#FOR NO REASON AT ALL!!! I COULDA DONE THAT!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tswwwit · 6 months

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Here's the second part of Cult Reincarnation Dipper!

The first part is over Here if you missed it.

Hope you enjoy!

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. He nods approvingly at the room, then glances back at Dipper. “Glad you didn’t take off running during the trip.”

How Dipper could have managed that, he isn’t sure. The instant they appeared in this place, Bill took hold of Dipper’s wrist and hasn’t let go even once.

The nightmare realm is exactly as advertised. Dipper’s been pulled through mazelike corridors, up and down impossible hallways, over insane physic-defying structures - and past things with too many teeth and eyes.

He thinks he’s been holding up pretty well, all things considered.

Being dragged by a nightmare god into his realm of dreams for unknown reasons wasn’t exactly on his bucket list. Without any helpful explanations, or even unhelpful ones, he’s stayed calm and followed along. Remaining obedient, keeping quiet, and waiting in hopes of Bill either giving up, or giving him any indication of where the hell they are and what the fuck he’s doing.

Now they’ve arrived, and the destination… isn’t exactly encouraging.

Dipper looks over the gleaming instruments hung on the walls. The needles and scalpels and hooks. He drops his gaze towards the white paper on the chair, at the poorly hidden restraints.

A place of insanity and terror, owned by a king of nightmares, dragging along a vulnerable human with a badly injured arm. Of course he’d end up in a house of medical horrors. It’s too thematically appropriate.

So yeah. Dipper’s been holding on fine. Only his legs have decided they’ve had enough for the day, and given up.

His robes puddle around him as he hits the floor. The tile’s very cold and sterile under his legs, and his arm trembles in Bill’s unwavering grip.

“Hey! What gives?” Bill tugs on Dipper’s wrist again. Thankfully not hard enough to haul him to his feet.

Dipper shakes his head. The floor’s fine. He’ll stay right here, thank you very much. Trying to retrieve his wrist doesn’t work, but he makes a good show of it.

“Nice try,” Bill says, dryly. “But there’s no escaping! Now get on up and have a seat already.”

For the first time, his grip loosens. Dipper yanks his arm towards his chest, attempts to stumble to his feet. His legs fail to cooperate, sliding out in front of him like he’s putting up a tantrum rather than an escape attempt.

With a quick snort, Bill ducks down and tucks his hands under Dipper’s arms. A moment later he lifts Dipper bodily into the air, and appraises him with a smile.

Dipper kicks out in surprise, struggling for purchase - then lets his legs dangle in the air, limp. Flailing around isn’t going to help. Odds are it’d make things worse.

If there was ever a mistake Dipper shouldn’t make, it would be accidentally whacking a god in the groin.

Bill bounces him in his grip a couple times, with a pleased smile, and seemingly zero effort. The human form he’s wearing isn’t bulky; he’s just stronger than he appears. Dipper should have guessed as much. He’s in the demon realm, brought here - kidnapped by - an eldritch, too-powerful being. Any resistance he puts up is as much of a shield as tissue paper.

With a nod, Bill turns a full ninety degrees, and drops him directly into the chair. The leather of the seat creaks underneath Dipper as he hits it, and he instantly straightens up, back rigid.

“There we are.” Bill smirks with satisfaction. He points directly at Dipper’s face with a sudden frown. As it comes closer, Dipper leans as far back as he can manage. “Now stay. Put.”

The tone is very firm, and, well. Obedience is the name of the game, when it comes to a ‘god’.

Dipper simply nods. Bill beams again, then retreats to start pulling drawers open, rustling through them and muttering to himself.

Whatever he’s up to, Dipper doesn’t care to guess. From what he can tell, the entire room is made for easy cleaning, and the objects don’t lend him any comfort. Tons of gleaming instruments hang on hooks and boards, pale metal against white walls. The soaked sleeve of his robe is leaving little dots on the seat and armrests. Every spot of red stands out so brightly in this sterile white environment.

Dipper clutches his arm to his chest again. Not budging. Just as he was told. There’s a thin prickle of sweat building on his skin.

A sound catches his attention, and he glances up at Bill, who’s wearing a big, bright grin. He’s holding something glass in one hand, and a glint of metal in the other.

Dipper keeps trying to maintain pressure on his wound. Bill’s approaching without even a hint of hesitation - without being able to talk, he simply shakes his head again and again. He’s fine, this is great, they can go anywhere else, just don’t -

“What?” Bill cocks his head to the side, and grins again. “Easy, I don’t bite! Much.”

He has very sharp teeth, Dipper notices. With how human that form is, he hadn’t paid much attention to the details.

The white of his smile has fangs.

“Yeesh, tense much?” Bill raises an eyebrow, carelessly dropping a metal box in Dipper’s lap. The other one shows the glass to be a corked bottle - small, round and filled with greenish liquid. Bill starts shaking it rapidly, beckoning with his free hand. ”Gimme that arm, already.”

When Dipper doesn’t move, Bill slowly pries his arm away from his chest. He pushes it down onto the armrest - and before Dipper can react, the makeshift bandage of his robes is ripped off at the elbow, leaving him bare.

Dipper watches the blood trickling down over the seat with a nauseating flip in his stomach. He can look away - does, quickly - but worse, he’s oddly embarrassed. Everything in here was so pristine before he started leaking on things.

“Eh, could be worse.” Bill chimes in over Dipper’s thoughts. A brief glance shows he’s evaluating the wound; he waggles a hand in a so-so gesture. “Decent blood flow, but damage-wise? You’ll be wielding a knife yourself in no time!”

God, what a weird thing to say. Dipper half-shrugs in response.

He hopes Bill’s right, though. Not the knife-wielding, but that it’s not too bad. It certainly feels bad, but Dipper doesn’t have enough experience to tell how, or if, he’ll recover. He’s never seen a sacrifice, with a person, that called for that much blood. Especially one that got so… enthusiastic.

Or perhaps there was, and Dipper just looked away, like he always does. He’s never had the stomach for this sort of thing. Hell, he still doesn’t; as Bill gets settled, Dipper turns and starts counting all the knives on the walls.

Yep. There’s definitely a lot of them. So many, and none of them are in Bill’s hand at the moment. He tries to focus on that as well. The box in Dipper’s lap is too small to contain anything but the tiniest of the scalpels, too. Another good sign, if he’s feeling optimistic.

There’s the sound of something uncorking. Then, liquid dripping down Dipper’s arm and over his wrist, a bright, sparking sting - he grits his teeth, ready for the pain to build, and feels -

Nothing?

Dipper blinks. He’s lost count of the knives, but he does get an excellent view of the empty bottle sailing across the room, and shattering on the opposite wall. Quickly followed by the cork, with a spitting sound; Bill probably pulled it out with his teeth.

There’s a vague prod. Dipper cringes on reflex, shoulders tensing. The next one feels firmer, and not in a great place, but.

It doesn’t hurt at all.

Well, no. It does, a little. If Dipper clenches his arm and makes a fist, he can feel a kind of sting - and hear Bill mutter under his breath. So he probably shouldn’t do that. But other than that faint ache, the pain is gone, leaving a chill semi-numbness in its place.

Beside him, Bill makes a satisfied sound. He flips open the box in Dipper’s lap, pulls something out - then starts doing something weird to his arm.

Dipper feels a pinch, then a tugging sensation. He sucks in a breath.

“Hold still, already.” Bill’s grip tightens, holding him in place. Dipper can tell because when moves his fingers again, he can just about tickle the underside of his arm. “Hey! What’d I just say!”

Dipper stops moving. Obedient, definitely. Totally not questioning what the hell is happening to his flesh, or worried at all. He only flinches a bit at the repeated pinch-tug-pinch, running a line down his arm.

With the numbness, it’s easy to focus on breathing in, and out, in a steady rhythm. Passing time, until Bill’s done with his gruesome work.

“There we go.” Bill stands up, wiping his hands clean on a bright white cloth. He offers Dipper another easy grin. “Not too shabby, am I right?”

Dipper hesitates, but. He’s going to have to face the damage at some point. Might as well be now, while he’s still numb and lightheaded.

First, he sees Bill, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. Then the arm itself, looking pale and small, with a long, thin line of stitches running up the wound.

No mutations, no mutilations. Just clean, closed skin.

Wow, that was a big cut. It didn’t really hit him until he saw it sewn up.

Dipper’s no expert on medical anything, but it must be decent work; Bill looks pleased with himself, for one, and the stitches themselves are neatly placed in even lines. Weirder still - it hasn’t been tinkered with, or experimented on at all.

Bill not-too-gently pats his wrist again, before wrapping Dipper’s entire forearm in bright white gauze. He hums to himself as he works. Just as he snips off the bandage with a pair of scissors, he pauses.

“Hm, kinda missing something,” Bill mutters, almost to himself. Then his expression brightens, and he snaps his fingers. “Aha!”

Dipper winces at the full-palm slap on his wrist. Ow. Even numbed, that stung.

“There! All patched up.” Bill says. He sets his fists on his hips, looking triumphant. “What’d’ya think, kid?”

Dipper looks down, and stares. He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to react.

Instead of taping the bandages in place, Bill’s smacked on a sticker. One of Bill himself, triangular-formed, and giving a disproportionately big thumbs-up.

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat.

When Dipper checks, that seemingly eternal grin has popped right back into place. Expectant. Almost prompting.

Come to think of it - it’s the exact same one Dipper saw after the ritual, not that long ago.

The one that he still doesn’t know how to answer.

Dipper pulls his arm up, holding it close. He touches the bandages carefully, tracing down the line of his wound. All his fingers still work. All his skin seems to have stayed in place. Even the numbness has lingered well past the actual procedure.

Bill Cipher himself, lord of chaos and nightmares, had a hold of a wounded piece of mortal meat. And as far as Dipper can tell, nothing’s missing, nothing’s mangled, and it doesn’t even hurt.

Of all the things Dipper imagined about meeting Bill Cipher - and he can imagine a lot more things than the average guy -

This would never have made the list.

Bill hasn’t said anything. For a while now. Enough time has passed that the silence has grown awkward, because really Dipper should have done something by now, damn it. There has to be -

“Oh, right!” Bill breaks the silence with a snap of his fingers. His eye rolls; he even smacks himself on the side of the head in a ‘dang, can’t believe I forgot’ gesture. “Major bloodloss! No human brain works great when it’s improperly irrigated.”

Which… is true, sure. Dipper does feel pretty woozy, but more likely Bill’s referring to not getting a response.

That’s one thing he can fix, sort of. Dipper tries another smile. Hesitant, but not forced.

Bill just raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah, you’re cute. Don’t think flaunting it gets you anywhere.”

Dipper lets his smile drop.

Okay, what? That was not what he was going for, and - and it doesn’t make sense, anyway. Bill must have meant something else, because he’s not cute. Kind of a condescending thing to call a guy who’s just showing he’s grateful.

Even though he should know better, Dipper flashes an irritated glance at this idiot god’s face. He folds his arms, letting out a huff.

And Bill lunges in with startling speed.

Dipper jerks back in the chair only for Bill to follow, face inches away, sharp teeth bared in a wide smile. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and his single eye narrows.

With rising tension, Dipper notes that said eye is actually glowing. There’s intent there, focused and strange - and even worse, the slow stir of magic building between them.

This is what he gets, isn’t it. For being a huge goddamned idiot, and insolent, and why did he do that of all-

“Boop.” Bill taps Dipper’s nose, and stands back up. As if to add insult to incoherence, he also pinches Dipper’s cheek. “Now! Upsy-daisy, kid! We gotta get you settled in!”

Dipper remains seated, even as Bill claps his hands and gestures for him to rise. At one point he even leans over and taps his thighs, in a deeply condescending beckon. If it wouldn’t be suicidally insane, Dipper would flip him off for that.

How is Dipper not dead yet. How is he not insane yet. This doesn’t make sense.

Nothing here makes sense.

But then, maybe Dipper should have expected that. Nightmare logic aside, he’s dizzy and tired, and it’s hard to keep figure out what’s insane demon-god stuff, what he’s simply lost track of.

Waiting for too long has had its consequences, of course. For the second time in an hour, Dipper gets hauled up by a too-strong monster. This time, he’s set on his feet pretty shortly, instead of being swung around like some kind of carnival prize.

Dipper hits the ground as Bill drops him, and stumbles. The world spins around him, and he nearly drops to the floor again until he braces himself on the closest solid-looking object.

The object moves under his arm. Above him, he hears loud, pleased laughter. “Aw, getting touchy, are we?”

Dipper stares at his arm, braced against a firm chest - then up at Bill’s wide grin. Then down again, where he’s wrinkling Bill’s shirt.

Shit. Wrong choice. Bad choice - but there wasn’t much of a choice! If Dipper didn’t want to fall on his ass, he had to grab something.

“I know, I know. I’m too tempting to resist.” Bill says, sounding eminently amused. Almost… teasing? He takes Dipper by the shoulder, turning him around towards the door. “Let’s get outta here.”

Wherever ‘here’ is. Wherever they’re going is even more worrying.

Still, Bill doesn’t seem mad about the invasion of his personal space. Or anything else, weirdly enough. Maybe Dipper’s misinterpreting the signs; he wouldn’t be the first worshiper to do so.

Mystery is part and parcel of Bill Cipher, one of his core essences. No part of him is uncomplicated or simple, because he loves making things difficult. There’s supposed to be puzzles, layered over each other in complex ways to obscure the truth. Every time Bill talks to one of the devout, it requires careful interpretation -

But there are too many possibilities, and Dipper’s too disoriented to keep up with any double-talk.

Bill opens the door into another black-red brick corridor. It looks like it could go anywhere, and everything about it screams ominous.

In a particularly stupid move - though one born of self-preservation - Dipper shoves himself into Bill’s grasp. He grips the shirt, hip bumping against the god, and Bill makes a quiet sound of surprise.

For a heartstopping moment, Dipper knows he’s fucked up.

Then the arm comes around him, and pulls him in tight. Squeezing his shoulder, then dropping around his waist, hand loosely holding his hip.

“Good choice, sapling! Your fleshy human vestibular sense is for shit, and I didn’t patch you up just to watch you break your skull on the ground.” Bill chucks Dipper under the chin with a knuckle and winks. “If I wanted a corpse, I could get those anywhere.”

Which… makes a terrifying kind of sense.

Bill’s right, of course. He’s an immensely powerful god-creature, who can reach in between worlds, given the opportunity. He commands dreams, and people, and an all-consuming amount of magic.

If he wanted a corpse, he could have one in moments. And if he wanted it to be Dipper’s, all he really had to do was… nothing.

As Bill pulls him into the hallway, Dipper checks his wrist again. He flexes his fingers, and sticks close to his ‘god’.

His arm’s a little achy, as the numbness begins to fade. The gauze is tight enough to feel comforting rather than constraining, clean and wrapped with obvious care. Even with the slight pain, it feels like he’s going to heal up just fine.

And though it’s incredibly stupid, the super cheesy sticker does kind of make him feel better.

Obviously Bill likes Dipper’s blood. He said as much during the summon; that it’s ‘very nice’. Likely it’s the reason Dipper was kidnapped in the first place.

But instead of juicing him like an orange, Bill took pains to keep all of it inside.

“As long as we’re stopping you from kicking the bucket,” Bill snaps his fingers. A small, squarish carton appears, and he holds it in front of Dipper. “You might wanna drink this.”

Dipper grimaces at… whatever this is. He can’t read the language, but it’s decorated with a smiling thing that could be either a heart, or a severely mutated fruit.

He glances up at Bill again, but no explanation is forthcoming. He merely waggles the carton around again, nearly shoving it into Dipper’s chest.

Welp. A ‘god’ has ordered him to consume something. Obedience, right, still a virtue. Hell, even if Bill wanted Dipper to swallow liquid mercury, he wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Poison isn’t very likely, though. Bill doesn’t want a dead body around, and he’s put in way too much effort to reverse course now.

Bill raises an eyebrow, tapping the drink invitingly against his chest. At this point Dipper suspects the lack of explaining is intentional.

Fine, whatever. If he’s going to insist…

Dipper still gives it a skeptical look, but he takes it from Bill’s hand. Not accepting a god’s gift is probably rude. Offending him isn’t any more helpful than dehydration.

And though all the advice about dealing with supernatural beings says, ‘don’t consume what they give you’, Bill does have a point. Humans are full of liquid. Dipper lost a decent portion of his own. Filling it back up isn’t the worst idea in the universe.

The top twists open, though Dipper doesn’t dare glance at the contents. He’ll just shut his eyes and chug.

He takes several long, deep drinks, tilting his head back. At first to help himself swallow - then more, and eagerly, because holy shit, he’s so thirsty. He didn’t realize until he started, but he really, really needed this.

With the portion of his tongue he has left, he tastes a faint sweetness, like strawberries.

“Top up your tank, kid.” Bill gives Dipper another nudge, almost playful. “Humans are basically half-fluid. To go at it like that, you musta been practically mummified!”

Weird phrasing seems to be a thing for Bill. Better get used to it.

Since he’s not looking at him, Dipper rolls his eyes and makes a face. Just a quick, two-second expression.

Beside him, Bill’s grin inches up a tiny bit. He starts whistling a cheerful tune as he leads them onward.

It’s an indeterminate amount of time before they stop - Bill, fresh and cheerful, Dipper, wondering how much longer he has to be on his feet - but eventually Bill whips around a corner, facing a brown wooden door in the middle of one of the black slate walls.

Great. Another mystery room, and by the look on Bill’s face - one he’s been eager to get to.

By this point Dipper’s pretty sure Bill’s not about to execute or exsanguinate him At least 90% sure; it’s hard to tell when dealing with a being of pure chaos.

But he still slows his steps as Bill sets his hand on the knob, leaning back into that guiding arm on his waist. Unpredictability has always unnerved him.

Bill turns towards Dipper with a brilliant smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this.” He says, almost conspiratorially. He nudges Dipper forward as he opens the door. “Welcome home, sapling!”

