#And then the 'party' was an absolute disaster | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

g1rld1ary · 3 hours

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you never disappointed me - part five

part one part two part three four

➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; luke tries to apologise for the party, but it takes you a while to forgive him (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 3753

➻ warnings: ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, swearing

➻ did this take a month? yes. am I sorry? yes. will it happen again? absolutely

TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull @slaybestieslay946 @sflame15-blog @yourfavmiki @ivory-sage @caramelandvenus @chasebeth @maraudersmyloves losergirlcrowley amortencjja wisecrownpaper iammightsadyall odeasforyou rlqfpdl

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You were humiliated. You’d spent all night crying, mortification setting in thick over your body as you lay on your bed. However, despite how embarrassed you were, you were mostly angry. Angry at Luke for acting so affectionate, for making you believe that he really liked you then pulling away at the last second. Angry at yourself. Angry that after all these years, all it took was one stupid boy to bring down all your walls; angry that you let yourself be led into this situation.

And so that morning, instead of letting yourself mope around about it anymore, you picked yourself up with a new determination. You were angry, and everyone was going to know about it. Your braids were pulled extra tight, not in the mood to deal with flyaways or gentleness, and the smudged eyeliner around your eyes served as a reminder of the tears you’d wasted.

There was a much shorter line at the Lava Wall than usual. Although skipping out on activities could earn you some shitty chores or revoked dessert privileges, your bad mood had seeped into the whole area, practically lowering the temperature around you. You only had a few newer campers dare to enter your territory, and it took a Herculean effort to not snap at them for even coming near you.

Luke watched you from afar, hidden away in one of his typically safe smoking spots. He was trying to gauge your mood, see if anything was fixable. His prospects currently looked grim. He watched in anticipation as a young girl made a dumb mistake. Luke thought it wouldn’t have been her fault — Chiron had made him tour her around camp only a few weeks ago and she’d been pretty beat up before she got to camp. He watched you yank her off the Lava Wall moments before disaster, and held his breath as you both seemed to falter. The girl looked like she was going to burst into tears, and your face was unreadable, which was usually not a good thing. Just as he thought you were going to take out all your feelings on the scared kid, you crouched down to her level, thumb wiping away her spilled tears. You spoke softly to her, bringing her down from an impending breakdown with a gentleness that didn’t often emerge at camp.

The interaction gave Luke some hope, maybe your heart hadn’t totally closed off. That thought was quashed, however, when minutes later you ripped Travis Stoll a new one for being an ‘egotistical dickhead’ as he fooled around on the wall. Luke was genuinely shocked at the volume which came from your body, he could have mistaken it for a conch horn. Even Travis seemed a little taken aback at your outburst. Usually your bad moods were pretty easy to avoid — stay out of your way and you stayed away from others. Clearly today, though, you had anger to get out of your system, and you weren’t hesitant in expressing it.

You were still upset by lunchtime, and your day only got worse.

“Dance for me, cowboy,” Katy Gardener yelled, evil grin shining across the Dining Pavilion. You kept your head down and ignored it, hurrying to your table. A body popped up in front of you, blocking your path.

“What do we owe you for the table dance, babe?” Ethan crooned, and if you were in a slightly more private setting you would have decked him. You grumbled out a “Fuck you,” and shoved past him towards Drew, knowing that at least she wouldn’t reproach you in public. Ethan clearly wasn’t done with you yet, though, and began an all too innocent conversation with Mr D.

“Why don’t you ask how her weekend was, Mr D?” He said, throwing a casual glance over to you.

“Unless she kicked the crap out of your dumb ass, Elton, I don’t wanna hear it.” You could have kissed Mr D, and then immediately recoiled at the thought. Ethan’s embarrassed expression was enough to please you though, and you sunk into your meal silently, but at least not active with anger.

After lunch Luke tried to apologise to you, or explain himself at least. He knew you were upset, but he was still feeling good about himself. He had noble intentions, and was doing objectively the right thing by not taking advantage of you when you were drunk. None of these sentiments were expressed, though, when you stormed right past him, making sure to land an extra aggressive stomp on his foot as you went. Chris couldn’t hold back his loud laugh, clapping Luke on the back in semi-sympathy as he headed to his own next activity. Luke stood dumbly in his spot for a few minutes, unsure of how exactly to proceed. Clearly you were more upset than he thought.

Your own next activity was Ancient Greek with Mr D. You didn’t know why he taught it at all given you personally thought he was hardly fluent, but it was one activity you actually didn’t mind, especially as you got older. Whilst the younger kids had lessons focused on getting used to the alphabet and language, the elder campers who were more fluent had more traditional ‘english’ classes — learning about texts and languages, only in Ancient Greek so the dyslexia didn’t slow you down as much.

You shot Mr D a tightlipped smile as you walked into the pavilion, hoping to get by the lesson unscathed, though you didn’t have much hope. Both Ethan and Luke were in this class, and you really didn’t want to see either (though Luke usually skipped, so he wasn’t such a pressing issue).

Just your luck, Ethan was already in his unassigned assigned seat behind you, filling in the campers who didn’t attend the party about your escapades. You just rolled your eyes, trying to seem somewhat graceful about your own actions, but the leering eyes of your peers was making it supremely difficult. For once you did regret not making many friends at camp — if you had, maybe your humiliation wouldn’t be such a hot topic, but the very presence of your class reminded you why you had no interest in being friends with them.

The room thankfully quietened down when Mr D walked in, the whole camp somewhat wary of his temper. He started the lesson: Shakespeare. You perked up a bit from your slouched position in the chair. Whilst school wasn’t exactly your strong point with the ADHD and dyslexia, Shakespeare was something you actually kind of understood. When you were younger your Dad had taken you and Silena to a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream and you’d loved it ever since. Shakespeare translated into Greek was maybe your dream.

Mr D started talking about sonnets, and you got the distinct impression that he didn’t totally know what he was talking about — or just didn’t care enough to go into any detail. You figured that was more correct since he was the god of theatre, but you could never be totally sure with Dionysus. Regardless, he’d moved on from explaining the basic form of a sonnet and had set you a project: write your own version of Shakespeare’s sonnet 141. You sat straighter in your seat, unable to hide the small smile that had crept onto your face. You raised your hand, slightly offended by Mr D’s eye roll.

“Yes, Miss I-have-an-opinion-about-everything?” He sighed, but you persevered nonetheless.

“Do you want it in iambic pentameter?” You asked.

“You’re not going to fight me on this?” He hesitated, and you revelled in the fact that you could still surprise him after all these years.

“No, I think it’s a really good assignment.”

“You’re just messing with me, right Barton?”

“Beauregard,” You corrected for the thousandth time, “But no. I’m really excited to write it.” You picked uncomfortably at your cargos as the class watched your exchange.

“Go see Chiron.”

“What?”

“Get out!” He yelled, not quite angry but you weren’t going to be the one to test him. There were rumours of previous campers who’d been turned into dolphins and you did not want to continue that legacy. You wandered out of Greek class, still slightly confused at what had just happened, and headed back to your cabin, not bothering to go see Chiron. With the cabin to yourself you tried to get a start on Mr D’s project, but inspiration was lacking and you resorted to taking a nap instead.

The rift between you and Luke became public knowledge at that night’s campfire. Without even realising it you’d started sitting with him most nights (or rather he sat with you, bothering you until you submitted to a conversation). Then suddenly you were avoiding him like the plague, spitting out a harsh “Get fucked, Castellan,” when he called your name softly, almost begging you to talk to him. You were never one to back down from your decisions though, and left him in the dust, taking a seat next to Clarisse. You could tell even Chris could see something was seriously wrong as he pressed a kiss to Clarisse’s hand and disappeared somewhere, presumably to sit with Luke.

You didn’t even really know why you were at the campfire in the first place. You’d been only a handful of times before you knew Luke, and now you didn’t want to know him yet here you were. Clarisse tried to keep you entertained with her quiet comments — which did admittedly make you snort a laugh once or twice, but you were otherwise miserable. You sure as hell weren’t going to participate or chat to anyone, and you were really regretting not just pursuing your usual routine of getting to the top of the Aphrodite cabin for stargazing. Plus, you could feel Luke’s eyes following your every move, and you were getting fed up with the kicked puppy act.

Your final straw was the singing — why was everyone in Camp Half-Blood so obsessed with singing? The second some douchebag from Apollo brought out a guitar you were done, launching yourself out of your seat and stomping back towards your cabin for some peace and quiet. Just as you were crossing the threshold out of the amphitheatre a hand grabbed your arm and you whirled around to face the culprit, ripping your arm out of his embrace.

“Touch me again, Castellan, and I swear to the Gods I will make sure you have no hands to use.”

“Look, I just wanted—”

“I don’t care, Castellan. We don’t always get what we want, do we?” You knew you were being mean, but you frankly didn’t care. When Luke was shocked into silence, mouth slightly open as he searched for anything to say, you took the opportunity to leave him in the dust, trying to keep your confident walk even as your legs were shaking slightly.

“Bro, what did you do to her?” Beckendorf approached Luke up near the exit of the amphitheatre.

“I didn’t do anything,” Luke snapped, before taking a beat to calm himself down, “She would’ve been too drunk to remember.”

“But the plan was working!”

“What do you care? I thought you wanted out.” A slight blush crept on Beckendorf’s face, accompanying the dumb grin.

“Yeah, well I did, but, um, that was until she kissed me.” Despite his own bad luck, Luke couldn’t help but be happy for Beckendorf, slightly hating the fact that the lame younger boy had grown on him significantly. He let Charles ramble about the kiss for a bit despite his decreasing interest in the conversation, very glad when Percy joined them.

“So I talked to Clarisse,” He said, and Luke knew by his tone the news wasn’t going to be good. Beckendorf was still hopeful (or just naive) though, and pestered him for more details. “’Hates him with the fire of a thousand suns’ is the direct quote.” All three of them grimaced, yet Beckendorf persisted.

“Hey, we don’t know. She might just need a day to cool off.” Luke thought back to the bruise you’d left on his foot earlier in the day.

“Maybe two.”

The Aphrodite kids were all in archery except you, who’d claimed to be sick to get out of it. So, Silena was on her own and vulnerable to Ethan approaching.

“Hey there, Cupid.” He popped up behind her, not noticing the grimace creeping onto Silena’s face.

“Hi, Ethan.” She refused to look at him, focusing instead on aiming her arrow.

“I want to talk about the end of summer dance.” Silena rolled her eyes as the rest of her siblings pretended to mind their own business despite their innate need to know what was going on.

“Look, you know the deal. I can’t go if my sister doesn’t.” The end of summer dance was exactly what it sounded like; a big party for all the kids at camp to celebrate the three months they’d spent together and send off the kids who weren’t staying all year round. Though the actual dance was supervised, it was a well known secret that all of the older campers stayed out through the night drinking and dancing, and most of the folk around camp turned a blind eye for the night. Usually, your dad would pick you up just before the party started, which would inevitably result in a fight between you and Silena. Now though, Silena wasn’t quite so against leaving early, wanting out of the boy drama she’d found herself in.

“Your sister is going,” Ethan said, puffing out his chest as if it made him look more manly. Silena’s surprise was genuine.

“Since when?”

“Let’s just say I’m taking care of it,” Was all Ethan said before walking away, confident swagger in his step as he passed in front of your siblings, and Silena wondered how many of them were holding back the urge to let go of their arrow as he crossed them.

Still, Ethan had to make good on his word, so he found himself approaching Luke again. Rummaging around in his pockets, Ethan presented him with 200 dollars in cash. Luke raised an eyebrow, not bothering with words.

“This should take care of everything for the dance. I’m sure you don’t own anything presentable so this is for a new outfit, flowers for her, whatever. As long as she comes to the dance.” Luke stared at him, and was disgusted at what he was feeling. He might’ve been growing a conscience, something that would be greatly inconvenient for his life as the scary, unsociable older guy at camp.

“I’m sick of your game,” He said finally, pushing the cash back towards Ethan, who frowned. Luke got the distinct feeling he’d never been told no before — except by you, of course. Ethan exaggerated a huff and reached back into his pocket, pulling out one more hundred dollar bill. Luke faltered. He was sick of hurting you, but three hundred dollars was a lot of money. And without any way of making income as a year-rounder it was only more attractive. So Luke swallowed his pride and his morals and took the money. Though, getting you to ever consider going out with him again was basically a hopeless case.

So Luke began his new quest of getting you to speak to him again. He’d shown up to the Lava Wall full of audacity and enthusiasm, and waited patiently in line as you helped the other kids, pretending you couldn’t see him. When it was clear he wasn’t going to leave — or have his turn on the climbing wall — until you acknowledged him, you rolled your eyes aggressively.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped, gesturing for the Athena kid standing behind Luke to have her turn.

“I want to improve my time,” He smiled, and you could tell he thought he was being cute. You only partly secretly agreed.

“You’re so…” You trailed off, unable to find a word appropriate for your audience of children.

“Charming?” He asked, and there was that smile again. “Wholesome?”

“Unwelcome,” You settled on, turning back to your duties.

“You’re not as mean as you think you are, you know that?” You froze for a second, then told the kid waiting to start to hold on until you could get rid of him.

“And you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Ohh, someone still has their panties in a twist!”

“Don’t for one minute think that you had any effect whatsoever on my panties,” You scoffed, subconsciously adjusting your denim shorts.

“Then what did I have an effect on?” Despite the two of you clearly arguing, there was a surprisingly vulnerable look in his eyes. You ignored it.

“Other than my upchuck reflex? Nothing.” You turned on your heel, making it clear the conversation was over.

You were absent from that night’s campfire, which Luke was grateful for since Percy and Beckendorf had much to say about the plan, none good.

“So she’s still majorly pissed,” Percy started and Luke snorted.

“Yeah, got that, genius.”

“Well the question is, how do you stop a girl from being mad?” Beckendorf asked, and Luke could only cringe at how they sounded. With the way the three of them were talking, any passerby would surely think they were three prepubescent virgins. From next to them, Annabeth sighed harshly.

“Look, Luke. You embarrassed her, her ego’s taken a hit. Devastating for any girl, especially damaging for a daughter of Aphrodite. You need to get on her level; even the score and embarrass yourself for her.” The boys sat back, stunned. One by one they processed the instructions, nodding slowly. Thank the Gods for Annabeth Chase was the only thing Luke could think.

With much planning and a little bit of outside involvement (Luke swapped some of his chores with Clarisse’s to get her to agree), the plan was set in motion.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can make fun of the little kids singing Disney songs?” Clarisse lay on your bed as you cleaned your bunk area and you looked at her skeptically.

“Why tonight? We never go to the sing alongs.”

“Dunno,” She shrugged, “Something to do. Plus, summer’s almost over and soon we won’t get to spend any time together.” You grinned, reaching over to pinch her cheek lightly.

“Aw,” You cooed, “I knew you liked me deep down.” Clarisse swatted your hand away but smiled nonetheless, and the two of you stayed huddled up on your bunk gossiping until dinner.

Swayed by Clarisse’s begging, the two of you ended up at the sing along, much too close to the front for your liking. You struggled through the karaoke songs, only staying to commentate to Clarisse. You’d heard one too many awful renditions of classic childhood pop songs when the amphitheatre went quiet, no one knowing who was meant to be leading the next song.

“You’re just too good to be true,” The voice rang out into the night, unaccompanied voice making you gasp immediately in recognition. This was your favourite song, but hardly anyone knew that. It was the song you used to dance to with your dad when you were a kid, before you even knew you were a demigod.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.” People were murmuring now, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from and who it belonged to — no one who’d sung before for sure.

“You feel like heaven to touch, I wanna hold you so much,” You gasped again as you saw the figure emerge from the darkness. Luke Castellan was singing at the camp sing along. You couldn’t hold in your giggle as he continued to sing a cappella, coming into the light of the stage. He seemed to be searching for something though, eyes roving over the audience.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.” His eyes locked with yours; he found what he was looking for. Before you could dwell on the incredibly cheesy act, music swelled to life, the Apollo musicians seemingly having learnt the piece beforehand. You wondered how much planning went into this. Your joy only increased as Luke began to dance; dorky, outdated moves that made you laugh out loud — a sound so unfamiliar that a few campers had to look back to check it was really you. You laughed and clapped along with everyone else, thoroughly enjoying Luke embarrassing himself in front of the whole camp.

The performance had to end at some point though, and you found yourself rising out of your seat to give a standing ovation, whooping and cheering along with everyone else. By chance you caught a glance of Clarisse’s face to see her already watching you, a satisfied look evident on her face. You were confused for a second before a memory struck you — a late night on the roof trading drunk secrets and stories where you told her about your childhood connection to Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You. You were floored, and also kind of flattered. You knew it would have taken a lot for Luke to go to Clarisse for help — she was scary when she was pissed, and she was definitely pissed at Luke after the party.

You felt that little ball of light start to flicker in your chest again, and you were scared. But more than that you were excited. Despite everything else about you, you were a daughter of Aphrodite and a teenage girl, and the most romantic thing to ever happen at camp just happened to you. You guessed Luke had probably grovelled enough, and you would’ve told him that immediately if he hadn’t been swarmed by campers congratulating or laughing at him. Deciding you couldn’t put yourself in the middle of that crowd, you settled on telling him in the morning.

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tswwwit · 2 years

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Have a very long post with many dumb jokes and also pornblography! I do not have a title for it yet because my brain is very bad and titles are hard. Again, NSFW! And it's just about 16k words so beware of Long Post.

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Dipper shoves himself out of the water, shaking mud out of his hair. He coughs, twice, then gasps, sucking in the air.

Did it work-?

He struggles to his knees, churning up the muddy silt from the lakebed, and looks over towards the treeline.

Smoke from the explosion drifts over the treetops. The forest is rife with birds flying away and scattering animals, the fire low in the distance - And judging by the state of the beach, uh.

There’s a jumble of stuff that looks like charred driftwood. Until you look at it closer.

Dipper sits back, water sloshing around his waist. He lets out a slow, shaking breath.

Yeah. It worked.

The other monstrous mess on the shore is standing among the wreckage. Intact, smug, handsome. Other adjectives that are less flattering.

And he’s doubled over laughing.

“You shoulda seen it!” It wasn’t that funny, damn it. Absolutely not knee-slappingly funny, but try telling that to this asshole. Bill does it again, cackling. “You took off so fast it was like-” He makes a gesture that might be a fish leaping, or a particularly inelegant human flailing in an arc. “And the landing!”

Dipper lifts a hand from the muck to flip him off. Not very seriously; he’s too relieved that it’s over with to get truly mad.

A stupid insane plan. An effective plan. Not entirely Bill’s idea, though he went along with it easily enough; he loves danger.

Though Dipper’s pretty sure Bill’s contribution to the explosive curse could have been at least halved. It’s something to keep in mind for later.

He gets up slowly, wiping off the mud and what water he can from himself. Trudging to the shore, wringing out his shirt. Now he really needs a shower.

Bill glances over him, hands on his hips. “You look like a drowned rat.”

Dipper gives his husband the same lookover, slowly, to make a point. “You look like a burned one.” Bill’s suit is almost entirely ruined. “With jaundice.”

Bill makes a mock gasp of offense, clasping a hand to the remnants of his shirt. It’s quickly followed by the resurge of the grin.

“It mighta messed up my style a bit, sure.” Bill says with a shrug. The remnants of the yellow suit jacket cling to his elbows, and his hair’s a mess. “Yet somehow, I’m still better dressed!”

“That’s a matter of taste.” Dipper shakes his feet, trying to get some of the clinging water out of the cuffs of his pants. He knocks his shoes against the ground to clear some mud off. “Yours is bad.”

“This coming from the guy rocking ‘slime monster from the deep’.” Bill shakes his head. “That went outta style in the fifteen hundreds, easily.”

Dipper narrows his eyes, stalking closer until they could almost touch. He leans in, very close - Bill matches it, beaming with pleasure.

And with a satisfying ‘smack’, Dipper plants a palmful of mud right on his smug, asshole face.

Bill splutters, and Dipper trails muck down his body in a straight line. One heading right from his stupid face, down over all the clean bits of his shirt.

“I dunno, Bill.” Dipper says, taking a step back as Bill’s expression turns from surprise to absolute indignance. Now he’s the one smiling. “I think it suits you.”

Bill blinks for a moment. Mud dripping off his chin, annoyance sliding off his face.

His grin switches back on, wide and white.

“Oh, you’re gonna get it for that insult,” He purrs. Dipper tries to dart back, but Bill already has a grip on his waist. “Come here.”

Dipper kicks his legs, he struggles and he swears - This impossible, terrible monster picks him up again, swinging him around.

And he’s laughing, despite all of that, when Bill dunks him right back into the lake.

When they walk back to the Shack together, it’s long into the evening. The sun’s gone down, and the last bit of red is fading from the horizon.

Bill swings their joined hands, humming a tune to himself. The other one lights up the way back, a bright blue flame over his palm.

“Gotta love a good date,” He says, sounding deeply self-satisfied. The pace he’s taken is fast enough to make Dipper speedwalk. “It’s been too long!”

“You’ve been busy,” Dipper reminds him, nudging his husband with an elbow. Some crusted mud flakes off at the contact.

Bill breathes in, looking like he’s about to retort. Then sighs. “Yeah, fine. Gotta give ya that one.” Bill’s mouth purses in irritation. “What can I say! I got a lot of plans that need attention right now.” His eye glimmers in the dark of the evening, gold and brightly lit. “A lot of plans.”

None of which he’s telling Dipper about.

“Have fun, I guess.” Dipper’s not going to ask. He knows better. “I hope you fail.”

Bill’s got his evil, demonic business - but to balance it out, Dipper’s got his own, human stuff. Sometimes, like their date, Bill even helps out with it. Despite being a demonic king of nightmares and torment, he’s easily coaxed into other stuff, if it’s entertaining.

Though sometimes, it only means spending time with Dipper.

Bill always claims he didn't have anything better to do. There’s no guessing how true that is.

“You’re a menace,” BIll says fondly, though his grin starts to fade. He slows in his tracks as the Shack comes into view in the distance. “And speaking of, I gotta get back.”

Dipper halts in place. Turning towards his demon with an incredulous look. “Again?”

A few days apart is okay, Dipper guesses. Pretty normal, they have their own stuff to do. They text or call everyday they can’t meet. That’s fine.

But it’s been way longer than a few days.

It’s been ages since they’ve even seen each other, much less hung out, and they’re married. They finally made time for a date, everything was going well, Dipper was… kind of expecting more to the evening -

And Bill’s just leaving? Now?

“I said I’m busy, sapling.” To his credit, Bill does sound like he regrets it. He winks, clicking his tongue. “I know, I know, you’ll miss me! Now c’mon, do the honors.”

The Mindscape, right. Sending him back to his realm of nightmares.

Dipper sighs. “Yeah, alright.” It’s part of their contract, anyway.

He sets a palm on Bill’s chest. It’s warm, with a rapid pulse under his palm. Some more mud flakes off from where it’s dried on the ruins of Bill’s shirt. He starts to concentrate -

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat. One eyebrow raised. “Not the honors you should start with.” He leans in. This time, Dipper leans away.

He knows what Bill wants. And he’s not doing it. Not in this state, and especially not when he’s ditching Dipper for some godawful reason.

Bill remains undeterred. “It’s demon stuff, Pine Tree,” He says, sounding a bit pouty. Knowing Dipper’s annoyed - but clearly not getting the reason, if he’s still taking off. “You don’t wanna hear it! Or get involved with it.”

And yeah, Dipper doesn’t.

That doesn’t mean he can’t hate it from afar.

Bill moves in for a kiss again, and Dipper turns away. Again. They’re both filthy and he doesn’t want mud in his mouth. Spite, though, is definitely part of it.

“I’ll see you later, Bill.” He says, and shoves his idiot husband back into his stupid demon realm.

Bill vanishes, instantaneously. Sometimes Dipper’s not a fan of the transition, it’s literally quick as thought - but this time it means Bill doesn’t get to try whatever excuse he was coming up with..

Dipper shoves his hands in his pockets, head down. Stalking back home, and frowning.

‘Demon stuff’.

Under any metric, their relationship is. Weird.

Dipper stumbled into the demon side flirtation, and Bill knows how humans do things. They’ve been meeting somewhere in the middle ever since. Dipper’s learned a lot, and Bill knows humans. He’s even willing to dip his own toes into the typical human stuff, with surprising insight and the appropriate success.

Bill was even having fun earlier, with purely human things, that - had some violence, admittedly.

But the explosion wasn’t what made Bill smile, and the litter of body parts didn’t make him laugh.

…Unless it did.

Dipper drags a hand over his face. He can’t deny that he’s hip-deep in the demonic side of relationships. It’s how they got their start.

No normal human would think exploding a corpse-eater was a date. It was demonic to its core -

…And. Not a great one, apparently.

Bill’s whole MO Is demonic stuff. He’s made for it, spent eons on it. It’s entertaining. Running off to do some ‘big plan’, sure, that makes sense for him. It’s more interesting.

Why his husband doesn’t rank on Bill’s priority list is-

Dipper drops his arm back to his side, before he burns another handprint into the doorframe.

Whatever version of demonic ‘seduction’ Dipper’s managed to cobble together. It must not be very compelling. Bill’s interested, sure - but not enough to linger once things get boring. He thinks it’s totally fine to just take off at any moment.

Dipper rubs at his eyes. He stands in the doorway of the Mystery Shack, looking up into the wooden slats of the ceiling.

But then Human romance never worked out for Dipper. Then demon romance.... Kind of did? By accident. Under anyone’s critique, he’d rank far below expert.

Maybe…

He’s missing something?

Obviously Dipper’s never going to catch Bill’s eye with human stuff, when it’s never worked on other humans - and while he’s gotten a hang of demonic flirting, he’s never been a dating expert.

Dipper drums his fingers against the doorframe, eyes narrowing.

If it weren’t for everything else he has at hand. He might have been at a loss. But part of being married to a demon, and visiting his infinite terrible realm, means Dipper can get to things no other human could.

He nods once. Firm, and certain, clenching a fist.

It’s time to do research.

-------------------------------------------------------

Finding information about demonic courtship ends up far easier than he expected.

And less convenient than he hoped.

Dipper should have remembered before he came up with this idea. His phone only works for contacting Bill whenever he wants. It’s powered by an infinite, triangular battery, its network hitching off a ride on a life-bond.

It made it easy to forget a very pertinent, pivotal point for his research.

There’s no internet in the Mindscape.

No demon worth their salt would give out free information. Sometimes they write things down, in diaries, dangerous tomes of spells, etcetera - but they’re hoarded like the precious things they are.

Instead, they go in hard on gossip. Everything’s up for trade as a favor, or used as a bribe. Knowledge is power, and in demon society? There’s always a power play going on. It’s a constant game of keeping their friends close, and their enemies closer. As far as Dipper can tell, the two are often the same thing.

Deals were completely off the table, for marriage reasons. Bribes were okay, but hard to figure out. It could even have dragged Dipper into demon drama, which is something even Bill avoids. It could have been an ordeal that came a huge cost, one he couldn’t - or wouldn’t - pay.

For once in Dipper’s life, he actually got lucky.

Turns out being Bill Cipher’s spouse opens all kinds of doors.

A few comments, a couple of bribes - snack cakes are popular, he’s noting this all down later to share with Ford - and a few memorized threats? All while name dropping Bill?

It got him everything he could ask for.

….Considering the topic, there might also be gossip going on - but he’ll deal with that later.

Right now, Dipper kicks his feet up on the ottoman, and clicks his pen. Notebook ready, research material at hand.

No other human has ever had this much demon-made writing to go through. Not without having their eyes burned out of their skull, or their soul taken in a bargain. Dipper spends a moment feeling proud.

It might be dangerous, but Dipper’s smart. He’s cautious. He’s got demon magic built right into his soul. He’s also got plenty of time, no sleep to worry about, and piles of resources, carefully gathered.

He’s got this.

Dipper picks a bit of spiderweb off the top magazine on his pile, and flips through it. Skimming over articles, pen at the ready.

And pauses.

He flips a couple more pages, leaning back a little in his seat.

This. Isn’t what he expected. It’s also not not what he expected, but. It might be a fluke, so he tosses that issue aside, picking up another.

Then another.

Dipper flips through a few more, with increasing desperation.

In every issue - in every magazine - The article titles shout back at him with their bright exclamation marks:

How To Get Them To Fight You In 10 Easy Steps!

Obtuse or A-CUTEY - How To Get In Shape For Summoning!

Top Twelve Exoskeleton Buffs for YOUR Intended!

Simple Ways To Even Out Your Angles In Just One Century !

Do They REALLY Hate You? Find Out With This Quiz!

Dipper rubs at his eyes.

