#[ thread: oh so holy on my tongue ]

[artificidel]

It had only been since appearing in Fodlan that Ephidel interacted so intimately with humans. His time in Elibe was certainly filled with work in the shadows of every ruler and Marquess's audience chamber, but that was the passing duty between the silent days upon Valor.

Company was best kept with his own kind.

But now, every moment not spent in solitude was filled with the life of humans. Beasts. Even dragons.

Every moment was spent drinking in how humans communicated, as he was now drinking in Leanne's lips--and a taste of the full breadth of her quintessence.

Humans showed affection in curious ways, this among them, he had learned. The act like a trial--a battle, a dance--between two, and Ephidel endeavored to be a quick study and worthy adversary.

He could not say exactly why. He could see vulnerability in Leanne when they were together, but it would be foolish to not recognize it reflected in his own self as well. She had changed him somehow. Made the chaos inside him make more and less sense all at once. To go against everything he once understood.

Against all logic, he yielded before her, and whether he would admit it or not, it was all together willingly. He wished to put his entire being in her hands, and if she crushed or comforted it, he cared not.

He cradles her against himself, feeling the rise and fall of her back.

"I do." He speaks quietly. "I would like to do this more." He says, craning his head down to see her. Her face is buried in his neck, so to compromise, he finds a spot along her jaw to kiss, tracing upwards towards the curve of her pointed ears.

a kiss stolen away in a corner, ignoring crowds

Leanne holds tight to Ephidel's hand, weaving through the crowd to find a place of respite in a wayward hallway. Parties are lovely, but the emotions of everyone at once is so much, and she would like to have some time to feel Ephidel alone, thank you very much.

Away from the partygoers and in the comfortable quiet, Leanne takes a moment to study Ephidel's face. They're stoic as always, but the faint affection that thrums from them is something she wants to soak in all she can. They really are a pretty individual, she thinks as she runs her free hand through their ponytail.

"Ephidel...is it okay if I try something?" The feeling tugging at Leanne's heart is impossible to ignore, but she does not wish to overwhelm Ephidel. He nods, though, following her lead as he's been doing all night. He is powerful, strange, something she does not fully understand, and yet he trusts her, takes her words in like she is an oasis and he is a wanderer in a strange land. "I would like to kiss, again."

Another nod, and she moves her hand from theirs to their cheek. Their skin is warmer than normal, no flush but where it is usually cool to the touch it emits a gentle heat. It's exciting, and she squeezes her eyes shut as her lips meet theirs. They still don't seem to know what to do, but they follow her lead, moving their lips back against hers, awkwardly mirroring her arm positions and bringing them closer. Kissing is completely foreign to them, it seems. Leanne will do her best to teach them, then!

"You can kiss in a lot of different ways." Leanne tries to keep her voice steady as she takes a moment away from kissing to catch her breath. She tucks a strand of hair out of her face, studying Ephidel's expression. Minuscule differences, but there's an implacable change. They look intently at her, interest written all over them. The beginnings of joy twinge in their soul, a feeling she's hardly felt in this caliber for them before. She wants more. "I've only read about this one, so we'll have to learn together."

Back in she goes, this time parting her lips and letting her tongue snake through. At first Ephidel does not open his own mouth, but he learns quickly, his own tongue entering the scene and finding Leanne's. They explore each other's mouths, hands beginning to roam elsewhere. Ephidel no longer mimics her like a mirror, though he still shadows her movements. She can hear their breathing; a rare feat, and if she focuses, distinct small whines. It's intoxicating, to be able to cause this.

"Mm..." Leanne doesn't want to fully stop kissing, so she mumbles her approval during a lull. Ephidel pulls her closer, almost as if they are protecting her. She likes the feeling of it, and evidently so do they. Leanne does need to breath, though, so she has to separate eventually, panting against the morph's shoulder as she grasps for their hand. "Do you like it? I do. I would like to do this more, if you would."

[rafesangelita]

thinking of kook! sweetheart! reader and rafe simply making out after an ice cream date. she's on top of him, laying on the bed. no one is home. she's in a cute little white dress, a bow in her hair, and rafe is sliding his hands up and down the backs of her thighs, squeezing her ass under her dress as they take turns sucking on each other’s tongues... sigh🎀

warnings: heavy make out session, groping, slight teasing, super sweet fluff

a/n: this ask had me going crazyyyy. ty anon for this lovely prompt <3

“you taste just like strawberry icecream.” smiling against rafe’s lips, you moaned softly when you felt his hands slip underneath your dress. “i can’t be loud, rafe..” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. he laughed before squeezing your flesh, hard. “ow!” you yelped, your eyes wide as he shook his head. “no one’s here, baby. you can be as loud as you want.” he rubbed his hands over the sore skin, his large palms running up and down your thighs.

taking his lips in a heated kiss, your fists balled up his shirt as he slipped his tongue in your mouth, the sweet taste of vanilla making your eyes flutter closed. you sucked on the muscle, making rafe groan. he was so, so hard, his erection poking at your tummy as he threaded his fingers through your hair. you loved the feeling of his hands on you. the groping, the squeezing, the way he knew exactly where to touch you in order to make you melt.

he pulled away for a moment, admiring your features as he traced the cupid’s bow of your now swollen lips. “how are you so fucking pretty?” despite both of you dry humping and sucking on each other’s tongues, you couldn’t help your cheeks from flushing at his compliment, a shy smile gracing your face. “rafe..” you pouted, “i’m serious! everytime i look at you i’m like; ‘holy shit my girlfriend is literally perfect.’” hiding your face in his chest, he laughed as he embraced you.

“with your cute little white dress and this bow in your hair. people probably wonder what the hell you see in me.” you slapped his arm playfully. “oh, be quiet. no one is asking themselves that.” you traced the underside of his jaw, both of you gazing at one another. “i do.” you bit your lip. “why?” you asked him. “i feel like i’m not worthy sometimes,” he shrugged, “you’re so sweet and kind and gentle, and then there’s me.” he laughed.

“..yeah, and then there’s you.” you sighed dreamily, bringing a smile to your boyfriend’s lips.

[sucknightz]

CHOSO’S FIRST DEEP THROAT ❥

• contains; virgin!choco x reader

• warnings; oral (m receiving), soft!choso, im sorry this is my first time writing something like this so bare with me…

“Oh, God,” he breathes making you shift your legs to soothe the ache between your legs. “Fuck, y/n, keep sucking it like that holy fuck.” The sheets crumble as he sucks in a breath. “Slow, slow I’ll—oooh, you’re gonna make me come.”

Fine, you rub it over your tongue slowly, a deep desperate sigh coming out of his parted lips. Once he threads his fingers through your hair, you think he’ll push you up and down to fix your speed, but he simply rubs your scalp. He rocks his hips forward, a low noise coming from deep within his throat. “y/n — yeah, that’s it. Don’t stop,” he slurs.

You couldn’t even if wanted to, and you don’t. Instead, you take him until his tip is at the back of your tongue and you can no longer breathe.

“Fuckkkk,” he drawls. His fist tightens into your hair, holding you there and once you lean back, his muscles relax. “If you keep doing that, I’ll come—”

You do it again, running your tongue along his member. You take him farther down till the hilt seeing his expression on his face. “Fuck. Stop, stop.” You’ve never seen him so tense before, his veins strained against his skin and a pink coloration over his cheeks.

“Again” you say once he tugs at your arm. Your voice is husky, the pulsing throb between your legs making it difficult to elaborate much more. You’re completely lost in his pleasure. It's addictive. "Again, one more time."

"I’ll come," he warns, like that's going to demotivate you. It instead, makes the ache between your legs throb more.

He shudders as you fit his cock your mouth, pushing down until it almost completely disappears into you. Breathing through your nose, you take in his musky scent and watch his expression as he breaks down. Knowing you’re doing that to him is just as good as feeling pleasure myself.

Choso comes in your mouth with a pink tint on his cheeks. You swallow every last drop of semen, enjoying his taste. He pulls his member out your mouth, “Open.” You open your mouth pulling your tongue out. “Fuck.”

[ckret2]

Chapter 78 of human Bill Cipher pretending he's not the Mystery Shack's captive for ten minutes:

This happens!

Whoops, sorry, zoomed too far in.

This happens!

Way more important and exciting.

####

Bill lasted—based on the sun's position—about a couple of hours before this body's needs knocked him out of his meditative mindset. He sat up with a sigh, checked his tanlines—the stripes he'd drawn across his abdomen were already darkening into a nice, angry burn—and glanced over at the lake to see what the Pines were up to.

At the moment, Mabel was holding a foot-long wiggling, glittery, gold-scaled trout in a net and grinning proudly. Stan wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pointed at her in excitement as Dipper snapped a picture of them. Stan opened a cooler for her to drop the fish in. Mabel's face fell, and she hugged the fish protectively. Stan's shoulders sagged; but after half a minute of unsuccessful negotiations, he relented and pointed at the lake. She dumped the trout back in the water.

Bill clicked his tongue in disappointment and muttered, "If I'd thought they'd catch the golden trout, I would've told 'em that thing's like the holy grail to the Fishmasons." Stan probably would have insisted they keep it just so they could get something on Eugene. Bill wasn't emotionally invested in their feud; but the trout did grant three wishes. Bill could use that kind of power.

Oh well, he could tell them later. Maybe they'd get lucky and hook it again. Bill got to his feet. "Hey, old lady. I need to stretch my legs." Stretch his legs, look for entertainment, and forage for food—they were planning to be out here all day, but there hadn't yet been a grocery trip to properly stock his new fridge chest and he didn't trust Ford's nutrition pills, so he'd only brought along a bottle of hot sauce and a bottle of sprinkles and hoped he'd manage to find some food once he was here. (And if he didn't find any—well, at least he had hot sauce and sprinkles.)

"Okay," Abuelita said. She turned a page.

He put his slippers back on, dug his condiments and eye patch out of Abuelita's bag—his eyes were getting tired—put on the patch, and scanned the beach. "Hey. Looks like somebody's grilling hot dogs over there."

Abuelita made a noncommital sound of minimal interest.

"Hot dog might be nice," he said. "Looks like the grill's a biiit over thirty feet away, though..."

"Okay," Abuelita said again.

"So." He waved his braceleted hand demonstratively. "Shall we?"

"Eh. I don't want a hot dog." She slid the enchanted bracelet off and dropped it in the sand.

Bill stared at the bracelet, then stared at her. "What, that—really? You're just... really?"

"What am I, a cop?"

Good enough for him. "You're all right, lady." He wrapped the extra thread around his wrist, put on the second bracelet, and glanced at the Stanowar again to make sure the Pines weren't about to catch him off his leash.

The family was crowded around watching as Ford reeled in something heavy. He grinned excitedly as the hook dragged up a patch of soggy khaki fabric; and his smile vanished when his coat grabbed the boat with a furry hand. As the family scrambled to the far end of the boat, Bigfoot—wearing Ford's lost coat and a full set of scuba gear—climbed aboard the boat.

Ford punched Bigfoot in the face.

"Oh," Bill said. "Bigflipper. That'll keep 'em distracted for a while." Satisfied, he meandered up the beach.

He plastered on a bright smile as he approached the family with the hot dogs, veered around the husband working the grill, and walked right up to the wife sitting on a beach towel, eating a hot dog, and watching her kids play in the water. "Heeey, Wanda! What are you doing here! Look at you, you look terrific!"

The woman looked up at Bill from under her sunhat in bafflement. "I—hi? Sorry, do I...?"

"Sure, it's Goldie! Washington State! Fifteen years ago! We were in the same study group, remember? East Asian history? Honestly all I remember about the class is the other girls and that fifty percent of it was about Confucianism."

Wanda's eyes lit up, and then un-lit as she realized she still didn't recognize Bill. "Oh—heeey! Wow—sorry, guess I've slept since then."

"Don't worry about it, I'm just good with faces. Anyway, from what I remember," he jabbed a thumb toward the man at the grill, "at the time most of your attention was on Danny."

Wanda laughed again, a little more easily. "Right, god. I can't believe I made it through that semester with passing grades."

"Hey, you were still the only one in the group who could remember what order all those dynasties came in..."

