˖°𓇼🌊⋆🐚🫧 but you won’t say you’re adored by her beauty, and her purity and her lovely
jellouuu! i’m moon/moonie ⋆⭒˚.⋆ they/them ’ 19
❥ intro ~ i have been writing from the moment i was able to hold a pencil ! it’s been my hobby and favorite pass time of mine ever since :>
multifandom blog! whatever is currently ruling over my head i will write about it :p
minors / ageless blogs feel free to interact/follow! i don’t mind. my work is for everyone to enjoy ! <3 (i also dont mind spam likes/reblogs, i love it when u guys do it)
i don’t write nsfw ^^
heads up—i tend to go radio silent once i find myself slowly peeling away from my current fixations. i’m super sorry about that!!
Masterlist🪼🌊
this list will continue on growing lolol 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
⋆｡ﾟ🌊｡ feel like this is obvious, but please do not feed my work into ai!
The 5 Times Everyone Thought You and Mel Were Dating; The One Time You Actually Were
summary: it all starts when santos thinks mel’s best friend (you) is her girlfriend. despite mel telling her we’re just friends, someone overhears the conversation and now everyone thinks mel has a girlfriend. no one believes her when she says you and her are just friends.
contains: mel & fem!reader in denial about their feelings! reader and mel are best friends since 4ever (you can decide for how long) writtien in mel’s pov, takes place a few months after the 1st season, santos is nosy af + whitaker being her partner in crime, rlly light hearted with cute moments, medical inaccuracies!! dana + santos lowkey become mel’s wingwoman, slight angst if you really, really squint, mel and reader are awkward, awkward confessions, awkward first kiss LOL, makeout scene!! kinda suggestive? i think that’s it :p
wc: 10.2k (woot woot!!)
warnings: hucklerobby. not actually, but it is mentioned, but never set in stone lol (i had to come up with another rumor and had to use hucklerobby as an example)
a/n: first mel king fic im nervous!! i hope i did her justice. i wrote specifically in her pov to get some kind of grip on her. hopefully that shows? to anyone who reads this, i hope u have fun and enjoy it as much as i did when i was writing and editing it!! (which is rare) and also srry in advanced for any mistakes/spelling errors, knowing me i probably missed a few. anyways enjoooyy <3
1.
Mel likes to think that so far her shift has been going great. She's been able to catch her breath between patients—which is regularly an impossible task in itself to accomplish when the emergency department normally is slammed with an influx of patients being wheeled in by EMT's.
For the first time in a very long time, Mel isn't rushing around, flipping between one patient to another. She's able to take it moderately slow. Nothing too slow that'll ring Robby's attention, but slow enough that she could take a seat in one of the workstations, and brush up on her current patients charts to bide some time while listening to music.
Tapping her foot to the beat, she inputs her recent patients symptoms and diagnosis. The rhythmic clinking of her fingers tapping against the keyboard has become a comforting sound to Mel weirdly enough. There's something about turning off your brain and just allowing your fingers to speak for her that calms her.
If she continues at this pace, she might be able to get home to you earlier than usual. That is, if she doesn't get pulled aside into a sudden conversation.
"Hey."
Mel blinks at her screen, the cursor at the end of her sentence almost blinking mockingly at her. Maybe she spoke too soon. Looking up, she finds Santos practically leaning into her workstation with her arms loosely crossed over her chest, head craned to the side as she sports a teasing smile.
An uncomfortable pit forms in her stomach.
In the nicest way possible, whenever Santos approaches anyone with that smirk, the poor person is bound to be put under her relentless ribbing. It had been Whitaker who had been under her fire yesterday after he had abruptly left during one of their movie marathons to help out Amy on the farm. Guess now it's Mel's turn, even if she can't recall anything she could've done lately that would have warranted Santos' attention.
Plucking out her earbuds, she tries to match Santos' growing smile. "Hey?" Mel says, unsure.
"So, when were you going to tell me that you have a girlfriend?" she asks, finger tapping against her bicep.
Mel's eyes rapidly flutter at Santos's question as if she blew a gust of wind on her face. "I—I don't have a girlfriend?"
She arches her brow at that, an amused huff slipping past her lips. "Don't bullshit me, Mel. I know you have a secret girlfriend. It's okay. I won't tell." She pretends to zip her lips and toss away the key. "My lips are sealed."
"I'm — I'm not. I don't have —"
"Then who's this?" Santos interjects, a hint of suspicion trailing her tone as she flips her phone screen over to face Mel.
Pushing up her glasses, she narrows her eyes at the Instagram page displayed on the phone screen. "Um, that's my Instagram?"
"No, I know, but who's—" she pauses, swiping past a few photos before settling on one. "Who's this?" she asks, zooming in on you.
Shuffling back to create some distance between the screen and her, she looks at the post. It's one of her recent ones, a photo dump that you had encouraged her to share to sparkle some life onto her account. The first few were ones Mel had initially taken to share with you. They ranged from simple photos of her breakfast to her out with Becca. You convinced her those were worthy enough to post. Even if she didn't understand the appeal to it.
The rest though, were photos of you and Mel together. But it wasn't for the reason Santos had believed. Mel really didn't take a lot of photos, and when she did, it was mainly for her to share what she's been up to with you. You on the other hand loved taking photos. If Mel looked into your gallery right now, she would find thousand upon thousands of photos of either her, or the two of you together. You wonder why you never seem to manage to have enough storage when your gallery is a full blown museum of memories.
That's beside the point though. You had sent photos to Mel, and all of them ended up being different photos of you and her.
Scratching at her jaw, she eyed the photo Santos had specifically picked to support her claim of Mel having a girlfriend. It was one you had taken a week or two back in Mel's favorite boba spot. While waiting for your order, you had snapped a quick photo of you resting your head on Mel's shoulder while she blissfully sipped on her drink. The best smile she could've managed at the abrupt picture was a tiny little grin that could barely be seen behind the large straw.
"That's not my girlfriend," Mel says, glancing up at Santos, who gives her a dubious look in response.
Santos purses her lips out, her confidence from before wavering — only slightly. "Are you sure? Because she's always posting about you, and you're always posting about her."
Mel nods, a gentle smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. "Yeah, because she's my friend."
"Is she now?" Santos draws back her phone, slowly nodding like she doesn't believe a word Mel had said. "Okay, then," she shoves her phone back in her pocket, then before leaving to tend to one of her patients, she points at Mel, a serious look on her face. "But you tell me if that ever changes, alright?"
Not knowing what to say, Mel manages a weak "Okay?"
As Santos leaves with that, Mel shifts her attention back to her screen that had shut down due to inactivity. Furrowing her brows at Santos words replaying in her mind, she moves the mouse around. The screen blinks back to life, showcasing where she had left off.
"Why would she think we're dating?" she murmurs to herself.
Hovering her hands over the keyboard to attempt to get back into the groove of charting, her phone buzzes in her pocket. Taking it out of its confines, she turns on the phone to see a message from you. Mel smiles wide, task at hand forgotten. Her thumbs dance along the keyboard as she types up her response.
She doesn't understand why would Santos think you and Mel were dating. What she has with you is totally platonic, right?
2.
Bidding a quick goodbye to her patient, Mel reaches into her pocket to fish out her phone.
She was expecting a text from you, and she should've received one by—
"Hey!" Dana sweeps in right in front of her, taking Mel by surprise.
"Oh!" she yelps, shoulders darting up to her ears. "Um, hi."
"Found ya," Dana's hand rests on Mel's arm. "You have a guest waiting for you in the break room," she says, nodding her head toward the room.
"I do?" Mel blinks owlishly, then her brain catches up with her. "I do! Thank you, Dana."
"You're welcome. And don't take too long in there or I'll have to come get you myself." Dana throws a wink at her.
The meaning behind her words is lost on Mel. Mouth shaping around the word in a stunned manner, she sputters out an unsteady, "I won't?"
Dana tilts her head up into a hearty laugh. "I know you won't. I'm just messing with you."
Nodding at Dana — still horribly clueless, she excuses herself and makes her way over to the break room. Eagerly opening the door, Mel's confusion eases into glee when she spots you standing in front of the fridge like it personally offended you.
"What's wrong?" Mel asks, stepping beside you.
"I don't think I've seen a fridge look so," you pause, exasperatedly gesturing at the cluttered mess of lunch boxes, snacks and drinks haphazardly shoved into the fridge. "So messy."
"I know. It's really bad. But it's not always like this," Mel says, noticing the paper bag in your hand. "Is that my lunch?"
"Yeah. I may have went a little overboard with how much I made, so it's okay if you don't eat all of it. Oh, and I made some scones for Becca."
Handing over Mel's lunch, your fingers brushed against Mel's in the exchange. Mel's cheeks flushes, her own tingling at the touch. "Becca's going to be so excited you made scones."
"Yeah, she was asking me the whole time yesterday when am I going to make them again, so I made them today — oh, Mel, before I forget." You lower your voice, eyes darting over to the door cautiously. "I wanted to tell you that the…I think her name was Dana? She thinks we're like dating."
Suddenly, Dana's comment before she had left clicked in Mel's mind. She must've had the idea that you were Mel's girlfriend.
"Everyone here thinks that we're dating," she huffs, frowning at the floor a little. Ever since Javadi overheard Santos and Whitaker whispering about Mel's relationship with you, the discussion of her personal love life had skyrocketed into popularity. She didn't understand all of the obsession over it. Even if Mel corrected them over and over again, saying: no, she's not my girlfriend, she's my friend. No one believed Mel. They all looked at her like, yeah right, and moved on from the topic until someone else brought it up again.
Your jaw drops, eyes slightly widening. "Really? Why?"
Mel intertwines her hands together, gaze flicking over to the array of dirty dishes that had piled up slowly throughout the day. "Just stupid rumors. It doesn't matter. It'll die off, eventually," she whispers the last part. It will die off one way or another, like how all the rumors do around here.
"Um, one time, there was this one rumor that Robby was giving Whitaker — he's the one who I told you about that was helping a widow out in the farm, but I heard apparently Robby was giving him special treatment because they had something going on," she says, hoping that'll offer some sort of consolation, but it didn't look like you were too peeved about the whole situation. You seemed more amused than anything.
You sputter out a laugh in surprise. "Wait, is that true? Oh my god, why didn't you tell me this sooner?"
Mel shrugs, stomach flipping at the airy sound of your laugh. "I didn't think it was true. Sure Robby likes Whitaker, but not in that way."
"Imagine if it was true though. I'd love to see that go down in real time. What if—" Your eyes shift over to the door, face contorting into a confused expression. "Does he usually wait outside like that?"
Mel blinks, moving her attention over to the door. Speak of the devil. "No—?"
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Whitaker rushes out, peeking into the break room with his face tightly knit with concern—or maybe with guilt because he got caught snooping
Holding back the urge to sigh, she stiffly smiles at him. "You're not interrupting anything," Mel assures. "We were just talking."
"Okay, good," then, in a calculated manner, he looks over to you and grins. "You must be Mel's friend, right?" Your name slips off his tongue, and you nod your head, plastering a smile of your own.
"Yeah, I am."
"It's nice to meet you. I'm Dennis Whitaker," he introduces himself.
"Oh!" There's a quick second where you glance at Mel, eyes wide and lips trembling with the start of a smile, expression screaming: oh, shit that's Whitaker!
"Nice to meet you, Dennis," you manage, flashing a polite smile at him. "Are you here for Mel?"
Like a deer caught in headlights, he stares at you blankly before nodding his head. "Um, yeah, actually. I wanted to get a second opinion on something."
"Oh, okay. Well, I'm just going to head out." You turn over to Mel and give her a hug. "We're talking about this later," you whisper in her ear, and Mel's sure the tip of it is burning a bright red at the ticklish feeling of your breath ghosting her ear. Peeling back, you wave a quick goodbye over to Whitaker.
Pulling open the door, you pause in your spot. "Oh, right. I won't be coming home until later so don't wait for me, okay?"
"Okay." Mel smiles, watching you walk away.
Whitaker shifts his attention over to Mel, and rears his head back in shock. "Home? I didn't know you two lived together."
"Yeah, we do."
The intrigued look on Whitaker's face makes Mel believe that she shouldn't have confirmed that out loud. It wasn't until later that shift when Santos appeared right beside her, poking and prodding about Mel's living situation with you that she had wished she kept her mouth shut.
3.
"You're coming to pick me up?" Mel asks, pressing her phone into her ear with her shoulder, slipping her cross body bag over her head. It bounces against her hip as she readjusts it to make it hang a bit more comfortably off her.
"Yeah, I'm like—"
"Hi, Mel!" Becca excitedly greets, her voice crackling through Mel's speakers.
"Hi, Becca," Mel says, a light breath of air slipping past her words, tone growing softer at the sound of her sister's voice.
"Hi! We're on our way to pick you up from work."
Mel smiles, looking down at her worn out shoes. The tip of her shoe still has that faint stain of blood from the Pitt Fest shooting. Frowning at the memory, Mel lifts her attention over the flickering fluorescent light that still hasn't been fixed despite the various complaints.
