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fruitcoops · 1 year ago

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In the Beginning

Going back to my roots this year with some pre-Coops PT fluff :) This is definitely going to turn into a short series (with exceptions for Leo's birthday, of course) and I'm really excited about it! Hoping for some more time to create this spring <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW canon injury (Sirius' ankle)

“Sirius.” Despite the whiteboard with his name scrawled next to 11:00, Remus still managed to sound pleasantly surprised. “Hi, how are you?”

“Fine.”

God, he sounded like an asshole. Remus’ smile didn’t falter. “Glad to hear it. Come on in, take a seat wherever.”

Was this it? The first test? Sirius glanced between the chair by Remus’ desk and the exam table. Hell, maybe he was supposed to sit on the stool. Was he? Was that a ‘Remus spot’ everyone else was smart enough to not even consider?

He picked the chair. Lowered himself gingerly to the cushioned seat, crutches propped on the armrest next to him. A spot on his ankle itched under the Velcro of his stiff boot.

“Thanks for making the time today,” Remus continued, as if Sirius had been any sort of friendly or welcoming. “I really appreciate it. This’ll be quick and easy—just a check-in, figuring out what’s going on and where we want to be. Sound okay?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” Remus dug around behind his desk for a moment; Sirius could hear papers riffling. Remus’ brow furrowed for a second before relaxing with satisfaction as he pulled a sheet free. “Alright. Sirius Black, meet your new best friend.”

Sirius blinked. “You?”

“Ha! No, I think Pots still has me beat,” Remus laughed, sliding a clipboard across the desk. He pulled his own chair around as well, even though Sirius could see him fold his knees out of the way of the desk. It couldn’t be comfortable. “I don’t like sitting back there when you guys are in here,” Remus said, as if he could read Sirius’ mind. The side of his nose scrunched. “Feels…bossy? I dunno. Can’t really write upside-down, either.”

“Ah. Ouais.”

“But that’s—” Remus waved a vague hand and picked a pen from the broken-handled mug tucked by his computer. “It’s not important. This, on the other hand, is your two-week chart. Decorate it, marry it, I don’t care. As long as you know it’s yours and can find it in that—” He pointed to a wire bin by the door. “—box. Capische?”

Sirius shrugged one shoulder and readjusted his ankle under the table. “Sure.”

“Shweet. There are some forms under the top sheet, if you can fill those out for me real quick.”

Remus stood as Sirius bent his head to write; he puttered in Sirius’ periphery, collecting tape and bandages and a handful of other things from the drawers lining the walls before moving to the exam table behind him. Something spritzed, filling the air with the faint scent of lemon. When he glanced back, Remus was wiping down the exam table with a washcloth.

The table. Of course. He should’ve known. “Do you want me to move?”

“You can if you like.” A lopsided smile found him over Remus’ shoulder. “I’m just cleaning, though. Take your time.”

Feels like I’m taking nothing but time, he thought with no small amount of bitterness. At least Remus meant well. Arthur kept telling him he could have all the recovery time he needed, but Sirius could tell he was getting impatient. He hadn’t even been allowed to think about physical therapy before the six-week mark was up. On some teams, that was long enough to justify rumors of a trade.

Ink smeared under the side of his hand. Sirius cursed under his breath and licked his thumb to smudge it off, but only succeeded in blurring it more. He gave up and scribbled it out, leaving the check mark next to the box instead. Remus’ handwriting was at the top of the page. Sirius Black, printed with a gentle slant to the right. Numbers looped, their tails snagging into one another. Sirius had never met someone who wrote their ‘2’s that way.

“Done?”

He jumped.

“Ope, sorry,” Remus half-laughed as he rolled behind his desk again. The wheels of his chair squeaked. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

Sirius shook his head. “You’re fine. And ouais, here.”

“Thanks.” Remus flipped through the clipboard with easy neutrality. Sirius had expected him to take this a little more…well, seriously. “Looks good. Like I said before, today is just getting the boring stuff out of the way. Forms, building your exercise plan, making sure you don’t run screaming from the room.”

