#stanford furniture

[kennedysteve]

Enclosed - Traditional Dining Room Mid-sized enclosed dining room with gray walls and a traditional medium-tone wood floor.

[latinx-lancaster]

Family Room in Burlington Large, traditional, open-concept family room with beige walls, a corner fireplace, a wood fireplace surround, and a wall-mounted television.

[legobiwan]

It says a lot about how creepy Ford's Bill shrine must have been for Stan to have not immediately tried to pawn off Bill's golden statue for cash once he found this room. And to think, the only thing Stan knows for thirty years is that his brother had cobbled together a freaky art collection of triangles (which for some ridiculous reason wore a tophat and bowtie) and that the image on the objects seemed to match an unnamed anomaly Ford had catalogued in Journal 1.

The heart attack Stan must have had when he put two and two together.

[leathergallery]

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[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Doodle dump for the HWINEBHABWNAJCAHOWEEATOWEUB AU!!

A little Fiddleford doodle and the gang (FINALLY) going to get Ford some goddamn furniture in his shack.

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The doomed narrative twins >:)

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Fun fact: Wendy and Soos got 'hired' as Ford's unofficial lab assistants completely by accident! Soos kind of just. Attached himself to Ford, kind of similarly as he did with Stan.

Meanwhile, Wendy was recruited a little later when her friends dared her to enter the notorious "Mystery Shack" of the ever elusive Stanford Pines, mad scientist and eater of children (at least according to the rumors). When she discovered that Ford was just. Some nice guy, she felt bad and offered to help him clean up the mess she made by breaking in, and stuck around ever since :]

[pix-writes]

for the nsfw request for Stan and Ford (which tbh is more like a question lol also be completely free to not answer in case you don't want to); what kind of noises do they make? or they don't make a noise at all? Thank you!!

No problem, thanks for asking!

Under cut as is 18+

STANLEY:

He seems like the kind of guy who would grunt and moan a little, he's not quiet but he's not loud either, as he wants to hear his partner's sounds most of all, but sometimes he can't be quiet either cause it just feels too good. (Also likes to hear the squeak or rattle of whatever furniture he's got you placed on/bent over when you get into it, has broken a worn out, shoddy table or two in his time!)

Knows from experience that a lot of partners like him to make some noise 😉 (say thank you to the ladies who taught him this). Though the very point where he does come, he's practically silent. Will pant and groan afterwards though.

Stan in everyday life is sorta what you get in bed too, just more unfiltered, he opens his mouth to say all sorts of dirty things and feedback about how good you're doing/feel and things he wants to do to you and praises you when you respond in the way he wants. Depends on the circumstances though, as if he's totally in the moment he doesn't run his mouth so much. Can also be more playful too, so at times he'll try to make his partner laugh or be totally cheesy (cue awfully obvious rp where he pretends you're some beautiful/handsome stranger), you might get a chuckle out of him as well. On the other hand, if you manage to rile him up enough, Stan will practically growl in your ear 🥴

If it's just him by himself though, he doesn't make too much sound at all, just moans a little, definitely has that depressing post nut clarity and feels a bit guilty for taking himself in hand.

STANFORD:

Tries to control his volume. Is not successful!

This guy is painfully touch starved and is making up for lost time once he's with a partner, so ends up being unable to censor all the sounds that come out of him from feeling someone else's touch. I'd say his volume is about medium, though, as he does have some self-control. However, once he starts to feel remotely close to orgasm, he will get increasingly more whiny. Increasingly desperate towards climax and starts begging you or saying things, it's so garbled though you don't even know if it's proper sentences or just nonsensical babble. Cannot contain his cries of pleasure when he finally does climax! 🤭 (Edge this man if you want but get soundproofing if you do, otherwise even the neighbours will be able to hear what you're getting up to!)

Doesn't talk too much during, mostly lost in it, will keep giving you necessary instruction or feedback, though. Mostly moans, groans and whines, praises you for how good you are/feel. Though, I think once he starts to get into a relationship and gain confidence/experience, will be more able to control his volume and will run his mouth more, if that's something you're into. Will pleasure you and not let you touch him so he can focus on talking you through it 🫠 gets a little cocky once he finds out that you like the sound of his deep voice (what have you unleashed upon yourself??!!!!)

Thinks that his self pleasure is about average but is probably below average, sees it more as relieving stress than for indulgence in fantasies, feels alienated by the way most men would talk about it as it doesn't fit his experiences at all (e.g. thinks most men exaggerate their drive and promiscuity... Probably not wrong, but I hc that Ford is on the ace spectrum somewhere, probably demi sexual, but doesn't know until the twins tell him about lgbt+ identities). Helps him to sleep, though didn't feel safe enough to do it much at all during his portal days, as he was often on the run. Is often intentionally quiet when doing it because he often is in places where the walls are thin or he needs to hear if he might be walked in on (because it's likely to happen; is happy that so far he's never been caught) still moans a lot when he comes though.

[artszweig]

spring breakers.

summary: New apartment, new bed, same boyfriend. Some things need to be broken in. (18+)

pairing: stanford!fem!reader/stanford!art warnings: smut, oral sex (f!receiving), humping, pet play, puppy!art, soft femdom, mommy kink, sub!art, dom!reader

wc: 824 a/n: yes guys im on that petplay shit sue me... this is my first published blurb so come say hi..!!

