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nonbayanary · 1 year

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ok consider this, my bros: hirusena neighbors AU

———

sena lives with his parents, and with his calico cat pitt

hiruma lives with cerberus, and his bros musashi and kurita

the maou trio split the household expenses (electricity, water, groceries) among themselves

the kobayakawas just live across from the maou trio.

sena earns the minimum wage at his job, and his parents give him shit for earning so little

sena trained pitt so that she eats outside on the front porch, since his parents don’t want her making a mess inside the house.

everyday at 5 in the morning, sena goes out to the front yard to feed pitt some breakfast (a mix of wet and dry cat food), and then sena waters the plants while he waits for pitt to finish eating.

hiruma, meanwhile, leaves the house at 5 in the morning to commute to work.

so sometimes, sena and hiruma come across each other. sena awkwardly waves whenever their eyes meet.

hiruma’s greetings, however, vary according to his mood. sometimes, he just grunts. sometimes, he inclines his head. sometimes, he nods in solemn greeting. sometimes, he just raises his brows, in the bare minimum effort of acknowledgement.

at nighttime, they come across each other too. when sena’s walking home from work, he reaches his home at about 7 or 8 in the evening.

at that time of the night, hiruma’s already gotten home long before sena. and whenever sena passes by, hiruma’s either playing with cerberus, or tapping away on his laptop.

again, sena awkwardly waves to hiruma when he’s caught watching them. and again, hiruma’s greetings vary.

and so, it becomes a routine for them to encounter each other.

sena knows hiruma as the “grumpy dog dude.”

and hiruma knows sena as the “cat chibi.”

before long, they become comfy with each other, from a distance.

they don’t talk, but there’s a strange sort of intimacy in always encountering each other, always knowing that the other is present in the background while they go on with their lives.

———

basically, sena’s parents, kobayakawa shuuma and mihae, are verbally and emotionally abusive

if times were normal, sena would almost always be out of the house to escape from his parents temporarily. either that, or he’d only be home when he knows his parents aren’t there.

but since covid-19 struck (yes, covid exists in this AU), sena’s been quarantined at home with his parents. and their abuse is even harsher now, because they’re all stuck in the house 24/7.

sena takes solace in the presence of his pet cat, pitt. she’s a one-year-old calico cat, and sena practically considers her as his daughter.

sena talks to his closest friend, mamori, about pitt.

mamori is working abroad in the united states, but she makes sure to videocall sena every other day.

mamori is like the older sister sena never had, and she knows how abusive his parents are. it’s why she checks up on him often.

once, in a late-night call, sena realizes something.

sena, hushed: nee-san, ohmygod... i’m a cat dad now!

mamori, agreeing: awww that’s so cute! my otouto is a DILF now!

sena, facepalming: ugh, nee-san!

(”otouto” means “younger brother” in Japanese)

since the neighborhood is pretty crowded, the street separating the two houses is pretty narrow.

which means the closer neighbors can hear when the kobayakawas are screaming at their son, or when hiruma’s cackling and making a loud ruckus with cerberus.

sena doesn’t really try to socialize with his more gossipy neighbors anymore. it humiliates him, knowing they can hear when his parents yell at him.

he knows, because sometimes, when he passes by a group of elderly neighbors, their voices drop to a whisper as they steal glances at him. a few times, he’s even heard snatches of their conversation.

“that’s the kobayakawa’s son, isn’t he?”

“that’s the guy. i heard his mother calling him a ‘pathetic excuse for a son,’ the other night. you heard that, right?”

“aiya, the whole damn street could hear it. of course i did!”

after sena hears that, he becomes more reserved than ever. when he passes by his neighbors, he keeps his head down, and his mouth shut.

as the civilians are confined to their homes for a longer period of time due to covid, sena's mental health gets worse.

when he tells mamori, her worries worsen. in her alarm, her childhood nickname for sena slips out.

mamori: oh sen-sen, you need a break. ummm okay, let me think of something... OH! I KNOW! why don’t you come visit me?

sena: what?

mamori: apply for a U.S. tourist visa! come visit me here in the states! i’ll sponsor your trip and everything! you really deserve a break, hon. i’ll help you fill out the online application form, and i’ll even help you practice for the U.S. embassy’s interview! you got this, sena!

at first, sena has his doubts. he doesn’t think he’ll be granted a visa. but mamori manages to convince him. (aka, she gently and lovingly pulverizes sena’s self-destructive intrusive thoughts.) and after two weeks of discussion, sena finally agrees.

it’s a good thing, having something else to focus on. it means that he can internally escape from his parents’ bullshit, since his mind is working on the visa applications.

mamori now calls sena every night. sena shares his screen in videocalls when he’s filling out his online application form. and afterwards, mamori pretends to interview sena.

———

despite all the help sena’s getting, it doesn’t mean he isn’t nervous about all this too. applying for a tourist visa is one of the big changes in his life, and the unknown scares him.

however, he doesn’t share this with his mamori-neesan, though. she’s been so excited since they started his applications, and he doesn’t want to rain on her parade.

since sena started his visa applications, he’s been a lot more anxious as of late. at first, he couldn’t understand why it was getting hard to breathe sometimes. he’s always had anxiety—how could he not, with how his parents treat him?

but his chest would hurt out of nowhere, and his head would spin.

it’s been happening for weeks now, and sena starts wondering what the hell is happening to him, until one night, it gets real bad.

that’s the night when sena finally tells his parents that he’s applying for a U.S. tourist visa.

the whole night explodes into screams filled with profanities, and the whole neighborhood can hear the shit going down. to sena, his parent’s voices are fucking deafening.

sena wilts, and he can feel himself shaking beneath the weight of his parents’ words.

“Do you think they’d be stupid enough to give you a visa, huh?! You’re broke as shit! Do you own any properties? NO! You can’t even afford a fucking plane ticket, because your shitass job doesn’t pay you enough!”

sena doesn’t even know whether to laugh or to cry anymore. he’s present, but at the same time, he’s not present. he feels like his world has shifted a bit, like he’s not in control of his body at the moment.

if sena’s body were a car, then he’d usually be at the driver’s seat. but right this moment, in the midst of all the screaming, sena feels as if he’s at the backseat, piloting his body from a distance.

sena idly wonders, “is this how it feels to dissociate? hmmm, i feel a little numb. this is pretty rad. i wish i could do this on command.”

and yet, sena can still distantly feel the fear choking his throat, the quivering of his shoulders. his hands fist at his sides, so his parents don’t see his fingers shake.

even as the screaming continues for ten minutes, sena desperately clings to memories of his nee-san in their videocalls. his nee-san, practically feral with excitement. his nee-san, laughing when she finds out that eating at an american diner is on sena’s bucket list. his nee-san, putting him back together again when he breaks down after a fight with his parents.

“i just want to try applying,” sena repeats to his parents, again and again. “it won’t hurt to try.”

it feels like sena’s said this ten times already. he isn’t great when it comes to arguing back, so he can only stick with these two sentences.

it’s as if his brain is frozen. already, it feels like his memories of the past few minutes are slipping away from him. what did his parents say again?

and yet, sena knows that even if he forgets the words, the visuals of this scene will be seared into his mind forever. his parents on the couch, the golden light of the living room, the flashing screen of the television, the trembling in sena’s own body. these things he will not forget.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the tirade ends. sena’s father screams, “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! JUST GET THE FUCK OUT!”

so sena goes. his body moves, and he gradually comes out of his dissociative state to feel the bite of the cold, metal lawn chair against his skin.

“oh,” sena thinks. “i’m on the front porch?”

well, it’s as good a choice as any. despite the dissociation, he remembers coming out here, at least. it’s far enough from his parents that he doesn’t hear them anymore.

sena blinks, and comes back to himself as pitt the cat jumps into his lap. the surprising warmth of the cat is enough to pin him to this plane of reality.

but suddenly, sena becomes aware of the building discomfort in his chest. uhhh okay, that’s not good. his breaths come in short gasps. his ribcage curls into itself, crushing him.

sena can’t breathe. he can’t breathe. his limbs are tingling, and his lips are too. is the ground tilting a little? that’s weird.

sena splays onto the lawn chair, uncaring whether his neighbors see him or not. he can’t fucking breathe, and he could give less of a shit about what other people say right now.

sena’s heartbeat is raging in his ears, and his body feels warm. too warm. the night is cold, so why is he sweating like hell?

his breaths come out loud and short, and his chest really fucking hurts now. tears stream down his face, and belatedly, he thinks that if the neighbors see, then at least his parents don’t.

sena is too focused on his own turbulent state to notice that while all of this has been happening, apparently, someone’s been watching him.

hiruma’s been on the front porch of his home this whole time, trying to hack into a company’s security systems.

he’s covered by some of the garden’s trees and bushes, so not even people passing by can see him.

hiruma’s got some beer bottles beside him on a bench. one bottle is open and three-quarter filled, while the three other bottles are still sealed.

they’re all bottles of Smirnoff Mule, a mix of ginger beer and vodka. he’s always wanted to try some. hiruma had brought them home earlier, thinking musashi and kurita would be home.

however, since both kurita and musashi texted him that they’d be home late, hiruma had said, “fuck it, i’m drinking these motherfuckers myself.”

anyways, back to the present

for awhile now, hiruma’s been wearing headphones. the goddamn neighbors, the kobayakawas, are at it again, screaming their heads off.

hiruma heard some snippets here and there from their yells. words like “visa,” and “piece of shit,” and “shitass job.” by that point, hiruma, growling in annoyance, had stuffed some headphones on.

now, however, movement at the front porch of the kobayakawa household catches hiruma’s eye.

feeling a little pissed off at all the noise, hiruma thinks, “oh, it’s finally over? damn these noisy motherfuckers—”

hiruma’s thoughts come to a screeching halt when he sees the guy he’s labelled as “cat chibi” on the kobayakawa’s front porch.

it’s strange. cat chibi doesn’t usually come out at this time of the night. and even rarer is the guy seen sprawled on a lawn chair.

hiruma peers at the guy, wondering what the hell is going on. the cat chibi’s chest is heaving, and he’s breathing faster than normal. the fucker seems as if he’s trying to gulp in air, but even as he breathes and breathes, it never seems to be enough.

and then, tears start to fall on the guy’s face.

and it clicks in hiruma’s mind. “oh... shit. fucker’s having a panic attack.”

“shit,” hiruma thinks. “oh, shit. oh, fuck.”

for all the gossip hiruma’s heard about the kobayakawas and how they treat their son, he’s never actually seen cat chibi guy crying.

hiruma’s always wondered how cat chibi could stomach his parents treating him like shit. whenever hiruma saw sena, there had always been a bone-deep exhaustion in his eyes.

it’s as if sena’s weary of the world. a cross between a youngster and an ancient, exhausted being, who has seen all the darkness of the world, and is tired of existing.

and yet, hiruma’s still seen the guy smile on multiple occassions, especially whenever it concerns his cat.

hiruma’s always admired how sena could smile even in his shitty circumstances. it’s like seeing a seedling grow in the cracks between concrete.

but now, hiruma finally sees sena break. he finally sees sena’s flimsy mask cracking, revealing all the wailing despair behind it.

and now that hiruma’s seeing it, he can’t ignore it. so he thinks fast.

hiruma looks around, searching for any sort of distraction. he sees his laptop, cerberus sleeping on the grass, the beer bottles—

THE BEER BOTTLES!

hiruma’s got an idea.

he takes on of the sealed bottles in his hand, then stands at the gate, watching sena. then, he softly clinks the beer bottle against the gate’s metal.

clink. hiruma touches the bottle to the gate after every four seconds, to mimic the technique of box-breathing.

clink. then silence. clink. silence again. clink.

it takes sena a minute or two to notice the new sound. unconsciously, he starts breathing slower in tune with the sound.

clink.

sena, not knowing what the box-breathing technique is, just breathes in for four seconds, then breathes out after four counts.

but it’s enough.

clink. clink. clink. clink.

a little while later, sena is breathing a little easier, even if his chest is still clenching.

clink.

sena’s head turns, finally searching for the source of the noise. the sound is strange, soft but heavy. as if it’s glass against metal or something.

clink.

sena turns this way and that, wiping the tears from his eyes. “hey pitt,” he calls to his cat, his own voice a little ragged. “you hear that?”

clink.

sena notices how pitt is strangely still, peering at something outside of the gate. sena turns his head too and his eyes meet—

“oh,” sena thinks. “it’s grumpy dog dude.”

clink.

the grumpy dog dude is leaning casually against the gate, his side profile barely lit in the dim garden lights.

clink. the bottle touches the gate again, and sena finally understands what the sound is, and where it’s coming from.

inwardly, sena reluctantly admits to himself that grumpy dog dude actually kinda does look cool.

sena startles when grumpy dog dude turns to look at him, their eyes meeting. automatically, sena’s hand raises in another awkward wave. he inwardly facepalms at his own cringey movement, but his thoughts screech to a halt.

because the grumpy dog dude, hiruma, is not following the script.

usually hiruma would grunt, or nod his head, or raise his eyebrows, or something else, but now—

hiruma’s beckoning sena with a finger. and with every beckoning movement, the bottle touches the gate.

clink. clink. clink.

sena’s eyes widen. he looks around, but there’s no one else hiruma could be speaking to.

sena points to himself, his voice barely a whisper. “do you mean... me?”

he knows hiruma can’t hear him. sena barely heard himself.

but maybe hiruma can read lips or something, because he nods.

sena can’t help gaping. this is definitely a change in routine. they’ve never talked before. they’ve never spent time together before.

clink. clink. hiruma catches sena’s attention again, then waggles the bottle in his fingers. he nods his head in a beckoning gesture, as if to say, “come drink with me.”

sena, a little mystified, nods uncertainly. the invitation is a little strange, but grumpy dog dude doesn’t seem like a bad guy.

sena pushes his home’s gate open, and startles when pitt darts out into the street, and jumps between the bars of hiruma’s gate into the garden

sena, remembering hiruma has a fucking dog, barely locks his own home’s gate before he’s bolting to the house across.

but as sena nears hiruma’s house, he’s even more shocked because—

pitt is curling up next to cerberus, nuzzling her head against his fur. cerberus—who looks scary as fuck, by the way—just cracks an eye open, then goes back to sleep.

sena pauses in confusion, just before the neighbor’s gate. he turns, and finds hiruma’s already opened the gate, and is looking right at him.

“um...” sena says, quite intelligently. “...hi?”

“come on, fucking chibi,” hiruma says, jerking his chin towards their pets.

"chibi?” sena repeats, ducking his head as he walks in. he mutters, “i’m not that short.”

hiruma snorts. “try telling me that when you’ve grown taller.” he closes the gate, then suddenly throws the beer bottle in the air.

hiruma grins. “catch.”

sena squawks, and almost doesn’t catch it in time. “holy shit, dude!” the bottle slips in his hands, and sena’s surprised at the weight of it. he clutches it against his chest, finally securing it. he sighs in relief.

hiruma throws his head back and cackles. “didn’t take you for a swearing kinda guy.”

“what?” sena snorts out a laugh. “i didn’t take you for some lunatic who throws bottles at strangers.”

“not strangers,” hiruma’s eyes crinkle as jerks his chin to the garden, beckoning sena to follow him. “not anymore, at least.”

sena trails after hiruma, a little smile adorning his face. “thanks for having me here. i’m kobakayawa sena. it’s nice to finally speak to you.”

hiruma waves it away. “bah, formalities! fuck that shit! how about this then—” he cracks a smile. “you can learn my name when you finish a bottle.”

a laugh bubbles out of sena. “what?”

hiruma leads sena to the hidden benches in between the garden trees and bushes. he jerks his chin to the remaining beer bottles on the bench. “two bottles, precisely. if you finish the first, you get my surname. if you finish the second, you get my first name, chibi.”

eyes wide and unsure, sena asks, “is it... is it okay with you that i have some?”

hiruma’s first instinct is to give a mean retort and to roll his eyes. but then he remembers what a fucking shit day sena just had. he can even see the faint tear tracks running down sena’s face in the dim garden lights.

so hiruma cuts the guy some slack.

“it’s on the house,” hiruma says instead, with the ghost of a fanged smile. he plops down on the bench, and hands another sealed bottle to sena.

sena takes a seat beside hiruma as he clutches his own two bottles. hiruma, meanwhile, claims the last two bottles left. a sealed one and his own previously-opened bottle.

hiruma takes a swig, and continues, “that is, if you can finish two measly beer bottles.”

that startles a laugh out of sena. “if?” he echoes.

“if,” hiruma agrees with a smirk. “what’s the matter, chibi? are you fucking chicken?”

sena’s bright grin could rival the moon. “aw, what? oh man, it is on!”

———

(yes, y’all can definitely use this prompt!!! /srs)

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venusiansilk · 5 months

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𝐎𝐇 ?

꒰ your egg just hatched, @cinnamoneve ! ꒱ — nanami kento \ online dating \ drunk confessions.

⋆˙⟢ MAN OF INDULGENCE.

popular baking influencer kento may be the man of your dreams. or, your online friendship with kento is unorthodox, but it’s yours.

f!reader ⊹ no curses, online dating au ⊹ fluff. lil angst. strangers to lovers. one dummy n a lover. drunk confession-ish? ⊹ kento’s bi-lingual. baker influencer!kento + hobby baker!reader ⊹ 6.7k lol ⊹ footnote. maggie, thank you for attending my event. :3 ily so bad n i hope you enjoy your hatchling.

꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎. kentobakes 18 hours ago: [ video ] ez-pz nutella pastry wreath tutorial for the winter spirits. if you make your own, be sure to tag me. i’d quite enjoy seeing everyone’s results with this one :-)

shethesea replies: [ image ] did the best i could heh. 😅

nerves making your hands rattle, you shakily hit send on your tweet. immediately, your heart races at the thought of the potentiality that he may actually reply. in your shallow breaths, there exists both anxiety and thrill. you see, twitter is evidence of hell’s position on earth, but nanami kento sprinkles a bit of wholesome sunshine onto the timeline borderline religiously, and that’s enough to keep you around, ducking and dodging unprovoked opinions spewed from a sometimes cesspool. among a plethora of people who’re miserable and feel nearly obligated to project it, there’s a single man who likes to ask others about their day, follow recipes, and show everyone videos of his absurdly rambunctious cat, satoru, doing gymnastics around his modest flat. there’s something about men who gravitate towards domestic endeavors, men who love staying at home so much that they make a hobby out of it by ensuring they never have to leave to enjoy themselves. a man who sees taking care of their home and related activities as desirable and goal-worthy? to you, that type of man is the pinnacle of attraction. nanami kento is that man. but of course, he’s also an incredibly wholesome mostly-baking influencer based in an entirely different country that you reason you have no chance with whatsoever, but witnessing his existence is a constant reminder that the type of man you’re holding out for isn’t only a myth. it isn’t the fabrication of a delusion or a daydream. you aren’t picky; your standards are high and unmoved, rightfully so. the bar you have set for a lover is real and reachable, and you know it is because of every slice of life kento offers his audience. every video he creates is an obvious labor of love for those who, like him, find great enthusiasm for being at home and enjoy spending time in the kitchen. he’s just your type. you reason everything he does must be thorough and authentic. he never adds ads to his videos. he never takes on or talks about sponsored merchandise. he always responds to followers and strives to make his content a group effort. everything he shows is just a glimpse into who he genuinely is at his core: a simple man with simple hobbies who’s responsible and has a heart that’s teeming with kindness and pleasantries. so, of course, taking the leap and finally completing one of his follow-along tutorials just for the chance that he replies is absolutely nerve-wracking for you. like him, you have a great love for baking. you’re no professional baker and you’re no successful baking influencer, but it’s stress-relieving and you love fresh bread, desserts, and pastries. in fact, finding new things to try baking is how you stumbled upon his youtube channel, fell head over heels in infatuation with him, and now follow him across all his socials, smiling like a fool when he posts. ꒰ you’re not obsessed; you’re just enamored. ꒱ and on your attempt, you actually feel a little proud. it comes out damn near identical to kento’s. it maybe doesn’t taste nearly as good as his likely does, but it’s sweet and you enjoyed the time spent on it. as you close the app in post-reply sent shame, you inwardly hope the sight of your result is praise-worthy.

it takes three days before you finally dare to open the app again. it may sound invariably insane, but even the potential that he might reply fills you with a sense of deep, overwhelming dread. the thought of being perceived by him gives you equal amounts of anxiety as it does excitement. both feelings differ but they feel exactly the same in your body. your nervousness seems to be warranted as you log on, eyes wide with perceivable shock, and 123 highlight in a red circle on your notifications tab. once again, there’s the instant drop of your heart in your chest straight to your gut. you freeze for a moment, terrified for some reason to tap it. it’s clear that he’s replied or something since you’ve never had more than ten notifications on a good day. you tap the frightening little bell and swallow hard. you try your hardest not to eagerly take it all in at once and instead scroll all the way down where the notifications first begin. when you do, you’re left gasping at the words on the screen.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎. quoting shethesea: ‘the best you could’ was perfect! wow. color me impressd :-)

shethesea: [ image ] did the best i could heh. 😅

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎. followed you.