Sirius frowned. “Why would I do that?”

“Hopefully, you won’t.” Remus gave him a look—a joke, he realized a second too late.

“Oh—yes, no, not at all.” Great recovery. It took everything he had not to roll his eyes at himself.

Again, Remus seemed unaffected by his awkwardness. Did he just not see it? Did he think Sirius was playing along? But Remus was always like that, with every one of them. Unflappable and infallible. The world was smooth and calm for him, like a lake on a windless day in the dead of summer. He was wearing a shirt of the same blue-gray as the pond in the park by Sirius’ house.

“How’s your ankle feeling today?”

Get out of your head. “It’s…fine.”

The side of Remus’ mouth pulled up. “Gotta give me something to work with here, Cap.”

“A little sore?”

The light caught his sandy hair as he tipped his head back and forth. “Sore how?”

“Just…” Sirius shrugged. “Sore. Like normal.”

“Stabby? Dull? Lightning-y? Can you feel your heartbeat in it?”

“Um.” The cool air of the PT room siphoned into the small gaps of his boot when he wiggled his toes. “Mostly dull. Sharper when I take the cast off.”

Remus nodded. “You haven’t been putting weight on it?”

“Non.”

“Good. That sounds about right for this point of recovery. Is it an ‘all the time’ kind of pain, or just when you do certain things?”

This was a lot more talking than Sirius had anticipated. He had assumed Remus would sit him on the exam table, poke around, and then send him off with some ice packs and stretches. More time, he said when Sirius had imagined it. You just have to give it another week or two, and you’ll be fine. A hopeful part of him figured they’d let him back on the ice as soon as the bone was healed.

“It’s sore a lot,” Sirius admitted. “The dull kind. It gets worse when I move around, I guess.”

“Even with crutches?”

“Ouais.”

“Do you sleep with it on?”

“…my crutches?”

“The boot,” Remus snorted, though it wasn’t mean. He was rocking slightly in his chair, back and forth. Sirius could see the armrests turn with each light push of his foot behind the desk. The tense thing in his belly eased. If Remus was this casual, maybe he was allowed to take some deeper breaths.

“They gave me a different one for the night,” he said. “It’s softer.”

“Are you more of a back sleeper, side sleeper…?” Remus trailed off, gaze darting across Sirius’ face, and gave a sheepish grin. “That sounds super invasive, wow, sorry. I promise I’m just trying to figure out if you’re sleeping on it weird.”

Sirius tried to school his expression. He didn’t want to know what face he had been making at Remus’ question—they knew each other well enough to not fix him with a media glare. “Uh, my back,” he answered. “Usually. The doctors said to put it up on a pillow until it healed.”

“Cool, cool, sounds good.” Remus nodded again, then drummed his hands on his thighs. “Alright. Those are all the questions I have. Any on your end? Concerns, preferences…?”

How fast can you get me out there? Something told him Remus wouldn’t have an answer he’d like. “No, I’m good.”

Remus had a dimple on his left cheek. It made a divot with his small smile. “Great. Ready to hop on the table so I can take a look?”

It took a moment for Sirius to get to his feet; he reached for his crutches, only to find Remus already holding them steady for him. He hobble-hopped the five or so feet from the desk to the exam table; six and a half weeks in, and the crutches still did their best to stymie him at every turn. Horrible fucking things. His underarms were rubbed raw after fifteen minutes. Clunky and awkward and—

“Hold on.”

Sirius paused.

Remus was frowning at his leg. “Those don’t look right.”

“Quoi?”

“You’re…what, six-three?”

“About.”

“Sit, sit.” Remus ushered him to the edge of the table, but took the crutches as soon as Sirius perched himself on the cushions. He pressed a small button near the base; aluminum squeaked as the foot shortened by a few notches. “That’s better,” Remus muttered, almost to himself. “These pads are all worn out, too. Did they give you towels?”

What the fuck? “Uh, no?”

