#Fun Fact: I know I'm finished editing when I reach what I call the 'fuck it phase'
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Cult Part 5!
Here's One, Two, Three, and Four if ya missed 'em.
“Whatever he’s up to,“ Dipper leans forward in his seat, glaring. “It’s not what you think it is.”
His warning goes unheeded. His glare, unnoticed. The man not only keeps talking to Bill, he does it in the stupidest way possible.
“I don’t believe you, vile tempter,” says the dark-haired man, folding his arms, turning away in a huff. His hips tilt in a way that makes those tiny shorts look ten times stupider than they already were. “Your infinite cunning and dire convincing cannot sway a human pure of heart!”
“Oh, how pure it is.” ‘Bill’ says slowly, capturing the man around the shoulders. “But think about it, mortal - What’s the worst that could happen?”
Some of the pouty defiance fades from the human’s face. His slow, dramatic turn towards Bill is focused in a close shot, so their faces are both in frame.
“Alright,” He says softly, “You bastard.”
Ugh, of course he’d give in easily. Even though it’s a terrible idea.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dipper mutters, and stuffs another handful of popcorn in his mouth.
He’s seen his fair share of bad television - more so in the last week than ever before - but this bullshit really takes the cake.
Dipper stumbled on this drama while flipping through the billion options of Bill’s TV. Somewhere in the middle of random shows and channels, a brief clip caught his eye. Mostly because he thought the main guy looked like Bill, and it paused his thumb for a second.
Turns out it is Bill. Or rather, an actor playing him. The looks don’t quite match, and they’re using a different name - but the likeness is unmistakable, right down to the triangle motif.
For the first five minutes, Dipper had to just boggle at the very concept. Only the most devoted followers know the Truth. The clever plans and private nature of Bill Cipher are solely for those who are initiated in the deepest secrets. Ones that the ignorant masses could never comprehend.
A hundred-some odd episode tv series blows that theory out of the water. He guesses that’s more bullshit he learned from a bunch of ignorant, sheltered jerks.
Honestly, meeting Bill should have clued Dipper in earlier. A guy who talks about himself that much isn’t going to keep a low profile. Seeing it on Bill’s own TV was also weird until he remembered, right. Multidimensional sight. That’d show him things from all over. And pulling all the episodes on a dedicated channel in his living room? That’s an egomaniac’s move.
So of course Dipper would run into this. There was no better place.
The next episode starts. The opening credits roll for the dozenth time. Dipper doesn’t move from his position on the couch, but he does roll his eyes at the stupid smile actor Bill gives at the camera. Completely off-base, it’d be way more smug.
He should really stop watching. The first episode alone nearly had him grimacing at how idolatrous it was, and Dipper lived in a cult. Problem is, the worse it gets, the more compelling it becomes.
Then the theme song ends, and Dipper looks again down at the tiny text at the bottom. The one that reads, ‘based on real events!!!’.
Sure, it’s the most highly dramatized bullshit he’s ever had the misfortune of watching. Including the soap operas his cult classmate smuggled in all the time. And yes, it’ll be difficult to tell how much is true when it’s less reliable than an overheard rumor.
But it might give him some leads to go on, and Dipper can’t pass that up.
Suffering through shitty dialogue is a small price to pay, when it comes to unraveling the tangled thread that is Bill Cipher. Especially because his subject keeps trying to wrap up into a whole friggin’ gordian knot whenever he’s not looking.
Besides, Dipper’s already on episode twenty-seven. He might as well see how this season ends.
The plot picks up on the same convoluted scheme. Judging by last season, it’ll end in some climactic battle for no particular reason. The characters on screen continue their bickering, an intense-back and forth. One that ignores the very insightful commentary from anyone watching.
Halfway through, ‘Bill’ double- or perhaps triple-crosses his human rival/friend, and Dipper spends a few seconds to feel very I-told-you so about it. The plot thread isn’t resolved though, so there’s no way to know how that turns out without watching another episode.
And Dipper’s bowl of popcorn is empty.
He contemplates the dish first, then the TV. Whether to get up and refresh snacks, or stick around to see how ‘Bill’ ruins that guy’s day for the seventh time. A tough decision.
He’s just about decided to raid the kitchen for snacks, when the front door ominously creaks open.
Bill Cipher, Lord of Dreams, King of the Nightmare Realm, storms into the room with irritation in his terrible gaze, and furious purpose in his stride. He wears a scowl on his face that would make even the most apostate follower cower in terror, a demeanor that speaks of his infinite violence. The thrum of magic in the room builds, intense as it always is in his so-called glorious presence.
As that single golden eye alights on Dipper, he waves and says, “Hi.”
All the tension slides off Bill like a particularly messy sloughing of skin. “Hey yourself, sapling!” He waves back with more enthusiasm. “Been one heck of a day, lemme tell ya that.”
It sounds lighthearted. A pretty decent act. Tough luck for Bill, though; Dipper can read him pretty well by now. A check of Bill’s body language gives him all the info he needs.
Huh. There haven’t been many bad days since he’s met this ‘god’. But by the look of it, this one was more than most.
“That bad?” Dipper asks. Then, since he’s not doing much anyway - “Wanna complain about it?”
A blasphemous question. No follower should delve too deep, for that is the purview of divine revelation. The wisdom of Cipher - his most terrible secrets - are only revealed at his discretion. Not something to be pried at by the greedy and curious.
Dipper still marvels at how wrong they got all of it. Total misses on absolutely everything. Bill’s got secrets, sure. ‘Wisdom’ is questionable.
And when it comes to learning about his life, prying is unnecessary.
Stopping him from talking is the hard part.
“Don’t even get me started!” Bill says, clearly delighted.. He spreads his arms wide. “But you did! Too late to take it back now.”
“Mmh,” Dipper agrees. He’s got another episode queued up. That’ll be a nice distraction. Bill’s rambling can be interesting, but his complaints are longwinded. When you think about it, he’s really doing this ‘god’ a service by listening to all the bullshit.
He really doesn’t know what his old cult was talking about. Clearly they’d never met the guy. When this is how Bill talks to some random human, it’s amazing he has any secrets at all.
He waits for the oncoming onslaught as the show keeps playing on. The theme song finishes and the scene opens. There’s a new location, too - god, this better not be another timeskip. Demons might keep track of that stuff easily, but Dipper’s had to start taking notes.
It takes a second before he notices Bill’s… actually not talking.
A quick glance over - yep, just like he thought. Staring like a creep again. One of Bill’s favorite pastimes. This time paired with a pleased smile, and his hands on his hips.
“What’s up?” Dipper asks. There’s no rhyme or reason to the creeping so far - but he’ll figure out the pattern one day.
“Hm.” Bill gives him a slow onceover. The corner of his mouth quirks up another fraction. “Nice outfit.”
A quick check reveals… Nothing particularly interesting. His clothes are identical to, like, the same three outfits he always wears. Jeans and a t-shirt - though today he ditched the flannel for this big hoodie he found in his laundry. It’s remarkably soft. “Uh. Thanks?”
Bill says nothing. The smirk grows even wider.
Very suspicious. Dipper narrows his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Who knows?” Bill says, teeth showing in his smile. “Interesting outer layer you got going on there.”
Dipper checks the hoodie. No, he doesn’t sense any magic. If there were pins he would have felt them, and a curse would have kicked in by now. It’s just a random hoodie that’s admittedly too broad in the shoulders, but very comfortable. It even smells good.
He waits a few seconds - Bill keeps staring, oddly smug - but with no information forthcoming, Dipper decides to chalk it up as another ‘weird demon thing’. There’s a lot of weird demon things. Most aren’t as innocuous as random fashion critique, so he might as well let this slide.
“Cute as that look is, you did ask for the rundown, sapling.” Bill loosens his bowtie, letting the ends drape over his shirt. “You know what my least favorite part of today was?”
“Dealing with idiots.” Dipper replies. It’s always idiots. He rifles through popcorn kernels to find any remaining puffs.
“Sure, sure. Most times!” Bill strides over, sighing dramatically. “But today it was dealing with sycophants.”
Dipper runs that through his mental dictionary - then frowns. “They weren’t flattering enough?”
“Close!” With a grin, Bill leans on the arm of the couch. “More like praise comes in a lotta different flavors, and this one -” He stops mid-sentence, with a sudden frown.
Pausing? That’s unusual. Dipper rips his attention away from the show, glancing up. “This one was…?”
“Hm? Oh, y’know.” Oddly enough, it seems like Bill genuinely wasn’t deflecting. Simply thinking, his head slightly tilted. He snaps his fingers twice. “Like, suckups are one thing. Currying favor’s the most common grift in the universe! It’s the… That kinda saccharine crap that’s a hair too sincere. Like…” He wags his hand in the air, fingers wiggling as he tries to grasp for an invisible word. Grimacing when he doesn’t find it. “Ugh. English doesn’t have the right vocab.”
A multilingual master of the mind probably does feel limited by speech. And every day, Dipper learns something new.
Demons have a different culture. Human customs don’t apply. Learning it has been a whole process, more arduous than he’d expected - because it’s got an entirely new language, with a million new words.
Apparently said language has a lot of terms for ‘suckup’.
Dipper rummages around for an English word that might fit. “So it was… Creepy?”
“Close!” Bill agrees, looking pleased. “Little bit obsessive. A touch like they’re up to something.” He makes a face. “Or worse, they’re not! Even when every non-braindead being should know I’m not on the market.”
“The market for…?”
“Most everything,” Bill says, with his usual amount of detail.
“I would have thought you get that a lot.” Dipper frowns. Power, money, fame - Bill’s got it all. As the biggest shark around, he should be used to remoras.
“Totally! Everybody wants what I got, sapling. Power especially.” The couch barely bounces when Bill plops himself beside Dipper. “But just ‘cause I have it in spades doesn’t mean I’m handing it out like eyeballs at a wedding.”
“Um.” Except he kind of is. Because. If he wasn’t, then why has Dipper’s magic been so strong recently. There’s no way that’s a coincidence -
Bill leans in closer, meeting his gaze directly. One eyebrow slowly lifts.
Dipper ducks his head, scooting an inch away. Bill hasn’t said anything. He didn’t need to.
Special.
Suddenly it’s very important that Dipper fiddle with the unpopped kernels in the bottom of his popcorn bowl. He was going to get more snacks. Right. Kitchen’s not far from here.
Before he can rise, Bill snaps his fingers and the bowl refills. Overflows, even, scattering kernels everywhere. Then he shoves his hand in up to the wrist, sending more of it flying.
“So that’s the losers I gotta deal with. Every day with these idiots! And I’m supposed to meet up with a few of ‘em later. If we weren’t talking an old favor, I’d pass,” Bill says. He slumps back, with an uncharacteristic sigh. Then shrugs, kicking his feet up onto a previously nonexistent ottoman. “But hey! There’s always time for a vicious betrayal!”
Dipper makes a soft sound of commiseration. That’s an interesting fact, too. Favors, deals. Those are demonic things, He wonders what those involve, and how -
“Ha! Now this is a classic,” Bill says, interrupting before the question can form. He’s watching the TV now, grinning wide. “How’ve you been liking the show? Looks like the main character’s a real handsome guy!”
“It’s terrible,” Dipper says, flat. It gets a chuckle, but no argument.
“Sure, I’ve seen better,” Bill says, nose wrinkling up at a particularly dramatic line from the actor on screen. He flips the TV off, then shrugs. “But eh,” Hand waggling, an ‘iffy’ gesture. “When you got a billion-eye view of the multiverse, you see way dumber crap than this.”
Fair point. Dipper shrugs, but doesn’t comment. Something to think about, there. That Bill’s seen this before, for one, but also-
“How much of this is true?” He asks.
If this demonically produced drama is even slightly accurate, Bill will have a strong opinion. Once he starts talking, everything will reveal itself.
“Great question! I’d say…” Bill pauses to stroke his chin. Aiming for ‘solemn’, but mostly reminding Dipper that the jerk never needs to shave. “What does it matter if a narrative is factual or fictional? Everyone’s got their own version of how things go down! Truth’s a sucker’s game when you really think about-”
An elbow to the ribs doesn’t quite shut Bill up. Just gives him enough pause to let Dipper interject.
“Philosophy doesn’t suit you.” He nudges him again before he can derail the topic. Bill sticks out his tongue, and for a second Dipper’s tempted to poke it in revenge for before. “I’ll settle for which parts actually happened.”
“Spoilsport,” Bill says, sounding oddly warm. “Eh, they took a lot of artistic license in this series. And that’s coming from me.” Shrugging, he makes a so-so- sort of gesture, weighing it in his palms. “Call it less than you’d like, but more than you’d think.”
Dipper glances at the screen.
The battle at the end of the episode is a poorly-cut fight. Bill, human-formed, faces off against seven gorgons. Which is bullshit, they’re territorial - and the shoggoth at sunset brings it almost to the level of parody. The human of this episode has fainted in a way that leaves him leaning against Bill without somehow falling on his ass.
Yeah. That about tracks. Demon to human translation: ‘Artistic license’ means ‘total bullshit’.
Almost on cue, Dipper feels fingers brushing against his hoodie. There’s a shift as Bill adjusts his seat, his arm unsubtly snaking over behind Dipper’s head.
Any minute now that ominous limb will drop onto his shoulders. Just like the last half dozen times. God forbid Bill not take up all the room he can; he thinks everything is his. Even gorgons aren’t this territorial.
Dipper can live with it. Hell, if the worst thing Bill ever does to him is invade his personal space and talk over an already bad TV show, he’s basically set for life.
And truthfully, it’s not that bad. Less irritating than it should be. Having someone close, even if they are an obnoxious evil demon god, feels nice.
One day he’s going to know why he’s being bothered by Bill in the first place. What made him stand out among the rest. What he’s for. The question doesn’t upset him like it used to, but he can’t help but pick at it like a still-healing scab.
It feels like he has a decent amount of facts already. Between the journal in the guest room, watching the highly dramatized version of Bill’s life, and talking to the demon himself…
Dipper glances over at Bill - still focused on the show, crunching popcorn - then down at the long line of his wrist.
Even Bill’s providing clues, in his own, unique way. When he arguably shouldn’t.
It would be so, so easy for him to cut it all off. Burn the books, break the TV, cage Dipper up and beat the curiosity out of him. Taking every step the cult did and more, in his ‘wrath’ and ‘infinite cruelty’.
But he’s not. He wouldn’t, not to Dipper.
In fact, Bill’s been - in a weird, exclusively Bill-ish way - kind of helpful. Hell, he’s having a great time.
He clearly delights in watching Dipper scramble around, trying to follow a breadcrumb trail of hints. Even more fun is occasionally dropping a bunch of clues down the wrong track, then hiding behind a tree to giggle. He especially likes to dangle something just close enough to grab, then teasing Dipper as he tries to make the leap.
So much of his time is spent making stuff annoying, teasing and taunting and tricking - but Bill’s not actually stopping him. As hobbies go, it’s both incredibly dickish, and totally benign. It’s almost like…
Dipper gets the sense that Bill expects him to figure it all out. Bill just also thinks he should make the journey very… ‘interesting’.
Joke’s on him, though. He’s left more hints than he intended. He may not even realize how far Dipper’s come.
The show plays on. The actor ‘Bill’ argues with the latest, nearly-identical human guy. They change actors a lot; usually whenever there’s a timeskip. They always have exactly the same role, too - ‘guy who argues with the demon in charge’. Probably because demons consider all humans interchangeable.
There’s some interaction between the various planes. Everyone knows that. Demons are pretty rare on the list, but lower-level entities occasionally get summoned, or break in through some magical mishap.
Back in the cult, Dipper learned that Bill Cipher has bothered and convinced and manipulated mortals for eons. His unearthly machinations twist the strings of his human puppets, all the time. Slowly building to the inevitable goal - the world, under Bill’s eternal thumb. He never interacts directly; the physical plane is not yet his to roam.
But in the drama, Bill is on the physical plane. Not acting through haunting prophetic dreams, or divine revelations. Just bitching and prodding and poking in person.
And while the setting’s fictionalized version of the place, it’s definitely not under any demonic reign.
The implications took a while to sink in, but Dipper thinks he gets it now. Parts have clicked together; facts he didn’t know were connected until just now.
Bill probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s helped there too. Filling in the gaps. Adding extra detail.
He’s even doing it right now.
The unasked for commentary track continues as Bill talks. Going on about how he hasn’t been to that country in millenia, or how the seasons are wrong for this encounter. Elaborating on details, mocking others, going on about the stupid plotline and dialogue -
Totally bragging about his earthly knowledge. About the physical world. Because he’s been there.
Dipper sits up a little straighter. It bumps the hand trailing through his hair away, and he settles back to let Bill’s idiot fingers continue their idle path.
He can’t be totally certain without proof, though. And Bill has always liked it when he’s picked up the clues…
Dipper speaks up.
“I think more of this is real than you’d admit, Bill. You’ve…” Didn’t laud himself over them, no divine visitation- “Hung out with humans.”
“Hard not to! What with billions of you dreaming all over the place.” Bill says, deftly avoiding the question. Staring at the screen now, focused forward in a way that makes it hard to catch his eye. “You’re everywhere on that scummy pebble you call a habitable planet.”