With a gust of warm air and a light that leaves Dipper blinking, the door opens.

And with a proud smile, Bill Cipher leads him into the single most luxurious looking room he’s ever seen in his life.

Dipper stares. Maybe gawks a little, but he shuts his mouth quickly.

No matter where he looks, everything oozes rich, sumptuous leisure.

There’s paintings, and tapestries, a soft thick black carpet. A huge, soft-looking couch near a fireplace, odds and ends of scattered jewels and technical looking objects on the walls. There’s even a portrait of Bill himself, in his regular form, with a foot upon the world. Large double doors lead to another room, and though the partly open crack Dipper thinks he spots a bed.

On the second glance around, Dipper catches on. That subtle gleam, that catches his eye, seemingly everywhere - is freakin’ gold. Not just the occasional pierce of decoration, either; it’s subtly woven into parts of all the decor, thin lines on furniture and doors and even some in the carpet.

Bill’s room so far beyond the dark, stoic asceticism of the compound. Miles away. Lightyears.

Why the hell did they have a shitty stone cavern to worship in, if their god lives like this?

No, that’s easily answered -the priest always was a dick.

Dipper’s not thrilled about what Bill did to the guy back at the ritual, but he’s far from upset.

Beside him, Bill’s silent. For once he’s not shuffling Dipper along anywhere. No prompting, no pushing, no force of any kind -

But definitely expectant.

Without Bill saying anything, Dipper can feel his arm tense up with anticipation, awaiting a reaction. Probably something flattering to Bill’s ego, or worshipful of his presence.

Truth be told, Dipper might have even given one. Despite all his reservations about the chaos god beside him, it is impressive.

But he can’t say anything. There’s nothing to write down a worshipful chant on. He’s tired and hurt and he’s been walking what feels like all day. Finding focus is hard.

Dipper scrunches his face up, rubbing at his eyes. Things went all blurry for a second, and he has kind of a headache.

What does he do, another smile? But Bill said that was ‘flaunting’. and maybe that’s not great. Another expression, maybe. Some kind of gesture. Body language has a lot of options and… he’s run out of ideas for that. Maybe his brain really is working with too-little fluid.

“Hmm…” Bill rubs his chin, glancing at Dipper - then staring out into the room again. His eye narrows.

Shit, right, this was meant to impress. Dipper, fumbling the devout test for like, the millionth time in his life. Only right now, when it truly matters, he’s too messed up to manage even if he tried.

Before Bill can get too mad, Dipper hunches over. Looking contrite might stave off the worst of it. He can make himself look small.

There’s a long beat of silence. Then Bill claps him on the shoulder. “No worries, kid. This ain’t my first time with a human wandering in with mortal wounds and a poor sense of grandeur! You can tell me how great I am later.”

The rush of relief Dipper feels is immediately ruined by Bill dragging him forward again. So much for a true reprieve; infinite being of pure energy means never stopping for a second of rest, apparently.

“I got just the thing for a squishy little nervous wreck like you,” Bill says, striding forward confidently towards one of the walls, and a door Dipper’s 90% sure wasn’t there even three seconds ago. “We’ll stash you here until you’re more settled down!”

The door opens, and Dipper’s led into a small, dark place. He can make out vague, squarish shapes in the dim light. Thankfully none of them look too imposing.

Another snap, and the room lights up.

For the second time in about as many minutes, Dipper’s totally thrown.

“Kitchen’s through there, bathroom’s thataway,” Bill says, gesturing in the respective directions. He gives Dipper’s shoulder a squeeze, jerking his thumb behind himself. “I’ll be back out this way if you get bored!”

The words run though Dipper’s brain, but he’s not truly focusing on them. The room he’s in has most of his attention. No matter how he looks at it, though, he can’t see any traps. It just looks…

Comfy?

The light reveals a smaller room than the living one, and one that’s far less dramatic. None of the tchotkes lying around. Basically zero ostentation. There’s a wardrobe and a bed, a dark blue carpet rather than the black. A desk, some papers, and an absurdly large and obsessively organized looking bookshelf. The two doors Bill mentioned lie closed, on two different walls.

Dipper’s not sure what he was expecting, but. The simpler decoration, the small but cozy setup - none of which fits Bill’s taste, that’s clear even on a glance. This isn’t meant for the god himself.

Now there’s a question he’s never considered before: Does Bill Cipher ever have guests in his realm?

The answer must be ‘yes’, strange as it seems. Nothing in here is Bill’s vibe, but it might fit a human that he needed to stash somewhere.

Beside him, he hears a low hum. Bill’s hand runs down Dipper’s shoulder, onto his back. It strokes down, then up again - then pushes him forward. “Enjoy!”

Dipper stumbles a couple steps before catching the footboard of the bed. He leans against it, blinking rapidly.

“Now, I got a quick errand to run, so take your time getting comfy. Cram some calories in, wash your crevices, take a nap. Whatever human stuff needs doing.” Bill looks up from checking his watch, then gives him a wink, backing out of the room with double finger guns pointed. “See ya soon!”

The door closes behind him without even a touch on the knob. The room goes quiet.

Dipper cocks his head to one side. Bill’s absence is just as palpable as his presence. That powerful thrum of magic trails into the distance as he heads off, fading in Dipper’s senses, like a too-loud stereo speaker in an obnoxious, demonic car.

After a moment, he shucks off his robe - with the sleeve torn off, it’s weird and uncomfortable. That leaves him in just soft pants and his undershirt, but thankfully with considerable privacy.

As long as he’s here, Dipper does a quick inspection of the room. The bed’s bigger than any one he’s ever seen, minus the one that’s presumably Bill’s. The wardrobe contains a baffling array of flannel shirts, in that they’re almost all identical and oddly… worn? He shuts the doors with a shrug. Hardly the most intimidating find.

A thorough overview reveals no traps, no knives. The sharpest thing in the room is the pens. The worst thing that could happen to Dipper here is a papercut. Or maybe stubbing his toe on the heavy furniture.

It’s been a few minutes. Dipper glances at the door Bill retreated through. Still closed.

He hears no sound from the other room, either. He strains to feel some magic returning, a bloom in his limited senses, but it’s calm and quiet.

Whatever Bill’s up to, he’s long gone.

Leaving Dipper totally unsupervised.

Dipper instantly darts for the opposite door, opening it fast enough that it nearly unbalances him. It swings opens easily, totally unlocked, and he braces himself as he stares -

Into a kitchen.

A big one, at that. Lots of cabinets, a fridge, a stove, knives hanging on the wall in what looks like a rather ominous manner, until Dipper remembers that’s where knives are supposed to be. Though maybe not so many of them.

Also, totally not an exit.

Fine, whatever. They couldn’t all be exits, and there’s another to try.

Dipper rushes over to the second door, yanking it open to reveal… exactly what Bill said, again.

He lingers this time, leaning on the knob. Rubbing at his eyes briefly, in case that ruins the illusion Bill’s cast. It doesn’t have any effect.

It’s - this is way too straightforward. It has to be some type of trick.

Pretty weird for it to be so clean, then.

Any bathroom Bill has should be blood-splattered, or filled with bubbling acid - but this one only smells faintly of bleach. It’s lined with black and white tiling, with a shower that looks overly complicated and a bathtub that could fit several people inside. At least there’s no knives in this room - though Dipper does see a safety razor, resting on the sink. Right next to the cup holding the blue toothbrush.

He slams the second door closed, and takes a deep breath.

Maybe he’s disoriented. Maybe Bill turned everything around when he left, like every other corridor in this chaotic place, and maybe if Dipper yanks opens the third door -the one he came through - it’ll cleave between the realms, back into the ritual room, where -

Dipper leans on the doorframe, slowing down his breathing. He shuts his eyes, lips drawing into a thin line.

Or it could just be. Literally the exact same one he came in through.

Standing in the doorway of Bill Cipher’s personal quarters, Dipper frowns at the fireplace. And at the painting over it. Especially at the even more grandiose door that presumably leads to the god’s master bedroom. It’s beautiful, alright, Dipper can’t argue with that - but also ostentatious, and reeking of smug power.

It’s very quiet inside, too. No motion, no magic.

After a bit of hesitation, he leans his head in, checking both ways.

No Bill around, at all.

He must have actually taken off, instead of lying in wait, ready to surprise… The person he told exactly where he could be found. Which isn't much of an ambush, come to think of it.

Dipper lets his arms drop to his sides, then winces and rubs the bandage on his recently stitched one.

When he came into this place, he had a lot of expectations. All of them were backed up by years of knowledge about Bill Cipher. His likes and dislikes, unpredictability, and his bizarre proclivities.

So far, Dipper’s seen… not a safe place, by a long shot. But way less dangerous than what he thought he’d face.

In fact, aside from the trip to get here and parts of the medical experience, this has been way too normal.

Bill Cipher is a being veiled in mystery, or, depending on your viewpoint, mischief. Never totally meaning what he says, rarely acting like you’d think. Even in the most stodgy of ceremonies, the priest had to leave room for the fact that Bill’s not very… conventional. The research Dipper did on his own had similar things to say. Between sermon and study, that alone has been a constant.

Dipper taps his foot on the floor. The carpet remains soft and nonthreatening. The fireplace crackles warmly, and does not consume the room in a terrifying blaze.

What is he supposed to make of all this?

The priest claimed that only he could interpret the subtle signs of Bill’s true meaning, and what actions to take. He was dead wrong about that. Courtesy of the god he claimed to understand, for that matter.

The rest of the congregation can’t offer any insight, either; they’re back in the compound - but frankly? Dipper wouldn’t trust them to interpret a microwave timer, much less their god.

According to scripture, it takes ages of experience, along with deep personal knowledge, to even begin to understand Bill’s motives. One young human like Dipper would never stand a chance.

But if he’s here anyway…

Dipper traces his fingers along the wall, making his way quietly, cautiously, into the room.

Why not get started? It’s not like he has anything else to do.

Having something to study will help pass the time, as long as he’s here. And with this wealth of information in front of him, who could resist?

As he walks into the place, he doesn’t burst into flame, or turn inside out, or get tossed into an eternal void of constant screaming. So, it’s probably okay.

He takes a deep breath, and lets it out. It only shakes a little.

Besides, navigating around an immortal being of eternal knowledge can’t be that different from sneaking around the compound. All evidence so far is that Bill’s actually friendlier about it.

One thing’s pretty certain - he’s not likely to obliterate a guy he’s just spent several hours getting ‘settled’. If anything, he’s sorta intimated that Dipper’s a ‘guest’. Bill’s likely not magically bound to the rules of hospitality, but violating them is pretty universally gauche.

The thought makes Dipper’s shoulders drop. He pats the wall a couple times, then checks his wrist. The bright yellow triangle stays still, overly-large hand still giving a thumbs-up.

Dipper rolls his eyes. Okay. There’s one fact learned - Bill Cipher’s capable of being kind of a dork.

This could actually be pretty intriguing. Useful, perhaps. In the heart of Bill’s home, with all of his stuff lying around - like that pile of books near the couch, or that pile of dishes he saw in the sink, or the fact that he even has a guest room, what the hell is with that -

Dipper can get firsthand information. No more dilapidated scrolls, or censored books, or scrounging around outside to find objective sources.

Bill Cipher, as far as Dipper can tell, actually lives here. In these exact rooms.

He can try and hide the truth as much as he likes, or lie to Dipper’s face, but he can’t hide his living room. Hanging out in your own place is the most authentic anyone can be, god or not.

With that in mind, Dipper gets to the investigation.

Without context, it’s hard to discern what most of the objects around mean. Whether they’re regularly used, or just for display. Until Dipper sees Bill actually interacting with the stuff he has, he’ll just file that information away for later.

About three circuits of the living room, Dipper catches sight of the portrait above the fireplace again. The one with Bill himself, crowned and stepping on the world. Scepter in hand, his single eye beholding -

Ah, right. The eye thing.

Dipper backs up, very slowly. As a parting gesture, he throws a little wave at the portrait, and another ‘cute’ smile.

Then he darts right the hell back into his room, and pulls the door along with him. He lets his head drop back against the wood, and closes his eyes.

Shit. Shit. Of course he wasn’t roaming around freely. There was oversight.

Hopefully Bill’s busy enough to not have cared about a couple minutes of ‘wandering’. As far as he knows, that was, uh… Dipper got lost, right. That sounds believable. Maybe he was even looking for Bill himself.

But snooping? No, definitely not. Why would anyone do that.

Welp. That’s about that, then. Three doors, three results, and zero exits.

Sure, it’s possible that Bill’s room does have a way out, but between the odds of being caught, and the odds of getting lost in the twisting, recursive corridors if he did manage to find it -

Yeah, Dipper’s going to pass.

He saw the other ‘guests’ around this realm, and they didn’t look like the types to leave blood on the inside.

On the upside he’s survived the night. Morning. Whatever time of day it is.

Bill wants Dipper alive, which is strange and confusing and more than a little concerning- but it’s also a huge weight off his shoulders.

Dipper turns to pull the door fully closed behind him, then hesitates.

After debating for a bit, he settles on leaving the door slightly ajar. Hearing when Bill comes back seems like a good idea, while keeping him out doesn’t.

But if Bill were to, say, see a door semi-open and shut it himself, then hey. Kinda his fault for not paying attention. No blame on any humans here.

Ugh, Dipper’s losing focus again; he shakes his head to clear it. His legs feel sluggish too, after the long journey and the.. ‘Getting lost’. They stumble as he takes another step.

After such a long day. After getting hurt, and dragged around, and everything else that’s happened, he’s just so tired.

Just like during the sacrifice, he has to focus on the real priority - and right now? It’s not the immortal, insane demon god.

With a weary sigh, Dipper looks for a place to sit down.

Even pulling the chair out from the desk seems like an ordeal. And while the bed’s far too large for just one person, it's here and empty. Presumably Dipper’s meant to use it, anyway.

And when he takes a seat, it doesn’t leap up to bite him. It doesn’t release any poisoned spikes when he tests the mattress with a quick press of the palm, or snap closed around him when rolls on top of the sheets. The blankets are smooth, without a hint of scratchiness.

Dipper breathes in, and lets it out slowly. He rubs a hand on the top blanket, patting it once or twice, before letting his eyes shut.

It’s just. So, so soft.

Weirdly springy too, compared to his old cot. A mixture of sink and bounce, so that Dipper almost feels like he’ll get absorbed into it like jello, or get thrown out of it if he moves the wrong way.

Shifting his weight, Dipper frowns as he tucks the pillow under his head. How could anyone sleep on something like this? It’s totally impossible.

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

Dipper wakes up with a damp pillow under his cheek, a slight headache in his temples, and a sore and aching wrist.

He rolls onto his side with a groan, moving to a drier section of pillow.

Great, he drooled in his sleep again. Super gross. Another reason that not having a tongue sucks.

It’s warm in the room, though, and quiet. His head hurts, so he needs some water. And his wrist hurts, too. Which isn’t surprising after being sliced open.

What’s more surprising is that he actually managed to get some rest afterwards. The whole compound is full of people celebrating or arguing after a ritual goes down. Usually there’s some of both, but right now it’s so quiet that he could swear nobody’s -

With a snort, Dipper jerks his head up off the pillow. He props himself up on his elbow, rubbing at his eyes.

Shit, of course. He’s not in the compound anymore.

Nobody is around, because he’s been taken away by their literal goddamned god, and stowed in this too-big, too-normal room in this alien place. Without other worshipers, who would… probably make things worse, if he’s being honest.

Dipper stuck here, fending for himself. He’s been subjected to… minor medical attention. And a nice bed, and a drink. Not to mention having his first uninterrupted nap in ages.

Thinking about it, it’s kinda hard to see a downside.

One will make itself known eventually. Dipper’s not so naive as to think this is altruism, not from Bill Cipher.

As he sits up, the blankets fall off him and pool into his lap, heavy and soft. For a moment, he’s tempted to pull them back up and curl into the nice, warm bed, under the gentle covers.

But that’s probably not the best idea, considering.

God, he can’t believe he just fell asleep like that. In the house of a nightmare demon, Dipper just went and dropped off like a total, vulnerable moron.

And shit, it’s dark in here.

He doesn’t remember turning off the lights. Or where the lightswitch is, for that matter. He can sort-of make out the furniture around him, some kind of ambient illumination, perhaps. A bit of light also shines out from the closed door leading to Bill’s room.

Somewhere in there, he hears footsteps, and then silence. The feel of that powerful magic, leaking in like the light under the doorframe.

Dipper fiddles with the edge of the blanket. Some kind of quilt, he guesses, one that’s faintly frayed at the edges. It’s very soft.

At minimum, he’s been in Bill’s house for several hours. His best guess puts it between half to all of a day, depending on how long he slept.

Despite all Dipper’s learned about the god’s unavoidable wrath, and his infinite, changeable whims -

It hasn’t been too bad. So far.

Dipper rubs his fingers together, leg jogging under the sheets. Eventually he realizes he’s pulling threads out of the quilt, and hisses through his teeth.

At some point, the other shoe will drop. Bill Cipher is capricious, his favor doubly so.

And nothing ever works out in Dipper’s favor, not even once.

But maybe, if he works at it now - he might be able to make some headway. Hiding away in the bedroom won’t help with that.

Getting up out of the bed is an effort, but his legs feel steady on the floor and his vision is clear. Dipper takes a deep, calming breath. He turns the knob, and peeks out into the room

“Hey hey! Look who’s back in the waking world. In a way.” Bill waves at him with a bright grin. Great, Dipper got spotted basically instantly. “Get over here! I need ya to check this out.”

There it is. His first order.

Dipper shuts his eyes, and walks into the room. He swallows, and drops into the fist form of ritual bow, knees thumping on the carpet.

This absolutely sucks. The one minor upside is that there is a carpet; Dipper’s not going to ruin his knees if he has to do this ten times a day.

Hanging around a god, he’ll be lucky if he spends any time not bowing and scraping and generally genuflecting. Though the idea makes him burn inside, he grits his teeth.