A disgruntled exhale made Remus’ nostrils flare. He leaned the crutches against the wall with a similarly irritated tilt to his mouth. “Remind me to give you some before you go, or the tops are going to wear the hell out of your armpits. I reset the height, too. They were two inches too tall.”

“Oh,” Sirius said helpfully.

“It’s not, like, a huge deal or anything, but it’s uncomfortable.” Remus cocked his head. He regarding Sirius with a critical, but not harsh, eye. “Has your back been hurting?”

Sirius shifted in his seat. “…yes.”

“That’s probably from the height issue.” Remus’ nose twitched with clear displeasure. A pen turned between his fingers, glimmering in the pale light. Sirius hadn’t noticed the bandaid on his knuckle before. The pen stilled with a sigh, then vanished into Remus’ pocket. “Sorry, I just—Moody and I have been trying to get the guys to come in here sooner, because of shit like this. Crutches at the wrong height, no towels, not knowing you’re allowed to wash braces. You’re already uncomfortable, you know? No need to make it worse.”

“Sorry.”

“Oh, god, it’s not your fault,” Remus said immediately, pumping hand sanitizer into his palm. “Just sucks that we have to ask permission. It’s not like we’re going to do anything stupid while bones are still healing.”

Sirius swung his legs up on the table while Remus rolled a stool across the speckled linoleum; his ankle twinged, but he managed to keep his wince light.

It was no use. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“Face.” Remus pointed at him, arching a brow. “You’re in my rink now, bud. You made a face. You can either lie about it, or get out of here on time.”

Perhaps Sirius had been a bit overconfident in how well he could hide pain. “Just sore when I lift it.”

“Where?”

“Uh. My ankle.”

“Right, I—” Remus broke off with a short laugh. “Sorry. Is there pain in other places when you lift it?”

He let Remus wave him further onto the table before answering. “I can feel it in my calf and foot. A little into my knee.”

The plastic was sticky from cleaning solution, but the cushions were perfectly firm on his lower back. He let his head rest back against the wall with a slow breath and wiggled his toes again. It was nice, being able to do that without lancing pain. Remus tapped his thumb against the edge of the table a few times before moving to stand by Sirius’ feet. “Can I take your shoe off, or do you want to?”

“Oh. Um…” He sat up further, but his fingers just barely brushed the hem of his pants. With a grind of his back teeth and a quick flash of pain, he bent his opposite knee and pulled the shoelace free. His ankle began throbbing faintly as he nudged the shoe off—sock too, thanks—and a puff of air slipped out when he finally leaned back.

Remus was watching him with a sad sort of wariness. “Can I make a request?”

You could ask me to do literally anything. “Yeah, sure.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.”

If he didn’t look so sympathetic, Sirius would have bristled. “What?”

“That—” Remus gestured at him. “Looked painful as fuck. This is an anti-pain establishment. If you think something’s going to hurt, we’ll work around it. No judgement.”

The thing was, Sirius hadn’t actually done this before. He knew where the ice packs were kept, and that the big steel container in the corner held heat pads in boiling water. He knew where the support bandages were, where Remus kept extra stick tape, and that the set of small drawers next to the desk would each be labeled with the name of a teammate so they could find specific gear. Remus had given him stretches for his sore back and arms and legs and whatever, but this—the shoes, the touching, the gentleness—there was no rulebook. No captain’s log to rattle through when he needed guidance.

“Okay,” he finally said. “That’s cool.”

“Cool.” Remus gave him that half-smile again. “Can I take your boot off?”

“Ouais.”

Remus was a lot nicer to the Velcro than he was. The rip was quieter than Sirius thought it could be, peeled off by practiced hands. He felt the pressure on his skin release immediately and took a breath at the tender feeling. Not pain, but something close. It made his heart spike every time. “Hurting?”

“Non.”

“You sure?”

“Just—makes me nervous.”

“Makes sense,” Remus agreed. “You’ve had it all wrapped up. Feels safer in there, right?”

Right. Exactly right. Something tightened in the center of his chest. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

Remus nodded. “Is it okay if I take it the rest of the way off? I can do most of the exam like this if that’s better.”

