Hot Summer Night (Ford X Fem!reader)

୨ৎ hot summer night (Ford x fem!reader)

minors DNI

In the sweltering heat of a summer night at the Mystery Shack, you find yourself unable to sleep and stumble into the kitchen for a glass of water. Little did you expect Ford Pines to find you here like this, almost naked. God knows Ford tried. tags: sexual themes, nsfw, smut, kitchen sex, p in v, oral sex, praise kink, dirty talk, loud sex, from sub to dom ford, teasing

You look at the ceiling, the night silence is broken only by the buzzing of an old fan in the corner of the room. It’s unbearable, the heat. Kicking off the thin sheet that was sticking to your legs, you sigh. The twins are probably passed out, you think and prove of that is Stan's snoring could practically be heard through the walls. But you. . . you're damn awake, too hot to even think about sleep.

Screw it.

You slip out of bed, stretching your sore limbs. The old wooden floor creaks under your bare feet as you pad quietly down the stairs in nothing but a bralette with a tiny bow and your panties. Who the hell was going to see you at this hour, anyway?

The kitchen is dark when you step inside, and the thought of cold water is enough to make your mouth water. You take a glass and fill it from the tap, feeling the coolness under your fingers, which is a little relief in this damn heat. You take a sip, sighing, your body relaxing for the first time all night.

Then you hear it.

A shuffle. Someone’s steps.

You freeze, heart pounding. Fuck. You spin around, nearly dropping the glass, only to see him standing there. Ford. Great, just your luck. Stanford Pines, of all people, is here in the middle of the night. And you? Half-naked, barely anything covering you.

You feel your cheeks flush immediately, not just from the heat anymore. "Shit, Ford!" your voice barely above a whisper. "i thought everyone was asleep."

He looks as surprised as you feel, adjusting his glasses, eyes sweeping over you before darting away just as quickly. "I- I couldn’t sleep," he mutters, looking anywhere but at you, his normally calm voice sounded awkward at this moment. "too much on my mind, I guess."

You nod, trying to act casual, but the air between you becomes tense.

Ford fiddles with the rim of his glasses, clearing his throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean to interrupt,” he says, but his gaze just keeps returning to you, despite his obvious efforts to look away. What a beautiful sight in front of him. His eyes flick to the window, to the floor, but you’ve already caught him glancing at you more than once. It’s quick, like he's really ashamed, like the sight of you in just your bralette and panties is something he shouldn’t see, but can’t help but stare at.

His reaction to you isn’t what you expected, he’s usually so composed, so wrapped up in his own world of journals and interdimensional science that it’s like nothing could shake him. But here he is, standing in front of you, and he can’t take his eyes off your body. You stand here awkwardly. Ford clears his throat, his eyes flicker up to your face, but then you catch him, a quick glance downward, right at your bralette, to your nipples.

You shift uncomfortably, tugging the hem of your bralette down instinctively. “I just. . . needed some water,” you’re trying to break the tension

Stanford nods, but you catch him again, his gaze darting lower, this time lingering on the curve of your thighs, your panties hugging your hips. His Adam’s apple twitches as he swallows hard. You watch him adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, his hands tremble slightly.

He’s trying not to look, but it’s obvious. He’s failing.

And the worst part? He’s clearly beating himself up over it. “I. . . shouldn’t be here,” he mumbles as his brows furrow, deep lines cutting across his forehead, like he's angry with himself. You don’t say anything, and that only seems to make it worse for him. His eyes fall shut for a moment, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm- damn it. I shouldn't-“

You know you should say something, anything, to break the tension, but instead, you just stand there, watching him struggle with his own thoughts. His eyes open again, and this time when he looks at you, it’s different. There’s heat in them, something he clearly doesn’t want to feel. His eyes trace the lines of your legs, lingering a little too long on your bare thighs, and then up again to your bralette.

"Ford. . .” you start, but he cuts you off with a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "God, what the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t-“ he rubs a hand over his face, turning away slightly, like he’s trying to physically stop himself from looking at you. "I’m too old for this. For you."

You turn away from him, feeling the need to focus on something, anything, other than the heat pooling between your legs what makes you unbelievably wet and horny. The sound of water pouring into your glass is the only thing filling the silence now, but you can feel his eyes on you. Even with your back turned, you can feel him watching.

As you stretch up to place the glass back on the shelf, your shirt rides up just a little, exposing more of your lower back and hips. You don’t do it on purpose, but it’s like the air gets hotter, the tension between you two almost suffocating. And now it’s not because of summer. You’re not oblivious. You know he’s still looking.

Behind you, Ford’s breath hitches, and you hear him shift awkwardly. His mind’s at war with itself. He knows he should turn away. No. . . He must walk away, run away. But he doesn’t. Instead, his gaze locks onto the soft curve of your waist, your hips, the way the fabric of your panties hugs your skin. It feels wrong, so fucking wrong, but he can’t help himself. His eyes drift lower, following the delicate lines of your legs.

Stanford feels a stirring deep in his gut, an unwelcome, insistent pressure building. "Shit. . .” he mutters under his breath, barely audible.

Blood runs to his cock, he’s getting hard and he knows he shouldn’t be. Every logical part of him is screaming to stop, to tear his eyes away, but his body and feelings betrays him. He watches as you stretch again, the hem of your bralette lifting, exposing more skin, and feels how his pants are getting tighter.

You catch the faint curse slip from his mouth, and for a moment, you pause, gripping the glass tighter in your hand. You don’t need to turn around to know what’s going on behind you, but there’s something that makes you curious. Part of you wants to tease him, just a little more, but you stay quiet, pretending not to notice.

“Ford, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, fine.”

“You sure? You seem. . . tense,” you say, dragging the word out just enough to make it obvious you know exactly what’s going on.

He clears his throat, but there’s no hiding the fact that he’s clearly struggling to keep it together. “I’m- I don’t know what’s wrong with me, goddamn it, I’m sorry.”

Your lips curl into a small smile. "You don’t have to be," you say, turning around fully now, your eyes locking with his. "I mean, it's not like I’m exactly dressed for modesty right now."

Ford runs a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for words. He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a weak, "You should. . . put on something more."

Your eyes linger on him, the way his chest rising and falling as he’s breathing heavily. You know you should feel awkward, embarrassed even, but you don’t. Instead, you feel something else. You take a step closer, just enough to close the gap between the two of you, and watch as his eyes widen. And then you do it — you slowly lower the strap of your bralette, letting it slip off your shoulder. His gaze follows the movement instantly, like he's mesmerized, completely unable to look away.

Ford’s eyes glued to the skin you’re revealing. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and you can see the conflict all over his face. His body betrays him, his hands twitch at his sides, like he's fighting the urge to reach out, to touch you. He swallows hard, trying desperately to keep control, but it’s so obvious he’s struggling. His pants are unbearably fucking tight now, a bulge straining against the fabric, and it hurts him so bad. 

"Jesus Christ. . . what are you doing? you-you shouldn't-“

You tilt your head slightly, letting your fingers toy with the other strap, but you don’t lower it, yet. “What?” you ask innocently, your tone light, teasing. “does it bother you, Ford?”

He’s quiet again for a second as he tries to force out words. “This- this isn’t right.” 

You take another step closer, almost closing the space between you. His breathing is ragged now, his gaze hungry despite the guilt clouding his features. “I don’t know, Ford,” you murmur. “you don’t look like you want me to stop.”

He groans softly, his body tensing at your words, his dick is going to explode.

Ford’s eyes dart around the room, searching for some kind of escape from the situation. His hands grip the edge of the counter as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “No, we can’t. . . not here-“

You tilt your head, feigning confusion, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Not here? oh, then in your room maybe?”

He shakes his head. “Fuck, no, I mean- fuck,” he stammers, trying to find the right words but only fucking up more. “This is- this is insane,” he mutters, almost to himself. “I’m supposed to be- damn it, I’m old enough to know better.”

“Ford,” you say softly, “you don’t have to be so hard on yourself. I mean, it’s just us here. What’s the harm?”

“I shouldn’t be doing this. You- you have no idea how much I want to. . .”

You lean in, your voice dropping to a whisper. “But you do want to, don’t you?”

Ford’s eyes snap open. “Yes, but- but we can’t”

You cut him off, gently pressing your body against his, your breath warm against his ear. “Why not?” you whisper, your lips brushing against his skin. “tell me what’s stopping you.”

He groans, his control slipping even further. “God, this is such a bad idea, im so fucking attracted to you, but this- it’s not right.”

“Isn’t it?” you murmur, your lips grazing his ear as your hand lays on his bulge, slowly and gently caressing it. His cock twitches.

