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juice-boxs-things · 8 months ago

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fidds and reader newly wed headcanons?? maybe how the dynamic changes after being married, OwO im feral over that man I cant help myself (im so sorry emma-may 😔)

♡˚· fiddleford x reader newlyweds headcanons ·˚♡

a/n: a little bit nervous because ive never written him before, but he's such a sweetheart! i got some reqs for him, so expect more Fiddleford fics <3 (especially that ford x reader x fidds one ohh)

୨ৎ the first morning after the wedding you both wake up and realise you’re actually married now. it hits differently. you’re just lying tangled in sheets and he looks over at you all goofy-eyed, he’s not entirely sure how to start the day now that you’re his forever. so, naturally, he presses a kiss to your forehead and says something ridiculous like, “well, darlin’, guess we don’t gotta pretend anymore. you’re mine now.”

୨ৎ honestly, he thrives on the idea of being your husband. his heart beats faster whenever you call him “my husband,” and you’ll catch him grinning like a fool, no matter how much he tries to hide it

୨ৎ when he’s proud of you ohhh, boy he’ll tell everyone. “did I mention my partner just finished this big project? oh, you gotta see it, they’re a genius! ABSOLUTE genius! smarter than me, even!”

୨ৎ he's still awkward, so awkward. before, he had his own world of gadgets and mysteries, but now, you are the new mystery. his brain goes into overdrive at the simplest things, for example when you call him “honey” or leave him little notes around the house, doesn't matter how silly, it melts him. you might find him randomly fixing stuff around the house, but he's also sneaking glances at you, totally lost in his new reality of "oh, wow, this is MY person now." honestly, he gets all shy around you, still a little clumsy, but he loves you so much. when he tries to give you something he made, his hands shake a bit

୨ৎ he’s touchier after marriage. he was always affectionate, but now he does it ALWAYS. he’ll wrap his arms around your waist while you’re cooking, press his nose into your hair when you’re reading, fall asleep holding your hand. he’s yours now, and he wants to remind you of that every single second

୨ৎ after the wedding, Fidds is lowkey obsessed with documenting every little thing about married life (because he still can't believe he married such beautiful person like you). if you both take a walk through the woods, he’ll bring out his old camera, snap a photo, and get all sentimental about it. "i reckon this here’s the first time we’ve taken a walk together as a married couple. gotta remember this moment.” expect a scrapbook of your married life by next week

୨ৎ your wedding bands become a point of obsession for him. he’s constantly fiddling with his ring, twisting it around his finger and grinning every time he catches a glimpse of yours. “still can’t believe it,” he’ll say, holding your hand and running his thumb over the metal. “we’re really married. that's. . . wow.”

୨ৎ when you gently wipe grease off his cheek after he’s been tinkering for hours, he just stops, blinks at you. he’s trying not to cry. he fails

୨ৎ if you'll kiss him first (usually it happens when hes rambling about some invention), so you just kiss him mid-sentence, he freezes for a second, hovering his hands in the air, not knowing what to do, before melting into it, kissing you back with this little laugh. he loves the fact that you’re so open with your affection, he’s a big softie in disguise.

୨ৎ speaking of coffee, he steals sips of yours all the time, because “yours just tastes better, somehow”

୨ৎ your own inside jokes have blossomed since you married. Fidds can make a random reference about something that happened years ago and you’ll both burst into laughter

୨ৎ when you’re doing something productive, like working on a project or focusing on a task, Fidds likes to be near you. he can be just tinkering with his own creations, but he’ll make sure to peek at your work every now and then, and give you the most proud smile. “look at you, my little genius,” he’ll say, completely unaware that his compliments are giving you butterflies

୨ৎ shopping trips together!! he’s just so excited by the smallest things. he’ll find a weird gadget and be like, “hoo boy, look at this! can we get it? what if we used this for the house? or better yet, for our projects??” and just like that you’re leaving with random junk, this guy is obsessed with collecting anything that could possibly make your life together more fun

୨ৎ married life and science is a whole thing now. Fidds will tell you about new experiments, and instead of just nodding along, you end up helping out, usually in the form of holding things while he gets super excited. you’re his sounding board for crazy ideas. he looks at you as if you’ve just solved the world’s biggest mystery when you suggest something small, “hey Fidds what if we tried using duct tape for that?” you’re the reason his inventions have a chance at working

୨ৎ Fidds is an inventor, but he’s also a man who shows love in action. if you’re tired from work or a long day, he’s the one finding the blanket, making sure your feet are propped up and bringing you whatever snacks he can find in the fridge

୨ৎ one day, after a particularly frustrating project Fidds will come to you looking all defeated and will sit down on the couch, burying his face in his hands. and in that moment, you just get it. you sit beside him, silently handing him a cup of tea (you know he needs it) and just let him have a moment. sometimes that’s the thing he needs most. hes such a sad puppy though

୨ৎ also, spontaneous bursts of affection have become a thing. ehehehe he’ll walk in the door, glance at you, and before you know it, he’s spun you around for a hug like you’ve been apart for years. it’s never just “hey,” it’s always “there you are!!” you’ll be sitting on the couch watching TV, and suddenly he’ll kiss your temple without warning and murmur, “couldn’t imagine life without you, baby.” and then he goes back to his tools like it was nothing

୨ৎ arguments are rare, but when they do happen, he always apologizes first and his sincerity makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long

୨ৎ suddenly, every little thing becomes a team project. you’re cleaning up the attic, and Fidds already running to you, “hold on, hold on, we can make this a fun thing!”

୨ৎ dates with him be like: stargazing on the roof, a picnic under the tree in the yard or walking around the weirdest, most obscure spots in town just because they’re “interesting” (and because it’s funny to him). but more than all its because you’re his favorite person to explore the world with, no matter how strange

୨ৎ late-night talks about dreams and what the future holds when you both lay there, staring at the ceiling, he’ll start talking about the life you’re going to build.

“i wanna grow old with you, sugar. like, I don’t even care where we live, as long as I get to wake up next to you every day.”

୨ৎ you show him love too, of course. when you catch him fiddling with some new idea, you’ll pull him away for a break and give him the softest kiss on the cheek, telling him how amazing he is. “you’re brilliant, you know that?” and his whole face lights up because you’ve given him the biggest compliment ever

୨ৎ when you both get out of the shower, dripping wet, he’ll always catch you in a hug, pressing you against him. he’ll nuzzle into your damp hair and kiss your temple, feeling the droplets between you both. ahh this man is so tender

୨ৎ romantic dinners at home are perfect. its not some fancy restaurant, you prefer to eat home-cooked meal that Fiddleford probably messed up, but it still tastes amazing because he made it with you in mind

୨ৎ after a long day of work, Fidds doesn’t just greet you at the door with a kiss, no, he prefers to pick you up, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground for a second as he spins you around in a dizzying, loving hug

୨ৎ sometimes he’ll just stare at you while you’re doing the most mundane thing, washing dishes, tying your shoe, whatever and then blurt out something like, “y'know, marryin’ you was the smartest thing I ever did.”

୨ৎ he’s the kind of guy who’ll pull you into a sudden, twirling hug just because he missed you while you were in the other room

୨ৎ Fiddleford is the most affectionate husband ever. this man’s idea of waking you up is to just cling to you, half asleep, rubbing his face into your hair. if you're a heavy sleeper, he’ll just nuzzle you with an adorable grunt and whisper, “i love you,”. he’s a bit of a morning cuddler, okay, maybe A LOT of a cuddler. you can't get away without some snuggles, not with this man.

୨ৎ he still blushes like it's the first time when you compliment him. especially loves when you say stuff as “you’re so smart, Fidds,” and he’ll literally hide his face in his hands. ("aw, shucks, don’t go makin’ me all red now…")

“cmon, darlin’. . . just five more minutes” as he clings to you like a koala. when he eventually gets up, he grumbles, almost falls out of bed, but always kisses you first trying to prolong the moment

୨ৎ cooking together, absolutely. Fiddford’s idea of cooking is throwing random ingredients into a pot and seeing what happens. loves experiments!! he gets real excited when he’s got you by his side, though.

୨ৎ there's probably some moments where he's way too deep in his work and forgets to take care of himself, but you’re there to remind him to drink water and maybe throw in some playful teasing (sometimes gets embarrassed about it, but also secretly so happy)

୨ৎ he loves going on random road trips with you! he's packing up in the car and driving nowhere in particular. he usually turns on the radio, and it’s either some classic country or him singing at the top of his lungs to songs. he’s terrible at directions, so you end up lost, but it’s okay, because you end up having the best spontaneous adventures!

୨ৎ tries to teach you how to fix one of his machines, but you keep getting distracted by how cute he looks explaining everything. eventually, he catches on and starts teasing you about it

୨ৎ will always try to make you laugh, even if his humor is as chaotic as his brain, “why don’t skeletons fight each other? they don’t have the guts!”

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you

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juice-boxs-things · 8 months ago

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✧・₊˚ 🕯️christmas with the gravity falls characters 🎄₊˚ ・✧

𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

a/n: i know, i know, Stan and Ford are jewish, but still, i wanted to make this little gift for you all with your favourite characters

・₊˚ ❄️ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

definitely loves watching the same old black-and-white holiday movies, cackling like he’s never seen them before. you spend the day with him in the mystery shack, surrounded by all the tacky decorations he somehow managed to find for fifty cents or less, because of course he’d never spend actual money on something frivolous like a real christmas tree. nah, you get the plastic one he found at a garage sale, still missing half its branches but looking perfect in his eyes. and then he winks at you, smiling awkwardly, as if you didn’t just catch him trying to use duct tape to stick a piece of tinsel back on.

he’d totally try to sell you the idea of the “mystery shack christmas deluxe experience” where you roast hot dogs instead of chestnuts and every gift is “mystery-themed” (read: stuff he didn’t sell during summer tourist season). but then, once he realizes you're not buying into the grift, he’ll sit with you on the couch in his beat-up old slippers, placing an arm around your shoulder while you both share a bottle of wine, Stan keeps glancing at you during such quiet moments, because he’s simply not sure how he got so lucky to have you around for a holiday he didn’t even care about before you showed up in his life.

𓂃⋆.˚ his gifts come straight from the heart. something handmade, like a charm bracelet he cobbled together from trinkets he’s kept from his con days, or a mixtape full of the music that reminds him of you.

𓂃⋆.˚ he buys you your favorite snacks, no matter how obscure or hard to find. it’s his love language to see your beautiful eyes light up when you see them on the counter, all for you, his most beloved person in the whole world

𓂃⋆.˚ one christmas, he gave you a framed picture of you both, taken during one of the rare moments he wasn’t scowling at the camera. you’d been laughing, mid-snowball fight and he’d secretly printed and framed it because he thought it was the best picture of the two of you ever taken

𓂃⋆.˚ Stan loves christmas movies, especially the cheesy, feel-good ones. you’ll find him crying over the ending of It’s a Wonderful Life and insisting it’s “just allergies.”

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s a sucker for mistletoe. he’ll hang it everywhere, just so he has an excuse to kiss you. even when you’re not under it, he’ll point vaguely upwards and say, “hey, mistletoe,” before pulling you in.

𓂃⋆.˚ Stan puts antlers on the stanleymobile. he would

***

Stan isn’t big on planning, but he knows you’ve been looking forward to the holiday festivities downtown. he grumbles about the cold and the crowds, but the moment you take his hand and lead him toward the string lights and decorated shops, he softens.

he insists on winning you something at one of those cheesy carnival games, even though he curses every time he misses. eventually, he manages to snag a small, wonky-looking stuffed reindeer and hands it to you with a self-satisfied smirk.

“there. merry christmas, kid,” he says, ruffling your hair in teasing, affectionate way.

you drag him to the ice rink, and though he complains the entire time, he lets you pull him onto the ice. he’s clumsy as he tries not to fall, but when you laugh and hold onto him, he relaxes. by the end of it, you’re both clinging to each other, red-faced and breathless from laughter, but so happy to share this moment together.

when the evening winds down, Stan buys you both hot cider from a street vendor and finds a spot by the giant christmas tree in the town square. he slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both admire the lights.

“this ain’t so bad. . . as long as you’re here.” as he leans to kiss you.

