#Stanford pines x reader

[dolls-self-ships]

is this anything

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Hey love! I've been in a bit of a depressive slump recently, it's just been hard to feel motivated to do things like get ready for work, or even to just feel joy some days. Would you be open to writing some hc's for the Stan twins comforting/taking care of their SO going through a depression slump?

I like to think that Stan would completely empathize with his SO, so to make sure you'd get out of bed and actually eat something he'd make a great smelling breakfast filled with your favorite foods. He sits next to you at the breakfast table instead of across from you so you can lean on him if sitting upright is too tiring. He's creative in his comfort, basically finding ways to trick you into doing things so they don't feel like Work on the days where just existing takes twice the amount of energy it normally does.

Ford would probably be more of a "problem solving" kind of partner. While he's had rough days, he's never really had an issue with motivation, but while he doesn't exactly understand what you're going through he'd still do anything to help. Making sure you're taking your meds, drinking enough water, opening the windows in the house if it's nice out enough so you get some natural sunlight and fresh air, etc. He'd track your bad days, keeping note of how long these periods last and how bad they get. He keeps a list of anything and everything that brings a smile to your face and will use it as a reference for when you feel like this and are in dire need of a pick-me-up!

STAN & FORD TAKING CARE OF YOU DURING A SLUMP

tags: hurt/comfort, depression mentioned, sfw

hi angel, im so sorry it’s taken me this long to answer your ask. i really hope you’ve been feeling a bit better lately. if you see this, please feel free to send me another ask just letting me know how you’re doing, no pressure at all but i hope you're alright there

STAN

you’ve gone quiet in the way that scares him most. Stan remembers it from his worst years, that ugly feeling made him start sleeping with the TV on just to hear a heartbeat that wasn’t his own. and now you’re here, looking like a hollowed-out version of the person he adores, and he’d do anything just to bring you back into yourself.

he knows what it’s like to disappear into a place so deep and gray inside yourself that you forget what your own voice sounds like. and it kills him to see you there, honestly. he’d rather take a punch to the gut than hear you say “i don’t know why i feel this way” with that sad look in your eyes which used to be so bright and alive before

he starts sleeping lighter, checking if you're still beside him, brushing his hand over your back, making sure you're close. you catch him sometimes in the middle of the night when he's sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, lit cigarette dangling from his lips. Stan looks guilty. and you hate it because it's not even his fault. “you’re scaring me, baby,” he'd say with a sigh

and he touches you because he wants to let you know he's near. tugs your legs over his lap while you’re curled on the armchair, tucks his big calloused hand beneath your jaw. Stan kisses you to show his presence, not lust

if you’re shaking and can’t explain why, he’ll crawl into the bathtub with you fully clothed, he’ll cradle your head to his chest and just rock you, kiss your temple again and again, tell you about some dumb scam he pulled when he was twenty, whatever, just something to make you at least chuckle. anything to hear your laugh again. even a tiny one.

and when you finally sleep, soft hiccups fading against his chest, he doesn’t dare move. not even to wipe the tears that rolled down his face while you weren’t looking.

Stan doesn’t knock anymore. when your bad days stretch into bad weeks and the shower hasn’t been touched and your clothes are the same ones from thursday, he just pushes the door open and sits down with you on the floor, doesn’t say anything, there are no questions too. Stanley just lowers himself beside you, groaning because he's an old man with bad knees, and leans his weight against yours. “you don’t have to talk, but if you do, i’ll listen. if you don’t, i’ll still listen.”

he becomes a little sneaky in his love. that’s how he helps. you can’t get out of bed? fine. he doesn’t say “get up” he says “i need you to taste-test something” and appears five minutes later with a plate he’s poured his whole soul into, eggs and bacon just the way you like them, toast cut into triangles, sausage shaped into a smiley face. “don’t look at me like that, it’s just leftovers” although it's obvious that he tried too hard. if you sit up even a little to take a bite, that’s a win in his eyes. next thing you feel is him tucking his arm around your back and pulling you against his chest

when showering feels like climbing a mountain, it's never “go wash up” because Stan knows it doesn't work like that. but i think he might suggest taking a bath together, he will warm the water, light a candle if you’re into that kind of thing, and get in first so you don’t feel like you're doing it alone. he’ll wash your back with those huge hands, humming some old song under his breath. if he catches you crying into the crook of his neck, he’ll kiss the top of your head and say, “yeah. i know. me too sometimes.”

you could scream at him, go silent for hours, beg him to leave, but that won't work. he’d just shake his head, curl tighter around you, and mumble, “not leavin’. sorry, tough luck. you’re stuck with me.”

he protects you from yourself, on the days you haven’t left the house in too long, he’ll say “hey, we’re outta beer and i ain’t going alone, what if i get mugged by a bear?” and suddenly you’re walking with him to the corner store with the bright sun on your face. Stan is proud of himself he made the world a little bit less hostile just by standing next to you

if that doesn't work anymore, he won't try to cheer you up. Stan isn’t that stupid, he knows better than to try to outrun depression. “this ain’t forever, sweetie,” he whispers against your hairline, “but even if it was, i’d still stay.” but underneath all of that, he’s scared. he’s really fucking scared. because he knows what it felt like, to stare at the ceiling and wonder if anyone would notice if he didn’t wake up. and now it’s you, and he doesn’t know how to keep you above water except by climbing in with you, over and over again, until your fingers stop shaking.

