#admittedly short notice i will not lie

[number-1-crush]

having anxiety and a crush at the same time is so much to deal with

#i felt like i was getting signals. so i invite them out to get sushi with a few other ppl #admittedly short notice i will not lie #i got an ‘i’m sorry i’m busy :( have fun though!’ #pretty standard message. polite even #i am currently trying to stop treating this as a sign that they want to avoid me #girlie u asked them the day before. they were busy on a saturday. u are looking so #fucking far into this #chronic fucking overthinker. dear god #this is supposed to be fun!!! crushes are meant to be fun!! #they say hi to me when they don’t have to they laugh when i make a shitty joke i keep catching their eye from across the room!!! #so one ‘i’m busy sorry :(‘ and a lack of offers to hang out and not texting often aren’t indicative of anything!!! christ #i mean it’s obvious they aren’t indicative of anything! because i am also guilty #i had never invited them somewhere before and i almost never text them #and CLEARLY i’m interested. #god #anyways i keep envisioning this confession-gone-sour thing in my head and i keep shaking myself like #Do You Hear Yourself???? they Aren’t Like That they’re nice they’re kind #even if i get rejected they’d probably still be down to be friends! i mean fuck dude #i need to just. Chill Tf Out #but it’s hard when i have chronic Can’t Chill Out Disease otherwise known as Generalized Anxiety Disorder

[sameschmidtdiffname]

Wool Over My Eyes

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Mike always says you have such trouble getting up in the morning. You don't intend to take so long to wake, but Mike is quite confident the solution lays just at his fingertips- and lips.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no use of gendered pronouns, no genitalia specification, light bondage, pet names, dirty talk, fingering, oral (reader recieving), cum swallowing, morning sex, light breeding kink, recording sex, dacryphillia, light choking, switch! Mike, switch! Reader, facial, age-gap, interrupted sex, barely proofread and over the course of three days after my shifts right before I went to bed (cuz we die like men)

Notes: I love you gullible fucks.

"C'mere here, sweet thing."

I groan as Mike rolls me onto my side, his lips finding my cheek that has been textured from the blanket that imprinted itself upon my skin as I slept restlessly through the night. It had only been a couple hours ago that I'd finally found sleep, and it doesn't even feel like five minutes since I'd actually sunk into it.

"Five more minutes," I groan, my words slurred with sleep as I press my back further against Mike's intoxicatingly warm and inviting front, hardly even noticing anything else about my surroundings as I begin to drift back into sleep once more.

"You said five minutes an hour ago," Mike gently chides into my ear, his voice almost a full octave lower and rough with his own sleep, probably. My hand automatically raises to swipe lazily at his lips which graze so lightly against the shell of my ear, his breath tickling my skin enough to irritate my tired mind. "It's time to wake up."

"Mm," I moan in a somewhat childlike manner. He chuckles at this, his lips once more finding my cheek as his hands begin to peel the blanket away from me, slowly exposing my chest mostly.

"Don't," I groan in a soft, high voice, the cold air of the room beginning to stiffen certian parts of my body. Such as my back, shoulders.

"Be nice," Mike chuckles as his lips trail lazily closer to my own, his hand satisfied with how exposed my body is now and beginning to reverse its trail, now grazing his fingertips gently along the soft cotton of my shirt that still keeps my chest covered.

"Make me," I try to snap, too drugged with sleep to carry any venom in my voice.

Mike's lips find mine in an instant, his tongue diving into my mouth as he suddenly moves his hand to my hair, tugging at it almost harshly as a small whine escapes me from the sudden aggression. He moans into the kiss, his other hand wrapping around my throat ever so gently as our lips slide together, slick with his spit, making me pant against his kiss.

"Don't make me be the bad guy," Mike says against my lips when he pulls away for a moment. His head ducks down to tease at my neck, biting into it softly before he returns to my mouth, slipping his tongue inside of it once more and moaning loudly as he does.

Our kisses are not graceful, I'll admit. They're messy, hard, wet with thick desire as his hand trails to and from my neck, spreading across my chest until his calloused hand eventually dives under my shirt, searching for a stiff nipple to play with as he pulls away from me once more, his eyes glazed with want and desperation as he watches me closely, a lazy smile upon his lips.

"Make those pretty sounds for me," Mike pleads breathily as he pinches particularly hard on my nipple. A short gasp escapes me, my cheeks turning red as my eyes flutter shut once more.

"Hey," Mike says in a firmer voice, lips quickly sealing onto mine once more as his tongue slips against mine needingly before he quickly pulls away. "Stay awake."

"I am awake," I pout softly. He tugs on my nipple again, forcing a small cry from me as he bites my bottom lip.

"Don't lie," Mike warns in a low, rough, almost growling voice. "You know I hate it when you lie."

It's not a lie!... Though admittedly I could see how it would be easy to slip into such bliss as Mike uses me. It's a somewhat arousing thought, the idea of him fucking me to sleep.

"I'm recording, you know," Mike teases as his other hand slips from my hair to the other side of my chest, both of my nipples now being abused by the older man as I pant openly, my hips finding his thick thigh between my legs. "Figured I could use the proof that you just don't like waking up in the morning to see if you'll finally listen to me."

"I listen to you," I protest. His nails scratch my nipples, making me loudly cry out at the touch.

"I said. Don't. Lie," Mike reminds me. "God, its like you want to be punished."

The idea makes my legs pull together in want, my hips dragging deliciously against Mike's thigh as I moan openly, wanting for nothing more than what he'd just suggested.

"You like that, pretty toy?" Mike asks softly against my ear, his teeth nipping at my lobe while one of his hands roughly grabs my chest, the other hand swirling his thumb in quick circles around my aching nipple. Fuck, Jesus. I could cum like this and I wouldn't protest.

"Maybe I just won't touch you," Mike says low in my ear, his voice predatory as I quicken my hips against his thigh which presses harder against me. "You seem to be eager to cum just like this. So easy, so fun to play with."

Mike shoves his tongue into my mouth once more, his hands shifting. One to my throat, one to my hip. He guides my body to quicken its pace against him, his hand occasionally smacking hard against my ass and even playing with the muscle as his eyes drift open to watch me.

"You like being my favorite toy, don't you?" Mike asks in a tired, low and aroused voice as he smirks. I nod slowly, stupid and sleepy against him. Mike smacks my ass again, grabbing and jiggling it roughly after. "Open your eyes when I'm talking to you," he commands. Stupidly I obey, eager to please him as I begin to feel my stomach constrict in pleasure at his touch.

"There you go. Good plaything. You're just so eager to please, aren't you?" Mike asks in a patronizing tone, leaning forward to graze his lips against mine. I move to press harder against them, but he pulls away, still leaving them close enough to tease me, waiting for me to try to swoop in again, then pulling away far enough I whine as I realize his evil game.

"You like older men playing with you, admit it," Mike says in a cocky tone, his hand dipping under my sweatpants to play with my bare ass. I moan in response to his words and his touch, but it doesn't seem to be enough.

"Say it," Mike orders softly, smiling at the sight of me. I blush, shaking my head slightly as I glance away. Mike grabs my ass roughly again, pressing his thigh harder against me as the look in his eye shifts to something slightly darker. "Say it."

I shake my head again, an unwilling smile growing more as Mike grabs harder, leaning in close enough to whisper threateningly, but ready to pull away if I dared to take advantage of the opportunity and kiss him.

"I like older men playing with me," I say in a soft, quick whisper before he can make another threat. His eyes turn gentle once again, and he drags me into another kiss, sweet and loving while he begins to shift his body to hover above mine, moving his thigh much to my displeasure.

"Look at that," Mike praises softly. "You can be so good when you want to be, can't you?"

Mike leans down to press his lips against my neck, biting roughly into it and making me cry out. He stays there for almost a minute, ensuring that there will be a dark bite mark obvious on my skin for the next week before he moves to the other side of my neck, repeating this process. I squirm underneath of him, moaning and crying out pathetically. His hard cock grazes against my leg, and once he finds it he begins to grind against it, releasing his own soft noises as he begins to lap at my blooming marks with his warm, wide tongue.

"Fuck me!" I whine against Mike's ear, nipping at his lobe and panting openly as my hand descends downwards, my fingers just brushing past the waistband of my pants when his own hand carefully but tightly grabs my wrist, moving to pin it just above my head as he uses my body to masturbate.

Mike doesn't respond to my plea. He simply moans as his hips increase in tempo, making it obvious how close he is already. Part of me wonders if this was meant to be a reenactment of his dream last night, or if maybe he'd been fucking himself beside me as I slept for who knows how long before he finally woke me in a moment of desperation. Both ideas make me faint with want.

I use my free hand to snatch a clump of dark curls on the back of his head, pulling them roughly to force him away from my neck. The pain makes him cry out in a deliciously broken voice, his hips stuttering before resuming in a slightly increased pace as his eyes shift to meet mine, a bright red coat of blush decorating his peaceful face, creating the perfect image of such a beautiful, desperate man.

"I asked you to fuck me," I seethe, tugging harshly on his hair again, making him cry out once more. His cock twitches against my leg, then suddenly he begins trying to crawl down my body, his hands grabbing at whatever flesh he can find as he bites harshly at my being, his slick tongue quick to soothe the marks as his amber eyes watch me pleadingly, begging for praise that I don't offer to him.

Mike's hands paw at my pants, dragging them down my hips without even undoing the tight drawstring that keeps the waistline fitted to me properly. The moment I feel the cold air begin to sink into my newly exposed skin, Mike's lips are quick to warm me once again, his tongue diving between my legs as he laps greedily, moaning as he teases my entrance with it. The wet muscle probs at me, tempting me to grab his hair and shove him against me while I ride his face, but I decide instead to pet his hair in non-verbal praise, driving him wild as his blush deepens. His large hands cup my ass, raising my hips off the bed slightly and spreading my legs wider, allowing him easier access to me.

"Stop being a tease," I moan lightly, digging my hand deeper into his hair and scratching lightly at his scalp. His voice cracks as he moans, slipping his tongue into me obediently as he plays with my ass. His own hips fuck the bed, slight trembling obvious as his lashes flutter shut, spit beginning to dribble down his chin as he quickly slides his tongue out and in, swirling it around inside of me and playing with my entrance every time he slips out.

I close my own eyes, pleasure making my back stiff as I hold his head between my thighs, hyperfocusing on the feeling of him tongue fucking me, the knot in my stomach tightening with every move, big or small. The noises he makes as he eats me out are improper, through and through. His voice makes insanity inducing vibrations that spread throughout me with each pathetic, high pitched moan. The bed creeks with every thrust of his hips against the old mattress. A part of me wonders if he's being so vocal for the tape currently recording us, paranoid that the cassette player on his nightstand may not be able to hear us properly. Another part of me likes to think that he's just this into it, so driven insane by my body that he just simply can't help the noises of pleasure that escape him. The idea makes me grip his hair tighter, my hips beginning to thrust harder against his face, making his voice rise in pitch as his eyes drift open, glazed and stupid while he admires me. His nails dig into my ass, his tongue hardly moving out of me now as he fucks me.

"You like it when I fuck your face like this?" I ask him, watching his blush grow as he nods against me, his hips quickening as I thrust harder into his mouth, my thighs tightening around his head. He looks so pretty like this, so utterly desperate.

"You want me to cum on your tongue?" I ask him, tugging his hair harder. He shakes his head, swirling his tongue around inside of me, making me groan lowly. "Where should I cum then?"

Mike slips his tongue out of me quickly, raising his head slightly as he speaks. "On my face," he says sweetly before diving back between my legs, lapping greedily at my entrance while I moan.

"Oh," I drawl slowly, letting him play with me while I watch. "You want me to paint that pretty face?"

Mike moans against me, sliding his tongue into me once more as he ruts against the bed, his eyes closing once more as he puts his all into the act.

"Do you like warming me up for your cock like this?" I ask him, giggling when he dives deeper inside of me in response. "Such a good way to get me ready to breed."

This seems to do the trick for Mike, his eyes snapping open to watch me as he fucks my hole desperately, moaning and panting as his tongue slides in and out, slick noises echoing throughout the room with each movement.

My breathing hitches in my throat as I fuck his face roughly, my stomach feeling tight as my orgasm edges closer, my teeth digging into my lower lip.

"I'm not gonna last much longer," I warn Mike, thrusting harder onto his rapid tongue while one of my hands begin to play with my now neglected nipple. One of Mike's hands quickly finds the other, both of us now playing with my chest to make me whine as I edge ever close, my eyes squeezing shut as I focus on my climax, my voice ragged and high as I moan for Mike to quicken his hand. He obeys immediately, his thumbnail flicking at the hard bud while his other hand squeezes my ass, nails digging into the cheek while he moans into me. I steal a look downwards at him, locking eyes with his now possessive glare while he watches me with eager satisfaction, silently begging me to come undone onto his face. And with such a beautiful, demanding man fucking me like this, who am I to say no?

"I'm coming," I stutter as the tight knot in my stomach begins to snap. "Fuck, Jesus, I'm coming!"

Mike moans in harmony with me, eyes widening in excitement as I pull him as tight against me as I can. My own eyes flutter shut, my hand clamping down over my mouth to muffle my sharp cries, my body trembling as my muscles stiffen, pleasure ripping through me to the point I clamp my thighs tight around Mike's head, pumping into his mouth with such vigor I'm almost worried he may not be able to breathe properly. But he doesn't ask me to stop, his pants soft and desperate as his own body shakes.

The force of my orgasm takes me by surprise, relaxation kicking in hard enough that when I close my eyes, it's hard to open them again. With each tremble from the waves pulsing through me I'm coaxed back into sleep, my muscles slowly relaxing one by one, my mind shutting off, and it doesn't take long before I can hear a deep voice in my ear, whining something much too loud for my tastes.

"Mm," I groan once again. "C'mere, come cuddle with m-"

"I asked you, very politely, to stay awake," Mike whispers in my ear. My eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly to adjust once more to the morning light. "What on earth am I going to do with you?"

In Mike's hand is a small washcloth, wiping away at the leftover cum I had painted his face with. Mike's hand is rubbing my thigh as he grazes his cock over my hole, teasing me as punishment.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, a blush rising to my cheeks as I try to put on my best act of innocence so maybe he'll skip the torture and go straight to fucking me.

"No," Mike drawls, his hand inching closer. "No, I don't think you are."

The tip of Mike's cock presses against my entrance, threatening to dip in, making me moan desperately.

"Shush," Mike soothes me, wrapping his hand around my throat slowly, finger by finger. "Don't wake the rest of the house."

Mike slips his middle finger inside of me, pumping quickly and hard. I whimper quietly, which seems to be too loud for his taste.

"I said be quiet," Mike whispers patiently as he carefully squeezes my throat. I try to reach for his hair only to discover my hands have been bound to the bedframe by some sort of cloth.

"You like my tie, sweet thing?" Mike asks sweetly, slamming harder into me. I can hear the increasing volume of the smacking inside me as he fucks me with his hand, sounding so delicious as he curls his fingers just right. Mike leans in closer, running his tongue over the bottom of my lip before shoving it inside of my mouth to claim me once again. I moan loudly, giving in fully to desire as he has his way with me. Mike pulls away instantly, choking me hard enough my airflow is slightly restricted. His ring finger slips inside of me right before he begins to slam inside of me with all of his strength, making me gasp pathetically while he ruins my tightening hole, my legs trembling as I arch my back, pressing against his smooth tie. I wrap the longer end around my palm, tugging at it in desperation. Mike bites down on my neck again, and I'm about to cry out when the doorbell buzzes throughout the living room, making us both jolt in surprise at the sudden interruption.

"No, no, no, no!" I whine, my eyes wide as I feel Mike thrust into me one final time as hard as he can before pulling away, leaving me empty and trembling while he stands from the bed. "Come back, come back!"

Mike looks cocky and pleased with himself while he pulls a sweater on over his head, glancing back over his shoulder at me for just a second.

"Just go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'll handle it," he coos like an asshole.

"B-but I'm not- we-"

Mike is out the door before I can protest, our unexpected guest buzzing once more in clear irritation at the slow response to their arrival. Who the fuck even is it? It's hardly even seven!

Disappointed and frustrated, I slump against the bed, clearly pouting as I hear Mike open the front door. And Abby is slipping out of her room now too, her young voice muffled through the walls as she greets Aunt Jane, apparently.

Oh my god.

Not fucking fair!

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

You know, I wasn't gonna write this. I just pulled a bunch of tags out of my ass when I originally posted the fake fic, but then I decided you guys took the joke so well that you all deserved a little treat. Say 'thank you, Dani.' <3

I may be an asshole, but I'm not evil. So, I expanded my regular taglist to include the horny fucks that got trolled so they could read my bullshitted glory. You're welcome 😌 (would love to have you join the taglist full time, btw!):

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool @laurrrelise @orchidmothh @mystargirl-interlude @freak-accident419 @fatinhadesiners06 @mrjsbunny @futureman @sleepyhutcherson @lile6969 @heartsoremania @bowerssz51 @nick-nacker @joshhutchersonsgf @kathybernice @janitorhutcherson @sofiehutch. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

Happy April fools day, everyone. Thanks for following, reblogging and commenting. See you next time!

                •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

#josh hutcherson #jhutch #josh hutcherson fanfic #mike schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader smut #mike schmidt x you #mike schimdt x reader #mike schimdt x you #mike schimdt smut #mike schmidt x male reader #mike schmidt x fem!reader smut #mike schmidt x y/n #fnaf mike #mike fnaf #josh hutcherson imagine #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson x gn!reader #josh hutcherson x you #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson x male reader #jhutch4life #jhutch1992 #fnaf fanfiction #fnaf fanfic #fnaf smut

[selarina]

Based on that post of hands I reblogged

You regret putting Iwaizumi Hajime onto reading, but he was so so eager when he first asked, and you are nothing if not indulgent with the man, so you gave him a quick few recommendations.

“Your favourites,” he had insisted, and you had always had this strange issue of telling people you love about the things you love in your head — scared they wouldn't love it as much as you, scared they would see you differently, scared. It's odd and Hajime would never even deign to do such a thing, but that’s how fears manifest when it comes to love — it’s irrational and strange but it comes from love.

On the other side, there is a strange satisfaction you feel, the satisfaction you feel comes from when people like it — when he likes your recommendations. Admittedly, he doesn't like all of it but he comments on every recommendation he reads, offering it up like a bouquet of his own musings, he offers it with a large amount of detail and care.

It makes you grin as you walk to office, as you sleep, as you eat — the unfailingly smile seems forever etched onto your face

Truth be told, Iwaizumi Hajime was a smart man, he’s not the smartest man out there — there is so much he doesn’t know about the universe, but he’s smart enough. But with you, he always fell short. And in a way, he liked it. He liked how he could not know a thing and rely on you knowing it for him. He likes how he can gloat about how you're working your prestigious job in the morning, and sleeping next to him at night. It's nice, but this time, it bothered him.

It was only further emphasised when he came to pick you up from a cafe one day. Beneath the sharp and bleak looking sun, Iwaizumi's discerning eyes chanced upon you. You seem engaged with a man he had never seen before.

Curiosity stirred within him. He racked his brain for the face, but the man isn't a co-worker nor a friend, or even family.

When you finally parted ways with the man, after a painstakingly good chunk of time, he asked you what that was about. And you told him that the man is from your bookclub and that the two of ran into each other and started discussing this month's read. And then you apologised for not noticing him, with a soft kiss on his cheeks.

He smiles, but that's the day he decided he would try reading as well, if only because you like it so much. There are parts of your world he's unfamiliar with, but he figured isn't that what being a boyfriend means? Bridging all the unfamiliars?

So, since that day, he started asking you for recommendations. He would take his time to read and give you his thoughts on them each time you asked.

It took him a while to read books. He won't lie. The last time he picked up novels was for school, but once he got the routine of it, he likes it. It's nice.

There have always days when you would read as he laid on your lap as your hands, gentle and practiced, carded through his hair. It always managed to lull him to sleep. But now, there are days when he gets to watch you fall asleep. He gets to run his fingers down your sleepy face, as he tries and tries to focus on his book, with a sense of Sisyphean futility.

You offered him drowsy giggles and commentaries invariably lured him away from the words on his book. He thinks there's truly nothing like it. He thinks it's why you liked to do it so much.

#can’t believe i’ve never written for this man wtf #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi hajime x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #iwaizumi hajime fluff #hq x y/n #haikyuu x y/n #hq fluff #hq imagines #iwaizumi hajime #hajime iwaizumi #haikyuu scenarios #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi fluff

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Triangulum - Chapter 4 - The Morning After Bill

— — — — — — —

Despite the shroud of unease that lingered over the Shack throughout the night, darkness eventually faded into the warm sunlight of morning.

And even for someone like Ford—whose tireless efforts had left him with only a few pages of halfway-useful ideas, with the rest being banished to a crumpled and discarded pile in the fireplace—the morning sunlight that poured in from the window across the room brought with it a comfort.

“Seems kinda pointless to toss all that into a fireplace if you’re not going to actually set it on fire.”

Regardless of the stress that still lingered from the previous evening.

His gaze met the pair of slitted pupils—pupil? Ford hadn’t missed the way Bill’s right eye was less reactive than his left. A visual impairment, perhaps?—on the far side of the room, a toothy, cheshire grin spreading wide beneath them. “I’d bring up the whole ‘expert in burning things around here’ thing again, but I hate using joke more than once a millennia,” Bill said. “It’s like, I’ve had an eternity to perfect my material so doing a bit twice in such a short amount of time just feels so lazy. You get what I mean, Fordsy?” 

Despite his gaze being focused elsewhere, the tip of Ford’s pencil snapped against the paper for the millionth time across the past several hours. And with a bitten-back huff, he tore his attention from Bill again in favor of reaching towards the small end table at his side, hand briefly lingering over the gun he had kept there all night.

