#Ford pines x reader

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆｡𖦹 if you wanted to kill Bill, this might do it °⭒˚

somewhere in the woods, you take everything from Bill Cipher by loving Stanford Pines

tags: nsfw, smut, Ford Pines x fem reader, angst, fluff, vaginal & oral sex (m receiving), voyeurism, praise kink, when you hate your man’s toxic ex so much you use his statue as a bed frame, i wrote this to spite Bill Cipher

Ford has never been this weak in his life.

Above, somewhere in the tangled branches, birds chatter and sing, oblivious to what you're doing with your scientist. The leaves rustle from the wind as golden sun drips through the canopy. But down here, where you kneel in the warm dirt, Ford is loosing his smart mind.

It all started with your feigned surprise. “Stanford Pines, tell me, what does my dress have to do with topography?”

“Its not what- It’s-! Oh, hell.”

The woods are golden in the late afternoon light, it’s warm, honeyed summer and everything is moving through syrup.

“Oh, god,” he's already ruined, god bless him. ”this is- this is entirely unnecessary, we could’ve waited until we returned to— ahh—” says the man who got so distracted because he kept catching glimpses of your thighs every time the breeze lifted your dress.

You interrupt him, pressing your tongue to the sensitive tip of his cock and the sound is so pretty, so pathetic, that you moan softly against him just to hear it again.

He's never known a greater pleasure than your hands on him.

His head tilts back, exposing the cut of his throat, the sharp bob of his adam’s apple. Such a mess already, his chest rising too fast beneath his sweater. His six fingers twitch as he wants to grab your hair but doesn’t dare to, always so careful, so controlled.

Meanwhile you keep your hands on his thighs, pressing your nails into the fabric of his pants, and Ford jolts at the sensation, at the impossible warmth of your wet mouth around him. You squeeze him a little tighter, just to see how much he can take.

Ford bucks forward involuntarily, moaning so sweetly, so needy, and oh, god, you feel yourself getting wetter from just the sound of him.

He is shaking and his breath is uneven, back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, he grips at it helplessly, desperately trying to silence himself, but there’s no holding on, no steadying himself. Not when you’re doing this to him.

“S-Sweetheart—” he gasps, cracking on your name. “oh, you— you’re—” he wants to say something smart, something clever, of how you shouldn't be doing this here, but his mind is nothing but white noise and you know it, because when you take him deeper, let him hit the back of your throat just to hear him sob, he actually whimpers.

His hips jerk and he immediately grips the bark harder, forces himself to still. Poor Ford, trying so hard to be good. You press your nails deeper into him, warning him, slowing down to make him squirm, determined to make him louder.

Ford groans, lets his head thump against the tree. You’re torturing him. “dont t-tease. . .”

You’re taking your time, savoring this moment, savoring him, moving in slow, teasing strokes. When you pull off with a sloppy, wet sound and your breath fan over him, pressing a gentle kiss to the flushed tip, Ford looks down at you with question on his flushed face.

“So quiet.” you murmur, nuzzling against his length, feeling the heat of him against your skin, the soft press of his cock against your cheek.

Ford’s gives you an awkward tiny smile. “well, we are in the middle of a forest, darling, i-i can’t exactly—” he blinks, panting, glazed eyes locking onto yours, hoping you'll understand.

No, you dont. “but i want to hear you.” you lick a slow stripe up his length, and Ford bites his knuckles, because that's too sexy for a nerd like him. No one, no fucking one had ever done that to him. He tries to muffle the soft, helpless groan that escapes him, tries to stay quiet by biting at his own skin, fingers.

You stop immediately, frowning up at him.

He gasps in disappointment, blinking down at you, disoriented. “wh- but why did you—?”

You press your cheek to the side of his cock, again, pouting. “i told you, Ford,” look up at him through your lashes. “let me hear you.”

Stanford lets out a breathless mix of a laugh and a groan, tilting his head back against the tree in defeat, taking a deep breath. “darling, you're going to destroy me.” but you know that tone of his, he can't argue back, because he's ready to do anything for his beloved.

Satisfied with your victory, you take him into your mouth, feeling the way his thick cock twitches on your tongue, filling your mouth so perfectly. You work him slow, gripping his base with your free hand.

Ford whimpers, slapping one hand over his mouth before he remembers, remembers your request, remembers that you want to hear him.

He drops his hand, exhales sharply and finally moans. God, he's so beautiful like that, face contorted in pleasure, brows knit together, lips parting, whole body shakes under your touch. You, you, you, all because of you. He’s so damn gorgeous, so vulnerable like this and you can’t help but feel that ache, the deep ache of needing to please him, of wanting to worship him, all of him, your lovely scientist.

“My brilliant girl,” he groans, adoring. “oh, sweetheart, my love, my love, please—“ you hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, swallowed him whole, greedily, as if he is the last thing you'd ever taste and Ford practically sobs. “feels good, can’t— i can’t! if you keep going, i won’t last.”

“So good for me, Ford,” you praise him, dragging your warm tongue along his length slowly. “so brilliant,” smiling, you wrap your hand around the base, pumping him lazily what makes Ford let out the most pathetic desperate sound imaginable. “so handsome,” and when you reach the sensitive spot just beneath the head, he nearly folds.

“Darling, oh, oh, oh—!” you hum against him, because you can feel the way he’s straining to hold himself back, to keep from just snapping his hips forward and fucking your mouth properly. Ford wants it, needs it, but he’s too embarrassed to admit it, he wants to pull you closer, wants to thrust deeper, but he also wants to let you do whatever you want to him.

He wants to stay like this forever

But Ford is Ford, always so polite, so careful, gentle, even like this. And you love him for it

“You can move,” you murmur sweetly as you take him back into your mouth.

Ford curses, exhales a trembling breath, but his hips roll forward hesitantly. Six fingered hands finally leave the tree, sliding into your hair, unsure, scared to hurt his lovely girl. He holds your head, guiding himself into your warm mouth, finally losing that last shred of restraint.

And you love it, love how helpless and horny he is, completely at your mercy, how his whole body shakes just from the feel of your mouth. His body overriding his poor, struggling self-control.

You relax into it, adjusting to his pace, letting him use your mouth to satisfy himself, letting him set the pace.

“Ohh, you feel. . . you feel so good, taking me so well!” Ford thrusts into your mouth again and he’s moaning, groaning, whimpering your name like it’s holy. Your hands slide down, one still pumping around the base. Then Ford chokes on his next breath when your fingers trace along his balls, tears in the corners of his eyes as he gazes down at you, completely undone.

“Ohh, oh— oh, love, oh, mhmm—” his knees nearly give out, Ford tenses, head tilting back, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, his thighs tremble, his stomach tightens and he knows, he knows, he knows that he's right at the edge. “oh, too much! I c-can’t—”

Slickness trails down your own thighs, you're dripping, feeling your own need building just from the taste of him, the sounds of him, the way he whispers your name like a prayer. You hum around him, swirling your tongue, taking him deeper, deeper until he’s hitting the back of your throat again. His fingers tighten in your hair. Good, you think, he's close. First sign of his impending orgasm. You know this man like the back of your hand

“You’re, nghh, you’re so good, so— so brilliant, my brilliant girl” you moan around him, because god, you love it when Ford calls you that. He feels the vibration from your muffled sounds. You look up at him through your lashes, cheeks hollowed around his cock and he absolutely crumbles when you roll his balls between your fingers again, massaging them gently.

Ford's gone, moaning so beautifully loud, choking on your name, shaking violently and then he’s coming hard, his whole body locks up, hips jerking as he holds your head firmly, roots of your hair start to hurt and your jaw aches already, but that's so hot when Ford gets a little bit rough like that.

He's loud, so loud, he can’t hold it back, can’t stop the sounds spilling from his lips, his always so calm voice pitches up, sounding so high and desperate. Ford babbles your name between gasps, begging without even realising as he cums in your mouth.

“Oh, f-fuck, fuck! mhmm, s-sweetheart, I— ohh— fuck, im cumming—“ his voice is hoarse while his body shaking.

And you take it all, let him ride it out as long as your lovely scientist needs, until hes shaking. His glasses are fogged up as sweat rolls down his forehead, his knees nearly buckle.

And above, somewhere high in the trees, a bird trills obliviously into the quiet.

You pull off him with the dirtiest sound ever, swallowing everything he gave you, licking your lips, and Ford watches you do it with glassy, half-lidded eyes. He sags back against the tree, panting like crazy, dazed.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb, smiling in satisfaction. God, your jaw feels so sore. . . but then your eyes widen a little when he cups your cheek, running his thumb over your swollen lips. His hands are still shaking. Ford looks at you in awe, dumbfounded, totally in love, obsessed, yours.

And that’s when he finally moves.

He grabs you, yanks you up, presses you against the tree. He’s kissing you instantly, tasting himself on your lips, moaning into your mouth while trembling hands hike up your dress. He slips his hand into your panties, feeling the evidence of your arousal, running slow circles over your swollen clit.

Ford groans, presses you tighter against the tree, and this time, he won’t stop until he’s completely buried inside you.

“Right now. I need you, right now.” his fingers tighten in the fabric of your dress, bunching it higher, exposing you completely. Turning you to face the tree, Ford lines himself up, running the head of his cock slowly through your soft folds, memorizing every reaction.

Your summer dress is hiked up around your waist, panties dangling at your ankles, and Ford is right behind you as he desperately adjusts himself between your legs, the thick head of him nudging against your entrance.

“Ford, please!” you squirm, pushing back against him desperately, arching into him.

He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. Ford, your brilliant, nerdy man, so desperate to be inside you and you're nothing but a puddle beneath him. He’s in love with you, so deeply in love and he can’t hide it anymore, not when you’re like this, not when you’re giving him all of you, when you're being so good for him. He’s so turned on by the idea of having you out here, exposed, but he’s also so fucking in awe of you.

“I have you, sweetheart.”

And then he pushes in, as always he does it, so slow, careful and deliberate, feeling how your warmth welcomes him. You suck in a sharp breath, stretching around him, feeling every inch of his throbbing cock. You drop your frehead against the bark.