You press closer, your words a siren’s call, tempting him, he swears he’ll just cum right in his pants only from your voice, he doesn’t even wanna think what’ll happen if he’ll fuck you.

“Tell me, Ford. Did you think about how your fingers would feel in me? what you’d do with them?”

He’s fucking surprised, what a fast girl you are, straight to the point. “I- shit,” he hisses. “i imagined them everywhere. Touching you, your, oh my god, your-“

You interrupt him, leaning in closer, your breath warm against his lips. “You don’t have to imagine anymore,” you whisper, your hands sliding down his chest to the waistband of his pants. “i want you to touch me. Everywhere you’ve dreamed about.” you whisper as you smile against his ear, your fingers slipping under the waistband of his pants, brushing against his skin. “You want me to tell you where I want your fingers? i want them. . . right here.” you press your fingers locked with his to the inner of your thigh.

His breath catches and he fucking groans again. “Jesus. this is- this is so fucked up, but I can’t, I can’t stop.”

Slowly you lower yourself to your knees in front of him. His eyes follow every movement. It can’t be happening. “do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You look up at him with a smirk, your fingers teasingly brushing against the bulge in his pants. “I think you know exactly what I’m doing,” you murmur, “now, let me show you just how much I want you.”

You brush your fingers gently over his clothed hardness, feeling the way he twitches under your touch. Ford’s hands tremble, his control slipping away with every touch, every word. He looks down at you, his face a mix of need and regret, his body aching with desire as you take the final step, his cock springs free, already hard and throbbing and you look up at him with a wicked grin. Then you bring your lips to his tip, giving it a light kiss. His fingers grip the counter for support, knuckles white against the wood.

“Fuck,” Stanford mutters, bucking his hips. “Please, just don’t stop. . .” Ford’s eyes roll back, his head falling back against the cabinet as he struggles to keep himself together. He’s lost in the sensations, his entire focus on the way you’re swirling your tongue around his tip. “Mmm-! yeah, yeah. . .”

You take him into your mouth, slowly, your tongue curling around him in a way that makes him gasp. Fuck, he tastes so good and you enjoy the way he shudders and moans above you. His hands find their way to your head, all six fingers tangled in your hair as he tries to hold onto something, anything, to keep from losing himself completely.

“Aghnn, s-such a good girl-“

You hear his praise and take him deeper, your head moving with a rhythm, drawing out every groan and sigh from him. As you suck his cock, you can feel the ache between your thighs growing more intense. The more you please him, the more he moans, the more horny you get, fuck, you’re getting awfully wet from this. And you find your free hand slipping between your legs, pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties.

Ford’s groans fill the room, so desperate as he holds your head and fucks your mouth, but when his eyes flick down and see your hand moving between your legs, something snaps inside him. “Shit,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his hips bucking slightly into your mouth. “I- oh god, baby. . .” Ford’s gaze locks onto you, and his breath hitches at the sight of you rubbing your clit while you continue to take him in your mouth. He can see how you’re trying to satisfy yourself. His hands move to your shoulders, gripping tightly. “I can see how much you need it. I can’t just let you do this alone.”

You pull away, your face flushed and your breaths ragged. You look up at him, all turned on and hot.

“Let me take care of you, babygirl.” last thing you hear him say before he lifts you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs as he turns you around and bends you over the counter. You gasp in surprise, your heart racing as the cool surface of the counter presses against your skin. Your panties are pushed aside as he positions himself behind you, his cock, all wet from your saliva, rubs sweetly between your folds.

“Ford-!” you start, but he cuts you off with a slap on your ass.

“You’ve been teasing me all night. Now it’s my turn.”

You shudder at his words, your body arching into his touch. He leans over you, leaving kisses on your neck and groaning in it as his hands trail down your thighs until he reaches the waistband of your panties. His fingers hook under the fabric, pulling them down just enough to expose your dripping cunt, and his hand settles between your thighs, rubbing you slowly.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, sweetie,” he mutters. His fingers begin to work in slow circles on your aching clit, rubbing you.

You moan, pressing your hips back against him, desperate for more. “Ford-! ple-please. . .

He chuckles darkly, his fingers collecting your slick. “Oh, you want more, do you? After everything you did to me, now you’re begging?” his other hand slides up your back, pushing your body further against the counter, making your ass raise up even more as he teases you mercilessly. “You’re going to take what I give you.”

“Fuck- fuck yes!” you gasp, your body trembling under his control. His fingers work faster, the slick sounds of him rubbing you filling the kitchen as the pressure builds inside you. You’re panting, your body reacting to every touch, every stroke, your mind crazy . “I’m ready,” you whine. “I need you, Ford- pleasee!”

He pulls your panties down fully and steps back just enough to take in the sight of you bent over the counter for him, your legs spread, ass up, your skin flushed.

“God, you’re perfect, dollface,” he murmurs, more to himself, his hand running over the curve of your ass before landing a sharp slap that makes you gasp and press back against him.

You feel his hands steadying you as he rubs his length against your soaked pussy. Every inch of him is hard, and you can feel how badly he needs you. “You’re going to take me now,” he whispers against your ear. “all of me.”

Without waiting for an answer, he thrusts his hips forward, sliding into you with a groan. You cry out, the sudden fullness overwhelming, but it’s exactly what you wanted. Your soft walls welcome him as you clench around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grits out, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls you back against him with every thrust. “I’m not gonna last long like this.” 

You can barely respond, the pleasure is so intense that it leaves you breathless. All you can do is moan and gasp his name as he fucks you from behind, holding your waist.

His pace quickens, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the air, so fucking dirty. “Say my name,” Ford demands. 

“Fo-Ford-!” you gasp, barely able to get the word out as he thrusts deeper, his dick feels so good inside you. 

Ford’s body is pressed tightly against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his hands gripping your hips as if he’s afraid to let go. Each thrust is followed by his groans and your moan. He fucks you so hard, holding your body like he’s trying to make up for lost time, time he spent denying what he wanted. 

“F-fuuuck,” he groans as he can’t believe this is happening. “I’ve thought about this, about fucking you for so long. Needed to fill this little pretty cunt. . .” 

He grips you tighter, pulling you back onto his cock with every thrust, and you feel his fingers dig into your skin. You’re both lost in it, his rhythm hard and fast, but there’s something in the way he moves—like he’s still in disbelief, like he thinks this is going to disappear. 

Ford’s thrusts grow more erratic and you can feel him losing himself in you completely. His breath is hot and jagged against the back of your neck as he pounds into you, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room, slap after slap. You can hear him muttering under his breath, words slipping out like he can’t control them anymore.

“Fuck, this is unreal. . . so good to be true,” he groans, each thrust deeper, harder than the last. His grip on your hips tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of how desperately he needs this, needs you. “Can’t stop- won’t stop.” you moan his name, your body arching to meet him and your eyes roll back.

Stanford’s hand slides to your front, his fingers rubbing roughly against your clit as he fucks you harder, deeper. That drives you mad, his thumb circling your needy clit, the pleasure builds in you fast, almost too fast, and you can barely breathe as he thrusts into your cunt. You’re both a mess, the heat between you making it impossible to think straight. 

Then, through the haze, his voice comes out, rough and desperate. "No, no, baby. . . need to see your face," Ford moans. "Need you to fucking see who’s filling up this tight pussy right now."

Before you can react, he pulls out and spins you around, pressing you against the counter. You barely have time to catch your breath before he grabs your thighs, spreading you wide and slams back into you. The force makes you gasp and his hands are everywhere, fingers gripping your skin, going to your breasts, cupping them, pinching your hard nipples through your bralette like he can’t get enough.

“I need to see your face, sweetie.” he leans closer to you. “need you to see who’s fucking you senseless right now, yeah?” you close your eyes tight being a moaning and whining mess under him. His eyes lock onto yours and he fucks into you much rougher. “Look at me while I fuck you,” he commands. “Look at me and see who’s fucking filling up this sweet cunt right now.” his hips snapping forward again, hitting deep- so deep you swear you can feel him pressing against your cervix. "im gonna fucking lose it, baby, look at me, look at me while I wreck this cunt."

You can barely focus, your vision blurred by the waves of pleasure crashing over you. You’re too breathless to respond, your body trembling from his pace, but you lock eyes with him. Ford’s movements are so rough, each thrust deeper and harder as he drives you both toward the edge. “You’re taking it so well,” he growls. “So fucking tight. Goddamn, such a good girl for me.” as he continues to pound into you. 

