#As for the rest of him - hm! I've only had passing thoughts up to this point and getting into his head is...Something lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devilfic · 1 year ago

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❝late-bloomer❞

plot: you've never been kissed before. on a completely unrelated note, what if your best friend offered to be your first? pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: post-tasm 2, gwen stacy mention, angst, self-deprecating thoughts about being undesirable and insecurity in love, best friends to wouldn't you like to know, eventual fluff, attempts at andrew garfield accurate rambling, he definitely talks you through it I mean who said that. words: 4.3k.

a/n: entirely self-indulgent because I wrote this after crying over being a late-bloomer for an hour ahahaha

Peter is reading something for research when you suck in a breath and finally ask, "What was your first kiss like?"

You hear his voice die in his throat. The small whispering of test results and calculations fall short, but you don't dare to look back. You're hunched forward so he won't see the way your eyes burn and brim with tears unshed because if he did, he'd ask about it and then you'd really start crying. Instead, you busy yourself with your phone, idly scrolling as if your question was pure curiosity alone.

You watch his ankles uncross, hear him sit up and then lean against the headboard again, fumbling for your train of thought, "Uh... sticky, 'cause I was six," Peter laughs, "You should know. You're the one who kissed me."

No matter how many times he tells you this, you can't remember the day you'd been so bold as to plant one right on Peter Parker's lips. You felt like you'd remember that, but you'd been such an impulsive child back them. Bolder. Thicker-skinned.

But Peter remembers, and so does Aunt May who swears up and down that she'd caught it on camera ("If only I could find that damned photo album"). You're the only one who doesn't. It's like it never happened, "No, God... no. I mean like your first real kiss."

"Like with tongue?" You hear the humor in his voice and even your sullen mood doesn't stop you from smacking his knee. "I dunno what you're talking about. That kiss was real to me."

"I'm serious, Pete."

He hums. You're so, so tempted to look back and see what he's thinking, but it would give you away too easily. "It was... it was a kiss. I mean, Gwen- you know. You know. I was crazy about her. I didn't think I just... kissed her."

"How did it feel? Do you know?"

"I felt like I needed to do it. I felt like if I didn't, I'd throw up. Not actually, just... like I'd explode with all the feelings I had for her."

Your finger hovers over a tweet. In your wondering about that feeling of almost nearly exploding, you try to picture that rooftop kiss that Peter had relayed to you between classes, with hushed whispers and childish laughter. It was windy, and I was breathless, he'd said, and I wanted to lay myself bare. And I just... pulled her in. Shot a web and swept her up and kissed her. I think I've lost my mind. You remembered pressing your back against the school lockers to cool yourself as you imagined the scene, the steps it took for you to settle the uneasy churn in the pit of your chest. The euphoria and panic upon realizing that your Peter was growing up.

You felt overwhelmed just imagining it. You barely hear Peter ask why you want to know. "No reason. Was just curious."

You think that Peter accepts that as good enough reason because the room is silent again. You keep scrolling, keep taking subtle deep breaths to keep the tears at bay. You see a picture of a couple on your timeline and scroll faster.

A few minutes of peace pass before Peter broaches the subject again, "What about you?"

"Hm?"

"I don't think you've ever told me about your first kiss."

Your shoulders tense. No good effort hides the strain in your voice, "I haven't?"

A beat passes. You glance over your shoulder and see Peter staring right at you, his lips upturned in a small, resting smile, but his eyes are inquiring. He's trying to read you. Perhaps he's just noticed the heavy cloud hanging overhead. "Nope." He pops the "P". He's waiting.

You could lie. You could say it was Flash Thompson who stole it, mention that field trip to the zoo in middle school when he'd sneaked next to you at the peacock exhibit and pestered you about you and Peter. Peter wouldn't question Flash about it. Even if they'd made amends, any conversation about him would send him over the edge with memories of his childhood bully and how much he pitied you for having your first kiss with him. And all of you were far too old now; Flash Thompson had gone to another state to play football the minute he got his diploma. It'd be so inconsequential, such an easy lie.

But the longer it takes you to deliberate on it, the worse it makes you look. You should've offered up an answer easily, jovially, unbothered. It should be inconsequential. Anything more and Peter would call your bluff because he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes.

At some point, you feel the brush of a lone finger at the base of your spine and it startles you. Peter's slipped his finger under your shirt, stroking along the middle of your back, "I won't laugh. If that's what you're thinking." He says softly.

Of course Peter wouldn't laugh at you. As much as your relationship was teasing, he knew where you were tender.

But it wasn't laughing you worried about.

"I know." You say, in lieu of a real answer. You fear you've given yourself away.

Now there are two fingers stroking your skin, "You don't... you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to," but you can hear the discomfort in his voice when he says it, like the thought that it's something you don't want to tell him concerns him, "it's up to you."

Just lie. Your breath shudders and immediately you regret it. There's no way he hadn't heard that.

Before you can recover, you're feeling the heat of his entire hand on your back now as it slips further up, as he sits up in bed beside you and rests his chin on your shoulder. The closeness of his breath makes you feel claustrophobic all of a sudden, "Hey, hey. I'm sorry. Did I push? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

You struggle to shake your head, but now your eyes are burning again and you don't think you can stop the tears this time, "You didn't." You insist.

"You're crying, bub," he laughs (not mockingly, never mockingly, never when you cry) and reaches a thumb up to brush away the first warm tear, "what's wrong?"

There's a million things you could say. I've never been kissed before, I don't know what it feels like to be longed for like that, I want to be longed for like that, why haven't I been longed for like that? But it all feels so heavy. Peter picks his chin up to kiss your shoulder and that really does it, "It never happened."

Peter's lips still against your skin. Their warmth slowly peels away, though you feel his breath ghost over the curve of your bone, "What hasn't?"

"A kiss. A first kiss, Peter. I've never had one."

"That's..." Peter sounds almost shocked, disbelieving. He never picks up that thought.

You turn your head away and toss your phone onto the bed, no longer interested in pretending you could distract yourself with anything else. You try to shrug your shoulder out from underneath Peter's mouth but he's quick, the hand at your back locking around you and you can't escape him even though you want to, even though you need to get away from his sweet smile and lovely heartbeat that thuds a little faster against your side.

It was already so much to tell him you hadn't had your first kiss yet, to admit to your best friend who—despite popular Midtown High opinion—has always been so irresistible to lovers, that you haven't gone as far as something so... simple. Something teenagers running your old stomping grounds have probably experienced ten times over by now. You don't think you can handle his pity too, "Peter, please."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. Everyone moves at their own pace."

You hiss through your teeth. You don't mean to, but the spite overwhelms you like red hot heat for a minute, "It's easy to say that when you've done it already."

You catch Peter's eye and immediately regret it. His untamed brows are drawn together, expression more analyzing than pitying. Even though you're brimming with feelings, he seems as if he's trying to wade through them, search for the gnarled root at the center of it all.

Then, and he says this so carefully that the meaning takes a moment to catch up with you, "There's nothing wrong with you."

It's the sincerity that does it. You shove his hand off of you, jerk away from him in a scramble to stand, but Peter is fast and lithe and he's always been two steps ahead of you even before the bite. He's up on his feet before even you are, coming to stand in your way when you go to grab for your bag, "Peter, move."

"Look, can we... can we talk about this?"

"I really don't want to. Move."

"Why are you shutting me out?"

"Because I want to go home. Move."

"Is it because of what I said?"

"Yes!" You blurt, growing frustrated the longer he blocks your path, "yes. Because I'm sick of being told there's nothing wrong with me when clearly..." Your voice tapers off, afraid to give him the reason he needs to worry about you, "Please. I'm just tired. It'll go away on its own, it always does, I just can't be here right now."

The standoff between you two lingers, feels like you might have to fight him just to escape. It takes everything in you just to keep eye contact with him and not burst into tears.

Peter clearly doesn't want to let you go. You can see that genius brain of his running every possible scenario in his mind in which he convinces you to stay, cry it out, leave happier than you came. None of them come soon enough. You brush past him when he realizes he's got nothing, and even the hand that grabs for you is halfhearted, shrugged off with little force.

"I'll see you later, Pete."

You let his front door shut on its own.

It hasn't been great.

What typically took a few hours to shake off had settled over you like a dark cloud ever since you'd stormed out of Peter's place. Even though you texted him like everything was fine (and dodged any phone calls so he wouldn't hear the truth with those freakishly good best friend senses of his), you had yet to see him again. Had yet to let yourself be seen.

You told yourself that it was just you missing Peter, and you believed that to be true, but you also believed that when he looked you in the eye and told you "there's nothing wrong with you", you hadn't been prepared for the nakedness of it all. He'd dug deep, right to the source. That kind of thing was hard to move past.

So you avoided him. If he came by your place, you pretended you weren't home. If he showed up at your work to take you to coffee, you lied and told him you had plans with a coworker. It had been several days now and you felt more and more cowardly by the minute.

It was Peter. Of all people, it was Peter. Your best friend. You could tell him anything (most things, some kept a little closer to the heart). You should be able to.

And it was silly. Being embarrassed about not kissing anyone. Plenty of people were in the same boat as you and they didn't ice their best friend out about it.

Ugh, now you were just making yourself feel worse.

You'd had enough. You'd end this pity party today. As you make your way through your apartment door, you promise yourself that after you've showered, after you've made yourself a filling dinner, after you've settled into bed, you'd call Peter and ask him to meet for pizza this weekend. You'd talk like civil adults who understand that life isn't a race. You'd share your couch, laugh about the whole thing, and maybe, just maybe, the hollowness in your chest that longed for someone's desire to fill it would finally-

He's sitting in your kitchen.

Legs dangling off the island, mask rolled up to his nose, and a spoon clattering out of his mouth and into a bowl of ice cream. Your front door shuts gently behind you.

You stare at each other for a few seconds. Then you glance through your bedroom door, cracked open just enough for you to see the breeze rustling your curtains. You turn back to Peter, who's cleaning off his bottom lip of raspberry sorbet. "Did you climb through the window? You have a key."

Peter sets the bowl down beside him, shrugs, "You weren't returning my calls."

Your shoulders sag and you drop your things to the floor, "Peter-"

"No, no," you watch him slide off the countertop and bounce over to you, and the nearness you aren't prepared for makes you back away an inch or two, "No Peter. I'm not Peter. I'm Spider-Man. See?" He gestures to the suit.

You reach your hand up and pinch his exposed cheek, then narrowly avoid his teeth before he tries to nip you, "I'm not in the mood. I said I'd call you later, I'm just... busy."

"Busy avoiding your best friend."

You can feel him trail after you as you walk away, beginning to undress. He catches your coat when you throw it toward the couch and hangs it up all neat on a hook. He kicks your shoes to a wall and tugs your belt from your fingertips once you've undone it. Then, unexpectedly, he hooks said belt around your waist and yanks you back to face him.

The momentum throws you fully into his chest but he's sturdy, unmoving as you grip his shoulders and give him the most hostile look you can muster. You attempt to wiggle out of the trap but he pulls the belt tighter, forcing you closer, and then you start to panic as the space between you both disappears, "I haven't been avoiding you, I just needed space." You quickly explain.

"And I get that," he admits, "but you scared me. I've never seen you like that before. Not with me. Not ever."

Of course he hadn't. It was why you kept all of this a secret in the first place. Because you knew he'd worry, and you knew that there would be nothing he could do to fix it. Not like he usually could.

"It was a... brief lapse in self-esteem. That's all. You're making it into a bigger deal than it should be."

"It's not a big deal?"

"No! That's what I keep trying to tell you."

"So it doesn't matter at all."

"Correct."

"Right."

"It's just an arbitrary milestone that means nothing." You grip the leather of your belt but you're nothing against his superhuman strength. Pleading with your eyes, you do your best not to slip back into that vulnerable place all over again. Peter made you feel safe to do that. Way too safe to do that. "I promise. I'm not avoiding you."

You get sick of staring into the whites of his mask and so you grab the edge of it and pull it up to his hairline, little tufts of curls poking out as his face is fully revealed to you. You stare into those sharp, probing eyes of his, forcing yourself to stand the test of Peter Parker's perception.

Suddenly, you're released.

You stumble back a bit, the belt clanking against the floor, as Peter throws his arms up in defeat, "Alright, alright. I get it. I should've let you breathe the other night. I was just worried, is all."

You smile, "And I appreciate that."

Peter quickly glances at you and then away, making an exaggerated show of kicking imaginary dust off the floor. "First kisses really mean nothing then, huh?"

"Zilch. Nada."

"So... doesn't matter when it is, who it is..."

You watch him carefully, "If this is about when we were six-"

"No, no, I know that didn't count. You don't even remember it," his face contorts in a wince, "I was just thinking. Something."

Your eyes narrow, "Uh-huh."

"Well, I mean, is that why? Because you don't remember it? Or... is it because it was me?"

"The kiss?" Peter blows a raspberry, looking more bashful by the second, and nods without looking at you. "It's... it's because we were six. And we didn't know what we were doing. I was just mimicking what we saw. We didn't know anything."

"And now we do."

"Yeah. What are you getting at, Pete?"

He sits on the back of your couch and kicks his feet out in front of him. "If all that matters is that we both know what we're doing, and a first kiss is just a meaningless milestone to you, then I thought that maybe we could give it another go. You know. So when a real kiss comes along that actually means something, you'll have an idea of how it's supposed to go."

You're six years old again.

You and Peter Parker are sitting in the dirt, mouths covered in sticky ice cream that the summer sun melted right up. You're both talking about Flash Thompson's trip to Florida and the hilarious sunburn he came back with when you spot an elderly couple across the park, pressing their mouths together over and over.

You're looking over at Peter and asking about it, sure it couldn't possibly feel good, and he's telling you that when Uncle Ben kisses May good morning in the kitchen he always looks away because it's gross.

And you're thinking... you start thinking something.

You're thinking it would be funny—that Peter would hate you for it, but you're just so curious—and you're pressing your lips to his so quickly that he doesn't get a chance to pull back before you're giggling in the grass. And May's voice flutters in the background, a shrill and delighted, "I caught that!" that makes you both turn tail and run toward the swings.

Peter's still staring at you, waiting.

Part of you feels like it's pity. Like he doesn't want you to feel bad about yourself. Like he doesn't know how else to fix it, because he has to fix it. He has to fix everything. He has to be your hero.

But the other part? A restless and selfish part wants to take it; it's curious.

You take a step forward, the two of you watching each other, waiting to see if the other might back out at the last second. He stays exactly where he is, legs parting slowly, and the silent invitation makes you feel hot under the collar.

When you're standing between them, you feel his knees bump your legs on either side, his hands planted firmly into the couch cushions. You notice the grip he has on them, "Are you sure?" You pause.

Peter tilts his head in that strange, spider-like way. As if he cannot fathom why would you ask such a thing, "Of course. I'm the one who offered."

Your hands shake as they consider where to put themselves, and you get about halfway to his shoulders before he takes them and places them on either side of his face, mumbling something about how it might help you feel more in control, quell your nerves a bit.

Peter's cheeks feel so warm in your hands, and you can feel each swallow he makes the longer you take in his expression. "Should... I move in first? Or..."

He laughs, short and high-pitched, "I guess I can go first."

You know you're supposed to close your eyes, but as he comes in close, you can't help but keep them lidded, taking in every twitch of his mouth as he inclines his neck, shuts his eyes, and kisses you.

Your brain reacts a half-second after his lips touch yours. You've probably stopped breathing, and you have to force your lips to unstiffen so that you could actually feel him. His lips are a little wet—he'd been rolling his bottom lip between his teeth since he'd sat down—and they taste faintly of raspberry. They're not cold though, and the feeling isn't unpleasant.

You don't know how to react to it, don't know if you should move or not, and so instead you curl your fingers into the silk of his nape and wait for the pounding in your chest to stop.

You feel him mouth at your bottom lip just once, and then pull back. "How'd that feel?"

You recall the sensations that went through your brain (all that it can recall anyway, when Peter's looking at you like that), "Slimy...?"

Peter's face falls, and then he bursts into laughter, shakes with the force of it, and drops his head on your shoulder. "There's got to be a better word than that."

"I don't know! I was just thinking about the feeling."

"I don't want to know what it felt like, I want to know how it made you feel. Did you like it? Hate it?"

"I don't know. I'm- I'm nervous."

"Hey, that's okay," his hand rubs your hip, warming the skin there, and you find yourself leaning into it for comfort, "everyone is their first time."

Peter is so, so gentle. Your heart feels like it might give out, but a little less now that it's over and he's not looking at you in disgust. You don't know what you expected, but... this was better. By far. That part of you that felt selfish takes over again, "Can we try again?"

His eyes widen a bit, but he's immediately nodding, "Okay. Yeah. Okay. We can try as- as many times as you want."

You nearly choke on your spit. "Can we?" Your voice comes out a meek whisper.

Peter nods. He brings his legs in so that he's sitting properly now. "Of course. You wanna move me? I can sit somewhere else. Or you can sit if you want."

"No, I like you here," you say, feeling your stomach tighten when his thighs lock against your legs, "um. Is there anything I can work on? How did I feel?"

"Warm. Soft. Just try to loosen up, alright?"