Not… his best call. Getting his hopes up. Even thinking he’d get some kind of academic article was downright dumb. He knows that isn’t up most demon’s alleys.

Bill would know where to find studies, and statistics. If they exist. He likely has entire tomes on the subject, if only to laugh at them -

And he’s the last person Dipper can ask.

He ditches that idea, as well as the issue of Cosmophage he was skimming through. He picks up a Playbaal instead.

More of the same in this magazine. Though a lot more racy. Dipper makes a face at the letters to the executioner section - they’re gory and unbelievable. No human is that dumb, and that’s coming from him. Nobody offers themself up on a literal silver platter.

Two hours later, Dipper’s still made zero headway. He’s also slumped in his seat, almost lying down in the chair.

At this point, it’s getting boring.

He is learning a lot about demonic fantasies, and something of their proclivities - but he��d already known the basics. It’s only extrapolating from stuff he was already aware of, to absurd, insane degrees. It might as well be the internet for how true any of this bullshit sounds.

Dipper keeps flipping through them, out of sheer repetitive motion. In this one, there’s a couple glossy pages in the center, easily opening to lie flat in his lap.

He blinks. He stares.

Dipper sits up with a sharp jolt. After a moment, he shakes his head, centering himself.

Right. It’s. The pinup photo. Magazines have those.

He quickly checks the cover - it’s from about two hundred years ago. He makes a face. Still pretty weird.

…..He didn’t know Bill ever did that kind of thing.

In the photo, Bill - true Bill - lounges on his side, top point in his palm. His hat is off - weird - and there’s an artful drape of silk over where his tie should be. Or is? It’s impossible to tell if it’s on or not under the cloth. Likely that’s the point.

Dipper snorts, tapping the picture of Bill’s eye, twice. Then remembers - shit - startles, and claps the magazine shut, looking up and around.

Thank hell, he’s still alone. Bill must not have been paying attention.

God, if Bill caught him with this, he’d instantly make a whole host of assumptions, and grin like a maniac. Even worse, his ego would balloon into impossible dimensions.

Dipper thinks for a moment. Tapping the magazine on his lap. Then he shrugs, and carefully tears out the glossy photo pages.

If he hides this in the right place, Bill might find it within the month.

Dipper crumples the rest of the magazine into a ball, glaring off into the distance, before dropping off the side of his chair.

At least one good thing came out of this quote-unquote research. He’s barely learned anything. Other than that demons can be as absurd as humans, and he already knew that.

But.

There has to be something here. These wouldn’t be the most popular works about demonic romance, among demons, if they didn’t have some grains of truth buried within. He just has to find them.

He’s already mastered parts of demonic seduction. Even started doing the regular kind, a little. He’s probably better at it than any other mortal around.

But that isn’t going to work with Bill this distracted.

Dipper clicks his pen, heaves a long-suffering sigh - and starts taking notes.

He might as well try some new ideas.

Three Easy-Fake Injuries To Tempt YOUR Lover!

With a swear, Dipper stumbles, and falls. He hits the ground a little harder than he’d like, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Shit.”

Bill’s attention snaps towards him instantly.

“What’s up?” Now he’s frowning, dropping his prey. “You trip or something?”

The demon Bill was berating shudders, sliding down to the floor in possibly boneless relief. They scuttle away over the black bricks on all twelve limbs.

“Mh,” Dipper grunts, shutting his eyes and hugging his leg himself. Keeping composed, and his face scrunched up. Holy shit, this actually worked - “Ow.”

"You gotta be the most unlucky human I've ever met." Bill stalks over, giving Dipper a derisive look. "Where'd you break this time?"

“Shut it.” Dipper says, annoyed. He couldn’t totally fake a fall, he’s not an actor. Bill would have seen through him immediately. Then admits, “It’s my ankle.”

Bill sighs, rubbing at his eye. His phone rings in his pocket, and he grumbles something inaudible. “Of all the-” He crouches down. “Alright, what’s the damage?”

“It’s fine,” Dipper says, honestly. Then Bill yanks his leg out of his grip, and okay, maybe this wasn’t the best approach.

DIpper winces, lying back on the floor. Bill rolls his eye, tugging his leg out further.

Adding some verisimilitude was the goal - but it ended up being a little too thorough. Bill glares at Dipper's ankle like it's insulted him, and Dipper finds himself doing the same. It's less painful than he's acting - but more than he wanted it to be. Which was any.

Though as long as he has Bill here…

As Bill examines him, Dipper shifts his other leg away. And maybe tilts back a little. When he scoots a little closer on the floor, it helps to ‘accidentally’ pull his shirt up a bit.

Bill hums for a long moment, eye narrowed as he toys with Dipper’s ankle, turning it this way and that. His eye flicks over Dipper, lighting up for a split second as it takes him in.

Then he sighs, and stands.

“Uh. Hey.” Dipper says. He clears his throat. Then smacks the floor next to him. “Bill, I’m really vulnerable here.”

“Eh, you’re fine. It’s not even a sprain!” Bill shrugs, apparently dismissing him. He turns and glares down the corridor, hands on his hips. “Where the hell did that caterer go?”

Dipper leans back, elbows on the floor and legs spread. Glaring as he watches Bill walk away without even another glance.

Okay, technically that worked. Temporarily.

But Bill’s too clever to be tricked by minor setbacks, and Dipper’s not willing to inflict something serious.

He’ll have to move on to something else.

Exotic Mortal Treats - GUARANTEED To Spice Things Up!

“So, uh.” Dipper winces at the crunching sounds. It’s louder than two granola bars combined. “How is it?”

“Mh.” Bill sucks some unidentifiable goo off his finger, pulling it out of his mouth with a pop. “Nice, sapling!” He grins, and winks. “You should bring me snacks more often.”

Dipper offers an awkward smile.

Bill shoves another scorpion in his mouth, and starts to crunch. His mood’s definitely picked up, at least. He starts picking some carapace from his teeth, leaning forward in concentration.

Beyond that, he doesn’t seem to react.

Dipper pulls a chair over. He scoots a little closer, watching Bill work with… whatever he’s working with. He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

Bill’s manipulating some magical array with stars and planets slowly rotating on a field. He makes a face at it, muttering under his breath.

“I’m feeling like some of these idiots should help out with the setup,” He says irritably, smacking the wheel of not-space and making it spin. A long line of celestial bodies Dipper can’t identify line up in a long string, and a beam of light shines through them to another point. “Who’s doing all the heavy lifting here, anyway?

Dipper shrugs. He gazes moodily into the empty terrarium.

So much for that advice. He might as well have bought a bag of chips. It’d have been way cheaper, and he’d actually be able to eat some.

Bill’s busy with his project, and Dipper’s taking a backseat to some demonic ongoings. Which is. Y’know. Fine. It’s part of their deal; they both get to do their own things.

Dipper taps his foot on the floor. Waiting.

But, no. There’s no reaction. Hell, now that he thinks of it - If this was going to have an effect, Bill knew what he was eating. He would have gotten the implication, first thing.

Eventually, Dipper sighs. He leans on Bill’s chair. “What kind of party is this?”

Bill looks up, one eyebrow raised. Somewhat surprised.

Dipper doesn’t budge. Nudging Bill, and staying firm. Which only makes Bill look more surprised.

Not without reason, either. Normally Dipper wouldn't want to know what Bill’s getting up to. They have kind of a live-and-let-live agreement regarding morality, each of them doing their own thing. Usually he prefers to not be in the loop.

This party has been interfering for way too long.

“Eh, it’s one of those cosmic convergence shindigs,” Bill says, and shrugs. He leans back in his chair, rubbing at his eye. “Not mine, technically. But it’s a big deal!”

Dipper glances over the map of celestial bodies, spinning again in the lit-up illusion.

Okay. Not a common occurrence. He’ll give it that. “...How often does this happen?”

“About once a millenia.” Bill stretches his arms behind his head, starting to smile again. One of his first loves - over-explaining. “I’ve hosted it the last twenty, thirty times? Something like that.” He buffs his nails on his shirt, looking proud. “Nobody’s got a better event plaza.”

So that’s it, then.

Dipper slumps back in his chair. He lets his arms drop to his sides.

Bill must get a text or something, because he checks his phone and starts frowning instantly. Starting to sulk a little as he fiddles with his map, and something else on a lit-up diagram. He makes a face, muttering under his breath about idiots, incompetents, and other idiosyncrasies.

…Setting up this party must be a headache and a half.

If it’s an event that only happens every thousand years, it’s got to be important. No wonder it’s taking up so much time.

On the upside, once this awful event is over with, it’s not going to come up again soon. Bill can’t get distracted by it - Hell, Dipper won’t even be around for the next one.

A thousand years is longer than Dipper can imagine. Ten times longer than he could ever live. A human’s life is pretty small, compared to most supernatural beings.

On the timespan Bill’s working with, it’s barely a footnote.

Demon events have gotten between them before. Dipper’s own plans have caused scheduling conflicts, too. Interruptions happen, life throws curveballs at them, and they both get busy -

But not for this long.

Dipper starts to say something - then hesitates. He’s not sure what to say.

Bill sticks his tongue out, his focus torn between something with that array of spinning stars, and texting someone back. He’s muttering to himself, frowning. A foot tapping the ground in irritation.

…As far as Bill’s concerned, Dipper might as well have faded into the background.

Dipper rests his chin in his hands. Waiting might be pointless, but. He’ll stick around for a bit. In case it works.

He wants Bill to throw him into a lake, or tell him he’s stupid, pick him up and insult him. Or at least care that he’s around when he’s sitting right there -

He drums his fingers on his knee, other leg jogging in place.

Bill doesn’t seem to notice.

Dating The Vain Type? How To Get ALL Their Attention on YOU

“This tie?” Bill holds one up in front of himself, facing the mirror. “Ooor this one?” He holds up another.

Dipper doesn’t say anything as he stalks into the bedroom, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Or this one!” Another tie pops up out of nowhere. “What’s a good look?”

Dipper shrugs. It doesn’t matter. Who cares, anyway.

“Speak up already, I need a second opinion!” Bill’s reflection in the standing mirror shows a slightly confused expression. “What’s with you?”

Dipper glares at his husband’s back, shrugging again. Bill makes a miffed sound, but so what?

All Bill cares about is this event he’s throwing. He’s complained about it for weeks now, he’s had plenty of time to prepare. One small human’s opinion isn’t going to matter.

And if Dipper has to hear one more word about this godawful party…

“It’s happening tonight, kid!” Bill jogs both tie options in his hands, prompting. “It might not be my favorite occasion - but that’s no excuse for not looking sharp!” He turns towards Dipper with a wink. “C’mon, what’s good?”

Dipper stalks over towards Bill, ignoring his questions and the weird look he’s being given. He knows he’s tense, that he’s stomping on the carpet, and that this is pretty stupid -

But it was in the article.

And he’s kind of wanted to do this before, anyway.

He meets Bill’s eye, flips him off - and shoves the stupid standing mirror over.

The entire thing, brass stand and all, goes toppling to the floor. The metal hits the ground hard, sending the mirror shattering into a million pieces - and Dipper jumps in place, startled.

Bill merely watches. A blank expression on his face, staring as his narcissistic toy gets moderately obliterated.

The brass stand clangs on the floor for a while, then settles down. There’s a brief silence.

Dipper takes a step back, awkwardly clearing his throat.

Shit, he thought that would be more durable. Most things in Bill’s place are impossible to break. Now there’s a billion tiny shards on the floor, glimmering up at him.

Though. The articles were technically correct. It did get Bill’s attention.

Dipper’s not sure what to say now.

Even Bill doesn’t have anything to say. He looks between the shattered mirror and Dipper, obviously surprised even seconds later.

“...I take it that’s a no on both of ‘em.” He says, eventually. The smile doesn’t make a return. He glances over, blinking rapidly. “What, did you wanna join the party?”

He’s still thinking about - how could he be -

Dipper clenches his fists.

Time after time after time, Dipper’s heard about the drinks selection for a party, or the guest list. Even the games Bill has planned. He can’t help but ramble in his enthusiasm, until Dipper either has to leave the room, or cover his ears against it.

There’s been none of that for this event.

It’s taken longer than every other one. It’s commanded too much of his time. Dipper hasn’t felt Bill watching him through either his regular gaze or his supernatural one, for weeks, and they only had one date this month.

Instead, Bill’s been doing setup - which he grumbles about - and worse, he’s had to organize. That always puts him in a bad mood. He’s bitched and complained, he’s made disgusted faces at his phone. He hasn’t rambled, or bounced in place. He hasn’t once looked happy about it.

Hell. It’s not even his in the first place.

“I don’t know why you’re spending so much time on this crap.” Dipper meets his husband’s eye. He throws his arms out, incredulous. “Bill, you don’t even like it.“

Bill, for once, doesn’t have a response.

He opens his mouth to say something - shuts it again. He blinks rapidly, expression changing as he tries to work something out - it turns into a grimace -

“I’m gonna go to take a bath.” Dipper says, shoulders rising - and stalks off.

Behind him, Bill remains silent. Thoughtful, and still.

-------------------------------------------------

Spending time at Bill’s place isn’t Dipper’s first preference. Spending time with Bill is the main reason to do so, because Dipper likes his time linear, his spaces Euclidean, and his company not cannibalistic. For every upside, there’s a definite down.

But if nothing else, the Fearamid has luxury in spades.

Dipper blows bubbles under the water of the bath. It staunchly refuses to stop being warm and comforting.

The stupid soap even smells nice; Bill must have changed out the options. Dipper knows Bill’s paid attention to some parts of what he wants, including the little things like ‘no more titan arum scented stuff’. He knows Bill’s made it slightly more human-safe, because none of the water comes out literally boiling anymore.

Dipper knows Bill knows these things. He knows a lot of things. Hell, he’s supposed to be ‘all-seeing’, so there’s no good reason some things still get overlooked -

He also knows he’s sulking.

Bill can’t read his mind. That’s been a fact from the start.

Without that advantage, Bill has to rely on all his other knowledge, and extrapolate. Most of the time he predicts him well enough that Dipper never gets a chance to speak up -

So it strangely sucks when he doesn’t.

Sulking’s good, though. Dipper manages some impressive bubble piles, sloshing around in the water.

He already knows what he should do. It’s the sensible thing. The human thing. It might even get Dipper what he wants, it just.

…Also kind of sucks.

If he stays any longer in the bath, his fingers are going to get all wrinkly. Or Bill will leave for the party, probably. He’ll miss his chance, and then, how will he bring up -

Wait.

There’s music, somewhat muffled through the wall between the bathroom and bedroom.

Dipper sits upright, shaking some bubbles off of his face with a frown.

Bill’s playing piano. Which is weird. He only does that when he’s relaxed, and lately he’s been anything but.

And if ever there was a sign, then he supposes this would be it. He tilts his head back, breathing in slowly.

There’s the music.

Time to face it.

Dipper gets out of the bath, sitting on the floor near the edge. Kicking idly in the water as the music continues. Something bright and jaunty. A tune of self-satisfaction, and a perkier mood. He spends more time than he should toweling off. Pacing, back and forth between the hundred baths on the floor and on the walls.

Eventually, he brushes his teeth, staring into a mirror that’s bigger than he is tall.

Dipper makes a face at his own reflection. Walking into the bedroom with that expression is going to let Bill catch on, fast.

….They should really be better at this.

It’s been years.

Whenever Dipper has to say something, it always comes out awkward. He doesn’t know how to do it right.

With Bill, he hasn’t had to come out and talk directly very often, which is something of a relief.

He guesses it’s not a surprise, really. They’re the worst combination for true sincerity - a socially awkward nerd, and emotionally stunted jackass. The fact that they get along at all is nothing short of miraculous.

They’ll just have to…Sort it out.

Dipper nods at his reflection. He takes a deep, calming breath, and lets it out.

The good news is he looks more certain than he feels, even as he heads towards the door.

Their bedroom is the same as always - once you allow for the fact that it changes on a whim, parts clicking in and out of place on sheer demonic will - and the carpet is soft on Dipper’s bare feet.

He drops the towel to the floor, and tries to finger comb his hair. It buys him time, while he thinks about how to start. He doesn’t want to turn towards Bill, feeling weird about their earlier interaction - but he glances over, just once.

Where Bill’s leaning from his perch on the piano bench, tilted at a dangerous angle.

Dipper looks away again, face feeling hot. He walks in a little further, and Bill tracks him, following his every move -

…How Bill keeps playing when nearly horizontal is a mystery.

On the plus side, Bill’s fine. Cheerful, for the first time in a while. And the mirror’s gone too, which is a relief. The tightness in Dipper’s chest loosens a bit.

Then he frowns, setting his hands on his hips.

Where the hell is the dresser with his clothes. Bill better not have vanished it again.

There’s a low whistle behind him.

“Shut up,” Despite himself, Dipper smiles. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

“And I’ll see it five thousand times more!” Bill changes the song he’s playing. It’s lighter, and brighter. “At minimum.”

Likely he’s right about that. Dipper wishes he had something to toss at him, but he already dropped the towel. He rubs at one of his arms.

Being eyed up is. Not weird, but oddly comforting. Bill always ogles him like a creep. Always wanting a peek, or a look, or suggesting revealing clothing with a smile and wink, like the jerk he is. Partly because he is kind of a creep, but mostly because -

Because Bill thinks he’s hot.

Even if Dipper knows he’s watching, Bill’s not going to stop watching, even if it’s awkward. Part of him must like the awkward, he’s never failed to find Dipper compelling, even when most human people would say he’s a huge dork.

Bill literally has his eye on him, all the time. Always wanting to know what’s on his mind.

Dipper rubs a thumb over his left palm, and hears Bill make an annoyed sound. In his mind, he’s shouting at himself.

Why did he bother with ‘research’? He was overthinking, again. He always does this. Which, if he’s right, and Bill likes it - must be extremely compelling.

Behind him, Bill makes a curious noise. The bench makes a creak as he scoots over.

And Dipper shifts from foot to foot.

If he’s going to do this, then. Second-guessing himself is going to get them nowhere.

And all that demonic advice was terrible.

Obvious Come-on? More Like Obvious Turn-off - 10 Mistakes To Avoid!

For the second time tonight, Dipper does something he’s wanted to do before.

Damn it, he doesn’t know what a seductive slink should look like. They’ve done it a lot, Bill’s never complained - but Dipper’s never intentionally looked sexy.

In the end, he doesn’t bother. A walk is fine, if it gets him where he needs to be.

Bill doesn’t move from his seat on the bench. He straightens up as Dipper approaches, looking pleased. He tracks Dipper until it’s impossible - he can’t turn his head 180 degrees.

Once Dipper’s behind his target, he shuts his eyes. He’s got this. This will work - reassuring himself, while Bill keeps playing. Though his head is slightly tilted, listening. Expectant.

Bill isn’t expecting Dipper to drape himself over his shoulders. His shoulders rise as Dipper wraps his arms around them. There’s a sharp intake of breath.

“Sorry about the mirror.” Dipper squeezes his idiot husband, tight. Likely Bill doesn’t care, but someone has to have morals in this relationship.

“I don’t care,” Bill says, very dry. Dipper can almost feel him roll his eye. Bill’s chest puffs out a bit as his posture changes, and there's a smirk in his voice. “Nice you’re still here, sapling.”

Dipper breathes in, and lets it out.

Slowly, he runs a hand over Bill’s chest. The shirt is thin enough that he can feel the warmth underneath, easily - and Bill’s not wearing his tie. By his standards, he’s already a quarter naked.

So. This isn’t that weird. Half of the work is done for him.

When Dipper starts unbuttoning Bill’s shirt, he misses several notes.

“Hello,” Bill says, a bit distant sounding - before realizing that response was semi-brainless; he shakes his head. Looking down at his slowly opening shirt. “What’s this about?”

“I’m getting your attention.” Dipper smacks him on the side. Now that the shirt is half opened, he slides a hand underneath the fabric. “Jerk.”

“Done,” Bill sits up straight, raising his hands like he’s held at gunpoint. Dipper slides a hand over the warm skin of his chest, feeling the heart pick up its pace. “Actually, you can have all of it!”

And when Dipper strokes a thumb over a nipple, Bill gives a full-body shudder, and a soft sound from the back of his throat.

Holy shit, it did work. It’s working perfectly - Dipper feels a surge of triumph.

Not only did this do the trick, it was easy. It was simple. It’s even fun to slide his palm over Bill’s chest, to toy with a nipple, listening to him grunt a little and start clasping Dipper’s arm.

Bill thinks he’s hot, after all. Bill wants him.

Why did he think he needed to make it complicated?

Dipper presses a few kisses onto Bill’s neck, feeling his chest still in a held breath - then moves onto the shell of Bill’s ear. He draws the earlobe into his mouth, biting gently.

“And come to think of it…” Bill’s tense, muscles drawn tight. Like he wants to surge up, while also not moving away. He raises one imperious finger, his voice is slightly rough. “I have been meaning to lavish my attentions on someone, recently.”

“Good plan.” Dipper hugs Bill tighter, then adds, “Since I wasn’t giving you a choice,” As he drags Bill backwards off the bench.

Bill nearly falls on his ass. Grabbing onto Dipper’s arms as he struggles to find balance, squirming in the grip, even the piano bench gets kicked over -

And all the while, he laughs like a maniac.

He’s too quick, though. After only one severe stumble, Bill’s back on his feet before Dipper can react.

Bill seizes Dipper in an instant, gripping his upper arms tight. His grin maniac, and his eye glowing bright. “Oh, sapling.” His voice is a low hum, teeth white and bared. “I'm gonna make you pay for that.”

“You can try.” Dipper says. He gets a grip on Bill’s lapels, hauling him in until they’re face to face.

God, finally. This is what he wanted, and it came so easily. Not only that, it’s way more fun than -

Bill’s phone starts ringing again.

Both of them glance down. Bill grimaces. He stops petting Dipper’s side to pull the offending item out of his pocket and glare at it. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

And Dipper… lets his arms drop.

Another interruption, for an important event. Bill’s powerful, but even he can’t change time, not in any meaningful way.

Priorities mean that. Something else gets put on the sidelines.

“Screw ‘em.” Bill declares suddenly, and hurls his phone across the room.

Dipper looks up just in time to catch the motion, as the offending object cracks against the wall over the headboard, bouncing onto the bed.

“Total waste of my time.” Bill brushes his hands off, dismissive. “If they can’t pull the convergence off without me, they didn’t deserve it in the first place.”

“Oh thank god.” Dipper didn’t mean to say that out loud - but now Bill’s looking at him weird, so he adds. “You’re not going.”

“Decided not to half an hour ago,” Bill says, with a shrug. That’s why his mood has picked up - Dipper stands a little straighter. “They shoulda gotten the picture when things got started without me.”

It’s already started. Bill should be there, and he’s spent a lot of time on this thing - Dipper hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Definitely! You see- Hm.” BIll starts, then hems and haws. He’s also, very unsubtly, backing Dipper towards the bed. He takes a few moments, face scrunched up, before admitting, “You had a decent point.”

Dipper blinks for a moment. Wow. Now that’s rare.

But he’s not too surprised to let it slide.

As Bill pushes, Dipper lets his feet dig into the carpet, and adds a palm on Bill’s chest. It draws them to a slow halt. “You’re serious.”

“As a broken femur.” Bill declares. He squeezes Dipper’s waist, while a smile creeps back onto his face. “I’ve hosted this shindig nearly two dozen times, and every millenia they make it more of a drag.” He sticks his tongue out - then chucks Dipper gently under the chin. “Quick life tip, kid - if it sucks, stop doing it!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Dipper grabs onto Bill’s lapels again. There’s a smile threatening to emerge. Though, admittedly, he could be trying harder to hold it back.

“Good choice! It’ll keep ya from getting stuck in a routine.” Bill shudders dramatically, and starts backing Dipper up again. After a second he pauses - and presses a quick, wet kiss on Dipper’s forehead. “Your little reminder came in handy.”

Dipper reaches up from Bill’s lapel, and cups his cheek. Feeling his demonic grin widen under his palm - and feeling oddly touched.

Though he knows Bill can be fooled, it doesn’t make the rare moments when he is less surprising. Knowing that Dipper was right feels triumphant, and good. Knowing that Bill could have gotten stuck without a reminder.

It's also a reminder for Dipper. He is smart, and Bill likes that -

Dipper’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he jabs his husband in the chest. Very lightly, not more than a prod. "Not going to miss the party?"

“Hardly! That crap’s about as amusing as paperwork.” Now Bill’s grin is truly, monstrously wide. He tilts Dipper over the bed, gripping tight to his waist - and winks. “I’d have way more fun playing with a drowned rat.”

“Asshole,” Dipper says, and kisses him.

Bill returns it with enthusiasm. More than a bit of groping. A slow lean over, that Dipper lets happen until he’s nearly horizontal, only his grip on Bill’s shirt keeping him upright.

Part of him feels warm, and good. Another wants to push Bill on the bed, but mostly he’s amused, because Bill messed up.

He went and admitted something.

“You can’t take it back now, Bill.” Dipper sits down on the bed, escaping Bill’s grasp. Albeit temporarily. As Bill pouts over his temporary loss of prey, Dipper smiles, and jerks a thumb at himself, “You think I’m fun.”

“Eh, I’ve met worse.” Bill takes a hold of Dipper’s shoulders, slowly eyeing him up and down. “If I knew how fun you were gonna turn out in bed, I woulda kept you all to myself.” He kisses Dipper once, then moves onto his cheek, and his neck, leaning him further onto the bed. “Shoulda taken you back home and never let you leave.”

“So. Kidnapping, basically.” Dipper braces his elbows on the bed, letting Bill work over his neck, then his shoulder - then grimaces. “That… would have been a disaster.”

If Bill pulled that, Dipper would have been too alarmed to respond the way Bill wanted. Taken away from his home to a strange place. By a total stranger, with unknown motives. Not to mention how Bill back then was… not the worst about bedroom things, but he was still a major asshole. Between Bill’s brash confidence and Dipper’s paranoid anxiety, that entire thing would have been -

“See, this is why playing doctor didn't work out, Mr. ‘I need to see your medical license’.” Bill smacks Dipper’s hip twice. It pulls him back into the moment. Bill raises an eyebrow. “It’s a game, sapling. Don’t take it so seriously.”

Damn it, he has a point. Roleplay always falls apart once Dipper starts picking at it; it doesn’t kill the mood, exactly. But it rarely works as intended.

Dipper wants this to continue. He wants to have fun, he wants to have sex, and Bill’s ideas are usually good in that regard -

Screw it, it is just a game. No reason to make it too complicated.

In essence, it’s pretty standard ‘ravishing by a demon’, and they’ve done that before. This time it’s with a distinct twist, one he hasn’t considered - Dipper glances down at himself - and his traitorous dick is responding.

He wonders if he should have brought the collar. But technically speaking, if he was just kidnapped he wouldn’t have that yet. That’d be something Bill would give him later on, after -

Also, he might be overthinking again.

Maybe he should stop doing that.

“Alright, I’m into it.” Dipper admits. He spreads his arms wide with a shrug. “Have at me.”

“Great!” Bill beams, clapping his hands together. “Then let’s get our party started.”

And without warning, Bill hauls him up, lifts him bodily and chucks him onto the mattress. Dipper bounces in place, getting his bearings as Bill eases his way onto the bed. And over him.

“Glad to have you here, Pine Tree.” Bill leans in, bearing an ominous smile and too many levels of smug to unravel. He has more presence than he deserves. “You didn’t make that easy.”

“Why would I?” Dipper says, keeping his voice level. Slipping into the role is easy; and glaring is practically a habit. “You kidnapped me.”

“Chin up, sapling.” Bill says with a smile. Taking Dipper’s chin in hand, he tilts him up to meet his eye. “You’re really gonna like what’s in store.”

“Cipher,” Dipper hisses, gripping the sheets tight. He scrambles back on the bed, slow enough to let Bill follow at a crawl. “Whatever you’re planning, you won’t get away with it.”

“Is that so?” Bill raises an eyebrow. Eying Dipper, up and down with a slowly growing smirk. “You’re a little underdressed for thwarting, kid.”

Dipper jerks back, indignant. “You stole my clothes.”

The accusation in his voice isn’t entirely feigned. The dresser was gone when he came back from his bath, damn it. He should have noticed. He tries to haul the sheets up around himself, but their mutual weight stops him.

“Surprise!” Bill says delightedly. He wiggles his fingers at Dipper, sitting up on his knees. “I’ve had my eye on you for a while.”

Dipper manages to turn his laugh into a grunt, close-lipped.

“What do you want from me?” He presses his back against the headboard. Retreating was useless - Bill only needs to lean in and he’s caged in by his arms.

