#the bill: episode: rolling in it
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augustusaugustus · 5 months ago
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13.24 Rolling in It
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The happiest Steve’s ever been.
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LOXTON: This is the ultimate.
QUINNAN: Yeah, only if you’re going to make up for inadequacies in other areas, if you know what I mean, Steve.
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When special interests collide: have some car porn. I’m not usually a big Lambo person, but this one is sexy af.
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castielsparkle · 9 months ago
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average spn episode
dean: son of a bitch this burger is so good
cas: * so hard he could cut a rock* I think this human process of 'Burger' you seem to enjoy so much brings me great intrigue Dean
sam: guys isn't it a little messed up that we kill monsters¹ sometimes lowkey they have a point
dean: no its literally awesome. i love hunting i love to gank and i also love to suck and fuckk women²
cas: can anybody else hear this burgers heartbeat when Dean eats it?³
¹sam could not fare away from the hunting life for more than two seconds.
²this is a false statement.
³castiel does not know how to describe the emotion of 'boner' a way he or anyone else can understand.
roll credits. season 35 1/2. jared padalecki a million dollars a second. jensen ackles second billing. misha collins is not credited for the episode. movie announcement
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jupiterpilgrim · 2 months ago
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SEX CAGE - A Certain Kind of Freedom
Kwon Eunbi x male reader
word count: 14K
part 1
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Eunbi and Somi are lounging on the couch, comfortably wrapped in the delicious art of gossip — the kind of conversation that could fuel hours of free entertainment, without the need for Netflix or Wi-Fi. Eunbi grabs another cookie, chewing slowly as Somi talks with the passion of someone who just watched the latest episode of a dramatic reality show.
"You heard the latest about Mina, right?" Somi starts, her voice full of that conspiratorial tone only someone who truly revels in other people's misfortunes can master.
Eunbi raises an eyebrow, with the moderate interest of someone who knows this is going to be good. "Oh, Mina, the embodiment of perfection... at least according to herself."
Somi nearly chokes with laughter. "Yes! And can you believe her boyfriend dumped her to date her younger sister?!" She drops the news as if she’s revealing the biggest scandal of the week, which, for their circle, might just be.
Eunbi stifles a laugh, which turns into a rather sadistic smile. "Of course, because obviously the only way to escape that arrogance was... to dive headfirst into an even bigger mess. Congrats to him for making the dumbest choice available."
Somi slaps Eunbi’s arm, laughing. "The worst part is, apparently the sister thought it was cute that he tattooed her name on his arm. Cheap tattoo, mind you. And, of course, she fell for him right then and there. Because nothing says 'I love you' like a bad tattoo."
Eunbi grimaces, shaking her head. "A name tattoo is like signing a contract with disaster. But hey, everyone does what they can with the little brain they have, right?"
They burst into laughter again, the kind of shared humor only longtime friends can appreciate — especially when they’re mocking someone they never really liked. The sound echoes through the apartment, and for a moment, it’s almost like they’re back in the days when their biggest worry was deciding which nail polish to wear that week.
Somi finally catches her breath and looks at Eunbi with a softer expression. “But seriously... you’re glowing, you know? You’ve got such amazing energy! Way different from the last time we talked, when you were, like, at rock bottom with the whole unemployment thing.”
Eunbi feels her stomach churn slightly. Ah, rock bottom. What dark times those were (three months ago). Until she turned things around, of course, but by means Somi can’t — and shouldn’t — know about. Eunbi plays with her hair, as if she can brush away the discomfort with the gesture. “Ah, you know... things have gotten better. Lucky for me, my roommate is super smart.”
Somi narrows her eyes, curious. “Smart how? Did he help you get a new job or something?”
Eunbi tries not to sweat. She can’t exactly admit that her current 'job' involves cameras, masks, and an eager audience hungry for more content. So, the lie flows, smooth as oil. “Oh, you know, he’s into all that nerdy stuff. Investments, bitcoins, NFTs... those complicated things only weirdos understand. He’s been covering the bills for now.”
Somi looks at Eunbi, genuinely impressed. “Wow, you really lucked out! A rich nerdy roommate. Sounds like one of those cliché romances.”
Eunbi lets out a nervous smile. “Yeah, it was a good roll of the dice.” Before Somi can start connecting dots or asking more complicated questions, Eunbi quickly decides to steer the conversation in a different direction. “But enough about that. Now that I have more time, I’m thinking of going back to the gym. What do you think about us going together? Like, a triumphant return to the fitness life.”
Somi almost spills her tea in excitement. “You? The gym? I’m shocked!! But seriously, that’s awesome! What gave you the sudden motivation?”
Eunbi smiles, satisfied to have shifted the topic to safer ground. “Oh, you know... health, staying in shape, that kind of thing. And now that I’ve got more free time, I’ve got no excuses, right?”
Of course, the real reason for the new gym routine was less noble and more... vain. Keeping that ‘porn goddess body’ requires work, after all. The cameras don’t lie, but they definitely have their preferences. And Eunbi was determined to live up to those expectations — hers, the fans’, and anyone else willing to pay to watch.
Somi gets excited about the idea, clapping her hands animatedly. “I LOVE this! Finally, a gym buddy! We can even take those post-workout selfies, you know? Like, ‘no pain, no gain.’ It’s going to be great!”
Eunbi laughs, already picturing herself doing squats while Somi films her for Instagram. “It’ll be fun. My goal will be to get abs like yours.”
The conversation flows smoothly, with occasional laughs and sharp gossip, until the apartment door opens and you walk in, as usual, a bit clumsy, unaware that you’re interrupting the gathering. Somi turns her head to look at you, surprised but with her usual friendly, easy smile.
“Hey! Long time no see!” She gets up to greet you while you try to force a tired smile and give her a quick hug. Not that you don’t like Somi; she’s great, really, but she always brings this certain energy that leaves you feeling slightly... drained. The kind of person who could empty the battery of an entire room just by showing up.
“How’s it going?” you ask, trying to be polite as you prepare to escape to your room.
Somi responds with the same enthusiasm as always. “Everything’s great! And you? I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Ah, I’m good too. Make yourselves at home, don’t mind me, I’m just heading to my cave,” you say, and with that, you finally make your way to your room.
Barely closing the door, Somi, who never misses an opportunity, turns to Eunbi with a curious gleam in her eye.
“So, has he been bringing a lot of girls around here?”
Eunbi lets out a theatrical sigh, as if the question were more ridiculous than it actually was. “Thank God, no. He’s always been pretty chill, actually. More of a stay-at-home, play-video-games type than the ‘hook up with everyone’ kind.”
Somi crosses her arms, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Really? That’s funny. He’s cute. And I always thought cute guys were taken. What a waste.”
Eunbi tries to keep her composure, but something about Somi finding you cute bothers her. Not that she’s jealous. Obviously not! But hearing Somi compliment you... well, let’s just say it’s irritating. “Yeah, he’s cute. But anyway, back to the topic... the gym, right? I think I’ll start tomorrow.”
“Great! The gym I go to is amazing, you’ll love it.”
Eunbi smiles, satisfied with the sudden shift in conversation, and decides to change the course even further.
"By the way, I’ve always wanted to ask you something, Somi... have you ever been with a girl?"
Somi almost breaks the cookie she was about to eat. She blinks, processing the question. “Uh... like, kissed?”
Eunbi shrugs. “Kissed, hooked up, anything. Has it ever happened?”
Somi, still a bit taken aback, furrows her brow. “Ah, kissing, sure. Everyone’s kissed a friend after a few drinks, right? It’s like a friendship ritual.”
Eunbi lets out a little laugh. “So, just a kiss then? Nothing more?”
Now, Somi’s completely intrigued. She places her teacup carefully on the coffee table, as if she’s about to disarm a bomb. “Well... I’ve never slept with a girl, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Eunbi continues to probe. “And... would you try it?”
She pauses, looking at Eunbi more intently now, as if trying to catch the hidden subtext in the question. Then, connecting some dots, maybe a bit hastily, she smiles slightly. “Wait... are you suggesting that—”
But before Somi can finish her sentence, Eunbi waves her hand, as if shooing away a bunch of unwanted thoughts. “No, no! Nothing like that. I’m not suggesting anything. I was just curious.”
Somi laughs, but there’s a faint thread of tension in the air now, something light, something that wasn’t there before. “Oh, okay. Because, you know, I wouldn’t judge if you were thinking about it. I mean, you’re gorgeous, I’m gorgeous... It wouldn’t exactly be a tragedy.”
Eunbi gives a short, controlled laugh, like someone who needs to keep the train on the tracks. “I know, but that’s not it. I was just asking.”
Somi relaxes, but the mischievous look doesn’t fade. “Ah, got it. Just checking if the hot friend’s into girl-on-girl stuff. Sure, makes sense. Now tell me, what about you? Ever been with a girl?”
“Well... like you, I’ve kissed some friends a few times, you know, those party moments when everyone’s drunk and hyped. But I never... went beyond that, you know?”
Somi puts on a fake dramatic act, clutching her chest like she's deeply offended. "What? You've kissed other friends but never me? And here I thought our friendship was special!"
Eunbi, with the calm of someone who always has an answer ready, shrugs. "Well, we could change that right now, if you want."
Somi raises an eyebrow, surprised, but a smile begins to form on her lips. "Are you serious?"
Eunbi simply nods. "Why not? Friends do these things, right?"
If this were a book, this would be the moment when the reader holds their breath, eagerly anticipating what's next.
Then, without much fuss, Somi gives a mischievous smile, and they both lean forward until their lips touch in a quick, simple kiss. No drama, no complications. Just a brief moment, but with an underlying tension neither of them will admit to.
When they pull away, Eunbi smiles like she just checked off something from her to-do list.
"There. Now you're part of the exclusive group of friends I've kissed."
Somi laughs, raising her cup of tea. "Wow, what an honor. Let's toast to that."
Eunbi raises hers too, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "To open friendships."
They clink their cups, the sound echoing through the room, and the atmosphere relaxes again, as if nothing unusual just happened.
[12:03 AM]
Yujin: Heyyyy Rubydden! 🖤✨ Saw your sextape, girl, you SLAYED! Congrats!
[12:07 AM]
Rubydden: Omg, thanksss! I was so nervous, you have no idea 😳
[12:08 AM]
Yujin: Nervous? Pff, no way. You looked super natural. You’ve got that je ne sais quoi. Like... I dunno, a mix of dominatrix and Instagram fairy, you know?
[12:09 AM]
Rubydden: 😂😂 What a description! Now I gotta add that to my bio. But seriously, I loved what you do too. I watched some of your vids and I was like... wow ❤️🔥
[12:11 AM]
Yujin: Some? Haha, liar, bet you binged them all 😏
[12:15 AM]
Rubydden: Well... maybe five or six 😅
---
[10:35 AM]
Yujin: Look, I'm gonna be blunt... I got off to your titjob. That was AVN Awards level 🥵💦
[10:36 AM]
Rubydden: 😳 Omg! Wasn’t expecting that. Now I’m blushing
[10:37 AM]
Yujin: You're a goddess, Rubydden. That close-up on your boobs... girl, perfection!!
[10:38 AM]
Rubydden: Haha, I thought the same about you when I saw that video of you making yourself squirt... hard to forget
[10:39 AM]
Yujin: Haha perfect! But seriously, that titjob you did... I had to grab a vibrator because it was sooo hot 🔥
[10:40 AM]
Rubydden: OMG, really?! I'm feeling flattered now 🙈
[10:41 AM]
Yujin: Of course!! I’m not gonna lie, you and your guy have crazy chemistry. Ever tried a threesome?
[10:42 AM]
Rubydden: Never tried, actually. But I've always been curious... 🤔 Why, got something in mind?
[10:44 AM]
Yujin: Girl, if you haven't tried it, you're missing out, seriously. I've done it a few times and, for real, it’s amazing. Now, imagine this: me, you, and your guy in a video. It'd break the internet!!
[10:46 AM]
Rubydden: Wow... That definitely sounds like something to think about. I guess I'd have to talk to him first, right?
[10:47 AM]
Yujin: For sure, for sure! But think about it seriously, okay? We could make something super sensual, something that would drive the audience wild. Plus, it’d be a lot of fun 😉
[10:49 AM]
Rubydden: Haha, gosh, I'm nervous just thinking about it. But I won’t lie... the idea is tempting
[10:50 AM]
Yujin: Trust me, girl. It’s gonna be an experience you won’t forget. And, obviously, who could forget you after that?
You’re sitting in Eunbi’s room, her laptop open on the desk in front of you, your eyes skimming over the messages again and again. That dialogue on the screen doesn’t just surprise you, it throws you into a world you didn’t even know existed a few months ago.
Yujin?
Collab?
A threesome?
Eunbi, standing beside you, looks at you like she’s already made up her mind. To her, this is just another chance to go viral again. "So?" she says, tapping your shoulder lightly, a carefree smile on her face. "What do you think?"
You swallow hard, the words getting stuck in your throat. "I... I don’t know what to say."
She frowns a little, but still in a playful way, like she’s hearing someone complain about being hot in the summer. "Oh, you never know what to say. Relax. It’s not that complicated." And then, with a twinkle in her eye: "Yujin's hot, right? And she's got millions of followers. If we do this, it’s gonna be huge. Like, huge."
"It’s not that," you mumble, trying to form something coherent, but all logic seems to slip away from you like sand through your fingers. "I mean, it’s just... all of this... it’s so new."
She lets out a soft laugh, like she was expecting exactly that. "Of course it’s new. I still remember us sitting on the couch freaking out, thinking we’d get evicted from our apartment. Everything’s happening so fast, but look where we are now!" She picks up her phone, scrolling through Yujin’s photo gallery, clearly much more comfortable with the idea than you are.
"But I don’t even... know if I want to do this," you admit, trying to understand why your voice sounds so small in this conversation when you should be shouting HEY, I LOVE YOU, CAN WE TALK ABOUT US?!
"It’s okay to not want to... right now," she replies, still half-distracted as she shows you another picture of Yujin, this one even more provocative. "But seriously, look at this. Us and her? It’s gonna break the internet. And you’d be the luckiest guy in the world." She says it like she’s pitching the latest smartphone, full of perks and no downsides.
"I’m not sure ‘lucky’ is the word I’d use," you laugh awkwardly. How do you explain that, in your head, luck would be getting to take her out to dinner, with no cameras or masks in the way?
She frowns, clearly not understanding why you’re not jumping at the idea. "Okay, then what’s the problem?"
Inside, the knot of emotions keeps growing. You’re still trying to process the fact that you’re falling for your best friend. The girl you’ve always shared everything with, who stood by your side through the tough early days of adulthood. You two share something special... but she doesn’t seem to see it the same way. She’s caught up in the work, the followers, the rising fame.
And you?
You’re caught up in the feeling of falling in love with someone who might only see you as a tool for her career.
You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and all you can manage is a frustrated sigh.
"I’ll... think about it, okay?"
She gives you a quick hug, like you’ve just agreed to go to her Barbie-themed party. "Relax, it’s gonna be amazing, you’ll see. We’re doing so well! Maybe, when things calm down, we can even take a trip, just the two of us. What do you think?"
You allow yourself a small smile.
A trip, just the two of you?
That sounds almost... romantic.
"Yeah... that sounds nice."
"Yes! I was thinking maybe the Swiss Alps, how about that? Us in a cozy little cabin, snow falling outside, a fireplace burning... perfect, right?" She looks at you, her eyes shining with the idea. For a brief moment, you imagine the two of you together, far away from everything, just enjoying each other’s company. Damn, that would be perfect.
But, of course, Eunbi continues: "And we could shoot a video there! Imagine, us having sex in front of the fireplace, with the snow falling outside... it’d go viral."
You roll your eyes and take a deep breath. Of course.
Because in the end, that’s what it all boils down to. The romance fades faster than your desire to keep this conversation going.
You're lying on the couch, engrossed in your book, when you hear the apartment door open. Eunbi had gone out to pick up a package, and you were already used to her dramatic entrances. But the excitement with which she bursts through the door this time makes you suspicious of what on earth is in that box. It could contain anything from a toaster to a new vibrator powerful enough to emit sound waves detectable by a hydrophone at the bottom of the ocean.
“So, what’d you get this time?” you ask without looking up from your book.
“Oh, you'll find out soon enough,” she replies in a voice full of secrets.
You raise an eyebrow but go back to your book. “Right. Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t explode.”
She disappears into the bedroom, and for a second, everything returns to normal. You almost convince yourself it’s nothing to worry about… until hours later, when another door opens again, this time with the subtlety of a hurricane. And who enters the room is… well, Eunbi, but a version of her that looks like she just walked out of a weird fanfic written by someone with way too much time on their hands.
She’s wearing a schoolgirl skirt that honestly makes you question the sanity of fashion designers and a baby tee she probably last wore many years ago.
You look at her, half incredulous, half amused, and can’t help but laugh. “Okay, what the hell is that?”
Eunbi spins around like a runway model, making the skirt dangerously twirl. “My new costume! For the next video, obviously.”
You tilt your head, a bit cynical. “What video?”
“I mean, our video,” she corrects. “We’re gonna do a roleplay. I’m the younger sister, and you’re the older brother.”
What?
You frown.
“Wait, what?”
But she moves closer, sitting beside you, her hand strategically landing on your thigh. And it’s that kind of hand slide that makes your neurons scream to ignore it, but of course, your body had already betrayed you the second she walked into the room in that… outfit. Now you start to understand that the mysterious box might have had something to do with this transformation.
“I’m going to be your stepsister,” she begins, while her fingers trace slow circles on your leg, “and our parents aren’t home... and I want to show you something. Something I just discovered, you know, like… sex.”
“Oh, sure. Sex,” you say, as if it’s the most revolutionary concept you’ve ever heard. “Because that’s what every little sister does, right?”
She either ignores the sarcasm or just doesn’t care. “Exactly! Oh, and of course, it won't be anything too scripted, we'll just feel the vibe and improvise. It’s going to be our best video yet. It’ll have that… forbidden touch, you know?”
You lean back on the bed, trying to figure out a way out of this. “So… like… can I finish my book first?”
Her eyes gleam with pure determination as she leans in closer, her hand now dangerously high on your thigh. “You can finish later. This will be quick.”
You had spent the last few days deciding that, no, this was too much, that you weren’t going to have sex with Eunbi just to create content anymore. Boundaries, you told yourself. Self-respect. You were more than that, right? You were going to set limits, be firm...
But now, with her hand so close to something that does not respect any rational decision, those words start to feel distant.
Then she delivers the final blow, the argument that should be illegal in any discussion. “And, look, it’ll be my first anal. You’ll get to fuck my ass. And, to make it better, I’ll let you come inside.”
Your synapses short-circuit. All those mature reflections about feelings and dignity… vanish. The decision you had sworn to keep firm just... dies. Just like that.
Her hand is already on your cock, and of course, it’s already rock-hard. Not that you have much of a choice at this point. Your body had already made the decision for you.
“It’ll be fun,” she says with a slight tease, her fingers now playing with your erection. “And I promise I’ll make you feel... very good.”
You try, by some miracle, to keep your composure. “Okay, but... shouldn’t we have, like, talked about this first?”
She looks at you with an expression that clearly says: Are we really having this conversation right now? “The only thing we need to talk about is how much you want to fuck my ass.”
You let out a sigh—whether of surrender, desire, or just because you’re an idiot, you’re not sure.
But deep down, you knew you were defeated the moment she walked into the room wearing that damned skirt.
Of all the absurd decisions you’ve made, this is probably the most obvious one. With your mind utterly overwhelmed by a mix of desire and confusion, you heard yourself saying yes before you had time to process anything more rational—like, for instance, no.
Eunbi smiles as if she's about to invite you to play house, but a version that would never be allowed on any playground. She bounces off the mattress, as if the thrill of seeing you sink into this pit of poor decisions is a small personal victory, and rushes to the bedroom. You hear the sound of boxes being rummaged through. She comes back with a mask and the camera. Your camera, which, let’s be honest, she practically stole from you a long time ago.
"Here," she says, handing you the equipment with a sparkle in her eyes. "Now I’m going to redo the entrance," she continues, already in full actress mode, putting the mask on, "but this time, you’re going to be my older brother, and I’ll be your... well, you already know."
You sigh, half-amused, half-resigned, but lie down on the bed as instructed, slightly frustrated to give up something important to do... this—and yes, you did consider finishing that book important—but, if we're being honest, resisting Eunbi was like trying to hold water in your hands.
You turn on the TV, something generic is on, maybe a show about giant cakes, which, of course, doesn’t match what’s about to happen. You press the record button on the camera.
And this is how it begins:
The bedroom door opens, and there she is, the personification of every possible cliché of fantasies that shouldn’t exist. A schoolgirl skirt that’s way too short, a baby tee that only someone with questionable taste would consider appropriate for anyone past puberty, and a walk that was almost a caricature. But the strangest thing was how much she had changed. It wasn’t just the outfit. It was everything: the posture, the gestures, even the expression on her face. When she approaches and says, “Hey, big brother,” the voice is so sweet it’s almost sickening.
Pure poisoned sugar.
You glance at her as she sits at the edge of the bed, the camera strategically positioned to film from the neck down, focusing on that damned tight baby tee that accentuates her breasts. “Hey,” you reply, casually.
“Parents are gone,” she announces, sitting beside you on the bed. You mutter something vague in response, more focused on surviving the scene than keeping up the act.
“Remember what dad said before he left?” she asks, with that voice that sounds like it’s meant to sell children’s toys or, in this case, sell the idea of something entirely different.
You nod absentmindedly. “Sure, take care of the house. And you.”
She smiles. But it’s not an innocent smile.
No, definitely not.
"Exactly. And I was thinking… shouldn’t you, like, take care of me now?"
“Hmm, take care of you... how?”
She smiles again, and the insinuation in her voice is so heavy it could sink a ship. "I discovered something. Something people do to feel good. And I think we should try it."
You try to fake indifference, which, of course, doesn’t help at all. "Oh yeah? What’s that?"
She leans in a little more, almost whispering. "The man puts the, um, what’s it called? Penis! That’s it! The man puts the penis into... the vagina... I think that’s it. He puts the penis in the woman’s vagina. That makes them feel good." She pauses, watching your reaction. “I want to try that with you.”
You almost choke on your own saliva.
"What? Who told you that?"
She shrugs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. "Saw it on the internet."
Ah, of course. The internet. The vast well of wisdom and depravity.
Before you could come up with a reasonable excuse to cut this strange performance—something like ‘I can’t do this, sorry’ or ‘please, I just want to finish my book’—her hand was already on your cock. And, to be fair, that’s exactly what your brain didn’t need at that moment.
“Hey, what are you doing now?” you ask, more because you felt you should say something than because you really wanted an answer.
“Let me see your dick, brother,” she said, as if asking to see the TV remote. “Please, please, please!”
"I can't show you that," you retorted, in vain.
She frowned, but in a mischievous way. “I’ll show you what’s under my panties if you show me your dick.”
And, of course, her next move was to part her leg and lift her skirt, revealing the most enticing panties anyone could imagine—pink, with little animal prints, the full provocation package.
Your self-control—or what was left of it—flew out the window. She kept pressing on your dick over your pants, and finally, you gave in. "Alright, alright."
“Yaaay!!”
Eunbi took on the role with an almost disturbing enthusiasm. When you finally gave in and let her pull down your pants, her eyes lit up with exaggerated curiosity, as if she was dealing with something mysterious, incomprehensible, and worthy of scientific study. She looked at your cock like it was a particularly intriguing puzzle—one to be solved not with logic, but with her hands.
"Wow..." she murmured, her words filled with rehearsed admiration. Her fingertips brushed against the warm skin, exploring as if it was the first time she had ever touched a cock. She giggled and, with a touch that was almost innocent (if it weren’t so provocative), started handling it like she was investigating the workings of a new toy.
“It’s... so big!” The words came out with an overly exaggerated tone of surprise.
You tried to maintain some semblance of indifference, but it was like trying to keep a dam intact in the middle of a hurricane. "Careful there," you said, your voice already tense, feeling every light touch as if your cock was now in the hands of an inexperienced mechanic unsure of how to proceed.
She used both hands, holding it with a curiosity that seemed clumsy but intentionally sensual. “Why is it like this? Like, hard... but the skin’s soft at the same time?” The question was so simple, almost comical in its innocence, that you couldn’t hold back a nervous laugh.
“That’s how it works,” you muttered, the effort to keep your head in the game becoming harder as her hands slid more confidently. She squeezed a little more, testing different ways to hold it, as if searching for the perfect grip, her short nails brushing the sensitive skin in a way that made you squirm.
“And these balls down here?” She looked at them with genuine curiosity, playing with your balls, her gaze still so inquisitive that it almost made you laugh again. “What are they for? Do they get hard too?”
“No...” you took a deep breath, trying to explain without completely losing your composure. “I mean, they can get a little hard when they’re full... They’re… sensitive , just... don’t mess with them too much.”
She laughed, clearly amused by the reaction she was provoking. Her touch grew bolder as she became more familiar with what she was doing, running her hands along the entire length, holding your balls with a mix of care and silly curiosity, like she was weighing something valuable. “Oh, so the balls are sensitive...” she teased, laughing mischievously. "I’ll be careful."
She wasn’t, of course. Her touch, though clumsy for the character, was becoming more precise, more intentional. She knew exactly what she was doing, even if the role demanded a forced innocence.
"Can I... try something?" she asked, lying under your legs, her face so close to your dick that you could feel her warm breath on the tip.
"Try what?"
It was an unnecessary question because the answer was already written between the two of you in bold letters. She knew. You knew. Everyone—including the audience watching this later—knew.
“Can I... lick it?” she asked with the same sweetness as someone asking to taste a piece of candy. She tilted her head, her eyes big and bright behind the mask, and without waiting for an answer, lowered her head and gave a timid lick, almost as if she was testing the taste.
You took a deep breath, your muscles tensing involuntarily. "Go ahead..."
She started licking with small, experimental touches, giggling with each new move as if she was genuinely enjoying herself. "It tastes kind of... salty," she commented, like she was talking about a new gourmet ice cream. She laughed again, licking once more, this time with more intention, running her tongue from the base to the tip with an almost disturbing concentration. "Is that good for you?"
"Fuck yes," you responded, trying to control the moan already escaping your throat.
“Then I’ll keep going...” she murmured, smiling satisfied with herself, like a good sister just wanting to make her older brother feel good.
Her movements were a strange, seductive mix of rehearsed hesitation and almost genuine curiosity. The tip of her tongue traced small lines along your skin, up and down, almost like she was discovering a new flavor. She giggled between licks, which for some reason only made the situation hotter. With each touch, the heat in your body intensified.
“You really like this, huh?” she asked with a feigned innocence that you knew was part of the act, but it didn’t make the situation any less provocative. The way she spoke, as if asking an everyday question, contrasted deliciously with the explicit nature of what she was doing.
You let out a low moan, struggling to maintain some control over the situation. “It’s... incredible,” you replied, your voice already shaky.
She paused for a moment, her eyes shining with interest, as if analyzing the situation from a new angle. “So... if this makes you feel so good, what’s the best part?” The question came with that unsettling curiosity of wanting to learn more, wanting to be better at making her brother happy.
You try to stay focused, fighting the urge to just drop the camera and use both hands to make her gag on your dick. But no, she wanted it to be a game, she wanted it slow—you both had roles to play. "The tip," you said, vaguely pointing to the most sensitive part of your dick. “The tip is... where you should focus more.”
Eunbi raised an eyebrow, amusement clear on her face. "The tip?" She looked at your dick with the same exaggerated fascination, her lips moving slowly as she considered the new challenge. "Okay, big brother... If that’s what will make you feel better."
She leaned her head closer, her gaze fixed on the tip of your dick, like she was about to solve a Rubik’s cube. And then, with calculated slowness, she wrapped her lips around the head, giving a light suck, as if tasting something for the first time.
You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The touch of her soft lips, combined with the light pressure of the suction, was simply electrifying. And she seemed to love the reaction she provoked, laughing softly as she continued, her movements increasing in intensity.
“Like this, is it good?” she asked, her voice slightly muffled, as she kept the tip of your dick in her mouth. With each word, the vibration made you lose more and more control.
"Keep going... just like that... it's really good," you managed to say, the words escaping with difficulty. She gave a low, satisfied laugh before going back to what she was doing, now using her tongue to explore the tip with even more curiosity. She swirls her tongue in slow, teasing circles, gently increasing the pressure before relaxing, repeating the motion as if she's experiencing something new each time.
"It's kind of weird," she says suddenly, pulling her mouth away for a second to catch her breath but keeping her hand firmly around your cock, playing with the base like it's something she just learned to use. "But in a good way, you know? Like... kind of funny."
"There's nothing funny about this," you say, almost laughing but trying to keep your composure. "Just... keep doing what you were doing."
She smiles, that mischievous smile that shows she knows exactly what she's doing. "Okay, okay... I'll be a good sister, I promise." And with that, she puts the tip of your cock back in her mouth, now with more determination, sucking with a steady rhythm that makes your whole body react.
You and the camera watch everything, your mind torn between the rising lust and the surrealness of the situation. The way she slips into the role, playing with the idea of being a little sister "discovering" something so dangerous and exciting, only heightens the effect. She sucks the tip with absurd concentration, as if each movement were a new step in a forbidden game.
She pulls the cock out of her mouth again, her hands still busy, and looks at you, eyes gleaming with excitement that comes more from the game than the act itself. "Do you want me to keep going like this? Or should I do something else? I... I can learn quickly, you know."
"So, remember the balls? You can suck them too. I’ll like that a lot."
"You said they’re sensitive, right?" Her voice has that exaggerated tone of curiosity, like she's playing a little sister who wants to learn everything, absolutely everything. "What do I do with these... little balls?"
You, already sunk into the role she’s forcing on you, struggle to keep your voice steady. "Yeah... yes. They’re... sensitive. You can... suck them too. But, carefully."
She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Suck? Like I did with your cock?"
You nod, the words almost slipping. "Yes. But... slower, okay?"
"Mmm, got it!" she murmurs in a devilishly sweet voice. "I'll take care of you, just like you take care of me."
She lowers her head further, moving slowly down to your balls, as if she’s deliberating her next move. She gives them another lick, experimental and almost casual, like she’s licking a popsicle in front of the TV on a Saturday afternoon, and not your body.
"Like this?" Her voice is loaded with fake innocence, but the mischievous smile on her lips leaves no doubt that Eunbi knows exactly what she’s doing. "Or should I be a bit... more careful?"
You swallow hard. "That’s it, just… a little slower..."
She giggles again, that light laugh that makes it seem like you’re really playing make-believe. But, obviously, what she’s doing is far from that. She tilts her head more and begins licking your balls slowly, this time without hesitation, but still with that touch of exaggerated curiosity.
"It's funny," she comments between licks. "I didn’t know they could get harder." With each word, she lets her tongue glide smoothly over the sensitive skin, teasing in a way that makes everything feel like one big game.
You can barely think of a coherent response. "Yeah... the more you play with the balls, the 'harder' they get," is all you can say, trying to maintain some control while her head moves between the base of your cock and your balls, like she’s deciding which part she likes best.
Then she looks up again, as if a brilliant idea just struck her. "What if I suck it all at once? Do you think I can fit it all in my mouth?"
"Yes... go ahead, try..."
And she does, enveloping your balls with her mouth slowly and carefully, almost with that rehearsed sweetness, like an obedient little sister.
"Am I doing well?" she asks in that sweet little voice, her words muffled as she continues playing with your balls, moving her head side to side, as if she’s, once again, testing the limits of what she can do.
You almost laugh, but it’s a forced laugh, the kind you make when you’ve been taken to a place where reason was lost long ago. "You’re such a good girl!"
She smiles, satisfied. "I want to be the best little sister in the world!"
"Okay, if you really want to be the best little sister in the world, then do as you promised and show me what’s under your panties, alright?" you ask, knowing it’s best to stop for now, or the video will end in just a blowjob.
She obediently stands up, unbuttoning her skirt with deliberate slowness, almost ceremoniously. You get rid of your pants and boxers for good and sit on the edge of the bed. She lets the fabric slide down her thighs to the floor, revealing pink panties. It doesn’t help that she seems genuinely excited about it, like she’s playing with something her parents didn’t allow.
"Do you like it?" she asks, turning slightly to show off the pink panties decorated with little animals and bows on the sides.
You clear your throat, trying to keep your composure, which is a colossal challenge considering the scene. "It’s... yeah, it’s nice."
"Nice?" She pretends to be offended, crossing her arms over her chest. "These panties are cute. I chose them especially for my brother." She emphasizes the ‘brother’ with a tone that should be sweet but only manages to sound dangerously suggestive.
"Sure, sure," you reply, looking away for a second, as if that would help you escape the trap. "Cute."
With an even wider smile, she slowly lowers her panties, revealing her already wet pussy. The ‘little stepsister’ looks at you with a rehearsed expression of pure innocence. "Huh? Why... is it so wet?"
You take a deep breath, knowing that any answer to that question will only dig you deeper. But like any protagonist in a story who’s clearly made the worst decision, you answer: "It’s because... you like me. Your body reacts like that when you... really like someone."
She ponders for a second, as if she’s considering this revelation for the first time. "Ah... that makes sense. I do really like you, you know?"
"Yeah... I like you a lot too," you murmur, as if that would help keep things within some kind of boundary.
"So," she continues, her eyes fixed on yours, "what do we do now, brother? How are you going to take care of me?"
You try to keep your voice calm, even though you know it’s quickly becoming impossible. "Why don’t you start... touching your pussy? Slowly. Just to see how it feels."
She seems surprised, but excited by the suggestion. Slowly, her fingers begin to descend, gliding over her soft skin until they reach her wet pussy. And the moans start, first light, then becoming continuous, accompanied by a smile that drives you crazy.
"Like this?" she asks, her voice dripping with fake sweetness.
"Yes, exactly like that," you reply, your voice a little rougher than you’d like, slowly stroking your cock while you film and watch the scene.
She continues, her fingers still timid, almost hesitant, like she’s discovering a new toy and doesn’t know exactly how to use it. She bites her lower lip, clearly enjoying her own curiosity, but you notice that something... is missing.
"No, no... this way it won’t be as good," you say, trying to sound instructional, which is a colossal challenge given the situation. "Let me show you a better way."
She stops, her eyes blinking at you with a mix of surprise and excitement. "Show me? Like... you’re going to teach me, big brother?" She smiles like she’s learning to do homework, except the ‘lesson’ at hand is far from academic.
"Yes... that’s it, I’ll show you. Trust me. Lie down on my bed and open your legs."
You stand up as she does what you asked, her legs slowly spreading to give you full access. With a sigh, you slide your hand between her thighs, your fingers lightly brushing her warm, damp pussy.
She trembles slightly at the touch, letting out a soft moan. "What are you going to do...?"
"Just relax, okay? You'll feel much more pleasure that way," you respond, still in 'older brother instructing' mode, because somehow that twisted logic makes sense right now.
Your fingers find her clit, and you start making slow circles, pressing just the right way—the way you know will make her writhe with pleasure. And, as expected, her moans intensify, her hips moving involuntarily against your hand.
"Ah... this is... so much better," she whispers, her eyes half-closed, her voice now more drawn out, almost surprised at the intensity of what she's feeling. "This feels so good, you're making me feel so good!" She arches her back, getting more lost in the touch, her hands squeezing her breasts, still covered by the baby tee, her moans echoing through the room. "This... this is incredible," she breathes between sighs. "Do it again, brother. Do it like that."
You comply, your fingers now firmer, exploring the small spasms of her body, each touch precise to make her feel more, to make her moan louder. Her breathing becomes ragged, her hands gripping the sheets tightly, and for a moment, the absurd theatrics of the situation disappear, replaced by a raw, physical connection.
"You like that, don’t you?" you ask, knowing the answer is obvious.
"I love it... Mmm, I didn't know I could feel this way." she replies, her voice broken. "You're... you're the best brother I could ever have."
Your fingers move faster now, firm and precise, playing her body like an instrument, each stroke making her tremble. She's gasping, eyes closed, writhing beneath you, her hips rising and falling against your hand. It's a hypnotic sight—almost like watching a chaotic dance, where her body is the instrument, and you, the conductor.
"Ah... brother, I... I’m feeling something strange..." she murmurs, her voice hoarse, almost trembling.
You smile, keeping your tone calm, as if you've been through this before. "It's normal... just relax and let it happen. It'll feel good, trust me."
She lets out a long, nearly broken moan as her body begins to lose control, her muscles contracting involuntarily around your hand. The camera is focused on her movements, capturing every contortion, every muffled moan, as if it were the final piece of a banned masterpiece in several countries.
"Ah, ah... I can't... Oooh..." She begins to beg, her words dissolving into pure sound, as your fingers continue, relentless, pressing and circling, giving no reprieve.
"That's it, let it out... it'll feel good, just let it all out." You encourage her, your voice soft, almost paternal, a sharp irony considering the context.
And then, it happens. She arches sharply, her body trembling violently, and you feel her wet heat spill over your hand. She comes with a scream that echoes through the room, her moans transforming into a primal sound, pure instinct and release. You keep playing her, extending the moment until the last spasm fades.
The camera captures everything—the unbridled pleasure, the ecstasy etched into every curve of her body. Every tremor and sigh are recorded.
When she finally collapses on the bed, exhausted, her breathing uneven, you gently pull your fingers away, bringing your soaked hand up to the camera lens for a close-up.
"Good job, little sister," you say, a hint of teasing in your voice. She just giggles, exhausted but satisfied, her body still trembling with the last traces of pleasure.
"I knew I could trust you," she murmurs, eyes closed, a satisfied smile on her lips.
"But we're not done yet," you say. "I want you to get on all fours for me, I'll show you something.”
Eunbi eagerly complies, lying face down with that almost naive obedience, arching her back with the precision of someone who's done this before. And you, in the role of the responsible older brother, observe and film.
"Now open that ass," you say, giving her a light slap that makes her skin ripple, and without question, she pulls her small hands to spread her cheeks, revealing her tight little asshole and wet pussy, everything perfectly exposed.
You run your fingers over her pussy, wetting them carefully, like you're preparing for a sacred ritual. Then you slide the wet finger down to her tight little asshole. She shifts a bit but stays in position, letting out a low moan as you finally push the finger inside.
"This little ass is precious, you know?" you say, almost in a teacherly tone as your finger slowly explores. "No one else can play with it but me. Just me."
She moans again, a sound mixed with pleasure and a promise about to be made. "I know, brother. It’s yours... only yours."
Her voice sounds sweet, almost begging for more, and you increase the pressure with your finger, pushing a little deeper, testing how far you can go. She arches her back even more, as if trying to make your job easier, offering her body.
"Good to know you understand," you tease, and she murmurs something in agreement. "Because if anyone else tries, there’s going to be a problem, understood?"
She bites her lip, her fingers still holding her cheeks apart. "I promise, brother... it’s only yours."
You smile, satisfied with her promise. "That’s how I like it."
Eunbi remains there, face down, obedient, her hands gripping her cheeks firmly, opening herself to you as if this were the natural purpose of her existence. Her breathing is heavy but eager as your fingers explore, playing with the tight little asshole still learning what it means to belong to someone. You feel the heat of her skin, and the way she trembles with each of your movements makes it clear that despite everything, she's enjoying it.
"Good girl," you say in a tone of approval that sounds almost paternal, moving your finger with more determination now, circling slowly before pressing in again. She lets out a shaky sigh, biting her lip and closing her eyes as if trying to focus on anything other than the pleasurable discomfort you're causing.
"It... it hurts," she admits in a trembling voice, as if revealing a secret, but then immediately moans again, that strange mix of pain and desire. "But it feels good..." She arches her back a little more, as if to encourage you, even as her body struggles to adjust to the new sensation.
You chuckle, pleased with her progress. Then you wet your fingers more in her pussy.
"It’s going to hurt a bit at first," you admit, moving the wet finger more slowly now, just to test her limits. "But don’t worry. Soon enough your little ass will get used to it." The promise is made in a reassuring tone.
Eunbi lets out a louder moan as you penetrate a little deeper, her fingers gripping her cheeks tighter as if trying to steady herself. She moves, arching her back into an even more inviting angle, legs slightly apart. "You... you think?" Her voice is a mix of insecurity and excitement, almost as if she's asking for more.
"I know," you respond, soaking in the confidence of the role, moving your finger with more rhythm, teasing her. "You're a good girl, and good girls always learn fast."
She moans again, her face buried in the mattress, but her arched back continues offering everything you've asked for and more. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna be a good girl for you, brother. I promise..."
You pause for a moment, your fingers still wet from the recent exploration. Eunbi—or, for the purposes of this performance, your ‘stepsister’—breathes deeply, still arched, her body tense with anticipation. The atmosphere is thick, and for a brief second, you just stand there, silently absorbing every almost imperceptible tremor running down her spine. The camera, your silent partner, focuses on every nuance of her expression, every shiver.
“It’s time for you to find out what you’ve been wanting, princess,” you say.
“Please… put your cock in me.”
"Say please," you respond, your voice low, so heavy with desire you barely recognize it. "Be a good girl and ask politely."
Eunbi, ever the meticulous actress, turns her face toward you, her wide eyes behind the mask with an innocence that only exists in fiction—those big eyes, the kind that say ‘I’m pure, I swear,’ even when nothing happening in the room suggests anything remotely innocent. Her breathing is fast, like a theater student at the peak of their dramatic performance.
"Please..." Her voice is a fragile whisper, but sweet, carefully rehearsed to sound vulnerable. "Please, brother... I want you to put your thick cock inside my tight little pussy."
Ah, there it is. The final barrier collapsed with the weight of a house of cards pushed by a breeze. You can’t help but smile—not that the camera can catch it—as you adjust your position with the precision of a watchmaker fine-tuning a delicate gear. The heat emanating from her body is magical, and when you finally penetrate her, slowly, each inch is consumed by her pussy, which wraps around you with a softness that defies reality.
She lets out a moan—the kind of sound that floats between pleasure and surprise, as if she’s being taken into unknown territory while, at the same time, exactly where she wanted to be. "Like that... like that... please," she moans, her voice strained, fingers gripping the sheets as if she’s on the brink of an existential revelation and only the sheets can keep her from being pulled into the abyss.
You start to move, oscillating between slow and deliberate, savoring the moment like you’re tasting the finest wine in the world, while she whispers sweet words between moans.
“Yeah, good girl!” you say softly.
The pace increases, the sound of bodies colliding echoes through the room, and as Eunbi arches her back, moaning for more with an almost religious fervor, you feel like you’re in control of not just her, but the entire scene.