“Dear god, you feel— you feel so good, sweetheart, s-so warm, so tight, i— i c-can’t believe—” Ford is mumbling, drowning in how you feel. He kisses your shoulder, then the nape of your neck. “you take me so well, oh, sweetheart, i—” his hands rest on your hips, holding you steady. “ohh, ohh, oh— god—”

He sinks in deep, shuddering, burying himself to the hilt, feeling your pussy clenching around him. And for some time, he just stays there.

“Just like that, swee—” he can't even continue, just presses his forehead against your back and groans. You squeeze him, just to hear him choke on his next breath. “p-please, please— i need—”

“Ford, move.” after that, you feel him pulling back before thrusting back in what makes you both moan.

His pace starts slow and measured, but he's still breathing hard against your skin, whispering between ragged gasps. “youre so warm, taking me s-so deep. . . could stay like this forever, i— i swear, i—”

You arch against him, curling your fingers against the bark and he grips your waist tighter. You let out a gasp when he thrusts deeper, your body stretching to accommodate him.

Ford pushes in, pulls out, thrusts back in. Trying to stay in his senses, controlled, reverent. You may not see his face right now, but you're sure he looks beautiful as ever, trying so hard to stay composed but failing miserably as he makes love to you.

“Your pussy feels so good, god, you're so warm,” his hands slide up your waist, over your stomach, gripping, mapping, memorizing. His pace starts to pick up.

You whimper, pressing your hips back against him, and he chokes on a curse.

“Darling, d-do that again, please—”

You do. Ford holds your hips and starts moving faster, deeper.

The world spins.

“Deeper, Ford,” you cry out into the silence of the forest, needing more. “want you deeper.”

He snaps his hips forward roughly, loosing his control and oh oh, oh, oh. Fuck, a sharp, overwhelming pressure—

You gasp, tensing immediately, something feels wrong or maybe you just— Fuck! Ford pushes into you again and that pressure spreads through your body as you feel slight discomfort.

“Ford, too deep, wait. . .”

“I— are you okay? did I hurt you? i didn’t mean to, i got carried away, i—” he immediately adjusts, pulling back enough and stopping all his movements, but you're silent and it scares him. “sweetheart, talk to me, what do you need? do you want to stop?”

You shake your head. “No, no. Just- just go slower.” Ford trusts you so he pulls out and adjusts your pose a little bit, then sinks back in and changes the angle, gentler this time, smoothly, more careful. And fuck, it feels heavenly perfect now.

You giggle when you feel him pressing kisses to your neck, whispering apologies.

“Darling, is that better?”

You only nod eagerly, too breathless to answer.

“I don’t want to hurt you, i just want you to feel good, i just want to- to worship you, to love you.” you know he's honest because of the way his fingers dig into your skin, and you know he’s trying to hold back, he’s so afraid of hurting you, and you love him for it, so much. Ford buries his face into your hair, breathing you in. “oh, i love you, i love you so much.” you moan in response, easing into the pleasure again.

“F-Ford,” you turn your head and give him a passionate kiss, whispering “i love you too.” into his lips, gasping for breath between each word as he thrusts his cock into you.

You push back against him, moving together with him, your body demanding more, your hands gripping the tree even tighter as you take more of him.

“That’s it, baby,” you breathe, “youre fucking me so good.” and everything what surrounds you blurs. All this summer heat, the golden light, the trees, the birds, the leaves, the wind, it all melts away, until there is only him.

That praise means everything for him, the fact that you enjoy it too. Ford fucks you like you’re his religion, needing you like sinners need confession. The trees stand tall around you, the Oregon forest whispering with wind and distant birdsong. But none of it exists. All that exists is Ford behind you, losing himself, his cock is buried inside you, stretching you open, making you feel so full it’s dizzying, consuming your mind.

The contrast between you is dizzying.

You, flushed and breathless, dress hitched around your waist, panties now lost somewhere in the moss. and Ford, fully dressed, coat, the red of his turtleneck, the belt strapped tight across his chest, the dark fabric of his trousers straining as he presses against you.

He’s clothed like a man who’s spent his life preparing for war, layers upon layers, protection stitched into every seam and yet he’s undone by you

“You're still—” you gasp as he thrusts into you, “fully dressed.”

A choked laugh against your throat. “can't help myself,” Ford admits, ”you’re too pretty i couldn't wait.”

His coat brushes against your bare skin, the contrast of fabric and flesh making you shiver.

His boots firmly planted in the earth. Big. Heavy.

Your bare toes curling against moss, slipping against damp forest floor until you step on his boot. You don’t even mean to, just seeking more balance, more stability. But Ford let's you stand like that if it's more comfortable for his lovely girl.

His hands slide down your stomach and he pressed his fingers against your lower belly, grinding into you and you swear you can feel him in your lungs. Your legs start shaking.

“Can you feel it, sweetheart?” Ford's fingers press into your skin. “feel how deep i am inside you?” he moves deeper what makes your legs nearly give out, but Ford grips you tighter and holds you up. “i’ve got you, i’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe, let me hold you.”

Your pussy is wet, tight around him, and he can feel every flutter, every clench, every slick, pulsing squeeze. Ford drags his cock out of you what makes your brows knit together and then he thrusts back in, forcing loud gasps from your parted lips.

“Yes, just like that, yes!” tears slips down your cheeks like melted diamonds.

Ford touches you, smoothing over your belly, sliding up to cup your breasts through your dress. His cock is leaking with pre cum and throbbing inside you, the head rubbing against every sensitive sweet spot inside you, dragging against your walls in sensual thrusts.

Your pussy is soaking him whole, dripping down your thighs, making a mess of both of you, and he can feel it, he can hear it because of wet squelching sounds and it’s driving him insane.

“You're dripping, sweetheart, holy moses. Soaking me.” his long fingers delving between your thighs, pressing against your sensitive clit, pleasuring you even more and your velvety walls clench around him tighter as he rubs your little nub. “that's it, love, that's my brilliant girl, so smart, so perfect, so good for me.” he’s thrusting into you deeper now, more harder, but still careful, drinking in every sound you make, studying the science of your pleasure.

He's filling you with warmth as the pressure inside of you builds. You’re so close, so close you can taste it, can feel the climax just within reach. You push back harder against him, wanting it, needing it as you try to match his thrusts while his fingers work magic on your clit.

“I love you.”

“I love you, i love you, i love you!”

And the forest sings, the wind hums, the world tilts. The sun is honeyed, pooling over your skin.

You’re falling, falling, falling. And he’s falling with you.

The air is filled with heat and pine, damp with the scent of sweat and sex.

The forest is watching, breathing, alive.

But nothing else exists except the way he moves inside you.

“Does it feel good, darling?”

“Yes, yes, oh!” his fingers rub soft circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Ford, please, don’t stop. . .”

“Won't, i won’t, i could never.”

“Fuck, Ford, im—“ you can't even finish as your thighs start shaking, you’re so close, so close, so fucking close your brain can't work anymore.

“I know, sweetheart, i know, i can feel you, you squeezing me.” his fingers rub your clit harder, his cock fucks into you deeper and you fall apart completely, sobbing and writhing, cumming so hard you swear the whole fucking world disappears. Your pussy throbs, drenches his cock, soaking his thighs, soaking the ground.

Ford thrusts into you through it, desperate, obsessed with how hot you look. “darling, you’re so beautiful like this.” he can't stop pressing kisses to your shoulder, your spine, your neck, his hands smoothing over your stomach, your thighs, soothing you, loving you.

You’re trembling, absolutely ruined by the powerful orgasm your scientist gave you, gasping for air. You want it again, you want him again.

“Please, sweetheart,” his cock throbs inside you, he’s right there too. “please, can i— can i cum inside?”

“Yes, yes, please!”

“Thank you, thank you, sweetheart.” he slams his cock deep one more time and spills inside you, filling you up with his warm seed.

Ford holds you tight in his arms, whispering your name, thanking you, kissing you over and over, breathing hard, sweat damp at his hairline, glasses crooked. His body is so exhausted and overwhelmed.

“Sweetheart,” he's so kiss-drunk. “i think you’ve completely wrecked me.”

You smile softly, too dazed to say something in response, your eyes hazy, body still trembling around him.

But then, involuntarily, you turn your head. Your unfocused gaze falls on. . . oh.

Him.

The statue.

Bill. The golden demonic triangle, locked in stone, frozen in time, trapped in his own cursed monument with his single, etched eye.

Looks creepy, in a way. Like he's watching.

Your breath shudders as your whole body goes still

Ford notices immediately as he calls you by your name, asking what happened. You don’t answer, just tilt your head slightly, staring right back at the statue.

Ford follows your gaze and sees it too.

“. . . Oh.”

You look at Ford and he looks at you. Your fingers trace slow lines down his chest until you whisper.

“Put me against it.”

Ford stares at you, wide-eyed. “you, you want to—”

“Yes.”

“Sweetheart, what if he can—”

“Good.”

Ford sighs and you smile.

“Don’t you want to remind him that you’re mine now?”

And that’s how you end up with your back pressed against the stone surface of Bill’s statue with Ford between your legs. His gaze accidentally falls on the statue and his heart slams against his ribs.

Bill. Watching. Unblinking. Trapped. Helpless.

Bill, who once called him Fordsy, Sixer, IQ.

Bill, who once called him cute when he tried to fight back.

Bill, who once called him his perfect other half.

Bill, who was once the sun in his galaxy.

He's watching, so let him see.

Bill can’t move, can’t speak, can’t scream, but he can see. And he is fucking seething. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.

THIS?

HIM?

His Fordsy, his fucking Sixer getting ruined by some desperate, pathetic little human? He hates you, hates the way you’re moaning, taking his Sixer’s cock like you fucking belong there, hates the way Ford’s holding you, worshipping you, whispering against your skin.

You are hypersensitive now, your body feels like a live wire, buzzing, overloaded with him. The way Ford's hands move over your skin, trying to understand how someone like him, six-fingered, battered, buried under too many regrets ended up with someone like you, soft and brilliant and wholly, painfully, his.

The coolness of the stone surface of Cipher's statue feels like cruel contrast to the heat between your legs.