and the sensuality feels different now. “still the most beautiful thing i ever laid eyes on,” he rasps, kissing your neck while you cling to him. “even when you feel like nothing.” he lays his forehead, resting against your belly like a man praying for spring.

and if you ever apologize “sorry i’m like this, sorry i’m not better, sorry i’m so much work” he really gets mad, not at you, but at the voice in your head feeding you that lie. will hold your chin so gently in his palm, look you dead in the eye and tell you that you ain’t broken, sweetheart. you’re just tired, and Stan gets that. but he got enough love for the both of you today, so don’t you worry

FORD

Ford is used to solving problems with equations but none of that works here. not when your eyes don’t meet his and Ford gets scared. so he adapts.

at first, he watches from the doorframe while you lie still in bed, not sleeping and not moving, Ford bites his nails, thinking what it can be. he writes down a dozen theories. sleep deprivation? serotonin imbalance? post-traumatic stuff?

Ford becomes gentle, so, so gentle his voice softens around you. he reads more psychology books than he ever did during his college years and. . . he tapes sticky notes around the Shack that say things like “drink water. you matter.” and “five minutes of sunlight counts. i’m proud of you.”

he learns to stop asking if you’re okay. instead, he says, “can i stay with you in this?” and he’ll lay with you all day if that’s what it takes.

Ford is more methodical in his concern, but don’t mistake that for coldness. he doesn’t pretend to understand exactly what you’re going through but he’s listening and taking notes. literally. it starts as a notebook he keeps tucked on his desk, where he logs things like “they smiled after i mentioned sea otters today” or “worse symptoms following three days without fresh air”

he builds little rituals for you, every morning, he places a glass of water by your bedside so you don’t have to ask. he opens the curtains enough so the light reaches your beautiful face and reminds your circadian rhythm that life still exists out there. he gently nudges vitamins toward your palm while rambling about something else entirely, about anomalies or some interdimensional cephalopods so you won't get suspicious and feel like he’s watching.

and when you haven’t smiled in days, oh Ford gets anxious, so damn anxious he starts pulling out old journals, flipping through dusty pages, looking for any weird magical object in gravity falls or psychological theory that might fix it, because he’s terrified of standing by and doing nothing. you might wake up one morning to a bouquet of ethereal flowers that he picked from the devil knows where, or a tiny blue creature in a jar because “oh this? i read that this species has calming bioresonances. thought it might help.”

Ford’s presence is consistent, he won’t overwhelm you with affection when you're not ready to accept it, but you’ll find signs of his care in every corner of the house, a heated blanket turned on before you wake, your favourite book left unfinished on the chapter you like, a softly played record from a time when things felt easier. and on nights when your brain feels loud and you can’t sleep because of these dumb thoughts, Stanford will climb into bed beside you. glasses off and hair still damp from the shower. he'll read aloud until you drift off by his side and he'll kiss your forehead whispering good night, darling

and in the weeks that follow, it’s not your smiles he celebrates but the creak of the bed when you sit up because it means you got a little bit more energy to move today. the way your fingers twitch when you reach for water. the rare days you touch him first. he treats them like astronomical events, writing them down. sweet heavens, it's the damn planets aligned today just because his darling looked him in the eyes, the stars must’ve thrown a celebration today, the whole universe tilted in his favor, Ford is happy.

he’ll play a song on the piano, pulling you toward him until you sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder, not having to say anything at all. the music is soft, beautiful, just like his six fingers, and Ford doesn’t ask for anything in return. he just wants you to feel safe, in whatever way you need.

when you finally kiss him again, he goes quiet because it means you're starting to feel better. your eyes soften again and you reach out for him, you know he’ll be waiting, as always. “you’re my priority, and i’ll be here. always.”

Ford pulls you into his lap, runs his fingers over your skin, and tells you about the stars, how even the coldest ones still shine. how light travels farther than sadness. how you, in this moment, exhausted and barely holding on, are still the brightest thing he’s ever seen. always ends up with you sobbing into his chest

Ford would travel to every version of this world just to find the one where you're happy

[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.

[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.

[hamsternella]

PLEEEEASE a nsfw alphabet for Stanford??🥺

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG

Stanford Pines NSFW Alphabet

A= Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Despite the tiredness and embarrassment once the heat of the moment wears off, Ford goes to great lengths to wrap you in his arms and hold you tight against his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat. He likes to let you know how well you did, and how much he loves you. Caresses and kisses, as well as laughter and sweet whispers until falling asleep are never lacking.

B= Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ford would always say his brain. He is a cool, methodical person who almost always finds a way to achieve great results. Thinking and ingenuity are like breathing to him. But of course in this case that's not the answer; considering that the last thing he can use is his brain when he has you in front of him. It is as if only his heart exists, beating wildly at the sight of the most beautiful and inexplicable thing he has been able to witness in his entire existence: you.

That being the case, he can't find any other part of himself that he likes enough. Maybe his hands, because he knows how much you love it when he touches you. And if it's you, it would be everything—Ford is unable to pick just one part of your body. If he had to, maybe it would be your waist; because he loves to grab you with both hands from that spot to keep you still, under or on top of him, and at whatever pace he can best get those sweet sounds out of you that fascinate him so much.

C= Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He cums a lot and hard. Preferably inside you or on your face; sometimes pushing a little with his fingers to fill your mouth with his cum. He loves it when you clean his hand with your tongue.

D= Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ford would never tell you—there's a reason it's a secret. But do you still remember those times when you couldn't find your underwear, and suspiciously it was during the weekdays when Ford took care of the laundry, and oddly enough he took all the time in the world to iron and put the laundry away...? Yeah, well. I think you know what I mean. Don't mention to him how obvious it is that he's been stealing your underwear to masturbate with it. Don't tell him, really.

Also don't mention that you've actually felt him cling to you when you sleep; looking for more than just warmth at night. Don't tell him that you clearly feel him down there—hard and warm.

Or do. Who knows what might happen.

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

Technically no experience at all. Of course he had gotten to kiss other women, maybe a little touch with one or two, but that was many, many years ago; by now he hardly remembers anything at all. Besides he was very young; he used to think differently and be busier with his research. Now that the world is at peace and he can enjoy the calm and family life, it is more than obvious that the only thing he has to defend himself at the beginning of the relationship is all theoretical. It's not a terrible thing, of course. Ford is willing to experiment and learn with you.

F= Favorite position

There are still many positions to try and discover, but the most used —for comfort and practicality— are three par excellence.

Doggy, because nothing is nicer than being able to see you under him, with your ass and waist at his disposal to play to his heart's content.

Cowgirl/Cowboy, because even though he loves making love to you, Ford has to accept that at his age it's hard to stay steady all the time. Sometimes he needs a little help from you to avoid looking pathetic for getting tired after so much action—even if you tell him there's nothing pathetic about it. Besides, don't you look lovely on top of him, with your body shaking and your eyes glazed over? Best view of all.

Spooning, because Ford goes crazy holding you from behind, pushing his hips against your ass; with one of his hands working over your body and his lips on your neck, waking you up from a long night of deep sleep. This man is desperate to touch you.

G= Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Ford is quite serious during the moment, but this is because he is a very shy person about approaching you to begin with. Even if it comes to playing along with you he is the first and last to get embarrassed. An occasional nervous laugh; sometimes little choked sentences if he notices you looking at him too much, and that makes him lose his concentration. But in general he is someone very focused, who seeks not to lose the thread of the moment. His biggest fear is disappointing you.

H= Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

A lot of things happened and he hasn't had the time, nor the desire, to get down to work there. That being the case, I'd say hairy; but at least he's started to take the time to trim it down a bit and make it halfway nice for you. If it's something that would bother you, Ford is willing to trim it further—even all of it.

But yeah. Super hairy.

I= Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ford takes care to be careful with everything he does or says, always seeking to satisfy the needs of your body and mind; every fantasy you have closely tied to everything he does to make you feel fulfilled. He is a dedicated man, with nimble hands and a sensitive heart. Sweet and witty words are never lacking, always driving you crazy in his arms and against his lips. Sensuality is never in short supply.

J= Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He's been starting to do it more often since he's been with you. Not a lot, because he prefers to do it with you; but once in a while never hurts if he can't get you out of his head. He needs at least something of yours to make him cum—your underwear or the warmth of your body. He needs you.

He cums fast and hard, with the piece of clothing against his face, inhaling intensely; or with a free hand on your body, against your skin.

K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Definitely role-playing and cockwarming.

L= Location (favorite places to do the do)

Private places, if possible. Ford doesn't want to risk the possibility of being seen by someone else. He loves to have you in the bedroom, or even in his study room. Any place where no one and nothing will interrupt you.

M= Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

To see you in his clothes, to hear your voice, to come on to him... to suddenly appear dressed for some sensual and perverse role-playing... My goodness, how you drive him crazy.

Ford is a simple guy: he sees his partner existing and making eyes at him, and suddenly he feels his body warm and ready to go.

N= No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesomes, because he can't accept the idea of seeing you with someone else, let alone seeing himself with someone other than you. Ford is also unwilling to degrade you or physically harm you; just as he does not find it attractive to allow the same to be done to him.

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

Ford loves to receive oral, but he prefers to give it. He loves to put his mouth down there, tasting you and pulling out sounds that haunt him in his best dreams. You are a delight. Even if he's inexperienced, he's so desperate to have you in his mouth that the guy learns in no time to meet your expectations. There's no way not to lose your mind when Ford is taking care of everything between your legs; with his hands holding you by the flesh of your thighs, with his fingers caressing your skin.