You begin to pick up the pace, your movements gaining a life of their own. Beneath you, Eunbi is moaning non-stop, each sound a bit louder, a bit more desperate. Then, with the precision of a medieval archer hitting the bullseye, your hand comes down fast and firm on her ass.
The slap echoes through the room like an unexpected sound. The impact is immediate: her skin turns a reddish hue, the contrast clear and satisfying against her pale skin. Eunbi lets out a moan that’s half pain, half pleasure—the kind of sound that makes you want to repeat the action just to hear it again.
"More," she moans, her eyes half-closed, her voice muffled by the sheets, as if talking to herself but at the same time asking directly for you. "Please, spank me more, brother!!”
Ah, how could you resist such a polite request? Your hand comes down again, harder this time, leaving another red mark, and her body writhes in pleasure. You begin to alternate between thrusts and slaps, creating a symphony of pleasure and impact that seems to defy the basic rules of decency.
"You like that, don't you?" you say, your voice thick with provocation, as your hand meets her ass again and again, each slap resonating like a gong in a distant temple—or, in this case, the perfect sound of approval for what you two are doing.
"Yes!" she moans, the words coming out in broken breaths, "please... don’t stop!" She raises her hips higher, almost begging for more, and you, always generous, don’t disappoint.
Another slap. Harder. Her body reacts instantly, and the moans turn into something almost primal, as if she’s surrendering completely to the sensation.
"You’re a good girl, baby," you say. "But good girls need to be reminded who’s in control."
She only moans in response, her breathing ragged, her body completely given over to the moment. And, of course, you're more than willing to keep claiming territory, with each slap and thrust taking both of you closer to an inevitable climax.
You stop for a moment, feeling the sweat drip down your forehead, looking at Eunbi and the red marks you left on her buttocks.
“Now, be a good girl and ride me,” you say. “You’re going to like this position, I promise.”
You pause the recording.
Eunbi, obedient and eager as always, pulls away from you, giving you room to lie down on the bed. And then, with a grace that would make any mythological goddess jealous, she positions herself over you. For a brief second, your eyes meet hers, and there’s that exchange of complicity. That look that says: ‘Yes, we know exactly what we’re doing.’
You resume recording.
She lowers herself onto your cock, with a slowness that’s almost torturous, but at the same time, delicious. With every inch she takes in, you feel her warmth enveloping you, the tightness that almost defies logic. She moans softly, adjusting her body, and starts to move. Slow at first, learning the right rhythm.
But, of course, that doesn’t last long.
Soon, she’s riding with more intensity, picking up the pace. Her breasts bounce under the tight baby tee, and then, with a swift movement, she pulls the fabric up, revealing her large breasts that now move freely to the rhythm of her ride.
You can’t resist – who could? – and zoom in on her breasts. Her moans, the bouncing breasts, the hips moving up and down with precision. The camera can barely keep up, but you’re not exactly thinking about perfect angles right now.
This is living art, and you’re documenting every second as best you can.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” you say, half to her, half to the video. “Keep going, my good girl.”
Eunbi bites her lip, increasing the pace even more, and the room is filled with sounds – the bed creaking, her moans getting louder, the slap of bodies meeting. Your fingers grip her waist, helping to guide her, but the truth is, she’s in control for now.
And honestly, you’re not complaining.
She tilts her head back, eyes closed, her whole body focused on the frenzied movement. “Do you like watching me like this?” she asks between moans, with that completely calculated innocence, knowing exactly the effect her words have.
“You have no idea,” you reply, your voice hoarse, as you keep filming, knowing this recording will be something people will want to watch – many times.
The way she moves, even as her body consumes you inch by inch, is a balance between the innocent and the forbidden, as if she’s trying to convince you that she really is a good girl, only with a very, very fertile imagination.
“Please, brother...” she murmurs, almost in a whisper, leaning forward. The words come out in a sweet tone, with a hint of hesitation, as if testing the limits of roleplay with each syllable. “Do you think I’m being a good girl... for you?”
You smile, unable to hold back the sadistic pleasure that surfaces with the question. Your hand moves up her thigh, squeezing firmly. “You’re doing very well, little sister,” you reply. “But good girls can do better. Come on, show me how much you want to be the best.”
She bites her lip, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and nervousness – part of the act, of course, but brilliantly performed. “I... I can do better,” she says, trying her best to sound shy, as if begging for your approval. “I promise I can be the best little sister for you. Just... let me show you.”
And then, she lifts herself again and starts moving with more intensity, speeding up as her hands rest on your abs for balance. Her moans grow louder, almost stuttered, but she keeps the sweetness in her voice. “This feels so good... do you like seeing me like this, brother?” She asks, as if genuinely concerned about your verdict.
You don’t answer immediately, just watching her with that calculated expression. “You haven’t convinced me yet,” you finally say, your words sharp. “Good girls need to try harder. If you want to be my favorite, you’re going to have to work for it.”
Her eyes widen in mock concern, her breathing coming in heavier pants as her effort increases. She leans forward, her hair falling around her face as she continues to ride you, her movements becoming more intense, and the steady pace she maintains pushes you over the edge. “Brother... I’m trying,” she says between moans, her voice tinged with a mixture of effort and supposed innocence, as if the simple act of continuing is proof of her dedication. “Are you... are you enjoying it? Am I being a good girl right now?”
Your smile widens, seeing how far she’s willing to go to keep the fantasy alive. “You’re almost there, baby,” you reply with a superior tone, enjoying the power of the moment. “But good girls don’t just try. They give it their all. Show me how much you want this.”
She lets out a small moan, her eyes filled with an intensity that seemed to be growing with each movement. “I… I can do more,” she murmurs, picking up speed, her thighs now pressed against your body, rising and falling at an almost frantic pace. Her breasts bounce with the force of her ride, and her lips tremble with the effort, but she keeps going, determined.
“That’s it,” you murmur, your eyes locked on hers as you watch the hypnotic sway of her exposed breasts. “Good girl. Keep it up. Do it right!"
She bites her lip hard, clearly struggling to please you, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly as she picks up the pace even more. “I… I’m doing this for you, brother,” she moans, her voice sweet and broken, feigning complete devotion. “I want you to love me. I want to be your favorite girl. Please… love me…”
You grip her waist, helping to guide her movements. Her body moves down harder, with more determination. “If you keep it up, I might just love you,” you tease, tightening your grip. “But only if you really try. Go on, faster. Show me how much you want to be my good girl.”
She obeys, her moans louder now, mixed with panting breaths. “I’ll be… I promise,” she barely manages to say between her rapid movements. “I’ll be your good girl. The best one ever. I swear!”
“Then make me cum,” you say, your voice low and controlled, but full of expectation. “Only good girls know how to do this. Will you make it, little sister? Will you show me that you deserve it?”
She responds with only a strangled moan: “I- I w-will!”
“Then turn over,” you demand, your voice low but full of command. She stops riding you slowly, a smile on her lips, as if she’s been waiting for this order all along. She carefully turns her body, now facing away from you, her ass sticking up in a way that leaves her completely exposed. “Now you’re going to let me play with your asshole.”
"Brother... you're going to take care of me, right? Mommy and daddy said you needed to take care of me."
"Of course I'll take care of you. But now you're going to let me play with your asshole." You take your cock in one hand, holding it tight like a guide. "Come on."
She hesitates for a second, biting her lip with a hint of insecurity—not of the Eunbi you know, but of the character she's playing. "B-But... what are you going to do there, brother? You shouldn't..."
"Trust me," you murmur, almost out of patience now. "You're going to like it, it's going to make you feel really, really good."
She lets out a small moan, leaning forward, and you start to press in slowly. Entry is difficult—the pink ring of muscle resists at first, tight and almost impenetrable, as if her body is trying to say no while her mind and desire say otherwise.
"It's too tight..." she murmurs, her voice full of feigned nervousness, part of the act. But at the same time, there's something real in that sound, the little tremor in her voice as she tries to adjust herself... It's Eunbi's first anal too, not just the character's. "Do you think it'll really fit, brother?"
"It will fit," you say, your voice low, controlled, with a promise of pleasure behind it. "Just relax. You trust your brother, don't you?"
She nods, inch by inch, you feel her body giving in. The initial resistance gives way to a delicious pressure when it finally goes in. She lets out a loud moan, surprised.
“Mmm, brother… this… this is so different.” Her voice sounds vulnerable, almost shy, as she begins to move slightly, trying to get used to the intrusion.
“You’re being a good girl,” you reply, controlling the pace, thrusting in and out slowly. “You’ll like it more as you keep going.” And with each movement, each slow thrust, she begins to loosen up, her moans getting louder, her body adjusting to the pleasure.
“Come on, brother… take care of me,” she whispers.
“You’re making me so proud, baby. Your ass is perfect.”
“Ooohh, brother…” She lets out a long sigh, trying to adjust, moving her hips slightly, exploring the new sensation. “Why does this… feel so wrong, yet so good?” Her voice is of calculated innocence that drives you wilder with each passing moment.
“It’s because… sometimes, the best things are the ones we shouldn’t do,” you reply, controlling your tone to keep your character, even though the pleasure is almost knocking you over. You push deeper, feeling her insane grip. “And you’ve always been a curious girl, right? Wanting to try everything…”
She lets out a little laugh, although the tension is still there, hidden beneath the surface. “I am curious, yes, brother… I want to learn everything from you.” Then, she starts moving again, slowly at first, moving up and down hesitantly. “Do you think… I’m a good girl for wanting this?”
You can’t keep calm any longer. Her words, that sweet tone mixed with boldness, are destroying you inside. “You’re the best girl, the hottest, the most obedient,” you reply, your voice husky with desire as you hold her hips tightly to help her keep the rhythm.
“So, I’m going to make my big brother happy,” she murmurs, and with that, she starts riding you harder, her movements more confident now, her hesitation disappearing with each passing second. Each time she goes down, you feel the crushing pressure and heat, a tightness that makes you see stars. Eunbi’s moans are getting louder and louder, and beyond the character, you know how much she’s enjoying this.
“That’s it, like that,” you encourage, your hands now squeezing her ass. “Keep going, baby… show your brother how much you want to make him happy.”
Eunbi arches her back, throwing her hips back with more desire, the sound of their skin slapping against each other echoing through the room. “I’m going to… I’m going to take care of you,” she moans, between giggles, clearly enjoying the role. “But you have to take care of me too, okay? Because I’m just your little stepsister… I can’t do everything on my own…”
Her answer is almost fatal to your sanity. You pull her hips harder, helping her to go all the way down, feeling the overwhelming pleasure consume you. “I’ll take care of you,” you promise, without even thinking about the words. “I’ll teach you everything.”
She speeds up her movements, and now the room is filled with the sounds of her body against yours, her moans getting louder, more desperate. “Brother…” she begins, her voice filled with a mix of pleasure and excitement, “I think... I think I’m really enjoying this. You like being in my tight ass, don’t you?”
You almost laugh at her brazenness, but the pleasure is too much. “I love it,” you reply, feeling the urgency take over. “You’re being so good to me. Now, let me fill you with pleasure... until you can’t take it anymore.”
Eunbi continues riding, her movements now more desperate, her face clearly torn between keeping character and giving herself completely to the pleasure. “Aaaah, brother… You'll fill my ass with your cum, right? Because... you promised to take care of me.”
Her head tilts back a little, a mischievous smile lighting up her face, but her moans cut off any possible response. You’re close, so close that words no longer make sense, but the roleplay is still in the air, and you know Eunbi is going to push all the way in.
“I’m gonna… I’m gonna make you cum so much, big brother. Because you’re the best brother in the world,” she moans, grinding harder, and you feel like you won’t last much longer.
“You’re going to make your brother so happy… now, get on all fours because your brother is close… I’m gonna fuck your ass until I cum.”
Eunbi lets out a short laugh, her breathing still ragged from the effort and pleasure. She slides out of you slowly, almost provocatively, and you can see how much her asshole has already opened up with your cock. When she finally stands up, she throws that playful look over her shoulder, biting her lip as if she knows exactly what she's doing.
“On all fours?” She asks, with false innocence, as she positions herself on the bed. “Do you want your sister to be like this, brother? Do you want to fill my tight asshole with your milk?”
The answer doesn't need to be verbalized — your body already speaks for you. She leans on the bed, sticking her ass up, her back arched perfectly, offering everything provocatively. The ridiculously short baby tee remains raised, her heavy breasts hanging from her body.
“You know how to obey, don't you? Good girl…”
Without further hesitation, you stand behind her, your hand running down her body, exploring the perfect curve of her hips and the pulsing heat of her skin. The camera is well positioned, capturing every angle of the final moment. Her pussy is wet, swollen with excitement, but it’s her asshole that you want now, and she knows it. Your firm hand positions itself on her ass cheeks, slowly spreading her, revealing the tight little hole that barely hides how much she enjoyed every second of it.
“Are you ready, little sister? Because now I’m going to put everything in you… and I won’t stop until I cum deep inside your ass.”
She looks back, smiling. “I trust you, brother. Do whatever you want with me.”
With that, you line up your hard cock against her narrow entrance and begin to thrust. It’s still tight, incredibly tight, and the initial resistance only makes the pleasure more intense. Eunbi lets out a muffled moan as the head of your cock finally enters, her body adjusting to the size with a mix of discomfort and pleasure.
“Ah... like that,” she moans. “My asshole is burning so much... but it’s so good.”
You push deeper, inch by inch, until you’re completely inside. The pressure is unbearable, the heat and firmness of Eunbi’s asshole squeezing you in an overwhelming way. With your hand firmly placed on her hip, you begin to push slowly, feeling her tight asshole slowly give way.
The camera focuses on this movement, of course, because, after all, the show is for the audience.
Eunbi lets out a moan, something between surprise and pleasure. “Mmm, you are so big, brother,” she murmurs, her voice cracking with the effort of keeping the role.
You go deeper, the camera recording every movement, every inch. “It's because good girls deserve big cocks,” you tease, thrusting harder now, each thrust eliciting a louder moan from her.
“I am,” she replies between gasps. “A good girl... just for you.”
The moans grow louder as you pick up the pace, fucking her ass with increasing force. The camera shakes a little in your hand, but it’s capturing everything, every detail of Eunbi’s masked expression as she grips the sheets, her fingers digging into the fabric.
As the pace intensifies, the tension in the room builds to a breaking point, and you feel the inevitable wave of pleasure about to spill over. Eunbi is panting, her moans turning into excited whispers. Your free hand grips her ass cheek tightly, keeping her open, and her tight asshole wraps around your cock like a hot trap. You know you’re close to the end, and the thought of it only increases the urgency.
"You... are going to take it all, aren't you?" The question comes out almost like a command, her voice hoarse with pleasure. The camera, forgotten for a second, shakes slightly in her hand, but it's still capturing everything.
"Yes, yes!!" she gasps, her eyes rolling back in their sockets, something the camera unfortunately doesn't capture. "I'm going to take it all! I want... I want you to fill my ass, please! ‘Cause I'm your good girl... your favorite stepsister."
Every word, spoken in that sweet, lustful voice, only makes you harder, closer to climax. You grip her hips and thrust hard, each thrust sinking deeper, every inch of your cock being devoured by that unbearable tightness.
"You like your brother's cock, don't you?" Her voice is deep now, full of the energy of someone who knows she's in control. "Tell me. Tell me what you want!"
“I... I love it!!,” she moans, her voice cracking with pleasure, as if she were about to come undone right there. “I want you to cum inside... please, make me yours, for real... Cum inside your sister!”
And that’s what pushes you over the edge.
With one last thrust, you sink your cock all the way in, feeling her body tremble with the impact. The heat begins to spread inside her, the cum spurting with an almost unbearable intensity, filling the tight little asshole of the “little stepsister” who is moaning in pleasure beneath you.
“Mmm... Fuck! Do you feel it, baby?” you tease, thrusting hard as the last hot spurt of cum floods her. “This is what you wanted, right? To be a good girl for your brother.”
She lets out a long moan, her shoulders shaking, her legs weak with pleasure. “Yes, baby… Mmm, I'm feeling all your cum deep inside me!”
You stay inside her for a few more seconds, feeling the heat of her body and the involuntary squeeze of her ass around your cock. Eunbi takes a deep breath, her moans now fading, but the satisfied smile still on her face.
"You made me feel so special," she murmurs, still in the role. "Now I'm your favorite little girl, right? Because I'm the only one who gets your cum."
You pant, lost in pleasure, your eyes closed as you answer: "It's always been you, baby... always you."
You're still breathing heavily, like you just ran a marathon, but your mind has already switched into content production mode — the ship had already sunk, so might as well make this worth something.
With the camera still in hand, you lean in for a better shot.
“Alright, show me the result,” you say bluntly, pointing the camera at the target.
Eunbi moves slowly, resting her elbows on the mattress, her legs still trembling a bit, and with a satisfied smile on her face, she spreads her cheeks with her hands, fully opening the angle for the lens.
“Is this good?” she asks with that fake sweetness you now recognize as part of the performance, but it still works anyway.
“Perfect,” you reply, adjusting the focus, the lens capturing every detail. She spreads her ass slightly, and the cum inside slowly drips out, a bright white line lazily descending, as if it knows it's the star of the show.
“Now look at the camera, baby,” you ask, while she turns her head back, her masked eyes meeting the lens with that look of pure satisfaction. “Tell them what just happened.”
Eunbi, without hesitation, slips into the sweet and innocent tone of her role, “Look what he did to me... filled my little ass with cum.” She giggles, and it's genuine, mixed with that post-climax thrill. “I guess you really like me, huh, bro?”
“Of course I do,” you say, more as part of the act than anything else.
But deep down, there’s something there that isn’t just performance.
“Now rub it a little,” you ask. Eunbi giggles, and you help her, pulling one of her cheeks while she starts rubbing a finger around the entrance, mixing your semen with her juice.
“See that, bro?” she asks with an adorable giggle, “Now I’m all dirty because of you!”
The camera focuses on the scene as you let out a tired but satisfied moan. “I can see that, princess. You got really messy.”
She keeps playing with her fingers, spreading the remnants of your load provocatively, knowing exactly how to play to the lens. “And now, what are you gonna do to me? You left my little ass all wrecked, it’s burning a lot…”
You pretend to think, but the answer is obvious. “Well, I guess now I need to take care of you, don’t I?”
“With love?” she asks, voice full of tenderness.
“With a lot of love,” you reply.
The camera finally shuts off with that classic final beep, like it’s exhausted too. You let out a sigh, while Eunbi, still catching her breath, stands up and removes the mask.
"Yeah, game over," you say, placing the camera on the desk. The vibe shifts instantly. The heavy air from the scene disappears, and the apartment feels normal again, like it had been put in studio mode for a brief moment.
Eunbi stretches her arms like she’s just woken up from a nap, then extends a hand toward you. You high-five, like two classmates finishing a school project instead of… well, what you just did.
“We did good,” she says with a tired but satisfied smile. “Teamwork was solid.”
“Yeah, it was,” you respond, still trying to process it all. “You okay? I mean... because of, you know...”
She laughs, shaking her head. “The anal? Oh, I should have used the fucking lube. But I’m fine. It stings a little, but it'll pass," she explains, as if she’s talking about a mild sunburn.
You’re not sure if you should feel relieved or admire how casually she handles it. Before you can overthink it, Eunbi suddenly turns and hugs you. The warmth of her body against yours is almost comforting, even with sweat still drying on your skin. “Seriously, thanks for doing this with me,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost vulnerable.
You stand there, a bit awkward, but aware that this moment matters. “It was kinda… weird, right?”
She pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, chuckling lightly. “Weird? Of course it was weird. But, like, in a funny way. It was a little bizarre at first, but then it was just… getting into character. In the end, we just… made it work.” She shrugs, and the gesture is so typical of her—practical, lighthearted, never taking things too seriously.
“Next time,” she says, pulling off her tight baby tee, “I’ll pick something less... out of the comfort zone.”
She laughs and casually grabs her panties and skirt from the floor.
You watch as she straightens up and walks toward the bedroom door, already slipping back into her natural self, as if the scene had just been a quick detour from routine.
“Wanna shower with me?” she asks, with no malice, just a simple invitation after a particularly exhausting marathon.
You hesitate, a second that feels like forever. The temptation to give in once more is strong. It’d be so easy to say 'yes,' to go with the flow. But you shake your head, declining. "I'll go later... I need to make the bed."
She raises an eyebrow, surprised by the refusal, but doesn’t push. “Alright,” she says with an easy smile, already heading for the shower. But before she crosses the door, she turns, like she’s about to say something important. You even brace yourself, expecting some post-scene revelation, some deep reflection.
“Feel like pizza tonight?” she asks, with not a trace of tension or seriousness.
“Yeah… I guess,” you reply vaguely, still trying to keep up with how quickly she shifts gears.
And then it’s just you and the messy bed. The camera’s still there, the sheets that need fixing, but what really needs fixing is your head. You wish you hadn’t agreed to film. Hadn’t let her hands on your skin convince you again. But how do you resist Eunbi when, with that smile and a promise, she makes everything seem like one big fun game, a fantasy that’s too easy to fall into?
Except while she can turn off the character with a snap and get back to her practical life, you’re stuck. Because it’s not the role that’s messing with your head, it’s what’s behind it. It’s what you feel for her, something you know shouldn’t exist and that Eunbi clearly doesn’t share. To her, it’s work, pleasure, about views and clicks. And sure, who would turn down being the lucky partner in a porn video with Eunbi?
But at the end of the day, is that all you are? You sigh, trying to focus on fixing the bed, while inside, the knot tightens.
It’s a cloudy morning, with that fine misty rain that barely gets you wet but can soak you through if you stand still for two minutes. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, tying the laces on your running shoes. Running is something you used to do every day, a habit you let go of for some reason that now escapes you. But today is different. You’ve decided to start running again because, as always, it helps organize the mental chaos that has become your life lately.
As you pass through the hallway, Eunbi’s bedroom door is half-open. You think about closing it to keep the warmth in, but a glow from inside stops you. It’s the light from her laptop. You hesitate, but of course, your curiosity wins. You peek in as casually as possible, and there she is: Eunbi, sleeping in a way that’s both adorable and awkward, with the laptop still on beside her, like it fell asleep with her, exhausted from hours of work. Or from whatever she spent the night editing.
You can’t help it. In fact, it’s impossible to resist. Seeing her sleep so peacefully stirs something in you, only making the mess in your head worse. Why does she have to be so… Eunbi? You walk over, switch off the laptop that’s still open on the OnlyFans homepage, with the notification icon showing +99 interactions. You close the lid carefully and place it on the desk. Then, you adjust the blankets that are haphazardly draped over her.
She stirs a bit but doesn’t wake up.
You start running in the park, with that light rain and cold wind cutting across your face—the kind of weather the meteorologists would call 'uncomfortable,' but you would call 'perfect for clearing your head.' Each step on the wet pavement echoes in your ears. With every breath, your chest tightens, not just from the cold, but because the only thing more intense than the physical effort is the whirlwind of thoughts now screaming in your mind.
Eunbi. Always her. Like a beautiful shadow you can’t shake. The images from last night, the mask, the dirty talk, the way she always seems to know exactly how to melt any resistance you try to build up. You almost laugh, bitterly, realizing just how pathetic it is to be stuck in this cycle.
Fuck, the truth is you’ve been hopelessly in love with her for a while now. Of course, you have, but the problem isn’t knowing it—it’s figuring out what to do about it. You’re running, trying to escape the reality that no matter how much you love Eunbi, she seems to be in a completely different universe. A universe where she can suggest absurd things, like some ridiculous roleplay or a threesome, while you, the idiot, are more worried about the color of the blanket you adjusted for her earlier.
Sweat drips down your forehead, mixing with the rain. You pick up the pace, trying to turn this confusion into clarity. You can’t keep living on this emotional rollercoaster. Every time she involves you, you convince yourself it’s just your body being used as a tool, just another role to play to help her grow in this obscure niche.
But with every touch, every smile, your mind whispers: What if it’s not?
What if, somehow, she’s just as lost in this as you are?
Maybe if you finally tell her how you feel, the pieces will fall into place. She could leave this life of videos, masks, and scripts behind. It would be a release for both of you. And then, you could have something normal. A real relationship. One that doesn’t involve cameras and personas. The idea starts to take shape, becoming clearer with every mile you run. You love Eunbi. Simple. And you need to tell her. Simple as that.
Well, in theory.
The park is empty, except for a few brave souls who also thought running in the cold was a fantastic idea. You run one more lap, your body asking for rest, but your mind now buzzing with purpose. When you get back to the apartment, you’ll tell her. Direct and honest.
Then your phone vibrates. You slow down, your shoes hitting the wet ground more softly as you pull out your phone. A message. It’s from your friend. I think it worked, he writes. Your heart races in a different way this time. HR liked her profile. I think they’re gonna make an offer, man. Stay tuned. You almost slip on the path, coming to a sudden stop.
What worked? Oh, right. The plan.
The plan you secretly put together.
The job opening at the company where your friend works, in the marketing department.
The one where you secretly submitted Eunbi’s LinkedIn profile, trying to give her a chance to get out of this crazy content creator life.
Looks like the damn universe is finally working in your favor.
You find yourself smiling like an idiot.
‘It worked.’
She could have a normal life, away from the cameras, and you could start fresh together.
You barely even feel the fatigue anymore.
Now there’s only one thing left: the conversation with Eunbi.
Because, of course, confessing your feelings to a woman you see every day, who sleeps in the room next to yours, with whom you’ve been through situations that would challenge any definition of ‘strange,’ should be easy, right?
You take a deep breath.
No, it won’t be easy.
But it’ll be worth it.
Eunbi is in the kitchen, still looking half-asleep as she holds a cup of coffee. The dim light from the cloudy morning mixes with the cold glow of her phone screen, which she scrolls through lazily with her thumb. The coffee—a blend of ‘I need to wake up’ and’ 'I’m not sure this will help’—warms her hands, but her mind is far from awake. Her reflection on social media, though, is wide awake.
With an automatic gesture, she opens the comment tab on the latest video. It’s the new roleplay video you and she recorded the day before. The video had already racked up an impressive number of views. She sighs, taking a sip as she reads through the comments. It’s the usual mix of praise, teasing, and, of course, the kind of absurdity only the internet can provide.
"Little sis, you drove me crazy today!"
Eunbi lets out a muffled laugh. "Little sis" was probably the mildest term she came across in that sea of comments.
She quickly types a reply:
"Careful, or 'big brother' will get you too! 😘"
"I wish I were your blood brother, damn, just to make it all wrong!! I'd sneak into your room every night after our parents were asleep so we could 'play' together 😈"
Who knew people could take a weird fantasy and make it even more bizarre and unsettling?
"You need therapy, darling, but thanks for the love 🙂"
"The way you bit your lip... it made me... lose my mind."
Ah yes, the detail-oriented observers. They're always around.
"Glad I could help!!"
And then comes the classic:
"Step on me more, mommy!!!"
This time, she laughed out loud. What kind of twisted logic was this?
'Mommy' in a little sister video?
"Sweetie, pick a fantasy. I can't be your little sis AND your mommy at the same time 😅"
"Just show your face already, everyone knows you're hot"
She paused for a second. That comment felt like a jab somewhere inside her. Her face was the last piece she kept hidden, the final wall of protection between Eunbi and the world she had chosen to explore.
She took another sip of coffee as the comments kept popping up on the screen. The amount of absurdity was always a surprise, even for her. But the show had to go on, and responding was an important part of ‘engagement’.
Ah, the wonderful engagement.
"You’re my muse. One day, I’ll marry you!"
She rolled her eyes but kept a polite tone in her reply:
"Glad to inspire... but let’s start with something simpler, like not marrying strangers from the internet.
Kisses 😘"
Next comment.
"I'd give anything to be that tight top on your massive tits 😊"
Eunbi nearly dropped her phone from laughing so hard. What kind of fetish was this now? She took a deep breath before typing:
"Well, it’s actually a baby tee, but I guess clothes live too dull a life for anyone to want to be one. But who am I to judge your dreams?"
Another one popped up right after.
"Hey sis, how about teaching me in person? I’ve got so much to learn... 😏"
Ah, the ever-eager students. She rolled her eyes again, smiling slightly.
"You can learn a lot on your own with a good imagination!"
"You should make a video stepping on Legos barefoot. I bet that would be amazing!!!"
What? Where did these people come from? She bit her lip, trying to hold back laughter as she typed her reply:
"I try to keep my videos at an entertainment level, not torture 🥰 But I appreciate the creativity!"
"It’s obvious you only do this because you love being a slut, I can see it in your expression, even with the mask 🔥 I’m already your number one fan."
Her smile faltered a little. A mix of praise and silent invasion that left her with a mild discomfort.
"Glad you enjoyed the content! Loving what I do is essential. But don’t get too carried away, alright?"
She gave one last glance at the rising view and like counts, but the comments started to lose their charm.
And that’s when the ping of a LinkedIn notification appeared at the top of the screen. An app she had basically forgotten she had installed since the last time she used it was to block an annoying old guy who was pestering her.
She reads the message:
Subject: Job Opportunity - Marketing Department.
Dear Kwon Eunbi,
We are pleased to inform you that your profile has caught the attention of our Marketing Department. After a brief review, we would like to invite you to participate in the selection process for the position of Marketing Analyst.
Responsibilities:
- Development of communication and digital marketing strategies;
- Analysis of KPIs and market trends;
- Collaboration with creative teams and planning advertising campaigns;
Requirements:
- Bachelor’s degree in Marketing or related fields;
- Previous experience managing digital campaigns;
Benefits:
- Competitive salary;
- Health and dental plan;
- Flexibility for hybrid work (remote);
We look forward to your response to schedule an interview.
She almost spits out her coffee.
What the hell is this?!
For a second, everything seemed to make sense, as if the universe was aligning the stars to give her a 'respectable' way out.
But only for a second.
In truth, it felt like the damn universe was conspiring against her.
The thought of waking up early every day, dressing like an executive, sitting in a cubicle, and smiling at people she probably couldn’t stand while doing mechanical tasks...
“No, no, no. No way,” she says aloud in the empty apartment as anxiety starts to tighten around her. And the strangest part is that she feels... bad. Bad for not wanting it. Bad for thinking she should want it.
She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her mind. Maybe she should, right? Maybe being ‘normal’ would be easier. Maybe this whole video thing is just a phase. She looks at her coffee, as if it held the answers, but it only reflected her face back at her. She gulps the rest down, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.
On the one hand, the college-era Eunbi would’ve jumped for joy at this message. A great job in her field, something ‘respectable’ career-wise; it doesn’t get much better than that.
Well, to be fair, it wasn’t exactly her big dream, but who, after all, dreams of spreadsheets and endless emails? But now, the idea of a normal life, with bosses, deadlines, and white collars, suffocates her more than any corset in a photoshoot. She’s thinking about how good it felt to leave all that behind, how much she loved the freedom she had now.
Sure, she graduated, but that’s not what she wants.
Not anymore.
But
On the other hand, something inside her hesitated to accept that she didn’t want this opportunity. It was like there was a younger version of her somewhere, screaming in panic: "You can’t be serious, right? Turning down a job like that to... keep being a virtual slut? You’re definitely not me..." And that little voice it's annoying because it hit on an uncomfortable truth. She had, at some point, carved out a different path. A temporary one. And now, this path it's leading her into the unknown, and this offer it's like a way back to her old life.
Monotonous, but dignified.
Difficult, but without exposure.
The safe choice or the leap into the abyss.
College-era Eunbi would say being stuck in an absurd dilemma like this was insane. But the Eunbi of today knows that 'conventional' career isn’t for her.
"This is my life now," she murmurs to herself. Creating adult content wasn’t just a choice; it was her choice. And not only is she going to keep doing it — she’s going all in!
Showing her face.
Now that would be a bold move.
No more masks.
The real Eunbi for the world.
She only has one small obstacle ahead: you. She needs to tell you. Explain how things were about to change. Show you that, even though she once said this was temporary, she’s rediscovered herself and finally found something she’s good at and willing to put her effort into.
She sighs and thinks about the conversation she’ll have. Knowing you, it’s going to be a tough one. You’ll definitely want to argue, try to convince her to take the more traditional route, thinking you’re protecting her. But it’s her life, her body, her decisions.
And if she’s going all in, she has to start by being honest.
When you get back, she’ll lay it all out. In the meantime, she stretches, still feeling the weight of the job offer, and tries to imagine the look on your face when she explains her plans.
You come back from the run looking like a drowned rat, which, considering the weather outside, is a reasonably accurate description. Your shoes make that annoying sponge sound as you walk across the room, and Eunbi is there, sitting on the couch, sipping coffee like she’s contemplating the meaning of life—or more realistically, deciding what her next big revelation of the morning is going to be.
“Good morning,” you mutter, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Good morning...” she replies. You look away as if you have something really important to do—like grab a towel.
The bathroom is a good place to rehearse difficult conversations, so you do that while you dry off, but the words still sound wrong in your head. It’s not like there’s a manual on how to confess to your best friend that you’re in love with her after you’ve filmed sex videos together.
It would be helpful if there was.
After grabbing a coffee and taking a sip, bracing yourself for the bomb you’re about to drop, you walk back to the living room. Eunbi is still there, but now you’re looking at each other like two actors who know the big scene is coming, but neither wants to be the first to step on stage.
“We need to talk,” you both say at the same time, which would be funny if it weren’t an absolutely terrible moment for comedy.
“You first,” you say, trying to sound generous.
“No… you, please,” she insists.
“Okay,” you sigh, sitting down on the couch, already feeling the weight of what’s about to happen. The words gather in your throat, like a rescue team about to jump out of a helicopter. “Look, what I’m about to say isn’t easy. In fact, it’s pretty hard. And it could... well, it could change our friendship. Maybe forever.”
Eunbi nods, encouraging you, though her expression clearly says, ‘I know this is big, but I’m going to pretend I’m calm.’
“I love you,” you finally say, the words coming out stronger than you expected. “And no, it’s not just a friend thing. I’m in love with you, and I’ve been feeling this for a while. Since... since we started filming together, actually. Every time we did a scene, something inside me got more confused, like the fake sex was revealing real feelings.”
Eunbi looks at you, surprised, but she doesn’t interrupt, so you keep going. “I thought it was temporary, something that would go away over time, but it only got stronger. And honestly, I can’t keep going like this, pretending nothing’s changed, because it has. I’m in love with you, for real. I want to be with you. Not just filming together, but... living with you, as a couple. I want us to be real.”
You take a deep breath, feeling some of the tension release from your chest, but vulnerability quickly takes its place. Eunbi looks at you, her eyes slightly teary, and then, before anything else, she says, “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” you repeat, confused.
“For making you film all of this with me. I didn’t know what you were going through. I had no idea it was hurting you inside. If I’d known...” She pauses, trying to find the right words, but they seem as hard for her as they were for you. “I would’ve stopped.”
You shake your head, almost laughing, but not in a happy way. “No, you don’t have to apologize. What matters is now, and now is that... I’m being honest. I love you.”
She smiles, that smile you know so well, but now it seems different, softer, more... meaningful. “I like you too. A lot. And I’m not just saying that because you confessed. It’s weird, you know? I’ve been in relationships before, but it was never like this. We have this... bond, this connection I’ve never had with anyone. And I think, actually, I’ve always felt something for you, I just didn’t know exactly what it was. Now I do.”
She pauses, wiping away a solitary tear that escaped despite her efforts. “I want this too. I want to be with you. For real. I can’t imagine being with anyone else. We’ve spent so much time together, it... feels right. It feels like it’s how it’s supposed to be.”
You feel your heart leap in your chest. It’s surreal, all of this.
“So...?”
“So... I guess we’re together,” she says, still smiling, and this time you feel like the smile is for you, and only you.
“Finally,” you say, half-joking, but it’s an undeniable truth.
Still in the high of the magical moment, your heart beating faster than usual for all the right reasons, you decide now is the perfect moment to drop your second bomb.
“Oh, there’s one more thing,” you say, smiling like someone who just found a lost bill in their coat pocket. “Great news, actually. My friend messaged me. The company where he works loved your profile!! You might be getting a job offer soon!”
You wait for a scream of happiness, a tight hug, or even an improvised celebratory dance, but none of that happens. Eunbi doesn’t react the way you imagined. In fact, she seems to have frozen in place, as if someone hit the pause button on real life.
“So it was you?” she asks, her voice suddenly cold.
“Me?” you repeat, having no idea where this is coming from. “Me what?”
She sighs, like someone on the verge of losing their patience. “I got a job offer on LinkedIn.”
You blink, absorbing the information, and then smile widely. “Oh, so it worked! That’s great! I mean, now you have a chance to get out of this life... right?” But Eunbi’s expression, far from joyful, is one of... anger? Something between irritation and deep disappointment starts to form in her eyes.
“Why the hell did you do that?” she asks, her tone more like a police interrogation than a simple question.
You’re stunned, you feel like you’ve just been slapped in the face. “What? I was trying to help. I just wanted what’s best for you!”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” she fires back, her tone growing harsher, like someone who’s been holding something in for a long time and finally let it out.
The ground starts to shift beneath your feet, the romantic and peaceful moment now turning into an unexpected storm. “Drop the pride, Eunbi,” you say, trying to maintain control of the situation. “This is your chance to get out of this life. You don’t have to keep doing... you know, what you’re doing now. And now that we’re on the same page, that you feel something for me too, we can be a real couple. Isn’t that what you want?”
She looks at you for a long, silent moment, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re really as clueless as you seem or if you’re just pretending not to understand what’s happening.
“This has nothing to do with pride,” she says, finally, with a calm that’s more frightening than any scream. “That job offer... it made me feel like crap! It made me rethink everything. Who I am, what I want... And you just... don’t get it.”
You really don’t get it.
Of all the scenarios that ran through your head, this one didn’t even come close to showing up. “I don’t understand. You wanted a stable job in your field, didn’t you?”
She shakes her head, exasperated. “I thought I did. I mean, that was the initial plan when I got fired from my last job. But... I can’t. I don’t want to... What I’m trying to tell you is that I’m not going to take that job.”
The silence that follows is so heavy you can almost hear the sound of raindrops hitting the window.
“So, what are you going to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expected.
Eunbi looks you in the eye, and suddenly, the full weight of what she’s about to say appears in her expression. “I’m going to keep doing what I do. I’m going to be an adult content creator, but this time, I’m going all in. No more anonymity. I’m going to show my face. That’s what I’ve decided. This is going to be my life now.”
It’s at that moment that your brain, which had been busy processing the joy of the love confession, just stops working.
This wasn’t in the script.
She was supposed to be happy about the job, you were supposed to be celebrating and planning a future as a normal couple.
Not this...
“You... you want to keep doing this?” you ask, incredulity leaking into every word.
She looks at you with a mix of sadness and determination. “Yes. I want to keep doing it. I want people to see me. I want to keep doing what I do. I love it. And if you’re going to be with me, you’re going to have to accept all of that too.”
The words echo in the room. You stand there, looking at her, trying to fit the pieces of this emotional puzzle that, until seconds ago, was a beautiful, simple picture of a future together. Now, it feels more like one of those abstract paintings people pretend to understand.
She takes a deep breath, and you can tell that the emotion is about to overflow. "Look... I really love you. Truly. And if you want, I'll be the happiest woman in the world by your side. But—" she pauses, the word hanging in the air like a sword about to fall, "if you want to be with me, you’re going to have to accept this Eunbi. The Eunbi you see now, who does what she does. And the weight that comes with it."
Silence. You hear your heart pounding in your chest, so loud it's a wonder Eunbi can't hear it too. The world feels like it’s moving in slow motion, the time between blinks stretching out as if the master of time himself is waiting to see what you’ll say. But what can you say? You’re still processing everything. The confession, the proposal, the fact that she wants to continue in this career—and wants you to be a part of it.
"You... you want to... keep going?" The question comes out hesitantly. You can hardly believe you're asking it. The shock is a physical thing, sitting between you like a third person in the room.
Eunbi, her eyes already shining with tears she’s trying so hard to hold back, nods. "Yes. I want to keep going. I want people to see me. I want to keep doing what I do. I love it. And if you’re going to be with me, you’ll have to accept all of that too."
The tears finally fall, one after the other, as if gravity had won the battle she was trying to fight. You watch, unsure if what you’re feeling is fear, sadness, or some strange sense of relief.
Maybe all of it at once.
She continues, her voice now shaky but still steady. “You can think it over, if you want. This is serious. Our parents are going to find out sooner or later. You know the kind of exposure we’ll face... that I’ll face. And if you’re with me, we’ll be facing that together.”
Eunbi looks directly at you, the intensity in her eyes almost painful. “You warned me about this before. You’ve always worried about me. But if you stay with me now, there’s no going back. People we know might find out, they might see. Are you really willing to risk everything because of me?”
Another pause. This time, it’s not dramatic. It’s just a simple pause, where your mind, suddenly overwhelmed by all these emotions, finds a small space of clarity.
And in that space, the decision that seemed so complicated just moments ago suddenly makes sense.
“Yes,” you say, the word leaving your mouth with a calmness that surprises even you. Eunbi’s eyes widen, as if she isn’t sure she heard you right.
“I accept,” you continue, firmly. "I accept you as you are. If this is what you want to do with your life, then that’s fine by me. I’ll be by your side, no matter what."
She stands there, looking at you like you're some kind of alien that just landed on Earth. And then the tears she was holding back finally fall. But this time, they aren’t tears of sadness or anger. They’re something completely different. Relief, maybe. Or raw happiness, the kind you rarely see.
“Are you sure?” she asks, between sobs. "I... I mean, this won’t be easy! You can think about it more. You can really consider what you’re accepting, what it’s going to mean for you, for us."
You give her that half-smile, the one you know always made her feel safe. "Eunbi," you say, calmly, "I’ve already thought about it. I accept the risk, the exposure. I accept you... As long as I’m with you, it’s all okay."
And with that, she falls apart. Not in a sad or uncontrolled way, but in a beautiful, genuine way. She starts crying, but they’re tears of gratitude, of love, of everything she’s held inside for so long.
You step closer and wrap your arms around her, as if trying to protect her from the whole world. She cries into your chest, her words lost between sobs. You kiss the top of her head, taking in the familiar scent of the shampoo she always uses.
"I love you so much," she says through her tears, her voice muffled against you.
"I love you too," you reply, with a sincerity that fills her up from the inside. “We’re in this together.”
And then, there, in the midst of tears, hugs, and confessions, the world seems to align again. The mess it was before starts to make sense.
