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danni3l · 24 hours ago

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Ford Pines — Gunplay

(nsfw drabble, minors dni!!!)

Ford Pines x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re a freaky, like REAL freaky one and it just so happens that Ford carries a gun around all the damn time… and you just can’t help yourself.

— 💜

You had to beg Ford to try anything new in bed.

You were a little too freaky for your own good, you always knew that. You’d been high off your ass a couple of times when having sex and you barely remembered what happened the morning after, only having marks and mysterious fluids on your body as evidence of your adventures. Now you were a little more settled, being that you were in a stable relationship with Stanford, but that risky side of you wasn’t gone, obviously. You had noticed how Ford was pretty vanilla, very gentle and loving when it came to sex, and to anything in general really. You wouldn’t have it any other way, but there was still that something… some spark you were missing. And apparently, your partner was a gun kinda guy, he had many types of cool alien guns he’d brought from the years he’d spent hopping dimensions, as he’d told you, and some others he’d modified himself. The fantasy of Ford defending you by aiming his gun at any threat already had you dripping, your dirtiest side taking over some nights when you just had to touch yourself at the thought.

Eventually, you resolved to try and ask him if he’d be willing to do some gunplay in the bedroom, because god damn did you need it badly. It was a hard task, a lot of kissing and begging involved before Ford finally gave in to your request.

“Please, my love…” you made your best pleading voice as you sucked a sensual kiss to Ford’s neck, rutting your hips down on his lap to try and work him up. But of course, such an unusual ask had left him a little shocked.

“S-Stardust, I-“ his breath hitched with another kiss you left, this one turning to a hickey as you nipped at the skin of his neck. But Ford’s hands found your hips, stopping your motion so he could actually concentrate. You pulled your face away from his neck with your brows slightly furrowed and your best pleading, needy eyes. Fuck, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes.

“That’s too dangerous, my love…” Ford’s eyes trailed over your face, as if silently asking what was wrong with you for you to want such a thing. But his hand was gentle and soft when he cupped your face on it, his gaze with a flicker of worry. “I wouldn’t bear the pain of hurting you in the slightest…” was all he could manage to try and discourage you.

But you turned your face to kiss his palm, your lips lingering there for a millisecond longer than needed, and you slowly fluttered your eyes open after that gentle peck. “Please…” you begged with a whisper, then one of your hands gently held Ford’s in place as your lips trailed down his wrist, slowly and teasingly. Along the way, you muttered some more pleads, whimsical and needy. Then your lips moved back to his hand, his fingers more specifically, and you kissed each one of them, gently sucking at the tips. Each time you’d finish kissing one of them, you’d look right into Ford’s eyes and whimper a “please” again. When you got to his sixth finger, your lips lingered a little longer, this time sucking the finger as if it were his cock. He knew that feeling all too well, how you’d do exactly the things you knew would drive him crazy. But you staring right into his eyes while absolutely worshipping him to try and get him to fulfill your sick fantasy, that was what did it.

Ford let out a defeated groan, rolling his desk chair closer to a drawer that seemed to be locked. It wasn’t unusual for him to have dangerous things locked down at the basement anyway, it was his lab and he experimented with anything he found, so many dangerous chemicals and objects could be found down there. But he turned the key and opened the drawer only to reveal a handgun that had a futuristic look, most likely a product of alien technology you had little to no knowledge of. Your eyes widened slightly with expectation and a bit of surprise because, apparently Ford gave in, just like that.

“On your knees. Now.” Ford’s voice was different when he said this, darker, and his eyes had a lustful edge to them as well. You could only answer with a grateful whimper and immediately got off his lap and on your knees in front of him, expectant to anything he’d tell you to do. You weren’t only down bad, but also absolutely infatuated with this man, and the need you felt only made you more submissive to Stanford. You didn’t know what to expect, you weren’t expecting anything in specific when he actually accepted. But it took you off guard when he put the gun at level with his hips, right in front of where his cock strained his slacks, pointed at you. He must’ve noticed when you licked your lips, because he gave a nod and commanded firmly again. “Go on. Suck.”

Your eyes looked up at him, at how he seemed to both want this and absolutely despise it at the same time. Stanford adored you, his one and only and the love of his life, but when you begged to be submitted and threatened so eagerly… if there was something harder than to keep you away from harm and keep you safe, it was to resist you. He watched intently as you gingerly kitten-licked the muzzle, a little moan escaping you as you felt the cold, odd-tasting metal. If one lick got you so worked up, Ford couldn’t wait to see what you would look like with the whole barrel in your mouth. You slowly started to take more and more deeper into your mouth, lips slightly trembling along the cold surface and making you gag with your own saliva. Because yes, you are salivating more than usual; a result of the arousal, excitement, and nervousness of encountering yourself sucking on a gun that you have no idea if it’s loaded or not. You trust your lover, of course you do, and he would never even dare hurting you. But the gun still makes you shake and tears prick at your eyes, the thrill is too good to stop, the slight fear only heightens your arousal. Before you know it, you’re drooling all over the gun, sloppily taking what you can, whimpering at the sensation. Ford’s breath had already become more labored, just the show you were putting on was enough to make him painfully hard. You only noticed when he abruptly pulled the gun away from you, a trail of saliva still connecting your tongue with the muzzle, and you looked up at Ford’s flushed face. Only then you noticed his hands were quite literally shaking, either with anticipation, need, or fear of accidentally hurting you. When you caught your breath a bit more, you slowly started to move your hands up to his belt to undo it. He didn’t stop you, and that meant he wanted this, just couldn’t even register why, so he couldn’t ask for it properly. Your dear love, although much older and presumably wiser than you, was already and overstimulated mess in your hands, and the least you could do for him right now was taking his painfully hard cock in your hand, pumping it a few times, and then gently wrapping your lips at the tip.

It was a gentle gesture, yet enough to make Stanford shudder and let your name out of his mouth with a choked gasp. His free hand found its way to your hair, shakily stroking. But your gaze wandered towards his right hand which still held the gun. You reached for it, carefully not to startle Ford, and brought it closer to your face. The only thing Ford could do was stare, and later whimper when your lips left the tip of his cock to suck on the gun’s muzzle again, your hand still attending to Ford’s needs. Then you did the opposite, moving your mouth back to Ford’s aching cock while you stroked the gun. You were a vision, way too erotic for him to hold on any longer. You could see it in the grimace of pleasure and also shame that was plastered on Ford’s face, he was so painfully close and you could feel his cock throbbing in your hand. With your flushed face and reddened lips from sucking, you looked up at Ford, your glazed eyes could’ve made him faint right then and there.

“Please… cum on my mouth… wanna taste you, baby…” you breathlessly pleaded, still erotically and eagerly stroking both his dick and his gun, alternating with your mouth on either. Your plead wasn’t unheard, it was about a minute or two before Ford’s muscles stiffened and relaxed again a few times, his hot cum spilling on your tongue and a little bit spilling out from your mouth, making the edges of it dirty. So messy, but you always enjoyed to be messy and Ford was clear on that. He couldn’t help staring, even if he’d already cum, the way you eagerly cleaned him up with your tongue was impossible to ignore.

After you tucked him back into his boxers, you nuzzled closer to the warm bulge, leaving light affectionate kisses on him, as if it didn’t affect him nearly as much as it actually did. Then your gaze turned to the gun, and your curiosity made you ask.

“Is it actually loaded?” You nodded towards the gun so Ford knew what you referred to, the aftershocks of his orgasm still blurred his mind.

“Always is.” Ford breathed, and you felt another shock of arousal go straight to the lower half of your body at the knowledge that you just lived through the real deal, and it was hot as fuck.

#stanford pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls #ford pines x reader #ford pines smut #stanford pines smut

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ford-pines-lover · 19 hours ago

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Tolerate it

when you were out building other worlds, where was I?

Here is this one!! @chillinglyadventurous

Tags: SFW, falling out of love, i actually think this is sad

I greet you with a battle hero's welcome

There was nothing better than going to the shack after a shopping trip with Mabel. She strides inside the house with her millions of bags. It was like she was gleaming with the dust of a million stars. There was nothing that could hurt her or stop her from her excitement.

When you two walked inside the shack, everything was in its place. It seemed as if nothing was touched. Made sense; Dipper was out with Stan doing some grunkle, nephew bonding, and Ford? Well, he hasn’t seen the light of day in a week. It was starting to worry you. Usually he at least makes an effort to come see you before bed or come up for dinner, but lately it hasn’t even been anything. Long nights waiting and hoping that your boyfriend would come and sleep next to you. Waiting to feel another person next to you was excruciating.

You got snapped out of your thoughts when you heard Mabel say, “That was so fun, y/n! Thank you for taking me!” She gives you a hug and runs off to the attic to drop off her stuff. She was like a younger sister to you. Maybe even a daughter in some sense? Your own feelings were conflicted.

You walk down to the lab to see your boyfriend. He was slouched over his desk, papers everywhere. He was drowning in his work. You surmise that he had just found a new discovery. Perhaps a new equation or a new creature found here in the Falls. You knew that just recently Ford had gone deeper in the woods than he had ever felt comfortable. Unsurprisingly, he took Dipper with him. They came home with cuts and bruises. Neither of them unscathed.

“Dear, I’m fine,” he had said.

So you believed him.

“Hey, love.” You walk up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t move, still surrounded by the pages and pages of math and science. You knew you had an affinity toward the man, but sometimes you couldn’t pinpoint why. He wasn’t involved in your relationship often; he never came to bed; hell, you can’t remember the last time you two had sex!