“Yes, Ford-!” you gasp. His words, his cock - it’s all too much. “im- im yours. All yours, ahhhn” you swear feel his cock dragging against every inch of you, his thickness stretching you so wide it’s obscene. Your head spins as his filthy words push you even closer to the edge, make you even more wet when you thought it’s impossible. “F-Ford, fuuck, i can’t-!” you whine, but before you can finish, his thumb is rubbing roughly yet so fucking nicely over your clit and you arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he warns you as he can’t help but watch your pussy take his cock. “I’m gonna cum inside you, fill you up completely.” the pressure building in your core as he pounds into you, harder, deeper, relentless

Your own pleasure peaks, and you cry out, your body trembling as you cum hard, body convulsing as you finally break, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. You cry out his name, your thighs trembling as he keeps fucking you through it, his hips slamming into yours. You’re shaking in his hands, your little pussy so tight around him, milking him, every drop. Ford follows, his orgasm hitting him as he thrusts into you, filling you completely. 

You barely have time to catch your breath before Ford’s grip tightens and with one final, rough thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, groaning loudly as he spills into you. “Fuckkk, yes,” his voice breaking. “s-such a good girl, huh,” his body trembles against yours, his cock pulsing inside as he empties himself, filling you completely. you gasp again as you feel his cum filling you up and you just stay still, enjoying this feeling as he claims you, burying his seed deep inside your womb.

The intensity of his orgasm leaves him breathless, his body shuddering as he holds you tightly. He stands still against you, his legs trembling, both of you panting heavily, your bodies slick with sweat. “Jesus fucking christ. . .” Ford mumbles, looking at you. “I can’t believe I fucking did that." he looks down, watching as his release drips from between your legs. What a sight.

The room falls into a sudden, heavy silence, save for the sound of your breathing as you both come down from the intense high. Ford’s hands are still gripping your hips, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His forehead rests against yours. The realization of what just happened slowly starts to settle in.

Your eyes meet, wide and tired. Neither of you speaks for a moment, still shocked what just happened. Ford’s gaze flickers, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lips parted as though he wants to say something but can’t find the words.

Ford swallows hard, his grip loosening just slightly. “I. . . I can’t believe it,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think- damn, I didn’t mean for it to-“ he brushes a stray lock of hair from your forehead. 

The realization of how loud everything had been creeps in: the slamming of bodies, the gasps, the moans. Shit! Your face heats up as the thought clicks in your mind.

“Do you think. . .?” you begin, glancing nervously toward the hallway.

Ford’s eyes widen. He seems to understand what's going on at the same time as you do.

Then, from the hallway outside the kitchen, there’s the unmistakable creak of floorboards, followed by a very familiar voice.

“For the love of god, could you two have picked a quieter fuckin’ spot?”

👁️⃤ Bill x Ford x reader headcanons

minors don’t interact

༄ Bill calls you “IQ’s little distraction”

༄ Bill loves to tease Ford about his preferences. “Oh, so you like it when she does that, huh, Sixer? well, you always were into the weird stuff.” 

Ford tries to ignore him, but you can tell Bill’s getting under his skin. Sometimes, when Ford’s especially worked up, he’ll respond back, gritting through his teeth, “Shut up, Bill, or I’ll—” 

But Bill cuts him off with a laugh. “You’ll what, Sixer? id love to see you try.”

༄ Bill has absolutely zero sense of boundaries. Like, none. You’ll be trying to have a moment of peace with Ford, just laying your head on his chest, his hand in your hair and Bill will appear out of nowhere. “Wow, Sixer, you look real cozy. Hope you don’t mind if I join— oh wait, I don’t care what you mind!”

Because Bill lives to make Ford suffer.

༄ Bill is constantly whispering the dirtiest things into Ford’s ear, especially when you’re around. You could be standing in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for yourself and Ford, and Bill will float beside Ford, murmuring, “She looks good, doesn’t she, Sixer? Bet you can’t wait to—” 

Ford immediately cuts him off, snapping, “Shut up.”

༄ Ford is always a mess when it comes to you. He’ll stumble over his words when he’s trying to say something sweet or get all flustered when you catch him staring at you. Bill loves to point it out too. “Oh, look at you, Sixer, so pathetic, just how I like ya.” Ford tries to brush it off, but you can see the faint blush on his cheeks every time.

༄ Ford tries to plan a romantic dinner at least once a month. Tries. Because Bill always crashes it. One time, he even possessed the waiter at the fancy restaurant you both went to. Ford didn’t notice until halfway through dessert when the waiter leaned over and said in Bill’s voice, “Enjoying the cake, Fordsy? hope you don’t choke on it!” Ford nearly did.

༄ Bill loves interrupting intimate moments. Anytime things start getting heated between you and Ford, Bill finds a way to make it weird. One time, Ford’s lips trailing down your neck to your collarbones, your hands gripping his shoulders, but with the corner of your eye, you saw Bill’s faint yellow glow in the room. Ford didn’t notice right away, continuing kissing and sucking on your skin, but the second you did, you pushed him back. “B-Bill’s watching.” you muttered awkwardly.

“What? Can’t a guy enjoy the view? You two are putting on quite the show!”

Ford practically growled, grabbing the nearest book off the nightstand and throwing it at Bill’s levitating form. 

༄ When you and Ford are eating, this damn triangle just can't calm down.

Ford groans, immediately looking up. “Bill, I swear, if you—”

“Didn’t think you’d get away that easy, did ya, Sixer?”

The lights blink out and Bill’s yellow triangle form appears right above the table.

“Ooh, candles? How romantic! What’s the occasion? Your last meal before death?

༄ Bill constantly steals Ford’s stuff. Research notes, pens, even his glasses. You’ll come into the room to see Ford anxiously searching for something, only for Bill to pop up, floating lazily in the air with Ford’s glasses. “Looking for these, IQ?”

༄ Ford writes in his journals about you sometimes, sketching your face in the margins with messy notes like, “her smile is distracting”, “must focus on the dimensional rift”, but you catch him sometimes, staring at the page for way too long before slamming the book shut when you ask about it.

༄ Bill teases Ford relentlessly about his age. “You’re still alive, huh? Good for you, Six Fingers! Still got all your teeth?” Ford just glances at him like he's seriously considering whether to fight or not. In most cases, he doesn’t.

༄ Ford is not always good at showing affection, but sometimes you wake up with Ford’s arms wrapped tightly around you, his body curled into yours like he’s hiding you from the world, his face buried in your hair.

༄ Ford’s sitting at his desk, hunched over some kind of cryptic manuscript, muttering to himself. You’re lounging on the bed nearby, half-listening, when Bill suddenly materializes out of air, hovering right over Ford’s shoulder.

“You missed a line, Sixer! And that equation? hmm, totally wrong.”

Ford doesn’t even look up, just lets out a frustrated sigh. “Go away, Bill.”

“What? I’m trying to help! This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You need me, admi—“

Ford slams his pen down, spinning around to face Bill. “The only thing I need is for you to leave me alone.”

Bill’s eye narrows. “Can we talk, pretty please?”

Ford doesn’t respond, his glare doing all the talking for him. Just not again. And more than all, not when you’re around.

༄ It’s late and Ford’s already fallen asleep beside you, his arm rests across your waist. You’re awake though, staring at the ceiling, mind racing with thoughts about. . . You don’t want to name that. It’s quiet until—

“Awww, look at that old man. So cute when he sleeps, huh?”

You sigh, turning your head slightly. Bill’s floating in the air, glowing as he speaks. “Bet he couldn’t keep up with ya, could he? Poor guy’s probably gonna need a cane soon.”

You roll your eyes.

“Come on, baby, why do you need him? Leave this old man to me, I know exactly how to take care of him.”

Only if, in Bill's understanding, hitting a person's head against a wall can be called care. 

but Bill keeps going. “y’know, you could be having a lot more fun if you ditched the nerd.”

༄ Ford tries to teach you about all the different dimensions he’s been to. He’ll pull out these ancient-looking charts, pointing at interdimensional pathways and explaining them in painstaking detail. You just nod and blink, but half the time, you’re just watching the way his hands move or the way his voice softens when he gets really excited about some fact or thing. Sometimes, you’ll lean in and kiss him just to make him pause, just to see that little flustered smile that creeps onto his face when he realizes he’s rambling again

༄ You know those quiet nights where it’s just you and Ford, snuggled up under the stars, everything peaceful for once? Bill hates that. He can’t stand the silence. He’ll show up, glowing bright as ever and start blasting some weird, otherworldly music from whatever dimension he’s been in. Ford’s patience is already thin and after the third or fourth time Bill crashes the mood, Ford practically yells at him to fuck off. You, on the other hand, can't stop laughing.