Okay, maybe it’s not a fairy tale, but who needs a fairy tale ending when you can have something this real, this alive, this raw, this imperfect and yet, somehow, so absolutely perfect?
And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
With her.
[Rubydden] Three minutes ago
This month, we’re going to skyrocket the quality of our content!!
And to kick things off: FACE REVEAL!!🔥🥳
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pastorpresent · 3 months ago
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insp by this right here, by @septicsoldier13. thank you for the prompt lovely! :))
-
They were short on bills this month.
Logan's shitty job at some scummy bar didn't exactly leave him rolling in cash (not to mention the seventy dollars he was docked for drinking the supply), Wade hadn't made all that much in commission, and Al's disability cheque didn't stretch far.
Rent was covered, so was water and electric, but that left heat unpaid.
Logan figured it wouldn't be a big deal. It was July- and there was a pretty intense heatwave hitting the city currently. They likely wouldn't need the heat for the next month anyway.
The apartment was chilled, but it wasn't cold by any means, which was why he was confused when he got home one evening and Wade was walking around making dinner with a blanket draped over his shoulders, and what looked to be two sweaters on, alongside thick sweatpants.
Logan was sweating just looking at him.
"I know you're pissed I got docked the alcohol money, but aren't you overplaying it a little, bub?"
Wade jumped at his voice, clearly not hearing him enter. The blanket dropped to the kitchen floor, and the merc looked mildly embarrassed.
"I was... cold," he said quietly, and it was... odd. There was no jokes, none of the usual outrageous comebacks, and Wade was just staring at the blanket now crumpled on the floor, almost with a fucking longing expression, and Logan would admit that often the idiots jokes flew right over his head (he wasn't exactly caught up with the last fifty years of media), but he really didn't get this one.
"You were cold? It's not hot in here but it's not cold," Logan pointed out, pretty much over Wade's dramatics.
He'd had a long shift at work, split up about four fights, kicked three people out and chased two couples trying to fuck in the filthy bathroom all between making stupid drinks as his own fingers itched for alcohol.
All to say, he really didn't have the energy for whatever dumb joke this was a part of.
"You're gonna give yourself heatstroke, and you look fucking ridiculous," he deadpanned, and Wade shrugs, doesn't say anything, which makes something heavy settle in Logan's gut.
Whatever, not his problem, right?
He left to go shower.
//
Wade had stripped down into sweats and a single sweater by the time they retire to the couch.
Logan is in his vest and flannel pyjama pants, and he's warm, but he doesn't mention Wade's layers this time.
The TV is on, some shitty episode of some shitty reality show Wade insists he has to watch, and Logan's focusing on it, until he's not.
His attention wanders over to the merc sat on the other end of the couch. It's not uncommon, Logan tends to spend more time watching Wade react to whatever dumb shit is on rather than watch it himself, for reasons he doesn't have the energy to analyse.
Somethings wrong.
Because Wade isn't watching the TV either. His eyes are distant, staring at the floor, and he's shivering violently, teeth practically chattering as he curls in on himself, knees hugged to his chest, and it's like he's...
"You're cold," Logan concludes aloud, but this time the words hold no frustration, because he'd seen Wade be committed to jokes before - but never on this scale. It's not a joke, or some sort of prank at Logan's expense.
Wade nods, and Logan is up and crouching in front of him immediately, sticking a hand against his forehead. Wade practically leans into his body's warmth, shuddering, and jesus christ - the mercs skin is like ice.
"The hell? Are you sick? Can you even get sick?" Logan touched the exposed skin of Wade's wrist, and sure enough - it was freezing.
Wade laughed softly, "I'm always sick, it's just... another side effect," he explained, and it took Logan a minute to recall what the cause of Wade's scars was. The cancer.
"But... your mutation, that stupid programme, I thought it cured you," Logan frowned.
"Not... cured. Just sort of put it on the back burner. It can't kill me, because my body is constantly regenerating the cells it kills, but it's there, and sometimes the symptoms hit a bit harder than usual," Wade explained, looking self conscious, as if this was something Logan would mock him for.
"Why the fuck didn't you say something when we sacrificed the heating this month?"
"We needed it the least-"
"I would've found a fuckin' way if I knew you'd suffer! I'm going straight down there tomorrow, I'll use my tip money to pay it," Logan stated, and Wade's eyes widened.
"No, peanut, you're saving that up for your motorcycle-"
"Fuck that, I'm not having you be uncomfortable in your own home," Logan huffed, "now wait here," he tossed a blanket from the chair over to Wade, then headed to their bedroom.
He headed to Wade's set of drawers first, but pivoted to his own. His hoodies were bigger - more fabric, more warmth, right? Definitely. He didn't just want to see Wade wrapped up in his clothes. That would be fucking dumb, because he wasn't a thirteen year old girl with a school crush.
He grabbed the obnoxiously pink Hello Kitty blanket from their bed too, and then stuck into Al's drawers and grabbed the hot water bottle she used when her back was giving her a hard time. He grabbed one of her heating pads from the medication cupboard too, making a note to buy her some more the next time he did their grocery run.
A few minutes later, items in hand and hot water bottle sufficiently warmed, he reentered the living room.
Wade had the blanket over his lap, but Logan could still see the slight tremble of his shoulders, as much as he was now trying to hide it.
His stomach twisted with guilt for his earlier words.
Logan sat beside him, "lift you're shirt up, just for a minute," he ordered as he opened the heat pad.
"At least buy me dinner first, or I'll kiss and tell. Who am I kidding? If we kiss I'm definitely telling, I'll go on the local news-" Wade's usual tirade of rambling was somewhat comforting, not that Logan would ever tell him that, but even so it's usual flow was lost behind the chattering of teeth.
"Wade," Logan interrupted, trying for exasperated but knowing he probably fell a bit short, "Shirt up, bub," he repeated.
Wade still looked hesitant, staring at him like he'd lost his mind, and Logan sighed, grabbing the hem of the sweater and doing it himself, using his other hand to stick the heat pad on.
"What are you- oh," Wade shivered again, arching his back a little into the heat source.
It only took a second for Logan to reboot his brain, and he quickly dropped Wade's shirt.
"Here," he shoved the hoodie, blanket, and hot water bottle into his lap, and Wade stared at the collection, and the tiny tug of a smile made Logan's heart jump a little in his chest.
"Awh peanut, you're the sweetest," he gushed, and it was supposed to be a tease, he knew that, but there was also something genuine there.
"Just warm yourself up," Logan muttered in response, avoiding his gaze.
He returned back to his seat, occasionally glancing over to Wade. The merc settle back down, both blankets wrapped around him, drowning in Logan's hoodie, the hot water bottle hugged to his chest.
He looked... cute, his nose and eyes visible beneathe the layered cocoon.
Logan did go back to focusing on the show, but he didn't stop his sideways glances, and it didn't take long to notice Wade was still shivering a little.
"Are you still cold?"
"No-"
"Wade," Logan warned, practically growled in his direction, and the younger man sighed.
"It's not... I know I shouldn't be, it's just... weird. It's like it's embedded into my fucking bones, I can't..." Wade trailed off, and he sounded miserable.
"Just come here, you dumbass," Logan said, rushing the words out before he could change his mind.
And if Wade looked at him like he was crazy earlier, now he was regarding him as if he'd grown a second head.
"You've done more than enough, Lo. I just need to get my shit together-"
It wasn't up for debate, and Logan wasn't fucking debating it. He grabbed Wade and yanked him closer, earning a yelp of surprise.
He made quick work of pulling him in close, an arm wrapped around his shoulders and dragging him into his body heat.
"Logan, you really don't need to-"
"Shut up and watch the TV," Logan grumbled, staring pointedly at the screen as to not meet the eyes burning holes into him currently.
Wade did give in eventually. He snuggled down into Logans side, head resting on his shoulder and a sweater-pawed hand coming up to lay on his chest. Logan wrapped an arm around his waist in response, tugging him impossibly closer.
Wade did stop shivering, eventually, and there was a mumbled 'thank you' against his neck.
Logan just squeezed his waist in acknowledgement, and neither made a move to separate.
//
The next time, Logan didn't need Wade to say a damn thing.
It wasn't the bills going unpaid this time, either, because Logan prioritised heat as much as he did the base rent when working out their money these days, and had even spent some of his spare cash on an overly loud but functional portable heater as the weather grew colder.
(Of course Wade's favourite method of warming up remained... him, but Logan really had no qualms with that. He found himself almost a bit jealous when Wade opted for the heater before himself, usually when he was busy, and Logan found himself purposefully dropping whatever he was doing to sit on the couch and drag Wade up against him. He absolutely did not glare at a portable heater, because that would be insane.)
No, this time they'd been invited to a Christmas night out alongside the X-men.
Logan had been reluctant to go, still not all that comfortable seeing the team after previously seeing them all... but Wade had begged, and pleaded, because apparently this was a yearly thing and he'd never been invited before.
That alone had only served to piss Logan off more, but Wade had been so excited - and so he sacrificed their quiet night in for a pub crawl around the city.
He'd already caught Wade shivering a few times in the warmth of their apartment that day, but the merc was quick to deny it, likely thinking (and accurately so) that Logan wasn't going to let him go if he thought he was having a bad day in terms of maintaining his body heat.
He'd watched Wade dress with a frown, "at least stick a shirt on under your sweater. You not got any clean sweats you can wear? Those jeans are too thin," Logan had lectured, and Wade had pouted in that way that typically spelt trouble for the older mutant.
"I don't wanna look stupid! Have you seen what I'm working with here? The least I can do is dress nice," Wade gestured to his face, to his scars, and Logan had to bite his tongue to stop himself from immediately jumping on the defence, because he'd probably call Wade gorgeous or something equally as eyebrow raising in the process.
"Fine, but you bring a jacket," he said, and Wade rolled his eyes but agreed.
They'd been out for a couple of hours. The drinks were flowing (Logan had cut himself off at three beers, which was a personal best), and everything was going... oddly well. Logan felt more at ease around the team than he had since he arrived in this universe, and it was nice.
He was talking to Hank, when Scott came over and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Sorry to interrupt, but Wade's asking for you, Logan," Logan frowned.
Wade had dissapeared a little while ago in order to go dance with Storm, Morph and Jean.
"Where is he?" Logan asked, already on his feet.
"Bathroom. He doesn't look great, dunno if he's had too much to drink," Scott replies, and Logan nods, heavily doubting the explanation.
"Thanks, Scott," he says, before making his way through the crowd and into the bathrooms at the back of the club.
When he enters, Wade is perched against the sinks, shivering violently, his whole body trembling and teeth going so fast he could hear them clinking together. He had his arms wrapped tightly around himself.
"W-won't stop, m' cold," Wade whimpered, the embarrassed flush on his cheeks standing out harshly against his pale palour.
Logan's immediate reaction is one of frustration, "I told you that you needed more layers!"
The scolding only earned a small nod, and a sniffle as Wade looked away.
"I'm sorry, I know. I'm just... gonna go home," he said, pushing up from the sinks to leave, but even his legs were shaking, and when he tried to walk the violent trembles knocked him off balance.
Logan was quick to catch him, wrapping his arms around the merc. Wade leaned into his warmth almost instinctively.
"You're an idiot, you know that?" Logan said, but his voice held more concern than anger now, as he steadied Wade on his feet.
He didn't expect the mutant to burst into tears.
Logan didn't do great with tears, especially not when it was somebody he genuinely cared about. He very almost ran out of there, went to grab Jean or Storm or even Hank - anyone who was better at this shit than he was, but he had a feeling Wade wouldn't appreciate anyone seeing him in this state.
Shit, did he even want Logan here right now? He might have asked for him earlier, but he clearly wasn't being much help. He'd made him cry, for fucks sake.
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, I know I should've listened I just- I wanted to just feel slightly normal for once," Wade cried harder, and Logan found himself pulling the shaking merc into his arms again, tucking him against his chest.
"I'm not mad, bub. I get it, I do. I'm just worried about you," Logan sighed, and God, Wade really was like a block of ice on his hold.
"'M sorry," Wade hiccuped, and Logan shushed him softly.
"It's fine, honest. Let's get you home and warmed up, hm?" Logan suggested, running his hands over Wade's arms in an effort to ease the chill.
"Yeah," Wade agreed tiredly, and Logan guided him out the bar, giving Jean an excuse of Wade not handling his alcohol too great (which was at least somewhat true, because the merc was definitely teetering into the emotional drunk category if his display in the bathroom was anything to go off) and hailed them a cab home.
He helped Wade to the couch, burying him in blankets and setting up the heater directly in front of him. When he turned to leave, a hand escaped from the mountain of fleece to curl around his wrist.
"Cuddles? Please?"
Logan was surprised he didn't turn into a puddle on the spot. It was fucking ridiculous. If anyone else dared to grab him like that, make such a request with big devastated puppy dog eyes, he would've sliced them into three even pieces.
Wade was making him soft. He didn't feel as repulsed by that thought as he probably should've.
"In a minute, bub. Let me go get you some stuff first, alright?"
Wade nodded, letting go reluctantly.
Logan made quick work of gathering the usual. It had become almost a routine at this point.
He made Wade a hot chocolate too, knowing how much the merc adored the sugary drink. He was only making it to warm him up though, obviously.
When he returned, Wade had burrowed completely beneath the blanket pile, and Logan had to immediately shut down the adorable that his unhelpful, traitorous brain supplied.
He put the hot chocolate on the table, and the smell had Wade popping his head out, staring at the drink.
"You made me hot chocolate?"
"Don't get used to it," Logan replied, and shoved a pair of his own sweatpants and his own hoodie against Wade's chest.
"Get these on."
"These are yours y'know," Wade said, running a hand over the sweatpants.
"Yours are dirty," Logan shrugged.
They were. Apart from a black pair at the bottom of his closet, but Logan was prepared to swear under oath that he'd never seen them before in his life.
Wade made quick work of getting changed. Logan turned to face the wall, and while Wade didn't say anything, Logan could feel the assholes smirk.
Once he was done, Logan joined him on the couch, climbing beneathe the layers of blankets despite the fact that he tended to run pretty hot. He could get closer to Wade this way.
He stuck the heat pad on his neck, the hot water bottle against his stomach (Wade's very own one now, with hello kitty sewn onto the cover - early Christmas gift from Logan) and wrapped him up in his arms, until Wade's entire body weight was resting against him, sprawled against his chest.
"Logan?" Wade asked after a while of silence, the only sound being the TV and humming of the heater.
"Hm?"
"You're the best wolverine," Wade said softly, and Logan glanced down at the merc, snuggled against his chest, eyes half lidded. He'd stopped shivering.
"Only for you, bub," he hummed in response, very almost kissing the top of his head, but settling on running a hand through it instead.
Wade made a happy sound, and Logan was just glad no one was around to see the stupid smile it put on his face.
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garfieldblunt · 5 months ago
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VDL Gang Beach Episode
Dutch- Flirting with some of the younger women, definitely has a famers tan
Arthur- Digging the biggest hole he possibly can in the sand, no shovel, hands and knees, scooping sand by the arm full
Hosea- in the shade, lathered head to toe in sunscreen, sun glasses on, asleep
John- he’s really scared of the big water and won’t go near it, he’s also extremely sun burnt but won’t put sun screen on
Javier- Brought his guitar to play music, but now has a weird tan line on his abdomen and legs
Abigail- helping Jack find sea shells on the beach
Jack - making small sand castles and trying to decorate them with the shells his mom found
Uncle- asleep on a raft, drifting off into the horizon
Micah- pretending to be a shark in the water, fake fin and everything
Josiah- had someone roll out a red carpet for wherever he stood so he didn’t get sand on him (he’s still in a suit)
Swanson- drinking a cute summer cocktail with a little umbrella in the glass
Pearson- cutting up Watermelon and made the gang a big fruit salad and sandwiches
Sadie- Spear Fishing, hunting a shark she thinks she sees off in the distance
Grimshaw- Yelling at anyone who has sand on them to clean off
Molly- under a fancy umbrella, fanning herself, plotting of ways to drown Dutch without getting herself wet
Tilly, Kieran, Mary Beth, Karen- The girls forced Kieran to play Mermaids with them because they needed a king mermaid, Kieran was just happy to be involved
Charles- Helping Arthur dig the hole, he has the shovel since Arthur is too stubborn to accept it
Bill- Running along the beach with Cain
Sean- buried up to his neck in the sand, slowly eating it
Lenny- laying in the sun next to Sean, smacking him every time he takes another bite of sand
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tan1shere · 19 days ago
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Passion Painting
Billie Eilish x female reader !
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A/n: Was watching my show when I got a little inspired by an episode :D kinda quoted a line from it too because it was fitting. I'll make it bold so you guys know ! - I literally need this woman rn (or even a dom in my asks that'll be great too.)
Summary: you get a gift so you and Billie spice things up a bit ;)
Warnings: smut ! Scissoring 🥰 bills being a bit rough 😫 (i personally love how this turned out)
Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @brat-at-the-disco @iluvapplesxh @chrissv4mp @n0vabug
masterlist
The door opens, hearing keys jingle. Billie was finally home and you had missed her all day. But she doesn't come empty handed. You had just come into the room, greeting her. "Hey baby, what's that?" She sets it down. "Well, it's an early Christmas gift from Claudia. She said we can open it whenever? Whatever that means." You tilt your head. "Do we open it now?" She takes her shoes off, looking at you. "I mean if you want to, she didn't say otherwise. So I'd say its fine." She smiles at you, going over to give you a kiss.
"Good day?" - "It was ok, bit slow work wise but apart from that it was good." You say, going to pick up the box wrapped with festive paper. Bringing it over to the dining table. "How's Finn and Claudia? Did you get much done today?" She nods. "They're good, and yeah a little bit thank goodness. Glad to be home, missed you." You go to kiss her again. "I missed you. Right lets see what we have here." You say, ripping the thin material. Reading the box outloud.
Confusion strikes you. "What is it?" Billie asks. You turn it around so she can see, reading out the words to her. "Passion Painting Erotic Art Kit." She makes a face of realization. "So that's why she said to do it at night time and maybe after a date. I was so confused." You look at her. "You wanna do it?" She thinks for a moment, smirking to herself. "What? Slather you in paint and fuck you? Without a doubt babe." You grin widely. "Sounds like a plan then."
Giggles echoed though the house as you open the front door and speed over to the kit. Billie close behind. "I've actually been thinking about this all day." You admit. "Oh yeah?" She comes close to you. "Sitting in your desk at work, clenching your thighs as I smear paint all over your body. Over your curves." Your faces were close to one another, inches away. You bite your lip, averting your eyes to look at hers. They were natural apart from a little liner making them look plump and inviting. You lean in to kiss her but she pulls back.
Causing an annoyed groan to leave you. "Billie." You whine. She chuckles. That fucking chuckle. It was menacing. "Why don't we make this a little challenge." Your head tilts with intrigue. "I'm listening." She goes to unbox it, waiting a moment before she speaks again. "Let's see how long we can go without kissing one another." - "What-?" She turns around. "Don't think you can?" You think for a second. "Fine, let's see who looses." She smirks. "I think we both know who that's going to be." Your eyes roll. "Yeah yeah." But her hand grabs your jaw.
"Such an attitude for someone whos about to get fucked on the floor." Your throat closes up finding breathing to be the last thing on your mind currently. You both spread the canvas out. But in reality, you're going to be the canvas spread out at the end of the night. She'd make sure of it. You pick up the paints. Gold and blue. "Which?" She looks at them. "Hmm blue." You hand her the blue. "Right well I better get out of this." You began, back facing her. Slightly bent over as you stand back up. She smirks to herself grabbing the zip at the top of your dress. And swiftly pulling it down.
You gasp as the air hits your nipples. Since the dress had no straps you went against wearing a bra. Now standing almost fully naked in your kitchen, you two had moved some furniture around so you'd have the right space. "Oops, well I mean now all you need to take off is that tiny. Tiny. Pair of underwear." You had to process how fast she was with the dress you almost didn't register her hands pulling the thin material of your underwear off. It was only then when you realized how cool everything got. A shiver running down your spine. You wanted to kiss that smirk right off her face.
But you couldn't, you had to remember the game. "Your turn." Her smirk stays, grabbing her shirt from the back with one hand, lifting it off her head. Hair becoming messy. She takes off her pants next because she too, didn't put a bra on. There was no need. But you definitely weren't complaining. Your eyes stare for a moment. Maybe if you focused on that and not her really, inviting lips you'd be fine. But God were you wrong. You just wanted to grab her and kiss her. You both stand fully naked infront of one another.
Your nerves getting the better of you as she stalks closer to you. The lid pops off the paint. As she hands you the blue one. "We have to put it on one another." But her words went out one ear and out the other. "Hey." She says getting your attention. "Focus baby." Your eyes meet hers, handing her the gold. There was still some plastic on it so she brings it up to her mouth, getting ahold of it and ripping it off. All while keeping intense eye contact. You were going to be dripping soon. And not with paint. Her lips come to the cap, popping that off and out of her mouth. She squeezes a good amount into her hand. "You're going to be so gold you'll look like one of my Oscar's."
You gulp back saliva, you were almost drooling. Even more so when her hand makes contact with your skin. The paint was a little cold, but her burning hands soon get rid of that. Your body starts to become hot. Nerves coming back more prominent. She rubs it all over your chest, moving down to your tits, having it around most but leaving your nipples free. She had plans. Her movements were incredibly slow, making you more needy. She made sure she got your whole body, minus the places she needed access to. Standing back and letting you take over on hers.
Your shakey hand comes in contact with her neck. "Nervous?" You shake your head. "That's not really an answer huh?" You couldn't look at her, you just couldn't. You were close to giving into everything how was she so God damn calm? Your mind races as you come to her breats, you were hesitant but eager to touch them. "Why so Nervous huh? It's as if you haven't touched them before, when we both know that's not true." She was getting you to break, to give up on the game. "You're making this harder.." You whisper out. "Is that so? Darn, I didn't even realize." You pout slightly. "Can't go on?"
You think for a second, shaking your head. "Im fine." You say as your hands move over the rest of her body. "So shy, sweetheart." You swallow. "N-no I'm not." Her brow raises. "Don't lie." But she softly grabs your hand, moving them over her body. "See like that, not hard is it?" You whimper. "You're making it hard Bills." Your eyes look at her with a pleading glint. "Shame." Her eyes look down at your body. "Think its time we have our fun." She says, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you down on the paper. Letting her hands move to your breasts. She had the left a part of your neck blank, bringing her lips to it and kissing.
"Billie.." You breathe out, but she moves her hands and grabs your ass tightly. "Uh uh, say it correct." Your head spins. "Mommy." - "Good girl." Your eyes shut. Trying so hard to resist the urge to kiss her. "Mommy please." You say, grabbing her arms and moving them down to her waist as she begins to move her cunt on your own. Your first moan of the night slips out. "What? Are you all sad you can't kiss me darling girl? You agreed to the challenge no?" You zip it. Hating that you did agree to it, you didn't care anymore. You go to switch positions getting ontop.
"Please let me kiss you please." Her hands rest on your lower back as you desperately move your pussy on hers. "Please Mommy, need it so bad." She smirks. "I can see angel. You've never done that before I guess you truly mean it." You pout again at her, she was playing with you and it was driving you mental. Moving down to attatch your lips to her own. But she serves, loving the little frustrated whines you let out. "You're so mean." Her hand instantly wraps around your throat and in the blink of and eye she was back ontop.
"What was that princess?" Her grip tightens making your words float away. "Hm??" You try to talk but it's no use. "Exactly what I thought." Her hand grips your thigh, hoisting it up to dangle on her shoulder. Her hand remains around your throat while the other is on the paper, close to your head and surely leaving a handprint on the almost covered paper. Your body's making art. Surely a night to remember. Her movements become harsh making your mind race, your mouth hangs open at the feeling of both of your wetness together. She watches your eyes roll back, and slowly seeing your lids drooping.
"there you go, fall into subspace that's it. You beautiful being." You had no thought other than her, the way she was fucking against you. Absolutely no words left. Her hand stays firmly around your throat. Your bodys soon come close together. Your breasts touching, nipples grazing one another and that was it. That was all it took for you two to gush against the other. Her lips come crashing down onto your own, loosening her grip to hear your sinful moans travel into her mouth. She groans as she rides out both of your orgasmns. Flopping on you to catch her breath. "Wow." You say. "Wow indeed."
You had a nice soothing shower together, getting comfortable in your bed. Snuggling up close. Until you grab your phone. "What're you doing?" She asks. "Thanking that amazing woman for even thinking of this for us." She smiles, letting out a laugh. "Thank her for me too." You then smile to yourself. "You do know you lost your own game right?"
"A wins a win when you get to fuck your girlfriend and showcase it on a wall for everyone to see and know that you're all. Mine."
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queenimmadolla · 8 months ago
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Could you write about the first time Penny or any of the babies reach for Eddie 🥺🥺 like the first time they really obviously want him or are excited to see him?
𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐈 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭! :) 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐢 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞! 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞
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Eddie was exhausted.
  Drained. Worn out. Expended. Zonked. Depleted, just plain tired.
  He was young, not even 23 years old, and today in particular, he felt like was in his late 60s. On a normal schedule, he was fine. Could roll with life and work, but his schedule was no longer a normal one. Not since you’d first found out you were pregnant.
  A baby, while precious, was an impending expense. 
  Eddie had started picking up more shifts at the garage, longer ones. Going in early, staying late.
  It was relatively amusing work, he was good at fixing cars up. Had started at the shop just changing oil and now he worked on the actual bodies, though he preferred engines more than anything; a common problem for most who brought their cars in, and an annoyance for his co-workers, so he always had plenty to do.
  The short time you and Eddie were allotted, pending Penny’s arrival, was spent squirreling money away. You’d have to go on maternity leave, and the desk job as a Lawyer’s receptionist you’d picked up after high school still paid you well on that leave, you’d just still be missing out on a portion of your normal salary since you’d only be getting about 60 to 70% of your check. 
  Regardless of the tighter than even normal budget (the two of you were also saving up to move to a bigger place, the trailer Wayne graciously let you play house in was still a one bedroom and eventually, Penny would need her own room or the two of you would have to move out to the livingroom), the first few months after Penny’s birth had been relatively smooth. She didn’t use up a whole lot of formula then, mostly breastfed or bottle fed with your supply unless the family was out and about, and there was no place for you to feed her (even then, you preferred going back to the van to nurse her solo—Eddie would get anxiety over that after an episode of a true crime documentary show) so she’d need formula.
  Now that you were back at work, standard Monday through Fridays, you couldn’t feed her like you used to, and she relied equally on your milk supply and formula so that was a hit to the budget.
  You and Eddie had worried a bit over childcare, whether you’d have to stay home or not to take care of her since daycares were so expensive. Luckily, Wayne’s girlfriend—another occupant of Forest Hills—had taken a liking to Penny. Her son had recently left the nest, gone off to college, and she craved the presence of a child, someone to need her. Uncle Wayne hadn’t been enough (nor had he been amused when Eddie jested as much), and she got on well with Penny, so she’d offered to watch her while the two of you worked like the absolute angel she was. 
  The Saint refused to take any payment and even thanked the two of you for trusting her with Penny, baffling Eddie since that meant Maude would have to take care of Penny and Wayne, who worked nights and was with her the rest of the time. Wayne, again, hadn’t appreciated the joke.
  Childcare aside, Penny was growing. And she was growing fast. Eddie had emotional and monetary whiplash with the speed of which she was outgrowing all of her clothes and going through diapers. And things like baby jumpers and playpens and strollers and car seats were expensive. The regular bills hadn’t stopped either, so while you’d gone back to work and the two of you could stay on top of everything together—Eddie didn't want to just be getting by anymore. It was fine when it had been the two of you, now he had a baby. A little human entirely dependent on him. 
  And you. She depended on you too, it’s just—maybe it was a machismo thing, Eddie didn’t fuck around with toxic masculinity, couldn’t give a shit, but he desperately wanted to provide for the two of you. Show you that you hadn’t made a mistake dating him, marrying him, having his Oopsie baby. And he didn’t want Penny growing up to worry about finances like he had.
  So, naturally, he put a shit ton of pressure on himself. He’d continued working as much as he had when you were on maternity leave—and he’d crashed. 
  You were there, though. Had talked to him, comforted him, held him through his breakdown. It was one hell of a conversation, and he’d still been stubborn about it despite the fact that he’d made himself sick from burn out, you got through to him. You were a family. Eddie wasn’t to shoulder any responsibility on his own. It was to be shared between the two of you. Your family would be just fine without Eddie working himself into an early grave. 
  You even did the math on paper (and you were bad at math so it amused him to watch you successfully prove your point after he’d had to help you with some fractions and decimals) to reassure him. 
  With his worries put to ease, you’d convinced him to take the day off. It wasn’t technically even a day off, he’d just been going in on his days off for overtime, so he was just staying home. He still could have taken Penny over to Maude’s—Eddie didn’t want to. No point when he could have his little ball of curls and rolls (which were starting to go away as she stretched out, breaking his heart) alllllllll to himself, even if she was being fussy. 
  Maybe Penny was picking up on the vibes he’d been putting out, absorbing his stress because she hadn’t gone down to bed last night without a fight. She’d woken up this morning upset, had been irritated the rest of it, and had given Eddie just as hard of a time putting her down for her afternoon nap, as she had last night.
  Yeah. Eddie was fucking wiped out. It was still better than being at work, he certainly got to relax more, even with his furious baby screaming, so he’d never complain.
  Then, Penny started screeching from her crib and Eddie let out a groan, hands dragging down his face. Sue him, he could complain a little.
  Oh, c’mon! She hadn’t even been asleep for half an hour! 
  And there was no building up to the screeching, it was like she popped those big eyes open and just decided to start wailing. 
  With a sigh, Eddie got up from the couch and rushed to the kitchen to prepare a bottle for her. She’d fought it before her nap when he offered it to her, so she had to be hungry now. With the bottle in hand, the perfect Penny-approved temperature (she was picky), he burst into his bedroom, and her sobbing intensified, mouth wide and face almost turning a different color even as he approached her.
  Her curls were curlier than normal and almost as wet as her face—she was a sleep sweater so they often matted down to her head when she snoozed. Eddie just knew she was gonna hate the sink bath he’d have to give her later if she was still in this mood by then. 
  Penny was sitting up—had recently learned to do that on her own—a constant stream of tears dribbling down both cheeks and she stared up at him, her little eyebrows furrowed in anguish. 
  “Alright, alright. I’ve got what you want, no need to hurt anyone, bitty one.” Eddie leaned down, offering the bottle to quelle her distress. She’d recently learned to hold her own bottles, too.
  Penny’s crying died down for just a few seconds, before her breathing picked back up, breaths stuttering and she let out another shriek as fat tears continued to leak out of her eyes at an even faster rate. She smacked the bottle right out of Eddie’s hand, he hadn’t been expecting it so his grip had been loose and craned her head even farther back to stare up at him, pleading, and Eddie had no idea what for.
  Was she still tired?
  Did she need to be changed? She certainly didn’t smell like it but maybe she had peed. 
  Eddie reached down into the crib to grab the bottle and her wails died down again before picking up the moment he’d pulled back and walked to his dresser to place it on. 
  “You’re gonna have to help me out here, baby, what do you want? Huh? What does my girl need?”
  Eddie was about to get her out of the crib when Penny did something she hadn’t done before. In between her sobs, with her big, beautiful eyes squinting through her tears, her little arms reached up towards him. The movement made her unstable and she wobbled on her bottom, arms still up, before she fell over onto her side and wailed harder. 
  Penny didn’t stay down for even a couple of seconds, pushing herself back up into sitting position and reaching up for Eddie again as she bawled and Eddie snapped out of his shock (every milestone she accomplished sent him into one) and reached down, hands grasping her soft sides and hoisting her up his chest. 
  Penny immediately smothered her face against his neck, Eddie could feel the wetness from her tears and drool smearing around the skin there and he rocked her gently, one hand supporting her bottom, and the other cradling her sweaty little head.
  She still cried but as he gently shushed her, Penny’s wailing lowered in volume, “Shhhh, it’s okay, baby. You just wanted daddy, huh? Just need some cuddles to make you feel better?” He pressed kiss after kiss to her head and, much to his relief, the wailing died down completely. Penny’s breathing was evening out, still a little rapid and hitching, but she was calming down.
  “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you.” Eddie walked away from the crib, back to the living room, picking up her bottle and her diaper bag on the way, “Daddy’s sorry he’s an idiot and didn’t realize you just wanted him. My little bitty pretty one was crying her eyes out and I have the audacity to try to feed you instead of cuddle you. Ugh. Feel free to bite me when you have teeth, sweet pea.” 
  By the time he was settling on the couch again, he was sure Penny was on the road to recovery, which made this next part worse. He winced as he slowly pulled her away from him. Penny immediately began to protest, breathing picking up as she started grunting while her arms reached for him and the moment Eddie placed her flat on the changing mat, she started wailing again, eyes squeezed shut and mouth open wide to let the world know her daddy had hurt her feelings, again, “I know, I know, daddy’s also so sorry he has to change your diaper so you don’t get a rash on your little toosh.”
  Eddie was quick with it, just as distressed as she was with their lack of contact. Once she had a clean diaper, her extra onesie (and he’d have to remember to put a new one from the dresser into the diaper bag) on, and the soiled diaper was wrapped up and set aside, he hastily picked her up, clutching her to his chest and she curled eagerly into him.
  He held her like that until she calmed again, then he got up to toss the dirty diaper and warm up her bottle again.
  With her—apparently—number one and urgent need satisfied, Eddie spread himself out on the couch with Penny in the crook of his arm, her chunky cheek pressed against his chest. This time when he offered her the bottle, she eagerly pulled it towards her and guzzled it down. 
  Eddie admired her while she drank her milk, his finger stroking over her cheeks to rid them of her tears as she stared up at him through long, wet eyelashes. Had he not been present for her fits, nor had he just wiped away the evidence of her suffering, Eddie wouldn’t have known she was upset at all. There was no resentment clouding those warm, brown eyes. No anger and Eddie’s chest tightened as he recalled just how forgiving babies were. So, innocent and just full of love.
  “You happy now, pretty one?” Eddie cooed, and at his tone, Penny smiled around the rubber nipple in her mouth, letting out her own coo in response. She didn’t stop suckling, but she removed one hand from her bottle to shakily reach up towards Eddie. Her movement was a little unstable, and Eddie watched with pure reverence until her tiny hand was against his jaw, soft palm gently smacking it.
  Then, not so gently smacking it.
  “Owwwuhh!” Eddie whined.
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sparkrls · 9 months ago
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delayed proposal
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MASTERLIST
Summary: in which Harry’s got a few secrets up his sleeve and Y/N just wants to know if he’s going to propose
Author’s Note: this is the blurb i was talking about with bandmates!harry x y/n. remember to like and reblog because i crave validation. love ya <3
Word Count: 1.1k
•••
“Are you going to propose soon?” Was the last question Harry expected to be uttered out of Y/N’s bright pink lips.
It was just another Sunday night, the couple trying to enjoy those last fleeting moments of weekend relaxation before Monday arrived with the usual burden and obligations of being working adults.
In little less than 12 hours, Y/N would be back to her 9-5 job being an assistant to a high-class executive of a finance company. Her boss had too much authority for being so irresponsible and more money than anyone would need in a lifetime. What a luxury it must be to have your dad pass down a company you didn’t know how to run down to you.
Her boss wasn’t a horrible person, he was quite respectful and kind when asking her to do tasks, he was just a very exploitative executive. He had learned from his father to be unbending and demanding.
Y/N’s work paid a good wage, enough for her to pay her bills and still have a bit left. She wasn’t one to buy luxuries, though, preferring to save money up so she could one day quit her 9-5. And then dedicate herself to the things she did every day after work: picked up her red electric guitar, adorned a black skirt that bordered on too short, and perform for (currently small) crowds of people who cheered her band on as they played.
There wasn’t anything Y/N loved quite as much as the rush of being on stage, the bass making the stage shake with each loud thrum, sticks clashing with plates of a drum and the velvet voice of an angel, Harry singing through the microphone and his eyes on her and her fingers moving over the fret of the guitar.
They played small clubs and rundown bars, getting payed a poor wage for the extrenous effort used to get four adults with full time jobs to align their schedules in order to rehearse. Sometimes all they got were free drinks, but they took what they could get and did it for the love of it.
That was how they got here, on Harry’s couch, his arm draped around her shoulders, and her head on his chest. They were watching Bluey, the way they did most nights they spent together. He would always roll his eyes when Y/N suggested it, pretending to hate it, but she knew it was his favorite show, and he always cried at the emotional episodes.
Their instruments lay forgotten on the table, his blue guitar next to her red one, as they’d spent most of the afternoon drinking beer and writing a new song.
It was a question that had been lingering in the back of Y/N’s mind, and she wasn’t quite sure why she chose that moment to blurt it out, but she did. “Are you going to propose soon?”
Harry’s gaze turned to her, eyebrows raised in light surprise, a small breath exhaled between his lips in a faint chuckle. “What?”
It was too late to take it back, so Y/N sat up and told him, “You’ve always talked about wanting to settle down and get married.” His features remained in small confusion. “We’ve been together for a while. Are you going to marry me?”
“Well, of course I’m going to marry you,” Harry said, like it were some scientific fact that everyone knew and was unchangeable. “You’re my forever, baby. I’ve written about a hundred songs about it.” His lips turned up in a smile. That smile he wore every time he told her he loved her, with a cocky and smug edge as if he were teasing her, laced with affection.
“I don’t mean we have to get married this instant, but I just, I guess we’ve never talked about if we were getting engaged or when and I-“
“Baby,” Harry cut off her nervous rambling, chuckling. He kissed her, soft lips with cracked edges from the cold and dry weather. “I already know what ring I’m going to buy. I’m just saving up for it.”
Y/N’s mind blanked for a moment. “You’re already thinking about rings?” Her lips parted in surprise.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, silly girl. You’re not the only one thinking about marriage.” He smiled at her, reassuring her that he was just teasing. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
“Oh,” Y/N said, still in shock. Here she was, getting all nervous and insecure about marriage and he had already been planning to propose. Her question now seemed a bit foolish. She looked up at him and said, “You know I don’t need some needlessly expensive ring, right? You could buy it on Aliexpress and I couldn’t care less.”
Harry looked at her with slight amusement. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Y/N said with a small nod. “It’s stupid to spend money on a ring when it doesn’t make much of a difference.”
Harry sighed. “Baby, it’s not about the ring being expensive. It’s about the ring being a symbol for my devotion to you. And I want my devotion to be apparent in the beauty of it.” He tapped the finger on her left hand where the ring would lay. “No, I don’t have to spend money on an expensive ring. That’s why I’m not just getting a huge diamond. I’m getting something you’ll love.”
“But it’s expensive and it’s a waste of money on a simple ring-“
“Is it just a ring? Or is it a symbol of matrimony, of us being together forever?” Harry said gently, correcting her statement. “Not to mention you’re going to be wearing that ring every day ‘till you die.”
Y/N made a sound of contradiction. “Unless we get a divorce.”
Harry stared at her blankly for a few moments. He deadpanned, “Not funny.”
“Kinda funny,” Y/N said with a small smile.
She waited for Harry’s stern gaze to soften with adoration the way it always did. It only took a few moments for his composure to crumble and he leaned in close to her. His nose grazed against hers as he muttered quietly, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
The way he said it sounded like a declaration of love. Everything he said to her did. Because his love could never be called in to doubt. It shone through every word he uttered, every song he wrote, every thing he did.
His lips locked onto hers once again, the tension in his muscles melting away as if all he needed to feel complete was to be pressed against her. To have every inch of skin surrounding her, the taste of beer still on her tongue, and the scent of spring enveloping his senses.
“I’m going to marry you,” Harry uttered, an oath murmured against her lips before placing a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her close once again.
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augustusaugustus · 1 year ago
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Freaking love "Shake, Rattle 'n' Roll" as a character episode for Monroe. Told off unfairly by Brownlow because Charles embarrassed himself and wanted to take it out on someone, but only really gets angry when Charles criticises his PC children. (Quietly, so, natch.) A Relief think Andrew's going to pay it on and take it out on them, but nope! He's decided to do something to support them instead. He uses his knowledge of the law to absolutely slay at taking down not-Chris-Deakin (aka Shaun Scott as a sleazy pub landlord), earns a sheepish non-apology from Charles and then willingly joins the relief at the pub! (c.f. All the Kings Horses—hello character development) A hero's welcome, well deserved.
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tswwwit · 7 months ago
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Cult Part 5! Here's One, Two, Three, and Four if ya missed 'em.
“Whatever he’s up to,“ Dipper leans forward in his seat, glaring. “It’s not what you think it is.”
His warning goes unheeded. His glare, unnoticed. The man not only keeps talking to Bill, he does it in the stupidest way possible.
“I don’t believe you, vile tempter,” says the dark-haired man, folding his arms, turning away in a huff. His hips tilt in a way that makes those tiny shorts look ten times stupider than they already were. “Your infinite cunning and dire convincing cannot sway a human pure of heart!”
“Oh, how pure it is.” ‘Bill’ says slowly, capturing the man around the shoulders. “But think about it, mortal - What’s the worst that could happen?”
Some of the pouty defiance fades from the human’s face. His slow, dramatic turn towards Bill is focused in a close shot, so their faces are both in frame.
“Alright,” He says softly, “You bastard.”
Ugh, of course he’d give in easily. Even though it’s a terrible idea.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dipper mutters, and stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth.
He’s seen his fair share of bad television - more so in the last week than ever before - but this bullshit really takes the cake. 
Dipper stumbled on this drama while flipping through the billion options of Bill’s TV. Somewhere in the middle of random shows and channels, a brief clip caught his eye. Mostly because he thought the main guy looked like Bill, and it paused his thumb for a second.
Turns out it is Bill. Or rather, an actor playing him. The looks don’t quite match, and they’re using a different name - but the likeness is unmistakable, right down to the triangle motif.
For the first five minutes, Dipper had to just boggle at the very concept. Only the most devoted followers know the Truth. The clever plans and private nature of Bill Cipher are solely for those who are initiated in the deepest secrets. Ones that the ignorant masses could never comprehend.
A hundred-some odd episode tv series blows that theory out of the water. He guesses that’s more bullshit he learned from a bunch of ignorant, sheltered jerks.
Honestly, meeting Bill should have clued Dipper in earlier. A guy who talks about himself that much isn’t going to keep a low profile. Seeing it on Bill’s own TV was also weird until he remembered, right. Multidimensional sight. That’d show him things from all over. And pulling all the episodes on a dedicated channel in his living room? That’s an egomaniac’s move. 