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎. and 23 others liked your tweet.homemade lemon bread. nothing crazy, but it’s delicious. 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎. replying to shethesea: so it’s not just wreath! it looks crazy delicious :-D 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎. quoting shethesea: oh man i think i found a rival, you all.

shethesea: [ image ] decided to make blueberry cheesecake from scratch on a whim. 😅

꒰ elusivemoon io ꒱ and 64 others followed you.

scrolling through all the notifications, you can’t help the way you’re beaming, a child-like and wondrous smile on your face as you see he not only replied to you, but followed you, scoped through your account, and boosted your hobby work as well. you blink in sheer shock as you see the stream of likes and retweets flooding in. what makes you hold your breath is the little notification on your dm tab that reads (3). you don’t know it right then, how could you, but that bolded notification in the bar and your choice to tap on it seals your fate.

kento: what a pleasant surprise! someone just as enthusiastic about baking as me. i can’t believe this is your first time showing us your results! thank you for participating in the follow-along. kento: lovely presentation. i looked through your media and salivated at your blueberry cheesecake. kento: so i am here to ask what i have to do to get my hands on that recipe? i’d love to do a video over it and try it myself, with credit and your permission of course.

shocked doesn’t even begin to cover the way you feel. butterflies unfurl ruthlessly in your stomach, making you clutch at your gut as your lips purse. the nanami kento just dm’d you. he sees your baked goods; he likes them. he sees your follow-along to his video; he likes it. he sees what you do in your spare time and he admits he’s impressed by you. he wants something from you to add substance to his channel. the realization of it all finally settles in and your lips part, your phone slipping from your hand and falling right onto the surface of your mattress. that’s when you just start squealing and haphazardly moving yourself. before you know it, you’re in your bed belly-first, face stuffed into your pillow while your legs kick rapidly behind you. thrilled, you roll onto your back with a content sigh and a smile. you stare at the ceiling, recalling it all over again and you excitedly grab your pillow, cover your face yet again, and continue as you were. “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! is this real?” you ask the ether in disbelief. “nanami-fucking-kento?” taking a deep breath, you steady yourself and finally reply to his dms.

you: i cannot believe THE nanami kento is following me, saw my treats, and is now dm-ing me for a RECIPE. am i dead? is this heaven??? you: wow, thank you so much for all your support. i’m so shocked that you replied, let alone followed me and sent me a dm. :3 i’m honored you like the things i’ve baked and i’d be even more honored to have you recreate my own recipe!!!

it takes him much less time to reply ꒰ an hour ꒱ than it did you ꒰ two days ꒱.

kento: haha i’m just a guy at home with his cat. i’m really nothing special to think you’ve died over, but i’ll admit your enthusiasm does boost my ego a little. kento: are you kidding? i’d be a fool not to recognize talent and support it wholeheartedly. have you considered making videos of your own?

you: i have, but i tried once, realized the extent of time content creation takes, and realized i was a salary girl with work in the morning.

kento: well now i /really/ have to do this recipe in your honor.

and you’re not sure what emboldens your next words, but you don’t regret them and you’re only mildly embarrassed about them. it isn’t you blatantly shooting your shot, but it’s definitely you laying the groundwork to do such a thing. after all, nanami kento might just be the man of your dreams.

you: i don’t know. what if you take off with my recipe and i never hear from you again? 😔

kento: unfortunately, you have evidence against me so my diabolical plan to heist your blueberry cheesecake recipe without consequence has failed. i’ll /need/ the exact measurements so i’ll eat this cost, i suppose. kento: i fear i may be stuck in contact with you :-)

and it probably shouldn’t make your heart skip. it’s your first time speaking to him and he’s obviously playing along with you, definitely not reciprocating your slightly flirtatious efforts, but you can’t help it. even his humor confirms he may just be the man of your dreams.

11:04 am. kento:

testing, testing. one two three.

it takes three weeks of back-and-forth communication before you toss it out to the wind that, perhaps, it’s a good time for the two of you to exchange numbers and shift your consistent messaging to something a bit more formal and casual simultaneously. you use the excuse that keeping up with the app just to talk to him is adding to your insane amount of time spent online lately. he teases you initially about getting onto the app just to respond to him, about not being able to leave him waiting, but you know it’s the truth. you love talking to kento. sure, the first few days you’re arguably starstruck, but by day five, there’s a budding sense of comfort and casual dialogue exchange. you stop thinking about him as the nanami kento and start to see him as the guy who’s a blossoming friend that you just so happen to have an impossible crush on. you both have a great deal in common, from your love of baking to your surprisingly shared love of classical music and bad movies. your interest in him romantically has yet to waiver in the slightest, but you understand that even if you both talk every day, there’s no way he sees you as more than an online companion in his same realm of interests. he’s half a world away in japan while you’re wading around the west. you already have to jump through time zone hoops just to catch each other and build a friendship. still, you can’t help the way your heart flutters when you get a notification from him. you can’t stop the butterflies that swarm when you make a treat and post it on the timeline only to have him quote it and brag that he got to see it before anyone else.

11:07 am. you:

received. and excuse me, what time is it for you, sir?

11:08 am. kento:

a very measly 1:08 am. it’s morning for us both :-)

11:10 am. you:

kento !!! sir, go to bed.

when he finally responds, you find yourself in a similar state as when you notice his follow and retweets: your mouth slightly parts and your eyes are glued to your screen as your stomach turns flips where you stand, which just so happens to be right in the middle of your kitchen.

11:11 am. kento:

and why would i do that when talking to you is on the table? i’m a man of indulgence after all.

꒰ 4 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 ! ꒱

5:35 pm. kento:

i think we should watch ‘the happening’ hm. i can’t say it’s “bad” but it really might not be good. 5.0 rating. it’ll be just like flipping a coin :-) what do you think?

it seems like he’s always punctual, prompt out of habit and respect for your time. a true gentleman through and through just like you always believed him to be. your feet have just barely tiptoed over the threshold and into your home before he texts you. it doesn’t occur to you that he’s memorized your schedule. all the ways time weaves between the two of you hardly ever crosses your mind.

interestingly, you don’t realize you swear off all your monday evenings without either of you ever actually agreeing to it. interestingly, you don’t realize that it’s been three months already in full and nearly two months worth of your monday evenings reserved for his tuesday mornings and a bad movie over facetime and tea. most interestingly, the only thing you do realize is that he’s now embossed into your habits, a consistent variable in all of your equations.

5:42 pm. you:

i’ve seen it already. 😞 got another?

5:45 pm. kento:

i always have a backup plan, of course. ‘twilight’ perhaps? i won’t lie it looks especially awful.

5:50 pm. you:

saw that, too. but honestly take that back because that movie is a cult classic. 🫤

5:52 pm. kento:

i can almost assure you it is not.

5:55 pm. you:

ope! let’s watch it anyway. i just found an opportunity to prove you wrong and i’m taking it.

5:57 pm. kento:

if you’re wrong and i find it to be especially awful like i know i will, you do realize i’m going to make you watch ikiru again, right? you ought to consider stocking up on kleenex.

5:59 pm. you:

if i catch you having even a sliver of enjoyment like i know i will, you do realize i’m going to make you watch new moon next, right?

6:01 pm. kento:

if i’m honest, i’ll watch anything you want. but still, you’re truly insufferable :-P are you almost ready?

6:03 pm. you:

i’m making tea. are you rushing me, nanami kento?

6:04 pm. kento:

no i would /never/ but…you can’t call me for that? :-( i’m only indirectly emphasizing a need for haste due to the sheer capacity of which your absence has been felt.

6:05 pm. you:

going shakespeare to rush me is /crazy/ truly unprecedented. perhaps, dare i say it, unnecessary even? 🤔 if you miss me then just say that. 😌

6:06 pm. kento:

i’m not rushing you but i wouldn’t mind if you hurried. i miss you.

you stare at the screen for approximately four minutes, heart oscillating wildly, breathing deeply as you feel it sinking and soaring in your chest ceaselessly. you almost can’t take it. every moment you spend seems to be a blend of familiarity and comfort, something remnant of home. there are moments when you blink and for a twinkle, you feel like you’re his. all his. his impatience is what drags you out of disbelief and reticence.

kento. facetime video

six months pass in a dizzy blur and you’re quite certain that you are very much doomed. between the daily facetime calls, sitting on the phone with one another until the wee hours of the night for you or for him, baking together over calls, and the night/day-long movie marathons, it’s official. nanami kento is the man of your dreams and despite the offensive amount of distance and time scattered between your bodies, you can no longer fight how badly you want to call him yours. you’ve realized a few things about kento in the time you’ve known him, the first thing being that this man is as consistent as they come. he texts you every morning between 9-9:30 am your time, 1 am his time. in fact, he’s so consistent that you don’t think he’s gone to bed before the sun rises on his side of the world since the day you exchanged imessage details. consistently, he stays up just to greet you, just to know how your day is starting and going. the second thing you notice is the intensity of his reliability. if he says he’ll do something, he does it without fail, without falter. he doesn’t give excuses, only results, responsibility, and reasons. the third and most impactful thing to your heart is his shamelessness when he’s fond of someone.

it started a week ago when he hit you with a goodnight text so charged, you almost couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. you mused over the words, turned them every which way in your mind to discover the hidden meaning behind them before accepting he meant exactly what he said: ‘goodnight. i’ll be here when you wake up, but i’ll most certainly miss you.’ and he was there right when you woke up to greet you. you find it strange the way he barely did anything at all to weasel his way into the most important parts of your life. he slid in with ease and without warning. the most frightening part is the growing perceivable desire to be there with you even though he can’t be there with you. this little development is exactly what lands you where are right now: waiting in line for a very specific laptop you’ve been saving for and waiting to release for months. it’s unbearably frigid outside, early december air nipping away at everyone’s comfort. you’re as bundled as you can be, but it somehow isn’t enough.

7:17 am. you:

kentooooo, i made it, but the line is huge and it’s so cold. i’m going to be waiting forever, too. 😔

7:19 am. kento:

poor thing. are you sure you want to do this? are you bundled? will you be warm enough?

7:20 am. you:

i’m bundled but bored 😔 i’m sure but shivering. 😔 my legs are bouncing like i’m a bunny or smth just to produce /perceived/ warmth. that’s how cold it is.

7:22 am. kento:

aw does my bunny want some company while she waits? :-) i have something to ask anyway.

there he goes again, catching you off guard with his sudden burst of cute responses that teeter on the line of flirting you can’t seem to appropriately decipher. it’s the way he indirectly, even playfully, calls you his. it’s the string of worry you can feel in all his questioning. it’s the certainty you have in your bones that he’s the one who wants to keep you company. for a split second, it almost dawns on you that he’s courting you. almost. you dismiss it as the reminder of time and distance plague you.

7:23 am. you:

what exactly are you suggesting? hmm?

a few minutes pass and no reply comes despite him reading it immediately as it delivers. you know it’s not abnormal for some time to pass between replies. you know that he’s a busy influencer; he has content to create and other people that require his attention, but you can’t help but want his reply as fast as all the others have come. you can’t help but want him to take care of you first before his work, worry about you first before all of the other arguably more important things.

i had his attention first anyway.

the simple thought crosses your mind and shock follows. you can’t believe you had such a blatant and disgustingly possessive thought. your feelings for him are blossoming far out of your control, you fear. the fear is solidified when your phone suddenly starts ringing and excitement pours out of you when you realize kento is facetiming you, entirely unplanned and unprovoked. you answer timidly, earphones in as you look at the screen nervously waiting to connect. when it does, you’re met with eyes that pool with warmth looking at you pleasantly and a slow smile spreading across supple lips. his blonde hair is tousled around his head and a loose white tee clings to his frame. you gulp, swallowing down the thick sweetness rising like bile. your heart goes wild for him, fluttering at first before becoming a monstrosity of rapid beats and ceaseless thumping. “well hello, what a bundled bunny we have here indeed. cute,” he breathes. an arm rises to rest behind his head as he lays in bed, holding his phone slightly above him to give you a clear view of his coziness. your voice is soft and mumbled as you speak. “not cute, but this is a pleasant surprise.” “very cute,” kento emphasizes. “i know it’s sudden, but i couldn’t give you wiggle room to reject me if i asked to call.” “as if i’d ever,” a grumble as your eyes move to the side. kento, amusement tugging on his lips, chuckles.

“what was that, bunny?” “i said…good evening.” you lie. you know he heard you and you know that you meant it, but when he asks you to repeat yourself clearly, you think it might tell him much more than you want him to know, at the moment. he hums curiously, studying you with a fixed gaze until you feel bashful. “good morning to you.” “what are you doing?” a soft inquiry laden with coyness, as if you haven’t been talking to him each day for a string of months now. he tilts the camera, revealing a bundle of white fluff curled up into a ball right next to his hip. his cat, satoru. as if well aware he’s now being observed, piercing cerulean eyes open wide and stare into the screen intently, a perpetually grouchy look gracing his features. “i’m in bed, snuggling with my beloved cat who hates me.” kento jokes, petting the cat’s head to which satoru hisses and bares his teeth. “aw, cute catoru. he’s so evil but so adorable.” you both laugh. “it’s getting late there, isn’t it?” “it is and i want to rest, but i have something particularly pathetic on my mind that i can’t shake. if you have time, could you help me out?” your agreement is immediate, almost a given. “of course, kento. i’ll help you with anything.” he sighs, a wistful breath full of an emotion you can’t pin down, perhaps longing. “what’s silly is i know that. i know that very well.” “so what is it then?” you hum, a push for him to go on. “well, i’ve found myself in an interesting predicament. i like someone, a good friend of mine. quite a lot. and i’m at a loss as to how to make it obvious without putting myself in line for harsh rejection and ruining our friendship. it’s very dear to me, as i don’t have many.” “oh,” you murmur, disappointment filling your body with pressure and heat, embarrassed by your own adoration of him. “well, kento, i highly doubt anyone would reject you. you’re…y-you’re kinda the total package, you know?” it comes out as a mumble and a simple point of encouragement, but it feels like a confession the way you’re trying to bury all the loving connotation under your breath. “is that so? well, then i’m struggling to understand why she hasn’t shown the kind of interest in me i want. i’ve…tested the waters a little bit.” you shrug, eyes down as you speak to avoid him seeing the despondence in your eyes. you keep telling yourself that it’s always been silly to like him as more than a cherished friend, to fantasize about him in a romantic light even after getting close. you sigh. “maybe you’re not being clear. what have you tried?”

“admittedly, there’s only so much i can do, as it stands. i have tried to be subtle about it, but at the same time, maybe i’m far too subtle.” “hm, maybe you should confess, you know?” your voice is sad, but kento is your friend and he’s confiding in you. you take a deep breath and finally look at him. “some girls like grand gestures. maybe you could try that and segue into telling her how you feel.” “a grand gesture?” he questions, brows raising as his head tilts. you nod. “yeah, like whisk her away on a day together and then confess.” “i feel it might be difficult to do so, but say i do it. say i go out of my way and i whisk her off for a day with me. won’t that be very telling of my feelings?” “isn’t that what you want? more clarity? be bold, kento. don’t play it safe or you might miss your shot.” don’t make the mistake i’m making. “like i said, you’re the total package. no one would reject you unless they’re blind, don’t like nice men with manners who mind their business, or just…isn’t the one for you.”

because maybe i am.

days pass and form into weeks before you’re worried it’s becoming painfully obvious that you’re sort of, kind of avoiding kento now, but you don’t know what exactly to say to him. your enthusiasm since his admittance to liking someone else is drained. you want to talk to him, but talking to him seems to be coupled with deeply rooted anxiety and soft sadness. you know it already, but now you can’t even delude yourself: there’s no chance for you with him. you have to fix the way you think of him, and fast, or you’ll watch your friendship fizzle out, buried under a heavy avalanche of your jealousy, insecurity, and unrequited affections. the friendship is still important and impactful even if it can never lead to romantic love, and you need to start acting like it. the truth is, there’s a thick fear slowly brewing under the surface of losing your consistent communication and gentle companionship. so when he texts you for the third consecutive morning at the exact same time, you reason that he’s doing nothing but proving himself and his position in your life. you’ll still be important to him even if he starts to see someone. right?

9:30 am. kento:

good morning bunny. i hope you’re okay. i haven’t heard from you lately. i miss you a lot :-(

‘bunny’ seems to be a new integration from your facetime fiasco during your laptop acquisition. you don’t mind it, but it makes the indirect friendzone hit even harder. that sickening, fuzzy feeling fills your gut; yearning floods your chest. underneath all of it is a dull ache, a painful anticipation of loss. but it’s impossible not to adore him, not to find endearment in everything he says and does. it’s impossible not to be riddled by your own feelings when he gives you cute names, texts you each morning and evening, stays up late just to speak to you, sends you pictures of the mundane but loveliest aspects of his day.

9:43 am. you:

i’m sorry. i haven’t felt the best lately.

9:47 am. kento:

feeling sick, dear? make sure you rest and stay hydrated for me, okay?

you groan, reading while a hand clutches at the fabric covering your stomach. saccharinity seeps from your lonely pores and drenches you in an unbreakable and loving reverence. it dawns on you right then. the longer you know him, the closer you get to him, the more you spend time talking about nothing and it feels like everything, you’re slowly submerging into the depths of a sink hole that steadily fills up with love, genuine love decoupled from any fantasy or pretense you once had of him.

for you. god do i want to be for you.

9:50 am. you:

eh, it’s more emotional sickness. got news i don’t think i wanted to get and it’s been rough emotionally. don’t worry about me. i’ll bounce back. i always do.

he seems to leave it at that and you assume that, for the first time, kento goes to bed at a slightly reasonable hour for him ꒰ 2 am ꒱, which isn’t very reasonable at all, but it’s better than knowing he stays up until the crack of dawn or until whenever you bid him farewell for your busyness throughout your day. yet, somehow, the shift in his behavior feels like an indication.

did he tell her? is he seeing someone now? is his attention already being divided?

you feel silly for your string of panicked thoughts and the way anxiety finds comfort settling in the chasm of your chest for over an hour when out of the blue, he responds.

11:10 am. kento:

sorry, bunny. i was packing. anyway i always worry about you. always. what if i told you i had good news that might cheer you up?

you swallow the lump of your relief hard. it sinks and swirls around your lungs so swiftly that you feel a little breathless.

11:19 am. you:

oh yea? give it your best shot.

11:22 am. kento:

i’m taking a trip near your area to film content with another baker. i would love to meet my bunny in person finally…if you’re willing to, that is.

and now here you stand, frozen in disbelief at the words you’ve just read. you read the text repeatedly, in rapid succession, confirming its content and its meaning. for a moment, you stop your breathing and stare. you thought that you’d both carry on like this, your hopeless feelings and his relentless consistency always having the distance between them in common. it was supposed to be easier in theory and practice to move past your pointless emotions because you weren’t ever going to have to look in his eyes for too long. there would always be a way to hide the severity of your fondness from him. although, underneath your disbelief is sheer excitement.

11:27 am. you:

you’re coming here?! from japan?! AND YOU WANT TO SEE ME?! UH, NANAMI KENTO!!! DUH! you were so right. that news did cheer me up a bit. when are you coming?

11:27 am. kento:

my flight is booked three days from now. i’ll only be there for the weekend.

11:30 am. you:

only two days? 😞 will we have time to meet between your work? i don’t want to get in the way.