He can cope. He’s been through worse. If nothing else, Bill’s more interesting than the daily grind back at the compound. Albeit in a semi-terrifying way.

“Huh.” Bill says. Dipper mentally checks his posture, but no, it’s perfect. Wait - he forgot to press his hands together, right.

“Huh.” Bill says, this time sounding…

Not very thrilled.

Freezing in place, Dipper runs through his options. In a better world, he’d be able to start doing some chant or whatever, but that’s off the table. A quick peek at Bill shows that he’s not impressed, so. Read that right.

Also not very good. What else is there, though, what can he -

A long, heavy sigh interrupts his thoughts. Bill’s started rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. A totally devout kinda guy.” Bill’s voice is very dry. He taps one impatient finger on the table. “Really feeling all the religious passion, here.”

The clear sarcasm makes Dipper wince. God, of course Bill isn’t fooled. Seeing into the hearts and minds of men as he does, one small human is transparent as hell. He knows exactly what Dipper thinks of him, doesn’t he.

Shit, he’s likely seen everything.

“But sure, if you’re so devoted, you should get up already.” Bill’s tone lightens, and he gives a quick beckoning gesture. That eternal smile bounces back into place. “C’mon, kid. You can’t scrape your nose on the carpet and check out what I asked you to.”

Dipper scrambles to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt off his pants. It’s a decent excuse not to meet the god’s eye.

He shuffles slowly forward until he stands next to the god. Logically that should make him nervous. He should be sweating and terrified -

But damn it, Dipper really hates genuflecting, and Bill’s total lack of interest is actually, maybe, kind of cool of him.

For a bright moment Dipper thinks there might not be any of that sort of thing, until a robe flops to the ground in front of him.

Ah. A not-very-subtle hint, there. Dipper takes a breath to steady himself -

Then a second robe right on top of the one on the ground. And a third. A fourth follows that nearly hits a cabinet on the wall, and Dipper decides he probably missed the mark.

Bill’s not making a point. He’s just messy.

“Jeez, with this many robes, you’d think they could make a few of ‘em fashionable.” Bill lets out a low whistle. When Dipper glances over, he’s rifling through those cardboard boxes with a frown. “Accessorize! Embroider! Stain ‘em with ichor! This crap is just boring.”

All their robes were pretty identical, but that was the point. To lose one’s individuality, and become a perfect servant for the god. Bill doesn’t sound as appreciative as he should be.

And where the hell did he get all of these, anyway?

The boxes on the table are dilapidated, reused cardboard. None of it matches the style or the reality of this… apartment? House? Something?

Bill chucks yet another robe over his shoulder with a snort. “And don’t get me started on the shape. Or the color!” He sticks his tongue out, letting a final robe dangle from his fingers like he’s holding a dead rat. “I woulda picked something way cooler.”

Whatever his definition of ‘cooler’ is, Dipper doesn’t want to know. Bill catches his skeptical look and Dipper quickly tamps it down.

That single golden eye blinks, then he beckons Dipper closer with a grin. “Get over here, sapling. I gotta know if we’re dealing with the full inventory or not.”

There goes Bill, again. Talking about something without giving Dipper any context for it whatsoever. Likely that’s a sign of things to come.

All the books about Bill Cipher say he’s ‘cryptic’. Now Dipper’s wondering if that was supposed to be a euphemism for ‘annoying’.

Dipper squeezes his hands tight at his sides. Not the kind of thing he should be thinking. Instead, he nods, and checks the boxes as requested.

His god continues messing with the contents, plucking out this and that. Another robe, discarded easily. He sets aside a small ritual set of candles, a setting for ritual offerings. All very distinct. They could have come from Dipper’s own congregation, they’re so familiar.

Wait - but they are.

He remembers Bill asking them to pack up stuff, distantly. He didn’t think about what it was for, other than, like, another weird god request.

But these aren’t just anyone’s things.

No, he recognizes that robe, with the chewed-on sleeve, and that set of trinkets. Hell, all of said robes have similar wear and tear, the same, slightly oversized look.

Dipper glances at the boxes, then back to Bill. Though he can’t speak to ask the question, it must be obvious in his face.

“Yep! This is your stuff, Pine Tree.” Bill points a finger gun, giving Dipper a wink. “I asked those imbeciles back in your cult to grab it for ya. Since you’re staying here with me, and all.”

Dipper’s mouth works, but no sound comes out; he shuts it quickly. Bill, uncaring, flicks a finger at a candle and watches it light with a smirk.

He just- Said it.

Bill Cipher himself called his religion a ‘cult’.

He actually admitted it. Under any other circumstances that would be absolute blasphemy, but the ‘god’ himself just casually tossed out that the entire stupid religion is kinda full of it and he isn’t even bothered by it.

Dipper wants to sit down, but there's no chair nearby. He braces himself on the table instead.

“Don’t get it wrong, I’m still the biggest, baddest being you’ll ever meet! But your group of losers pretended to speak for me.” Bill continues. Something about Dipper’s shock seems to have caught his attention. He throws his arms in the air in disgust. A carelessly held candelabra goes flying. “When I wanna give orders, I handle that crap myself.”

Dipper nods again, kind of numbly.

Yeah, that - that actually tracks. The gap between the Bill he was told about, and the Bill that is, is too vast to be ignored.

Obviously Bill’s weird, it’s part of his basic makeup - but if anything, he matches up more with the Bill that Dipper read about in forbidden texts, instead of the one heard at every sermon. And that…

Honestly, it feels pretty good. Being right. Or right-adjacent; Dipper’s not naive enough to think he has the whole picture yet. Still, being more correct than anyone else? Makes Dipper almost smile.

It’ll get clearer. There’s time, he’s not dead yet.

And who the hell knows what else Dipper’s going to learn, while he’s staying in Bill’s home. The only thing he can predict is that half the things will come totally out of left field.

A nudge on his side catches his attention again. “So! Does this cover everything, or do I gotta nightmare some guys into coughing up the rest?” Bill twirls a thin candle between his fingers idly, and raises an eyebrow. “Anything you wanna keep, or stuff you wanna obliterate?”

The startled look on Dipper’s face must surprise him, because Bill blinks a few times. “What? It’s your crap, sapling.” He offers a half-bow, and a wink. “Your gracious host here, at your service.”

Wow, uh, that - Dipper has to turn away for a moment. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling oddly -

Damn it, getting distracted is bad. He has to shape up. Bill might decide he’ll be less gracious if Dipper doesn’t freakin’ focus, now’s not the time to look incompetent.

He offers Bill a shrug, and a noncommittal wave, then tilts the closest box towards himself.

If he’s going to figure out what to do with his things, he might as well check what’s shown up. A part of Dipper’s surprised that there’s this much of it.

Actually... there's that miniature altar that ‘disappeared’, and a pair of shoes that walked off by themselves. A scattering of little baubles, mostly bare-bones ritual stuff that everyone got handed out. Even though Dipper’s seemed to roll down a grate or get flushed somehow.

Guess Bill’s order really got people motivated to find his things. There’s stuff here that hasn’t made an appearance in ages.

Nearby, Bill’s put on his expectant look again. Dipper’s getting used to it.

Whatever Bill’s looking for, he hasn’t bothered to explain it in the slightest. Much like every other interaction with the guy. It must be pretty good though, because there’s a tinge of eagerness to his expression.

Dipper turns away to poke at the items on the table.

He almost feels bad that he doesn’t know what Bill’s looking for. Even though there’s no logical reason he should. Mind-reading is Bill’s thing, not his followers’.

Well, whatever. Bill can put that face on all he likes. Unless he has a few helpful hints on hand, he’s just gonna have to wait.

As for the possessions - A quick evaluation of the first box of stuff reveals… mostly things he doesn’t care about either way. On the other hand, he’s never had this many things before, and it would feel weird to just. Dispose of them this easily.

But then again…

He never has liked the robes.

Tentatively, Dipper points at the cloth on the floor, then cuts a finger over his throat.

Bill made his opinion on them clear, so. If he agrees. Maybe Dipper actually won’t need them during his stay in this -

A sudden burst of blue flame startles him; Dipper jumps in place, going tense.

Noted - be careful about inviting Bill to destruction, because he does not hesitate.

“Great!” Bill claps his hands together, rubbing them vigorously. “Half done - now let’s wrap this up and move onto something more fun.”

Patience must not be Bill’s strong suit, because he turns the boxes upside down, dumping everything out on the table. A few broad swipes spread it over the wood, a careless tumble of what’s, honestly, mostly junk.

Some of it was clearly just tossed in to make the box more full; the top layer is all stuff from the ritual room. As for the stuff that is his, well. How much of it could he actually need? There’s candles, a bunch of knickknacks that he didn’t even like when he was still in the, well. Cult. There’s a thick worn notebook, and his journal with its slightly tattered cover and the bookmark still in place -

Shit. Shit, shit shit.

Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat. He glances at Bill, then back to the table.

How did they find that, it was under the loose rock in the corner. Did they know all this time that he had this. Did they not care, or was it truly hidden and only discovered later. How the hell did it survive all the way here?

However it got here - that’s. All his notes, all his research. All his thoughts, lying there for Bill to -

Wait. Bill. Hasn’t noticed, yet.

He’s picked up a tiny brass necklace. His eye narrows as it dangles from his fingers. Not surprising; it is a pretty awful portrayal. The angles are anything but even.

And while he’s distracted, Dipper makes a grab for the books.

He times it right; as Bill tosses the necklace away and into the fireplace, he slides both books across the table, tucking them into his pants and under his shirt.

Not the first time he’s hidden contraband - and probably not the last. A quick check on Bill shows a totally nonchalant demon, slightly bored with the junk in front of him. Either he truly didn’t notice - or doesn’t care about what Dipper pulled. Either one’s a win.

Dipper feels tension seep out of his shoulders, and he shuts his eyes.

Compared to the god of fury and torture Dipper was taught about, the true god is relatively even-tempered. So far.

But he already knows how bad it gets, when something terrible is spoken about his god. There’s no way Bill would like reading what Dipper wrote about him.

“Aha!” Bill exclaims, and yanks his latest prize out of the pile, holding it in the air. “Knew there had to be something good in here.”

Dipper takes one look at whatever’s got Bill so enamored - and makes a face.

Oh no. He forgot about…. that.

“Maybe being ‘devout’ isn’t your style, but there might be a better term.” Bill’s sharp teeth are white in his smile. He flicks one of the ragged felt arms, squeezing the yellow ‘torso’. “How’s ‘obsessed’ fit ya?”

The stupid awful Bill Cipher plushie dangles limply in his grip. As Bill gives it another squeeze, some more of the stuffing puffs out. Worn as it already is, with one of the legs missing and the pupil in the eye worn away, it makes the entire thing look twice as pathetic.

Dipper staunchly resists the urge to hide under the table. It’s too late anyway. He’s not escaping this now.

Who the hell decided to pack that? It’s ugly and stupid and juvenile. If Dipper had been able to choose what he brought along, he would have deliberately left it behind. Maybe burned it, so nobody else would know he still had one.

As it stands, he’s torn between being glad it’s here - and totally goddamned humiliated.

He makes a quick grab for it, but Bill dodges him with a grin.

“Ah ah ah! Nice try.” He waggles it again, beaming bright. “I knew it! You’re super interested in me, aren’t you? Was this little guy your favorite? Didja cuddle up with him in bed every night?”

Asshole probably saw all of that happen, and now he’s taunting. Dipper grits his teeth, hands clenching by his sides.

Damn it, it’s not Dipper’s fault there weren’t a lot of soft things in the cult. Who cares if he had something that made his life suck a little less? Especially one that flatters Bill himself. If anything Bill should be pleased, knowing he got some devotion from this less-than-pious human- but instead he’s being an ass about it.

“I’m right, of course.” Bill says, with smug certainty. “Ol’ mini-me here got oodles of affection, didn’t he?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully, backing up as Dipper turns around the table corner in pursuit. “Now let’s see…”

Dipper sucks in a breath, watching Bill bring it to his face. His teeth bared in a sharp smile, mouth slightly open.

Bill shuts his eye, and puffs a breath over the plush. For a second Dipper thinks it’s about to be consumed in fire, he stumbles forward in protest.

But though it’s blue all over, it doesn’t burn. As he watches, the hole in the side closes over, stuffing concealed. Some of the minor stains come out, the stitching of the bricks turns black and pristine. The second leg dangles beside the other, the eye is full and renewed and only maybe blinks.

Dipper stops his chase, pausing with his hand on the table.

That plush hasn’t looked anywhere near that good since he was little. Bill acted like it was nothing to him. Bill thought it was funny. He could have turned it into nothing, just for kicks - and it’s.

Every time he thinks he knows what Bill Cipher is up to, his expectations get turned upside down and shaken for loose change. Dipper doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it.

Bill looks over his work with pride, picking up one of the arms to shake it. “Nice to meet ya, Bill! I’m the real, better Bill.” He pauses, then nods solemnly, as if it responded. “Yeah, I am the greatest. Glad you noticed!”

And in a stunningly unsurprising turn of events, Bill’s also going to be obnoxious about this.

Bill brings the plushie right up to Dipper’s face, pitching his voice higher. “Oooh, Pine Tree, I’m so glad to see ya! You’re my favorite human.” He lifts the felt arms in a floppy invitation for a hug. “I love you sooooo much!”

Dipper feels his lips draw into a thin line, while Bill’s mouth arches up in a grin.

“What’s that?” Bill cups his ear as if to hear better. “You want a kiss?” Dipper shakes his head, but not before Bill starts mashing the stupid plush against his cheeks. He tries fending it off, but Bill’s quick enough to find every gap in his defenses. Also, he’s making exaggerated kissy sounds. “Mwah mwah mwah!”

Dipper snatches the stupid plush from Bill’s stupid hand, then turns right on his heel and storms back to the guest room.

Behind him, he hears Bill cackling with laughter.

He knew he was in for some kind of trial. A type of torment. What he’s faced so far hasn’t been terrible. Or much at all, compared to when he was back with the congregation.

This god isn’t quite the creature of eternal nightmares and torment that he was always told about. Instead he has other motives, ones too strange and subtle to interpret. Dipper should be thankful.

A glance backward shows said god slumped on the couch, cackling to himself with one hand on his forehead.

But Bill sure thinks he’s fucking hilarious.

Dipper slams the door shut, as loud as he can. It doesn’t quite block out the continuing laughter. He slumps against the door, letting out a long, tired sigh.

Great. He doesn’t know what else he expected.

Bill Cipher’s a total asshole.

#I meant to get this done quicker but my body betrayed me with illness #Probably coulda done another editing pass but I am tired and need a nap #Apologies for all of this; My November was kinda bad and then I compensated by writing Hella Fluff #Gotta wait till next part for Bill to find out the reason Dip's so quiet #That's going to be very fun :3c #For me that is #Uhhh anything else that I can add as a fun note #There's one particular scene that made me go yeah this is a good reason to write a shitton of words to get there #Because I am a fool #Hope this was fun to read you guys!! I am gonna take a friggin' nap

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todayisafridaynight · 7 months

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time a flat circle why the hell am i usin the same loafers i bought for one cosplay of my fave antagonist for another fave antagonist

#snap chats #can i even call it cosplay. why are police sirens going off in the bg oh my god shut UP #anyway yeah ill elaborate. Super Snap Stalkers will remember my p4 era and will remember the time i did in fact do an adachi cosplay #i deleted the og post like an hour later. plus that blog's gone. but im sure some freak can find it if they dig hard enough #ew i think i was 17/18 in that pic (not at all that long ago) ok anyway.#i use the same loafers for my aoki outfit. and yeah i do Regularly wear my rgg outfits i TOLD YOU its functional cosplay i QUIT #just funny that like.... damn everything always goes back to square one LOL #these busted ass old ass loafers still rockin with me years later #if im feeling cheeky i think i will post all my rgg outfits actually. for halloween #hang on gotta be depressed and cringe for a moment #cause ive always liked cosplay but whenever i did it it never felt. Good Looking #like i always just felt like my face never worked for the charas i wanted to portray and so thats why i say with a heavy heart #that aoki's round-ass square-ass head is perfect LOL it makes me wanna throw up looking in the mirror #i got the same weird lips. ok not that squished Similar but Its Awful that he makes me feel comfortable with my face now #at least my eyebags arent double deckered... i at least look like i get sleep.. some days.#breaking !!!! objectively one of the most vile bitches in this franchise makes you feel comfortable with your body and existence #NAW to continue from last post if i had a webcam i prob coulda done a cosplay y7 stream LOL thatd be funny #anyway since this tag ramble is just pure cringe let me round it off with a final bit of cringe #the Forbidden Mention of my trans masato hc cause one reason why i have a Teehee over the thought is how raspy his voice is #and i only really now realized how right i was tonight because my prof called on me to speak and when i tried speaking DAWG.#the forbidden acknowledgement of Myself GROSS #BUT DAWG MY THROAT WAS FUCKIN CRUSTY it felt like sandpaper EW?? WATER FOR YOU?? christ. i hope that was just a one-time thing #ok im leaving now BYE

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simptasia · 1 year

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thanks for the tag, @dharmainitiativeofficial

painting or photography // dusk or dawn // spring or autumn // movies or tv shows // chocolate or nutella // audiobooks or podcasts // card games or board games // fiction or nonfiction // cookies or brownies // dragons or unicorns // bath or shower // blue or yellow // rollercoasters or bumper cars // iced tea or hot tea // left side of bed or right side of bed // zip-up hoodie or pullover hoodie // straight hair or curly hair // gummy worms or gummy bears // rain or snow // sneakers or flip-flops // bowling or mini-golf // pasta or pizza

if you wanna: @all-seeing-ifer, @rustpuppy, @agardenintheshire

#me #my bed is a single but when i sleep in a double i have no preference #tho! when mum and i are watching TV we lay on mattresses in the lounge room #and for whatever reason i do tend to go on the left side (my POV)#but i don't like. have to. im fine on the other side too #as for the tea question? [gags]#oh and the hoodie thing? zip ups because they're the only ones i've been ever able to find #i mention because if i coulda found a black pullover hoodie i would have done a master cosplay a loooong time ago #but alas mum and i never found one. all zip ups. forever. besides that i do prefer zip ups because they're easier to get off #oh oh another thing ''bowling or mini golf'' wow those are two sports i actually like!#but the bowling alley is crazy loud so mini golf it is

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kindacreepy-kindaugly · 13 days

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tbqh I did seriously consider just walkin out on him

#spyder #tmi tmi tmi #i hope he knows i coulda done that n not felt bad in the slightest #i hope he knows i only didn't cause i'm better than he is💕#so i don't do that shit to people even if they deserve it #also i'm not _actually_ tryin to make him worse n we all know he can't deal w/ his emotions like an adult so #i guess i can do a little handholdin if that's what it takes #he's lucky i'm not a loser who needs to exert power over people to feel ok abt himself💕 unlike him i just do it for fun #n he's not even a loser in a sexy way smh #w/e though i get my payback by just throwin his own words back at him lmao #who's the good boy NOW huh??#if he discovers some things about himself n maybe chills down a bit...all the better #just need to keep in mind his fucked up ideas abt consent also apply to himself #maybe i'm a lil fucked in the head but i really do need to psych myself into not messin w/ him too much when it'd be soooo easy #n i could do so much damage he 100% deserves #but i don't wanna go down that road. i think. i don't wanna be that guy.#just tryin to teach this boy some manners like babe are you sure you wanna be sayin all that w/ my nails anywhere near ur dick #they're sharp for a reason #that'll be good enough for now n if i get bored i can always just drop him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#spdrvent

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msbigredmachine · 3 months

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Checkmate - A Roman Reigns One-Shot

The new Smackdown GM reminds the Tribal Chief who’s boss, in more ways than one. The aftermath of the highly entertaining WrestleMania 40 Press Conference.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/OC

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning: Smut

Click here if you want to be on my tag list. If I’ve forgotten anyone please let me know so I can add you.

