#not to be dramatic but it's uncomfortable seeing what was supposed to be a personal post reblogged so far outside my circle of mutuals | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

m-yg93 · 10 months

Text

Solace

Pairing: KNJ x Reader

WC: 13.5k

Genre: Roommates2L

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Brief blood mention from a cut, mention of minor character death (sickness), fingering, hand job, big dick joon, belly bulge, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, creampie, dirty talk, inconsistent POV

Banner by @sugarwithtea

Beta’d by @yoongiobsessed and Sara (twitter link)

Summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

Author’s Note: This should have been written months ago. I don’t have an excuse. Oh well, it’s here now!

Part of the Room For Rent collab

There needs to be a word that describes the feeling of being happy for someone while simultaneously going through betrayal.

Namjoon is happy for Yoongi, of course he is, but watching him from across their kitchen table is sending an uncomfortable wave through him. He didn’t expect his oldest and closest friend to run from him, leave him in the dust, just straight up abandon him.

“Oh my God, you’re being dramatic. I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving to Gangnam. It’s just across the river! You and your freakishly thick thighs can bike to my new place in 20 minutes.”

Okay so perhaps he’s being a little dramatic but what else was he supposed to think? He and Yoongi had shared this apartment for years. There had been countless sleepless nights fueled by too much ramen, the living room littered with energy drinks as they bumped heads and helped each other brainstorm ideas for new beats. These walls hold melodies and memories, and he’s just expected to share them with someone else now?

“Plus, I told you you’re welcome to move in with Jin and I. His dad’s some CEO and the apartment is ridiculously lavish. There’s a room with your name on the door if you want it. I’m serious, Jin has this thing with plaques and has a name for every room, it’s honestly worrying. I won’t even tell you what he decided to name the master bedroom.”

Namjoon purses his lips at the thought. That was the main reason behind turning Yoongi’s offer down. He likes Jin and genuinely loves that he brings so much light into Yoongi’s naturally dreary life. Seeing Yoongi’s lips fight against a smile only to burst into the cheesiest, gummy grin while audibly groaning about his boyfriend’s terrible jokes brings a warmth to Namjoon’s chest every time. Yoongi deserves to be happy and he knows Jin is the best person for the job. But he knows full well the couple will christen every room of that apartment and he wants no part of it.

“I know,” he agrees, “But with the proximity to Yongsan park? I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place.” The open fields just outside the doors of their apartment are the first solace he reaches for when the instrumentals in his brain just keep fighting each other, transforming into the screeching noise of the streets under his window. The trees don’t talk back but letting out his frustrations under the canopy of leaves feels like it helps anyway. “I guess I’ll have to try to pick up some extra freelance contracts to make up for having to pay the rent alone. I hate having to produce meaningless pop but it brings in decent cash when I’m in a tight spot,” he laments.

“Dude, I’m not heartless. I didn’t just decide to move out and leave you stranded. I have a friend from high school. I don’t see her often but she’s a good time and she’s looking to move out of her parents’ place now that she’s done with her degree. It’ll be easier to find work in the city. I’ve mentioned her. Y/N? I go out to dinner with her every couple months to make sure we keep in touch. She’s pretty shy and she’s quiet, you’ll barely notice she’s here.”

There’s a wave of relief that comes with knowing he won’t have to pinch pennies but it quickly turns frigid at the realization that he’ll have to live with a stranger. What if she was a morning person? What if she was a smoker and made the whole apartment fill with the lingering acrid smell? What if she killed his plants?

“I can see your brain working overtime. Breathe, I wouldn’t offer the place to someone I know doesn’t fit your vibe,” Yoongi reassures. I guess there’s not much else to do but wait and see how compatible your living situations are.

Thankfully their own music equipment had been bought separately because they’ve been bickering all day when Yoongi tries to put something in a box from their shared spaces only to have Namjoon object.

“What are you going to do with a wok, Joon? YOU DON’T COOK!”

“Jin has a plethora of different ones in his kitchen and we both know it! Maybe your friend likes to cook, huh? Maybe she’ll want the wok to make meals.”

“Make you meals, you mean?” Okay so maybe he was hoping the new roommate situation came with food because losing both Yoongi and Jin’s cooking overnight was going to hit him hard. He’ll wither away into a string bean at this rate seeing as he’s not allowed near the knives nor the stove.

Yoongi must take pity in the pleading look in his eyes because he puts down the wok with a sigh and passes to the next cupboard. Namjoon is distracted by Jin’s entrance, always loud and boisterous.

“Hey! How is packing going? I just parked the moving van downstairs but I don’t know how long I’m allowed to be there.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shouts from across the apartment. “I’d be done already if Joon didn’t try to steal all my shit and force me to leave them here.” He’s zooming past him, bony shoulder purposefully digging into Joon’s bicep.

“I’m monitoring the fair share of roommate assets,” he huffs. “Jin’s apartment has more shit in it than he already needs. You’re leaving me alone with only memories that you once cared for me. The least you could do is not leave with half of what’s in this measly dwelling when your sugar daddy’s got you up in a penthouse.”

They both know the jabs are jokes. Jin has more money than anyone needs, but he’s also a hard worker and spent his youth learning how to take over the business from his father when the time comes. He’d swept Yoongi off his feet with expensive dinners and outrageous gifts when they were first dating, only knowing how to flaunt his money for attention before Yoongi set him straight and taught him that he’d have to put more thought into his courting if he expected him to stick around. Clearly, he did.

Reminiscing about his, nearly ex, roommate almost distracts him enough to miss Yoongi trying to sneak a thin square package into his last remaining box.

“You’re going to take that vinyl out of here over my dead body, Yoongi!” The apartment echoes the lament in surround sound.

They do eventually make it to the van parked downstairs after Yoongi finishes taping up his boxes with only a limited amount of protest from Namjoon.. The air is humid, clothes sticking to Namjoon’s skin as he chases after the wind from Yoongi’s open window like a dog on his first car ride. Jin’s apartment building is a stark opposite from their, his, own. Whereas the outside of his building is all grey concrete walls, Jin’s is all sleek glass of floor-to-ceiling windows causing the brightness of the sun to reflect off and into Namjoon’s eyes as he looks up to the top where his friend will now be living.

The air conditioning of the lobby hits full force, the trio letting out a pleasant hum which quickly turns into a deep groan when they see the elevator boasting an out of order sign. Two pairs of sharp eyes round on Jin, malice dripping from furrowed brows.

“I swear it was working when I left this morning. They must be using all the power to keep each unit’s AC going through the heat wave. The stairs are this way.” He points to a corner of the lobby, tight corridor leading to a single door.

“The stairs? You live in the penthouse, that’s FIFTEEN flights, babe.” Yoongi is quick to point out.

“Are you trusting enough to keep all your music equipment in the van for who knows how long this heat is going to last? I know you’re going to complain about all the moisture in the air messing with your delicate settings.” Namjoon knows he’s got him there. Yoongi would suffer through a natural disaster if it meant keeping his equipment safe and at peak performance.

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs dejectedly, head thrown backwards. “But I won’t be any help bringing the gear up. You see these legs? They’ll snap like toothpicks if I try to bring them up. Guess Biceps and Shoulders need to do all the heavy lifting.” There’s an airy lilt to his voice when he figures he’s saved himself from the worst bit.

“Doubt they’ll stay that small seeing how many times you’ll be going up and down those stairs to bring up all the light boxes while we deal with the heavy stuff. You’ll have lungs of steel with all that cardio, buddy. I’m sure Jin will appreciate how long he can hold his dick in your throat without you needing to breathe after that.” Namjoon sends him a salacious wink.

Yoongi’s face, which had been a flushed shade of pink from the heat, drains immediately when he realizes the position he’s put himself in but Namjoon doesn’t let him change his mind. He just claps a hand on his shoulder and turns around to get to the van and pick up the first console they’ll need to bring up to Yoongi’s new designated studio space.

Namjoon regrets showing Friends to Jin after today. If he has to hear ‘PIVOT’ one more forsaken time he might choke that windshield wiper laugh right out his friend’s throat. His whole body is aching when he sets his ass down on Jin’s plush couch, finally tasting a bite of heaven after all those steps but it can’t be savored long.

“Get up.” Yoongi’s voice breaks through his needed rest. “The elevator mishap made us take way longer than planned and we’re already late to pick up Y/N.” If anyone sees him fighting back tears that’s none of their business.

The drive out to the suburbs of Seoul is peaceful, the population seems to have holed up inside and away from the sun’s rays. They pull up to a nice two-story home. Namjoon can’t see much into the property since it’s surrounded by tall brick walls, but it’s unnecessary as he can see the silhouette of a young woman waiting outside the gate, piles of boxes at her feet.

They all pour out of the truck, Yoongi darts out first to meet her halfway where she throws herself in his arms. There’s a lot of squealing and Namjoon isn’t sure from who it’s coming out of in the mess of limbs. They separate and approach where he and Jin had waited by the vehicle.

“I’m Y/N, you must be Jin!” There’s a hand out ready to be shaken but it’s presented in front of the wrong man.

“Actually, Jin is this one,” Yoongi corrects, taking your wrist and moving it to the correct person.

“Oh my God, that’s embarrassing. I just figured it was the big one. I’ve heard about your muscle kink enough once you figured out you were into men that I just-- You know what? I’m going to shut up now. Hi, sorry about that. Nice to meet you.” There’s a nervous giggle in between words that’s instantly endearing.

Jin doesn’t seem offended, laughing alongside her. “No worries, he’s plenty satisfied without the beefiness of his teenage crushes.” He wiggles his eyebrows comically which has her chuckling and Yoongi whining.

“This is Namjoon, your new roommate. Joon, this is Y/N.” It’s his turn to shake hands, your fingers so thin and delicate around his much bigger grasp. He takes the time to really take you in, looking down at you; wide grin and smooth skin that spans from your neck down into your… Nope, face!

“You have a nice face.” For a lyricist he sure did have a way with words.

“Thank you?” Your eyes trail to the side where Yoongi stands, eyes deadpan and mouth shut tight.

“He grows on you, I swear. Get in the car, we’ll grab your boxes.” Yoongi says as he passes in front of you with an icy stare towards Namjoon. Okay, so he could have made a better first impression.

You don’t have many boxes which makes sense. The apartment is furnished and Yoongi had left his bedroom set for you since he wouldn’t need it at Jin’s. He remembers leaving his parent’s house with barely anything. It had taken a while for Yoongi and him to make the apartment seem like people actually lived in it. They’d spent far too long eating cup noodles while sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

Jin takes his place behind the wheel, Yoongi slipping in beside him in the passenger seat. The earlier ride in the backseat wasn’t so bad for Namjoon since he could sit crookedly to fit his long legs behind the couple’s seats in front of him but your presence beside him forces his knees to hit the back of Yoongi’s seat.

“Can you push your seat up a bit? Your little legs don’t need that much space,” Namjoon shoots ahead of him.

“And just for that comment your giant ass and long limbs can suck it up. Respect your elders, brat,” Yoongi snaps back. Maybe he deserved that one.

He sends you a sheepish look and an awkward smile as he spreads open his thighs lewdly. His knee hits yours despite you sticking your legs together demurely, hands politely sitting in your lap. The touch attracts your gaze and Namjoon can track your eyes as they drag up the bare skin of his quad, past the hem where the material of his shorts dig into his thighs, and settles just a little too long where both his legs meet. He can practically feel your stare burning a hole into his groin, a heat expanding through his body.

He doesn’t even realize when he lets out an uneasy cough and you’re quick to look away with a start when you hear it; clearly having been caught in your little perversion. The flush that builds on your cheeks is shameful enough that he doesn’t mention anything more, only locking away the memory of you blushing and embarrassed for later.

Namjoon is thankful that with four pairs of arms there won’t be a need to do multiple trips for your boxes. Jin sends you and Yoongi off with a box each but loads Namjoon’s arms with three; enough to block his view so he has to peek around them to see where he’s going. There might not be many boxes but the ones he’s been given are heavy enough to make his arms shake underneath their weight. He’s absolutely going to blame that on having had to haul all of Yoongi’s belongings during the day and definitely not on the fact he’s weak. He goes to the gym regularly!

“Thanks for helping! Just leave them by the door, I’ll take care of unloading everything,” you call from across the apartment. Yoongi must be giving you a tour of the place.

Namjoon kicks off his shoes and crashes head first into the couch, his big body halfway dropping off of it. All his muscles ache and he’s sticky with sweat. His lids close, reaching for some rest. His stomach rumbles, the memory of breakfast fading. There’s soft footsteps sneaking up on him. He’s trained himself enough to catch Yoongi coming. He’s broken enough things when his roommate suddenly appeared by his side and gave him a spook.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot, Joon. I could see the way you looked at her. I’m only going to say this once, don’t fuck my friend.” His voice is almost sinister as it whispers in his ear. Namjoon’s eyes quickly open wide. He wasn’t looking at you in any sort of way and he was about to defend himself, mouth open with a denial on his tongue. He doesn’t have the chance since you pop around the corner, seeing them both with their heads too close to each other, Yoongi’s glare facing Namjoon’s incredulous look.

“Everything good here?” you ask.

Yoongi’s expression shifts, gummy smile on full display but Namjoon still sees the daggers in his eyes. “Yep, I was just saying bye to Joon. Jin’s already back at the van and we need to get it back to the vendor. Text me if you need anything Y/N. And Joon? Remember what I said.” He and Jin take their leave, surely to start desecrating their new shared space.

“Okay? Is it just me or was he being weird?” You look back at Namjoon but there’s only a shrug of his shoulders as your reply. “Alright, well I’m going to start unpacking then.” You’re just about to turn tail when you can hear the growl coming from Namjoon again. “Ah, you must be hungry, you’ve been going around the city all day. Is there anything already in the kitchen?”

“No, we went through all of it when Yoongi and Jin decided to have a goodbye dinner this week. You get started on unpacking and I’ll run down to the store for some stuff. I think we’re both too tired to do much effort but I can grab ingredients for some decent ramen.” Namjoon slips his shoes back on and running out the door as soon as he finishes speaking.

Luckily, there’s a small family owned market just down the street from the apartment. Mrs. Park is going to be sad to hear that her ‘little dumpling’, as she called Yoongi, won’t be visiting her anymore. She’s mostly used to seeing Namjoon anyway. Yoongi may have been the one cooking but Joon was always the one sent off on errands for any ingredients that were missing midway through the meal preparation.

The bell chimes above him when he walks into the little shop. Mrs. Park doesn’t even look up from her newspaper, head staring firmly into her lap. There’s a low buzz emitting from the artificial lights mixing with the music that’s playing in the shop, something Namjoon doesn’t know, a beat that hasn’t been popular in half a century.

The aisles are familiar and he grabs the ingredients absentmindedly, throwing things in the handheld basket hooked onto the crook of his arm. Green onions from the produce section, a carton of eggs and a hunk of cheese from the dairy section, and spam from the canned goods area.

Mrs. Park finally lifts her eyes from whatever news story that had her attention and gives him a warm smile that reaches her eyes. He should give his grandma a call. A smooth wrinkled hand grabs his groceries one by one, slowly bringing them closer for inspection. Her frail finger punches into the keys of the register.

His eyes wander while his items disappear from the counter and into a bag beneath the surface. The sky has turned a slate grey from an overbearing cloud covering the sun, bringing the vibrance of outside down to a dull.

Against the window is a shelf filled with flowers. Namjoon has often seen people grabbing a bouquet as they wait for their total. He remembers a man with a tie midway undone, suit jacket flapping behind him as he rushed out frantically. A forgotten anniversary he suspected. Just last week, there was a small child tugging at his father’s sleeve, pointing at a particularly bright blossom and requesting to bring it home to his mother. The memory brings a small smile to his lips.

He doesn’t contemplate long before reaching for a lonely white rose in a near empty bucket. He remembers certain symbolism from the time he read The Language of Flowers. Purity, innocence, a new beginning, and reverence. He thinks he catches a mischievous glint in Mrs. Park’s eye as she hands him the bag of groceries in one hand while the rose remains in his other.

The universe allows him only long enough to step out of the shop before the skies open up with a loud clap and water erupts in a downpour. Shock overtakes him and he freezes on the spot as he lets the fat water droplets sink into the fabric of his clothes. The cold immediately seepsinto his skin and settles in his bones, eyes shut tight and mouth open.

The loud rumble of distant thunder urges him to start moving. The plastic of the bag is slippery in his grasp and there’s a stinging pain in his palm from where the rose’s thorns dig in. There’s an uncomfortable squeak from the leather of his sandals with every heavy step he takes. As he sprints the few blocks back to the apartment, the loud slap slap slap of his foot hitting the pavement.

The door of the apartment slams into the wall as Namjoon rushes to get inside, the doorknob undoubtedly leaving a mark from the force at which Namjoon has opened it to throw himself inside.

“Namjoon? Is everything okay?” you call from the living room. “I’m sorry for the mess, I’m trying to fit in my own books across your collection. I don’t want to mess up the system you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah, all good, just wasn’t paying attention,” he reassures.

Your head pops out from the hallway to take inventory of the situation yourself, not quite trusting the waver in his voice. “Oh god, it started raining? I was so in my bubble that I didn’t even notice. You’re soaked! Let me grab you a towel.” You’re off to the bathroom before he can even thank you, already back to exchange the flower still in his grasp for the towel you hand him.

“I hope it didn’t take a beating on my way back over here,” he says, worry tainting the edge of his voice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. Do you know if you have any vases?”

“I’m sure Yoongi’s left some in the kitchen. Jin had a habit of getting him a new bouquet every month. Don’t tell Yoongi I said this but he’d blush every time despite all the grumbling he did about it. Happened every month for two years, like clockwork,” he teases.

“That sounds about right. Yoongi will never admit it but I know how much praise and appreciation means to him. I’m glad Jin gives him that. I’ll go find it.” You’re turning tail and heading into the kitchen in search of the vase.

He pats himself dry enough so that he’s no longer dripping on the floor before he follows you in. You’re in front of an open cabinet, head tilted back to look at the top shelf of it. Your hand is stretched to its capacity, boosted by the tip of your toes, one knee nearly hiking onto the countertop to give yourself enough reach.

He truly only means to help when he sneaks in behind you to grab at the vase. He doesn’t expect to catch you off guard, sending you backwards and off balance with a squeak. His grasp abandons its path towards the top shelf and instead redirects to land on your hips, pinning you against his chest.

You’re taken by surprise at the strong hands grabbing onto your side, a hard wall of muscle at your back, heat radiating from his skin, his wet clothes dampening yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breath just a little too close to your ear.

There’s a hitch in your voice when you reply hastily, “Mhm! All good. I’ll let you get that actually. I’m going to change. My clothes are gross from today. You should too, you’re going to catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes. Your shirt’s so soaked I can see right through it. Not that I was looking! I’ll just- right.”

You’re running off before he can articulate a thought, the door of your room slamming shut behind you. He’s nearly certain he can hear an embarrassed groan through the wall despite that. He does get the vase down and fills it with water, dropping the rose into it before he slips into his room as well.

The rain will be good for the heat in the long run but as it stands it just permeates the apartment with heavy humidity. He grabs a pair of comfortable shorts and a tank top to change into. He passes next to your room on his way to the bathroom. He takes the time to stop and knock at your door.

“Y/N? Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to jump in the shower really quick.”

“Go ahead! I’ll take one after dinner.”

His clumsy fingers struggle with the lock behind him, clothes falling onto the floor. The bluetooth speaker that has a permanent residence in the bathroom is turned on, a playlist going at random. He makes sure to adjust the temperature of the water, slightly colder than he usually would. It’s absolutely to combat the heat and definitely not the memory of your body pressed against his in the kitchen; soft under his hands and plump against where his crotch pushed in under the curve of your ass.

Oh god, focus on something else. Listen to the music. The beat is uplifting and he finds himself singing along to the lyrics. A popular song from a girl group member. He recalls Yoongi mentioning he’s worked on something similar.

He lets the tepid water run down his body, hands quick and rough where he scrubs the soap into his skin, not letting them stay in one spot too long to melt into the feeling. Yep, he definitely needs to have it colder. It’s near shivering levels of frigid when he ducks his head under the stream to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

He’s nearly forgotten about the shape of your body against him, mind preoccupied with the soprano of the singer in his ears. Pop pop, pop, you want it. His body responds as if with muscle memory from seeing this song trend with its choreo everywhere online. His hands take turns pointing at an open hand and back again, fists then popping as if miming fireworks going down a zig zag pattern.

The haunting thoughts of the kitchen eventually disperse enough for him to exit the stream of water and change into the clean, dry clothes. You’re already in the kitchen humming to yourself once he leaves the room followed by a puff of steam.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” he proposes.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Can you slice up the spam and drop the eggs into the water? There’s a pot already boiling.” Put eggs in water and cut up some meat. Sure, he can do that.

The eggs may have cracked a little when he quite literally dropped them into the pot but that’s fine. A little hard boiled never hurt anyone. He swears he’s extra careful when you hand him a knife and let him stand in front of the cutting board. Just going to very daintily hold down the spam and slowly bring the knife down-

“You’re holding it upside down. Sharp edge towards the bottom and make sure you curl your knuckles in so you don’t nick yourself.” Right, of course, he knew the knife was upside down. Just making sure you did, hah.

He manages to make some slightly uneven slices until about halfway through the block but eventually there’s just not enough space for his big sausage fingers to hold on and the knife just slips…right into his palm.

“Ah, shit!” He jumps back, letting the knife clatter to the floor. His uninjured hand keeps the pressure onto the wound as small river of red runs between his fingers. He’s taken by surprise and lets himself be manhandled to the sink before his wounded hand is pushed under the cold, running water.

“I should have figured why Yoongi was so ominously telling me where the first aid kit was in the kitchen. And why he asked how often I cooked at home.” There’s shuffling behind him and a small hand sneaking its way between his body and the sink.

“Take it out, I’ll pat it dry and put a bandage on.” He’s careful to keep his hand stable as your delicate fingers patch him up. A soft pressure with a gauze and a more instant one for the wrap that goes around his palm.

“My friend JK is going to think I took up boxing and ask me to go to the gym with him if he sees this.” He tries to laugh it off, bringing humor into his near amputation.

“I don’t think you need any incentive to go to the gym.” Your eyes are trailing up his arm, stopping at his bicep and following all the way to the middle of his chest. The flex he pushes is completely accidental and was absolutely not to show off the progress he’s been building.

“I take care of myself, I guess.”

“Right.” There’s a small laugh in your voice. “Go take care of yourself, away from the kitchen. I’ll handle the rest.”

He lets himself be shooed out of the hot space, out into the living room where he sees your earlier comment about a mess. There’s books all over the floor in little towers looking for a home on his already overly compacted bookshelf. He picks a few of his bigger tomes to rehouse to his room which allows space for yours to make themselves at home.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s been calculating which books need to be relocated until he hears the clatter of bowls hitting the coffee table behind him.

“I figured we could eat in here today, more casual and all. Thank you for helping me make sense of where to put my stuff. I didn’t want to impose.”

“This is your home too now, you deserve to have space for your things. Yoongi wasn’t much of a reader. Thank you for dinner. I’m afraid you’re going to be in charge of feeding me a lot. I can always just order in but Yoongi was always on my ass for spending money on takeout.” He has the humility to look ashamed at his incapacity to nurture himself.

“No worries, it was kind of implied when he told me to take his spot. I like cooking, so I don’t mind, really. Tell me more about yourself though, I only know what Yoongi’s told me which is pretty much only that you produce music like he does. You’ve got an eye for art from what I can see of the prints on the walls.”

“Ah, actually those are all mine,” he blushes and points to a camera that takes a place on one of the higher shelves. “I like biking around and I figured it was a shame to see all the pretty landscapes without getting to commemorate them properly so I got into photography. I’m not a professional or anything but I enjoy it. I’m actually going to Comic Con this weekend with a group of my friends. They’re cosplaying and they wanted someone around to take pictures of them in costume. JK's actually got a pretty great Spiderman thing going on and it works for him with all the, you know, muscles and spandex.” He’s gesturing a little wildly over his body, as if you’re familiar with Jungkook’s physique.

“I don’t but I can imagine.” Your eyes are following where his hands had gestured over him, gaze roaming over the muscles he’s boasting himself. “You don’t happen to have any spandex hiding in your closet yourself?”

“Nothing like him, riding shorts for when I take particularly long bike rides. I don’t tend to favor it, they really ride up.” His sentence ends in an uncomfortable chuckle and he avoids your view, completely missing how your eyes have started to glaze over.

The small talk fades after that, replaced with the sound of chopsticks hitting the edge of bowls and the occasional slurps. You hold your chopsticks loosely between bites, your phone in your spare hand just mindlessly scrolling.

There’s a familiar tune coming softly from your direction, a low hum of a melody that triggers Namjoon’s receptors. He can place it pretty quickly, pop pop pop uh uh.

His hands take on a mind of their own. He doesn’t stop chewing as his fists go through the movement. Open palm, point, switch, zigzag.

He wouldn’t have even not realized what he was doing if a little giggle hadn’t interrupted the flow of the song. He freezes, eyes widening. It’s a slow pan of his eyes to look into his peripheral, as if not moving his head would somehow render him invisible and able to melt away from the embarrassing situation he’s caught himself in.

You’re doing your best to hold it in, lips nearly completely sucked into your mouth, teeth forcing them closed. He appreciates the effort but he can admit the jig is up. He picks his chopsticks back up with a little cough, gathering his bearings.

“It’s a catchy song,” he defends.

“Oh absolutely, it gets stuck in your head so easily. Even when hearing it off key and through the rush of running water,” you tease.

He pretends to be offended by that. “I’m a producer! I’ll have you know I have great pitch.”

“Of course, someone should tell Nayeon that she’s in the wrong key then. How embarrassing for her to be performing it that way.”

You both dissolve into laughter after that. The silence that follows feels a lot lighter than it previously had been and he breathes a little easier.

“Leave your dishes in the sink, I’ll take care of it in exchange for the cooking labour. I rarely break things anymore. Even if Yoongi won’t let me forget about his favorite mug. I still insist that the shape wasn’t ergonomic and that’s why it slipped out of my hand. He was so mad he refused to drink any coffee that day and knowing Yoongi you know how that was more a punishment for me than it was for himself,” he shares the memory of how grumpy Yoongi had been that day. They must have restarted the same beat half a dozen times. Suffice to say it wasn’t a very productive day and Namjoon owed him a new mug of his choosing.

Your first night together was fruitful. You’ve managed to unpack and meld your belongings with his, have dinner - where he didn’t kill himself in the kitchen - and bond over some banter. You’ve practically ingrained yourself in his life already and Namjoon isn’t sure if that’s good or a little terrifying. He’s not the type to usually feel comfortable with a stranger so quickly. He’s glad Yoongi had you take his place, he doubts it would have been this pleasurable if he had had to place an ad online.

There’s a ghost of a smile stuck on his face when he closes the door to his bedroom. Being alone in his room brings forth the thoughts he’d pushed aside back to the forefront. His computer monitor lights up the space, calling him back. The mixing board on his desk blares a signal he can’t ignore. He has a project to finish and the deadline is knocking at his door incessantly. He sits in his chair with a sigh and slips his headphones over his ears, blocking out the loud patter of raindrops on his window.

He awakes with a start. His back is sore and his skin is damp with sweat. He’s too old to be falling asleep on his desk like this, he’s going to feel it in the morning. The room is pitch black around him. A quick jiggle of the mouse tells him the computer is dead and there’s a hint of panic at the thought of having lost his work. Rationale takes over to remind him that it automatically gets stored on the cloud at consistent intervals. They’ve learned their lesson too many times before implementing that.

There’s an odd irritation at the back of his mind and he realizes the thrum of the AC is missing. Ah, no power. The storm must have knocked it out. His muscles scream from the stretch and there’s more than a few uncomfortable cracks when he gets up and extends his arms above his head. He slips out of his clothes in hopes that more skin in contact with any air might help him cool down. Besides, he always sleeps in his boxers anyway. The air has dried up his throat and he can feel his body begging for water. He grabs the latest water bottle to litter his desk, tips it all the way upside down but not a drop comes.

He hopes he can traverse the apartment to the kitchen silently. Between his heavy footsteps and the stubborn squeaky floorboard outside his bedroom he’s worried about waking you. He sends a silent prayer into the universe that you’re a deep sleeper.

He does hit the floorboard, sending a creek into the night and he freezes for a second but no angry outbursts come from your room to scold him. He’s slowly taking a step in front of the other, carefully moving his weight from one foot to the next, the little smack of his sole hitting the wooden floor melding into the sounds of the rain still pouring outside.

The pressure from the faucet sends the water stream beating onto the metal of the sink and he hopes the curse he lets out fades into the night. He downs two whole glasses before he feels sated and prepares for the slow trek back to his room.

He’s just outside your door when the apartment flashes as lightning touches down in the distance. Namjoon stops moving as the roll of thunder comes quickly behind, nearly covering the strangled gasp from the other side of the door.

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?" The door to Yoongi’s room always had trouble latching since Namjoon drunkenly threw himself into the frame thinking he was heading into his own bed one night.

There’s a small crack where he can press his ear to. He holds his breath, straining to hear above the rattle of the heavy rain against the windows. For a second he believes he must’ve imagined it, or perhaps you’d shifted in your sleep.

He has one foot in the air, prepared to shuffle back to his own room when he hears it again. A choked sob hidden between the pitter patter of drops slamming against the glass.

He’s more insistent this time when he calls your name and pairs it with a soft knock against the wood of your door.

The noise seems to give you a spook because he swears you let out a high pitched ‘EEK’ in your surprise. There’s no additional verbal answer so he takes his chances on turning the knob and poking his head inside.

“Y/N? It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Namjoon,” he reassures.

He can’t see a thing, the room is pure darkness. The streetlights outside have gone down with the rest of the power grid so he can’t tell if you’re hurt or might need help.

“Joonie?” There’s a soft voice coming from where he knows the bed is, muffled and timid.

“Yeah, can I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah,” comes an answer, meek and nearly whispered.

He hadn’t come into this room since you unpacked so he’s careful to take small, careful steps towards the bed, nearly bent in half with his arms out to feel for any furniture you might have moved into the path. He taps the bed tentatively when he finally reaches it, feeling long limbs under his palm.

He shyly takes his hands off you and makes his way towards the headboard, knees hitting the edge of the mattress as guidance. He reaches out again, expecting to find you but he only feels more blanket covered lumps.

“Are you hiding under the blanket?”

No words come but the hard shape under his palm moves in a nodding motion. He sinks down, kneeling onto the floor a little harder than he expected. Difficult to judge distance in the darkness.

“Can I pull the comforter down? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The fabric moves under his touch until the feeling of goose down turns into silky hair. He moves his fingers down, grazing your ears until they reach your cheeks, damp and hot against his skin.

“Are you crying? What’s going on? Is moving away from home for the first time getting to you?” It definitely had for him at first. He’d go back to his parents’ house every night to have his mother’s cooking for dinner and only started spending the evenings at the apartment after his younger sister had mocked him about not being able to stay too far from his mother’s comfort.

You let out a shamed whine below him. “No…” He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll share more. “The thunder woke me up and then I tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t work. And-”

Lightning interrupts you and as the room flashes in sudden light Namjoon sees your face for an instant. Your eyes are wide, laced with red from the tears but one thing he can tell for sure is that in that second- you’re absolutely terrified.

Your breath gets shaky and there’s a twitch in your hands where he can tell you struggle not to throw the blanket back over your head to escape.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re afraid of the storm, I get it.” His grip on you tightens when he feels you tremble as the thunder rolls behind.

“You can say it. It’s stupid to be scared of storms. I’m just a big weenie.”

“I’d never call you a weenie, Y/N. You know, my friend JK is afraid of microwaves. Runs out of the kitchen and hides across his apartment every time he needs to heat something up. He’s convinced they’re going to blow up and take him with them in the blast.”

You snort, which is followed by a loud slap of skin on skin that he can only assume is you covering your mouth in response to the noise that just escaped. He’s huffing out his own chuckle in response. Adorable.

“Okay, so what are you afraid of then Mr. Tough Guy?” You’re more combative now. He’ll take that over the fearful demeanor you had a minute ago.

“Me? Hmm, I don’t think there’s anything too unusual. I’m not super fond of spiders, I suppose?”

“Spiders? But Yoongi told me you’re obsessed with crabs. They’re basically water spiders. They walk similarly and they’ve even got more legs!” Oh, you’re heated now but you’ve hit him where it hurts.

