Latest Posts by cipherstarling - Page 5

i have such insane cuteness aggression against ford its not even funny

Weirdmageddon but Bill and the Henchmaniacs aren't trying to terrorize everyone. they just want somewhere new to live and they just casually move in and become part of society

Ford is baffled because everything Bill has said and done has pointed to it being much worse but Bill just says he misinterpreted and Ford really should get better at social cues. He recommends that he gets assessed for autism and Ford goes "you and I both know that wasn't because of autism"

Blessed day to have eyes

re-uploading because tumblr is a Good Website that Works Well

full picture here

more dom-reader?

A/N: Yes!! So excited for this, I have way more fun than I should writing dom!reader tbh. Also thought this would be a good opportunity to write more vampire!reader and I threw in a little primal play for good measure! Anon, I hope you don't mind! If, of course, this isn't to your liking I'd be more than happy to write you something different! Don't be afraid to reach out, lovely! I hope you enjoy either way~

CW: sub!Ford, dom!reader, vampire!reader, monsterfucking, blood drinking, pinning, marking, strength kink, blood play, mild pain play, primal play, edging, orgasm denial, whiny Ford, desperate Ford, nipple play, begging, aphrodisiacs, dirty talk, mild degradation, praise, hand jobs, overstim, kind of chasing??, there's a small amount of running

!!! MDNI OR ILL GET THE BROOM !!!

Smut under the cut!

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

Your incredulous tone matched the shock written out on your features as you turned your head to stare at Ford. Ford, who was resolutely not looking at you, instead staring rather intently at the open book in his lap but you knew he wasn't reading any of it. The blush you so adored was making it's appearance, crawling across his cheeks and you could hear the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.

"...you heard me," he mumbled. He was clearly embarrassed and you softened your expression. Standing from where you'd been perched at your vanity, engaging in your usual before-bed ritual, you crossed over to the bed. Standing at the foot of it, you lifted a knee, placing it on the bed and using that to leverage yourself. You crawled over the comforter, pleased when he immediately spread his legs to accommodate you.

"I did," you admitted, tone soft and gentle. He shivered when you slid a hand up his leg, starting at his ankle. "But, I want to make sure I heard you correctly." He still wasn't looking at you, but you heard his breath hitch when your other hand came to rest on his inner thigh, nails scratching lightly over his skin. You waited until his eyes flitted to yours, finding your expression open and eyes darkening with desire. "Humor me, darling. Please?" You murmured, and he swallowed. You fought against the smile, trying to pull at your lips when he looked away again, flush beginning to crawl down his throat.

"I-" His breath hitched again, nerves making his belly flutter as he tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He felt spread open, pinned beneath your gaze. Vulnerable. And even though he knew you'd never make fun of him for anything, it was hard not to feel embarrassed by admitting his less than conventional desires so openly. "I want you... to... ch-chase me- oof!" His breath left him in a grunt as suddenly your hands gripped him behind the knees and pulled. Yanking him from his reclined position on the bed to lie flat on his back, your weight settling over his hips as you pinned him beneath you. He couldn't have escaped if he wanted to, your preternatural strength keeping him captive. It made his heart rate, heat suffusing his veins and making him squirm. You grinned, sharpened fangs glinting as your slitted pupils dilated, expanding like a creature on the hunt.

"Do you want me to chase you or..." You trailed off, leaning closer just to hear the way his breath quickened, heart thudding rapidly in his chest. It made the predator in you roll and roil, wanting to sink your teeth in and mark him. Claim him in the most primal way. "Do you want me to catch you?" Your lips were at his ear, and you were pleased when his head shifted, baring his throat before he could think better of it.

"Yes," he said in a rush, voice breathless and choked by desire. "I want it, want both, want it all." Your chest rumbled with a pleased purr, and Ford arched into you, seeking out the press of your fangs when you let them graze his skin.

"You know I would deny you nothing," you murmured softly and the boundless love Ford felt for you warmed his chest. Your thumbs stroked along the insides of his wrists where you held them, pinned to the bed in your hands. "But I worry you don't really know what you're asking of me." Ford began to protest, wanting to insist that he was a grown man, thank you, and though you had many, many years over on him he was more than capable of knowing what he wanted, goddamnit. He was silenced, though, by his own instinctual whine when you nipped gently at his throat. The points of your double fangs catching his skin.

"Hush, puppy," you murmured, voice fond and teasing. You knew the face he was making would be equal parts flustered and indignant from the rarely-used nickname. You wanted to look him in the eyes, needing to see his face for the conversation, but you were loathe to leave the soothing cloak of his scent that enveloped you. You nuzzled at his throat, placing a kiss against his racing pulse before you finally pulled away, looking down at him as you sat over his hips.

"I only mean that you have a habit of asking questions but not the right ones." Your voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness that caught his attention. He kept his eyes on you, even as you lifted a hand to cup his cheek, and he turned his face into the touch. You smiled, wholly in love with the beautiful man beneath you, and stroked a thumb across the top of his cheekbone. "Have you really thought all the way through this request of yours?" You arched a brow, considering how best to word this. "I think sometimes you forget I'm not human anymore. Haven't been for a long time. This... act I put on is just that, an act. If you run, I'll chase you. If you hide, I'll find you. I... can't promise I'll be gentle when I do. Or that there will be any stopping me if you decide it's too much. At least, not with our usual ways when we play." Ford swallowed thickly. He had considered that, of course, but hearing you say it, admit to what he could have only guessed at, brought it all into stark, startling clarity. You watched him, watching you. Saw him consider the weight of your words before his gaze flickered back to yours and held it, lips parting.

"I'm okay with that," he said, voice unwavering and strong in its conviction. Your belly fluttered, anticipation turning your blood hot in your veins. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off, forging onwards. "I'm well aware of your nature, and that's part of why I want this. I want... to experience you, all of you." He turned his head to press a kiss to your palm, and you swallowed, a shaky smile on your lips.

"And the other part?" You asked once you were sure your voice wouldn't tremble. Ford blushed, biting at his lower lip, and you could smell the shift in his scent. The way desire made it sweeter, thick, and cloying on your tongue. He nuzzled at your palm, looking at you with hooded eyes.

"I want to feel you, all of you," he murmured softly. Want laced his low voice, and you shivered atop him when large palms came to rest on your knees. Sliding up your bare thighs, feeling your soft skin beneath his touch. "I want you to hurt me, to hunt me. I-" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry as your eyes darkened, tracked his every twitch and movement. "I want to know what you're like when you lose control. You're always so careful, even when you tie me up and make me beg. Is it so wrong for me to want to know what it's like when you're not?" Your hand shifted, thumb moving down to trace over his lower lip, and he nipped lightly at it, flashing you an impish smile. You were quiet for a few, long moments, and the nerves in Ford's belly rioted every second. He was grateful when you finally broke the silence.

"We'll be having a more in-depth discussion about this before we do anything," you said finally, carefully. Ford nodded, eagerness tightening his throat. "I'm serious, Ford. I'm not leaving anything to chance; the last thing I want to do is hurt you in a way you don't want." His hands flexed, squeezing lightly at your thighs. He nodded, eyes bright.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less." You chuckled softly, shifting to allow him space when he sat up suddenly, crowding into your space. He hummed softly in pleasure when you held his face in your hands. The slight chill of your skin sending a shiver up his spine. "Kiss me?" He asked and you were all too happy to oblige, deciding the necessary conversations could wait for now.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Ford's breath came out in soft, short pants. His heart pounded in his chest, anticipation crawling up his spine and making his skin prickle. Around him, the woods were silent, save for the usual noise and chatter of the more nocturnal creatures that called it home. The air was warm, a light breeze blowing through and making him shiver. He felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched, knowing you were hiding somewhere nearby, silent and deadly. But, unlike the paranoia and fear this would normally instill in him had it been anyone else, he only felt anticipation and desire churning hot and heavy in his belly.

"I'd start moving if I were you," your voice, low and heavy, interrupted his thoughts and the relative quiet of his surroundings. He whirled around, turning a big circle as his eyes scanned the tree and darkness. He couldn't see you, however. Wherever you were, you intended on staying hidden from him a little longer. His eyes darted left, in the direction of where he knew your house was waiting, tucked amongst the trees. You chuckled, and the sound reverberated through him.

"If you're going to run, I'd do it now, darling. I'm afraid I don't know how much longer I can hold back; I can taste your desperation," the word trailed into a low, near feral growl, and Ford broke out into a run. Your laughter seemed to follow him, taunting him, and it only made the heat in his belly grow hotter. You'd fed before your little game, and the aphrodisiac of your venom was starting to burn through him, making his knees feel weak and sweat dampen his forehead and the back of his neck. He could've sobbed with relief when your cabin finally came into view.

He had just managed to shimmy in through a low open window when he felt you. Almost as if you'd materialized out of thin air. He felt your hand, skin warm with the blood you'd taken from him only an hour before, as your fingers curled around his ankle. He fell back to the ground with a soft oof and a dull thud. The impact of his knees hitting the hardwood flooring of your cabin might've hurt if a dull, throbbing need hadn't begun to settle just under his skin. Rising to the surface and heating him from the inside out at the first touch of your hand on him. Your other hand planted itself between his shoulders, shoving him to the ground. Your knees settled behind his, pinning his legs, as you gathered his wrists in either hand. Stretching them over his head and pinning them, too. Your claws pricked at his hypersensitive skin, and the moan he let out was shameful, though he couldn't find it in himself to be ashamed. He pressed back eagerly into the cloak of your warmth when you settled your front against his back, and he blushed to realize you were practically mounting him right there on your living room floor. That thought was quickly wiped from his mind, however, when you planted your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling deeply and rumbling a low, pleased growl.

