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withacapitalp · 1 year

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(Okay I saw a post about a premise similar to this but I cannot find it for the life of me. Anyway I loved it so much that I had to write a version of it myself. A post s2 AU!) Now with Part Two

Steve was never exactly the most perceptive person in the world.

He missed all of the signals that Nancy had given him, every sign that had pointed to their failing relationship. He hadn’t seen the moments that proved she was right about everything going on in their town either. Steve overlooked important details in his college applications, and took shots in basketball that almost always missed. He even sometimes walked right into walls these days, because his spacial awareness had kinda been shot since Billy smashed a plate over his head fifteen days ago.

A lot of that could be forgiven, but, this…

Well this was a little bit obtuse, even for him.

“You know you’re sitting at our table, right, King Steve?”

Steve looked up from his Tuna Surprise, resisting the urge to flinch at both the blinding light from the windows in the cafeteria and the nickname he hated so much. Eddie Munson stared back, carrying a lunch tray in one hand and his signature metal lunch box in the other.

“Your humble court is awaiting you on the haves side of this blessed cookery. This side is where the dweebs and the nerds parlay. A single place we get a reprieve from the endless bombardment of the average” Munson continued, flinging his arms to and fro, gesturing to the group of teens behind him who were staring at Steve like he was dirt under the bottom of their shoes.

He hadn’t understood the majority of what Eddie had just said to him, but those looks were enough to give Steve the gist. He was not welcome here.

“Sorry,” He muttered, grabbing his tray and sliding it to the other end of the table. He took a deep breath the second he was alone again, letting the tension melt away from his body as he collapsed back in his seat.

Even though he was no longer welcome to sit at his old table, Steve probably could have gone and eaten in the library with Nancy and Jonathan. They had awkwardly invited him to join them a few times since everything had gone down, but he always said no.

It was better this way. Better to be alone. Better to not have to watch the two of them try and hide how much happier they were now that they could be together. They deserved that happiness, Nancy deserved that happiness, and Steve refused to be the one to make her try and stifle any of that.

He had hurt her enough already.

“What happened to your face?”

Once again Eddie dragged Steve out of his thoughts. He was standing over Steve’s head, nearly hovering on top of him, watching Steve like he was trying to work him out. Like Steve was a particularly complex puzzle that he could solve just with his eyes.

Nancy had always looked at him that way. Steve had hated it when it was her, and he hated it even more coming from Munson now.

“Got into a fight,” Steve grunted, stabbing at his shitty cafeteria food and hoping that his abrasiveness would be enough to get Munson to leave him alone.

He wasn’t exactly sure what he could say now that they had all signed another round of NDAs, but he was pretty sure even talking about this was toeing the line. It was safer all around to get Eddie to go away as quickly as possible.

It wouldn’t be all that hard. Usually all it took were a few well placed bitchy comments to get people to see the picture and give up on him. The only group of people who hadn’t been perturbed by Steve’s spikiness was the kids. They had shown up at his house pretty much daily since the gate had closed, and had even taken to begging on him for rides to and from school.

Dustin in particular seemed determined to stay latched onto him like a barnacle, but Steve found that he didn’t really mind their clinginess.

It was nice to be needed, even if it was only a group of pre-teen smartasses.

“With who?” Eddie asked, leaning his hip on the table next to Steve and crossing his arms over his chest, “Cause Billy Hargrove is telling everyone he can that he beat your ass for messing with his sister,”

“I would never do something like that,” Steve shot back instantly, feeling the fading bruises on his face twinge as his jaw clenched in fury. He couldn’t help the words spilling out of his mouth, unable to stop them, “Billy’s a racist jackass who tried to put his hands on one of my fucking kids,”

Shit.

“There is…so many confusing parts of that sentence,” Eddie stated, blinking in shock.

“Whatever,” Steve murmured, biting his cheek to stop himself from saying anything more and hunching his shoulders up around his ears. They weren’t exactly his kids, per say, but Steve was invested in keeping them safe now. The idea of doing anything to hurt any of them was painful, and the thought of Billy spreading that kind of rumor made bile rise up in his throat.

Fuck Billy. Fuck this. Fuck his life honestly.

“Look, Munson, I’m really not in the mood right now,” Steve sighed, hating how weary he sounded. It would have been better to fight his way out of this. Steve was crappy at fighting though, and there wasn’t much spirit left in him. Not after two weeks of perpetual stress and tension.

“Harrington-”

“I moved down, I’m not in your way, isn’t that good enough?” Steve bit out, halfway to just grabbing his tray and throwing it in the trash. He was barely eating anyway, might as well go to the gym to shoot some hoops instead of sitting here being interrogated by drug dealing extraordinaire, Eddie goddamn Munson.

Couldn’t he just let Steve eat in peace? Everything else was already so goddamn difficult these days. Could Steve at least manage to eat a mediocre meal without the entire world demanding something from him?

By the grace of whatever god was potentially out there, Eddie took the hint, pushing off of his resting place and stalking back over to his group of weirdos on the other side. Steve let his eyes slip shut and dragged in a heavy breath, utterly exhausted.

He was contemplating skipping the rest of the day and going home to sleep when a blue plastic tray identical to the one in front of him bumped his right hand

“What are you doing?” Steve wondered aloud, raising his eyebrows and fixing Eddie with a confused look as he sat down right next to Steve and began to dig into his meal.

“Eating lunch alone sucks?” Eddie offered, shoveling Tuna Surprise into his mouth and shuddering, pushing the rest of the disgusting concoction to the far side of his tray, “Plus I’m hoping that if I get in your good graces you’ll give me your pudding cup,”

Steve stared at him for a few more moments, waiting for whatever prank was about to be pulled. But Eddie didn’t budge, continuing to eat around his main dish with strange efficiency and ignoring Steve’s gaze.

“Go nuts,” He finally said, offering the plastic container over to Eddie who grabbed it and gave Steve a big smile

“Mazel Tov, Eddie said, hoisting the pudding aloft and tearing into it, “So, you have children?”

“I- I babysit,” Steve stammered out, completely perplexed by the strange set of circumstances that was playing out in front of him. Eddie paused with his spoon midair in front of him.

“You babysit,” He repeated, turning his head towards Steve. The younger teen nodded and Eddie hummed. He put his pudding down and licked his spoon clean. When he was done, he hefted it aloft, bringing it down on the back of his right hand with a smack that echoed all around the cafeteria.

“Ouch!” Eddie yelped, flapping his hand around in the air to try and get rid of the sting. Steve looked frantically to and fro as the rest of the room stared at them, whispering behind their hands.

“Why would you-”

“Had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming,” Eddie explained, interrupting Steve’s furious whisper with a breathless little laugh, “Because I just heard the words ‘I babysit’ come out of King Steve’s mouth,”

“Would you cut it out with the King stuff?” Steve snapped, beginning to lose his appetite, “It’s been a while since I was King of anything, and it was a stupid fucking idea to begin with,”

There was a beat of awkward silence as Eddie gave him another one of those soul searching looks.

“What are you doing Thursday afternoon?” He finally asked when he found whatever he was looking to find. Steve startled, dropping his fork.

What kind of question was that?

Was Munson asking him on some sort of date?!

“I’m…benched from basketball ‘cause of my concussion. So nothing, I guess,” Steve said cautiously, carefully picking his words and trying to avoid the spike of hurt that shot along his chest as he said them.

It wasn’t much, but basketball was one of the only things Steve really thought he was genuinely good at. Not having it was kind of pure torture.

Almost as bad as not having Nancy in his life anymore.

“In that case, come to Hellfire,” Eddie offered, glancing at the clock on the wall and grabbing both of their trays. Steve scrambled to grab his backpack, hefting it onto one shoulder and jogging to keep up with Eddie.

“What?”

“Hellfire?” Eddie repeated, dumping their trash into the bin and stacking the trays next to it, “It’s the club I run,”

“What is it?” Steve asked, curious but unwilling to commit just yet. There was still a part of him that was kind of convinced all of this was some elaborate ruse to fuck with him.

But before Eddie could say anything the bell chimed all around them. The rest of the student population moved as one, and the sound in the lunchroom immediately went from dull roar to cacophonous mess. Steve’s left ear started to ring again, and he winced, shying away from the sudden noise.