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Answer your fuckin phone.

She's been expecting his text message, to add to the half-dozen missed calls he's already deluged her phone with. His WrestleMania plans were thrown into disarray tonight and for some reason he thinks she has something to do with it.

Too bad she doesn't give a fuck what he thinks.

I'm calling you one more time. You better pick up.

So bossy. Always has been. But he knows damn well who the boss really is. When her phone springs to life again with his beautiful face snarling at her through the screen, she rolls onto her back with a heavy sigh, smooths down her oversized t-shirt and presses the green button, waiting to hear his deep voice on the other end of the line.

"What the fuck, Joy!"

Damn. Even when he's pissed, he sounds sexy as hell; it's the same menacing timbre he adopts when he's folding her up and turning her out. The memory makes her hot between her thighs.

"Reigns." Her voice is calm and steady despite the thumps of her heart, calling out to him even when she doesn't want it to.

"Why was Cody there tonight? Hmm?" he demands, his temper simmering beneath his words. "I coulda sworn he agreed to step aside for Dwayne. Why he change his mind? Did you have something to do with it? What'chu say to him, huh?"

She extends her left hand to inspect her ombre-colored acrylic nails. "Calm your tits. I don't control Cody's actions, I'm Smackdown's GM, not Raw's. He won the Rumble and he has the right to choose who he wants."

"Don't patronize me, Joy! Rock and I were a done deal!"

"You sound tense, Reigns. Paranoid, even," she smirks, "Worried you can't beat the American Nightmare a second time? Besides, you heard the fans...they wanna see you and him-"

"Bullshit!" he cuts her off. "This wasn't about no fans. You wanted this and I know why. You saw the pictures of me and Venita over Christmas and you been in your feelings ever since."

It's a predictable, childish response, and though there's some truth to it, she dismisses its immature delivery. "What you do with your bitch is your business. You are marrying her, after all," she says coolly, hearing him bristle at the other end.

"See? We ain't had a civil conversation since those photos got out. I know exactly how you feel about her, so tell me I'm lying."

"Don't ever question my ability to separate business from pleasure. You are walking proof of that," Joy warns him. "My problem is with you questioning my authority, with your silly little threats and your temper tantrums. You did it leading up to the Rumble and I'll be damned if I let it happen again. In case you forgot, I run Smackdown now. You work for me. The Mania match is scheduled, so your ass better show up in Philly, you understand me?"

A long, tense moment crawls by.

"Are you done?" he says, sounding bored.

"No. Whatchu gon' do about it?" Joy challenges.

"You looked hot as fuck in that dress tonight."

She rolls her eyes. Of course he deflects. But it's not going to work this time. She wants him to feel as frustrated as she has been over the last couple of months. "Ain't your fiancée over there with you?" she retorts, her tone clipped and snarky.

"She's in the Hamptons. And even if she was here, that ain't never stopped us anyways," he calls her out.

"Whatever." As flippant as she's tried to be about it, she is growing tired of the same old song and dance between her and Roman. She's allowed him to juggle her and Venita, and she blames herself for not leaving him alone when he chose to stay with her. Perfect, pretty little naive Venita. The IG influencer extraordinaire whose only two cares in life are her follower count and the picture-perfect aesthetics of the 'Roman & Venita' brand.

Whatever helps her sleep at night, I guess.

Joy had wondered just how perfect they really were the first time she saw the couple backstage in the Thunderdome, with Venita looking bored as hell the entire time she was there. It was clear that she had no interest in Roman's world, and Joy told him just that. Certain she would be fired on her first day for opening her big mouth, he had merely laughed and agreed, and it was then she found out she was his producer for the upcoming Bloodline saga. Onscreen, they created magic with the now legendary Tribal Chief storyline, but the magic they soon began making behind the scenes and between the sheets was even better and way too hot for TV.

She's never had time to be ashamed of inserting herself in someone else's relationship, mainly because her career has accelerated to the top of WWE's creative hierarchy. Plus, she's not about to give up such great sex, not with a stroke game that superb and a libido as high as her ambitions. Sometimes she wishes she doesn't have to share him, but she accepts that she can't have it all. After all, she already lords over the A-show as Smackdown's General Manager, meaning she is virtually unstoppable now, with money, power, and most importantly, the balls of the biggest star in the industry in the palm of her hand. Literally.

But he's pissing her off right now.

"Look, I want us to talk. Come see me." He's turned on the charm but Joy refuses to fall for it.

"What I want is an apology for your constant disrespect ever since I became GM," she replies, "I told you; I don't give a damn that we're fucking. Do not make an enemy out of me, Roman."

The Tribal Chief sighs heavily. "Look. You're right. Let me make it up to you. Come to my room so we can talk things out."

"No. You just want pussy."

"That too," he snickers.

Joy bites her lip as she idly circles her middle and ring finger over her pussy lips. She had no prior plans to touch herself, but listening to his deep, haughty voice has sparked a throbbing between her thighs that needs urgent attention. "Right. Well, I don't feel like leaving my room. This bed is way too comfy," she emphasizes.

"Mine is comfier. Are you alone?" he asks.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Woman, you better not be givin' my pussy to nobody else," he growls, making her laugh.

"You're hilarious. My pussy is mine and mine alone, no matter how good you beat it and eat it," she reminds him, her smile widening as she hears him taking deep breaths, trying to compose himself.

"I see that you get off on testing my patience. Does that turn you on, baby girl? Hmm? Does it make that pussy wet? I bet you wet right now." His voice drops an entire octave at that last part, and she bites her lip to keep from moaning when her slick honey pools around her fingers.

"I might be," she gasps.

"Then bring your ass over here and let me take care of it."

Joy huffs, determined to resist him for as long as she can. "I can take care of myself, Reigns. Matter of fact, I'm doing just that as we speak..."

"Aww, babe, don't be touchin' on my pussy without me," he grumbles. His frustration makes her grin in triumph. She holds all the cards and she's enjoying listening to him squirm.

"I wanna see you, beautiful. We ain't been together in so long. I miss you," Roman continues.

"Is that right?"

"Uh huh. Don't you miss me, Joy? Don't you miss this dick? It definitely misses you. Listen..."

The slippery, sticky sound that follows his words is unmistakable, and her heart pounds in her chest at his soft groan. The image of him lying in his bed, probably naked, jerking off to her, makes her stomach flip and her pussy spasm beneath her fingers. The tension crackles over the phone, simmering with the same intensity as though he were right there in person.

"Hear that, baby? That's how bad I need you. Come over." His silky-smooth whisper finally loosens the last thread of control she has held onto tightly up to this point. She knows that ultimately, she won't deny him...she never does because she can't, and he knows that.

"Gimme ten minutes," she relents.

"Make it five."

"I said, ten. Text me your room number." Cutting the call before he can respond, she leaves her bed and searches for a couple of accessories to wear. After a quick check in the mirror, she picks up her phone and sees he's already sent her his room number. The thought of what is about to transpire hastens her flight out of the room, the dead of night no match for her rapidly burning need for him. She has since accepted that she will always need him, too.

His door swings open seconds after she knocks, and a surprised yelp escapes her when he yanks her inside and tugs her flush against him. He is barefoot, in gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, and shirtless to show off the majesty of his massive, inked chest. Joy meets his loaded stare head-on as he drinks in her own appearance. She is in one of his old Nike hoodies that she swiped from him and never gave back, with the open zipper in the middle showing the swell of her breasts underneath. Long pastel-pink stockings run up to her brown thighs with gray Crocs on her feet. As his eyes crawl hungrily up and down her frame, her body thrums with realization at just how hard he is, his sizable erection poking her lower belly. Despite their back-and-forth, it's no mistake that she intoxicates him, and that power thrills her.

"Like what you see, champ?" she asks, staring him down for his response.

Roman's moan is ragged as he clamps his huge paw around her throat and covers her mouth with his, and she instantly melts in his arms, her nerves alight from his touch. She is swept up in the softness of his lips, the sweetness of his taste that contrasts erotically with his aggressiveness and the eager, hungry flicking of their tongues as the kiss heats up. He feels wonderfully warm and smells incredible like he always does.

Reluctantly, his mouth retreats from hers and he tucks his face in the hollow of her neck. He nuzzles his cheek against her skin and inhales the fragrance he's missed so much, her hushed moan caressing the depths of his senses.

"You a vindictive little bitch, you know that?" he mumbles, pressing a kiss to her throat.

"Only when I wanna be," she hums, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"You musta loved watching me lose my cool tonight," he adds, "I saw the look in your eyes on that stage when I got into it with those two bums. That shit turned you on. Your nipples were hard through your dress. And I'm sure that pussy was soaked."

Truth be told, seeing his cool calm composure collapse, with his long hair flying and cocky countenance as he talked shit to Cody and Seth, made her so wet she had to run into a restroom stall to take off her panties, forcing her to go commando for the rest of the night. She'll never admit it though; she never likes to give him the upper hand. "How do you know?" she challenges.

"Cuz I know you. I know everything about your body, sweetheart," Roman brags, "I know what you like, and I know you love testing me cuz it makes me wanna fuck the attitude outta you."

"So what are you waiting for?" She licks her glossy lips, full and pouting, goading him with her bedroom eyes. But the Tribal Chief can feel her body trembling, betraying her bravado. This time he has the upper hand and he plans to exploit it.

He pulls her hoodie over her head and his eyes immediately drop to the thin beaded belly chain adorning her slender waist, accentuating her delicious curves. Desire gleams in his brown irises at the sight of her bare breasts, the fleshy mounds popping out at him, her nipples hard and aching for his touch. "Fuck, you're sexy," he murmurs. He massages each one then leans down to lick and suck on them, his tongue and hands working together to pleasure her.

"Ooh, that feels good," she moans, placing her hair behind her ear to get a good look at him feasting on her nipples. Ever the multitasker, he grabs her white lace thong at the hem, yanking impatiently until it rips from her body. Joy bursts out laughing at his savagery. "I knew you was gon' fuck up my panties," she jokes.

"I replace 'em, don't I?" He abandons her breasts and kisses her again, this time sliding both hands down to her round backside and lifting her up to press her against the wall. The friction of their bare chests pressed together, nipples grazing, her legs wrapping around his waist and bringing them even closer, builds the desire. He grinds his throbbing hardness against the open heat between her thighs, and she gets him back by reaching inside his sweatpants and grabbing his dick, stroking the turgid flesh as it jumps in her grasp. "Mmm, baby you're so hard. Put it in me," she orders.

"Not yet," he cuts her off, his huge biceps flexing as he carries her across the lavish suite. "Come over here, you little slut. Come suck my dick in front of this great view of the Strip."

Next to the expansive window is an L-shaped sofa large enough for a good trip to Pound Town. As he takes off his pants, Joy can't stop herself from drooling at his towering form. Six foot three, bronzed Adonis with chocolate eyes, luscious hair, massive and muscled and all man, with a long, hefty cock pulsing between those powerful thighs. He looks like a demigod in all his glory, and she venerates at the altar of his beauty.

Roman settles himself at the other end of the sofa and eyes her down with a smug smirk. Tucking his hands behind his head, he spreads his legs. "Crawl to me," he commands, his smirk widening when she advances towards him on all fours. Joy is a work of art, with nicely sized titties, round hips, thick, mouth-watering thighs and ass and that fat pussy he dreams about at least once a day. Every part of her is real and silky soft to the touch. It's been years since he first tasted her, and he is still drunk off it. She is a potent drug he can't wean himself off of, and frankly, he doesn't want to. He loves Venita, but for all her prowess in bed, she does not possess a fraction of the wild thrill that encapsulates the woman before him. He wants Joy, needs her like he needs to breathe, and he always will. He will seek his fiancée's forgiveness when that day comes.

Joy slowly slithers up the length of his body, ignoring his erection for now as she straddles him and plants a long, wet kiss on his mouth, the sound of their lips meeting and parting filling the suite. Her hands caress the tight muscles of his body, having memorized all the spots that make his breath quicken and his pulse spike. He puts his hands on her hips, but she seizes them and pins them above his head without breaking stride, laughing when he moans out with frustration. She catches his tongue as it slides into her mouth, and she proceeds to suck on it, her head bobbing like she is sucking his dick. Saliva quickly gathers around their joined mouths as she feasts on only his tongue. It's the messiest, sloppiest, hottest kiss they've ever shared, and the tension is reaching fever pitch as a result.

"You want me to suck your dick like this, baby?" Joy asks. When Roman nods, she tugs his lower lip between her teeth. "Say it," she orders, her fingers digging into his wrists. Her hips are rolling too, moving in a seductive, serpentine dance that short circuits every fiber of his being. He can't move even if he wants to; his senses are pinned down to the bed along with his body. The Tribal Chief is helpless, forced to endure the sweetest agony, with the head of his dick grazing her wet slit and driving him insane. An uncharacteristic whimper deserts his lips as his blood pumps with agitation.

"Yes," he responds breathlessly.

"What's the magic word?" Joy presses. The mocking smirk gracing her pretty features should infuriate him, but it only arouses him instead.

"Please," he concedes, knowing full well that she will drag out the torture until he succumbs. With a triumphant smile and one more intoxicating kiss, she finally takes pity on him and makes the descent down his heaving body, soothing his butterscotch skin with soft kisses. As she nears his groin, his eyes squeeze shut, and he takes deep breaths to remain focused.

"You think you're in control, toying with two women's lives." Joy shakes her head. "Hell no. I'm in control, Roman. I own you. You're mine to do with however I want. And you know the best part?"

She closes her mouth over the tip of him, giving it a gentle suckle before driving home her point. "Deep down, you love that shit."

Roman merely grins. The power has shifted back in his possession and she doesn't even know it. He shows her when he strikes with lightning speed, grabbing her and twisting her around so her legs are on either side of his head. Stunned, Joy grabs his thighs to steady herself, as he's already grabbing handfuls of her ass while using his tongue to part her lower lips. Her body jerks from the warm fat wetness of his tongue lashing around her sensitive crevices, softening her up with his saliva. Heady with desire, she just lays there with his dick in her hand, too overwhelmed to do anything else but moan with pleasure.

A sudden, stinging smack on her left ass cheek jolts her back to earth.

"You gon' suck me off or what?" Roman demands impatiently before refocusing on his own task.

Regaining her senses, her mouth engulfs his length, her head bobbing with her wrist twisting around the base. She cups his balls and rolls them in her other hand, making him groan wantonly. Her mouth is warm and her pouty lips are tight around him, sliding up and down with her tongue trailing saliva along his hard flesh. He retaliates by spreading her pussy open and holding her down on him, sucking and licking her folds with rapid strokes and enjoying her sexy throaty sounds that mingle with the sloppy slurps of his mouth on her. The increased pressure on her sensitive pussy has her moaning and squirming against his face, which in turn floods his tongue with her taste. His appreciative groans while licking her in rhythm with her rolling hips sends shivers down her spine.

Mustering all the strength she possesses, Joy frees herself from his clutches and crawls back down his body, her juices smearing a slick trail along his torso as she guides his length inside her with impressive quickness. She moans out loud as he fills her, her head tipping forwards as his big palms paw at the supple flesh of her backside. Roman groans at the wetness that welcomes his dick as it disappears into the warm canal of her pussy. "Yeah, fuck me good, baby girl," he growls, slapping her ass in encouragement.

Holding onto his ankles, she rocks up and down his erection, winding her hips with each drop down to take him as deep as she can. His husky moans and his tight grip on her waist empower her. Joy seizes every chance she can to turn him into putty in her hands. Because the motherfucker never likes to relinquish control, always determined to break her down into submission; whether it's with his God-gifted tongue, or his huge hands choking her, or with that big ol' dick, fucking her against the wall of her office, bending her over the table in his locker room at TV, or making her ride him in the bowels of his private jet. It's fun taking control from him and showing him who's boss, on the job and especially outside of it.

"You love it when I ride this big dick dontcha? Got you deep in this pussy just the way you like it," she purrs haughtily, upping the ante by reaching down to grip his cock.