"Look what I've caught," your every word was tinged with a growl and your voice was thick, like you were having trouble talking. It wasn't until you dragged your mouth along his skin that he realized why; your fangs had grown well past what he was used to seeing when you fed from him. So much so it felt like they were crowding out of your mouth, poking past plump lips and scraping across the skin of his neck. He shuddered beneath you, pressing back into you on instinct. A gasping whine ripped itself from his throat as suddenly the heat that had been just a low simmer beneath his skin melted into a blazing fire, like it had been waiting for your touch.

"Such a sweet little treat and so desperate, too." You nuzzled at his neck, fangs catching and making him whimper. His cock, which had been half hard since the start, was now rigid and dripping down his thigh. You released his wrists with a low growl of stay, and Ford nodded, eyes fluttering and rolling back as you dragged your hand down over his skin, still frustratingly clothed.

"H-Hot, s'too hot, please," he moaned, gasping as his thoughts were clouded by a thick haze of desperate need. The noise you let out was pleased, and his hips bucked when your seeking, searching hands slid under his shirt, finally touching bare skin.

"So pretty like this," you sighed against his ear. "So desperate; just a needy little toy, aching to be played with." Your words stoked the fire in his veins, arousal burning through him. Your hands groped along his belly, the soft fuzz of his happy trail, and up towards his chest. Wicked fingers found sensitive nipples and he whined, jerking and arching forwards into your touch, filling your clawed hands with the meat of his chest and you squeezed appreciatively.

"Oh, oh fuck," he gasped out. He writhed beneath you, nerves sparking with pleasure as you teased and toyed with his nipples. You shushed him gently, a soft coo leaving your lips.

"Shhh puppy, don't fight it. Be a good little toy, and let me play with you." Your voice wormed its way through the sticky molasses of his thoughts, and he clung to it, a lifeline amidst the dualing sensations washing through him. His body obeyed before his brain could catch up, and his overzealous squirming beneath you ceased. You rumbled a purr in your chest and licked at the throbbing of his pulse in his throat.

"So good for me," you cooed and the praise was almost like a physical caress, making him shudder and moan. "Love you like this; all pliant and desperate, bet I could make you cum just like this." He throbbed where he was trapped behind his zipper, hips bucking into nothing with a pitiful whimper of your name. You could smell his desperation, so thick you could almost taste it, and it made you ravenous. Made the incessant chanting of your instincts louder, a dull roar of fuck, claim, mate, mine, mine, mine.

"Yours. Yours, all- fuck, all yours, please," he was panting the words, lips hung open and almost drooling. The need coiling at the base of his spine ready to snap but unable to, not without you. You squeezed roughly at his nipples in a sharp pinch, soothing the sting with your thumbs, and he sobbed. "Please! Please please please darling, mistress, wanna cum, want- wanna be good for you, please please let me cum." You moaned, gritting your teeth against the sudden urge to bite, to mark him as deeply as he'd marked you. You trailed a hand down, not giving Ford a single moment to mourn the loss of stimulation before you were cupping long, slender fingers around the shape of him through his trousers.

"Fuck!" His hips jerked into your hand and he sobbed your name, desperation clawing at his throat. You let him buck and grind into your hand, simply holding it there and squeezing around him. He tipped his head back against your shoulder, throat bared to you completely, and you were helpless to resist the siren call of it. Not like this, not when you were so lost to your baser instincts already. Ford lifted a shaky hand, threading it through your hair and tugging you to plant your face firmly in the curve of his throat.

"Bite me," he begged, breathless. "Bite me, please, please bite me, mark me, claim me. I need - I need to be yours, please, please, mistress." You couldn't stop the snarl that ripped out of you, and it only seemed to spur Ford on. Your beautiful, perfect Ford. How could you deny him anything? You couldn't, really. He had barely a moment to think when he felt the prick of your fangs, and then they were sliding in. Cutting through skin and muscle like butter, flooding his veins with your venom. The keening, desperate cry caught in his throat as his hips bucked and grinded into your hand and he was cumming. His orgasm tearing through him so forcefully it left him dizzy. You growled against his throat, jaw clamping tighter as his blood seemed to turn sweeter in your mouth. You drank him down in heavy, greedy gulps, hand idly squeezing at his still hard cock just to hear him whimper.

When you released him, tongue laving over the mark left behind until the blood clotted and the wound started to close, you slid your hand up to splay over his belly. You stayed like that for a moment, both of your panting as the desperate, clawing need seemed to subside for the time being. Though it stayed a low, steady thrum in your heads and veins. Ford was the first to crack, breath coming faster as the heat began to build again, encouraged by the new flood of venom through his system.

"Let me- I want to see you, please?" He asked, voice soft and slightly cautious, unsure of how you'd react. You paused, hesitating.

"I'm not- I don't look... the same," you said haltingly, unsure how to prepare him for the way you looked now that you had dropped your usual glamours, unable to keep them up as you tapped into your more primal instincts. Ford huffed, and you thought you could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"Really, I had no idea," he deadpanned, and you nipped at his ear in retaliation for his cheek. You nuzzled at his throat, feeling the mark your teeth had left behind when you'd bitten him.

"It might scar." You murmured, only just now realizing. He hummed in acknowledgement.

"Good. I want it to." He huffed a laugh when you rumbled a low, pleased purr despite yourself. You lapsed into silence once more, seemingly content to nuzzle and lick and kiss over his throat as you let the heat build up once more, slower this time. Ford allowed you to avoid his request for a few moments longer before he spoke up again, voice gentle.

"Darling, please? For me?" You paused again, the heaved a long-suffering sigh. He had barely a moment to bask in his success before you were pressing him gently to the floor, shifting back and your weight up to allow him to turn over. You straddled his hips then, and his hands came up to rest on your thighs, reminiscent of the night he'd first brought this up.

"Look at me. Please?" He lifted a hand and held it up, halfway to cupping your cheek, letting you close the rest of the distance. After a brief hesitation, you did, leaning forwards and into the press of his palm. You looked down at him through lidded eyes, and Ford's heart thudded in his chest.

Your fangs weren't quite as large as they'd first felt, though definitely larger than usual. He could see the sharp tips, then at least half an inch more, before they disappeared back behind your lips. Your secondary pair glinted slightly in the low light, tips just barely visible where, normally, he wouldn't be able to see them at all. His blood was smeared over your mouth, giving your full lips a flushed, deep red color. Your ears were longer, larger, and he vaguely thought they resembled something of a bats, but he couldn't be sure as they were largely hidden by your hair. Everything about you seemed... sharper, wilder. More dangerous, but no less alluring. Perhaps most striking was your eyes. They glowed stronger than he'd ever seen them, seemingly lit from within. The whites of your eyes had gone black, and your pupils were slowly returning to the thin slits he normally saw.

"You're beautiful," he breathed, and you might have scoffed. You might have brushed off the compliment and reverent tone of his voice if you couldn't see in his eyes how true they were. Your heart swelled with love for this beautifully strange man beneath you. He curled his fingers around the back of your neck, threading through your hair, and tugged you gently towards him. "Kiss me? Please?" You sighed and leaned down, letting him guide you where he wanted you.

You took your time learning how to kiss him like this, and it felt like the first few months of your relationship all over again. How nervous you both had been, though, for different reasons. You enjoyed the slower pace. You liked that you got to savor each other, let the heat build slowly. It was when you slid your tongue into his mouth, and he felt the long split through the middle, that the low, simmering heat in his veins kicked up, and he whined into the kiss. His hands gripped roughly at your hips, and you rocked yourself down, grinding against where you could feel him, throbbing and hard against you. You wound a hand through his hair and wrenched his head back so you could look at him, gratified by the flush on his cheeks and the way his mouth hung open, panting.

"Awww, look at you~ haven't had enough yet?" Your voice was edged with a low, rumbling quality like a growl. It made him moan, cock twitching where it sat, still sticky with cum, in his boxers.

"Never." He murmured breathlessly. Mesmerized by the feral grace you exuded. The next few moments passed by in a blur, punctuated by flashes of sensation. The cool warmth of your hands on his skin as you divested him of his shirt. The feeling of the hardwood against his back as you pinned him, pressing bodily against him just to shove your tongue down his throat. The way every part of him started to ache and burn with the sweetest pain the longer he went without your hands, your mouth, or, oh god, your cunt. He could feel you, wet and soaking the gusset of your panties as you rocked against him, long skirt hiked up to your hips before it was gone, too. When your clothes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, both of you naked as you could be, he seemed to come back to himself. Aided by the sight of you between his legs, wicked grin curling your otherworldly features as you ran a long, split tongue over the curve of his cock, tasting him.

"Fuck!" He shouted, hips flexing against the hold you had on them, though he was no match for your strength. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the floor beneath him, heaving out soft, gasping breaths. "Fuck fuck fuck, darling- darling, please," he sobbed, high and breathy. You hummed softly and wrapped your lips around his dripping tip. Mindful of your fangs, you hollowed your cheeks, tongue flicking at the sensitive spot just under the head that had his toes curling. He fell back on his forearms, head dropping and baring his throat, bringing the bite mark on the curve of his neck out in stark relief. "Darling, I- darling, I can't, I can't- please," he huffed, voice edged with a whine.