✧𐙚 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

ford’s version of christmas is surprisingly tender, a little awkward at first because, you know, the guy’s been trapped in alternate dimensions for thirty years and kinda forgot how to do this whole “holiday cheer” thing. he insists on going all out though: a real tree, real ornaments (none of Stan’s tacky nonsense), and actual thought put into the gifts he gives you.

you catch him late at night in the living room as he fiddles with an ornament in his hands. it’s something handmade, probably from one of his crazy adventures in random universes. when he notices you watching, he smiles shyly.

“this holiday. . . it reminds me of what i missed out on, but being here with you, it makes me feel like i’m reclaiming some of that.” he hesitates for a second, taking your hand in his. “thank you. . . for reminding me what home feels like.”

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s the kind of guy who surprises you with heartfelt little gestures, like writing you a short story as a gift or carving something intricate out of wood

𓂃⋆.˚ his gifts are so painfully thoughtful because he stays awake all night thinking about the perfect thing. a first edition book that reminds him of your favorite stories, complete with a personal inscription in his cursive handwriting

𓂃⋆.˚ little treasures from his multidimensional travels: pressed flowers from an alien world, rocks from another dimension that shimmer in the light, a hand-drawn star map of the night he first realized he loved you

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s too shy to hand them over directly so he’ll leave them on your desk or your pillow with a note that simply says: “for you.” his heart always pounds until you smile and kiss him in thanks

𓂃⋆.˚ he loves practicality but puts so much heart into it. one year, he crafted a custom notebook for you, complete with little sketches and a pressed flower he found on one of your walks

𓂃⋆.˚ he wraps everything with precise care. edges folded sharply, no stray tape. it’s absurdly cute watching this man hunch over his workbench, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as he tries to make the wrapping paper perfect

***

Ford plans everything. he doesn’t let you know until the last second, of course, he just tells you to bundle up and meet him outside the cabin, a thermos of hot chocolate already waiting for you in his hands. his scarf is wrapped haphazardly around his neck and his glasses are fogging up as he waits for you.

“you’re going to love this,” he promises excitedly as he leads you toward a clearing in the woods where a telescope is already set up with its lens gleaming in the moonlight.

Ford’s breath is visible in the cold night air as he begins pointing out constellations. his voice is soft but brimming with passion as he tells you stories of orion, cassiopeia and scorpius. then he smiles and points to one bright star in particular.

“that’s sirius, the dog star,” he explains. “it’s the brightest star in the sky and it rises in winter.”

you’re so caught up in his voice that you barely notice him draping his coat over your shoulders to keep you warm. his arm brushes yours and he leans in close to adjust the telescope for you.

later, you both sit on a plaid blanket he brought along, sharing marshmallows from his pocket (a surprisingly cute habit of his). he points out meteors and tells you about the science behind them, but when you notice him stealing glances at you, you realize that he’s more interested in the stars reflected in your eyes.

🕯️✧ 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐫

you’re pretty sure he doesn’t even understand the concept of Christmas at first. he just likes the idea of shiny things, chaos, and people losing their minds over last-minute shopping. this demon will conjure up decorations that shouldn’t exist in this reality, like ornaments that sing creepy songs when you touch them or garlands made out of what you hope are fake teeth.

“aw, sweetie, you mortals and your ridiculous traditions! let me guess, you want peace on earth, goodwill toward men, blah blah blah.” he laughs. but what you don’t expect is when he snaps his fingers to make snow fall inside your living room. romantic, isn’t it?

but just when you think he’s gonna ruin the whole thing, he floats close to you, winking at you with his single eye. “y’know, for a meat sack, you’ve got some pretty decent taste in holidays. let’s make this one memorable, shall we?”

and memorable it is. whether it’s him warping reality to give you the most extravagant gifts you’ve ever seen (did he just pull a diamond-encrusted reindeer out of nowhere?) or making the stars spell out your name as a “christmas present,” he’s nothing if not dramatic. it’s so chaotic and unsettling, but dating Bill, you got used to find it weirdly romantic.

𓂃⋆.˚ he doesn’t wrap his gifts. he just hands them to you saying “you’re welcome, sweetie.”

𓂃⋆.˚ snowball fights with bill are intense. he cheats., making snowballs hover in the air before pelting you with them. but he’ll let you win in the end, claiming it’s because you’re his “favorite meat sack.”

𓂃⋆.˚ bill tries to summon krampus just to spice things up. it does NOT go well.

𓂃⋆.˚ bill LOVES christmas carols, but he never sings them right. he changes the lyrics to absurd or downright creepy things just to make you laugh. “oh, the weather outside is frightful, and so are the screams of mortals!”

𓂃⋆.˚ bill would absolutely gift you something ridiculous, borderline threatening. you open it and it’s. . . what? a cursed snowglobe? a contract you accidentally signed by touching the ribbon? he’s laughing, until you roll your eyes and toss the whole thing in the fireplace. poor guy is shocked

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s got a twisted sense of humor, so his gifts are always a bit offbeat too, for example, a bottle of some mystical liquid, or even just an empty box with a cryptic note inside (pls don’t read it out loud!!)

𓂃⋆.˚ but then he’ll surprise you with something. . . oddly sentimental, like a necklace engraved with your initials in gold

***

Bill shows up uninvited on christmas eve because he loves bothering his little human. no warning, no knock on the door, just bam and your the fireplace goes cold and there he is: spinning lazily above your living room, his one big eye watching bc you. “surprise, sweetie! It’s me, your beloved demon!“ is he. . . wearing a tiny santa hat perched on his corner??

“HO HO HO! MERRY APOCALYPSE!” he shouts, throwing candy canes that explode on impact. your couch is gone, replaced by a pile of something vaguely moving. you don’t ask

he’s already decorated your living room. except “decorated” is generous, it’s like if christmas threw up on a nightmare. ornaments float mid-air, blinking like eyes; tinsel coils around the walls like it’s alive; the tree is definitely moving, it waves at you.

“you didn’t think I’d miss the holiday season, did you?!” he laughs loudly, his tone got a weird excitement in it, like he genuinely loves this. “ahh, Christmas, a time for giving, receiving and unraveling the fragile sanity of your pitiful mortal mind! i brought presents!”

he snaps his fingers and it’s not a good sign, because every time he does it, you prepare for something creepy and weird. suddenly there’s a pile of gifts under the writhing tree. you’re hesitant, obviously, because one of the boxes is hissing and another is. . . uh, glowing? but Bill’s so excited, floating in circles and chanting “open ‘em! open ‘em!” you cave.

you hesitate. “. . . what’s the catch?”

his single eye narrows, offended. “oh, come on, baby. dont you trust me?”

you don’t, obviously, but curiosity is a terrible drug. so you reach out.

the first box is full of. . . how cute, teeth. just teeth. human? animal? who knows. Bill cackles. “thought you could use some spare parts!” the second box explodes into confetti that screams too damn loud your head hurts. and the third. . . oh, the third box contains a perfectly normal sweater. you blink at it, suspicious.

“what? cant a guy be sentimental?” Bill grumbles, narrowing his eye. then he lunges forward, the sweater levitating out of the box and straight onto you. “aww, look at you! you’re adorable! now let’s go and sing carols and by carols I mean we’re summoning an eldritch horror to devour the moon!“

merry christmas, you guess?

🎄๋࣭⭑ 𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐜𝐠𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭

Christmas with Fiddleford is the epitome of cozy. he’s humming holiday tunes while tinkering with some gadget that probably doesn’t belong anywhere near the christmas tree and the smell of something sweet and homemade fills the air. . . probably pie, because you know that man can bake.

a goofy smile is plastered on his face the whole day, his laughter fills the house every time you catch him singing off-key or accidentally setting something on fire in the kitchen, but don’t worry, he’s got a fire extinguisher handy.

“now don’t you worry, darlin’, christmas ain’t ‘bout fancy gifts or big ol’ decorations. it’s about spendin it with the folks ya love!”

he insists on sitting by the fire with you later with his banjo on his knee as he strums something soft and slow. he swears it’s not a carol! but god, the way this man looks at you while playing. . . you swear your heart melts a little right there. “merry christmas, sugar.” you smile and lean your head on his shoulder

𓂃⋆.˚ Fiddleford also loves making little gadgets as gifts. one year, he made you a wind-up snow globe that plays a soft lullaby and snows glitter. he was so proud of it

𓂃⋆.˚ he loves making you laugh so his gift might be something silly, like a tiny, dancing robot chicken. but it always comes with a heartfelt, “just somethin to remind ya how special you are to me.”

𓂃⋆.˚ oh, he knits. scarves, mittens, sweaters, you name it, he’s made it. he even knits little ornaments to hang on the tree. your first christmas together, he made you a scarf in your favorite colors and was so shy about giving it to you

𓂃⋆.˚ he always makes a little handmade card to go with his gifts, with a sweet note inside telling you how much you mean to him.

𓂃⋆.˚ he’s a baker during christmas. the smell of cookies fills the house and he always sneaks you a bite of dough, claiming it’s for “quality control.”

𓂃⋆.˚ when it’s snowing, he’ll insist on taking you outside to build snowmen!!

𓂃⋆.˚ gets really embarrassed but also so happy when you compliment his work. he blushes furiously and tries to brush it off, but deep down, he loves that someone appreciates him

***

Fiddleford’s kitchen is a mess of flour, sugar and cinnamon. he insists on baking cookies from scratch, even though he’s clearly winging it.

“don’t worry, darling, a lil bit of mess just means it’s gonna taste better,” he assures you, his whole face is dusted with flour.

he hums christmas carols as he works. when you try to help, he wraps his arms around you from behind and guides your hands as you roll out the dough. and damn, his touch is so comforting and warm, better than any fireplace.

“now that’s the spirit, love,” he says, nuzzling your neck.

the cookies come out slightly misshapen but so delicious and cute, Fiddleford insists on decorating them together. he smears frosting on your nose at one point, laughing when you retaliate by smearing some on his cheek.

later, as the cookies cool, he pulls you onto the couch with a cozy quilt and mugs of spiced cider. he kisses your temple and murmurs, “best christmas i ever had,” as the fire crackles softly in the background.

#gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #x reader #gravity falls x you

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juice-boxs-things · 9 months ago

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More of this, please. >:3

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape.

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it.

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options.

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away.

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best.

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip.

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in.

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend.

Your confidant.

Your everything.

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier.

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit.

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses.

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air.

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move.

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different.

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man.

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you.

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location.

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow.

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways.

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave.

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream.

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store.

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register.

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf.

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too.

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this?

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere.

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips.

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid.

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause.

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!”

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand.

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash.

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had-

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal.

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done?

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood.

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor.

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head.

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close.

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence.

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence.

“Woah, this just got really awkward.”

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.”

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long.

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them.

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face.

Your name spilled from his lips.

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you.

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor.

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?”

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.”

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

#dcu x reader #dcu x mcu #dc universe #justice league #barry allen x reader #barry allen #wally west #the flash #flash x reader #kid flash #young justice #dealing with grief #grieving #unhealthy coping mechanisms #hurt/comfort

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juice-boxs-things · 10 months ago

Note

Beautiful absolutely beautiful 😭

hiii! I saw your post and I wanted to share pre portal Stan who falls in love with you as y’all work on the portal together 💕

He thinks that you’re so smart and beautiful and kind and so soft especially so soft with him. you’re grieving the loss of your one of your dearest friends from college, but youre not upset at him and you don’t blame Stan for what happened to Ford. Stan lost his brother, his other half and he must be feeling awful and alone and so guilty about everything so ofc you try to be there for him and cheer him up when he’s feeling down. you making food for him and drawing baths for him when he starts getting neglecting his own needs as he’s so hyper focused on getting Ford back.

