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todorokies · 7 months

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RUMOR HAS IT - suguru geto

✩࿐ the streets of london have now been considered a danger for citizens when a blood hunger vampire prowls looking for their next lady in waiting . . .

contents: very suggestive, fem!reader, vampire!geto, geto is bewitched by you(r blood), nanami cameo (yippee), nineteenth century gothic victorian era, this leans towards the thriller side, reader is a bit naive, a wee bit of manipulation, blood drinking, usage of ‘m’lady’, inspired by the song ‘rumor has it’ by adele & this tweet, 2.5k words

a/n: there is a lot of imagery written !!! i truly hope u all like it, reblogs & supportive feedback is welcome ik the wc is a lot but pls bare with me :”) . . . apart of @kentopedia’s ‘love through the ages’ collab

the sun has begun to shift into its everlasting transition of casting soft orange hues of light that are softly entangled with a dark shade of blue that covers up above. the moon had tucked its companion away for the time being as it began to come into view.

the current state of main street however didn’t reflect the tranquillity of peace; the town clock had loudly reverberated alerting the public of the danger that would soon lurk.

citizens both young and old trampled out of buildings leaving a simple gust of wind in their wake to reach their residences.

a curfew had recently been implemented by the town council in order to reduce the sudden influx —dubbed as animal attacks— of women being found lifeless on the cold streets, with their blood being completely drained from their bodies.

but alas, the troublesome rumours of the attacks being performed by a person rather than an animal, rattled in, heightening the unpleasantries.

the rotten smell of fear lingers in the air with the pumping adrenaline coursing through the towns folks veins. if the perpetrator weren’t foolish enough, an entire course meal has been presented onto a platter for them.

“staring won’t do you any good if you end up dead.” nanami, your coworker, noted who was packing the last of the bakery’s unsold goods in a bag to be taken home.

you quickly drew away from the windowsill, “doesn’t the site of it all make you miserable. this new curfew has done nothing but made everyone even more frightened.”

nanami’s features softened and pursed his lips in a thin line before sighing. “the curfew is sensible in hindsight, but when rules are enforced people have a sudden urge to break them, mainly to figure out what animal—”

“—or person,” you sharply cut him off which causes his eyebrows to crinkle.

“i mean, let’s face it, what kind of animal leaves two perfectly clean puncture wounds on the neck and abandons the body as it is without any carnage?”

a beat follows before you continue, “this is obviously the work of some mad scientist in town looking to make a name for themselves.”

he sighs, “animal or …person, you shouldn’t be standing here chatting with me about it.”

his eyes twinkle with remorse whilst handing the bag of baked goods over to you, “i could chaperone you to your residence, you do live on the outskirts of town. i deeply worry about your safety.”

you lightheartedly scoff, politely waving off the suggestion. “nonsense kento, i always seem to have luck on my side, the walk home will be uneventful as always.”

he frowns at this.

you can be extraordinarily stubborn at the most inappropriate times.

“besides what would society think once they see an unwed woman getting escorted by the opposite sex. you should hurry home yourself! send my kind regards to yuuji for me.”

you bunch up the detailed lace of your overflowing gown in one hand while holding the brown bag of pastries in the other.

swiftly scurrying off into the abandoned streets, “do take care of yourself!”

“get home safely and hurry before the streetlights turn on!” nanami yells out the door before locking up the establishment and heading on his own way.

the cobblestone beneath your feet painfully ached and crumbled apart with each passing step you took. shutters from other houses forcefully swung open from the wind that picked up overtime, soon a ghastly fog began to move in, hindering some of your vision.

you truthfully dreaded this. nanami’s offer is still mulled in the back of your head, you mentally slap yourself for dismissing a comforting and preferably safer option of returning home.

however, dwelling on the what if’s have never been your cup of tea, instead you attempt to take in the scenery of the town in it’s glory.

the eerie atmosphere reminded you of an agatha christie novel you’ve once read. the fond memory warms you up in the dead of night.

soon your manor appears into view. relief immediately washes over you, a small breath of air exited your lungs.

but then you hear it; an extra set of footsteps a mile or two from behind you that rippled the cement.

too heavy of a stride to be another woman in heels and too human-like to be a four legged animal. with each step you took, they would take on another, almost in sync to throw you off their suspicions.

you felt bare and exposed as the only thing that you could focus on was the tangible breeze rattling your bones, fingers turning numb and losing its feeling. your head buzzed considering the only two options to best handle the situation: continue the venture to your housing or confront the entity.

continuing your journey would result in the mysterious entity gaining knowledge of your location. whereas, standing idly waiting for the perpetrator’s next move would result in you being the newspaper’s front headliner.

you’ve concluded the mental battle with yourself on cutting through the woods and loosing whomever is behind you in the dust.

just as you were about to pick up your feet, a tap by a set of fingers rippled against your shoulder causing you to shriek.

“m’lady, i believe you dropped this.” a sultry voice booms through your ears that belonged to a man so majestic you couldn’t comprehend. your breath staggers while your mouth hang slightly agape.

he was as pale as a lilith in its full bloom but still managed to glisten under the moonlight. monolid eyes sharpened that showcased nothing but intensity and gluttony.

you couldn’t dare away, especially not when his gaze has your flesh burning to the touch as heat pools between your legs, an endless void of lust and mystery.

somehow breaking out of his enchantment, you regain consciousness, blinking away the blurriness and swiftly take the handkerchief he handed to you and stuff it in your dress pocket.

“o-oh, thank you kind sir,” your words heavily slurs past your lips.

his overwhelming aura seemingly switches, presenting more of a laid back approach when speaking to you.

“what’s a dream like you doing roaming the streets at this hour?” he inquired.

it’s almost like whiplash— fear surging from every portion of your body to feeling a sense of ease with his presence around.

your face warms up. subconsciously picking at the skin that surrounds your nail beds. “just trying to make my way home, i had picked up a late shift from—”

“the bakery in town square, correct?”

taking a step, his taller frame leaned a quarter into your personal space suddenly being consumed by his aroma. sweetness mixed with a hint of sandalwood and lavender.

his fingers weakly pranced around a single strand of your hair that had been loose, meticulously swirling it about in a specific way that only pleased him.

only then were you able to come about his long raven locks that were styled in a charming half-do that seemingly blended in with the sinful sombre of the midnight sky.

your pulse amplified, picking up like the speed of lightning. your hands soon began accumulating sweat just by a single question.

despite town square serving the population of two countries bound together, not once have you had the pleasure of encountering this man.

he was far too bewitching to grace the status of a commoner. no, he must be a figure of royalty or at least had rich wealth flowing through his blood, but he showcases no obvious signs of luxury.

just who was this man exactly?

he watches you regain control over your psyche, backing away which lets the strand of hair he possessed on his finger seemingly bounce free.

“enlighten me. how do you possess knowledge of the location of my employment? my eyes have never seen someone of the likes of you before.”

he senses utter hostility from you. the entire cobbled street reeks of your fear. he can practically taste your appetizing disdain on the tip of his tongue.

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth to conceal the withering moan that elicited from his core; you’re unsettled by him which only fuels his erogenous.

he playfully surrenders his hands in the air as if you had just caught him in an obtuse act, “what, pray tell, are you insinuating?”

you scoff, “do you take me for a mockery?” your voice doesn’t waver, eyebrows cinched together with lips into a firm line.

he simply tuts, “only a well put together woman like yourself could gain employment at such a high end bakery that stands in town square. i based such an assumption off my judgement . . . forgive me, m’lady.”

your eyes cautiously scan his face to detect any signs of playfulness that went against his explanation. when none was present, it was your cue to ease up on your suspicions.

with a sharp intake of air, your tense shoulders unwind themselves from your ears as you straighten out your dress trying to knead at any wrinkles.

the bakery in town has built a famous name for itself, being known as one of the most ancient buildings standing tall, as well as offering fresh pastries throughout many wars and battles.

different hierarchies from all across the globe have made it their mission to invest in a trade deal of importing the bakery’s goods in exchange for many benefits.

“then again, you find yourself situated on this street conversing with an utter stranger during after hours. so pray tell, who exactly is the jester here?” he dryly asks.

the warm energy circulating between the two of you came to a sudden halt as the tension quickly grew cold.

his voice is fervent. a barbaric ignorance flows naturally in his tone as if he was challenging you, which is much different than how he addressed your inquiry.

truthfully suguru was growing impatient by the minute. he has worked all of the charms in the book but you still haven’t given him an opening for what he wanted the most. your body, soul and most importantly; your blood.

he salivated at the sight of the minuscule veins on your neck becoming more prominent when your voice raises an obtuse or two.

the excruciating torment of his body thumping with thirst made his head throb. his tongue swirled hungrily around his sharp left fang in anticipation.

if you had blinked, you would’ve missed how he traveled at the speed of light. a gust of wind swept through the streets as a strong swooshing of air caused the ends of your dress to get caught up in the wake. suddenly, you were face to face again with the mystery man, his nose ever so gently grazing yours, feeling his cold breath onto your lips.

his eyes carefully scans your features, taking notice of the crease between your eyebrows. “you aren’t aware of my name yet you give me your time of day? or rather night that is? i feel honoured.” he purrs.

your heart collapses to your feet. what in god’s name were you doing?

allowing yourself to get seduced by a nameless maniac on the street at the devil’s hour. letting your head get filled to the brim with such deception and trickery. your bread must’ve gone stale and you hadn’t noticed until now how terribly your feet ached from standing for so long.

your brain screamed at you to pick up your feet and dash out of a sickly situation you’ve unfortunately found yourself in. but to no avail your soles stood firmly in place, you pitied yourself for still being under his aphrodisiac.

your eyes sting as tears begin to well up into the base of your waterline. he shushes you by lightly tapping his index fingers against your bottom lip then leans into the shell of your ear, “you were the most naive out of others yet the most challenging one, what is your secret, m’lady?”

the only thing you could muster up in the moment was a faint, “p-please don’t hurt me…”

to that, suguru’s current expression gets replaced by a look of genuine remorse. he smiles fondly, his eyes forming into crescent moons. “you mustn’t worry, i have different plans for you. now be a darling and tilt your head for me.”