“You’re asking me a lot of questions.” He tried to sound wry. He wasn’t sure it came out that way.

“Lot of people don’t like touching,” Remus answered easily. He hadn’t moved to touch the boot again, hands flat to the maroon plastic covering the table. “I’d rather you tell me to step off now than make something hurt more.” He gave Sirius an apologetic sort of grin. “Plus, you’re probably sick of people grabbing at you. Don’t really want to be one of them.”

Sirius was sick of it. Hands and fingers and grasping through slivers in plexiglass while he was trying to move, goddamnit, when he just wanted to go back down the tunnel and finally be able to catch his breath. People grabbing him on the ice, pushing. Snape’s body against his own—a shoulder in his sternum. Fingers digging into his skin. A tight grip on the back of his neck.

“You can take it off.”

Remus had a crooked canine tooth. Had he noticed that before? “Thanks.”

Sirius’ fists clenched at the touch of warm hands on his heel and calf. It was…fucking strange, but not painful. Not unpleasant, either. Remus had calluses in the bends of his knuckles and on his palm when he carefully transferred Sirius’ foot to one hand and set the boot up by his hip.

“I’m sweaty,” he blurted. “Sorry.”

Embarrassment flooded him before Remus laughed. “Dude, you have no idea how nasty your boys are when they roll up here. Did you know I had to send a reminder to shower before seeing me? And to wear clean clothes?”

Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

“They don’t cut their toenails, either.” Remus’ eyes flicked up to his face, bright and teasing. “I’m not telling you who, but if you can throw a little captain-y weight around…”

“I’ll try.” It almost came out a laugh. Surprise tingled in his lungs. “But seriously, you don’t need me. They listen to you like gospel.”

“Oh, please.”

“They do,” he insisted. Remus rolled his eyes. “Non, non, I’m serious—”

“Yes, I know.”

“—fuck off—you could tell them to brush their teeth four times a day and they’d be at it. They listen to you more than me.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Remus informed him. “And I also think you’re healing really well.”

“I—what?” Sirius looked down; his ankle was back on the cushion, cradled lightly between Remus’ palms. It jolted something in him. Had his skin always been that pale? He could see the line where the boot ended halfway up his calf. His foot looked ghostly in the light and everything else looked…thin. Skin and muscle, even bone.

He propped himself up on the heels of his hands. The angry, puckered scar from surgery had faded to a narrow line. When had that happened? Surely not overnight. It had looked so ugly in the shower yesterday, which was exactly why he tended to avoid looking at it. He glanced up at Remus’ patient face. Was he grossed out? That wasn’t how Sirius’ ankle was supposed to look. The knobbly bones on either side were practically gray in comparison; they stuck out, as if someone had stuck two marbles under his skin. His stomach turned.

“Sirius?”

He hummed.

“You okay?”

The joking tone had gone from Remus’ voice. The pit of Sirius’ stomach was heavy. His ankle looked weak; his calf, skinny all the way to the weird lump of his knee. “Mhm.”

“We can be done.” Slight movement caught his attention as Remus ducked to catch his eye. There was the solemnity he had expected. It was odd to see it now. “Any time. Just say the word.”

“The exam?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” Firmness had never sounded so kind. “These first steps are visual, anyway.”

Am I done? Sirius looked back at his foot, the strangeness of it, the sickly mirror of his healthy one. “Keep going.”

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He mustered a deep breath. “I’m good. Keep going.”

“Okay,” Remus said quietly.

They sat in relative silence, but it wasn’t bad. Sirius was glad for a break. It was easier to watch Remus work than hold a conversation. The tenderness faded somewhat under the gentle touches of Remus’ fingertips—a tap here and there, faint pressure in the soft spots. Murmurs of feeling alright? and tell me if this hurts filled the buzzing static in Sirius’ ears.

“Ow.”

“Here?” Remus’ first two fingers hovered at the arch of his foot. Sirius nodded. “Cool, thanks. Your swelling isn’t too bad. I think I’m going to hold off on big exercises until Monday, okay?”