No confirmation, but no denial. Which means Dipper’s on the right track.
“I mean you’ve been on Earth. In the, uh, flesh,“ Dipper insists. No triangles were visible, maybe that form can’t be sustained in reality - but this is no time to get derailed. He seizes the thread of logic, yanking on it with all he’s got. “Was-”
“Pfft, who hasn’t!” Bill interrupts. He flicks the question away, snorting in amusement. “Pretty permeable place you got there.”
“That’s at least two hundred years of human interaction,” Dipper insists. He jabs his index finger at the screen, then into Bill’s ribs. “And I can’t help but notice none of it is in your realm. It’s on Earth. Which you haven’t conquered-” Before Bill’s mouth can open, he holds up a hand. The lie is so dumb he doesn’t wanna hear it. “Nice try, I was just there.”
“Yeah, yeah, make a mountain out of a molehill.” Bill buffs his nails on his shirt, chin lifting. “I’ve just been busy! I’ll get around to it!”
“Sure you will,” Dipper says. He narrows his eyes. “I’ve figured you out, Cipher. I know what’s going on.”
Plausible deniability went out the window ages ago, thrown with such force that glass shattered everywhere. Leaving Bill standing in the middle, wondering aloud what happened, with a perfectly innocent look on his face..
It’s about humans. About earth, and Bill, and Dipper himself. Why Bill never showed up before, in all those years - decades - of cult summons, the ones he never ever answered, even though they really tried. Not just that he didn’t see them, or didn’t care to.
It’s because Bill Cipher can’t do everything.
Bill’s been evasive, per his usual. He’s not quite meeting Dipper’s gaze, and keeping up a dismissive tone.
But he can’t deny that he’s interested, even though he tries to keep his expression aloof. It’s not working so great. His mouth keeps twitching as the grin starts to leak out around the edges.
“Oh?” Bill’s voice has a strange tone. He leans in until their thighs touch, sides together; he must be really interested in something. “Go on, sapling. Enlighten me!”
That’s the core of a line of truth, leading somewhere important - if Dipper dares to follow. He’s getting close, he can feel it. It’s dangerous, but-
Getting the words out is harder than he thought. Challenging Cipher is - he starts talking before he can talk himself out of it.
“You can’t take over reality.” He keeps his voice level, daring Bill to interrupt. “You don’t have all your powers there.”
A pause; Bill’s oddly silent. His face is blank.
Before he can get angry, Dipper rambles out the rest. “Or at least not yet. You’d have taken over already if you did. I mean, it’s not like you didn’t have time. You can’t get the world because…” Here it goes - “Something’s stopping you."
He watches, tense, as Bill’s expression sours. Looking askance at Dipper, he folds his arms in a huff. Muttering something under his breath about ‘stubborn’ and ‘annoying’.
But Bill doesn’t deny it.
God, and even the look on his face. The one that’s both annoyed but also, maybe, resigned? Like it’s an old, old roadblock that he’s both huffy about, and very used to, it’s…
Holy shit. Dipper’s right.
His heart is racing. Merely guessing that Bill can’t accomplish his main driving purpose is a far cry from him saying it, or even not arguing with it. The very thought makes his head swim.
But he can’t stop now, not while he’s ahead.
“So there’s some obstacle even you can’t get rid of,” Dipper says. Looking at Bill out of the corner of his eye, he pitches his voice in a tone of reverent, religious awe. “I can’t even imagine how powerful that is. How incredibly-”
“Hey! Don’t get so full of yourself, Pine Tree, it’s just not the right time yet!” Bill sits up straight, indignant. He bares his teeth in a sneer. “Maybe there’s something I still want from that miserable little rock, you ever think of that?”
Another admission. An unforced error. Bill winces very slightly as he hears his own misstep, and Dipper swells with pride.
Bill thinks he’s all high and mighty and oh-so-secretive. A master of mysteries. If only he didn’t talk way too much. He didn’t think Dipper was clever enough to trick him and he gave everything away.
“That’s it. That’s why- why everything.” Dipper beams as he waves over, well, everything. “You keep going back there, and you keep picking a human, wandering around with some random guy - because you can’t get what you want without one.”
Not a cult, building power. Not a massive ritual spell. Nothing grand and showy; Bill would have done that if it was effective. That’s way more his style, and far more magically powerful.
There’s been none of that. Not in the show, not in real life. He hasn’t used the cult, he doesn’t have a base of power. Bill doesn’t peddle with groups, both in the real-life cult and the cannon fodder in the show.
He’s only focused on one person.
Out of billions of people he could bother, Bill latches onto a single, unfortunate guy and throws their life into total chaos. It’s a curse, an annoyance, a bolt of bullshit out of nowhere - and would also ensure you don’t bleed out until he’s had his ‘fun’.
Being picked out from the crowd like that. Having the full brunt of Bill Cipher himself foisted upon you, laser-focused. Going from a nobody to someone who has all his attention -
Wouldn’t that make someone kind of special?
No response, again. Bill has retreated to his last, mocking resort. Flapping his hand like a puppet as Dipper talks, and making faces.
Yes. Finally, Dipper got him. He followed the breadcrumbs, avoided the trap, set up one of his own - and Bill walked right into it.
Dipper gives him the smuggest, most annoying smile he can. He’s got plenty of examples to draw from.
Bill glares, and flips him off. “Sure, sure, live it up,” He says, rolling his eye dramatically. Waving off the loss like it’s no big deal, even though it clearly is. “You don’t have a clue what’s really going on.”
A blatant lie. Hardly his best one, either.
Dipper lets himself enjoy this win for a full minute. Rare chances like this should be savored. He has to hold onto the couch so he doesn’t grab Bill’s dumb handsome face and shake it, for being so very, very stupid. He’s never going to let him live this down
“So. Why do you need a mortal?” Dipper asks after a while. Bill isn’t volunteering any more information, and there’s one more part he hasn’t quite figured out. “The thing you’re after. Why can’t you just,” He grasps at the air in demonstration. “Take it?”
Bill’s eye twitches, once. He doesn’t say anything.
“I mean-” Dipper hesitates. “That’s a ton of work. Heading to a different realm, picking a new mortal every time - that’s decades - no, centuries of effort. The human has to do something, right? You wouldn’t do all that just for fun.”
“Excuse you, it’s plenty fun!” Lifting a finger, Bill wags it chidingly. “You think I’m above messing with some mortal just for kicks?”
Shit, he’s not. Ruining a random person’s life for the hell of it is so very, very Bill.
“Alright, maybe.” Dipper admits. This could be because Bill’s a capricious dick. “But I’ll bet there’s more to it.”
“Never have one motive when you could have six,” Bill agrees. The grin widens, he wiggles his eyebrows - and he starts cackling.
So yes, there’s more. And no, he’s not telling.
Dipper racks his brain for ideas. For clues. Whatever Bill’s after must be extremely important if a literal demon god keeps chasing after it, over and over again. Nothing comes to mind, though.
Eventually he sighs, waiting for Bill to be done with his stupid smug laughter. It doesn’t cover up his mistake.
“So I guess that makes me your latest human… companion thing.” He prompts, once Bill’s finally done with his smug, jerk laughter.
One of the first things he noticed - that room in Bill’s penthouse. The one meant for a specific type of person, as clear as a fingerprint. How many of Bill’s mortals stayed in that room? How many of them-
Those notes in the journal. Dipper has to go back and check them. Now that he knows it was someone in exactly the same position, there might be more to learn.
“Congrats, kid! Ya got parts of it! Well played! But I gotta ask one thing.” Bill cocks his head to one side. A brief, amused smirk. “There are plenty of magical guys around! A lot of ‘em begging for demonic contracts!” The smirk widens, sharp teeth showing. “Why do you think I picked you?”
Dipper opens his mouth. After a beat, he shuts it.
He was so busy thinking about the mechanics of his presence that he didn’t think about the motive.
Obviously Bill grabs a human for practical purposes, so he can get that thing he wants on Earth. If it’s an entertaining person, that’s a bonus in his eye. This time it ended up being Dipper, because…
Not because he’s devoted. Or the most knowledgeable guy around. He’s smart, but too aware of the experience he lacks. Weeks ago he would have said it was the ritual knowledge from the cult, but since that’s less than worthless… Something else, then.
“Because…” Dipper starts, then hesitates. Mind racing, trying to pin the strings between the bits of knowledge he has before Bill throws a wrench into it. “Uh.”
Shit. Shit, he’s so close, there’s a piece missing. A final step. He struggles to find it but there’s little time to think; Bill’s expectant expression demands an answer.
“Convenience?” Dipper hazards. He was right there, in the middle of a powerful ritual, directed at Bill, so-
Instantly he knows it was the wrong guess. By the way Bill’s face fell, it was off by several hundred miles.
“Ooh, nice try.” Bill tugs Dipper closer, hand dragging through his hair - Dipper ducks out of the way before he can start a ‘companionable’ noogie. “You really missed the mark there!”
“Any chance you’ll tell me what that is?” Dipper says, with no small amount of bitterness.
Damn it. He was so close he could almost taste it.
“Nope!”
“You- hmph.” With a grunt, Dipper scoots away and out of his grip. He’s used to all the deliberate frustration, but right now it just sucks.
“Aw, don’t make that face!” Bill scoots after him, trying to get his arm around him again. Dipper swats it away. “Tell ya what - here’s a hint! You’re something a guy doesn’t see every day, sapling.” He winks. “Pretty unique.”
How very specific. Totally not opaque. How does Bill manage to give more facts and make things more mysterious in the process? It’s a really annoying talent.
Dipper sulks then, for a bit. When Bill tries petting his air again, he smacks his arm away, muttering unflattering things under his breath. It makes Bill laugh again, cackling in delight.
“What’s the matter?” Bill nudges him, a teasing laugh. “Ease up, kid. Given enough time, you’ll figure out some real secrets.”
“May Cipher hear your words,” Dipper says, the old phrase springing up before he can stop himself. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, cringing away from his own voice.
Thankfully, the slip gets Bill laughing. Dipper’s turn to not live something down; they’re one for one today.
“Okay, some of the affectations are adorable,” Bill says, nearly pinching Dipper’s cheek before he elbows him in the side. “Hardly worth all the other crap, but still!!”
“It really wasn’t,” Dipper says. He rubs at his left wrist. ‘All the other crap’ barely covers it.
“Don’t worry, sapling.” Bill says, voice low and satisfied. He squeezes Dipper’s knee, grip tightening. “Once we got everything in order - we’re gonna wreak some havoc on those idiots! All the fun stuff and more!”
‘Fun stuff’.
Spending time with Bill, even in Dipper’s position of relative safety, teaches you a lot about what he thinks is ‘fun’.
He’s not sure why he didn’t see this coming.
“Is that… so.”
“It is! Getting back at those who wronged you, tormenting the tormentors. Punishment returned with neat ironic twists!” Bill waits for a beat, then grins, jostling Dipper with a gentle shake. “Come on, you gotta have ideas!”
“A few, yeah.” A lot, actually.
Being favored by a ‘god’. Chosen, in a way. Having Bill’s favor means having his full permission to enact vengeance.
He’d be lying if he said he never thought about… what he’d do, if he could. Fleeting ideas from too many nights lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, feeling the burn in the back of his mouth, or the pain in his knees or the stripes on his back. Frustration and anger and hurt, bubbling up into red-hot thoughts that tasted like blood even with a missing tongue.
Dipper swallows. He rubs at his throat.
“Ooh, I bet you’ve got a lot.” Bill purrs, wrapping his arm around Dipper’s waist. He walks his fingers up Dipper’s knee, trailing up his thigh. “Whatcha got in mind? Turning them inside out? Bone dissolving? Rearranging their legs where their ears should be and making them try to do a cartwheel?”
“Uh,” Dipper says, then, “Well.”
Bill is way more creative than Dipper is. Half the ideas he’s mentioned Dipper couldn’t pull off, and even if he could it’d be… Messier than he’s comfortable with. In those moments of pain and rage, he would have - even then, it’d be a stretch.
Though maybe Dipper wouldn’t mind when it came to the priest. Too bad he’s already dead.
What will he do? When he goes back?
He can see their faces in his mind’s eye. All the people he knows. The only people he ever knew, in that life that feels so far away.They’ll show up again in the room of ceremony, once they get wind of their god’s return. Except this time, he’ll be standing proud at the altar, with everyone in front of him, staring in…
He knows how they stared at Bill, at least. That mix of wonder and terror, their eyes wide. They’ve always believed so much. Hopeful in a way that Dipper never was -
Or. Was, rather. Only when he wasn’t so stupid.
And isn’t it just - so pathetic, and sad. Thinking things might turn out well. That something good might happen, when someone better knows it won’t. Those idiot, expectant moments before you know there’s a punishment coming, that leave you without a chance of defending yourself.
Dipper can feel the burn of Bill staring at him. Waiting to hear his most horrible, gory ideas, and bring them into terrifying technicolor.
“I’m not telling.” He states finally, sounding more prim than he would like. “Nice try. It’s, um. Going to be a surprise.”
“And I can’t wait to see it!” Bill beams, nearly bouncing in place. His enthusiasm is so powerful it’s almost catching. “Mark my words, kid - it’s gonna be a real party.”
“A super fun one,” Dipper says. “Totally.” He offers a smile back, waits for Bill to start cackling - then quickly looks away before his face gives up the game.
For such a consummate liar, Bill’s hit rate on detecting them is only 50/50.
Though. It isn't a lie, really. Dipper does have a lot of ideas. And what he ends up doing to the cult will be a surprise.
In that he’s not sure what he’ll do until he gets there.
“Take your time, sapling! Whatever you come up with is gonna be great, I’m sure.” Bill rubs his hands together, a glint of sinister anticipation in his eye. “I can’t wait to see it.”
Dipper lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I hope you’ll like it.”
Of course it wasn’t going to happen today. That’d be a quick turnaround by anyone’s standards. Even Bill himself needs longer than a few days to cook up a… what did he call it that one time? A ‘showy little number with a twist at the end’. Anything else would be disappointing.
Anyway, it’s too early to make definitive plans. Bill said he should take his time, and Dipper believes him. Shoving his human back into the world half-cocked would ruin the entertainment.
And when you think about it, there are so many options that it could take a lot of time to narrow them down. There could be setbacks, and stutters. It could take weeks, maybe months, to get everything just right. A punishment ironic yet powerful, subtle yet dramatic.
Who knows how long it’ll take until Dipper’s ready to head back? Certainly it won’t feel very long, to a guy who’s billions of years old. And as long as he’s making some progress, nothing needs to happen just yet.
“Ooh, this one,” Bill says suddenly. He sits up straighter as something catches his attention. “I remember when - ah, but that’d be spoilers!”
Dipper looks up. Spoilers for-?
Oh. A new episode started when he wasn’t paying attention.
“It’s still a bad show,” He mutters. He could turn it off out of spite, just to bother Bill - but he did kinda want to see what happened with the twelve-ring summon the ‘bad’ guys were planning.
Another episode would actually be kind of great, thinking about it. He could use the distraction.
Bad TV, Dipper’s learning, is nice. One of the few times where he can almost let his brain turn off.
And having someone else who thinks the show is dumb somehow enhances it.
The climactic battle has the worst dialogue, and terrible graphics. Dipper can barely look at the monsters, they’re so poorly rendered. Bill agrees that they needed a better illusionist; half of the explosions look like they were drawn.
Chatting about something so trivial makes everything so easy. Dipper lets out a laugh when Bill mocks his own actor’s performance, then swats at him when Bill teases him for being a dork.
Some idle comment sparks a bit of bickering. One of them throws popcorn at the other. Dipper doesn’t remember who started it - only that by the end, the bowl is empty again, and he’s smiling for what feels like the first time in hours.
Actor Bill hisses,“Oh, you are a vindictive, terrible mortal.” His suit has mostly melted off from the acid, leaving shreds of it hanging off his arms and chest. The shreds slide off his skin as he storms forward. “A pitiful being like you should never exist!”
“Yet I do!” Protests the human, standing with fists on his hips and a truly defiant look. One only partly ruined by his totally shirtless form.
“You never stood a chance against me,” Actor Bill purrs, slamming a hand into the bark of a tree, pinning his captive in place. “There’s no escape, kid! There never will be!”
“Oh yeah?” The man’s chin juts upward, a sneer of sheer contempt - totally unrealistic, nobody would get away with that - as he flips Bill off. “Then I’ll be your own personal curse, demon. You’ll never escape me either.”
The music surges, a broad orchestra that’s… honestly a jarring clash to the argument that breaks out. You can barely hear what they’re talking about over the grand music.
“Just shut up will you?” The man yells.
With a broad sneer, Actor Bill leans in, smug grin surprisingly close to the real version. “Make me.”
The human fumes, eyes narrowed. His fists clench as if he’s about to throw a punch. But when he extends his arm it’s too slow for that, and his hand is open. It seizes ‘Bill’ by the back of the neck, yanking him in, then -
Dipper nearly leaps out of his seat, eyes wide. Only the pressure of Bill’s arm over him keeps him from standing.