“Hm. Decent brains, interesting body - way more into demons than you’d admit,” Bill says, nonchalant. One hand presses Dipper’s hip down firmly, holding him still. A thumb traces over his skin, a short distance away from his rising cock. “And packed chock full of lust.”

“That’s not an answer.” Dipper’s face is red now. He braces his arms against the wood behind him. “I’m not -” But that’s visibly a lie - “I mean. What does lust have to do with-”

“Oh, you and I are gonna do some things!” Bill’s thumb slides over the soft skin on the inside of his thigh. The other hand rises, and snaps its fingers. “Lots of things.”

Sudden, rapid thumping makes Dipper nearly jump off the bed, as a shower of ropes, sex toys, and other lewd accoutrement plummet out of nowhere.

A dildo poings off his thigh, and something rubbery bounces off the mattress and rolls off the side. There’s a scatter of ropes at the foot of the mattress, while leather manacles manifest on the headboard.

Dipper gives all of it a cursory look. Then another, more cynical one at his idiot husband.

“Pretty much all of these things.” Bill says, with no shame whatsoever. He grins down at Dipper like he’s about to unwrap a present. “Along with everything else I can think of!”

“Now I get it.” Now Dipper’s glaring in earnest. A few things would make sense, fine. This is just overkill. “You’re a pervert.”

“Takes one to know one!” Bill grabs Dipper’s shoulders and pulls, startlingly fast. Dipper’s head thumps softly against the pillow. His legs are spread around Bill now, and there’s a palm planted on the center of his collarbone. “Glad you could join me.”

Dipper grabs onto Bill’s wrist with both hands, squirming under the weight. He tugs, but not hard. “Why would I sleep with you?”

“To have the most fun of your life, duh.” Bill says magnanimously. He looms over him, pressure building on Dipper’s chest from his weight. Bill grins down at him, teeth bared in a vicious smile. “We’re gonna have a great time together.”

Dipper shuts his eyes.

With Bill over him like this, dangerous, half-feral, and smug - that sends a tremor through him, going right to his dick.

“See? I knew you’d like this, sapling.” Bill beams, and takes Dipper’s cock in his hand. Not firmly, just… touching. Hot enough to be tempting, loose enough to make Dipper want more of it.. “I’ve seen your dreams.”

“You-” Dipper can’t think of much to say. He lets go of Bill’s wrist, holds onto his arm instead. There’s a retort, somewhere. Except Bill knows how to touch him, and he’s stroking in earnest now, moving faster, holding tighter- “Damn it.”

“You’re real interested in demons. A downright obsession, some might say.” Bill’s voice is low in Dipper’s ear. He nips at it once, thumb spreading wetness over the head of Dipper’s dick. He rolls it around, listens to the groan - and chuckles. “Imagination doesn’t compare to the real thing, does it?”

God, Bill’s warm, and he’s talking, the bastard. That’s never good for Dipper’s stamina. Even worse, Bill slows down, staying firm enough to make him - Dipper pushes his hips up into Bill’s circling fingers- “Ah.”

“Feels good, I know!” Bill starts chuckling. He squeezes again, smacking Dipper’s thigh, just near his butt. “And there’s more where that came from.”

Dipper clamps his mouth shut. Adding a palm over it, for extra coverage. Another sound escapes, softer this time. He grits his teeth and turns his head, he can’t watch if he wants to last longer. “You’re - too much.”

“Oh, please. We’ve barely gotten started! You don’t know what you’re really in for.” Bill says with pleased fondness. He lets go suddenly - Dipper tries to chase his hand for a second, then balls his fists in the sheets. Bill’s sudden grin is feral, and smug. “Lemme give you another taste.”

Dipper props himself up on his elbows. watching Bill duck down. Starting to plant kisses down his stomach, tongue trailing over his skin. He’s-

Dipper swallows, he tenses his thighs. Bracing for the inevitable.“Oh god.”

If Bill’s hand is unfair, his mouth is worse. He doesn’t give Dipper a break, just sucks him in. Too hot, extremely wet, with tongue sliding up the underside of his dick that takes Dipper’s breath away.

“That’s-” The groan Dipper lets out is wholly his own. “Fuck you, that’s not.” He needs to take time to breathe, going tense. He slides fingers into Bill’s hair, feeling them shake on his scalp. “That’s not fair.”

Bill hums a laugh - the vibration makes Dipper’s mind go blissfully blank - then reaches up. Dipper already has a loose hold on his hair, but Bill tugs his hand closer.

“God.” The prompt is obvious. That's what Bill wants - and Dipper sits up. Bill’s tough, he can handle anything, including Dipper. He wants him to fuck his mouth, to pull his hair - a little pain, Bill loves that - and when he does, Bill lets out a moan that would be obscene in any context.

Dipper curls around Bill, gripping tight in his hair, pulling him down sharply and eyes rolling back as Bill just. Takes it. It’s heat and wet and good, it’s been too long, Bill’s firm tongue working clever designs on his dick as he rises back up -

And pulls away, the asshole. He watches Dipper whine, dick hard and red and needy - and merely laughs.

“How many times have you jerked off thinking about that?” Bill asks, grinning. Dipper feels heat rush to his face - “Been a while, huh?” Bill takes his cock in hand again, starting to stroke, slow and lazy and absolutely not helping the heat Dipper feels, in his chest and in his groin - “Don’t worry, kid! It’s gonna be way better with me helping out.”

Which is right, but only because Bill already knows which buttons to press. Where to touch. He never shuts up and he knows what ideas will make Dipper think too much.

Dipper shudders. He hasn’t been touched in a while, and this is helping in ways he didn’t realize. Bill shouldn’t leave him like this, and he really wouldn’t if given the chance, doing all kinds of things to him. Like this tight grip, this surge inside him, building to -

“Wait.” He fumbles, gripping tighter on Bill’s shirt, breathing faster now. Feeling himself twitch, the heat rising in his groin, quicker than he wanted. “Wait. I’m-”

“You don’t even have words for the ways I’m gonna make you come,” Bill’s voice is a low purr in his ear, tight pressure on his dick, Bill never stops talking, it does horrible things to Dipper’s imagination - “Not stopping ‘till you’re a completely fucked out wreck.”

He would, he will - he’d make Dipper take his fingers and his cock, he’d touch him everywhere, until he -

Swears. Dipper arches up, gasping, coming in Bill’s hand, grabbing at his shirt, at his shoulders. Bill grins wide, palm cupped over his cock, catching his release.

He’s still chuckling to himself as Dipper drops back against the mattress. Blinking, slowly, at the ceiling.

Okay.

Not… the longest Dipper’s lasted. But it has been a while.

Bill hums a low, pleased tune, kissing Dipper on the temple, then the cheek. He leans back a bit - then cocks his head to the side as he looks at his palm.

“Seriously, though - you were really pent up.” Bill raises an eyebrow, breaking character for a moment. He examines the results with amusement, then takes a quick lick before wiping his hand on the sheets. “You shoulda said something.”

Dipper sighs. This jackass. “I was trying to.”

A light clicks on in Bill’s head. He sits up, suddenly alert. Eye darting around, thoughts racing - and he looks back down at Dipper.

Dipper doesn’t meet that golden gaze. He clears his throat, covering his eyes with his arm. Suddenly he’s embarrassed.

Bill’s not stupid. He noticed Dipper’s attempts; he could hardly miss the obvious. None of them were normal to begin with. They probably weren’t that common for demons, come to think of it - and zero of them are things Dipper would come up with on his own.

“Pretty strange approach you took there,” says Bill, patting Dipper’s thigh. He tilts his head to the side curiously, and his eye narrows. “What put those ideas in your head?” There’s a very tiny, miniscule amount of tension in the question. Dipper thunks his head against the pillow, rolling his eyes.

Bill’s probing at something most people wouldn’t consider. But spend enough time in a demon realm, and well - Bill’s not entirely wrong to worry that Dipper might have been messed with. It’s just…

Dipper sighs. He knows what the reaction will be. But. He should say it now, too, before Bill gets the wrong idea.

“Um,” He says. Tapping two fingers together, and offering an awkward smile. “Demon Cosmopolitan.”

Bill blinks for a moment.

"Shut it." Dipper says. Already pre-annoyed.

“Mh.” Bill’s lips are pressed tightly together. “Mhm.” Amusement scrunching up his face, clearly holding back. He lets out a loud ‘pfffft’, shoulders rising.

“Demon dating advice sucks,” Dipper insists.

Bill’s amusement is irrepressible. Even though he nearly chokes holding it back, it breaks through - and he starts laughing outright.

Dipper swats at him, not very hard. He has to admit it wasn’t his greatest move.

“I can see it already!” Bill rolls off him, raising his arms in the air. “You doing your ‘research’!” He sterns his expression, a mimicry of Dipper’s - though his thinking face isn’t that dumb looking - and clicks an invisible pen. Nodding to himself, very seriously. “Gotta take notes on this copy of Playbaal.”

“It’s not that funny,” Dipper mutters. Not that it stops Bill. He straddles this jerk instead, and thumps him on the chest.

Another note to make - burn the notebook before Bill finds it.

Bill’s always too pleased with himself, including his own jokes. His dumb, shitty quote-unquote 'impression' has amused him to the point where he’s lying back, arms over his chest. Cackling at his own cleverness.

Accurate or not - which it wasn’t - it’s still really goddamn stupid.

Dipper rolls his eyes, feeling Bill’s stomach bounce with laughter under the palm of his hand. No point in protesting. Let him have his fun.

Still annoying though.

Bill himself looks pretty stupid, anyway. Splayed out on the mattress like that. His shirt half-undone, his hair slightly mussed. An obvious tent in his pants.

…Clearly distracted.

Dipper looks around at the toys strewn on the mattress. At the headboard, and Bill’s arms.

Now a thought’s brewing, in his own head. A tempting one.

Not that long ago, Bill started proposing new ideas. Dipper hasn’t had too many himself, he’s less experienced in this area. And while Bill makes bedroom stuff easy, as much as he can, Dipper’s still… awkward in general.

Even so - Inexperienced or not - He'd be an idiot to miss this opportunity.

Dipper crawls over his idiot husband, sitting down on his stomach with aplomb. Bill perks up, even as a bit of breath huffs out from the impact. He also raises his arms to get them out of Dipper’s way, which is perfect.

Dipper lets his fingers trail up one of them, lifting it by the wrist -

Where some experience comes in handy.

If he hadn’t been on the other side of this before, he wouldn’t know how to do it so quickly.

“Hello there,” Bill says, grinning wider now. He glances down at Dipper’s hips, so close to his face now. “Nice to see ya.”

“Uh huh.” Dipper’s trying for subtlety, he doesn’t have a witty retort. He’s busy sliding fingers up Bill’s other bicep.

Said subtlety instantly fails, as Bill tries to grab his butt, only to be held up with a jolt. His eye goes wide, he snarls and yanks again, torso jerking upwards with his sudden surge. He nearly rises off the mattress, even with Dipper sitting on top of him.

Dipper tightens his legs, keeping himself steady. Blinking in surprise.

Bill nearly bucked him completely off, which is. Not… really the reaction he expected. The second arm is free, and it’s gripping Dipper’s thigh, tight -

While Bill’s dominant hand is neatly tucked into the leather manacle.

After a second, Bill tilts his head back. Tugs his arm a few times, almost testingly - then looks up at Dipper with surprise.

“What?” Dipper asks. They’ve done… stuff before. He didn’t expect that much of a reaction.

“Huh.” Bill says, calmer now. Then, frowning slightly. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Huh.” Bill says again, with the usual amount of helpfulness. Looking less annoyed, and more contemplative. He purses his lips, tapping the manacle thoughtfully. “Gotta say that’s a first.”

Oh.

All of the awkwardness Dipper was repressing surges back to the forefront.

Okay, that’s. He didn’t - well maybe he did think - was he thinking at all, holy shit -

“Um.” Dipper hesitates. What does he do now, besides lean over to touch Bill’s forearm. “Is this-”

Somewhere in the sheets, Bill’s phone starts ringing again.

Bill lets out a disgusted groan, thunking his head against the pillow. Dipper starts scowling.

Bill twists one way, then another, looking for the source, while Dipper feels around for the damn thing without giving up his seat, fumbling in the silk. He finds it half-under Bill’s back, just next to his knee.

Dipper fishes the phone up, and glares at it. Ringing, incessantly, with the same stupid ringtone. Likely it’s important. Something going wrong, or going right. Another demonic thing that’s demanding Bill’s attention.

They don’t know they have competition.

Dipper picks up the call, tucking the phone against his ear. He feels Bill take in a sharp breath under him.

“Fuck off.” Dipper says in clipped tones, before the being on the other end can say anything. He glares down at Bill, squeezing his chest between his legs. Almost daring him to interject. “He’s busy.”

There’s a sound on the other end of the call - but Dipper’s already hung up, and thrown the stupid phone right to the floor.

Underneath him, Bill’s eye goes wide, blinking fast. It also starts glowing bright gold.

Dipper runs a hand through his hair, and tries not to feel awkward about that.

He isn’t really… Being forceful isn’t how he usually goes about things. But they’ve had enough interruptions from that godawful party already, and this one felt all too personal.

Bill shifts suddenly in place. Enough that Dipper has to steady himself, jolting back to the present.

Shit. Right, he’s got to get back to Bill. Who’s -

No longer thinking, apparently. He’s come to a decision with his usual speed. Bill’s propped his other wrist against the empty manacle. Hell, he’s halfway slid it into the thing, waiting for the clasp to be shut.

He’s also wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Dipper snorts in amusement, and says, “Okay.”

He leans forward again. There’s an odd flutter inside as he sets Bill’s other wrist in the manacle. As he sets the clasp, and tightens it. Fiddling with the leather is a decent excuse not to see the results, just yet.

Bill gives it an experimental tug, face changing as he thinks - then shrugs, and relaxes back on the bed. Humming a little tune to himself.

Dipper sits back. He swallows, though his mouth feels dry.

Right.

There’s Bill, underneath him. That body, warm muscle shifting against his thighs as Bill gets comfortable. A heartbeat, if Dipper presses a palm against his chest. His arms flex in the restraints, muscles tensing and shifting around before they relax again.

He’s… Not, exactly, at Dipper’s mercy, because Bill’s too strong, he could break out - hell, he made those restraints, they don’t have to exist, he could escape at any time - But.

Dipper licks his lips. Normally he’s good with ideas. It’s not working right now.

Bill. Held back for once. Powerful, impossible, insane - and lying there on the bed, grinning at Dipper. Waiting for him. That hat half-opened shirt exposing his chest, like an invitation to explore.

When Bill Cipher is.. is trapped like this, Dipper’s free to touch him wherever he wants. Or - or not touch him, if he wants, or only at the right moments, teasing until he’s the one shaking with sensation for once. Dipper could do pretty much anything, and Bill’s looking up at him, head slightly tilted to the side, like he expects him to-

“Um.” Dipper sits in place, blinking, at a loss. It’s like his brain has short-circuited, repeating the same thoughts in a circle.

After a second, Bill shrugs. “Well, well, well. Guess my new pet has a couple of tricks up his sleeve.” He lies back on the bed, nonchalant. He tilts his head back to examine his nails, since his hands are raised over his head. “What do you think this little stunt is going to accomplish?”

Dipper narrows his eyes.

If that’s the game, then…

“Who’s captured who now, Cipher?” He jabs a thumb at himself, starting to smile again. He shifts back, settling down on Bill’s thighs. “Guess I was smarter than you thought.”

“If you were real smart you’d be running.” His sneer belies the tent in his pants, hips shifting up as Dipper moves closer. “You know what happens to mortals who try to bind demons?”

Dangerous, always. Deadly, usually. If there’s even one fault in the binding. Even the slightest mistake - and the demon bursts free, able to wreak whatever havoc they like - usually on the hapless mortal who tried to keep them bound.

In this case, Dipper’s feeling very reckless.

“I’m not running away from all the secrets of the universe,” Dipper says. He feels oddly light inside, excitement building as he starts to undo the rest of Bill’s shirt. Fumbling, slightly, his fingers are uncoordinated. “You’re gonna tell me everything.”

“Ha! You’ve got no leverage, kid. Nothing to offer, no way to convince - and you don’t seem like the torturing type to me.” Bill eyes his progress, mouth quirked up with amusement. “Watch the fabric, that’s expensive.”

“Oh, I can make you talk..” Dipper rips the rest of his shirt open. The last couple buttons bounce off into the room, and Dipper slides his hands up that chest, down again to Bill’s stomach. It’s all smooth skin, hot to the touch - “The hard part is getting you to shut up.”

Bill lets out a sharp laugh. Being an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not self-aware. Dipper forces a smile off his own face.

When Dipper undoes Bill’s belt, he chuckles. When Dipper tugs the pants down, underwear and all, he lifts his hips to let them slide off. Bill even kicks the fabric off his legs, too, which is helpful; Dipper didn’t want to fiddle with that part.

It leaves Bill naked, except for the still-opened shirt. Fully hard, cock resting on his stomach; still grinning, and still impenetrably smug.

Dipper narrows his eyes, trying to keep his face stern. Squeezing Bill’s thigh, and feeling the muscle jump under his palm.

“I get it.” He says, shifting lower. His hands stroke the inside of Bill’s thighs, up his hips. “The great Bill Cipher thinks he can resist anything.”

“Sure can!” Bill grins, head rising to track Dipper’s descent. He shifts his legs apart, making it easy to kneel between them. “I can’t imagine you’ve got anything in stor-”

Dipper ignores him. He keeps his eyes on Bill, tongue flickering out. A quick, wet thing, licking against his length..

“Nh.” Bill grunts. Eye fluttering shut, he swallows visibly. "Taking a new tactic, huh.” The smirk returns, sharper now. “That's hardly fair!"

“All's fair in lust and war.” Dipper recites the old demonic phrase. He pulls Bill’s cock upright, watching him suck in a breath - and smiles. “You're going to do what I want."

“You can try,” Bill purrs. His teeth are bared in his wide, pleased smile. “Do your worst.”

Taking Bill in his mouth is a guilty pleasure. Not that he should feel guilty, as Bill’s often repeated, with great enthusiasm - but Dipper groans as he takes Bill in, hand gripping the base of his cock.

It’s hot and hard, twitching again as Dipper idly rolls his tongue around. He opens up, mouth drawing in the thick length of him, cheeks hollowing out. Bill lasts a whole ten seconds before his hips rock up into it; a couple quick jerks. Soon he’s trying to fuck into his mouth, bracing a foot on the mattress, knee raised.

Dipper pulls back and plants a kiss on the head. Underneath him, Bill swears and his hips hit the mattress with a thump. He’s slightly pink in the face, arms tense and eye shut.

Teasing. Taunting. Downright tormenting - now he sees what Bill sees in this.

The appeal.

He licks his lips as he draws back, to see Bill’s cock jump in place, a muscle in his thigh twitch rapidly - then taking it back in, groaning around Bill’s cock as his hips make short, desperate motions..

Bill wants to fuck his mouth, he needs to feel more - he can take it, he’s immortal, but Dipper can too, he’s good at this - undulating his tongue on the underside as Bill hits the back of his throat, and hearing a loud, breathless swear.

Bill might be all-knowing, all-powerful, and all-too-put together in most situations.

He’s not now.

Instead, he’s swearing, low. Repeating and the same word, over and over again. His face is flushed and his chest heaves, rising and falling with heavy breaths. He’s starting to sweat a little, turning his head to the side, trying so hard not to admit he loves this.

There’s pleasure in seeing Bill come so undone by this. Pleasure in knowing that he’s doing this, and fuck, it is good to suck his cock, Dipper’s already getting hard again himself.

“You-” There’s a clang on the headboard as Bill tries to reach out, and gets held up. He swears again, under his breath. “Gnh.”

Dipper draws away. But he takes it slow, drawing it out far longer than Bill did. Bobbing back down briefly, and feeling Bill try to stay in until Dipper finally lets his cock fall from between his lips, dropping wet and throbbing onto Bill’s stomach.

“Is it good?” He asks. He strokes Bill’s length a couple times, watching Bill shudder. Bill lets his head drop back on the pillow, grunting something incoherent. One of his legs is shaking in place, not quite kicking out.

“You can come in my mouth, if you want.” Dipper says, hearing Bill make a soft groan, nearly needy - but wait, right, the roleplay - “Just tell me what I want to hear.”

Bill bares his teeth. Breathing slower now, like he’s controlling it. His eye darts around under the closed lid, jaw tense.

Dipper licks up the underside of his dick, kissing just under the head. Bill’s cock twitches again, and he keeps up his assault with no small amount of pride.

There’s no way Bill can resist much longer. He’s already so close.

Bill breathes in, and lets it out, shuddering and slow. He pauses for a long moment. Then, slowly, he looks up from his pillow.

“You…” Bill starts. His tongue flicks out over his lips, and he flashes his most charming smile. “Are so goddamn good at this.”

Dipper feels a burst of embarrassed pleasure. He ducks his head a little, trying not to smile. “Um.”

There... There’s usually a retort Dipper can offer. But that wasn’t an insult. So. “Um.” He repeats, like an idiot.

Underneath him, Bill’s smile slowly, smugly widens into a full-blown grin.

“So, yeah,” Bill makes a dismissive gesture with his bound hands. “Go ahead, take your time! I could watch you sucking me off all day.” He settles down on the sheets. Acting perfectly relaxed - though his cock tells a different story. “You’re giving me enough jerk off material for eons.”

“Bastard.” Dipper’s really trying not to smile, and he knows his face is red. Even his ears feel hot by now. “You’re-”

He stops. The protest dies before it fully forms.

Because Dipper knows Bill. All his tells. When Bill’s bending the truth, or when saying something he doesn’t believe. When he’s straight-up lying it’s obvious, and Dipper could pinpoint a misleading phrase from a mile.

This time, Bill’s not lying. It’s true.

All of it.

“Oh.” Dipper doesn’t have a followup. The burn of embarrassment flares in him; he must be blushing down to his chest at this point. Bill really -

He looks down - Bill’s dick, almost straining in his hand - but looking at his face isn’t better, Dipper tucks his cheek against one rising shoulder, face feeling hot on his own skin.

“I’ve been watching you, sapling. All the time.” Bill’s smug grin remains; he’s almost too pleased with himself, even though he’s still telling the truth - . “You have no idea how good you look. How hard you make me.” His eye trails over Dipper, and his cock twitches against his stomach. “Every time I come, I think about how much better it would be if I had you in my bed.”

God, and he does, too. Bill’s not playing a role - or at least, not making this up. They’ve done so much together and Bill’s loved it, every moment, enough to make a mental video of them - and there’s proof of Bill’s lust, wet from Dipper’s mouth and hard in his hand.

Dipper doesn’t know what to say. He has Bill in one hand, himself in the other, moving a little faster now, and it’s hard to focus. He shuts his eyes, trying not to pant.

”You’ve got a great mouth on you, kid. But it looks absolutely perfect around my cock.” Bill pulls on the restraints, lifting himself up to meet Dipper’s eyes - he lowers his head, avoiding it - “You’ve got a talent.” Bill strains to follow his gaze, headboard creaking at the pressure. His cock jumps in Dipper’s grip, grinning sharply. “Put it to use? And I’ll give you everything you want.”

Dipper had already ducked back down. It’s right there - and hell, sucking Bill’s dick is less embarrassing than listening to what he was saying. Dipper tastes him, opens for him. Feeling good, with the thick weight in his mouth, on his tongue. He holds the rest of his length with his other hand, face burning.

“That’s it.” Bill’s breathing hard, voice low. He tilts his head up, watching with his eye half-lidded = and a growing smirk. “Good boy.”

Dipper makes a noise that’s nearly a choke, a soft, gagged whimper. Good at this, he’s good - he moans. Bill tastes of skin and salt, a heavy warm weight that feels good to suck. He pulls back to the head, cheeks hollowing and tongue flickering, before swallowing him down again.

“You- Nh.” Bill curses, tossing his head to one side. One of his legs starts jogging in place, his teeth clenched. “Gonna-”

Dipper doesn’t stop, he strokes and groans in encouragement. Feeling Bill twitch as he comes, swallowing slowly. Bill chants something low under his breath before it all melds into a low moan. Even when he’s finished, Dipper keeps going, just to watch Bill shudder under him like he’s being pleasantly electrocuted, eye rolling back in his skull.

When Dipper finally sits up, Bill’s downright dazed. Splayed out, blinking unfocused. Dipper wipes his mouth, and pats his thigh. A warm glow of pride overcomes the warmth in his cheeks.

So what if he’s got an infinite, powerful demon. Or if he’s a nerd. When it comes to this, even Bill Cipher isn’t his match.

“Ten outta ten.” Bill says, after a moment. He spent a good ten seconds blinking at the ceiling, eye unfocused. One of his hands gives a lazy thumbs up, then droops in its manacle. “A million stars. Would come back again, for eternity.” A quick smirk. “Give the server a massive tip.”

Dipper slaps his hip, just to make a point about puns. Then pauses. He’s uncomfortably hard himself, and now that he’s not distracted - Bill’s dick is flagging, but there's more than a few toys scattered over the mattress, there’s lube. Everything he could use to help himself out. He leans over -

“No toys,” Bill snaps, and Dipper jerks to attention. He hesitates. Already his hand hovers over the lube, just next to something that’s smaller than Bill, but -

“Aw, you’re lonely, aren’tcha?” Bill interrupts again. Starting to shake his head in mock pity. “I know what you need - and I’m better than any of those.” He glances down at own groin, a cocky grin on his face. “I could make you come without you ever touching yourself.”

God, Bill’s being oddly truthful today, and again, he’s right. He has managed that before, Dipper can feel his dick jump at the very idea of it. It’s... Intense, and rough. Feeling that demanding demon over him, around him, deep inside of him - and actually, coming on Bill’s cock sounds extremely fantastic right now.

Dipper fumbles the lube for a second, he reaches to stroke Bill into hardness again, get him ready-

“Ah ah ah,” chides Bill. He rolls his hips to the side, dodging Dipper’s touch. “Where’s the romance?” He flutters his eyelashes, his face in a mocking pout. “You can’t even gimme a kiss first?”

Dipper nearly snorts. They’re in the middle of - Bill’s an all powerful demon. He knows so much. He controls an entire nightmare realm, and so many beings think he’s ‘cool’. Unassailable. Unflappable.

Bill Cipher is all of those things - and he says he married a nerd. Which is, okay. A fair statement.

But It takes one to know one.

“Fine.” Dipper moves up closer, cupping Bill’s cheek. He’s trying not to smile, and failing. “Just one, though.”

Less than two seconds later, he proves himself a liar. Kissing Bill never stops with just a peck. They spend longer than they should, tangled together. Dipper lying halfway on him, Bill rising against his restraints to meet him, and his tongue flickering into Dipper’s mouth

Dipper finally gets a hand on him, where Bill’s already halfway to attention. Spreading lube over him in slow firm strokes, feeling him harden quickly, hot under his palm. Bill’s thick length slides easily under his touch, he can feel a vague pulse through it.

Dipper ducks his head next to Bill’s reaching behind himself. He just - needs to prepare a little, and then- he bites his lip, slipping fingers inside.

Reaching behind himself never gives him the right angle, but. Dipper tucks his chin against his chest as he works himself slowly, twisting his fingers. He hasn’t done this in a while. It’s hard to relax. He breathes slowly, controlled - maybe he needs to spread his legs more -

Which is when Bill surges up underneath him, body arching up like a bow. “You- Don’t be a tease, kid.” The words come out in a low growl, too eager to be anything but honest. “At least turn around and let me watch.”

Dipper stops out of sheer surprise. He pauses, looking up into a wolfish grin.

“C’mere. Sapling. You want some help? Let me give you a hand.” Bill licks his lips. He’s trying to nudge him with a hip, his cock hard again, and his eye alight. “I wanna touch you.”

Right, that would be better. Ten times better than Dipper doing it himself. Bill’s long fingers, pushing inside him - he swears under his breath, scooting upward, and it’s only as the tips of his fingers touch the manacle that he thinks enough to pause.

Dipper looks down at Bill. Bill blinks up at him, eye full of desire -

After a moment, Dipper glares.

The corner of Bill’s mouth quirks up, a bit wryly. “Go on, do it.” He wiggles his fingers in the restraints. Almost teasingly. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Dipper gives him a long, long look, before rolling his eyes.

“Fine.” He repeats, smiling this time. “You jerk.” He undoes one of the restraints.

The clasp opens, the leather parts. Bill stretches his arm out, raising it up front of himself with a pleased grin. Dipper moves onto the next manacle, bracing himself on Bill’s chest for balance -

Bill yanks his other arm, hard. The chain on the headboard snaps with a sharp, metallic clink, and there’s not even time to flinch as Bill lunges up from the bed.