You force yourself to release the tension in your body and move in first this time. Images of rom-com kisses flood your brain, how you memorized their rhythms and the placement of their mouths. You try your best to mimic it, make it feel as good as it seemed to look, when you feel one of Peter's hands slip behind your head and angle you away just a hair, "You're tensing up," he warns, making you pause, "it doesn't have to be perfect. It's just you and me. Breathe for me, okay? Turn your brain off."

You feel your stomach flip a bit, and nod along mindlessly. You try again.

This time, it feels a little different. Not wet or stiff, even if it is still awkward. It almost overwhelms you when, as you're mouthing at Peter's lip, he returns the favor, but you keep your brain empty. You can't focus on the details because it won't feel right. You can't focus on the way it looks because it won't feel right.

So you focus on Peter. You focus on the hand on your hip drawing you closer and the hand on your neck rubbing circles into the knot there. You focus on the feeling of his suit under your pinkies. You focus on the small hum he makes when, with quite a bit of building up to it, you pass your tongue over his.

Almost as soon as you do it, you pull back. Peter is flushed and it makes the beauty marks on his skin stand out more. His eyelashes flutter, a half-smile on his lips that are kissed red. By you.

You open your mouth to ask but he beats you to it, "I think you've got it now... yeah. Definitely." You're so relieved you sigh, sagging away from him, but he catches your hands before they can can leave his face completely and holds them in his lap. You don't dare move them. "How about you? Did you like it?"

You nod, speechless.

Peter laughs and squeezes your hands in his, "Okay, good. Good. I love you, you know? I know it doesn't... replace what you're looking for, but you're wonderful. You're insane and funny and stunning and there's nothing wrong... you know? You're perfect. Take it from your loser best friend who had to get bit by a radioactive spider to get to first base."

You snort, "I mean, if that's all it takes..."

Peter shakes his head and stands, but his hand remains on your neck as you follow his eyes to his full height, "So, we good? No more ignoring me?" You bite your lip, nodding your head. Peter smiles. "Good, cause I'm starving and I need you to split a pizza with me."

"You just polished off a tub of ice cream and you're still hungry?"

"I'm a growing spider, honey. And I missed you." Without warning, the hand on your hip hooks around your back and hoists you into his body, throwing you off balance once more, "I'll swing us there and cover cheese sticks too. Sound good?"

You know you don't have much room to argue when he's being so generous. And not when he's beaming at you, so genuinely relieved to have you back that it would knock you off your feet if he wasn't holding you up.

He was right; this wouldn't replace what you were looking for, but it gets pretty damn close. Closer than you expected, actually. But it's just the adrenaline. This didn't change anything.

Did it? You stare up at Peter.

"We can try as many times as you want."

You might have a very different problem than you started with.

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker imagines #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman imagines #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spiderman angst #andrew garfield #spider-man #marvel #mjwrites #tasm

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ckret2 · 5 months ago

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Chapter 58 of human Bill Cipher in a quantum uncertainty state between being and not being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Everything you've wondered about how Bill survived his execution.

Let's rewind a couple of days.

####

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

"Welp," Mabel said, "I've got the rest of summer to try to get the whole story out of him! Goodnight, Dipper!"

Dipper's stomach flipped with guilt. "Yeah." The rest of summer. Mabel left for Portland in the morning. "Goodnight."

He lay down, pulled his sheet back up, and stared at the ceiling.

####

Friday, 11:04 p.m.

It took less than five minutes before the guilt won.

Yeah, no, nope, nuh-uh, Dipper couldn't do this. Not to his sister. He rolled over and hissed, "Psss, hey. Mabel."

"Hm?"

"Listen," Dipper said. "I hate Bill, okay, but I care about you, and also I think Bill might be part of a prophecy, so, because of that—I... There's something I need to tell you."

####

11:15 p.m.

Bill hadn't even had time to start dreaming before something dragged his mind back into the waking world.

There were white points of light as he passed through the hazy twilight of half-sleep. Those lights were his eyes. Lately, every time he started to wake up, he'd been seeing his eyes in the distance.

This time, there was one right in front of him, so bright it almost blinded him. He thought he could see something in the light.

He touched it.

And then he woke up, laying on his cushion bed as usual, watching as Mabel slid out of her room, crept near, and knelt beside him. She shook his shoulder. "Hey, Bill. Wake up."

And then he woke up—which was strange, considering he'd just done that—and stared at the dark inside of his hoodie.

He pushed back his hood. There was Mabel, crouched next to him, just like he'd "dreamed." Huh. Well done, Cipher, it seems you've just learned a new trick.

He tamped down his excitement; he could figure out what to do with this trick later. For now, he had a higher priority. "'Sup, kid?" He pushed himself up on an elbow, roughly flipping his hair out of his hood so it wouldn't keep tickling and choking around his neck. "It's the middle of the night." He yawned and mumbled, "Not that it makes a difference to me, but..."

"Shhh! We've gotta stay quiet," Mabel whispered. "I need to get you out of here. They're gonna kill you."

He sat bolt upright. "All right," he said. "You have my attention."

####

Dipper refused to say how, but according to him they'd synthesized just enough fuel for one shot with their fancy quantum whatever gun, and they couldn't make any more. They planned to execute Bill once Mabel was gone.

Mabel could just open a door for Bill and let him escape in the middle of the night—but that had dangers of its own. Bill would have to travel to a hiding place on foot—and his shoes were crap for hiking—his feet were also crap for hiking—and he'd only have until the adults started waking up and realized he was gone. Even if he kept moving all night, the adults would probably be able to cover the same amount of ground in a couple of hours, he'd probably inadvertently leave a trail a mile wide, and the forest's local supernatural population would definitely snitch if one of the Stans asked if they'd seen anything.

Plus, it wouldn't be very hard for the adults to figure out that Dipper had cracked and Mabel had helped Bill escape, and then everyone was in hot water.

They needed a way to cover Bill's escape to make it harder for the adults to pick up his trail, to give him as much time as possible to get some distance from the shack, and to delay Mabel getting in trouble. ("And Dipper," Mabel said. "Sure," Bill said unenthusiastically.)

But if they could, it would be best if they found a way to ensure the adults never even thought to look for Bill, Mabel never got in trouble at all, and the Quantum Destabilizer could never be fired again.

It was possible, Bill said. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was possible. They had a good chance. A very good chance. In fact, never mind, he'd decided it was guaranteed, they'd pull this off easily.

All they had to do was fake his death.

He knew a way.

####

11:45 p.m.

Dipper was stirred out of a drowsy near-sleep by the door creaking open and a couple sets of footsteps shuffling in. He rolled over and squinted across the room.

Mabel was quietly collecting craft supplies—pens, papers, her small starter sewing kit she used for repairs. Bill climbed into the loft to grab some musty pillows and blankets that had been stored for years in a cardboard box.

"Mabel?" Dipper mumbled.

Mabel put a finger over her lips. "Hey Dipper," she whispered. "You can go back to sleep, we'll be up in the loft."

"Doing what?"

"Scheme-y stuff. Don't worry about it." She flung her arms around Dipper, whispered, "Thank you," and ran across the room to grab her backpack and the height-altering flashlight.

Dipper glanced toward the loft. Bill was waiting at the top of the ladder, a dark vaguely-triangular silhouette, only his eyes visible as they reflected the dim light like a cat's. Dipper had had more nightmares than he could remember about waking to find Bill hovering in the dark above him.

Bill's gaze flicked from watching Mabel to staring at Dipper. They made eye contact. Bill didn't say anything.

Then Mabel climbed up the ladder, supply-stuffed backpack slung over her shoulders. Bill gave Dipper one last silent look, then turned away to follow Mabel to the back of the loft.

Dipper rolled over and tried to fall back asleep.

####

The plan was to create a dummy that looked like Bill to take the Quantum Destabilizer's shot in his place, while the real Bill got as far from the shack as the weirdness barrier around town would allow.

Bill told Mabel that the dummy didn't need to be complicated: he had an enchantment that could make it completely convincing. All he had to do was write out a spell and leave the paper over the dummy, and anyone who looked at it would be convinced it was really him in the flesh.

Similarly, sneaking Bill out of the shack didn't need to be complicated. They could shrink Bill down and stick him in Mabel's backpack, and all she'd have to do was come up with an excuse to get out of the car and set him free before they left town.

The hard part would be the choreography of the whole thing. They needed Bill to put in an appearance that morning, to prove it really was him walking around; and then go somewhere that Mabel could hide him away without anybody noticing; and then ensure that nobody would see the Bill dummy until they were safely out of range, just in case. "The enchantment's pretty good," Bill said, "but the more people see it and the longer they get to look at it, the less potent it gets. And all it'll do is make the dummy look like me—it won't be able to walk and talk. It's best if the only person who gets a good look at it is my executioner."

The word executioner made Mabel shudder. It would probably be Ford, wouldn't it? She knew he thought he was doing the right thing. She knew it wasn't the first time he'd tried to destroy Bill. She knew she'd been fine with it last summer. She even knew that Bill would be okay. But all the same, she wasn't sure how she'd look at Ford the same way.

Once they had the dummy set up somewhere away from the family's prying eyes, they had to discourage everyone from trying to approach "Bill" until they were ready to kill him. And, ideally—just in case the executioner tried to speak to Bill or the enchantment otherwise failed—they should stage it all in a way so that no one would think Mabel had been involved in the escape plan.

The solution was obvious.

"I live to cause drama for no reason," Bill said. "I upset mortals recreationally. Can you act?"

"Can I act? Pshhh!" Mabel flipped a hand dismissively. "Maybe you were too busy badly impersonating my brother to watch, but last year I kind of staged an entire puppet show performing and singing as every character."

So it was a plan: they would stage a fight.

They were sitting in the very back of the attic loft, behind stacks of forgotten boxes and abandoned junk, beneath the meager light of the loft's window. Bill didn't need the light. He had a pen and paper and was writing out his enchantment's spell while they talked, long lines of inscrutable text. It was so dark that Mabel couldn't even see what language he was writing in, but that was fine; Bill had said that if she read his spell—if anyone read it—it would break the enchantment.

"Whoops," Bill said, "yeah, afraid I missed your whole show! I was too busy backstage trying to avoid your friends and looking for a way onto the catwalk."

Mabel shook her head in disapproval. "You would have liked it. There were live pyrotechnics and lasers and fog machines and a giant tentacle monster war and seventy-four songs and puppets!"

"I'll admit, sounds like a killer show. How about gore?"

"There was a whole song about my love interest getting his legs chewed off in the war," Mabel said. "The sock puppets don't have legs, but everyone knows your own imagination is a lot scarier than anything you actually see."

This kid could have a brilliant artistic career as a serial killer. "That's familiar. Is this war based on that 'cats versus the giant octopus' dream you keep having?"

"Yeah, and you'd have known that if you'd actually watched the opera! Too bad you missed the whole thing," Mabel said. "I guess you were just too busy being evil to appreciate the simple joys of a good, clean, non-villainous puppet show."

"Oh no, I can't believe my actions have consequences," Bill said flatly. "What would I ever have done if you hadn't enlightened me."

"Died, probably."

Bill glared.

"You know! Like you did last summer? As a consequence of your—"

"You shush."

Bill shoved Mabel away when she started to laugh, and held the enchantment up between their faces so he didn't have to look at her. He read his work over, then folded the paper in half and half again. "Hey, maybe you can put on an encore presentation sometime." Bill carefully inscribed four symbols in a square on the folded paper. "I promise I'll laugh at the jokes and fake cry at the sad parts."

Mabel shuddered. "No way. I'm never touching that show again. Too many bad memories."

"Awww, how come?"

Mabel stared at Bill.

Bill said, "Oh, right."

"Yeah," Mabel said coldly. "Thanks."

Bill shrank back. He leaned against a cardboard box, not sure where to look, drumming his fingers self consciously on the floorboards. Trying to figure out the right thing to say to make it better.

"Hey," he said. "If you ever change your mind about reviving the show... can I play the reverend again?" He grinned.

Mabel wadded up a paper and chucked it at Bill's face.

####

They agreed that scripting out every bit of the argument would make it sound too fakey; and anyway they were going to do this on no sleep and with no time to practice, if one of them forgot a line mid-argument it would ruin their entire plan. Bill said he was great at improvisational acting (which Mabel suspected was his way of trying to make "great at lying on the spot" sound good), and Mabel was a pro at getting into character for pretend games, so this should be easy. They just needed to choose a few topics they could realistically argue about.

So they started making a list of things that would totally infuriate each other.

"I can't think of anything that would make me furious," Bill said. "Outside of something serious like a murder attempt, anyway. I'm an even-tempered triangle! I don't sweat the small things!"

"You got sooo mad when I forgot to tell you about my Summerween plans."

Bill grimaced. "Right," he muttered. "That."

Teasingly, Mabel asked, "Are you still grumpy I made plans?"

"I was not grumpy you made plans. I wasn't grumpy at all! I just would have appreciated if I'd known sooner, I planned my whole evening assuming I'd have somebody around to open doors—"

He saw Mabel's increasingly amused smirk, stopped himself, held up a hand, and said, "I'll save it for tomorrow morning."

Mabel wrote down the idea beneath four ideas she'd already scratched out. She'd temporarily removed the crystal from the height-altering flashlight so she could illuminate her paper while she wrote. "The concert will definitely come up tomorrow morning! And you can act like that's the first time you heard about it."

"Sure, no problem. We haven't talked about the concert where your uncles could overhear, have we?"

"I don't think so."

"Then that's perfect. I can pretend to be mad you didn't tell me." Bill forced a smile. "All right, your turn." He rested his elbow on his knee and his cheek on his fist. "I realize that, apart from the unfortunate meat suit, I'm the most flawless person you've ever seen—" he ignored Mabel's raspberry, "—but for the sake of argument, just imagine something you might get mad at me for."

"Um... insulting Dipper?"

"Now that sounds fun. But no, can't risk it, he'd be too tempted to jump into the argument," Bill said. "Besides, what if I said something you agreed with?"

"What! Why would I agree if you insulted my brother?"

"He smells like a sweaty ferret and when he has a crush he turns into a creepy little stalker."

Mabel laughed. "Yeah, he does. Okay, um..." She went silent for a moment, tapping the butt of her marker on the paper.

She stopped tapping; and then quietly said, "I'd be so mad if I thought you were trying to keep me from hanging out with my friends."

"Oh, I could do that easily." Bill reviewed his wording, decided a human could take that as a threat, and quickly amended himself, "Could pretend that I'm trying to do that easily. You know I'd never, but hey, the adults here are ready to believe the worst about me—"

"You promise?"

"Sure I promise!" He processed the question after he'd already answered it. "Hold on—you think I'm the kind of person who would do that?" He was, but he didn't want her to see him that way.

She shrugged, looking down at her idea list again. "You've done it to other people."

"Name one!"

"Grunkle Ford and Old Man McGucket."

Oh, of course. That snitch of a backstabbing ungrateful ex-student, bane of Bill's entire miserable postmortem existence. Had to find as many ways as possible to make Bill look bad, didn't he. "All I did was tell Stanford that hick was a coward and a flake. I didn't make him do anything! If he agreed with me, that's on him." Bill crossed his arms irritably. "And Specs was a coward and a flake. Is it a crime to be right?"

"But you ruined their friendship on purpose, didn't you."

Bill tried to find a graceful way to wriggle around the direct accusation that excused his actions without contradicting whatever she might already know. "Did not," he said.

Mabel frowned at him.

Bill averted his gaze. "So! That's great. Trying to keep you away from your friends. Something I've never done to you but would be a really good thing to fight about. What else."

Mabel sighed and looked over her list again. She wrote something, scratched it out; started another line and scribbled it out; and then said in exasperation, "Your morals are terrible."

Bill had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep his sudden laugh from waking Dipper. "You've got too many morals, it's your biggest character flaw. How many does one person really need, two or three? That's an easy topic, arguments about morality can drag out for hours!"

"We probably only need to fight for like ten minutes, right?"

"Sure. List done! That's everything we need."

Mabel heaved a sigh of relief. She read over the list, glanced at the flashlight she was reading with, and said, "I should get extra batteries. It'd be the worst if we got you way out of the shack and then the batteries died while you were still small."

Bill wasn't sure about that. Being so tall for weeks on end felt awkward and wrong. His limbs were always in the way. He bumped into things he should have been able to slide between. The more time he spent in this body, the more he wanted to spend a month at the size and thickness of a greeting card. He joked, "Hey, I don't know; it'd be easier to hide..."

"Yeah, and easier to get squarshed." Mabel turned off the flashlight and picked up her backpack. "I'm getting batteries."

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill picked up her list to see what topics they'd found to argue about so far:

Weirdmaged

Making me think you were Blendin to get the

Kitten fists meow meow

Almost killing me

Not sharing Summerween plans

Trying to make me kill myself by

Ruining Glove Story

Insulting Dipper

Insulting Waddles??? (too lovable!)

Weirdm

Mabeland Isolating me from everyone

Spray painting your eyeball

Weir YOU'RE TOO EVIL!!

I'M TOO NICE!!! ♡

He reread the list, feeling his guts writhe and twist involuntarily.

Yeah. Those were all the things he'd decided not to bring up, too.

At least they were in agreement on what they didn't want to talk about. That was true friendship, right? Friendship didn't mean never hurting each other; it meant mutually agreeing never to talk about it again.

