#that between it being in such a weird hard to reach place i just never really fully noticed how sensitive and tender that spot is to the

[not-xpr-art]

meaning time ladsssssss

(this is gonna be a bit less concise than my other one because my thoughts are ALL over the place with this piece... I'm also just really tired today but anyway)

ok so this is one where I had SUCH a vivid concept idea in my head (mainly inspired by the nothing but thieves song 'lover please stay'*) but I was finding it really hard to translate into an artwork... so let's see if I can explain it better with words lol?

ok so basically I wanted the disembodied hand of Len (surrounded by a halo) to be reaching out towards an unaware Tommy (which someone in the tags mentioned made them think he was reaching out to give him head pats or something which did make me giggle a bit lol) hanging above like the sword of damocles, a heavy, suffocating presence following Tommy throughout his life (and especially at the funeral)

(originally had it hovering at his shoulder but it looked weird idk... partly because foreshortening is NOT my strong point and fsr I refused to use a proper reference for Len's hand?????? can't explain it...)

the stark lines of the background were originally going to be more organic and soft looking... I think the lines feel more relevant, especially with the idea of Tommy being trapped in a life he never wanted (because of the sacrifice he made to save Len by leaving him)

(the silver bars perhaps like a cage, or a prison...)

and it is kinda funny that I did start with a very different colour palette (pale blue and gold), but blue and red seems to be my in9 colour scheme so here we go again pfft...

not a lot to say about the style of this one lol... again, planned to do something totally different (wanted to do art nouveau style) but it just ended up morphing into something else entirely lol. I guess maybe an interesting thing about how I painted is that I predominantly painted Tommy's skin tone in pinks/reds (I was aiming for a more realistic tone than I usually do) which is maybe why the pale blue and gold background didn't work hmm...

the string of fate between them has disconnected, but Tommy is still unable to let go as Len unravels from his life like a loose thread...

this episode just makes me feel so much lol I just really hope that emotion comes across in my artworks of them tbh...

*also just in case people aren't aware of some of the lyrics in the song that I felt were really relevant for these two, so here they are:

'So take from me what you want, what you need

Take from me whatever you want, whatever you need

But lover, please stay with me

...

And I can see you, I can feel you

Slipping through my hands'

i can feel you, slipping through my hands...

(yes, another bernie clifton's dressing room fanart lol)

(09/2024)

this piece went through like 5000 concept changes before i settled on 'sword of damocles meets red string of fate' lol...

[evervigilantnightshade]

The Line - Part 7

Reader and John have always straddled the line between playful flirting and taking things further. However when they are forced into a safe house and a secret comes out will they be able to save what they were heading for or is all lost.

Reader x John Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Original characters.

MDNI

Warnings: Angst, violence towards reader, reader attacked by men, a pup gets hurt (but don't worry he's ok) Blood, fluff, flirting, a bit of light smut. Death and killing on missions, Father of reader's death mentioned. Simon's past mentioned

Authors Note - It's here, the part you've all been waiting for. The truth

MASTERLIST

They sat around the table, Simon sat on Y/N’s right and Price on her left. She was drained and didn't have the energy to do this. She looked over at Simon who looked nervous. 

“Do you want me to tell them?”

“No I can do it.” He took a deep breath. “Just tryin to figure out where to start.” 

After taking a moment he looked at Soap, Gaz and Price. When he looked over at Y/N she was biting her thumbnail with a look of deep concern on her face. That’s when he realised that he had been so caught up on how telling the team would affect him and his peace he momentarily forgot that by exposing all of this, she was being put in a place of vulnerability too. 

“I need to tell you a bit of background first and it won’t be short.This farm, our home. It’s Y/N’s family home. She grew up here. Her dad was a military man and growing up all she ever wanted to do was follow in his footsteps. So when she enlisted she worked damn hard to do just that. She ended up with top marks in both her physical and written exams. She excelled and joined an elite Canadian task force. After being with them for a bit she was chosen for the Specialized Snipper Program in the UK, and that’s where we met.” 

He took a moment to look at her to make sure she was ok, and then continued. 

“I was a weird, intense angry loner that was hyper focused on training and being top of the program. She was the only female and had the same goal and intensity. No one spoke to either of us, so we started working together. We challenged each other and would argue over who was better. I wasn’t there to make friends but I started not minding being around her.”

He saw Y/N smile at that and then continued. 

“At Christmas we all got leave and when Y/N found out I had nowhere to go she decided I was coming home with her. She didn’t even ask me, she just walked into my room, handed me a plane ticket and told me to be ready in an hour. Deciding whatever she had planned had to be better than staying on base, I obeyed.” 

He looked up at the guys now. 

“I don’t exactly talk about it but I had a fucked up childhood. Real traumatic shit. So when we got here and the first thing Momma Lynn did was hug me, I uh.. I was shocked. In my experience parents don’t hug. But instead of backing off when she felt my tension she just gave me a quick squeeze and then pulled back, looked in my eyes and gave me a kind smile.”

Y/N reached over and squeezed his hand.  

"Y/N has four sisters so the house was busy and loud.” He chucked at that. “I remember walking into the living room and all the girls were playing a board game at the dining room table and they were bickering and yelling at each other one moment and then next laughing loudly. Her dad was sitting on the couch reading a book. I looked at him and asked him if all the noise bothered him. He looked at me and then the girls and smiled. He said that no it didn’t bother him, in fact it was his favourite sound in the world.”

Y/N reached up and wiped a tear that was rolling down her face. 

“Again I’d never experienced anything like this before. Even on Christmas morning I sat back and watched as they all opened presents for each other, just enjoying the moment. Then Momma Lynn handed me some gifts with a smile. I’d never gotten a Christmas gift before, I just stared at them, and I’ll admit I almost didn’t want to open them, instead I wanted to tuck them away forever, charish them. 

Y/N saw me and sat beside me, she grabbed my hand and squeezed it before encouraging me to open them. I expected something generic like a box of chocolates and some socks but it wouldn’t have mattered what it was, I would’ve loved it regardless. Instead I opened the first gift and it was an artbook and some really nice drawing pencils. Momma Lynn was watching and she explained that Y/N had told them that I like to doodle all the time and that I was really good. 

The next gift I opened was a nice wooden box with my last name etched on the top and inside was a high end gun maintenance kit. When I looked up her dad just looked at me and explained he’d gotten one from his father when he joined up and he’d done the same for Y/N. I actually got a bit emotional and had to pretend like I had to use the washroom so I could gather myself.

It was the best Christmas I had ever had in my life. When we were leaving Momma Lynn took me aside and made me promise to come home with Y/N the next holiday we had leave and of course I agreed. After that, I started wearing the mask, because I had something I cared about.” 

Simon looked up and saw everyone looking at him intently, listening to his every word. 

“For the next year, anytime we got leave I came home with Y/N and by the following Christmas, Momma Lynn and Y/N’s dad sat me down. They told me that they wanted me to be a member of their family. They told me that they thought of me as one of their kids since the first Christmas and they wanted me to feel the same. I actually cried openly for the first time in years. I had a family. They’d even set up a bedroom for me, said I could come and go as I pleased but hoped it was more coming than going. The girls all felt the same and so that was the day I gained a mom, a dad and five sisters. It wasn’t legally done but that didn’t matter to any of us. 

Then something unexpected happened. I fell in love. We both fought it for a long time. I didn’t want to jeopardise what I had and even though it killed me, I refused to risk it. It wasn’t until Mom and dad sat me down one day. They told me that nothing I could ever do would ever change the fact that I was their son. She gave me her grandma’s ring and both gave their blessing. So five years ago, I married Y/N’s sister Ava. Y/N was my ‘best woman’, we had the wedding in the yard and it was the happiest moment of my life. That was until this past April when Ava gave birth to our daughter Clara.” 

He glanced  around the table and saw tears in not only Y/N’s eyes but Soaps as well though he quickly wiped them away.

“Something you should know is Y/N had been asked to join the 141 before I was. Kate had approached her because she’d been doing work for her and knew how good of an agent she was. Then Price approached me. We discussed it and she offered to back out, let me have the team. I wanted to work with her again and knew she deserved a spot on this team though. So I told her if we kept our relationship with each other a secret, if we pretended we didn’t know each other to protect the family then we could be on the same team. She hated the idea of keeping secrets but agreed. 

There are several reasons why I didn’t tell you, and I didn’t let Y/N. The first being that this family, my family, is more important to me than anything in the world and I would die before ever letting anything happen to them. We make a lot of enemies out there and I keep them protected by keeping my mouth shut. The second reason is that when I have this mask on, I’m Ghost. I do what needs to be done and get as dirty as I need too. But when I’m here, the mask comes off and I’m Simon. Sharing that’s hard for me. It’s a trust that I have to build and makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. You’ve only ever seen me as Ghost and I wasn’t ready to share this side of me with you at the time.” 

