#Astral Projection (With Friends!) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ckret2 · 1 year ago

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Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

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Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed.

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched.

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #sev'ral timez #(a tag i have never used before and will probably never use again.)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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jj-one · 8 days ago

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r/offmychest: gooning to your friend’s/roommate’s girlfriend is a DISEASE !

this is smut, do not interact if under 18 !

pairing: skz x fem!reader genre/tags: smut, crack(?), perv!skz, they’re all losers in this tbh, chan is aged up to 31 bc that’s #hot, lots of gooning (obvi), obsessive thoughts, questionable morals, jealousy, breeding kink, just overall weirdo behavior words: 5.5k

[ note. ] — this is what i write instead of working on my wips LMAO, i’ve always wanted to do a reddit-style fic so this was sm fun to make :3 lmk what y’all think guys, i’m kinda nervous to post this aghhh </3 (i also kinda wanna make a part 2 of this where reader finds out what they’ve been doing but we’ll see lol)

u/Gnab0325 • posted 2h ago

She’s my best friend’s girl and I edge for hours to the thought of breeding her. I think I’ve broken my brain.

I shouldn’t want her. I know that. She’s not mine. She never has been. But the way she‘ll randomly tug at her lip mid-conversation? The way she stretches when she wakes up on our couch? The way she looks at him like he’s everything. God, I’d kill to be on the receiving end of that look..

And it’s not just want anymore. It’s undying need. I jerk off to her like it’s my fucking religion.

I don’t even touch myself normally now, I prepare. Lights dimmed, music low, lotion warmed. I open a private folder that’s titled “hers” which have subfolders that include:

“T-shirt & no bra”

“Sleepy morning voice”

“When she wore my hoodie once and I couldn’t breathe for 3 days”

I’ve got notes, man. I script it all out in my head like I’m directing some porno. Her on top while she’s riding me, nails dragging down my chest, stuffing her little cunt full while she’s telling me, “it’s okay, baby. You can cum inside, I want it.”

That line alone has made me edge for 4 hours straight. No breaks. No finish. Just throbbing, leaking, begging myself like I was under some spell, I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the sun came up. My sleep schedule was already fucked before this but now I’m lucky if I even get 3 hours.

The worst part? I’m not some dumb teenager. I’m (31M), I lift, I meal prep. I give actual advice to friends about love and self-control. But then she shows up in those tight yoga pants and calls me “Chris” all soft and playful and my dick’s like, “time to worship.”

I had to excuse myself last weekend during game night because she licked whipped cream off her thumb and I felt precum soak through my boxers. I lied and told them I had a call. I was in the bathroom for 45 minutes with her Instagram page open, stroking it in silence like a fucking monk.

I’ve whispered her name into my pillow while cumming so hard my vision went white. I’ve imagined hitting it from the back while I pull her hair and slap her ass and she’s screaming, “fill me up, daddy,” like I won’t put in a baby in her.

Sometimes I imagine her going through my phone and accidentally stumbling upon my secret folder, but instead of her being disgusted by it she’s intrigued. She climbs onto my lap saying, “let me help you finish this time.” If that ever happened? I’d probably pass out mid stroke and die with a hard-on. Bury me in it.

She’s not mine. But in my head, she always calls me first.

Top Comments 💬

u/FertilizedToes: The secret stash of folders was sooo real. Every man has been guilty of having doing it but none of us wanna actually admit it. Thanks for your honesty. You are our prophet.

u/TiredLawStudent: so you imagined her watching you jork it and helping you finish? that’s not edging my guy, that’s astral projection into sin.

u/IfYouSeekAmy123: Wait this is so relatable bc I stroked myself to my friend’s wife yesterday. She was sitting around the corner at the kitchen table and I was around the corner in the hallway. It was a little risky but don’t regret it, would 100% do it again.

u/Lino.Saurus • posted 8h ago

I humped a pillow thinking about my best friend’s girlfriend and cried out of frustration after. I’m not okay.