“Three stars for timing, zero for technique.” Bill gives the TV a thumbs down. “That’s way too much tongue! This ain’t slug wrestling for crying out loud.”
Dipper’s shoulders rise nearly to his ears. He doesn’t dare glance at the screen. Only once the wet noises stop, and the credits music rolls, does he try darting one in Bill’s direction.
Who seems entirely, implausibly bored. He cups a hand over his mouth as he yawns, loosely splayed over the couch.
“You’re, uh. Okay with that?” Dipper asks. He tucks his hands between his knees, leaning forward. “It just seems, uh.”
“Seems ‘uh’, what?”
“Like,” Dipper gestures vaguely at the screen, even though it’s faded to black. The credits roll, a series of ominously glowing symbols scrolling up the screen. “That was…” He searches for a word, and fails.
“Terrible writing,” Bill says, bored. He shakes his head, lips drawn into a line. “You’d think someone would come up with a better plot for this kinda crap. It’s not like there isn’t material to go on.”
“But he kissed you,” Dipper says, before he can stop himself.
It’s one thing to blaspheme a little, Dipper himself is no stranger to forbidden acts, but this one takes the cake. The whole bakery, even. To do that at all is bad enough, but to Bill or - or an actor playing him, obviously it’s not the same thing, but still-
“Yeah, yeah, smooching, whatever.” The concept hasn’t phased Bill in the slightest. He snorts, grin widening. “Contrary to your idiot idolatry, I have been known to practice a liplock once in a while!”
“You-” Dipper starts, then stops. “I-” He shuts his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “Yeah, okay.”
So. Bill isn’t surprised, because this is - he sees everything, it’s not like he didn’t know about that kind of stuff.
It’s just that. As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing to get worked up about. Because nothing that happened there was wrong.
Dipper presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to rub them, then draws them down slowly over his face.
Every time he thinks he’s found the bottom of the pit of bullshit he learned back in the cult, he finds another goddamn level beneath it. There may never be an end to all the lies.
Another one he can strike off the ‘sin’ list. There’s basically nothing left now, with Bill indulging in everything from gluttony to sloth to… that.
Every whim Bill has, he indulges. Often to excess, and always with aplomb. Dipper never had the opportunity or ability to do even a tenth of what Bill has, and - god, he wonders what that’s like.
“Do you…” How to phrase this. Dipper wipes sweating palms on his jeans. “Have you… kissed a lot of people?”
The words come out in a bit of a rush. Bill snorts in amusement, which is a relief; that wasn’t the worst question to ask.
“Depends! What’s ‘a lot’? I’m pretty particular about my partners.” Bill’s smile widens, and he wiggles his eyebrows. A quick squeeze Dipper’s shoulder, just above the bicep. “But sure! I’ve known a guy or two worth putting a peck on.”
“Okay,” Dipper says. Then, because that feels inadequate. “Cool.”
Because of course he has. Bill’s put his mouth on. Thoughts are spinning in his head now, rapid and light.
“Come to think of it, it’s been a while since I’ve dabbled in the dating scene!” Bill continues, with an odd tone in his voice. “Pretty tough to find the right guy these days, when you’re holding out for something special.” A nudge, as his eyebrows go double-time.
God, and he would have options- Didn’t Bill say it earlier? People pursue him. For power, sure, but that’s only what he mentioned. Kind of weird, though, Dipper’s only heard of men chasing after -
Wait. Wait, no, how did he never consider this before? Maybe because his stupid upbringing blinded him; Bill’s not human. The shape he’s wearing doesn’t mean anything, metaphysically, doesn’t speak to what he really is, and he just said that at some point he’s kissed a man.
“Are you a girl?” Dipper blurts. Staring wide-eyed at that angular face, at the arms and then a little longer at his chest.
The look of sheer incredulity Bill levels on him makes Dipper sink down into his seat.
“What?” Bill asks, and - oh god. That’s the first genuinely bewildered look Dipper’s ever seen on him.
“I thought - I was wrong.” Dipper’s face burns, he wants to cringe himself into a ball and then fall between the couch cushions. “Sorry.”
Great. Dumb guess, shitty concept. Now he looks like an idiot. His very first assumption was the right one. More fool him for overcorrecting.
“Whatever, kid. And don’t say ‘sorry’,” Bill flicks his fingers. Awkwardness slides off his back like water on a duck, he’s grinning again. “None of your human crap applies, y’know?” He brings his hands together, index fingers and thumbs forming a familiar, three-sided symbol. “I’m the shape you see on caution signs, not bathroom doors.”
“Right.” Dipper perks up. So he wasn’t totally wrong, just... not at all right. Still embarrassing, he should change the subject. “Um. So-”
“But I do have a dick, if that’s what you’re asking.” Bill adds, grinning way too wide.
“I wasn’t.” Dipper claps hands over his ears. It fails to cover up the delighted chortle beside him.
Guess he’s learning all kinds of things about Bill today. Just not ones he wanted.
Not helped by the way Bill leans in very closer, tickling him on the side in a way that makes him jump again. He’s about to scramble off the couch or do something inadvisable like shove someone else off the dang thing - when Bill’s ringtone goes off.
“Ugh, are you- Blegh.” Bill says, moderately annoyed. He leans on Dipper for a moment as he fishes around in his pocket, a smothering weight. How is a simple human shape so heavy.
Whatever he sees on his phone screen has him sticking his tongue out. “Ugh,” He repeats, frowning at. Lifting his arm off of Dipper, and holding up a finger. “Be right back! I gotta take this.”
Dipper hopes the jerk gets lost on the way and falls down a hole. Not really, just - it would be something to say when he’s at a loss for anything else. He just rolls his eyes instead, watching Bill depart with a pointed stride and a grumpy mutter.
Finally, some space to breathe. To think. The mind magic of Bill’s presence always has Dipper scrambling for something to think about that isn’t his too-powerful aura.
He taps the edge of the bowl, an idle beat. Feeling the chill on his side where Bill’s body kept it warm.
Yep. Just Dipper, and the tv, and any remaining popcorn, all to himself. Nothing wrong with that.
He brushes around the bowl without any particular intent. Kernels rustle against his fingers, and he spends a minute swishing them around, even though his hand gets greasy.
The remote lies inches away. Easy to pick up if he wanted to distract himself. Finishing the season is an option, but feels wrong to keep watching when Bill’s not here to see it.
Actually, Dipper could watch something better. Finding a show that doesn’t suck, or have bizarre, blasphemous content. Just some real, semi-wholesome entertainment that doesn’t raise more questions than answers.
Distantly, he hears Bill still on the phone. Sounds like the conversation’s going to take a while.
Dipper taps his fingers on the couch, creeping towards the remote.
Said remote also has, like, a million buttons, so it takes a while to figure out which ones to press. One goes back to the previous episode. This one skips forward, another pauses. This one goes back in fifteen second intervals.
Dipper leans over, checking - Bill, still well out of sight - then taps the volume button down until it’s nearly zero before hitting play again.
“Make me,” Bill’s actor hisses again, before getting grabbed and - stuff.
Dipper sits forward in his seat, elbows on his thighs. Living with Bill means exposing himself to new ideas. Since he didn’t look before, now’s as good a time as any.
Though - Wow, Bill really wasn’t kidding. That is a lot of tongue. Even with the volume lowered it’s all wet and - it makes him feel odd, even though he knows it’s not sinful.
Maybe he should replay it to check.
The fourth time around, he pauses his research to inspect it closer. Aha -That’s what was bothering him, those aren’t real abs. They’re enhanced with makeup. The lighting covers it a bit but when you really look, it’s totally obvious. The actor playing Bill has the worst version; the other guy just has a blotch near his -
“Son of a bitch.” Dipper says, standing up so fast the popcorn bowl dumps its contents on the floor.
The image burns itself into his brain. Dots and lines, laid out on skin. A pattern Dipper could never forget if he wanted to.
Oh, Bill got lucky earlier. Real lucky. The only reason he got away with it is Dipper had his eyes covered. If he’d seen it, he would have had that evil demon bastard as pinned as that human in the show.
Before he knows it he’s charging for the entryway.
He can hear the jerk still talking on his phone, muted voice growing louder as Dipper storms in his direction. Unaware of how he’s been found out.
Dipper doesn’t have a plan in mind, which is the first thing that’s probably going to go wrong - but he’s got to do it, right now, before Bill can run off on some errand or head to some party, evading and avoiding questions like he always does.
And before Dipper can lose the courage to confront him. A little confrontation might intrigue the guy - excite him, even - but the questions racing through Dipper’s mind aren’t going to be fun.
Too bad. Bill’s not going to wiggle his way out of this one.
He catches sight of Bill’s back, turned towards the door and totally not paying attention. Dipper storms up behind him, intending to catch him by the shoulder and whirl him around. See how Bill likes it when he-
The door swings open. Dipper skids to a halt, rocking back on his heels.
That is. Many demons. Eyeballs peeking over the shoulder of something with spikes, another with wings too large to see around. A crowd clustered around the doorway.
Bill stuffs his phone back in his pocket, glaring at them all.
“You call five minutes notice a ‘heads up’? Then show your asses up here?” Contempt rings in Bill’s voice, low and furious. “You got a lot of nerve, and that’s no compliment.”
“It was urgent,” a voice burbles. Something soft and squidgy - oh, that’s where the eyes were, on stalks - it bubbles literally as it speaks. “The mistress-”
“Yeah yeah, blah blah, I’ve heard it all before. Cram it.” Bill stalks forward, leveling a look at the group that has them all scooting away. “Maybe your ‘mistress’ should think ahead next time. Or think at all before calling in a last-minute favor from me.”
Slowly, inch by inch, Dipper backs away. If he keeps really quiet he won’t catch anyone’s attention, they’re all too focused on Bill to mind one small human in the room. Hopefully.
“You got the thing?” Bill snaps his fingers impatiently. There’s some confusion - demons tangling up and shuffling each other around until they manage to wrangle something out of the group. “Alright, hand it over.”
A briefcase is shoved into Bill’s eager grasp. He spends a moment examining it, then unlatches the clasps. Opening it the very, very slightest fraction of an inch - then rolling his eye, and slamming it shut again.
There’s some brief conversation - partially demonic, and partially too inhuman for Dipper to parse. The slimiest demon tries slipping past Bill, into the penthouse - only to get caught by the eyestalk. Green smoke rises, hissing and squealing as Bill’s grasp heats to a burning flame.
“Ah ah ah! Nice try,” Bill chides. With a snap of his fingers, another door appears. Dipper recognizes this one; it leads to a sitting room. “We’ll have our little discussion elsewhere.”
With minor threats and moderate violence, the demon crowd is forced through the open doorway. A miniature parade of odd shapes and sizes, skittering around under Bill’s impatient gaze. He snaps his fingers and they all hurry up.
Dipper guesses he’s going to be preoccupied for a while. He wishes he’d asked more details about this meeting earlier, but neither of them thought it would happen today.
As the last of the demons flutters into the sitting room, Bill turns around. Raising an eyebrow, looking amused.
Dipper makes a belated attempt to duck back around the corner, even though he’s well and truly caught. Curiosity got the better of him, damn it.
“No worries, sapling, you take it easy out here! I won’t be long,” Bill says, voice bright. He waggles his fingers in Dipper’s direction. “Coupla hours at most to milk these suckers for every penny they got.”
Dipper nods, once. He stays silent. Bill’s beckoning him over, but no way is he getting close. He knows that look. As soon as he gets within arm’s reach, he’ll have his cheeks pinched or pulled into a noogie or something.
Bill makes a disappointed face as his nefarious plan is thwarted, then shrugs. The easy grin returns. “Fine, be that way.” He gives Dipper a sharp wave and a wink. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t! Or do! I’m not a cop!”
The door shuts behind him with an ominous ‘click’. Dipper watches it for a while. No motion, no sound. No Bill popping back out, declaring that he’s already done and they can finish the drama.
Guess they’re well and truly settled in for some weird, demonic business deal. For several hours. Or more.
God, that’s frustrating. As much as Dipper wants answers, he can’t just barge into a room full of strangers and start demanding them. Especially when those questions might be kind of… personal. Bill probably wouldn’t be furious if it was just Dipper asking - but airing his dirty laundry in front of a crowd is a terrible idea on multiple fronts.
Damn it. And Dipper was this close to having him right where he wanted him, too.
He kicks the carpet a couple times. Then the baseboards. When the meeting hasn’t resolved two minutes later, Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, and slinks back over to the couch.
It’s empty, with scattered cushions and a throw blanket disordered from their popcorn fight. He stares at the discarded bowl, and the cooled fabric.
Settling back down isn’t nearly as appealing as it was five minutes ago. He’s not sure he can.
Dipper feels his hands clench into fists, then forces them to relax. He tucks them behind his back instead.
Every time. Every freaking time. Just when he thinks he’s close to understanding, another curveball gets in his way.
Pacing back and forth helps a little. There’s plenty of space in the living room to work out this restless energy.
Whatever this - this thing is, it’s been going on for a while. Centuries of Bill picking up mortals, putting them through their paces, trying vainly to reach the object of his desire. A pivotal point of his unknown plan.
And since he’s still going after it, every human before Dipper must have failed.
Maybe Bill got distracted by dicking around. Maybe it really is too powerful to overcome. Or maybe his humans didn’t even know what it was, since they were in the company of a cagey, manipulative asshole.
Dipper could go back and dig through the books in the guest room - but if they didn’t know either, then that’ll be a wash. There’s the show, but it’s so full of bullshit that he doesn’t dare make too many guesses.
Even at the best of times Bill’s wrigglier than an eel, and a total stickler for details. If Dipper doesn’t check off all the boxes on the list, finding everything he was supposed to - then Bill’s going to tut and wag his finger instead of handing over the prize
Too many questions. Zero idea what it’s about. Only one person knows anything useful, and he’s a total dick about parceling out the facts.
Waiting for him to get back won’t take long. It’s barely any time at all, even on a human timescale. Dipper can manage.
It’s just…
The idea of sitting around meekly, waiting for Bill to return. Hoping he’ll come bearing information because Dipper needs his stupid hand held through the mystery just feels - pathetic.
Everybody keeps making decisions for Dipper that change his whole life. Nobody gives him a heads up on what they’re going to do. People taking charge, over and over and - he’s just so tired of letting things happen to him.
If he just had one more thing. Something to prove that he’s right, not hearsay or guesses but physical evidence, that he could shove right in Bill’s dumb face -
Dipper pauses in his rapid pacing. His head slowly turns.
There is one place that he hasn’t fully mapped.
Technically he’s been in there before. Even more technically, Bill’s said he’s allowed to enter. Dipper just hasn’t gone back since that first time since. Well. It’s a little too personal. It felt weird to poke around.
But if there was a place to find the deepest, most powerful secrets of Bill Cipher - it would be in there.
The doorknob to Bill’s master bedroom is oddly warm for something metal. Like it has its own radiating heat, just like the demon who commands it.
Dipper takes a calming breath, then lets it out as he turns the knob.
The unlocked door opens easily, gliding without a sound. Funny, he almost thought it would have an ominous creak.
The carpet’s soft. It muffles his steps. Not that there’s anyone to hear him; Bill’s busy with his meeting several rooms and an unknown amount of actual space away.
Still, Dipper feels a semi-giddy thrill run through him as he walks back in - intentionally, not fleeing - into the most private sanctum of his ‘god’.
Centuries worth of humans. That could be dozens, even hundreds of people, depending on how fast Bill churns through them. And he loves his little trophies and knickknacks, having something to wave around while he brags.
If there is any proof, Bill will have kept it around.
Last time Dipper was here, it was during a panicked rush. He didn’t really look at the room, or check for anything that might explode or devour him - and then Bill was there, and it was. A lot.
This time, he can really take in the place. Get a real sense of what might be going on.
Speaking of - Dipper reaches out with his magical senses -
Then winces. He eases back until the flare of magic is no longer blinding.
Everything in the bedroom is soaked in Bill-essence. Not surprising, really. All of it has marinated in god-demon magic for hell knows how many years, so thick it feels like it could be wiped up with a finger.
For all that, it’s remarkably unthreatening. The sensation’s not welcoming, that word would be too strong - More like it could be dangerous, and deliberately choosing not to be.
“Right,” Dipper says aloud - checks over his shoulder on a paranoid impulse - and sighs when nothing happens. He claps his hands together. “This should be good.”
Time’s limited. Bill claimed it’d be a couple hours, but his company wasn’t invited. Depending on how annoyed he gets, that meeting could be over in seconds.
Better get to work.
Circling the room, Dipper trails his palm over the wall, checking for cracks that would indicate a door or a safe. He brushes fingers over a shelf for secret switches, then rubs them together. Not even a hint of dust.
There’s got to be somewhere he would hide a private journal, or… or a list of human-selecting criteria. Or like, an elaborate carving of every human he’s ever had, with all the information about their lives and when and why he grabbed them. Details.
Sure, there’s plenty of magic around. Tons of it. It’s in the absurd amount of Bill-shaped knicknacks, and the variety of miscellaneous thingamajigs. It’s in the paintings, in the tapestries. The little statues and trinkets and amulets displayed on the mantle. An extravagant collection if you’re generous, clutter if you’re not.