₊‧.°.⋆•˚₊‧⋆.₊‧.°.⋆•˚₊‧⋆.₊‧.°.⋆•˚₊‧⋆.₊‧.°.⋆•˚₊‧⋆.₊‧.°.⋆•˚₊‧⋆.

It was your idea to move out of the residence halls and into an apartment. Art didn't protest -- you had an entire speech prepared if he did, explaining the financial and romantic benefits of moving into an apartment for the next school year. He didn't need to hear any of it, instead telling you that he wouldn't mind a bigger place.

Neither of you expected how much work it would be. Finding your own furniture, buying your own food... the list goes on. School started in a week and a half and you both felt grossly underprepared, Art preoccupied with tennis training and you with moving in and working part-time.

Art was on the court when you moved the full-size mattress to your (now shared!) bedroom. When he came home, sweaty and worn-out, to the mattress already set up, you could almost see the joy spill out of him -- "I can't believe you did all of this on your own, oh my God," and "thank you so much for finishing up!"

And that's how he ended up between your thighs, graciously repaying you for your hard work. Your back was pressed to the mattress with your knees parted while Art found his place between your legs.

"Mommy," Art sighed, nuzzling his cheek against your inner thigh, "mommy, please."

"What do you need, baby? 'Please' what?" You didn't reach to pet his head, not yet. You waited until he showed you he deserved it.

Art whined.

"I need to," he panted like a dog, "to -- to lick."

As a reward, you rested your hand on top of his head, "okay, you have permission. You can; go on, lap it up."

You saw the tension melt from Art's body, the buildup finally releasing as he dove into your pussy. You're already wet but Art slobbers, making you unsure which wetness belongs to you or him.

Under you, Art groans like it's his cock that pushed into you -- and to him, it might as well have been. His eyes are closed as he licks at your clit, somewhat inexperienced but desperate enough to make it work.

It's mainly the desperation that gets you off.

Art's tongue makes it way down from your clit to the opening of your pussy and presses and wiggles and presses. It's like he's trying to swallow you whole. His moans rise in pitch and volume and you look down your body to see --

Art's head buried in your pussy while his hips rock against the mattress.

"Oh," you say between breaths, "oh, baby..."

You feel your body get hotter as you watch Art weakly thrust against the mattress as he continues to eat you. The angle isn't right and you're sure it's uncomfortable, but friction is friction and Art takes what he can get. His hands are busy spreading you apart, one hand on each of your thighs to keep you open for the entirety of his warm, wet mouth.

Your clit is entirely engulfed by him -- his tongue moves from inside of you to back on your clit where he sucks and licks.

"Come on, baby," you tug lightly at his hair, "be good."

Art's hips jerk while his mouth got sloppy. He moaned open-mouth into you, entranced by the way his cock felt pressed against the mattress.

"Are you gonna cum, baby?" You asked, but you knew the answer -- you could tell by the way his body stiffened up and his breaths were uneven and laboured.

"Mmph --" Art choked, "Mommy -- Mommy!"

You pet his hair, stroking him lovingly. This was his treat.

"It's okay, puppy, you can."

Art pulled his mouth away from your pussy, clenching his jaw tight. You couldn't fully see him cum, but you watched his body freeze and tense when he gave one last frenzies hump.

When he was done, he pressed his cheek against your thigh. His eyes were glazed over, completely fucked-out.

"Come on, finish Mommy off." You gently tugged him by the hair, leading him back to your pussy.

He was slower this time, more deliberate in his licks -- intentionally or not.

Art laid his tongue flat against your clit and bobbed his head up and down. You couldn't help but bear your hips down on his mouth, gently fucking his face. His eyes were shut and his mouth was pliant -- you could do anything you want to him like this.

It didn't take much longer for you to cum after rutting yourself against Art's tongue.

"Art, baby," you gasped, "I'm going to cum in your warm little mouth, okay?"

Art only moaned. You shouted when you finally came and pulled on Art's hair, making him take all of you at once. He cleaned it all up with his tongue, swallowing anything you gave him.

Beneath you, you could hear him mutter "thank you Mommy, thank you..."

You and Art spend the next day cleaning a new cum stain out of the mattress.

[candied-heartss]

“i might let you make me juno!”

(stanford!art donaldson x fem!girlfriend!reader)

summary: art loves his sweet, little girlfriend, but thinks she'd look even better with a baby at her side!

cw: penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't be fools wrap your tools, y'all), praise kink, missionary position, "baby-trapping" and references to pregnancy/bearing children (reader & art have talked beforehand), reader is fem and is referred to w she/her pronouns, slight size kink(?), inspired by sabrina carpenter's ‘juno’, really short n not exactly proofread so pls bare w me 😭😭

word #: 544 words

a/n: hey y'all!! guess who's back from the dead perchance lmao anyways sorry for basically being mia, classes have been kicking my ass 😭😭 anywhosies enjoy this self-indulgent brain vomit xx <33

"art, honey... i think i wanna try it..."

ever since those words fell from your lips all those weeks ago, art has been nothing but driven completely wild.

almost every night, after coming home from a particularly long practice match or studying, it would always end the same. you bent over or laid up on the nearest piece of furniture while he pounded into you like no tomorrow.

now, of course, you loved it all. the sloppy, almost clumsy nature of his hastily timed thrusts, the tight, but loving grip he held on your hips and thighs, and the praise that would fall off of his tongue like sugar.