Bill kept Wanda distracted for another couple of minutes with small talk about the study sessions he'd spied on out of boredom from a library stained glass window; and then, when he saw one hot dog had been set aside fully grilled and mustarded but as-yet unclaimed, he said, "But hey, I won't distract you anymore! Those kids look like a handful." While both parents turned to look at the kids, Bill snatched up the unclaimed hot dog, strolled down the beach, and called back, "It was good catching up!" That whole performance probably hadn't been necessary, he might've been able to time his loitering to swing by just as the hot dog was left unguarded; but it had been more fun this way. He didn't get to have a lot of conversations these days. Less where he felt like he was the one in control of the conversation.

He soaked the bun in hot sauce, dumped some sprinkles on the mustard, and took a bite while he glanced out at the lake again to see how the Pines were doing.

At the moment, Ford had Bigfoot in a chokehold from behind. Stan hit him with a right hook. Bigfoot kicked Stan in the chest with one immense flippered foot, and he tumbled backward into the lake.

Looked like none of them would be paying attention to anything on the beach any time soon. No need to go straight back to his cell. He scanned the rows of beachgoers sitting out by the lake, looking for fresh entertainment.

Bill's gaze fixed on one of the humans. One of these things is not like the others, one of these things doesn't belong. Amongst all the tourists in their swimsuits, one man—standing ramrod straight, dressed in a black suit, holding a heavy black device with an antenna—stuck out like a sore pale thumb in a pitch black bandaid.

An agent from the Bureau of Covert Investigations. The "eagles." The same guys that had covered up President Quentin Trembley's existence, a brief sightseeing trip Bill had taken to Roswell via nuclear testing-induced dimensional rip, and the miraculous and disgusting resurrection of cult leader/possession puppet Silas Birchtree; and, the guys that had been trying to find Bill's portal in Gravity Falls since they'd detected it in the '80s. Bill wasn't the eagles' biggest fan.

But they'd never been a big enough potential threat or a big enough potential help for him to intervene in their operations. In the mid '80s, when the lead investigator in Gravity Falls had been putting together his case, Bill had considered pulling some strings and manipulating them into taking over the portal from Stanley, before concluding they'd be more likely to disassemble the portal than activate it and it was better off in Stan's clumsy care. But all the same, he'd kept watch over their operations. 

And this, if he wasn't mistaken, was the lead investigator himself. Agent Powers. What was he doing here? Bill had thought the case was closed last year after Ford wiped their memories and sent them packing. Maybe Powers was here about Trembley? Depending on what the Pines had entered into the memory gun, the eagles might still remember that part of their operations in town.

Bill would kinda like to know where Trembley was these days. He studied the agent as he slowly finished his hot dog; and then he moved in.

"Hey there, agent!" Bill clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him start, and beamed brightly. "Welcome to town! What brings you to Gravity Falls?"

"Pardon?" Agent Powers gave Bill an appraising up-and-down look—threat assessment, probably—caught sight of his bikini top, and quickly looked him in the eye. "How did you know I'm an agent?"

"Oh, that's easy! I'm psychic."

Powers opened his mouth, paused, and then squinted skeptically at Bill.

"Just kidding. You've got an earpiece, a business suit at the beach, and the government's favorite car."

"Oh." Powers turned to glance toward where he'd parked. "Yes. I suppose so."

"Say! If you want a more covert vehicle, you oughta go to Gleeful Auto in town. You'll blend right in. Just tell 'em Mr. Locke sent you."

"Who's Mr. Locke?"

Right, Bill supposed he didn't look like much of a "Mr." at the moment. Humans didn't consider bikinis gender neutral for some reason. He took a split second to decide whether he'd get any practical benefits from trying to push past the agent's initial perception of his gender, and couldn't think of any. "Friend of mine!"

"Ah." Powers nervously looked Bill up and down again; then cleared his throat and glanced away, cheeks flushed faintly pink in the heat. "Right. Thank you, uh, citizen."

"No problem!" If Bill remembered his suits right, this agent was an easy target. Believed in "collaborating" with "local informants"; wasn't very good at the covert part of the Bureau of Covert Investigations. "You don't look like you're in town on vacation! Investigating anything interesting at the lake?"

"Well..." Powers flashed Bill a quick sideways glance before nodding vaguely toward a couple of people in dive suits further up the beach. "If you must know, we've picked up some evidence of the lake recently flooding its banks. Which is strange, because the amount of rain this area's received can't account for how high the water climbed..."

Not here about Trembley, then? "Flooding? Think there's any danger, agent? In our quiet, harmless little town?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Powers said quickly. "But, I've said too much. I should go." He shifted his footing anxiously. He did not go.

What was that about? Bill glanced down at himself; he still looked perfectly human, didn't see anything that should make a government agent nervous. Was it the lack of shaving? Was that too Seventies Feminist for Mr. Government Suit? Was the eyepatch setting off his secret agent "Soviet supervillain in a spy movie" instincts? He couldn't have noticed Bill stealing a hot dog.

Should Bill press his luck? (Stupid question—of course he should.) "Say, you keep giving me these odd looks, agent! Anything you wanna say?"

His pink cheeks flushed darker. "Er, no, no ma'am. It's just, I uh..." He gestured vaguely toward Bill, "I... couldn't help but notice that your... sunscreen is a bit streaky."

Bill glanced down at his tan lines. Streaky? He thought the burn lines were coming out pretty crisp.

The agent went on, "I was wondering if you needed help applying it more evenly." It took a split second for him to realize what he'd just said; and then he went even redder.

Bill raised his brows. Huh. "Nooo, I'm great, thanks. It's supposed to look like that."

"Oh." Powers's brow furrowed in confusion. "All right." He nodded. "In that case, I really should be going, then."

"All right!"

But Powers hesitated again for a moment before finally moving up the beach away from Bill.

Well. Interesting. Interesting reaction.

He checked on the Stanowar again to make sure the Pines hadn't seen anything. At the moment—he squinted—they seemed to be playing poker with Bigfoot. He must not have liked Mabel's playing (unsurprising; she was an incorrigible cheat), because he picked her up and chucked her in the lake.

"She's fine," Bill muttered. "She's got her life jacket." They were good about that in this town.

He watched as Powers met up with the divers farther along the beach; and then he headed back to his towel.

####

Bill had decided his front was sufficiently roasted and was struggling to apply new sunscreen stripes to his back so he could flip over, when he overheard somebody say, "Oh hey, Toga Lady?"

Bill twisted around, already grinning in greeting before he'd even seen who was talking to him. "Heya!" It was Broken Heart and two of the others. Wendy's gang. Robbie, Tambry, and Nate. "What are you guys doing out here! You don't look like the beach types!" (In deference to the environment, all three of them had donned swim trunks and sandals; but that was as beachy as they'd gotten. Nate and Tambry were in black t-shirts advertising metal bands. Robbie was still in his hoodie. Robbie's legs nearly glowed white.)

"Hanging," Tambry said, one arm around Robbie's back and face glued to her phone.

Nate elbowed Robbie. "Dude, he's Toga Guy, remember?"

"Toga 'Lad' would be better," Tambry said.

"You sure?" Robbie asked. "Sh—he's kinda..." He gestured vaguely toward his own chest, realized that probably wasn't the best way to make his point, and finished, "uh... bikini."

"I don't want to spend my day arguing about whether I've got the right to go topless!" Bill got to his feet and planted his hands on his hips. "I could talk my way out of trouble with the police—it's the tourist parents I'm worried about." He pulled up one strap to examine his shoulder. "It's gonna ruin my tan, though."

They took in his tan in progress: several horizontal lines across his lower torso and upper thighs, a few disconnects vertical lines stretched between the horizontal ones. Tambry glanced up from her phone, snorted, and started typing faster; Nate said, "Dude, are you trying to make bricks like the triangle guy?"

Bill froze, mouth open. "Uhhh..." Sure, that was the objective—he just hadn't really expected humans to find it that obvious. Nosy little pattern-seekers. "I mean—"

"That's cool," Tambry said. "Stick it to the man."

Robbie had screwed up his face a bit, but at Tambry's reaction, he shrug-nodded and conceded, "Yeah, it's kinda punk, I guess."

Nate said, "Praise Bill or whatever, right?" He laughed. "Yeah, I thought about getting a tattoo of him. Up here or something?" He pushed a sleeve up above the snake tattoo wrapped around his left bicep to show the blank spot on his shoulder. "But my parents would flip if they ever found out. Maybe I should do the brick thing too, it's way subtler." Nate turned to the other two, lifted up his shirt, and said, "Hey Tambers, do you think I'd look cool with bricks around my waist?"

She didn't look up. "No."

"What if I got an eye on my chest too?"

"Let me think. No."

Bill watched this back and forth with wide-eyed stunned silence. Hold on. What? Praise Bill?

"Pfff, whatever!" Robbie rolled his eyes. "Hey, you're gonna regret getting a Bill tattoo once I get my sick symbol off the anti-Bill circle. It's like... giving me a permanent rock-paper-scissors win against you. For the rest of time."

Nate laughed. "Shut up, whatever man! The circle didn't even do anything."

"It would have! It was, like, glowing!"

"Heeey!" Bill stepped into the trio's line of sight again. "Right, yeah, praise Bill, by the way any of you wanna help me get my back?" He turned around to gesture over his shoulder. "Little favor between punk weirdos?"

"Yeah, sure." Tambry tucked her phone into Robbie's hoodie pocket and held out her hand for the tube of sunscreen. "Just continue the lines around your back?"

"You got it." Bill lifted his arms. "And try to keep the bricks evenly spaced."

"What is this stuff? Some kind of suntan lotion?"

"It's more like anti-sunscreen," Bill said. "By the way, you probably wanna wash your hands after this unless you want sunburned fingers." He wiggled his own fingers, which were faintly flushed from applying the first layer of sunscreen that morning.

"Hey, anti-sunscreen," Nate said, "you could call that, uh... sun-beam." He paused. "No wait, that's already a word."

Robbie laughed. "You're an idiot."

"Sooo," Bill said. "Is the triangle guy cool now? Not—not asking for any particular reason. Just curious."

"Oh, yeah," Tambry said. "Like half the school's decided he's our crazy anti-authoritarian counterculture chaos god now?" (Bill was adding that to his business card.)

Robbie said, "Somebody set up a shrine to him in a hollow tree stump behind the school. People started making animal sacrifices to him during finals week."

Nate said, "It's chicken nuggets and cafeteria tacos, but. Y'know. We didn't say live animals."

"Huh! Interesting!" Bill tried, unsuccessfully, not to sound too excited. He was hip with the youth. Who'd imagined! This was what he got for hanging out with the town's cops and politicans, he could've been exploiting this for a month. "But I think he prefers receiving gold!"

Nate laughed. "Dude, I'd prefer receiving gold, too. What we have is chicken nuggets and tacos."

"Fair enough," Bill shrugged. "By the way—if you want a Bill tattoo? The traditional style is to shave your hair and get his eye above your forehead, right here!" He tapped his skull over his brain's frontal eye fields. "It tells him right where to enter."

"Oh, sweet! That's perfect," Nate said. "I can shave, get a tattoo, and just keep my hat on until my hair grows back. No one will ever know!" (Bill tried to imagine hair growing out of his eyeball, and wished he hadn't.)

Robbie said, "Hey, weren't the Pines like... not letting you go outside because you knew him or something? That's what Wendy said."

That wasn't the story he'd told her. He'd have to find out where she'd picked that up. "Or something. It was more because of dumb academic ego-measuring contests than anything to do with that."

"So, they finally letting you outside alone now?"

"Only for group trips." Bill pointed out at the lake.

The three teens squinted toward the boat. "Whoa," Tambry said. "Are they arm-wrestling Bigfoot?"

"Oh, yeah. It was poker earlier."

For a moment, all activity ceased as the teens watched the battle out on the lake. Nate sat in the sand and propped his chin in his hand. Figuring Tambry was done with his stripes, Bill plopped onto his beach towel to watch as well.

Bigfoot defeated Stan, and Soos switched places with him to try next. Soos lasted five seconds before Bigfoot flipped him into the water. Melody scrambled to help pull him back aboard as Bigfoot pumped his fists in the air victoriously. Bill snorted.

"Bad luck," Robbie said. 

"I could beat him," Nate said. "Hey Robbie, think I could beat him?"

"Pfff, no."

"Bet Wendy could," Tambry said, recording through her phone as Bigfoot generously indulged Dipper and Mabel's attempt to take him on as a team. The guys murmured vague agreement with Tambry.