"Oh, yeah? How far are you guys?"
"Like five minutes, not too far," you tell her. Your voice dips slightly as you turn away to whisper something to Becca, words too muffled and quiet for Mel to catch. Becca chirps back a muffled cheerful response, amused by whatever you had told her.
Smiling to herself, Mel adjusts the strap that had slid down back to its place with her thumb. "Alright then. Call me when you're here, okay?"
"I will. See you in a bit."
The call falls silent, and Mel's alone with her thoughts for merely a minute before Santos and Whitaker crowd the lockers together.
"Oh, hey Mel! Wasn't expecting to see you here," Santos says, a little too casually for Mel's liking.
"We're just heading home," Whitaker tells her, loosely pointing at the general direction of the exit while unlocking his locker.
Mel nods her head. She can obviously tell that they're being weird. Knowing them, they must've caught a snippet of her conversation with you on the phone. Which makes sense why they're suddenly interested in leaving at the same time as Mel when she's normally out before they are.
"Are you waiting for someone?" Santos asks, bumping her locker closed and locking it all in one swift movement, her imploring eyes never leaving Mel's face.
Whitaker hums beside her, bulky backpack hanging loosely off his shoulder.
"Um, yeah. My friend is coming to pick me up," Mel says, eyes flickering to the wall behind Santos to dodge the cheshire grin splitting on her face.
"That's sweet. Does she normally do that?" She asks, leaning her shoulder into the locker.
"Sometimes. It's only when she's able to."
"I see, I see."
An awkward silence settles into the air, and Mel doesn't know what to do. She just awkwardly smiles, looks down to the floor, then at the phone in her hand.
Breaking the silence, Santos clicks her tongue lightly. "Alright, We're gonna head out. See you Monday."
Mel watches them wrap up, bid her a speedy goodbye — which she returns hesitantly. They walk off, the start of a conversation growing distant to her ears.
Uncertain of what to think to even think from that interaction, Mel glances down to her phone, and as if on cue, a text message from you pops up.
You 💗| 1s ago: im here !!
Mel types out a quick reply, slips her phone back into her pocket, and heads outside. It doesn’t take long to spot your car waiting near the hospital entrance. The moment she does, the tension from her shift starts to fade, her shoulders loosening as her eyes find yours. She lets out a quiet breath, tucks her hands into her pockets, and makes her way over.
The car window drags down with a painful squeak. "Hey, Dr. King," you say, teasing expression faltering when the window yelps out one final screech.
Mel ducks her head a little, a small, sheepish smile slipping in as she looks down. "I'm off shift you don't have to call me that," she murmurs softly.
Your mouth shapes around a response but it drops open when your gaze latch onto Mel's bag. "Is that the keychain I gave you?" You lean forward, fingertips brushing against the keychain that hung limply against her bag. It’s the little pudding cup keychain you’d ended up with two of by accident — the one you’d given her without thinking much of it.
Anything you give Mel, she instantly treasures. Whether it’s hooking a keychain onto her backpack, or tucking away a mug you got her in a cabinet that’s already nearly full from years of accumulated mugs, she always finds a place to keep any gift she's gotten from you. So when Mel heard the genuine surprise in your voice, the corner of her lips tilted downwards in slight offense. "Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?"
You shrug, pointer and thumb pinching the little pudding cup. "I didn't think you'd like it all that much," you admit sheepishly, the plastic cup glinting under the harsh street light as you twirl it beneath the pads of your fingers.
"I like it. I like anything you give me," Mel blurts, hands clenching the straps of her bag. She feels her cheeks flush at the sight of your pleased smile.
"I think I should've realized that when you kept that really ugly ceramic cup I made back when we went to that pottery place."
"I don't think it's ugly," Becca chimes in from the backseat.
"Two against one." Mel smiles, lightly bobbing her head side to side victoriously.
You let out a gentle laugh, and Mel finds herself quickly thinking about how much she loves hearing you. "You both need higher standards."
"My standards are fine as they are," Mel says simply, rounding over to the other side of the car and pulling open the passenger door. Shuffling in, Mel pulls off her bag and settles it between her feet. The car door softly shuts to a close, and with a drawn out sigh; Mel sinks into the car seat.
The car rumbles as you drive off, a comfortable silence blanketing the air.
"We're watching Elf tonight, right?" Becca asks, leaning closer to the front to shoot curious looks at you and Mel.
She could seriously recite this movie in her sleep. "Um, why not?"
Becca hums happily and leans back in her seat. "Can we have ice cream too?"
Mel blinks, giving you a silent look asking if there was anymore left from last week's Elf rerun.
You nod your head, glancing at Becca in the review mirror. "Yeah, of course. There's some left in the fridge."
"Perfect." Becca smiles, drifting her attention out the window.
"Hey, quick question," you start, glancing over to Mel once you slowed to a stop at a red light. "Does everyone at your job still think we're dating?"
"Kind of? It wasn't like before where it was brought up every single time. It's like, quieter now? I'm still being bugged about it time to time," Mel explains, ignoring the way her skin heats up when your eyes meet hers.
You look at Mel's fidgeting hands, then to her face, lips scrunched up in a confused pout. "Do we really give off the vibe that we're dating?"
"I don't know?" Mel scratches at her jaw, unable to meet your eyes without her heart pounding in her ears. "This all started because Santos found your Instagram and mine."
"Wait," Becca blinks, tearing her attention away from the window to look at you and Mel. "I thought you both were already dating?"
Mel could've sworn her heart completely stopped in her chest.
"We're just friends, Bec," you correct her, traffic light flickering to a green. The expression on your face is unreadable.
Biting her lower lip, Mel nods. "Just friends."
The way her stomach sinks at those words doesn't go unnoticed. And for a split second, it frightens Mel.
But then you're switching up the topic, smoothing into a discussion about what had happened at work that allows Mel to slightly remove herself from dissecting those feelings. It's when the silence settles in a lot longer than she'd like that she finds herself rethinking everything.
"You okay, Mel?" You ask, squeezing her shoulder softly.
"Yeah, I'm okay," she quietly says, ignoring how her chest constricts pathetically when you pull your hand back. Would it be weird to say that she kind of understands why everyone thinks you and her are dating?
Mel's been thinking. Like a lot. She's been thinking about you — when is she never not thinking about you? But she's also been ruminating over her feelings towards you. She wouldn't admit it out loud, at least not yet, but the dynamic she used to once have with you has shifted. Not in a bad way. Just — she's unable to be near you without her cheeks feeling like they're on fire and her heart erratically thumping in her chest.
Lately, all she could strictly think about is you. Her relationship with you, and the fluttery tingling feeling she'd get whenever she thought about kissing you took up all of the free space in her mind. (Her daydreaming about kissing you is a recent addition) Even when you're in the same room as her, she's daydreaming about all the possible ways she could get closer to you.
There's never not a moment where Mel isn't finding time out of her day to simply think of you to keep her afloat during the rough hours. Like when she's stuck at a station, brain all tired out and fingers robotically working on the keyboard, she's thinking about you in her apartment cooking up her favorite meal for her, or sometimes she's imagining you running your hands through her hair, whispering encouraging words into her ear. It never fails to leave her with her cheeks pleasantly flushed, and the energy to push through her last charts of the night.
Other times, Mel's mind would linger a little longer than usual when she's especially tired. She'd think of you waiting on the couch for Mel to return, limbs sprawled out, head lolled to the side as you're either scrolling through your phone or biding your time with a recent show you've taken interest in. When she makes her presence known, you'd greet her with a bright smile, arms wide for a hug, and Mel would quickly shrug off her belongings to melt into your arms.
Then she'd imagine the scent of your body wash as she's resting her head on your shoulder. It's the soft floral one that had Mel reeling every time she smelt it off of you — and truly, this was to, at first to keep herself grounded, but now twenty minutes had flown by and all Mel's done was think about you and her cuddling on the couch, drifting off to sleep with a quiet show neither of you couldn't pay any mind to in the background, arms loosely wrapped around your waist — and now she's doing it again.
So thinking about you wasn't abnormal to her. The difference is now she's thinking about you in a different way. Instead of thinking about being enveloped by your arms when she comes home; she's imagining you greeting her with a kiss. Lips delicately pressed against hers in a quiet hello, your arms snaking around Mel's waist, and pulling her in. She's thinking about the way you'd sigh softly into the kiss, whispering a gentle Mel into her lips as she stumbles onto the couch, a timid smile on her face when you're falling into her lap and chasing her lips.
It has Mel more distracted than ever. Everyone around her notices it too. They spot the light touch of flush on her cheeks, and the soft look in her eyes whenever someone brings you up. Or the way she looks off into a the distance, eyebrows pulled in a concentrated furrow and lips stuck on a smile.
Maybe that's why Dana's on her way over. She could probably see the hearts floating above Mel's head. Too distracted, Mel's staring at the board
"You got anything planned for Valentines Day, kid?" Dana asks, glasses dipped low to the tip of her nose as she reads off something from the tablet she has pressed against her stomach.
"Um, no." Mel glances down from the board over to Dana's inquiring gaze. She has her head tilted to the side, lips tugging into a knowing smirk. Mel can only knit her brows at her expression, hands that had been resting atop of the counter slide off and intertwine together nervously.
She doesn't want to acknowledge why her heart stutters in her chest — because she knows why, and the thought of thinking about her recently uncovered feelings for you more than five seconds will send her into an early heart attack. Looking down to the floor, Mel releases a tense breath and dodges Dana's amused gaze.
"Really? You got nothing?" Dana steps closer to Mel, as close as she could with the whole work station acting like a wall between them, and discards her tablet on her chair.
"Yeah? I - I don't know why I would need anything planned," Mel says, shifting her feet unsurely.
Quirking a brow, Dana props her hand on her hip. "Is your girlfriend the one who does the planning then?"
Mel blinks at her more than once. It had been a hot minute since anyone had asked about you. The bumbling topic about Mel's relationship with you has mellowed out after no one was able to dig up concrete evidence of Mel dating you. Sometimes Santos would drop in, ask a few questions and leave. Other times, it would be Javadi lingering in the scene, pretending to talk to Mohan or McKay whenever she'd catch Mel talking about you to someone who would listen.
"She isn't my girlfriend," Mel tells her, desperately ignoring the way her stomach curls in disdain when those words leave her mouth.
Dana's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Oh? I could've sworn you two were dating."
Mel shakes her head. "No, we're not. But everyone thinks we are. Do you, uhm, know why?"
She takes off her glasses with a smile and tucks them into her scrubs front pocket. "People like to talk, kid. Remember a few months back when everyone was talking about how Robby and Whitaker had a thing going on?"
"Yeah. It was a lot."
"It was," she agrees with a hefty nod. "They're just bored; latch onto anything that'll make this place less stressful. But do you want my advice?"
"About the rumors?" Mel says slowly, confused.
"About you and your girlfriend—"
"Not my—"
"I think you two would be cute."
Mel's brain stutters to a stop. "Oh?"
"You aren't slick, hon. I know puppy love when I see it, and you have it bad. You should ask her out sometime."
Personally, Mel wouldn't call it puppy love. Actually, she wouldn't call it anything, because this can't be love, can it? Chewing on her lower lip, she glances back up on the board. She cannot be thinking about this right now.
"I'll be, um, leaving now. Thank you, Dana."
Dana laughs, shaking her head as she watches Mel hightail out. "You're welcome." Grabbing back the tablet from her seat, she powers it on.
"So Mel does like her?" Princess asks, sharing an identical look with Perlah, wide eyes and gaping mouths.
Dana looks over to them, leveling the best unimpressed look she could muster. "Get back to work you two."
5.
"What are you thinking about, lover girl?" Santos wheels over to her, elbows propping on Mel's workstation as she curiously leans forward. "You look…" she pauses, eyes narrowing at Mel's solemn expression. "Sad?" she says, almost confused. "What's going on? Trouble in paradise?"
Mel keeps her attention locked on her tablet. "I'm fine. What makes you think I'm not?"
Santos gives her an incredulous look. "It's written all over your face. You look like someone ran over your puppy."
"I don't have—"
"Never mind," Santos waves it off, dropping her tone just a tad. "Is everything okay at home?"
"Everything is fine. It's just —" she hedges, hands latching onto the stethoscope around her neck. She shouldn't speak about this out loud because she knows someone will eavesdrop but this whole situation has been bugging her nonstop, and she really has no one else to talk to about this. Letting a sigh, she looks at Santos. "My friend, you know —"
"Your girlfriend?" Santos says with a playful arch to her brow.
"Not my girlfriend," Mel sternly mumbles, hands falling to her lap dejectedly. "But we, um, aren't talking to each other like we used to? It's been weird lately…between us and I'm just trying to figure out why."
Santos leans back, arms crossing over her chest. "Did you guys fight?"
"No, no! We're okay, kind of? It's just really awkward now, and it happened out of nowhere, and I'm thinking maybe I did something wrong because she wouldn't be acting like this if—"
"Hey, Mel?"