Ford makes a quiet whimper before kissing you like he’s dying. Like he’s never known softness before, like he’s never known devotion before, like he’s never been worshiped before.

Your hands wander, relearning the shape of him, the texture of him. The scarred hands, the broad shoulders, the soft expanse of his stomach, the sharp ridges of his hipbones.

You can feel his heartbeat through his cock.

You drag your nails up his spine, feeling the way his whole body twitches, responds, obeys.

His brain is short-circuiting because he’s never had sex like this, he’s never been touched like this, he’s never been wanted like this.

“I should stop,” the scientist between your legs says. “i should sweetheart, this is madness.”

But he doesn’t move away, doesn’t pull out, doesn’t stop. Because he can’t. Or maybe because he doesn’t want to. Could it be both?

Bill remembers when it was him who could make Ford tremble, when it was his words, his touch, his power that made Sixer gasp. When it was him who was the center of Ford’s universe.

And now Ford is gripping your thighs, burying his face in your neck, whimpering into your skin.

Bill is fucking livid, watching HIS Sixer trembling, gasping, clinging to you like you are his entire existence. Watching Ford ruin himself for you. Watching Ford let himself be loved. Watching Ford beg to be yours.

And Bill can’t do a fucking thing about it.

Ford is losing his mind because it can't be real, too much, too good, too intense.

Bill hates the way Ford’s fingers slide into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, letting you suck, letting you worship his extra one.

“Good girl,” his Sixer says, watching the way your lips close around his digits as your tongue flicks against the calloused pads, your moan vibrate straight into his palm.

Bill remembers the first time Ford ever held out this hand to him.

"I was born strange. I am attracted to the strange. And the strange has always been attracted to me." Ford’s brilliance was always his curse.

Bill had taken his hand. And never let go.

Until now, until you.

His sixer, his brilliant, stubborn, impossible Sixer reduced to this? To a whimpering mess, buried deep in some lovesick human.

Bill wants to claw his way out of this stone. wants to take back what’s his. Bill would laugh if he could, would tear you away from him and remind Sixer exactly who he belongs to.

This is hell, no, this is worse than hell.

He was a god, infinite. And now he's a fucking rock, a statue, a prisoner, a powerless, speechless, helpless observer to. . . to what? to this shit?

“You’re mine,” you breathe into Ford's lips.

“Yes, yes, yours, I'm yours, always, always, always.”

Ford. His Ford.

No. No, NO, NO.

He is watching Ford give himself away, watching Ford worship you like you hung the fucking stars.

Stanford was his. HIS.

He was supposed to be the only one to drive Ford mad. He was supposed to be the one who made Ford weak, made him beg.

Ford had been so easy back then. So starved for validation, but desperate for knowledge and so beautifully eager to destroy himself in pursuit of something greater.

Bill had owned him.

“You’re mine.”

“Yours, all yours, my love.” Ford’s eyes are unfocused, hes so far gone, for you.

And you know it, Bill can fucking tell because you're looking at him, looking at the statue as you grip Ford tighter, protecting him from Bill.

“Mine.” and Ford, who, in Bill's opinion, has always been an obedient dog, damn nods.

This is a joke. This is an insult. This is a violation.

And yet, it is him that you and Ford are violating, his monument, his remains and his final resting place, his one trace left in this world.

“She knows. She knows what Ford and I were. That’s why she’s doing this, isn’t it? That’s why she’s dragging him down onto the cold stone, letting him touch her, making him forget everything but her. She wants to erase me, wants to make sure that when Ford thinks about what it felt like to kneel before me, to look up at me with awe and fear and longing in those stupid, stupid human eyes, all he will remember instead is this. She wants to overwrite it. Reprogram him. Take what was mine. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. She is all human frailty, weak, pathetic, replaceable. She is mortal, temporary, fragile, finite. But my Ford brilliant. Ford is infinite. Ford is so much more. And yet, he isn’t even thinking of me, is he? He is looking at her. She has ruined him. He used to beg for me. Now that idiot is worshipping her. Losing himself inside her. Dedicating himself to her like a disciple, a zealot, a man willing to fall to his knees and destroy himself for devotion. That used to be for me. His hands. . . oh dear Euclydia, those hands— how many times did those same hands trace the surface of my pages, searching for truth, for knowledge, for validation? How many times did those fingers clutch at my edges, desperate, reaching for something no human was ever meant to touch. Now those same hands are on her. And I cannot stop it. I cannot do anything. I can only watch as she takes him further and further from me, until there is nothing left. Until the Stanford Pines I knew, the Stanford Pines I built, the Stanford Pines I made, the Stanford Pines I claimed is completely gone. Until I am nothing more than a forgotten scary whisper in his mind. Until I am just a rock in the woods, forced to witness the slow, meticulous erasure of my own existence. My body doesn't have mouth and I cannot even scream.”

Bill doesn’t love Ford. He doesn’t even know what love is. But he knows obsession and he knows hunger, and somewhere in that chaos, Ford became the center of it all.

Bill has never been helpless before, never been forced to endure something without intervention.

And worse, this is Stanford Pines. The only human who ever matched him, challenged him, fascinated him. Ford believed he could outthink a god, Bill knew that mortals only crumble faster under pressure.

Ford isn’t just being fucked. Ford isn’t just desperate and needy, begging for attention. Ford is in love. Being consumed by love, taken in a way that made him forget himself. Forget Bill.

Bill can’t stand it. This is cosmic-level sadism.

”I am a god, a destroyer of worlds. I have seen the rise and fall of civilisations. I have cracked open minds and turned them inside out. I have walked between dimensions and burned the laws of reality into my own design. Now I'm left to rot in this miserable meat-world. And i could have handled that, maybe. Could have tolerated the humiliation, the aching eternity of nothingness, if not for this. If not for Stanford Pines, of all people, of all creatures in the multiverse, of all sentient beings in all realities, here like this. Right in front of me, crying out in reverence for someone else. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me! He's looking at her like she’s the fucking god in this equation. It’s not just that he’s on his knees for her in the same way he once was for me, it’s that he WANTS this. It's that he’s soft for her and not because he’s lost his mind and scared, not because he’s intoxicated by the thrill of the impossible, not because i have my hands in his brain turning the gears myself. But because he loves her. I should be touching him, i should be inside his head, mind, body. I should be the one pulling those noises out of his throat. This is the worst part. Not the betrayal. Not the humiliation. But the knowledge that he doesn't think about me anymore. Ford Pines is no longer mine, he does not dream of me, he does not scream my name, he does not shudder at my touch, he does not remember what it was like to belong to me, he has forgotten, he has replaced me and there is nothing i can do about it. Not now, not ever.”

I'm going insane.

He’s the smartest idiot I’ve ever met. And trust me, I’ve met a lot of idiots.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE GOD?

To see everything, to know everything, to hold eternity in your hands like a matchstick? To bend reality, break minds, carve new universes from the ribs of dying ones?

To whisper your name into the black holes of men’s hearts and have them answer you, hungry, desperate, willing?

I do. I did. Hahahahahhahaha! NOW I SEE!

This is what i did to you, isn’t it, Sixer? This is what i made you feel, when i left you alone, when i lied, when i called you a fool, when i told you that you needed me more than i ever needed you.

This is what it felt like, isn’t it? It hurted you?

“You’re the smartest person i’ve ever met.” Ford thought he could tame chaos and Bill thought he could devour genius. The tragedy is they both succeeded.

Sixer was always meant to fall into obsession, but it was supposed to be Bill’s name trembling off his lips, not yours.

Do you even understand what you’re touching?

Do you know what he was before you came along, sinking your little hands into him, sinking your little teeth into his throat, into his fucking soul?

Do you know what he could have been?

My Sixer was never meant to be this small, this weak, this human.

Do you know what i saw in him? POTENTIAL.

He was born wrong, born strange, born too smart for his body, too brilliant for his world. He was never meant to belong.

But i could give him something better. And oh, Sixer, my darling Sixer, my beautiful, tragic, broken Sixer, you knew it, didn’t you? You knew it the moment you met me because the first time you let me in, i felt you shudder. Not in fear, no. In recognition. As if finally, finally, finally you had found something as hungry as you.

“I need you, darling, need you so much, it’s terrifying.” aww, but Fordsy, you always did love things that scared you.

Cipher was the sun in his galaxy, but do you know what happens when a star collapses? It doesn’t just disappear, it becomes a black hole, it pulls everything in, crushes everything under its gravity. It becomes a point of no return.

And you, little parasite, LITTLE THIEF, you think you’ve won? Seriously? You’ve stolen him from me!

Ford builds to understand, but I destroy to prove. He may map the stars, but I decide where they fall

Ford defines matter, but I define meaning, my poor Sixer seeks the truth and i am what breaks it.

He draws the line between genius and madness. I blur it until he can’t find his way back.

I'm still here.

“He promised me knowledge, and I gave him my trust. He took both and left me drowning in questions I can never unask. I let him orbit my thoughts only to find I was a moon bound to a planet that devoured itself. I thought he was a guiding star, but he was a collapsing supernova, destroying everything in his wake and I still couldn’t look away.” torn pages from Ford’s journal say.

Ford will never admit it, but Bill gave him something he never had before, a reason to feel important. It’s not that Ford wants the universe. He just wants to matter in it. And Bill let him think he did.

Ford thought he hated the way Cipher talked, but it’s the silence that terrifies him because he knows he’s still there, waiting.

Bill carved himself into Ford’s life like a parasite, but Ford let him in like a lover.

And it's a mistake he'll never repeat again.

fuck it.

Ford doesn’t know what’s more overwhelming. The way your pussy clenches around him, fluttering, soaking his cock. Or the way you lean back against the cold, unmoving surface of Bill’s statue, lips parted, a wicked little smile curling at the edges.

You reach back, threading your fingers through his damp, silver-streaked hair and kiss him roughly, biting his lips, exploring his mouth with your tongue. You don't notice the way Ford's eyes flicker up to meet the empty, unblinking gaze of the stone triangle looming over you both. Ford’s stomach twists, his pulse stutters. His mind reels

You are on top of him now, your thighs are straddling his hips, knees pressing into the damp moss, hands cradling the sharp lines of his jaw. Ford's free hand grips your ass, squeezes tight, pulls you down harder.