Dipper gasps, half a second after the fact. Much too late, at that. Already there’s a strong arm around his waist, a firm grip in his hair. Dipper didn’t think about how fast Bill can be before he was already caught.

“You really thought you could bind me, of all demons.” Bill shakes his head with slow amusement. He pulls Dipper’s head back and to one side, exposing his neck. “And they call me arrogant”

“Don’t get me wrong, though,” Bill continues, beaming. Starting to nose against that exposed skin, pressing his lips against Dipper’s rapid pulse. Dipper grits his teeth, letting out a soft grunt. He scrambles for purchase on Bill’s shoulders. “It’s adorable.”

“I-” Dipper cuts himself off. Bill’s just licked his neck. Then his ear, teeth grazing against the lobe - now he’s kissing just behind it. “That’s-!” Then. Teeth, on his neck, a mouth on his skin - DIpper swears, and clasps a hand on Bill’s neck in return - “Not fair.”

Bill laughs against Dipper’s shoulder. “All’s fair in lust and war!” He starts trailing kisses up the shoulder, to his neck. “Get used to it.” His mouth sucks in the soft skin tongue flicking over it and absolutely leaving a hickey. Marking him up.

There’s a strong, searching hand between Dipper’s legs, sliding up the back of his thigh. But even when he does struggle, he can’t pull away. Bill’s all over him, surrounding him. Making him his. He’s been captured, there’s no escaping his attention -

Dipper shuts his eyes. He shuffles his knees further apart.

“You could have run, but no! That’s not what you wanted.” Bill slides slick fingers inside him, deeper than Dipper could reach - right there. They spread him open, then press together, then flex - pleasure bursts inside him, god it’s been too long - “You wanted this.”

Dipper shakes his head, but that’s pointless. And obviously a lie; Bill grins as he continues. “You wanted to get fucked. But you’re a skeptic, I get it.” The way he splays his fingers makes Dipper ache, in a good way, he digs his nails into Bill’s back - “You just needed a trial run, first!”

Part of Dipper wants to say that it’s a logical move. That if you’re going to be someone’s… If it’s going to be a sex thing, you should find out if -

Then overthinking takes a backseat, Dipper’s mouth shutting with a click as Bill keeps pressing. Because Bill, the bastard, has clever hands, and a cleverer mind for angles, and his fingers are pushing in so deep. He barely hears Bill asking, “How’dya like it so far?”

“‘S good. Yeah.” The words fall senseless from Dipper’s lips. Very good. He was right, perfectly so, he made absolutely the right choice. When Bill curls his fingers there’s a bright spark, and Dipper pushes into that point of pleasure, grabbing at the back of Bill’s neck, at his shoulders, fumbling in sudden desperation. “More. Please.”

“In a minute.” Bill’s hand never stops, fingers sliding in and out. Avoiding the hitting quite right, now, the bastard - Dipper can feel his breathing pick up, hot on his shoulder. The leather of the manacle is still around Bill’s wrist, cool on Dipper’s skin. “You’re so tight.”

Dipper tugs at him, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work, even if he really pulls - until Bill finally caves, sliding his fingers out. “And demanding.” He eases Dipper back then, pushing him down on the bed. “I picked exactly the right mortal.”

Dipper tries to get comfortable on the sheets - but Bill hauls him in by his hips. He’s kneeling, which leaves Dipper’s legs splayed over his own. Bill’s cock bobs obscenely over Dipper’s, a rude comparison. “You sure you want this?”

Dipper flips him off. This jerk. Like he can’t see how much he wants it, it’s right there. He’s been hard for a while, extremely so, even now his dick taps on his stomach with urgency, jerking at the very thought of Bill inside him. Bill’s just being a tease.

He nods, anyway, just to move things along.

“Alright, kid. You got this.” Bill shifts up slightly, a smile in his voice. He holds onto Dipper’s hip, starting to guide the thick tip of his cock inside. “You can-” The blunt head of it slips inside, Dipper can see Bill pushing in and feel it, hot pressure entering. “Take all of it.”

Which Dipper’s done before. He’s ready for it. It’s thick and hot as always, but with this angle it’s - Dipper feels his toes curl, he tosses his head back with a whine - Just right. “Yeah.”

“That’s a good boy,” Bill purrs, thrusting shallow, a quick in-and-out, easing himself deeper, a long stroke following - “All mine. My perfect little pet. ” Each word emphasized with another thrust, another push deeper, more firm pressure inside that leaves Dipper breathless. The last bit of chain from the manacle is chill against his hip. “My personal plaything.”

Dipper shoves a hand over his face, whining a protest. He’s - he’s not a - that. But he is, a little. He wants Bill to ‘play’ with him, a lot. He’s wanted it for a while, and now he has it, Bill’s totally inside him, hot and thick. Taking his time, not really fucking him like he could, and Dipper wants more so much he could almost - “Ah.”

“Now that. Is a fantastic look for you.” Bill’s voice is nearly a growl, his grin truly feral. He tugs Dipper closer, shifting up on his knees as he sets a quicker pace. “I could look at that face all day. Or night, as it were.” He draws back slightly, running his thumb around where they’re joined, eye glowing bright. “Or just at you stretched out around me.”

Dipper nods again, helplessly. He can feel it, like it’s bigger than usual, but whether it’s the angle or the time he’s spent alone, he can’t tell. There’s a hot burst of pleasure each time Bill fucks into him; he’s sweating and the sheets getting damp under his back, and in his hands. Holding on tight, and trying to hook his legs around Bill.

“Gonna have you over and over again.” Bill mutters. He's urgently pulling Dipper closer, leaning forward as he rises up slightly. “And you’ll love it.” In this position his cock sends stars swimming into Dipper’s vision, it's so much. His legs are tense, and they’re starting to shake. “Every time I fuck you. Every time I come inside you.”

Damn it, Bill keeps talking; he never stops when he should - All things Dipper can picture in his mind, clear as if it were a dream. He wouldn't have to get Bill’s attention, Bill would be all over him, Dipper would be naked and ashamed and attended to. Whenever he wanted, Bill would be touching him. Kissing his neck, and his chest, shoving him down and fucking him like this, leaving Dipper shaking and waiting until he did it again, getting fucked and touched and adored -

“Use you whenever I want.” Bill rises up to his knees, holding Dipper fully by his hips with unnaturally strong hands, fucking into him rough and urgent. “Let you wait for me, naked in my bed, with all that cum inside you. Touching yourself. “ Bill leans in, teeth bared, breathing hard. He squeezes tight enough to bruise - “Until I bend you over and fill you up again.”

The steady pound of Bill’s cock is building up pleasure too quickly; Dipper can feel it deep in him, ready to make good on his words; every time Bill fucks into him a bead of clear precome drips from his cock, Dipper’s so close he aches - “‘M gonna come.” Dipper blurts, holding onto the sheets, tight. Back arches, nearly whimpering- “Gonna come, please.”

“Sexy little mind. Cute goddamned body. Too eager.” Bill hisses the words out, keeping a steady, near-violent pace, his skin shining with sweat. “Too cute.” He yanks Dipper in tight, arms shaking slightly, and Dipper can feel his cock twitch inside, the added pressure makes him groan - “Everything I wanted.” Bill pants, teeth bared as his eye flutters shut, pressing their hips together. “Fuck, I love you.”

Dipper comes with a sharp, sweet shock, gripping at the sheets, mouthing at the air. Bill holds him close, hips jerking in place, balls deep, pulsing inside him.

Bill squeezes him a little tighter, dropping back onto his seated position. Dipper collapses, boneless from his orgasm - and relieved at the lack of strain on his back. He can feel Bill pulsing inside, hips still jerking faintly in the last few motions.

Dipper lets his head drop back. Trying to catch his breath. Bill stills in place, breathing slower. Eye shut. Until he eventually sighs. He pulls back and away, only to drop on top of Dipper, cheek resting on his chest.

After a moment, Dipper reaches up to card his fingers through Bill’s hair.

Sleeping with Bill is always… interesting. In one way or another Over time he’s been introduced to things he thought were only on the internet, not something people actually did. Hearing Bill say something vaguely normal is strange.

And nice.

They lie there for a bit. Spending time in a calm post-sex daze, comfortable and dozy. Bill raises his arm, and Dipper obligingly unlatches the broken manacle, letting it drop.

With a sigh, Bill turns his head. Finally, totally relaxed, humming in contentment against Dipper’s chest. Dipper keeps petting him idly. Still thinking. Maybe too much, but he’s never going to not.

Even if it was said during sex… there should be a response. Right? If anything, it’s one of the few times he doesn’t have to feel awkward saying it out loud.

“Love you too.” Dipper leans up, planting a quick kiss on Bill’s head, before dropping back. He hugs his idiot demon a little tighter.

Bill makes a low, pleased sound, getting comfortable - then suddenly jerks in place. His head doesn’t rise, but Dipper feels him go tense.

“Ahem. Cute, kid. But you musta misheard me.” Bill clears his throat without looking up. And raises a finger, wagging it. “I said I love fucking you.”

“Uh huh.” Lies, again. Weird one for him to pull, though. Bill doesn't say that sort of thing often, but he’s never outright denied it before. “Sure.”

Dipper keeps running his hand through Bill’s hair, ruffling it slightly. Bill lets out an annoyed grunt, but doesn’t move, face planted on Dipper’s chest. For some reason the tips of his ears are pink.

But. Wait.

Demons do things backwards.

Hell, Dipper’s just read more articles than he’d admit about this exact topic. He should have figured. Though he was… distracted. When it happened.

“Well. If you had said something that kinky,” Dipper continues, feeling Bill mouth a swear against his skin. He thunks his forehead against his human pillow, and Dipper starts to smile. “I would’ve been really into it.”

Bill looks up. Eye narrowing.

Watching his expression turn from annoyed to conflicted is the third best thing that’s happened today.

“Kind of a shame,” Dipper adds, dropping his hands to his sides. He shrugs, then tucks his arms behind his head. “I should have guessed you wouldn’t be that sexy.”

“Hey!”

A brief tussle ensues. Not a fight, and not quite a wrestle. Mostly, it’s Bill jostling Dipper around and Dipper fending him off, neither with much force. He gets two sharp nips on his ear, then gentle teeth on his shoulder. Bill worries the flesh for a moment - a token gesture - before rolling off Dipper with a satisfied grunt.

Dipper follows, throwing an arm over his demon. And when he cuddles up against Bill’s side, he feels Bill adjust to meet him.

Bill lets out a pleased sigh Relaxed, for once. Settling into that lazy, post-sex lassitude that Dipper only sees on rare occasions. Radiating smugness, too; he’s obviously congratulating himself. Dipper could see that in his face from a mile away.

Dipper narrows his eyes. It’s nice when Bill’s calm - but he’s also telling himself he's the greatest, cleverest, most superlative demon ever. That gets annoying.

He’s proven correct moments later, when Bill starts to chuckle.

“I can’t believe you thought you needed advice to seduce me.” Bill says. He shakes his head, almost incredulous. There’s a fond grin on his face. “I married a moron.”

The buried complement is in one of its shallowest graves yet. Dipper narrows his eyes. He would hit him with a pillow, but he’s using Bill for that right now. So he won’t.

“Fine.” He pats Bill’s chest instead. Feeling warm, and pretty relaxed himself. “Next time I won’t let you leave.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll interrupt everything,” Dipper insists. He props himself up on one elbow, glaring without any heat at Bill’s stupid handsome face. “You’ll never get any plans done.”

A smirk, and a lazy shrug. Bill even rolls his eye, grinning wider. “Hey, you can try.”

“You asked for it, Bill Cipher” Dipper’s smiling now. He rolls on top of his idiot demon, cupping his face, shaking it in his grasp just to watch Bill get grumpy. “Prepare to be bored senseless, hanging out with some human all the time.”

“Pfft, hardly!” Bill waves that off like it’s not even an issue. He also grabs Dipper’s butt. “You’ll never manage it.”

Hearing Bill practically perform necromancy on the usually buried compliments is - The only retort there is kissing him stupid. As always it disarms him; a demon, easily subdued. An idiot, who thinks just because his tongue is in Dipper’s mouth that he’s won.

All demons are stupid in the ways of romance. Research alone has proven that. And… real life has kind of proven that Dipper’s… not the greatest either.

Too bad for, Bill, though. Infinite knowledge, insane power. And stupid, and overlooking things. A gossip and a nerd. He admitted it already - too easily seduced, if you’re the right person.

It’s too late for Bill to win this one. He’s already met his match.

“Leave the gossip rags outta the bedroom, sapling.They’re made by idiots, for idiots. Terrible advice, all round.” Bill adds, once they’ve parted again again. He walks his fingers up Dipper’s back, running a hand over the back of his neck - then makes a face, as a thought strikes him. “I’m just glad you didn’t try the starfruit thing.”

Dipper…. Probably shouldn’t ask. If Bill thinks it’s bad, who knows what it looks like to a mortal. But hell, he’s always curious. Dipper sits up. “Sorry, the what thing?”

“Oh man, I gotta show you!” Bill perks up. He shuffles into a seated position, leaning against the headboard. One snap of the fingers, and magazine blinks into existence on his lap. “It’s horrible.”

Dipper scoots up and over, resting his head on Bill’s shoulder. Watching, as he flips to the advice column.

Turns out Bill has collected more than a few issues himself. Not for advice, but out of sheer amusement.

If Dipper thought humans gave each other bad advice, holy shit. He’s amazed he got anything useful from his own research. For every drop of decent advice, the rest are insane by any standard. Demons have to be actively fucking each other over, they can’t truly believe any of this crap.

Most of the time, Dipper bickers with his husband, while Bill finds points to argue right back. It’s more fun than Dipper will ever say out loud, and Bill enjoys it immensely.

This time, they’re sitting together. Bill nudging him to read another article, and Dipper pointing out how bad demonic advice is about humans. There’s more than a few magazines, and they comb over every single awful inch of them.

Reading how dumb and wrong other beings are. How they’re ridiculous and stupid and terrible - it’s another contest, kind of. Bill’s creative with his wordplay, mocking every single aspect. Dipper, though, has more pointed insights, and one of them makes Bill laugh so hard he nearly chokes on his own spit.

It’s different. It’s new.

And it’s fun.

Spending time with Bill is both unusual, and insane. It defies all natural laws, every legal one, and common sense is completely tossed out the window. Demons would think half their dates are boring. Humans would think the rest are insane.

For once, Bill had the right sentiment when it came to other people..

‘Screw ‘em’, is pretty good advice.

“Y’know, I had a centerfold in onna these things a couple centuries ago.” Bill admits, on the fifth issue. He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Can’t recall which one, though.”

“I bet it was awful,” Dipper lies. He hopes the corner of glossy paper hanging out from under his mattress won't be too obvious. “You’re the worst.”

“I am,” Bill says, with the usual amount of pride. His chest puffs out a little, he raises his chin.

Dipper takes Bill’s hand in his own, squeezing tight. “You are.”

Fuck it. They don’t have to make sense to anyone else. Bill’s incomprehensible to nearly everyone as it is, and Dipper barely understands himself half the time -

But the more time they spend together, the more they get each other.

And it’s never, ever boring.

Bill beams at him, pulling Dipper in for a kiss. Before he has a chance to take charge, Dipper puts his tongue in Bill’s mouth first. Another contest, that Bill easily takes him up on, surging in for another kiss - He only breaks off halfway through to start laughing.

Demonic, human, or otherwise - No matter how normal or weird it gets -

Dipper smiles, and holds Bill tighter. Feeling his chest shake with amusement, a warm body lying on him.

He knows they’ll have plenty of time together.

#Not Safe for the working #familiar!au #This really needed another editing pass but maybe I'll do that if I ever put this up on AO3 #I just reached the point where I couldn't look at it anymore and had to get it out of my brain for a bit #My apologies that this is all I have to offer you #At least it may bring you some amusement #Uhhh usually I have fun tag facts let's see #Oh yeah the event Bill was hosting was absolutely a demonic invasion of some sort #It's just that demons *see* it as a party #And wouldn't you know it it helps if you've got a major heavyweight for your scheduled shenanigans #Because you know that when it's on a timetable your party favors/victims are going to mount a defense #Imagine some demon hanging up after Dipper throws the phone #Another asking 'so is Bill gonna show up'#A slow shake of the head - if they have a head - 'he's getting laid instead :('#Sorry Dipper you made it pretty obvious what was going on #And then the 'party' was an absolute disaster #Bill says it serves them right; Dipper is mostly unaware of all of this #Does this mean that Bill will let himself be in this situation again??? Yes. Yes it does #Bless you Dipper you pulled out several stops but you didn't know what to do once you had said stops pulled #Anyway hope it wasn't too awful guys!! I'm working on other stuff too #I'm gonna go lie down now

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 10 months

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i keep scribbling Laughingstock as soft and wholesome, when in my brain they're chaotic and wholesome. Howdy's got that high energy and Barns is always down to clown yk yk

#like for example i have this very vivid Scene in my mind #where the neighborhood is having a little garden party and nice music is playing #franklydear is slow dancing. everyone is dancing either sweetly or just Normally #and then in the background you have laughingstock stumbling around laughing their asses off #because they're trying to attempt Swing but howdy has too many legs and its just a complete disaster #Completely ruining the vibe though no one minds. except frank probably #theyre just. theyre so Goofy #they have a thousand inside jokes and are always up to Something #they start to approach activities normally and then they stop and go 'hey wait. wouldn't it be funny if...'#the answer is always Yes. it Would be funny. and it Will Be.#they are each others' biggest fans and enablers in my mind #laughingstock #absolutely unprompted #and i just Know barnaby would be always pushing howdy's business #he overhears someone mention possibly needing something and he sidles over like 'heyyyy howdys got a great sale goin rn 👀'#barnaby: i know my jokes are outta this world but ya know what else is? BEANS FROM HOWDYS GO BUY EM #if they were in modern day and had phones / social media #i just know the only things barnaby posts are: bts of sally's plays. wally. terrible memes. and promo for howdy's place #so much promo...#and on the flip side howdy gasses up barnaby's jokes/etc like no one else #if there a thousand people laughing at his humor one of em is howdy. if theres only one person laughing then that person is howdy #barnaby's going to do a stand up show and howdy is making so many signs to make sure No One Forgets Or Misses It #somebody walks into the bodega after barnaby just finished a joke and howdy is like OH OH TELL IT AGAIN THEY DIDNT HEAR IT #ouaghhhhh they make me <3<3<3<3<3<3<3

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opens-up-4-nobody · 1 year

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Me, explaining things in a way that's completely incoherent: I don't understand what you find so difficult to comprehend???

#i think the problem is that something in my brain structures information in a way thats hard for other people to understand #it may be a dyslexia thing. but it is the most frustrating thing to be misunderstood without any #idea of howbwhat ur saying doesnt make sense. like. look. fucking. its right there. laid out in a way that looks like an absolute disaster #bc u would think with as many control issues id b extremely organized but no. i kno where everything is #but its in a pile. aye. this project is such a clusterfuck #this is how my brain collapses. what sort of shape will i b in by the time we finish? (ie my birthday lol)#let's not think abt it. it wont b good.#everyday i get texts and emails and i have to put my head down and take a deep breath so by brain doesnt explode. the amount of psychic #pain i am burdened with when i open my manuscript doc is shocking.#is this my villian origin story? ive lost the ability to not look like im in pain while im in meetings. if u pay close attention u can see #the misery behind my eyes. my boss is gonna turn up the 23rd and b like: ready to go get icecream to celebrate #ur paper and phd accptance? and im gonna b like: i would rather eat glass #if u try to rope me into a surprise party i might walk out. excpet i wont bc im not that much of a brat #theres nothing to celebrate. just let me lay down on the floor for a while #unrelated

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incorrectdmp · 1 year

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Charlie: I’m not a human. Could a human do this?

Charlie: *screams*

Vincent: Yeah, I think they could, actually.

#quote #incorrect quotes #dmp #discord murder party #charlie #murder god #vincent reid #personal favourite #im so tickled by all the charlie is a mcfucking disaster quotes tbh #i have a newfound appreciation for them after the finale tbh #absolute vibe

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dinitride-art · 1 year

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I don’t know what the hell happened but I opened my notes app and wrote a whole confession that is probably almost a thousand words, and is like in the third act of my fic (the one that won’t take sense like half the time) (also one I haven’t even written half of yet) and?????

Mike wheeler possessed me this evening and told me he wanted to tell Will that he loved him and I was unable to stop it from happening.

And he convinced me not to continue the interrupted moment trope.

They were supposed to be fighting. They were supposed to be fighting

I don’t know how we got here. Mike convinced me that he had the confidence to do it by this point I went alright then. Go for it.

Now I have to give him character development??? And build up to this?? I think I finally understand what people mean when they say that the characters are the ones in control. Because Mike really wanted a whole lot of things and I could not stop him

#byler #I don’t know what just happened #i don’t even know how long I’ve been writing for #and now I’ve got to figure out how we even get here #because the mike im starting with does not have the character development for this illegal manoeuvre #my writing #I miss Lucas #he has clear goals and we’re working together to get him there #because the rest of the party is a disaster #the real reason I need to write at least a fourth of this fic in Lucas’ pov #is to keep this shit on the rails #because Mike will run away with this #and rearrange absolutely everything #and I can’t let him do that #there is a plan

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streatfeild · 1 year

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lowkey dead highkey relieved

#opening night went well enough after tech week was an absolute disaster. a week of hell #and now i‘m drunk and jolly and will watch the new ep of taskmaster i think #still got one (1) beer in me. probably #anyway #also happy to report i‘m the best looking person at the party. self love ftwwwwww #shut up kit #also YAYY no migraine!!!!!!

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executiveibex · 1 year

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and now, joining the honored pantheon of hilarious F@tT player line fuck-ups such as "Operant Valence is died" on the main feed...... please give a hearty welcome to "how long have you been in cults?"

#mine #f@tt liveblogging #friends at the table #f@tt spoilers #f@tt humor #the road to palisade #i actually had work to do at work last night so i WAS making pretty good progress on this episode at first!#but then i had to stop for the night because i was in TEARS with the effort of trying not to HOWL at this in my cubicle #''absolutely RANCID small talk''........ jack TRULY summed it up best #everyone really wound up in Situations this episode but mustard TRULY stepped in it in the most hilarious way #between this and her trying to dance around the fact she made a deal with arbitrage when general mourning came calling #GOD. we haven't had a disaster party like this in a while and i'm LIVING for it #real talk though i would NOT be surprised if devotion winds up as the divine big bad of palisade #sapping people of their life force the more energy they put in is. uhhhh not dissimilar from rigour's whole workaholism deal!#i'm scared! but also very excited for how much worse things will PROBABLY get on the brink!

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spkyscry-a · 2 years

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“...Nice toy?” MAD YOU’RE BEING DEATH ROLLED RIGHT NOW--

#Startling Shrilly Screams ;; Mew Mew #Gotta Party Hardy ;; Mew Mew MP Verse #Don't Think We Should ;; Crack #What's All The Fuss ;; Dash Comm #priorities get a bit skewed when you are indestructible #she honed in on being called a nice toy instead of the fact that she is being thrashed around like a prey animal that won't stay down #disaster lesbian everyone. absolutely useless.

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sazzafraz · 11 days

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key emotional background point in no return: the yzy/jfm and Elder Jin Marriage which is four people who have NEVER improved the vibe at a function ruining several generations of children in many directions

#yanli: oh my god zixuan i'm so sorry #madam jin: i saw yu ziyuan at a party producing absolutely rancid vibes and i just HAD to HAVE her #shame jfm was sopping wet tho. if he was less a bore we could have made it work #hmm? my husband? he's exactly what all are men so don't really see the problem dear. its so nice u did marry my son #yes he was also a sopping wet disaster don't know how that happened #i must now go and make even more jin flower parties anxious and exhausting tata for now!#no return #lazy danmei tag

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 9 months

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Pity Party.

Synopsis - Carmy just wants to see you treated the way he thinks you deserve. He decides to take matters into his own hands.

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Roommate Reader

Word Count - 3k

Warnings - smut. cursing. alcohol mention. carmys filthy mouth.

Age Rating - 18+

Author's Note - hello hello hello!! i am back!! i had a wonderful vacation soaking up the sun, and i am feeling refreshed and ready to go. i have had so many ideas over the past few weeks, so i'm excited to get some of them written asap!! this was a fic that came to me randomly, as i was thinking about roommate!carmen and how much of a menace he'd be if you ever talked about other guys. this was written as a part of my carmen roommates collection. it doesn't follow on from Finders, Keepers or Sweet Dreams, but it does exist in the same universe - so you can decide if this takes place before or after!! as always, feel free to send me any ideas or thoughts or burning desires you have. so much love <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Series Masterlist. Masterlist. Inbox.

"You're back early."

Carmy had swung the door open, expecting to come home to an empty apartment. Instead, he's met with the sight of you, sitting on the couch, undoing the straps of your shoes.

"Fuckin' disaster," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

He breathes out a chuckle at the stormy look on your face. Carmy thinks you're cutest when you're angry. He aches to smooth the crease between your brows with his thumb.

"That bad?" he asks, taking a seat next you and kicking off his sneakers.

"You wouldn't even believe."

He rises and makes his way to the kitchen, filling the tea kettle and placing it on the stove top. Grabbing two mugs, he casts a glance over his shoulder at you, frowning at your body language. You look defeated.

Carmy steeps two cups of tea, placing one of them carefully into your waiting hands. He resumes his seat on the sofa, pressing his thigh against yours and turning to face you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

You think for a moment before replying.

"You're gonna laugh at me."

His face instantly crumples, confusion written all over it.

"I'll never laugh at you. I'll laugh with you, sure. But never at you."

He nudges your shoulder with his, urging you to go on.

"Okay, fine. The actual date was pretty good. He took me to that Italian place downtown-"

"Dolce Vita? Did you get the truffle pasta I told you about?" Carmy interrupts you before you can continue.

"Yes, oh my God. It was incredible. Do you think you can recreate it sometime?"

"Fuck yeah. They're pretty secretive with their recipes, but I think I can figure it out. You can help me if you want - I'm gonna need a sous chef."

He pulls a reluctant laugh from you, the sound echoing off the ceramic of your mugs. You both know that being the sous chef involves you sitting on the counter drinking wine while Carmy does all the work.

"Of course. I'll always be your sous chef."

"I'll hold you to that."

You smile at him gently, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice.

"Anyway. The dinner went great. He seemed super interested in me, asked me questions, told me about his job, his hobbies, his dog. He was hot, and good to talk to. I thought I'd hit the jackpot."

"And then?"

"And then we went back to his apartment. And it all went to shit."

He chuckles, blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Tell me more."

"You really want to hear about all of this?"

It's not like you and Carmy aren't close. You absolutely are. It's just that there's always been this unspoken connection between the two of you. A bubbling, fiery attraction that you both shut down repeatedly, screwing the lid on tight whenever it rears its head. So, you tend to avoid talking to Carmy about dating. You're scared you'll accidentally blurt out the truth - you compare every single date to him.

"Of course I do."

His answer is so genuine it makes you ache. You continue, hesitantly.

"Well... things got a little... heavy. He wasn't a bad kisser, I guess... he just wasn't... a good one? He kept biting my lip super hard and it kinda hurt. Then he pulled my clothes off like a high schooler, and he's on top of me, and I'm waiting for him to sort of... do... anything? And then he's finished. Like, completely done. And then he has the nerve to ask me if I finished."

Carmy's mouth has fallen open, shock etched across his face. After a long, heavy pause, he speaks.

"What the fuck?"

You look at him for moment, before bursting into contagious laughter. He joins you, both of you with your heads thrown back, giggles reverberating around the lowlit room.

"I mean, seriously," he pants, still laughing. "What the fuck?"

"I didn't even answer him. I just put my clothes on, grabbed my bag and left without saying a word."

Every time you try to stifle your laughter, a giggle escapes. The situation wasn't funny at the time, but looking back, it's hilarious.

All of a sudden, you both go silent. You're deep in thought, reflecting on the seemingly never ending stream of bad dates that you've endured. Carmy is watching you intently, ocean blue eyes glued to your face.

"Fuck," you breathe. "This is kinda pathetic."

Carmy inhales deeply, and turns his body so it's facing yours on the couch.

"The way I see it," he begins, "you have two options."

You quirk a brow in confusion and stay quiet, waiting for him to explain.

"You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or, you can let me fuck you the way you deserve."

Your mouth falls open in shock at the exact same moment your brain seems to shut down. You can't think. You can't process his words. All you can focus on is the way he's staring at you. You suddenly feel hot under his gaze, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. A shiver runs down your spine, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

"Wh-... what?" you choke out.

