#Become what you hate Stanford. Do It

[inkyrainstorms]

I saw this post and had a vision @aroace-get-out-of-my-face

This will end in horrible bloodshed I fear

Individuals under cut!

[starlinggirll]

stanford!art except he's a bit crazy...inlove with you!

who...sneaks out of his dorm to sneak into yours. thankfully you got a dorm to yourself, so he can come in and out as much as he wants. his head resting against yours in his sleep has become a routine for him he's never getting tired of. and it also helps him make sure you arent with someone else at night.

who...is a bit friendly with other girls. he doesn't mean to! obviously. he's just naturally friendly, he didnt find it a problem until you mentioned how he let a girl in his class lean on him. he saw the way your usual bubbly persona turned into almost an insecure one. from that day on he beraly talks to other girls that arent you, and if he does, is because you're around. he cant risk losing you after all.

who...hates whenever he makes you upset. constantly asking you if you're okay, to the point where it kind of gets on your nerves but when you see his big blue eyes staring into yours, you cant help but smile. and sometimes if you're feeling needy, you shake your head just so he can coddle you more. and he loves that, loves that you think you're lying to him when instead he was waiting for you to do that. everything he does is for a reason, after all.

who...loves spoiling you! regardless if its snacks or expensive snacks, he loves gifting you stuff. specially since sometimes he feels like you arent satisfied with the way he treats you, he, in the most innocent pure way (hopefully), tries to buy your love.

who...hates whenever you talk to other boys. he always has his eyes on you, and when you talk to other boys he feels strong urge to drag you away. he doesn't know where it comes from, he has always been a territorial person, specially with patrick. but being with you, those thoughts and urges have spiked to the max.

who...gets irrationally mad when you go out without him. he doesn't get mad at you if you wear something revealing. if anything, he encourages. loves seeing you so confident and loves to brag about you. but when he isnt around he feels completely helpless. specially after you post a photo of the party, taking hours analyzing each picture to see if there's something/somebody that isnt supposed to be around you.

who...wants nothing but the best for you! he really does. he just...hates whenever you go out without him. the people that hangout with you? they dont know the real you. then dont know you the way he knows you. he knows whats best for you. or that's just what he tells you all the time he inside of you.

who...whispers sweet nothings in your ear while he'a fucking you. well kinda. from "i love yous" being shared between you two to "no one else gets to see you this way. no way. me and only me." you are too busy enjoying yourself to realize how he really does mean those words. how he's completely serious.

who...will never let you go now that he has you. he doesn't care what he has to do, threaten to kill himself? force you? he wouldn't think twice if it meant keeping you with him. but thankfully you love him too, obviously not in a creepy way like he does, but he has you hooked. and you have him hooked. its meant to be!

[gay-dorito-dust]

I saw the Dad! Stanley, could you make the Dad! Stanford one? Like how his reaction come back after 30 years saw Reader already become responsible adult

-🐈‍⬛

Ford kept a picture of you -his life’s greatest achievement- in his pocket at all times during his time in the multiverse, reminding him of who he had waiting for him back home when he felt as though he was at his limit.

Being a father was never on the docket but the moment you entered his life he dedicated himself to raising you as best as he could, even going so far as to do extensive amounts of research in preparation for any and every vital moment of your life.

You had became a pivotal part of his life and made everything he did even more important for he was doing it for you and the future you’d live in. He wanted you to grow up prepared for anything and everything life would throw at you, along with how to handle yourself for the inevitable day where he couldn’t be with you anymore. (He hates it as much as you did)

He commemorates everything you did and dedicated parts of his journals to you and your growth or things that you did that made him laugh. (You wore his coat once and Ford was fighting the demons within him known as cuteness aggression because of how it swamped your tiny form.)

An excerpt:

‘They look at me like I’m something and I’m worried that one day they’ll grow up and not view me as such when they see what I’ve done when they slept soundly in their crib, but all I do, I do for them.’

However this desire to watch you grow and be apart of your important developmental stages would be cut short when he fell into the portal when you were just 8 years old.

His last words before the portal closed entirely to Stanley were: ‘no! Y/n! I haven’t done everything I’ve wanted to do with them yet! Go trick or treating with them on Summerween! Go Fishing! Watch them grow up! Stanley, don’t leave them alone, they really hate being alone!’

And raise you Stanley did as he would try his hardest to keep your memory of Stanford alive and well, thinking it was the best he could do after accidentally taking his brother from you. He’d even make a whole album for when Ford comes back from the day he fell into the portal.

Stanley didn’t miss a single moment to capture you doing something adorable (dressed up as a paranormal detective for the summerween he took you out on) or similar to Ford himself (becoming curious about about the mystery of Gravity falls after an incident with a bunny demon and even making a series of journals yourself)

Stanley made sure to capture every little thing he could from you helping him run the shack, to you making your first friends, your little experiments on how much food Soos could stuff in his face without getting full. Which was fun until he always threw up.

You were so much like Ford it hurt Stanley to look at you sometimes because all he could see was his brother in you that he had to look away sometimes, and he knew that Ford would be so fucking proud of the person you grew up to be but also knew that he would hate himself for not being there for it all.

So when the day came when Ford finally retired home, his first words as he stepped out of the portal were; ‘where’s y/n?’

Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Stanley could only watch as you, a full grown adult of 38, stepped forward with tears in your eyes when meeting face to face with the man who raised you before his brother took over, reaching out to him whispering ‘dad?’

Ford was shocked to say the least when he looked over at this adult calling him dad, only for his brain to work fast and connect the dots as he pulls out the picture of you as a child from his coat pocket and made the connection that you and the smiling child in the picture he held close to his heart were one in the same.

You were now all grown up and he wasn’t there to see it happen with his own eyes, something that broke his heart into a million pieces knowing that he never got the chance to see it himself! The coat that hung off of your frame was his, he could clearly tell but it didn’t swamp your form like it use to, it suited you and the makeshift journal Ford saw you had clutched in your hand and knew you were his child in more ways then one.

You had his curiosity and his need to understand the unknown to great but sometimes dangerous depths, god he missed you so fucking much, his sweet child and his sweet child you’ll always will be in his eyes as he watched as you quickly walked towards him and hugged his frozen form tightly as you wept in his shoulder.

‘Dad.’ You said. ‘I’m all grown up.’

Ford chuckled weakly as he too found himself unable to keep the tears at bay, ‘I can see that sweetie pie,’ he said as he held you tightly against him. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to see it.’ He adds knowing that this will be one of his life regrets until the day he died, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use this time to catch up with you and learn all about you all over again.

‘It’s okay.’ You reassured him, clinging onto him as though he’d disappeared again. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to talk your ear off about all my expeditions, my theories and my thoughts on everything that’s been going off here.’

‘They really are cut from the very same cloth as you.’ Stanley told Stanford as he watched you tuck Dipper and Mabel into bed that night. ‘They’re smart and even graduated from a prestigious college at the top of their class, they were even valedictorian just like you back in highschool, but they came back to gravity falls because they wanted to dedicated themselves to helping me in getting you back.’ He adds as Stanford looks at his twin with tears in his eyes.

‘And I wasn’t there to watch them walk across that stage…’ he mutters and Stanley pulls out a photo that he had taken during your graduation ceremony and gave it to Ford who could only smile weakly as he took you in. You had blossomed so much when he was away and it broke Ford even more when he realised that he knew little to nothing about you now.

‘I’m such a terrible father.’ He tells Stanley who grips him by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye.

‘Hey! You are not a terrible father, they love you so much that they stay up late at night trying to decipher you work in hopes of finding a lead so that they could have their father back in their life. So don’t you dare say that about yourself when they’ve nothing but miss their father for the past 30 years!’ Stanley scolded him just as you walked into the hallway after bidding dipper and Mabel goodnight.

You heard them but decided not to speak up about it, after all today had been quite emotionally exhausting and all you wanted to do was sleep. ‘I’m going to bed, good night dad, good night uncle Stan.’

‘Hold it you.’ Stanley said as he walked over to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling away as he smiled at you. ‘Night pipsqueak.’ You smiled back before looking over at Ford, wanting to go to him and Stan could see the conflict in your eyes and pushed you towards his twin before retreating to his room.

‘So I was thinking that we could go monster hunting…you know like father and child. I’ve been trying to track down this dragon like creature that’s said to live on the highest mountain of gravity falls since its conception.’ You said awkwardly as Ford smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

‘I’d be glad too sweetheart, you don’t have to ask me to spend time with you because I’ll always want to spend time with my child.’ He replied and you couldn’t help but smile widely as you hugged him tightly again. Needless to say you and Ford made up for lost time in quick succession as you both ran away from being burnt alive by the massive dragon that was originally thought to be a myth.

[wokecipher]

Billy Pines AU

Say hi to an AU I started drawing right after the book came out, it's funny to see it show my art journey of learning to draw Bill Cipher over time.

(above being something I made yesterday vs the first time ever drawing for this idea)

This is an alternate universe of Gravity Falls, where during the collapse of Weirdmageddon, the Universe makes a teensy tiny mistake...

When Weirdmageddon was thwarted, the sudden release of chaotic energy accidentally flung a younger version of a familiar face right into Gravity Falls. This younger Bill Cipher stumbles around looking for his parents, lost and alone, until stumbling upon the statue of his "future" self.

He stays by the statue until he's found by Mabel Pines, who immediately panics and kicks him, not realizing that this tinier version of Cipher isn't the same as his counterpart.

(more doodles and huge infodump below! I plan on turning this all into a comic at some point, so, SPOILERS!! if I decide to do that, that is :P)

After the initial panic, Mabel ends up calming and realizing that this sobbing smushy version of Bill may... not be Bill. At the least, not in a way she's familiar with. She ends up retrieving Grunkle Ford who takes Billy away to study him, paranoid Bill somehow returned yet again.

Billy is frantic and confused, being in an entirely new reality is incredibly overwhelming and scary. He's also lonely and worrying, being away from his caregivers is intensely stressful and he is unable to go to them for help, comfort, or advice. Stanford is sadly not very nice at all to Billy, and sees him as a ruse by Bill to trick everyone into helping him... somehow.

Stanford and Stanley are both heavily against Billy and want him destroyed, Dipper wants him gone as well... but Mabel doesn't feel the same.

After awhile, Mabel becomes increasingly anxious over the scenario. She's worried that Billy isn't an actual threat, and starts wanting to help and understand him. Mabel is also feeling slightly guilty from kicking the kid. Meanwhile Dipper is frustrated and scared of Bill's potential return and fights against Mabel's various theories about Billy. One of Mabel's leading theories is that Billy is actually Bill's child, who just happened to show up at around the same time. She notes how young and confused he seems as evidence, alongside the obvious resemblance to Bill Cipher. Dipper thinks this is insane.

The two end up getting into an argument over the theory, leading to Mabel running out on Dipper because she's very upset over everything. It'd sorta go

Mabel would sort of start it, defensive, "He's just a baby, you guys can't do this to him without knowing it's Bill first!"

Dipper is frustrated "This is obviously a trick, Mabel! Bill is trying to trick us into... whatever this is!!" He'd probably waves his hands around, not sure what to do with himself.

Mabel is upset too, she wanted to defend the defenseless, "But what if he's not? What if he's just Bill's kid??"

"You'd take that chance?!" Dipper is very much done with this.

"... :(" Mabel doesn't really have a response. Because Mabel wants to say "YES!" but also she hates Bill too, and doesn't want him to hurt the people she cares about because of her again. So she'd probably get upset and just leave because this is VERY morally conflicting for her.