You ruin him, it's too much, the way your pussy swallows him, velvet heat stretching around him, keeping him locked inside you. The way you grab his wrist, pull his hand to your mouth, and slip his fingers past your lips again.

Ford's hair is a mess, just like himself, his face is flushed, drenched in sweat, pupils so wide they swallow the soft brown of his eyes. Half-lidded and glassy, he looks at you, taking you in, drinking you in, your beauty.

Ford pushes the straps of your dress down, letting them slip from your shoulders, exposing your breasts to the golden, dappled light filtering through the canopy above. The sight is so beautiful, watching your breasts bounce as you fuck yourself dumb on his cock. Ford thinks he might never want to leave this moment, this place, this overwhelming, earth-shattering feeling of being inside you, of being part of you, of belonging to you.

“So good, so good,” you whisper, scratching your nails against his shoulders as he stretches you open. “hnngh, Ford, so big, you're so big, Ford, c-can feel you—”

His entire body locks up. “too deep? Sweetheart, do you need me to stop? Do you—”

Your hands fly up, cupping his face. “No, don’t you dare stop.” you sink down again, grinding onto him, taking him even deeper and Ford cries, his body can't process the pleasure of feeling you squeeze around him, taking him so perfectly, so fully

“Love, I—” you roll your hips, rubbing against him just right. “I— oh, god, oh fuck,” he’s always been articulate, always so good with words, so clever, so brilliant, but right now, he’s nothing but wrecked, broken syllables, hoarse moans, desperate gasps.

God, you love him so much.

His head tilts back against the Bill's statue, exposing his throat to you, mouth open, panting, eyes unfocused, completely pussy drunk.

“Baby,” you whisper, sliding your fingers into his hair, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at you. “stay with me.”

His silly gaze snaps to yours, pupils blown wide as he gives you the most genuine fucked out smile.

“Always, always, sweetheart, always.”

"Keep talking, please.”

“Can't,” he gasps. “can't—” he's gripping the swell of your ass, yanking you down, forcing you deeper, forcing you to take every inch of him, and god, he's buried so deep it makes your breath stutter.

Your walls tighten around him and Ford straight-up whimpers. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing your forehead against his.

“Where’d all those big words go, hm?”

“You— you’re— ngh, y-you’re ruining me.”

You don't really notice how he slides a hand between your bodies and runs two fingers through the mess where you're stretched around him, rubbing your clit, then brings his fingers to his mouth. His lips close around them, licking the taste of you and he groans like he's been starving.

“You taste like heaven, my love.” Ford hugs you and buries his face in your throat, teeth scraping, lips sucking, marking you, branding you meanwhile his fingers slide back down, slipping between your folds, circling your clit gently and you fucking die from this kind of intimacy. Your whole body tenses.

“F-Ford!” he grips your waist tight, holding you in place and then he thrusts up, deeper, faster and harder, his cock slamming into you so perfectly it makes your vision blur. “Yes,” you sob, “yes, please, harder. I love you, more!”

His cock drags against your inner walls, grazing against every tender spot.

He isn’t just giving you his body, but his soul. And he’s never, ever taking it back. The smartest man in the universe, the man who has solved unfathomable cosmic mysteries, completely undone beneath you.

Your clit throbs as you cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders, holding yourself.

"Please," man beneath you gasps, "please, sweetheart, don't stop—" you ride him faster. You move together like you are the one. Your bodies fit like the phases of the moon, waxing and waning, perfect in every alignment.

The pressure builds and builds until it snaps, and you cry out. The heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly, your breath coming in short, frantic bursts. Ford's fingers rub over your clit one last time and the oversensitivity makes you jerk and shake.

Ford thrusts up into you, his hands shaking on your waist and then he cums. Your head falls back, lips parted in a silent cry as your pussy grips him tight, milking him. His thrusts slowed as you feel every inch of him pulsing, his cum filling you to the brim you can feel it dripping already.

The world is quiet. The only sound is your breath, the exhausted gasps of two people who just destroyed each other in the best possible way.

Your legs are shaking too much to move, body boneless

Ford presses his forehead to your shoulder,

“Jesus christ.”

You laugh, dazed, punch-drunk, deliriously happy. Your tired. hand slips and you almost touch the statue, or to be exact, Bill's stone hand as it looms just inches away, and Ford’s eyes go wide.

”Don’t!” he shouts, grabbing your wrist.

You freeze. “Wha—”

“It’s a deal, you touch him, you’re making a deal and we’re not doing that. Not ever.” you look at the statue when realization dawns.

Later, when you’re both dressed and leaving the clearing, Ford glances back at the statue with blank expression

“He can’t hurt us,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “not anymore.”

Stanford spent a lifetime chasing knowledge, mysteries, the secrets of the universe.

And now he's realising he should have been chasing you. It’s good that there’s still a lot of time left.

[strawberryshortcake1495]

Imagine Male Reader but he’s like a father figure to Stan and Ford and who’s always been there for them since they were kids and because he’s there to keep things orderly there’s no miscommunication and everything is well in the world :3

Bonus points if he’s immortal and will have to watch his boys grow into old men and will always brag about how cute the twins were when they were young

[lucigooseart]

stanley pines

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

[gay-dorito-dust]

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.

[sleeplessdreamer14]

If you honestly think Ford didn't keep a photograph of you on his person during his time in the multiverse like a soldier keeping a locket with a picture of their lover during a war, think again.

[mooooonnnzz]

Platonic ask for gravity falls 🩷

The twins with a mother figure? Those kids are all around saving the world, someone needs to seriously worry about them and make a little fuss lol maybe the mother figure is Stanley or Stanford new wife? I just imagine the twins coming back next summer and boom new mother/aunt

Heartbreak, Heartbreak

Stanford x Reader / Dipper & Mable x Mother!Reader

✦ your stanfords wife whaatt?!

✦ i feel like this is one of my weaker works, i apologize

✦ 2,5k words

✦ fem reader

✦ gulp i hope i did ur request justice 😭

✦ mable goes "stop fighting!!" at some point

✦ requests r still deliciously open

꣑୧ Coming back to Gravity Falls was a dream come true for the twins. What they weren’t expecting was to see their Great Uncle Ford walk in the Mystery Shack hand in hand with you. Mable was the first to bombard you Grunkle with questions; which stemmed from “Oh my god, when did you guys meet?” to “Oh my god, oh my god, am I going to have Great Cousins? That sounds weird, doesn’t it?” Ford had to calm her down before she got too rowdy with their questions and overwhelm you. 

꣑୧ Once Mable was calm enough to sit down in the same room with you, without bursting in her seat with excitement, was when Ford broke the news. “Mable, Dipper. This is my wife,” He said, wrapping his arms around you, his hand moving up and down your arm in a soothing manner. You introduced yourself to the twins who were more than happy to meet you. 

꣑୧ “Did our Grunkle by some chance, manage to hypnotize you into dating him with a book?” Dipper asked with an analyzing stare. His lips were puckered, pointer finger and thumb on his chin, tapping it curiously. Not expecting a question as absurd as that, you let out a laugh. Shaking your head, you smiled at Dipper. “Not at all,” You respond, taking Ford’s hand with yours, intertwining your fingers together. “He just won me over with his nerdy charm.” You say, your eyes locked on Ford. A rush of blood swarmed Ford’s cheeks. A chorus of groans echoed in the shack. Stan appears behind the kids, resting his arms on the top of their chairs. “See, kids,” He motions over to you and Ford with a swipe of his hand. “This is what I had to deal with while you guys were gone.” With a sympathetic look, Mable rested her hand on his arm, shaking her head sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry, Grunkle Stan.” 

꣑୧ After the initial shock wore off, Dipper and Mable began to grew skeptical of you. What if you were one of Bill’s goons disguising yourself as a human? And your goal was to take down their Grunkles and start Weirdmageddon 2?! Rushing up to their room in the attic, they pulled out their trusty 8-ball, the one they used the first day they arrived at Gravity Falls and when they were unsure if they were safe to stay with Grunkle Stan. They both sat down on the floor, 8-ball in Dipper’s hand. “Okay, magic 8-ball!” Mable boomed loudly with a weird amalgamation of a British and French accent. “Mable, keep it down.” Dipper shushed. “Oops,” Mable giggled. “Okay, magic 8-ball,” She whispered, her head uncomfortably close to the 8-ball. “Is Grunkle Ford’s wife evil?” With a rapid shake, Dipper and Mable peered into the ball. A pyramid accompanied with words appeared. “Don’t count on it.” The twins read out loud. “Huh…” Mable slowly nodded her head, eyes squinted in thought. “Well,” Dipper tossed the 8-ball behind him. “The magic 8-ball never lies.” 

꣑୧  Getting along with the twins wasn’t hard. All you had to do was grab your car keys from your purse, jingle them as if they were a bell and wait. Few minutes later, you’d hear their feet stomping down the stairs and a flash of colors swarming the living room. “I heard keys jingle, I heard keys jingle!!” Mable’s eyes darted around the room in search of the keys and when her eyes landed on you, her eyes sparkled with joy and anticipation. “Are you taking us somewhere, Great Aunt [Name]?” You smiled, spinning the keys around your finger. “Depends,” You pretended to think for a moment, just to keep them on their toes. “Where would you guys like to go?” A laugh escapes you as Dipper and Mable attack you with where they want to go. “Alright, let me tell your Grunkle that I’m taking you guys out.” Digging through your purse, you fish out your phone. You turned it on and went to your contacts. With a tap, you dialed his number. He picked up almost immediately. “Yes, dear?” You could hear his pencil scribbling on a piece of paper. “I’m taking Dipper and Mable out for the day.” You tell him, mouthing to the kids to get in the car. They scampered out of the living room and to the hallway. You could hear the door open and their hushed voices as they made a beeline to your car. “Okay, be safe when you’re driving and call me whenever you can, okay?” You hummed in response. “Of course, I’ll keep you updated on the kids.” You say, walking out of the shack and to your car. “I want updates on how you feel too,” You could feel the love dripping from his tone. “I will, my love.” You blow a kiss into the phone, wishing Ford goodbye. He blows one back and the call ends. Entering the car, you look behind you to see the twins all buckled up and ready for their adventure. “You guys ready?” “Yeah!” 

