Happy Theraprism Bill Day To All Who Celebrate

I JUST FINISHED READING THE BOOK OF BILL

I NEED A DIFFERENT ENDING FOR HIM

INTRODUCING...

BILL CIPHER X BOUNTY HUNTER!READER

I have an outline, I literally made a tumblr just for this triangle. I want to at least throw the idea around here.

It's been years since I've written fanfiction, but I wanted to play around with this idea!

“its just- incredible!”

Bill and Trust

He trusted humans, in his own way, he truly did. Trust looks different for him, compared to how we see it.

He genuinely grieves the loss of Ford's companionship. He spent time thinking about him at O'Sadley's. It was the closest he's ever been to loving another person.

He loved Ford. He'll never admit it.

Love looks different to scarred, untrusting people like him. It is a long, difficult journey full of trial and error. Where every mistake burns their being.

He sees himself as a monster. He blames himself for an accident. For burning his home. He lives the next trillion years running away from it.

He punishes himself by calling himself a monster: he internalizes that until he ultimately becomes one. He lets people villainize him, he both relishes and is deeply hurt by people antagonizing him. Especially people who he cares for. He reacts very poorly to Ford and the last human who picked up The Book of Bill.

Betrayal is a cycle that he just can't seem to free himself from. Which is funny, he's a TRIANGLE for Axo's sake! Vicious cycles of emotional, multidimensional, and time-transcendental (Is that a term?) trauma doesn't quite fit him!

I'm definitely gonna write these into fics

but here's some shit I wanna see more in fanfic

Touch starved Bill who's too cocky to say anything about how he keeps hinting at physical contact, but ends up doin' something about it in secret (in part based off this comic that's taken up residence in my brain)

date w/Bill where he's the weirdest lil freak imaginable using his own dating advice to try and seduce whoever he's with and it's treated as both an off putting quirk and something worth attracting attention

I already did this one as a one off post but Bill with long ass claws/ vice versa 'n there's some good ol' soft hand touchings.

classic Bill flirting but it...gets responded to weird??? Like his target takes it so well he starts to get mildly annoyed (I mean he's probably flattered it's even acknowledged positively but...)

In general I'm a sucker for soft touches but I always enjoy ones where a character only fully slips into a cosy embrace when they feel fully comfortable enough with another (nudge nudge)

Cat coded Bill! Cat coded Bill! Cat ass Bill who keeps smacking stuff around and sleeping on their partner

Hiya Bill, romance advice anon here!

I've ascended and assumed the form of a delicious, crunchy chicken strip. Your advice is AMAZING! It was hard getting enough tinfoil to wrap myself with. But it was WORTH IT!

People do say that the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach!

On that note, are you willing you share how one of your loyal followers could win YOUR heart?

Sincerely,

Just a human girl (Turning golden brown in 5 minutes, 425°F)

LOOK AT YOU GOING ABOVE AND BEYOND WITH TINFOIL! COLOR ME PROUD. (ITS THIS WEIRD GREENISH COLOR THAT EXISTS OUTSIDE YOUR COLOR SPECTRUM.)

AND AW WELL SHUCKS~ I SUPPOSE I COULD SPILL A FEW SECRETS FOR SUCH A LOVELY AUDIENCE MEMBER SUCH AS YOURSELF!

THE TRICK TO IT IS SIMPLE! GIVE ME YOUR COMPLETE AND UTTER SUBMISSION :D

GIVE ME YOUR NAME AND PUT YOUR LIFE IN THE PALMS OF MY HANDS. LOOK AT ME LIKE I CREATED THE STARS JUST FOR YOU AND OBEY MY EVERY WHIM WITH A SMILE EVEN IN THE FACE OF TERROR. SCRIBBLE MY REFLEXIVELY ON YOUR PAPERS AND WALLS, TRACE MY SHAPE OVER YOUR HEART. MUTTER MY NAME FIRST THING EVERY MORNING AND LASTLY JUST BEFORE YOU SLEEP. FROTH AT THE MOUTH WITH OBSESSION. LET ME WRENCH MYSELF SO DEEP IN YOUR VERY SENSE OF SELF YOU WONT BE ABLE TO TELL WHERE YOU END AND I BEGIN!

THATS HOW TO WIN ME OVER! IM NOT REALLY A PICKY GUY, ITS PRETTY EASY IN ALL HONESTY. I DONT ASK FOR A LOT.