Pre portal Stan who starts having fantasies about you. he thought you were the most beautiful girl he’s seen so ofc they start off pretty explicit and he feels so guilty and so dirty. He doesn’t deserve you and you shouldn’t be forced to stay here with him, a dead end loser with no job. a loser who pushes all and any good things away from him. the loser who pushed his brother, your friend, into the portal

he starts dreaming of having you in all different positions in every room of the house. in the kitchen, the bathroom, and the lab. but he can’t help him self. you’re always there to help him feel better and even now in his head, you’re there to help him.

then those dreams start to shift towards something more domestic and romantic. his fantasies of fuckign your wet a d soapy body against the shower wall turns into something sweeter and more vulnerable. both of you naked in the bath tub, you running yoir fingers thru his hair as you rinse out the shampoo and him helping you scrub that one spot on your back that you can’t reach. sharing kisses and sitting together as you talk about your days letting the water turn cold. you giving him a slow and sensual handjob as you praise him to completion

Pre portal Stan who cums the hardest he’s ever had whenever the dream you looks up him and tells him that you love him. all of his fantasies eventually end that way with you telling him that you love him and everytime he awakes from his lust filled haze, his head more clear and his heart a little more heavy as he comes to the realization that he loves you too and it scares him

OMG, I’m obsessed with your writing!!! your ask is literally a masterpiece THANK U

The way Stan stares at you while you both work on that portal, he’s in awe of your brilliance and your beauty. He can’t even handle how soft you are with him, especially when he’s drowning in guilt over what happened to Ford. The way you touch his shoulder, asking him smth about journals, your fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary or when you bring him a plate of food, sitting with him in quiet sympathy while he picks at it with those tired, calloused hands of his, god, it’s just too much, you’re so damn kind to him, even when he’s at his lowest, feeling like an absolute wreck, no job, no prospects, living in the ruins of his own mistakes, you’re still there and you don’t even blame him??

and don’t even get me started on when his mind starts slipping into those darker, filthier fantasies about you. It’s late at night, maybe you’ve just drifted off on the couch nearby, and Stan can’t stop thinking about you. Can’t stop picturing that sweet, gorgeous body under him, pinned beneath those big, rough hands of his while he lets himself just have you. Stan imagines pressing you up against the lab wall, hands digging into your thighs, spreading you out as he thrusts in so damn deep you’re seeing stars. Hell, he knows he shouldn’t even be thinking about you like this, someone so smart, so kind, so goddamn soft and sweet, but here he is, hard as a rock, mind running wild with fantasies of you crying out his name, arching your back as he fills you up. Stan feels like he’s going to explode, his cock getting hard just thinking about how beautiful you are and how lucky he is to have you by his side. But it’s like a sick joke, because he feels like such a loser. How could someone like you ever be into a deadbeat who pushed his own brother through the portal?

Stanley is tormented by these dreams of taking you in every corner of that house, in the lab, the shower, even on the kitchen table, barely able to hold himself back from just losing it with you. He’s like “no, no, no, this is so wrong!” but he can’t help it. He’s got this need to fill you up, to feel your pretty little pussy clenching around his cock as he takes you again and again, gripping your hips like his life depends on it. Touching you makes him feel so alive yet so fucking guilty, like he’s stealing something he doesn’t deserve.

but Stan doesn’t just want to fuck you; he wants to feel you. Stan starts dreaming about holding you in that damn bath, letting his fingers trace every inch of your skin, washing you so gently you’d think he was handling something breakable. He sees you both naked in the tub, the water cool and soothing, your fingers running through his brown hair as you rinse the shampoo and it’s the most intimate thing ever.

sharing kisses that taste like the warmth of the sun, the softness of your bodies pressed together and those little giggles that make him feel he deserves happiness too. Maybe. Those slow kisses where he’s just desperate for you to know how much he’s feeling and god, the thought of you telling him how much you love him, it’s nothing he’s ever felt before.

Stan is trying so hard to push those dirty fantasies away, but he can’t help the way his mind drifts to you giving him a slow sensual handjob, your gentle fingers wrapped around his throbbing cock while you praise him like he’s the only man in the world. He’s nothing but yours, and it’s terrifying, but he can’t stop.

Stan knows he’s in love and it terrifies him to his core. You’re the light in his dark world and he’s scared of how precious you are to him.

anyways angel, you’re a genius. I loved it sm <333

#gravity falls smut #gravity falls #gravity falls x you

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juice-boxs-things · 10 months ago

Text

I swear to God I'm barking like a dog for this!!!

This made me cry, smile, blushed furiously, absolutely good soup:D

cigarettes after sex

tags: mullet!stan pines, fem!reader, mentions of alcohol and smoking, nsfw, sexual themes, depression, ptsd, drunk sex, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, inspired by cigarettes after sex songs, so I recommend to listen some while reading that :)

Stan hasn't been himself since the portal swallowed Ford up.

His life is ruined, his mind is ruined, everything is ruined. Every single night, he’s hunched over the journals, Ford’s stupid, cryptic notes that Stan can’t figure out, can’t understand, but wants to. It's like trying to read in the dark. He knows there’s something in them, some answer, but it’s out of his reach and every time he thinks about his brother being gone, his chest tightens, that guilt slamming into him so hard he feels like he can’t breathe so he drowns in his own tears.

Stanley knows he’s not the smart one, never was, and now it feels like he’s lost every chance to make things right. The lab is his prison. The cigarettes are his only escape, one after another until the ashtray overflows, the smell of smoke permanently clinging to everything in this place. His eyes burn from lack of sleep, the bags under them deep and dark and he doesn’t bother to clean himself up anymore. What’s the point? He’s all alone. Again.

Tonight, something changes. He can’t sit in that goddamn lab for another second, can’t stare at those useless pages with his head spinning. So, he stumbles out into the cold and ends up at the bar down the street — the only place still open this late.

When he walks in, he’s already halfway drunk and you spot him immediately from across the room. It’s not hard; the guy’s a walking disaster. His coat is rumpled, hair a tangled mess, and his eyes are empty, hollowed out like he’s already lost something far more important than money. You've seen a lot of people sink to the bottom, but this guy sank even lower than most.

Stan doesn’t notice you at first. He barely notices anything as he stumbles up to the bar, hands trembling as he grips the counter. His cigarette hangs loose between his fingers, half burnt and about to fall, but he’s too out of it to care. He leans heavily against the bar, head down like the weight of his own body is too much.

“Whiskey,” he grumbles. “whatever’s cheap.”

The bartender glances at him, sizing him up with a frown. Stan looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, hasn’t eaten much either. It’s written all over him, the sag of his shoulders, the unsteady sway when he tries to straighten up.

The bartender slides the glass toward Stan, but before he even picks it up, he’s already mumbling something under his breath, little grin pulling at his lips. “Don’t think I got the money for this, pal.”

He downs the drink in one go, barely wincing as the burn hits his throat and for a moment, you think he might get away with it. But the bartender’s patience is wearing thin. He scowls, leaning in with narrowed eyes, clearly not in the mood to deal with Stan’s shit tonight.

“I’m not running a charity here,” the bartender snaps. “you pay or you leave.”

Stan grins, and it’s the saddest, most pathetic thing you’ve ever seen. “What, no freebies? Guess I’ll have to put it on my tab.” he laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

The bartender looks about two seconds from throwing Stan out on his ass and for some reason, you find yourself moving before you even realise it. Sliding off your seat, you walk over. Stan doesn’t notice you until you’re standing right next to him, and even then, his gaze is unfocused, blurry as fuck.

Before things get ugly, you step in, sliding a couple bills across the counter, “I’ll cover it.”

The bartender takes the money without a word, though you can feel the tension of the situation, he’s definitely bothered and not in the mood. Stan looks at you, bleary-eyed, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just another hallucination. His mouth twists into that lopsided grin again, but there’s something softer about it this time, like he’s genuinely surprised someone bothered to step in.

He’s too drunk to notice the bartender’s scowl as you grab him by the arm, hauling him to his feet. He stumbles, almost dragging you down with him, but you manage to keep him upright, though just barely.

“Hey, thanks, sweetheart,” he slurs, blinking at you like he’s trying to clear the fog in his head. “didn’t know I’d be gettin’ free drinks tonight.”

He tries to stand up straighter, but the alcohol’s got a firm grip on him. His body sways dangerously so you reach out, grabbing his arm to keep him steady. He’s heavier than you expected, way too much, his body leaning against yours as you pull him away from the bar.

“Come on,” you mutter, dragging him toward the door. “let’s get you out of here before you piss off anyone else.”

Stan stumbles along beside you, his steps unsteady, barely able to keep himself upright. He’s mumbling something under his breath, words too slurred to make out, because he’s so fucking drunk, but you can tell it’s nothing good. Outside, the cold hits you both like a slap to the face. The winter air is brutal, biting through your clothes and cutting through the haze of alcohol that’s been clouding Stan’s head.

“Jesus, it’s freezing out here,” he mutters, blinking against the cold. His breath comes out in visible puffs, his flushed face suddenly looking even redder in the harsh chill. Then he looks at you. “So what, you my babysitter now?

This time you have to shove him back against the wall just to keep him upright. His back hits the cold brick with a dull thud, and he lets out a low, drunken laugh, his head tipping back to rest against the wall.

“Ohh, you gonna pin me here? gotta say, I’m not usually into this kinda thing, but for you, sweetheart, I might make an exception.” his body sags, leaning heavily into the wall as he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “or are you just waiting for me to do something stupid?”

Your brows furrow at that, irritation flaring in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

He’s a mess, a complete disaster, but there’s something about him that makes it hard to walk away. Maybe it’s the way he’s still trying to crack jokes, even when he’s clearly drowning in his own misery. Maybe it’s the way his hands tremble, even though he’s trying to play it off like he doesn’t care.

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes half-lidded as he stares up at the sky. Stan chuckles. “Well, I could just. . . y’know. Throw myself off a cliff. Put an end to all this crap. What’s one more dead Pines, huh?”

He’s not joking anymore. There’s something raw in his voice, he sounds way too hurt, too honest, too broken that makes your stomach twist. You don’t really know what to answer on that. You aren’t that good at supporting people, but supporting drunk guy? He’ll barely hear what you’ll tell him.

You pull a cigarette from your pocket, lighting it up with quick movements, because cold air stinging your fingers. Stan watches you through half-lidded eyes, his breath visible in the frigid air.

“Hey,” he mutters. “mind if I bum one off ya?”

You hand him a cigarette without a word, and he takes it, his fingers still shaking from cold or. . . as he lights it. He leans back against the wall, the smoke curling around his face as he exhales slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.

Neither of you speak after that. There’s nothing to say. You don’t know how to start a talk either. Is it even needed?

Stan’s a complete mess, the kind you don't want to get too close to. But as you stand there, cigarette smoke curling between your fingers, you can’t tear your eyes off him. He’s slumped against the wall, looking like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders or maybe that’s just the whiskey. You wonder why the hell you bothered to drag him out here in the first place. He’s a disaster and his weird comments aren’t helping, they just disturb you.

You take another drag, feeling the bitter taste of nicotine hit your lungs, and for a moment, you think about just walking away. He’s not your problem. You’ve done your good deed for the night and the cold air is starting to bite at your skin. Just leave him here. He’ll figure it out, or. . . he won’t. Either way, it’s not your concern.

But just as you’re about to turn and go, Stan mumbles something under his nose. It’s faint, too quiet to catch.

“. . . should’ve never messed with the damn portal.”

You blink. Portal? The word echoes in your mind, that’s surprising, intriguing. What the hell is he talking about? You glance at him again, but his eyes are fluttering shut, his body slumping further against the wall.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer. “what did you just say?”

Stan’s lips move, but no sound comes out, he’s completely out of it. Your eyes widen in shock as you say “hey, man” louder to get him back to his senses, but before you can react, his knees buckle and he collapses, dead weight against the cold ground.

“Holy shit!” you drop your cigarette, your hands immediately going to his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. His head lolls to the side, completely out cold

Of course. Of fucking course! He’s drunk off his ass, hasn’t slept, probably hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. You run a hand through your hair, staring down at him, your mind racing.

You’re not sure what the hell to do with this guy. You don’t even know him. But something in your gut twists, something telling you to stay, to not leave him lying here like this.

***

He’s strange, sure. But why does that word “portal” keep sticking in your head?

Days pass, but your thoughts keep drifting back to him. That night, his ramblings, the look in his eyes before he passed out. You shouldn’t care. He’s just some guy, a random drunk you stumbled across. But you’ve always been a curious person. You keep thinking about how broken he looked, how utterly wrecked he seemed and you wonder what could’ve driven him to that point.