Imagine his face if you proposed sitting on it. Imagine that, I insist. It's the best.

P= Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual; deep and hard. Getting all the way in, Ford always gives a little push to press himself against you, hiding his face in the space of your neck. He will talk to you through this—be prepared for a couple of whimpers and muffled moans.

Q= Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn't like them at all. He prefers to take his time with you. Although if you are very needy, then maybe he can find a way.

R= Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Ford loves to experiment! And with that always comes risk. But when it comes to sex, this all takes a different turn; and while he's willing to try new things and experiment with you, he'll always be against anything that might hurt you or make you both uncomfortable.

S= Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

The years and the various experiences out in the open have weathered Ford, and have made him a man with a lot of physical capacity to endure long hours without sleep and with a lot of work. Research work, of course; the physical stuff has always been for fighting or survival.

With this in mind, Ford is able to handle quite a bit of foreplay and sex itself, but he tires quickly after a second round—if the first one wasn't strong enough. Even if he feels he can't go on, he has no problem helping you by using his hands or mouth; as well as any other part of his body that comes in handy. Hopefully and maybe there will be another round if you manage to turn him on one more time.

T= Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Ford doesn't need toys. He only needs you. Now, if in a hypothetical case you would like to use one, he has no problem even designing his own to use with you. At first you tell him no, because it's easier to buy them; but after seeing some plans and listening to him talk so excitedly, seeing that he even starts to consider the idea of implementing other things when it comes to sex, you come to the conclusion that maybe it's not so bad.

Ford opts to use toys on you, not him. They don't get his attention that way.

U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Not so much, really. He thinks it's cute to see you being so desperate for him. But at the end of the day it's something that makes him desperate too. Ford couldn't stand to play with you like this for long; he needs to accede to your needs in order to satisfy his own.

V= Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Whimpers A LOT, and likes to moan loudly—but tries to drown them out, fearful that someone might hear them.

If the two of you are in a place where you can be sure not to be overheard, Ford sets out to talk to you during the act.

W= Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's unexpected and always manages to sweep you off your feet, but Ford is capable of the hottest dirty talk you can imagine. When you least expect it you have him with his lips on your ear, his hot breath on your skin, and his husky, deep voice of desire spitting out dirty, kinky phrases that keep you with your hands pushing against his chest; his fingers pressing against the skin of your neck, surprising you with how much this man can separate himself from the real world and let you drown in his darkest fantasies.

Ford prefers not to talk about it after everything calms down. It will take some time.

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

Not as long, but definitely fat. The tip is quite sensitive. Slightly curved downward.

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

Since he discovered how fascinating your touch is, quite high. Although it's more what he desires than what he can get to do. If he gets careless, he comes quickly. It's fun to play on his desperation and make him wait; that might help him endure his neediness with you a little longer.

Z= Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Pretty fast; but he strives to see that you're okay after all, and that you're resting with him. His priority is you, after all.

[midnightbears]

this but with stanford/stanley pines

[typing-catastrophe]

I need to sit on his lap

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Could you write about being fingered by Ford? The idea is just rather titillating.

A/n: 10/10! Love this idea! I apologize if this sucks.

Ford had the date all planed out.

Cook you your favorite meal✓

Go for a nice little hike✓

Then finish the night off watching a meteor shower and some star gazing.

He honestly had no clue how it lead to this, you a whimpering mess on his lap, Ford's calloused hands caressed your thighs with reverence, his touch igniting delicious sparks of pleasure within you. He gazed upon you with unbridled desire, hungry to bring you the delightful fulfillment you craved.

Lowering his head, Ford nuzzled the sensitive skin of you neck, his stubble grazing your delicate flesh. A low, rumbling growl escaped his lips as he felt her part her legs further, silently begging him to take you.

"Patience, darlin'," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Slowly, tantalizingly, his calloused fingertips trailed up your inner thighs, inching ever closer to your most intimate place. He relished the way your breath hitched, the way your body instinctively arched toward his touch.

Finally, he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of your skirt, caressing the silky heat he found there. Your muscles clenched around him as he stroked your slick folds, sending jolts of ecstasy racing through you. Ford swallowed your soft moans with a searing kiss, determined to savor every delicious sound you made.

"That's it, love'," he growled against your lips. "Let me hear how good I make you feel..."

Ford's calloused digits worked skilled magic, coaxing breathless whimpers from your lips as you rode his fingers,a gasp leaving you as the man slipped another finger in your warmth, his sixth finger slowly rubbing your clit. He drank in the sight of your flushed, rapturous expression, his own pulse thundering with unbridled desire.

Lowering his head, Ford nuzzled the delicate curve of your neck, his stubbly jaw grazing her soft skin, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. A rumbling growl of approval vibrated in his chest as he felt you clench needily around his plunging fingers.

"That's it, love'," he rasped, voice thick with lust. "Let it all out for me." His thumb brushed your swollen pearl in a maddening rhythm, coaxing ever more delicious sounds from your trembling lips.