He read the list a third time.

####

A spare pair of Bill's black leggings and a pair of black socks would serve as half of the decoy body, stuffed with old bedsheets and half a pillow that Mabel had sized up with the flashlight so it was closer to Bill's actual torso size. For the time being, the top half of the decoy was constructed out of a flannel shirt; Bill would have to put in an appearance downstairs in his hoodie, and then they could quickly go upstairs and put it on the decoy to complete the look.

He'd miss that hoodie almost as much as he missed his own face. But it was a small price to pay for his life.

"I don't know," Mabel whispered, inspecting the dummy with the flashlight from near the edge of the loft. "It doesn't look super convincing. It's kind of lumpy all wrong." She knelt by it and tried to poke the fake thigh into a slightly more convincing shape.

"Don't worry about it," Bill whispered, waving the folded paper with the secret spell written inside. "The enchantment will hide all that. As long as the dummy looks mostly human at a glance, no one will notice anything."

Mabel gave it one last worried look, but nodded and turned off the flashlight.

####

Mabel crept out of the office and eased the door shut. "Got it," she whispered, holding up a faded black umbrella. "Are you sure you don't want a better umbrella, though? Some of the spikes are broken and I think it's supposed to rain today."

"The other humans will be less likely to notice a broken umbrella going missing," Bill said. "Anyway, this one saved my life once. I'll take it."

"Then that's the last supply we needed to pack," Mabel said, sighing in relief. "It's still a couple hours until morning. Should we get some sleep?"

Bill considered it, and shook his head. "No. Better not."

Sleep scared him. Sure, he endured it when he had to—he had no choice—and, under the circumstances, although it was a close call, he grudgingly preferred sleeping to dying of sleep deprivation; but he kept it at bay as long as he could, sleeping irregularly, infrequently, and briefly. Knowing it was necessary didn't make the fear go away.

It was the helplessness of the whole thing—knowing that, once his mind had shut off, anything could happen around him, anything could happen to his body—and not only was he ignorant and defenseless, but he was also powerless to wake himself up any sooner than his tyrannical circadian rhythm dictated. He lacked even the power to think about waking.

If Mabel hadn't woken him tonight, he might have slept through his own death.

He continued, "What if we sleep in and don't have time for the fight? I'd be doomed." Bill didn't even have the luxury of an alarm clock.

"Oh—good point," Mabel said. "So we should probably do something to keep us awake."

"Right," Bill said, wracking his exhausted brain for an idea. "Overdose on caffeine?"

Mabel was quiet for a moment. "If this works, it might be a long time before we see each other again," she said. "You'll probably have to keep hiding until Grunkle Ford and Grunkle Stan leave town in the fall. And by then summer will be over, and I'll be back in California..."

She was right. If they pulled off this plan, he might never see Mabel again. It wouldn't exactly be safe to ring up the Mystery Shack. Sure, sooner or later he'd find a way to restart Weirdmageddon, and then he could invite her into his gang... And she'd join, wouldn't she? Of course she would. He just needed a chance to talk to her about it away from the closed-minded killjoys in her family that were holding her back. But until then...

She groped through the dark to grab at Bill's sleeve. "Dance party? While we still can?"

"Sure, star girl." Where had this lump in his throat come from? "Sounds fun. Dance party."

####

5:30 a.m.

It was the first time Bill had danced since his death.

All Mabel had to offer was Sev'ral Times, upbeat kid's show soundtracks, unlistenable synthesized junk, and whatever was playing before dawn on the radio stations that could reach Gravity Falls; the stained yellow shag carpet and homely plaid wallpaper made him miss the dark smoky rooms and strobing multicolor lights of a real club; he couldn't risk drinking this early in the morning if he wanted to have a head clear enough for escape; and he never forgot that, outside of the living room, the halls were empty and silent.

But he'd danced to music that made his eye bleed and his memories howl and he'd danced to no music at all; he'd danced in millions of crummy makeshift dance halls and night clubs and dive bars that had tumbled into or been cobbled together in the Nightmare Realm; he'd danced when he was so brutally sober that time in all its sharp cruel clarity seemed to have frozen to turn a spotlight on him; he'd danced with his worst enemies and he'd danced all alone; and there wasn't any force on this planet that would stop him from dancing now.

After spending four songs in a row making fun of Bill for attempting to figure out how to puppet a human body into some approximation of a dance, Mabel asked, "What were dances like on Flatworld?" It made Bill internally wince each time he heard it called that.

But he welcomed the opportunity for a break; he leaned back to half sit against the living room table, breathing heavily, arms trembling. "Dif—difficult question." He had to pause to catch his breath. His lungs and muscles couldn't keep up with him; this body was too hard to keep moving, so inefficient, 90% of the fuel that went into it was wasted uselessly. It was already beginning to atrophy in the few short weeks he'd had it, muscles withering from days stuck indoors with nothing to do but sit and stare out the window. He'd been made of pure energy for so long that maintaining all the little systems to keep a flesh body energized—food, water, sleep, exercise, not too much exercise, oxygen—felt like a Sisyphean torture. "S'like asking—'what're human dances like'? There's a—lot of variety."

"You know what I mean!" Mabel was still half dancing, bouncing from foot to foot. Bill wanted that kind of energy. "How do you dance?"

Bill shut his eyes, seeing colors flash behind his eyes—gyroscopic, kaleidoscopic, shapes spinning and whirling in spirals. "I'd show you, but there's not enough room in here for me to do a cartwheel."

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being serious! Plus I can't float. It wouldn't look right in a human body." It would look better if he cut his silhouette out of a piece of paper, taped it over a flashlight, and projected the shape onto the wall. "Tell you what—as soon as I'm back in my real body, I'll show you how I dance, all right?"

"Come on, Bill! You're just trying to wiggle out of—"

"Mabel," Bill said, "I can't do those dances in this body."

Mabel's teasing smile faded. "Really?"

"Unless you know a way to dislocate my shoulder so I can slide my entire arm from one hip over my head and down to the other."

"Ew." Mabel grimaced.

"It looks cooler on a triangle." Bill smiled wanly. "But hey, I spent all day yesterday teaching you everything I know—you can teach me something. I haven't used a human body in thirty years! What dances are popular these days, I haven't learned anything new since the moonwalk."

Mabel's eyes widened. "You know how to moonwalk?"

"Sure! It's easy. I figured it out in Stanford's body."

"I don't believe you. Prove it."

Bill pushed off the table. "Oh, yeah? Are you ready to look stupid?" He effortlessly glided backwards across the floorboards. He pointed at Mabel's gaping face as he passed. "What do you think of that?"

"Show me how to do that and I'll teach you every dance I know."

Bill grinned. He loved deals that were unfairly biased in his favor, and he loved it more when he didn't even have to propose them himself. "You've got yourself a deal, Shooting Star." It would keep them occupied for the next hour.

####

6:32 a.m.

About fifteen minutes ago, Bill had warned Mabel that he'd just glimpsed the beforeimage of Ford crossing the living room in the future; and then they'd kept partying, wanting to get in every last second of joy they could before he arrived in the present.

But once Ford was no longer approaching but actually there, seeing his face was like a bullet to the head. Bill had been having so much fun, for a few minutes he'd almost forgotten that today was execution day.

And it wouldn't be execution day if he had anything to say about it.

Bill demanded, "What's with the sour face?" (Ford's eyes were so dull, his expression so heavy; Bill had never seen him wear that look, not even any of the previous times he'd tried to murder Bill.) "Hey, am I not allowed to dance now?" He squeezed Mabel's hands tighter.

Ford just gave a tiny shake to his head and hurried past them, not even deigning to look at Bill, as though he were telling himself he'd only imagined he'd heard the voice of a ghost.

I know what you're up to, Bill thought at top volume silently in his head. But you won't do it. You won't do it.

He met Mabel's gaze. She gave him a tiny nod. Party was over. Time to get to work.

####

6:36 a.m.

Over the course of the night, Dipper had been woken twice by bursts of quickly-hushed laughter; three times by random bumps and thuds; once by Bill falling off the loft and Mabel's squeal of alarm; and several times by Mabel waking Dipper to ask if it was okay if she gave Bill Dipper's old shoes (so Bill could finally walk in the woods properly), his sleeping bag (so Bill didn't have to sleep on hard rocks under a single sad Pony Heist bedsheet), his "Edible Plants of Oregon's Blue Mountains" booklet (self-explanatory), and several other things he also said "yes" to without hearing properly. It had better be one heck of a prophecy that Bill was involved in, because Dipper was this close to just murdering Bill himself.

When Dipper went downstairs, he couldn't even look at Mabel and Bill—terrified something in his gaze would give the whole conspiracy away. He didn't even know what they were planning. Was dancing in the living room part of it? Was it some distraction? He'd hoped Bill would already be gone by now.

He couldn't meet Ford's eyes either, for the guilt of betraying his trust. He didn't deserve these scrambled eggs.

He couldn't meet anyone's gaze.

He really, really hoped Mabel and Bill had a plan. He hoped it was a good plan. Because whatever the heck they were up to—Dipper was afraid it was on him to prevent Ford and Stan from intervening too soon and finding out.

####

6:49 a.m.

After they'd escaped the kitchen, Bill glanced over his shoulder toward the stairs before Mabel got the attic door closed. "Do you think Ford noticed something?"

Mabel was already running across the room, retrieving her phone charger and phone to stuff in her backpack and pocket, making sure she'd packed everything she needed for her trip—everything except for Bill. "I wasn't looking. Did he?"

"I don't know." Bill flashed one last worried look at the door; but he couldn't afford to slow down, he had a dummy to finish. He hurried up the ladder, took off his hoodie, pulled on a tank top, tried to fish his pre-written enchantment out of his pocket in the same movement, and fumbled and dropped the paper over the edge of the loft.

Mabel had been checking her bag for the concert tickets when a paper fluttered down on her hair. She instinctively grabbed it and unfolded it before she registered the four sigils written on the outside and realized this was the enchantment Bill had said would stop working if anyone read it. She'd reflexively read the first few lines before she could stop herself. She froze. Her gaze jerked up to Bill, eyes wide.

Bill dropped down the ladder, snatched the paper out of her hand so quickly it almost tore, and immediately climbed back up. "I told you not to look." He carefully refolded it.

"Is that...?"

"It'll work," Bill hissed, with an insistence that said he wasn't sure it would work at all.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" He held up the dummy's pillow torso and yanked the hoodie on top of it.

When Mabel didn't say anything, Bill sighed. "Even if it doesn't—this only needs to work until we're on the road. They can't stop us then."

"Bill—"

He shakily inhaled, and then he raised his voice loud enough he'd be heard downstairs. "What do you need to spend all that time around those two brats for, anyway?! What, am I not good enough company for you?!"

They didn't have time to adjust the plan. They were in the middle of it, right now, and the guys expected to hear an argument. Mabel swallowed hard and raised her voice as well. "Not when you're acting like this, you aren't! You're a bigger brat than—than both of—and my friends aren't brats!"

Bill bit his lip, brows drawn in pain, eye squeezed shut, trying not to laugh.

Mabel chucked a sock at him, don't you dare. "You can't say I can't hang out with my friends, that's stupid!"

"I never said you can't!" Bill held the folded paper a foot above the completed dummy, the square of symbols face up, and tapped it twice so it hovered in place when he let go. "Hang out with your stupid friends, I don't care! But two whole days is ridiculous—!"

####

7:02 a.m.

"I THOUGHT you were my FRIEND!"

All three eavesdroppers cringed—Dipper hardest of all. His heart was hammering out of his chest and his t-shirt was at least 50% sweat by volume. Was this part of the plan? It sounded like an insane plan. This couldn't be the plan. It had to be the plan. He'd already prevented Ford from intervening, what if they were really fighting? But what if this really was the plan?

"WELL! If you're gonna act like this just because I wondered what you're up to, maybe NOT! What kind of fun are you good for, you wouldn't even be into burning a house down!"

Dipper messed up. He'd actually ruined their friendship right before Bill was about to die and Mabel would be miserableand it was all his fault. This fight was real. They were furious. They hated each other—

####

7:03 a.m.

"OH YEAH, WELL—" Mabel faltered as she struggled to think of a fitting retort. "YOU WOULDN'T EVEN BE INTO—into—n-NOT BURNING A HOUSE DOWN!" She cringed at herself, struggling not to laugh.

Bill had been fighting the urge to laugh so hard that his face was turning red. "OHHH WOW, GREAT COMEBACK."

Mabel's voice went shrill with suppressed hysterics. "SHUT UP!" Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she socked Bill's arm. If he made her lose it when everyone was outside listening—

The door opened. "Hey—!"

They both rounded on Stan. "STAY OUT OF IT!" Mabel snatched up a discarded sweater. Stan shut the door just before the sweater hit it.

Mabel quietly wheezed, "Do you think he saw anything?"

"No, n—" Bill had to clap both hands over his mouth and nose to keep silent. Mabel wrapped her arms around him and smushed her face against his chest to muffle herself. They stood there, shaking, until the hysterics passed.

The stress was getting to them.

####

7:06 a.m.

"Fine!!" Mabel lifted the height-altering flashlight. "Then you can just stay here all weekend!"

Bill had on his backpack (Dipper had "agreed" Bill could take his) and was clutching his umbrella. He gave her a thumbs up; ready. "FINE!"

"FINE!" Mabel turned on the flashlight. When Bill was around four inches tall, she turned it off, knelt down, and offered her hand for him to climb on. She stuffed the flashlight in her backpack, carefully set Bill in a sweater nest (how had Gideon flung her and Dipper in a jar so cavalierly? she was terrified of snapping Bill's bones like toothpicks), zipped the backpack and gingerly put it on; and then Mabel was storming out of the room.

"Leave him in there," Mabel snapped, pointing at the door. She was shaking with fear. "He's in TIME OUT."

Dipper glanced nervously at the door, "Um..." He looked so worried. She hadn't had a chance to explain the plan to him.

Mabel glared into his eyes. She summoned up all her mostly placebic Twin Empathy Powers to beam her thoughts into Dipper's brain. Don't. Please don't. If you say anything you'll ruin it.

He raised his hands. "Okay, fine."

Mabel rushed past him to the stairs, trying to escape as fast as possible without jostling her backpack.

####

7:08 a.m.

Buckled into Mrs. Grendinator's car, voice shaking, Mabel said, "Can we just go? Please?" Now, before someone ran out of the shack and waved them down to demand Mabel explain where Bill had gone. Her hands were trembling in fear, clutched protectively around her backpack with its secret cargo. One of her best friends was in there. She couldn't let anything happen to him.

Mrs. Grendinator nodded. "Of course."

As they pulled around the Mystery Shack and toward the road, Mabel glanced toward the attic bedroom window, afraid the adults might have already gone in and discovered their trick; but no one looked back.

Now all she could do was hope the paper Bill had left floating over the dummy would do its job.

####

(Shoutout to the one person who theorized the size changing flashlight could be involved, I'd @ you but I don't want you to see this before you read the chapter. You may claim credit in the notes. Based on the messages I received, one person guessed Mabel got involved halfway through the fight, no one guessed she was in it from the start, and NOBODY guessed Dipper got involved.

For a fun time, go back and read last chapter and this one in chronological order via the timestamps!

But first I wanna hear all your thoughts.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

437 notes · View notes

byechristopher · 9 months ago

Note

pleaseee a fic where chris and reader meet for the first time (she's lowkey sad or some shit like that idk) and he's all starstruck by her 😞

lucky you.

–CHRIS STURNIOLO FLUFF.

Author's note: hey y'all. I got the idea from this lovely anon (thank you for the request!🤍) and combined it with something that actually happened to me. Fate truly works in mysterious ways – so take this long, sappy story (based on true events, pft). I hope you like it! Do not copy/steal my work. :)

Warnings: long, sappy fluff. Very slight angst if you squeeze, but nothing crazy. Very long, didn't proofread!

My mom used to always say – "that's life; when one door closes, another door opens". And if I still lived in the same house with mom, she'd know; I haven't seen an opened door in a long while. It is unfair but it is what it is and I had no intention of succumbing to tears in the solitude of my nightly despair.

Seated on the chilled bench, I instinctively drew my knees towards my chest in a desperate bid for warmth. The sheer elegance of my black tights, though adorning my legs, proved futile against the biting cold. Unfazed, I refrained from complaining; after all, they were my cherished favorites. Mascara was most likely smudged from my previous ugly crying, yet I ignored it, taking solace in my sweater's embrace.

Leaning my head against my knees, my fingers absentmindedly engaged with the laces of my shoes – a subconscious act of distraction. In the midst of this self-imposed solitude, a sudden exclamation pierced the quietude.

"Shit!" I heard a voice, someone angry. The mysterious guy threw his hat on the pavement and scoffed, his hair nearly as messy as mine. His gaze shifted towards me, a thorough assessment from head to toe, "care if I sit next to you?" he asked quickly. Without much ado, I responded with a nonchalant shrug. I didn't care, I had way more things to worry about.

I could feel him rummaging through his pockets, trying to find God knows what, he seemed upset, anxious, "want a cig?" I didn't see him, but I saw his extended arm in front of me. I don't think he was looking at me either.

"Sure." I murmured under my breath, taking a cigarette from him half-empty packet.