I take your indiscretions all in good fun

It took him a bit to notice you.

“Hello, my dear.” He turned to look at you. His chair squeaking as he moved as if he hadn’t moved in hours. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

You give him an incredulous look. Actually, you hadn’t slept in days. Ford had been so engulfed in his work that he hadn’t gone to bed with you in days. He sleeps on his desk, waiting for some sort of answer to just pop out of his work. You press your lips together, not wanting to disturb the peace. Deciding to keep your mouth shut about your feelings, you say, “Yeah, it’s been a rough couple nights, but I’ve been okay.” You turn around to leave, “There will be dinner in about an hour if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,”

“If that’s what you wish.” You tearfully look away and walk back upstairs. Your movements were saturnine. Everything hurt; nothing felt real. The love you had once in the past almost feels obsolete now. There was almost a remorseful feeling inside you for him. He has gone through so much; you should just let him be. But if your needs weren't being met, why should you stay?

I sit and listеn

As you set up your new art station that you had bought at the store, you open the paints. They were an expensive set of oil paints that you were so desperate to try out. Painting wasn’t a new hobby, just one that had gone dormant over the last couple years. Now that you have a rather inadequate boyfriend, you were ready to take on this hobby once again.

“Hey, kid.” You see Stan approach you with a weary look on his face. He must have just gotten back with Dipper, but you hadn’t seen Dipper yet. “I know that you and Ford are going through hard times right now." He leans on the doorframe with a phlegmatic disposition. “Just know that he does still love you and is just having a hard time. Just give him some time, kid. He’ll come around.”

“Stan, I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” You said with an indigent look across your face. “I love him, but I can’t feel so empty anymore.”

“Look, kid, I can talk to him for you if you’d like. He’d better listen to me. I wouldn’t want to lose a family member over some stupid math equations.” He sighs. "You know how he’s an opportunist. He knows what he wants, and he takes it.”

“Please talk to him for me; he doesn’t seem to listen to me.” You gulp. “I know how he is. I just want my Stanford back.”

“I’ll be back, then. Hang tight.”

You watch as he goes out of the room. You were stationed in the kitchen with your supplies, so it was easy access to the lab from there. Your mind starts to wander. What if you really were just a bother and in the way? What if there was really nothing there?

You take a deep breath and lather a thin coat of white paint on the canvas. You weren’t quite sure what would come of this painting, but you knew you were emotional, and this was one healthy way to get it out. At least that's what your therapist had said at one point. Instead of taking it out on other people, taking it out of a piece of canvas was healthier. Or something.

You started with hues of grey and blue. For some reason there was something compelling you to use those colors. Maybe they stated how you felt. Grey and empty. Blue and sad. Or maybe you just liked them.

Below you, you could hear fighting. It was the two men that you had trusted more than anything in the world. You couldn’t quite make out what they were yelling to each other. It was loud. It shook the house. There was a negative tone flowing through the shack. It was dizzying.

“C’mon Poindexter… shes… kid! Don't…care... her?” You heard most of Stan’s words. But what hurt the most is what his brother said after.

“Yes, I care, Stanley! It’s all just become too much, and my work is far too important! I don't understand why none of you can see that!” You heard that one clear as day. It was perfectly clear why he didn’t want to see you. You were too much.

“Why the fuck would you say that?” You could hear Stan getting louder with each word. “At least talk to her! Have dinner with her. Once. Before you decide to throw this away.” He had an ardent tone.

“What are you trying to imply?”

“That you’re being a selfish idiot and throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to you!”

I polish plates until they gleam and glistеn

You got up from your spot at the table. Your mind is whizzing and whirring from the fighting in the basement. You try to think of something, anything, to keep your mind off of what Ford had just said. Too Much? You walk over to the sink and start doing the dishes. You were staring off, out the window, trying not to completely break apart.

Was Stan talking to Ford a good idea? Or did it really cause more issues than what was worth? Maybe Ford is just saying shit because he’s sleep deprived. He does tend to get more annoyed than usual when he hasn’t had a good rest. Doesn’t everyone?

“Hey, y/n. Everything good?” You jump, seeing Dipper behind you. When did you start crying?

You wipe your face with your sleeve and put on a fake smile. He definitely could tell. “Yeah, why what’s up?”

“I’m not stupid, y/n. I hear Grunkle Stan and Ford fighting.” He gave you a judgmental look. You knew he wasn’t stupid, but it wasn't fair that he had to listen to his Grunkles fighting.

“I know you’re not stupid. I’m genuinely okay; I am just a little overwhelmed.” You took in a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

He gently nods and walks away.

You're so much older and wiser, and I

You think about the age gap between you two while you sit down to continue to paint again. The age gap was significant enough that you were 30 years younger than him. It was hard for him, yet it seemed like he thoroughly enjoyed the relationship.

You two had met at the library while checking out a book. Then on from there, Ford invited you to go on adventures with him and invited you to play D, D, and more D with him. You two were really bonding. Giggling and blushing as your two characters in the RPG were flirting and Dipper being grossed out the whole time. Mabel was way too excited about her Grunkle’s newfound crush.

Then you lost your house. The landlord decided that he wasn’t going to rent out his house anymore, and it left you homeless. You couldn’t afford to just move spontaneously. This had left you to live out of your car for about a week. It was horrible. Worse than you had originally imagined. It was overcrowded, messy, and humiliating.

The Pines family had heard what happened. Stan was the first to offer you a room to stay in.

“Kid, times are tough. I know what it’s like to be homeless. So I’m offering you a space, free of charge.”

“Are you sure?” You had said, worried about overstepping bounds.

“I wouldn’t be offering it to ya if I wasn’t sure.”

That was that. You were now an honorary member of the Pines family.

With that came more time spent with Stanford. This led to stolen kisses in the lab and sleepovers in your bedroom. It became routine to see him often. One day you had asked him out formally. It was just to a diner. Nothing fancy, but it meant something to you.

After that, you and Ford were inseparable. Constantly going on adventures; hanging out. Life was great. Until now.

Ford stands before you, arms crossed. You could tell he was upset.

“I know I haven’t talked to you in a bit, but I would like to know if you were okay with going out for dinner.” It seemed like it took a lot out of him just to get that out.

“Yeah, sure.” You tried to not let it be known that it upset you that he was being this way. “I think I have an idea. I’ll come grab you in thirty minutes, okay?”

“Alright.”

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid

You decide to stand in his lab doorway. He had agreed to dinner. Hopefully things will not go to shit and everything will go to plan.

“You ready?” You held out your hand, and he hesitantly put his hand in yours. It didn’t feel right, but you kept it cool.

“Yes.” He had said rather coldly. Oh boy.

Use my best colors for your portrait

You stare at the portrait you had made as it sits in your tote bag. This was a gift to him. It was of you two stargazing. The colors were magnificent. It has ranges of blues, violets, and reds. You hoped that he would like it and see it as a means to start over.

Maybe not.

Lay the table with the fancy shit

You led him outside to the place you had set up. It was a picnic on a hill. Just like you two had once had a date there months ago. There were plates of food, fake candles, flowers, just about anything you could imagine.

“It looks... nice.” Ford had said as he forced a smile.

“I’m glad you like it.” You pop open the wine bottle and pour yourself a big glass.

Throughout the whole dinner, he was not attentive. He really was in another world. There was nothing that could make him want to be at this dinner that you had planned. Yet here he was.

And the portrait stayed in your bag.

And watch you tolerate it

#stanford pines #gravity falls #ford pines #bill cipher #stanley pines #ford pines x reader #chillinglyadventurous and ford pines lover #stanford pines x reader #ford pines lover fics #ford pines x you

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ohkeios · 3 days ago

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Might I entice you with a moodboard for my first ever oneshot posted in ao3? :3

Title: Haunt my dreams

Rating: EXPLICIT

Contents: Ford Spines/Reader, Age Gap, Boss/Employee Relationship, two academics flirting by having intellectual conversations, sexual tension, FERAL FORD, research assistant and research mentor dynamics, explicit content

✓ Word count: 11,624

If you're interested, please check it out and give your thoughts! It's under the same username I have here :D

Link to the fic will be posted below this short snippet of said fic, enjoy!

It had been two years since you moved into this weird and unmapped location at the far edges of Oregon, where both the unexplainable and unimaginable populated in its active state. Two years since you’ve graduated college in your hometown, and two years since Dr. Pines had discovered you from your published research which guaranteed your first PhD.

You did have some doubts traveling to another state because of an unknown letter appearing in your mailbox one day, with nothing but an intricately drawn map and specific instructions on how to get to that location. Whoever sent it to you could’ve just sent an email, but somehow your curiosity piqued upon seeing the two initials signed at the bottom.

F. P.

You’ve seen those initials somewhere in your university library, and so you did your own research. The way your jaw dropped when you found out that the letter sent to you was from none other than the esteemed Dr. Stanford Pines, an incredible man possessing twelve PhDs, who was an absolute genius in his prime from what you’ve heard. Still is, you guessed. He had published multiple researches that guaranteed all those Phds in his name, and a few copy of his manuscripts were in your university’s library.

You totally did not spend a week reading all of his research that you can get your hands to.

Can you blame yourself though? It was hard not to develop a great sense of admiration when someone possessed so much knowledge, skills, and experience that could be considered humanly impossible to acquire in such a short time.

But give it to Dr. Pines and his twelve PhDs to take the crown.

When you finally mustered up the courage to travel to Oregon, the sight of Gravity Falls greeted your entrance, and immediately you did not regret coming to this uncharted region.