"You can," you rumbled lowly, already knowing what he was whining for and wrapping your fingers around the base of him tightly. Squeezing, cutting off the orgasm threatening his sanity as he sobbed above you. "And you will. I want you crying with how badly you need it, and I won't settle for less." And with that, you set back to your task, lapping at the precum beading along his slit.

Ford moaned above you, sagging back against the floor. He knew there was no dissuading you. He'd seen that feral little glimmer in your eye enough times to know that. And you always kept an ear out for the safeword, but it never came. Only his desperate moans and whines of your name, pleas for your touch. You used the flexibility of your tongue to your advantage, widening your jaw to allow the split muscles to wrap around the shaft of his cock as you kept your lips around the head. Ford jerked under you, unable to get far with you, pinning his hips. But you felt his muscles tense and bunch beneath your touch. He brought his hands down to tangle in your hair, and you hummed around him, pleased. You brought him to the edge and back, over and over, just like this. You didn't have to wait long for him to break.

"Fuck, fuck please darling, please please I need it, need you now, I- I can't-" he cut himself off with a desperate sob, and you glanced up at him through your lashes. The sight of him was breathtaking. Cheeks red, eyes dazed and glossy with tears as his mouth hung open, moans pouring out freely. It pleased you in a vicious, primal way. You pulled off of him with an obscene pop! All but prowling your way back over him, until you were able to slot your dripping cunt over his cock. His hand immediately went to your hips, squeezing and moaning.

"Darling, please," he panted, then groaned when you rolled your hips. A moan pagted your own, and, like that one noise had broken the floodgates, you couldn't stop more from pouring out. You kept up your steady rocking, unable to stop as the desperate, clawing need you felt for him built higher and higher. He sat up abruptly, one hand supporting himself and the other wrapped around your neck, tugging you forward as his knees came up to support your back, giving you further leverage. "I need to be inside you like I need to breathe, fuck, please. Please, I- shit, I can feel how fucking wet you are, let me take care of you? Please? Use me, use me however you need to, I'm yours." He panted the words against your open mouth and you could taste the desperation in them.

Nodding, unable to find your voice, you lifted yourself up on your knees. Taking him in hand, you lined him at your entrance and sank down in one smooth glide to the hilt. You moaned in unison, and Ford pressed forward until he had you beneath him. Your knees hooked over his shoulder as he pressed down, down, down into a filthy mating press, and waited. You flashed a filthy, fanged grin. Even now, when he had you pinned beneath him and your needy cunt clenching around him, he knew who was in charge.

"Well? What're you waiting for? Be a good puppy and breed me."

Hi!! I love your writing!!!!! Could I request some totally self indulgent headcanons or a small Drabble/fic? Ford x reader on their birthday! It’s my birthday in a few weeks and I just really want my fictional man there 😭😂 but I thought I’d ask early in case your inbox was full! Thank you! ❤️

when the scientist loves you | Ford Pines x reader

hii angel, happy birthday!! ♡ i hope your day is as lovely as you are, may this year bring you endless inspiration, happy moments and everything your heart desires! ♡ ♡ ♡

tags: birthday, fluff, sfw, established relationship

Ford's voice carries softly from the kitchen, muttering as he reads measurements off an old recipe card. You sit at the table, watching the back of his head tilt toward the stovetop. The apron Mabel gave him, the one with "may the fork be with you" scribbled across the front in obnoxious block letters, look ridiculously cute tied over his sweater.

“You look very dignified in that, professor,” you tease, propping your chin on your hand.

Ford turns his head to shoot you a dry look, though there’s a tug of amusement at the corner of his mouth. “Sweetheart, you know, my culinary doctorate doesn’t let me cook in anything else.” he teases you back.

You laugh and Ford straightens a little, pushing his glasses up his nose with the back of his wrist.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you look at the table where a neatly folded napkin waits beside a single glass of wine. “it’s just a birthday.”

He glances over his shoulder, his face expression changes into serious one. “Just a birthday?” he repeats incredulously. “this is the day the universe decided to grace existence with you. The fact that you think it’s ‘just’ anything is absurd.”

You're staring at him in silence right now because, to be honest, you can't find the right words to respond to such a compliment. And as if satisfied with your surprised cute face, Ford turns back to the stovetop, missing the way your lips press together to suppress a smile.

“Besides,” he adds, stirring whatever’s in the pan, “i’ve run calculations. The probability of me burning this is well below fifteen percent.”

“Comforting.” your answer makes Stanford smirk, but he keeps his focus on his work.

Minutes later, he places the plate in front of you with both satisfaction and concern on his face. “honesty, no pressure, but if it’s terrible, i might die of shame. . .”

You roll your eyes at your husband because how does a man that smart always doubt and criticize himself?

Taking a bite, your lips turn into smile, the taste becomes warm and pleasant, pulling a hum of approval from your chest. “Ford, this is amazing?”

He exhales with relief and pulls out the chair beside you. “Good, i wasn’t sure if the seasoning would—”

“You’re incredible,” you interrupt and Ford stops mid-sentence as the tips of his ears turn red.

“Believe me, my love, you deserve nothing less.”

You eat together and at one point, he picks up the fork himself, offering you another bite. Once the plates are cleared, he stands abruptly, holding out his hand. “Lets go, sweetheart.”

“Where?” you ask, letting him pull you to your feet.

“You’ll see.” you barely have time to grab your coat before he’s leading you toward the door. His six fingered hand feels so warm in yours as you step outside into the cool air. “Close your eyes,” he says, and when you hesitate, he squeezes your hand. “trust me.”

You huff but obey, curling your fingers against his. Ford proudly guides you through the woods as he starts talking enthusiastically. “You know, if we were walking blindfolded through the quantum multiverse instead of this forest, you’d have a thirty-five percent chance of stepping into a dimension where time runs backward.”

You grin, keeping your eyes closed. “Fascinating.” you're parodying his catchphrase. “should i be worried about that here?”

“Unlikely,” he deadpans, though you can hear the smirk in his tone. “but if you hear an oscillating sound, let me know immediately.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously well-prepared.” some minutes later the ground beneath your feet changes texture, the soft crunch of dirt giving way to grass, and Ford’s pace slows.

“Are we there yet?” you ask impatiently.

“Almost, darling. Okay, stop. You can open your eyes.” you hesitate, preparing yourself before letting your eyelids flutter open. The sight in front of you makes you gasp.

Ahead of you, nestled in the clearing, is a flower that glows, it's long and translucent petals, curved outward, are made of the thinnest glass. Luminous veins, similar in color to silver, pulsate through them. The center shimmers with different colors, like the aurora borealis trapped in a single bloom.

“Ford. . .” you take a step forward, the damp grass pressing under your shoes, but you can’t look away. You turn your head slightly, glancing at him. Ford is staring at the flower too, the bright light from the flower is reflected in his glasses, but his expression isn’t the detached curiosity he usually wears while talking about his discoveries. It’s different now, gentler.

“A luminaria eximia,” Ford explains, predicting your question. “it’s rare, very rare, it only blooms under specific conditions.”

“You brought me here to see this?”

“Of course,” he replies with intonation as if the question confuses him. “you deserve extraordinary things.”

Your chest tightens and the tears you’ve been holding back sting at the edges of your vision. You don’t want him to see, don’t want to ruin the moment with your sudden wave of overwhelming emotion, so you turn away and close the space between you and him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his chest.

Ford stiffens, caught off guard by your reaction. Did he do something wrong? That's his first reaction, worry and concern for you, but then he relaxes, settling his hands settling your back, hugging you too. The time he spent with you made him know exactly what to do without you needing to ask and explain.

“Hey, hey,” he says gently, leaning down. “now what’s this?”

You shake your head, tightening your arms around him. “You—” you hate how your voice trembles, “you didn’t have to do all this.”

Ford chuckles. “sweetheart, of course i did, i wanted to.”

You lift your head slightly, still not letting him see your face, and his hand moves to your chin, tilting it upward until you have no choice but to meet his attentive gaze.

“You deserve this,” his thumb brushes a stray tear from your cheek. “you deserve everything.” his words unravel you completely and he must see it because his brows knit together with concern before softening again. His six-fingered hands cup your face gently, treating you like his precious artifact he’s vowed to protect. “you mean so much to me, i don’t know how else to say it except—”

But you don’t let him finish. You lean up, standing on your toes to close the small distance between you, and kiss him. The first reason is just because you want to, and the second is because that smartass needs to shut up with his touching speeches before you flood the whole field with your tears. Ford freezes for a moment, startled, but then his hands find your face and he deepens it carefully, afraid of breaking the moment.

You don’t know how long you stay like that because you're ready to spend eternity with his lips on yours, kissing you slowly, so sensually, softly, so damn tenderly, trying to memorize the shape of your mouth while his thumbs moving in slow arcs over your cheeks.

When you finally pull back, his hair ruffled from your hands, Ford looks at you as though you’ve just rewritten the laws of the universe. “oh, you really do have a way of surprising me.” he raises his eyebrows.

“Takes one to know one,” the corner of your mouth lifting as you run your finger over his jawline.