"Why does life have to be such a fucking bitch?" I chuckled in response, treating it more as a statement than a question. Offering another shrug, I watched as he scanned the area, likely in search of his lighter.

"If I had the answer to that, I'd probably murder this bitch." I chuckled, he chuckled too.

He held the lighter in front of me and only then did I turn my head to look at him – he was definitely not what I expected to see from what I've heard. While I didn't dwell on it for long, it seemed he did, as seconds passed without his lighter igniting. His intense pale blue eyes remained fixed on mine, and I briefly removed the cigarette from my mouth.

"Hello?" was my mascara that smudged that I scared the guy? He hasn't uttered a word.

"Oh.. sorry." he shook his head, as though attempting to shake off the reverie that had consumed him in the past few moments in his own world, "I just.. didn't expect you to be here?"

"Well.. I'm pretty sure we haven't met before. So how come you didn't expect me?.." I was confused.

"No, I mean.. you are very beautiful." he almost whispered but I caught that, and if I was just a little disconnected from reality, I probably would've blushed.

"Oh. Thank you." my lips turned into a thin line – I put the cigarette back into my mouth, grabbing his lighter instead.

He chuckled, "and I thought I didn't know how to take a compliment." he took his lighter back, taking a puff of his own cigarette.

"Don't you hear like a thousand compliments on a daily basis?" with my knees still pulled up to my chest, I embraced them tightly, resting my head against the comforting curve of my legs.

"Hm. And yet this was the best compliment anyone has ever given me." he placed a leg on the bench, just so that he'd be able to have his whole body face me.

I couldn't help but laugh, "yeah, I'm good at giving things. Not receiving."

He nodded, his hat still on the ground although he didn't seem to care, "understood.." he smiled and wow, he had a nice smile, almost contagious, "a fellow people pleaser, nice to meet you. I'm Chris."

I reciprocated with a nod and a quick smile. My name slipped off my lips swiftly, echoed by him, and I couldn't help but notice how much better it sounded when it rolled off his tongue.

"Will I ever see you again?" he looked me dead in the eye.

"Probably not." I pursed my lips, looking back at him.

He nodded as if he understood and dropped his burnt cigarette to the ground. Chris grabbed his hat and got up, offering another smile, "I believe in fate."

"I don't." I teased, smiling.

"You probably should." he shouted, already far away from me to speak normally.

What an interaction.

It had been quite a while since said interaction. Not that I thought about the guy a lot, but he definitely was in the back of my mind. Even when I was outside, he'd still cross my mind every now and then, like a nice, distant memory.

I chuckled as I gulped down my whiskey – the music was too loud for my own liking but it was a Saturday night and it'd be a pity if I stayed home once again; my friends begged and I actually like hanging out with them. I watched as my friends danced with each other, not too far away from me, as I rummaged through my purse to find the money so I could pay and leave.

"Fucking.. shit.." I cursed under my breath, turning my phone's flashlight on because the lights in that bar were bright as fuck, but apparently not enough to actually help me see.

"D'you need any help?" I heard a somewhat familiar voice shouting behind me. I turned around and my eyes widened when I saw him.

"I.. you!" I was beyond surprised, to say the least, because I was truly convinced I'd never see him again. Not because I didn't want it; but because I had enough on my plate already.

"Shit.." he whispered, and if I wasn't already looking at his lips, I wouldn't be able to know what he said, "..see, I told you fate works in mysterious ways."

"This was just a coincidence." I convince myself.

Was it, though?

"This was no coincidence and you know it.." he grinned and I let my eyes travel down his body for a few seconds – he looked best in black, ".. I need to see you again.." he muttered.

"Well, it seems you will indeed see me again." I smiled.

"Does that mean you'll give me your phone number?" he grinned and I saw his eyes do the same thing mine did to him; check me out.

I hummed, "..hmm.. no. We'll see if fate actually works." I smiled.

"You can't be serious.." he tilted his head, looking at me in disbelief, "I found you again, how can I leave when I don't know if I'll ever see you again?"

"You said you believed in fate."

I found him undeniably attractive and intriguing. However, at that moment, I realized I wasn't emotionally equipped to entertain the idea of liking someone or embarking on dates. The weight of my personal struggles loomed large, and I couldn't shake the fear that if he discovered the extent of my problems, he'd likely reject me. Hence, I concluded it was better to distance myself now rather than risk inevitable disappointment later on.

It's not like I'd see him again.

Truly, it's been more than a month since I last saw him; I did think about him way more often than usual but he still remained a nice, distant memory. A memory that was in the past and would never be in the future.

"Yo, we're leaving already? It's 2AM." my friend whined, although we were already walking down the stairs, toward the exit, with our jackets on and bags in our hands.

"No, love, we're just taking our fucking bags for a little walk." another friend replied, rolling her eyes and I couldn't help but laugh at their bickering.

Immediately after departing from the bar, he made his way out of the restaurant located directly beneath it. You have to be fucking kidding me.

"You.." he whispered, his eyes widened.

My mouth hung open, my eyes as wide as his; I really couldn't believe it this time. This couldn't be a coincidence, right?

"What.. are you doing here?" there was nothing else that could leave my mouth at that time.

"I work here.. now, you can't tell me this is a coincidence." he walked closer to me, although still keeping a distance to be respectful.

It definitely wasn't but I was still in the same mood I was back then.

"I can't tell just yet." I teased him; deep down I wished I could give him way more. But I knew I couldn't.

"Don't.. tell me.. are you not gonna give me your phone number? Again?" he chuckled in disbelief once again. I nodded.

"He better be a murderer, bitch; that's the only valid reason for you not giving him your phone number yet." shit, I completely forgot that my friends were literally behind me, staring at us; they knew nothing about this.

"Stop." I whispered to my friend and I don't think she heard me but she definitely saw the expression on my face.

"Please?" he said and I almost gave in when I saw those eyes.

I have always been self-destructive but this wasn't it, this time. It was realistic, right? I really couldn't do this; I knew he wouldn't be able to keep up with my lifestyle so I was just doing me a favor by saving myself from possible heartbreak. Right?

"I promise you now; if we meet again, I'm opening up to you. Fully. My phone number, my likes, my diskikes." I gave him a teasing smile, which he seemed happy to receive.

"Pinky promise. Now. I trust fate but not you." he chuckled and so did I.

"But you trust my pinky?" I laughed but he seemed serious, despite his playful stare. I sighed, still smiling, wrapping my pinky around his, "..promise."

This would probably never happen. It's fine.

This time, I really thought about him; dreamed about him even. That was very unlike me but it happened either way. I seemed to be doing lots of things that were unlike me lately – like going to this bar again. I wasn't going to see him but I was hoping to.

The whiskey was cold against my lips, my black dress hugging my hips as I sat down on the couch.

"Third time's the charm."

No.

I turned my head and saw Chris speaking to the friend group that were sitting next to ours; I saw them getting up and leaving, Chris replacing them.

"Oh God.. what did you tell them?" my grin was wider than usual, I really wanted to see him after all.

"That.. I needed to sit next to you. And that it was a matter of life and death." he smiled, taking a sip of his own drink.

"You're crazy."

"For you." he said, searching for something.

Before realising, I saw his phone in front of me, signaling me to dial my phone number. And of course, I did.

"So. Start. Tell me everything."

"Do you have free time?" I tilted my head, still looking at him.

"For you? Always." he chuckled.

I cupped his cheeks and pulled him closer, looking into his eyes to make sure he wanted to kiss me as well. And as soon as I felt him leaning towards me, I placed the softest kiss on his own soft lips.

"Take me home?"

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shotmrmiller · 10 months ago

Note

I know I had already popped up earlier, but the last focus was about the PetAU, and it do be givin' me thoughts, though...

Just Mr Simon 'I'm never fuckin' jealous' 'Ghost' Riley finding a nice, pretty thing that he's been dating for a about, say.. a year and some months. He has Riley, sweet pup that he is, and he would have dropped you if Riley didn't like you. Thank the Gods that Riley found you acceptable, and you accepted the pooch back! Hurrah!

Yet.. a problem at the same time. Your attention was on the dog, telling the dog 'good boy', smooching the dogs face, giving the dog attention, attention, attention.. He wasn't fuckin' jealous.. So what is the reason why you come back home, having dropped Riley off at a few-day long doggy daycare at Simon's request, and find him on his knees, naked, wearing nothing but dog ears, a collar and- holy shit, was that a tail plug??

"Go on then, love. Tell me I'm a good boy."

this is so so tasty.

You've never mentioned it to Simon because you didn't want to scare him away with the fact that you liked to pet play, as both a pet and a handler.

But here he was, giving himself to you on a glistening silver platter, and there was no way you were going to pass this up.

He's your good boy, now— so you told him as such.

"You are just so precious." You crouched in front of his kneeled form and cupped his large face in your dainty hands. "Aren't you the most handsome pup ever? Hm?"

Simon's face flushes with the praise you shower him with— you can feel his skin warm under your touch— but you can't even control it now. The words spill from your mouth like water out of a faucet.

"Such a big, strong boy. You look like a wrestler, but I bet all the money in the world that you're a nuzzler. Just a soft, kind dog that wants love and attention, yeah?"

You're babbling at this point, but Simon is glowing under your admiration, and he looks so good on all fours. With a gentle, "Stay," you start to trail your fingers from his furry ears down— his spine arching under your touch and back muscles rippling under his skin— until you reach his thick tail.

"If this was real, I've no doubt it would be wagging, smacking me in the face. Isn't that right, handsome?"

Coiling the tip of his tail around two fingers, you give it a slight pull, and soothe him with a palm of your hand on his arsecheek when he hisses at the sensation.

"Oh, I know, sweetheart, I know. You look so good in this; I simply couldn't resist. Now sit for me, pup."

Simon sits back on his folded legs, hands resting in between his thick thighs, and you chuckle when you notice his erection at full mast, tip slick as it leaks precum.

"Want me to help you with that?"

He only stares at you, half-lidded eyes dark, swirling with lust.

"Speak."

Simon barks once.

"Good boy, handsome."

He can't stop the whine that slithers out from behind his clenched teeth when you wrap your hand around his fat, heavy cock and give him a squeeze.

Shushing him, you give him a few painfully slow pumps— skin bunching up on the upstroke— and press your thumb lightly on his slit.

"Your knees may be padded, but mine aren't," you hinted.

Getting up with a slight groan, a rub to your achy knees, and with one scrape of your nails on his head, you command him.

"Heel."

As you make your way towards the bedroom, the sound of his collar tinkling with each movement he makes sends a jolt to your throbbing core— arousal already dampening your knickers.

Simon barking is sending me into a tizzy i don't think you understand

#simon ghost riley #call of duty

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peppertoastuniverse · 4 months ago

Text

more than a late night snack: – gojo satoru chapter 2: pocari sweat

contents: geto suguru & reader, gojo satoru x reader, tw!ptsd, suguru being a good friend, shoko cameo, satoru being down bad and not knowing it yet, you and geto basically bully gojo lol summary: sparring with geto is always difficult, but with gojo’s new found interest in you, it’s proving to be a different challenge all together.

wc: 3.2K

“here, for beating this animal.” he offers the bottle of pocari sweat to you, ignoring geto’s eye roll behind him. gojo shakes the bottle slightly when you hesitate. “c’mon take it.” “… uh thanks, gojo,” suspiciously eying him. that was strangely… thoughtful of him. what’s his deal?

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

once again you were lying on your back, panting, his wide frame leaning over you with a small taunting grin on his face.

god, he was good. so fucking good – it almost infuriated you. he always knew what to do to get you into this position. geto was undoubtably strong and skilled, you couldn't help but call on him every chance you got – embarrassingly sometimes even twice a day. at first he was too gentle and hesitant with you until you practically had to beg him to show you no mercy – which is how you landed on your back for the millionth time that day. you groaned, feeling little annoyed, humbled and sweaty. a part of you thought he liked the extra cardio, but deep down you knew that there was a competitive part of him that just liked to win.

“ready to go again?” he asks slightly out of breath. geto gracefully unties his long hair from his messy bun, before combing his fingers roughly through his hair to redo the knot. a few months ago you shyly asked geto if he could help you improve your hand-to-hand combat and you were grateful when graciously he agreed. you needed the practice. so a few times a week you met geto at the school gym. he was a good teacher, giving you pointers here and there, encouragingly suggesting adjustments to your technique. you were improving, slowly but surely. you winced still on the ground, a frustrated hand passing over your face. “i know i pinned you last time, but today it seems impossible.”

“well, you’re more distracted today and a little more .. impulsive,” he thoughtfully hums, hand over his mouth. “what’s been on your mind?” “I.. uh..just – ” you exhale, hollow eyes looking to the ceiling of the gym. a part of yourself was still back in shirakawa were you could hear the distant screaming, smell the mutilated bodies and the blood pooled at your feet – “…hm?” geto prompts you patiently, crouching down to lay beside you on the gym mats, still looking into your eyes. geto was two opposites at once, a soft contradiction. he had an intense stare but a gentle way about him that made you feel heard and reassured but simultaneously you knew that if he really wanted to, geto would be able to coax absolutely anything from you without any real effort. his domineering strength matched his silent resilience and you weren’t sure what to fully make of him just yet. you stared into his amethyst eyes hesitantly, debating on if you trusted him enough for this yet. it’s not that you didn’t like geto, you were probably the closest to him in your year – but that wasn’t really saying that much – like everyone else you kept him at a safe distance. but you weren't sure if you were ready yet.

sensing your reluctance, geto joins you in looking up in at the ceiling, hiding his almost clairvoyant stare ".. i'm only asking because i've been a little worried.” you hummed quietly in acknowledgement fiddling with your fingers that rested on your stomach, unsure of what to say or where he was going with this.

“…you've be more quiet, like in your head a bit more, you know? shoko asked about you the other day and even satoru noticed." he continues thoughtfully. geto wasn’t sure what was going on with you, but he felt as if you were slowly slipping away. retreating into some cruel sanctuary where no one could follow. he could almost see through you, a shell his words would go through, disappearing into the void that occupied your seat. you weren’t joining them in the kitchen for meals anymore and you seemed to be even more reserved than before, even skipping sparring practice with him using a thinly veiled excuse of fatigue. your eyes were clouded and were weighed down by the dark rings that hung around them.

you sighed unsteadily, focusing on specific a beam on the ceiling.

you were growing more and more aware of the weight that you were carrying for two weeks. the burden almost suffocating you pressing against your lungs, squeezing so deeply that you were nearly drowning from the inside out. you were certain there was deep scarring left behind. the scars of regret, guilt and fear that reverberated in your cavity, in the voice of the little grandma that made you udon, the young girl you let braid your hair, the man who gave you some daikon just because, the woman with the short hair who- dead. all dead.

geto’s honeyed tone calls your name, tethering you back to reality. throwing you a buoy to keep your struggling mind above the rapids. geto’s presence was calming, and his smooth voice was helping chase away your racing thoughts. with him you felt comfortable, safe even … maybe he had the potential to be someone that you could fully trust. you reluctantly rolled over on your side to finally look directly at him, making a decision.

“i’ve been.. having these dreams.” “...dreams?” “mhm… of shirakawa.” voice trembling, hands curling into fists, voice shaking slightly.

a pregnant pause of realization. geto’s eyes widen in understanding. he chastises himself – that would make sense, why didn’t he see it earlier? your strange behaviour started after that mission, your face paled when ieri casually asked about it the other day. nightmares were an unspoken byproduct of the job of being a sorcerer. even geto had lingering thoughts of certain missions that have gone astray and was often disgusted with what he saw on the battlefield. overtime he was starting to grow saddened with how other sorcerers – his friends– were being affected by the horrors of the job. duty. a choice to suffer for the greater good – a necessary sacrifice. it was a sobering realization.

his hand taps antsily on his stomach he turns his head to you feeling your shy stare. geto rolls over to his side, mirroring you, studying your struggling expression. gently he inches closer to you and reaches over. he engulfs your shaking fist in his larger warm hand. lightly squeezing, geto successfully easing your shaking. the rough waves of guilt within you calmed to the rhythm of his slow breathing. his quiet reassurance and acknowledgement of your struggles simultaneously squeezes your chest, protecting you from your intrusive thoughts. you shut your eyes as you feel his thumb moving back and forth – a sympathetic reminder of his understanding. after some time, you open your eyes. "...thanks geto," you say faintly, not trusting your voice for much more, you already felt too vulnerable.

“hm? for what?”

“for.. for this.”

withdrawing his hand, his violet eyes soften as you see the beginnings of a small smile forming, "y'know you can call me suguru, right?"

“…I can?” “yeah! ‘course you can. we’ve known each other for like – what like almost 6 months now?”

“yeah, something like that...”

“yeah so, we’re friends right?”

friends.

“i.. yeah. yes. i guess we are friends.”

“so, my friends call me suguru –” he says easily, like being kind was the simplest thing in the world. he amazed you. "hmm, i dunno because gojo calls you baby. so… i wanted to be sure," you tease. "oh? you can call me baby too if that's what you're comfortable with." geto says amused, elbow upright to support his head, his bangs falling over his eyes. your surprised face carves out a chuckle, a rusty sound to even your own ears. pleased with himself, geto grins wider. he hasn’t heard that sound in at least a week or two but he had a strong suspicion that there a certain person was dying to hear it. geto liked that you were smiling again. “careful,” you warn eyebrow quirked, “gojo might get jealous,” eyes looking livelier, body bending into a seated position with a stretch.

geto snorts. “i’m sure satoru can deal.” “I think you overestimate gojo's maturity. just don’t blame me if he starts moaning and groaning for the next year about this…” “alright, just say he’s a little shit..,” you grin at his honestly, feeling lighter than you had in the last week.