It would be easy enough to kill the body that Bill was currently possessing—as gruesome as the idea was, it was simply an undeniable fact. The body looked young, barely older than a teenager if Ford had to harbor an estimate. And that was before taking his…uncanny resemblance into account.

Ford had to physically restrain himself from casting another sidelong look at Bill, a shudder crawling up his spine as he disregarded the gun in favor of the pencil sharpener. He wasn’t sure how much of the remaining household had picked up on it—there was a high chance that Stan and the kids had noticed to some degree—but it was truly eerie how similar Bill’s vessel looked to Dipper.

The structure of his face, the way the hair hung down over his forehead just as Dipper’s did whenever he wasn’t wearing a hat—

“I mean—it was all kind of a blur when I possessed the guy. Didn’t exactly feel like stopping and sussing out all the details, not when the chance to stretch my legs again after spending nine months as a lawn ornament was right there in front of me.”

If Bill’s earlier claims were to be believed—Ford did not believe them in the slightest—then there were a few possibilities. Either some outside force had prevented him from getting a proper look at the vessel or Bill had simply jumped into it first with the intention of asking questions later.

…Admittedly, jumping first and asking questions later was a very Bill-esque way to approach a deal; one didn’t usually need to ask question with the power of omniscience on their side.

But if his earlier claims weren’t to be believed—once again, Ford did not believe them in the slightest—then there were even more possibilities. 

Bill had been lying through his teeth and had purposefully sought out a vessel that looked as uncomfortably-identical to Dipper as possible. And now he was determined to keep such awareness of his appearance as much of a secret as possible, for unknown—but likely sinister—reasons. Perhaps as a precautionary shield of sorts; with the assumption that most would hesitate first before putting a bullet through the eyes of someone that resembled their own.

A counterpoint to that theory was that Bill had asked for a mirror without prompting, but maybe that had been part of the lie? To throw the rest of them off track and push their assumptions towards one direction, all to take focus away from the other?

Of course, none of those theories and guesses brought up an answer to how Bill had managed to come across a new vessel in the first place. Or discussed the matter of the vessel’s original soul, one who had likely been tricked into making a deal with Bill—leaving them bound to the mindscape while he once again puppeteered a body that did not belong to him.

Nor did any of that address the biggest and most pressing issue at hand; how Bill was still alive at all.

With a sigh, Ford forewent the sharpening of his pencil in favor of staring numbly at the mess of discarded paper in the fireplace. Even after a full night of brainstorming, he was still left with both a physical and metaphorical pile of unanswered questions with no clear solution.

“What, are you actually considering that fire idea of mine?” Bill piped up from his spot. “And here I thought I was doomed to keep talking to the air.”

A cackle. “It’s really a shame I can’t hear inanimate objects with this body, the lovely ladies on the shelf over there look like the kinda gals who’ve got a lot of entertaining stories under their belts!”

After a few more seconds of disassociated staring—gaze locked firmly on the mess of paper in a desperate attempt to tune out Bill’s mockery—Ford finally resharpened his pencil to a fine point and returned it to the notebook page. 

Rather than continue writing, however, the tip lingered above the paper while he stared at the most recent sentence in silent consideration. And after another second more, he brought it beneath his words to scribble out a bold underline.

It wasn’t the best idea in the world, and it would all depend on whether or not the needed supplies would’ve kept their potency after all these years. 

But for now, it was an idea.

— — — — — — — 

“I’m awake!”

Mabel’s eyes snapped open as soon as the morning sunlight hit her eyelids, and she bolted upright so quickly that Waddles was sent rolling over onto his back with a surprised oink.

Despite his otherwise-unbothered state, Mabel still crawled to the end of the bed to pull him into a hug. “Sorry, buddy,” she cooed apologetically. “I didn’t realize you were back over here again!”

“He moved to your bed when we switched shifts an hour ago,” Dipper explained from his side of the room. “Guess you weren’t wrong about him being a good guard pig.”

With a tired laugh, she pressed several kisses to the top of Waddles’ head. “I told you! I’m just saying, maybe feeding Bill to him might actually get the job done.”

The laughter petered off as the events of the previous night came flooding back to them, and they exchanged an uncomfortable look. “Did…did you have any nightmares about him?” Dipper asked.

Mabel thought for a moment, the kisses now replaced with scritches to the top of the pig’s head as her affectionate gesture of choice.  “Not that I can remember,” she mused. “I had a dream where I was the size of a doll living in a dollhouse, and the little girl who owned it really wanted me to go for a drive in my convertible when I clearly wanted to go shopping at the mall!”

She pressed a finger to her chin. “But other than that, I think my dreams were pretty normal.”

“Yeah, mine too,” Dipper said. “I mean, I kept seeing triangles wherever I went. But it didn’t feel like anything I don’t normally dream about.”

A shrug as he reached up to brush the hair from his eyes. “Back when Bill visited me in my sleep last year, it felt a lot more—I dunno, vivid? Like it was something that could be happening in real life, you know? But nothing from last night felt that way.”

“I guess that means Grunkle Ford kept a close enough eye on Bill and he didn’t hop into anyone’s dreams, then,” Mabel said. “You think he’s really been up all night?”

“I’d believe it,” Dipper agreed with a nod. “You saw how freaked he was over Bill’s return, I don’t think he’s gonna sleep until Bill’s gone for good. I mean, for good-good this time.”

Mabel stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “Well, I hope he’s gone for good-good soon. I really want to be able to spend some time with Grunkle Ford this summer…”

“Yeah, me too.”

They exchanged another look, before Mabel placed her hands on her hips. “Welp, can’t think of a way to re-kill an evil, triangle jerkface on an empty stomach!” she said, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s go get breakfast!”

A gurgling sound from Dipper’s stomach brought a hand to his shirt, and he hopped down from his bed to join her on the floor. “Ugh, good call. I swear I ate, like, three helpings of lasagna last night, and somehow I’m starving again!”

“Ughughughhhhh, me too,” Mabel bemoaned as the two exited their room and made their way towards the stairs. “This puberty thing is the worst! Why are we always hungry?!”

“I know, right? Everyone went on and on about the acne and the body hair, but they didn’t think to mention how we’d be eating as much as your pet pig?”

Their griping continued as they headed down the stairs together, although Mabel’s decision to skip a step at a time soon brought her to the bottom floor before her brother, leaving her to amble on through the kitchen door by herself.

Her nostrils were immediately greeted by several different scents at once—coffee, pancake syrup and bacon being the most potent, seconded by the smell of lasagna with a charred, reheated undertone that could only be produced by two-and-a-half minutes in a microwave.

From the kitchen table—with a little bit of everything stacked on his plate—Soos greeted her with a wave and a cheerful: “‘Morning, girl dude!”

“Mmm, I smell bacon,” Mabel muttered, trudging sleepily over to the table to join him. “And I’d just like to clarify that even though I have a pet pig, I still want five pieces. At least!”

Melody cast her a smile and tossed more bacon into the pan. “I’ll see what I can do—uh, do you want crispy or crunchy? Because I’ll just warn you right now that I’m way better at making it crunchy.”

She shifted the pieces of bacon around with the end of the spatula. “In fact, the last time I tried making it crispy, I don’t think I fried it long enough. So I’d probably pick crunchy, because there’s less of a chance that I’ll undercook it.”

“Well, I still thought your undercooked bacon was delicious, babe,” Soos piped up loyally.

From the open fridge, a very groggy Wendy raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you need to get your stomach pumped after eating too much?”

“Yes, and the doctor who did it was very polite!”

“Crunchy’s fine,” Mabel said, settling into an empty chair. “And my demand from before still stands.”

“Yeah, I’ll just stick to pancakes,” Dipper chimed in as he shuffled into the kitchen as well. “Morning, by the way.”

“Hey, dude!” Soos once again greeted, turning his attention to both twins as Dipper joined them at the table. “You two sleep okay? Especially with, uh—you know?”

The kitchen fell silent for a moment—save for the bacon sizzling away in the pan and the occasional scrape of the spatula as Melody continued to shift everything around for an even sear—before Dipper replied: “About as well as we could, yeah.”

“No dumb triangle guys in our dreams,” Mabel added. “Or at least, not the actual one. What about you guys?”

Wendy looked up from the fridge. “Eh, slept like I always do on that couch. Dead asleep around three am, while those early-morning infomercials play in a loop on the TV.”

After another moment of searching, she finally decided on the milk carton and swung the door shut behind her. “Pretty sure the only dream I had involved a talking watch that could also wash my dishes. If that means anything.”

While she held the carton up to her mouth for a swig, Melody moved some of the finished bacon to a plate. “When Soos and I slept, we slept fine,” she said. “But every so often, we’d wake up to go check on Dr. Pines.”

“Mornin’.”

The group turned to see Stan near the doorway, his groggy demeanor a clear indication that he had slept very little during the night. “Heard somethin’ about Ford,” he said, and held out his hand. “Gimme a plate of that bacon, then gimme the news.”

“As far as we know, nothing big happened,” Melody explained, and handed him a plate as instructed. “Every time we peeked in on them, Dr. Pines told us everything was fine while Bill was still tied to the chair.”

“Whaddabout the prisoner himself?”

“He’d call us a bunch of mean names whenever we checked in,” Soos added. “Or—well, he mostly just called me Question Mark. But the way he said it made it sound mean.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “He also tried calling me Shirt at one point when I picked him up off the floor, but he went back on it pretty quick. Said it didn’t feel right.” A shrug. “Other than that, though, he didn’t really do anything.”

“Which probably means Ford didn’t have to do anything.” Stan exhaled with a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the update, Soos.”

“Would someone like to bring him a plate of food?” Melody asked. “I’ve pulled my fair share of all-nighters, I know how hungry they can make someone.”

Mabel’s expression brightened and she quickly hopped back down from the table. “I’ll do it! A hearty breakfast is sure to keep the Evil-Triangle-Killing gears turning in Grunkle Ford’s head!”

While Melody handed her a plate, Stan reached up to scrub the sleep from his eyes. “Well, it ain’t exactly how we expected our first day back to go, but can anyone really say they’re surprised?”

“I can’t,” Dipper said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Man, Dev’s gonna freak when he hears about what our trip’s been like so far.”

Suddenly Mabel’s eyes shot open wide as she slapped her own hand to the side of her face. “Dev! I completely forgot that he wanted to talk last night!”

“You wanna go call him now?” Dipper asked. “I’ll take Ford his breakfast, if you wa—”

He barely had time to finish his question before the plate was thrust into his hands and Mabel hurried back out of the kitchen towards the stairs. Waddles—who had sleepily ambled after the kids as they’d headed down to breakfast, and had been in the process of finally reaching the bottom step—promptly turned around as she whizzed past and began to head back up after her.

Stan watched until both of them disappeared out of sight, before looking down to Dipper. “Not gonna ask about all a’that, but if you don’t mind havin’ a tag-along to go feed Ford—” He flicked a thumb at himself. “—there’s at least one other Pines here that can get the job done.”

Dipper cast him a small smile. “Yeah, actually, I’d like that.”

Stan shifted the thumb away from himself into a proper thumbs up before the two of them exited the kitchen, making their way towards the hall and the bedroom that waited just beyond the corner.

— — — — — —

After his early-morning attempt to torment Ford, Bill had fallen into yet another thoughtful silence.

Sure, he’d barely gotten more than a sentence or two out of Ford over the course of the night, most of which had just been threats. But that didn’t stop him from stringing together a few things on his own, using the various context clues he’d gathered since he’d first regained consciousness.

First thing of note was the room itself. Several points from the previous evening informed him that it had shifted from a parlor room to a bedroom for Soos’s grandmother; her current location unknown and her overall existence the farthest thing from a priority to Bill. One less person to keep track of—and/or to wave a random weapon in his face—was perfectly fine by him.

But her owning a bedroom here at the Shack implied that she had moved in since the previous summer. Additional clues gathered throughout the night also implied that Soos and the woman who came to check on Ford with him—Bill didn’t care enough to pay attention to her name, but it was blatantly obvious that the two of them were an Item—had moved into the Shack with her, specifically into Ford’s old bedroom next door.

On the same topic of Soos and Who-Cares-About-Her-Name, Bill had heard them pass by the bedroom about thirty minutes prior and head towards the direction of the kitchen. Given how they had yet to return, he wagered a guess that a new day had rolled around and the household was springing to life once again.

None of that could be considered groundbreaking information to Bill, but it was always nice to get a clearer picture of what he was working with in terms of scenery. Sixer had allowed his home to be turned into Domestic City over the past nine months, how uncharacteristically quaint of him.

Speaking of which…

Bill tore his stare from the the shelf of porcelain dolls he had kept his attention on during the quieter parts of the night—hey, his earlier remark had been more than just a light joke; old porcelain dolls were always good for a chat or two when he could actually talk to them—and cast a glance back Ford again. 

He had briefly touched on his appearance the previous evening—mostly in the form of jokes about his silly beard—but there were a few other differences that could be spotted if one had spent several billion years honing the art of observing people.

Ford’s fashion sense was definitely not among those differences—not when he still donned the same red sweater and faded dark pants from the year prior. Even his glasses looked the same, sans the broken glass in the left lens being replaced at some point. Unsurprising in the slightest—ol’ Sixer hadn’t exactly been the kind of guy to keep up with the latest fashion trends.

But the crow’s feet around Ford’s eyes—ones that had been so deeply embedded that it was a miracle they hadn’t left scars—were fainter than before, and the dark circles that had once called the area beneath them home had faded to more of a light gray.

Overall, the aged ruggedness of his features had shifted to something more relaxed, more vital. As if he’d suddenly switched to a full four hours of sleep a night and lowered his daily coffee intake from twelve cups to eight, with an actual breakfast to go with them instead of just his usual nutrition pills.

All of that, and something else Bill couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

A fact that made his scowl lower as his gaze shifted from Ford to the gun on the nightstand. It had been pretty easy to piece together that Ford was scribbling down methods to try and kill him, likely without causing any lethal harm to his current vessel. 

The latter was only mere speculation, once again tying back to his original thoughts upon regaining consciousness. But combined with the events of the previous evening, where the worst harm inflicted on him was nothing more than a punch to the eye—painful and annoying, but clearly nothing that was going to kill him—and an entire night of all bark and no bite when it came to Ford firing a bullet, Bill felt far more secure in his initial assumption.

Ford was trying to find a way to kill him without killing the body itself. A relatively-easy conclusion to reach with the evidence presented to him.

So naturally, the temptation to reveal what he knew to Ford had been locked in a fierce and grueling battle with his common sense for most of the night.

It was a great risk for sure, but the pile in the fireplace granted Bill some reassurance that Ford was nowhere near an actual solution. And if he did have any ideas left in that tattered little notebook of his—no new journal, huh? An unusual choice, but perhaps it was just a temporary method of notetaking. Not like he could exactly write in the other ones after Bill had used them for kindling last year, haha!—they certainly weren’t going to be his A-game.

Needless to say, toeing the line in this instance felt like a safe bet on Bill’s end. Plus it’d double as a chance to redarken those circles and recarve those old crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes. 

Really remind Ford of just who he was dealing with here.

“It’s morning by now, right?” he finally asked aloud. “You must be tired, Fordsy.”

His remark earned him a dirty look from Ford, one he broke within seconds in favor of turning back to his work. An action that earned him a condescending sigh from Bill. “Still no dice on getting you to talk to me, huh? Can’t even take five minutes away from your mysterious scribblings to have a chat?”

With a laugh, he kicked his legs up in the air and clanked them back down against the chair in the most annoying fashion possible. “I’m just kidding, Stanford—I know what you’re trying to do,” he continued. “Obviously you’re trying to figure out a way to get rid of me, without killing the body of the poor sucker I’m possessing.”

He flashed him a toothy grin. “It’s why you just keep sticking that gun in my face instead of just pulling the trigger and busting out a mop to clean up the blood before it stains the floorboards, right?”

This earned him yet another sharp glare, one which masked something else behind Ford’s eyes that Bill once again struggled to decipher. Ugh, being stuck in a human vessel was so annoying; how was he supposed to reach his hand into someone’s mind cavity and really dig his fingers into their deepest fears and insecurities in a body like this?

Well, if he couldn’t poke and prod at the newer stuff, there was always the older spread for Bill to revisit. “No need to be get all huffy, Ford, I’m sure whatever brilliant plan you come up with will work so well,” he continued with another clank of his legs to the chair. “Like that memory gun trick~! I toldja last night how clever it was, right? Too bad you can’t go and Swiss cheese someone else’s mind this time around, huh?”

Another laugh escaped him, one that slowly faded into a dry, deadpan cackle as he folded one leg over the other. “I mean, you could always try it, but just know that it’ll be a lot trickier for me to go along with your little game again. And don’t think I won’t be counting the number of fingers on Goldfish’s hand—”

A light crunch of wood cut him off mid-sentence, and his eyes moved from Ford’s piercing glare to the pencil clutched tightly in his fist. The top half was bent at an unusual angle than before—a likely implication that it had snapped right in two, with Ford’s ironclad grip being the only thing keeping the pieces together at this point.

Well, he was definitely succeeding in getting under the man’s skin, that was clear~!

Before either of them could remark on the matter, however, the creaking of floorboards from further up the hall drew their attention to the door—

—and it was only seconds later before the creaking stopped just outside of it and Dipper’s voice called: “Grunkle Ford! Breakfast time!” from the other side.

Bill felt his eyes roll so far back into his head, he swore he got a glimpse at the useless lump of gray matter—or at least, it would normally be useless if he wasn’t the one taking it for a joyride—that humans called a brain. Great, one of the meddlesome little rugrats was acting as the Sunshine Brigade, and not even the fun one with the pig.

Well, at least he could probably get a kick out of scaring the little weenie. And at least said weenie’s voice succeeded in getting Ford to react with his own call of “Come on in.” as he set the broken pencil down on the nightstand.

The door was slowly pushed open with a hesitant hand to reveal the aforementioned Dipper and—

“Hope you’re feeling non-kosher today,” Stan piped up behind him. “If not, I’m snagging that bacon off your plate.”

Seriously? Didn’t Punchy Mc-No-Memory have anything better to do? What were there no tourists for him to currently scam or candy to snatch outta the grubby little hands of an underdeveloped human toddler?

Whatever, at least the two of them combined would bring some excitement into the room. “Oh, so both Pine Tree and Goldfish wanted to join the party this morning~?” he greeted with a bright grin. “Great, the more the merrier~!”

Dipper pushed the door open further and—while likely fighting the urge to wince at the sight of him—crossed the room to where Ford was seated. “Good morning! Melody prepped you a plate of food so you could eat while you worked.”

Despite his exhausted demeanor, Ford’s expression brightened at the sight of Dipper approaching him. “Thank you, Dipper,” he said, taking the offered plate with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?”

“As well as I could with—well—”

He attempted—attempted and failed miserably—to give a subtle tilt of the head in Bill’s direction, to which Bill responded with a cackle. “You know, Pine Tree, it’s very rude to gossip about someone when they’re in the room!“ he taunted. “Don’t beat around the bush, go ahead and tell him how restless your sleep was now that I’m back~!”

He tilted his own head with a playful smile. “Also please feel free to go into any nightmares you might’ve had in intricate detail! I looooove flipping through the night’s haul every morning! It’s like reading the newspaper at breakfast, but with more teeth falling out of someone’s head!”

While Dipper finally lost against the urge to wince in response, Stan flicked a thumb in Bill’s direction. “So, he do anything outside of be an annoying little nuisance all night?”

“Outside of that, no,” Ford answered, setting his pencil down. “But after a while, it grew easier to ignore him.”

“Okay, well, that’s even ruder than gossiping about someone while they’re in the same room,” Bill said with a scoff. “Honestly, somebody should give this family a few pointers on guest hospitality.”

Stan cast him a sidelong look of disgust. “Little jerk really likes hearing himself talk, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Ford said wearily. “But hopefully he won’t be an issue for us much longer.”

“Did you find a way to deal with him?” Dipper asked.

Ford opened his mouth to reply, looked to Bill—

—then stood up in his chair. “Let’s discuss this out in the hallway.”

“Wow, again with the hallway meetings, huh?” Bill asked aloud. “While I’d normally be flattered at how often you chumps feel the need to play hush-hush with your plans, gossiping about someone where they can’t hear you is even ruder than doing it in the same room as them~!”

Despite his snark, Bill was elated by the thought of being left alone again. A few minutes to himself meant a chance to search for something sharp enough to cut his binds.

Sure, getting Ford to do it for him was still the preferable option. But if a chance to take care of the issue himself was presented to him, who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth—

“Whaddabout him?”

Stan’s voice and pointed finger in his direction pulled Bill from his thoughts. “Think it’s safe to leave him all by himself?” 

Bill’s brow furrowed at the question. Guess being a spoilsport ran in the family, huh?

Oh, well. Nothing he couldn’t twist in his favor. “What do you mean, Goldfish?” he asked with a kick of his feet. “I’m still just as tied up as I was last night, aren’t I? What could I possibly do while you’re all busy discussing Sixer’s oh-so-clever plan to get rid of me~?”

An even bigger risk than before. To reveal all of that to Ford was one thing, but to reveal it to other people?

Eh, Pine Tree hadn’t even picked up on his little laptop stunt last year and Goldfish was more brawn than brain—Bill could afford to play loose and fast here.

Dipper shot Bill an uneasy glare before turning his attention up to Stan. “I hate to agree with him, but he does have a point: what can he really do while he’s all tied up like that?”

Oh, Pine Tree, you wonderful, reliable idiot. “Yeah, yeah, listen to the kid!” Bill agreed. “Unless you feel like leaving him to babysit me~?”

Okay, well, that one wasn’t so much of a risk as it was sticking his hand in a bucket of defanged piranha—the end result was so pathetically safe and predictable that it was almost not worth the effort. And sure enough, Dipper’s immediate wincing at the suggestion proved that he had bluffed successfully. “Guess that’s a no, huh?” he asked with a flash of his teeth. “What’s wrong, Pine Tree? Don’t feel like spending some quality time with me? I know I could use the company, ol’ Fordsy over there was a total drag the entire night.”