You’re out in town again, aimlessly wandering the streets of Gravity Falls, and without even realizing it, you find yourself back at the bar where you met him. It’s the same cold winter night, what makes your body shake from chill no matter how many layers you’ve got on.

You stand outside with a cigarette, your breath mixing with the smoke. Your mind’s still on him, on that weird stranger. You can’t help but wonder if he’s alright. Probably not? Guys like that don’t bounce back easy.

You take another drag, exhaling slowly, your thoughts swirling. You think about how he stumbled around, barely able to stay on his feet, and for some reason you smile. It’s ridiculous, really. He’s such a loser. But there was something strangely. . . cute about it all. God, why are you even thinking about him

Suddenly, the door to the bar swings open, and a familiar figure stumbles out into the cold. You blink, and sure enough, it’s him. That drunk weird guy. Same red jacket, same disheveled look, but this time he doesn’t seem quite as far gone. Still drunk, but not teetering on the edge like last time.

The bouncer gives him a shove, muttering something about not coming back without cash and Stan nearly trips over his own feet before catching himself. He stands there for a moment, muttering insults and then his eyes land on you. His gaze lingers, squinting through the haze of alcohol, and recognition slowly dawns on his face. He straightens up, well, as much as a guy like him can, and adjusts his jacket, trying to look somewhat presentable.

“Well, well, if it ain’t my guardian angel,” he says with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, flicking the ash from your cigarette. “didn’t know angels had to drag drunks out of bars.”

Stan laughs, but it’s more of a low chuckle. “do I know you? I feel—“ he hiccups. “fuck, feel like I should know your name. . .”

“I never told you, dummy.”

Stan stares at you for a moment, processing that, and then he smiles wider. “Ah, right. Guess I can’t forget what I never knew.” he winks, but it’s sloppy, and you can’t help but smile back.

He takes a step toward you, leaning against the wall beside you. “Y’know, I gotta thank ya for payin’ for me back there. ‘Specially since that whiskey was crap. Worst I’ve had in years.”

You snort, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “Yeah, and that’s why you drank all of it, right? real convincing, man.”

He chuckles again, running a hand through his brown hair. “What can I say? Gotta give every drink a fair shot. Even the bad ones.”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. The guy’s a mess, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his complete lack of shame. He’s so human. Flawed and ridiculous, but human. And funny.

For a while, neither of you say much, just standing there under the night sky, the snow crunching beneath your feet as you walk slowly down the street. The cold bites at your skin, but it feels less harsh with him beside you, talking about nothing in particular. He rambles about the bar, about the bartender, about how he’s been kicked out of worse places, but there’s an ease to it, like he’s just talking to fill the silence.

And for some reason, you don’t mind it. His company is strangely nice. Despite everything.

As you walk, you glance over at him, still trying to figure out what it is about this guy that’s gotten under your skin. He’s weird, yeah. Definitely not what you’d call put-together.

He catches your gaze and smirks, a little lopsided but softer this time. “What, you like what you see?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Not even close.”

***

Over time, you start to see Stanford Stan more regularly. It's never planned, never some formal arrangement. He’s just there, outside that same dive bar, smoking under the dim streetlight or wandering down the streets with his red jacket pulled tight against the cold. And every time, you find yourself walking beside him, talking about nothing and everything.

It’s not like you’re close, not really. He doesn’t open up, never gives you much more than surface-level comments or dumb jokes to deflect anything too personal. You only know what he lets slip, and even that feels like more than you should. He insists his name is Stanford, though something about it always sounds. . . off.

Stanley thinks he’s idiot. It’s a role he’s playing, a mask he’s not ready to take off, won’t take for for the next thirty years.

One night, after you’ve met up for what feels like the hundredth time, you finally ask him why he’s always drunk when you see him. It’s been bugging you for a while, how every time you meet, he reeks of whiskey and stale cigarettes, eyes glassy, speech slurred, sometimes flirting with you or winking dumbly at you. You’ve tried to ignore it, but tonight the question just slips out.

Stan pauses, cigarette halfway to his lips. You think he’s not going to answer, but then he takes a drag, exhaling slowly before speaking. “Helps me think,” he mutters. “keeps the noise out.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Noise?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall, his eyes scanning the street. “Yeah. The crap up here. Some people got quiet minds, y’know? Not me. Gotta slow it down.”

It’s vague, cryptic. You don’t push for more. You’ve learned by now that pressing Stan doesn’t get you anywhere. He only shares what he wants, and even then, it’s always layered in something else, sarcasm, a joke, some offhand comment that makes it hard to tell what’s real and what’s just him deflecting.

Nevertheless, there is something in the way he says it that does not leave you indifferent. The way he looks when he mentions his thoughts, as if there's something more hiding under the surface that booze and cigarettes can't hide. You wonder what’s rattling around in his brain, what kind of shit he’s trying so hard to drown out.

Time passes, and your strange friendship, or whatever it is, continues. Nothing changes. You meet up, you talk, you walk through the streets of Gravity Falls, smoking and trading stories. Stan makes jokes, you laugh, and somehow, despite everything, you find yourself growing more comfortable around him.

But he never lets you in, not really. You can only guess at what’s going on in his life, at what’s driving him to the bottom of a bottle every time you see him. It’s frustrating in a way, how closed off he is, how he seems determined to keep everything buried. There’s a part of him that’s afraid to let you see the real him, afraid to show just how broken he really is.

You start to ask him more personal questions, though he always dodges them with some half-assed joke. Like the time you asked him about his hair. His mullet, to be specific. It’s a mess, now unruly and overgrown, and you can’t help but wonder why the hell he refuses to cut it.

“Why don’t you change a haircut?” you ask teasingly. “you look like you haven’t touched it in years.”

Stan just grins, flicking his cigarette into the street. “Ah, what can I say? Chicks dig the mullet.”

What you don’t know is that Stan’s too scared to look at himself in the mirror.

The way he avoids mirrors, the way his eyes flicker away if he catches his own reflection for even a second. It’s not about the hair, it’s about something deeper. Every time he sees his reflection, it’s not his face he sees, it’s Ford’s. If he cuts his hair, changes anything, he’s worried he’ll lose himself completely, that he’ll become the brother he’s spent his whole life running from. It’s not something he’d ever tell you, though. That’s way too deep for the guy who lives behind a wall of bad jokes and alcohol.

Stan never talks about his past. You’ve asked, but he always deflects with a joke or changes the subject. The most you’ve gotten out of him is when something goes wrong, he drops something, or his stupid car won’t start, or even when he just stumbles over his own feet. He’ll shake his head, muttering to himself, “Screw-up. Always been a screw-up.” It’s weird, like it’s the only thing he knows how to be.

It bothers you. You don’t get it. Yeah, he’s a mess, but this weird obsession with calling himself a screw-up, like it’s some kind of mantra, doesn’t make sense to you. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but every time he says it, you see a flash of something bitter in his eyes, like he’s heard those words so many times they’ve become part of him.

What you don’t realize is that those words are burned into him. His father used to call him a screw-up, over and over until it became his identity. And then there was Ford, his golden child of a brother, the smart one, the successful one. Stan’s always felt like the lesser of the two, never quite measuring up, always stuck in his brother’s shadow. He’s spent his whole life trying to live down to that title, like it’s all he’s worth. Stan was a kid, who heard those words over and over until they stuck, until he couldn’t see himself as anything else.

You can’t fix what’s already broken. But that doesn’t stop you from trying. Something about Stan makes you want to help, even though you know you can’t. He’s too far gone, too buried in his own mess. Still, you keep coming back. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of some sense of hope.

***

Another night, another round of drinks. The two of you sit at the bar, glasses clinking against the wood, the air is filled with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol. Stan’s already a few drinks in, and you’re not far behind. You laugh at something he says, probably another dumb joke, but you’re not really paying attention. Your mind is clouded, your body is hot from drinking, and before you know it, your gaze slides over his lips.

It’s stupid. You’re both drunk, and this is Stanford, the guy who can barely keep his life together, let alone maintain a relationship. But the way he looks right now, disheveled and messy, his lips curling into that cocky grin, makes your heart race.

His lips. Your lips. Apocalypse.

The kiss happens fast, messy, without warning. One minute you’re sitting there, and the next, his lips are on yours, rough and dry. It’s not graceful, not soft. It’s desperate, like he’s been holding something back for too long, and now it’s all spilling out at once.

The kiss deepens, but you don’t care. His mouth moves against yours, hungry, needy, like he’s searching for something, like that’s what he needed all those years. Human touch and someone else's warmth.

You’re both drunk, of course. Maybe that’s the only way it could’ve happened.

Stan tastes like smoke and cheap liquor, the bitterness lingering on your tongue as his hands slide up your back, pulling you in. You can feel the heat of his body, the way his chest presses against yours.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if this is a mistake, stupid drunk accident. But then he kisses you harder, his hand tangling in your hair and all thoughts of logic fly out the window. This isn’t about fixing him. You don’t care about anything except the fact that Stanford, the complete disaster of a man you’ve somehow gotten tangled up with, is kissing you like the world’s about to end.

His hands are rough, clumsy as they cup your face, and it’s all heat and desperation, like neither of you know what the hell you’re doing, but you don’t want to stop.

You’re not sure how it happened so quickly, one second, you were sitting at the bar, laughing, your lips crashing into his, and now you’re pressed against the cold wall of the bathroom. The neon lights of the bar barely make their way out from under the door, flooding the room with a dim glow as Stan presses you against the sink.

Stan kisses like an animal, like he’s trying to lose himself in the moment, drown out everything that’s weighing on him. Like he’s searching for some kind of escape. The alcohol has dulled his brain, but not enough to make him forget. He needs something more, something real to pull him out of the relentless spiral of thoughts, of portals, journals and the constant gnawing guilt.

Stan needs to lose himself in something, anything else. And tonight, that something is you.

His big hands are on you, one sliding up your back, fingers curling into your hair, tugging you even closer as he deepens the kiss. He groans into your mouth and you feel how his hard cock presses through his jeans as he pushes you against the sink in the bar's bathroom. You feel like you’re burning from the inside out, every nerve igniting under his touch, his mouth trailing down your jaw, leaving a scorching path along your skin.

You barely notice when the door creaks open, someone stepping into the small, dimly lit room.

“Bathroom’s occupied, unless you wanna watch, but that’ll cost you.” Stan snaps, irritated as he glares at the stranger. The man stutters away quickly and the door slams shut with a loud bang.

Before you can say something, he’s kissing you again, hard, desperate, rough, demanding.

You moan into his mouth, tangling your finger in his brown hair, tugging him closer, and the word slips out between your breaths. “Stanford. . .”

Stan freezes and that name seems to knock all the alcohol out of his blood. It feels like something heavy and wrong between you, Stan's gaze is blank, like he's not here at all. It’s his brother’s name, the one he’s stolen, the one he’s buried himself under. You look at him and see something in his eyes. Regret. Guilt. That endless pain that’s been eating at him for as long as he can remember. You don't know what's going on, but you want to solve this damn mystery so badly. What's wrong with this man?

But then it’s all gone, replaced by that cocky grin.

“Stan’s fine, sweetheart. Trust me.”

His hands fumble with your pants, yanking them down roughly, desperately, his fingers massaging and rubbing you through your underwear. You’re already soaking, practically trembling from his touch, and he groans when he feels it, his fingers sliding through your wetness.

“Shit, you’re so wet for me,” he growls. “fuckin’ perfect, baby.”

You moan, head tilting back, the sensation overwhelming as he slides two fingers inside you, rough and fast. He’s not gentle, not tonight, there’s no time for that, no point for that too. He’s desperate and it shows in the way his thick fingers pump into you, the heel of his hand pressing against your clit in the most delicious way.

“St-Stan—“ you moan, looking down at his fingers thrusting into you.

“Please, don’t say it, don’t say that name,”meanwhile, Stan thinks, hoping your drunken mind has figured it out.