Ford's free hand slid up to caress your cheek, guiding your face back to his. He captured your mouth in a searing, possessive kiss, swallowing your cries of bliss. He wanted to savor every last shudder, every spasm of pleasure that wracked your body.

Letting out a whine against his lips, your fingers clutched his tie as you rode his fingers. A shudder running down your spine as you felt your impending orgasm.Ford groaned in pure satisfaction as your slick walls clenched rhythmically around his plunging fingers. He swallowed your cries of bliss with a searing kiss, determined to prolong your ecstasy for as long as possible. His calloused palm cupped your cheek tenderly, his thumb caressing the soft, flushed skin.

The sight of your rapturous expression, the feeling of you trembling in his arms, ignited a primal hunger within him. He wanted nothing more than to worship every inch of your supple body, to explore your most intimate places until you were utterly spent.

Slowing the pace of his ministrations, Ford peppered your neck with reverent kisses, murmuring words of praise and adoration against your skin. His touch was equal parts soothing and sensual, coaxing the last tremors of your from your quivering form as your orgasm hit you.

" You're so goddamn perfect..."

Ford tenderly gathered you into his embrace, his calloused fingers caressing your flushed, quivering form. A satisfied rumble rose from his chest as he felt the last tremors of your climax shudder through you.

Pressing featherlight kisses along your temple, he murmured words of praise and adoration, reveling in the way you melted against him. Ford knew he would never tire of seeing you like this - utterly spent and happy in his arms.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand, gently trailing his fingertips along your sensitive flesh. He chuckled lowly as you shivered at his touch, his heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of pride and possession.

Cradling you close, Ford peppered your face with tender kisses, his rough stubble grazing your soft skin as you let out a small but tired giggle.

"You were absolutely perfect, darlin'." His fingers caressed your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Ford's eyes gleamed with unbridled adoration, his heart brimming with the knowledge that he had pleased her so.

You were his, and he'd make damn sure you never forgot it.

[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…” 

[stansangel]

Take a Pic

Ford keeps a picture of you in one of his coat pockets ALWAYS. Even when he was in other dimensions it was always with him. (He lined the pocket with steel so it couldn't get destroyed. He didn't want to forget what you look like.) When he came back he was OBSESSED with taking pictures of you/drawing pictures of you.

Stan keeps one of you in his wallet, he shows it off all the time. It's a terrible picture of you that he took with a polaroid camera when you first woke up one morning, Mabel has a copy of it in one of her scrapbooks. He also keeps pictures of you and the rest of the family throughout the house/gift shop. They're so cutie patootie.

[faebeeboo]

Ford overhearing you talking to a dog and getting borderline jealous. But you’re literally baby-talking to the max like

Awww who’s a little itty bitty baby? Mr. Peanut, just a tiny boy. *sound of many forehead kisses* He’s my handsome little guy!

And he’s simultaneously embarrassed that he is getting SO bothered by it but also thinking, “Why don’t they talk to me like that?”

[darlingdaisyfarm]

BOY GENIUS IN LOVE

tags: nsfw, college!Ford, first relationship, fem reader, obsessive behavior, “good girl” (forgive me im weak), reader wears skirts, first time, fingering, oral sex, public sex, both u and Ford are virgins

this was a request from anon that i saved to drafts but tumblr deleted it (i’m so sorry). it was about college Ford getting addicted to you after you start dating. i hope you see this anon :(( im so sad tumblr deleted my draft + ur ask

ᯓᡣ𐭩 you met him in the back of the library, of course. because Stanford wanted silence in its purest form, though it looked like he was hiding. you were the only other person who’d choose the fifth floor annex by choice. most people thought it was dusty, haunted or simply boring. but you liked how the lamps gave off that golden-honey glow, and how the windows were always cracked open. it was pretty there.

Ford noticed you first. not that you were hard to notice. . . your soft knits and pleated skirts and glossy stockings that clung to your thighs, Ford thought you’d been dipped in onyx. always with a pen tucked behind your ear. such a smart little thing. but more than that, you read. properly. Ford watched your lips moving faintly when you hit a complicated passage, head tilted, looking like a lost kitten.

Fiddleford said he was being stupid, lurking in the same row as you day after day and never saying a word. “yer gonna pass out from sheer repression,” he said, rolling his eyes as Ford scribbled in the margins of his notebook rather than say hi. but Ford couldn’t help it. he was already enchanted. smth about the way your eyes lit up when you found the answer to your own question in the footnotes of some scientific text. how you bit your lip and tapped the page when you were trying to commit a theory to memory. adorable.

you noticed him the day he dropped his bag, books exploded across the linoleum, so you knelt down to help before he could even stammer out an apology. your hands brushed and both of you looked up at the same time. his glasses awkwardly slid down his nose. you gave him a smile. “you’re always back here, i was starting to think you were a ghost.”

Ford laughed but it came out like a cough at first because he was still so damn nervous. then he relaxed into it, eyes crinkling at the corners behind those big, sweet lenses. “you’re the ghost,” he blurted and then panicked. “i mean— not like that! i just mean, you always vanish before i can say anything. not that i’ve tried. well, i have. in my head. you know.”

