so much blood.

Screams.

The morning siren blared through the room, you woke in a sweat. You were panting, you don’t remember when you fell asleep, but it wasn’t too long ago, your limbs ached, your muscles were tired, and your joints were tense.

You looked to the bed next to you, Minho’s bed, unmade. He usually made his bed every morning, but today, tangled sheets and pillow slanted.

You caught sight of him coming back for the bathroom, his hair a mess, strands sticking out at every angle. His skin was pale, with heavy lids and hollow eyes.

The guards entered to serve breakfast, but you lay back down, pulling your duvet over your head.

You stayed there for what felt like hours, your stomach was in knots, and you couldn’t even think about eating breakfast.

You felt the mattress dip from someone’s weight on the end of your bed, but you didn’t stir.

Their hand rested on you through the sheets, “y/n?” It sounded like Seungmin.

You lifted the cover and looked at him, his eyes soft, a small smile on his lips. Not his usual teasing expression.

“Come with me?” He asked gently. You followed him as he walked towards the bathroom. He knocked before peering through the door to check if no one was there, and you both went in.

The dim light of the room flickers, casting long shadows that dance across the cold, concrete walls. You walk in, your heart heavy with the weight of loss, each memory of Jisung a sharpened shard of glass in your chest. You can still hear his laughter echoing in your mind, a cruel reminder of the day before, the day everything shattered.

“Sit,” Seungmin said, pointing to the bathroom counter. You furrowed your brows in confusion, but did what he asked.

“Can I touch you?” He caught you off guard with his question. You nodded, wondering what was going to happen. He nodded back, “Thank you,” he said.

He started wetting a paper towel and ringing it out over the sink, you watched with curious eyes. He took off your numbered hoodie and rolled up your t-shirt sleeve with a light touch. He didn’t say anything, then he brought the damp towel to your skin and began running it down your arm. The sombre atmosphere enveloped you both. His hands move with a tenderness that surprises you, as if each swipe of the cool cloth across your skin is a silent promise that you won’t face this alone. He wipes away the blood and sweat, his focus unwavering, as if he’s trying to erase not just physical pain but also the emotional scars that linger.

You continued to sit through it, both of you silent.

He then stood in front of you, his short, dark hair framing his soft face, glossy skin under the harsh lights. He was beautiful, you just looked at him as he began to treat your face with the same careful wipes.

“You’re staring,” he commented with a little chuckle.

“I just-“ you said, feeling a little embarrassed, as you looked anywhere but at him. “Why are you doing this?” You asked.

“No reason,” he said bluntly.

You glance up at him, feeling the weight of his gaze. It’s heavy with concern, searching for a spark of the old teasing banter you used to share. But there’s no quip, instead, the air is thick with grief.

“You go from being an absolute menace to-“ you paused, “whatever this is?” You didn’t mean to come off rude, but the flip in behaviour slightly concerned you. Here’s Seungmin, funny, playful, the one who thrived on banter. Now transformed into a caretaker, stripping away the layers of hurt, one towel at a time. It disarms you, this sudden shift, and for a moment, you’re thrown off balance.

He continued for a moment and then stopped, throwing the bloodied tissues in the bin. “Look,” visibly gathering his thoughts, as if wrestling with his feelings, “I don’t cuddle like Felix, I’m not good with words like Hyunjin, but-“ he paused to make eye contact with you. “But I’m good at aftercare, and well, this is my way of looking after you, of giving you some comfort after Jis-“ he didn’t finish the sentence, his expression one of melancholy. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, that wasn’t my intenti-“

You interrupted him mid-sentence, “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I was just a little taken aback, I appreciate it, Seungmin. Thank you.”

Underneath all of that mischievous bravado, he was actually really sweet and caring. If anyone had told you this a few days ago, you would have laughed in their face.

“I can’t make things okay, I can’t bring him back and though I didn’t know him as well as you,” his voice softer now. “I don’t think he would have wanted you to give up, he didn’t do what he did for you to stop fighting through this. You’re still here because of him, don’t let yourself drown in this-“ he paused, looking away with a little shake of his head before his eyes bore into yours. “Pain.”

In that moment, the teasing and playful jabs you once shared feel hollow compared to the depth of his care. It’s unexpected, but beneath the sorrow, there’s comfort, a bond forged in shared pain and understanding. You feel the warmth of his presence seep through the shadows, grounding you in a reality that still hurts but doesn’t feel quite as isolating.

You smile at him, and his eyes soften as he lets out a small sigh through his nostrils.

“You’re not good with words, huh?” You pushed on his arm slightly, putting your grief aside for one moment of relief. One moment to see the old Seungmin.

He scoffed, “Shut up.” he stepped back, shifting his weight on his feet. “You’re still my kill for fuck, marry, kill,” Seungmin winked playfully but his usual smirk wasn’t there.

You decided in the moment to give him some of the old you, too, in hopes it would also comfort him.

“I’m also your fuck,” your grin widened slightly.

He rolled his eyes with a chuckle, “touché.”

He leaned forward again and ran his fingers through your hair, gently pulling out the knots and patting don’t the parts that looked messy.

Once he finished, he whispered as if to himself, “beautiful,” it was so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

Your breath hitched, but before you could question anything, he spoke again.

“Right, let’s get some food, yeah,” you nodded and jumped off the counter, following him out of the room.

Together, you pushed the heavy door open, only to nearly collide with someone standing right outside.

Hyunjin.

He looked between you and Seungmin sharply, his dark eyes narrowing for the briefest second before smoothing into something colder. His arms were crossed over his chest, posture casual, too casual.

“What were you two doing in there?” he asked, voice low and light, but there was a tautness to it, like a wire ready to snap.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Seungmin glanced at you, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Just cleaning up,” he said. “Long morning.”

Hyunjin’s gaze dropped to the faint wet patch on your sleeve, the lingering redness around your knuckles. His jaw twitched. “Yeah? Took you a while.”

There was an edge to his voice now, almost hidden, but you caught it. He wasn’t stupid. He saw more than you wished he did.

“We talked,” you added quickly, forcing a small smile that felt too stiff. “That’s all.”

Hyunjin stared at you for a long moment, and something dark and possessive flickered behind his eyes. You could feel it in the way his hand brushed too close to your arm when he shifted his weight, in the way his stare pinned you to the spot like he was trying to read every hidden thought in your head. But he didn’t push, at least not right now.

Instead, Hyunjin gave a tight smile, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and said, “Right. Just talking.”

He stepped aside to let you and Seungmin pass, but as you brushed by, you felt the weight of his stare burning into your back. And when you glanced over your shoulder, Hyunjin was still standing there, watching, eyes unreadable as if daring you to turn around and explain yourself better.

But you didn’t. He was acting ridiculous, and somehow, you knew this wasn’t the end of it.

Lunch had come around in a blur. If you were honest with yourself, Jisung’s death had affected you more than you realised it would. After hanging out with Seungmin, you just sat on your bed disassociating, most of the others did too. You all ate your food, not talking to each other, and then you lay back on your bed.

After a moment or two, you felt the bunk shift as Felix made his way down. He looked adorable, all groggy from a nap, his eyes half open. “Hey Angel, can we hang out?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual.

You sat up cross-legged, and he sat opposite you. For a moment, he just looked at you. Neither of you said anything. Then, naturally, your conversation steered back to Jisung. You spoke about stories he had shared, your favourite things about him, and how you both missed his laugh.

Minho rounded the bed and looked at the two of you, his expression cold for a moment, then his eyes changed, softer. “Can I join you both? I’d like to hear about your memories of him,” he asked tentatively. Felix moved down the bed so he could take a seat. “Of course, man,” he patted the space next to him.

You all continued the conversation, now Minho sharing his thoughts about Jisung, it was so nice to hear him speak so highly of him, you hoped it was helping him get it out in the open.

You hoped it was a comfort to him.

Then, a pause and Minho’s features turned into a frown. “I feel guilty,” he whispered it so quickly you barely caught the words. “What do you mean?” You asked gently.

He opened his mouth and closed it again before continuing, “I was the one who was pushed by that guy; I wasn’t meant to make it, he died because of me.” A tear fell from his eye, you might have missed it if you blinked, because he wiped it away before it got to his cheek.

“That’s not true,” Felix offered. He put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“You know he would have done that for any of us,” you added.

Felix sighed before speaking, “It was that player's fault, we already had our group, he caused this, not you, not Jisung.” Minho looked up at the two of you, “You think so?” You both smiled, “Yeah, we do,” Felix said.

“I still can’t help how I feel,” Minho said.

Felix moved closer to him. “Of course, it’s normal to feel that way, this game is fucked up, it will eat away at you, you’re gonna feel shit, you’re gonna be tested until the end.” You were shocked at how brutally honest Felix was. “At the end of the day, there’s only one winner.” He said it so sternly that you felt taken aback. Sweet Felix, your sunshine, your best friend, talking like that. For a moment, it worried you, like there was another side of him that was beneath the freckles and boba eyes. You didn’t comment, though, you let the words sit in the air.

Minho nodded, “I hate to admit it, but you’re right,” he said softly. “Thank you, though, I needed that.” Felix leaned into Minho as if to offer a hug, and Minho paused for a second before he leaned in too. The hug was short, but it felt good to see them bond; you’d all need each other more than ever now Jisung had gone. He was like the glue that held you all together, the one who openly bridged the gap between your trio and theirs. The one who led with love and friendship, you weren’t quite sure how to be without him. You’d have to figure it out, though, fast, because as Felix said, there’s only one winner.

And you weren’t sure what would hurt more, surviving without them, or dying trying to keep them.

Hyunjin POV

She’s driving me crazy, and it’s almost like she knows it, like she’s doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me.

Ever since the last game, she’s barely looked my way. I’ve seen her speak to everyone else, but she’s not spoken to me, not really.

I know I wasn’t close with Jisung, I know I called him her guard dog and didn’t always speak to him nicely, but I’m also not a complete fucking monster. I would be there for her if she just asked me, and I want to be.

But now I don’t know how to approach her, it’s been too long. Even after I saw her with Seungmin outside the bathroom, she acted like it was nothing and like there was nothing between us. It was confusing, she seems hot and cold, one minute she’s letting me lick her pussy, moaning my name. So fucking sweetly, god just the memory of having her makes my cock twitch in my pants. Next, she’s almost avoiding me, barely making any eye contact, and no glances like she used to. I’m not sure what I did to cause it. I thought I had been nice to her, I thought I had shown her that I was someone she could rely on.

Her laugh breaks me out of my thoughts, “oh my god, why are you such a dick!” Y/N chuckles as she slaps Seungmin’s arm playfully. “I thought you liked me like this? Hmm?” Seungmin replies with a smirk on his face. She shakes her head, “You wish, puppy,” she replies.

Since when did they get so fucking close, she’s flirted with him before and I always found it funny, but now it feels like something has shifted. Like her attention has shifted. I don’t fucking like it.

“Are you doing okay?” Seungmin asks her, low and steady, like he’s afraid she’ll break. “Yeah, thanks for letting me talk about it. He was awful to me, and I just hate bringing him up, but sometimes my dreams, they don’t let me forget,” Y/n replies to him in a quiet voice.