So of course Dipper would run into this. There was no better place. 
The next episode starts. The opening credits roll for the dozenth time. Dipper doesn’t move from his position on the couch, but he does roll his eyes at the stupid smile actor Bill gives at the camera. Completely off-base, it’d be way more smug.
He should really stop watching. The first episode alone nearly had him grimacing at how idolatrous it was, and Dipper lived in a cult. Problem is, the worse it gets, the more compelling it becomes.  
Then the theme song ends, and Dipper looks again down at the tiny text at the bottom. The one that reads, ‘based on real events!!!’. 
Sure, it’s the most highly dramatized bullshit he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. Including the soap operas his cult classmate smuggled in all the time. And yes, it’ll be difficult to tell how much is true when it’s less reliable than an overheard rumor. 
But it might give him some leads to go on, and Dipper can’t pass that up.
Suffering through shitty dialogue is a small price to pay, when it comes to unraveling the tangled thread that is Bill Cipher. Especially because his subject keeps trying to wrap up into a whole friggin’ gordian knot whenever he’s not looking.
Besides, Dipper’s already on episode twenty-seven. He might as well see how this season ends. 
The plot picks up on the same convoluted scheme. Judging by last season, it’ll end in some climactic battle for no particular reason. The characters on screen continue their bickering, an intense-back and forth. One that ignores the very insightful commentary from anyone watching. 
Halfway through, ‘Bill’ double- or perhaps triple-crosses his human rival/friend, and Dipper spends a few seconds to feel very I-told-you so about it. The plot thread isn’t resolved though, so there’s no way to know how that turns out without watching another episode. 
And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.
He contemplates the dish first, then the TV. Whether to get up and refresh snacks, or stick around to see how ‘Bill’ ruins that guy’s day for the seventh time. A tough decision. 
He’s just about decided to raid the kitchen for snacks, when the front door ominously creaks open.
Bill Cipher, Lord of Dreams, King of the Nightmare Realm, storms into the room with irritation in his terrible gaze, and furious purpose in his stride. He wears a scowl on his face that would make even the most apostate follower cower in terror, a demeanor that speaks of his infinite violence. The thrum of magic in the room builds, intense as it always is in his so-called glorious presence.
As that single golden eye alights on Dipper, he waves and says, “Hi.”
All the tension slides off Bill like a particularly messy sloughing of skin. “Hey yourself, sapling!” He waves back with more enthusiasm. “Been one heck of a day, lemme tell ya that.”
It sounds lighthearted. A pretty decent act. Tough luck for Bill, though; Dipper can read him pretty well by now. A check of Bill’s body language gives him all the info he needs.
Huh. There haven’t been many bad days since he’s met this ‘god’. But by the look of it, this one was more than most.
“That bad?” Dipper asks. Then, since he’s not doing much anyway - “Wanna complain about it?”
A blasphemous question. No follower should delve too deep, for that is the purview of divine revelation. The wisdom of Cipher - his most terrible secrets - are only revealed at his discretion. Not something to be pried at by the greedy and curious. 
Dipper still marvels at how wrong they got all of it. Total misses on absolutely everything. Bill’s got secrets, sure. ‘Wisdom’ is questionable.
And when it comes to learning about his life, prying is unnecessary. 
Stopping him from talking is the hard part.
“Don’t even get me started!” Bill says, clearly delighted.. He spreads his arms wide. “But you did! Too late to take it back now.”
“Mmh,” Dipper agrees. He’s got another episode queued up. That’ll be a nice distraction. Bill’s rambling can be interesting, but his complaints are longwinded. When you think about it, he’s really doing this ‘god’ a service by listening to all the bullshit.
He really doesn’t know what his old cult was talking about. Clearly they’d never met the guy. When this is how Bill talks to some random human, it’s amazing he has any secrets at all.
He waits for the oncoming onslaught as the show keeps playing on. The theme song finishes and the scene opens. There’s a new location, too - god, this better not be another timeskip. Demons might keep track of that stuff easily, but Dipper’s had to start taking notes. 
It takes a second before he notices Bill’s… actually not talking. 
A quick glance over - yep, just like he thought. Staring like a creep again. One of Bill’s favorite pastimes. This time paired with a pleased smile, and his hands on his hips.
“What’s up?” Dipper asks. There’s no rhyme or reason to the creeping so far - but he’ll figure out the pattern one day.
“Hm.” Bill gives him a slow onceover. The corner of his mouth quirks up another fraction. “Nice outfit.”
A quick check reveals… Nothing particularly interesting. His clothes are identical to, like, the same three outfits he always wears. Jeans and a t-shirt - though today he ditched the flannel for this big hoodie he found in his laundry. It’s remarkably soft. “Uh. Thanks?”
Bill says nothing. The smirk grows even wider. Very suspicious. Dipper narrows his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?” “Who knows?” Bill says, teeth showing in his smile. “Interesting outer layer you got going on there.”
Dipper checks the hoodie. No, he doesn’t sense any magic. If there were pins he would have felt them, and a curse would have kicked in by now. It’s just a random hoodie that’s admittedly too broad in the shoulders, but very comfortable. It even smells good.
He waits a few seconds - Bill keeps staring, oddly smug - but with no information forthcoming, Dipper decides to chalk it up as another ‘weird demon thing’. There’s a lot of weird demon things. Most aren’t as innocuous as random fashion critique, so he might as well let this slide. 
“Cute as that look is, you did ask for the rundown, sapling.” Bill loosens his bowtie, letting the ends drape over his shirt. “You know what my least favorite part of today was?”
“Dealing with idiots.” Dipper replies. It’s always idiots. He rifles through popcorn kernels to find any remaining puffs.
“Sure, sure. Most times!” Bill strides over, sighing dramatically. “But today it was dealing with sycophants.” 
Dipper runs that through his mental dictionary - then frowns. “They weren’t flattering enough?”
“Close!” With a grin, Bill leans on the arm of the couch. “More like praise comes in a lotta different flavors, and this one -” He stops mid-sentence, with a sudden frown.
Pausing? That’s unusual. Dipper rips his attention away from the show, glancing up.  “This one was…?”
“Hm? Oh, y’know.” Oddly enough, it seems like Bill genuinely wasn’t deflecting. Simply thinking, his head slightly tilted. He snaps his fingers twice. “Like, suckups are one thing. Currying favor’s the most common grift in the universe! It’s the… That kinda saccharine crap that’s a hair too sincere. Like…” He wags his hand in the air, fingers wiggling as he tries to grasp for an invisible word. Grimacing when he doesn’t find it. “Ugh. English doesn’t have the right vocab.”
A multilingual master of the mind probably does feel limited by speech. And every day, Dipper learns something new. 
Demons have a different culture. Human customs don’t apply. Learning it has been a whole process, more arduous than he’d expected - because it’s got an entirely new language, with a million new words.
Apparently said language has a lot of terms for ‘suckup’.
Dipper rummages around for an English word that might fit. “So it was… Creepy?”
“Close!” Bill agrees, looking pleased. “Little bit obsessive. A touch like they’re up to something.” He makes a face. “Or worse, they’re not! Even when every non-braindead being should know I’m not on the market.”
“The market for…?”
“Most everything,” Bill says, with his usual amount of detail. 
“I would have thought you get that a lot.” Dipper frowns. Power, money, fame - Bill’s got it all. As the biggest shark around, he should be used to remoras.
“Totally! Everybody wants what I got, sapling. Power especially.” The couch barely bounces when Bill plops himself beside Dipper. “But just ‘cause I have it in spades doesn’t mean I’m handing it out like eyeballs at a wedding.”
“Um.” Except he kind of is. Because. If he wasn’t, then why has Dipper’s magic been so strong recently. There’s no way that’s a coincidence -
Bill leans in closer, meeting his gaze directly. One eyebrow slowly lifts.
Dipper ducks his head, scooting an inch away. Bill hasn’t said anything. He didn’t need to.
Special. 
Suddenly it’s very important that Dipper fiddle with the unpopped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. He was going to get more snacks. Right. Kitchen’s not far from here.
Before he can rise, Bill snaps his fingers and the bowl refills. Overflows, even, scattering kernels everywhere. Then he shoves his hand in up to the wrist, sending more of it flying.
“So that’s the losers I gotta deal with. Every day with these idiots! And I’m supposed to meet up with a few of ‘em later. If we weren’t talking an old favor, I’d pass,” Bill says. He slumps back, with an uncharacteristic sigh. Then shrugs, kicking his feet up onto a previously nonexistent ottoman. “But hey! There’s always time for a vicious betrayal!”
Dipper makes a soft sound of commiseration. That’s an interesting fact, too. Favors, deals. Those are demonic things, He wonders what those involve, and how - 
“Ha! Now this is a classic,” Bill says, interrupting before the question can form. He’s watching the TV now, grinning wide.  “How’ve you been liking the show? Looks like the main character’s a real handsome guy!”
“It’s terrible,” Dipper says, flat. It gets a chuckle, but no argument.
“Sure, I’ve seen better,” Bill says, nose wrinkling up at a particularly dramatic line from the actor on screen. He flips the TV off, then shrugs. “But eh,” Hand waggling, an ‘iffy’ gesture. “When you got a billion-eye view of the multiverse, you see way dumber crap than this.” 
Fair point. Dipper shrugs, but doesn’t comment. Something to think about, there. That Bill’s seen this before, for one, but also-
“How much of this is true?” He asks. 
If this demonically produced drama is even slightly accurate, Bill will have a strong opinion. Once he starts talking, everything will reveal itself.
“Great question! I’d say…” Bill pauses to stroke his chin. Aiming for ‘solemn’, but mostly reminding Dipper that the jerk never needs to shave. “What does it matter if a narrative is factual or fictional? Everyone’s got their own version of how things go down! Truth’s a sucker’s game when you really think about-”
An elbow to the ribs doesn’t quite shut Bill up. Just gives him enough pause to let Dipper interject.
“Philosophy doesn’t suit you.” He nudges him again before he can derail the topic. Bill sticks out his tongue, and for a second Dipper’s tempted to poke it in revenge for before. “I’ll settle for which parts actually happened.”
“Spoilsport,” Bill says, sounding oddly warm. “Eh, they took a lot of artistic license in this series. And that’s coming from me.” Shrugging, he makes a so-so- sort of gesture, weighing it in his palms. “Call it less than you’d like, but more than you’d think.”
Dipper glances at the screen. 
The battle at the end of the episode is a poorly-cut fight. Bill, human-formed, faces off against seven gorgons. Which is bullshit, they’re territorial - and the shoggoth at sunset brings it almost to the level of parody. The human of this episode has fainted in a way that leaves him leaning against Bill without somehow falling on his ass.
Yeah. That about tracks. Demon to human translation: ‘Artistic license’ means ‘total bullshit’.
Almost on cue, Dipper feels fingers brushing against his hoodie. There’s a shift as Bill adjusts his seat, his arm unsubtly snaking over behind Dipper’s head. 
Any minute now that ominous limb will drop onto his shoulders. Just like the last half dozen times. God forbid Bill not take up all the room he can; he thinks everything is his. Even gorgons aren’t this territorial.
Dipper can live with it. Hell, if the worst thing Bill ever does to him is invade his personal space and talk over an already bad TV show, he’s basically set for life. 
And truthfully, it’s not that bad. Less irritating than it should be. Having someone close, even if they are an obnoxious evil demon god, feels nice. 
One day he’s going to know why he’s being bothered by Bill in the first place. What made him stand out among the rest. What he’s for. The question doesn’t upset him like it used to, but he can’t help but pick at it like a still-healing scab. 
It feels like he has a decent amount of facts already. Between the journal in the guest room, watching the highly dramatized version of Bill’s life, and talking to the demon himself… 
Dipper glances over at Bill - still focused on the show, crunching popcorn - then down at the long line of his wrist. 
Even Bill’s providing clues, in his own, unique way. When he arguably shouldn’t. 
It would be so, so easy for him to cut it all off. Burn the books, break the TV, cage Dipper up and beat the curiosity out of him. Taking every step the cult did and more, in his ‘wrath’ and ‘infinite cruelty’.
But he’s not. He wouldn’t, not to Dipper. 
In fact, Bill’s been - in a weird, exclusively Bill-ish way - kind of helpful. Hell, he’s having a great time. 
He clearly delights in watching Dipper scramble around, trying to follow a breadcrumb trail of hints. Even more fun is occasionally dropping a bunch of clues down the wrong track, then hiding behind a tree to giggle. He especially likes to dangle something just close enough to grab, then teasing Dipper as he tries to make the leap. 
So much of his time is spent making stuff annoying, teasing and taunting and tricking - but Bill’s not actually stopping him. As hobbies go, it’s both incredibly dickish, and totally benign. It’s almost like… 
Dipper gets the sense that Bill expects him to figure it all out. Bill just also thinks he should make the journey very… ‘interesting’.
Joke’s on him, though. He’s left more hints than he intended. He may not even realize how far Dipper’s come.
The show plays on. The actor ‘Bill’ argues with the latest, nearly-identical human guy. They change actors a lot; usually whenever there’s a timeskip. They always have exactly the same role, too - ‘guy who argues with the demon in charge’. Probably because demons consider all humans interchangeable. 
There’s some interaction between the various planes. Everyone knows that. Demons are pretty rare on the list, but lower-level entities occasionally get summoned, or break in through some magical mishap. 
Back in the cult, Dipper learned that Bill Cipher has bothered and convinced and manipulated mortals for eons. His unearthly machinations twist the strings of his human puppets, all the time. Slowly building to the inevitable goal - the world, under Bill’s eternal thumb. He never interacts directly; the physical plane is not yet his to roam.
But in the drama, Bill is on the physical plane. Not acting through haunting prophetic dreams, or divine revelations. Just bitching and prodding and poking in person. 
And while the setting’s  fictionalized version of the place, it’s definitely not under any demonic reign.
The implications took a while to sink in, but Dipper thinks he gets it now. Parts have clicked together; facts he didn’t know were connected until just now. 
Bill probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s helped  there too. Filling in the gaps. Adding extra detail.
He’s even doing it right now. 
The unasked for commentary track continues as Bill talks. Going on about how he hasn’t been to that country in millenia, or how the seasons are wrong for this encounter. Elaborating on details, mocking others, going on about the stupid plotline and dialogue -  
Totally bragging about his earthly knowledge. About the physical world. Because he’s been there.
Dipper sits up a little straighter. It bumps the hand trailing through his hair away, and he settles back to let Bill’s idiot fingers continue their idle path. 
He can’t be totally certain without proof, though. And Bill has always liked it when he’s picked up the clues…
Dipper speaks up.
“I think more of this is real than you’d admit, Bill. You’ve…” Didn’t laud himself over them, no divine visitation- “Hung out with humans.”
“Hard not to! What with billions of you dreaming all over the place.” Bill says, deftly avoiding the question. Staring at the screen now, focused forward in a way that makes it hard to catch his eye. “You’re everywhere on that scummy pebble you call a habitable planet.”
No confirmation, but no denial. Which means Dipper’s on the right track. 
“I mean you’ve been on Earth. In the, uh, flesh,“ Dipper insists. No triangles were visible, maybe that form can’t be sustained in reality - but this is no time to get derailed. He seizes the thread of logic, yanking on it with all he’s got. “Was-”
“Pfft, who hasn’t!” Bill interrupts. He flicks the question away, snorting in amusement. “Pretty permeable place you got there.”
“That’s at least two hundred years of human interaction,” Dipper insists. He jabs his index finger at the screen, then into Bill’s ribs. “And I can’t help but notice none of it is in your realm. It’s on Earth. Which you haven’t conquered-” Before Bill’s mouth can open, he holds up a hand. The lie is so dumb he doesn’t wanna hear it. “Nice try, I was just there.”
“Yeah, yeah, make a mountain out of a molehill.” Bill buffs his nails on his shirt, chin lifting. “I’ve just been busy! I’ll get around to it!”
“Sure you will,” Dipper says. He narrows his eyes. “I’ve figured you out, Cipher. I know what’s going on.”
Plausible deniability went out the window ages ago, thrown with such force that glass shattered everywhere. Leaving Bill standing in the middle, wondering aloud what happened, with a perfectly innocent look on his face..
It’s about humans. About earth, and Bill, and Dipper himself. Why Bill never showed up before, in all those years - decades - of cult summons, the ones he never ever answered, even though they really tried. Not just that he didn’t see them, or didn’t care to. 
It’s because Bill Cipher can’t do everything.
Bill’s been evasive, per his usual. He’s not quite meeting Dipper’s gaze, and keeping up a dismissive tone. 
But he can’t deny that he’s interested, even though he tries to keep his expression aloof. It’s not working so great. His mouth keeps twitching as the grin starts to leak out around the edges. 
“Oh?” Bill’s voice has a strange tone. He leans in until their thighs touch, sides together; he must be really interested in something. “Go on, sapling. Enlighten me!” 
That’s the core of a line of truth, leading somewhere important - if Dipper dares to follow. He’s getting close, he can feel it. It’s dangerous, but- 
Getting the words out is harder than he thought. Challenging Cipher is - he starts talking before he can talk himself out of it.
“You can’t take over reality.” He keeps his voice level, daring Bill to interrupt. “You don’t have all your powers there.” 
A pause; Bill’s oddly silent. His face is blank. 
Before he can get angry, Dipper rambles out the rest. “Or at least not yet. You’d have taken over already if you did. I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have time. You can’t get the world because…” Here it goes - “Something’s stopping you." 
He watches, tense, as Bill’s expression sours. Looking askance at Dipper, he folds his arms in a huff. Muttering something under his breath about ‘stubborn’ and ‘annoying’.
But Bill doesn’t deny it. 
God, and even the look on his face. The one that’s both annoyed but also, maybe, resigned? Like it’s an old, old roadblock that he’s both huffy about, and very used to, it’s…
Holy shit. Dipper’s right. 
His heart is racing. Merely guessing that Bill can’t accomplish his main driving purpose is a far cry from him saying it, or even not arguing with it. The very thought makes his head swim.  
But he can’t stop now, not while he’s ahead. 
“So there’s some obstacle even you can’t get rid of,” Dipper says. Looking at Bill out of the corner of his eye, he pitches his voice in a tone of reverent, religious awe. “I can’t even imagine how powerful that is. How incredibly-”
“Hey! Don’t get so full of yourself, Pine Tree, it’s just not the right time yet!” Bill sits up straight, indignant. He bares his teeth in a sneer. “Maybe there’s something I still want from that miserable little rock, you ever think of that?”
Another admission. An unforced error. Bill winces very slightly as he hears his own misstep, and Dipper swells with pride. 
Bill thinks he’s all high and mighty and oh-so-secretive. A master of mysteries. If only he didn’t talk way too much. He didn’t think Dipper was clever enough to trick him and he gave everything away.
“That’s it. That’s why- why everything.” Dipper beams as he waves over, well, everything. “You keep going back there, and you keep picking a human, wandering around with some random guy - because you can’t get what you want without one.”
Not a cult, building power. Not a massive ritual spell. Nothing grand and showy; Bill would have done that if it was effective. That’s way more his style, and far more magically powerful. 
There’s been none of that. Not in the show, not in real life. He hasn’t used the cult, he doesn’t have a base of power. Bill doesn’t peddle with groups, both in the real-life cult and the cannon fodder in the show. 
He’s only focused on one person.
Out of billions of people he could bother, Bill latches onto a single, unfortunate guy and throws their life into total chaos. It’s a curse, an annoyance, a bolt of bullshit out of nowhere - and would also ensure you don’t bleed out until he’s had his ‘fun’. 
Being picked out from the crowd like that. Having the full brunt of Bill Cipher himself foisted upon you, laser-focused. Going from a nobody to someone who has all his attention - 
Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special? 
No response, again. Bill has retreated to his last, mocking resort. Flapping his hand like a puppet as Dipper talks, and making faces. 
Yes. Finally, Dipper got him. He followed the breadcrumbs, avoided the trap, set up one of his own - and Bill walked right into it. 
Dipper gives him the smuggest, most annoying smile he can. He’s got plenty of examples to draw from. 
Bill glares, and flips him off. “Sure, sure, live it up,” He says, rolling his eye dramatically. Waving off the loss like it’s no big deal, even though it clearly is. “You don’t have a clue what’s really going on.”
A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either. 
Dipper lets himself enjoy this win for a full minute. Rare chances like this should be savored. He has to hold onto the couch so he doesn’t grab Bill’s dumb handsome face and shake it, for being so very, very stupid. He’s never going to let him live this down
“So. Why do you need a mortal?” Dipper asks after a while. Bill isn’t volunteering any more information, and there’s one more part he hasn’t quite figured out. “The thing you’re after. Why can’t you just,” He grasps at the air in demonstration. “Take it?”
Bill’s eye twitches, once. He doesn’t say anything. 
“I mean-” Dipper hesitates. “That’s a ton of work. Heading to a different realm, picking a new mortal every time - that’s decades - no, centuries of effort. The human has to do something, right? You wouldn’t do all that just for fun.”
“Excuse you, it’s plenty fun!” Lifting a finger, Bill wags it chidingly. “You think I’m above messing with some mortal just for kicks?”
Shit, he’s not. Ruining a random person’s life for the hell of it is so very, very Bill.
“Alright, maybe.” Dipper admits. This could be because Bill’s a capricious dick. “But I’ll bet there’s more to it.”
“Never have one motive when you could have six,” Bill agrees. The grin widens, he wiggles his eyebrows - and he starts cackling. 
So yes, there’s more. And no, he’s not telling. 
Dipper racks his brain for ideas. For clues. Whatever Bill’s after must be extremely important if a literal demon god keeps chasing after it, over and over again. Nothing comes to mind, though. 
Eventually he sighs, waiting for Bill to be done with his stupid smug laughter. It doesn’t cover up his mistake.
“So I guess that makes me your latest human… companion thing.” He prompts, once Bill’s finally done with his smug, jerk laughter.
One of the first things he noticed - that room in Bill’s penthouse. The one meant for a specific type of person, as clear as a fingerprint. How many of Bill’s mortals stayed in that room? How many of them-
Those notes in the journal. Dipper has to go back and check them. Now that he knows it was someone in exactly the same position, there might be more to learn.
“Congrats, kid! Ya got parts of it! Well played! But I gotta ask one thing.” Bill cocks his head to one side. A brief, amused smirk. “There are plenty of magical guys around! A lot of ‘em  begging for demonic contracts!” The smirk widens, sharp teeth showing. “Why do you think I picked you?”
Dipper opens his mouth. After a beat, he shuts it. 
He was so busy thinking about the mechanics of his presence that he didn’t think about the motive. 
Obviously Bill grabs a human for practical purposes, so he can get that thing he wants on Earth. If it’s an entertaining person, that’s a bonus in his eye. This time it ended up being Dipper, because…
Not because he’s devoted. Or the most knowledgeable guy around. He’s smart, but too aware of the experience he lacks. Weeks ago he would have said it was the ritual knowledge from the cult, but since that’s less than worthless… Something else, then.
“Because…” Dipper starts, then hesitates. Mind racing, trying to pin the strings between the bits of knowledge he has before Bill throws a wrench into it. “Uh.”
Shit. Shit, he’s so close, there’s a piece missing. A final step. He struggles to find it but there’s little time to think; Bill’s expectant expression demands an answer. 
“Convenience?” Dipper hazards. He was right there, in the middle of a powerful ritual, directed at Bill, so- 
Instantly he knows it was the wrong guess. By the way Bill’s face fell, it was off by several hundred miles.
“Ooh, nice try.” Bill tugs Dipper closer, hand dragging through his hair - Dipper ducks out of the way before he can start a ‘companionable’ noogie. “You really missed the mark there!”
“Any chance you’ll tell me what that is?” Dipper says, with no small amount of bitterness. 
Damn it. He was so close he could almost taste it.
“Nope!” 
“You- hmph.” With a grunt, Dipper scoots away and out of his grip. He’s used to all the deliberate frustration, but right now it just sucks.
“Aw, don’t make that face!” Bill scoots after him, trying to get his arm around him again. Dipper swats it away. “Tell ya what - here’s a hint! You’re something a guy doesn’t see every day, sapling.” He winks. “Pretty unique.”
How very specific. Totally not opaque. How does Bill manage to give more facts and make things more mysterious in the process? It’s a really annoying talent.
Dipper sulks then, for a bit. When Bill tries petting his air again, he smacks his arm away, muttering unflattering things under his breath. It makes Bill laugh again, cackling in delight.
“What’s the matter?” Bill nudges him, a teasing laugh. “Ease up, kid. Given enough time, you’ll figure out some real secrets.”
“May Cipher hear your words,” Dipper says, the old phrase springing up before he can stop himself. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, cringing away from his own voice.
Thankfully, the slip gets Bill laughing. Dipper’s turn to not live something down; they’re one for one today.
“Okay, some of the affectations are adorable,” Bill says, nearly pinching Dipper’s cheek before he elbows him in the side. “Hardly worth all the other crap, but still!!”
“It really wasn’t,” Dipper says. He rubs at his left wrist. ‘All the other crap’ barely covers it.
“Don’t worry, sapling.” Bill says, voice low and satisfied. He squeezes Dipper’s knee, grip tightening. “Once we got everything in order - we’re gonna wreak some havoc on those idiots! All the fun stuff and more!”
‘Fun stuff’. 
Spending time with Bill, even in Dipper’s position of relative safety, teaches you a lot about what he thinks is ‘fun’. 
He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming. 
“Is that… so.”
“It is! Getting back at those who wronged you, tormenting the tormentors. Punishment returned with neat ironic twists!” Bill waits for a beat, then grins, jostling Dipper with a gentle shake. “Come on, you gotta have ideas!”
“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually. 
Being favored by a ‘god’. Chosen, in a way. Having Bill’s favor means having his full permission to enact vengeance. 
He’d be lying if he said he never thought about… what he’d do, if he could. Fleeting ideas from too many nights lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, feeling the burn in the back of his mouth, or the pain in his knees or the stripes on his back. Frustration and anger and hurt, bubbling up into red-hot thoughts that tasted like blood even with a missing tongue. 
Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat. 
“Ooh, I bet you’ve got a lot.” Bill purrs, wrapping his arm around Dipper’s waist. He walks his fingers up Dipper’s knee, trailing up his thigh. “Whatcha got in mind? Turning them inside out? Bone dissolving? Rearranging their legs where their ears should be and making them try to do a cartwheel?”
“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.” 
Bill is way more creative than Dipper is. Half the ideas he’s mentioned Dipper couldn’t pull off, and even if he could it’d be… Messier than he’s comfortable with. In those moments of pain and rage, he would have - even then, it’d be a stretch. 
Though maybe Dipper wouldn’t mind when it came to the priest. Too bad he’s already dead. 
What will he do? When he goes back?
He can see their faces in his mind’s eye. All the people he knows. The only people he ever knew, in that life that feels so far away.They’ll show up again in the room of ceremony, once they get wind of their god’s return. Except this time, he’ll be standing proud at the altar, with everyone in front of him, staring in…
He knows how they stared at Bill, at least. That mix of wonder and terror, their eyes wide. They’ve always believed so much. Hopeful in a way that Dipper never was - 
Or. Was, rather. Only when he wasn’t so stupid. 
And isn’t it just - so pathetic, and sad. Thinking things might turn out well. That something good might happen, when someone better knows it won’t. Those idiot, expectant moments before you know there’s a punishment coming, that leave you without a chance of defending yourself.
Dipper can feel the burn of Bill staring at him. Waiting to hear his most horrible, gory ideas, and bring them into terrifying technicolor.
“I’m not telling.” He states finally, sounding more prim than he would like. “Nice try. It’s, um. Going to be a surprise.”
“And I can’t wait to see it!” Bill beams, nearly bouncing in place. His enthusiasm is so powerful it’s almost catching. “Mark my words, kid - it’s gonna be a real party.”
“A super fun one,” Dipper says. “Totally.” He offers a smile back, waits for Bill to start cackling - then quickly looks away before his face gives up the game.
For such a consummate liar, Bill’s hit rate on detecting them is only 50/50.
Though. It isn't a lie, really. Dipper does have a lot of ideas. And what he ends up doing to the cult will be a surprise. 
In that he’s not sure what he’ll do until he gets there. 
“Take your time, sapling! Whatever you come up with is gonna be great, I’m sure.” Bill rubs his hands together, a glint of sinister anticipation in his eye. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Dipper lets out a breath he didn���t know he was holding. “I hope you’ll like it.”
Of course it wasn’t going to happen today. That’d be a quick turnaround by anyone’s standards. Even Bill himself needs longer than a few days to cook up a… what did he call it that one time? A ‘showy little number with a twist at the end’. Anything else would be disappointing. 
Anyway, it’s too early to make definitive plans. Bill said he should take his time, and Dipper believes him. Shoving his human back into the world half-cocked would ruin the entertainment. 
And when you think about it, there are so many options that it could take a lot of time to narrow them down. There could be setbacks, and stutters. It could take weeks, maybe months, to get everything just right. A punishment ironic yet powerful, subtle yet dramatic.
Who knows how long it’ll take until Dipper’s ready to head back? Certainly it won’t feel very long, to a guy who’s billions of years old. And as long as he’s making some progress, nothing needs to happen just yet. 
“Ooh, this one,” Bill says suddenly. He sits up straighter as something catches his attention. “I remember when - ah, but that’d be spoilers!”
Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?
Oh. A new episode started when he wasn’t paying attention. “It’s still a bad show,” He mutters. He could turn it off out of spite, just to bother Bill - but he did kinda want to see what happened with the twelve-ring summon the ‘bad’ guys were planning. 
Another episode would actually be kind of great, thinking about it. He could use the distraction.
Bad TV, Dipper’s learning, is nice. One of the few times where he can almost let his brain turn off. 
And having someone else who thinks the show is dumb somehow enhances it. 
The climactic battle has the worst dialogue, and terrible graphics. Dipper can barely look at the monsters, they’re so poorly rendered.  Bill agrees that they needed a better illusionist; half of the explosions look like they were drawn. 
Chatting about something so trivial makes everything so easy. Dipper lets out a laugh when Bill mocks his own actor’s performance, then swats at him when Bill teases him for being a dork.
Some idle comment sparks a bit of bickering. One of them throws popcorn at the other. Dipper doesn’t remember who started it - only that by the end, the bowl is empty again, and he’s smiling for what feels like the first time in hours.
Actor Bill hisses,“Oh, you are a vindictive, terrible mortal.” His suit has mostly melted off from the acid, leaving shreds of it hanging off his arms and chest. The shreds slide off his skin as he storms forward. “A pitiful being like you should never exist!”
“Yet I do!” Protests the human, standing with fists on his hips and a truly defiant look. One only partly ruined by his totally shirtless form.
“You never stood a chance against me,” Actor Bill purrs, slamming a hand into the bark of a tree, pinning his captive in place. “There’s no escape, kid! There never will be!”
“Oh yeah?” The man’s chin juts upward, a sneer of sheer contempt - totally unrealistic, nobody would get away with that - as he flips Bill off. “Then I’ll be your own personal curse, demon. You’ll never escape me either.”
The music surges, a broad orchestra that’s… honestly a jarring clash to the argument that breaks out. You can barely hear what they’re talking about over the grand music.
“Just shut up will you?” The man yells.
With a broad sneer, Actor Bill leans in, smug grin surprisingly close to the real version. “Make me.”
The human fumes, eyes narrowed. His fists clench as if he’s about to throw a punch. But when he extends his arm it’s too slow for that, and his hand is open. It seizes ‘Bill’ by the back of the neck, yanking him in, then -
Dipper nearly leaps out of his seat, eyes wide. Only the pressure of Bill’s arm over him keeps him from standing.
“Three stars for timing, zero for technique.” Bill gives the TV a thumbs down. “That’s way too much tongue! This ain’t slug wrestling for crying out loud.”
Dipper’s shoulders rise nearly to his ears. He doesn’t dare glance at the screen. Only once the wet noises stop, and the credits music rolls, does he try darting one in Bill’s direction.
Who seems entirely, implausibly bored. He cups a hand over his mouth as he yawns, loosely splayed over the couch. 
“You’re, uh. Okay with that?” Dipper asks. He tucks his hands between his knees, leaning forward. “It just seems, uh.”
“Seems ‘uh’, what?” 
“Like,” Dipper gestures vaguely at the screen, even though it’s faded to black. The credits roll, a series of ominously glowing symbols scrolling up the screen. “That was…” He searches for a word, and fails. 
“Terrible writing,” Bill says, bored. He shakes his head, lips drawn into a line. “You’d think someone would come up with a better plot for this kinda crap. It’s not like there isn’t material to go on.”
“But he kissed you,” Dipper says, before he can stop himself. 
It’s one thing to blaspheme a little, Dipper himself is no stranger to forbidden acts, but this one takes the cake. The whole bakery, even. To do that at all is bad enough, but to Bill or - or an actor playing him, obviously it’s not the same thing, but still-
“Yeah, yeah, smooching, whatever.” The concept hasn’t phased Bill in the slightest. He snorts, grin widening. “Contrary to your idiot idolatry, I have been known to practice a liplock once in a while!”
“You-” Dipper starts, then stops. “I-” He shuts his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “Yeah, okay.”
So. Bill isn’t surprised, because this is - he sees everything, it’s not like he didn’t know about that kind of stuff. 
It’s just that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing to get worked up about. Because nothing that happened there was wrong.
Dipper presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub them, then draws them down slowly over his face. 
Every time he thinks he’s found the bottom of the pit of bullshit he learned back in the cult, he finds another goddamn level beneath it. There may never be an end to all the lies. 
Another one he can strike off the ‘sin’ list. There’s basically nothing left now, with Bill indulging in everything from gluttony to sloth to… that.
Every whim Bill has, he indulges. Often to excess, and always with aplomb. Dipper never had the opportunity or ability to do even a tenth of what Bill has, and - god, he wonders what that’s like. 
“Do you…” How to phrase this. Dipper wipes sweating palms on his jeans. “Have you… kissed a lot of people?”
The words come out in a bit of a rush. Bill snorts in amusement, which is a relief; that wasn’t the worst question to ask. 
“Depends! What’s ‘a lot’? I’m pretty particular about my partners.” Bill’s smile widens, and he wiggles his eyebrows. A quick squeeze Dipper’s shoulder, just above the bicep. “But sure! I’ve known a guy or two worth putting a peck on.”
“Okay,” Dipper says. Then, because that feels inadequate. “Cool.” 
Because of course he has. Bill’s put his mouth on. Thoughts are spinning in his head now, rapid and light. 
“Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve dabbled in the dating scene!” Bill continues, with an odd tone in his voice. “Pretty tough to find the right guy these days, when you’re holding out for something special.” A nudge, as his eyebrows go double-time.
God, and he would have options- Didn’t Bill say it earlier? People pursue him. For power, sure, but that’s only what he mentioned. Kind of weird, though, Dipper’s only heard of men chasing after -
Wait. Wait, no, how did he never consider this before? Maybe because his stupid upbringing blinded him; Bill’s not human. The shape he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, metaphysically, doesn’t speak to what he really is, and he just said that at some point he’s kissed a man.
“Are you a girl?” Dipper blurts. Staring wide-eyed at that angular face, at the arms and then a little longer at his chest. 
The look of sheer incredulity Bill levels on him makes Dipper sink down into his seat. 
“What?” Bill asks, and - oh god. That’s the first genuinely bewildered look Dipper’s ever seen on him. 
“I thought - I was wrong.” Dipper’s face burns, he wants to cringe himself into a ball and then fall between the couch cushions. “Sorry.” 
Great. Dumb guess, shitty concept. Now he looks like an idiot. His very first assumption was the right one. More fool him for overcorrecting.
“Whatever, kid. And don’t say ‘sorry’,” Bill flicks his fingers. Awkwardness slides off his back like water on a duck, he’s grinning again. “None of your human crap applies, y’know?” He brings his hands together, index fingers and thumbs forming a familiar, three-sided symbol. “I’m the shape you see on caution signs, not bathroom doors.”
“Right.” Dipper perks up. So he wasn’t totally wrong, just... not at all right. Still embarrassing, he should change the subject. “Um. So-”
“But I do have a dick, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bill adds, grinning way too wide. 
“I wasn’t.” Dipper claps hands over his ears. It fails to cover up the delighted chortle beside him.
Guess he’s learning all kinds of things about Bill today. Just not ones he wanted. 
Not helped by the way Bill leans in very closer, tickling him on the side in a way that makes him jump again. He’s about to scramble off the couch or do something inadvisable like shove someone else off the dang thing - when Bill’s ringtone goes off. 
“Ugh, are you- Blegh.” Bill says, moderately annoyed. He leans on Dipper for a moment as he fishes around in his pocket, a smothering weight. How is a simple human shape so heavy.
Whatever he sees on his phone screen has him sticking his tongue out. “Ugh,” He repeats, frowning at. Lifting his arm off of Dipper, and holding up a finger. “Be right back! I gotta take this.”
Dipper hopes the jerk gets lost on the way and falls down a hole. Not really, just - it would be something to say when he’s at a loss for anything else. He just rolls his eyes instead, watching Bill depart with a pointed stride and a grumpy mutter.
Finally, some space to breathe. To think. The mind magic of Bill’s presence always has Dipper scrambling for something to think about that isn’t his too-powerful aura. 
He taps the edge of the bowl, an idle beat. Feeling the chill on his side where Bill’s body kept it warm. 
Yep. Just Dipper, and the tv, and any remaining popcorn, all to himself. Nothing wrong with that. 
He brushes around the bowl without any particular intent. Kernels rustle against his fingers, and he spends a minute swishing them around, even though his hand gets greasy.
The remote lies inches away. Easy to pick up if he wanted to distract himself. Finishing the season is an option, but feels wrong to keep watching when Bill’s not here to see it. 
Actually, Dipper could watch something better. Finding a show that doesn’t suck, or have bizarre, blasphemous content. Just some real, semi-wholesome entertainment that doesn’t raise more questions than answers.  
Distantly, he hears Bill still on the phone. Sounds like the conversation’s going to take a while. 
Dipper taps his fingers on the couch, creeping towards the remote. 
Said remote also has, like, a million buttons, so it takes a while to figure out which ones to press. One goes back to the previous episode. This one skips forward, another pauses. This one goes back in fifteen second intervals. 
Dipper leans over, checking - Bill, still well out of sight - then taps the volume button down until it’s nearly zero before hitting play again. 
“Make me,” Bill’s actor hisses again, before getting grabbed and - stuff.
Dipper sits forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. Living with Bill means exposing himself to new ideas. Since he didn’t look before, now’s as good a time as any.
Though - Wow, Bill really wasn’t kidding. That is a lot of tongue. Even with the volume lowered it’s all wet and - it makes him feel odd, even though he knows it’s not sinful.  
Maybe he should replay it to check.
The fourth time around, he pauses his research to inspect it closer. Aha -That’s what was bothering him, those aren’t real abs. They’re enhanced with makeup. The lighting covers it a bit but when you really look, it’s totally obvious. The actor playing Bill has the worst version; the other guy just has a blotch near his -
“Son of a bitch.” Dipper says, standing up so fast the popcorn bowl dumps its contents on the floor. 
The image burns itself into his brain. Dots and lines, laid out on skin. A pattern Dipper could never forget if he wanted to.
Oh, Bill got lucky earlier. Real lucky. The only reason he got away with it is Dipper had his eyes covered. If he’d seen it, he would have had that evil demon bastard as pinned as that human in the show. 
Before he knows it he’s charging for the entryway. 
He can hear the jerk still talking on his phone, muted voice growing louder as Dipper storms in his direction. Unaware of how he’s been found out.
Dipper doesn’t have a plan in mind, which is the first thing that’s probably going to go wrong - but he’s got to do it, right now, before Bill can run off on some errand or head to some party, evading and avoiding questions like he always does. 
And before Dipper can lose the courage to confront him. A little confrontation might intrigue the guy - excite him, even - but the questions racing through Dipper’s mind aren’t going to be fun.
Too bad. Bill’s not going to wiggle his way out of this one.
He catches sight of Bill’s back, turned towards the door and totally not paying attention. Dipper storms up behind him, intending to catch him by the shoulder and whirl him around. See how Bill likes it when he-
The door swings open. Dipper skids to a halt, rocking back on his heels. 
That is. Many demons. Eyeballs peeking over the shoulder of something with spikes, another with wings too large to see around. A crowd clustered around the doorway.
Bill stuffs his phone back in his pocket, glaring at them all.
“You call five minutes notice a ‘heads up’? Then show your asses up here?” Contempt rings in Bill’s voice, low and furious. “You got a lot of nerve, and that’s no compliment.”
“It was urgent,” a voice burbles. Something soft and squidgy - oh, that’s where the eyes were, on stalks - it bubbles literally as it speaks. “The mistress-”
“Yeah yeah, blah blah, I’ve heard it all before. Cram it.” Bill stalks forward, leveling a look at the group that has them all scooting away. “Maybe your ‘mistress’ should think ahead next time. Or think at all before calling in a last-minute favor from me.”
Slowly, inch by inch, Dipper backs away. If he keeps really quiet he won’t catch anyone’s attention, they’re all too focused on Bill to mind one small human in the room. Hopefully. 
“You got the thing?” Bill snaps his fingers impatiently. There’s some confusion - demons tangling up and shuffling each other around until they manage to wrangle something out of the group. “Alright, hand it over.”
A briefcase is shoved into Bill’s eager grasp. He spends a moment examining it, then unlatches the clasps. Opening it the very, very slightest fraction of an inch - then rolling his eye, and slamming it shut again. 
There’s some brief conversation - partially demonic, and partially too inhuman for Dipper to parse. The slimiest demon tries slipping past Bill, into the penthouse - only to get caught by the eyestalk. Green smoke rises, hissing and squealing as Bill’s grasp heats to a burning flame.
“Ah ah ah! Nice try,” Bill chides. With a snap of his fingers, another door appears. Dipper recognizes this one; it leads to a sitting room. “We’ll have our little discussion elsewhere.”
With minor threats and moderate violence, the demon crowd is forced through the open doorway. A miniature parade of odd shapes and sizes, skittering around under Bill’s impatient gaze. He snaps his fingers and they all hurry up.
Dipper guesses he’s going to be preoccupied for a while. He wishes he’d asked more details about this meeting earlier, but neither of them thought it would happen today. 
As the last of the demons flutters into the sitting room, Bill turns around. Raising an eyebrow, looking amused. 
Dipper makes a belated attempt to duck back around the corner, even though he’s well and truly caught. Curiosity got the better of him, damn it.