“How dare you!” The offended gasp he lets out overtakes the drone of rain coming from outside. “Crabs are cute little friends. I have half a mind to walk out and leave you alone in this storm after that.” He fakes getting up but a small hand digs into the flesh of his bicep.

“Don’t! Please. I’m sorry, crabs are adorable, you’re right. I was just kidding. Don’t leave.” He can hear the fear engulfing your voice in your plea.

“No, no, it’s okay. I was just joking. I’ll stay as long as you need.” He didn’t mean to trigger your panic again, especially since he had just gotten you to calm down a bit.

“You might be here a while then, it doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.”

“No worries. Let me just get off my knees. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I spend all night bent like this.” He makes to switch to sitting on the floor but you stop him.

“Do you… uhm, want to lay on the bed? There’s more than enough room for two. I’m not like Rose, that bitch.”

“Are you sure? I can sit here, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’d known each other barely 12 hours. He didn’t want to appear pushy in your vulnerable state. He’s enough of a gentleman to know to make space for the women in his life to ease themselves into his presence in a manner where they feel safe.

“Don’t worry. Yoongi told me enough about you for me to know you’re the least scary man on this planet. Only way you’d hurt me is if you fell on top of me, which I’ve been warned may happen more than I expect so be careful climbing in.” He feels you scooch over to the other side of the bed, leaving a wide open space for him to settle into.

There’s still some hesitation that weighs heavily in his limbs but when he sees how your body jumps when another bolt touches down and illuminates the room his resistance melts away. His movements are slow as he eases himself onto the mattress.

“Do you have enough space?” you ask.

If he’s being honest he’s certain half his body is teetering off the edge but he’s more concerned about overcrowding you. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You should try to sleep, you had a long day.”

You’re answering with a half hearted mumble and the room is overtaken with the battering of rain on the windows. Namjoon stays alert, hoping to feel your breathing even out to indicate that sleep has claimed you but it never comes.

“Are you still awake?” Your voice is barely a whisper and if he wasn’t specifically keeping an ear out, he would’ve missed it completely.

He turns onto his side, body now settled fully onto the bed with no risk of suddenly tumbling out with a wrong move. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can we just talk for a bit? I think that’ll help me calm down.”

“Of course, as long as you don’t insult my little crustacean friends again.”

“Were you one of those kids that would do that shark chant? ‘Fish are friends, not food.’”

“Nah, Pixar and Bruce are wrong for that. Fish are food, crabs are friends.”

“You’ll have to give me a history lesson as to why kiddie Joonie came to that conclusion if Nemo wasn’t the inspiration.” There it is again, Joonie. Namjoon huffs out a little chuckle at hearing it, letting the nickname slip under it.

“Oh,” you gasp. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked before calling you that. Do you not like it? I’ll stick to your name. Or should I be using honorifics, oppa?”

Oh, he’ll have to unpack how his stomach flips with that last part but now isn’t the time for sudden self discoveries.

“No, no! Don’t worry, it’s cute. I just wasn’t expecting it. My friends usually stick to just Joon but you can get special roomie privileges.”

“I fear you’ll one day regret that. I’m going to be so annoying from now on.” He can hear how your words are blanketed in a mischievous teasing, and he believes you but won’t admit defeat that easily.

“You’ll have to give Tae a run for his money. If he pairs up with Jimin then they’re insufferable. Hobi is a saint for having them both under the same roof with him. You don’t know the guys yet but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

It’s easy to imagine you already melding into his little group of misfits. He thinks back to dinner when you’d teased him about listening to that ‘girly’ song, and he knows he’ll soon be babysitting four wiley dongsaengs instead of three. Sometimes five when Jungkook manages to set Seokjin off. He doesn’t realize the smile that sets itself on his lips and it’s too dark for you to comment on it.

The bed shifts and your voice is suddenly closer, indicating you’d mirrored his movements and were now facing him.

“You talk about them a lot, your friends. Yoongi does too. You must all be really close.”

“We are, like brothers honestly. I have a younger sister but meeting Yoongi was the first time I felt like I had a hyung. He’s not much for declarations of affection but I love that dude.”

“He knows. You guys are all he talks about besides his music. He loves you, too. I can tell.” Namjoon never doubted that but it’s always nice to hear.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” It should be an innocent question but the silence that follows feels heavy and loaded.

“I did. My little brother. He was five. He spiked a bad fever one night and had to be rushed to the hospital. My father packed him up in the middle of the night while I slept. My mother woke me up at 4 am in hysterics. We drove to the emergency room and I watched my parents fall to the floor from across the room as the doctor told them he didn’t make it. I couldn’t hear what they said from that far away but it was obvious. I’m haunted by the sounds of the storm that was raging outside as the windows shaked around me. Acute bacterial meningitis.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. It doesn’t bring him back, nothing will. I’m just left with distant memories of what his laugh sounded like, and this stupid fear of storms that just reminds me of the day my family broke apart.” Your words are being spit vehemently, your throat clearly closing up as it tries to choke back sobs.

Namjoon’s arms reach out to scoop you into his chest where you lose it in earnest. You hide into the crook of his neck as he can feel your resolve break. Tears hit his skin but he says nothing. There is nothing to say, he knows. You need something to hold onto as you let the emotions run their course and that’s something he can be for you.

It’s not too long before you catch your breath, great big gasps helping your body to settle back into rhythm.

“God, I’m so sorry. Having a breakdown because of some rain, trauma dumping, having a full breakdown. I must be making a great first impression as a new roommate.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re able to let it out. Bottling all that up would cause more damage.”

“Who knew I was shacking up with a therapist. It’s the same thing my counselor told me.” You’re back to teasing and Namjoon lets out the tension in his muscles that he didn’t realize he was holding. Your giggles fade off into a comfortable silence. The rain is still loud against the glass but the trembling that shook yo uhas subsided.

“‘Joonie? Can you hold me until I fall asleep?” Your voice is shy, the request bold for someone you barely know but he agrees without apprehension.

He expects you to burrow back into his chest as you’re already nestled in from your impromptu need for comfort but you surprise him by turning around and slotting yourself against him, back pushing into his front.

“Need to sleep on my left side. You don’t mind, do you?” After your revelation, he’d give you the moon if you asked, some spooning was an easy favor to fulfill.

He simply hums in agreement not entirely trusting himself not to put his foot in his mouth at that moment. He allows you to push back until you’re comfortable and slings his arm over your waist, letting his hand hang limp over your abdomen, careful not to push any unspoken boundaries.

You take it upon yourself to scoop his arm up and hold it close to you. Namjoon closes his fingers into a fist to avoid any accidental groping since his hand now rests on your chest, just above your breasts. He can feel the curve of them against his wrist, the mounds pressing into his forearm.

No! He needs to send his mind elsewhere. He tries to focus on the patter of the drops on the window. Pit pat. Would a roll of thunder fit into any of the songs he’s currently working on? What about the clap where the beat could drop? Anything to distract him from how warm you are beside him. The humidity of the storm only aggravates the heat that seeps through his skin, making it clammy and nearly wet. You, wet against him… NO! The heat is pooling at his crotch, the pressure rising when his blood is sent southward to fill a chub in his boxers. No, stop!

He’s trying desperately to inch his pelvis away from where your ass was resting against him. The universe is truly out for his demise because another round of lightning and thunder sends you jumping, forcefully seeking the hardness of his body against you. The grip on his arm turns vicious, your nails digging into his skin and your rear flies backwards in search of a seat and finds an unexpected obstacle.

Namjoon isn’t sure which sound rings louder. The gasp you let out at your discovery or his moan as his hips involuntarily thrust up against your ass. He doesn’t dare even breathe. What were you thinking? That your new roommate was a giant pervert? That he was taking advantage of the situation when all you asked for was some comfort in a time of need? Would you tell Yoongi? His hyung might be smaller than him but he has no doubt the older man could and would beat his ass into next week for this.

He seems to be the only one spiraling into a panic because instead of screaming and shoving him out of bed you only push back again. Your movements are tentative, slowly adding pressure and grinding your ass in circles against him as if trying to memorize the shape of him against your cheeks.

He slips his arm out of your grasp to bring his hand against your hip, pushing it down to pin you into the mattress and stop the maddening teasing.

“Y/N...” His voice comes out rough in between his teeth, a clear warning.

“Are you-?” You don’t need to finish your sentence with words, opting instead to push against his hold and roll your hips backwards again to feel the length behind you.

“I definitely am now since you can’t lie still. I’m trying to comfort you right now, so I am asking very politely to please have some mercy on me and go to sleep.”

For a second, Namjoon thinks he may have been too harsh.You’re quiet against him and he hopes he hasn’t triggered another round of distress with his tone.

The worries ebb when he feels your hand sneak behind to cup where his dick pushing against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes close when the pressure against the head sends little jolts of electricity flying through his body, a loud moan accompanying them.

“What if this is the comfort I need right now? Will you give it to me?” There’s a confidence in your voice now that had been missing when the sun went down. Namjoon is glad to hear it even if it beckons his doom.

He tries his best not to move, simply letting you tease along his length, your fingers wrapped around his cock through the thin fabric barrier. The drag is dry and nearly painful but he still twitches and wets a patch when your hand comes to squeeze at the head at every stroke.

You seem to take the lack of fighting back on his part as encouragement, and you push at the waistband to finally get under his boxers and meet the feverish skin hiding under them. He helps you reach your goal by shimmying the fabric down and under his balls, freeing his cock to let you handle it as you wish.

Your hand disappears for a second only to come back wet with spit and making the first tug of skin on skin both tortuous and heavenly. He can’t help but meet your fist with a thrust, precum dripping into your hand and easing the next strokes.

You’re showing your impatience when you grab his hand from your hip to aim it towards the waistband of your own underwear. You let him figure out the rest and go back to focus on jerking him off, a little harder this time as your hips roll against thin air.

He doesn’t keep you waiting too long, slipping his hand into your panties, realizing you’ve also opted out of sleeping with bottoms. His fingers plunge low and he’s surprised at how wet you are.

“All this just from rubbing against my dick a little bit?”

“No, I’ve been wet since you pulled me into your arms. Stupid thick biceps and big tits. Figured you’d notice it wasn’t just my eyes that were leaking.” Your words come staccato while your hips desperately try to chase his fingers.

He gives you what you seek and dips his middle finger into your heat. Your muscles contract around him, hot and so wet.

“Fuck, more,” you beg. You’re doing your best to clench around him but there’s not enough to bring relief.

“Impatient.” He wants this to last. He’s barely just gotten his hands on you after all the tension of the day finally snapping. He wants to savor it but you seem to have other plans.

“Namjoon, if you don’t start fingering me properly I’ll kick you out of this bed and do it myself.”

In any other situation he’d probably call that bluff, but he doesn’t want to risk you going through with it. He adds a second finger to your core and gets to work on a punishing rhythm. He uses the angle to his advantage and digs the heel of his palm against your clit to grind onto it with every thrust of his hand.

Your threats devolve into mewls. You’re trying to keep up your own pace against his dick but your grasp is loosening and losing rhythm. Hedoesn’t care. It allows him to focus on making you lose your mind, but you don’t seem to agree with the imbalance because you’re tugging him closer to you, tip bumping into the cotton of your panties. The need overtakes you and you’re ripping his fingers out of your pussy, letting it clench around nothing and mourning the loss. Your legs clamp shut to allow you to reach around and pull the fabric away from your entrance. You push back against his cock, trying to guide him through the darkness.

“In. Want you inside.” Your words aren’t quite begging but Namjoon can hear the plea clearlyin your voice.

“Fuck, Y/N. I should stretch you out more. I don’t think you should take it like this.” He knows he’s above average and he’s unsure that between the darkness and your horny haze you've realized quite what you’re up against in the short span of the mutual masturbation session that’s happened.

“I felt it. I know you’ve got a big dick. I don’t care. Fuck. Me.”

He hesitates to argue with you. He doesn’t want to hurt you but he can feel the warm wet heat enticing the head of his cock and it’s hard to ignore the call. He loses his battle and sinks himself into you. He brings his hand back to your hip and holds himself still as you shake through acclimating to his size.

“Oh god, fuck.” He can feel your pussy tightening around him, the pulses of your walls essentially jerking him off and it’s taking all his resistance not to start rocking his hips up to meet your ass.

“I-” He’s cut off as soon as he tries to start.

“You better not say ‘I told you so’ while you’re inside me or else you’ll never be again.” The possibility of this happening again shut him up pretty quickly.

He opts to try and ease you into the feeling, lets his hand trace along your skin, up to your torso. He peppers kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hand seeks out a breast under your shirt and gently takes it into his palm, massaging the flesh as his fingers tweak at the nipple.

He tries to imagine what it must look like pebbled between his thumb and index; the color of them in contrast to your skin. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to slip it between his teeth and test how hard he could nibble at it before you broke, but the current position makes it impossible and he doesn’t dare switch it now.

Your breathing becomes heavier at every pinch and twist. He can feel your chest heaving under his hand and you’re melting against him. The chokehold your pussy has on his cock also lets up a little, allowing you to rock back and forth seeking more friction.

“I’m ready.” Your voice calls him back. “You can move. Fuck me.” He starts slow and careful, long languid strokes out until only the head stays inside you, and back in with a smooth confident thrust; letting as much of his length fit as he can from this angle.

He lets his hand wander once he feels you matching his strokes, backing up to meet him at each push in. Your skin is damp under his palm and the sticky feeling would usually bother him, but he’s too enthralled by the little noises that you make with each movement.

Your hand chases after his, following where he cups at your breast, pinches at your nipple, and he notes the hitch in your breath when his large palm settles loosely at the base of your throat. He’ll have to file that one away for another day.

You eventually seem to grow frustrated with his teasing touches because you drag his hand back south and into your underwear. He spreads his fingers around where the two of you are joined. He can feel your arousal coat his cock and your pussy stretch around him, sucking him in at every stroke.

He brings his fingers up to finally give your neglected clit the attention it’s been craving. You can feel how it’s throbbing with desire. You don’t bother trying to suppress the moan that comes out in nearly a scream when Namjoon presses against your bundle of nerves with skillful pressure and maddening circles.

It’s still slow. Everything is infuriatingly slow but you can’t find your voice through the groans and gasps to ask for more, so you let him set his torturous pace and drown in the electricity coursing through your body.

You take up the mantle that he’d been forced to leave behind. You feel too good to ask to change positions but you mourn the lack of his other hand which is forced under him, unable to wreck the same havoc on your body as its twin. Your right hand travels to your torso, attempting to mimic his earlier teasing while your left holds onto his wrist between your legs to keep yourself grounded.

You melt into his touch, head lolling into the pillow. Namjoon takes advantage of your neck opening up. He finally gets to use his right arm to push his upper body enough to dip his head down where your shoulder meets your neck to attach his lips to your skin. The added feeling of his teeth biting down, paired with a hard suck and lick of his tongue sends you reeling. You push back harder, urging him to thrust in rougher, as deep as the position allows.

“So big, Joonie. Can feel you so deep.” You’re pushing his buttons and it works. You’re riling him up and he lets it happen. You sacrifice the feeling of his fingers on your clit to bring them up just above your pubic bone and push down hard making the head of his dick hit against the front of your walls. You know he can feel it push against his hand every time he hits home.

You know when he registered what’s happening because he’s pistoning into you with renewed vigor, each thrust stronger than the one before. The new pressure from his hand makes everything feel euphoric.

“Shit, Y/N. So fucking tight around me. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The praise falls from his lips without thought and the endearment slips through with ease but there’s no time to focus on it. You’re clenching around him, being brought to the edge.

Your hand replaces where his had been, fingers wild and frantic on your clit, pushing you towards your orgasm. It doesn’t take long to hit and your body goes rigid in his arms. Your muscles scream as they twitch and the wave radiates out from your core and washes over you to the tips of your limbs.

The shaking in your body subsides but the throes of pleasure still buzz under your skin from where Namjoon hasn’t slowed. He continues to push and pull his way into your body, keeping the tension alive.

“You sound so fucking hot when you cum. Feel so perfect around my cock.” No words come in reply to his, only mindless moans answer the praise. You want to tell him how good he feels inside you too, how you still need him so desperately.

“More!” You manage to gulp through the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “Want to feel you deeper.”

His hips stutter in response, your words hit him in the pit of his stomach. He wants to give you more, whatever you want but he can’t go any further from this angle.

“Gonna have to move us around for that, okay?” His voice is muffled from where his mouth is still dug into the crook of your neck, breath heavy near your ear.

You’re nodding without giving it much thought. Whatever he wants, he can do anything he wants. You’d agree to anything if it meant getting more of the addictive feeling coursing through your veins.

His cock slips out of you and you barely have the time to whine at the loss that a yelp escapes you instead as you’re hauled up and around to land firmly on his lap, underwear being ripped away in the switch, Namjoon now spread beneath you. Your hands fly forward to balance yourself, knees planted on either side of his hips.

“Holy hell, I was kidding earlier with the tits comment but…” You let your hands finish the implication as they grab at the flesh of his chest, nails digging into his skin. “Can you flex for a second?”

His muscles tense under your touch and you can’t help the groan that slips out in response. His chest is rock hard now and you feel your body rise with the strength imbued in it. You let your hands drift downwards, nails dragging behind. You wonder if the marks will still be there tomorrow for you to see the damage you're leaving in the light of day.

You can feel each bump on his abdomen where the muscles bulge out and dip back in. You’re surprised to feel the smooth velvet tip of his cock hit your hand so quickly. You’re barely halfway down his abs and the realization of how big Namjoon actually is sinks in.

The previous position wouldn’t have had him remotely close to fully sheathed inside you. The anticipation of really feeling his entire length has you grinding down and sliding along him, trapping him between his stomach and your sopping folds.

He bucks up to meet the pressure, hands holding firm on your waist, following the pace you’ve set. He lets you roll on him, his sensitive head catching on your clit and every loop which elicits moans from both of you.

He’s sure he could cum from this alone, but he’s aching to feel you sink down on him entirely. There’s a desperate plea on the tip of his tongue, an encouragement for you to lead him back inside but he keeps quiet. He wants you to make the decision and go at the pace you need. Despite the shift in situation, Namjoon still feels the vulnerability you’re under.

His hand drifts up, letting fire spread along your skin. The electricity in the air isn’t only from the storm anymore. He’s gentle as he cups your breast, content when he can feel your chest arching forward to chase after the pressure of his touch. Your nipple pebbles despite the hot and humid air.

“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath. He’s sure it’s low enough to stay a private confession but the low moans mixed with your thighs tightening against his hips reveal otherwise.

The praise urges you on, reigniting your movements. Namjoon almost fears you’re moving away, off from your seat on top of him. His hands are quick to reach back for yours; a silent imploration to stay but they’re unnecessary. The pressure on his chest where you anchor yourself grounds him. There’s a shake where your balance falters so you can reach beneath you and grab at his cock, holding it straight towards your core.

The darkness hadn’t bothered Namjoon until this moment. He’ll rue this day for his entire life for stealing the vision of your expression as you slowly sink down on his entire length for the first time. The whimpers that escape, as you take each inch further, are only teases compared to the satisfied groan that comes once you’re fully settled back in his lap. The entire situation is torture. The heat of the stifling summer night is nothing compared to the scorching embrace of your walls around him. There’s aftershocks of your muscles spazzing around him that pair with more moans while you acclimate to the feeling of him inside you.

Namjoon’s mouth is dry and his brain is empty. There’s a strong instinct to move, a twitch in his arms to use his strength to lift you up enough to have you slam back down but he resists.

He can hear your breathing even out, big gulps of air diminishing to a more normal rhythm. You’re fidgeting, torso lowering to come parallel to his until your breath hits his throat. He doesn’t even realize your hand had snaked away until it lands in his hair and you pull on the strands to allow your lips to stroke at the cartilage of his ear, a warm tickle accompanying your words.

“You’re so big, Joonie. Feel so full.” He knows it’s the sign he was waiting for when you end the compliment with a strong squeeze that he can feel through his entire body. All the restraint he had exhibited snaps.

It all happens at once. He reaches for a fistful of your hair to keep you still as he clumsily seeks for your lips with his own. The kiss is aggressive and too full of teeth clanking together at first. It eventually melts into something more salacious. Your lips are hot and slippery but Namjoon is aiming for more.

You’re too distracted to notice that his stance has changed. He jostles you as he plants his feet into your mattress to give him the best angle to properly pound into you. The first hard thrust is paired with a well timed bite of your lip which has you opening your mouth with a shout of pleasure. He takes advantage of the position to delve his tongue into a battle with yours, turning the dirty kiss into an even wetter mess.

Neither of you can hear the storm over the slaps of skin, low groans, and high whines from inside the room. “You hear how wet this pussy is for me? Sound so fucking pretty, bet it looks even better. We’ll have to do this again, right? So I can see you leaking over my cock properly.”

If you’re answering him it’s unintelligible in the mumbles melted into the moans that continue to spill out of you. He’s taking it as an agreement from the tightening of your core around him.

His legs eventually lower behind you, pushing you to straighten back up and work to keep up the faltering rhythm. The heat and late hour seeps into your bones but the exhaustion that lies at the edge of your consciousness is no match for the fire in your veins that feeds the lust inside you. Your hands reach behind you and grab onto meaty thighs. God, you’ll need to talk about those in the morning because you don’t have the energy to trigger another round tonight. Your head falls, back arching towards the sky. It gives Namjoon the opportunity to roam your body, soft strokes and harsh grasps.

“Come on, Joonie. What good are those big biceps for if you can’t fuck me harder?” The taunt works like magic to reinvigorate him. Large hands come back to your waist, palms digging hard into your body above your hip bones. His thumbs aim towards your core, pushing into the softness above your pelvis. It’s not as obvious as the first position on your side but he can definitely feel the shift under your skin where the pressure of his thrusting cock pushes against his fingers.

“Shit, Y/N, never felt pussy this good. My perfect girl. Are you close? Can you cum for me, baby?”

“Y-yeah, so close- fuck. You feel so good.” It wasn’t a lie, you’ve teetered on the edge for a while but you just needed a little extra push. Namjoon’s hold on you is strong enough to allow you to sneak a hand to where the two of you are joined. There’s only a flash of pleasure before your fingers are slapped away.

“Nuh uh, my job. If you want to be touched a certain way just ask for it. You’re a big girl, use your words.”

If he kept talking to you like that maybe you wouldn’t need the extra help after all but that’s an experiment for another day. “Please, Joonie, want to cum. Touch me.”

He dares to slow the pace, still upkeep the long hard strokes that hit deep inside you. “Is that the best you can do? You’re about to cum all over my cock and I’m still just Joonie? You’re not being very clear, you know. I’ve got my hands on you, I’m already touching. Be more precise. What do you want, princess?”

He’ll be the death of you, you can already tell you’ve set yourself up. Your words are coming out in choked sobs, your climax on the brink. “Please!” you exclaim, “Namjoon, please play with my clit and make me cum all over your big cock.”

He didn’t expect you to take the bait so strongly, but you asked so politely, who would he be to deny your request.

“Good girl. I’ll give you anything you ask for if you do it like that. Look all innocent but you’re just a desperate little thing, aren’t you?” His words are paired with increased speed. He pistons into you with such force that you swear you’re floating above him. The world falls away when his thumb finally comes to rub tantalizing circles around your nub, the movement a little clumsy form how wet it is between your thighs.

It doesn’t take much to reach elation. White light explodes behind your eyes making you believe the power may have returned for a second. There’s electricity living in your nerves that travel down your limbs. There’s a rawness in your throat you assume was birthed from the scream that still echoes around the room.

You catch your breath on a pile of loose limbs draped over your new roommate’s huge frame. Your muscles are spasming from the outside in. You can tell that Namjoon definitely feel it from how tense his muscles feel under your fingers. You purposefully constrict around him and the answering grunt confirms your suspicions.

It takes a second to gather enough strength to sit back up while keeping him snuggly inside you. You wish you could look into his eyes as you roll your hips over him. You know it’s not as stimulating as the hard thrusts from earlier but the sweet sounds you hear from under you seem to have him perfectly content.

“Fuck, you never stop surprising me but you really need to get off because I can’t last anymore.” There’s a tension in his tone, one that you’d hear from someone holding onto a loosening grip that could result in falling to their doom.

You let the nail from your index dig into his skin and leave a burning sensation behind as your scratch down the valley of his pecs, from his clavicle to his abdominals. “Good. Then my plan is working. Your turn to cum for me.”

“Oh, I will. The second you get off me, it’s torture to keep it in, so please-” It’s his turn to beg but you’re not as ready to give in to his demand this time around. You only double your efforts, rolling hips and tight squeezes.

“Go on, then. You wanted me to ask for what I want? Cum. I’m safe and I want you to cum inside me, Namjoon.”

There’s black magic in the way you say his name, it’s hypnotizing. Or maybe it’s the imaginary visual of what you’d look like splayed out with his cum seeping out of you that does it.

He brings his fingers back to your sensitive clit and the pressure is almost too much. You nearly beg him to give you a break but he interrupts you before you can start. “One more time, with me. If you want me to fill up that sweet pussy, you’ll have to milk it out of me.”

You can’t tell whether it’s the pressure on your clit or the dirty words from his mouth, but the wave of pleasure comes back with a mighty force and crashes through you again. You can feel your core tightening around him in spasms which triggers his own release. You can feel his cock spurting inside you, an extra layer of warmth seeping into you. You can’t hold yourself anymore and flop onto Namjoon, both of your breaths heavy and labored.

His hand strokes comfort onto your back. You don’t even mind how sweaty you both are, sticking to each other. “We should get cleaned up,” he suggests.

You dig your face into the crook of his neck in protest. “No. Tomorrow. Don’t want to move. You still feel good, don’t want you to pull out.” You purposefully twitch to make your point. His cock may be softening but it’s still firmly plugging you up. You both know you’ll regret it in the morning but you couldn’t care right now.

The exhaustion you both feel settles into contentment as sleep pulls you in. You both fall asleep without even noticing that the storm has also fallen into slumber.

Okay, so maybe Namjoon was a little dramatic about being abandoned because it’s only a week later when Yoongi is back in his old apartment from a weekend brunch date with his friends.

You and Jin are bonding in the kitchen. Yoongi can hear his boyfriend’s windshield wiper laugh mixed with your giggles that he’s always compared to a hyena. He expected the atmosphere to be a little awkward when he came in, both of the new roommates a little shy and fond of individual activities.

But when he let himself in earlier he found both his friends sharing the couch in the living room, each with a book in hand,which wasn’t surprising, but your feet perched on Namjoon’s lap, that was a little surprising.

He had let that slide easily enough. His suspicion returns simply from how much smiling Namjoon has been doing. Smiles wouldn’t be odd for most but Yoongi has heard that man’s music lately and he’s the definition of a Sad Boi™.

The pieces fall into place when you bring in the plates and there’s lingering. From your fingers on Namjoon’s when you exchange the dish to his eyes on your ass when you turn away. Yoongi stares Namjoon down, deadpan. His friend’s eyes widen in panic once he realizes he’s been caught. Yoongi’s always been able to read him like a book.

“You motherfucker,” Yoongi spats at him just as you reenter the room.

“Now now, Yoongles. Do we need to call Dr. Lee to go through your mommy issues again? We’ve already established I’m not your mother.” You take a seat on Namjoon’s lap as if to make a point. “Besides, there’s only one person that gets to call me mommy now.” The look you and Namjoon share might be the final drop that makes him go dig for his old psych’s number that night.

#kim namjoon fic #namjoon fic #knj fic #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #bangtanwhq #micdropnet #rm fic #rm fanfic #rm x reader #rm x you #bts fic #bts fanfic #rm smut #bts smut

2K notes · View notes

jsluvtzu · 7 months

Text

mind games

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

summary: when her actions don't match up with her feelings, and you're caught in the middle

cw: college!au, angsty, edgy, emo, MEAN!!!!sana, (sana is very very mean), smut, cursing, degradation, mentions of bullying/humiliation, again mean!sana!! men dni

wc: 3.3k

a/n: this is inspired by the recent fanmeeting pics w sana and that damn choker

the walk to your usual 9 am intro to psychology class was colder than usual. the sun was out, but inside, you felt as if it hadn't shined in years. only one thing was clouding your mind. minatozaki fucking sana. mean girl. bully. bitch. you hated her guts from the inside out. everything about her made you physically recoil in disgust. just the mention of her alone was enough to make you clench your fist.

the hatred you had for her may seem unreasonable for someone who doesn't know what you have to deal with on a daily basis. any normal person would call you crazy, or dramatic. but you had every right to feel this way about her.

"hey there pretty thing," you heard her disgustingly familiar voice a couple steps behind you. "who let you walk out the house like that? needa have a talk with them.." you squeezed your lips shut, ignoring sana's words and just kept walking. you could hear her friends, nayeon and chaeyoung, giggling like a pack of hyenas and saying something along the lines of "fuckin' slut" and "she's just asking for it wearing that short ass skirt".

you forcefully tugged the ends of your skirt down and walked through your classroom door, not even bothering to look back at them.

as you took your usual seat towards the front row, you heard them enter the lecture hall and the stench of weed immediately filled your nose, making you furrow your eyebrows and hold your breath. sana throws her stuff down right next to you, plopping down into the seat with her minions right by her side. "hi y/nnn," her arm was propped up on the desk, hand resting under her chin, facing you, batting her eyelashes with the widest smile on her pretty ugly face.

you looked straight ahead, ignoring her and just got your laptop ready for the day's lecture. sana attempted to move into your line of sight, getting uncomfortably close to you in the process. you tried your hardest not to react, but it was especially difficult when she smelled this strong and looked this good. you would never admit the last part though. "you fuckin' deaf or something? i said hi, don't be rude." you side eyed her and went back to logging into your note taking app. sana scoffed annoyedly and backed away to lean in her seat, slightly manspreading. fuck she's so attractive when she sits like that. you quickly shook your head to clear those forbidden thoughts from your mind.

getting through the hour long lecture felt like three days with sana being beside you the whole time. she was wearing a short sleeve shirt and you could see how decorated her arms were with tattoos littered on every empty patch of skin. her silver rings around her slender fingers fit her perfectly and complimented her skin tone so well. her hair was the perfect shade of brown and the right amount of wavy. her f- wait. what are you doing? you're supposed to hate sana. if you really hate her so much, why do you notice the way her nose scrunches when she laughs? you shouldn't feel your heart beat this fast around somebody that you claim to hate. fuck.

finally, the lecture was over and you wasted no time gathering your things to leave. you rushed out the door and checked the time on your phone. “11:17 AM”. you had enough time before your next class to stop by the dining hall for a quick lunch.

as you sat down at a table by yourself, you accidentally dropped one of your items on the floor and bent down to pick it up. that's when you heard whistling and laughter approaching you.

"is this table taken?" sana laughed slightly, asking you rhetorically. nayeon was very obviously checking you out and basically eye fucked you in the middle of the dining hall. chaeyoung took a bite out of her apple and kept looking you up and down. before you could even answer, the three of them sat in the remaining empty seats at the table, leaving you one for yourself.

"so, y/n. i need a favor. the professor is letting me make up a project to bring my grade up, buttt i have no idea what the fuck i'm doing. care to help me out?" sana looked at you intently, placing her hand on your knee, bare skin exposed to her cold touch.

"why the fuck would i help you, sana?" you were completely furious at this point. not only did she ruin the one peaceful moment you had alone, she also had the audacity to come to you for help, when all she's ever done for you is make your life worse?

sana looked at you in disbelief, your aggressive tone shocking her. she cocked her head to the side with a clenched jaw. "because if you don't, i'll post that video of your bare ass for everyone, and i mean everyone to see. you wouldn't want that to happen, would you sweet thing?" her voice was infuriating you just as much as it was entrancing you. sana now had a confident smirk displayed across her face. she knows your weak spot.

you gulped and breathed out shakily, remembering that dumb fucking mistake you made in high school when you sent your ex girlfriend your nudes, thinking you could trust her. she ended up sending it to a big group chat and of course, sana got ahold of it. she's been using that video as blackmail against you ever since, making you obey her every command to keep your dignity.