꣑୧ “So, Dipper, what’s with those dots on your arm?” You point at the four dots on his arm with a fry. Dipper looked down to his arm. His eyebrows rise in shock. “I-I completely forgot I had these,” Dipper’s thumbs the scars, an uneasy look on his face. Your heart stops in your chest. “I’m so sorry, Dipper. I didn’t mean to make–’ Dipper’s hands raise up to his chest, waving them side to side, dismissing your concerns. He assured you that your question didn’t make him uncomfortable. “No, no! It’s just…” He rubs the back of his neck anxiously. “He got possessed by a demon!” Mable blurts out, stuffing her face with a greasy burger. “Mable!” Dipper whines. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t handle you beating around the bush any longer.” She says with a mouthful of chewed up food. You leaned yourself back in the booth, trying to assess what Mable just said. “Dipper got possessed?” You repeated in a question. “Yeah, I kinda did.” Dipper said with a slight voice crack. “Can I know how?” Disbelief was thick in your tone. You didn’t know whether to laugh or walk away in shock. They don’t look like they’re telling a joke? The way Dipper has his head slightly hung low and a tiny frown on his face proved that. But Mable seems as jolly as ever. You fight with yourself, trying to make sense of what happened when Dipper spoke up. “Have you heard of the name Bill Cipher?” Shaking your head no, the twins dove straight into a very long story pertaining to Bill Cipher and how he tormented them throughout summer last year and ultimately led to the world almost ending. “Wow,” Was all that you could mutter. You never got your question about Dipper’s scar answered that day. 

꣑୧ Laying in bed, you eyes drifted over to Ford who was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “You wanna know something crazy the twins told me earlier today?” Ford spat out the toothpaste into the sink. “What did those knuckleheads tell you?” He said, cupping his hand under the running faucet and filling his hand up with water. “It was this really crazy story,” You started. Ford nodded, dunking the water in his mouth and sloshing it around. “They told me about this interdimensional demon named Bill Cipher?--” Ford spit out the water in shock, spraying it everywhere on the mirror. You sat up in surprise. “Ford?” You pushed the blankets off of you and walked over to Ford, your hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” With a forced, “mhm,” he wiped the dripping water from his lips with his forearm. “Y-yeah, no. I’m fine.” He waved you off, nodding his head vigorously, almost as if he was convincing himself that everything was fine. “Are you sure?” Concern laced your voice. Someone who’s fine wouldn’t spit out their water like that at the mention of…Bill Cipher? That’s when it clicked for you. “You have history with this demon as well, don’t you?” Ford groaned, running his hands down his face. “Those kids can’t keep their mouths shut, can they?” He mumbled to himself, his head turning to face you. “What else did they tell you?” That night, you spent it horrified with the tales he told you regarding the past summer and his time with Bill. “And you never told me this, why?” Ford nervously pushed his glasses up, his eyes looking everywhere but you. “Because I…” He trailed off. “I don’t know,” He stops for a moment, inhaling deeply before continuing. “I didn’t want to scare you off. My past...isn’t something I could easily tell you without having a second thought.” A frown pulls to your lips. “Were you ever going to tell me?” You ask, your voice frail and quiet. “Yes?” His tone was full of uncertainty. You didn’t know what to think. One side of you wanted to be mad at him for keeping all of this from you, but on the other hand you felt sympathetic. You knew this wasn’t an easy topic to discuss normally. And you could tell it took him a lot of courage to admit a side of him that he wasn’t fully ready to reveal. But you were deeply hurt that he kept such secrets from you for a long time. And considering how he responded to your question, you weren’t even sure he was going to tell you any time soon. “What are you thinking about?” Ford’s voice ripped you out from your thoughts, grounding you back to reality. “I’m thinking about how crazy all of this is. I didn’t know. The kids went through so much at a young age. A-and you act like it was nothing, they could’ve died Ford.” Your hand rested on the side of your forehead. “You also made a deal with a demon? I…” You let out a sigh. “I don’t know, Stanford.” Ford cringed at the use of his full name. “I can go, if you’d like me to.” You raised your hand up to stop him. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just need time to process this,” You offer him a weak smile. “That’s all I need right now my love, just time.” 

꣑୧ “You what?!” Mable and Dipper both screech at the same time. “Yeesh, Ford. And I thought I was a screw-up.” Stan chuckled, elbowing Mable to see if that got a rise from her. It did not. “I thought I was protecting her from all of this madness!” Ford’s elbow rested on the dining room table, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Grunkle Stan tried doing the same thing, did you see how that almost ended for us?” Dipper said. “I know, I know.” Ford weakly muttered out. “Then, why did you keep such important details away from her?” Stan argued. “Because I was trying to protect her!” Ford yelled, slamming his hands on the table. That seemed to get a rise from Stan. “Well, maybe you weren’t trying hard enough! Now, look at what you did. You fucked everything up.” He shouted. “Oh!” Ford stood up from his chair. “That’s hilarious coming from you!” Scrambling up the table, Mable slammed her foot down, gaining the attention from Ford and Stan. “Fighting isn’t going to fix things, guys.” She said, “Ford had his reasons, like how you had your reasons for hiding Grunkle Ford from us, Grunkle Stan.” Ford adjusted his sweater, sitting back down on his chair. “Now, Grunkle Ford. What did she tell you?” She asked, turning over to Ford. “She told me that she needed time.” Sitting crossed-crossed, she nodded her head intently. “That’s good, right?” In return was silence. “Right, guys?” Both Dipper and Stan agreed. “Great! Now while we wait, can we apologize to each other for acting so mean and for swearing.” She directed a look to Stan who scoffed. 

꣑୧  And wait they did. After a couple of days, Ford’s phone randomly started ringing. Rushing to pick it up, he lifted his phone to see you calling him. He gulped nervously, suddenly second guessing himself. Should he pick up the phone? If he does, what if it’s you telling him that you want a divorce? Or that you need a break, or that– “Grunkle Ford!” Dipper snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Answer!” He pointed to the phone. “I got it!” Mable sang out, swiping her finger to the right. There was a beat of silence. Mable and Dipper anxiously waited for at least you or him to speak. One of them was about to intrude, no longer able to withstand such silence when you spoke up. “My love?” Your voice was timid. Ford’s heart lunged to his throat. How he missed your voice. “Y-Yes?” He mentally punched himself for stuttering like a complete fool in front of you. “Can you open the door for me? It’s locked.” Without a second thought, Ford practically ran over to the door and whipped it open for you. The twins watched you and him silently talk to each other from a distance. After a few tearful words and hugs, they recoil in disgust when they see Ford swoop you in for a kiss. “Oh my eyes!” Mable dramatically exclaimed. “Gross.” Dipper made a face in disgust. 

꣑୧ “I’m still mad at Ford for roping you kids into all that madness.” You tell the kids, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. “Dawww, don’t you worry about us.” Mable put a hand to her cheek bashfully. “We can handle it.” You found that hard to believe. “Is Gravity Falls still…crazy?” You whisper the last part, in case Bill Cipher is listening. You’ve only heard stories of him, but hearing what he has done rooted a new fear in you. “Kind of? There’s still weird things that happen here, but not as bad as last summer.” Dipper said, jotting down a few notes in his journal. “How come I’ve never seen anything weird?” You wondered. “Because you’re too busy making out with Grunkle Ford to notice anything!” Mable chirped, kicking her feet as she drew on colored piece of paper. That elicited a laugh from Dipper and a “What!” Ford walked in with an eyebrow raised and breakfast in hand. ”I heard I was mentioned in a conversation. Are you guys talking crap about me?” Ford places his food on the table and pulls back a chair. He sits right next to you and before he dives in on his breakfast, he gives you a quick kiss on the lips. “You wish!” Mable says, flipping her paper on its backside. “I do not.” Ford said quietly. “So, kids saving the world, huh? That has to count as some kind of child abuse.” You half said seriously, half said jokingly. Ford rolled his eyes. “What? Are you gonna arrest me?” You glared at him. “I might…” 

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Please, write something about facesitting with Stan and Ford, cuz with those giant noses I know its good.

A/n: 👀

Warnings: Oral sex, female receiving.

•Stanly Pines•

Stan love's nothing more than to eat you out though the moment you let it slip that you want to try something knew the man tease's how can he ever go back.

You're adorable, so adorable,

Stan can't help but smirk at your shy request, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation. He loves when you take control like that, it’s so damn hot.

"Anything, for you angel, though who knew you were such a naughty one."

He purrs, gently guiding you to straddle his face. His strong hands grip your hips as he eagerly starts to devour you, his tongue expertly exploring every inch of your dripping pussy.

Your cries only fueling his own desire as you tried to move, Stan's hands clutching preventing your movement as he held your hips tightly.

He moans softly against your folds, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. Stan's fingers dig into your skin as he worships you, determined to make you feel good. He loves the taste of you, the way you squirm and moan above him only fueling his desire.

You can feel his hot breath against your sensitive skin, his tongue flicking and teasing your clit with expert precision.

Stan's hands roam up your body, squeezing your breasts and teasing your nipples as he continues to eat you out with fervor. He’s completely focused on giving you pleasure, lost in the moment as he worships you like the goddess you are.

“Mmm, you taste so fucking good, baby,”

Stan groans, his voice thick with desire. He’s completely under your control, eager to please you in any way you desire. His cock strains against his jeans, desperate for release, but right now all he cares about is making you feel good.

•Standord Pines•

It all started in High School for Ford, he was tutoring you well doing his best as you complained about your boyfriend refusing to eat out which lead to you dumping him. You didn't know why you told him, maybe it was because you had a soft for him a crush and you were hoping that he would notice your feelings despite you being popular.

Though it didn't take long for you to try it, neither of you had experience and looking back on it, you couldn't help but chuckle at your first time with Ford though that night lead down the road of your experience with your six fingered lover.

