Ford X Fem!reader X Stan

Ford x fem!reader x Stan

minors dni

Stan’s grip on you tightens, pulling you against his frame as he crashes his lips against yours. There’s no hesitation, just raw, impatient hunger, the kind of kiss that takes your breath away and leaves you wanting more. His hands roam with a boldness that leaves no room for doubt, fingers digging into your hips as if claiming you.

From behind, Ford’s approach is way softer. His lips ghost along the curve of your neck, pressing tender slow kisses to your skin. Such contrast between them makes you dizzy, overwhelmed by the intensity of their touches. You groan softly, caught in the heat of it all, and instinctively lean back into Ford’s embrace. There Stan's face visibly frowns.

Stan pulls back just enough to mutter, “Don't let him think he's in charge here.” his tone is rough, tinged with jealousy, his hand slides over your side, possessive and demanding as if trying to take you away from his twin.

Before you can respond, Ford’s voice cuts through, quiet but confident. “She can decide for herself, Stan,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver through you. “can’t you, darling?”

The tension between the brothers is palpable, but so is the way their hands explore your body. Stan’s touch is firm, always a little too eager, while Ford’s fingers trail gently over your skin, savoring every inch. They both can’t get enough of you. Stan’s lips crash back into yours, but Ford’s kisses never stop, his mouth pressing slow, sensual kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck, you literally melt between them. 

A loud moan escapes your lips when Stan's hand slaps your butt, you sob from a little pain and feel Ford's body tense behind you as he glares at his brother. “What? Are you trying to make me look bad?” Stan huffs.

Ford smirks softly, nipping at your skin gently before whispering, “no? Im just appreciating how beautiful she is.” his touch is feather-light, contrasting with Stan’s more possessive grip. “and I'm trying to please her, Stanley, not hurt her."

“Yeah? well, I’d like to appreciate her too,” Stan bites out, jealousy bubbling inside him. “don’t forget who’s been here longer.” he murmurs into your mouth and leans in again, capturing your lips.

You whimper softly, overwhelmed by their attention, your face all flushed as you try to hold yourself. Both men vying for your attention. Ford smiles against your skin. “Good girl,” he praises softly.

Stan, at the exact same time, mutters, “Atta girl.”

They both fall silent as their words intersect in the most unexpected way. They pull away, looking at each other over your shoulder, realizing what just happened. There's an awkward silence for a moment, but then Stan huffs in annoyance, his grip on your waist tightening. “Seriously? you gotta steal my lines now?”

Ford, always calm, arches an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk. “Didn’t realize praise was trademarked,” he remarks dryly.

You laugh softly, but the sound breathy from arousal. "Are you really arguing about this right now?” you ask them, needing their attention and kisses so badly, you don’t want that to stop.

Stan shoots a half-grin your way, nodding. “You better believe it, sweetie. I’m not lettin’ this nerd outdo me.”

Ford still remains calm and patient, although his hand slides up, cupping your chin, gently turning your face towards him. “Outdo you? Stan, we’re not in a competition.” his lips gently touch yours as he murmurs, “we’re both making her feel good.”

Stan’s cocky grin widens, and he leans in, his voice rough as he rests his hands on your thighs. “Speak for yourself, i think she likes me better.”

Ford chuckles smoothly, rolling his eyes and pressing another kiss to your shoulder, his breath tickles your skin pleasantly. “Is that so? Why don’t we let her tell us herself?”

Your heart pounds, your body burns at their touch and it takes your breath away when their eyes focus solely on you, waiting, watching. “I. . . I like both of you,” you admit breathlessly. “please, just- just continue, I need you both.”

Stan’s eyes light up, his fingers slide lower, his thumb brushing teasingly along your hip. “That’s my girl.”

Ford’s touch remains soft still, his lips pressing a delicate kiss to your neck as he murmurs against your skin, “You’re perfect, darling.”

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.”

Stan Pines is the kind of man who can't just let you do anything without turning it into a compliment, like, every move you make, he's gotta say something. And it’s never normal. 

You could be bent over organising some random crap around the Mystery Shack and this man will make it sound like you’re posing for him. Because, yeah, you’re just trying to organize his disaster of a desk, sorting through all his crumpled receipts, ticket stubs, whatever the hell else he’s hoarded.

“Your doin’ god’s work, sugar,” and it’s not even subtle. You look over your shoulder, half expecting him to actually be paying attention to the pile of garbage you're dealing with, but no. He’s leaning against the counter, counting out cash from the register, but all you see is that smirk. The one that makes it very clear his mind ain’t on the paperwork.