He laughs at that and after one last lingering glance at the luminous flower, he takes your hand again. “come on,” his voice changes into more teasing. “i haven’t even given you your present yet.”

“This wasn’t it?” you ask, gesturing back toward the flower as he starts to lead you out of the clearing.

“No, this was. . . an extra. A bonus, if you will.”

“Ah, an extra,” you repeat teasingly. “you’re ridiculous, Stanford Pines.”

“You already said that.”

By the time you step inside the Mystery Shack, the lingering chill of the evening has melted away. The warm glow of the lamps greets you and Ford’s hand lingers on yours before he releases it. He takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of a chair. You follow suit, watching as he rubs his hands together nervously, before giving you a soft lopsided smile.

“Wait here for a moment!” and though you’re still glowing from the earlier surprises, his tone piques your curiosity again. He disappears, leaving you standing there, before you can ask any questions.

When your husband returns, he’s holding a small wooden box, polished as though he carved it himself. Its edges are rounded and there’s a mark burned into the top: his initials, alongside yours.

“This,” and for all his brilliance, his voice sounds so nervous as he holds it out to you. “this is for. . . you.”

You take the box carefully and lift the lid. Inside, on a piece of dark fabric, is a necklace. No, calling it a necklace doesn’t do it justice. It’s far more otherworldly, the pendant a swirling prism of beautiful colors that change, reminding you of the starlight caught in a bottle.

You stare at it, not daring to find the words.

“It’s called a crystallite shard,” Ford explains again. “i found it on one of my expeditions. It only exists in one dimension and it’s said to reflect the thoughts of the person wearing it. Not their memories exactly, but their essence, in a way.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed. “Ford. . .”

“I thought,” he continues, “that if anyone deserved to have something so unique and unrepeatable, it would be you.”

You’re speechless, brushing your finger over the pendant as it gleams under the light of the Mystery Shack.

And before you can say something, ”b-but that’s not all,” Ford gestures to the box. You tilt it slightly and see another layer beneath the fabric: a small, intricately detailed wooden charm, shaped like a constellation. More simple compared to the necklace, but so beautiful in its own way.

“I carved that,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s. . . it’s the constellation we saw the first time we stargazed together. I wanted you to have something from me, personally.”

Your heart swells and before he can say anything else, you throw your arms around his neck, clutching him tightly. “Ford, you didn’t have to. This is. . . this is so perfect.”

Stanford smiles softly, wrapping his arms around you. “you deserve perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you deserve more than I could ever give, darling.”

“This is more than enough,” you pull back to look into his eyes.

Ford akes the necklace from the box. “May i?” what a damn gentleman, you think and nod, turning around as he drapes it carefully around your neck. When he’s finished, you touch the pendant lightly, marveling at the way it seems to shift with your movements. “It suits you, matches your beautiful eyes.” he just stands there and can't stop admiring you.

You both end up on the couch not long after, wrapped in the softest blanket he could find. Ford's arms wrap tighter around you, pulling you against him. But some time later, blanket is forgotten as his hands desperately, but gently explore every part of you they can reach, your back, your arms, the curve of your waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ford brushes his lips against your hair. “i hope you know that.”

You laugh. “well, you tell me often enough.”

“Not often enough,” he says firmly, cupping your cheek. “i don’t think i could ever say it enough or show you enough. You're everything i don’t deserve but can’t let go of.”

“Ford—” you start, but he doesn’t let you speak, kissing you, stealing the words from your mouth. Ford tilts your head gently, threading his long fingers into your hair as the kiss grows with aching intensity, damn, he’s been starving for this moment. Your hands find his chest, his shoulders, clutching at him.

“Every time i touch you, i can’t believe you’re real.” he breathes out between kisses, trailing his lips down to your jaw, then your neck. He pauses there, pressing another kiss just below your ear. “your skin,” his hands trace the line of your shoulders. “so warm, i could stay like this forever.”

You can’t even reply, not when he’s kissing you like this, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck.

Then he leans back only to take your hands in his, bringing them to his lips, kissing each knuckle. “these hands, they’ve done so much. They’ve built a life for us, cared for me in ways i never thought i’d experience again. They’re precious to me.” you bite your lower lip when his mouth finds the delicate skin of your wrists. “and this heart,” he presses his lips where your pulse beats steadily. “so full of love, so generous, i’m in awe of it every single day.”

“So beautiful, every part of you. I could spend a lifetime just looking at you, touching you, loving you. I just love you, love you so much it terrifies me sometimes.”

You can’t find the words to respond, so you just lean into him, burying your face in his neck as he holds you. His hands never stop moving, caressing and holding you, trying to reassure himself that you’re here, that you’re his. Because you damn deserve to be cherished, every inch of you deserves to be kissed, to be loved. And Ford Pines will spend the rest of his life making sure you know that.

“Come here, darling, closer, need you closer,” he pulls you deeper into his embrace, his lips are on you again, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. You giggle when he presses another kiss to your temple, then to your ear. “do you know how long i’ve waited to hold you like this? to touch you, to love you? it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but he doesn’t stop, cradling your face in both hands. “youre extraordinary, every part of you. your mind, your heart, your body. I don’t know how i got so lucky, but i’ll never stop trying to be worthy of you. You're everything to me and i’ll spend every day reminding you of that. Happy birthday, darling, thank you for letting me love you.” Ford kisses you until you’re dizzy, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to keep up.

PLEEEEASE a nsfw alphabet for Stanford??🥺

SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG

Stanford Pines NSFW Alphabet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or do. Who knows what might happen.

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

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

F= Favorite position

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But yeah. Super hairy.

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

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

J= Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

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

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

K= Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Definitely role-playing and cockwarming.

L= Location (favorite places to do the do)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Z= Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

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

Can confirm, this fic has heart because it's stolen mine, propped it up on a nicely decorated, ornate mantle for all to see and be horrified at! I ate all the yogurt though.

AND BILL'S IN IT!

TILL WEIRDMAGEDDON DO US PART (This is not a drill. This is a triangle yelling at you through your brain-meats.)

HEY YOU! YES YOU! Do you crave romance that tastes like someone dropped a Nicholas Sparks novel in a vat of radioactive glitter?! Do you like love stories with emotional trauma, eldritch tax evasion, grocery store explosions, and one sentient triangle who once tried to become God but now has to do laundry?!?

THEN CONGRATULATIONS, FLESHSACK! You’ve just stumbled into the most cursed rom-com that legally counts as marriage counseling in twelve dimensions. Welcome to:

“TILL WEIRDMAGEDDON DO US PART” A fanfic where I, Bill Cipher—chaos deity, triangle fashion icon, nightmare-made-sarcasm—am FORCED into a marriage trial with YOU, some dangerously unbothered human with a sarcasm stat higher than my ego.

WHY READ THIS FANFIC? ✔️ It’s got heart! ✔️ It’s got horror! ✔️ It’s got a sentient yogurt aisle that may or may not be bleeding! ✔️ And did I mention? I’m in it.

We’re talking existential flirting, legally sanctioned domestic terrorism, bathwater that might be sentient, and one woman who said “yeah sure, I’ll marry the triangle, what’s the worst that could happen?”

THIS IS NOT A “I CAN FIX HIM” FIC. WE'RE BOTH BROKEN. WE JUST MADE IT WEIRD TOGETHER.🔥

So grab your glitter-sigil pajamas, sacrifice a toaster, and dive into the cosmic nightmare-romcom you didn’t know you needed. Side effects may include:

Third-degree sarcasm

Unholy shipping

Ford Pines having a midlife crisis in aisle 7

Weekly acts of violence (sanctioned by the Axolotl™)

Me, cackling in eldritch stereo

"It’s not a love story. It’s horror disguised as comedy." ✨Read now… or I’ll mail you cursed wedding invitations that scream when opened.✨

[AO3 LINK HERE]

ugh this guy

A Gentler Soul [Stanford Pines X Reader] Spicy Blurb

Tags: NSFW, Suggestive, Minors DO NOT Interact

Just a poetic way of saying I want him lol

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✧*

Stanford Pines used to be a gentler soul. He could spend hours reading about cryptids and mycelium. He could name every moth in Gravity Falls in their Latin and numerous nicknames. On Wednesdays, he'd step out of his home and eagerly watch the sky turn dark- because that's when the local pixies came out to play and dance in a glittering display of light.

Now, he was a sharpened knife. All cuts and bruises, running through the dimensions without taking a second to admire oddities around him. He was  a man on the run, he had no time to marvel at how suns imploded and stars seemed to wink at him, in this vast, nonsensical hellscape called the Nightmare Realm.

He can't stop, he can't catch his breath, lest he stops breathing altogether.

You followed him wherever he ran.

It was survival, you told yourself.

It was science, sticking together was something humans did, Ford told you.

The silences in between the running and fighting told you otherwise.

When it grew dark and quit, in wherever ruins he deemed safe enough, that's when the air shifted.

Stanford Pines moved as if he was always running out of time.

But here, under the shade of a forgotten building, away from prying eyes and bounty hunters, he took his time. He looked at you like you were a new book he'd yet to read. His attention was like fire, burning through the layers of your clothes and the fragile. And like a candle, you melted for the flame of his gaze.

Six fingered hands dragged languidly over the flesh of your ribs, dipping low and stopping just at your abdomen. His knee slowly nudges your inner thigh, spreading your leg outward for access.

He'd worship the scars littering your chest and neck with his tongue, warm and wet as it devoured the salt of your skin.