༄ Bill loves messing with Ford’s coffee in the morning. Because Stanford has his whole routine, wake up, brew a fresh pot, pour a cup, add just the right amount of sugar. But Bill ruins it. Every time. One morning, Ford took a sip and immediately spit it out, glaring at the cup. You didn’t even need to ask. 

“Bill.” 

“Hope you like your salt with a side of caffeine, Sixer!

༄ Bill can get really handsy when he’s in control of Ford’s body. It's a real entertainment for him, feeling Ford’s frustration as he takes liberties, running his hands over you in ways Ford would never dare. “Oh, come on, Sixer, relax. You’re so uptight.” Ford is fuming, but it’s not like he can stop it. Bill leans closer to you, whispering in Ford’s voice. “Bet you like this better, don’t ya, doll?”

༄ Ford tries to give you a normal day sometimes, without any interdimensional nonsense or Bill’s interruptions. It usually lasts about five minutes before Bill pops in with some sarcastic comment or weird fact about some dimension neither of you cares about. Ford grits his teeth, muttering something about wishing he could just get five minutes of peace. You’re just used to it by now.

༄ Ford pretends he isn’t jealous when Bill flirts with you, but you can tell by the way his hand tightens around yours when Bill materialises in the room. Ford says it’s nothing, but then he’s pulling you closer, glaring at Bill.

༄ Bill’s a creepy little bastard who likes to float inches away from your face, his single eye blinking too slowly. You tell him to fuck off. He does. For ten seconds. Then he’s back, upside down this time, asking why Ford hasn’t kissed you yet today. He hopes you two will break up?

༄ Ford’s hands are huge and you always feel tiny when he wraps them around your waist. Bill makes weird comments about Ford having six fingers and how "it could be useful for so many things, don’t you think?" Ford doesn’t know whether to laugh or cringe. That’s just awkward.

༄ Ford kisses you like he’s solving a problem, taking his time, all intense and focused, his lips mapping out every curve of your mouth like he’s studying it. Bill interrupts by floating in and asking, “Wow, are you gonna write a dissertation on that, Sixer?”

༄ Bill has absolutely tried to possess Ford while he’s with you. You’ve learned to spot the signs: Ford’s eyes glowing just a bit too much, his voice having that eerie echo. You have a spray bottle ready now. “NO, Bill. BAD DEMON.” It works. Sometimes.

༄ Bill once tried to show you visions of all possible realities, like, “Hey, wanna see how the universe ends?” You told him to go fuck himself. Now he keeps showing you weird alternate versions of Ford where he’s a pirate, a robot or a cowboy. Bill insists this is "important research."

༄ Sometimes when Ford will just be lying in bed, and Bill will pop in like it’s the most natural thing in the world, floating above him. “What’s the matter, Sixer? Trouble sleeping? I know a thing or two about nightmares!” Bill laughs, but Ford turns away, pulling the blanket over his head like that’s going to stop a literal demon. It never works. Bill stays, talking until Ford either gives up on sleeping entirely or throws a pillow through him in frustration.

༄ Ford always gets lost in his work and you have to drag him away from his research to eat, sleep, or, you know, be a human. Bill offers to "fix" this by “removing” Ford’s need for sleep. You kindly suggest Bill remove himself from existence instead.

༄ You found one of Ford’s journals full of sketches of Bill, with little notes about weaknesses and possible ways to destroy him. One page, with drops of blood on it, just had “FUCK YOU, CIPHER” written over and over. Ford insists it was an experiment. 

༄ Ford gets insecure a lot, especially after everything that happened with Bill. He’ll pull away, like he’s afraid to get too close. You have to remind him that he’s not alone anymore, that he doesn’t have to carry everything on his shoulders. Bill, of course, loves to swoop in during those vulnerable moments, whispering how fun it was to watch Ford break.

༄ Bill absolutely reads Ford’s journal when he’s not looking. He’s stolen a few pages too. Once, he asked you if you wanted to see what Ford wrote about you.

༄ Ford, surprisingly, can be rough and dominant sometimes. His normally gentle side disappears when you get him riled up, and soon enough, he’s pinning you against a wall as he mutters in your mouth, “You’re mine, understand?” 

Bill, ever the asshole, floats by with a sing-songy, “Ooh, Sixer’s got a dark side, huh? Fucking hot.” 

༄ Bill, in all his chaotic glory, shows up at your door with a gift — a jar containing what looks like a preserved monster eyeball. He insists it’s a “conversation starter” and jokes about “keeping an eye on things.” You freak out, but Ford looks like he’s used to it.

༄ It’s not just Ford who gets jealous; Bill throws tantrums when he sees you and Ford getting too close. One time, he sulked in the corner, muttering about “human emotions” while eyeing you both, his form turning red.

༄ Sometimes you wake up to Bill floating above you in a dream, whispering, “interesting fact! did you know I could bend reality just to keep you awake all night?” there you wake up screaming, while Ford, half-asleep, grumbles about needing to “banish that triangle for good.”

༄ You know that Ford is obsessed with his research and you love to stay up late, sitting on the floor next to him, watching him scribble furiously in his journals. He looks so cute when he’s all focused and excited. But there’s always that moment when you catch him staring at you instead of the pages. 

You smirk, “are you going to take notes on how beautiful I am?” Ford stutters, not knowing what to say, but you see a smile on his face. 

༄ Ford’s hands grips your waist, holding you against him while his lips slide down your neck, showering kisses, making you gasp softly, your fingers in his hair. But just when things are about to get real, Bill pops in with a, “Geez, Sixer, are you gonna bore her to death with foreplay or what?”

༄ And of course, let's not forget about the usual, “Doll, you sure you’re satisfied with this? nerds aren’t exactly known for their stamina, if you know what I mean!”

Ford doesn't want you to know how Bill knows this.

Nightmare

Tourist trap (Stan Pines x fem!reader)

minors dni

Stan is very fond of tourists who believe his stories.

tags: nsfw, smut, p in v, fingering, riding, desk sex, semi-public, praise, sir kink, rough sex

You shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wide-eyed and excited, as you clutched your little Mystery Shack brochure in your hand. It was all crumpled from being folded and unfolded too many times, but you couldn’t stop reading all the incredible things advertised on it.

"See the world-famous Sasquatch Skull up close! Touch the Alien Artifacts nobody else believes in!" 

You believed it all. Every last word. After all, you’re such a lover of the unknown.

Your group of tourists shuffles around you, mostly adults who looks really unimpressed, grumbling about the entrance fee. You’re the only one whose eyes are wide with excitement and who literally trembles from excitement to see everything the Shack have to offer. And that’s exactly what catches his eye.

Stan Pines stands in the doorway, leaning on his cane, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You don’t notice how his eyes scans over you, how he takes in every little detail: the innocent excitement, the way you’re practically throwing your money at the gift shop already and that naive, gullible glow about you. You practically skip forward, not noticing how Stan’s eyes linger on you. He can tell right away — you aren’t just any tourist. No, you’re special. Too trustful. Sweet. The kind that believe every ridiculous thing he’d ever put on display.

And isn’t that just. . . adorable?

The tour starts and you trail behind him eagerly, eyes wide and shining as he tells stories about the various "creatures" and "relics" in the Shack. Part of you is convinced that every word is true, that you’re standing in the presence of real magic, real mystery. 

Stan notices you hanging on his every word and it makes something stir in him. The way your lips parts just a little, these little “wow” and “ohh” you make, the way your eyes follow his every move. Meanwhile other tourists roll their eyes or sigh, bored out of their minds, but not you. You’re his favorite kind of visitor — the kind that made his job fun

"So," Stan starts, turning to you with a glint in his eye as the rest of the group wanders off, "what do you think of this, doll? Pretty impressive, huh?"

You nod enthusiastically, clutching your bag of over-priced trinkets and souvenirs. "It’s amazing, sir! i can’t believe im seeing all this in real life! i mean, is the Sasquatch skull really real? And the alien artifacts, are they, like, actually from space?!"

"Well, aren’t you just the cutest little tourist I’ve ever seen,” he smiles, leaning slightly towards you and letting out a chuckle “most people come in here and they laugh it off. Say it’s all fake, but not you. You really believe in this, don’t you?”

“Yeah! ive always dreamed of visiting such a cool place! thank you, sir, it’ll remain a good memory,” you giggle.

“Ohh, sweetheart, if you’re such a fan, maybe i can show you some of the mysteries we keep hidden from the average tourists.” he absolutely loves how wide-eyed and trusting you are. You really believe every word he tells you?

Your eyes light up, completely oblivious to the hungry look in his eyes. "Really? You’d do that?"