"doin' so good, sweet girl... love this cunt, love you s'much... wanna give it to you..." he would murmur into your ear, hips colliding with yours.

"want it... please, art... want it sooo bad." you would cry out softly, only to gasp whenever he would inevitably give in to your pleas and press you tight up against him.

"you feel that? that's me..." he would boast with a quiet, almost prideful chuckle as his hand ghosted over your lower abdomen where he could feel your cunt greedily clenching and taking him in, "god, i just... wanna put a baby in you, you'd look so damn pretty pregnant." and the mere thought of it, you all round and swollen, your breasts tender to the touch and your nipples so easily malleable, especially under art's touch, made you shiver with need.

and each time, he always seemed to know when you were on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, as if he had a six sense designated for your pleasure, only.

"c'mon, sweetheart... lemme feel it." he would practically moan in your ear, his thrusts becoming more harsh and punctuated, making the occasional choked whine slip from your throat.

"a-art!... coming, 'm gonna come..." you would practically shriek, clutching onto him as if you were afraid he'd disappear if you didn't. your eyes then rolled back as the buildup finally came crashing down, rendering you in a dazed state and turning both your bones and brain into a melted puddle. art then swiftly followed with a groan, leaning his head back in pure, unadulterated ecstasy as your cunt milked his cock for all its worth.

as you began to come down from your prolonged high, you could still feel him thrusting inside of you, desperately chasing a release of his own, before he finally came with a hoarse grunt, shaky, pleasured sighs leaving the both of your mouths as you felt him from you up entirely with his cum.

and when he pulls out, it only then spurs on the incentive to finish what he started. moving back in between your thighs, he leans in close to your aching, swollen cunt before dragging his fingers through the spend that dripped out of you before carefully plunging them back into you, causing a weak moan to fall out of your mouth.

"careful, baby," art then muses with an almost playful smile painted on his lips, "we're not finished 'til you can make me a daddy, okay?"

and, god, you swore that if you could, those words could definitely make you fall in love with him all over again.

[chillinglyadventurous]

Retreat - Stanford Pines

I think we all need some fluff after everything that’s happened this week.

Tags: mindless fluff

You didn’t know where he was taking you, but that was alright. Sitting in the passenger seat of his jeep, you laced your fingers in his, enjoying how secure and warm the touch of his hand felt. It had been exhausting. You had been so emotionally drained and you knew he had been too. You both needed quiet. You both needed a break from the chaos of the world.

You stared out the window, humming along to the song on the radio as he drove. The relative silence was comfortable. The hum of the tires lulled you into a sense of calm. He lulled you into a sense of relief, thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

You watched as the world passed you by, the only thing on your mind being how Ford’s hand felt in yours. It was paradise.

The drive stretched on and the setting sun cast a warm glow over the trees, painting everything in rich golds and soft pinks. You stole a glance at Ford, admiring how the light softened his usually intense features. There was a look of quiet determination on his face softened by a subtle, almost shy, smile. It was rare to see him this relaxed. It made you realize just how much he’d needed this too.

After a while, he cleared his throat, his voice breaking the silence. “We’re almost there. Just a few more minutes,” he said, squeezing your hand gently.

You smiled, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. “I still can’t believe you planned all this without giving anything away,” you teased, leaning closer to him.

Ford chuckled, his thumb still tracing circles on your hand. “I wanted it to be a surprise. We both needed something different, a place where we can forget everything for a while.”

A few minutes later, he pulled off onto a small gravel road that wound through a forested area. A cabin came into view, a cozy little structure nestled between tall pines with smoke already curling from the chimney as if it had been waiting just for you.

As Ford parked and turned off the engine, you couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of contentment. The air was cool and crisp as you stepped out, filled with the scent of earth and wood smoke. It was perfectly still, the only sounds you could hear were the rustle of leaves in the wings and the occasional bird call.

Ford walked around the car to meet you, reaching out to grab your hand again. “It’s just us out here. No Stanley, no anomalies, no surprises. Well, except, perhaps, for the fact that I’m not terrible at cooking,” he said with a wry smile.

You laughed, giving his hand a playful squeeze. “I guess I’ll believe that when I see it, Ford. Lead the way.”

The cabin’s interior was warm and welcoming, with simple wooden furniture and a stone fireplace crackling softly. Ford had clearly prepared ahead. There were cozy blankets on the couch, a basket with snacks, and a small stack of books on the coffee table.

“Did you do all this?” You asked, looking around impressed.

Ford shrugged, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “I wanted it to be special for you.” He set down your bags and motioned to the fireplace. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get some tea going.”

You settled onto the couch, sinking into the softness of the cushions and wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. Watching Ford as he moved around the small kitchen, you were struck again by how much he meant to you. Seeing him outside his usual element, not in his lab coat or surrounded by mysterious things, but here in this intimate, domestic setting felt surreal. It was a side of him you rarely saw and it made your heart ache with affection.

Ford returned a few minutes later, carefully carrying two steaming mugs of tea. “Here,” he said, handing you a mug and sitting down beside you. He stretched his arm along the back of the couch, close enough for you to lean into him if you wanted. You did. “I hope this is the kind of break you had in mind.”