"Buuut anyway," Bill said, reluctant to let the conversation get too far away from himself, "yeah, I might've talked to the triangle guy a couple, several times."

"That's pretty cool," Nate said. "Hey, we oughta hang sometime, I bet Lee'd wanna hear about that. It'd probably drive Wendy crazy, but..."

Tambry let out a dismissive pff. "The triangle stuff's been driving Wendy crazy all year. She can take it."

"Not a fan?" Bill asked.

"Nah, she thinks the whole thing's creepy. Her and Thompson both."

"I think the whole cult thing's fine," Robbie said magnanimously. "As, y'know, one of the people prophesied to defeat him. If he ever really came back and caused trouble, we could handle it."

Bill tried not to roll his eye. Bold words out of a guy who, a couple of years ago, had left a plate of spaghetti in the woods to see if an "evil triangle" urban legend was true, and had thrown up when Bill dragged him into a dream state to show him just how true it was.

On Earth, urban legends about Bill tended to pop up and wither away in waves around the epicenter of his latest area of influence—like mushroom rings spreading away from a patch of ground they'd depleted of useful nutrients and left to die. Bill suspected the local urban legend Robbie had stumbled upon had been passed down in Gravity Falls for thirty years by teens misinterpreting Old Man McGucket's crazy ramblings about a "demon triangle" and "spaghettification."

He was always torn on whether to encourage or quash such urban legends: on the one hand, it was handy for humans to know he existed and was available for deals; but much less handy when they warned each other away from him. More than once, knowledge of him had nearly broken into the mainstream, and he'd had to put all his other plans on hold to focus on deflecting the whistleblowers' information into obscurity.

Apparently encouraging the spaghetti one had been the right move, if a year after his brief conquest of Gravity Falls the teens were offering him sacrifices rather than cursing his name.

Nate punched Robbie's arm. "Why would he cause us trouble? He's our chaos god, remember? We've given him offerings!"

"I like that attitude," Bill said. "Hanging out sounds fun! We'll... figure something out sometime." As soon as he found a way to make the Pines let him go outside without being surrounded by babysitters. Wouldn't that be humiliating, a full adult hanging out with teenagers and it's the adult who isn't allowed outside without a chaperone. No, that wasn't an option. If he came with an adult attached, they'd ditch him in a heartbeat for being too much of a drag.

The teens made their farewells and headed down the beach, Tambry and Robbie with their arms around each other again. Tambry wiped the anti-sunscreen off her hand onto the back of Robbie's hoodie.

As they went, they walked past Agent Powers—who was looking right at Bill.

Bill stared. The agent quickly looked away.

He didn't like that one bit. As he adjusted his position to lay face down on his towel, he said, "Hey, Dolores. You get the feeling we're being watched?"

"Hm?" Abuelita glanced up from her book toward Bill, then looked where he was looking. "Government." She made a disapproving noise and turned back to her book. "Nothing but trouble."

"You said it." Why was Powers so focused on Bill. He couldn't possibly be in any kind of trouble, he hadn't even existed until a month ago. And the eagles probably didn't know that, did they?

Nothing Bill could do about it in the middle of a beach trip. He propped his chin in his hand and checked on the fishing crew again.

In a fury, Bigfoot had ripped the motor off the back of the boat and lifted it over his head. The Pines family huddled together at the other end of the boat, trying to shield their heads.

A golden trout jumped out of the water, arced majestically through the air, and smacked Bigfoot in the face. Bigfoot stumbled backward and tripped out of the boat.

Hm. Maybe letting the trout go had been the right move. Bill shut his eyes and lay back down.

####

The sun was low and most of the beachgoers had gone home when the Stanowar chugged back to shore, battle-weary, disheveled, and dissatisfied. Except for Ford, who was wearing his sopping wet coat over his waders, holding one boot, and pleased as punch.

"Hey!" Bill shouted. "How'd it go!" He surreptitiously tossed half the bracelet over to Abuelita. She quietly slid it on.

Crankily, Stan yelled from the dock, "You didn't mention Bigfoot in a scuba tank!"

Bill shouted back, "Bigflipper wasn't there when I looked! What, did you expect me to check the entire spacetime continuum to find you the perfect fishing?!"

Faintly, he could hear Ford say, "See, I told you his proper name is Bigflipper."

Mabel repeatedly poked Dipper in the arm as they crossed the beach. Dipper flinched each time. "Ow, ow—Mabel. Cut it out."

"That's what you get for forgetting your sunscreen, bro-bro!"

Dipper's arms and face were bright red with a sunburn. "I didn't forget! I put it on at the beach, right before we left!"

Bill grabbed up Abuelita's empty water bottles and tossed them in the nearest trash can, along with the rest of his tube of anti-sunscreen before anyone could get a good look at it. He ignored the kids and said to Stan, "But it was a good fishing spot, right?"

Stan grumbled, but grudgingly admitted, "Yeah. Until tall, brown, and hairy showed up. We caught four fish! That's gotta be at least as good as the guys from the lodge, right?"

Bill winced. "Ooh. Sorry, they went by an hour ago with eleven fish."

Stan let out a roar of outrage and threw his fishing rod in the sand.

"Grunkle Stan, you don't go fishing to catch fish," Mabel said. "You go fishing to catch memories! Look at this!" She held up a bunch of photos. "This is a whole scrapbook spread right here! We caught sooo many memories."

"And my coat," Ford said. He was admiring his #1 Grunkle pen, which he'd taken from the coat pocket.

"I'd rather have fish," Stan grumbled. "All right, c'mon. Let's get..." He trailed off, looking past Bill. "Hey, is that...?"

Bill glanced back over his shoulder, and grimaced. Agent Powers and his protégé were watching them from the far end of the beach. Bill quickly turned back around. "Yep. Your old friends from last summer," he said. "They've been scoping out the beach all day. I don't know what they're here for—but you probably wanna get out of here." More importantly, Bill wanted to get out of here—but he didn't see any benefit to letting them know he was nervous.

"He's right," Ford said. "If they see us long enough to recognize us—and his memories start coming back..."

"Who are they?" Melody asked.

Soos whispered loudly, "I'll explain it in the car." Bill bit back the need to point out that whispering didn't make a difference as far away as the agents were.

"I don't get it," Stan said. "What are they doing back here?"

"You wanna go ask him?" Bill asked. Stan grimaced.

The Pines and Ramirez families piled back in their vehicles and headed out. Bill had the uneasy feeling that Agent Powers was focused on the Ramirez's truck as they left.

####

(How long have I been promising the Agent Powers plot, since like the May before last or something? Here it is!!

Next week, either we launch straight into the Powers plot, or I finally have the Axolotl chapters (it's chapters plural now) sufficiently edited and we do that first, because once we start the Powers plot there's no place for a break until it's over. Hopefully the Axolotl chapters will finally be ready by next Friday, but if they're not...... tough. It's fine though, you'll live.)

[facefullofsadness]

ever think about car sex with aeri... yeah, I do, a lot

I most certainly do too anon... a lot. ooouuu the au concepts to go alongside car sex with aeri are quite literally countless like I can envision after a dinner party w designer!giselle (she's been occupying my mind for weeks guys idk I wanna make like a miniseries on that aeri-), hooking up with stranger!giselle from the club in the parking lot, stepsis!giselle taking u out for an *innocent* midnight drive but u can't take ur hands off one another, bully!giselle putting u in ur place after u refused to do her hw, ugh I could go on and fucking on.

but for today, let's paint the picture of bestie!aeri. it's summer vacation and you both are bored at 2 am, deciding to go out on a joy ride with your bestfriend who you've been crushing on for fucking ever, and what's a friendship without mutual yearning accompanied by intense flirting and affection to make each other confused right? blasting music with the windows down as u both sing ur heart out to u and aeri's shared playlist (gay), both of your outfits leave little to imagination, sheer and flimsy tops with unbearably short shorts, it's hot as fuck so sweat gleams on ur guys' skin, shining from the street lamps and moonlight.

but the tension? my god it's insane. when the tone of the music shifts as sensual rnb plays rhythmically on the speakers, you look at aeri and holy fuck she looks god-like. the sheen on her milky skin from her perspiration, her messy hair clinging to her body, her arms toned perfectly clutching on the steering wheel, the way her tank top hugged her chest and waist deliciously, her juicy thighs on full display, and her lips plump red after licking them locking eyes with you at the stoplight. you were so dizzy, the ache in your core throbbing from the mixture of adrenaline and js looking at your best friend. u watched as she pushed her hair back with her big veiny hand, threading her fingers through her messy hair, still staring shamelessly as she drove into an empty parking lot.

doesn't take long for her to grab you by the neck (choking you) and pull your head forward towards her, making a choked noise, practically a whimper. her smirk and eyes are filled with lustful intent, your eyes watering with need as you beg her to take you in every way with your dazed expression, and so she does. the sex is messy and oh so desperate. even with the car ac, you both can't help but to feel so hot, even if you're fully naked. her hands are js as greedy as yours, clutching grabbing grasping scratching at skin, pulling each other as close as physically possible.

moans fill the car as you finger each other, your digits drilling in and out of your friend's pussy, her's mimicking your movements, need evident on your faces. forehead to forehead with her as you both release pleasurable noises onto each other's mouths, on her lap as one hand is in her hair, the other thrusting into her, her hand digging into your waist as she fucks you with no remorse. cumming insanely hard on each other, immediately switching to rubbing clits tgt, using each other's slick to slide on the other's pussy. the sensations are so intense and yet neither of you care that it's too soon, that the overstimulation was too much, you both needed each other in an almost primal way, like two animals in heat.

most certainly filled with love bombs, confessing how much she's needed this, how badly she's been waiting for you, how much she has thought about doing this, and you reciprocate the sentiments, rambling against her tongue about dreaming of this day, touching yourself thinking of her, being addicted to everything that has to do with her. every climax you both would slur I love yous repeatedly, screaming each other's names and holding each other close. so much panting, moaning, pathetic begging from both like fuck you feel so good please don't fucking stop or I'm so close I'm so close just a little more please please. her taste is js as sweet as her name on your tongue, and you couldn't wait to get more, never having nearly enough. an exciting summer indeed.

[carmenberzattosgf]

carmen who’s so obsessed with you…and how he keeps fucking into you even after he’s cum…overstimulation settling in and he doesn’t even care…his eyes welling up with tears but he keeps going…“lemme—one more, baby, jus’ one more, s-so good, don’ make me pull out yet jus’ one more f’me”

Oh my god. Yes. Anon I LOVE you.

Carmen would fuck you for hours if he could. He’s obsessed with you. The sound of your whines is music to his ears. Every single moan spurs him on to go faster. Deeper. Harder. The way your wet cunt squeezes around his cock feels like heaven.

He relishes in the way you cry out when he spills inside of you. Your body tenses and you fall over the edge. You dig your nails into his back, into his hair. Basically into any part of him you can grab. Your skin is on fire.

Carmy doesn’t want to stop. Not yet. His hips thrust sloppily into you, still. He’s lost the precision of his movements, but the strength behind them hasn’t subsided. “Shit– Carm. C-Carmy”

His eyes stare down into yours. Whimpers leave his throat with every thrust like each one pains him. You can make out tears swelling up in his eyes. He’s so overstimulated he can barely speak.

“J-jus’—fuck. Gimme one more baby–“ He’s struggling to keep going, the veins on his neck bulging out from tension. The sound of his cock plowing into you fills the room. His cum makes a mess all over the sheets as it drips out of you. Carmy’s eyes drop down to the sight. Your thighs are covered in him. His cock aches inside of you. He needs you to cum again.

“Can’t, Carm— I can’t—“ you beg him. It’s too much. All the sensations overwhelm you.

“Come on baby—you’ve been doing s-so fucking good f’me. Don’t wanna pull out u-until you cum around my cock again.” His tears are more obvious now, threatening to spill over his lashes. He’s so fucking desperate. He needs to feel you cum for him one more time. Clumsily, he rips one of his hands away from holding your hip, and places his thumb on your clit. His callused thumb rubs quick uncoordinated circles on the bud, aided by the slick of his cum. “Cum f’me baby. Let go a-around me. B-be a good girl and cum.”

Your legs quiver as you fall into pleasure, hooking around Carmen’s waist. Stars explode across your vision. You’ve never cum this hard before; you gush around his cock this time, soaking the sheets even more. Your needy whimpers fill the room as Carmy finally slows to a stop inside of you.