"fuck you.", was your way of agreeing to another one of sana's orders. "aww, you wish you could." the three of them bursted out laughing and stood up to leave one by one. "meet me in my dorm around 7, yeah? fourth door on the second floor." sana ran her hand through your hair and twirled a couple strands between her fingers. "would hate for such a pretty girl to get publicly humiliated if she doesn't show up." she gave you one last devious smile before grabbing her bag and joining nayeon and chaeyoung.

you regretted every step you took as you neared sana’s dorm room door. your feet felt abnormally heavy and you were just dragging your body there out of obligation.

with a deep sigh, you knocked on her door and gripped your textbook tight. when sana opened the door, your heartbeat was beating so loud, you swore you could hear it pounding against your eardrums. her hair was up in a messy bun with loose strands and flyaways hanging out. she had on an oversized, faded and torn “misfits” shirt, with baggy boy shorts on to top it off.

sana chuckled and took in your obviously stressed demeanor, “you knew better than to not come huh?” she stepped back to let you in and you could hear the loud music she had playing.

her room lingered of a vanilla candle mixed with, you guessed it, weed. how she managed to not get caught by an RA was beyond you. her walls were filled with posters from various rock bands and vinyl cds that were aesthetically placed in color order. her bed was messy and clothes were all over the floor. her roommate’s side of the room was surprisingly tidy compared to hers.

as you stood in the middle of the room, awkwardly observing her decor, sana snapped you out of your trance. “you here to help me, or just look stupid?” you cleared your throat and shuffled over to sana’s desk, placing down your textbook and setting your backpack on the floor.

you shrunk under sana’s gaze. cautious of every move you made. you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie nervously as you felt her eyes piercing into you. “why are you acting like that? i don’t bite.” sana was genuinely confused, she doesn’t even realize how she treats you. “look, can we just get this over with?” you avoided eye contact with sana at all costs and stared at the ground, too nervous to look at her directly.

“alright, small talk over i guess.. ‘s what i get for tryna be nice to your loser ass.” sana climbed onto her bed with a sulky attitude, sitting near the edge with her legs crossed. you pulled out the chair from under the desk and sat down, flipping open your textbook to chapter 3.

“the project is about understanding human attraction, so we have to do a little experiment and record the results.” as you said it outloud, you realized what you just got yourself into. working on an attraction project with the girl you hated yourself for being attracted to.

“okay, list 5 things you find most appealing when you first look at your partner.”

“the fuck kinda project is this? i’m not doing this.”

“sana. don’t be dumb right now, you’re already failing the course.” sana was dumbfounded at your bluntness.

“i can’t list anything if there’s nothing i find appealing about you.”

“well then make something up.”

sana scoffed at the ridiculousness of the project and rolled her eyes, cursing herself for even asking for your help.

“i can’t even do that, honestly, i would throw up tryna say something nice about you.”

you were fed up with her at that point and stood up slamming your pen down, “then can you just shut the fuck up? for once? if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say shit at all. i’m always helping you out and all you do is fucking ruin it.” you talked with your hands flailing around everywhere in frustration. you didn’t mean to raise your voice like that, but the pent up anger you had built up finally released.

“ ‘fuck is your problem, y/n? i-“ sana gets down from her bed to stand face to face with you, “you’re the fucking problem, sana. it’s always been you. you’re always finding every way to ruin my life. make me feel bad about myself. why can’t you just leave me alone? what have i ever done to you to deserve being treated like this?” sana was close enough for you to stab your finger into her chest, emphasizing every sentence.

her taller figure towered over you as she looked down at you with a quirked eyebrow and her lips slightly parted. she had nothing to say back to that. your breathing was shallow and you felt relieved for telling her off to her face. something you’ve wanted to do for years.

but the tension in the room was growing and the both of you stared at each other in a loud silence.

you slowly started backing away from sana when you felt like the pressure in the atmosphere was crushing your lungs. sana stopped you with a grab to your wrist, pulling you, no, yanking you, towards her, crashing her lips onto yours hard enough to leave bruises.

that’s when everything in your world stopped. the time froze and things went quiet. you no longer heard the music that was playing in the background, just silence.

you peeled yourself away from sana’s intense grip, appalled at what just happened. “ what.. what are you doing, san-“

before you could even finish your sentence, she grabbed you again, this time squeezing your face with both of her hands. her big hands. you wondered how far they could go inside y-

you braced yourself and placed your hands on the sides of her hips to keep yourself stable. sana was controlling the pace of the kiss now, biting your bottom lip and swiping her tongue along it only to force herself inside of your mouth, tasting you.

sana pulled away with a ‘pop’ sound, your face still held in her hands.

“i’m in love with you.” her face was serious, an expression that was new to you since all you’ve ever seen her be is the total opposite.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, comprehending what she just said and replaying it in your mind over and over.

“i’ve always been in love with you, y/n. i just suck at expressing that. and i get nervous around you so it makes it worse.” sana’s facial expression softened now, the stars in her eyes apparent.

“the only way i know how to show you i like you is by being an absolute bitch to you. i’m sorry. i’m just insecure and i thought you were too good for me. you’re right, okay, you don’t deserve to be treated like this. it’s okay if you d-“

this time you were the one to bruise sana’s lips. you cut her sentence midway, having heard enough to confirm what you suspected all this time. you knew she had something for you. it was always odd how she wanted you to do things for her that would specifically get you to be alone with her. like the time she made you clean out her car and she just watched you, or when she made you write her essay for her in the library and she just sat there. observing you.

you always had a gut feeling, but you pushed it so far down because you didn’t want to fall for her any more than you already did.

“stop talking. i know.” you pushed sana back until you both bumped into her bed, climbing up and straddling her lap.

sana hummed in confusion, trying to break away from the kiss to ask for clarification.

“fuck you mean- you- know?”

you smiled against her lips and only responded by crossing your arms over your torso, grabbing the hem of your hoodie and lifting it over your head, your hair falling over your shoulder.

sana let out a small gasp, looking over your figure. you were only wearing a sports bra underneath and the band of your panties was showing above your sweatpants, just below your belly button.

“you came over here just wearing that? you really are a slut.”

you laughed and shook your head, kissing her again to stop her from saying another overused insult.

“don’t ruin it.”

sana ran her hands along your body, rubbing the soft skin from the small of your back to the nape of your neck, her warm lips making contact with the base of your throat. she was bear hugging you against her at this point, afraid you would run out of her grasp at any moment.

you whimpered when sana sunk her teeth into your neck, you were sure it left a mark. sana cooed and soothed the bite, running her tongue around it and kissing it gently. she moved her kisses up along your jaw, watching the way you writhed under her touch through hooded, lustful eyes.

“fuck- just fuck me already.” you were begging at this point, already riled up the moment you walked through her door.

sana complied and wrapped her arms around your waist, flipping you onto your back so her front was flush against you.

she brought her lips back to yours, savoring it as she hooked her fingers onto the waistband of your pants taking everything off. she slid them down your legs, helping you kick your feet out and threw them somewhere on the floor.

you were exposed against her, the cold air hitting your core making you moan in anticipation. sana moved her lips down your body, tending to every single inch of you. you felt so hot watching her, the lust in her eyes intimidating and seductive.

sana made it close to where you needed her most, breathing out and kissing around your clit. her warm breath against your pussy made you impossibly wetter. sana was such a fucking tease.

she migrated over to your thighs, kissing and marking up the flesh with love bites. you just needed to feel her mouth on you so bad.

“fuck sana- stop teasing.” she could hear the desperation in your tone, letting out a low laugh.

“let me have my fun, y/n. it’s what you wanted right? for me to just touch you like this.” sana flicked her tongue over your clit once, making you whine.

“it’s why you came over here with nothing on under that hoodie right? you just wanted me to fuck you.”

you hated the way she was so entitled. of course you didn’t expect to get fucked by her. you just wore whatever was comfortable. but you definitely had thoughts about it..

you grinded your hips against nothing in hopes for some sort of relief. your mind was getting blurry at this point, the only thing clouding your mind now was cumming on sana’s tongue. ironic.

sana finally gave in and licked the flat of her tongue against your whole core. she took your swollen clit into her mouth, sucking it in pulses and making figure eight patterns with her tongue. you were already a moaning mess five seconds in, shocked at how good she was.

your hands flew to sana’s hair, grabbing the back of her head to push her face deeper into you. she moaned against your pussy when you pulled her hair, ruining her bun.

you felt yourself already getting close just from sana’s mouth. you attempted to squeeze your legs together, but sana pushed them down with her hands, forcing them apart.

“keep your fucking legs open, g’na make you cum all over my tongue.” her voice was husky and she was practically growling her words.

sana moved one of her hands from your thigh to fuck two fingers into you, wrapping her other arm around the top of your abdomen, pushing down on your pelvic.

“sana! fuck- fuck just like that- god.” you were screaming her name and your hand flew to your mouth to keep your moans suppressed. you felt the tightness in your stomach building up.

suddenly, sana paused her movements and you looked down at her confused and pissed that she just stopped when you were so, so close.

“i wanna hear you. if you do that shit again, i’ll make you leave with only the clothes you have on.” which was nothing except your sports bra.

you threw your head back in annoyance, nodding and squeezing your eyes shut. “mhm, whatever, just fucking get back to ruining me already.” your whiny voice mixed with your contradicting words ignited a fire in sana.

she began fucking you with her fingers again, relentlessly curling up against the sweet spot on your flesh everytime she thrusted into you. “oh now you want me to fucking ruin you huh? i thought it was wrong? hm? thought you wanted me to be nice? i was just a fucking bully, right? you liked it though. yeah, you wanted the attention. you wanted me to be mean to you. fuckin’ dumb bitch.”

her words hit you differently now. if it was any other situation you would have the urge to punch her in her smug face, but when she has you laid out like this, you can’t help but be turned on by her degrading words.

you couldn’t even form a comeback anymore, too fucked out to say anything except her name.

“fuck, fuck, sana, fuck- please don’t stop- ‘m gonna cum, fuck-“

sana sucked your clit back into her mouth and that threw you over the edge. you finished with a loud, long moan, gripping her hair tight enough to rip out a few strands, bucking your core flush against her face. your juices entirely coated her lips and she drank you up without wasting a single drop.

moaning against your clit, she helped you ride out your orgasm and slowly pumped her fingers until you calmed down enough for her to relax.

sana sat up and licked her lips, cleaning her fingers off with her mouth, humming in satisfaction, enjoying your sweet taste. you watched her with sleepy eyes, feeling an uncomfortable throb already building back up in your core from watching her erotic actions. she lowered back down to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on her lips.

“so did we finish the experiment?”

#twice imagines #twice x reader #twice smut #kpop x reader #kpop gg #sana x reader #sana smut #minatozaki sana

635 notes · View notes

feyhunter78 · 2 months

Text

Jealously, Jealously

Couldn’t find a fanart I felt fit so have a gif!

Nerd!Miguel Masterlist

You’re not jealous, you can’t be jealous, because Miguel isn’t yours. You’re friends, study buddies, lab partners, platonic, platonic, platonic, so why do you feel so shitty watching him and this random girl—Ava she said her name was—flirting?

Maybe it’s because she’s flipping her long silky black hair over her shoulder, batting her thick naturally dark lashes up at him, laughing at his jokes with a laugh that sounds like music, and Miguel��s eating it up.

You’ve never seen Miguel so confident, and it hurts. You’ve been friends with him for ages now, and he’s never been so forward, so clearly sure of himself when he’s with you. He’s talking, leaning down to hear her better, letting her touch his arm, his chest, even his fucking neck.

You stew in silence, arms crossed, watching them from your place behind the Sig Epp letters.

You were supposed to be getting lunch, walking, and talking with Miguel, only stopping to say hello to Brett, but then this Ava girl showed up and all of a sudden, she and Miguel have to speak privately.

“What’s got you all heated?” Brett asks, bumping his shoulder into yours, joining you against the low wall, behind the giant painted letters.

They’re what four-five feet tall, painted in the Sig Epp colors, made of plywood and some other material you don’t really recognize, and don’t care to. They’re good to hide behind, and that’s what you’re doing.

“I’m not heated.” You tell him, rolling your eyes when Ava playfully squeezes Miguel’s bicep, her laugh ringing out through the courtyard.

“Tsst, ouch.” Brett says, jerking away from you dramatically, acting as if touching your shoulder burned him.

“You’re not funny.” You deadpan, averting your eyes from Miguel and onto Brett.

“I’m a little funny.” He says, “remember when I got Dr. Blevins to do that TikTok trend with me?”

“The one where you tried to guess which of the other professors in the department he hated?” You snort, turning to face him, leaning against the sun-bleached bricks.

It was pretty funny, Dr. Belvins wasn’t the nicest man on the planet, but who would’ve known he had such a hatred for Dr. Vervid? Though you shouldn’t be too surprised, there weren’t many people who liked the Organic Chemistry professor.

“See I’m funny.” Brett says, wriggling his eyebrows victoriously.

“You did one funny thing.”

He presses a hand to his heart. “You wound me y/n, truly, down to the deepest chasm of my very soul.”

“Alright, Shakespeare,” you laugh, “time to phone it in.”

Brett takes an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes but giggle. Brett is a goof, and while usually you find it all a bit ridiculous, it does the trick, the uncomfortable emotions you’re feeling lessen.

“No, but seriously, you seem upset, is everything alright?” Brett’s voice takes on a more serious tone, and he gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know we’re not close like you and Miguel, but I do consider you a friend, and if I can help, I’d like to.”

Are you crying? You think you might cry. “Shut up, why are you being so nice to me?”

“I’m a nice guy, not like that, an actual nice guy, a nice person.”

You sigh and roll your neck, letting it hang to one side as you look at Brett. “I think I might be jealous?”

“Oh, of Miguel and Ava? Yeah, I see them hanging out sometimes, she’s hot.”

Gut punch.

“You’ve seen them hanging out?” You dig your nails into your palm to try and keep the emotion out of your voice. Thankfully it works.

“Sometimes, used to see them hanging out before you two got close, but it’s picked back up recently.” Brett says, casting a surprisingly subtle glance over at the dark-haired pair.

Double gut punch.

“Oh…cool.” You reach for your phone preparing to either hide in it or text Miguel and tell him you have to miss lunch, either way you’re pretty sure you’re going to start crying.

Brett snaps to attention and reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder. “Shit, y/n, I didn’t even—I’m sorry.”

“No, no, Miguel and I are just friends, I don’t care who he hangs out with, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Totally doesn’t matter that he defended you against Kron, that he said he wanted to have a daughter with you. That you almost kissed, that he’s coming with you to the semiformal, that you eat lunch together every day during the week, totally doesn’t matter.

“Oh well...I don’t think they’re dating or anything, Miguel isn’t like that, he wouldn’t…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “He’s not the kind of guy to lead someone on.”

“I said we’re just friends. Bye Brett.” You snap, shoving your phone back in your pocket and readjusting your backpack as you speed walk in the opposite direction of Miguel. Hoping fervently that you can make it back to the Humanities Building, then to the parking lot, before he notices you’re gone.

Of course, you have no such luck, and you can hear Miguel calling out to you, then your phone lights up in your hand.

“Hey.” You say, keeping your voice calm.

“Y/N, where are you going, I thought we were getting lunch?” His voice is so sweet, so concerned, and you hate him for it.

“I forgot my next class was canceled, and I have a big essay coming up, I’m just going to go home and work on it.” You lie, digging your car keys out of your backpack.

“Oh…okay…” You can picture him, standing there all alone, looking down at his feet, clutching the strap of his backpack protectively, his voice thick with disappointment.

You hate yourself for feeling guilty, but then you remember he’s not alone, he has Ava.

“Just go eat lunch with Ava, you guys seemed pretty cozy, don’t let me interrupt.” You can’t stop the venom from dripping into your voice.

“Interrupt? Y/N, you wouldn’t be—no, I’m not—Ava is just—it’s not like that.” Clearly, the words are spilling past his lips faster than his brain can process them.

“I don’t care, go, have fun, do whatever you want.” It’s petty, and unreasonable, you know, but you’re hurt, and you want him to hurt too. You hang up and put your phone on do not disturb, slamming your car door shut and heading home as you burst into tears.

Directly connected parts are: Flowers On Your Doorstep and Semiformal Kisses and Cat Fights

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #nerd miguel #nerd!miguel o'hara #nerd!miguel #college!miguel #college!reader #sorority!reader #college au

396 notes · View notes

tswwwit · 1 month

Text

Cult Part Four, coming at ya! Here's parts One, Two, and Three for reference.

Bill’s patience is running out.

Dipper can see the way his eye narrows from across the room. His tapping fingers hit a frustrated staccato, rather than an idle bored beat.

Any moment now he’s going to act. There’s no preventing it; only enduring. Dipper hunches down in his seat.

Hopefully it won’t end up as bad as last time.

“Boring!” Bill shouts. He throws his arms in the air before slumping down dramatically on the couch. “Are you really gonna spend all your time reading?”

And there it is.

Dipper watches Bill for a deliberately long moment, then turns back to his book.

Unfortunately, for Bill, yes, that is how Dipper’s going to spend his time. After the last debacle, he knows better than to ‘go with the flow’, as Bill so annoyingly put it.

“I get that you’re quiet for respectable enough reasons, but do you gotta be a homebody while you’re at it?” Bill rolls onto his stomach, chin braced in his palm. “What about all the other entertainment around? Our little outing the other day was way more interesting.” Without looking up, Dipper gives him a thumbs down. And though Bill makes a derisive sound, he doesn’t argue.

That’s as good as admitting Dipper was right. One more day without horrifying demonic escapades in the nightmare realm, and a personal win.

What’s good for the demon… isn’t nearly as good for squishier, more mortal beings. Annoying as it is for Bill, he knows that as well as Dipper does.

Which is likely why he’s not pushing it.

Even he has to admit that the outing didn’t go great. Keeping his human captive alive must be worth a little boredom.

That ‘fun little tour of the Fearamid, to ‘show you around the place!’ was supposed to be easy. As if wandering around a physics-defying realm is a walk in the park. One filled with hundreds of overpowered monsters who think ‘mortal’ is a synonym for ‘snack’.

Even if Bill had advertised it as a trainwreck, it couldn’t possibly have gone more off the rails.

To Bill’s credit, his infinite power did keep the slavering hordes at bay. They were on their best behavior. It’s just that their ‘best’ behavior is barely human-adjacent.

The day ended with Dipper somewhat more informed, miraculously unharmed, and only shaking a little. Getting all the ash and viscera off took three rounds of laundry and two baths.

Bill, of course, laughed nearly the whole time.

So yeah. Dipper’s not going out again anytime soon. Eventually he’ll have to, if he wants to go anywhere but the apartment - but he wants to get way better at magic first.

Unfortunately for Bill, that means waiting. And he hates waiting.

Another long, bored groan from the couch. A quick glance shows Bill practically melting off it onto the floor. Torso dangling, arm draped along the carpet.

More dramatics. Typical Bill. It’s not serious and Dipper doesn’t need to placate him. He has to remember that.

Instead, he stares at the text in front of him. Concentrating on it is a lost cause, but it’s better than meeting Bill’s eye. That just makes him uncomfortable.

It’s just.

Like, he can understand if having a guest sit around the house all the time is a bit boring. Bill’s used to higher stakes. More excitement, and explosions.

But Bill’s also a hypocrite, because Dipper’s absolutely caught him with his nose stuck in a volume or six of dense magical literature. He just shoves them under the couch cushions and pretends he was doing something cooler.

There’s a billion ways Bill could entertain himself, and ninety-nine point nine repeating percent of those options don’t require some random human to be involved. He could run off into any distant realm of reality. Pull some pranks in another galaxy, bamboozle some head of state on a random planet. And if he didn’t want to go out, he could stick around and torment some demons in the Fearamid.

Nothing is making him bring Dipper along for the ride. Hell, if he’s that desperate for this specific company, he could try out some peace and quiet. Sit on the couch, whip out a book, and spend time reading. All he has to do is stop putting up a front for like, five seconds.

Dipper watches as Bill slowly oozes onto the floor, about as liquid as a presumably flesh-and-bone demon shape can be.

Yeah. No way Bill’s going for the last one. But that’s not Dipper’s fault.

Seeing him sulk is kinda reassuring. Any time Bill spends complaining is time he’s not concocting a devious ploy, or taking up his hobbies of conquest or slaughter.

Best of all, it means this has nothing to do with Dipper. Aside from being convenient to complain at.

Because Dipper is special. He’s there for a reason.

In the fullness of time, he’ll be tangled up in some complicated, demonic scheme. Designed for him by fate, and handled by a master of machinations. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while - but apparently it’s not happening today.

Right now Bill’s just being obnoxious. Just like every other day that ends in ‘y’.

Judging by his slumped position, Bill also doesn’t look like he’s getting up anytime soon. Maybe…

‘What’s wrong?’ Dipper traces the letters with his finger. A thin glowing line left behind in its wake.

He’s still learning the hand gesture language, with a limited vocabulary, but he already knows how to write. Learning a little illusion magic has been useful, and Bill wasn’t even a jerk about it. Much.

The words hover in midair, alight with white-blue light. Dipper waits for a few seconds, then frowns.

The downside of writing to Bill is that he has to see it to respond. The big sulky demon god is too busy contemplating the pile on the carpet to pay attention.

Dipper’s frown turns into a glare.

A snap of his fingers makes a bright burst of light, sharp as a flashbang. Bill jerks up from his liquid position like he was never out of shape.

“What’s up, sapling?” Bill rolls onto his side to lounge, head propped up on one raised arm. Likely aiming for suave, but with his legs still on the couch it just looks stupid. “Are you as bored as I am?”

“No,” Dipper writes, then again, “What’s wrong?”

“Pfft, nothing! Don't be ridiculous.” Bill says, letting his legs slide down to join him on the floor. “I got everything under control here.”

That’s ominous. Dipper didn’t even imply that something might be out of control.

“What-” Dipper continues. Then hesitates. “You seem antsy.”

Bill snorts. Though Dipper knows he doesn’t have any trouble reading backwards script, he doesn’t offer a reply.

Not helpful. Classic Bill. And he’s avoiding the question. Dipper slumps in his seat.

Trying to make Bill admit there’s a problem won’t work. He could spend a million years on that quest and still get evaded.

With that in mind, Dipper taps his foot on the floor a few times. Redirection, then. He tries, “Who messed up?”

“Ha!” Bill claps once, grin resuming its rightful place. “Astutely observed, sapling. You wouldn’t believe the amount of incompetence I gotta deal with on the daily.”

Dipper nods in sympathy, rolling his eyes when Bill’s not looking. Then he sits back, an audience for the oncoming speech.

“You’d think that one simple request wouldn’t be tough to pull off.” Rising to his feet, Bill tucks his arms behind his back and starts pacing. “But no! Apparently the losers for hire these days take over two weeks to manage one tiny,” He pinches his fingers together. “Itsy bitsy little request! Even with encouragement!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow.

The type of ‘encouragement’ Bill typically offers would light a fire under anyone’s ass. The fact that it hasn’t says a lot.

For a short while, Bill simply paces back and forth. He looks like he’s about to say something, glancing at Dipper - then he turns away, eye narrowed. “I hate waiting.”

Yeah, no kidding. All evidence points to Dipper getting the most patient version of this creature, when others barely get seconds to respond. He punched him in the face and he’s still around to tell the tale.

Other beings aren’t so lucky. Even for minor infractions, or just ‘looking funny’ at him.

Dipper should know. He scraped plenty of their viscera off the other day.

Writing something to placate Bill would get him huffy. Asking a question… Dipper has a sense that he’d deflect. If Bill wanted to go into greater detail, nothing would stop him from spilling the beans.

So instead of any of that, Dipper smiles.

Like always, Bill responds with one of his own. Everything about him brightens, like flipping a switch.

“Eh, whatever. It’s no big deal!” Sauntering over, Bill leans against the back of the chair. His arm dangles down to brush the back of Dipper’s head. “Word is they’re finally done with the job. Should be here any day now!”

Bill’s playing a bit with Dipper’s hair, but he doesn’t come any closer. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because the high back of the chair prevents him.

Tough luck for Bill. This seat is comfy and all, but Dipper really picked it because it made it hard for him to loom.

Disobeying his god’s will is, of course, blasphemous, insolent, and absolutely forbidden.

But Bill doesn’t care. And frankly - Dipper doesn’t care much anymore, either.

Making Bill work for what he wants feels right. Appropriate.

Every time Bill runs right into a roadblock, watching him grumble and scheme his way around it is honestly kinda fun. Giving Bill something to work around seems to entertain him, and for Dipper - it almost feels righteous to thwart him. He’s kind of getting the hang of it. aside from the occasional burst of guilt.

Overall, Dipper’s really, really glad he read all those books.

The mini-library in the guest room has been an amazing resource. Not only for magic, but for the Fearamid, and monsters. It’s helped him brush up on his Latin and learn a bunch of spells.

He also learned that Bill probably didn’t stock these for him. No, these were there well before Dipper ever showed up.

Though Bill tries to hide it, he likes books. The guest room ones wouldn’t be of much interest; the magical material’s too basic for him to care. Of course Bill would have flipped through them anyway, but if anything truly bothered him, he’d have pruned the collection, merely for his pride.

But Bill either didn’t notice - or didn’t care - about the anecdotes.

Sprinkled in those studious texts are dozens of tiny notes. Between every monster examination, or explanation of a complicated magical theory, there are mentions of Bill himself. A sentence scribbled in the margins, or a short paragraph explaining how Bill ‘thought it was stupid’ or ‘helped with this part’. All written with a steady, studious hand.

There’s nothing about Bill’s powers, or his domains. No sense of any weaknesses or strengths. Some anecdotes are a little funny, some a little strange, but for any academic or enemy purposes they’d barely be worth reading.

To Dipper, they’ve been absolutely invaluable.

They speak volumes about Bill’s personality.

That’s totally critical information if you have to deal with the demon himself. Reading between the lines revealed traits Dipper never learned in sermons.

How Bill loves a good joke. How he’s temperamental, but easygoing as long as he thinks he’s in charge. The kinds of things one can get away with, if they’re clever. All of it written with absolute confidence, oozing a type of exasperated affection that leaps off the page.

Someone lived in that room before. A human. A guy who knew Bill, who did tons of fascinating stuff - and that guy got away with way more defiance than is rational or reasonable.

Though that must have been centuries ago. The books are really old.

There’s a low hum behind him. Dipper can feel the chair rock a bit, as Bill either tests its balance - or whether he can rip the back off, in service of more efficient human-bothering.

Another one of Bill’s personality traits. One Dipper could have guessed by himself.

He loves being the center of attention.

“Hmmm,” Bill hums again, stalking around Dipper with a contemplative look. Circling much like sharks are said to, though thankfully without the testing bites. Treating this more like a puzzle than an act of defiance.

Looks like the chair is giving him some trouble. Even though he offered to create the seat since Dipper wouldn’t join him on the couch. If anything he’s at fault for making it an option.

With a huff, Dipper shifts until his back is pressed against the cushion. Bill pauses in his circling to inspect the new position, tilting his head.

Once Dipper saw a video of a tiger in its cage, rolling a pumpkin filled with raw meat. It seemed like it was having a lot of fun, batting it around and biting into the flesh.

Bill might not mind some defiance, if it serves a similar purpose.

Before Dipper can wonder what amount of it fits the - well, bill - he’s interrupted by a foot stomping on the seat.

Dipper claps the book shut. Leaning away, he stares at the leg beside him.

Bill’s taken his shoe off and stepped right onto his chair. His three-eyed monkey-patterned sock, toes wiggling, trying to nudge itself under Dipper’s thigh.

What the hell is this supposed to accomplish? Dipper glares upwards at a bright, bold grin.

“What’s the big deal? It’s my chair, technically speaking!” Bill winks with his single eye, tenuously balanced as he barges into Dipper’s personal space. His foot finds a weak place and slips between Dipper’s thigh and the cushion. “Scoot your cute butt and make some space.”

It’s a big deal because it’s rude, for one. And second, Dipper’s not scooting anywhere.

Drawing his legs up in an attempt to kick Bill’s out fails spectacularly. A whole calf gets wedged underneath him. Bill’s straddling the arm of the chair, his idiot bulky leg nearly shoving Dipper out of it.

Shoving him back just makes him laugh. And work harder.

It’s a tense ten, maybe twenty seconds of squirming struggle. No matter how Dipper tries to use balance or leverage, he ends up with more inches of Bill underneath him.

This is ridiculous. Bill has an entire couch to himself. He can make furniture appear and disappear out of nowhere. If he wants a damn chair, he could just create one.

But. That’s not the point, is it?

He wants Dipper’s seat because he’s not allowed to have it. The desirability is directly tied to the difficulty of obtaining it, with a side of annoying a human to boot. Dipper could be lying on a bed of nails and Bill would still tip him out, just to get his kicks.

He’s not even sitting in the chair at this point, merely hovering while using the arm for balance. Trying to plop back down would land him more on Bill than on cushion.

Screw it. Dipper cedes his position with as much dignity as possible. Standing up tugging the rolled-up flannel sleeves down his arms.

The newest conquest of Bill Cipher: One seat in the living room. Dipper hopes he’s real happy about it.

Funny thing though. In the process, he left his own throne unguarded.

Dipper stalks towards the couch - he doesn’t like the material it’s made of, but it’s either make a point or start huffing off to his own room -

Only to be hauled right back in.

The grip on his hips is firm and fast enough that Dipper doesn’t have time to resist. Butt hits thigh, then gets tugged further back until he’s fully, unquestionably, in Bill’s lap.

He just got out of the chair. Bill had won. What the hell.

Dipper gives him an incredulous look, and Bill responds with a big, self-satisfied smile.

“Well, well, well,” Bill says, dripping smugness so thick that Dipper could wipe it off in globs. “Look what we have here.”

The only reply he’s getting for that is a grunt. While this isn’t the first dumb stunt Bill’s pulled, Dipper knows better than to react. It only eggs him on.

Of all the people Dipper’s met, Bill Cipher is by far the most touchy. The closest runnerup is a few lightyears away.

Even now, his arms loop loosely around Dipper’s waist, patting him on the side. He’s warm and close, in an alive way, not like a warm bed or a shower, or even a seat that was sat in before.

It’s… not unpleasant. Not exactly. Dipper shifts around, trying to settle into his new ‘seat’ on Bill’s thighs. It’s just -

Damn it, he doesn’t know what it is. Touching someone else isn’t bad, Dipper has to admit that - but it makes him too aware of himself. Feeling every way he positions his arms, or moves his weight. Like remembering he can breathe manually, with an extra uneasy sense that someone might catch him in the act.

Bill’s unbothered. But basically nothing bothers him. He’s chummy and touchy and weird, the concept of ‘guilt’ might not even fit in his head.

Something about Bill just... Makes Dipper think too much. Makes him weirdly restless. Like he’s doing something wrong - but also like he’s totally going to get away with it. A tense energy that builds slowly over time, until he either has to escape, or like. Explode or something.

It’s probably Bill’s magic. He should rein that in better. It’s far too strong to dunk an entire human in all the time.

“Ah, ease up already.” Bill says, clapping Dipper’s thigh with a startling motion, squeezing him just above the knee. “You still got a seat, only it’s better.” His voice grows quieter, close to Dipper’s ear. “Don’tcha like it?”

His breath is warm. It tickles. Dipper barely avoids slapping him in the rush to cover his neck.

Which doesn’t bother Bill. In fact, he laughs. Dipper has a sneaking suspicion that even if he had smacked him, he’d be outright cackling, because again, total weirdo.

Across the room, there’s a wordless, agonized scream.

Dipper nearly leaps upright, kept in place only by an instantly tightened grip. Bill snaps towards the sound, looking surprised.

Ah, right. The doorbell.

That goddamn sound. Even when Dipper knows what it is, the temptation to run for cover is as strong as the first time.

“Oh for - “ Bill draws a hand down his face. “Had to be right now, didn’t it.” His leg jogs in place as Dipper tries to get up. “Hey, hey, hold up! Where do you think you’re going?”

Off his lap, duh. With someone at the door, Bill has to get up anyway. Not that he’s making it easy.

Dipper takes the initiative to pry himself away - or attempts to, until Bill clamps back down without even looking at him.

This is getting ridiculous. He can’t hang on to one human forever.

When the doorbell screams again, Bill looks downright sour.

“Ughhh.” Bill groans, standing without warning. It nearly topples Dipper over. “Yeah, yeah, hang on, will ya?”

Giving Dipper a brief pat on the small of his back, Bill stomps over to the door. Another scream rings through the penthouse, then again, the sounds overlapping.

Freedom. Finally. Out of sheer pettiness, Dipper drops down to reclaim his rightful seat.

Still, he’s curious.

From this position he can’t quite see the doorway. Only the sight of Bill’s back, storming towards it.

There haven’t been many visitors. When Bill wants demon interaction, he heads outside the apartment. The only other time someone rang the doorbell, they brought some big weird box Bill grabbed before kicking the delivery guy to the curb.

Yet another interesting fact, filed away in his personal Bill folder. That he gets deliveries. He doesn’t make everything out of nothing. Maybe he can’t.