Later, Mabel decides to sneak into wherever Ford's lab is, and starts attempting to communicate with Billy. She draws and lets him draw too, but she does her best to be cautious. Mabel doesn't want to make a mistake and accidentally trust Bill again, she feels enough guilt for "starting Weirdmageddon" the first time (regardless of if its really her fault, regardless of how many times others reassure her).

(To note, Bill Cipher is still very much around, and very stuck in the Theraprism! I'd like to think he, at some point, found out about this "impostor" version of himself as a child through some doodle either Billy or Mabel made. He was probably flabbergasted and furious.)

Ford would eventually conclude this is probably not some evil plot by Bill, at least if it is, it's very convoluted and doesn't make too much sense for him to actually believe it.

Mabel eventually takes Billy home with her and Dipper because Ford can't handle being around Billy without acting very disturbed, and she can't in good conscious abandon the literal child. It also helps that she seems to be the only person Billy trusts at all.

Ford only allowed this with frequent visits and check ins.

To make this VERY long plot summary a bit shorter, what happens after this is general shenanigans a la the OG Gravity Falls show (minus the Bill Cipher drama, just fun hijinks and adventures)(there's still huge drama when it's discovered that Billy IS just Bill as a kid though, that sure won't end up deeply traumatic for any reason)!

But eventually, people grow up, people die, and Billy is left with an extinct world and alone, similar to his predecessor.

I don't think he'd turn out okay what so ever given he was ripped away from his home reality, got stuck in a place where he's hated by everyone, and raised by a family that was deeply traumatized by an alternative version of him so he's always eternally guilty for things he literally never did. Also, constantly not being able to interact with society, participate in things like school and being with people like him his age... yeah this kid isn't growing up stable I'm sorry.

Don't worry! After millions or billions of years, he ends up in the... exact same place as his counterpart. Good job Billy! Get better soon. Bill hates his ass so much.

That's all byyyyeee!

[clarisimart]

It's been months and my obsession with Ford Pines remains strong, I'm dozens on dozens of fanart and a (so far) 100k fic in, and I am still rotating him and his relationship with Bill in my mind like a microwave.

I've reached some conclusions tho

I think what I find SO SO fascinating about Ford and Billford is (along with Ford's general "there's something so so wrong with him ❤️" vibes) is that we are talking about just a guy (a freaky, and very smart geeky guy yes, but still a regular human) that managed to get A GOD obsessed with him.

I know I'm not the first to point this out, but like, Ford being obsessed/ worshiping bill? Yeah, duh! A being with phenomenal cosmic powers comes in with the secrets of the universe and showers you with praise and affection, ofc you become obsessed and devoted.

(AND YET it is not blind and unconditional, as soon as the scales fall from Ford's eyes that devotion turns to hate / desire for revenge)

However BILL, the cosmic horror, the god, becoming obsessed with Ford? Not only is it not expected or obvious, BUT ALSO BILL'S OBSESSION WITH FORD IS WAY, WAY MORE UNCONDITIONAL/ UNBREAKABLE THAN FORD'S.

Ford's been dedicating every single moment for 30 years into trying to kill Bill , and yeah the obsession remains, but he doesn't want cipher alive... BILL HOWEVER, HE DOESN'T FUCKING KILL THE ONLY GUY WHO ACTUALLY KNOWS HOW TO STOP AND OR KILL HIM DESPITE HAVING SO MANY CHANCES TO DO SO!!!

and the motherfucker triangle STILL THINKS HE CAN CONVINCE HIM TO JOIN HIM AND RULE WITH HIM?!?!?! FORD SHUTS DOWN THE PORTAL AND BILL STILL IS LIKE "OH ITS JUST A HISSY FIT, HE'LL CALM DOWN AND COME BACK TO ME"

FORD PUTS FUCKING METAL IN HIS SKULL TO KEEP HIM OUT, AND BILL IS STILL LIKE "STANFORD MY OLD PAL 🥰🥺❤️ FORDSY!!!!!😘😍 LET ME SERENADE YOU ❤️💜🧡💛💚🩵💙

Ford builds a weapon that can actually kill him and when he shoots at Bill with it, fully intending on killing him, Bill's reaction is being FUCKING HAPPY ABOUT FINDING FORD... UNBELIEVABLE

[bigfatbimbo]

helloooo surprise it’s the anon who requested Stanford hcs(and who also hates writing dom! male characters lol). Surprisingly, I’m here for Bill!

this is not so much a request as it is me just rambling and being curious about your thoughts, but what do you think of bill going into. . . subspace? is it even possible for him, would anything even be intense enough to get him so submerged into the moment like that? how would he even act? I wonder if he’d even enjoy it, since it could leave him feeling pretty out of control. . . maybe.

I’ll Give You Anything!

summary — subspace!Bill Cipher headcanons and drabbles

a/n — Hi anon! This is such a great question, and i’ve been itching to answer it. Also, feel free to mark yourself with an emoji next time!

⃤ The idea of Bill Cipher going into subspace intrigues me just as much, if not more, as the idea of him subbing in the first place. 

⃤ Let’s start off with the obvious: chances are, if he ever did, you wouldn’t remember.

⃤ To be in such a weak vulnerable state would most likely not be on purpose, so no matter how well you treat him, he’d probably always pluck the memory out of your head. 

⃤ As to whether the idea is even possible, that’s iffy. On one hand, human feelings are watered down sensations to him in the first place, although new and exciting, it’d take a lot to get him to even be a somewhat ‘mess.’ And even then he’d be fully conscious. 

⃤ On the other hand, a human sexual pleasure is probably a foreign and unexplored concept to him, honestly, as well as in his own body—not even sure it’s possible in his normal form—so it’s not crazy to say that certain sensations would have some sort of overwhelming pleasure. 

⃤ Although, even then it’s incredibly unlikely that he’d be submerged in such a deep euphoria, or let his guard down enough to even consider the idea. Even when you’re topping, he’s still a god and you’re not. 

⃤ I think this could change if the reader was a more powerful being. [i’ll elaborate if asked]

⃤ So let’s consider for a moment, what would Bill Cipher in subspace look like?

Mascara smudged from the beads of sweat dripping down his face, mouth stuck in a dreamy dazed smile. Still muttering something, as always, but just a tad whinier than usual, as breathy. 

How long has it been since he’s been taken care of? If he can just pluck the memory afterwards, then why not indulge. He’s earned it. Leaning back and fully whining for you, loudly wanting, no, needing more. 

He grabs for you absentmindedly, trying but failing to take note of the way you react. Surprise? No no.. he can barely tell now. Doesn’t matter as long as you keep doing what you’re doing to him. He thinks he cries something out, but he can’t hear.

New sensations, curiosity plagues him, as well as unsurmountable pleasure, and yet, self respect escapes him. It doesn’t matter now, if he’s still embarrassed after you’ve forgotten, he can always just showcase his power over you. Insurance. 

His mind fogs, and he becomes louder.

“I—i’ll give you anything, worlds, galaxies, the stars, just— ah— keep going!”

“Anything?” You purr.

He almost wishes you’d be able to remember him like this tomorrow. Almost.

[stanart4clearskin]

stanford!art x best friend!reader

a/n: i made myself cry while writing this. maybe it’s because this happened to me lol

“do you think we’ll ever lose touch?”

“why would that happen?”

“you’ll be on the tennis team. maybe you’ll become too busy for me.”

“that’s bullshit.”

that conversation had been playing in your head in a loop from the moment you stepped foot into the crowded frat house and your eyes landed on art. the two of you hadn’t talked since freshman year and that had been nearly three years ago. the falling out hadn’t been messy or full of drama—it had been slow and gradual. the kind of loss of friendship that happens naturally and neither party is brave enough to acknowledge it. you thought that losing your best friend wouldn’t have been that easy but it was simple. whenever you reached out he wouldn’t respond for days and then you found yourself waiting for him to text first—he never did. sometimes you laid in bed and wondered if the loss of your guys’ friendship affected him as much as it did you. you wondered if he laid in bed mourning the loss of his best friend like you did.

you watched as art chatted happily with his friends, beer sloshing whenever they would clink their glasses together. you couldn’t help but feel a dull ache in the pit of your stomach when you saw how happy he was with his other friends. he had been your best friend and now he was practically a stranger.

the rest of the party had gone by in a blur—you downing shots and quickly leaving the room whenever art’s group entered it. before you knew it, your friends were all heading out but you lingered behind. normally you wouldn’t have even thought about talking to art but under the influence of a few drinks it felt like a great idea. you waited for art to slip off to the bathroom before following after him.

“art,” you said, your words slightly slurred. you watched as he turned around with a smirk on his face and how it faltered when he realized who had been talking. an uncomfortable silence settled over the both of you, the music from the other room vibrating through the walls.

he cleared his throat. “oh, um… long time no see.” his voice was strained and his shoulders were tense as he looked everywhere but you.

you took a small step forward. “that’s all you have to say?” you nearly scoff. after all this time you would’ve thought he missed you or at least had the decency to lie to you and say he did.

art’s eyes finally lifted to meet yours. “what else am i supposed to say?” he took a step forward and the both of you were just a foot apart.

“maybe asking me how i’ve been doing these past three years would be a good fucking start.” you felt yourself getting angry at him but you couldn’t help it. he was acting like you hadn’t been his best friend since elementary school.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “can we not do this right now? i need to use the ba-”

you cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “if we don’t do this right now we’re never going to have this conversation,” you said firmly. “all i want to know is why you stopped being my friend.” you rapidly blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. merely thinking about the loss of friendship made you upset but seeing him blatantly disregard the years you spent together was like a knife to your heart.

art winced at your tone and how you were about to cry. he always hated it when you cried. “i- we didn’t… it just happened.”

your brows furrowed in confusion. “it just…happened?”

he shrugged, “you know, we just lost touch. it was bound to happen.” his words shocked you into silence. “listen i have to go,” he said, offering you a weak smile and headed towards the bathroom.

you stood in the middle of the hall watching once more as your best friend slipped from your grasp. you hadn’t even noticed the tears falling down your cheeks until you tasted the salt on your lips.

"do you think we'll ever lose touch?"

"why would that happen?"

"you'll be on the tennis team. maybe you'll become too busy for me."

"that's bullshit."

[ultravi0lence14]

FREAK

SAM WINCHESTER X STANFORD!READER

WARNINGS: standord!era sam, fluff, suggestive content

SUMMARY: no one understands how you, the campus sweetheart and queen of stanford, could go out with such a loser like sam winchester. little did those prying eyes know, that your man had more to him then met the eye.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

the roaring crowd deafened your hearing, making the bumping music even more agitating then it already was.

you had no idea why you came to this stupid party anyway. it was a celebration for the school’s football teams latest win, and if it wasn’t for your best friend dating the quarterback, you would bet your entire life savings that you would be home right now, snuggled in bed with sam and watching a movie on tv.

this wasn’t the type of crowd that sam would usually find himself in, and you were starting to regret not staying back and playing scrabble with him like he asked.

stanford’s community was amazing, don’t get it twisted, but you also liked your peace and quiet, meaning that a loud party with even more boisterous and testosterone filled football boys was not high on your list.

“girl cmon,” your friend lily giggled, stumbling towards you and sloshing the contents of her alcohol filled cup over the rim. “have some fun! jason just told me they are bringing the kegs out, and i know you would absolutely demolish a keg stand!”