“—fuck me,” your last words make him breathe a sigh of relief. Good girl. And then he’s yanking your panties down as he have you bent over the sink, your palms pressing into the cold porcelain and you barely have time to register the sound of his belt hitting the floor before you feel the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

“Fuck,” he mutters as he lines himself up. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, right now. And you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You moan, nodding, pressing back against him, desperate for the stretch, to feel him inside you because your brain can't think of anything else but getting fucked hard in the bathroom of a bar. “Please, Stan— please, use me!”

And he obeys, slamming into you, burying himself deep in one rough, brutal thrust that actually hurts, but your drunk state doesn’t care much. You gasp, his cock fills you so completely you can barely breathe, you cry out, your body arching, but Stan's hand is holding you back, pressing on your back to keep you in place and he groans. It’s overwhelming you, a mix of pain and pleasure and you can’t stop moans that escapes your lips as he starts to move, his cock sliding in and out of you with rough thrusts.

“Huh, oh jesus fuck, baby, yer tight,” Stan grits out between ragged breaths, his voice hoarse. He pulls back only to slam into you again, harder this time, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm that has you gasping.

“Staaann—!” you whimper his real name again, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for dear life, his cock so deep it’s like he’s claiming every part of you. “Oh, fuck-fuck-fuck!”

“my fucking god, baby,” he groans, his dick hitting that spot deep inside you that has your body trembling. His fingers find your clit, rubbing in quick circles as he fucks you harder. “you feel so fuckin’ good, doll, so tight around my cock.”

Of course, there's a mirror hanging over the sink, and Stan glances up, wanting to see your fucked-out expression, how gorgeous your face looks when he's pounding into you like this. But, almost spitefully, his eyes land on himself instead. He wants to look away, he should look away, but something makes him stop. For the first time in years, the reflection staring back at him is someone else. Not his twin. Not his nerdy brother. No, not Stanford. Ford would never end up like this. Never get so fucking dirty.

Stan sees himself for what he is. What he's become. Hair disheveled, drunk, filthy, fucking in a bar bathroom. Ford would never be like this. Stan, you piece of shit, you're a disgrace to your brother's name, Stanley thinks.

But then your moans reach his ears, pulling him back, reminding him where he is. Thank God the bar music is loud enough to cover you. He blinks, realizing he's let the pace slip, and his hands tighten on your hips, his grip hard enough to bruise, grounding himself.

You’re a mess of moans and gasps, your body shaking, your warm walls tightening around him as the pleasure builds. “Stan— fuck, I’m gonna—”

Stan leans into you as much as the position allows, one hand tangling in your hair, tugging hard enough to make the roots sting, though in your drunken haze, you barely even feel it.

“Do it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck. “Cum for me. I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

And you do, the orgasm rips through you, your body convulsing as you cry out, your walls squeezing around him what makes Stan groan, his fingers digging into your hips, thrusting harder, faster, chasing his own release. You can feel him throbbing inside you and then he’s pulling out, his hand wrapping around his cock as he strokes himself, his cum spilling hot and thick onto your skin.

***

The days began to stretch into weeks. Time wasn’t something you paid attention to anymore, not since that night. You could still feel him sometimes, his rough hands ghosting over your skin, the taste of whiskey and cigarettes lingering long after he’d left, his groans, the way he said your name. It hadn’t been anything gentle or romantic that night, just bodies lost in drunken hunger. And after that, you hadn’t seen much of him since, not like before.

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that night had ruined something between you. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he’d felt nothing, and you’d been stupid to think it could’ve been anything more. The way his lips had pressed against yours, hungry, desperate, hadn’t felt like love. He was drunk, did he even know who he was kissing? Your anxiety was growing, your thoughts were fighting one another. It wasn’t love. It had been something else entirely, it was raw and messy. You knew it wasn’t love, just a night. It wasn’t tender or slow; there were no whispered promises of endless love, marriage, kids, whatever “all happy” people have. Just a desperate fuck, not some grand confession of feelings. Whatever had been between you before — it felt like it was ruined, as if that thing in the bathroom had burned everything else to ash.

Stanford had disappeared, leaving you with silence and your own thoughts, and you believed that he regretted it. Maybe it was just too much for him.

However, Stanley, he couldn’t shake the feeling of your lips on his, the way they were so warm, because no one had ever kissed him with that kind of passion before. He wasn’t used to that, to being touched like that. His entire life, he believed nobody really liked him. Not like this. Hell, even his own family had given up on him at some point. Except for his mom, she’d always tried to love him, even when he couldn’t love himself.

He tried to ignore the way his chest ached when he thought about you, tried to drown it out with more cigarettes, more drinks, he tried, but failed because nothing worked. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. Stan was getting attached to you, he knew it, even when he didn’t want to admit it. Even without alcohol, without the nicotine to calm his nerves, he knew he wanted you and your presence. It wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper, something that scared the fuck out of him because he wasn’t used to it. And maybe that’s why he’d been avoiding you. Because how the hell was he supposed to deal with feelings he didn’t even know how to name? Stan always felt that people didn’t love him, they tolerated him.

With you, for the first time in a long time, Stan had felt like he mattered. Like he was seen.

It scared him a lot.

***

Spring came early that year, and with it, the world outside the window seemed to come to life. Gravity Falls blossomed with colors you hadn't noticed before — the world is painted in bright greens and soft pastel tones, flowers made their way through the ground, as if the whole town was shaking off the cold and waking up. And that's when you saw him again.

You weren’t expecting to run into Stanford like this, not here, not in daylight, when spring is blooming around you. He was standing at the edge of the road, hands shoved into his pockets, a slight frown on his face like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be here. But then his eyes met yours and he didn’t look away this time.

There was no alcohol, no bar lights casting shadows on his face. Just sober Stan, the man who had kissed you with so much need that it had nearly broken you.

“Hey,” he called out and you immediately responded with excited “hi!” you smiled, he stood there, waiting for you to come closer. When you did, there was a long pause, neither of you quite sure what to say. His eyes flicked down nervously and you noticed it then, the subtle change, not too noticeable. Had he fixed his mullet a bit? It wasn’t much, but it was. . . cleaner. Neater, like he’d put in just a little more effort. Like maybe he had been planning on running into you.

“Uh, you wanna grab some coffee or somethin’?” Stan asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool, but the way he shifted on his feet betrayed him. He was nervous. Actually nervous. You hadn’t seen that in him before. “I figured we could, ya know, talk. Maybe. If that’s somethin’ you wanna do, of course.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

That’s how two of you ended in a small café nearby, the conversation light at first, both of you avoiding that specific term about. . . Doesn’t matter.

It was much easier to talk about the weather, or the weirdness of Gravity Falls, or how spring had made the town feel alive again. But every now and then, your eyes would meet and you exchanged awkward laughs and smiles.

“So, uh. . . I gotta ask,” Stan started. “did ya notice somethin’ different?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think for a moment before grinning. “Your hair? you mean you actually put effort into it?”

He smiled back at you. “Yeah, well, figured I’d try to clean up a bit. Y’know, look a little less like a bum.”

You laughed, feeling warmth blooming in your chest. It was such a small thing, but it felt significant to you. Like he’d actually cared enough to try for you, impress you maybe. And that meant more than you could say.

***

Nights bled into days and days slipped back into nights. Time seemed to blur together, the moon swapped places with the sun over and over. And here you were, tangled in the sheets of Stan’s bed, staring at the ceiling, while the moonlight filtered through the triangle-shaped window, the soft glow of it lays over your face, feels like the world outside was holding its breath just for you.

Things between you and Stan had shifted in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t quick or loud. At end, Stan let you get closer, but piece by piece, he was afraid you might notice if he let you too far in all at once.

The first time Stanley let you hug him, really hug him, was late in night. You weren’t sure how it had happened, it wasn’t planned, you reached for him first. You didn’t even think about it, just pulled him close. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him carefully at first, waiting for him to tell you to stop. But he didn’t. Stan stiffened at first, because the idea of being held was foreign to him, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to do. Then his face buried against your shoulder, and at first, you thought he was just tired, resting, taking what he needed and nothing more. But then you felt it. The dampness against your skin.

You realized with a sinking heart that Stan was crying.

It wasn’t loud. No sobs, no gasping breaths. Just silent bitter tears soaking through your shirt, his grip tightening on you like he was afraid you might disappear, just like his brother. His body trembled slightly, now he couldn’t hide anymore. It broke something in you, seeing him like this, this man felt so small in your arms.

He clung to you like a child, because no one had held him in years. No one, no one had hugged him like this since he left his family.

You sighed and held him tighter, feeling his tears soak into your skin. Stan wasn’t just crying about tonight, he was crying for all the years he’d spent running, for all the times he’d pushed people away because it was easier than getting hurt. He was crying because, for the first time in so long, someone was holding him, and it wasn’t just physical, it reminded him of what it felt like to be cared for. To not be alone.

Your hand gently stroking the back of his head, letting him melt into you like the child he probably hadn’t been allowed to be in years. Decades, maybe. For the first time, Stan didn’t feel like the tough man you knew him as. He felt small, fragile, like he was that little boy again, the one who had been left behind, pushed out of his family and told to figure it all out on his own.

Stanley pulled back, wiping his face roughly with the back of his hand, embarrassed as he looked down. But you didn't give him time to think again and regret his actions, you didn’t let him feel that shame for long. You reached for the pack of cigarettes on the table, handing one to him without a word. Stan took it and you lit it for him, the soft click of the lighter the only sound in the room.

You sat together in that silence of the night, both of you smoking. You weren’t drunk this time and that made everything feel more real, clear. It wasn’t about the cigarettes, though. It was the quiet between you, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward. Stan wasn’t running anymore, he could finally relax, finally let himself breathe.

He looked up at the night sky, at the Milky Way stretching above you and smiled then, just a little, but it was there. A real, sincere smile. You hadn’t seen that on him before, not like this. It wasn’t the cocky grin he wore after dumb compliments or the smirk that followed some joke. This was softer. Stanley stared at the stars, his eyes reflecting the distant light and you wondered what he was thinking about. But while he was smiling, you were calm.

Stanford, real Stanford, he’s always been somewhere up there. In the stars, in the galaxies, in other world, always lost in science and mathematics, in things Stanley never really understood.

Nights passed like this more often, where it wasn’t about the rush of everything. He didn’t have to keep running anymore, didn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t care. He’d gotten soft around you in a way that surprised both of you, but it felt right. He could relax now. He could let himself be vulnerable.

One night, after the smoking had long stopped, after the silence had stretched between you in that comfortable way again, the two of you ended up in his bed. Not in the desperate lust way you had before, but in a way that felt natural. Like this was where you both belonged, in each other’s arms.

Stan was lying on your chest, his head resting against you as you calmingly ran your fingers through his hair, the brown strands slipping through your hands. He let out a long, contented sigh, relaxing into your touch.

You felt his breath against your skin, the slow rise and fall of his chest in sync with yours, and that made you understand just how fragile he really was. He never was the tough guy he always tried to be. Stanley Pines was was just a man trying to figure out how to feel again.

Stan’s arms wrapped loosely around you, holding on but not out of desperation this time. Just out of comfort. Out of need.

You smiled softly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “I’m not going anywhere, Stan.”

And for the first time, he believed it and smiled.

***

It wasn’t in Stan’s nature to lay everything out in some big, romantic gesture, not now. This will happen later when he gets older, much older. So there was no official conversation, no ‘what are we now?’ that hung awkwardly in the air.

It happened one evening, at dusk, because at this time of day people always become more sincere and honest, the two of you sitting on the back porch, sharing the silence in the way you’d grown to love. He had that usual cigarette between his lips, the glow of the ember flickering in the dark and you were watching the stars. That's when he said it, which in his language meant “I love you”:

“I think I like you best when you’re just with me and no one else.”

That was his way of telling you. You didn’t need him to say the word love. You understood him well enough by now to know that what he felt was real and that was all you needed.

You didn’t ask him to clarify, didn’t push for more. Stan was never someone you could push. Instead, you waited. You knew he would tell you everything in time. He just needed to get there on his own, at his own pace.

Sometimes he’d disappear into the lab, working on some thing he barely explained, shrugging it off with that typical grumble about science and mathematics. “It’s all bullshit anyway,” he’d say, tossing his hands in the air. “I ain’t ever understood that crap.”

“Not like my brother, he’s the smart one.” Stanley continued in his thoughts.