11:32 am. kento:

you don’t know by now that i’ll always make time for you?

as you stand in your bedroom, phone clutched in tensed fingers, it becomes quite clear that you’re doomed. you’re absolutely doomed. devastation. you’re sure this can only end in your devastation.

the last couple of days have been interesting, to say the least. you danced the line of excitement and anxiety, but you also planned relentlessly with kento. so much so that you have to keep reminding him that his trip is intended to be a work event and not solely so the two of you can have fun together. he always only responds in a tender hum and asks you about what places you frequent and places you’ve never been. it’s facetime calls full of “what’s the weather going to be like?” and “don’t worry about your precious catoru. my neighbor geto will care for him. he likes him much more anyway.” it’s kento changing the destination of his flight to arrive at an airport closest to you. it’s the two of you coordinating schedules and his murmurs that he can’t wait. it’s the utter lack of mention about his content filming with another influencer. it’s the fact that it feels like he’s coming to see you and your heart clings to the delusion with glee. so now, the sky blazes, the evening a fiery mural above your head. and it happens, the moment nanami kento is standing in your doorway, smiling at you like a fool. you can’t believe it. when you open the door, the last six months of your life flash before your eyes and you see a little collection of messages and moments that all lead you to right now, staring at a tall man with his broad shoulders and sculpted, blond hair, gentle eyes gazing back at you with a boyish smile, carrying a suitcase in hand and a jacket draped over his arm. he went from being your guilty pleasure to being a mutual, from a mutual to a kind-hearted and loving friend, from a good friend to a heart-bursting crush, from a little crush to being the man you are undoubtedly in love with, a man that you’d give your blood, sweat, tears, and every dollar you have for even a fraction of a chance with. “you’re…actually here…” a murmur made with a distant voice, soft and full of wonder. “you’re…” kento nods, his voice equally tender but flooding with tepidness. “i’m here, bunny.” “i have to say. this wasn’t on my bingo card.” he chuckles. “are you going to let me in or stare me down?” you step to the side, trying your best to be discreet about the deep breath you take. kento quietly discards his shoes at the door. “perhaps both,” you tease, closing the door behind him. “here, let me take that. i’ll show you to the guest room.” you reach for his luggage and he quickly pulls it away from your grasp. “don’t you dare. tell me where to put it. you don’t carry things while i’m here, not even your own things.” “i—” you pause, your heart beating so hard you can hear and feel it in your ears. heat fills your body; your face is full of pressure. “o-okay, i’m sorry.” kento’s brows bunch together. “bunny, the last thing i want to hear is an apology when you’re quite literally hosting me for free. you could have easily left me to fend for myself.” “you know i wouldn’t.” you look down at your hands, fingers fumbling over one another. “you always have a place to stay if you’re ever in town again.” and nanami kento’s next confession leaves you standing there, totally stunned and flustered. “as long as you’re here, i’ll be back again and again, i’m sure…i hope.” and you don’t know exactly what he means, but it’s another instance that passes when you catch something in his tone and you almost realize he’s courting you. you feel like a common fool when you just stand there and don’t speak. kento purses his lips in amusement before adding to the myriad of reasons you’re unlikely to ever get over him. “i don’t mean to rush you, but i’ve only got so much self-control in me. i need to know where to put these things before i abandon them anywhere just to hug you. i’d hate to leave such an awful first impression.”

is he…flirting with me?

“i…uh…follow me.” it comes out as a whisper as you hurriedly scurry from your foyer, down the hallway and to your left, right through the threshold of the simple guestroom. a bed, a book, and a side table. the room is otherwise bare. “i know it’s not much, but...” kento shakes his head, entering the room with a pleasant smile. “your home is quaint. i love it.” you stand in the bedroom’s entry and watch as he sets down his suitcase and jacket, only to turn around, stride across the room and stand before you. “c’mere,” he urges, arms opening and beckoning you forward. you open your mouth to speak, nervousness layering your every motion and thought, but he seems to be unmoved, indifferent to your hesitation as he grips your shoulders and pulls you into his torso. you hardly have time to understand what’s occuring before you’re engulfed in his arms, head pressed to his chest. the scent of teakwood, amber, and spice embraces you, too. you’re in his arms and it’s the most comfortable you’ve ever felt. of course yours slide around his waist. what feels like several minutes pass and kento hasn’t moved from his position, keeping you tucked in the confines of his hold with no indication of releasing you. “you okay?” a delicate inquiry followed by is affirmative hum. “you like long hugs?” his chuckle vibrates against his chest. you feel the thrumming with your cheek pressed against his ribcage. “i do now, but only with you.” you wonder if he can feel your heart racing the way you can hear his.

it takes kento a while to be willing to let you free from his enveloping hold. you enjoy it, but you can’t deny the confusion that sends your mind spiraling, nosediving into a faraway daydream of the possible, unspoken implications of his actions since he arrived.

is this normal for him? is he usually this affectionate and chivalrous? everything he’s doing feels so unlike him but also very like him. sure, but a hug that lasts for ten minutes? he hasn’t stopped calling me bunny for weeks. i swear i saw something in his eyes when i opened the door. maybe i’m insane. maybe i’m seeing what i want to see.

“bunny,” kento calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. you look up at him and notice he holds the bottle of tequila he suggested to you prior to his arrival. “you got it.” there’s a thankful smile on his face and you nod, matching him. “i did. you said you wanted to play a drinking game.” “i have a confession.” he says with a sigh. “i haven’t actually drank in years.” you giggle. “same, so maybe let’s take it easy? half shots.” he only hums, but you swear you hear him mumble, “i’ll need all the courage i can get.”

at first, the silence builds into thick awkwardness.

it’s only resolved by the ridiculous movie you guys decide to watch ꒰ this time with the intent of taking half-sized shots in response to every single instance someone says something ridiculously corny ꒱. this time it’s hercules in new york.

‘hey, mister! watch your talk!’ ‘i can hear my talk. i cannot watch it.’

“kento,” you laugh, preparing to take yet another swig. “what is this movie? the dialogue is horrendous. we might have to change the rules or i’ll be hospitalized.” like you have for the last few rounds, you pour just a bit of the brown liquid into each tiny glass, carefully measuring out the liquid. when you turn to hand kento his glass, you find half-lidded eyes staring at you, flushed cheeks and a kiddish smile. “thanks, bunny.” he says, chuckling as he loosely raises his arms to grasp it. you narrow your eyes and pull the glass back. “hold on, sir. are you already too gone? mister ‘i need to have the exact measurements,’ do you know your limit?” kento’s smile widens and his arms fall. “i do. i’ve reached it.” “and you were really going to grab the drink anyway?” you ask, a brow raised he shrugs. “it’s because…i think i’ll take anything you give to me.” “what are you even saying?” you grumble, placing the drinks down and your hands in your lap. the tv drones in front of you both, but the sound is drowned by the way your nervousness clouds all your senses right then. this is precisely what you feared, how you wouldn’t know how to react to his friendliness that feels so close to pursuit. silence settles for a moment; it rests between you both, teetering somewhere between comfortable and all-consuming. finally, kento speaks. “you know…there’s…something specific i want you to give me.” he sighs and sits up, large body hunching over bent knees. slowly you turn your head and look at him. “m-me?” “you. i’m sorry if this isn’t as grand as you might have hoped.” confusion befalls you, and yet your clueless heart still bounces to the tune of his emphasis on you. “i’m uh…i’m not really following, kento.” he grunts, straightens himself up, turns to look directly at you, and leans his face so close to yours, the feeling of his breath tickles your mouth. his eyes peer into yours, curiosity sparkling brilliantly like moissanite before he murmurs, “don’t you know by now that i love you?” kento only lets two ticks pass before his desirous mouth collides with yours. he wants you to know the flavor of ardor on his lips. he wants to know if your longing tastes the same. he’s a man of indulgence, after all.

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vaovalis · 1 year

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Met some new friends. We went and had an utterly lovely walkabout. Killed hundreds of demons, and I guess Thorn Mages, who, as it turns out, apparently aren’t demons themselves. We then kicked the shit out of their scraggly doom tree. That tree hated me. I’ve never felt so uniquely hated by a plant before, but it was so. I needed that outing. Paragon City has its charms, but let there be no mistake about what’s true and what will forever be wishful thinking - I am a violent creature, and I am not sad about it. Every day I live in places like Paragon, I’m lying by omission and by suppression. I’m hiding things that can’t remain hidden forever. I’ve never lied to anyone in anything I’ve said, but I’ve deliberately refrained from telling most of my new friends a wide variety of things because it became quickly apparent that they would not be pleased to know such things in the first place. Why get into a tangle nobody needed in the first place when you can see it coming and avoid the whole mess by just not talking about certain things? Most of my new friends aren’t like me. I can tell that. They don’t like the chaos and the fury of conflict like I do. Sure, some of them might need to blow off some steam and might get on with the violence to the extent that they must when they must. They don’t seem to me to long for it though. Most of them seem to me to yearn for quite the opposite - an end to such things. But there can be no end to such things. That’s got nothing to do with me or how I feel or what I think about anything either - reality, in every aspect I can see or sense or feel, is driven by conflict. Everything that happens as an act of change is an act of creation and destruction, and the violence never ends. It’s just that some violence goes unrecognized for what it is because it doesn’t hurt the ones having the opinions, much like how nobody would ever think they’re engaging in an act of carnage by the common acts of eating things. I don’t feel bad about it. I didn’t design reality - ain’t my fault that things work how they work. And at a fundamental level, I refuse to deny reality. Things work how they work. I’ve never seen anything that suggests that reality gives a damn how any of us feel about that. And me? I made my peace with it long ago. What I’m not interested in accepting is this notion that humanity here on Primal Earth is the omnigod of all things, that gets to tell everyone what they must be and how they may do things and what is appropriate and what is intolerable. These new folks I met had an awful lot to say about all of this, and every single word they had to say about it sounded like words I would’ve been saying if I’d had their experiences and thought to articulate my feelings on them. I’ve found people that fucking get me, and not just the parts of me they find comfortable or amusing or harmlessly eccentric. So, after we murderburned our way through hundreds of demons, we took a break. Did our own thing for a while. It’d been too long since I’d been able to really cut loose and not hold back lest I worry someone I didn’t wish to worry, so I had a lot of fun with that and needed to rein myself back in. Needed a beat to recompose myself and make myself socially presentable again. And I was hungry. And then these delightful people invited me along on a madcap adventure to blow up all kinds of crap and morons, which culminated in getting to see a true wonder of this world; a creature they called Leviathan. What a magnificent terror! We only got to see one of its eyes and part of its head, but even that was astounding. I was thrilled to bear witness to such a remarkable creature’s existence, and that’s a moment that’s going to stick with me forever. This is the kind of thing I need more of in my life. I’m done hiding. I can’t want to do it anymore. Folks will just have to deal if they can or not if they can’t. I ain’t going back into the box.

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pervysenpaix · 2 years

Text

Hi friends ! So I’m sitting here thinking about Dickhead Deku ☹️ MDNI

Deku wasn’t the most confident in high school, especially when compared to his besties Katsuki and Shoto.

Girls often told him that he was “cute” or “adorable”, but that wasn’t what he was going for.

He wanted to be hot 🥵

So the cute little bean pierced his tongue and nose, tatted “DE” “KU” on his calves and got an undercut.

By the 3rd year came around his was rolling in cewchie, often catching more snatch than his bros.

Except Kirishima. He’s a fucking WHORE.

Our bean’s confidence was at and all time high. Ego boosting even further during his ProHero debut.

Isaiah Niggadoriya was in full effect.

I’m talking ULTIMATE LIGHTSKIN.

More toxic than a Brent Faiyaz album.

If Deku saw a girl, and he wanted her, he got her. No questions asked.

With his charming white smile, cute freckles, mischievous eyes and bo legged stance that indicated something heavy hanging between his thighs 🌚. Nobody turned down the symbol of hope.

Nobody except you.

See, you were the cute girl that worked in the social media department at Endeavor’s agency. You’d been assigned to handle all of Shoto & Dynamight’s platforms because Shoto lacked people skills and Kacchan kept flashing out on trolls. Even claimed to be dating some girl that trolled him in America 🌚

This meant that you spent a good amount of time hanging around the hero, taking candids and getting quotes. Which in turn led to you spending a good bit of time with his friends.

“Hi (Y/N) thank you for the Soba. It was delicious.” Shoto smiled, giving you a cute head pat and taking the seat next to you. It felt kinda antiblack but he’s fine so whatever 🥲. “You’re welcome , Sho. Gotta keep my boys fed”. A deep chuckle sounded as Midoriya walked through the door, “I like to eat too, doll”.

Now, any other girl would’ve been on their knees right then and there but you scoffed, looking him up and down to return your attention to the two heroes that you’d been assigned too.

Deku hated this.

He’d been trying to get with you since you started working with his buddies but you wouldn’t give him the time of day.

He was convinced that the only words you knew were. “STOP” “NO” and “DONT”.

At least that was what he thought until he stayed late one night and heard you screaming “NO DON’T STOP!” From Yo Shindo’s office.

YO FUCKING SHINDO ?

He was baffled.

You didn’t give him the time of day but you were fucking the great value version ?

Terrible.

“Really, YN?” Midoriya raised a brow , “Shindo? Baby , why go generic when you can have the real thing ?” A look of pure disgust crossed your features. “Let’s not compete where you don’t compare, Deku. At least Shindo knows how to treat a woman.” You gathered your things to head towards the car, he followed you of courses. Keeping as eyes glued on your ass that jiggled every time you took a step. Good god, he though as he held the door open. “I’ve never gotten any complaints from my lady friends”. You groaned, “that’s cause you’re cringe af. I’ve seen both Kat and Sho’s phones and anyone who refers to themselves as “pussy destroyer” followed by countless photos of them and multiple women in compromising positions is a “no” for me.”

Well damn. Couldn’t really argue when you put it like that. “I like nice guys” you continued, “guys that take me on dates and ask me about my day. Guys that aren’t just trying to fuck”. It was really hard for him not to laugh. Did you really think Shindo was genuine ? He’d been fake since high school. To think he’d actually scammed his way into your pants, and apparently your heart with the way you smiled absentmindedly at the thought of him.

Okay, if you wanted a nice guy then that’s what he’d be. Taking it back to high school, he turned into that cute , nerdy guy that all the girls friendzoned. Always popping up to say hi, being overly friendly and making conversation, pretending to care when you rambled about your day, acting like he was getting flustered from being near your when he was really blushing at the thought of how good you’d look choking on his dick.

Eventually, he’d gotten close enough for you to consider him a friend. Unfortunately, you’d also gotten even closer to Yo, unaware that he was fucking random fan girls every week because you were so “in love”. Lucky for you Izuku was, recording every encounter, sometimes even setting them up. “Hey, bro. I think that girl wants to talk to you.” He’d wink and pat Yo’s shoulder and the idiot would bite every time.

Finally, the time had come for some “anonymous” person to airdrop you the videos of Yo fucking around. You were distraught, in a complete state of disarray. Lucky for you, your good friend Izuku just happened to be walking around the corner when you started crying. “Hey , it’s okay. Forget him, he’s an asshole. My place is nearby, let’s go. We can watch movies and eat ice cream. You’ll forget all about him.”

Now you’re in his bed, two fingers rubbing your tongue, brushing the back of your throat and collecting saliva to rub on your budding nipples while he sucks on your clit and fingers your cunt.

He was right. You did forget about him. You couldn’t even remember his name after the third orgasm. All you could say was “Deku” and he hasn’t even pulled his dick out yet. His cock was twitching in his pants and he moaned around your bud as your pussy gushed on his fingers. Maybe when he fucked you, then you’d forget your name as well.

@xogabbiexo @plussizeficchick @blkchxrryblyss @bookwormsenpai @nasty-quillz @namjoonswifeyy @riozakii

#dickhead deku #deku x black!reader #deku x reader #izuku x black!reader #izuku x reader

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itsallyscorner · 3 years

Note

Can you write a little mix member x avengers cast?? Maybe?

Hello love! Thank you for the request, I apologize for taking so long to work on it! I’ve written this as a headcanon, since I haven’t done any of those in a while. I hope you like it❤️

💌.

The Marvel Cast Finds Out You’re In Little Mix

Why is this lowkey a crack fic/headcanon😭💀

Alrighty so, I feel like they probably wouldn’t know you’re part of a band or who Little Mix is.

Since SADLY, the girls aren’t as big in the States as we’d like them to be:(

The people who definitely might know you are ✨The Brits✨ and Scarlett because she has a young daughter who probably listened to Wings or something—kids find everything on the internet these days.

Working with Marvel was your first acting gig; so none of them knew anything about you or if you’ve been in other films, etc.

Except for Tom Holland, who was lowkey fangirling at the fact he gets to work with one of the Little Mix members.

Side note: he’ll be deeply offended when he figures out the others don’t know about Little Mix or that you can sing.

The rest of the cast (RDJ, Chris Evans, Anthony Mackie, Seb, Lizzie, etc.) had a hunch that you were some kind of writer.

You were always humming to yourself and writing in your notebook or typing down notes in your phone when something came to mind.

Though they didn’t pry at your business because—well, it wasn’t their business.

They could find out about your other job through many ways. Maybe you guys are doing promo and some interviewers mention the band and things about a new album, to which most of them were confused about.

“So (Y/n), I know this is your first time acting. How different was it from performing on stage and acting on camera?”

Everyone’s attention would be on you (this is a panel btw) Mackie’s looking at the back of your head in confusion, Robert fully turns in his seat to look at you, Lizzie is also curious, Evans is looking between you and the reporter—everyone is just confused.

“Performing on stage? Did you do Broadway (y/n/n)?” Evans asked. Tom (Holland) scoffed shaking his head, disgusted to be part of this group of uncultured swines.

You chuckled and shook your head, “No, I’m a singer. I’m part of a girlband.”

The whole cast gasped in shock. Mackie let out a loud “WHAT?!”. Robert leaned even closer to you trying to see if you were lying. Others whispered amongst themselves asking each other if they knew.

Tom (Holland) just sat back watching everyone’s reactions along with you. Amused at the amount of questions that were suddenly being thrown your way.

He’d also be quick to add, “NOT just ANY girlband, but the biggest girlband on the planet.”

For clarification, Tom’s a very proud Mixer.

Scarlett finally recognized you, knowing that she’s seen you somewhere before, but could never put her finger onto it. “Wait you’re from Little Mix!”

“THANK YOU! FINALLY SOMEONE WITH SOME TASTE!” Tom yelled, dramatically turning to Scarlett.

After the initial shock, everyone was very curious. They wanted to hear your music, wanted to know the other members, when your next tour was—they were very ecstatic.

When you guys finally reached London for the press tour, there was a lot of hype for Little Mix because you guys were going to finally reunite after months of being apart.

The girls were allowed to visit set, but since you guys were working on your new album, they were stuck in London. You were relocated to Atlanta, filming an Avengers movie and working on the album via FaceTime/Zoom.

You and the girls reunite the same night you land in London! As tired as you were, the five of you hung out in your hotel room.

You were all excited for the days to come. Not only were you doing promo for the movie but you and the girls were going to be performing again on night time talk shows and were having a Live Lounge session with BBC Radio 1.

The panel of the cast discovering you were part of a band went viral. Many of the fans couldn’t believe they didn’t know about your other job.

There were even edits going around social media of the cast looking clueless and or reacting to your ‘secret’.

Then there were ones like “Tom Holland being a Mixer for 10 minutes and 57 seconds straight”.

Your favorite one was where they zoomed in on everyone’s confused expression while that one Nicki Minaj song played in the background.

It was mentioned in almost every interview after it went viral.

“So none of you had a clue that (y/n) was also a singer? Like at all?”

“I didn’t even know homegirl could sing, matter of fact I never imagined her to be in a girlband.” — Anthony Mackie

“I had a hunch that she was a musician or artist, but no one ever listens to me.” — Chris Evans

“(Y/n)’s in a girlband? Since when?” — Paul Rudd

“After we found out, I listened to all six of their albums on the flight here.” — Elizabeth Olsen

“Of course I knew, my music taste is immaculate compared to the others.” — Tom Holland

“Shut the fuck up, Tom.” — Anthony Mackie

“I really enjoy Black Magic, it reminds me of Wanda.” — Paul Bettany

The cast was so eager to hear you sing and watch you perform with the girls.

They finally got to do that when you invited them to the Live Lounge session. They also got to meet the girls.

You were very happy at that moment; seeing the two groups of people you love meeting each other and getting along meant a lot to you. It gave you a lil warm tingle in your heart.

Since there were no fans in the studio, it was only you and the girls, the band, and a bunch of the Avengers.

While the cameras rolled and you guys were performing, they were crowded together behind the scenes. Some of them were sitting on the carpeted floors or standing against the walls.

They were absolutely stunned when they heard you sing. You had a powerful voice that ranged from high to low, something they never expected of you.

When they heard you and the girls sing or harmonize with each other, it was like they were all in heaven.

“They sound like angels.”

“My ears are tingling, but like in a good way.”

“Seriously, how did we not know she can sing like this?”

“Hear me out—this is a perfect reason as to why we should have an Avengers musical.”

“Chris if we hear you bring up a damn musical one more time I swear.”

“Their voices go so well together, how do they even do that?”

Scarlett would secretly film videos to show her daughter. I have a feeling that Evans, Tom, RDJ, Sebby, and Mark would record some parts as well and would post it onto their Insta stories.

When fans found out they were at the Live Lounge they freaked out.

Ever since they found out you were in a band, they’ve been the biggest fans and supporters of the group.