She’s always touching him and it drives me fucking nuts. She’ll just casually grab his arm during conversation and rest her head on his shoulder, whispering shit in his ear that makes him laugh when I know for a fact I would’ve laughed harder.

I shouldn’t even like her. She wasn’t initially my type (not looks wise), it’s just she’s annoying. She talks too much. She calls everyone “sweetie” or “honey” and chews gum way too loudly, but when she walks into a room, I can’t think straight. When she calls me the nickname she gave me in that soft teasing voice, I get hard so fast it makes me dizzy.

Last week was hell for me. It was like she was purposefully provoking me just to get a rise out of me. And it worked. I vividly remember the other day where she leaned over to pick something up, I saw the outline of her panties through her leggings due to how sheer they were and I had to dip out of there before I did something irreversibly criminal.

I can’t even remember how long I was jerking off that night, but I didn’t stop until my hand physically cramped up. I thought about roughly fucking her on my friend’s bed while he was in the shower. Imagined her whispering “don’t stop, don’t tell him” while I’m balls deep inside. I came dry. No lube. Just my palm and pathetic desperation.

I’ve gooned to her laugh, her stupid lip gloss, her chewing the end of a straw, even her biting her nail. I’m so far down the rabbit hole I’m jerking off to things that aren’t even sexual anymore. Her sneezing once turned me on. I wish I was joking.

Two nights ago, I humped my pillow imagining it was her like some freak virgin. I came so hard I got lightheaded. Then I cried into the same pillow that I just violated. Not because I felt guilty, but because I know she’ll never fuck me the way I want her to.

The thing is… it’s not just sex. I’m jealous. I see the little glimmer in her eye when her gaze flickers up at him, looking at him like he holds her entire world in his hands and I want to scream because I want her to look at me like that. I want her in my bed, wearing my hoodie, lying under me as she’s calling me an asshole for making her cheat but continues to furiously make out with me.

But instead, I’ll just keep pretending to be the sarcastic best friend while I edge to her voice memo from two weeks ago like it’s my last drop of water in a desert.

Top Comments 💬

u/IJustStoleUrBitchx: holy shit this is disgusting. no amount of torture would ever get this kinda info out of me. u still got my upvote tho.

u/ChiliChiliCrabCrab: You fantasized about fucking her on your best friend’s bed while he’s in the shower??? Nah dude that’s not horny that’s top ten anime betrayals.

u/WinterSoldier24: tbh i can’t even laugh at this bc i’ve BEEN there. i’ve wept into the same pillow i defiled. i’ve heard my own moans echo off my laptop screen like a haunting. guess we’re all rotting together.

u/Jutdwaee99 • posted 10h ago

I goon to my roommate’s girlfriend for hours like it’s a full-time job and I think I’m losing my grip on reality.

I don’t even know how I got to this point.

It started normal. Just a little crush, harmless admiration. She’s sweet, always super polite. Wears those cute little pajama shorts when she spends the night, has this habit of playing with her hair while she’s talking, calls my roommate cringey petnames in this sugary, sleepy voice that makes me wanna gnaw on drywall.

But now it’s out of control. I edge to her every night. Every. Single. Night. I’m not even horny anymore— I’m possessed. There’s no porn. No nudes. Just the memory of her walking down the hallway half asleep, shirt riding up, no panties, scratching lazily at her thigh. She didn’t even know I was behind her. She didn’t know I stood there, frozen in the dark, watching the sway of her hips like some sick, twisted perv.

I stay up for hours scrolling through her page, looking at her pics. Sometimes I watch the same Boomerangs on loop like it’s some high-art cinema. I even synced one of them to my goon playlist. I set a timer and 37 minutes in, her hair flips in time with the beat drop, and that’s when I tighten my grip and almost pass out.

She kissed my roommate goodbye this morning and I speed ran to the bathroom and jerked off with the hand lotion he keeps under the sink. I’ve been edging for so long my balls hurt and feel like they’re gonna explode in protest.