He pointed a leg in the direction of the porcelain doll collection. “And like I was telling him earlier; in a pathetic, unevolved body like this, I couldn’t even settle for a conversation with the girls on the shelf over there! Such a shame, Lupita on the middle one looks like she has quite the tongue for gossip—”

“Alright, that’s it.”

Before anyone—Bill included—could react, Stan stormed over to the chair and lightly pushed it backwards onto the floor. And before Bill could let out more than an agitated “Hey—HEY!”, Stan nudged the chair forward with his foot until the top rail was tucked beneath the underside of Abuelita’s bed. 

Leaving Bill unable to rotate the chair in any direction without the top clanging against the bed. And despite his best attempts to flail around helplessly, face reddening with anger by the second, the chair—and by extension, his own body—remained firmly in place on the ground.

Stan turned back to Ford with a grin. “So hallway, then?”

“Hallway.”

After a collective nod, the three of them shuffled out of the room. Leaving Bill to once again slump against his restraints with a huff and cast another glare in the direction of the porcelain shelf. “Not a single word outta you, Lupita!”

— — — — —

Once the door was pulled firmly shut behind them, Dipper asked: “Has he really been like that all night?”

“Sadly he picked up on the fact that I would’ve preferred not to use the gun unless absolutely necessary,” Ford explained, with a scrub at his weary eyes. “So he was probably taking advantage of that for as long as he could.”

“Yeesh,” Stan said with a wince. “So, uh—hate to go the gruesome route first, but why can’t we just take the little gremlin and—” 

He held a pair of fingers to his temple and made a shooting motion with his hand. “I know it ain’t the best idea, what with the whole…you know—”

They turned towards Dipper in unison, who reached for his own arm with a grimace. “Oh…you guys saw it too, huh?”

“Kinda hard not to see it,” Stan pointed out, and glanced over at Ford again. “But uh—I’m guessing that’s the main reason we’re not trying it?”

“There are plenty of reasons why I’m abstaining from killing Bill in his current form,” Ford explained, before casting a sympathetic look to Dipper. “Although the resemblance to you is certainly one of the bigger reasons as to why I’m hesitant to try.”

Dipper gave him a small, grateful smile in return. “I mean, if it helps, I accidentally killed a ton of my own clones last year,” he said. “Plus I did have some pretty dark thoughts about what I wanted to do to Dippy Fresh in Mabel’s dream world.”

He shrugged nervously. “So, you know, if you really have to kill him while he looks like me—”

His words were cut off with a weak laugh as Ford pressed a comforting hand to the top of his head. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind for sure,” he said, before both hand and smile fell again. “But there are other reasons as to why I’m hesitant. One of the main ones being that we have no way of knowing if killing the body would kill Bill himself.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Stan asked.

“Bill’s a creature of the mind,” Ford explained, pressing a finger to his temple. “One who lacks a physical form, and needs to resort to possessing those of us in the real world if he wishes to accomplish anything in this dimension.”

He gestured to himself, then to Dipper. “It’s why he had to use both Dipper and myself as his vessels on separate occasions.”

Stan’s gaze shifted awkwardly between them. “Oh, uh—right.”

“He mentioned something like that last year,” Dipper added. “About how if you don’t have a vessel, you’re basically a ghost in the mindscape.”

“Precisely,” Ford continued. “Based on his current appearance, he’s likely made some sort of deal with an unsuspecting person and claimed a new vessel as his own. But if a form of harm—or worse, death befell that vessel, it would leave the poor soul of whoever he’s possessing without a body, and him free to bounce around the mindscape again.”

He crossed his arms. “Which would just leave him completely unbound to our dimension and leave us back at square one.”

“So…if we can’t kill him and we can’t remove him from his vessel, then what can we do?” Dipper asked.

“Ah, well, I never said we couldn’t remove him from the vessel,” Ford pointed out. “I simply said that using the most drastic method available would be a poor decision, with no guarantee that it would actually kill Bill himself.”

A pause. “Plus there’s the natural reluctance that most people tend to face when presented with the idea of putting a bullet into a teenager’s head. Obviously.”

“I mean, if the kid’s possessed by someone who tried to destroy the universe, I don’t think anyone in their right mind’s gonna get huffy at you for pullin’ the trigger,” Stan pointed out. “But if we’re not doing that, then—what are we doing?”

“My current best idea is to take Bill down to my lab and try an artificial means of exhausting the body,” Ford explained. “In the hopes of exorcizing Bill from it in a safe and controlled environment, and to possibly bind him to a vessel where he’ll be unable to move around freely.”

He pressed a thoughtful hand to his chin. “Perhaps if we’re lucky, it will also grant the body’s original host a chance to retake control. And if they do, maybe they’ll be able to answer any further questions we might have regarding the situation. Answers we're surely not going to get from Bill himself."

He raised his hands in a shrug. “And even if none of that works, it might still give us a clearer picture as to what kind of possession we’re dealing with, and hopefully steer us towards a method that will actually kill Bill for good.”

Stan blinked. “...Now say it in layman’s terms for the kid, in case he didn’t catch that—”

“He’s going to try and make Bill so tired that he leaves the body, but can’t escape from the lab,” Dipper explained. “And move him to a vessel where he won’t cause more trouble and also doesn’t look like me, while maybe giving the original body back to whoever owned it.”

“Oh!” Stan said, and began to crack his fists. “Well, I mean—if you need a way to tire the little guy out, there’s nothin’ better than a good, old-fashioned round of fisticuffs—”

“No, Stanley,” Ford interrupted. “I appreciate both of you bringing me breakfast, but I’ll be handling this on my own.”

“Wh—” Stan’s hands fell to his side. “Seriously? You’re really not gonna let anyone help you with this?”

“Yeah, I’ve gotta side with Grunkle Stan on this one,” Dipper added. “You said yourself that you’ve been up all night, having to listen to Bill do everything he can to get under your skin. Are you sure you don’t want any help dealing with him now that the rest of us are awake?”

A shrug. ”Or, you know, someone to at least watch him while you take a nap?”

“Atta boy, Dip,” Stan praised, before pointing a finger at his brother. “Like I said last night, I can watch over Bill for you while you get some sleep. If you don’t want me to kill him, I won’t—I’ll just keep an eye on him—”

“I believe I gave my answer last night,” Ford said firmly, turning back to the door. “I’ve got a few plans in mind, and if it turns out that I’m unable to accomplish this goal on my own, only then will I ask for help.”

“...Will you?”

Ford’s hand froze just above the doorknob, and he turned back to Stanley with a raised eyebrow. “Come again?”

“Will you ask for help?” Stan repeated with more boldness as he leaned closer. “Because you’ve got a guy who’s practically throwin’ himself at you to help, and you keep saying you can handle this by yourself.”

“I said I will ask for help if I’m unable to handle it by myself, Stanley,” Ford replied, narrowing his eyes. “And so far, I’ve been able to handle it just fine—”

“Uh, maybe I should just—”

Dipper shifted uncomfortably in place, before taking a step backwards. A motion that caused both men to turn to him with looks of concern. “It’s alright, Dipper, you can go,” Ford reassured him with a smile. “And thank you for bringing me breakfast, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, go on and get, kiddo,” Stan added with a wave. “Actually, why don’t you go check on your sister, or somethin’? Don’t know if she got any food in her.”

“Hmm, come to think of it, I don’t think she did,” Dipper mused thoughtfully. “I should probably go fix that, huh?”

He turned and hurried back down the hall, the older men waiting until he disappeared from sight to face each other again. “Come on, Ford,” Stan asked, flicking a thumb towards the door. “You’ve been at this all night, and the only idea you’ve got isn’t even one that’s gonna kill him.”

“I realize it’s not the best idea,” Ford said. “But if it works, we can always trap Bill in a safer environment and—”

“And what, stay up for another week as you keep looking for a way to actually kill him?” Stan interrupted. “And what happens if you don’t find one? Are you just gonna stay up forever and let this Bill stuff takes over your life again?”

“If I have to, then yes,” Ford said firmly, and turned to face the door again. “What other choice do I have, let Bill wander around freely and attempt to destroy the universe again?”

“You have the choice to let someone else babysit the little jerk while you rest for five minutes!”

Much like the evening prior, Ford felt a hand clasp his shoulder tightly. “Ford, just—don’t you remember what I said at the bus stop yesterday?” Stan asked, pleaded. “About not having to deal with anything by ourselves ever again? What, did you think I was lying when I said that?”

Ford froze at that question, hand less than an inch from the doorknob.

He wasn’t lying. Of course he wasn’t lying.

But that was the issue in itself.

His shoulders tensed beneath Stan’s hand as his thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous day. Those looks Stanley had given him after their arrival, the way he’d dodged his concerns back at the mermaid tank.

Ford had initially written them off as his own paranoia, as something to not concern himself over. But Stan had said as much himself yesterday; he would toss himself in front of another blast of the Memory Gun to protect his family again. So willing to let himself burn if it meant keeping the others warm.

Was it truly his paranoia talking when it came to those thoughts? Or—

“I don’t know, Stanley. Were you?”

The question escaped Ford’s mouth before he could stop himself, leaving Stan to stare at him with a perplexed look. “What? Whaddaya talkin’ about?”

Ford hesitated to reply at first, but eventually continued with: “You said we could talk to each other about anything. But ever since we’ve arrived at the Shack, you keep looking at me like you’ve got something you need to say but refuse to say it.”

“Again, I ask: whaddaya talkin’ about?”

“The way you looked at me last night at dinner,” Ford explained. “And…and back at the mermaid tank when we were talking with the others. You kept looking at me like you wanted to tell me something, but the one time I actually asked you if anything’s wrong, you just brushed it off with a joke!”

He folded his arms. “How am I supposed to believe you when you say we don’t have to deal with hardships by ourselves anymore when you can’t even grant me the same courtesy in return?”

Stan blinked at him a few times, before his eyes narrowed. “Are you ki—you cannot be serious, Stanford! Are you really not letting me help you deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

The implications of what Stan had said hit them both like a truck, any aggravation that had been building between them instantly replaced with identical looks of shock. Shock that lingered for a few, agonizingly long seconds before—

“You know what, I need to get back to work,” Ford said, and spun to face the bedroom door again.

“Ford, I—”

It was as far as he got before the door slammed shut in his face.

Stan lingered where he stood, too stunned to properly move or react. And much like the previous evening, the idea of barging into the room after Ford once again flashed to the front of his mind. 

Barging in, making a scene—heck, he even eyed the dent on the wall where Ford had swung a fist the night before, his own hand balling into a fist as the temptation to follow suit swelled inside him.

But despite the red flooding his vision, he still had enough of a grasp on his common sense to know that making a whole scene—especially in front of Bill—would only make things more difficult for Ford. It would only push him further away, only make him close himself off even more than he already was, only make him bury himself further in his work and sleepless isolation—

“Are you really not letting me help deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

If he hadn’t done that already, after implying that Ford—the man who had spent several decades being lied to and manipulated by the very same demon in the next room—was just being paranoid because he didn’t want Stan's help. 

“Well, we have you to thank for the idea, Dr. Pines.”

That Ford’s accusations about him were just based on nothing.

“None of this would’ve happened without you, Grunkle Ford!”

That Ford had been anything but completely right about him.

Great. Great. 

Just another way he’d royally screwed things up.

It took every ounce of restraint that Stan could possibly muster to once again force his balled fist to his side, before he turned and stormed back down the hallway.

And once he was sure that Ford wouldn’t be able to hear him, he finally swung it hard at the wall near the stairs, the wood splintering beneath his knuckles with a loud cracking sound.

A sound that unfortunately attracted the attention of the remaining kitchen-goers, Soos poking his head out less than a second later. “Mr. Pines? Is everything okay?” he asked. “Are you still hungry? Melody made more bacon—”

Stan barely managed a grunt and a “Goin’ out to the boat!” in response before he continued onwards out the front door—he left it ajar; Soos would close it behind him and Stan knew for a fact that if he tried to close it himself, the slam would be loud enough to wake up the entire town—down the porch steps and towards the direction of the boat at the edge of the yard.

— — — — — — — —

“You know, most people would be mad about being left on the floor while you went out in the hallway to gossip with your blowhard brother and a kid who probably has Baby’s First Conspiracies memorized cover to cover—”

Clank, clank.

“—but lucky for you, Fordsy, I’m in just as much of a forgiving mood as I was yesterday—”

Clank, clank.

“Honestly, I kinda like laying down on the floor like this! In fact, I could stay here forever!”

While Bill continued to rock his body back and forth—causing the top of the chair to clank loudly against the underside of the bed—Ford remained with his back to the door, too submerged in his own troubling thoughts to pay him any mind.

“Are you really not letting me help deal with Bill because—because you think I’m hiding something from you?!”

The question was like a chilling rush of ice water to his veins. Stanley really thought that he wasn’t letting him help because he didn’t trust him? After all they’d experienced together, after everything they’d gone through—

After everything that Stanley had sacrificed to save the universe, Ford had the gall to imply right to the man’s face that he didn’t trust him? To imply that Stan was being secretive about something, based on evidence as miniscule as responding strangely to a question about his mood? A response that Ford himself had originally brushed off as his own paranoia getting the better of him?

And what had changed about that original mindset to cause such doubt in Ford’s mind? Stanley’s constant insistence to help deal with Bill? A natural response to have when someone he cared about was in need?

Yeah, definitely worthy of the cruel accusations Ford had tossed at him.

He remained rigid against the door, and it was only once he heard the telltale sound of floorboards creaking their way up the hallway on the other side that he finally moved back to the chair and his waiting breakfast.

“Not even a look at me, huh?” Bill piped up from the floor. “Wow, did your chat really go that badly?”

He kicked his legs straight up into the air with a thoughtful look. “Come to think of it, that’s what—twice now that you’ve gone out into the hallway with him and come back looking worse than you normally do? And here I thought I was joking when I said the two of you were fighting.”

Devilish laughter followed his remark, and he gave the top of the chair another clank against the bed. “But even after nine months and a homemade bout of amnesia, you Pines twins really can’t get along, can you?”

Ford stuffed a piece of bacon into his mouth, fighting desperately to keep his attention fixed on his plate of food. A repeat of his unsaid sentiments from the previous evening; that damned demon could chatter on all he wanted.

He could say whatever he wanted, tease him however he wanted—

He finally turned back to his list of potential ideas, gaze landing on the one he had underlined earlier in the morning.

He swapped his plate for the notes and returned to where Bill was still situated. After a few more clanks of his legs against the chair, Bill flashed him a wide grin. “Aw, have you decided to finally pick me up—oh, actually, you have.”

Ford grabbed the end of the chair leg and pulled it out from beneath the bed, Bill’s grin only widened further as he set the entire thing back up in a standing position. “Well, well, well, you’re finally listening to me again,” he said smugly. “It’s about time you—hey, what are you doing?”

While Bill had prattled on, Ford had moved to the rope by the wall—the one that had been abandoned for most of the night. Originally he’d planned on using it to tie Bill’s legs to the chair, but circumstances had prevented him from getting around to actually accomplishing that throughout the course of the evening.

If anything, that had worked out in Ford’s favor. If he was truly going to try his attempt at exorcizing Bill, this would save him a trip to the storage room.

After slinging the rope over his shoulder, he returned to the chair and placed his hand on the back, before scooping it up from the floor in one fluid motion. Further ignoring Bill’s follow up remark of: “Welp, guess we’re leaving~! Too bad, I was starting to grow fond of those porcelain dolls! They’re great nightmare fuel!”, he kept his grip on the chair and lead both of them out into the hallway.

Leaving the barely touched plate and scrapped pile of ideas abandoned in the room.

— — — — — —

Dipper trudged up the stairs and towards the room at the back of the attic, the sound of Mabel’s voice growing louder and clearer as he approached the bedroom door; “Yeah, sorry, things got a little crazy last night,” she was saying. “We literally got into town and the bus had to stop because some gnomes and Lilliputtians were fighting in the middle of the road!”

“Did you snap any pics?” Another voice piped up.

A long, sad sigh. “No, we didn’t think to at the time. Sorry, I know you would’ve loved it.”

Dipper pushed the door to the bedroom open to the sight of Mabel seated near her bed, phone in hand as Dev continued to speak through it: “Eh, no worries, you guys have all summer,” they said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to get pics of all the other weird stuff that town has to offer.”

“Hey, Dev!” Dipper called as he approached the bed. “Just letting you know that I’m now in the room, so no making kissy faces at each other!”

“Psh, who says?” Mabel asked. “We can make kissy faces at each other all we want, whenever we want!”

“Hey, Dip!” Dev called in return. “Mabel was just telling me about your busy first day, and why she forgot to call.”

“So I heard. Hey, scoot over.”

Mabel obliged, and he planted himself down on the floor next to her. “Did she tell you about how we got carried up to the shack by a Manotaur?”

“Ugh, you guys have all the luck!” Dev whined. “I wish I could’ve convinced Aaron to let me join you guys up there for the summer!”

“Ehh, I don’t know about that one, Dev,” Dipper said. “It wasn’t all gnomes and Manotaurs once we got back to town. See, after we got to the Shack—”

“Our Grunkle Ford had to deal with a whollleeee lot of old business stuff!” Mabel interrupted quickly. “Lots of nerd stuff—not the cool nerd stuff that you like, boring nerd stuff—that might keep him busy all summer, and we might not get to spend as much time with him as we thought we would.”

“Aww, boo,” Dev said supportively. “You were so excited about getting to spend the summer with him! You even made that sweater and everything!”

“Right?! But hopefully he gets it all dealt with in time for us to do lots of fun Grunkle-and-great-niece-slash-nephew activities!”

She paused for a moment. “Ugh, that’s a mouthful. What’s a better way to say great-niece-and-nephew?”

“...Gniece and Gnephew?” Dev suggested. “Like gnome but the g isn’t silent?”

Mabel’s eyes went wide and she clutched the phone to her cheek. “Ugh, you’re the SMARTEST smarty-pants in the world~!” she cooed, kicking her feet. “I’m soooo gonna use that now!”

“Anyway, sorry for not checking in last night, Dev,” Dipper chimed in. “Just assume that if we go a while without calling you, we’re probably being held captive by like…mutant tree people or something.”

“Wait, you guys have mutant tree people up there?!” Dev asked excitedly. “Maaaaan—next year I’ve gotta convince Aaron to let me go up there with you guys—”

There was a muffled shout in the background, before Dev said: “Oh, he’s calling me down to breakfast, I’ve gotta go.”

“No problem, we’re supposed to be eating breakfast now, too,” Dipper added. 

“Bye, Dev~!” Mabel said sweetly. “We’ll talk to you later~!”

“Bye, Dev! What Mabel said.”

“I love you!”

“—also that, but platonically!”

“Later, guys!” Dev called. “Hope you get a chance to spend time with your Great-Uncle Ford, and don’t forget to snag me an autograph if you can!”

“Dev—” Dipper said with a laugh. “I’m telling you, he’s just a regular guy.”

“Remind me again: how long did you spend searching for him last year?”

“...Point taken. Talk to you later.”

There was a click and the phone went silent, before Mabel slapped it shut. “Aww, I wish we could’ve convinced Aaron to let Dev come with us on our trip up here!” she lamented with a sigh. “He’s usually so cool, I don’t know why he said no!”

“Maybe because you told him about how one of our great-uncles stole the other’s identity for thirty years,” Dipper reminded her. “While the other spent that time traveling around the Multiverse. I mean, what older brother would want their younger sibling to spend the entire summer with two old men like that?”

“Uh, the coolest older brother?” Mabel replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Oh well. Maybe we can convince Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford to come down to Piedmont for Hanukkah this year. They can meet him then, and then he’ll be willing to let Dev spend next summer here with us~! Perfect plan!”

“Yeah, perfect plan,” Dipper said. “As long as they’ve gotten rid of Bill by then.”

An uneasy silence fell over the room, the twins’ gazes shifting away from each other as Mabel suddenly found herself very interested in the pattern on the floorboards while  Dipper reached up to fiddle with his hat. “So you didn’t tell Dev about Bill’s return, I’m guessing?”

“Nuh-uh,” Mabel confirmed in a low voice.

“...You know, what I said yesterday about talking to Mayor Tyler still applies,” Dipper continued. “I mean, he’s dating Wendy’s dad now and he seemed really excited to see us when we got back to town. Maybe if we ask—”

“Race you downstairs to finish that breakfast we didn’t eat!”

Before Dipper could continue, Mabel had leapt to her feet and was bolting for the door. Dipper blinked in surprise, before leaping to his feet as well and hurrying after her with a shout of: “Mabel, wait, you didn’t let me finish—”

Mabel simply laughed in response as the two of them raced their way back down to the first floor—

“Well, well, well, looks like Shooting Star’s awake too~!”

—only for that laughter to get caught in her throat as she reached the bottom step, eyes wide at the sight that waited before her.

Ford was just coming up from the hallway, Bill’s chair clutched tightly in his hand as he walked. And upon hearing Bill’s greeting to Mabel, Ford gave the chair a warning shake.

To Mabel, however, he gave a warm, tired smile. “Good morning, Mabel.”

“Uh, good morning, Grunkle Ford…”

Mabel couldn’t help but let her gaze linger on the restrained figure in the chair, one who cast her a wide smile full of teeth. “Sleep well~?” he asked. “Heard your brother had an uneasy night—”

“Hey, I didn’t say that!” Dipper piped up, as he came down the stairs behind Mabel. “Don’t put words in my mouth!”

“Aw, but putting words in other people’s mouths is so fun,” Bill insisted. “All you gotta do is take one word, pluck it outta someone’s head, and then just slap another word in its place! You can make even the most serious and no-nonsense chumps say all kinds of silly words when you do!”

He jerked his head towards Ford. “Like ol’ Fordsy here—go ahead and try to get him to say the word ‘burden’!” he said with a bat of his eyelashes. “Come on, you know you wanna~!”