They’re always promoting your albums on their social media accounts without you even asking.

Privately and publicly praising you guys for performances or achievements.

Your two main groups clashed and now everyone was friends. It was definitely the most weirdest collision— Little Mix and the cast of the Avengers. But it worked out perfectly.

Everyone got along with each other and the girls would always visit you on set.

They’re always playing the band’s song in the background on set.

Most of them won’t admit, but they definitely memorized the lyrics to almost every song.

*cough cough* Mackie and Hemsworth

I feel like Samuel L. Jackson would join in on the action too, one way or another. Somehow he got looped in.

ANOTHER THING OMG, they would definitely stand up for you and the girls whenever Piers Morgan or some asshole hates on you guys or pulls a jab on you all.

Best beileve Evans will be calling him out publicly on Twitter.

“Why are you so worried about a bunch of talented women who are doing their job and bringing happiness to others? They’ve done nothing to you, you’re always the one making jabs at them. Leave them alone you fucking British meatball.”

I feel like Robert helped you and the girls find a better management company after learning about the unfair treatment you all faced under Simon’s care.

In conclusion: The Marvel cast would be ecstatic to learn about you being a singer and they’d become your biggest fans. They truly adore you and the girls for your amazing talent :’)

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

The Daughter Of Superman, The Adopted Son Of Batman...What Could Go Wrong? PT. 1

Jason Todd x Kryptonian!Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 3.8K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: I totally forgot about this one! If you like how cute and fluffy it is, just wait for PT. 2! It gets angsty >:) -Thorne

**********************************************************************

They were pretty lazy teenagers when they weren’t busy saving the world with super speed, strength, and smarts. Even if their textbooks were spread all over his bed they were still too lazy to actually do their homework, instead scrolling through social media apps and trolling all the citizens of San Francisco about the identities of the Young Justice Team.

She glanced up from the advanced calculus textbook and stared at the boy laying across her thighs. “Tim, isn’t your dad hosting a gala this weekend?” he hummed in response, and she asked, “Are we allowed to come?”

He didn’t bother looking up from the tablet he was tapping at and nodded. “Yeah. Bruce already added your names to the list, (Y/N).” a flicker of a smile came over his lips and he added, “Of course I had to wear him down in order to get Bart on the list.”

She looked over at their speedster and grinned. “I’m kinda surprised Bruce actually let you on the list Bart.”

A shocked expression etched across his face and he questioned, “Why do you say that?”

(Y/N) shifted Tim’s head, smiling as he grunted from being moved, and rose from the bed, walking over to the minifridge. She pulled out a soda before jumping back on the bed. “Because between you, Tim, Conner, and me, you’re the one who gets us into the most trouble.” She shifted Tim’s head back into her lap, petting his hair until he smiled.

“I do not!”

“Oh really? Do you remember prom night? It’s been almost two years and they stillcall us and talk about the absolute mess we—well, you caused.”

“That cake wasn’t there when I started running, I swear!” he pointed at Tim. “Tim it wasn’t! You know that!”

The others cackled at his protest, and (Y/N) glanced at Conner. “You gonna bring M’Gann?”

A faint pink tinged his cheeks, and he shifted his gaze down at his physics textbook. “Uh…maybe.”

(Y/N) leaned forward, poking his cheek. “Your heart’s beating pretty fast, little brother.”

He swatted her hand and glared at her. “Shove off.”

She snorted and glanced at Tim. “What about you, Timbers? You going to go with Stephanie?”

“Steph and I aren’t dating anymore, (Y/N).”

“For now. But you two like each other.” She smiled and singsonged, “She’s your first love~”

“What about you?” Tim scowled. “Who’s your date?”

She grunted at him and laid flat in the bed, Bart’s legs under her back. “Are you kidding me? You know my dad won’t let me get a boyfriend, let alone a date to a gala for a night.”

“You’re nineteen, (Y/N). I think you’re allowed to start dating.”

“And my parents help pay for part of my utilities. Does it look like I’m going to do anything to tip that delicate balance of not having to pay for all that?” she sighed. “Dad’s always been that way when it comes to me.”

“Daddy’s little girl.” Conner grinned.

(Y/N) grunted and reached over, shoving Conner off the bed. “Don’t call me that. I am not a daddy’s girl.”

The others laughed at her and Tim quipped, “Yes, you are. You two go on father-daughter dates every month and take pictures to show everyone.” She glared at him and he smiled, continuing, “Maybe we can find a date for you at the gala.”

“You can try. But mom and dad are going to be there. If dad sees me with a boy, he’s liable to lose his mind.” The others laughed again, and (Y/N) rested her head down on Bart’s lap. “I need a dress, Timmy.”

He glanced over at her and tapped a few buttons before showing her the screen. “How does this look?”

(Y/N) took the tablet from him and looked over it, taking in the image of the navy-blue dress. “I like the color, but this is a Cinderella dress. Give me something not as…poofy.” He nodded and took the tablet back, tapped on it, then handed it back to her. “Hmm…too booby.” The other two boys giggled at her answer and Tim sighed, taking the tablet again.

He handed it back to her once more and she looked at the dress. “Mermaid silhouette…sheer side…strappy back…” She glanced up at Tim and nodded. “Got a pair of shoes to match?” He hummed and she grinned. “Then I’ll take it. Thanks Timbers.” He nodded once more, and she nudged Bart. “Oi Allen.”

“What?”

“Don’t run into the cake at the gala, okay? It’ll probably cost more than you.”

“It was an accident! Stop bringing it up!” The others simply laughed at him.

***At The Kent Farm***

“Mom! Dad! Jon! I’m home!” She shut the door behind her and turned, catching Jon who’d launched himself at her. “Kid you’re getting too big to do that.” He laughed at her and she let him down, ruffling his hair. “Where’s mom and dad?”

“Out back with Krypto.” He tugged on her sweatshirt. “Did you bring me anything from the tower, sissy? Did ya? Did ya?”

(Y/N) snorted and rummaged in her pocket, pulling out one of Tim’s crimson shurikens. “Tim gave this to me to give to you.” She handed it to him but held it when he reached for it, “Do not,” she warned firmly, “cut yourself with this or mom and dad will make you give it back after they finish tearing me a new one for giving it to you.”

“I won’t!” he promised and she watched his eyes light up in wonder when he took it. She ruffled his hair once more before walking towards the backdoor.

She stepped outside and saw her dad throwing a ball with Krypto, her mom watching from the back porch; she walked over and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Hey, mom.”

Lois glanced up at her and smiled. “Hey, sweetheart. You’re home early.”

(Y/N) nodded, sitting down beside her. “School let out for the week, and we didn’t have any missions from the Justice League, so I figured I’d spend a few days here instead of cooped up in the tower.”

“I’m glad you decided to come home, hon. It’s always nice when you come back.”

She looked up and saw Clark walking towards her. “Hey, dad.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Hey sweetheart, how were the boys?”

“They’re good. We did our usual thing.”

Clark sat on her other side. “Collapse on Tim’s bed and lay around like lethargic teenagers?”

(Y/N) snorted and shoved his shoulder lightly. “We were productive young adults. We finished over-break assignments and reports. Well…mostly. Still got that thirty page physics paper I have to write but…I’ll let that stew awhile.”

He chuckled. “Anything else happen today?”

“Talked about the gala this weekend.” She paused. “You guys are coming too, right?” They nodded and (Y/N) laid back on the porch, pulling out her phone. “Ugh…I remember how badly the Wi-Fi sucked out here. I don’t have any service at all.” She looked at her mom. “I don’t how a journalist like you manages to live in the middle of nowhere like this and still stay sane.”

Lois snorted and thumped her leg. “It’s called satellite service. Now c’mon, let’s go inside. Dinner should be done by now.” (Y/N) rose from the porch and they all began walking in when the sound and feel of rushing air came over them. She and Clark immediately spun, ready to defend themselves when they saw Conner hovering in the sky.

His eyebrows were drawn in slight concern. “(Y/N)! We need you!”

She nodded, shucking off her sweatshirt and pants, revealing the blue suit underneath. The crimson cape billowed around her and she glanced up at him. “What’s the situation?”

“We’ve got simultaneous bank robberies all over SF. Bart and Tim are already on the first few. I came to get you.”

(Y/N) turned to her parents. “Rain check on dinner guys.” She turned in the direction of San Fransisco, eyes darting wildly as she viewed her teammates positions. After a second, she nodded. “I’ve got em, Bart’s on the east, Tim’s on south. You take north and I’ll take west.”

He nodded and she shot up from the ground. They were almost in San Francisco when her father’s voice reached her. “Be careful, (Y/N).”

She curled her fists when the bank doors came into view and responded, “Always am, dad.”

***

“The dress looks fine, (Y/N).”

She glanced up at Tim who was smiling at her; she let out a sigh, letting go of the side strap she’d been tugging, still semi-uncomfortable with how it fit. “I know it does. But I feel like it’s still a little…grown up for me. I’ve never had a dress this open in the back or the sides since…ever.” The boys laughed and she smiled at Bart and Conner. “I forgot how well you two cleaned up.”

Bart pulled at both sides of the bowtie and winked at her, while Conner merely grunted, “I still hate tuxedos.”

“You’re definitely going to hate the long hours of your wedding then.” They laughed once more, and the car pulled around the venue.

Tim looked at them and grinned. “Show time, lady and gents.” They followed him out of the limo, grinning at the cameras as they walked inside.

Immediately, the view made her eyes go wide and she gaped. “Damn…this place is…really big.”

Tim shrugged nonchalantly, “I dunno, the ballroom in Wayne manor is bigger, but definitely more expensive.”

Bart shook his head. “Tim, my dude…we live on minimum wage not a billionaire’s salary.” (Y/N) and Conner simply nodded, still dumbfounded at the sheer size.

Tim rolled his eyes and looked around. “There’s Bruce and the others.”

She glanced in the direction he was looking and she saw her parents with Bruce. “Looks like mom and dad are busy chatting.” The others nodded and she turned to Tim. “What exactly are we supposed to do at a gala?”

“Have fun?” (Y/N) heaved a sigh and stared at him until he said, “You dance and drink and eat. That’s all you do.” He waved his hands. “Go knock yourselves out.”

They started to fan out when (Y/N) called out to them. “Wait!” They paused, turning back around. “We should go talk to Bruce and tell him thanks for inviting us.” They nodded and followed Tim over to Bruce.

He saw them coming and turned, holding out his hand to her. “Good to see you, (Y/N). You look wonderful this evening.”

Her cheeks warmed at the compliment and she smiled, giving his hand a firm shake. “It’s good to see you too, Mister Wayne, you don’t look too bad yourself. Thank you for inviting us to the gala.” The others shook his hand, and she turned to her parents. “Hey mom, dad.”

Lois walked around her and squealed, “You look so beautiful!”

(Y/N) cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks warm as the others smiled in her direction. “Mom…chill out, you’re embarrassing me.” She merely laughed but stepped back over to Clark’s side and (Y/N) looked around. “Bart have you—and he’s already at the buffet table.” Snickers sounded behind her and she sighed. “I’m going to make sure that the bottomless pit doesn’t devour all your food before your guests can eat, Mister Wayne.”

They watched her walk off and when she got over to the table Bart was standing in front of, she saw him shoving food in his mouth. “Oh my god…Bart, what are you doing?”

He turned to her, and swallowed, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “I haven’t eaten anything today,” he licked his thumb clean. “I’m hungry.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and sighed. “Just try not to eat your fingers, would you?”

He snorted and pointed to an appetizer. “You should try the pigs-in-a-blanket. They’ve got this sauce on top that’s just—.”

A low voice cut him off. “They have pigs-in-a-blanket! What!” They turned to see a young man a couple years older than them reaching over. “The old man’s never had something this plain at a gala.” He popped one in his mouth, then turned to them. “You’re Timberly’s friends, right?”

They nodded and (Y/N) gazed, something about him tugging at her mind. “I know you from somewhere.” She stared into his teal eyes and suddenly she remembered where she knew him from; she’d never forget those teal eyes and how angry they’d been. “You’re Jason Todd, aren’t you? Bruce’s second son.”

He grinned. “That’s me. Have you and I met before? I have to agree with you, because you look really familiar.”

(Y/N) glared at him and crossed her arms, spitting. “We met in the Hall of Fallen Titans three years ago.”

Jason’s eyes briefly widened, before they narrowed in amusement. “You’re the one who threw me out the third story window after I kicked Timber’s ass.” He chuckled. “You don’t have to worry about all that, doll. Timmy and I are good now. You can ask the speedster about it.”

She continued to glower at him until Bart leaned over, propping his chin on her shoulder. “He’s telling the truth, (Y/N). Tim told me a while back that he and Jason are brothers now.”

Jason nodded and she finally stopped glaring at him. “Just so you know Jason, I can still throw people out windows.”

He smiled and held out a hand, watching her place hers in it; he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, doll.”

Bart poked her side and grinned. “I’m gonna go see Tim and Conner. I’ll leave you two alone.”

He wandered off and (Y/N) pulled her hand back. “So, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Jason chuckled. “Oh, I was. I got better. We just made up a story about me getting lost, yadda yadda yadda, I’m not important.” He propped his elbow on the wall above her and grinned. “But what is important, is how pretty you look in your dress.”

(Y/N) cocked a brow. “Is that supposed to flatter me?”

“Is it not?”

“It could be a little better.”

He laughed and she found herself smiling along with him. He nodded towards the balcony. “Wanna get some air?”

She nodded, and they walked out into the night. (Y/N) gazed up at the stars and sighed in wonder. “There’s billions of them out there…I’ve never tried to leave earth and go search for them on my own.”

Jason leaned on the railing and gazed at her. “How come?”

(Y/N) shrugged, leaning against the railing too. “Dad’s full Kryptonian…me and Jon are, to use a less than favorable term, half-breeds.” She paused. “I’m not sure if I would survive like dad does out in space.”

“Won’t know ‘til you try.”

She huffed a laugh and looked at him. “If I’m wrong, I might die.”

“And if you try and you’re right, you won’t be dead.”

She shook her head at him, a smile playing at her lips. “You’ve got answers to everything, don’t you, Jason?”

He grinned at her. “I find that being sharp and witty helps with the crowds, doll.” The music sounded from inside the ballroom, and he stepped back, offering her a hand. “May I have this dance?”

(Y/N) rested her hand in his, feeling him pull her close, his other hand resting on her lower back; it was warm against her open skin and she cleared her throat. “I should warn you, I can’t dance to save my life.”

A cocky smirk crossed his lips and he leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “I can take the lead, doll…all you have to do is give it to me.”

“Your flirtations need work too.”

Jason chuckled in her ear, making her shiver as he pulled back. “I don’t think they do.”

“Arrogance isn’t attractive, Jason.”

“Mhm.”

“It isn’t.”

“I heard you the first time, doll.” As they swayed to the music, he asked, “So, how’d you and Nerd-bird become friends?”

“We met through Conner.”

“The clone?”

“My brother.”

“Sorry.”

“He introduced the two of us, and we’ve been friends ever since.”

“Only friends? Nothing more?”

It was (Y/N)’s turn to smirk and she looked at him. “Are you asking because you want to know if there’s competition?”

He stopped moving and they stood still, her in his arms. “Just want to know if there’s anyone between me and first place.”

She huffed a laugh. “God, you’re something else.” Her eyes found his and she asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Jason nodded and stepped back, holding out his hand. “Where do you want to go?”

(Y/N) smirked and stepped forward, closing the distance he’d created, and wrapped an arm around his waist. His teal eyes widened, and she looked back at the party; no one noticed them, and she turned back to face him, “Up, up, and away.” They flew upwards, and she felt him latch onto her. “Why are you acting like I’m going to drop you, Jason?”

He made a waring noise in his throat. “I have a friend who’s an Amazon, and she is…very fond of throwing and dropping me.”

(Y/N) giggled. “Sounds like we’d get along spectacularly. She likes dropping you…I like throwing you out of windows…”

“That was one time. And you caught me when I was off-guard.”

“Uh huh, sure. You got your ass kicked by a sixteen-year-old and I think you’re just bitter.”

He grumbled at her. “Rub it in, why don’t you, doll.” She laughed and lowered them down; their feet hit the roof and he looked at it. “Wayne Enterprises? Why?”

She shrugged. “Cool tower…nice view.” She took a seat on the ledge, listening to him sit beside her.

He leaned over. “Almost romantic…don’t you think?”

(Y/N) eyed him, seeing a goofy smile on his face; she snorted, shoving him lightly. “You’re cheesy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She glanced back at the water. “You know if this goes anywhere, my dad and your dad aren’t going to be happy.”

Jason snorted, nonchalantly replying, “Doll, there’s a few things I’m afraid of in life. Superman and Batman…are not those things.”

“Is that arrogance or confidence I hear coming through?”

He shrugged. “Probably a bit of both.”

(Y/N) smiled, then she felt his hand rest on hers, letting him link their fingers; she turned her face to him. “Is this the part where you tell me I’m beautiful and ask to kiss me?”

Jason grinned. “No, this is actually the part where I tell you you’re drop dead gorgeous…can I kiss you?”

She giggled, leaning in, and just before his lips brushed hers, she whispered, “You know I can kick your ass, right?”

He groaned. “Should I mention that strong women really do wonders to me?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and brought her free hand up, curling in his shirt. “Shut up and kiss me, Jason.”

“With pleasure.” His lips met hers, and she felt him bring his hand up, cupping her cheek. She pulled back ever-so-slightly, but he chased her, pressing his lips to hers again. He let go of her hand and brought his other hand up. He lowered her down until (Y/N)’s back was flat against the ledge; the chill from the stone made her arch her back off it, and press into his chest.

Jason pulled away slightly and smirked at her. “Cold?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “If you want to keep making out, jokes aren’t going to do the job.” He snorted at her and leaned forward again, intent on kissing her senseless when someone cleared their throat, startling them.

They sat up quick as lightning, turning in the direction of the sound. “I wondered where my daughter had flown off to.”

“Oh my god,” she hissed and covered her face with her hands. “Dad. C’mon…seriously?” Clark stepped onto the ledge and walked towards them.

Jason leaned down, whispering, “Is he going to throw me off the ledge?”

This made her giggle despite trying not to and she shoved him. “Shut up, Jason.”

He grinned at her and rose from his position, standing in front of her father. “Mister Kent.”

“That’s my daughter.”

“Oh, I know it is. I still remember how she threw me out of a building a few years ago. I get teary thinking about it.”

The corner of Clarks mouth rose, but then dipped back down, and (Y/N) stood up. “Dad, I’m nineteen. This whole, ‘daddy’s little girl can’t date’ bit, is getting old.” A hurt look crossed his face and she stepped forward, taking his hand. “To you, I’ll always be your little girl, dad. But sooner or later you’ve gotta come to grips with me dating and having…mature relationships.”

Clark held her gaze, then glanced at Jason who grinned and gave a thumbs up. “Does it have to be one of his kids? I mean if it’s going to be, I like Tim.”

“Ew, gross. Tim’s my best friend.”

“What about Dick?”

“Nice butt, but he and Kori are dating.” She paused and smiled at him. “The only one left is Jason, dad.”

Clark eyed Jason once more, then Jason offered, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m slightly afraid of your daughter.”

He sighed. “Thank you, Jason. I can tell.” Turning to her, he cupped her cheek. “It feels like yesterday I was bringing you home for the first time.”

“Dad…stop…we don’t need sentimentality right now.”

Clark hummed and smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead; he turned to Jason and leveled him with a hard look. “I don’t think I need to warn you about what happens if you make her sad.”

Jason gave him a mock salute. “Chances are I’ll be in ICU after I was thrown out a building.”

“Oh my god. Let that go.”

They laughed, and Clark rose from the rooftop. “I’ll need to get back to the party. Don’t do anything crazy.”

They waved him off and (Y/N) turned to Jason. “Do you want to get something to eat?”

He nodded. “There’s a pizza shop down the block from here.”

“Sounds great.” (Y/N) rose a few feet off the roof when she heard a cough behind her.

She spun around and looked down at Jason. “Doll…I don’t know if you know this…but I can’t fly.”

“Whoops. My bad.” She lowered back onto the rooftop and held out her arm.

He walked into it and wrapped an arm around her waist, then tipped his head to her. “Up, up, and away.”

(Y/N) snorted as she rose. “You’re still cheesy, Jason.”

The grip on her waist tightened as he murmured, “I know.”

545 notes · View notes

thatonegayship · 2 years

Text

Since no one seems to want to write a mirror sex one-shot for these two idiots, I guess I’ll just have to do it my damn self, smh.

This is some depraved Billdip right here.