The most fucked up part of it all is that I don’t even want to stop. I like the torture. I like sitting in my dark room, whispering her name while I stroke it like some goddamn lunatic.

If she ever finds out what I’ve done, what I’ve imagined, I’ll be on a list. Hell, I’ll make the list.

But right now? I’m getting hard again just thinking about her leaving her toothbrush in the sink.

She’ll never be mine yet I treat her like a shrine.

I need help. Or maybe I need her to break up with him so I can ruin her properly.

Top Comments 💬

u/GojosLeftTesticle: Nah that’s a new level of disrespect. You came and moisturized with your roommate’s lotion?? I hope he kicks you out LMAO

u/DeezNuts7: i started this post giggling. then i got scared, then aroused, then scared again. i wish i never read this. you win.

u/SuperSmashUrBro: be honest bro, are you trolling? is this satire? are you karma farming? bc if not… you are edging to boomerangs. like… vertically looped 1.5 second clips. send the flood.

u/HHJThrowaway • posted 5h ago

My best friend’s girl is my obsession and I’ve ruined my life over it.

This will be my first and last post in this sub (hence why I’m using a throwaway account) because I intend on taking this shit to the grave with me. I don’t know if this is a cry for help or some final confession before I self destruct, but it’s been eating me up inside and I need to get it out. She’s my best friend’s girlfriend, but she’s perfect.

The minute she walks in it’s like the lighting changes. I’m not even exaggerating, there was this one day where the sun hit her skin like she was some glowing goddess and I literally forgot how to breathe. Her scents intoxicating, like warm sugar and vanilla. She laughs at all my jokes, even the shitty ones. She called me pretty before and I think I saw God.

And I’ve been edging to her every night since March.

I don’t use porn anymore (not that I watched it a lot anyway). Just the flashback of one night where she licked salt off her wrist before downing a tequila shot. The way she presses her thighs together when she’s cold. The time she hugged me goodbye and the scent of her perfume still lingered on my shirt for two days and I didn’t wash it until I’d cum in it twice.

I don’t just jerk off. I goon. Long sessions. Hours sometimes. I hum her name, talk to myself like she’s watching, I’ve even came to the thought of her crying while coming undone on my cock more times than I can count.

There was one night she fell asleep on our couch in those tiny short shorts she always wears and I stared at her thighs for so long I nearly passed out from holding my breath. I got so aroused that I immediately went to my room and stroked my dick with one hand and held my phone looking at the pics I snapped of her with the other. I just kept chanting , “You’d let me ruin you, wouldn’t you?” to myself like I was in a trance.

She told my friend I’m “sweet” and “artsy” and now I can’t get the image out of my head of painting her nude and licking the brush clean. I’m so far gone that if she ever moaned my name on accident, I think I’d just nut on the spot and die. Heart attack. Instant cremation.

I have dreams where she kisses me in secret, all desperate and trembling, telling me she wishes she was dating me instead. I wake up hard and aching, tip already leaking, so sensitive I have to breathe through it like labor.

I can’t keep doing this. But also? I’ll never stop. I’ll die gooning for her.

Top Comments 💬

u/YoMama43: ngl i once nutted to a voicemail my coworker left me by accident and i thought i was down bad LMAO. but you? you’re the goon king. i kneel to you.

u/ObscureLemonXx: so no one’s gonna talk about the part where he said breathing through his hard-on like labor??? like SIR. why is this the most erotic and deeply upsetting thing i’ve ever read?

u/IFucktUranus: Bro. I read this shit twice. Once as a gooner, once as a romantic. You ever edge so long you feel like you could speak in tongues?? You’re not sick. You’re transcendent. I’ve moaned into a towel while looking at my neighbor’s old vacation photos. You’re not alone.

u/_DoolSetNett • posted 11h ago

I’ve created an entire goon archive for my friend’s girlfriend and idk who I am anymore.