“yeah, absolutely not.” you grimaced, eyes wandering towards where a group of boys were holding up someone’s legs and cheering them on. “i’d rather do anything but that, lil.”

lily just sighed, putting her cup on the coffee table by her side and crossing her arms over her chest. “you’re no fun anymore, girlie. i swear, ever since you started seeing sam winchester you’ve become a total stick in the mud.”

a flare of annoyance sparked in your belly at her words. you and lily were close — having met from being roommates in your freshman year, yet you hated how her, her stupid boyfriend jason, and his even stupider football friends talked about your boyfriend.

yeah, sam was quiet, reserved, and didn’t like to party all that much, but that didn’t make him a loser. you weren’t with him because of that, you were with sam because he was kind, caring, the sweetest boy you’d ever met, and a god when it came to eating you out.

eyes narrowing, you hadn’t even opened your mouth to defend your boyfriends honour before a grating one beat you to it. “you’ve got that right babe.”

of course. wherever lily went her annoying boyfriend jason followed. and wherever jason went his even more annoying friend kyle followed along too.

smiling sarcastically at the two dickhead’s in front of you, your eyes couldn’t help but glance over to lily, who wasn’t even paying attention to you anymore; to busy making goo goo eyes at jason.

“you’ve never even talked to sam before, jason,” you sneered, giving the tall and brooding man the nastiest death stare you could muster. “all of you are so quick to rip on him when you haven’t even given him a chance!”

jason just made a psh noise, waving his hand around before draping it on lily’s waist. “what’s there to give a chance for? he’s a fucking nerd, don’t even know why you’re with him anyways.”

now you were fucking pissed. steam was practically coming out of your ears, and you had to remind yourself to not go full on protective mode over the 6’4 man you called your boyfriend.

“i’m with him ‘cause he’s not a fucking dick, unlike someone i know.” sneering over at the now slightly shocked man, you turned to lily and gave her a glare that could rival the one you just gave her boyfriend. “wow, you really know how to pick ‘em lil.”

with that you turned around, storming out of the student house where the party was being held and trudging in the direction of yours and sam’s shared apartment.

“i fucking hate him!” the loud and aggressive tone of voice you were using was you stalked into your apartment didn’t even surprise sam. all the man in question did was slowly look up from his book, dog ear his page and give you an incredulous stare that told you to go on.

“hello to you too, honey,” sam’s voice was smooth and soft, a small lilt of a smile breaking through as he saw you storm towards the couch. “what happened? how was the party?”

“it fucking sucked.” you bit out, dropping down beside sam and instantly curling into his side. the man in question didn’t hesitate before he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, burrowing you further into his side.

“jason’s a prick,” you breathed, looking up to see sam’s eyebrows raise in question. “he thinks he’s so much better than everyone ‘cause he can throw a stupid ball. always talking down to me and our relationship, it’s fucking infuriating.”

at your words, sam’s hand around your shoulder tightened, making you look at him with a curious look. “what did he say to you?” sam’s words came out through his teeth, and you could see the malice swimming in his eyes. “did he push his limits? because i swear to god-“

“calm down macho man,” you giggled, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him through your lashes. “it wasn’t anything too bad, just his usual shit.” running your nail down his chest, you smirked up at sam as his frame visibly deflated. “i love when you get all protective,” you spoke through a grin. “makes me feel all tingly inside.”

the puff of air that sam expelled from his lips was proof enough that his short reigned anger had dissipated. pulling you closer to his chest, the man who had stolen your heart dropped a loving kiss onto the crown of your head. “you know how i feel about him, baby. and you know that if he steps even one toe out of line, i’ll drop the whole ‘nerd’ act he’s classified me in and show him the hunter.”

yes, sam had told you about his upbringing and all the supernatural hullabaloo, and honestly, you were decently okay with it. it took sometime to really garner everything, but after a while, you honestly took it with a grain of salt. hunting didn’t define sam, and you were just happy that he was as smart of a man as he was after the trauma he had to endure.

it was also endearing that he could probably beat jason down to the ground without a second thought, and you really smiled at that picture.

“my big, brave hunter,” you smirked out lifting your chin up so you could press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “somehow, you get even more sexy when you talk all protective.”

smirking, sam shifted so he could lay you down on the couch, arms by your head as his body weight melded on top of yours. “your my girl, baby. if someone makes you upset, i’m going to sort it out.”

deftly, your fingers clutched the back of his neck, arms around his shoulders as you used your leverage to pull his face down to yours. “good.” you smiled, lips pressing against his in a soft and sensual kiss.

sam’s hands were everywhere; on your hips, in your hair, smoothing down your cheeks. he kissed so passionately and so deeply that you felt it in your bones. and when his tongue broke free from his mouth, eliciting a moan from your lips when he explored your mouth, you knew that he was planning to do something to you tonight.

grabbing your thighs so they wrapped around his hips, sam lifted off the couch without breaking apart from your lips. feverishly, you attacked his mouth as you clung to him like a lifeline; arms tightly clutching his shoulders as his hands were placed underneath your ass.

“c’mon,” he groaned out, breaking apart from your mouth so he could kiss down your neck. “let me show my girl something good.”

“please do.” you breathed, body bouncing as he dropped you on the mattress.

TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @haunteres @bluemerakis @deanssun @deanangel @gibson-g1rl @florchids @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @flow33didontsmoke @whump-loverz

NAT BABBLES: now why did this idea come to me as i was reading the boys of tommen book series??? (also can you tell i am giving these side characters the most basic and generic names known to man)

DIVIDER CREDS TO @strangergraphics

[jack-fruit]

Hello tumblr I have a Billford species swap AU that I have no plans to do anything with but makes me ill.

A lot of this is copied from discord so bear with me if anything sounds weird:

The stage, if you will: Bill Cipher is a college grad who held parties at his frat house first and went to classes second. Despite this, he managed to charm and improvise and scheme his way into graduating with flying colors. He lands an internship, but quickly decides he hates being bossed around and decides to start his own business. Maybe it's a crypto scam, maybe it's a somewhat successful business that is a front for illegal drug sales, or maybe it's a tourist trap. Up in the air.

Point is, even as he wiggles his way into- what most would consider- a pretty cozy life: one where he can still throw parties and boss people around to his liking. He's still Bill Cipher. And he wants *more*. And one day, maybe in a cave, maybe on an abandoned street corner- somewhere few other souls dare to tread- he finds an inscription written in code. And he's not stupid, but he is curious (and egotistical: surely he can best any beast that crawls forth), so he works on translating it, finding the inscription promises scientific knowledge beyond comprehension if spoken.

Bill reads it, and while he's wary, what comes to him is no demon or monster, but a little shape. He introduces himself, excitedly talks to Bill about how he's laid put many inscriptions, just like this one, scattered throughout different planets and different universes, but Bill is the first human to successfully translate one. He tells Bill about where he's from, about other dimensions and Bill...well. Why try and become king of the earth, when you can become king of the *multiverse*.

So he goads the little thing along. Praises him, thanks him for his share of knowledge, tells him his idea. To build a portal and bring human civilization to the multiverse at large. And of course Stanford (call me Ford!) Is enthusiastic about the idea. He even tells Bill about this fantastic little spot in the universe that's weaker than the rest the hole could be punched through. Helps him with the blueprints. Doesn't realize *what* Bill really is. A monster

Additional notes:

Their backstories are kinda mishmashed. Ford grew up with a twin but always felt out of place. He tried to share knowledge with the people of his dimension and somehow ended up lost from home, unable to return. He tells himself it was worth it- to help try and enlighten them. And even if he failed there, he won’t fail for others

Bill burned down his entire neighborhood as a kid and had to change his name and book it. No one knows how he wasn’t caught for this.

Instead of playing up the muse/god angle, Bill takes a different approach. Bc as he's first getting to know Ford and feeling around him, he learns that many species *do* view him as a god or at least a benevolent entity. And while Ford is clearly charmed by those views, he also clearly views them as silly people with silly ideas about the universe at large. No. If Bill wants to gain his trust, they need to be equals. They need to be *friends*.

Ford genuinely wants to spread knowledge and discovery to as many places as possible and he likely succeeds. And of course being viewed as a god or benevelot deity certainly does great things to his ego. But deep down- it is about discovery. About learning as much as he can and encouraging others to do so as well. And while he's definitely ran into those with ill intent before none have been quite so sneaky about it as Bill has. And none quite so charming. So *understanding*

Ford thinks of Bill as his cute little human pet that slowly morphs into friendship as he realizes wow. Humans really are quite clever and carry on such lovely conversation while the whole time Bill is like "I need him in a nice roomy birdcage I need to contain him the other aliens we find can all be sold off for all I care but this one my personal little pet" so there's straight up a period where they're both like "I love my dog" ab the other

Bill does fumble god here

Also here’s a drawing I did these are canon designs i worked really hard on bill:

[creatorofarcadia]

It's been a while since I watched Supernatural, so don't take my opinions as gospel or anything. But I think Dean is self-hating to the point of narcissism in some ways. Don't get me wrong, I empathise with Dean and understand why fans largely do too. But his self-loathing warps his perception and becomes the centre of EVERYTHING and at times that really has ripple effects on those around him - particularly Sam.

Take their childhood, Sam has a right to mourn the fact that he didn't get a normal childhood. He's allowed to be angry that he didn't get a home, a present father, a stable community, and consistent education. But whenever Sam attempts to express his complicated feelings about his childhood, Dean immediately interprets it as ' oh I was supposed to look out for you. Are you saying I failed? Are you confirming I'm worthless?' which grinds the conversation to a complete halt. Because of Dean's intense self-criticism, Sam can never really be 100% honest with him or ask for support with his own issues, especially regarding their childhood. As anything outside of 100% gratitude just becomes another stick for Dean to beat himself with, and the conversation is immediately derailed.

Not only does Deans self-hatred mean that Sam's expression of his own experiences are pretty consistently shut down. In some ways, I think Dean strips Sam of his autonomy - he's so self-loathing, he sees every decision Sam makes as being about/a reaction to him. A good example of this is Stanford. Rather than understanding Stanford for what it was, an attempt by Sam to carve out a better life from himself and escape hunting. Dean views it as betrayal or abandonment, some re-affirmation of his own belief that he's not worth caring about. Rather than understanding it's a rejection of hunting, he sees it as Sam rejecting him. To Dean, Sam isn't attempting to find a better life, he's punishing the family.

Overall, it's interesting that people largely and rightfully sympathise with Dean due to his self-hatred. However, I don't see as much discussion about how his self-hatred doesn't just hurt him, it hurts those he's close to, as it colours his interpretation of their every action. Dean's self-loathing is always the biggest thing in the room and that has consequences.

[pix-writes]

The post of Ford being naturally affectionate haven't leave my mind omg but (in your opinion) what about the other way? What would happen if the reader is casually affectionate to the Stan's? Rubbing their hand on their back, leaning their head to his shoulders, briefly touching their hair, etc

I think they are both naturally affectionate, it comes out in them in little ways. But omg if someone did it to them?! Absolutely flustered! I think we've seen a lot from the series and so forth to suggest that both of them don't quite know what to do when someone turns the tables on them, and is geniunely interested in them.

(rest under cut)

Stanley loves it, he'll not think too much of you putting an arm around him or something small like that, but more affectionate touching (e.g your hand rubbing his back) without him somehow initiating it? He's a mess, he's not used to it and gets flustered in the beginning! He panics just a teensy bit and if you ask if he's okay or try to stop the touch he'll reassure you its fine, but he's doing a bad job at maintaining that smooth, confident facade, for sure ^^'

He'll make a few little jokes about it if he feels too startled about you initiating casual affection, even ones that are a little flirty, cause he does like it, he's just not used to it. (like "woah there, toots! hands off the merchandise!" or "you feel that? that's made of husband material!" *wink wink*) xD

He may even confess he doesn't think he'll ever get used to it, which (un)fortunately for him only spurs you on to do it as much as possible. (On a sadder note, I think Stanley has gone without so much affection, especially romantically, or has been used to things going badly in the past, that he might have some moments he's suspicious that you have ulterior motives. But I think, since having the twins over for the summer and reconnecting with his brother he'd be less jumpy/paranoid.)