Another person would consider this quite the find. Dipper’s stumbled over a dozen artifacts pulsing with power just lying around like cast-off socks. Finding what Bill likes the most or considers the best is nearly impossible to parse.
Dipper figures it out in about two minutes.
The only thing to glean from this horde? Is that Bill picks up too many souvenirs.
He scowls at one particularly annoying statuette, towering over a field of presumably conquered human-things. A crowd of bowing figures, prostrating before the much-larger Bill in a series of miniature lines. He checks over his shoulder, then flicks the statue’s golden hat off.
On the one hand, it’s careless as hell. Leaving an amulet that rips off all your skin, lying half-under a chain that summons a horde of flying eyeballs, is a recipe for disaster.
On the other hand, it’s… maybe a little clever. A type of misdirection.
Sure, some artifacts have elaborate puzzle elements, and half of them likely contain mystical secrets - but Bill’s decorative habits are so busy, it covers up the fact that none of them are important.
No, Bill’s real secrets aren’t so easily found. They’re held much, much closer to his chest.
Putting them behind a puzzle wouldn’t work. Someone could solve that. Hiding them in plain sight is an option, but not particularly Bill’s style. Guarding them with a series of traps… Probably not in his bedroom, where he could accidentally set them off and ruin his suit.
But then, that would be what people expect, wouldn’t it? That Bill would have a bookshelf that swings out into a secret room, or a seal protecting a hidden vault. A big scary door, with mystical, nearly impenetrable lock.
…It’s all about misdirection.
Dipper drops the edge of the painting he was toying with, and heads to the dresser instead.
Part of him can feel the weight of the all-seeing eyes. The portraits of his ‘god’, omnipresent and watching. Unblinking, unmoving. Always watching.
Dipper shuts that idea out of his mind. That’s not true and he knows it, for a fact. Bill doesn’t pay attention to even half his eyes on a good day. Most times it’s like a single digit percentage.
Odds are he won’t find out. Besides, he’s too busy at the moment to care. What Bill doesn’t know can’t bother him, so it’s totally fine if Dipper rifles around in his underwear drawer.
Dipper holds up a pair of boxers, frowning at the pattern. Tiny blue pine trees against the most garish yellow ever. Truly hideous.
This is both worse than the triangle ones, and more inexplicable than ones with the heart pattern. Hardly what he’d pictured underneath the suit.
Not that he’s ever pictured it. That would be weird. But if he had, it would have been way cooler than this.
This search comes up with nothing, other than confusion at Bill’s fashion sense. Just clothes in the drawers, along with several unsheathed knives, a Bill-shaped keychain, and three glass eyeballs. Dipper does find a drawer with a lock set in the bottom, but he doesn’t have the key. Even then, opening it would just swing the bottom open and let all the pants fall out, so. No dice.
The closet is a walk-in. Dipper stands in the entrance for a minute, staring at the lines of suits and shirts and clothes and cloth and -
He shut the door again. Nope. That went back way too far. Diving in there might get him lost in the bespoke suit dimension.
Checking under the bed reveals… exactly the same stuff as last time.
More dustbunnies than anything useful. There’s a magical ring that’s bent with the gem fallen out, weakly emitting a tiny skull-shaped cloud. One actual sock lies discarded under there, half-balled up from its removal. It has little blood-soaked knives on it.
Dipper rubs at his eyes, staring up at the bedsprings. He sneezes, then wipes his nose on his sleeve.
So far, so… nothing. Disappointing, and weird.
He crawls back out from under the bed. Brushing off the dust, he gets up and sets fists on his hips.
Most of the obvious hiding places contain exactly what one would expect. Worst of all, it’s weird stuff. Just weird enough that he’s certain he’s not in a fake, illusory version of Bill’s bedroom, but the actual real place. It’s just less exciting than he’d thought it’d be.
Is there… actually nothing here?
Not that the evidence doesn’t exist. It has to be somewhere. The idea of Bill not having any secrets is impossible. Like a duck not swimming, or most mammals not breathing; a necessary part of their nature.
So it might actually be a different, hidden room. Figures. Getting to Bill’s secrets wouldn’t be as easy as opening his bedroom door.
And if that’s the case - Dipper’s out of luck. Finding an access point would be hard enough with his limited experience. Bill’s secret horde would have a set of quantum puzzles and a spike trap, at minimum.
He sits down on the bed, sighing heavily - then blinks.
Wow. The bed is incredibly nice. Just touching the sheets is a smooth, luxurious experience; Dipper presses his palm into those soft covers, stroking along the edge. Bouncing slightly on the mattress, just to test.
Not too firm. Not too soft. Just right. He could lie down for a moment if he wanted - and. And Bill said he could be in the bed, right? That was a while ago, but the invitation wasn’t taken back.
As he swings his legs up, one of them knocks into the bedside table.
Hold on - he hasn’t checked that yet.
Dipper hops, reluctantly, off that comfortable bed. One that has to be magical in its own right; he was nearly tempted to take a freakin’ nap. He’s lucky to have pulled himself out of it.
The bedside table doesn’t have such dangers, thankfully. Its drawer opens easily, unlocked and smooth on its slides.
Sadly, there’s not much to look at.
Dipper frowns at the contents. Some breath mints, a big bottle of clear liquid. A strange metal thing that’s bulbous on one end and tapered on the other. Picking it up shows it’s heavy and cool - but no apparent purpose, and zero magic. Maybe a weapon? Except it’s nowhere near big enough to be an efficient one.
He has to pull the drawer out more to get the metal object out. It easily slides open another foot, which is - weird? And actually…
Another tug, and a few more inches confirms - this goes back further than physically possible.
With a shrug, Dipper chucks the metal thing over his shoulder and onto the bed. By the time the drawer is out all of the way, it’s almost longer than he is tall.
Pushing things around to check, he finds snack wrappers - gross - and pieces of bone. A tiny skull, some weird statuette. A pair of handcuffs and a sleep mask, a tangle of metal wires and an elaborate candle, a weird ribbon-tied bundle of brown hair that he nervously scoots away with the back of his hand. With all the crap in here he’s half-worried he’ll feel something go ‘squish’ or skitter up his arm.
This is, more than anything, a junk drawer. Damn it. This was the last place he was going to check, and he came up empty-handed-
Then his knuckles bump against something, at the very far back. Shadowed by the overhang of the table above it, so far back it’s almost impossible to get a grip. His fingers slip twice before he gets a nail around one of the corners. A little wriggling. Then - Ha!
Dipper pulls the object out with more force than he needed. The move jolts the drawer open at an awkward angle, off its track. Whatever, he’ll fix it later.
In his hands, there’s a picture frame.
Now this could be something. A personal photo, so close to the bed. Something that should be resting out in the open, until it was stashed away nearly out of reach. He turns it over in his hands.
A picture of Bill. What a surprise.
Nothing remarkable here. Just Bill himself, giving the camera a thumbs up with stupid sunglasses over his eyepatch, lounging on some white-sanded beach on a towel of his own image.
Vacation photo. Great. Totally relevant. Totally not annoying, to get so close and yet so far.
“Jackass,” Dipper mutters, and pokes the stupid demon ‘god’ right in his stupid eye. The back of the photo frame presses against his fingers.
Wait. Then - It’s not flush with the frame. There’s a gap, or -
Dipper flips it over again. The only thing keeping the picture in is a tab, holding the backing in place. If he twists it, it comes off easily.
And there is another photograph, hidden behind the first. Oldest trick in the book.
Whatever Bill’s got to hide here, he sure as hell didn’t make it easy to find. Stuffed away in an innocuous place, not a hint of magic around it, right in his personal sanctum - this has to be something good.
A quick flick retrieves it; Dipper flips the photo around, and -
Blinks, twice. He nearly does a double take. An illusion? No, it’s - he just checked for magic, and there isn’t any here.
It’s just a picture of… Dipper.
And it has to be him, because- because it looks like him, and he’s in Bill’s home, wearing one of his favorite shirts as he lounges on the couch. In the photograph, he’s mid-yawn, arms drawn up as he stretches, loose sleeves falling down.
For a moment he wonders if this was one of Bill’s other humans - it’d be one hell of a resemblance if so - but the jagged pink scar running down the left wrist is absolutely unmistakable.
Dipper stares for a while. He’s not sure what to make of this.
Why is this stashed away? It’d help if it was like, a weird picture, one with some clear and sinister intent. The weirdest thing about this is the fact that it exists. And that quiet fluttering noise that started a few seconds ago.
Something taps on one of Dipper’s shoes, and he glances down.
There wasn’t just one picture.
With the backing removed, with the way he’s holding it - dozens of photos pour out of the picture frame, fanning out in their fall; an impossible number of them, there’s no way they all could have fit- Goddamn it, it’s extradimensional.
“Shit,” Dipper says, and tries to clap the backing back on. He gets a papercut for his troubles and swears, sticking his finger in his mouth.
Some fumbling later, he slaps the frame onto the sheets face down. The flood ceases, though a few more puff out as a final insult and scatter on the sheets.
Dipper backs up cautiously, just in case there’s another surprise in store - and nearly slips as a picture glides across the carpet. A second trips him up as he tries to get his balance, he grabs the blankets to steady himself.
How many fell out of the frame? Where have they all gone? It can’t be…
Dipper wheels around and stares in horror at the room.
Photos have tumbled everywhere. Across the floor and onto the table and under the bed, some halfway across the freaking room like an extra-inconvenient game of 52 pickup.
“Shit,” Dipper repeats. He nearly sits down on the sleep-enchanted bed again, then thinks better of it.
So much for being careful and subtle in his quest. Evidence of his spying has splattered across the entire goddamn room. He scoops up an armful, cursing as half of them flutter away like annoying butterflies. Another grab lets half the ones he gathered tumble back out of his grip.
Okay, this - this isn’t a disaster yet. This is solvable. Bill doesn’t need to know, it’ll be fine. He’ll never notice. As long as Dipper gathers these and gets them back into the frame. That shouldn’t be too hard to figure out. Depending on how long that meeting runs, he might even have time to-
A sound. Was that a footstep? Or just paranoia.
Clenching his teeth against another curse, Dipper snags another armful, then a second. For lack of anywhere else to put them, he dumps them on the bed. Put everything in one place first, then worry about -
No, there was a sound. He hears another one now. The doorknob rattles, clicking as it turns.
Shit.
Dipper swipes his hands over the blankets, snagging what few photos he can reach and shoving them into the opened drawer. Then ramming the drawer shut with an all-too-loud thunk, clamping loose pictures in the gap, before belatedly realizing he left the metal thing out, too. He grabs it as the door starts opening, and now there’s no time left, he’s got to hide.
Suits rustle as he makes his dive into the closet. The door, pulled behind him as he made his rush to hide, clicks against the frame but doesn’t latch.
No more noise from the main room. Too quiet, almost, the sound of his own quiet panting muffled by surrounding cloth.
That. Did not go well. Dipper grits his teeth, silently running a prayer against discovery in his mind - wait, no, calling out for the guy he’s trying to hide from is a terrible idea.
Through the inch of open space, he can hear the faintest, lightest footstep. Not the thud of Bill’s shoes - but he might be still in the doorway. It’s hesitant because he’s looking across the mess, wondering what the hell just happened.
And what the hell was Dipper thinking? Permission to be in Bill’s room is nowhere near the same as permission to get his grubby fingers on every inch of Bill’s junk. Even that intrusion pales in comparison to putting a gallery’s worth of photos - ones Bill had deliberately hidden - practically on display like an impromptu art exhibition.
Dipper takes slow, measured breaths. In, and out.
All he can do now is wait. Stay quiet. Small, and hidden. Out of sight equals out of mind for most beings.
It’s too much to hope that Bill will let this slide. But maybe he can come up with an excuse? Lying in a cool enough way might amuse Bill enough not to go full-on nuclear.
The closet doesn’t judge him. The closet is where nobody will yell at him, since suits can’t talk. He’s even ninety-percent sure Bill doesn’t have any that could; it’d take away from his own rambling time.
Dipper shuffles into the rack, pressing his face against the lapels of a jacket. It’s a little cool on his cheeks, smelling faintly of Bill’s aftershave. He sighs against the jacket, feeling the press of the other suits on his back, and almost, sort of, feels a bit calmer.
After a while, he remembers he’s clutching the metal thing tight, in both hands. It’s warmed remarkably fast against his flesh, and now he’s not sure what to do with it. Stick it in a suit pocket, maybe? It doesn’t fit in any of them, or his own for that matter. The damn thing’s too long and weirdly shaped to go in anywhere.
Another footstep. Soft, but close. Despite the danger, Dipper pokes his head out of the suit rack to get a better listen.
The pacing is very soft and very rapid. Like multiple little feet instead of the standard two, tapping on the floor. Then on the bed, then - on the wall?
Okay, it’d be one thing if Bill decided to tiptoe in on his hands and knees. Weird, but not that weird, considering. The erratic movement, also plausible. Who knows what the hell he gets up to when Dipper’s not watching him.
It’s just… too quiet. Too furtive, really, like it’s trying hard not to make too much noise. Dipper’s all too familiar with the process.
And faintly, he can hear a strange, gentle buzzing. A quick, two-second burst that he almost mistakes for static. Only there’s no TV in here, and the pitch is off..
Dipper scoots a little closer to the door, ready to press his ear against it. The sound hits a deep, unpleasant memory, throwing him back to some of the more unsavory cult duties. Sacrifice cleanup. The messes always had a bunch of - but he’s never even seen a spider in Bill’s rooms. Much less some sort of giant fly.
He turns to peek through the opened crack, just as the door gets thrown open wide.
The demon - and it must be a demon, because no fly is five feet tall and has that huge a spike on its face - lets out a horrible, high-pitched shriek. Dipper’s own scream doesn’t match its pitch, but it’s a hell of a lot louder.
Compound eyes reflect his face back at him like mirrors. A thin tonguelike proboscis runs along the sharp spike on its face, four arm-leg things reaching out towards him with odd spiked pads -
Dipper screams again, and hits it with the metal thing.
The demon wobbles, looking dazed - before it can grab at him again, he whacks it a second time. Wings buzz fast, a high ear-splitting pitch, limbs grasping at his shirt and his face. They whip acros his arms and sting. Shoving it away feels so- gross, it is like a big bug, all shell and hair and ew.
Another grab; the pad lands on his collar and it almost digs into his flesh One of the spindly limbs cuts across his shirt with a tearing noise and he hits it harder, feeling something crunch unpleasantly under the blow.
At some point the metal object in his hand started buzzing too; something in the sound has the demon reeling away in fear or disgust. And that is a chance to land another blow. A solid one, right in the eye. As it reels back Dipper follows the blow another, and a third, and again and again and again until stuff stops slashing at him and poking, and all that’s left is empty space in front of him.
Dipper realizes he's breathing hard. A quick patdown to check shows he’s sweating, and there’s some - ugh- goop on his hand. His shirt’s ripped, but there’s no blood. Everything’s intact.
Well. He’s intact.
A thoroughly swatted demon lies on the carpet, carapace fractured in multiple places. One leg jerks up and twitches rapidly before going still.
Nausea roils in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not human gore, or even mammalian, but. God, that was gross. And it smells really, really bad.
Something slams open a few feet away, and Dipper nearly jumps out of his skin. He looks up at the noise and -
At Bill.
A newly-manifested doorway has popped into existence, right in the middle of the room. Bill stands in the frame, teeth bared in a snarl, his arms braced he’s about to leap out. His eye lands right on Dipper, lit from inside with fire.
Then he blinks.
Bill looks Dipper over, then down at the twitching bug demon. His eye glances over the room, then back to Dipper. Then down again, to the metal thing in his hand, still buzzing away. Dipper lets it drop from nerveless fingers, where it vibrates in a slow little circle on the floor.
Several seconds pass without a snappy comment. Dipper can’t read the expression on Bill’s face. It flickered through several before settling on blank..
“Well, well, well, well, well,” Bill says, clapping his hands together. An unsurprisingly swift recovery. Behind him in the sitting room, Dipper can see the other demons clustering around to catch a peek. “I can’t believe what you’ve been up to!”
Dipper’s heart plummets into his stomach. He clutches at his torn shirt. That smile looks delighted, but it always masks something else.
He’s been caught. Caught right in the middle of things, red-handed. Guilty as hell in the eye of his god.
What the fuck was he thinking. Digging where he shouldn’t, pushing when it’s wrong. Being allowed to be here has been more than Dipper could ever ask for, and what does he give in return? Blasphemy. Violation. He’s ruined everything because he wanted to know things he was never meant to, just like he always does.
“Look, I can explain,” He babbles, backing up a step. Bill’s quicker by far, catching up before he can do more than hold up his arms. “Wait, I-”
A firm hand catches his shoulder; the other takes him by the cheek. Bill’s face is inches away, approaching fast, and he can’t help but see those sharp, sharp teeth in his open mouth, things that could bite and tear.
At the very last moment, his head is twisted to the side. Something soft and damp smacks him on the temple.
“Mmmmwah!” Bill draws back with an exaggerated sound, cupping Dipper’s face in both hands. “Boy, you really walloped that guy! Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.”