Disappointment, bitter and tacky as molasses. “Yeah.” He couldn’t keep the sigh out of his voice.

“We’ll get there.” When he remained silent, Remus poked the peak of his kneecap. “Hey. We’ll get there, I promise. I want you to work on the rest of your flexibility this week. Keep the boot on, but stretch out your legs and back. Your other muscles have been compensating for this and I don’t want anything to get strained.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you back on the ice.” Sirius could hear the but in his voice before he even finished speaking. “But I won’t rush through this and throw you out there just to get hurt again.”

Hurt again. Pain, cold and consuming, flashed in his memory. “Okay.”

“If anyone gives you shit, I want you to throw me under the bus, alright?” The last strap of Velcro fell into place. Remus was even careful with that part. The pressure on his skin was familiar and welcome. He felt a light pat to the table. “Tell them it’s all my fault. That I’m being overcautious and mean and keeping you here, whatever. If the coaches have a problem with your care, they can talk to me and Moody about it. Not you.”

“Okay.”

Remus let him get up unhindered. That was nice. Sirius was pretty sure he’d lose his mind at one more helping hand. He waddled back to the desk chair at an incline of Remus’ chin and was once again relegated to watching while Remus taped some small, folded towels to the tops of his crutches before joining him by the desk.

“You did great.”

Wasn’t that a thing to imagine. Could barely get my shoe off, but alright. “Merci.”

“It’s hard to get people to come in here and actually want to get better.” Remus scribbled a few things on the chart. His forehead crinkled in the middle with concentration. “Lotta guys think they’re fine as soon as the doctors’ visits end. But this is the part that’ll make a difference in the long run.”

The chart slid across the table, followed by a smaller, far more sparkly sheet. A smile pulled at Sirius’ mouth in spite of himself. “Gold stars?”

“Very serious stamps of completion, actually.” The corners of Remus’ mouth were tight with restrained amusement. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his eyes. “You can pick a different theme if you want. Talkie’s got Lisa Frank, which was kind of a power move.”

Sirius snorted—it was over from there. It took a minute for them to collect themselves, and as much as he hated to admit it, he did feel better after peeling a star from the sheet and sticking it in the first box. “Regarde,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Success.”

“Perfect.” Laughter still lingered in Remus’ voice. It was a nice sound. It was nicer when he looked up and smiled, like Sirius had put one of those heating pads right in the valley of his ribs. “Alright, well, that’s all I need. We can do the same time tomorrow, or you can check out the schedule. We technically have office hours, but you can shoot me a text if we need to find a different one. Number’s on the board. Make sure you give your name in the first message.”

“Okay.” Those ‘2’s again, in green marker this time. That weird feeling in his chest was softening. “Yeah, okay. I think tomorrow works for me.”

“Awesome, see you then.”

“Awesome.” Why can’t I talk? Sirius stood and took his crutches back with a slight stumble. He hoped it passed off as broken-ankle unsteadiness, not—whatever else was going on. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when the tops didn’t immediately begin to chafe his inner arms. “Oh, wow, thanks. This is great.”

“Yeah?” He could hear Remus’ smile before he even turned. He looked pleased, fiddling with the edge of Sirius’ chart. “I’m glad. Sucks to not have what you need, and not even know it.”

“Lucky we’ve got you then, eh?”

Remus’ cheeks flushed. It was rather warm in the room. “Nah. I’m the lucky one. Best job in the world.”

“Got you beat, there.”

Another laugh made Sirius’ chest squeeze pleasantly. It was good to see Remus happy, with all he did for them. “Guess you do,” Remus admitted, then shooed at him with the chart. “Get outta here, your boys are waiting. And check the box by the door for this when you come in tomorrow, got it?”

“Très bien, Loops.”

Maybe it was the adjustments to his crutches, or the promise of something like progress on the horizon, but Sirius didn’t feel quite so awful as he made his way down the hall. He almost felt good, actually. Almost hopeful.