“Are you ready now?” Soap asked 

“I am. I’d been thinking about it before I found out that we were coming here. Y/N had told me she wanted to tell John the night we blew up the warehouse, before things went to shit. I’d come to the conclusion that it was time.” 

John looked over at Y/N sadly. God he fucked this up. 

“So you and Y/N aren’t married with children.” Gaz confirmed

“No Gaz, we're not married with children. We do love each other though, just in a sibling way instead of romantic way.” Y/N shrugged

“Never said I loved you.” Simon teased beside her 

“You do all the time you softy.” 

“Ok but I still don’t get all the secrecy behind Y/N and her background.” Soap said confused. 

“Well that is another thing I suppose.” Simon looked at Y/N and she nodded. 

He got up and walked over to a painting on the wall, pulled it forward revealing a safe. Typing in the number he opened the safe door and pulled out a file, walked over and placed it on the table. 

Y/N ran her finger over the top of the file and frowned. 

“I know at this point it doesn’t matter much anymore but this is my full file, no holds bar. The reason everything is redacted is because of our dad. Like Simon said, he was a military man. The issue is that he is a very famous man in the military community. His call sign was Phantom 1.” 

“Holy shit, your da is Phantom 1!” Soap exclaimed. 

“I don’t understand, who is Phantom 1?” Gaz asked 

“He was an insanely efficient agent ‘n’ a fuckin amazin sniper. He wis sae weel known in the community that when he died last year, they had tae have two funerals. One fur his folk and one for a' th’ military personnel that wanted tae attend. They even streamed it tae bases a’ over the world. His identity was sae weel hidden that his folk had tae wear veils ‘n’ masks to his funeral! He’s a legend.” 

Soap looked up at Y/N then realised what he just said.

“Oh shit love, I’m sorra.” 

“It’s fine.”

But she felt a lump form in her throat. She looked over at Simon and he squeezed her hand. 

“I’ll take it from here. As Soap said, our da was good at what he did, but with that brought enemies. Hence our super secret, super protected ‘farm’. There are cameras everywhere, the walls behind the hedges have motion and weight sensors, there’s a lock down procedure for the house. It’s how Y/N grew up. So when she joined up they knew that if anyone found out that Y/N was his daughter there was a chance that she would be used as leverage to coax him out of retirement or to just get plain old revenge. So they scrapped any connection to her dad and that included Canada. Hence the redacted file.” 

Y/N looked up at the team and sighed.

“I’m going to ask that even though I’m probably not going to be on the team after this, to protect this information even after I leave? Even though he’s gone we still don’t want this information leaked.” 

“Can we talk about that please Y/N?” John asked 

“Not right now. I’m emotionally and physically exhausted. I also don’t think any of us are in the right mindset at this moment to discuss. So let’s table it for now. I’m 10 feet away from my momma and I just want to get up there.” 

They all nodded and she gave them a soft smile. 

“Si rules?”  

“Yeah ok. I guess now that we’ve explained the situation I’ll get into rules and all that fun stuff. Like any other house, be polite, try and limit swearing especially around the kids.”

���Though they are used to it. Uncle Simon has a potty mouth and has to put a loonie in the jar every time he swears” Y/N added and the group laughed

“They’ll hold you to that too. The money goes to them so they’ll call you out every chance they get. Little buggers.”  

“What ta hell is a loonie?” Soap asked and Simon chucked

“A dollar. It’s a coin. I have a bucket of them in my apartment, remind me to give you some. Anyways it’s a free roam house, the kitchen is open, nothing’s really off limits. The biggest rules are no weapons on person. Don’t worry there are stashes all over the house, we just don’t want the kids seeing a gun peeking out from behind your shirt or god forbid one of them getting their hands on one.”

“How many kids are there here?” Gaz frowned

“Well our sister Charlie has two, a boy named Ky who just turned eighteen and a girl named Meadow who just turned fourteen. Then our sister Brooke has twin girls that are five, Freya and Idun, we call her Edie. Those are the ones you have to watch out for. Then me and Ava have Clara that’s eight months. Y/N and Ems are child free.” 

“And they all live here?” 

“No, but they’ve been told to come here for protection. Ava and I live here. Dad converted two rooms in the basement into a small apartment for us. Y/N lives here too, and has a room in the basement as well. Then Momma Lynn obviously and recently our Grandma moved in so mom could take care of her.”

“Which ones are single?” Soap asked with a smirk 

“Johnny I swear to god if you even look at one of my sisters I’ll rip your dick off.” Simon growled. 

Beside him though Y/N looked at Soap and mouthed Emma and Charlie. Then smiled and winked at him. 

“Alright, the last rule’s the most important. We don’t talk about work. Ever. So no chatting about past missions, injuries, guns, no call signs, none of that. If we need to talk about anything we come down here.”

Everyone nodded in agreement

“So that’s it. We’ll go in the room next door, it has lockers for all of us so anything that doesn’t fit in that standard is put in the locker. Laswell also sent over some stuff for us to make us comfortable and it’s been placed in your locker. Any questions before we call it?” 

Everyone shook their heads and as Simon stood up, Soap and Gaz followed suit and they headed out of the room with the exception of John and Y/N. She picked her file up off the table and held it out to him. 

“You can read it if you want. I’m not hiding anything anymore. All my merit is listed out for you.” 

He looked at the file and then took it from her hand. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all of it.” 

“I know. Me too. But what’s done is done and even though you’re sorry it doesn’t erase the things you said, or what you’ve done. We’ve got to move forward, it’s just not the way I thought we were going too or how it would look.” 

“Is there anything I can say to fix this? You said you love me and I need to tell you…” 

“John, stop. It’s too late. And anything you say at this point just seems disingenuous. Like you’re only saying what you think I want to hear to fix this. It’s over, we have to accept that.” 

She left the room and John felt his heart break. He placed the file on the table and followed her out of the room. 

[bongjuiceconcentrate]

i am starting to think i have a shoulder injury ngl :(

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.

[mrsbarnesblog]

Hi girlie! Can you write something about baby daddy Rafe? Set in a FWB universe and reader ends up pregnant because he loves c*ming inside her? Love your works they keep me up at night in the best way 🤭🤍

masterlist

requests are open

word count: 0.9k

warnings: smut at the beginning, unprotected sex, fwb (kinda?)

a/n: hey, love❤️ i wasn't sure whether you wanted them to end up together or not, so i made something in between. i got inspired and wrote another part for this one which i may post later, but i'm open to changing/adding something if y'all have any ideas.

“Rafe… we shouldn’t do this— ah, fuck, please!” You cried out, your back arching from the bed, seeking more attention from his lips to your sensitive nipples. 

“I can’t stop. It’s gonna be okay, just one time, baby.” He grumbled, sucking in your skin. Rafe was pounding into your poor body without any mercy; he was too excited to be bare inside of you for the first time. 

When you came to his place, you two quickly found out that you ran out of condoms that were usually stacked on his bedside table, but you were too far gone to stop it. You were naked, your pussy was leaking with arousal, his dick was so painfully hard and it was hard to think straight. You didn’t want to stop and Rafe managed to convince you to let him fuck you raw. 

You knew how fucking stupid you were and that he might easily get you pregnant, but at that exact moment, the only thing on your mind was the feeling of his bare cock. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. I wanna cum inside of your pretty pussy. Shit—you're squeezing me so hard, you like this idea, hm?” He kept slapping his hips against yours harder and harder, causing you to moan in despair and grip his shoulders. You tried to say no, but, in all honesty, you didn’t want to. The stretch was so delicious, and the feeling of his cock filling you completely made you feel dizzy. And having him cum inside? You could have an orgasm just thinking about it. 

No more than thirty seconds later, when you finally reached your height, his cock twitched inside and Rafe let out the sexiest moan you’ve ever heard. You felt liquid warmth covering your inside and moaned, squeezing and milking everything he could have you. 

You were playing with fire and it was just a matter of time before everything would go wrong. No matter how stupid and reckless it was, you didn’t stop. Rafe was now obsessed with the feeling of being inside of you without a barrier; he could not help himself when he had you spread out in front of him, ready to be filled. 

It was the best feeling that both of you experienced, but for some reason, you didn’t even try to find another form of contraception. You should have known better. You should have insisted on protection, but there was something intoxicating about the way he took you—the way he groaned your name as he filled you up. It was reckless, dangerous, and oh-so-addictive.

So it was not that big of a surprise when, just two months later, you saw two lines on the test. 

You weren’t dating, even if it has always felt like much more than just sex, so you never expected Rafe to be happy about the possibility of having a baby. You thought he would end everything immediately and simply run away. Yet he was the complete opposite. 