I (24M) think I blacked out the first time I saw her. Not even kidding. She walked in wearing a giant hoodie and the tiniest shorts that barely covered the crease of her ass, I felt faint just from the sight alone. My friend introduced her all casual like, “hey, this is y/n,” and I shook her hand with the same fingers I jerked off with not even ten minutes earlier. I deserve jail time for that.

I told myself it was a one time thing and it would never happen again, but now I have 13 folders— and that’s just on my laptop. There’s more on the cloud, a backup drive, on my phone, etc. I even made a fucking spreadsheet to track them.

They’re all labeled in alphabetical order:

Folder A: candid pics she’s posted (IG stories, old selfies, this one pic where she’s wearing nothing else but his shirt)

Folder B: voice clips I secretly recorded of her saying random shit, laughing, talking to the dog.

Folder C: audios I spliced together to sound like she’s moaning.

Folder D: my own goon notes that include detailed fantasies. I treat them like mini fanfics.

There’s a “date night” folder. A “nap time” folder. One called “bite marks I wish I gave her.” The worst is a private one just called “sacred.” That one has screenshots of the way she sits, the curve of her waist when she leans over, the outline of her tits when she’s not wearing a bra under those thin tank tops she loves.

I edge to her for hours. No music needed, just her voice. I put her on loop. Thinking about her face, wearing those little fucking shorts. I swear she’s doing it on purpose because the entire bottom curve of her ass cheek is always out. Every time she bends down to get something my dick jumps. I’ve memorized the way the fabric rides up. Sometimes I start at 10 pm and don’t cum until 3 am. I’ve hallucinated her saying, “cum for me, baby,” in her cute, whimpery voice. That happened about a weeks ago and I still think about it every time I touch myself.

Half the time I don’t even cum, I just leak and whimper and catalogue. I edge until my thighs tremble, timestamp my leaks and track how many fap sessions I’ve had in one day. I’ve become a professional goon archivist. I’d jerk off to her selfies and pretend like she’s watching. I stare at my screen like it’s a portal, fisting my cock with one hand, breath shallow, and blow my load like I’m marking her. One time I came so hard to her pics I didn’t even aim, I just let it hit the screen. Watched it drip down her face like I’d bred the pixels.

I try and concentrate on other things too but I can’t, all I can think about is fucking her cute little pussy. What it looks like under those shorts, whether or not she’s shaved (it doesn’t matter, I’d still eat her out anyway). She probably tastes so good, I wanna fuck her until her voice is hoarse and her thighs are shaking. I’d be so gentle at first, but once I get inside her? I’d lose my fucking mind. Every time she leans over and her shirt dips low I can’t help but wanna know what it’s like to fuck her pretty tits. I wanna make her cry on my cock and then I’d apologize but still keep going.

I never act suspicious around her, I talk to her normally like a regular person. I held the elevator for her yesterday and when she smiled at me I nearly jizzed in my pants. She hugged me once after I helped her carry groceries and I had to walk backwards out of the kitchen like some Victorian virgin. I was leaking pre all the way to my room.

I know it’s wrong. I know I’m sick. But she’s become this deity that I worship in my head. I serve her. I spill for her without her ever asking. If she ever found my folders, the audio edits, the moan loops? I’d have to legally change my name, burn all my hard drives, go off the grid, and live in the woods.

But until then? I’ll keep building my archive. For her. For me. For the goon gods.

Top Comments 💬

u/NoticeMeSenpai69: Bruh… you’re not alone in this. I goon to my homie’s girl daily. She walks around in those tight ass leggings and calls me “dude” like I won’t nut thinking about it for the next 3 days straight. You’re just chronically down bad, it’s honestly normal. We’re visual creatures. Ain’t our fault they’re walking around looking like bait.

u/1diotS4ndwich: This might be the most mentally unwell thing I’ve ever read. You’re edging to voice clips you secretly recorded?? Man.. that’s not down bad, that’s felony flavored. Go outside. Touch grass. Eat it. Bake it into bread. You need something holy in your system.

u/Rizzler420: yo drop the link to folder C thooo. i ain’t even mad. i just wanna see how real your splice game is maybe we can edge together. virtual goon circle. you bring the audios, i’ll bring lotion and red bulls.

u/Y0ngLixx • posted 9h ago

I jerk off to her laugh. Just her laugh. That’s all it takes.