his eyes glowed a crimson hue that casted a reflection in your own eyes. his divine string of words compelled you to follow his demand, having no conscious influence over your own actions.

he could see your arteries viciously pumping oxygen. unstable hollow breaths depart from your plump lips.

what a delightful sight you are.

finally, his fangs penetrate your fragile skin causing goosebumps to arise upon impact as angry scarlett red seeps out of the two puncture holes he’d created.

you gasp, your head is frantically bubbling with heat as your knees buckle, static shoots through your joints feeling vibrations all over your body.

he gently cradles the back of your head with one hand using his grip to better his angle on his landscape. drowsiness consumes you whole. feeling yourself slowly slipping into a labyrinth that only the man in front of you has the key to.

your whimpers and soft pants fill the air. your stomach soon coils with a pleasant sensation of pleasure, you’ve truly gone mad as you bite your lip to cover up the choked up moans from the pleasurable aches of pain.

your eyes roll back to the sky, mentally counting the stars until your body decides to shut down what leftover functions it had left.

your eyes softly flutter open, wincing almost immediately from the dim overhead lap that shines directly in your face.

you’re currently lying on top of the broody velvet red loveseat that resided in your manor’s foyer. how you got home is beyond your comprehension.

suddenly the horrific memories of this particular night floods in your head like a tsunami.

that man… his fangs…the blood.

your hand quickly flies towards the area of the wound that resided on your neck, which to your surprise, is covered by a heavily padded gauze that will soon need to be changed once you get up.

who or what brought you home and tended to your wound? was it that man or maybe he had left you on the streets, barely alive when another lost soul roaming at the witching hour took you home.

you spot a glass of water on the floor that had a note taped onto it next to your bagged pastries. you cautiously pick up the glass to hydrate your overly dry throat then carefully peel the paper off the glass to read the note.

the contents of the note reads:

i have seeked high and low for the purest form of life, to find a companion worthy enough to indulge me in this wretched world of misery but yet, you were found from right under my nose.

your purity sings to me like a songbird o’holiest of thee. a crystallized soul patiently waiting for a body to mold.

your blood is as rare as black dahlia, hidden deep within the nooks of clouded nostalgia. your pastel beauty is the cure to my everlasting torment in hell.

i will return for you, my love.

always and forever yours, suguru.

tags: @cawwn @osaemu @yunymphs @megumimania @dollria @maeby-cursed @get0

reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3

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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

emt!abby x clumsy fem!reader, fluff / angst / smut (mdni!), wc: 8.8k (abby makes me ill).

synopsis: abby’s recuperating from a rocky relationship. tending to you more than once has gotta be fate.

content warnings: language, 18+ content (MDNI!): fingering (abby & reader receiving), oral (abby receiving), standard emotional constipation, non-graphic depictions of injuries / blood. let me know if i miss anything! not proofread well!

tagging those who interacted with my interest post! @eden-nox , @feeeeebbb , @thecowardwrites , @dawn-bunni , @dykefromstatefarm , @kingofcrabs17 , @deadliebalboa , @caitlinisfruity , @matchabxba , @abbysidechick

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

THE FIRST TIME ABBY TENDS TO YOU is an embarrassing circumstance all its own. And not necessarily because you’d hurt yourself, but because of one meddling little sibling in particular.

It’s nearly 2am in the morning, a little brisk outside of the apartment complex, and Abby’s trailing behind her rotation partners up three rickety flights of stairs.

“Seattle EMS!”

The door’s flying open and a frantic girl no older than fifteen is ushering the trio in the apartment.

“It’s my sister,” she says quickly. “She cut her hand with a knife. Won’t stop bleeding.”

Abby’s observing her surroundings, eyes flitting around the space as they file quickly down the hallway, walls neatly littered with polaroids, picture frames, and various other decorations and knickknacks.

As they spill into the living room, Abby’s eyes settle on you, sitting on the coffee table in nothing but an oversized tee and some boyshorts.

There are tiny smears of red across your thighs, right hand applying pressure to your left palm with a wad of paper towels. One look at your face shows draining color and Abby’s setting the duffel on the floor.

“Need her rate and blood pressure,” one of her partners says. “Anderson, can you assess the damage?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Abby says, kneeling in front of you.

She swears she feels a jolt of electricity pass through her nitrile gloves when her fingertips brush your skin. You’re shaky, eyes droopy because you’ve never been great with blood.

“I’m gonna take a look,” Abby says softly, coaxing the paper towels away from you. “That okay?”

You nod, hair falling into your face as she turns your palm over to analyze the wound.

“Sheesh,” she whispers. “What’d you do?”

When you’re silent for a moment, warmth momentarily returning to your cheeks as embarrassment floods your system, Abby’s eyes swing to your younger sister who’s seemingly clocked the considerable tension between you and the hot EMT.

“We were making brownies,” she fills in helpfully. “Big sis was chopping up the nuts.”

One of Abby’s partners chuckles, the one filling out the paperwork, and Abby glances at you again, something niggling in the pit of her stomach when she sees the flustered way you bite your lip.

“Personally not a fan of nuts in my brownies, but that’s a hill I’ll die on.”

Abby’s trying to distract you, take your mind away from a the gnarly gash cut deep in your palm line. It works, she thinks, when you crack a small smile.

“Me neither,” you agree, and it’s the first words you say all night.

Your voice has a sweet rasp, one that makes Abby’s gut twist.

“Guess this means nuts really are a no go,” you say, hissing momentarily when Abby makes start with cleaning your wound.

For a moment she forgets you’re talking about brownies and your little sister’s searing gaze should be confirmation enough, but after gathering all of your important information and spending the next forty-five minutes cleaning you up, Abby’s being stopped in her tracks as they file out of the cramped living room.

Your little sister catches her as the two other techs swing into the third floor hallway.

“My big sis is gay, FYI,” she giggles mischievously. “Like real gay.”

You call her name, absolutely horrified.

Abby can’t help the smile that splits her face.

“Mmm, good to know.”

You’d barely recovered from that moment, still reeling nearly a week later after your failed sleepover party with your little sister that ended in the hottest tech seeing you in the worst condition possible.

And while you thank every force above that Abby hadn’t seemed too perturbed by your sibling’s antics, it’s still something that makes you rub the heel of your palms into your eyes and kick your feet in annoyance before bed.

But just when you think you’re finally getting over it, you cross paths again.

Fate has a cruel way of flexing its humor because you’re turning an especially crowded corner in the freezer section of Whole Foods when your toe catches the corner display.

“Shit!” you hiss, basket clattering to the floor.

Your jar of extra garlic-y marinara is rolling away and a few of your lemons are scattering between avoidant feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

And you’ve heard that voice before, familiar hum haunting your dreams for the past week and a half.

You look up just as the body associated with the voice crouches in front of you, pasta sauce in one hand and trio of lemons in the other.

Of course it’s Abby in all of her glory. Her hair is loosened from her braid, falling over her broad shoulders as she searches your face. She’s in her work polo, few buttons undone and belt somewhat loosened.

Something akin to recognition flashes over her features as she takes you in.

“Thanks,” you whisper when she rights your basket and carefully sets the runaway items inside.

“You’re always hurting yourself,” she teases, standing to her full height before offering her hand out to you.

For a moment you were caught up, so engrossed in seeing Abby again like a direct manifestation of your very fears (and a wet dream or two), that you hadn’t noticed that people were staring.

Your face is hot as your fingers brush her palm and she’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. When you shift your weight to the foot you’d tripped on, your face screws up in discomfort.

Abby’s scarily perceptive, equal parts because it comes with the job even when she’s off duty, and also because it’s you. She doesn’t know what’s so different about you, especially because she hasn’t bat an eye at another girl in the past seven months since her previous break-up, but she can’t take her eyes off of you. She’s certain her pupils are blown wide by now.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, steadying you with warm hands.

Abby has to force herself to glance up at you when she happens to notice the way your chest hitches, pendant on the dainty chain that rests between the divot of your collarbones glinting under the fluorescents.

“A little,” you admit.

Abby doesn’t hesitate to take your basket alongside hers and offers you a perfectly sculpted arm.

God you could actually combust, not only because you’re beyond embarrassed but because Abby’s too fucking hot for her own good.

“Easy,” she tells you as you move through the aisles slowly.

She’s guiding you to a quiet corner in the foodcourt, setting you gently against the bench before plopping down next to you.

Your lips part to thank her, tell her that you’ll just rest here for a moment before going about your day, but she’s lifting your leg into her lap and undoing the strap of your sandal wordlessly.

“Oh—”

Her gaze swings to yours.

“Gotta get a better look,” she tells you with an easy smile, fingers gentle around your ankle.

She starts rolling, testing your range of motion. When your expression pinches, she’s rummaging through her basket, only to produce a frozen bag of peas a few moments later.

“Doesn’t look like any bruising is forming and you’ve got your full range of motion,” she observes. “Just a rolled ankle. Nothing some ice won’t fix.”

You stare at her unblinking, nodding stupidly as she applies a slight amount of pressure with the frozen vegetables.

“I, ah—” you let out a low hiss and Abby shouldn’t lick her lips, but her mouth’s dry and the skin of your legs are like butter. “I think I’ll be okay.”

The concern that shades Abby’s features makes you squirm on the bench, ankle still propped in her lap.

“Did you drive?” Abby presses, and she knows that this is a bad idea.

The two of you could be on your way, paths officially untangling, but something inside of her is compelled, tugged hard at the sight of you.

“No…” you trail off sheepishly. “I walked.”

Abby’s lips part, words escaping her before she can stop and think twice.

“I’ll walk you home,” she offers.

“Oh, Abby, you don’t have to do that,” you say gently.

It’s like someone squeezes the air from her lungs at the sound of her name leaving your lips in a rasped hum, makes her wet her lips again because her mouth’s gone dry.

“You’re probably really busy, I don’t want to be a bother,” you add with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t be,” she assures you. “Just wanna make sure you make it home safe.”