During your pregnancy, Rafe never left your side and made sure to attend every medical appointment, buy every single vitamin and satisfy all of your cravings.

You wanted to eat some weird shit from the store at 2am? He brought it to you in less than twenty minutes. Your body was aching and you didn’t want to do anything? He organised a spa day for you. You had terrible mood swings and cried every ten minutes? He was patient and he did everything he could to make you feel better. 

You quickly fell into that kind of domestic routine. It was comfortable, and it felt right to have him beside you all the time. While your baby was growing inside of you, you both realised more with every passing day that the feelings that you two had were serious. Because you were on each other’s mind’s 24/7, you stayed in yours or his place all the time, and you couldn’t just keep your hands away. 

When Rafe first felt your baby kick, he was over the moon and he had the biggest smile on his face. He repeatedly kissed your belly before falling asleep with his head on your thighs and his hand on your bump. 

As soon as your little girl arrived in the world, Rafe completely fell into daddy mode. He was fussing over her, insisting on spending as much time with her as possible. He never complained when he had to change her diapers or wake up in the middle of the night because of her cries.

He is such a girl dad, and the moment she looked at him with her blue eyes, he was wrapped around her tiny finger. 

Rafe loves being a dad; he loves taking care of his girls, even if you are still not officially his. He makes sure to do everything to make you feel comfortable and give you enough rest. 

He may not be perfect in it, but he’s trying his best and he hasn’t regretted ever getting into this with you. 

[arieslost]

personally since I want to take a nice bite outta oscar (and you do too)

what about an oscar x gf!reader who just constantly bites him, not hard enough to leave a mark (thats only in bed) but just a little chomp

like he has an arm around her shoulder while talking to Lando and she just turns her head and *chomp*

lord knows i wanna give that man a nice little monch. just a little 🤏🏻 little bit

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chomp | op81

something about oscar unlocked the habit within you. he’s just so… yummy. all the time. so one day you acted on the urge to bite him. you did it gently, just barely sinking your teeth into the skin covering the taunt muscle of his bicep when you were cuddled up together in bed. he liked it; encouraged it even, so you never really looked back.

instead of “pinch me,” he soon adopted the phrase “bite me” in its place. it was just an affectionate thing that you did when your feelings for him became so overwhelming words failed you. it happens more often than not— just looking at him and knowing he’s yours is enough to render you speechless.

his instant enjoyment of your gentle bites had you dismissing the behavior as normal quickly, so it now comes as a surprise to you when other people have a visceral reaction to it.

you never pay much mind to what people say on social media, particularly twitter, but almost every day you’re greeted with the sight of you being caught biting oscar and hundreds of people asking what your problem is. it mostly stemmed from the one time that oscar asked (more like begged) you to leave a mark in the throes of a passion-charged moment that happened the night before qualifying and thus it was clear as day to everyone in the paddock the next morning.

you were usually careful to bite parts of him that were almost always concealed. his thighs, his hips, his shoulders, the junction between his shoulder and neck. but he’d been adamant that you bite his neck and leave a mark, and who were you to tell him no? so the whole world ended up becoming privy to your little habit. but oscar never gave anyone the time of day when asked about it, so it never crossed your mind to stop.

now, lando had been the very first to tease him about that infamous mark on his neck, but he’d never been there to see it happen. until today.

oscar had insisted that you join him while he and lando were waiting to be called in for a race debrief, with the promise that he’d take you out for dinner afterwards. you’re always happy to spend extra time with your boyfriend, of course, so you were more than happy to agree.

except lando has a special talent for boring you out of your mind with extremely technical talk. and he loves to talk. you need something to do in order to not implode from boredom, and oscar’s arm is right there, wrapped around your shoulders, so you turn your head and lightly bite the thin skin of his wrist.

the sudden silence is deafening as lando stops talking in the middle of his sentence.

“i thought that was just a weird rumor. you actually bite him?” lando asks.

“um, yeah,” you reply slowly. “so?”

“got a problem with my girlfriend, mate?” you can feel the muscles of your boyfriend’s arm flexing around you as he tenses up a little.

“nope. no. not at all,” his teammate is quick to respond, hand reaching back to scratch his neck. “carry on. i’ll just act like i’m not here.”

so you do, biting him a little harder as a silent chill out. he just kisses your temple, stifling his laughter.

when it’s finally time for their meeting, you’ve traveled from oscar’s wrist all the way up to the inside of his elbow, grazing your teeth along his skin and inhaling his addictive scent. you’d happily do this for hours, and you pout when he separates himself from you.

as an apology, he leaves you with a parting whisper of, “you’re gonna bite me harder than that tonight, right?” that has your whole body heating up.

word count: 638

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: hope u enjoyed this <3 definitely not self indulgent for myself and venus at all!!!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @vintagefucksstuff @piastorys @jisungstuff @personwhoisther @bernelflo @ahgase99 @ferrarisfailedstrats @levidazai @brune77e

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. 1.5 | Spencer Reid x Reader

Okay so, WOW. I am completely blown away by the response to my first fic on here, 120 followers in 6 days are you guys okay? Because I am definitely not :,). While accidents pt. II isnt quite finished just yet (thank you so much for being so patient with me<3 uni is kicking my ass already rip), I thought I'd give you all a small sneak peek, aka the first 800-ish words of the second part. I hope you enjoy and thank you all so so much for the generous feedback so far!! <333 I'll go rewatch my genetics lecture now yippie :,,,,)

here you can read the entire first part, please head the warnings! Same ones apply here. also, if you wanna get tagged in pt. II, let me know in the comments!

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

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oh spencer, you weren't quite as subtle as you thought. rip my boy. also whooops another cliffhanger? haha my fingers must've slipped my bad

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

[httpsghostie]

Three's a Crowd

bro I have no words for what I've just written it's pure filth I can't stop wont stop I need them internally

I'm not sorry for this

Summary: a situationship between your lieutenant and your colonel that leads to obscene measures.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: smut, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x female!reader x König, unprotected piv and dp sex, kinda cuckold (?, light spanking, dacryphilia, praising/humiliating, lots of pet names, breeding kink, choking, no use of y/n

masterlist

NSFW under the cut

You didn't know exactly how, but you ended up in a situationship between the colonel and your lieutenant, none of them knowing about each other.

Ghost was never the jealous type, at least that's what he said. But some things changed when he heard your voice when he was passing in front of König's room.

"Scheiße, baby." He moaned. It wasn't so loud, but since Ghost had keen senses and was practically merging his ear with the door, it was loud enough for him to hear. He was startled, how could you do this?

For a brief moment, he felt insecure. Was he not enough for you? That's why you had to find someone else to give you pleasure? But you've always told him how it was good, how he fucked you just the way you liked it.

Lieutenant 'not the jealous type' Ghost.

Ironical.

But that feeling changed when he was pinning your face to the mattress, ass up, his cock abusing your hole. He held his phone up, filming how your ass jiggled when he thrusted hard inside you. Your arms were tied behind your back with his belt, and he held them before pulling out and jerking himself off, coming on your ass, cum dripping down your big lips.

And, well, that video was 'accidentally' sent to König's e-mail. 

She lets me cum inside.

Ghost could not fucking believe the answer he read on the phone. He expected König to back off, but apparently König had the same expectations.

He couldn't confront you, and the idea of sharing you with his superior was slowly driving him nuts. You noticed he started fucking you rougher, he'd shoot videos of you two having sex saying he needed those to remind him of you. Of course it was weird at first, but you could trust him, or so you thought.

On the other side, König was also a bit different, the man was once calm, always taking his time with you, but he started to enjoy being meaner. He'd either deny or overstimulate you until you cried on his girthy and long dick hitting your cervix. 

One day, while gagging on König's dick, you noticed him eyeing the locked phone on the bed, beside him. Without stopping, you reached for it and opened the camera, placing it on his large palm. He looks down at you, confused, and you give him a cock drunk smile. He didn't want to ask to film you, so this was pretty much convenient for him.

That was the first video he sent to Ghost in response to him fucking you senseless.

He was speechless. His cocky demeanor vanished as he tried to come up with a snarky response. Nothing could've prepared him to see you drooling on another cock. Unintentionally, the sight of you sucking another guy's dick made him hard. He had to excuse himself out of the meeting because he had a boner. It was funny, he felt like a teen.

But you noticed how both of them were different towards you and each other. They weren't used to talking before, and now it seemed like they'd punch each other's faces whenever they met in common rooms. König assigned difficult tasks towards Ghost and the thought of them knowing about your situationship terrified you once it crossed your mind.

You thought about confronting them, explaining the whole situation. They were both excellent in bed and they provided you with different feelings. König was soft and caring and Ghost was… well, Ghost. But you knew you could lose them two, even though you didn't have an established relationship with them.