"You heard me, honey. You can wallow in your little pity party, or you can let me show you what it's like to be with someone who can actually make you come. Your choice."

His voice has dropped an octave lower than usual, the tone warm and honeyed. He's still staring at you, blue gaze unrelenting.

"Is this gonna fuck everything up between us?" you whisper hesitantly.

Carmy reaches out and places a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking careful circles into your skin.

"I don't think anything can fuck up what we have," he murmurs. "You're the only thing in my life that makes sense."

His confession seems to sober you up, the honesty in his words snapping you back to your senses.

"Okay."

He almost does a double take at the sureness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Put your money where your mouth is, Carmen."

"There she is," he chuckles. "You scared me when you went quiet for a second there."

"Well, if what you say is true, you're not gonna be able to shut me up for the night."

He laughs darkly, and slides closer to you slightly.

"Oh, honey. You're gonna wish you hadn't said that."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, tracing the journey of your neck with his fingertips. He rests his hand lightly at the base of your throat, the heavy weight of it making you pant.

"If there's any point where you don't like something, or you want me to slow down, just say so. Okay?"

You nod your head, entranced by the sudden dominance he's displaying. You've never seen this side of him before. You can't believe he's been hiding it this whole time.

"Words, pretty. Need to hear you say it."

"Yes. I understand. I'll tell you, I promise."

He doesn't say anything in reply, just smirks. He lets you sit in the silence for a moment too long, the anticipation slowly killing you.

"Please, Carmen," you breathe. "Please."

"Fuck," he groans, shuffling closer to you. "You sound so pretty when you beg."

Carmy leans in and kisses your cheek gently, testing the waters. He presses a kiss to your other cheek, and pulls back to watch for your reaction. When he's happy, he tilts forward and leaves a careful kiss on your chin, then your forehead, then both of your closed eyes, before kissing you on the side of your mouth. His closeness makes you whine, desperate for him to give you what you want.

Finally, he connects his lips to yours, starting off slow and tender. When you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and try to pull him even closer, his resolve snaps. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You clamber over him and climb into his lap, straddling his hips and pressing yourself into his body.

Carmy can't decide where to put his hands. He's grabbing at your waist, running his fingers up your back, pulling you into him by your ass. You're both groaning into each others mouths, enraptured by the other person and the all consuming way they kiss.

"Can I take this off?" he asks lowly, pulling at the hem of your dress.

Instead of answering, you pull it over your head, throwing it onto the floor in front of you.

"Fuck," he murmurs. "Most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

His hands are roaming all of your exposed skin, as if he can't get enough. He's terrified he won't ever get to see you like this again, so he's not going to waste a second.

You grind your hips down into his, eliciting a groan from the both of you. His hands tighten their grip on your waist, as he leans up to press open mouthed kisses to your jaw. Your fingers fly to the hem of his t shirt, pulling it off swiftly. You manage to shove his jeans down and off, before attempting to pull off his underwear. Carmy stops you in your tracks.

"Nuh uh," he tuts. "This is about you. Not me."

He pulls you off his lap gently and shuffles so his back is resting against the couch cushions. He spreads his legs wide, and gestures for you to sit between them. When you don't move, he looks at you carefully.

"Give me a color, pretty girl."

You take a deep breath, and smile at him softly.

"Green, Carmen. Promise."

You manoeuvre sideways, so you can place yourself with your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you for a moment and holds you tightly, as if he's scared you'll disappear any second. You relax into his embrace, all the tension leaving your body. You have nothing to worry about. It's just you and Carmen, in the place you call home.

You drop your head back into Carmy's shoulder, and allow yourself to get lost in the feeling of his hands on your skin. He's begun tracing patterns down your arms, your sides, your stomach, until he reaches your underwear. He plays with the band, dipping his finger underneath in a feather light touch. Goose bumps rise across your body and you shiver, practically vibrating with need.

"Carmen," you whisper. "Don't tease."

"But that's half the fun," he murmurs into your ear, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You can picture it perfectly, too. The way his eyes crinkle, the way his mouth curves, the way he bites his lip to stifle it. The image in your mind makes you melt into him further. You want to be as close to him as you physically can be. You'd completely disappear into him if you could.

He brings you back to reality by cupping you over your underwear, groaning when he feels the saturated material.

"Oh, pretty girl. Is this all for me? Fuck."

Suddenly, his game of teasing has lost all its fun. Carmy twists his fingers into your underwear and pulls them off in one swift movement, throwing them in the general direction of your dress on the floor. He places a hand on each of your thighs and spreads them apart, hooking them over his legs.

Carmy starts off slow, careful. He caresses over your skin, gentle and almost apprehensive. When he gets to your core, he swipes a finger through, testing the waters. When you buck your hips into his hand, he knows you're both on the same page.

"Just relax, okay? Gonna make you feel good."

His deep, smooth, whiskey like voice is doing nothing to help the heat bubbling in your stomach. You only whine in response, wiggling your hips to urge him to keep going.

Carmy throws one arm around your stomach, keeping you plastered to his body. You can feel him hot and hard against your back, and you so desperately want to feel him that your mouth is watering. You grind back into him, and he reads your mind.

"Not yet," he whispers. "This is about you, remember? Need to show you what you've been missing."

With that, he circles your clit with two fingers, slowly but surely. He revels in the noises you elicit. They're making him dizzy, disorientated. He never thought he'd be the one to pull a sound like that from you. He's quite convinced he's dreaming.

"Let me hear you. Don't hold back on me, okay?"

You nod your head frantically, willing to give him whatever he asks if you get what you want.

Carmy slips a finger into you slowly, moaning under his breath at your warmth. When he thinks you're ready, he adds a second finger, and sets a steady rhythm, trying to figure out what you like.

After he's set his pace, he starts to curl his fingers on the up stroke, grinning to himself when he finds the spot.

"Yeah? Right there? That's it, isn't it?"

You're nodding and shaking and pawing at his forearms, trying to tether yourself to reality in any way you can. You think you might be floating, on cloud 9, in some sort of euphoric trance. You can't believe no one's ever made you feel like this before. You're convinced no one ever will again.

Carmy quickens his pace and basks in the glory of your moans. He thinks this might be the most beautiful you've ever looked, spread out completely for him. Every inch of your skin is touching his, and it makes his heart skip a beat for a second.

He presses a kiss into your hair and keeps his mouth there, murmuring honeyed praises into your ear.

"Doin' so good for me."

"You got it, honey, that's it."

"Atta girl. Keep going. Almost there."

"You look so fuckin' pretty like this. Fuck. Gonna be thinking about this forever."

"I'll ruin you, baby. Nothing's ever gonna compare to this, to what we have."

All you can do is moan in response, his filthy words pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You're almost there, but something is stopping you. You whine in frustration, tears welling in your eyes. Carmy feels the tension suddenly grasp your muscles, and leans down to mutter to you softly.

"What is it, sweet girl? What do you need? Just tell me. Anything, and I'll give it to you."

You're not sure how much you trust your voice right now, so you decide to show him instead. You take the hand that he's using to hold you to him and move it up your body until it's resting against your throat. You tighten your fingers around his, and moan in response to the pressure.

"Oh, baby," he coos. "Filthy fuckin' girl. Here I thought you were so innocent, and this whole time you wanted to be choked like a whore?"

The way he degrades you so lovingly makes you mewl. You'd never ever trust anyone else to speak to you this way in such an intimate moment - but with Carmen, there's no hesitation. You know he's just telling you what you need to hear in the heat of the moment. And you love him for it.

"Fuck, Carmen," you manage to choke out. "Keep going. Don't stop, please."

"I'll do anything you want if you keep saying my name like that," he whispers.

"Carmen," you moan in response. "Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy Carmy."

You're chanting his name like a prayer. He's rutting into your back, hips grinding and circling in time with his fingers that are maintaining their steady rhythm. His fingers tighten around your throat as he crooks his digits just right, and the result is a devastating moan from you that Carmy wishes to have on repeat for the rest of his life.

"So close," you whisper hoarsely. "Harder."

Carmy uses his thumb to circle your clit with one hand, other hand pulling you by your neck back into him tightly. He grinds his hips dirtily into you, and the feeling of him so silky and warm against you is what sends you over the edge. The corners of your vision go white as you arch into him, head thrown backwards into his chest. The sounds you're making are so melodic, so borderline angelic that Carmy almost cries. Heaven, he thinks. This is salvation.

Carmy finishes with you, climaxing onto the soft skin of your back. You both relax simultaneously, chests heaving and panting. He removes his fingers gently and wraps both arms around you, pulling you into him tightly despite the mess. He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and the gesture is so tender it makes your lip quiver.

"Thank you," you whisper after what feels like hours of comfortable silence.

"Sorry I called you a whore," he murmurs back.

You let out a surprised laugh, vibrating with amusement in his arms.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I mean I did give you the best orgasm of your life, so... call it even?"

"You're forgiven," you chuckle. "Completely forgiven."

You trace gentle patterns over his forearms with your fingertips, following the black ink of his tattoos. He sighs in contentment and places a kiss into your hair, relaxing further into the couch.

You sit together like that for a while, neither of you too concerned with the time. It's not often you see Carmy so relaxed, so serene. You're enjoying it for as long as you can.

"We should clean up," he says quietly, eventually. "Sorry about the mess."

"It's okay. Worth it," you tease, pinching his thigh. He pinches your side in retaliation, which makes you jump.

"Come on, trouble."

He stands from the couch, never letting go of the grip he has on you. You have no choice but to stand with him, yelping as he half carries you through the apartment towards the shower.

The sounds of both of your laughter bounce off of the abandoned mugs of tea still sat on the coffee table, melodic and joyous. The moonlight seeps through the windows, illuminating the beginning of something special in the living room of your shared apartment.

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urhoneycombwitch · 4 months

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I know what they call you.

🍯 honey flavour: You’re a little lost in your head. Eddie wants to find you.

🐝 the bees: Eddie x shy!Reader, best friends Steve + Robin

wc: 11k

cw: alcohol/weed used as a social crutch, R is hassled by a guy at a party (but her boys back her up), brief vomit mention, implied bad home life for R, light SH by way of tight grip, PTSD, R has breasts+V, praise kink, oral (R receiving), one (1) spank, multiple orgasms (R), soft dom!eddie, overstim, coming in pants (E)

foreword: The healing properties of good head <333 Anyways I labeled this R “shy” but she’s more… introverted? Reserved? this one goes out to the weird and off-putting girlies who have a lot to say but are kinda quiet instead. Timeline may be a bit wibbly but designed it to be early 4th-season era, with R (early 20s) having played an undetermined part in the various Upside Down battles from seasons previous.

Loosely based on this anon every1 say thank you anon!

___

It’s spring break, 1986, and you’re cursing the name of your so-called “best friend” Robin Buckley.

You didn’t even want to go to this stupid kegger in the first place, arguing with her the whole ride over from Steve’s backseat.

“Don’t you think it’s totally lame that you’re basically being chaperoned by two gap-year losers?” you’d said, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the console, seatbelt pulling taut across your Rolling Stones tee. “You’re a big girl, Robin, you don’t need Steve and me to babysit you anymore.”

Robin began protesting but Steve interrupted, tapping at your forearms without looking away from the road- “Sit back, wouldja, that’s not safe. And for the record, it’d only be lame if we were, like, thirty and still going to high school kickbacks. Gap-year drinking parties are a rite of passage.”

You’d sat back against your seat with a huff, arms crossed, unconvinced until Robin turned those big pleading eyes your way over the back of her seat. “You wanna talk about lame? Lame is me getting anywhere within a 60-foot radius of Vickie. I am totally hopeless around that absolute beauty.”

She’d twisted in her seat and reached for your hand, and you gave it to her grudgingly (the two of you ignoring another of Steve’s gripe about vehicular safety) as she said, “You’re like, the best wingwoman I’ve ever met. Please come to the party and help me avoid the natural disaster that is me running my mouth.”

Robin wasn’t just being generous- you were a killer third wheel. Especially when alcohol was involved: the walls that you naturally upheld around your introverted demeanor by day turned liquid as whiskey by night, often scoring you major cool points with your friends for things you barely remembered doing the day after.

So you’d relented, and in turn resolved to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible (in the name of Robin’s aid, of course), but turns out your best friend didn’t even need your help in the first place; within 5 minutes of setting foot in the crammed house party Robin won a spot right next to Vickie on the living room couch, starry-eyed gaze saved only for the redhead that bore no room for your intervention.

Three shots ago, the situation would have struck you as funny, but it’s been a lonely time (what with Steve abandoning you, too, in favor of chatting up some college blonde); drifting from packed room to packed room, sneakers sticking to the floorboards, winding through throngs of sweaty dancing students just to keep on top of your alcohol consumption.

Kind of like hunting in the wild, you muse, leaned against a wall with red solo cup in hand. Flirt with Amy Thacker and her low-cut blouse to access the watering hole (Mystery Punch, green both in color and flavor); let Lenny Baker put his paws on your waist to gain entry to the standing liquor cabinet. The stuff of nature docs.

If this dimly-lit Hawkins party is the savanna, then you are the antelope- grazing on snacks, never staying in one spot for too long, minding your own business and staying way the hell away from the lion’s den (the group of jocks in Hawkins Tigers polos).

Unfortunately, you push off the wall in search of a refill at the same time Lenny Baker decides to sidle up to you, nearly knocking the cup from your grasp when he bends his thick head to shout in your ear above the music.

“Great party, right?” His arms are crossed above his tank of a chest, blocking you from a smooth exit via the kitchen archway.

“If you’re into drunk teens, I guess,” you say back, pointedly, licking a stripe up your wrist from where the punch had sloshed onto your bare arm.

When you look back up Lenny’s still standing there, watching you with a hungry edge that’s starting to make your well-honed antelope-sense tingle. As you not-so-subtly cast your glance around for Steve, Lenny leans in again, close enough to give you a sour whiff of his breath. “I’m legal, if that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. And what’s wrong with having some fun?”

“I’m not into having fun with douchebags who ‘roid away their remaining brain cells to bully my friends,” you retort, flatly. You doubt this guy knows you’re connected to the Hellfire group (de facto sitter, second only to Steve), but the insult seems to land anyways.

Lenny scoffs, going for a low blow to offset the sting of his bruised ego- “If you’re trying to play the part of slut, you were doing a way better job earlier.”

What the meathead hasn’t picked up on yet is your absolute lack of care about him- or anyone else at this stupid fucking party, for that matter. Besides Robin and Steve, obviously, but they’re equally indisposed at the moment. You’re feeling bold enough that you could play dirty: throw the dregs of your drink in his face, make a real scene- but the shots from earlier are hitting you sideways and you’re not entirely confident in your ability to multitask.

So instead, with a wink, you tell him, “At least this slut knows when to quit,” and turn on your heel, abandoning the kitchen escape route for a closer door that leads to the back porch.

You suck in lungfuls of cool night air, trying to clear the fuzz of booze from your vision. When you don’t hear any angry footsteps following in your wake, you sink against the wooden bannister and tip back the last of your drink in one swallow. Maybe Steve doubled back to the car…?

With your empty cup left neatly on the railing, you set off down the couple of steps that separate you from the grass, except the toe of your shoe catches on a hidden groove in the wood, and nothing is within reach to grab onto as you trip and begin to fall.

The stumble should have ended with you facedown in the dirt, but something- someone- solid breaks your downward path, catching the upper half of your body in a sturdy hold even as your legs twist around themselves.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, I gotcha. You okay?”

The voice is instantly familiar, one that you’ve heard ringing out from underneath the drama room door on countless occasions as you’ve waited on your various child wards to wrap up their D&D sessions.

Eddie Munson is holding you in his leather-clad arms, larger than life with that big cloud of hair and doe-eyed gaze matching yours. He helps you stand, properly, dropping his hands once you’re stabilized and taking the warmth of his palms with him.

“You okay?” he asks again, tilting his head, looking at you with fresh concern from under that mop of bangs. “Looks like you had a lot to drink.”

“Thanks, Dad,” you drawl, bravado flooding back in. “Am I really gonna get a fucking lecture on drinking from my local drug dealer?”

Instead of rising to the bait or bristling at your tone, Eddie grins- delighted, wolfish- before letting out a low whistle. “Who coulda guessed: resident Shy Girl has a mouth on her.”

You twist said mouth into your own smile, one that you hope is coy and charming and not dorkily lopsided (because you stopped being able to feel your face after that last drink), and coo, “You thinkin’ about my mouth, Munson?”

He laughs- a full, vibrant sound that lights up the night. There’s a flutter in your ribcage, knocking up a frenzy at the noise, like it wants to get out and at him, but you tamp it down and play it cool.

“You’ve only seen me in the cold, unforgiving light of day,” you continue, as Eddie rifles through his pockets, surfacing with a pack of cigs, eye contact yet to be broken. “My nighttime alter ego is a real riot, all liquored up.”

“Well, I happen to think you’re a riot in the sober light of day, too.” Eddie shrugs a shoulder as he flips the lid of the cigarette box.

You’re unsure if he’s messing with you- he’s gotta be, right? The only meaningful interaction you two have had in the past handful of years has been through the courtesy of the children in your respective care- a few surface-level conversations during carpool pickup, some flirting on his end that you’ve always been too skittish to return.

Well, until now, you guess. Maybe this is a good thing, him seeing you like this- it’ll either scare him away, or you’ll finally make good on the quiet crush you’ve been harboring.

You’re about to speak again when the porch door opens with a bang; you and Eddie swivel at the same time to see Lenny clomping noisily towards the steps, voice booming out over the thrum of bass back inside- “This freak bothering you?”

You look between the metalhead and the jock, eyes wide and mocking as you call back, “No, but you’re starting to!”

“Jesus, talk about poking the bear,” you hear Eddie mutter behind you, but your focus is taken up by the fact that Lenny is tromping down the steps and reaching out to grab your upper arm, his cold and clammy palm taking up a sizeable amount of space.

You can feel that rage, simmering and easily accessed, start to crawl over your skin. You stand your ground in the face of someone much larger than you, sneakers planted firmly, chin tilted in defiance- I’ve killed monsters in alternate dimensions, asswipe. You might’ve scared me back in high school but now I dare you to fuck with me.

Before Eddie can jump to your defense, you’re already going in for the bite, voice dripping with derisiveness. “So glad your right hand found its way off your dick for a change, Len. How about you do me one better and take it far, far away from here?”

Lenny’s face is almost purple with anger as his grip tightens, and you feel Eddie moving in at your back- to do what exactly, hard to say, ‘cuz Lenny’s got about 60 pounds on the lanky DM- but just as fast as the tension has ramped up, it gets diffused with the arrival of one Steve Harrington from around the corner of the house.

He cuts a smooth path through the grass to your other side, Robin’s sweater slung over one arm, twirling his car keys in neat loops around his finger, boasting a casual demeanor that doesn’t match up with the steely look he’s giving Lenny. “You heard the girl, Baker. Time to am-scray.”

Whether it’s the rumors of Steve’s nail bat or the manic look in your eyes or the fact that he’s outnumbered, Lenny’s got plenty of reason now to drop your arm.

Which he does, spitting one last “bitch” at you before hulking off into the night.

The anger in you recedes like a wave. You breathe out a dry laugh, then turn back to the boys, clasping your hands over your heart with faux-dopeyness. “My heroes. How will I ever repay you?”

“Shutting up, for a change, would be a great start,” Steve grouses over the sound of Eddie’s cackles.

“Holy shit. Can’t believe your girl’s feistiness almost landed me in the hospital.” Eddie shakes his head, plucking a cigarette out and sticking it between his plush lips.

“She’s not my girl,” Steve says, even as you wind your arms around his chest from behind, tucking your chin over his shoulder. “She is, unfortunately, my problem.”

“I love when you two talk about me like I’m not here.” You simper at Eddie from your draped position.

He’s watching you with a fondness that feels overly familiar, through the haze of smoke streaming from his nostrils as you pat the chest beneath your hands- “Don’t worry about ol’ Stevie boy. He’s turned into quite the good guard dog after the whole Russian mall takeover last year.”

“Aaaaand that’s enough talking from you,” Steve says firmly, twisting out of your arms and putting his own around your waist. “Say goodbye to your new buddy, we’ve got a Robin to collect.”

As Steve steers you towards the direction of his car you wave at Eddie, a motion that he returns, his rings glinting in the porch light.

“Christ, you really are somethin’ else with some drinks in you,'' Steve fusses, helping you into the backseat, hand shooting up to block the door frame before your head can collide with the metal. “Did you seriously have to bring up the Russians?”

“He probably thought it was a joke, Steve,” you say, exasperated and fighting the twisted middle seatbelt with uncoordinated hands. “You know… those things that you tell people when you wanna get in their pants?”

The crack was aimed at Steve’s recent string of strike-outs in the dating department, but he throws it back at you. “You’re trying to get in Eddie Munson’s pants?”

“No,” you sputter, indignant and feeling suddenly too hot.

Steve knocks your still-struggling hands from the belt, clicking you in himself, before pointing an accusatory finger in your face. “Stay here while I get Robin, and no throwing up in the Beemer.”

He shuts the door, Robin’s sweatshirt hanging from one shoulder while he stalks back into the house.

You let your head fall back against the seat and close your eyes, bright cherry embers of cigarettes between lush-lipped curves dancing behind the dark of your lids.

___

You manage to avoid throwing up in the BMW, saving the worst of it for the downstairs toilet of the Harrington house after Steve drags you and Robin indoors. Once your body is purged of the spirits, you collapse into your usual side of the guest bed, sweaty and exhausted, murmuring an apology to Robin who squeaks at the rocking movement of the mattress. In a few minutes, you’re lulled to sleep by the gentle snores of your best friend.

The morning sun is a very rude awakening, Robin apparently having forgotten to close the blinds before leaving with Steve for their shifts at Family Video. There’s a full glass of water on the bedside table and a few loose Tylenol tablets, the word “DRINK” sprawled on a sticky note in Steve’s handwriting.

You wince, down the meds along with half the water, and start the search for your sneakers.

When you’d signed up to protect a bunch of teens at the end of the world awhile back, it had seemed like a one-time gig. But now, here you were a few years later, loading yourself into your curb-parked junker to willingly cart around the same kids.

While wearing yesterday’s clothes. Even with the sprays of cologne that you’d stolen from Steve’s dresser, you’re pretty sure you’ll be fooling no one.

Evidenced by your first stop in east Hawkins for Dustin Henderson, who clambers into the front seat with a scathing appraisal. “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you reply, shifting the gear to drive and grimacing at the subsequent squeal of metal that pierces into your left temple. “Learn from my mistakes as a washed-up twenty-something and cool it on the teen drinking, all right?”

“Washed up though you may be,” Dustin intones sagely, digging through his backpack and producing two brown-paper bundles, “you are now one Claudia Henderson Breakfast Sandwich Deluxe richer.”

You take the proffered sandwich gratefully, steering with one hand to peel back the oil-stained paper from the still-warm bread. “God. Is your mom looking to adopt?”

“She’s kind of got the perfect child already, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground for ya,” Dustin says around a mouthful of cheese and egg.

The solid breakfast helps your stomach ease back into a place of normality, but with your next stop adding two more kids to the mix, the rowdy bickering that follows puts that Tylenol to work.

“You’re an idiot,” Max is saying to Lucas over the sound of his indignation in the back seat. “You seriously think Indiana Jones would win against Supergirl? She can shapeshift, and she has heat vision.”

“All I’m saying is, it’s really hard to see a whip coming.” Lucas is stretching the limits of his seatbelt in his earnestness to get his girlfriend on his side.

It doesn’t work- Max rolls her eyes and taps at your shoulder. “Help me out here. His logic is totally shit, right?”

Making a turn onto the main road, you nod your assent without looking back. “I think you should listen to your very smart girlfriend, Lucas.”

Max makes a triumphant “hah”, and Dustin adds fuel to the argument’s fire when he drags in some other comic book character that you’ve never heard of.

You hazard a glance in your rear-view mirror at Max, who’s too busy dishing out an enthusiastic rebuttal to notice. Her auburn braids swing with the movement of the car, and you wonder if they were done by her mother before work or if Max had to rely on her own hair expertise again.

You’ve got a real soft spot for Max, always have. While you both have plenty of cause to bond over shitty home lives, it’s also Max’s brash and defiant attitude that drew you to her. She’s got the bravery you can only hope for, something that you are sure to tell her frequently, even though the compliment is hard for her to take.

You score a parking spot that’s right in front of the arcade, calling after the kids already scrambling out of your car that you want to leave at noon, sharp. They all give some form of distracted acknowledgement before disappearing into the building, so you figure the earliest you'll be getting out of here is noon-thirty.

Not like you have much to do today, anyways, besides bother Steve and Robin at work- since the arcade is conveniently located right next to Family Video, it’s a perfect excuse to wait out the kids’ spring break activities in the company of your nearest and dearest.

You’re cutting a swift track up the sidewalk when you nearly collide with Eddie Munson, for the second time in less than 24 hours.

“Hey!” He beams at you, a wide, easy thing that fits on his face so well, like it was made to be there, boyish dimples digging in. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to smile back but probably landing somewhere in the grimace region as memories of last night float to the forefront of your mind. Small talk. You can do it. Say something. “Um. Were you getting a movie?”

“Nah.” Eddie shakes his head, hooks a thumb at the Family Video doors behind himself. “Keith’s one of my regulars. That guy might actually smoke more weed than me.”

You hum mildly to show you’re still paying attention but really you’re looking at Eddie’s hair, dark curls that shift with each of his movements. His hair isn’t black, like you’ve been led to believe this whole time- with the morning light shining through, highlighting the halo frizz around the edges, it’s actually a deep, chocolatey brown.

Similar to his eyes. Which are trained on you. Because you haven’t talked in a weird amount of time and are now just openly ogling his hair.

Before you can open your mouth to apologize Eddie asks, “You wanna smoke?”

You nod, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically, and then stretch on your tiptoes to peer around Eddie’s frame at the Family Video sign. “Yeah, but we gotta be fast unless you want the Wonder Twins joining us.”

His grin slips into a smirk, and he winks before taking your hand in his. “A quickie, then.”

That fluttering thing in your ribs is back. The metal of Eddie’s rings are cool against your palm as he leads you around the side of the building, dropping your hand once you both are leaned up against the red brick.

Trying not to outright stare again, you watch from the fringes of your vision as Eddie lights up and breathes a cloud of smoke into the air. His nails are painted black- they weren’t last night. An image of him- hunched over a kitchen table, tongue sticking out of those pillowy lips in concentration, a nail polish brush held in his long fingers- flits across your mind.

Eddie holds the cigarette out, filter-side towards you, and you shake your head lightly. “No thanks. I don’t actually smoke, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Eddie glows. Before he gets the wrong idea you start explaining, arms crossing tight over your chest in unconscious defense- “I wanted to talk about last night. And say I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…”

“Badass? Charming? Hot?” Eddie fills in when you trail off, taking in another deep drag of smoke.

Christ. You feel heat rushing from head to toe as you ward off his flattery, nails nipping into your upper arms. “I was gonna say… talkative? I guess? I’m normally not one to pick fights, but Lenny was being a dick and I don’t like the way he treats the kids, or you, for that matter, and I was drunk and mouthy but that’s not an excuse to drag you into it and I’m sorry-”

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone is soothing, low, cutting smoothly into your feverish confession. He reaches out and strokes the back of his knuckle across your hand, tiny half-moons from your nails leaving their impression as you soften your grasp on yourself.

He doesn’t seem to mind that you can’t look anywhere but at your sneakers planted in the gravel as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. I’m a big boy, I can handle myself when it comes to dickwads like Lenny Baker. And I would say that rescuing fair maidens is part of my job description, but…”

Eddie stubs the half-smoked cigarette out against the brick, flicks it to the ground, and waits until you look up at him again before saying “You don’t seem like you’re in need of any saving.”

That flutter, again, as you hold his eye contact for as long as you can stand it.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “There she is.”

Mortified, you resist the urge to scream into your hands as you push off from the brick, instead squeezing them into fists at your sides. “Oh-kay. Well. I better head inside or Robin will send out the search party for me.”

Eddie lets you walk past him, but just before you turn the corner he says, “I’m across from the Mayfields in Forest Hills if you ever want some company. Or some good weed.”

Footfalls from his thick-heeled boots recede into the distance, and you take a minute to calm your breathing before pushing your way through the doors of Family Video.

Steve’s stocking a shelf of New Releases at the front of the store, vest-clad torso faced away as the bell above the door signals your entrance. On autopilot he monologues, “Welcome to Family Video, let us know how we can be of service.”