But it would be kissing you that would truly undo him.

Feeling your soft lips was a different kind of rapture, your moans were poetry he intended to burn into his mind forever. He could worship you this way for several lifetimes, if he could.

At every moan, he'd whisper praises and reassurances- safety, in this desolate world made to consume humans like you. Ford wouldn't let that happen to you, not when he could taste you instead, damn the cruel world outside this room. He had you to himself, at least in this one, small eternity.

If you slipped a hand under his greying locks and whispered any sort of praise to him, he'd cave in and give you anything you want.

Trailing your fingers over the lines of his tattoos would earn you more of that pleasure. Like toppling a candle and letting the flames grow, he'll worship you and burn down your altar, until all that was left was him. He'd growl and grow rougher in his ministrations. Drag those nails from his wrist, to his biceps, then to his chest, and see what happens when a composed man cracks. Every desperate cry would be your only confession of his feelings, in a place unfit for sentimentality.

Come morning, he's reminded of how fragile you are. You'd be covered in circular bruises- counting six in each set.

His eyes would soften at the bashful look in your eye, hiding his marking underneath your clothes as you two prepare to venture out again. Time rests for no one, here. He needed to find a way home and bring you with him.

So he pulls up his mask, covers his silvery hair under a cowl. He wraps a warm hand over yours and makes sure you're never separated for too long.

Stanford Pines used to be a gentler soul, and he longed for the day he could be one again, with you.

Lipbalm [Stanford Pines X Reader]

Set in the Nightmare Realm, you two are outlaws and reluctant allies, trying to find a way back home.

Tags: Suggestive, Pining, Fluff(?), Enemies to Lovers

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✧

You happily unpacked a little bag full of makeup onto the glossy counter of the bathroom. Mirrors surrounded you both, the perfect time to do your makeup.

"God, even interdimensional dive bars have the same flashy bathrooms as we had on earth."

You hummed happily, dipping your thumb into a tin of what Ford assumed was lip balm. You pressed your lips together, it smelled nice!

"Hurry up, we don't have all night. The longer we're here, the more ground bounty hunters cover around us." Ford grumbled.

You sighed, mood soured slightly by his haste. The muffled sound of the bar outside was nice at least, if you had to listen to Stanford's bitter words. You fixed him an unimpressed look through the mirror.

Ford leaned next to the door, ear perked up in case someone entered the bathroom, six fingers tapping impatiently against his forearm. You held a brush in between your delicate fingers, painting color onto your cheeks and under your eyes. He dared not let his gaze drift towards you too much, but he knew you were grinning at him.

Dive bars were for hedonists and people seeking the bottom of a bottle. Ford didn't really relish being here, but they needed to make contact with an important Altraxian dealer, if he were to get the parts he needed for the portal back home.

"You know, Altraxians love makeup. They consider it an art form, as well as a form of war paint." You mumbled as you painted swirls onto the edges of your lids. Ford perked up at the mention of the alien species. Of course, that was one way to get him to be less mean- information, knowledge. You quietly cheered as the wrinkle between his brows eased. His hands immediately reached for his pen and journal. Ah, how he wished he had his leatherbound book back in Gravity Falls. You were a well of knowledge, an anchor in the confusing dimensions of the Nightmare Realm.

"Is that so? Are they a warring species? What is their political climate like, to be able to appreciate art and war in equal levels? I have only seen one in passing, it turned it's nose and mandibles at me and walked away in disgust…" Ford rambled, scribbling into his book.

As always, Ford didn't give you time to answer each question as he scribbled away. You fell into the Nightmare Realm years before he did, but he was already so knowledgeable in it all. Stanford Pines had a thirst for knowledge that impressed you. It's what kept him alive in this realm- and if it kept him less angry, you'd entertain his questions.  

"That's because a nude, unpainted face is considered an insult to their society." "Hmm, intriguing. And what of tattoos? Do they value it, seeing as it's permanent art on your body?"

Your eyes drifted to the intricate markings that disappeared under Ford's rolled up sleeves. No doubt they continued well past his toned biceps, you've seen glimpses of it underneath his shirt before. Your cheeks flushed, but thankfully, the light was dim here. "Huh. I don't know. Never really talked to one before. Which is why we need to be extra careful, and play by their rules."

With a click, you closed your little bag and strode over to Ford, who was engrossed in his writing his little notes. He hadn't noticed how close you were until you tapped the top of his journal, nudging it downwards so you can meet his gaze. "The dealer is Altraxian. We'll need to suit up if you want the sciencey doo-dad you told me about." "I know that." Ford rolled his eyes "And it's called a cryo-compulsor cog." "Yeah, that, for your portal." you nodded. "Right…" You stared at Ford expectantly, a flicker of mischief in your wide, seemingly innocent eyes. "That means you need to prepare for that as well. I'm not talking to them alone." "I thought this robe would be sufficient? I even made sure to wash it this morning." You sighed at the infuriating man. True, he did trade his torn and dusty trench coat for something much softer and velvety. You hated to admit it, but he looked damn good in a suit. It was near maddening, but for his sake and yours, you wouldn't tease him for it.

"Mhm, yeah, you need makeup." "Pardon?" Ford incredulously asked. Your grin turned sharper and more mischievous as you took a step closer towards Ford. He blinked, locking up as you got close enough for him to smell the floral scent of your hair. Something alien yet alluring all the same. "They won't talk to you if you show up like this. Y'know, "When in Rome" and all that! We'll stick out like sore thumbs!"

Ford's eyes flitted around your face, distantly admiring the way you skillfully painted patterns into your eyeliner. Your lips were plump and redder than usual, cheeks alive with rosiness and accentuating your eyes. Distressed, he started to stutter.

"I-I don't- Ugh, Fine. Don't… Don't over-do it." Your eyes brightened, light passing through them like a small comet.

"Great! Now, close your eyes." you whispered conspiratorially. He wanted to protest, but all he could manage was a gulp. He closed his eyes, sighing in resignation. 

Your expression softened somewhat. He trusted you to get this close with him. Despite being the only other human in the nightmare realm, he barely gave you a fraction of his trust. You weren't sure if you could even call this a friendship. His presence was necessary to your survival, and vice versa. His smart yet cruel words often earned you both another day alive in this hellscape. Now, the same man who often offered nothing but dry scientific facts and cold words was quiet. You took a moment to admire the way the wrinkles around his weary eyes softened.

The tension built around you, ensnaring the air like a hungry snake. Distantly, you noticed how the bar music lulled to something slower.

You situated yourself between his legs. One hand rested on the counter he leaned on while the other dragged a brush lightly across his cheek.

You were so close now, brush held near his face and ready to condemn him with your touch- and makeup. Altraxian men didn't wear a lot of makeup. They wore sigils painted on their faces and slathered a ridiculous amount of rosy paint on their cheeks. But Ford already had red cheeks, so you needn't paint over that. You worked lightly and quickly, lest you risk annoying him and thinking too much about your quickening heartbeats. A shy, distant part of yourself screamed at the way your noses almost touched at the last flick of your brush.

God, pull yourself together, you're doing this for survival!

Being so focused on your work meant you missed the way Ford's six finger hands gripped the counter tighter. The tick on his jack was pronounced, his brows softened at your light caress. You missed the way he stopped breathing at the sensation of your soft knuckles gliding over his jawline.

You sighed, leaning back to look at your work. Ford's eyes were still closed. Upon closer inspection, you notice how dry his pale lips were. Honestly, when was the last time he drank water? Moisturized??

So to remedy this, you leaned in once again, thumb dipped with fruity lip balm. In one fluid motion, it went over his lower lips, slowly, carefully.

The world held it's breath as your gaze lingered on Ford's softened lips.

After a small eternity, you forced yourself to look away. Your eyes fluttered upwards, meeting Ford's coffee brown eyes, wide with shock. Cheeks red from embarrassment and what you suppose must be anger.

Dear god.

You stood frozen as your brain caught up with what you just did.

"Shit- sorry! Force of habit! We don't exactly have lipstick here!" you squeaked in one breath.

Stepping back as if you were burnt, you gave Ford his space back.

"Your lips were chapped," you murmured, looking away.

Ford's hands twitched. You looked away in embarrassment, body aflame with something you dare not name.

You prayed to the Axolotl and all the stars in the sky that the ceiling of this shoddy little dive bar would collapse on you- or better yet- for a blackhole to unravel you at a molecular level. Anything to escape this unbearable silence.

"It's… It's fine. They were quite dry." Ford's smooth, deep voice filled the awkward silence. You blinked, quietly sighing relief- at least he wasn't angry at your intrusion. You turned to hurriedly pack your makeup away.

"Don't touch your face! The sigil will smudge!" You huffed, after seeing him faintly touch his face in the mirror. In your haste, however, you missed the way Ford brought a hand to his lips. Chasing the fading warmth of your fingers from moments before. They tasted sweet.

English isn't my first language and I do struggle sometimes with present and past tense writing. Feel free to correct me and my grammar!

stanford pines' love language is quality time.

he feels like he lost so much time, so many years stuck in the nightmare realm that he relishes any moment that he gets to spend time with you.

the most monotonous tasks like brushing his teeth or folding laundry feel so much more enthralling with you there.

wanting you to tag along on his anomaly hunting, eager to see the excitement and awe in your eyes with every new anomaly you encounter.

sitting underneath an impressive oak tree, your head resting on ford's lap as he reads or is writing in his journal.

no words need to be spoken, just the two of you relishing in each other's presence.