One day, the task force is all drinking together, playing truth or dare. Gaz is dared to do something obscene, and he playfully moans like a girl.

Aye, sounds like the lad in König's room.

You choke, spitting the whiskey coke out, the soda gets out from your nose and your eyes get teary from the gas. They all get quiet when they look at you and you fake a laugh, of course Soap had to say that. 

They soon forgot about the awkwardness and went back to the game, but Ghost was eyeing you like a prey. You purposefully avoided them since you all joined for the party, and he and König sat on opposite sides from each other. You sat in between Price and Gaz, you all in a weird circle.

Meeting room. Now.

Your phone buzzed as you received a message from your Lieutenant. You read it from the notifications and looked up, but he was already gone in the darkness. You come up with an excuse and get out of the common area.

When you walked in, the phantom was standing right across the table, you could only see a glimpse of his eyes. The lights were off, but the room was lit when he started typing the digits of his phone password. He slowly stands up and walks towards you, your legs already trembling with fear. The phone is left on the table right in front of you, displaying a video of your fucked out face while sucking a dick very different from his.

"Simon, I can expl-" you try to say, but you're cut off as he grabs a fistful of your hair and buries your face on the cold wooden surface of the table.

"Y'know why I brought you here?" He asks, holding your wrists behind your back. "So everyone can see who you belong to." You feel him restraining your hands with one of his hands, and the spare one unfastened his belt and pulled his pants down just enough to expose his already hard dick.

At this moment, you thank yourself for wearing sweatpants, because they were easily pulled down from your body. He lifted his mask and spat on your pussy, then entered you with his full length, not giving you time to get used to his size.

He fucked you desperately, grabbing your hair again, making you look at the looping video on the screen of his phone.

"You're such a fucking little slut." He groaned. "You're so desperate you need two fat cocks?" You felt ashamed, your face burning, not knowing if it was from the whiskey or the embarrassment. The door made a locking sound and you jolted, but Ghost's grip didn't let you give a look. "Like what you see here, Colonel?" He asks in between breaths, you squirm and try to move but he holds you in place. Soon there was a figure across from you, sitting on the empty chair and manspreading.

"If you fucked her good enough she wouldn't come to me." He said in that thick German accent.

"You're really petty for a second option." Ghost holds your throat from behind, choking you and forcing you to look at König. You can see König's dick getting hard, it wasn't easy for him to mask that due to his size. He got up and slowly walked around the table to get to you. 

"How does he feel, schatz?" König grabs you by the chin, blue orbits finding its way into your soul. You couldn't even babble an answer, Ghost was fucking you brainless. Your eyes could only look back to König and your head could only nod. He lifts a bit of his hood and gives you a kiss, his lips containing the warmth you needed to melt.

"Kneel." Ghost demands you as he pulls out. You do as you're told, but in order to comfortably be on your knees, you pull your pants back up. They don't seem to care. König takes his belt off and folds it, running it from your chest to your chin, lifting your head.

"Be a good girl, ya?" He says as he pushes his pants down, his dick bouncing up as he releases from the boxers. Without even noticing, your mouth was already open and your tongue was laying flat. König brushed his pinkish, leaking tip on your lips and tongue, the familiar salty taste of his precum invading your senses. He pushes it in your mouth, fucking it slowly. Your hand travels to Ghost's dick and jerks him off as he watches. "Like what you see, Lieutenant?" König chuckles.

Ghost was going to give him a sarcastic response, but his head fell back when you started to suck him off, your hand now on König. As you expected, Ghost wasn't so gentle, so his hand grabbed your hair and pushed your throat down his length. You soon became a drooling mess, taking turns on each throbbing cock in front of you.

Your jaw became sore, taking just one of them was already hard enough. You felt a pressure against your pussy and looked down, König's boot was grinding against you. You groan, sinking your weight on his foot. The more you gagged around them, the more he'd move.

"Didn't I tell you were just a fucking whore?" Ghost pulled from your mouth and tapped his cock on your tear stained cheeks. "Getting off his foot, huh? So desperate." As if it was possible for you to get any wetter, you felt another wave of arousal moisten your panties.

He got you up and almost dragged you to the sofa in the corner of the room. König followed just behind. Ghost sat down and made you kneel in front of him, and König positioned himself behind you, large palms roaming your small body and gently pulling your pants down again. He aligned his shaft with your soaked pussy and in one long thrust he pushed it deep inside you.

"Just so… fucking tight." You hear him whimper as he bottoms out. Your eyes are locked with the masked man in front of you, that's slowly jerking himself off at the sight of you being filled by someone else. "Gonna have to tear this pretty pussy apart." You clench around him and he starts fucking you. 

Ghost gently pulls your face closer and lifts his mask, planting a sloppy kiss on your lips. You could only moan, in hope no one else could hear it. Your lips were now connected on Ghost's member, eagerly sucking him off. Your moans sent vibrations down his skin and he groaned whenever you gagged.

König's cock was buried deep down your walls, he felt an incessant need to slam his hips into yours and make you a moaning mess, so he held your hips in place as he thrusted hard into you. One of his hands travelled down to your clit and started rubbing circles, easily making you orgasm around him. He felt his climax getting closer, but he didn't want this moment to end just as quick. When his pace became erratic, he pulled out, slapping your ass.

He got up and sat down beside Ghost, who got up and pulled you to his arms, holding you firmly in the air. Your legs were pushed to your chest, the back of your knees held by his veiny forearms. He entered your used hole and started slow, but it didn't last long and he was soon bouncing you up and down his length.

König watched as you took Ghost entirely, thinking about how tight you'd feel with another cock inside you. He gets up and walks behind you, brushing his tip on you.

"Do you think she can handle?" König asks with genuine concern.

"She'll take it and thank you for it, isn't that right, bunny?" Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, your face buried in his neck. You manage a small nod before feeling another monstrous cock entering your abused hole.

How that fit was a story for another day, but your pussy was happy to be filled by two men. The pain started to go away and you moved a bit to signal them to go. They managed to keep the same pace for a while. König let you lay back on his chest as Ghost held your legs, they pushed deep down into your core.

"Look at you, taking both of us." Ghost mumbles. "Such an obedient little pet." 

"Such a good girl, liebe." König moans in your ear.

They kept fucking you until you felt empty again. Emptier than ever. Your pants were taken away from your body and König pulled you on top of him as he sat down on the couch, already making you sit on his shaft. Ghost came behind you and you felt a humid finger entering your tight little hole. 

"Simon-" you moan.

"Shut up." He puts another finger in.

"Too much."

"You've taken it before and you're gonna take it again like the good slut you are, understood?" You slowed down on König and felt another finger inside of you, stretching your butthole. You couldn't help but whimper at the way he was using you. "Don't stop fucking her." König holds your hips and starts thrusting harder.

Ghost replaced his fingers with his aching dick and you've never felt so good, so filled. He waited a minute before moving, giving you a bit to adjust. But goddamn it you were tight.

As soon as the pain went away, he started to move, gradually going faster. König was a whimpering mess below you, moaning german praises in your ear. In little to no time, you found yourself being railed once again.

"Can't take much more." König whimpered, digging his nails on your hips. Ghost landed a sharp slap to your ass and towered over you to reach for your clit, he stimulated you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, trying to memorize your scent.

Your legs trembled as you felt your high approaching faster and faster, and you fall on König's chest, trying to muffle your loud moans. 

"That's right, baby, be a good girl and come for us." König holds you close, reaching a new spot. That's what it took for you to squirt all over their dicks. Crying at the non stopping thrusts.

"Always have to leave a mess, huh?" You're still squirming as you hear Ghost say. "Fuck, you're so pretty when you cry."

König also feels his orgasm approaching and with a few more thrusts he can't hold it anymore.

"Gonna fill your cunt with my cum." He moans, holding your chin to look at him. He comes inside of you, but he doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. He keeps on slamming his dick inside your cervix and pushing his cum inside you, making the tears fall out of your eyes. He becomes a whimpering mess as he overstimulates his dick in your pussy.

Ghost also can't stop thinking about how good you feel, and how bad he needs to cum inside you. He slips a hand in front of your body and squeezes your breasts. It was enough to electrify his body and sent shivers down his spine. With just a few more erratic thrusts, he spills his seeds in your hole. He pulls out, kissing your back through his mask. König finally pulls out too, his dick red from the overstimulation. You collapse on his chest, losing consciousness.

"Truce?" He asks Ghost, who's getting dressed.

"Truce."

[rafedaddy01]

“You can take it” || rafe x Barry x reader

Summary: you, Barry, and rafe are all best friends, after a night of partying (snorting coke in Barry’s trailer) the three of you end up having a little too much fun.