As Dipper and Mabel both winced in discomfort, Soos peered his head out from the kitchen. “Good morning!” he greeted cheerfully, before his gaze fell to Bill. “Uh, that doesn’t apply to you, triangle dude.”

“So grateful you spelled that out for me, Question Mark,” Bill said with bright sarcasm. “Otherwise I never would’ve caught it~!”

“Oh, uh—you’re welcome, then? I guess?”

“Nobody pay him any mind,” Ford instructed. “We’re simply passing through on our way down to the basement.”

“Yeah, nobody pay me any mind,” Bill chimed. “Unless they’re really valuable, of course!”

He laughed at his own joke with a kick of his feet. “I’m just kidding: I’ll take any mind as a form of payment, even the dumb ones!” he said, with a wink in Soos’ direction. “I’m talkin’ to you, Big Guy, I know for a fact you’re not using yours!”

“Ugh, is there any way to get him to stop talking?” Wendy piped up from behind Soos, a moment before she propped herself against the kitchen doorframe. “Can’t Mr. Pines pop him in the other eye or something?”

“He coooould,” Bill taunted. “If him and Sixer weren’t fiiiiighting~!”

He laughed as Ford gave the chair another shake, while Mabel stared in confusion. “You and Grunkle Stan are fighting?”

“As I said, Mabel, pay him no mind,” Ford instructed. “Nothing that comes out of his mouth is to be trusted in any sense.”

“Well, uh,” Dipper started awkwardly. “Do you know where Grunkle Stan went after you guys talked? I don’t think he ate much of his breakfast before we went to bring you yours, so—”

“I know where he went,” Wendy began, before her eyes fell to Bill. “He—he came up the hallway, then headed outside to the boat. Didn’t say why, though.”

“I did ask if he wanted any more food, though,” Soos added. “But he just kinda grunted and didn’t really give me an answer. Which is a pretty normal Mr. Pines reply, but still—breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so I hope he’s alright!”

“Sounds to me like he’s going outside to sulk because somebody doesn’t want him around,” Bill said, once again tilting his head in Ford’s direction. “But I guess they didn’t hear that from me, did they?”

Ford glowered at him for a brief moment, before turning towards the living room doorway. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be down in the basement dealing with our little…problem.”

“Oh, wait one second, Dr. Pines!” Melody called from the kitchen, seconds before leaning into view from the doorway. “Before you go, I just wanted to ask about the party tonight. And, uh—whether or not we should still have it after—”

She gestured towards Bill with the spatula, upon which he flashed her a smile. “Aww, you chumps were going to have a party?” he asked. “Well, don’t stop on my account! I dunno if anyone’s told you, Newbie, but I’m quite the party fanatic myself~! Practically invented the word!”

Melody raised an eyebrow. “Newbie?”

“He does nicknames,” Wendy explained with a wave of her hand. “It’s a thing, don’t worry about it.”

“Ignoring him, please feel free to have the party as initially planned,” Ford instructed Melody. “I assume you’ve already passed out invitations, and canceling at the last minute would arouse more suspicion than just hosting the party anyway.”

“Okay, well, if you’re sure,” Soos said, casting him a small grin. “You—uh, think you’ll be done in time to join us? It’s a party for you too, you know?”

Ford looked to him, then silently to Bill—who only widened his cheeky little grin further as he waited for an answer—

—before passing through living room doorway in silence, letting the chair thump down the small step and to the carpet as he dragged it behind him. With a vocal complaint from Bill in the form of: “Hey, hey! You could at least carry me all the way, you jerk!”, Ford continued onwards towards the door to the gift shop on the other side of the room.

The rest of the group watched them go, and looked to each other once the two of them disappeared from sight past the swinging door. “So, uh—guess we should start prepping the shack for the party then, huh?” Soos asked the rest of them.

“Probably,” Melody agreed. “We didn’t get around to cleaning up the exhibits yesterday, so there’s a lot to do if we want to be ready by tonight.”

“Ughh, does that mean I have to work on another one of my days off?” Wendy started with a groan—

—before casting a look to the twins still on the stairs, gazes still focused on the vacant living room doorway. “—ah, well, I guess it’s a good chance to show off our new way of cleaning things up around here.”

She flashed them a grin. “I could use a couple of assistants to help me out, though. Whaddaya say, dorks?”

Dipper pulled his gaze away from the door frame to look at her. “You want our help?”

“No, I’m talking to the other pair of twins standing in the exact same spot as you two,” Wendy said with a laugh. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Or as fun as cleaning can get—”

She shrugged. “I know that’s not very convincing, but seriously, I could really use someone to talk to while I work. Make the boring stuff less boring, y’know?”

This got a smile out of Dipper, and he leaned over to nudge his sister. “Come on, let’s leave Ford to do what he’s gotta do and go distract ourselves for a bit,” he urged. “Besides, I’m sure Melody will let you toss up as many streamers as you want if you ask.”

“I will!” Melody confirmed from the doorway.

Mabel didn’t take her eyes off the living room doorway at first, but the draw of streamers finally moved her attention back to the rest of the group. “As many as I want?”

“We have at least a hundred rolls at the ready,” Soos said with a thumbs up. “When we told the lady at Party Metropolis what—and who—they were for, she sold us her entire stock.”

Mabel’s mouth curled into a wide smile. “We~ell, I guess that’s a start—”

“Atta girl,” Wendy said with a wink, before making her way to the front door. “Come on, I can’t wait to show you guys how we clean everything up now—”

While Dipper rushed after her with just as much gusto, Mabel trailed slowly behind them, casting a hesitant look in the direction of the living room before the door swung shut behind her.

The shack was quiet now, leaving only Soos and Melody left in the kitchen doorway. After a moment, Melody turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Hey, did either of them eat any breakfast?”

“Don’t think so,” Soos replied. “Don’t think Mr. Pines ate much either. And I know we had Dipper bring Dr. Pines some food, but that was only a few minutes ago and he didn’t have it when he headed for the basement.”

He waved his hands. “So unless he picked up some kinda superpowers in the Multiverse that let him—I dunno, inhale all his food in one big gulp or something, it’s a tossup if he actually ate anything,” he said, before pressing one hand to his chin. “Either way, I should probably go get that plate from Abuelita’s room.”

With a smile, Melody ducked back into the kitchen. “You take care of that while I’ll go ahead and stick four premade plates of food in the fridge for later,” she said. “They’ll eat when they get hungry, right? And if not…then we have four ready-made plates to eat later.”

“You’re so smart,” Soos said, giving her a smile as he head towards the hall. “I want the last of that lasagna though, babe! You did such a good job making it!”

“Soos, it was premade.”

“Well, you can heat up a premade pasta better than anyone I know!”

— — — — — — — —

The elevator rumbled slowly as it descended beneath the house, the vibrations making the chair—and by extension, Bill—bounce slightly in place.

It didn’t take a genius to guess where the two of them were going, and a cheeky smile was widening across Bill’s face as they continued downwards. “So, Sixer, taking me down to the lab?” he asked. “Gonna run a few tests? Maybe poke me with a couple of needles?”

He tilted his head closer to Ford. “Come ooooon, I know you can’t resist a chance to take some sample blood!” he said cheerfully. “And if I know anything about you mortals, it’s that you’ve got a LOT of blood to spare~!”

Ford remained silent, gaze fixed ahead as the elevator finally slowly to a stop, with the small ding of a bell signaling their arrival. Once the doors slid open, he grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it behind him as he stepped out into the—

—private study.

Huh?

Bill had expected Ford to take them all the way down to the main laboratory for whatever plans he had in mind. More privacy, the wide open space of the portal room acting as a nostalgic backdrop for the both of them…

He couldn’t possibly imagine why Ford would bring them to his stuffy old study instead.

The chair legs clattered loudly against the floor as Ford dragged him through the room, past all the various collections he had accrued over his years of study. Collections that Bill couldn’t help but take a look at while he was pulled along.

Sure, he’d seen plenty of them more times than he could count—whether it was through Stanford’s eyes or the eyes of one of the countless triangles that he had once kept in his home. But hey, long time no see and Bill was always happy to see!

Besides, maybe he’d finally get a proper look at his vessel’s face for the first time while the two of them were down here. He hadn’t missed the fact that nobody in the household had followed up on his request for a mirror, and he could feel the curiosity about his vessel’s appearance rising with each passing minute.

They probably weren’t very tall, judging by the stubby length of the legs he had stared at—and kicked obnoxiously against his chair—for most of the night. And the way that Ford and Stan had towered over him while he was seated only added more credibility to this theory.

Had Birdbrain given him a short vessel as revenge for all the short jokes he had previously tossed their way? If that was the case, then somebody was being very immature.

Aside from that, a few glances at his hands and the fluff of blond hair that hung down over his eyes, he was completely clueless about what his vessel actually looked like.

Ford continued to drag him through the study and towards the far space at the back of the room. A space that brought an elated sparkle to Bill’s eyes once he realized where they were heading. “Oh, we’re going over here~?” he asked delightedly. “Man, I haven’t seen the shrine in age—oh.”

His initial excitement died in his throat as Ford finally stopped and set the chair in place, allowing Bill to get a clearer look at the area around him.

Gone were the golden statues and shimmering prisms resembling his likeness, and the usual tapestries of deep red and gold—each thread stitched with care by Ford’s own hand; he had really gone the extra mile back then—were now replaced with nothing but dreary-gray walls and assorted garbage that Ford had yet to clean up.

The beloved shrine that had once been Ford’s glorious tribute to Bill’s greatness, his godliness—

Gone. Completely torn down.

To add insult to injury, Ford had set the chair down right in the very center of the mess—withered ruins of a once-magnificent display—and made his way over to his workspace. Leaving Bill to stew in his bitterness as he cast a sour look around him, gaze landing on the only thing left near him outside of the discarded trash.

More specifically, an elaborate computer system with its main screen completely busted.

Ford might’ve attempted to cut him off before creating Project Mentem, but having eyes everywhere allowed him to keep tabs on things outside the mindscape. 

And boy howdy, he had sure kept tabs on Ford after his cruel and unwarranted betrayal. Even going so far as to rip handfuls of wires out of the machine whenever Ford’s body succumbed to sleep, setting his progress on the project back further and further. 

Sure, that problem had temporarily solved itself in the form of the Portal incident, but Ford had gotten straight to work upon his return and finally finished the project to completion.

Yeesh, between that and the destruction of the portal, Ford had really spent the entire month-and-a-half after returning to this dimension being as inconvenient to Bill as possible.

A brief spike of panic shot through Bill as the thought of Ford using the machine on him bubbled to the front of his mind. The technology was designed to scramble minds and make reading them near impossible—although for the record, Stanford, he would’ve eventually found some kind of work-around for that—but Bill also knew that before the scrambling process began, the machine would project all those thoughts onto the screen itself.

A weird design choice on Ford’s end, but in an indirect way, it granted him his own artificial method of reading minds.

Sure, the machine had been damaged shortly after completion—oh, Bill had to give Pine Tree some praise in that regard; probably one of the most useful things the little pipsqueak had done in his entire life. But if Ford had been smart enough to understand the complex, multidimensional schematics that Bill had provided for him for the portal’s construction, then repairing some fancy-schmancy thought scrambler would be child’s play.

If Ford managed to get Project Mentem working again, there was a chance that he could snag a glimpse at the deal Bill had made with Tangy. To see a lot of things that he had no business seeing, to know things he had no business knowing—

Hold on a second.

Bill continued to stare hard at the old computer, gaze fixed on one of the smaller, undamaged monitors. The screen was decades old—a tried-and-true relic of the early nineteen-eighties, much like the rest of the technology that Ford and his…assistant had used for their inventions around that point in time—and the inactivity of the machine left a dark reflection of the room and anyone in it on the glass.

And while the angle Bill was situated at made it difficult for him to get a clear look with his functional eye, he could almost make out his vessel’s face. If only he could turn his head at juuuust the right angle—

“Hey—hey!”

And suddenly his head was guided—jerked back to the front by a firm hand around his jaw, and Bill found himself face-to-face with Ford. 

He expected to see the same anger in his eyes that he’d been subjected to for the past several hours. But Ford’s expression was more studious, pupils darting back and forth behind his old lenses in deep concentration—

“ACK!”

A small flash of light was shone in his functional eye before Bill had time to brace himself, and he shrank away from it as best he could—despite Ford’s hand keeping both his head and the small flashlight in place. “Hey, come on,” he griped, snapping his eyelid closed with a nasty look. “Trying to kill me is one thing, but blinding me’s a low blow, even for you!”

Eventually the light was shifted to his right eye, and Ford kept it there for a moment before finally clicking the small flashlight off and tucking it back into his coat. “Had a feeling…”

Despite his irritation towards being manhandled, Bill raised an eyebrow at that remark. Outside of the occasional threat, Ford hadn’t said anything��to him the entire night he’d been back.

Granted, his remark was more about him than to him, but it was close enough to count! “Oh, so are you finally ready to talk to me, Sixer?” he tried with a cutesy bat of his eyelashes. “Because lemme tell ya: after being rudely ignored all night, I’m not so sure I’m even in the mood to—hey!”

And now Ford had both his jaw and forehead in a tight grip, keeping his mouth propped open for a moment so he could look inside. “Dental structure appears normal,” he mused quietly. “Canines have already grown in, second molars—”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re researching me,” Bill said with a perturbed scowl once Ford finally let go of his head to scribble down his findings. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m flattered and open to answering any questions you might have about me.”

He flashed Ford a grin. “But like I warned your brother last night, I’d advise against sticking those freaky hands of yours anywhere near these puppies, unless you feel like going from six fingers to five!” he said with a snap of his teeth. “I’d advise against it, though. Those extra fingers of yours are probably your best qualities—can you stop?!”

Ford’s hands were back on his head, this time to push that blonde tuft of hair out of his eyes—

“Oh.”

Ford’s curious stare at his forehead gave Bill pause for a moment, and he raised an eyebrow. “What? What’s with the ominous ‘oh’-ing?”

Ford continued to stare in silence for a few seconds, before turning back to his notes to scribble something down.

“Hey, you tell me what you’ve written right now!” Bill demanded, face hot with anger. “Do you hear me, Sixer?! You don’t get to poke and prod me like a lump of flesh clay and then just sit there and not tell me what you’re writing!”

Despite Bill’s ire, Ford ignored him in favor of finishing his notes, only stopping to reach for the rope he had grabbed from the bedroom. And as Bill watched, he laid the rope in a perfect circle on the floor around the chair and himself. 

Yeesh, whether it was through a sketch in a notebook, spray paint on the ground, or with a simple rope, Ford really did have a knack for creating near-perfect circles. An impressive talent, although Bill had always—and understandably—favored his ability to draw a perfect equilateral triangle far more than some silly circles.

Once Ford had closed the circle, he moved to one of the nearby storage cupboards for the needed moonstones and vial of mercury. “You know, I feel like you’re being a biiiiit excessive with all of this, Fordsy,” Bill piped up. “I mean, I’m already bound pretty tightly over here. What’s another spell circle going to do?”

Rather than reply, Ford set the remaining objects in place and returned to his desk to fiddle with something just out of Bill’s line of sight—despite several failed attempts on Bill’s end to stretch his body far enough to get a peek. And after a few minutes, he stepped away again and made his way towards the spiral staircase on the other side of the study.

Bill continued to watch as he descended upwards and towards the level that waited just above the room; a hallway that connected to the cellar beneath one side of the shack, an additional hidden entrance that opened up to the house on the other, and a bathroom smack dab in the very center. All of which was comfortably situated just beneath the stairwell on the upper floor.

All in all, a general area that provided solutions to more than one type of emergency.

It was only when Ford disappeared completely from sight near the top of the stairs that Bill turned his attention back to the desk. So Mister Brainiac wanted to play sneaky with his plans, did he? Well, if there was anything he should’ve picked up on last night, it was that he should’ve used that extra rope to restrain Bill’s legs!

Or maybe not, since that would’ve only inconvenienced him further.

With an inhale of breath, Bill leaned backwards in the chair before throwing all of body weight forward and bringing himself to his feet. He wasn’t quite used to using his new human limbs yet—let alone with a whole chair on his back—but all he needed to do was get within reach of something sharp long enough to cut his ropes.

Sure, the circle on the floor limited his range of motion, but the rope had been placed right up against the broken monitors. Maybe if he angled the legs of the chair enough, he could get a piece of glass from the broken computer monitor within his line of reach. All he needed to do was take a few wobbly steps—

“Oh, come on!”

—wobblier than expected, apparently. For it was one humiliating crash later that Bill found himself as acquainted with the hardwood floor as he had been with the rug back in Abuelita’s bedroom. 

His face was smushed against the ground in a way that barred his sight of the stairs. But he could hear Ford stomping back down them in an instant—likely to investigate the source of the crashing sound—and it was only a few seconds later that an unseen hand gripped the back of the chair and hoisted it up off the floor.

Both chair and Bill were rotated forward again, and his own glare met Ford’s as the two of them stared at each other in furious silence. “See, I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Bill finally said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re not the one who keeps giving the floorboards the wrong impression about what kinda shape I am.”

He tilted his head dramatically. “With how often my face meets the floor, these poor planks probably see me as some kind of…woodwork womanizer at this point~! My reputation’s gonna take ages to recover from such a scathing blow!”

He dropped the theatrics for a moment to roll his eyes. “Or at least, it would if I actually cared about that kinda thing, haha!”

With a huff, Ford set the chair back in place with a solid thunk of the chair legs, only to step just out of range when Bill tried to kick at him. “And seriously, would it kill you to put some carpet or a rug down in here?”

“I had a rug.”

“Yeah, well, what happened to—”

Any further protests died in Bill’s throat under Ford’s narrowed glare, and he looked away with a muttered: “...Could’ve just bought another one.” as Ford returned to his desk.

— — — — — — —

Even as far back as their childhood, Stan had often teased Ford for the way he organized things. Whether it was his half of their dresser drawers, his school binders—

—heck, even his beloved journals of all the Whatchamacallits and Whatsittoyas of Gravity Falls had been organized to some degree.

Granted, everything was always organized in an incredibly-nerdy way—one that only Stanford Pines and Stanford Pines alone could properly decipher. Sorting sock brands by alphabetical order? Academic awards by height and medal quality?

And organized didn’t always mean clean. Even a complete and total memory wipe hadn’t managed to make Stan forget the time he had come home to most of Ford’s science books and countless sheets of paper with associated scribblings scattered around the bedroom. All of which Ford had insisted that Stan not move in the slightest, because he was ‘on the verge of completing a super important experiment for the science fair, and couldn’t afford to move a single paper’.

Wait, had it been for the science fair? It could’ve just been some random project—whatever, it didn’t matter at the moment.

Regardless of his eccentric methods—and how often Stan had ended up spending the night on the living room couch to avoid another one of his brother’s nerdy all-nighters—the fact of the matter was that Ford was an expert in keeping his stuff organized. A place for everything and everything in its place, and all that other jazz Ma had always taught them growing up.

And despite Stan reacting to such behavior in the only way he knew how to react—juvenile, brotherly teasing with the occasional noogie for good measure—Ford had always gotten the upper hand in the end whenever they needed to locate something in a hurry.

And thankfully that mindset had carried over to adulthood, and included his notes on all of the oddities that the two of them had discovered during their sea travels across the past nine months.

It had taken Stan about two minutes to locate said notes after he finally managed to calm down from the events that had unfolded inside the shack. Whether or not that also took two minutes was up for debate—if there was a universe out there where two minutes and ten minutes were the exact same length of time.

Yeesh, Stan could practically hear Ford in his head at the very thought, going off on elaborate story about how he’d actually jumped through several dimensions where time worked like that during his travels.

His grip on the saltwater-stained journal—one whose front was emblazoned with a golden hand and the number four—tightened as he moved to the counter at the back of the cabin, and set it down in front of him before flipping open to the first page.

It wasn’t the best idea in the world, since it limited their options to sea-based methods. And unless that little triangle twerp had some unknown weakness to water, they probably wouldn’t get anywhere with just the one book. 

But for now, it was an idea.

#Hayley Writes Triangulum #Gravity Falls #Triangulum The Fic #Bill Cipher #Stanford Pines #Stanley Pines #My Writing #Long Post #(More characters in the chapter; they are just tagged for the art)

[kirbyskisses]

miguel o’hara x reader || “te amo”

chapter 4: “confía en mí” (masterlist)

A/N: so i’m back!!! a lot of you know I delayed this chapter because i had a new job, a family tragedy and rewrote the plot outline from scratch but it’s here! no warnings needed this time, just enjoy everyone’s favorite lying-ass spiderman! and reminder this fic now has a playlist!

(minors/ageless/blank blogs, do not interact!!! if there is no age indicator in your bio and you reblog or comment YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT)

“it wasn’t a cop.”

unable to look you in the eye, miguel’s gaze drifts to stare at his clawed hands. were he calmer he’d be able to retract the sharp, deadly tips but having just experienced waves of panic and anxiety he lets them stick out. his eyes still have a tinge of red as they do at any time of agitation.

his tongue slides gently across his fangs. they too are physical signs that he’s something more than human although right now, trying to format his next words into an acceptable lie, he feels far less human - he feels monstrous and out of his own body.

just a few minutes ago (although to his anxiety-ridden brain it feels like hours have passed) the energy in your shared bedroom was sexually-charged as you noted and admired the bulk your husband had recently acquired. however, the energy was not reciprocated.

brain tumbling through thoughts of being an imposter, miguel looked at you not in arousal or want but in fear, a panic attack taking hold of his body.

he’d thought you’d be mad or sad or even scared of how he jerked away from your advances and your admittedly beautiful body. but instead, despite your obvious worry, your eyes softened. you called his name a few times, gave him space and time and water, and only after it was clear that your husband could think and talk somewhat clearly you started listening.

his mind is still a bit blurry but miguel remembers the concerns you were voicing to him before either of you two had truly realized the full extent of his growing anxiety.

your soft voice still echoes in his ears.