"say ford, do you ever get tired of our routine?"

"no, not particularly. what makes you ask?" he hums, glancing down at you with a raised brow.

"just curious, you've just had such exciting adventures in the past. i know you were literally stuck in another realm, but i sometimes wonder if this gets boring." you admit, fiddling with the leaf that had fallen from the tree, the colors transforming with the changing of the seasons.

ford closes his book, leaning forward and pressing a kiss on your forehead suddenly.

"my dear, i could never be bored in your company. any thing i get to do with you is truly an adventure of its own."

Cipherstarling's Masterlist

Here we go! Here's all my Gravity Falls related posts. Welcome to my little obsession blog!

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✧*

Stanford Pines x Reader

~ Poetry: "Stanford Pines was poetry in a mortal man's body" ~ Lipbalm: "The world held it's breath as your gaze lingered on Ford's softened lips." ~ A Gentler Soul: NSFW, Nightmare Realm Ford ~ To Sonder: Part 1, Ao3 Link, Long series!

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ :･ﾟ──✧*

Bill Cipher x Reader

~ Nightmare!Realm Bill Headcanons ~ Ad Infinitum CH1 and AO3 Link

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ :･ﾟ──✧*

BillFord

~ WIP

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ :･ﾟ──✧*

Ramblings and Concept Fics

~ Bill and Trust~ Jekyll and Hyde!Stanford Pines Concept ~ Bill Cipher x Bounty Hunter! Reader Concept

*✧･ﾟ: ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ :･ﾟ──✧* Cipherstarling's Scribbles

~ Ford Gets Held Down Day ~ Bill Hyperfixation Meme

God i hate them so much 👎👎

Cw for strangling/suggestive content

This is based off of this post by @leeseechkeens but where i went 'what if... old man...🤤🤤' and got so horny i blacked out and woke up with this on my canvas

GOD DAMN IT I AM LOVE SICK

WHY

WHY IS FORD PINES ATTRACTIVE

WHY IS TRIGONOMETRY SUDDENLY HOT

I DON'T KNOW BUT I'M GONNA BE WRITING SO MUCH THE NEXT FEW DAYS

Is it still ford gets held down day @candycatfalls?

so how about that comic we all know and love by @stump-not-found

if I were a cryptid in Gravity Falls, I would fetishise the concept of getting vivisected by that handsome scientist guy who- (remembers you can’t say things like that) I mean, I drank the recommended daily amount of water today

What I imagine Ford sees whenever he won’t let Bill wreak havoc

Poetry [Stanford Pines x Reader]

Stanford Pines was poetry living in a mortal man's body. It was unfair.

His calloused fingers were often stained with ink, wrist resting under a thick red sleeve that often brushed against the surface of a weathered journal. If you squint, you'd see the yellowed fibers clinging to the cotton of his cuffs.

It's astounding how something as simple as his reading habits could undo you.

He sat cross legged on a worn armchair, book deftly resting over one six fingered hand. His other hand rested languidly on the arm rest, tapping a slow little tune on the wooden end of it. You wondered how warm his hands would be against your smaller ones.

Occasionally, he'd tug at a stray, greying strand of hair. But no matter how much he ran his fingers through his head, it would endearingly fall over his forehead. Waiting to be tamed.

His glasses fogged at the corners, sitting crooked over narrowed eyes.

Oh, his eyes.

Coffee freshly brewed, pure and aromatic.

The color of a leather bound journal, well loved and written to completion.

Honey, dripping and shining under the light of the sun. Why did he choose to sit next to a stained glass window like some- some picturesque figure? A perfect painting, unmoving as he read. His chest rose and fell gently, sometimes, a small mumble escaped him.

You can't do this.

You can't focus with this infuriatingly attractive man in your vicinity.

With a huff, you closed your spiral notebook. Shaking your head as your packed your things.

"Oh, do you need a break?", Ford asked, fixing those earthy brown eyes on you.

No, not really.

"Yes, it's about time for lunch, Ford." You sighed.

"Well, I'll join you then."

Your cheeks flush, and you turn so fast that you don't catch the way his face mirrored yours. You miss the way he gaped like a goldfish, stumbling his words as he tried to think of something to say to you. To keep you from leaving his space and to secure his place in your side.

But there was no need for that.

You'd let Stanford Pines sit at your table and talk your ear off about anything and everything. Despite the way you can't make eye contact without turning red.

He hopes that one day, you'd catch his gaze and see that your admiration was reflected in his.

͙͘͡★ i asked the stars about you

tags: sfw, Bill x reader, Bill is an asshole but he cares in his own way, existential crisis?, eh i tried to portray it like romantic tension but i failed, hurt/comfort but i failed it too lmao

a/n: why does writing Bill always unlock the part of my brain that wants to write biblical nonsense. this was meant to be like a paragraph, mb two. and now it’s this mess that ive been writing for a damn week and i still don’t like it cuz Bill here feels kind of wrong and ooc. but hey!!! fanfiction is a lawless land where we make the rules :) sorry to any Bill lovers out there tho, pls don’t kill me for bad characterisation

night in gravity falls was so warm and unusually silent, you knew that only happens in august, when the town is still too sleepily. summer is already fading, but the air still holds sweet memories in it, dust from the asphalt, warm sap from pine needles, the soft haze of moonlight across your forehead.

you’re here again, in the empty yard, on the playground where you used to play until it got dark and someone called you home. there’s no one around now. the swing creaks barely and you sit on one of them, letting your toes brush the ground, clenching your fingers tight around the chains, and you swing.

back and forth, higher and higher, and every time it feels like you’re just a little closer to the sky.

the sky, it’s the only thing that hasn’t changed. everything else left because you grew up. people came and went, switched places. but the sky is still there, still silent, dark blue, scattered with stars, each burning in its own light. you still remember them though, the eagle, the swan, andromeda, cassiopeia.

you once dreamed of being an astronomer.

and even now, grown, you still can’t stop loving the stars. every swing lifts you closer, and you want to reach out to touch them.

well. . . at least something in this world stays in place.

though, except for the stars, there was one more constant in your life.

a triangle. a ridiculous, talking, floating triangle with a single eye and too many opinions for someone who didn’t technically have a mouth.

Bill Cipher. the thing that defied all laws of nature, laughed at gravity, and travelled through your thoughts like a parasite and a friend.

you’d be brushing your teeth in the morning, bleary-eyed and half-alive, and there it’d be, a sticky note slapped to the mirror, “YOU DROOLED. DISGUSTING. NEVER CHANGE.”

and when you were about to leave the house, keys in one hand, bag over your shoulder, there was another one waiting on the door, “REMEMBER: IF YOU DIE TODAY, I CALL DIBS ON YOUR BONES.”

even when you’d get in the shower, it'd be stuck on the sink: “HUMAN HYGIENE FASCINATES ME. DO YOU SCRUB YOUR ORGANS TOO?”

and yeah, they were weird. a little unhinged. sometimes kind of funny. and you started looking forward to them more than you’d admit.

he used to appear more, though. materializing out of nowhere, talking your ear off about planetary alignments and obscure constellations. you remembered those nights clearly. you’d point at the stars, and he’d name ones you’d never heard of, from galaxies that didn’t even have a number in human astronomy yet. he spoke of civilizations erased by time, of things older than your own galaxy.

you used to sit on your porch with him and talk about the absurdity of human civilization. he was smart, frighteningly so. and he never dumbed things down for you. he talked like you were capable of understanding, and sometimes you did, sometimes you didn’t, but you loved that about him

and when you asked, quietly, where he was from, his eye would narrow.

“delicate topic,” he’d say, too quickly.

Bill already knew everything about you. your fears, your dreams, your favorite songs, the names you gave the stars as a child. and it felt unfair how much of you he had, while you had so little of him.

he told you once that you were weird. and then, like it was some kind of comfort, “but don’t sweat it, sweetie. everyone in this freakshow town is weird.”

so maybe he’s appearing less because of that mysterious scientist he kept mumbling about. you heard the rumors, too. people talked, said the guy had six fingers. said he was here for the anomalies. you didn't really care.

and suddenly, Bill Cipher wasn’t visiting your dreams quite so often.

and you miss him.

you hate how much you miss him. how empty the silence gets when he’s not zigzagging through your kitchen talking about 4th-dimensions. how your mornings feel like sleepwalking without his notes. how dumb and pathetic it sounds even to you, that the one presence you long for most is a floating triangle with a god complex. but what could you say?

you kept swinging. the stars watched in silence. and you, in return, kept watching them.

forward, backward. the chains creaked softly with every rise. you closed your eyes at some point just to create the illusion of flying.

you were mid-swing, when it came again. that melody. it came from nowhere and everywhere, pressing behind your ears, vibrating somewhere between your teeth and your spine.

you smiled.

of course.

“ah. there you are,” you murmured, already looking around without needing to move. you knew better. Bill could materialize out of a crack in the ground or a coffee mug if he wanted.

but tonight, that demon was feeling poetic, apparently.

the moon blinked and one giant sharp pupil eye opened, and from that glowing socket rolled out a triangle. yellow. laughing. too bright to stare at directly. you squinted, shielding your face with one hand.