The Tribal Chief realizes she's on demon time to be stroking his dick while riding him. She looks so sexy on top of him, in them pretty waist beads and stockings. Her thick hips roll back lavishly, her even thicker ass presses down on his pelvis, grinding and twisting and nudging him all the way up in her creamy pussy. Damn. He loves the way she fucks him. Baby girl has mad skills and a juicy pussy, and he is glad to be the one she uses them on. "Go faster, baby. Bounce on my dick," he cajoles, massaging her ass cheeks and groaning softly when she obeys, "Uh-huh, just like that, babe, unnnh..."

She can almost see the look of pleasure on his face. She can definitely hear him as he tugs at the soft flesh of her butt, lost to the depths of her warm wetness, in the erotic sounds of their sex noises and their slapping skin filling the big room as she bounces on his dick. Another moan escapes her, her head tilting back as he angles his hips to make his dick reach that oh-so-sweet spot inside her. He smacks her ass again, earning yet another whimper from her lips as her juices trickle down his length down to his balls. Her thighs are starting to burn from her efforts, but she can't stop, not when she's so close...

"Uhhhn baby, I'm comin'," she gasps, leaning back to rest her hands on his chest as she gyrates her ass on him. Roman's breathing is as heavy as hers, his fingers digging into her hips to steer her movements. The sensations are overwhelming as her walls contract around him, her pussy moistening as she leans forward again and rides him even harder. Seconds later, a flooding orgasm bursts inside her with such power that it wracks her entire body with tremors. Through the thick fog of numbing pleasure, she hears Roman's surprised grunt as her cum leaks all over his groin area.

"Damn baby, you nuttin' all over me. I knew you been needin' this dick," he taunts her.

Truth be told, she wasn't expecting to come this hard, but fuck it always feels so good when she does. "Oh my god," her voice trembles, her hand clutching the headrest to keep from collapsing in a heap.

Roman spanks her again. "I ain't tell you to stop. Keep goin'..."

"Hol' up, you got me shakin' so much," Joy groans, her thighs still quivering. He is still deep inside her, his dick throbbing impatiently inside the warmth of her tight walls.

"If I take this shit over, you won't be able to walk in the morning, that's a promise," he threatens.

"Then quit talkin' and do that shit," she bites back, glaring at him over her shoulder.

"A'ight then." He pulls her backwards on top of him, with her back to his chest. He grabs her legs and holds her up by her knees, thrusting upwards into her, reveling in her surprised yelp that quickly dissolves into loud moans. This new position feels so good that she's whining and making noises that only seem to turn him on as he strokes in and out of her pussy from underneath, making her body react and remind her exactly why she's not leaving his trifling ass anytime soon.

"Uhnnn yes, Roman, fuck me," she whimpers over and over, her mind spiraling, her eyes rolling back. He is relentless, pulling her legs further back and pounding her faster, sparking another intense orgasm. She squirts so hard that she's left dizzy and boneless, causing her to slip off his sweat-slick body, a shivering crumpled mess. She curls up into a fetal position and gives in to the intense euphoria of her release. With a proud snicker, the Tribal Chief caresses all over her body, then rolls her onto her stomach, spreading her thighs to observe the damage he's inflicted on her pussy.

"We ain't finished," he informs her, tapping his hard, slickened dick against her soaked, puffy folds. She tenses and arches her back on instinct, anticipating his invasion. He smiles behind her, grabs her hips, and drags her limp body up and onto his hard, waiting dick. The moans they exhale together is a symphony that serenades the pair as he continues his hard, deep thrusts. With her hips in the air and her backside in his calloused palms, she is at his mercy yet again, and her vision swims at the feeling of him practically in her spine. She knows just how deep that big ass dick of his can get inside her, but it never fails to wipe her mind blank when it does.

"Oh, fuck," she mumbles into the couch, her face sinking further in it as he drills into her hard and rough. It hurts so good that it's quite literally taking her breath away. "Shit, fuck Roman, wait, wait," she pleads, reaching behind to push his thigh and forcing him to halt his movements.

"Too much?" he asks, laughing as he presses gentle kisses along her spine, feeling her body shiver from the contact. "That's what you get when your pussy is so good. You was talkin' all that shit earlier, best believe I ain't lettin' up, baby girl. Who owns who now, huh," he says, swatting her ass and starting again.

"You're a cocky asshole," she moans shakily, defiance swirling in her lust-filled gaze.

Roman's smirk is diabolical and panty-wetting. "And don't you forget it. Now shut up and take this dick."

Joy winces as his hand curves around her throat, the other clutching her lower hip as he fucks her prone body into the sofa. She clings to the cushions and her sanity with everything she has, tears filling her eyes as he pummels her with hurried, lethal thrusts, making her ass jiggle and her pussy drip some more as she's dragged dangerously close to the precipice. He pushes the arch out of her back and flips her around, sliding right back inside before she can regain her bearings and dropping his body weight on her. His intoxicating cologne surrounds her as their mouths crush together in a hungry, toe-curling kiss. Incoherent moans leave them both as he rolls his hips against hers, nestling his dick right there, eking a sob out of her as she falls apart again.

"Aww, f-f-fuuuck..."

"I know baby, I know it feels so good," He kisses away her tears and then her cheek, his fingers curling over her breast in a light squeeze which in turn squeezes her walls around his pounding thrusts. "Mmm, this pussy so tight and wet. Keep comin' for me, baby, gimme all that nut."

His sultry command sends another wave of pleasure crashing into her like one of his trademark Spears, and her jaw drops from the force of her orgasm, her pussy clenching painfully around his dick. Her pitiful moans that she struggles to muffle against his tattooed shoulder are music to the Tribal Chief's ears as his own body is moments away from the same fate.

"Shit," he groans gruffly, shuddering breaths tearing from his lungs as his balls tighten and his strokes become sloppier, heavier, "Fuck, I'm boutta buss..."

Joy lifts her left leg up and rests it on his shoulder, digging her other heel in his lower back to pull him in deeper and finally take him down. She runs her hands all over his sides, his back, his ass, her moans mingling with his as his hips snap harder and faster. Their foreheads touch, and a devilish smile forms on her face at the helplessness in his glazed eyes, licking his lips in between throaty gasps of pleasure. She has him right where she wants him. "There you go baby, pound that fuckin' pussy, fill it up," she coaxes.

"Unhhh, shit," Roman's whines disintegrate into a whimpering cry as his big body trembles viscerally against her own. Joy's toes curl as he lodges his dick all the way inside her, making her feel each throbbing spurt of his warm seed spilling generously in her pussy. She never minds him coming inside her; her IUD is always in place, mainly for his benefit and hers. His deep, sexy grunts as he rides out his nut with stuttered ruts of his hips wash over her, leaving her breathless and weak-kneed for him.

Kissing her leg and letting it down, Roman finally pulls his dick out with a hiss and strokes out the rest of his cum onto her softened, battered pussy lips. Joy stares dazedly at the ceiling, her body humming from the last vestiges of her orgasm and a touch of pain. She feels his big arms slide around her waist and draw her in so their lips meet, savoring their collective taste with their tongues as they bask in the afterglow. He takes her arms and winds them around his neck before picking her up, transferring her from the sofa to the king-sized bed a couple of feet away. He lays her carefully on the bed and sits at the edge, watching her snuggle against the soft sheets and pillows with a satisfied sigh. The outdoor lights peeking through the window cast a glittery shadow over her nude body, making her look even more beautiful. And speaking of beautiful...

"I got you something," he announces, taking a small gift box labeled Van Cleef & Arpels sat on the nightstand and handing it to her.

"What's this?" she questions, slowly sitting up.

"Just a lil' sumn I thought you'd like," he simply shrugs. "Open it."

Eyeing him suspiciously, she unties the ribbon at the top of the box and removes the lid. Nestled in navy-blue velvet are an eighteen-carat yellow-gold Alhambra bracelet and matching earrings. She wishes she disliked the warmth that blooms inside her at the sweet gesture. She meets his eyes, noting his cocked eyebrow and cocky smirk as he gauges her reaction.

"This a good enough apology for you?" he asks.

Joy smiles gratefully and kisses his lips. "They're beautiful. But I keep telling you, you don't have to buy me anything," she says.

"Well, I want to. Sue me." He goes quiet for a few seconds, contemplating his next words. "You got tickets to the SuperBowl, right? Let's go together. We can hang out in my skybox."

"And have people talk about us? We got reputations to uphold. And what about Venita?"

"She'll be there. She's still clueless about us. And I told you, ain't nobody gon' say shit. Between your lawyer and mine, all them NDAs are water-tight." When he speaks again, his voice is much softer. "I just miss spending time with you. I miss when we weren't at each other's throats like we are these days."

"That's only cuz you make my job harder, Reigns," she points out, scooting over when he rolls into the bed and sits up against the headboard next to her.

"And you, mine. But despite all of that, I would do anything for you. You know that, right? That's why I agreed to that damn match. For you," he adds, biting his lip as he caresses her chin and gazes tenderly at her. Joy feels her heart flutter as his chocolate-colored eyes gleam with that familiar, intense passion that the two of them have been sharing for almost four years now...

"You're so cute when you get all soft and sweet on me, champ," she smiles, leaning in for another kiss that lingers pleasantly this time. It's little moments like these that try to con her, even to this day, that their affair has veered towards the romantic side. She thanks the cynical businesswoman in her for swiftly kicking that childish notion to the curb every time the delusion attempts to rear its ugly head.

Their embrace is interrupted by the grating sound of his phone vibrating, forcing him to pull away from her with a tired sigh. On the nightstand, a text message with Venita's name lights up his phone screen.

Countin the minutes till I touch down in Vegas 🥺😍 Can't wait to see you again! Love you Baby Boo 😘

"Aww, poor baby," Joy's giggle is dark and mocking as she looks over Roman's shoulder. Snatching the phone out of his hand, she opens up the message and begins typing.

"Don't start no shit, now," he sighs, but makes no move to stop whatever havoc she's causing through his device.

"Relax, Baby Boo," she teases, pressing Send and holding his phone up to his face to show him her response.

I'm waiting for you babe. Can't wait to see you 😍 Love you sm.

"See? I was nice," she says, putting away his phone and climbing on top of his big body.

Roman rolls his eyes and runs his hands along her thighs. "I guess I should thank you, then?"

"Oh, no need to thank me. I'm just being a good, caring boss," she replies, bending to kiss his lips, trailing her tongue along his bearded jawline and tasting her dried juices. "You're my star employee, so it's important that I always give you what you need. And I always give it to you, don't I?"

Roman groans into her mouth as she kisses him harder, her dainty fingers stroking his dick which immediately pulses in her grasp as though it hasn't been touched all day. "Yeah, you do," he rasps, his body heating up as she starts to descend on him. "Oh shit, baby, you feelin' generous tonight..."

"Mmm, more like selfish..." She sits all the way down with a gasp, making both their hearts race with each twitch of his cock inside her. "Cuz I want that dick again, and I'm taking it..."

She is already moving, hunched over him, her titties in his face, sucking them both back into that sensual place of pleasure they like to visit together. He answers to her, in more ways than one, and he won't have it any other way. "Anything you want, boss. Anything you want," the Tribal Chief croaks out, allowing himself to sit back and enjoy the ride, quite literally.

THE END

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

Please leave feedback/comments. I appreciate them as they help me improve my writing.

Thank you all so much for reading!

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

TAGGING: @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @harmshake @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @shonny09 @lizzyd1ish @gomussy @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya @mzv11 @kia1996 @randomuser0711 @theesexystallion @yourtribalqueen

#roman reigns #wwe #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns smut #the bloodline #smackdown #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns imagines #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns x oc #wrestlemania

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jeeaark · 2 months

Text

Dumb Choice V. 1

Greygold could totally take on their team 1-9. Totally. With 8+ summons and carrying a 10-year-supply of inventory items, Greygold IS the BBG babe's love fight don't count because Greyg didn't wanna fight shh

As much as I don't like where this fork-in-the-road went, boy did I have a lot of time to mull over why squid buddy called it quits. And I couldn't pick just one reason ✨

So let's kick it up a notch with the survival theory.

After hearing how certain mindflayers get the instinctual hankering to be a lil shit that sometimes they gotta roll a dice so as to NOT be a lil shit....

What if. Maybe squid buddy's mindset wasn't just being dead stubborn about surviving, but the exhausted-flayer's survival instincts kicked in. Maybe there was poor communication because Emps was in panic mode, wits at an end, fear on overddrive, every doubt collapsing in on itself, stuck-in-a-corner mode, eye-for-an-eye contemplation, fight-or-flight response overriding any other sensible dialogue options that were available for them.

Maybe Emps failed their don't-be-a-lil-shit roll

And since squid buddy didn't uh....want to repeat the fight response like with Ansur, for various reasons, reacted with flight instead

Funny story, I drew this a while back as a 'fun' theoretical possibility, but been realizing more recently ehhhhh-Emps really coulda just killed us all right then and there (not withstanding Halsin and Jaheira). If Emps had the ability to turn off the mind-protection after you stray too far from the mission, then they coulda done the same thing to everyone now. So if Emps really had a "no more use for us" mindset like a certain mindflayer book says they do, fleeing wasn't necessarily the only way for Emps to survive.

Maybe. Emps was about to react in a way they knew they were gonna regret again and eeehh- counter-reacted by noping the fuck out. For Greygold, I like that theory. Squid Buddy: jumping the gun like a dramatic tired mindless-flayer

#bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #the emperor bg3 #greygold #of course there's probably holes in my theory or I could be COMPLETELY wrong #originally I just wanted to draw the teetering parallel of guardian-in-shiny-armor killing their 'more than friends' again #emps going nope nope nope mentally and physically to that intrusive squid thought is a fun new afterthought though #Ansur probably didn't try to use a dagger- maybe attempted decap with a sword....zappy-breathed sleepy squid #but can't resist a -classic- betrayal drama dagger #Just because Greygold just wanted to give orpheus a chance #didn't mean they had no qualms with the squid choice if orpheus felt like quashing that chance thereafter #meanwhile Orpheus over here also going: I'm sorry you were gonna what?

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simphornies · 3 months

Note

Husker with a SO who bothers him as a form of affection. Like not when he's actually busy but just poking him, lightly biting him, calling his name for no reason, not telling him why they're giggling about anything

A/N: Honestly super cute to write. A good haply story before the angst hits in my later fics :)

Word count: 789

Contents: no use of y/n,

A Lovely Bother [ Husk x GN!Reader ]

Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke.

Husk’s ear twitches in irritation followed by a low grumble. “I’m trying to work.”

But that didn’t stop you. You grinned mischievously and slid behind the bar. “I’m working too! It’s my duty as your loyal lover to always be by your side, no matter the cost!” You say with a dramatic tone, leaning up against him.

“Please. Let me do my work.” He puts his hand on yours.

You groan, “Fine.” You plop on the couch and aimlessly scroll on your phone.

“Husk.” You say and get no response.

“Husk~! Husk!” You repeat yourself until he finally slams the glass he was cleaning to turn to you.

“Yes?” He grumbled

You giggled, “Nothin’.” He groaned in response and continued with his work.

After a couple of minutes of silence, his ears twitched and turned to the sound of you giggling, yet again. “What’re you giggling at?” Husk asked, an eyebrow raised at you as he cleaned a glass.

“Nunya.” You were trying desperately to stop giggling but it wasn’t working. You practically snorted.

He squinted at you, “What the fuck is ‘Nunya’?”

“Nunya BUSINESS.” You cackled.

He pointed at you, “Don’t make me come over there.”

“I’m sorry!” You giggled. “It’s just a picture of you.” You were drawing Husk but as a tiny little house cat, kinda like KeeKee.

“Show me.” He spoke, putting the glass away before leaning on the bartop.

“No.”

“Wh—What the fuck do you mean ‘No’? You can’t just say that shit and not show me.”

“No!”

“Fucker—SHOW ME THE DRAWING.”

“NO!”

He ran around the counter and chased you. After tackling you and holding you down with his wings, he got the drawing and looked at it. “That’s me?” He squinted at it, “Is this what you went to Hell for?”

You gasped, feigning offense at his statement, “How dare you mock my skills.”

“I’m kidding.” He laughed, “But it’s cute. Thank you.”

Ever since you finished it, he had it pinned on one of the shelves with pride.

It was a rare, peaceful night at the hotel. Husk was finishing up for the night. He heard pitter patter behind him. Thinking it was Niffty running after some bugs, he didn’t bother to turn around at the sound. It wasn’t until you lightly bit his wing that he turned and almost knocked you out with a bottle of cheap booze. You barely dodged it.

“You cannot sneak up on me like that.” He spoke loudly, “I coulda hurt you, baby.” His voice softened at the end, his pupils dilating.

“Sorry. Sorry.” You spoke with an apologetic smile, “I just wanted to say hi.”

He sighs, “I’ll be in bed in a bit. Almost done.” He gave you a kiss on the cheek, returning your smile.

“I’m not leaving until you’re done then.” You grinned, leaning up against the bartop. He chuckles in response before returning back to rearranging the bottles on the shelf.

“Suit yourself.” He says, “Behold. The most boring part of the job.” He spoke with sarcasm, gesturing to the entirety of the back of the bar.

You giggled, “I don’t mind. I like watching you.” You grabbed a rag and started to wipe down some glasses. “Let me help you speed up the process. I can’t go to sleep without you purring next to me.”

“I don’t purr.”

“Yes you do.”

“Not when I’m tryna go to sleep.”

“You want video evidence?”

He pauses. He faced you, squinting. “Video evidence?” You grin. You finished helping him close up for the night. You start to retreat out of the bar. “Give me your fuckin—”

He reached for the phone in your pocket but right before he could grab it, you sprinted away. All you could hear behind you were wings flapping.

“I’m saving these forever!” You yelled, laughing as you ran down the halls and towards your shared room.

“No the fuck you’re not!” Laughter filled the halls as you ran for your life, fleeing and dodging his attempts to grab you. As soon as you got into the bedroom, he pounced on you. “Got ya.” He grinned down at your defeat.