You took a sip, savoring the warmth before meeting his gaze. “It’s perfect. More than I could’ve imagined.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his usual intensity softened with something almost vulnerable. “You know,” he began, his voice quieter than before, “I don’t often allow myself these luxuries. I suppose I’ve always been wary of letting my guard down, even in peaceful moments like this.”

“I know,” you replied, shifting closer to him until you could feel his warmth against you, “but you’re allowed to let go, Ford. Especially here, with me.”

The lines in his face faded, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “Sometimes I still wonder what I did to deserve you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

You laughed softly, placing your hand over his. “You deserve so much more than you give yourself credit for, Stanford.”

He held your gaze for a moment then leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. It was gentle, full of unspoken emotions, and it made you feel more cherished than any grand gesture ever could.

You both fell into an easy conversation, talking about everything and nothing, sharing laughter and warmth as the evening grew darker. At one point, he pulled out a book he’d brought along and started reading aloud, his voice calm and steady, each word wrapping around you like a lullaby.

As the night deepened, he closed the book, glancing down at you with a tender smile. “Thank you,” he whispered, almost to himself.

“For what?” You asked softly, brushing a strand of his hair back.

“For giving me something to come back to, for being the calm in the middle of the storm.” His voice was thick with emotion and his fingers curled around yours, holding you as if afraid to let go.

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “You don’t have to thank me, my love. I’m here because I want to be. I will always be here, through everything.”

In response, he pulled you into a warm embrace, holding you close as the fire crackled and the room filled with a gentle silence. In that moment, there was nothing else, just the two of you wrapped up in each other, finally at peace.

The warmth of the fire and Ford’s steady presence beside you created a sense of calm that was unlike anything you’d ever felt. Leaning against him, you could hear the soft rhythm of his heartbeat and his arm around you felt strong, steady, and grounding. You rested your head on his shoulder, sighing in contentment, and closed your eyes.

Ford’s fingers traced delicate patterns on your arm as he held you close. After a moment, you felt him shift and, when you looked up, his eyes were on you, filled with a deep, quiet affection. The intensity in his gaze made your heart flutter and a blush rose to your cheeks as he slowly raised a hand to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. His hand lingered on your face, his eyes searching yours as if to memorize every detail. “You’ve the one person who sees past all my flaws, my mistakes, and my-” he paused, as if unsure how to go on, then finally breathed, “my fears.”

You could feel his breath warm against your skin and the vulnerability in his voice broke your heart. Softly, you placed your hand over his, holding it against you. “Stanford,” you murmured, “I love all of those things about you, flaws and all. You don’t have to hide any part of yourself from me. I love you exactly as you are.”

A look of relief, mingled with overwhelming gratitude, flickered across his face. He leaned closer, his nose brushing yours and, for a moment, the two of you were lost in each other’s gaze. Slowly, his lips found yours in a tender kiss, one that made your breath catch. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you securely. It was as if he was afraid that if he let go, the moment would disappear.

The kiss deepened, filled with an intensity you’d rarely seen in him. You could feel him pouring every unspoken word, every hidden emotion, into that kiss. His other hand found its way around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, bodies flush. You could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat, quickened by the passion of the moment, and your own heart raced in response.

When you finally parted, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers still entwined in your hair. “I’ve been afraid to let myself feel this way,” he confessed, his voice a hushed murmur, “but I can’t imagine my life without you anymore.”

You cupped his face in your hands, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere,”

Ford’s lips curved into a smile and he brushed a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, and, finally, the tip of your nose, as if savoring every inch of you. “Thank you,” he whispered again, his voice barely audible as he pulled you close, nestling you against his chest, “for giving me something I never thought I could have.”

The two of you settled back against the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms as the firelight flickered and cast shadows around the room. He pulled a blanket over the both of you, tucking it around your shoulders as he held you close, his arm securely around your waist.

You nestled your head against him, listening to his heart, and felt his chin rest gently on the top of your head. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your shoulder, his touch soft and loving, and you closed your eyes, letting the feeling of having him like this fill you.

As you lay there, Ford’s voice broke the silence. “You know,” he began softly, “I never thought I’d find a love like this. I always thought I was too complicated, too damaged, to really let anyone in. But, you, you changed everything.”

“I never thought I’d find someone who understood me so completely,” you replied.

He leaned down to capture your lips in another kiss. Slow, lingering, and filled with unwavering love. His hands settled around your hips, drawing you closer as he deepened the kiss, his touch tender yet passionate. You felt his fingers slide up your back, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as he pulled you against him.

When you broke apart, both of you were flushed. Ford held you close, his lips brushing against you, every inch he could reach. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too,” you murmured, your heart swelling with happiness as you nestled against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath you.

As the fire burned low, you drifted in and out of sleep, wrapped securely in his arms. Ford’s fingers continued to run up and down your back. His breath warm against your forehead, soothing and comforting. In that quiet, perfect moment, with the scent of smoke lingering in the air and his arms wrapped around you, you knew that this was exactly where you were meant to be, safe, loved, and cherished by the man who had become your whole world.

Eventually, Ford’s voice, soft and drowsy, broke the peaceful silence. “Let’s stay like this,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Just a little while longer.”

“Forever wouldn’t be long enough,” you replied, feeling him pull you tighter.