“Sorting your trash is god’s work?” you quip back, rolling your eyes, but the way he’s watching you with that smirk of his, makes your cheeks flush a bit.

“You know what I mean,” Stan mutters and now he’s just full-on undressing you with his eyes, the cash in his hands forgotten. “ya ain’t gotta try so hard, baby, because ya could sit on your ass all day and I’d still think ya did somethin’ special.” and your face burns at that, but he sees it, of course, he does. Stan ain’t dumb, despite the act he puts on for tourists. He’s so much more clever than he looks, always has been. The moment he catches that excitement in your eyes, he’s grinning like he’s just won a damn lottery.

“You like that, huh? being told how good you are?”

You smirk back, trying to play it off, but your voice comes out a little breathier than you mean for it to. “all that for organizing receipts? maybe you should give me a raise.” 

Stan just laughs loudly. “yeah, sweetheart, you deserve the whole damn Shack.”

Or when, you’re just sitting at the counter, counting the cash from the register, going about your day and Stan? Well, Stan is “cleaning up,” which basically means he’s wiping the same spot for like five minutes straight while staring at you. You catch him, because he’s being too obvious with it. His eyes keep dipping to your lips every time you bite your pen and it’s distracting as hell.

“You’re too damn cute, y’know that?” he grumbles and it sounds like he’s mad about it, like you’ve done something wrong just by existing.

“You say that every day.” you shoot him a teasing smile, because yeah, this is the daily routine.

And Stan just sighs, smirking like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, and I’ll keep sayin’ it, sorry, baby, couldn’t shut up about ya if I tried.” 

Then there’s when you’re fixing up one of the old displays, just tightening bolts or whatever and Stan’s “supervising.” Except by “supervising,” I mean, he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching you work with that wide grin on his face, satisfied and clearly enjoying the view.

“Goddamn, honey,” he mutters. “you makin’ this place look good just by bein’ in it. Hm, maybe I should start charging you for the view.” 

You glance over your shoulder, raising your eyebrow, but smirking, because you know exactly what game he’s playing.

“What? I’d pay whatever ya want, sweetheart. You’re worth every penny.” 

Or you’re just in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables for dinner. The radio’s on low, the sun setting through the windows. Stan’s sitting at the table, pretending to read the newspaper, but every once in a while you catch him glancing over the edge, just watching you move around the kitchen. It’s quiet until he breaks it.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, y’know that?” his voice is so soft, too sincere for Stanley Pines, but when you look over, he’s still got that damn smirk on his face.

You pause, knife in hand, and raise an eyebrow. “For chopping onions?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair, arms behind his head. “Nah, sugar, it’s just the way you’re movin’ around in there, i dunno how to explain it, but damn, you look good in my kitchen.”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m literally cutting onions, Stan.”

“Yeah, still sexy. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Then there’s the mornings. You’re in the bathroom, brushing your teeth, hair a mess, wearing one of Stan’s old shirts that hangs way too big on you and he's leaning in the doorway, watching you like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. You catch his reflection in the mirror, raising an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs with this lazy grin, continuing to admire to you.

“Can’t help it, sweetie, you look cute when you’re all domestic.”

you’re just brushing your teeth, but somehow, this man makes it sound like you’re doing the sexiest damn thing in the world

Rainy night (Ford Pines x fem!reader)

minors don’t interact

It's a summer night outside, the air is filled with the smell of rain falling on warm ground, raindrops are running down the window. The rain is not that sharp or scary, rather soft, constant, but it cools the night good enough after hot day. From time to time you hear low rumbles of thunder that come from afar, but they are soft and lazy.

It’s peaceful, almost. Except for the man beneath you.

Stanford sits on the couch, his back slumped against the cushions with you on his laps. His large hands rest on your hips, his touch is so gentle and light. He looks so tired tonight, his usual serious face softened with exhaustion from another long day of research, you feel the tension in his body, like he’s barely holding himself together.

You shift slightly in his lap and his grip tightens for a moment. His glasses are askew and you reach up to adjust them, but he grabs your wrist gently before you can. You swear there’s something in his eyes, something so vulnerable and sad that makes your heart ache.

“Leave them,” he mutters. You’ve seen him like this before, late at night when the weight of everything he’s been through catches up to him, when the need for human touch becomes almost unbearable. Thirty years in another dimension with no one to hold, no one to ground him, he’s starved for this. For you.

You don’t argue. Instead, you slide your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with the soft strands of his silvered hair. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment, as if savoring the feeling of you so close. His hands move from your hips to your waist, pulling you just a little bit closer, and you feel the warmth of him.