“aaaand guess who’s back, baby! enjoyin’ your little emo moment, i see? what’s this, swing therapy? should i book you a session with my imaginary assistant?“

“could you, maybe, not enter through celestial bodies? you nearly burned my retinas.”

“what’s the point of making an entrance if it doesn’t cause mild visual trauma?” he shrugged, floating backwards into a lazy spin. “so. what’s the occasion? out here all alone like a tragic indie film protagonist. spooky swingset, lonely stare. classic.”

you sighed, dry. “just. . . thinking.”

“uh-oh.” Bill floated closer. “dangerous hobby, humans thinking! leads to wars and taxes.”

you let out a breathy laugh despite yourself. “i guess i’m just feeling nostalgic. you ever get that?”

he burstee into laughter immediately. “nostalgia! adorable! you meatbags are the only species that cry over the passage of time, like it didn’t warn you in advance. TICK TOCK, SWEETHEART! y’all live like, what, seventy years on average? that’s not life, that’s a limited-time free trial.”

“wow. thanks. totally made me feel better.”

“you're always welcome, cutie!” his voice dipped in mockery. “sooo, whatcha doing? starin’ at the sky again? tryna hypnotize the stars into making your life less depressing?”

“yep, i just like looking at them. makes me feel like i’m not stuck here. like everything’s bigger than this town. bigger than me. i don’t know.”

“ugh.” he made a gagging sound and morphed briefly into a glittering puddle before reforming. “you and your stargazing. seriously. you’re one constellation away from joining a cult.”

you tilted your head at him.

“what? you don’t like stars anymore?”

Bill fell silent for a moment. his eye narrowed slightly. but then his usual teasing voice returned.

“hate to break it to ya, but your species is stuck on that rock for another ten thousand years at best. moon was a fluke. you guys’ll be lucky if you make it past microwaving leftovers without starting nuclear winter. you’ll never reach those twinkly bastards up there. not really.”

you blinked. your throat tightened unexpectedly from a wonderful support he provides. “you really think that?”

“babe, i know that. you all stare up at the sky and make up stories about it because you can’t deal with how small you are. here’s a fact: you’re not meant to touch the stars. you’re meant to burn under them.”

“you’re kind of a dick,” you said quietly.

“no, you’re just too sentimental and blind.”

you laughed. “well, i like pretending we could go further. beyond the moon and past saturn. doesn’t mean i don’t know it’s impossible, Bill.”

not like you were expecting anything serious in return, so you received that: “hm, tragic. and here i thought i was the monster in this story.”

you looked up again, to the stars.

“you still might be.” that made Bill shut his mouth, he was quiet, for once. meanwhile, you looked down at your shoes. “anyways, ou didn’t always sound so cynical about it.”

“i’ve always sounded cynical about it,” Bill corrected. “you just had stars in your ears.”

you bit your cheek, forcing a smile. “they’re pretty,” you bit your lip and kicked a pebble. there was a question curdling in your throat. it’d been sitting there a while, sharp and annoying, like a grain of sand in your eye.

you didn’t wanna ask. but you had to.

“where were you? why’d you disappear? i didn’t even get a nightmare. not a single one.”

Bill hovered and froze for five agonising seconds, but then laughed with that horrible, spine tingling laugh you loved hated.

“oh sweetie, you jealous?” he cooed, leaning forward. “missed me that much?”

you narrowed your eyes. “that’s not an answer.”

“oh, someone’s clingy! but no, i just found a new toy to play with, that’s all!”

“a new toy?” your voice cracked with disbelief. “what do you even mean by that?” your brows furrowed

“sheesh, sweetheart, relax! you’re still my favorite toy! the others squeal too fast.”

you huffed. “you’re such an ass.”

“thanks!” he responded quickly, but noticing your face expression, he finally gave you an answer. “been busy. got tangled in a little puzzle box of a man. thinks he’s clever,”

he spun his cane around once, then tossed it into oblivion. “you’d hate him, he stinks.”

you didn’t say anything because you weren't in the mood, all what left your mouth was a deep tired sigh until—

“BOO!”

“FUCK!” you yelped, stumbling backwards as he popped into existence inches from your face.

“no need to cry, sweetheart. i’d never replace my favorite weirdo.”

you glared, the corners of your lips turned down in annoyance as you swatted your hand through him like mist. but then something above caught your eye. a tear in the dark.

a shooting star.

“Bill, look!”

you sprang off the swing, raising your arm, pointing your finger skyward like a little kid, excited. “there! did you see that?!”

Bill floated beside you, unamused, already knowing what's coming next. “agh. here we go again. . .”

you clasped your hands together and whispered under your breath, closing your eyes. Bill watched you make a wish without blinking.

if he had a mouth, he might’ve smiled. thankfully, he didn’t. because demons like him didn’t do that. they didn’t melt over dumb human eyes or the belief that the universe gave a shit about your whispered little dreams.

“why do you always get quiet when we talk about stars?” you asked suddenly, not looking at him. “you never talk about them like you do other things. didn’t you ever want to touch them, too?” you turned to face him finally, staring into his single eye. “didn’t you ever wish the same?”

“they’re empty,” Bill finally said after another silence. “cold rocks. radiation. broken bones and screaming voids. you think there’s what? some magic up there? there’s just more nothing.”

“then let me see it,” you whispered with hope in your voice. “show me. let me see the stars closer.”

he blinked, surprised at your words, as if you’d just asked to die. “you’re not serious.”

“i am.”

his eye tightened at that response, annoyed at your stubborness. “you won’t like what’s out there.”

you stepped back. “fine! then i’ll get to them without your help! i don't need you.”

and before he could respond, you ran, your feet carried you right through the dark into the trees, the swings creaked behind you. Bill didn’t follow, at least not physically. but a hundred golden eyes peeled open in the trees around, watching you as you kept running.

you reached a tree, tall one, crooked. and you climbed, feeling branches biting at your skin. your feet slipped on damp bark and you cursed under your breath but kept going. cuts bloomed along your arms, your legs, but it didn’t matter.

your hands were scraped and knuckles raw, twigs tugged your hair and the bark flaked beneath your fingers, but you didn’t stop.

you didn’t care that your legs were shaking or that your breath was burning in your throat, you didn’t even notice the thing behind you. the long black limb slithering up the tree’s spine, shadowed darker than night, waiting. Bill’s little safety net. of course he’d never admit it.

he was watching you.

through a dozen borrowed eyes, clinging to pine. he watched your foot slip and you gasped as you almost fell. and the tendril twitched, ready.

“you absolute idiot,” Bill muttered to no one. “you picked the tallest tree in the goddamn forest.”

but you were too high on spite. too high on that breathless wild hunger to prove him wrong.

and when you were there, at the top, the branch dipped beneath your weight but didn’t break. you sat, dizzy from the wind and the way the dark sky opened up in front of you like a mouth.

holy shit. you couldn’t even think.

the stars weren’t just above anymore, they were everywhere. on your skin. in your eyelashes. crawling into your blood.

you tipped your head back and laughed breathlessly, nearly crying. raised your arm toward the dark hoping it might reach back.

“see?” you called out. “i did it! i’m here. i got closer.”

at this time, Bill was right beside you, floating and glowing in the night. he didn’t say anything for a second, until “that’s it? that’s the grand finale? you climbed a tree. congratulations. you’re a squirrel with emotional problems.”

you grinned, not even offended. “i’m still closer to them than i was ten minutes ago.”

“yeah,” he drawled. “and thankfully, that’s your limit.”

“why thankfully?” your face dropped. Bill didn’t answer so you asked again, louder this time. “what does that even mean? why are you always like this about it? what’s there, Bill? what are you hiding? what’s up there that you won’t tell me? talk to me, what did you see? what are you hiding?”

Bill froze and his form wavered. suddenly, a crimson hue ran along its edges.

“you wanna know what’s up there?” he barked aggressively. “NOTHING!” his tone and words made you flinch, but that wasn't the end of his speech. “fire! death! you’ll burn before you even reach the edge of that velvet sky you worship so bad. what are you trying to prove, huh? that you’re special? some saintly sky-gazing freak who’s above the rest of the mud-crawling masses?”

you blinked, startled. and hating yourself for your own reaction, because your body and voice trembled treacherously, you felt anger.

“yes,” you answered. “yes, Bill. i think i’m fucking special. because i fucking try! because i look! i don’t just let everything rot around me and laugh at it from the sidelines like a fucking coward!”

and that’s when your foot slipped, it happened too fast. bark tore under you and your body tipped backward, air was gone and you were falling like a shooting star, metor, until something caught you, the thing wrapped tight around you, too cold for your skin, winding around your waist, your arms, your ribs. a single black tendril, pulled you from the fall, yanking you from death.

Bill had caught you. and he immediately knew that somewhere, in another timeline, he didn’t.

but in this one, he placed you gently on the ground and his all seeing eye watched you intensely. good. not a scratch more on you.

although he didn’t float down to check more. Bill stayed at the top of the tree, watching the sky.

you looked up at him. heart still punching inside your chest.

“you just saved my life.” you whispered in disbelief, knowing full well that he wouldn't hear.

it was just silence, and that fucking tendril, still curled tight around your body like a belt. you hated this, but more than all you hated how still he was, as if he was trying to look unreadable on purpose, like he hadn’t just snapped at you five seconds ago. you felt like you were a curious child who touched the wrong lever on the wrong machine and now had to sit in time out.

you squirmed and tugged, making the the tendril tighten. you knew Bill controlled them, and if it wasn't letting go, it meant he wasn't letting go.

