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Digging Ditches

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It started out innocent. Safe and innocent.

That was a thousand lies rolled into one. What a way to start. Perhaps, you wanted to pretend this had started out on a good note before descending into the very darkest depths of humanity. A note where things were mildly innocent at best — even if they were you going forth and sticking your nose deeper into business that required nothing from you. 

You weren’t…beating yourself over the head with this. Worrying overly. Feeling uncomfortable. Which was a problem in itself that made you wish things had started innocently. If there had been a naive, careful opening, maybe then you wouldn’t feel so terrible for enjoying this now.

Were you enjoying this?

That felt almost…sick to say. 

No human being should enjoy this. Nobody in their right mind would enjoy this. The only one who could get satisfaction out of this was someone beyond humanity and morals. Like Bill.

Bill definitely enjoyed your little meets. He kept returning in that pesky new human form of his, now quite literally broken in and not as awkward. There were many things he had mastered over your teachings. Behaving within the boundaries of human manners and reactions. Controlling his hormones and emotions. And, to your great relief, he had figured out how to maneuver the sexual world, both from actually research and…field work.

Field work was more scarce now that the man wasn’t setting himself off at all hours of the day. Which took pounds of stress off your shoulders. Going out in public wasn’t an anxious attack of worries and messy situations about to happen. They were simply showing off the world to an eager omnipotent being. Even in the confines of home, he was starting to grow more interested in the simple things. 

Eating was a baffling mess to him. Bill could pick up utensils just fine but chewing seemed outside of his frame of reference. And there was the mess with pouring milk all over his face. You could hardly believe sometimes he was hundreds, if not thousands, of years beyond humanity. But being a being of such great length gave him the upper hand in mastering things fast enough. 

His favorite thing to learn about, however, was the limits of his physical form. 

This, of course, referred to his pain threshold and regenerative abilities. How it worked you didn’t feel like asking. Whatever stopped the mess when he wanted nails ripping up his shivering spine. When he was eagerly asking for nicks and scratches along skin that twitched beneath your instruments of torture.

Less torture. 

More pleasure.

Bill was getting a lot of pleasure from them. Even when he wasn’t asking to combine his hormonal changes with the pain, he was curving against every tiny touch of blades. Blades you…spent a while thinking against using. Yet he had so easily coaxed them. 

You were too easily swayed by him. 

Encounters gave you something in return, certainly. Power. Control. A heated face. Dragging small edges to draw out blood and weird hitches. Clawing further, erasing any fairness to Bill’s flesh. Each cut bringing out more hurried breaths that didn’t attempt hiding just how he was being affected. He could barely speak and make demands when it was the blade. He could only bite his quivering lip when it was the blades and exploring hands. 

Yeah. You enjoyed this.

You…just never wanted it to go too far. Sure, you could watch as slowly the cuts closed themselves before you. That was reassuring. Bill didn’t need to die. But there was a limit to how far he could test himself. Everyone had a point where they couldn’t keep going. 

Mainly a morals issue.

Slightly a worried issue. You were worried sick, if you had to be honest. 

The thought itself made you sick. If not…a bit intrigued. 

And since telling him you would, albeit impaired by lust and the drive of the situation, he was very adamant about reminding you. Of the thought. Of the experience you’d shared. Bill vaguely understood it was private and kind’ve a big thing but not enough to shut up about it. 

To keep asking if you could try it again.

To keep asking you to use the kitchen knives. 

That combined with how…affectionate he seemed to be getting made matters worse. You weren’t sure if he was doing it to make you try things. Or if it was a reaction. Maybe one he didn’t fully understand. One you weren’t going to dwelve deeper into.

Focusing on Bill’s emotional responses was less important than him plopping down on you. Tossing over the back of your sofa so his head smacked your thighs. It was painful. It was rude. You just scoffed at him.

"My show’s almost over."

"So I’ve noticed." Glances showed him playing at the front of his shirt, some old sweater tossed to him when he wanted to change things up. He was human after all. Wearing the same exact thing day in and day out was suspicious and…kinda gross. Especially when he was spending full days now as a human, not just popping in briefly to bug you. "I’ve also noticed that those roommates, housemates?, of yours aren’t currently…present."

You flipped through channels, ignoring him. Ignoring the hand no longer playing on the tacky outfit and starting to linger on your arm. He was starting to learn about that. How to be teasing, how to push people. It was annoying if anything though. And he wouldn’t keep it up for long. He was far too impatient. 

And you were not going to pay attention to any feelings you got from it. No way.