But he likes a little bit of PDA, Stan's heart will swell with pride and affection at some of those touches, especially if you lean your head on his shoulder, link your arm through his, those sorts of things. It feels 'gentlemanly' to him, like when he used to go to the pictures as a kid, where the young lead would 'court' girls in the movies he watched. I mean, he watches the duchess approves, this man has a romantic streak! Just don't call him a sap, he'll never admit to it. Though, after a while he'll lean into it, and when he does he'll 'get you back' for being affectionate to him, like when you came up to kiss him on the cheek when he had a lull in the tour he was doing? Expect 'revenge' in the form of being teased mercilessly

(the kissing exchange rate is exceptionally high, so now you will receive 5 kisses back! The next day it's 10 kisses, 'why is it so high', you say? inflation ya know? but then stan forgets to count and is like 'ah, screw it!' and drops the play act to properly smooch you <3 if dipper and mabel are around to see these antics they will voice how gross this is haha)

Stanford is more or less the same, in that he has gone without such affection for long periods of time, even if he had friends in other dimensions. Man is more touched starved and not as open (initially) to casual affection from someone, but once he becomes more familiar with you, he would be naturally affectionate too! It catches him off guard a lot more in comparison to his brother, though, he's still adjusting a little to 'normal' life, so its best to make sure he's aware that you're going to touch him as the contact might make him literally jump, out of pure instinct!

He's definitely flustered and surprised that someone else is initiating touch/affection with him, at first he is a little bewildered and feels insecure, he's out of his depth as he feels like doesn't know how to reciprocate and he hates the feeling; he feels bad because he is touch starved some of the time he becomes touch averse. (He'll have to bite the bullet and communicate that it's okay, instead of having an internal meltdown; he's been healing well from the past, so he'll quickly realise this is needed.)

So, he settles into welcoming it, he may be out of practice but it's nice to have someone who is comfortable around him so much that they would want to rest a head on his shoulder or hold his hand or let him hug them. That's just what friends do and he will start to trust and feel safer around you more, for the casual affection you show.

He's a little more reserved than his brother, but nevertheless he does like the attention - especially in public, though he's not really one for PDA, he likes holding your hand.

Just might take him a while to fully realise when its romantic vs platonic, potentially, but if you're already in the romantic zone, I think he'd be a lot more aware that you're being affectionate and he'd still have times he'll blush because of it and get all dreamy-eyed since he's not used to it, but also he just loves the reassurance your physical touch gives him that you love him too! He definitely confesses at points that he doesn't know if he'll ever get used to the casual affection you give to him so easily, will sometimes even apologise for being caught off guard by your affection. Does (rarely) get a little annoyed by your affection when he's absorbed in his work becuase he doesn't want to be distracted ^^' but that's only because physical touch is actually a strong love language for him, he tends to feel like he's been switched off or short circuiting when you rub your hand across his back or through his hair, he'll never finish those equations now! hehehe

(have you ever seen those tiktoks where someone is like asking my nerdy bf about *insert interest here* whilst wearing something revealing, or something along those lines and they get all flustered and trip over htier words? yeah, that's Ford! He'll make a good attempt at trying to be composed at first tho, but it's ultimately gonna fail!)

[alexthebordercollie]

while i know logically Emma-May and Stanford likely never interact in person in the dad au, I can't get this idea for an interaction out of my head:

Emma-May: would you level with me for a moment, what does he see in you?

Ford: I'll be honest, I have no idea. If it makes you feel any better, I didn't even understand the situation until recently

Emma-May: why would that make- how do you even accidentally have an affair with someone?

Ford: I, uh, don't have a lot of friends outside of Fiddleford and my brother. And my past relationships have been... complicated... to say the least.

Emma-may: bless your heart you are a hot mess

Ford: ...I'm aware

Actually no! In PapaFord Emma-May eventually moves to Gravity Falls to better co-parent with Fiddleford. She becomes a regular staple in Ford's life. Initially, she just hates him for a range of understandable reasons and oddly specific personal ones, but they do eventually form a positive relationship as part of a sort of blended family. I love this dialogue here and it feels exactly like a conversation they would have so I drew it out for you just as is.

[tacobacoyeet]

my boo | art donaldson x tashi duncan x patrick zweig x reader

warnings: SMUT 18+, injuries, stanford!patrick au, i didn't proofread this but from what i did read i hate it

It started before anyone had the words for it.

Before they were names on magazine covers. Before the courts smelled like blood and money. Before everything got complicated.

Back when it was still sunscreen and sweat and empty courts lit up too late at night. Back when you were just kids in too-big sweatshirts, shoulder to shoulder in lecture halls, trying not to fall asleep after early practice. Back when you could still pretend that everything didn’t mean something.

Stanford was a blur of red brick and sun-glare, of cafeteria coffee that tasted like dishwater, of skipping class to sit on cracked bleachers and watch Art practice alone because Tashi had a knee wrap and Patrick said he was too hungover. It was pretending your heart didn’t leap when one of them looked at you longer than they should have. It was Art pressing a Gatorade into your hand without asking. Tashi pulling your braid loose and doing it over again just because she said it was crooked. Patrick stealing your ChapStick and never giving it back, mouth quirked like he knew it meant something.

You didn’t mean for it to become what it did. No one ever does.

But it did.

And for a while, it worked. Messy, yes. But full of something real. A closeness you couldn’t explain if you tried. Nights curled in bed together after team dinners, Tashi tracing the shape of your collarbone, Art half-asleep at your back, Patrick on the floor with his headphones on and a knee bouncing like he couldn’t stop moving even when he wanted to. Kisses shared and swapped like secrets, the lines between them blurring so fast you forgot who started what.

You loved them. All of them. Differently. Fiercely. You didn’t pick favorites.

Not until you had to.

Because eventually the hurt came. The ego. The pressure. The match losses that felt like betrayals. The rumors. The way Tashi stopped calling you first. The way Patrick kissed you like he was mad at you for knowing too much. The way Art said I don’t want this anymore with his eyes three months before he said it with his mouth.

And when it shattered, it shattered for good.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until New Rochelle.

But that came later. Long after the last smashed racket. Long after the locker room door slammed so hard it cracked. Long after the last look from Tashi across the net, sharp and wet-eyed and full of something that could’ve been hate if you hadn’t known her heart.

Before that—

There were still long afternoons where Patrick would fall asleep face-down on your Econ textbook in the quad, sunlight haloing his hair and sweat pooling beneath his cheek. Still early morning practice drills where Art would grab you by the waist mid-jog and spin you in a full circle just to make you laugh. Still nights when Tashi would pull you into her dorm bathroom to sit cross-legged on the tile while she painted your toenails and talked about Wimbledon like it was already a foregone conclusion.

They hadn’t broken yet.

And neither had you.

But the real break came later.

It happened during the championship final.

You still remember the heat radiating off the court, the shimmer of sweat on your skin, the way the air felt like it was holding its breath. You were playing the best tennis of your life—sharp, clean, focused—until you weren’t. Until your knee gave out with a snap that echoed louder than the crowd. You dropped hard, the racket tumbling from your hand, your mouth open in a silent scream as the pain split you in half.

Tashi was the first one to run to you. Art was right behind her. Coach was yelling something from the sidelines, but all you could hear was the pounding in your ears and the tremble in Tashi’s voice as she cupped your face, begging you to say something, anything.

Patrick wasn’t there.

He hadn’t shown up.

Not to the match. Not to the bench. Not even to the edge of the crowd. And no one knew why.

You were carried off the court. Tashi’s hand never left yours.

And it was in the trainer’s room, with your knee wrapped and ice burning through the swelling, when Patrick finally appeared. Out of breath. Hair a mess. Eyes wide, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start.

"I didn’t know it was—" he began, but Tashi was already in front of you, standing like a shield.

"Get the fuck out," she said.

Art stood, jaw clenched. "Seriously, man. Now? Now you want to show up?"

Patrick’s voice cracked. "I made a mistake."

You didn’t say anything.

You wanted to. But the pain was too sharp, and not all of it was in your leg.

"I just—I didn’t think—"

"No," Tashi snapped. "You didn’t. You never fucking think when it matters."

Patrick looked at you. Just you.

"I’m sorry," he said, softer.

But before you could answer—before you could even blink—Art stepped forward and shoved him.

"Get the fuck out, Patrick!"

Patrick blinked like he couldn't believe what just happened. Maybe he couldn't. Maybe none of them could. But Tashi was still shouting, her voice rising with every breath, anger bleeding into grief, into panic, into the sharp, high-pitched register of someone who’s breaking and trying not to. Art was pacing now, fists clenched at his sides, glaring holes through the floor when he wasn’t glaring at Patrick.

And you were still on the table.

Wrapped in gauze and ice and painkillers, your voice caught behind your teeth. You tried to speak—twice. The first time, it was nothing but a rasp. The second, a barely audible, "Stop."

They didn’t hear you. Or they did and ignored it. Maybe it was easier that way. Maybe it was easier to be angry than to admit how afraid they both were. How much it scared them to see you fall.

"Tash—" you tried again, a little louder this time, but she was already mid-sentence, something about loyalty, about letting people down, about how she knew Patrick would flake when it mattered most.

"I said I’m sorry!" Patrick’s voice cracked, and this time it wasn’t defensive. It was raw. Unprotected. "I was coming—I didn’t mean to—"

"You weren’t there," Art snapped, stepping forward again like he might shove him twice. "She went down and you weren’t there. You don’t come back from that."

"Stop," you said, finally loud enough to make the room pause.

The silence that followed was brittle.

Your voice shook. "Just… stop. Please."

But it was too late. Patrick was already backing away. Tashi's jaw was set like stone. Art wouldn’t even look at you.

And the ache in your chest was suddenly worse than the one in your leg.

Because the room didn’t soften. No one moved to you. No one listened. Tashi was pacing now, muttering under her breath, the words sharp-edged and crumbling. Art had turned away completely, both hands braced on the wall like he was trying to hold the whole world up on his own.

You shifted, wincing, pulling the blanket tighter around your lap. You said their names—quiet, careful, begging. But neither of them turned. Neither of them even flinched.

"Tashi," you tried. "Art. Please."

Tashi turned first, but the look on her face was so twisted with anger and something deeper—betrayal, maybe—that you almost wished she hadn’t.

"You don’t get it," she snapped. "You’re defending him right now? After everything?"

"I’m not defending him," you said, and it came out sharper than you meant, desperation crawling up your throat. "I’m asking you to stop turning this into something it doesn’t have to be."

Art finally looked at you, and it broke something. Because his eyes didn’t soften. They hardened. Like the fact that you weren’t angry enough made you guilty by association.

"You think we’re just going to pretend this didn’t happen?" he asked. "That he didn’t leave you alone out there?"

"No," you whispered. "I think I’m the one who was left. By all of you."

Tashi recoiled. Art’s jaw clenched. No one spoke.

And it was the last thing you said to them for a very long time.

The years that follow are quieter. Not because there’s nothing to say, but because you don’t know who would listen.