His face rests in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath. His cock twitches inside of you still. You reach your hand up to thread through the curls at the nape of his neck. He’s covered in sweat but you couldn’t care less. “Holy fuck, Carmy— I’ve never—“

He cuts you off before you can complete your sentence. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.” His voice is muffled in the skin of your neck, but the arousal in his voice is clear. “Wanna do it again. W-want to feel it on my tongue. Taste it.”

You can imagine the sight before you right now. Carmy with his head between your thighs. His tongue lapping at your center, taking breaks to beg for you to gush on his tongue. You press the thought back. Not right now. “Woah, woah, woah. Next time. Yeah? I think right now we need to worry about getting up.”

“Just wanna stay inside of you. Please?” Carmy always gets like this after he cums. He craves the skin to skin contact afterwards, not wanting to pull out of you too soon.

“Carmy. I’m covered in cum, and so are you. Let’s shower, and then sleep in the spare room. Come on. Get up.”

“Fine.” He sighs, finally lifting his head to look you in the eyes again. You don’t think you’ve ever seen his pupils blown so wide. “But I’m serious. Want to make you squirt on my tongue next time.”

You both make the shower quick, ready to go to sleep. When you both slip under the sheets in the spare room, you answer Carmy’s question before he can get all the words out.

“Baby? Can— can you—“

“Yeah.” Wordlessly you move to straddle his hips as Carmy lays on his back. His cock is still somehow semi-hard. Slowly, you sink down onto him all the way the hilt. You both sigh as he bottoms out inside of you. You lay down on top of him, chest to chest, as his arms wrap around you. The gentle movements of his breathing lulls you to sleep, safe in his arms.

[thef1diary]

i just realized i accidentally send my dirtbag!carlos thots to em instead of you... oh well. i'm sure she'll enjoy them 😮‍💨

dirtbag!carlos eating you out like a starved man😵‍💫 he'd go slow enjoying, every little sound coming from you. as your breathing gets heavier and moans louder it's like a switch has been flipped inside him. he doesn't stop until he's made you cum at least twice.

random side note: as someone with a lip piercing AND nose rings i've always wondered if the other person can feel them? my lip piercing isn't that noticeable apparently but idk about my nose rings... i'll have to conduct a study!

🩵

— haha em surely enjoyed them but nonnie?!?!? holy fuck this thought is soooo hot, fanning myself over here 🥵 and ooh? I only have ear piercings, but the temptation of getting a nose piercing is like super high rn. For this drabble, let’s pretend you can feel his nose piercing. 18+ content below

The room is dimly lit, a faint orange glow from the streetlamp outside casting shadows on Carlos’s sharp features. He’s on his knees in front of you, every inch of him exuding trouble—his leather jacket open just enough to show a glimpse of his hairy chest, a chain glinting at his neck. Dark hair falls messily over his forehead, but your focus keeps shifting between the black hoop and stud adorning his ears and the glint of the silver ring in his nose. The piercings, paired with his cocky smirk, make him look like he walked straight out of your most dangerous fantasies.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” he drawls, voice rough with a teasing edge. His large hands grip your thighs, spreading you open for him. “You’re the one who begged for this, remember?”

Before you can muster a response, his tongue flicks out to taste you, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the first bite of a meal. The wet heat of him has you gasping, your hands flying to grip his thick hair. He chuckles darkly against you, the vibration of it making your thighs tremble.

The ring of his nose piercing brushes against your clit, a sensation so maddeningly delicious that your hips jerk up instinctively. “Yeah, there it is,” he mutters, lips dragging over you. “Knew you’d like that.”

Carlos takes his time at first, mapping you out with his tongue, licking and sucking until your moans spill freely from your lips. He hums in satisfaction every time you react, letting you feel the scruff of his jaw and the cool press of his piercings as he pushes you closer to the edge.

But then your breathing turns ragged, your cries louder, and his composure snaps like a thread pulled too tight. A groan escapes him, low and feral, before he locks his arms under your thighs, yanking you impossibly closer.

“Oh, nena, you sound and taste so sweet,” he rasps, the heat in his eyes burning straight through you. His tongue plunges deeper, faster now, his lips relentless against you. Your pleas and curses only spur him on. He’s ravenous, devouring you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

The first orgasm rips through you, your thighs trembling around his head. Carlos doesn’t even pause, his mouth unyielding as he draws out your orgasm until you’re nearly overstimulated, the slick sounds of his efforts only fueling your undoing. He grins wickedly when you whimper, his thumb replacing his tongue briefly to rub at your swollen clit.

“One more,” he orders, his voice roughened with lust. His teeth nip at your inner thigh, just enough to make you yelp. “You can take it. Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

Before you can protest, his tongue is on you again, his nose piercing sliding deliciously against your pussy. He doesn’t let up until your second orgasm crashes over you, leaving you a writhing mess beneath him.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are swollen, glistening with evidence of his handiwork. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, smirking like the devil himself. “Told you I’d make you scream,” he taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance as he leans back, taking in the sight of you wrecked and breathless.

“And I’m just getting started.”

want more dirtbag!carlos? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[loserboysandlithium]

A Taste: Eddie Munson One Shot

18+ Minors DNI

Summary: this is a series of one shots written in Eddie’s POV about his sexual experiences. ;) this one is the first time he got a taste. ;) I hope you enjoy. 🖤 Chapter list found here .

Part two:

“Just the regular?” I ask, my eyes shifting from her eyes straight to her tits. Fuck.

“Mhmm..” she hums lightly, a slick smile spreading on her pretty lips. This time she’s in a little black dress. Short. Fuck, is it short… the material clinging to her curves in all the right places.

I grab the little baggy from my lunchbox trying to shake all the dirty thoughts from my mind and spin around to see her plopped down on my bed flipping through my sketchbook.

“These are really good, Eddie.” she smiles sweetly, flicking her eyes up to me.

This was the last thing I needed. Her seeing my dorky drawings of dragons and elves. I could feel my face getting hot. She was so far out of my league and I was already nervous enough.

“They’re nothing. Just some random shit.” I try to laugh but it comes out slightly hoarse, making me groan out loud.

“You okay?” she giggles as she sets the notebook to the side, shifting slightly causing her dress to ride up her thighs. Her legs part just a bit, the smallest glimpse of her panties now on display.

“You look pretty. Really fuckin’ pretty.” The words fly from my lips before I can stop them and I watch as her lips curl into a smile.

She pats the mattress beside her and I make my way over, sitting down at least a foot away from her. Fuck, she makes me nervous.

“I won’t bite.” she teases, scooting herself closer so her leg is now pressed against mine.

“You wanna smoke?” I ask as I pull a pre rolled joint from behind my ear.

“Mmm, please.” she hums, her eyes flicking to the joint in my hand before landing on my lips again. I place the joint between my lips, striking my zippo, bringing the flame to the rolling paper as I inhale deeply.

Smoke fills my lungs as I offer her a hit. She smirks as she takes it between her finger and her thumb, taking a long drag for herself. My eyes remain on her mouth, watching as the smoke rolls beautifully from her plump lips as she exhales.

We pass it back and forth a few times, a nice buzz settling across both of us. She’s closer somehow, I can feel her against my side as I turn to look down into her pretty eyes. She takes a deep hit, her fingers landing on my chin, gripping tightly as she pulls me close.

Fuck. My lips brush hers as I part them, allowing the smoke to transfer from her mouth to mine. And then it was over. I shoved my tongue in her mouth, tasting the weed as our tongues swirled together, both of us panting into the kiss.

Her hands grasped at my shirt taking two fistfuls as she pulled me down on top of her. My hands were shaking just a bit as they began to roam across her body. Holy fuck.

And then I was between her thighs, her tiny dress shoved above her hips as I yanked her panties down, flinging them to the side.

My tongue glides through her folds, her slick coating it completely. The moan that left my body was one I’d never heard before. I hook my arms under her thighs, pulling her closer as my eyes fall shut, my tongue alternating between flicking and swirling, my lips moving erratically across every part of her wet pussy.

“Eddie, fuck.” she moans softly, her fingers threading into my curls as I open my eyes to look at her. Fuck me.

Her lips are parted, her eyes locked on mine as I begin to suck gently on her clit. “Yes, baby. Mmmm..” she breathes, her hands holding my head in place.

“Feel good?” I gasp as I come up for a bit of air. I’m fucking drunk on her taste as I meet her eyes once again.

“Mhmm. Don’t stop, baby. Please don’t stop.” she whimpers making my dick fuckin’ throb.

I move my hands to her inner thighs, spreading her legs even more, pressing her knees hard into the mattress as I slide my tongue as deep as possible earning the sweetest little cry from her.

“Oh fuuck..” She lets out a soft whine as I begin to fuck her with my tongue.

My hips rut against the mattress, my cock aching for any fucking friction as she falls apart beneath my tongue. I think I’m gonna cum.

“Eddie, holy shit baby. So good.. feels so fucking good.” she praises and my eyes almost roll to the back of my head. I move back up to her clit, tugging the sensitive bud between my teeth making her hips jolt up just as I slip two fingers into her pretty pussy.

“Fuck! J-Just like that.” she cries as I curl my fingers into that soft spot inside of her. I can feel her all over my fingers, sticky and warm as I begin to fuck her.

My brain goes fuzzy. Her taste, the way she feels clenching around my fingers, the lewd sounds of her perfect pussy sucking my fingers in again and again. Her back arches off the bed as her nails dig into my scalp, the sound that comes from her lips is downright pornographic as she soaks my hand making me come undone. I can feel my warm cum making a mess inside my jeans as I moan into her sweet pussy.

I remove my fingers, bringing them to my lips, sucking them clean of every bit of her cum as I kneel on the bed.

“More, sweetheart. Fuck. Want you to ride my face. Please.” I beg, desperation laced in my tone. I needed more. I couldn’t get enough of her.

“Yeah, baby? You gonna make me cum again?” she laughs breathlessly, pushing my chest hard making me fall to the bed.

“Anything for you.” I whisper, watching in awe as she crawls toward me.

She moves to straddle my face, her dripping pussy hovering just above my lips.

“Good boy.” she purrs.

🖤Tag list: @hideoutside @chrrymunson @trinitywifey @hellfirenacht @emsgoodthinkin @blood-puppy @gri959 @girlfuckthatwhore @joannamuns9n @harrycanyonmoonn @mrsjellymunson @leelei1980 @little-wormwood @melifluorei-d @mrsmarch64 @avavolturi @munsonsblunt @darknesseddiem @yujyujj @eddie-munsonsbitch @ali-r3n @oliskitten @jessicakennedy957 @costellation-hunter @spenciesprincess @siouxiesiouxtryhard @josephbuttoneyes @jamiecb66 @amoiur @eddiernunson @floredaqueen @manda-panda-monium @tclick73 @moviefreak1205 @lil-quinnie @asimpforthe80s @phoenyxrayne @luv4peterba1lard @mrsrdlw @bug-boy32 @hanahkatexo @wasabimia @zeysartzone

I’m not sure if I missed anyone but I’m so sorry if I did and if you’d like to be added or removed just lemme know 😘🖤

[penelopeswifey]

ACCIDENTALLY YOURS!

CHAPTER 2 —

oh!

—

a/n: help hi I'm sorry for like ignoring this smau for a month oh my gosh 💔💔 anyway happy late Halloween !! 🎃🎃 this one's rather short .. ILL MAKE UP FOR IT .. I SWEAR 🙏 I'll try double updating tmrw 😁

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, groaning. Already pissed off. The last thing he needed was another pointless social media drama. with another sigh, he  opened Twitter, half-expecting some mundane gossip and rumours about his latest performance.

But.

Instead, his timeline was flooded with tweets mentioning him, it wasn't shocking.. but it was mixed with a name he didn't recognize.. @ynrambles..? He blinked, confused, scrolling past endless tags and mentions. The tweets were… something..

" scarasmicrophone: just thinking about yns situation makes ME embarrassed and I don't even know the mf "

" vortexspublicdefender: lowkey I can't even be mad at yn, the fics are GOOD. likee .. 🫦 "

He frowned, extremely confused. Pausing over a thread where fans discussed you, your recent slip up, and a fanfiction he hadn’t even known existed.

“ What the hell.. "  he muttered, opening your profile. What he found made his eyebrows shoot up. Sure enough, your latest post had blown up, showing a clip from your stream where you had, very awkwardly, confirmed writing a certain fanfiction.