And it’s such a sweet sentiment, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest and your tummy. But there’s a dull ache, a squeeze that makes your thighs involuntarily press together. It’s barely perceptible and you hope to whatever’s in the universe that Abby’s not keen when it comes to body language.

The planes of her face are serious, bump on the bridge of her nose pronounced as you watch the set of her jaw. Fuck, did you want her bad, feel embarrassment creeping because if anyone nearby could intercept your brain, they’d find a slew of less than appropriate thoughts accompanying the more tame.

Without another word, Abby’s hooking your sandal back on, patting your shin gently before setting you right and gathering the combination of your groceries and hers.

You make a move to follow her, but she levels you with a warning glare.

“Stay put,” she urges. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Abby—” you splutter.

Your name is stern on her lips and another dull ache ebbs as she stands over you in her uniform, muscles stretching the fabric taut.

She’s off a moment later and after what seems like an eternity waiting almost helplessly, Abby returns with a few paper bags. She’s stuffing the receipt in her pocket and your expression shifts, lips pursing.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask as soon as she offers her elbow to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she quips, body tensing in the slightest as she acclimates all over again to the feeling of you clinging to her. “Now let’s get you home.”

“Abby!” you whine, drawing her name out petulantly.

It’s so domestic, all of it. Carrying your groceries with your arms looped through hers and the two of you strolling down the sidewalk to accommodate your hurt foot.

“What?” she mocks, and you can’t help but smile.

“You’ll be late for work,” you say softly, unable to stop the passing observation of how sturdy she feels against you.

“I’m off.”

And something like relief, excitement, jolts at the thought. Makes you hush the rest of the way to your apartment building like the courage is still brewing.

The middle-aged woman that sits at her desk in the lobby and plays Candy Crush half of shift pauses to spare the two of you a passing glance as you walk in, eyebrows raising and lips twitching.

“Afternoon, Marianne,” you greet sheepishly.

“Good afternoon,” she parrots, rolling her lips to hide the amused grin threatening to spread.

Abby is none-the-wiser as her eyes flit around the lobby in search for the elevators.

The ride up ends up being shrouded in total silence save for the whirring of the lift’s gears and your shallow breaths. For a moment, Abby wonders if she’s overstepped. If she’s made you uncomfortable and read all the signs wrong.

As the two of you approach your door, the very one her and her coworkers had banged on a little over a week ago, she’s trying to come up with the words to apologize, tell you that she really just wanted to make sure you were okay.

(Even though she’ll only ever admit to herself that perhaps part of it was self-indulgent and the softness of your skin was like a high).

But you’re beating her to it, untangling to shift your weight to your uninjured foot and turning to face her.

“Do you…” You swallow and blink once, then twice, gathering the rest of your courage. “Do you wanna come in?”

Oh— Abby hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been expecting you to fumble with your groceries and close the door in her face for good. But now you’re looking up at her through thick lashes and a shy grin and all she can think to herself in this moment is that she’s a goner.

“I’m making dinner,” you add. “If you’d like to stay.”

Another slice of domesticity that has Abby’s wires crossing.

“Sure,” she agrees easily, and it takes everything inside of her not to teem with too much excitement when you turn to slot your key into the lock and the door springs open.

Your apartment is just how she remembers it from the little details she’d picked up the last time she was here. That same scent of lemons and what she thinks could be incense. Though it’d felt a little out of line, unprofessional to be too engrossed in her surroundings the first time, especially when her eyes caught a particularly suggestive photo among the wall hosting polaroids.

You’re with a group of girl friends, bent over in a too short skirt so that the swell of your ass is pressed to the girl in the center’s front. The shot gives a perfect eyeful of your cleavage in a tiny little triangle bikini top and the cherry on top is the pair of red cat-eye glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you wink at whoever is behind the camera.

You pause at the end of the hallway when you notice Abby’s no longer close behind.

“Looks like somebody knows how to have a good time,” she observes jokingly, but her cheeks are so incredibly warm because christ you’re beautiful.

You’re sheepish.

“Definitely retired from that life,” you tell her, and she notes that the neat sharpie dates back nearly six summers ago. “Now I like to bake with my little sister and injure myself.”

Abby can’t help the smile when you start gazing at all the other polaroids tacked into a heart formation on the crisp white walls.

“You seem like the life of the party,” Abby says, eyes lingering on another polaroid of you in what seems to be a dorm room with a joint pinched between your fingers, sporting a feather boa, a paper crown that says ‘birthday girl’ and those same red sunglasses.

You huff out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that...”

She wonders if she’ll see that side of you. So far you seem so quiet, reserved. It makes her want to peel away the layers and learn you.

The thought makes her blink hard.

“Kitchen’s this way,” you say after a few moments pass, turning on your heel to pad down the hall and swing left.

Light pours from where you flip the switch to the kitchen’s fluorescents.

Abby finds that the living room and kitchen is far tidier than the last time she’d been here, obviously cleaned after the entire baking debacle with your little sister.

My big sis is gay, like real gay. The words were like a subtle push. One that made Abby weigh the potential.

She’s setting the paper bags on the counter, making a move to go through the bags to help you put the groceries away, but your hands close over hers, slightly smaller and warm as you halt her movements.

“You’ve done enough for me,” you say, smile crooked. “Make yourself at home.”

And the household phrase is so cliche, but makes a split second reel of what making herself fully at home entails. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of it is bending you over the kitchen island.

She swallows the lump in her throat as you limp around the kitchen.

“You should rest your foot,” she says.

Your smile widens.

“I’m okay,” you assure her.

She leans against the counter, watching as you file everything in its rightful place. The muscles in her face involuntarily twitch when you stand up on your tip toes to throw a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Your ass looks absolutely edible in your jeans and the low cut of your top shows the way your shoulder blades contract.

Definitely doesn’t help her blooming kitchen fantasies.

“You want something to drink?” you offer.

“Just water, please,” Abby clears her throat, gaze snapping up to meet the gaze you throw over your shoulder.

And she has to use the cute little glass you give her as a lifeline, nearly crushing the frosted green glass to bits multiple times over the course of you prepping dinner and the actual thing.

Because not only are you wickedly witty in a way that’s easily overlooked, but you’re phenomenal in the kitchen. Nearly drools watching you cut through your produce while chattering happily about growing up on the west coast and your college years.

You work through the building heat to set a painted ceramic dish piled high with pasta that Abby absolutely devours with nearly as much fervor as she likes to think she would you.

“Good?” you ask hopefully, leaning forward on your elbows.

“Better than good,” Abby says eagerly. “Great, fantastic.”

“Yay,” you cheer pure-heartedly and she could melt. Especially when she polishes off the plate and you sit up straight. “More?”

She easily agrees just for the sake of watching you.

“You should, uh—” You scratch the back of your neck nervously as she continues eating. “You should stop by again. If you, y’know, wanna…I cook a lot and there’s usually a lot left over.”

Abby could scream in excitement. She’s one intrusive thought away from reaching over the island to squish your cheeks and tell you that there’s literally nothing else in the world she’d wanna do than to see you again. Instead she forces her composure with an easy smile.

“I’d really like that.”

And the way she sits back in her seat, legs obviously spreading under the surface to stretch has you wiggling uncomfortably. The last few buttons of her polo have come undone, exposing a freckled expanse of skin that you’d love to sink your teeth into, and somehow, sometime while your back had been turned, she’d opted for undoing the rest of her loosening braid to throw it into a topknot.

The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke, and at times, as the two of you chat over the kitchen island, it has you stumbling over your words.

Even more so when you walk her to the door at half past ten. She’s leaning against the doorframe like she doesn’t want to leave, and truthfully, you don’t want her to. Want to spend as much time as you can caught up.

“I’ll call you?” you bite the bullet despite the tremor in your fingertips.

Abby nods, arm banded around her paper bag of groceries, a tupperware of leftovers nestled on the top.

“Yeah, please,” she hums.

And there’s one final moment of tension that clings between the two of you as she kicks off the doorframe and you close the door, back pressed against the wood.

After that night, the lines you dance blur impossibly. Always a will she, won’t she that seems to equally frustrate the two of you for vastly different reasons unbeknownst to the other.

You because you can’t get a read on Abby, always teetering over a steep edge trying to get her to bite your advances. But you know, know that there’s something there. Abby because she’s given more and more reason to fall into you with every passing moment, but can’t seem to take the plunge, entirely too freshly single to think about another commitment that could fail and leave her already mending heart beyond repair.

And she knows it isn’t fair, especially when the tension both romantic and sexual is absolutely brimming. You’re nothing like the partners she’s been with before, especially not her last girlfriend who was practically your polar opposite. You were gentle, sweet, funny. Good at practically anything you could get your hands on.

But something stalls her, keeps her from diving headfirst despite late nights laying on your living room floor talking about things both minute and infinite, cooking with you in the snugness of your tiny kitchen, even inviting you to outings with friends and vice versa.

So you take the plunge instead, one Saturday evening weeks after your first meeting, after spending long swathes of time tangled in each other’s presence.

You’re at a bar with her and her friends, slight buzz giving you the smallest nudge of confidence to cling to her arm. And god does Abby look good tonight, especially so, in a dark button up and fitted pants. She’s got her hair down, tickles your cheek when you nuzzle against her shoulder.

Her friends’ eyes are inquisitive, curious because touches between the two of you rarely linger for longer than a few moments, but you’ve been glued to her side all night. She doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t shrug you off, even wraps an arm around your shoulder when you return from the restroom.

So with a few more drinks and a little more liquid courage, you’re toeing a little over the line. You’ve pushed her hair over her shoulders, pressing your lips experimentally to the skin behind her ear. It’s a sensation that has her freezing up almost imperceptibly, but you can tell with the way her muscles grow taut under your fingers.

“What’re you doing, angel?” Abby asks quietly, span of her large palm gripping your thigh.

“Nothin’,” you hum, nose bumping her ear.