“You’ll have to come and see,” Eddie said, waggling his eyebrows, completely ignorant to Steve’s pain. He turned on his heel, raising a hand in a wave behind him as he loped towards the rest of his friend group.

“Thursday after school! In the drama room, don’t be late!”

#Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #Steddie au #Steve joins hellfire au #post s2 #st #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #Nancy wheeler #post stancy breakup #Liam speaks up #Writing(withacapitalW)

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ripdragonbeans · 3 months

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All Mine // Darkish!Aemond x Twin!Reader

A/N this is my first time writing canon and darkish Aemond so it's a little rough

CW: light choking, talk of indefinitely (only talk, no actual indefinitely), spanking, breeding kink, afab reader, profanity, canon typical incest

When Aegon II died it was Aemond who took the crown to be king. And what a king he was. He ruled with an iron fist and left little to no room to waste time. Unlike his brother, Aemond wanted to rule Westeros and lusted for the iron throne. He used to desire you constantly but since he took the throne that has since been cast aside.

Once he took the throne that was all he could think of, where his focus would be. Even when it was just the two of you in your bedchambers you could tell his attention was not solely on you. Gone were the evenings of bliss with your dear husband. Gone were the stolen kisses and the secret meetings in the library. Now it was all small council meetings and the like.

Like many nights, you stood by the window; your back to the interior of the room. You stared out into the night and wondered when you'd have your Lord husband to yourself again. Just the two of you.

You heard the door creek open and could not help but stiffen at the noise.

“Good evening, husband,” you quietly said. You turned around only to hear him grunt as he took off his clothes, ready for the end of the night.

You loved how he looked at the end of the day, disheveled from work, taking off the mask of a newly crowned king. If only it would be constant.

“How was your day?” You asked as you stepped forward to help him.

Aemond held up a hand to stop you from getting too close. He did not want help, similar to the lack of help he desired nowadays.

“Please, I wish to help in any way I can. I miss you, I miss spending time with you, Aemond. Let me do this for you.”

“I do not need help,” he said curtly. “You are my wife. All that you need to do now is produce an heir. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But what if I want to do more?”

“I said no. There are more pressing matters than how often we lay together. An heir, one heir is all that is needed, wife.”

You stared at Aemond, shocked and upset.

“What has happened to you? You become a king and suddenly I am nothing to you! Are you seeing a whore? Is that what it is?”

Aemond shot up and in three quick strides he was in front of you, his hand around your neck.

“Do not dare,” he leaned in so close you could feel his breath upon your ear. “Do not dare to compare me to our brother, wife. I would never go so low as to find a whore when I have my own ever willing wife. Even if I did find a whore I would not dine to tell you as it would be none of your business.”

The thought of Aemond with another was enough to bring tears to your eyes and when he saw them he scoffed and removed his hand from your neck. He kept you trapped between him and the wall.

“My dear twin, does the thought of me with another really bother you so much? You were the one who brought it up, you should not feel so upset.”

“I love you, Aemond. I could not bear to see you with another.”

“Oh, and what would you do, dear wife? End yourself?”

“If that is what would be needed to prove my love for you then yes. I'd die a thousand deaths if I saw you with another and had a chance to convince you to come back to me.”

“Oh, my darling twin,” he caressed your cheek with then back of his hand. “There is only one thing you need to do.”

Aemond roughly turned you around and pressed himself against you. The talk of possibly another in your place, it seems, had aroused him. You could feel his hardness through your nightgown and could not help but groan and lay your head on his shoulder.

“Already moaning for me? You said you were afraid of a whore but maybe that whore is you,” he whispered.

You could not help but to press against him. Aemond followed suit and grabbed your hips to move against him. It was exhilarating.

When he had found he had had enough he grabbed you by the shoulders and threw you into the bed.

“Do not worry, I can fuck you like a whore,” he promised.

Aemond all but tore the nightgown off, exposing you to the chill air. Your nipples pebbled immediately and you arched your back in welcome. He looked down at you with such a feral expression you knew you were his prey for the night. Crawling over your body, he kissed and bit everywhere he pleased, marking you as his.

“No one else,” he groaned against you, “no one else. You are mine and I will have you as I please.”

“Yes, Aemond,” you breathed.

Praying open your legs he licked his lips at the glistening cunt before him.

“Look at you, already wet for my cock.”

He teased your entrance, wanting nothing more than for him to be inside you.

“Please, please,” you begged.

“Whores do not get to beg. They take what is given.”

He sheathed himself in one fluid motion, not giving you any time to adjust to his size before pistoning in and out your wet cunt. Aemond’s hands went to your chest, giving him something to hold on to as well as to tease your buds. The sensation was so much your back was beginning to arch up once again.

“Aemond, I'm about to cum,” you cried.

Instantly he pulled out of you and bent down to bring his hand to your throat once more and whispered, “Whores do not get to cum whenever they please, they wait until they are told. Am I understood?”

All you could do was nod and prepare yourself for him once more.

“On your stomach,” he ordered.

You made your way to turn over but took too much time as Aemond gripped your hips to all but toss you onto your stomach. He pulled your ass up in the air and gave it a hard smack.

“That is for assuming I'd sleep with a whore.” Smack. “That is for comparing me to Aegon.” Smack. “That is for being a whore for me tonight.”

He briefly rubbed the red mark that now marred your backside before plunging himself once again into your wet cunt.

“You take me so well. I will fuck you until we get an heir, my wife.”

“Yes, I want that,” you moaned. It was all you could do in the haze of bliss.

“Watch you grow round with my babe, your tits fill with milk, fuck!”

Aemond continued to fuck you hard until his rhythms became sloppy. He bowed down to be as close to you as possible.

“Cum with me. I want to feel you clench around my cock.”

The coil in your stomach that has been tightening since the moment he sheathed himself in you finally broke and you let out a soundless scream as white pleasure took your vision. Your orgasm triggered Aemond’s and you could feel him spill his seed inside of you.

He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard. “No one else, my wife.”

With that he got up and left to the bathing chamber.

#fics by bean #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #canon hotd #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fic #aemond one eye

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rafedaddy01 · 8 months

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heyy!! sarahs bsf x rafe and sarah walks in on them ?

Caught

You and Sarah have been friends forever. Which is why you couldn’t believe what you were about to do. You told her, and yourself, that you’d never go there. That’s your never be in this position. But Rafe was so convincing. So sexy. It was hard to resist him. So hard that it has already happened six times. You were addicted. And so was he. It was impossible to stay away. To not touch each other, kiss each other

“Rafe” you moaned as his body hovered yours. His hips snapping against yours with every thrust forward. You were in his room, on his bed. His parents were out at some event and wheezie and Sarah were gone for the night. You told yourself this would be the last time, such a lie.

“Fuck, princess” he groaned out as his tip reached deep inside you, it felt like he was in your guts and it felt amazing. “Shit don’t stop” you moaned as your nails scratched down his gorgeous back, leaving your mark and yours only. He thrusted his hips harder, pounding you into the mattress, literally. Your moans and his grunts filled the dark room.

“Ah shit” Rafe hissed as he felt his balls contract and his dick twitched in you. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill” you told him. And his eyes all but lit up at the thought of getting to cum inside you. It drove him wild and he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss as he released his cum deep inside you. It felt amazing! Intensifying your own high. It was intimate. Usually Rafe would pull out and cum on your chest.

As he pulled out and caught his breath you could see he was up to something. He got on his knees and lowered his body down to your core, examining his cum leaking out of you. He groaned at the sight and his dick was hard all over again, ready to be inside you once more.

“Can’t let this go to waste” he teased as his fingertips traced up your slit and pushed one finger inside you, pushing the leaking juices back in. “Ah, shit. Rafe!” You moaned as your back arched. You were still sensitive from the last orgasm, but it felt too good to tell him to stop.

He inserted a second finger and started pumping.

Your eyes rolled back and your hips met his plan, grinding down on his hand. “There you go, princess. Ride my hand” his voice husky and sexy as all hell.

You could feel a second high crawling up and you were about to warn him when he retracted his hand. You shot your eyes up and glared at him.