Then, you finally met the man who you dreaded to meet.

At first, the two of you kept a professional distance with each other. Never crossing past the boundary of a mentor and assistant. It’s how it is supposed to be. However, as time progressed, you were able to melt that icy barrier of his and he was able to mold you into your full potential as well. Behind his cold exterior, you discovered a rather charming yet eccentric side to him.

It took you some time to adjust to how fast-paced his mind functioned. You found it fascinating, in a sense, how the mind of a genius works—never resting and always on the search for more.

Ford was insatiable—for knowledge, for answers, and for every bit of information he could gather and store in that brilliant mind palace of his.

And he was not greedy with his discoveries, he shared everything he had learned with you in the span of your first year mentoring under him. If anything, he was more than enthusiastic to learn how genuinely curious you were to his life’s work. Of course, it never went beyond anything academic. Always staying on your separate sides of the line of professionalism.

Although, there was still a boundary you knew you shouldn’t cross, you were often tempted to ask a few personal questions. Given his mysterious nature, you knew he hid things from you.

Specifically from his past.

It was understandable as to why he did, you still haven’t earned enough of his trust for him to entertain you with his past endeavors. However, that did not stop you from formulating your own theories about your mentor.

Every time Ford shared a story with you, you observed how quickly he would avert the subject whenever he would trespass an imaginary line he placed. As if he was stopping himself from revealing anything.

Why? You have no idea.

But you never pushed him to talk, respecting his boundaries and his secrets.

He did the same thing to you as well, always so observant to your body language and how you respond to his questions. Once he suspected a shift in your demeanor, Ford would immediately divert his question to another or simply drop it completely. You were also thankful for his respectful manners, even though it amused you how difficult it must be for him to hold off his questions.

Ah, yes. The ethic of a researcher.

Always trying to question things, never stopping until they have their answers.

Your relationship deliberately changed the more you spent time with him, trespassing the line of a friendship, you could say. You were beginning to unravel more sides to him, and he, in turn, began seeing you as more than his assistant. You became his friend, and you reciprocate the sentiment.

The two of you exchanged banters, made up silly theories, and went on expeditions all across Gravity Falls. You were certain that you’ve seen it all, but your mentor constantly reminded you that you haven’t seen anything yet compared to what he has.

And you believed him.

It was given that you found his profound intellect and masterful expertise highly impressive, but it doesn't mean there’s nothing else to admire about him.

You don’t deny the fact that Ford was one incredibly attractive man. Despite his age, his broad and sturdy physique was enough to make any woman (or man) swoon, developed from the years from his travels and was still well-maintained to this day. Not to mention his rugged features and witty humor. Only a fool would not agree with what half of the town says about him, but it seemed only he was the only one who’s completely oblivious to the ungodly amount of sex appeal he exudes—though, calling him a fool did not sit right on your tongue.

A silver fox, as what you heard some women say behind his back whenever you explored the town for groceries and supplies.

You were not an idiot, you were one of those women who appreciated a little eye candy. And it came in the form of a messy silver-streaked gray hair, cracked glasses, beige trench coat and red turtleneck.

Though, you used to believe that these thoughts were nothing more but a harmless silly crush for your mentor.

How much of a liar were you to keep pretending as if you weren’t affected by the things he does?

You knew you had it bad when you started to see him differently. Suddenly, every bit of interaction you have with him would always send your hopeless romantic heart into a wild frenzy.

Those lingering touches that never failed to make your skin run hot, the occasional prolonged eye contact with him during your discussions, his kind and gentlemanly gestures, and the way he would immediately seek your company after a day off.

These only worsened your crush on him, and you hated yourself for it because it felt wrong.

But his praises. God, his praises.

“You’re doing so good, little one.”

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

“You learn quickly, darling.”

“That’s my smart girl.”

Little one? Sweetheart? Darling? Smart girl? You swore to the stars above you would jump at him the next time he decided to pull a move like that.

You were certain he had an idea of his effect on you, but you quickly brush it off, not assuming anything of it.

However, those moments fueled your nightly fantasies the moment you were back in your apartment. You can’t remember how many times you’ve brought yourself to release with the sound of his name freeing you from your torment. You often wonder what his impression of you was now. Did he still see you as his trusted assistant? A close friend? An obedient student perhaps?

My little one. You gasped at the thought of him running his skillful hands all across your warm skin, eliciting the same scorching sensation he unknowingly ignites within you. He would know your body inside and out, memorizing every dips and curves those lovely hands of his can reach, and mapping out the areas he liked with a possessive mark.

My sweetheart. Thoughts of his smart mouth gliding over your neck, teasing you with slow yet sensual kisses that would render you breathless. His kisses would trail down to the valley of your breasts, giving each one an appreciative lick, before slowly descending farther to where you needed him the most.

My darling. Your thighs would be colored with bruises with the shape of his fingers, a reminder of his thirst for you. He would be meticulous with his hungry ministrations, taking his time to draw out your climax with every slow swipe of his tongue. You could imagine him testing how many fingers he could fit into you to prepare for the size of him.

My smart girl. God, you want nothing more than to feel the length of him pushing inside you. That painful yet delectable stretch that would leave you squirming for more as he starts out slow, singing his praises next to your ear. His body pressed closely against yours, your thighs around his strong waist, as he drives himself into you with vigor and passion.

But you hid all these forbidden thoughts away, shame and guilt overwhelming you the moment you were in the same room as him.

A one-sided crush was bad, but on someone who saw you as nothing but their colleague and trusted friend? Now, that’s dangerous.

You can only pray to the stars that your heart will simply move on from wanting someone you can’t have before it completely breaks.

#ford pines #ford pines x reader #gravity falls #fanfiction #ao3 #stanford pines #gravity falls fanfiction #stanford pines x reader

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cyber-dump-171 · 2 days ago

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Chapter 2: Do you believe?

The End is Near (Gravity Falls x Reader)

← Chapter 1 | Masterlist | Chapter 3 →

Word count: 5.5k.

WARNING: mentions of violence, blood, injuries, body horror, and animal mutation.

Note: sorry this took so long! had a few rough weeks and I'm nearing the end of my final year in uni, but it's all good! Thank you so much to everyone who left a like, reblog, or comment, it makes me so happy to see you're enjoying this fic!

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Fiddleford's sudden cry stops you dead in your tracks. One foot in the air, covered in the creature's dark blood, hands clenched tightly into fists, unaware that your nails are digging painfully into your palms as you stare directly into the lantern's light like a deer caught in the headlights.

His mouth moves, but you're too disoriented to pay attention to the worried string of words that leave his tongue. His eyebrows furrow, a hand reaching out in concern, but your vision swims as the adrenaline begins to subside, and your body screams at the injuries scarring your skin and muscles. “Fiddleford… When did you get here?”

Your ears buzz and pop painfully. However, as if a switch had been flipped, the forest around you suddenly returns to life instantly. In the distance, you can hear the rustling of branches, the crunching of leaves, and the hooting of night owls. Even the fog has lifted, allowing you to see beyond the clearing and further into the forest. Did the creature restrict your vision and hearing? No way. That should be impossible, right?

Your legs feel like jelly, the muscles burning in protest as they beg you to sit down. Unfortunately, as you step back from the mangled carcass, you land on your injured ankle, and combined with the sole of your shoe covered in the monster's slippery blood, your entire world is turned upside down as you land painfully on your back, the blades of grass nipping at your exposed skin.

“Sweet sarsaparilla! You alright!?” within seconds, Fiddleford's worried face comes into view, the moon framing his head beautifully, making him look like an angel. When did he get so pretty? You nod weakly and close your eyes, trying to rid yourself of the dizziness that makes it hard to breathe and even harder to swallow.

“M’fine,” your voice sounds so strange, hoarse, like you’ve got the worst cold in history. It sucks to breathe, worse to be alive right now, the pain on your ankle feels like fire, scorching the surrounding skin. ‘But it’ll pass… it always does.’ Lukewarm fingers suddenly but gently intertwine with yours as Fiddleford pulls you to sit up and you open your bleary eyes, dizzily watching the man rifle through his bag with determination.

“Hold steady, Sunflower. I’m gonna push down on ya neck, this might hurt,” he mutters as he slips on a pair of surgical gloves, the latex snapping close to his skin. You perk up when hearing the flower, was that supposed to be a nickname for you? An unfamiliar but not unwelcome heat swirls in your chest and your suspicion is confirmed when Fiddleford stares back, eyes wide at what has left his mouth, and that sweet blush is back on his cheeks.

A small smirk is plastered on your face, and for some strange reason, you feel giddy. “That’s a cute nickname… I quite like it. But, why sunflower?” you cough roughly and put a hand on his shoulder, watching him jump at the sound out of the corner of your eye. He carefully hides his face from you, stuttering as he whispers about you shutting up and “letting him do the medic's work.” You just chuckle in return.

You close your eyes again as you concentrate on listening to the now vibrant surroundings, taking your attention away from the pain. Soon, nimble fingers start poking and prodding at your neck, where you imagine a rather large purple bruise is beginning to form. You suck in a breath as he presses down on a particularly painful spot, and he quietly apologizes, muttering something about your thyroid gland.

“FIDDLEFORD!? WHERE ARE YOU!?” a voice suddenly shouts from beyond the nearby trees. As your eyes open, a flash of white light haphazardly cuts through the branches and foliage. Said man perks up at the mention of his name and leans away from your ear to shout his location, prompting a quizzical look from you in return. “Ah! Remember my college buddy? That’s him right there.”