“wanna study together sometime?” you asked, and to him it was the most romantic thing you could’ve possibly offered. Ford nodded so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. the next time you sat together, he brought you coffee and three backup pens. and you caught him staring at your stockings every time you crossed your legs. it was adorable.

the first time he noticed, it was unintentional. purely visual input. you were sitting across from him in the tiny study alcove you’d both claimed. he brought the books, you brought the snacks. and you leaned back to stretch so the hem of your skirt fluttered. the sunlight from the library window lit you up, letting a slow golden spill across your thighs, where your stockings ended and soft skin began. Ford saw garters. he saw lace. and immediately forgot the square root of negative one.

very weird cough escaped him as if he'd choked on the dust. get yourself together, Stanford! you didn’t seem to notice though, but it sat with him for the rest of the afternoon, searing into his hippocampus. you were wearing different stockings every day. he hadn’t imagined it. he knew he hadn’t.

and every time, he told himself: don’t look. don’t think. don’t you dare be the kind of man who makes this weird. you were his friend now. study partners, even. you brought him your class notes when he was sick, and he helped you fix your calculator when you dropped it, and sometimes you brushed lint off his sweater without even thinking about it and he had to pretend his brain wasn’t screaming inside his mind every time it happened.

and it got worse. because you liked him. you liked liked him. you smiled when he said smth about gravitational waves. you leaned in when he explained interdimensional theoreticals. you brought him muffins. you poked his shoulder when he got smth right. you played with the strap of your bag when you were nervous. and eventually, finally, you asked him if he wanted to get coffee with you, but, like, not as a study thing.

he said yes so fast he knocked over his water bottle.

Ford didn’t know how to behave around you after that. it wasn't because you were different, but because he was. Ford felt like he’d touched something radioactive as he was sweating through his t-shirt, short-circuiting when you showed up in a plaid skirt and wine-red tights. the coffee date turned into a bookstore visit. the bookstore turned into a walk. the walk turned into a shared burrito at that food truck you liked, both of you giggling and wiping salsa off each other’s mouths.

and then there was the second date. where you wore lip gloss that shimmered beautifully when you smiled, and you said, “you look cute when you fidget,” and Ford had to literally reboot his nervous system. he was so tense he dropped his fork. couldn’t stop rubbing the edge of his coat sleeve between his fingers.

your thighs are right there. you know what you're doing. you have to. right? no! no, you're just pretty. girls are pretty. you don’t have to turn into a werewolf about it, Stanford. but god, what if you'll sit on his lap. what if you'll climb into his lap and Ford would feel the fabric of your stockings against his—

stop. stop. stop. stop.

you laughed at smth he said about string theory. he was sweating because you crossed your legs. unexpectedly, you handed him a piece of your dessert and Ford stared at your lips for five seconds too long before he let you feed him.

you weren’t trying to kill him. probably. maybe. but you liked how shy he got. how he pushed his glasses up when you leaned in too close, and how he flinched every time your thigh brushed his under the table. and when you walked home together that night and your fingers barely touched, you heard him swallow so loud it made you giggle.

Stanford still thought about that first day. your lip gloss. your pretty outfits. the curve of your handwriting. but now he also thought about what it’d feel like to have you sitting in his lap during office hours, flipping through flashcards while he tried not to pass out.

and worst of all? you hadn’t even kissed him yet.

you didn’t talk about it, not really. no one ever said “we’re dating” or “you’re mine” or “i like you like that,” but it was so obvious it almost hurt. your name was always on his lips and his glasses were always smudged with your lip balm. you sat together everywhere, shared drinks, pulled each other close by the elbow, touched fingers when you passed things back and forth. and god forbid you go more than three seconds without feeling some part of each other.

and you grinded. you grinded so much. behind the library stacks. in empty classrooms. in stairwells between lectures. his coat wrapped around both of you, covering to keep it decent while your hips rocked against his, your hands in his brown hair, his handsome face flushed and dazed, breathing into your collar, afraid of making a sound.

his thighs were so solid, wrapped in those tailored wool trousers he wore all the time. cruel things, rough where they shouldn’t be, pressing into your softness, and it made the friction so good, too good, made your breath shake every time you rubbed against the hard shape of him and whispered his name.

“we shouldn’t, we shouldn’t do this here,” he always said but then why his hands stayed on your waist and his hips pressed up into yours? “someone might see,” he’d whisper against your throat, even as he kissed you under your ear, even as you rocked against him slowly, dry humping like crazy and nothing else mattered but the way you could feel him, stiff and thick through all those layers.

you’d whimper and he’d shudder. you’d breathe into each other’s mouths and whisper things like “feels so good” and “you’re so warm” and “i think i might come just like this, fuck, Ford, i’m gonna—“ and he’d hold you tighter, breathing so hard because he was going to die right there if you didn’t stop, except neither of you could stop.

and it just kept happening. the tension wound tighter and tighter. the kissing got hotter. his hand found your ass under your skirt one day and didn’t move. in respond, your fingers brushed the bulge in his pants during a movie night and you both sat frozen, breathless, two dorks in love.

you didn’t mean to give him a hand job. it just. . . happened. you were both in his dorm and he looked so flushed and desperate and pretty, you’d never seen his pupils that blown out before.