I ACCEPT ANY AND EVERY HUMAN UNDER CIPHERTOLOGY BY THE WAY IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING

I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR GENDER, SEXUALITY, RACE, AGE, RELATIONSHIPS, OPINIONS, ANYTHING! AT THE END OF THE DAY YOU’LL ALL TASTE THE SAME

something stupid

a/n: well, I thought about it a bit and I think I'll try to write my ideas for bill cipher x reader, I love him so much, I can't wait to get his book ^^ (sorry if my english is wrong, it's not my native language, and I'm terrible at handwriting too)

warning: bill is the trigger itself, cringe, a little g0re, stalker

summary: bill can't say the words "I love you", so how does he show his love?

— Bill hates saying the words “I love you”, instead he prefers to hand you a bouquet made of guts, you don't know if they're made of human guts or... anyway, it definitely doesn't matter what they're made of, right?

— Bill hates saying the words “I love you”, instead he prefers to sing karaoke with you while you are both completely drunk.

— Bill hates saying the words “I love you”, instead he prefers to say stupid and some even silly pick-up lines, like:

“Do you come here often? what a coincidence, me too! Did you know that?" you two are in your house.

— Bill hates saying the words “I love you”, instead he prefers to ask how your day was, even though he already knows what it was like because he’s been stalking you all day. You can't blame him for enjoying hearing your voice!

— Bill hates saying the words “I love you”, instead he prefers to own rats and use them to spell your name on the door of his house, it’s cute in a way, but it’s extremely stressful to get all those dead rats out and he knows it.

— Bill hates saying the words “I love you”, instead he prefers to watch you sleep at dawn, he listens to your breathing and the beautiful beating of your heart, but don’t worry! He doesn’t do anything to you while you sleep… every now and then you wake up with a pen scratch on your face, lucky for you that pens aren’t permanent.

— Bill hates saying the words “I love you”, instead he prefers to spoil you and at the same time be spoiled (most of the time he prefers to be spoiled), this triangle is pure need juice, he is just a pre-teen.

— Bill hates saying the words "I love you", it's a stupid and idiotic phrase that humans invented, but sometimes he can't help but feel the urge to say something stupid like: I love you.

a/n: yes i made this based on the song "something stupid" let me be a stupid cringe

He's still adjusting.

glad you’re feeling better!

would you be comfortable sharing a sneak peek of the next chapter 👀

if not I totally understand please prioritize your well being!

Listen, I don't have a chapter sneak peak for you BUT..... because I'm making you all wait so long for this next chapter and I feel bad, I'm gonna give you a small snack.

This is an unpublished thingy that I posted on a little discord server that I'm in and people liked it there so I figured you might enjoy it here. It is just a very short warm-up drabble that I did ages ago and never used again. It's a bit messy and stuff, but whatever. It's set during MtB but it isn't really anything to do with the series. Just a little snippet of life within it:

I Got It Bad (and that ain't good) Rating: NSFW (only slightly) Type: Drabble Tags: Kissing, implied sexual stuff. Very, very tiny inference to muses but meant in no certain way. No pronouns/body described. Word count: 1233

When he's feeling contemplative, Ford likes to play the piano.

He is, like so many other things he turns his attention to, wonderful at it. 

Ford likes jazz. He pretends he's a classical purist but you've found the record sleeves on the shelves near his desk, you’ve done a little snooping, and you know they rarely correspond to the vinyl inside. They're just for show. He plays it mainly in the evenings when he's treating himself to a glass of scotch; he'll listen to a particular artist (this week it's been an awful lot of Duke Ellington) and then recreate it on his own instrument. 

He'll start small. Just a slow, leisurely tinkling of the ivories as he finds his rhythm, and then he'll settle into his groove and flex yet another of his many skills as you listen from another room while you tidy up.

If you're especially lucky, he'll ask you to join him and give him feedback on it. 

He doesn't care about the feedback, of course, because he knows he's good and so does everyone else, and you're sure he's just using it as an opportunity to show off but you never mind. 

He has, in typical Ford fashion, always refuted your accusation: “I assure you, I certainly am not,” he'd said one evening with a knowing smile, as you'd watched from your seat beside him. “I merely know that you like jazz and I play because you listen,” and you'd felt such an intensely affectionate warmth bloom in your chest that you'd dropped the point immediately.

(And when he had added on a quiet: “Plus, I like the way you look at me when I do it,” and you'd made him hit a bum note when you’d leant up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then, well, who can blame you?) 

Your favourite thing to do, beyond simply enjoying the melodies, is to watch his hands and fingers as he works. 