Oh, she’s not talking about Jisung, surely not? Who is she referring to? I try to lean in slightly, though at this point I’ve been staring at them so long it’s probably blatantly fucking obvious that I’m listening in.

Tears start to drop from her shining eyes, god, I don’t know what it is about her crying that makes me wanna fuck her till she’s begging me to let her cum. What is wrong with me? She’s upset, and that’s where my mind goes.

Seungmin just pats her shoulder, leans forward and whispers in her ear. She wipes her tears away and laughs again. My jaw clenches in frustration, my teeth grind against each other. He’s not even that funny? I don’t get it.

Of course, as if on cue, my least favourite man arrives to worm his way in, Felix, I don’t even know what it is about him. Maybe it’s because I know he saw her first, got close to her immediately, the guy she runs to every time. Or perhaps it’s the fact that he’s annoyingly attractive and sweet to her. The good guy act is almost nauseating. He smiles at her, “When’s dinner? I’m starving!” Felix says to both of them. “I don’t know, I’m not your wife, go ask a guard.” She bites back, but I know she means it sarcastically. She giggles as Felix rolls his eyes at her, “Not yet, Angel.” He replies, winking at her. She blushes at that like she always does.

Have they done anything? No, I would have noticed. I can’t help but obsess over her, like she’s the only thing that keeps me grounded and crazy at the same time in the this fucking hell hole. Maybe I should just talk to her? But I don’t know if she even wants me around.

I stand up and look at the piggy bank hanging from the ceiling like a reminder of why I’m here. It’s fuller now, knowing that one of those stacks of cash represents Jisung’s life makes me feel a little sick. But I need to escape the syndicate; their hold on me has been suffocating. I need to get away from Seoul, start a new life somewhere. It will suck to leave San, but I’m in danger if I stay. I never threatened Wooyoung’s girl, never went back to meet the man in the alley. If I go back, I’ll be killed. I have to win this, but to do that, I have to let everyone else be eliminated.

I have to let her be eliminated.

The thought alone causes my chest to tighten, and the knot in my stomach aches. I’ve not known her that long, and yet I feel drawn to her. Like our paths were meant to cross, and that scares me. It scares me more than this game, the man in the alley, the syndicate, my cold parents.

I need to make sure I don’t get too involved, in too deep. The time will come when I have to let her go.

Once again, I feel the urge to look at her, but when I do, she’s already watching me as Felix and Seungmin chat next to her. A small smile that doesn’t reach her beautiful eyes is present on her face. But I don’t return it, I just glance over her features for a moment before walking away to the bathroom.

I need to think alone.

Y/N POV

The day dragged, like every second was reminding you how long it had been since you had witnessed Jisung’s life fade from his eyes.

You had barely eaten, Seungmin had told you to, but you managed a few bites before offering him the rest. He took it with a frown but didn’t press the matter. For that, you were grateful; he had continued to distract you throughout the day, being annoying as ever, but it was welcomed. Felix seemed to perk up a bit, too. Unfortunately, you would also need to push through your grief to get through the rest of the game.

Hyunjin, however, hadn’t spoken to you at all. Apart from the awkward moment outside the bathroom. It made you wonder what was going on inside his head. Was he pulling away on purpose? Was he angry at you? You hoped he would approach you and comfort you like he did when the guard had hurt you, but he didn’t.

A small sob broke you out of your thoughts as you lay in bed in the darkened room. You looked towards the sound and noticed Minho bundled up in his sheets. he was turned away from you, his shoulders bouncing uncontrollably as he quietly cried to himself. The sight made your heart ache for him. He hadn’t been himself at all since the loss of Jisung.

He sniffed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from comforting him. You rose from your bunk and made your way over the short gap to his.

You pulled back the cover slightly and got into his bed, lying down and facing him. He stilled for a moment, and you shuffled in closer, spooning him. “Y/N?” His voice was broken, coming out in a choked breath.

You put your arm around his waist and pulled his back flush towards your chest. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” you whispered to him. Without another word, he grabbed your hand that was gently lying over his stomach, and he squeezed it like a desperate plea for you to stay with him.

And you did, both falling asleep after a while, your silent support helping him drift into slumber.

You woke up suddenly, the regular morning alarm bursting through your ears. You heard a groan, the sound bringing you back to reality as Minho shifted slightly beneath you. Your head was resting on his chest, his arm wrapped around your form.

The siren continued blaring as the bed shook. Seungmin was coming down from his bunk, his eyes heavy from sleep. He turned to the two of you for a moment and just chuckled to himself before making his way to the guards for his breakfast.

“Morning,” Minho said in a deep, sleepy voice. You turned to him awkwardly, “Uh- morning,” you replied, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Did you sleep okay?” He asked with his eyes still closed lazily.

You nodded against his chest and hummed, “mhm, no nightmares, so that’s good,” you said quietly.

“Oh, yeah. Jisung told me you suffered from them.” He said absentmindedly. He opened his eyes and looked at you, then, noticing your uncomfortable expression. “Don’t worry, he didn’t go into details.” He offered, then his lips pulled into a line that formed a slight smile.

You sighed in relief and smiled back when Minho looked past you, You followed his gaze to find Hyunjin standing at the bottom of the ladder, eyeing the two of you. Minho dropped his arm from your shoulder, and you began to sit up.

“What’s this?” Hyunjin asked in a cold tone.

“What do you mean?” You asked softly.

“This? You and him in bed together.” His voice rang out, like he was accusing you of something.

“Hyune, it’s nothing”, Minho interrupted, with a little chuckle.

“Sure, okay,” Hyunjin said before he walked towards the bathroom.

Minho went to get up and follow him, but you held his arm lightly, “Don’t, I’ll go,” you said. Minho just nodded in agreement and stepped into line for breakfast.

You walked into the bathroom, the lights flickered dimly like they knew what was about to happen. The room was empty apart from Hyunjin, who was leaning over the sink, his arms braced against the counter, his veins prominent, muscles pulled tight from the tension in his shoulders. He was staring at his reflection, a scowl on his face, brows furrowed, eyes dark as night.

He glanced at you briefly, “Which one is it, thirteen?” He mumbled, but his tone was biting.

“What?” You asked, confused.

He turned to you and leant against the counter, crossing his arms. “Or is it all three of them?” His voice was louder than before.

You stepped towards him and he watched you, waiting.

“What the fuck are you talking about Hyunjin, spit it out.” You commanded harshly.

“You think I don’t see it, hmm?” his tone was softer now as he started pacing towards you, his eyes predatory. You stepped back against the wall, wincing at the cold tiles. He stopped a few inches away, leaning over you; he towered above you. You looked up at him through your lashes. One of his palms was against the wall next to your face. “The way they look at you, the way you flirt back,” his tone was coaxing. “One minute you’re in the bathroom alone with Seungmin, the next you’re waking up in Minho’s bed.” His jaw was tight, his eyes intense.

You couldn’t speak; his breath tickled your cheeks.

“I thought you were mine, hmm,” his other hand came up to your face, his thumb gently traced your jawline.

You pulled away from his touched, pissed off that he was insinuate such a thing. “Stop it, Hyunjin,” you spat.

He looked dumbfounded for a moment before he continued. “I don’t share, sweetheart.” He raised his voice.

“I’m not yours to share!” You started screaming back. “I was in bed with him to comfort him, to comfort me! My best friend here was killed right in front of me! I just wanted one moment of peace, to sleep without nightmares.” You took a deep breath, lowering your voice slightly before continuing. “Seungmin was just helping, god are you that fucking jealous?”

Hyunjin grabbed your jaw, “You know I am, thirteen!” His voice is louder. “You always go running to someone else, I should be the one you go to. I’m the one you should be in bed with.” He leaned in to kiss you, his lips grazed yours, but you pushed him away.

“No, that’s not your decision to make, Hyunjin! You don’t get to talk to me like that and then kiss me!” He huffed, staring at you darkly as you screamed at him. “It takes two, you never approached me either. Don’t act like you’re a white knight and I’m some pathetic woman.” Then you said something you knew you shouldn’t, that you knew would hurt him. You were so lost in the moment, too emotionally charged to make sense of yourself before it came out.

“Felix doesn’t look at me like I need saving.” You deadpanned, voice cold.

His eyes went wide in shock for a moment before they turned distant. “So it’s him, then is it, your precious little guard dog.” He tutted under his breath.

You were fuming at this point, you didn’t like the thought of someone having a hold over you. Wooyoung had done enough damage over the last few years, and you were sick of it. How dare Hyunjin act like this? He had no claim over you, it hurt that he would accuse you of such things.

“Fuck you, Hyunjin!” You shouted. “I think it’s best you leave me alone.” You started to walk out, and he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he said menacingly.

You pulled your wrist free. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want, you need to back off.” Then you whispered, broken with tears starting to fall down your cheeks, a mix of anger and sorrow. “I needed you.”

He looked at the floor, almost guilty. He didn’t respond and just walked back to the sink. You watched him for a second longer, but he never looked back at you. You scoffed and wiped your tears away. Walking out of the room and slamming the door behind you.

AUTHOR POV

Triangle 156 had been put on breakfast duty as usual, his uniform hung loosely on his frame, his mask a little more suffocating today. It would be his first time seeing you again after the game, after he dragged you into a room to save you, after he saw your friend, number 246, shot dead as you cried through the door window.

A sick part of him liked the fact you were suffering, you’d be a lot more pliant that way. Weak and easy to manipulate, something he knew how to do easily.

As he stepped into the room, his gaze landed on you almost instinctively. You were getting out of bed and following number 320 into the bathroom. Triangle 156 turned to the guard on his left, square 009. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He stated, no room to question him. Square masked guards were lower in rank than him.

He slipped through a secret door, a viewing room. A window where guards could watch players in the bathroom through the double-sided mirror. The stalls are the only blind spot. He was hoping they wouldn’t go into one.

He watched as you leant against the wall, number 320 on you.

“One minute you’re in the bathroom alone with Seungmin, the next you’re waking up in Minho’s bed.”

Number 320 had his voice raised. Triangle 156 had noticed how close you were to the men in here that you hung out with. He’d been keeping a close eye on what you were doing. He knew for a fact Number 320 had claimed you as his, he wasn’t sure how it had happened. How you had accepted that, but he couldn’t push it. Not yet.

He’d need to bide his time.

Get you alone, without the others seeing him.

He was going to make sure you didn’t fall for someone else, he needed to use you for the money. He knew you were an easy target for him.

Triangle 156 broke out of his thoughts and looked at the two of you, the argument between you getting more heated.

Perfect.

Just what he wanted.

“Fuck you, Hyunjin!” You shouted. “I think it’s best you leave me alone.”

Triangle 156 couldn’t believe his luck, he wouldn’t even need to try to get in between the two of you. You’d pushed number 320 away yourself.

You left the room shortly after, and he watched number 320 stare at himself, then pace the room. Then he screamed, “FUCK!” and punched the nearest wall.

Triangle 156 chuckled to himself, “Finally, he’s gonna break.”

Then he left, joining his colleagues in the main room, a sick smirk hiding under his mask.

Chapter 10 - Here!

△ ○ □ • □ ○ △ • △ ○ □ • □ ○ △ • △ ○ □ • □ ○ △

Proofread by the lovely - @hoes4minho (please check

out her writing!

Please do not copy my work!

Images in banner are not mine!