“Whuh,” Dipper says, intelligently.
Bill drops his grip and turns towards the demon on the floor, giving it a contemplative, almost professional look. He taps his foot for a moment, then nods, like an expert evaluating a journeyman’s craft.
Dipper touches his temple with two careful fingers. It’s a little damp. A warm, tingling feeling spreads out from where Bill- Where it happened.
“Now, as for you-” Bill eyes the demon a little longer, then sets his hand on his hips. His smile changes to the sharp, unpleasant version. “Creeping around the place. Digging through my stuff. I don’t take kindly to peeping eyes that aren’t mine.” One sharply polished shoe lands a heavy kick in the vague area of the thing’s groin; it lets out a tinny scream. “And you made a huge goddamn mess while you were at it!”
Dipper glances over the scattered photos, open drawers, and the scattered knicknacks. Yes, someone certainly did.
Another kick lands on the demon with a crunch, and he winces.
“Gee, I wonder how you snuck your way in.” Bill says, immensely dry. He turns slightly towards that still-open doorway. The demons leaning in to watch start backing up fast. “Who coulda possibly helped with that! It’s a real friggin mystery for the ages!”
A mystery that Dipper had been wondering about, somewhere beneath the panic. The solution’s clear now that it’s gone.
Getting through Bill’s front door was all they needed. With such a big crowd of ‘small-timers’, as Bill would call them, he’d barely bother to track every one of them. The fly demon could have easily hitched a ride in a shrunken state; too small to be noticed until the time came to start snooping. With Bill busy elsewhere, it would have been a perfect opportunity - if Dipper hadn’t had the same idea.
That it is a spy is a relief. Dipper had been a little worried. If this was the kind of bug that comes crawling in after cracking open a window, he’d have second thoughts about his living arrangements.
Bill makes an odd pointing gesture. The room tremble as it shifts - and a spike impales the demon in front of him, dangling its slender body in midair.
“I’ll handle those losers in a second,” He says, gesturing at the doorway. He taps a foot, humming briefly in thought. “But as for you…”
Dipper backs up further. He keeps Bill between him and the fly-creature while still trying to keep an eye on the action.
Watching Bill about to enact his vengeance is … Sure, it was spying. It didn’t do what was right, or even smart. But he already beat it up, and it’s looking really rough. Whatever Bill’s going to do is -
The insect-like demon flails on the spike, limbs writhing. A loud buzz starts up again, along with some odd clicking noises.
“Hm?” Bill cocks his head to one side. Then he glances back at Dipper. “Yeah, what about him?”
On second thought, Bill should finish this guy off quickly and violently. For spying, and for ruining Dipper’s shirt, and being a goddamn snitch.
“Oh, I see!” With a grin, Bill stalks closer. “You know what, you’re right! If I caught two spies in my place, they’d totally get the same treatment!”
Dipper’s heart leaps into his throat.
No, wait, that - he was so certain, this isn’t -
“But there’s a real big problem with your dumb little assumption.” Bill tuts, holding up one finger in a chiding wag. With a vicious grin, he seizes it by the spike on its face. “There’s only one of those around!”
Dipper’s heart restarts, though it’s pounding fast. He braces himself on one knee, starting to breathe again.
“See, you’re here uninvited.” Bill says, very calmly, even as he twists the head at an unnatural angle, a sound both crunchy and wet. The wings buzz so fast a breeze starts picking up. “And HE freakin’ LIVES HERE.”
Oh.
There’s a thud as the severed head drops; Bill stomps on it with one perfect black shoe. Fragments of chitin flying, goo splatters in a comically yellow splat, making more of a mess than Dipper ever could.
Then Bill scowls at the ruined carpet, his hands on his hips. Like he’d walked in on a pile of undone dishes instead of making the disaster himself.
And Dipper’s still standing there. Untouched.
“There,” Bill says, with deep satisfaction. He wipes his hands off on his suit jacket - then frowns and takes the whole thing off, toweling bits of innards off his face. “What a moronic thing to try. Though it has been a grip since anyone made an attempt!.” Shrugging, he tosses the jacket away. “Guess they’re forgetting what happened to the last batch.”
Dipper nods, waiting for a moment. Then another.
And he’s still there, untouched. Unharmed. Because - because he’s not a spy, or an interloper, or even an unwanted or unattended guest. Bill doesn’t see him that way. He thinks that -
“So, I’m…” Dipper starts. Pauses, briefly, as Bill looks over his shoulder, then summons up the scraps of his courage. “I’m… not in trouble?”
“Sapling, you’re fine! Better than fine!” Bill says, dismissing the suggestion with a wave. “Hell, you could go through my freakin’ underwear drawer and I wouldn’t give a crap.” He pauses - then turns towards Dipper with a huge, knowing grin. “See anything you liked?”
“I’m-” Dipper freezes. All his muscles tense, and his face is hot. He touches his temple again; the tingling has started running down his neck. “Uh.”
Bill’s still staring at him. His smile widens another degree for every second it lasts.
“I’m gonna go take a shower.” Dipper blurts, and starts backing up again.
That’s a good excuse. Reasonable. He’s got goop on him, he’s sweaty, and he would really rather avoid talking about anything right now.
“Suit yourself!” Bill laces his fingers together, pushing his arms out in front of himself until the knuckles crack. He faces the door again, storming towards the meeting he’d recently abandoned. “I got some business to take care of.”
Dipper nods, once. He leaves the bedroom at a walk instead of a run, and hears the door shut behind him.
He’s…
All his breath comes out in a rush. The wall is steady under his back as he leans on it, palm over his eyes.
Holy crap, he’s fine. He really is. It’s okay.
This wasn’t a mistake. Everything was fine, he did make the right guess, and thank fuck for that. He is allowed in the bedroom. He could go anywhere he wants, and it’d be fine. More than fine.
He also wasn’t lying about the shower. Not only does it buy him some space, this fly-blood stuff really stinks.
Getting into the shower, he sets his face in the hot, pounding stream and tries to scrub off the goo. Water pressure. Hot water, and as much of it as he likes. Dipper can turn his back to the steady stream and feel it beating out the tension.
He lets out a low groan, letting water run through his hair. For all that it’s bizarre and confusing, the sheer luxury of Bill’s home is downright amazing.
Though. It’s not just Bill’s home, is it.
Dipper tilts his head out of the water. He watches droplets trickle down the shower walls.
Like. Obviously Bill’s the owner, he’s the ruler of his own domain. He controls the very fabric of space, changing the interior on a whim -
But there’s another person around. One who’s not a guest, or merely staying over for business reasons. Not a sentient pet or a tool or one of his knicknacks, kept carefully for display.
Dipper is a whole entire person who gets to be here, in Bill’s home, because he lives here too.
Not all that long ago, he was worried he wouldn’t leave this place alive. Then he wondered whether he could leave at all. For a while he wondered if Bill would make him go, after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do with Dipper. Yet another part was convinced that when they went back to the cult, that’d be it. Back to earth, out of the dreamscape and out of Bill’s hair.
The last two no longer hold up. Because Dipper lives here, Bill said it himself, and by the nonchalant way he said it it’s been a done deal for a while.
Bill didn’t even try to hide it. He didn’t think it was a surprise.
The concept’s so big that Dipper doesn’t know where to start.
Living here. With Bill.
Dipper’s been places, though not many. Lived in places, if only a grand total of two. Early on, he thought that this one would be the same as the last. A man in charge, setting strict rules that must be followed. Forbidden from ever leaving. Punishment for not doing as he was told, or even thinking about not toeing the line.
All his experience told him that was how things go. It was all he knew. An assumption that everywhere was going to be the same tune, played on a different instrument.
His assumptions have never been right.
Bill’s home is a different beast entirely.
Bill could be in charge, but he doesn’t care to be. Not with Dipper. He hasn’t heard an order leave his mouth in ages. He’s free to leave the apartment if he wants, nothing’s going to stop him - though that’s a bad idea for other reasons, and Bill didn’t create them just keep Dipper in line. The worst punishment he’s gone through is a pinched cheek and some teasing, which is so minor that it almost goes into the negative. And he doesn’t have to worry about the breaking rules, because Bill doesn’t have any.
DIpper almost wishes he could blame it on, well. Demon realm. Strange culture. That things are topsy-turvy because everything else conspired to make it that way, rather than just.
Like, he already knew the cult was shitty when he was still in it. Knowing how shitty it really was leaves him wondering what a normal life could have been like. A strange, what-if ache.
Dipper had made plans to leave that awful place, knowing it meant he could never return. Even if there was anything he wanted to go back for, it wouldn’t be safe; Once he got out, that was going to be it. The whole world, or the conclave. One or the other.
If he wants to step outside Bill’s home, he doesn’t need to abandon it.
They’ll make a visit to Earth, for one. Bill wants to go to the cult for revenge, and Earth seems to intrigue him. He’ll take Dipper along with him, not lock him away in his room, because he wouldn’t let him miss the ‘fun’.
And - and if the show was right. Later, Dipper might get to visit Earth by himself, while Bill waits back at the Fearamid.
It’s an idea that feels more dreamlike than anything else in this realm of sleep. That maybe, this could be a place he can leave and come back to. Somewhere he doesn’t have to choose. Going and seeing things he’s always wanted, then returning again, with someone happy to see him at the door. Maybe that’s what a home’s supposed to be.
Dipper lets his head thunk into the side of the shower, out of the stream.
It’s weird to think a deadly demon realm ruled by an all-powerful madman is the safest Dipper’s felt in… forever, maybe. Which is another question entirely.
How the hell is he getting away with all of this?
It’s not just the snooping from earlier; he didn’t find much worth mentioning. Punching Bill in the goddamn face, though, that should have sent him into the lowest, most horrible dungeons. Not to mention the increasing amount of backtalk he’s giving a ‘god’. Complaining and questioning, even arguing, all excused. The defiance even delights Bill, because he’s a huge goddamn weirdo.
Nobody else - nothing in the universe - could get away with all of that without retribution. Yet Dipper remains singularly, remarkably unharmed. The worst Bill’s ever done is scare him a little, and even that’s odd considering the whole ‘nightmare king’ deal he has going; Dipper should have had at least two heart attacks by now.
The birthmark. It must be that.
The one human in the show had it, and Dipper has it too. The other human companions… He didn’t see it on them, but it might have been in a different place? At minimum though, that’s two humans who Bill hung out with, wearing the same star-ridden shape.
But ow would Bill have known Dipper had it? He wasn’t watching him before they met - and by the time they did, the mark had been missing for ages.
It could be magical. Maybe. Dipper’s never heard of ‘special birthmarks’ actually being a thing outside of bad fantasy novels. Then again, if it was, the magic could show up in his blood - exactly what was used in Bill’s summon. Which would…. Do a thing. He thinks.
Dipper rubs his face with the washcloth, willing his brain to start working better.
Everything feels muddled and weird. Partly from exhaustion, partly from too much information with not enough connections.
Still, one thing is certain. Bill wasn’t lying, no matter what Dipper thought at the time. He is special.
It’s… what, special… privilege? A secret power? Some strange field of influence, so specifically targeted it’s ridiculous, with no logical reason to exist? It’s…
Dipper gets out of the shower, and stares at himself in the mirror. He sticks his tongue out. The birthmark remains, brightly outlined on pink flesh.
Having more pieces to the puzzle helps. Sadly, he still doesn’t know the picture on the front of the box.
Confronting Bill without having his thoughts in order would be worse than useless. He’ll dodge every guess, unless Dipper throws something really solid at him. He needs a strong offense to pry the secrets from between Bill’s stubborn, oddly soft lips.
Screw it. There’s too much to go through, and he’s so, very tired. He can sort it out tomorrow.
There’s no rush, anyway. Bill’s not going to kick him out. Dipper lives here.
Preparing for bed is the same ritual as always. Brush teeth, get changed. He can turn the lights on and off whenever he wants, not wait for someone else to do it at a mandated time, and now he keeps them dimmed. The bed’s already made in the guest room-
No, His room. Where he lives.
An emotion fills his chest, welling up until it feels like he could - Dipper grabs mini-Bill and holds it tight.
Squishing the plush in his arms helps, though he has to hold it very hard. And this is his, too. Bill hasn’t tried to take it from him beyond starting to glare at it on occasion. He has so much that’s his.
The quilts settle cozily around him, comforting in their weight. The pillow soft,sinking under his head. Comfort, too; he has this now, and he’s never, ever going to take it for granted.
Problem being, when he shuts his eyes, there’s flashes of translucent wings. A high buzzing, from both the thing in his hand and the thing making crunching noises -
Dipper sits up again with a groan. Rubbing at his face, he kicks his legs over the edge of the bed.
He knows what kind of night he’s in for. They’re infrequent enough lately that it doesn’t bother him. Nightmares in the nightmare realm, who could have guessed. Another round isn’t going to kill him.
Yet somehow, the idea of lying down and watching that scene repeat in extra-gory detail, with the cult and god knows what else thrown in, feels like an extra shitty thing to go through right now.
He could get up and read for a while, try to get it out of his mind. Or get a glass of water, or journal down all the things he’s learned today. Hell, he could even bother Bill, who doesn’t ever seem to sleep and certainly wouldn’t mind the company. He’s almost always up for whatever Dipper suggests, no matter what it…
Huh. Now that’s an interesting thought.
It might work, too. Being ‘special’ gives him some extra leverage. Stuff that Bill wouldn’t normally allow, he lets Dipper get away with handily.
He could use that.
Dipper gets up, heading for the doorway. Still clutching mini-Bill, since he doesn’t expect to be up for long. He’ll consider this a test run. A little favor shouldn’t bother Bill much; it’ll barely take him a second.
The door to his bedroom creaks as it opens. The living room’s still lit up, though dimmer than usual. Typical for the ‘evening’, or dream realm equivalent. He pushes it open further, stepping out into the light.
And there’s Bill. Sitting in the high-backed chair, facing the fireplace.
He must have wrapped up his ‘business’ to his satisfaction, looking pleased with himself. He swirls a drink in his fingers that shifts color with every turn. The light from the fireplace illuminates the angles of his face, and the curve of his satisfied smirk.
Dipper hesitantly clears his throat. Instantly Bill perks up, head swiveling in his direction like a compass needle to the north.
“Hey there, sapling! What’s up?” Bill asks. He crosses one leg over the other, offering a quick wave. “Thought you were in for the evening.”
“No, not yet.” Dipper says. Already he’s awkward; asking for things and actually getting them still feels weird. “Soon, maybe. But I, uh. Wanted to ask you something first.”
Bill tilts his head back, finishing his drink in one long swig before tossing the glass aside. He gives Dipper a wink, and double finger guns. “Sure, go for it.”
Okay, now. How to phrase this. Hopefully it’s not some kind of offensive ask, and - well, he’s pretty sure Bill’s not doing this on purpose. More like it’s an aura around him, or a knee-jerk reflex. Not always activated, but powerful when it is.
Bill’s still watching him curiously. Waiting for Dipper to speak, in an eerily patient silence.
Here goes nothing. Dipper takes a deep breath.
“I don’t want to have bad dreams, so, uh,” He admits, though it comes out a little rough. He tugs his pajama shirt to straighten it. “Could you…um. Not? For tonight?”
A beat of pause. Bill blinks several times, then says, “That’s not me, kid.”
Oh for - Dipper levels a deeply unimpressed look. Usually Bill’s lies are better. “You’re the lord of nightmares.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m great at designing them, not the source of all of ‘em. You think I got time to get to every being in the multiverse?” Bill says. He catches sight of Dipper’s glare and frowns, lifting his hands to show his own empty palms. “Look, I’m not poking around in your subconscious. Whatdya want, a pinky swear?”
Dipper’s mouth moves, his tongue flicks. The words come out without permission. “Or maybe you’re just not that great.”
He shuts his mouth with a click, almost catching his tongue in the process.
He shouldn’t have said that. Shit, even if he is a little annoyed, he keeps crossing that damned line. Questioning Bill’s power. His capability, his very essence. Surely Bill won’t just ignore it again.
Except Bill does. If anything he looks more amused, starting to snicker as he rises from his seat.
And he does inflict a ‘punishment’. By getting super close and ruffling Dipper’s hair in a super annoying way. Dipper shakes it off, pulling back with a huff. Annoyed, but also - god, he really does have a lot of leeway. It’s insane.
“Hey! I’m definitely the best.” Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. “You just got your perspective wrong! Elements exist on their own! Some guys are just great at manipulating ‘em. You’re not texting the king of fire every time you light a match, y’know?”
“Well,” Dipper says, then stops. When Bill puts it that way -
Not omnipotent. Not omnipresent. Not literally the fabric of the mind itself, either; he should have thought of it before, except he keeps making dumb assumptions.
“Look. You want a custom, hand-delivered nightmare? One that’ll make someone scream their lungs up and claw their own eyes out? Then I’m the best in the biz!” Bill puffs out his chest, smiling wide - then shrugs, looking a little wry. “But any dreamer can have something nasty crawl outta their subconscious. That’s just nature.”
Dipper nods, once. Letting out a sigh, and rubbing at his eyes.
Not the answer he was looking for - but an answer nonetheless.