“Ford,” you whisper softly, leaning in so that your lips brush the edge of his ear. “you’re overthinking again.”

He huffs out a breath, letting out a low chuckle. “It’s what I do.”

You smile, pressing your forehead to his, your hands moving to cradle his face. There’s something so tender about him right now, something almost fragile. You tilt his chin up slightly, forcing him to look at you and the moment your eyes meet, something shifts. You see the need there, something he can’t tell you about. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, his hands gripping your waist tighter. 

You lean in, your lips barely touch his, and you feel him tense under you, it’s like he’s stressed 24/7. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m here.”

And that’s all it takes.

Ford kisses you, but his kiss is demanding, rough even, that desperate it makes your head spin. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer against him. It’s like he can’t get enough, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. 

His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you part your lips for him, the kiss deepening in a way that makes you dizzy. His fingers dig into your sides, almost too hard, but you don’t care. You want him like this, needy, desperate. He’s been waiting this for far too long.

You shift in his lap, pressing your hips down against his and he groans into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs. He’s hard beneath you and that beautiful moan he makes when you grind against him makes you feel something.

“God,” Stanford breathes against your lips, his trembling hands are everywhere now, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid to let go. “i need this, i need you.”

And you can tell he means it.

You pull back slightly, breathless, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. His cheeks are flushed and there’s a dazed look in his eyes. Ford is trying to compose himself, but it’s clear he’s already lost in the moment. 

Without a second thought, you press a gentle yet sensual kiss to the hollow of his throat, feeling the warm pulse beneath your lips. He shivers at that and a low groan escapes him. “God, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You can’t help but smile against his skin. You kiss your way up to his jaw, trailing soft kisses along the way. He tilts his head back slightly, giving you more access, and you take the opportunity to shower him in affection, his neck, his jawline, nose, cheeks, the space between his brows.

“You’re. . . fuck,” he stutters, clearly at a loss for words. His hands, those strong yet delicate hands with their six fingers, twitch nervously against your sides. He looks as if he’s unsure where to place them, obviously nervous.

“Ford,” you whisper softly, pausing to meet his eyes. “It’s okay, just hold me. You won’t hurt me.”

His brows furrowing. “I don’t want to- what if I-“

“Just be with me,” you encourage, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his forehead. “You’re not going to hurt me, i trust you.” he  hesitates still, but you guide his hands gently to your waist, resting them there, showing him it’s okay. “See? Just like that. You’re doing great.”

“I just. . . I haven’t been close to anyone in so long,” he admits. “I don’t know how to. . . how to do this.”

“Just be yourself,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck again, drawing him even closer. “You’re amazing, Ford. You’re smart, strong and so incredibly sweet, just let me love you.”

His cheeks flush deeper at your words, and he looks at you with confusion on his face. “Sweet? Me?” he chuckles again. “You’re joking, right?”

“No joke,” you laugh, kissing the corner of his mouth, watching as his lips curve into a smile. “You are, even if you don’t see it. Just let me show you.”

With that, you return to his neck, kissing him softly, teasingly, feeling the way his body responds, every little gasp, every twitch of his fingers, the way his body tense and shakes a bit. The more you kiss him, the more he lets go, losing himself in the sensation. “God, I’m a mess,” he murmurs. “you make me feel so exposed.”

“Good,” you breathe against his skin. “You deserve to feel this way.”

He grips your hips tighter, his six fingers squeezing just enough to make you look at him. “I’m afraid I’ll”-

“-hurt me? you won’t,” you assure him. “Trust me, i’m right here and i want this just as much as you do.”

The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, and he leans into your touch again, his eyes fluttering closed as you shower him with affection. You kiss his forehead, his cheek, his jaw again. But there’s not a second when Ford can relax.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” you hear him whisper again.

“You’re here with me, this is real. You deserve this, Ford.”

He swallows hard, clearly fighting back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “I- I need you,” he tells you.

“It’s okay, just hold me, kiss me, love me.”

Ford's eyes trail down, almost unconsciously, lingering on the curve of your chest. And just for a moment, he looks torn, his gaze flickering between your face and the rise and fall of your breasts. You catch that need in his eyes, the desire that he’s trying to keep under control, but there’s something holding him back. 

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in close. “You can touch me there too, Ford,” you whisper teasingly.

He blinks, his gaze snapping back up to meet yours, wide-eyed, clearly taken aback by your boldness. “I- I don’t. . . I mean, I want to, but- It’s been so long. I don’t even know if I. . . if I’ll do it right.”