“i want,“ he said, eyes fluttering shut. “can i? i want to touch you, no. i want you to touch me.”

“yeah, okay. yeah, Ford, it’s okay.” his cock was warm, so hot through his boxers, twitching when your palm brushed over it, and you both gasped as if it was the end of the world. you watched his needy face while you touched him with slow, trembling and unsure strokes, fingers so nervous but gentle because you didn’t know exactly what you were doing but god, he whimpered and it vanished all your doubts away.

“oh my god,” Ford putted his hand over his mouth, trying to keep it all in. “feels so good, please, don’t stop, that’s s-so—“

he came in your hand. messily and helplessly. with his red face buried in your shoulder as he gasped and gasped and said your name and begged, thrusting into your hand. by the end of it it all was so sticky. heaven on earth. both of you giggling and out of breath and kind of in shock about the whole thing.

and then he wanted to try. his hand went under your clothes, had been aching to go there for weeks. six fingers trembling as he pushed your panties aside and touched your folds, your clit, your soaked softness. “you’re, you’re wet, you’re already so wet,” Stanford kissed you while he fingered you, moaned right into your mouth. and his fingers were so fucking clumsy, but you guided him with gasps and whines and little “right there, baby, like that, oh—fuck, yes—“ and your smart boy just listened, eager and panting, his whole arm flexing as he tried to give you what you needed.

when you came on his fingers it was with your forehead pressed to his, your skirt all rumpled and his name falling from your lips in hoarse sounds. Ford smiled, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your fingers. you both laughed again.

it happens on a tuesday. not a particularly romantic one, not a holiday or a celebration or an anniversary (though you both will end up counting it like one, later). you’d both been studying again, him pacing while he monologued about theories, you curled up on his bed taking notes, your thighs bare and crossed under you. he couldn’t stop staring.

you looked up, caught him. and blushed, chewing your pen cap. “what?” you asked innocently. and Ford just blinked at you, waking from a trance, and answered, softly. “i really want to make love to you.”

and that was it. just two awkward nerds with their hands shaking as they slowly stripped each other down to skin.

the first time he slid inside you, shaky, too slow, panting softly into the crook of your neck, you both cried out at once. “oh my god,” you whimpered, fingernails pressing into his back leaving red marks. “Ford, Ford, it’s so big, it’s so—“ he gasped, body trembling. “youre so tight, darling, didn’t know it would feel like this. . .”

you clung to each other, rocking messy, with no rhythm at all, your shaking legs wrapped around his waist, moaning so loud because neither of you had any idea how to handle it. and when you came with stars behind your eyes, it was so intense you sobbed into his chest. he followed only some minutes after, gasping your name like a man drowning.

that should’ve been the end. but he kept going.

you didn’t mean to fuck again that night, and definitely not twice more the next morning, but Stanford couldn’t help himself. because he’d discovered oxygen and now couldn’t survive without the feel of you around him.

it didn’t take long before Ford’s libido eclipsed all else. poor genius, he’d always been obsessive. hyperfocused, easily fixated, nerd who could talk for hours about things like rifts in spacetime or secrets of the universe without even stopping to breathe. you should’ve known that once he got a taste of you, once he got to feel your thighs clench around him and your cunt flutter so tightly when he moaned your name, he’d treat you like one of his beloved discoveries.

but no one warns you about what happens when a man so smart gets addicted to your pussy.

wednesday is lab day so you lean over the table too much and fiddle with your pencil between your pretty lips. Ford sits across from you hard as a rock, biting his tongue while he tries to listen to Fiddleford talk about transistor configurations. but it’s hopeless. he keeps slipping off to the bathroom just to stroke himself thinking of you, spilling into his palm with a bitten-back moan, forehead pressed to the stall door. he doesn’t even make it back in time for the quiz.

but it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

it’s been two whole days since you last stayed the night in his dorm. two agonizing days of him jerking off under flickering dorm showers, biting his lip to keep quiet while the water beat down on his flushed skin. mondays make him unbearable. he won’t even look at you in class because he knows, if he does, he’ll spend the whole hour with his cock stiff under the desk at the sight of your lipgloss or the shape of your thighs under that skirt.

by 4pm he’s dragging you into the back of the library, shoving you up against the wall between reference books you’re never gonna read, panting against your cheek. “i missed you,” as his fingers fumble to shove your underwear aside. “i need it. i can’t concentrate.” your panties down to your thighs, his cock already pressed between your folds before you can catch your breath. your arms loop tight around his neck, mouthing soft kisses against his jaw as he slides inside.

you started carrying spare panties in your bag. stopped wearing bras under your blouses because he couldn’t keep his hands off you anyway. he’d bend you over his desk, shove a hand over your mouth, fuck you until you were blinking up at him all dazed and dripping. once he even took you right by the astronomy hall, gripping your hips while he fucked you so hard his glasses fogged up.