“Aw, I miss the days when you were forced to say Ahoy, mateys!” You tease, Steve turning to give you an irritated frown as you prop your hip against the register counter.

Robin clacks away on the computer, hitting the Enter key a little harder than necessary as she says, “You’re about one mall fire and a bajillion NDA’s too late to ever hear that shit again.”

Keith must be lurking around in the back office, ‘cuz the three of you only refer to last year’s cataclysmic series of events as a “mall fire” when you’re talking in code.

Or if you’re trying to be funny. But based on the dark circles under Robin’s eyes and the harried way Steve’s shoving a hand through his hair as he drifts towards the counter, you surmise that the three of you are very much on the same page this morning with regards to humor and hijinks.

“I didn’t know it was possible to be this hungover,” Robin groans, sinking her hand into a torn-open Skittles bag and popping a handful into her mouth. “Sugar is supposed to help, right?”

You snort, fiddling with a stack of paper brochures as Steve leans against the counter.

“Had any more run-ins with the town riffraff?” He asks, feigning casual, honey-colored eyes roaming around the shop.

“I’m visiting you, aren’t I?” You shoot back, unreasonably defensive.

“Another point for the pretty lady, and Harrington strikes a zero,” Robin totals in her best sports broadcasting voice. “What the hell are you talking about, Steve?”

“Drinky McGee over here was spilling her guts last night to none other than Edward Munson,” Steve replies, looking satisfied when Robin’s eyes bug dramatically.

“Eddie?” Robin hops off the stool, sliding her hands from the other side of the counter to stop your own from ripping the brochures to shreds. “And what, pray tell, were you spilling about with Eddie Muson?”

“Nothing.” You pull your hands from Robin’s, rolling your eyes as if the stakes are low, when in fact the stakes are as tall as the Empire State Building. You can practically hear the wind whistling from this height. “I wasn’t… we barely talked. He was backing me up when some jock started messing with me. That’s all.”

Robin whirls on Steve with animosity- “You left her alone long enough for some meathead to get involved? Jesus, Steve, the hell is wrong with you?”

“Like you shacking up with Vickie after two Tears for Fears tracks is any more responsible!” Steve snaps.

Having spent enough time with both your friends to know their propensity towards petty arguments, you slap a hand against the counter to derail. “Hey! Both of you knock it off. It’s fine, I’m fine, we survived yet another night out on the town unscathed. Let’s just… drop it.”

Steve looks properly chastised, but Robin gets a glint in her eye that confirms she’s not thrown off the scent so easily.

“You know what they call him, right?” she asks you, lowering her raspy voice even further.

“Eddie The Freak Munson,” Steve supplies, but shrinks noticeably when Robin gives him a withering look. “...not that, then?”

“Of course you, Steve The Hair Harrington, would only know him by that name.” Robin shakes her head, disapproving, before turning back to you with a wicked grin. “Word on the street holds Eddie The Munch Munson in very high regard.”

Steve scoffs at this, but you blink, uncomprehending. “Munch, like… he eats a lot of food?”

You feel very suddenly and violently ganged up on when Steve and Robin give you mirrored quizzical looks.

“No, babe,” Robin says, slowly. “Munch as in he eats pussy.”

“Jesus christ.” Heat courses through you as you scan the empty store, even as Steve chuckles and says, “You really are a prude.”

A skittle sails airborne into the side of his temple and he flinches, Robin coming to your aid. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Steven.”

“I’m so not a prude.” You’re quick to jump to your own defense. “I just… didn’t know what that meant.”

You’d had a boyfriend for 6 months your sophomore year of high school, Ben- nice enough guy, but you’d mostly dated as an excuse to get all your firsts out of the way. Some laid-back hookups have occurred since then- it’s not like you’ve been chaste all these years, for fuck’s sake.

But you certainly wouldn’t give any of those boys a prize-winning nickname for their ability to eat you out.

“It’s all baseless gossip, right?” Steve grabs a nearby wheeled cart and pushes it to the New Releases, resuming his shelf stocking. “I mean, what the hell else are small-townies good for other than trading lies like baseball cards.”

“I dunno,” Robin says, thoughtfully, sucking at her front teeth. “If the token lesbian is hearing about it, then he’s gotta be some sort of sex god.”

Steve’s making a snarky comeback, but you can’t hear him over the whistling in your ears.

You stare blankly out at the parking lot, one hand absently crunching at a brochure, trying really hard to think of anything but those plush lips and all the places you want them.

____

Ever since the events of last year ripped a hole in your found family’s world, you make it a weekly habit to visit Max.

You’re always armed with some excuse- made too much pasta, please take it off my hands and put this tupperware in your fridge; I was on my way to the thrift store and thought I’d stop by, wanna come with and help me pick out some new jeans?- so that it’s harder for Max to deny your company. Slowly, over the last handful of months, by way of secondhand book offerings and slices of leftover pizza, Max has let her guard down enough to let you in.

Even on days like today, when her demeanor suggests active disdain (calling you “mom” with a caustic bite when you ask after her last meal, rolling her eyes when she finds you doing the leftover sink dishes), you don’t take it personal. Her coldness towards little acts of kindness is due to the shitty way other people have failed her. And plus, you’ve put in enough effort to be able to see the warm side of Max Mayfield.

Like now, for instance- she’s giving you a bone-crushing hug on your way out, freshly-braided hair pressed tight to your sternum as you hug her back and sway in the doorway. The hug is quick and fierce, over in seconds as she slips back into practiced indifference

“Stay out of trouble this week and I’ll buy you a pony,” you joke as she pulls away, and the smile that she cracks makes it all worth it.

“Make it a racehorse and you’ve got yourself a deal,” she says, giving you a small wave before closing her front door.

You walk down the dirt path to your parked car, keys in hand. Tonight’s schedule is that of a responsible, sensible young adult- the classified ads on your desk at home need trawling through, and a laundry pile the size of Hoosier Hill waits expectantly on your floor.

But there’s this crawling under your skin, a feeling that tends to flare up every so often, a craving for some sort of release gnawing at the edges. Usually the cure is sad music and masturbation, or some of Steve’s parents’ wine and a cheesy romcom.

Or weed. That tends to work, too.

You’re shoving your keys into the pocket of your denim jacket and walking across the way to Eddie’s trailer before you lose your nerve, scuffing your sneakers against his porch while you knock.

He looks surprised to see you, dark brows raised, leaning into the palm he’s got on the doorframe- “Oh shit. Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, tracking one foot up the back of your calf, feeling timid under his gaze. “Do you… can I buy some weed?”

When he nods, you duck under his arm and drop to one knee on the carpeted floor to untie your laces.

“Shit, sweetheart, don’t go to all that trouble.” He lets the door close, enveloping you both in the moody lighting of his trailer. There’s a radio playing the local rock station dimly from one of the bedrooms, and as you toe off your shoes you notice a gleaming black guitar leaned upright against the couch.

“Do you play?” You drift over on sock feet to gently brush across the strings, a faint and discordant noise rising and fading underneath your fingertips.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice comes from just over your shoulder as he watches your gentle fingers on his prized possession. “I’m in a band, actually. You should come see us play sometime.”

“That’s cool,” you say earnestly. “I remember when you got in trouble for that talent show performance- your band was totally swindled out of first place, if you ask me.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you hazard a look at him over your shoulder and find him staring at you again, something you’re still not used to, giggling out a little “What?” as his eyes stay on your face.

“You’re pretty, that’s all.” The Dio logo on the front of his tee ripples when he shrugs a shoulder. As if he knew it would embarrass you, he leaves no room for your disagreement, turning away into the kitchen, stretching tall for the metal lunchbox on the top of his fridge.

His shirt lifts with the stretch, a flash of stomach lined with a trail of dark hair that makes you swallow back the gathering saliva in your mouth.

“So, weed,” he’s saying as he pops the lid on the box, shaking out a small bag of fuzzy-looking green clumps. “I can set you up with a couple of days’ worth, if you want.”

“That sounds good,” you reply, mustering courage to drift to Eddie’s side, pretending to assess the baggie he’s holding, committing to memory the way his long fingers deftly pluck apart bud from stem. “That way I can come back and buy more.”

His fingers pause, halfway to the metal grinder nestled in the lunchbox as he says, “You know, you don’t need to use weed as an excuse to come see me. I think we’ve already established I like lookin’ at ya, so you’d be doing me a favor if you came by more. Just to hang out.”

This offer sits between you as he grinds the weed down, then tips a stripe of it neatly across some rolling paper. His dexterous fingers pinch and tuck until a joint takes shape, a small strip of the paper poking out.

He holds it to your lips, brown eyes shimmering with warmth as he waits.

A Stevie Nicks song starts up on the radio, muffled by the trailer walls but crooning through all the same. This close to Eddie for the first time, you can smell him- balmy and spicy, like bergamot and Irish Spring.

You lean into the joint, licking across the paper in one unbroken motion. Your tongue catches on Eddie’s thumb when you pull away, and there’s a salt-warm taste that settles in your mouth.

“Good girl,” he says, in that low-toned voice, and you have to fight to keep your thighs from pressing together in your jeans.

“Wanna smoke here?” Eddie smooths the spit-damp end of the joint down, giving the end a twist. “Good way to test out the merchandise. First one’s free.”

You shake your head as he extends the joint- “I’m definitely paying you, Eddie. And no, I can’t smoke here.” With you being the unspoken addition to that sentence.

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart,” he drawls, devilish grin creeping back in, “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust,” you admit, before you can stop yourself.

His brows shoot up again, then waggle, obscenely. “Afraid I’m gonna be too tempting to resist once you’re in the clutches of the Green Dragon?”

Something like that, you think, wryly, but that fluttering is back and you really want to shut it up, so against your sensible, better judgment, you take the joint from Eddie’s hand.

“Got a light?”

You haven’t smoked in over a month, and with your tolerance so low two hits is all it takes to get you sprawled out on the living room floor, arms akimbo like you’re making a carpet snow angel.

Eddie’s a bit more restless in his high, plucking melodious and listless tunes from the couch with his guitar, one foot propped on the coffee table near your head.

Feeling loose-limbed and confident, you stare unabashed up at Eddie. He’d put his hair into a low bun, earlier, and there are a few dark tendrils swinging free around his neck with the rocking movements of his body to the music.

He hits a snag, string buzzing out a dissonant noise. “Can’t focus with you lookin’ at me.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, except you’re not at all. “Now you know how I feel all the time.”

He sticks his tongue out at you, your girlish tittering in answer; you pat the carpet beside your hip. “Come lay with me.”

His body responds easily to your request; Eddie props the guitar back up against the couch and stretches out next to you with a sigh, a wave of that smokey sweet smell coming with him.

Under your weed-filtered view, the popcorn ceiling above you is moving, whorling and undulating in the muted light. You’re feeling gutsy and sure of yourself as you ask aloud, “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

Your head turns so you can meet Eddie’s eyes, which are dancing across your face- cheek to lips to nose back up to eyes- and he doesn’t make a joke, this time, his words coming with weighty seriousness.

“Yeah, I do. I think you’re beautiful. Always have.”

“Always?” Your echo is a soft and seeking thing.

“Yeah, always,” he confirms, simply, as if it’s a fact of life. “Woulda made a move sooner, but you always seemed so…”

“Unapproachable? Aloof? Bitchy?” You fill the gap in his speech with adjectives that have been used to characterize you in the past- usually by boys in the heat of an argument over inconsequential things that have been lost to time, only the labels sticking around.

Eddie gives you a reproachful look. “No. I was gonna say, you seemed like you were always in your own world.”

This throws you for a loop. Neck on a swivel, you look back up at the ceiling as Eddie continues.

“I wanted to get to know you more, but I’ll be the first to admit I was intimidated by you. I mean, you’re way out of my league-” Eddie ignores the sardonic snort you give to this- “-and I just assumed asking you out would've ended with an epic crash and burn.”

The ceiling stops swaying, and you swivel back to hold Eddie’s eyes again, the weed making honesty easy. “I always kinda thought you were beautiful, too.”

Awash with the bravery that only comes from being in an altered state, you keep the momentum that’s aided by Eddie’s soft smile and push up on your elbows.

“I know what they call you.”

Eddie blinks up at you, then slowly, slowly, pushes himself up onto his elbows too. “Yeah?”

It’s a taunt, a dare, an I bet you won’t.

Shows how much he knows. When you’re drunk or stoned, he’d be hard pressed to find a bet you can’t win.

You say it, unwavering. “Eddie The Munch Munson.”

His lips fall open, leaning in towards you as if drawn by a magnet, and you think he’s gonna kiss you until he falls back against the carpet, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Shit. Fuck. We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You’re a little taken aback, ‘cuz while it’s not an outright rejection, Eddie’s upping the drama, hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, groaning as he tips into your side.

With his forehead pressed into the curve of your shoulder, he says softly, “I think we’re both a little too stoned to be thinking clearly. And I really, really want you to think clearly when it comes to this.”

“Comes to what?” You’re egging him on now, trailing your fingers up his bicep, coy and angelic.

He rolls away from you, making a pained noise with his face smushed into the carpet before pushing himself off the ground. “You know what, princess. New topic, for the love of god. You hungry?”

You are, actually, and when he extends his hand to help you up, you take it.

Eddie whips up a box of mac and cheese while you sit on a counter nearby, conversation engaging and fluid as he cooks.

Between interjections of ‘scuse me, angel, gotta get into this cabinet and can you take over stirring for a sec? you answer all his questions. You tell him your favorite bands, the states you’d visited on a road trip when you were six, even giving him the whole “my mom’s a nice enough person but we don’t get along” spiel that you don’t usually get to until a third date.

If that’s even what this is. He’s scooping steaming noodles into two bowls, passing you one, leaning up against the counter closest to the one you’re sat on. Your knee rubs against his ribcage as you eat.

In between chews, he lets you ask about himself- his favorite bands, the states he’s never been but wants to travel to someday, the highlights of his golden years with his mom that he misses every day.

There’s a quiet lull, after your bowls are scraped clean and set aside. He helps you off the counter and tells you to pick out a movie; you load The Black Cauldron into the VCR and settle into the couch cushion.

Eddie puts an arm around you, lets you play with his hands for the bulk of the film, running your nails methodically across his palms.

By the last act of the movie, you can feel your high beginning to fade, taking your courage with it; when the credits roll, you’re ready to call it quits and sleep off the hangover in your own bed.

“You sure you’re okay to drive?” Eddie asks, following after you as you tug your sneakers back on in the hall.

“Yeah, Eddie, I’ll be good. Thanks for the weed,” you say, pulling your jacket tight around your frame. “And for the- for everything.”

The smile appears again; the one that cuts deep dimples into his cheeks as he watches you step onto his porch.

When he says your name, you turn, keys in hand- “Yeah?”

Leaning into the doorframe like he had earlier, he cants his head, streetlight a warm glow across his cheeks. “You wanna know where I got my nickname, you come back in a few days. Sleep on it tonight.” And then he closes the door.

___

So, technically, he told you to come back in a few days, and showing up less than 24 hours later has to hint at being some sort of desperate.

Which, fuck it, you kinda are, at this point. Frankly it’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long what with the whole being plagued with visions of Eddie Munson’s hands and lips and hair and that stupid fucking nickname every waking and dreaming hour you’ve spent apart.

While you can appreciate the honorable nature of Eddie asking you to make a clear-headed decision, you’re wishing for a hundred things to take the edge off as you change out of the PJ’s you’ve been moping in all day.

Black tights stretch over your calves as you think of the whiskey you mom keeps hidden in the downstairs cabinet; denim miniskirt smoothed over your hips as you long for a deep hit of weed; hands shakily plucking your black tanktop into place as the urge to be anything but sober gets swallowed down.

You make the ten minute drive to Forest Hills in silence (relative to the weird engine noises your hunk of metal car decides to make), wracking your brain for silver-tongued excuses but instead drawing blank after blank.

By the time you’re rolling to a stop in front of Eddie’s trailer, you still have no idea what you’re gonna say to him- only that something needs to be said. Max is at the Sinclair’s for the night, one less person to worry about witnessing you slamming your car door shut and walking right up to Eddie on his front steps.

He’s wearing a pair of overalls, grease-stained, shirtless underneath- the tail end of a larger ink piece peeking out against his ribs. There’s a lone bike tire on the ground, held steady by the spokes his boot rests on as he wrenches the middle hub, biceps rippling and flexing with each movement.

Certainly a sight that would have stopped you in your tracks, on any other day. But you’re determined to have it out with the returning wingbeat behind your navel, planting your Converse in the gravel just before the first step that Eddie’s sat on.

He doesn’t seem surprised to see you this time, instead giving you a lazy smile on a half-tilt, wiping the tire oil from his hands onto the front of his overalls.

“What brings a fair maiden such as yourself to this ugly neck of the woods?” Eddie leans the tire up against the steps and rises to greet you.

You’re gonna lose what little nerve you have left if he touches you so you act quick, speaking as you cross your arms- “I need to tell you a few things.”

That stops him up short, just a few feet away as he inclines his head, hair loose around his bare shoulders. “I’m nothin’ but ears.”

A wet, rattling breath catches in your chest. You give a cursory scan around to confirm that the rest of the trailer park citizens are indoors, soft lights from rows of windows luminous against the darkening twilight sky.

“I have a… a thing,” you start, unsure of where to begin, really wishing you’d come up with a polished script on the ride over instead of being forced to flounder through for the right dialogue. “It started last year. With the mall fire?”

When Eddie nods his understanding, you continue, in short starts and bursts, like you’re fighting with the words before they come out.

“Something… happened. To Robin, and Steve, and to- to me. It was really bad, for awhile, and then it got better, but I’m still…” your hands squeeze tight into the flesh of your upper arms, nails stinging. “I’m fucked up from it. And the only way I can talk about it is if I’m fucked up, too. S’why I can only hold a conversation when I’m drunk or flirt while I’m high, like there’s this bad thing inside of me that I can’t look at when I’m sober-”

There’s a frantic edge that’s slipped in to your voice and Eddie steps towards you, as if to soothe, but you’re not ready to give in yet so you take a step back, choking out the last few words- “I just- I wish I could tell you everything, but I can’t, not yet, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

From somewhere in the forest behind, a bright chorus of crickets swells as you fix your focus on the ground, as Eddie’s boots crunch forward on the gravel, toe-to-toe with your sneakers.

He moves carefully, as if worried that you’ll spook- lightly brushing his fingers across yours, drawing your awareness to the fact that your nails are dangerously close to drawing blood, a sigh as you release.

“Thank you for telling me.” Unlike your own voice, his is low and sure as his thumbs brush against the red half-moons in your arms. “You’re really brave, you know that?”

He doesn’t leave room for you to dispute this, instead tracing the underside of your jaw with his knuckle, forcing you to hold his gaze, those deep brown eyes soft with empathy as he says, “I don’t have any expectations of you, ‘kay? I’ll be all ears when you need me to be, but you don’t have to spill all your secrets every time you come around. You wanna just watch shitty cartoons and keep my couch warm, that’s fine by me. Nothin’ else needs to happen.”

And it’s his acknowledgement of your admission, his softhearted way of letting you know that nothing needs to happen, that makes you brave.

Brave enough to tilt your chin into the lift of his finger as you say, “I didn’t just come here to apologize.”

You watch his Adam’s apple bob against the taut vein in his neck as he swallows, hard.

“Yeah?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath and turns on his heel, motioning you to follow him up the stairs.

Your eagerness is obvious as you scramble up the steps after him, heart starting to thrum in tandem with the flutters as he shuts his front door behind the both of you.

“Take your shoes off,” is all he says, in a low, strained voice, before turning into the kitchen.

Obedient, you drop to one knee and jerk apart your sneaker laces with trembling hands.

Now on nyloned feet, you step onto the linoleum tile of Eddie’s kitchen. He’s faced away from you at the sink, taut lines of his shoulders rising and falling as he washes his hands.

“You’re sober?” He asks, still at the sink, drying his hands on a patterned teatowel.

When you realize he can’t see your nod, you speak- “Yes. Yeah. As a judge.”

A soft exhale through his nose, amused, as he finally turns to face you. Eddie’s eyes do that hypnotizing dance- skipping from your chin to your eyes to your lips back up again- and you let him, feeling exposed to the point of nakedness with the intensity of his focus.

“I want to hear you say it.”

The sentence winds through the air, joins the wings in your stomach, sits low in your belly as you shift your weight from side to side, a gentle rock to ease your flayed-alive nerves.

You say it. “I want your mouth.”

Eddie takes a step closer, nearly toe-to-toe with you again. Over the familiar layer of bergamot and fresh hand soap he smells like the outdoors, and faintly of mechanic oil, hearty and wild.

“Where?” It’s a single word, but with so much weight- suggestive, a taunt, an offer.

You breathe him in, eyes fluttering closed, ‘cuz brave as you’ve been it’s still hard to say some things while looking at him. “Want your mouth… on me.”

He crowds into your space, one hand gliding smoothly to set against your waist, the other fitted against your neck, tapping a thumb to your lips.

You part them, passive and wanting, but he doesn’t press his finger to the pad of your tongue like you’d hoped. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke to the corner of your mouth to make room for his own.

“Where?” he asks again, this time into your mouth. You can feel the tip of his nose graze yours, pinpricks of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Please,” is all you manage this time, awash with heat when you feel his smile form.

“S’okay, sweetheart. I’ll work you up to it.” It’s a touch condescending, skirting that fine line between tease and mean, the same tone of voice that has your thighs pressing together.

And then, he gives you what you asked for. His plush lips- the ones that you’ve been fantasizing about for what feels like eons- are pressing against yours.

It’s a kiss that starts chaste, tender, but soon devolves into a heady, fevered thing when you push your tongue past the seam of his lips. He melts into you, using the hand he has on your face to keep you steady as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth into the plush of it before going back to twining his tongue with yours.

There’s an audible wet click as he pulls away, both of your chests heaving in the quiet that follows; Eddie rests his forehead against yours briefly to catch his breath, and then he’s tugging you down the hall and into his room.

It’s pleasantly messy and lived-in, posters and photographs taking up most of the walls, guitar cables snaking and criss-crossing atop his dresser. You take a seat on the bed, hands tightening into the flannel duvet while Eddie begins to undo the buttons of his overall straps.

Wholly fascinated, you watch as he pushes the thick material from his body and kicks it to the side, leaving him in just his guitar pick necklace and a simple pair of black boxers. Now on full display, you drink in the sight of the most skin you’ve ever seen of his- tattoos at his chest and arms dark against the rest of him, pale and gleaming softly in the yellow light of the bedside lamp.

You’re trying to figure out if the larger piece on his ribs is a dragon or some other mythological creature when he moves in to sit next to you, his kisses erasing all thoughts.

Eddie’s making these throaty little noises as you kiss; his hands track lines from your hips to your sides to your shoulders, your chest unconsciously pressing into his touch.

When his thumb catches on the outline of your beaded nipple through your shirt, he hisses lightly, drawing back to look at you again- “Is this okay?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem satisfied with that, tsking as he swipes with his thumb again, watching closely as you react silently to the touch.

“Hard to tell when you’re enjoying yourself if you’re quiet as a churchmouse,” Eddie says, in a tone that’s reminiscent of training a pet. “You gonna let me hear you?”

Your teeth catch on your lower lip as he thumbs across your nipple again, shockwaves coursing into goosebumps as you choke out, “I’m not s-so good at that. Not without- fuck- weed..”

Eddie huffs a laugh, a little derisive but you figure he’s probably got the right, seeing as how you’re this worked up and he’s barely touched you.

“You’re plenty good at this sober, sweetheart. Want me to prove it?”

His hand falls from your breast, extricates one of yours from the covers, and slides it up the meat of his thigh- then to the front of his boxers.

The first noise you make for him is a small gasp, one that matches his own as you cup your palm over the thick jut of his hard cock.

“Told you,” he says, sounding strung-out, his hand still closed around your wrist, “You’re doin’ just fine at working me up.”

You wrap your fingers around the bulge as best you can with the fabric of his boxers separating skin from skin, gaining confidence to explore as his grip on your wrist loosens. The black ink at his ribs expands and shrinks with the bellows of his breath, jolting and stuttering with each stroke of your hand.

Just as he’s drawing in a breath to speak, tightening his hold around your wrist in warning, you still your movements. Delicately, slowly, you slide out of his grasp and take his wrist in your hand, placing his palm on your own thigh.

The whole “reciprocating pleasure with sound” is still a hard one to give in to; maybe you can compensate for your hesitancy by showing instead of telling. You guide his hand up, into your skirt, parting your thighs until his fingers find the wetness soaking through both your panties and tights.

“Fucking… jesus.” Eddie moves with the fluid surety that you lack, middle finger running up the seam of your clothed pussy, your hips jerking reflexively when he catches against your clit. “This all for me, princess?”

In answer, you lean to bury your face into the crook of Eddie’s neck. He lets you, taking the opportunity to hook your leg over his thigh, spreading you out as much as your fitted denim skirt will allow.

You pant into the column of his throat as he strokes you through the light layers, the fabrics grinding friction into your clit caught under his fingertip. He rests his chin on the crown of your head, cooing praises that have your stomach muscles tensing.

“That’s it, good girl, such a good girl for me.”

Your clit is throbbing now as he rubs you in small, quick circles, and you’re so close to falling over the edge that you have to pull his hand away.

Eddie picks up on your unspoken plea; he tugs the skirt down your hips then tosses it blindly over his shoulder, reaching for the edge of your tights. He slips them down your thighs, your calves, peeling them off you with reverence. When all that’s left is your best pair of satin panties, he maneuvers you up against the headboard and stretches himself flat on his stomach, nose pressing into your core.

That heat has come back, flashing through you with a vengeance as Eddie mouths at your pussy through the satin, sloppily but with purpose enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing.

You stay up on your elbows, watching that mane of dark hair bracketed by your thighs, but when Eddie pulls your underwear down and off your ankle your weight falls back against the mattress.

The flat of his tongue licks a wide stripe from your weeping hole up to spread the wetness around your clit. When he sucks the bundle of nerves into his mouth, your head presses back into the covers, hands grappling above you for something to anchor your grasp.

When Eddie flicks the point of his tongue against that bright spot of nerves your hands find a pillow to grip, and when he moans into your pussy the vibrations have you instinctively pulling the pillow against your face, teeth biting into the fluff, masking the whine that would have been loud in the otherwise quiet room.

You think you might be able to get away with this setup (what with Eddie seemingly focused on making you explode into a million little pieces) but there’s a sharp smack before the outer skin of your thigh is burning, white-hot from the kiss of his rings.

Eddie’s mouth leaves you only for the time it takes for him to rip the pillow from your grasp and scold, “Uh uh, none of that, c’mon,” and then he’s back at your clit, suckling with renewed vengeance.

There are little stars bursting at the edges of your vision, your hands shooting down to grip at Eddie’s hair when he pistons the point of his tongue against you again. Your hips are subtly bucking into his mouth, shaking thighs involuntarily closing around his ears. Normally you’d be concerned about Eddie’s air intake but going off the moans he’s burying in your pussy, you’d hazard a guess that he’s really into it.

As if in confirmation, he pulls off your clit with a wet pop, laving his tongue up the junction where thigh meets pelvis, voice sounding wrecked- “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. Fuck, you got me so hard. Gonna blow a load in my boxers like a teenager, y’taste so good. Gonna let me hear you? Hm? Wanna hear you.”

You’re dizzy with want as you prop yourself on your elbows again, mouth falling open as Eddie sinks two of his fingers up to the ringed knuckle inside your velvet walls.

His other hand comes to rest on the soft curve of your stomach, pinning you in place, before he looks up at you, black pupils nearly eclipsing the chocolate brown.

“What do you want?” he asks again, patiently, as if he doesn’t have two fingers nestled inside your cunt.

Your efforts to grind into him are stopped with his firm hold on your middle, and he tuts at you again- but instead of a reprimand, he seems to soften a bit.

“C’mon, angel,” Eddie says, with such tenderness that makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh before encouraging, “Lemme hear you say it, and I’ll make it so good for you. Promise.”

“Want you to make me come. Please.” Your voice is unsteady, but it’s audible enough.

Eddie rewards you by sinking his fingers further, to the hilt, heel of his palm catching against your clit. When you let out a warbling moan, he nods- “That’s it,”- before setting a steady rhythm for fucking his fingers up into you.

“Fuck, Eddie- fu-uck…” you’re trying, really trying to stay in the moment and not get caught up in the noises you’re making- for him.

When Eddie reattaches his mouth to your throbbing clit and angles his fingers to hit into that soft, spongy spot with each thrust, you feel waves of pleasure start to wash through you. There’s just time for a choked “Shit, Eddie, you’re gonna make me cum,” before you’re spasming around his fingers.