"Hm?" Mel flinches, head snapping over to Mohan.
"I don't say this to freak you out," she starts, and despite her words, Mel's already freaking out, a deep pit of unease forming in her stomach. People only say that when there was, in fact, something to freak out about. "But I think I saw your friend in—"
"What room?"
The minute Samira told her exactly where you were, Mel stood to her feet, and rushed over to your room.
"Dr. King," Robby greets in surprise when Mel parts the curtains and steps into the room, her chest rising up and down in quick successions. "Is everything alright?"
Swallowing thickly, Mel shakes her head. "No — I mean, yes. Everything is fine. Is - is she okay?" she asks, her gaze slipping over to you sitting at the edge of the bed with your shoulders drawn inwards, hand palm up, resting on your thigh. There's a layer or two of gauze wrapped around your palm, stained with your blood. It makes Mel's head spin.
Robby narrows his eyes, arms crossed as he curiously angles his head to the side. "Yeah, she's okay. A nasty cut through the palm but nothing like a few stitches wouldn't fix. Do you two…know each other?" He motions between you and Mel with his pointer finger.
You introduce yourself as Mel's friend, and a look of recognition settles on his face. Nodding in your direction, Robby thinly smiles. "Nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
"I bet," you huff.
Pulling off the gloves from his hands, he motions his head over to the tray full of medical appliances he had left on the bed. "Alright, then. Why don't you do the fixing up, Dr. King?"
"Me?" Mel points to herself in shock. Robby levels her a look while tossing the gloves into the trashcan. It closes with a soft clink, and Mel snaps out of her little reverie with a shake of her head. "Of course. I can do it. Thank you."
"I'll be around if you need me," Robby tells her, then he looks over to you. "And be careful when you're dealing with sharp objects next time, yeah?"
You shamefully bow your head. "I will."
"Good. I'll leave the rest to you, Dr. King." And he leaves with that, the curtains swaying lightly from his departure.
Mel's quick to glove herself up and rush to your side. "What happened?" Is the first thing that leaves her mouth, fingers pinching at the gauze securely wrapped around your wound. She gently pulls it off, eyes flickering from your pinched expression to your palm.
"I was being stupid with a knife," you sigh, hissing through clenched teeth when the gauze grazed against the wound.
"Sorry," Mel murmurs, peeling off the final layers. Clumping the dirty bandages on the far corner of the tray, Mel looks over to your palm. Thankfully, it isn't too bad. Obviously, the knife had done a pretty clean slice, but it wasn't anything to warrant much concern. Mel would've taken stitching up your palm over anything else. She almost drove herself crazy thinking about all the possible ways you could've injured yourself on her way over.
"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault."
Mel doesn't respond to that because she knows that it wasn't her fault, but for some weird reason, it feels like it is. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she picks up a syringe. "I'm going to numb up the area. You're going to feel a little sting."
Grinding your teeth together in apprehension, you shift your attention over to the poster with smiley faces, ranging from a green face with a big smile to a red one with a burning scowl. "I'm ready."
There's a pained hiss of air escaping you when Mel injects the lidocaine. "Sorry," she can't help but murmur, wishing she could press a faint kiss to your temple. Which is an urge she shouldn't be having, but seeing you in pain brings Mel with the need to tend to each and every ailment of yours.
"You can look if you want. I'm gonna stitch you up now," Mel says, beginning the first stitch out of a few.
You don't look, but you move your gaze down to your shoes, expression unreadable. This is a sight Mel has — against her will — grown accustomed to. A blank face as a million thoughts whirl around in your head at once. Mel sometimes wishes she could peel back your head and pick at your brain to find out exactly what's ruling over you, because what ever it is, it's keeping you away from her.
"I'm sorry for making you freak out like that," you speak up as Mel's fingers wrap around your wrist to tilt your palm, gloved thumb lightly pressing against your pulse point. It's in an instant, how quick your pulse ramps up in speed when Mel's eyes briefly meet yours.
Hastily pushing up her glasses, she looks back down to your palm. "It's okay. I — um," she pauses, adjusting the grip she has on the needle driver. "Robby didn't make you uncomfortable with his comment earlier, right?"
"No, I don't care about that. I just feel stupid."
Mel furrows her brows. "Stupid? Why?"
"I was too busy thinking about other things that I ended up cutting my palm open." Your face grimaces when Mel pulls back on the thread, closing the cut.
She studies you for a second, lips pressed into a thin line. "What were you thinking about?"
"Stuff." You shrug, a little stiff. "It isn't important."
Reaching for the scissors, Mel glances up at you, the corner of her mouth twitching to a small frown. "Are you okay?" she whispers, snipping the dangling piece of the string.
You dismiss her worries with a wave of your hand, pulling back your hand to view Mel's work. "I'm okay. I think I'm still a little shaken up by what happened."
You're not looking at her. Not even bothering to give her your full attention. Mel wants to drive her head into a wall. This has to be the worst of the worst by far. Even when you were acting a little off before, you still acknowledged her. She must've done something wrong if you're purposefully avoiding eye contact.
"Are you sure?" Your mouth opens to say your predictable retort she's been hearing on repeat, but Mel's hurriedly adding in, "Please don't lie to me."
Your lips clamp shut.
"You can talk to me."
Emotion flickers on your face. A light tremble to your lip, and eyes growing misty. "It's stupid. I know I've been acting weird. I know you've noticed. But I'm just scared," you breathe the last word, shoulders drooping.
Finally getting somewhere with you, Mel unconsciously leans in, her hand sliding up to your forearm to give it a gentle squeeze. "Of what?" she says softly, afraid if she'd utter it any louder, you'll dart out at a moments notice.
You inhale through your nose, shaky and unstable. "Mel, I think —"
The curtains noisily pull open with a screech, revealing Mohan on the other end, an apologetic look strewn across her face. "I'm really sorry. I don't mean to interrupt but we need your help Mel."
"Can it wait? I'm not done —"
"It can't," Mohan cuts in with a frown. "But I can clear her out for you. If that's okay with you?"
Looking over to you, Mel's jaw clenches at the sight of you wiping the tears that had managed to fall off your cheeks with your hand. One step forward, and a hundred steps back. "Do you want —?"
"I'm fine. They need you," you say, tone dry and devoid of any emotion.
"Okay," Mel murmurs, standing up. "But if anything—"
"Mel, I'm fine."
Swallowing her worries, she hums in response and walks out.
When she got home later that night, you acted like nothing had happened, like you weren't in that weird mood that sent Mel's nerves array, and it takes some time for Mel to shrug past that, but she does in the end.
Well, not entirely. It still eats her up at night. The absent look in your eyes, the unusual plain tone in your voice, and the tenseness oozing off of you keeps her up. That wasn't normal. You acting differently wasn't normal, and it was tripping Mel up so bad. But you clearly don't want to talk and Mel wouldn't want to push, not when that leads her nowhere. So she'd rather wait for you to come and talk to her.
+1
The locker beside Mel's slams shut, shocking her out of her thoughts.
"Sorry. I meant to close that a little bit softer," Santos says, a little sheepish as she slings her backpack over her shoulder. "We never really finished talking about your issue from a few days ago."
"Yeah," Mel listlessly replies, turning on her phone to see no new texts from you.
"Mel?" Santos calls out. "You still here with me?" She lightly nudges Mel's shoulder with her knuckles.
Mel nods her head, pocketing her phone and meeting Santos' gaze with a tight lipped smile. "Mhm."
"You're not," she deadpans, crossing her arms. "Are you guys still in that weird funk?"
Mel keeps silent, her fingers intertwining with one another in an attempt to comfort herself.
"Did you like…try talking to her about it?"
"I'm giving her space."
Santos raises a brow. "How's that going for you?"
"Not going the way I planned," Mel says, getting her phone from her back pocket to see if you had sent her anything. Nothing, as usual. She tries to act like it wasn't world ending news that you haven't spared her a single text throughout the whole day.
"You should try talking to her," Santos suggest with a shrug. "Maybe that'll get you somewhere instead of waiting around for something to happen."
Mel's expression flickers, lips tugging into a frown. "But what if—?"
"But nothing," she interjects. "Clearly giving her space hasn't done you or her any favors. I don't know what's going on between you and her but I think talking to her is better than ignoring it."
"I'm not ignoring it," Mel counters weakly, phone buzzing in hand. Darting her eyes down, she looks wide eyed at the screen as she sees a recent text from you.
You 💗| 1s ago : dinner is ready ! becca ate, now i'm brushing her hair while she watches elf
"That's her?"
A photo slips into the messages of you on the couch while Becca's sitting cross legged on the floor, blanket draped over her shoulders and a bowl of popcorn on her lap. Smiling at the image, Mel's thumb absentmindedly caresses her phone screen. It's a quick thought, but Mel wishes she was there on the couch with you, her head on your lap, cheeks pressing against your thigh. If she had the courage, she would've helped herself by smothering your skin with a swarm of kisses. "Mhm. She — she's with my sister."
Santos watches her silently before saying, "Mel. I'm far from a relationship expert, but I'm serious when I say you should talk to her. And I don't mean just talking about what's going on between you both, but also your feelings for her."
Mel looks up, brows furrowing. "I—"
"Don't even try denying it," she says, leveling her a look. "It's easy, Mel. Just, talk to her, ask her what's going on. Whatever she tells you I'm sure you're both going to kiss and makeup or something sooner or later."
"Okay," Mel sighs, not even bothering to refute the whole kiss and makeup segment.
"Do you have my phone number?"
"I don't think so?"
Flipping her hand palm up, she urges Mel to hand over the phone with a quick motion. "I'll give it to you right now."
Swiping out of the messages with you, Mel gives Santos her phone. "Why are you giving me your number?"
"So I can check up on you later tonight, give you some pointers and whatnot if everything goes to shit." Santos creates a new contact, speedily types in her number, and hands Mel back her phone. "There. I put myself as Trinity."
"Thanks?"
"I'm going to check up on you when I get home, okay? Talk to her, do whatever you need to do, and let me know what happens. If you don't respond, I'll assume the worst and call you."
Mel blinks at Santos, nodding her head slowly. "I'll, uh, keep that in mind."
"Perfect. See you later, Melancholy."
Waving Santos an awkward goodbye, Mel carries her words in her head as she walks over to her car.
Arriving home, Mel finds you on the couch, legs crossed, your favorite blanket thrown over your shoulders and head leaning back against the cushion.
You shift your head over to her at the sound of Mel slipping off her shoes and neatly placing them on the shoe rack.
"Hey, welcome back." Your voice is hoarse with lack of use, and Mel's body physically shudders at the tingling feeling that spikes through her.
"Hi," Mel breathes out, pressing the heels of her hand into the arm rest to release the anxious energy thrumming through her veins. "What are you watching?"
"I'm rewatching The Walking Dead since Becca went to bed early today," you tell her, picking up the remote to quickly press pause. She feels your eyes settle on her face, expression hardening. "You okay?"
Mel bites her lip. "I'm okay. Just tired."
You don't believe her, of course you don't. The same way she knows you inside and out, you know her inside and out. "You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." Looking down, she closes her eyes for a brief second, musters up any courage that's left inside of her, and meets your confused gaze. "Do you maybe want to watch a movie after I — uh, take a shower?"
Please say yes, please say yes, pleasesayyes.
You sleepily smile at her. "I'm feeling up to it. Also, there's dinner in the fridge if you want some."
"Ok!" She exclaims a little too loudly than she originally intended.
Your brows lift in surprise.
"I — okay, cool," she coughs. "I'll be right…back."
And like that, Mel's padding over to her room, not before checking on Becca and seeing her fast asleep, conked out earlier than usual — but that's okay. It gives Mel more time to talk to you, like what had Santos had advised her to do.
What should've been a quick in and out shower resorted into Mel standing under the shower head, hands running through her hair as she just thinks about everything.
She misses you. More than words could even describe. It's a deep ache in her chest that splits her open, a silent concave ache that you used to fill. You're so heavily integrated in her life, in her routines, that having you step back like how you are is ruining her piece by piece. She misses coming home to your warm hugs, to your soft smiles and touches.
Cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner had become her favorite time of the day because that's when she would be able to stand close to you with the excuse of the kitchen being so cramped she had to stick by you. You never minded. You urged her closer at times. Leaning over her shoulder, you'd just watch her work, do her own thing. You'd be so close that Mel would be able to feel your breath fanning against her neck, feel the warmth emitting off your body.
She misses you crashing into her bedroom, pillow in hand, face stamped with your signature sleepy look while you're complaining how stupidly uncomfortable your bed is. With no complains, Mel would shuffle off to the side, pull down her covers — a silent invitation. You'd take it happily, sliding under the covers and getting comfortable. In the early mornings, she'd find her limbs impossibly tied with yours, your face barely centimeters apart, and all Mel could do was stare at you. She'd watch how your chest rose and fall with each breath, see how your eyebrows twitched when Mel would shuffle out of your arms, and feel the pang of guilt in her chest when your peaceful expression would morph to furrowed brows and frowns at the absence of Mel.