“you feel too good,” he’d whisper in between thrusts. “i swear, didn’t know it could feel like this—“

and the worst (best) part? he was good at it now. so good. all those fumbling, clumsy first thrusts turned into something downright ravenous.

Ford learned fast, like he always did. one time you were trying to study, nose deep in a textbook, sprawled on your tummy with your feet kicked up behind you, wearing a little sweater and nothing underneath but knee-high socks and. . . that was a mistake.

“Ford, baby, i have to finish this chapter, we got exam tomorrow“ but he was laying kisses on the backs of your thighs, pushing your panties aside and groaning when he saw the shine of you already waiting for him. “don’t worry,” he murmured, pulling his cock free. “i’ll help you concentrate.”

you tried. really tried to keep reading. you bit your lip and gripped the pages. but then he pushed inside and suddenly it was so hot for no reason in the middle of November. your eyes widened, hips tilted up of their own accord, and you whimpered over your textbook while his cock thrusted into your softest parts.

“just read,” Ford whispered, mouth against your ear, one hand pressing on your lower back to keep you tilted up. “be a good girl and study while i fill you up.”

you came like that, making such a mess on his cock, face in your book, ruined your exam notes. and he didn’t stop even after, just rutted slower, deeper, staying inside because “you’re so warm, so perfect, i wanna live here.”

and he meant it. because now, he fucked you every day. sometimes more than once. until your legs shook and your panties were just too damp to wear. while you studied, while he explained theories into your mouth.

you study in his dorm but Ford's too distracted by the way you sit with your legs open so. . . best solution is him fingering you under the table while you review notes, moaning under his breath every time your cunt clenches around his fingers. “this isn’t studying,” you try to protest, biting back a moan. “yes it is,” Ford replies, kissing the shell of your ear. “studying your anatomy, sweetheart. i think i deserve an A.” he makes you finish twice before you even look at the next chapter.

but no, calling it just fucking would be wrong. it was always tender, sensual even. messy hair, flushed cheeks, his voice breathless, telling you how beautiful you were as he pushed inside.

Stanford Filbrick Pines, the boy genius, gets so addicted. he goes from “i’m not sure i’m doing this right” to “i don’t think i can go twenty-four hours without being inside you.”

and it’s every day, every goddamn day. multiple times, if he can swing it. he wakes you up with soft little kisses, a gentle hand already palming at your chest under the blankets, and by the time your eyes flutter open he’s rutting against your hip like a dog in heat.

but thursdays. . . you don’t know what it is about thursday. the schedule? the way he only has one lecture in the morning? whatever it is, it makes him feral. yeah, thursdays are the worst for you, because that’s when he gets bold. when he puts you in his desk chair, throws your leg over the armrest, and kneels in front of you between essays, unbuttoning your blouse. “you’ve been working so hard, love, you deserve this. let me take care of you. please.” he groans, burying his face in your pussy, making you sob and shake and come again and again while your notes flew off the desk and your fingers knotted in his soft brown curls.

and that wasn’t even the beginning. thursdays meant getting bent over the counter before breakfast, groped in the hallway, shoved against the peeling wallpaper and kissed so hard your knees buckled.

by week seven, it’s a game of where. it doesn’t matter when anymore, because any time is fair game. he’s fucked you in the dorm stairwell, in the math department’s basement closet, in the cramped little photo booth at the student union during your lunch break, one leg on the little bench while he thrusted into you.

once, Ford got so riled up mid-lecture he leaned over and whispered, “your skirt’s too short. you’re not wearing anything under that, are you?” and when you didn’t answer fast enough, he stood up, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the hallway like a man possessed.

he bent you over a bench by the lockers and fucked you so fast and rough your vision went white at the edges. then he went right back to class with sweat at his temples and still aced the damn presentation. unbelievable

you learned not to wear skirts if you actually wanted to make it through the day without being groped. you learned to bring water and snacks because he’d fuck you until you were lightheaded.

by finals week, he was sliding your underwear off under the table in the library, whispering, “just sit on my lap, please, baby, i’ll be quiet, i swear. i just need to feel you around me.”

there’s no break and no off switch. not that you were complaining, but weekends were dangerous. he makes love to you for hours on sunday mornings, long, slow, thick strokes that have you drooling into the pillows, whispering praises into your mouth while he fucks you so gently it makes you cry from how soft it is. saturday afternoons he’d go down on you until your thighs shook, then hump against you like a boy losing his mind over his first crush.

Ford’s kisses made you weak. no, everything about him made you weak. his hands, his mouth, his voice when he whined in your ear that he couldn’t think straight without your cunt around him.

but every thursday, he shows up behind you, hard already, “you busy? no? good. because i need to be inside you. right now. or i’ll lose my mind.” now, every day's a new excuse to be inside you <𝟑

[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

[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.

[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

[whatt-the]

A little birdie told me you wanted to kiss mista Stanford Pines

Don't go overboard with it

Or just don't listen to me, ya know, get em breathless