“¿qué te ocurre?” what’s going on with you?

“te ves enfermo, estás actuando extraño y no me estás hablando.” you look unwell, you’re acting strange and you’re not talking to me.

“miguel. have i done something wrong?”

you were right to be concerned, he can’t deny you that. of course, the miguel of this universe would marry a woman smart enough to notice subtle differences. in his short time here, he had learned how you balanced marriage and parenting with full knowledge that your husband - the one you believe is sitting in front of you - was spider-man.

you’re not stupid. he sees in the subtle flicker in your eyes that you know something is amiss.

“mi vida…” his life. you’re his life now, you and gabriela. he cannot bring himself to let you go completely.

it’s time to course-correct, miguel decides.

“it wasn’t a cop…” he starts.

“pardon?” you respond, taking slow, tentative steps towards the bed where he’s sat - hesitant to intrude his space for fear of triggering him again until he pats the spot next to him, allowing your gentle form to sit beside him.

“that night, when there was an emergency with the vulture and i came home with blood on my suit…”

the night he arrived here. the night he decided to be the husband and father that this world needed.

“i told you there was someone i couldn’t save.” you nod, remembering well how shaken he seemed that night. his hands finally stop shaking, claws retracting to run his fingers through his hair and then land on yours.

“but i wasn’t completely honest with you. i let you think it was a cop. but it was…” his deep voice shakes - how to lie perfectly? how to let you know without breaking everything? his tired, wide eyes turn to you finally.

“it was a… friend. someone who helped me become spider-man here. i guess you could say our lives were pretty close. i didn’t want to worry you by telling you but i haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. about him. that’s why i haven’t been myself lately.”

there it is. another half truth that you believe, wholeheartedly, only reacting with a soft sigh and letting your face rest on his broad shoulder, hand over his.

“ay, miguelito. i’m so sorry. did i…know him?”

a sharp breath enters miguel’s nose and exits from his mouth just as quickly.

“maybe once. but… i don’t want you to grieve - mi amor?” the sound of sniffling and shaky breaths cuts him off and miguel's hairs stand on end. he had expected your sympathy but not for tears to start streaming down your pretty face. his hands hurriedly cup your cheeks.

“¿cariño?” he asks, desperate to know how he’s offended you to incur such a reaction. you just shake your head gently in his palms.

“i just… hate that i didn’t realize how much pain you’ve been in - that i was trying to just act normally. and that i didn’t make it clear you could tell me something like that. lo siento, papí.”

as terrible as it sounds miguel thinks he falls in love with you even more right then - what a beautiful, sympathetic heart.

with a flurry of repeated “no's" and a barrage of kisses to your face, miguel pulls your shorter form onto him.

“no te disculpes, me entiendes? i’m the one who fucked up. i… have hated myself for days for lying to you. i was thinking about it so much - that’s why when you got so close, i freaked out. can i ask… ¿todavía confías en mí?”

do you still trust him? your lips slot against his and as his eyes settle back to their usual brown, he catches you giving a smile through your tears as if it’s the silliest question in the world.

“confío en ti, mi amor. con toda mi alma y mi corazón.”

maybe his mind is warped but that confirmation of trust is all is all miguel needs. his huge figure, muscular but relaxed with a sense of joy and relief running through his veins for the first time in who knows how long, pulls you into his lap as if you weigh nothing.

your tinier frame pulled against his chest, you feel the vibration of a low growl escaping him. his sharp nose buries itself in your hair as his arms tighten their grasp.

“estarás cansado, araña.” you mumble and something deep inside him shakes. the exhaustion of keeping up a lie for so long, the ensuing wave of relief upon now being able to let it go, and the emotional strain of watching you empathize and cry for him after his state of panic - as much as his body wants to have you, he’s beyond tired.

miguel o’hara wants to give himself to you. to have you until the way you feel and touch and smell and look and sound - until it’s all burned into his mind, memorized by his skin. but for now, his body wants to sleep.

he responds in a mangled mix of spanish and english, muffled from your hair and from his small tendency to mumble in order to avoid cutting his tongue on his sharp fangs. you find it adorable.

he crashes the two of you down against the bed and lowly slurs, “promise you’re not mad?” as if he was a child and not an ever-combat-ready, six-foot-nine, partially arachnid vigilante.

you stroke his unruly brown hair back into place and kiss his forehead.

“for lying? why, trying to see if i’ve been a mom long enough to take you down con una chancla?” you joke and the side of his lip curls up. “i could… but i more just want you to rest and let yourself relax. you’ve had it hard lately and i’ll be here to wait until you’re a little bit more well-adjusted. then, un pao-pao con la chancleta.”

miguel lets out a low chuckle against the pillow when you mockingly hit his temple before kissing it, falling asleep when you continue to kiss down his face with all affection.

“rest, papí. you’re home.”

-

next chapter will be completely smut btw!

taglist: @corpsebasil @letharue @shyhairdocoloralmond @d4rno @scaraza @ooaassiiss @bizarrette @cruelmissdior @typicalife-101 @turtle-ishtendencies @saint-chlorine @fallinallinmendes @syarblu @leahnicole1219 @loser-alert @wh0reforbucknasty @aceshoochiemama @mindblankmisery @tb-bunnii @miguelswifey04 @moonchildpc @kuinnoa @cowpoopies @louderfortheback

#miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x black reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderman across the spiderverse #atsv #miguel x y/n #x latina!reader #x latina reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman 2099

[chrollohearttags]

armin fucking you off of a perc…hear me out real quick.

cw: drug usage, spit kink, backshots, oral receiving (m), dumbification, choking, breeding, soft dom armeen 😩

it’s not something that you’d typically do..nor was it a thought that had ever crossed your mind. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of shots before sex or even sharing a blunt but nothing quite like this..

"I don't know why you're even making such a big deal. Just try it."

"Because, I'm not a fucking crackhead, Armin. 'The hell you think this is?"

it was the exact reaction that he would expect from you..still, it didn't make it any less hilarious or cute.

chuckling as he crawled next to you on the bed, Armin placed an arm around your back and massaged it gently.

"Baby, it's fine. I promise I'd never give you anything to hurt you. You'll like it, I swear."

he could tell that his little proposal offended you but truthfully, there was nothing to worry about. However, you weren't so convinced.

you had been with Armin for the better part of three years and one of your many bonding activities was getting high or drunk together..smoking and taking shots, it was the norm in your relationship.

but now, he wanted to try something a little different.. and by different, he meant feeding each other percs and seeing what happened!

more so in the bedroom. His friends told him how much better sex was with them in the system and he had to find out.

and that was cute and all but you didn't mess with that shit!

"You're freaking yourself out. That's all..here.."

that's when he'd reach over to the nightstand and grab the tiny baggie with two white pills.

you began to feel a tad bit nervous but he'd assure you it was fine as he took the tabs out of the plastic.

brushing a piece of hair from your face, he'd hold one between his fingertips before brushing it across your lips.

"Ion' know about this, Armin. You' sure this is good?"

as he began easing the tablet towards you, he'd prompt you to open your mouth. He had already taken his and stuck his tongue out to show you so.

"Of course I am, sweetheart. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, babe. You know I do."

he'd then place a kiss to your temple and stare into your eyes as he whispered. "Then let's do it, okay? Open your mouth for me."

he knew what voice done to you..and damnit, it was working!

“Fuck it. Why not? Give me one.”

as you stuck your tongue out, he'd crack a faint smile and place the pill onto it; prompting it to dissolve.

giving you another peck on the lips, he'd tilt your head up and make sure you were alright.

"Good girl..see, that wasn't so bad. I'll be right back, okay?"

you'd nod your head and just lie there until he returned.

under the glow of dark red lights, you'd stare up at the ceiling with your fingers tapping into your bare stomach.

you were half clothed; only in thin lace panties and a t-shirt. Taking a couple deep breaths before exhaling, you'd shut your eyes and just try to relax.

it was always so funny when you blew your own high by worrying too much.

for now, nothing felt different so you'd just try to enjoy the euphoria of it and remain calm. Slow jams were currently playing from the television and admittedly, it was setting the mood.

your boyfriend was a very passionate lover and attentive one so he'd be extra careful of how he handled you with this in your system.

suddenly, your body began to tingle and you'd feel as if you were starting to float. It was strange, not like other highs you'd experienced.

"I'm back, I brought you some water!"

a shirtless Armin returned in nothing more than gym shorts as he kneeled into the mattress with two water bottles.

you'd thank him as he crawled beside you and draped an arm across your frame.

"How you feeling? You okay."

"Mhm, just fine."

giving him a smile, he felt relief in knowing you were okay. But there was a certain glimmer in your eye and he couldn't help but to notice.

as he faced you, he'd trace tiny circles into your bare hip, massaging the sensitive area. He couldn't help but to stare because you looked so damn adorable.

those soft, pouty lips that he loved, hair wrapped up for the evening and your bare face as beautiful as it was in makeup.

he could look at your forever and never grow tired.

a few more minutes had passed and your almond colored eyes began to shift downward and the mere tip of your tongue poked out.

he could tell that the drug was starting to take effect and knew it'd only be a matter of time. The suggestive music began to sound louder despite not getting louder.

"What's on your mind, pretty girl? Hmm?"

at that moment, the two of you drew closer and you'd nuzzle your face into his neck, lightly dragging your nails across his skin.

"Nothing..I'm just—"

your words began to trail off as you laid underneath him and he'd pick your head back up to look into your eyes. You were smiling and flicking your tongue yet.

"You're high. That's what you are. Not gonna lie, I can feel it too..."

with that cheeky grin still on your face, you'd start to place gentle kisses on his neck and caress his bare torso; making faint giggles in the process.

your fingertips soon started to trail down south and toy with his waistband and as a result, the bulge in them grew slightly.

whether it was the high or the lust, neither of you were quite yet sure but there was a way to find out. Twirling his fingertips between the strings of your panties, he'd tug you closer and watch as you felt him up.

you looked so pretty and submissive for him right now, groveling for his touch with those sweet little moans and sloppy kisses.

soon, the moment turned into full blown making out with your tongues intertwined and your bodies toppling over one another.

Armin slid his hands underneath your shirt and began to massage your breasts.

the room began to feel so steamy and the sounds were setting the perfect aesthetic.

the two of you wasted no time peeling the other out of anything that was left on and resumed the intense session; resuming with his mouth around your perky brown nipples.

he'd lick over the buds, swirling his tongue with trails of dripping saliva over them.

this was always his favorite thing to do, with the addition of fingering you at the same time!

"Your titties are so perfect, y'know that?" It was now his voice that had turned into a desperate whimper because this was his weakness.

licking, lapping and sucking on them always got you going and right now was no exception. As he lie there with one of your nipples dormant across the buds..

your warm slick was starting to paint his two fingers resting between your thighs.

everything was escalating so quickly that it hadn't even dawned on you that the two of you were about to experience sex like you've never had it.

"Shit..feels so good."

"I can tell..you're soaking."

meanwhile, your hand was resting against his swollen shaft. He was still a little soft but growing harder by the second.

tasting and touching you always got him hot and bothered eventually. Not to mention how you rode his fingers and whimpered in his ear.

the teasing and foreplay continued on for another five minutes or so before he withdrew and examined his work.

you had made a mess that trickled down to his wrist and your nipples were so puffy and hard..just how he liked them!

meanwhile, you had precum seeping all over your fingers and by this point, that Percocet began to kick in and both of you were like puppies panting in heat.

sticking those fingers into your gaping mouth, Armin grasped the back of your neck and he swabbed them around your jaws; as if he were trying to stretch them out.

his blue eyes peaked down at you to see yours completely glazed over and spit dribbling off of your lips.

it was as if you were levitating and didn't want to come down right now.

"Hey babe..I have an idea. Why don't we fuck until our minds go blank? Until we can't even think straight?"

all the while, he was still swabbing your mouth and watching you drool as if it were the sexiest thing ever.

it seemed you already beat him to the punch because you had barely spoken a word; only making cute babble.

"Mind go—blank..blank is good."

"That's right, princess. No need for thinking right now."

all Armin could do was laugh at how precious you looked. Seeing his baby go completely dumb was lowkey kind of hot.

and for once, you weren't worrying yourself into a frenzy.

he could only imagine how the rest of the night would transpire.

no need in waiting to find out though, so he'd kiss your temples and whisper in your ear to get on all fours for him.

with not even a moment of hesitation, your back was arched and he'd quickly get behind you. It was hard not to notice how good your ass looked underneath those red beams.

how amazing your body looked in general...he was obsessed with you before but that pill had him ready to do some ungodly things with you.

massaging the small of your back, he couldn't help but to imagine filling you full of cum, making you take his dick until you were shaking.

watching it go in and out as those pretty fluids smeared all over it..he couldn't handle thinking about it.

so he had to start moving!

pushing his hips forward, he'd grip the base of his shaft and tease it against you..

"Dripping fucking wet..oh my God."

muttering as he began poking those insides. Squelching sounds rang out in response to his first couple of thrusts.

but before he could get too far into it, he'd have an idea:

"Hold on, babe.." reaching down to grab those panties you had on, he'd wrap them around your wrists and bind them together.

now he had full control and you didn't mind it one bit.

"Perfect.."

letting out a gentle moan, you'd look back and give him a smirk to let him know it was okay to go deeper.

your small waist and big, round ass were making him want to drill you into that mattress.

especially with the way you were meeting his strokes so well.

it was apparent that you were stuck; nothing on your brain except fucking and being treated like a slut. Which he'd be more than happy to fulfill.

with your cheeks in his palms, he'd spread them apart slightly..only to coat your puckering hole with a layer spit that trickled down between your fat lips.

"Ahhh..so fucking good..wanna—cum on this fucking dick.."

Armin swirled his thumb pad across it before popping it inside to aid in fucking you. And god..was it working!

that glistening, pearly white cream was starting to make a mess of that throbbing dick. He could only fit five inches in; even with how wet you were, he was just so fucking big!

"Ooooh shit..you're doing it, baby..you're creaming all over my shit..that's so sexy..." he'd cry out pitifully.

eventually, the two of you were going back and forth, bouncing off of his pelvis.

it was pulsating as it pumped in and out, stretching you out with each stroke. It was buried to the hilt, full balls slapping up against your aching clit..it was everything you expected it to be.

and for some reason, it had you dripping and leaking down onto the sheets.

the bed was creaking underneath your weight as it slammed against the wall.

both of you were in a euphoric haze of pleasure; only fueled by pure lust and the pills coursing your veins.

there was no slowing down from this point. Your bodies worked together as one; bouncing off of one another in a heated blaze of pure passion.

"Haaaa! Arminnnn, fuck! You're fucking me so good, baby."

"I can't help it, this pussy is so goddamn good! What the hell?"

your whiny voice wailed into a high pitch due to the constant pounding. That's when he'd pull you back and up against his chest.

that's when he'd place a hand around your stomach, the other on your throat and gentle kisses on your ear, cooing to you.

"You feel that? You feel that in your tummy, princess? How fucking deep I am?!"

and he was too! So much to the point, a bulge began to form and he started pressing through your skin.

your legs were trembling and he didn't exactly help your cause when he began toying with your clit. The hardened little bud ached against his fingertips as he traced the tiny circles.

"Yes baby, I love it so much!"

you were going hot and heavy, smacking skin sheathed in sweat. And soon, you'd cover him in your fluids as well.

before you knew it, you were spraying the covers and his upper legs with arousal.

"Fuck! Fuck!" He had no choice but to pull out as you spasmed all over his cock. However, he had the perfect place to put it..

with your wrists still bound, he'd lay you flat to the bed as he repositioned to be in front of you.

seeing your face light up in excitement, meant that his plan had worked. You were freaky enough as it was but you were insatiable tonight.

your tongue out on display and your eyes gleaming for him.

"Oh you're so cute like this, baby..you want me to fuck that little throat? Hmm?"

"Mhmm." replying with an eager nod and he was happy to fulfill.

with that, he'd grip the top of your head and ease it into your mouth. Inch by inch, he glided back and forth against your tongue.

he couldn't help but to whimper so helplessly at the warmth of your inviting throat and the way you swallowed him so effortlessly.

all of that spit and precum seeping from your lips was driving him insane. Maybe he had created a monster!..

but that didn't stop him from bucking his hips and pushing it in as far as he could.

"Good girl, you love that, don't you? I bet you want to touch yourself so bad right now."

and he was absolutely right. You were throbbing and dripping all over again, especially with the way he looked down at you like his prized slut. He knew how much you liked being handled.

still, the only sound being made was faint muffles and gagging noises emitted from your throat.

soon, he'd speed up those movements and before long, you heard a loud grunt, along with the grip of your hair in his hands.

"I'm coming, princess! Fuck, take it!" Armin's voice winding into a high groan yet again as it was him who reached their peak this time.

and he didn't spare you on filling it up. It was as if every feeling, sensation and movement was ten times more intense!

"Open up, let me see." And you'd proudly show off that you had swallowed all of it before he even had to tell you.

"Good girl.."

"Thank you, daddy."

the words making him reconsider stopping right now. He was lightheaded but that drug had both of you hungry for more.

lying down on the mattress this time, he'd undo your makeshift restraint before patting his thighs and telling you to get on top and face the TV.

he didn't care if he overstimmed himself at this point, the only that mattered was leaving you full of his nut.

grasping your waist, Armin balanced you until you sat comfortably atop his dick. Watching that ass stick out and your hands on his thighs, he couldn't even contain himself.

but you wasted no time in riding it as if you owned it. Going slow, you'd bounce and spread open with each thrust back.

you were constantly giggling and moaning, so he knew you were enjoying this as much as he was.

that tight grip was something serious..and dangerous!

once again, you were creaming only a few minutes in and he had to have some control!

it wasn't going to be easy though because as you sped up, he'd find it hard to stop himself from meeting you with rough strokes.

soon, your bodies moved in unison, feeding off of each other as you went dumb on his shit. Going in circles, taking him to the hilt and smothering it with your cheeks.

"Oh fuck, baby! That's it..ride me.."

he couldn't take it, you were fucking him like a pornstar. Losing all control and going faster by the second.

pounding it up into you, he'd grit his teeth and try to give you all he had left. You wanted the remainder of it in your womb so after a couple more times, you'd both reach that point of ecstasy at the same time.

"Fuck!"

"Fuck!"

spilling from between your lips as that hot, creamy nut poured from between your thighs.

both of your eyes faltered to the back of your head and you'd collapse atop his body.

his chest was beating a million miles a minute but it was worth it. This was one hell of an experience, even though you had drained him dry.

you'd look back and see him panting incredibly hard, chest rising and falling, and his toes still pent up in a curled position.

"Are you okay?"

through shallow breaths, he'd managed to answer.. "..never better!"

and you couldn't help but to smile!

"Then I say our little experiment was a success." leaning down to give him a peck on the lips. One thing was for certain..

you'd have to do it again!

#black fem reader #black fanfic writer #black reader smut #black fanfiction #smut fanfiction #wattpad #fanfic #aot x black reader #black reader #anime #armin x black reader #armin artlert #armin smut #armin x y/n #armin x fem reader #aot boys #aot x reader #aot imagines #attack on titan smut #attack on titan armin

[mlmxreader]

The Outlaw In Front of You | Arthur Morgan x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ arthur morgan x gn!reader (or male, idrc) “Do we have to meet in a dingy motel in the middle of fucking nowhere?” aftermath of smut, like they’re both putting their clothes on when one of you two realize you only meet in hotels/motels - @mockerycrow ❞

: ̗̀➛ It's a moment of curiosity, a moment of wondering "we've always done this, but why?". Nothing else.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, sexual references

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Drying yourself off with the towel, you hummed as you thought about your relationship with Arthur; for years, you had been together, and although you didn’t mind the secrecy and the sneaking around, you did have to admit - you were kind of curious as to why he always asked you to meet in inns all the time as opposed to in the houses of your friends or at your own home.

You knew it was safe there, as your friends were all… sympathetic, for lack of a better word, when it came to you and Arthur. There was no way that they would tell bounty hunters where he was, and he knew that.

It was just a little curiosity, you didn’t actually mind it so much; a good, warm bed for the night with a hot meal and the man you cared most about in the world beside you - what could possibly be to complain about?

Plus, admittedly, it usually got you away from the small rural village where you worked and lived. It always gave you a change of scenery for a night - or two, if Arthur had found a good enough excuse to be gone from the gang for so long.

But as you left the bathroom and went back into the main bedroom where Arthur was, you paused at the door frame, leaning against it with your arms crossed over your chest; you watched him as he pulled on his trousers, and when he noticed you there, he looked over, and he smiled. 

“You all good?”

You nodded, running your hand over the soft bite mark on your throat absent-mindedly. “You sure did a number on me, cowpoke.”

Arthur laughed softly, blush across his features as he chewed at the inside of his lip. “I didn’t mean t’be so rough…”

“Oh, I know, don’t worry… plus, I like it when you fuck me and mark me,” you hummed, coming to sit beside him. Gently, you kissed his bare shoulder. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask - do we have to meet in a dingy motel in the middle of fucking nowhere?”

He shrugged, taking a moment to look at you and all the marks he had left across your skin. “No, but… it’s nice to get away, ain’t it? Just us?”

You nodded, licking your lips. “I’m not complaining, mind… I like the fact that we can go somewhere.”

Arthur nodded, daring to softly kiss you. “You said about a museum a few miles back… I ain’t gotta go back to camp for a couple days - said I was trackin’ down a lead… if you wanna go, we can.”

“You? In a museum?” You scoffed, raising a brow. “I didn’t think it was your sorta thing.”

“It ain’t,” he admitted with a shrug, handing you your shirt when he noticed the small bumps up and down your arms. “But… you like ‘em, don’t ya?”

“I do, yeah,” you tugged on the shirt between short, soft kisses. “But I don’t wanna drag you along if you ain’t gonna enjoy it.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout me,” he moved so that he could gently lie you on the bed, straddling your waist as he gently ran his thumb down your jaw. “I ain’t that worried - if you’re gonna like it… we can go.”