Your heart swells at the uncertainty in his voice. Stanford — so brilliant, so confident in everything else, especially science and anomalies, was completely lost when it came to something as simple as touch. You notice it in the way his hands hover, unsure of where to go, where to touch, he’s so lost and confused, his fingers twitching nervously. 

“Here,” you take his hands in yours, you feel them trembling, those large hands with their extra fingers that have always fascinated you. Slowly, gently, you guide them up your body, until they rest on your breasts. The moment his palms make contact, he inhales sharply, unable to look away.

“See? you’re not going to hurt me. Just. . . touch me, Ford. Please.”

He’s frozen for a second, there’s so much tension in his hands, the way they grip you so carefully, like he’s afraid he might break you if he holds on too tight. But then, slowly, his fingers start to move, tracing the curve of your breasts with a soft touch as if he’s exploring something completely new. It’s as if touching you like this has awakened something in him, something he’s kept buried for far too long. You feel his arousal growing, the way his body shifts beneath you, his hands tightening slightly on your breasts.

“You’re doing so good, Ford,” you praise him as you lean into his touch, pressing your chest more firmly into his hands. “just like that.” his grip on your breasts tightening just enough to make soft quiet moan slip out of you. He’s completely lost in the moment, in you. 

“You’re so soft,” Ford says as he watches his hands work over you. “I didn’t think. . .” that’s when he falls silent again, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“You didn’t think what?” you tilt your head, curious about what he’s feeling.

“I didn’t think it would feel this good,” god, the way he looks at you, both amazed and a bit shy, makes your heartrace even faster. You swear you want that man.

“Good, now you’re getting it.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe I’m touching you like this, it feels incredible. I need you,” he repeats again, such painful desperation in his words, the way he’s holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. His hands move more confidently now, squeezing, exploring and every touch makes you whimper softly.

“I’m right here,” you say, kissing the side of his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ford is so desperate, he feels that tightness in his own pants, but he don’t want to take care of that, not yet, only you are his first priority. He’s staring at you like he can’t get enough, his hands, still resting on your breasts, but now squeezing harder, it’s like he’s testing how far he can go. 

A soft whimper escapes your lips when his fingers caress your nipple and it’s like something inside him snaps. Without warning, he surges forward, his mouth crashing against your neck, kissing you hungrily, desperately, like he’s trying to devour every inch of you. His lips are hot as he moves from your throat to your collarbones, sucking and biting, marking you as his.

“F-fuck, Ford!” you gasp, arching into him, your hands threading through his messy gray hair. You grip tight, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin. He never stops kissing and marking your skin and you can’t help the way your hips press down into his lap, feeling his hardness growing beneath you.

His mouth moving to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck and your breath hitches, a moan slipping past your lips. “Ford, that feels so good-“ you breathe, your fingers twisting in his hair, making it even messier, pulling him closer, urging him to keep going. 

“Does it?” he asks against your skin. You can feel the way his lips curl into a smile, Stanford nips at your collarbone. “Tell me how it feels. I want to hear you.”

“It’s. . . nnhah, yes, it’s amazing,” you pant as his teeth graze your skin. “Don’t stop, Ford, please- just like that.”

His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you down harder against him, his bulge pressing against your core. “I can’t stop, princess, you’re driving me fucking crazy.”

You’re so happy that Ford starts to show his feelings at least a little more freely now, because you never knew that this scientist was capable of such a thing.

His lips move lower, sucking and biting, leaving your skin red and raw, you’re moaning at his kisses, the heat between your legs growing unbearable. 

“F-Forddd,” your voice breaking as you tug at his hair again, pulling his mouth back up to yours. You crash your lips against his, tasting the desperation on his tongue as he kisses you hungrily, like he’s starving for you. His hands grip your ass, grinding your hips down against him until you’re both panting, both trembling with need.

“Sweetheart, I want you so bad,” Ford mutters against your lips, then he pulls back just enough to look at you. “Tell me what to do. I don’t- I don’t want to fuck this up.”

You smile. “You’re doing everything right,” your fingers stroking through his hair, soothing him. “Just keep going. Touch me, kiss me, make me yours.”

That seems to push him over the edge. You let out a choked moan while his hands are everywhere now, grabbing, squeezing, exploring. Finally, finally he’s opening up. His kisses grow more aggressive, more demanding, as he nips at your skin, his fingers digging into your thighs, your waist, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. 

“You’re so perfect, baby,” he groans and then laughs, looks like his emotions are pretty unstable now and that takes hold of him. “Hahah, I- I can’t believe you’re real.”