Even when you didn't have a reason to wake up alongside her, Mel would find you sluggishly stumbling into the bathroom, tired limbs wrapping around her waist while your face found comfort in the crook of her neck. You wouldn't go back to sleep after that, not without her beside you, so you'd take the time out of your day to prepare breakfast for her.
While she's eating, you'd braid her hair, humming under your breath. Then you'd send her off with all her belongings, and her lunch that you left notes in whenever you would remember to do so.
All of this had became her day to day routine. And sure, anyone with a brain could point out this is far from friendly. If anything, this sounded more than just friends, like how everyone tried telling her. She'd refute their claims, but she had been mainly trying to convince herself. She just didn't want to acknowledge her very obvious feelings she had for you, because as silly as it sounds, she wouldn't want to ruin what she has with you.
Resting her forehead against the cool tile, she shudders out a sigh. Santos is right. Mel should talk to you. Wrapping up her shower and hastily speeding through her nightly routine, she heads back into the living room to find you swiping on your phone.
"Still up for a movie?" Mel asks, sitting near you but making sure to keep some kind of distance.
"Yeah. What are you in the mood for?" You busy yourself with the remote, thumb rubbing over one of the faded buttons that have been pressed one too many times.
Bringing her knees to her chest, she wraps her arms around her legs. She really misses cuddling with you on the couch. On her rougher shifts, she'd flop down on the couch — not before showering, she couldn't stand mingling around with her outside clothes — and lay on your lap while your nails idly scratched at Mel's scalp.
Quietly, Mel watches you surf through the current selection with a blank look.
Your searching slows to a stop when a certain movie catches your eye. "What about this—?"
"Um, actually. Can we talk?"
The remote in your hand pathetically squeaks under the harsh pressure of your hands tightly wrapping around it. "Mm. I don't—"
"Why are you being so distant?" Mel blurts, unable to contain the gnawing question back any longer.
Your throat bobs as you swallow thickly. "I'm not distant," you argue weakly.
"Yes, you are. You're being weird. Did I do something wrong?" Mel inches herself closer, intently watching every micro shift in your expression.
"No, never," you're quick to reply, hand instinctively intertwining with hers. There's a flicker of apprehension in your eyes, but you don't make the move to separate — not like you can anyways, Mel tightens her grip on your hand. Just enough pressure that allows her to keep your hand where she wants it to be. In hers. Mel's attention is stuck on the way you tug on your bottom lip. "You didn't do anything wrong. Everything is fine."
"Please don't lie to me," Mel begs softly, unconsciously pulling at your hand, drawing you closer.
"I'm fine," you flatly repeat, barely making any contact with her.
Your name slips Mel's lips sternly, making you freeze in your spot. "Tell me what's wrong, please."
"You're being persistent," you grumble, gaze falling to your intertwined hands.
"And you're stubborn," she retorts easily.
Clicking your tongue, you finally look at Mel, really looked at her, for the first time in what felt like years. "I don't know how to go on about this."
"Okay, that's fine. What if I ask you questions? Because I have some, and we can start off from there."
You sigh through your nose. "That sounds good."
Running her tongue across her lips, Mel taps her thumb against your hand in thought. "Whenever I'm near you, you tense up. Like right now, you're doing it. Do you — Are you uncomfortable with being around me?"
"No! God, no! I could never be uncomfortable with being around you."
Mel furrows her brows. "You act like you are."
You dart your eyes over to the coffee table where you and Mel's matching mugs sat atop of their matching coasters. "I - I thought I was making you uncomfortable by being too touchy with you, or like too all up in your space. I know that's been our normal. We're always in each other's space one way or another. But it's been different lately."
"Different?" Mel echos.
"Yeah. Lately, whenever I'm near you, you get all tense and red. You looked uncomfortable, and I should've came to you about this instead of trying to resolve it on my own but I thought giving you some kind of space would've helped?" You scratch the back of your neck, a bashful smile twitching to your lips. "I don't think it did."
"Oh," is all Mel could push through her vocal chords. Then she remembers oh isn't a sufficient answer. "Well, I've been acting like that because I've — because, uh." Pursing her lips together, she looks down to her lap.
"Because what?" You curiously press. When Mel doesn't respond right away, a look of realization dawns upon your face. "You're hiding something too, aren't you?"
"I'm not hiding anything. Uhm, I just - yeah, I'm hiding something," Mel murmurs, ashamed.
Your shoulders shake at your sudden laugh. "Okay, so. We're both not being honest."
"We're still talking about you, though. Don't switch topics." Mel shoots you a stern look.
"I really don't know how to start." Your grip on Mel's hand tightens. "First, I want to apologize for being an asshole. I should've talked to you about this sooner. Ignoring problems never solved anything, I don't know why I thought it would help here."
"It's okay," Mel says, thumb brushing against your knuckles.
"It's not," you correct. "I was being stupid. I did all of this because I was afraid of telling you how I feel."
She doesn't respond, only silently urges you to continue with a nod and gentle squeeze of your hand.
It's silent. So silent Mel could hear the AC humming in the background. Then your shoulders square, eyes meeting Mel's with a level confidence she hasn't seen on you before. "I'mInloveWithYou," you rush out in one hasty breath.
Mel blinks. "What?"
The corner of your lips droop into a frown. "You didn't catch that?"
"No? You said it too fast."
"Mel," you drawl, forehead slipping down to Mel's shoulder. She tries to keep as still as possible, because this is the most physical you've been with her since the past two weeks. Her stomach is in knots and her heart is nearly about to burst right out of her chest and flop against your lap pathetically.
"Wait, can you say it again, please? I didn't catch it."
You shuffle in your spot, but you don't make an effort to lift your head up. "I'm in love with you."
Oh, okay. Is the first thing that comes to Mel's mind. Like this is a totally normal occurrence. No biggie.
Then, you lift your head up, and look at her with those soft eyes that Mel can't tell if you do them on purpose or not, but it hits her all the same and she melts.
Without even thinking — she should be thinking, but ever since she's realized she has been in love with you since the moment she laid her eyes on you, she has never thought straight once in her life — she untangles her hand from yours and cups your cheeks. Verbally, Mel doesn't ask, but she slips her eyes down to your lips and back up to your eyes, breath stuttering in her lungs when you copy the same movement.
Lips, nose, eyes, then back down to her lips. She's following your gaze with an intensity she didn't know she had within her.
Not wasting anymore time, she flutters her eyes close, just like she's imagined many times before and leans in. Her lips brushes against yours. She sucks in a quick breath at the way her lips tingle. While she's run through his scenario multiple times while at work, showering, going to sleep, and many other times. She didn't account for the very real feeling of your lips ghosting hers. And the way your cheeks fit perfectly against her palms. And how your breath is so shaky, body trembling with nerves.
It's almost all too much, but she shoves back the urge to dart to her room and hide under her covers. Letting out a quiet hum, Mel presses her lips against yours. And then she doesn't move. She freezes. It isn't like she doesn't know how to kiss. She knows. She's had past relationships before. They didn't last long, but they went on long enough where she's kissed them more than a single peck. But for some reason, her brain short circuits when her lips meet yours. Like, completely short circuits, brain wires snipped and crackling.
You whisper something against her lips, something Mel couldn't understand with all the blood rushing to her ears, and suddenly your lips are carefully moving against hers. It takes her a minute, brain still moving a thousand miles per second before she eases into the kiss, lips moving along yours in a rhythm she's slowly learned to adapt with yours.
Her skin is buzzing with heart stopping nerves, she's probably breathing heavily into the kiss, and she's maybe not a good kisser like she hoped, but god Mel's rampant mind falls silent as she's kissing you. Her trembling hands fall down to your waist, fingers gripping and digging into your flesh. On purpose or not, your hips twitch, and without thinking Mel tugs you forward. In one fluid motion, your climbing onto her lap, hands now cupping Mel's cheeks as you kiss her back with more fervor.
Mel's sure that at this point, her brain has melted into a soup and is now pooling out of her ears because there's no way this is happening. But it is, because you tilt back from the kiss, and before Mel could even hum out a whine in disproval, your warm lips are leaving a trail of kisses. Starting from the corner of her mouth down to her neck.
It makes Mel's lower stomach heat up. Biting her lower lip to suppress any noise threatening to spill, she angles her head to side, allowing you to have better access to her neck. You take advantage of the new area and plant open mouthed kisses down to her collarbone.
"I'm so sorry, Mel," you mumble against her skin, your hands trailing down her body in slow deliberate slithers, fingers seeking purchase around the end of her pajama shirt. "I really thought it would've done something by being distant."
"Never do that again please," Mel admits softly, her own hands slipping under your thin shirt. "I missed you so much."
You peel back from Mel's neck, swollen lips pulled down to a frown. Her gaze flickers over to your face, heart stuttering in her chest at the sight of your half lidded eyes and blown pupils looking back at her.
"I missed you." You press a chase kiss between her brows. Mel's stomach flips at how weirdly natural that felt.
"Promise me you'll talk to me next time?" Mel asks, fingers idly tracing shapes your lower half.
You smile. "Always."
Your lips captures her again, and embarrassingly Mel lets out a low satisfied hum. You've only kissed her twice, but she's declaring it right now to herself that this is something she'll never get tired of. The feeling of your lips moving against hers, the soft graze of your tongue dragging across her lower lip, and how your hands leave a burning a trail of fire on her skin as they skim back up to cup her cheeks, gentle fingers curling her long strands of her hair behind her ear. All of it drives her mad.
"Hey," you start, separating from the kiss. "Do you want—"
Mel's phone vibrates in her pocket, the shrilly sound of her ringtone pulling you and Mel out of the moment.
"Sorry," Mel squeaks, shoving her hand in her pocket.
"Who is it?" you ask, leaning back to give Mel a little more room to move.
"Santos, she was — oh!" Mel's phone fumbles out of her hand, and in her attempt to swipe it back up, her fingers slide against the screen, accepting the call.
"Mel?" Santos' voice rings out, making Mel's blood run cold. "It's been a minute, just wanted to check up — where am I?" she asks, voice muffled by the couch smothering the speakers.
"Did she facetime you?" you mouth to Mel, eyes darting between her phone that had conveniently landed screen down on the couch to Mel's wide eyes.
"I don't know?" Mel shrugs, shifting under you nervously.
"Mel?" Santos calls out.
"Did she answer by mistake?" Whitaker's voice wonders in the distance.
"Um," you clear your throat and pick up Mel's phone. Awkwardly smiling at Santos' confused expression. "Hi. She didn't mean to answer the call."
Santos' eyebrows lift up to her hairline. "Oh, really?"
Covering the camera, you mouth to Mel, "What do I do?"
Snatching up the phone from your grasp, Mel greets her with a hum, and in the same second bids her goodbye. The last thing Mel hears is Santos gasping loudly before slamming her thumb on the hangup button. Heaving out a sigh, she tosses her phone to the end of the couch.
"You think she figured it out?" you quietly ask, hands finding their way to Mel's hair, just like they always do. You twirl the end of her hair absentmindedly.
"Yeah. I'm not going to hear the end of it tomorrow," Mel murmurs, already imagining Santos' coy smirk and Whitaker's apologetic look.
"That's okay," you say simply, cupping her cheek. "It's not like they're wrong."
Mel blinks at you. "They're not." She smiles, mindlessly leaning into your palm. "Should we go to bed?"
Pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, you slide off Mel's thigh and stand to your feet. "Yeah, we should."
The next day at work, Mel's bombarded with questions by Santos, and for once Mel doesn't have to refer to you as her friend, but instead as her girlfriend. It has her flushing, grinning from ear to ear, and it wasn't long after that the whole emergency department had caught wind of it. Mel thought she would've been more apprehensive about the whole thing, but she has the excuse to gush about you unprompted whenever, and people listened. Though, most of the time she's thinking about how she can't wait to get home to you and kiss you senseless.
I hope there will be more kitty raf stories 🥹 it’s so beautifully written.
omg ty sm 😭💗 there’s definitely gonna be more raf kitty stories. he’s just so perfectly needy as a cat so i cant resist writing him 💕💕 im open for requests too pertaining kitty raffie!!
Summary: Your cat is nowhere to be found and there’s there’s a random attractive man using your shower who has cat ears and a tail...wtf
☁︎ 5,1k words!!
☁︎ i came back out of my drought just to drop this. rafayel has been taking up my brain space for months and i finally wrote something for him :p
☁︎ did i do rafayel justice idfk read and tell me pls
☁︎ tw naked AND super needy rafayel cough
☁︎ crossposted on ao3
“I need food for Rafayel..." You casually comment under your breath, slowly ambling towards the isle full with cat products and toys.
"Why does your cat have such a human name?" Tara giggled, her crackly fits of laughter spilling out of your phone and into your ear.
Eyes slowly analyzing the shelves stacked with cat food, you idly shrugged before remembering you're on the phone and Tara can't quite see your response. "I had the bright idea to write out some names on little pieces of paper and for some reason he really liked the name Rafayel." A small smile ghosts your lips at the cute memory. "He wouldn't stop pawing at the piece of paper." A giggle of your own flutters past your lips.