Which means even in his own personal realm, Bill Cipher isn’t totally omnipotent. Another knock to his all-powerful status. Not a big one. Bill’s still so close to a god that it might as well not make a difference.

But it does. To Dipper, it does. Knowing that not everything bends to Bill’s will feels…

He’s just glad he’s not alone in that, he guesses.

Off in the distance, Bill opens the door. His frown flips right into a smirk - then he steps outside, and shuts it.

Probably another package. He looked extra smug about the last one, like he’d been waiting for it for a while. This follows the last one.

Dipper leans over, staying seated. With the door closed he can’t see anything, and if they’re having a conversation, he can’t hear it.

Secrets. Smugness. The mentions of ‘errands’ earlier, and the waiting -

Bill’s up to something.

The Grand Plans of Bill Cipher are invisible to those outside his circle. His divine machinations are how he leads his followers and manipulates the masses. All eventually leading together into the Grand Goal: the subjugation of Earth, illuminated eternally under his golden image.

Though if conquering a world involves internet delivery, it’s a lot less dramatic than it was made out to be.

Dipper lets his head thump back against the seat cushion.

Not that, then. Something else.

Pretending Bill isn’t up to something would be dumb at best, and Dipper’s not the type to ignore evidence right in front of him. Getting strange deliveries. Rubbing his hands together and cackling to himself, the fact that he’s Bill Cipher - all of it points towards a plan. A poorly hidden, minor one, but still.

None of the scriptures he learned are accurate, according to the god himself - and Bill’s kept mum about any new escapades. Without clues to go on, all Dipper can do is speculate.

Eventually, Bill will show his hand. An offhand comment, or an extra-bizarre set of actions. Until then, he’ll have to keep an eye out for Bill acting weird.

Well. Weirder.

And hope, rather nervously, that he’s not too deeply involved.

Dipper sets the book aside, folding his hands in his lap. He looks back at the door, then over the living room.

The fireplace in front of him crackles with warmth, typical fire-colored flames lapping up into the nonexistent chimney. The flannel shirt he’s wearing is almost too warm, but he keeps it tucked around him anyway. Under his weight, the chair’s cushions sink around him, sturdy yet soft. Rich and opulent and comfortable.

Despite how strange it is here. How confusing, weird, and occasionally frustrating…

Living with Bill doesn’t suck.

The other shoe is going to fall at some point. That unpreventable, oncoming disaster. Dipper’s always worried about it, he never won’t be.

But right here, and right now, he’s…

Not safe. Never safe, not around a god and demon. But maybe close enough to feel that way, sometimes.

Despite the fact that it’s impossible - if things could stay like this, then -

His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden loud slam. Which is. The door. Right.

Dipper pries his nails out of the arms of the chair. He shuts his eyes, and lets out a slow, careful breath. He needs to stop flinching, damn it.

He hears Bill’s cackling laughter rings through the room, loud and bright. Dipper rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat.

Alright. Time to make some mental notes.

What’s Bill up to now?

If it’s anything like the last package, he’s going to act all mysterious about it, while also implying Dipper should be very curious and intrigued. Then never answer literally any question and giggle before running away. Both stupid and annoying.

“Finally! I’ve waited way too long for this,” Bill says. There’s a package wrapped in brown paper, tucked under his arm. He rubs his hands together, looking Dipper over with anticipation. “Paid a pretty penny for it, too.”

Dipper runs over a slew of options - subtle, hinting. Maybe if he throws in a smile, that’ll sway Bill into spilling a secret….

Fuck it, he’s in a good mood. Dipper just asks. Writing out, “What is that?”

“Oh, you’ll see. You’ll see.” Bill tosses the package aside - it floats in midair - then seizes Dipper by the shoulders. “Get yourself ready, sapling! Cause we’re doing this tonight.”

What.

Dipper tries for a smile. He tries to gesture out ‘My what’, and is immediately thwarted as Bill hauls him up from his seat; he grabs onto Bill’s arms so he’ll stop with the shaking.

Enthusiasm is nice and all, but seriously, what the hell?

The way Bill talks makes it sound like he was in on this. A co-conspirator, who should share his excitement about getting this delivery - Which wouldn’t be too bad, except he has no idea what’s going on.

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Bill tuts, chucking him gently under the chin. “Getting all the junk required was a pain to subcontract, lemme tell ya - but wait’ll you see the results! Your surprise is almost ready!”

A surprise. Just for him. How fantastic.

So much for not being involved.

Dragging his feet doesn’t help; Bill’s arm comes around his waist and pushes him along. If he dawdled any harder he might just be picked up.

Getting Bill’s attention fails, because he’s not looking. Gesturing words, writing them - nothing turns his head. He’s laser focused on dragging Dipper up and towards his fate.

No, not ‘fate’. Surprise.

That could be bad. Really, really bad, or it… could be good. Some surprises are good. That’s within the realm of possibility.

Who the hell is he kidding. It’s never a good surprise, not even once.

Bill hums to himself, bright with energy and - now Dipper’s certain - deliberately ignoring the struggling human in his arms. He’s too busy pulling Dipper towards a doorway. One that wasn’t there a minute ago.

Dipper’s seen this happen before; it’s another part of the penthouse. Leading to a different, unknown part of the Fearamid.

He casts a longing glance back at his chair. Can’t they just do whatever it is in the living room.

“Now, to set the scene-” Bill says, opening the door wide.

Into a dark room, candle-lit. Sconces flicker with fire on the walls, draped red fabric over seats, and at the end - a large, flat mass of stone. Dipper goes very, very still.

“Whoops! Wrong setup.” Bill slams the door shut, flashing a grin at Dipper that entirely fails to be reassuring. He taps the doorknob a couple times. After a moment, he opens it again “Here we go!”

Clutching Bill’s arm tight, nails nearly cutting the fabric - Dipper gets a glimpse of white and black and gold, a bunch of tile - then shuts his eyes and digs in his heels into the carpet. Useless. Pointless. But a small, deliberate act of defiance.

“Not the most dramatic scenery, but eh, whatever.” Bill keeps talking, as casual as if he’d flipped to the wrong photo on his phone. Dipper’s socks skip on the carpet, then slide against the tile as Bill drags him forward. “There’s something to be said for easier clean up!”

Cleanup.

Dipper clenches his mouth shut, ducking his head and refusing to look. He can’t watch this again. Not ever. He’ll-

“Now stay here, sapling.” Bill pats his back twice, and Dipper hears his shoes clacking on tile as he walks away. “Gotta do some quick concocting, be about five minutes - and then we’re gonna have a great evening!”

Great for who, Dipper wants to ask. He wisely doesn’t. He doesn’t move an inch.

This is going to be bad.

Bill leaves, still cackling. Dipper stands where he is, eyes shut. Tucking his arms around himself, even though it isn’t cold.

This entire time, he’s known he was here for a purpose. That living here wasn’t some grand generous gesture, that Bill’s ulterior motive would rear its ugly head. He should have spent more time figuring it out. Learning how to escape it. He has a whole huge list of things and none of them are any goddamn help.

Bill said he was special. Gods don't grant that adjective without implications.

What little information he has gleaned isn’t useful. The last time Dipper asked, Bill just looked amused. Closing the distance between them with a slow, dangerous smile, repeating exactly what he said again, low and pleased.

Dipper had to go and sit in his nice quiet room after that. It made him really nervous. Not knowing what’s coming makes him nervous.

Okay, a lot of things make him nervous, but this time he has very good reasons to feel that way.

Time to think. Get ahead of whatever’s going on, and find a way out. What does Bill want?

It could be he was kidnapped from that particular sect because of… something something magic reasons. Anything could cause it. Maybe something in the ritual. What if whatever it did didn’t just summon Bill, but affected Dipper, now he’s roiling with sacrifice potential, he could -

He grips his wrist, tracing a thumb over the scar.

With the bandages gone and the stitches out, it’s nothing more than a line. Slightly raised from the rest of the skin, pink with healing.

No. Blood’s not the answer. That’s all staying inside.

But it is a major magical component, both literally and symbolically. If something else made Dipper weird, it’d show up like antibodies after an infection.

And Bill brought him into a special place for easy cleanup. If anything’s more ominous, Dipper sure as hell can’t think of it. This place with the shining tiles, and the cold floor, full of -

He hasn’t checked what it’s full of.

Swallowing dryly, Dipper takes in the clean surfaces, the shining tile, and all of the…

Bathtubs?

The one set in the floor is big enough for three people. Two are stuck into the walls, another bent ninety degrees to fit in the corner, and one on the ceiling, of all places. There’s a big, semi-transparent curtain around an alcove containing over eight showerheads. There’s a rubber duckie that has six wings and too many teeth.

This looks like a bathroom. One weird, physics defying, nonsensical - wait a minute -

On impulse, Dipper scoots over and picks up one of the bottles near the multi-headed shower. He sniffs at the cap.

Yeah. He knows this smell. It’s close enough to put a finger on. In that it’s put finger and palm and annoying arm around Dipper, all the freaking time.

He sets the bottle back down, setting fists on his hips. Glaring at his surroundings doesn’t make them change, but it does make him feel better.

This is Bill’s bathroom.

What kind of evil plan takes place in a bathroom.

Freaking out seems less reasonable and more a waste of time. Easy cleanup - was that literal, or another bad joke? Bill would think that crap was funny.

He breathes in, and then lets it out, slow and careful.

Obviously there’s still a purpose. Probably it’s not great.

Terror’s just hard to sustain when he’s wondering why Bill needs four different loofahs. His list of awful fates never involved shower gel.

Dipper shuffles back over to the sink - wishing he’d had shoes on, he nearly slips twice - and checks himself in the mirror.

He looks small and oddly colorful, out of place among the black-white tiling. Standing out like an awkward, human thumb.

Pulling some big, important move here doesn’t seem likely. The aesthetic’s terrible, Bill’d pick somewhere way cooler.

Overall the bathroom is kinda normal - by Bill standards - both fairly humid and warm. The air smells like shampoo and soap, instead of blood and magic.

Now, the altar room would have made sense. Human sacrifice, demonic soul-devouring, messy blood ritual - it’s a multipurpose setup. Getting dragged in there would have shortened Dipper’s list by a ton. Only to the goriest and most awful fates, but at least it would narrow it down.

Unless… this doesn’t have to do with why he was kidnapped.

Dipper frowns at his reflection.

Thinking about it, didn’t Bill suggest getting in the tub with him a few days ago? At the time Dipper thought that was a joke. Unless it wasn’t?

All this happened because Bill got a delivery. Something Bill couldn’t make for himself. He’s been planning this for a while, and he was really, really excited about it.

…Bath bombs better not be literal in this place. That’d be a stupid way to die.

As he stares in the mirror, his reflection looks back. Dipper looks tired, but mostly, kind of exasperated. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of both hands.

Yeah. Bill’s being Bill again.

And honestly? Could be worse. Dipper knows how to deal with a few random deific impulses by now. He can ride this one out, too.

Since Bill isn’t back though…

After that first panicked flight into Bill’s bedroom, Dipper hasn’t seen much of his private stuff. Staying clear of another incident took priority. Now, there’s an opportunity to investigate.

A close sweep reveals zero secrets, other than Bill using like, ten different skin products and a stupid amount of hair ones. The sharpest object in the entire place is a bunch of toothpicks and nail products. There isn’t even a razor in here.

In the middle of wondering how to bathe in the Rube Goldberg machine that passes for a shower, he hears the door open again.

“Here we are!” Bill says brightly. “Didja miss me? Admit it, you missed me.”

Dipper spins around with a start, socks skidding, and meets one of the biggest grins he’s ever seen. Which is saying something.

“No time to waste! I’ve got a whole evening laid out for us.” Bill says. He gestures in the air with a thin glass syringe. “And it all starts with this.”

Light glints off an absurdly large needle, thinned to an impossibly sharp point. The glass underneath swirls in a sickening cloud of grey-green fluid, dotted with tiny rainbow sparkles. Actually, the shower might not be good for bathing, but could be a good place to hide. There’s a lot of things to grab onto when someone tries to drag you back out.

“Hey hey hey!” Bill snags him by the waistband before he moves more than an inch. Almost like he anticipated the retreat. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, kid. This is gonna be great! You’ll love it!”

Dipper shakes his head rapidly. He makes an X with his arms. Neither of which stop Bill from pulling him in with relentless strength and terrible amusement.

Running’s off the table. Squirming away from Bill hasn’t worked literally any time he’s tried it, either - but that’s no reason to quit now. Even with Bill grunting and swearing as limbs flail and sorta-maybe accidentally on purpose get him in the gut, if Dipper can get to a faucet and make everything wet that’ll make it harder to hold-

“Calm down, Pine Tree.” Bill says, then sighs as Dipper’s elbow collides with his chest. “Don’t you want your tongue back?”

He’s got to -

What?

It’s surprising enough that Dipper stops. A little too fast, maybe; he should have toed his socks off earlier. If Bill weren’t holding onto him, his face might have hit the floor.

“Ha! Knew that’d get you listening.” Bill says smugly. With a quick tug, he gets Dipper back on his feet - primps his collar for him, in an annoying way - and winks. “You, me, your tongue - we’ll all get along famously, guaranteed.”

That’s not possible. That’s -

Dipper glares at this asshole for playing yet another game, and not a funny one at that. Bill beams back at him, and doesn’t elaborate.

“What, still a skeptic?” Bill raises an eyebrow. “Hello! I’m Bill friggin’ Cipher. You think a little body horror’s outta my purview?”

Okay, fine, but. But Dipper just figured out that Bill isn’t as much of a bigshot as he claims.

This is - has to be - another big fat stinking lie.

Before he can argue, Bill starts talking again. “See, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.” Tilting his head back, he looks up at the ceiling like he’s being thoughtful, instead of frustrating. He taps the terrifying syringe against his cheek. “And I figured - Hey! I don’t like fixing other people’s mistakes - but this screwup was too bad to ignore!”

A mistake, he says. A screwup.

Dipper bites his lip. Sure, Bill’s said those things before. But. He’s never even breathed the word ‘fix’.

This is something that he wants Dipper to believe. There’s no basis in reality. To bring this up now, out of absolute nowhere, is cruel and insane. There has to be a complication, it won’t be easy, or -

Possible. It’s not possible.

Dipper wants to slap himself; he grabs his shirt instead, holding it tight in balled fists.

This has been over with for a long, long time now. He screwed up, he got caught, and even if he didn’t deserve it then, well. What’s done is done. He’s learned to live with that. Been there, done all the steps of grief, despair and rage, bought the t-shirt.

Nobody could have stopped it. Nobody would do anything about it then, and won't now. Nobody was ever going to save him, or make things right.

Maybe Bill didn’t order this. Or condone it. It doesn’t matter.

None of that changed how things turned out.

Bill has been watching Dipper for a while. Not in an upset way, just curious. Like he’s reading Dipper’s mind - which he probably is - but hasn’t bothered to correct him. He catches Dipper’s gaze in the mirror and flashes a smile, before his face returns to semi-neutral.

Guess he isn’t going to fess up. That’s fine.

If this is Bill’s idiotic plan, getting Dipper worked up, he might as well know what the cruel, senseless motivation is. Or make it look as dumb as it clearly is.

Time to pick this ploy apart.

Unfortunately, that brief moment of hesitation bought Bill enough time to get behind him. His stupid face is so smug in the mirror’s reflection, and his palm is warm on Dipper’s waist.

Dipper grimaces, hunching his shoulders. He can’t let himself be swayed. Not to this insanity.

Some things just have to be cut off.

“It won’t work.” He writes.

“Bullshit.” Bill says flatly. He taps Dipper’s shoulder, slight irritation in his voice. “I didn’t put in this much effort and that much cash to make a friggin’ placebo.” A quick, semi-gentle shake. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing? That I’m some run-of-the-mill sucker? I deserve more credit than that!”

And - yes, hard to argue with. For all of Bill’s many flaws, he’s not truly stupid.

Still a liar, though. A fact proven over and over again. That he’s persisting with this one shows real commitment to the bit. This awful, prank that he’s -

…pretty damn excited about it. Practically bursting with enthusiasm, bright and eager to move on with things. Like regrowing a body part is like running a quick, exciting errand. Like it’d be simple. Dipper wonders if it is, before glaring in the mirror again.

It’s the confidence. Bill always acts like could stride forward into any situation, and no matter what, the forces of his magic and his ego will come out on top. He’s so certain of himself it’s downright convincing.

Damn it. Dipper rubs at his eyes.

Overthinking, again. Leading him to the train of thought Bill wanted him to take. Now he’s finding it hard to derail.

And - and besides, even if Bill could do it, he would have earlier, wouldn’t he? Would have fixed things as soon as he knew. He waited with bated breath to hear Dipper speak, that expectant look started from day one. Spoken at length about how much he hates the tongue situation, too. It’s like it bothers him more than Dipper at this point, which is so weird that it almost loops back around to make sense. He would have used anything he had on hand -

Dipper looks up. His own face in the mirror stares back at him, wide-eyed.

Unless he didn’t have it on hand.

The packages.

Another glance at Bill’s face shows the same expression, maybe a little more intrigued. It might even pass for reassuring, if he wasn’t holding a needle sized more for puncturing cat-sized butterflies than any medical procedure.

Bill can’t do everything. Only mostly everything. Dipper’s seen that firsthand.

And when he does have everything he needs for a plan, he snatches the first possible opportunity to pull it off.

It’s -

Dipper can’t. He needs more information.

‘What’s in that’, He writes the words in the air. Legible, if shaky.

“Eh, you got your hydra plasma, some troll platelets, unicorn spit,” Bill casually lists off the ingredients with practiced ease, flicking the side of the syringe. “Some stuff of my own design - and a few drops of your blood.”

His - Dipper pats himself, checking his arms, his torso. Nothing hurts, and he hasn’t noticed new scabs. Surely he would have seen Bill coming over to -

Another snort. “Uh, hello? You left plenty around the place when I stitched you up, kid. It was hardly in short supply.”

Another bit of truth; it did kinda go everywhere. And Bill would save some, like a creep.

Dipper rubs at his wrist, reminding himself that it’s absurd to be embarrassed about getting an arm slashed open.

“I get why you’re not jazzed, kid. Not a fan of mouth stuff after your last big show, am I right?” Bill moves to sling an arm around his shoulders, missing as Dipper ducks and slides closer to the sink. He holds his arm out wide instead. “But think about the benefits! Don’tcha wanna talk again? Taste again? All the other stuff?”

Yeah, of course Dipper does. He’s thought about it over and over and over.

He remembers what it was like. Moving around. Talking. How food tasted better, in that he could taste something without it nearly being in the back of his throat. All those aching nights feeling a deep literal emptiness, clamping his teeth shut as if it’d make the yawning gape feel more complete.

Staying awake, with a burn he couldn’t swallow and a pain that wouldn’t stop.

He was up night after night after night, hanging with those thoughts. Hoping for something entirely out of reach.

Eventually it was easier to stop thinking about it.

When he dreams, he still has his tongue.

“After all this time, you got the solution right here! In a solution, conveniently invented by yours truly.” Bill claps a hand to his chest, grinning from behind Dipper in the mirror. “Give it a shot! Literally!”

The ceramic of the sink is cold. Dipper’s holding onto it too hard, his knuckles are starting to hurt.

He’s so tired of hurting.

“Or, y’know. Stick with the super happy situation you have going on right now.” Bill makes a face, sticking out his own tongue before blowing a raspberry. He lowers the syringe. “Your choice.”

Before Bill’s arm can fully fall, Dipper seizes him by the wrist. He doesn’t know when he moved, fast enough that even Bill looks surprised.

Gotta calm down. Think about this rationally.

There's an all-powerful demon. A smart, conniving asshole, who spent time and effort on a completely crazy plan in this unearthly, magical realm. Carrying an evil implement of unknown origins, wanting to stick it right into his face.

Because he’s been planning this. He played the long game. Bill’s been wanting to hear from him for ages, and he’s anything but stupid.

If there was ever a place this could work, it would be here.

Despite everything. The position he’s in, the man standing behind him, and his own internal swearing at himself -

Dipper feels a flutter of long-extinguished hope.

A million things could go wrong with this. As far as he knows, he might have like, his head exploded instead of a good result. He could grow five tongues instead of one, or maybe it’ll come out rainbow colored or everything will taste like blood forever. He shouldn’t go along with this. It’s going to suck and be dumb and there’s no real guarantees.

Also, that needle is fucking terrifying. Another reason not to let Bill do whatever he wants.

Dipper shuts his eyes briefly, then writes, ‘Will it hurt?’

“Yep!”

The expression on Dipper’s face must alert him to how bad that answer was, because for a brief moment Bill looks chagrined. He glances away, clearing his throat.

“Look. We’re talking about a piece of flesh smaller than a pack of playing cards.” Pinching his fingers together, Bill squints through the gap. “So what if it’s not a great time? It’ll take like twenty seconds! A minute, tops.”

In the mirror, Dipper watches his reflection’s shoulders drop just a bit. He breathes out through his nose, and rolls his eyes.

That… really shouldn’t be reassuring.

Only it is, because Bill didn’t sugarcoat it.

He could have claimed it was a totally painless process, or tried to deflect and change the subject. Which would set off Dipper’s bullshit alarm pretty much instantly. Leaving him to wonder exactly how bad this would be.

As it stands, Dipper’s betting that ‘not a great time’ actually means ‘will horribly, horribly suck’. And it’s still better than being lied to.

Another question. “And then what?”

“Then the fun starts, kid! I got a lot of ideas for activities, once you got the ol’ wiggler back in your yap.”

Not what he was asking; Dipper elbows him none-too-gently in the stomach.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill grumbles a bit, then sighs. “Yes, it’s gonna hurt, you’re gotta shed some scar tissue,” He lifts a few fingers with each point, “Lotta bleeding and liquids and whatever. But super simple! Don’t chicken out now!”

A minute of agony. That’s it. Straightforward. Temporary. Super easy.

Dipper’s palm slips on the sink; he wipes his sweating hands on his pants. He’s standing on the floor but he has to grab the sink again to stave off a swelling sense of vertigo.

If it’s as quick as Bill says, he can handle that, maybe. If it works.

It better work.

“Remember, Pine Tree! All the benefits! Like talking! Midnight snacks!” Bill chimes in, sounding too much like a used car salesman to be truly convincing. “Attempting to stick it up your nose, getting it stuck to a lamppost in winter, making out with handsome immortals! Everything you’ve been missing out on.”

Dipper knows all of those, or - most of them. Bill doesn’t need to tempt him, he gets it already.

He just. Needs a minute. To think some more about the implications and all the details and such. A little more time and he’ll have his head on straight.

“We might even take a trip to your old cult.” The thump of a hand on Dipper’s shoulder has him tense, briefly, before relaxing again. “Dontcha wanna let ‘em know exactly how dumb that move was?” His voice lowers, quieter but closer. “Imagine the looks on their faces when you tell ‘em - out loud! - that they could never hold you back.“

Dipper looks up.

Of all the scenarios he’d dreamed about, that had never entered the picture. Too impossible even for a daydream. Stupid and self-indulgent and insane. Only a madman would think of it.

In the mirror, Bill’s eye has gone very bright. Leaning over Dipper, and muttering right into his ear.

Dipper writes, “Do it.”

“Finally!” Bill lets out a breath, a tension dropping that Dipper didn’t notice until it was gone. He beckons him in. “Alright. Show me the ol’ lingual stump there, sapling.”

In the second Dipper needs to parse that, Bill’s already turned him around. With a bright grin, he makes an odd gesture at his chin; it takes a second to get.

Right. For Bill to stick that huge thing in there, Dipper has to open his mouth.

A simple motion. Dipper can manage. The first thing to do is stop clenching his teeth together.

With effort, and a bit of struggle, Dipper lowers his jaw and tilts his head back. Bill takes hold of it, and Dipper deliberately doesn’t go tense. Watching the syringe lift into his vision, as shining bright as the grin on Bill’s face.

He shuts his eyes tight. He might have to feel it, but Bill can’t make him watch.

As Bill gets into position, he keeps up a tuneless cheerful hum. Dipper tries his best not to picture it. The way Bill’s probably loving the entire situation, even when this is gonna suck.

“You’re gonna feel a little pinch here.” Bill says, peppy as ever, and something stabs into the stump of his tongue.

On instinct Dipper tries to jerk his head away, but struggling against the grip Bill has on him - fuck, moving only makes it hurt more. And that awful groaning sound, he realizes, is him. Strangled and inhuman, ringing against the tile and in his own ears.

Fighting - not this time. He has to let this happen, let it -

A moment later his teeth clink on thin metal, and he realizes with a start that the needle was probably that long so he wouldn’t bite Bill’s fingers off.

“There we go!” Bill sounds delighted. The needle slips back out, almost nonchalantly, as he hums a little tune to himself. “Great job, sapling. Not much left now!”

Dipper blinks rapidly; his vision’s gone blurry and he tries to clear his throat.Thank fuck, the first part’s over with.

The rest better not be too long. Better not hurt much more. The back of his mouth feels like he’s been stung by a bee, a hot and growing ache. Touching the underside of his jaw with cool fingers helps for a brief moment, but it’s only cool on the outside.

And it spreads. Fast. Down his neck. Up into his jaw. A stinging heat, rising and expanding.

Dipper clamps his jaw shut, teeth grinding, but the pressure’s barely a distraction. This - he grabs onto Bill’s arm, shaking it hard.

“What?” Bill looks nonplussed. He tilts his head to the side. “I toldja it would hurt!”

Yeah, but he could have been more descriptive.

More pressure helps; a hand on his throat, one over his mouth. The burn builds, like bile rising in his throat, like acid. Like he swallowed fire, spreading down his throat and up into his face and nose; his eyes start watering.

Throat bobbing, trying to swallow, Dipper wants to make a sound, but doesn’t dare. Not when things are moving in his mouth with increasing wetness, thick and metallic, just like - god, he’s such an idiot. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted him, never should have let him touch him, ever or at all, not if this was the result.

“Don’t hold it in, kid!” Bill says brightly, adding a light smack on the back of his head that sends him leaning over the sink. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

It’s so, so bad. Like his head is going to explode, like his throat will shut; it’s hard to breathe. The throb redoubles, then triples, mouth so full his cheeks are going to split open, why does Bill sound so calm.

Leaning over was a good idea though.

Dipper opens up over the clean white porcelain, blood pouring out of his mouth. More than he thought could come out, even after the last time. A sick flood partly mingled with clear fluid, spiraling into a pink swirl in the basin.

Which. Does help with the pain. The disgusting torrent washes away the ache, even as it makes a miniature murder scene in the sink. Dipper’s whole head feels like it’s bursting, his nose is running, he spits and gags, and a thick chunk of grey-red fleshy gunk splats into the basin.

He spits again - his jaw throbs with pain, but there’s less liquid this time. A couple more times and it’s dry. His head feels clearer, more headache than fire - and says “What the fuck.”

Then he jerks his head up, staring at his reflection.

What he just heard. That wasn’t Bill.

The Dipper in the mirror stares back at him, wide-eyed and pale in the face. Chin wet with blood and unknowable fluids, some dripping on his shirt.

Behind him Bill stares in starry-eyed, open-mouthed delight.

“What the fuck,” Dipper repeats, watching his mouth move in the mirror - and claps his hands over it. Bill claps his hands rapidly, like a huge, yellow, demonic seal.

Dipper said that.

His voice. Strangely deeper than he remembers, resonating in his own head.

The pain is fading, fairly quickly. A thin sweat is cooling on his skin. Pulling his sleeve over his chin only gets about half the mess off. As the pain fades he’s aware that his whole face feels gross.

In the first actually helpful move of the evening, Bill turns the sink on for him.

Splashing his face with warm water feels good. Refreshing. Especially scrubbing away the slick mucus and sticky blood. He has to spit again a couple of times; the inside of his mouth feels so thick.

Then he feels a heavy clap on his back, one that drifts up to tousle his hair. Bill starts laughing. “Ha! Toldja it wouldn’t be so bad, kid. How ya feeling?”

What a question. How to answer.

There’s simply too much feeling. His mouth is full. Like he put too much food in there, but it’s not - not bad? Weirdly wet and taking up so much space. Like… a really new big finger he can wiggle around. Touching it to every single tooth in his mouth, and tapping it against the roof, and feeling - no, tasting - a strange, metallic tang that makes him want to spit again.

Was Dipper’s mouth always this wet? He thinks he needs to brush his teeth. There’s ridges and bumps and - he winces as he bites down a little too hard.

Strange yet familiar sensations. Feeling and touching and tasting. Not a distant memory that he focused on too hard. Not a dream.

In disbelief, Dipper sticks his tongue out.

The air is cool and tastes like nothing, aside from the bizarre feeling of his tongue drying out. There’s no extra tentacles, no visible scars. He only sprouted one rather than seven, and it’s not forked or some bizarre color. Just pink and damp and round.

Hell, there’s even the birthmark, just like before. Like it was never missing.

Tentatively, he presses a finger against the surface - yep, that’s real. Also, he can taste himself touching it. Which isn’t bad, but is super weird.

“Huh.” Bill says. Soft, almost surprised.

Dipper glances up in the mirror. There’s a weirdly contemplative look on Bill’s face, which blossoms moments later into a grin.

“So that’s where that was!” Bill says. A second finger joins Dipper’s, touching the mark. “Pretty cute!”

Dipper’s tongue zips back inside at the first tap. He claps a hand over his mouth, glaring back at Bill.

Welp, now he knows what ‘god’ tastes like. It’s skin, with a hint of soap. At least Bill washed his hands first.

The move was also annoying enough that he almost forgot that truly out-of-nowhere comment. Almost.

Dipper narrows his eyes, and asks, “Where what was?”

Okay. Just kinda blurted that one out.

He touches his throat, rubbing his palm against the soft flesh. Then his mouth, pressing fingers on his lips.

Three more words. He’s speaking words.

Flexing a muscle he hasn’t had in ages comes with fewer issues than he’d imagined. His voice is a little creaky, but his tongue moves just fine. One relief there; he’d worried he’d need to learn everything again.

“Eh, it’s nothing.” Bill lies. With a flourish, he pulls Dipper around so they’re face to face. “Now, what about you?”

Dipper opens his mouth again. Then he catches Bill’s expression, and shuts it.

Of all the smiles he’s seen on Bill’s face - angry, smug, arrogant, amused, excited - none of the others compare.

This one seems genuine.

“Ahem.” Bill clears his throat. “So! Any first words for your very handsome host and healer, here?” His single eye flutters, like he’s trying a coquettish bat. “Maybe a thank you? A ‘you’re so great’?”

There’s the expectant look again.

One of the first things Dipper learned about Bill Cipher - he wanted Dipper to talk to him. An insane request for an unknowable reason, from an equally insane and unknowable being. So far they’ve made due with other methods, communication has improved, but at the end of the day -

Bill really wanted this. A lot.

Now what the hell should Dipper say?

He rolls his tongue around, trying out silent syllables without opening his mouth. The words came so easily when he wasn’t thinking; now they’re all scrambled around in his head.

The first thing he says should mean something. Be important. They should be - not devoted, Bill hates that. It should -

No, wait. He knows the answer.

Dipper turns around, bracing himself on the sink.

When he smiles, it’s not because Bill expects it, or because he thinks he should. Just because he wants to.

“Hi, Bill.”

And Bill bursts out laughing, high and delighted.

“Ha ha ha!” With startling swiftness he scoops Dipper up, raising high and swinging him in a circle. Dipper grabs at his arms, his heel clips the sink as they twirl. “Finally!”

Two disorienting turns later, Dipper hits the floor again, only for Bill pulls him into a tight, unmistakable hug.

Dipper goes still for a moment, squished by strong arms - then fumbles, awkwardly, to pat Bill’s back in return. That’s what people in hugs do, right.

Normal people probably don’t get squeezed like someone’s trying to pop them, though. A few seconds in he thumps Bill on the back, until the jerk finally remembers mortals aren’t so durable.

“Nice to hear from you again, kid! Not much flair to your intro, but we can work on style later.” Bill holds him out at arm’s length, looking him up and down. “So! Now that you’ve got your tongue back, whaddya say we give that thing a workout?”

For a split second, Dipper wonders how tiny a barbell that would take, and how it would even work, before remembering that’s insane. Those aren’t a real thing.

Then he remembers that he’s hanging out with Bill Cipher, so. Hopefully it’s a very small barbell.

Before he can ask or write the question, though, Bill seizes his wrist again. Dipper shakes his arm - no good, as always. Still worth doing.