“Ford, please,” you arch into him, your body begging for more. “I need you to-“

But before you can finish, his lips are on yours again, kissing you with a hunger that takes your breath away. His hands cup your breasts, squeezing harder now, his fingers pinching your nipples through your shirt, and you gasp against his mouth.

“You feel so fucking good, princess, i don’t even know what I’m doing, but fuck, I want to touch you everywhere.”

And he does.

Ford fucking grips your hips like he’s terrified you’ll disappear. His hands tremble, his movements growing more erratic, like he’s trying to drown himself in you, in your taste, in your touch. 

But even when his body is pressed against yours, you can feel the cracks starting to show. 

Suddenly, Ford pulls back, his chest heaving, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched tight, his lips trembling.

“I can’t- I don’t, i don’t deserve this. I don’t know how to do this.”

You look at him, your heart breaking at the sight. “Ford,” you start, but he shakes his head, his eyes still shut.

“I’ve been gone for so long, thirty years. . . God, thirty fucking years. I’ve been out there, and it’s like I’ve forgotten how to feel anything. This. . . you,” his voice cracks. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can be here. Not really.”

His words make your chest tighten, the directness of his confession hits you like a punch in the gut. You literally feel the weight of his trauma, the years he spent lost in other dimensions, fighting things that no one else could even comprehend. And here he is, in front of you, vulnerable, fragile, terrified, touch-starved.

“Ford, look at me,” you whisper, cupping his face gently in your hands. His eyes flicker open and you see the clear pain, the unshed tears that he’s been holding back for far too long. “You’re here now. You’re with me.”

“I still see him. Every fucking night,” he sighs deeply. “that demon, it’s like he’s still in my head. The nightmares, they won’t stop. Sometimes I think I’m still trapped there, that none of this is real.” Ford feels like he’s admitting something shameful so he tries to talk quieter than usual. “I can’t shake it. I can’t shake him.”

You lean in, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, his temple, his cheek. “You’re safe, Ford,” you tell him between kisses. “I’m here. You’re here. He’s gone.”

“I don’t know how to believe that,” Ford’s fingers clench in your shirt, holding onto you like a lifeline. “What if. . . what if he comes back? What if I lose everything again?”

“He’s not coming back. You’re not going to lose me. You’re not going to lose any of this. Not again.”

His body is shaking with overwhelming emotions and before you know it, he pulls you to him, burying his face in your neck. His hot breath burns your skin and then you feel it. The wetness of his tears, the quiet sobs that escape from him, muffled by your embrace. Ford’s body shakes as he lets go, all these nightmares and pain. You cradle him against you, letting him cry, letting him feel the safety of your hug. 

“Fuck,” he sobs, he clutches you to him, his grip almost bruising. “I can’t- God, I can’t do this, i don’t know how to be here, how to be with you. I don’t know how to live without feeling like I’m going to lose it all again.”

The corners of your lips are down, tears pricking at your own eyes as you hold him tight, one hand threading through his hair, the other rubbing soothing circles into his back. “Ford, listen to me,” you whisper, trying to sound okay despite the lump in your throat. “you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to know everything. You’ve been through hell and back and it’s okay to be scared. But you’re here now, with me. You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Ford is afraid you’ll slip away if he won’t hold you tight enough. “I’m scared,” he admits. “I’m so fucking scared.”

You kiss him again, this time on the lips, soft and tender, tasting the salt of his tears. “You’re allowed to be scared, but you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

He kisses you back, but it’s so messy, a sob escaping him into the kiss, his touch filled with so much emotion it makes you want to cry together with him.

“You’re not alone,” you say again, reminding him, trying to get it into his head as you kiss his tears away. “You’re here, with me. You’ve survived, Ford. You’ve survived so much. And now it’s time to live.”

His fingers digging into your skin like he’s holding on for dear life. “I don’t know how to let go of it, all the fear, the pain. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“You don’t have to let go of it all at once, but you can let me help. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Ford’s eyes are red from tears. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you see it — a glimmer of hope, even through all that pain and fear.

“Okay. . . Okay. Just don’t leave me.”

“Never,” you whisper, kissing him again. “I’m never leaving you.”

Ford’s body slowly starts to relax as he allows himself, for the first time in years, to feel safe. To feel loved. 

Ford’s breath is still shaky as he clings to you, but there’s something else now, something shifting in the way he holds you, in the way his lips linger just a little too long against your neck, your jaw, your chin. His desperation hasn’t disappeared, it’s just changed. The need to feel, the need to connect, it burns hotter now.

You cup his face, wiping away the last traces of his tears with your thumbs. “I love you, Ford.”