“You assho-“ he quickly shut you up with his dick slamming past your wall and plunging deep inside you once again. A loud moan leaving your lips. “You were saying” he cocked his head and smirked at you. “Shut up and fuck me” you told him. “Oo sassy” he said bring a hand to your nipple and flicking it.

“For that I think you deserve to work for it” he said flipping the two of you, still deep inside you and making you whine. You were now ontop him and he leaned against the head bored, hand on your waist. He snaked them around to your ass and separated the cheeks while squeezing them.

He slapped one globe as he instructed you to start moving. “Ride me, princess” he leaned up and kissed your neck, moving lower to your breasts and sucking.

Just as you were about to start moving the knob on Rafes door twisted and the creaking of it opening had yours and Rafes head snapping towards it in the dark room. “Hey Rafe, have you seen y/n. She said she’d-“ Sarah paused in shock at the sight.

“Oh my god!” She screamed as she covered her eyes and back away. It was dark in the room, but the light from the moonlight shining in the window brightened it enough to see what we were doing. She backed into the wall behind her and quickly turned around to face the doorway as she raced out.

“Sarah! Wait!” You screamed after her. You were about to climb off Rafe when his grip held you down by your hips. “She can wait. I said, ride. me.” He said sternly. You couldn’t lie, you were turned on by his dominate side, but you also felt horrible for the sight Sarah just saw. “Rafe-“ you started, “you can deal with her later.” He gripped your throat, “ride me”

@v21sstuff @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings

#outer banks #rafe cameron #drew starkey #smut #dark rafe cameron #outerbanks #drewstarkey #drewstarkey smut #rafecameron #fanfic #rafe x reader #rafe x you #dark rafe #rafe smut #rafe imagine #rafe obx

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ckret2 · 2 months

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Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him?

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was.

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(*immediately edits post because i forgot the brick pattern on Bill's hoodie*)

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 5 days

Text

Sighting: wintersoldier!reader x simon ghost riley

The car hummed as they got closer to their destination. Ghost sat in the back, his eyes barely leaving the the car floor as he gripped his gun.

The ride had been tense and uncomfortably quiet. There was nothing to say, nothing to joke about as they made their way towards the beginning of getting the answers they all prayed for in last five years.

Ghost did everything to keep himself straight. He ignored the chest pains and the shortness of breath, the pit in his stomach and the nauseating bile in the back of his throat.

You were alive yet you were gone. Gone from the task force. Gone from him.

"Remember we need information." Price said firmly. "Capture only. We can't afford to mess this up."

They were going to get information about who they were dealing with. The people who you had been with were Russian and all signs pointed to Konni Group but they had to make sure. And in the process they could find out where you were, if you were actually with them.

Ghost still didn't want to believe it still. He refused to.

You wouldn't join the other side. Not you, not the woman who fought so hard against it, who fought with such fire.

Price parked the car in an alley away from the main building and they all filed out. They stuck to the shadows as they made their way to it, keeping their guns ready as they found an entry point.

Inside the building was supposed to be a hideout, a place that would have some kind of information that would connect them the group they saw in the video.

Price took point and Ghost followed.

The walk up the stairs was slow. Never in Ghost's whole career had he felt impatient in these situations. He was find with taking his time when he needed to but he wanted to get to the room as soon as possible. He didn't care if he got shot, especially since as they moved upwards they had to drop a few targets before they continued, because he just wanted to find you.

When they got to the top they could hear someone on the other side of the door frantically moving around speaking in Russian.

"Remember, capture not kill." Price looked at Ghost and he nodded.

Ghost pushed the door open and they rushed in guns raised.

"Wait, wait! Don't shoot." A man stood in the middle of the dimly lit room with his hands raised high. He looked distressed as he frantically looked at all of them. "I can tell you everything, they're going to kill me."

"Step away from the table." Ghost ordered, noticing the gun that sat on it.

The man moved away quickly, his hands still in the air until he stood in front of the windows. He shook violently as he glanced behind him and around him.

"You're here about the intel we stole right? I can tell you where we have it-"

"You could be lying." Soap barked but he shook his head.

"I promise I'm not! I'll tell you everything if you get me out of here. They're going to kill me."

Ghost glanced at Price and saw the hard look in his eyes. It was hard to tell if the man was actually telling the truth or if he was stalling for something. Even if he looked actually scared, Ghost wouldn't be surprised if he was just trying to not get shot.

"Gaz, secure-"

The window shattered and the man was shot in the head, his body falling to the floor before another shot flew through the window right at Ghost.

Everyone quickly scrambled for cover, two more shots hitting into the walls of the building before they were out of the sights of whoever was outside.

"I thought we only had to worry about the inside?" Gaz kept himself hidden.

"Someone called for back up?" Soap wondered but no one had an answer.

Ghost grabbed the nearest object and threw it across the room before it was struck with a bullet. He clenched his jaw, staying behind the alcove he tucked himself in as he thought up a plan.

There was a window to his side that lead out to a fire escape. He could climb to the roof, hopefully without being shot, to get a good angle of whoever it was.

"Keep 'em busy." He nodded towards the window and Price nodded.

Price shout out the light, blanketing them in darkness while Ghost opened the window. They moved about the dark and baited a couple more shots from the assailant while he slipped outside.

He climbed up quickly, ignoring the shots the continued to echo off the buildings. They were lucky whoever it was didn't have night vision on their scope.

When he reached the roof, he hid behind an air-conditioning unit and readied his weapon. He waited for more gunshots, knowing he'd get the best opportunity when they were busy.

A singular shot rang out and he whirred around, immediately looking down the scope and his finger ready to pull the trigger.

Then his heart stopped.

It was you.

You sat crouched on top of a roof from another building. You were looking down your own scope as you waited for one of the others to move to try to pick them off. You looked just like you had in the video, a mask covering most of your face save for your eyes.

Ghost froze, his heart pounding against his chest as he moved his finger away from the trigger. He would've shot you by now and would've killed you with one shot. The higher ups would've yelled at him to do it, he knows that they'll be pissed that he didn't.

You were an enemy.

But he couldn't.

He must've moved and caught your attention. He barely had enough time to duck behind the unit again before a bullet ricocheted off it. In the distance he could hear sirens, which meant time was running short.

In an instant, Ghost found himself wanting to leap across the gap to get to you. He shot up from his spot ready to do so but you were gone, leaving nothing behind as if you'd never been there.

"Ghost." Price's voice crackled over the comms. "You didn't take the shot."

There was an edge to his voice and Ghost merely stared at the place where you had been as if you'd magically reappear if he willed it.

"It was her."

Silence. That's all that was left.

TAGS ARE CLOSED!

A/n: not my best work honestly. next parts will hopefully be better i just wanted to get this out to get it over with

Tags: @bucky-lents @theweirdgeninistuff @igotchuuknj @rafaelacallinybbay @yyiikes @paintlavillered @tacticalanklebiter3000 @spicyspicyliving @cod-z @whiskytoast @soapscannonwife @bossva @agustdpeach @shinchanboi @catkatchuck @luluzinha444 @blush-haze @pepsicolacoochie @mercurysjoy @keiraslayz

#wintersoldier!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #call of duty

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jasminexox5 · 9 months

Text

Inked Up | Mark Lee

warnings: sub!reader, dom!mark, tattooartist!reader, sex in the studio, sucking him off, coming on your face, pet names

“Appointment for Lee?”

You shouted into the waiting room waiting for your next client and then saw a man get up from the couch at the window and greet you with a smile. He was rather tall, dressed in a black tank top that clung to his muscles showing how they flex with his every move. You couldn’t help yourself but look at how he was covered in hours worth of art from other artists getting lost in the bright colours and line work.

He greeted you with a bright smile which made your heart flirt but no moves could be made on one another as that was the unprofessional thing to do…

“Can I ask your name?”

“Oh yeah! Sorry, it’s Mark by the way!”

Fuck his smile was beautiful seeing the way his eyes glimmered under his glasses. He may look intimidating but he was a nice person under all the ink covering his body. Walking up to your station in the corner of the open plan room behind the screen that was moved earlier in order to give you both privacy for today's tattoo.