Curiosity piqued, he tapped a link someone had shared, leading to the fanfic in question. The summary alone was enough to make his jaw clench, not in anger, but in absolute disbelief. How.. how could someone be so shameless?!.. no.. no, his fans on twitter were worse.

“ Holy shit.. " he mumbled, as the realization settled in. From what he gathered, Fans have made it very clear that you were both a somewhat popular streamer and the writer of a VERY detailed (and strangely accurate..) story about his fictional alter ego.

For a moment, he could only sit there, wondering how to respond—or if he even should.. but the thought of someone talking mad shit about him, just to be publicly humiliated for liking him was way too entertaining for him to let go.

He quickly typed in a message to they're DMS, and hit send.

—

ACCIDENTALLY YOURS!

SYPNOSIS: You, a well-known streamer, have always kept your two hobbies separate. By day, you entertain thousands with your snarky commentary, but by night, you secretly write. fanfiction about your favorite idol, Balladeer. It was a guilty pleasure—until a late-night stream led to a slip of the tongue and exposed your secret to the world!

In a single moment of poor judgment and a misclick, which by the way was totally not your fault!.. I think.. clips and memes about you spread like wildfire! It was embarrassing enough for everyone to know about your fanfiction, but it spiraled down even further when they discovered you were writing about the very idol you  constantly claimed was overrated.

Just as you wallowed in self-pity, a notification pings on your phone. A familiar username and a blue checkmark.

Shit.

accidentally yours masterlist - chapter 3 —>

—

taglist:

@kaeuri @kazumiku @kyouzki @skyoverkill1 @flowzel @lalalaloveallmydays @sketcheeee @vi0let-writes @kunikuzushis-darling @js-a-silly-little-guy @simonisferal @jayzioxx @naevis-callingae @vxmp-loml @dxrling-xing @suzueuieeeee @kinanahana @help-whatdoimakemyusername @dearanemo @heusalettle @v4lerixxq @catorkitty @khsuvy

[querenciasturniolo]

i absolutely love your writing! could you maybe write something like nick and y/n is best friends and play argue/ fight all the time but y/n accidentally admits her feelings about matt and nick goes ballistic?

obviously ⮕ n.s.

word count: 1k

warnings: swearing, accidental confession, shame, embarrassment

summary: one slip of the tongue has you at a complete loss of words

a/n: thank you so much 🫶🏻 this is such a funny concept, and it was so fun writing it.

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

part one || part two

Nick never kept anything he was feeling to himself.

It was one of his many charms, constantly saying how he felt. You loved it, considering he was your best friend. You were never bored when Nick was on one of his rants. Right now was one of those moments, the two of you were laying in his bed, your stomach aching with how hard you were laughing.

“No, I’m serious! This old ass man was walking so fucking slow in front of me, and then pushed the pull door. He deserved it though, he wouldn’t let me pass.” He said. You shook your head and ran your hands through your hair.

“You always get yourself in the worst situations, I swear.” You said, another smaller laugh bubbling out of you as you sat up.

Nick pushed himself up and pulled his phone out. “Okay, topic change. Why are you posting all of these mushy, agonizingly painful text quotes about love on threads all of a sudden?” He asked. You turned to face him with your eyebrows raised.

“What are you talking about?”

Nick scoffed and tapped away on his phone, pulling up your threads profile and reading one of your posts out loud. “The only love that lasts is unrequited love.” He quotes dramatically, putting his whole soul into the theatrics. “I am in love with you, and I can’t do anything about it.” He finished. Your face was burning as you shook your head and shrugged.

“I don’t know, I thought they were beautiful.” You said, the look on Nick’s face completely unamused.

“Just tell me, Y/n. I’m not gonna judge you.” He said. He stood from his bed then, the expression on his face goofy. “Is it me? Are you in love with me? I wouldn’t blame you, I’m great.” You threw your head back and laughed, meeting Nick’s smiling face once more as you shook your head.

“Please, I’m not that delusional.” You said, reaching down and sliding your shoes onto your feet. “There’s no point in me saying it, because it would never happen anyway.”

Nick’s hand rested on your shoulder, your gaze meeting his. He was frowning, and you couldn’t help but scoff at him. “Okay, now I’m convinced that it’s me.” He said, a goofy smile on his face.

You snorted and shook your head before reaching for the door handle. “Nope.” You said, Nick raising his eyebrows.

“Chris, then? You guys have been hanging out a lot.” You scoffed and pulled a face, making it seem like you found it ridiculous.

“Wrong brother, but nice try.” You said, your hand freezing before you turned the knob. You could feel the gears turning in his head as he processed your slip up.

“Oh my God, it’s Matt, isn’t it?”

You turned your head to face him, more than likely resembling a deer in headlights as you met his eyes. His eyes were wide as realization dawned on him.

“Holy shit, I knew it!” He shouted. You shushed him, holding your hands up. Nick shook his head and stepped past you, slowly turning the door handle.

“Nicolas Antonio, I swear to God.” You said through your teeth, trying to avoid laughing as he ripped open the door and bolted down the stairs. You chased after him, shouting obscenities the moment you had him cornered. He was on the other side of the dining table, his smile playful as he moved from side to side, trying to catch you off guard. You were one step ahead of him, laughter trying its hardest to break through your lips as you beamed at Nick, shaking your head with each movement he made.

“I will smite you, I can promise you that.” You said, the both of you moving to the left quickly, completely switching sides of the table. Your back was to the sink, his to the stairs and both of your hands resting on the back of a chair.

Nick laughed quietly and shook his head. “I’m not going to tell Matt you like him, obviously. That’s just fucked up.” He said. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, you noticed the movement out of the corner of your eye.

It took you too long to process that Matt was standing next to the fridge, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. You felt all of the color drain out of your face, shame and embarrassment creeping in as your eyes flickered between Nick and Matt. Nick finally turned around, his eyes widening when seeing Matt standing there.

Before anyone could say anything, you rushed around the table and down the stairs, rushing out of the house and to your car.

The entire drive home, you were ignoring your phone vibrating, wanting to let yourself calm down and get home before you even looked. It took you getting to your room and sitting on your bed before you even pulled your phone out to see.

You sighed and messaged Nick back, letting him know you weren’t mad at him and that you just needed some time to yourself to process everything.

You were mortified, to say the least. It felt childish to be embarrassed about having your feelings for someone revealed, but considering you’d known him your entire life, it almost felt…desperate.

It felt as though you’d ruined everything. You never wanted Matt to find out about your feelings for him, you were planning on just ignoring these feelings and letting them go away. Knowing them for as long as you have, it felt almost wrong, like you weren’t supposed to have these feelings because of your friendship.

You groaned and dropped back on your bed, grabbing a pillow and pressing it against your face to muffle yourself. Tomorrow you’d be over this, you knew the embarrassment and shame would go away quickly. You’d never been the type to let something like this hold you down, but you figured it was the shock of it all happening so quickly.

It felt like you were laying there for ages, your pillow resting on your face lightly and your arms resting above your head. Your phone vibrated next to you, your hand reaching for it blindly as the other pushed your pillow off of your head. You figured it was a text from Nick, probably asking you if you wanted to talk about it or something along those lines.

Your heart stopped in your chest when Matt’s name lit up your screen. You immediately opened the text, your hands shaking as you read over the three words over and over again.

[willowcried]

hey hey heyyy what about quinn fabray teaching shy reader’s first time? for context reader is such an awkward loser and we all know that quinn is one of the popular girlies, and she’s their first girlfriend ever and they haven’t gone any far other than missing but reader just wants to please her

-🪴

Power bottom Quinn Fabray believers RISE

like, you’re so eager to make quinn feel good, but also so shy about actually making a move. you get red just thinking about touching her like that—she HAS to do something about that

curled up in your bed, kissing lazily, and hands resting just above her waist, quinn smirks against your lips and whispers, “you can touch me, you know.”

you freeze, turning bright red. “i know.” you whisper, wanting to sound sure but your hands still don’t move.

she pulls back slightly, taking in the adorable sight of you looking completely lost, pupils blown, mouth a little swollen, hair messy from her fingers. she brushes her thumb against your jaw, tilting her head. “baby, are you nervous?”

you shake your head too quick. too defensive. quinn raises an eyebrow, and you immediately cave, “fine, yes. maybe. but can you blame me? i just want make you feel good.”

her breath catches for a moment as she watches you, really takes you in—the nerves, the almost desperate need in your eyes. you, who always get so shy when things get too intense, who always panic and pull back before it goes too far. and yet, here you are, saying you want to take care of her.

and oh, that just makes quinn’s heart melt. “aww, you pretty thing,” she coos, fingers slipping into your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp. “want to please me?”

you swallow, nodding. “yeah.” a shy chuckle leaves your lips.

quinn looks down at you with something between amusement and hunger, tilting her chin as you press your lips to hers again—tentative at first, but deepening quickly when she pulls you closer. she kisses you until your thoughts blur and your hands finally settle on her thighs, fingers ghosting under her skirt.

she sighs into your mouth and your heartbeat skyrockets. “thaaat’s it. like you when you get handsy.” she praises, shifting her arms over your shoulders to your wrist, sliding it further and you just— “holy shit.”

because you can feel the dampness that stains your index and middle finger, even through the lace of her panties. the realization makes you freeze, lips parting in stunned silence. you up at her, wide-eyed, almost like you’re asking.

am i imagining this?

“you did that,” she murmurs, quick to reassure you, rolling her hips ever so slightly against your fingers, her voice is warm and breathy before her hands on your neck pull you into another, sloppy kiss.

and then there’s her breathing. a little messier now due to your hands, slowly rubbing up and down. losing focus just from the way your hands move, she lets out this tiny sound when your other hand squeezes her thigh, and oh—yeah. yeah.

she never sounds like that. she’s always composed, but now she’s melting against you, hips shifting into your touch, exhaling shaky little breaths that make your stomach flip.

she pulls back when she sees how overwhelmed you are “switch with me, baby.”

and before you know it, she’s on her back, pulling you down between her legs, voice smooth as honey as she instructs you.

“start with my neck,” she murmurs, fingers threading through your hair. “kiss me. and don’t be shy.”

she wants you to be nervous. she wants you to hesitate, to stutter, because the idea of you being so eager to please her, while having no clue what you’re doing, makes her incredibly wet.

and when she finally guides your mouth lower, she makes sure you listen. she tells you exactly how to move, what to do with your tongue, praises you when you do something right, and sighs, “don’t stop, doll.” when you finally start to get the rhythm.

because she knows you’re a fast learner. and once you start figuring out what makes her moan? oh, your jaw’s gonna be sore tomorrow.

[noirsdoll]

I‘m so sorry for asking but holy fuck, would you consider making a part 2 to the prison!jimmy drabble? Tugged at my heartstrings aahhhgh…

I wouldn‘t be surprised if their relationship was strained afterwards…,., but I‘d love to read more.. ur writing is exquisite ♥️♥️

thank you for enjoying!! here’s a part two 😋 cw for referenced abuse and mentions of drugs and gangs. read the first part here.

You’re standing on your front porch, watching the kids play soccer on the street. The ball’s tattered at the seams, the thread dragging behind it like a bridal train. One kid goes to kick the ball and his sole goes with it, hitting his friend square in the chest.

They all laugh about it and hound the kid, but you frown, drumming your nails on the mug of your morning coffee and turning to head back inside. You come face to face with Jimmy standing in the doorway in a tank top, scratching his stomach and blinking wearily at the sun.

“Can you come in? I need to… talk with you.” It’s mumbled into his shoulder, but you catch the drift.

Nodding, you head inside, closing the screen mesh and door behind you. You follow him into the living room, past the fist-sized holes in the wall, the cracks spider-webbing up to the ceiling. The ones that have narrowly missed your face.

He sits on the coffee table rather than the couch, right across from you. With his arms revealed, you have a better glimpse of his new tattoos, crude drawings and cursive words you haven’t gotten close enough to make sense of.

Jimmy slides a ring off his finger, messing around with it in his hand. “So… I can’t find work, ‘cause I’m a… y’know.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Sex offenders aren’t exactly top of the list to get hired. 

“But I talked to a couple of guys down the block and they wanted to, uh, add me to their circuit.”

Putting together the pieces about the sort of people in your neighbourhood, you swallow the budding lump in your throat. ”You wanna deal, Jim? You just got out of jail, God. I can’t do this again—,” Your voice raises in pitch. You just got him back and now he’s going to leave you here alone, again.