He'd been a little apprehensive at first, once he had noticed, but you had been quick to reassure him that your interest was appreciative, if perhaps salacious, and not even close to judgemental. 

“Would you be uncomfortable if I took a video?” You ask one dark winter's evening, leaning against the piano’s top while you observe him. “Just for myself, I mean.” 

“Whatever for?” Ford responds without missing a beat of his metronome. 

He's going away soon. He and Stan set sail in two days time and it’s a long trip this time, which means for four months, four long, agonising months, you’ll be without him. It’s almost too much to bear and your heart feels like lead at the thought. 

“Because I’m going to miss you and I’d like to have something to remind me of you when I feel like shit,” you say. 

The corner of Ford’s mouth curls upward a fraction and he spares you a thinly veiled, heated glance, his cheeks turning pink. “I thought our plan was to give you plenty of reminders the night before….?” 

Your stomach flutters. 

“I’d like more than bruises, if you wouldn’t mind,” you say, biting down on a smile. 

Ford laughs under his breath and after a moment, says: “And it’s just for you? The video?” 

“Of course,” you reassure him. “I don’t have to, I just…. Your hands are my favourite part of you and I think about them, often.” 

Too often, some might say. 

Ford laughs again, a little louder this time. “Not my dashing good looks?” he teases. “Or my dazzling personality? You wound me, my dear.” 

You grin. “All of the above,” you say with a shrug. “But especially your hands.” 

“Is that so?” Ford says, taking one hand from the keys to pat the empty space beside him. “And what, pray tell, do you think about them?” 

You go where he asks, taking up a seat at his side obediently. “Lots of things.” 

“Such as….?” 

He’s fishing for compliments, you both know it, but does sound genuinely curious, too. 

“I think they’re the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen,” you say, giving him exactly what he wants. “And I think about how they fit in mine. I think about how they feel, how your thumb rubs over my knuckles when we hold hands and how your little finger does the same on the sides, you know, just because you can do that….”

“Anything else?” Ford asks, voice warm. 

You smile, eyes transfixed on the way his fingers tick across the ivory. “And…. I like to think about how you hold my thighs when you have your head between them. The way you hold onto my hips. How your fingers taste when you put them in my mouth.” 

Ford makes a soft sound, somewhere between a contented sigh and an aroused groan, and his hands falter momentarily before he restarts his playing. 

“Is that so?” he says, hoarse. 

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly. Your head is full of those same thoughts right now, your mind’s eye blurred with the memories of Ford’s fingers climbing underneath your jeans and inching past your underwear. Of touching you so intimately that you have to press your thighs together slightly to sate the longing. 

Ford catches it. 

“You’re thinking about it right now,” he mutters, and his tone holds no question.

He’s stopped playing. His hands are frozen over the keys. 

“Aren’t you?” you answer, eyes still on them. 

Ford exhales slowly through his nose, shaky,  restrained. “I’m always thinking of you,” he says simply. 

You tear your eyes away to look up at him, only to find that his gaze is already on you. 

Ford’s eyes are molten, half-lidded and hot, and they flick down to your mouth and back up to your own. 

“You’re terrible,” he says, in such a way that it’s obvious he means it in the most complimentary context possible. “A terrible, terrible influence on an old man like me.” 

A smirk creeps onto your face. It’s always satisfying to see the effect you have on him. “I can leave, if you’d like me to. I have plenty to do and I-!” 

Ford pushes the stool back with one leg, your combined weights little more than a minor  inconvenience to him, and he hauls you into his lap before you can even finish the thought. 

You laugh, loud and bright, and fling your arms around his neck to hold on tightly to him and avoid sending you both to the floor in a heap. “Or not,” you concede. 

“Never,” agrees Ford, and then he’s kissing you. 

It’s slow and tender and white hot as always. 

You can feel his arousal press between your legs and it’s enough to make you smile against his mouth. 

“What a dirty old man you’ve become,” you say dramatically, nudging your nose against his. 

“I'm only what my muse makes of me,” Ford says raggedly. “And you are an awfully seductive force, you know….” 

“So I've been told,” you smile, one hand wandering below to palm him gently through his slacks. 

Ford groans, low and deep, and tilts his head back. “I'll make a deal with you,” he says quietly. “I swore off them a long time ago but just for you, just this once: if you keep doing that, I'll let you take footage of any fucking thing you like….” 

You grin. 

“Deal.” 

Well angry, well sitting, he needs to rest finally