Mark couldn’t hide the fact he was very nervous for the session ahead of him and the fact he has to be rock hard for this tattoo. Taking Viagra before he left his apartment and now his cock is sensitive but nothing was helping him, especially his jeans. Mark felt so restricted, so exposed, so vulnerable to the outside world or anyone watching him. The man mentally slapped himself when he saw how beautiful you are in person now you were going to be face to face with his raging thick cock. Sighing before getting onto the bed while you finish setting up next to him looking at the wall art on the four walls as a distraction before it was time…

“Can you take your pants and underwear off for me?”

He got up from the bed and turned his back to you before taking off his pants finally being fully exposed to you, there was no more hiding. Mark’s hands were shaking from anticipation sliding out of his jeans and underwear feeling like all eyes were on him but it was just you and him and one artist behind the screen at the other side of the room. He got back up on the bed and did his best to hide his raging boner from you. The sight of you with your hair up out of the way and glasses on him caused him to whine in frustration wanting this to end when the tattoo hasn’t even started.

The man hissed as the cold from the stencil creme shot through his body tensing all of his muscles in shock. Mark couldn’t make eye contact with you from this point forward, it was his own fault booking an artist as beautiful as you rather than his normal artist as it would ‘make things awkward between them’. Your gentle touch on his cock drove him crazy leaving him aching for more letting his mind wander what you would look like with your lips wrapped around his fat tip licking up his pre cum. Once the stencil was on and ready to go Mark let out a sigh of relief.

“Just tell me if you need anything, ok?”

The man agreed with you instantly as you turned on the machine and started the painful process of tattooing his beautiful cock. You couldn’t deny he did have the perfect cock from the way it curved to the veins, it made you flustered as you were inches from it dreaming of how it is to have his cock rested on your tongue. Itching for just one lick…

Just one…

So far the session was going well, small talk was exchanged between you both and Mark held onto the arms of the chair when the pain was getting too much for him. He may be covered in tattoos but nothing compares to the suffering getting the most sensitive area tattooed. The sweat started dripping down his body from how anxious he was and it raised concern in you letting him take a break and get sugar back into his body. The TV above you both was playing a random show which Mark tried to keep his focus on the whole time and not look at you.

The image of you being so close to his cock was never going to leave his mind and he just met you, the first tattoo ever with you and now he has to run away because he can’t keep his hormones under control making him feel like a teenage boy once again.

Mark sat back on the bed ready to get started again but his cock has gone soft leaving him more embarrassed than he has ever been in front of someone. The blush covered his cheeks leaving him nowhere to hide from anyone that could see him in this vulnerable state. Your thoughts were running a hundred miles an hour at this point thinking if you should take the opportunity or not. The studio was now empty which was helping you make your decision swaying you towards the more risque option you had in mind.

“Let me help you Mark…”

You cringed as you said the words out loud as you waited on some sort of reaction from him. He was stuttering over his words trying to string a sentence together but by the time he could say anything you were on your knees in front of him looking up into his eyes. Mark leaned down rubbing his thumb over the apple of your cheek before giving you the go ahead.

“You know what to do angel”

Those were the last words he muttered down to you as he leaned onto his elbows watching how you choke on him. You took one long deep breath before letting your lips around the head of his thick cock tasting the bitter pre cum. His moans were beautiful filling up the empty room as your gloved hands wrapped around his length. Everything about the sight above you, one of the most attractive guys that has walked through the door of the shop now has his cock in your mouth moaning for you and only you.

“Baby you are too good for me…”

The name sounded perfect as it rolled off his tongue perfectly, having its effect on you making your thighs rub together as you search for a way to get off while pleasing Mark. His glasses now sitting on the floor after they fell off he couldn’t care less about his glasses he just wants to spill his seed over your face.

It didn’t take long for Mark to come to the much needed high he has been needing since he left his apartment this morning. Drool was running from the corners of your mouth and down your chin making it much more sloppy which Mark was loving. His eyes were rolled back into his head due to the intense pleasure he was feeling losing all sensation in his lower body.

“I’m going to cum!”

That’s all it took for you to let him fall out of your mouth before jerking him off waiting for him to paint your face white. Closing your eyes waiting on it and moments later feeling the warm sticky load fall onto your cheek letting him empty himself onto your face ruining your makeup but you couldn’t care less. Rope after rope of warm thick cum covered your perfect face now you were claimed by Mark…

“Pretty girl just for me huh?”

@markleelately hope you enjoyed 🤭

#k pop smut #hard hours #kpop hard thoughts #kpop hard hours #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct 127 hard hours #nct 127 hard thoughts #nct hard hours #nct dream smut #nct dream hard thoughts #nct dream hard hours #nct hard thoughts #mark smut #mark lee smut #nct mark smut #mark lee hard thoughts #mark lee hard hours

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ghouljams · 2 months

Note

THE KNIGHT KEEGAN AND LADY IN WAITING READER IS SO DELICIOUS!! I love ur work so much <33

I can see them both admiring each other from afar!! like literally afar (like one of them is watching the other through a window!!) i can also see reader doing the best they could to do the first moves just so keegan can also do something (u cannot tell me those lil hand bumps are coincidences!!!!!)

cant wait to see them kiss 🫶🫶 I LOVE UR WORKS!!

It's hard to make moves when you aren't even sure the person you're interested in likes you back. Keegan is so quiet around you, you worry he's ignoring you. Perhaps if you knew the way he pined for you, you might be more willing, but you're hardly able to catch his eye. You stay behind to finish preparations for a tea party your lady is putting on, and watch Keegan walk with her through the gardens. It's terribly lonely watching him walk with her. You catch her talking to him sometimes, hear him respond, it makes your heart hurt. He'll talk to the princess of course, but damn her lady-in-waiting.

You watch them from the window next to your desk, the princess picking flowers and passing them to her knight(her knight you remind yourself, not yours) while you waste away doing your duties. Keegan tips his head, his eyes trailing over the castle walls to the princess's study where he knows you're busy with work. He can just make out your silhouette through the window. You must be busy. The princess hands him another flower, content to go about her business while you take care of the real heavy lifting. Keegan's eyes drift back to his charge, lazily scanning the area for threats before his attention returns to your window. He wonders what you're doing, if you've eaten, if you'd offer to take tea with him when he gets back.

He'd have to turn you down, of course. He can think of no greater honor than sharing a table with you, and because of that he must avoid it at all costs. Tables are shared between people who care for each other. He does care for you, too much, more than he should. He cares for you, he feels the loss of your presence like falling in a frozen lake, he wishes selfishly that he could keep you with him always. You have duties though, he has duties. Selfishness breeds contempt, and he couldn't stomach your loathing.

The princess hands him another flower, and he adds it to the bouquet unthinkingly. "Do you think she'll like them?" The princess asks him, and Keegan hums.

"Who?" He asks. The princess says your name and it's like a cannon shot, drawing his attention immediately. Keegan looks down at the flowers clenched in his fist, huge fragrant blooms that under every other circumstance would remind him of you; he sees you admiring them often, knows you pluck the smaller blooms to tuck behind your ear, but now... he can't say. "How would I know?" He grumbles, turning the bouquet to check for thorns.

"I thought you two were close," The princess offers. Keegan swallows down the ache in his chest.

"No," He tells her, "we just work together."

#cod x reader #x reader #keegan russ #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan russ x reader #knight!keegan #medieval au #hi Princess it's good to see you not moping #f!reader

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 1 year

Text

Danny turned his face up toward the sky, letting Gothams rain poor down his face. His husband, Tim, had loved this city-to the point of dying for it while wearing a mask.

The court of owls had been cowardly, and honestly Danny should have expected that from a bunch of entitled rich people. Many of the bats were there taking down the courts lackeys but there wasn't any signs of the Talons, which made sense since they seemed to act oddly around Phantom and just kinda flopped onto the ground and bared thier necks to him. Wierd.

Everyone was fighting, so no one noticed the tip of a snipers rifle poking out of a crag in the cave walls until it was too late. A shot was fired.

And Tim was on the floor

Danny didn't remember much after that. He remembers Nightwing holding his little brother while Batman came to his side. He remembers the other bats running off to find the sniper and Danny just...stood there. He stared at Tims blood splatter and the gray matter all over the floor. The bullet had went through his head had killed him quickly but this didn't comfort him. The scene was so gruesome but he couldn't bring himself to look away as his vision was consumed by green.