Tashi and Art stay together. You see it in headlines before you hear it from anyone else. A doubles tournament in Paris. A Nike ad. An engagement post with a caption that says something about teamwork and timing—and you have to close the app before you look too long at the way his hand rests on her waist like it belongs there.

Patrick comes back. Eventually. Not in the way you expect, and not all at once. He finds you in a coffee shop in Atlanta, three years after you graduated, and it’s awkward at first—mismatched greetings and stilted words. But it smooths over. Not back to what it was—never that—but something gentler. Something knowing. The two of you talk about anything but tennis. Sometimes you go months without hearing from him, but when he shows up, he stays for a while.

He never got back to where he was. Last time you checked, he was ranked 271st in the men’s circuit. Still playing, still pushing, but something in him never quite healed. Maybe it was never just about the match.

And you—you had to learn how to live outside the game. For so long, you were the top player. The one they all measured themselves against. And then, in a single second, you weren’t. You tried physical therapy. You tried coaching. You tried disappearing. None of it worked the way tennis used to.

Now, you live in a city where no one recognizes you, and some mornings you jog past courts with peeling lines and wonder if anyone remembers. If they still say your name like it used to mean something.

Art and Tashi are at the top now. They’ve won things you dreamed about together. Their names are printed in gold on posters in airports.

Yours isn’t.

But you breathe. You sleep. You wake up and drink your coffee and sometimes you smile at the quiet. You’re not whole, but you’re still here.

And that has to count for something.

New Rochelle wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You didn’t even know the tournament was happening until the third day. You weren’t paying attention—not to the draws, not to the rankings, not to the sport you’d trained your entire life to love. You’d spent too many years trying to forget the sound of a hard court under your shoes, the stretch of your serve, the way your name used to echo when it was announced.

But then Patrick called.

You let it ring twice. Then again. You almost didn’t answer. But something in your chest moved—familiar and unfinished—and you picked up.

"Hey," he said, voice scratchy with early morning. "You got a second?"

He didn’t ask how you were. He didn’t need to.

"What’s up?" you said, already knowing it wasn’t nothing.

He hesitated. You heard the shuffle of fabric, the faint buzz of static like he was walking through a hallway. "He’s here."

You didn’t ask who. You didn’t have to.

"He’s playing?"

"Last-minute wildcard. Challenger bracket. They’re trying to get him back into rhythm or something." Patrick’s voice softened, like it hurt him to say it. "He’s in the final."

You closed your eyes.

"Against you?"

"Yeah."

You didn’t say anything.

"He doesn’t know I called," Patrick added. "I just... I thought maybe you’d want to be here."

You looked down at your hands. At the scar on your knee. At the ghost of something that used to be everything.

"I don’t know if I should," you said.

Patrick was quiet for a long moment. Then—

"Maybe not. But I think he needs you."

And somehow, that was the thing that broke you.

You packed a bag before the call even ended.

You were on the train before you let yourself ask why.

Patrick meets you at the hotel.

You don’t expect him to be there—you figured you’d check in, maybe grab something terrible from the vending machine, spend the rest of the evening staring at the ceiling. But there he is, leaning against the far wall of the lobby like he’s part of the decor. His hoodie is clean but frayed, a duffel bag slouched at his feet like even it’s tired.

"You came," he says. No smile. Just that familiar half-lidded look like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.

You nod. "Yeah."

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. Then, "I wasn’t sure you would."

"Neither was I."

The silence stretches between you—thick, unspoken things settling into the carpet between your shoes. And then he exhales, like something's uncoiling in his chest.

"I’m not staying here," he says, nodding toward the check-in desk. "Can’t afford it. Been… couch-hopping. Tinder dates, mostly." He shrugs, like it’s just a fact. "Some of them let me crash. Others don’t. Got lucky with one last week—place had a Keurig."

You blink. "Patrick."

He just shrugs again, this time with a smile that doesn't touch his eyes. "It’s not that bad. I’m used to making things stretch."

You don’t know what to say. Not really. So you just ask, "You want to crash with me tonight?"

He looks at you then—really looks—and you see the flicker of pride there, the instinct to say no. But he’s tired. And he’s been alone for too long.

"There’s only one bed," you add, voice quiet.

He huffs a laugh. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

You don’t say anything else. You just grab your key from the counter and nod for him to follow.

And when you open the door and toss your bag onto the single, wide bed, neither of you pretends it’s just about a place to sleep.

The room is quiet for a long time.

Too quiet. The kind that stretches. The kind that vibrates just under your skin. You lie with your back to him, staring at the beige curtain, tracing the way the streetlight outside cuts through the fold in the fabric. You think he’s asleep, until he says, low and dry, "You look like shit."

You let out a tired laugh, half buried in the pillow. "You look worse."

He hums like he agrees. A rustle of sheets behind you, like he’s turned onto his back. "This is weird, right?"

You nod even though he can’t see it. "Yeah."

More quiet. The kind that feels heavier the longer it lasts.

"I keep trying not to touch you," he says finally.

You exhale. "Same."

Patrick shifts again, then says, softer, "It still hurts."

You roll onto your back, eyes tracing the ceiling now. "What does?"

He doesn’t answer right away. "The match. What happened after. You. Them. All of it."

Your chest tightens. "It wasn’t just you, Patrick."

"I know." A beat. "But I never said sorry the right way. I still don’t think I know how."

You turn your head to look at him. He’s on his side now, eyes on the ceiling like if he meets your gaze, it’ll be too much.

"Do you ever think about them?" you ask.

"Every day."

He glances at you, jaw tight. "Do you still hate me?"

You don’t answer. Not right away. Then, "No. I never did."

Another pause. His voice comes out hoarse. "I think about you all the time. You in the trainer’s room. You trying to speak and none of us letting you."

You don’t know who moves first.

But suddenly he’s close. Closer than he should be. His breath is warm against your cheek. You don’t kiss him. Not right away. You just look at him and feel everything.

And when his lips finally press to yours—soft, slow, and unsure—you let them.

Because there are still too many things that never got said.

And some of them need to be felt first.

The kiss starts hesitant—barely more than breath—but it deepens fast. Not rushed, not frantic, but urgent in the way memory always is. His hands come up to cup your face like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold you steady. And you let yourself be held.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs into your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. "I should’ve been there. I should’ve run faster."

You shake your head, blinking past the ache in your chest. "I should’ve screamed louder. I should’ve made them hear me."

He pulls back just far enough to look at you, eyes glassy, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to fall apart. "I thought if I stayed away, it would hurt less."

"It didn’t," you whisper.

His mouth is on yours again before either of you can breathe another word. This time it’s heavier. Hungrier. His hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, reverent and shaking. Yours are already at the waistband of his sweats, needing to feel him, to tether yourself to something that isn’t just memory.

Clothes come off in pieces, half-folded, half-forgotten. You end up straddling him in the low light, the heat between you slow-building and aching. You pause, just for a second, hands on his chest, breath caught.

"Patrick," you say, voice thin and steady, "I need this to mean something."

His hand finds your waist. "It already does."

When you sink down onto him, it’s not about sex. It’s a slow, aching reunion—body meeting body, the stretch of him inside you sharp and perfect, your breath catching in your throat as you bottom out. His hands grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll leave, like he’s still not convinced this isn’t a dream. You don’t rush it. You sit with it. Let yourself feel every inch, every tremor of want beneath the grief.

You start to move in slow, careful rolls of your hips, your palms flattening against his chest for balance, for closeness. His eyes flutter shut, mouth parted, a low groan escaping as your rhythm builds. It’s not slick or easy—it’s raw. It’s tender. It’s everything you’ve both buried pushing to the surface with every shift of your bodies.

"Patrick," you whisper, barely audible, "I should’ve screamed louder. I should’ve made them stop."

He shakes his head, breath stuttering. "You shouldn’t have had to."

His thumb brushes your thigh, traces the curve of your waist, and you ride him deeper, slower. He meets you now, hips rising, trying to give you everything. You lean down and kiss him, slow and wet and open-mouthed, swallowing his sounds as he gasps beneath you.

"I thought if I left," he murmurs, "it would hurt less. Losing you... it was like cutting off my own arm."

Your forehead presses to his. "I still feel it. Every day."

His hand curls around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he could disappear into you. You grind down harder and he chokes out your name, eyes wide and glassy.

You can feel it starting to crest—your whole body coiling tight, the ache twisting higher, your walls fluttering around him. You cry out softly as you come, clinging to him, your breath broken and hot against his throat.

He follows with a gasp, hips stuttering, arms locking around you like he’s bracing for impact. His mouth finds your shoulder. Your jaw. The center of your chest. Like if he kisses you enough, the past will stay gone.

And for a long, trembling minute, it does.

After, your bodies remain tangled. Chest to chest. Mouth to mouth. There’s sweat and breath and something like peace. Like maybe this is the start of forgiveness.

Just breath.

Just warmth.

Just you, and him, and the weight of everything you never got to say falling away in the dark.

You wake first.

The room is dim, touched only by the gray haze of morning trying to press through the curtains. Patrick’s still asleep beside you, one arm slung over your waist, the slow rise and fall of his chest steady against your back. He’s softer like this. Younger. The lines in his face aren’t as sharp. He looks like someone who didn’t break everything he touched.

You don’t move. Not at first. You just let it hold—this warmth, this quiet, this rare illusion of stillness. Eventually, he stirs, blinking at the ceiling before he turns to look at you.

"Hey," he says, groggy.

"Hey," you answer.

The silence between you is full of things that don’t need to be said. What happened last night. What it meant. What it didn’t fix.

Patrick stretches, the sheets pulling with him. "You staying for the match?"

You nod. "Wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t."

He watches you for a long second, then gives a faint smile. "You might want to get there early. Art’s been locked in. You know how he gets."

You do. All precision and pressure. All expectation wound tight around a perfect serve.

"I know."

Patrick shifts to sit up, running a hand through his hair. "You should talk to him."

You pull the sheet tighter around your chest. "Do you think he wants that?"

"I think he’s wanted that since the day he left the trainer’s room."

You look down at your hands. At the quiet ring of light where it spills through the curtain. "I’m scared."

Patrick doesn’t try to fix that. He just nods. "Yeah. Me too."

You sit with that for a while. Let the quiet settle. Then you shower, dress, and walk to the venue like it’s something ordinary—like your entire past isn’t waiting to collide with you the second you step through those gates.

The stands are already half-full when you get there. You find your seat in the second row—close enough to see the way the court glints beneath the sun, but not close enough to draw attention. You’re just another spectator. Or at least, you try to be.

But not to her.

Tashi finds her seat a few minutes after you do, scanning the rows like she’s looking for someone. She doesn’t see you at first—not until she turns to sit and her eyes catch on yours. Her whole body stiffens like she’s been struck. Her fingers go slack on the strap of her bag.

You don’t move. You don’t smile. But you hold her gaze, steady, as if you never left it at all.

Something shifts in her expression—like grief, like regret, like recognition. Then she’s moving again, walking straight over, court lines be damned.

She hesitates. And then, to your surprise, she slides into the empty seat beside you. There’s no dramatic gesture. No whispered greeting. Just her presence, palpable and unsure, like sitting next to you takes more courage than the whole stadium behind her.

"I didn’t think you’d come," she says, voice low.

"Patrick told me," you reply.

She swallows. "I should’ve—years ago, I should’ve said something. I just didn’t know how."

"Me either."

The two of you just look at each other for a moment. So much time between you, and none of it thick enough to stop this moment from breaking through.

"I’m glad you’re here," she says. And when she reaches for your hand, you let her hold it.