Dividers by - @sisterlucifergraphics

Taglist - @eridanuswave @astro-des @ot8girlfie @fairylix @estellan0vella @nightmarenyxx @missygore @mysterysold @chloe-elise-2000 @hhwangsmoon

@minhosglasses @akindaflora @minniesverse @riri53

Open!

#hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #18+ mdni #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz au #hyunjin x reader #lee felix #han jisung #kim seungmin #lee minho #skz ff #skz fanfic #skz smut #squid game imagine #squid game au #skz imagines

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pattilustpone · 4 months ago

Text

"Air that I breath"

Lilia Calderu x reader

Hurt/comfort songfic

It was in the dead of night when Lilia Calderu felt it: the deep, gut-wrenching sensation of something wrong. She had just started to drift into a peaceful sleep beside you, her soulmate, the woman who made her heart whole again after centuries of solitude. Yet, the moment she closed her eyes, she sensed something within the bond between you two shatter like glass.

In that split second, memories of the trial on the Witch's Road—the trial that nearly took her life—flooded her mind. The fear. The pain. The moment you thought you had lost her forever. It was that same feeling that tore through your heart every time you relived the nightmare of that day, the agony of thinking Lilia had fallen, that she was gone, and that your bond was broken.

Lilia opened her eyes, instantly aware of your distress, her heart pounding. She reached over to your side of the bed and found you tangled in the sheets, your body trembling and tears streaking down your face.

“Y/N,” she whispered urgently, her voice thick with concern. But you didn’t stir. You were lost in the nightmare, the horrors of that moment still clawing at your consciousness.

"Please... don't leave me..." you whimpered, your voice raw, your body writhing as if you were reliving that devastating moment.

Lilia’s heart clenched in her chest. It was always the same: the day you thought she was lost to you. The moment her fall on the Witch's Road had shattered both of you, the connection between your souls broken by the terror of losing each other. She had returned, but the damage of that fear still lingered in the quiet hours of the night.

Desperate to calm you, Lilia leaned forward and gently brushed the hair from your damp forehead. Her hand softly traced your cheek, the touch tender, loving, grounding.

"Y/N, love, it’s me," she whispered, her voice steady but filled with the deepest affection. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. Please wake up for me, love."

But still, you tossed and turned, trapped in the endless cycle of your nightmare. Lilia's heart shattered at the sight of you suffering, your pain echoing in her chest like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

Without thinking, Lilia pulled you into her arms, cradling your shaking form against her. She whispered to you, but the words didn’t seem to reach you. Her touch, though soft, wasn’t enough to break the hold of the nightmare. That’s when Lilia knew what she had to do.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, summoning the song that had always calmed both of you, the lullaby that had healed the broken pieces of your hearts during darker times.

She softly began to hum the first few notes, the melody flowing effortlessly from her lips.

"If I could make a wish I think I'd pass

Can't think of anything I need

No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound

Nothing to eat, no books to read

Making love with you

Has left me peaceful warm and tired

What more could I ask

There's nothing left to be desired

Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak

Sleep, silent angel go to sleep"

The song had always held a special place between the two of you. Every time Lilia sang it, it was like a bridge between your souls, reconnecting the pieces of your hearts that life and time had pulled apart. The softness of her voice, the power in the simple words, had a way of calming your spirit, reminding you that you were never truly alone.

Slowly, as she continued to sing, you began to settle. The tremors in your body lessened, the nightmare’s grip weakening with every note she sang. Lilia held you close, her voice soothing as she continued with the next lines.

"Sometimes all I need

Is the air that I breathe

And to love you

all I need is the air that I breathe is to love you

all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you

Making love with you

Has left me peaceful warm and tired

What more could I ask

There's nothing left to be desired

Sometimes all I need

Is the air that I breathe

And to love you

all I need is the air that I breathe is to love you

all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you"

Her voice was low, the sound of it vibrating through your chest, filling your ears with the warmth of her love. Each word she sang was a promise, a vow that you would never have to face the darkness alone again. She was here. She was with you. And nothing, not even the terrifying memories of the past, could take that away.

"Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak

Sleep, silent angel go to sleep"

Your breathing slowed as the nightmare finally loosened its grip on you. You slowly came back to the present, your eyes fluttering open. The first thing you saw was Lilia, her face illuminated by the soft light of the moon, her warm arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

You looked up at her, your voice barely a whisper. "Lilia...?"

"I’m here, love," she said softly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear. "I’ll always be here. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’re connected, always. Nothing can break us."

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time they weren’t tears of fear. They were tears of relief, of the weight lifting off your chest. You pulled her closer, burying your face in her neck as you clung to her. The nightmare was gone, and all that remained was the warmth of her presence.

"You’re my everything, Lilia," you whispered.

Lilia kissed the top of your head, her hand gently stroking your back. "And you’re mine. Always. You’re the air I breathe, Y/N."

With that, you both lay there in the stillness of the night, her lullaby still lingering in the air, a reminder that no matter how much darkness had once separated you, love always found a way to bring you back to each other.

#patti lupone x reader #patti lupone #lilia calderu x reader #lilia calderu #hurt/comfort #sorry for being depressing #air that I breath is my new comfort song #Spotify #I wish patti lupone could sing me a lullaby #lilia gives comfort vibes

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bonesmithsstuff · 3 months ago

Text

Thomas Shelby - Bites of smokes

Warnings: Curses, canon typical violence, mention of guns etc. First season of peaky blinders. Light smut - nothing too detailed. Think that's all.

Masterlist |

── .✦

" Could you be the devil? Could you be an angel? "

As soon as T/n stepped over the threshold of the Garrison, the thick air hit her full force. Cigar smoke, spilled whiskey, and the acrid sweat of men who spent their nights drowning in alcohol and gambling. The noise was relentless —a chaotic melody of accents and raucous laughter, broken only by the clinking of glasses and the occasional sharp thud of a fist against the wooden tables.

The winter chill still clung to her skin, but the oppressive heat of the pub wrapped around her like a sudden bite, making her skin prickle beneath the heavy fabric of her clothes. For all its roughness, the Garrison had something familiar about it. The kind of familiarity that doesn’t welcome you -it engulfs you.

«So, what the fuck’s got you so rattled, Tom?»

John Shelby’s voice cut through the clamor, sharp and clear, drawing the attention of a couple of drunks at the bar.

T/n shrugged off her coat with a slow motion, letting it slide from her shoulders down to her forearm before gripping it with one hand and tossing it onto a nearby chair. Her gaze landed on Harry, who was busy polishing a glass behind the counter. When he saw her, the old bartender gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, his wrinkled eyes offering a familiar smile.

«Or rather… should I ask ‘who’?» John added, his smirk dripping with mischief as he directed his words at his older brother.

T/n didn’t turn. She didn’t need to. She could feel Thomas’s eyes on her before he even entered her field of vision.

It was a weight: subtle but sharp. Like the edge of a razor gliding over skin without cutting. A silent, calculated focus that traced down her spine, brushing against her nape with the promise of something dangerous.

«Do I look fucking rattled to you?»

Tommy’s voice was low, measured, his tone flat, devoid of emotion. The whiskey glass hovered midair, the amber liquid swaying slightly under the dim glow of the lamp.

T/n didn’t look at him right away.

She took her time unfastening her gloves, slipping them off with deliberate movements before setting them beside her coat. Then, without hurry, she stepped forward, stopping next to Polly.

The Shelby matriarch gave her a keen once-over, lingering for a second on the tension in her shoulders. A knowing smirk touched her lips as T/n simply nodded in greeting, exchanging a few words with her.

When she finally turned to head towards the Shelby’s private room, and when her eyes met Tommy’s, the air seemed to shift —charged with an almost imperceptible tension.

A cold, glacial tension. Like the faded blue of his irises and the sky before a storm.

He didn’t look away. He didn’t even blink. He was waiting. And he had never been so patient.

T/n tilted her head slightly, a hint of defiance in the soft curve of her lips. Then, with effortless ease, she turned toward the bar and ordered a drink.

«Come on, brother, time to get back to business, don’t you think?» Arthur laughed, slamming his fist onto the table a little too hard.

John grinned, his gaze deliberately flicking to T/n with that amused air of someone who knew more than they let on.

As soon as she sat down next to Tommy, their laughter grew louder.

He, on the other hand, said nothing. He didn’t need to. He just watched her, fixed his gaze on her -and that was enough.

«What the fuck did you just say?» She shot at the brothers, throwing them an annoyed look.

Tommy raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly and when Harry handed her the glass, T/n took it.

The ghost of a bitter smile touched her lips as she poured the whiskey. She downed it in one go, the burn sliding down her throat like fire.

Tommy didn’t move. His eyes, half-lidded, tracked her every move with quiet precision.

«Rough day?»

The woman ran a hand along her neck, easing some of the tension that had built up. The whiskey’s heat tinged her cheeks slightly, but that wasn’t what warmed her chest.

It was his attention. The way he watched her. Silent, calculating.

Only then, with a slow and deliberate motion, T/n pull out the gun and place it on the table.

Tommy was the first to reach for it. His long, slender fingers traced the grip with the ease of a man who knew weapons better than people. He flicked the cylinder with a practiced wrist movement.

«One bullet’s missing.»

The silence that followed was louder than any words. John took the gun, turning it in his hands with a thoughtful expression.

T/n inhaled deeply, closed her eyes for a moment, then exhaled a slow stream of smoke from the cigarette she had just lit. How the hell was she supposed to relax when those eyes wouldn’t leave her for even a second?

«A fucking IRA’s man jumped on me this morning, on my way to the bookies.»

Her voice was calm, steady. She felt the three brothers hone in on her, the tension around the table thickening.

«He was ranting about those goddamn guns the Belfast inspector is after. Thought I might knew something.»

A brief silence and another sip of whiskey. Her lips wet from the liquor, her throat still burning slightly. Tommy studied her but didn’t move. He remained silent, perfectly still, knowing she would never betray him.

Because she knew. She knew exactly who had those guns.

«I had Johnny Dogs and Curly take care of the body. They told me it’s handled.»

Arthur let out a low whistle before clapping her on the shoulder with a crooked grin.

«Well, fuck me… now they sure as hell know not to fuck with our T/n.»

«Damn right.» John chimed in, grinning smugly as he raised his glass in a bold toast. «No one fucks with the Peaky Blinders.»

T/n laughed along with the others, the whiskey warming her throat and chest, but her gaze quickly returned to Tommy, searching for even the slightest hint of approval in those stormy eyes. As she always did.

He didn’t flinch, until he finally spoke: «Injured?»

His voice was low, a sharp blade cutting through the noise around them. His face was unreadable, his eyes icy. And yet, T/n caught that tiny movement of his head -imperceptible to anyone else. That subtle way in which, even unknowingly, he sought her out.

He stepped closer. His cold, steady fingers brushed against her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his gaze. It wasn’t a gentle touch, but neither was it rough. He was studying her, inspecting her like one of his bets: a risk to calculate, a puzzle to solve.

A shiver ran down her spine. Not from fear. But from that minimal touch that ignited something deep within her.

«I’m fine» she murmured, holding her breath. «I got lucky, had my gun within reach.» She tried to lighten the tension with a smile, steering the conversation toward something she knew would catch his interest: «I heard Monaghan Boy lost, huh? Everyone was furious this morning. Quite the hit, Thomas… nearly 3,000 pounds.»