The two of you drifted off to sleep, tangled together beneath the blanket. The worries of the world melted away, leaving only the peaceful certainty of your love, steadfast and enduring, even in the heart of the quiet, secluded cabin that felt like your own little paradise.

[cemeteryspider]

Family Fragments Part 1

Stanford Pines x Child! Reader

*No use of Y/n* *Fem Reader*

Summary: Flashback~ Ford must protect you, his innocent daughter, from becoming an unwilling pawn in the sinister schemes of an Interdimensional demon.

Trigger Warnings: Possession, Child Endangerment (thanks Bill), Psychological Manipulation, Mild Violence

Word Count: 1.1k

You shifted in your father's arms as he pushed through doors and walked through hallways from the basement of his shack in the woods into your room in the attic. You barely registered him tucking you into your bed and him kissing you on the forehead with his heavily chapped lips.

"Good night, Sweet pea," He whispered and the door clicked behind him. 

A loud tired sigh echoed in the short stairwell down to the foyer. The descent down the staircase was heavy and creaky and when he came to the door in the basement he widened his eyes and allowed the retinal scanner to scan his eye confirming he was not possessed by Bill. He couldn’t help the yawn that escaped his lips as he entered the basement, cluttered with half-finished devices- scattered wires and gears glinting under the dim flickering light bulb hanging overhead.The unfinished portal stood tall in front of him humming a just so a he felt a soft vibration through the soles of his shoes. 

He sat down at the workbench and resumed writing in the third journal. Drawing the new suit he was designing to keep Bill out of his mind for good, however there was the small problem of the brain he needed to complete the thing. However, his mind drifted to the mind erasing gun in the hand of the suit which reminded him of his old friend, who left him alone to work with his muse months ago. 

Then he heard a not so subtle knocking coming from upstairs. At first he thought it was some random drunk knocking at the door and letting the person get bored of the odd old cabin in the woods, but after a succinct series of thuds and a hushed laughter he decided to investigate.

He breathed a sigh of relief—at least Bill couldn't sneak his way down there, not without triggering the failsafes. But as he looked up, his heart stopped. There you were, standing in the foyer, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow and a smile far too wide for your little face. It was a sight so wrong, so unsettling, that Ford could barely bring himself to speak.

Your limbs jerked awkwardly, like a marionette pulled by unseen strings, controlled by a puppeteer who lacked all finesse, "Hey, sixer!"

He stood frozen for a moment. Bill's voice coming from your mouth where your sweet little voice should have been, he swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to speak, "What are you doing here Bill?" 

Bill grinned, twisting your lips into a mockery of a smile, "I just came by to see you and it seems as though you've taken certain... precautions to make sure I don't interrupt your research."

A chill went down Stanfords spine, his research into the Anti-Cipher Society, and the plans for the suit I had designed, "Let's talk face to face, Cipher. No need to bring my daughter into this."

"I suppose I could end our contract a bit earlier than I intended," And with that your eyes rolled into the back of your skull, and your scaleras the correct color once more. Quickly Ford ran toward you and stopped your descent before hitting the ground.

Bill floated around looking at the different furniture with great fascination, "What is wrong with you, she's just a child."

He cradled your head while you continued your sleep, "Yeah, quite a while since I made a deal with something so small, very difficult to control such small limbs. Painful falling down the stairs don't you think?"

His eyebrows rose and looked over your head moving your hair around, checking for any blood or bruising that could indicate a head wound or concussion.

Stop being such a stick in the mud, Sixer,' Bill sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. 'She’s perfectly fine…for now.' His tone darkened, and Ford’s blood ran cold as he watched Bill shift, his form flickering like a faulty lightbulb.

Ford clutched you tightly to his chest, his heart pounded erratically in his ribcage, "I think it's time for you to leave."

"Nothing more for me to do here, but just you wait I think I will see you again, real soon," With that the cabin seemed to gain its color back and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

"Dad?" You whispered after a rather large yawn. He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at hearing your darling voice. His fingers trembled as they wrapped themselves around your small frame, almost as if you would slip right through his grasp into the nightmarish darkness Bill brought in. For a moment, he pressed his nose to the top of your head and breathed in your familiar scent, desperate to remind himself that you were here with him- still his little girl. A surge of guilt tightened his chest. 

"Everything's going to be okay, Sweet Pea just go back to sleep." And you did. For so long he had stayed awake for as long as possible trying to avoid Bill gaining control of his body he forgot about you. A child with little contact with the outside world, and how easily children can be persuaded by older wiser beings. Bill is a master manipulator and Ford practically opened the door to your mind by inviting him into his. 

Despite the distance he forced Bill to keep from you, he had been in his mind. Combed through his memories his happiest being with Stan in his earlier years, and with you in the present. You never were far from his thoughts and Bill knew his weak spot.

He could pull his own hair from his scalp at his own negligence, scream at the top of his lungs for the danger that he put you in, or cry at the worry he felt after learning of your tumble down the stairs caused by someone he once called his friend. However, he did none of those things.

Once he had tucked you in for a second time, Ford sank into the old chair beside your bed. The springs groan under his weight, the leather cracked and worn from years of use. He stared at you for a long moment, watching your chest rise and fall as you slept peacefully. It made his heart ache. How innocent you looked, under a heap of soft blankets, completely unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond your dreams. A dim lamp casting a light golden glow across the room that seemed like a fragile barrier against the dark shadow Bill Cipher cast on this night. 