Stan rubs his chin, pretending to think it over, though the grin never left his face. “Hmm,” he looks at you for a couple more seconds before he tells you you. “for you, dear? Anything.”

He leads you away from the main part of the Shack, down a hallway lined with dusty old portraits and broken light fixtures. You don’t even notice how quiet it is now as the rest of the tour group far behind. All you can think about was the excitement bubbling inside you, the thrill of seeing something “exclusive.”

Stan opens a creaky door at the end of the hall and motions for you to step inside. You eagerly obey, stepping into a dimly lit room filled with more strange objects, things that weren’t part of the normal tour. At least, that’s what Stan told you.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, the two of you now alone and you never really noticed how close he suddenly got, his hand resting on your lower back as he guides you further into the room, its cluttered with strange artifacts, most of which hadn’t made it to the main display.

You’re buzzing with excitement as you look around at the dusty shelves. "Wow!" you gasped, wide-eyed. “What’s that? and that?! oh my gosh, is that a real shrunken head?!”

Stan chuckles, settling himself down in an old chair near desk before patting his lap. “Why don’t you come here, doll? I’ll give you a closer look.” there was something in his voice. . . something that should alert you, but you’re too caught up in your excitement to notice it.

Without a second thought, you plop yourself down on his lap, leaning forward to inspect the nearest artifact, still firing off a barrage of questions. "What’s this one? and where did you get it? oh god, is it really cursed?!"

Stan grunts, adjusting you a bit closer as his hands settled on your hips. He leans forward slightly, his mouth near your ear as he begins to explain some ridiculous story about the origins of the objects. But you barely notice how his fingers start to slip lower, just lightly brushing along the hem of your skirt.

You keep talking, completely oblivious, your words spilling out in an excited rush. “This is so cool! i can’t believe no one else gets to see this! i-“ your voice hitches as Stan’s hand slides further up your thigh, his thick fingers grazing the edge of your panties.

He continues talking as if nothing happens. “This here is an ancient artifact from South America. Supposedly cursed, but, eh, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” he pauses, his hand gently pressing against the softness of your thigh as he keeps you pinned on his lap.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you tried to focus on his words, nodding as you squirmed a little. “W-wow, that’s- that’s so cool!” your voice breathy as Stan’s fingers brushes lightly along the edge of your panties, teasing you.

“Yeah, real cool, huh?” he asks you, still as if nothing happened, his other hand sliding up your waist to grip your side, so you wouldn’t move that much. His fingers dip lower, grazing the fabric of your panties before slipping just beneath it. “aaand this one here,” he continues, “it’s said to have belonged to an ancient tribe. Powerful stuff.”

You can barely process what he’s saying, your mind blank as his fingers lightly tease along your slit, collecting the wetness that was beginning to pool there. You shift in his lap, trying to stifle the soft whimper that escape your lips, your legs pressing together.

“Something wrong, doll?” he asks in a playful, no, mocking tone, while his fingers now lightly caressing your clit. “You seem a little distracted. Thought you wanted to hear about all these mysteries*.”

“I- I do!” you stutter. “It’s just- s-sir!”

“Just what?” Stan interrupts, his fingers now slipping lower, pressing firmly against your entrance. His other hand grips your waist, holding you firmly in place as you instinctively try to buck your hips against his hand.

You whine softly, barely able to form a coherent sentence. "I-I just. . . oh god-“

Stan smirks. “You’re so cute, sweetheart,” he nuzzles your neck, his fingers now teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of one finger inside your throbbing cunt. “asking all these questions while sitting in my lap like a good little girl.”

You sob, your hips rocking against his hand without even realizing it. You can feel his cock, hard and pulsing beneath you, pressing against your ass, but Stan keeps his focus on you, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your wetness, never stopping his stories.

“This one is said to have special. . . powers. Like it can make someone go crazy with just one touch.” he chuckles, his finger curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you gasp and clench around him.

Your head spinning, your body aching with need, completely at his mercy as he tease and play with you, all while still pretending like it was just another tour.

Stan’s smirk widens as he feels you trembling in his lap, the way you quietly moan, your face and body both hot. He keeps his voice steady, still saying some ridiculous story about the artifacts, but his fingers never stops their teasing.

“So, this piece here was said to be used in rituals. Uhh, something about unlocking a person’s deepest desires, makin’ ’em lose all sense of control.” its not difficult for him to imagine these false stories, he is an experienced lier after all. You try to listen, try to understand what he’s saying, but that’s just impossible to do as he presses his thumb harder against your needy bud, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. You whimper, barely able to focus on his words. Your body burning, every nerve ending tingling as his rough fingers stroke and tease your throbbing pussy. Your hips rock against his hand, desperate for more, but you’re too shy, too embarrassed to ask for it.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? you were askin’ so many questions before, now you’re all quiet?” his thumb circles your clit a little bit faster and your body jolts from pleasure, a soft cry escaping your lips before you could stop it.

“I’m just-“ you stammer, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you squirm in his lap. “I c-can’t, sir, can’t think”

He chuckles, now pushing two thick fingers deep inside your tight, clenching cunt. You gasp and your back arch against him as he starts to pump them slowly, curling and scissoring his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body tremble. What a lovely sounds you’re making.

“Aww you poor thing, so lost, huh? cant even think straight, can ya?”

You whimper, biting your lip as you try to stifle the noises that are spilling out of you, but it’s useless. Your hips are moving on their own, grinding against his hand as you clung to his shirt, “sir” and “please” leaving your mouth as his fingers stretch you so well.

“Just relax, doll, I’ll take care of you. Just listen to me.” his fingers pumped harder inside your pulsing pussy. “you wanted a tour, right?”

You nodded weakly, not even listening him, unable to focus on anything but the way his fingers were fucking into you, the wet sounds of your dripping pussy filling the small room. His thick digits stretch you open just good, making you lose your mind.

“So this here,” he continued, his voice still calm despite the way you were practically writhing in his lap, “was used by an ancient tribe. Supposedly, they thought it could help them communicate with the gods, but I think it’s more useful for somethin’ else. . . don’t you, sweetheart?”

You could only sob in response, your body trembling as his fingers drove deeper, stretching your tight walls, his thumb never leaving your poor sensitive clit, your muscles clenching around his fingers as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises as he watches you squirm in his lap, your wetness coating his fingers. “so cute, all worked up like this. You gonna cum for me, doll?” you nod , your hips bucking against his hand, his fingers thrusting deeper inside your aching cunt. Stan laughs at that pathetic sight, his fingers moving faster now, fucking you hard and deep, your pussy clenching around his digits. “Go on, princess, cum on my fingers.” you exhale when Stan finally let you finish. With a strangled cry, your body shakes, your cunt clenching around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you. Your eyes rolled and brain fucking melted as you shudder in his lap.

Stan grinned, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “Good girl, such a good little doll for me.”

His hand rests on your breast, first slowly and gently caressing it. His fingers find your nipple and give it a light squeeze, drawing another sound from you. Stan smirks to himself as he feels you shaking in his lap, your body responding to every little touch he gave you. His fingers still buried deep inside you, moving at a slow, teasing pace that had you on edge, desperate for more. You can barely sit still, squirming against him, your breath coming out in soft, shallow gasps.

His fingers curling inside you again, and you whimper, your hips jerking in response. “You want somethin’, don’t you? you gotta tell me what you need, doll.”

Your mind foggy, every nerve in your body on fire as his fingers keep working you over, drawing soft, desperate noises from your parted lips. You could barely think straight, let alone put together a proper sentence. “pl-please, sir”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your struggle. “Please what, sweetheart? you gotta use your words if you want somethin’ from me.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep yourself together, but it’s damn impossible with the way his big fingers thrusting inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. You can feel the heat building inside you again, that desperate, aching need, but of something bigger than just his fingers. You need to be filled, to have your brains fucked out. “I need more. . .”

“More, baby? you want my fingers to go faster? is that what you mean?”

You shake your head frantically, your whole body aching for something else. “No, I need- need your cock, sir-“

He raise his eyebrows in a fake surprise. “Oh, is that what you’ve been tryin’ to say this whole time? you’re beggin’ for it now, huh? pretty little thing, all desperate for me to fuck you?”

You whimper softly, your hips moving on their own, trying to push down on his hand for more friction, more pressure, but he holds you still, keeping you right where he wanted you. “Please, sir,” you whisper and nearly cry because of horrible emptiness you’re feeling. “please just fuck me, sir, i need you!”

“You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous today, sweetheart,” he tells you, his hand finally pulling away from your dripping slit. “don’t say i never gave you nothin’.”

Before you can even process whats happening, Stan shifts you in his lap, his strong hands lifting your hips and positioning you right above his length. You can feel his cock, already hard and throbbing beneath you, pressing up against your soaked entrance, and your whole body tense, your breath catching in your throat.