A flicker passed through Tom’s eyes, quick and lethal, like the glint of light on a blade.

«Did you count it?» He asked.

T/n held back a smirk, tilting her head slightly. She knew she had his attention now. «I left it all in your desk.» She said, crossing her arms over her chest. Then, with a more brazen smile, she added. «Oh, and I sorted out the records… you guys always keep them in a bloody mess. You never give me the damn time to put some order.»

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze piercing through her as if he could read her thoughts. For a moment, T/n was certain she caught a hint of a smirk, fleeting and elusive, before the smoke swallowed it.

«Mm-hmm. Good.» His raspy voice hummed through the air, low and rough.

T/n finished her whiskey in one long sip. But the last drop nearly caught in her throat when she felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her against a solid, familiar frame. Tommy’s grip was firm, natural, certain. He left her no room to pull away. And that’s when she truly felt it -the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the intense scent of tobacco, whiskey, and leather, the heat of his breath grazing her neck. The world around them dulled, her vision blurred slightly, and her heartbeat kicked up an almost imperceptible, but undeniable, notch.

John and Arthur were caught up in their animated discussion, oblivious to the diminishing space between them. But either way, no one would have dared to say a word.

«You’re staying with us tonight.» Tommy’s voice brushed against her ear, an order disguised as a whisper. «Until we find out whether that ira’s man was acting alone or with others, you’re not staying by yourself.»

A shiver ran down her spine, and T/n instinctively wet her lips. She lifted her gaze to meet his, but Tommy was already looking at her. With that same intensity that made her forget how to breathe. If she had anything to argue, he didn’t give her the chance: «I’m not asking.»

Slowly, T/n plucked the cigarette from his lips and brought it to her own with deliberate ease, never breaking eye contact. Tommy didn’t move, but the glint of amusement in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. They both too much enjoyed that game between them.

«You know I love it when you give me orders, Tommy Shelby.» She whispered against his skin, her breath warm against the line of his jaw. Then, with a slow, intentional motion, she loosened his tie before giving him a light pat on the chest and stepped back with a sly grin.

Tommy parted his lips as if to respond -but he never got the chance. The Garrison’s doors burst open with a sharp bang.

Billy Kimber stormed inside, and in an instant, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew thick, electric. Tommy rose immediately, his face morphing into a mask of absolute control. Within seconds, the pub emptied. The silence that followed was deafening.

Kimber turned, his leering gaze settling on T/n with too much interest. She felt it like a slimy touch on her skin but didn’t lower her eyes. She held his stare, crossing her arms over her chest in a calculated move.

She would never let him win. And Thomas knew that all too well.

«T/n, come here.»

He grasped her wrist with a firmness that left no room for protest, pulling her toward him. His figure positioned itself directly in front of hers, shielding her from Kimber’s view like an unyielding wall. He wouldn’t let that bastard’s gaze linger on her for another second. Especially not on her.

His fingers tightened around her waist, his grip steady. «Go home.» His voice dropped lower, but it was still a command. «Two of my men are waiting outside to take you there. Pack a bag, throw in a few things, and wait for me in my room.» His stare locked onto hers, sharp as an unbreakable order. «Walk out. Don’t look at anyone. Don’t listen to anyone. Just do as I said. Do you understand?»

T/n’s fingers curled into the fabric of his jacket, her breath slightly uneven. «Thomas-»

He shook his head just slightly. «Go. Wait for me.»

She hesitated, just for a blink. The ice in his eyes melted for a brief instant. «Tommy…» Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost a plea. «Be careful.»

For the first time since he had started speaking, a faint, dangerous, smile tugged at his lips.

«Always.»

With a final nod, he sent her off. And for the first time since he had known her, T/n obeyed without protest.

She had paced back and forth around the house, sat on the edge of the bed to quiet herself, even brushed her fingers along the edges of his desk in an attempt to find some sense of calm. But nothing worked. The thought that Billy Kimber could be a danger to Tommy tightened her chest in a grip of anxiety.

In the end, she gave in to exhaustion and put on her nightgown, but before going to bed, she walked over to the window. T/n lit a cigarette and looked down at the street below, the smoke dissolving into the air as her fingers tapped nervously against her arm.

It had been a long, intense day. She needed to rest, to clear her mind. But every time she closed her eyes, worry devoured her from the inside

Just as she was about to lose hope, the door suddenly swung open.

T/n turned abruptly, her breath catching.

Tommy stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. His eyes found hers immediately, that deep blue piercing into her with a force that made her stomach tighten.

«Hey.»

He was soaked. Water dripped from his clothes, forming small puddles on the wooden floor. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his wet shirt clung to his skin. She felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by a surge of anger.

«Thomas fucking Shelby.» She stubbed out the cigarette with a sharp gesture and marched toward him, fire in her eyes. «Where the fuck have you been?» She jabbed a finger against his chest, feeling the damp fabric beneath her fingertip. «Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was, huh?»

He didn’t answer. He simply removed his coat and tossed it onto a chair.

«I could fucking kill you with my bare hands.»

Tommy raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk ghosting over his lips as he sat down on the bed.

«Don't act like that, I might get used to it.»

T/n crossed her arms over her chest, furious at the way he brushed off her concerns. «Used to what?»

He studied her for a long moment before speaking. «This.» He took off his cap and threw it beside him. «You waiting for me at home, angry because I came back late and ready to yell at me.» He paused, a faint smile on his lips, his eyes locked onto hers. «Me taking you to bed and fucking you until my hands have left their marks.»

A shiver ran down her spine. Heat rose to her cheeks, and Tommy noticed. He reached out a hand toward her, and she hesitated for a moment before taking it. He pulled her to him with disarming ease.

«You can deny it, you can push me away, but it won’t change what you want.» His voice was a whisper, yet perfectly clear. «And I know you want me.»

She shook her head with a bitter smile, her gaze evasive as her heart pounded in her chest. Her hands trembled slightly, a flicker of hesitation she couldn't control. «You don’t know what I want, Thomas.»

He watched her intently, his eyes searching hers. His jaw tensed for a moment.

«Look at me and say it, then.» His fingers found hers, squeezing them firmly. «Say it. Say that you don’t want me, say that you don’t love me, and I won’t bring it up again.»

Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her breath caught in her throat. Every fibre of her being told her to fight him, to resist. But she knew it was a lost battle.

«Fuck, Tommy.» She ran a hand over her face, trying to control the chaos inside her. Her heartbeat thundered louder with each second, her chest rising and falling under the weight of an emotion she refused to name -an emotion she feared.

She looked away, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught the smirk forming on his lips. It was the smile of a man who knew he had won, who had already figured everything out.

He stood up, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate movements, and began tracing a hand down her back with a touch so light it was barely perceptible through the fabric of her nightgown.

His warm breath ghosted over her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. «You’re fucking stubborn.» He murmured before pushing her firmly against the wall, leaving no space between their bodies. The heat radiating from him seeped into her skin, and she trembled as she felt his presence between her legs.

«And you’re an asshole, Thomas.»

His hand moved to her neck, squeezing lightly, and in an instant, his lips crashed against hers. The kiss was intense, desperate, a tangled mess of desire and frustration. His tongue explored her mouth with hunger, and she clawed at the back of his head, pulling him even closer until there was no air left between them.

Suddenly, she pushed him away, her head resting against the wall as her breath came in ragged gasps. Tommy’s gaze remained locked on hers, blue and piercing, filled with a hunger that made her tremble.

With a frustrated growl, she took a few steps back -but she didn’t last long. In an instant, she closed the distance again, crashing her mouth against his. He caught her mid-air, strong hands gripping her thighs as he lifted her effortlessly.

Their bodies burned against each other, fingers trailing over heated skin. He caressed her thigh, his touch a stark contrast between tenderness and the brutal need that consumed them. Their lips found each other again and again, biting and devouring, as the rest of the world disappeared.

In a matter of seconds, he pushed her onto the bed, positioning himself above her. She ripped his shirt off with frantic hands, gasping when he tore her nightgown away without hesitation.

«Fuck, come here.» His voice was hoarse, impatient. She pulled herself up, her hands sliding over his bare chest.

He gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her skin. Her trembling hands unfastened his trousers, slipping inside his boxers to wrap around his hard length.

Tommy shuddered immediately, a deep groan vibrating through his chest as his breath fanned over her neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites on her sensitive skin.

In one swift movement, he pushed her back onto the mattress, stripping away the last barriers between them. Her legs parted to welcome him, and he slid between them, thrusting inside her with a single, decisive motion. Her body arched at the sensation, a muffled moan escaping as her nails raked down his back with every deep thrust.

«Tommy...» His name was a whisper on her lips, almost a plea. He pinned her hands beside her head, holding her in place as his rhythm intensified.

She felt him growing inside her, pleasure surging with every movement. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him closer. He kissed her fiercely, touched her possessively, pouring every ounce of obsession into her skin.

With a sudden move, she broke free from his grasp and flipped their positions, straddling him. Tommy looked up at her with dark, lust-filled eyes. She began moving over him slowly, increasing the pace as pleasure built between them.

A light moan left his lips as he gripped her hips, guiding her. His back pressed against the wall, her breasts brushing against his skin with each movement. One hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he could bite and suck at every inch of her throat. His name slipped again from her lips in a breathless whisper, followed by louder moans.

Tommy’s mouth closed around her nipple, sucking and biting. The moment she arched against him, he realized he would never get enough of seeing her this vulnerable beneath him. He would never get enough of her.

They came together, bodies moving in sync until they reached the peak, then collapsed beside each other, panting breaths mingling in the air thick with desire.

Silence stretched between them until Tommy reached for a cigarette, lighting it with a slow movement. As the smoke curled through the room, he traced lazy circles along the warm skin of her back.

She turned to him, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the distant look in his eyes. «What is it, Tom?»

He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a low, sincere voice, he said, «Help me.» She stared at him, confused, as he pulled the covers up over her. «With life, with business, with everything.»

A small smile tugged at her lips. «Why?»

Tommy pulled her closer, locking her in his embrace. «Because you’re the only one who can.»

── .✦

For some reason, not quite satisfied with this one, I don’t know... but let me know what do you think!!!

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bloodlust-1 · 2 years ago

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-`A Surprise For Two ´-

Halsin x fem Tav — Fluff, Angst

Summary: Tav returns back to Halsin pregnant, tension rises as she remembers Halsin abandoning her, clueless of the child she was unknowingly baring. She needs a safe place to give birth, and she asks him for aid.

T/W: abandonment, angst

Note: this short fic is inspired by this fanart, but a little more angsty.

The once noble adventurer who saved Baldur’s Gate was back to exploring. Halsin had broken it to her that he would not be staying with her in the city. So, what reason did she have to be in the city? It served her no purpose anymore. Traveling with her group made her realize that she loved the outdoors, the unknown, and helping out friends along the way. This was her calling in life.

However…There was a tiny-tiny problem. She was heavily pregnant. By the time Tav was on a new adventure, she realized she was baring a child—Halsin’s child. The idea of Halsin dismissing Tav’s pregnancy is what scared her most. Halsin still didn’t even know she was pregnant. She hadn’t seen him from the day he spoke of a plan that did not include her. That’s what really set her off on another adventure, heartbreak. In her head, trying to forget about Halsin was the best option for her. But that thought became a thing of the past.