"The situation is very ideal. So ideal I’d even go so far to say that the heavens above set it up. Right thats what you mortals call it. I’d even say maybe I set it up. I do have the power to do that after all. It’s certainly looking that way….” He paused, as if anything he had said was swaying you. In his defense, it was. Not..the babbling. That was pissing you off. 

The hand tracing on your shirt made up for that.

"They may be out for a while…maybe all evening. Maybe until tomorrow morning. I have this gut feeling that we will have as long as we need. As long as you are feeling up to, doll.”

A finger touched bare skin, the bit revealed when your shirt lifted beneath his touch. 

You were far too easily swayed.

"You were very into it when we tried intercourse, doll. Might as well try it already. I’m very aware of how much you wish to. After all I have seen your dre—" The hand starting to slide against your stomach halted. One was clamped over his jittering mouth. Pulling him to look up at you with a very wide and very excited eye. 

"If I do, will you stop talking?"

You were still processing your feelings over just what he was implying. Stomach feeling tense and full. Body stiff. But he was eagerly nodding, grinning beneath your hand. You could feel it. 

The grin left as you stood. Knocking his head off, you got to your feet. Wobbling feet if you had to be honest. Shaking almost. You were going to shake on the way to the kitchen. A walk that felt like a century pasted, head spinning with worries and thoughts.

Would he die? Would you have your housemates walk in on you and a dead man? Would you go to jail? Would Bill hover in your dreams, laughing at your misfortune? You weren’t cut out for jail! You were barely cut out for life!

You gulped back the terrible fall of concerns. All over thinking that didn’t much matter. Opening a drawer to pull out a fairly well sharpened, large blade. One that probably had never been used because who had use for knives this big? 

Beings possessing human bodies. Only them.

Bill was sitting up, watching with his face in his hands as you reentered. Like an eager child. It made the knot in your throat seem less harsh and choking. You wanted to choke and throw up and also really do this. Like you truly wanted to but also had every intention to not step over this line. 

You were already sitting in front of him.

Bill was already laying down. Pulling up his sweater. He was never one to just…wait. Wait for you to calm down and not have such shaky hands. But what were you going to do? Cut him? With the knife? The knife he was sitting back and awaiting? Pft. He’d want your hands to be shaky.

"This is going to seriously hurt, dude," you muttered. The position was so awkward for you, propped up between his legs. Staring down at the expanse of his stomach. It was going to look so much different so very soon…

"That’s the point. Make it hurt. Make it hurt a lot. I’m not here for any baby pain." 

He sounded so huffy. You were stalling and the stalling was ticking the demon off. Of course you weren’t afraid like that first time. Making him mad didn’t put you in harm’s way like it could in the dreamscape. Here he was just…a puppy. An angry puppy.

You’d give the angry puppy his treat. “I’m just. Going all in.”


"It’s seriously going to hurt, Bill."

"And I seriously don’t care. Do it."

With a deep breathe, you gripped the handle of the knife. Calming your hands didn’t matter, you guessed. Bill’d prefer your awkward stance any day. 

There was no talking, not even breathing. At least from Bill. Like he was putting everything on hold to really feel what you were about to do. You hoped he enjoyed this. If it didn’t feel like the most blissful thing in the world to his masochistic mind, you weren’t indulging him ever again. 

Your fingers tightened. Arms raised. And fell down, the tip of the knife falling into his stomach. Far more than that, with the force of your stab. It was almost cringeworthy to watch it being engulfed by flesh. Dragging itself deeper around a slow gush of blood.

You heard a loud gasp. 

Bill’s hand smacked your shoulder. It was a feeble attempt to hold on, faling back down to grasp your knee. His nails were digging into your bone so tight you were afraid you’d start bleeding as well. Mouth biting his lip very suddenly. 

You told him it would hurt. 

You hovered for a moment, hands holding the knife lodged in his stomach. Stomach trying to rest so you didn’t throw up and mix that with the blood. That’d be a mess. This was already a mess. And if you threw up, your pulsing mind would just get worse. You’d lose any confidence and planning. 

There was a plan. 

You were sure…maybe.

So you ignored the negativity surrounding the inside of your body, focusing on the shaky heaving from the man beneath. His eye squinting at the coffee table. He’d certainly enjoy this next part.

You were too weak for this but that wasn’t stopping the force shoved into the knife. To get it to start tearing sideways. Opening up the man was ideal after all. You weren’t going to try and get deeper with just your hands. So the knife jagged through flesh that made soft sounds of resisting. Veins popping and squirting just enough to bring crimson over your hands and lower arms. 