“I wanna save it.” You gave him the best puppy dog eyes you could and he just shook his head, chuckling lightly.

“I can’t say no to you, annoying little shit.” He said lovingly. “I love you.”

You smiled brightly at him, “I love you too.” He kissed your nose and carried you to bed. The two of you cuddled and talked until the sounds of his purrs and low chuckles lulled you to sleep. He held you close to him, nuzzling his face on the top of your head, falling asleep shortly after.

Taglist: @froggybich @baizzhu @dickmastersworld @matrixbearer2024

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #husk x reader #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #husker x reader #fluff #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel fluff x reader

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gtzel · 22 days

Text

Think in about how I blame the borrowers in my walls for literally anything that they coulda done.

Also like, wouldn’t it be such a funny story if a human was raised on ‘fairy tales’ (the borrowers book series) and knew about borrowers. So they don’t actually believe in them, they’re more like a unicorn, something impossible but still a cool idea to the human. So whenever anything goes missing, or the wires on something in their house get messed up, they just go like “oh dam, the borrowers are at it again” just sarcastically.

But then one day, an actual borrower moves in with them, they start to notice more and more stuff going missing, and keep blaming their fictional borrowers which are fake to them.

ONLY THE ACTUAL BORROWER HAS NO IDEA ITS FAKE!! They just think that they are really bad at their job and even consider approaching the human and pleading for their life.

So then eventually, they meet and the humans just like “oh crap! You’re actually real?!” And the borrower is all confused like “bro, haven’t you been blaming me for stuff? You mean you didn’t actually know I was here?!? I JUST REVEALED MY EXISTENCE TO YOU FOR NO REASON?!”

it would be so freaking hilarious.

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msmargaretmurry · 9 days

Note

Mini fic 13. things you said at the kitchen table would be fun for matthew and leon, because another pair of my blorbos have several Important Scenes in the kitchen, so seeing how that setting is used for others is nice!

as i'm sure everyone has forgotten by now, eons ago i was doing this writing meme, and so many lovely folks left me prompts that i never got to because grad school destroyed my ability to write. but i am trying to get back in a creative groove so we're resurrecting it. so thank you for your patience/sorry about the wait i guess?? 😂 anway —

13. things you said at the kitchen table

“There you are.”

The kitchen had been so quiet that Leon jumps, looking up from his phone to see Matthew leaning in the doorway, eyebrows knit together with a frown. He’s bare-chested, barefoot, wearing the gray sweatpants that had been folded on top of Leon’s hamper, worn once but not dirty enough to put through the wash yet. There’s an array of teeth marks and mouth-shaped bruises down his torso, just starting to bloom with color. If he turned around, Leon knows, there would be a matching constellation on the back of his hip, disappearing under the waistband.

Leon tends to lose himself in the moment. Sometimes it’s a little embarrassing to see what he’s done afterwards.

Matthew tilts his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon looks at his phone again, somewhere in the middle of a mindless scroll through Instagram, then sets it aside. “Yeah, just couldn’t sleep.”

“Coulda woken me up,” Matthew says, that cocky little grin of his tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I woulda tired you back out.” He’s crossing the room as he says this, ignoring Leon’s eye-roll, pulling out a chair to sit down across from him. Elbows on the table, eyebrows raised. The only time he’s stopped looking smug all night is when Leon had him gasping and panting and moaning too hard to look anything but desperate. Which is stupid, because his team kind of got destroyed earlier, but maybe his face is just kind of stuck that way.

Leon doesn’t really get Matthew at all. He likes him well enough — a surprising enough thing on its own, and one that Leon is still reluctant to cop to sometimes. But there’s something impenetrable about him. He always leaves Leon feeling off-balance. Something about the way he walks into every room like there’s no reason he wouldn’t belong there, including Leon’s kitchen.

The sex is great, though.

Matthew hasn’t spent the night before, but not for any real reason. Just lack of opportunity. Leon usually likes sharing a bed when he has the chance.

Matthew nudges his foot under the table. “Hey.”

Leon blinks at him. “What?”

“You sure you’re awake?”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ awake,” Leon says, and kicks him back.

“Well then act like it,” Matthew says, catching Leon’s ankle briefly between his feet. “Is everything okay?”

Leon opens his mouth to say yes, but then he takes a moment to consider the situation, and instead he says, “This is a little weird, isn’t it? You and me at the kitchen table?”

“Well, it’s not my fault we’re not still in bed.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“I think it’s mostly weird because it’s the middle of the night.” The way that Matthew’s curls fall in his face is distracting. Makes Leon think about how they feel tangled in his fingers. He’d be disappointed if Matthew ever cut his hair short. “You know I’m leaving at the end of the season, right?”

This startles Leon more than Matthew’s sudden appearance two minutes ago. “What?”

“Contract’s up. Bye-bye Calgary.” Matthew shrugs with an extremely measured amount of awkwardness. That— that’s why he’s so fucking confusing. Even his sincerity feels like an act sometimes. But even more than that—

“Why?”

“It’s too fucking cold, I’m homesick, and my coach hates me.”

“No, mean— really, he does?”

Another shrug. So helpful.

“I mean, why are you telling me this?”

“I’m trying to make you pay attention to me,” Matthew says. “Geez, why do you think I’m here?”

Leon raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t get enough attention earlier?”

A tiny grin. “No.”

“So where are you going?”

“Dunno yet.”

“Is that true or are you just not telling me?”

Another shrug. A slightly larger, smugger grin.

“You think I’ll miss you?”

“Nah. You’ve got Davo to keep you warm.”

“We’re not—” Leon ignores Matthew’s dancing eyebrows. “Seriously, why are you telling me this?”

Matthew kicks his foot under the table again. “Come back to bed. We’ve got, what, two games left this season? I’m trying to get the fuckin’ in while I still can.”

“So you’re going somewhere far away,” Leon says.

“Dude, you’re in Edmonton,” Matthew says. “Everywhere is far away.”

“I meant, like, out of the conference.”

Shrug. The temptation to reach across and hold Matthew’s shoulders still is so strong. Instead Leon just meets his gaze, trying for the umpteenth time to figure him out. It doesn’t work, so he looks again at the collage of bruises spilling over his collar bone. He’s changed, in the couple of years they’ve been doing this. His body used to be wirier, but now he’s starting to fill out like a grown man. Leon can feel it on the ice, when he hits him, and in bed when he fucks him. He used to be wilder, more immature, more willing to sacrifice the play to be annoying, but he’s honed that down to an art. Whatever team gets him is going to be blown away by what they find behind his reputation. And Leon— well. It’s strange to feel so acutely that in the grand scheme of things he’ll just be an anecdote in Matthew’s life. It doesn’t bother him, exactly. It’s just a strange little moment. He’d thought, maybe stupidly, that they’d be doing this for years to come. Battles of Alberta and all that. But somehow it makes a lot more sense this way.

“Come on,” he says, standing abruptly. He catches Matthew by the arm on his way around the table, pulling him along back toward the bedroom. Matthew shakes the grip off, but catches his hand instead. In bed, he kisses Leon like he means it, but there are a lot of ways to mean something.

#writing meme #matthew and leon #hockey for ts #frida at least i know you've been PLENTY busy with the weewoo show and have NOT been pining away waiting for a response to your prompt 😂❤#anyway in my head this is spiritually in the in from the cold 'verse even tho i'm not sure if all the details match up

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apomaro-mellow · 4 months

Note

Sorry not sorry but I just saw on bingo board about THE sailor outfit and sense I am a huge suckered for Season 3 Steve meets/reference Eddie I had to send an ask

Eddie had been completely innocent, minding his own business. He was doing what everyone else in Starcourt was doing. Enjoying his summer, buying shit, and loitering. And he wasn't alone. Jeff was with him too on this gloriously sunny day.

"And you can bet he's gonna be all up my ass come fall", Eddie said.

"You probably shouldn't've put dog shit in his office then", Jeff said.

"He had no proof it was me and he deserved it. I coulda scraped through this time and been done with high school but he's out to get me!"

Eddie could go on about the principal's personal vendetta against him and he did as they walked through the mall, turning this way and that, gesticulating wildly at times. Normally fine, but oh fate, this was the one time he managed to trip over his own feet. He collapsed onto the floor, right under one of the many tables in the food court.

Usually, he would've gotten up right away. Brushed himself off, no problem. But usually, he wasn't face to face with a pair of thick thighs. Slowly, Eddie lifted up onto his arms, which brought him right in between the pair of legs.

Then he heard the voice of God.

"Do you mind?"

He jolted up, banging his head on the underside of the table. Then he scrambled out and up and rubbed his head, and found the owner of said legs.

Steve motherfucking Harrington.

Sipping a milkshake and crossing his legs like he knew they would lead to Eddie's downfall. Oh, and the only reason he could see those legs was because he was wearing a goddamn sailor suit.

"You wanna take a picture? It'll last longer."

Eddie remembered himself and smirked. "You join the navy or something Harrington?"

Steve rolled his eyes and stood up, tossing the empty cup in the trash and Eddie watched with pretty much zero shame as he walked away. Someone was playing a prank on him, right? Because there was no way the cards had just fallen into place to make Harrington get a job at a mall ice cream shop that also just happened to require him to wear the kind of outfit that wouldn't be out of place at a Halloween party. Or a strip club.

"You wanna pick your jaw up off the floor?", Jeff asked, practically materializing out of thin air. How long had he been there?

"Jeff, how's about a summer terrorizing an ice cream parlor?"

"With your lactose intolerant ass?"

Eddie watched as Steve's co-worker, who he definitely knew from school, tossed a hat on him, scolding him for not being in full uniform.

"It'll be totally worth it."

Steddie bingo under the cut

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #we need to keep putting him in silly lil outfits

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anoa-eunoia · 1 year

Text

Did it hurt - Tyler Galpin x reader

Smut warning

———

She couldn’t give you a reason as to why she was roaming the woods but there she was wondering around the the dark in that dress she knew he loved. Y/n had known for all to long that Tyler wasn’t who he claimed to be. She could feel it in her bones, he was rotten to the core but so was she.

A Twig cracked and she coulda sworn she felt breath on her neck but she put it down to the paranoia, or better yet The adrenaline of the chase. y/n continued to wonder the woods her hands brushing against the trees as she mistook the slightest noises fior footsteps.

“God, I don't like this.” Y/n whispered to herself. She heard Whispers. She knew it was just the wind with no one to listen but oh how she hoped it was him behind her stalking her like pray. It wasn’t until she found a cave a few miles out that she knew she was on the right tracks but just as she was about to turn back out of the cave she felt and arm around her waist and a hand flew over her mouth

"Don't be scared, Nobody can find us here. my dear.” His voice sent shivers down her spine. She made a pathetic attempt but fight him if but he knew just as much as her that she doesn’t care. Y/n had practically been crawling miles through the woods, for him.

“Get off me.” She whispered trying to be as convincing as she possibly could but Tyler just let out a chuckle spinning her to face him before pushing her against the wall of the cave

“What’s a girl like you doing roaming the woods at this time… don’t you know there’s a killer on the loose?” He teased with that oh so familiar smirk playing on his lips. Y/n rolled her eyes at the sarcasm but all she could think about was the way his hands felt against her skin or how his lips were just inches from her own.

“Maybe I like the thrill.” She told him as his hands moved for her waist to one on her face and the other around her neck. Tyler let out a soft hmm as his fingers traced the freckles across her cheek

“What to do with you?” He said meer seconds before slamming his lips into hers. There wasn’t even a slight hesitation before she kissed him back her arms wrapping around his neck pulling him impossibly close. The second their lips touched she knew she was done for that there was no escaping him. She was his for good.

Y/n was infatuated with Tyler. He was intoxicating. So sweet till he turns around and that’s when you see the Double faces both fighting for the power. Y/n didn’t know which she preferred. She spent every moment she could by his side. Everyone envied how in love they were. Wednesday could have have sworn y/n’s name was Tattooed on Tyler’s heart the way he went on about her when she wasn’t there.

Their love with poison. Intoxicatingly Delicious. But poison.

“What do you mean?” Y/n snapped her head looking over at her boyfriend in the drivers seat of his car. Tyler sighed his hand crawling further up her thigh oh how he loved when she’d get hot headed.

“I didn’t let her die!” He said nonchalantly as he continued to drive which only pissed y/n off more she gripped his hand throwing it off her thigh as she turned her entire body to face him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” She yelled Tyler just sat growing angrier the more she was screaming out her livid lungs. Y/n continued to ramble about how he’d promised he wouldn’t hurt her friends but had somehow hurt Enid while she was wolfed out.

“She got in the way!” he spat but y/n wasn’t having it she just rolled her eyes and continued to cuss the boy out

“Yell at me one more fucking time, y/n!” Tyler snapped only speeding up slightly the anger making him reckless

“You’re a fucking cunt!” She yelled before Tyler brought the car to a sudden halt reaching over to unclip her seatbelt

“Get the fuck out of my Car!” He swung her door open watching as the rain that was pouring splashed all over his dashboard. Y/n looked at him in disbelief and before she even had chance to responded he was pushing her out of the car and speeding away leaving her to walk back to Nevermore in the pouring rain.

“Woah, what happened to you?” Ajax said as y/n stomped into Wednesday and Enid’s room drenched from head to toe. Wednesday was busy cleaning up the scratch Tyler had left on Enid’s thigh to even give y/n a second look while thing grabbed her a towel.

“Shit what happened Enid?” Y/n said completely ignoring Ajax comment not wanting to get into why she looked a state.

“Just a run in with The Hyde… but that’s not important, what’s wrong?” Enid asked and she was the one person y/n couldn’t change the subject from.

“Me and Tyler had an argument so I got out of his car and walked back.” Y/n half told the truth Enid sighed going to get up but being pulled back down by Wednesday

“He’ll be on his way to apologise. He’s so infatuated with you it’s pathetic.” Wednesday said her eyes glancing at y/n for mer seconds.

And she was right. when y/n Finally got back to her own room tyler was already sat on her bed looking at her with his pretty doe eyes ready to grovel.

“I’m sorry doll. I shouldn’t have got so angry with you.” He said as y/n kept up her angry facade walking over to get closet Tyler following behind her. “Come on Baby, look at me.” She sighed before turning to face him pouting slightly

“Im sorry.” He whispered before leaning down to catch her lips in his and she could practically taste the apologies right off his tongue. Tyler pulled away way smiling at her with a Dopey, boyish grin.

“See you just can’t be mad at me, I’m irresistible.” He joked

“Shut up and touch me” she said and he immediately obeyed his hands coming under her shirt pulling it off the the process to reveal her bare chest

“Fuck.” He barely let the word slip out before he was pushing her onto her bad as his mouth latched around her left nipple sucking and nipping at it while his hand came to the opposite Brest massaging it. She let out an almost pornographic moan just at the slightest of touch which onto enticed him more. Her hands were gripping his biceps as he made work of her

“God you’re so sensitive.” He groaned watching as her eyes rolled back into her head before he began placing soft kisses down her body stopping just above the waist band of her shorts he didn’t waist anymore time before ripping her underwear off

“Asshole they’re my favourite.”

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” He said stripping himself off before he lined himself up with her entrance before he sank into her both of them gasping at the feeling. “fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned. She was appreciative of his slow thrusts her constant wines were evident of that.

Tyler brought his hand to her mouth shoving two of his fingers into her mouth “As much as I love hearing my name from that pretty little mouth of yours you gotta keep quite or everyone is gonna hear.” He said stifling a moan himself she nodded her legs wrapping around his waist pulling him closer as his hips rocked back and forth

“Fuck, y/n.” He groaned in her ear as she clenched around him. His free hand moving from her mouth and wrapping around her throat squeezing slightly as his hips moved faster

“Fuck Ty… I’m close.” She managed biting her lips to stop herself from screaming out

“You're close, huh Doll? You gonna cum all over my cock like the good girl you are?" Each one of his words brings her closer and closer to the edge, and all it takes is his thumb massaging against her clit to push her over. Everything goes tight. She cry out a high-pitched moan, whispering Romans name over and over because it's the only word She can manage to say. She clench hard around his cock, but his pace never slows which makes the pleasure almost painful. Her thighs are trembling where they're wrapped around his torso and her hands curl into the sheets.

“God you look so pretty like that.” His thrusts start to grow uneven and His breaths become sharp as he snaps his hips against hers until finally he releases a strained moan from low in his throat and stills inside her, spilling his cum into her. His head drops to the crook of her neck momentarily pressing light kisses over the marks he’d previously left. He pulled out of her rolling onto his back next to her.

“Did it hurt?” Y/n said breathlessly looking over at him

“Did what hurt?”

“when you fell from heaven, just for me?” Tyler laughed as he got up from her bed leaning down to kiss her softly

“It'll hurt worse if you leave.”

And that’s when she knew she was going to love him till she lost her mind.

#wednesday x tyler #tyler galpin imagine #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin #tyler galpin x y/n #tyler galpin x you #wednesday season 1 #wednesday netflix

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rfsak2 · 10 months

Text

Holy shit, guys! I have never had this kind of reception. Y’all have been so very kind and I appreciate it so very much! I love interacting with y’all so keep leaving comments and I’ll keep responding!

Spitfire; pt. 2

Everyone always thought Daryl was the rough one. DarylxOC

Warnings: it’s TWD so there’s a good bit of traumatizing stuff discussed, wartime atrocities, violence, etc.. And smut buried down at the bottom. Minors DNE

Part 1

“If y’coulda done anythin’, what would it’ve been?”

She shrugged and pulled her knees to her chest, rifle barrel-up between her legs. “I actually don’t know. I’ve sorta fallen into everythin’ I’ve ever done.”

“What’dya mean?” He hunkered down, arms across his chest.

“I can’t remember a single choice I have ever made free n’clear. There’s always been somethin’ forcing’ my hand.” She picked at her cuticles. “My grandfather, my father, my aunt, the US Government.” She sighed heavily. “Life has always been ‘point and shoot’. Someone points me and I shoot.”