This night changed everything, the whole dynamic of your friend group has shifted. But, you have to be honest with yourself, you most definitely enjoyed it.

Genre: dark, rough, smut, lots and lots of smut (I mean just look at the request)

Warnings: smut, threesome, anal, but plug, toys, male receiving oral, language, degrading, name calling, p in v, unprotected sex, mentions of drugs (just barely tho)

Authors note: guys. I just saw that I have a little over 2k followers thank you so much (I’m gonna fucking cry rn)

——————————————————————————

You were at home. Well not physically, but home is where the heart is. And as weird and disturbing as it may sound, your home was in Barry’s trailer with your two best friends, Rafe Cameron and Barry.

You honestly don’t even remember how the three of you became friends.

It was at some party, you were trying to buy coke off some prick who kept flirting with you the whole night and withholding the coke from you until you let him hit, and of course that prick ended up being Rafe. You never let him near you though, you simply pretended to be going in for a kiss and when he was too distracted you reached in his pocket and grabbed the little dime bag and booked it.

Rafe had to admit, you were feisty and he respected that, you were also smart and sneaky. So he introduced you to his dealer, Barry.

And ever since then the three of you have been tighter than tighty whiteys.

“Yo, quick hogging that shit man” Barry snatched the dollar bill from Rafes hand before plopping himself on the empty couch cushion next to you.

“You’ve got a fuckin problem, country club” he laughed and shook his head before leaning down and snorting the white powder.

“My turn” your pretty manicured nails snatched the bill from Barry.

“I don’t have a problem. This shit just helps me relax” both you and Barry watched him pull another rolled up doller bill and a little dime bag out of his back pocket.

Laughing you said, “you’ve got a problem Cameron” before leaning down and taking your final line.

You don’t even know how the next events took place. The only thing you remember was laughing so hard you snorted and then laughing some more as the guys laughed at your snort, and then both your hands landed on the thighs on either side of you, rubbing up and down.

“Mmm, wanna do something wild?” Your words were strung together as you leaned your head back on the couch, “what’s that, princess?” Rafes raspy voice brought your eyes to his and you watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “Let’s all fuck each other”

And that’s how you ended up on your stomach on Barry’s squeaky trailer bed. Rafe pounding into from behind, and Barry stuffing your mouth from the front.

“Such a good fuckin girl, isn’t she Barry?” Rafe praised you as he moved in and out at a rough pace, his palm coming flat against your ass as he spanked you. “She sure is, country club. Letting us use her like this, such a slut” Barry groaned out, his lips curving and his gold tooth shining in the light.

“What do you say we have some more fun” Rafe spoke behind you. You couldn’t turn your head to see what he was holding because of the grip Barry had on your hair and how far down his cock was in your throat, but you knew it wasn’t good when you saw the wicked look in Barry’s eyes. “Go for it, I want this whore stuffed in all her holes” Barry brought his eyes back down to yours, you looked up at him with a pleading look. “Shh, it’s alright princess. You can take it”

He pet your hair back and wiped the tears from your cheeks as you felt the cold metal pushing between your ass, rafe groaned behind you before you felt his spit fall right onto your tight ring, you felt it drip down and onto your pussy where he was still moving in and out in slower strokes. “Are you gonna be a good girl for us, huh princess? You gonna let us use you in any way, be our little sex doll” rafe slapped your ass and you moaned around Barry’s cock, trying to answer.

“What was that?” Rafe smacked you again and again until Barry pulled his cock out. You turned your head and looked rafe right in the eyes as you whined “please”

“That’s what I like to hear” one last slap to your ass before he pushed the metal plug all the way into your tight ass and his hips sped up.

Your mouth flew out and Barry took it as a chance to shove himself right back in.

You were wasted. High off coke, mind fuzzy, body on fire, your mouth was stuffed and the sounds of both men moaning your name and getting pleasure from your body drove you wild.

You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to come.

Your hand moved down to toy with your clit, moaning louder around Barry, “would you look at that, little slut wants to get off” Barry told rafe. “Should we let her?”

“Not yet” Rafe stopped moving inside you and pulled out, you whined, crying at the empty feeling and desperately rutting against your hand to get any kind of friction. The plug in your ass was removed and that was the last straw, your cheeks had tears streaming down them.

“Shh, come here baby.” Rafe grabbed you and turned you around so you were laying on his chest, straddling his lap. “Why are you crying? Huh?” He grabbed your face and smooshed your cheeks together with one hand as the other wiped away your tears. “You’re the one that wanted this, remember? Begging us to fuck you like a whore”

“I-I just wanna cum, please” you whined like a child, begging for some sort of relief from them.

“And you will” he shushed you, “just when we say you can” and the smile he had on his face was wiped off and replaced with a sadistic smirk.

Your eyes widened as he hugged you against his chest and you felt him slip back inside you as Barry slipped in between your other tight hole, filling you to the brim.

You were so stuffed and full you couldn’t even breathe. Just accepting defeat and laying against Rafes chest as you let them use your body for their pleasure.

It was your idea after all

Taglist

@f4ll-for-you @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx @spencerreidsrealgf @rafescokenostril @thievin-stealing @rafemotherfuckingcameron @dilvcv @starkeysheart @wearemadeofstardust0 @theoraekenslover @mema10

[evie-sturns]

red - 𝘔𝘢𝘵𝘵 𝘚𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘰

summary: you and matt have been dating for a month, the most you've ever done is made out, one night things turn, which results in you and matt both losing your virginity.

warnings: smut, virgin!matt, virgin!reader, swearing, fluff.

------------------... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..------------------

i'm 19, and still a virgin. my boyfriend matt doesnt know, i'm too scared to tell him even though i know he would never judge me. nothing sexual has ever happened between us, but its bound to happen at some point, right?

matt and i are laying in his bed together, the house is empty for once as we cuddle close, watching a movie. i take a deep breath through my nose, anxiety rushing through me as my thoughts race

what if it hurts? what if matt won't think of me the same if i tell him? am i even ready?

"y/n, are you okay sweetheart, you're tensing like crazy." matt rubs my back, reasurringly.

"matt." i whisper, my voice hoarse.

"yeah?" he says, sitting up, his back pressing against the headboard as i lay on his chest.

what do i even say? i cant just say- "i want to have sex with you."

shit. the words came out like word vomit.

i throw my hand over my mouth, sitting up off matts chest and leaping off the bed. an awkward silence floods through the room as i reach for the door handle.

"come back." he says calmly, patting the spot next to him.

i nod like a guilty kid as i walk back over to his bed, sitting down next to him. "did you mean what you said sweetheart?" he says, interlocking our fingers. "possibly.." i mumble, my cheeks flushing.

matt laughs

"what!!" i say, slapping him softly.

"you're so red." he giggles,

"god shut up." i mumble, a smile spreading across my face.

another silence grows in the room as we decide what to say next. i clear my throat, "matt i need to say something." i whisper, looking everywhere but at him. he nods, squeezing my hand.

"i'm uh.. a virgin.?" i say, barely audible as i rub my eyes. "but like, i know its weird from my age but its just, i really love you, and everything about you.. i think i want you to take my virginity.."

"me too." he says, his cheeks red.

"you too?" i repeat, my eyebrows furrowing.

the room goes quiet, i'm quite frankly in shock.

its no secret matt's had mutiple girlfriends before me, but im finding it hard to wrap my head around how hes never done anything.

"look who's red now." i smile, staring at matts face.

"shush," he says, pressing a finger to my lips.

i pull off my shirt, revealing my white lacy bra.

matt's eyes widen. "oh." he coughs, his eyes fixated on my chest.

"too soon?" i ask, reaching for my shirt, starting to put it back on. "no no-.." he says grabbing the shirt from my hands and throwing it across the room. "is it really that good that you had to throw it across the room?" i laugh

"well don't want to risk you putting it back on!" he shrugs before pulling off his crewneck. i swallow hard, "i don't know what i'm doing if i'm being honest." i sigh, matt sits up, pressing a kiss to my forehead, "me neither, we'll figure it out." matt smiles.

i lay back on the bed as matt stands up, spreading my legs apart and stepping between them, he places a hand on the side of my face as he leans down, kissing from my neck.. to my chest.. to my belly button.

my breathing intensifies. pure nerves flooding through my body.

"are you nervous..?" he asks, pausing his pecks at my waistband.

"no." i lie through my teeth.

"mm yes you are..." he says teasingly.

"fine, i just don't want it to hurt, my friends all say it is the most uncomfortable thing the first time.." i mumble, running a hand through my hair.

"i know, you're stressing me out now!" he laughs, yanking down his sweatpants leaving him in his boxers. i follow his lead, unclasping my bra, matt stares at me shamelessly "fuck." he mumbles "you're so pretty.." he whispers.