It started off with pure intentions, just as a joke. I (24M) recorded her once on my phone because she made a dumb pun and my friend (the one she’s dating), wasn’t there to hear it. She has a cute laugh, it was harmless.

Then I listened to it again, and again like it was some lullaby that would put me to sleep.

Fast forward a month later and now I’ve accumulated over 40 audio clips. Its nothing sexual, just her laughing, her soft giggles and stupid jokes. Her doing that little gasp-then-snort combo when she really loses it. There’s one clip I have where she says my name mid-laugh and I kid you not I almost passed out from how hard I got. I thought my cock was gonna split open.

I used to not masturbate a lot, but now I’m doing it practically everyday. Just to the sound of her being happy. I’ll close my eyes, pull up her laugh, and stroke myself into oblivion while whispering things like “you sound so pretty,” and “keep laughing, angel. I’ll make you moan next.” It’s not even about sex anymore. I’m addicted to the idea of her, the sound of her.

One time she tripped over something and fell right into my lap, purely innocent, she’s a clumsy little thing. She looked up at me with those big doe eyes and said, “oops, you okay?” and I just simply said yes, but I got an insta boner.

I edged for four hours straight that night, didn’t stop until my thighs were trembling and my toes were cramping. There were no visual, just her voice on continuous loop. I was begging the ceiling for permission to cum like she had me tied up and giggling over me. She doesn’t even know the power she possesses.

She asked me once if I had a girlfriend. I told her the truth and said no and she was shocked, telling me how someone as sweet as me shouldn’t be single. I smiled at that. Then later, I stroked it raw to the idea of her calling me sweet while bouncing on my cock and tugging my hair.

I have this sick fantasy where she catches me in the act and finds the audio clips. But instead of being mad, she kisses me softly and says, “I’ve always wondered what your moans sound like,” I think I’d cry, or cum, or both at the same time.

I’m a soft gooner.

I light candles, put on a playlist full of her favorite songs, and stroke myself slow and romantic like we’re in love. I know she’s taken, but in my imagination we’ve been dating for months.

Then after I cum, that’s when reality hits. I sit there in silence, staring at my phone screen and can’t help but feel ashamed and disgusted with myself. Her laughter still plays on loop in the background, but now it sounds far away, like I’m hearing her from behind a door I’ll never be allowed to open. I wipe up the mess, lock my phone, then tell myself I’m done.

Until the next time she smiles at me and the cycle continues all over again.

I’ve thought about stealing a pair of her panties. My favorite is the pink lacy ones she likes to wear, I’ve seen the waistband peek out when she wore baggy sweats that sat below her waist. I’ve fantasized about pressing them up to my face, even stroking myself with the fabric wrapped around the base of my cock.

But I haven’t done it, at least not yet. I’m scared she’ll find out, that I’ll get caught or that if I succeed it’ll become a habit. Maybe one day that’ll change and I finally build up the courage.

Or maybe I’ll just keep edging to the sound of her joy, pretending I’m the cause of it.

Top Comments 💬

u/CumSlushiez: Been there before. Not with the laugh stuff but… I’ve got 12 folders for my coworker’s wife. The “I think I’d cry and cum at the same time” line? Too real. You’re not the only building archives. Stay strong, edge long.

u/LonelyyVirgin234: 40 laugh clips is crazy but also… not enough. you gotta diversify the catalog. get some sighs. a yawn. a sleepy hum. build a soundscape. turn her voice into a fucking symphony while you leak into your sheets. this is art tbh, unholy art, but still art.

u/Only1BrainCell: This feels like reading someone’s diary in a psych ward. You’re not soft. You’re sick. You fantasize about sniffing used panties and whispering her name like you’re in a cult. You are one pair of lacy underwear away from a Netflix doc.

u/Minivrse • posted 16h ago

I edge to my roommate’s girlfriend while she reads books on the couch. Fully clothed. I’ve officially lost it.