“hey… c’mon let’s see if you can get me this time,” geto says rising to his feet challengingly. “oh, don’t worry – I definitely will.”

footsteps echoing, gojo walked through the halls. he carded his long fingers through his hair mindlessly, sighing. it was a rare day when he didn’t have a mission or class and he was bored beyond reason. he was restless - the accumulation of bottled energy within him swirling, brewing dangerously, threatening to bubble over any minute now.

he had already been kicked out of ieri’s room for complaining too much.

“ – but listen, i don’t really understand what the big deal is. suguru goes on and on about it like god’s greatest gift to man but it’s literally just soba and you dip that shit in a sauce. you even have to dip it yourself – like if im paying for that shit I’d want someone to dip it for me. why do I have to put in the effort when im paying to have an experience, y’know? and don’t get me started on the temperature, why the fuck is it col–“ “holy shit, gojo. give it a rest oh my god.” yikes. last name. “but shokooooo,” his voice going up in pitch gratingly, “these are very important thoughts from a very important person!” “and who would that be? you’ve been talking about zaru soba for like 20 minutes!” ieri counters, head leaning on her closed fist, not even bothering to look at gojo as she flipped through a magazine at her desk. gojo huffs, lip jutted out. “no one appreciates me here.” “dude, i told you, im in the middle of something!” “you’ve been reading for hours! you said you’d be done a billion years ago.” gojo whines lying on floor of ieri’s bedroom, foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the leg of the chair that she was currently sitting on. she scoffs, half amused and half annoyed, light brown eyes flickering to blue. “go bug the others, then! they’re probably still sparring in the gym.” “ehhh? sparring, what now?” “mm? yeah. suguru’s helping with their hand to hand combat. they’ve been meeting up pretty frequently.” not bothering to look up at what she knew was gojo’s dramatic pout.

he scoffed at the memory. they could’ve asked me to help them with sparring. why didn’t they ask me?

subconsciously he found himself at your door, his feet carrying him without his mind even realizing it. gojo found that his mind wandered to you a lot more than usual after that night. he couldn’t get your hollow expression out of his head, or your soft, gravelly voice when you were about 2 seconds away from slumber, or the way your warm body felt when he carried you back to your room, or how you would rock back and forth while waiting for the udon to cook. there was just something about you, he just couldn't help it. he was starting to see parts of you in places where he least expected it and it always bewildered him.

halting suddenly, chuckling as he decides to stop by the gym just to see if geto would want to go with him to the arcade and if you happened to there too, so what? but maybe he could convince you both to go… turning around with a new plan and a mischievous smile, gojo hesitantly stops by the vending machine.

you definitely couldn’t get him. once again you were on your back, sweating but this time panting heavily. geto’s figure towering over you. “this time was better. but you gotta remember to watch your left – “ before he could even finish that thought, you sweep his legs from under him with your left leg. geto lands on the mats beneath with a surprised grunt as you quickly pin him, throwing your legs on either side of his abdomen, sitting on him triumphantly.

“how’s that for my left leg?” leaning your face slightly down to his, grinning cheekily.

geto groans, shifting slightly “…this doesn’t count you know.” annoyed at the injustice.

you giggle breaks your annoyed facade, “what?! how does this no-“

you’re interrupted by an echoing thud. two cautious heads whip to the source of the intrusion. a cold bottle of pocari sweat curiously rolls towards you, the explanation following behind: a mop of unruly white hair. gojo runs his hand through his hair messily. a flicker of an indescribable expression flashes on gojo’s faltering face at the position he finds you and geto in. a mask of a grin paints his pale face – it doesn’t suit him. “ooOOOooooh fun! sparring looks like fun. can I join?” eyebrows wriggling suggestively. “ugh. grow up gojo” you say with a frown. gojo starts making his way to you both while picking up the abandoned bottle and placing it upright on the mat. “what? if you wanted to straddle someone as a friend you could’ve just asked me, babe. sugu never lets me straddle him and i’ve even ask-” “satoru. ” geto’s eyes narrow in warning.

“fine baby, fine. our little secret then.” gojo grins widely, smile not reaching his frosty eyes. geto scoffs shaking his head, no doubt mentally running through his arsenal of curses trying to decide which one to unleash on gojo first. geto delicately pats your upper thigh to motion you to get up, easily taking the hint you rise to your feet. geto doesn’t miss blue eyes narrowing at the contact, fist tightening slightly, causing an amused smile to break on geto’s face. you stick your tongue out at gojo, already annoyed. geto had an increasing suspicion that gojo was interested in you regardless of what the blue eye boy said. he saw how gojo’s body would unconsciously angle towards you whenever you were around or the way gojo would stare when you’d talk to ieri with a small smile on your face during class or how gojo would act even more insufferable when you were within a 500 foot radius. “they got you again, eh suguru? looks like you’re losing your touch!”

geto exhales through his nose, smile gone, “i didn’t think that they would play dirty,” shaking his head.

“a pin is a pin, regardless of the situation. you said that you always have to be ready, right?” you say pointedly as you reach down to offer geto a hand to help him up. but before geto could accept, gojo rushes towards him effectively knocking your hand out of the way roughly. you tsked, annoyed at gojo’s brazenness.

“oh no, suguuuu! are you hurt? did they – what did they do to my baby?!” gojo wails dramatically, clutching geto’s arm before moving behind him to fuss his shoulders.

“what the hell, dude? mmpffffff get off of me, you–“ gojo’s two hands squishing geto’s face from behind attempting to climb onto the dark haired boy’s back in a makeshift piggy back. geto tries to shake his best friend off by grabbing gojo’s arms and attempting to pull him into a headlock, knocking off the dark glasses of his pale face in the process.

“what do you mean? last night you didn’t say that – “ gojo whines beneath the rough housing, grabbing at geto’s torso, barking out a cackling laugh.

“you were the one who – “ geto counters, efficiently grasping gojo’s arms. gojo lets out dramatic high pitch squeal. gojo tackles the dark haired boy roughly causing geto to brightly burst out laughing. the two boys roll on the mat with fierce energy, a chaotic tangle of long limbs, grunts and mocking shouts. “babeee, help! suguru’s bullying m-“ he shouts at you, his lanky legs twisting to wrap around geto’s frame.

the assault stalls when gojo hears your bright laughter – the first sighting of water in the desert of his heart, unknown yet if it was a mirage. sensing gojo’s hesitation, geto slowly eases his hold on gojo, eyebrows raised, head turning to see the cause.

ah. of course.

panting, geto dusts himself off while watching gojo. his blue eyes watch your head thrown back, laugher etched even in your eyes. the smallest spark, the soft sunrise after two weeks of rain.

“you’re ridiculous,” you comment, head shaking.

“i’m ridiculous? you didn’t help me at all!” gojo counters childishly. you bend over to pick up gojo's dark glasses – a casualty from the boys’ recklessness. geto smacks gojo’s arm as he notices the obvious gawking at your backside. geto cocks an eyebrow judgementally, dude. gojo rolls his eyes exasperatedly in response, his palms splayed out, what?! I wasn’t looking!! gojo smacks him back.

obliviously, you open up gojo’s dark shades, inching closer to put them onto gojo’s surprised face, fingers grazing his flushing ears. he could smell the slight vanilla and lavender scent that he remembered lingered on your skin when he carried you from the kitchen table to your room two weeks ago. his mind drifted to the memory of how you felt against him that night. soft and warm. so close that if he dared he would be able feel your steady heartbeat against his skin contrasting against the fluttering of his. you were so close and yet not close enough. holding you, he wasn't sure who was dreaming.

hiding his uncharacteristically bashfulness, he makes no mention of your singeing touch as he bends down and picks up the energy drink, condensation building on the outside of the plastic bottle.

“here, for beating this animal.” gojo jerks his head in geto’s direction while offering the bottle of pocari sweat to you, ignoring geto’s eye roll behind him. he shakes the bottle slightly when you hesitate. “c’mon take it.”

“… uh thanks, gojo,” suspiciously eying him.

that was strangely… thoughtful of him. what’s his deal? you untwist the cap and take a small sip. cool and refreshing, slightly sweet but smooth and hydrating.

“seeee? aren’t you glad I thought about you? huh, huh?” he tapping at your cheek, cheeky grin on his face. you slap his hands away from your face with an exasperated sigh. “this is when you say, thank you satoru! you’re so thoughtful and wonderful and handsome and kind and so, so sexy–“

nevermind, he’s an idiot.

“hm, suguru, you want some?” you call out to geto, turning away from the white haired menace to offer the bottle over to him.

gojo whips his head to your face, narrowed stormy blue eyes darting between you and geto. he felt a foreign feeling take over his chest. it surges within him, breathing hard to burrow its claws along the bottom of his tense stomach, green eyed, hot tempered and absolutely ravenous.

he mentally makes a note to stop by ieri’s room again, he wasn’t feeling like himself – must be some strange after effect from that last curse back in Osaka the other day.

..wait were you looking at.. suguru like that? why are you always thinking about him when he was right her– wait one fucking second. suguru? why’s he called suguru when i’m –

he whines your name “since when do you call him suguru?” furrowing his white brows.

“… isn’t that his name?" you question, moving slightly closer to geto as he takes the bottle from your outstretched arm thankfully before taking a swing.

“yeah but you call me gojo!!” you and geto exchange a look.

“oh here we go…” you hear geto mutter under his breath, recapping the bottle before handing back to you. “uhh…. isn’t that your name?” “i thought we were closer than that, babe.” gojo eyes you, glasses down his slender nose, crystal eyes theatrically watery.

“well the difference is that I actually like suguru,” you deadpan, stretching out your back.

“hey, don’t joke like that!” he pouts as he moves closer to you. hand over his chest like you’ve gravely wounded him. and you have.

“it’s only what you deserve, gojo,” you say lightly patting his shoulder before walking past him to go address geto.

"you’re so mean to me, babe!" gojo yells at your retreating figure. “anyway, same time next week?” you say glancing at geto, swiftly walking across the gym, holding the half full energy drink in your hand. geto chuckles, waving to you, ignoring gojo's annoyed mutters, cursed energy dangerously swirling.

"thanks for today, baby." you say over your shoulder, eyes bright. before crossing the threshold of the gym. you hear an incredulous shout:

“BABY!?!”

a/n: my love language is bullying gojo this chapter was very geto-centric but i can't help but love a princess -- head image credit: unknown! credit goes to the rightful artists dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

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mimiixen · 6 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲

Synopsis: Insomniac boyfriend with his hypersomniac partner :3

Pairings: Geto Suguru X GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Notes: YES CHAT I KNOW I PROMISED TATTOO ARTIST!GETO BUT I COULD NOT GET THIS OUT OF MY HEAD IT ISNT MY FAULT, BLAME SUGURU. Also sorry for any typos im writing ts at 5 AM :3

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Suguru always had trouble falling. For as long as he could remember his nights had been spent counting stars or sitting at a window, staring at the city lights below until he felt somewhat drowsy. It was worse when he went on back to back missions. That only made it harder for him to get some rest. You,on the other hand, went out like a light any chance you got. No matter what time, where you were, what you were doing. If you had a chance, you'd go to sleep.

Suguru found that so oddly endearing but he was also quite envious of you. Here he was, doing everything in his power to get himself to go to sleep and you were beside him dead asleep. It hadn't even been five minutes since you two had gotten into bed

He let out a puff of annoyance, blowing the strands of hair out of his face as he sat up slightly on his elbow to look down at you. "Whatever shall we do with you, Hm?" He mumbled, his voice a mixture of half grogginess and half fondness. He lifted a hand to poke at your cheeks, trying to get a reaction out of you but all it did was make you change sides, removing your face from view.

That annoyed your sleep deprived boyfriend even more as he returned his head to the pillow, his brows furrowed as he stared at your back now. The room was filled with the sounds of your light breathing. He so badly wanted to drift off to sleep. The best part was even if he did somehow manage to sleep, he'd still be awake hours before you.

His mind was lulled with these thoughts when he heard you shifting your side again, facing him once more and wrapping your arms around his torso. Suguru raised an eyebrow looking down at you with a grin. "Sleep." You mumbled against his chest, halfway to falling asleep again. "I've been trying for quite a while now" He reassured you in a whisper, causing you to lift your face and slightly crack open your eyes. You placed a kiss on his cheek, resting your head in the crook of his neck afterwards. "Sleep" You repeated a bit more firmly this time.

"You do know repeating 'sleep' over and over again won't actually make me sleepy, right?" Suguru asked with a quite laugh to which you only replied with a light bite on his shoulder. He sighed, grinning a bit as he wrapped his own arms around you, resting his chin on your head. A few minutes passed in which you had already fallen asleep again and Suguru felt his eyelids getting heavy. He closed them for a little while, trying to reduce that odd feeling and that was how he spent the next hours getting a proper night's rest after a long while.

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322 notes · View notes

yandere-yearnings · 4 months ago

Note

Okay but see I'm so petty I would ignore vio forever now until he apologized that man needs to get on his mf knees if he even wanted me to look his damn direction fr

the promised continuation of the vio angst🥰 i didn't screenshot all the asks requesting for it bc then this would just be a very long post of nonnies slowly cursing vio out more and more violently with each pic ahaha (which i love tbh😩💕) but know that i've read each and every single one🥺🩷 i wrote this one in his third-person limited so there's a bit more insight into his thoughts❗❗

(that being said, there isn't much grovelling and his asking for your forgiveness here which i'm really sorry abt. i did try to go that route originally to align w/ some of the requests i've gotten, but vio actually just isn't the type. at least at the point in the relationship being depicted!! gotta keep in mind he is super arrogant and has probably never apologised once in his life😔💔 tho, he is suffering in his own way, rest assured. the silent treatment kinda broke him haha)

warning that there is a bit of violence here and gaslighting (??), ig just typically what you'd expect to see in a yandere work,, this really ran away from me bc it's like 800 words😭

Three days had passed. Vio sat inside his trailer, feet up on the dressing table, more annoyed than he’d ever been in his entire life. Blue hair in his reflection, mussed from his constant ruffling, looking unkempt and barely like himself — and it was all your fault. His agency was paying you a salary in five figures and your only job was to take care of him, which inherently, you were doing, but you were also ignoring him and Vio couldn’t stand it.

His eyes flicked over almost instantly when you walked in, tracking every movement from your shutting the door to hanging your coat over the back of the closest chair. All Vio could see were the snowflakes in your lashes because that was all you’d let him, your gaze downcast, avoiding his. Pride made him bite his lips, because actually, he fucking missed the way you’d look at him. He missed your voice and he missed your pretty words, and it was all lumping in his throat so he couldn’t admit it although he wanted to.

Something weak sounded from him; a desperate grab for your attention that didn’t work. He kicked his script to the floor knowing you’d pick it up, then watched with a clenched jaw as you did exactly that, not even a fleeting glare in his direction. Somehow, Vio felt like he was running out of time, papers placed back neatly and your back already turning, it was the curl of worry in his gut that had his hand snapping to your wrist and tugging you back to him.

“You,” he gritted, frustrated at the pull back, at your resistance — no, your refusal of him. “Don’t fucking ignore me!”

Clearly, you weren’t listening, for all that Vio wrested you into his lap, your eyes wouldn’t even meet his through the mirror. Your bones solid against his palm, and he squeezed, hard enough to take you in, to let out the anger. Though, watching your face twist in pain, tendons in your neck constricting just to cut off the whimper, Vio didn’t even know who to be mad at anymore.

All he wanted was for you to give in.

He’d missed you so much, he would dream of you saying his name again. As you always would, and give him that love he was addicted to — yours, that tasted like kisses to open flesh. Raw and sincere to the point that Vio would rather stay splayed and bloodied instead of getting help. He didn’t feel like he could come back from this, or who he’d become because of you. If he was falling from grace, he’d hale you with him.

“Y/N…” This time, it came as a whisper, erratic mind lulled quick to the sensation of your pulse pressing firm against his fingers. Counting throbs, taking breaths for you, telling himself to be kinder, kinder. “Talk to me,” his forehead rested on your shoulder blade, “let’s not do this anymore, hm?”

Gentility got a rise out of you, it seemed, in the form of a gasp and the violent twists to free yourself that followed. “Don’t you dare,” your tone was accusatory, yet when Vio leaned away he saw the tell in your tears, “you’re not allowed to act fucking civil after what you did.”

His brow twitched. Irritation. He didn’t have a clue what you were talking about. Either way, acting was already his whole career — it might as well have been his entire damn life, and he wasn’t going to be reminded. If you weren’t a director and he wasn’t the star of your show, he didn’t need you telling him what he could and couldn’t do. His grip on you tightened.

“I didn’t do anything,” he hissed.

Outside it had begun to rain, heavy droplets melting the sleet from the windows. Steady patters the furthest thing from therapeutic in his current headspace, Vio almost missed your broken, “liar.”