Her belly grew and grew over the months of travel, but Tav had to come to a rest stop. She was unable to walk far distances, and her ankles became sore and swollen. Tav needed aid, her baby was due anytime now. In her heart, she knew she needed to show her face back to Halsin. She was dreading it, the thought of being a single mother was more soothing than seeing him again. It hurt her so much when Halsin left. It was like she was just someone to lay in bed with. She was heading back to the grove after so many months. They were good people, but the tension of seeing Halsin was weighing heavy on her heart.

It was just as Tav remembered, tall greenery with trees at every glance. It was beautiful, especially in the spring when all the leaves grew back. Tav held a staff, it helped her keep balance with her big belly weighing her down. She limped into the grove and she could hear the banter of children. It was a sweet melody of laughter, teasing, and singing.

Tav knew the grove was the safest place to give birth. Anxiety gnawed at her as she wondered if she would receive the help she so desperately sought. Her swollen belly served as a constant reminder of the life growing within her, adding an extra layer of vulnerability to her already fragile state. Tav saw the children who were playing, stop and gaze at her. One child in particular ran away as the rest continued to play.

The child ran to the nearest adult, they tugged on his shirt with urgency. It was the arch-Druid himself, Halsin. It was all too odd for a child to seem so concerned around these parts. It set alarms off when Halsin peered down at the worried child.

“There’s a woman! I never seen her before— s-she’s over there! Her belly is this big!” The child stretched out their arms around their stomach, insinuating her pregnancy.

“A woman?” His eyebrows furrowed, and he was confused. There was a small memory in his head that sparked. The memory of Him and Tav, when he promised to wait for her arrival. A little hope clung to this thought. However, it was questionable about what the child was talking about with her stomach.

Halsin patted the child’s head, “I’ll take care of it, little one.” He smiled before walking towards the commotion.

The sound of children’s voices filled the air. And well— there she was. Tav, sitting on the ground with small hands touching her belly. Tav was surrounded by children, she smiled warmly as they gather around her growing belly. With wide eyes and curious minds, the little ones reach out to touch the round, soft skin, gently feeling the small kicks.

“It is you! And you’re—“ he stopped in thought. His tongue stopped his sentence as he finally had a perfect view of her stomach. Tav was heavily pregnant and it was a sight for sore eyes. Halsin always daydreamed about the day he would finally reunite with her, but not like this…his mind started to race in an instant. Whose child was she baring? Astarion’s face popped up in his head, and he despised it.

Tav’s heart sank in her chest. He was just as handsome as she remembered. His broad shoulders, aging like fine wine, and that scar that was so prominent over his eye. She noticed he appeared healthy, there were no more dark circles under his eyes and he was visibly happy. How could he be so happy without her?

"Pregnant. I know, surprise...I was hoping you could help me and my baby have a safe resting spot. They'll be here soon, you know." The children drifted away from her belly as Halsin held out his hand to pull her up from the ground. To her surprise, he brought her body close to his into a hug. One that engulfed her small body into his arms and chest.

"I'm happy to see you, Tav" He gave her a squeeze before letting her go, cautious of her big belly.

Tav felt conflicted. How could he say he missed her, yet she felt so lonely for months without him. A mixture of anger, sadness, and happiness filled her heart but it was all too many emotions at once.

Halsin caught a glimpse of Tav's shaky hands and legs. She was definitely nervous and her body language gave it away immediately. Halsin felt sad and confused, "Shall we uh, find a private place to talk? I'd love to catch up with you."

To her dismay, Halsin scooped her up into his arms, "If you don't mind. You look terribly tired— let me help you."

Tav's face flushed red, but her eyes burned with anger. There was a slight gloss over her eyes as he carried her to a secluded plane, coated with moss, flowers, and soft green blades. Halsin carefully kneeled down, placing Tav gently on the grass. He got himself comfortable next to her, noticing her angry stare, "I know it's been some time since then. I feel like our reactions are different from one another, did I anger you, little love?"

The sun was shining through the trees, illuminating the area with a soft golden light. They were surrounded by tall trees, lush green ferns, and wildflowers in full bloom. The birds were chirping and the wind was gently blowing through the trees. Tav would have enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere, taking in the beauty of the nature around them.

However, she was mad, and he knew it, "Love? If it were my love, I would've never abandoned them. I would've never made them feel half of what you have made me feel. Do you even have a clue of how destroyed I was?" Her eyes glossed even more as she tried to hold back frustrated tears.

"Tav, I had waited for your arrival ever since, I never wanted to hurt you but we knew where my presence was needed. All those children needed me and I can not go against my natural duty to protect them." His voice felt angered and sorrowful all at the same time. Halsin felt horrible to stare at someone he truly cared about, crumbling because of him.

"Halsin, I needed you! More than ever now." Tav clutched her arms around her swollen baby, a tear rolling down her cheek as she angrily wiped it away, "All I am asking of you is to give me and my baby a safe place, only for a little...I will leave with my baby, and we can forget anything that happened between us. I've been heartbroken for long enough." She hated to show him just how much he destroyed her.

"Forget anything happened? I could never do such a task. You don't understand what it is that I've done for my people." Halsin shook his head in disagreement, his face saddened. "And now that you're here, I want to give you that as well. My love for you could never be tarnished no matter how much time passed between us. I wish you knew how heavy my heart is for you. So much so that I haven't yearned for a single soul unless it was yours."

Halsin sighed and placed his hand over her belly, the warmth of his hand comforted her, "Whose child are you carrying, my heart. I won't be mad at you, but I must know...For my own selfish reasons." His heart clenched and he held his breath.

Tav placed her hand over his. He didn't even know he was going to be a dad, and any day now too. She was silent for a moment before her lips could part, "I didn't know until you were far gone...Halsin I don't know how to be a mother. I was so lost and when you left me, I felt my whole world crashing down after I just got done saving it. But it only hurts me more that you're the reason I'm baring a child...I've spent most of my pregnancy alone, Halsin."

Halsin felt his chest clench up, his palms went sweaty and his eyes widened. The timeline made sense, and Tav would never deceive him with such an event. He believed her, but he couldn't believe he was going to be a dad so soon. "I— Tav, why did you not come to me quicker? Send me a letter or pigeon to pass on a message." Halsin moved closer to Tav and hugged her tightly. God's he felt guilty. He never wanted Tav to be alone with his child. He needed to fix this, fast. "You must stay here under my care. I can not fix all that's already happened, but I offer you my love and devotion. I want us, this, our child together."

Tav sunk her head, her eyes burned with the tears rolling down her cheeks continuously. She was terribly insecure about her relationship with Halsin. He left one day and now wants it all with her. It was an extreme jump for Halsin considering how independent he was. However, she needed to trust his word, she had no other choice. She needed his guidance to help her raise this baby they created together.

"Please, no more sad tears...We can start fresh together here, and build our bond. Such wonders of nature have blessed us with a child. This is something we must celebrate, together." He kissed her wet cheek, the softness of his lips pressed against her skin. Then, his lips pressed eagerly against hers. "I've waiting so long to kiss you again. I would want no other woman to give me a child but you. You are an evergreen that lives in my heart. It has grown vines and flowers, it feeds the very depths of my heart, and I loved you for many days, weeks, and months. And here you are. Coming to me with the most welcoming surprise." He placed another gentle kiss on her stomach.

Her sobbing halted to steady sniffles. Her heart raced but Halsin seemingly knew what he was going to do. Thank the gods he was welcoming because she planned for the worst reaction. maybe he truly did love her. Even when he weirdly showed it by leaving. This was a painful memory she needed to push aside for now. All Tav cared about was giving her baby a safe home, and now Halsin as well.

"I'm nervous...I don't know how this baby stuff works. I'm happy you want to be there for me through all this. Please just— don't leave me again."

"How could I? You've given me a love that stretches far more than feelings. A child, nature's ultimate form of love. I will cherish you and our child forever. " He chuckled softly, "I also picked up a few skills with all these kids around now. Even at my vintage, I'm confident we can do this together, my love." He grabbed her body, placing her on his lap as his arms wrapped around her body. Halsin's chin rested on the nape of her neck. Her scent was the same lavender sweetness.

Tav held Halsin closely back, "Halsin, I never questioned your ability to be a father. I was just unsure of our relationship."

"Our fates intertwined together far deeper than we could've ever foretold. The universe gave you to me when I was depressed about the shadow curse. A gift like this must be shared. I would love the grove to welcome the arch-druid's first child."

#bg3 fluff #bg3 tav #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 halsin #halsin fanfic #halsin x tav #halsin smut #bg3 astarion #astarion fanfic #baldur's gate 3

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novvabee · 5 months ago

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We Take Care of Each Other 🩹🌙

Summary: Remus x reader with chronic illness, just some cute and fluffiness with Remus. I just wanted to do a self indulgent fic with Remus to give those with chronic illness/disease some representation. ❤️

CW: mentions of chronic illness/disease, mentions of pain, mentions of sickness, swearing

word count: 1.9k

You woke up feeling like shit. Normally, you would deal with it and make your way to class, but today it didn’t feel like normal everyday shit, it felt like more serious shit. You tried to take some medicine and wait a couple minutes in bed for them to start working, but you could tell that if you didn’t go and see Madam Pomfrey, you would only get worse throughout the day.

So you pulled yourself out of bed, not bothering changing out of your sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, and slipped some shoes on. You made your way through the common room where you found your friends lounging on the couches and completing last minute homework. Mary looked in your direction and had to take a double take.

“Oh, sweetheart, do you feel alright? You don’t look too good.” Mary said with concern. If your friends could tell you weren't feeling well, you must look like death. Usually, they can’t tell when you felt your normal levels of pain and sickness, but you obviously look as awful as you feel.

“Yeah you look like you got hit by a train.” Sirius said, glancing up from his hastily scribbled notes, no doubt for class in only a few minutes. He himself didn’t look like his normal self, he looked a bit pale and had bags under his eyes. He and the other boys must have stayed up getting into trouble last night.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re one to talk Black.” you chirped back at him. He winked playfully at you and you gave your friend a small smile back, even if you were in pain, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mess with him a little bit.

“It’s just one of those days,” you explained, now speaking to the whole group again. “I don’t think I can make it to class so, I’m gonna go see if Madam Pomfrey can help me in any way.”

“Oh honey,” Lily said looking sorry and concerned, “I’m so sorry, I’ll be sure to take notes for you.”

“Thanks Lils,” you smiled, making your way out the common room entrance. All your friends called after you a melody of “See you later”s and “Hope you feel better”s.

You started your journey to the infirmary and cursed whoever built the castle. However beautiful it may be, they were an asshole for putting so many stairs throughout it. You wondered how all the normal kids did it, having to go up and down and up and down all day long. One set made you out of breath and needing a minute to recoup.

You were grateful for magic in times like these. You could take some potions and feel a bit better, but no potion could take away your illness. Yes magic could cure the common cold or minor aches or even broken bones, and you heard that there was some development in a magical cure for blindness, but there was no cure, no potion or spell, that could change your genetics, your DNA, every fiber that made you, you.