“No worries, sapling, you take it easy out here! I won’t be long,” Bill says, voice bright. He waggles his fingers in Dipper’s direction. “Coupla hours at most to milk these suckers for every penny they got.”
Dipper nods, once. He stays silent. Bill’s beckoning him over, but no way is he getting close. He knows that look. As soon as he gets within arm’s reach, he’ll have his cheeks pinched or pulled into a noogie or something.
Bill makes a disappointed face as his nefarious plan is thwarted, then shrugs. The easy grin returns. “Fine, be that way.” He gives Dipper a sharp wave and a wink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Or do! I’m not a cop!”
The door shuts behind him with an ominous ‘click’. Dipper watches it for a while. No motion, no sound. No Bill popping back out, declaring that he’s already done and they can finish the drama. 
Guess they’re well and truly settled in for some weird, demonic business deal. For several hours. Or more. 
God, that’s frustrating. As much as Dipper wants answers, he can’t just barge into a room full of strangers and start demanding them. Especially when those questions might be kind of… personal. Bill probably wouldn’t be furious if it was just Dipper asking - but airing his dirty laundry in front of a crowd is a terrible idea on multiple fronts.
Damn it. And Dipper was this close to having him right where he wanted him, too.
He kicks the carpet a couple times. Then the baseboards. When the meeting hasn’t resolved two minutes later, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slinks back over to the couch. 
It’s empty, with scattered cushions and a throw blanket disordered from their popcorn fight. He stares at the discarded bowl, and the cooled fabric. 
Settling back down isn’t nearly as appealing as it was five minutes ago. He’s not sure he can.
Dipper feels his hands clench into fists, then forces them to relax. He tucks them behind his back instead. 
Every time. Every freaking time. Just when he thinks he’s close to understanding, another curveball gets in his way. 
Pacing back and forth helps a little. There’s plenty of space in the living room to work out this restless energy. 
Whatever this - this thing is, it’s been going on for a while. Centuries of Bill picking up mortals, putting them through their paces, trying vainly to reach the object of his desire. A pivotal point of his unknown plan. 
And since he’s still going after it, every human before Dipper must have failed. 
Maybe Bill got distracted by dicking around. Maybe it really is too powerful to overcome. Or maybe his humans didn’t even know what it was, since they were in the company of a cagey, manipulative asshole.
Dipper could go back and dig through the books in the guest room - but if they didn’t know either, then that’ll be a wash. There’s the show, but it’s so full of bullshit that he doesn’t dare make too many guesses.
Even at the best of times Bill’s wrigglier than an eel, and a total stickler for details. If Dipper doesn’t check off all the boxes on the list, finding everything he was supposed to - then Bill’s going to tut and wag his finger instead of handing over the prize
Too many questions. Zero idea what it’s about. Only one person knows anything useful, and he’s a total dick about parceling out the facts.
Waiting for him to get back won’t take long. It’s barely any time at all, even on a human timescale.  Dipper can manage.
It’s just…
The idea of sitting around meekly, waiting for Bill to return. Hoping he’ll come bearing information because Dipper needs his stupid hand held through the mystery just feels - pathetic. 
Everybody keeps making decisions for Dipper that change his whole life. Nobody gives him a heads up on what they’re going to do. People taking charge, over and over and - he’s just so tired of letting things happen to him. 
If he just had one more thing. Something to prove that he’s right, not hearsay or guesses but physical evidence, that he could shove right in Bill’s dumb face - 
Dipper pauses in his rapid pacing. His head slowly turns. 
There is one place that he hasn’t fully mapped. 
Technically he’s been in there before. Even more technically, Bill’s said he’s allowed to enter. Dipper just hasn’t gone back since that first time since. Well.  It’s a little too personal. It felt weird to poke around.
But if there was a place to find the deepest, most powerful secrets of Bill Cipher - it would be in there.
The doorknob to Bill’s master bedroom is oddly warm for something metal. Like it has its own radiating heat, just like the demon who commands it. 
Dipper takes a calming breath, then lets it out as he turns the knob. 
The unlocked door opens easily, gliding without a sound. Funny, he almost thought it would have an ominous creak.
The carpet’s soft. It muffles his steps. Not that there’s anyone to hear him; Bill’s busy with his meeting several rooms and an unknown amount of actual space away. 
Still, Dipper feels a semi-giddy thrill run through him as he walks back in - intentionally, not fleeing - into the most private sanctum of his ‘god’. 
Centuries worth of humans. That could be dozens, even hundreds of people, depending on how fast Bill churns through them. And he loves his little trophies and knickknacks, having something to wave around while he brags.
If there is any proof, Bill will have kept it around.
Last time Dipper was here, it was during a panicked rush. He didn’t really look at the room, or check for anything that might explode or devour him - and then Bill was there, and it was. A lot. 
This time, he can really take in the place. Get a real sense of what might be going on. 
Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses - 
Then winces. He eases back until the flare of magic is no longer blinding.
Everything in the bedroom is soaked in Bill-essence. Not surprising, really. All of it has marinated in god-demon magic for hell knows how many years, so thick it feels like it could be wiped up with a finger. 
For all that, it’s remarkably unthreatening. The sensation’s not welcoming, that word would be too strong - More like it could be dangerous, and deliberately choosing not to be.
“Right,” Dipper says aloud - checks over his shoulder on a paranoid impulse - and sighs when nothing happens. He claps his hands together. “This should be good.”
Time’s limited. Bill claimed it’d be a couple hours, but his company wasn’t invited. Depending on how annoyed he gets, that meeting could be over in seconds.
Better get to work. 
Circling the room, Dipper trails his palm over the wall, checking for cracks that would indicate a door or a safe. He brushes fingers over a shelf for secret switches, then rubs them together. Not even a hint of dust. 
There’s got to be somewhere he would hide a private journal, or… or a list of human-selecting criteria. Or like, an elaborate carving of every human he’s ever had, with all the information about their lives and when and why he grabbed them. Details.
Sure, there’s plenty of magic around. Tons of it. It’s in the absurd amount of Bill-shaped knicknacks, and the variety of miscellaneous thingamajigs. It’s in the paintings, in the tapestries. The little statues and trinkets and amulets displayed on the mantle. An extravagant collection if you’re generous, clutter if you’re not. 
Another person would consider this quite the find. Dipper’s stumbled over a dozen artifacts pulsing with power just lying around like cast-off socks. Finding what Bill likes the most or considers the best is nearly impossible to parse. 
Dipper figures it out in about two minutes. 
The only thing to glean from this horde? Is that Bill picks up too many souvenirs.
He scowls at one particularly annoying statuette, towering over a field of presumably conquered human-things. A crowd of bowing figures, prostrating before the much-larger Bill in a series of miniature lines. He checks over his shoulder, then flicks the statue’s golden hat off. 
On the one hand, it’s careless as hell. Leaving an amulet that rips off all your skin, lying half-under a chain that summons a horde of flying eyeballs, is a recipe for disaster. 
On the other hand, it’s… maybe a little clever. A type of misdirection. 
Sure, some artifacts have elaborate puzzle elements, and half of them likely contain mystical secrets - but Bill’s decorative habits are so busy, it covers up the fact that none of them are important. 
No, Bill’s real secrets aren’t so easily found. They’re held much, much closer to his chest. 
Putting them behind a puzzle wouldn’t work. Someone could solve that. Hiding them in plain sight is an option, but not particularly Bill’s style. Guarding them with a series of traps… Probably not in his bedroom, where he could accidentally set them off and ruin his suit. 
But then, that would be what people expect, wouldn’t it? That Bill would have a bookshelf that swings out into a secret room, or a seal protecting a hidden vault. A big scary door, with mystical, nearly impenetrable lock. 
…It’s all about misdirection.
Dipper drops the edge of the painting he was toying with, and heads to the dresser instead. 
Part of him can feel the weight of the all-seeing eyes. The portraits of his ‘god’, omnipresent and watching. Unblinking, unmoving. Always watching.
Dipper shuts that idea out of his mind. That’s not true and he knows it, for a fact. Bill doesn’t pay attention to even half his eyes on a good day. Most times it’s like a single digit percentage. 
Odds are he won’t find out. Besides, he’s too busy at the moment to care. What Bill doesn’t know can’t bother him, so it’s totally fine if Dipper rifles around in his underwear drawer. 
Dipper holds up a pair of boxers, frowning at the pattern. Tiny blue pine trees against the most garish yellow ever. Truly hideous.
This is both worse than the triangle ones, and more inexplicable than ones with the heart pattern. Hardly what he’d pictured underneath the suit. 
Not that he’s ever pictured it. That would be weird. But if he had, it would have been way cooler than this.
This search comes up with nothing, other than confusion at Bill’s fashion sense. Just clothes in the drawers, along with several unsheathed knives, a Bill-shaped keychain, and three glass eyeballs. Dipper does find a drawer with a lock set in the bottom, but he doesn’t have the key. Even then, opening it would just swing the bottom open and let all the pants fall out, so. No dice. 
The closet is a walk-in. Dipper stands in the entrance for a minute, staring at the lines of suits and shirts and clothes and cloth and - 
He shut the door again. Nope. That went back way too far. Diving in there might get him lost in the bespoke suit dimension.
Checking under the bed reveals… exactly the same stuff as last time. 
More dustbunnies than anything useful. There’s a magical ring that’s bent with the gem fallen out, weakly emitting a tiny skull-shaped cloud. One actual sock lies discarded under there, half-balled up from its removal. It has little blood-soaked knives on it. 
Dipper rubs at his eyes, staring up at the bedsprings. He sneezes, then wipes his nose on his sleeve. 
So far, so… nothing. Disappointing, and weird.
He crawls back out from under the bed. Brushing off the dust, he gets up and sets fists on his hips. 
Most of the obvious hiding places contain exactly what one would expect. Worst of all, it’s weird stuff. Just weird enough that he’s certain he’s not in a fake, illusory version of Bill’s bedroom, but the actual real place. It’s just less exciting than he’d thought it’d be. 
Is there… actually nothing here?
Not that the evidence doesn’t exist. It has to be somewhere. The idea of Bill not having any secrets is impossible. Like a duck not swimming, or most mammals not breathing; a necessary part of their nature. 
So it might actually be a different, hidden room. Figures. Getting to Bill’s secrets wouldn’t be as easy as opening his bedroom door. 
And if that’s the case - Dipper’s out of luck. Finding an access point would be hard enough with his limited experience. Bill’s secret horde would have a set of quantum puzzles and a spike trap, at minimum.
He sits down on the bed, sighing heavily - then blinks. 
Wow. The bed is incredibly nice. Just touching the sheets is a smooth, luxurious experience; Dipper presses his palm into those soft covers, stroking along the edge. Bouncing slightly on the mattress, just to test.
Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasn’t taken back.
As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table. 
Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet. 
Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakin’ nap. He’s lucky to have pulled himself out of it. 
The bedside table doesn’t have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.
Sadly, there’s not much to look at. 
Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing that’s bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows it’s heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except it’s nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one. 
He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actually…
Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible. 
With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, it’s almost longer than he is tall.
Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here he’s half-worried he’ll feel something go ‘squish’ or skitter up his arm.
This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-
Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back it’s almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!
Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, he’ll fix it later. 
In his hands, there’s a picture frame.
Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.
A picture of Bill. What a surprise.
Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image. 
Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.
“Jackass,” Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon ‘god’ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers. 
Wait. Then - It’s not flush with the frame. There’s a gap, or - 
Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily. 
And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book. 
Whatever Bill’s got to hide here, he sure as hell didn’t make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good. 
A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -
Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, it’s - he just checked for magic, and there isn’t any here. 
It’s just a picture of… Dipper.
And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and he’s in Bill’s home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, he’s mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down. 
For a moment he wonders if this was one of Bill’s other humans - it’d be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable. 
Dipper stares for a while. He’s not sure what to make of this.
Why is this stashed away?  It’d help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.
Something taps on one of Dipper’s shoes, and he glances down.  
There wasn’t just one picture. 
With the backing removed, with the way he’s holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, there’s no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, it’s extradimensional.
“Shit,” Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.
Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.
Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case there’s another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself. 
How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It can’t be…
Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room. 
Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup. 
“Shit,” Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.
So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.
Okay, this - this isn’t a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesn’t need to know, it’ll be fine. He’ll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-
A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.
Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about - 
No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.
Shit.
Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now there’s no time left, he’s got to hide.
Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesn’t latch. 
No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.
That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy he’s trying to hide from is a terrible idea. 
Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Bill’s shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. It’s hesitant because he’s looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.
And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Bill’s room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Bill’s junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a gallery’s worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition. 
Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out. 
All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings. 
It’s too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.
The closet doesn’t judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits can’t talk. He’s even ninety-percent sure Bill doesn’t have any that could; it’d take away from his own rambling time.
Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. It’s a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Bill’s aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.
After a while, he remembers he’s clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. It’s warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now he’s not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesn’t fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thing’s too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.
Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen. 
The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall? 
Okay, it’d be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipper’s not watching him. 
It’s just… too quiet. Too furtive, really, like it’s trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipper’s all too familiar with the process.
And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only there’s no TV in here, and the pitch is off.. 
Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but he’s never even seen a spider in Bill’s rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly. 
He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide. The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipper’s own scream doesn’t match its pitch, but it’s a hell of a lot louder. 
Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -
Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing. 
The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.
Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow. 
At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all that’s left is empty space in front of him.
Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows he’s sweating, and there’s some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirt’s ripped, but there’s no blood. Everything’s intact.
Well. He’s intact. 
A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.
Nausea roils in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad. 
Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and - 
At Bill. 
A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced he’s about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.
Then he blinks. 
Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor. 
Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper can’t read the expression on Bill’s face.  It flickered through several before settling on blank.. 
“Well, well, well, well, well,” Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to!”
Dipper’s heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else. 
He’s been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god.  
What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldn’t, pushing when it’s wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. He’s ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does. 
“Look, I can explain,” He babbles, backing up a step. Bill’s quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. “Wait, I-”
A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Bill’s face is inches away, approaching fast, and he can’t help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.
At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple. 
“Mmmmwah!” Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipper’s face in both hands. “Boy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”
“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently. 
Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeyman’s craft.
Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. It’s a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened. 
“Now, as for you-” Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. “Creeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I don’t take kindly to peeping eyes that aren’t mine.” One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thing’s groin; it lets out a tinny scream. “And you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!”
Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.
Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.
“Gee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.” Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. “Who coulda possibly helped with that! It’s a real friggin mystery for the ages!”
A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solution’s clear now that it’s gone.
Getting through Bill’s front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of ‘small-timers’, as Bill would call them, he’d barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadn’t had the same idea. 
That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, he’d have second thoughts about his living arrangements.
Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.
“I’ll handle those losers in a second,” He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. “But as for you…”
Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action. 
Watching Bill about to enact his  vengeance is … Sure, it was spying. It didn’t do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and it’s looking really rough. Whatever Bill’s going to do is -
The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.
“Hm?” Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. “Yeah, what about him?”
On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipper’s shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.
“Oh, I see!” With a grin, Bill stalks closer. “You know what, you’re right! If I caught two spies in my place, they’d totally get the same treatment!”
Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.
No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isn’t -
“But there’s a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.” Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. “There’s only one of those around!”
Dipper’s heart restarts, though it’s pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.
“See, you’re here uninvited.” Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. “And HE freakin’ LIVES HERE.”
Oh. 
There’s a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could. 
Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like he’d walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.
And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched. 
“There,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. “What a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.” Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. “Guess they’re forgetting what happened to the last batch.”
Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another. 
And he’s still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because he’s not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesn’t see him that way. He thinks that - 
“So, I’m…” Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. “I’m… not in trouble?”
“Sapling, you’re fine! Better than fine!” Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. “Hell, you could go through my freakin’ underwear drawer and I wouldn’t give a crap.” He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. “See anything you liked?”
“I’m-” Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. “Uh.”
Bill’s still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts. 
“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.
That’s a good excuse. Reasonable. He’s got goop on him, he’s sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now. 
“Suit yourself!” Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting he’d recently abandoned. “I got some business to take care of.”
Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him. 
He’s…
All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.
Holy crap, he’s fine. He really is. It’s okay. 
This wasn’t a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and it’d be fine. More than fine. 
He also wasn’t lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks. 
Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension. 
He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that it’s bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Bill’s home is downright amazing.
Though. It’s not just Bill’s home, is it. 
Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.
Like. Obviously Bill’s the owner, he’s the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim - 
But there’s another person around. One who’s not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.
Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Bill’s home, because he lives here too.
Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldn’t leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, that’d be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Bill’s hair. 
The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it it’s been a done deal for a while. 
Bill didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t think it was a surprise.
The concept’s so big that Dipper doesn’t know where to start.
Living here. With Bill. 
Dipper’s been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line. 
All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument. 
His assumptions have never been right. 
Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.  
Bill could be in charge, but he doesn’t care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasn’t heard an order leave his mouth in ages. He’s free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothing’s going to stop him - though that’s a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didn’t create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment he’s gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesn’t have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesn’t have any.
DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just. 
Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache. 
Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldn’t be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other. 
If he wants to step outside Bill’s home, he doesn’t need to abandon it.
They’ll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. He’ll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldn’t let him miss the ‘fun’. 
And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid. 
It’s an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesn’t have to choose. Going and seeing things he’s always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe that’s what a home’s supposed to be.
Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream. 
It’s weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipper’s felt in… forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.
How the hell is he getting away with all of this?
It’s not just the snooping from earlier; he didn’t find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk he’s giving a ‘god’. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because he’s a huge goddamn weirdo. 
Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Bill’s ever done is scare him a little, and even that’s odd considering the whole ‘nightmare king’ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.
The birthmark. It must be that.
The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions… He didn’t see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, that’s two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.
But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasn’t watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages. 
It could be magical. Maybe. Dipper’s never heard of ‘special birthmarks’ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Bill’s summon. Which would…. Do a thing. He thinks.
Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better. 
Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.
Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasn’t lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special. 
It’s… what, special… privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted it’s ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? It’s…
Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.
Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesn’t know the picture on the front of the box. 
Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. He’ll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Bill’s stubborn, oddly soft lips. 
Screw it. There’s too much to go through, and he’s so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow. 
There’s no rush, anyway. Bill’s not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.
Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bed’s already made in the guest room-
No, His room. Where he lives.
An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight. 
Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasn’t tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much that’s his.
The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and he’s never, ever going to take it for granted.
Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, there’s flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -
Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed. 
He knows what kind of night he’s in for. They’re infrequent enough lately that it doesn’t bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isn’t going to kill him. 
Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.
He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things he’s learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesn’t ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldn’t mind the company. He’s almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what it…
Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought. 
It might work, too. Being ‘special’ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldn’t normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily. 
He could use that.
Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesn’t expect to be up for long. He’ll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldn’t bother Bill much; it’ll barely take him a second. 
The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living room’s still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the ‘evening’, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.
And there’s Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace. 
He must have wrapped up his ‘business’ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk. 
Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north. 
“Hey there, sapling! What’s up?” Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. “Thought you were in for the evening.”
“No, not yet.” Dipper says. Already he’s awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. “Soon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.”
Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. “Sure, go for it.” 
Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully it’s not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, he’s pretty sure Bill’s not doing this on purpose. More like it’s an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.
Bill’s still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence. 
Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.
“I don’t want to have bad dreams, so, uh,” He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it.  “Could you…um. Not? For tonight?” 
A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, “That’s not me, kid.”
Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Bill’s lies are better. “You’re the lord of nightmares.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m great at designing them, not the source of all of ‘em. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?” Bill says. He catches sight of Dipper’s glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. “Look, I’m not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?”
Dipper’s mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. “Or maybe you’re just not that great.”
He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.
He shouldn’t have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Bill’s power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill won’t just ignore it again.
Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.
And he does inflict a ‘punishment’. By getting super close and ruffling Dipper’s hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. It’s insane.
“Hey! I’m definitely the best.” Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. “You just got your perspective wrong!  Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating ‘em. You’re not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, y’know?”
“Well,” Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way - 
Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.
“Look. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One that’ll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then I’m the best in the biz!” Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. “But any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. That’s just nature.”
Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes. 
Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless. 
He’d guessed that Bill wasn’t inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit ‘accidental’, there wasn’t any pattern he could find. Learning they’re not Bill’s fault at all is surprising - but nice.
…That also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great. 
Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses. 
“Sorry. Or- yeah.” He squirms out from under Bill’s pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isn’t the worst, he’ll live. “I’ll just-”
“Hey, hey! Don’t sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!” Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.”
Or maybe… Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasn’t doing this, so-
“Really. One hundred percent.” That’s an exaggeration if he’s ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. “If you’re not making the nightmares, then that means you’re playing defense. You’re telling me you get every single one?”
“Always so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.” Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. “And better odds than you’ll get anywhere else.”
Fine, that’s true enough. Dipper doesn’t have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads. 
Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because it’s weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off -  but when doesn’t he?
Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Bill’s master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them. 
Wait, what are they doing here? 
The room’s just as clean as the first time he entered. There’s no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -
Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasn’t said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.
He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.
Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed. 
Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. “Hop on in, kid!” With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. “Get yourself cozy.”
“Uh. Sure.” Dipper hesitates, but. Bill’s nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before he’s even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room. 
Just as he suspected. It is a great bed. 
As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to. 
It’s not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill.  For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever. 
Even without any magic, Dipper’s tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Bill’s doing, so. He’ll just. Shut his eyes for a moment. 
“Hold tight for a sec! I’ll be with ya in a jiffy,” Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. “Lemme just slip into something more comfortable.”
Dipper’s eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. “What do yo-”
His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry. 
Bill’s shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back. 
Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline. 
Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Bill’s not, like. 
There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth. 
Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face. 
Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesn’t know how this ritual’s supposed to work. It’s not unheard of to be… unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Bill’s just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everything’s going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude. 
The pillow helps. He’s not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound. 
He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If it’s strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.
A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence. 
Or, the thought appears in Dipper’s mind. There’s no spell. It’s a ward. Which would require the warder’s presence, right. Totally reasonable. 
So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, that’s all. 
The cult didn’t leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days. 
But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. He’s seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is… honestly not that big a surprise. 
“Ah, now that’s nice.” Bill says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a thump near Dipper’s head - probably Bill lying back himself. “You don’t look all that cozy, though. What gives?”
Dipper tells him he’s fine, but he doesn’t know how much of it gets through the down covering. 
There’s a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up. 
It really is fine. He’s doing great, he’s comfy, Bill’s going to help him with something and it didn’t seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, who’s lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.
He can’t hold the pillow this tight forever, though. It’s getting hard to breathe. 
Then a thump, just near Dipper’s head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipper’s own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and  - and Dipper shouldn’t resist, should he? Bill is after something, he’s demanding and forceful, he’ll do anything to get what he wants. 
The pillow leaves Dipper’s loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.
And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading ‘Hungry Zixlor’s Burger Joint’. 
Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Bill’s put on the pine tree boxers.
“See? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.” Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows. 
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didn’t have to get all over him just for that. 
He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipper’s half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to. 
Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight. 
Without warning, an arm slips under Dipper’s neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didn’t make a single sound, much less anything undignified.
Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Bill’s practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.
“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.
God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter. 
The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls. 
After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would. 
Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.
 None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really. 
…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward. 
Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient. 
Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective. 
Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 years ago
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Who Taught You How to Love Like That? - Chapter One
Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics. Word count: ~2.5k
Chapter summary: Desperate to pay off her student loans, she downloads a dating app with a twist, and makes an interesting match.
She sighs, her eyes scanning over the PDF of her payslip for the month, before locking her phone and letting it drop heavily onto the kitchen counter.
“Bad news?” Mysaria quirks an eyebrow, sliding a glass of wine across to her.
“These student loan repayments are fucking killing me. I’ve basically worked an entire week for free this month.” She complains, taking a huge swig from her glass.
“Bummer.” Her flatmate says. “Any way I can help?”
“Unless your mattress is secretly stuffed full of cash, no. Super Noodles for me for the rest of the month, once I’ve paid my share of the rent.”
“You could give being a sugar baby a try?” Mysaria says with a smirk over the rim of her wine glass.
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, or take up pole dancing lessons and become a stripper!”
“I’m being serious.” Mysaria, puts her glass down and pulls out her phone, flicking to the App Store and typing. “See? There are loads of apps, why not give it a try?”
“Isn’t that just prostitution?” She wrinkles her nose in disgust.
“Hey!” Mysaria chides. “Sex work is real work, but this isn’t prostitution. Most of these guys are just desperate, lonely guys who earn big bucks and are willing to spoil you in exchange for a conversation or a few selfies. You don’t even have to sleep with any of them…unless you want to.”
“I think I’ll pass, thanks.”
Even if she did go through with it, she was inexperienced, and would surely be a disappointment to any potential sugar daddies she might attract. She’d had one boyfriend in her entire life, it had lasted six months and they’d never gone beyond unsatisfying quickies that focused entirely on his pleasure. The idea of taking money from a stranger in order to pay her bills makes her incredibly uneasy.
They’re half way through their second bottle of wine as she scrolls through her phone. Mysaria is snoring softly on the sofa next to her, while an episode of some trashy reality TV show plays away to itself in the background.
Her thoughts keep drifting back to her flatmate’s mention earlier in the evening of sugar babies. She knows it’s likely the wine inspiring her actions, but she finds herself scrolling through the same apps they’d looked at previously.
Seeing one with particularly good reviews, she presses download before she’s had a chance to think twice about it and then goes through the process of setting up a profile, picking the best photo she has of herself on her camera roll.
Her heart races as she swipes with shaky fingers through photos of a myriad of men. She stops when she sees the look of one she likes.
Larys, 45. Tell me all your secrets.
His curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes immediately capture her attention, and she enjoys the flirtatious nature of his tagline. She swipes right and is stunned when she gets an “It’s a match!” notification. Wow, that was fast.
Instantly a message pops up from him.
Hello beautiful. How are you this evening?
She smiles, this seems harmless enough.
I’m fine, thanks. Just watching TV. How are you?
Her eyes linger on the screen as she awaits his reply.
I’d be better if I could get a look at your pretty feet. How much?
Bile rises in her throat and she throws the phone away from her in disgust. The worst possible start she could have asked for. She silently curses Mysaria’s stupid idea and vows never to open the app again.
Three weeks later and she is thoroughly fed up. She’s tired of never going out or doing anything, sick of existing on instant noodles. When she receives another payslip and sees yet another loan repayment has eaten away at her earnings, she reaches breaking point. She considers looking for another job, but she currently doesn’t qualify for anything beyond an entry level position in her field, and the pay everywhere else is no better than what she’s already on.
Her thumb lingers over the app that she hasn’t touched for weeks, too scarred by having such an awful first encounter to bother with it again. However, she’s desperate and willing to try anything - not with Larys though. She’s quick to unmatch with him, eager to forget his disgusting request.
She swipes mindlessly for a few minutes, not finding anyone attractive, until she happens across a photo that stops her in her tracks.
The man in question has sharp features - an aquiline nose, an impossibly chiseled jawline and sculpted cheekbones. His long white blonde hair frames his face elegantly, his only imperfection is the scar that runs across his left eye, a slightly duller blue than the right. She wonders if he’s still able to see out of it.
Aemond, 35.
No tagline, no other photos, save the one of him staring directly into the camera. He seems intense and mysterious. She swipes right, unable to fight the disappointment she feels when it’s not an instant match.
She closes the app, her desire to look at anyone else has been thwarted by how ridiculously good looking he is.
She has nearly forgotten about him when her phone buzzes the next day. He’s matched with her. She unlocks her phone, her palms sweaty with nerves, and looks at his message.
Hello.
Simple, to the point, possibly the words of a serial killer? She pushes the thought away and types out a response.
Hi. How are you?
She almost gives up and puts her phone away in the time it takes for him to reply, but eventually he does.
I don’t do small talk. Tell me about yourself.
Her eyes widen as she reads the message. He’s either incredibly rude or just not used to interacting with other people. She decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. She tells him about her history degree, about her museum job, about her living situation and her aspirations to one day become a curator of historical artifacts. He is unsurprisingly evasive when she attempts to ask about him.
So, what brings you to the app?
She decides there’s no point in hiding the fact that she’s strapped for cash, she wouldn’t be using an app that matches sugar babies with sugar daddies if that weren’t the case. She explains that her student loan repayments are crippling her, half expecting not to hear from him again. His next message is much quicker to arrive.
How much? And are you free Saturday night?
Dread gnaws at her stomach. Oh god, what does he expect of her? Hesitantly, she types out the remaining balance she has on her student loan and asks what he has in mind for Saturday. Again, he replies straight away.
Give me your bank details. I need a date for my nephew’s engagement party.
Her eyes widen. This cannot be real, and yet it’s happening. Dazed by his forwardness she sends across her account number and sort code, and tells him she’s free on Saturday.
Her mouth runs dry when after a few minutes her banking app pings with a notification of a deposit. The full amount she owes on her student loan has been transferred to her under the name ‘A. Targaryen.” 
Aemond has transferred her thousands of pounds as if it were nothing more than pocket change, and all under the loose agreement that she’ll attend a party with him. This man has to be obscenely wealthy, or insane, perhaps both.
Her phone vibrates again. Another message from him.
Transferred. Give me your number, I hate the messaging interface on this app.
With clammy hands and a pounding heart she types out an entirely too long, rambled message of thanks, along with her number.
She wonders if she’s blown it when she doesn’t hear from him again, yet the money still sits in her bank account, feeling as though it’s burning a hole in it. She hasn’t exactly played it cool, most sugar babies probably accept money with cool sophistication, not simpering words of gratitude.
She feels like she’s forgotten how to breathe when he texts her on Friday.
Tell me your address and dress size.
Once more, she’s taken aback by how blunt he is, yet she complies and provides both. 
When she arrives home from work later that evening, there is a package waiting for her. She opens it to reveal a black silk gown. The cut of the fabric is beautiful. Her jaw drops when she sees the Chanel label. This likely cost more than the entirety of the clothing she owns put together.
There’s a note that simply reads: Wear this tomorrow - A.
She smiles at the neatness of his handwriting. Aemond is a strange man, and yet she can’t help the intrigue she feels towards him. This is his second act of generosity towards her in the space of a week and they’ve yet to even meet.
She spends all of Saturday ensuring she is waxed, exfoliated and moisturised all over, before carefully styling her hair and applying make-up that she feels will do the eye-wateringly expensive dress she’s been given to wear justice. 
She is jittery with nerves when a sleek, black sports car pulls up outside the block of flats. She can just tell it’s Aemond, nothing that costs that much has any business being on this side of town otherwise.
She hurries downstairs to meet him, eager to avoid the embarrassment of him seeing the mess that is the inside of the pokey, little flat she shares with Mysaria.
He steps out of the car and she inhales sharply at the sight of him. He is tall, at least six foot easily, despite her wearing heels he still towers over her. A well tailored, black suit clings to his long, lithe form and his white hair is pulled back neatly into a bun that sits at the nape of his neck.
“You must be Aemond.” She says, praying her make-up is enough to hide the evidence of how hot her face currently feels.
“Mmm. Yes, I must. You look good.” His right eye rakes appreciatively over her form, and when his left doesn’t follow the motion, she realises it’s a prosthetic. “Shall we go?”
He gestures towards the car, walking around to the passenger’s side to open the door for her.
He fills her in on what’s expected of her as he drives. His nephew, Jace, has gotten engaged to his longtime girlfriend, Baela. He is sick of fending off questions around why he’s not with anyone yet, especially from that side of the family. He expects her to stick by his side for the evening and he’ll deal with any awkward questions that may arise.
They arrive and Aemond is ever the gentleman, quickly stepping out of the car to open the door for her and offer her a hand out. 
She shivers at the feel of his hand against hers and is stunned further still when he interlocks their fingers, keeping a firm hold of her hand as they enter the house.
“Just play along.” He whispers.
She is immediately struck by the opulence of it all as they walk through the foyer. This is a family that comes from old money. It was clear from the antique furnishings and vaulted ceilings that the Targaryens had always had money and always would.
She balks a little, unsure of if she will fit in, suddenly self conscious. Aemond seems to pick up on this.
“Relax.” He whispers to her. “Everyone here looks like shit compared to you.”
His words, combined with the tickle of his breath against the shell of her ear sends a shiver down her spine.
True to his word, he doesn’t let her stray from his side the entire evening. The tension between family members is unmistakable. The sneers with which a trio of dark haired young men regard Aemond is incredibly off putting.
She is informed by Aemond that the eldest of them is Jace, whose engagement they are here to celebrate. She meets Aemond’s mother, the doe eyed, auburn haired woman is pretty and seems shocked but delighted at the sight of her son with an actual date on his arm.
The lies that flow from his mouth are effortless. He had met her at the museum she works at when he’d come in to browse an exhibition. They’d hit it off instantly and been inseparable ever since.
Every touch of his hand at the small of her back feels like a brand and as the night goes on, and the champagne continues to flow freely, she finds herself eagerly playing up to the part of dutiful girlfriend. She leans into every touch, her eyes fluttering closed at the gentle press of his lips to her hairline. He is respectful, too respectful, never getting handsy or going for a full on the lips kiss.
When the evening draws to a close and he escorts her back to the passenger side of his car, she feels bereft at the loss of his touch as he moves around to the driver’s seat.
“You did well this evening.” He tells her as she starts the engine. “We put on quite the show.”
Remembering that none of this was real, that she’d been paid to be here startles her out of her tipsy fantasy that this is an actual relationship and her mouth presses into a tight line as she nods.
They drive in silence for a while before Aemond speaks again.
“If you’re up for it, my mother is having a birthday meal this Wednesday. She mentioned tonight she’d love for you to come. Are you available? I’ll pay you, obviously.”
So much for this not feeling like prostitution. She’s already paid off her student loan, she could just say no, but then she wouldn’t get to see him again.
“Y-yeah, sounds good.” She says meekly.
They pull up outside the block of flats and, right on cue, Aemond is striding around the car to get her door. She wobbles on her heels as she climbs out, the effects of the evening’s alcohol getting the better of her, and falls against his chest.
His large hands move to steady her by the shoulders and as she looks up into his face she is struck by how gorgeous he really is. 
Her eyes slowly close, as she leans in, her lips pressing towards his.
His grip on her shoulders tightens, pushing her back ever-so gently. “You don’t need to do that.”
Her eyes snap back open, shame coursing through her like liquid fire. “Oh…”
“I’ll text you the details about Wednesday. Thanks again for tonight.”
He gets back into the car, driving away as she stands on the kerbside, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.
Chapter two || Series masterlist
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baxndaid · 3 months ago
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human vox
x reader 📺⛽🎤
an ; request more vox pls i love him, most of this is just me yapping
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The year was 1952 and you worked in the upcoming film and TV industry. While it was just a small job reading through scripts to find typos or getting coffee for the more important figures, it was a job nonetheless and you enjoyed it.
A new show had quickly skyrocketed in popularity since its debut, a game show where you would have to answer questions in order to win the, most likely branded, items. Something like a washing machine or a supply of toothpaste. If the producers felt generous that day however, the prizes would rise in value, the show once giving away a brand new sleek black Fiat 1900. While the simple yet new and exciting premise of the show might’ve drawn viewers in, the host of the show made them stay. He was charming and handsome, he always dressed the part with a dapper suit and his hair was always done perfectly. Whenever he spoke, it was like the whole stage brightened up a bit, at least, that’s what you thought. His stage name was Vox, you never really liked that name - too sharp and aggressive, you thought. His real name was Vince, and you liked it better, though you’d never tell him that. You hardly ever had any interactions with the man other than handing him the script that the sponsors wanted him to yap about. He was charming, and you liked him - unfortunately it was just a pipe dream. You didn’t bother chasing after him considering you were just a small time employee while he was the face of the whole show, thousands of American women had their eyes on him especially when they turned their black and white TVs on between 5-6PM.
Fortunately for you, the producers had caught a glimpse of you backstage and wanted to spice up the show a bit. It was getting boring, other than the host himself there was nobody else the audience could attach themselves to. So, naturally, the best idea would be to introduce a beautiful woman, who was smart and shy - the “role model” if you will. You fit the bill, and how could you say no? You would be beloved by every household for your wholesome nature, (and especially loved by all the men in unhappy marriages and liked looking at the young women on screen.) And if you won? you could keep the winnings.
And you would win, because the show was now rigged in your favor.
Simply put, they wanted to paint you as the underdog, the vulnerable lady who simply wanted a chance to make some money. So when you would answer every question, even the ridiculous ones, correctly, the audience would gasp in disbelief at your amazing hidden knowledge and then tune into the next episode to see more of you and Vox. The truth was, the only thing hidden was Vox sliding you the answers to each question onto your desk. It was genius, really, the producers seemed to love the idea and so did Vox. Anything for ratings. You were still a little apprehensive, but you couldn’t back down after already signing the contract.
After winning one episode and becoming around $10,000 richer, Vox strategically pulled you in for a hug and gave you a polite kiss on the cheek to congratulate you for your “victory” in front of the camera. He was an amazing actor, you thought as he said his goodbyes to the audience and the cameras stopped rolling. Maybe he should ditch this studio and try his luck in Hollywood.
Once the room was no longer focused on Vox, he turned to you, his smile less big and forced and a lot more casual, “That was your first taste of show business, how’d you find it? Pretty nifty eh?” He prodded you with his elbow gently.
“Yeah, it was um- different… to what I usually do.”
“Oh yeah, forgot you worked here prior.” He looked at you up and down as he pulled a cigarette and lighter out from his pocket, “Say, since you and I are going to be working with each other from now on, why don’t we blow this antsville and I’ll buy you a drink?”
As he waited for your answer he placed the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. You were surprised and albeit excited by his offer, but you decided not to go out drinking with a famous guy in the middle of the afternoon. Something something responsible adult.
"A drink? Oh, I don't know about that sir... It's rather late."
He scoffed and exhaled, a puff of smoke engulfed you as you coughed. "Don't be such a square." He looked at your face again whilst bringing the stick up to his lips once more, "And don't call me sir, makes me seem old. Call me Vince," He paused, "Or Vox, I don't really give a rats ass."
You nodded and took a small step away from him in a pathetic attempt to get away from the smoke. He smirked.
"I take it you don't smoke?"
You shook your head
"Look at you, I'm not surprised." He took another draw of his cigarette, "So, about that drink?"
You were going to be honest, you couldn't say no. He was so unbelievably pushy that it was practically impossible to turn him down without feeling like shit afterwards. He was THE Vox, America's beloved host! How dare you even think of saying no. So here you were, in his luxurious house, sat on his couch that probably cost more than your entire living room, and with a glass of expensive scotch in hand that he generously poured you.
He returned with his own glass and sat down next to you, laying his free arm behind your head. He took a sip, his gaze never leaving yours,
"You're a pretty thing, can't believe you haven't been casted already, or snatched up by some of the big dogs like Vogue." He said, a smile plastered on his face. "I think you and I will get along just fine."
_____
As he predicted, you and Vox did indeed get on well, normally chatting (gossiping) about who knows what in his dressing room after work. He had told you about his old job as a TV salesmen, and how he has this weird hatred for radios. Something about them being outdated and boring. You never understood. He learnt a lot about you too, your past relationships, your family, your favourite animals - you two grew close and he relished in the idea of getting even closer. The network had given you another job since you could only appear on Vox's show so many times. It was a higher paying job but not all that stressful since you now had someone to talk to about it.
The press had caught wind of your friendship and naturally began to speculate on it. You won his gameshow 3 times now, maybe you simply slept with him in order to get the answers? Maybe it was luck? Are you two truly just friends or are you dating? Or just putting on a show?
Vox loved it, he loved your flushed face whenever you'd read the title of a gossip paper involving you and your new friend, he loved touching you a little more intimately whenever you two were hanging out in public, and he especially enjoyed kissing your hand or cheek under the guise of being a gentleman in front of any fans that just so happened to meet them out and about. Luckily for you, these rumours went nowhere and remained as simple speculation. Did he want you? yes, he couldn't even deny it. You were funny and understanding, even when he wasn't in a good mood. You knew so much about him and he knew so much about you - the fact that you were gorgeous was just a plus. Additionally, you were fantastic for his public image; a darling little thing like you attached to his hip just fuelled his already massive ego since he loved showing you off. The only problem was - you were as dense as a brick. He often got a little frustrated since his flirtatious efforts were fruitless; you couldn't tell if he was being for real or just acting for publicities sake, so you opted on just ignoring his romantic (and sexual) remarks towards you.
And don't think for a second that you'll be getting a real soppy confession from him either. He would buy you expensive clothes and take you out to fancy dinners, he would hold your hand while you crossed the street together and he would cuss anybody out if they were pissing you off. His feelings for you would be confirmed by him sloppily kissing you on his desk one random afternoon after a few drinks and tears; maybe not the most romantic way to say "I love you" but it was close enough for him and close enough for you too.
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deakyjoe · 8 months ago
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Not A Place, But A Feeling
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Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader (fem, she/her)
Category: angst and maybe a little fluff idk
Summary: They say home is where the heart is. And your heart is with Joel Miller.
Warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is mid 20s and Joel is 56), a rewrite of episode 3 basically, kissing (!!), groping (!!), implied smut, mentions of death & suicide (Bill & Frank, Sarah), reader is Bill & Frank’s adopted/surrogate daughter, guilt, sadness, grief, loss/bereavement
Word count: 3.9k
A/N: In celebration of Pedro’s birthday, have something I’ve been working on for literal months <3
Consider buying me a coffee :)
Bill and Frank were dead.
Their corpses sat rotting away in their bedroom, the door locked shut, as Ellie read their goodbye letter, a note of upbeat confusion in her voice. You couldn't blame the kid, she'd never met either of them.
Joel stood next to you rigid, unsure what to do or say as he just listened to the final words spoken by two of the few people he'd chosen to trust in this world.
You, on the other hand, felt as if the universe was crashing down around you. All blood had escaped from your body, seemingly draining out from your feet, as your head floated around in a storm of lightness that threatened to knock you unconscious at any moment.
Bill and Frank had raised you, the former finding you abandoned as a toddler when the outbreak had started. You'd stayed shut away in their own private community for years, Tess and Joel being the first people you could remember meeting that hadn't been your surrogate parents. And when Frank had come up with the genius idea to dump you in their responsibility so you could socialise some more and see the real world, you'd been all too eager to sneak back into the QZ with them.
You were beginning to regret that enthusiasm.
"And take care of our girl for us, we know you will." The final words of the letter hung in the air for a moment as Ellie lowered the paper into her lap, eyes flicking between the two people stood in front of her.
Joel said nothing. And you ran.