Ford’s hand shook as he plucked a pen from your desk and opened the journal he had tucked in his coat pocket, the ink bleed slightly as he pressed it to the parchment. He wrote furiously, his mind racing with all sorts of plans, but one thought rang through: I can’t let him take her. Not my daughter.

[bookshelf-dust]

can u pleaaaasseeeeee write something rly cute w patrick and reader where she takes care of him:((( maybe after the match where tashi gets injured he doesn't know where to go and he goes to her, and she comforts him and yk. like i just wanna give him a hug so bad

patrick zweig x fem!reader

word count: 1,208

warnings: a little swearing, overwhelmed/frustrated patrick, reader tries to straighten him out but also make him feel better, fluff (i can’t think of anything else)

a/n: hii baby!! i don’t usually take requests, but i loved this idea too much to let it slip away!!! i turned it into a little baby fic for you, and left it so you can interpret reader and patrick’s relationship however you’d like. and i made sure to give him that big big hug!! it takes place right after art and tashi tell patrick to get the fuck out lol. thank you for sharing this idea with me and i hope you enjoy it!!! <33

————

“I didn’t go to the match.” 

Patrick says your name desperately, like he needs you to make this better somehow. You don’t have the heart to tell him this is out of your wheelhouse. 

The man is pacing, fingers weaving in between his knotted curls and tugging at them, making his hair greasier by the minute. He’s sweaty, wearing a shirt you thought belonged to Tashi. In truth, his manic state is making you dizzy. 

“You didn’t go?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. You sink further into the couch cushions. 

“No. I fucked off after we fought and—” 

“And,” you finish for him, “now the headlines are blowing up because Tashi fucking Duncan’s been injured and might’ve just jeopardized her entire career.” 

Patrick kicks the base of the oversized chair you keep in the corner of your living room. “Fuck!” he shouts. 

You stand up quick enough to make your vision blur, but ignore it. “Hey! Shithead! Don’t go fuckin’ with my furniture.” 

He raises his hands, his cheeks flushed. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—

“No, you shouldn’t. Now sit your pretty ass down and tell me why you’re so panicked. I don’t have time for minced words.”

Patrick sits down. He watches as you lean over the side of the couch, the soft leather creaking, your oversized pajama shirt riding up to reveal cotton shorts. He realizes with a start that you’d settled in for the night when he barged in. 

Being hit in the stomach with a ball snaps him out of his reverie. “There,” you say. “Squeeze that instead of hurting my shit.” He looks down at the stress ball in his hands and sits in the chair he’d just brutalized. 

He’s quiet for a few more minutes, and you’re just about to say his name when he speaks. 

“I told Tashi I didn’t want to be her groupie. I don’t even know why I said it, I-I just got fed up with planning everything around her tournaments and Art’s at fucking Stanford and I…I just think I’m pretty damn good at tennis too…right? When will it be my turn to be number one?”

Your brow creases. “If you didn’t go to the game, how’d you know she got injured so fast?”

That’s not what Patrick was expecting you to say, but he supposes it’s a valid question. He’s not used to having someone be so assertive with him. But maybe that’s why you work. 

“I, uh, I went down to apologize, and you know word spreads pretty fast about that shit, so when I heard someone talking about her knee, I just started walking. And then Tashi and Art were in the infirmary, and obviously she’d told him what I’d said and they both—”

He’s rambling, and you’re not sure he’s taken a proper breath at all since he got here. “Patrick.” You stop him before he keels over on your rug. “Come sit over here with me.”

He does what you say because he can’t form a single coherent thought and instructions sound really nice. 

“You stood up for yourself, alright? That’s okay. I’m sure Tashi did the same. I’m sure you both said things you didn’t mean. But…it’s not any of my business.” You pause. 

You love Patrick. He's one of the few people you’ve been able to connect with and never worry about where you stand or whether they’ll be there for you if you’re in deep shit. And right now you just want to be a neutral party. He never worries about things going wrong like this, and then he’s never prepared and can’t handle it.

You inhale and continue. Patrick’s eyes are glued to your face, taking in every feature and waiting desperately for you to give him the lifeline he needs. He looks young and scared, and pleading. 

“You have to give Tashi some space. She’s a strong woman, a total badass, but this is fucking huge, Patrick, y’know? Don’t overwhelm her any more. Give Art some time too, okay? If you go to them now it’s gonna be a shit show.”

He nods, his eyes bordering dangerously on the edge of becoming watery. All he hears is alone, alone, alone. Patience is not his strong suit. 

“It’s not your fault Tashi got injured, Patrick. It’s just bad timing. You never could’ve known she’d get hurt a few hours after you ripped her a new one.”

He snorts. He knows you’re trying to make him feel better. And what else did he come over here for? 

“I know,” he finally says. “I just got so pent up, and admittedly I’ve been a dick lately, but I don’t know what to do.”

You shrug, a little smile appearing on your face. “So don’t be a dick.”

Patrick blinks at you. “Don’t be a dick?”

“Yeah, don’t be a massive dick and don’t let yours control your decisions either, Zweig.” He almost protests, but you hold up a hand. “You know I’m right. For now, just focus on doing your job, and it will all sort itself out.”