“Calm the fuck down, alright? I didn’t say I was taking it.”

“But you have to, right?” You had a feeling something like this would happen when he got back, that he wouldn’t be able to escape the hand he was dealt. 

Jimmy shakes his head. “There’s other work. But it just doesn’t pay nearly as much as this.”

“Yeah, that’s how they rake you in.” You put your hands on your knees, getting to your feet. “I’m not listening to this. You’re just throwing your life away a second time.”

He makes a sound of frustration, calling out to the back of your head. “You’re a fucking headache sometimes, you know that? I'm trying, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I wanted you to get clean, be good.” You wrap your arms around yourself, itching for a cigarette. “Where’s that guy you used to talk to? The captain, Graham, Glint—”

“Grant,” he corrects, annoyed, “and no, we’re not talking anymore.”

“What did you do?”

He grimaces. “It wasn’t my fault. He took that bitch’s side. Wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Sounds like a smart guy,” you mumble. 

Jimmy’s eyes flare. “The fuck did you say?”

“Nothing.” You bite your tongue, searching for your cigarettes in your pockets, only turning up with nicotine gum. “Did you take my cigarettes?”

Jimmy clears his throat. “There you go, always fucking accusing me of shit.” He gets to his feet, rolling his eyes. “No, I didn’t steal your stupid cigarettes, babe.”

“Sorry,” you say half-heartedly. You search the room for your keys. “I’m gonna go get some more then. We’re out of milk and eggs anyways.” Snatching your car keys off the counter, you take for the door.

“Hey.”

You turn to him, lost in your own train of thought.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He looks at you pointedly. 

“Oh, yeah. Do you want anything from the store?”

Jimmy just sighs, walking closer. “I don’t want you leaving this house mad at me.” He stops in front of you, leaning till you’re face to face. “Give me a kiss.”

You give him a peck, but Jimmy grabs a hold of your waist and deepens it. His tongue pushes into your mouth as he presses you tight against his chest. It’s reminiscent of the old Jimmy you loved so much, making heat coil deep in your stomach, enough to have your head spinning when he pulls back. 

You wipe your mouth in partial shock. “I’ll get you some breath mints,” you say, fighting a smile.

Jimmy scoffs and smacks your ass on the way out of the door. “Bitch,” he mumbles.

[munson-blurbs]

Argyle x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: literally just Argyle being the sweetest during sex with his pregnant girl.

WC: 820

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI!), pregnant!Reader, Argyle calls Reader "mama" (but no mommy kink), allusion to daddy kink

A/N: shoutout to @chatteringfox for being the most feral over Argyle with me--not only for this fic, but also 24/7. Also, happy birthday Eduardo Franco. Sorry that we want to have your stoner babies.

--

Argyle was always gentle during sex. He held you as though you were the most precious thing to him, pressing soft kisses down the column of your neck. Even when you were on top, he’d languidly roll his hips upwards to meet yours, never once rushing through or chasing his own orgasm until he was certain you’d gotten yours.

Part of that could be attributed to the marijuana haze he kept himself in, but the primary reason was simply because he loved you so much and wanted to savor every moment.

Now, he braced his arms on either side of your body, groaning as he slid inside you. You were so wet for him, so eager and ready, a regular occurrence since you’d entered your second trimester. The nausea had subsided and had been replaced with an influx of hormones that had you craving his touch every second of the day. 

“Fuck, princesa,” Argyle murmured, sucking in a sharp breath. “How do you always feel so goddamn good?”

You could only whimper in reply, relishing in the way his happy trail brushed against your bump. Your fingers dug into his back, drawing him even closer. His raven curtain of hair draped over one side of you and tickled your bare arm.

Now fully seated within you, Argyle lifted one hand and let his thumb graze over your left nipple, his tongue swiping over the right. It was too much; the feel of him playing with your breasts was overstimulating on its own, but then adding in the additional sensitivities of pregnancy…

“A-Args,” you whispered, your breath hitching in your throat as he kissed you.

“Yeah?” The word, said against your lips, sent vibrations through your body.

It was impossible to concentrate with him filling you so perfectly. Every thrust was both lazy and intentional, the kind of movement that simultaneously said ‘I’m safe with you,’ and ‘I’ll take care of you.’

“S’too much.” Your eyes met his, and all at once he understood. This wasn’t you being a brat or teasing him for more. 

The hand on your breast moved to your side and caressed your bump with a tenderness you’d only ever imagined before Argyle. You relaxed into his touch and allowed yourself to be immersed in all of him. 

Argyle would always be Argyle, true to his core. The whites of his eyes were tinged pink from smoke. His fingers were strong and perfect for massages (a back massage was, ironically, how you’d ended up pregnant). The scents of cologne, weed, and flour mingled together and created an aura so utterly and uniquely Argyle. 

“‘S that better, Mama?”

And, oh, did that denomer do it for you. 

Your half-lidded eyes widened, your own movements temporarily stalled as you processed what he said. 

The corners of Argyle’s mouth curved into a gentle smile the moment he clocked your reaction. “Such a beautiful Mama, having my baby. Y’know,” he nipped at your bottom lip, “I always thought you were beautiful, from the moment we met. But now? Holy shit, s’like I didn’t even know what beauty was until now.”

Wrapping your legs around him, you pulled him in even deeper, eliciting a groan from both you and him. 

“Little faster,” you urged him. “I’m so fucking close.”

Argyle tucked his lips into his mouth, focusing solely on giving you what you needed. He thrusted into you faster than before, each movement sending a ripple of pleasure through your body. 

“C-Can’t hold out m-much longer, Mama.”

You nodded and threaded your fingers through his hair. “S’okay. I’m right—right—oh my god, yes!”

Your orgasm wasn’t gradual; it crashed into you with unfounded speed. You could feel every inch of him, the ridge between the head of his cock and the shaft hitting your sweet spot and making your toes curl. 

“Baby—Princesa—I’m c-coming,” Argyle panted, his breath warm against your neck. “That’s it, fuck, take it. Take my cum. Take it all…unngh.”

Argyle spilled into you with everything he had. His grip tightened around you as though he was grounding himself, lest he wake up and realize it was all a dream. 

Lucky for both of you, this was reality. 

He flopped down on his back, his bare chest heaving as he came down from the high. Perspiration darkened the thatch of hair between his pecs. 

“So.” Argyle turned his head to look at you. “Being called ‘Mama’ really does it for ya, huh?”

You gave him a wry grin. “Apparently.”

“Good to know.” He breathed out. “Good to know.”

“Why, you plan on using that to your advantage?”

He laughed and pulled you closer, letting his hand rest on your tummy. “I would never,” he said mockingly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Good.” You shifted so you were facing him, mischief dancing in your eyes. “Because then I just might have to see how you’d react if I called you ‘Daddy.’”

--

[marvelobsessed134]

Smut of current Nikki sixx

The reader is his wife they are at dinner with Tommy Vince and their wives

Nikki can't keep his hands to himself pleasuring reader under the table with his fingers

As everyone is in conversation with each other Nikki and reader sneak off to the bathroom Nikki works his magic with his tongue and and bends reader over 🍆

Then walk of shame from the bathroom as Tommy and Vince start laughing and say you guys couldn't wait jump each others bones 🧡

Kinktober day 11: public sex

A/n: fuckin love Nikki it’s been awhile since I’ve written for him.

Pairings: Current!Nikki Sixx x Fem!Reader

Warnings: age gap, public sexual acts obvi, daddy kink because yes, Nikki is so damn horny for reader lol, dom!nikki, sub!reader, the other guys and wives poke fun at y’all, Tommy being Tommy and cheesy puns lol.

I’ve given up on summaries lol

You were sat at the dinner table after one of Mötleys shows for the world tour. Right now you’re in Mexico City, enjoying some good Mexican cuisine.

You felt Nikki’s hand trail up your leg towards your pussy and you froze for a minute, making sure everyone was distracted before you hissed, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your husband just laughed quietly and put a finger over his lips, silently telling you to be quiet. “Be a good girl for daddy ok?” He whispered in your ear causing you to shiver and goosebumps arise.

“O-ok.” You responded, and then Rain started talking to you. While yes, you are the youngest of the wives, you still get along great with them. So you tried your best to pay attention to your friends words when you felt the bassist move your panties out of the way and stick a finger into your tight hole.

“Mhmmm….yeah.” You said absentmindedly. Brittany chimed in, “Y/n? Girl, you ok?”

Your eyes widened when he rubbed his finger over your clit. That evil bastard he knows you can barely function when he does that.

“Oh-“ you cleared your throat, “I mean yeah I’m fine. I just don’t know if I’m gonna be able to eat anything my stomachs been upset.”

“Aw honey, do you feel like you’re gonna throw up?” Nikki asked with a facial expression telling you to say yes.

“Yeah. I think I should go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” You replied quickly and felt the older man’s finger slide out of you. You quickly got up and sped walked to the bathroom.

“Im gonna go check on her. Make sure she’s ok.” Your husband said before too got up and headed towards the bathroom.

“Dude…Nikki’s gonna get some!” Tommy cheered loudly and people looked at him with furrowed brows. Brittany smacked him on the arm, “No shit, don’t need to say it to the world. But yes they’re totally fucking.”

Nikki backed you up against the locked door of the singular restroom and unzipped your dress before tugging it down. Your breasts flopping out of the satin material.

“Fuck, I’m so lucky.” The bassist muttered before attaching his mouth to one of your nipples. You moaned and gasped as he nipped and bit the sensitive skin.

“Mmm, love these tits.” He muttered against you, switching sides to give the other side attention.

You threaded your fingers through his hair as you it relished in the feeling. “Fuck, daddy.”

His hand trailed back down to your clothed covered pussy and tugged your underwear down. His fingers inserted into you and you moaned. “Oh daddy, please!” You weren’t sure what you were begging for. “Yeah baby?” He teased, whispering right in your ear before nipping at your earlobe.

You sighed contently at that, “I want- I want your cock.”

“Oh yeah? You want daddys cock? I’ll give you my cock.” Nikki pulled his pants down enough so that his cock sprang out. He picked you up and you spread your legs instinctively. The raven haired man teased your entrance with his tip before inserting into you, feeling your walls clench around him.

“Holy fuck.” He breathed.

“Nikki- please move. Fuck me please.”

“Don’t worry sweetheart I will.” And he started bucking his hips into you. You moaned as he constantly hit your spot.

You clutched on his shoulders harder, nails digging into the material of his shirt. “Mmm…daddy oh my god.” You cried out as he went harder and faster.

“Quiet, we don’t want anyone out there knowing you’re being fucked like a slut now do we?” He covered your mouth as he said this and you nodded, eyes wide and watering.

Finally, you felt yourself get closer and closer to the edge before clenching around his cock your vision going white for a second as that beautifully overwhelming feeling shot through your whole body.

“Mmm- mph-“ your moans and cries were muffled by his hand, and soon enough you felt him shoot his load deep inside of you.

“Oh!” You breathed in relief.

Nikki planted a sweet kiss to your lips, “So good for me.”

The two of you got cleaned up and walked back to the table like nothing happened.

Of course, Tommy couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Y/n, are you feeling better?”

Your face went red for a bit before saying, “Yeah. It was just a little stomach bug.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it hit you hard.”

Oh god, Tommy knew. And if Tommy knew, everyone knew.

“Yeah, and Nikki came right after you.” Vince chimed in and Rain kicked him under the table. “Vinnie, not appropriate. She’s clearly embarrassed that we all know they had sex in the bathroom.”

“Oh god.” You said as you buried your face in your hands. The bassist rubbed your back soothingly, “Alright we get it. Everyone knows we fucked. Now let’s eat and forget this never happened. Tommy, say something again and I will kick your ass.”

“Yes sir.” The drummer responded with a mocking salute making everyone laugh.

[sweetestspence]

" late night talking "

summary: one accidental text leads to a night of mayhem, which both yn and spencer struggle to piece together pairing: s1!spencer reid x f!reader genre: fluff contains : alcohol consumption wc : 3.6k

part of the holy ground series.

You wake up to your alarm going off and sunlight streaming to your face. But before you could even register the loud incessant beeping of your alarm, the pounding sensation in your head causes you let out a quiet hiss through your teeth. You feel around the nightstand for your phone; it’s always on your nightstand, but you find it on the unoccupied pillow beside your head as you open your eyes to a squint.