“Arthur,” you hummed, hooking your arms around his neck as you smiled. “For a son of a bitch, you sure can be a good damn boyfriend, y’know.”

He smiled, daring to steal another kiss. “Do you wanna go?”

“I do,” you whispered. “And to make it up to you, I’ll buy the first round at the saloon?”

“That sounds great,” he admitted softly. “How’d I get so lucky?”

Arthur wasn’t shy about it. He knew he had found the diamond in the rough with you; he knew that he had found someone who was more than willing to go through every risk and precaution there was to be with an outlaw like him, someone who knew what they were getting into and didn’t mind.

You could keep yourself safe, he had seen that much when you had taken on a pack of wolves who were after a local herd of sheep; he didn’t have any doubts that you could have held your own if bounty hunters were to get in your way.

Sure, he still wanted to protect you, but no more so than anyone else in the world wanted to protect their own partners. He knew he could never introduce you to Dutch or Charles or Lenny or Hosea or Abigail, but that wasn’t your fault in the slightest; you couldn’t change something like that, although he was sure you would have tried if you could. 

With you, it wasn’t like with his other partners; you didn’t try to change him at all. You didn’t try and convince him to leave the only family he had ever known, you didn’t try to turn him into a gentleman.

You were content with Arthur the way he was, although you did keep telling him off for shaving, which never failed to make him laugh. You didn’t tell him to change the way he spoke, to try and take away his strong, thick working class accent.

Never once. You didn’t try to tell him that he had to speak “properly”, or that he had to watch how much he swore. The Arthur you had in front of him was the one you were content with, the one you loved. 

You always made that known to him, that you loved him just as he was; you noticed a few times when you were first together that he often tried to make himself into someone different, and since then, you always felt like you had to tell him - you didn’t want him to be somebody else, you didn’t want him to try and act like somebody else.

You wanted Arthur Morgan.

You didn’t want somebody else, you didn’t want an actor, you wanted the outlaw you had fallen in love with.

The outlaw you adored.

#mlem writes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x yn #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan one shot #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 imagine #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #rdr 2 #rdr 2 fanfiction #rdr 2 x reader

[mysterious-ocarina]

Let It Out

Scott Summers x reader

Main Masterlist Requests

(2.3k words)

“God, what the hell is wrong with you?” you yelled. You just came back from a mission with the X-Men. The mission was successful but that didn’t stop you and Scott from arguing about anything the other one did. “Was it really necessary to cover me in dirt and dust?”

“Well maybe if you were paying attention, that wouldn’t have happened,” Scott egotistically replied.

During the mission, a piece of rubble was about to fall on you, but Scott used his lasers to break it and stop it from hitting you, incinerating the rubble on top of your head. This resulted in you getting covered in the dirty debris.

Admittedly, this argument was petty and stupid. He saved you, you know it, but you were never one to miss the chance to argue.

“I was paying attention,” you indignantly argued.

Scott rolled his eyes, “Sure you did. It’s okay, I don’t mind saving a damsel in distress.”

Angered, you got into Scott’s face, “Let’s go outside and we’ll see who’s a damsel.”

“That’s enough, you two. I will not have a fist fight among my students,” the Professor got between you. “Maybe you guys should put whatever it is you two have going behind you and get along.”

“It’s impossible to get along with an egotistical jerk who thinks he’s better than you,” you huffed. “Seriously, you don’t have to tell me everytime I do something wrong. I already agonize over it enough myself.”

You walked off, done with the conversation. Anytime you did anything wrong on missions, Scott was always the first to criticize you on it. It probably wouldn’t have bothered you so much if you weren’t already insecure about your place in the X-Men. You were the newest member of the team and you had less experience than everyone else did with your mutation.

About a year ago, you were walking home from a friend's house. A couple of guys from your school had cornered you. Before they could do whatever they had planned for you, you had pushed them away with your hands and accidentally launched them into the building behind them. 

Your mutation allows you to manipulate vibrations. The Professor found you after your family had disowned you and brought you to the mansion. Since, he’s helped you control your mutation and helped you become stronger.

“You know, she’s never going to be your friend if you do that all the time,” Jean softly offered advice.

“I don’t want to be her friend,” Scott snapped at her.

“Right because you want to be more,” Peter smirked.

“I don’t want to be her anything. Same as you guys, I just don’t want her to get hurt,” Scott sighed, annoyed.

“You’re cute, when you’re in denial. I’m a mind reader, you can lie to yourself but you can’t lie to me,” Jean pat his shoulder before leaving too.

Everyone except for you seemed to be privy to the way he felt about you, much to Scott’s chagrin. Eventually he made his way to his room to sulk for the rest of the night.

You on the other hand, made your way to the Danger Room to get some training in. The only way for your brain to shut up about all your insecurities was to train them away. After a few hours of training alone you felt better. All of your frustrations toward Scott washed away.

You were still in your training outfit, but didn’t care as you made your way to the kitchen for a snack before you showered. The sports bra and shorts you were wearing were more revealing than you would have liked to be seen in so you wanted to get your food and leave as quickly as possible.

You grabbed a packet of popcorn off the shelf and put it in the microwave. You turned around and was surprised to see Scott walking into the kitchen too. He was looking down so he most likely didn’t notice you.

“Ahem,” you cleared your throat, so Scott would look at you. “You almost bumped into me.”

“Shit, you scared the fuck out of me,” he jumped. He stared at you and you wished more than anything that you could see his eyes to know what he was staring at. You crossed your arms over yourself feeling insecure under his scrutinizing gaze.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, to break the silence.

Scott seemed to snap out of his thoughts and smirked at you, “Taking in the view.”

The microwave beeped behind you, thankfully. You turned around to get your popcorn and to hide the blush on your face. Scott Summers did not just make you blush.

“Pervert,” you muttered. You poured your popcorn into a bowl before turning around again. Scott was staring at the floor now, seemingly deep in thought. Of what, you did not care.

You tried to walk away but Scott grabbed your arm, preventing your escape.

“What the hell do you want, Summers?” you asked aggressively. Scott has never touched you before outside of training or mission, so you were wary of him now.

Frustrated, Scott ran his hand through his hair. You tried not to let your eyes linger on the motion.

“Why do you have to be such a bitch? I was g-going to,” Scott stuttered before he snapped his mouth shut.

Scott wanted to apologize to you. He realized that you might think his criticism was always said to put you down. That you might not know that he doesn’t want to see you get hurt and that he wouldn’t be able to handle the day you stop arguing with him.

“Going to, what?” you asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Nevermind.” Scott sighed, letting you go.

He’s acting weird, weirder than usual with you, and you didn’t know what to do. Concerned, you placed your hand on Scott’s arm, asking, “Are you alright?”

Scott harshly shook your arm off, tersely replying “I’m fine.”

“Well sorry for asking then,” you replied, a little offended. This whole conversation was confusing you, making you feel like you’re suffocating.

You flee from the kitchen, going back to your room for the night. Scott remains in the kitchen, cursing himself for his lack of social prowess and expressing his feelings.

For the next few days, Scott avoids you like the plague. When you join everyone on the couches, he’s the first to get up and leave. He sits as far away from you as he can during dinner. He’s even stopped criticizing you during training.

It was an odd feeling. The lack of Scott’s annoying voice should have offered you peace. It should have made you feel better that someone wasn’t analyzing your fighting technique, waiting to tell you everything wrong with it. The entire week, you waited for Scott to pay attention to anything you did, but his attention never came. It made you feel unsettled.

There was a knock at your door, Jean yelling, “Mission in 20.”

You put on your mission clothes and made your way to the jet. Taking your seat and buckling your seatbelt, you waited for the debriefing.

“It’s a fire and rescue. 12 story office building. . .” the professor rattled on. It was a simple mission. People trapped in a building that the X-Men were supposed to help rescue.

You were finishing your search of one of the floors of the building, when you heard Jean’s voice in your head, “Building is clear of civilians, everyone get out as fast as you can.”

You would have listened to her if you could, but there was concrete blocking your only exit. You tried to use your mutation to break it but you were weak and tired. The ash burned as it coated your throat and lungs, making you cough wildly.

You could feel the panic seep its way into your brain but you tried to keep a level head. Logically, at least one person from your team had to notice you didn’t make it out. You tried and failed one last time to push away the concrete blocking your way.

“Professor! Jean!” you screamed as loud as you could, hoping someone heard you, telepathically or not.

With your lungs gasping for clean air, you sunk to the floor. Before you, there was a flash of red before Scott’s face showed up in your vision.

“Y/N,” he screamed for you, the sound ripped from his throat. He looked uninjured which brought you a bit of comfort as he made his way over to you.

Before either of you could do anything, a support beam collapsed between the two of you, separating you.

You felt like you were suffocating, not enough clean air making its way to your brain. Your whole body was vibrating, “Scott, I don’t feel right.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m going to get you out of here,” he replied, panting.

Neither of you commented that this was the first time you ever called him Scott instead of Summers and the first time he gave you such an endearing nickname.

You felt like you may explode so you did the only thing you could think to do. Scream.

“Scott!” you screamed. You let your voice out, probably damaging your vocal cords with how visceral and loud you were screaming. Next thing you know, everything goes black.

Scott’s face was dirty, filled with scratches and scrapes. But he didn’t care to wash up or do anything until he knew you were okay. He explained to the professor what happened and thanked Jean for saving the both of them.

Sitting on the floor outside the clinic, this past week washed over Scott. How fucking stupid he was to ignore you all week. He wished more than anything that he just told you how he felt in the kitchen and wished he wasn’t so hard on you all the time.

The door next to him opened and closed, making Scott stand up. Hank stood in front of him, “She’s awake and okay. A little bruised and weak but that’s it. You can see her.”

“Thanks,” Scott muttered walking into the room.

You sat in a hospital bed, wincing anytime you moved. Hank filled you in on what happened. Scott had helped Jean find you and get you out of the building. It turns out your voice was a secret weapon you didn’t know you had. Manipulating vibrations with your hands was one thing, but your voice was an entirely other thing.

The door opened, stirring you from your deprecating thoughts, Scott standing in the doorway. His face is covered in scratches that he didn’t have the last time you saw him. Your bad thoughts come back in an instant, bringing silent tears to your eyes.

Scott sits on the edge of the bed next to you. Shyly he gives you a small, “Hi.”

“Did I do that?” you ask, your voice scratchy from overuse.  You bring your hands to his face but he softly takes your hand in his bringing it to his chest.

“It’s okay,” he replies instead of answering you.

Your chin wobbles as the tears in your eyes start to fall. You wipe them away with your free hand, before staring at the wall behind Scott, “Why are you here?”

“I had to make sure you were okay,” Scott replies.

“Why would you care if I’m okay? You’re probably here to tell me how stupid I am for getting trapped. Or yell at me for accidentally hurting you. You never fail to tell me what I do wrong every mission,” you let your thoughts slip past your mouth.

There was a small voice in your head that wanted Scott to be telling the truth, that he cared for you. But there was another insecure voice, asking you why would he care about you?

“God, I’m so stupid. Let me explain,” Scott begged. He continued after your silence. “I never wanted you to feel weak. The only reason I harp on you so much during training and missions is because I never want to see you get hurt. I know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, especially in a fight, but you mean so much to me that I always want to know if you’re safe.”

“But you’re always arguing with me,” you whispered. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Well, you are pretty hot when you get all angry at me,” Scott smirked.

You giggled and went to softly slap Scott but he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

“If you let me, I promise I will make up every single comment and argument. I’ll even let you practice your new-found powers on me,” Scott smiled at you.

His face was pleading for you to agree and how could you tell him no.

“I’ll forgive you. On one condition,” you teased. He excitedly nodded his head. “You have to say, ‘Y/n is the best X-Women to ever exist and could beat my ass if they wanted to.’”

Right away, Scott recited, “Y/n is the best X-Women to ever exist and could beat my ass if they wanted to. They also really really want to kiss Scott Summers because he is very handsome.”

You laughed again, “Who said you were handsome?” But who are you kidding, he was to die for.

“So you’re not denying that you want to kiss me,” he smirked again. God, this man was going to drive you crazy.

Instead of answering, you placed a sweet kiss on his lips. Before it could get too heated, you pulled away to speak. “You are very handsome, Scott Summers.”

He did a little triumphant fist bump in the air, smiling at you. And for a moment, you weren’t worried about the X-Men, or your new powers, or anything outside of you and Scott. You felt at peace.

#the x men #fluff #x men imagine #scott summers #scott summers x reader #one shot #female reader #fanfiction

[angelbitezzz]

Next one up: Day 6!

Short fic under the cut

"Oh! You wanna play basketball, Papyrus?"

"OF COURSE! THERE WASN'T A COURT BACK IN SNOWDIN, BUT FROM WHAT I'VE SEEN YOU ONLY NEED TO BE TALL TO BE SUCCESSFUL!"

The human on the picnic blanket snorts at his words, grinning and reaching a hand up in a grabby motion. Papyrus responds in kind and took her by the hand, pulling her to her feet.

"I guess you're right. But we can't just play by ourselves."

She casts a glance around to find their friends scattered in the park space they had set up on. Undyne speaks animatedly to Asgore, Sans is working the grill, and Toriel is fussing over getting sunscreen on her kid. Angel raises her hands to her mouth.

"AYO UNDYNE! WANNA PLAY BASKETBALL?"

Her head nearly snaps around 180 degrees at her words, a smug grin spreading across her face as she turns.

"WANNA LOSE?"

"Yeah, okay, whatever, GET OVER HERE!"

Undyne abandons her conversation with Asgore as she rushes to the court. The king merely grins fondly—not at all bothered at being left alone—and sidles over to the grill where Sans stands. Angel jogs over, taking an appreciative sniff of the food cooking and another appreciative look at the skeleton at work; his signature blue hoodie draped over a nearby bush in favor of his simple white beater shirt, exposing the bones of his arms, neck and collar area.

"What about you two? Basketball?"

"Oh no," Says Asgore, waving a hand. "I'm fine with cheering from the sidelines."

"What about you, bone man."

"ehhhh. last time i played, i stood around wondering why the ball kept getting bigger. then it hit me."

"Shut up!!! That's a total lie!" Laughs Angel, shoving him in the shoulder. "C'mon, you've been working hard at the grill this entire time, take a break!"

"not sure that counts as a break, pal. least this way i can stand around and look pretty. really making the best of my skillset here."

"SANS, IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR BONY BUTT OVER HERE RIGHT NOW, I'LL RELIEVE YOU OF YOUR STATION! FORCIBLY!"

"what, like, you'll take over the grill?"

"EXACTLY!"

Sans pulls his spatula closer to his chest, eyesockets narrowing slightly. The skeleton is lazy by nature, but the idea of his brother ruining perfectly good meats when they're almost done....

"fine, if you insist. just be warned, my dunking skills are the wurst."

"BUTT! HERE! NOW! AND WE BOTH KNOW THAT'S A LIE!"

"can you gimme a sec? it's almost—" "Not to worry, Sans. I can keep an eye on it for you." Asgore butts in, friendly as anything. Sans takes in the moment with a blank grin and gives up without a fight, handing the spatula over. Angel grabs him by the arm and tugs him towards the court.

"So do you really suck at basketball or are you just doing the lazy thing again?"

Sans just shrugs and grins, making her roll her eyes. By the time they've made it onto the court, Toriel has noticed everyone gathering and wandered over. She tugs up the sleeves of her t-shirt to expose more of her arms and smiles, flexing her (admittedly, pretty muscular) arm.

"Count me in! I could use the exercise!"

"Sweet! Teams are gonna be unbalanced, though..."

"NOT TO WORRY! I'VE ALREADY GOT IT FIGURED OUT!"

Papyrus pats Sans on the shoulder and puffs his chest.

"IT'S ME AND MY BROTHER (PLUS TORIEL) VERSUS THE REST OF YOU! BECAUSE LET'S BE REAL. UNDYNE COUNTS FOR SEVERAL MEMBERS."

"DAMN RIGHT!"

"Fair enough!"

Papyrus pulls out a basketball from somewhere, and the game begins. Immediately, Angel finds that, much like the many times she's had to play games with the monsters, things have very different rules. She's already not the most versed in sports—and she ends up spending most of the match watching Undyne and Papyrus go head to head with a ferocity she can only wish to match. And match she tries! It's hard being short in a basketball game, but stealing the ball can be easy if you're quick enough; and Angel is fast.

Then comes her first challenge—fucking Sans. Turns out the guy either used to play or is a very fast learner, because whenever she manages to get her hands on the ball, he's right there ready to snatch it.

"Dude!" Angel pants during a brief pause of the game, after a panicked confrontation that ended in the ball accidentally going haywire and into the nearby trees. "I didn't know I was playing with an athlete, Christ!"

"heh," Sans looks pleased, though something like sweat beads on his skull. "nah, i barely rim-member how to play, really."

"Terrible."

"you're smiling."

"Yep."

The game is on again. Angel gets lost in it, having too much fun to consider holding back. Life gives an opportunity—Only Papyrus blocking her way from the hoop. Brashly, in a move betraying her complete faith in her own terribly unathletic body, she rushes him. Time slows down. Papyrus crouches to ready himself to catch the ball, and she sees the answer so clearly, so so clearly...if she can push herself enough!

"oh shit—"

It's all the time Sans has left to speak before he reacts on instinct, reaching out with his magic and grabbing hold of her soul, hoisting her into the air on time with her jump. He hadn't really meant to help the enemy team—but a head-on collision with his giant ass brother would've left them both with bruises, and he hadn't even thought before using his magic to stop it. Well, the truly unhinged scene unfolds before them—Angel using Papyrus as leverage to push herself up, straining hard, until her hand hooks on the rim and the ball swishes through the net. Everyone gapes in awe. Sans drops his magic, but Angel stays on the rim, clutching tight as Papyrus stumbles and rights himself. There's a beat of silence before everyone starts laughing and cheering, wolf whistles from Undyne, clapping from Frisk on the picnic blanket. Angel laughs with them, and then another problem arises as her legs kick.

"Uh! Help me get down! I'm too high up!! Help! Help????"

#art #rb #my art #digital art #doodle #undertale #sans undertale #sans #undertale fanfic #sansxyouweek #sansxyouweek2023 #self insert #selfship #fuck it we ball

[saintchaser]

They first time they met, they were standing in front of the club. Remus was mesmerised by the tall man leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his lips, his posture lazy and elegant at the same time.

Remus suddenly felt the need for a cigarette, because if he was going to sit in front of a club in the crisp cold air of December, he would at least need the nicotine and the slight warmth it brought.

Trying to ignore the strange warmth in his stomach, Remus stepped up to the man, who gave him a slight glance, not even bothering with making their eyes meet.

There was a certain arrogance to him, but that was fine, Remus was known to take a liking to men way out of his league.

“Can you lend one?” Remus asked, shyly, suddenly feeling stupid in his fraying sweater and jeans, when the man next to him was wearing an oversized leather jacket and a top short enough for him to be able to peek at the man’s stomach.

The man looked at him slightly, their height difference obvious, then reached in his pocket and fished for his pack. Flicking it open, he stubbed his own cigarette against the wall, fished another with his lips, then wrapped his long, thin fingers around another one and held it out for Remus to reach.

Was that his number written on the cigarette?

“Do you want it?” The man asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, yeah, sorry.” Remus laughed nervously, having been busy with staring at the guy in front of him. “I’m Remus, by the way.”

“Sirius,” Sirius answered, admittedly slightly dry. “Do you have a lighter or something? I forgot mine home, and my friend who has a lighter is busy snogging some girl in the bathroom.”

“Oh.” Remus put a hand in his pocket, hoping that he did, hoping that this wasn’t the ending of their conversation. “Yeah, here you go.”

“Thanks.” Bringing the lighter to his lips, he lit up his cigarette, then put it back in his hand. “Are you not going to smoke the cigarette I gave you?”

“I’m gonna smoke it later, I have a friend I’m going to meet and she doesn’t smoke, so…”

That was a big, fat lie. He just wanted to call the number on it, really, but how was he supposed to tell Sirius that?

Oh, yeah, I just saw you, but I really fancy you and you’re really fit and I would like for you to call me because I feel the strong desire to talk to you and taste your lips that probably taste like tobacco and the alcohol I saw you drinking in the club, because I totally wasn’t looking at you?

Yeah, right. Pathetic.

He, however, palmer the cigarette in his pocket. He saw Sirius through a haze of cigarette smoke and an alcohol-induced state, and he prayed that he was not going to double over and throw up, because that would surely be embarrassing, and he would kill all of the little to no chances he had with him.

“I should, um, I should probably leave. Thank you for the cigarette, though, appreciate it.”

Actually, the truth is that he could literally not talk to Sirius in person without making a fool of himself and have the cool, tall stranger be glaring at him like he was the dirt on his shoe. Well, Remus could only hope that he was not going to make a fool of himself over the phone, because he had already been staring at Sirius’ lips for a while, and he seemed to have noticed.

"You want to kiss me."

"I— uh, what?" Remus let out a nervous chuckle.

Well, shit.

Sirius closed the distance between them, close enough to be able to only lean slightly forward for their lips to touch, far enough to let Remus slip away and run away absolutely terrified, because all of it was too overwhelming, too much, too little, too good all at the same time.

He didn't even know how to kiss! What the fuck was he supposed to do now? Snog a a random guy in front of a club and have him gag because he doesn't even know how to kiss?

Their foreheads touched, and Remus nodded. He didn't even know what he was nodding at, (He tried to be strong, to not let this happen the fucking first time he went out with his friends, but well, here he was, snogging Sirius, because Sirius did not appear to be just some guy, but it happened.), but Sirius closed the distance between their lips, their mouths moving together. Sirius' hand gently grabbed the back of Remus' throat, whose fingers tangled in Sirius' raven curls, and he made a choked noise that might have resembled a moan. Pathetic, yeah, he knew that, but it was good, it was so fucking good, that he could melt into it.