Bill’s breathing got heavier. Each outtake was followed by gasping or whines. The most vague term of words that you only picked up if you paid attention. Teeth kept clenching to halt his sounds. Body was also clenching, especially his stomach. The muscles were trying their best to hold back your knife. 

But everything gave way in the end. A nice line from side to side had been formed. You lifted the knife. It dripped with the fluids escaping the wound in massively spirals. Everything was either dripping or oozing. 

You wished you’d grabbed a towel. There was no way to explain the stains on the sofa. 

Maybe if you colored them more—no you. Were holding back your stomach. With each sound that did not match the situation of having your stomach cut open from Bill, it stilled. You were feeling better with the light groans from the man. Whatever came out when he wasn’t holding his breathe to stop the moving of his stomach.

The gapping line had to sting. You watched it move with the few breathes he took. 

"How’s that going for you?" you asked. The knife was set on the coffee table. More blood you’d need to explain. But that was for later. This was now. "Feeling good?"

Bill coughed. It worried you, seeing a clear mix of spit and blood coming up, trailing down his chin. But he spoke through it. Each syllable marked with teeth covered in red. “So good—I-I can feel i….i-everything—! It burns—! It’s so weirdF-Fuck its so weird…” It looked like much effort to bring his head up to face you. “B-But—don’t stop. We’ve barely begun!”

"Of…Of course."

He wanted you…wanted you to do…that. The thing you said you would. Which was obvious. You were doing this for that moment. But actually doing it seemed so bizarre. Not an action one just…did.

But you were going to. 

You were rolling your sleeves up, even if they were dirty from the squirts of snapped veins. There was no need to make this any worse. Then you would definitely look like you killed a man.

Which…you would’ve. If the man wasn’t immortal. 

He squirmed beneath your no doubt frozen fingers digging into the cut. The flesh pulled apart roughly, not willing to move. The clenching of his muscles didn’t much help. They kept growing tighter, when he wasn’t breathing. Holding back his air before releasing it and letting your nails scrap further beneath the walls of the wound. It was no doubt painfully slow but it was happening at its own pace.

You were honestly surprised by the lack of response from Bill. Usually he was far more vocal. Ordering you to do something rougher or harder. Nothing but the pathetic noises following the slowly crawling descent into his stomach. That was odd. But so was what you were doing.

You were knuckle deep, all knuckles curving into his flesh. The blood was warm, caking under your fingernails. And then there was something soft squishing beneath your touch. 

"T-That—!" Bill’s back arched against the slight touch. It confirmed what you had just felt. 

This was it then. 

"Do you want—" Your voice caught in your throat. Gazing up at his face brought heat to yours. Bill’d never looked so utterly lost in the moment before. Like his face was burning, chest heaving with two many emotions. Staring at you with abandoned intensity in a shuddering pupil. He was very much stuck between an utter bliss and sheering pain. 

And it made your eyes flicker lower, curious to know if—


This was affecting him. 

Drawing a hand out of the mess of his guts—drawing a gasp that rocketed down his body— you brought it down. Not really warning or caring that the blood dripping over every wrinkle of your hand was going to stain everything. That was for someone else to worry about. No more of those were crossing your mind. Your palm braced his stiff zipper. Another sound drew out. 

You didn’t need to ask if he wanted more anymore. 

Your hand squeezed against the bulge rubbing into your palm. Fingers beneath skin dragging a nail along the surface of intestines. All to the soft tune of heavy gasps, sounds that played on your ears the harder you worked. Tugging at the organs in your grasp, especially the ones squeezed beneath his quivering flesh. 

They came out so easily, pulled beneath the cut and tangling in crimson rivers. Bill’s legs spread. From all the touches, from tilting back and clenching teeth stained red with vomited blood. A chorus of curses came with each tug of the guts. 

You gave him the satisfaction of not chafing against his jeans. A no doubt painful feeling that was bringing shivers to his spine, but one that didn’t need. He enjoyed the pain but he’d bitch later about it. Complain you should’ve done something. So you did. Unzipped and tugged back the fabrics to let him lift out of restraints. 

A slight hiss left Bill. Like popping his cock out was more of a rush than having his guts laying on his belly. It was small things like that which drew out relief from you. You could calm down when he was being silly. 

"You’re really exposed right now, aren’t you?" you laughed nervously. Hands came to grasp both organs in the open. "It’s certainly a. Handful." You tried not to laugh too much, knowing it was all the anxiety this was bringing up. Bill certainly wasn’t. 

But that was more from trying not to moan too loudly. You couldn’t blame him. 