Then you started noticing the small changes. The way the bottles that once cluttered his desk and the corners of the shack were fewer now. He still drank, yeah, but not like before. He wasn’t drowning himself in it anymore. It was like he was learning, little by little, how to exist without that forever haze of alcohol clouding his thoughts, feelings and memories.

Stan was still scared though. He was scared of a lot of things, scared you’d leave, scared you’d find out something about him and realise you couldn’t stay. And then there were the nightmares. The ones he never talked about, but they were all the same, repeating every time. You’d wake in the middle of the night to find him tense beside you, his breathing uneven, his hands gripping the sheets as though he was trying to hold on to something slipping away.

That haunted him. The portal, always the portal. He’d never say it, at least not now. He’s not ready yet. He’s terrified that somehow, you’d be pulled into it too, just like Ford. That one day you’d be gone and he’d be alone again, abandoned forever.

But when your lips touches his in slow kiss, when you brush your fingers through his messy hair and kiss his forehead, all these fears are washed away. You’d hold him close, feel his body relax against yours and slowly, slowly, his breathing would steady as the nightmares faded. There he stops dreaming about portals and disappearances. Instead, he sleeps deeply, peacefully, like a normal human being.

In the mornings, he’d stay in bed longer than you, his eyes still closed when you slipped out from under the covers. He’d stretch, arms reaching out lazily, that rough voice of his so sleepy. “Sweetheart, come right back,” he’d mumble. “i’ve been waitin’ for you to slip back in bed.” he’d smile when he’d feel your warm body next to his.

That’s what made you fall in love with him harder.

The way he was always a bit softer in the mornings, not yet fully awake and not needing to be. He wasn’t running anymore. Not from you, not from himself. For the first time in what felt like forever, Stan was learning what it meant to just be. To exist in the quiet moments. He still smoked, but it wasn’t to escape anymore, it was just a part of him, something familiar, habit.

Stanley had spent so much of his life running, from his past, from laws, cops, states, from his brother, from his mistakes. But with you, for the first time, he wasn’t running anymore. He was staying.

#stanley pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls smut

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juice-boxs-things · 10 months ago

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"Takes a drink, and puts it back down" good soup :3

Alright, first part is officially finished! A request sent to me by a wonderful user that will be tagged. In the meantime, here is part 1 of

Sweater Weather (part 1)

part 2

Summary: you borrow Ford’s sweater when it gets cold

content warnings: fluff, smut, reader is fem/afab and uses she/her pronouns, minors do not interact!

Gravity Falls wasn’t a sunny paradise. Despite what the brochures and fake marketing wanted you to believe. Sure the summers there were nice. After all, living in Oregon meant getting a perfect balance of each of the seasons as they came. So, that meant hot, sunny summers and cold, bitter winters.

You did not take this into account when you first moved to Gravity Falls two years ago. Sure, you had some sweaters and pants good enough for the colder months, and you would think that living in the same place for two years would warrant you enough time to go shopping to acquire a proper wardrobe. But you, special as you were, had an extraordinary knack for forgetting things- giving your needs the old ‘eh, I’ll do it tomorrow’ and the next thing you know, winter had passed with you surviving on the tattered blankets and fireplace in your home.

Now was the end of fall, the day after Halloween- not to be confused with the iconic Gravity Falls tradition of Summerween- and while it had been chillier out it was now getting dangerously into nipping cold territory. And your boyfriend, as practical as he was, has not stopped having to remind you.

“Dear, don’t you think you’ll be cold going out in.. that?”

You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. He quickly stiffened.

“N-not that, I’m trying to tell you what to wear. I-I would never-! You’re free to dress how you wish I’m just..” he awkwardly cleared his throat. “worried.”

You chuckled, pulling on your lightweight cardigan over your top. “I know you wouldn’t. I’ll go shopping tomorrow, okay?”

You reassured him softly, walking up to give him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’ve been saying that everyday since October 5th.”

You rolled your eyes and grinned, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Psh, oh come on, there’s no way I’ve been saying it every day-“

Ford reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little booklet, one of those pocket colanders and flipped to the page with the current month, or well, month that just passed yesterday on it.

“Actually you have, I’ve been keeping track to see when you would actually follow through on your word.”

He explained somewhat smugly before tucking it back into his pocket, revealing your annoyed but.. slightly impressed face. Of course, only the Stanford Pines would keep track of something like that.

You gave him a look but he wouldn’t put away that stupid (cute) grin on his face and brushed past him towards the front door of the Mystery Shack. You and Soos were all going out to get some food shopping done since the kitchen was ransacked by vengeful gnomes yesterday when Stan refused to give any of them candy.

“Bein’ freakishly short and wearing dumb hats all year round doesn’t make you eligible now scram!”

Soos came out from the staff room having finished putting away the rest of the cheap Halloween decorations that were more than halfway from falling apart, but of course, your boss refused to buy any new ones till they were ‘as old as he and his brother’ which you found humorous.

Dusting his hands off each other with a proud smile, Soos closed the door behind him and sighed. “Huh, there, that ought to do it! Oh hey other Mr Pines!” He beamed and waved at Ford, seeming surprised but pleased to see him out in the open. Ford awkwardly shuffled his feet and returned his wave with a small smile.

“Ah.. Greetings, Soos. And, please, you can call me Ford, it’s a lot less formal don’t you think?”

“Oh no way dude. I respect you and Mr Pines wayyyy too much to do that.” Soos stated in a somewhat more serious tone, crossing a hand in front of him.

Ford chuckled, both amused and flattered that he thought that highly of him and his brother. “Very well then.” He shrugged, watching as Soos joined you, who had their hand on the knob as you waited semi-paitently at the front door.

“You ready to rock and roll dude?” He asked, twirling his keys around his finger.

You nodded. “Uh huh!” You turned your head back to Ford “see ya in a bit, sweetie!”

Ford smiled and returned your wave as you closed the door behind you and Soos. Even though you and Ford had been together for a good few months now, he still got a bit giddy at the feeling of you calling him sweet pet names like that. He wasn’t all that used to having someone consistently dote on him in that way, plus, you just made him weak in the knees. No matter what you did. He found you absolutely irresistible. He sighed, shaking off his wandering thoughts and opened the vending machine door, as he had important business to attend to down in his lab today. And he didn’t want any distractions whatsoever.

A little while after, Ford was tinkering away in his lab, experimenting with a new device he had been drafting blueprints for, and keeping notes on what seemed to work.

“Hm… fascinating..” he hummed to himself, a pleased smirk spread across his face as he ran another successful test. He was pulled quickly from his thoughts when there was a knock at the door, but didn’t cease writing.

“Yes, come in!” He called, eyes not tearing away from the his journal pages.

From the other side of the door, you smiled of relief. Happy to hear your boyfriend’s voice after a long day, even though it was mostly shopping, it wasn’t like it was any fun shopping. You gently and carefully opened the door to his workshop, always making sure to be cautious in your step when doing so since you never could really predict what kind of strange anomaly or new device that would be coming your way. Thankfully today however, it was just a few pieces of forest crystals that sat at his desk beside his furiously writing hand. You cleared your throat and approached behind him, standing with your hands clasped in front of your lap.

Ford hummed curiously, looking back over his shoulder and instantly brightening when he saw it was you. “Ah! Greetings, my dear! How was your excursion with Jésus?”

You giggled. “It’s just Soos. And it was great! We got everything on our list and then some… I also got you something~” you rocked back on your heels as a playful tone rang in your voice to which he perked up. Ford turned his body now towards you, resting one hand on his knee and tilting his head to one side inquiringly.

“Really?”

You nodded, reaching into your pocket to reveal a small white cloth bag which had a label in black cursive on them that read ‘Old Timey Style Jelly Beans’.

Ford chuckled and took the bag from you, prying it open with his two index fingers and peering inside. “Thank you, my dear. Although, you really didn’t have to get me anything.” He said, glancing back up at you through his glasses.

You shook your head. “I always have to get you something! I like doing it, it’s nice to see your face when I come home with something for you! Besides, you hardly ever leave here as it is, I might as well do all your shopping at this point.” You insisted, resting a hand on Ford’s shoulder to steady yourself as you took a seat on his lap, taking advantage of the openness of his current leg position. He grew shy, smiling and looking away from you with a soft blush in his cheeks.

“Ah… yes, well.. um..” he cleared his throat “thank you.” He snuck a hand around your waist to keep you upright on him, bringing his head back up to face you so that you could properly see him. You peered over his shoulder to look at his desk, eyeing the new paragraphs of cursive that filled journal number four.

“What’cha working on?” You chirped. Ford beamed.

“Ah! I’m glad you asked!” He swiveled around in his chair, keeping hold of you in his lap and setting the jellybeans aside. “I’m testing a new invention of mine that I’ve had in the works for a while. I just didn’t have the pieces to do it until now…”

as he rambled on, explaining his newest discovery, you couldn’t help but accidentally tune out his words, sure you were listening, you could hear him talking, but your processing gears were occupied by the gleam in his eyes and the added crinkles that formed around them when he smiled in the excitement of explaining something to you. You let out an internal, dreamy sigh as you focused on the way his one hand was gesturing to all the different things on his desk and how the other gripped your waist so comfortingly. His rough, gorgeous hands…

“Dear, are you alright?”

Your breath hitched, you blinked and looked at him as a slow blush began to creep onto your face. “O-oh! Yeah um.. sorry you just… look really cute when you’re explaining your.. science-y.. stuff..” you admitted sheepishly, feeling kinda bad that you didn’t catch most of what he said.

Ford felt a little taken aback by the sudden onset of adoration, not that he minded it one bit. He just wasn’t used to it, a few months of being with someone so intimately wasn’t nearly enough time to get used to 60 ish years of barely experiencing it at all. He chuckled slightly, bringing his other hand to wrap in front of your torso, now encircling you in a cocoon of his arms.

“I-it’s quite alright, I wouldn’t have expected you to understand even if you were listening.”

He said with the utmost affection and sincerity. The words alone coming out of his mouth didn’t always sound too flattering, but they were hardly ever out of malice, especially not when it came to you. You had been learning to both deal with, and let him know when to not say anything. But right now you giggled and brushed it off, knowing exactly what he meant.

You two had a brief moment of looking into each others eyes, taking in each others soft gaze on the other. Ford had such deep, beautiful brown eyes that reminded you of the very forests that he explored so much. And you, oh, Ford could fill more than 10 journals dedicated to the sheer remarkable beauty of yours. He still couldn’t believe that in all the dimensions, all the universes, all the galaxies and all the stars in the sky that you chose to be his. And he was forever grateful for it. You both seemed to have the same idea as you leaned in closer, inching forward to gradually meet each others lips. Ford hummed and closed his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders he didn’t even know he was holding dropped. He gripped your waist tighter and subconsciously pulled you in closer to him and you brought your hands up to his face, cupping and caressing each cheek and running your fingers along his faint stubble. Ford was still a bit of an awkward and clumsy kisser, but you were more than happy to give him as many practice opportunities as he needed. You felt a shiver run up your spine as his thumbs began to rub into the divets of your flesh, as well as the cool air of the lab hitting your skin through your thin cardigan.

“Mmm… dear..?” Ford mumbled against your lips, gently pulling you away. Your face was revealed to him in a slight pout, which he thought was adorable. But this was no time for him to swoon, he had a pressing question he almost forgot to ask you. “Did you remember to pick up something suitable for the cold?”

Your eyes widened. Oh, shoot. That’s what you forgot.

“Uhhhh…” you squinted, looking to the side to avoid his now disappointed stare. Ford grumbled. “Okay, I forgot! Ugh..” you groaned, throwing your head back.

Ford sighed and pulled your sweater sleeve up, revealing the goosebumps that littered your arm. “Darling, look at you, you’re freezing. You should get into something warmer.” He pressed, now sounding more like a worried mother than anything. You got up off his lap. “Yeah, I didn’t wanna say anything because I was hoping you wouldn’t notice but, your lab is fucking freezing.” You shivered, bringing your hands up to your forearms in a pathetic attempt to shield them. Ford chuckled and shook his head, waving you off.

“Go on, take your time, I’ll be here all evening.”