Just for a second. Her fingers curl around yours, tentative, like a question she’s never been brave enough to ask. You don’t pull away.

Then the announcement blares over the speakers.

Art Donaldson steps onto the court.

And everything else goes quiet.

Art moves like a blade when he’s locked in—sharp, ruthless, a little desperate. You recognize it immediately, the way he bounces on the balls of his feet between serves, the way his toss is a little too high, the way he grits his teeth after every rally, win or lose. It’s not focus. It’s hunger.

Patrick steps onto the court with less ceremony. Slower, heavier. He rolls his shoulders once. Twirls his racket loosely in his hand like it’s too light to matter. But you can tell he’s wired tight underneath it. Every muscle braced.

The match starts hard.

Art takes the first game with a vicious serve that skims the line so close you think the umpire might call it out. Patrick barely reacts. Just tosses the ball up for his own service, muscles rippling, and answers with an ace that whistles past Art's ear.

It's brutal. Beautiful, in the way collisions are. Two different kinds of pain meeting at full speed. You can see it in every step, every swing. Neither of them is here to play nice. They're here to bleed.

By the second set, the sun hangs heavy over the court. Shirts stick to skin. Serves slow, just a fraction, but neither gives ground. The audience leans forward with every point.

Beside you, Tashi’s fingers tighten around yours without her even realizing it. You don’t pull away. You squeeze back, grounding both of you.

It’s 5–5 in the final set when it happens.

Art chases down a wide serve—full tilt, full commitment, his entire body outstretched. He plants hard on his left leg, bracing for a tight pivot at the baseline, and you see it—the misstep, the torque, the way his knee twists wrong.

It happens fast but feels like slow motion.

You recognize the sound before it even reaches the stands: that awful, hollow pop.

Art crumples, his racket flying from his hand, his mouth open in a silent cry. The exact way you remember falling. The exact nightmare you’ve replayed a hundred times behind closed eyes.

You and Tashi both shoot to your feet, hands gripping each other’s so tight your knuckles ache.

But before anyone else can react, Patrick drops his racket and sprints across the court. He catches Art before he hits the ground, arms locking around his torso like instinct, like prayer.

The entire stadium holds its breath.

And in the split-second after the world stops spinning, Art’s eyes find yours.

He sees you.

The crowd blurs. The court fades. There’s only the two of you—two people who once knew each other better than anyone else ever dared to.

And in that instant, everything you lost, everything that broke, everything that still bleeds between you—it’s forgiven.

Not fixed. Not forgotten. But forgiven.

Art’s chest heaves. Patrick holds him steady, murmuring something into the space between them.

And then you and Tashi are moving—pushing through the rows, the crowds, vaulting down the stairs without thinking. Not as rivals. Not as strangers.

But as two people who loved him once—and maybe still do.

Running toward him like no time had passed at all.

You reach the court just as the trainers do. They're already kneeling by Art, one checking his pulse, the other stabilizing his knee with practiced, clinical hands.

Patrick steps back to make room but stays close enough that his shadow brushes over Art’s shoulder. He doesn’t meet your eyes as you skid to a halt beside him, breathless, heart hammering so hard it drowns out the noise of the crowd.

Art’s head lifts. Just slightly. Enough to find you again, standing there in front of him, real and wrecked and wide open.

He reaches for you without thinking.

Your hand is already there.

The trainer says something about a stretcher, about precaution, about taking no risks. But Art’s hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid the ground will swallow him if he lets go.

"I’m okay," he breathes, voice wrecked and raw. "I just—I felt it twist. It's not broken."

You nod, even though you’re not sure if it’s for him or for yourself.

Behind you, Tashi crouches too, hand brushing Art’s shoulder, her forehead pressed briefly to the side of his arm. Silent, grounding.

Patrick doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But you feel his presence, steady, the same way you used to feel it back when everything was still whole.

When the medical team starts lifting Art carefully to his feet, he winces, but he’s standing. Supported. Breathing. Alive.

And when he looks at you—really looks—it’s like no time, no trophies, no betrayals ever happened.

"I’m so sorry," he says, voice cracked open so wide you barely catch the words.

You don’t say anything back.

You just hold tighter.

Because maybe this time, none of you will let go.

The trainers usher Art carefully toward the medical room tucked beneath the stands. You, Patrick, and Tashi follow, a strange procession moving through the winding halls—silent but stitched together by something invisible, unspoken.

The room smells the same as you remember. Antiseptic and gauze and that cold metallic tang of adrenaline bleeding into the air. It’s smaller than you thought it would be. Maybe because you’ve grown, maybe because the fear inside you hasn’t.

Art sinks onto the edge of the exam table, hissing through his teeth as they peel off his brace and start prodding gently at his knee.

You hover. So does Tashi. So does Patrick.

The nurse murmurs words you barely hear—sprain, not tear, six to eight weeks, no surgery. Relief cracks through you so hard you sway on your feet.

Art sees it. His hand reaches out again—automatic—and you move into it before you think.

Your fingers tangle, clumsy, desperate.

And somehow you’re back there.

Back to the first time it was you on the table. Them yelling. Him gone.

Art looks up at you like he knows exactly where your head is. His thumb traces slow, careful lines along the inside of your wrist.

"I’m sorry," he says, voice low and wrecked. "For not hearing you. For letting you think you had to scream louder."

You shake your head, blinking fast. "I'm sorry for not fighting harder."

Tashi sits down on the floor by your knee, her hand curling loosely around your ankle, grounding you. Patrick leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shiny but fierce.

You could break right now. Or you could heal.

Maybe both.

Art squeezes your hand. "You were always enough."

You believe him.

This time, you believe him.

For a while, no one says anything. The trainers murmur quietly at the far end of the room, filling out paperwork, giving you space that feels both too big and too necessary.

Tashi shifts, drawing her knees up, her arm still looped loosely around your ankle. "We didn’t get married because it was perfect," she says suddenly, voice rough, breaking the heavy quiet. "We got married because we didn’t know how to live without the pieces of you and Patrick we still had."

You freeze.

Art’s thumb never stops moving against your wrist, but he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t flinch.

"We tried to build something out of the wreckage," he says, voice low. "Tried to make it enough."

Patrick doesn’t move from his place against the wall. But you can feel the way his breath catches.

"It wasn’t fair," Tashi whispers. "To you. To him. To ourselves."

You blink hard, staring at the worn tile floor, your chest splitting clean down the middle.

"We were trying to survive," Art says. "But we were never whole. Not without you."

Silence again, but it’s different now. Less brittle. More like the kind that waits for something new to grow.

You squeeze Art’s hand. You lean your shoulder against Tashi’s. You glance at Patrick, who watches you with something raw and open in his eyes.

And somehow, without saying anything else, all four of you stand together.

And you leave the stadium the way you should have left it years ago:

Together.

The hotel room is too small for everything you’re carrying.

And yet somehow it holds you. All of you.

The door clicks shut behind Patrick, and for a moment none of you move. You just stand there—four people stitched together by regret, by forgiveness, by the thin, trembling thread of hope you’re all too scared to name yet.

It’s Art who moves first. Still limping, still careful, but steady. He sits down on the edge of the bed and looks up at you like you’re something holy.

"Come here," he says, voice low and raw.

Your knees nearly buckle with how fast you obey.

Tashi’s hand finds yours again as you cross the room, her touch light but sure, like she’s anchoring herself to you. Patrick trails behind, quiet, reverent, his fingers brushing the small of your back as if to ask, Are you sure?

You are.

Art’s hands settle at your waist as you stand between his knees. His thumb drags slow, grounding circles against your hip bone. Tashi steps in close behind you, her body warm against your back, her breath feathering against your neck. Patrick kneels by your side, hands braced loosely on your thighs, waiting for you to breathe him in.

There’s no rush. No hunger. Only reverence.

Tashi presses a kiss to your shoulder first—soft, careful, as if asking permission. Art lifts the hem of your shirt with trembling fingers, eyes searching yours for any sign to stop. Patrick’s hands slide up your calves, your knees, anchoring you there like you might float away.

Piece by piece, they unwrap you.

Piece by piece, they make you feel like you’re being given back to yourself.

Your shirt falls away. Then your pants. Then the last of your clothing, until you’re standing bare in the low lamplight, their hands and mouths finding you with a kind of awe that makes your breath hitch.

Art kisses the inside of your wrist, where your pulse flutters fast and frantic. Tashi mouths at your spine, slow and reverent. Patrick presses his forehead to your stomach, breathing you in like a prayer.

They guide you back onto the bed like you’re something precious. Lay you out with the kind of care that makes your chest ache.

Art’s mouth finds yours, slow and deep, while Tashi’s fingers trace patterns along your thighs. Patrick’s hands are everywhere—your ribs, your hips, your throat, grounding you, holding you together as you start to come apart.

Soft hands. Soft mouths. Gentle, reverent touches.

You can’t tell whose hands are where, whose lips are whispering promises against your skin. It doesn’t matter. All you know is that you’re full of them. Surrounded by them. Loved by them.

Tashi kisses you like she’s sorry.

Art touches you like he’s grateful.

Patrick holds you like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

And you let them.

You let them worship the spaces that once broke.

You let them build you back, one trembling breath at a time.

Hands map every inch of your body. Tashi’s lips brush lower along your spine, her mouth leaving wet, reverent kisses down the curve of your back. Patrick’s palms skate up your sides, thumbs tracing the underswell of your breasts before he leans up to take one soft peak into his mouth, his tongue circling until you arch into him with a whimper.

Art stays at your side, his fingers threading into your hair, his other hand stroking down your stomach with aching tenderness. He kisses you through it, kisses you so slow and deep you almost forget where you are, forget the way time moved without you for so long.

When Tashi reaches you again, her hands coax your thighs apart with infinite patience. She kisses the inside of your knee first—soft, almost apologetic—then higher, her breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there until you’re trembling for her. For all of them.

Patrick’s mouth trails lower, down your sternum, across your ribs, scattering kisses like they’re something sacred. His fingers tangle with Tashi’s briefly when they meet between your legs, a shared touch, a silent promise. You shudder when Tashi presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the inside of your thigh, and Patrick’s hand strokes the back of your calf in soothing counterpoint.

They take their time with you. Worshipping every part of you with lips, hands, mouths, the bed creaking under the weight of so much tenderness. Art murmurs into your skin, praises you, calls you beautiful, necessary, wanted.

When Tashi finally presses her mouth against the aching center of you, you sob her name into Art’s shoulder. She works you with a slow, devastating rhythm, her tongue tracing lazy circles while Patrick kisses your temple, your jaw, your shoulder, grounding you, anchoring you to the earth.

Art’s hand holds yours the whole time.

It builds until you’re gasping, clutching at anything you can—Patrick’s wrist, Tashi’s hair, the sheets, Art’s hand in yours—and when you break apart, it’s not sharp. It’s soft. It’s endless. It pours out of you like morning light through an open window.

They hold you through it, through every shudder, every broken gasp. They murmur to you, kiss your damp cheeks, trace lazy patterns across your heated skin.

And when you finally catch your breath, they don’t let you go.

They stay.

That’s all you ever wanted.

And somehow, in the hush between heartbeats, it’s enough.

-----

tagging:

@kimmyneutron@babyspiderling @queensunshinee @hanneh69 @jamespotteraliveversion @glennussy @awaywithtime @artstennisracket @artdonaldsonbabygirl @blastzachilles @jordiemeow

[d1onysusw1n3]

Dirty Grimes - rick grimes x reader

Tw: slight age gap (reader is 22 and rick is in his 40s) Cheating, P in V, slight bondage, rick is kind of rough. And a slight size kink. Plus squirting and creampie.