He’d guessed that Bill wasn’t inflicting them on purpose, sure. Infrequent and random fit ‘accidental’, there wasn’t any pattern he could find. Learning they’re not Bill’s fault at all is surprising - but nice.
…That also means every terrible dream Dipper has had came from his own stupid brain. Going around concocting terrible scenarios and waking him up in a sweat, purely au naturale. Super great.
Simple solutions rarely exist, he guesses.
“Sorry. Or- yeah.” He squirms out from under Bill’s pursuing hand, turning back towards the door. Another bad night isn’t the worst, he’ll live. “I’ll just-”
“Hey, hey! Don’t sweat it, sapling. When it comes to nightmares, you came to the right guy!” Bill interrupts before Dipper can make it more than a foot. He takes him by the shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “I got just the solution for ya. Sweet dreams only, one hundred percent guaranteed.”
Or maybe… Dipper glances back. But Bill just said he wasn’t doing this, so-
“Really. One hundred percent.” That’s an exaggeration if he’s ever heard one. Dipper folds his arms, giving Bill an arch look. “If you’re not making the nightmares, then that means you’re playing defense. You’re telling me you get every single one?”
“Always so cynical! Ninety-nine point nine repeating is mathematically identical.” Bill says primly, already steering Dipper around, pushing him in another direction. “And better odds than you’ll get anywhere else.”
Fine, that’s true enough. Dipper doesn’t have better options. Or any other ones. He might as well see where this leads.
Bill hums behind him, bizarrely delighted by the weird request. Maybe because it’s weird. Maybe because he enjoys the process, somehow? Either way, he seems confident in his ability to pull this off - but when doesn’t he?
Dipper gets maneuvered through the living room, over the carpet, and - into Bill’s master bedroom again. He glances over his shoulder briefly, just before the door shuts behind them.
Wait, what are they doing here?
The room’s just as clean as the first time he entered. There’s no demon corpse, no puddle of ichor or new freestanding door. No photos to be seen. At some point Bill must have tidied up -
Dipper closes his eyes against the mental image. Bill, seeing through all the evidence he left. Knowing it was Dipper who did it. He hasn’t said a word about it, but the guilt lingers.
He almost wishes Bill was mad about it. Or complaining about the mess, or making some wry comment to tease him about his shitty show of espionage. At least then he'd know what Bill is thinking.
Dwelling on his own guilt is interrupted by Bill pushing him forward, then halts suddenly. Leaving Dipper standing at the side of that immense, luxurious bed.
Bill gives his shoulders another pat, then lifts up one edge of the sheets. “Hop on in, kid!” With a little flourishing bow, he flaps the covers. “Get yourself cozy.”
“Uh. Sure.” Dipper hesitates, but. Bill’s nudging him along, so he eventually pulls himself up into the bed and under the opened sheets. They drop on top of him before he’s even fully in the thing, while Bill perkily walks off to another part of the room.
Just as he suspected. It is a great bed.
As Dipper settles back, the mattress is firm but yielding. The pillows mold around his head. The blankets are cooler than the quilts in his own room, almost chilly - but not hard to get used to.
It’s not hard to settle down, waiting for Bill. For a ritual that involves dreams, a bed as the setting makes sense. Though part of him thought Bill would just, like. Snap his fingers, or something. Demon powers, or whatever.
Even without any magic, Dipper’s tired enough to fall asleep right now. But that might mess with whatever Bill’s doing, so. He’ll just. Shut his eyes for a moment.
“Hold tight for a sec! I’ll be with ya in a jiffy,” Bill says, vastly more upbeat than the situation calls for. “Lemme just slip into something more comfortable.”
Dipper’s eyes shoot open. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment before sitting up. “What do yo-”
His words die before the sentence fully forms. He shuts his mouth slowly. Swallowing with a mouth that’s gone suddenly dry.
Bill’s shirt lies in a silent pile on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, broad shoulders roll as he stretches, casting interesting lines of shadow on the planes of his back.
Dipper drops back down, clutching the blankets like a lifeline.
Okay, wait, maybe he has the wrong idea. Bill’s not, like.
There's a clinking sound. A belt being undone, moving as it slides from its loops - then another as it falls. Followed by a zip, and more soft shuffling of cloth.
Dipper dares a glance. Then instantly grabs one of the other pillows, pulling it over his face.
Okay. Okay, this is - fine and, normal maybe, he doesn’t know how this ritual’s supposed to work. It’s not unheard of to be… unadorned when doing powerful magic, since any enchanted clothing could interfere. Bill’s just getting rid of them before he casts the spell. Everything’s going exactly as it should, and Dipper can throw out that newly-acquired mental picture as totally irrelevant and definitely rude.
The pillow helps. He’s not tempted to look at all, but if he was, it completely blocks his view and most of the sound.
He should be patient, and quiet, and wait for the spell. If it’s strong enough that Bill has to undress to cast it, this will take a while. Dipper has plenty of time to calm back down.
A motion in the covers, as something pulls them up. A deep, pleased sigh, much closer than before - then a large weight sinks the mattress slightly, scooting close with familiar, incorrigible confidence.
Or, the thought appears in Dipper’s mind. There’s no spell. It’s a ward. Which would require the warder’s presence, right. Totally reasonable.
So yes, of course. Bill joined Dipper in bed, just like he said he would like, less than two minutes ago. How that little fact got glossed over was - he stopped thinking straight for a while, that’s all.
The cult didn’t leave Dipper with a huge range of experience, he knows that. Hates it, most days.
But even in that limited scope, he knows some people sleep undressed. He’s seen his share of unfortunate cultists get woken up for morning sermon, only to see them entirely unprepared. That Bill shares that particular proclivity is… honestly not that big a surprise.
“Ah, now that’s nice.” Bill says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a thump near Dipper’s head - probably Bill lying back himself. “You don’t look all that cozy, though. What gives?”
Dipper tells him he’s fine, but he doesn’t know how much of it gets through the down covering.
There’s a pause, then a snort. The blankets shift as Bill adjusts them, drawing them further up.
It really is fine. He’s doing great, he’s comfy, Bill’s going to help him with something and it didn’t seem like any kind of trick. All he has to do is deal with a perfectly normal sleeping habit from a not-at-all normal guy, who’s lying so close Dipper can feel him breathing. Inches away, with his bare skin warming the too-cool blankets.
He can’t hold the pillow this tight forever, though. It’s getting hard to breathe.
Then a thump, just near Dipper’s head; Bill slammed a palm into the mattress. Leaning over him no doubt, with his body covering Dipper’s own. The picture is clear in his mind; he can almost feel the body looming over him. Something gently tugs the pillow, urging it away, and - and Dipper shouldn’t resist, should he? Bill is after something, he’s demanding and forceful, he’ll do anything to get what he wants.
The pillow leaves Dipper’s loose grip, pulled away by a firmer, stronger hand. He lets his arms drop to either side of his head. His breathing picks up.
And Bill is looming over him. Held up by one strong arm, looking amused. His eye bright and half-lidded, his smile sharp and dangerous on his face. Wearing a soft, loose t-shirt, reading ‘Hungry Zixlor’s Burger Joint’.
Dipper reads the shirt, then tilts his head up for another angle. Below that, Bill’s put on the pine tree boxers.
“See? Way more comfy when you can actually aspirate.” Bill says, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Dipper rolls onto his side, feeling a rush of annoyance. The hell, he was going to put the stupid pillow down. Bill didn’t have to get all over him just for that.
He feels the bounce as Bill drops back down into bed, cackling to himself at another successful human-annoyance. Dipper’s half-tempted to smack him with the damn pillow, but who knows what that would lead to.
Mini-Bill got lost in the covers somewhere along the line, so Dipper fishes around until he finds it and hugs it to his chest. He lets out a huff, squishing it tight.
Without warning, an arm slips under Dipper’s neck. Another drapes over his waist. If asked later, Dipper will claim he didn’t make a single sound, much less anything undignified.
Instead, he holds very, very still. The arms around him are firm and strong. With the body behind him warming up everything, the blankets suddenly make sense. Bill’s practically a furnace. Anything more insulation and they'd combust.
“Good night, sleep tight,” Bill says, low and close. Dipper shivers, though he isn’t cold. “Don’t let the demons take too big a bite.” Teeth click sharply right next to his ear, and Dipper shivers.
God, of course he wouldn’t just- just let this be calm and nice, he’s Bill friggin’ Cipher. “Jerk,” Dipper mutters, and feels Bill’s chest shake with silent laughter.
The arm around his waist squeezes him tighter, pressing his back fully against Bill’s chest. He can feel it move as he breathes, and the steady pulse of his heart. Between real Bill and mini-bill, they’re practically a set of nesting dolls.
After that… nothing. Bill doesn't taunt anymore, and a few minutes later, Dipper hears him start to snore. Another annoying bit of Bill, and not annoying enough to distract him from everything else. He wishes it would.
Even in sleep, Bill has the nerve to keep breathing and moving, instead of being a warm statue Dipper could ignore. His fingers trail in a mindless, unconscious pattern over Dipper’s stomach, making him bury his face in the pillow. Running through every chant he can remember silently, over and over, especially the ones that are mind-numbingly boring.
None of these ideas are sinful. Bill himself has done more, and worse, than just having two or three concepts flicker through his brain, and Dipper knows it’s not wrong. He does, really.
…Just because it’s not sinful doesn’t mean it’s not awkward.
Dipper keeps his eyes shut. Trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart. There’s a bright, tingling energy in his body, spreading through every part of him, head to toe. It's... inconvenient.
Bill wasn’t lying about preventing nightmares. He’s terribly effective.
Dipper can’t have bad dreams if he doesn’t get any sleep.
#One day I will relearn how to write short things#Today was not that day and tomorrow's not looking good either#By the end of this miniseries I'll have basically written a dang novel#RIP my writing hands#I will now have some chocolate as a reward#Fun Fact: I know I'm finished editing when I reach what I call the 'fuck it phase'#Which is when I'm sick of looking at the dang thing#So here it is!!#This is why it's hard to leave tumblr - not a lot of other sites let you drop huge blocks of text like this
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𝙎𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝗈𝖿 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 | seven
Parings: CEO!Chris Hemsworth x Stripper!OC // Words: 7.8K // Type: Series // Taglist: Yes/No (Inbox me to be tagged or removed) Warnings: Sexual harassment, racial themes, discussions pertaining to child death, miscarriage, alcohol/drug use, and suicide attempts. Angst.
A/N: I'm so sorry for the inexcusable delay in updates. This chapter is hella long and perhaps should have been split into two, but I promised ya'll some answers in the last chapter, so here they are!
“What is that haircut?”
“Why are you zooming in?”
Kaya said nothing, continuing to pinch her fingers to gain a closer look, her smile widening by the second. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding. “
Chris rolled his eyes. “All children go through phases.”
“This is beyond a phase, my friend. Don’t even get me started on the outfit.” As she erupted in yet another fit of giggles, he took advantage of the opportunity to snatch the iPad away from her.
“Go to sleep.”
Quieting herself down, she wiped at her eyes. “No. Come on. I’m enjoying this, and like you said, you were a dumb kid. How were you supposed to know these photos would haunt you till’ the end of time?”
“Only if they get out.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time, sir.”
Chris closed the app and looked over at her. “What about you?”
Kaya’s brow lifted. “What about me?”
“What about your phases?”
She snorted. “Absolutely not.” He continued to stare her down, prompting her to cave, a surprising move even for her. Kaya’s tenacity was typically much stronger than that. “Fine.”
She grabbed her phone and unlocked it, opening Google Photos and scrolling mindlessly. She knew that any horrifically embarrassing snapshots would be from as far back as her library went. The older the photo, the higher the likelihood she would regret ever caving.
It took roughly two minutes for her to locate a set, her eyes shutting and a small moan leaving her partially closed mouth.
He smirked. “Found it?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You’re going to make me regret this, aren’t you?”
“Without a doubt.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “At least you’re honest.” Blowing out a breath, she issued a formal forewarning. “In my defense, I was young and dumb.”
“How is that diff—fine, I will reserve my judgment.”
“Liar.” When he said nothing else, she took another deep breath and gradually pulled her phone away from her breast, twisting her wrist so that he could see the screen. “I give you, thebaddestputa69.”
She watched the corner of his lips lift upward as he fought off a smile in favor of a smirk. “Hotmail or aol?” Her surprise at his knowledge of the fallen email servers must have shown because he commented, “I’m old, not ancient.”
She matched his smirk and leaned over to whisper. “Hotmail. Definitely hotmail.”
“AIM username?”
“Come on, the same as my email. I wasn’t creative enough to have multiple aliases.”
He chuckled, grabbing her phone to examine the photo. “I certainly do not miss the peace sign era.”
“I’m pretty sure I used that same pose in all of my photos back then.”
He gestured to the plastered graphic that read ‘jealousy is a disease, get well soon’. “With the same masterful level of editing, I’m sure.”
“But of course, blingee and picnik were a staple.”
A comfortable silence befell them as he returned her phone, and she quickly swiped up to close the app. Kaya was grateful that he didn’t swipe right or left, something she was expecting him to do, if she was being completely honest with herself.
Kaya yawned and naturally laid her head on his shoulder as she reached over to grab the book she was reading when they somehow got on the topic of rebellious and wild phases of days of past.
“Are we th—”
“Finish that sentence, and I will personally throw you out of this damn plane myself.”
Kaya looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed, and mouth pronounced. “It’s a legitimate question.”
“No, it was a legitimate question. However, it stopped being one when you asked me the fifth time.”
“I’m just trying to keep the conversation going. Damn.”
“No, you’re just trying to pester me.”
“Look, it’s obvious you don’t want to hear me talk anymore, so I’m just going to shut my mouth for the remainder of the flight.” He snorted. “What?”
“We both know that’s not possible.” He finally broke his gaze from his phone as he looked over with that knowing smirk that she despised. “You always have to have the last word.”
“That is not true.”
“Kaya, you’re like a child.”
“Keep it up, and you’ll be the one who’s personally tossed from this jet.”
“See what I mean.”
Groaning, she threw her hands up and shook the book in her right hand. “This is the second book in this series.”
“And?”
“And I started the series when we were still on the taxi.”
He shrugged. “Read slower.”
“Chris!”
He laughed, reaching to place his hand on her thigh as she sighed while banging her head back against the headrest. “Relax.”
“Don’t you think if I could, I would?”
“You were doing great five minutes ago.”
“That was in the past.”
“Next time, we’re taking separate jets.”
She didn’t know why but hearing him refer to future happenings both excited and saddened her, for more reasons than one. She cleared her throat. “This is a work trip, right?” He looked down at her as she placed the book down on the ground and held onto his bicep. “You know, something for your company.”
He studied her for a moment and looked up, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the headrest. “I have the cover of this month’s GQ Italia.”
“Fancy,” she remarked, still unsatisfied with his answer-non answer. “So, I was right. This is a work thing.”
Chris thought about what she said, what she asked, as well as his response before he replied. “They offered to contract a photographer in LA.”
Brows scrunched, she had to ask, now more confused than she was just a few minutes ago. “So why go to them?”
His silence only irked her, the seconds dragging into minutes, which felt like hours. Frustrated and impatient, she called his name again. “Chris-”
“Jesus,” was all she heard before his lips were on hers, palm of his hand pressed against her cheek. Everything else after that was a sensual blur. His other hand moved to her hip, pulling her onto his lap, never once breaking their kiss. She placed her hands on his shoulders, giving a light squeeze, inching her body closer to his, close enough to feel the heat that always emanated over him.
And then, it was over.
Eyes fluttering and breath staggering, she nearly whined when he ran his thumb over her swollen bottom lip.
“This isn’t work for me.”
----
“This is our room?”
Chris looked up and chuckled, watching Kaya spin around the middle, eyes soaking in their suite. He placed her bag near the closet while crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.
“It is.”
Kaya nodded and grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt, tugging it over her head. She extended her arm out and turned around, lifting a brow. “And we have maid service, correct?”
He eyed her. “Of course.”
Kaya smirked and let the garment fall to the floor.
Chris chuckled. “You wanna explain that?”
“What?” She played innocent, fingers toying with the waistband of her joggers as she began to shimmy out of them. “Staying in a fancy hotel where I don’t have t0 clean up after myself?” She walked toward him, moving to grab her suitcase so that she could find her next outfit. “Granted, we have the maid service at home, but—” Both Christopher and Kaya paused at her statement, equally surprised by how easily it flowed, but more so with the statement itself.
Defense immediately kicked in and Kaya cleared her throat. “I mean, ya know, your place.” She refused to make eye contact that exceeded ten seconds, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and dragging it in the direction of what looked like the bathroom.
“Dibs.”
Her feet weren’t moving fast enough for her liking. In fact, they were slow enough that Chris was somehow able to cross the room and grab her by her arm. She looked up, managing to remain calm while inwardly panicking.
God, please don’t let him ask anything.
“Don’t take too long.”
She swallowed. “Why?”
Her grip on the handle tightened when he moved his hand to her face, the back of it brushing against her cheek. Had he been paying close enough attention, he would have noticed the way she shivered at his touch.
“You want dinner, don’t you?”
-----
“This isn’t exactly what I meant.”