She breathes out a hollow laugh, tries to turn her attention to her friends who are obviously trying to ignore your displays of affection. But then your lips are brushing with more force against her collar and she’s sliding out of the stuffy booth to get some air.

Her resolve is obviously crumbling, even more so when she stands at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks and your arm bands around her waist, the other flattening below her belly button. When your pinkie slides beneath her belt buckle, she’s pushing off the counter.

And for a moment you think you’ve upset her when she gathers all the stout glasses and winds through the crowd to return to the booth you’d previously occupied.

You barely make it to the back of the bar when she’s emerging from the bodies and grabbing you roughly by the bicep.

“Abby—”

Her lips are slotting yours before you can apologize, and she tastes like cherries and liquor. Her arms wind around your waist, one hand on the small of your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Abs,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to feel any embarrassment for taking up a high traffic aisle as she bites your bottom lip.

“Your place or mine?” she asks, voice gravelly. “Because you started something that I’m gonna need you to finish, princess.”

And your knees are jelly the entire trek to your apartment, insides liquid and tummy fluttering because a warmth has begun to pool in your panties. The way Abby can’t keep her hands off you through the elevator ride up makes it all the worse.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, y’know that?” she hisses in your ear as you miss the keyhole a few times. “For the last six weeks all you’ve done is toy with me and—”

Her breath hitches when she presses her front to your back and slides her hand up the skirt of your backless sundress to feel the stickiness forming between the plush of your thighs.

When you finally force the door open, Abby’s kicking off her shoes and her fingers are making work of her top buttons. You’re quick to swivel on your heel, shoving her roughly against the front door to push up on your tiptoes and pepper kisses over the curve of her jaw.

“Me?” you huff petulantly, an uncharacteristic gleam in your eye as your fingers are deft on her belt buckle. You unbutton her dress pants. “You waltz in here all the time looking so…so…fuckable.”

Abby nearly chokes on her breath.

“And you try to play coy, but I see right through you, Abby,” you say in such a gooey tone. She throws her head back and moans. “I see the way you look at me. The little things you do. You’re not subtle Anderson.”

And that’s new. Calling her by her last name.

Your hand’s down the front of her pants, under her boxers and you feel it. How wet she is. Feel the slick between her folds as you circle her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, lips parted as she takes the sight of you in.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you sigh, biting your bottom lip as you stare up at her.

She nods eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hum.

Her hands come up to cup your cheeks, leaning down to steal a few kisses before her hand’s wrapping around your wrist and pulling you from her heat.

“Open,” she barks, guiding your fingers to your lips.

You do so without argument, the taste of Abby making your eyes hood.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Abby’s walking you back towards your bedroom.

“You wanna make me feel good?” she asks, back of her knees hitting the edge of your mattress. She’s got you situated between her legs, shucking off her top and shimmying her trousers and boxers off in one go. “Then get to work.”

She’s spreading her legs, gaze locked as you lower until you’re eye level with her cunt. The pale moonlight that filters the window making it absolutely glisten.

You’re kissing the skin of her inner thighs, hands on her knees as you glance up at her, only find her with her bottom lip tucked harshly between pearly teeth.

“Want you bad,” you admit breathily, biting the taut skin before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

All you receive is a shaky breath, seemingly knocking the words straight from her lips.

“Nothing?” you taunt, biting the other side.

Abby’s opening her mouth to say something snarky, but your lips are on her clit and your middle finger’s sliding in with ease.

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers breathlessly.

And you’re smug as you eat her out, vibration of your moans rumbling through her core when she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs ‘til the tension in your scalp stings deliciously.

“Shitshitshit,” she chokes when you add another finger.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed when her body locks up and her legs shake after what seems like only mere moments, but after she comes down and the fog clears, she’s wiping that smirk off your pretty face.

The sight is one to see, Abby leaned against your headboard with your back plastered to her front. The skirt of your dress is scrunched around your waist, flimsy straps knocked from your shoulders.

She’s merciless, thick fingers plugging you full.

“Ah, Abby,” you hiss, hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Can’t get over how tight you are.” She bites your earlobe. “You can barely take two.”

As testament, she stuffs you deeper. The squelch is downright filthy, your arousal pooling down your slit and onto the sheets. For a moment Abby’s pulling her digits from your heat, spreading her fingers in front of your face to show you the stringy strands of clear that web her knuckles.

“See that, princess? See how wet you are?” she teases, other hand taking a palmful of your tits while her mouth maps each blemish and mark with kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” she husks. “Wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You throw your head back, chest heaving as her fingers curl inside the spongy walls of your cunt and applies such a toe-curling pressure against the spot that has you seeing stars. It makes your back arch, knees twitching against the legs that Abby uses to keep your thighs spread.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” she whispers, blowing air against the shell of your ear as her ministrations grow sloppy.

You nod quickly, body tensing.

“M’gonna fuckin’ cum,” you whimper, “Please, Abs, don’t stop. I’m—”

Abby could cum all over again when your chest pushes forward into her hold, head lolling back against her shoulder as you let out a pitched whine that sounds a lot like her name.

“Fuck!” you swallow, falling slack against her sticky skin as you gush.

Her other hand drops to your clit, lazy circles making your pussy clench around the fingers still stuffed inside.

“That’s right, princess,” she huffs. “Cream all over my fingers.”

Your breaths stutter, pussy clenching as you let out a needy little moan.

“So good,” she praises. “Such a good girl.”

And you’re absolutely boneless, head knocking gently against hers as you push further into her chest. You feel her weight shift as she reaches, then the gentle feeling of her cleaning you up despite sleepy overstimulated protests.

It’s warm in your room as Abby slinks down the pillows and pulls the covers up. Her chin rests on top of your head as you cozy up to her, mumbling about how much you like her and how you’ve waited for such a moment.

You don’t remember the last thing you say before you doze off.

Abby does, though.

It keeps her up the entire night. Has her eyes blown wide as she stares up at the ceiling and the weight of the evening dawns on her.

Always wanna be with you. You’re my person.

And she doesn’t know how it’d gotten to this point. How did she let herself get so entangled with you? She’d always been aware that there’d been something there, that she was crushing and was almost a hundred percent sure you reciprocated, but this was far more than she’d anticipated.

It’s a step away from the ‘l’ word, and she’s not so sure it’s something she’s willing to fall into.

So Abby does what she does when she’s scared and she’s running. She’s replacing herself with your pillow as the sun comes up, heart squeezing when your cheek nuzzles against the fabric and your lips part to blow a breath.

She’s dressing as she makes her way to the front door, takes a final look at the polaroid wall that stares back at her as she tugs her shoes on, and slips out of the apartment building into the chilly Seattle air.

You’d been prepared for a lot of things growing up and into yourself. Had learned to swallow the bitter side of sweet, but nothing could have prepared you for the splintering feeling of Abby’s absence.

You wake up a few hours after she leaves, naked and hugging one of your pillows. The apartment is eerily silent as you wait in stillness for any signs that she’s just an early riser.

There’s no shower running, no clattering in the kitchen, no shuffling in the hall. And when you survey your surroundings, comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you suck in a deep breath.

Maybe she has work.

It’s a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, but you know Abby. Know that she’d leave a note, maybe a text, or—

You scramble for your phone, but deflate when you find a notification to water your virtual plant. For good measure, you open her text thread, but all that stares back at you is the confirmation that she was picking you up the night prior.

“Oh, Abby,” you whisper to yourself, something like sickness making your stomach twist.

The cursor blinks, keyboard clicking as you type and retype anything that’ll confirm that maybe you’re just being paranoid, reading into things too much.

So you settle on good morning 💘.

It’s almost instantaneous.

Read at 7:47am.

It takes a little under two weeks for Abby to surface again. Not without ample prodding. You’re a communicator, she realizes, as she sits outside of Jo’s Coffee and stares down at the string of texts from you over the past week and a half.

pretty girl: good morning 💘

pretty girl: have a good day at work

pretty girl: i made dinner if you wanna stop by

pretty girl: can i swing by the station with lunch?

pretty girl: just want you to know that i’m thinking of you

pretty girl: meet for coffee? wanna see you.

pretty girl: text me whenever you’re comfortable, i’ll leave you alone til you’re ready 💗

That final text is what makes her crack. Makes the guilt eat away at her. So she messages you when her shift is over.

me: jo’s at 4

pretty girl liked ‘jo’s at 4’

She looks up when the chair across from her scrapes against the concrete. You drop into the seat, fresh-faced and obviously newly showered. But she can see it in your eyes, the bags that puff like you’ve been crying.

And you have, even if you won’t admit it, because Abby’s the closest thing you’ve felt to what love could be like and these past two weeks have been agonizing as you try to pick apart every single facet of your situationship with her.

“How are you?” you ask, giving her a weak smile over the table.

“Good,” Abby lies, but you don’t see through her poker face and it stings, thinking that she’d been so unaffected by all of this.

You nod, fiddling with the fake leaves of the center piece.

“I missed you,” you admit shakily.

And fuck, did Abby miss you too, but she can’t find it in herself to face her fears head on. So she just nods, biting the inside of her lip.

“Didn’t miss me?” you tease, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Abby cuts to the chase, words leaving her lips like a shot that echos in the night.

It makes your ears ring, your brows furrowing as your lips twitch into a frown. Abby braces herself, knows what a brewing argument feels like. It’s sick to say that it’s familiarity, that sharp words and hoarse voices are a norm.

But you just shrink in your seat.

“Why?” you whisper.

Abby sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t remember what you told me?” she asks like an accusation.

You blink.

“You told me that you wanted to be with me. That I’m your person,” she says.

And you wonder what’s so wrong with that. Especially when you’ve spent two months glued, when you were so sure it was mutual.

“I do,” you affirm softly. “You are.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head.

“I’m not—” She clears her throat. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t need the distraction. Especially not now with work and my personal life.”

Ouch. That had hurt, Abby calling her time with you and any subsequent moments nothing more a distraction.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know why your response frustrates her, makes annoyance pinch the back of her brain as she takes you in, but it does. Full force.