And you kiss him. 

This time, it’s not tentative or gentle, it’s hungry. Because you’re trying to make him understand. You swear you hear his heartbeat, his heart pumps blood like crazy. Ford kisses you like he’s drowning, like he needs you to keep himself afloat, and it’s intoxicating, overwhelming in the best possible way.

Finally, his hands slide under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin. He hesitates for a moment, his fingers trembling as they brush against your ribs and you lean into him, your hands guiding his, encouraging him, showing him it’s okay to want this, to want you. He’s still hard, his length feels painfully tight in his pants, it’s aching, but Ford kisses you again and again, making you moan into his mouth.

“I can’t get enough of you.” 

“Don’t- don’t stop, please.”

His mouth moves lower, trailing down to your breasts, you feel his breath on your skin. Ford takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin.

“G-God, Ford,” you breathe heavily while his mouth works you over, his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place as his tongue teases you, flicking, sucking on your nipple like he’s fucking starved. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him to keep going.

“You still want, right?” he stops and looks up at you. “I’m just-“

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him with a soft smile. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, i want this. I want you.” so you decide to prove your words as you slip your hand into his pants, fingers wrapping around his thick, throbbing cock, feeling him jump at your touch.

“Ford, are you gonna let me make you feel good?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stutters. “Please, don’t s-stop.”

You start to move your hand, stroking him slowly at first. “You’re doing so good for me,” you purr, your thumb running over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum. “such a good boy, Ford.”

“Ahhh, please, just like that, don’t, nnhah, don’t stop,” his lips part in a breathless moan as your hand strokes him, thumb brushing over the leaking tip. “It feels so good,” he groans, his hips bucking up into your hand as you wrap your fingers tighter around him, moving smoothly, gently. You enjoy the way his breath quickens, the way his face twists in pleasure as you pump your hand, feeling his leaking precum as you take care of hun.

"You're doing so good for me, so perfect, Ford." you lean in to kiss him gently, swallowing his moans as you continue to stroke his throbbing cock, your hand moving up and down in perfect rhythm.

His hands, shaking, reach out, nervous at first, before resting on your thighs. However, the way he looks at you. . . God, the way he looks at you, with such adoration, like you’re the only thing that matters right now, makes your heart melt. 

“Y-you're so beautiful," he says, eyes closing as he gives into the sensation of your warm hand around him. He’s so hard, so sensitive. Leaking.

“Just look at you,” his cock twitches at your words. “so needy, so desperate.” he’s leaning into your touch, needing more.

Ford groans and grunts, his hips thrusting up into your hand, seeking more friction, more pleasure. “I- I can’t-! It’s too much!”

“Just feel, Ford,” you move your hand faster now. “let go.” you guide his hand to his own length, showing him how to match your rhythm. You watch him closely as you can’t get enough of his beautiful face, his brow furrowing as you quicken your pace, fingers working faster over him and you can’t help but smile at the sight of him, his mouth falling open in soft gasps and moans. 

“Oh, God. . . Ohh, this is so-“ he whines, his six fingers trembling around your wrist, and you know he’s close. “I- oh fuck, I’m gonna-“ Ford gasps, his body trembling and you tighten your grip, wanting to feel every bit of him release. The wet sound of your hand gliding over him filling the air. You can’t get enough of the way his body responds, the way his hips buck against your grip, the way he gasps and moans your name like a prayer. It’s all so beautiful. 

Ford’s whole body tenses and he cums hard. His cum spills over your fingers in thick, hot spurts, coating your hand. His head falls back again, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he rides out every last wave of pleasure.

"Oh god, I- I didn’t mean to!" his voice breaking with a mixture of shame when he looks down and sees what happened, his release coating your hand in warm, sticky fluid. "I’m sorry-“

“Don’t be," you whisper, kissing his chin. "You’re perfect, Ford, absolutely perfect."

For a moment, Ford just stares at you, like he can’t believe any of this is real.

“I want to be inside you.” you hear him say and you look at him in surprise, not trying to hide your emotions. You definitely didn't expect to hear this, although you really wanted to feel him inside, you needed him to take you and make love to you. But you thought he would be tired after— “I want to feel you.” his voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Yes, yes, please,” you answer him excitedly, your fingers still gently caressing his length as he recovers. You kiss his jawline, his neck, your lips tracing the lines of his body and face. Ford laughs, his lips twitch into smile, his hand comes to rest on top of yours. He kisses your palm, then your fingers, paying attention to each one while his eyes locked on yours. 