Stan’s hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he lines himself up with your glistening cunt, spreading your folds. “You ready for it, doll?” he asks. “this what you’ve been beggin’ for?”

You nod quickly, fuck enough of questions, you thought. “Yes,” you whisper. “yes yes yes, ple-“ but before you can even finish, he slowly pushes inside you, stretching you open inch by inch. You immediately gasp at the new sensation, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as your body adjusts to the sudden fullness. Oh god, it’s thick, so hard, filling you completely and you can feel every inch of him throbbing inside you, every vein, it feels so hot.

Stan huffs out, his grip on your hips tightening as he buries himself to the hilt. “Fuck, you’re tight. like you were made for this, doll.”

You whimper softly, holding on him, your body trembling as you try to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. It’s almost too much, the way he stretches you so perfectly, the way he fills you completely. You can barely breathe.

Stan gives you a moment to adjust. his cock pulsing inside you. “There we go,” he mutters watching your brows furrowing. “Just like that. . . you’re doin’ so good, babygirl.”

You moan again, your hips shifting slightly in his lap, and you feel him twitch inside you,. “I. . . nhhah, s-sir”

He leans towards you and kisses your forehead, his hands guiding your hips to start moving, slowly at first. “Go on, princess. Ride me, let me see how bad you want it.”

You bite your lip nervously as you’ve never been in this pose before, you slowly start to move, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down onto his cock. It feels incredible, the way his cock stretches you open, hitting all sweet spots inside you. You feel the tension building inside you again, that same desperate, aching need, and you whimper again and again, your hips moving faster as your cunt tightening around him.

Stan’s eyes locks with yours as he guides your movements, kissing your neck. “That’s it, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good, yesss, such a good girl, ridin’ me like that.”

You cry out at his words, what a sweet praise, your body moving on its own now, your hips grinding down against him, taking him deeper with each thrust. You can barely think, barely breathe, the pleasure overwhelming your senses, your mind clouded, you can’t even maintain the eye contact.

Stan’s hands moves to your waist, holding you steady as he starts thrusting up into you, meeting your movements with deep, powerful thrusts. You whine, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for support as he fucks you, your mouth hangs open while he fucks you faster and harder with each thrust, he holds you so tightly, squeezing your body while you ride him.

You gasp. “I- I’m gonna-“

“Go ahead, doll, cum for me, let me feel it.”

Your body tensed, your walls clenching around his cock as your orgasm hits you hard. Your body shaking, trembling in his lap as you cumming, rambling pleas leave your mouth when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing sweetly against your cervix. Stan groans, his grip on your waist tightening as he thrusts up into you harder, deeper, drawing out your pleasure as long as he can. “That’s it, such a good girl, baby. . . so fuckin’ tight.”

You fall on his chest, still shaking, your mind still spinning from the intensity of it all. You can feel him still throbbing inside you, still hard, and you whimper softly, your hips shifting slightly in his lap, he’s clearly not planning on pulling out.

After you manage to get your breathing back to normal at least a little you feel his hands still all over you, roughly dragging you up and laying you out on the old wooden table. Your legs tremble, spread wide as he stares down at you, taking in the sight like you’re his prize, his fucking reward.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” grin crosses his lips as he grabs your thighs, pulling you right to the edge of the table before slamming his cock back inside your pussy, forcing a cry from your throat. Your body jolts at the sudden penetration, and you moan again, legs wrapping around his waist as he starts pounding into you again. Hard. Rough. Fast. There’s not a drop of mercy in his movements, he's not holding back, fucking you like you're just a thing for him to use. Your sweet moans and that pathetic "sl-slow down!" sound like music to his ears.

His hands all over you, squeezing, groping, touching. He grabs your breasts, kneading them, pinching your nipples through your shirt so hard you whimper, arching your back off the table. He groans at that, leaning in close, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, “Fuck, you feel heavenly, baby, can’t get enough of this sweet little cunt.”

His fingers finds your clit, rubbing circles around it, teasing you until you can’t stop the pathetic whines spilling from your lips. He keeps fucking you harder, his hips slamming against yours, the table creaking under the weight of it all. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with your gasps, your moans, your begs and his grunts as he’s pounding into you like he was starving for it.

“Look at you,” he looks down at your flushed, wrecked body, his hands gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. “Such a fucking good girl for me, huh? letting me use this pretty little pussy however I want.”

You can’t really form words, can’t do anything but take it. Your so brain fucked, body burning, you’re so close you can’t think straight. He’s rough, fast, his fingers rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you higher, higher, until you can’t hold back anymore. You cum hard, again, your pussy squeezing his cock well.

But Stan doesn’t stop. He just keeps going, fucking you right through it, ruining your pussy, even harder now, his hips snaps into you, faster, rougher, and you can feel the slick mess between your thighs, the obscene sound of it only making it filthier. You're choking on your moans.

“Ugh, gonna cum inside you, doll,” he groans. “Gonna fill this sweet pussy up, you want that? you want me to fucking fill you up?”

You nod frantically, too far gone to care about anything else, and with one last, hard thrust, he buries himself so deep, his cock pulsing as he finishes inside you. You feel how warm it is, his cum filling you up, spilling out of you as he keeps thrusting, riding out his high.

Finally, he slows down, pulling out with a groan, and you collapse back on the table, spent, utterly wrecked. Youre literally shaking, panting, his cum dripping out of your used pussy onto the wood below. Stan stands there, catching his breath, looking down at you and all that dirty mess, what a beautiful sight: your legs trembling, your body marked with his touch and his cum leaking from between your thighs.

He leans over. “you know, guess I'll give you a discount for that pretty face of yours.”

₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 1

NSFW (mdni)

There’s something about Gravity Falls in the autumn that feels like a secret the world only tells to those who stay long enough to hear it. The air smells like damp pine needles and earth, the leaves of the trees cover the ground with a carpet of golden, rusty and red shades. Mornings here are misty, cold enough that you can see your breath, but not quite winter's chill. It’s the kind of cold that makes you want to wrap yourself in something soft, makes you crave warmth. It’s a cozy time. 

Gravity Falls in the fall is just. . . different.

In the late afternoon, the rays of the sun break through the crowns of the trees, flooding everything with a lazy golden light. And sometimes when you’re out by the edge of the Shack, you catch a glimpse of deer moving quietly through the woods, their dark eyes watching you with curiosity before disappearing into the shadows of woods.

The Mystery Shack is the same, just a little too quiet now that the kids have gone back to California. It’s not empty, not really, but there’s a weight to the silence. Mabel’s infectious laugh and Dipper’s constant questions replaced by the softer, quieter rhythm of life with the twins. You’ve been here for months now, long enough that the place feels like home. Especially when the twins, Stan and Ford, are around. But that’s where it gets complicated.

It’s Ford.

You’ve fallen for him. Hard. It’s ridiculous, really, because he’s so much older and you know you shouldn’t, there’s no logical reason for it, no sense in how your heart races every time he looks at you or how your stomach flips when you catch a glimpse of him doing something, like sorting through research papers or tinkering with one of his strange gadgets.

But god, it’s the way he wears that red turtleneck, isn’t it? It clings to him in a way that makes your thoughts go to places they shouldn't. It’s so simple, so casual and yet it wrecks you. Every time you see him in it, you feel the warmth between your legs. You don’t even realize how much it’s affecting you until you're practically soaked, wishing he’d notice. Wishing he’d touch you.

It doesn’t help that he’s so damn wise, so much older and that age difference? The way he corrects you, not in a condescending way, but so softly, so patiently. Like that time when you were trying to help him with some gadget, fumbling over wires and he came up behind you, placing those big hands over yours.

“No, not like that. Here, let me show you.”

His voice was so calm, so gentle, and his hands. . . they just took over. His touch was firm but careful, like he knew exactly how to handle you and it made you melt right there on the spot. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning because holy shit, how could he not feel what he was doing to you? His breath warm on the back of your neck, his fingers touching yours with just enough pressure to make your knees feel weak.

It’s pathetic how much you crave that. How much you want him to just take control, to manhandle you a little bit, gently, of course. You can imagine it so clearly: him pressing you up against a wall, those strong hands pinning your wrists above your head, his mouth on your neck, groaning something about how you’re “too young for this”, how he shouldn’t, but fuck, you know he wants to. You can see it in the way his eyes linger on you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, the way his fingers sometimes twitch when you're near, like he's resisting the urge to reach out and touch you.