Surprisingly, Bill snorts - then lowers his grip, taking Dipper’s hand instead. He squeezes that once, because everything’s a stress ball to him, then goes right back to dragging Dipper around like a toy wagon.

Matching his pace this time, Dipper follows in his wake. They leave the bathroom quickly, fading into a long, elegant hallway.

Glancing around the place - opulent, check, grandiose, obviously - Dipper looks down at their joined hands and frowns.

So much for getting any context. Bill’s just. Going to do the physically impossible, celebrate it, then move right onto the next thing. Without looping Dipper in on any part.

As Bill reaches his target - another door, big and fancy and frankly tiring in how much Bill’s clearly showing off - Dipper grips his hand tighter.

No, wait. If he remembers right, this time there was a clue.

Earlier, Bill said there was a surprise for him. The tongue had to be that, but then… there was an entire evening he wanted to get to. A series of events, perhaps. Knowing Bill, each one’s more bizarre and frightening than the last.

“Hey!” Bill snaps his fingers, and tugs Dipper’s hand. He’s backing into the new room, grin alight as he spreads his arm wide. “Get outta your head and in here already.”

Shrugging, Dipper follows him in. After the last ‘surprise’, nothing’s going to catch him off guard. He doubts it’ll be as out of nowhere, or as bloody. Bill’s set a pretty high bar.

This time, the room is… Dipper pauses.

Dining room. Big table, the super long kind from medieval times, fancy tablecloth and chairs and heaped upon it, so much food.

Taking his tongue out didn’t ruin his other senses; it smells fantastic in here. The spread is lavish and vast, piled way too high for any two people to possibly finish. Like everything Bill has, it’s over-the-top and way too grand.

Dipper feels a sharp pang in his chest as he remembers he won’t be able to -

Wait, no. Not anymore.

He rolls his tongue around in his mouth - still weird - and swallows. He rubs at his throat, and glances, carefully, at Bill.

That gets a smile, and a fairly smug wink. Bill clicks his tongue twice, gesturing him over to the table.

Things click into place. Exercise. An evening plan.

Bill set this up for the express purpose of using his tongue on stuff, which is, mostly, duh, eating.

As Dipper hesitates, Bill rolls his eye. “What’s with the holdup? You’ve got a major sensory organ back!” He nudges Dipper forward to the table. Pulling out a chair, he gestures with a flourish for him to sit. “Why not enjoy it?

Refusing would be rude, Dipper guesses. He takes the offered seat, then braces himself on the table as Bill pushes the chair in, patting his shoulders.

A moment later Bill’s taken his own seat right next to him, looking pleased. “Whatd’ya think of the spread? ” He waves over the table, nearly knocking over a candlestick in the process. “Anything catch your eye?”

It’d be easier to list what doesn’t. There’s too much.

Dipper’s only read about half of these dishes, and there’s a solid quarter he’s never even heard about. Bowls of noodles and a whole roast something that he can’t identify; platters of pasta and fried tidbits, a whole board full of cheeses, green vegetables piled high -

His mouth is watering. Like, a lot. A strange sensation, though not unpleasant.

“Go on! All yours, sapling.” Bill scoots his chair a little closer, grinning wide. “Have anything you want.”

How does he manage to make an invitation sound ominous? Dipper side-eyes him as he slowly picks up a fork.

What to choose. What will Bill let him have. To start with he’ll go for something simple; nothing that would be funny to yank out of his hand.

Now to just… narrow down the dozens of dishes into ones he can identify and probably aren’t poisoned.

Bill watches him fret for about thirty seconds, heaving a huge sigh. He plucks something up with his fork - some kind of noodle in green sauce - and tries to shove it right in Dipper’s mouth.

His jab takes out an eye instead of hitting the target as Dipper flinches. Some sauce smears on his cheek, Bill makes another stab at it. Before he can do any damage, Dipper seizes the fork out of his hand.

Alright, jeez, he gets the hint already. Being cautious is the smart thing to do here.

And what is this.

Pasta, obviously, though it’s a weird noodle shape. A green sauce when it should be red. It was handed to him by a crazy demon. Multiple reasons not to put it in his mouth.

But it looks pretty good, and it smells pretty great. Kind of herbal and rich, and - actually, Dipper’s really hungry, now that he’s thinking about it.

Fuck it. If he was going to get in trouble, it’d probably be that one time he punched Bill in the face, not for eating food he was nearly forcefed.

Here goes nothing.

Dipper opens his mouth, trying to ignore Bill staring. Carefully guiding the food past his lips.

And with a thump, he sets the fork down. Shutting his eyes, and letting out a closed-mouth groan.

Oh fuck.

It’s great.

The flavor alone has him reeling back like he’s been punched, filling his whole head with taste and smell. The sauce is creamy and rich, both herbal and slightly sweet, while the pasta tastes bready and not at all like sad cardboard. He can even taste the cheese on top, savory and sharp. Nothing like a microwaved plastic plate of mush. Something real, and filling, hot and fresh. Something substantial.

And chewing. He’d almost forgotten chewing like this. The simple sensation of a noodle, firm but yielding between his teeth, makes him have to blink rapidly to clear his eyes.

No more tilting his head, no dry mouth. He can swallow with absolutely zero effort. At no point does he have to struggle to get it down, it just happens, without ever feeling like he’s going to choke.

Dipper takes another forkful. Then another, pulling the bowl towards himself without bothering to put it on his plate. Bill looks on, with that same eternal smile, but whatever. He’s not the most important thing in the room.

Eating, so painlessly, effortlessly simple. He’d almost forgotten what this was like.

Forget everything else Bill has done, for a moment. Ignore the way he’s staring like a creep. Right now, Dipper could kiss the ground Bill walks on. Maybe even his cheek.

Giving Dipper this back is the only thing Bill’s ever done worth worshiping.

Eventually Bill drags the pasta away, tutting about Dipper being ‘unadventurous’ and ‘boring’. Whatever, there’s a lot more to try. More to investigate.

“How’s the grub, kid? Good?”

Dipper glances at his plate - piled high with nearly a dozen things - then raises an eyebrow. Bill raises one right back.

Oh right. Words.

Swallowing, Dipper says, “It’s. Really good.” Then, uh, he should probably add. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all. In fact, my pleasure!.” Bill leans an elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand. He pokes him in the ribs; it tickles a little. “You gotta put more meat on those bones, anyway.”

With a shrug, Dipper tentatively takes another serving of the green pasta. Currently it sits at number one on his list, but the rankings have been changing rapidly with each taste test.

Bill’s also making odd comments, as is his wont. Sure, Dipper guesses he could stand to be a little less scrawny, though it’s not like he’s meatless. All humans are made of -

Now there’s an unpleasant thought.

“Wait, is, uh.” Dipper carefully sets his fork down, bracing his palms against the table. If he has to make a quick escape, it’ll give him leverage to shove off. “Is any of this. People?”

“Nah! Human flesh is really more for show than for taste, unless you’re an obligate anthropophage.” Bill snorts, waving off that thought. “You guys’re kinda stringy and bitter. That’s novelty food.”

Then he pauses. His eye narrows, he starts looking thoughtful.

Before he can open his mouth, Dipper interrupts. “No, that’s fine. I really don’t want any. Thanks.”

“Eh, suit yourself.” Shrugging, Bill settles back in his seat. He plucks a couple of mozzarella sticks off a platter and pops them into his mouth. “Like I shaid, y’re not mishing muh.” Wow, he has terrible table manners.

Another ‘horrible fate’ crossed out on the list: Bill isn’t fattening him up to eat him.

Dipper didn’t think it was a likely option, but it never hurts to be sure. And with that out of the way…

Eating is so much better now. He has a lot of things to taste.

During his search, Bill’s eager to offer suggestions. A slice of rich dark meat, a sampling of something sticky but savory that goes well on it. A smattering of vegetables, a mozzarella stick or three. He even insists Dipper take a bite of some white meat pried out of the shell of a huge red bug. Deflecting his offer fails miserably, so thankfully it does end up tasting good. Though Dipper thinks that the dipping butter’s doing a lot of the heavy lifting.

Between the spread on the table, and Bill’s infinite creativity, there are infinite possibilities - and only one limit. His stomach.

When Bill tries to push another crepe on his plate, he waves it off. He leans back in his chair, breathing slowly.

Good news is, he learned a lot about a variety of foods. He’s full and content. Bad news is, he really, really can’t take another bite or he might be sick.

As far as Bill Plans go, this one’s hardly the worst. Even Dipper has to admit this was a good idea.

“Wait wait wait. One last thing,” Bill interrupts. He holds up a few fingers, turning away as he rifles through a small box. through something with a bunch of frilly paper. Once he finds what he’s looking for, he turns around with a flourish. “Can’t have dinner without dessert.”

Dipper nearly waves him off again- then does a double-take. Is that -

The small circle in Bill’s fingers is definitely chocolate, and Dipper’s only had that like, twice. Ever. Full or not, he can make room for this.

His first grab at it misses; Bill dodges easily and wags the treat with a mocking smile. “Ah ah ah, not so fast! Lemme do the honors.” He brings it close to Dipper’s mouth, eyebrows wiggling. “Open up.”

Dipper tightens his lips, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. Then looking from the chocolate, back to Bill. The smugness of his grin does not waver.

Normally Dipper would skip this entirely, rather than let Bill go ahead with this shady-seeming move. Unfortunately, the box is behind Bill’s elbow; he can’t just make a grab for the others.

So with a sigh, and a bit of a shrug, Dipper opens his mouth and lets Bill push the treat in. Reminding himself that Bill literally just fixed it, he won’t ruin it now.

The moment the chocolate hits Dipper’s tongue he knows he made exactly the right choice.

Reach and sweet, just as good as he remembered. No, better. Smooth and not too cloying, as it warms and melts it fills his whole mouth. An involuntary groan comes out of his throat as it vanishes, gone all too soon - but some of it has melted on Bill’s fingers too. Dipper flicks his tongue out to catch the last of it, warm and sweet.

A sharp intake of breath. Dipper blinks his eyes open.

Bill’s staring at him, very close. He must have scooted his chair over, they’re almost touching.

“Pretty great, right?” Bill says. His thumb brushing Dipper’s chin, tongue flickering out over his own lips. “How ‘bout you let me have a little taste.”

“Uh.” Dipper licks at his teeth, nose scrunching up as he frowns. “I already ate it?” He glances over at the box, tilting his head to get Bill’s face out of his vision. “But, uh. There are more over there.”

Bill blinks twice. His lips tuck in, mouth in a flat line. The box on the dinner table must have slipped his notice somehow, because he turns to stare at it with a narrowed eye.

“Hm. Mhmh.” A grunt, his eye twitches - then the grin slides back into its rightful place. “So there are!”

With one snake-fast motion, Bill snatches a ball from the crinkly paper. He jams it into his mouth and bites down hard with too-sharp teeth. Chocolate splinters from the force, scattering on the table.

Ignoring the atrocious table manners beside him - Dipper leans back in his seat. He’s never had a meal like this before; Bill really went all out this time.

A second later, he yawns. It takes a few shakes and some blinking to clear his head.

Eating too much has side effects, he guesses. Part of him wonders - but no, if Bill wanted to drug him, he’d be passed out at the table. “Looks like you’ve had enough kid. Now up you get,” Bill says out of nowhere. An instantly later he’s pulling Dipper up hands under his arms. “Can’t just pass out at the dinner table when the night’s hardly started!”

Wait, this wasn’t it? He’s got more planned? What the hell else could there be?

As Bill surges forward, Dipper just manages to step away before he’s bodily picked up. He brushes off his shirt as Bill blows a disappointed raspberry behind him.

“Fine, fine. Use your legs if you gotta!” Bill scoffs, as he slides a guiding arm around his waist. “Get ‘em moving, then, ‘cause we’ve got at least one other stop tonight.”

He’s always fast. Always rushing. Always dragging Dipper out of one situation and towards another door. This could be his whole life, it seems; always another mysterious room, another terrifying situation, all with a jerk who doesn’t explain anything.

Keeping up with Bill is easy once Dipper’s expecting it, but he casts a worried glance back at the dining room.

Leaving all that food there seems like such a waste. Then again, it is god-demon realm and all. For all he knows it could remain there in stasis, awaiting the next visit. Or just evaporate into nothing now that they’re done, which is even more of a waste.

Rethinking it, though - Bill did say he could have all he wanted. Encouraged him to indulge himself.

Maybe his full stomach is making him too optimistic, but he thinks some might ‘magically’ end up in his kitchen later.

Or it’ll vanish completely because Bill and conserving go together like oil and water. Better not get his hopes up.

Whatever their next step is, Bill seems pretty cheerful about it. He’s even humming a tune to himself, one that Dipper can’t place. Refraining from giving Dipper any helpful information, per usual.

Bill loves secrets. Mysteries. Keeping the events of the evening must amuse the hell out of him what with making it all seem intimidating, and ominous.

Unfortunately for Bill, his secrecy has some holes in it. A pattern has been building in their night. Two data points, both leading to…

Not a certainly positive third. Nothing’s certain. But it is trending in that direction.

Besides, if Dipper had to guess, the next one’s not the bad one. The theoretical fourth event is where Bill will pull the rug out from under him. Breaking a fully established pattern, right when he has his human lulled into complacence, is much more dramatic.

Before that happens, Dipper will cut things short.

The guiding arm steers him around a corner, through a series of doors, leading into…

The living room again.

Dipper gives it a quick once-over. Same furniture, same lighting, same obnoxious company. He’s been steered around a mobius strip leading back to the original spot.

“Pfft, what’s with the look? Relax!” Bill says, and shoves him onto the couch.

Dipper nearly jumps off of it; this not his favorite furniture material. Bill pushes him down again, grinning like it’s a game of ping-pong rather than a guy not wanting to sit on furniture that’s slightly cannibalistic and could lick him at any time. Another attempt fails; Dipper’s palms sink into soft fabric, there’s not enough leverage to -

He stops. Patting once, then twice. Looking down at his seat with mild surprise.

Okay, there’s one difference. This couch isn’t made of human skin.

A weird, but rather welcome change. Getting up at this point feels like too much effort, so he slumps into the seat.

The new couch, fabric and all, sinks easily under his weight. Soft enough to mold around his body, like it’s eager to absorb him. For a moment he worries it might, until Bill flops down right beside him.

“There’s only one way to follow up dinner with company. The classic human scene for this kinda thing, one might say!” says Bill, clapping his hands together. “First - setting the mood.”

A quick snap of his fingers, and the firelight dims. So do all the lights in the room.

“And second -” Bill grins, like he’s being very clever, and says, “Pick your poison, Pine Tree.”

Wait - they already ate, what is -

At Dipper’s startled face, Bill rolls his eye, and holds up a finger. His face scrunches up as he leans forward, fishing around in the couch cushions.

A second later, Dipper gets a remote chucked into his lap.

“You didn’t get a lot of shows back in the ol’ cult digs, am I right?” Bill jabs his thumb at the opposite wall - and the TV that’s appeared in the last five seconds. “No time like the present to start getting caught up!”

Secular media causes degradation of the spirit. Outside influences are absolutely forbidden. The only way to get access would be by sneaking around, or sticking one’s nose where they shouldn’t.

Dipper’s seen several shows, and he got them by himself, not through the cult’s terrible black market selection. Calling himself an expert would be an exaggeration, but he’s been around the block before.

And honestly, getting back into that sounds great. Ten or so TV shows can’t compare to the likely hundreds that are out there; people must never run out of stuff to watch.

Plus, Bill will have demon media, too. Finding out what that’s like could be downright fun.

Two minutes into channel surfing, Dipper has to admit he’s out of his depth. How much of it is missing out on a normal person’s experience and how much is Nightmare Realm stuff is hard to tell. Except for the obviously demonic shows, none of these seem familiar.

There’s literally a million freaking channels. Picking any one is impossible.

Meanwhile, Bill offers quick, one-word comments about how one’s ‘boring!’ another ‘meh’, a third ‘wow, that one?’, and a fourth ‘ooh, body horror!’ - Dipper flips quickly through the next twenty channels, hoping he won’t decide for them.

At one point Bill tries hitting the opposite channel button so they flip back through the same two things for over a minute, until Dipper finally wrestles the damn remote away. If he ‘accidentally’ kicks Bill in the leg, either Bill doesn’t notice, or does a good job of pretending he didn’t. Either way, he’s laughing the whole time.

Eventually they settle on a demonic movie, something that Bill casually mentioned was ‘alright’, with an askance look at Dipper. Applying Bill-knowledge to that look - Dipper interprets it as him, wanting to watch it. With a side of ‘can’t show interest and still Be Cool’, and a half-serving of ‘maybe the human shouldn’t see it’.

Dipper sets the remote down. They’re sticking with this one. Anything Bill doesn’t want him to see probably has very juicy information.

And if he notices that eternal grin widen, a bare fraction of an inch - he doesn’t comment on it.

About ten minutes in, Dipper realizes he should have asked if this would be all in English. This one has some, sure, but seventy percent or so is in Bill’s demonic language. Subtitles aren’t a thing; he poked at the remote for them but it just made the channels jump around, until Bill very casually flipped it right on back.

Between the lack of language knowledge and demon knowledge, following the plot is hard. Dipper squints at the screen, as if that’ll make things easier.

What little of it he follows shows a long, complicated drama. A lot of power plays, interpersonal violence. Mild-for-demons gore interspersed with over-dramatic arguments. The two main characters seem to be at each other’s throats all the time, while also being metaphorically attached at the hip.

Nearly an hour passes before Dipper gives up on fully tracking the plot. A valiant attempt was made, but the language gap’s too large, even though the actors are basically chewing the scenery. Sometimes literally. Changing the channel’s out of the question, too; Bill too enraptured, Dipper too tired.

It’s strange, really. Sitting here, with his ‘god’. Something he’d never thought he’d do, ever. Because Bill wasn’t real, then because Bill was up to something, and now….

A glance at Bill fails to clarify anything, as always.

He knows Bill had a plan for the evening. He said as much. And it hasn’t gone off the rails, or Dipper would have noticed; this ‘god’ never misses a chance to complain.

The only conclusion is that things are going how Bill wanted. What that might mean is more of a mystery than the demon himself.

So far, they’ve only done a few things. Terrifying bathroom regeneration, dinner, and sitting here watching TV. A list too short to be helpful. None of them have much in common.

Dipper nestles down further into the couch, blinking slowly. Nearby, Bill pours himself another drink by snapping his fingers and summoning it.

What, exactly, is Bill’s goal with this? There has to be a purpose.

Giving Dipper his tongue back is obvious. It’s for talking.

Bill’s been bored more than once waiting for a written reply - and while Dipper’s pretty sharp, he’s still a beginner at sign language. Add on Bill being a good but very impatient teacher, and things weren't going great. Hearing him make twenty guesses at Dipper’s next word while he was trying to remember the damn thing left both of them frustrated and annoyed.

So the first part makes sense, even as a standalone. Regrowing an organ is way faster than learning an entire language, and Bill gets exactly what he wanted, right from the first time they met.

The food, well. Dipper’s still running that over in his mind, but he thinks it’s not much more complicated. Mostly a followup to the tongue thing. Possibly to show Dipper how great going along with Bill’s absolutely insane ideas is. Plus, Bill gets company, and to show off his power and all his ‘cool stuff’. He’s never hesitated to prove how quote, ‘awesome’, and ‘swimming in money, kid’, he is.

If that’s right, it could be very useful. A little finesse, maybe a smile or two, and Dipper might get a repeat performance.

Both of those events fit with what he knows of Bill. Dipper can see how they work together, one leading into the other.

That brings them to now.

Sitting on the couch. Watching some way overextended drama thing with a language Dipper maybe catches one word out of ten in, while this ‘god’ lounges next to him with zero signs of ill intent.

This one… doesn’t fit.

Hell, he’s not sure how any of this fits. Not into a greater purpose. There’s no benefit. No grand plan, no conquering. No motive beyond ‘convenience’ and ‘entertainment’. No real gain for Bill himself, which more than anything makes zero sense, and these days Dipper can find a little bit of that in Bill’s actions, even if it’s backwards from the human kind.

But.

If there isn’t a greater plan in mind. No scheme to empower himself, no urge to torment or conquer -

Then this entire day was simply a series of selfish, bizarre whims from a guy who can do anything.

Which… is like most of the days Dipper’s spent around the guy.

Beside him, Bill swirls his drink, snorting at something onscreen before taking another sip. Looking pleased with himself - typical - and wearing the common domestic smirk. No sign of any ulterior motive.

Okay. Say that there was a plan, of sorts. Just one that Bill thought would make his life more fun, and convenient. Hell knows just does whatever, whenever he wants.

Then…

…Maybe it’s just movie night?

There’s a low groan next to him. With a huge, almost theatrical yawn, Bill stretches his arms wide, raising them in the air Once he's done, they thump onto the back of the couch; the closest one lands around Dipper’s shoulders.

Wow, even Bill’s tired. A big meal must have that effect on demons, too.

Dipper holds back his own yawn. For about five seconds. It happens anyway, leaving him slumping down, eyelids heavy.

He still can’t put the pieces together. None of the respective tabs and slots seem like they line up.

But fuck it, it’s late. He’s tired. Trying to think through Bill’s convoluted mind is a task for a more life threatening scenario.

Sitting here with Bill, sinking into the soft fabric of the couch, in a dimly lit but very warm room -

As far as plans go, Dipper can imagine far worse fates than this.

In a way. A small one. He could almost get used to this.

Underneath the strange dialogue, he can hear the gentle flickering of the fireplace. Between the full stomach and the dim light, there’s a warm lassitude filling his limbs. Dipper stretches his arms, then his legs, before shuffling further into the enveloping embrace of the couch.

Clearing his throat, Bill adjusts his position. The motion bumps his side up against Dipper’s, a solid, surprisingly not-unnerving presence.

Dipper grunts. After a moment, he tilts his head to look at Bill. He doesn’t seem to notice, too focused on the drama playing out onscreen.

It’s strange - everything about Bill is strange - but in this relevant quiet and calm, Dipper can get a good look at him. Most of the time they’re close because his personal space is being invaded, and that doesn’t leave any space to think.

For a magical shape inhabited by an interdimensional entity, Dipper has to admit - the human form is very well designed.

The body next to him isn’t full of sharp edges. Much softer than metal. It feels like a real person, somewhere underneath that permanent suit. The angles of Bill’s face and the shape of his body fit easily within the human spectrum, he could pass easily for one on the street. Anyone taking a second glance would notice the positives before the oddities. Even those weirder bits kind of fit Bill; they come together a strangely compelling way.

Hell, Dipper knows it’s an artificial body, and he’s still fooled sometimes. It’s a truly excellent facsimile.

Given the chance, there could be more to figure out. Stuff to prod at, or examine. But Bill probably wouldn’t like that, and anyway it’s late.

Dipper feels the weight over his shoulders shift. He hums a brief sound of apology; he didn’t mean to jostle Bill’s arm too much. It’s not bad, having it there. A warm, solid thing that holds him close, silk shirt soft under his cheek.

Too warm. Soft shirt.

Slowly, Dipper lets his heavy eyelids shut.

A scream cuts through the air. Kinda tinny sound. Must be the doorbell again.

Then Dipper’s pillow shifts under his cheek, and he startles slightly. Not very far, maybe an inch.

Wait. This is - not his room. The living room.

Orienting takes a second. The scream was - from the tv, right. Onscreen a demon gets murdered in a grisly fashion, swearing as it’s carved open. For some reason Dipper’s view of it is sideways.

Wait, where is he?

Dipper leans up slightly to get a better look, and hears a muffled snicker. A firm hand presses his head back down, fingers carding through his hair. His face gets smooshed against silken fabric.

Not couch fabric. Clothing fabric. And underneath it, a body.

Which is the person next to him, who is sitting next to him, who can only possibly be Bill.

Dipper nearly drifted off right next to the guy. That’s no good.

How did this happen? One moment he was vaguely watching TV, the next he was out like a light, it’s weird. It hasn’t been a long day. He hasn’t exerted himself, he’s not sick or hurting, he hasn’t even lost any -

Alright, he did lose some blood. The wound just healed over too fast for it to be a problem.

And now that he’s concentrating on it - physically, he’s fucking exhausted. His arms and legs have a faint familiar ache, like he’s been running and hiding for hours.

Maybe regrowing an organ took more out of him than he thought.

Trying to open his eyes is more difficult than anticipated. Dipper has to open them. Just gotta get up the will to move. Shove himself off the couch and escape.

Forcing his eyes open, Dipper catches the movie just as a dramatic confession scene starts playing out. There’s a lot of arguing. And some kissing? He can’t tell if it’s eternal rivalry or love, but either way Bill seems deeply intrigued.

Dipper could get up. There’s no compulsion on him. No curse, or any kind of spell.

But between the exhaustion, his full stomach, and sitting in a dark warm room, watching the fire flicker - Bill’s fingers, running in slow circles on the back of his neck and through his hair - it’s hard to think why he would.

Moving’s effort. Nobody’s making him do it. Even Bill’s distracted, watching his ridiculous drama; Dipper could drift off again, right here and now, and be totally, probably fine.

He’s gotta get up anyway.

Falling asleep on a literal Lord of Nightmares is a bad idea. Time to go to bed. In a real bed. Even if Bill doesn’t mind getting Dipper-drool on his fancy shirts, at best it’s rude as hell.

Eventually Dipper gets his heavy arms to move. He tries lifting his head. It’s briefly stopped by the pressure of Bill’s own cheek, before it disappears like… okay, maybe Dipper imagined that part. From there - standing’s effort, but surprisingly easy without demonic interference.

Not that Bill doesn’t look a little like he wants to grab Dipper again. His eye narrows, but he doesn’t move when he asks, “Hey! Where’re you going?”

“Sorry,” Dipper starts, then pauses. Bill’s got a weirdly pinched expression; he must not have liked that - The words start stumbling out, unbidden. “It’s not - Sorry. I mean, I just. Uh, I’m really tired. I should go to bed-”

“Why do you gotta leave for that?” Bill leans back further, onto the arm of the couch. He pats his shoulder, then runs his open hand under it like a showcase display. “You were plenty cozy here! Stick around!”

“You’re not a pillow though,” Dipper tries to argue, but Bill keeps talking. “Says who? I can be anything I want, whenever I wanna.” Bill sniffs, lifting his chin. “You should see me shapeshift, sapling, it’s a hell of a sight!”

Dipper shrugs. He looks down, digging his toes into the carpet.

By all rights Bill should be offended that Dipper touched him at all, except for how he’s pretty touchy himself. It can’t add to any plan or conquer any planet, at best it would….

Does Bill… want human drool on his shirt? Is that a thing? Collecting blood is one thing, what do other fluids do?

“Ahem,” Bill pats his shoulder again, then his lap. “Get back here, already. You know you wanna!”

A command, though one that’s not harsh. And Dipper doesn’t have to follow Bill’s orders. He knows that. Bill hates that, he prefers to make a solid, convincing argument rather than watch Dipper fold like paper. Dipper could leave, right now, and it’d be fun for him, it’d be fine.

There’s an argument to be made that this order wouldn’t be too awful. He was pretty comfy.

Unfortunately for Bill, it's also a bad idea.

Leaning up against a literal Nightmare Lord and taking a nap is bound to have terrible effects on the human psyche. Between the way Bill radiates magic like heat - like a goddamn furnace - feeling his chest through the thin shirt, the arms coming around him -

Dipper covers his mouth, looking away. He can already feel the flames of Bill’s magic licking through him, and they’re not even touching.

Definitely a pass. He prefers his brain unfried, thank you.

He almost speaks up to say so before Bill snaps his fingers. An idea has struck him, apparently. By the look, he thinks it’s a great one.

“Not where you wanna rest your head? No problem! You got options.” Bill says, casually waving off any concerns like errant spiderwebs. “How bout this?”

In one quick motion, Bill undoes his tie, letting it drape loose around his neck. Another flick opens the first button of his shirt. He continues down, in a line of quick movement. One, then two; three and another. Dropping down, step after step, fabric parting until it reveals a wide expanse of skin.

What is he- Dipper turns his head away - then back when there’s no horrible explosion of fire or blood or, or -

He doesn’t know what he expected. It’s just an open shirt.

With his work done, Bill kicks his legs up on the couch and lounges back, arms tucked behind his head. “So? Whatdya’ think?”

There’s probably a good response to that. Thinking of one is hard, though. Dipper’s never, ever seen the suit come off. Wasn’t sure it could.

He’d kind of wondered if there was skin under his clothes, and, yeah, turns out there is. A lot of it.

“Hey!” Bill snaps his fingers, then grins at Dipper’s slight startle. “Now, if a shoulder doesn’t appeal to ya, this might suit your fancy.” He motions over the half-opened shirt. The body’s so human looking under the clothing; all warm-looking skin and the curves of muscle. “Mortals love nestling up against flesh, am I right?”

“Um,” Dipper says. Reaching for a word, or a phrase, to tell Bill that this is.

Not wrong, exactly. Sleepovers exist, not that Dipper’s had one. But he’s sure they don’t work this way. Neither of them are in their pajamas, there isn’t a pillow for or a bed around - and demon gods with dubious motives are never part of the equation.

Cultural clash, maybe. Bill could have misunderstood how this works. A brief moment of confusion, or insanity -

Billgiving Dipper a look that makes his stomach do a flip. Both dark and a little playful, a strange mix.

So much for misunderstanding. Bill seems like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Dipper wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants. His newly-grown tongue feels thick in his mouth. He tries to look at the carpet instead of at- anything else, and fails miserably.

Each time he looks up, he’s confronted with Bill having a body and a chest, looking at him with a half-lidded gaze in the dim, flickering light of the fire.

The fireplace should have been turned off fully, come to think of it. It’s way too warm in the room right now, making Dipper lightheaded and slightly damp in his own shirt. Along with building energy. A weird tremulous feeling, like he shouldn’t just stand there. He should take action. Move.

“I gotta go,” Dipper blurts, and heads for his room.

He keeps a respectable pace while he’s at it. Not too slow, not too fast. This way it feels - and looks - less like fleeing.

“Whoa, wait wait wait,” Bill says. The thump behind Dipper tells him he’s gotten up from the couch. “C’mon, kid, no need to rush off back to your bed! What, is it the mini-me you’re after? Cause the real deal’s a million times better than that bite-sized scrap of fabric.”

The door’s nearly there. Though Dipper hears Bill storming up behind him, he only picks up his own pace. A brush of air ghosts over his arm as Bill makes a grab at his wrist.

The heat, the energy, the weird, light feeling in his stomach - Dipper can put a pin in the core feeling now.

Nervousness.

All the more reason to leave. Feeling scared means something’s coming. Ignoring the danger only lets it catch up.

Time to leave.

He gets his hand on the doorknob just in time for Bill’s palms to slam into the wood on either side of his head.

Too fast, damn it, he doesn’t know why he didn’t think of that - and the low chuckle behind him sends a warm shiver down his spine.

“What’s the matter kid?” Dipper’s stomach does an awkward somersault as he feels Bill’s breath ghost over the back of his neck. “You didn’t think you were gonna get away that easy, did you?”

The doorknob isn’t turning. Dipper grabs it with both hands now, but no matter which way he moves it, it’s stuck or something- Bill’s laughter rises into a high, delighted cackle, fingernails scraping down the wood.

“Not a chance,” Bill says. His voice is low as he presses Dipper closer to the door. “I’ve got big plans for you, Pine Tree.”

Oh.

The flushing warmth drains from Dipper’s face; his blood runs cold. The way Bill crowds him in feels less like his normal bullyish habit and more like being in a trap.

There was an ulterior motive; something dangerous and demonic. Stupid. Idiot. He should have known better before this happened. He shouldn’t have gotten so close, shouldn’t have agreed to anything tonight. Everything was leading up to a part of Bill’s grandmaster plan and running away ruined it, now he’s in trouble, he should have listened to his gut and gotten out of there first thing.

Bill keeps saying that he’s special. How stupid was it to hope it was in a good way.

“No running off, kid!” Strong hands turn Dipper around and push him back. He hits the door with a thump. “You-”

Bill might be quick, but in this, Dipper’s quicker. He already has his arms up, covering his head, his face. His mouth works without permission as he says, “Please don’t-”

Then clamps his teeth shut before the next word. Maybe Bill won’t - he probably wouldn’t, or not start now, he hopes. He thinks. Saying it could put the idea in Bill’s head if it’s not there already and protesting wouldn’t stop him if it was, it’d just make Dipper sound weaker than he already is now.

A hand reaches out. Dipper flinches away so sharply it hits the door behind him.

Nothing touches him. No punishment lands.