"Tara, you should've seen how his gorgeous eyes lit up when I said Rafayel for the first time!" You had to suppress a squeal that was threatening to crawl out of your throat, but the sheer adoration that dripped from your words was enough conformation for Tara to know that Rafayel had you wrapped around his little paw.
"How weirdly human." Tara amusedly huffed out, slight shuffling sounding from her end. "I know right?" You press your phone further into your ear with your shoulder as you grabbed a particular brand of cat food that you'd hope that Rafayel was going to enjoy. Through many attempts of trial and error, you had come to find out that Rafayel had an affinity for cat food that had anything seafood related. He'd chow down anything that has fish but the minute his rosy nose catches a whiff of anything but that, he's turning his fuzzy head moodily away from his bowl and sauntering off into his seashell shaped cat bed with so much attitude that it always leaves you laughing.
You tried to ignore the bubbling irritation in your stomach when you realize that this isn't a joke and that you spent a few pretty dollars on his food to accommodate his expensive palette just for him to turn a blind eye to it.
Ungrateful…
But that's beside the point.
There isn't a day where you're never not laughing with Rafayel around. He has such a loud and bright personality that it's hard not to smile or giggle at his silly antics. You don't think you've ever met a cat quite like him.
Snatching a few you're sure Rafayel was going to delightfully enjoy, you plopped them into your basket. "It's so cute how that little kitty turned your life around. Maybe he's what you needed after everything." Tara says softly.
A light tremor of ache rattles through your heart at Tara's words.
The passing of Caleb had threw your whole world up on it's head that you hadn't even realized how far you've driven yourself into your own little self deprecating hole until little Rafayel pounced onto your life.
He had planted himself on the cushy chair right beside your bed—(How he went unnoticed for so long? You have no idea) one gloomy evening while you had bundled yourself in a roll of blankets, quietly sobbing onto your pillows. Something had reminded you of Caleb that day, you can't remember exactly what, but it was enough to sour your mood and render you into a wailing mess for the rest of the day.
It wasn't until you heard Rafayel's soft cries, effectively pulling you out of your head, that you noticed the blurry figure of him perched on your chair. You remember wetly asking how did he managed to enter your room, too caught up in the throes of your grief to wonder if you had left the front door open during your emotional stupor.
The instant he had titled his fluffy head curiously at your question, beautiful sunset eyes peering at your wrecked expression, you had quickly grown a soft spot for the cat. The rest of the evening was full of Rafayel lapping at your salty tears with his rough tongue and kneading your skin with his paws. You've never had a cat watch you so intently before.
Rafayel made his visits—before you had fully adopted him into your home—frequent. He stopped by whenever he caught you too wrapped up in your own work, failing to realize that the afternoon had melted into the earliest hours of the night.
His technique was always the same when it came to stealing your attention. All he had to do was sit himself on your desk, curl his fuzzy tail around your arm that held your head and paw at your scrunched up face.
In a second, your dull eyes sparkle with life and for the remaining hours that you could will yourself to stay up are filled with delightful belly scratches and coo's. You could feel the smugness radiating off of him when he successfully distracts you from your work.
And whenever you'd find yourself full of grief, heart squeezed and twisted with sorrow, Rafayel would always be there to distract you from your pain. With a little bump of his nose on your leg, his large eyes slowly blinking at you when you peel your head off your tear stricken arms. He doesn't stop meowing at you until you smother him with attention and forget all about who you were crying about.
It wasn't until a few months had passed that you finally allowed yourself to keep your furry companion and let him become apart of your life. From then on out, your life had considerably gotten better that even you were shocked at your old habits you'd grown accustomed to before Rafayel's arrival. To say that he's been helpful would be undermining the genuine hope he had, and is instilling in you. Even if he's the most sassiest cat you've ever got the pleasure of knowing, he still has his ways that warm your heart and soothe the ache in your chest.
Rafayel's your partner in crime and best friend.
…Is it weird to call your pet cat your best friend? It probably is to some, but to you. It makes perfect sense.
"Maybe he is." You reply with the same gentle tone. Your heart clenched at the thought of Rafayel. "Stop, thinking about him right now makes me want to cry." Your words wobble with emotion. "I miss my cat." You lightly pout, walking further into the isle when you stumble across a section that's brimming with cat toys and collars.
You need to get something for Rafayel from here.
You were almost overwhelmed with the multitude of selections you have right before you.
"You'll see him soon. I bet he's missing you more than you're missing him." Tara says. "I think." She adds.
"No he most likely he is." You affirm quickly. "He cannot stand a second without me. He's such a velcro cat." Your eyes zero in on a little ocean themed collar with a little fish as the bow tie and you don't waste a second snagging the collar off it's hook and dropping it in your basket. "You know, he opens my doors by himself."
Tara lightly gasps. "What? How?"
"He literally jumps up and with his little paws, he pulls down the handle. The minute he hears the door click and slightly open, he's shoving his big head through the gap and walking in my room like he owns it or something." You scoff playfully. "He's done it so many times that he literally broke my door. I can't even close it properly. I have to push my door close. He's so fat that he broke it."
The cackles that spew out of Tara's lips was unheard of. You had made her laugh plenty of times, but this one came so deeply from within her that you were wearily revisiting what you had just said to understand exactly what it was that made Tara bust out laughing. "So you weren't lying about him being a velcro cat!" She finally manages to say in her fit of giggles.
You let out a snort. "Why would I lie about that?"
"And he's not even fat. He's so skinny!"
"Why are you defending him? You have to see him laying down. He literally puffs up."
Tara giggles. "Yeah, yeah."
Grabbing a few new toys to occupy Rafayel with, you find yourself at the cash register paying for what you'd got him. It had gotten a little over what you'd originally intended to spend, but while tapping your card on the screen to pay, you couldn't bring yourself to care about the amount of money you threw away when you have a little kitty at home who'd thoroughly enjoy what you bought him.
Most likely.
He oddly finds more interest in art materials. The amount of times you've found Rafayel either covered in paint or attempting to draw something with a pencil tightly clenched in his jaw was endearing.
You realize that he’s a very special cat.
Bidding your goodbye to Tara, you slump the bag full of goodies into the passenger seat and drive your way home.
To your pleasant surprise, traffic wasn't nearly as bad as it usually is on your way home around this hour, so you had made it back earlier than you normally do. Unlocking the front door, you step in and announce your presence.
Rafayel making a beeline towards you while meowing his head off is what usually happens when you arrive, but today, his rowdy presence was missing. Chalking it up to Rafayel being asleep on your bed, you rest your belongings on the counter and pull out Rafayel's favorite bag of treats.
"Raffeeyyyy!" You call out, rattling the treat bag as you slipped off your shoes and padded over to your bedroom. Pushing open the door comically slow, you peeked your head in your room expecting to find Rafayel sleepily slumbering atop of one of your pillows, but to your dismay, the ball of fur was nowhere to be found.
That was when fear began it's slow approach. Eyebrows creasing with worry, you discard the treat bag on your dresser. "Rafayel?" You call out, voice pinched with concern. He tends to hide himself under your bed when he knows he's done wrong. Globs of paint were always matted into his fur accompanied with colorful paw prints staining your floors leading to the space under your bed. That was the state you'd find him in without fail. But this time, there was no rainbow trail paving the way to your bed. Maybe this was the beginning of a new habit of his? No longer sticking himself into your art materials and finding solace under your bed? Maybe his mischievous streak was lulling to an end?
"Are you here?" Kneeling down, you peered into the gaps under the bed in hopes to find him, but he wasn't there creating his usual mischief under the bed.
Genuine fear rooted in your chest, it's icy cold tendrils wrapping around your heart in a iron grip. Where could that cat be?
"Rafayel, stop messing around." You begin your ceaseless search around the house. Checking under small gaps he could've found himself stuck or napping in. You also checked the washer and dryer, hoping he hadn't jumped into them like he did that one time, nearly giving you a heart attack. You even checked through the kitchen cabinets and even drawers. It doesn't make sense on why you wasted time checking that particular area when you look back on it, but at the moment you were desperate and you were willing to check anywhere that sly cat could've been hiding in.
Plopping yourself back down to your bed, you let out a groan, hands finding their way into your hair. Did he run away? Were you not treating him the way he wanted to be treated? He was desperately needy and sassy, sure, but you were giving him enough attention, right? He wouldn't run away because of—
A soft humming emitting from your bathroom pulled you out of your thoughts.
Another sense of fear struck within you like lightning. The tears that pooled at your eyes quickly dissipated as you blinked them away.
"My love, will you…" A soft murmur could be heard before the voice melted back into its humming.
There's someone in your bathroom…
The continuous humming was undeniable. How hadn't you noticed this before? You were probably to busy in your mental crisis looking for Rafayel that you neglected to check the bathroom or even hear the running water and surprisingly good humming.
Getting up from your bed, you quickly snatched a bottle of your lotion mindlessly and slowly made your approach to the bathroom.
Hot steam from the shower seeped out from under the door, unfurling into the cold air of the hallway and ghosting your toes. The humming had gotten louder and music that you hadn't heard before accompanied his soft singing.
From the deep hums, you could gather that it was a man currently showering in your bathroom. How he got in your house was beyond you. You made sure that you locked every single part of your house closed. There was no way he could've gotten in. Unless…Rafayel had somehow unlocked the front door. It sounded unbelievable but the chances were never zero when it came to him. Maybe this random man offered Rafayel something?
…Or did you have a robber at your hands.
Did this robber kidnap Rafayel? But before he could snatch Rafayel away with all his stolen goods, he had gone to take a quick shower?
…Is Rafayel in the shower with him?
You imagined him screeching with fear, nails scratching against the bathroom wall as the water pelted his delicate fur. But knowing your cat, he was probably laying on his back and soaking up all the water. He loves water a little too much for your liking. He's jumped into your bathroom more times than you could count while you were taking a bath. Watching him paddle around was so stinking cute.
But this isn't the time to think about how cute he is right now. He could be in grave danger.
Without wasting a second, you quietly open your bathroom door. You were instantly hit with the aroma of your favorite body wash and shampoo swirling in the humid air.
…Was he really using your stuff?
Anger burned in your chest at the image of the intruder wasting all your products with no care in the world, lathering himself in your body wash that you had spent your precious money on. Not to mention, your shampoo that was everything but cheap. He's probably so delighted that he smells so good because the girl he decided to rob has good products. He's most likely going to steal them from you too after his last minute shower is over!
Closing the door behind you gently, you immediately starting searching for Rafayel. Unfortunately, he was nowhere to be found.
The steam from the shower clung onto you, stuffing your head with heat and slightly constricting your airways. He was also wasting your hot water too by taking such a scalding hot shower.
Who does this guy think he is?
Curling your fingers on the curtain, you counted down to one in your head before yanking the shower curtain open with so much force that droplets of water scattered around and splattered onto your face.
Not bothering with the water trickling down your face, your mouth gaped open at the naked man showering before you. He's absolutely…gorgeous?! On pure accident, you eagerly watch the way small soap suds travel down his deliciously chiseled abdomen and trail down his perfectly sculpted legs.
Oh, god.
Goosebumps riddled his skin at the sudden splash of cold air. Hands faltering down from his soap covered hair, he snaps his head over to you. "Cutie!" The naked man yelps, dipping his hands low to quickly cover his lower half. "W-What are you doi—"
You don't allow him to utter another word. You chuck the lotion bottle at him with a yell you don't mean to let out. It bounces of his head and clatters to the floor noisily. "Ow! Seriously?" He lifted up his hand to rub soothing circles on his now aching head. "Did you seriously need to throw our favorite lotion bottle at me?" He pouts. "And who said you could see me naked?"
Without giving you a second to respond, he closes the shower curtain.
"W-What?!" You sputter out, your hand reaching out to open the curtain. You don't miss the way he flinches when you pull the shower curtains open. "What do you mean our? Who are you and what have you done to my Rafayel?" Snatching a hairbrush from the sink counter, you threateningly hover it over your head. "I'll beat you with this if you don't answer me!"
The purple haired man's face deadpans. "You're not actually going to—AH!"
You make the motion as if you were going to wack him with the backside of the brush, only to falter right before it could make contact with his gorgeously shaped body. "I will do it! Tell me where's my cat!"
The purple haired man's familiar sunset colored eyes dart from the hairbrush to your face. You could see the cogs in his brain set in motion as he conjures up an idea.
"Uh…Meow?"
Silence follows.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" You bark, whacking him on the head with your brush hard. The man hisses out in pain, cat ears that you only just noticed wetly flop down on his head. Oh, so he planned this out, didn't he?
"Can you not hit me!" He whines, rubbing the new sore spot on his head. "That hurt…"
"What do you mean not hit you? You're literally a naked guy in my bathroom!" You counter, returning your brush near him. "My cat is nowhere to be found and all I was able to find was you, so tell me right now. Where is my cat." You somehow found yourself inside the shower, pressing the brush against his neck and effectively cornering him into the bathroom wall. You so desperately tried to ignore what a stupid move that was while also hastily trying to ignore how completely and utterly naked this weird man is.