“I love you,” he confesses. Your hand slides back down to his cock, already throbbing again. "and I'm going to make sure you know that." Ford grips your hips, guiding you down until you feel the tip of his cock pressing at your wet entrance. You sigh, the sensation sending shockwaves through you, he’s big, thick, and you can already feel how much he stretches you, just by rubbing himself against your wet folds. 

Holding you, he pushes you down, sinking into you slowly. The sensation is delicious, filling you in a way that makes your eyes roll back, a soft cry escaping your lips. You gasp as he fills you completely, the stretch making you feel so incredibly full. He’s so hot inside you, his cock pulsing. He’s deep, so deep inside you.

"You’re so t-tight,” Ford groans, feeling your pussy clenching around him. "does it feel good, princess? tell me, tell me it feels good." 

You can barely find the breath to speak, but you nod, gripping his shoulders as your hips roll. “Y-yes, Ford, ahhnn, it feels so good” your little cries driving him fucking insane and for a second he thinks all of this is just a dream, that he’ll blink and everything will disappear, but no, here you are, right in front of him. Ford wants to hear you cry for him, to feel every inch of you wrapped around his cock. He wants to know all if this is real. 

“You’re so beautiful,” his eyes glued to where your bodies connect, his hands urging you to sink deeper. “Just like that, take me, fuck me”

“Ohh goddd, Ford,” you whimper, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. “please, don’t stop!”

“Such a good girl, you’re doing so good for me, just like that.” his fingers find your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts. 

His control is slipping; it’s obvious by the way his hips are starting to buck up into you, his cock throbbing inside you, stretching and filling you perfectly. “you feel so fucking good. I want you to ride me, princess,” he mumbles. “I need to feel you- all of you.”

His voice breaks on the last word and it makes your pussy pulsate around him once more, but you obey, moving faster, taking him deeper, the slickness between your thighs making each movement smoother. His hands wonder over your body, gripping your waist, your thighs, sliding up your back to hold you as you grind down onto him. And it’s still not enough, Ford thinks he’ll never have enough of you.

“You’re doing so good, princess, s-so fucking good.” the sound of his needy voice makes you melt, and you lean down, pressing your lips to his. His tongue meets yours, hot and eager, as his hands continue to guide your movements, while your moans muffled by him. Ford pulls away to look into your eyes.

“Please, I need to know,” he’s begging, thrusting inside you desperately. “i need to know you’re mine, please”

You grip his face between your hands as you look into his eyes, nearly crying from overwhelming feelings and pleasure as his cock drilling into you. “I’m yours, Ford, im all yours-“

A low moon escapes him at your words, he fucks into you a bit harder, your wetness and tightness drives him crazy and he pulls you down, pushing deeper, until you feel every inch of him, every vein of his cock pulsing inside you, throbbing with need. You let out a soft cry, your hands gripping his shoulders as you ride him. 

Ford watches you lose yourself in the pleasure. “Fuck! I can’t-“ he moans as his hips jerk up into you. “your pussy feels so good, so good, baby, I feel so good-“ 

The sweet tension coiling in your stomach, the pressure building as he thrusts up into you, you throw your head back as every inch of him stretches you. 

“Ford. . . I’m so close,” you whine, feeling him hitting all the right spots inside you.

Ford groans when your pussy tightens around him again and it feels fucking heavenly, he pulls you down for another desperate kiss, you swear your are swollen from so many kisses, but you don’t give a fuck, you want to feel him, every part of him. “Cum for me,” he whispers into your mouth, breathing deeply. “I want to feel you, princess.”

And with one final thrust, you do, your body shuddering as the orgasm crashes over you, your soft walls clenching tight around him. You rock your hips back and forth, never wanting this to end. Ford gasps, hiding his face in your neck to suppress his pathetic, but such beautiful sounds as he finishes inside you, claiming you. You hold him, pulling him even closer as you still roll your hips, feeling his warmth filling you up as he cries out your name, his body trembling.

For a moment, the world is still, the only sound in the room you’re shared heavy breathing as you both come down from the high. Ford’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath you. 

He then presses a kiss to your temple. Ford looks at you like you’re the answer to every question he’s ever had. You’re silent, waiting him to speak because you know he wants to say something. His fingers gently caress your cheek. "You're the only one I want inside my mind. No one else, just you.”

Their reaction to tears (Stan & Ford)

Stan

Perhaps from the outside it seems that Stan is not a very sentimental guy. It’s wrong. Yeah, hugs make him feel nervous if they go on too long, and feelings? He’s spent most of his life avoiding those altogether. So when Stan sees you crying, his first reaction is to freeze. He’s really lost. And it’s you, so he can’t just brush it off or pretend it’ll go away. Not when you’re standing there, your shoulders shaking like that.