The front door almost fell off its hinges with the force of you swinging it open to get to the front yard. Barren flowerbeds were quickly flooded with the contents of your stomach. You retched at the floor, nothing else coming up but the feeling of needing to vomit still strong.
They were dead. Dead. Gone. Forever. What were you supposed to do now?
Your legs trembled beneath you, struggling to keep your weight as every fibre of your being just wanted to give up and collapse into the ground. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Trying to shake the feeling off, you pushed yourself into an upright position and started walking. To where? You didn't know. But this is what you used to do when you needed time to think, time to clear your head, time to escape. You walked the town. You hadn't had that same ease in the QZ, it was nice to have it back now. Even in the worst scenario.
You couldn't dwell on this for too long. People died. Regularly in this world you lived in for that matter. It was an inevitability. The loss of Tess had been a warning sign of that only recently. You'd been taught not to grieve too much, you didn't have the time for it. And it wouldn't change anything.
But you still ached, feeling as if a part of you had been ripped away and stolen for eternity. So, you walked.
Joel had watched you leave out of the corner of his eye, not surprised by your reaction at all. It was a little understated if anything. The men who had raised you were dead. Nobody coped well with the loss of family, he knew that better than most.
"You should probably follow her." Ellie said, looking towards where you'd abruptly left the house.
"She'll be fine." He insisted, rolling his shoulders back and taking in the room around him. He'd have to figure out everything for himself now that Bill wasn't around to help. So he got started on that, distracting himself by creating a mental list of inventory the group of you would need for your journey. And all of it was bound to be lying around here somewhere.
Ellie could only watch as Joel ignored what he really should have been attending to and took to wandering around the house instead, staying careful to keep clear of the downstairs bedroom.
It took two hours for you to reappear in the house again, acting as if nothing had happened.
You strolled in to find Ellie rummaging through a dusty old box with your name plastered on the side of it in block capitals, the black ink slightly smudged.
"Hi."
Her head snapped up to meet your eyes. "Oh, hi. I found this."
You shrugged. "My music collection, right?"
She visibly relaxed and smiled. "Yeah." Ellie wasn't a shy kid by any means and she certainly didn't have any trouble with her confidence or prying, but she liked you and didn't want to overstep since you'd been nothing but nice to her since you'd met.
You nodded. "I think I've got an old Discman around here somewhere if you want to take some of it on the road with you."
Before she had a chance to respond Joel stomped back into the room, gaze landing on you. He didn't say anything but his expression was questioning. You just gave a short nod which was enough for him.
"Take a shower and I can find some clothes for you both." You said, collapsing into one of the wooden chairs. It creaked under your weight but you paid it no mind.
The both of them could tell you still were not feeling quite right but didn't push it, Ellie disappearing upstairs to take advantage of the luxury of a shower that was actually hot with good water pressure. Joel silently followed you to a closet where the stash of unused clothes was stored away.
You found jeans for him and Ellie, a t-shirt for the young girl and a plaid shirt for him. It was one of Frank's. Joel watched you silently as you hesitated before passing it over to him. Luckily, neither of you had to fill the tense silence that followed as the shower switched off upstairs.
“I’ll go give these to Ellie then you can shower.” You mumbled, pushing past him when he gave no more than a grunt of acknowledgment.
You don’t know what you expected from the man, he wasn’t exactly well-versed in emotional support. Just something a little more would have been nice. You pushed the thought aside as you knocked on the bathroom door.
“Yeah?” Ellie called back.
“It’s me. I’ve got you some clothes.” You were slightly turned away from the door in case she decided to open it.
“Oh! Okay, hang on.”
There was muffled rustling from the other side before the bathroom door opened a crack and a hand stuck out.
You laughed and gave her the pile of clothes. “Should be some spare toothbrushes under the sink too. Maybe some toothpaste. If you’re, I don’t know, feeling extra hygienic.”
“Feeling extra hygienic.” She echoed back in amusement. “Thanks!”
The bathroom door slammed again and you rolled your eyes.
“You’re welcome.”
You trotted down the stairs to find Joel hovering by the door to the kitchen, surveying his surroundings. You recognised that look.
“What do you need?” You asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
You sighed. “Don’t tiptoe around me, Joel. What do you need?”
His gaze shot back to yours.
Tense silence hung in the air for a few seconds.
Just as he opened his mouth to reply, Ellie came bounding down the stairs and collapsed in front of the box of CDs again. She didn’t seem to notice the staring contest going on between the two of you as she rifled through the music rapidly.
Joel’s mouth closed again momentarily before he appeared to change his mind. “You good here for a while?” He directed at Ellie.
The young girl glanced up from the box and nodded, finally noticing the atmosphere in the room.
Joel turned back to you and tilted his head towards the front door. "Let's take a walk."
You followed him silently as he walked past you and out the front of the house, not stopping his fast pace until he was well away from the building.
Falling into step beside him, you debated whether you should be the first to speak. Thankfully, you didn’t have to think on that for too long because as you reached the point where the boutique was coming into view, Joel stopped and suddenly turned on you.
"You should stay here."
The statement felt like a knife in your chest. The way he said with such finality, such conviction. Like he’d been thinking it for a while. You wondered if that had been his plan all along.
"What?" You didn’t let your confusion and hurt go amiss from your tone.
Joel could only repeat himself. "Stay here."
You scoffed. "Why would I do that?"
"It's safe." He pushed through clenched teeth.
You nodded. "Safe."
"Your home."
He’d completely lost you.
And yet you nodded slowly again. "My home."
He nodded tightly, wishing you'd stop repeating everything he said in that sardonic tone.
You clicked your tongue quietly. "You think this is my home?"
"Yes."
You glanced at the row of derelict buildings next to you, the cracks on the ground, the dead grass. "The place I left years ago, where I had no friends, where my parents have recently killed themselves, you think that's my home?"
Joel had never heard you directly refer to Bill and Frank as your parents. It pained him to hear the word used in such a horrific scenario. But he didn’t let up.
"You grew up here."
You laughed humourlessly. "You grew up in Texas. Do you still refer to that as your home?"
He'd like to. But didn't. "No."
"And what is your home, huh? What do you think of your home as, Joel?" Your brows furrowed together as you watched him thinking about it.
Sarah.
Tommy.
Tess.
...You.
You didn’t let him answer. "Bet it's not a place, is it?"
You were right.
You knew that so you carried on. "Bill and Frank were my home. Now they're gone. Tess was my home. But guess what? She's gone too. Tommy's gone fucking M.I.A.! So what am I left with, Joel?"
Him.
"I'm left with you." You shoved at his chest, surprised by your own strength when he took an unsteady step back. "So if you think that I'm going to stay in this fucking ghost town alone instead of following my home wherever he goes with that girl who needs us, then you really don't know me at all."
You went to push past him, to leave his ridiculous suggestion behind and maybe go clear your head with a hot shower, when he stopped you with a statement that felt like the knife he’d already plunged into your chest was being twisted around to hurt you even more.
"Tess promised Bill and Frank that we'd look after you."
The scowl on your face deepened and Joel knew he'd given the wrong answer but it was the only answer he knew to give.
"Is that what I am to you, Joel? A promise that Tess made?"
He didn't respond.
A sting that threatened tears bit at the back of your throat. "Because if I'm a promise that someone else made for you then fine, I'll stay. I won't burden you with having to take care of me anymore." You ran a hand down your face. "You've got your hands full with Ellie anyway."
“That’s not what I meant.” He tried.
And failed.
“Then what do you fucking mean?!” You wailed, fingers clawing at your scalp in frustration. “Do you want me to stay here for me or for you? Just spit it out, Joel! So I understand what the fuck you want!”
Joel Miller was an intimidating man. He marched around with a permanent frown on his face, his tall and broad figure parting any crowd that saw him coming. That's why, when he took a few sudden paces towards you, you inched back a couple steps. It was instinct. He was a killing machine. And he didn't look too happy with you right now.
But the pure shock that rocketed through your system when his large hands landed on each of your cheeks and he crashed his mouth against yours would have been enough to keep a whole city's electricity running for a month.
You froze for a moment, eyes fluttering shut in surprise, not sure what to do with yourself. Joel Miller was kissing you. Joel Miller was kissing you. Out of every possible outcome, you never could have predicted this. The older man who you had adored quietly for years and trusted with your life, with your soul, was kissing you.
Your fists curled into the front of the shirt he’d been wearing for days, fabric a little stiff with dirt and grime, using it as leverage to meet his lips halfway.
He kissed you hungrily, like a man starved, devouring everything he could possibly take from you. Fingers tangled in the back of your hair, tugging roughly to elicit soft whimpers out of you. He licked into your mouth hotly, tasting as much of you as possible.
The feeling of your palms sliding up his chest seemed to knock him out of his stupor, detaching himself from you and taking a couple of unsure steps back.
He looked at you surprised, almost like he couldn't believe he'd done that. "I-"
"Joel..." You trailed off when he gave you a warning look. So you went for another approach. "I thought you and Tess..."
His face tightened in frustration. "No."
You didn't believe that. "No?"
"No." He gave a subtle shake of his head. "Never."
He seemed adamant. And sincere. So you chose to believe him.
You weren’t shocked when he looked at you for just a couple of seconds more before spinning on his heel and started walking back in the direction of the house. He was like that. Joel seemed to enjoy ignoring his feelings.
But then he changed his mind and looked back at you again. "We can stay a couple of days and then we need to move again."
You nodded slowly. "Okay."
He tilted his head up towards the dull sky for a moment before turning again and stalking off.
You waited until he was out of sight before following him. If he was conflicted on what he’d just done, then pestering him with your presence certainly wasn’t going to help.
When you got back to the house, Ellie was still sat on the floor.
She didn’t even look up as she spoke to you. “The old man’s showering, thank god. Thought my nose was going to fall off.”
You stifled a laugh and set about finding out if there was any food in the pantry that was still good to eat. You knew there was an endless supply in the basement and garage, but something slightly fresher was more likely to satisfy the three of you for the next couple days you were apparently staying. Managing to find something mildly edible and leaving it out for the two of them to eat, you informed Ellie she could help herself to anything in the house before making your way upstairs to find some of your own stuff to wear in what used to be your old bedroom.
You’d miscalculated how long it would take Joel to wash away the days worth of dirt as he emerged from the bathroom just as you walked past it, hair damp and slicked back and new-ish clothes on. He looked good. Very good. And somehow better than usual.
You swallowed thickly and slid past him into your old bedroom, not saying a word as he watched you go. The knowledge that he felt something for you, you didn’t know just what yet, was weighing down on you. What were you supposed to do with the idea that he maybe liked you just enough to want to kiss you? Joel wasn’t the kind of man to suddenly open up about his feelings and tell you he was hopelessly in love with you. Maybe he was pre-outbreak, you thought. You’d like to have known the him that existed pre-outbreak, you decided. But he certainly wasn’t that man now.
You pushed your door shut behind you, leaning against the wood and letting out a long exhale. God, why had he decided now was a good time to make this more complicated than it already was? You almost despised him for it.
Shaking the thoughts away, you found yourself some clothes and traipsed to the shower. The hot water and steam would clear away the temporary worries whilst you figured out how you were going to address your own feelings for him. Sure, you’d always known you’d silently harboured a thing for Joel. But you’d always assumed that nothing would ever come of it, he was a lot older and Bill would kill him if he ever caught wind of anything, so you’d buried the feelings deep down inside of yourself. Until today apparently. When he’d decided to dig it all up by kissing you.
You scrunched your eyes shut and forced that thought out of your head. The memory of the way his lips felt against yours, the way his hands, his very large hands, held you, the way his tongue licked into your mouth, the way he groaned lowly deep in his chest.
Thoughts. Forced. Out. Gone.
The rest of the day was uneventful. The three of you ate in silence before Ellie declared she was tired and you told her she could sleep in your old bed. She seemed ecstatic with that as she’d admitted to snooping earlier and thought that the mattress looked comfortable. You’d laughed and waved her off. Joel had then mumbled something about supplies and had disappeared into the basement.
You took that as your opportunity to speak to Bill and Frank, something you’d wanted to do since Ellie had first read that letter. So you hauled yourself up from where you were sitting, padded down the short hallway to the room where their bodies rested, and promptly sat down right outside the door.
You spoke to them silently in your head, giving them updates like you would’ve done were they still alive and you were just visiting. Telling them about life in the QZ and what you’d been up to. In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous. But at the time, it felt right.
When you were done, you just closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the door.
"Don't go in there."
Your eyes shot open at the deep voice to find Joel standing a few feet away from you. Of course. Who else would it have been?
"I'm not. Just wanted to sit with them for a minute." You sighed and squinted your eyes at him. "I know that sounds crazy."
He shook his head in disagreement. "I understand."
There was a brief moment of silence.
He broke it. "It's late. You should go to bed."
"Ellie's in my bed.”
"Master bedroom." He countered.
You frowned. "I thought that's where you were sleeping."
"Couch." Joel’s line of defence was unwavering; you didn’t really know why considering you were having a simple conversation about sleeping arrangements.
So you pushed on. "Couch? Why? Isn't that uncomfortable?"
"I've slept on worse."
"What's wrong with the master bedroom?"
He hesitated. "That's where Bill and Frank used to sleep. Feels like an invasion."
Oh.
You hummed and nodded your head. "That's why I can't do it either."
"You can't stay here all night."
"I've slept on worse." You repeated his words back to him, surely he would understand.
He nodded and slowly offered out his hand. “Come on.”
You almost didn’t take it, shocked that he was doing it. But after a moment’s pause, you slipped your hand into his and let him pull you up. And when he didn’t immediately let go, and started to pull you towards the couch instead, you thought you might have a heart attack.
When the two of you reached your apparent sleeping grounds for the night, Joel turned back to look at you. Only to find that you were a lot closer than expected. He didn’t like the way you looked up at him because it reflected a grief he’d only ever seen in himself. It was too personal, what you were feeling. He hated it. And yet, he couldn’t help but feel tempted by it.
He’d already crossed that boundary once. What was once more?
You were less surprised the second time Joel Miller kissed you. In fact, you were more relieved.
One hand cupped your face, keeping you grounded, the other clutched at your waist, keeping you close. Whether that was for him or for you, you weren’t sure. But you weren’t going to complain either way. And when the two of you fell back onto the couch all bitter memories of loss, of grief, of confusion, of him all went away.
Joel could only wish that he was on the same mental path.
This was so unbelievably selfish of him. Bill and Frank trusted him with your safety and security. And here he was on their couch, the memories of their lives still dancing around him fresh, kissing their daughter as he groped and grabbed at you with lust fuelled energy. It was more than lust, Joel knew that, but the ghosts of Bill and Frank didn't.
You were on top of him, full weight pushed against his body, and Joel could think of nothing but how fucking soft you felt under his touch. He ignored the betrayal of two of his only friends, ignored the glaring age difference, ignored that he was feeling what he should have felt for Tess. None of it mattered when your skin was warm and velvety in his palms. None of it mattered when your tongue slid against his and you swallowed the soft groans he'd accidentally let loose every now and then. None of it mattered when you whispered his name against his lips almost checking like his was still there with you. And of course he was. He'd never leave you from this moment on.
He'd continue to be selfish and ignore all the reasons why this was so wrong because it just felt right. Like you'd said, he was your home. And you were certainly his. Maybe he could afford to be selfish for once in his life.
The kisses were sweet, almost as sweet as you, but Joel could feel you yearning for more. Your fingers itched against him, twitching in anticipation. He understood perfectly as he felt the same, letting his hands drift to wherever they wanted. And you had no complaints, arching into his touch as much as you could.
The two of you were like horny teenagers, making out on the couch and trying to stay as quiet as possible so as not to wake the rest of the house. The rest of the house being Ellie in this scenario. Although the teenager wasn’t stupid; she’d felt the tension as soon as she’d met the two of you. Even if you both appeared unaware of it.
The sun dipped below the horizon.
Hands dipped below waistlines.
A war raged through Joel’s mind. This was wrong. So unbelievably wrong. But you felt so right.
He broke away momentarily, running a thumb along your bottom lip. “Maybe you should sleep.”
You only nodded at him, eyelids half closed and pupils blown. Joel just kissed you again. Maybe his moral dilemma could be a problem for the morning.
A/N: When I say this has been sitting in my drafts for ages, unfinished, but calling to me. Glad I finally got around to completing it :)
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thisisnotthenerd · 1 year ago
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and now the best battles of the intrepid heroes go head to head
feel free to give reasoning/propaganda as you like!
the sidequest poll
quick episode descriptions:
arcade ambush: fighting biz in the arcade. the failed perception checks. getting sucked in and out of the games. riz in the palimpsest. beating a nat 20 in the box of doom. shooting off biz's fingers on the count of three.
broadway brawl: the show must go on. misty having the performance of a lifetime. queen titania. i may be little but i am fierce. esther in the rafters. don confetti. ricky, naked, bodyrolling on misty. stephen sondheim riding a bear. subduing titania with a waist trainer.
blast from the passed: after the trial for gorthalax. completely indecipherable battle. bill seacaster kills gilear. johnny spells can't get a word in edgewise. statistically i have just a good a chance at rolling good as any of you. toxic masculinity is dead, i dance now! riz is blasted off the ship into the iron city of dis.
boys' night (Roll20Con): just the lads, going to a party, where they are supremely uncool. extorting gilear for alcohol [uncle pappy's dag nasty rocket hooch] emergency poem for ragh and corey. stealth mode down the highway. chungledown bim is back. fabian falling under the car with the liquor. warping space time and going to the lan party.
deep bleu sea: peppermint batman is invisible in the darkness. primsy is attacked. jet sends stilton to the bottom of the ocean. shenanigan time. the boats sinking and shifting. cumulous appears. throwing the cheese marauders to induce a dexterity check. can i use swirlwarden to get back into the boat. annabelle in the yogurt
treachery at gramercy: fighting around the umbral engine. ricky's bat counterspell. pete surges twice. cody is a mounted combatant who read dante's inferno. tony simos is a crazy level 20 open hand monk. pete has subtle spell. ricky says tony get fucked and does 90 damage. kingston's spirits of the city. sofia stunning everyone. cody meets lucifer and makes a new contract. sofia pulls dale out of the past and into the present.
battle of the brands: the gang buys truly so much stuff. you are required to do a certain amount of drugs. barry is the angel of mercy. the sisters of the cosmic veil having a bikini party. taking kublacaine. we are the ball. barry taking brutus to the finals on a nat 20. nat 20 death save from aurora nebbins. margaret speaks to the plinth and then is down to 1 hit point. skip crits on the plinth. free teleportation shenanigans are not allowed. gunnie casts explosion. barry rapid shots the plinth and does product placement. operation slippery puppet. am i getting ocean's'd 11'd on my own fucking show? what the fuck is happening? a real son of a bitch is no more. sundry sidney has saved the dog!
terror on toy island: a soft little touch. mer-king's insect plague. no daddy. pib getting the little guys. i'm so fucking scared! the water surges around the mer-king. the terrible dogfish is here. daddy-meter is spinning. pinocchio crits to figure it out. pinocchio screaming to wake the dead. it has asthma! and another thing, with the eyes! you were about to instantly die. gerard is wearing full chain mail in the ocean.. rosamund & ylfa are swallowed. the sea witch shows up. murph causes a nat 20. call of destiny. rosamund gets the eye with a seven. i'm a lion in the water. pib's acrobatic crit. one v. one.
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ghostfanwriter · 4 months ago
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🎀🧰 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐩𝐭 𝟖 🧰🎀
←Previous
🎀 Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Again!Reader
🧰 Setting: Lincoln. It is 2023 but Joel, Frank and Bill are as young as they were when they met in episode 3.
🎀 Synopsis: Your suffering was too much for your father to handle, so he decides to make you happy again.
🧰 Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut (no details for spoilers but... It's mouths everywhere and very graphic descriptions), softdom!Joel, Joel talking her through, a few descriptions of reader's hair being long.
🎀 Word count: Sixteen thousand....? (I wish I was joking, it is actually 16.5k, I can't control myself)
🧰 A/n: Finally it is here and finally you can read it and I'm sorry it took me so long, (also sorry it is so long and wordy) but I hope you cry and smile a lot!!! Thank you all so much for the support with this series all this time. I don't deserve you 🩷 I'm really happy with it and really proud of it. I hope it meets your expectations and I hope you feel it is a good way to give closure to the last chapter.
Comments, reblogs and all that sweet love are as always so, so appreciated. It makes my day to read all the kind and sweet ways in which you all relate to this story and how it resonates with all of you 🩷🧰🎀
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"Does she need anything?" Joel asks, almost panting as he ran to the radio. Whatever it is. Your dad just has to say it and he's gonna go after it for you.
He hates every second it takes Bill to respond.
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It is another sunny yet slightly chilly afternoon, the leaves in the trees begining to fall as summer comes to an end.
You're on your porch, practicing the part you remember of the song Joel told you he used to play for Sarah, when someone walks close to you. You look behind your shoulder, finding Frank with a wide smile on his face.
"Hi, dad... Is everything ok?" You ask, smiling softly at him, a smile that — as usually now — doesn't quite meet your eyes.
"I got you a gift." He says, and you carefully put the guitar beside your chair, looking curiously at your father. He hands you a medium sized canvas, and your temples tense when you see it.
The view from your bedroom window, except this time the weather isn't the focus of it, nor the reason why he painted it.
It's the house across the street. With fences around the large and grassy front yard, the sheep, the greenhouse in the back, and a simple, black shilhouete of a tall man. Of him.
You feel a pang of pain looking at the scene you know is never gonna happen. It's not like the painting of a sunny day, that you know will happen again after the rain ceases. It's something you'll never have, something — someone — you want, you need, and you just won't get to experience. Your eyes burn with a mixture of sadness and anger — a feeling you've never felt towards Frank before —, but you hide them from him, a single tear betraying you and rolling down your cheek.
"It's nothing compared to the drawing I did over the photo, but..." You joke, forcing a smile, mentioning the polaroid you took and drew on top of as you quickly dry your tear.
He nudges your arm playfully, sitting on the armrest of the chair you're seated on. "Guess I still have a lot to learn from you." He smiles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.
"Thank you, dad." You say, but you can't shake the confusion as to why your would dad gift you this.
So you could see it everyday as a reminder of what you could've had? Of what you're never gonna have?
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About a week after you've hung that painting up on your bedroom wall — which is what you fall asleep to every night now, hoping to dream with it, with him—, you notice your dad working again on Sarah's painting.
"Why are you finishing it? It's too big for him to take it back with him." You say almost bitterly as you enter your dad's studio, startling him.
"Oh... I thought you were helping your dad in the garage." He takes a second before answering, seemingly nervous to see you. "You know I don't like unfinished work." He tries to sound nonchalant, a typical Frank smile on his lips. "Also maybe you could take a photo of it and gift it to him. Well... give, uhm, give it to Tess so she can give it to him." He corrects himself, his smile faltering. "I'm sure he'd appreciate that." Frank says, his face lightening up again with a smile packed with... Anticipation?
A glint of hope ignites inside you, combusting inside your chest, suddenly too big to fit inside you, but you kill it as quickly as it's born.
He's not coming back, don't nurture those roots any more.
"Alright." You sigh, your voice restrained. "Do you have anything here to throw away? Dad's gonna burn a few things from the garage, there's too much accumulating." You say.
Since the bonfire never happened — there wasn't really a mood for it —, the unusable wood and inflammable material started to pile up even more then they already were.
"A bonfire?" Frank's face twists with a mischievous smile, and you can't help but giggle.
"Not that dad will ever admit it." You smile softly, and he cheers.
He gives you a few broken or moldy frames, and you take them back to the middle of the street in front of your house, assembling them with the rest of the disposable wood your dad is gonna burn.
You sigh at the thought that this should've happened over two months ago. That Joel was supposed to help, to be there with you. To enjoy the bonfire, to play his guitar, to hold you afterwards...
Stop it. You promised you wouldn't cry over it.
You look at the house across the street and let out another sigh before drying a few tears from your cheeks and going to the garage to help your dad bring the rest of the things outside.
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For the next two days your dad refuses to light up the bonfire, for whatever reason he didn't wanna tell you, and you didn't give it much thought.
"I think it's gonna rain." He said exasperatedly as an excuse while he covered the pile with a tarp, and you just went with it, despite the clear sky.
But today he came from a run for supplies with an urge to do it, and while he unpacked his truck, Frank took you inside to prepare a few pretty platters with some snacks for you all to eat at the bonfire.
"Now let's go get you ready." Frank says after you're done.
Your dad can't help but be performatic.
"Get ready?" You ask, confused, looking down at your baggy shirt and shorts, clothes you'd only ever wear on your period or when the weather was gloomy, and that since Joel went away became your everyday choices.
"Yes, sweetheart. Get ready. Take a shower, put on a nice dress, fix your hair and put some makeup on." Frank's face lightens up with his own words.
"You're still not over your doll phase, I see." You joke. Your dad always loved to dress you up.
You'd hop into the shower and come back to see your bed covered in different clothing options, and you were always amazed by how well he learned to do complex hairstyles just from teen and vintage magazines Bill found while outside. He'd dress you up in different outfits and you'd walk down the stairs in every single one of them while Bill judged them all.
Your family's very own little fashion show.
Needless to say, Bill always loved you in every single one of them, and your childhood is full of fond memories like that.
"I have a perfect doll at home, of course I'm gonna wanna dress her up." He kisses your temple.
"I don't... I'm not feeling it, dad. I'm sorry." You say quietly, looking down while you clean the counters, feeling bad for letting your father down on such a sweet tradition of the two of you, that always turns whatever you're doing into a special event.
And you can't help but remember how he helped you get ready the day Joel and Tess first arrived. How he said if they were to see you for some reason, you should be as pretty as you could. It makes you remember how Joel looked at you, how he smiled at you, how he said you were everything he thought he'd never see again.
"Hey, look at me." Frank says almost sternly, calling your attention, and you look up at him, your eyes watering already. "Darling... I want my daughter back!" He says, almost whining, frustration mixed with sadness making his voice shaky and his eyes watery.
"Dad..." You cry quietly, feeling bad. You know he is right. You can barely recognize yourself. But you feel powerless, you've just convinced yourself that there's no point.
He is not here to see your dresses, to smell your perfume, to praise your soft skin and hair. He's not here to see your smile.
"Honey, you gotta take care of yourself for you, even if he's not here anymore." Your dad can definitely read your mind. "Just like you always did. I want my sunny, giggly and happy girl back. I want you smiling, laughing, being silly. I want you in summer dresses and with your hair shinning, lipgloss on and smelling like our garden." He says, caressing your hair. "I know how happy all that makes you."
"I do miss it." You admit, with a pout and a smile, taking his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his and swinging your hands gently.
"Then c'mon, my silly doll. Let's get ready. Try to have fun. Even if it lasts for just a little bit." He smiles. "Then tomorrow we try again, fresh." He says, guiding you upstairs to your bedroom.
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Frank went pale when he saw the pairs of lingerie Joel got you, but you told him what happened the night you put them on — that last night, and how Joel told you to get changed — and he sighed, telling you to put on a more... Simple one. You choose a romantic white and embroidered set.
You take a slow and warm shower, and leave the bathroom smelling like berries and roses, dressed in your lingerie and a robe. You walk out of your bathroom to find the dress Joel picked for you that day, carefully placed on the center of your bed, your dad smiling softly at you, his hand on his right cheek.
The dress is short, made of a light blue fabric with some small white and yellow daisies embroidered on the neckline, that has a lettuce trim. It has thin tie-up spaghetti straps and a defined waistline. It's supposed to hug your back and waist while having a more loose grip around your chest and thighs.
"He did choose the right one." Frank almost whispers, looking at you and then the dress.
"He did." You smile softly, your eyes watering just from thinking about that day as you run your fingers through the delicate embroidered flowers.
"Do you wanna wear it?" Your dad suggests, his eyes glimmering with both excitement and the glowy, warm dance of the flames of the bonfire — that Bill lit up while you showered — bouncing on the walls around your room.
"I don't know, dad..." You whisper, your sight blurry because of all the tears.
"You should wear the one the chose." Frank lifts your face. "It's a sweet memory you have with him." He dries the tears that roll down your cheeks.
You smile weakly, remembering him sitting down on your bathroom floor, his legs spread while he fixed your cabinet, talking about the QZ and thoughtfully helping you pick a dress even though he clearly had more important things to do.
You nod and Frank helps you in it, telling you how pretty you look while he ties the straps up your shoulders, before browsing through a few vintage catalogs after a simple and romantic hairstyle.
You sit in front of the mirror so he can start curling and doing your hair, and for the first time since Joel left, you have a sincere smile on your face. You've missed this, these simple moments with your dad, doing your hair, dressing up, talking about nothing, making up gossip (usually about your poor dad Bill) like you're in a beauty salon — or at least how Frank described women's beauty salons to be in the past.
After an hour of playful; "I heard Bill hasn't cut his hair in like... Three years" and "Oh, but they say he's so lovely under all that beard and grumpiness", your dad finishes up, his eyes watering as he takes a step back to take you in.
The romantic dress, your delicate white shoe and sheer socks, your soft hair cascading down your shoulders, with two delicate and small white ribbons on the back — a new addition he saw in a beauty catalog and begged Bill to find when your poor dad went out to look for supplies—, your rosey cheeks — courtesy of the beetroot blush —and glossy lips.
"You're perfect, my dove. You're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen." Frank says, his voice tangled with emotion, and you smile.
"Got your good genetics." You joke, and he chuckles.
"I wish, my love." He whispers lovingly, running a hand on your hair. "But even though my blood doesn't run in your veins..." He starts, his voice thick and uncharacteristically serious as he takes your hands in his. "I guess all the time we've spent together passed some of my good looks to you." He jokes, and you laugh, giving him a hug.
"I love you, daddy." You say, and he tightens his embrace, his eyebrows furrowing at the sweet name.
"Long time since you last called me that." He smiles, his tears — that he tried so hard to hold back — now flowing freely down his cheeks.
"And now I love you even more than the last time I said it." You smile even wider, and you two only let go when you hear a gentle knock on your bedroom door.
"You're gorgeous, honeybun." Bill says from the doorway, his eyes red and watery, his expression soft and tender as he looks at you.
"I'm starting to think you two are gonna throw me in the fire as an offering." You say playfully, wondering why they're being so affectionate about the bonfire.
Maybe...
No. You're just hurting yourself.
"Well, now that you mentioned it... That's not a bad idea." Bill chuckles softly. "I think the Gods would love you. Probably the best offering they've ever had. We'd have good crops and healthy animals for the rest of our lives." He says, playfully looking at Frank, and you remember how Joel used to call you angel, the memory of his low and husky voice in your ear making your eyes wetter.
Bill nods at Frank, who nods back. "I'll be by the fire." Frank says, kissing your forehead one last time before holding your chin. "My pretty girl." He smiles at you, leaving your bedroom, drying his face with his sleeves before touching Bill's shoulder and giving him a peck on the lips as he passes by him on the doorway, whispering something to him.
Bill steps closer to you, taking your hands in his, caressing the back of them, his eyes lovingly roaming around your face. "You are my daughter." He starts, his voice proud and shaking. He has never let you doubt that you're his child, even if you don't share the same blood. "And you know I'd do anything to see you safe and happy. Anything. Even if it doesn't make me happy." He says, his eyes reddening, and you tilt your head, softly squeezing and caressing his hands, soothing him.
"Daddy..." You say softly, your heart aching.
"But that's not possible because if you're happy I'm also happy." He smiles, his voice barely coming out. "There's no scenario I can imagine in which you are happy and safe — his voice breaks — and I'm not happy for seeing you happy and safe." He says, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I love you more than anything, my love. You're the best and most important thing this life has ever given me, and I only am the man I am today because I've had you with me all those years." He says between tears, and you tenderly dry his face with your thumbs.
"And I couldn't ever ask for a better family. A better father. I know all you do is to protect me. Even if it hurts at times." You say softly, finally coming to peace with what Joel asked you.
How could you ever hate your father for doing that he thinks is best for you? For trying to protect you?
"I want you to forgive me." He whispers, his head tilted down and his eyes looking up at you. "Forgive me for not allowing you to experience love." He cries, and your heart breaks along with his voice.
"Daddy." You cry, squeezing his hands. "You love me so much, you show it to me everyday. I know love. I know your love, dad's love... And for a while I knew Joel's love too." You whisper the last part, but he doesn't react to it.
"I'd be so miserable without you and your father, my love. You two are everything I care about. The only reason I'm still here. The only reason why I've made this place so good and comfortable." He says, his crying intensifying while his trembling hands move to tenderly caress your hair.
"And I know I'd be happy as long as I were with the two of you, no matter where we were. Even if we lived in a QZ, in the middle of the woods or anywhere. It's not this place that makes me greatful. It's the both of you." You smile, kissing his wet and salty cheek, and he smiles back.
"Damn good thing we have the fences though, right?" He chuckles playfully, giving you a side look as you kiss him.
"Absolutely." You smile. "The hot water and fruits may also make me love you a little more." You giggle softly, and he chuckles.
"I'm charming like that." He laughs, taking your arm in his. "I love you, I always will. And I love the woman you've become. You're strong, you're beautiful and you deserve all the happiness you can manage to have in what's left of this world." He says, for the first time — except while teaching you how to survive and defend yourself — talking to you like you're an adult.
"I'm only all that because I'm your daughter. Because you raised me." You whisper, your voice full of pride and love. "I love you too." You touch your head to his shoulder tenderly, your love for each other filling the air around you while he holds you for what feels like forever — but still not long enough.
"C'mon, your dad is waiting for us." He says after a while, and he fixes your hair before walking you downstairs, his arm tangled with yours.
He goes slowly, no rush as he sometimes steals glances at you and smiles. You don't understand why, but this moment feels special. If feels like you're gonna remember this feeling forever.
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You find the front door open, and he guides you towards it. From inside you see Frank smiling by the bonfire as he looks at you, and you see his lips moving, whispering 'my princess', making you smile back at him.
You walk outside your house with your arms still tangled with your dad's, and as soon as you look at the bonfire...
It can't be.
"You. She needs you." Bill cried on the radio, inviting Joel to come back, to stay with you. To help him make you happy.
You eyes well up instantly, your mouth hanging open and your nose burning with the sudden rush of tears flooding your eyes, and you try to run, but your dad holds you back, taking your face in his hands.
"Honeybun..." His voice is shaking. "You know I love you more than anything in this life, don't you?" He asks and you nod emphatically, repeating 'yes' over and over as tears roll down your cheeks. "Promise me you'll always love me more than anything too?" He asks, his eyes watering as he smiles adoringly down at you.
"I could never love anything more than I love you, daddy." You cry, hugging your dad tight. He kisses the top of your head and gives you a reassuring look.
"I love you." He whispers, releasing your arm. You look at Frank, and he nods, his cheeks wet.
You turn back to the bonfire. To him. And you run.
You run desperately into his arms, open and ready to hold you. His body stumbles back as you jump into his embrace.
God, how you missed his arms, how you missed his smell, his warmth. You can't even speak, letting the tightness of your embrace speak for itself as you grip his shirt and shoulder blades tight and he almost lifts you off the ground, his heart beating so fast that you can feel it against your chest.
"Joel..." You cry in his ear, squeezing him as much as you can to make sure this is real. He is here. With you.
He cries your name back, holding the back of your head and wrapping his other arm protectively and tightly around your waist, his tears wetting your hair. Your hair that he missed so much, with the softness and the scent he craved so much, the scent of your skin, the feel of it, the glow you emanate, that seems to leave your pores and intoxicate him.
He pulls back slightly, his hands holding your waist and cupping your face — that way he always cups your face —, his thumb caressing the delicate skin underneath your eye, his eyes looking adoringly down at you, like you're the most precious, most special and delicate thing left in this planet. Like if you're the sole reason behind his wide smile, that seems to mimic yours. Wider than you've ever seen before.
Your presence gives him an instant sense of peace, a sense of belonging, of purpose. He wants to preserve this. Your wellbeing, your safety, your peace, your smile. Make sure you're well fed, healthy, taken care of. Make sure you're happy and loved.
It makes him want to forget about the old Joel. The sad and bitter, stoic and practical man that wouldn't want to get involved with you under the cowardice of not being good enough for you. He will be good enough. Vulnerable enough, open enough, romantic enough. He will allow himself to love you. He is gonna make damn sure of it everyday, he promises to himself. There won't be one day he won't do everything in his power to make you the happiest woman alive.
The old violent and deadly Joel will be preserved though. Kept quiet in a corner, always vigilant and attentive, ready to surface if he ever has to protect your town, your parents or especially you. Ready to not measure means to keep you safe.
You look behind him and see three big bags on the floor. "Are you... Are you staying?" You ask with a wide and contagious smile, almost out of breath, and he nods, his eyes somehow becoming even softer.
"Only if you want me to." He smiles, like you could ever say no to him, like if you could ever not want him to stay. Ever not want him.
Your smile somehow widens even more and you hug him tight again, like if any inch between you two could perhaps give him a chance to leave again. A chance he'd of course never take, never leave you again, never not have you again.
You enjoy his warmth for a little longer, remembering how soft and comfortable his embrace feels, how his fluffy flannel makes his chest feel like a pillow. How safe and special you feel in his arms. The arms that had no responsibility to love you, to choose you, but that did anyway.
And he holds you close. His strong arms keeping you shielded and protected, warm and safe. He never wants to forget what it feels like to hold you again. His heart seems to find a calmer pace as it feels your own beating against his chest.
A few moments later you remember that Joel isn't the only person last on earth and turn back to your parents, their arms holding each other's, Frank resting his head on Bil shoulder, with a smile that almost matches yours and Joel's, and Bill with a stiff expression that breaks when he sees the pure bliss and joy on your face. Any remnant of doubt or uncertainty leaving his shoulders as he sees the smile and the glow he missed so much these past few months.
You run to them, hugging both at the same time, your face nesting between their shoulders, and they hug you back, protectively wrapping you in their arms. You all share a silent understanding.
This is what life must be. Full of love and trust. Full of people who wouldn't hesitate before doing what's best for one another. Who wouldn't hesitate to protect and care for each other.
"He moves one finger you didn't want him to and you tell me, you hear?" Bill says as you pull back a little, still in their arms.
"Bill..." Frank laughs.
"You raised me, dad. You know I'd kill him myself." You joke, and Bill's eyes glimmer with amusement.
"That's my girl." He laughs proudly. "She's my daughter." He playfully nudges Frank, like it'd be news to him.
"Yeah, it shows." Frank laughs back, and you hug them tight again. "Go stay with him, love. Your dad and I are gonna bring out the food." Frank says, and you nod, walking back to Joel, who once again takes you in his arms, holding you tightly, as if trying to make up for lost time before letting go and sitting down at one of the benches your dad put by the bonfire.
You sit beside him, your body facing him, and he fixes your hair tenderly.
"The ribbons look nice." He compliments, and you smile. He notices the smallest new details about you, and it makes you feel special and pretty.
"Thank you." You purr, feeling your cheeks warmer than before.
"I got you something." He smiles at you, reaching behind himself to pick a bouquet he made with some wild flowers he found on his way back to Lincoln and some craft paper Tess helped him sort out in the QZ. It makes you smile, your eyes welling up.
"Joel... They're beautiful." You manage to say, your voice barely there.
"Some are already dying, but they are the ones closer to the QZ. The closer to you, the brighter they are." He says softly as he fixes the tie-up straps of your dress, and your heart melts. "Just like me." He whispers, his eyes red, and you smile lovingly at him.
You notice there's a paper amidst the flowers, and you take it in your hands, finding it to be a photo of Joel, that's all wrinkled, like he was planning to throw it away.
"When is this from?" You ask curiously, smiling up at him, his cheeks covered by a small blush.
"That's..." He clears his throat. "The photo I took when I got you the polaroid camera, to test it. I took it before eating the food you made me." He chuckles. "I thought it looked terrible, but then I thought you'd kill me if I ever told you it existed and I never gave it to you." He smiles, gently taking your free hand in his.
"I would." You smile, tenderly caressing his cheeks in the photo, feeling his thumb caress the back of your hand.
"Sometimes I'd doubt myself." He whispers, like he's just thinking out loud, his eyes traveling around your face, a small and silly smile on his lips. You frown, tilting your head slightly as you turn to face him. "I'd wonder if you were really like this." He smiles, and you feel your cheeks heating up even more, in a way only he can make them. "Not even the photo you gave me would convince me that you were this sweet." He says with an adoring smile.
"Do you remember this dress?" You ask quietly, and he gently plays with the fabric covering your thighs.
"I knew you'd look perfect on it." He smiles. "It's like it was made for you." He says.
"Just like I was made for you." You whisper back, a shameless smile on your lips.
His eyes are wet as he looks at you. "I missed you." He whispers, his lower lip trembling.
"I missed you too." You whisper back, resting the bouquet on your lap and cupping his face, bringing his forehead to touch yours.
He nuzzles your nose, fighting back the instinct to lean forward for a kiss.
"Guess we're doing it... The little ranch." He says instead, sniffing softly and beckoning to the house across the street, a single tear falling from his cheek onto yours.
"Am I still invited to move in with you?" You laugh softly, caressing his stubble, and he responds the laughter.
"Meh... We'll see how it goes." He playfully shrugs with a smile. "I wouldn't wanna do it without you. You're the most important part of any of my plans." He whispers, his tone soft and serious as he squeezes your hand and turns it to kiss the delicate skin of your palm. "We're gonna stay with your parents while I renovate our house — our house... — and then when it is perfect, we're gonna move in. We're gonna be patient until then." He says, and you frown. You know exactly what he means.
"Joel..." You half whine. Why does he has to be such a good man?
"I know, baby. But that's not what I want from you. And I promised your father I'd have everything settled before I touched you. So both of you know I want this." He sounds sincere, so sincere, so honest, it breaks your heart. "All of this. And mostly you." He smiles.
You've been through it, but your stomach freezes at the thought of your dad and Joel talking about whether the two of you did... That.
"Did he ask you if we had s-...?" You ask, your voice small and mortified, your always sweet eyes wide open.
"We didn't use the words themselves." He quickly says when he sees the panic in your eyes, caressing your hand soothingly. "But I assured him we haven't... Actually done it yet." He says. "And he made me vow to keep it that way until I'm settled here."
Your dads return before you can respond, with trays of kebabs, some savory oat muffins you made earlier that day, fruits and a few drinks.
You all start eating, and you notice how hungry Joel seems, how he eats like he's hiding his real hunger, and it breaks your heart. But as you cook him another kebab over the bonfire flame, you get a glimpse of what life's gonna look like from now on. Taking care of him, making sure he never has to go for a day without being well fed and loved.