The next time he became aware Nightwing was in front of him, asking him to turn himself in. Confused, he asked what he had done only to learn he had hunted down every Court of Owls member like a man possessed and torn them to shreds. No one was sure how Phantom knew who was a member or not especially while he was in that state, but it didn't change the face that Phantom had killed so many people.

Danny was horrified. How could he had done this? He had never experienced the pit rage before and never thought he would. But here he was having lost almost two weeks of time and gaining more blood on his hands than he knew what to do with.

So Danny, not wanting to argue or-ancients forbid- fight his family-in-law while everyone was grieving, agreed to turn himself in.

So he did.

He never agreed to stick around for an interrogation or a trial though. So he didn't.

The cops never even learned of his true identity before he took off but he knew it wasn't safe to stay in Gotham anymore. Heck, it probably wasn't safe to stay on Earth anymore with all the heroes that would be after him if the bats so much as asked. And there was no way he could go back to his own dimensions Earth either.

...but that didn't mean all Earths where out of the question.

---

Danny had finally gotten settled in this new dimension. Starting over was always hard but he had done it before. Grabbing a gig as a freelance translator and editor for a few publication companies was pretty easy when you knew what cards to play and what people to call. Plus, Danny was really good at making false identities and translating, so that helped a ton.

At night he would keep a look out his window, trying to spot the bats of this world, as as much as it hurt him to do so, he always delighted in seeing this worlds Tim running along the rooftops.

This went on for a while until Danny started getting nauseous and intense pain in his chest and abdomen. It was bad enough that he sniffed out this worlds Dr Thomkins pretty quickly and asked her to give him a check up.

Upon doing an ultrasound she found a strange sphere in his chest, which he assured her was normal, and an embryo growing in his abdomen which was very much not. Danny laid on the examination table for a solid few seconds and Dr. Tomkins was about to start rattling off his options to him before her patient started crying. "Oh thank the stars."

Danny explained that this was the child of his late husband who was murdered and he was very happy to have this baby. Sure, he had most of his personal affects (he had cleaned out his and Tims shared home and safe houses on his way out of the dimension, much to the absolue ire of the other bats) but this was a little living piece of his husband, which was something so much more.

But this also meant he had to leave again. This worlds Tim was just like the one that he lost and he had no doubt that some way, some how, Tim would find out about this child. Could he explain this in a way that was satisfactory? Could he handle Tim coming in and out of his home to visit "his" child as he would undoubtedly do? Could he stand to see the face of a man who looked like his husband, talked like his husband, and acted like his husband, but wasn't? No. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to Tim. He refused to replace one Tim for another. That was so callus and shallow. He would never do something like that, grief or no grief. He was strong. He'd be strong for Tim.

He paid the doctor and thanked her profusely before leaving and going back to his apartment. He hadn't even unpacked most of his stuff before he was packing it all back up again. He needed to find a world where:

1. Tim was nothing like the Tim he had known and loved

2. Tim was not old enough to take custody of thier child if he ever found out

3. Batman was not around

4. Damian didn't exist. He was usually pretty cool with the little gremlin but he doesn't think he could listen to him insult Tim and not throttle a literal child.

5. It was not impossible to raise a child

The list could probably use some work but that was the gist of it for now.

-------

Danny had finally found his perfect Gotham after weeks or interdimentional travel and countless jumps. Well, perfect probably wasn't the right word for a place like Gotham but his point still stands.

He once again found himself sitting on the edge of a rooftop overlooking the city. He and his husband had liked to sit and chat in these kinds of places when patrol was slow. Now Danny was sitting alone in the rain in one of Tims old jackets reminiscing. Suddenly hearing a grapple line connect with the building startled him out of his thoughts.

Nightwing landed nearby and for a moment Danny thought he was here to insist Danny turns himself in again before he was reminded that this wasn't the same Nightwing and Danny hadn't committed any crimes here. Well. No violent ones at least. Forging a fake identity requires much criming as it turns out.

Nightwing approached him slowly and cautiously as if he expected Danny to bolt at any second. That wasn't comforting. "Hey," the big bird greeted calmly, "How about you step away from the edge? If there's something on your mind I'm sure we can talk it out, alright?"

Danny opened his mouth and then shut it again. Opening it again he blurted out, "I'm not gonna jump."

Looking doubtful, Nightwing gestured for him to come toward him and away from the edge, and if Nightwing were anyone other than a bat he would not have obliged as he did. Once Danny was safely away from falling to his doom the vigilante began asking questions.

After everything was answered and birdy was sure Danny was safe, he made a comment about the jacket and Danny told him it belonged to his late husband who past away recently. This led to Dick egging Danny on as he talked about his husband and grieved.

It was then that Danny showed Nightwing his baby bump and the vigilante was excited for him.

Somehow he and the various bats kept running into eachother around the city and one thing let to another. Before he knew it the bats where coming and going in his apartment to "check up on him"

This worlds Tim was still 16 and loved his role as Robin. He was grieving the loss of Bruce but...this version of Tim was different. Full of light. His smile was brighter and came more often. His humor wasn't as dark and...he was...smol. He began seeing this Tim more like his child than as an alternate version of his lover. Needless to say he planned on spoiling Robin rotten.

Everything seemed to be falling into place. He had a steady income, an apartment, some new friends, and was slowly unpacking.

It was smooth sailing up until his dead husband appeared in his apartment in the middle of the night staring him down with Lazarus green eyes. How had this happened? He was Tims husband and he made absolutely sure Tims body had been cremated (another thing the bats were mad about since Bruce and Tim were Jewish). Tim has specifically asked for cremation to avoid a situation like this where Ras got his creepy little hands on him.

But why would Ras send Tim here? How did Tim get here? How did Tim find him? Why did Tim show up in his apartment on random nights and then disappear into the city when he tried to ask him answers? Why did Tim barely speak? Was this a clone or the original?

Was this even real? Or was he finally losing his mind?

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sanspuppet · 4 months

Text

“Touch me” prompt. 18 - Yeosang scenario

W/T: handjob, face fucking, cum eating, praises, pet name: princess

just some alpha Yeosang in need of some touch lmao, no plot just smut u know me 🧍🏻‍♀️

requested by @tamera21 i hope you can enjoy mwah💕

not me writing this because i can’t sleep help it’s 3 in the morning

actually listening to this on loop while writing, so i recommend doing the same while reading :) it’s an italian song btw

divider by @_cafekitsune

The air felt dizzy outside, shots of water drops were hitting the window walls on another boring Sunday. You were laying on the couch, legs crossed as you scrolled through your instagram fyp. It was kinda rude to say that you weren’t paying any attention to your boyfriend for all day, you felt bored and lazy, sure thing the icky weather wasn’t helping. You heard footsteps taking their way towards you at some point, which you still didn’t pay attention to, just minding your own business as you were stalking your favorite celebrities with their last posts. Yeosang was looking at you with hooded eyes, he still isn’t surely the mean type, but oh fuck if he was annoyed by you.

“Uh-hum i’m sorry, bothering you?” Yeosang huffed, his hands on his waist, waiting for you to rise your gaze up to him. But the only thing he got from you was a quick: “Mmm?” eyes still locked on the phone screen.

“Fucking hell, look at me please.” he sighed, once he realized that it would take more than just that to gain your attention, Yeosang stepped towards you, enough for him to grab your chin, forcing you to finally lock eyes with him.

“Oh hi darling, what’s wrong?” you questioned him as nothing just happened, smiling at him despite he still looked annoyed. In fact, he raised one eyebrow, furrowing his nose as he spoke up:

“‘What’s wrong?’ you didn’t talk to me the entire morning, plus if it couldn’t be worse, i’m hard” the last word suddenly woke up your core, tensing your lower abdomen muscles when shivers ran down to reach the gap between you thighs.

“Are gonna act like a brat any longer, or you’ll finally be a good girl and take my needy cock, huh?” his fingertips were buried in your soft cheeks, his boner getting harder every second he passed by imagining your pretty face painted with his thick cum.

“U-uhm i-, i’ll help you.”

“Good, princess” Yeosang let go of your chin, moving backwards and pointing the floor. “On your knees, listen to me okay?” as it seemed like he was just petting you, you immediately did as he said, kneeling in front of him, your gaze still locked on his drop dead gorgeous face.