“We’re better off as friends,” Abby says. “It’s easier, it’s—”

“Friends don’t fuck each other, Abby,” you say simply, and the calmness in your tone makes her upset.

She’s used to the shouting, to the arguing and being at each other’s throats in conversations like these. But you never fail to amaze her as you keep your composure.

“I have no intention of sleeping with you again,” she says stonily. “That night was mistake. I hadn’t been with someone in months and you were giving me attention and—”

In her frustration with the entire conversation, she hadn’t realized that tears were pooling in your eyes. That you were trying not to cry.

Her face softens when she notices.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what?” you murmur. “What were these past three months, Abby?”

“I dunno,” Abby sighs in annoyance. “Two people enjoying each other’s company? We were drunk and—"

You simply nod, knuckling away the brimming tears before shrugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Abby sighs when you stand.

“Home,” you answer quietly. “Whatever. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.”

She grabs your arm over the table, opening her mouth to apologize again, but you’re shaking her off.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell her.

The days blur like the edges of a muddy watercolor.

You start to think that things could look up, that maybe Abby was put in your life for some reason you’ll uncover in the future. But the universe can be so cruel sometimes, knows exactly what to do to shatter the broken pieces you’d tried so hard to glue together.

It comes in the form of a night out nearly a month after you’d last seen Abby. She made no additional efforts, just left you wondering if you’d imagined it all, and your friends are especially tired of your moping.

It’s a surprise!

And you’re not really one for surprises. Especially not now, but they’re dragging you out, carting you across town. Your stomach sinks to your ass when you see the familiar neon lights. Feel your chest tighten on the trek up the stairs to the same bar that preluded your spiral.

You could throw up when you’re situated in a booth with your friends and you glance at the bar by chance.

Abby’s leaned against the counter top, looking as good as ever, but she’s not alone. There’s a girl that hangs off her shoulder, skin umber and eyes warm. She makes no moves to distance herself and you don’t know why you feel the anger begin to sizzle. Abby hadn’t been yours in the first place.

“What do you wanna drink?” one of your friends asks.

“Nothing,” you answer stiffly.

She follows your gaze to the countertop, sees the way your eyes burn.

You’d kept your situation with Abby private, didn’t want to jeopardize such a potentially good thing with your well-meaning meddling friends at such a fresh stage. But now that it’s soured, you stare openly.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asks, and your avoidance is answer enough. “C’mon, let’s show her what she missed out on.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like much. Because she doesn’t even blink when you sidle up to the counter with your friend, three patrons between the two of you.

You’d always thought the two if you had a sixth sense for the other, but Abby’s oblivious to her surroundings, too engrossed in her drink and the pretty brunette hanging off her shoulder.

One of the bartenders goes up, asks what he can get for the two beautiful ladies, and your ears perk when her voice sounds. Nearly throw up the empty contents of your stomach all over the bar top when you see the way she slings her arm over the girl’s shoulders.

“Another vodka soda for my girl.”

She’s buzzed, you can hear it, but it’s the most sound declaration you’ve heard from her in the time you’ve known her.

You break away from the bar, and you run.

Abby feels like a shell of herself.

She’d gone out over the weekend, celebrating a visit from a close friend from the east coast. And it’d done a good job of numbing the pain for a little while, of taking her mind off of you.

But it’s Tuesday, the first day of her rotation this week and she hates that this feels worse than her previous break-up despite the unlabeled status of your relationship. You hadn’t even put up a fight, just took her rejection in stride.

It makes her feel infinitely worse, knowing you didn’t have it in you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s spaced out in front of the drink coolers of the convenience store after her shift when a voice snaps her out of it.

“S’cuse me.”

And she knows that voice. It’d been her greenlight all those nights ago.

Your little sister is brushing past her, going straight for the Body Armors and Gatorade. She must feel the way Abby stares because she’s side-eyeing the older girl from her post.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, turning her nose up in the air.

Abby swallows.

“Hey to you too,” she says hesitantly.

Your little sister humphs, snatching the golden berry flavor and a yellow Gatorade. Abby takes a moment to glance at her basket, sees fever medicine and Tylenol among other things like instant ramen and Vitamin C gummies.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

Your little sister’s face screws up in annoyance.

“No, but my big sis is,” she says matter-of-factly.

That information makes Abby’s heart sink.

“She alright?” she asks carefully.

“She’s seen better days no thanks to you.”

And on a normal day, Abby would laugh because your little sister is witty, just like you. Can see where she gets it from. But right now, all she can imagine is you bed ridden and coughing up a lung.

“I can take a look at her,” Abby offers suddenly. “I—”

“Yeah fucking right,” your sibling scoffs.

Her language stuns Abby and this time she really can’t help but chuckle.

“You think this is funny?” she gripes. “You broke my sister’s heart. She’s been so fuckin’ sad because of you and you’re laughing.”

Abby sobers up quick, shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not—,” she splitters urgently. “I– I’m laughing ‘cuz you’re just like her.”

Your little sister doesn’t look convinced, uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose as she levels Abby with an unrelenting stare.

“You suck, y’know that?”

“Yeah,” Abby sighs, hands flailing in defeat. “Trust me, I know.”

“And you’re a pussy,” your little sister adds childishly. “I know you really like my sister.”

Abby doesn’t even bother denying it, just stands there with a prepackaged sandwich that pales in comparison to your cooking and a diet soda.

“I do,” she affirms quietly.

“Then do something about it,” she says surprisingly. “My sister’s a catch, the coolest person I know. You’d be the biggest fucking dumbass if you don’t lock her down.”

And her candidness makes Abby crack a smile.

They stand there for a few moments in silence before your little sister is shoving the basket in Abby’s arms and prancing down the aisle.

As soon as Abby’s paid, black plastic bag in her grasp, she finds that your little sister has lingered outside of the convenience store.

She’s shoving a key in her hands.

“She’s too tired to open the door,” she says. “She likes extra lime in her ramen and runny eggs. Also hates swallowing pills so you’ll probably have to crush it up and put it in her water or something.”

“Who’s the EMT here?” Abby grumbles.

Your little sister pins her with a narrowed look.

“Don’t fuck this up Anderson,” she warns. “If Big Sis asks, I took a train to the mall to meet up with my friends.”

And just like that, she flounces away.

You’re asleep when she sneaks into your apartment.

She kicks her shoes off, sets the bag of convenience store goods on the kitchen island before padding through the living room to peek into your room.

Buried under a mound of blankets, just your eyebrows and forehead peek from the top as you snore softly. When she peels the covers away, she not only finds that you’re sweaty and your cheeks are flushed, but you’re wearing her favorite hoodie.

She hadn’t realized she left it here, but seeing you in it has her sinking to her knees by your bedside, chin resting on her bent arm.

“Hi, angel,” she whispers quietly, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Missed you.”

You don’t budge, cheek smushed in your pillow as you snooze peacefully. And maybe she shouldn’t have come here, because all it’ll take is you asking her to stay.

She tucks the blanket to your chin, leans forward to press a kiss against your temple.

In the kitchen, she’s only reminded of how much she misses you. Misses this. She’d spent nearly everyday here during your time together. Brushed shoulders with you while you guys cooked together, leaned against the counter while you took extra care plating her food despite her protests of ‘we’re gonna eat it anyways’. You guys frequently laid out on the living room floor, snacking while watching movies, flipping through coffee table books or getting existential.

She’d made so many memories here, made a home out of you.

The thought stirs something emotional inside of her, makes tears prick the corner of her eyes as she rips open the packet of ramen and digs the seasoning sachet out.

Frustration wells as she goes through the motions in your kitchen by herself. Wonders why you had to go and be so fucking wonderful and make her fall for you.

She’s halfway through and angrily brushing her tears away when she hears your door creak open and your voice croak your little sister’s name in question.

When you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, her name is falling from your lips.

“Abby?”

You rub your eyes momentarily and Abby feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet as you stand there with the hood of her pullover on, Christmas pajama pants and some crew socks.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, bewildered eyes bouncing around the kitchen as you take in your surroundings. The bags under your eyes are swollen, your lips chapped as you fidget in the archway.

“I ran into your sister at the convenience store,” she admits. “She said you were sick.”

“And?” It’s like you can’t fathom the fact that Abby would have any concern for you. Something like anger bubbles at the idea.

“What do you mean and?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick and I… I care about you.”

There’s that normalcy again, that familiar feeling of emotions beginning to reach its boiling point. But she’s not angry at you. Could never be when all you’ve been is perfect to her. And perhaps in the back of her mind that plays the tiniest role, because you’re everything she could ever want, need, but she steady fucks it up every go around.

“Do you?” you whisper.

You look small, defeated, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course I do, what are—”

“You really hurt me, you know that?” Your breath hitches. “You came into my life like fate, over and over again. Still do apparently. And you— You made me like you more than I’ve ever liked someone in my life. You let me see you, let me fuck you, let me… let me…”

It’s your first real display of heightened emotion. You don’t bother trying to hide your tears, or hide the way Abby’s built you up and ruined you these past four months.

“And then you just left.”

The lump in her throat nearly chokes her breathless.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, y’know?” you continue and Abby’s hands tremble. “That maybe you really just needed the time for yourself, but then I saw you, and—”

“Saw me what?” Abby interjects. “Where?”

“At the bar,” you squeak. “She’s really fucking pretty, and I hope she makes you—”

“What are you talking about?” Abby grills, taking a step towards you.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, if you didn’t feel the way I felt about you, you could have just said that,” you whimper, dashing the tears away in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to make an excuse about not wanting a distraction.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Abby says. “I—”

“I saw you at the bar this weekend,” you tell her straight. “You were with a girl, called her yours.”

And that floors her. She’s almost a hundred percent certain she would’ve felt your presence a mile away, But as you reveal that you’d only been meters away from her, the closest you’ve gotten in weeks, it makes her gut pinch.

She wracks her brain, tries to recall that weekend, tries to think of any woman who’d give you the idea that she’d choose anyone but you.

She draws a blank at first, but then she remembers the bartender’s passing comment.

You and the birthday girl are too sweet.