At times you wish you were just like everyone else, but that isn’t you. You have pain and sickness and hard times, but you have learned to deal with it, overcome it.

You trudged up the final stairs to the medical wing, catching your breath for a moment before pushing open the infirmary door and stepping in, looking for the sweet motherly figure.

Madam Pomfrey was tending to another child at the end of the room. She looked up and once she saw it was you, she gave you that kind, warm smile that you were so used to. You had come to know her quite well, being in and out of the infirmary a lot, especially when you got sick or when the stress of tests and exams hit. She also frequently made potions for you to stop by and pick up to manage your pain and fatigue, a simple tweak to the common Pepperup potion, but you still appreciated it.

“Have a seat in the open bed dear, I’ll be with you in a moment.” she sang through the room. You nodded and headed to the open bed in the middle of the room.

You got yourself comfortable before the curtains magically closed around the bed. You were thankful for the privacy, not needing everyone in Hogwarts to know that you were here again. It wasn’t necessarily their fault for being so ignorant, half of them don’t understand muggle illnesses, but it doesn’t make it any less hard. Some of your peers accused you of lying and pretending to be sick so that you could skip class, but that was the furthest thing from the truth, and all your professors knew that. You wished you could be like everyone else, be able to simply sit through a class normally without starting to ache or fall asleep because of how fatigued you were.

You hated that people didn’t understand, but your friends tried their best to, even if they would never know the full extent, because it isn’t something they experience, but they do a great job. The only one who can relate to you and understands more than the others it seems, was none other than Remus Lupin.

Remus always stayed back with you, walked slower than the rest of your friends around the castle so that you wouldn’t feel like you were behind. He would give you his jacket in classes if you needed to use it as a pillow. He made sure to copy his notes for you when you were too ill to go to class. He was amazing.

You always thought that he knew what to do because he was like you, he experienced the same things as you. Of course, you never asked him about it, but there were times where things were very similar between the two of you. Sometimes he was the one in pain, needing a can to get around, he was a little slower up the stairs with you, he was the one falling asleep in class. You just assumed that maybe he had a similar story to yours, but you didn’t want to pry or be rude, so you just returned the favor to him, lent him your sweaters for pillows, walked slowly with him, offered up Pomfrey's special potion when he winced and grunted while standing up.

You felt that you two were much closer because of these shared experiences, and you were glad you had someone to lean on.

Madam Pomfrey whipped open the curtain and stepped in. “Hello dear,” She smiled at you, “What can I help you with today?”

“It's the usual.” you explained plainly.

“What is your pain level at right now?” she asked.

You thought for a moment. “Like… a seven?” you said. To be honest, you seven was someone else’s 11, but you were used to it so it didn’t feel that bad.

“Well that is too high for my liking.” She said, starting to mix up a potion for you. “How have you been sleeping lately?”

“Not great.” you admitted. “I can’t get myself to fall asleep and then when I wake up I feel more tired than I did when I went to sleep.”

She looked at you and frowned, worry written all over her face. “Well then you are in no shape to attend class.” you wanted to argue but once you opened your mouth to protest, to say that it was fine and you didn’t want your education to suffer, the conversation you and she had had a million times not, but before you could say anything, she cut you off with a look. “I don’t want to hear it miss Y/N.” she said, continuing to mix the concoction. “Everyone always says ‘school comes first’ but that isn’t the truth. Your body and your health come first. Always. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, still wanting to tell her that you were fine really.

“Darling, you need rest. That is the best thing for your body. Now, I am going to write to your professors saying you will not be attending class for the whole day.” she said. You looked at her with bewilderment. “That’s right,” she held firm, “You are prescribed bed rest and my potion.”

You still wanted to protest, but it felt nice to have someone in your corner looking after your best interest. If your mother couldn’t be here, she was the next best thing, and you genuinely felt that she cared about you and your wellbeing.

So you gave in and nodded. “Thank you Madam Pomfrey.”

“Of course my dear.” she said, finishing the potion and setting it on the bedside table for you. She smiled and exited, pulling the curtain shut behind her.

You barely had time to drink your potion and relax into your bed before the curtain opened again. You were met with none other than Remus himself. He looked how you assumed you looked at the moment; not the best. He was pale and looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. You thought earlier that the boys had been up all night causing mischief, but Remus looked in no state to be having any fun. He smiled gently at you, which you returned to him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he joked. You chuckled and felt the potion starting to work. You had seen Remus here countless times over all the years. Sometimes he was only here for a bit, sometimes he was there for much longer, Madam Pomfrey tending to him nonstop. You figured sometimes his condition was really bad.

No matter what, when your infirmary stays lined up, you two would recover together. Sometimes that meant hanging out and playing card games or reading next to each other or talking to pass the time, but sometimes that just meant knowing that the other was in the bed next to you, healing and recovering at your own speeds.

“Come here often?” you joked back.

“I overheard you were on bed rest for the day,” he said. You noticed his limp and figures it was a bad day for him as well. You nodded your confirmation to him. “Well, lucky for you, so am I.”

Your smile broadened.

Remus went to Madam Pomfrey to ask if he could move his bed right next to yours for company, and since you were both on bed rest and supposed to take a nap, it would be easier for her to check in on you both.

Maybe it was because you two were her favorites, but she reluctantly agreed and moments later, his bed magically appeared next to yours, the curtains magically accommodated the new layout. Remus popped himself into his bed now next to yours, so close you could now rest your head on his shoulder, which you did. You felt his warmth beneath you and he rested his head on the top of yours.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Shit.” you answered bluntly to Remus. You always could be with him and he could be with you, one of your favorite aspects of your relationship with him.

He chuckled lightly, trying not to jostle your head around too much. “Yeah me too.” he said.

“You should sleep,” you said to him, yawning. “In the words of Sirius Black ‘you look like you got hit by a train’”

“He did not say that to you.” Remus said, disappointment at his friend laced in his tone.

“Oh yes he did.” you giggled.

Remus yawned as well. “Alright but you should too.”

“Ok, we’ll both sleep now so that we can shove Sirius down the stairs later and tell him that’s what the train feels like” you said mischievously.

Remus giggled along with you. “That sounds like a plan.”

You both dozed off in the morning light, finally able to sleep now that the other was near.

Hi loves!! this one was really just a self insert for me cause I am going THROUGH it right now. but, if i can write something that only one other person can relate to, then I am so happy! ❤️

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ckret2 · 11 months ago

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Chapter 70* of the first day of the rest of human Bill Cipher's life—he's back in the Mystery Shack but whether or not he's a prisoner anymore is up in the air, he's proven he knows how to escape, and the Pines have proven they don't want to execute him anymore. For now. How's he gonna celebrate?

With back pain! That's what you get from half a week of running around in the woods ignoring all your body's pain signals.

But at least it can't get worse.

This chapter is book compatible but book spoiler free! The fic won't remain spoiler free, but while I figure out how to incorporate the new info in the fic, we're proceeding with pre-written chapters unaltered.

[*"hey, wasn't this chapter 62 a few days ago?" I renumbered the chapters after the Axolotl arc. If you haven't read the Axolotl arc, go back and read it!]

####

Soos was awakened by Melody as she thrashed and sucked in a gasp like a scream. Groggily, Soos said, "Babe? You okay?"

She rolled over, grabbing for his arms with trembling hands. "Soos—"

"I've got you." He half sat up with a sleepy groan and pulled Melody into his embrace. She pressed her face into his chest with a sigh. As he stroked her hair, her breathing slowly steadied out again.

"M'good," Melody said. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don't worry about it, babe. Always happy to cuddle." He yawned. "Sleep paralysis again?"

"Yeah," Melody sighed.

For as long as Melody could remember, she'd had sleep paralysis nightmares: nights where she'd wake up and find she was unable to move any part of her body but her eyes, and a monster escaped from her worst dreams was lurking in the room. Shadowy figures with glowing eyes, twisted demonic representations of her least favorite teachers, hunched hags with claws extending out of tattered robes—for three years, it had looked like a werewolf-mummy from an old horror movie that terrified her as a child—filling the doorway, or silhouetted in the window, or standing perfectly straight in the corner with neck tilted sideways as though it were broken, or staring hungrily down at her from the ceiling with bulging eyes, or crawling up from the foot of the bed and over her body to grab her throat.

The first time she spent the night with Soos, she'd warned him about her sleep paralysis; but for the past year, she'd never had a nightmare while sleeping in the Mystery Shack. She'd even been completely free of them for several months—something subconsciously reassuring about having her fiancé next to her, probably—until their unwelcome house guest moved in and she'd gone back to sleeping at her aunt's house in town.

And now she was even having them in the shack.

"This is the third time in less than a month," Soos asked. "Same one as usual?"

"Mhm."

"I couldn't protect you this time," Soos said mournfully. "I have failed you as your knight in shining armor... Maybe I need shining armor. Do you think they make like, shiny silver spandex pajamas?"

Melody laughed. "Soos, you goofball." She hugged him tighter. "It's fine. I always get sleep paralysis more when I'm stressed. And the situation in the shack's been... well..."

"Yeah," Soos sighed. "I know." She didn't need to tell him what part of "the situation" was stressing her out.

For the past year, ever since Weirdmageddon—which she'd been just unlucky enough to catch live on a weekend trip to visit Soos—her sleep paralysis demon had looked like Bill Cipher.

She'd told Soos this last fall, and in a panic he'd told her that Bill was a dream-invading demon; and for a moment they'd feared this meant Bill had found a way back. But no—according to Soos, Bill was a real chatterbox, and he was always doing something if he invaded your dreams. The thing Melody saw acted like any of her other nightmares: creepy. Standing on too-long legs at the end of the bed; giving off sickly yellow light she could see through her eyelids; staring at her with one bloodshot eye; crawling onto her chest with claws like gnarled black branches. It was just an unlucky coincidence that the real Bill had been a dream demon, and just an unlucky coincidence that being petrified by an eye-bat felt so much like sleep paralysis.

Ironically, now she had confirmation that her nightmares didn't mean Bill was back—because, when Bill did come back, her nightmares hadn't changed.

"My subconscious just hasn't caught up to the fact that you guys finally executed him," Melody said, getting comfortable to go back to sleep. "The good news is, the real Bill's gone and we never need to worry about that again."

"Oh," Soos said. "Um. By the way. The craziest thing happened at like one in the morning."

####

Bill was creeping upstairs to bed when he heard Melody shout, "He's WHAT?!"

He had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from bursting out giggling.

####

Bill was getting better at using his other eyes in his sleep, even when he hadn't chemically connected himself to them. His range wasn't very far yet. From inside the shack, all he could feel was his hoodie, his new necklace, a handful of drawings Mabel had done, and four blankets of his zodiac wheel: two in the kids' room, one in Soos's, and one in the dark.

Around eight in the morning, Mabel was still sleeping comfortably and Dipper was staring at the ceiling worrying; all was right with the world. He only glanced into Soos's room long enough to overhear Melody, "—I'm not mad at you, I'm just mad about the whole situation. I mean, I'll adjust, but still—" before moving on, uninterested in listening to a cutesy couple reassuring each other.

The fourth blanket was in some tight dark container—leather?—but he could hear a muffled voice: "If Bill's staying here on a long term basis, we need to renegotiate... almost everything about his captivity." That was Ford. It was gratifying to know that even when Bill was asleep, the whole household was thinking about him.