He lets out a low laugh and starts shaking his head. He can’t believe this is his life right now. Honestly he should though, because of course it’d wind up being a shit show after such a good streak. 

“Patrick?”

The gentle tone of your voice snaps him out of his reverie. He finds your gaze with impressive speed. “Hm?”

“Would you like to lay down? We could—

“Yes.” Patrick sits up on his knees, eyes shining and waiting for whatever embrace you’ll give him. 

Without speaking, you lay down on your side with your spine pressed to the back of the couch. Patrick lays down next to you so quickly you think he might’ve gotten whiplash, and buries his face in your collarbones. He tucks one hand under his cheek and wraps the other one around your waist. You let him rest his temple on your arm and hug him close to you.

“It’s all gonna work out, okay, sweetheart? I’ll be here when the shit hits the fan.”

He looks up at you. “And when it doesn’t?”

“I’ll still be here anyway. You don’t ever have to suffer alone.”

Patrick lets out a little laugh. “You’ll suffer with me?”

You scratch at the base of his scalp with your nails. “Of course. I love suffering with you, Mr. Zweig.”

Patrick smiles, amazed at how he landed you for a best friend. You’ve never judged him a day in your life, even when he’s made the shittiest of all decisions and pushed everyone else away. 

He lowers his head and burrows back into the warmth of your embrace. “Me too,” he mumbles. 

“And Patrick? I just want you to know that you are fucking stellar at tennis. You’re great, and you’re talented, and you don’t need validation from anyone else to recognize that. But if it helps, you’re always number one in my heart.”

He squeezes you, closing his eyes so he doesn’t cry because you’re being so sweet. You give him tough love, but that’s what he needs. 

“Thank you,” he says. And he means it. He believes what you’re saying, and he realizes he always has. 

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[rayhalloffame]

Prompt 25 angsty with Art Donaldson please pretty pleaseee😩🛐

This one got away from me a little bit haha I hope you enjoy!! Requests are open, feel free to deviate from the prompt list if you’d like!

F!reader x Stanford!Art Donaldson

25. “It hurts...” “what?” “Loving someone who doesn’t love you...”

What’s frustrating is that it’s not the first time you’ve had this conversation. You’ve tried to make him understand how his behavior is perceived, how it makes you feel. He always tells you you’re thinking about it too much, if he didn’t love you he wouldn’t be with you. It’s hard not to believe him when in the next moment he’s reaching for you to pull you into his lap and pepper your face with kisses until you’re a giggling mess.

That’s why when he asks if he could spend the night after practice, you were happy to have him. Between your class schedule and his tennis schedule, making time for each other was hard, but always worth it. Your only request was that he come over no later than 10pm because you had a big exam the next day.

You must’ve fallen asleep in bed while studying and waiting for Art, because you’re startled awake by the obnoxious ringtone Art had set for himself. You reach for the phone, grateful your roommate is away for the night so you’re not disturbing anyone. When the clock flashes the time at you, it reads 11:47pm. You bring the phone to your ear and say nothing, annoyed.

“Baby?” Art whispers. “Are you still awake?”

You consider feigning asleep. Maybe he’ll think you answered the phone just to get the ringing to stop. But you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t want to see him. You hadn’t spent a proper night together in over 2 weeks, just FaceTimes and lunches wherever you could fit them. You stifle a yawn and pull yourself to a seated position, quietly ask him where he is.

He sounds happy to hear you, tells you that he’s walking to you now and is about 5 minutes away. You let him ramble while you flick your light on and close the books scattered on your bed. By the time he reaches your door your bed is clear and you’ve spritzed it with your perfume for good measure.

He’s leaning against the doorframe when you pull it open, looking apologetic. “Sorry I’m late,” he offers sweetly, reaches his hand out to drag his knuckle down your cheek. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” You hum in acknowledgment, still annoyed but stepping aside to let him in.

He drops his tennis gear and book bag at your desk, slips off his slides, then turns so he can sit on the edge of the wooden furniture. His legs are spread just enough for you to slip between them when he reaches for you. “Gonna give me a kiss or what?” he asks.

You roll your eyes but can never deny him. As you’re leaning in you pluck his red Stanford hat from his head briefly so you can flip it backwards and avoid getting hit in the face by its brim. The kiss is soft and slow, your arms draped over his shoulders. He has a guiding hand on your jaw, the other holding you close by the waist. He hums into your mouth. You’re suddenly more awake when you pull away, suggest taking a shower together in your Jack-and-Jill bathroom before going to sleep.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, thumb stroking your cheek where his hand still rests. “Me and Tashi showered at the athletic center after our session before getting dinner. I didn’t get to wash my hair though, so how about we rain check for a longer shower in the morning?” Oblivious, he pulls you back to him in offer of an apologetic kiss but you turn your head into his hand. His lips press against the corner of your mouth.

You feel sick, drawing away from him, taking 2 steps back. “You and Tashi did what?”

He’s laughing now, holding his hands up. “No, no! We were in different locker rooms.”

“No, Art. You and Tashi went to dinner, when you’ve been with her everyday for the last month. I was so excited you could fit me into your busy schedule and you couldn’t even get here when I asked.” You cross your arms over your chest. You feel your heart speeding up behind your ribs.

“Don’t be like that,” he groans. “We train together and wanted something to eat after.” He waits for your response, and when one doesn’t come, he continues. “I am sorry for being late, though. I lost track of the time.”