Kaya looked up from her pizza, pausing mid chew. “What? Pizza in Italy? This is goals.”
He intended to take her to a fine restaurant, one where only the elite could afford to dine. Instead, she requested pizza delivered to their room. Kaya never ceased to surprise him. “And why are you eating pizza with a fork?”
She shrugged, adjusting the thin strap of her shirt. “Because pizza is messy, and my life's already messy enough. I avoid when I can.”
Chris didn’t say anything, simply watching her eat. She caught his gaze and looked away. If she could, she’d go back in time and stop herself from ever saying what she did. It’d ruined everything. He’d been acting different around her since, and she hated that. She also hated that she hated it.
Since when did she give a flying fuck about what people thought of her? Let alone him.
It was out of character for her, and she didn’t like it.
She didn’t like it at all.
Similarly, Chris also found it difficult to focus on anything other than the encounter from earlier, but not for the reasons Kaya thought.
Not even close.
“So, what’s the agenda for this trip?”
He chuckled and brought the champagne to his lips. “And ruin the surprise?”
Her eyes narrowed as she replaced the fork with her fingers so that she could eat the crust piece by piece. “What surprise?”
“What kind of question is that? Who gives away a surprise?”
“Are you capable of ever just answering my questions with a straight answer?”
He pretended to think. “I could.”
“But?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You and fun? Never realized they were synonymous.”
“I’d like to think we have fun.”
“We have sex. Really, really, great sex.”
“You don’t consider that fun?”
“Fun isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.” He lifted a brow, and she scoffed, tossing a red pepper packet in his direction. “Stop it. I am trying to have a mature conversation here.”
“Not quite sure how possible that is when both parties are inebriated.”
“Bullshit. You know damn well neither one of us is drunk. You haven’t seen me drunk. Hell, I haven’t seen me drunk in a while.”
The way her tone changed toward the end of her sentence garnered his interest. “Why not?”
She looked at him, her smile faltering as she nervously cleared her throat. “I—uh—I get really bad migraines, and Excedrin is the only thing that works for me.” Telling him the truth, well, a fraction of the truth, felt strange yet relieving, probably because she’d spent so much of her life hiding and lying that the truth was unfamiliar territory. “Needless to say, meds and alcohol? Never really a good combo.”
“You’re drinking now.”
“I haven’t taken any medicine yet.”
“Maybe you won’t have to.”
She smiled sadly. “I will.” A beat. “It’s all I have.” Kaya snatched another piece of her crust and swallowed fully before explaining. “That’s why my sleep schedule, if you can even call it that, is so fucked up.”
He thought about it. “Excedrin has caffeine.”
“An insane amount.”
“It helps your migraines—”
“And keeps me up in return.” When he grew quiet, she offered. “Trust me. The insomnia is much better than the pain.”
“I’m sorry.”
She grimaced, eyes darting in either direction. “Why?”
He sighed and ran his hands all over his face. “That’s why you get so upset when I wake you up.”
“I wouldn’t say upset.”
“You threatened to slit my throat in my sleep.”
“Okay, maybe I was a little upset,” she confessed, and they shared a laugh before his tone grew serious again.
“I’ll be mindful of that.” Head tilted to the side, a sign she was still confused, he continued. “So that you can sleep.”
She smiled teasingly, abandoning the last bit of her food, and pushing her plate to the side. “Is that consideration I hear?”
“It is.”
The way he was looking at her, the lack of typical sarcasm in his tone, it was both welcoming and conflicting. Crawling across the floor, she moved his plate to the side and climbed into his lap.
Hands on his shoulders, she lowered her voice and whispered into his ear. “Well, I’m up right now.”
He made a sound and brought his hands to her hips. “You are.” Her eyes shut when his lips moved to her shoulder. “You should get some sleep.”
Immediately, she coiled back and glared. “Are you serious right now?” He laughed, which only upset her further as he stood up, her legs locking around his waist. “It’s been at least 8 hours.”
“You keeping a timer or something?”
“Look.” She waited for him to place her on the bed before she grabbed the bottom of his shirt and tugging so that he laid back on the mattress. She quickly climbed on top of him. “If there’s one thing I know about us, we are ideal intimate partners. Our sexual chemistry is astronomical.”
His eyes drank her in. “Is that it?”
“Is what it?”
His voice lowered. “Is that all you think we have?”
At that moment, Kaya realized a couple of things. This was wrong. She was suddenly very much uncomfortable. And this was a mistake. This was why she didn’t tell the truth. It meant putting yourself at risk for being vulnerable.
She was never good with that.
Clearing her throat, she climbed off him and flashed a crafty smile. “I’m gonna go shower.” She couldn’t handle seeing his face, so she turned around, purposely pretending she had to look around the room to search for her luggage.
“You should know I hate sleeping with blankets.” Kaya needed to redirect the conversation to another topic. This was becoming all too much for her.
He sat up and rolled his shoulders. “So, strip the bed? Got it.”
“Absolutely not. I could freeze.”
“You just said—”
Kaya stood by the door that led to the living room area and smiled sadly. “I’m a hot ass mess, Chris.” A beat. “The sooner you accept that, the better.”
-------
We need to talk when you get a chance. Please?
No matter how many times she looked at the phone, a new incoming gray message never appeared. She waited and waited, even scrolling up only for it to bounce back with no change.
She missed Nia. She missed their banter. She missed making tik toks with her. And she especially missed the advice giving, of which she could desperately use right about now.
Something was happening between them. With her and Chris. Of which she didn’t know, nor did she understand. It drove her mad because it was a new experience, one where she didn’t feel as though she always had to walk on eggshells.
Being with Chris….
“God.” She ran her hand over her face. What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t with Chris. Not like that, anyway. This was a business transaction. They were both using each other for selfish purposes.
Maybe it was the sex. Nia always warned her that behind every sexual encounter, there was at least some trace of feelings.
Kaya always thought that was bullshit.
Now….now she wasn’t so sure.
“You alright?”
She looked up from her chair and saw Chris walk in. She chewed the inside of her cheek as he sat down in the chair opposite of her. Kaya took in his wardrobe, so casual and laid back. She’d never seen him in denim before, but he looked good.
She didn’t even know the photographer, but she was a fan. A billionaire in Levi’s? Iconic.
“How does it feel to dress like us common folk?”
“Poor.” He winked as she glared. “We should be done soon.”
“Don’t rush on my part. The snacks here are delicious, and who knows, I could play dress up.” She wiggled her brows and straightened when there was a knock on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the photographer spoke up and offered Kaya a friendly smile. “You’re Kaya, yes? I’m Elena.”
Kaya was surprised by the fact that this woman was both speaking to her and actually knew who she was, so her response was delayed. “Yes. It’s nice to meet you.” She offered her hand and noticed the woman was staring at her. Welp. It was nice while it lasted. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized but continued to stare. “It’s just...has anyone ever told you that you have amazing bone structure?”
Kaya sputtered. “Not unless they wanted something from me.”
Elena smiled. “Well, I suppose this is no different.”
“I don’t understand,” Kaya asked, looking over at Chris. He was surprisingly quiet.
“How about we get some shots of the both of you?”
She immediately protested. “Oh no. I—I’m just here for moral support.”
“You did say you wanted to play dress up,” he reminded. She glared. Of course he would choose to speak up now.
She turned her narrowed eyes on him and harshly whispered. “Not while being photographed.”
He placed his hand over hers. “Relax.”
Kaya remembered that they weren’t alone and therefore, had to keep up the act. Even if it was starting to feel less and less like acting.
“I’m used to people watching, not photographing.” He lifted a brow. Laughing, she slapped his chest and took a deep breath. She looked over at Elena. “Will I at least get to see them before you pick which ones to use? If any.”
“Of course.”
Kaya caved. “Fine.” He kissed the top of her head and mouthed a thank you. “You owe me.”
“Sure, I do,” he dismissed, slapping her on her ass as Elena grabbed her to drag her away.
“Time to make magic.”
-----
It was a bad idea, one of many that had occurred, Kaya realized.
When she joked about wanting to play dress—up, she didn’t think that it would actually happen. She didn’t think that she’d become involved in his shoot. Kaya especially didn’t expect to have as much….fun as she did.
And she hated that, too. The fact that she managed to smile and laugh more in one setting than she had in, hell, longer than she could remember. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all.
She really, really didn’t like the way Chris looked at her every time she walked onto set in a new look, and there were a couple of them. The way he focused on her, eyes taking in every bit of her form, all the way down from her shoes up to her hair. Like he didn’t want to look away. Like he couldn’t look away. She despised the way he held her when they were photographed together, often being the reason for her smile or laughter with his comments that he whispered into her ear, sneaking in a kiss against her temple or holding her against him.
It was all so domestic and sweet, and it made no sense.
He was starting to make no sense.
And she especially didn’t understand why she was putting off leaving the bathroom, having sat on the toilet for at least 15 minutes.
As if on cue, two loud knocks on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
“I’m coming, damnit.”
“That’s what you said last time. Come on, Kaya.” She was both surprised and annoyed that it was Chris. She expected it to be members of the glam team that he’d hired to help her prepare for the GQ function he was invited to, and of course, she was forced to accompany him. Turns out he wasn’t just chosen for the cover. He was man of the year. “We’re going to be late.”
“Maybe you should just leave me behind,” she muttered.
“Maybe I can just kick this damn door down,” he countered.
“Then you’ll have to pay for the damages.”
“Then I’ll buy the damn hotel,” he shot back testily. “I’m not going to ask you again, Kaya.”
She scowled and rolled her neck. Kaya knew he was being serious. The bastard could buy his way out of anything.
If only….
Blowing out a deep breath, she swallowed and stood, holding up her dress. It was undoubtedly beautiful, gold, a slit in the middle of her chest and on her left leg exposing more skin than she would have thought appropriate. Her curls were styled in a fancy updo, and her makeup was equally as bold as her dress, finalized with a red lip. She knew that she looked good, and that’s what scared her.
Chris had been looking at her like that all day, and she couldn’t keep handling it.
If she could even consider it handling. Managing was perhaps a better term. Poorly managing was the perfect term.
Kaya ripped open the door and plastered on a fake smile. “Happy?”
And there it was, his eyes widened and softened as he gave her a onceover. “And don’t tell me I look beautiful, cause’ I already know it.”
Kaya figured if she said it for him, she wouldn’t have to deal with the weird and uncomfortable knotting in her stomach that she experienced every time he complimented her.
And it worked, he said nothing, only helping to hold up her dress as they walked to the SUV that would escort them. In the car, she was also pleasantly surprised that he didn’t attempt to make small talk with her during the drive. She was certain, however, that it was because he took at least three different work calls during that time.
She made drafted Tik Toks in the meantime.
When they finally arrived, Kaya nearly ran out of the car right then and there.
“Is that a red carpet?” Her mouth dropped. “What the hell? You said nothing about having to walk a damn carpet that is red.”
He chuckled. Kaya realized his hand was on the exposed portion of her thigh. “Stay close to me, and I’ll take care of you. You’ll be fine.”
Kaya was used to having eyes on her, but that didn’t mean she liked it, especially when it didn’t involve money being thrown her way. “I don’t have to say anything, do I?”
He squeezed her thigh. “You’ll most likely receive compliments.”
“I can handle that,” she spoke more to herself than him. “Just long as no one asks if I prefer cats over dogs or whatever shit they ask.”
He laughed quietly and looked at her. “You ready?”
No. “Yes.”
Chris climbed out the car first so that he could help her out of the vehicle, and as soon as she stepped out, she cursed to herself. There were so many damn people. People taking photographs. People being photographed. People helping both the people the photographed and the photographers. And then there was her. She felt so out of place.
If he wasn’t already holding her hand, she would have grabbed for his.
Kaya used her left hand to hold up her dress, while making sure that she stayed close to Chris who led the way, smiling for the camera while sparing her glances every so often to assess her level of comfort.
Kaya played along, evoking a smile as she posed with him for a few photos. That’s when it started again. Like the photoshoot from a few hours ago, she found herself feeling less forced and more comfortable. Like, it was natural.
Like it was real.
Kaya was eventually allowed to stand to the side as he gave a few interviews, some in English, most in Italian. She’d meant to ask him earlier when the hell he learned to speak so many languages. This was the third she’d learned of. She had a feeling at least one or two journalists asked about her, because he would look in her direction and shoot a wink or something of the sort.
Her smile was a natural reaction.
The process was less daunting than she anticipated, not that she’d ever admit that to him. It was once they moved inside that Kaya realized they’d yet to reach the hard part. That hardest part was “socializing” with the guests, many of which were white, spicy white at best. She spotted some minorities but found that they were just as distant as the rest.
The vim of the event was welcoming, however, which confused Kaya to some extent. She simplified it down to the event was nice, the people were trash, and Chris was both an ass and a gentleman for forcing her to come.
He’d introduced her to a few people, most of which spoke poor English. That, she could acknowledge, was nice. Not the strained English, but his obvious concern for her wellbeing. He was going out of his way to make her feel as comfortable as he could.
It was also irritating because it resurfaced those damn knots.
They were seated at a table, and he was texting someone when she leaned over and tugged on his sleeve. Kaya also took a moment to appreciate how nice he looked. The man was something sinful in a suit. “I think I know him.”
He looked up, immediately locking his phone. “Who?”
She gestured with her chin. “The guy over there talking to the girl with the green dress. But don’t look at them.”
His eyes lifted to the ceiling. Right before he proceeded to look right in that direction.
She laughed despite her irritation. “What did I literally just fucking say?”
“I’ll never understand why people want to do something without actually doing it. I don’t have the time.” She shook her head. He was so impatient. “And how do you know him?”
She lifted a brow. He asked with a newfound sense of urgency. If she didn’t know any better, she would have guessed it came from a place of jealousy.
Kaya studied the stranger across the room again when her eyes widened. “I know. He’s that actor from that porn movie we watched.”
“We don’t watch porn, Kaya. We make it.”
“Stop it.” She leaned closer, hating that her smile contrasted the frustration she felt with how vulgar he was speaking in such a public setting. “And you know the movie where they…..ya know, basically the whole time, and he kept asking in that godawful delivery, are you lost, baby girl?”
Her equally terrible impression caused him to laugh quietly. “I think that is him.”
“I told you.” She spoke a little louder than she would have liked due to her excitement at being correct. “He looks better on screen.”
Chris glanced over at him once more and scoffed. “He’s scrawny.”
“Sir, not everyone is like you and built like a fucking tanker.”
“Not my problem.”
Kaya rolled her eyes and gathered her dress. “I’ll be back. I have to use the restroom.” She stood and leaned over, arms around him from behind as she whispered. “Try not to be too much of a dick while I’m gone, okay?”
He turned to look at her. “And where’s the fun in that?”
Turns out finding the bathroom was a harder task than she’d anticipated. She’d asked one of the servers while maneuvering through the crowd, but it also turned out that Kaya wasn’t the best with directions. She did find it, though.
Eventually.
Kaya was navigating her way back to Chris when she was stopped by a man in a suit along the way.
He was of average height, average build, and average attraction. She was immediately annoyed.
“Hi,” Kaya greeted with a tight smile.
“Hello,” he smiled. Add in average dental health. “You are very beautiful.”
Kaya realized he didn’t have an accent, either. American, most likely. “Uhh, thank you.” When she moved to walk past him, he blocked her. “Sir, I really should—”
“How much?”
Her eyes darted to either side. “I’m sorry?”
“Money is no issue, as I’m sure you can see, and I’d like you for a week.” He stepped closer, bringing his hand to trail it down her arm. “Longer even, perhaps.”
“Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about, and please do not touch me.” It wasn’t so much of a request as much as it was a demand. “Now, I really should—”
“You’re not American.” Kaya continued to be confused as hell when his eyes lit up with excitement. “That explains why you look so exotic.” Confusion easily morphed into rage as she finally caught on to what he was referring to. “I bet you feel di—”
“You’re disgusting,” she hissed, pulling away from him. “I am not a fucking prostitute—”
“Call it what you want, girl,” he dismissed. “I don’t judge. I can pay you well.”
“Go fuck yourself, you sick son of a bitch,” she cursed, turning away when he grabbed her arm. “Let me go.”
“You think that you’re special?” He’d taken on another tone, one that conveyed his anger at being rejected. “The fuckin’ stall I just pissed in is worth more than you, bitch.”
Kaya refused to allow him to see her cry, but she’d be lying if she tried to say that his words didn’t sting, especially his next verbal attack.
“You can slap on that expensive dress and let Hemsworth make you feel special, but I know, you know, and everyone else in this fucking place knows that you’re nothing but a cheap, illegal whore—” Panic arose when he moved his hand to the exposed skin of her thigh, squeezing tightly. His hand started to inch upward when Kaya acted on instinct. He cursed aloud while Kaya gasped as she realized that she’d silenced him with her fist dead square in the middle of his face. “You fucking bitch!”
Shock and fear took over as Kaya gathered the bottom of her dress and ran, as much as the gown and her heels would allow, that is. Certain he was going to chase her for retribution, she consistently looked back, unaware that she needed to be just as aware of what was in front as what was behind.
She shrieked and immediately went to pull herself away from the strong body she’d collided with.