Each moment that it doesn’t makes Dipper think that maybe, just maybe, nothing’s going to happen. Hopes it won’t. Bill hasn’t harmed him so far and he wants things to stay that way.

But he’s so, so close.

In the silence, Dipper hears only his own harsh breathing.

“To start with,” Bill says, slow, though not as loud - Dipper realizes he’s drawn back a bit, one hand is lifted. “You’ll need this.”

He’s not going to look. He’s not -

Okay, he does peek, because he’s curious. Since he’s already in trouble, he might as well know why.

Held between Bill’s fingers is an elaborate golden key.

“Your door’s locked, kid.” Bill wiggles the key back and forth between index finger and thumb. “Might wanna do something about that before going beddy-bye.”

“Oh.” All of Dipper’s held breath escapes him in a rush. He lifts his head slightly, checking - but Bill’s standing a good two feet away now. Not. Doing anything. “Oh, yeah, um. Right.”

That’s all it was. The knob wasn’t working because he locked it. That’s all. It’s fine. He’s fine.

He doesn’t remember doing that, though- Wait, did his door even have one.

“Seemed like the sorta addition you’d been waiting for. No skin off my nose to make a quick renovation.” Bill purses his lips in a pout, like he’s about to sulk again. “I was gonna tell ya, but then you ran off! Ya gotta hear me out before fleeing, sapling.”

Oh. That’s - yeah, he did kind of want that, he just thought. Bill controls this place, he owns everything here. Asking felt wrong, could have got him in trouble, and anyway he hasn’t barged in in weeks, so really, Dipper hadn’t minded. But now….

Though the key’s right in front of him, it’s hard to get his limbs to cooperate. Dipper takes a slow breath, brushing off his shirt, smoothing back his hair.

He just. Needs a second.

“Lemme just get that for you,” Bill says, with a brightness that doesn’t quite ring like his usual. He winks, stepping to one side and unlocking the door with practiced ease.

The instant it’s open, Dipper rushes into his room.

Bracing himself on the footboard, he takes stock of the situation. The light is on, and everything’s in place. His bed is halfway made and his book is on the table where he left it, there’s no ominous presence chasing him into this miniature sanctuary.

He’s fine.

He’s back in his room. Back where there’s a soft bed, with cozy blankets, all of his stuff. Everything’s in place, nobody’s messed with it, even the plushie is still next to his pillow. Nothing’s hurt him in here before and it won’t start now.

A few moments helps him compose himself. Dipper runs a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath.

Plus. There’s a door that locks. Not much protection against the creature he’s cohabiting with, but that’s okay. If Bill does burst in, he won’t be able to lie and say he didn’t know he shouldn’t.

…Bill hasn’t burst in now, either.

A quick check over his shoulder shows him still standing in the doorway.

For a man who doesn’t like being ignored, he’s gone unusually quiet. Dipper waits. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

Any moment now Bill’s going to fill up the silence. Babble something inane or intimidating.

He doesn’t.

In fact, he hasn’t moved an inch.

Bill stands just outside the threshold, hands by his sides. Watching Dipper like he’s a million miles away instead just a few meters, looking like - Dipper can’t place it. An expression that, on another face, would make more sense. On Bill it’s more like something’s gone wrong.

More seconds pass in silence. Too awkward, and too quiet, Dipper should - Bill shouldn’t look like that.

“Um. Thank you,” Dipper says, stilted and awkward, but sincere. “For, uh,” He gestures, even more furtively, to his mouth

The corner of Bill’s mouth quirks up. “Eh, no biggie.” He flicks his fingers in a dismissive manner, then polishes them on his still-opened shirt. “Don’t get me wrong, I do love the sound of my own voice - but a guy can use a little variety around the place, y’know?”

“And, uh. Dinner was nice too,” Dipper continues, a rush of words, whatever comes to mind. Knowing that any moment Bill could leave gives him a weird burst of energy to keep rambling. If he’s talking, Bill will listen. He just said as much. “I really liked that. Did you always have a dining room that big? Does it always exist? I mean, yeah, you can just make stuff, but making entire architecture’s a big ask. Do you just move stuff around, or make it from scratch every time? I know you have a lot of magic, but don’t you need to, like, save it up for stuff, or does it-”

The questions keep coming, awkward over his new tongue. All the ones he’d been wondering about, and now that he can just say them, they pour out in an almost involuntary flood. So much faster than writing.

Getting all the thoughts out of his head is kind of a relief. Bill’s eye widens briefly; he must not have expected that.

At some point Dipper realizes he’s been rambling at Bill levels of length, and shuts his mouth with a click.

“So, uh.” Dipper clears his throat, feeling awkward. “Yeah.” That was way, way too many questions. Stupid. Intrusive.

Bill leans casually against the doorway now, raising an eyebrow. Again, amazingly, he hasn’t minded a bit of it.

In fact - while Dipper was speaking, every word added an incremental increase to his grin. Now it’s bright on his face again, full-force.

“Dinner, huh?” Bill says, electing to skip over any kind of answers, like a jerk. Looking amused now instead of - whatever that was. He claps his hands together, rubbing them with anticipation. “We should do that again sometime! Tomorrow, even!”

“Sure,” Dipper agrees in a rush. Damn, maybe that was too fast. He sounds too eager, Bill could use it as leverage, dangle it in front of him then pull it away. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “That. Sounds okay.”

Bill chuckles. He takes a half-step, stopping just before he enters the room. “What, no followup questions?” His smile is teasing now. “Here I thought I was gonna get the whole spiel!”

“No I- It’s cool.” Turning away, Dipper rubs his face. He clears his throat.

No more distractions. He was going to bed. He was getting away. Conversation over, he shouldn’t drag it out.

“Forgetting something?” Bill speaks up. Dipper glances back at him, where Bill, again, raises an eyebrow. Again, he waggles the key in Dipper’s vision.

Damn, he did forget; he’ll need that. Dipper takes a step closer. Then another.

His own hesitance annoys him; Fuck it, it’s not like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. With a huff, he draws himself up and stomps over to Bill. Holding out his hand, palm up.

The slow smile that spreads across Bill’s face is downright wicked. Another bit of showmanship; he’s clearly covering for something.

Dipper narrows his eyes, and stands firm.

One of Bill’s hands comes up underneath Dipper’s, cupping the back. The other sets the key into his palm, a motion that comes off as almost too casual. It might have worked, too, if he didn’t slowly trace his fingers over it, tickling the skin. “Here ya go, kid.”

The touch leaves a tingling feeling in its wake. Probably magic, something with the key - Dipper pulls his hand back a second too late, clutching it to his chest.

“Nighty-night, sapling.” Bill winks, and annoyingly, gives double finger-guns at him. As he backs away, the door slowly closes in his wake. “Don’t forget about tomorrow! Mark the date!”

Dipper raises an eyebrow. He’s not going to forget the literal next day. Bill’s an idiot.

“‘Cause I’ll be seeing you real soon,” Bill continues. His face leans into the slowly closing crack of the door. Aiming for ominous, probably. Pity his timing’s off. “Sooner than you think! In fact, I could-”

Dipper steps forward and shuts the door with a ‘thunk’. The muffled ‘Hey!’ from behind it has him forcing down a grin of his own.

Defying Bill shouldn’t be good. It should scare him. It should feel more wrong.

Instead it gives Dipper a bit of a spring in his step, and a faint burst of pride. The weirdness of this place must be catching.

He makes a quick change into pyjamas, shutting off most of the lights. Flopping back into the comfy bed, with the lamp on the bedside table letting out a dim glow.

Mini-Bill, keeping vigil on his pillow, stares at Dipper with the same focused intensity as the real version. Dipper scoops it up in his arms, and rolls onto his back, holding it above his head.

“At least you’re not scary,” Dipper says, and smiles. Because he can speak now, god, it’s going to take a while to get used to that. He pulls mini-Bill down and into his face, nuzzling the soft, worn fabric.

Then sits up, suddenly alert. Somewhere Bill just swore really loud; it’s since faded into a long, complaining groan. He stubbed his toe again, didn’t he.

A minor annoyance, considering. As exhaustion looms. Dipper flicks the bedside light off, and pulls up the blankets.

This is probably the… not the longest day he can remember, but certainly up there. So much has happened. He’s learned some stuff - not enough yet, but some - and he’s going to get to do even more tomorrow. Because Bill’s a lot of things, but he’s never boring, and the whole time Dipper will be full and fixed and whole.

Thanking Bill earlier was sincere. But it didn’t cover everything, or how much it meant. It’s too vast; a mind-reader like Bill can’t know how he feels when even he’s still working it out.

One day, Dipper might find the words to describe it. How important this was. And, well. Special.

Maybe he’ll even say them out loud.

He squeezes the plush tighter, and almost doesn’t feel dumb for doing it. Bill’s never judged him having mini-Bill and if it could be made fun of, he would, so. Keeping this, holding this, is okay. Curling up around it in the cozy bed, and holding it close.

Sleeping with it in his bed. In his room. He has a key to the place and everything.

…Dipper could live like this, he thinks. In this place of danger, extreme weirdness, and relative peace.

He also knows better than to think it can last.

But hey, screw it. Until then, he might as well enjoy himself.

Back in the cult he never had a tenth of the creature comforts, and the company was definitely subpar. Here in the Fearamid, he’ll learn new things, all the time. Doing magic, having his own place, living and eating well. Finding secrets.

And occasionally getting a bout of sheer terror, but, well. Bill is a Nightmare Lord and all. Complaining about that would be like bitching about water being wet, and here it happens less often than back on Earth.

For now, he’s doing okay. Comfortable, warm, well-fed. Mostly, temporarily, safe.

When Bill finally makes his move, Dipper hopes it’ll be obvious. Most of what he does is too weird to find a pattern. There may not be any clues until Bill’s already kicked off the events that will seal Dipper’s eventual fate.

All because he’s special. And he only has one clue as to what that means.

Dipper wedges mini-Bill further between his chin and his shoulder. Running his tongue over his teeth, curling it in over the birthmark - then letting it lay still, heavy in his mouth.

As far as he knows, the plan could have already started.

#This took forever and I'm sick of looking at it #So now all of you get to stare at these words!!#I hope it's a fun read!#I could probably have done yet another editing pass #But I am v tired #The stupid document hit 65 pages so it's a big ol' post #I hope you can enjoy my foolish typings #Gotta get started on More Writing now

194 notes · View notes

animemensblog · 9 months

Text

Invisible

Gojo x gn!reader

Summary: what happens when Gojo meets someone who is immune to his six eyes?

No warnings :)

It was a hot day, sun beaming down and causing sweat to build along your hairline. Your headphones weren't helping with the soft muff cupping your ear and rubbing against your skin. Although it's tolerable in the shade, that means nothing when you decided today all your errands would be done by walking or train.

As you turn the corner you notice a small convenient store with a huge sign advertising 'buy one get one' on all cold items during the summer. The choices were clear; spend more money to cool off or finish walking home and die the second you enter your no ac apartment.

When you opened the store door you could feel the vibration of the bell and a faint ringing that seemed to last forever. Your feet were sore but weren't dragging, they almost felt like they were floating. You reach down in the fridge, grabbing water and a juice. The condensation quickly dripped off your hands and onto the ground, as the drop falls it splatters and hits your leg.

You stare at the water dropping towards your ankle, soaking a part of your sock. It quickly becomes uncomfortable, and what better way to ignore it other than changing your playlist?

You start shuffling to the counter, standing behind a tall white haired man waiting in line. As it moves forward, you can hear the cashier and the customer talking very loudly. As if their heads are against your chest and yelling into it, the vibrating and thumping echoed in your lungs and stomach.

As you click on a new song, an awkward laugh in front of you erupts, shortly after the stranger turned around and hit you. His arms had swung and threw you to the ground, along with your drinks and phone which managed to disappear. When you look up he's standing there, staring like he saw a ghost, his eyes were blown wide and his mouth partially agape.

At first, you thought he was just shocked. I mean, wouldn't you be if you hit someone to the ground? Then, you noticed your shorts slid down your thighs, revealing the rather brightly colored underwear peaking through. Your legs shut as you stand up, giving him a nasty glare and a meek "pervert".

Gojo on the other hand can't grasp how he didn't notice you, or even hear you behind him. His six eyes are supposed to help him, right? So how did he miss you approaching, standing there for minutes and managed to throw you to the ground? It didn't make sense.

"I'm not a pervert" Gojo says as he follows you around the store

"Your stalking says otherwise"

His pace picks up so he's less than a foot behind you, "ha! I bet you wish that's what I was doing!" He says, striking a small pose in hopes you'd notice. "Really, I just want to make sure you're ok-"

You turn around, almost chest to chest. Usually he'd be excited someone so pretty came so close but that look said maybe he shouldn't be happy. "Leave me alone" you spit before going back to searching, he watches as you turn into the isle to the right and follows.

"I can help you, ya know! I've been told my sight is the best" he boasts, turning into the isle he saw you go into.

"Really? Because you didn't see me at all before" you mumble behind him, once again he quickly turns around to find you kneeling.

"How are you doing that?" His tone had switched, it sounded like he was worried, concerned. Almost upset.

"Kneeling?" You question

"No! That's not what-" He shakes his head and sighs, they're just a normal person he thinks to himself. "Nevermind" he sighs again, then went back to looking for your drinks.

You think finally, he's gonna leave me alone. Thats until he's yelling for you from another isle, "ohhh strangerrrr!" He says dramatically, "I found your drinksss!" You can see him waving his lanky arms over the shelving.

"Most annoying man I've ever met, and I've known him less than an hour. This is some bullshit for an already bullshit day.." you continue mumbling as you almost stomp to the other side.

When you turn the corner, he's still waving his arms. He truly looked ridiculous with that big ass smile, jumping up and down like he's done the impossible. You sharply inhale before getting a running start- if he isn't going to acknowledge you when you're in the same isle, you'll just have to get it back on your own.

Despite how loud the impact of your feet was, to everyone else they were silent like paper landing completely flat on tile floor. You jump up as soon as he comes down and yank the bottles from his hands then landing before you hit the fridges. The only sound anyone else heard was you landing- the running, deep breaths and mumbling had gone unnoticed.

For a third time, the Gojo Satoru couldn't see or hear you. You. A normal person he just happened to run into while he was picking up snacks for himself, Geto and Shoko.

"You're quite annoying, you know that?" You ask as you make your way back down the isle towards the counter. Gojo doesn't realize when he started walking, gravity was just pulling him towards you. It was screaming that he needed to know who you are, how you operate, every detail a human can possibly know about themselves. More specifically, he wants to know if you're good or bad, if you're loyal or untrustworthy, if you're single or taken.

He marches up beside you with (and you hate to admit it) a charming and bright smile. He nudges your hands out of the way and pays the cashier, then turns to you and only gives you one of the bottles.

"You can have the other one later!" He says smuggly before snatching his receipt from the guys hand.

"You're a cute couple" the worker says.

"What? Ew no" you argue while leaving Gojo at the counter. He's embarrassed to say the least and only shrugs as he follows you, again.

He silently, and blindly, followed you halfway back to your apartment before you turned around to acknowledge him. "Are you actually a stalker or something?" He takes a step closer to hover over you, placing a tiny flick to your forehead.

"How are you going to hear my answer if you're wearing those headphones?" He softly asks

"I can hear perfectly fine, unlike you." Your eyes narrow at him and he chuckles. That gentle laugh has your heart skipping a beat or two.

He hums as he opens your water and takes a gulp. "Hey! That's mine you creep" you say as you try to grab it.

"I'm not a creep!" He laughs, raising his arm above his head.

"You wouldn't be following me if you weren't" you say inbetween jumps.

He once again avoids the question, this time by walking around you. "Where we heading?" He asks

"I'm heading home, you're leaving me alone."

"Aw why can't I come?" He pouts, you scoff at him while you cross the street.

"Isn't it obvious? You're a strange man following me like a lost puppy. Of course you don't belong in my house."

"But I want to go!" Gojo whines

"Why?"

Why does he want to, he wonders, is there even an appropriate answer?

"I wanna know you" he mumbles as he looks down at you, waiting to see your reaction. He imagined it as cute, sweet maybe, instead your eyebrows are furrowed and you looked mad. And yet, you let him follow you. In silence, of course.

Your mom did say make friends. I mean, she never said bring strangers into your home, especially when they borderline harassed you. But you can't shake him off, plus he's seems nice? However nice someone can be after bothering and assaulting you.

You turn onto your street and stop, "how do I know you're not going to hurt me?" Your voice sounded weak to him, even softer than when you called him a pervert earlier.

"Why would I hurt you?"

"Why would you wanna get to know me?"

He chuckles, "why wouldn't I?"

You wanted to gag. What was this, a love sitcom?

"I'll tell you what-" you take a deep breath, "I'll give you my number and if I decide you're not a creep, or a pervert or a stalker, or-"

"I get it" he says as he rubs the back of his neck

"If I somehow decide you're not any of those things, I guess we can hangout."

"Hangout?! It'd be a date!"

You pull out a pen from your bag and grab his arm, "Just because you're not a disgusting man, doesn't mean I'll go out with you. It just means you can get to know me, like you said."

"Yeahh but I meant like I'd take you out to dinner or something."

"Then tell me that." you chuckle, a sound that was music to his ears.

"I'd like to take you out to dinner, or something."

"You're weird" you laugh and walk away, when you hear him following you shooed him away and disappeared down a small alley.

When Gojo looks down at his arm, ready to immediately put it in his phone, he sees '9-1-1' and "get help <3" written.

#jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo saturo #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satoru

541 notes · View notes

bonefall · 5 months

Note

May i ask why do you think that Brambleclaw wasn't a good father? not saying i disagree if that is what you think, but why do you? just wondering because i like what you say

Again I hope to have time sometime soon to make a big thing like I did with Breeze, but what gets me about Bramble is that incredibly self-concerned. Like, regularly unable to see past his own feelings to the point where he can't consider his effect on other people.

And Po3 in particular is ALSO trying to frame him like the perfect, most amazing dad in the world. It's for the dramatic irony of the reveal, and to make it EXTRA sad that he's going to abandon his children when he finds out they're adopted... but in the process, they just ignore anything crummy he does. Like he can Do No Wrong.

Particular instances I plan to get into;

When he's angry or disappointed, he's NASTY. He isn't this "super supportive papa" that the Three keep saying he is; he's most supportive when they're making him proud.

He fails to notice that Lionpaw's behavior is getting increasingly violent as a result of his mentor physically abusing him. Is that "Great Dad" material? To not notice your son is struggling?

We eventually learn that Ashfur approached him after one of these savage beatings to butter up to Brambleclaw, insisting that this sort of physical abuse is neccesary because it will give him a strong son.

Stress that again; Ashfur appealed to Brambleclaw's ego so he could keep beating his teenage child. In what world is that "Great Dad" material??

When Hollypaw then tries to tell her dad about how uncomfortable seeing her brother being savaged made her, Bramble tells her... ohh she's So smart, and So so responsible, and he relies on her to keep her brothers in line, and what Ashfur is doing is neccesary.

In any other book series, this would have been a MASSIVE condemnation of Brambleclaw. To be manipulated into allowing his son to get beat, and then turning around to tell his daughter he trusts her to understand it because she's so mature.

But because the Erins like Bramble so very much, it's not acknowledged. Then Ashfur tries to murder these kids later.

And like... again, they want him to be seen as so wonderful and amazing so that it's extra painful when he disowns these kids, but AGAIN, Brambleclaw is supposed to be this incredibly loving, unconditionally loyal, amazingly responsible father...

So how exactly is THAT consistent with abandoning his kids during the most upsetting time of their lives?

Does a wonderful father get consumed by his own pain and humiliation and cut off his kids, one of whom is in the middle of a breakdown? Does he take out his divorce on the children? Is being a "wonderful father" seeing the son you let get abused looking at you, DESPERATELY missing you as his dad, and just turning away?

Or, maybe, being a parent is about being mature. Putting aside your own personal anger or pain or ego to be there for your kids. Something like that???

And yet, he continues to act like that for an entire year. Not improving or self-reflecting at ALL the entire time. When it's miraculously revealed that Hollyleaf isn't DEAD, he's STILL wallowing. The kid he raised came back from the dead but FUCK that, who cares, "what about MY feelings?? Why is no one thinking about whats really important. Meeee."

(Mind you, he was willing to help this same person get away with murder in the last arc. But back then, she was his daughter. Now he doesn't care.)

Eventually SQUIRRELFLIGHT has to tell him that he shouldn't throw away his entire family because he's mad at her. Someone ELSE had to shout it down his thick skull that his bitterness is consuming him and he's ruining his life. Even after a year of punishment, she holds his hand like a big baby and guides him away from his OWN destructive behaviors.

But this isn't about Squilf. This is about Brambleclaw.

He enabled his son's child abuse. The abuser went on to attempt murder of his victim. He IMMEDIATELY turned on the kids he raised when he found out they were secretly adopted, because he was angry at his ex-wife. He only changed because the EX-WIFE told him to cut it out.

That's why I think he's not a great dad. I think talk of his Greatly Dadness are narration wank, and when you look closer, you see a FASCINATINGLY flawed character that the Erins hold back out of WEIRD writer favoritism.

#Warrior cats analysis #And again this is FASCINATING #I want to dissect him #He is my eternal rival. My white whale #My detested comrade with whom I am dying in the trenches #I wake up from cryosleep 100000 years in the future and the computer simulation picks the one man i hate the most in the world #Because through my seething fixation. He is somehow the only one who can keep me sane #As we float through the cold and uncaring vacuum of space.

148 notes · View notes

antidesire · 1 year

Text

04:49 antidesire

disclaimer, afab!reader x re6!leon/vendetta in mind but whatever you want, hands down, the filthiest thing i've ever written, reader just riles him up, reader is a little possessive, manipulative. honestly, this is toxic woops, be a better person than both of them. reader always get their way, leon is just such a giver, roughness! reader is wearing one of leon's shirts, begging, teasing, spit/saliva, pussy eating, finger fucking, pussy slapping, penetration, creampie, 3.9k of pure filth.

this was inspired by a request but i think this went off the rails from the get go but holy fuck i think i like this one a lot, sorry for not sticking completely to the request, hope you still enjoy,, reblogs and feedback are appreciated. requests are open

when you declared to your boyfriend that you no longer wanted him to go out to meet his friends- after reminding you many times tonight he wasn't going to be home he even told you that he would try to be back before it was too late out. you decided, not good enough. he looked way too divine to be wandering out the house on a friday night.

you could smell the light musky and woody scent of his cologne all the way from where you were on the couch, watching your boyfriend adjust the watch on his wrist, blue shirt sleeves pushed up above his elbows, the collar of the shirt was low cut too, exposing a good portion of his chest, black slacks to contrast as well- they looked almost too tight.

"but baby, i feel sick, can you reschedule?" you sighed dramatically, excuse one. feigning innocence as you jutted your bottom lip out into a cute pout.

he didn't think much of your schemes first, maybe you just had a headache. you were a little stunned when he came back from the kitchen with some water and pills in hand, snatching them from his hands with a huff, "not like.. that sick." you grumble, "what if something happens and you're not here?"

you heard him sigh out your name, "you have my number." he bluntly replied and you were far from amused at this.

"leon." you glared up at him from the couch, looking down at you he met your eyes with a candid expression.

“i’m supposed to be at the bar in..” glancing down at his watch, of course you didn’t miss the way his arm flexed at the small action, “twenty minutes and you’re telling me this now?” his eyebrow was raised with the question.

“it’s not a big deal, what? you’re gonna go see the same people you always do, get drunk, come back wasted, and forget what happened, woah, a real fun night.” you were being far from fair or reasonable but you couldn’t stop yourself now, there was no way he was walking out that door tonight and leaving you by yourself.

“stop talking, you’re really pissing me off now.” he scoffed, hands coming up to his face, groaning into his palms.

“babe..” you whined out, voice sickly sweet to his ears as he feels you squeeze your hand around his arm. fluttering your pretty eyelashes up at him when he moves his hands from his face.

he was gnawing on the inside of his cheek, glaring down at your face, eyes dragging over your lips, sheened and plush with some lip balm you had applied and your eyes were big, staring up at him, into what felt like his soul- god, you were dangerous to him.

a surprise to you, and even himself, leon pushes away your grip on him, turning away, “i’ll be three hours, how about that? it won’t even be midnight by then.”

cute, he was trying to compromise.

“no!” you moaned out, reaching out to grab his arm before he makes it to the door again.

uh oh, now you’ve really gone and done it, is what you think when suddenly he is turning round and gripping your jaw, painfully.

your eyebrows furrowed, feeling the uncomfortable ache from his grip, your nails digging into his arm, “you’re pushing it. i said no and you still can’t fucking accept it.” he shook your head a little in his grasp.

“what is wrong with you?” he spat out.

he let up his grip when his eyes drift down, watching how your thighs clench together and your back is arched to push yourself further against the material of the couch.

his tongue clicks against his teeth, tutting, “that’s what this is about, oh my god.” he stepped back, laughing in disbelief.

you would’ve been embarrassed, honestly, you should have been, but you were too far gone, had been ever since knowing him, leon kennedy made you absolutely feral, the way he carried himself, the gruff tone of his voice- how sexy he looked when he was pissed off.

oh yeah, he was right where you wanted him.

his brain was whirling as he looked you over once again, unbelievable, that’s why you had been prancing around in barely anything all day, clinging to his arm and being all sweet on him, buttering him up for this exact moment.

leon s. kennedy was a fool.

he could still walk away, he debated on it, no matter if you followed him to his bike, blew up his phone all night, cursed his name, he could fix it eventually, no?

he was thinking stupid, he knew was because why was he actually considering staying? maybe some shitty excuse to his friends in a halfhearted text. fuck it.

“i’m never doing this again.” he muttered, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and typing on the keys, sending a message to the group chat to tell them he wouldn’t be coming, apparently his bike wouldn’t start up this time.

you were gripping the couch underneath you, scared that if you even breathed too loud he would change his mind, your eyes hung low too, a little ashamed.

“get up.” you heard him but you didn’t move an inch, almost stuck to the couch, you got what you want, but at what cost?

“don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he sighed, frustration in his voice, “get. up.” he spat out each word, but before you could even retaliate he grabbed your arm and your feet were moving so you didn’t trip.

his strength was no joke, due to all his training and experience he was probably a little harsher than he should've been, you knew it was deplorable to love it, but oh god you did, your stomach churned with an aching want, nerves lingering on fire where his hand had been when he let you fall back against the wall of the bedroom.

he suddenly felt much taller than you were used to, much more menacing and you almost forgot that this was your intention.

"i didn't mean to make you mad-" you were cut off, a laugh rumbling from his throat, "i'm sorry.. baby." you frowned, bringing your hands up to his cheeks, leaning in to press your lips to his, whiskey on his breath from pre-drinking, but he didn't reciprocate, your lips traveling from his, along his jaw, and feeling the texture of his stubble against your lips.

“touch me..” you whined against his jaw, getting irked when his hands stayed by his side, grabbing one to snake around your waist, hearing him breathe out before you felt him squeeze the plush fat of your ass.

"i should not be here, entertaining this." he grumbled and you could hear the vibrations in his throat, right next to your ear, "you ruined my night."

you frowned at that, "never, you stayed because you know i can make it better." you both knew you were right, quick hands fumbling to unbutton his shirt, palms flattening against his chest, feeling him over and pulling him further against you.

"you don't want me?" you whispered, almost inaudible if it wasn't for your proximity to each other.

his tongue was poked on the inside of his cheek, acting like he was even thinking about it, as though he had to swirl the idea around in his head to even consider it. leon kennedy wanted nothing more, his brain was corroded with nothing but you, maybe all those years of chasing down viruses and killing otherwordly monsters had plagued his mind, and he had gone crazy.

crazy felt good though, even better when he pressed up against you, cock strained in the ever increasingly tight pants he chose for tonight's ruined plans.

"i knew it." you giggled and it made his muscles tense, god, you were insufferable.

"i can't stand you." he grumbled out, he didn't mean it- he just said it in the moment, he moreso couldn't stand the way he gave into you so easily every time, without fail.

if it wasn't for his wandering hands, you would've replied back something snarky but the quip on your tongue fizzled out into a desperate mewl when his hand tugged down the underwear you were wearing, adorned in nothing else but those and a loose fitted shirt of his.

he looked ahead at you and you noticed his fingers in front of your vision before he spat down on two of his digits, the fluid dripping down the expanse of his fingers, some dripping on your thigh but you didn't mind, watching him duck his hand down, prying your thighs open with the back of his hand.

"o-oh.." you hummed, knocking your head against his shoulder you were gripping onto, your leg hiking up until he grabbed ahold of your upper thigh to keep you still and open.

his fingers were warm and slender, you always had a fascination with his hands, adored holding them, playing with his fingers, kissing each one, having them shoved down your throat, gripped around your neck, everything.

your breathing was shakey when his fingers slid up and down your puffy lips, a certain sharp breath exhaling from your throat when he pushed against your clit, earning him a smug smile on his face.

“inside , l-leon..” you fumbled your words, trying to angle your hips to get some leverage on his fingers.

“hmm? i can’t hear you sweetheart.” he frowned, lying.

you cried out in frustration, being worked up like this wasn’t fun but you supposed you deserved it after the fiasco of getting here, “inside, please, your fingers, i want them.” you pleaded, sounding as pretty and delicate as ever.

"only because you asked so nicely." he sighed, one of his fingers pushing between your slick folds, his spit making it much easier to push his finger inside your spongey walls, pumping it slowly until he could fit the whole digit in, up to his knuckle, "nother' one, please babe." you keened, breathy moans against his ear.

he shouldn't be the one following your lead, giving you everything so easily but he was, another finger accompanying the other, stretching your pussy open, fucking the two digits inside of you, pace increasing with each pump.

it had your back arching, your chest pushed against his, "mhm, that feels really good!" you gripped onto your older boyfriend's hair, tugging and earning a moan from his own lips.

each push of his fingers had you further reeling against him, you would've fallen if he didn't have a strong hold on your thigh. when he curled his fingers upward inside you, you swore you felt fireworks bursting inside your tummy, "leon!" you screeched.

you didn't mean to get so excited so quickly but you blamed it on your boyfriend, he knew each and every one of your little buttons to press, knew your body like the back of his hand- so when you got close, he knew it, you got louder, breathier and you would claw, scratch and squeeze any part of him you could get your hands on.

dread filled your body when his fingers dropped from between your legs, your oncoming orgasm fizzling away quicker than it came on, you could barely muster out a complaint, your body limply resting against leon, "why would you do that?" you whimpered out, eyes getting teary.

leon was always so generous, unless it was a quickie he was bringing you to no less than two orgasms every time, you don't think you've ever been denied one before and it made your whole body burn up.

"oh, poor baby." he cooed in a mocking tone, "i've always treated you way too good hmm? i think you forgot how to give me the same respect, angel."

"i told you m' sorry." you muffled out, looking up at him with the sweetest pout on your lips, and glassy eyes to match.

"you're not though, if you were we wouldn't be doing this, but you love getting your way, i've spoiled you." he shook his head disapprovingly.

he didn’t let you reply, his hand that was previously preoccupied with your pussy gripped your jaw again, his face leaning in until his lips meshed with yours in a sloppy wet kiss, his tongue darting out against yours, you felt insatiable and lightheaded, the grip he had on you both physically and mentally made you throb.

he pulled away, only slightly, to speak “is it bad i wanna eat your pussy right now, after everything? can you believe that? god, you’re not good for me.”

you moaned at that, feeling your warmth pulsing at the idea alone, “plea—“ he cut you off when he stuffed his thumb past your lips, shaking his head to indicate he didn’t wanna hear it.

“i’m too good to you.” he groaned, lips trailing wet kisses and nips of your skin downwards until you felt the tug of your shirt, “up.” he nodded his head to gesture that he wanted your arms up, doing as you were told your shirt swiftly came off.

he wasted no time when he saw your bare chest, lips attaching around your nipple as his hand toyed with the other, flicking and pinching the bud deliciously whilst his tongue swirled and licked.

you were feeling pure bliss, every nerve tingling and sending waves of ecstasy straight to your warmth.

you could’ve passed out right then and there when you noticed him drop to his knees, tongue dragging down your stomach, only stopping to turn his attention to prying your legs open once again.

it didn’t take him long to find a comfortable spot between your legs, with one thigh hooked over his shoulder he seemed satisfied and who were you to complain, your gorgeous boyfriend was about to eat you out.

you were brimming with excitement and need, legs practically already trembling when you looked down at him, his breath felt so close, his lips dragging along your inner thigh, biting at the soft flesh before suckling sweet little bruises into your skin.

tilting his head to the side, you held your breath, only to shakily exhale when you felt the tip of his tongue drag over your folds before swirling over your clit. he repeated the motion before flattening his tongue against your cunt, tongue delving between your folds and beginning a pattern of flicking his tongue inside you and licking upwards in between suckling your clit into his mouth, practically making out with the sensitive little nub- and the crude, wet sounds of your sopping cunt mixed with his tongue were getting you so worked up.