“seriously?” you snapped, still breathless. “what now, punishment? gonna strangle me with your magic spaghetti thing now? teach me a lesson or whatever?” you wrestled with the slick thing coiled around your waist.

nothing. and that nothing made you exhale in annoyance. worse was that he wasn't speaking. you would've rather he yelled again, mocked you again, burned you with words. . . at least that meant he cared.

it was embarrassment you felt. or maybe just confusion. whatever that emotion was, you couldn't understand it. because you didn’t fight like this, not with him. it wasn’t like that between you two, even your worst disagreements had spark, play, jokes. meanwhile, this felt like a wall had slammed down between you and he was standing behind it with his arms crossed, eye closed, pretending you weren’t pounding your fists on it.

“you want me to apologize? is that it, triangle guy?” you asked louder, tired. “fine! here. im sorry, okay? im sorry i tried to understand you, sorry i wanted to see what you saw. sorry i cared. now let me go.”

Bill looked down, as if you’d finally reminded him you existed. his shape turned back to gold, he tilted in the air slightly, observing you from a new angle.

your stomach flipped, because you still didn’t know what the end of a friendship with a demon looked like. you assumed, at best, it ended with your blood on a rock.

he floated down a little.

his voice, when it came, was softer than you expected.

“you said you wanted to be closer.”

and your heart jumped, because yes. yes, you had. and you meant it. you weren’t just saying things to hurt him. you wanted this. you wanted him, wanted to understand what he saw when he talked about the stars. you wanted to be part of that world, even if it was dangerous or made no sense.

“i did. i do.”

Bill stared at you a moment longer and saw a human who reached for impossible things, despite being made of bone and flesh.

he saw in you the thing he hated about himself. curiosity, untempered. wonder, unstoppable. the desire to know, even when the knowing came with teeth. and he hated how you’d burn yourself just to see what lived behind the clouds. hated how he adored you for it.

Bill didn't like emotions, but fuck, you stirred up all the ones he thought he'd buried in whatever remained of his dark soul.

because you were the only creature he'd ever met who looked at the sky the way Bill used to. you were the first one to get that close. and you didn’t even die.

finally, Bill let the tendril slide away from you, melting into nothing.

and then his form grew, literally expanded upward in impossible geometry. limbs stretching until they threatened the shape of the forest, until everything around him felt small. and you felt small.

your head fell back to keep him in view and fuck, your knees wobbled as you staggered back.

“holy fuck,” you breathed in awe. “you are so dramatic.”

you think you just developed megalophobia.

but still, your feet didn’t move.

his hand, now the size of a huge car, unfurled from his side. he brought it low, slow, like the offering of a god.

“step on.” his voice sounded through trees and came from all directions. that's how huge he grew.

you stepped into it and his hand lifted you slowly.

Bill knew, you were the only thing he could show the stars to without it killing you.

and the air tore through your lungs like lightning. you gasped and clutched at his finger for balance, every inch of you burning with euphoria while trees became moss, rivers became threads of silver. gravity falls, your town, your whole life, was now the size of a postcard.

and you were laughing. you didn’t even realize you were until tears blurred your vision.

“oh fuck, Bill,” you gasped, dizzy. “this is— this is insane! i’m gonna die up here.”

“not unless i drop you.”

“don’t you fucking dare.” you grinned so hard it hurt. you clung to one of his fingers, half-laughing, half-crying. still not realising fully what even happened, being held by something you thought hated you five minutes ago.

“see? this is what i meant,” you said in excitement looking down at gravity falls. “down there, they live their lives without even looking up. they don’t know. dont even look up!”

“then why are looking down?” Bill questioned calmly. “didnt you want to be closer?”

and you turned to look, not down, not anymore. up. and for the first time, the stars weren’t distant and unreachable. stars weren’t a ceiling. they were around you, they swallowed you, clustered like diamonds, glowing.

“thats cassiopeia,” you whispered. “and andromeda, and— that’s perseus right? oh my god. i can see saturn! Bill, i can see saturn!”

Bill didn’t answer, because he wasn’t looking at the sky. his eye watched you, unblinking, drinking in the reflection of the stars in your eyes like a creature starved for beauty. the stars were in your eyes, not just above your head. and Bill had never seen anything like it. a creature with galaxies instead of pupils.

“you have a beautiful iris,” he said suddenly.

“what? iris?”

“part of the eye, controls light. yours looks like it could hold galaxies. i like it.”

your cheeks flushed. “oh uh, always thought my eyes were boring, heh.” inside though, you panicked because a triangle just called you pretty and that forced your heart to beat stupid.

Bill's voice sounded offended. “you’d be wrong.”

you laughed nervously, gripping his finger tighter, feeling your pulse in your ears. the cold air stung your face, but you didn’t care.

you looked away quickly to hide yourself from his all seeing eye. “hey. . . can we, can we get closer?”

Bill's eye narrowed, glinting. “oh?” he purred and his usual cockiness returned to his voice. “what kind of ‘closer’ are you asking for, sweetie?”

your face went completely hot and your heart screamed. you tried to hide it, giving him a blank expression, “to the stars, Bill. closer to the stars.”

he groaned. “i swear i should drop you.”

and you giggled as his eye lingered on you, wide. “i don’t get it though,” you muttered, gripping his finger tighter as the cold stung your cheeks. “you tell me not to look up, you say there’s nothing out here. but you live here. you literally float through it like it’s your playground. so what, i’m not allowed to want it too?”

“ohh, back to our lovely term, you think you’re special?” he asked, voice flat.

you flinched at the sharpness. “yeah,” oh, how stubborn you were. “i mean, i already answered that question, Bill, i think maybe i am, so what?”

Bill was silent again. longer, this time. until you almost regretted speaking. then, “that’s cute.”

you frowned because you waited something else in response, but yeah Bill was still Bill. “oh fuck off.”

“i mean it. it’s adorable the way you reach for shit that’d melt your brain in two seconds. how you think being ‘different’ makes you immune to the burn. i remember that.” he looked to the sky too. “that hunger. that stupid obsession with wanting to matter. to see something no one else does. to believe there’s something waiting out here if you’re just brave enough.” then he let out an amused laugh, “you’re wrong. but i like that you believe it.”

you didn’t know whether to feel insulted, supported or understood. “so what now? you gonna let me fall back down?”

Bill laughed at how offended and naive your voice sounded, “nah.” a tendril, cold one and weirdly gentle, slid from the air and rested against the top of your head, petted you like you were some kind of little puppy.

“you’re good, human,” Bill admitted simply. “i love good humans.”

teehee

THEY WONF LEAVE ME ALONEEE. THAT DUMB AXOLOTL IS JUST OBSESSED EITH TRYING TO FIX ME BUT I AM NOT BROKEN. I AM NOT SOMEONE THAT NEEDS TO BE FIXED. THE WORLD NEEDS TO BE FIXED. THE WHOLE MULTIVERSE MADE ME IT CAN GIVE ME A PLACE WHERE I CAN BE MY OWN FREAK OF NATURE BUT I CANT CUZ ITS GONE. ITS ALL GONE. JUST SOMEBODY GET ME OUT IM LOSING MY MIND.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

I DONT WANNA DIE.

May or may not finish this.

BUT YA KNOW WHO ELSE IS FINISHING TONIGHT-?

An artpiece for @candycatfalls ' Pin the Old Man Down Day- My new favorite holiday!

ok FINE i will draw that old man getting held down

do you think he plays with his dolls 💜

also ignore how this is horrendous

Stanford Pines is the nastiest skank bitch I’ve ever met. Do NOT trust him. He is a fugly slut!

How could Ford ignore the EPITOME of beauty, the universe's most perfect, most isoscelene (definitely a word) being?!

Come on, Fordsy. It’s for charity 💕

🔺FOR SCIENCE AND REGRET!🔺

I made these cursed pages for Chapter 5 of Till Weirdmageddon Do Us Part [Bill Cipher x Female Reader], a totally normal(!) rom-com where you "accidentally" marry a triangle and now your life is held together with sarcasm, eldritch glitter, and emotional damage lasagna.

Font by: ~ Chloe ~ !!!

Check out the fic here: Till Weirdmageddon Do Us Part

Featuring: Poor decision-making, interdimensional marriage drama, passive-aggressive eggplants(?), Ford Pines experiencing seventeen emotions and repressing eighteen, Bill making inappropriate jokes, a reader with morals (not good ones), *cough cough* probably some smut along the way + ROMANCE (questionable)

🔺FOR SCIENCE AND REGRET!🔺

I made these cursed pages for Chapter 5 of Till Weirdmageddon Do Us Part [Bill Cipher x Female Reader], a totally normal(!) rom-com where you "accidentally" marry a triangle and now your life is held together with sarcasm, eldritch glitter, and emotional damage lasagna.

Font by: ~ Chloe ~ !!!

Check out the fic here: Till Weirdmageddon Do Us Part

Featuring: Poor decision-making, interdimensional marriage drama, passive-aggressive eggplants(?), Ford Pines experiencing seventeen emotions and repressing eighteen, Bill making inappropriate jokes, a reader with morals (not good ones), *cough cough* probably some smut along the way + ROMANCE (questionable)

“denied the catharsis of punishment” is an underappreciated but hugely effective narrative consequence imo