#sirius black #remus lupin #coops #pre-coops #pt room #fluff #sweater weather #my fic #fanfic #lumosinlove

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macarthurpark · 7 months ago

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accidental pregnancy with fordsie :3

since you've made your way back to gravity falls for the summer, you hadn't stopped looking at the long lost twin of Stanley, the rather reclusive man with streaks of both black and grey in his head and a stoic frown of focus always on his lips.

safe to say, after he'd accidentally pulled you against him due to a reaction between the necklace on your bosom, the bracelets on your wrists, and the metal attracting device in his hand during a day of experimentation in the forest, there wasn't much stopping you both from developing a deeper interest.

ford was somewhat reserved, you weren't-- you liked singing karaoke at greasy's every Friday, and he couldn't be caught dead even attending such an establishment without either his brother or great niece and nephew, and Stanley would have to buy him fries if he wanted his brother to stay longer than ten minutes.

all these differences mattered little when he'd offhandedly mentioned Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons in a conversation with Dipper in front of you. after one game and a passionate screaming match between the two of you that reverberated through the mystery shack's floorboards, it was clear that a match had been made by the gods. even ford found himself unable to let you go from his mind when fall arrived and your lease had run out.

so, after some passive aggressive encouragement from Mabel on her grunkle's behalf, you stayed in your little rental in town. you took up some shifts at the mystery shack (stanley offered, not only for the extra help and lower than legal minimum wage, but also to watch with popcorn as his Sixer would grow red and all eager to discuss his latest discovery with you), and sometimes you even spent the night in his room.

it was all friendly at first, him offering a bed after you two spent the evening after playing Dungeons after his studies; it was nothing more than a sleepover, he'd tell himself! his thoughts couldn't defy the fact that his body burned to even consider sleeping nearby someone nearly a third of his age, as beautiful as you were.

(how he wasn't sheepish by those green shorts he wore to sleep, you had no clue. at least you liked the look of them when he wore them in the mornings, his hair all mussed with sleep and his glasses resting lazy on his nose.)

his bed was a twin size, too small to share between two grown adults, and he'd usually offered to sleep on the floor if you stayed overnight, even as the infatuation between you two grew obvious. No matter how tightly he would hold you close as you cuddled or how hungrily he could kiss you if you accidentally helped him with a discovery, he refused to sleep in his own damned bed, just because you were there.

until one night, he'd gotten the hint when you refused to let him go as he tried to slip away and lay on the floor.

he really got the hint when you straddled him instead of returning the stiff 'goodnight' he gave you.

the poor man's glasses had fogged up as he was fucked into next week by you.

such was the life of ford for the next few months or so, and time even came where he'd felt jealous on the nights you weren't asleep next to him.

one evening came where you weren't with him, for he'd been too busy with his work to chat. it was no big deal, not for you-- you already had felt rather drained, so it would be a peaceful night in for once. you were excited to crack open a beer, and watch some old reruns of the golden girls, anyway.

as soon as you'd flicked off the bottle cap of the beer, your nose wrinkled-- was something in the fridge bad? did a animal shit right outside your damn front door? you sniffed around till you leaned close to the fresh beverage in your hand-- and you gagged violently before dropping the glass in a panic. now there was glass and beer all over your tile!

what the fuck just happened!

you'd thought the beer had somehow went bad with such a vile smell that emanated from it, and you'd plan to give stanley the rest of the twelve pack when you saw him the next day. whether he'd drink it himself or sell it off as some sort of evil potion, you didn't care.

you tried to move on after cleaning up the mess, making some popcorn and finding almost an exact same reaction-- except this time, you did end up puking into the bowl when your senses became overwhelmed with the scent and buttery taste all at once. the better question now showed itself-- what was going on with you? How had you suddenly lost all taste for the things you loved to consume?

Later that evening, you could only seethe as Stan cracked open and drank one of your precious beers with a healthy chug, an echoed belch following you through the hallways to Stanford's office so loudly that you couldn't help but get pissed off. what a waste of perfectly good beer on that old con!

you went to ford about your concerns, even he was confused by such a reaction-- so of course, now you were sitting on his desk as he scrutinized you heavily. you'd given samples of your nail trimmings and had your armpits examined, but you trusted that your eccentric older boyfriend knew what he was doing.