Explicit

TW: Semi-public sex (briefly), Mirror sex, light bondage, and like 10k words of build-up

Read it here or on AO3!

No one’s surprised when they show up together. Mabel at least tries to be, but really, it’s been obvious for well over six months the tension between them. It’s only that much more obvious now, with Bill’s hand in Dipper’s back pocket, Dipper’s eyes fixed forward.

Cipher’s always been a little too touchy (Hell, having a body does things to the senses. Tingly, unorthodox things). Running fingers through someone else’s hair isn’t some heinous crime, and the act’s more like detangling knots and separating curls than it is intimate, anyways (Dipper always bats his hand away when Bill pulls at the softer part of his scalp; he sits up and loses the spot in his journal just to push the demon off). If Bill sits too close, or rests his hands too low, no one bats an eye.

What tips people off is Dipper, who swears up and down how much he hates having Bill around, but always bites his lip, and bites it so hard one day, it nearly costs him stitches. It’s embarrassing to walk around with teeth-marks on his lower lip, especially when the person he’s been biting that lip for can’t help but trail the markings with a slow, curling smirk. The stitches are avoided, but people notice just how often he’s catching a grin between his teeth when a certain demon appears; they side-glance him every time.

So, yes. No one’s surprised when they show up together. There are a few whispers of course, because-. Well, Dipper’s not the house-party type, and even though Bill is, people aren’t exactly trampling over themselves to invite the town’s psychopath anyplace social (not that it ever stops him).

Weirdmaggedon’s still a touchy topic, but it’s one of those things people opt not to mention.

If someone does bring it up (when Bill first resurfaces, it’s all anyone talks about), there’s usually a pause, maybe a faint nod of agreement when one of them mutters, old and disheartened, “It just ain’t smart, keepin’ him around,” before going about their business. One of the perks of having a body is that people treat you human, and one of the perks of having an attractive body is that people treat you human, and then some. If they ever choose to run him out of town, Cipher’ll first have to drop all the way down from a 10 to a 6, at least.

Until then, the boys make for some pretty fantastic eye candy.

Dipper feels the hand in his right-back pocket squeeze, and promptly yanks Bill’s arm away from him, knocking a fist against the demon’s chest.

“Okay, yeah, no. Not cool,” he repremends. Bill only rolls his eye.

“What do you expect my hand to do on your ass? Play chess?” he teases. It tricks a slight snort out of Dipper, though he makes up for it with a less than approving frown.

“God, would you try to behave?” Dipper groans, running a hand through his hair. “You’re lucky Pacifica and I are cool; you’re not exactly the face people wanna see around here.”

Bill can only laugh at that, slinging an arm around Dipper’s shoulders; it earns himself an even dirtier frown than the first. “I’m honored. I haven’t been invited to one of these human-festivities since they were burning people at the stake.”

Dipper chooses not to hear the part of that statement that suggests Bill definitely fucked around during Salem, and probably caused a good portion of it (Holy shit, he’s been around way, way too long). Instead, he tilts his head curiously.

“Didn’t you ever go to parties with Ford?” Dipper asks.

That gets a full, surprised laugh out of Bill (He laughs a little too hard, if Dipper’s being honest). “You think that guy was invited to parties? Oh, sapling,” he coos. Dipper glares at the condescending hand Bill pats his head with (even if it does feel kind of nice) before shaking it off. “Last time anyone in your family was invited to a party, it was-. Let’s see.” Bill counts on his fingers with a hum, only to shrug. “Well, I forget when the Freemasons disbanded, but-.”

“Ha-ha.” Dipper rolls his eyes. Bill’s too charming to be this big of an ass, on top of everything else. Maybe he knows that. Bill certainly likes pushing the boundary between “loveable scamp” and “definite war criminal” every three-to-four seconds, so the line that separates them is muddled. “You’re so smart and clever, it’s a wonder everyone despises you.”

“Jealousy often has that effect,” Bill sighs, buffing his nails on the front of his shirt. He really is an ass. Even more-so when he tries getting his teeth around Dipper’s earlobe, only for a hand to block his trajectory; people are already scrutinizing the openly possessive arm slung around Dipper’s shoulder. That’s more than enough attention.

“You’re ridiculous.” Dipper shrugs out from under Bill’s embrace, elbowing him in the side. Bill only hums.

“And?” he presses. Dipper scoffs, the tiniest of smiles edging across his lips.

“And I hope you die. I hope we both die.”

The “flattered” pose Bill takes is about as real as Stan’s denchers, and the “touched” voice he uses is even less convincing. “You’re really pulling on my heart-strings now, Sapling,” he assures, straightening the bowtie around his neck. “You come up with that line yourself?”

Dipper rolls his eyes, but nods his head in turn. “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

“Beautiful. Plagiarism really brings out your eyes,” Bill says. For a moment, Dipper slips up, and he really does smile, but it’s quick and fleeting. He hides the upturned corners of his mouth by scratching his nose; hell, it’s hard enough managing this demon with his defenses up. Imagine if Bill realised Dipper found him charming. They’d have to evacuate the town.

“You really are an idiot,” Dipper replies. Bill smiles far too hard at that; he knows he’s charming, and everyone really should be worshipping him for it, but it’s the fact that Dipper doesn’t outright praise him that makes his responses interesting. Even though he knows what’s in Bill’s pants and vice versa, he’s not impressed until he is, and even when he is, he keeps it to himself. Dipper Pines can’t stand narcissists. It makes their arrangement all the more ironic.

Bill hums. “You’d be amazed what an idiot can do. For example, accidentally bringing me back to-.”

“Don’t.” Dipper cuts, whirling on him with a pointed finger. This is the one instance he can hold a look that’s (by any human’s standard) particularly chilling. It’d stop most people in their tracks. Bill thinks it’s cute.

“Oh, are we still sensitive about that?” Bill presses a finger into his cheek, smug; probably getting off to Dipper’s left eye doing that little twitch thing that he just loves. There’s a beat of fight behind the boy’s gaze (there always is, let’s not kid ourselves), and it only amplifies itself whenever someone brings that up. People haven’t let him live it down; Bill most of all.

“Screw you,” Dipper seaths.

Bill has a million things to say in response to that particular phrase, but he opts to keep his mouth shut and just enjoy the sour look on his Pinetree’s face. He always knows how to shut Dipper up with that little reminder, and the powertrip’s kind of fantastic. Dipper’s making that one face he does when he’s really tee’d off, where his nose wrinkles at the bridge, his mouth gets all small and pinched, and he’s slightly flushed, because that’s his massive screw-up being flung back in his face, by Bill who technically is the screw up, and is screwing him, and he’s never not smug about those two facts (No one needs to know the ladder, but with the way Bill’s keeping close quarters at Dipper’s side, a hand snatched at his waist, it’s not hard to guess something’s up).

Bill leads them (even though it’s Dipper who’s been there a thousand times) through the crowds of people. The party isn’t wild by Gravity Falls’ standards, aside from one guy hanging off a corner of the Northwest’s chandelier, another skateboarding down the banister. It’s actually pretty tame all considering, but that’s no surprise with the reputation Pacifica’s drummed up for herself; the last guy to misbehave at one of her parties got a pretty nasty acrylic in his eye. She’s off to the side nursing a wine glass between her fingers, staring down at her phone when the two boys enter, but even with the blaring music, the low lights, fog in the air, her eyes lift on alert and almost instantly zero in on them (creepy).

Bill’s tugging one way, but Pacifica gives Dipper a “look” that means she expects him to come her way, and honestly, he’s at least nine times more intimidated by his best friend than he is the literal dream-demon. When Bill tries leading him towards the dance floor (everyone clears out just at the sight of him, which feeds his ego as the terrifying monster that he is, thank you very much) Dipper resists, and instead finds himself doing the tugging. Bill follows effortlessly.

Dipper raises his hand slightly on approach, not really smiling, but stretching his lips in an awkward almost-grin. “Hey, Paz,” he says.

Once he’s close, Pacifica takes a long sip of her wine, eyes cast over the brim of her glass, trailing up and down his figure. She puts the wine glass down, then her phone. Instead of returning the greeting, she sharpens her gaze with pursed lips, chin nestled between her fingers.

“Hmm,” she hums slowly, leaning forward, then back, making Dipper shift on his feet. Pacifica grabs her wine again, and with the long line of her finger, makes a circular motion. “Turn.”

Dipper chokes a weird, surprised noise. “Are you serious?” he sputters. Pacifica lifts an eyebrow at that. Right. The only reason Bill’s allowed within thirty feet of this party is because Dipper’s adhering to dress-code for once. Every inch of fabric on his person is Pacifica-approved (Of course it is; she picked everything out).

It’s impossible to win a stare-down with the face of a multi-million dollar fashion corporation, but Dipper damn-well tries, before finally giving in with a groan and one quick spin on his heels, displaying his outfit with a complete lack of flair.

“Happy?” he sighs.

Pacifica nods, letting her lips uncurl. It’s a lot of approval from someone like her, the most glaring proof being the phone out of her hands, but it hardly lasts.

“You’d look better in a skirt,” she mutters into the cup in her hand.

If that weren’t the topic on her tongue for the past nine months, Dipper might’ve been caught off guard. He’s still not sure how he’s fought her demands off this long, but it’s a miracle she hasn’t gotten what she wants yet. Call it divine intervention, or just a slow, calculated death.

“How about Over My Dead Body?” he replies.

“Coward,” she snorts, fixing the strap of her dress before shooting his figure another up-and-down. Her face looks almost pained, if not the slightest bit amused. “Those legs are wasting away under ripped denim, just FYI.”

“Were you gonna say hello, or did you just feel like scrutinizing me?”

Pacifica tilts her head. “Hello, Dipper. Bill. Those legs are wasting away under ripped denim. Just FYI,” she repeats, this time with a slight laugh in her voice. Dipper’s either trying not to frown, or trying not to grin, and either’s just fine by her.

“Remind me to wear Crocs next time I’m here,” Dipper says, crossing his arms.

Pacifica eases more firmly into her seat, leaning over to retrieve the phone at her side.

“Go ahead. You’ll be shot on-sight,” she jokes (Or does she?), taking one final swig of her glass to finish it up. It eases her features out of that really hard, really judgmental expression that Dipper hates.

This time, she stares at the whole of him, not just an up-and-down glance, sliding an arm over the couch to cradle her cheek. “You look good, though. Actually, like... I’m kind of impressed with myself.” A hum, then a nod. “One more turn,” she says with a twirl of her finger.

Dipper laughs despite himself. “No. You’ve had enough for one night.”

“You’re the one who agreed to this, nerd. I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.” Pacifica looks, then shakes her head. “I really did do a good job.” She balls a fist under her chin and leans out like she’s watching TV, which is a little weird, definitely. Dipper shifts around (should he - like - pose? That’d probably look silly).

“A great job!” Bill chimes in, resituating an arm around Dipper, who jumps at his interjection. Bill’s hand weaves its way through Dipper’s hair like a pet. “I’m surprised you cleaned him up so well! He’s usually a little… ya know.”

“Hey! Fuck you,” Dipper bites. The arm over his shoulder is practically thrown off this time, and the hand in his hair is slapped away. Bill doesn’t seem to mind.

If Pacifica’s even a little freaked out by having Bill Cipher at her party, she doesn’t let on. The slightest hint of mortification is a shrink in her iris and maybe a small drop in posture, but it snaps back like a finger, and she’s casual and composed. Instead of looking scared, she looks amused.

“Well, obviously. That’s to be expected from a commoner. I’m hoping to teach it out of him one day,” she replies, crossing a leg over the other.

Dipper gapes at her, because-. Well, rude, for one. For another, she says it entirely too easily. “Okay, fuck both of you, actually,” he scoffs. They don’t seem to hear him.

“You’re ambitious, I’ll give you that. Can’t imagine you’ve faced a harder project.” Bill rests the side of his head in his hand, glancing over his partner like he’s some jumble of wires that just won’t untangle. Isn’t that just the pinnacle of asshole-ary? Dipper starts to scowl.

“He’s got potential. Under all his… stuff.” A butler comes over to refill the empty wine glass in Pacifica’s hand. She rotates it around, a smile itching her lips when she lifts the cup to her mouth.

“I’m within earshot, in case anyone forgot,” Dipper snarks, looking between the two of them. This, at least, gets them to stop for a moment. Pacifica rolls her eyes, taking a too-long sip before setting the glass aside. Her mouth prunes at the taste; this wine’s a bit stronger.

“Right, right. Sit down.” She gestures towards a seat for him to take, but Dipper keeps to his feet. “I still need to coach you on your hair. Did you use the-?”

“Yes, I used your overpriced conditioner,” Dipper sighs.

Pacifica examines him, then hums approvingly. “It looks good.”

“It looks the same,” he shoots back.

“I can assure you $400 dollars worth of imported à feuilles persistantes is not the same as washing your hair with the bar of soap you used on your ballsack.” The drink in her hand raises to her lips. Again, it’s a little strong, but her features maintain their composure, so that when she meets Bill’s eye, her expression is level and good-humored.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” she asks.

It’s all Bill can do not to break into a laugh, even if his face is upturned in the most annoying expression.

“You’re a genius. He’s absolutely glowing under your influence! I hardly recognise the guy,” he goes on to say, loving the rise each word gets out of his Pinetree. Dipper’s arms are practically braided over his chest. With his shoulders up around the ears and a perpetually unappreciative glower pulling the corners of his lips… Well, he looks downright adorable, but it’s mainly funny.

“See?” Pacifica throws her hand out, gesturing at the demon, but looking at Dipper. It takes exactly three seconds to recognize he’s not amused, and another half-second to see he’s not playing along. Her arm drops. “I’m unappreciated.” She waits a beat, then sighs. “It’s alright. You don’t do charity work for recognition, you do it for the greater good.”

Jesus, are Dipper’s friends all assholes?

He blinks slowly, easing out of a pout, into stoic. He shifts his weight onto his right foot. “Are you done yet?” Dipper asks.

“Almost,” she hums, wiping a thumb over her lips. Again, she twirls her finger. “One more turn.”

There’s a groan. Dipper’s head tilts back with an eye roll, shoulders dropping at the demand. Of all the important people in his life, why are most of them sociopaths? Is it him? Dipper tries not to think about it when he lifts his arms out, making a full 360 for the diva nursing her second glass of wine.

It’s not a round of applause, but Bill whistles obnoxiously, and the sound Pacifica makes is a good one. It takes her one lean-back to drain the half-cup of wine in her glass (holy shit). Pacifica looks at him, then away, like he’s hard to face.

“You look so, so good, oh my god.” Her head falls into her hands with a groan, which really should be flattering. Dipper wants to be flattered, but it’s almost too obvious Pacifica thinks him being even remotely attractive tonight is due to giving him a bottle of conditioner, pants with a belt, and taking off his glasses. The entire thing is just about patting herself on the back, and-. Holy shit, he needs to see a psychologist; everyone in his life is a narcissist.

“I should get an award for this,” Pacifica lifts her head.

Goddamn bitch.

Dipper’s about to say something in response to that bullshit, when Bill winds up just behind him to grab his face by the cheeks; he gets a pretty strong pinch going on either one.

“His stupid little face brings it all together, doesn’t it?” The demon drags his head close, tricking a mewl out of Dipper’s mouth; shocked definitely, but also discomforted, and maybe a little desperate for touch that isn’t condescending. He wrenches his face out of Bill’s hold, scowling even harder now.

He should’ve known putting these two in the same room was going to cost his self-esteem. Whatever’s left, at least. Dipper rubs his cheeks.

“Totally, totally,” Pacifica nods. One of her servants is coming over with another bottle of wine, even though it’s been less than a few minutes at best, and Bill’s smirking at Dipper like his little “Stupid Face” comment was brilliantly romantic. Well, it’s on the lesser side of insults with a ring of the ghost of a complement; that’s fair in a way. Still, Dipper’s eyes lower, hands sliding down his pants. He retucks his dumb designer shirt back under its dumb designer belt.

“Right,” he huffs, then lower, “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“Need help?” Bill asks, trying for the millionth time to get his arm permanently around Dipper’s shoulder. The smaller steps out of it, like ducking trees.

“Getting drunk? I’ll figure it out,” Dipper tries for playful, but it’s uneven with a little too much hurt in his voice, and it doesn’t help that he stops frowning. If anything, it proves he’s actually thinking about things, instead of just letting the jabs wash over him like he always does.

Bill’s a clever guy, despite his usual antics. He catches the slight mood shift easily, eyeing Dipper over before running a hand down the side of his own face (he adores his Pinetree, he really does, but he can be so sensitive, and not in the fun, sexy kinda way). Bill groans, and with a forced smile, tries drawing Dipper in from where he stepped away by his hand.

“Come on; we’re teasing, Pinetree!” Bill whines.

“Mmhmm,” Dipper hums, leaning away from the hand holding his; he’s not… mad, per say. He’s not mad at all. It’s just-. Well. He can already tell it’s going to be a long night with these two ganging up on him so naturally, it’s kind of draining.

And, okay. Maybe he feels pretty good in Pacifica’s pretentious little outfit, even with all the added bells and whistles (Dipper fought off a nose piercing with his dying breath, but his ears suffered their fate. They sting like hell, Mabel won’t stop poking and prodding the backs, and he can already tell if Bill demands to attend anymore of Pacifica’s lame events, it’s only a matter of time before there’s a ring dangling from his septum).

It’s not a big deal being dragged down from that cozy almost-confidence, it’s almost unnatural to feel attractive, but it’s just-.

Very frustrating. Dipper slips his grip out of Bill’s.

When Dipper steps back, Bill groans harder, the smile on his face at least somewhat annoyed, but he’s pushing to keep the mood light. “Oh, don’t be like that! You know I could never live without your stupid little face, when it makes that stupid little-. Yeah, yeah, that,” he assures, gesturing at Dipper’s apparently stupid face.

Dipper lifts a hand to his cheek, then frowns. “I’m not-. My face isn’t-. Whatever. I’ll be back,” he grumbles tiredly. There’s a punch bowl just a few feet away, and people are starting to resurface now that Bill’s out of sight. Dipper looks towards it, making a small half-step in its direction, when something dings at the back of his brain.

There’s only one person capable of causing any real damage in the time it takes him to cross the room for a drink.

His eyes go slanted. Dipper spins around on his heels in one swift move, layering Bill with challenge in his gaze, and an accusatory finger jabbing the demon’s chest. “Don’t do anything while I’m gone, okay?”

It rings a laugh out of Bill’s mouth. “It’s cute, you think you have authority over me.”

Dipper plants his hands on his hips, and while it does nil in the face of an omnipotent dream-demon, it’s at least entertaining enough (If Bill’s honest with himself, he lets Dipper get away with way too much, just for being idiotically fun to mess with. Otherwise, he’d be a pile of ash, the way he pushes things).

Dipper’s face doesn’t ease up at his teasing. With a sigh, Bill relents, lifting his hands in surrender (his Pinetree’s a real card, this one).

“Alright, alright! I’ll play nice as long as you’re away, then it’s business as usual. Deal?” Bill offers with a sly grin.

Dipper really steps back this time, and with a nasty, not-playing-around look, he eyes the hand outstretched towards him and makes a point of avoiding it. Instead, he turns towards Pacifica. “He,” Dipper hisses. “Stays off the wine, got it?”

“Already done.” Pacifica solutes, her eyes cast on her phone.

“Buzz-kills,” Bill sniffs. The demon doesn’t seem fazed by way of his tone. More playful than anything, and probably amused they think their “teamwork” can keep him in check.

(It has, but-. Well, this is a party. They’re both out of their element here. No doubt about it).

Bill crosses his arms, leaning off to the side as he watches his Pinetree wade into the clustered crowds of people. He has to admit, even without the fitted pants, it’s always a pleasure getting an eyeful of him from behind. Always. Bill rests his head in his hand as a sharp, coy smile spreads across his face.

There’s shifting behind him when Pacifica speaks. “You think we took that too far?”

“Huh?” Bill turns, looking back at the girl who has her palm rested flat under her chin. It takes him a second to realize where her eyes are rested, but once he catches on, he lets out a snort. “Aw, he’ll get over it! He knows we’re not serious.” Bill waves her off with his right hand, grinning in the direction his Pinetree disappeared amongst the crowd.

“He probably doesn’t,” Pacifica retorts, lowering yet another glass of wine from her lips (The fact that she’s being so whiny about Dipper’s sad little ego-. someone should probably cut her off for the night).

Bill considers her words, looking off. His hands slide into his pockets; even with just the top of Dipper’s head all he can make out from the crowd, the stench of moping is palpable. It’s not hard to see where Pacifica’s coming from.

“Yeah, he’s stupid like that.” Bill nods, sliding his hands out of his pockets. “The hot ones always are.”