"Can't you see that said naked man in your bathroom has cat ears and a tail!" He huffs out in annoyance. "Can't you connect the dots already?" He juts out his lip in a pout.
You narrow your eyes at him. "You're just cosplaying as a weird cat boy! You're doing this cause you're a sick man who likes breaking into people's homes and pretending to be their cat!"
His ears droop at your words. "Did you even hear what you just said?"
"Says the man who's butt booty naked in my shower claiming to my my cat!" You argue, pressing the brush further into his neck as if it'll do anything to him. The only thing that it's doing is making you look like a fool, and you have a burning feeling that the smirk on the man's face was because he can't exactly take you seriously when your threatening in with a brush to his throat.
"I wouldn't be butt booty naked if it wasn't for you pinning me against the wall!" He shoots back, his tail realistically swaying in the same pissed manner Rafayel would do when he was ticked off. "I can show you that I'm Rafayel." He said softly.
"How?" You press, eyeing him in a scrutinizing gaze.
"As much as I looovee you being on top of me, I kinda need you to get off of me to properly show you."
You felt your face warm up in embarrassment. "My bad…" You mumble. Stepping out of the tub, you plant your soaked feet on the bathroom mat. Somehow that was the only thing drenched from being near running water.
"Okay, show me."
He stares at you indecorously as if you'd said the most outrageous thing ever. "I can't with you looking at me!"
Oh, right. He's naked. Grabbing a towel from nearby, you throw it at him. He effortlessly catches it and wraps it around his mid waist.
"Okay…so change into Rafayel in three… twoonego!" You rush, snapping your fingers as if that would activate his transformation.
"I don't think I can do it with an audience right now. Can you turn around for me?" A pretty frown pulls at his pink lips. "Please?"
If you could narrow your eyes suspiciously any further, you would have done so at his words. "Why should I? You're probably going to kill me when I turn around."
He lets out an offended scoff and steps out of the bathtub, causing you to shuffle back and step off the bathmat. Water drips off his muscular form and splatters water onto mat and floor. Without giving you any time to process, his damp hands find their place on your shoulders and in one swift motion he turns you around despite your delayed protests.
"Hey, what are you—" Snapping your head back, your mouth falls open when the naked man had vanished entirely. Lowering your gaze, confusion knitted at your eyebrows at the sight of your towel crumpled to the floor.
"Meow!"
Your jaw makes contact with the slippery bathroom floor when the towel rustles to life, Rafayel's familiar fuzzy tail prodding out and swaying mischievously side to side. His ruffled paws dart out from under the towel and burrowed his sharp nails into the material, yanking it off of him. A light mewl of displeasure escapes his small mouth when a string latched onto one of his nails.
Flapping his paw about, he let out a theatrically desperate meow. His large eyes snapped at you for assistance. He meowed once more and you could've swore it almost sounded like he said help.
"Holy shit!" You slapped a hand to your mouth. "You weren't lying." You don't mean to start poking and prodding at him. But it was hard to resist. Finding out that your sweet precious kitty was secretly harboring his human half away from you was enough to render you stupid.
Rafayel lowly mewls, using his free paw to slap your finger away. A small giggle rumbles in your chest as you pull your finger back. He then directs his attention back to his caught nail, his tail swishing angrily behind him.
"Okay, okay. But after I help you, you have to explain everything to me." You sternly tell him as you kneel down to the ground. Bringing his paw to the center of your palm, you unhook the string off his sharp nails—you make a mental note to lightly file down those ferocious claws of his later, and plant his now free paw gingerly back down.
Rafayel's quick to tend to his paw, lapping his prickly tongue against his fur. Normally you'd coo at the sweet display of him pampering himself, but right now, you have a handful of questions swarming inside your head and the more you waited, the more they eagerly festered inside your head.
"Okay. You're going to turn back to a human, but after I get you clothes." You squint your eyes when he thoughtlessly looked at you with those large adorable eyes. "Do you understand?"
He meows in response before dipping his head low and raising one of his back legs high. His pink tongue darted in and out as he began to groom himself. "Where are your manners!" You huff out, standing up from the floor and wandering back into your bedroom.
This is absurd.
You had been technically taking care of a man this whole time without even knowing. How long has he been doing this? Wandering around your house in his human form, snacking on your food, watching TV on your plush couch and using your body and hair products? That could explain the mystery of how certain things tended to run out faster than before, but you shrugged it aside thinking you weren't being as mindful with your portions as you used to.
Turns out, you were flat out wrong. You had a cat boy—er, cat man…? Leeching off your stuff for who knows how long! Pulling open one of your cabinets, you threw an oversized long sleeved sweatshirt over your arm, gray sweatpants that were definitely going to fit him and boxers. Closing the drawer with a bump of your hip, you march back into your bathroom.
Opening the door, you let out a bloodcurdling shriek at the sight of Rafayel—oh, this is so weird—in his human form, naked and sitting down on the floor with his towel cover his midsection.
"Do you not know how to knock?" Rafayel playfully scoffs, running his hand through his hair. "Well, sorry. I'm not used to having a man in my bathroom." You chuck the clothes at him with a glare.
They splat on his face and crumple down to his lap. "Yeah, thanks." He sarcastically replies, eyeing the selection of clothes you chose for him. "I didn't know you had clothes like these laying around."
"They're not mine." A faint glint of sadness washes over you. "It's Caleb's clothes."
Rafayel's ears hang limp against his messy curls, his usually moving tail impossibly still. He doesn't respond, only sharing a sorrowful look of his own that matches yours.
A minute blows by before Rafayel's tail picks back up, now moving tantalizingly slow. "Are you going to watch me get changed ooorr?"
You don't need to be asked twice before you're spinning around on your heels and darting right out of the bathroom. It doesn't take long for Rafayel to clothe himself. He emerges from the bathroom within a few minutes, a playful smile dancing on his lips.
"Thanks for the clothes, cutie." He sends a dazzling wink your way. One that you narrowly dodge with a glare.
"Sit." Even if your expression and body language spoke that you were beyond upset. Your words held no malice. You uttered those words like how you'd normally talk to Rafayel when was passing by your living room in hopes to find something to occupy himself. Whether the he listened to you and snuggled up to your side or not was left up to him.
"As you wish." He curtly replies, wasting no time to flop down on your couch and rest his head on your lap. You tense, shoulders hitched up high and eyes blown wide. "Um?"
He closes his eyes, acting unaware and nuzzles into your thighs. "I'm waiitiinngg." He sings out, his tail curling forward and faintly brushing past your hip.
Snagging your lip with your teeth, you anxiously chewed on it. "If I ask you to get off my lap, would you?"
"Nope!"
Groaning, you keep your hands to your sides as you allow yourself to droop your shoulders back down. "So, um…have you always been half, uh human and cat?" You start off unsteadily, unsure where to tread in this myriad of questions you have laid out before you.
"Yup!”
"Are there…" You swallow thickly. "More cat people like you?"
"Yeah. A whoole bunch of 'em.”
"Where you going to tell me anytime soon that you were um, not entirely a cat?" You can feel your sanity slowly trickle away. This wasn't entirely out of the ordinary considering your line of work, you've seen some very strange things, but you don't think anything could top off your cat—who was now a human man, nuzzling into your lap as if this was your regular tuesday evening.
"Maybe." He's now flat on his back. The back of his hairs ever so slightly tickling your thighs. "Maybe not." He grabs your hand, and for some reason you don't try to wrench your hand away from his grip as he rests it on top of his head. "I wasn't sure if you were going to be okay with seeing me like…this."
Unconsciously, you rake your nails across his scalp, the way you know he'd like. A barely audible hum vibrates in Rafayel's chest, the light rumble seeping into your bones. "Ar-Are you purring?!"
"Obviously..." He mumbles out, voice barely above a whisper.
"Um, okay then…now that I know you're human. Are you going to stay like this?"
"Depends." His ears twitch in response from you scratching behind them. "If you want me to. I could…buuut, unfortunately for you. I like alternating between the two, so I won't stay in one form forever. If not, I'll just do what I always did. Stay as a cat when you're around and when you're gone, I can stretch out my limbs and be human."
"I, uh…" You look down to your lap for the first time and meet Rafayel's sweet gaze. His eyes are so beautiful, that was one of your favorite things about him, and it seemed like it still remained true even in his human form. His long eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he slowly blinks at you in the exact same way he does when he's in his cat form, patiently waiting for affection or treats.
This was going to be a weird adjustment for sure.
"I'm fine. You can do whatever you want. It'll just take sometime to get used to the new you." You watch in amusement at how Rafayel's eyes twinkle in surprise. Lurching up from his spot on your lap, he sets his back against the couch and burrows his nose into your neck, sniffing in your scent loudly. "I'm so glad that you're fine with this!" He chirps, his tail snaking past you and curling around your waist. "I've been dreaming of being able to be with you like this."
"Sure being a cat is fun and all, but having you in my arms is completely different from napping on your lap." He purrs, his flickering ears grazing the underside of your jaw. A ticklish shiver rattles through your spine. You don't think you've processed any of this just yet. The shock too much for you to fully wrap your mind around your whole situation.
But what you do know is that despite all of this. You do really love your Rafayel.
"You’re so needy." You coo at his nuzzles, petting his fluffy ears. "I'm not that needy." He whines, tail moodily flicking against you.
heyyy just wanted to check up on you, you haven’t posted for a few weeks. everything alright?? <33
HIII yesss everything is alright 💗💗 i’ve just been really drained lately bc of work n stuff so trying to write has been a challenge unfortunately. i am still working on fics but its slow!! i dont wanna post a fic thats half assed yk i wanna post sum thats actually legible 😭 but thank you for checking up on me <3
i just need a break to come up so i can start writing again 💔
hiii, saw request is still open and just finished reading forwards beckon rebound and bawled my eyes out.
so i was wondering if you could maybe make something with ford having a kid (reader) who's like really young when he got pushed into the portal and stanley raising reader and reader reminds stanley so much of ford when they were younger and is a nerd like their old man it hurts stanley so much to see the resemblance.
Dream About Me
Platonic!Stanley Pines x Child!Reader
ᰔ 1,8k words!
ᰔ MULLET STANLEYY!!!
ᰔ slight angst? or heavy angst? it's just overall sad really depends on the person
ᰔ gender neutral reader!
ᰔ request are open!
𐒘𝛠 When Stan took you in, he never thought how painful it would be to see all Ford’s quirks and traits shine in you. Seeing his smile on your face made it really hard for him to continue on with his day without breaking down into violent sobs, especially freshly after Stan had accidentally pushed Ford into the portal. Another wound to the heart was the additional finger on each of your hands. He hadn’t noticed until one day during dinner when you were sitting in front of him, coloring within the lines of the coloring book he had gotten you days prior. Your hand was splayed across the page, hand pressing down on the other side of the page to keep it from closing it on you. His eyes brushed past your hand, disregarding the six finger, just like he always did with Ford when his eyes shot back to your fingers, eyes widening upon seeing the extra appendage. He would’ve choked on his food if he didn’t swallow it moments before.
𐒘𝛠 “Are you looking at my extra finger?” Your fingers curled inwards on instinct, nuzzling them into your palm. “Dad told me to never be ashamed of my extra finger.” You tell him, which sounded more of you trying to reassure yourself than anything. “Did he really?” A wistful smile pulls at his lips, his eyes distantly looking down at his plate. “Yeah. He said that it’s a gift. We both shared our weirdness together.” Your other hand that was holding the crayon was now wrapped in your other hand, the crayon discarded on top of the unfinished page. Stan’s teeth snagged on his bottom lip. This was harder than he thought. “And you-you should treat it like one, k-kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He had tried coming off as stern, but the way he fumbled over his words and how his voice cracked in all the wrong places made it lose its whole empowering purpose. But you managed to get the message. A smile all too similar for Stan’s liking shown on your face. “Do you have an extra finger, Uncle Stan?” You brought your six fingered hand in front of his face, wiggling them wildly. “Unfortunately, I do not.” He pressed his palm against yours, his large hand completely dwarfing yours. “Ah! Five fingers!” You retract your hand away from Stan’s, wide eyes never leaving his five fingers. “I have actually never seen five fingers before!” You comment, flicking his fingers. “Have ya never seen another person that isn’t your dad?” Stan initially meant it as a lighthearted joke, but the way you sheepishly looked down to the ground told him very clearly that Ford had never taken you out of this house. ”Maybe once or twice when I was a baby?” You shrug. “He’s been so busy with everything else he left me to myself.” Sounds just like Ford. He hopes you don’t inhabit that from him.