This is an AU where the apocalypse has never happened! Carl is a collage student who was a childhood friend. Lots of plot but I will give a warning on where the smut starts so if u want to skip the plot and head straight to the spice, do as u please!

“C’mon baby it’s not that bad, stop worrying about shit.” Carl huffs shaking his head in a annoyed way.

Look I love him to death Don’t get me wrong, but I dread coming over to his parents house over the holidays. My father ran out on my family when I was little, my mom was diabetic and she always had hospital bills up to her neck. So I was a bit of a problem child, until high school came and I worked my ass off for a full ride scholarship to Stanford. I’ve known Carl since middle school he always had a crush on me but I’d shoot him down and tell him when we get older we’d get married. Well I guess that wish came true.

I look down at the huge diamond on my finger. Me, Y/N summers, becoming a grimes? Who would’ve thought it. When I said yes it felt like the world stopped, but as time went on Carl got distant, stressed. He seemed easily annoyed by me. Plus that fact that I can’t help but to be scared of his father. Sherif grimes. He caught me vandalizing a classroom with spray paint once in middle school. He scared me shitless, but Carl stood up for me and helped my mom bail me out. Safe to say whenever I come over Rick always seems so, intense. The way he carries himself as if I’m a rabbit and he’s waiting to pounce on his prey. It scares me shitless, to be frank! And his marriage hasn’t been doing to good, last time I came over Lori and him wouldn’t talk or extange glances, no his eyes were too busy studying me, picking me apart as if he’s trying to read me like a book.

“Just calm down, you’re overreacting like usual.” Carl says as he brings the car to a stop, placing it in park. I scoff shaking my head at his antics.

“Overreacting? That’s what you want to tell your fucking fiancé before she tells her future in laws that she’s getting married to their son?” I scoff.

“I’m done arguing with you.” he sighs running a hand through his long hair. “It’s only arguing because you can’t have a normal conversation without acting like you hate me!” I scream frustration enveloping my body. “I should’ve never asked you to marry me then, my sincerest apologies.” He coldly says while walking out the car to the front door without me. I sit back contemplating what he just said. It broke my heart. I catch up to him wiping the tears that escaped my face, my eyes puffy and nose red, but I guess I can chalk it off as the allergies during spring break. He knocks and to my surprise Lori opens the door, yet I could see the clunky mascara and the bloodshot puffy eyes. She had been crying.

“Hiii! Oh my baby’s back” she smiles widely a genuine smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes like usual, and that glow that had once been her flame, has been burnt out into ash. It’s apparent on her hunched shoulders and the way she frowns when nobody looks.

“And look at you Y/N! All grown up and in collage.” She smiles and hugs me tightly. I always loved Lori, she was sweet to me, because she knew I grew up less fortunate than others.

“Hi lor how you doing?” I smile as I embrace her into a tight hug. I could feel her hiccup and take deep breaths.

“I’m living, at least I can be grateful for that.” She smiles tightly as she sees rick walk down the stairs to us.

“Hey, you wanna talk later?” I ask nudging her. She just nods and puts her fake smile back on as rick walks right past her and to Carl.

“Hey! My boys back.” He hugs Carl tightly while leaning back gripping his shoulders. “Man your old now! what’re you like fifty?” Rick teases as Carl rolls his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. “Tha’d make you what? About seventy?” Carl quipped back and rick holds his hand to his heart. “Touché.” Rick smirks as he looks over to me. Instead of his usual crossed arms and tough guy demeanor, he was cuddly today because he wrapped his arms around my waist pulling me in for a generous hug. “How’s my daughter in law huh!” He jokes.

“Doing just fine.” I smile lightly at him. Though in the inside my heart was crushed into a million pieces.

“Well common in dinners ready just in time!” Lori beams walking away, she turns around first motioning to the kicthen. “You wanna help me prepare food Y/N?” She says. I just nod giving Carl a look, he doesn’t even turn to me and ignored my presence, though rick noticed because he turned to me.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

“Peachy.” I reply glaring at Carl while turning and storming off to the kitchen.

As soon as i step in I see Lori breaking down sobbing while holding her mouth to quiet her crying.

“Hey what’s wrong?” I walk up rubbing her shoulder.

“I have been having an affair with ricks partner Shane and he found out about it.” She comes clean.

“And I’m-“ she purses her lips.

“I’m pregnant with his child.” She says sobbing as her shoulders shook.

“It wasn’t supposed to get this bad! I mean rick and I were on a break and it was one time that turned into more times then rick and I got back together and I told him no, but we still went at it anyways a-and I took a pregnancy test and Rick found it.” She spits out fast in her shaky voice.

“I’m so stupid.” She sighs.

“I agree with you on that. There’s so many different ways you could’ve handled this Lori, if you weren’t happy with Rick why didn’t you just tell him?” I frowned at her.

“What about Carl.” She gasps.

“You’re just gonna have to explain things to him, he’ll understand in time.” I say hugging her. We break off setting up the food in the table while calling the boys in to eat. The rest of the night went pretty smooth, everyone laughed a had a good time, well then there was rick, whenever I’d send a nasty look to Carl he’d tune in looking at me with those intense eyes.

“Alright I have something to announce!” I smile as fake as I could. “Carl asked to marry me.” I hold up my hand showing my ring. Out of the side of my vision I could see rick clench his jaw. But Lori gasped while clapping in excitement.

“Oh my baby’s all grown up!” She starts tearing up.

“I’m so happy for you son.” Ricks rasps. Though he looked furious. Cark just tightly smiles wrapping an arm around my waist.

As night fell me and Carl crashed in his childhood room. His walls were filled with comics and superhero’s. I change into my sleep clothes which were some panties and one of carls shirts, I didn’t bother putting on pants, it was way to hot in the summer time. Carl was dead asleep snoring an all, I had a hot flash and was sweating balls. I sigh getting up to walk downstairs and drink a cold glass of water. as I reach the cabinet in the kicthen I stand on my tippy toes trying to reach the last glass on the tallest shelf. I felt a warm calloused hand grip my waist pushing himself against my rear. I could tell it was rick, by his bulky hands and his white tee that was scented of pine and whisky. A man’s scent. Usually it would ick me out, overly manly men, but something about rick made my thighs clench and my tummy flip. I shake my head trying to ban these criminal thoughts of my fiancés father. I call his wife mom so gods sake, pull it together Y/N.

“I saw you strugllin, thought you might need some help.” His raspy voice sounded as sexy as usual, with his thick southern accent.

“Thank you Rick.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” He smirks down at me. He had me slightly caged to the counter, with my ass pressed right against his crotch. I could feel his cold belt buckle pressed tightly to my tramp stamp I got when I was 17. Apparently my shirt rode up my waist when I was struggling to reach for a cup, cause I could feel the cold ac on my bare back. I slightly moved away pulling down my shirt while walking to the fridge grabbing ice and water. I sit down on the island in the kitchen as rick pours himself a glass of whisky while leaning on the counter across from me.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He gruffly says handing me the shot of whisky he poured. I gingerly take it from his hand as my fingers brush his, it sent goosebumps down my spine.

“It was too hot upstairs, I needed some air.” I say with a tight lipped grin. I shot back the whisky quickly sliding the glass back to him, he fills up the whisky glass again but this time he take it down with no struggle, licking the corner of his mouth as some dripped down his chin. I could feel myself clench around nothing. That had to be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

“Lori told you bout Shane, huh?” He chuckles shaking his head. I could see the tears brim his eyes. I couldn’t help but to feel bad for the man. His wife is pregnant by the man he called his brother.

“Yeah.” My throat suddenly felt dry.

“I’m sorry Rick.” I say chewing the bottom of my lip.

“Don’t be sweetheart, iss alright.” He huffs.

“We were arguing before that as it is anyway, it was bound to happen.” He shakes his head. While he looks down he nods over to your ring.

“So engaged huh? Carl better be treatin you well.” He swallows thickly as his intense blue eyes scan over my body. I felt like a peace of meat.

“He treats me just fine.” I clear my throat.

“Does he though?” Rick quips back. My jaw slacks in shock, not knowing what to say.

“I say you arguing in the car from the window. Seemed like whatever he said hurt?” He presses on.

“He said he wished he never asked to marry me.” I swallow thickly and slightly chuckle as tears run down my cheeks.

“Maybe I’m sensitive, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt like hell.” My wobbly lips smile at him. I look down as tears run down my cheeks. Rick slowly stalks towards me, running his calloused thumb across my cheek collecting my tears.

“What a shame. If you were mine, I would treat you better sweetheart.” He whispers.

At first I couldn’t believe his words. If I were his?

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!SMUT STARTS NEOOOW >-<!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“What do you mean rick?” I whisper back. I could feel the tension between us, so thick it was hard to breathe.

“What I said sweetheart. I could treat you better.” He slowly trails his hands up my thighs in a soothing back and fourth motion.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispers trailing his hands up my shirt gripping my breasts firmly as his thumb nudges the bud of my breasts massaging them slowly.

I gasp leaning into his touch while rubbing my thighs together for friction. It’s been awhile since Carl had touched me. I was horny and deprived.

“Y/N tell me to stop, and that this is wrong.” He groans out as he feels my legs wrap around his hips bringing his crotch right down into mine. I moan slightly tilting my head back.

“Can’t, feel s’to good.” My words slurr as I could feel pleasure running up and down my spine in waves. Rick bends down trailing hot sloppy kisses down my neck into my collar bones, sucking at the sensitive spot making me grind down onto him. He growls gripping my hips pulling me back down onto him. I could feel him grinding himself down into me. His chest heaves in needy breaths. I couldn’t help but to whine, it felt so wrong dry humping my fiancés father in his childhood kitchen, but it felt so good at the same time.

“Need you rick.” I moan out.

“Please.” I frown at him showing off my best puppy eyes. I could feel his dick pulse against me.

“Don look at me like that, sweetheart.” He warns. I quickly slide off of the counter dropping to my knees. I trail my hands up ricks black jeans to his thighs and then to his belt. He doesn’t stop me, he just leans against the counter as i tug his jeans and underwear down to his ankles. His dick springs up close to my face. I could see the intricate veins and precum leaking off his pink puffy tip. I slowly get closer placing a peck on the top of his cock. He grunts as his abs contract in pleasure. I slowly take his tip in my mouth hollowing out while flipping my tongue on the base of his cock flattening it out. He groans deeply sucking in a sharp breath. I swallow more of him down my throat with ease. He moans leaning foreword on the counter I was leaned up against, I could feel his hips thrusting in my mouth. I set my hands to the side as he starts thrusting rougher. His small moans and gasps escaping his throat as I could feel him close to his edge. He quickly pulls out lifting my little body up with ease slamming me on top of the counter.

“Such a good girl huh?” He huffs. “If Carl won’t take care of my baby than I will.” He rips my panties off shoving them in his pocket. Getting down on his knees he kisses my cunt and flattening his tongue on my entrance slowly bringing it up to my clit. He begins to ravage my cunt in fast and needy licks and nibbles. It was so hard for me to be quiet as this was probably the hottest sex I’ve ever had. I felt my legs shake on his shoulders and my arms start to wiggle and give out. Rick stands up wiping off his lips that once were sucking needy at my cunt.

“Lay down baby, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you” his raspy voice soothes my nerves as he lines his tip up to my cunt. He pushes in and I almost came from the sheer thickness of his cock. The way it fills me up and stretches my cunt had me salivating. I couldn’t feel a condom though. And my heart skipped a beat.