To that, Pacifica has to agree. “Uh-huh,” she goes, lifting the drink in her hand. She’s definitely had too much now, what with the lazy, lidded glaze over her eyes, and the way she drops the glass from her mouth. Still, her head tilted to the side, a small hiccup behind her hand, Pacifica nods in Dipper’s direction. “You should say something.”

Bill puts a defensive hand over his chest. “Me? You started it, Llama. I’m just the comedic relief here,” he protests.

Of all the years Bill’s known Dipper, and the previous year when he got to know Dipper, on some weird, invasively human-level, they’ve never really been… sincere. Not that they lie to one another (although they definitely do), but they keep the mooey-gooey to a minimum. It’s not Dipper’s style (he’s a real worm when it comes to expressing himself). It’s definitely not Bill’s style, since he’s got the same problem, but about 1,000x worse.

Pacifica’s looking at him though, like she can see right through his skull, into his brain. It’s tingly and purseptive and actually pretty freaky on humans, Bill thinks. He’s… kind of impressed.

She levels him with a cold, piercing gaze. This time, her voice is threatening. “You should say something.”

Yup. Bill is very, very impressed.

Impressed enough not to kill her on the spot of course, but also enough to take another, less wistful, more contemplative glance in Dipper’s direction.

Hell, he’s got nothing against confrontation. Dipper might appreciate the gesture (ugh) and Bill can get himself a few kisses if he’s smart about the whole thing (less ugh). Besides, his human could do with a few more pounds on his ego; it’s healthy!

Instead of admitting defeat, he lifts his shoulders, drops them, and walks into the mosh pit of humans. As he does, he twists on his heels, back-peddling to call out to Pacifica.

“I can see why you don’t have a lot of friends! You’re scary; keep it up!” He gives her a thumbs up, to which she raises her middle finger.

Where Dipper’s situated, the red solo cup’s brim gnawed between his teeth keeps in place. He likes chewing on things. No shame in that. The cup begins to split at the rim though, and that’s a little more weird. He’s trying not to bite his fingernails (He kicked pen-chewing two summers back, but picked up the ladder by chance; like quitting cigarettes and starting cigars).

A hand rides down his chest. His clothes feel tight (really tight, with the way these people are so close to his sides, shoulder to shoulder, back-to-front), but when he pulls at the collar of his shirt, it creates this giant gap against his chest like an endless, open train-tunnel; he must be impossibly malnourished then. He must be so boney. And yet his clothes are incredibly tight, and every inch tailers like a second skin.

There’s a creek of plastic under his teeth and a trail of punch down his chin. Dipper quickly snatches the cup from his mouth, wiping the drink off his lips, and instead rests back on one foot, mindlessly placing the nail of his thumb between his teeth. He’s not biting down, but his features are tense.

He feels… Really gross. In public. The designer clothes aren’t helping, regardless of whatever Pacifica might say. With the way everything moves and bends with him, not the least-bit stained, torn, tattered, Dipper feels completely outside of his comfort zone; It’s not a flannel shirt and some jeans he’s wearing. It’s not his everyday, run-of-the-mill get-up. He’s wearing… Clothes. Really nice clothes, and-.

Well, he felt good before, but now he just feels pretentious, like he’s geared up for everyone to look at him. Like he thinks he’s hot shit, even though he doesn’t. Dipper, at the sudden turn of his stomach, snips down on his fingernail and finds he’s tearing into it on impulse. The tension in his jaw flexes, tooth breaking nail, before easing up when he’s torn off a strip. After over a month without biting, it throbs a little, but it’s calming.

He takes a breath- two- dropping the hand from his mouth before taking a sip of his drink.

Looks don’t mean anything, anyways.

Dipper closes his eyes for a second, but it’s hard with so many people coming within inches of him; it’s this daunting force about to topple him over. Instead of easing out of the invasive fold of his clothes (everything touches everywhere; every rib-bone is visible through the lining of his shirt, he can tell), Dipper feels himself settle into his own thoughts. He grits his teeth, breathing harshly through the nostrils.

Looks don’t mean anything.

But it’s-.

Dipper rubs the back of his neck, hunching over himself, feeling about as pathetic as he probably looks.

He wants to be attractive.

The thought makes him frown. He abandons his solo cup by the punch bowl, creating a wide berth for one guy trying to score himself a drink; the man leans over the table where a stack of red solos reach the ceiling, and his arm feels dangerously close to where Dipper stands, just by being outstretched in his direction.

His skin clams up.

The whole of his skeleton is just poking through his body. He looks ridiculous with his shirt all tucked in, the pants clad over his legs fitted and right, instead of three fingers over-sized. Dipper wants to tear out the backs of the stupid, dumb studs Pacifica had pierced into his ears, but they’re still fresh and sensitive. The hair on his head isn’t sitting right, and he hates how there’s space in the shoes he’s wearing, because they’re new and stylish and meant to fit.

He’s so stupid. This whole event’s stupid-.

“Got’cha!” comes a booming voice from behind him. Dipper yelps at the hands slammed over either shoulder and nearly falls on his back when he’s whirled around to face-.

Dipper, for the billionth time that night, slaps Bill’s hands off him.

“Thought I’d lost you to the crowd! You’re a hard one to track, you know,” Bill tsks, wagging a finger in his face.

Dipper’s features flinch, first sour, then sad, then a soft, indifferent look as his hands slide into his pant-pockets. “I was by the punch bowl.” His head tilts in the bowl’s direction. His gaze doesn’t meet the demon’s.

Bill glances briefly at the punch bowl before rolling his eye.

“Gee, thanks for the heads-up. I’ll look there next,” he snorts, smirking himself silly. The mosh of people surrounding them hasn’t dispersed with his presence like it should have. It’s too close-knit to notice the demon, and Bill’s too pleased with the privacy to announce himself; it’s been a long time since he was last unsuspected by a town full of idiots. Or even a room.

One guy tries squeezing past him, and Bill trips him up with a concealed leg, watching the poor fellow bang his chin into a corner of the table.

He turns back towards his Pinetree with a bright, preening smile. “Find what you were looking for?” Bill asks Dipper, falling back so naturally into that easy tone, it’s only by chance Dipper notices Bill’s finger tapping against a folded arm, the back of his foot jittering once and then settling.

Dipper doesn’t give a verbal response; only grabs his drink from the punch bowl table, lifts it with this pressed, tee’d look, wiggling it in Bill’s face like ‘right here, jackass.’

Bill purses his lips. “You sure took your sweet time getting it.”

“I was gone for like, two minutes.” The drink rises to his mouth, but Dipper only speaks into the cup. His nose tilts almost completely into the solo, and with the bridge of his nose only hairs away from the cup’s brim, he looks like a sad, muzzled dog.

“It doesn’t take ten seconds to grab a cup of punch,” Bill tsks again, reaching out to lower the drink from his Pinetree’s mouth. He peers in. “And look at that; you’ve hardly touched it!”

“I’m not thirsty,” Dipper snips.

“Then why’d you get one?” Bill shoots back.

Dipper doesn’t stammer like he normally would, feeling all too stoic when he shrugs the question away. His back leans against the wall behind him, and he finds he’s gravitating more and more towards the corner to his right, all until he’s nestled in like a bird. He looks off towards the sea of people practically walling them in.

“I felt like it, I don’t know. Why do you care?” he asks, even though it’s not actually a question. It’s an accusation. Bill shouldn’t be so tuned into whatever Dipper gets himself up to, whether it’s moping around or drinking his drink. The last part’s a jab, and Bill knows perfectly well it is, because all it’s really meant to do is get them talking about why Dipper’s so obviously upset, or run the demon off. There’s fair opportunity for some smart banter wedged between those words, but for once Bill’s not fast enough to catch the opening slot before Dipper’s eyeing him, looking away, and nodding ahead.

“Go back to Pacifica. I’ll be there in a sec,” he mumbles, replacing the cup against his mouth.

Bill only saddles up next to him, cozy in the corner Dipper’s wiggled himself so pathetically into. “Eh, she’s no fun. Not like you,” Bill teases, side-eyeing him graciously.

Dipper doesn’t look at him. “Yeah?”

Bill throws an arm out, one big, narcissistic grin cut across his face. “Of course! There’s no joy in life without you around to laugh at!” he assures.

Dipper looks at Bill once, then away, and something sinks in his chest.

Is Bill being funny?

Or…

Well, after a guy’s non-stop “funny” for the past few months, you have to stop and wonder if he’s actually joking, and you’re not just diluting yourself to protect that little bit of ego in your back pocket.

Dipper huffs. “Right.”

He makes a move to step out and away from Bill’s presence, maybe to get another drink, even though the one in his hand is still mainly full, but the demon catches him by the waist before he makes a complete half-step.

“Hey! That’s a good thing! I’m calling you entertaining!” Bill draws him in close, chest-to-chest, sounding so exasperated, Dipper can’t help but glower.

There’s a rumble in the demon’s throat, and a grin across his lips. “Oh, don’t make that face; it’s too cute!”

What face is he making? Dipper’s not sure. Bill presses a finger against his nose, making it scrunch and pinken.

“What? Having a ‘stupid face’ is cute?” Dipper can’t help but let some of the hurt seep into his voice, wafting the hand on his nose away, but Bill’s eager to play around; he doesn’t catch on until after he’s opened his mouth.

“Very!” He leans in sharply, looking every ounce the handsome jackass that he is, his hand placed at the side of Dipper’s head, eyebrow arched high.

Dipper waits for Bill to drop the act, but he doesn’t.

A beat of silence. Dipper hums, then nods his head.

“I’m gonna walk away now,” he says.

Again, he steps out of Bill’s presence. As though expected, the demon hauls him back by his waist for the second time, swinging him a little before they’re hip-to-hip. It’s a good sign, the way Dipper moves so easily under his touch. He’s upset, but he’s not actually fighting. He wants Bill to make things better, in whatever way he’s aiming for, if he still allows the demon to wrangle him around without socking him in the nose.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey, hey, hey! Ok, alright, I’ll cut the crap; yeesh, kid,” Bill huffs, letting the smile on his face drop. He levels Dipper with a semblance of seriousness, but nothing close to satisfactory. “So you got your feelings hurt-.”

Dipper jabs a thumb behind himself. “Walking. Away,” he warns.

This makes Bill groan a long, terrible sigh.

“Ok! I hurt your feelings!” he confesses, throwing his hands in the air. The next part, he says hesitantly, almost uncertain, like the phrase confuses him. “And now you’re upset?” Bill tests the words in his mouth. Well, they sound right, but his whole body goes on high alert with how his Pinetree’s expression shifts so seamlessly; there’s a very crucial detail missing, if the deadly sneer on Dipper’s lips is anything to go by.

“Would you like to be more specific, or is this going to be more of your cryptic bullshit?”

Bill can’t find it in himself to fire back with some brilliant retort, but he makes a sound so obviously offended, it’s nearly wild how naturally the noise manifests itself.

“I thought you liked my cryptic bullshit.” Bill protests. Dipper folds his arms over his chest; as much as Bill would like to lick a little harder at that particular wound, he knows not to get off track.

“Fine, fine, I’ll cut to the chase,” is Bill’s tired reply, rubbing the underside of his eye; Llama’s getting one hell of a nightmare after this. He sucks in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out in one big puff.

“It was a joke,” he explains.

There’s silence between them. Dipper stands there, still, like he’s waiting for something more to follow the initial statement. But, what’s he waiting to hear? The guy’s got himself the whole situation, start to finish, muscled in with an explanation and a kind of takesy-backsies, in an “I didn’t mean it” sort of way. That should be enough!

And yet, the look on his Pinetree’s face only sours at Bill’s response. He blinks so slow, it’s almost comical.

“Alright, yeah. Nope. Fuck you,” Dipper breaths after a moment, near-laugh, but also… Not a cry, but the offence taken up in his voice isn’t anything fun to hear. He’s pulling away from Bill again, and as much as the demon tries to keep him in place, Dipper’s putting a little more muscle into forming a gap. Not a good thing. The hand running through his hair can only be in distress.

“I get this is like-. Like being an ass is your thing, but you seriously don’t have an off switch-?”

“It was, though!” Bill interrupts. Dipper jumps. “You think I’d pick at your looks if you weren’t the most screwable guy here? You’re usually so unphased!”

Dipper doesn’t seem to understand that the whole thing was for fun! If he were actually unappealing, Bill wouldn’t have said a word (it’s hard keeping the mood light when some ugly bastard’s got their self-esteem in a tizzy, just because you bothered to bring up the obvious). Besides, Bill meant no harm. Hot-egos are usually cushion enough to get a few good jabs in, and for people like Dipper, who don’t get they’re attractive, it’s all about thick skin. His Pinetree usually has thick skin.

Not tonight, apparently.

“Well now I am phased, okay? And it’s-. Look, you’re being a serious dick right now, so could you just cut it out?”

There’s a very real pause between them when Bill looks into his eyes and Dipper looks back; they seem to be thinking the same thing the second it’s said, because the demon’s face sort of… morphs with the request, into a very confused shape, and Dipper only looks disappointed in himself.

“Cutting it out” isn’t really an option.

Bill scratches his chin, clearing his throat. “...Dial it back?” he suggests.

There’s a drop in Dipper’s shoulders, from being tight and wound, to so sloped that they practically dislocate from their sockets. He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Alright. I’ll try.” Bill stretches his arms up then out, like he’s preparing for a marathon. His elbows lock with the interlace of his fingers, making a slight crack at the pop of his knuckles, which gets an eyeroll out of his Pinetree. Maybe even a little scoff.

“You,” Bill coos, drawing the boy in, once again, by his hand, until he’s got either arm wrapped around Dipper’s lower back. “Look stunning tonight.” His teeth are sharp to a point, the pink of his gums peeking out under his lips. It gets the tiniest of snorts from Dipper, but that’s only because Bill’s so ridiculous when he needs to be (He might also like the closeness of their chests). The demon goes on.

“You looked stunning yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day you were born,” Bill layers, leaning in on his target until their foreheads are pressed together. Dipper’s looking away now- down, between their bodies- but the tiniest of grins twitches the corner of his mouth before evaporating.

“What? When I was a baby?” he deep pans, trying with every muscle not to give in so easily, but-. Damn it, his demon is so charming sometimes.

“Don’t ruin the mood.” Bill pokes his nose. “Llama-.”

“You,” Dipper corrects. Bill scoffs.

“Llama and I, how about that?” The arms around Dipper’s lower back pull him in a little closer, and he steadies himself awkwardly on his feet. Dipper tries (by god, does he try) not to tilt his head up- he wants the hood of his brow to keep him glaring- but with how close they are, and how much taller Bill is than him, Dipper finds he has to if he wants to meet the other’s gaze. It makes him feel small. Like this, it isn’t so bad, but it’s patronizing the way his chin comes up just above Bill’s collar bone.

“You know we love poking fun at you. You’ve got that little… your nose does that tiny-. And then your eyes get all-. I can’t reproduce it of course, but you get the idea. It’s fun making fun of you.”

Dipper’s shoulders, if it’s possible, drop even harder than the first time.

“You’re losing me, fast,” he warns. Bill’s quick to add on.

“But, sometimes we go a little overboard, she and I. You’re a big boy about the whole thing, you never take it to heart, so I guess we just...” Bill’s head tilts side to side, looking up in contemplation. “Thought you wouldn’t take this to heart, especially with how you’re looking.”

Dipper’s defenses are instantly back up from where they’d slipped down. He’s leaning out of Bill’s touch now, expression wary with offense.

“And how am I looking, exactly?” he challenges. Bill doesn’t skip a beat.

“Like a hot young meal, obviously,” he shrugs.

Dipper falters.

It sucks. It sucks so much, because he can already feel the tension slip out of his clenched jaw. His eyes go wide and a slight plea bleeds into his expression, right before he brings himself back into that sturn, immovable look; it feels way too good hearing those words, and hearing them like Bill means it.

He’s only trying to flatter him, Dipper reminds himself. He tries to maintain the hard face he’s making, but it’s too vulnerable now. Looking up at Bill, his brow’s furrowed, but his eyes are borderline begging for validation, even as he squints at the hand patting his cheek.

“You’d think a guy like you’d have a bigger ego to pick at, but you’re all insecure about crappy human stuff.”

Dipper lets the hand stay; It’s warm and scarred from palm to wrist in scrapes and all other madness Bill gets up to. He’s leaning into the touch and he knows it, but as long as Bill doesn’t bring it up, it’s not happening, and they can still argue like Dipper hadn’t melted the second Bill came after him in the crowd.

“So it’s my fault?” Dipper says. Bill runs a thumb against the side of Dipper’s cheek, feeling the tension of his pulled expression, but it’s less reflexive, more forced with the way Dipper actively has to concentrate on keeping up that tight, upset look.

It’s not hard to guess Bill’s already won with just how easily his human opens up to his advances, practically unfolding with every touch. A lot of him wants to laugh (watching Dipper’s “challenging” expression flicker in and out of existence is too much like an angry dog wagging its tail, and who doesn’t enjoy a feisty submission?) but he keeps to the script. It’s no fun winning when your opponent’s still able to move.

(And maybe, just maybe, the thought of anyone finding Dipper less than satisfactory- who would ever doubt Bill’s fantastic taste?- leaves a weird, agitated ache in his chest).

“I think it’s a lot of people’s fault for scrambling your self-esteem to hell.” Bill’s arms leave him for only a second, flaring out for emphasis (It’s up to both of them not to mention how shitty that lack of contact feels, or just how good it feels when his hands resettle on Dipper’s waist).

“I’m just here to let you know that what Llama said, and maybe a smidge of what I said, were only said to keep the potential of a massive ego in check.”

Dipper rolls his eyes. “Ah, yes. Because I’m the one with the ego.”

“You should be!” Bill’s grip tightens at the phrase. A kind of “zip” motion, the way Dipper’s lower back pulls in at Bill’s hands, like the demon needs him that close, can’t stand having even an inch between them (even though there never was).

It catches Dipper off-guard, who now has his shoulders practically up around the ears and a very much squeezed look on his face. With his chest puffed out the way it is, he looks close to popping, just before Bill eases up. Dipper coughs when the demon’s grip loosens; frowns, but he’s been doing that all night.

“I mean, come on; I’ve seen everything! I’m a pretty picky guy when it comes to fleshy-stuff, but do you ever hear me complaining about that face? Have I ever turned you down?”

Dipper thinks about it.

Well, no, not from what he’s seen. Not in an “I find you revolting” kind of way, at least. Bill is picky with his company; he’ll talk to anyone, but he only hangs with a select few, and bangs even fewer. For all Dipper knows, he’s the first to actually win Bill’s favor in that department, which has to mean something. Bill’s nowhere near refined, but he’s about as high-maintenance as it gets, and who’s to say he’d get within 30 feet of a body he didn’t like the shape of?

Dipper…

He keeps it in mind.

Bill, master of the mind, doesn’t miss the blatant contemplation flashing across his Pinetree’s face, and decides it’s the perfect weakpoint he needs to move in for the kill. He plays up the smirk on his face (the same one, coupled with lidded eyes, usually means trouble on Dipper’s end), pressing a thumb under his Pinetree’s chin.

“You’re one fine,” Bill starts coolly, riding his tongue over his teeth. “Tantalizing.” The hand on Dipper’s lower back drops an inch. Bill feels the breath in his human’s throat catch. “Flexible little mortal,” he purrs, leaning down to capture those lips in a kiss.

Easy. Too easy.

Except Dipper blocks the trajectory of his mouth with the palm of his hand.

“You still haven’t apologised,” he deadpans. Bill tries so hard not to groan.

It really was too easy.

“Sorry you’re so sexy-,” Bill starts. Dipper’s palm shoves even harder against his lips, pushing his head so far back that his throat makes a long, bumpy ridge.

Sure. Fine. Okay. So Bill’s gotta play nice, no surprise there. Still, his Pinetree really should stop while he’s ahead; he’s getting a little too comfortable around the same guy who shot a hole through his stomach once.

Dipper pulls his hand back at the shake of Bill’s head, and looks on intently as the demon smooths a hand through his hair, a grimace clear on his face. He huffs. “I’m sorry I teased you. I promise to ease up on the whole looks-thing, and we should seriously consider signing you up for self-confidence classes.”

That hits the nail on the head apparently. Suddenly, the slight smile Dipper’s been starving off is blooming across his face in full color; he’s leaning into Bill’s arms just a bit, like his half-hearted little “sorry” was all it took to have him easing out of that sturn pose. It probably was.

“I’ll pass,” Dipper says, placing either hand on Bill’s chest. He straightens up for a kiss square on the demon’s mouth, humming at the warmth spreading through his ribcage before pulling away. “I forgive you for being an asshole,” he pokes.