𐒘𝛠 Your insatiable curiosity was full force. Everything always needs to have a reason or explanation, and if not, you would forge a plausible reasoning that ties your question into a nice little answer. Seeing this in a different perspective really rattled through Stan. He had found this side of Ford when they were younger plenty annoying, always wondering why his brother couldn’t leave things be, but seeing you do it was a messy mix of bittersweet and gut churning. Hearing you ask all the same questions Ford had asked them when they were younger sent him in for a loop. How could you be so eerily alike to him? Even the passionate twinkle in his eye had passed down onto you. “Uncle Stan!” You padded over to him, book in hand with messy scrambles of your writing. “Look what I discovered!” Stan forced a smile onto his face, stomach twisting into vicious knots. “What did ya find, kiddo?” You eagerly nod your head as you spoke with the same vigor and passion Ford had all those years ago and shoved your book into his lap. Looking down at your book had some semblance of Ford’s cursive writing, but it had seemed that it was a mix of his and Ford’s. “This is really nice, kiddo.” He strained out, rapidly blinking away the tears that were threatening to fall out. “So you believe me? You believe my theories?” You rambled out, oblivious to Stan’s fighting battle with his emotions. “Yes, kiddo.” He pushes himself off the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I need a m-moment. Gotta check on this mullet.” He leaves with that and you’re left wondering what you did wrong.
𐒘𝛠 When you were about twelve years old, Stan had caught you squinting at him from afar, the same way Ford would look at him without his glasses—he didn’t mean to draw everything back to Ford, you just were an exact carbon copy of him, unfortunately for him. So he conducted an at home experiment where he stood far away from you, holding up a sign with words that looked like a blended mush to you. That was enough to prove to Stan and you that you needed glasses. Getting a pair of frames sent Stan in for a loop. As if you didn’t act enough like Ford, now you had glasses that made Stan’s stomach drop whenever he looked at you. “How do I look?” You smile at Stan, the comically large glasses sliding down your nose. “Maybe we should get smaller ones?” Stan suggested, plucking the frames off your face and setting them back on the display stand. His eyes abruptly landed on ones that looked exactly like Ford’s glasses when he was about your age. He cleared his throat, shaking him out of that weird trance and ambling on to more of the display cabinets with glasses. “What about these!” He turns around and when his eyes lock on you, his mouth runs dry. “A-Are ya sure you want those?” You scamper over to the mirror, a small gasp leaving you. “I look like Dad.” You whisper. Confliction swimming in your eyes. “You don’t have to keep em—“ You wave him off. “It’s okay, Uncle Stan. I-I think it keeps his memory alive, right?” Stan swallows, nodding slowly. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
𐒘𝛠 Staring at yourself in the mirror, you flickered your eyes back and forth to a polaroid photo of Ford to yourself in the mirror. There was some resemblance. Especially with you wearing your glasses. It made sense why Stan couldn’t really keep a straight face whenever he talked or even looked at you. You internally fought with yourself, jumping back and forth to liking the fact that you looked like Ford or to hating the fact that you do. You had his eye shape, his nose, his smile, the extra finger, even the stupid need to have glasses. You have his mannerisms, the way you speak is a lot like how he talked when he was your age–told to you by Stan, and so much more that you couldn’t dwell into before you’d burst out into tears. It was both a blessing and a curse. A worn out sigh leaves you, brain spinning and pounding harshly against your skull. This wasn’t going to lead you anywhere. Picking at your features and wishing that you didn’t have them wasn’t going to be beneficial for anyone. You pocket the photo and swing the door open to see Stan right in front of you currently in the process of opening the door. “Oh!” You step back and Stan jolts up. “I didn’t know you were in there, kiddo. I’m sorry.” A sheepish hand rubs his neck. “It’s okay. I was leaving anyway.” You sadly smiled at him, stepping out of the bathroom. Stan raises an eyebrow, catching the melancholy look in your eyes. “You doin’ alright?” You stop in your tracks, hand ghosting the pocket where the photo of Ford was in. “I-,.” The words die in your throat when you notice the concerned look in his eyes. You didn’t want to put any more weight onto his shoulders. “I’m alright. Thanks Uncle Stan.” Stan looks at you hesitantly before nodding to himself, bidding you a quick goodbye. “You can tell me anything, just lettin’ ya know.” He lastly says, closing the door, leaving you to your thoughts in the silent hallway. You weren’t sure if you were ever going to get the guts to truly tell Stan how you feel.
𐒘𝛠 As the years go by, Stan had found himself breaking out of his habits of relating you to Ford and saw you as your own person. But there would be times where he would slip up back into his old ways and meddle in his mind. You had adopted a few of Ford’s mannerisms, from the way he spoke to how he fidgeted, you had it all. He’d catch glimpses of Ford whenever he would see your pinched concentrated face. Sometimes you’d walk into the lab to show him all the theories you thought of to fix the portal and Stan would just look at you, guilt and despair heavy on his expression. You would have to awkwardly bring him back and repeat everything you had just said to him. “I’m sorry that I keep reminding you of him.” You fidget with your spinny chair, softly swaying from side to side to ease your anxiety. “It’s not your fault. I promise.” He kneels down beside you, patting your shoulder reassuringly. A moment of silence passes before you turn your head over to look at him. “Sometimes I think you’re going to up and leave because I act like him sometimes.” Stan has had hard times coming to terms with you being so alike to his lost twin. Nights he’d spent crying on his bed, wondering if this is all worth the struggle. There’s times where he couldn’t even look at you without being choked up in his own cries. He wasn’t emotionally stable enough for this and he was doubting his capabilities of taking care of you. But alongside pain, you also brought him joy, you gave him a reason to wake up in the mornings, to smile, to laugh. Stan takes a shaky breath in. “Kid, I’m gonna be honest with ya. It’s been hard, extremely hard. I’m not gonna sit here and tell ya that it’s been all sunshine and rainbows, because it hasn’t. But what I can say is that I have been getting better, with the whole Ford thing. Sometimes it comes back like a slap on the face and I’m left scramblin’ but, at the end of the day, you have shined so brightly and shown me how incredible you are, just as yourself. And no matter how hard it gets, I’ma stay right by your side.” Wrapping him in a bone tight hug, you let out a relieved sob. “Thank you,” you cry out. Stan pats your back soothingly. “You’re also my kid now. Forever imprinted on me. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
HIIII I THINK REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN! in that case can I have something about celebrating your birthday with the pines and co :3 LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! It inspired me to start writing my own gf things, thank you!
Mable's Surprise Birthday Special
Platonic! Pines Family x Reader
★ BIRTHDAYYY!! FANFICC!!
★ its funny cuz u requested like a day after my bday and then a day before the twins bday like what a perfect timing!!
★ tw: fiddleauthor im kidding i love them sm i had to put fiddleford here
★ 4,5k words
★ gn!reader
★ a silly cute fic!!! i hc soos is a really good baker
★ req r still open!
“Welcome to Mable’s Birthday Special!” Mable noisily raved directly into the camera that she set up on a stand. “Now, I know what you’re thinking. Mable, it isn’t your birthday! And you’re correct on that. But it’s a special someone's birthday!” She plopped herself on her pink chair, pulling out a large colorful book from below and slamming it on the table. Clouds of glitter powdered the air, a fit of coughs spewing out of her mouth. “Agh, glitter attack!” She croaked out, swatting away the sparkling glitter with her hand.
Now covered in rainbow glitter, she broadly smiled at the camera. “Now, what was I saying?” She pondered out loud, tapping her chin as she looked up. “Oh!” She jumped up, looking back down at the book that was labeled ‘[Name]’s Birthday Ideas’.
“My siblings birthday is today!” She opened the book, flipping through an assortment of pages before stopping and striking her hand down on a certain page. “Believe or not, this is all the data I collected on [Name] so I can properly throw a birthday party extravaganza!” She leaned forward, passion flowing out of her. “And today, we are going to throw the best party ever.”
The footage unexpectedly cuts to another shot where she, Dipper and Wendy were decorating the living room and kitchen. “Hello, my fellow Mabelins!” She feverishly waves at the camera. “We are in the living room!” Dipper peeks his head into frame, his eyebrows furrowing. “Mabelins?” He repeats slowly. “Yeah! Mabelines. That’s what I call my fans.” She motions to the camera. “Mable, no one is going to see this.” Dipper blankly said, rearranging the party streamers in his hand so they wouldn’t get tangled. “Dude, don’t say that. That’ll totally ruin her spark!” Wendy tittered, taping individual letters one by one on the wall.
“But it’s true. Who’s actually going to sit down and watch Mabel’s videos?” Dipper remarked, taking a measured step up on the chair then onto the table. “[Name] is definitely gonna see this after the party.” Mable leaned in closer to the camera, whispering: “Brothers, am I right?”
Grabbing the camera, she aimed it at Dipper who was jumping up from the table, trying to stick up the party streamers on the ceiling. Zooming in on him, she spoke in an Australian accent. “And now, we have an orangutan in his natural habitat.”
Dipper grumbled, stomping his foot down on the wobbly table. “Mab–Ahp!” Dipper fell, taking the table along with him. Mable howled out in laughter, running towards him and capturing him twitching painfully on the floor. “Woah, dude. Are you okay?” Wendy got on one of her knees, helping up Dipper from the ground. Dipper quietly fussed under his breath, sending a deadly glare to Mable who wasn’t even paying attention, too wrapped up in her laughing frenzy.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks, Wendy.” He dusts himself, picking up the discarded party streamers from the floor. “I’ll hang these up for you, dude. Don’t worry.” She takes the streamers from Dipper’s hand, much against his protests. “I can do them, Wendy. It’s okay!” He watched enviously as Wendy grabbed a chair and stood on it, taping the streamers randomly around the ceiling. “There!” She hops off the chair, putting her hands on her hips and admiring her work. “Now Dipper won’t have to be sent to the hospital on [Name]’s birthday.”
Dipper sighed out, grabbing a bowl of confetti and sprinkling it all over the floor to make a confetti runway. “Thanks so much, Wendy.” A glum look fell on his face and Mable couldn’t help herself and zoom in on his face. “Poor Dip. Too short for his own good.” Bringing her hand in front of the camera, she waves at it. “I’ll see you in the next part!”
The footage cuts off to Ford in his red turtle sweater and black jeans, an apron that says ‘Kiss the Chef’ adorning his waist. She aims the camera up at his face. “Say, Grunkle Ford. What are we making today?”
Uneasily smiling at the camera, he hurriedly stirred the batter. Some splattered out of the bowl and landed on the counter. “We are making a cake!” He tried to sound chipper but he couldn’t hide the distressed look on his face. Oblivious to his stress, she backs up, showing the messy countertop. Batter dripped from the counter and onto the floor where a little goopy pile had been ever so slowly festering. And upon further inspection, Ford had clumps of batter and flour stuck to hair. The white powder was dusted in streaks on his face and clothes.
“And who’s we?” She spun around for dramatic effect, making her own drumming effects. “Pumpkin, what are you doin’?” Stan walks in, walking past the spinning Mabel and peering his eyes over to the cooking cake in the oven. She stops nowhere near Stan and has to turn back around to show Stan in the frame. “This is my Grunkle Stan! Twin brother of my Grunkle Ford–,” She zooms in on their faces. “--If you couldn’t tell!”
“Ford, the cake isn’t risin’.” He grabs a mitten and opens the oven. A blast of black smoke wafted into his face. “What?” Ford drops the bowl onto the messy counter, walking over to Stan who was coughing like a maniac while waving the mitten around to disperse the cloud of smoke. “How is it not rising? We added baking powder into the cake, didn’t we?” He snatches the mitten from Stan and slips it on. Grabbing the steaming pan, he placed it on the counter. “Is it supposed to be that color?” Stan grimaces at the muddied charcoal black cake. “How is the consistency still the same an hour later!” Ford scooped the slimy goo and watched it grossly plop back down on the pan. “Who’s taste testing the cake?” Mable curiously asked. Ford and Stan looked at each other before sticking their hand out, yelling, “Not it!”
The clip cuts to Ford and Stan violently spewing out the cake into the sink or trash can. “What are we doing wrong!” Stan forced out through gags. “I don’t know!” Ford heaves out into the sink. “What’s goin’ on?” Fiddleford saunters into the chaotic kitchen with Soos following behind him. “Hey, dudes!” He waves at Ford and Stan who are still coughing into the sink and trash can. “Hey, Grunkle Fiddleford! Hey, Soos!” Mable turned the camera over to the newcomers.
Fiddleford stepped into the kitchen, careful with where he put his feet down and went over to Ford’s side. He put his hand on Ford’s back and moved his hand up and down in a comforting manner. “Darlin’, what in the hell happened here?”
“Me and Stan tried making cake.” The mention of cake has Ford’s stomach churning once again. “Oh, yikes.” He breathes out, teeth bared. “Hun, why don’t ya sit down with Stan? Me and Soos can handle this, right Soos?” Soos’s head perks up at hearing his name. “Yeah! We can make a pizza cake out of real pizza with like, ten layers!” Stan cringes. “That doesn’t sound right.”
Ford sweetly smiles at Fiddleford. “Thank you, my love.” Fiddleford matches his smile, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips. “Ewww!!” Mable shields the camera with the palm of her hand. “Cover yer eyes, Mable!” Fiddleford laughs. “You don’t have to ask me twice!”