Knocking his knee to white wood had the make-up brush holder tipping, contents rolling around, more noise buzzing in his head as he adjusted you. Finally, you were forced to focus on him, and Vio's eyes were unblinking, boring into yours. “You’re making baseless accusations.”

“You told me no one would love someone like me.”

“I asked you who could,” Vio bit back instantly, then, his voice softened, “...and the answer is me.”

Purple dotted into red when he let you go, wiping at your wet face. Speckled like poison in a garden of roses — what he was to you, and what you were to him. Vio thought it was fitting, beauty in that you were both to die of each other. His incurable illness. His darling disease. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to that gaffer.

“Only I can. Only I am allowed. Remember that, and love me in turn.”

158 notes · View notes

verbenaa · 8 months ago

Text

to bask in your warmth

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

“I’m not the only one who would look lovely with ribbons around my wrists, you know.” Your eyes flick up to his own as you wet your lips at the thought—dear, sweet Astarion writhing below you with the same rosebud hue tracing his wrists to keep him pinned as he is able to do nothing but accept the love and pleasure you have to give him.

“Something you think about often, hm?” His lips quirk up in amusement, his eyes finding your own as he basks in the heat from your warm body tucked into his side, thinly veiled interest present in his gaze.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/F!Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life!

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.5k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: soft fem dom, light bdsm, switch Astarion, use of restraints, body worship, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69, lingerie, face sitting, anal play, anal fingering, double penetration (in two holes), p in v sex, multiple orgasms

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: hello hello, this is likely the filthiest thing I've written thus far? idk, but it sure feels like it! this is technically a sequel to another fic of mine (so that i may dream tonight), but you don't have to read it first to enjoy this! I always attempt to write these so that they can be enjoyed individually or as a little series <3. I hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts! I appreciate and love you, dear readers!!!

ao3 here

masterlist

You peek out from between the small breaks in the painted wood of the partition screen, eyes on Astarion where he lays upon your shared bed—looking quite comfortable, all things considered.

“Darling, how much longer are you going to make me wait?” You can see the mercurial impatience building in the slight downwards tilt of his brows as they move low across expressive crimson eyes, his breath leaving him in an impatient huff as he shifts the tiniest bit on the blankets.

“Patience, Astarion.” You adjust the slip once more around your figure, making sure the rosy silk sits perfectly across your curves, the soft lace falling just above where the matching lace garter rests high on your thigh.

It was a delicate thing, the slip. Astarion had made it for you some weeks ago, every measurement perfectly tailored to caress your every curve as it falls to the tops of your thighs, delicate lace trim tickling the skin there with every move you make.

What lay underneath the dainty slip, though, was a surprise. You had tried so very hard to find the perfect set of lingerie, making sure the color matched as closely as possible to the same pink of the ribbon that had once wrapped around your wrists in bows, keeping you bound in place to the bed.

The words come back to you in a warm rush, the memory still fresh in your mind despite the weeks that have since passed.

Still in that delicate haze of your earlier lovemaking, the pink ribbons no longer tied to the bed but resting on the night table instead, your head laying on Astarion’s chest as your body is pressed in close to his own.

“I think about everything when it comes to you.” You seal the words with a quick kiss to his lips as you brace yourself against his chest.

With one last breath you step out from behind the partition, eyes falling to Astarion as you take in the vision of him tied up with that same perfect, pink ribbon.

He reclines on the bed, the worn softness of the linen blankets brushing across the bare skin of his back as his arms flex against their bonds, testing them from where they extend to either side of the bed, each tied lovingly with perfect, pretty bows around his wrists.

Astarion looks divine like this, his lean figure perfect as he lays there naked, his skin ethereal within the dim light of the room as the finest of silver moonbeams shine onto the floorboards.

“Like what you see?” His eyes rove your own figure as you speak to him from across the room, a hunger evident in his eyes as he looks you from head to toe, taking in the fine silk and lace of the slip that covers precious little of your form.

“How could I not?” You smile with painted lips at Astarion’s reply as you make your way to the bed with slow steps, letting Astarion’s eyes capture the sway of your hips as you near the foot of the bed.

With a smooth motion you glide onto the luxurious linens, moving on hands and knees as you kneel over Astarion’s form, the silken slip brushing over his uncovered skin as you slowly move over him.

You feel more than see the subtle twitch of him as the silk flutters against his length as you hover just above him, careful not to let your body touch his own as you make your way over him.

“If you can be good, maybe I’ll even let you see what I have on underneath.” You keep your words light, playful even as you give him a wink; you have no real intention of keeping much of anything from him tonight and you certainly have no punishments planned.

No, you would worship him as much as he was willing to let you. Prove your love and appreciation of his trust to allow you to bestow this pleasure upon him.

There’s another telltale twitch of his growing erection as you finally make your way to where his head lays on the pillow, your hands pressing into the bed on either side of silver curls as you hover there, looking down on him.

“I have to say, Astarion, you look so very beautiful like this.” You lean your head down towards his own, the tip of your nose brushing down the side of his cheek as you make to whisper into his ear, lips brushing absentmindedly against his skin, a small shiver making its way through his body at the tiniest semblance of touch from you.

It was tantalizing to be in control like this, to have Astarion tied up beneath you and at the mercy of your whims and desires. But it was a careful balance, one you were so deeply and intimately aware of—the many implications of Astarion’s trust in you, that you would never stray too far beyond his comfort level; the fact that Astarion has even given you a chance to have such power over him at all may be the most important detail of it all.

You lower your body down to rest on his, silk against cool skin, as your hands move to run through his hair in soothing motions. Astarion’s eyes search the features of your face, waiting for further instruction as his legs widen beneath you, welcoming your weight between them as your stomach presses against his own.

“Astarion,” His name on your lips captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your own. “You have to promise me that you will use your word if you need to.”

You watch as the weight of your words fall upon him, Astarion nodding in agreement as a familiar affection fills his gaze.

“You have my word, dearest.” Astarion gives you the smallest of smiles as you lean down to press your lips to his own, sealing the promise with a kiss.

Astarion’s lips press back against your own, your lashes fluttering shut as you bask in the feeling of it. You lean back only slightly, just enough for you to lick at his bottom lip, asking for entry. Astarion obliges, opening his mouth to you as you meet him, your tongue swirling with his own as you deepen the kiss.

With the slightest motion you move back to take his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping it lightly, enjoying the small sound he makes in response as you begin to move your lips down his elegant jaw, your kisses hot against the coolness of his skin as you head towards the line of his neck.

You settle back onto your knees, your weight pushing off of him as you nip at the skin below his ear, tiny little bites that serve to only make him shiver in response to the feeling of your teeth against his skin.

With the tiniest of kisses, you make your way up the shell of his ear, careful to keep the touch light. He’s always so sensitive here, the delicate point an easy target for you to begin your little plan of worship.

You kiss up to the very tip, the warmth of your breath and the soothing touch of your lips has Astarion letting out a gasp underneath you as his body tenses, the ribbons pulling taut as you give him another soft nip. Astarion groans as you soothe a kiss to the bite, and you don’t have to look back to tell how hard he must be already, even with such little touch from you.

He always was so very susceptible to your attentions, once he let you in, once he trusted you enough to allow you to shower him with the affection.

You smile against his skin as you kiss down the other side of his ear and onto his cheek once more before slowly moving lower, mouth dragging down his neck and onto the sharp collarbones of his chest.

“Your skin is so pretty, Astarion. So soft and smooth…” You nuzzle into the side of his throat as you bring your hands up to caress over the planes of chest, brushing over hardened nipples that have nothing to do with the cool air of the room.

Astarion gives you another one of those delectable little gasps as your lips continue downward, strands of your hair brushing against his bare skin as the heat from your mouth makes its way to his nipple.

“Everything about you is pretty though, isn’t it?” You look up at him under lowered lashes, letting your head rest on his chest as you pause your ministrations.

“Well, I certainly like to think so.” Astarion says with his usual air of haughtiness, despite the hardness of his cock bobbing beneath you and those elegant hands of his still bound in pink ribbons.

“I’m quite tempted to agree.” You flash a devilish smile at him for only a moment, before turning your head back down to the open expanse of his chest to lick at his nipple with a flattened tongue.

Astarion moans at the unexpected sensation, his eyes closing in pleasure as his head tilts back against the pillow, the line of his throat exposed. The sight of him brings a flush to your cheeks that runs to the tip of your ears, your own arousal heightening at the obvious bliss that decorates his features.

You bury your face against his chest, kissing and nipping and licking at him while your other hand comes up to give his other nipple attention as well, just as you know he would to you.

Astarion’s sharp little gasps and moans, the bucking of his hips into the space between where yours still rest elevated above him, the sight of his hands flexing against the ribbon binding his wrists is all such a sight—one that you burn into your mind, a memory to be kept and held for the rest of your life.

It was such a gift, to be able to give him the same attentions he so frequently showers your body with, to worship him in such a way beyond your usual loving and affectionate words or gestures. The feeling of the trust that you know stretches both ways giving you a high that is indescribable.

Lips move, kissing their way to his other nipple to give it the same attentions, your hand tracing teasing lines along his abdomen—lower, but certainly not as low as Astarion would like.

His back arches off the bed ever so slightly, your fingers teasing on his hip as your mouth continues its work, his noises only fuel to the fire building between your thighs.

You move down his body with aching slowness, marking the lines of his body with kisses pressed to his skin—the expanse of his chest, the soft lines of definition of his muscles, the dip of hips as you make your way to a destination that waits eagerly for your attention.

You kneel between his open legs, careful to avoid any touch on his erection as it rests against his stomach, bobbing as your lips move closer and closer, your hands on his hips gently pushing him into the mattress.

With a motion to the side you avoid where he wants you most as your lips press against the skin of his hips instead, so near and yet so very far from where his cock waits for the promise of your warm mouth.

Kisses and licks press on either side of his body as you continue, reveling in the precome that leaks from the tip of him and the soft cries from his throat. You had always assumed Astarion would be vocalwhen being denied, though you never quite thought he would be so wordless and without clever retorts, instead reduced to these small little sounds.

“Ah! darling…” Astarion’s voice is tight with unfulfilled pleasure as your tongue licks close and his hips buck against your grip on them, the sound of the slightest bit of desperation in his words enough to have you looking up.

Astarion’s head leans up off the pillow as he watches you, panting breaths escaping from his lips as he pulls the bonds tight, the expression on his face one of open yearning.

The silk of your slip brushes against his erection as you move back up his body with the intent of mercy, the smoothness of the fabric providing the slightest bit of friction that has Astarion bucking into your stomach in an attempt at relief, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as you feel tiny dots of his precome decorate your slip in a line.

“I thought I told you to be patient.” You flick his nipple lightly in response, his hips jumping into your own once more. With one last kiss to his chest, you rise atop him, your knees on either side of his hips, your bodies no long touching.

“Since you’ve been so good, I’ll give you a little treat. What do you say, love?” You run your hands down your front with little hurry, Astarion’s eyes following your every move as he watches your fingers finally curl around the lacy hem.

Astarion looks positively wrecked as you look down on him, the duality of being touched and kissed and licked but never where he so desperately needs feels almost cruel, his length painfully hard despite it never once being touched.

With unhurried hands you drag the slip up your figure, baring yourself to him inch by inch as he watches before you move to pull it over your head and throw it onto the ground beside the bed where it pools onto the floorboards to be forgotten.

Astarion’s eyes make their way up and down your figure, taking in the flush of your nipples from underneath the light colored lace that ensconces your breasts, pushing them up just so.

You’re unable to help yourself as you lean over his torso, hand caressing his jaw as you press a firm kiss his plush lips, nipping at his bottom lip once before pulling back upright.

“You’ve truly outdone yourself, darling.” You let Astarion’s praise wash over you, smile on your lips as you brush your hands over your breasts, fingers teasing above the lace as you luxuriate in the open wanting on his features below you.

What Astarion is not quite so prepared for, though, is your panties.

He doesn’t even notice them at first, simply passing the lacy undergarment over with his eyes once before returning up where your breasts sit high. The thought that your usually observant lover fails to recognize the fact that the small triangle of lace only conceals the very front of you while leaving your entire center bare only serves to send your confidence soaring ever higher.

The underwear—if you could honestly even call them such a thing—was simply that tiny bit of pink lace at the front, the rest nothing but the satin of the waistband and then two matching strips curving around the plumpness of your rear, leaving the entirety of your core and behind exposed to the cool air of the room.

It’s not until his gaze makes its way further down your body once more, claret eyes caressing your skin without touch as he takes his time to truly admire, that he sees the slightest bit of your center peeking out from under where the lace ends, his eyes zeroing in on the space between your hips as you widen your knees to better clue him in.

“Dearest, are those…” His words run off as you smirk, letting a hand run down your body and over the front of the ouverts to run lower instead, fingers brushing over soft lace before disappearing to run through your uncovered slit.

“Open at the bottom? Yes, they are.” Astarion’s mouth dries out as those fingers of yours come back up, hints of dewy wet glistening on your fingertips. His eyes watch with interest as you extend your hand towards his mouth and you delicately press damp fingertips against his lips.

He opens his mouth, pink tongue darting out to lick greedily at your slick on them. His tongue on your fingers has heat surging down into your empty cunt, and you can feel the heat blooming on your cheeks, certain that your arousal must show on your face with the way Astarion’s lips curve up into a smirk.

“I can do so much more with my tongue if you’ll let me have a real taste, my love.” He speaks the words with your fingers still touching his lips, pressing a small kiss to the delicate pads of them.

“A taste of what, exactly?” You tilt your head in mock confusion as you purse your lips, moving your hand from his mouth to instead trace the curve of his jaw.

“Oh, I think you know, darling.” His smile is pure sin as his lashes lower over half-lidded eyes, the picture of seduction as he lays beneath you, ready and waiting.

“I’m not so sure I do. I think I need you to spell it out for me.” You move your knees further up his torso despite your playing coy, your empty core all the closer to his waiting mouth as you feel curls of anticipation at the mere thought.

“What I want, dear mistress, is for you to move up here and put that sweet cunt of yours on my face.”

Astarion’s head leans up, mouth moving towards your thigh as his teeth grab at the garter resting there, pulling at it and letting it go. It snaps back against your skin, the slight sting making you jump as you narrow your eyes down at him.

His smile is nothing but deviant in response.

“And here I thought I was the one in charge.” You raise a brow at him, a corner of your lips quirking up in amusement.

“Are you honestly saying that this wasn’t part of your plan when you picked those out? Darling.” Disbelief colors his every word as his own eyebrows raise in skepticism.

“A mistress never tells.” You move to kneel above where Astarion lays his head on the crochet-trimmed pillow, steadying yourself on the carved wood headboard beneath your fingers as you widen your knees around his face.

His head moves to the side, pressing light kisses against the skin of your upper thigh, though his eyes don’t leave your exposed core, the lace stopping right before the place your slit opens to him. He can see everything like this, your center spread above his face, all soft and wet for him.

“Are you sure, Astarion?” You look down at him, waiting for his confirmation before you lower yourself down despite the hypnotic kisses he places along your thighs.

“There could be no finer honor than that of your sweetness upon my lips. So do it.” Such dramatics from a man currently trussed up with nowhere to go. There’s an open ardor to his words despite his levity that has you lowering yourself down upon waiting lips with little ceremony, eager to give both of you a reward.

The first touch of his tongue on you is euphoric, your eyes rolling back as he laps at your waiting wetness in time with the soft moans that fall from your lips.

Astarion’s tongue dives deep into your center as he whorls around your walls before he exits to lick up to your clit instead. He continues like this, a little pattern designed to drive you wild as he alternates between deep passes inside your cunt to sweet little licks around your clit, your moans ringing out in time with his mouth on you.

He’s always been so talented at pleasuring you like this, though the feeling is seemingly more intimate with your thighs around his head, body lowered down onto his face as you ride his mouth, his tongue precise as he pleasures you.

He laves at your center, leaving no part of your most intimate place untouched by him as he worships you, just like this. It would be so easy to come for him, to feel him drink up your very essence as it spills from your body with the same vigor he does the blood that runs from your neck.

Your hips jump as he presses against the small pearl between your legs just right, a soft gasp falling from your open lips as tension begins to grow deep in your belly with the pleasure. Astarion moans against your pussy, the sound and vibration of it only bringing you that much closer to the inevitable end.

“Let me hear you, love.” Every word has his lips brushing against your sensitive skin before he flattens his tongue, licking a broad stripe up the center of you before his lips attach to your clit, sucking at it.

You keen above him, letting him hear the soft moans and whines that fall from your lips as your lashes fall shut. It’s an effort to keep yourself up, knuckles turning white as you grasp onto the hard wood in front of you, Astarion’s pace intent to hurtle you towards completion far sooner than you would like, especially when you have other equally delicious ideas in mind as well.

You summon your will as you move your hips up and away from his mouth despite Astarion’s noise of protest, your own impeding orgasm ruined as you catch your breath.

“Oh, hush. I have a better idea.” You smile down at him between inhales and exhales of air, swiveling your body around to face your front towards the foot of the bed instead of the headboard.

“You’re the one in charge, dearest.” Astarion makes a show of licking at his lips in a way that has your flush deepening, the pink of them glistening with your slick.