Bill snorts. “I accept your forgiveness.” Another kiss, this one fast and fleeting, before he’s arching his eyebrow. “Are we good then?”

Dipper shrugs, looking off. “I mean, yeah?” he replies. A hand comes up to rub the back of his neck; he feels a little silly now that the smoke’s cleared, and he sees just what he was so upset about. The thought has him clearing his throat. “Looks aren’t everything. It doesn’t-.”

Bill stops him short. He already knows what idiotic notion his Pinetree’s working off of, and- sorry, not sorry- it has to be the worst thing ingrained in that annoyingly brilliant little mind of his, right up next to his moral compass and empathy. Before he knows it, he’s smacking Dipper’s little checks between his hands, forcing the human to stare him straight in the eye.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. None of that. What did I just say?”

Dipper startles at the hands on his face, but unlike every previous instance of contact, simply endures it for the weirdly endearing possessiveness it suggests. He squints.

“That you’re sorry?” Dipper guesses. Bill shakes his head.

“The other thing,” he hints.

“I need self-confidence classes?”

“Yes, but the other thing.” Bill rolls his eye at the human’s cluelessness. It’s so obvious, honestly, with the theme of the day being all the same. He waits a beat for his Pinetree to catch on, but he just keeps looking at the demon with that dumb, mortal confusion, and by god is that frustrating. The demon can’t help but groan when he blurts out, “You’re sexy, moron!” Bill throws his arms up. “Stupidly, idiotically sexy!”

Dipper jumps at the exclamation, and just the look he gives Bill; well, it can’t be hateful- he could never hate Bill (except for when he did, but those times are over, far as grudges go). He looks more annoyed, like Bill’s still teasing him after the little roller coaster they just rode. Like he’d kick him while he’s down (he wouldn’t, for the record. At most, he’d laugh, and maybe take pictures), because Bill’s so obviously mocking Dipper and all his silly human insecurities.

Dipper really, really doesn’t think he’s attractive.

From an outside view it’s already insulting, but from Bill’s perspective, as the guy putting all his winnings into this biodegradable bozo, it’s a pretty big question of his judgement. There isn’t anything worse than suggesting he- i.e. Bill Cipher- is wrong about anything. Ever. Him, the guy who’s been around for eons, knows his shit, thank you very much.

Dipper’s face sets in mild frustration for only a moment, then his lips press inwards, eyes snapping down as he fists the base of his shirt. Bill trails the look on that human’s face- wanting to be desirable, but trying not to care- that’s the final straw.

“Oh, come ‘ere,” Bill coos as he buries his face in Dipper’s neck. There’s a slight yelp as his Pinetree’s backed farther into the wall behind them, into the corner of the room, and a hand comes to the side of his throat, thumb pressing into his jugular. The boy’s back goes rigid, before melting at the smooth circles rubbing into his neck, and he can’t help but snicker when Bill layers the back of his ear with a kiss; it tickles.

“You’re a dork,” Dipper snorts, running a hand through the demon’s hair. He cradles the back of Bill’s head as it moves around, first near the ear, now trailing towards the dip in his collar bone. It gets a pleased hum out of him. “You’re so,” he starts, head leaned back. Dipper’s trying to find the word he needs, swaying side to side on his feet, but he can’t focus with how Bill decides to suck a particularly dark hickey into the side of his neck. It’s all easy, smooth pleasure- fuck it, he’s seen worse PDA at parties, and at least they’re not-.

Dipper jumps, tightening the hand fisted in Bill’s hair. “Your hand’s really low right now.”

He wiggles around a bit, feeling the one hand situated on his neck, while the other one comes dangerously close to his crotch. Bill’s got a hand in between Dipper’s thighs, right below the important stuff, just rubbing up and down, up and down, making the fabric of his pants slide against his leg.

“Mmm,” Bill hums against his neck. He sounds smug, a smile pressed into Dipper’s throat.

“Your hand’s really, really low. Bill, you’re-,” Dipper stops himself then, breathing harder than he’d like when Bill slides his palm over his crotch, and just circles around. He bites Dipper’s neck, worrying the skin between his teeth.

“You are so hot, you know that? You were built to be looked at.” Bill adds pressure to the designated area, basking in the way his Pinetree’s knees jitter, like he can’t keep himself up, so quickly swept away by the sensation. There’s growing interest under Bill’s palm, and within seconds, he can lay the full of his hand against the cute cock trapped in Dipper’s left pant-leg.

Dipper huffs, because if he doesn’t huff, he’s not sure what sound he’s going to make, and that’s just the problem. “This is-. Wow, you move fast. You’re moving-. Uh-.” Dipper’s very close to drawing more attention than he needs. He ducks his head into Bill’s shoulder and bites down, stuffing his mouth full of the demon’s shirt when he can’t help but let out a slow, long groan; this damn guy’s leaning in about as close as humanly possible, and with how Bill’s going about stroking him through his pants-. Dipper gasps, lurching forward when Bill’s hand slides up, off his privates, only to slip a hand past the constraints of his belt and handle him, skin-on-skin.

Holy shit.

“Bill, we’re-,” Dipper tries, but he gets lost in the sensation. His eyes squeeze shut at the twist of Bill’s wrist; he’s hot-handed, digging past his waistband to get a fist-full of Dipper in this crowded room, and even with any number of people capable of turning around and seeing just what the demon’s doing, Dipper can’t help the tight coil in his lower abdomen. He knows what Bill’s trying to do; it’s annoying, and inappropriate, and he loves how that hand feels on him. Bill’s trying to prove a point, in the most mortifying way possible.

“Bill, we’re in public.” Dipper braces his hands on either of Bill’s shoulders; not pushing away. Trying to steady himself on shaky legs, with the hand down his pants shooting chills up his spine in tantalizing, slow strokes. Bill’s thumb swipes over the concealed slit of Dipper’s cock, chuckling against the human’s neck at the almost violent jump it does in response.

“Stop?” Bill asks coolly, stilling his hand.

A whine catches in Dipper’s throat at the sudden halt, but he swallows it down. The corner they’re in is curtained by a mosh of bodies swaying to music, puffing smoke and singing at the top of their lungs. There are people nearby, but nothing close to brushing hips or bumping shoulders, not with the way Bill’s caging them in, body to body. When Dipper peeps his eyes open, peering around, no one seems to be watching, and if anyone is, he doesn’t see them, and if he doesn’t see them, they don’t exist.

He sucks in a breath at the sight of Bill’s hand down his pants, peeking a bit of tongue out the corner of his mouth to wet his lips. This is stupid. This is probably really stupid. “...Just a minute,” Dipper says.

Bill grins. “Can’t last any longer?” he teases, starting up that slow, teasing pace he had going before. It startles a groan out of the human, hands at either side clawing the wall, like he’s clutching for something to grab onto. His mouth falls open before snapping shut, and he really needs to keep himself under control if he plans on spending any more summers in this town. Dipper bites his lip, furrowed in determination, that aroused, angry look that drives Bill crazy, bare on his face.

“Shut up,” he chokes, sliding his hands farther down the wall and wrapping one around Bill’s wrist; the one in his pants.

[...]

The Northwest’s guest bathroom isn’t nearly as luxurious as the main bedroom’s, but it’s bigger than any hotel room either of the men have hooked up in, and definitely more expensive.

The bathroom door’s knob is encrusted in intricate golden designs, peddled in tiny leaves and vines, with the whole of one great, old silver tree wrapping around it in 360. The painting that hangs over the toilet is pretentious as anything else (men on horses is one thing, but a man you know on one is something else entirely; Preston Northwest has no taste). The sink is pearly white- marble. Just above it hangs a wondrous, entirely too-large mirror framed in golden vines and leaves, just as the doorknob.

Not that either men seem to notice.

Once the door’s shut behind them, Bill has Dipper slammed against its frame, hands placed on either of his Pinetree’s hips as he grinds his waist against his. Dipper’s left hand fumbles for the knob’s lock, just barely twisting it in place before Bill’s hand is back down the front of his pants, and fuck. This demon’s impatient.

Dipper hisses at Bill’s right hand twisting in his pants, his left palming Dipper’s ass. He’s exactly zero percent slow, now that they’re alone (Bill was close to pulling Dipper’s dick out through the zipper in that corner, and he would’ve if Dipper hadn’t realized the breeze sliding over his tip). With the crowd all gone and Dipper in full agreement, it’s all Bill can do not to jump right to the good part.

He’s got an agenda, after all.

“Feels good?” Bill asks, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, in that heady way he knows his mortal likes. Dipper’s wanting to say something, but it’s hard with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, taking short, tortured breathes through his nose. Dipper rolls his hips up, trying to get a little more of that friction as he wraps his arms around the demon’s neck, which Bill loves. It’s impossible not to when he knows the guy’s practically never kept happy. At least here, like this, Dipper’s simple and easy, with every button Bill knows are good to press.

He pulls his hand off, looking smug at the noise his Pinetree makes.

“Aw, look at you.” Bill coos, running a finger down Dipper’s face. Dipper forces himself to let the lip between his teeth go, puffing out a breath as he slides against the door, braving a glare he can’t back up. “Just a hot little human trying to get off; so cute,” Bill teases, sliding his hand back over the front of Dipper’s pants.

One quick move, and the fly’s coming down, belt undone, underwear tucked neatly below his cock, and with Bill’s hand back on him, it’s hard to look ticked off.

Dipper manages.

“Ah-. God, stop talking. Just-.” Dipper’s head falls back, thighs clenching when he looks down to see that tan hand wrapped tight around his erection. He wants to compose himself- to look in control- but how to go about it when all he knows is that hot swim in his gut and a vicious smile close to devouring him whole? Bill squeezes Dipper’s hip bone, and he finds his body jerking both from and towards the pain.

“You should see yourself.” Bill presses the pad of his thumb against the underside of Dipper’s dick, watching as a bead of precum pearls at the tip. He swipes it away, and the glide of his hand becomes that much easier. “Fuck, you drive me more insane than I already am, did you know that?”

Dipper swallows a groan, running a tongue over his bottom lip where the outline of his teeth burn red. “Ugh, just- put your dick in me,” he starts. Bill laughs, but spins them around to face the mirror. He shoves Dipper against the sink, forcing him to catch himself by gripping either of the faucet’s crystal knobs.

Dipper’s eyes lock on his own reflection; his face has gone completely flushed by now, hair a mess, the erection between his legs hard as a rock, and now left unattended, what with Bill’s focus repurposed to slide either of his hands down Dipper’s ass. The image is invasive, vulgar, like he’s watching porn rather than living it, and yet he feels what this guy in the mirror’s about to experience, the hands running up and down his back, raising his designer shirt to the dip in his spine, a predatory smile cast over his shoulder from Bill’s reflection-.

He looks away.

There’s a sudden whistle from behind him as Bill, having moved Dipper’s pants down to his mid-thighs, discovers something rather interesting in his back-pocket. “You brought lube? Oh, that’s filthy,” Bill purrs, running his fingernails up Dipper’s spine, ravishing in the full-body shiver it elicits, all while his other hand pops the small bottle open.

Dipper’s face goes red from his cheeks to his chest, all the way to his shoulder blades; it’s a beautiful color, Bill thinks, wetting his fingers with said lube and rubbing circles between Dipper’s legs.

“Some of us- come prepared.” Dipper gasps at the cool press behind him, feeling two fingers drag up and down while Bill’s hand pries him open to watch. Again, he looks up at his reflection, but he has to glance away because if he doesn’t, he’s going to topple over the edge, and Bill already thinks he’s trigger happy.

He sucks in a breath as a hot finger slides inside him, peeking his head out from where it’d been resting behind folded arms to watch the steady rhythm of Bill’s hand coaxing him open.

“Trust me, you’re not prepared for this coming,” Bill jokes. Well, it’s a pun; Dipper doesn’t doubt he’s walked into yet another one of these encounters severely out-classed. “I’m gonna make you cry.”

Bill lays the whole of his chest over Dipper’s back, and with his free hand, lifts his Pinetree’s ducked head up by the chin, so his hand rests possessively around Dipper’s craned neck, and his eyes are level with his reflection’s.

It’s surreal, watching his own pleasure bloom before his eyes. This time, Dipper can’t turn away- not with Bill’s thumb digging into his cheekbone, index and ring pressing into his throat- so he shuts his eyes.

“Keep talking, and I just might,” Dipper snarks back, the hand around his throat sliding away. That gets a chuckle out of Bill, who decides to speed up the jerk of his finger until he’s practically slamming into him. A second finger slides in, and ten seconds later, there’s a third, and a very deliberate press. “Oh-.”

Dipper can’t help but curl into himself, mouth agape at that fiery pressure shooting through him. For a second, it’s all he can think about, and- eyes shot open, forehead pressed against the glass- he watches freely the congratulatory smirk curl across Bill’s lips, and his own expression, twisted in all kinds of ecstasy.

“Easy, Sapling. Don’t want them hearing you out there.” Bill rests his chin against Dipper’s shoulder, their eyes meeting in the fogged reflection of the mirror. Looking Dipper in the eye while he takes him apart, and seeing that resolve break just at the prompt of Bill’s dominance, is always fantastic. But seeing Dipper’s gaze, and then seeing the whole of himself, how completely and entirely he’s incapacitated his Pinetree, made him submissive, easy and malleable as any other conquest, is an entirely new sensation.

Oh, he likes this.

Bill leans up, just a bit, to push Dipper’s shirt above the shoulder blades. “Hands behind your back,” he commands.

The pause lasts only a moment, with the line of Dipper’s back going rigid in first alert, then arousal. His eyes trail the reflection of Bill behind him, who’s taking the undone belt from his designer pants, pulling it from its loops with obvious intent; he’s holding it in his free hand, and with his other, twists and presses so hard that Dipper yelps.

There’s a lip between his teeth, then there’s not, and Dipper finds himself slowly folding his hands behind his back. He swallows, layering Bill with expectation.

“I’m trusting you,” Dipper says finally; he can’t help his heart leaping in his throat as Bill takes the belt in his hands and binds either of Dipper’s wrists behind his back.

“Bad idea.” Bill punctuates the statement by cinching the leather tight, and then looping it several times, keeping the excess leather clutched in his fist. “Unless you’re trying to get fucked an inch from your life, that is.”

Dipper can’t see from this angle, but he absolutely feels Bill’s fingers slide out of him, and hears the purr of a zipper being undone. Seconds later, there’s a firm, thick length nestled between his cheeks; he shivers when Bill pulls back, tapping his cock just below Dipper’s tailbone before lining up and leaning in.

“Oh,” Dipper can’t help the bubbling sound that escapes him, practically pushed out of his chest. He hisses between his teeth, forehead leaning against the faucet, the sweat of his skin dotting the back of his neck before sliding to dangle at his Adam's apple. He swallows, and the sweat flicks off.

“Mmm, look at that; your body opens up so easily for me.” Bill places a hand against the back of Dipper’s neck, using the grip- along with the hold he has on his bound wrists- to lead further in. His Pinetree’s just so tight. It’s almost painful, looking down and seeing the hot stretch that surrounds him, trying desperately to suck him in. Bill rocks his hips and nearly loses himself to the high-pitch whine it drags out of Dipper. It’s fucking sinful, is what it is.

After what feels like forever, he bottoms out with a snap, feeling the body beneath him writhe, arms straining at his bound wrists, panting and shifting and suddenly so overwhelmed by the thick length nestled inside him; not pressing, but bumping close to where he actually wants it to hit. Dipper arches his spine, trying to move back on Bill’s cock, but the grip of his nape is firm, and when Bill pulls out, he pulls out slow.

“Bill-,” Dipper gasps, trying to turn from his own reflection to the demon behind him, but Bill’s grip is impossibly tight in his hair. He pushes back in, pulls out, and then snaps forward hard, making sure Dipper sees his own twisted expression.

“You're so good. Just a perfect little-.” Bill growls into his ear, bending forward to sink his teeth into the side of Dipper’s neck.

“Oh my god, please-.” The belt holding Dipper’s hands in place is starting to dig into his wrists, but it’s nothing compared to the painful throb of his cock; if he grinds forward, there’s nothing but smooth, unblemished marble, and if he grinds back-.

Bill’s no help, obviously.

“Everyone wants a piece of this, but only I can have it; isn’t that right?” Bill takes a second to himself to ease into a quick rhythm- Dipper pants and moves back on it, like he’ll die without it- before slowing down again. The sound his Pinetree makes-.

Dipper thinks he’s the one being tortured here; he has no idea the finesse that goes into Bill’s work.

“Fuck-. Bill, fuck me; fuck me, come on,” Dipper goes on to say, each word breathy, the hands behind his back clenching into tight fists. He’s shaking now- literally shaking- he feels light-headed at the angle he’s being fucked at, red-faced, and every last drop of blood directed towards his dick. It’s awful. It’s fantastic.

Bill lets go of his nape, sliding his hand instead around Dipper’s throat, pulling him up from his folded position so his chest is on full display; a long, taut stretch of Dipper’s stomach, his cock curved and aching with precum, and his knees buckling as Bill rocks into him. Dipper wants so badly to act in control, but right now, with the image he makes in the mirror, he’ll be lucky to walk away from this with even half his pride.

He doesn’t really care.

The hand around Dipper’s neck squeezes; there’s nowhere to look but ahead, and he sees himself, shivering, red from temple to thighs, practically splitting his lip open with how hard he’s biting down. Each slow, calculated rock works a muffled moan out of him, grinding against that really good spot, and he watches, mortified but entranced, as his face shifts into one he’s never seen before.

It’s one Bill’s seen a thousand times though, and at a thousand and one, still loses his composure. He snaps his hips once, stirring around to draw out yet another tight whine from his Pinetree, before deciding he’s played it slow long enough.

“Eyes on the price, sapling.” Bill directs Dipper’s gaze forward, starting up a brutal pace.

Dipper’s body convulses at the sudden speed, every muscle clenching up, chest heaving like it’s impossible to breath in his position, and a hand wrapped tight around his throat- it might actually be hard to breath, but that’s the least of his worries now.

Bill’s cock drags mercilessly over his prostate, trailing over and over again (if he was trying to drive Dipper insane, this would be the way to do it). With the grip Bill has on him, squeezing but not choking, arms behind his back, Dipper can hardly shift around, let alone angle, just having to take the long, invasive strokes as they come.

“Bill, Bill, Bill-,” Dipper starts to chant, head falling back on the demon’s shoulder as the building pressure inside him becomes unbearable. He feels it right through his cock, zapping electricity as his body braces for a release Bill’s yet to provide him. The hand around his throat tightens, and his head lifts from Bill’s shoulder.

Their reflection is obscene.

“See that?” Bill grits through his teeth, slamming into the body before him until Dipper’s practically impaled. He sucks in a hiss, taking the hand not around Dipper’s throat, and placing it at the human’s hip; moving him back on his cock with the glide of his wrist. “This is what I see; just you, completely gone, taking what I give you,” he breaths into Dipper’s ear, meeting his gaze in the mirror’s reflection.

Dipper’s mouth falls open with a moan, and Bill can’t help but smile at the sheer volume- that’s one way to get caught. The hand that’d been wrapped around his throat clamps tightly over his mouth, leaning them forward so one of Dipper’s legs ends up propped on the sink’s countertop, fucking into him with new-found vigor. Like this, Bill’s cock goes from sliding against him, to hitting with such accuracy, it nearly hurts.

Dipper cries out against Bill’s hand, straining against the belt, but it doesn’t budge. He stares wide-eyed at his reflection, and nearly comes when he notices the tears streaming down his own face.

Bill did say he’d make him cry, but this is so much more than what he thought he could handle.

“And you always look so grateful for my cock,” Bill purrs. His thrusts are becoming more erratic, but he keeps his eye on the mirror at all times. “Doesn’t take much-.” He hisses. “-To satisfy you. Not with a dick down your throat.”

Bill’s cock punches his prostate, and Dipper has to fight to keep up. The position they’re in now has him practically chest-to-chest with the mirror, shoving him up with every hard thrust from behind. Bill’s not letting up, regardless of the heavy puffing of his chest, eye lidded and glazed. If anything, it means he’s going harder, faster; fucking Dipper like he hates him, and Dipper loves that.

Bill takes the hand rocking Dipper’s hips, and moves it to the front, just above Dipper’s cock. There’s shifting around on Dipper’s end, bare interest when he sees those fingers, how close they are to brushing over him, how close he is to reaching his peak. His hips tilt up, trying to bump against them, but Bill lays the hand flat across Dipper’s stomach.

When Bill presses down with the ball of his palm, thank god for the hand over Dipper’s mouth. He actually squeals.