As if summoned, the nearby bushes rustle harshly when a tall, broad man in a large tan trench coat steps through, leaves and twigs stuck in his fluffy brown hair. Your fingers involuntarily twitch; why do you have this sudden urge to run your hands through it? What is wrong with you today!? You zap the thought away, paying close attention to the new stranger who wipes away at the grime and debris caught in his clothing.

“Ah, there you are! The police are here, they’re asking for the new chief,” he explains rather breathlessly, lifting his head to finally face you both and offering a polite smile at you. “You must be her. I’m Dr. Stanford Pines, a pleasure to meet you,” you mumble your name to him, trying to ease the pain as much as possible.

He seems to understand your predicament, nodding before his attention is immediately enraptured by the beast’s carcass lying still on the ground. “I see, so this is what was causing all that ruckus,” he hums, crouching down near one of its twisted limbs as he digs through his coat pockets, pulling out a large burgundy notebook and fountain pen, and quickly jotting down a variety of notes at the speed of light.

His insatiable curiosity impresses you, especially when his attention is so focused on the macabre scene before him. But remembering Fiddleford's explanation during the car ride, you dismiss his behavior as the burning curiosity most scientists have. “Document all you want, but those notes won't see the light of day until we figure out what’s going on,” you warn, the pain in your throat slowly easing as you speak more clearly.

Stanford doesn't look up from his notes, but you can spot a small grin. “Do not worry; my research and discoveries are for my eyes only,” he pronounces proudly, even slightly puffing out his chest. However, Fiddleford rolls his eyes and scoffs, muttering a playful “unfortunately” as he signals to his pockets, implying a lack of money. You chuckle softly.

“Well now, looks like your neck’s holdin’ up alright, ‘cept for that bruise and temporary damage to your vocal cords. You feelin’ pain anywhere else ‘sides your ankle?” You’re about to point to the side of your torso, muscles still pulsating where the monster’s arm slammed into you when a loud thought crosses your mind: ‘You’ve bothered them enough, there’s no need to waste any more resources on you.’

You just shake your head, ignoring the searing pain that runs through a good chunk of your torso. This is nothing new, you've dealt with worse and you'll just push through when it gets unbearable, like always. Scanning you one last time for any other superficial injuries he might have missed due to the adrenaline, Fiddleford nods before moving quickly to your ankle, carefully gripping the limb to avoid causing more pain as he pulls your pant leg up to inspect the damage.

At the sight of the angry red marks cutting into your skin and oozing blood that has begun to coagulate, the man draws a rather loud breath, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to remove the tattered pieces of black leather that stubbornly cling to your calf and once belong to your shoe.

“Thank the heavens, them cuts don’t seem too deep; no need for stitches. Your boot took most of the hit,” he comforts, rummaging through his bag as he takes out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton balls. Damn it, you liked those shoes too, you got them in a Christmas sale as a personal gift with your first paycheck. “But I reckon you best not be walkin’ too much, and get a tetanus shot once we’re done.”

Dabbing the cotton, the cold, wet material touches your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as Fiddleford delicately cleans the area around the injury. With a quiet warning, he pours the icy liquid directly onto the cuts, causing you to jerk back slightly as you feel the hydrogen bubbles burn through the edges of your injury. Soon the sizzling stops and the man wipes away the dirty residue with a handkerchief before expertly bandaging the wound and gently patting your knee.

“All done! You took it like a champ. With some rest and painkillers, that pain oughta clear right up,” Fiddleford stumbles to his feet, removing the surgical gloves with a snap! and tossing them haphazardly into his bag before extending a bare hand to you. You thank him under your breath, feeling rather warm inside as your fingers wrap around his palm, and in one strong tug, you stand up but,

But as the sole of your tattered boot hits the ground, the world spins before your eyes, colors blurring, shapes moving like water as your legs lock, your body feeling like jelly, weak and wobbly, and without warning you stagger forward, your face slamming into the man's chest as your arms wrap limply around his torso, seeking stability. With your skin so close to Fiddleford's, you can feel his heart beating a mile an hour.

He yelps in surprise, his hands flailing around your body, unable to process what's happening or where to put them. “M’sorry, I feel like I have no control of my body,” your raspy voice is muffled, your nose buried deep in his green shirt where you inhale his earthy scent, a soothing yet intense mix of honey, lavender, and rosemary. And though you would like to stay buried there forever, this man is going to have a heart attack if you don't move soon.

And so your trembling palms loosen their grip on his shirt, creeping up to his shoulders before you push against them, lifting your body and coming face to face with reddened cheeks and crooked glasses. “I-It’s all g-good; it’s real… um… n-normal for someone to feel a bit… ah, s-shook up after somethin’ like that,” Fiddleford stumbles with his words, his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

You nod, eyes lidded, as the exhaustion of the night's events finally begins to take its stubborn toll on your body, but you push it away, knowing full well that you won't be able to sleep until the morning, or even the afternoon. Work comes first, and with the two injured boys telling you that a beast brutally murdered their friend, and its carcass lying a few feet away from you, it's going to be rather a fun night.

“Thank you, Fiddleford. You’re very sweet… I owe you a coffee,” you pat him affectionately on the right cheek before walking away, allowing the poor man to catch his breath as he immediately ducks down and hurriedly shoves his materials and trash into his bag, not caring if the products get wrinkled or crushed.

Meanwhile, your attention is drawn to the other man, Stanford, who is so engrossed in his research that he didn't seem to notice the commotion next to him. Or at least turned a blind eye to it. You wobble your way over to him, putting little force on your injury as you crane your neck to look at the yellowed page.

You're impressed by the craftsmanship, watching quietly as skilled and calloused fingers write in cursive, detailing the properties of the creature's skin and bones, adding the worryingly pale appearance of the monster and a burning question: “What even is this thing?”. He then rapidly focuses on the incomplete sketch that takes up a good part of the page, streaks of black ink filling in the blanks of what the monster may have looked like, as you destroyed its face, only leaving a crater with mushed insides.

You crouch down beside him, the movement finally alerting him to your presence. His head immediately jumps up, his eyes widening and his mouth agape as he slams the journal shut, hiding it behind his back under his trenchcoat. His surprise is then replaced by a look of annoyance on his face, and his lips tighten, shoving his hands harshly into his pockets.

“Weren't you ever taught that it's rude to poke around people's personal belongings?” He huffs, lowering his face. You simply shrug your shoulders, undisturbed by his actions and words. “Well, you are documenting my crime scene, so I think I have some right to be nosey,” you fire back.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, and while you can't detect any malice in his actions, you also don’t get a hint of playfulness either. He's put a barrier between you, and you can't really blame him. But oh well, now that the damage has been done, you're going to add insult to injury by poking your nose into his business. “I get that you're a scientist, but what is it that fascinates you about this thing?”

You reach out and touch the body lightly; it's cold as ice, and you're even more certain that whatever this thing is resembles a bat. Its skin is soft, wrinkled, and quite elastic, and it's covered in a very thin layer of spiky hair, almost invisible to the eye. Its claws are stained a strong, deep yellow, with dirt, moss, and grime accumulated under the protective plate.

Closer inspection of the body reveals that it appears to have no exposed reproductive system and, bizarrely, the appearance of the boy it was trying to emulate earlier has now disappeared, leaving behind an eerily milky skin with dark protruding veins. How in God’s name are you going to explain this creature to the families of the victims?

Next to you, Stanford perks up at your words, his body almost vibrating with the emotion of being able to pour out a sea of scientific theories and words to a stranger who may share the same interest. Sudden bright eyes look at you, and he reminds you of an eager child. “Ah! Well, to answer your question, I must ask one back. Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural?”

… Did you hear that right? You turn around, hoping that this is his way of bluffing or breaking the ice, but as you focus on his expression, noticing his furrowed eyebrows and sharp eyes, you realize he’s dead serious. You stare at him back, bewildered. “Huh?” Stanford is about to repeat the question when you lift a hand, cutting him off and your mouth falls slightly open.

Somebody was murdered, two boys were injured and this man is trying to tell you that this monster is a cryptid? What? That this creature falls in the same category as ghosts and vampires? You definitely hit your head too hard when you fell.

Look, it's not an unusual question. Thanks to the rise of horror films and TV shows, your colleagues have dragged you into several conversations about the same subject. And, to be honest, you have a firm opinion on the matter: they don't exist. You believe that aliens are real. Maybe they don't look like gray or green people, but humans can't be the only living organisms in the universe.

But things like ghosts, Mothman, and werewolves? Yeah, that stuff felt more like attention-grabbing ploys that could only provide fantastical stories and a conveniently blurry photo rather than real and concrete evidence of their existence. Besides, so many scientists and experts keep saying and proving that such creatures can't exist, no matter how much “mediums” claim they do.

Fucking hell, you and your close friend and college roommate, Paula, used to get play a game on Halloween, drinking every time a psychic came on TV and did something stupid or ridiculous to prove the existence of ghosts or poltergeists. You would end up blacked out, sprawled on the floor, giggling like idiots as the clock struck midnight.

Stanford gives a quizzical look yet his eyes are still twinkling, his hands shifting impatiently inside his pockets as you’re attempting to formulate a response, that’s not an insult, when the nearby bushes begin to shift. Leaves and twigs crunch under the pressure of someone's shoe, which causes you and Stanford to immediately move away from the sound, scurrying to stand up as you draw the taser that was still attached to your belt.