“Go ahead” he gave a quick nod, his eyes focusing on your phone abandoned on the couch, grimacing at it like it was the reason you weren’t paying attention to him the whole day. “Touch me” Your hands landed on the zip of jeans as soon as he mouthed, dragging his underwear down with his pants. Your mouth started drooling at the first second you saw his cock a few inches far from your lips, arousal hitting your lower core as your body was already convinced that it’d be a long afternoon. Your hands grabbed his dick, twisting them around his length as your lips were sucking on its stimulated tip. Eyes were observing every detail of Yeosang’s chest and abdomen when he breathed heavily to repress any moan. Though it became so fucking difficult once your throat took all the way up to his cock, your tongue messing with his balls, gaining from him breathing groans.

“Fuck, that feels amazing princess.” his fingers carded through your hair, moving it away from your forehead before pulling it back. “Oh god, keep doing that” You tried to breathe in with your nose, as your throat was stuffed full with Yeosang’s dick. Your mind was quickly going blank, moving your head automatically when every single coherent thought left your brain, it always took nothing for you to go cockdrunk. The situation up there was very similar, Yeosang was loosing his mind over the overwhelming pleasure of your touch, because fuck you surely knew how to worship properly a dick. He blinked hard, furrowing his eyebrows, feeling his orgasm on his way to approach him. “So good, princess. Helping me to get off, such a caring girlie” his words became pathetic while the gap between his body and the pure blissing pleasure got smaller, spasming slightly at every louder moan. “Acting so good now, is this what i should do every time you don’t pay attention to me? Just forcing you to suck my dick?” You pulled out, needy for air. One hand kept working on his length, while the other rubbed away the saliva exiting your mouth. “Fuck, look at me. I’m close princess, i am, s-shit…”

Yeosang’s breath was unstable once his orgasm hit his body, gulping hard the saliva to help focusing on something else apart from how amazingly you just worshipped his cock. You parted your lips once white ropes of cum started to shoot all over your face, attaching them on his cockhead to make sure to take every single drop. You looked up at him, opening your mouth to show him how full of his seed you were. At his surprise, he widened his eyes the same second you swallowed all of it, sticking your tongue out to prove your act. Yeosang chuckled, kneeling down to be face to face with you, he stamped a kiss on your overworked lips, after caressing your cheeks.

“You did so good for me princess, shall i take care of you as well?”

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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My Hearts Soldier (Cregan x Reader)

This is the first time I write for Cregan and it was thrilling, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think

(Y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon, when Rhaenyra gave birth to the twins she felt like her life finally had meaning, as she held them for the first time she could not help but she’d tears of joy, her beautiful babies that cuddled in their mothers arms were the most perfect thing Rhaenyra had ever seen.

“(Y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon, welcome to winterfell”

“Why thank you, we are here to pass a message to Lord Cregan Stark”

“Of course, follow me please”

(Y/n) and Jacaerys walked side by side as their dragons stayed back, the ill tempered Vermax and the pink shedragon Stardust had quickly gained some attention from bystanders that came so close to a dragon for the first time.

“Lord Cregan, (y/n) and Jacaerys Velaryon wish to see you”

“Gladly, the Targaryens are always welcome here in the north. It is a pleasure to meet the future heirs of the realm”

(Y/n) felt her heart stop when the man approached, it was like gazing upon her future, the man held a different type of beauty than the men in kings landing, the man was quite tall, strong features with a thick dark beard, even with the fur he was wearing you could still identify his strong muscular body, it was the first time (y/n) flustered for a man.

“We are here to give you a message, from our queen Rhaenyra”

“We heard of the passing of King Viserys the peaceful, I am so sorry for your loss”

“Our mother is calling banners for support my lord, against her half brother Aegon who claims to be the true heir of the throne”

“I wasn’t aware that king Viserys had changed his mind”

“He had not, it is a matter of gender that has caused this… unfortunate situation”

The room roared from Cregans laughter, instinctively (y/n) reached to hold her twins hand as tight as possible, fearing that the Stark son had gone rogue, yet she remained tall, waiting until the lord expressed himself while silently wishing the lord had not gone completely off the rails.

“My father gave his oath in front of the iron throne to ward the north for queen Rhaenyra, I do not wish to side with bastards that think they have a better shot at the throne because they were born with peckers, you are more than welcome to stay here, our banners and men are yours”

Cregan had worked hard to get close to the princess, he admired her courage as she leaned over the table to lead the armies to war, the most astonishing thing was that she was not ashamed to show emotion, her vulnerability was her secret weapon, she was a compassionate woman that led either her heart. Cregan was the one that caught her before she crashed to the floor when news from dragon stone came, declaring her younger brother dead.

“No you are lying, our Luke is not dead”

Jacaerys and Cregan could still hear her deafening scream of grief, she was inconsolable as she cried in Cregans arms from the pain she was experiencing, (y/n) had a soft spot for the gentle Lucerys, she could not comprehend that her little Luce was no longer with them

“My baby, he can’t die he didn’t do anything wrong”

She whispered in Cregans arms while he rubbed her back, Cregan was infuriated by the death that caused such despair to the twins, especially his defiant princess, he held her close as well as restrained her from going on her dragon to look for her uncle Aemond, fury blinded her to the point that she wanted to go toe to toe with the queen of all dragons Vhagar, Jacaerys and Cregan had to drag the princess in her room, Jacaerys even stayed with her until she slept to ensure she would not escape from the window, her sobs echoed through the walls until exhaustion overtook and her swollen eyes closed to lead her off for a land where there was no war and she could ran barefoot with her siblings.

“She finally fell asleep”

“You are a good brother Jacaerys, you protected your sister even if you are grieving yourself”

“I already lost one sibling, I did not intend to lose another”

“You won’t, we will make sure of that”

“That much I know, since you want her to become the lady of the north”

Cregan was usually quick witted, now at the hour of the bat with Jacaerys sitting directly at the head of his own chair he was left stunned, how could he respond to that? It was not a lie, however this was a delicate matter specifically at a time like this.

“We should not speak of such things at this trying times”

“I am watching you Cregan, you are honourable but if you are planning to marry my sister you must prove yourself worthy”

The war had been brutal, brothers fought brothers, dragons killed dragons, the colour red that spilled from bodies stained all of Westeros, innocents were slaughtered, babies ripped from their mothers arms, men begging for a quick death.

(Y/n) saw the stranger in the eye as she lost her twin brother, her step father, even one of her baby brothers Joffrey was taken from them, there had been countless nights that (y/n) could not drift off to slumber, flashes of people dying racing through her head, haunting her and tormenting her while she remained in the north.

Cregan had stepped up to be her companion, the north buzzed over the news of Cregan bending the knee in the presence of all to offer his sword in protection of the princess (y/n), to guard her against all harm, he fought with the power of thousands of men, a few moments before Jacaerys had succumbed to his wounds he vowed to protect his princess or die trying, every time that they saw each other after a battle they would ran to each others arms, thanking the gods that the other was alive and well.

When Cregan got injured (y/n) was furious, she slept by his bed for a fortnight, refusing to allow any maester to touch him, she tended to his wounds and fed him back to health, he battled the fever that occurred due to a minor infection and came out victorious, the servants would gush over finding the princess in her rocking chair and the Stark king in his bed still they held hands to find comfort in one another, a subtle sign of “I am here, you are safe” through intimacy.

“You know you needn’t sleep on a wooden chair, I will be fine if you step off just for a few hours to rest”

“No, what if the fever gets worst?”

“I can call the servants, I have yet to lose my voice nor my mind”

Cregan could detect the stubborn emotions (y/n) was experiencing, the battle had intimidated her tremendously, she would not risk stepping off to lose him. Cregan chuckled at her stiff lip while she rocked back and forth slightly, he should have already known there was no one that could get through (y/n)s thick head.

“Sleep with me then”

“Pardon?”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us”

“I can see that I just-“

“Are you going to deny a wounded soldier their request”

(Y/n) hesitated for a few moments, thoughts of what could happen if she were to sleep in the same bed with him in combination of fearing she might hurt him while moving in her sleep. She puffed out a breath and sat up from her chair to give in and very carefully lie down next to him, in a blink of an eye Cregan collided his chest with her back to get as close as humanly possible, the smell of citrus and chamomile engulfed his senses.