Abby had fake retched and Nora’d drawn out an exaggerated ewwww as the bartender set the vodka soda before them.

She’d been far too engrossed to realize that you’d been in the vicinity. But she’s not so sure she would’ve done much to take advantage of your presence if she had.

This is her first act of courage in months and she’s falling head first as she crosses the berth between the two of you.

When she stands a few inches away, you look up at her, thick lashes wet and nose snotty. You look like a mess, but Abby’s always thought you were beautiful.

“Nora’s not my girlfriend,” is the first thing she says.

You think you should feel relief, some semblance of hope flickering, but this feels a lot like uncertainty and you hate the limbo.

You don’t say anything, just wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, corners of your mouth turning down in that telltale sign that you’re not done crying yet.

“C’mon, angel, stop crying,” Abby says weakly and the nickname makes your stupid heart flutter.

Her thumbs are brushing underneath your eyes, over the puff of your eyebags before she’s crushing you to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other winding around your shoulders to keep you anchored.

Your arms wrap around her waist, taking in the scent of her pine body wash and the softness of her detergent.

“I hate you,” comes your muffled hiccup.

Abby only hugs you harder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And perhaps she deserves that, but you’re pushing your face further into her chest and she barely hears you.

“I missed you,” you admit a second later, back of her work shirt fisted between nimble fingers.

A shuddering breath leaves her at the admission, makes her body relax as the two of you stand at the edge of your kitchen.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, savoring the way your body feels melding against hers for the first time in weeks. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“You’ll stay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” she assures you. “I gotta go home and get some stuff, but of course I’ll stay.”

Your hold tightens and your head shakes.

“I mean stay, Abby,” you clarify. “With me. Don’t…don’t run away anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a new onslaught of tears choking her as she nods fervently.

“Yeah,” she croaks, kissing the top of your head. “M’not going anywhere.”

BONUS

You don’t know where the time goes. It all seems to blur together in the moments you spend with Abby, and before you can wrap your mind around the fact, a full year has passed the two of you by.

“You look so pretty,” Abby comments, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs spread.

She’s watching you through the mirror, blue eyes piercing and unblinking.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way she always seems to make you warm.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to hide the smile that twitches while you screw the cap back onto your lipgloss to take one final look at yourself.

“Not gonna say it back?” Abby feigns annoyance, pushing up from her seat to wrap around you, one hand bracing against the dresser as her chin drops to your neck.

“Then it’d be insincere,” you deadpan, head tilting to rest against hers.

She humphs under her breath, shamelessly sliding a hand up your dress.

You stop her fingers in their tracks, pushing off from the drawers to create space between the two of you and alleviate the warmth beginning to bloom behind your navel.

“We’re gonna be late for Nora’s birthday,” you quip, fingertips barely brushing the doorknob before Abby’s hands are gripping your waist.

She’s hoisting you to throw you against the mattress playfully.

“She’ll survive if we’re ten minutes late,” Abby assures you wolfishly, climbing over you to cage your body between her thick thighs.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” you whine, pushing at her shoulder.

Abby captures your wrists in one hand, other tilting your chin up to slot her lips between yours. The taste of the fresh coat of lipgloss you’d just applied makes her smile against your mouth.

She relaxes a fraction when you reciprocate, tongue languid. A noise of approval rumbles from her chest when you nudge her onto her back and bite down on her bottom lip. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she’s pulling away, hands resting against the curve of your ass.

Now you’re straddling her, manicured hands mapping from her waist to her shoulders to feel the ripple of taut muscles underneath. She’s tense, obviously waiting for your next move with bated breath and kiss bitten lips.

But then you shift teasingly over her zipper.

“Let’s go,” you hum, pressing a final kiss to her jaw before climbing off of her anticipating figure. “No dessert before dinner.”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou

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redrikki · 8 months

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A friend of mine once described a person as "someone who has never cleaned a toilet and it shows." Since all the main POVs in A Song of Ice and Fire are nobles, they pretty much all live and die as people who've never cleaned a toilet (and it shows). The following are the exceptions:

Davos Seaworth has cleaned many a toilet on his rise from Fleabottom urchin to smuggler captain to landed knight and would gladly do so again if Lord Stannis required it. He does not see anything remarkable about it, although it does occasionally give him pause that his boys have not and never will clean a toilet. He's not sure whether this is a good or bad thing.

Tyrion Lannister likes to think that he's cleaned a toilet. After all, he's a dwarf and, as a young man, his father made him the Master of Drains and Toilets at the Rock. In his quest to earn his father's respect as the best Master of Drains and Toilets ever, he closely observed the cleaning of the toilets in order to better understand the process. He considers himself something of an expert. He has never actually cleaned a toilet.

Jon Snow is made to clean toilets during his training period in the Night's Watch. As the son of Ned Stark, he thinks he's too good for that shit and this attitude wins him no friends among his peers. After the little lecture from the blacksmith, he makes a monumental effort to pull his head from his ass, but still throws a hissy fit over being made Lord Commander's personal steward instead of a ranger like he's supposed to be. As Lord Commander himself, he never cleans a toilet, but is obsessed with their supply of toilet paper.

Samwell Tarly is also made to clean toilets as part of Night's Watch initiation. It is another in a line of gross, difficult, humiliating things he is forced to do which he insists he's too craven to manage, but does anyway.

Arya Stark is made to clean toilets as a slave in Harrenhall. She hates everyone involved, including herself for being a toilet-cleaning mouse and not a wolf. She hates it marginally less after her murder-by-proxy spree, but vows never to do it again after her escape. She ends up cleaning toilets in the House of Black and White, but tells herself it's her choice, she can stop any time, some people join death cults to cope.

Theon Greyjoy is forced to clean toilets as part of the trauma and humiliation conga that is his time as Reek. It is way less worse than being flayed, he tells himself as Ramsay makes him do it with his tongue. He somehow manages to avoid dying of fecal-based diseases, just like he's somehow avoided dying of any of the many, many things that aught to have killed him by this point.

Davos Seaworth is literally the only one who is remotely normal about cleaning toilets.

#a song of ice and fire #davos seaworth #jon snow #sam tarly #arya stark #theon greyjoy

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bernicejsartori01 · 3 months

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#main line drain cleaning in Orlando

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awesomedrainva · 8 months

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piss-pumpkin · 10 months

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🪷☀️Some sunny day🌤️☔️

Douce amere chapter 4, (older)dipper pines x reader, ~4.9k words

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The party, and really all that had happened in the last few days, had left you drained. You sighed, stretching. Today, you thought, could be a good day to do nothing, and see nobody. At least for a while, to recharge your social battery.

It was afternoon, and Susan’s house was empty. But it was so sunny out, and the woods were nice. You glanced out the window, checking the weather again. Yeah, outside. That was where you should be. You grabbed your backpack, and opened the door.

You took a deep breath in, feeling the wind hit your face. It smelled vaguely like the woods, whatever that meant. Something like pine, cedar, dirt, with a pinch of monsters and mystery, though monsters didn’t smell very good, typically. You leaned on the railing of lazy Susan’s porch, and took another deep breath. It smelled like summer, and the woods were waiting.

You stepped down off the porch, and hopped onto the driveway. You’re backpack was heavy with Dippers book. Today was a good day to catch up, and the best place to do that, you decided, was the woods. If, by chance, no monster or adventure found you, you could read the beginning.

You started walking down town, headed for the Gravity falls forest that so often drew you in with mystery. As you walked, you checked your bag, double checking that you brought water and snacks. Thankfully you did.

You approached the edge of the forest. The tree line was thick immediately, the woods forming a clean barrier. It either was, or wasn’t. There was no place in between town and forest. The closest thing to that would be the shack.

You touched a tree. It was a little right, and a little wrong, your first time venturing into the woods this summer alone. Mystery hunting here was something you did with the twins, and your first summer memory in the forest being without them was strange. But alone was liberating. It was free. Alone was the fresh air in your lungs and the silence of the world replaced with the noise of the jungle. It made you feel like Gravity falls was yours, like you were the main character, so to speak. You stepped though the tree line, forging a path through.

The grass folded under your feet, and the brush parted as you lived through it to change trails. You found yourself smiling, hands swinging at your sides. It really was beautiful, the nature. The trees leaves blocked the sun overhead, what little rays could break through spotlighted whatever they landed on. And the morning dew and dampness of the forest created a mist to walk through.

So you walked. Carefully, as not to trip on any branches or roots, searching for a comfortable looking spot to read. That and taking in the sights. And your eye was caught by more then a few Gravity Falls weirdness things. You passed a few glowing flowers, strangely coloured vines, and a strange mole creature with human eyes. That one was strange. You did your best to take a picture of each oddity you saw, to show it Dipper later. Maybe he or Ford would know what you passed by.

You picked a few faintly glowing red and pink flowers, who’s pollen centres seemed to be steaming. You looked them over, and wafted the scent of them towards your face as you went. Smelled like…sulphur. You threw the flowers away behind you.

Looking back in front of you, you saw… a breakage in the trees. A clearing, with the sun shining in unbroken rays down over a grassy patch of the woods. Fuck yeah. If it was dry, that would be the perfect place.

You sped forward, into the clearing. The sudden sun was startling, and your arm flew up to shield your eyes. You scanned the area, checking for any gnomes, or perhaps a vicious plant. It seemed clear… stray for an unmoving grey silhouette facing away from you. That was a bit odd.

You moved to investigate, getting closer to the… statue. As you stepped in front of it, you saw. It was a little guy, triangular in shape, with a little top hat at the tip of the pyramid. It was as if it was holding out a hand to shake. Most striking of all, a single eye took up half the face. Odd.

You stared at it, considering taking a picture to show Dipper. You decided against it. Odd.

You squatted down, resting your hands on your knees to make curious eye contact with the statue. It felt familiar, and alien. You pondered what to name it. “You’re a weird looking guy,” you said, pointing at the statue. “What is your name?”