Ford had gotten better, more experienced with sex when it came to you. One particular memory came to mind, you two were running from some asshole on some planet and one thing lead to another as the man had you pinned to the wall. Bottom's gone, panties hanging off your ankle as your legs draped themselves across your lovers shoulders.

You head hitting the wall as your eyes closed shut as your fingers wove through his hair. "That prick in the bar said he could eat me out better?" You had a teasing tone to your voice but you wanted to see Ford's reaction.

Ford's eyes darken with possessiveness and desire as he hears your words, as his glasses nearly slip off his face . His hand tightens on your waist as he adjusted your legs so you were more comfortable

“Like that bastard knows you like I do! I am going to show you what it’s like to be worshipped properly,” his voiced muffled by your thigh, his breath hot against your skin. The hunger in his eyes is undeniable as he eagerly waits for you to take control and give him what he craves.

Ford groans softly as you settle on his face, feeling the warmth and weight of you on him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you into the perfect position as his tongue eagerly darts out to taste you. He moans in delight, the vibrations sending shivers through you as he starts to worship you like you deserve.

His tongue explores every inch of you, licking and sucking with skill and precision. He's relentless in his pursuit of your pleasure, making sure you feel nothing but bliss under his ministrations. The sounds of your moans and gasps only fuel his desire, and he's determined to make you unravel completely with his touch.

Your fingers gripping his hair, tugging at the silver strands, your eyes squeezing tightly shut.

He devours you with a hunger that matches his possessiveness, wanting to show you just how good it can be when you're with someone who truly cherishes you. And in this moment, with you on top of him, he's proving just how much he adores you. He may no longer be that fumbling teenager but Ford loves you and he'll always make sure you know.

[stanfordswifey]

Stanford Headcanons!!

(Bf ver.)

Giggling hes so pretty in this picture-- COUGH COUGH SORRY ILL GET STARTED (pre-portal)

Loves physical touch. Would lowkey miss you whenever he's working so he always hugs you, and gives you cuddles whenever he can.

Kisses? Yes please, he'd be flustered at first but reciprocate it sooner or later, he's a shy lil dude.

Gift giving!! He'd make silly gadgets for you for no reason, you need a pen holder? Boom made you one, need anything at all and he'd get started on it just for you <3

Quality time is something he'd like also, since he'll be working on the portal so much he'd spend time with you whenever he can, sometimes it'd just be the both of you cuddling in bed and he'd start infordumping about the most random shit ever.

He would promise to take you to the galaxy and even farther, that he'd show you everything and adore it with you, but out of every gorgeous sunset, out of every prettt flower, he'd always see you as the most beautiful little thing he'd ever lay his eyes on.

Might be possessive, just a little! He'd 'accidentally' leave hickeys in obvious spots on your body (neck, chest, etc)

He'd take you on dates, he would cook your favorite food, setup the table and for nighttime lazy dates he'd just get some popcorn and you two would watch documentaries together or go looking for a new creature to document.

He would let you draw on his journals or add some stuff in, decorations, notes, etc.

He's the type to pat your head when you do something good

[yandere--stuck]

Laughing at the idea that while playing dolls using the reader and ford he also has a little doll version of himself and does poor impressions of their voices

Bill doing a ford impression: “how was your day homey? I made you a nice bowl of teeth for dinner”

Ford: this is ridicules

Bill doing an impression of the reader: “come here and let me give you a kiss bill!”

Reader: please stop making me kiss the weird doll

"You know what means!" Bill beamed.

"... You'll let us go?" You dared to ask, held in mid-air.

"Extra kisses!!!"

You surged forward, wind whistling in your ears as you brought up, face-to-face, with a plastic replica of the triangle demon. Your face met plastic, Bill maneuvering your body and smushing it against the toy.

"MWAH MWAH MWAH!" Then, the triangle put on an impression of your speaking voice. "I love you sooooo much, Bill! Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah!"

"Put them down, you animal!" Ford barked from below, trying to act intimidating despite the size difference.

"Oh, is someone getting jealous, Fordsy?"

Thankfully, you were ripped away from the plastic Bill. You sneered with disgust, suddenly realizing drool had been smeared over your face - but it was replaced by a look of fear and a sudden yelp as the ground rushed to meet you.

Only for Bill to suddenly stop, jolting you in his grasp, before dropping you hard onto your ass. Immediately, Ford rushed to your side.

"Are you alright?" He asked breathlessly. His hands were on you, helping you to your feet. "I've got you, don't-"

"Not so fast, Sixer!"

You grabbed for Ford's hands and a shout of 'No!' burst from your throat, but it was too late - he was already lifted high into the air. You couldn't look away, heart pounding in your ears.

In Bill's other hand, he still held the replica of himself.

"Now, pucker up, Braniac."

[imagination-phantom]

POV: you tried to flirt with Ford ~

“Ford … Ford … STANFORD! Hi yes I um well I had a question I was hoping you could answer? It’s very important … um … I was wondering … Are Those Astronaut Pants Youre Wearing Cuz Your Ass Is Out Of This World!”

I’m gonna go now, thank you for your time *runs away.

[sunniskyies]

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 || 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Reader forgets she has Ford’s mind reading device on… 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ford Pines x fem!shy!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: - 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Makeout, fluffy shy stuff 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k 𝐀/𝐍: This is so so so out of my league with this kind of thing, but I had a vision and had to try, so forgive me if it’s not the best !! ( you can read this as young or old Ford by the way ! )

“Are you going to tell me what exactly that is?” You ask shyly, perched neatly on a wooden stool in the deepest room of Ford’s laboratory. The man in question is bustling around the benches, plugging in wires and fiddling with dials and buttons.

“It’s a mental-strengthening device, able to encrypt one’s thoughts to prevent dream demons like Bill Cipher from entering.”

You purse your lips. “Ah. Of course.”

Ford looks briefly over at you while he tinkers. “I don’t want any chance of that creature making his way into our world. The damage he causes is… irrevocable.”

You fall silent, quietly studying the scientist’s practised hands and that little furrow in his brow you doubt he’s aware of. You see it often, in your stolen glances as you set his coffee down in the mornings, or when his eyes linger for a moment on his work when you call for his attention.

You let yourself sit in the warm feeling that spreads through your skin, toying with the fantasy of him for just a moment. Before you know it, Ford is approaching you with a gadget in his hands, and you’re pushing those silly thoughts from your mind.

“This is the receiver,” Ford explains, gesturing to the sieve-like helmet in his hands. “May I put it on you?”

All you manage is a ‘mhm’, and you hope your ears aren’t bright red when Ford places the bronze contraption over your hair. As he adjusts it here and there his fingers often brush your skin, you’re mortified as goosebumps shiver over your skin. Luckily, from what you know about Stanford Pines, he isn’t the most observant man unless you happen to have three eyes or an off-on switch.

Being Ford’s assistant has been the best opportunity of your life, but childishly you often wish for something more. To see those lips say your name not just to thank you for your helping hands. To have the confidence to show Ford the book of research you’ve been privately gathering, his eyes catching yours as he realises the potential he’d never seen in you before…

For the millionth time reality pulls you from your daydreams. Ford crouches down slightly, your faces level, your eyes on his while his are at your hairline. A six-fingered hand gently tucks loose strands back from your face.

“There,” he says, eyes catching yours. “Equipped. How does that feel?”

You swallow, voice a tad too squeaky, “All good!” 

“Perfect. I’ll begin the calibration, inform me if you experience any discomfort,” he nods, satisfied, before sweeping away again.

As you wait, you silently tap on your knees, looking around. You look over the table behind you to see a television screen with—

Your thoughts.

A string of your most embarrassing ideas visualised on a ceiling-high collection of screens, unarguably clingy and desperate desires paired with Ford’s name scrolling everywhere.

You whip your gaze over to Ford, dew already appearing over your skin. He seems to be engrossed in whatever's in his hands, but it’s only a matter of time before he sees all… that!

Fuck, fuck, fuck! The screens mirror the chant in your mind.

You try vainly to think of other things, random words and imagery slowly but surely creeping onto the televisions. Polar Bears. Adjectives. Pencils, pens, markers. Dates and historical impact of various civil wars. Charity raffles. That one catchy jingle. Discombobulation. Ambystoma mexicanum.

Ford looks up. “Finished!” He says with a quick smile.

You quietly clear your throat. “Uhm. Wow! This is very clever, Ford, although I must admit didn’t realise it displayed the user's consciousness?”

His eyebrows raise at your question, before his face softly twists with confusion as he stares at the reading. He glances back over at you with the face of someone just realising how stupid something is. Yet, you almost slump with relief. At least he only thinks you're simple, not a freak.

“Well, yes, it does. Did I not mention that?” He says slowly. “I was going to suggest you exercise your brain to ensure the program reaches every aspect of your cognition… but it seems you’re… already… doing that?” He questions hesitantly. Your smile is too-bright.

“Oh, yes, that is what I am doing. Yep.” You squeak.

“Right.”

The silence is palpable, a thick sludge that clings to your form. Sometimes both your wandering stares slide over each other, awkward blips before you both avert eye contact. You hear the hum of machinery, the soft tap of your shoe on the floor. Your fingers itch to grab your journal from your pocket to give yourself something to do with your hands, but you’re embarrassed at what Ford would see as you ponder over it. The silence stretches on and on, until you can’t bear not to break it.

“So, you, uhm, said something about exercising the mind?” You blurt sheepishly.

Ford’s eyes are immediately on you. “Yes! Yes, just try to keep your mind active, it helps the protection process.”

And the silence is back. Perhaps even worse than before.

Desperate for relief, you pull your journal from your pocket. You wave it weakly, “Mind if I do some work?”

Ford adjusts his glasses. “No, no of course not. Go ahead.” He gestures at the various desks stationed around the room. You shoot him a quick smile and spin on your stool to the table next to you, propping open the journal and continuing an essay you plan to submit as a paper in your current university course.

This works, taking your mind off your vulnerability as you focus on your work. This is what you love about science, about academia, the ability to lose yourself in something so complex, so worthwhile. You really can’t wait to get your research out there and make a name for yourself.

You write for a while, pen often times balanced between teeth. You don’t quite register Ford coming up behind you until his tilted head is in your peripheral.