“you okay?” he asks, reaching for the waistband of my shorts. i nod, looking him in the eyes.

“can i take these two off?” he asks, referring to my panties and shorts,

“y-yeah.. yep.” i mumble, he pauses.

“please don’t be nervous, just try to relax and i promise you it won’t hurt okay?” he says leaning down and kissing the tip of my nose.

“i’ll try to relax.” i say to matt, he slowly pulls down my panties, leaving me revealed in-front of him

“oh my god- okay, this might be a weird question but do you ever touch yourself..” matt says, staring at me

i burst into giggles, my face going red. matt slams a hand over his face “stupid question?” he smiles.

“no no.. it’s a good question but yeah i do. why?” i smirk

“oh thank god, i was worried about you.. being too tight and if i’m too big it won’t fit.” he says with a sigh

“mr. big dick over here everyone!” I joke, resulting in him rubbing his eyes “i didnt mean it like that.”

“you’re cute matt.” i say spreading my legs apart.

matt’s breath hitches in his throat as he stares at me, it’s probably the first naked woman that he’s been with in person.

“i have condoms..” he mumbled quietly

“oh.” i say with a disappointed tone

“babe i am not making you pregnant at 19.” he scoffs, opening his bedside table.

“i’m on the pill dumbass.” i smile, reaching for him

“i thought you were a virgin?” he asks his eyebrows furrowing

“matt i am, it’s just for other reaso-.. fuck it i’ll explain later”

matt’s boxers have a noticeable bulge pressing from the inside.

“you can take those off..” i whisper.

“yeah yup uhm of course!” he says shakily.

“why are you nervous now??” i laugh and he groans

“what if i’m bad..” he sighs

“where’s my clit.” i say bluntly, he points to it exactly.

“where the hole.” i say again, again he points to it with accuracy

“there you go, you’ll be fine, and i cant even judge you cause i don’t know better either!” i say assuring him

he slowly pulls off his boxers, his erection sprinting out tapping his bellybutton. “oh my god.” i whisper to myself.

“we need a towel matt..” i say standing up off the bed.

“for what?” he says quietly

“blood?” i say casually, he turns white. “what.”

he looks around nervously “you’re on your period?”

i laugh, “i’m on birth control sweetheart, remember?”

“then why the fuck will you bleed..”

“look at you, that dick will rip my hymen.” i say, he hands me his shirt,

“i don’t know what the fuck that means but here’s a shirt you can put under you.” he says nervously, his hand shaking as he passes me the shirt.

“you’re okay if it gets blood on it?”

“mhm i just wanna start..” he says quietly.

“jesus okay.” i say laying back on the bed, the shirt under me.

he grabs his base as he stands between my legs, he rubs his tip over my folds, sending goosebumps around my body. i let out a desperate moan.

“just tap me if you want me to stop and i will instantly okay..?” matt says, his tone less shaky then before. “i’ll go so slow.”

he lines himself up with my hole, pushing himself toward slightly, nothing happens.

“i cant um.. go further.” he says, pushing at my entrance

“what.?” i ask

“i think you really need to relax your whole body, loosen up a little bit okay?” he says pressing a kiss to my cheek.

he holds out a hand infront of my mouth “spit.” he demands

“gross!” i say with a smirk painted across my face

“i know..” he says, his hand not moving away, i spit into his hand, matt quickly moves it down, using it as a lube.

“relax as much as you can okay?” he says, pressing slowly into me.

“fuck fuck fuck..” i moan, squeezing my eyes shut

i feel his tip slide into me, a loud whimper escapes matt’s mouth “oh my god..” he pushes further into me, a stretching burning sensation grows as i feel a tear fall down my cheek, he pushes the rest of the way in, stopping completely to look at me as he’s still buried inside me.

“hey hey, don’t cry your okay, you took it all!” he says caressing my cheek and rubbing the few tears that fell away. “tell me when to move, remember if you need a break tell me, if you want me to stop tap me.” he says.

i nod, looking him in the eyes “move.. please-“ i say, balling the sheets up with my fists, he nods, pulling almost out then thrusting back in, he’s going slowly.

matt is clearly trying to conceal his noises as he continues to pull out then push in. the burning sensation slowly disappears, and is replaced with pleasure

a strong smile spreads across my face, “feels good now?” he asks, his voice croaky.

“yes..” i manage to squeeze out “faster.. please” he picks up the pace slightly “i’m not gonna last long this time.” he warns

i clench around him, he twitches inside me then instantly fills me up, my jaw goes slack as i look up at him.

“shit i am so sorry..” he says pulling out with a slick sound, he grabs my hips and stands me up, i feel his cum start to leak down my leg as my leg shakes

“oh shit oh shit..” he says frantically looking around, he settles on his shirt, grabbing it and places it on me, collecting everything that is coming out of me. i laugh at the sight of him between my legs, wiping his orgasm off my thighs.

“was that okay for you, did it hurt?” he says picking me up.

“i think you just rearranged my organs.”

his cheeks go red.

------------------... ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ ..------------------

very much requested hope you guys liked it,

don’t be shy to spam my inbox btw i love talking to people

[yawnderu]

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

1 2 3 4 5 6

Synopsis: Aware of the way his lifestyle doesn't align with your dream life and unwilling to quit his life as a soldier, Simon breaks things off with you. It isn't until a year later that he sees you again, a tiny carbon copy of him held in your arms.

"Can I hold her?" You dread the question. The way he asks it, the way he looks at you, the way you know he's going out of his comfort zone to come to your house, knowing you don't want him there.

"Sure." You put your pride aside, having the best interest of your baby in mind. The little girl is placed carefully in his arms, and it breaks your heart to see just how well she fits there, like a missing puzzle piece.

"She's so beautiful." He whispers, brown eyes fully focused on his daughter—his daughter. For someone who avoided the topic of family like the plague, the concept was still weird to even think about, despite the way the girl in his arms looked just like him when he was a baby, countless pictures hung around his house before they were permanently destroyed by his father in attempts to torment Mrs. Riley.

"What was that, Captain?" Simon crooned teasingly, leaning his head closer to the baby to try to understand the babbles that were slowly becoming more and more clear each passing week. Of course, she was still too young to talk, though the little girl loved babbling out at any given moment.

"She's lovely, isn't she? Shame she looks like you." Your words came out teasing for the first time ever since you saw him again, the banter in your previous friendship coming back for a second as he playfully glared down at you.

"Shame she acts like me too." He jested, the baby's mannerisms very reminiscent of his own. You poke your tongue out at him jokingly before looking back down at your daughter, the strings of your heart being pulled the more you stare at her. The little creature doesn't cry much, luckily, so you have all the time in the world to simply admire what you created— what you both created.

"Look at her tongue stickin' out." Simon pointed out to the baby's tiny tongue sticking out, a quiet laugh leaving his lips at the way she imitated you. You gently pinch her chubby cheek, planting a kiss on her forehead as a small laugh escapes you too. It's not hard for her to steal your heart, Simon noticed.

"Hush, darlin', daddy's busy flirtin' with mommy." He knows he's overstepping, but... it's worth the risk. He wants what you used to have back then, despite knowing he doesn't deserve it. He'll prove himself, Simon promised since the first time he saw you again.

"Just so you know, this—" You point between him, the baby, and you. "Doesn't mean we're together. Not a chance." You try to be stern, though you both can't deny the look in your eyes. Still, you resist, not wanting to be disappointed again. Simon leaving is an open wound that never healed.

"I know." He replied after a few seconds, not looking at you. His eyes were focused on the baby, holding her close to his chest as she cuddled up to him, quieting down from her babbling. He sat down on the couch, one of his fingers absent-mindedly running over the features of his daughter.

"I'm thinkin' of retiring within a year or two, once Makarov's dead." He starts hesitantly, not daring to look at you just yet.

"Do you think the three of us can be a family? I know I messed up, and I'm sorry." He finally looks up at you, though only for a short second before he's getting up again, gently putting the baby in her crib. He gives her a small plushie to cuddle, soft blanket wrapped over her tiny frame. He comes back to you, bare hands hesitantly reaching for yours before noticing you're about to recoil back. He doesn't blame you.

"I'll do anything." He swears, taking a step back to respect your personal space. You look away for a few seconds, arms crossed and a small frown on your lips. The thought of Simon leaving or dying is always there, eating at the back of your mind.

"You're retiring?" Is all you can ask, not bothering to hide the sheer curiosity and confusion. Simon has been a soldier since he was 18— it's all he knows. He has given up his entire life and family— why stop now?

"Yeah. Think it's time to slow down... actually live life a little, for once. I had to retire at some point, yeah?" It wasn't an easy choice at all. He has bled for the army countless times, lost his family because of it, lost so many allies he can't even count them in his head, yet the tiny girl was the one that made him realize enough is enough.