"Yeah, you're right," Stan sighed. "We can't just let him keep sleeping on a couple of cushions. We haven't been able to use that couch all summer." There was the sound of a zipper and the lid over the zodiac blanket swung up, revealing Stan standing above.

Ford said, "And trying to get him to sleep in the living room is a lost cause. He says he needs to sleep in a room where he can see the stars."

A guilty look crossed Stan's face. "Right. That's probably it." He pushed the zodiac blanket aside, pulled out a t-shirt, and shut the suitcase again. "We could get—I don't know—an inflatable mattress or something..."

"There's an unused mattress in the basement, isn't there? Maybe we could haul it up." (It wasn't a terribly comfortable mattress. But Bill supposed they only wanted to give him the bare minimum so they could get their precious couch cushions back.)

"I'll ask Soos about it," Stan said. "Well, let's get this over with."

That was Bill's cue to wake up. He'd like to look alert when they came for him. Negotiations ought to go in his favor; he could still threaten suicide if their terms felt too restrictive—or even just threaten to escape, he could do that now if he didn't like their terms!—but they couldn't threaten to kill him anymore. He wondered if he could get phone privileges...

He opened his eyes. He was laying on his left side, the window at his back. He tried to push himself upright.

Sharp pain exploded in the left side of his back. He gasped, collapsing on his side. The pain clawed over his left shoulder, inside his arm, up his neck, across to his right shoulder blade, down nearly to his hips. His entire body tensed around the pain.

He let out a weak, wheezy laugh. (He could feel his ribcage contracting as he exhaled.) That was truly exquisite pain.

All right. He shouldn't be surprised by this. He'd spent four of the last five days tromping through forests and mountains and three of the last five nights getting next to no sleep, including two nights in a thin sleeping bag. The last couple of days, he'd hiked all over creation carrying two fully-loaded backpacks, in a body that had gotten next to no exercise for the past month and probably hadn't been designed for hiking in the first place. And on top of all that, first he'd thought the Axolotl was coming to arrest him and then that the Pines were going to kill him—and human bodies handled emotional stress very poorly. Not to mention whatever the heck had happened when three-fourths of his body had simply stopped working for an hour.

He'd ached for days. He'd simply kept pushing himself through it all, because this stupid weak human body didn't get the luxury of rest when Bill's life and death were on the line.

Apparently, that was all the pushing it could take. Now he felt like someone had shoved a knife in his back and twisted the muscles up around the blade like twirling a forkful of spaghetti. (Oh, that sounded delicious. One more brilliant idea to implement when he restarted Weirdmageddon: spinal muscle spaghetti. Freshly grated parmesan, maybe a little pesto.)

It was difficult even to breathe—that little motion was enough to make his back muscles squeal in pain. He had to carefully move his hips and right arm in tiny motions to let him roll onto his back while roiling up his pained muscles as little as possible; and then he just as carefully rolled onto his right side, his back to the room. The human body was such a fascinatingly complex interconnected thing, crisscrossed with puppet strings that all tugged each other; no matter what part of his body he moved, somehow it managed to yank on something in his upper left back. He curled his left arm against his chest and squeezed his elbow with his right arm, trying to find a way to tense the rest of his body that reduced the tension on his back.

He heard the door to Mabel and Dipper's room open. For lack of a better plan, he shut his eyes and tried to look natural as they passed him on the way to the stairs. Like heck was he about to let the kids know he was in pain, much less ask them for help. He doubted he was severely injured—he combed through his knowledge of human anatomy—probably just a muscle spasm. It would reduce in a few hours; and then he could make his way downstairs and figure out how to convince someone to get him an ice pack out of the freezer without betraying that anything was wrong. For now, he just had to lay down, try to find a position that didn't stab into his revolting muscles, and wait...

Downstairs, Stan bellowed, "Hey, demon! Get down here!"

Right. What were the odds Bill could make it downstairs and fake that he wasn't in agonizing pain in front of the Pines family? Could he suppress those winces convincingly? He tried to sit up.

And immediately fell to his side again with a gasp. In spite of his breathtakingly self-destructive willpower, he physically couldn't force himself to sit upright. Why not! What was the point?! He didn't mind the pain half as much as his body did, and he thought he should be the one in control here!

Stan hollered, "BILL!"

His voice cracked, "Later!" Ugh. Good thing he'd gotten in his dramatic return last night. He suspected that was the last time he'd look cool for a while.

####

Soos was just emerging from the bedroom when he heard Stan shouting, "I said get down here, Cipher!"

There was a long pause before the reply came from upstairs: "Can't!"

"I WASN'T ASKING!"

"ME NEITHER."

Something was up. Bill always talked a little too hard—not always loud, but hard—as though he were trying to carry on a regular conversation over a strong wind; but Soos thought something about his voice seemed even more forced today. Almost strained.

Soos heard Stan and Ford talking quietly as they headed up the stairs—"...sounds off, do you think he's injured?" "I can't imagine how, if he'd been up this morning we would have heard him banging around..."—and he followed them up.

At the top of the stairs, Stan demanded, "Well? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me." Bill was curled up on his usual cushion bed. He didn't even turn to look at them. "Just—let me sleep in. Am I not allowed to sleep in? It's not like I have a job." Now that he wasn't straining to shout, his voice sounded even more pained—barely more than a tight whisper.

"All right, fine. Nothing's wrong with you," Ford said. "Then what's wrong with your body?"

Bill chuckled weakly in defeat. "Back's in too much agony to do its job, so I'm giving it the day off."

"Oh, dude," Soos said sympathetically. "Back pain is the worst. One time, I messed up my back after carrying a bunch of boxes between the museum and the attic? Yeah, it was pretty bad for like, a day. I was kinda crying, because it hurt, but also because I had to miss work, and I felt awful about it—but then I remembered the Mystery Shack was closed that day, and I wasn't missing work. So I went to sleep."

Stan and Ford stared expectantly at Soos.

"That's it, that's my whole anecdote."

"Riveting," Bill said flatly. "Did you invite everyone up here to stare at me?" With great difficulty, he pulled his bedsheet up over his head, leaving only a pile of golden curls visible. "Anyway. I'd love to come downstairs—really, I'm famished—buuut my back won't cooperate, and I can't tell you how furious I am about laying on the ground like an idiot at the feet of three of my captors, so if. you. all. would. leave. Please." The "please" came out sounding like the final word of a hex.

Soos winced. Oh, yeah, he supposed being stuck on the floor in front of a bunch of guys you didn't like was pretty embarrassing. He looked toward the stairs and shifted his feet, waiting for the Stans to make a move that direction.

But instead they huddled up to discuss. Stan muttered, "Think he's faking?"

"Why would he?" Soos asked.

Ford murmured, "Soos is right—unless he's that desperate to sleep in, I can't think of a reason he'd lie. He had some... muscular issues after the eclipse—and who knows what he's been up to the last couple of days..." Ford raised his voice, "This isn't the same thing as after the eclipse—?"

"No, just garden variety human back pain," Bill said quickly. "I assume it's garden variety. I've never had back pain before."

"Can you tell what muscles it is?"

"Ugh." Bill let out a shaky sigh. "Pain's... generalized, but... top suspect is the latissimus dorsi. Next guess is the erector spinae group."

"What," Stan said.

Ford nodded like he knew what Bill was talking about. Which he probably did, Soos figured. Doctor and all. "Probably not a severe injury, then. It likely just needs rest—"

Irritably, Bill snapped, "Like I said."

"Great," Stan said. "Then I don't care anymore." He headed downstairs. "Lemme know when the demon can walk again."

Soos and Ford exchanged an awkward look, silently debating whether to follow suite. Ford turned to Bill and cleared his throat. "What do you want for breakfast."

Bill groaned and muttered, "Probably can't use utensils. Whatever, just—bacon and toast and the strongest painkillers in the house."

"All right." Ford headed downstairs.

That struck Soos as inadequate. Trailing after Ford, he said, "Dude, Bill's in so much pain he can't even sit up. Shouldn't we offer to call a doctor or something?"

Ford said, "Knowing Bill, he'd rather die."

Soos considered that. "I'm gonna offer it anyway." He backtracked enough to get his head above the attic floor. "Hey Bill, do you want us to call a doctor or something?"

"I'd rather die."

"Haha, okay! Welp, glad I checked."

But as he headed down to the kitchen, something about the situation still bothered Soos.

Ford was already laying out bacon in a frying pan. "Soos, could you get the painkillers?" he asked. "We should probably give him individual pills rather than the whole bottle. When he got his hands on the cold medicine, he used it to get crossfaded with cider and to drug a wild animal."

Soos winced. Ouch, was that the cold medicine he'd given Bill? (He wondered when Ford had learned the phrase "crossfaded.")

"Hey... didn't Bill say he was famished?" Soos asked. "Is it kinda weird he's just asking for bacon and toast?"

It took Ford a long moment to answer. He didn't look up from the bacon. "I... suppose he's too proud to ask for anything more complicated."

"Why wait for him to ask, then? Just make him some more stuff anyway?"

Ford shook his head. "He'd be insulted."

Ford had been right about Bill's reactions so far, but— "Okay, fine. Then I'll bring it upstairs and insult him. He'll be insulted and fed. What do you think he'll eat?"

Ford glanced at Soos. Soos thought the look was grateful.

####

Apparently, Bill's age looked a little bit different to everybody. Soos had first found out when Abuelita mentioned that Bill looked like one of those ladies she saw at bingo night who were clearly 60-something, but had had a little too much work done—makeup, facial injections, hair dye. The sort who never really looked younger, but rather just gave off the impression that they were terrified of looking older.

So Soos had asked Mabel, and she said that Bill looked like he was in his mid-20s—about Soos's age, maybe a little older. He'd asked Dipper, and Dipper said he had no idea—to him, Bill never really looked quite convincingly human, more like an alien wearing a human rubber mask—but if he had to take a guess at the age the rubber mask was supposed to portray... like, middle-age-ish? Parent-middle-age-ish? Maybe 40-something? 40-something. Melody had had a hard time as well, but eventually settled on early 30s—the age you imagined a snotty Silicon Valley startup CEO would be.

Which was all very fascinating to Soos.

Because to him, Bill looked eighteen. Exactly eighteen.

At 23, Soos was just reaching the age where 18-year-olds stopped looking like peers and started looking like babies. Eighteen was "you know this is what an adult looks like, but it takes you by surprise almost every time" age. Eighteen was "you wouldn't be surprised to see this face behind a counter working as a barista, but you'd be a little alarmed if you overheard them talking about paying rent" age. Eighteen was "they can be all alone in the world making their own decisions and it's technically okay, but if they are, then someone failed them" age.

To him, Bill looked like somebody who'd been flung callously out into the world before his time—unprepared, overwhelmed, and alone.

Soos knew Bill was older than the whole universe or whatever. He knew that Bill was the guy who'd tried to take over the Earth. But he wasn't that guy now. Look at him. He shouldn't have been worried about imprisonment or world domination or getting executed. He should have been making pocket change working at the mall food court over summer break and playing Dancy Pants Revolution at the arcade with other recent high school grads and making puppy eyes at all the small business owners in town until somebody offered him a minimum-wage full-time job and sneaking into the movie theater on Saturday mornings.