“Fantastic,” he mutters absently, his face well and truly absorbed on the open page. Embarrassed, you half-heartedly cover the page with your hands.

“Oh, no, it’s really not anything special.” You mumble, eyes averted. 

“No, really, I love it. You’re studying quantum physics, right?” He insists, head tilted trying to catch his eye. When you do, he has a soft smile painted on. Your cheeks glow pink.

“Yes, I major in quantum physics and forensic science. I minor in biomedical engineering, and I’m additionally doing an online paper on parapsychology with the only university that does it, in, uh, Finland.” The sparkle in Ford’s eyes grows as you timidly recite your areas of study.

“Parapsychology? That’s brilliant!” He remarked, awed. “Why didn’t you say that, I would love to take you out on my field days. I study all sorts of paranormal and supernatural activity here. It'd be great to share it with someone.”

“Oh, I don’t want to trouble you,” you say hushed, fending off a stammer. Internally, your heart is soaring. Yes yes yes!

“It’d be no trouble,” he says earnestly, soft features returned as if coaxing you out of your shell. “I knew you were smart, but I had no idea the extent,’ he says, almost to himself.

Your eyes lock on him immediately. “You think that?”

He seems surprised. “Of course I do. You’re an exceptional assistant, and you’ve been in study for ages. I’ve heard nothing less than great things about when I send my own work to our local university. Not many scholars live out here, you know?”

You can’t drag your eyes away from him, and you're sure Ford can see every star in the galaxy swirling in your pupils right now. This is everything, everything you’ve wanted.

You’re not sure whether it’s the surge of confidence, or the way Ford’s looking so gently at you, but you’re acutely aware of how low Ford has bent down to talk to you. It would only take a small movement to bring your faces together.

And so, heart fluttering with this moment of bravery, you rise slightly up on the balls of your feet and press a small kiss to Ford’s cheek.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the sensation in your chest borderline sickening. “It, uh, means a lot.”

Ford doesn’t say a word, eyes wide but painfully unreadable. The silence is once again, stifling.

“Not a lot of fellow scientists in this area, like you said,” You hastily ramble on after a long moment. The gap doesn’t last this time, though.

In a swift motion Ford’s hand is at your cheek. You barely have time to inhale before his lips are on yours, their warmth sinking against your mouth.

You’d never imagined them to be so firm, although his proximity doesn’t give your mind any room to think about anything. It’s all happening so fast, your mind dizzied as you reciprocate his intentful kisses.

Your pen clatters slightly on the table as your hand releases it, quickly gripping to Ford as his arms snake around you and lift you up. He spins, setting you on the table in the middle of the room. You’re sure at some point you have or will let slip an embarrassing sound, but you’re wholly focused on Ford and how you’re sitting at his level on the tall table; him standing before you with his hands at your waist. Your knees brush either side of his thighs.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, his hands in turn pull you closer. It’s eager and messy, making your pulse thud wildly. You never thought a man would want you like this, never catching an eye. Let alone the genius that is—

Abruptly, his lips leave yours, the emptiness not lasting long as they move just beneath your lip, then down to your jaw. They trail down to the side of your neck, lips brushing over the shiver on your skin. Small breaths leave your mouth when you feel a glimmer of teeth against your collarbone.

You tilt your head, resting against his where he’s kissing your shoulder in the crook of your neck. Your hands remain tangled in his hair, your eyes closed.

Your bodies are so close together, his lips are all-consuming. It’s bliss. The man you’ve loved for so long, holding you like he’s besotted. Like he’s just as infatuated as you. The thought thrills through your mind; He wants me.

“I can assure you, I most certainly do,” Ford murmurs breathlessly against your skin. You pause, the statement uncannily sounding like a response to your thought…

Oh. Oh no.

The machine. The mind reading. The television directly behind your back.

You haltingly turn your head, face pale. The screen is, in fact, still reciting your thoughts. Every thought. And Ford’s facing it.

“Oh my god,” You groan, palming your forehead. You sink into yourself, drowning in humiliation. But Ford’s hand fishes beneath your chin, tipping your glowing face to look at him. His face is one of endless kindness beneath his mussed hair.

“It’s really not a bad thing, sweetness.” He says gently. You shake your head slightly, eyes squeezing shut.

His thumb creeps up the side of your face, face dipping level to yours. “No, seriously. It’s a very encouraging thing for a man to see.” He jokes warmly. You peek an eye open. Heavens, did he have to look so irresistibly handsome all the time?

“Should I, uhm, remove…” you gesture at the contraption atop your head, teeth worrying your lip.

Ford hesitates for a moment, thinking as his thumb strokes your cheek. “No. No, it’s too important. I can’t have Bill infiltrating your mind.” 

You wilt slightly, but Ford once again brings you back to him. “It’ll only take a moment. Half an hour at most.” His eyes flicker fleetingly at your lips. “And besides, it’ll be sunset by then. I hear you can see a meteor shower tonight? If you drive up the hill a little.”

You hum a soft confirmation, smile melting onto your flushed features as Ford presses a last kiss to your cheek. “Good,” He murmurs. “I’ll go fetch the coats.”

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sleeplessdreamer14 @2hiigh2cry @taffycandyqt @papi-machucha @muffin1304

 @space1crow @fries11 @yasuuuudere @shadowsandswords @darling-eos

@bloodspatteredprincess @snake-in-a-flower-crown @defmxl @ryanthatsgay2

© sunniskyies 2024, do not repost or translate my work

[darlingdaisyfarm]

I remember on ao3 you mentioned you wanted to post Stan and Ford reacting to readers death, I wanted to ask if you could share it please?<3

grief wears your name | Stan and Ford react to reader's death

Grief hits everyone differently and the Pines family is no exception. Old men arent supposed to outlive you

a/n: certainly! thank u for reminding me, tw: death

Stanley

you'd think that a man who’s been through as much as Stan Pines would’ve learned how to process grief by now. but the thing about Stan is, he doesn’t process it, not really. he pushes it down so deep that even he forgets it’s there, until it sneaks up and slams him flat on his ass.

fuck that, fuck everything, fuck this world

hell, he wasn’t supposed to outlive you. not you. not with all the shit he’d done to his body over the years, the cigarettes, the cheap booze, the sleepless nights every time he looked in the mirror. it was supposed to be him first. the old man with bad habits and a lifetime of regrets weighing him down. that was the deal, wasn’t it? you're too young, bright, stubborn, alive, you were supposed to outlast him. supposed to be there when his time came, rolling your eyes at his dramatics and holding his hand as he went. that’s how it was supposed to go, fucking fuck

he got the call from someone he didn’t recognize. a voice muttered words he couldn’t make sense of. your name. your fucking name. his ears rang, his head spun and his fingers gripped the receiver tightly

“what the fuck do you mean, gone?” the person on the other end tried to explain, but Stanley slammed the phone back onto the hook before they could finish. no. no.

you couldn’t be gone.

he saw you last week. he watched you smile at him across the counter, teasing him about his fez like you always did. he swore you winked at him before you left.

and now you were just. . . what? erased from existence?

grief had a way of making him ugly, uglier than he already saw himself. his hands shook as if he’d been drinking all night, but the bottle on the table was full and untouched. even the burn of whiskey couldn’t numb this, so what was the point?

Stanley thought about the kitten he’d brought home when he was ten. it was starving, ribs like piano keys beneath its dirty fur, the meows little animal let out were so pitiful. he'd sworn he’d take care of it, even made a little bed out of an old shoebox and named it tiger. he fed it milk behind his dad's back. tiger died three days later.

Stan felt useless, he couldn’t save anyone.

Stan hasn’t touched the fez since you died. it’s sitting there on the bedside table, gathering dust. you used to steal it all the time, yanking it off his head with a grin. “this thing’s ridiculous, Stan,” you’d tease, shoving it onto your head crookedly. “i’m the boss of scam now. bow to me.” and he always played along, rolling his eyes, calling you a pain in the ass, but you only laughed at that. that laughter was gone.

when Mabel asked him about you last night, he had to get up and leave the room because he wasn't ready for that. she was just a kid, trying to understand why the world was so unfair and he couldn’t give her an answer because he didn’t have one.

“grunkle Stan? do you think. . . do you think they’re still watching over us?” how could he tell her he didn’t believe in anything like that anymore? that you were just gone, snuffed out, like you’d never been here at all?

Mabel’s curled in his lap like she’s five again, clutching her sweater-covered arms around her knees, her face a swollen mess of tears and hiccupping sobs. her little voice is hoarse from crying and she tries to explain, through broken words, about the stupid sweater she’d been knitting for you. she just finished it. it was supposed to be a surprise. she was going to give it to you tomorrow.

Stan wraps his arms around her, calls her “pumpkin” in the softest voice he can manage, but it trembles. he squeezes his eyes shut so hard it makes his head hurt, he hopes if he can just keep them closed tight enough, none of this will be real. but it is. it fucking is. and he doesn’t know how to tell a twelve-year-old that the world is this fucking cruel. he doesn’t know how to admit he feels like that little boy again, the one with a kitten dying in his hands and nothing he could do to stop it.

he buries his face in Mabel’s brown hair and mutters some useless lie about how “it’s gonna be okay”

Mabel's face against his chest as she sobbed. Stan held her tighter.

“i made them a sweater, grunkle Stan. i-it’s pink with little stars and they- they said they'd wear it when it got cold,” her sobs swallowed the rest.

what could he say to that? what the hell could anyone say? “they loved your sweaters, kiddo. you know they did.” he wanted to picture you in that dumb pink sweater, smiling like you always did when you wanted to make Mabel feel special. but all he could see was you gone. gone. and nothing he could do would change it

Stanford

when he got the news about you, his meticulously constructed walls crumbled in an instant.

he sat at his desk, the journal open in front of him, its pages blurred by the tears he didn’t realize were falling. his hands shook as he gripped the pen, but the words just wouldn’t come.

he’d been taught from an early age that emotions were illogical. when he was younger, his father had told him to “quit being such a baby” after Ford cried over a broken model ship. that lesson had stuck

he locked himself in his study, the same place he’d last seen you. everything was still exactly where it had been. the chair you’d sat in. the pen you’d picked up and fiddled with while listening to him ramble. he’d always been embarrassed by how much he talked around you, because words came so easily when you were there.

the guilt was eating him from inside

was it his fault?

had he been too focused on his work, too distracted to notice that something was wrong? had he missed a chance to save you?

he needed answers. needed to know. what had happened? why had it happened?

he buried himself in research, poring over every detail of the accident or the incident, as he came to call it. his obsession grew, consuming him. he didn’t sleep. didn’t eat.