“Oh my-” You sit up, your eyes wide as you take in the unfamiliar environment. Your heartbeat races in your ears, overthrowing the headache that’s creeped into your temples. Taking a peek beneath the bedsheet that covered your body, you let out a giant breath of relief once you realize you still had your clothes on. Although there’s a giant stain on your top that you don’t quite remember getting. 

The wooden floorboards are cold beneath your bare feet. A chill travels up your spine as you make your way out of the bedroom. Your last memory, albeit quite fuzzy, was texting Elle to join you at a club and you trusted yourself enough that you were actually able to do so.

“Hello?” You call out.

“Over here.”

A groggy voice answers back. Familiar, but not quite the one you were expecting to hear. Turning the corner to the living room, you find Spencer sitting up on the couch. He’s stretching his arms above his head, his expression contorted into one of discomfort.

“You’re not Elle.” You furrow your brows, blinking back a couple times to make sure you weren’t actually just seeing things. 

“Clearly, no.” Spencer hunches over, resting his elbows by his knees and threading his fingers through this hair. “What happened? How am I hungover?”

You take a seat beside him. Last night’s events are buzzy, colorful, loud haze. No matter how much you try to recall, you could only seem to come up with a blur. “The last thing I remember is texting Elle.”

“The last thing I remember is getting a text from you.” Spencer fishes his phone from his pocket to show you the text he received, only to find that it’s run out of battery. He sighs and places it on the coffee table. “Well, it was mostly indecipherable anyways. It was just a bunch of letters and numbers, which was worrying.”

“How did you know where to get me?” 

“I said mostly indecipherable.” He looks up at you with a quiet chuckle. You meet his eyes and Spencer instinctively looks away, but he’s well aware that you’re keeping your gaze on him. Perhaps it had something to do with your jobs in the FBI and the kinds of encounters you had with every case that made him worry about your wellbeing. Spencer bites his tongue on how he immediately assumed the worst when he received the text. 

“Right. Forgot you were an actual genius.” You gently nudge his shoulder with your own and it’s then your gaze falls on his hands, which are covered with band-aids. “Wait, were these there before you picked me up?”

Spencer follows your line of sight and it’s only then the slight stinging ache in his hands registers in his mind, scrunching his nose at the slight pangs of pain. While there are a couple of bandaids that covered his fingers, they’re applied haphazardly, thin light red lines peeking from beneath some of them and a few uncovered ones littered his palms. “No, they were not.”

You take his hand in yours, inspecting the scratches and lightly running your thumb over them. “The cuts are shallow, and judging by the stain around some of these, they were probably treated with an iodine solution.”

“Not well though.” Spencer’s brows are furrowed, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when you let his hand go. “Missed a few and the application is uneven. The stain on this one is a bit darker.”

“We need to figure out what happened. I mean, what if we did something illegal? We’re FBI agents!”

“Then we should have woken up in a holding cell.” Spencer answers without missing a beat, watching as you stand and start pacing back and forth. Your panic doesn’t exactly help in soothing his own anxieties on the events of the previous night. “And that’s the conclusion you jump to?”

His words don’t seem to reach you though, and Spencer doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up. You stop pacing and face him directly, a certain kind of determination in your tone and expression. “That’s it. We’re FBI agents, we can figure out what happened. We’ll just have to treat this like a case and retrace our steps. Close your eyes, we’ll do a cognitive interview-”

“Y/n, breathe. Let’s start by looking for clues.” He cuts you off, and you hadn’t even realized that you were running out of breath. Spencer looks around the room, his eyes landing on two identical pairs on sunglasses on the coffee table. “Look, I don’t own these.”

“I don’t either- oh god… did we steal these?!” Your voice goes octaves higher, your eyes growing wide. Spencer feels around for his wallet, which he finds in his back pocket.

“Probably not… my wallet is empty.” He frowns, placing his wallet down and picking up one of the sunglasses. “These look cheap, they wouldn’t be worth more than ten dollars each. Is there anything in your purse that might help us get a clearer picture?”

You practically sprint to the bedroom, having caught sight of it by the foot of the bed on your way out earlier. Spencer takes the time to charge his phone in an outlet by the kitchen counter, perhaps something in his messages or call history would shake his memory. His brows are furrowed and his lips are pursed. Genuinely the last thing he remembers is settling in for the night, until he got your text. Though the hangover suggests that may have had some alcohol in his system. But that doesn’t make sense. If he was there to pick you up or check for danger, he wouldn’t have willingly drunk anything, needing to be sober if he was to take you home in one piece. 

“I have a receipt for the sunglasses and some first aid supplies. It’s from the general store across the street from the club.” You hand him the receipt before continuing to rummage through your bag.

He scans through the contents of the receipt. “Okay, according to the receipt we were at the store at 2:33 am. Can you check your phone and see what time you sent me that text?”

Your phone was hanging on 10 percent with a very cracked screen and a couple of missing buttons, the sight of which gave you more questions to answer. You could hear Spencer let out a quiet ‘yikes’ the second you pulled it out of your bag. “Yikes is right… looks like I sent you that text at 1 am.”

Spencer was right when he said all you said was an almost indecipherable combination of numbers and letters, and you can’t help but wonder how in the hell he managed to figure out where to get you. 

“You got some of the letters correct. I figured since you were probably drunk, you were a few buttons off on some of them. Look, you put in an ‘A’ for ‘E’ and ‘7’ instead of ‘U’.” 

“How-”

“You’re easy to read when your guard is down.” Spencer shrugs, and before you could even ask him to elaborate he’s already brushed his own words aside. “You sent that text at one, and it’s a twenty minute trip from my apartment to the club. Fifteen if there’s no traffic, and I assume there’s none considering the time. What happened in the next hour between me arriving at the club that would lead to us buying first aid supplies?”

Silence envelops the two of you as you both tried to come up with your own theories. Spencer wonders if he had gotten into a fight, but there’s no bruising on his face or knuckles. While possible, a fight wouldn’t lead to just some shallow cuts on his hands. Why would I even get into a fight in the first place? To protect Y/n? he thinks to himself, making a quick glance at your features — clearly deep in thought. No, I wouldn’t have had to. She throws a better punch. He dismisses the thought, remembering the last case you had just worked where you decked an UnSub who was looking to get past you in an alley. Besides, you didn’t have any self defense wounds. 

Surely, there must be an easier way to get around the gap in his memory. Then it hits him. The most obvious way to find out what had happened without either of you having to bend over backwards to try and figure it out.

“Didn’t you mention you were going out with your friends…?”

“Oh god, I’m so stupid.” You mumble to yourself, gently hitting your forehead with the palm of your hand to emphasize your point. Scrolling through your contacts until you find the right one, you let out a quick sigh when the other line rings. “My friends left when they found someone to go home with- if you know what I mean. But luckily, the bartender is also a friend… Hey!”

“Y/n! How’s the hangover?” 

Spencer moves closer to you in an attempt to hear the other side of the conversation. You place your phone on speaker, but he maintains his proximity. Just close enough that his arm ever so slightly brushes against yours, but far enough to not make your heart race. 

“Josh. I need you to tell me what the hell happened last night.”

Your friend laughs at the urgency in your voice. “Do you want the detailed account or the TLDR?”

“TLDR?” Spencer asks, leaning closer towards you, his voice low.

“It means ‘too long, didn’t read’. It’s basically slang for a summary of something.” You reply just as quietly. Turning your attention back to your phone, “Considering I’m about to run out of battery, I think TLDR would be good for now.”

“Got it. Well, after Mia and Liv left you said you were going to invite your friend Elle to join you instead. But then this guy Dr Reid shows up and says that he works with you. Is he…”

“Yeah.” Spencer clears his throat. “I’m here.”

“Nice to meet you, man! Anyways, he tries to get you to come home with him because you’re so clearly plastered and you two have work. You said that you don’t want to go home with someone sober. Fast forward a few shots later and Dr Reid feels bad for knocking over a bunch of empty glasses on the bar and he tries to pick them up.”

“That explains the cuts on my hand.” Spencer comments.

“Mhmm. Since I ran out of supplies, I offered to walk with the two of you to the store across the street to treat his cuts. You insisted on being the one to help him. I stayed until you finished putting on the bandaids and got you both in a cab.”

You follow each word that escapes Josh’s lips and you couldn’t help the embarrassment that flooded your veins. You hadn’t known Spencer for too long and you had already caused him far more trouble than you believe you were worth. You squeezed your eyes shut tighter and tighter with each passing second, letting out a breath of relief once it was all over. You still don’t know where the large stain on your top was from, or why you had chosen to buy sunglasses along with the first aid supplies The only thing you knew was that you owed Spencer the biggest apology. 

“Why did I buy sunglasses?”

“You kept complaining about not having any to take to the field.”

“Why are there two?”

“You exclaimed, pretty loudly might I add, that they looked good on Dr. Reid so you got him a pair too.” 

“You’re lying…” You mumble, forgetting that Spencer was just a couple of feet beside you, and using your free hand to cover your face. “Did I happen to spill anything on myself too?”

“Nope.” Josh chuckles, loud and breathy, causing your embarrassment to multiply tenfold. “Listen, Y/n. I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Sure. Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem.”

He hangs up and you turn to Spencer with a small, sheepish smile. “I guess that solves one mystery.”

“There’s still the matter of that stain on your top, so we made one more stop before we got here.” Spencer’s brows are furrowed, his gaze trained on you. He moves to stand in front of you to get a better look. “It doesn’t look like mud or dirt. I think it might be coffee… you know, there’s a diner not too far from here.”

Before you could offer making a quick trip to confirm his hypothesis, his phone lights up from the kitchen counter. His ringtone cuts through both your trains of thought. Sneaking a peek at the caller ID, an immediate sense of dread fills your senses. You look at Spencer wide-eyed and his expression mimics yours as he weaves his way around his furniture to answer his phone.

“Hey, uh, Hotch.” Spencer didn’t mean for his voice to shake as much as it did, or to grip the phone as tightly.

“Good. You’re awake. Is L/n up as well?”

“Ye- wait, you know she’s here?”

Spencer’s eyes widen to a degree you didn’t even know was possible, which only increased the panic that flowed through your veins. You raise your brows and mouth an exaggerated ‘what is he saying?’. He puts his phone on speaker and waves you over, but you stay rooted to your spot. 

“I’m sure you’ll forgive me for giving her the bed.” There’s nothing in Hotch’s voice to indicate anger or frustration, though you could hear the slightest bit of disappointment. You imagine him on the other end of the call, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re expected at the office in an hour. The team needs both of you at your best. Sort out your hangovers or whatever it is you need before that. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Um- I was just wondering-”

 Aaron sighs. “You’re both lucky we didn’t get called in last night. Check your call history, Reid. You called me and I found you and L/n at four in the morning engaged in an arm wrestling competition. On the way back, you gave her all the cash in your wallet because you lost. Do I even want to know the rest of the night’s events?”

You shake your head and Spencer answers for both of you. “No, sorry for the trouble.”

“Just make sure it never happens again.”

“It won’t-”

“If it does and you’re going to need an early morning pick-up at some random diner, at least get Anderson to do it.”

Both of you hear the call disconnect, leaving you and Spencer in a stunned silence. A beat passes, and the two of you make eye contact. 

“Did Hotch just make a joke?” You ask your question slowly, as if you couldn’t believe it yourself. You’re not too sure if Spencer heard it either, but you swear you could hear the ghost of a smile in the latter half of his sentence. 

“You know I-” He pauses, actually considering the question. Spencer looks down at his feet, just for the quickest of seconds, before looking up at you. “I can never tell with him.”

He says it earnestly. But you could tell in the way the corners of his mouth flicked upwards, in the way he tried to suppress a smile, that he was somewhat joking too. Spencer didn’t seem to be the type to make a jest on Hotch’s seeming stoicism to his face, despite how close the team was. Not to mention, you were still quite new too. The fact that he was comfortable enough with you to make a small jab at your chief warms your heart.

So you let out a chuckle, and he joins you, and in just a few seconds it turns into full blown laughter. Mostly at the absurdity of the events of the previous night. It’s not lost on either of you that both of you were the last two people on the team to have such an experience. If you were betting on it, your money would have been on Morgan or Elle.  