And it’s not like you’re subtle either. Maybe that’s why you’re out here now, watching him from the window as he rakes up leaves in front of the shack. It shouldn’t be hot, shouldn’t make your mouth go dry, but it does. It really fucking does.

Because it’s Ford and every single thing about him makes you ache.

For example, Ford’s in the kitchen, humming under his breath while he chops vegetables with a methodical precision that’s so him. You’re sitting at the table, scrolling through your phone, trying to distract yourself from the fact that just watching him move around the kitchen has you practically dripping. God, how does he do that? He’s not even trying to be sexy, just making dinner in that stupid, red turtleneck and apron Mabel had given him. . . and here you are, practically imagining yourself on your knees, begging for it.

You hear him muttering something to himself as he stirs the pan, his brow furrowed in concentration, but your attention is broken when he turns to you with that familiar, slightly exasperated look on his face.

“You know,” he says calmly. “these phones. . . they just eat up time. Back in my day, we didn’t have things like that. We actually talked to each other during dinner.”

You laugh, because of course he would say something like that. Ford, being thirty years in another dimension, has no clue what the modern world is like and it’s just adorable, yes. But you’re also too busy imagining all the things you’d rather be doing with your mouth than explaining social media to that old man.

Still, you put the phone down because something about his tone always makes you want to listen. Maybe it’s the way he says things, like he’s so much older and knows better, and you can’t help but get a little turned on by the way he’s so gentle when he scolds you. 

He moves past you to grab something off the counter and when he leans close, you catch a familiar blend of pine and old book scents. It makes your thighs clench together involuntarily because now all you can think about is how you’d kill to taste him. To kneel in front of him while he’s still wearing that turtleneck, his eyes watching you as you take his cock in your mouth, sucking him so slow, so deep, until he can’t help but grip your hair and guide you.

Your hand twitches in your lap, resisting the urge to touch yourself right there at the table, but fuck, it’s hard not to when he’s right there, all casual and focused on making dinner like he has no idea the effect he’s having on you. 

You shift in your seat as your thoughts get dirtier. Like how it would feel to straddle his lap while he’s working on his journals, his big hands on your hips, holding you as you ride him slow, dragging your cunt along his cock while he tries to concentrate on his notes. You can picture it so clearly, his jaw clenched, brows knit when he’s trying to stay focused, but fuck, he’s too close to losing it, too close to breaking and finally giving in, flipping you over and taking you.

“Are you alright?” 

Ford’s voice pulls you out of your fantasy, he looks at you curiously, like he knows something’s up but can’t quite put his finger on it. You must look like a wreck right now, all flushed and flustered.

The next morning, even after you spent the whole night touching yourself afterwards, you still can't get enough. Your fingers working desperately between your legs, hips arching up off the mattress, trying to keep quiet even though the need clawing at you is making it impossible. You’re soaked, drenched in the thought of him, Ford, in that damn red turtleneck, that stern look on his face when he’s focused on anything other than you. You want to shove that look right off his face, make him fall apart, make him whine your name. 

It’s shameful, really, the way you’re so gone over him. The age gap shouldn’t do this to you, but it only makes you hotter, messes with your head in the best way. He’s older, so much smarter, more experienced, and all you want to do is kneel at his feet and beg him to show you exactly what all that experience feels like. You think about his rough hands gripping your hair while you choke on his cock, that raspy voice telling you to take it, all of it and when you obey, next thing you hear is “that’s it, such a good gi—“

Fuck, your breath catches, and you’re so close, rubbing your clit faster, thighs trembling. Your whole body feels tight, ready to snap, your mind filling with images of Ford pinning you down, fucking you into the mattress until you can’t breathe, until you—

“Hey, can you come in here for a second?”

His voice breaks through your fog like a fucking bomb exploding. Your eyes wide in shock, your body jerks, because you’re so close to cumming you could scream. “Shit,” you whisper harshly, hands flying off your slick cunt like you’ve been burned, heart hammering in your chest. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

It takes you a second to pull yourself together, to stop panting like you’ve just run a marathon. You wipe your wet fingers hastily on the bedsheets, muttering, “Coming, Ford,” though not the way you wanted to. 

You get up on wobbly legs, your body still buzzing, still so damn close it’s torture and you head toward the kitchen, running a hand through your hair like it’s going to make a difference. How the fuck are you supposed to face him now?

Ford’s sitting at the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of him, and his eyes flicker up to you the second you walk in, what makes your stomach flip, your heart pounding in your chest. 

You’re trying so hard to act like nothing’s wrong, like you weren’t just moaning his name touching yourself five seconds ago. “What’s up?” you ask, even though your voice is shaky, your mind still spinning. Your thighs press together, trying to dull the ache that hasn’t gone away. 

Ford looks at you for a moment longer, like he’s trying to read you and it makes you panic inside. God, you hope he doesn’t know. “I found something interesting in the woods today,“ he says, that familiar thoughtful tone returning. “It looks like an anomaly of some kind, a gravitational distortion, but it’s hard to be certain without taking a closer look. Normally, I’d go with Dipper, he was always eager to go anomaly hunting with me over the summer, but now that he’s gone back to California, I thought. . .” Ford pauses. “maybe you’d be interested in coming with me tomorrow to check it out?” he glances up at you and for a moment, his gaze softens in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat, just the way he looks at you when he says it makes you nearly collapse. 

He’s so fucking hot without even trying.

Your heart’s pounding for a whole different reason now. “Yeah, sure,” you reply, trying to sound casual, like you weren’t just fucking yourself into oblivion a minute ago. “I mean, I’m no Dipper, but I’d love to help!”

Ford’s lips curve in an approving smile, and it’s almost painful how beautiful he looks when he does that. Like a reward for doing something good. God, you’d do anything to get more of that look from him.

He watches you for a moment, his brows knitting together like he’s thinking too hard. “Are you alright? you seem. . . a little distracted.” his voice sounds way too caring, the edge of concern mixing with that sharp, authoritative tone that always makes your knees weak. 

Oh, if only he knew just how distracted you are.

Well, now you don’t know how you ended up out here, freezing your ass off, trudging through the woods with Ford while he’s talking about electromagnetic fields and spatial distortions. The chill bites into your skin, and of course you didn’t think to bring a jacket, because why would you, when you were too busy fantasizing about him fucking you senseless? You were so distracted by that goddamn turtleneck and the way his hands move when he talks that you didn’t even consider how cold it might get. Now you’re out here, shivering like an idiot, trying to keep up with him while your body is screaming for warmth, for heat, for him.

Ford doesn’t seem to notice your suffering. He’s in his element, rambling about science and anomalies, gesturing toward the trees like he’s uncovering some deep cosmic truth. And you want to care, you really do, but all you can think about is how fucking good he looks in that tan coat, how his hands would feel on your skin, holding you still, keeping you steady while he. . . 

You try to focus on his voice, but it’s useless. Your mind is gone, stuck on the idea of him pushing you against one of these trees, ripping your clothes off, his six fingers bruising into your hips while he pounds into you, telling you to take it, like you were made for him.

You grit your teeth, the cold biting at your cheeks as you shake off the thought or try to, anyway. It’s fucking useless. Every word that comes out of his mouth makes you sink deeper into fantasy. You can’t help it; you’re obsessed and he doesn’t even know.

". . . and that's when I realized that the energy trail was much stronger than I had originally assumed,” Ford continues, but to you his voice is distant, like you’re hearing it through water. You’re so far gone in your own head that you almost miss it when he asks, “Are you alright? You’ve been unusually quiet.”

Fuck. You blink, realizing he’s staring at you now, his eyes narrowing slightly behind his glasses. You clear your throat, trying to act normal, like you weren’t just picturing his cock inside you two seconds ago. “Yeah, uh, I’m fine. Just, um, a little cold.”

Ford’s eyes flicker down to your arms, bare except for your thin shirt, and his brow furrows in that disappointed way. “You didn’t bring a jacket?” he asks in a stern lecturing tone, voice strict and that drives you insane.

You cringe inwardly. Of course he’s going to scold you. You love it. “I. . . forgot,” you admit, feeling like a damn child being corrected.

He huffs softly, shaking his head. “That was careless. You should know better by now, especially given the weather this time of year.” he sighs, but without further ado takes off his coat and hands it to you. “Here, put this on. We still have a ways to go.”

You take the coat, feeling the warmth spreading through your body — not only from the fabric, but also from the fact that it belongs to him. It smells like him, this subtle blend of his favorite coffee and old books, and you pull it around yourself, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders. It’s too big, swamping you completely, but somehow that just makes it better. You’re wrapped in him now and it’s driving you crazy.

“Thank you, Ford,” you mumble, pulling the clothes tighter around you. The cold air is still biting at your skin, but now, with his coat on, you can almost pretend it’s his arms holding you close. 