“o-oh my god!” you moaned out, hands flying to grip his hair, push his face further into your pussy, you wanted to beg for more but every time you opened your mouth another moan slipped out instead, he made you feel so good.

eating you out was just as pleasurable for you as it was him, he could spend hours between your legs. his head was shaking as he sucked your clit into his mouth, hearing you grow increasingly louder, moving to fuck his tongue into your cunt as his hand reached up to squeeze onto your waist.

looking down at him when he glanced up sent your body into waves of pleasure, you could see his mouth and chin glistening with your excitement and his salvia, he looked so messy, like he was having the time of his life with the dumbest smug smile still plastered on his face.

he pulled back and you cried out, head knocking back against the wall with a thump, breath heaving and nails clawing at your waist to calm yourself.

“such a greedy little pussy.” he sighed, spitting on your cunt before bringing his hand up to swat down on your clit, a surprised shriek sounding from your lips.

your body was quivering, the tingles of pain teetering more on the line of utter pleasure and joy.

“you’re such a dick.” you huff out, tugging his hair once again and hearing him wince in pain.

“after all that, you still insult me?” he chuckled, dropping your leg back by your side, and standing back up in front of you, “i’m the nicest guy you’ll ever meet baby.” you heard the metal of his zipper before the fabric dropped to the ground, kicking it from under his feet.

glancing down you saw how strained he was against his boxers, dick twitching in the thin fabric, you could play nice too but dramatic or not if you don’t feel him inside you in the next five minutes you would jump out the window.

bringing your hands down you helped him rid him of his boxers, thrown somewhere amongst the other pile of clothes, his dick slapped against his stomach, standing tall and you could feel the drool pooling in your mouth at the sight of him.

“stay with me baby.” he chuckles, noticing how dazed you looked, you shook your head, arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders, leaning up on your tip toes.

“i want you so badly.” you whispered sweetly in his ear, teeth grazing his lobe before licking up his neck.

your body jolted when you felt a harsh sting on your ass, before you were lifted up, his footsteps trailing to the bed until you felt the mattress beneath you, leaning up on your elbows and seeing his finger twirl in the air, “ass up.” he tilted his head, hand gripped on his cock, stroking leisurely as his eyes drank in every inch of your body.

you could’ve laid there a little longer and watched him but you were aching with need, turning yourself over, with your chest pressed into the sheets and your ass up in the air.

you swayed your hips playfully as you heard the creaking of the bed, indicating he was situating himself behind you, giggling when you felt his hands rub over your skin, from your ass and settling on your waist, “you’re so pretty.” he thought aloud.

“i can be even prettier with your cock stuffed inside me.” you quipped, pushing back against him.

he chuckled, “you’re disgusting.” he loved it though, you knew it too.

his thumb rubbed along the soft skin of your waist as he positioned his length in between your legs, pushing himself inside your soaking cunt with ease thanks to his fingers and mouth prepping you.

“o-oh my god, leon!” you gasped, hands stretching above your head as you already pushed yourself further down on him, greedy as always.

“fuck..” he stared in awe at where the two of your bodies met, the way you got his cock slick with your arousal and how deep he was stuffed inside you already, “love fucking this pussy so much.” he rasped out, pulling his hips back, hearing you already complain until he slammed back into you, hips flush against the back of your thighs.

you loved everything, every little sensation, every push of his hips and every inch of him, you felt like you couldn’t get enough, “f-feels s’uh good, you’re mine m’kay?” you muffled against the sheets, reaching your arm back behind you until you got a hold of his hand.

he laughed, “i’m yours?” he repeated, leaning over you and oh my god the way he angled his hips intentionally or not had your eyes rolling back, nails digging in to his hand enough to draw blood.

“fuck, yesyesyes!” you chanted, “you’re mine, mhm, no one else can have this, can have you.” you wailed against the sheets until you felt your body being raised from your position, until your back was flush with his chest, his arm had come around to push against your neck, in a softer version of a chokehold.

“this dicks all yours hmm? is that what you wanna hear? that no one else but you can take it? no one else deserves it? you’re a greedy fucking brat.” he grunted, fucking himself up into you, the sounds of your wet soppy cunt squeezing him back in every time he even moved an inch.

you felt lightheaded, thanks to being denied two orgasms your stomach was twisting and whirling with every word he said and every little thing he did, evident by how whiney and incoherent you got.

he had a good hold on you, hips shallowly slapping against your ass as his cock pumped quickly into you, feeling you pulse and clench around him, his own thighs and yours sticky with your arousal.

“you’re close, i know you are, mmm, pussy sucking me in so deep.” he groaned, finding it hard to concentrate when he was so deep in your guts.

you got squirmy as you got closer, your nails clawing at his arm and your hips bouncing to meet his pace, “fuck! fuck! leon, oh my- nnghn!” you squealed, feeling yourself cumming, cunt fluttering around his length, making even more of a mess than you already have.

“oh my god, leon.” you whimpered, still bouncing against him and he didn’t let up his own pace, happy to help you ride out your own high as he chased his.

he let you fall back against the bed, body flush with the sheets though he pushed your ass further in the air once again, a spew of curses leaving his lips, “this pussys so fucking addicting, oh baby.” he moaned, thrusts sloppy and he could hear you mewling again, body still trembling from your own orgasm.

“y’gonna cum again sweetheart?” he laughed out, feeling you push back against him, “you’re fucking crazy, i love it.” he gasped, gripping onto the back of your neck as he fucked you into the mattress, your whimpers of pleasure muffled by the silk sheets.

“ah, fuck! i’m gonna fucking cum.” he growled, cock drilling into your abused pussy, “holy s-shit! ugh!” he threw his head back, hot ropes of cum spurting inside you which pushed you over the edge once again, fingertips squeezing onto the sheets below you as your arousal and his seeped out of you, sticky substances dripping onto your thighs and the mattress.

“oh my god..” he breathed heavily, “you’re so gorgeous.” he sighed, pulling himself out and admiring how messy you were, his length glistening and your pussy was still pushing out his cum, pulsing around nothing as you still reeled from your second orgasm.

you were breathless as you flopped onto the bed, ignoring the uncomfortable sticky mess for now, hearing leon soon join you in laying down, his hands coming up to tug you towards him, a firm kiss being placed on your forehead.

you smiled tiredly, peaking your eyes open to glance up at him, “so, how was your friday night?”

#leon s kennedy smut #leon smut #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 smut #re 4 smut #re smut

750 notes · View notes

kazutora-lover · 1 year

Text

Not A Dream It's Love — Feel It

Itoshi Rin x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers

Summary: You lose who you love the most — or, how you turn your biggest nightmare into your biggest blessing

Warnings: nothing too dramatic I suppose? Slightly ooc!rin?

Notes: Ugh, I don't even know what this is tbh skskskw. This is the first time that I've written something on the angstier side. I genuinely feel self-conscious about this one but oh well, hope someone enjoys ~

"We need to break up."

You couldn't believe your ears. Did Rin, your boyfriend of many years, your fiancé really just tell you that he is breaking up with you? Yes, you had bickered here and there like a normal and healthy couple would, but nothing serious ever occurred and you always made up immediately after. The both of you were way too attached to each other.

You didn't understand. What happened to Rin to want to break up with you all of a sudden? Did Rin fall out of love with you? Did you say or do something so utterly stupid that Rin couldn't take it anymore? But that couldn't be, you would know if you did such thing. For sure.

"Huh? Rin wait, what are yo—"

You wanted to grab him, take your lover's hand into your own and talk it out but Rin didn't budge. His facial expression was unreadable and even if you tried hard enough to look past his facade, you couldn't see anything but determination. He really meant those horrible words you never wanted to hear. Especially not from him. The love of your life.

"I'm breaking up with you, y/n."

You really didn't know how to react. Your lips started to wobble involuntarily and your body began to shake like the loose leafs that hung on for dear life on a windy autumn day.

The way your full name left the lips of your lover in question, hurt you more than you could've ever imagined. Not even a knife to your heart could've caused you such tremendous pain. You're sure it couldn't. All that would be left, was a wound so deep it could never heal and yet it still would've healed better than your soul that came crushing down on you.

Your voice sounded hoarse. It's like you've been crying for hours already and yet it's only been mere minutes. Minutes of trying to figure out what had caused this.

"Why? Please tell me what it is? Did I make you uncomfortable? Did I not give you enough space? Or did someone else do something to make you say this?"

You couldn't help the thoughts rushing through your head. You felt like you were in a rush, one second being left unspoken and Rin would slip away and out of your hands like everything was a mere fever dream.

"Y/n, please don't make it harder than it already is. I don't love you anymore and to be honest, I've stopped loving you months ago."

The dark haired man let out a groan, really not being in the mood for any discussions. He just wanted to get it over with. No disruptions whatsoever.

"While I was with you, I realized that we were never meant to be and to be honest, we probably never have been to begin with. You were just never the person I ought to have. And you can't give me what I need. Needless to say that you've been damn clingy too. Thanks to that because it made me realize things before we were able to get married."

By now your face was drenched by your salty tears. You didn't even realize when exactly they started to fall but your emotions equaled an ocean right now — and oceans are big. Your broken heart in exchange? It got shattered into millions of small pieces.

You were sure no one would ever be able to pick up the pieces ever again. And if someone ever managed to pick up a few, there would be a lot of them missing, still. No one could love you like Itoshi Rin. You couldn't love anyone like you love Itoshi Rin.

"You'll get over it, Y/n. Don't worry about the apartment. I'll get my clothes and the other stuff by next week and then you're free to do whatever you want with the rest. Don't worry about sleeping on the sofa either. I'm sleeping at someone else's place."

It felt unbelievable how Rin didn't show the slightest tinge of emotion. He said those things with a tone so normal, you would think he was about to congratulate you on whatever happy ending you just achieved.

Rin began to disappear out of your vision but you couldn't move your body. You felt trapped, paralyzed and helpless. Screams of Rin's name left your lips but it was to no avail. The man you loved slipped right through your fingertips.

You must've been gone for a little bit because when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by a rather worried pair of eyes that stared right back at you.

There they were again, those teal eyes you loved so much but wait — what was Rin doing, sitting next to you?

With a voice as raspy as it was before, you called out for the very man by your side. "Rin?"

Rin sighed in relief at the sound of your voice and placed one of his slightly cold hands on your forehead. "Y/n for fucks sake, you need to stop doing that. Stop pushing yourself when you're sick. You've got me worried shitless."

You on the other hand couldn't quite grip what was happening. Rin was calling you by your nickname. The name only he used for you. Then you took a look around and slowly came to notice that you were in your room, resting on your bed with Rin right by your side.

Before you could stop yourself you blurted out, "Say my name again. Please?"

Your best friend took a good look at you at first but obliged nonetheless, though a little hesitantly, ".... Y/n?"

That's it. You were having a fever dream. None of that shit you dreamt about was real. You know it because you and Rin aren't even a thing. You aren't engaged nor are you dating. You're just .... friends. You're STILL friends.

Before you even understood what was happening to you, hot tears began to roll down your cheeks and not even a few seconds later, two soft hands engulfed your warm cheeks to wipe the salty droplets away.

That was all it took — all it took for you to shoot up and draw Rin in for a hug. A hug you desperately needed. Because even though you were aware of the fact that none of the events you just went through were real, you needed to feel Rin's warmth, his body, his heartbeat and the fact that he wouldn't slip away again.

The latter was at a loss for words as he stumbled forwards messily and right into his best friend's arms, yours. He immediately felt that something was wrong. Something felt different and it was a first for Rin to feel disheartened.

While the dark haired man opted to tighten his arms around you, he couldn't help himself to ask, in the softest voice he could muster, "Y/n? You wanna talk about it?"

It took Rin a few seconds, seconds way too long for his liking until he received a response. It was quiet and muffled and accompanied by occasional sniffles but he understood it nonetheless. "No need, it was just a stupid nightmare."

A low sigh escaped Rin's lips as he spoke, his voice dangerously close to your ear. "You know you can tell me everything, right?"

A shiver ran down your spine at the way Rin talked to you, cared for you. After realizing that you've been spacing out again, Rin squeezed your torso in assurance.

"I know. Thank's Rin."

But deep in your mind, you had a different answer.

"No. Not about this one."

A few days have gone by and you were good to go again. All thanks to your friends who stopped by multiple times a day to make sure you took care of yourself. Or more like, for them to take care of you because they knew how whiny you could get at times of their absence.

In the moments you were alone, you had enough time to think about what happened in that hellish nightmare of yours. You were almost convinced that your dream wanted to tell you something.

Would it be better to keep your feelings to yourself? All bottled up? Should you just move on and forget about Rin? You still have him as your best friend, right? Maybe that's as close as you'll get but at least you won't lose him, ever.

You felt the uneasiness creep up again because you actually planned to confess your feelings soon. Now? You weren't so sure anymore....

This time you were at home at Rin's place. You guys originally planned a movie night with some of your shared friends, or more like only your friends, as Rin only endured their presence because of you. Turns out the other's had different plans all of a sudden. So you went to Rin's alone. At least you could watch whatever you wanted, as the two of you weren't as picky as the others were.

While Rin sat on his sofa and got comfortable already, you sat on the floor in front of the tv, ready to choose whatever movie you would watch. "Rin, wanna watch a horror movie?"

You wriggled with your eyebrows and Rin couldn't help but laugh at you. "Yeah? Let's watch one Y/n, bet you'll end up crying like a baby."

You loved to hear Rin laugh, it's so beautiful and melodic. Melodic it was indeed because it stopped before you got to enjoy more of it, "And come sit on the sofa, are you trying to go blind down there so close to the tv?"

Turning your head to look at him, you threw him a little smirk, "You're one to talk, aren't you?"

A scoff and an eye roll later and he told you to finally sit down with him or else he wouldn't allow you to ever sit down on his sofa again.

When you asked him why, he had told you that the floor was dirty. Jokes on him though because.. did that mean that his place was dirty to begin with?

He didn't take it well when you told him that.

More than an hour later and you guys were fully engulfed in the movie. Well, you were. Somehow.

Rin didn't understand what exactly it was that captured your interest, as he thought the movie was way too boring and predictable. His interest though, laid upon you and you alone.

He watched as your eyes flickered from one corner of the tv to another, analyzing the actors movements with caution and reminding yourself under your breath that whatever you were seeing wasn't real.

Rin found it amusing how you always claimed to like horror movies but still got scared of them by the end anyways. And suddenly he felt like being mischievous as his arm found its way around your form to give you a surprising squeeze.

A big jump and one loud shriek of yours later and you found Rin next to you, chuckling. And even though you would've enjoyed the sight of him enjoying himself, you almost emptied your bladder right then and there.

A soft but exaggeratedly shaken sigh left your lips as you spoke, almost breathlessly, "Rin for fucks sake, you scared me."

The man in question shot you a deadpan look and raised a brow, "Yeah? Wasn't me though, your imagination must be playing tricks on you. How scary."

Another sigh left your parted lips and almost involuntary, your secret got spilled, in a voice as quiet as a whisper.

"Not as scary as my feelings for you."

And Rin heard. If the background noise of the tv was loud seconds ago, it was as quiet as a pin dropping to the floor when you spoke. And his eyes followed every single movement of your lips as to make sure that he's not the one imagining things now.

For him, the movie and everything else around him has been long forgotten. It's you he's interested in and he's going to make sure that this time, he will make his next step your new reality.

You don't have to be scared of your feelings if they're reciprocated, right?

At least that's what Rin believed, as his heart had found its place in your palms long ago.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x gn!reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock angst #blue lock scenarios #bllk #bllk x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin x reader #rin itoshi #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin fluff #dividers are custom made by @/benkeibear ♡#kazutora-lover

572 notes · View notes

yanderes-galore · 16 days

Note

your prompts 53, 60, 29 with lmk Red-son Pleas <3

I can try, sure! Sorry if something is OOC... still new to the fandom :) I'm only on like Season 2 currently but I LOVE it so far!

I know Red Son should be a very prideful yandere... but I also like the idea of him being soft once he finds the one he adores.

Yandere! Red Son Prompts 53, 60, 29

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?"

"You feel like you're being stalked? Tell me all about it...."

"I want to be this close... forever...."

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Denial, Manipulation, Clingy behavior implied, Stalking, OOC soft yandere (?), Somewhat lucid yandere, Dubious companionship/relationship.

Red Son never really found the appeal of such close affection. It wasn't something he experienced that often as a demon. Leading him to feel rather guilty or embarrassed upon receiving it.

Red Son barely had any friends. Always so arrogant and dramatic, often associated with the Demon Bull King. He didn't mind... he didn't think he needed such a thing.

Then he met you, always hanging around MK and his friends...

He couldn't get you out of his head after that.

You are the only person he could consider himself close to other than his family. It took him a long time to be able to approach you... yet he did eventually. Now you're no doubt one of his only friends.

Which leads him getting a bit too attached... a thought that embarrasses him to his core.

However... Red Son yearns for approval. He yearns for your attention. Sometimes the only way to get such attention is by calling you, or spying on you.

You can tell how close Red Son wishes to be with you through every call. Finally discovering a new friend and possible crush he wants to be around all the time. He was originally uncomfortable being vulnerable with others due to his heritage.

You became the only one he could vent to and be open with.

His phone calls are often moments of vulnerability, ranting to you and bragging about things he's done. Although his calls become so frequent you can't answer all the time. Which leads to a frantic Red Son finding you with worry in his eyes.

"I left you a few voice mails, why didn't you pick up?" He often asks, uncharacteristically clingy towards you. At first, you really can't blame him. You are his closest bond, after all.

Then you start to feel like you're being watched.

Red Son already considers himself villainous. Surely "stalking" is a villainous way of "courting", right? It's supposed to feel wrong... right?

Red Son tries to keep such urges and activities private. Yet the demon can tell you're nervous whenever he's around. Do you know?

Eventually he visits you, knocking on your door to see you open it. The demon surprisingly frowns when he sees the fear in your eyes.

But he acts curious, like the attentive "friend" he is, asking you what's wrong.

"I feel like someone's watching me when I'm alone." He hears you whisper. His heart nearly stops but he continues to play his part.

"You feel like you're being stalked? Tell me all about it...." Red Son answers, sitting beside you in your home. The heat inside of him flares when you look at him with sad scared eyes.

Red Son wasn't expecting to be the one you confide in. He isn't used to it... and part of him feels guilty that he caused it. Yet at the same time...

Your attention feels fantastic.

Even when you ask to hug him, Red Son was expecting himself to say no. But... with a red hot heat in his cheeks, he finds himself pulling you close. He's the one to cause you torment... yet he's also the one to provide you comfort...

He should feel bad... but he's beginning to like it.

"I want to be this close... forever...." He finds himself whispering to mostly himself, his grip digging into your sides. The feeling is addicting. So much so Red Son hopes you never find out that he's the cause of your problems.

Yet eventually you will... he'll slip and you find out his dirty little secrets...

Leading to him to find a way to create a mechanical prison to keep his dearest companion beside him.

#yandere lego monkie kid #yandere lmk #yandere red son

74 notes · View notes

dragonrider9905 · 20 days

Text

Celebrating You!

Hi guys! I’ve been on here for a bit now and while I never had a follower goal, I do appreciate you guys who have decided to follow me! So now I’d like to celebrate you!

In light of TBB ending, and how much we'll be missing the boys, I thought this was as good as a time as ever!

Here’s the idea! I’m opening a prompt request for the dates of April 5th through May 5th, 2024 (you may start submitting now though!) and choose from the prompts below! You can choose one from each category, or just one category. It’s ok if it is just the prompt or the prompt and a brief idea. If you have a fun idea or prompt not listed, please share!

Rules: I only write SFW. I typically write for clones; I reserve the right to refuse requests which make me uncomfortable for whatever reason. I have had a few requests in the past that really unsettled me for various reasons. Or if I don't know the character. I'd hate to try to write something then upset the person because it is so ooc that it's cringy. (But if I said I would write your request and haven't yet, I just honestly haven't gotten to it :D I like to do well on the stories you guys entrust to me so it does take me a bit :D)

This is supposed to be fun so lets keep it fun!

You may submit as many requests as you'd like! The more the merrier!

Characters: Star Wars Clone Wars or The Bad Batch (as long as I know them. I know a lot of clones but alas, not all.)

Story genre:

Classic SW! (Pick an era if they exist in more than one if you wish)

AU of choice (modern, western, pirate, mermaid, time traveling, etc if I’m unfamiliar with the genre, I may have to change it or request more details)

Dialogue Prompts:

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“If we’re going to do this we’ll need—“ “A plan?” “No! Code names! Cool ones!”

“I don’t need to be anything to you. I just want my life to mean more to you than my death.”

“You are playing a dangerous game without even a glimpse of the rule book.”

“I’ve never been terrified of death, til he set his sights on you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” “Yeah, you’re not allowed to ask that in this situation.”

“Where’s your shoe?” “The giant mud puddle in the road demanded a sacrifice.”

“Love at first sight doesn’t exist.” “Then how else do I describe the feeling I got when I first saw you?” “You…love me?” “Apparently not, according to you.”

“A fate worse than death….” “They’re burnt cupcakes.”

“White paint has more color than your face.”

“Why is there a dragon in my fridge?” “It was hot.”

“Touch **, and you’re dead.”

“I am the law.”

“Do that again and I’ll throw you out the window. Wait, what are you doing?” “Checking how high the drop is; seeing if it’s worth it.”

“I’d rather have you hate me than loose you entirely.”

“I have a mission but don’t know what it is.” “Well that sounds incredibly counterproductive.”

“I would like to join you in acknowledging the difficulties in your life.” “You are the worst at this comforting thing.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this but I’m quite petite.” “Really? I had no idea in our twelve years of friendship that you’re shorter than I am.”

“But what is power?” “Loyalty.”

“Don’t you sign to me in that tone.”

“I’m with him/her for better or worse.” “It’ll probably be worse.” “I knew that the day I met him/her.”

"I'm sorry I tried to kill you." "It's fine, but next time you should try harder."

"C'mon, like I need an excuse to spend time with you."

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."

"The only one who gets to kill you is me."

“blood loss”? well it’s not lost. I know exactly where it went. right over there.”

“How the mighty have fallen!” “It’s a dropped chocolate bar, stop being dramatic.”

“Shit, we’re gonna die” “Now I don’t want to hear that negative attitude, look on the bright side!” “Yay! We’re gonna die! Woo!”

“How do you do it?” “How do I do what?” “Pretend you are ok.” “I’m not pretending.” “Yes, you are. Every single day and it breaks my heart.”

“Hey, so I know things are pretty f**** shitty right now but I need you to breathe for me.” “Wha-wh-wh-” “You’re having a panic attack. It’s gonna be ok. Just breathe with me.”

“Please, my arms—I can’t wipe my tears, don’t let them see!”

"Smiles are contagious!" "Don't worry, I'm vaccinated."

"I don't want to get involved, it's too risky." "Please do it for me, you're the only one I can turn to." "It's not worth it. You really want to lose everything? 'cause I don't."

"Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself?" "No"---a long pause---"actually yes, at Christmas time"

"There is a reason I go through that door first, It's to make sure everyone else walks back out"

“I can’t leave you here!” “You can and you will.”

"OH! Are you alright? Are you alright?" "Apart from being trapped under here, and maybe suffering from broken bones and embarrassment beyond what I am capable of handling. . . I'm dandy, why do you ask?"

Oh no, are you alright? You're covered in blood!" "Yes, it's yours, Now will you please let me take you to the hospital?"

"What did love ever do anything for anyone anyway?"

"What the hell were you even thinking?!" "You told me not to think!"

"With love comes loss, that's part of the deal. Sometimes it hurts, but in the end, it was all worth it. There's no greater gift than love."

“'Temporary stitches' all stitches are temporary if you have a pair of scissors and aren’t a coward" "What do you....that better not mean what I think you mean......" "Am I just talking about sewing stitches or sutures too? Maaayyybe?" "NO! Absolutely not!"

"I made the calculations, and boy am I bad at math."

"It'll be over soon, I promise."

"Working together again, just like old times." "Well, not just like old times."

"I am many things but not your enemy."

Action Prompts:

Forehead kisses

Palm/hand kisses

Dramatic rain scene

Touching foreheads

Jealousy

Dancing

Last stand

Christmas/Life Day celebration

mistletoe

Accidental hand touch

First date

First kiss

Spending time with the family

Bad day cheering up scheme

Pranks

Going to a pet shop

Going to the movies

Always go after the girl

soft spoken person has loud, unnerving scream.

Lullabies

Nightmares

injury

amnesia

pretend/mistaken to be married/in a relationship

cooking

59 notes · View notes

lemonnsss · 3 months

Text

Moral of the Story Chapter 4

Gif by: @celebritiesandmovies

A/N- I’m so sorry for the late update! I’ve had some issues with my health recently that have led to some related issues in school; but, I’ve been feeling a lot better and tried to edit this up quickly.

It’s not my best work, but I had no idea what to do with this chapter, please forgive the nonsense.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

Taglist: @vicmc624 , @mostlymarvelgirl , @yvonneeeee, @beetlejuicesupremacy , @moonlightreader649 , @whattheduckisupkyle , @chrisevans-realwife, @nekoannie-chan , @mrsbarnes32557038 , @imyourbratzdoll , @weallhaveadestiny

Word Count: 1.2k

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The thought that Scott would leave never so much as crossed my mind. How could it? Jean and Scott had been dating since the seventh grade.

I must have reread his email half a million times, each time hung on the words “I’m leaving the mansion too.”

I was pulled from my shock as I heard the door shut behind me. I put my phone away, internally prepared myself for the interview questions, and turned around, standing from the chair. I began to talk before I saw the figure, “Hello, again Ms. Potts. That was quite the situation-” I stopped. I had expected to see Ms. Potts. Instead, there stood Tony, who seemed equally shocked to see me there.

“Why hasn’t Pep sent you out yet?” He moved from the door to the desk, “The last person to make it this long had a mental breakdown a week later.” He passed my side, slipping onto her desk. He kicked his legs slightly before he appeared to remember I was still present.

“Regardless, where is Pepper? She usually never leaves interviewees unattended,” He leans back, bracing himself on one of his arms as he reaches to the top of the shortest stack with the other quickly lifting the top sheet and, while scanning it, says, “and most certainly never leaves them around confidential company information.”

“Technically, the interview hasn’t begun.” An uncomfortable pause fell in the room as he waited for me to elaborate, “Her regular assistant is on maternity leave. Her fill-in accidentally double-booked her- she’s in a meeting right now.”

He let his head fall back dramatically as he scoffed, “Shame, I had wanted to tell her something in private. Do you know who’s all in there with her?” A cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“No? Why, Tony?”

He slipped off the desk, similarly to when he hopped up, “Oh, nothing. Just have a bit of information to share with the class.” he was almost halfway across the room when he turned back to me. His smirk was now a shit-eating grin.

“Wait,” I ran to the man, grabbing his wrist, his expression turning amused, “if the information is so important, would it not be better to share it with her privately as you originally intended.”

I suppose I had a stern expression as I said that as Tony burst out laughing, “What am I? A schoolboy scolded by his teacher?”

“Not far off on the teacher part.” He stopped for a moment before a small smile came across his face.

“Really now? When was that?” He leaned against the table again, his interest shifting to the current topic more and more.

“It was my last job. I taught at a private academy outside Salem for almost three years.”

“Interesting. And what provoked the sudden career change?”

“I don’t believe I owe you that information, Mr. Stark, unless it pertains to a crime.”

A silence passed as he tilted his head one way and then the other. “Fair point. It doesn’t apply to California's laws, but sure, plead the fifth. I won’t judge you.”

“Oh no,” I said sarcastically, “how could I ever go on with the great Tony Stark judging me!”

“Ha-ha, very funny.” He moved his hands in an almost childish manner. Playing to exaggerate his point, “You don’t seem like the type to leave such a luxurious position for any old reason. And given that you didn’t have a job lined up, you left quickly. Why is that?”

“... My long-term partner and fellow teacher at the institution cheated on me with our co-worker.”

I looked up, his face seeming to wander between holding back a chuckle and ‘Oh shit’.

After quickly stiffening his laugh, a voice rang out behind, “Well, that’s quite the loss on their end.” Ms. Potts said from her place, leaning on the doorframe. Noticing her, I stood up, “You were a great help today, and from the small glimpse I’ve seen with you and Tony, well, I think he’ll be in good hands.”

By the time she finished her sentence, she was standing in front of myself and Tony. He still placed his weight on the desk but now he stood with his back straightened. I couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle, watching how much his demeanor changed when trying to maintain a good image around her.

“Please, Ms.Potts-“

“-Call me, Pepper. Please.”

“Alright… Pepper. Thank you, but you’re too kind. I just did what I could to help. That’s nothing to be hired over.”

I watched as she placed a hand on her hip, looked at Tony, then looked back at me.

“Hun, I mean this in the nicest way I can,” she says as she placed her hand on my shoulder lightly pushing me to sit, “do you want this fucking job?”

"Yes?"

“Great! You’re hired. Tony is scheduled to attend an event in Milan later this week so, I’d recommend you get ready for it. You’ll be at the convention for four days, not including travel days, please keep that in mind while packing. Now, if you don’t mind,” she moved her arm in front of her covered desk, “I have a few rather large stacks of paperwork to get to. Tony will show you to your office, once you’re done you’re free to leave,” she moved around the desk to type something on the computer, “I’ll have the receptionist send the order out for your ID badge, we’ll most likely have it tomorrow, otherwise it will be the day after that.” She moved up to Tony and me pushing him off her desk and casually shooing us to the door, “Congrats on the new secretary, Tony, don’t fuck it up. And to you, good luck.”

And just like that, I was standing outside of Ms. Potts' office with Mr. Stark. He led me over to his office, the room was rather cluttered but, inside and to the left there was a door. He looked over his shoulder, I guess to check to see if I was still there. He then opened the door, which, led to the secretary’s office.

“There’s another door leading in from the hall, so, please, don’t feel required to come through this room every morning. If you have any other questions, you have my number. Otherwise, I have better things to do.”

“I’m good Mr. Stark.”

“Mr. Stark was my father, call me Tony.”

“Okay then, Tony.”

“Well, I’ll be seeing you then.” He gave a slight wave and walked out into his office. The sound of his door closing let me know he was either leaving or heading back to Pepper’s.

I took another look around the room, it was well-furnished and fairly clean. There was nothing I could see that needed repair either. I wouldn't need to bring anything in.

We boarded the plane about sixteen hours ago and finally reached our destination. We were about five minutes from landing. I got up to wake up Tony, who had been asleep for the past four hours.

I walked over to his chair, slightly nudging his shoulder, “Mr. Stark, wake up. We’re about to land.”

“Fuck you”

“Apologies, sir.” I sat across from him and buckled my seatbelt.

After I had finished the pilot sent the message over the intercom. Tony begrudgingly followed the instructions. The landing was a bit bumpy, but far from the worst I’d felt.

Once we were given the all-clear to start unboarding we started walking down the airplane's staircase. I started walking towards the car that was waiting when I heard a loud bang. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot rang out. I turned around and saw Tony writhing on the ground.

71 notes · View notes

yunskies · 2 years

Text

◟𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄!

pairing — park sunghoon x f!reader

synopsis — Sunghoon deems himself to be quite a private person until one time when its way past midnight in their dorm's kitchen with you and the presence of his dormmates in the next room only gives way to realising temptations he never would've thought he'd possess

cw/tw — mdni. smut, established relationship, exhibitionism (not extreme), reader is called pretty, sweetheart, baby, princess, good girl. unprotected sex, mentions of food, a little fluff

word count — 1.7k

a/n — this was initially supposed to be a little drabble intended for an ask i received a while (months) back but ya girl very evidently has a hard time keeping things from getting carried away + also the first thing i've written over here after the span of months so the edges are a little rusty, my apologies </3

hope everyone is in good health and having an amazing day! sending hugs your way <3

"Are you sure you don't want any?" your voice ringed through the dimly lit kitchen, eyes lingering upon his tall frame as he skimmed across the narrow space.