He nodded vaguely. “That’s why y’don’t like Shane.”

She snorted. “That’s one of the many reasons I don’t like Shane.” She smiled at him. “He’s also a prick. Thinks he’s bigger than he is, better than he is, smarter than he is.” She elbowed him gently. “What would’ve y’done?”

“Probably been a mechanic.” He shrugged.

“That sounds nice.” She hummed.

He scoffed.

“What?”

“We woulda never met, not for all’a this.” He gestured vaguely.

She hummed. “I don’t know ‘bout that.”

He grunted, hands shredding a leaf idly. “How woulda we met? You with your military career. Me, wandering the backwoods of Georgia with Merle.”

She smiled and leaned to press against his arm. “I was stationed in Savannah and I explored a lot in my free time.” She caught his eyes. “I went hunting a lot. Liked to drive to small towns and spend time in the forest. We coulda run into each other.”

He watched her, quiet in his stillness. “And what would’ya have done if we did?”

She smiled. “Honestly?” He nodded. “Fuck ya if you were down for it.”

He blushed. “No y’wouldn’t ‘ve.”

“Hell yeah, I would’ve. Some hot dude carryin’ a crossbow or a deer you just shot?” She whistled. “I woulda jumped y’bones.”

“Y’don’t gotta lie t’me.” He sucked on his teeth.

She pulled back a bit. “Why would I lie?”

“Com’n.” he shifted, putting some space between them. “You wouldn’t ‘ve been interested in some filthy-ass hick.”

“I am, and often was, before this, a ‘filthy-ass hick’.” She huffed a breathless little chuckle.

He shook his head. “You were a captain in the Army, means y’went to college right?”

She hummed in agreement.

“So you had options.” He kept his voice low, maybe on purpose, she didn’t know, but there was intensity that she wasn’t sure was all for her. “You coulda done anything you wanted.”

“No I couldn’t.” She shook her head. “I went to college because that was part of the deal. They needed the time to expunge my record so they sent me to college. At least that’s what they told me.” She made a vague motion. “I think they just didn’t want to wait.”

“For what?”

“For me to make grade and qualify for Ranger School.” She shrugged. “They wanted to get me in the back way, make a big stink only when I made it. If I didn’t make it, there wouldn’t have been egg on their face. They set up everythin’, choice had nothin’ t’do with it.”

“Y’still don’t get it.” He scoffed. “You woulda took one look at me-“

“Daryl, we ain’t that different.” She nodded and caught his shoulder when he tried to turn away. “We are made of the same stuff. Just different flavors of redneck. So yeah, I’d like t’think that you’da had me at hello. I’d like to think that I’d see you for what you are.”

“And what’s that?” He seemed to soften, shifting back so they were pressed together, shoulder to boot.

“A good man. A kindred spirit.” She settled back against his side as he relaxed. “Besides, I woulda taken one look at you, with your arms, your shoulders, your pretty blue eyes…” She grinned, whistling.

He was looking at her mouth. “And?”

It was okay because she was tracing the line of his bicep down his arm with her eyes.

He leaned in closer. “And?”

Her eyes jumped from his arm to his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

He nodded and leaned over her. Their eyes remained locked as she reached up to cradle his face. She smiled and bit her lip.

“You gonna kiss me or nah, Spitfire?”

She pressed an almost chaste kiss to his mouth. It didn’t last long enough, so when she pulled away, Daryl chased her lips with his, pressing her back against the tree behind her.

“That all ya’got?”

She threw her head back and laughed, before pressing him back and crawling over him. He grinned and settled his hands on her hips. She laid over him, elbows coming to rest on either side of his head.

She dipped her head down and caught his lips again, groaning into his mouth when he squeezed her hips.

Smiling, she slipped her tongue into his mouth. He lifted a hand and dug his fingers into her hair, loosening her bun and directing her head where he wanted it.

Daryl’s other hand drifted lower and squeezed. She laughed against his mouth and let him guide her hips against his.

His tongue followed hers back into her mouth-

Crack

Daryl sat up in a shot, his hand on her ass keeping her upright.

“Walker?”

He shook his head. “It’s an animal.”

“The deer!”

She turned back to him. He seemed to be withdrawing, some anxiety or another causing him to pull back, so she pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. “Next time.”

He watched her for a brief moment and nodded. “I’ma hold ya t’that.”

Mitzi rested a hand on Daryl’s shoulder and hopped down behind him, eyeing the group standing in the clearing.

She frowned, trying to figure out why they were just standing there, weapons drawn. She saw the walker at the same time Daryl did. “Fuckin’ piece of shit.”

“Sumova Bitch.” Daryl strode into the clearing, red in the face. “That was m’deer!”

She was more hesitant, catching the apprehension in the way the men, one of whom she didn’t know, were looking at Daryl.

“Daryl…”

“Look at it, Mitz.” Daryl kicked at the walker. “All gnawed on by this disease-bearin’, motherless, poxy bastard.”

Dale sighed. “Calm down, son, that isn’t helping.”

Daryl got in his face. “What do you know ‘bout it, Old Man? Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to On Golden Pond?”

Mitzi sighed, arms cradling her rifle to her chest. “Leave him be, D. It’s not his fault.”

He backed up, turning back to the deer. “We’ve been tracking this deer for miles... Gonna drag it back to camp, cook us up some venison.” Daryl yanked his bolts from the deer and motioned to the large bite mark in the deer’s neck, staring up at her. “You think we can cut around this chewed part right here?”

“I would not risk that.”

Despite her avid dislike for Shane, Mitzi agreed with him, shaking her head at Daryl before focusing back on the new man in the circle.

Daryl straightened and faced the group around them, suddenly quieting, noticing the odd tension in the air. He caught her eyes, arching his eyebrows and motioning to the new person. He waited for her answering shrug, before turning back to the group.

“That’s a damn shame... Well, I got some squirrel, ‘bout a dozen or so. That’ll have t’do.” Daryl gestured with the bolt for Mitzi to walk ahead.

As they walked past the walker, it snarled, mouthing ineffectually in the direction of her ankles.

She stepped back into Daryl with a soft grunt, who maneuvered her out of the way, a bolt piercing the walker’s brain through the eye not a second later.

“Com’n people. What t’hell? Gotta be the brain.” Daryl tugged the bolt free and wiped it on his work pants. He shared an exasperated look with her and pushed her forward, eyes on the group over her head. “Don’t y’all know nothin’?”

They made their way towards camp, Daryl hollering for Merle. The tension from the clearing followed them into camp.

“Daryl, slow up a minute, I need to talk to you.”

She felt Daryl’s hand on her shoulder and turned as he answered, “‘Bout what?”

“‘Bout Merle. There was a… a problem in Atlanta.”

She hooked her hand around Daryl’s arm. “Shit. What happened?”

Daryl sucked in a breath and straightened his arm, catching her hand as it slid down his arm. “He dead?”

Shane shrugged and she had never wanted more dearly to knock his teeth in. She restrained herself, choosing to squeeze Daryl’s hand instead.

“Not sure.”

Daryl shifted forward, directing her slightly behind him. “He either is or he ain’t.”

The new man stepped forward, hands on his hips like he was used to wearing a gun belt. Another cop.

He sucked in a breath. “There is no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it.”

Daryl turned on him, pushing into his space, letting go of her hand. “Who’re you?”

“Rick Grimes.”

Mitzi’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. She found Lori in the crowd and Carl soon after, the kid the sitting image of the man in front of her. The ring Lori had worn on a chain around her neck ever since Mitzi had met her, was suspiciously gone.

Interesting.

Daryl was getting agitated, pacing like a big cat in a cage. Mitzi stepped around him, putting herself in between Daryl and this new cop. She set her hand on his chest and tried to catch his eyes. “Daryl. D!”

“Rick Grimes?” Daryl mocked, as he set his hand on her forearm, trying to gently push past her. “You got something you want to tell me?”

“Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed on a roof hooked into a piece of metal. He’s still there.”

“The fuck you say?” She turned and Daryl took the opportunity to step around her, continuing to pace. “You left him on a roof?”

Shane pointed at her, stalking towards her. “Stay out of this, Donovan.”

“Fuck outta m’face, Walsh.” She stepped around him, shaking his hand off of her arm. “Don’t touch me.”

“Donovan!”

She ignored him and moved closer to Daryl.

“Hold on. Lemme process this.” He swiped at his face with the back of his hand and made a vague motion at his head. “You handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?”

Rick hung his head. “Yeah.”

Daryl threw the brace of squirrels he had been holding and moved to charge at Rick.

Shane charged Daryl, dropping his shoulder and knocking him off his feet.

When Shane had straightened, standing fully, she landed a punch to his jaw that sent him sprawling again.

Someone caught her around the middle, Dale, she thought, as Shane shot her a dirty look and helped Rick disarm Daryl.

She shook free of Dale and approached Rick and Shane, the latter of which had Daryl on the ground in a chokehold.

Rick was preaching about rational conversations just as Mitzi’s small, freckled fist landed on square on Rick’s 5 o’clock shadow. Shane cussed under his breath as she straightened and turned toward him.

“Let him go now.”

Daryl tried to shake free and Shane held him fast. “Or what?”

“I know you think you’re bad, Shane. Been in a couple fist fights, maybe got some training along the way.” She got in Shane’s face, bending at the waist to look him in the eye. “We aren’t on the same level though, Walsh. You let him go now or I demonstrate that for you and the collected constituents of our fine camp.”

Shane growled and released Daryl, who accepted her offered hand and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

Shane pushed into her space. “I’m gettin’ sick of your attitude, Donovan.”

“I’m gettin’ sick of the way you treat a man who’s gone outta his way to feed you.” She cast a look around at the camp. “Fuckin’ world is over and you dumb twats want to keep the Sunday morning judgement going. Fuck the lot’a ya.”

She felt Daryl tug at her shirt and allowed herself to be pulled back. She turned to Rick, who let out a hesitant, awkward chuckle before turning back to Daryl.

“Now do you think you can have a rational discussion?”

The question was half-posed to her, posted up in front of Daryl like a bodyguard, arms crossed over her chest.

She sucked on her teeth. “Don’t know why you feel entitled to rational discussion after you chained his brother to a roof.”

“That’s fair. What I did was not on a whim.” Rick looked Daryl in the eye, before meeting her eyes as well. “Your brother does not work and play well with others.”

T-Dog stepped forward. “Not Rick’s fault...I had the key and I dropped it.”

“You couldn’t pick it up?” Daryl growled, voice breaking.

T-Dog shifted nervously. “I dropped it down a drain.”

Daryl paced a couple feet and threw a fist full of dirt at the ground. “If that was supposed to make me feel better, it don’t.”

T-Dog nodded. “Maybe this will: I chained the door to the roof, so the geeks couldn’t get at him.... with a padlock.”

Rick hesitantly, conciliatory, approached. “Gotta count for something.”

Daryl wiped at his face and motioned to the camp. “T’Hell with all y’all! Just tell me where he is, so’s I can go git him.”

“He’ll show you, isn’t that right?” Lori turned away, disdain clear in her body language.

Mitzi whistled. They are definitely married.

Rick nodded, shying away from his wife’s eyes. “I’m going back.”

Shane huffed and shook his head as Rick walked toward his- Lori’s tent.

She looked up and caught Shane’s very angry eyes. He snarled at her, slapping his hat on his thigh. She arched her eyebrow and he flipped her the bird. She laughed.

A couple minutes later, Rick returned in uniform.

“So that’s it then?” Shane rumbled. “You just gonna walk off? T’ hell with everyone else?”

Rick buttoned his shirt, shaking his head. “I’m not saying t’hell with anybody. Not you Shane, Lori least of all.” He walked away, towards the camper.

“Tell her that.” Shane shot back.

Rick turned to face Shane and sighed. “She knows.”

Shane stalked up the small incline after him. “Well look. I don’t, okay, Rick? So could you just- could you throw me a bone here man? Could you just tell me why? Why would you risk your life for a douchebag like Merle Dixon?”

“Hey!” Daryl pointed at Shane with the bolts he was cleaning, before sitting on a milk crate next to her. “Choose your words more carefully.”

Shame dismissed him. “No I did. Douchebag is what I meant.” Shane shot Daryl and Mitzi a dirty look.

Mitzi returned it, drawing a whetstone over her hunting knife. “Remember what I said about the end of my patience, Walsh.”

“Be quiet.” He pointed at her and she pointed right back. Still glaring at her, he turned to Rick. “Merle Dixon.. the guy wouldn’t give you a glass of water if you were dyin’ of thirst.”

“What he would or wouldn’t do, doesn’t interest me.” He leaned into Shane. “I can’t let a man die of thirst- me -thirst and exposure. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That’s no way for anythin’ to die, let alone a human being.”

Lori spoke up from where she sat near the adjacent fire. “So you and Daryl? That’s your big plan?”

Glenn sighed. “Oh, come on.”

“You know the way, you’ve been there before.” Rick shifted his feet. “In and out, no problem. You said so yourself. It’s not fair if me to ask, I know that. But if feel much better if you came along. I know she would too.”

Mitzi wasn’t so sure about that with the look on Lori’s face.

“That’s just great. Now y’gonna risk three men, huh?”

“Four.” T-Dog drawled.

Daryl scoffed. “My day just gets better and better, don’t it?”

“You see anyone else here stepping up to save your brother’s cracker ass.”

“Why you?”

T-Dog straightened his shoulders. “You wouldn’t even begin to understand. You don’t speak my language.”

“That’s four,” Dale observed.

“I’m goin’.” She stood.

“Now, Donovan…”

“Mind your business, Walsh.” She caught Daryl’s eyes and held them. “I’m goin’.”

“A’ight.” Daryl nodded.

“Ma’am, I don’t know you.” Rick grinned wryly at her. “I know you can handle yourself in a brawl, but this is going to be dangerous. It could get ugl-“

“You ever done an exfil?” She crossed her arms across her chest.

“An exfil?” He frowned and looked over at Shane. “What do you mean an exfil?”

“Exfiltration, otherwise known as an extraction. Infiltrate, eliminate hostiles, remove MVP.” She smiled meanly. “They don’t teach cops that wherever you’re from?”

“Have you done an exfil, Donovan?” Shane’s lip curled. “They teach that in Basic?”

She answered his sarcastic smile with one of her own. “Not Basic, you tool. At Ranger School. Not the coolest name for a Spec Ops school, I’ll grant ya, but it does the trick.”

Glenn parroted, “Spec Ops?”

She nodded. “Special operations, special forces. I’m an Army Ranger. I’ve done literally hundreds of extractions. If Glenn can get me in, I can get us and Merle out. So kindly put your dicks away, boys, I win this pissin’ match.”

“You’re a Ranger?” Shane set his jaw. “Do they even let women in Spec Ops?”

“They let her.” Daryl rasped. “Recruited her special for it an’ everythin’.”

She reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

Rick seemed a little shell-shocked. “Why?”

“I’m going to assume you’re not being an asshole on purpose, Rick-“

“Thank you?”

She barked out a laugh. “The likelihood of you meeting someone who’s a better shot than me was laughable before the end of the world. Now?” She whistled.

It seemed to dawn on Rick at the same time Shane realized just who he had been fucking with this whole time.

Rick set his hand on her shoulder. “You’re a sniper?”

She grinned and confirmed. “I’m a sniper. A damn good one. I hold the current record in the Army for longest kill shot.”

“How far?”

She smiled at T-Dog. “3400 meters. Give or take. The presentation I was coming up to Atlanta for would’ve broken the worldwide record if I had made it- 3700 meters. I’ve been practicing for months.”

Awe lit up Glenn’s face, like a kid at Christmas, and T-Dog suddenly looked hopeful, less resigned to dying.

That is, until Glenn turned to him with a huge smile. “You owe me fifty bucks!”

T-Dog shook his head. “You said ‘special agent’. She’s Spec Ops. That’s different.”

“Closer than you!” Glenn grinned and turned to Mitzi, pointing at T-Dog with his thumb. “He thought you were a taxidermist.”

“A taxidermist?” She tilted her head in confusion. “No one told y’all that I was military?” Both men shook their heads and she cast a look at Shane, who was looking down at his boots. “How interesting.”

T-Dog stepped forward. “Didn’t mean nothing’ by it.”

She waved him off, chuckling. “T, that is the least offensive guess I have heard thus far.”

He nodded, relaxing. “Sorry about Merle.”

She nodded, catching Daryl’s eyes. “Shit happens. Let’s go get him.”

“When we get there, I’ll take point.”

Rick puffed up, preparing to argue. “Mi-“

She shook her head, checking the railroad ahead of them through her scope. “I’ll take point, Daryl will have my shoulder. We have quieter weapons.” She turned back to Rick. “We’ll clear the ground floor, room-by-room until we get to the stairs. On the off-chance we miss one or one comes up behind us, you’ll have our backs. Try to avoid firing that Python, Sheriff. It’s too loud.”

Rick sighed, nodding. “Okay. Then what?”

She turned to Glenn and T-Dog. “If we enter the building where you want us to, is it a straight-shot to the stairs?”

“No.” Glenn shook his head. “No, we have to go through the department store, the stairs are on the other side of the elevator.”

She made a face. “Directly behind?”

“More or less. There’s a small hallway.”

“How many doors?”

“Three, I think.” He looked up, counting in his head. “Yeah, two bathrooms and a utility closet.”

“The doors on the bathrooms, they push open or do they latch shut?” He shrugged and she nodded. “No problem, we ha-“ she paused and lifted her rifle, aiming over T-Dog’s shoulder. Looking down the scope, she whispered, “Stay still, T.”

There was a thud and she turned back to them, lowering her rifle.

T-Dog looked over his shoulder at the walker ten yards away. Shakily, he turned back. “Thanks.”

She ignored the slack-jaw looks. “We have a major blind spot, but that’s okay. We’ll clear the department store and pick a side around the elevators. If the bathroom doors are open or they don’t latch, we’ll deal with it then.”