"Interesting." It's all you reply, eyes slightly narrowed as you look deep into his, seeking for any signs of hesitation or lying. You find none.

"I'm serious. I can be a father to her, and... a husband to you, if you let me. Just like you wanted." Just like you told him you wanted things to be. Just like he thought about before breaking up with you after 4 years.

"Don't have to give me an answer now, but I'm retirin' and that's final." He went to grab his backpack, pulling out a folder. He placed it in front of you gently before giving his sleeping daughter a soft kiss on the forehead, eyes fully focused on her as he memorized her features. It's gonna be a long time until he sees her again.

"I'm deploying in an hour." He mentioned, his back turned towards you as you read the papers. His will, updated to include your daughter. Previously, it was only you there.

"Not comin' back for a long while, unless things go well. If shit hits the fan..." He knows it's always a possibility when dealing with Makarov.

"You'll both have enough to live a good life." He was getting choked up. Not crying or tearing up, but uncomfortable enough that he was struggling to speak.

"Simon." You call out and he turns his head towards you, slight surprise in his features. It's the first time you call him Simon since he came back into your life— it used to be Ghost, much to his dismay, to place even more space between you. He never said anything about it.

"Something to keep your heart safe." You walk up to him, both of your hands holding one of his, placing a hard object in his palm. He looks down at it and his heart almost stops.

The ID bracelet your baby wore shortly after she was born. He nods his head once in acknowledgment, expression growing more determined as his fingers trace the outline of the plastic.

"Come back to her safe." Your hand hesitantly went to the back of his neck, pulling him closer until his forehead was against yours. He lets you, and you're both stuck looking deep into each other's eyes for what feels like forever.

"Come back to us." You plant a soft kiss to his forehead before letting go, basking in the slight sense of normalcy, ignoring your worthless pride for once. He leans down and returns the kiss to your forehead, nodding once. He stares down at you, memorizing your features the same way he did with your daughter before turning around and leaving, swearing to keep the silent promise with a newfound sense of determination.

[Previous] [Next]

Taglist:

@skulfan1 @survivalshxt @ghostslittlegf

[criminalyun]

cool for the summer (part two) | sim jaeyun

pairing: sim jaeyun x fem!oc

summery: summers over and if you thought hiding your relationship from your brother with jake when you were all together was hard, then you were in for a surprise when you’re forced to do long distance and not only have to stay up late hours in the night to talk, so that jay wouldn't suspect anything, but also have to question if your boyfriend even loves you.

genre: brothers best friend au, forbidden love, long distance, fluff, angst, smut.

warnings: minors dni!! virgin reader who overthinks a lot!

cw: violence, alcohol use, softdom!jake, sub!reader, piv, fingering, oral (f. rec), making out, pet names (pretty, pretty girl), foreplay, more to be added

word count: estimated 10-15k

release date: june 23rd, 2024

taglist: open !

read part one here

PREVIEW!

There he stood, Jake Sim, your boyfriend, looking as attractive as ever with his dark, messy locks of hair sitting effortlessly on his head, and his skin looking tanned and sun-kissed, and his usual brown eyes that now looked black with lust staring down at you with his plump, red lip tucked between his teeth.

He was clad in a pair of grey joggers and a black zip up jacket which had white writing written across the chest in cursive; the jacket loosely hanging off of him with his prominent collarbone peeking through the neckline.

You couldn't help but gulp at the sight of him, and it was like you were stuck in a trance as you subconsciously took a few steps backwards, allowing your brothers best friend into your room...

Quicker than ever, once your door had been shut tight — Jake pulling the lock across as he shut it with his hand, his eyes not leaving you once - you two dove into one another, your lips hungrily interlocking as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down closer to you whilst his arms snaked around your waist, colliding your bodies as he walked you into the wall; your back pressing against the white painted brick.

"I missed you.." Jake managed to get out, parting your lips for a moment so that you could catch your breaths. "So much, y/n, you don't even understand." He shook his head, desperation seeping through his eyes as they eyed your lips.

“I missed you so much more." You spoke back to him, only earning a shake of Jake's head before he hurriedly attached his lips to your neck, sucking and biting at places that had never been touched before.

The sensation of his lips against your neck made a weird — pleasurable — feeling appear in your stomach and you slowly fluttered your eyes closed, biting down on your lip to prevent the sounds that were threading to escape from spilling.

"Not possible..." He whispered, grazing his mouth across your earlobe, goosebumps immediately forming on your skin as you accidentally let the sound — the moan — escape from your swollen lips.

Your sounds only caused the smirk on Jake's face to widen even more and he pulled back to look down at you, licking his lips as he brought his thumb up to caress your bottom lip.

"Be quiet, pretty, you don't wanna wake Jay up, huh?" He mischievously spoke, his voice just above a whisper as he teasingly played with your bottom lip, the certain area in his pants hardening as he watched as your eyes glossed over with submission.

Without another thought, the Sim boy quickly released your lip from his touch and hooked his arms beneath your legs, lifting you from the floor and heading over to your bed as he attached his lips to your exposed collarbone.

Once Jake was sat on the edge of your bed, you still being on his lap, he looked up at you in awe, reaching up to move a few strands of your hair away from your beautiful face and tucking them behind your ear as you unthinkingly ground your crotch into his; the weird, euphoric feeling making your stomach churn.

"Y/n.." Jake grunted out, a small whine lacing his voice as he squinted his eyes shut in pleasure. He quickly raised his hands, gently gripping onto your hips (afraid he'd break you if he held too hard) to halt your actions. "We don't have to go all the way, if you don't want to... I don't want to force you...

Immediately, you shook your head, denying the boy as your breathing became heavier and your body became needier.

You wanted him like there was no tomorrow...

COMING SUNDAY JUNE 23, 2024 !!

 criminalyun 2024

[gilverrwrites]

Dick being a bit of a perv towards Tim’s friend…you and Tim obviously have crushes on another, but Dick subtly convinces you that it’s unrequited, that Tim is turned off by how naive you clearly are…unless you want Dick to teach you some things, he’s be more than happy to *do it*…of course his hands are already creeping down your pants as he says this.

What?! Anon you're crazy. Dickie would never ever do something like this! Anyway... Warnings: Coercion, manipulation, choking, slut shaming, implied age gap Virgin!Reader.

The very first time he met you; Dick made it his mission to ensure he was your favourite member of the family. He’s often the first to invite you to events. He’s always cutting in at galas, much to Tim’s chagrin, and telling you how great you look. Not just the fancy stuff either, he showers you with compliments all the time. He just loves your cosy hoodie, and did you get a haircut? It looks great.

Sometimes he’ll make a show of staring at you, all starry-eyed as he says shit like “Wow. You really are just sooo beautiful. Tim’s a lucky guy.” Knowing full well Tim and you are not an item.

“If only I’d got there first.” Knowing that his comments will almost certainly embarrass Tim.

“What did Tim do to deserve you, anyway?” That the embarrassment is liable to make Tim push you away a little bit.

But it’s not all flirtation. Dick also asks about your life, your friends and family. He learns about your hobbies, and watches your favourite films so he can talk to you about them. He's always offering advice, warranted or not. He just wants to be ‘the best soon-to-be brother-in-law’, you know?

So, he's unsurprised and elated when you call him one night, on the brink of tears after seeing Tim on what looked like a date with someone else. “I feel so weird calling you since you're brothers but you're the only one who knows us both.”

“No, no, no. Don't ever feel like you can't talk to me. You can always come to me for anything! Why don't I come over?”

Half an hour later he's on your couch, listening to you lament about your hopeless crush on Tim. He pats your shoulders, and rubs your back throughout, subtly getting closer and closer until you're all but sat in his lap with his hand dangerously high up your thigh.

“Listen, Tim is my brother, and I love him, I do. And I don't believe in slut shaming, that's not what this is, but he does get around. A lot.” He catches a stray tear with his thumb. You don't move when he lingers, so he keeps shooting, caressing your cheek until he reaches your lips where he grazes their softness far longer than is appropriate. His cock is rock hard from cradling you, there's no way you haven't noticed it digging into your asscheek. You can't be that dumb? “I shouldn't say this, it’s not my place but you deserve to know. He’s a cheater. He's cheated in almost every relationship he's been in. I think he gets bored… Sexually.”

He hadn’t thought you could look any sadder, but you managed it. He almost feels bad. Almost.

“You should be fine though. You know what you're doing, right? No? That's crazy, you're so lovely.”

It takes a little persuasion, but it's cursory more than anything.

“Tim doesn't need to know; it’ll be our little secret.” He promises as he slides his fingers under your waistband.

