Tag: fics

Would you write Billford, with or without bonus creeped-out Fiddleford, for #26?

anysin-can-hadplen:

I love you the way a knife loves a heart the way a bomb loves a crowd the way your mother warned you about, essentially. (the way a human loves another human)

You say Billford with creeped-out Fiddleford, I hear creepy Billford with Fiddleford! Warnings for Bill being creepy and harm to animals.

Cat’s Gifts

Strange items start appearing on Ford’s doorstep.

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cold case

full-time-wretch:

(pt 1: the final straw)

little explanation here: this au was basically the result of a thought experiment that went, “what if Bill were a regular asshole human guy?”

he and Ford meet up in college and end up in a truly disastrous and increasingly abusive on-again-off-again relationship. they end up moving to Gravity Falls together to study the paranormal, where Bill’s controlling behavior escalates to alarming levels while he has Ford isolated. Fiddleford and Stan both get involved at different times, and in the end, when Ford attempts to leave Bill after Bill takes things way too far (even for him), Bill responds in a very rational and mature way by kidnapping Ford and keeping him as a pet for the next 30 years, while Stan tries desperately to find him and bring him back.

hence the name of the au!

so, here’s that final incident.

Rating: NC17

Wordcount: 4243

Characters: Bill, Ford, Stan

Pairings: Billford

Content tags/Warnings: bondage, choking, whipping/impact play, oral sex, forced orgasm, poorly negotiated and unsafe kink, consensual sex becoming rape

Summary: Bill gets Ford to agree to trying something new, and then takes things too far.

—

Ford’s arms are already starting to hurt. They’re stretched out tight and straight above his head, his elbows locked and going stiff, a dull tension settling in his back along his shoulders. Experimentally, he tugs on the cuffs, testing how much give he has. The metal digs into his wrists – cool but not cold, warmed somewhat by proximity to his body.

There is a clock on the nightstand to his right. If he turns his head, he can see the nightstand, but the angle he’s been restrained at – arms spread to separate corners of the bed, just slightly elevated – prevents him from seeing anything on it. Realistically, he knows it cannot possibly have been more than a few minutes at the very most since Bill closed the cuffs on him. Two, maybe three – certainly no more than five. Subjectively, he feels as if before, when he was dressed and unrestrained and simply discussing this possibility with Bill, is a bygone era.

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Follow Through

manoverboard-fic:

Ford is curious. Bill is indulgent.

Billford, NC-17, 1880 words.

–

“Go on,” Bill said. The words dragged across Ford’s consciousness like a finger might his skin. “Satisfy your scientific curiosity.”

It felt remarkably like being caught with a crush in the seventh grade; a part of him was braced, still, for Bill to start chanting, Stanford has a cru-ush, Stanford has a cru-ush, and, ew, do you really think I’d like you? But this was nothing like that; Ford was nothing like the boy he’d once been. Certainly, Bill was unlike anything in this world, or any others. This was a gentle tease, one that carried the admission that Bill wanted him to follow through.

Ford cupped his hands in the air. Bill floated down into them, a light prickling sensation emanating from him. For a moment, Ford didn’t move, simply kept his hands cupped around Bill’s small body. He didn’t know precisely what he was waiting for. One of Bill’s small, black hands settled on the meat of Ford’s thumb and gave it a squeeze.

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If you want, for the kink ship thing: asphyxiation/collar-and-leash with fiddlestan? Either one can be the one getting choked. Thank you!

:

Why not both?

Set in an AU where Fiddleford’s memory gun didn’t work quite as well as it should’ve, he realized Stan wasn’t Stanford, and, when he tried to confront him about it, Stan managed to rope him into helping him.

R, 1525.

–

Fiddleford’s mistake is shoving Stan: Stan is stronger by leagues, and burning up with anger that Fiddleford couldn’t ever hope to touch. Stan swings, hard, and Fiddleford goes down with an anticlimactic thump. But Stan’s anger doesn’t work like that – downing him isn’t enough. Before Stan can consider how dumb this is, he’s on his knees, straddling Fiddleford’s chest, and he latches his hands around Fiddleford’s throat.

“Coward!” he spits. Fiddleford struggles, bucking and thrashing under him, making sick little hiccuping noises. “You’re a coward! He’d help you!” Fiddleford’s face is turning a beet red; a string of drool slides down his chin. He scratches Stan’s hands, then fumbles for Stan’s eyes, clawing at his face. 

It hits Stan, very suddenly, that he is acting like a total fucking maniac. He releases him with a gasp and scrambles away. Fiddleford wheezes and coughs, rolling onto his stomach. The red imprints of Stan’s hands are already bright, a mottled ring of color. Stan yanks at his hair and groans. “Oh, fuck,” he says. “Fiddleford, I – I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” He crawls toward him, desperate to help, to make this right. Yeah, fuck this one up, too. That’ll help everyone. “I didn’t mean…”

He’s shocked that Fiddleford doesn’t shove him away, but he doesn’t, letting Stan rub his back as he sucks in deep breaths. When he finally lifts his head, there are tear tracks on his cheeks. He looks more confused than angry. “You really don’t get it,” he rasps. He spits, then sits up. “I don’t reckon you ever will.”

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The Ritual (Billford, NSFW)

the-billford-file:

Stanford wasn’t a religious man, yet he felt there was something
sacred over it every time. The lit candles, the triangular relics, the
carpet and tapestries depicting him: Bill Cipher. Yes, it was sacred,
like a ritual between himself and a deity, one which he had been chosen
by, who had seen and recognized him for the worth he had always felt he
possessed.

A rush of adrenaline surged through his body as he
thought of it, making his heart flutter. Bill, this being of unlimited
knowledge, acknowledged his worth, and this was their private ritual.
Not even Fiddleford was allowed inside this room anymore. Although he
knew his partner worried much for him, it had become far too… intimate
to share.

Not a sound could be heard aside from the soft
flickering of the candles, casting nothing but a dim light, easily
swallowed up by the darkness of the room. It didn’t matter though, since
Stanford’s eyes were closed. He sat completely still on the round
carpet in the center of it all. No matter how focused and concentrated
he was, he could never sense Bill approaching him before he was already
there. Easily slipping inside his mind, filling out every inch of his
body with his presence. The two of them, now within the same flesh.

It was an experience of pure ecstasy.

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