“Aw, kid. . .” he finally steps closer, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly feeling out of place. His eyes flicker over you, taking in your trembling hands, the hiccuping breaths.

He doesn't ask you for an explanation, he doesn't force you to pour out your soul. He knows that sometimes silence is better than any conversation, but the way he rubs slow circles into your back, the way his chin rests atop your head, you know he’s there. It's not very graceful embrace. It’s more like you’re getting wrapped up in a bear hug that’s meant to keep the rest of the world out. He squeezes you tight, maybe a little too tight, because that’s all he knows how to do. Hold on and hope it helps.

“Shh, it’s alright. I gotcha,” he mutters into your hair, though he sure as hell doesn’t know how to handle your tears, but he’s trying. “Whoever made you feel like this? I’ll knock ‘em into next Tuesday, swear to god.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sob at that, and he pulls back just enough to glance down at you, raising an eyebrow like he’s confused by the sound. “What? You think I’m joking? I’ll even wear brass knuckles for the occasion.” his thumb brushes away a stray tear. He frowns, like maybe he’s mad at himself for not fixing it faster, for not knowing what to say to make it all go away. “C’mon, sweetie,” now his voice a little softer, “You’re tougher than this. You’ve got me. Ain’t nobody messes with you when I’m around, okay?”

“It’s. . . It’s so stupid, Stan, i don’t even know-“ you try to explain, sobbing and bursting into tears.

“Tell me, who do I gotta rough up for this? ’Cause I can call in some favors. I know a guy who knows a guy.”

You sniffle, laugh breaking through and he grins at that, just a little. He hates seeing you cry, but getting you to smile, even if it’s weak, that’s the goal.

“There we go,” he says, all smug and proud. “See? That’s better. You keep cryin’ like that and I’m gonna have to start cryin’, and trust me, you don’t wanna see that. I’m an ugly crier.”

Stan stares at you a bit longer than usual before continuing. “You know, tears aren’t your best look,” he says after a moment, his thumb brushes your cheek, wiping your tears in a way that’s more careful, gentle, than you’d expect. “You’ve got a real pretty face, baby, but it’s kinda hard to see it through all this mess.”

You laugh, even if just a little, because that’s. . . That’s just Stan. He’ll drag you out of your darkest moments, even if he has to fight the whole damn world to do it.

Ford

Ford is a man of deep thought, logic and intellect. But when he sees you break down in front of him, crying softly, trembling and sobbing, it shakes something in him that’s far beyond logic. His heart stumbles. The man who’s faced interdimensional monsters, who’s braved the edges of space and time, suddenly feels lost when he sees you like this.

At first, he doesn’t move. He’s watching you, brow furrowed, processing. Ford wants to understand, to fix, but emotions aren’t equations and you are something far more complex than anything described in his journals.

“Hey. . . hey,” he whispers, finally reaching out, his voice soft, calm, quiet. He’s cautious, careful, like he’s afraid of overwhelming you. His hand hovers for a moment before settling lightly on your arm. “What’s wrong? what happened?” Ford asks because he needs to know. He needs to dissect the situation, to piece together what’s hurting you so he can find a solution. But there’s more to it than just answers for him.

When you can’t quite form words, when your tears keep spilling, he gently pulls you closer, his hand resting on your back as he guides you to sit with him. His touch is gentle as he slowly, soothingly runs his thumb over your shoulder.

“You don’t have to talk yet,” he speaks, his breath brushing against your temple. “I’m here.” and those words, so simple, carry so much weight coming from him. Because Ford isn’t a man who offers empty promises. If he says he’s here, he means it in every sense.

And then, because Ford can’t help the way his mind works, he begins talking in that soothing voice of his. “You know,” he starts in a thoughtful tone. “tears are a natural response to emotional stress. It’s. . . it’s a sign of strength, not weakness. Your body is releasing what it can’t hold anymore.”

Ford is not trying to seem all smart and logical, it’s just how he comforts, by giving you the understanding you deserve, by showing you that it’s okay to feel everything you’re feeling, by explaining you. And when you hear him, his hand moves to gently wipe away your tears with the pad of his thumb, so careful, like he’s touching something sacred.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together,” Ford promises you. “You’re not alone in this.” he kisses your forehead, slowly, letting you feel his presence. And when you’re breathing just a little steadier, Ford tilts your chin up, his eyes searching yours, and there’s nothing but warmth in his gaze. “You’re going to be alright.” he says, and somehow, you know he means it.