Soos was finding it more and more impossible to see Bill as the enemy, much less as some incomprehensible alien. He had cousins who looked like Bill. Slap a pair of sunglasses over his freaky eyes and try to ignore that his body proportions were just a bit unnatural, and he could blend right into a Ramirez family portrait. Just another post-high-school pre-college kid in the middle of the transition from skinny teen to fat adult that most Ramirez women went through by 30. His neon yellow hair would fit right in beside Reggie's little sister's current neon red dye job.

From the moment Bill temporally poofed into the Mystery Shack on June 1 with a Pony Heist bedsheet toga and an ineffective vengeance plot, he'd been going through the physical and emotional wringer. Soos got it, of course Bill was having a bad time, he was a prisoner because he was a danger to the whole universe. And being human for the first time was probably tough. One time Soos was stuck in a pig's body and that was rough, and it was only for one day and at least Soos had still been a mammal. It was probably inevitable that Bill was having a bad time.

But it bothered Soos, seeing somebody in his house who was so miserable. And it bothered him that no one else seemed very bothered.

He loved the Pines family—he'd reverse-adopted Stan as his dad and he'd give his life for any one of them—but part of him had to wonder whether they'd be more bothered by witnessing the hell Bill was going through if he looked like he could be part of their family.

####

"Hey dawg!" Soos hefted up the tray as he entered the attic. "Breakfast!"

Bill was still buried under his bedsheet. "Stanford couldn't be bothered to come up himself?"

"I wanted to bring it!"

Bill grumbled something inaudible. He'd made no secret of the fact that he disdained Soos, although Soos had no idea why. When a human looked down on Soos, he had a couple guesses; but he didn't know what an alien could judge him for. Was it the British dog man nightmare? Was Bill insulted by Soos's 10th grade geometry grades?

But Bill didn't protest, so Soos scooted around his makeshift bed to set the tray down on the floor in front of him. "Uh... feel better, dude. Hey, you know—if sleeping on the floor is hurting your back, the fold-out sofa in the living room is still totally available. Just, in case you wanna—"

"Not interested," Bill said. "Buzz off, Questiony."

"Okay." He'd offered.

Soos was almost back to the stairs when Bill said, "What is all this stuff?"

"It's breakfast!" The tray included bacon, a toasted sandwich, a drink with one of those straw that bent in the middle so Bill didn't have to sit up all the way up to drink it, a pre-opened chip bag, and a pre-opened pill bottle. (Soos had elected to ignore Ford's advice that they mete out painkillers one pill at a time. If they gave Bill individual pills, he'd have to ask for more when they wore off, and Soos suspected he'd rather choose to suffer.)

"I didn't ask for this."

"Well, I thought you might want some other stuff."

"I don't."

Surprise! Bill was insulted. Soos didn't understand how he could be insulted by some extra food for breakfast—he's still gotten his bacon and toast—but all right, fine, Soos had been warned. "Oh, okay. Just don't eat anything you don't want."

Bill grunted in response.

As Soos started down the stairs, Bill said, "Hey, Questiony. If Mabel asks where I am, just tell her I woke up for breakfast then decided to sleep in."

Aww, he didn't want her to worry. "What about if Dipper asks?"

"Tell him to mind his own business."

"Heh. You got it, dude." Soos headed back to the kitchen—still bothered.

####

Yesterday, Soos and Melody had made plans to take advantage of the Mystery Shack being closed for the day to make breakfast together, the way they used to during the off season. But today, Melody had said that, now that Bill was alive again, she wasn't comfortable eating in the shack, and she'd gone to her aunt's house. She'd said she wasn't mad at Soos, and he believed her—he'd played no part in Bill's continued survival—but still. It kinda felt like she was mad at Soos.

So Soos was eating brunch by himself in the kitchen when Bill gingerly eased himself downstairs—leaning to one side, wincing in pain, one eye squeezed shut, and supporting himself on his broken umbrella; but, mobile again. He ducked into the living room where Stan and Ford were watching TV and, from what Soos had overheard, planning what to do with the rest of their summer. "Okay, I'm here," Bill said. "Negotiations?"

"Hey—no weapons," Stan said. "Hand over the umbrella."

"What! You let me keep it last night."

"Yeah, when it was raining and we were tired. I don't see any rain inside the house."

"Hey, Mr. Pines?" Soos leaned out of the kitchen. "Bill was just using the umbrella to walk? Maybe we could let him keep this one?"

Bill shot Soos a dirty look, face flushed. (What was that for!)

Stan paused, and turned to Ford for a verdict. Ford pressed his lips together, looked away, and muttered, "Well, if he's using it for legitimate purposes."

Bill stared at Ford, brows raised in amazement. "Wait, wait—I'm allowed to have it now?"

"Yes?" Ford said. "I mean—If you're using it to walk, why wouldn't you be?"

"Why wouldn't I—?!" Bill laughed in disbelief. "'No weapons, Bill!' 'No weapons, Bill!' Ev-ry sin-gle time! No canes, no umbrellas, no brooms, no baseball bats, no GOLF CLUBS, no STICKS, no CURTAIN RODS—"

"Oh come on!" Stan spread his hands defensively. "Some of those can obviously be used as weapons—!"

"I wouldn't have needed a baseball bat if you hadn't already taken my cane!"

"You tried to brain Soos with a cane on your first day."

Bill shot another dirty look at Soos.

Soos said apologetically, "That did objectively happen."

Bill rolled his open eye and glowered at Stan again. "What, so because of that I'm not allowed to walk?"

"I," Stan said. "That." He turned to Ford again for help.

Ford said, "If we'd known you needed a cane—"

"I fall down the stairs twice a day!"

"Well," Ford said.

"You use me falling to tell when I'm up in the morning!"

"Ah."

"Did it not occur to you! That this was a problem! That I was trying to solve!"

"I see your point."

Why didn't he just say something, Soos wondered; followed by, what, the guy who refused to explain why he was stuck laying on the floor until we dragged it out of him?

"Well, you've got an umbrella now," Stan said. "Happy?"

"Elated," Bill said sourly. He perched on the armrest of the sofa, visibly wincing as he crossed his legs and found the right position to balance himself. (Soos noted that, since Stan and Ford were already occupying both armchairs and the sofa's seat cushions were in the attic, Bill didn't have any cushioned place to sit. With back pain, no less.) "Let's get this over with."

The crux of the negotiations was that, when Bill and the Pines had initially agreed on the terms of his imprisonment, they'd only been meant to be sufficient enough to last until either the Pines figured out how to kill him or Bill figured out how to escape. Now that both had happened and it looked like Bill would be staying here longer than planned, they supposed they needed something more sustainable.

Bill requested door rights back. Stan and Ford nixed that immediately; they didn't trust him with that kind of freedom.

"Fine, then at least let me go outside. I want fresh air, blue skies, and a social life! I'm an extrovert, I'm losing even more of my mind in here."

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. "Yeah," Stan said grudgingly. "He's more or less in solitary in here. Even for him, that's harsh." (A ghost of a triumphant smirk flickered across Bill's face and disappeared.)

Ford considered that with an unconvinced grimace; but he said, "I suppose... you can make occasional trips outside the shack for... mental health purposes. Under adequate supervision."

"Finally," Bill sighed. "So what's 'adequate' supervision?"

That was where negotiations broke down. Stan and Ford did not think that Mabel alone was adequate supervision for the villainous Bill Cipher, and Wendy was just barely sufficient for Rainbow Club nights but he couldn't be trusted alone with her outside that; Bill, on the other hand, objected strenuously to the suggestion that he could only go outside with somebody who hated and/or distrusted him—which described everyone in the shack except Wendy and Mabel—because that would just make going outside miserable.

They couldn't agree on what kinds of things Bill would be allowed to do, either. They didn't like the idea of him hanging out with Rainbow Club members outside of club meetings, or going with Abuelita to bingo, or visiting a bar in town—all of those would give him too many opportunities to manipulate people with minimal oversight.

"Okay," Bill said irritably, "so are there any social activities I am allowed to participate in! Since it sounds like socialization itself is off limits—!"

Soos decided to make himself scarce before things got any more heated. Maybe he'd go upstairs to retrieve the tray from breakfast.

####

The bacon and drink had been consumed; the bendy straw had been tied in a double loop; the pill bottle was alarmingly light; the sandwich had been picked at, before Bill elected to eat the toast around it and leave the filling behind on the plate; and the potato chip bag had been flung across the room, crushed chips left in its wake, in some sort of protest against receiving unasked-for food. Okay. So Bill was really insulted, then.

Eh, Soos should probably clean up here anyway. He took pride in keeping the Mystery Shack clean, but he hadn't had a chance to thoroughly clean the attic since Bill and the kids moved in for the summer. And it looked like the projectile potato chips weren't the only junk food trash that had accumulated. He saw empty chip bags, candy wrappers, peanut butter jars, jerky packets, cider cans... a lot of cider cans...

He went downstairs, got a broom, a trash bag, and a vacuum, and got to work.

As Soos worked his way across the floor sucking up potato chips, he quietly sang to himself, "Am I cleanin'? Girl, I'm cleanin'. I vacuum in the attic. 'Are you cleanin'?' Yeah, I'm cleanin'. I vacuum in the..." He picked up the couch cushions to vacuum under them—he still wondered why Bill preferred to sleep on the cushions rather than the sofa bed downstairs. Maybe he got scared of the dark and liked to sleep by a window? That would make sense. Since Bill used to glow when he was a triangle, he probably wasn't used to the dark. Or maybe he just thought the attic was cooler than the living room.

Soos almost set the cushions back on the ground, noticed bloodstains on one, and froze. He'd seen Bill with a lot of little injuries, but had he seen any cuts that big? The blood didn't look fresh. They'd at least been here long enough for Bill to hide them on the underside of the cushion. Soos looked around wildly for any clues about how or why or when, uneasily decided that since they were dry and Bill wasn't dead he didn't need to worry about it, and pulled out the upholstery attachment to give the stain a halfhearted vacuuming before putting the cushions back in place. What the heck was happening in this attic?

Soos scooped up the mostly yellow and black clothes sitting at the foot of the cushion-bed—they were outside Bill's cardboard box "dresser," he figured that meant they were dirty—wrapped them in Bill's Pony Heist sheet, and tossed the bundle toward the staircase. They flew down to the landing without hitting the stairs. "Yes! Three points! No net!" Soos pumped his fist.

He cleaned the window seat's cushion with the upholstery attachment, picked it up to clean underneath—and the cushion was really heavy on one side. He felt that side of the cushion; there was something hard and brick-ish inside. He caught a flash of white along one edge. The cushion's stuffing was coming out of a tear in the seam. Soos reached inside.

His jaw dropped. "No way. How did he...?"

Soos had pulled out two stubby crayons and the long-lost Journal 4.

####

(If you got this far thank you for taking a break from the fandom-wide riots over the book in order to read my fic. (I'm assuming there's fandom-wide riots, I'm queuing this Monday night so that I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the week.) Anyway, I'd love to hear what y'all think about our first Soos-focused plot arc!

And as promised, now that the book's out, I'll be getting to work crossposting the fic to Ao3 soon-ish. I don't know when yet, since I'm writing to y'all from the past, but soon.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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