He would probably regret this in the morning, if he would remember it. However, Lily told him that he should start living his life. He was 23, for God's sake, and this might have just been his first proper kiss. And, as Mary loves saying, you only live once.

For Remus, it would have been fine if his life would just resume to kissing Sirius.

Once again, he would probably regret it. But he could taste the liquor on Sirius' lips, and tobacco, and metal. This was wrong, it was so, so wrong, beyond wrong, but it was the absolute best thing that could happen to him.

He didn’t know for how long he had been kissing Sirius. It might have been five minutes, it might have been an hour, it might have been a whole century, actually. Sirius was looking at him, his eyes glowing in the dim light on the street, and grinned like the devil.

“Call me,” He said, pointing with his head to Remus’ pocket.

“Do you usually give cigarettes with your number on them to people you just met?” He asked, and then, before Sirius even opened his mouth, decided he would have better just not asked that.

“Nah,” He answered, and then, after pressing a quick kiss to Remus’ neck (What the fuck? Did Sirius want him to die there?) disappeared.

Remus could still see him as he walked down the street to God knew where.

He took a cab home. The driver tried talking to him at some point, but when he noticed that Remus was completely unresponsive and instead pondering whatever the fuck happened just about half an hour ago, he decided to keep quiet and just let the soft music pour out the radio.

He jumped out of the cab, not before giving the driver his money and thanking him, ran up the stairs, his keys jingling in his pocket, and opened the door. He let himself fall on the couch, and pulled the cigarette out of his pocket. Although slightly rumpled, Remus could still read the number on it, and quickly typed it in.

It rang once, twice, thrice, with no answer. Remus slightly started losing hope.

“Hey.”

“Hi! Didn’t think you’d answer!” He laughed, running a hand through his curls as he finally tested his back against the couch. “Hi. Did you get home?”

“Yeah, just greeted my cat,” Sirius answered, and Remus heard the tinge of smile in his voice. “I presume you got home, too, since your first instinct after we snogged was to call yourself a cab and run away.”

“Said the guy who kissed my neck and then left,” Remus bit back, although not upset by what had happened. “I, um, I liked it though. You’re a good kisser.”

“Thank you, darling.” Silence. “You’re not too bad yourself, you just need a little bit more practice. I’d be glad to help you with that.”

Remus flipped himself on his back, kicking his feet up and down and biting his fist in order not to giggle, and, obviously, in order to not appear to be a totally desperate guy, giggling over a guy he just met. “Okay,” He answered, after sucking a deep breath in to calm himself down. “Yeah, that sounds fine by me.”

“You can call me if you want to? Until then, how about a date next week? My treat, there’s a Chinese restaurant down my street that has really good food, if you’re into that.”

“Sure!” Remus answered, which would have been what he wanted even if he didn’t like Chinese takeout, but that was even better. “I’ll see you then?”

“See you,” Sirius said, elongating his words. “Goodbye, darling.”

“Bye, Sirius!”

Remus watched Sirius’ name flicker on the screen. He placed his phone down on the bed, covered his face with a pillow, and sighed, like a schoolboy in love. Well, falling in love had definitely not been on his bucket list, and it was dangerous, but he was going to go through hell and back if it were for Sirius.

#thought i might post this here too if you don’t have ao3 and still want to read it or something 😭 #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #my writing

[kachikirby]

Amusing Excursion

I forgot Metaccine Week started on Mother's Day, so you all are getting a bonus Metaccine thing.

-

It was the night before Mother’s Day and Fettuccine already seemed excited as they were eating dinner that night.

“So, what are you planning for tomorrow?” She asked, causing the rest of the family to look up. The twins looked at each other nervously, but then their father spoke up, clearly knowing that there would be no point in hiding whatever was planned, especially since Kirby had just delivered a gift for the occasion earlier.

“We’re going to take you to an amusement park. I’m sure you rarely got to go to one during your time with Task Force Zetta.”

The woman hesitated for a moment to smile. "It's not Magolor's, right?"

"No. Not after last time."

Those words seemed to change her attitude instantly. There was no way either of them would trust that egg around their children after last time.

“So, what kind of amusement park are we going to?” She then asked.

“It’s one on the other side of the planet. Admission and parking are free, you just have to buy food if you want it and tickets to go on rides.” He then looked up at her. “No, this is unrelated to that tacky resort of Dedede’s.”

“But I didn’t say anything.”

“I knew you were about to ask that.”

His wife giggled. “Well, I’ll look forward to it then!”

The trip getting there was short and simple. The park was called Sorprendente Park, and this seemed to be Fettuccine’s first time hearing about it, since she already seemed to be excited.

“Well, what do you want to do first, Fetty?” Meta asked.

“Oh, I dunno! There seems to be a lot of things to do…” She uttered looking at the map. “Oh, Sieg, Freya, why don’t you two pick?”

“We’re fine with whatever you want mom.”

“This is your gift, you should enjoy it.”

Admittedly, she was blown away by such a mature response, but she didn’t say it. She only looked harder at the map.

“How about a roller coaster? I haven’t been on that in a while!” She asked.

“If that’s what you want, then let’s go.”

“Oh, but Sieg, Freya, maybe you want to wait with your father?”

Both children shook their heads.

“We wanna try it! Right, Freya?” The quiet sister nodded to her brother. Seeing how the twins were fine with it, Fettuccine relaxed.

“Ok, since there’s a height limit to ride without a parent, Sieg, you’ll ride with me, and Freya, you can ride with your father!”

Both children seemed to be excited at the prospect of riding with their parents and quickly agreed to it.

“Okay! Let’s go then!”

The moment she said that was when they finally noticed the roller coaster she was talking about. It was a monstrous wooden beast of a roller coaster.

-

The roller coaster ride was amusing to say the least. The mother-son pair had practically screamed their lungs out while the father-daughter pair were completely silent. Not only that, but it took Fettuccine a moment to catch her balance as she walked off, being slightly shaken by the ride.

“You doing alright, Fetty?” Her husband asked.

“Y-yes, Metty, I’m fine…” She uttered, pulling herself up.

“Maybe we should do something not as extreme…” He then said, getting a nod in response.

“Oh, how about we play one of the games?” Sieg asked, pointing over to a target shooting game.

“Sounds like a good idea, come on, Metty!” Fettuccine grabbed Meta and began to drag him along. Admittedly, it wasn’t until they got to the stand that they noticed something… odd. Specifically, who was behind the stand. Meta Knight himself seemed to groan, realizing who the egg-like person in a standard boardwalk host outfit and moustache was.

“…I already know it’s you, Magolor.” He said, causing the man to sweat.

“Who is this Magolor you speak of? I am Rolo!”

“You think you’d know not to say things like that in front of a living lie detector.” Fettuccine then added, making him sweat even more.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know who this Magolor guy is! But he sounds like a really smart and handsome guy!”

“You better not be doing anything suspicious.”

“I’M NOT!! Now are you going to play or what!?”

“Yeah! I wanna play!” Sieg excitedly proclaimed, seemingly making his father groan internally.

Magolor, or rather “Rolo”, seemed to grin at this. “It’ll be four tickets for one try!”

Not willing to argue, Meta Knight handed them over and three balls were placed in front of the child.

“Ok, so the rules are simple. You have three chances to hit a target. The higher the target, the bigger the prize.”

The parents examined the plates. There were three rows of plates with four plates each. There was no doubt that Magolor had planned something as a way to cheat. With a hard throw, Sieg missed one of the top plates.

“I’m just warming up!” He said and then he threw another one, only to miss once more.

“Ooohhh, gotta try harder!!” Magolor said.

The child pouted. “Freya, throw me now!”

“What?”

“Throw me now!!”

Quickly thinking, Fettuccine picked him up and motioned for Freya to follow her, being quickly obeyed.

“MOM WHERE ARE WE GOING?!”

Before Magolor could say anything, Meta stepped up.

“Would you allow me to try?”

The egg scoffed. “Sure, go ahead. Don’t see why you would-”

Before he could finish that sentence, he felt something zip by and then noticed that there was a familiar golden sword embedded in the stand, causing all the plates standing to break immediately.

“Will this suffice?” was all Meta said.

“J-just take your prize and get out of here!!” Magolor shouted.

Satisfied, the warrior pulled out Galaxia from the stand and took one of the giant prizes, a massive star plush, and went to go catch up with his wife and children. Meanwhile, Magolor stared at the damage that was caused by the impact of the sword.

“…this is so coming out of my paycheck…”

-

While that had been going on, Fettuccine had gone to pick up some ice cream with the kids to distract from the apparent failure of the carnival game. Somewhat worried about Meta not catching up to them, they made their way back in his direction. To their surprise, they saw him sitting on a bench, holding a massive star plush, but at the same time having an expression that looked like he was being lectured.

Seemingly knowing what was going on, Fettuccine walked over and sat next to him, handing him a chocolate ice cream cone.

“Galaxia?”

Meta didn’t respond verbally, but he did with his eyes. Immediately, Sieg and Freya ran over to him, excited.

“WOW! DAD, DID YOU WIN THAT!?”

“Yes, I did.”

“COOOLLLL!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!”

Both children hugged the plush in excitement, making their father chuckle. Fettuccine smiled at this.

-

They had gone on one more ride before leaving, and that was a boat ride about Kirby’s exploits through the years. Sieg and Freya were amazed by it, but Meta Knight admittedly felt somewhat embarrassed by it due to the idea of seeing himself at some points. It was after that that they decided to head home, feeling that it was a long day and exhaustion was starting to hit.

The family sat, relaxing in the master bedroom.

“So did you have fun today, Fetty?” Meta asked.

She smiled. “Of course, I did! I always have fun with you, Metty!” She then gave him a quick kiss, which he returned. It was then that she felt herself being hugged by their two children.

“Happy Mother’s Day, mom!!” Both of them exclaimed.

The woman gave a laugh and hugged them tightly.

Today was a wonderful day.

#art of rikka #kirby oc #meta knight #fettuccine kirby #metaccine #sieg kirby #freya kirby #mother's day #magolor #kirby fanfic

[bangtaninborderland]

JHS - Twisted Feelings (13)

Summary: After working at an award show for 2 years everything had become normal, idols were no longer exciting to see, performances became dull and every day blended together, that was until an unexpected man asked for your help.

Warnings: mentions of stalking, kind of near death experience, elevator trauma atp

A/N: so considering someone in my inbox said no one wanted to read my bullshit I thought id share some more bullshit for you all to enjoy! I'm trying to be more frequent with the twisted feeling updates, I just feel so sad now hobi isn't here :( also pls stop sending hate to my inbox whoever u are today was a hard day and hearing hurtful things really brings me down.

Prev | MasterList | Next

NaRae fell asleep two hours after you got there, she’d explained in detail how she was taking her regular route home, your parents house not being too far from her own to make the commute on foot when she was pushed against a wall on a dingy slip road and had the pictures snatched from her bag.

You’d reassured her that you weren’t mad, not at her anyway. It was a difficult situation and if anything you were truly angry with whoever was doing this. You couldn’t let the attack on Narae go amiss but there wasn’t much that could be done as of right now. Involving the police would only bring unwanted attention to the situation, it could jeopardise your job, your career, NaRae, and your parents not to mention the members themselves.

It would be a lie to say you’d slept well, the entire night you’d sat up, watching out of your window trying to piece together who was doing this, if it truly was a random fan how would they know about Jung-woo?

You shivered at the thought of it being him, although NaRae seemed to think it wasn’t, not believing the man brave enough to risk more jail time by breaching his restraining order. You’d quickly busied yourself with writing whatever you could, admittedly it wasn’t much, but you wanted to distract yourself, unable to sleep and thinking about the worst thing that ever happened to you certainly wasn’t something you wanted to do.

The hours passed quickly and soon enough you were dabbing concealer under your eyes trying to cover the bags forming from your restless night. The taxi ride was a quick one, traffic being clear.

In all honesty, everything was quite a blur, you had texted NaRae continuously all morning even sending her a food delivery gift card so she could buy herself breakfast. A sickening ball of guilt pooled in your stomach at the thought of someone you loved being hurt because of you.

You force yourself to will the thoughts away when you see Hoseok and Yoongi standing in the lobby, talking to the receptionist.

They both greeted you as you joined them, the receptionist's face going from happy to sour at the sight of you. Clearly, someone was jealous. Hoseok seemed to notice and dropped the smile he had worn with her, visibly irritated by the disgusted looks she shot you as she checked you in.

“How are you?” You asked them both as you walked to the elevator, waiting for the people inside to leave before the three of you entered the empty space.

“I’m good.” Yoongi nodded, he was always short-spoken but never rude and you appreciated that.

“I’m okay.” Hoseok seemed happier today, the stress he had been exhibiting the past few days seemed to have lessened. “Going with Hyung now to finish a song.”

“That’s good.” You were genuinely happy to hear everything coming together nicely. “What’s-“

Thud.

A screeching noise had all three of you covering your ears with your hands, your ID card and phone falling to the floor as the elevator shook.

“What’s happening?” Hoseok asked, his voice shaky.

The screeching noise continued before the elevator dropped, far too fast. It was at that moment you knew something was wrong.

“Lay down on your back right now.” You shouted to them both. “Put your arms over your face.” You followed your own instructions as they did, all three of you cramped lying on your backs in the small space.

The elevator was still falling, everything happening so fast before it abruptly came to a stop, all three of you jolting upwards.

All you could hear for a few seconds, seconds that felt like hours, was the laboured breathing of Yoongi and Hoseok beside you. You felt your own heart thinking against your chest, if you weren’t lying down you’d be shaking.

“Is everyone okay?” Yoongi asked from his position closest to the doors.

You took a moment to think, nothing hurt. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“I’m fucking terrified.” Hoseok spat out. “I can’t do this Hyung.”

“I know hope-ah, it will be okay. Hyung is going to press the emergency button okay?” Yoongi carefully slid closer to the panel, his body lifting just a little to hit the red “HELP” button.

“What’s wrong?” You nudge Hoseok, genuinely worried about the way the man has his eyes closed shut, the grip on his shirt so tight his knuckles have gone white.

“I have a fear- fear of elevators.” He gasped, chest resting and falling far too fast.

You knew how close he was to having a panic attack, your eye caught Yoongi who too seemed to be aware of the current situation.

Yoongi opened his mouth but the intercom inside the elevator went off, someone talking. “The elevator has malfunctioned, we have called for help they will be here soon. Try not to move much, it may cause it to drop down completely. You’re on floor 5 so do not move, do not stand, a drop from this height could be fatal if you do. ”

“At least someone is coming to help us.” Hoseok muttered out, none of you mentioning the warning of possible death. “Hyung I can’t do this.”

“You can hoba, come on this is nothing compared to some things we have done. Let’s just lay here and talk, try taking deep breaths.” Yoongi was calm, much calmer than you felt considering your current predicament but secretly you were grateful for his ability to remain clear-headed, although you weren’t panicking as much as you were scared.

“YN? You’re quiet are you okay?” Yoongi asked, peeking over Hoseok just a little. You suddenly realised just how small the space truly was when Hoseok also turned his head to look at you, his eyes meeting yours instantly. “Yn?” Hoseok whispered too.

You nodded, forcing a smile as best you could. “I’m okay just scared.”

“The fire department will be here soon.” Hosoek reassured you, putting his own fears to the side to comfort you. “Right Hyung?”

“Yeah, we should distract ourselves, what did you all do yesterday?” Yoongi asked and you bristled at that, you didn’t want to think about the night spent cradling NaRae's face in your lap after helping clean the cuts and scrapes over her face and hands. You couldn’t help but feel sick at the thought that you could die here and NaRae could be hurt again, Your parents could be stalked whoever is doing this clearly knows their address, even if you do live what’s so say they don’t have yours. It was like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over you.

“I need my phone.” You explained, cutting off whoever was talking, you’d apologise later right now you had to text NaRae, warn her, maybe warn your parents, if you died at least they would know. “In the corner by the door, can you reach it Yoongi-ssi?”

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asked at the same time Yoongi mumbled “Let me see.”

Yoongi could in fact reach the device, pulling it closer with his foot before holding it out to you, the screen had cracked and just your luck it wouldn’t turn on. “Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, tears welling up under your eyes.

“Yn?” Hoseoks's frown deepened at the sound of your sniffles. “Are you hurt?”

“N-no.” You hiccuped, voice barely above a whisper. “We might die.”

“Don’t say that.” Hoseok had a horrified look on his face. “We will get out of here.”

You wanted to agree, to comfort the man who was so clearly scared, even if Yoongi wasn’t showing it you were sure he was scared too but you couldn’t, all you could think about was someone you loved being hurt because of you and you no longer being here to tell them. It was a bad idea to tell anyone, and it was an awful idea to tell the members but they were the only people here, if you died at least one of them may live, and one of them may be able to make sure whoever is stalking and threatening you and those you love won’t actually hurt anyone.

You took a deep breath, preparing for any questions. “I have a stalker and I’m not sure who it is.”

“What?” They both gasped in unison.

Hoseoks hand brushed against yours and without thinking you linked your pinkies together. “I have a stalker, it started with phone calls, yesterday they sent pictures of me with you and the other members to my parents’ house, my friend was there and found them before my parents could but she was attacked on the way home. I spent the day yesterday cleaning her cuts and trying to help her feel safe. They don’t want me around you.”The elevator fell into silence as you give them a moment to process what you’ve said.

“Shit.” Was the first thing that came from Yoongis mouth, you turned to look at Hoseok who had his jaw clenched, was he angry?

“How long?” Hoseok asked, finger tightening around yours. “When did it start?”

“It started with the whole translating thing, basically the whole time I worked here. They knew some personal things, things no one else knows…” You trailed off sparing them the details of the issue of jung-woo. “If something happens here, if I die in here and you live then please tell my parents they have to move. They aren’t safe at home anymore.”

“Don’t say that, don’t say things like that.” Yoongi interjected. “You aren’t going to die, none of us are.”

“Please Yoongi-ssi. I need to know my family will be okay.” You were grateful for Hoseok being between you, the sounds of your tears were embarrassing enough.

“If anything happens, which it won’t, I will personally make sure your parents are safe.” Hoseok looks at you with such a determination it can only be taken as a promise. “Have you gone to the police? Reported it to the company? It could be a sasaeng.”

“No, no I can’t do that. If I do it will just get worse, they said they would tell people personal things if I do. I can figure out who it is, I just need a little time.” You really had no idea where to start looking but you didn’t tell them that, truthfully you felt awful telling them something like this and then swearing them to secrecy but you didn’t see any other options available to you.

“We can’t keep this a secret, YN-ssi. It may be someone who has stalked us, we have had our fair share of encounters. We can help, the company can help.” Yoongi sounded sincere, sounded like he genuinely wanted to help.

You remembered NaRaes’ detailed explanation of the photos. “They have pictures of me inside the building, it must be someone who has access enough to take pictures of me with you all. They have the addresses of those I care about, at this point, I’m unsure if they know my address.”

Yoongi jolts upward, only stopping himself when he remembers where he is. “They have pictures of us.”

“So it could be a staff member.” Hoseok supplies.

Yoongi sighs. “That’s all the more reason to tell management. Who knows what kind of picture they have of us hoba, what if they have pictures of the others? Personal information? Relationship information? We have a lot to lose.”

“Hyung.” Hoseok paused, finally realising just how bad the situation had been. “You really think that?”

“Yes.” Yoongi nodded. “We have to protect ourselves. I’m sorry YN but I can’t sacrifice everyone and everything I care about for you.”

You didn’t say anything, Yoongis's words sounded so bitter, that you hated the way you instantly felt less than them. Of course, what they needed was more important than you, You were never blind to that fact but you hadn’t expected for them to both disregard the danger you and your family plus NaRae would be in if they did.

“We will tell Sejin once we get out. YN can you come? He will need to hear first-hand from you what happened, I know after everything today it’s probably too much but they need to know so they can stop any information about us being released or scandals happening. I promise you we will make sure you don’t get fired, you haven’t done anything anyway as long as you’re honest with him.” Yoongi is lying down once again, out of your eyesight and you are glad he is, otherwise, he may have noticed the sad scowl across your face. You shifted your head enough to look at the wall away, turned enough so Hoseok couldn’t see your frown.

Logically you understood they had more to lose, their image, and their lives could be ruined if someone had caught the wrong conversation. Although you could lose your job it would be nothing compared to the scandal that could happen if someone leaked important information about BTS. It didn’t matter that you had people who were at risk, at least not against important people.

Hoseok went to say something, whatever it was you weren’t entirely sure. A noise outside had you all a little startled before a voice started. “The fire department has arrived, we will begin to remove you now. Stay still until we can get the doors open.”

“Thank Fuck.” Yoongi huffed.

#bts smut #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts series #bts fanfic #hoseok x reader #hobi x reader #jhope x reader #Hoseok smut #Hoseok angst #Hoseok fluff #Hoseok comfort #bts hoseok #hoseok drabble #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #Jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #jimin smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #seokjin x reader #seokjin smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #jhope comfort #jhope

[scribbling-dragon]

Crown of Antlers

Chapter 9: A Day's Interlude

summary:

The moments between the night before and the day of.

(ao3 link)

(masterpost)

(2,384 words)

The morning light peeks carefully behind the curtains, spilling into the small spaces not covered by the thin fabric. It is blessedly cool this early, the heat of the day not yet setting in as the sun just begins its ascent.

Scott takes the small moment where he can, finger idly tapping against the table as he waits for his tea to cool. The breeze that blows in from the half-open window is almost refreshing, only the heavy smell of clay and terracotta making him turn his head away from the slightest hint of cold.

Still, the morning is pleasant and he finds himself enjoying it.

His companion...less so.

“I take it you had a rather eventful evening?” He asks, attempting for sympathetic. Hints of amusement leak into his voice and betray him, though, something that his companion also registers as she lifts her head to glare at him.