You paused, and it seemed like the sounds of the forest disappeared from your head. It was just you and the statue. As if the sun was shining just on the little stone pyramid, time seemed to slow. There was no wind, and no birds chirping to offer a bit of advice or naming inspiration. You stared into the eye, not touching the statue. In truth, you couldn’t look away. What to name it? The air was hot, and you were acutely aware of it in your lungs, for some reason. You could almost see the statue was sparkling in the light.

And then the thought came to you. Silently, the thought came and echoed in your mind, the only thought you could have. “You look like a William…” you tilted your head, the sounds of the woods and creatures and wind coming back. “But that’s too formal, you look like a casual kind of guy, despite the hat,” you pondered. “Hmmm, and Will isn’t right for you, you don’t look like a Will.”

You stood up, and started to pace around the little statue. “Ugh, and Billy is too childish for you,” you said. Your face soured, “And Willy is just stupid.” You walked in a small circle around it. “I’ll level with you, there’s only one nickname of William left I can think of,” you knelt back down in front of your new stone friend. “But I hate that name… my best friend really hates the name, so I won’t use it.” You sighed, flicking the hat, “So as much as it doesn’t suit you, I think I’ll call you Billy.”

You could almost feel the anger coming from the statue. “Yeah, yeah,” you shrugged. “I know, feels a little weird…” you booped it just under the eye, and smiled. “We’ll get used to it though.”

You stood up, and looked around. “So, Billy, the area looks pretty nice, is this the spot for me?” you asked your new friend.

Silence as a response. Spine tingling silence.

”You’re, right,” you said, setting your bag down. “I think I’ll read here, it’s sunny and warm.” You set your bag down, and sat beside it, nearish to your new friend. You laid back on a flat and soft patch of grass, and leaned your head on your backpack. Comfy.

You held the book so you could see, and started from the beginning. It was nice reading in company. Usually that was Dipper, today it was Billy. You glanced over at him. He hadn’t moved. You weren’t sure why you expected him to, given that he was made of stone. “Billy, do you like mysteries?”

Silence. Not even a bird chirp. Like the forest was just spitting static at you. And a mild ringing in your ears.

”Yeah, I have mixed feelings too. They can be really good at their best, but so boring, predictable, and lazy at worst,” you said, pulling the book to your chest. “And if it’s a murder mystery, it’s so hard to get invested in the characters…” you looked away from the eye and back up to the clouds passing overhead. “But my Dipshit likes them, and said this was was really good,” you opened the book again, eyes scanning over the first page. “So I’ll give it a fair shot.”

Billy didn’t have any thoughts of his own to offer. Figures, since he was a statue.

As you read, you had to give credit where due, Dipshit picked a good one. Gripping story, and compelling mystery. You limited yourself to the marked page that Dipper had stopped at, so you could read the rest together. But stopping was a difficult task considering the quality. It took a lot of self restraint not to finish it, or at least read ahead of him. Instead, you decided to discuss what you did read with Billy.

”So, I really hope Dip is wrong about Paul… the friend character,” you said, rolling into your stomach and kicking your feet in the air. “Cuz I am not normal about him and the main guy.”

Billy didn’t respond as you looked into his eye. The single, bulging eye, which seemed to be watching you.

You were about to speak again, but were startled out of it. A small droplet of rain hit your face, causing you to blink a few times. “Well shit, Billy,” you said, standing up and looking at the bright but overcast sky. It was white and grey clouds for as far as the eye could see. “I think I have to leave you now, I can’t let Dip’s book get wet.”

You packed everything into your back, and slung it over your shoulders. But you couldn’t just leave. It seemed like it had been windy only a moment ago, but as you started off the clearing felt eerily still. Still and silent. You looked back at Billy. “Don’t worry, I’ll probably be back,” you said, snapping him a finger gun. “Any time I need away from all my bitch ass friends, you know the deal.”

Billy didn’t reply. But with those words, and that promise, life seemed to return to the valley. odd. So much was odd. But that was Gravity Falls, you supposed. You started to walk back to town, under the cover of the trees to avoid the rain. Back to your Aunts place, or perhaps Greasy’s diner.

…

Lazy Susan was not a lazy woman, that was certain. She ran the only decent diner in town, cheap and open at the best and worst hours of the day. She greeted you as you came in, the bell drawing her attention, “Hello, Y/n!”

“Eyyy,” you said, snapping at her. You took a seat on the counter, resting your elbows on the old stained wood, and kicking your dangling feet off the vintage seat. “What’s up?”

Susan leaned on the counter with you, “Oh, you know.” She glanced over to another customer waving her over, “Sorry, be right back, sweetie.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek through a smile. Cringe nickname, sweetie was. Not all bad though. Looking around, you saw the restaurant was swamped. You must have gotten there during the dinner rush. You watched as Susan tended to the customers order, the man winked at her. You squinted, and realized it was Toby Determined. Gross.

As Susan came back, she sighed, starting to brew a coffee behind the counter. “So, Y/n, can I get you a drink?”

You smiled, “Of course. My favourite?”

Susan placed the coffee in front of Toby, and came back in front of you. “Of course.”

She knew your cafe order by heart by now. As she was making it, another few customers walked in, and another at a table tried to call over Susan. You sipped your drink and watched as she tried to juggle all of them. “Hey Susan, you want help today?” you asked. Wouldn’t be the first time you worked there, and wouldn’t be the last, you were sure.

Susan waved her hand, “Oh, no.” She shook her head, pouring a coffee for a manly Dan. “You’re on summer vacation, you should be outside enjoying yourself, go hangout with your friends.”

”Girlie, it’s busy in here and it’s just you today, come on,” you said, gesturing around.

A voice called out from the kitchen, “Hey, I’m here too!” Robbie, the dishwasher, shouted from the back.

You sighed, “My bad, it’s just you and Robbie here today, you need me to take some orders?”

Susan pursed her lips, and glanced around the room. More people coming in, more people needing service at tables. Yeah, it was busy. She sighed, “Alright, thank you.”

You smiled, “All good,” you said, snaking around the counter. There was an apron for you, hanging in the kitchen. Robbie was also there, unfortunately, scrubbing away. “Y/n,” he greeted flatly.

”Robbie,” you replied, nodding.

You walked by the dish pit coming back to the front, a little too closely. Robbie flicked some soapy water at your face. Furrowing your brow, you sneered at him, “Nerd.”

He sneered back, “Nerd.”

So, you went to the front and took orders so Susan could focus on cooking. You put on a customer service voice, and did the absolute best you could with how busy it was and how tired you were at heart.

…

Just a a couple hours. You just worked the dinner rush, and the closing hours. It wasn’t nearly enough to make your feet hurt, or supply you with the need to complain. You looked around the now empty diner, “Am I good to go?” you asked.

Susan was in the cash register, “Of course, Sweetie. Thanks for helping today, I’ll pay you…” she paused, starting to the back kitchen, “Eventually.” Susan stopped, nearly falling off balance as she did so suddenly. She turned to you, and pointed at the door way, “Also, the Pines boy is here for you!”

You glanced at the closed door, then back to Susan. You barely saw the trailing end of her apron disappear into the kitchen. “Outside?” You asked, hanging your own apron on the rack.

“Yeah!” you heard shouted from the kitchen. As well as faint complaints from Robbie, dealing with the final push of the dishes.

It was dark out already, a wonder considering it was summer. The day does pass by fairly quickly when you sleep till noon. You grabbed your stuff, “Alright, I’m heading out!” You shouted to the kitchen.

You heard two responses. Robbie yelled a hearty, “good!” to you, while Susan said a quick, “Have fun!” You smiled, and pushed the door open.

The moment you stepped out, he spoke. “Heyyyy,” Dipper said, leaned on the wall. “I would have come in to talk to you, but you looked super busy.”

You smirked, “Aww, never to busy for you, Dip.” You glanced back through the window, “It was actually swamped though, I wouldn’t have been able to chat much…” you turned back to him, stepping away from the diner, “so where we going?”

”Are you recovered enough to hangout at the Mystery Shack?” He asked, pushing himself off the wall and walking beside you. The car was still here, which you planned to drive illegally again.

You thought for a moment. After a few hours busting your ass at customer service, you were tired. That and the long night last night didn’t do wonders for your energy. A little tired to hangout with the big group, but just you and him? That was easy. “Yeah, let’s go,” you said, hopping in the car. “Get in.”

Dipper stood for a moment while you sat at the wheel. “Don’t you still have your L?”

“You didn’t care this morning,” you said, brow raised.

He sighed, and climbed in the passenger seat. “Well, I’m a lot more coherent now,” he said, putting on his seatbelt. “I took a nap, and now I can think critically.”

You snickered, starting be engine, “how unfortunate for you.” You started backing out into the parking lot, and turning into the road. “Lucky for me, I’m kinda delirious,” you smirked. “Did not sleep since the party.”

Dipper sighed, “Don’t crash.”

”Hey, if I didn’t this morning,” you said. You hit the road, “I think I’ve at least had rest time since then, sooo…”

…

When you got to the shack, all you did was zone out in front of the tv and your phone. And that was fine, you were next to Dipper on the couch while Mabel was fast asleep upstairs, and the house was quiet.

Then Dipper spoke up with a question, rather out of the blue. “Hey, wanna go in the roof?”

You looked at him, brow raised. It was late, probably pitch dark. “Like, now?” you asked, blinking tiredly at your phone.

He stood up, “yeah, it’s nice.”

You sighed, standing up to follow him. “And probably cold,” you smiled. He was in front of you, but you could guess he heard the curl of your lips.

He found the gift shop, and Dipper crawled up the ladder, opening the hatch in the ceiling, “Come on, it’s cool.” You looked up at him, and at the crack of the night you could see. “Is it cold?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest. There was a breeze coming through the hole, and it sent goosebumps up your skin.

Dipper stuck his hand out the hole, “No… unless your a pussy,” he said, looking down at you. He threw the door open and waved you up, “Come on.”

You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “well, if you insist then.” Dipper climbed onto the roof while you ascended the ladder, and moved away from the hatch to let you through.