She was wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with a coffee stain on it. The blanket was half-tucked under her thighs and had a chipped mug with tea balanced on her knee with a book resting in her lap.

And I came in my fucking boxers just from watching her turn a page.

She hadn’t even spoken a word or anything, just the sound of her breathing and flipping through a paperback was enough. I had to lean against the kitchen counter pretending to scroll on my phone, but my cock was already stiff as a board. I muttered “Jesus Christ” under my breath and shuffled back into my room like I just committed something illegal.

I’ve been gooning to her every night since. Just to the idea of her. Fully dressed and completely oblivious. She’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and she doesn’t even try.

She’s not just pretty though, she’s extremely smart. Brains and beauty, the complete package. She’s always reading something dense, annotating margins, scribbling thoughts like her brain runs on overdrive. And every time she shares one of those little ideas with me, some fact about dolphins or a throwaway line from a novel, I get hard. Instantly. It’s like she weaponized intelligence and wrapped it in cozy clothes and Burt’s Bee’s chapstick.

She collects these stupid little trinkets that I think are kinda ugly. Like ceramic frogs, miniature teapots, one of them is just a rock with googly eyes glued onto it?? But I think it’s adorable because it’s hers. I want to fuck her next to them on the bed while they watch.

I never really gave a shit about relationships. Never cared to be in one. Until I met her. I’m constantly fantasizing about making her mine in the most depraved ways possible. Ripping her hoodie off, spitting on her tits, fucking her so dumb until she forgets her own name and only remembers mine. I wanna hear her beg, make her say “please” while I ruin her slowly. I wanna press my hand over her mouth while I’m cumming deep inside her and whispering a bunch of filthy shit in her ear.

It’s gotten to a point where I’ve developed a whole routine. 9:30 pm: she usually comes over after work. 9:42 pm: She kicks off her shoes and says something like “God, I’m so exhausted,” and I’m already hard. 10:00 pm: I’m in my room preparing my little set up and edging myself to the sound of her voice echoing from the living room.

Last night I jerked off for three hours just listening to her eat chips and argue about movie plots with my roommate. Once, she laughed so hard she snorted and I had to physically stop myself from jerking off or I would’ve blown my load without permission. I tried to take a break but it only lasted for day and a half, I couldn’t control the urges anymore.

I feel like such a shithead for doing this because she genuinely thinks I’m a good guy. She talks to me like I’m safe. Calls me “the funny one” or “so chill.” One time she ruffled my hair and said, “you’d make such a good boyfriend,” and I blacked out mid-convo. Couldn’t remember what I said back. I just nodded and prayed my boner didn’t show.

I treat her like my girlfriend in my head. Goon scenarios where she climbs on top of me in those baggy clothes she always wears, telling me, “I need you” where she rides me slow and sleepy while my fingers strum down her back and say, “you’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

But then I walk out to refill my water and see her cuddling and kissing my roommate. Laughing with him like she’s not the sole reason why I haven’t cum properly in weeks. I just go right back into my room, lock the door, and edge to her reflection in the microwave glass.

She isn’t mine, but my cock doesn’t know that. And at this point, I’m not even sure I do anymore.

Top Comments 💬

u/PizzaSlut662: bros a hopeless romantic and a sex criminal at the same time. “she collects trinkets that are ugly but i still love them bc they’re hers” had me kicking my feet until the next sentence said “i wanna fuck her next time while they watch.” i need to go lie down.

u/StrawberrySodaaa: “9:42pm she kicks off her shoes” Um, are you tracking her like she’s the moon?? I’ve never been this aroused and terrified simultaneously.

u/ChrolloLuciferStan: every day i log into this app thinking “surely it can’t get worse” and then i read shit like this..

u/I.2.N.8 • posted 4h ago

I nutted in my pants when she tied her shoe. I didn’t touch myself, just vibes.