"there's no tautness of skin...hmm... your palate remains the same..." He was busy muttering to himself, ignoring any actual question you made to his low words, and he turned away to look through his drawers again. He paced around from desk to desk in his lab, but Ford was finally returning to stand before you after a few minutes of scrounging.

"it could very well be a leech or some bug from swimming in that putrid lake! If you'll allow me to obtain a full body scan, I'll check to see if all is in order."

With a raise of his hand, you could see Ford had brought out this weird device that looked more like a gun than anything from your perspective. of course you shrieked and tried to dodge the end of it that was pointed at you. "hey, hey hey HEY!"

Pausing with a confused stare, the poor man was more caught off guard than anything as he watched you flail and shriek, but he was resting the object aside as he tried to calm you down.

"heavens above, y/n! its a wireless X-ray gun! it's harmless, it cant even emit radiation! sit down!" his voice boomed, more annoyed that you would think he'd hurt you than being willing to calm your sudden shock. you sat back on the counter, more shaken than annoyed or fearful, and pondering quietly as he pointed the thing first at the top of your head-- he could see the results from his perspective as he scanned over the expanse of your form.

his brows furrowed once he passed over your head, neck and arms to see nothing. he murmured and cursed to himself one more, and you were more interested in how he'd made such a device like the one scanning you now. he slowly guided the gun down your midriff, frustrated that nothing seemed to be showing itself off out of the ordinary.

"I don't understand. Nothing is--" The very moment the machine trailed over your stomach and lower half, his hand paused, and Stanford's eyes got big.

It was small, but the eyes of a scientist like him knew when he was staring at a fetus or not. It was so little, so new, but it was resting serenely inside you.

by the gods, after the last thirty years of trekking dimensions and surviving battles against demons, how did the topic of his own fertility be the last thing on his mind whilst he had been pumping you full of seed almost weekly?

From your perspective, it was humorous to see his glasses slightly dramatize how big his stare became-- you found yourself panicked the longer he remained still and said nothing about what he was very clearly looking at inside you.

"Christ! Do I have an egg or something inside me?! Let me see, Ford!"

"NO! No, no, y-you're fine!" No longer lost in shock, he yanked back the x-ray gun as you reached out for it, more panicked than anything in that moment and already very sensitive about his inventions. Even as he reassured you all was well, the look on Stanford's face didn't seem to appease you. He was shocked at whatever he saw.

"You're not making me feel any better, Ford. Can you let me see the reading?"

"i... it cant capture an image, i-it just exposes what ever is in front of it."

Ford was still being too quiet for you to stand.

"Ford, you're being dramatic! If I'm fine, then what is with this weird silent treatment? What, is there a baby or something?" You try to laugh off his fearful gaze with your ironic statement, but Ford wasn't laughing with you. As a matter of fact, that stunned stare was turning in to something more soft at your words-- more of a puppy dog's pleading gaze.

"You... happen to have a more enlarged uterus than normal?"

you both stare at one another for a long minute. ford isn't uncomfortable with the news discovered by some awry invention of his, but he's watching you closely for any sense of negative response. he's slightly even praying that you'll just smile and give him a hug with the happy news.

you burst into tears, and ford is in panic to start hugging you close once its clear you're in need his support. you hold him close, getting his jacket wet with your tears, finally calming yourself into an unsteady silence that is more familiar to you two both.

You look up at him, and you smile.

Ford smiles back, and he can feel his heart grow so warm he thinks he might start bawling with you at any moment.

"If my assumptions are correct, we've got eight months to have Mabel plan the perfect baby shower."

#I hope y'all like it cus Im a stanley girl more than anything #gravity falls #more like grab these balls!#ford x reader #stanford x reader #stanford pines #stanford doesn't cry till he's in the delivery room with you if you were asking my opinon #this time everyone calls the baby mini einstein <3 #I really don't know how this became a full length piece and not a Drabble.... I might do a stanley pt 2 for my fellow stanwives

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