“I should get going.” Your laughter dies down, realizing you were against the clock and JJ might call you in earlier than expected. You grab your purse and head to the door, walking as quickly as you can without tripping on your own two feet. “I think I can squeeze in a quick shower at my apartment and a trip to the coffee shop in an hour.”

“Before you leave, you should uh-” Spencer’s voice stops you in his tracks. He gestures to the stain on your top before handing you the cardigan he’s wearing. “get that covered up.”

You gratefully accept the cardigan and put it on, making a mental note to get it washed before returning it to him. Just as your hand makes contact with the doorknob, Spencer calls out your name.

He’s standing by the coffee table, and he tosses you one of the cheap plastic sunglasses neither of you remember buying. You catch it with ease, a proud smile spreading across your face in doing so. For a moment, flashes of the previous night flood through his mind. Blurry images of you cheering him on as he downed another shot, you absentmindedly dancing around streetlights, you gently blowing on the cuts on his hand, the same proud smile on your face as you beat him at arm wrestling.

“I think I had fun.” Like always, Spencer chooses his words wisely. He’s not too sure if the images he conjured in his head are real, or merely suggested by the retellings of Hotch and your friend. He likes to believe they are, and he bites his tongue on more of what he wants to say. Hopefully next time, I remember. I hope there’s a next time. Nights like the one you just had are a rarity for him, and he didn’t exactly mind the experience if you were there too. 

“Same time next week?” You tease, putting on the sunglasses. 

“Oh no.” He shakes his head, walking towards the front door so he could see you out. “I’m taking an indefinite hiatus from nights I can’t remember.”

“And here I thought you had some sort of super memory.”

“I have an eidetic memory, which accounts for the things I read.” Spencer corrects, now standing just a couple of feet in front of you. “Which was unhelpful in this scenario. We still don’t know why your phone’s broken.”

“I wanted to get a new one anyway.. oh, here.” You’re halfway out the door when you remember the loose bills in your purse — the ones you had won from your little arm wrestling bet. It didn’t feel right to keep them when neither of you even remember making a deal in the first place. You take them out and hand it to him. “and… uh, thanks. For you know, showing up.”

“Anytime.” Spencer means it. You had only been part of the team for a couple of months at that point, but he responds without missing a beat. Showing up for his team members is a part of the job, and you were no exception to that. As long as you called, he’d show up.

He knew it was true for everyone. Hotch coming to the diner to get both of you was proof of that too.

“I’ll see you later then.”

“See you.”

You leave him with one final thankful smile and Spencer closes the door with a gentle click. He makes his way back to the kitchen, where his phone had been halfway charged at that point. Sure enough, he’s made several calls to Hotch and one to Morgan. He sees the text you sent him and a wrinkled piece of paper on the farthest corner of the room, the one he used to decipher your message. When he checks his gallery, on the off chance he’s accidentally taken photos throughout the night that might help jog his memory, Spencer finds a picture of both of you. 

It’s most likely taken by your friend Josh. You’re both sitting on the sidewalk, and he suspects it was taken during the time you were waiting for a cab. You’re wearing the sunglasses you had just bought and he’s used his own matching pair to push his hair back. You have an arm slung around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he has a peace sign up and could barely keep his eyes open. Both of you clearly drunk out of your minds, but wide grins plastered on both your faces.

It’s first clear memory he has of the previous night, and the thought of which makes Spencer smile as he makes his morning coffee.

[ The smile disappears as soon as he gets a text from Morgan saying : ooooh heard from Hotch the wonder twins had a crazy night… did you get lucky pretty boy? ;) ]

a/n. this part turned out much longer than i expected it to be... but i hope you enjoyed ! thank you for all the kind words and the support i received on the first part, and this series in general. i'd really love to know what you think hehe !!

[sky-kiss]

Orin: Test of Faith

A/n: Hello, all! This was my contribution to the @bg3womenswrongs zine! Preorders are closed, but I believe you can still make a donation if you'd like access. Otherwise, the zine will be posted for free March 8th! Shoutout to my buddy, @simplysolo, who did some stellar art for my silly little ficlet. Go check it out!

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Orin: Test of Faith

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Silence.  

The world does no more than blink at her bloodkin's passing. Orin takes a degree of savage delight in this—oh, Bhaah's beloved, Bhaal's heir, the favorite and the first…but their Dread Father does nothing to stop her blade from sinking into their stupid skull, scrambling gray matter. Bhaal says nothing, even as his flaming eyes stare down upon them, a glorious and grotesque tableau upon his altar. 

Orin casts her sibling down. Bhaal's faithful—even the Deathstalkers—fall in line behind her without a word. Myrkul's corpse-general says nothing. Bane's little lordling shrugs. "One murderer is as good as another. So long as you continue to play your part." She searches Gortash's face and finds…

…nothing. 

It is a song with no grand crescendo, a mummur’s play with no climax. Life goes on as ever, and the victory tastes hollow on her tongue.

She makes her sacrifices to Bhaal during the witching hours of the night as is her custom. When she returns to the temple a charged quality hangs in the air, bright and violent, threatening to burst into something savage, but the release never comes. No Deathstalker moves to stop her. The Lord of Murder's holy symbol sleeps, lifeless stone devoid of his energy or blood.

He had always welcomed them home. 

A familiar voice trills through her skull, unbidden, unwelcome.

Oh, little Orin. Father never saw you. 

Lies. She shunts the voice from her mind and buries herself in her work. Under her bloodkin's rule, the Lord of Slaughter's flock had grown ugly and weak—it was a knife held with a steady and calculating hand, passionless. Orin would rectify this. Bhaal's faithful would no longer offer him one murder-tribute every ten-day. A corpse every evening, yes, yes—that would sate his appetites for a time. Baldur's Grave’s gutters would run with the blood of the faithless, nourishing his flock. 

A few of her kin's more loyal supplicants protest—it will draw the guard’s attention, they say. It will anger the little tyrant. Orin makes them the first of the temple's offerings. None of the other sheep wag their tongues. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Orin prowls. She hunts. 

She rarely sleeps.

To sleep is to dream. And her bloodkin is never far, lingering on the edge of Orin's psyche. She has gutted them half a dozen times, painting her dreamscape red with their blood and flesh, but they always crawl back. Orin tries to pull free, but they are the pinnacle of Bhaal's work, and he has stitched their souls together with his very essence. 

In her dreams, Father laughs at her efforts. 

~~~~~~~~~~

It is mentioned nowhere in Bhaal’s teachings, but Orin considers it gospel: there is a moment, poised on the knife’s edge, just between life and death, more beautiful than any other. A rapturous and bloody sense of exultation always fills her as recognition dawns on her prey’s face. Death comes for them on crimson wings, the lash of Bhaal unerring. 

She collects these moments like a dragon adding to its hoard.  For a scant few seconds, she feels the diaphanous threads stitching her to the Lord of Murder pull taut. He sees her. His pleasure sings through her marrow, heady, sweet, leaving the taste of blood thick in her mouth.

It is a night like any other, and Orin prepares to make her tribute. She steps from the shadows as smoothly as any child of the night, catching her prey’s shoulder and clucking her tongue. Surprise flits across their features as she steps close, near enough to feel the rasp of their breath on her skin. Their right hand comes up but makes no move to push her away. The fool only brushes the curve of her hip, almost gentle, stupid and surprised, seeking to stabilize her. 

“Poor lost thing.” She presses closer, tracing the line of their cheek with her nose. She drags the tip of crimson mischief along their belly, shallow enough to bleed them, just shy of spilling their sticky-sweet entrails. Orin smiles and searches their eyes, expecting sickly sweet fear. 

She cuts, cuts, cuts, rends flesh from bone, strips ribbons of flesh from their arm to tie them as a gift to her sire…but their eyes are no more than empty sockets, and the ecstasy never comes. 

Her brow furrows. 

Perhaps Father’s busy, sister. Go on, perhaps if you make a bigger mess…

She snarls. The voice is wrong. She is Chosen. She is loved. She has been the Lord of Murder’s true legacy since she was eight. She will not be questioned. 

Her prey drags ragged breaths into its lungs, lifting its head from a mess of gore. Orin feels something like fear clutching at her heart for the briefest moment. She has lived this moment once before. She triumphed. Her bloodkin’s ghost stares up at her, mouth twisting in a horrific parody of a grin.

Then it should be no struggle to do it again. Kill, sister. It’s your only talent.

Orin stays her blade.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Squeal.” 

Orin’s voice reverberates off the cave walls, no longer sing-song, no more play— the words are rasping things, breath torn from a slit throat. “Pride is it? It holds your tongue.” Bhaal’s Chosen closes the distance between her and her prey in a single fluid movement—a painter’s smear of color, white and red, breaking the monotonous cave-black. Orin clutches their jaw. Muscles twitch under the strength of her grip and she feels the bones shift with agonizing slowness.

But oh, oh, they remain frustratingly still. 

Her prey makes no sound, not even as she pries their jaws open to catch their tongue between her thumb and forefinger. “I should tear it out by the root.” Orin digs the tip of her nail into the muscle, savage triumph flooding her, blood and the tell-tale tang of iron scenting the air…

…they do not flinch. They stare back at her with all too familiar eyes, the weight of their stare making her feel small and wanting to shift back. A ghost— yes, that is what kneels in front of her, the skin flayed from its arms, bloodied and unbroken—her slaughterkin’s ghost.

You thought yourself rid of me? Little Orin. She watches their lips form the words, but they never come; vocal cords cut like puppet strings. No hate in their eyes as their hand settles over hers, driving the knife deeper into the flesh of their cheek. No hate, only…

…pity.

The changeling pushes them away, snarling. Almost absently, she wipes her hands on the chitinous fabric of her armor. Her skin itches in the places where she’s touched the creature. They continue to stare. 

Why haven’t you put out their eyes, sweet sister? 

She raises her knife…and hesitates.

Father’s sheep are beginning to whisper amongst themselves. Orin has gone soft, they say. The younger of Bhaal’s prodigy has proven an unfit successor, they murmur, eyes darting back and forth as if to catch a glimpse of her shadow. She entertains herself with this new toy and cannot make. her. sacrifice. 

Butcher them—it is not the flock’s place to question you. The voice—the ghost— in her head, coldly calculated and entirely sure of itself, broaches no argument. Cut off the head now. Make an example of them. Your violence can have a meaning beyond sating your own appetites. 

Orin bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Half a world away, mind full of holes, and still you think to order us?”  

Her prey says nothing. All is silence in the emptiness of her chambers, still draped in her sibling’s trappings. Everything is…

…Dead,  Orin thinks, but the thought brings no comfort. Death is not Father Bhaal’s domain. Death is Myrkul’s crypt. Death is a cage, not violence and color, and…

...control yourself, slaughterkin, whispered in a lower voice, and she’d never once managed to place the meaning behind the shift. As if her kin—Bhaal’s beloved—meant to keep secrets from their Dread Father. 

Orin frowns, squaring her jaw and shoulders. The coolness of the cave-air licks at her skin, contrasting the slippery warmth of the blood splattered across her hands, and she welcomes it as one of the surface sheep might the sea-breeze. She wraps herself in the familiar trappings of these chambers, gathers the thick air into her lungs, heavy with iron and rot. Control, yes. She grasps for it and manages to sink her finger deep enough to catch hold. 

If this ghost is the last trace…be rid of it. 

Cast aside the final vestigial trace of her past and throw herself into the future, untethered…

…only Father’s voice to guide you. 

The changeling cocks her head to the side. Something twinges in the back of her head and deep in her chest. Her prey stares, bloodied and bruised—a far cry from her bloodkin’s savagery. It’s the subtler notes. It’s the defiance in their stare, the regality with which they hold themself. It dares her to act. 

Her slaughterkin looked much the same at the end of things—no surprise, only defiance, only pity. 

She has no need for it. Orin is the last, the favorite, the true inheritor of their sire’s glory—that truth sings through her sinews and echoes in the hollow places beneath her rib cage. It is written in blood. She is Orin, Lash of Bhaal. 

She will not yield to this ghost, and she will not break. 

Orin plucks up her knife from the temple floor. Kill the ghost, kill it, and be free; kill it, kill it. 

She feels something like fingers slipping through hers, interweaving their touch. Another hand settles on her shoulder, clutching hard enough to bruise the flesh and pushing her forward. The stench of blood fills the air, surging until her nostrils are full of it. Bhaal is here, watching, bound up with her, in her. 

Father Bhaal sees her.