We were walking from the convenience store and she bent down to tie her sneaker. That’s it. I didn’t get a peak of her cleavage, didn’t touch her, nothing. She was just bent at the waist, ass slightly arched while she softly grunted and double knotted her laces. I creamed my pants on the spot. Hands stuffed in my pockets, my sweatshirt covering the damage, but there was a wet spot and everything. I walked back home like I’d been shot in the dick.

She’s dating my best friend and he brings her over all the time like she’s not a walking wet dream designed to destroy my sanity. I’ve always had a thing for older girls so shes literally my type to a T. I’m so fucking jealous of him, I’ve grown resentment towards him for it.

It doesn’t help that she’s always calling me “Innie” like I’m some little boy that she’ll never take seriously, like I wouldn’t ruined her in a hundred different ways. I’ve told her a million times that just my name is fine, but she giggles it off then continues to do it again.

Porn has always been an escape for me, a coping mechanism when college gets too stressful (I know some of y’all can relate). I’ve developed an addiction— multiple tabs open, Twitter accounts bookmarked, late night goon sessions with my AirPods in and my shirt bunched between my teeth to muffle the moans. But now, it’s only spiraled from there, I only search for videos that look like her. Faceless videos, shaky camera angles, any girl with her hair length and skin tone, the more amateur it is the better. I just mute the stupid guy in the video’s voice and whisper my own name to pretend it’s me.

It’s not even normal jerking off. I sit in my room with my headphones in, pillow between my thighs, and I edge to the sound of her existing. Her voice in the hallway. Those little noises she makes whenever she stretches that makes her sound like a dying mouse. I have the most depraved fantasies about her, like full on situations where she straddles me in the backseat and says, “you’re so hard for me, baby, does that mean you wanna cum in me?” and I cry while nodding.

I’ve developed a full blown breeding kink because of her. I get off to the thought of her saying she forgot to take her pill while grinding on me in just a t-shirt and nothing else. I’ve rubbed one out to the idea of putting a baby in her and fucking her so deep while she tells me how I’d make a pretty daddy. I’m aware of how disgusting I am and I fully acknowledge there’s something deeply wrong with me, but there’s no harm in doing it if she’ll never find out.

Yesterday she sat next to me and accidentally brushed my knee up against hers. I was hard for an hour, it was so embarrassing I felt like I was part of some humiliation ritual.

She probably thinks I’m too sweet to have any thoughts like this. Completely harmless. The “shy friend”. But I’ve ruined three pairs of boxers this month alone from dry humping my pillow to the thought of having her lips wrapped around my cock. If she ever saw what I do when she’s not around, if she ever knew how many times I’ve edged to her smile alone… she’d never make eye contact with me again.

And the most fucked up part of it all? I wouldn’t even blame her, but I wouldn’t stop either.

Top Comments 💬

u/GoonGoblin98: This is the final boss of horny. You’ve ascended past porn, past imagination, past logic. Nutting from vibes alone?? You’re a chosen one. I edge to this post about you edging, gooner inception.

u/ILuvHotMilfs: older girls will ruin you. they smile at you once and you’re planning nursery colors and thinking about biting her ankle while you cum. stay strong innie. one day she’ll call you good boy and you’ll never recover.

u/DinoNuggetz333: How do you go back to regular life after this..? You nut to her voice and cry into your pillow and then just?? eat cereal like nothing happened?? This is either genius or the most cursed goon confession I’ve read all week.

honestly, i have no idea why i wrote this LOL. i just got super bored one night and made this idk, i hope no one takes this too too serious or i’ll cri. this was just for entertainment guys i swear </3 but uhhh lmk if u liked this? maybe i’ll do the part 2 if enough ppl liked this idk man >.<

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