“Kaya.” Refocusing her attention, she looked up and realized it was Chris. “Where the hell—” He stopped amid his statement when he took in her appearance and realized that she was crying. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Kaya looked down, speaking more to herself than him. Not that it mattered. He was judging based on what he saw instead of what she said. He’d learned by now that her words rarely matched the truth. “Let’s just go—”
“Kaya,” he repeated, softer. Chris brought his hands to her face, forcing her to meet his gaze as he asked again, slowly. “What happened?” A strike of anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Did someone touch you?”
“No,” she answered, quickly. Too quickly.
The anger escalated exponentially. “Who? Tell me.”
Kaya could have slapped herself. She wasn’t helping the situation. She was making it worse. “It doesn’t matter, I hit him, and now he’s probably going to sue you—”
“Where is he?” Chris was looking behind her, eyes flaming. He was livid. “Show me. Now.”
“No.” Speaking was becoming an increasing challenge, especially against the backdrop of overwhelming emotions. Everything she’d been feeling, preventing herself from feeling, and afraid to acknowledge was gradually bubbling to the surface. “Just—just let me go back to the hotel. I’m messing everything up for you.”
He calmed for a second, realizing what was happening. Chris was unfamiliar with this side of her. Unfamiliar with seeing her so vulnerable. “What?”
Kaya suddenly realized that her eyes were burning again. She was fighting back tears. “I’ll give you back the money for the day, it’s—it’s fine, you’re better off without me here—”
Her offer to pay him incensed Chris. This wasn’t about the money. It stopped being about the money a long time ago, even if he hadn’t realized that until today. “I don’t want the fucking money, Kaya.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Don’t—don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“Please,” she plead. Control over her emotions was a battle she’d all but lost at that point. Her words, she was certain, would be next.
He raised his voice. Chris sensed, saw that she was uncomfortable, but he also realized that this was what she needed. A push. “Why?”
“Because this all about the fucking money, okay?” She matched his volume, accepting that her tears were going to fall no matter how much she willed them not to. She’d lost the war. “It has to be about the money, because if it isn’t then that means you care, and—you can’t, alright?”
He studied her, wondering if she realized this conversation was difficult for him too. He brought his hand to the side of her face. “Why is it so impossible for you to accept that I fucking care about you?”
She looked up, glistening eyes and wavering voice. “Because then I have to admit that I care about you too, and I can’t do that.” She spoke to herself, as if vocalizing it would cement a decision that was already out of her hands. “I won’t do it.”
“Why?” He pressed. Chris brought his other hand to the other side of her face, cupping it and moving closer. He gave zero fucks about where they were and who could have possibly overheard. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”
She pulled herself away from him, back colliding against the wall as she blurted, “because all I do is hurt the people I care about alright?” In that moment, Kaya realized she was so far gone that the point of return was no longer an option. Her mouth trembled as she struggled to form her next sentence, listing off names with her fingers as props. “Mami, Papi, Nia. Hell, my own brother is dead because of me.” A beat. “I’ll only hurt you, and I care about you too much to do that.”
“Kaya—"
A newfound heaviness started to weigh upon her chest, another blockade to her speech. “I’m standing here in a dress I can’t afford, a building I can’t even fucking pronounce, and with a man I don’t deserve.”
His voice lowered. “Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t deserve you?” Kaya looked at him, her eyes softening before she squinted, her face scrunching up in obvious pain.
He took note of this. As invested as Chris was in finally getting Kaya to open up about how she really felt, her wellbeing would always be his primary concern.
“Kaya.” He placed his hands on her waist, steadying her. “What’s wrong?”
“I—” She blinked several times, blinding lights obscuring her vision. “I—can’t—" Kaya felt the firmness of his chest, inhaled the scent of his cologne, and heard her name on his lips before everything faded to black.
-----
She awoke on her side, body clutched against a pillow, and a thin sheet covering half her body. Never one to take her time returning to her senses, she forced herself to sit up, eyes still scrunched from the sleep.
Looking down she realized she was dressed in only one of Chris’s dress shirts, her dress discarded.
Memory returned as Kaya replayed the events that transpired prior to her slumber. The photoshoot. The party. The asshole.
Chris.
“I don’t care. Tell them to send it in the mail or something.”
She recognized his voice traveling from the living room area, prompting her to swing her legs over the bed, her toes submerging into the soft carpet. She’d never been in such a fine hotel where the carpeting probably cost more than six months’ worth of rent on her one-bedroom apartment.
“Evans, I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that right now. You can handle it. I don’t care.”
Kaya contemplated remaining where she was, eavesdropping without being detected. She quickly decided against it. She’d done enough.
Her feet carried her out of the room, and she stood in the doorway where she saw he was standing against the massive window that provided a breathtaking overview of the city.
Again, she considered leaving him be, but he either had exceptional peripheral vision or caught her reflection in the window because he spun around. Kaya’s eyebrows furrowed when she realized he was still dressed in his suit, with the expectation of the jacket and dress shirt which were both discarded, leaving the white undershirt.
Uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her, more concern than that, she settled onto the sofa, pulling a decorative pillow to her chest as she crossed her legs.
“I have to go,” he spoke briefly before pulling the phone from his ear and hanging up.
Kaya swallowed. He’d yet to speak, so she took the opportunity to do so. “Still don’t believe me when I said I’m a hot mess?”
“What happened tonight, Kaya?”
“Which part?” She knew that playing coy wasn’t the best route, but she was forever stubborn and would fight until she had nothing left. “Where I ruined your evening, assaulted a millionaire, told you one of my deepest secrets, or fainted in your arms? There’s a lot.”
“All of it.”
She looked away and licked her lips. Kaya felt cornered, absolutely trapped. Emotionally. She’d always assumed being physically stuck would feel far more suffocating and frightening. She was wrong.
Kaya considered her options, though far and few in between. She could deflect. She was a master at that. She could redirect blame onto him. Call him out on even making her go on the trip, for not telling her ahead of time what to expect, maybe throw in a few insults. And lastly, the most frightening of them all, she could be honest.
That was the scariest of them all.
“I lied to you.” The words spilled out before she realized it, but Kaya accepted the fact that she was tired. There was only so much she could carry, and she’d reached her limits. “My—my parents aren’t dead. They still live in the same house in Parlier that I grew up in with Denes. He’s—he was my brother.” It felt strange talking about, verbalizing what she’d quietly struggled with for so many years. And yet, there was a peace that accompanied the release. “He was such a beautiful little boy, but….different. He didn’t talk much, life skills were….hard for him, and he had these fixations on certain things. He didn’t like change.”
“Kaya, you don’t—”
“When I was eleven, and he was eight, my parents found out they were pregnant. They’d been trying for so long….they were so happy.” She roughly wiped at her face to do away with the silent tears that fell. The crying, however, was inevitable. “One day, they had a checkup appointment, and the babysitter fell through, so they asked me to watch Denes.” She nodded slowly, reverting to the same rush of emotions she felt that day. “I was so….mad, because my friend had just gotten Guitar Hero, and I was supposed to walk down to her house so we could play it.” To that day, Kaya felt a strong surge of rage whenever she ran across a throwback picture or read an article referring to that game. It was a trigger.
“My parents promised that I could go when they returned, but I just couldn’t wait.” Her nose turned up with disgust, disgust directed 100% inward. “I just had to go play that stupid fucking game.”
“Denes loved birds. They were one of his fixations. They think—they think he saw one outside our living room window or something and walked outside to see if he could catch it because, of course, I forgot to lock the front door.” She stared off into space before closing her eyes. “I had just walked into my friend’s house when I heard someone scream like I’ve never heard a scream before.” Kaya tugged the pillow closer to her chest and lowered her head. “I ran back so fast because I thought—I thought I could help him. I thought I could save him.” Her voice cracked. “—But there was so much blood, and he was so hurt—he died in the middle of the street, bleeding, terrified, and it was all my fault.”
Chris closed his eyes and shook his head. “Kaya—”
“They never found the driver,” she added quietly, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “The shock of it all……it was too much for my mom, and she miscarried.” Kaya laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor. “I spiraled after Denes passed. Everything bad and terrible I could get myself into, I did. I—I skipped class, I partied, I drank, I tried drugs.” She scoffed. “I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to some guy whose name I still don’t know because I was so drunk.” She leaned back into the sofa, staring at the intricate pattern of the rug. “I just—at the time, I thought if I did enough, I could make my parents hate me, because it’s what I deserved. But for everything I tried, they kept giving me chance after chance.”
“So, then I attempted suicide, twice, and I couldn’t even do that right.” She groaned and wiped at her eyes again. The cuffs of the shirt were nearly soaked. “I realized that God or the universe or whomever clearly wanted me to suffer and to live with my guilt, but in the midst of trying to punish myself, I failed to realize that all I’d done was cause my parents more pain.”
“Day of my high school graduation, I woke up at the crack of dawn to pack up my bags, told my parents that I was going out with some friends, but I’d be home by 7—and I haven’t seen or spoken with them since.”
She clapped and lifted her hands. “And there you have it. You’ve now seen me naked; you’ve seen me cry, and now you know that I’m a murderer—”
“You’re not a murderer, Kaya,” he was finally able to complete his sentence, still very much in shock over what she’d disclosed. “And what happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.”
Chris watched her demeanor soften, shifting from her previous facetious tone to a more somber tone. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You were a child.”
She shrugged sadly. “So was he.”
“That still doesn’t make it your fault.”
She turned away from where he sat across from her. She hadn’t even realized he’d moved from his initial position by the window. Untangling her legs, she moved the pillow to the side and stood in front of him. “Why are you so nice to me? You should be running for the hills.”
Chris brought his hands to her waist and pulled her in between his spread legs. “Why do you keep asking questions you already know the answers to?”
“Even after everything I’ve done?” She whispered, emotion betraying her for the umpteenth time that day. “You—you still—you still feel….like that about me?”
“You’re stubborn, impulsive, argumentative, flippant, and undoubtedly one of the most complicated women I’ve ever met.” He slowly stood up, never once breaking eye contact as he cupped her face, fingers brushing away the dampness of her flushed cheeks. “And yet, seeing you smile is the highlight of my day.”
She chuckled and nervously cleared her throat. “So, was today subpar? Like, medium light? Half-light? It all went downhill after 12pm.”
He shook his head and kissed her forehead. “You are, in fact, a hot mess.”
Her fingers grasped at his sleeves. “I really am sorry about ruining your evening.”
“You didn’t ruin my evening, Kaya.” He brought his hand to her hair, pushing back the tendrils that had fallen from her updo. “Thank you for opening to me. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“It’s a lot easier opening up my legs,” she muttered, watching as he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry—you’re right. It’s—it’s not easy, and I don’t like talking about….feelings.” Her eyes lifted as she chewed on her bottom lip. “But, I do have feelings for you.” She shut her eyes and licked her top lip. “And there’s something else I need to tell you.”
His gaze softened. “Anything.”
It was so simple, the opportunity was available, the setting was perfect. She’d already told him the hardest part, now all she had to do was tell him the rest. The problem though, was that what she’d shared hadn’t changed much. It only helped him to understand her better. It would potentially improve their relationship.
This would destroy it.
She cleared her throat again. “If you tell anyone I’m capable of crying, I will smother you in your sleep.”
He chuckled and kissed her temple. “It’s late. I’m going to shower.” He studied her. “Try not to get into any more trouble, yeah?”
She smiled softly. “I make no promises.”
He gave her side a gentle squeeze before yawning as he walked back into the bedroom. Finally alone, she fell back onto the sofa and hugged the pillow against her body. Kaya felt both disgust and frustration. If there was a perfect moment to tell him, that was it, and now it was gone.
She was running out of time
-------
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#chris hemsworth#chris hemsworth fanfiction#chris hemsworth fandom#chris hemsworth fanfic#chris hemsworth x black!reader#chris hemsworth x black!oc#chris hemsworth x woc!oc#series: seasons of love
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Ive never been the same since tbh 🥲 im forever paranoid now
Megumi would have the most confused expression ever. the visual representation of "huh??"
random hc that I just came up with: Megumi hair was literally a carbon copy of Toji's and the reason its all spiky now is bc gojo forced him to switch it up a bit; gojo can existence is a bit more peaceful since then. this is not canon compliant at all but idc let me leave in my fantasy world 😭
if it wasn't for the chokehold that Aki has me on- ill create a Facebook acc solely to respond to those stupid ass comments ffs
And I just finished reading the reze "arc" (dunno if you could call it an arc) and im so frustrated?? I think?? I dislike maxima and I love denji and FUCKING AKI IM GONNA- I love him, thats all im gonna say.
oh and im also skimming through jjk manga bc my friend is reading it as well (I actually think they already finished it??) and reading the word Shibuya just sends me into immediate panic lol
ofc Yuzuru has abs im gonna sob TT the core strength that man needs to do things on a ice must me insane.
you, talking about jjk: // me: 😍, your analyses (is that the plural??) are always on point and very satisfying to read LMFAO I hope that doesn't sound odd :,)
I agree that toji isn't as bad as people make him out to be as well! its funny bc my opinion about his character did a 180 quite literally. I used to think he was the worst.
Im glad to hear that your schedule is lighter now! I remember when I was in college (I dropped out bc of mental health reasons and now im figuring out what I truly wanna do) and the workload was absolutely insane. manifesting that you get awesome results 🕯
Also!! I finished writing and then editing my first fic!! it was a gojo angst LMFAO. I published it yesterday on a new blog! kinda like a fresh start :D im thinking of moving blogs as well; make the new one my main. I think making the navi was the hardest part of the whole blog creation tbh :p I wanted to share bc I'm excited and all!! 😅
and I know I already it but, welcome back!! thanks for taking the time to answer all my little asks as well, you didn't need to TT
I hope your week goes great! have a good one!! <3
-🥳 anon
i keep forgetting about many fights in shibuya, literally. i occasionally forget toji appeared in shibuya lmaoo my brain is protecting my mental health i guess
oof gojo teaching baby megumi how to style his hair in front of the mirror 🤧 he can't reach the mirror so gojo seats him on the counter 🥺
reze arc is bomb hehe. reze is best girl fr. i disliked her a lot at first but she's just so cool for me to hate her lmaoo. i've been meaning to reread csm cause i remember NOTHING but i don't know if i can handle everything just yet :') fun fact, i was planning to dress up as kobeni for a halloween party this year but had to go back home :') next year, hopefully! tho my main costume would be freddie mercury in i want to break free >:) i'm afraid no one would recognize my costume and i would be unmasked as a weeb and not the cool, cold blooded sexy bitch i am 😔
i swear to god aki is the sexiest man ever. the second he was introduced, i have created the holy trinity of cold blooded, black haired man.
okay hear me out. megumi, giyuu and aki ARE THE SAME EXACT CHARACTER. SAME. they even have the same fucking mbti and enneagram type ffs
if takahiro sakurai voices aki (which would be perfect, exactly how i imagined and also leaked as a possibility?) he will also add up to my holy trinity of men i simp for, that being geto, giyuu and aki lmaooooo im fucked 😫
sorry that came out of nowhere klmalwskmf i've been waiitng to tell someone this for ages now
(a little venty under the cut)
omg thank you 🥺🥺🥺 you're literally so sweet! i love splurging jjk bullshit out, having someone enjoy listening to them means the whole world to me, and i love you <3
toji appeared for like, 1% of the manga and became one of the best written characters imo. he's so complex, he's not good or bad. his character raises a very important question to me which seems to apply to jujutsu kaisen as a whole: what exactly is bad? can you really blame toji for the way he turned out to be? the things he did? there really is no winners in this manga, if the mc was switched, pretty sure our main cast would be the villains too
imagine a spin off from toji's pov 🤤
i especially love how toji fucked up the ENTIRE world for 3 million yen JKWNAWDSKJNASDW my man. the legend. i will DIE if gojo doesn't have a flashback of toji or smth like imagine. just imagine. him getting unboxed. he sees maki. he's like what the fuck?? and we see a panel of hidden inventory again. damn.
aah turns out it's not as light as i thought it would be lol
i can 100% understand dropping out for mental health reasons, especially now. i literally feel my mental health collapse physically. sadly, for my future, dropping out isn't really an option. i know that this feeling is temporary, i just feel angry you know? it's really just the tuesdays, i fucking hate tuesdays so much. i overslept TWICE today. TWICE. i hate tuesdays
workload really is awful! worst thing is, it's not the law part. i LOVE my law classes. i wish i could have fucking time to study for them. i mostly take non-law classes this semester and i swear to fucking god i'm not studying law, i'm studying whatever the fuck those classes are. i feel like i'm not learning anything from them, they're just bullshit. at least i hope they will be useful for when i start my interviews for internships. what do you have in mind for what you wanna do? how's the search going?
aah that's so exciting, congratulations! i would love to read it sometime, if you feel comfortable with sharing it of course :) i find organizing my blog so relaxing. just the sheer pleasure of organizing is so good, but tumblr is awful so i understand the struggle lol
aah thanks again! speaking with you relaxes me a lot :) i try to write back faster but i can't write on my phone TT
btw sorry for dumping everything all of the sudden lol this turned out very venty
have a good week babe 😽
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