Stan found him one night, hunched over the desk, muttering to himself about alternate dimensions and cosmic energy. “Ford, this isn’t gonna bring them back.”

Ford didn’t respond because Stan was wrong.

Ford wasn’t trying to bring you back. he was trying to rewrite the universe so you’d never been gone in the first place

Dipper tries to talk to him one day, pulling at the hem of his vest clumsily. “grunkle Ford, is it okay to miss someone this much? like. . .this much that it hurts? my chest hurts.”

Stanford doesn’t know how to answer that. he doesn’t know how to explain the way grief wraps itself around your lungs and makes it impossible to breathe. “it is, Mason, it means they mattered.”

Dipper doesn’t see how Ford presses his hands to his temples when he leaves.

Ford’s always been good at pretending he’s fine.

Ford’s grief was quieter, but no less consuming. the guilt, the helplessness, the horrible emptiness that stretched wider every time he thought about how he’d failed to protect you.

he couldn’t stop thinking about all the times you’d parodied him, mimicking the way he pushed his glasses up his nose or how he’d say “actually” before correcting someone. “actually, Stanford Pines, you’re so predictable,” you’d giggle, tapping the bridge of your nose in a mocking gesture

you used to drive him insane with it, in good way. his face would flush, his words would stumble, and he’d act all huffy while secretly loving every second. he never told you how much he adored the way you made fun of him

he found one of your notebooks the other day. it was tucked under a pile of his old research papers, pages scrawled with your handwriting. you’d doodled little caricatures of him in the margins, stick-figure versions of Ford with six fingers and exaggerated glasses, accompanied by sarcastic captions like, “the nerdiest but prettiest man i ever knew”

he stared at those drawings until his vision blurred from tears. then he shoved the notebook in a drawer and locked it.

...

Ford disappears the next morning.

he knows it’s selfish, leaving Stan and the kids to deal with all of this without him, a part of family, but he can’t be in that house another second. the walls are suffocating. so he grabbed his coat, your coat, the one you used to borrow when you’d say his was warmer and walked, his feet already knew where they’re going.

the woods. the same path you always loved, where the sunlight filtered through the trees beautifully, where you used to point out birds or mushrooms or anything that caught your curious eye. you’d tug on his sleeve to make him stop and look. and god, you were so beautiful when you smiled at him like that. Ford adored you.

Ford doesn’t remember sitting down in the clearing where you used to spend time together, his knees in the dirt, fists clenched in the grass. he hadn’t cried when he found out, hadn’t even let himself feel it because there were too many faces looking at him like he was supposed to have answers. now there’s nothing but the woods, only memory of you and the sound of his own ragged breathing breaking into loud sobs

Ford cries like a child. raw, aching grief pouring out of him in waves, making his glasses fog up, slipping down his nose and he doesn’t bother fixing them. his body doesn’t know how to process this kind of pain. his hands too busy clawing at the ground, hoping he could dig deep enough to find you again.

Ford Pines, the man who always thought he could think his way out of anything, is completely unmade.

he doesn’t know how long he sits there, crumpled against the base of a tree. his hands tremble as he takes the notebook out of his coat pocket, the one he used to write down little things you’d say or do that he didn’t want to forget. he flips through it now, pages ruined with his tears and it hurts worse than anything else. your handwriting’s there, little notes you’d leave for him.

“don’t forget your glasses!”

“your hair looks cute today <3”

“i love you, Ford.”

he shuts the notebook and presses it to his chest, it's the only part of you he has left.

the stars above didn’t care. the trees didn’t care. the world kept turning, indifferent to the fact that you’d been torn from it.

and Ford was left there in the cold void, feeling smaller than he ever had in his life.

[angelyuji]

ford pines dating headcanons

18+!!! minors dni!!

cw // sexual content under the cut

cutie patootie

FIT AS FUCKKKKK

writes about you in his journal like first time he sees you, first date, every single thought about you? journaled!!

he wanted to ask you out but he was sooo nervous you would reject him, especially considering how young and pretty you are

he was scared you would laugh at him for trying

so he didn’t try :(

so when you showed up at the mystery shack and asked him out to dinner, he would’ve jumped for joy

“you-you’re asking me? on a date?” ford stares at you, mouth open. you tilt your head in confusion and ford almost melts. he clears his throat, “i-i would love to, (y/n). thank you.” ford blushes.

your first date was cute, he was so flustered and so nervous

i feel like he calls you by your name, sometimes by your last name, sometimes like ms/mr. last name. idk he’s silly like that

HE loves pet names tho, he lovessss pet names

when you call him love, baby, sweetheart, anythingggg he loves it

he especially loves when you call him sir like in any context

idk he’s silly like that :)

literally the sweetest man in the world

constantly thinking about you and talking about you

constantly creating new things/inventions for you

he would start writing up the mock-up of a project or an experiment and start thinking about you and then end up making something he thinks you’d like

sooo down bad for u dude, would give you the world if you asked

i feel like bill would find his love for you either fascinating or be so insanely jealous that you’ve got ford wrapped around your finger like that’s his man

imo the only solution is a threesome

WHAATTT WHO SAID THAT…. some of these artists draw bill so fine that i cant help it

he loves when you’re passionate about something! it doesn’t have to be mysteries and monsters, but just something that makes you yap (but he also loves when you listen to him talk, he’s more of a talker than a listener but he will listen to you)

yk that scene in those cliché romcoms… idk how to describe it so ill just put it into dialogue

‘gorgeous’ ford hums as you talk, the way your lips move, your expressions, everything hypnotizes him. ‘gorgeous’ he can’t help, but be enamored with you. you’re smart, kind, and passionate. “gorgeous” you stop and look at him.

“thank you?” you tilt your head at his words and his eyes went wide. he sputters as you laugh.

can have moments of smooth talk and flirting but the moment you reciprocate, he’s red in the face and stuttering

need him carnally, need him ways that even god will not allow me into heaven

switch!!!

he can do both i fear

he’s okay with you on top or him, definitely depends on his mood

like i said, FIT AS FUCK, whatever he’s been doing in that portal has treated him well

not insecure about his body more insecure about his lack of experience

he never talks about it about the stuff from before

he did a lot of research in positions, toys, and stuff like that

you had to tell him to calm down and take it slow

he’s more into giving pleasure than receiving

he wants you to feel good more than he wants to feel good

if you feel good, he feels good ykwim?

hes sooo pathetic tbh like begging, pleading, to eat you out like he wants it so bad

his glasses would fog up as you guys make out and he whips them off like sung-hoon does in business proposal

honestly that entire scene in business proposal?? ford.

hgnhhghghgngngnhgn i need him i feel ill

[lucigooseart]

sixer 💋

[gay-dorito-dust]

Imagine just how quickly Ford would fold if you were to hold his hand or kiss each individual finger fondly all the while calling them beautiful.

Poor old man’s face is redder than cherries and has a dopey smile across his face.

You didn’t see his six fingers as weird or freaky, you thought they were cool and unique, just like him.

He’s been made to feel insecure about them when he was younger but overtime he stoped caring, however that doesn’t stop Ford from feeling warm and fuzzy within his chest whenever you intertwined your fingers with his and even more so when you called them cute at one point.

You claim you’re the lucky one to have him but Ford thinks it’s the opposite, he was the lucky one to have someone who admired him and everything that comes with him.

[radiantrosaa]

Minors DNI

All characters are 18+

Not proof read

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THIS with Stanley and Stanford‼️

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When Stanley first sees you in the outfit, he would have to do a double take before he eyes followed you out of the room. He would get up and follow you into the kitchen where you would begin making dinner, before you know it you can feel his hands on your hips which results in them getting slapped off by you.

He would be baffled by the sudden attitude at first then resume with trying to hold you again, once he got slapped off once more he’d get a bit frustrated and ask why you’re doing that only for you to respond with “nah, don’t touch me.”

He didn’t realize why you were acting this way until the quick flash of a little argument from earlier ran through his mind. Oh you are petty.

Stan wouldn’t stop no matter how many times you tell him to quit it because he knows you love it. Next thing you know, you’re sitting on the counter glancing at the stove to make sure it’s turned off all while Stan is hammering his cock deep within your cunt. He’s racked two orgasms out of you already but if you know Stan, two is barely enough for him.

Maybe just maybe, you should be petty more often..

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You and Stanford got into a little bickering session earlier due to him continuously forgetting to eat because of how zeroed in he is on his current research project. He claims he’ll always remember and missing a meal or two won’t kill him but you just want him to stay healthy and not miss out on what’s important for his body. He claims he’ll eat when he’s done but then he never does which resulted in you finally trying to talk to him about it.

You left him to his work after that and decided to start cooking dinner, you always did bring it down to him anyway so he could make sure and eat. You had bought this cute little piece earlier in the week so you decided to make use and wear it. It was comfortable and fit your body perfectly, it was amazing.

Ford actually ended up finishing a part of his research early so he decided to head upstairs and make himself some well deserved coffee. As he strolled into the kitchen, he’s met with the sight of you in that outfit, when did you purchase that?

He would walk up behind you and slowly run his hands up your sides, feeling the fabric under his palms. Before his hands could rest anywhere comfortably though, you slapped them off much to his surprise. He gave you a puzzled look only for you to say those petty words “don’t touch me.”

He raised his eyebrows as he tried to figure out where this attitude came from only to have the realization slap him across the face, that petty little minx.

One thing led to another though and he had you sitting on the edge of the counter as he’s eating you out with vengeance, his tongue lapping at your folds before dipping inside your heat to explore further. You’re a mess and that’s exactly what he wants. As his mouth is working down there, his hands are snaking their way up to grope and feel you up.

You’re definitely paying another visit to that store tomorrow..