You lower yourself back down onto his waiting lips, letting his tongue get back to work flicking against your clit as you lean your body down over his own, lace covered breasts pressing into his the hard lines of his stomach as you find yourself face to face with the evidence of his arousal.

Astarion’s ministrations pause as he feels you finally grab his aching cock between your hands, your lips finding the crown and placing a soft kiss, coating your lips in the precome beaded there.

Instinctively his hips buck into your waiting lips, the needy moan that falls from his throat music to your ears as you let your tongue peek out from behind your lips to lap at the head.

Astarion buries his head into the apex of your thighs, tongue lashing at your entrance as you lick down the length of him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft as he licks into your core, each of your working towards the other’s release.

With plush lips you take him inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you work him in as far as you can without choking, a hand coming up to assist in the act as to stroke the length of him that doesn’t fit inside. Your head bobs up and down, hair soft as it brushes against his thighs.

You pay your own pleasure no mind as you focus on the feeling of his cock in your mouth and on your lips, the taste of him mixing with your saliva with every pass up and down him.

You pop off his cock to lick, following a vein as you reach the base before swirling your tongue back up him again to suck on the head. Your let your weight rest on him as your other hand glides down his body and past where your mouth sucks at him to brush a teasing touch against his balls.

Astarion lets out a deep moan into your core, tongue pushing into your entrance as his nose brushes against your clit as he eats you out. With soft hands you squeeze lightly, cupping them in your palm as you take his length into your mouth once more.

You can see the tension in his thighs as your hands and mouth work in tandem, his mouth losing its cadence on you as you suck and lick and touch, eager to drive him to brink before you lose yourself to the cascade of pleasure heading towards you.

With a hard suck to his cock and a squeeze of the hand cupping his balls you feel Astarion tense beneath you, his hips bucking into your open mouth as his moans fill the air.

Astarion comes on your tongue in spurts of white that you drink down, swallowing his spend as you stroke him through his orgasm. His cum is warm as you swallow, the taste of him familiar as you let his hips thrust into your mouth.

He comes down from his high slowly and you finally lift off his softened cock, tongue licking off the remnants of his climax as you move your body to the side of his and look back at him. His head rests on the pillow, hair strewn as the ribbons sit slack, breaths leaving his chest in pants.

“You didn’t come.” Astarion annunciates each word as he cracks open his eyes to look at where you lounge beside him as you make a show of licking your lips.

“I had other pressing matters to attend to.” The completion of Astarion’s pleasure at your hands far overweighed your own desire, the point driven home by the sight of him, fully spent.

The raise of his brow is all the answer you receive as he recovers from his orgasm, his breathing evening out as he looks you up and down, gaze assessing.

“Would you do me the favor of freeing me, love?” Astarion makes a show of flexing his hands as he looks at you pointedly, tightening the bonds as he asks for release.

“Was this too much, Astarion?” There’s a slight worry in your tone, the pull of your lips the tiniest bit downwards as a crease between your eyebrows forms. You are quick to move over him, fingers grabbing onto the ends of the ribbons as you pull them undone, moving from one hand to the next.

“Oh, far from it, my dear.” Astarion’s hands dart out to connect with your waist, running up and down the skin he has yet to get to touch. His eyes follow his hands as they move up your ribs.

“In fact,” Astarion continues, “I could have taken much, much more. But I find myself wanting something else you have to offer.”

His hands tighten around your waist as he sits up faster than you could have expected, the hands bracketing your sides now giving you a gentle push onto your back as you give a small noise of surprise.

Astarion captures both your wrists in his hands and pins them above your head, newly freed fingers flexing as they circle your wrists. His nose brushes the skin of your neck, breathing in your scent as his tongue flicks out to taste your skin, his body hovering above your own as he pushes you harder into the linens.

He licks a line down the column of your neck that has you arching up into him, the coolness of his lips against the heat of your own skin always a sensation beyond description.

With slow kisses, he works his way across your collarbone and onto the swells of your chest, lips and tongue and nose brushing against the skin there as he caresses his cheek against the lace of a still covered breast.

With the turn of his head, he mouths at a nipple, the lace darkening with the wetness of his tongue against the now pebbled peak.

He buries his face in the cleavage made from the lingerie as he makes his way to your other breast, a hand coming down from where he keeps your wrists above your head to thumb at the damp lace left from his mouth.

“This has been quite the reward.” He licks over your other nipple as his fingers play with its twin, your lashes fluttering shut as your hips jump into his own.

“You deserve it. And more.” You whisper the words on a shaky exhale, Astarion’s cock already hardening once more as you roll your hips into his, pressing against his erection.

“Always such a sweetheart.” He punctuates his words with kisses up the line of your chest as he moves up a hand to cradle your cheek, his lips meeting your own with a tenderness he bestows upon no other being but you.

“On your knees, darling.” You hear that soft command in his voice, the sound of it kindling to the fire deep in your belly as you nod, his hands releasing you as he leans back to give you space to move. You turn over for him, pillowing your head onto the soft covers as you prop your knees up on the bed, spreading your legs for him.

You feel his hands caress the skin of your hips as they move up to your waist, his eyes glued to your dewy center exposed to him like this. He moves his hands up to your shoulders, fingertips briefly digging into the skin there as he rubs away any tension he feels before they trail back down the skin of your spine, fingertips moving vertebrae by vertebrae with impossible slowness.

“You had your fun, and it was absolutely delicious,” Astarion grips your hips as he leans forward to press a burning kiss to the base of your spine before leaning away once more, a hand moving lower to brush through your wet folds. “But now, I want to have mine.”

He gathers your arousal with slow, teasing passes of his fingers, moving up and down your slit from your entrance up to your clit and back again as he wets them in your slick, soft moans leaving your lips from his light touch.

“What a good girl you’ve been, picking out such pretty things and pleasing me so. You are far too good to me.” Two of Astarion’s fingers dip into your entrance, pressing in lightly as they glide in ever so slowly until they are fully seated inside you to the knuckle before pumping them in and out. “But you are an absolute menace in these panties, darling.”

You whine at the sensation, though the pleasure ends far too quickly. Almost as soon as it starts, Astarion’s fingers leave your aching pussy, pulling out of you slowly to trace around your entrance instead as you let out a noise of discontent.

“Patience, sweet thing.” He repeats your earlier words back to you as he collects more of your slick before moving them once more, fingertips brushing past your entrance to somewhere else instead, your wetness leaving a streak of arousal up the cleft of your bottom.

You gasp as the tip of a finger brushes over your other hole, body reflexively tensing as he rubs over the puckered entrance, spreading your slick in a light circle around it. Astarion keeps his touch feather light, small and simple circles that trace around the entrance, not yet working to press his finger inside you.

Even just the barest of touches on such a sensitive area has you swallowing in anticipation, the fire deep inside your body raging as you wait for him to give you more. More pleasure, more pain, more anything.

Astarion leans down towards your raised hips to press kisses to the roundness of a cheek, dragging his lips across your skin closer to the place where his finger keeps up its exploration.

You feel his fingertip move away only to be replaced by the wetness of his mouth. He licks at your hole, his tongue ringing circles around the sensitive entrance as his hands come up to spread your cheeks. The feeling of his tongue pressing onto such a place has you crying out, hips bucking into his face as he continues.

“Fuck, Astarion.” You pant, eyes closed against the pleasure as you breath out the words.

You feel him hum against you in response, tongue pressing harder against you as your moans turn desperate. Astarion’s finger joins back in with his tongue, coming to massage you as his tongue still licks.

He presses a soft kiss before he leans away, his own breathing heavy as he sits up. Your eyes open at the sudden absence to look back at him, taking in the sight of him with pupils blown wide in lust as his cock sits erect between his legs.

Astarion shifts slightly as he reaches over you and into his night table, fingers quickly finding his prize. He sits back upright, a hand brushing soothing fingertips across your lower back as he holds up the small vial of oil between his elegant fingers, the viscous liquid slowing moving from side to side before sliding down the glass.

You watch with bated breath as he uncorks the vial and dribbles the oil over his fingertips before moving it to dribble over your ass. The oil is cold as it drips, bringing a chill over your body as Astarion quickly corks it and lays it aside.

His finger touches you once more, smoothing the oil over your entrance with slow, soft motions as he readies you. His other hand comes to rest upon your hip, thumb brushing soothing lines up and down into your skin as he finally presses the very tip of his finger into your ass.

The feeling is visceral as it sends a spike of heat straight to your empty cunt, your body parting for him easily with the help of the oil, the sensation one so unlike any other.

Astarion leans in, his lips caressing the skin of your lower back, pressing soothing kisses as he slides his finger deeper, drawing a low keen from your lips as the pleasure increases with every inch his finger slides.

His finger finally fills you to the knuckle, Astarion giving it an experimental wiggle inside you. Your moans fill the room, eyes squeezed shut as you exhale, pleasure striking deep inside with that singular motion. With a slow, delicate movement, Astarion begins to pull his finger out, carful to leave the tip still inside, before he pushes back in.

Astarion lets his finger move with slow, even thrusts as your voice echos off the walls of the room with his every motion.

“Does that feel good, darling?” He keeps his voice quiet, but the undercurrent of heat you can hear in his words only adds to your building pleasure.

“Gods, yes.” Your words are a sob as you are unable to help the small noises leaving your lips as his finger moves, Astarion alternating between thrusting his finger and wiggling it deep inside, each action driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Your core squeezes empty as heat builds inside of you, your own denial of your pleasure earlier making it all burn all the hotter as Astarion lets his finger work you up higher and higher, edging you closer to your climax.

“Can you take another?” His words are soft, questioning, as his free hand grabs the vial on the bed, uncorking it with his mouth while he waits for your answer, drizzling more oil onto you.

You nod, unsure of your ability to form coherent words as Astarion has you on the brink like this, so close but still so far from your orgasm. You feel his finger pull out only to be joined by another, and together his two fingers press in to your body. Astarion gives you time to acclimate, working in slowly and stopping to give you time, only moving deeper once he is confident your body is ready.

“Are you alright, love?” Your heart could melt at the affection in his voice as you nod your head to him again, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as your cheeks flush.

By the time both his digits are seated full inside, you feel lost to the pleasure, the slight stretch of pain only adding to the euphoria as Astarion pumps his fingers softly, your body writhing.

“Should I fuck your pretty ass open with my fingers? Get it all nice and ready for my cock later?” You whine at his words as he scissors his fingers, stretching you ever so slightly more as he says the words.

He can see the evidence of his ministrations, a new gush of arousal leaking from your cunt with filmy strings sticking to your entrance. He leans his head down, pressing his tongue out as he circles your entrance, licking at the slick he sees as his fingers keep working inside your ass.

“I want you to come, dearest, can you do that for me?” His tongue finds its way to your clit, giving it the smallest little licks as he waits for your answer.

“Yes. Please.” The words are barely a whisper, desperate and needy. Astarion obliges you, though, licking faster as his fingers keep up their motions.

Astarion draws your pleasure out masterfully, though it doesn’t take long for you to hit the peak, the flat licks of his tongue on your pearl and fingers pressing deep inside bringing you to your climax within what feels like mere seconds.

You cry out as the heat crescendos, your hips bucking as you finally fall over the precipice of your pleasure, mouth opened in an almost silent moan as white hot heat fills your body.

Astarion licks at your clit softly as you ride the wave of completion, fingers slowing in your ass as you come hard, your knees weakening from the strength and overwhelm of it.

You collapse onto your stomach, a veil of tears lining the edges of your lashes as your body still writhes with the aftershock of your orgasm, Astarion’s fingers pausing as you come down from your high.

“For fuck’s sake, Astarion.” You breathe out on a soft laugh, eyes still closed as you feel the slightest bit of drool on your cheek you failed to notice.

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.” Astarion’s smirk is incorrigible as you feel his hardened cock pressing at the entrance to your cunt, the fingers still inside you wiggling ever so slightly once more.

“Do you think you can you take my cock, darling?” He leans over your back as he says the words, pressing his chest into your hot skin as he whispers them into your ear softly. The position has his fingers pressing harder, pleasure already beginning to build back up inside you.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” You buck your hips back into his waiting hardness, the tip of him breaching your walls has both of you sighing at the feeling.

“Always so insatiable, my love.” Astarion rocks his hips forward, pressing in slightly as he nips at your ear and his free hand grips your hip harder.

“It’s a wonder where I could have learned it from.” Your words are a gasp as he thrusts into your warmth with little warning, filling you in his entirety in a single stroke.

The fullness of him nestled deep inside your core while his fingers fill your ass is sheer bliss, a sensation that you weren’t sure you would ever get used to no matter how many times you’ve had tastes of this particular type of pleasure.

“So tight, sweet thing.” Astarion groans into your ear, hips still as he lets you acclimate to him. He presses a soothing kiss to your temple as he slowly begins to move his fingers once more.

Every movement of his fingers feels multiplied with Astarion filling both your entrances, your cunt clenching on him as you moan. You move your hips with a subtle motion, wanting as much from him as he would give you.

“Fuck me, then.” You press back into him as much as you can with him inside you, both front and back filled to the brim with him.

“Impertinent little thing.” Astarion tsks as he swats at your bottom playfully, moving his hand up over the curve of your rear to rest on your hip. He squeezes his fingertips into the skin of your hip as he grants you your wish.

Astarion pulls his hips away from yours, his cock dragging against your walls before plunging back in with a hard thrust that has you practically singing before repeating the action once more.

Astarion fucks you hard, hips slapping into the skin of your ass as his fingers piston inside you simultaneously, drawing your pleasure from both entrances as he times his thrusts in and out of your body with near perfect rhythm.

“You look so lovely like this, taking me in both.” Astarion is breathless as he thrusts, his cock hitting deep inside your cunt.

“I know. And I know you love it.” You try to move your hips back into his own, meeting his thrusts as well as you can despite your prone form on the bed. It’s so tight like this, the dual feeling of his fingers and his hardness beyond amazing.

“Oh, I do, darling. I do.” Astarion breathes the words hard as he keeps his pace steady despite the growing pleasure in your belly building up higher once more.

A particularly hard thrust has you both moaning as he leans over, pressing his forehead into your shoulder blade, his panting breaths warm against your own heated skin.

“I want to feel you come around my cock.” The words have you clenching harder around him, body tightening as his fingers continue to move inside your other entrance.

Astarion’s thrusts change their pace ever so slightly, the angle different as he finds the place deep inside that has you gasping in time with his cock. He hits your g-spot each time, the moans that fall from your lips nothing short of euphoric as you near completion once more.

All it takes is one more little quirk of his fingers inside your ass for your thighs to shake and your fingers to grasp at the blankets beneath you in balled fists as your orgasm hits just as hard as the first, eyes squeezed shut in bliss as your hips move against his own as you ride out your pleasure.

The feeling of your body squeezing around his length and fingers has Astation following right after, the warmth of his come filling you deep one you barely notice as his thrusts hit a fever pitch.

Your mind drifts as you come down from the high, Astarion’s thrusts slowing as he too works his way down from his pleasure. He gingerly pulls his fingers from you, moving the digits slowly despite his cock still thrusting lazily into your core, his come leaking from you and onto the linens below.

With one last kiss pressed to the back of your neck Astarion lets his cock leave your warmth, the mess of both of your spends decorating the blankets and your bodies.

Astarion walks over to where the washbasin sits in the corner, grabbing a soft cloth and wetting it before returning to where you still lay face down, catching your breath.

He kneels on the bed beside your body, reaching between your thighs with the cool cloth to clean the mess of cum and oil from your overheated skin.

“I think we made a mess,” You are quick to recover as you move to sit, reclining casually against the bed as Astarion comes to rest beside you.

His fingers dance over your skin in tiny patterns, the tips of them moving across your body as if tracing the lines of the many garments he now spends his time to make.

“Hardly, darling.” Astarion’s fingers dance up towards the clasp holding the lingerie across your chest, flicking it aside with clever feelings as he peels it off your body and throws it. “In fact, I think we can make an even bigger one.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Another raise of your brow, interest piqued.

Astarion climbs over where you lean against the pillows, now his turn to swing a leg across your hips as he straddles your form, eyes looking over the ever so tender skin of your neck as he licks his lips.

“Care for a snack, darling?”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x f!tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female tav #my writing #if you think you see a typo no you didn't #I’ve been up almost a full 24 hours but the need was too strong to finish and post this to sleep

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priceyprice · 1 year ago

Text

Prof!Price

Prof!Price as he's sitting on his couch, on a phone call with one of his colleagues.

On his other hand, he has a glass of bourbon that he was drinking from an hour ago. It was a late night, and the two of them agreed to make an important call so they could talk about a few students and their academic progress. Price just was at the comfort of his home listening to his friend. "Mike is failing my class. I've already called other professors, and they said he's doing fine with them. Is it the same for you?"

"Hmm... He's not my best student, but he isn't my worst either."

"Alice is failing my class, too. Is she failing yours?" Price agreed for his colleague to tell him the name of his students, and he tells him about their academic progress since he doesn't have his notebook where all their grades are (nor he doesn't care about that notebook right now late at night). He knows every student he has, part of being passionate about his job. "She's not failing my class, but she's late for an assignment that was due yesterday."

"Yeah, she always does that. It's not surprising. What about Cole?"

Price sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "He's doing fine, too. He scored a good grade on the last exam."