"Who's there?" your voice is strong, the hoarseness in your tone from the injury still fresh, but the pain is almost gone now, only pulsing slightly. The leaves are shaking violently and you can feel Stanford taking a step back, almost hiding behind you, using you as a shield, but he’s clutching something tightly in his left hand. His legs are slightly apart, his eyebrows furrowed as he assumes a fighting stance. Fiddleford is close behind, but far enough away that if anything dangerous jumps out, he can run away without too much trouble.

Seconds feel like minutes as your stomach twists into knots and your heart pounds against your chest. Sometime during the commotion, the lamp is shut off, plunging your surroundings into complete darkness. You silently pray to yourself that this isn't another one of nature's freaks, avenging its fallen sibling and taking your head back as a trophy. But as the branches clear and a beam of light cuts through, a short, chubby man with curly hair and sunglasses steps forward.

The man whistles a cheerful tune, bobbing his head to the beat as he struts nonchalantly, but stops when he sees the three of you standing in the dark. The four of you stare at each other, your eyes squinting and your bodies frozen in poses of attack or surprise.

Great, now a complete stranger has stumbled upon this bizarre crime scene; you're already worried about how relaxed and composed both Stanford and Fiddleford were at the sight of the monster’s corpse, and now you’re adding someone else to the mix. But as your eyes adjust to the powerful beam of the flashlight and you take a closer look at the new man, you notice his clothing, a rather plain police uniform and a forest ranger hat.

This must be one of the officers looking for you. Maybe he's a future colleague of yours.

“Ah, Officer Blubs, glad you could find us. " Your suspicions are confirmed as Stanford clears his throat and relaxes his pose. He quickly stores away whatever weapon he was holding inside his trench coat and shoves his hands back into his pockets. Behind you, Fiddleford breathes a sigh of relief as his shoulders slump and the wrinkle that had furrowed his forehead disappears.

The man, addressed as Blubs, playfully tips his hat to the scientist in a silent greeting, before turning his eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses (an odd fashion choice to wear at night), to focus on your figure. As if a light bulb had gone off in his head, he digs in his pockets and produces a crumpled Polaroid photograph, which he holds up to your face.

The cold air billows harshly as it ruffles your already-tangled hair and while your face doesn’t show it, you’re ready to fall asleep standing up if this man doesn’t hurry it up. An awkward pause placates the air before it’s interrupted by a deep laugh rumbles from within the chest of Blubs. “Well damn! If it isn’t my new boss! You got one hell of a welcome, didn’t ya?”

He puts a hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing the muscle as a sign of friendship. From the way his grip is rather loose and the playful grin on his mouth, you can tell that there's an easy, almost effortless quality to him as if he's never in a hurry to be anywhere. You hope he'll put his back into his work if he's going to operate alongside you.

Yet you push the thought away as a small smile breaks through your tired expression, an unknown weight that has been plaguing your mind easing away. “You’re damn right… we should start right away if we want to catch some much-needed sleep," you immediately go into work mode, but not before returning his gesture. You give the man your name and he asks you to call him by his first name, Daryl.

You nod, turn to the other two, and quickly point your thumb toward the makeshift exit. “Alright, get back to your house and lock the doors, we’ll phone you later to go to the station and take your statements,” you catch a glimpse of Stanford opening his mouth, probably wanting to stay and continue examining the creature, but he's promptly stopped by Fiddleford, who starts to drag him away.

“Thank ya, Sunflower. Give me a holler if that injury’s still botherin’ ya. We’ll be seein’ ya,” He waves his hand shyly but insistently, giving you a sweet smile before rapidly walking away, a confused scientist following close behind. As the figures of the two men become smaller and smaller, you turn to Blubs, who idly prods the creature's body with his foot, completely unfazed by the abomination.

“Daryl, radio the others and tell them to bring a body bag. The sooner we get this thing down to a lab, the better,” you instruct, letting out a tired sigh, mentally preparing yourself for the piles of paperwork you'll be filling out in the next few hours. The deputy perks up, and a hand shoots up to embarrassingly scratch his neck. Oh God, what now?

“My bad. Forgot to tell you that is just you and me, boss lady.”

… What?

══════════════════

You want to die. It’s been sixteen hours since you and Daryl somehow managed to drag the creature's body from four miles deep in the woods, stuff it in the tiny trunk of the police car, and drag your ass back to the dinky little station to start delivering bad news, sending the two kids to the hospital and trying to piece together what happened.

You were able to grab your briefcase, a pair of shoes, and a suitcase full of clothes and toiletries from your car so you could at least get a quick makeover and not look like you hadn't been mauled by a bear during interrogations. But as your eyes darted to your own vehicle, neatly parked right in front of the A-shaped house, a pit of shame welled up deep in your stomach for just leaving it there.

“Don't worry, Sunflower. We'll take care of it!” it was Fiddleford, who had just opened one of the windows of the house when observing your worry after passing by. The sweet man even offered to drive it to your house and you were two seconds away from grabbing his collar and kissing him senseless, but hey, have some class, you just met the guy. So, you simply shout a warm gratitude, before scurrying to the passenger’s side.

As the small police car speeds down the dirt road, Daryl fills you in on what happened while you were fighting the monster, but not before making sure the other two teenagers are not paying attention. Fortunately, they were both fast asleep, the exhaustion of the day's events having taken its toll on their minds.

You felt a pang of sadness as you observed the two of them holding each other tightly, their hands and fingers wrapped tightly around one another, their faces troubled as their dreams are unable to soothe their worries.

You also commented loudly on Dylan's missing tourniquet, wondering if the device had unraveled on its own, but your new associate noted that as soon as Stanford heard the commotion and opened the door, he immediately took the boy in and properly bandaged his injury.

You make a mental note of thanking the eccentric scientist when you see him next time.

As the car picks up speed and signs of civilization begin to appear, Daryl continues in a grave voice. “The other kid didn’t make it… died about four minutes after his friends called 911. We have at least three other missing cases and the boys at Roadkill County already found the body of Tabitha Roberts,” you sigh, scrubbing furiously at your face to remove some of the dirt stains. If you're getting help from another jurisdiction, the situation is dire.

“What do we tell ’em, boss lady?” is the heavy and burning question that hangs in the air. The uncomfortable one, especially when so many important details are clouded by uncertainty and so little evidence. But as the engine roars louder and a street of quaint suburban homes comes into view, you thank yourself for having gathered enough information about some of the conflicts that plague this sleepy town.

“We hypothesize that the creature that murdered your son was a mutated being,” is what you told everyone who took a seat in your new and bare office. Now clean after a hasty shower at the station, you presented the possible theory behind the inexplicable monster you had fought mere hours before.

You saw a variety of facial expressions after hearing this sentence: shock, confusion, anger, and one man was ready to curse you until you took a thick folder from your briefcase and quickly spread a variety of photographs and papers with graphs or testimonies written on them across the surface of the mahogany desk. You drew the following picture:

In 1963, just outside the small town of Gravity Falls, the Northwest family built a factory to mass-produce mud flaps. Soon after it opened, however, several townspeople began to complain that the river that ran alongside the building was polluted, adding that the water looked greenish or gray, and smelled of rotten food and burnt rubber.

Three years later, more complaints were received, this time about the appearance of deformed animals with two heads, having four eyes, or making strange noises such as screams wandering near the factory. To make matters worse, one of the workers was attacked by a deer with deformed hooves whose skin fell off easily, revealing that its muscles had turned completely white.

Soon after, a group of scientists from West Coast Tech University conducted a series of tests that confirmed the lake was contaminated with mercury and other chemicals that came from the factory. The report added that the mutations in the animals were not instantaneous, but were genetic mutations that came from generations of animals drinking water from the contaminated river.

People petitioned the county and the government to close the factory and clean up the river. However, to this day, the Northwest factory continues to operate and the contamination has spread, so the beast may be the result of generations of mutations.

Many of the victims' family members held onto the papers shakily, staring intently at the pictures of the mutated animals or the numbers showing the percentage of chemicals found in a sample of water taken from the river. You kept reminding them that this was only a hypothesis at the moment, a theory with no proof, but that you and Daryl were working to find out what was going on.

Most of them were upset but convinced by what you had told them. Others were more reluctant to believe, but couldn't refute much because they lacked vital information or were too emotionally drained to argue. They simply told you not to forget their loved ones... you replied, a sliver of emotion breaking through, that they would never be forgotten.

They seemed satisfied with that answer, as you awkwardly returned their hugs... you don't think you'll ever really get used to tokens of affection.

As the people left the precinct, you began to worry. About the panic, the fear-mongering, the speeches about hell, the devil, and divine redemption. Worse still, those idiots who call themselves paranormal hunters, who put themselves in danger by sneaking into the woods late at night, only to have their faces plastered on missing persons posters when they fall off cliffs or are mauled by wild animals.

“Eh, don’t sweat it. The information doesn’t spread too far, hell, this town’s been experiencing so much weird shit since centuries ago yet everyone’s accustomed to it. Believe me, once the eulogies pass and the bodies are buried… they’ll quickly forget about it. They always do… Well, welcome to the team, (Y/N)!”

This was what Roadkill County's Chief of Police, Harlan Farley, told you before he gave you a firm pat on the back and left the station with a few of his deputies. You, on the other hand, were left speechless, his words repeating in your head like a broken record as Daryl forced you to take a break and eat something.

So you find yourself sluggishly seated in a weathered booth at Greasy's Diner, an odd-looking eatery that seems to be a staple of the "Gravity Falls experience", as your co-worker puts it. Your calloused and bruised finger gently circles the rim of the worn ceramic mug, your weary gaze lost in the ripples of the now cold and cheap-tasting coffee, brain empty yet filled with incoherent thoughts.