"Only thing missing here is some s'mores." He chuckles, looking down at you with a full mouth and a silly smile.
"Oh, I've never had those...!" You gasp, almost whine, your eyes shining with the idea of it.
"They're amazing, you would've loved them." He smiles, cleaning a few crumbs on your cheeks.
You and Frank talk and have fun while Joel and Bill mostly just watch, both still testing the waters with each other. Bill tries to read Joel, noticing how his eyes shine when he looks at you and how happy you seem with him, how close together the two of you are sitting, with your thighs glued to each other's; and Joel tries to not be too invasive or physical for Bill's liking, even though he wants nothing more than to keep you close and his arms around you for good measure.
Bill eventually joins in the conversation, asking Joel about the path from the QZ to Lincoln. About what he saw, if he noticed anything different or concerning. Joel explains how he covered his trail and describes his encounters with the dead and the infected, and you worriedly try to check his arms under his flannel, making him laugh softly at your worry, reassuring you he's fine.
···
After you're all full, Frank asks your help to bring the dishes back inside, and you follow him. After you set everything in the sink he tells you to leave it to clean the next morning and takes you to his studio, where he hands you the finished painting of Sarah.
"He gave you flowers, right? Go give him your gift." He smiles at you, and you smile back.
You walk outside the house with the canvas behind your back, and you spot Joel and your dad talking to each other. There aren't any big smiles yet, but it's happened before, so you hope it's gonna happen again.
You go to them, turning the canvas towards him, and his eyes swell as soon as he sees it, his eyebrows moving and his lips quivering.
Frank captured Sarah perfectly. Her soft eyes, her hair, her freckles and dimples. Her silly smile is almost as bright as the real thing used to be. He can't help but caress the canvas, like he could feel the soft skin of her cheeks.
Joel cries like he's seeing his girl again, like she's there with them, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a breeze pass by him when he saw the painting. Like she's by his side, present, approving of his much longed and deserved happiness. Like she's smiling from wherever she is, finally resting now that he has all this. Now that he has a safe and loving environment for himself. Now that he has you, like she knows you're gonna take care and love her father.
He hugs you, no words needed to express his gratefulness, how much he loved it.
"It's perfect. It's her. My babygirl." He manages to say between tears anyway, and when you pull back, Bill walks closer to Joel, looking at the painting, his own eyes watering.
"I know you're gonna be everything my daughter needs, Joel." He says. "Because you are a father too." His voice breaks. "You know exactly how much she means to me. I... I Promise I'll do my best to rebuild my trust in you. For her. We're gonna make this work." He whispers, and Joel nods, a determined look in his eyes. He knows it's not easy for Bill, and he wants to earn his respect once again. "And besides... She's my daughter. I know she'd deal with you before I had to step in." He chuckles, and Joel laughs.
"I know she would." Joel agrees, his eyes watering as he looks at you.
"You take good care of my little girl. You make her happy. You keep her safe. You keep that gorgeous smile on her face." He says, turning back to point at you and your wide smile, tears pouring from his eyes. "And we ain't ever gonna have a problem again." He tells Joel, who once again nods, offering his hand for your dad to shake.
He's not good at being vulnerable around others, but he hopes that's another feeling you might restore in him.
"That's everything I'll ever do." Joel says, and they shake hands, a mutual feeling of respect and trust being established between the two men. When Frank joins them, Joel offers his hand for him to shake.
"Oh, c'mon, I'm not Bill!" Frank laughs, pulling Joel into a hug that he happily responds to, feeling grateful for Frank's trust in him this whole time, and for the portrait he's still holding.
"Thank you, Frank." He whispers as they hug. "For trusting me even when I didn't deserve your trust. And for giving my girl back to me." He says, his eyes once again down to Sarah's painting.
"It was an honor to paint her." Frank smiles. "And she's not the only girl I manage to get back to you." He smiles back at you. "You take good care of my baby. Her father is a psycho, you know that." He jokes, and Joel chuckles.
"We all are to protect who we love." He nods, the old Joel speaking. Lethal when it comes to protecting you.
"You're part of our family now. Thank you for making our daughter so happy." Frank says, nudging Bill for him to say something.
"Yeah, yeah. Family." He says, his voice dry and choked in his throat. "We'll do our best to make her happy." He says, and Joel nods.
They all turn to look at you, and you feel like you could burst with love and happiness. Your parents and the man you love. All going out of their way to make you safe and happy.
"Love! Photos!" Frank tells you excitedly, and you run inside to get your camera.
"Frank..." Bill mumbles, but Frank shushes him.
"Bill today is a special day for our daughter." He says, his voice firm. "We are taking photos." He fixes Bill's hair tenderly, Joel smiling as he watches the two of them.
No wonder you're so special. Being raised by these two.
You come back with the camera Joel got you, and you first take a photo of the three of them together. Frank standing in between as they all give you their best smiles.
Then Joel takes a picture of you and your dads, smiling to himself at your bright smile.
"It looks perfect." He smiles, and Frank takes the camera from him.
"Go on, love. You two. Get the flowers, where are the flowers?" He says, and you and Joel pose together, his arm around your waist while you're wrapped around him, holding your bouquet, a happy and loving smile on your lips, and a wide one on his. "Beautiful. Now a kiss!" Frank says, and Bill shifts on his feet.
Joel is a little hesitant, but you gently cradle his face and touch your lips to his for the very first time since he went away, wanting to save the real kiss for when it's just the two of you. His arms tighten around you, and your dad cheers.
"Beautiful!" He says, showing you the photo.
"Our second first kiss." You smile, looking at the photo, then at Joel.
"You haven't kissed yet?" Frank gasps, and you shake your head. "Oh, and I got it on camera! That's so precious, my love." Frank says lovingly, and Bill smiles as he looks at the photo as well, your smile even as your lips are pressing against Joel's leave no room for him to doubt just how happy you're gonna be with him.
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After a few more conversations and photos you all decide to get some rest. Your parents kiss the top of your head and go to their bedroom, Bill glancing at Joel one last before going inside, nodding at him.
All of the dishes are forgotten in the sink. "A tomorrow morning problem!", like Frank said earlier. And the bonfire, still burning its last flames, to be dismantled and cleaned the next morning as well.
You help Joel put his bags and the painting in the living room, only his backpack on him as the two of you go upstairs, holding hands, a peaceful sense of belonging consuming him as he thinks about how this is his life now. About how you don't have to hide, to lie, to suppress your feelings or worry about not having each other the next day.
And he doesn't have to worry about trust or boundaries. They're all set, and he wants more than anything to prove to your dads that he's not just after good food and a safe and comfortable bed with a pretty girl laying on it. He wants you. Happy and safe, his.
···
You reach your bedroom and open the door for him to walk in. He closes his eyes and smiles when the sweet, floral and citric scent he missed so much enters his nose.
He sets his backpack down and looks at you while you carefully place the bouquet on your dresser and fix your hair in your mirror.
"I forgot how good your bedroom smells." He smiles, walking behind you and looking lovingly at your reflection on the mirror, placing his hands on your waist. You turn around, wrapping your arms around his waist, inhaling his own scent.
"You smell good, too." You whisper, snuggling your cheek to his chest, indulging in his comforting warmth, in his presence, in his smell, the gentle rhythm of his heart, the rumble of his breathing.
"Your dad told me to shower when I got here." He chuckles, pulling you out of your trance as his hands trace gentle circles on your back.
"He made me get all dressed up." You giggle softly, certain that it was Frank that told him to shower, and he gently releases his grip on you, lifting your chin with his thumb so you look up at him.
"You're beautiful, my angel." He whispers.
The warm and now softer glow from the bonfire below your window casts a beautiful and intimate light on both of you, outlining Joel's face perfectly. All of his features; his big and sculpted nose, his big and soft brown eyes, his pouty lips, his cheekbones and jawline. His hair, that's still a bit wet near the roots, yet already fluffy and messy on its — now slightly longer — curls, his stubble — the tiny little white hairs starting to flourish —. Everything perfectly layed out for your eyes, making you remember exactly why the thoughts of him made you so breathless.
And when your eyes land back on his, you notice their softness towards you. A softness they only acquire when looking at you. A softness that seems to draw your eyes lower, to his lips, that makes you lick your own, anticipating feeling his touch again, his warmth... his taste.
Like you've rehearsed it, at the same time that you get on your tiptoes, he slowly leans down, gently cradling your face and touching his lips to yours. Intoxicating you with his hot breath against your nose, breathing the same breaths as the warm air that leaves his lungs fills your own, his gentle yet firm hands on your lower back and cheek, the roughness of his fingers on your skin, the softness of his wet lips caressing yours.
Feeling his beard tingle your face again makes you melt into his arms, it makes you melt and it makes you moan softly into his mouth, making him hold you tighter and gently tug on your hair, deepening the kiss even more and grunting as he tastes what he's missed for so long. The sweetness he thought he'd never have in his hands again.
Your tongues dance together in a passionate and intense display of intimacy. Intimacy that you've learned not long ago, that he taught you all about. An intimacy that makes him feel like you've known each other your whole lives, like your love follows you way before this life and these bodies. Like your souls have been longing to be reunited for much longer than just a few months.
You tug at his jacket, wanting to squeeze him, to make sure he's real and all yours, to try and make him feel just how much you've missed him, to have him as close as possible to you.
"Baby... We talked about this." He pulls back to whisper breathlessly over you lips when you start pressing your body against his, the kiss going from slow and romantic to hungry and needy, the sensations traveling from your tongue directly to form a pool between your legs.
"Please, Joel. I need you." You moan, burying your face on his neck, kissing the warm skin there.
"Baby..." He tries to protest, feeling that same vulnerability you always erupt inside him.
"We don't have to do anything we haven't done yet." You purr, looking up at him. "Please, Joel. I thought about you every single night." You say, and you see his nostrils widening, his chest expanding and his jaw clenching as you confess to have done what he also did.
Every single night after the first few weeks, when pain and guilt started to give space to the longing and need to be together again. Nights where he laid on his side and held himself tight, imagining what you'd feel like, remembering how warm your skin felt against his, how good you smelled, how much he missed your nails on his back, your fingers curling on his hair, your lips burning his skin, your warm and wet flesh around his fingers. Nights where he held your photo to smell the - fainter by the day - perfume you sprayed on it and to look at your sweet smile, remembering how your face contorted and how you cried his name, the sound still echoing in his mind.
"You're gonna kill me." He whispers, pulling away, leaving you whimpering softly as he walks towards your window, resting his hands on the bottom of the frame, looking at the house across the street. The one he chose to live in with you. To make yours.
You walk towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head against his back. "It's ok." You whisper, feeling his back expand with his heavy breathing. "I can wait. I like that you want to wait." You say against his back, your hands caressing his stomach and chest, and after a few moments, he turns around, facing you, his eyes scanning your face.
"Did you tell the truth?" He asks, his voice low and quiet. "Did you think about me like that?"
"I did." You confess again, feeling your cheeks warm up as your gaze drops to his old and dirty boots and your delicate shoes and white sheer socks.
"Then why do you need my help, angel?" He asks with a soft smile, almost a smirk, gently cupping your face and pulling it up so you look at him, his thumb caressing your cheeks.
"Because I couldn't... do it without you." You purr, leaning into his touch until he removes his hand, making you whimper as he once again walks away from you. "Joel..." You whisper, watching him.
He hears it and chuckles softly before sitting on the edge of your bed and looking at you. His gaze just like you remembered it. Hungry and lustful but somehow still soft and lovingly, his dark eyes glistening with the flames of the bonfire that are weakly dancing around your room. The intensity of his gaze makes you shift on your feet while you wait for him to say something, your fingers nervously curling around one another.
He pats his lap, calling your attention. "Come here, angel." He calls, his voice as soft and demanding as always, and before you even process it, your legs are obediently walking towards him, earning an approving smile. "Good. Come here." He instructs again, this time pulling gently on your waist for you to sit across his lap.
"I missed the way you talk to me." You confess in a whisper.
"You did?" He asks, tucking your hair behind your ear while his eyes roam around your face, a silly smile on his lips.
You nod, your eyes catching his gaze as you just stare at each other in silence for a bit.
"I like the way you tell me what to do." You purr, your shaky voice betraying how nervous you are to be so close to him again.
"And I love how you trust me..." He responds quietly, like he's just thinking out loud. "... How responsive you are to me." He whispers.
You look up at him, your eyes glistening behind a thin layer of blissful tears. "Responsive?" You ask softly, and he smiles.
"You'll see what I mean." He reassures you, carefully grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling it above your other shoulder so he can kiss the soft and sensitive skin of your perfumed neck, earning a breathy gasp and a pleased frown from you. In response, he nibs and sucks on it, squeezing your thigh gently, his hands caressing your skin, going underneath your dress to caress the soft spot where your thighs and your hips connect.
"Joel..." You whisper, trying to give him better access and simultaneously wrap your arms around him so you can touch him back.
He places both hands on your waist and gently pushes you off his lap, and you're quick to turn and straddle him, just like you did that first night on your armchair, your hands going under his arms to tug at his shoulder blades while his go to your waist and hips, holding you firmly - squeezing you so good - and tugging at the soft fabric of your dress while his lips trail wet kisses from your neck to you shoulders as his rough fingers gently undo the straps of your dress, kissing his way back from your shoulders to your jaw, and from your jaw to your already open and inviting lips.
You moan into the kiss, his hot breath caressing your skin and his beard burning you and making you lean even closer to him.
He grunts as you tug on his hair, your hips instinctively rolling against his, and he starts pulling your dress up your thighs with the back of his fingers, caressing and kneading the tender skin of your thighs as he reveals them, his worn out and barely-there nails greedily digging in the soft skin of your hips and bottom in an eager attempt to make up for the time apart, to remember and to feel everything he thought about every single night, to never again forget how you feel like under his touch.
He continues pulling your dress up, and you help him by lifting your arms, allowing him to fully reveal your soft and perfect - somehow even better than he remembered - curves, your delicate white set of lace bra and panties... And he goes numb, his eyes locked on your body and his lips apart, his hands moving up your waist, his thumbs caressing your breasts and rolling around your clothed nipples, his chest moving deeply as he tries to catch his breath, lost in the sight of you.
"I missed you so much, my angel." He whispers, his gaze making its way back to your own, his eyes soft and watery, filled with unspoken words of love and passion, with the longing of all those weeks apart, all those nights where he'd have done anything to be by your side.
All the times he caught himself looking into nothingness, lost in thoughts about you, about how you must've been and how much he wished to be doing the same nothing, staring into the same nothingness, but with you. How much he missed all of you. Every single smile, breath and noise you make. Every wrinkle in the corners of your eyes when you smile, every mark, spot and stretch, everything you'd be insecure about if you've grown in a regular setting. Things he'd never change about you.
He couldn't think of a single thing to change about you to make you more special, more perfect for him.
"I thought about you all day long. And you came back to me." You whisper back, your eyes not as shy as his, your tears flowing freely down your cheeks and onto your neck, inspiring some of his own to make the same path, rolling down his cheeks and soaking his beard. "When my dad was dressing me up... I kept thinking that maybe..." You begin crying softly. "That maybe it was because you'd come back. But... Thinking about it, after so long... It hurt... And I kept burying these feelings down but..." You smile brightly up at him, your eyes leaking blissful tears. "But you came back for me."
"I'd always come back for you." He says with a smile, his voice thick as he once again wraps his arms protectively around you, cradling your face against his chest. "I'd never not come back for you. Even if not now... I'd come back for you one day. I'd never let you be alone, my baby." He promises as he holds you behind your right knee and the nape of your neck, standing up with you in his strong arms and effortlessly fliping you over so you're lying on your back, on the edge of your bed.
"I wanna be yours. For the rest of my life." You say, caressing his hair with both hands as he kisses the now salty skin of your neck and collarbones.
"One day." He promises against your skin before looking into your eyes, his face hovering torturingly close to yours. "The day our - our - house is ready for us. That day; or whatever day after that, when you're ready for me..." He says, his voice softer than the dandelions your father planted near your garden, the dandelions that for so many sunsets heard the name 'Joel' as you exhaustively called and cried for him, with the hope that that day he'd finally come back through those gates. "That day I'll make you mine." He whispers before kissing your lips again, a short kiss before his lips move to your cheeks, where he continues. "That day I'll show you what it feels like to be mine. What it feels like to be a woman." He whispers before kissing, biting and sucking on your neck, right where he knows your vein is.
"Joel..." You moan again, squeezing his bicep through his flannel.
"I'll show you what it's like to be my woman." He whispers, his voice now lower and raspier, huskier. "I'll show you what it's like to belong to a man. To belong to me." He promises, his eyes soft and filled with a possessive passion for you.
He kisses your lips again, a short and wet peck that makes you moan for more, tugging at his hair and looking down when he draws a wet path of kisses down your throat... your collarbones... your chest... his wet and warm lips kissing the outline of your bra before engulfing your clothed left nipple in his warm lips, a sensation that makes you ache between your legs and your back arch up into his touch.
You whimper when he lets go, but as soon as you open your eyes, he's leaning in for another kiss, his hands leaving your waist and reaching behind you to unclasp your bra and reveal more of you to his sore — hungrier by the second — eyes.
"Ahnn..." You moan, your back arching higher against his body when he takes your bare nipple in his mouth, the wetness and warmth of his mouth making your legs move in response to the growing warmth and wetness between them, your toes tugging at the sheets.
"You're so fucking soft, baby." He mumbles against your skin, his eyes closed as he rolls your nipple around his tongue, suckling on it.
"Joel... It... So... Good..." You moan nothings into the air, recalling the first and last time he did this to you, how good it feels to have him so close, how special you feel with how he takes his time with you, how he doesn't make you feel like this is about pleasing him, but showing you how much he can pleasure you too.
"I'll make you feel so good, my baby." He says before kissing the lower side of your breast, then your waist, stomach, your bellybutton... Then the skin above the hem of your panties, his hands reaching underneath you and holding and kneading your bottom as he kisses along the whole waistband of your panties, his eyes locked on yours as his fingers tangle on the delicate and thin fabric.
"I know you will." You whisper, making his eyes harden with lust before softening at the sight of your sweet smile. He stands up by the bed and gently pulls your panties down your legs, upwards his chest, and he smells it, closing his eyes and growling at your scent. He places both of your feet on his chest, caressing your legs as he admires the woman — the angel — underneath him.
Seeing you fully exposed to him for the second time, this time knowing he's not betraying your dad's trust, that he's doing it the right way... It makes him forget how to breathe, his hands caressing your thighs, his eyes travelling around your body, pure love and desire burning in their softness. It makes him allow himself to fully drink you in and shamelessly indulge in just how perfect you are, in how every curve of your body seems to have been sculpted in his dreams. Like you were really made just for him, exactly how he wants and needs you.
"You're perfect." He whispers in awe, more like just an observation for himself as he kisses your ankles — with those cute fucking socks — and then his way up your legs, simultaneously lowering himself back between them, kneeling on the floor at the edge of your bed, pulling you closer to the edge. "Mine." He says when his lips reach the inner sides of your knees, his hands squeezing the front of your thighs, his arms under your thighs. "Perfect for me. All for me." He possessively squeezes your thighs as he kisses their inner skin, making you moan when he parts your legs, the air once again leaving his lungs to be filled only with the awe of you.
With the scent of you, the wetness and the color, the softness and the taste... Dammit, he can't wait to finally actually taste you, to finally feel your tender and warm flesh against his lips, your wetness coating his lips and tongue, your muscles contracting underneath and around his tongue.
"I shaved for you again." You purr, removing him from his daydreams, invitingly spreading your legs wider for him, shamelessly offering all of you for him. In a way you'd only ever do for him, even if he never came back and someone else did. "I did all this time... Hoping you'd come back." And you did it, longing to see the same darkness in his eyes you saw the first time you said those words. The same darkness you're seeing right now.
"I'd have loved you either way, angel." He whispers, kissing your mount. "A real man doesn't care about that, baby. Certainly not in a sweet girl like you. But I do appreciate the view." He growls before kissing the skin where your thighs connect to your core, earning a surprised and sweet gasp from you. "I can't think of a thing that'd make me not want you." He whispers, kissing your folds before tasting you.
"Ahhnn..." You moan softly, almost laughing with bliss at the feeling of his tongue licking along your slit, diving onto your clit, swirling around the small nub. "Joel... Hmmm..." You moan, your eyes already closed and your breathing already heavy.
"I haven't even started yet, baby. And that's what I mean with responsive..." He smirks before exploring every corner and fold of you with his tongue, his beard deliciously scratching and bruising your skin. "You're so fucking responsive to me, to the smallest little touches."
You try to spread your legs even further for him, eager to give him as much as possible, and he notices your struggle with the need to give him more and to soothe yourself somehow, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your whole body already overwhelmed by him and the foreign and delicious sensation of his mouth on you. He lifts your legs, touching your knees to your chest.
"Hold your legs for me, angel, please." He asks softly, and you hug your knees, one in each arm, your legs fully spread and your core in full display for his hungry eyes, leaking with need for more, the sheets connected to you by a thin streak of your leaking juices. He presses both his thumbs on each one of your lips, watching as the arousal seems to leak out of your core as he presses against your flesh, his eyes darkening and becoming hazed as he anticipates watching you come apart for him again.
Vulnerable, responsive and shameless, just like he remembers your outbursts to be like. Your eyes closed shut or looking desperately into his own, your lips curled downwards in whimpers and cries, your hands squeezing him.
"I'mma need you to be real quiet for me, alright, baby? Only for my ears." He whispers, looking up at you, and you nod. "Can you do that for me, angel?" He asks softly.
You nod, words are way past your brain's capacity now.
"Words, my sweet girl." He squeezes your thighs. "Use your pretty words for me."
"Yes." You say in a breathless whisper, your whole body is shaking in anticipation.
"That's my good girl." He praises before parting your folds with his thumbs. He grunts at the view and buries his lips underneath yours, his beard scratching you, only adding to the feeling as he sucks on every bit of flesh, slurping in your juices and pressing his tongue against your aching and pulsing entrance, circling it and teasing pushing in.
"Joel!" You urgently beg for more, your voice quiet and small. You need more. You feel like you're so close already, his teasing and the way he's almost worshipping you making your body run to the edge. Already so close from falling that you want to hold back just to feel this for longer. "Joel, I... I can't hold it!" You purr in delicious agony, begging for both his mercy and more of his touch.
"Let go for me, princess. We've got all night to recover and do it again." He says huskily before once again parting your inner folds with his thumbs, admiring your tightness. "You're gonna feel so good around me, baby." He licks the exposed entrance, indulging in the wetness and warmth of your aching body. His tongue lapping on the pool that's formed inside you.
"More, Joel. More, please." You plead, hugging your knees closer to you in a desperate attempt to soothe your even more desperate body.
He responds by taking your clit in his mouth, licking the bud and pushing the hood back with his tongue, the feeling of his soft and warm tongue on your most sensitive spot making your body jolt with a literal spark of electricity that runs through your flesh, the feeling making you desperate with need, like if you're coming already under his tongue, your eyes snap open.
You gasp as he does it again, your eyes now closing shut. He smirks and lets the hood cover your clit again before he begins sucking on it, the feeling burning, itching and aching, all at the same time as your legs tremble desperately against your chest, your eyes rolled to the back of your skull and your mouth open in a silent scream as you lose complete control, your body tensing up, your juices flowing freely from you to your sheets, and your mind going blank, not a single thought or feeling that isn't the overwhelming pleasure he's giving you crossing your mind.
Only him, his tongue, his hands holding you, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you in place, his scent, his warm breath against your tenderness, his eyes watching you crumble. You feel an agonizing pleasure washing over you, your body melting underneath his touch.
You come back from your high with tears falling down your cheeks, your legs sore and shaking, your breathing heavy and your throat dry, a sticky pool on the sheets underneath you and Joel gently kissing your folds, trying to help you come down and gather some of the leaking juices that you've just released.
"Joel..." You try to whisper, but the sound half dies on your tongue, the sweetness and need still making their way to his ears, and he smiles up at you, once again kissing his way up from your folds to you mount, through your stomach till your breasts, stopping by your nipple before reaching your collarbones, then your neck... Your throat and jaw, then kissing a tight trail until he reaches the corner of your lips.
"You did so good, my baby." He praises, his voice filled with pride. "So intense but so quiet and sweet for me." He whispers, touching his forehead to yours, and you smile, your cheeks warming up even more.
"Can you do this to me again?" You whisper sweetly, an undeniable amount of innocence and love in your request, making him chuckle.
"Everyday if you want me to, my angel." He smiles, kissing your forehead. "I'd never deny tasting you, making you crumble like that." He kisses you deeply, and you can taste yourself on his lips, your taste mingled with his own making you moan and tug at his curls, needing more, all of him.
"I wanna make you crumble too." You say breathlessly when he pulls back, and he smiles softly.
"Baby..." He starts, and you know that tone.
"Please, Joel!" You furrow your eyebrows. "Please, it's not fair you do it to me and I don't do it for you too." You purr. "I want to do it for you." You reassure him with a smile.
Your eagerness to please him... Something most women did everything in their power to not do... Fuck. He's one lucky son of a bitch.
"Baby... Me doing it to you is one thing... But... You don't have to do the same. We can try something we've already done before." He says, and the honesty, patience and respect in his voice makes you want to ravish him. To make him feel so good for making you feel so comfortable and safe, that he's gonna forget his own name.
"The more you tell me I don't have to... The more I'll wanna do it." You smile, a hint of mischief and innocent curiosity to know what it feels like to finally taste him, to really have him in your mouth, his breathing heavy, his face contorting, his fingers on your hair... "Please." You purr, using the face that gets you everything you want.
And he knows it damn well. He knows you always get what you want. And tonight is not gonna be the first time he says no to you.
"Still trying to kill me, I see." He smiles, kissing you again, his hand once again traveling down your body, gently pinching your nipple and rolling it in between his thumb and index fingers until you whimper in response, then making a ticklish trail down your waist and hips, finding your core again, spreading your folds and pushing the tip of his middle finger inside your - even tighter after your orgasm - entrance. "So fucking tight, baby... Gonna squeeze me so fucking good." He growls against your lips before pushing the finger fully in, curling his finger to masterfully hit your sweetest spot with a precision that not even you have yet.
"Oh... Joel!" You moan, your eyes closed and your eyebrows furrowed as he continuously presses the right button inside you. "Joel?!" You say, your eyes snapping open and confused by the intense and sudden sensation, the feeling increased, as intense as it always is after an orgasm. "Joel I..." You struggle, your face contorted in a perfect display of the blissfulness he's washing your body and soul with.
"Keep saying my name, my sweet girl." He kisses your lips gently before going down and burying his face back between your legs, sucking your clit into his mouth, creating a mind numbing sensation as his finger still pumps your favorite spot.
"Joooel!" You cry out, forgetting to be silent, your upper body jolting up.
"Shhhh... No, baby... Be good for me, c'mon. Not so loud." He frowns before diving back in, his lips glistening with you. Your eyes roll back as your hips eagerly move against his face, making him grunt and squeeze your thigh with his free hand. "That's it..." He encourages, and you move even more intensely, your hands tugging at his curls, the sheets and anything at your reach as you feel another soul crushing orgasm building deep, deeper than ever before, inside your core.
"Jooooel!" You cry out again, more quietly this time, only for his ears, your voice strangled.
"Good girl." He praises. "Give it to me, angel. I know how much you love my attention, baby... And you're doing a really good job for me, so quiet and good for me..." He says before sucking your clit back into his mouth and inserting another thick finger in your tight insides, thrusting them in and out gently and pressing your sweetest spot between thrusts.
"Aaaah!" You whimper before it hits you suddenly and you're gone. Mind blank, legs shaking, body convulsing and hands almost painfully tugging at his hair as you have the orgasm of your life.
He groans when he feels your fingers pulling on his curls and your clit throbbing underneath his tongue, his eyes fixated on your pretty face all twisted and scrunched in almost painful pleasure as he breaks you apart. His fingers getting soaked inside you, your walls gripping him so tightly he can't even pump his fingers, just continuously pressing against your sweetest spot until you finally begin to come down.
"Joel! Joel! God! Joel!" You desperately pull him up onto you, holding tightly onto him, kissing his lips with more need and passion than ever before, tears flowing out of your eyes not only because of the overwhelming feelings he just made you feel, but mostly because you still can't process this is real.
You're not dreaming. This is not one of those dreams. He's here. With you. In your bed. His fingers inside you. He's finally yours again.
"Shhh... It's ok. I got you." He whispers when he breathlessly pulls back, kissing your neck, giving you time to recover and catch your breath.
"Joel..." You whimper against his neck.
"I'm right here, darling. You did so good for me again, my baby." He soothingly caresses your hair. "You always do..." He kisses your shoulder.
"That..." You say breathlessly. "I want you to do that again." You say, giggling a silly giggle as your brain starts to regain its shape.
He chuckles, pepering tender kisses all over your shoulder, collarbones, neck and jaw.
"I'm still gonna make you feel even better than that, baby." He whispers in your ears, his breath tickling your neck, making you laugh and get covered in goosebumps. "Over and over again. Until you get tired of me." He promises.
"Then you won't ever stop." You purr back, caressing his beard and his cheek tenderly, enjoying the feeling of having him in your arms again.
"We've got the rest of our lives for that." He smiles, leaning in for a sweet and slow kiss, his weight pushing you deeper onto the mattress, making you moan and pull him even lower onto you, your hands on his back, tugging at his shirt and squeezing his muscles.
"Can I do it now?" You break the kiss when you feel his bulge pressing against your thigh.
"Angel..." He says softly, kissing your jaw.
"Please, Joel... Just a little bit... I wanna see you again... I thought so much about holding you again..." You whisper, your hand moving down his stomach, testing his resistance.
He presses his thumb against your lower lip as is trying to shush you, pressing against it, caressing it. You don't hesitate in kissing it and licking it gently, swirling your tongue around his digit, and he presses his thumb against your tongue, pushing it inside your mouth. You invitingly part your lips and suckle around his thumb, swirling your tongue around it, watching his face; his eyelids heavy, his lips parted and his breathing heavy. He pulls his thumb back, a thin thread of saliva connecting his thumb to your pink and wet lips.
"Fuck..." He growls breathlessly. He just really can't say no to you. He sits down beside you, patting the mattress between his legs. "Come here, baby." His raspy voice calls, and you don't hesitate, quickly dropping to the floor between his legs. "Listen!" He warns softly before you reach for his belt, and you retract your hands, his hand gripping your chin firmly. "No mouth unless I say so." He sternly says, his mind reeling on the sight of your pink and wet lips around his thumb.
"Joel...!" You whine, frowning in frustration, sitting back on your heels, your hands resting on your thighs. He only looks down at you, his eyes serious and stern.
"No mouth or nothing at all." He says, and you frown.
"Alright." You mumble, making him smile.
"There's my good girl." He says, running his thumb on your cheek before placing his hands beside him to support himself. "Take my pants off, baby." He instructs softly.
You decide to first untie his boots, carefully removing them from his tired and calloused feet, hearing him groan in relief. You remove his socks too before undoing his zíper, your fingers curling underneath the waistband of his jeans and boxers down his legs before looking back up at his cock.
His throbbing, hard and aching cock. Aching for you. For more of you than he'd admit right now. For all of you.
You smile up at him, waiting for his permission to touch him, and he smiles down at you.
"Go on, baby. It's yours." He says, his voice affected by lust and affection as he gives himself to you.
"It's mine?" You whisper, shooting him a tender and playful smile as you loosely wrap your fingers around him, frowning when you feel how hard and warm he is, how tender his skin is despite how really hard he is in his center. Just like you remembered.
God, you missed him.
His pink and glistening tip, his thick and towering length, his vein that travels from his base all the way to his tip, his foreskin involving his tip, his balls heavy with everything you can't wait to begin craving.
"All yours, baby. It likes you. Missed you." He smiles down at you, and you can feel your cheeks a little warmer.
"I like it too. Missed it too." You whisper before stroking him slowly and gently, getting used again to how he feels in your hands.
"I can tell, baby..." He whispers, looking down at you. "Remember how you did it that time in the bathroom?" He asks softly, gently fixing your hair behind your shoulders.
"Uhum". You nod.
"Good. Do it just like that. Slow at first, then faster." He instructs softly, and you smile up at him.
You grip him a bit tighter and move your hand slowly, making him grunt. You watch how his foreskin moves along with your hands, covering and uncovering his tip, his precum pooling in his tip as he allows himself to be consumed by your touch. Your soft hands, your curious gaze and touch, how happy he is to have you again, to know you're his. To do this... And to see you everyday, to take care of you everyday, to kiss and hug you everyday. He moans and cups your cheek, tilting your face up as he leans in, his stomach pressing against your hand as he kisses you again. His lips desperate to never again forget what you taste like.
"You're so beautiful, my angel... You're so, so perfect for me." He says, his eyes travelling around your sweet and flustered face. "It's like you were made for me. Just for me, just so I could find you one day." He whispers.
The thought of being his, of your whole body belonging to him, your whole purpose to please and make him happy is more overwhelming than it should be, and it makes you purr in response. "Maybe I was." You say, making him smile and kiss your forehead before leaning back to give your hands more room to work.
"Maybe you were." He whispers tenderly.
You continue your steady movements, your eyes curiously watching him, and you feel your hands wet. You see his precum leaking out of him and you smear it all over his length, making him grunt as your hands slide easily along him, a wet sound filing your ears, making you lick your lips.
"Joel... Since it is mine...?" You ask sweetly, ready to beg for it if he says no.
"Guess I did say it." He sighs while he sits back. He's not strong enough for this. "It's yous, darling... You can do whatever you want with it." He gently pushes your hair behind your shoulders again, his cock throbbing with the ideas he knows you might have.
"I promise you wont regret it." You smile and lean in, smelling him curiously before gently kissing his very tip, your lips just ghostingly grazing his sensitive skin. He lets out a shaky breath when your warm breath hits his sensitive flesh, his eyelids fluttering closed.
"I know I won't, baby... I know I won't." He grunts quietly.
"Hmmm... Tastes like you." You purr, smiling up at him, your hand never stopping its slow and steady, tight pace on him.
"And is that good?" He chuckles softly.
"Uhum..." You lick it, earning a grunt from him. "Delicious." You purr before a long and firm swirl of your tongue around his head. "Hmmmm... Very, very delicious." You moan, twirling your tongue around him again, feeling how soft and wet the flesh of his tip is. Doing it just like that night, when he breathlessly called your name and let you taste him for the first time. "Better than I remembered."
"God... That's... Jesus, angel... Don't tease me like that..." He groans, and you frown.
"I'm not teasing you." You say, licking him again.
"But you are." He pants.
"I just like kissing it." You whisper with a sly smile, and he frowns.
"Yeah, baby. I... God, I like it too. But I need more, I've waited long enough." He growls, trying to keep himself together, his body desperate for more.
"Teach me how to give you more." You whisper.
Jesus Christ.
"Suck on it, baby. Go slow, not too deep. Do it like you were doing with your tongue, but sucking on it at the same time." He instructs breathlessly.
"Ok." You say before wrapping your soft lips around his throbbing tip again, this time sucking and licking simultaneously, earring a grunt.
"Good, just like that." He praises. "Don't forget your hand." He says, gently wrapping his large ones around yours, and you begin moving it up and down his length, moving your wrists at slightly different paces to increase his sensations. "Good job... Fuck... Just like that." He moans, his hands moving along with yours, their warmth reassuring and comforting.
You continue giving him more, gently suckling on his tip, enjoying the feeling of it against your lips and tongue, the curves of the underside of it, the warmth and taste, how wet and how soft it feels. You lock your lips around it and swirl your tongue around the head, and he moans when the underside of your tongue slides over his aching tip.
"Holy shit... Baby..." He pants, trying not to stop your exploration, even though he wants nothing more than to hold your head and relieve himself. Instead, he looks down at you, reminding himself that it is you, your mouth, your first time doing it, and his hand tenderly tangle on your hair as you continue getting to know him once again.
The feeling of his hand in your hair is soothing and reassuring. It makes you go deeper, taking him halfway through and sucking with your whole mouth, closing your eyes at the feeling of him inside your mouth, your tongue sliding along his underside, exploring a vein that's pulsing against your touch.
"Oh, baby... Fuck, that's it." He moans breathlessly in response, his hand unconciously tugging gently at your hair. "Try hollowing your cheeks now." He commands with a smooth voice.
You do it and as he occupies your whole mouth, for a sweet moment it's almost like the rest of him is gone. All but his cock in your mouth and his hand in your hair. The feeling of his warm, tender and hard flesh in your mouth is foreign yet familiar, like you've imagined it for so long that it's like you've always had it. Like you were always meant to have him.
"You're doing so good, baby... So fucking good for me." He praises, looking adoringly down at you, his face slightly flushed and covered in a thin layer of sweat. He looks Godly, he looks happy and satisfied, and it makes you want to take him in even deeper, to please him even more, so you do, your eyes locked on his.
The sounds he makes in response and the way his face contorted when he hit the back of your throat made you wanna take even more of him, let him fill your mouth. And the way he pulled on your hair and growled when you did it made you wanna do it again, and again, and again...
"Baby...! Fuck...!" He grunts, his voice strangled, unable to tell you to slow down, his chest and stomach rising and falling heavily with every movement of your mouth on him. The sight of how you were affecting him made you hungry for more, it made you want to take him even deeper and even harder, so you go, and you accidentally gag around him, your vision going pitch black for a second.
His hands tighten around yours, pulling himself out of your mouth as you gasp for air. He looks down at you, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pierced together in concern.
"Angel, hey, baby." He says softly, calling you by your name as well, holding your shoulders to keep you back, and you sit on your heels, looking up at him with red and watery eyes. "Hey, look at me, don't do that, darling." He says, shaking his head while cupping your face and using his thumb to gently clean the precum and saliva dripping down your chin.
"But I wanted to..." You purr, looking up at him, your cheeks burning at your own eagerness. "Did I hurt you?" You ask, your eyes wide with the innocent worry.
He chuckles in response, his gorgeous face lightening up. "You didn't hurt me, baby, no." He fixes your hair. "But you're not ready for that yet. You're learning and you gotta go slow." He explains softly, kissing your forehead.
"Slowly. Alright." You agree before reaching back for him, stroking him slowly and tight.
"See? That feels good already, baby... As long as it's you doing it... It'll always feel good enough." He kisses your swollen lips tenderly. "No going too deep for now, alright? Or I won't let you do it anymore." He smiles softly despite his warning.
"Uhum." You nod before leaning back in, stroking him and cupping his balls.
"Oh... Careful with those, baby..." He says softly, an you gently soften your grip, just rolling them around in your hand.
"Does it feel good when I touch them?" You whisper, and he frowns at the question.
"Yes... Yes, baby. It feels really good when you touch them." He breathes, his voice restrained. "It'd feel really good if you sucked on them too." He pants, giving in to his desires. "Nice and gentle." He instructs.
You smile and take one of them in your mouth, making him hiss, his hand returning to your hair. You suck gently on it, rolling it around your tongue and feeling how it feels underneath the skin, how squishy it feels, how you can feel their outline underneath the stretchy and cool skin. He grunts and moans in response, unable to hide how your curious exploration affects him anymore.
You kiss your way up from his balls to his cock, licking and sucking gently on his base, your hand working near his tip as you place open mouthed kisses along his length.
"Baby... God..." He pants, the way you're so curious to tasting and exploring him makes him feel like he's about to lose his mind and his self-control. "Lick it for me, baby. Suck on it." He groans.
You listen and slide your parted lips up his side, your tongue drawing a wet line across him, making him buckle his hips involuntarily. You begin moving the same way up and down, parted lips and tongue tasting him while your lips suck along his length, paying special attention near his tip.
You suck his tip into your mouth before sliding your lips down, his tip pressing onto the side of your cheek and popping off with a wet "bop" that makes him moan.
"Fuck, that feels so good, baby." He chuckles, caught off guard, and you notice how much he enjoyed it, so you do it again, taking his tip in your mouth an sliding your lips sidesways towards his base, his tip once again pressing against your cheek before popping off, making him pull at your hair.
You moan and suck his head back inside your mouth, whimpering around him, your mouth eager to make him feel good and get the same reactions and sounds out of him as you grow more confident with your touch.
You look up at him, watching how you're affecting him, his chest rising and falling heavily, his lips parted, his eyes closed and his eyebrows furrowed.
The sight is too Godly to resist, so while you suck and Bob your head hungrily around him, you let your hands wander up his stomach and chest, your fingers clawing on his shirt and trying to tug at his skin. Instinctively, he leans back, giving you more room to explore his body as his eyes open to look down at you and his fingers draw soothing and tender circles in your scalp, just above the nape of your neck.
Your hands reach underneath his shirt, touching his sturdy and large torso, gripping his skin and moaning at how good he feels under your fingers. How good his belly feels to hold onto.
He takes one of your hands and squeezes it, his eyes closed in bliss, his eyebrows furrowing every time you swallow what's building up in your mouth and squeeze him a bit in against your lips.
"You're perfect, baby... You're doing it so good for me... Making me feel so good..." He praises, and the confirmation that you're making him feel good ignites the same need that you had before, making you want to go deeper, harder, faster and make his eyes roll back the same way he makes yours. "Let some leak down and use it to move your hands." He instructs, and you let some of his precum and your drool wet his cock.
"So messy..." You mumble around him, looking up at him, and he chuckles.
"Messy is good when you're doing this, baby. Messy feels very good." He explains.
"Hmmmmm..." You moan around him, taking your hands back to his cock and twisting your wrists, his foreskin moving under your wet palms and fingertips as the friction of your hands along with your mouth tightly enclosing around his tip make his hips buckle up, a hiss leaving his lips.
"Fuck... You... You figured all that rest yourself, baby?" He grunts, trying to hold his sensations back and let you enjoy yourself as he shifts his hips, trying to regain some control.
"Uhum." You nod around him, your tongue twirling on his sensitive and leaking tip as you caress him with the underside of your tongue, seeking the same reactions.
"Holy shit. Baby... I'm... Trying but... You're... Fuck... You're gonna have to stop." He pants, the desperation in his voice as he tries to hold back and last more almost making you laugh.
The sight of this big and strong man crumbling under your touch is new and exciting, making you feel powerful and...
Like a woman...?
The realization that his pleasure, his release is under your mercy makes you slow down and harden your movements, exactly like you do to yourself to prolong the feeling of being on the edge.