You dropped the guts, hand going back under. Other starting to messily slide over the member in your grasp. The slickness of the wet blood and precum made the job easier, for now. Hopefully nothing would start drying until everything was over with. With the almost hiccuped way Bill was breathing, that couldn’t be too far away. 

He kept choking up blood onto the throw pillow he was tilting against. Covering his lips in a thick red color that you…honestly wanted to kiss off. That was gross. Grosser than how he bucked against the scrap of your nails. 

Maybe because that sounded almost romantic. Kissing wasn’t romantic. But the context… You really wanted to do it. Like it was life or death. Kiss Bill’s vomit-blood from his mouth or you’re going to die, kid. Even though kissing him had happened far too many times prior. 

It was just hormones running high. 

Your hand fisted in his guts. Your hormones weren’t going to run high at a time like this. You didn’t even have the heavy feeling of wanting to jump on the stiffness you were stroking. Which honestly had been a constant thought since you first had. First. Not like there had been any others. 

You weren’t about to do that though. Not when he was clearly so close to—Not when you were digging in his stomach to get him off. Maybe if he asked later but not now. Not today. Maybe next week or some other time or never. Because now you were being disgusting, more disgusting than your actions. 

If your hands hadn’t been full, you would’ve slammed your face into them.

Bill’s unpatterned gasps drew you back to him. The motions were sending him close. But maybe that was just how tightly he was clenching around your wrist. 

Come on just finish already so I can stop and you can stop and we can end this.

His eye flicked opened, half-lidded but right at you. Still the same lost stare. But one that watched your face only. Keeping focus on it. Almost like he’d heard your thoughts. Not too far-fetched, considering all the other things he seemed capable of. But you didn’t ask, or prod into that theory.

It’d freak you out more than you cared for.

You simply stared back. Hands stroking and squeezing cock and guts, playing against them until you could tell they were both twitching. Twitching and fucking messy so fucking messy— 

His gaze was faltering. He attempted to watch you but keep falling down to your movements. Watching them with bated breath. It was a countdown now, to see where this would end. To see how much longer the clenching on your wrist would be tugging you. 

It wasn’t much.

Bill’s crimson teeth tightened together, the man trying to keep his eye open. Straining himself as you literally couldn’t move your hand. Stuck in his stomach, you just kept up work on his other organ. Your gaze didn’t move from a heated flustered face, one that was clearly restraining as climax finally pushed over.

For once you didn’t feel much of the sticky aftermath. Probably because your hands were filthy with a mess as was. The moment you could feel it, you were releasing him. Going to tug your hand out from the line slit into him.

You leaned back on your legs, looking at the heaving mess of fluids and gore beneath you. Rubbing your sore wrists. Sighing. 

Bill didn’t say anything until you noticed the slight change of guts pulling back into him. Like a clock rewarding, running backwards to undo the damage you had caused. It was a surreal mess to watch.

And one you wished included all the blood you were going to be cleaning up for ages.

A short giggle left the man. “See. Not so bad.” He was leaning up, something that brought out a look of pain on his face. So the damage was reversing itself, but the pain nerves were still on fire. That was…good to know. “I like having your hands i-in my guts, doll.” He was much closer now, nearly sat up entirely. Smiling at you like an idiot with bright red teeth.

You placed a soft peck to the shining lips head. “Whatever, dude.”

And realized you had kissed him just then. Without provocation or reason. Just a simple kiss. It was somehow far worse than anything previously done.

And it drew Bill to frown, eye widening. More from curiosity no doubt than embarrassment like you were feeling. He was always so damn curious.

You could feel his blood on your face. On your hands. On your wrists. On your cheeks where it had splattered. It was everywhere and now it was on your lips from kissing him. A real one, the type you gave… gave a lover when you wanted to snuggle. You did not want to snuggle, especially snuggle Bill Cipher of all people.

Mentioning anything about it being out-of-line would only make Bill question it. Then he’d ask for details and then you would have to explain what you were feeling. Which you didn’t even know. Too much was going on for you right then. You needed to go—

Your breathe shook as your thoughts shut down. Body tensing up as Bill leaned forward. The same soft peck was being returned, pushing more red onto your lips. He even closed his eye gently like you had, copying your motions to a T. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just knew you had done it.

“Did we need to do that?” he asked, pulling back only a bit. Only a bit. Still so close you could feel his heavy breath.

Your mind was fogging over, the tension in your bones still so thick. Looking at the eye looking over your face, noticing the small twitches and nerves ricocheting through it because Bill was oblivious but observant.

“Y-Yes,” you finally choked out. “Yes we do.” 

A brief smile captured his flustered face. “I thought so.”