Daryl nodded. “Not like geeks are all that smart.”

She smiled. “Definitely easier than armed hostiles.” She turned back to Glenn and T-Dog. “What are the stairs like?”

Glenn looked confused and Rick supplied, “concrete?”

She chuckled. “Are they open to the basement?”

“And a sub-basement, too.” T-Dog nodded.

“Okay, then. When we get there, I’m gonna cover the basement. Daryl will lead you up the stairs. We’ll go flight-by-flight. It’ll be slower but we won’t have any surprises.”

Glenn just stared. “I wanna be you when I’m older.”

She grinned and opened the bolt on her rifle. She slid in a couple rounds and cocked the rifle. “A’ight. Let’s go.”

“You’re not doing this alone.” There was a note of authority in Rick’s voice that was already driving her up the wall, but he was right.

Daryl huffed and interjected from somewhere over her head. “Even I think it’s a bad idea and I don’t even like you much.”

Mitzi studied the crude, sharpie drawing. Sucking on her teeth, she shook her head. “I’m still not-”

Glenn cut her off, irritated. “It’s a good plan, okay, if you just hear me out.” He looked up at Rick and sighed, squatting over the drawing. “If we go out there in a group, we’re slow, drawing attention. If I’m alone, I can move fast. Look.” He focused down at the map, setting a binder clip and a balled-up sticky note on one of the ‘streets’. “That’s the tank, five blocks from where we are now. That’s the bag of guns. Here’s the alley I dragged you into when we first met. That’s where me and Daryl will go.”

“Why me?”

Glenn nodded. “Your crossbow is quieter than his gun.” Daryl quieted, nodding, and Glenn moved back over his map, placing a blue post-it flag dispenser in the alleyway. “While Daryl waits here in the alley, I run up the street, grab the bag.”

Rick seemed slightly appeased. “You got us elsewhere?”

“You and T-Dog, right.” Glenn placed a pink rubber eraser in another connecting alley. “You’ll be in this alley here.”

“Two blocks away? Why?”

“I may not be able to come back the same way, walkers may cut me off. If that happens, I won’t go back to Daryl. I’ll go forward instead, all the way around to that alley where you guys are. Whichever direction I go, I got you in both places to cover me. At the same time, Mitzi can pick off walkers that get too close with her rifle.” He placed a paperclip in the same alley as Daryl’s blue post-its “There’s a fire escape up to a small balcony that runs almost all the way around the building next to this one, Mitzi will go there and watch my back. Afterwards we’ll all meet back here.”

“Hey kid.” They all swiveled to look at Daryl. “What did you do before all of this?”

“Delivered pizzas. Why?”

Mitzi hummed and regarded the kid with an assessing eye. “You’dve made a hell of a strategist. Better planned than half the missions I went on.”

Rick smiled. “You recruitin’ right now, Mitzi?”

Mitzi grinned. “Wanted to be like me, kid? I can put ya through the paces, make a soldier outta you.”

Glenn rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Maybe another day.”

“We can still go with my plan.” Mitzi checked the bolt on her rifle and then slid her handgun out to check the clip. “Wait a bit longer and I can just sneak on in-“

Rick shot her a look. “I’m not sending you in alone. Stop.”

She grinned. “I can take Daryl with me?”

“Mitzi, no.”

She made a face and mouthed, “Mitzi, yes.”

Daryl grinned and gripped her knee. “Simmer down.”

Miguel scoffed. “What are you going to be able to do all by yourself, GI Jane?”

She laughed and leaned forward. “You should ask your friend… Jorge, was it? I’m a damn good shot. I didn’t miss. He’s alive because I didn’t want him dead. You should remember that.”

He recoiled.

Thirty seconds later, they assembled in the courtyard.

“That’s the bitch that shot me!”

Mitzi nodded. “I sure the fuck am! I don’t like it when people beat on my friends...”

Jorge snarled, pointing a gun at her. Only to have Guillermo push him back.

Guillermo approached Rick, eyeing the guns then giving Mitzi a quick one-over. “I see my guns, but they’re not all in the bag.”

“That’s because they aren’t yours.” Rick shifted slightly. “I thought I mentioned that.”

Felipe moved closer to Guillermo’s ear. “Let’s just shoot these asshole’s right now, ese. Unload on their asses, ese.”

Jorge took a couple steps forward. “I get the bitch first.”

Daryl leveled his rifle at Jorge as Guillermo waved them off. “I don’t think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

“No. I’m pretty clear.” Rick cut the cord around Miguel’s wrists and pushed him lightly forward. “You have your man. I want mine.”

Guillermo set his jaw and stalked forward. “I’m gonna chop up your boy..feed him to my dogs. Three of the evilest, nastiest man-eating bitches you ever saw. Picked ‘em up from Satan at a yard sale. I told you how it has to be! Are you woefully deaf?”

Mitzi frowned, something itching at her intuition.

Rick settled his rifle against his shoulder. “My hearing’s fine. You said come locked and loaded.” They all followed Rick’s lead, clicking their weapons. “Okay, then we’re here.”

Guillermo backed up, his men raising weapons simultaneously.

Mitzi sucked her teeth. Something was definitely not right.

There was a shuffling from the back of the crowd of Vatos. “Felipe? Felipe?” called a frail, reedy voice as an elderly woman emerged from behind Guillermo.

With his gun still raised, Felipe half-turned to regard the woman. “Abuela, go back with the others - now.”

“Git that old lady out of the line of fire!”

Guillermo turned to regard the woman as well. “Abuela, listen to your m’hijo. This is not the place for you right now.”

She didn’t listen, instead addressing Felipe. “Mr. Gilbert is having trouble breathing. He needs his asthma stuff... Carlito can’t find it. He needs his medicine.”

She stepped forward, nose of her rifle dropping. “Asthma stuff?” She whispered, then louder. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

Guillermo shot her an anxious look but ignored her. “Felipe, go take care of it, okay? And take your grandmother with you.”

Felipe led the woman away, speaking to her soothingly in Spanish.

Daryl caught her eye. “What?”

She nodded at the vatos. “This is all just ball-bustin’. Half of these idiots can’t even aim at us properly from where they’re standing.”

Rick turned towards her. “What?”

She lowered her gun, keeping her voice low. “This is all bullshit. Intimidation.”

Rick’s jaw worked noiselessly, mind putting pieces together like hers.

“Who are these men?”

Felipe’s grandmother had noticed them, stopping their conversation short.

Rick lowered his weapon and she took a couple steps forward. “Ma’am.”

She caught sight of Rick’s uniform and twisted her hands, distressed. “Don’t you take him! Felipe’s a good boy. He had his trouble, but he pulled himself together. We need him here.”

“Ma’am, I’m not here to arrest your grandson.”

“Then what do you want him for?”

Rick met her eyes and she huffed. “They ain’t gonna kill us. Would’ve already done it. Somethin’ ain’t lining’ up.”

He nodded at her, turned back and stuttered. “He’s... helping us find a missing person... Fella named Glenn?”

“The Asian boy?” She smiled. “He is with Mr. Gilbert...Come. Come, I'll show you.” She began to lead them into the crowd. “He needs his medicine.”

Sensing defeat, Guillermo grit his teeth. “Let them pass.”

Daryl fell into step behind her, Jorge glaring at them as they passed. Daryl glared back, his hand landing lightly on her lower back as he guided her forward.

The woman led them into a nursing home, past a number of individual rooms complete with old people and into a large main room where a small group was watching Felipe administer an inhaler. There in the middle of the group was Glenn, unharmed but anxiously staring at the man.

Rick marched straight up to him. “What is this?”

Glenn looked at him then turned back toward the man in the wheelchair struggling for his next breath. “Asthma attack. Couldn’t catch his breath all of a sudden.”

T-Dog clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “We thought you were being eaten by dogs, man!”

Glenn arched an eyebrow and they all turned towards the corner of the room, where three Chihuahuas sat on a pink and leopard print dog bed.

Mitzi sucked on her teeth. “The fuc’-“ A little, old lady caught her eye and Mitzi winced. “The fricken gall.”

She wiped her face with an old shop rag and hung her head.

“I say we put a pick-ax in his head and the dead girl’s and be done with it.” Daryl stood behind her, his knee pressing against her back as she sat back against him.

She opened her mouth, trying to breath through her mouth and not her nose, the smell of burning rot- human rot -thick in her throat.

Shane shook his head. “Is that what you’d want for you?”

Daryl’s hand landed heavily on her head, as if he was trying to silently check on her. Without hesitation, he answered. “Yeah and I’d thank you while you did it.”

Dale sighed heavily. “I hate to say it, I never thought I would, but maybe Daryl’s right”

Rick stepped forward. “Jim is not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog...” Dale tried to cut in and Rick spoke over him, “He’s a sick, sick man. If we start down that road, where do we draw the line?”

Daryl squared his shoulders. “Line’s pretty clear: Zero tolerance for walkers or them to be.”

Mitzi shook her head. “We’d have to watch Jim night and day. Whoever watches him would have to be on- no dozing off, no bathroom breaks. There’s no way to quarantine him safely.” She shrugged weakly, head still swimming. “I hate it but, there’s only so many options.”

Rick cut in. “What if we can get him help? I heard that the CDC is working on a cure.”

“‘Working on’ and ‘has’ are two very different realities.” The breeze blew over them and she felt bile in her throat.

Shane shook his head. “I heard that too.. heard a lotta things before the world went to hell.”

“What if the CDC is still up and running?”

“That is a stretch right there.”

She leaned over, her eyes screwed shut, shop rag pressed over her face. She felt Daryl’s hand on the back of her neck.

“Mitzi? You okay?” It was Carol.

She waved her off with her free hand.

Shane sucked his teeth. “You are being uncharacteristically subdued.” He grinned. “Kinda nice.”

She caught Daryl, before he could step forward, hand on his thigh. She breathed deep one more time and dropped the hand holding her shop rag to her face.

“Fuck you, Shane Walsh.”

He laughed. “There she is! Done being dramatic?”

Rick frowned hard at Shane and Lori shoved to her feet. “Shane!”

He made a face, shrugging. “Big, tough Spec Ops sniper? Fuck outta here.”

“You smell this before?”

Everyone turned to Mitzi, who had set the rag down on the cooler next to her thigh and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

Shane shrugged. “No.”

“I have, a couple times, before all’a this.” She looked up. “Last time was a year ago, in this tiny little mountain village in Afghanistan. We had holed in this village a number of times. It was a farming community, vibrant and generous. The people were nice. The kids use’ta bring me little trinkets, cool rocks, wind-polished desert glass.”

She paused and dug her keys out of her pocket, holding up a smooth, green, translucent piece of glass on a keychain. Daryl pressed tighter against her back.

“The last time we were there, insurgents had wiped the place off the map. Piled all the townsfolk in the center of the town; men, women, children… and set their bodies on fire.” She looked up at Shane. “Denying them a proper Muslim burial because they had colluded with the US Army. Because they colluded with me. So yeah, I’m feeling a little subdued, present circumstances considered.”

He shrunk back. Everyone was quiet for a solid five minutes.

Rick placed his hands on his hips and sighed. “If there’s any government left, any structure at all, they’d protect the CDC at all costs, wouldn’t they? I think it’s our best shot. Shelter, protection, rescue...”

Shane huffed in frustration. “Look, Rick, we all want those things. I do too. If they exist, they’re at the army base at Fort Benning.”

Mitzi shook her head. “Fort Benning is not going to prioritize civilian lives. If they are still operational, their mission is reestablishing authority and control. They’ll stick us in a camp, off-base, with limited supplies and security, and we’ll have to trust that they have checked every civilian. That no one is bit.”

“You sure that’s not just because you don’t want to go back to work?”

She sighed, reaching in her pocket for her brass knuckles. She slipped them on and launched at Shane.

Rick and Daryl must have been expecting it, because before she could take a step, Daryl had popped her off the ground, Rick using his upper body and arms to press her back into Daryl.

“Mitzi, breathe.”

“He fuckin’ has it comin’.”

Rick caught her eyes and held them. “Breathe.”

Daryl pressed his face into her neck and whispered. “Com’n, Spitfire. Calm down. We’ll get ‘em another time, right? Breathe, baby.”

She breathed deep.

“M’Fine. Fuckin’ put me down.”

Rick nodded and they directed her back onto her cooler.

She leaned up against the door of the office she would be sleeping in. Catching his hand, she pulled him over, waiting for the others to move past them. “Want to conserve water with me?”

He blushed and knocked his forehead against hers. “Conserve water?”

She nodded. “Jenner said to take it easy on the hot water.”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You’re drunk.”

She shrugged and fisted a hand in his shirt, pulling him into the room behind her. “Tipsy, more like, but if you feel uncomfortable, we don’t have t’do anythin’ but shower.”

He chuckled, closing the door behind him. “Don’t chicken out on me now.” He reached back and pulled his shirt over his head.

Her shirt hit the ground shortly after his and she hooked her finger over his belt buckle, drawing him into the bathroom behind her.

He briefly pressed his face to her very functional bra and teased his teeth over the swell of her breast.

Smiling, she directed his face back to hers and pulled his bottom lip into her mouth, sucking gently. He groaned, reaching down and grabbing at her ass and lifting her onto the sink.

He paused to squeeze one more time before leaning over and turning the hot water on in the shower.

He turned back to her and paused, watching her. She ran her hands down his chest, running her fingers over the old faint scars that littered his torso.

“You’re pretty like this.” He didn’t give her time to respond but leaned over and caught her lips with his, slipping his tongue into her mouth with a gravelly moan.

She returned it, drawing him between her legs, cradling his face between her hands. He pulled away, moving instead to press wet kisses to her neck and shoulders.

She moaned and moved her hand to squeeze and grip at his arms and shoulders.

He stopped, pulling back a bit.

“What's wrong?” She rubbed her hands through his hair and jumped a little when his thumb pressed into her shoulder, just shy of the ball of the joint.

“You got shot.”

She nodded. “Lucky shot, just outside my Kevlar.” She lifted her opposite arm and motioned to her bicep, where another scar marred the yellow rose tattooed there. “Same guy got me there too. Pissed me off. That tattoo was only a month old. Never did get it touched up.”

He pressed his lips to her shoulder and then her bicep, before leaning up to catch her lips again.

She grinned as he pulled away and patted her thigh. “Got one here too and that one almost killed me.”

Chuckling, he reached for her belt and opened it. “Best git these jeans off too.”

She pressed a kiss to his mouth and reached up to open the closure on her bra. He groaned as she shrugged off the garment and pressed their chests together.

Wrapping an arm around her, lips still locked to hers, he supported her and she shimmied down her pants and underwear.

She hummed as he stepped away again and leaned to press a kiss to the round scar in the top of her right thigh, eyes locked on hers.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot,” she blurted out in a rush, before reaching for his belt and opening his fly.

He grinned and popped her off the sink. “Git in the shower, baby.”

She did, casting a look at him as she stepped under the water.

He stepped free of his pants and underwear and followed her in. He caged her up against the glass, shielding her from the water and wrapping an arm around her.

His free hand found her nipple and worried it between two fingers. She arched hard against her and teased her teeth over the arch of his jaw. Moaning, his hips stuttered against hers before beginning to roll in earnest rhythm.

She slipped her hands around his side and dug her fingers into the muscles of his upper back, pressing flat against him.

She paused when she encountered raised scar tissue. He flinched away and she kissed over his sternum, dropping her hands to the small of his back. “You don't gotta tell me anythin’.”

He caught her eyes and held them, nodding and leaning in to resume the kiss. A breath later, he pulled away. “You still want this?”

She nodded. “Hell yeah.”

He favored her with a small smile and grabbed her hand from his hair. Touching his forehead to hers, he guided her hand down. “Show me what y’ like.”

She moaned and caught his hand in her much smaller one. “Your hands, not mine.”

He kissed her, carding his fingers through the hair he found there. “Why?”

“Bigger.” She moaned into his mouth as he slid his index finger lower, calloused finger tip rubbing lightly over her clit.

Lips still attached to hers, he slid his finger deeper yet, finding what he was looking for and slipping the tip of his finger inside of her.

She moaned again, lips moving against his, sloppy and out of rhythm as he petted at her with barely there touches.

“Stop teasin’.”

He pressed a smile to her lips. “Who’s teasin’?” He sunk two fingers into her in one motion, swallowing her high moan.

They spent the next few minutes locked together, his fingers wringing moans unchecked from her.

She teased her fingers over the head of his cock and dug the fingers of her opposite hand into the meat of his hip. “D, please.”

He grunted and removed his hand from between her thighs, swallowing her protest with his mouth. He hooked his hands around her thighs and lifted her against the cool, wet glass.

He kissed her as he balanced her weight and smoothed his thumb over her clit.

She hissed as he guided his cock into her. He chuckled, mouthing at her jaw. “Make a man feel good, reactin’ like that.”

She laughed, breathy and distracted. “Make a woman feel good with a cock like that.”

He blushed and ground his hips into hers, partially in retribution.

She caught his eyes, pressing her forehead to his. “How you can blush with your dick inside me…”

He shot her as baleful a look as he could in such a circumstance. “You always sayin’ wild shit.”

She dug both hands into his hair and kissed him, full and deep, before pulling away and whispering against his lips. “I like it when you blush.”

He grunted and hooked her legs over his arms. He took advantage of the new position to snap his hips against hers.

She moaned out a shaky, “fuck!”

“Not blushin’ now.”

She smiled and bit her lip. He watched her face as she moaned, smiling against her mouth as the heat and humidity built.

“Touch y’self.”

Her eyes opened, half-lidded and dark and she hummed like she hadn’t heard him.

“Touch yourself. Com’n baby, help me get ya’there.”

He groaned as she sucked her index and middle finger into her mouth and then hissed when he felt them against the base of his cock. She panted, fingers working furtively at her clit.

“Daryl-“

“I know, Spitfire. You’re squeezing’ me. I gotcha.”

He followed her a handful of thrusts later, lips sealed to hers, each swallowing the other’s pleasure.

Part 3

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