Somehow, you manage to stay on your elbows, bracing your body through the convulsive shocks, white-hot stars joining the wingbeat rhythm as Eddie takes you apart with his mouth and fingers.

He moans, long and low, fucking you through it and then some- your orgasm has been completely wrung out when you push at his forehead, whimpering at the overstimulation.

“No, baby, one more, please. Gimme one more,” Eddie lifts his head to plead with you, sweaty bangs glued to his forehead- and then he’s back between your legs.

It’s this moment that makes you retrospective. Sex with boys, in the past, has always been a quick means to an end: a few minutes of foreplay, tamping down your own pleasure for the sake of blowing off some steam.

But now, pleasure was being given to you in spades by Eddie Munson, and you wanted to give it back to him.

You come on his tongue and fingers, again, stomach tightening beneath his warm palm, and this time you really loose the sounds caught in your chest: a strangled mix of your bliss-soaked whines with his name, Eddie Eddie Eddie.

You feel the bed frame jolt below you both as Eddie’s hips thrust into the mattress in a frenzied tempo.

“Fuck me.” He pulls away, finally, panting into the side of your knee. He rests his head against your leg, lips tinged pink and shining wet, gazing at you with lust-blown eyes. “You are so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

Bashful as your peak wears off, you pull him forward so you don’t have to look at him when you whisper, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, princess,” he says, slumping against your chest and into your arms. “That’s going straight to my long-term spank bank. Number one. For sure.”

You slap playfully at his shoulder, and he rises on his elbows to kiss you- once on the lips, twice on the cheek- warm palms on the outside of your shoulders.

“Are you… d’you need any help?” you ask, reaching to tuck his hair behind his ears, feeling the crush of insecurity leech in. “I dunno if you even- I mean, did you…”

From all the physical activity, your breasts are half-spilled out of your bra, and Eddie bends to kiss at the tops of them, affectionately, shaking his head as he goes. “There is no world in which I would’ve lasted, just now. Very noble of you to assume, though.”

He grins at your giggle, then says- “I dunno about you, but I need some new underwear. Wanna borrow a pair of my boxers? Bet you’d look cute.”

________

Later, when you’re both cleaned up, dressed, and full from a pizza delivery, Eddie invites you outside for a smoke.

You sit with him on the porch couch, legs slung over his, a big flannel blanket shared over both your laps while he smokes with the hand that isn’t on your thigh.

There’s a crunching of wheels on gravel, and Max Mayfield’s bike lamp cuts through the dark.

“Hey, Heavy Metal,” she calls out, undoing her bike helmet and leaning her bike into its kickstand. “Are you done fixing up Lucas’s tires or do I have to keep hauling my ass all the way across town to see him?”

“I’ll have it done tomorrow, Red,” Eddie calls back, giving her a salute.

Halfway to her door, she remarks, “You two are gross, by the way,”

You cross your arms in the sweatshirt Eddie loaned you, slipping into irksome older sister mode easily. “So how’d it go with your boyfriend, tonight, Maxine?”

She flips you both off, but you catch the smile on her face before the front door bangs shut behind her.

Eddie chuckles, smoothing his palm up your thigh, then takes another drag. “You gotta come night smoke with me more often, angel. The streetlights suit you.”

“Gonna get me hooked on nicotine, too?” Your sock foot pokes him in the ribs and he tuts, snapping it up in his free hand and digging his thumb into the arch of your sole.

“Fuck no, your teeth are too pretty to ruin. Want you to come keep me company while I destroy my lungs.”

Another cloud of smoke lifts dreamily around Eddie’s face. His thumb is working wonders on the tense muscle of your foot as you tip your head to rest on the back of the couch. With the nearby streetlamp, his profile is cast in a warm glow; you do a dance of your own, eyes taking in the strong slope of his nose, tracking down to his lips, back up to the wild curls at his temple.

Eddie feels you staring, turns to fix you with a quit it look that you can’t help but laugh at- “What, so you’re the only one who’s allowed to stare?”

“That’s right,” he confirms, leaning forward to set his cig in an ashtray, bullying his way into your space, rings cold under your chin when he tilts your face towards his- “Gotta pay the piper for that obvious violation, sweetheart. Sorry. I don’t make the rules.”

This time, when the flutter within you kicks up, you have a place for it to go- melting softly into Eddie’s lips.

___________________

I wrote the last third of this while blasted please don’t judge too harshly lmao

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x shy! reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #robin buckley #steve harrington #mdni

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jeneveuxrein · 4 months

Text

best behavior (BLACKPINK Jennie)

word count: 11.2K

(this one was fun, lol)

You have a problem.

To some, it wouldn’t be considered a problem. Maybe more of a hassle, or an annoyance at the very least.

To you, however, this is nuclear. Talking a DEFCON level one type of situation.

It could’ve been easily avoided.

Almost stupidly avoided if you hadn’t been such a pushover.

You were at dinner with Rosie and Lisa two weeks ago. They invited you to join them and a couple of your other friends on a small camping trip over the coming long weekend. You considered it, but when they told you exactly who was going, the decision was easy.

“What do you mean you’re not going?” Rosie asked after hearing your answer.

“Chaeng,” You dropped your fork, reaching for your wine glass, suddenly wanting something stronger. “If she’s going, you know I can’t.”

“It’s been years, oppa. She doesn’t mind,” Lisa said, nodding reassuringly.

“We literally just got to a place where we can be in the same room and not argue,” You reasoned, finishing your drink in one gulp.

“Which is why spending a few nights with her won’t be that hard,” Rosie smiles, adding, “She already knows you’re going, and she didn’t have much to say except for cool. So I think you’ll be okay. Plus, Jisoo and my sister will be there. You won’t even have to talk to her if you don’t want to.”

Rosie had a solid argument. It slightly irritated you that she said you were going before you were even invited. You reluctantly said yes, excited to get away from the constraints of the city with the hopes you wouldn’t have to say anything more than hello to her.

Her being Kim Jennie, your ex-girlfriend.

The one who got away. The one who you royally fucked things up with. Any and all cliches fit your disaster of a relationship.

You were young at the time. And stupid.

So very stupid.

You knew the moment Jisoo introduced Jennie to you at a party that she’d be the one you were going to marry.

It took groveling and nearly losing your dignity for Jennie to finally say yes after months of asking her out, that you’d do absolutely anything to make sure she knew you only had eyes for her.

But again, you were stupid.

Before Jennie, you had a bit of a history with women. Player seemed to fit, though you thought of it more as indulgence to spend your nights with a beautiful woman. You developed a reputation that all your friends knew of your unwillingness to commit.

Everyone was surprised at Jennie when she said yes. The girls, mainly Nayeon and Jihyo, were vocal about their opinions on your relationship, but Jennie didn’t care. She brushed them off, saying that she trusted you anyway.

Something you stupidly broke.

It was even more stupid whenever you thought about it, which was more than you’d like to admit.

You were at a party, celebrating Rosie’s promotion, when you received a message from Jennie that she wouldn’t be able to make it. Something had come up at work, and she wasn’t able to leave. You didn’t bother responding, ticked off again that work had become the priority.

You’d been dating for over a year at that point, and there was a small shift in your relationship. It was subtle, but enough for you to notice. It had been a small point of contention at first, then slowly built-up resentment turned into a huge argument about not spending time together anymore.

Because for Jennie, her climbing the corporate ladder was number one. You were considered second—one-point five as she would say. You’d throw it in her face, but she was adamant it was only temporary.

You really should’ve checked your messages again before you and Chaewon drunkenly stumbled into your apartment. If you did, then you would’ve known Jennie was waiting for you.

You froze as soon as you saw your girlfriend sitting on your couch, wearing a black silk robe with the slightest hint of lace peeking at the top. The guilt immediately washed over you as soon as you heard Chaewon sigh, a quiet stupid falling from her lips before she walked out. The only reason why she came home with you was because of the picture you painted of a broken heart, something that was a blatant lie, but soon became an obvious truth.

You tried to explain, words forming sentences that had no merit, no weight that could get Jennie to believe you. She remained silent the whole time, that her last words to you before she left was I trusted you and that was that.

You technically—if you wanted to be a real asshole—didn’t cheat. Nothing happened between you and Chaewon, but it was obvious that if Jennie didn’t show up, something would’ve happened. The intention was there, but you were stupid because you were young, immature, selfish and you couldn’t be patient. She never gave you any doubt that she didn’t want to be with you, but you were just stupid.

You still had to see her after that. You couldn’t avoid it. You had the same friends, and it didn’t help that you were close to Jisoo, Rosie, and Lisa—Jennie’s best friends.

In the beginning, you apologized every time you saw her, pleading—borderline begging—for her to give you one more chance. She would walk away, but you’d reach out to pull her back. Your face would be sore and red every single time.

It got to the point where you were just as petty as she was. You mocked her every time she spoke, making faces and scoffing at any word that came from her mouth. She would curse you out and you’d just smile, eliciting an even greater reaction that Lisa had to physically restrain her away before she bruised your face.

You didn’t get a pass. Jisoo kicked you square in the gonads once she found out what happened. Rosie threatened to sue you for whatever reason she could find. Lisa just shook her head, disappointed that you did what you swore you wouldn’t.

Lisa’s reaction hurt the most, reminding you of the effort you put to be with Jennie, and that was something you couldn’t forgive yourself for, the regret weighing on your shoulders every time you were in the same room with her.

A feeble attempt to try to move on was made, but it wasn’t fair to the women who genuinely showed interest in you to be paraded in front of Jennie as a means to make her jealous.

Whether it worked or not, you didn’t know. What you did know was that almost a year after you broke up, Jennie introduced everyone to her boyfriend—Taehyung.

And intentional or not, you were jealous.

You wanted to deck him square in the jaw for some comment he made during a conversation about cheating, but Lisa was there to pull you outside, reminding you that you had every intention of cheating on Jennie because of what your relationship was at that point.

“She’s trying, oppa. She loved you too, but it wasn’t enough for you to wait,” Lisa lit up a cigarette after watching you kick a few chairs over.

That stuck with you, forcing you to mellow out whenever Jennie was there. You started to politely greet her, which she met with a cool indifference, unfazed by your change in attitude.

It became cordial at the very least. The walls were up and you didn’t have it in you to break them down. You helped build them up after all.

So the problem you’re currently experiencing could’ve just been avoided if you were firm in your no.

“Why do you look stressed out?” Rosie asks as your jaw clenches, a headache forming in between your eyebrows.

“Count how many tents we have,” You grit out, staring at the reserved camp site.

“One… Two… Three… What’s wrong… Oh,” Rosie’s voice falls flat when she realizes what the problem was. “Shit, let me go talk to Alice.”

You sigh when Rosie drops the wood she was holding on the ground, hurrying over to where Alice is. You quickly hear the siblings start to argue, causing you to sigh again because the only option that you think of is if you leave and come back to pick them up.

“Why are they arguing?” Jennie asks out of nowhere, that you drop the wood you just picked up.

“Jesus, when the hell did you get there?” You shake your head, doing everything you can to regulate your heartbeat.

“I just got here,” Jennie shrugs as if she didn’t scare you. “So what’s going on?”

“There’s only three tents,” You awkwardly answer, bracing yourself for her to yell at you for forgetting to bring the tent.

The sleeping arrangements were decided on the hike to the campsite. The Park siblings would share a tent, Lisa and Jisoo would bunk together, while you and Jennie had your own tents. When you finished putting together the third tent and went to look for the fourth, it could not be found.

“I can just sleep by the fire,” You offer, already thinking of how you’ll get sick and how your assistant will hate you for missing work.

“It’s fine,” Jennie waves you off, placing the water jugs at her feet. “We can share.”

“Wh-what?” You stutter out, eyes widening. “We don’t need to do that.”

“Stop being difficult,” Jennie rolls her eyes. “We can be adult about things, and it would make me feel bad if you got sick.”

You open and close your mouth, but no words come out. You’re rendered speechless. Jennie hasn’t said anything remotely nice to you in over three years. The fact that she’s offering to share the tent with you speaks volumes.

“Careful,” You say with the slightest hint of teasing, “It’s like you almost care about me or something.”

The muttered shut up you hear has you absolutely grinning. It goes away the second she ‘accidentally’ kicks your shin as she steps over to the log.

“Watch out, Jendeuks,” Jisoo slurs out, the effects of the soju catching up to her. It’s catching up to all of you at this point. “Oppa doesn’t behave around drunk girls, especially if he’s drunk himself.”

“Jisoo,” You roll your eyes, watching the women around you laugh at your expense.

“What?” Jisoo’s eyes narrow in your direction. “I don’t need to wake up tomorrow morning with the mandu upset for you trying something with her.”

“I’m not even going to do anything!” You raise your arms up in defense, shaking your head.

The girls, Alice included, had a field day when Jennie told them you’d be sharing the tent with her. They relentlessly teased you, almost to the point of where you’d rather get sick and end up in the hospital than having to share the next few nights with Jennie.

“Ah,” Lisa clicks her tongue, waving a finger at you, “We’d have to watch out for Jennie instead, since Taehyung broke things off with her.”

What?

“Lisa,” Jennie grits out, eyes glaring at the youngest member. “Shut the fuck up.”

“What? Who cares, he sucked anyways,” Lisa honestly answers. “He was so insecure over op–”

Jennie’s hands are over Lisa’s mouth before she could finish that sentence. It piques your interest since it sounded like their breakup had something to do with you, but you couldn’t understand how you were involved.

“On that note,” You watch Jennie and Lisa wrestle, “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s probably best if we all call it a night,” Alice stands, nodding in agreement that it was time for sleep.

“Jen,” You say, out of habit more than anything, that it has the two women stopping to look at you. When you realize your slip up, you awkwardly scratch your head, “Err, uh, you can change in the tent first, I’m just going to head to the bathroom. Leave it unzipped when you’re done, please.”

You don’t bother waiting for her to respond, knowing she’ll do it anyways.

By the time you return, the tent’s unzipped. You slip your shoes off before awkwardly climbing into the tent. It’s big enough for three people, but comfortably with two people and all their belongings. Your sleeping bags are on opposite sides of the tent, which the set-up isn’t as bad as you thought it would be.

“Hey,” You greet her quietly, unzipping your sleeping bag to add another layer of warmth since the temperature suddenly dropped as soon as the sun set.

“Hi, do you need to change?” Jennie asks politely, head tilting towards the tent entrance.

You shake your head, deeming your sweats and hoodie were more than enough since you had an extra blanket. “I’m good.”

“Okay, well,” Jennie shuts off the lamp once you’re tucked in, “Good night.”

“Good night,” You murmur, listening to the fabric rustle as she settles into her sleeping bag.

Once it goes completely silent, except for the not-so-hushed conversation between Jisoo and Lisa from the other tent, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your eyes slowly close before sleep takes you, the tiredness from the day knocking you out.

You hear your name being called out, forcing you out of your slumber. It couldn’t be that early based on the small amount of light casted on the tent.

You look around before hearing your name again and realize Jennie’s the one saying it.

“Jennie?” You whisper out, sitting up to Jennie’s sleeping bag much closer to yours than where it was before you fell asleep.

What happens next has you sinking back into your sleeping bag when Jennie moans, a sound you’re all-too familiar with.

Fuck is all that crosses your mind. You’re completely fucked and if there was some higher being out there, you would pray to them every day on your knees to get you out of this situation. It’s probably retribution for all the wrongs you’ve ever done in your life, and to hear your ex-girlfriend moan your name while she’s asleep is the worst kind of fate.

You never thought you’d hear her like that ever again, but it reminds you of all the times she did.

You wouldn’t exactly say you had a high sex drive because you are human, but when it came to sex and threw Jennie in the mix, it was hard for you to control yourself. Your relationship was physical, as expected from any healthy relationship, but there was something that could never compare to the other women you’ve known so intimately.

When she told you she loved you, you made sure you showed her exactly how much you loved her right back.

You were into kinks and the like, but the word daddy out of her mouth had you fucking her like your life depended on it.

Sometimes it did. She would always want more, losing herself around you that had you lost with her, but you’d find each other in the end.

So yeah, the universe or higher being or whoever the fuck has it out for you.

“Daddy,” Jennie moans out, louder than she probably intended that you had to get the fuck out of the tent and jump off a cliff and into the lake.

“Fuck,” Your body’s conditioned to have a visceral response, that it starts to react to her mumblings. You feel hot as the blood rushes south, awakening your cock as her breaths get breathier.

You nearly stumble out of the tent, the cool air hitting your lungs as you get your footing. You ignore the pit in your stomach, brushing away all thoughts of Jennie like that. You fucked up any chance to be with her the moment you showed up to your apartment with another woman.

You let out a quiet groan before deciding that you might as well prepare breakfast.

You avoid Jennie for most of the day.

You couldn’t look her in the eye once she woke up after hearing her and whatever dream she had of you. It almost felt too personal to witness that, especially without her knowing.

It wasn’t easy though with Rosie and Lisa doing everything in their power to make sure you were paired off together. The thought of them scheming to get you back together crossed your mind, mainly because they both knew how you felt and if the chance ever arose, you’d do anything to be with Jennie again. It was a fleeting thought because hell would have to freeze over.

You could have been imagining things, but Jennie seemed to avoid you as well. She wouldn’t make eye contact with you when you spoke. She would give little to no response when you were part of a conversation.

The day just started off weird, yet you still have this get-together with the people from a neighboring campsite after meeting them on the hike.

Lisa wraps an arm around your neck, “Anyone catch your attention?” She asks loudly as you follow the rest of the girls.

“No,” You scoff, rolling your eyes as you shake her hold off you.

“It’s okay if there is, you know,” Lisa says as she falls in step with you. “Just make sure you do whatever activities at their campsite. I’m pretty sure that’s where Jennie-unnie draws the line.”

“He could do whatever the fuck he wants,” Jennie comments from in front of you.

“Such a masochist, unnie,” Rosie drawls out. “Hearing an ex fool around would kill me.”

You’re about to tell both of them to knock it off, but Jennie’s faster, “He’s not going to fool around with anyone, right?” She stops in her tracks, causing you to bump into her, hand reflexively reaching out to steady her so she wouldn’t fall.

“Controlling,” Jisoo mutters, but everyone hears her loud and clear.

It puts you on the spot because on one hand, you have nothing stopping you from doing anything, while on the other hand, you’re trying your best to at least get to the point where you could be friends with Jennie.

“Right,” You concede, surprising yourself and the women around you. You quickly drop your hand, giving Jennie a tight smile as she stares at you.

Best behavior you think to yourself once the group starts walking again.

Best behavior, as you so called it, applied to you. It didn’t, however, apply to others.

You could not control the behaviors of other people, no matter how much you try.

It’s been ‘nice’ hanging out with the girls from the nearby campsite. You use ‘nice’ loosely because it’s been hell for you having to balance the woman on your lap and the woman across the fire glaring at you everytime you look up.

As soon as you sat down, one of the girls—Ryujin—beelined for you, taking most of your attention away from everyone else.

Ryujin’s pretty. You have eyes, and you’d think most people would agree. She seemed shy when you met her on the hike, but something was different by the time you arrived. You chalked it up to the few empty soju bottles you saw that they had already started drinking. She was a lot more forward, throwing your whole best behavior self-talk down the drain.

How she ended up in your lap? You have no idea. You tried to politely push her off, but you didn’t want to cause a scene.

“Wanna hang out in my tent?” Ryujin whispers, the faint scent of alcohol lingering in her breath.

The implication was there.

If it was any other situation where your ex-girlfriend wasn’t there, you would.

But said ex-girlfriend is there.

From the corner of your eye, Jennie stands, whispering something in Rosie’s ear that has her standing as well.

“I’ll walk back with you,” Your ears perk up.

“It’s really fine, Chaengie. I’m just tired from today,” Jennie forces a smile, but you sensed something else was off.

“Are you sure?” Which Jennie nods before bidding farewell to the others.

Jennie, however, doesn’t say anything to you and leaves before you could ask if she was okay.

“So…what do you say?” Ryujin’s voice tears your gaze away from Jennie’s retreating figure.

“I’m sorry, I should go with her,” You gently tap at her shoulder, which she begrudgingly stands.

It catches the attention of the others, prompting Lisa to ask what you’re doing when you fold the blanket, handing it to Ryujin.

“I’m going,” You shrug as if it’s no big deal. You don’t miss the way Lisa and Rosie’s head tilt. Jisoo rolls her eyes while Alice just drinks, oblivious.

“What a gentleman,” Yuna comments, her friends nodding in agreement.

You tell the girls that it was nice meeting them, that maybe you’ll see them in Seoul because Lisa will definitely want to see them again. Ryujin gives you a longer-than-necessary hug, which Jisoo snickers because your friends know the exact reason why you’re leaving so abruptly.

Jennie walks fast.

For someone who’s one of the smallest in the group, she gained some distance from the campsite before you finally caught up.

“Jennie,” You call out a couple meters away. She stops, but doesn’t turn around. It gives you enough time to meet her.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like in Ryujin’s tent?” Her voice is cold, distant, detached even. It immediately takes you back to that night.

When you don’t respond, Jennie walks away.

You won’t make the same mistake again and if it leaves you with a black eye, it is what it is.

You don’t let her get that far, reaching for her shoulder that she shrugs you off before turning around so fast that you almost lose your balance.

“Don’t touch me,” Jennie says sharply.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You ask. She’s starting to actually piss you off. You’re sure that if you weren’t a bottle of soju in, you wouldn’t get this upset. You’d rather blame it on the alcohol than unresolved feelings.

Jennie scoffs, rolling her eyes, “My problem? You’re seriously asking me what my problem is?”

“Did I fucking stutter?”

Her next move has your cheek stinging.

“Jennie, what the fuck,” You rub your face. She’s slapped you before, but there was actual force behind that one.

“You’re my fucking problem. To this fucking day, you’re still my fucking problem,” Jennie suddenly invades your space, chest against yours as she looks up at you.

“I’m not even doing anything,” You sigh, dejected and tired. If there’s one thing you don’t want to do right now is to argue with her.

“You are. Just being around you is so fucking hard,” Loose fists hit your chest three times before she collapses into you. “Do you not understand how hard it is to watch some girl throw herself at you and you fucking entertain it?”

Her confession catches you off guard because you always wondered what she thought when you were around girls. You gently place your hands on her waist, and her body freezes.

“Jen,” You say quietly.

“No, I can’t do this,” Jennie’s out of your hold, walking away.

It takes you a minute because there’s a lot for you to process, but you act quickly, following after her.

Thankfully the fire you lit still burns bright, and you see Jennie’s near the tent.

You call her name out before she could unzip the tent. When she doesn’t face you, you jog toward her, refusing to let this go.

“Can you just talk to me? You’re getting mad at me for doing something I can’t control,” You almost reach for her again, but experience has taught you to tread lightly.

“What’s there to talk about? We’re not together so if you want to fuck Ryujin, be my guest,” Jennie says lowly.

“Did you want me to?” Your temper flares, words cutting right through you. “Did you want to hear me fuck someone? Rosie was right, you are a masochist.”

Jennie turns suddenly, her arm winding back but you’re quicker this time, grabbing her arm.

“Let fucking go of me,” Jennie struggles in your grasp, but you’ve always been stronger.

“No,” You pull her body flush against yours before wrapping an arm around her waist, securing her tightly. Her head falls back, eyes narrowing. “You’re being a fucking brat.”

“And what’re you going to do about it?” You watch her expression darken, a look you haven’t seen in years.

“This,” You slam your lips on hers, swallowing the gasp she lets out once your teeth meet.

You feel everything.

The way her arms try to break free from your hold.

The way her hips fold, but can’t go anywhere.

The way her breath hits you as you move your mouth, granting you access before her body relaxes.

The way she presses herself against you.

“This good enough?” You murmur in between kisses, her arms snaking around your neck as she melts into the kiss.

“I’ve had better,” Jennie taunts, slightly panting as you gently bite her lip.

“Then you don’t need me,” You move your tongue in her mouth swiftly before pulling away.

“Wait, what’re you doing? Come back,” Jennie stands on her tiptoes as she tries to bring you back.

“You said you had better,” Raising an eyebrow as you loosen your grip, but Jennie’s arms are ironclad around you. “So…” You shrug.

“No no,” Jennie shakes her head, biting her lip as she stares at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Off Jen,” You say simply and she complies, hands at her side has you stepping back.

It’s a dynamic you’re familiar with.

It’s toxic at the minimum.

Degrading at its absolute worst.

You and Jennie hardly argued. You could count on both hands the amount of blow ups you’ve had. It would get aggressive, but with what followed after, was so much better. It might not have been the healthiest way to deal with conflict, but you’d work through it—blissed out, hormones working in overdrive.

“Please,” Jennie says quietly.

“Please what?” You cross your arms, gaze never breaking as you watch the internal war she’s having with herself.

It’s a bit risky to do this right here, right now, but you’re hyper-aware of the effect she’s having on your body. If she responds the way you want her to, you’ll be sent into overdrive.

“Please,” She shakes her head, eyes casting down.

“Say it,” You gently cup her chin, tilting her head backwards as your lips ghost against hers, “Say it, princess.”

Jennie lets out a moan, a breathy one at that before she says what you’ve missed so much.

“Please, daddy.”

“Good girl,” You kiss her sweetly this time, an almost tender kiss that has her sneaking a hand underneath your hoodie. “Ah, ah, did I say you could touch me?”

Jennie’s head shakes, her lips never leaving only to say, “No.”

“If you want to get fucked, behave,” She immediately pulls her hand out from underneath, wrinkling your clothes as she waits in anticipation. You’re at the point of no return.

She’s the only one that could bring this side out of you.

“Yes sir,” Jennie says, voice shaking.

Without a word, you let her go. You smirk at the whine she lets out.

You unzip the tent and grab her hand, fingers interlaced before dragging her inside. You ask her to sit while you rearrange the sleeping bags. She offers to help, but you shake your head since it won’t take long. It helps that the sleeping bags are a matching set, allowing you to easily make one giant sleeping bag.

When you finish, it’s obvious that Jennie’s doubting this, the etch of concern on her face says it all. It forces you to switch into the side you’ve always been when it came to her because she was the most important, her comfort was your top priority—still is.

“Jen,” You say softly, scooting over to her before stretching your legs around her. She looks up, and something scratches at your ribcage, “We don’t have to. Swear. We can forget this happened.”

Like you could.

The thought of asking for a transfer abroad crosses your mind so you wouldn’t have to see her.

“I couldn’t do that,” Her voice is quiet, the slight tremble you’d hear whenever she’d whisper her fears, on top of the pillow, head tucked under your chin. “It did happen. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Jen-” She shakes her head.

“I… Don’t laugh okay,” Jennie swings her legs around, crossing them as she takes your hands. “It’s just confusing right now. Yes, Tae broke up with me, but not for the reason you think. It’s actually stupid.”

“Okay I won’t laugh, so shoot.”

Jennie starts playing with your fingers, tickling the skin that has your back shivering, as she tells you what happened. They were fooling around—you really didn’t want to hear that—and Tae asked her to call him daddy. She thought he was joking because she never got the impression he was into that. She described their sex life as vanilla, not that she minded. Her desires weren’t strong enough to make him do them, and she liked him enough to let that go.

The part that had your eyes open like saucers was when she said she wouldn’t. She opened her mouth to say it, but her voice got caught in her throat. She couldn’t say it, it felt wrong to.

“Uh so what you’re saying is—”

“Shh,” Jennie pinches your palm, “I’m not finished.”

Taehyung took offense when she shook her head. He stood, demanding why not. She really couldn’t think of a reason. She tried to play it off like she wasn’t into that, but he didn’t believe her.

Then he brought you into the conversation. By his logic, you were the last boyfriend so it had to be because of you. You were also Jennie’s first serious relationship.

She denied that because there was no reason as to why it would. They argued, going back and forth about why you were still in her life. It ended with him leaving her apartment, needing to cool off.

There were a couple days in between before they spoke again. He had his clarity, realizing he overreacted and didn’t want to push her if that wasn’t something she was into.

On her end, Jennie was confused. It struck something in her when he said that she never got over you. In the heat of the moment, she didn’t pay it any mind. As soon as he left, it came barreling back.

She thought it was because he was jealous. He always sighed whenever she mentioned you’d be at the same events. He would be more affectionate whenever you were around. It didn’t cross her mind, but that was the only thing that made sense.

Then the idea of calling Taehyung, her current boyfriend, daddy has her stomach in knots. It didn’t feel right at the mental image of him and that word together. Her mind drifted to yours and she shot up from the bed when she she slipped her hand underneath her shorts.

“So again, for my understanding, is that—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jennie rolls her eyes, slapping your thigh.

When you chuckle, she glares.

“Sorry sorry, continue.”