#no beta we die like men #gravity falls x reader #reader insert

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juice-boxs-things · 10 months ago

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I swear to God, if I don't see another one for this man I'm gonna throw myself out the window :D

jerking off in front of (and with) fiddleford 🤤

just imagining how tense his thighs get as he watches you touch yourself, eyes focused on the space between your thighs before he makes his way back up to your face where he notices you've been staring at him this whole time

imagining how he whines when he sees your hand twitch and shake between your legs, wishing it was him that was making you shake instead, trying to ignore that thought even though it makes his back arch and intensifies the feeling of his orgasm rapidly approaching

ughhh good lord, just want to see him get off to be honest (and to get off to him LMAO) need me that country boy 😫😩

not fully BACK back, but this ask has been lingering in my brain for a while…

i actually love this thought and agree so hard. mutual masturbation is a FAV trope of mine, especially if you’re not touching each other,,, hough,,,

can i take this a step further and suggest some begging,, Fidds being all whiny and begging to touch you while you get off in front of him gets me weak tbh. i love making this man submissive.

“Please, ah- please let me touch you, sugar..” The look of disappointment on his face when you shake your head is almost laughable, as well as the quiet whine he lets out.

also i think he’d use silly country nicknames (sugar, darlin, sweet pea, etc) and that makes me insane a little bit

i love submissive Fiddleford and i’ll say it with my whole chest. I LOVE SUBMISSIVE FIDDLEFORD!!! eating this ask up like a five star meal tysm anon.

#writer #gravity falls #ao3 writer #gravity falls x reader

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juice-boxs-things · 10 months ago

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Delicious I'll take 40 more

Sweater Weather (part 2)

part 1 part 2!

content warnings: smut (MINORS DNI), Ford being kinda pathetic, afab!reader, praise (mostly from Ford <3)

summary: you borrow Ford’s sweater when it gets cold

author note: sorry this took so long to finish! I’m sick rn but I got it done lol

As you huffed and rummaged through your closet, you couldn’t find a single thing that was thick and long enough to shield your chilly body from the cold of the Shack. There was no fireplace down in Ford’s lab, and god knows Stanley was too cheap to install a thermostat, so you were left to scavenge for yourself like a hungry, cloth eating possum.

That is until you heard the door from across the hall creak, the one to Ford’s room. You stood silently for a moment before walking over there with a new idea in mind.

“I’m sure he won’t mind if I just borrow one of his, right?” You mumbled to yourself, shifting through the hangers in his closet. “he’s got like a million of em…” you mused to yourself, noticing how he just had 5 of the exact same red turtleneck in his closet. You pulled one out and threw it over yourself, embracing how the soft, thick wool embraced your goosepimpled skin. You shuddered, bringing your arms up to hug yourself to allow the garment to trap your body heat as it was a little big on you. And as you did, you could get a small hint of Ford’s natural scent that still clung onto the microfibres of the sweater even after being put through the wash. You took the collar and brought it up to your nose, closing your eyes and taking in a long, deep breath that sent a giddy shiver through your body. You loved the natural scent of your partner, and you remembered that one time you mentioned it and he went on to explain to you how that “was actually a sign that you two were biologically compatible”. You snorted, he always seemed to make even the most technical and “boring” aspects of romance more.. romantic. Deciding that this was sufficient, you trotted back downstairs to revisit your patiently awaiting boyfriend (even though he was probably incredibly focused on his work so you would hardly consider him waiting).

“Hi honey!” You cheered, entering the lab and closing the door behind you. Ford didn’t look back to greet you this time, but you could hear the smile in his voice from behind his head. He busily scribbled in his journal and gave you a wave with his free hand.

“Hello dear! I can trust you found something reasonable?”

You nodded a small ‘yeah’ and joined him again at his desk, standing behind him and resting a hand on the back of his shoulder. This caught his attention, and he lifted his eyes up from his page to peer at you from the corner of his eye. What you didn’t think would happen however, was his mouth dropping open with a slight gasp and his torso completely turning to face you. You almost jumped, suddenly unsure if you had somehow stepped over some kind of boundary.

“Oh, sorry, did you want me to put on something else?” You felt kinda bad now, feeling like you should have asked him first before taking something that was his. But he shook his head, his mouth quickly opening and closing as he tried to find the right words.

“Uh.. no! N-no- it’s-uh..” he brought a fist to his lips to clear his throat for a few long, awkward seconds. You furrowed your eyebrows, still not entirely sure if he was mad or just… surprised. Ford shook his head again, blinking rapidly and ducking his head down to gaze at his lap, collecting his thoughts as he squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before opening them again.

“It’s fine. You look…” he trailed off, placing a hand on his thigh and squeezing the fabric of his pants to try and get a grip on himself. “you look nice, I’m just..” he adjusted his glasses, lifting his head back up to you. Oh, that was a mistake. Seeing you looking so perfect in something that was his made him loose track of his thoughts all over again. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Surprised. To see you in something of mine, is all…” he trailed off, his gaze wandering to the side so that he might have some semblance of dignity in explaining himself to you. But the red blush that was forming in his cheeks betrayed him.

You weren’t an idiot, nor were you blind, so you could definitely see how this was affecting him. And it made you a bit proud of yourself, and you hadn’t forgotten that your hand was still on his shoulder, so you rubbed your thumb gently back and forth a little, making his breath hitch.

“Oh good..” you chuckled “I was beginning to worry that you were upset that I took one of your sweaters.”

Ford let out a nervous laugh, his shoulders very obviously shaking under your touch as he looked up at you with a crooked smile. “Oh, no no no, my dear. Surprised, yes. Mad? No. Not at you, never at you.” He said softly, placing a hand on top of yours.

Now was your turn to blush and smile awkwardly. “Mind if I sit back down?”

“What?” Ford blinked, taking a second to realize what you meant. You had been sitting in his lap earlier. Ah, yes… right. “Oh! Um, yes! Yes, of course you can…” he opened his arms and shifted his legs towards you so that you could easily slide back onto his lap, he shifted himself awkwardly so that he was sitting right back in his previous position, only with one arm around your waist this time while the other furiously worked on his notations. Well… tried to anyway.

You were too damn distracting. With your body so close to his in that sweater that he owned. His sweater. His. On you. The image of you in it driving him crazy with the idea that it marked you in a way. Sort of. Like you wearing it was equivalent of you with a tattoo that read “Property of Stanford Pines”. And oh how that idea made him shiver. He shifted again in his seat, trying to avoid your gorgeous thighs from brushing up against the growing stiffness in his pants, not wanting to make it so obvious that he was in fact very, very aroused by this. By you. But it was getting harder to think, he was having to erase and re write words more than normal, his cursive was getting sloppy, he was writing too fast and his breath was becoming quick, all while you were mindlessly resting your head on his shoulder and clinging to him for stability, your eyes half lidded as they watched his free hand work. Which put on even MORE pressure for him to try and act normal. Just be normal, he told himself. But who was he kidding, he’s never been normal a day in his life. Oh god, that scent of yours was gonna be on that sweater for the next couple days. Was he absolutely sure that you weren’t a siren? He would have to run some tests. You had already told him that no, you weren’t, but damn it if moments like these didn’t make it hard for him to believe.

It wasn’t until a small “Ford, you okay?” left your lips that he realized that he was gripping your waist obscenely tight.

He gasped, immediately loosening his grip and dropping his pen. He turned to you with a wild look in his eyes. “Ah- no!”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, yes! I mean.. uh…”

You lifted your hands to his face, caressing his cheeks and inspecting him. He remained silent as you turned his head gently to each side. “You’re burning up. I can leave if I’m distracting you.” You said softly with a genuine air of care in your tone, rubbing your thumbs along his stubbly cheeks. Oh, why did you have to be so genuine and sweet? You were making it all the more difficult for him to not feel disappointed with himself for getting so worked up by something so seemingly mundane. But in a hasty move, his hands flew to your wrists, his eyes wider than before.

“No!”

You furrowed your brows, waiting a few seconds as he collected his thoughts to speak.

“I’m sorry, this is very inappropriate of me. I shouldn’t be so worked up over this but I- you…” he sighed, hanging his head down in shame. “you just.. look very… tempting, like this.”

Your mouth dropped open, and a small “oh!” fell from your lips. “…really?” You chuckled, moving yourself closer to him in his lap which made him stiffen and lean back, trying to not let you see just how much you were getting to him. And you barely even had to do anything.

“Ah… yes.” He looked away from you, the blush in his cheeks and the shame in his eyes too much for him to bear to face you. You had to hold back your laughter at just how darn adorable he was being, you didn’t want to embarrass him.

“Oh, Stanford..” you cooed, bringing your lips to his for a kiss, making him jump in his seat. You expected him to shy away, but his other hand flew to your waist, bringing you closer. A small moan escaped him as you lifted your leg up and over to his side, effectively straddling his lap, and as you did you felt your thigh brush against his bulge, making him gasp. You smiled, not being able to help the small giggle that escaped you as you continued kissing him. He responded with an embarrassed groan as he gripped your waist tighter, digging his fingers into your sides through the thick fabric of the sweater.

“Mmmm… darling…” he huffed against your lips, not taking himself off of you for a second. You could feel his hot breath on your cheek as it quickened, his hands roaming over your body in a more feverish attempt to feel every inch of you like this, making the sweater hike up an inch or two above your torso. He quickly dipped his hand underneath to feel your skin against his fingers, rubbing sensual little circles into the dip of your waist with his thumb, squeezing any flesh he could get his fingers on.

“Mm..mm-my dear, please, if I don’t have you for at least a moment I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish the rest of my work..” he pleaded, pulling back and looking at you with big, desperate eyes behind his fogged up glasses. You melted at the sight, and made a mental note to wear his sweater more often.

“Do whatever you need to, sweetie~” you grinned, sighing and collapsing your lips back onto his, earning a muffled noise of excitement from him. Quickly things got heated, and Stanford lifted you up with a grunt, shifting one arm to cradle your perfect behind and the other to hastily shove aside his materials, knocking some to the floor by accident. But he didn’t care right now. All he cared about was you. Your body, your scent, your lips… just you. Everything was you right now. He gently laid you back down on his desk as he continued to kiss you, trapping you between his torso and the table. His tongue flickered out against your bottom lip in a desperate plea for access, which you oh so graciously granted. He let out a shuddering, whiny moan when you did, shyly sliding his tongue between your lips into your open mouth.

You sneakily reached back underneath your- well, Ford’s sweater that was on you, and undid the clasp of your bra, maneuvering the straps down your shoulders and out of each sleeve so that you could pull it down and out from under the garment. Ford felt you do this and opened his eyes momentarily to look down at you, his eyes scanning over the sight of you now; your nipples that were made hard by the cold poking through the fabric of his sweater. He didn’t think his face could burn any hotter. And he couldn’t think of a sight lovelier.

“My god…” he muttered, licking his lips involuntarily. You could see sweat already dripping from his forehead. “Dear, you are just…” he trailed off, his eyes flickered from your chest to your gleaming eyes. Exquisite. Beautiful. Show-stopping. More incredible of a sight than the Milky Way itself. Those were all the things he wanted to say, but the words caught in his poor throat. He gulped in an attempt to moisten his vocal cords so that he could speak. “M-may I…?” he whispered, not taking his eyes off of yours as he gently trailed a hand up your torso, his fingers twitching at the anticipation of maybe getting to touch you if you allowed it. And bless your good, kind heart, you nodded. He’d have to thank you thrice over after this.

He smiled and leaned back down to capture you in another hot, messy kiss as his hand excitedly flew up to cup your breast, squeezing it gently through the thick red fabric. His hand began moving in small circles against it, gently massaging the fleshy mound in an attempt to get you a little more warmed up, and by god was it working with the way his palm pressed into your sensitive bud as it moved in little circles. Even beneath the sweater, you could feel almost every sensation of his touch. His other hand moved under the sweater, squeezing your waist gently to hold you in place while he began to kiss down your jaw, he lifted the hand on your waist now to cradle the back of your head as he went down to attack the column of your neck, using two of his fingers to push down the collar so that it wasn’t in the way of his numerous little love bites he was leaving between kisses.