You desperately need a long, uninterrupted nap.

You shrink further into your coat as you feel the shameless stares of customers and passers-by whispering about the new police chief. You've gotten used to the harsh and rude words thrown your way; it's not just part of your job, it's been a constant in your life for some time. Fortunately, you're far away from them now. But that doesn't mean you enjoy the feeling of being watched like a bacterium under a stethoscope.

Your sharp ears catch the unsavory words of a woman sitting in the booth behind you, commenting that you look sick and unhealthy. Her friends point out the bruises and cuts on your face, the way you wobble slightly when you walk, and stare uncomfortably at the back of your head. You don’t have a single moment of peace, do you?

Too tired to care, you push the mug further into the linoleum table, careful not to spill a drop as you unceremoniously rest your head on the unhygienic and cold surface. Your eyes are drooping, your meal is taking far too long, so you might as well have a quick power nap to regain some energy before eating a hearty, possibly cholesterol-laden meal and heading back to work.

Your muscles begin to relax, the mundane life and casual conversation of those around you acting as a lullaby as unseen hands gently pull you into your dreams. But the momentary relief is snatched away as something light jumps right next to you and... meows?

Your bleary eyes open, and in between the tears of sleep, you find yourself face-to-face with a cat. When did it get in? You didn't see it when you came into the diner. You examine the cat: its thick, fluffy coat is a beautiful shade of butterscotch, with highlights of white and lighter yellow and orange tones. There's a large patch of black fur on the crown of his head, which almost makes it look like he's wearing a hat. What's bizarre about him, though, are his eyes. The irises are completely white, making his black and thin pupils stand out even more. Is it a characteristic of the town that its animals look strange?

Annoyed by your curious yet sleepy gaze, the cat's eyes squint and it raises a paw in anger, clawing at your arm as it meows again. Is he asking you to pet him? No, it's actually demanding that you do it. You slowly reach out, afraid the cat will strike and claw at your skin, but when your palm lands on its head and it doesn't move, you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Hello, buddy. What are you doing here?” you coo softly, fingers gently scratching the cat's skull in a circular motion. As if in response, the feline meows back, head tilted to the side as if searching for your fingers, imploring you to scratch a particular spot. You laugh softly, obeying the cat's wishes as your nails rake through the fur, which is covered with a very thin layer of dirt and dust.

It almost feels like therapy, the stress of the earlier hours melting away as you hear his purr from deep within his chest as he closes his eyes and relaxes. It's so cute, you think, wondering why your mother never really wanted a pet. You would have loved to have one around the house, maybe now that you're independent you could adopt one. Although, with how busy you are at work, you feel bad about leaving it alone for most of the day.

The cat's head suddenly leaves your hand and a pang of disappointment runs through your body, hoping that the creature will return so that you can continue to chase that feeling of softness. But you're surprised when the cat slips into your lap and begins to walk awkwardly in circles, its body bumping against the table before settling comfortably on your thighs, its tail curled inwards and its head tucked neatly against your belt.

The cat lets out a deep sigh from his small and pink nose as if releasing all the stress that has built up over the week, and seconds later his eerie yet adorable eyes close, the warmth of your body and your pets lulling him into a deep sleep.

You chuckle, finding his position and actions adorable.

“What’s so funny?”

It was Stanford.

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Tag list:

@rotknox @devotee-of-bill @some-beans @dummybunnby

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #fiddleford mcgucket x you #fiddleford mcgucket x reader #bill cipher x you #bill cipher x reader

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zigrethsnotebook · 8 hours ago

Text

I must warn you: you have a dangerous effect on my heartrate.

Ford x Reader

words: 1,807

tags: sfw, fluff, talk about the supernatural

The rain pelted down as you stared out the window in Greasy's Diner. It was just your luck that the weather turned the way it did when you were in the middle of nowhere. You sighed and took a sip of the hot chocolate the waitress had brought you. At least something to cheer you up.

You eyed the rain angrily when the man in the booth in front of you spoke up. Quite loudly, too, or you wouldn't have heard him over the rain. "The weather is only going to get worse, you know? The forecast predicted a thunderstorm from now until tomorrow." You groaned at that and slouched further into your seat as a nigh cinematic thunder shook the diner.

The man seemed amused. "What brings you to Gravity Falls anyway?" He half shouted through the diner at this point. "A thunderstorm, apparently," you grumbled, more to yourself than him, and also far too quiet for him to hear. He stared at you so you said, louder this time: "I was supposed to meet some friends at a convention on the supernatural tonight. Only about 50 Miles north from here."

The man's eyes lit up at the mention of the supernatural. "That sounds exciting! Sorry, that you won't make it there tonight." You gave him an appreciative nod. You were already annoyed at the shouting.

The man looked down to the cup in his hand for a moment, then looked back up at you, opened his mouth and closed it again before looking out the window as well. After a few moments he had gathered enough courage to speak to you again.

"Do you mind if I sit with you?"

You kind of did mind. The weather had ruined your day and you weren't exactly in the mood for small talk. Then again, with nothing to do you were already starting to get bored. Maybe he could help you find a place to stay the night if it really doesn't get better out there.

You gestured to the seat in front of you, inviting him into your booth. He smiled, grabbed his cup, walked the few steps he needed to reach you and placed his cup back down on your table as he sat down.

"Stanford Pines." He introduced himself, much quieter now, and held out his right hand for you to shake. You took it without taking your eyes off his face and introduced yourself as well. He raised one of his eyebrows, apparently amused again but you couldn't figure out why.

He had a handsome face, a strong chin, gray hair and glasses that had a little crack in them. You wondered why he hadn't replaced them.

"So... what kind of convention on the supernatural were you talking about? Something worth checking out?" Stanford smiled a genuine smile. You could feel yourself relax a little at that - so he wasn't trying to pick you up.

What a nice change of pace! These last couple months you had had many encounters with disgusting older men who thought they could lecture you on something they pretended to know more about than you. Like how the female body works and other such things.

No, this guy seemed actually interested in that convention. The convention you couldn't go to because of the storm. You sighed sadly and watched his expression fall as well. "I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you."

You gave a bitter "Ha." before actually answering. "Unless you are the cause for this storm there's nothing for you to worry about." You sighed again, starting to feel like you're being overdramatic.

"The convention is awesome. It's a yearly event, today would be the... 11th? Year for them. You see, I have a - maybe a little childish - fascination with the supernatural. And every year at that convention they gather all kinds of experts on the topic to talk about their findings. Last year they had that guy who took the photo of bigfoot! And those guys from Ghost Files!"

Stanford listened to you intendly with a small smile on his face as you continued to ramble about your favorite topic.

"I've been to that convention every year for the past 7 years. It's where I met one of my best friends in the world so it would even be special to me if it was terrible." You chuckled at yourself.

"Either way, they live in Canada and I obviously don't, so this is really the only time we see each other. And I mean, I will drive up there tomorrow after the storm settled and we'll still spend the next week together. But today is the opening of the convention - it goes on for 3 days by the way - and I'm just really bummed that I'll miss that."

You had sat upright for your explanation in excitement but slouched back into the seat at your last sentence.

Before Stanford could respond to your story the waitress showed up at your table again and topped off his coffee. "Oh, and another one of that drink, please." He pointed at your empty cup. Oh no, had you misjudged him?

"My, Mr. Pines! Barely leaves his house - but when he does...!" Before she turned to get your drink she winked at you. Or... you thought she did, it was a little hard to tell with one of her eyes constantly closed.

"You don't have to, you know?" You told him, gesturing to his cup and he immediately seemed to falter and blushed terribly. "Oh! Oh no, I wasn't suggesting... It's just. Very rare to find someone who is genuinely interested in the weird and supernatural! I just wanted to prolong our conversation."

The blush stayed on his cheeks as his eyes darted across the room and occasionally landed on you, looking for a reaction to his words. You chuckled. "Oh, I see. That's sweet of you." Maybe what the other men lacked were some manners and common sense.

The waitress set another hot chocolate down in front of you and you smiled at her and when she turned around you smiled at Stanford. After you took your first sip you decided to hear from him a little.

"So you said you like the weird and supernatural as well?" His face immediately lit up. "Yes! I've been studying the weird things happening in this town for years!" He pulled a notebook of some sort out of his coat pocket. It seemed fancy but really worn.

He presented it to you. It had a golden hand with the number 3 written on it on the cover. Something about it was a little off, but you couldn't put your finger on what. A lighting bolt lit up the sky for a second and moments later the diner shook again.

He started to flip through the notebook, talking fast and very enthused. Each page showed various creatures. Most of which sounded ridiculous, but some were more familiar to you - Gnomes, the Undead and so on.

By the time he had flipped through most of the book and explained lots of different things to you, you had each had three more cups of your respective drinks.

The book lay open in front of you as Stanford, or Ford as he later told you, downed his fourth cup. It was also getting late and you still had to find a place to spend the night, the diner would close up eventually.

You closed the notebook, signaling Ford that you would like to talk about something else now. Another thunder shook the tables as you instinctively put your hand over the golden hand on the book.

Just out of your line of sight, Ford blushed again while you realized what had felt off about that cover. The hand had an extra finger! You looked up at Stanford excitedly, and before you could even ask he held up his hands to you, showing off his extra fingers.

That fact did nothing to temper your excitement. How could it! "You are one of the creatures you study!" You had blurted it out without a second thought and quickly covered your mouth with your hands in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude." You told him in a tiny voice. He chuckled fondly. "Don't feel bad, I took it as a compliment! Very few people get excited when they see my hands. Most find them repulsive." He turned his hand around to look at it with a certain melancholy while he said that.