“Rick what’re doing-“

“Shhh,” he shushes me and it drowns out all my worries. “Gotta fill my princess up? Yeah.” He starts thrusting slowly but roughly into my wet cunt. I clench down on his cock from his filthy words. “Gonna pump you full of cum” he huffs thrusting faster. My tits bounce roughly due to his thrusts. I arch my back covering my mouth to contain the erotic moans flying out. Rick rips my arms off my mouth holding them down on my stomach. “Don’t hold ur moans in.” He huffs. “Let them hear how good I make you feel.” He growls somehow speeding up fucking me into oblivion as I could feel his dick curve up and hit my G spot with every thrust. I couldn’t hold in my moans anymore and I’m pretty sure the next door neighbors heard me. “That’s my good girl, let them know your my slut.” He whimpers as my cunt clench’s tight around his cock. “You like that huh?” His raspy voice chuckles. “Knowing you’re my slut, how I’m filling you up better than he does mmmh.” My lips quiver and I feel my legs shaking. “R-rick I’m about to cum.” I complain trying to push him off. He doesn’t slow down a bit as he brings up an arm rubbing my clit furiously as he snaps his hips down onto mine. “Cmon baby it’s okay, cum for me.” I felt the buildup finally crash down in hot electric waves. My eyes roll to the back of my head as rick relentlessly pounds my cunt not faltering a second as my orgasm hits. I felt liquid spray all over him, he moans as if that was his breaking point snapping his hips one time deep into my cunt spraying my walls white with his thick cum.

“Fuck, you take my cock so good.” He growls pushing deeper into me, filling up my cunt full. He stands there inside of me as we breathe heavily. I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that I just raw dogged my fiancés father in his kitchen. Rick pulls out staring at the cum dripping down my cunt.

“Rick,thank god I’m on the pill, or else we’d be fucked” I sigh trying to slide off the counter. He pushes me back grabbing napkins while cleaning up his mess.

“Lemmie,” he says while tenderly taking care of me. He picks me up carrying my shaky legs to carls room.

“I’m sorry it got carried away, sweetheart.” He mumbled kissing my forehead. He slowly backs up staring into my eyes intensely while walking away.

After that day I didn’t mind going over to carls over the holidays, in fact, I couldn’t wait till thanksgiving hit, even Christmas.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could you do a part 2 to the ford and Stan fic where they were childhood best friends? I loved that one so much and I need more🥰

Threats and not a happy ending. Probs not what you was expecting for a continuation.

Part 1 is here

Taglist: @bigbeebeans @doggodnoodles12 @awitchersbard @leo242564 @emtynessinmyworld

Things in gravity falls were well..weird and you weren’t talking about the townsfolk who were under the impression that you and Ford had came as a couple. Sure Ford was handsome and beautiful man but you wouldn’t go as far as to indulge in their assumptions out of respect for him as your friend.

Ford on the other hand had cheeks like ripe tomatoes as he has to remind himself to stop being so obvious with his feelings for you, all in fear that you’d soon start watching him closely for signs of romantic pining. He couldn’t help it and knew for a while that Stan also harboured similar feelings about you, given how physically affectionate he was with you and keeping you tucked into his side tightly; which was more then enough for Ford to assume that you’d favour Stanley over him.

While he maybe the more put together of the two, the one with a future ahead of him, that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to matters regarding the heart. You’d either be rich and depressed, or poor but rich in happiness, you can’t be both. So Ford decided to value to have you however he could.

Everything was fine to being with, searching the words for anomalies and jotting them down, however your relationship with Ford becomes fractured and splinters into pieces when Bill Cipher came into view. You told him that day in the cave that the paintings on the wall were warnings, cautioning you both to avoid this triangular being at all costs but Ford didn’t listen to you and summoned him regardless. Your heart broke because this was the first time Ford didn’t listen to your council, blatantly ignored it as though your words meant little to now now, which was a stark contrast to the boy who use to hang on to every word you spoke.

During this rough patch as Ford was growing closer to Bill. You on the other hand were becoming distant and reaching out to Stanley, telling him everything that has been happening since you moved to Gravity Falls in a series of letters and phone calls. You only stopped reaching out when Bill -possessing Ford- held a knife to your throat and warned you to reach out to Stanley again and see how Ford would like it upon seeing that he had gone mad from isolation, and killed his own childhood sweetheart in cold blood as a result.

You didn’t think you’d ever hear such things come out of the mouth of your beloved friend but it terrified you and ever since you stopped reaching out to Stanley, he grew worried that something had happened to you. So he made sure to come to Gravity Falls as fast as he could for you, not Stanford.

‘Y/n sweetie are you alright!’ Stanley exclaimed as he saw your frightened face and immediately opened up his arms to you to burry yourself in. ‘Hey it’s okay, just say the word and I’ll get you out of here okay sweetheart?’ He whispered again your head as you clung to his jacket tightly.

‘I’m scared.’ You told him and it broke his heart to hear you say those words as he promised to keep you safe. Stan felt like he was to blame as usual, but couldn’t help but feel anger towards Ford for making you feel unsafe and scared. So when Ford came out of the shack to find you in his brother’s arms, Stanley tightened his hold on you and glared at his brother, who reciprocated the glare. Ford knew that things haven’t been…the best as of late between the two of you ever since the cave and he felt guilty over that, but seeing you in Stan’s arms only strengthened his fear that due to his obsession with the supernatural, it has ultimately pushed you into seeking comfort from someone else. His own brother to be exact.

Ford hated it more so than anything because while he was smart, he severely lacked a social life that Stanley excelled at beyond him, he could easily comfort you without getting awkward about it unlike him, who didn’t even stop to think how his obsession was affecting you; not even once and yet he claimed to harbour romantic feelings for you, what a joke because how can he love you when he failed at even the most simplest of mundane things.

‘Y/n I-‘ he tried to take a step towards you but you were quick to burrow your head further into Stanley’s shoulder.

‘I think you’ve done enough don’t you Stanford.’ Stanley replied, ‘you’ve gone and scared them with your obsession.’

Ford pales. You? Scared of him? Oh gods what has he done. ‘ I didn’t mean to.’ He trails off, not knowing how to fully explain himself.

Stanley scoffed. ‘I trusted you to keep them safe, happy and healthy but here they are in my arms scared as anything! What did you do!’

‘I don’t-‘

‘Not a good enough excuse Stanford.’ Stan snapped as he positioned you behind him, putting his jacket over you when he noticed that you came running to him in less than weather appropriate clothes, uncaring that he got cold in the process as he kissed your forehead like he did when you were teenagers and he needed to reassure you. ‘You’ll be okay, just stay as far away from here as you can.’ He whispered before looking at his brother.

‘Just please come and help me.’ Ford cried out to his brother and you. ‘I don’t have time.’ He then looks down at his bloodied knuckles and you couldn’t help but think of the other heinous things Bill had done to Ford, but you were too scared to look him in the eyes without seeing bill threatening you.

‘Fine but keep them out of your shit.’ Stanley said as he gestured towards your frightened form and Ford agreed as you grasped Stanley’s arm.

‘Don’t.’ You whispered. ‘Stanley don’t you dare go in there please I’m begging you.’ Your cries broke Stanley’s heart as he brought you into his arms again to calm you.

‘I’ll be okay sweetpea, I’ll come back and we can leave this town and get as far away as you want.’ He promises you but deep down you knew this wasn’t going to be true and soon enough you were right, Ford was pushed into the portal and Stanley went back on his word to rebuild the portal to get him back, all the while you decided that your time in gravity falls had come to a close and left within the night.

[spyeriasecret]

and now it's time to play WOULD GRAVITY FALLS CHARACTERS RESPECT YOUR PRONOUNS (pre-weirdmageddon) (non gravity falls fans take this as a sign.)

DIPPER PINES - not sure he'd understand the concept immediately, but would catch on quick because he understands what it's like not being called something you want to be called

MABEL PINES - YES. no question about it. there's so many things i could say here. she'd correct herself for THINKING the wrong pronouns.

STANLEY PINES - understands and correctly genders you for all the wrong, crime-related reasons! bro is the king of preferred names. you say "hey i'm actually exam/ple" and he'll be like "AH. I GET IT. WINK. DO YOU ALSO WANT TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN THE COPS ARE IN TOWN" like i cant overstate this. if you say hey i want to change my identity he will pull out a stack of fake IDs and have you pick one. he's a little confused but he got the spirit!

STANFORD PINES - if you ever need a guy to not grasp a modern-day concept, call this guy! he'd do his best, but only because he wants to be nice. he does Not understand. give him a little bit of systematic exposure and he'll get it! he will take a scientific approach! but he'll get it! somebody get this man 2024ccs of woke liberalism stat

SOOS RAMIREZ - calls you dude and bro. does not call you anything but dude and bro. he knows what you are and he respects that! but let's be real honest here.

WENDY CORDUROY - incredibly supportive and super chill. if you were still in the closet, she'd do the mouth zip motion thing. you get it. she's so awesome about you

WADDLES - oink?

GIDEON GLEEFUL - yes to your face! no behind closed doors. he'd probably call you "that queer" while villain monologuing in his room . i can hear it in his voice

BUD GLEEFUL - THE gravity falls homophobic youth pastor let's be for real he'd say "it's not too late to turn to God" as a christian trans person i'm pretty sure God thinks about lgbtq+ kids and fraudulent capitalists on two separate ends of a very long line

SHERIFF BLUBS & DEPUTY DURLAND - do i even have to say it. i'm gonna say it. solid top and DEAD SERIOUS bottom. they ARE the loud and proud gravity falls lgbtq+ community. if they're transphobic i'll eat my socks.

CANDY CHIU - i know what you guys are thinking . "oh candy's so sweet of course she'd respect your pronouns!" CANDY MOTHERFUCKING CHIU WILL NOT ONLY RESPECT YOUR PRONOUNS, BUT SHE WILL GO OUT OF HER WAY TO USE THEM AT ANY POSSIBLE MOMENT. if she sees somewhere to say your pronouns, she will DO it. because she LOVES YOU. and also she'd fight anyone who gets it wrong!

GRENDA GRENDINATOR - trans. she loves you. will help candy fight anybody who gets your pronouns wrong.

FIDDLEFORD MCGUCKET - honestly this is a hard one. he could ACKNOWLEDGE! your pronouns! but other than that i'm not sure. pre-memory wipe, i think he'd feel a little weird about it, but it would become nothing to him eventually

PACIFICA NORTHWEST - "ew. what the fuck." and then suddenly she's asking you how you figured that out. For No Reason

ROBBIE VALENTINO - calls you a faggot. is it because he is homophobic? because he is one? because he hates you specifically? the world will never know

BLENDIN BLANDIN - he lives in the year 207̃012. i find it hard to believe they haven't made respecting pronouns mandatory yet.

AGENTS POWERS & TRIGGER - are the pronouns on your legal documents????? it's not funny stop laughign

TYLER CUTEBIKER - gay. his pronouns are get/it. he will respect you (in his own ways)

LAZY SUSAN - forgets you had the wrong pronouns in the first place. she respects you by default

TIME BABY - does not refer to you

BILL CIPHER - he would call you your preferred pronouns but DON'T get it twisted. he does not respect you as a living thing. it isn't bigoted (that would be ironic considering that whole sixer thing) he just doesn't. maybe he'd make HEAVY fun of you for good measure but he's got to dig at somebody somehow. also were pronouns even real in his dimension anything could happen man ????

SHMEBULOCK - shmebulock

(did i forget anybody? let me know)