“Don’t act all high and mighty on me now, Elvenking.” Katherine sulks, stirring her own drink carefully, switching rotations every now and then – he knows she’s counting it in her head, polite enough to not count aloud.

He doesn’t envy her. The concoction she lifts to her lips has a rather pungent smell of herbs, tasting no better than its odour, either. It’s a popular treatment among nobles and those of higher class, when there may have been instances of overindulgence the night before an important meeting. Only the high cost of the herbs in it, and the skills to know how to brew it yourself, keeps it away from the general public.

He takes a sip of his own tea, now sufficiently cooled. Its flavours are familiar and comforting; something known even in a new place. Mainly because he brought his own tea bags with him, not trusting any of the Mezalean shops to have halfway decent tea. Or even somewhat decent tea.

He’s seen the things that their King chooses to consume at meetings, referring to them as “typical Mezalean fare”, something that did generally seem to be the case. But much of it is far too hot for him, using too many spices – he enjoys drinks with spice in them, designed to chase the frost from your joints on the coldest days; but such a thing is hardly necessary in Mezalea, where the coldest weather is still sweltering.

“I didn’t mean to act in such a way,” he nudges one of the sweeter breakfast pastries across the table towards her, offering it up as consolation for the bitter drink she’s forcing herself to consume. She scrunches her face up as she lifts her cup, pinching her nose as she tips it back in one go. Normally he’d be a little put-off at the lack of decorum, but he sympathises with her plight in this case. The drink’s taste is not something you’d wish to linger on. “I only meant to say that you seemed to be having fun last night, with the…ah, I believe it was the Undergrove’s Ruler?”

Katherine sinks down in her chair, face flushing a bright pink as she drags the plate of pastries rather aggressively towards herself. It makes a horrible scraping sound across the tabletop, one that has Scott wincing and grimacing at her.

“You're not really helping your case by reacting like that,” he comments.

“Oh, yeah?” Katherine looks up, glancing away from the pastry she’s begun to methodically peel apart, shredding it over her plate and leaving bits of flaky pastry everywhere. He sighs, internally. “And what about you and the Codfather, hm? Lots of people noticed how you two disappeared around the same time.”

“We had business discussions.”

“During a party?” Katherine raises both eyebrows at him, obviously unimpressed with his, admittedly, poor attempt at a lie. “At a wedding?”

“Yes.” He grits out.

There hadn’t been much business discussion. A lot of their short escape from the party was spent in silence, watching the stars together. He hasn’t had such a moment in many decades, not choosing to look upon the stars for too long, lest he begin to wallow in guilty and misery. Neither of them are things that a good ruler should dwell on, lest he wishes to begin losing sight of what it is that he hopes to achieve.

But Jimmy had been a good companion for the evening. Simply the gentle sound of his breathing had been enough to occasionally pull Scott’s eyes away from the vast and starry canvas above them, and he had watched Jimmy. He had been able to see the stars in his eyes, pick different ones out and connect them into small, made-up constellations.

Jimmy had created a few constellations of his own, picking out a few stars. He’d attempted to point them out to Scott, shuffling them both closer so he could lean into Scott’s side and guide his eyes, attempting to point out the cod he’d managed to form with a closely clustered group of stars. And then the pair of antlers he’d imagined just beside it.

It had very quickly begun to feel like he was venturing into territory he was unfamiliar with. As though every step caused the floor to fall out further from underneath him, lacking even Aeor’s reassuring presence or ongoing commentary to ease his nerves slightly.

It left him as shaky as a newborn deer, uncertain of what step was right and which was wrong.

He didn’t enjoy the feeling of being wrong-footed. He much preferred being the one in control of information and the way it was distributed, relying on those around him to trust in his guidance enough to follow it with little resistance in the moment, even if it meant hours of questioning afterwards.

With Jimmy, it felt like he was constantly missing a step, plunging down a few feet before he manages to scramble for a hold again. Like slipping down a step and grasping for the bannister before he breaks something. It left him feeling faintly nauseous, with a swooping feeling in his stomach. Not unlike the feeling he imagines birds must feel when they plunge from a great height.

Overall, not a particularly pleasant experience. And one that Jimmy seems to be entirely oblivious to.

Does he not register the effect he has on Scott? Or does he simply not care? Choosing to ignore the way he’s managed to destroy Scott’s perfect hold over his reactions and thoughts, sending them spinning off into unchartered, and therefore dangerous, territory.

“Uh-huh,” Katherine’s smirking at him now, looking far more smug than she had a few minutes ago; apparently the miracle cure has done it’s work, and she’s no longer feeling incredibly hungover and with “one foot in the grave” as she had bemoaned earlier. “Did you exchange this information with connecting your mouths? Or was it your tongues that did the information exchange.”

“You disgust me.”

“That’s not an answer,” Katherine sing-songs. “Denial only makes it worse, my dearest and most frosty friend.”

He sighs. “Please never call me that again.”

“Oh c’mon,” Katherine whines a little as she leans forward, deconstructed pastry decorating the entirety of her plate and a significant part of the table. He’ll have to clear that up before anyone else manages to see. Aeor forbid that anyone thinks it’s him that destroys good food in such a way. “You never let me do anything – how can I give you fun nicknames when Scotty boy already got vetoed?”

“There was good reason for that,” he sips his tea as Katherine glares at him from across the table. He tucks his feet a little further beneath his chair, just in case she decides to stoop to acting as a child and kick him beneath the table. “If anyone heard you call me that, I think I might just have to kill them.”

“Scott,” Katherine gasps, kicking her leg out – attempting to kick him, just as he assumed; unfortunately for her he kicked many legs beneath tables as a child and thus knows the perfect way to make sure your legs don't get kicked – and acting scandalised. “You shouldn’t joke about such things, you know. Someone might actually think you're serious one day.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Hm.” Katherine narrows her eyes at him. “Now, I don't think I can dispute that, because you were still alive when public executions were the best idea of entertainment. You’ve probably killed some people in your time – how long is that again?”

“You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Oh, Scott, please.” Katherine starts to actually eat her shredded pastry. He personally doesn’t understand the appeal of deconstructing a meal, only to eat the different parts separately – a meal is created with the idea of the ingredients working together to form a particular taste or sensation. To rip it apart and then eat it like that simply ruins the appeal of food. “How long have we been friends?”

“About twenty years.”

“Exactly!” Katherine points at him, eyes gleaming. “Twenty years, and I don't even know when your birthday is! We’ve celebrated mine so many times, and yet I've never managed to do it for you.”

“You do make an attempt every year,” he reasons. “Just because you’ve never managed to guess the exact day is not your fault. You have another three-hundred and forty-four years, if you wish to do it systematically.”

“Maximum,” Katherine says. “I reckon I've got the day this year.”

“Oh really?”

“And once I know the day, you’ll have to tell me how old you are.”

“Do I, now?” Against his best wishes, he always finds himself amused by Katherine. He had originally approached her to give guidance on how to lead such an influential alliance, and perhaps sway her a little more into his favour; but he’d found himself growing rather fond of her as time continued – she was almost like a younger sister, one that was far too excited about everything most of the time, but endearing in the way she did it. “I don't remember agreeing to that.”

“Well, you do!” Katherine grins at him. “Because I said so! Unless you wanna concede now and tell me right this moment.”

He hums, long and drawn out, watching as Katherine leans a little closer, her anticipation building. “I'm at least twenty years old.” And her anticipation disappears just like that, rapidly deflating in her disappointment.

“You're a horrible man.”

“Hm.” His tea is almost cold now. “I certainly am.”

=== === ===

“You still didn’t tell me anything about you and the Codfather.”

“Did I not?” Scott doesn’t turn away from the sculpture he’s inspecting. It’s certainly one of the more modern pieces, with it’s odd construction and composition. It creates an entirely different image from another angle, adding a duality to the structure that he hasn’t seen before. It’s certainly rather enjoyable. “Must have slipped my mind.”

“You liar!” Katherine appears from the other side of the statue, where she was studying the other side, attempting to make her own interpretation without reading the small placard. The artist quote tells him that it is a piece exploring and making comment on agony and joy, and how often the two co-exist. It gets a little too existential in the second paragraph for his personal tastes, continuing on about how the value of joy would be null without the suffering to make it all that much better.

It makes it seem as though suffering is simply something you must accept; something that must be experience for you to gain fulfilment from your life. Personally, Scott thinks that argument is bullshit.

“Quite rude of you to call me a liar, Katherine.” He turns his back on the sculpture, no longer as fond of the duality of it, as he was moments prior. “Especially when I agreed to accompany you to an art museum.”

“Stop being miserable, old man,” she grabs him by the arm. “I know you're loving this.”

“I resent being called old,” he points out, even though he knows she won’t listen. He continues anyway, “I'm rather firmly in what you would call your ‘twenties’.”

“And I resent you not telling me the gossip in your life!” Katherine tugs on his arm. “The Codfather has been mooning over you for so many years already – when are you going to put that poor boy out of his misery and finally kiss him?”

“Probably about the same time you gather the courage to kiss your darling Undergrove gnome.”

Katherine scoffs. “These two situations are not equivalent. The Codfather has been crushing on you for years. I've barely known her a single year! I've got plenty of time to make my move.”

“I'm sure.”

Katherine smacks him. “Try and sound a little less sarcastic next time; I've got game, you know? Unlike you, I actually know how to flirt in a way that isn’t old and outdated courting rituals that only elven people know.”

“Those outdated courting rituals were the way your mother and father married.”

“Ew, stop it.” She shoves at his shoulder, almost causing him to stumble. A few of the bells he wears ring, causing a few heads to turn towards them. Once those people realise who they're sharing an art museum with they very quickly look away again. “I hate that you knew my parents – did you know my grandparents too?”

“I've met most of the rulers’ parents.” He reminds her. “Only a few continue to be a mystery.”

“Ooh,” she grins, leaning in close to his ear, “is this some gossip? Have you got something fun to tell me- oh! Is the Codfather one of the people whose parents you haven’t met?”

“Hm?” He looks away from the canvas hung just in front of them, a swirl of blues and greys and whites that give the impression of snow and ice and rock, only broken up by a brief flash of brightness. Like a sunrise breaking through a snowstorm. “Oh, no. I've met his mother.”

Katherine laughs. “You really need to stop lying – sometimes I can’t even tell when you do, you know?”

“I wasn’t lying.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do you want to move onto the next painting?”

“Just another moment with this one, please.”

“You hankering for a blizzard?” Katherine teases.

“Only slightly.”

#juno.writes #crown of antlers au #scott smajor #flower husbands #empires smp #empires smp s1 #empires scott #empires smp fic

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere Platonic Splinter(2012) with Y/N ​​who introduces her boyfriend to Splinter. How sons make their parents accept dating.(Concept)

Sure!

Yandere! Platonic! Splinter (2012) with Darling introducing their boyfriend.

Short Concept/Reaction

Pairing: Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Overprotective behavior, Isolation, Implied forced family arrangement, Betrayal, Slight jealousy.

How I end up writing Yandere Splinter is like this.

He’s one of those overprotective dad types who tries not to hurt anyone close to you, unless they’re hurting you.

Splinter would be very protective over you just like he is with his sons. 

So when he notices you slipping out for long periods of time out of his sight, he gets a bit nervous.

Just what are you doing sneaking around?

Can you not trust him with knowing this info you’re hiding?

He tries pushing you about it, trying to learn more about what you’re doing.

He doesn’t completely understand until he hears from one of the turtles you’re dating someone or you introduce your boyfriend to him.

Admittedly, you’re nervous as you know how Splinter acts.

He wants to keep things secretive and you dating someone could be a risk.

Also, he just really enjoys family time with you as he’s grown so close with you-

You also know how overprotective he can get and didn’t want to scare your boyfriend off.

How were you supposed to explain the whole forced family situation to your boyfriend?

A mutant rat and his mutant turtle sons consider you family and force you to be part of it?

None of that would go over well.

When Splinter learns of your boyfriend, he understands it.

No wonder you were so secretive… but still…

He’s a bit offended that you couldn’t trust him with such information. 

He’s technically your dad now, he should know who you’re dating. 

There’s no doubt this’ll cause some fights between you.

Even worse if you’re arguing in front of your boyfriend.

Splinter wants to know why you still don’t trust him.

Don’t you know he gets so hurt when you lie or avoid him?

Do you despise him just enough to keep such intimate things private?

All the while, you’re trying to tell him that your personal life is none of his business.

You’re an adult, you can take care of yourself.

Why does Splinter even need to know you have a boyfriend?

That’s your personal business.

These fights will most likely lead to you being “grounded”.

You’re kept in the sewer and unable to see your boyfriend for who knows how long.

To Splinter, this is a punishment.

To outsiders, this is kidnapping.

Overall, Splinter would take you not telling him the news or going against his rules as a sign of betrayal.

A sign of betrayal you must learn from with isolation….

#yandere tmnt #yandere teenage mutant ninja turtles #yandere tmnt 2012 #yandere splinter

[rymurrsneckbeard]

Hi hi hello!! 16. laughing while kissing, mo/mitch please <3

You know I love me some Mo/Mitch!

Mitch Marner has always gotten really lonely on the road.

It was an issue in juniors, sure, but he always had a roommate and those guys were young and in each other's space all the time, so he didn't notice it as much. His first couple of years in the NHL weren't too bad either - he was on a rookie contract so he always shared a hotel room. He never had time with his own thoughts.

But then eventually he hit that magic age where he wasn't sharing a room on the road any longer and it started to get to him. Without a named captain on the roster, it fell to Morgan to check in on him, to make sure he was okay, to spend some time with him so he felt less alone.

It may have started with taking a walk around the block so he could get excess energy out (Morgan has never expressly said that Mitch is very much like an excitable puppy but the implication is there). When that wasn't enough Morgan would post up on the spare bed and watch a movie with him. Until the night when the hotel gave them all rooms with a single king bed, which means Morgan ended up sitting against the headboard right next to Mitch, who quickly decided that cuddles were necessary.

Mitch is a very affectionate guy.

So in very short order a walk turned into a movie turned into cuddling turned into, well. This.

Morgan is still sitting up in Mitch's hotel bed, only Mitch isn't just snuggled up against him. No, Mitch is wearing pajama pants and no shirt, straddling Morgan's hips, his hands in Morgan's hair, his tongue in Morgan's mouth.

Steph knows about it, so does Tessa. It isn't a sexual thing, not really. Sure they were shirtless and making out and pawing all over each other, but it isn't sex. It never turns to sex. But Mitch often wakes up the next morning with stubble-burn on his lips and Morgan is often left with pink and purple marks sucked and bitten into the skin of his throat. And there were a couple of times when Mitch came in his pants. (Okay and maybe Morgan has done that once as well. Neither of them talk about it.)

It's just about the connection, both physical and emotional, and while it had started as a way to keep Mitch out of his own head, Morgan finds that it makes him feel better too.

Which is why it's a little bit disconcerting when Mitch suddenly starts giggling against his lips.

"Mitchy," Morgan breathes against his jaw, scraping his teeth just enough that Mitch lets out a quiet hiss. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Mm, not at you," Mitch answers, tipping his head to the side so Morgan can keep biting down the tendon in his neck. "Show's funny."

"You're on my lap, tongue in my mouth, grinding on my dick," Morgan says, closing his lips on Mitch's earlobe, biting down quick, hard," and you're still paying attention to the TV?"

Mitch's reply is delayed by a low, ragged moan. "I can do two things at once."

Morgan pulls back enough that he can look up into Mitch's eyes, one brow raised high. "Mitchy, you can barely do one thing at a time."

"That is a lie and you know it. See, I can listen to the TV show and I can play with your hair," Mitch laces both hands through Morgan's hair, "I can get you hard," he rolls his hips in sloooow circles against Morgan's admittedly interested cock, "and I can kiss your face off."

He tugs on Morgan's hair to tilt his head up and lowers his mouth to Morgan's, his lips warm and soft and just the right amount of wet. He drags the edges of his teeth over Morgan's scarred upper lip, right where it's a little bit sensitive, where he knows it'll draw a gasp from deep in Morgan's chest.

"I'm a goddamn master of multitasking," he murmurs into Morgan's mouth.

And now it's Morgan's turn to laugh.

#I CANNOT WRITE TOO MUCH OF THIS #I have a whole Willy/Morgan fic to work on okay #but i always love Mo/Mitch <3 #prompt ask game

[datesinredink]

Yan valkyrie(ensemble stars) x reader who designs characters. Specifically shu, because they would totally design outfits together.

Not gonna lie when I first read this ask I misread and thought you wanted a darling who designed OUTFITS because I was kinda tired, but upon rereading I quickly became very excited because I’ve actually designed characters for a school play before!!! This was fun to write, thanks for the request!

Yandere Valkyrie x reader who designs characters

Mika

He’s really curious! He thinks what you do is super interesting!

Now I think both Shu and Mika would help design characters with you (specifically the outfits), but the kinds of designs they do well with are likely fairly different even with some overlap because of how long they’ve worked together and grown with each other. Mika probably does better with brighter, contrasting colors- his fs1 and 2, both of which I think he designed himself (though I could be wrong about his fs2, I know for a fact he made his fs1) he makes use of bright color combinations that Shu tends not to (though you can correct me if i’m wrong) like the orange/teal combo on his fs1 and the purple/teal combo on his fs2, though admittedly it’s less noticeable there because they’re more evenly blended together. His fs2 also has plenty of brightly colored accessories, like the paperclips, gems and gummy bears. Overall, he seems really good at designing things with lots of colors/patterns that usually come off as strange to most people.

Moving on from the impromptu short outfit analysis, he’s gonna try to use this somewhat shared hobby of yours to try and get closer- what do you expect. He’ll ask a lot of questions about what your thought process was, and probably start incorporating any kind of advice or methods from you into his work.

It’s been mentioned in the enstars stories that Mika likes horror, so he’ll be particularly excited if you usually design horror characters, maybe even a couple of monster designs, and he might even try to help out- both to improve his skill in designing and to spend time with you.

He already would’ve asked for your input whenever he was designing outfits even if you didn’t do character design, because he asks for your input on almost everything he does (almost like an uncannily clingy puppy), but since you DO like costume/character design, he asks for your opinion twice the amount he would’ve- good luck honestly, I think I’d go crazy.

Takes everything you say about his designs to heart and works your advice into the outfit he’s working on to the absolute best of his ability even if it was just an offhanded comment without a lot of thought put into it.

You’re his darling! His inspiration! Of course he takes your opinions seriously!

Design something specifically for him and he’s absolutely over the moon- his darling designed something for him!

Hope you know how to take a compliment… or a tsunami of them.

Goes over every detail in it at least 5 times and probably puts it in a shrine somewhere- and yes I do think he’s the type to keep a shrine of his darling.

Definitely makes a couple of designs for you, and makes a few into actual outfits when he has the time, adding whatever accessories were part of the original sketch as well

His designs tend to be a sort of fusion between yours and his aesthetics- teal butterflies and ragged teddy bears intertwined with whatever you like.

He might try making matching outfits or accessories for you and him! He thinks it makes you two look like a couple, even though you aren’t dating yet.

I don’t think Mika currently makes characters in canon, just outfits, but he’ll probably start coming up with a few so he has more stuff to talk about with you and bond over.

Please, please him for his work! It would mean the world to him! He just wants your attention…

Shu

He probably also thinks what you do is interesting, but obsesses over it to a lesser degree than Mika.

He’ll definitely do better helping with any fantasy/royal/generally fancy designs. He uses lots of a red-ish maroon-ish color in the Valkyrie stage outfits and his winter/fall casual outfit, and a general red in his fs1, so it seems like he’s more comfortable using shades of red in outfits. There are also a decent amount of intricate details in what I assume are the stage outfits for Valkyrie, for example the Acanthe outfit alone looks like it would’ve been hell to make (though I don’t have any experience with making outfits right now, check back in a couple years and I’ll probably be able to confirm) due to all the lace and frilly wavy details- I don’t know how he keeps his sanity together at all honestly. Of course, he also does well with steampunk aesthetics, as seen in, once again, the Valkyrie stage outfits as well as the steampunk outfits for Valkyrie that you can buy in game.

Anyway, he’ll ask if he can make some of the outfits you came up with, and if you let him, he’ll spare no effort making sure it’s perfect. After all, it’s for his beloved muse!

I’m sorry if you really hate standing around and being examined for long periods of time, because you’re gonna have to do a LOT of modeling for it- there’s gonna be a lot of adjustments to how it fits you so hopefully you can entertain yourself without losing your mind.

I also hope you don’t have much planned for a while during this process, because he won’t let you leave while he’s working on the outfit and having you model it. Say goodbye to the plans you made with your friends, because Shu expects you to stay with him throughout the whole process of sewing your design, and he isn't willing to let you say no.

That aside, he definitely knows a lot about clothes and fabrics, so he’s really useful for pointing that kind of stuff out. Also since he’s gonna end up making a few of your designs, you’ll be able to take a picture of yourself for reference in whatever pose you’re trying to draw the character in! That’s a pretty good deal if I say so! (then again I’m also terrible at imagining how clothes fold so I might be a little biased)

He’ll also offer plenty of constructive criticism, and it’s nice to have an honest, structured opinion of your work rather than nothing at all, even if he does tend to be a little harsh about it. After all, it is Shu, even if he is obsessed with you- don't expect him to do a full 180 in his treatment of you.

Will probably end up flipping through your sketchbook for inspiration to use in his designs, whether you give him permission or not. He just has to know what aesthetics appeal to you, what colors you prefer, your favorite types of clothing… then a while later he gives you an outfit totally tailored to your tastes and while he talks about his thought process while making it, you have to wonder how he figured out so many of your preferences. oh well, he’s always been observant. Maybe you just mentioned most of it offhandedly at one point at one point and just didn't remember..

#yandere enstars #shu itsuki #mika kagehira #enstars x reader #...I am NOT looking forward to seeing this one in the shu and mika tags ngl #everytime I see my work in a tag I cringe and scroll faster hdhnfinr