That night he makes it all about you. He practically spoils you, never using anything but his hands and mouth to make you melt for him, over and over. It takes all his resolve not to kiss you stupid, only because you make such captivating sounds. Such moreish whimpers and moans. For his ears only.

He’s the worst brother in the world.

But that doesn’t stop him from calling you every chance he gets.

He knows he’s going to hell when he’s filled with a sick sense of pride, after dropping you off for a coffee date with Tim, having cum all over your tongue only moments earlier and driven you there with his hand practically lodged between your legs.

Sometimes he fantasises about sucking his name into your chest. Just so Tim will know exactly where you've been if he ever has the balls to close the deal.

But the veneer can only last so long, and you unknowingly chip away at it, bit by bit every time you say Tim’s name. “Do you think Tim would like this?” “I can't believe I'm asking but do you know if Tim…” “Oh, I can’t tonight, Tim and I…”

It finally shatters the first time he fucks you though. You take it so well, slowly letting him stretch out your tight, virgin hole. He barely even has to coach you through it, just a few sweet words of praise, his fingers brushing you in all the right places and your bouncing on his cock like it was made for you.

But then you go and spoil it. He barely even remembers what you said exactly. “Something, something, Tim.” and he's seeing red.

The next thing out of your mouth is a startled gasp as he fixes his hand around your throat and squeezes, pulling you close and pushing his length so deep inside that your eyes roll back as he spits; “Tim doesn't want you.”

You're like a deer in the headlights, wide-eyed and confused but still moaning like a slut as he ruts up into you. “He did, but do you really think he'd ever touch you now? When he finds out you've been hanging off his big brother's dick? Should of taken photos so he can see how bad you wanted it.”

“But- but you said-”

“I know what I said.” You look the most aggrieved when he cuts you off. Never in a million years did you think golden boy Dick Grayson would be so callous. “And you bought it all. God- you’re too easy.”

He trails off for a moment, getting lost in how fucking good you feel, walls tight and twitching around him, milking him a little bit more every time he pinches your throat or bites out another nasty comment. All this time he’s been so nice to you; he should have known you’d like him mean.   

“Fucking shit~ I was never gonna let Tim have you. You were mine the moment you walked into the manor.”

━ [Part 2] ━ [Part 3]

[revelboo]

Could you do more of your story for TFP Sound wave? He is my favorite iteration of him and your writing is so good. I love your blog

Sure!

Bad Idea Pt 8

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Ignoring Lazerbeak’s annoyance sitting at the back of his processor like a dark cloud, he turns his attention away from his screens to the small form enshrouded in a nest of blankets on his desk caged between his arms and uses a tendril to adjust one of your blankets, letting the graspers on the end linger against your neck so your emotions spark intoxicatingly through him. Reassuring him that all’s well as he watches over you and helping drown out the mental distress he can feel from the other end of the ship from Megatron’s little pet and the human that Shockwave has taken for reasons he’s trying very hard not to think about. It shouldn’t matter to him one way or the other, but after you? There’s a vague sense of guilt for those others even knowing there’s nothing he can do for them. You he can protect, though. And he will.

• Sleepily peering up at him as he works, he somehow knows the second you’re awake, head tipping down to stare at you as one of his tendrils slides against, then coils about your ankle to make you smile. For being a giant, spiky horror, he’s surprisingly sweet and clingy. “Anything exciting?” You ask, and his head tilts before lifting back to the bank of screens and then down to you in what you guess is a ‘no.’ From what you’ve seen of the feeds throughout the Nemesis, it’s normally pretty boring unless his big, even scarier boss is on a rampage.

• Your little head tilts up to watch the screens with him and he wonders if you’re trying to help or just bored. Running his graspers through your hair, he likes to think you enjoy his company, like to be with him. Remembering that you’re there waiting for him makes his tasks a bit more tolerable, even if leaving you unsupervised makes him uneasy. Old worries like raw wounds still hurting him even though he tries to bury them. Tries to forget and move on. You’re just so fragile.

• The steady slide of those graspers through your hair is almost hypnotic, every bit of tension easing under his attention. You’re never quite sure what’s going on in that pointy head of his, but his actions? Always trying to take care of you, worrying. It’s a pity he’s not a human guy, because you’d grab on and refuse to let go. He’s not human and you already feel that way as silly it is. It’s likely some weird combination of Stockholm’s and stress, but you enjoy being around him. Love how affectionate he is. Venting softly, one of his graspers slides over the shell of your ear, before he just curls the tendril about you, gently squeezing to make you laugh.

• Lowering his head when you tip your own up to look at him, he very carefully bumps his helm to your forehead, spark warming as you reach up to lay a soft palm on him. His affectionate, little songbird. The quick brush of your soft mouth against him sparks electric through him, freezing him in place, before you duck your head. Hiding how red your face now is from him.

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Next

[ckret2]

Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to  admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him? 

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was. 

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

[cloudyzeusy]

Can you write Sasuke (young adult and adult) x Top male reader nsfw headcannnons/alphabet with Sasuke being shy and trying to be quiet.

ALPHABET HEADCANONS

Sasuke x Male Reader

A = Aftercare (what is he like after sex)

Sasuke loves aftercare but he is definitely too shy to say it upfront so instead he resorts to cuddling up against you. Acting like he doesn't secretly love it when you clean him up after and you take a bath together.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs)

He loves your hands, weird i know but he just loves to play with them while doing stuff. Like he could be studying and he could be fiddling with his hands helping him concentrate on his work. Or he loves wrapping your hands around his throat, choking him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

He loves your cum - a guilty pleasure of his. He loves swallowing it not that it tastes particularly good but because he loves anything coming from you.

D = Dirty secret (his dirty secret)

I feel like he was definitely a virgin before he met you so the most he has done is fuck himself with a dildo to a picture of you. He was so embarrassed after he couldn't bare to look you in the eye after.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Like I said he has never had sex before so he basically relies on you to show him what to do. He is the perfect pillow princess except when it comes to blowjobs. I don't know how but he is a natural.

F = Favourite position (what does he enjoy)

He loves a good mating press he loves the deeper penetration being fucked deeply. He also loves it because he can watch your face as you fuck his two favourite things at once.

G = Goofy (how is he in the moment?)

He's definitely more serious in the moment he tends to leave the dirty talk to you preferring to participate with his moans.

H = Hair (how well groomed is he?)

He likes his hair short, preferring to keep himself well groomed plus it's uncomfortable.

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

He loves holding your hands and looking into your eyes though he may not be a very open person however since he met you he actually tries.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He can try as much as he wants but he can't get off without you there with him whispering comforting words or helping him jack off.

K = Kink (his kinks)

Has a feminisation kink - flushes every time you call him a good girl

Has major daddy issues no wonder he calls you daddy now

He loves getting praise

L = Location (his favourite places to do the deed)

Anywhere but as long as it's with you but he prefers the bedroom as he can be as loud as he wants.

M = Motivation (what turns him on)

You controlling him in simple ways like grabbing his waist or gripping his thighs. But especially when you turn up shirtless.

N = No (something he wouldn’t do/ turn offs)

He hates blood, piss and scat the usual stuff

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Like I said, he loves giving head and is so good at it. He doesn't mind receiving it either.

P = Pace (does he like it fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

He enjoys it fast and rough especially after a hard mission it helps him get out of his head. But during your anniversaries he loves it slowly, loving being together.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies, how often)

He doesn't mind a quickie as you guys tend to be quite busy on missions but the more you have them he gets sadder. He loves spending time together so he forces you guys to take a day off so you both can actually enjoy sex.

R = Risk (does he like to experiment? does he take risks?)

He loves experimenting and trying new things together though he may be very shy while he does it he loves you so he tries.

S = Stamina (how long does it last?)

He can last quite long normally but against you he tires out quite quickly between your teasing and skills he's weak.

T = Toys (does he own toys? do he use them?)

He owns like 3 toys and that's normally for when he reaches his breaking point for you being away too long. Normally you guys don't use toys liking it to be just you two.

U = Unfair (does he like being teased)

He hates being teased even though it gets him going he prefers you just getting on with it.

V = Volume (how loud he is , what sounds he makes?)

He is so loud for a usually silent man you had to soundproof your bedroom. He makes the sweetest whines and moans only for you to enjoy.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon)

He sometimes wears plugs on missions full of your cum simply because he loves it. He also loves you showing possession of him like in front of Sakura when she gets a little too brave.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

5.5 inches not small but not quite big

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

It was low but as he began to date you he started to want sex more and more with how good it was. bUt not to that addictive state yet.

Z = Zzz (how quickly he fall asleep afterwards)

Very fast you have to coax him to stay awake though he will stay awake long enough to have aftercare.

Part 1 of 2