“You really should be more careful,” Ford continues, his voice taking on that fatherly, lecturing tone again. “Out here, exposure to the elements can be dangerous. Hypothermia can set in quickly, especially if you’re not properly prepared.” 

You can’t help it, the way he talks, the way he corrects you, makes you want to drop to your knees right here in the dirt. It’s infuriating and so fucking hot at the same time. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you mutter, rolling your eyes even though you’re still so turned on it hurts. “I’ll remember next time, Professor Pines.”

Ford pauses, his eyes flickering to you at the sarcastic tone in your voice. “You’d better,” he grins. 

Fuck, why does he have to be like this? All you can think about is him pinning you against a tree, that authoritative tone pushing you further into submission, his hands rough on your skin, his voice in your ear telling you how badly you need it, how good you’re going to be for him—

“Honestly, you seem. . . distracted, again,” Ford says, he stops walking, turning to look at you.

Shit. “What? No— I’m just tired.” how the hell are you supposed to concentrate when all you can think about is getting railed against a tree by the man who’s currently lecturing you about hypothermia?

Ford gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you for a second, but thankfully, he doesn’t push it. Instead, he just sighs, turning back toward the woods. “Try to focus, okay? this anomaly isn’t going to find itself.”

You bite your lip, nodding even though your mind is anywhere but on the anomaly. If only he knew what you were really thinking about. If only he knew how badly you wanted him to stop being so goddamn serious and just fuck you dumb in the middle of these woods.

The two of you finally reach the spot Ford had been leading you to, hidden deep in the woods, tucked between towering pines and thick underbrush. It’s a small clearing, but something about it feels. . . wrong. The air here is heavier, like it’s charged with something invisible. Ford crouches low, gesturing for you to follow him into the bush, and you drop down beside him, trying to keep your breathing steady, you watch as he surveys the area with full concentration.

“There,” he murmurs, pointing ahead of you. “do you see it?”

You squint through the branches, at first, you don’t see anything unusual, just trees and shadows. But then, something shifts. A flicker of movement catches your eye, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s wrong, like it’s not part of this world. It’s hard to focus on, almost like it’s glitching in and out of existence, flickering at the edges like static. You can barely make out its form, part animal, part shadow, part something else. It’s small, no bigger than a dog, but the way it moves, the way it breathes, feels unnatural.

“What. . . is that?” you whisper, leaning closer to Ford, your shoulder brushing against his.

He glances at you with a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Distortion in the structure of reality,” he explains quietly. “I’ve seen creatures like this before. They exist in pockets of dimensional instability, places where our world overlaps with others. Their form isn’t stable, which is why they appear, uh, fragmented.”

You stare at the thing, amazed. It moves silently, its body flickering like a bad signal, its limbs elongating and shrinking as it drifts through the clearing, unaware of your presence. You should be scared, but all you can think about is how close Ford is to you, how his voice sounds in your ear and how much you want to feel him right now. You can’t focus, not when he’s explaining these wild theories with that serious tone, making you feel like an idiot for not understanding.

“And what does it. . . do?”

Ford’s gaze remains fixed on the anomaly. “They’re typically harmless,” he murmurs, “but they’re drawn to specific atmospheric conditions. This one, for example, seems to respond to shifts in barometric pressure and electromagnetic fluctuations in the atmosphere. But more interestingly,” he pauses, glancing at the sky, “rain tends to destabilize them completely.”

You blink, confused. “Rain?”

Ford nods. “Rain disrupts their ability to remain in our dimension. The water molecules interfere with the dimensional rift that keeps them here. It’s fascinating, really. I’ve observed this behavior before, it’s as if the rain itself acts like a natural disruptor!”

You’re about to ask him more when, as if on cue, the first cold drops of rain start to fall, splattering against the leaves and the ground. Ford’s eyes widen and you glance back at the anomaly. The creature twitches, its form flickering more violently now, like it’s struggling to hold onto something.

The rain falls harder, and within seconds, the creature’s form starts to dissolve. It doesn’t vanish all at once, no, its body breaks apart in fragments, each piece flickering and glitching until there’s nothing left but empty air. One minute it’s there, the next it’s gone.

You stare at the empty clearing, rain dripping down your face, soaking into Ford’s coat. “It. . . it’s gone.” 

Ford leans back slightly, his eyes still big in surprise. “The rain destabilized it completely.” there’s something in his tone, something deeper, like he’s not ready to leave yet. Ford wipes his glasses with the sleeve of his turtleneck.

The rain starts falling harder, drops turning into a full downpour that soaks everything in its path. You stand there, wrapped in Ford’s coat, but he’s not as lucky, his hair quickly becomes drenched, plastering to his forehead in thick, graying strands. The fabric of his red turtleneck clings to his body, outlining every muscle, every curve of his broad chest and shoulders. The rain slides down his skin, leaving little rivulets of water dripping from his neck, his hair curling at the edges, making him look even more handsome than he really was

You can’t stop staring. He’s just so damn hot, god bless him. You feel a rush of heat despite the cold rain, you bite your lip, fighting back the urge to push him against the nearest tree and kiss him. 

Ford wipes his face again with the back of his hand, visibly irritated by the rain now. His expression grows more serious as he watches the empty clearing where the anomaly had been. The rain’s still coming down hard, and Ford’s soaked through, he runs a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back, but the rain keeps coming, relentless.

“We should head back, there’s no point in staying here now that it’s gone.”

There’s something different about his tone, more serious, frustrated, maybe? He turns, starting to walk back the way you came, and you follow, the tension between you is growing. It’s obvious he’s frustrated, his normally calm demeanor slipping just a bit, and you know it’s not just because of the rain. It’s the anomaly disappearing, vanishing right in front of him, after all that work. 

You pull his coat tighter around you, trying to keep up, but it’s hard to focus on anything besides how good he looks, even now, soaked through and visibly annoyed. Every step now feels tense, the silence between you stretching uncomfortably, broken only by the sound of your boots squelching in the mud and the steady rhythm of the downpour.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you reach the Mystery Shack. Ford’s steps quicken as he approaches the door, shaking the rain from his hair like an irritated cat before pushing it open. You follow him inside, immediately hit by the warmth of the indoors, the cozy smell of wood. The contrast between the cold, wet outside and the warmth of the Shack feels surreal, your skin prickling as you step out of your soaked boots.

You turn to Ford, feeling a little shy as you glance at him. “Thanks. . . for the coat,” you murmur in a soft tone, giving him a little smile.

He nods, still looking slightly annoyed, but the tension in his shoulders seems to ease a bit. “Of course,” he speaks. “you shouldn’t have come without proper gear in the first place.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll. . . I’ll make us some tea,” you offer, eager to warm up and maybe soften the mood between you two. “You want a cup?”

Ford glances at you, thinking, then nods. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

You head to the kitchen, still feeling the weight of your earlier thoughts clinging to you, but trying to shake them off as you busy yourself making the tea. The warmth of the kitchen seeps into your bones, and soon the kettle is whistling, the scent of the tea filling the air. You pour two cups, careful not to spill as you carry them back out to the living room. 

But the moment you step back in, everything stills.

Ford’s standing there, his back to you, and he’s in the process of pulling off his soaked turtleneck, peeling the wet fabric off his skin, revealing his bare back, broad, strong, skin glistening from the rain. You freeze, eyes wide, the cup trembling in your hands. You almost drop it right then and there, the mug slipping slightly as you catch your breath, heart racing, your brain is an absolute mess

Holy shit.

Ford turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder at you, completely unaware of the effect he’s having. You look down, watching the movements of his body, the way the muscles roll under his skin as he turns to face you fully now. You can see the soft gray hair on his chest, the way it leads down to the waistband of his pants, and suddenly, you’re not thinking about the tea or the rain or the goddamn anomaly anymore. 

Ford glances at you, frowning slightly when he notices the way you’re standing there, staring at him, barely able to breathe. “You alright?”

You nod, “Y-yeah.” but you’re barely listening, the pounding of your heart too loud in your ears, your body too warm, too needy. All you can think about is how you want to tear the rest of his clothes off, feel the weight of his body pinning you down against the kitchen counter, hear him grunt your name as he ruins you. You’re imagining how he’d taste, how he’d groan as you took him in your mouth, his hands fisting in your hair, his hips pushing deeper until you're choking on him, eyes watering, but you’d love every second of it, because this is Ford.

You can barely stand on your feet and all he does is run a hand through his wet hair, oblivious. "You sure?" 

And then you blink, realizing that you've been staring too long, but it's too late to back off.

oogh. augh