You scrunched your face as it hit the cold air, a reaction you couldn’t control. Stepping out and kicking the door closed behind you, you saw Dipper. He was standing with his back too you, looking out onto the forest and the sky. The stars were out and bright enough that you could see the line of trees as a black silhouette against the sky.

You stared up above you. This side of Gravity Falls didn’t have much light pollution, the stars were so completely out and visible that it drew your eyes like a magnet. You elbowed Dipper, “hey, look, it’s you.”

You pointed up to the Big Dipper, and heard regular sized Dipper groan beside you. You looked at him as he rolled his eyes. “No escaping that one, is there,” he said, shaking his head.

You turned your body to him, smirking. Your eyes wandered up to his forehead, and his birthmark peeking through under his hair. “It’s your namesake,” you said, trying to poke his face. He swatted your hand back gently.

“Nickname-sake,” he scoffed. He turned away from you, fixing his hat so that it covered his birthmark. “And by no fault of mine,” he laughed.

He sat down on the edge of the roof, letting his feet dangle off the edge. You smiled, doing the same next to him. “What, would you rather me call you Mason,” you said, leaning over to better see his face. The night air might have been cold on your cheeks if you weren’t blushing. Still cold on your arms though.

He winced, pursing his lips as a blush crept over his face. His eyes flickered over to you for a moment before he looked back at the view. “Yeah, no,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Now that I’m hearing it, it feels weird. Like you’re gonna murder me, or something.”

You snickered, “Yeah, you better watch your back, Mason.”

“Ugh, stop,” he smiled, shaking his head. “That’s what my Mom calls me when I’m in shit,” he said. He cracked his knuckles idly, “I’m terrified for my life.”

“Maybe you should be,” you said, smacked him playfully across the chest. As he moved to block your strike, he threw himself off balance a moment, nearly stumbling off the roof. “Oh, shit!” you exclaimed, as he started to squeak in surprise. You reached out to grab him, pulling him just a little bit away from the edge, and steadying him. “God damn dude, maybe you really should be scared for your life.”

His eyes were wide, and brow furrowed He glanced over the edge of the roof, “I feel like this happens too much, I think I nearly fall to my death on a regular basis.”

You gasped in faux shock, “Maybe it’s a sign!”

Dipper scoffed, “of what, my impending death?”

You almost wanted to make another joke about falling in love. Almost. Two days in a row with that one was too much, you didn’t want to go too hard.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Dipper was faster. He laughed, “Or let me guess, falling in love with you.”

You felt your face flush. “Wow, you know me too well,” you shook your head, eyes wide and a nervous smile crossing your lips. “I need new jokes.”

It was Dippers turn to lean forward to to see you. “It’s true, you really do,” he deadpanned, brow raised. “I’m at a point where I can perfectly mimic your cringe.”

You snickered, “If that’s true, maybe then you’ll pull some bitches.” You internally grimaced at the irony. He did have the power to pull bitches, even without your cringe. Primarily, you.

Dipper leaned back on his hands, kicking his legs back and forth as they dangled. “That implies you get bitches, which…” he trailed off, looking at you with skeptical eyes.

You punched him lightly on the arm, trying very hard to make eye contact and not look away in embarrassment. “Hey, I do, actually,” you said. You looked away after you did, staring again at the Big Dipper in the sky. “Unfortunately,” you added on.

Dipper scrunched his face for a moment before it dawned on him. “Oh shitttt,” he said, stroking his chin. “Yeah, you dated that one guy last school year… god, what was his name?”

”If you remember, don’t say it,” you laughed. “That guy sucks.” You kept your eyes trained on the stars. They were shining and beautiful, it was true. But at heart, a big part of you wanted to look at Dipper beside you. “And don’t remind me of the cringe flirting I’ve endured from randos.”

Dipper paused, letting night silence hang over you for a moment. You fought the urge to look at him. While talking with your crush, the topic of conversation accidentally turned to your ex. That was not ideal. You bit the bullet, and glanced over at him.

Immediately you were met with his eyes on yours. Shit. You looked away quickly, back at the tree line silhouette and stars above. Beside you, you gripped the edge of the roof hard, with the hand he couldn’t see.

“Did you like him? Your ex, that is…” Dipper finally asked. “I know you don’t now, but like… did you before?” His voice was quiet, not unsure of himself, but small and soft. You looked over at him again, finding his gaze locked on the sky, face slightly red, from what you could tell in the dark.

You looked at your hand a moment. “I don’t know,” you sighed. “You know?”

Dipper nodded his head up at you, silently asking for a little more to go off.

“I just… have no idea,” you said, thinking back. “I don’t think I did, really. Not like that, anyway.” You kicked your feet, embracing the fact that this conversation was happening, whether you wanted it or not. “It didn’t work with him because he sucked, for one… but I don’t think I was,” you paused, fidgeting with your hands. “Emotionally available… like,” you pressed your eyelids together in a very forceful blink, and then glanced at Dipper, making brief eye contact. “I still liked somebody else, and I think I knew that… but I didn’t know that, ya know?”

Dipper fiddled with his hands, “I think so, yeah, actually.”

You tilted your head, gazing still at the stars. “Oh yeah?” You pondered curiously, “ever date anyone back home?”

You could feel Dipper nod beside you. “I had… a similar problem to you, but I was a shittier person about it.”

That piqued your curiosity, “Oh?” you asked, turning your body completely to face him. You crossed your legs in front of you, and leaned back on your hands.

Dipper sighed, and did the same, fully facing you. “Yeah, I… dated somebody, for kind of a while, actually,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Too long, I really hurt their feelings.” He was avoiding your eyes. That was okay, given the topic.

You pursed your lips as he spoke, trying to keep stoic. He dated somebody? And didn’t tell you? Your fingers owed at the roof shackles, grinding down the prints on the tips. And he was mean?

“I kinda sucked though, I knew I liked somebody else, and I was only dating this person to try and get over them.” Dipper shook his head at himself. “It uh-“ he finally looked at you, face flushed in embarrassment. “It didn’t work, and I just felt really bad, for a while.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Damn, dude,” was all you could say. And you didn’t even know. Why wouldn’t he mention that? And who was he trying to get over? It felt cruel to hope it was you, like you wished to be the cause of his distress. You tried to shake the thought, that tiny hope from your head.

He folded his hands in his lap, and looked out into the trees. “Yeahhhh….” he said, small and unhappy smile on his lips.

You sighed, resting your cheek in your hand. “We all do shit, man. You seem really torn up about this, you wanna talk about it?”

Dipper glanced over at you, and threw his head back, neck nearly limp as he looked up at the sky above him. “Not really much to say, actually. Just kind of a bummer… and I lost a friend too, when we broke up… so that sucked.”

Damn. “That’s awful, man,” you said, taking a deep breath if night air in. “Honestly, I’m sorry.” What words were there, that could help.

“Eh, don’t be. It was a little bit ago now… I wanna say around the same time you were dating that one asshole.”

You smiled, “we’re twins, then!”

Dipper laughed, “Don’t tell Mabel, she’ll get jealous.”

You snickered. Your eyes were adjusted enough to the dark to see his face clearly, and the soft smile he wore while he looked at you. You pursed your lips, and wiggled them around, unsure if you should ask the question lingering in your mind. “Dip, can I ask…” you started. “Why didn’t you tell me? About any of that… I would have been happy to listen if you wanted to vent.”

Dipper groaned slightly with a sigh. “I thought about it…” he said, playing with his fingers. “I didn’t want to bother you with it, plus I was kind of… ashamed.”

You put your hand in his, steadying his anxious movements. “Being ashamed isn’t a bad thing, Dip. It means you care, and you want to do better,” you told him. You tried your best to channel Mabel’s emotional intelligence. “And, also, talking to you is never a bother.”

Dipper looked down, leaving your eyes on his shaggy hair, and hat that was nearly falling off. But you could sense his smile. “Thanks, Y/n,” he said softly.

You glanced up at the sky, barely catching a shimmer across it. “Shit, Dip, look,” you said, pointing up. “A shooting star!”

Dipper looked up, and you could see the light from the moon and cosmos reflected in his eyes. “Shit, I missed it…”

You hummed in disapproval, about to speak. As you were though, a stronger gust of wind hit you, cutting though any clothes you had on and giving you goosebumps on your skin. “Dip, I’m a pussy, it’s cold,” you said. “I might go inside soon.”

”Want my sweater?”

You paused a moment, thinking. The answer didn’t take a lot of thought. “Yeah,” you said quickly. You pursed your lips, “Oh wait, but then you’ll get cold.”

He was already unzipping his hoodie, “You’re mistaken, I’m not a little bitch,” he said, tossing you the sweater. You started to put it on, feeling the lingering warmth from him as you did. Felt nice.

As you zipped it up, you turned back to dangle your legs off the edge. Dipper did the same as you did. You glanced over at him, hugging yourself in his sweater. You smiled, scooting closer so you were practically huddled together. He raised an eyebrow at you curiously.

“Warmth,” you said. You pointed at his bare arm, “You are a bitch, I can see you’re goosebumps.”

He grumbled, “I can’t even feel that, actually.”

”Bullshit,” you called. “Well either way, I’m helping by blocking the wind, too.”

He sighed, “okay, it’s a little chilly without a coat on, I’ll give you that.” He looked around at the now swaying trees. “It’s cuz the wind picked up,” he pointed at the weather vane, which was spinning. “See?”

You snickered, “yeah I see… bitch.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, whatever nerd,” he said, putting his arm around you. Even warmer. Good. You leaned in more, snuggling closer to escape the growing win. He glanced down at you, huddled into yourself and looking much smaller then normal. “You’re right, though, we should go inside soon.”

You looked up at the sky, and felt his heavy arm around your shoulders. It was nice. “Soon,” you echoed. Not now, but soon.

It’s here I remind you again that y/n has never seen bill, despite all they’ve heard. Also sorry if you do t have an asshole ex I very much wrote this at a specific time in my life 💀

This chapter concludes the introduction arc.

#x reader #dipper pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #my writing #dipper pines #dipper x reader #douce amere #gravity falls

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