"Baby... God..." He looks for divine mercy, his eyes locked on the roof as you test his boundaries and limits, as you see how far you can take him before he loses control. "Please, my baby... Just... I need it. I need you." He pants, his eyes now glued to yours, the vulnerability and the honesty with which he gives himself to you makes you fasten your tongue around his tip and stroke him tighter, slowly increasing your hands speed. "Arrnh!" He groans. "Yes, baby, just like that, feels so fucking good."
His response makes you grow more confident, closing your eyes and doing what instinctively feels right to you. Hands tighter and faster with each stroke, lips wrapped underneath his head and tongue twirling and moving up and down, pushing against his urethra.
"Aaaargh! Baby... Pull back... Pull back, fuck..." You hear him grunting almost like he's in pain, and as you open your eyes, the sight makes you moan.
His hair disheveled, his gorgeous face scrunched and pained, his teeth clenched together, his eyes heavy and dark, his neck red, that one vein one second away from exploding. You continue, doing what you think is gonna make him feel even better, hollowing your mouth and suckling on his tip, just like he taught you, and his mouth falls open with a silent gasp, his eyes scrunched together.
"Baby... Pull... Back..." His stern voice sounds more like a pleading as he tries to get you to back off so he can finally let go, but instead, you begin sucking even harder around his tip, almost like you're trying to drink from him.
And he can't hold back anymore. He snaps, his hand tugging hard on your hair, so hard you whimper and furrow your brows, making him tug at your sheets instead, his grip so tight that his knuckles turn white and he pulls the sheets from underneath the mattress, his hips buckling up against his will, pushing more of himself into your mouth as you greedily lock your lips around him and drink every last drop that he gives you, sucking and stroking him progressively more gently and slowly as he comes down from his high.
"Aaaaah!" He pants and gasps for air when you let go of his still semi hard but utterly worn out cock, his arms threatening to give up underneath him as he looks down at you, his eyes hazed and filled with satisfaction and awe. "Baby that was... Amazing... You did so good, my baby, such a good fucking girl for me." He praises, too weak to do much more, and you smile up at him, proud of yourself for making him feel like this.
You climb up his body, and he lays back down, his hands on your waist and hips as you lay your naked body on top of his clothed torso, looking up at his blissful face. All of his wrinkles and the usual stressed frown between his eyebrows gone with the attention you just gave him, his eyes closed and his lips parted as he catches his breath.
"I told you you wouldn't regret it." You whisper, kissing his jaw.
"Regret it? Fuck... Baby... I... Why do you think I've never let you do this before?" He chuckles.
"Why?" You ask playfully, playing with the buttons of his flannel.
"Because I knew you'd make me feel so good, baby." He smiles. "I don't know what I did to deserve you. But I'm also not about to start questioning it and make God realize he sent you to the wrong motherfucker and take you away from me again." He chuckles.
You giggle and snuggle closer to him, letting go of your weight and feeling his body moving with his heavy breathing, the movement soothing you, like you're swimming in a sea of Joel Miller.
"Joel...?" You say quietly as you two just breathe and enjoy the warmth of one another.
"Yes, baby?" He whispers back, his hands caressing your back and holding you close.
"We need to take a shower... And put some clothes on." You say softly, lifting yourself and looking down at him, his face relaxed and almost silly, his eyes as soft and happy as always when they're looking at you.
"Guess we do." He smiles, pulling you down for a kiss, tongue tracing your lips before you grant him entrance and he deepens the kiss with renewed passion and tenderness. "I love you." He whispers against your lips, the words rolling easily from his lips, as if he's said them multiple times when you weren't there to hear it.
You pull back, looking into his eyes as he smiles at you. "I love you too." You whisper, your eyes welling up. "I love you, Joel." You repeat, smiling widely, and he flips you both around, his body hovering above yours.
"I love you, my precious angel... And finally you're with me to hear me say it." His eyes water. "I said it so many times... Looking at the picture you gave me... With that pretty smile... I couldn't stop thinking about you." He says, his voice loving and vulnerable.
"I waited for you to come back. Every single day, until yesterday..." Your voice breaks. "... I spent the sunsets looking at the gates, hoping I'd see you walk in again." You cry softly. "And I'd keep doing it. Eery single day... I'd always wait for you." You purr, and he cups your cheek that way, his thumb caressing the soft skin underneath your eyes as his other fingers wrap around your ear, his gaze loving and tender.
"And I always asked Frank about you. When he was the one on the radio I'd always sneak in and ask about you. I always made Tess ask about you. She said you were always on your porch," He smiles. "looking beyond the gates, trying to see me... I felt so bad, baby." He cries, looking down at you, his lips trembling.
There's the vulnerability that only shows up when you're around.
"Joel..." You whisper, cradling his face, trying to soothe him.
"You didn't deserve to go through any of that... Any of that." He says, his eyes closed in shame.
"Joel... Baby... Look at me, please." You purr sweetly, gently squeezing his face so he looks at you. "I'll tell you what I told my dad." You sigh to calm yourself down before speaking. "I only hurt the way I did for you because I love you. Because you mean so much to me. And I don't regret a thing. Not even the pain I felt. Because now that I have you... The pain is gone, and I know what I feel for you is real, because the pain I felt was real. And I'll never feel that pain again as long as I have you." You say tenderly, and he kisses you again, his mouth silently pouring all the pretty words he can't formulate to express just how much he loves you, just how much he feels for you as he finally allows the roots and branches inside his chest to grow and flourish, to set themselves now that he knows you're his forever, and he can almost feel his chest expanding just to fit all these new feelings you're sowing on his heart.
"You're my everything." He whispers lovingly. "You make me happy in a way I thought I'd never be again. In a way I know I don't deserve to be." He says weakly. "But you make me feel like I'm worthy of it." He cries. "Because if such a sweet and special angel like you can see through me, can love me... Then I'll try everyday to be the man you deserve." He says, and you smile.
"You already are the man I deserve, Joel. You're the man I want. The man I love. And I'm so glad you were the one to visit us. I'm so glad you found me." You say lovingly, and he kisses you again, his hands squeezing and caressing your soft skin as he tries to convince himself that he's not dreaming with you again.
"I wanna hold you all night long." He whispers against you lips.
"You can hold me under a warm shower first." You whisper, smiling, and he smiles back, getting off the bed and pulling you up to your feet as well.
You gently undo the buttons of his shirt and pull if off him, seeing his strong and sturdy torso again, remembering how good he looked that day, the water droplets glistening in his chest and stomach. You slowly run your hands up his arms, kissing the little "v" shape between his collarbones, and he groans softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.
"Angel..." He whispers, gently tangling his hand on the hair on the back of your head and making you look up at him. "We've got the rest of our lives for that..." He kisses you gently, just a peck before he guides you to your bathroom, turning the shower on to let it warm up and watching you stand in front of the sink, looking at yourself in the mirror as you remove the ribbons from your hair.
He comes behind you, wrapping his big arms around your naked body and pressing his own skin against your back, just kissing your shoulder and caressing your stomach and your sides, his touch gentle but still possessive.
"It's gonna be good, I think." You smile, looking at his reflection in the mirror, caressing his arms.
"What's gonna be good?" He smiles, looking at your reflection, his chin resting on your shoulder.
"Spending the rest of our lives together." You say lovingly, and he chuckles.
"I couldn't make better plans myself." He kisses your neck before pulling back to check the water. "Come on. It's nice." He smiles at you, offering his hand, so you tie your hair up and join him.
He envelops you in his embrace, the warm and soothing water calming your muscles and soothing your mind as he gently washes your body, holding you with your back close to his chest, his touch feather light, careful around your most sensitive areas, and still your body jolts slightly when you feel his rough fingers.
Then you wash him too. His back, his neck, his chest, his stomach, his legs. He only doesn't let you wash his cock "To avoid not going straight to bed." According to him.
He wraps you in your towel and grabs one for himself. You both walk back into your room, and you put on a pair of pink pajamas with red hearts. He dresses something out of his backpack, just a plain t-shirt and some boxers.
You lay down and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest and caressing your hair.
"Promise I won't just wake up tomorrow and this is gonna have been a dream?" You whisper, and he smiles.
"Only if you promise me I won't wake up in the QZ without you again." He says.
"I promise." You whisper. "You're not going anywhere, and even if you went, I'd go with you... You're mine." You smile against his lips.
"I'd never take you out of here, my angel..." He says lovingly. "But I promise I'd always find my way back to you."
You kiss him again, a more simple and intimate kiss, the type of kiss that says a lot without doing much, and he holds you close with his large and warm hand on the nape of your neck, not wanting to lose your warmth just yet.
"I love you, Joel." You whisper again. You're never gonna get tired of repeating it.
"I love you, my angel... my baby... my..." He finishes with your name, his voice as soft as ever, and you nestle even closer to him, feeling safe, loved and happy in the arms of the man you longed for so many nights. Indulging in the warmth you missed so much, a warmth that no blanket could replicate as you shivered, falling asleep with his name on your lips and your eyes wet.
"Goodnight, Joel." You whisper against his chest.
"Goodnight, my angel." He whispers back, kissing your forehead and sighing in happiness. His chest full again for the first time in... Twenty years.
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Finally!!!
Finally I was happy and proud of this, and finally it is yours! I'm once again so, so happy and so grateful for each and every single one of you who supported me through this year and a bit that I'm around here. This story is over a year old, which just comes to show how patient you all are and how much we love Joel Miller 🤧
I'm really honoured and happy to have received every message, every comment, every like and every reblog in this series. I hold it really kind to my heart (I wish I could show it to my friends) and having you to share it with means the world to me.
I love you all and I hope this met your expectations 🩷
See ya 🩷🎀
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fanfictionalraven · 8 months ago
Text
Right Where You Left Me
Title: Right Where You Left Me
Summary: The reader, a waitress at the local diner, has become good friends with Dean. What happens when he disappears without a trace?
Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Castiel
Word Count: 7,309
Warnings: Canon typical violence and peril
Author's Note: This story takes place through the events of the second half of season 12, starting with episode 9 "First Blood". It's also the first story I've actually written and published in nearly 6 years, so grant me a little grace please. Enjoy!!
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“Ma’am? Ma’am?” A voice says. You snap from your thoughts and look at the people sitting at the table in front of you. You’d gotten distracted by the bell at the door, a new customer coming in. Not the one you were looking for though. Putting on your best smile, you shake your head slightly. 
“I’m so sorry. Where were we?” You ask, glancing at the notepad in your hand.
“We were trying to ask you about the pie of the day,” the woman says. You nod and try not to sigh.
“Cherry,” you tell her. Dean’s favorite. They order two slices which you deliver to them quickly before going into the kitchen. “Stew, I’m taking a 10,” you announce to the cook. He waves a hand at you and glances at the clock.
“Make it 5,” he shouts as you slip out the back door. Leaning against the wall with a sigh, you slip the brace off of your wrist and roll the sore joint slowly, wincing. 
“This job,” you mumble before pulling your phone from your apron. Going into your recent calls, you hit the name at the top. Dean. He wasn’t going to answer. He hadn’t in weeks after all, calls or texts. It rings…and rings…and rings. Just as you’re about to give up, the final ring is cut off.
“Hello?” A woman’s voice asks, curiously. Confusion and a million unpleasant thoughts sweep over you in an instant.
“I’m sorry. I was trying to reach Dean,” you say.
“This is his phone. At least, I think it is…who is this?” She asks. You sigh and run a hand over your face.
“My name’s Y/N. I…I work at a diner and Dean’s one of my regulars. I haven’t seen him in a while and…I was worried,” you tell her. You can hear the confusion in her voice when she responds.
“A waitress who has her customer’s numbers and calls to check up on them?” She asks.
“No. Well…yes, but…Dean’s more than just a customer,” you say.
“What exactly is Dean then?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. What is Dean? That was the very question you’d spent countless nights asking yourself.
When Dean had first wandered into the diner and sat in your section, he was just another tip. Sure, the two of you had flirted but, to be honest, you flirted with most of your customers. You had bills to pay after all. He came back the very next night, claiming the pie had just been too good. On his fifth visit to the diner, he wandered in just as you clocked out and invited you to join him. You sat in that booth across from him for hours, laughing and talking. At the end of his seventh trip, you slipped your phone number to him on the back of his bill. He’d called you before his car was even out of the parking lot.
That was nearly a year ago and the two of you talked and texted regularly ever since. Sure, he’d go silent for a little while but then he’d saunter into the diner, give you a crooked smile, and ask for the pie of the day. Throughout that year, the two of you flirted, laughed, and teased each other.  There had been a few occasions when he’d catch you as you were leaving, place a to-go order, and then you’d ride in his car out to some deserted spot to talk and eat. You’d gotten to know each other intimately. In an emotional sense that is. Dean always kept you at arm’s length. He’d never asked you on a real date. Your coworkers insisted he was probably married and just stringing you along. And now some strange woman was answering his phone and…
“Y/N?” The woman on the line says.
“Sorry. A friend. Dean’s…a really good friend,” you tell her. “Can I ask who you are?”
“I’m Mary,” she starts and you immediately let out a heavy sigh.
“His mother. Of course,” you breathe with relief.
“Yes,” she says, slightly surprised.
“He’s talked about you a lot. Where is Dean?” You ask. Now, it was Mary’s turn to sigh.
“We don’t know,” she tells you.
“What?” You ask. “It’s his job, isn’t it?” You didn’t know exactly what Dean did but he’d come into the diner beaten and bruised on a few occasions.
“Well…yes,” she says.
“Have you called the police?”
“Y/N, break’s over,” Stew calls from the back door.
“Give me a minute!!” You yell to him. He grumbles and slams the door shut. “You have called the police, right, Mary?”
“That’s not exactly an option,” she says, slowly.
“Well…what about Sam? Or…or Cas?” You ask. There’s the briefest of pauses.
“I’m…I’m here with Mary,” a second voice says.
“And Sam was with Dean,” Mary adds. Cas was there as well, listening to your conversation. You frown and pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to think.
“I want to help,” you tell them.
“I’m sorry, Y/N but…we don’t even know you,” she says.
“Well, then, come meet me. I get off at 8:00,” you say before giving her the address for the diner. “If you don’t show up, I’ll call the police and report them missing myself.”
“We’ll be there,” Mary says before disconnecting the line. You slip the phone back into your apron pocket and run your hands over your face. Sliding the brace back onto your wrist, you head back into the diner.
The rest of your shift drags on slowly. You don’t make nearly as much as you could have on tips, your normal perky personality absent. At 8:15, you finally manage to clock out, throwing your apron into the dirty linens bag. You rush out the front door and look around, phone in hand. The front doors of an unfamiliar car open at the same time. Mary, you recognize her from the old pictures Dean had shown you, gets out of the driver’s side, and the man you assume to be Cas gets out as well.
“Y/N?” Mary asks, watching you. You nod and rush over to the two of them.
“While I wish it was under different circumstances, it’s nice to finally meet you both,” you tell them, holding a hand out. Mary gives you a quick once over before placing her hand in yours.
“I wish I could say the same but…”
“Dean never mentioned me,” you say. It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact. You’d often wondered and now you knew for sure. You were a secret.
“So, what exactly do you know about their work?” Mary asks. You frown and shrug.
“Not much. I figure…best case, CIA…worst case, I dunno…the mafia,” you say, more than a little embarrassed. Mary smiles a little and looks down at the ground.
“Not exactly. It’s a bit more freelance than that,” she says.
“Like a bounty hunter?” You ask. Mary shakes her head, looking around.
“I’d rather not discuss it here. Would you be willing to go back to the bun…where the boys live and talk there?” She asks. 
“Of course,” you agree, immediately.
***
Never get in the car with strangers. The age old advice rang through your ears as you rode in the back seat to wherever Mary and Cas were taking you. Of course, these two weren’t exactly strangers. They were at least Dean’s mother and best friend. You truly felt like you actually knew them with how much he’d talked about them.
Mary continues to drive as you watch the cityscape disappear. It isn’t too long before she’s pulling onto a desolate looking road. The road leads into a dark tunnel, only lit by the headlights of Mary’s car. Your eyes have to readjust when she pulls into a much more brightly lit area. Looking around, you find a room that appears to be a garage holding several very old cars. This much at least screamed Dean, relaxing you a little.
“You said they live here?” You ask, trying to wrap your mind around that statement.
“Yes. It’s an old bunker. Used to be home to a secret society, the Men of Letters,” she tells you. You nod and try to keep your face in check. You can feel her watching you in the rearview mirror.
“Are they in this secret society then? You ask as she parks the car.
“No,” she answers. “It died out in America decades ago. There is still an active branch in London though.”
“Douchebags,” Cas mutters. You both look at him and he glances between the two of you. “That’s what Dean calls them.” You let out a small laugh as the three of you get out of the car. Mary leads the way through the bunker quietly. You follow, looking around and trying to take in as much as you can. She leads the two of you into what you assume is a library given the shelves of books all along the walls.
“You drink?” She asks, holding up a bottle of brown liquid. You nod as you take a seat at the table. Admittedly, you were more of a wine drinker but you felt the impending conversation would require something stronger. Mary pours two glasses and sets one in front of you before walking around to the other side of the table. She takes the seat opposite you and looks at the glass, swirling it slightly. “You sure about this, Y/N? Once you know the truth, leaving it behind can be pretty difficult.”
“Please,” is all you manage to say. She nods and throws her drink back quickly.
“Alright,” she starts. “I come from a long line of hunters. Not the kind you’re thinking of. My family hunted monsters. Ghosts, demons, witches, vampires.” You strive to keep your face in check as you take a slow drink. This was not what you were expecting at all.  “When I was 19, dating John, the boys’ father, a demon killed him and my parents. He offered me a deal. He would bring John back and we could live a normal life, as long as I gave him permission to enter my home in 10 years. I was suddenly alone and holding the dead body of the love of my life. I agreed. Ten years later, he entered my home and killed me. John took the boys on the road and they became hunters as well.”
Mary stops as you stand slowly and make your way over to the bottle she had used earlier. With shaking hands, you refill your glass before downing it quickly. This was insane. Mary was insane. There was no way this was real.
“Mary…I…you really expect me to believe all this?” You ask, looking back at her now. She shrugs slightly and looks at Cas. You’d forgotten he was even there. He’d been leaning against a bookshelf behind her, watching you. You look at him as he starts to make his way around the table towards you.
Panic quickly rises in your throat and you have to remind yourself that these are Dean’s people. At least…you’re fairly certain they are. You’d never seen pictures of Cas and the only ones you had seen of Mary were from when Dean was just a child. Now, this strange woman was trying to convince you that monsters were real and your friend hunted them for a living. Cas stops next to you and looks down at your hand.
“Why are you wearing that brace?” He asks. You blink, surprised. You’d half expected him to knock you unconscious.
“I, ummm…” You hold it up and shake your head. “Carpal Tunnel from work.” Cas nods and briefly touches two fingers to your forehead before you can even register the movement.
“You won’t need it anymore,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief before taking the brace off. For the first time in a long time, you don’t feel any pain as you roll your wrist in every direction. You look back up at Cas and then at Mary. She smiles and shrugs.
“Angel,” she says. You know the shock is clear all over your face as Cas helps you back to your seat. The three of you sit in silence for a little while as you process all of this information. You’re grateful for the time they give you.
“You, ummm…” You stop and look at Mary. “You said you died.” She runs a hand across her forehead and looks at you, debating on if you’re prepared for more information. You give her the best reassuring smile you can manage at the moment.
“God’s sister brought me back as a thank you gift to Dean and Sam for helping her reunite with her brother,” she says. You’re absolutely certain your jaw hits the table. 
“Well…that was…nice,” you manage. “And they were on a…a hunt when they disappeared?”
“Lucifer had possessed the president of the United States,” Cas starts. “We were going to exorcise him and return him to his cage in hell.”
“Oh my god,” you mumble, immediately beginning to massage your temples. “This is…this is a lot.”
“Now you know why Dean never told you,” Mary says. You nod, still attempting to rub away the migraine threatening to explode behind your eyes.
“I, ummm…can I take a walk?” You ask. Mary nods, smiling a little. You hoped you were handling this better than she expected. You’re still shaking as you rise from your seat again and make your way down one of the hallways. Your mind thinks back over things Dean had mentioned about his work and, frankly, it lined up. He’d never given you a lot of details but now it was starting to make sense.
You stop in the middle of the hallway and glance around. Your curiosity gets the better of you causing you to push open the door in front of you. It was a bedroom, modestly decorated. You make your way into the room and find a familiar picture sitting on the bedside table. It was the photo Dean had shown you of him and his mother. Glancing around the room, you surmise that it must be his room.
You pull open the drawer of the bedside table and gasp. Inside you find several things, another gun, a handful of credit cards, and fake ID’s. But the most surprising thing was sitting right on top. You gingerly pick up the picture and can’t help but smile. It’s of you, sitting in the front seat of Dean’s car, laughing. You remembered when he’d taken it, one of the many nights you’d spent talking. You didn’t realize he’d had it printed and kept it so close. Maybe you were more than just a secret.
“Y/N?” Mary asks from the doorway. You look up at her and she smiles. “I was getting ready to head out when you called, a vampire thing in Missouri. Cas said he’d take you back.”
“Thank you for being honest with me,” you tell her. She nods once and leaves you alone.
The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You call Stew and make up a story about a death in the family out of state, telling him you’ll need a week or two off. He reluctantly agrees. You stay at the bunker with Cas after that. Your days are spent diving into the lore books in the old bunker, learning anything and everything you can. Cas teaches you how to do “research”, showing you how to tell the difference between normal weird and supernatural weird. He shows you one of the spare bedrooms but you end up sleeping in Dean’s room instead. 
The two of you are making your way to the library when you hear Cas’s phone ringing. He rushes ahead to answer it and you go over to a new shelf to find something else to study.
“What?” He answers the phone. “Dean?” The book you’d picked out slips from your hand and you rush to his side. “What, what happened? Wh-where are you?” You stare at him, tears stinging your eyes. He grabs a pen and pad off the table and quickly jots down a note. Rocky Mountain National Park. State Route 34. “Yes. – Wait, where? – Wait, what does that…” Cas sighs and sets the phone down, frowning.
“What did he say?? Are they okay??” You ask. He glances at you and shrugs.
“He sounded rushed. Like they were being chased,” he says. You nod and pick up the notepad, trying to hide the rush of emotions you were feeling.
“We’ve got to call Mary. Meet up with her and get to Colorado,” you tell him. He looks at you quickly and frowns.
“No, Y/N. It’s too dangerous for you to come along,” he says, taking the notepad. You shake your head, tears falling freely as you look up at the angel.
“Cas, please,” you beg. His resolve breaks instantly and he sighs, picking his phone back up.
“Dean would not approve,” he mumbles before calling Mary.
The two of you pull into a parking lot several hours later. Mary’s car is already sitting, waiting. She gets out and clenches her jaw when she sees you rise from the passenger side of Cas’s car.
“You got here quickly,” Cas remarks. Mary nods, eyes fixed on you.
“Yep. What the hell is she doing here??” She asks. Cas sighs and looks over at you.
“Mary, please. I won’t get in the way, I swear,” you tell her. Frowning, she shakes her head, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders.
“Y/N, it’s not about you being in the way. We have no idea what we’re walking into. I’m more worried about you getting hurt and what that would do to Dean,” she says. Swallowing hard, you set your jaw. Mary wasn’t going to see you cry too.
“Please. I have to be there. I need to see him with my own eyes,” you plead. She watches you for a moment, debating internally.
“Dean’s gonna kill us,” she says before turning to Cas. “We may want backup.”
“Crowley and Rowena?” He asks. She scoffs and you glance between them.
“The King of Hell and his mother, the witch?” She asks. You frown and shake your head.
“I don’t like the sound of that,” you comment. Mary smiles a little and looks at Cas.
“I hope we can do better than them.”
“I may have an idea,” he says. Mary nods and makes for the driver’s side of her own car.
“Good. Seat belts on. I drive fast,” she tells the two of you as you load into the car as well.
The British Men of Letters. That was Cas’s idea. Mary almost immediately pulls out, supposing “the demon and his mommy” don’t sound so bad anymore. You hang back, watching the situation unfold. The two Brits, Mick and Ketch from what you gather, offer their services seemingly free of charge. They make a few phone calls, getting access to a satellite of the area Dean had mentioned. Mary and Cas are able to deduce the direction they’re headed and a good spot to meet them.
The two cars move to the new location and you all unload once again. You look up at the night sky and think about the last night you’d spend with Dean. He’d picked you up from the diner at closing time and drove you out of town to a remote location. You’d both laid on the hood of the car, splitting the last of the pie of the day.
“Y/N,” Mary says, pulling you from your thoughts. You turn to face her and immediately launch into pleading again.
“Mary, please. I don’t want to wait here while you two go on…”
“Stop,” she says, holding her hand up. “That’s not what I was going to say. Dean’s already gonna be pissed we brought you. He’d kill us both if we left you with those two. Just stay close to us and if something goes wrong, run back here.” You manage a relieved smile and follow her and Cas further up into the woods.
The three of you come into a small clearing and it isn’t long before there’s a rustling in the brush. Cas and Mary both move into a defensive stance in front of you. You wring your hands as you wait. Cas takes a few steps closer to the noise just as Dean and Sam fall through the bushes. Your heart jumps into your throat at the sight of Dean and you almost break down crying right then.
“Sam, Dean,” Cas says, relieved. You can see the tension immediately leave Mary’s shoulders as she takes in the sight of her boys. Sam rises first and pulls Cas into a tight hug. His eyes land on Mary and he smiles.
“Mom,” he says, letting Cas go. He starts to make his way across the clearing towards her when you register the confusion on his face. Dean finally stands and hugs Cas as well. Sam pulls Mary into a tight embrace that she immediately returns. “Who’s this?” He asks.
“Y/N??” Dean’s voice rings across the clearing. You smile, swallowing back tears, and wave slightly. “The hell is she doing here??” His voice is thick with anger as he makes his way over to Mary. The venom in his words takes you by surprise. Mary raises her hands slightly.
“She was worried about you. Called your phone. I answered and she wanted to help,” she explains. You and Dean stand there, staring at each other. Dean’s eyes are full of a rage you can’t even begin to comprehend.
“How much do you know?” He asks.
“A lot more than I did a week ago,” you tell him. He shakes his head and looks to the sky before looking at his mother.
“Hey, Mom,” he mumbles, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a gasp of surprise and returns the embrace. Dean’s eyes never leave your face. “Let’s get out of here,” he says before walking straight past you.
You take a shaky breath and run your hands over your face. You had anticipated he’d be angry, of course. But you had hoped the joy of being together again would cancel that anger out at some point. Mary pats your shoulder before she starts to follow Dean. You debate on staying right there in the woods for a moment before falling in step behind them. Sam clears his throat slightly as you all walk.
“Mom, how did yall even find us?” He asks, attempting to break the tension.
“They helped,” she says, pointing to Mick and Ketch as they come into view.
“Dammit!! They know about her now too??” He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N, get in the car.” You stare at him in disbelief for a moment. “Car. Now,” he demands. You wipe at your eyes furiously as you storm back to Mary’s car. Sliding into the middle of the back seat, you realize for the first time that the Dean you knew and this Dean, the real Dean, may not be the same person.
The five of them talk for only a moment before coming to the car. Cas takes the passenger seat quickly and Dean doesn’t hide the dirty look he gives him. You shake your head, unable to believe that having to sit by you in the car was that unsettling. Had you misinterpreted your entire relationship? Sam gets in on your other side and smiles at you, awkwardly.
“Y/N, wasn’t it?” He asks. You look at him and smile bitterly.
“Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you Sam. I’ve heard so much about you. And don’t worry. I know the feeling can’t be mutual. You’ve never heard of me before, have you?” You ask, letting your anger burst out for a moment. Dean’s hand tightens into a fist on his leg as he stares out the window. Sam’s awkward smile becomes apologetic before Mary changes the subject, filling them in on everything they’d missed.
Mary continues to drive on into the night. You catch Sam and Dean both nervously glancing at the clock at the front of the car. They seem to only be getting more anxious as the minutes tick by.
“So wait, you're hunting?” Dean asks his mother. She glances back at him in the mirror and shrugs.
“A little bit,” she says. Sam smiles and shakes his head.
“Yea, I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he teases.
The exact second the clock switches over to 12:00, midnight, the car dies. Mary eases it onto a bridge as she tries the key again.
“It’s time,” Sam says, getting out of the car. You look at him then over at Dean.
“Stay in the car,” Dean tells you. Rolling your eyes, you slide out right behind him, tired of being ordered around tonight. The others all get out as well and look around, taking in their surroundings.
“What’s happening?” Mary asks.
“Yea, Dean. Sup?” A new voice says. You all look over to find a woman standing in the middle of the bridge. You look around, trying to figure out where she could have possibly come from. Dean takes an immediate step in front of you, shielding your entire body. Instinctively, you step closer to him, your hand coming to rest on his back, assuring him you were there and okay.
“Billie?” Mary asks, recognition and confusion mixed on her face.
“The reaper?” Cas asks. You close your eyes, trying to think back over your studies. It wasn’t one of things you’d become familiar with but gauging everyone’s reactions, this wasn’t a good thing.
“I don’t understand,” Mary says, shaking her head. Dean sighs and hangs his head.
“Mom, that place…there was only one way we were getting out of there, and that wasn’t breathing,” he starts to explain. You glance around at everyone and notice the horrified look on Cas’s face. “So I made a call.”
“Dean talked to her and then Billie came to talk to me,” Sam continues the story. “And we made a deal. We’d get to die and come back one more time, but in exchange…”
“Come midnight, a Winchester goes bye-bye. Like, permanently,” Billie says, smiling. “And that is something  I’ve been looking forward to for a long time.”
“No,” you whisper from behind Dean.
“Why would you –,” Mary starts.
“We were already dead,” Dean tells her. “Being locked in that cell with nothing…I’ve been to Hell. This was worse.”
“At least this way, one of us gets to keep fighting,” Sam finishes. You shake your head, taking a step away from Dean.
“No,” you say again. He looks over his shoulder at you and his anger has completely dissolved. “Dean, no.”
“Hi, Y/N,” Billie says, waving. You look at her in utter shock but Dean steps between the two of you again.
“Leave her out of this,” he growls.
“You don’t have to do this,” Cas says, shaking his head.
“Yea, they do,” Billie says. “We made a pact bound in blood, You break that, there’s consequences on a cosmic scale. So, who’s it gonna be?” She asks, looking between the brothers. Sam looks at Dean, then at you, and back to Dean who shakes his head.
“Me,” Mary says before either of them can answer. She turns to face Billie, pulling her handgun from her waistband. Sam and Dean both immediately object, stepping forward to stop her. Billie flings both of them away with a wave of her hand. You rush to Dean’s side and fall next to him, immediately checking him for injuries. He shakes his head and fights to rise to his feet again.
“You said come midnight, a Winchester dies?” Mary asks. “I’m a Winchester.”
“Works for me,” Billie says with a smile. Mary cocks the gun and raises it toward her head. Sam and Dean both object loudly again, fighting to get to her.
“I love you,” Mary sniffs. Just as she’s about to pull the trigger, a sharp pointed blade pierces through Billie’s chest from behind and she immediately falls dead. You stare in shock at the dead body lying before you. Cas stands over her, the blade in his hand dripping blood. Mary lowers her gun as Dean and Sam are finally able to get to their feet. Dean takes your hand, pulling you up as well. You begin to pale as you stare at the body.
“Cas, what have you done?” Dean asks, looking at his best friend in shock.
“What had to be done,” he says. “You know this world – this sad, doomed little world – it needs you…” Your ears begin to ring and you take a shaky step closer to Dean. His arm comes around your waist, eyes never leaving Cas as he continues to talk. Something about keeping all the Winchesters alive.
“Dean,” Mary says, pointing to you. “First dead body.” Dean looks down at you just as you go completely limp in his arms.
**
Dean runs his hands over his face before taking a long swig off his beer. A lot had happened in the last day; dying, coming back again, running, fighting for their lives, getting back to their family, you, Billie, you, Cas killing a reaper…you. That was really the only thing on his mind…you. He had so carefully built a relationship with you. A relationship based on half truths and secrets but a relationship nevertheless. Now, you knew the whole nasty truth. It was going to be Lisa all over again…
“Dean?” Mary asks, sticking her head into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder and smiles a little. “Can I join you?” Nodding, he points to the empty seat across from him. She walks over, taking the seat quietly. He stares at the bottle in his hands. “Dean…”
“You shouldn’t have told her,” he tells her firmly. “It wasn’t your place. I didn’t want her to know. She was safer not knowing. Now…I’ll never see her again.”
“What? Why?” Mary asks, confused. Dean stands and throws his empty bottle into the trash.
“To keep her safe!!” He snaps, spinning on her angrily. “People around me don’t hang around too long. They either run or they die. It’s as simple as that. Especially the ones who mean the most to me. And she means…” He stops abruptly, emotion closing up his throat. Mary frowns as she stands and walks over to him.
“It only seems that way, Dean. Y/N, she’s…she’s strong. She took everything I told her in stride and she stayed. She stayed here with Cas and she’s been learning how to do the job,” she tells him.
“That’s even worse!! I don’t want her anywhere near this,” he says, fighting back tears. “If it was just normal hunter stuff then maybe but the stuff we deal with…Lucifer and Amara and God…I want her as far away from all of this as possible.”
“Don’t you think she should get a say in this?” Mary asks. He shakes his head, stubbornly.
“No. Soon as she wakes up, I’m taking her back home. I’ll never go back to that diner.. She’ll never see or hear from me again,” he says.
“What?” You whisper to yourself, standing just outside the kitchen door. You turn on your heels and rush down the hall towards the garage. Your car was there and you’d spent enough time at the bunker to know how to get out. You hadn’t heard much but you heard enough. Dean didn’t want to see you anymore, plain and simple.
***
Three months, five days.
That’s how long it had been since you last saw Dean. You’d left the bunker, rejected and heartbroken, and Dean had kept his word. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t come in for any pie. Life was back to normal. Boring, regular, normal. You found yourself reading into everything you saw on the news, wondering if it was a case Dean could be working at that very moment. 
You’d volunteered to close down the diner for yet another night. Floors were mopped. Counters and tables wiped down. All you had left to do was lock up. Flipping off the lights, you step outside into the cool night air. You turn to lock the door when you hear footsteps coming up behind you. Damn it. You’d been so lost in thoughts about what you had believed was a werewolf in Michigan you hadn’t checked the parking lot first.
“Hello, love,” a heavy British accent says. There’s nothing familiar and certainly nothing friendly about the greeting. You stand frozen for a moment, weighing your options. You didn’t have many.
“We’re closed,” you say, not turning to face him yet.
“Not here for the pie,” he jokes. He’s closer than he had been.
“Look. My manager has already taken the deposit to the bank. I’ve got a few bucks in my purse and that’s it. I haven’t seen your face yet. You can turn around and leave, no consequences,” you tell him.
“Afraid not. Got a job to do. A message for your little hunter boyfriend,” he says. You let out a short laugh.
“You’re definitely barking up the wrong tree,” you say. His reflection is in the glass of the door now, standing right behind you. You take a deep breath and turn to face him finally. “Dean Winchester doesn’t care about me. Hurting me, won’t hurt him in any way.”
“We’ll see about that,” he says, brandishing a knife. You bring your knee up, hitting him in the groin. He grunts and doubles over, giving you enough time to run towards your car. Unfortunately, the blow doesn’t slow him down enough. Before you can make it to the car, he’s grabbed you by your waist, knife at your throat. “Any last words I can pass on to the Winchesters?” He breathes in your ear.
“Go to hell,” you spit at him. You feel the knife press harder against your skin as angry tears slide down your cheeks. What a way to go. Dying for a man who couldn’t care less.
Before the Brit can finish you off, a car whips into the dark parking lot, lights shining bright on the two of you. It takes your attacker by surprise and you feel his grip relax just enough. A sharp elbow to his abdomen has him letting you go. You fall to your knees as you attempt to run away. The car skids to a stop and you hear the voice you’d only dreamt of hearing again.
“Y/N!!” Dean yells as he runs at your attacker. He tackles him, knocking the knife from his hand as the two men hit the ground. Mary runs to your side as Sam runs to help Dean. You weren’t sure why. Dean had the upper hand, sitting atop the man, punching him in the face. Repeatedly. That’s when you realize, Sam wasn’t helping Dean. He was pulling him off.
“Dean, it’s over,” he tells his brother. “He’s dead.” Mary helps you to your feet, examining you as Dean makes his way over, wiping his bloodied hand off on his shirt.
“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dean asks, taking your face in his hands. He looks you over and frowns at the knick on your neck. Running his thumb over it gently, he wipes the blood away. 
“I’m fine,” you mutter, taken aback by his gentleness and concern. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into a crushing hug. You gasp and freeze before slowly returning the embrace. Mary touches Sam’s shoulder and nods back towards the dead body. They slip away to deal with that and give you two some privacy. “Dean…”
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I put you in so much danger,” he says, letting you go. “I didn’t know we were being watched. I didn’t know.”
“Dean, what’s going on?” You ask.
“The British Men of Letters. Turns out it was a join or die type of situation. They’ve been watching all of us for a while now. They knew about you before you ever knew anything,” he explains. “They had brainwashed Mom but we just got her back. Sam and Jody led a raid of the Brits’ headquarters. Saw the pictures of you, of us here. We got here as quick as we could.” He winces now and you finally register how badly beaten he looks.
“What happened to you?” You ask, knowing your attacker hadn’t even gotten one good swing in. He limps over to his car and leans back against the hood.
“Grenade launcher,” he says, pointing to his leg. “Bad fight with Ketch.” He points to the rest of himself.
“Gre...huh??”
“They locked us in the bunker. Shut off the air supply. It was our only way out. And it was freaking awesome,” he says, smirking now. You roll your eyes at him and try not to smile, fighting back that familiar feeling he always gave you.
“Well, thank you. I’ll be more careful. Try not to close up by myself anymore,” you tell him, crossing your arms. He nods slightly, watching you.
“Or you could come with me,” he says. You scoff a laugh and shake your head.
“You don’t have to babysit me, Dean. I’ll be fine,” you say.
“What?” He asks. You shrug, trying to give him a confident smile.
“I’m officially relieving you of the burden of my safety. Whatever happens to me, happens. Don’t let it get to your conscious,” you tell him, looking around for your purse.
“Y/N,” Dean says. He watches you walk over and pick up the discarded item. You throw it over your shoulder and look back at him. “Come here,” he says gently, holding a hand out.
“You don’t want me. I know that. Please stop this,” you say, looking down at the gravel under your feet. You hear him sigh and look up as he starts to limp towards you. “No. Stop. You’re hurt.” He rolls his eyes now before taking your face in his hands for the second time tonight. This time his eyes aren’t searching for injuries. They’re searching for answers.
“Why would you think I don’t want you?” He asks, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it before. You get lost in the green of his eyes for a moment before the memory of that night comes back.
“I heard you with Mary. You said I wouldn’t see or hear from you again. And I haven’t since I left the bunker that day,” you tell him, hating to relive those harsh words. He nods, his hands leaving your face. They don’t go far though, immediately coming to rest on your hips.
“Is that all you heard?” He asks. You nod, wishing he’d just let you go home instead of dragging this out. “I didn’t leave you alone because I didn’t want you. I left you alone because I needed to keep you safe, because I want you too much, because I care about you too much.” Your eyes fill with tears as you stare up at him. You had to have died and gone to heaven for him to be saying these things, the things you wanted him to say so desperately.
“You were so mad when you saw me…”
“Because I didn’t want you anywhere near this life. Hunting, especially the things we end up hunting, it’s dangerous,” he pauses and closes his eyes. “I had just made a deal with a reaper to die. Again. I’d already resolved myself to the fact I wasn’t going to get to say a proper goodbye to you, tell you how I felt, how happy you’ve made me over the past year…and then you were there, right smack in the middle of everything. I was furious, yea, but not at you. I was mad at myself. I never shoulda came back here to begin with.”
“I don’t understand,” you say, shaking your head. Nothing was making sense. Nothing but the feel of his hands on your waist. That was good. That was right.
“I fell for you so hard that first night I came in for dinner. I was just supposed to come in, pick up something for me and Sam, and head back to the bunker. But when I walked in and saw you…I had to know you,” he recalls. “I thought a couple of visits couldn’t hurt. I could just be a customer, see you, talk to you. Maybe you’d eventually learn my name. That third time I came in and saw you getting ready to leave I was devastated. So I asked you to join me, thinking there wasn’t a chance in hell. You’d just gotten off work. Surely you wanted to get out of there and get home. But you stayed and you sat with me and…I knew I was in trouble.” You’re crying now. You don’t know exactly when the tears started but they were falling quickly. Dean brings one hand up and wipes at each of your cheeks gently. “And then you gave me your number…man, I almost called you from the booth,” he laughs. You do as well, reaching up and taking his hand. You press a kiss into his palm.
“I never knew what we were. I was so confused,” you tell him.
“I’m sorry. I kept going back and forth. I told myself it was too dangerous, you were safer as my friend. But then I’d get you alone, in my car and…” His hand tightens slightly on your hip and he pulls you impossibly closer. “I wanted you so desperately.” His voice dropped lower and his eyes bore into your own.
“I wanted you too,” you just manage to whisper. His forehead is touching yours now. Your eyes flutter close as his breath washes over your face.
“No more secrets,” he says before finally bringing his lips in to meet yours. This isn’t a gentle, chaste first kiss. Your lips move desperately against his as your arms wrap around his neck. It was everything you’d imagined and nothing like you could have dreamed all at the same time. His lips were chapped but gentle. He tasted of mint and whiskey. The way his hands moved over your back, one sliding just beneath your shirt to caress the skin at the small of your back, was intoxicating. You force yourself to pull away, remembering that his family was in the near vicinity.
“I have one secret,” you admit. He looks down at you expectantly. “I freaking hate this job.” He laughs and shakes his head, kissing you once more quickly.
“Sweetheart, I got bad news. That ain’t a secret,” he teases. You laugh too as Dean looks over your shoulder at the diner. “This place is gonna go under without your pie. It’s the only reason anyone comes back.”
“Including you?” You ask. His smile turns into a smirk as he looks back down at you.
“Why do you think I’m keeping you at the bunker?” He asks. Laughing again, you try to step out of his arms but they only tighten around you. His face is suddenly serious again as he watches you. “But only if you’re absolutely sure. I can’t stress enough how dangerous this life is.” You smile as you take his face in your hands.
“Dean,” you start. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
With that, Dean kisses you once again.
You leave your diner key in the door and a note taped to the glass.
I quit. -Y/N
****
Tags: @roseblue373
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