“You smell like a dream”

“You stink of sweat”

“It’s the stench of a champion”

“Mother”

“Oh my precious daughter, my dearest love”

(Y/n) engulfed her mother in her arms, to see another family member alive and well after such tragic deaths was a blessing for the both of them. Rhaenyra tenderly placed her hands on (y/n)s cheeks as tears streamed down to both of the women’s cheeks, happy tears of the war ending and going against all odds to win, the black queen finally had her throne and her daughter back.

“Mother, I would like to introduce you to Cregan Stark”

“It is an honour to be in your presence your grace”

Cregan bowed to Rhaenyra who raised a brow at her daughter, Cregan had arrived on dragon back with her daughter, naturally (y/n) would have grown close to the warden of the north, despite that this type of familiarity was not expected.

“I must thank you Lord Cregan for protecting my daughter”

“I am afraid it is the other way around, if (y/n) had not come to my aid during a battle I would have already met my ancestors, howbeit your daughter raves that the scar suits me more”

(Y/n) giggled at the slight jab, Cregan had earned himself a scar that went from his brow all the way down to his cheek, thankfully he did not suffer the same fate as the now dead one eyed prince, it was only the scar that (y/n) had once commented how “it adds character”.

Rhaenyra remained silent as her eyes went from the Stark man to her daughter, she knew her daughter like the back of her hand this was no friendship, (y/n) was not even dressed in her own typical clothing, she was a thick cape that was probably made for her while she was at the north, the union reminded her of her late lover Harwin, how the man hid in the shadows to protect her and created a safe haven for (y/n) to feel protected.

“I have heard tales of you Lord Cregan, the young wolf that bend the knee and swore loyalty to my daughter after we lost our Jacaerys”

“Your daughter is a fierce woman, after the tragic loss I felt the need to declare that the north will keep fighting on her side”

“(Y/n)s side? Not mine?”

“Of course your grace I meant-“

“I know what you meant I am only jesting, I am thankful for all that you have done and for bringing my daughter back to me”

“About that mother, there was something we would like to discuss with you”

Rhaenyra took a deep inhale through the nose and change of demeanour she identified from her daughter. (Y/n) took her mothers arms in hers while Rhaenyra eyeballed her daughter, in her mind her daughter was still a babe, any time she peeped at her the image of (y/n) coddling in her arms wailing for her mother popped up, Rhaenyra gave a half uneasy smile expecting her daughter to speak up.

“The north has been a major help for your win for the throne your grace, allow me to request something in return as a thank you”

“You speak the truth, north was the strongest force and for that I will always be grateful, what is it that you ask?”

“Nothing would make me happier than for her grace the queen to allow me to be betrothed to your daughter, the princess”

Rhaenyra was not a fool, she predicted the words that would utter from the man’s mouth before they were even formed. As a queen, if the future heir was to be betrothed to the warden of the north it would be a perfect match, as a mother she had just gotten her daughter back, how could she give her away to winterfell?

“(Y/n) is to be the heir of the iron throne, how would she rule from winterfell?”

“When the time comes we will figure something out mother”

“It is certainly uneasy to answer such a request after you just arrived”

“I will not leave immediately, I plan to visit you as much as I can I will not abandon you, especially after half of our family is gone”

“Is this what you truly want?”

“When we lost Jacaerys, Cregan would wait every night by my bedside until I fell asleep, every morrow he would wake me up to make sure I ate, he is my hearts soldier”

Rhaenyras heart skipped a beat at the last sentence. (Y/n) had inherited her fathers spirit, it was like he spoke through her, this union would bring justice to Harwins name since Rhaenyra always wondered what life would have been like if she had married Ser Harwin, for a mere moment Rhaenyra wondered what would Harwin say about this, if he was smiling down on his precious daughter that found her true mate.

Cregan was (y/n)s Harwin, the man silently and passionately yearned for her affection and love while supporting her and wanting the best for her, a devoted young man that sacrificed his life and army to declare his feelings to her the way he knew how, he was confident and strong enough to be a wonderful king consort on her daughters side.

“Do you love her?”

“She a menace to deal with and sometimes I find myself wondering if she will ever admit defeat instead of butting heads with me, there is no one else like her and I pray when we are old and wrinkly she won’t knock off my cane”

“Very well then, we will send ravens to every house in Westeros, thanking the ones that remained by our side, the Targaryen heir is to be wed to the lord of the north. Your wedding will be one for the history”

Requests are open!

#cregan x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan stark fanfic #cregan x jace #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd fic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 11 months

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close to home | chapter four

plot: Daryl and the reader get to know each other in the gray hours of the morning, and he needs to decide whether or not she's a good person and someone he can trust around his family.

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 2,530 Warnings: violence, blood A/N: thanks for reading!

The rain had dulled into a softer downpour, and the thunder echoed in the distance. Still, you decided to fill every possible container with rainwater. You insisted it would be less work cause it wouldn’t have to be boiled.

Daryl couldn’t exactly get a read on you. Anyone out here alone couldn’t be in the best mindset, and if you were telling the truth and you had been out by yourself since nearly the beginning, well, he couldn’t imagine the toll it had on someone. This world was hard enough without having to go at it alone.

Despite that, you seemed decent enough. He didn’t believe you to be a threat, at least not while he was awake. And he couldn’t figure out why you didn’t shoot him back in the woods when he pulled the crossbow on you. He believed any sane person would’ve. But then again, he didn’t let the arrow fly either.

The treehouse seemed okay enough, and he didn’t miss the stockpile of ammo in the room. You had quite a collection of ammo. You were just missing something to shoot it with. You had plenty of knives, though. Enough to gut someone ten times over. But you didn’t have one on you. You’d set it down. Did you trust him? Did you not care if you lived or died?

Waves of frustration rippled off him; the thunderstorm and walkers had ruined what was supposed to be a simple run. And hell, Rick wasn’t even supposed to have joined them. Not with Lori due in a few days, and the group barely has control over their cell block. They barely had enough food to keep them going, which was the only reason why they were out there in the first place. The food they got from the prisoners wouldn’t last them long, and they needed real meat.

He looked up and glanced at where you were sitting. You’d moved over to the window and pulled back the makeshift curtain, the breeze flowing in. Each time the distant lightning cracked, he could make out the features of your face since you’d moved away from the fire.

“You said you went to medical school?” Daryl asked you.

It took a moment before you realized he’d even asked a question. “I did. I was about to start my residency. Why?”

He hesitated for a moment. “You know anything about delivering babies?”

This captured your full attention, and you looked away, “Why? You due soon?”

Daryl didn’t sense the sarcasm in your tone, “Ain’t for me. Got a friend. Due in a couple days.”

You shook your head, “I don’t know much. Besides, you said you wouldn’t tell me about your group.”

Daryl snorted but didn’t say anything as he leaned back against the wall. Bringing her back, someone with medical training, that would be big. Hershel wouldn’t be alone, and you might know more about humans. Still, it’d be a risk. He didn’t know if it was worth perusing. They’d been okay with just Hershel…

“I have a group,” Daryl said, “There’s eleven of us. This is how this works. You tell me your story. Tell me who you are and what you’ve done. Maybe if everything’s good… maybe I bring you back with me.”

You continued looking out the window, and Daryl started to think you hadn’t heard him cause the silence stretched so long. But finally, you turned to look at him, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you bring me back with you? You don’t know me….”

“You coulda shot me in the head, coulda left me to die in the woods. I mighta survived, I mighta. But you helped me. Even now, you sit with no weapons. You ain’t even lookin’ at me. I don’ think ya dangerous.”

You smiled sadly, “No, I’m not dangerous.”

“I tell ya what. You tell me what I wanna know. We pack this place up and go when the storm clears.”

“You just want my supplies and medical help with that baby,”

Daryl shrugged, “Maybe. But ain’t that the way the world works now.”

Again, you were silent and you looked out the window for a few minutes. Finally, you took a deep breath and looked at him. “How about this. We tell each other what we both wanna know, and I decide if I wanna trust you.”

Daryl nodded slowly, “Aight, that’s fair.”