Oh god. Oh god.

Dipper can feel him there.

Inside, thrusting up, bare pressure behind the skin of his belly, and when Bill pushes against it, there’s a hot flash running all throughout his system. Bill is literally-. He’s-. He’s right there, and with the way Dipper’s stretched out, his back pressed into Bill’s chest, he can even see the slight dent created with each of the demon’s thrust.

He’s so deep inside him.

He wants Dipper that much.

Dipper writhes, straining against the belt holding his arms back, coming with a long whale while his body shakes at the intense throb of his cock. His hips buck out at the continual assault of his prostate, huffing and breathing; it lasts longer than he’s sure is normal. Once the climax subsides, he goes completely limp, just leaning into the thrusts with weak little wimpers.

“So hot, just so-. Fuck,” Bill bites, shooting into Dipper at the sight of his climax. Dipper lets out a small whine, his spent cock jumping uselessly. The demon rocks his hips forward, milking his finish for everything it’s worth.

They stay like that for a while, both puffing, sweaty, looking over each other like they’re some new discoveries. Bill slides out after a moment, working to undo the constraint of Dipper’s wrists.

“In case you couldn’t tell, that was meant to boost your ego,” Bill huffs a laugh, slipping the leather off. Dipper’s hands spring out from either side, rotating round at the tight feeling locking either wrist up.

“Hmm,” Dipper hums, sliding his eyes shut, completely exhausted. He sets his arms out in front of him, and they jitter. Okay. That was-.

Wow.

He opens his eyes again, and stares at himself. A lip curls in before sliding back out. Leaning off the sink’s countertop, Dipper can’t help but notice the yellowing bruise left on his waist from Bill’s tight grip, the bite mark on his neck. He looks like a mess.

Bill seems to like that though, for whatever reason, and who’s Dipper to look a gift horse in the mouth? Regardless of how he feels, there’s at least one person who finds him attractive; that’s more than enough.

Dipper shrugs, a slight smile on his lips when Bill comes up from behind, wrapping his arms around the human’s waist. There’s a very good ache inside him.

“You should go into motivational speaking,” he jokes. Bill laughs.

“You couldn’t pay me to fuck anyone else the way I fuck you; you’re spoiled as is,” he replies, placing a kiss against Dipper’s neck. It’s warm and soft. He leans into it, smiling.

“Good. I don’t want you to.” Dipper looks up at the demon and can’t help but snort into the kiss levied across his lips.

He pulls away, working to fasten his pants back around his waist; Pacifica’s probably wondering where they ran off to…

On second thought, she probably knows.

#Billdip #Gravity Falls #Dipper Pines #Bill Cipher #One shot #This is dedicated to a few sick bastards #I'll be sure to send my love out to y'all #Also tswwwit because they are literally so inspiring it gets me wanting to write like all the damn time #Hope everyone's Christmas is going well!#Dipper does not see his sexy nature but Bill sure as hell does #that is all that matters

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ciaran-archive · 3 years

Note

Sorry to pry but can you elaborate on the authenticity post and what you don’t like about Ender’s Game? I don’t mean this in an accusatory way btw I genuinely wanna hear you complain about it.

WHY YES I WOULD LOVE TO BITCH ABOUT ENDER'S GAME

my fatal flaw as a person is that i cannot stop thinking about ender's game . like this book lives in my head in a way that far better books i've read just don't and i think that's partly because it did so much to me.

i read it when i was, 13, i think? like. i was just kind of figuring out that i was queer, i was weirdly uncomfortably obsessed with m/m relationships, even the vaguest implication of lesbianism made me feel sick and awful, i was pretty depressed, i had very few friends, and i wasn't....in a good place at all.

and i read ender's game and it kind of maybe saved my life? it showed me that being alone and being lonely weren't inherently a death sentence. it allowed me something i still don't have a name for. ender and valentine and peter felt like facets of a reality i nearly had, and in their reflection i could be something more like myself. who knows where i would have been but for ender's game!

it also fucked me up so bad.

one of the core messages of ender's game - and of a lot of OSC's other work - is that you cannot be truly Original, and you can't Create Anything Worth Creating, if you derive from the work of others. to make something Really Great you must isolate all your creativity and not allow anything else to influence it or it will be tainted and suspect forever. like not in those words but in that essence, that was clearly one of the subtexts of the book.

the other core message is "it is necessary for adults to hurt children; it is irresponsibly stupid as a child, especially a clever child, to trust that adults will ever not hurt you" and combined with the valorized loneliness of the first message it kind of.......still messes me up? and one of the reasons it fucked me up was because i was so bad at adhering to its lessons.

and that's my problem with ender's game at the end of the day: it's like drinking nuclear waste water when you're dying of thirst. like yeah it'll save your life but it'll also teach you how to justify doing the worst things possible (to yourself and others) and i was damned lucky that fiction was my first outlet for those urges and justifications because good god i don't like thinking about what it would've been like directed at myself without any barriers! and it was pretty bad even so!

OSC is also wildly unreasonably and rabidly homophobic so there's, uh, that. To Deal With.

the thing about authenticity is that it doesn't really exist. there's no true self, only selves less articulated or entirely unacknowledged for whatever reasons. sometimes those selves aren't given form because they have nothing to do with us. but we exist in a constant state of becoming; we are built in relation to our surroundings, and we can never strive to be free of influence. isolation is its own form of torture.

there are no authentic cultures either, only arbitrary markers we place in our pasts to delineate the "real" from the "influences" like every culture isn't a snapshot of its moment in time. things are always changing and turning into something new. they rarely become more "themselves" because the idea that you can strip away everything an outsider gave you and still end up with something either real or worth having is....kind of sad, really? do you want to know the person you are without everyone you've ever loved?

it's one thing to talk about capitalism and the commodification of the self and cults of personality and another to act like the very act of articulating your identity in a series of labels/aesthetics/shiny online things inherently corrupts your "soul". this process exists offline also; we are always building ourself to be approved of or disapproved of or reacted to or ignored by the people around us.

but people get really bogged down in the idea of authenticity and the specter of a real self that can be accessed by jumping through various hoops (go offline! go on instagram! make a succulent garden! get a tiktok! buy this thing!). and then they start acting superior because they don't need the internet to feel like their "real self" - as a friend said, sounds like they have a surprising amount of ability to be their real self with parents and bosses and cops - like i'm sorry! some of us are queer and trans and autistic and can't access an offline social group! and even if i did i would prefer to be online a lot of the time: the internet is full of spaces where i'm safe and in control, and that's just harder irl. and my experiences aren't any less valuable than those of someone with different ones.

...anyway, that's on authenticity.

#asks #anon

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kallulovesu · 2 years

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Hello! As recently Hetalia introduce the 4 members of ASEAN aka South East Asia, may I request for yandere Philippines, Indonesia, Singapore and Malaysia? Like how they treat their darlings or how did it end up them raking their darlings?

(A/N:) *cracks knuckles*no gifs of them so we gotta improvise

(C/W:) mentions of kidnapping, murder, stalking. General stuff you’d find in yandere content.

It was nearly comical how fast it was for him to develop a huge crush on you, having to take but a few glances to conclude that he already wanted to get to know you. Not necessarily in a ‘love at first sight way’ but more so that he found you really, reaaaaallyyyy....cute and that he definitely wanted to know more about you already, if I’m even making sense.

meeting you— maybe you were a new coworker who so happened to catch his attention! Or perhaps you were associated with one of his friends, prompting him to try and get to know you better. There were so many ways he could meet you! All probably ending up the same because of his incapability to really leave you alone.

He’s a real clinger...always close by your side whenever the two of you so happen to be somewhere together, or otherwise keeping close contact with you if he wasn’t able to be there physically. He realizes some may react differently to his affections. Perhaps you’re the type to accept him easily, or maybe you’re the type that likes distancing themselves more? It ultimately doesn’t really matter to him, he’ll treat you all the same! Though he can get a bit forceful if you continuously reject him on and on.

An obsessive yandere. Philippines is always out to know every little thing about you, such as what your hobbies were, what you did for a living, what shampoo you used— there isn’t a moment where you aren’t plaguing his mind in one way or another. He often likes going through your social media whenever he’s on a break during a job, checking on what you were up to and wondering if you missed him the way he missed you. One would even imagine him to be the delusional type with the way he tends to daydream about you, although he’s more self aware than he lets on.

Call him selfish (he totally is) but he really, really doesn’t like seeing you around others. It was a mild feeling at first— one that rapidly grew the more he fell in love with you. He couldn’t stand seeing you talk with just anyone for too long if he was accompanying you, often pulling you away from them if he felt like things were becoming too friendly for his liking. Let him be damned if he let some nobody take your attention away from him!

Which is why I don’t think it’s too hard to imagine him eventually kidnapping his beloved. He can be an awfully selfish man when need to be, unable to share things that he saw as his; like a toddler that has issues sharing their toys. He truly didn’t see why you even bothered with those other than himself...he was the only one that you needed, the only one that would stay loyal to you until the end of time. Although the only way to get this across your head was directly showing it, which he was more than glad to do.

It would be a fast progress— with him leaking a fabricated rumor about you and sending it to a few of your peers. It barely took a few days for the information to spread like wildfire, all without your knowledge. It was cute seeing you fret over what you possibly could’ve done for those around you to suddenly give you the cold shoulder, only leaving him to happily listen to your worries. He’d reassure you through it all, giving you the support you needed throughout all of this.

It was the perfect plan, and he wouldn’t even need to lay a hand on anyone in best case scenario. You would come to him all by yourself, only needing a little push before you were completely his. Maybe he would go one step further and try to coercing you into staying at his home for a...few days to calm down, or he could always use a little more force if you refused.

Philippines makes sure to pamper you as much as he can now that you’re in the comforts of his own home! Always having items, clothes and even various foods that he’s willing to present whenever he feels like you’ve been good to him— although do expect him to want something in return. That usually being your attention and affections, which he’s getting even if you didn’t want to cooperate. aka expect him to randomly cuddle you because he feels like it.

He doesn’t punish you often; usually letting things slide with a short, but effective warning, though he isn’t above using other means of putting you back in your place if things got too out of hand for his liking. Making sure that they were enough to get his message across, and that you thought twice about going against him in the future.

Is definitely capable of killing another if he sees them as too big of an obstacle— even going to the extra mile and doing it in front of you if he felt like you needed to be thought a lesson. But the possibility of him actually doing so is rather small, with him not really liking the idea of dirtying his hands with blood when he could spend that time being by your side. . .

For Indonesia...I could see the two of you meeting in more casual circumstances; with him being a frequent visitor of a small shop/cafe that your guardians own. Having gotten to know you and your family for years, yet only recently starting to develop real feelings.

It would take him a while to fully fall for you— or simply figure out and accept his feelings if we’re being honest, because surely a nation wasn’t supposed to feel this way for a human? It had pretty much been a mindset he held for the majority of his life, and wasn’t planning on breaking it any time soon. Which is why...he doesn’t really talk with you outside of business, in fear that the love which he saw as taboo only growing if he were to get too close, ending up in something bad for the both of you. It hurt. And perhaps only worsened a few things, but it must’ve been done.

...although that plan fell down the drain when one of his companions, presumably Philippines was to get ahold of what’s happening. He’ll pretty much make it his job to get the two of you to connect together, setting up plans for the both of you, and making sure his friend held actual conversations outside of business lol

It was ridiculous, but hey, it worked! Indonesia will warm up to you after a while; finally able to talk with you without being too awkward and hanging out without the pressure of a certain someone.

He’d never truly have the courage to confess, but just being around you felt enough.

He’s a more protective yandere. Too self aware and the type to care about your well being more than his own, thus unable to be labeled as selfish, nor delusional. His protectiveness has probably gotten the two of you labeled as a couple more than a few times due to the behavior he exhibits around you— and there’s a chance that you, yourself will see your relationship as romantic after having noticed his behavior. Probably leaving some confusion on what exactly you two are; but that didn’t entirely matter. He had you, and that was enough for him.

Stalking wasn’t something that he liked to do. Indonesia was fine with watching over you as much as possible if it meant keeping you from harm’s way— but even stalking seemed like a bit too much for him. he didn’t want to cross any boundaries that you had set for him yet. You already did trust him, sharing more than enough personal info with him whenever you wanted to, so why rush it? There were many ways to keep you in check, but this one just wasn’t preferred.

There’s also the fact that he’s terrible at doing so. He’s too awkward, and probably risks getting caught a lot due to how suspicious he could look at the moment...

Trust; in general, was a large part of your relationship. Probably being the thing that’s stopping him from locking you up because of how worried he was for your well being at times— Which is why he can...panic a little if he feels like that bond of trust is being threatened. For example; if you were to see someone other than him romantically, or maybe it’s from your side? Maybe you were growing more suspicious of his behavior around you, prompting you to distance yourself away from him.

What could he do? He isn’t fond of the idea of kidnapping you. It felt unfair to do so, especially with how selfish his reasons were— but he felt like there really was no other choice with there being a chance of losing you if he didn’t act fast enough. Would he regret it? Sure, but he wasn’t thinking properly in the heat of all of this. He would take you at night and bring you back to his home while you were asleep; preferably not using anything funny during this, though might take some extra measures if he knows you’re a light sleeper.

Life with him wouldn’t be so bad, if you forgot about the kidnapping part of course. Indonesia tended to you however he could, taking care of the majority of things in the house while you could stay there and so...basically nothing. Only having to lounge around and wait for him to get home from whatever business he had, or being a cuddle buddy for when he was home. There won’t be many rules set in place; with you being free to walk around and do whatever you wanted to as long as you stayed. You could pout, yell at him as much as you wanted to— but he wouldn’t do much in return, only letting you vent out your anger as he tried his best to listen.

It was frustrating how calmly he handled it all, making you feel like the bad guy here.

Indonesia isn’t too big on punishing you, disliking the sight of seeing you in pain even if it was inflicted by him— thus keeps his hands off of you, opting to isolate you for a short period of time if things actually got out of hand. There might be some threats, although a lot of them were only to scare you into submission.

You’d almost think he’d be above killing someone for you with how tame he seems. . .but he really isn’t, only being decent enough to keep you unaware of it. All was better like that.

Manipulationgalore

Singapore wasn’t the type to believe in love at first sight; only really thinking of it as something silly, something that only a fool would believe in, which was why meeting you felt so— groundbreaking. Feelings like these weren’t new to him. Having fallen in love more than a few times already, although it was the first time in a while that this felt so intense, only encouraging him to pursue a possible relationship with you.

Yet...he doesn’t really rush it, feeling like it would only be rash of him to do so. There wasn’t much he knew of you at the moment, and he was afraid of ruining what chances he had of having you by a small mistake he could’ve avoided by doing his research. It would only prompt him to use force, and doing so this early felt wrong. The two of you have already met, yes, but only by a friend or acquaintance introducing you both. No words except for greetings were exchanged between the two of you, much to his dismay.

There were all those reasons, and that he just liked watching you from afar.

It was interesting to see how you’d act when facing various situations. displaying behaviors that you would never show around him, or anyone else. Also being an easy way to gather information about you, which helped with his previous issue. I’m guessing that this will all go on for about a month or so, that short period of time already being enough for him to gather a satisfactory amount of information. You’ll also be starting to notice that something around you was off by then, which is why to him, it was better to act now than to go further with this. Would be bad news if you already found him out....

an obsessive and manipulative yandere, probably with a little tinge of controlling behavior too. Singapore truly, truly believes the two of you were made for each other when you had first peaked his interest, (not many were able to!) but as I said, he didn’t want to rush things. Gradually trying to get closer to you by using the information he had gathered about you; your likes, dislikes... anything that he could use to cater to you more and eventually getting closer to you. You’ll be right where he wants you to be if he played his cards right, barely a few steps away from fully having you.

But lying could only get one so far, it was only a matter of time until you found out about all he has done. He was good at manipulation— great even, making you turn a blind eye to things in your life that you definitely should’ve paid more attention to, but it would be too late by the time you did. You always did wonder why your close friends seemed to distance themselves from you recently, seemingly terrified at even the sight of you. He told you not to worry about it, to simply ignore them for he was there with you, wasn’t that enough?

You did as he said. Singapore was always a nice person to you, so surely what he said must’ve held some truth in it?

Which was why it frightened you once finding out everything. You trusted him, enough to possibly have gone in a relationship with him; which is what made this all the more disheartening. The fact that you played into his games so easily. Clueless of the stalking, the threats.

He didn’t expect you to find out. His acting was good, even if he had to say so himself...so he thought that this would go on for as long as the two of you were together, but hey, his job was done! He didn’t even need to pretend anymore now that you were right where he wanted you to be— only having to grab you and go.

Most of your time spent with him is in pure isolation; as in no internet, no media, no nothing. He wants to be the very center of your attention now that nothing stood in his way anymore! You did act a bit too messy for his liking at first, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t fix with enough discipline.

Is very quick to give out punishments. Singapore doesn’t want to risk the possibility of you getting too ahead of yourself, and makes sure to remind you of your place whenever things get too out of hand in his opinion. He could very well break the subject of his affection with the way he handles you— and wouldn’t entirely mind doing so. He liked your usual self, but having you fully depend on him felt awfully desirable.

Similarly to Philippines; he doesn’t like murdering others due to the effort it’ll take. Blackmail usually did the job to keep others away, which he preferred. It was always amusing seeing others fear him with the information he found through a little digging!

it will take some time before he really starts feeling something romantic between the two of you. Malaysia is the type to prioritize platonic relationships over romantic ones first— often forgetting about the latter, which was why it took him a while to realize how he truly felt about you.

I’m going to be unoriginal and say...that the two of you were old friends, already having known each other for a while before all of this started. He was easy to get along with, a pretty cool guy if you got used to how passionate he could be! It really did feel like you were inseparable, always being there for the other. Who would’ve known that him catching the feels for you was enough to put the precious friendship you had to shambles,

I don’t think there was a specific reason of him suddenly falling in love— more so just him having a sudden realization when taking a glance at you and noticing that you looked really, reaaalllyyyy beautiful and wondering why he never noticed how cute you were before! His glance turned into a full on stare before he know it, with him only stopping when you called him out.

What first felt like a small crush suddenly ascended into something way more in a matter of time, his feelings becoming painfully obvious with the way he acted around you. Although...it was a shame you didn’t really like him that way, and you didn’t know how to tell him since he truly did seem passionate about winning you over, convinced that you’d love him back as long as he did whatever you wanted him to.

But being honest, he wouldn’t listen to you even if you did tell him. He was sure that he could win your love in one way or another!

An obsessive and delusional one. Malaysia is the type of yandere to seem more like a follower than anything else...not even minding if you were to use him for your own benefit at one point— he just wanted your love and was convinced he could win it over if he did what you wanted him to. So won’t you give him a chance?

I don’t really think anyone would be surprised at this point if I were to say that he’s a stalker but anyways. He likes to keep an eye for you to see if you’re safe, and because he just loves you so much that the time he usually spends with you just isn’t enough! Keeping track of your social media, watching you from a window, he does it all.

Which reminds me! He has also developed a certain fondness of collecting your things; be it something simple such as pens, charms or more personal belongings. Most of them securely kept in a drawer back at home with at least one staying in his pocket for good measure. It reminds him of you whenever he’s away, happy to have a small part of you with him wherever he goes.

He’s content with this, and most likely won’t resort to kidnapping you for a long time if all goes well; although won’t think twice about doing so if he notices that you’re drifting away from him or are getting closer to someone more than he’d like you to. Malaysia wouldn’t really plan it...simply doing what he felt was best, even if it was hasty. Which is why the whole process of kidnapping might be messy in itself, but hey, he was able to get you in the end :)

And just like that, his pampering becomes worse now that you’re in the comforts of his own home. He was aware that you were upset at him of all people— but it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t safe out there, and he was only doing you a favor by protecting you from those that were out to hurt you. Although he isn’t so cruel as to completely isolate you from the world, you’d only receive extra...guidance whenever you went outside.

His punishments can be, well, hefty. He doesn’t often lay a hand on you in that kind of way but it’s necessary if you were going to be difficult! It usually starts by a threat, one that you wouldn’t think was serious until he quite literally breaks a limb,

He did feel guilty, somewhat. But he reassured himself by promising that everything would be better once you learned your lesson. Malaysia also makes sure to give you more space than usual when that happens!

Doesn’t particularly mind murdering those that stand in his way either. You were really special to him— thus wouldn’t have an issue resorting to different methods to keep undesirable people away from you. He swears it’s to protect you!

#this request was nice to do thankbu anon #AND SORRY FOR THE DELAY AHEHE #Yandere Philippines #yandere Indonesia #yandere Singapore #yandere Malaysia #Yandere aph asean

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