"Are you kidding me? Your hands are the highlight of my day!" Ford met your eyes when you spoke and you watched him blush at your words. Then you blushed as well. "I- I didn’t mean..." You trailed off, unsure how to talk yourself out of that one and instead looked out the window again. The rain was just the tiniest bit softer now.

You sighed and tried to change the subject. "You wouldn't know a nice place I could stay the night, would you?" Ford took his notebook and put it back in his coat. "Of course I do! You could stay at my place." You snapped back to face him, the blush still in full effect on your cheeks.

He didn’t falter this time. "Granted, the place is a little crowded right now, with my brother living there and our niece and nephew staying over for the summer... but they'll be happy to know I made a friend today! And also have someone else to get their minds off the storm."

Ford smiled that honest smile at you again. "Would that be alright with you?" How could you say no to that? Seriously, how?

You nodded and smiled at him. Seconds later he had paid for both of your drinks and led you out the door, both of you rushing to your car.

As you slowly and carefully drove into the woods under Ford's guidance he told you that he would set up a mattress for you in an empty storage room.

"Unless you want to sleep in a real bed, in which case you could sleep in mine, and I would take the couch there." You laughed. "Yeah! We could make a real slumber party out of it and tell ghoulish stories all night!"

Ford chuckled along. "We could do that, but I must warn you: you seem to have a dangerous effect on my heartrate. Unthinkable what would happen if you told me a ghost story."

As he said this you slowly parked your car in front of a wooden house. His house, apparently. "Are you sure that's me and not all the coffee you've been drinking?" You both laughed and then made your way through the rain once more.

Your friend won't believe a word of this tomorrow!

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #zigreth writes

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emgrth · 7 hours ago

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Omg girl what the fuck did you say about ford thats- me too.

I’d jump on that man like a FNAF character

#gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines x reader #grunkle ford #grunkle ford x reader #grunkle ford x you

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lucigooseart · 2 months ago

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stanley pines

grunkle gilf brain rot is going crazy rn guys. pls enjoy

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gay-dorito-dust · 3 months ago

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What would be Stan’s brothers reaction when after Y/n helped them with stuff and they said “Well, what are you waiting for? Kiss on the cheek?” Or “what else do you want? A kiss on the cheek?” And reader fastly respond ‘Yes please’ without hesitation 🤑

Ford:

��What are you waiting for? A kiss on the cheek?’ Ford said when he noticed that you were lingering nearby.

‘Yes please.’ You replied almost instantaneously.

The poor man was now blushing to the tips of his ears as his eyes grew wide. This wasn’t a response he was expecting and therefore not properly prepared to answer accordingly.

He didn’t expect you to eagerly agree even in the slightest and now he was racked with nerves, while his mind overworked on whether or not you were joking with him. Ford has never been in the situation before where someone shown active interest in him, so needless to say this man was imploding on himself over shat could only be a theoretical.

He hated vagueness and ambiguity, they were his biggest personal pet peeves. he much preferred things to be upfront and direct for he tended to look for deeper meaning in things they didn’t need to be looked at so intently or up close.

‘I- well if it’s okay with you.’ Ford says, finding the collar of his turtleneck a little tight and finding it hard to swallow the lump in his throat.

‘It’s more than okay.’ You said with a smile.

Ford had to steel his nerves that were running rampant within him as though he was still that teenage boy, he mustered the strength he needed to press a sweet, almost featherlight kiss to your cheek that had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Stanley:

‘What are you waiting for? A kiss on the cheek?’ He asked.

‘Yes please.’ You said without hesitation.

Stanley, while taken aback but your straightforwardness, smirked in response as he leant closer to you.

‘Oh do you now?’ He says playfully with a raised brow, trying his hardest not to show just show affected he was by your words as he felt his heart in his throat.

‘I wouldn’t have said otherwise.’ You replied with a smile, taking a step towards him as he internally congratulated himself for not loosing his touch. (or so he liked to claim when in reality it’s you who holds the more power in this situation.)

Stan only said what he said because it was something his father said time and time again to him after he did something that he thought would finally make his father look at him. Only for that to not be the case as his father easily dismissed his efforts and managed to degrade him with a single sarcastic comment that felt like a dagger to the heart.

Here when he said it, you made it sound a lot sweeter when you gladly accepted the prospect of him kissing your cheek, almost as though it was the only thing that would make your entire day. You were far too sweet for Stan but you attract more with honey than vinegar or so they say and needless to say you had this man hook line and sinker with how sweet you were.

‘Okay honey just remembered you’re the one who asked for this.’ Stan said as he pressed a kiss to your cheek that made you want more in the future.

#gravity falls x you #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanford pines x you #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanley pines imagines #stanley pines imagine #stan pines imagines #stan pines imagine #stanley pines x reader #stan pines x reader

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chillinglyadventurous · 2 days ago

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Tolerate It

I know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it.

Collab with @ford-pines-lover

Word Count: 3,216

Tags: SFW, hurt

I used transparent sticky notes for the last picture.

While you were out building other worlds, where was I?

This was normal. You laying in bed all alone was normal. Ford disappearing for days at a time was normal. But, that didn’t mean it was any easier. Every moment without him had started to become a struggle as you realized you no longer mattered too much.

You hadn’t been sleeping well, fearing what horrible thing he and Fiddleford would come across on their expedition. He was out there, somewhere, discovering secrets and knew worlds. You were in your bed, tears running down your cheeks as you clutched his pillow tightly in your arms. You longed for how things used to be.

His side of the bed was cold. The room felt so empty without the familiar sound of his light snoring as he slept beside you even though it had been months since he’d shared your bed. The relentless tick, tick, ticking of the cuckoo clock was maddening. Each tick, tick, tick, was a reminder that he wasn’t there.

Every second, every brief silence between each tick, tick, tick, seemed to grow ever longer. It was unbearable the way time screeched to a halt when he was gone, leaving you behind for another mystery, another anomaly. You’d wait. You always waited. You couldn’t recall how many hours you had spent waiting by the front door for him to come home. You couldn’t even begin to estimate the hours you had spent lying restless in your bed, just waiting for him to sneak it.

You squeezed his pillow tighter, taking in the smell of him to bring you some sense of comfort, old books and sugar, those jellybeans he loved so much. You tried to remember the last night the two of you had spent together, thinking hard and using the smell of him that lingered on the fluff in your arms to take you back.

It was a vision, coming through so vividly. The room was dark and his arms were slipped around you. He’d brushed your hair from your face as he murmured beautiful words through the night. He always had such a way with words, sentences that rivaled any literary masterpiece you had ever read, but that had been a long time ago.

Since he’d left, the days had slipped by so slowly. Each moment only solidified the dread and worry in your chest. Did he miss you the way you missed him? Was he lying beneath the stars wishing you were in his arms the way you wished he was in your? Did he long to be in that quiet room with you, relaxed in comfortable silence, or was he too wrapped up in his research which called him like a siren beckoning a lonely sailor?

Taking in a shaking breath, you whispered his name through your tears. The weight of your longing settled over your lips. Stanford. Saying it, calling for him, out loud hurt, but, somehow, made him seem closer to you. Behind you clenched eyes, you could see that goofy boy you’d met in college, the nerd you fell in love with. You could see that lopsided grin, the crooked one he only ever gave you.

Where’s the man who threw blankets over my barbed wire?

Things had been so different back in your college days. Like now, he had his obsessions, but it had been one you shared. You both just wanted to graduate, wanted to put that part of your lives behind you so you could move on to bigger and better things.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together. Study dates in the library. Falling asleep in his dorm room, wrapped in his arms, when Fiddleford was out. Stanford Pines had saved you. He was the reason you didn’t drop out of college.

You remembered how you’d joked that studying with him didn’t even feel like work. The way he’d lean over your shoulder, massaging the knots away as he corrected your calculations or explained a theory with the utmost patience, had made your heart ache and fall in love.

The intensity in his eyes softened only for you. Back then, you felt like you were seeing the real Ford, the one that didn’t need the thrill of chasing mysteries to feel alive. He had everything he needed by his side, you.

When things got hard, when the stress of assignments piled up, he was an anchor. When you didn’t believe in yourself, didn’t believe that you could do it, he was your biggest fan. He always looked at you as if you were the most remarkable person in the room. That, alone, had given you the strength to push through. His constant reassurances that you were good enough, smart enough, kept you afloat.

He always knew how to make you laugh, relax, and lift your spirits. More than once, you had wondered what it would have been like if you’d never met him. You were certain you would have walked away from it all. You would have given up every aspiration you’d had if it weren’t for him, for the love he gave you, for the love you shared.

When things became too much for you, drowning you in a sea of assignments, he would drag you away, away from the library or the mounds of books in either of your dorm rooms. You’d be lying on your back in the quad, staring up at the sky.

Fingers intertwined, he pointed at the sky. “You see that one?” He traced a cluster of stars with his finger, “That’s Orion’s Belt. The brightest star is Sirius.” His head turned to you. You saw unconditional love in his expression. He drew you in, lips meeting in a kiss. “You’re my brightest star, do you know that?”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic.” You nudged him playfully. “I never knew Stanford Pines could be so cheesy.”

He chuckled, “Only with you.”

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky.

As you fell more in love with him, he took over your heart. Every thought that popped into your head could somehow be traced back to him. You’d catch his name spilling from your lips every so often in conversations the thought of him didn’t belong.