***

The wall was cold against your skin, and the rainwater splashes made you shiver even more. The fire was dying, and the treehouse was growing darker. You slowly moved from your spot and put more logs on the fire. Then you went to grab an old can of peaches and gave Daryl another can of food too.

“I was up in Atlanta when everything happened. Liam was one of those survivalists, always thinking about the end of the world. He wasn’t crazy about it. I mean, hell, he was right. But he knew things, and he knew how to take care of himself. So when the world went to shit, we got the hell out of Atlanta. He said that if there’s a cure, he will wait it out,

“So we took off, headed down south. His parents lived around here. They didn’t make it. But this treehouse was his. He and his dad built it years ago. It used to have stairs, but we knocked them down when a dead one got up on the porch. We fixed this place up together. I’ve been here since.”

“Winter musta sucked,”

You laughed and nodded while taking another bite of your food. “It did. There’s no insulation. I got snowed in a few times. But Tora and I… we managed. It’s been just us since October, I think. I don’t know,” You shook your head, “I had some family down here too, but I checked their place out, burnt down and overrun, just like every other shithole.”

“And before? Before all this?”

“Why does it even matter? I was just a normal person. I was in school, engaged, and living the dream in Atlanta. It doesn’t matter.”

Daryl nodded, “It’s easy to think that way,”

“Not sure there’s any other way to think,” You said, “So what about you? Your group, been together before?”

He shook his head, “No, we met each other on the road. We’ve lost a few people, gained a few people too. We’re holding up nice now if we can make it work. Our leader, Rick, and his wife are pregnant. Abouta pop. We have a man that can help, but I don’t know. I figured someone else might help too.”

You nodded and looked around the treehouse. This was a place you knew before and after. A place that you loved and hated. It was home and a prison, with memories that hurt every time you stepped in. And you were alone. And you were tired.

“Your leader, Rick… will he take me?”

“He will. You helped me, you coulda killed me, and you didn’t. Plus, you got medical supplies and ammo. Our group needs both.”

You glanced at your stockpile. Your lifeline. Could you trade that? What if they took it and killed you right after?

Daryl seemed to sense your hesitation. “I could kill you right now if I wanted to. I coulda killed you too, back in the woods. Woulda been real easy to just pull the trigger. But I didn’t. I’m taking a leap of faith here, too, (Y/N).”

“Can Tora come?”

This made Daryl laugh, and he looked at the giant cat stretched out by the fire. “Yeah, yeah. We probably got a rat problem. We’ll keep her busy. Everyone pitches in. Besides, we got a kid. He’d probably love an animal around.”

You nodded and tossed the empty can aside. “I’m really familiar with the area. Been here before and after. You tell me where your camp is, and I bet I can get you there.”

“We at a prison,”

Your eyebrows rose. “I know what one you’re talking about. About twenty miles north of here, right? Liam and I saw it a while back. It was full of walkers.”

“Not anymore.”

“Big group,” You said, your stomach tight with nerves. “If they kill me, promise me you’ll make sure Tora lives.”

The archer chuckled, “No one’s gonna kill ya.”

“I have a car. About two miles north of here is Liam’s parent's house. I keep some stuff there sometimes. If no one’s broken it, we can get to it once the storm clears and the sun’s up. I’m not walking twenty miles again.”

“Me neither,”

***

Sometime in the early morning, sleep found you. When your eyes opened a few hours later, the sun had been up for at least an hour. It took a few seconds before your memory came back to you and you jumped up, looking for the stranger from yesterday.

The treehouse was empty, and your stockpile was gone. And so was Tora. “Son of a bitch,” You muttered, getting up. You grabbed your matchete and ran to the door. It was slightly ajar, and you nearly fell over when it opened so easily.

“Jesus, you tryin’ wake everythin’ up around here?” Daryl stood by the balcony's edge, lowering the baskets with some rope.

“I thought….”

“Yeah, I know what you thought, but I didn’,” Daryl said, “I was gonna wake ya up soon. Your cat brought a rabbit back.” He nodded his head behind you, and you looked back. It had already been gutted, cleaned, and cooked. You stood in disbelief for a second.

“Oh… where is she?”

“On the roof,”

You grabbed a few pieces of the tender meat and looked up to where she was gnawing on some bones. You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at her.

“Your bag, the one you dropped by the lake. Anything important?”

“It was just water. And some clothes. Everything else is damaged from the water.” You said, going back for a few more pieces. After yesterday, you were starving.

“Good, didn’ wanna walk all the way back there,”

You nodded and took one last piece before disappearing back into the treehouse. It seemed Daryl had grabbed everything. Except on the table were a few of your personal belongings. Your gun, leg holster, ring, and a photograph of you and Liam together. Your still-wet shoes were on the floor next to the table.

Taking a deep breath, you took a photograph from the frame and folded it, then put it in your back pocket. Your attached the hostler and then looked at the ring. It wasn’t anything crazy, but it was a beautiful ring. Still, it ached your heart, and you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on. It didn’t feel right. Liam was gone. You weren’t. And you needed to think of a future where you survived, not memories that would hold you back.

After pressing a quick kiss to the ring, you laid it gently along the small fireplace’s mantle. It was newly built. It wasn’t there before. But now, the ring would sit in the treehouse where it belonged. Where it could stay forever with Liam’s spirit and memory.

“You aight?”

You looked back at Daryl and nodded, “Yeah. Let’s go.”

“It’s been quiet this morning. I think the walkers followed the storm south. The cat doesn’t seem worried.”

You nodded and walked past him. Everything you needed to bring was already on the ground. “I’ve been here almost a year. Kept me safe. It feels so final.” You said.

“We goin’ someplace better. Don’ got the time to be all wishy-washy about it.”

You chuckled at his bluntness and walked towards the rope. “Yeah, I know.”

***

Carrying all your supplies was much more difficult, and the two miles seemed to stretch forever. Each of you had bags on your shoulders and were carrying boxes of supplies. But finally, the yellow house came into view, and you sighed with relief.

You didn’t need to say anything, your reaction alone told Daryl you were there, and he felt relief too. When you approached the garage door, you looked through the glass window and banged a few times before opening it.

“I’ve picked through the house a few times. There’s really nothing to take. Anything worth taking I already did,” You said, walking over to the boxes of old Christmas decorations and donation boxes that never made it out.

Underneath a Christmas tree box were the keys to the white Jeep Wrangler, and you unlocked the car quickly. It only took another minute to get it loaded up.

“We lost the soft top a while back, left it at a storage unit in Atlanta, if I’m being honest.” You said. Suddenly your eyes widened, “Hold on, I gotta get something from the house.”

“I’ll come with ya,” Daryl said.

You glanced towards Tora, who happily sniffed all the boxes and other crap around the garage. “I’ll only be a second; watch her.”

You disappeared into the house, banging on a few walls to ensure no dead ones were around. You and Liam had locked the house up pretty tight. Just as suspected, there was nothing. And you quickly grabbed what you were looking for. On your way back, you passed another few boxes of donations and paused.

In the garage, Daryl was getting antsy. He checked the supplies and then rechecked them. He wanted to get on the road and get back to his people. He wanted to know if Rick, Glenn, and Maggie had made it. He didn’t wanna wait any longer.

Just when he was about to go look for you, you walked through the door carrying a bag in your arm and a cat carrier in the other.

“I don’t trust her not to jump out of the car,” You said, shoving the carrier in his arms. “And I got this. Figured they shouldn’t be wasted, and I didn’t know how many baby supplies you got. It’s just some clothes and a few toys. Nothing else, sadly.”

“Lori will love this,” Daryl said quietly, setting down the carrier and taking the box from you. “You might be her favorite person after this.”

You laughed as you grabbed Tora, earning a few hisses as you tried to put her in the carrier. It took two tries, but finally, she was sitting rather unhappily and a bit overstuffed. “It’s only for a little while, baby,” You said, putting the carrier in the back seat and strapping it in, all while ignoring the few hisses she gave in displeasure.

“Here,” You said, tossing the keys to Daryl. “This way, your people don’t think I got you hostage or something,”

Daryl only nodded and opened up the garage door, taking a quick look around before climbing it. You were just buckling in when the car roared to life, and he took off.

#daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead daryl #twd #daryl dixon #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

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