Jennie couldn’t believe it. She had no way to explain the visceral response her body had at the thought of you. She admitted that she actively pushed down any thoughts of you as soon as you broke up, adding that no other guy ever made her feel the way you did.

(That comment went straight to your head, which she must have seen the way your face lit up because she punched your inner thigh.)

When it was Jennie’s turn to speak, what she originally wanted to say was not what actually came out. She wanted to break up. In that short time apart, her attraction for him dipped and she didn’t want to be with him anymore. She called it a change of heart and that the relationship ran its course. He wasn’t expecting that, pleading that he’ll be better, but she was firm in her decision.

She took the break-up as it was. She expected to be sad, which she was. She explains she gave herself time to think and process what she actually felt. It didn’t help that she saw you frequently, confusing her feelings. She wanted you, but at the same time, she didn’t think she could trust you.

“Then, you fucking wrap your coat around me one night after dinner and when I asked you what the hell you were doing, you just shrugged, saying I looked cold,” You remember that night. She was running late and forgot to bring a jacket. She cursed you out in front of everyone, but you didn’t care. You were used to that. You did, however, care if she was cold. “And it was obvious you still cared about me.”

“Well yeah,” You say pointedly. “Nothing physical happened between Chaewon and me. Yeah she might’ve been all over me, but I never kissed her.”

“But you would’ve, right? If I wasn’t there,” Jennie lets go of your hands.

“I don’t know, probably,” You shrug. That night still haunts you, and it’s not the most pleasant thing for you to think about. She gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything else.

“So yeah, that’s why we broke up,” Jennie’s hands fold onto her lap.

“All I’m getting is that you belong to me,” You smirk as she rolls her eyes. You act as if you completely missed the point of the story. You didn’t, but it went straight to your cock finding out Jennie touched herself because of you.

“I’m not your fucking property,” Jennie deadpans.

“I’m not saying you are. What I am saying, however,” You scoot closer to her, moving her hands out of the way before reaching for her hips, easily lifting her on top of you, “Is that your body wants me.”

“Not true,” Jennie’s voice shakes when your lips ghost along her neck.

“We don’t have to decide what this is right now. You know, deep down, I want to be together. I was–still am–serious about marrying you, that hasn’t changed,” You press your lips underneath her jaw, head tilting back to give you more access, “I’m sure you won’t make it easy for me.”

“Who said we’re getting back together?” Jennie sighs as her hands rest on your neck, hair threading through her fingers.

“Me,” You murmur, sucking slightly on her skin. “So let me start now, okay?”

“Fine,” You smile against her skin, tongue soothing the mark you know everyone will tease her if they see it. She tugs you off, a pout forming on your face, “Slow?”

“Whatever you want, princess,” You tease, sucking in a breath when her body rolls, hands gripping her waist a little tighter. “Your call tonight.”

Jennie stares at you for a moment, and you don’t waver, keeping her gaze to show you’re serious.

“Mine?”

“Yours.”

A double entendre.

Jennie slips her hands underneath your sweater, pulling it off you, exposing your bare torso, before bringing you in for a heated kiss. Your body quickly reacts, cock stiff as she grounds her hips over you. You’re fighting for dominance as your tongues wrestle, swallowing all the airy pants and gasps falling from her mouth.

“Fuck,” You moan as she bites hard on your bottom lip. “I thought you wanted slow.”

“You talk too much,” Jennie gets out in between kisses.

“I thought you liked it when I talk,” You detach your lips, trailing them along her jawline. Sweet kisses have her body shivering.

“I preferred it when your mouth did other things,” Jennie breathes out, head falling back as you nip on her skin.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it,” You say lowly as you continue your onslaught all over her neck. She’ll probably have to wear your hoodie to cover all the love bites, and she’ll definitely yell at you in the morning.

You do not care.

“You know what I want.”

You do, but you won’t make it this easy for her.

“Probably,” Your hands guide her movement, applying delicious friction over your sweats. It garners you a deep moan as she grabs your shoulders to steady herself. “But you know I like hearing you princess.”

Jennie loudly moans after a particularly hard suck, fingers pulling on your hair as her hips circle over you. She mumbles something that you can’t quite hear, sneaking a hand underneath her hoodie. Her body shivers at your touch.

“What’d you say?” Thumb rubbing gentle circles over her back.

“Fuck me.”

“Be more specific,” You taunt, the warmth emanating in between your bodies, and you just know she’s fucking soaked.

“You’re being a fucking tease,” Jennie groans once your lips meet her collarbone, “We don’t have that much time.”

She has a point. You’re not sure when the others will return, but Alice will make everyone leave if they get too much.

“You know I can’t just fuck you,” You murmur, burying your face into her neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Jennie whimpers, grinding herself over you, the ache in your cock has you groaning. “I can take you.”

“I have to stretch you out, princess.” Not that you’re bragging, but you know you’re well above the average. The amount of shock through the years said enough.

Jennie shakes her head as her hips lift from her position. You whine, in an attempt to pull her back, but she stands, untying her sweats before it falls down her legs.

Your mouth waters at the site of Jennie’s pussy right above you. The dim lighting of the tent lamp shines a slick dripping down her inner thighs. She’s absolutely gushing and it turns you on that it was all because of you. You quickly slip the waistband of your sweats down, freeing your cock. It slaps against your stomach, and you notice your tip weeping leaking.

“You want my mouth, baby?” You stare up at her, uncaring as you lick your lips. You could almost taste her. Your hand encloses around your length, slowly stroking yourself as you imagine your face in between her legs.

Jennie shakes her head once again, gently tilting your head back to give her a better view of you touching yourself, “Lay back.”

You don’t hesitate. You follow her command, keeping a steady pace with your hand as you watch Jennie step over you, feet falling on the outsides of your legs.

Jennie lowers herself, shutting the lights off and keeping her gaze on yours. You sharply inhale as the apex of her thighs get closer to your cock, increasing your movement that your forearm starts to burn.

The moment her slick touches the tip of your cock, Jennie squeals, biting her lip to muffle the sound. You groan, dropping your hand as your length slides in between her lips.

“Jen,” You pant, hands shooting to her hips to steady her, but it ends up dragging her wetness all over your cock. “I need to prep—”

“No, no,” Jennie’s eyes roll back as her hips rock over yours. “I can handle you. I’m so fucking wet for you. Let me, please daddy please.”

It’s like a switch went off as she moans, rolling her body in a wave as she rubs herself over you.

“Princess,” The nickname has her mewling, hips stuttering as your cock hits her clit. “Tonight’s about you.”

“I want your cock, daddy.” She falls forward, arms resting on your chest as her hair covers your face. She kisses your neck, heavy breaths, as her hips swirl. “It’s been so long. I need to be filled.”

Her filthy words have you blindly thrusting up, brushing through her lower lips as she moans into your skin.

“Good ahead, baby.”

Jennie reaches her hand backwards, fingers delicately wrapping along your girth. You buck into her hand, groaning as she rubs it around her hole. Once she guides your tip into her entrance, her hips seductively roll down to take you in.

You swear you see stars the moment her pussy wraps around the head, her walls squeezing you tightly. Her hands press hard into your chest, pushing her body upright as you watch her head fall back. When your eyes glance down, you groan at the sight of your cock in between her legs.

“Daddy,” Jennie’s eyes open slowly, breaking your gaze to her eyes low, lust taking over as she lowers herself more.

“Yes princess?” You suck in a breath as her slick drips down your cock.

“Tell me I’m good,” Jennie circles her hips, knees spreading slightly as her body adjusts to your size. “I’m being good right?”

“Good girls take all of me,” You watch, hypnotized as she continues her movement, your length gradually disappearing more and more. Her body recoils before dropping even lower that your hands tightly grip her waist.

“Daddy,” Her nails dig into your skin, hips shaking side to side. “Please, I’ll be good. Let me be good.” She trembles in your hold, walls accommodating your size.

Your resolve’s slipping. Fast.

With Jennie moaning and the sight of her struggling to take you in has your hands dropping. You mutter a fuck as the pressure around your cock increases tenfold, her body tensing as nails raking down your chest. The pain is short-lived as the warmth from her walls spurs you on, causing an involuntary thrust up as gravity pushes her down.

“Holy shit, Jen.” Your eyes snap to see your length gone, fully sheathed inside her as her pussy tightens.

Jennie freezes, hands gripping your sides, before letting out a filthy moan.

“Daddy, am I being good?” She leans back, her hands on your knees before slowly rolling her hips up.

“So fucking good,” You don’t recognize your voice, eyes locked on watching your cock appear in between her legs.

“I missed you,” Her body shivers as she takes you in again.

It’s a confession, something she’s been holding in for a while based on how she rides you slowly, intently, purposefully—to remind you just what you’ve been missing since.

All you can do is moan because she feels too good wrapped around you, the overstimulation of her walls hugging your cock in the best kind of way. Sex has always felt good, but with her, it just feels like more.

Your hand slips underneath her hoodie, gently palming her breasts as she moves above you. She’s always been reactive to your touch, and you couldn’t forget the spots that always have her begging for more.

“Such a good girl,” You watch her hips gyrate into figure eights, hypnotizing you as she mewls with every roll. Her walls tighten at the praise, her slick getting slicker.

Jennie’s mouth is suddenly on your lips, attacking with such gusto as her pace increases. Her clit brushes against your public bone and you can feel her impending orgasm from her pussy’s death-like grip.

If this is how you go, what a way to die.

Your hands find hers, interlacing your fingers together. She never breaks away, shoving her tongue into your mouth as she pants and moans like the good girl she is. She brings your arms overhead, hips grounding on top of yours.

“I’m gonna cum daddy,” Jennie mumbles weakly against you, her hips stutter, pace erratic as she fucks herself all over your cock.

You snap your waist upward, leaving no spot in between her walls untouched, and she loses it. She lets go of your hands, arms wrapping tightly around your neck as she holds on.

All you can focus on is getting her to cum because time is running out. You continue thrusting, hands easily finding her hips as you guide her movements, the sound of your bodies spurring you on.

“Baby,” You grit out, hips erratically pounding up into her. The change in nickname meant you were close, too close that you might release inside of her.

“Do it daddy,” Jennie raises her head slightly, eyes locked onto yours. “You know you want to,” She whispers, breath ghosting over your lips as her body slams against yours.

“Princess wants me to cum inside her?” You breathe out, hands trailing down to cup her buttocks, massaging the flesh.

“Yes,” Jennie whines, “Please.”

You’re getting closer and closer, and it’s helping almost too well that Jennie mumbles the dirtiest things, too explicit that if it was anyone else, they’d run away.

It’s you though, too turned on by her body and her words that as soon as the words breed me daddy fall from her lips you lose it. Your orgasm crashes through your body. You sit up as Jennie continues working herself over your cock, feeling you release, wailing, whimpering as it floods her.

Jennie’s body seizes in your hold, back arching as her walls suddenly spasm around your length, prolonging your orgasm. You swear her pussy’s pulsing and your vision goes white, holding her tightly against your chest as you rut into her.

Her teeth sink into your shoulder, the pain adding to the pleasure, as she fails miserably to muffle her scream. You pray to whatever higher beings there are that the others aren’t on their way back yet because she’s loud.

You gasp for air as her chest heaves on top of yours.

You weren’t expecting to have sex this weekend, let alone Jennie of all people. You’ve toned down on the nights with random women, something Rosie and Lisa commend you for. It wasn’t without question, which you were honest that you wanted to at least try to have another relationship.

You rub soothingly over Jennie’s skin, body slightly shivering at the contact as goosebumps form underneath your touch.

“Hi,” Jennie mumbles against your neck, still a bit breathy as she catches her breath.

“Hi yourself,” You squeeze the pliable muscle, molding against your hand. “You’re okay, right?” You’re concerned because you both went a little—a lot—rough on each other’s bodies.

“Yes,” Jennie taps your nose playfully. “I forgot how big you were.”

The thing is, her position hasn’t changed. The comment goes straight to your head and your cock throbs, already overly sensitive, along Jennie’s warm, snug walls.

Naturally, she feels it, letting out a surprised moan that has her burying her face back into your neck.

“Sorry,” You breathe out, the only word you could properly form.

“You’re such a guy,” Jennie chuckles. “Immediately reacting to hearing anything related to your dick size.”

You apologize again, which she tells you it’s okay. Casually mentioning that you’re the biggest she’s ever had anyways. You lift her off you, hissing as your cock feels like it can breathe after suffocating inside Jennie.

“Ass,” Jennie says simply, rolling off you to perfectly slot her head on your shoulder.

Maybe it’s the hormones. Or maybe it’s the denial.

Reality soon sets in as you just had sex with your ex-girlfriend. You even had the nerve to play into your favorite dynamic.

“Jen-” Two fingers are on your lips.

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Jennie says quietly.

“But-” You try to say something, but the gentle press stops you.

“I know we have to talk, but I’m sore and exhausted,” Jennie sighs. The crack of twigs and leaves alerts your brain. “We’ll talk. We obviously have to, but later okay?” Rosie’s singing something off tune, and it’s louder than it was a few moments ago.

“Okay,” Is all you can say, as her fingers trail along your jawline. It’s an intimate move, turning your head the slightest to feel the gentle pressure of Jennie’s lips against yours.

You wake up alone in the tent, the sound of the girls laughing disrupts your sleep. You rub your eyes as soon as you walk out, the conversation falling quiet.

“Good morning, oppa,” Alice greets as you yawn.

You send a lazy wave, searching for a seat, which ironically was in between Jennie and Lisa. You notice Jennie’s wearing one of the sweaters you packed. You also notice how it’s zipped to the top, completely covering her neck.

“You missed out last night,” Rosie picks up where the conversation left off. “We were just telling Jennie how Lisa unintentionally walked away with Lia’s phone number.”

“I didn’t know she was into girls,” Lisa defends, shaking her head.

“It’s okay,” Jisoo pats her on the head. “The one time you don’t try to get a girl’s number, you do. Take it for what it is.”

It earns you a chuckle as Alice hands you a plate, a grateful smile sent her way as you realize how hungry you are.

“Well, at least I can take oppa with me,” Lisa shrugs.

“Uh what? I’m not going to be some third wheel,” You say after taking a bite.

“No, dumb dumb,” Rosie scoffs. “Ryujin. She was totally into you.”

From the corner of your eye, Jennie’s body tenses.

It goes unnoticed by the others, too engrossed with the conversation, but you’ve always been acutely aware of how Jennie feels. She acts cold and distant with most people, but it’s all part of a façade. It especially breaks down when it involves you. Everyone knew when she was upset with you because she wore it on her face.

“Oh well-”

“You seemed pretty interested,” Alice comments behind her mug.

“I was just being nice,” You weren’t interested to an extent. Under different circumstances, the probability of something happening was high. You cared more about how Jennie, and that paid off.

“You’re always being nice,” Lisa raises her hands, both sets of index and middle fingers bending flexing twice.

Jennie’s standing again, which you don’t understand why this woman can’t just sit still. You sense her irritation rolling in your direction. You internally sigh as her attitude, this early in the morning, was more a nuisance than anything.

You don’t say anything when Jennie tells the group that she’s going to take a shower at the community center. For what it’s worth, it’s like a spa with private baths and showers the size of your tiny one-bedroom apartment. She hardly glances your way, but there’s something in your gut telling you to go with her.

After you finish eating, of course.

Your head snaps back, groaning as it hits the bathroom tile. You watch how Jennie’s eyes never leave yours and it’s taking everything in you not to cum right then and there.

Her mouth is dangerous and she knows it.

“Daddy,” Jennie sucks in a breath, keeping her hand wrapped tightly around your cock. “I have a question for you.”

Her innocent expression pales in comparison to what her hand’s actually doing. She languidly strokes your cock. Too lost in the sensation that you almost don’t hear her question.

“What?” You ask.

“Are you going to go on a date with Ryujin?” Jennie asks, leaning ever so slight to run her tongue along your length.

It clicks why Jennie suddenly appeared in your private shower. There’s a somewhat strict policy about men and women showers, but when you heard a knock on your door, you weren’t expecting her to be on the other side.

Jennie didn’t answer why she was there when you asked, but her dropping to her knees as soon as you shut the door, it was obvious she had a plan in mind.

“Staking your claim on me already?” You quip, hand cupping her face. It’s not the smartest move to taunt her, especially with her hand wrapped around you.

Jennie clicks her tongue, rolling her eyes, “Like there’s anything to claim.”

“And if I do?” You trail your finger along her jawline, watching her eyes narrow in the process. “What’re you going to do about it?”

The thing with Jennie, that she’ll deny to you and swear up and down to anyone else, is that she gets jealous. You learned that very quickly when you started dating. She wouldn’t say anything if a girl spoke to you, but afterwards when you were alone, she’d remind you that you were hers.

She’s naturally possessive of you, and you reaped the benefits in some sick power play she’d try to carry out.

“You won’t,” Jennie’s mouth wraps around your cock, her tongue doing things that need to be studied because it feels too good.

“Why is that princess?” You ask as she takes you in deeper.

Instead of answering, Jennie goes lower, your tip hitting the back of her throat. She fucking swallows around your cock and it has your muscles tensing. You have to make sure you don’t go too far, as much as you want to, because it’s still been a while. She repeats the movement, letting off the slightest before taking more of you in. She keeps her mouth tight around your girth, hollowing out her cheeks that has you feel lightheaded.

“I bet Ryujin could take all of me,” You goad, watching as her pace increases, fucking your cock down her throat. “She could be my princess next.”

It’s a dirty move, but an empty threat. Jennie knows at her core that only she’s deemed worthy of that name.

But it has the best results as she takes all of you. Her lips press against your pubic bone, staring up at you and it’s a beautiful sight to see your ex-girlfriend’s face stuffed with your cock.

Jennie holds it for what feels like a lifetime before slowly bobbing her head up. “Don’t be a fucking ass.”

“Then prove me wrong.”

(She does, exploding on her face a minute later.)

“You two are being weird,” Rosie comments as you grill the meat.

“What?” You ask distractedly to make sure the bulgogi doesn’t burn unevenly.

“You and Jennie.”

“What are you talking about?” You set the tongs down after flipping the pieces.

“I can’t put my finger on it yet, but there’s something different about you two.”

You don’t respond, feigning being busy by unwrapping the other meats.

Sure, you had sex last night. And sure, Jennie made a mess of you in the showers, but you couldn’t exactly tell your friends that. Their reaction is something you’re not prepared for yet.

“But you two aren’t fighting right? I know that you were already reluctant about this whole trip, and the sleeping arrangements were a bust, but it isn’t as bad as you thought it would be, right?”

Definitely not is what you want to say, but you know Rosie wouldn’t let you get away with saying that.

“No, not fighting. We’re making it work,” You answer vaguely.

It is the last night of the trip, which thankfully the group decided on having a calmer night since you have to trek back to the city in the morning.

“Good,” Rosie nods approvingly. “Hopefully everything will still be okay when we get back.”

You have a nice buzz going as you settle in your sleeping bag. Jennie slips herself next to you, slotting a leg over yours before curling into your side. You smell the alcohol from her breath as she sighs contentedly.

She’s a bit drunk compared to you, thanks to Lisa offering shots with dinner. She practically sat on your lap in front of everyone that it surprised you, but the others even more. Rosie gave you a pointed look, realizing that something did happen between you two, but thankfully doesn’t comment.

“I want you,” Jennie murmurs against your neck, breathing warm air against your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine, but you know now is not the time. She drives a hard bargain to not take her right then and there when she says, “I’m so wet for you. Having you cum all over me earlier left me wanting more.”

“Princess not now,” You gulp, cock stirring at the words. “There’s people here.”

“So? You don’t want them to hear how well you fuck me?” Jennie’s hand sneaks over your crotch, palming you gently. “They always wanted to know, but I wouldn’t say. I didn’t want them to know the things you’d do to me.”

Your cock rises at the thought. She smiles against your neck, slipping a hand underneath your sweats as the contrast of her cold hand against your throbbing length has you suck in a breath.

“Remember how I’d beg, offering my body to you to do whatever you want?” She whispers seductively. “I’d do it again. You know how much I love the stretch of you taking what’s yours. You know how much I love when you cum in me, on me, making a fucking mess of me.”

You clear your throat, trying to keep some semblance of control. You feel lightheaded at the thought of doing all those things to her. “Jen, you’re drunk.”

“So?” Jennie’s hand wraps around you, slowly stroking your cock. “Drunk or sober. It’s never stopped us before. Drunk sex was especially good. Remember when you fucked me in the ass? The only person to ever do that. I was fucking ruined after.”

“Jesus fuck,” You grit out as her grip gets tighter. That night was fun. She let you have her however you wanted, and you’ve always had a thing for her sweet bottom. Those little cheeks made beautiful sounds as you pounded away. “Behave.”

“Fine,” Jennie huffs, pulling her hand away. She places her hand on your chest, curling into you more.

“I’ll make it up to you when we get back,” You offer, kissing her forehead.

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

One you very much intend to keep.

Jennie squirms in your hold, hips shaking, pussy quivering along your cock as you steady her.

“Daddy come on,” She moans out, head falling on your sheets as she tries to get you to move. “You promised you’d make it up to me.”

You did. You will. Just not right now. You’re just taking in the moment of her wrapped oh so tightly around you that you want to enjoy it before you absolutely ruin her.

Jennie was over your place an hour after you dropped off the siblings. Rosie grilled you on what the hell happened, but you remained strong and did not say a word. She wouldn’t drop it, which annoyed you, but you knew you wouldn’t say anything unless you spoke with Jennie first.

And you were actually able to have a somewhat productive conversation about what you were doing. She didn’t want to be made a fool again, which you swore nothing like would happen. You’re both older, more settled into your careers, that this—whatever this was—was more stable. She saw how much the break-up affected you, but ego got in the way to want to reconcile. You understood, the thought of her walking in with someone that wasn’t you, would’ve scarred you for life.

“I’m not going to make it easy for you,” Jennie said, standing over you, pulling you up.

“I don’t expect anything less,” You whispered, a quiet promise made to whatever higher being there was that you were absolutely not going to fuck this up.

“Good,” And she dragged you towards your room.

Jennie’s getting antsy, but the sight of your cock in between her legs is one you could never tire of. You wish your phone was nearby, capturing this to save for later.

But you’ll do that later.

“Daddy,” Jennie huffs, arching her back to get you deeper, but you press your body weight into her, keeping your cock snug within her walls. “You promised.”

“I know princess,” You trail a hand down her spine, watching her body shiver from the contact. “You just look so good,” Her pussy tightens.

“I’ll look better once you move,” Jennie gasps as you roll your hips. “Do you want me to beg? I will if that’s what’ll get you to fuck—”

You don’t let her finish her sentence, thrusting your hips deeper that her body jolts at the sudden movement. You lean forward, just enough to kiss the top of her head, hair pressed against your lips as you murmur, “Oh princess, you’ll be begging me to stop.”

You stand up straight, slowly pulling your hips back, and watch, entranced, as your cock slides out. It’s slick from Jennie, and you’ve never seen anything hotter. You let out a sigh as you feel her contract around the tip. She moans and something snaps inside you that you suddenly thrust back in.

Jennie squeals at the pressure, letting out a filthy moan that has you groaning. Your body moves on its own accord, slowly pumping your cock in and out of her pussy that has you seeing stars.

“You’re so fucking big,” Jennie moans, pants, as she starts to babble nonsense as her walls accommodate to your girth. “I need it daddy. I’ve been so fucking wet.”

Her walls rhythmically squeeze every time you bottom out. It doesn’t stop you. It makes you chase the feeling, an addiction that you wouldn’t mind having.

You lose yourself in her body, watching her bite her lip and lose her breath as she grabs onto the sheets. Hearing your name fall from her lips wakes something up in you.The sounds she makes drive you to thrust into her, and when you hit a certain spot inside, she demands you don’t stop. You don’t break rhythm as she squirms. You grab her hips, letting out groans of your own as you feel your orgasm coming.

Her hands grip the sheet, wrinkling the fabric as your pace quickens, hitting every single nerve inside her has your body on fire. She lets you fuck her at whatever pace you want. Slow then fast then grind before it has her hips meeting yours perfectly in sync.

“Fucking hell, princess,” You groan, ceasing your movement as you watch Jennie’s hips roll and grind on your cock, finding every which angle to take you. “You’re being so fucking good. Are you trying to make me cum?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jennie chants like a prayer, turning her head so her cheek rests against the fabric. “I want it. Cum in me daddy, breed me like the good girl I am.”

You’re close to the point of no return, especially with the way her pussy contracts at every thrust. She’s doing everything to suck you in and it’s working. You plant your foot on the edge of your bed, increasing your tempo tenfold as the sound of skin hitting gets louder. You’re fucking into her, nailing her onto your bed as her knees slide, opening her up as you jack hammer through her walls.

“Oh shit, baby,” The nickname falls from her lips, “Baby, I’m going to fucking cum.”

It was a short warning because after three thrusts, Jennie’s body tenses, back wildly arching as her pussy tightens, knocking the wind out of you. Your body falls on top of hers, hips erratically snapping before you meet your end.

Jennie growls, pushing her hips up into yours to take everything you have to offer. She does a nasty move by humping back onto your cock, short small thrusts that have you pushing your cum deeper inside her pussy.

“More, daddy,” She keeps moving, hips never ceasing. Her words of I want you to ruin me keeps you hard.

With a sudden burst of energy, you push yourself up, pulling out of her. You ignore the small whine she lets out, flipping her body over. She’s almost too responsive with your touch by the way she spreads her legs wide, knees falling open.

You grab your cock, aiming your tip at her opening before flicking the head on top of her clit. She mewls, eyes rolling back. You can’t wait anymore. In one swift movement, your cock enters her without warning. Her eyes shoot back to yours, letting out a scream as you pound into her.

Your hands perch on her knees, holding her open as her tits bounce with every thrust. One hand sneaks in between, rapidly rubbing her clit that her eyes shoot open wide.

“Baby,” Her voice comes out hoarse. “I-It’s too much.”

Jennie’s all fucked out, hands gripping your forearms as her legs flail out. You’re hardly paying her any attention, too focused on your cock splitting her open.

“Your pussy’s too good,” You don’t care how crass it sounds. Your thoughts are wild right now, and you can’t help but say all of them out loud. “I can’t get enough. How the hell did you keep this from me? I missed this.”

“I missed you,” Jennie says affectionately, scratching lightly.

“God, keep squeezing me like that princess,” You’re thrusting wildly, applying more pressure on her clit as you rub.

Her orgasm catches both of you off guard, her eyes widening as she screams, her walls forcing you out before a sudden gush of liquid sprays your cock. You react fast, forcing your way through your walls as the hot, tight feeling has you hitting your peak again.

You’re greedy though so once you start to release, you pull out, quickly jerking your shaft as ropes of cum shoot out. You aim for her quivering pussy, before painting her stomach. White droplets spraying over her skin has you easing your cock back inside for a moment. Her walls milk whatever’s left before you collapse next to her.

You’re trying to catch your breath that you don’t even feel her move, but your cock’s suddenly enveloped by something warm and wet that your head snaps back. Your hand easily threads through her hair, guiding her gently as she licks around and over your cock.

“Princess,” You pant, the stimulation being too much even for you. “What’re you doing?”

“Cleaning up the mess on daddy’s cock,” Jennie answers simply, tongue lapping your tip.

Once Jennie’s satisfied, she pecks the top of your cock, humming to herself before kissing your stomach. She crawls above you, swinging a leg over your body before resting her head in the crook of your neck.

“I’m still horny,” Jennie whines, kissing underneath your jaw.

“Jennie,” You sigh, bone dead as your thumb gently rubs her inner thigh.

“This is your fault, you know,” Jennie says out of the blue.

“What did I do?”

“If you didn’t know how to fuck me, I wouldn’t be in this position,” Jennie mumbles shyly.

“Well, I’m sorry?” You offer, even though you’re not.

“Whatever,” Jennie huffs as your eyes close. “I’m still not going out with you.”

“I haven’t even asked yet.”

“You’re going to, and my answer will be no,” Jennie states matter-of-factly.

You roll your eyes, chuckling, “I’m sure it will be, but I could probably get a yes sooner if I withhold sex—ow!”

Jennie pinches you.

“Don’t you dare.”

“You’re so demanding.”

“Yeah, well,” Jennie pushes herself up, face in front of yours, “You’ll have no choice but to deal with it.”

Deal.

(kinda left it at where there could be a prequel and/or sequel, but meh, we'll see.

serious thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed my previous stories. i'll see ya in the next one, whenever that may be.)

#blackpink smut #blackpink jennie #blackpink kim jennie #blackpink jennie kim #jennie smut #kim jennie smut #kim jennie

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