Everyone knew you were in love before you did. Emma May had been the first to see it. Perhaps she was just happy her fiancé’s roommate would quit third-wheeling. With her, Ford was always a pressing topic on your mind. She encouraged it. She loved it, always talking about how your kids could grow up with hers. When you and Ford finally became official, there was no stopping you. Bechdel Test be damned.

One evening, at one of the many parties on BMU’s campus, you stood with Emma May with a drink in your hand. The two of you laughed as you watched Fidds and Ford from across the room, the two of them gabbing like teenage girls over their next D, D, & More D campaign. Every so often, you would catch him staring at you and twin blushes would creep up your cheeks.

“Damn,” Emma May laughed, her southern draw dragging out the vowel, “you’ve got it bad.”

You bit your tongue, shying away from your boyfriend’s gaze at her words. “I just, I can’t get him out of my head, Em. He’s everywhere.” You let out a dreamy sigh, taking another sip of the concoction in your cup. “Ford’s got this hold on me. I have never met anyone like him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

“Honey,” Emma May grinned, nudging you as she looked in the direction of your boys, “I’d say he’s just as smitten. Look at him, [Y/N], he can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Across the room, you could still feel Ford’s eyes on you. His grin spread through his face when you gave him a little wave. Even in a room full of other beautiful girls, he only had eyes for you. That’s when a familiar warmth planted itself in your chest, the warmth and love you carried with you everywhere. It felt as natural as breathing, as easy as your heart beating. In so many ways, he became the center of your world.

Ford became your everything. Neither of you could sleep without the other wrapped up in your bed. Every moment away from the other was torture.

Emma May leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, “He’s been talking about you to anyone who will listen. Just the other day, Fiddleford was telling me that Ford was driving him crazy, going on and on about how amazing you are.” She took a sip of her drink. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were newlyweds.”

You bit back a smile, feeling your cheeks warm even further. In fact, forever had come up in conversation. You couldn’t wait to be his wife because every glance, every shared laugh, added to the mural of him that was etched onto your heart.

“He got the grant,” you sighed dreamily. “We’re moving to Oregan after graduation.”

Now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.

In the beginning, moving to Gravity Falls had felt like a dream. All of those late-night musings while laid up in Ford’s dorm when Fiddleford was away were finally coming true.

Ford had been thrilled, enthralled with his discoveries in that strange, little town. He’d share them with you, his voice dripping in enthusiasm, as he explained wild and far-fetched theories that he planned on proving as fact. His excitement had left you reeling, falling ever deeper for him that you thought possible.

Slowly, however, that town had began to change him. He’d stay up later and later each night, pouring over his journals and countless pages of research. He began to chase ideas that became even more incomprehensible, paranoid babblings. With each roadblock, he felt further away. Often, you’d wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed because his mind was somewhere else.

One night, you tried to talk to him about it. The cabin was cold and silent apart from the scratching of his pen on paper, the occasional ripping up of ideas that had failed him. You’d waited, hoping he’d greet you with a smile or pull you into his lap to show you what he’d been working on like he used to do.

He didn’t. “Ford, honey, can we talk?”

“Hmm? What is it?” He didn’t bother to look up at you, eyebrows crinkling as if he’d forgotten you were even home.

You pushed down the feelings bubbling up in your chest and made your way to him. Your hands skillfully worked the knots out of his shoulders as he continued to write. “It’s just,” you hesitated, “I feel like you’re slipping away from me, like this place is taking you further away from us.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he all but snapped. “Gravity Falls is bigger than I realized, more complicated than anything I’ve ever worked on before.”

You tried to close his journal, but he took a hold of your wrist and shoved you away. “I know, but I feel like I don’t even exist to you anymore.

“If you care about me,” he bit as he looked up at you, a flicker of impatience behind his tired eyes, “you would support me, but it’s obvious now that you don’t.”

“Care about you or support you?”

“Both.” Ford’s words hit you hard, a gut punch. He’d never been this harsh before. Even in your worst spats, he’d never, ever spoken this way. His words had never been aimed directly at your heart that way, a cruel insult that was blatantly false. Of course you cared about him, more than anything else in the world.

He wasn’t eating. He rarely slept, be it in your bed or somewhere else. You were worried. You were worried because he was changing. Before that night, he’d brush you off, but always with a small smile or a kiss on the cheek. The way he was speaking to you now, however, made you feel like a phantom in your own life. You didn’t exist, not anymore.

“Stanford, I miss you,” your voice broke. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep waiting for you to come back.”

For a moment, he looked at you, really looked at you for the first time in a long time. You saw something in him, regret or guilt, perhaps, but it faded quickly. “I’m right here,” he said absently before turning back to his notes.

Drawing hearts in the byline.

You found yourself alone one night. The cabin you shared was completely empty apart from yourself. To keep your mind busy, you needed to straighten up. Your home had become a wreck, littered with crumpled up notes, crackpot theories torn to shreds and left abandoned on every surface. Symbols and sigils were all over the place. Handwritten ideas were taped and tacked to the walls. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

As you sorted through everything, arranging his work into neat piles, you came across an old notebook from your college days. A hum of remembrance escaped you, the pleasant nostalgia filling you up. Ford’s scrawl was neater than it was now.

In the margins, you saw little doodles you had left back then. Little hearts cluttered his study notes. You remembered how happy he was when he’d find them in the middle of one of your study sessions. His face would flush and he’d kiss you quickly, often letting you distract him for a few hours.

For a moment, you wondered if he would react the same now because you couldn’t stand living in this house, surrounded by relics of the man he used to be, the man you wanted back, anymore. You were desperate. Picking up his pen, you scribbled into the blank spaces between his drawings and his notes.

As the days passed, he didn’t notice and you’d forgotten about them yourself. Still, you made sure his space was organized. As you picked up, decluttered, every calculation had felt like the wall he’d built between you. The little things you’d left behind were covered by complex equations because he didn’t even notice they were there, erasing you from his life.

When Ford finally noticed what you’d left behind, he barely paused, glancing at you over the breakfast table as you ate your eggs. He laid his journal flat on the table. “What’s all this?” He traced the sketches, classic Valentine’s Day hearts, as if he didn’t recognize the shapes. They were merely in his way, throwing off his rhythm.

“Just thought you could use a little love while you’re working,” you smiled, trying to laugh off how frustrated he seemed by your show of affection.

He didn’t respond. He was already somewhere else and lost in thought. He didn’t acknowledge your huff or the way you threw your plate into the sink, causing it to shatter. Nothing caught his attention anymore. Nothing mattered to him now except his research.

Always taking up too much space or time.

Every now and then, you hoped he’d glance in your direction. You’d settle for that over the quick kisses he’d give you before disappearing again. But, Ford barely seemed to notice you at all. He moved around you, navigated by you, like you were just another piece of furniture, a constant and unimportant fixture in his space.

In a last ditch attempt to fix it, you made his favorite meal. You set the table with the good dishes in the high cabinet that never got used. You lit candles and put on something pretty. You did your hair and makeup. You poured a glass of wine for each of you, hoping the problem was that he just needed to be reminded of how things used to be.

You found him in the study writing furiously. His hands were laced in his hair on the verge of some breakthrough you knew wouldn’t come. You cleared your throat. “Ford, I made dinner. I thought we could-“

“Just leave it,” he interrupted. “I’ll eat when I’m done. Just throw it in the oven or something when you’re finished.” He turned toward you with a huff when he didn’t hear you walk away. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he spoke again, “Can you just go? I’ll eat later.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I thought-“ You kept your voice down in an attempt to hide the disappointment you were feeling, “I just thought we could have dinner together. It’s been a long time.”

He huffed a quick ‘fine’ as he stood from his desk and stormed past you into the kitchen. He sat with a loud scrape of the chair. You tried not to think about it too much. You didn’t want to over analyze this. You needed to take it as a win even though it really wasn’t.

He picked at his food, never taking a full bite. As you stared at him from across the table, you could see that, mentally, he was elsewhere. His hand was still shaped as if holding his pen, jotting down invisible thoughts as he played with his food. You could tell, to him, he was just fulfilling an obligation he’d much rather skip.

You tried to ask him about his research. You’d hoped it would spark a real conversation even if it did revolve around everything you’d grown to resent. Still, his responses were clipped, simple yes or no answers. It was like eating with a stranger and not the man you knew was deep down, hidden inside of him.

His dinner grew cold. You could barely finish your own while you watched him tolerate your every attempt to get him back. “Stanford, do you even want me here anymore?”

Ford gave you a tire sigh, rubbing his eyes. He met your teary gaze. “I’m just busy. I can’t keep stopping to deal with your- all of this.” He’d hoped you didn’t catch that he was about to say ‘your feelings’, but you did. A tear slipped down your cheek. “Just try to understand, [Y/N]. You being here is fine, but I just need you to give me space to work, okay? Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

When he disappeared again, you didn’t bother to clear the table. You didn’t care enough to pack up the leftovers. You kept everything where it was, a reminder of you that he’d have to clean up himself. You couldn’t do this anymore.

So, now, you lay alone in your bed, clutching his pillow while he was off god knows where with Fiddleford on this grand adventure. You couldn’t leave because you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Instead, you mourned the loss of the man you loved. Despite him still being alive, living in your home, his home, he was gone.

You’d hold on to how things used to be because, despite it all, you still loved him. Well, you loved the idea of him finally snapping out of it and coming to you. Living for the hope he’d change, you stayed.

#Spotify #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #stanford pines #ford pines #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader #a playlist of fics #chillinglyadventurous and ford pines lover

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