Your eyes sting. You can tell they’re watering. You nod your head stiffly, just once. “You know, that really hurts.”

“What?” he asks. He stands to reach for you, spurred into action by the tears swimming in your eyes.

“Loving someone who doesn’t love you. You’re in love with her, Art, not me.” A tear betrays you, slips down your cheek. Before you can angrily swipe it away Art is there, as gentle with you as he’s ever been.

“Don’t do this,” he says. “You’re my girl, of course I love you. And I miss you, you know? Let’s have a good night together.” His tone is pleading.

Never one to deny him, you nod, sniffling. You don’t have the fight in you that you did the handful of other times you’ve had this talk. So you let him tilt your head up to press your lips together, let him pull you into a tight hug where he rests his cheek against the top of your head and rubs his big hand up and down your back.

He’s stripping down to his boxers in the next minute and pulling his Stanford hoodie over your head. He tells you you’re beautiful, squeezes your cheeks together cutely. When you get into your twin xl bed he pulls you tight against his body. You hike a leg over his hip, relish in the feel of his fingers stroking up and down your thigh.

It’s not often you can tell when something is going to be the last time. But in this moment you know. This will be the last time Art Donaldson holds you to sleep, the last time you trace patterns on his chest. You savor his touch and will yourself not to cry, tuck your head into the crevice of his neck and try to memorize his scent. You try not to think too much about how he put on cologne to go to dinner with her.

[faheemgour]

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[billietherock]

There was no Weirdmageddon (pt3)

By: Billietherock

Chapter 1 (pt2) - The Demon

Bill Cipher is a demon. In terms of demons Bill is a child or at the very least childlike in temperament. Loud, brash, destructive, but even that in itself is dangerous. With how human Bill acts sometimes, it’s no mystery how he’s managed to snare quite a few humans into his trap.

While most demons prefer fear or violence to get humans to do what they want, like some super natural Batman, Bill has employed a little more tact. Flattery, whispering sweet nothings, feeding the ego until he has his victim wrapped around his finger. Then, a deal, to finish finding their answers, to inhabit their bodies whenever he wants not only when they gave him permission to.

Bill’s world is dreamlike blue color, constantly shifting like a kaleidoscope to different shades and different layouts. Bill decided on this since it makes the yellow of his own form pop out, makes him the center of attention. It was just a coincidence that blue was a nice calming color. At the moment, he was laying back as best he could, mulling over his plan and more importantly, waiting for Ford.

It’s not like he hasn’t invaded the dreams of people before, he has, many times to many different people from many different walks of life. There was just something about Ford that… intrigued him. Much like himself, Ford didn’t really have anyone, not even his parents, Bill didn’t bother for the details since it wasn’t important to him and… even then.

With a wave of his hand a myriad of different equations and photos appeared. Bill rolls his eye, of course some shut in scientist would make him feel something, it couldn’t be someone else… At the very least he was interesting. Bill floats up and takes a photo from the air. It was simple, him just taking a picture of Ford doing some calculations for the portal. Bill huffs and floats back down.

He looks over Stanford’s body in the picture, and how well he was doing those calculations, Bill prides himself in being one of the very few able to tear Ford away from his work. He chuckles to himself, mostly cause soon he’d only have these memories of Ford, cause the universe would be destroyed. He pauses for a moment, maybe he could take Ford. Nothing said the scientist had to be destroyed with the rest of the universe.

He chuckles at the thought. They could continue filling up this dream world with equations and memories. No, they would fill up galaxies with information or whatever Ford likes to study in his off time now. Even when he isn’t working, Stanford Pines can’t help but research.

Suddenly, Bill floats up, hasn’t realized so much time had past. He knew Ford would be here any minute, he had to make the mind space look presentable, especially with what he was about to ask him.

With a wave of his hand the pictures and equations disappear. With a snap of his fingers a few peices of furniture appear, two chairs made of oak, beautifully carved with symbols relating to Bill himself. He snaps his fingers again and a small oak coffee table with a beautiful yellow table cloth appeared between them.

Bill sits in his own chair, significantly smaller then Ford’s, however it floated up so he could see over the table. He holds out his hand and a tea pot appears, holding the teapot just under his eye, his eyelids turn into lips. A second later, boiling hot tea is spat out into the tea pot. Bill places it gently on the table where magically, a few pastries and sugar lumps appeared.

The last thing he does is tap the table gently, two tea cups appear. The one closest to Bill had a chip taken out of it, while Ford’s was pristine. Bill puts his elbows on the table and links his fingers together, waiting for Stanford.

Bill couldn’t help but hum a song he heard from a previous victim long ago. It was just so quiet in here without anyone talking or even breathing near him. The silence was making him go crazy, and not in the fun way. He kicks his feet and looks around, waiting for that telltale sign that Ford was entering the Mind-space.

Almost as if Ford was waiting for Bill to think that, Bill saw a flash of the ritual room. If Bill could smile he would, after a moment he turns his body. There waiting in the middle of the mind-space was Stanford Pines. Bill could only convey his excitement with his one eye, but his emotions at least to Stanford were made clear.

“Welcome back, Sixer.”

(Thank You for all the support on the previous parts! I’m having a blast working on this and I hope that everyone enjoys it. If there are any Grammar or spelling mistakes I will fix them in due time)