"oh I'm not hungry at all, baby, besides I'm pretty sure you're gonna love this, 's a secret recipe"

Contrary to what meets the eye, Park Sunghoon is the softest of lovers you've ever had the chance to know. soft— in the way his fingertips linger upon your cheekbones a little longer after every kiss, soft in the way he ruffles your hair to see you smile, and in the way he subtly tries to slip in your favorite things into conversations to see your eyes light up.

Soft in the way he allows himself to be vulnerable and soft in the way he gets up way past midnight to make you pancakes cause he notices you shuffling uncomfortably in your sleep. one similar occurance brings you to your current position in his dorm's kitchen.

"careful or i might just take you for my personal little chef at this point" your feet swayed back and forth from where you were seated at the counter, the sweet lovesick smile never making its way past your lips as you notice his face distort in a look of amusement.

"Yeah? why don't you pay me a little extra for being so devoted to my job at 3 in the morning, princess?" he titters, accidentally dropping an empty utensil with a loud clutter, coaxing light laughter out of you.

"sunghoon-! my brother in christ, what could you possibly be doing there in the devil's hour?" Jay's tone laced with feigned irritation catches you by surprise, a small light emerging from the crack of his room's door as faint laughs and shouts followed right after.

"its his hour then, let him work" jake replies with a snicker, and you furrow your eyebrows at sunghoon in confusion.

"video games" he shrugs, "they go on till early morning these days- i won't understand" he rolls his eyes at his best friend's lame attempt of insult, a giggle breaking out of you, heart melting at how adorable he looks with the little pout gracing his lips.

"aw c'mere my pretty little chef, time for me to pay you back for your service" you coo, stretching your arms wide for a dramatic effect but he runs to you regardless, capturing your waist in his hold as you slide your arms around his neck, pulling him into a fervent kiss.

His lips are soft against yours. quiet yellow light from the ceiling falling upon his perfectly carved features as you feel yourself getting weak at the very tip of his touch. The warmth of his palm sits feebly at your waist, the thin material of your shirt– his shirt that you were wearing, barely serving as a barrier.

Your fingers grip on his soft locks as he plants fluttering kisses all over your jaw before he takes his sweet time, cascading down agonizingly slow. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, sucking on the skin of your neck as the soft graze of teeth makes you whimper.

"hoon- ah wait" you gasp for air, making him halt in his tracks. "do you-do you want us to go back to your room–?" you question, feeling light in the head as he looks up at you with cheeks flushed red. staring at him expectantly for what felt like the longest time, you figure it was going to take him a while to muster a reply- until it clicks in your mind.

"wait, it can't be– you actually like this here, don't you?" your voice low in his ear as you watch him suck in a breath, eyes barely meeting yours. your hand treading ever so slow from under his shirt to the material of his sweats, hovering right above where he wanted you the most.

"now, look at that" you palm his length over the fabric of his pants, a little flattered at how terribly hard he was under your touch.

"you didn't tell me you were into this, baby" you whisper, slipping your fingers under the waistband, a breathy moan escaping his pretty lips.

"i- please" his voice breaks into a plea, sweetly melting into your hand as you slide his dick out from the painful confines of the fabric. with the tip so pink and leaking, you try so hard to not sink down to your knees and take him in your mouth right then.

"please what, baby? you'd have to be more specific than that" you tease, slowly pumping his length in your hand as he bends forward to bury his face in the crook of your neck.

"princess, please, i need you so bad" he musters out, voice low and laced with desperation. There was something about him being so needy and bending at your every will, that made you so terribly weak, you wanted nothing more than to take him right there.

You hook your fingers under his chin, making him meet your gaze before crashing your lips upon his. He's quick with his hands as they slide your shorts off with ease. strong arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you close till you're seated at the very edge of the counter. His gaze, hot and burning as he gently spreads your legs open.

Your demeanor starts wearing off, face growing warm as you follow his gaze that was directed at your soaked panties, sticking to your core. A low grunt leaves his mouth, pointer finger tracing your clothed wetness ever so slowly, making you whimper weakly under his towering frame.

"seems like you want this just as much, don't you?" he whispered, leaving you no time to form a reply as he slides the material to the side, dipping a digit into the warmth of your folds before bringing it up to his mouth, tasting your arousal.

"so fucking sweet, princess, all for me, isn't it?" you nod weakly at his words, mouth dry as you wanted nothing but for him to do something as you looked at him with pleading eyes, mouthing a little 'please' that made him crumble almost instantly.

He positioned himself at your entrance, taking his time to rub the head of his cock upon your sensitive clit before pushing himself into your warmth in one swift go. A loud moan breaks out of you, but he's quick to press his lips upon yours, drowning your whimpers in the warm caverns of his sweet mouth.

"sshh, sweetheart, can't have them knowing, now, can we?" he mumbles lowly, making you aware of his dormmates who were wide awake in the room right down the hall. You could still hear their muffled laughs and occasional strings of muttered obscenities, realizing you weren't the only ones there.

"oh who're you lying to, hoon? you'd probably like that very much" you huff out, content as you watch his cheeks glow a warm pink, with thrusts not as strong as before. You take his silence as a cue to go forth,

"Your friends could walk in anytime and find you buried deep inside my cunt, doesn't that sound scary? oh wait, it just turns you on more, isn't that right?" you whisper, attempts at riling him up working quite effortlessly as you feel his length twitch inside of you.

His face burns red out of embarrassment but he can't stop thrusting his hips into yours, your warm and soft insides too pleasurable and inviting for him to not want more of you— all of you.

"f-fuck you feel so good, princess" he groans, trying his best to not be loud.

You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of it as his cock stirs up your insides, rubbing against your spot ever so sweetly. You whimper in your place, impatiently rutting your hips into his as you feel him reach so deep inside of you.

"feel so f-full, hoon, d-don't stop please" you moan, almost crying out as you feel his hand travel down to your pussy, rubbing deliberate circles on your clit.

"yeah, princess? always so good to me, fuck, i want everyone to know who you belong to" you feel your walls clamp down on him as those words leave his mouth, wetness running down your thighs as his thrusts reach deeper, making you bite down on the tender skin of his nape to keep your screams at bay.

"so pretty, look s'fucking pretty taking my cock like this" he grunts, and you feel your legs give out as the pressure building in your abdomen gets too much to take up.

"w-will cum, hoon, can't t-take it" you cry, but it only results in him rubbing your clit faster.

"jus' a lil more, yeah, sweetheart? wanna cum together"

With that, he takes hold of one of your legs, hooking it behind him as his thrusts get sloppier. essence leaking out of your wet hole as your walls convulse around his thick length spreading you open.

"b-baby i can't anymore, fuck-" you moan, your voice raspy and high, with no more regards to keeping it down–how could you, when he was fucking you this good?

"let go, princess, been s'good, such a good girl" he whispers, barely making out words as he moves inside you for a last few times, before you feel his warmth filling you up.

You rest your head against his chest, body shaking weakly at how hard your high has hit you, until you notice how eerily silent it is inside the house.

You look up to find Sunghoon already facing your way, cheeks pink and mouth slightly parted, as if the words were right there, sitting at the very tip of his tongue.

"do you- do you think they heard us?" you question, even though the answer was quite evident whether sunghoon said it or not.

"no baby, i'm sure they must've gone to bed already" he states, trying his very best to sound as convincing as he can, but failing regardless.

"you're just saying that to make me feel better, i can see right through you" you cannot help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips, drinking in his pretty face as if he's the brightest this place has ever made.

"not at all, such little trust you bear in me, beloved" he feigns hurt, hand clutching his chest as if its the most terrible deed you could've commited in the history of human race.

"you're so dramatic" you roll your eyes playfully.

"you love me"

"you're right, i do"

"and you were right too, I'd do anything to make you feel at ease" he admits, eyes filled with nothing but warmth and sincerity, looking at you like you're the most inestimable part of the universe that his hands have ever had the chance to hold.

"i am so in love with you"

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen suggestive #enhypen scenarios #park sunghoon x reader #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #enhypen imagines #kpop drabbles #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen heeseung #kpop imagines #jake smut #jay smut #sunghoon scenarios

2K notes · View notes

maddieg0531 · 5 months

Text

Hugs and Kisses

Oikawa x fem!reader

Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Warnings: Creepy guy, unwanted advances, self blame, reaction that indicates past trauma, uncomfy situations

Synopsis: A guy consistently bothers you and when he pushes a little to hard, you don't know what to do with yourself.

Headcanon: Oikawa is a big physical touch person and LOVES hugs

A/N: I'm back from the dead. A few things about this story. First, writers block is real, so if this sucks, my bad. I just needed to get words on a paper (screen ?). Second, ⚠️ this story may be uncomfortable or triggering for certain audiences ⚠️ You have been warned, read at your own risk. Y/N's reaction indicates potential past trauma, so no she isn't just being dumb or dramatic. It's a real response that real people have. Anywaaaaaaaaay, I hope you enjoy! I'm working on some other things (slowly), so stay tuned!

Masterlist

Dating Oikawa is weird. You and Oikawa started dating about a month ago. You have never been a popular kid. You had your friend group and you did your things just like everyone else. You figured dating him would draw a little bit of attention but not this much. As you walk down the hallway — the same hallway you have walked for two years — people stare at you. You focus your eyes on the floor and try to ignore them. You make your way to Oikawa’s locker, but your lack of attention causes you to run into someone.

“Oh I’m sorry.” You look up to see the captain of the baseball team looming over you, his muscular body way too close to you.

“It’s always a pleasure seeing you.” He winks at you with a smirk.

“Uh…” Something about his voices makes you shrink into yourself. You are about to walk away when you feel arms wrap around you. An involuntary squeak escapes your mouth.

“Gooooood morning beautiful!” A familiar voice calls as he spins you in a circle.

You turn to look at him, “Tooru! You scared me.”

“Sorry that I want to see my wonderful girlfriend.” He says placing a kiss on your forehead. His eyes drift past you to see the large captain behind you, “Oh, hey Hiroto. Sorry, did I interrupt or?”

“No. Not at all.” You quickly reply.

“Yeah, just saying hi.” Hiroto says with a begrudging tone. He passes by you, brushing your shoulder and hitting Oikawa’s.

“Man I just don’t understand him.” Oikawa says, shaking his head.

“Doesn’t matter.” You hug Oikawa, his warm embrace and sweet smell relaxing you. You let out a soft sigh, “I have to go to class.”

“But I just got here.” Oikawa pouts.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be late.” You press a kiss on his cheek, “I’ll come to practice this afternoon, okay?”

“Okay.” You laugh at Oikawa’s pouty face. He really is just a big puppy.

Grabbing the last of your stuff, you close your locker and turn to go to the gym. Standing right behind your locker door is the same guy from earlier, Hiroto.

You jump back, “Oh, uh…sorry. I didn’t see you there.” You swing your bag over your shoulder and go to walk around him, but he steps in front of you.

“Hey, if you aren’t busy, you should come to watch baseball practice.” His scratchy voice makes your brain itch.

“Yeah, uh sorry but I’m going to the gym to watch Tooru practice, so uh…maybe another time.” As you walk away, you scratch your head, trying to get off the weird feeling he gives you.

“Yeah, another time.” He calls after you.

You walk into the gym and Oikawa immediately runs and hugs you. His warm embrace immediately takes away the weird feeling from before.

“Hey, love.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

Before you can respond, you hear Iwaizumi yell, “Loserkawa, get over here and warm up!”

Oikawa looks up and pouts. You can’t help giggling at his silly reaction, “You should go warm up.”

“But I wanna hug you.” He whines.

“I appreciate that, but you are supposed to be practicing,” You give him a peck on the cheek, “I will cheer for you on the side.”

“Okay.” Oikawa sulks back over to his team to warm up. You are dating a child.

You watch Oikawa practice and every time he hits a serve he winks at you. You are trying to study, but your book just sits open, while you neglect it to watch your boyfriend show off.

Coach blows the whistle to mark the end of practice. He calls the boys over for a huddle while you pack up your unfinished homework. Oikawa runs up to you for a hug but you stick your hand out preventing him

“What??” He pouts.

“You’re sweaty. There is no way you are hugging me like that. I’ll go wait outside.” You tease. You walk outside into the cold air, a light breeze blowing pass. You shiver, wishing you had brought a jacket. Maybe you should have taken the hug, at least it would be warm.

“Hey”

You jump and turn around to see Hiroto…again. “Oh uh, hey.”

“You need a jacket?” He asks, offering his, which is also sweaty from practice.

“Um I’m good.”

“Oh, well, do you want me to walk you home. It’s kinda late.” He takes a step uncomfortably close.

You back up against the door of the gym, “I’m actually walking home with Oikawa, but uh, thanks..” You try not to sound to uncomfortable. He just stands there staring at you and you aren’t sure what to do. “Um…I’m gonna go…” You open the gym door and quickly walk back inside.

You speed walk over to Oikawa and tightly hug his arm.

“Hey, I thought you were waiting outside?” He looks over at you with slight concern.

“I got cold…” You lie, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

“Does this mean you will hug me now?” Before you respond, he engulfs you in his sweaty arms, squeezing you tight.

“Tooru! You’re so gross!” You say that, but you really don’t mind. He makes you feel safe and warm. So for all the teasing, you still welcome the hugs.

You have had weird run ins with Hiroto for a week now. You never knew him before and now he’s everywhere. He makes you uncomfortable, but you don’t tell anyone because you don’t want to assume anything about him. It is probably just you being overly judgmental. Every time you see him, he gets more and more familiar with you. He will stand closer to you, be more forward. He has asked to walk you home several times now and you are running out of excuses.

Normally you have Oikawa as an excuse to get out of conversations, but he is really busy with preparing for his upcoming tournament. You manage to go the whole school day without running into him. Just when you think you will make it the whole day, you run into Hiroto outside the gym. (You were bringing Oikawa dinner since he would be practicing late).

“Hey, how are you?” He asks.

“I’m fine.” You respond quickly.

“What are you doing?”

“Uh, I was just giving Oikawa dinner, since he will be here late.”

“So you are staying here late into the night. That’s kind of rude of him to make you stay.” He suddenly sounds judgmental. You don’t know how to feel about it.

“No, uh he didn’t make me stay. I’m going home because I want to, not that I don’t want to stay. I would stay but I need to do homework and…” You are cut off by him laughing at you. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. You don’t have to be so defensive.” He lowers his voice and leans in closer, “although it is kind of cute to see you flustered.”

You feel your stomach flip at the statement, “Well, uh, I have to go now.” You slide past him and start speed walking away.

Hiroto, with his oddly long legs, catches up easily with you, “I’ll walk you home.”

“No, you don’t need to do that.” You say shakily, not making eye contact.

“Yeah I do. You can’t walk home alone. I don’t know why Oikawa would let you walk home alone. If I had a girlfriend as pretty as you, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight.”

You freeze outside the school gates, debating whether or not you’re going to stay for Oikawa’s practice. Should you go and get him? No, you can’t bother him. He is already stressed out about this tournament. You can’t be a burden.

“Um yeah, okay. I’ll see you later.” You stare at him, waiting for him to leave.

He stares back at you, “Well, lead the way.” You just look at him awkwardly, hoping he will take the hint. “Uh, earth to Y/N. Lead the way home.” He waves his hand way to close to your face.

“Why?” Is all you can think of to say.

“I can’t walk you home if you don’t walk home.”

“You don’t need to walk me home.”

“Yeah I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“You aren’t walking home alone. You let Oikawa do it, so why can’t I?”

“Because Oikawa is my boyfriend and you aren’t.”

“Clearly he isn’t a very good one.” He takes a step forward, backing you into the pillar of the school gate, “What do you see in him anyway. He is arrogant and self focused. All he cares about is volleyball.”

“That’s not true!” You pipe out, increasingly scared of his presence.

“Really? Then why isn’t he here to walk you home? Why do you always have to stay late for his practice.” He puts his hand on the brick pillar behind you and leans uncomfortably close to your face. You freeze, “We all know I would be a better boyfriend than him. I can tell you like me, so just forget about him.”

You are scared stiff, his face inches from yours. You want to push him away, scream, run, something, but you can’t move. It’s like you are paralyzed. Suddenly, he closes the gap and smashes his lips against yours. You let out a muffled scream, eyes wide and filling with tears. He pulls away with a nasty grin on his face. You stare blankly past him, unsure of what just happened.

“Since you won’t let me walk you home, I’ll leave you with that.” He winks at you and pats you on the head before walking away.

When he is out of sight you crumble to the ground and break down crying. What just happened?

You walk back to your house in tears, confused, uncomfortable, and guilty. How could you have not done anything? Why didn’t you push him away or stop him? When you get home, you immediately take a shower. You scrub yourself, trying to wash away the remnants of him. You sit in the shower drowning in tears, scrubbing so hard that you leave a rash. You end up crying yourself to sleep.

You wake up the next day, drowsy and confused. You hope it was all a dream, until you look at your arm where you left the rash. You almost start breaking down crying again, but you manage to pull yourself together. You are supposed to meet Oikawa today for coffee to study for an upcoming test. How are you supposed to face him? You let another guy kiss you and you have the audacity to casually get coffee. Your phone buzzes on your bedside table, Oikawas name flashing across the screen. You pick up and Oikawa’s smooth voice chimes through the phone, “Hey love, are you alright?” You freeze. How did he know? “We were supposed to meet for coffee at 10 right?”

You look at the time and it’s 10:15, “Oh crap.”

“It’s okay. I was just texting you and you didn’t respond, so I wanted to make sure you were awake.” You can hear his lovely smile through the phone, his comforting presence washing over you.

“I’m sorry. I just woke up. I’m on my way.” Your voice sounds hoarse and like someone who has been crying all night.

“Okay, no rush. I’ll be waiting. Love you.”

“Love you, bye.”

You jump out of bed and rush to get ready. You throw your hair up, put on some random pair of clothes, and grab an apple before running out the door. Luckily the coffee shop is in walking distance from your house, so you make it there pretty quick. You walk in the door, out of breath and see Oikawa sitting at a table in the corner. His face lights up at the sight of you. You walk over and set your backpack down with a thud.

“Morning love,” He pulls you into a big hug, “You didn’t have to run. You look like you just ran a marathon.” He laughs as you press your face against his chest. The vibration from his laugh is comforting enough to put you to sleep.

You pull back and sit down, “I’m sorry. I woke up late and I didn’t even realize. I forgot to set an alarm last night.”

Oikawa cuts you off by squeezing your hand, “Hey, it’s okay. It happens sometimes.”

You give him a half smile, still worn out from everything. He lifts his hand to cup your face, you instinctively lean into his touch. When you look at him, his face is scrunched up in concern, “Are you okay?”

“What?” You internally start freaking out. And maybe a little externally too.

“Your eyes are all puffy and you look worn down. You aren’t smiling like you usually do and your voice is quiet and hoarse, which usually means something is wrong. What happened?”

You are touched that he knows all of these things, but you feel the guilt pound away in your chest. You can’t tell him. It would crush him. But you should. But you can’t. “What, no. I’m fine.” You lie.

Oikawa is not convinced, “Hmm, okay. You don’t want to talk about it. I’ll wait until you want to.”

He is so good to you and you are so bad for him. You might just break down and cry at his gentle manner, but you don’t. He slides over a coffee cup while you take out your books, “I got your regular.” He smiles.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to.” You blush at his kindness.

“Sure I did.”

You spend a couple hours studying for your test. With each tick of the big hand, your heart drops further into guilt. There isn’t much conversation save for talking about the test. You don’t make eye contact the whole time. Oikawa’s voice was soft and his touch was gentle. He knows something is wrong but doesn’t want to pry. Once you feel relatively well prepared for the test, you immediately get up to leave. Oikawa stands with you. He opens his arms for a hug, letting you decide if you want to take it or not. You gently lean into his arms, so desperately wanting to spill your soul to him, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. So you opt to linger in his arms for a small moment

He gently pulls you close, kissing the top of your head. He whispers with the utmost care, “Whenever you want to talk, let me know. I’ll be right here.” You stand silent. “It can be 3am or two days from now. I don’t care when, but please call me, text me, talk to me. Don’t suffer through it alone.”

You nod as you reluctantly pull away from his grasp. You turn on your heel and rush out before he see’s you cry. Oikawa dejectedly watches you walk away, having already noticed the tears forming in your eyes. He can only hope that you will come and talk to him later.

You practically run back to your house, tears flooding down your face. You feel so guilty. You know it’s not your fault, but it kind of is. You didn’t push Hiroto away. You just stood there and let him kiss you. You never said no, you never rejected him. You brought this on yourself and therefore only have yourself to blame. For hours you sit in your room sobbing, overwhelmed, disgusted, and unsure of what to do. You are practically drowning in your tears when you finally can’t take it anymore. You have to do something, tell someone. You have to tell Oikawa. He will be mad and probably leave you, but it is better to rip the bandaid off than let the wound fester. Your hands are shaking as you pick up your phone to text Oikawa. You can’t bring yourself to call him.

Y/N: Can you come over?

To’ ❤️: Of course 🥰 I’ll be right over

Your eyes eventually dried, probably because you are dehydrated. You get up off your bed, the old springs squeaking as you lift your weight off of it. As you walk pass the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. Your hair looks like a rats nest and there are tear stains on your cheeks. You look like a raccoon who had a really bad day. However, you don’t have the energy to do anything about it. You go downstairs and pour yourself a glass of water. Lord knows you need it. You open your fridge, hoping to find food, even though you haven’t gone to the store all week. Your stomach screams at you for only having eaten an apple today and then exerting enough energy equivalent to running a marathon. The lack of food in your fridge is almost enough to make you start crying again. As if you needed more help, you hear a soft knock on your door. You drag yourself over not wanting to open it, knowing what awaits you on the other side. Your hands shake as you reach for the door knob. You suck in a large breath and fling the door open. As you see your tall, beautiful, loving boyfriend standing there, you can’t help breaking down sobbing again. All the guilt and confusion and pain comes flooding back into you. Maybe if you didn’t drink that water you wouldn’t have started crying again. Your knees give out under the weight of your sorrow. Oikawa swiftly catches you, immediately pulling you into his arms. His heart snaps in half at the sight of you so broken.

“Hey shhh, it’s okay. I’m here now.” He whispers, tenderly lifting you off the ground. He closes the door with his foot and walks you over to the couch. Your sobs resound through the room, each one more broken than the next. Oikawa gently cups your face, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, unable to choke out words through the tears.

“Do you want to sit here and cry?” He asks kindly.

You grab his shirt, holding on so tight your fists are white. You manage to force out some words, “N-no…I…I-I’m…sor-sorry!”

Oikawa’s face contorts in confusion, “Don’t be sorry. You can sit here and cry and I will comfort you for as long as you want.” You fervently shake your head. Oikawa does his best to decipher your gestures, “No? Do you want to talk?”

You shake your head, trying to force out words. In your effort, you start hyperventilating, everything becoming so overwhelming.

“Shhh, deep breathe in.” Oikawa breaths in, gesturing for you to follow. You manage a broken breath. “Breathe out…Breathe in…Breathe out.”

You and Oikawa do this for a few minutes (more like Oikawa does it and you try between sniffles). Once your breath has evened out, your sobs become more controllable.

“There you go,” It’s not fair that Oikawa’s voice alone can calm you down. “Now what were you trying to say?”

“I…I—“

“Deep breaths, you’ve got it.”

“I…I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” “N-no…you…you aren’t g-getting it.” Oikawa looks at you confused. “I—I….” You start hyperventilating again.

“Shhh, deep breaths. One word at a time. You?”

“I-I…I cheated on you! I’m so sorry!!! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t want to! It just happened and I don’t know how and I don’t know why I didn’t do anything. He just was there and I froze and-and—“

You have lost all control at this point. You are sobbing, rambling on and on. Your face is buried in his chest, tears drenching his shirt. He’s holding you so gently while you are gripping his shirt so hard. You are shaking and feel like you might throw up. Your head is spinning and you are confused. It’s so much that you can’t process it all. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! You’re so good to me and I’m so terrible for you! I don’t know why you picked me. I’m sorry. I know you probably hate me and want to leave me but please…please!…Please don’t leave.” Your voice trails off, drowned under your tears. You need him so bad. You want to look in his eyes, hear his soft voice, be held in his arms, but you can barely hold yourself up. Oikawa is probably going to leave you. He is going to drop you and walk out. You need him to say something, do something. Even if it is yelling, even if he is breaking up with you, you need to hear his voice. Suddenly, Oikawa pulls you in his lap and hugs you softly against his chest. You freeze. That’s not what you thought he was going to do. Is this his goodbye? Is this it? “I-I…” You try to say something but you just can’t.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” His voice is so warm and comforting. You can feel his heartbeat through his chest as his scent envelopes you. “I don’t know what happened, but you are not in a good headspace to talk about it clearly. So let’s just breathe.” He takes a deep breath, you following suit. “And let’s just sit and calm down for a moment, okay?”

As he hugs you close to him, you can feel your heartbeat start to match his. Your broken sobs slowly turn into small sniffles. You sit in his arms for you don’t even know how long. Nothing was said, nothing was done. You just breathed together and existed together. You felt the exhaustion of everything hit you like a truck. You curl up small in his arms and feel yourself start to nod off into a much needed sleep.

You wake up on your couch, eyes puffy, your thoughts muddled. It’s dark outside even though it was just midday. What time is it? What happened? You were with Oikawa. You shoot upright. Did he leave you? You look around frantically. You have to apologize…you…you—

“Hey, calm down. I’m right here.” He comes around the couch from the kitchen. You feel the tension in your shoulders release at the sight of him. He sits next to you and you almost instinctively lean your head on his shoulder. But you remember, “I was…we were…talking? Crying? I was apologizing! I—“

Before you can get all lost in your thoughts, he cuts you off, “Calm down, it’s okay. You were upset and we sat and calmed down. You ended up falling asleep because you used so much energy crying. It’s been a few hours. I noticed you had no food, so I ordered some. Do you want to eat? Or do you want to talk?”

“I want to talk. I need to talk. WE need to talk.” Your eyes are wide, like a deer in headlights.

“Okay, then let’s talk. Slowly and calmly. One sentence at a time.” He settles you down a bit, knowing your tendency to ramble. “What happened.”

“I’m sorry. I cheated on you and I feel like a horrible person because you are so good to me and I just ruined it.” You can’t bear to look him in the eye.

“What happened? How did you cheat on me?” He asks with a hint of quizzical disbelief.

“Well he wouldn’t leave me alone and I tried to say no but he kept insisting and then he just, he just kept getting closer and I didn’t know what to do and then I was backed up against the pillar and then he leaned in and he-he kissed me.” You feel yourself shudder at the memory, that disgusting feeling creeping up again.

Oikawa tries to desperately hold himself together, waiting to hear the full story before going and punching a man, “Hold on. Who is ‘he’?”

“Hiroto, that guy from the baseball team.”

“And he kissed you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t do anything to stop him. I just froze when I should have shoved him or—“

“Love, this is not your fault.” His voice is light and compassionate, “He approached you, yes?”

“Yes but—“

“No ‘buts’. Just a simple yes or no. Can you do that for me love? I just want to get everything clear.”

You nod with a quiet ‘yes’.

“You did not want him to approach you?”

“No.”

“You asked him to go away and to leave you alone.”

“Well, not in those exact words, but yeah. I should have been more clear…” You stop yourself before Oikawa does.

“You in some form or fashion attempted to express that you did not want him near you, correct?”

You nod.

“However, he ignored said attempt and then cornered you and forced you to kiss him?” Oikawa’s jaw clenches tighter and tighter with each question.

“Yes…but I should have moved.” “But you couldn’t”

“I didn’t”

“You said you froze, right?”

“Yes.”

“That is a totally normal and valid response to fear. You were backed into a corner and someone—much larger than you might I add—was looming over you. He was in your personal space and violated you. He ignored your signs, ignored your fear, and HE chose to hurt you.” Anger starts seeping out of Oikawa, steam practically fuming from his ears.

“You’re angry. I’m sorry. You have every right to be mad.” You start to shrink into yourself again, tears threatening to come back out.

Oikawa realizes his mistake and immediately softens up again, “No, no. I’m mad yes, but not at you. I’m mad at him for being such a terrible person and for hurting my princess.” He pulls in his lap again, your back to his chest. He wraps his arms around you like a warm blanket, “You did nothing wrong. None of this was your fault. You are the victim here, okay? You have every right to feel hurt or upset or whatever you need to feel. You are not a horrible person. You did not cheat on me by any means. I’m not mad at you. Please don’t be mad at yourself. I love you so much and you are so wonderful and amazing and I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to protect you.”

You spin around to look at him, “Don’t blame yourself, please. You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you anything. I thought he would go away, but he just kept bothering me, day after day-“

“Wait, how long has this been going on?”

“…well you remember at the beginning of the week when we randomly ran into him in the hallway?”

“Vaguely”

“Well, after that I kept running into him and he kept saying weird things and asked me to come watch his practice or if he could walk me home. I always used your practice or you walking me home as an excuse but you were so busy with practice yesterday that I couldn’t stay. And then I ran into him outside and he kept following me, insisting on walking me home and then…yeah.” You look at Oikawa, his face slowly burning red with rage.

“So he has been bothering you for a week now?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to say anything because I thought I was being dramatic or looking too much into it…but I guess not…are you mad that I didn’t tell you?”

Oikawa’s face softens again, “No, not at all. I’m sorry that you felt like you couldn’t tell me. You aren’t being dramatic. What he did was genuinely wrong and you are allowed to be uncomfortable or upset by it. Please if anything, anything, big or small, makes you uncomfortable or scared or upset or anything, please tell me. I want to know. I want to help you.”

You place your hand on his cheek, a soft smile poking at the corner of your mouth for the first time all day, “Thank you. That means so much.” You lean your forehead on his, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” He closes the gap between you, gently pressing his lips against yours, afraid of making you uncomfortable.

You melt at his touch. Just one kiss from him and all your fears and worries fall away. You wrap your arms around his neck as his arms hold you tighter around the waist. You could live in this moment forever. You break apart but keep your head leaned on his. You two just sit and bask in each other for a moment before Oikawa pulls you in for a hug. You relax into him, letting his presence melt away the ice of the past 24 hours. He gently strokes your hair, “I hope you know I’m gonna kick his ass.”

“Don’t get kicked out of school, or worse, get kicked off the volleyball team.”

He laughs at your comment, the vibration running through you, “It would be worth it for you.”

You sit up, looking at him with a smirk, “Are you saying you like me more than volleyball?”

“I can play volleyball any time with anyone. There is only one Y/N in this world,” He presses a quick kiss on your lips, “And she’s all mine.”

You blush at his flirting, “You love me. You want to kiss me. You want to hug me.”

“Mhm, so what if I do?” He smirks.

“Hmmm, I’ll allow it, but only if you bring me some food. I have only eaten and apple today and I’m starving.” Your stomach growls and you both can’t help laughing at the timing.

“Okay, anything for you, Love.” He gets up and brings over the ordered food, “But for real, we are filing a report against him.”

“No, I don’t want to make a big fuss.”

“It’s either that or I beat him to a pulp. Your choice.” He says, taking a bite of his food

“Lets do the report.” You lean your head against his shoulder, “But you would totally win.”

“You think so?” He says smirking with a mouth full of food.

“Oh yeah. Baseball has nothing on your serves.”

“Got that right,” He throws his arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

How did you get so lucky to find someone like him?

Epilogue

“Did you hear? Hiroto got expelled.”

“Yeah, I saw him leaving school today.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know but he always made me uncomfortable.”

You hear the murmurs from your schoolmates as you walk down the hall with Oikawa, who is standing awfully tall today. “Someone looks happy.” You nudge him.

“Of course. I’m with you aren’t I.” He smirks down at you.

“Mhm, I’m sure that’s why. At least you didn’t beat him up.”

“Of course not.” He says with a sly voice.

More random voices chime around you, “Bro I saw Hiroto leaving school this morning.”

“Dude, I heard he got expelled.”

“Must have gotten in a fight” “You think?”

“Totally. He had a nasty black eye.”

You smack Oikawa on the arm, “To’ you said you wouldn’t beat him up!”

“I didn’t!” He holds his hands up in defense, “One punch doesn’t count as beating him up.” You walk away, pretending to ignore him. “Y/N wait! Come on, don’t leave me like that. He deserved it!.”

You can’t help laughing at his little pouty voice.

“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you coffee.” He spins you around, giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster.

“Hmmm, a coffee and ice cream.”

“Done.” He grabs your hand happily and continues walking with you.

“Did it hurt? Did he cry?” You mutter.

“Oh yeah, big time baby.” Oikawa laughs.

You are a terrible person for laughing, but you have a pass this time around.

80 notes · View notes