“Oh god… Ford..” you moaned, tilting your head back to give him more access. And you had no idea how much that just spurred him on. What could he really say? You drove him crazy. He shuddered when he heard that, biting into your neck a little harder.

“S-say that again… my dear.. p-please..” he whispered huskily, his hot breath on the skin of your neck.

You felt your cheeks beginning to flush and let your stuttering lips utter his name again. Which earned a little whimper from him as he pushed his lips back up into yours again, his brows were furrowed as if he were focused intensely on an important project. The more little noises and gasps he earned from you, the more he felt his hips began to unintentionally push up against you. His bulge aching very obviously in his slacks, the hardness pressing to your core. His hips started to buck in little spastic moments, not able to contain his lust for you.

“Mmm.. mm.. ohhhh…” Ford shuddered as he found a steady rhythm for him to desperately rut against you, despite you both still having your pants fully on. He was essentially dry humping you now through your jeans, causing you to bring your legs up a little to cling to his sides as he had you laid comfortably back on the desk still. You felt his fingers give your nipple a little pinch, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger gently making you moan. He wanted more of that. That sound. He wanted to record that and put it in an audio piece to install into his brain so that he could hear it whenever and wherever he wanted with complete and utter discrepancy. Surely he could do that, right? If he could have a metal plate installed why not something as simple as that?

Ford moved his hand to sneak under the sweater, his fingers ghosting against your skin and meeting your breast once more. Doing the same mannerisms he had beforehand, only now he was able to feel your supple, beautiful bare skin against his fingers. He sighed happily at the contact, deciding he wanted more and shoving his other hand under your sweater, cupping your other breast and kneading and massaging it under his large, rough palm. Switching between squeezing them and then rubbing them in small circles, purposefully pressing his palms against your hard, sensitive buds.

“Mmmmphh~ Oh.. darling” he panted against your lips. “darling you feel divine…” he said shakily, and before you could get any response out he pinched both your nipples, making you squeak in surprise. Oh god, that little sound you made… it was a miracle he didn’t cum right then and there in his pants. He began to move his head down again, leaving a trail of hot, hasty kisses against your neck as he mumbled “I’m sorry.. I need to..”

You breathed out a shaky little “huh?” before feeling his hands slide down your torso and over your hips, gripping onto them firmly to move you up his desk so he could duck his head down to your chest, shoving the sweater fabric to bunch up to your collarbone revealing your perfect torso, tummy, and chest. All bare and all for him. God, your tits looked fucking fantastic, his sweater made a perfect arch above them, framing them in a way that welcomed him to stare at. He suddenly got an idea, he gripped the bunched up fabric and held it to your lips. “You may want to bite down on this.” He suggested, making your eyes widen, but you did as he told you to and gently took what you could between your teeth, the sight making him shiver. You didn’t even have to do much, did you? Seductress.

Ford wasted no time in moving back down to wrap his lips around your nipple, taking the sweet bud gently between his lips and caressing the other with his fingers, tweaking and squeezing the one between his fingers and kissing and sucking on the one in his mouth. Rolling his tongue around the pebble occasionally. His breathing was heavy against your skin and his other hand squeezed your hip to keep you in place for him. God, he just loved you like this. Laid out for him to adore and worship and play with. He gave your breast a rough little squeeze, making you gasp, but it was muffled by the sweater. Ford groaned, the sound vibrating through his mouth onto your chest. He switched his mouth to the other side, taking his hand from your hip to hold your breast that was now slick with his own saliva, and he did the same thing as before. Earning another little sigh and a coo of his name from your sweet, angel voice.

“Ohhhh… my darling..” he murmured, kissing you down the swell of your gorgeous mound, squishing it up slightly, then your torso, then your stomach. He reached down to bring your hips into his grip by both hands, lifting them slightly so he could bury his face into the flesh of your lower stomach just above the waistband of your jeans and leave a long, deep, lingering kiss.

“Mmmmphhh… mmmm~” he moaned into your skin, making you giggle.

“Dear you’re absolutely stunning… a goddess… may I..?”

Ford tugged sheepishly at your jeans, hooking a finger into one of the empty belt loops and looking up at you with a shy, begging expression. And how could you say no to such a face? With his glasses all crooked and his silver hair a mess over his eyes. His cheeks still redder than an apple orchard. With a grin, you enthusiastically nodded, making him beam and continue to kiss your abdomen, closing his eyes and carefully unbuttoning your pants to peel them down off your thighs. Ford didn’t ever think he would get over that feeling, of undressing you and revealing your perfect skin to him. Like he was unwrapping a present only he got to bear witness to. After tugging them the rest of the way down your beautiful legs, discarding them completely, he took a moment to appreciate the sight between your legs, feeling a little less embarrassed too at just how hard he currently was. If the wet stain on your panties at your core was anything to go by, you were just as aroused as he was. And Ford couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride swell in him that he was able to elicit that kind of excitement from you.

Ford immediately got on his knees, feeling that this was the most appropriate position for him to be in at all times when he was with you like this to be honest. You deserved no less than complete and utter worship in his mind. He wasted no time grabbing your thighs, hoisting them both up over his shoulders and turning his head to each side to leave an even amount of kisses on each one. He nearly creamed when he felt your hands reach down to play with his hair. No, he would not let himself do that, not yet at least. Despite how much he wanted to just say fuck it and yank you down onto his lap, or get back up on top of you and fuck into you senseless like you were rabbits trying to go for a world record of most litters in one spring, his sense of self control was impeccable. Especially right now. He wanted, no, he needed to treat you like a princess. Because that’s what you were. A princess. Yes exactly. His mouth continued to kiss and suck on the flesh of your inner thighs as his fingers dug into you, making you squirm and shiver under his touch as well as a few moans and whispers of his name that tickled his ears and made his cock twitch under his slacks. Ford was certain that if he looked down, he would see a rather embarrassingly large wet spot right where his tip ached. But he tried not to think about it, as hard as that was right now. No pun intended. He just thanked the stars you were laying on top of his table, unable to see any of the humiliating turmoil he was experiencing down below.

Ford hooked a finger around the hem of your panties as he continued to suck and bite up your thigh, leaving a hot wet trail of his spit along your skin. He yanked at the undergarment gently a few times to ask permission as his mouth was occupied with marking your flesh.

You nodded from where you laid back on the desk, letting out a shuddering breath. “Yes.. please, Ford… god yes..”

And that was all he needed to hear. Ford removed his mouth from your skin for only a millisecond, eager to get his lips back on you with the speed of which he removed your underwear. He lifted one of his hands from your thigh and let it rest on his shoulder that was broad enough to have it just sit there, and slowly ran two fingers up your already wet slits, shivering at how slick you already were for him. Just perfect enough to part your folds and slide two fingers in, just to warm you up before the main event.

He heard a long, deep moan come from you and only wished he could see your face when you did that. Imagining what it must have looked like only made his trousers tighter if you could believe it. He almost didn’t, but then again, it was you. Ford wouldn’t be too shocked if you had been able to make ejaculate with just a look. And some days… well he got pretty close.

He twisted his wrist upward so that he cupped your pussy, his fingers curling in and out of you and making sure he was pressing the ball of his palm against the sensitive button that rested atop of your vulva. Rubbing it in tandem with his fingers. Ford could already feel your clit begin to pulse and swell under his touch, making him groan against your thigh. He took in a deep breath to capture your scent in his nose but also to steady himself from the sounds of pleasure you were making because of him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he would be able to hold out. He had to make you cum, and quickly. So he removed his hand from your heat, and despite the desperate little whine that escaped you he managed to keep his composure for just a second. Ford peered up at your face from where he kneeled, and being rather tall he could still view you as if he were hovering on top of you, and by god did you look exquisite. Your face was flushed, your chest heaved and your lips quivered as you begged him for more of his touch. Oh, that was music to his ears.

“Mmm.. Ford….” You whined, rubbing your thigh against his stubbly cheek to signal for him to keep going- which drove him insane. He wished you would do that more often and made a mental note of that. To have the flesh of your thigh pressed against his face… ohhh.. he shuddered.

Ford had to catch his breath to mumble out a quick response. “I-I know dear, I know…” he chuckled, kissing softly along your other thigh one more time before pressing his mouth to your open folds, his tongue immediately made its way into your opening and tasted you fervently. The sounds he was making were comparable to that of a man that hadn’t eaten in days. Ford’s face was sufficiently pressed up against your core, his nose rubbing up against your clit. Unintentional, but nonetheless welcome as it provided even more friction and the pleasant sensation of his hot, heavy breaths on it as he ate you out. His tongue curled in and out of your hole as he squeezed and rubbed your upper thighs, working you like a muscle. He brought you in closer if that was even possible, hearing your rough and jagged panting from above him encouraging him to keep going. Ford groaned when he felt your thighs squeeze around his head more, smushing his glasses up his nose a little bit and making his eyes roll back into his head. God, you were beautiful. So so beautiful and too good for him. He should be thanking you for even letting him do this. And when you started to roll your hips forward into his mouth, he couldn’t help the way his own hips twitched upwards, like he was hoping to find some release by grinding into the air, but to no avail.

“Oh god.. Stanford…. ahhh….!” you gasped, tilting your head back against the cold, metal desk as your back arched slightly. That earned an even louder groan from him, his eyebrows slanting upwards. Ford felt his member twitch again when you gripped his silver hair tighter, and he almost lost himself there. But he continued to hold on for you, determined to make sure you were satisfied first. He began to suck on your clit, taking advantage of its sensitivity and running his tongue over it, he switched between that motion and shoving his tongue inside you, attempting to do both at once. And he was succeeding.

“Ahhhh! Oh god.. Ford.. I’m.. close!” You panted, gripping onto the edge of the table. You could feel your thigh muscles begin to tense as you rode yourself to your release. You came hard into his mouth, head tilting back and lips falling open as you groaned. Your legs curled inwards to keep Ford in place as you came down from your high. And he would not complain at all. He drank in the sweet honey substance, revelling in the taste of you as he continued to gently run his tongue up your labia to soothe the sensitivity.

Ford slowly began to pull away, panting and wiping a hand under his nose that was covered in your slick. He peered up at you to admire the mess he reduced you to. God you were stunning. He watched as you attempted to catch your breath, rubbing a thumb into the flesh of your thighs soothingly.

“That’s it… you did so good for me, my love.” He sighed, resting a cheek on your thigh.

You chuckled breathlessly, trying to lift yourself up to sit. You propped yourself up on your elbows and gazed at Ford through your lashes.

“thank you.. you were the one who did all the work, though” you said shyly, feeling kinda bad that he only ever seemed to focus on your pleasure. But every time you brought it up, he would shake his head and tut. Claiming that your pleasure was his.

Ford chuckled, standing up between your legs to lean down and plant a kiss to your lips. Trying to hide the fact that he was rather a mess himself. But your eyes drifted downward, seeing the very obvious stain on his slacks where his cock previously pressed up against the fabric and was now flaccid. You quickly put two and two together and realized…

“did you already…?”

You asked with a slight tease in your tone. He tried to play it off like he had no idea what you were talking about. But he knew he couldn’t hide anything from you.

“W-what? No, no I-“ his cheeks burned a red that reached the tips of his ears. He sighed. “Uh…” he gulped, feeling the burning embarrassment of 10,000 suns in his body.

You almost didn’t believe it just by the sheer flattery of it. Ford came, in his pants, just from getting to eat you out.

You giggled and brought his lips to yours again, digging your fingers in his hair.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Ford. I think it’s hot..”

Ford nearly choked on his own air. Adjusting his foggy glasses he sputtered out a nervous, disbelieving “Y-y-you do?!”

You nodded, bringing him closer to you. He stumbled a bit.

“Should we.. get cleaned up, then?”

Ford breathlessly chuckled, scratching the back of his head. Still a bit embarrassed but not nearly as mortified as before. “Ah.. yes, y-yes, let’s.”

He lifted you up off the desk, his sweater falling back over you and easily covering the intimate parts of your body. You both exchanged a loving little peck before taking the secret way to his room, lest he go through the shame and embarrassment of any of the Shack’s residents see him like this.

You’d have to borrow Ford’s sweaters more often.

#gravity falls x reader #reader insert #stanford pines headcanons

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