"He's doing bad in my class, which is confusing since the other professors told me he's good in their classes too. Man— Am I the problem?"

Price chuckled darkly at that. "Maybe."

"My methods of teaching are great. I don't understand why I have a lot of students failing."

"Because you're teaching statistics."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Everything."

Price could hear the wave of laughter from the other side of the call, making him smile a little. "You're an asshole... Oh, right! I almost forgot. What about-"

"J-John." His eyes snapped up at the same time his friend said her name. He tapped her naked thigh with his glass as a gesture of keeping silence. She lets out a little whimper, feeling the coldness of the glass. His name rolled out of her tongue by accident, but that didn't stop her from riding him like he's the only thing she could breathe.

Her hands go up, passing his shoulders until they find his neck, her fingers caressing his short hair. She's desperate. The call is taking longer than expected, and her lover —who's her professor— doesn't have any intentions of making the call shorter so he can have his way with her.

He's doing it on purpose.

"Hm? Who's she?" Price said teasingly, looking at the one the two of them were talking about. She looked so beautiful with her full body naked, going up and down on him, trying to search for a release. The dim light of his lamp table rests on her silhouette, making her look like the most beautiful art he has ever seen.

He's pretty sure a few gods from the Olympus are envious by the beauty she possesses while riding him. It was like he's her throne while she sat on him worshipping her.

"Oh wait, I remember her..." Price said in a husky voice, the feeling of her heat embracing him is making him crazy. He puts his glass on the table beside the couch and takes a strand of her nearly damp hair between his fingers, pressing a few light kisses.

"She's doing great in my class, a very intelligent student. What about yours?"

"Yeah, she's..." She's riding me right now, trying to stop her beautiful voice from moaning. "She's one of my top students. I can say she's on top of everyone... even of me." She gasps when his fingers start caressing the mons' pubis. "Shh..." He said lowly, looking at her big, desperate eyes.

"She's not my top student, but she's one of them."

"Yeah, she's very..." She lets out another whimper clenching around him when she feels him in her favorite spot. This was driving her crazy. The thought of her riding her professor while they were talking about her was the hottest turn on she ever had.

"Wait, give me a second. I think there's someone knocking on my door." Price puts the call on mute and looks at her. "My love, I need you to calm your voice."

"I c-can't. It's too much..." He caressed her cheek, stopping a tear. Then, he puts a few strands away from her sweating forehead, a very gentle expression, in contrast with how his cock is abusing her insides. "I know, baby, but I'm in an important call. Just use my cock however you like and when I'm finished I'll promise you to fuck you and please you like the goddess you are." She moaned as a response, her head falling against his shoulder.

Price unmuted his call and put his phone back on his ear. "Sorry, a lousy neighbor. Who are we discussing again?"

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I apologize for any misspelling and mistakes. Any suggestions or comments are appreciated. 🫶

#john price #john price x reader #captain price #cod mw2 #task force 141 #cod 141 #141 x reader #professor price #prof price #fanfic

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yxngbxkkie · 7 months ago

Text

secret secret (b.c)

hello :) i've been thinking about frat!chris for a while, and i finally had enough motivation to write this idea!! i do hope you like it! 🩷🩷

feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

“Thanks for coming again,” Yeji tells you while handing you a mixed drink. She smiles at you as you grab a hold of the cup, and you shrug your shoulders.

“It's the least I can do, Yej. It's our last semester, so I might as well attend one frat party, hm?” You ask her with a giggle, taking a sip of the drink.

She laughs with you as she drinks from her cup as well. The vibrations of the music echo off the walls, and you can feel it from within you. Your eyes look around the dimly lit room, barely able to make out other students' faces.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you see Chris, the President of the Frat you're in. You can feel your cheeks flush, and you quickly tear your gaze away from him, not wanting him to catch you looking at him.

“I heard he's single again,” Yeji informs you, her arm nudging yours.

“Who?” You ask, knowing exactly who she's talking about.

She gives you a look before motioning towards Chris. “The guy you've been in love with for a year,” she tells you with a laugh, draping an arm over your shoulder.

Your heart hammers in your chest, baffled that she's aware of your feelings for Chris. You grow embarrassed and gulp down some of your drink. “I'm not in love with him,” you mutter, lying through your teeth.

Chris Bang is different from other students. He's extremely kind, respectful, and caring. The first time you talked to him, you didn't expect him to be so nice to you.

The two of you are in the same major, so you've worked together. He was your partner for a project a few semesters ago. Those are the only times you hung out with him. You've never hung out with him outside of the school grounds.

“There's no way he'd ever go for me,” you shake your head, looking at the liquid in your plastic cup.

Yeji rolls her eyes playfully. “You don't know that!” She tells you, smacking your arm gently. “You should try talking to him tonight.”

“I'll think about it,” you tell her, knowing she'll keep pestering you if you decline.

She pats your back as you finish your cup. You mention quickly that you'll be back, walking towards the kitchen to remake your drink.

You set your cup down as you look through the selection of liquor. A pair of hands rest on your shoulders, making you jump in your spot. You look over your shoulder, seeing Minho standing behind you with a smile.

“I never thought I'd see you here,” he chuckles before hugging you.

You hug him for a few seconds before looking back at the alcohol. “As I told Yeji, it's our last semester,” you repeat your words while smiling at him.

Minho nods his head and grabs one of the bottles. “Well, let's celebrate with a shot, hm?” He asks with a grin.

“Ah, okay,” you agree hesitantly, knowing you're a complete lightweight.

You watch him as he fills up two shot glasses, passing one of them to you. You pick it up and clink the glasses together. You down the shot in one gulp, squeezing your eyes shut at the taste.

“Oh, God,” you cringe, your upper body shivering. “That's horrible.”

Minho laughs as he sets the glasses in the sink. He pats your back afterward, and you go back to making a drink. “How's the dance classes going?” You ask while grabbing the ingredients to make a screwdriver.

“It's going well! Did Yeji tell you that we're doing our final together?” He mentions, watching you pour the various liquids in your cup.

“She did! She told me that she's really excited about it,” you giggle, already feeling the effects of the liquor. You stir your drink before taking a sip, humming in delight.

“She is. We both are. The dance style we got is one of our favorites,” Minho explains, making his own drink.

Before you have the chance to say anything else, Yeji and Chris walk up to the both of you. Your eyes widen a smidge, and you straighten your posture.

“Hey, Y/N! Yeji told me you were here,” Chris mentions with a kind smile, bringing you into a quick hug.

Your heart pounds against your chest as you hug him, wrapping your free arm around his shoulder. “Hey, Chris. It's been a while,” you greet him with a shy smile, taking a sip of liquid courage after.

Yeji grabs a hold of Minho's arm, tugging him away from you and Chris. You can see her give you a thumbs up from behind the man standing in front of you.

You swear that you're going to lock her out of the dorm later on. “Y/N?” Chris calls out your name, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Hm? I'm sorry,” you apologize, getting embarrassed.

He smiles at you and shakes his head. “It's okay. I asked how you've been,” Chris repeats himself, moving to the fridge to grab himself some water.

“You're not drinking?” You ask him with furrowed brows.

“No, I don't really like drinking,” he laughs before drinking from the bottle of water.

You hum, a little bit surprised as you drink some more. Silence fills the space between the two of you, and you begin to feel a little awkward.

“I'm going to check on the other guests. If I run into you again, let's talk some more,” Chris pats your arm gently before walking away from you.

You didn't even say anything, and as soon as he's out of sight, you cringe. “Can I be any more awkward?” You ask yourself, chugging the rest of your drink.

Chris finds you again a couple of hours later, and you're piss drunk. After he greets you, his hands find a place on your waist to keep you steady.

“Hi, Chris,” you giggle, leaning in closer to him.

He doesn't know how to feel. He's never seen this side of you, only talking to you about school most of the time. Chris’ heart skips a beat in his chest as you almost stumble over.

“Okay, it's time to get some rest,” he mentions, looking around for Yeji. His eyes find Minho, remembering that he was with Yeji earlier.

Chris helps you sit on the couch, your head leaning against the back of it. “I'll be right back, okay?” He asks you, holding your hand to keep your attention.

You nod your head, squeezing his hand in yours. “Okay,” you whisper before closing your eyes.

He walks up to Minho, patting his back. “Hey, do you know where Yeji is? Y/N's pretty drunk,” he informs him, taking a quick glance back at you.

“Shit, already?” Minho asks, looking in the direction Chris was looking. He winces in guilt at the sight of you, knowing how weak your tolerance is. “Yeji is linking up with someone. Could you take her home? I'll let Yeji know as soon as she's done.”

Chris bites on his bottom lip, not knowing how to feel about the situation. He doesn't know you that well, and he doesn't want to come off the wrong way.

“I trust you to get her home safely, Chris,” Minho interrupts his thoughts, snapping him from his daze.

“Okay, yeah. Text me her address,” he agrees while starting to walk back towards you. He gently reaches his hand out to you, nudging your hand. “Y/N, hey.”

You slowly open your eyes, blinking the fogginess away. You can still feel the effects of the alcohol. “Hi, Chris,” you giggle, smiling at him.

He smiles back at you, finding your intoxicated self to be quite adorable. “I'm going to take you home, okay?” He mentions while grabbing your hand, helping you up from the couch.

Your body gets pressed to his chest as Chris keeps you steady. “Sorry, I'm all over the place,” you slur your words, clutching onto the flannel he's wearing.

“You're okay,” he chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist.

It takes Chris almost half an hour to get you out of the frat house and back to your apartment. Your body collides with your mattress, a groan leaving your lips at the comfy feeling.

You look around for Chris, seeing him standing by your dresser. “You don't need to do anything else,” you tell him, making him jump at the sudden noise.

A groan comes from your lips as you sit yourself up. “Are you sure? I don't know if sleeping in that will be comfortable,” he mentions, taking a few steps closer to you.

“I'll be okay, Chris,” you giggle. You reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Thank you for bringing me home. You're so… sweet.”

“It's not a problem, Y/N. I wanted to make sure that you got home safely,” Chris exclaims while squeezing your hand.

You stare up at him, and your heart pounds against your chest. “I– I'm in love with you,” you stutter over your words, feeling your face flush. “You're so perfect.”

Chris stares at you with wide eyes, your hand slipping from his. You slowly lay on your side, your eyes drooping shut as sleep takes over your drunken body.

“Y/N?” He asks, nudging your arm a bit. He releases a huff of breath and helps you lay in bed normally. Chris pulls the covers of your body, making sure you're completely covered before walking out of your apartment.

Chris sits with Jisung and Changbin, the two chatting about how they want their first demo to go. He's not paying attention to what either of them are saying, his eyes glued to your figure walking across the campus food court.

It's been three months since he brought you home from the party he threw. Three months since you drunkenly confessed that you're in love with him. Ever since then, he's been seeing you in a light he's never seen before.

You're gorgeous, stunning, actually. A part of him is shocked that you don't have people going after you. Chris’ eyes don't leave you for one second as you sit at a table with Yeji and Minho.

His breath hitches in his throat when you suddenly meet his gaze. You smile at him and he returns his before looking away from you.

“You're so obvious, did y'know that?” Changbin laughs, sipping from his coffee after.

“What are you talking about?” Chris asks, resting his chin against the palm of his hand.

Jisung nudges his arm, intervening, “you've been staring at someone for a while.” Changbin nods his head, agreeing with what Jisung said.

He rolls his eyes, dismissing what his friends are telling him. Jisung looks past Changbin, trying to pinpoint who Chris was intensely staring at. When the younger man finds your figure sitting with Minho, his boba eyes widen.

“Is that Y/N?!” Jisung asks him, whispering so no one around can hear. Chris just nods his head in answer, a gasp leaving Jisung’s lips.

“Woah, okay,” Changbin interrupts, holding his hands up a smidge. “You have to explain. Y/N’s the girl from our music production class a few semesters ago?”

The oldest out of the trio nods his head once again, already feeling his ears turn red. He brings a hand up to them, gently pinching the shell of his ear.

“Yeah. We had a project together, and she was really nice. Extremely smart, too,” Chris starts to explain, releasing a quick sigh. “Do you remember the party we threw a few months ago?”

“Yes,” both Changbin and Jisung reply simultaneously.

Chris laughs a bit, finding it funny that the two are so invested in this. “Well, she was there with Yeji. She ended up having too much to drink, and I had to bring her home,” he continues telling the story, his eyes going back to your figure. “and before she passed out, she confessed that she was in love with me.”

Both of his friends' jaw drops, causing him to roll his eyes again. “So, you mean to tell me this gorgeous girl is head over heels for you?” Jisung sums up the second part of the story. “Does she know that you know?”

“I don't think so,” Chris leans back on his chair. “She hasn't really spoken to me since that night. We don't have any classes together this year.”

“Why not go up to her now?” Changbin asks, raising an eyebrow.

Chris plays with his fingers, feeling nervous about the idea. “What if she didn't mean it?” He asks instead, locking eyes with Changbin.

“Have you heard of the phrase, “drunk words are sober thoughts?”” Jisung asks, giving him a bewildered look.

“Just go ask her out,” Changbin mutters to him, slapping his hands.

Chris slides his chair back, and both of his friends begin to freak out. People around them start to notice, and he gives the two a look.

“Sorry,” Jisung mumbles, running a hand through his hair. He pats Chris’ arm, grinning up at him. “Go get ‘em tiger!”

You're listening to Yeji tell you about the date she went on over the weekend. You giggle at how she tells the story and take a bite of your lunch.

Minho's eyes flicker to the right and it captures your attention to look as well. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of Chris walking up to your table.

“What's happening?” You ask in a whisper, mainly asking yourself.

His eyes lock with yours and he greets you with a smile. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hey, Chris,” you shyly greet him, lifting a hand to wave.

You watch him rub his hands on his jeans before he clears his throat. “Uhm, I was wondering–” he pauses, his eyes glancing towards Yeji and Minho, who are also watching him. “Do you know the studio we used for our project?”

You blink repeatedly, not expecting that question from him. “Yeah, why?” You ask with your head tilted a bit.

“Can you meet me there in a couple of hours? I want to talk to you about something,” he asks you, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, I can,” you agree, nodding your head.

Chris smiles, nodding his head as well. “Great, okay. I'll see you soon, then,” he mentions before quickly walking away.

Your lips are parted in surprise, not knowing what the hell just happened. Yeji slaps your hand while her free one covers her mouth.

“What the hell was that!?” She asks, also surprised.

“I don't know, honestly,” you tell her, fiddling with your fingers.

She pats your hand comforting before reassuring you. “Maybe he finally realized how pretty you are,” Yeji winks, causing you to giggle.

“Maybe,” you chuckle, tucking some hair behind your ear.

You're standing outside the studio that you and Chris have worked in before. You can see the light on from under the door, so you know that he's in there. You take a couple of deep breaths, feeling a little nervous.

You knock on the door and take half of a step back. The door opens up not even ten seconds later, revealing the man you've been in love with. He smiles at you, welcoming you in the small room.

He shuts the door behind you as you sit down on the leather couch. “What'd you want to talk to me about?” You ask him, deciding to get this anxious conversation over with.

Chris sits down on the computer chair, turning it so he's facing you. “Do you remember the party I had a few months ago?” He asks you, his gaze moving from you to his hands.

“Of course. I don't remember much from that night, but I remember showing up,” You nod your head, giggling a bit.

“I ended up bringing you home,” he mentions, and your eyes widen. You don't remember how you got home. You just assumed it was Yeji or Minho. “And, when I was in your apartment… you told me something.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. No… “I didn’t– I mean,” you stutter, beginning to freak out.

Chris reaches his hand out, gently taking your hand into his. “It's okay. I promise,” he reassures you, stroking the back of your hand. “You told me that you were in love with me. Is it true?”

You take a deep breath, feeling yourself shake just a little bit. “I… Yeah, I am. I'm sorry that I told you. I was drunk, obviously–”

“Will you go to dinner with me?” Chris cuts you off by asking you out.

“What?” You whisper, your heart skipping a beat. “Did you just–”

“Ask you out? Yes, I did,” he laughs, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand.

You smile at him softly, giggles leaving your lips. “Are you going to cut me off every sentence if I say yes?” You ask jokingly, squeezing his hand.

Chris laughs, and he shakes his head. “No, never. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to,” he says with a kind grin, reducing the space between you two. “I was panicking, and I didn't want you to think that I was going to reject you.”

“You're fine, Chris,” you reassure him.

His free hand comes to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” He asks you.

Your cheeks blush at his question, finding yourself nodding your head. Chris tilts his head to the side, capturing your lips in a shy kiss.

You grab a hold of the shirt he's wearing, kissing him back immediately. He releases your hand to wrap his arm around you, pressing your body against his.

He breaks away from the kiss, his chocolate eyes looking into yours. You feel like you're on cloud nine. Never in your life did you think that you'd pull Christopher Bang, yet here he is, kissing you like his life depends on it.

“Are you free this weekend?” He asks you, resting his forehead on yours.

“I have to bring Yeji and Minho somewhere, but after that, I'm all yours,” you grin, brushing your nose against his.

Chris reconnects your lips, giving you a short kiss. “Perfect.”

tagging: @strawboorybunny @reddesert-healourblues @spacegirlstuff @moon0fthenight @foxinnie8 @like-a-diamondinthesky @prettymiye0n

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