Another clip plays and it's Mable marveling at a beautifully made and decorated tall 8 layered cake. “Now this is how you make a cake!” She dips her finger towards the cake to snag a bit of frosting when she was scooped up by Stan. “No, you don’t!” He moves her away from the cake, placing her back down on the floor. “I feel like out of all the people here, I thought you’d be so strict on not letting anyone touch or eat cake.”
“I just grow weak in the knees when I see a cake as beautiful as that one.” Mable stared at it starry eyed. “Alright, that’s enough of that.” His hand flop around the camera as he attempts to find the turn off button. “Okay, so how can I turn this o–”
The next clip is Soos delightfully munching on cake with Mable beside him. “We just couldn’t resist!” Mable says with her mouth full of cake. “I just wanted some cake, dude!”
Footsteps approach the kitchen and both Mable and Soos look at each other with fear stricken on their faces. Jumping off the chair, she grabs her plate of cake and shoves it into her sweater. Soos shoves the whole piece into his mouth, smearing the frosting and cake crumbs all over his mouth.
“Grunkle Ford, have you seen my–” Dipper stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide at the marvelous cake. “Is this the cake I heard Grunkle Fiddleford talk about?” He whispers, his eyes looking over to Mable and Soos who were rigid statues.
“This thing?” Mable jabs a thumb in its general direction. “I have no idea what this is!” She nervously laughs out, pieces of crumbled cake sludge out of her sweater and plops down on the floor. “Righhhtt…” Dipper takes a step back. “I’ll leave you two alone.” He sends a cautionary glance at Soos and Mable before walking out. “Phew!” Soos wipes his forehead with his forearm. “That was close, wasn’t it?”
“Super close.” She grabs on a piece of cake that was in her sweater and munches on it. She offers one out to Soos who happily takes it and shovels it into his mouth.
The clip choppily jumps to the entrance door to the gift shop. “Stan went out to grab [Name] cause we kinda left them alone in the mall. Sorry not sorry [Name]! But he’s getting them over here, so any minute they’re going to come in here!” Mable whispers to the camera. She’s hiding behind a can of monster eyes, the camera very obviously on top of the canisters. “Dipper is hiding in a box full of plastic peanuts. Soos is behind the counter with Wendy, they have party poppers in their hands. Fiddleford and Ford are in the living room. They’re act two.” She brought up two fingers and wiggled them.
Distance voices could be heard coming from outside the shack. “They’re here, they’re here!” She loudly whispers.
“Who’s idea was it to leave me in the mall?”
She snickered quietly and pointed at herself, the culprit of the idea. “We didn’t leave you at the mall? We were there with you.” Stan terribly lied and you saw right through it. “Grunkle Stan, I don’t know why you lie so much.”
The knob of the door jostles a bit, altering everyone that they were here before it opened. “Why is it so dark–”
“Surprise!” Popping noises came from Soos and Wendy and clumped up colorful strings fell on top of your head. Dipper tripped out of the box full of peanuts, running over to give you a self-Mable made birthday sash. “Oh!” You grab the sash, slinging it around you with a chuckle. “What is all of this?”
“Happy birthday!” Mable popped out from behind the cans, camera in hand. “Say hello to the camera [Name]!” You gave a shy wave. “Was this the reason why I was left behind at the mall?” You remove the colorful strings off your hair and throw it at Stan who sputters in surprise. “Yeah! And there’s one last surprise.”
“Happy Birthday!” Ford and Fiddleford jump out of the living room doorway into the gift shop, blowing a party horn into your face.
“OH MY–”
The frame freezes on you midway screaming for a second before it switches to a whole new piece of footage where Ford is covering your eyes, blindly leading you into the kitchen where your eaten cake resides. “Okay, ready?” Ford looks at you, a huge excited smile playing at his lips. “No, not really.”
Ford ignores you and peels back his hands and bestows you the beautiful sight of your unnaturally tall wobbling cake. “That’s a really tall cake.” You watch it dangerously wobble to the side. “Is the cake supposed to be wobbling?” You ask, looking around to see everyone’s mortified faces and two stray guilt stricken expressions. “What? That’s ain’t supposed to be happenin’…”
Fiddleford approaches the cake and oggles it, his eyes landing on a certain spot on the backside of the cake, a wave of fury flashes on his face before he calms himself down and very sweetly smiles at the little crowd gathered in the kitchen.
The camera catches Mable’s nervous gulp.
“Who was takin’ big chomps of the cake me and Soos made?” His voice betrayed his sweet smile with how snappy he sounded.
“Wasn’t me. I was with Dipper decorating.” Wendy coolly said. “Y-Yeah! We were.” Dipper solidifies his alibi, eyes locking with Mable’s anxious ones. “You can’t point any fingers at me! I was real busy gettin’ [Name] back from the mall.” Stan lifted his hands up defensively. “Again, out of all the options, why mall?” You grumbled under your breath.
“I was with you the whole time, Fidds.” Fiddleford smiled at Ford, his voice sickeningly sweet when he spoke to Ford. “I know, hun.” Then he changes back to finding the culprits who ate his cake. “He’s really serious about that cake we ate.” Soos spoke into Mabel’s ear loudly. Fiddleford’s gaze locked down onto Mable and Soos.
“Mable, sweetheart. Could ya quit recordin’ just for a quick second.”
The footage cuts to a somber Mabel sitting in a cold desolate corner with Soos on the other end. “I got put in the naughty corner! What is this joke!” Mable threw her hands up in the air dramatically, having them flop down to her sides with a loud melodramatic sigh.
“It’s only just for a bit, pumpkin! After we set up the table you’ll be back here! Same goes for you, Soos!” Stan’s gruff spoke from the kitchen.
“Okay, thanks Mr. Pines!”
“Ugh, we shouldn’t have ever eaten that cake.” Mable dragged a heavy hand down her face, pulling at it. Soos’s stomach roared in hunger. A laugh leaves Soos, his attention turning to Mable. “Do you still have some of that cake in your sweater? I’m kinda hungry.”
“I think so? Let me check.” She digs her hand into her shirt and pulls out a clump of cake that had strands of hair and sweater fuzz on it. “Our last one.” Mable whispered dejectedly.
“Mable, do you have your camera?” Ford peeks his head out of the kitchen to see Mable handing a mysterious ball to Soos, the camera in front of her. “You’re not supposed to have this, missy.”
“I know.” She frowns deeply when Ford snatches up her pink glitter camera. Ford fumbles with it a bit, the last shot before the scene switched was Soos taking a hearty bite of the ball of cake.
“Is this thing working?” Stan’s voice spoke from behind the camera. “Yeah, it’s working.” Wendy confirmed, tapping at the blaring red light to signal its recording. “Today is [Name]’s birthday! Right, sweetie?” He accidentally shoves the camera right at your face.
“Woah, okay!” You giggled, carefully pushing Stan away from you. “It is my birthday. I think you all are more excited about it than me.”
Wendy walks over to you with a party hat in hand. “It's like you’re asking for us to forget it.” She hands you the hat. “If any of you ever forget my birthday, you will not hear the end of it!” You glared at everyone, pointing at them in a smooth motion with your party hat.
“They’re not kidding, guys.” Dipper’s eyes have a distant traumatized look to them. “I have seen it firsthand.” Stan added, flipping the camera to his traumatized face before flipping it back onto you.
You snap the party hat on you with a smile. “I feel stupid being the only one with a party hat.” You walk over to the box full of party hats and grab an armful of party hats. “Tune in and find out if I’m able to put party hats on everyone!” You make a swooshing noise as your hand descends on the camera, palm covering the lens.
“Stan, that’s when you stop record—“
The next set of footage had everyone, even the ones who were grounded for a short while, all huddled up in a group, party hats on. “I got them to all wear party hats!” You cheered, picking up Waddle’s who innocently trudged into the kitchen. “Even Waddles has one.” You cooed at the pig before putting him back down on the floor. “Okay, everyone disperse! Time to start singin’ happy birthday.” Fiddleford announced.
Everyone surrounds the decorated table with the wobbling cake. Each shove and push to the table had Fiddleford sucking a nervous breath in.
“Okay, ready?” Ford held up three fingers and started counting down by three.
The whole room erupted into singing the second all of Ford's fingers were down. “Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you! Happy birthday to [Name]! Happy birthday to youuuu!”
“Make a wish! Make a wish!” Mable thrummed her hand against the table. The cake shook and trembled and everyone watched with bated breath.
The cake stills and everyone lets out a sigh of relief. “Welp, wasn’t that close? Am I right?” Stan laughs, slapping his hand on the table. “Stanley!”
The cake plunges down, splattering everyone with its frosting and filling. Silence filled the room.
Waddles squeaks happily at the delicious treat, feasting on the piece of cake on the floor. You lick around your lips, grabbing a taste of the cake. “Mmm! This is good. Fiddleford, Soos, you guys really did a good job on making the cake!”
“Thanks [Name]!” Soos is wolfing down a piece of his own cake that had showered all over him. “Glad ya like it, sweetheart..” Fiddleford sighed out, plopping his head on Ford’s shoulder.
“My camera!” Mable cried out, darting over to her camera that was weighing down from heavy frosting. She fortunately caught it in her hand, wiping off the icing with the sleeve of her sweater and accidently turning off the camera.
The footage clips to the last video Mable took of the day. You were sitting down on a chair, a table full of gift bags and hand wrapped objects filled the table. “We are now opening presents!” Mable exclaimed, chucking a fist full of glitter in the air. “Ah, my eye!” Stan screeched out, sprinting into the kitchen to run water over his eye, bumping into the camera in the process. “Grunkle Stan! Be careful.” Mable held the camera stand, keeping it still. After a few minutes of hearing running water, Stan walks out with an irritated eye. “Open, open!” Mable chanted.
You pluck a gift from the table, flipping it on its back to read the name sharpied on it. “Okay, the first gift is from…” You squinted, reading it out. “Grunkle Ford!” You show the mysterious gift to everyone. Curious questions left their mouths as you opened the book shape gift. Shedding the last piece of gift wrapper, you saw what you had gotten. “A book on quantum physics?” You let out a pensive ‘hm’.
“You could never go wrong with math!” He proclaimed, sticking out a finger into the air. You awkwardly laugh. “Yeah, thanks Grunkle Ford.” You look under the table to see Waddle’s resting on his belly. “Here, Waddles. I got a new toy for you.” You whisper, waving the book in front of his face. He brings his snout to the book, sniffing it before letting out a snort. He grabs the book with his mouth and places it down on the floor, he pads around it for a minute and flops down on the book, snuggling into it.
“Next gift!” You pop your head out from under the table and grab the next gift by its handles. You stuck your hand inside and latched onto something. Pulling it out, you came face to face with a Mystery Shack coupon. You didn’t even need to guess who this was from. “Really Grunkle Stan?”
“Oh, shut it. There’s one more thing left in there!”
You place the card on the table and dig your hand back into the bag. You grabbed onto a bottle and took your hand out, your eyes widening at the wine bottle. “Um?” You warily look at Stan whose jaw is dropped on the floor. “Who put that there?” Stan marched over to you and took the bottle of wine from your hand. A few quiet snickers came from Dipper and Mable. “That’s my bottle. You get your own.”
“Uhm?” You look back down in the gift bag and flip it upside down. A wad of neatly folded cash plopped down on your lap. Your eyes brighten and you look over to Stan who’s smiling proudly to himself. “Is this real cash?” You grab the cash from your lap and inspect the dollar bills. “How in the world would I ever give ya fake money? Put some more faith in your Grunkle!”
You gleefully put the cash back into the side and place it beside you. “Up next is…” You grab a hold of a large square wrapped in Christmas wrapping. The name Soos was elegantly written on the wrapping paper. “Soos!”
“Yes!” Soos pumps his fist in the air. “You are going to love it, dude!”
Peeling off the wrapping paper revealed the gift to be your favorite music artist vinyl. “Soos! These are expensive, how did you get this?”
Soos glanced over to Stan and looked back at you. “I have my ways!” He smiled.
You put the vinyl in your bag with the cash and moved to the next present. Fiddleford’s gift was next and he had given you a beautiful heartfelt note accompanied with a photo of you, Fiddleford and Ford. You thought that was it when he told you to shake the envelope with a wink. A few couple hundred bucks fell out that had you gasping for air.
“There’s no way you just copied me, Fidds.” Stan pointed an accusatory finger at him. “We just had the same idea, Stanley.”
“Grunkles, Grunkles! Please, no fighting.” Mable stood in between them, her hands flat against their stomachs. “My gift is next and [Name] needs their full attention on it!”
Mable’s gift was a conflicting mess. You couldn’t decide if it was cute or oddly weird. She had given you a scrapbook, innocent at first, but opening the book showed that she had been harvesting everyone’s hair and gluing them in the book, crudely making a heart full of hair with your name spelt in cursive on the inside. The pages following had copious amounts of glitter, stickers and the strong scent of glue, but they were pretty normal enough, sharing memories of you, her and Dipper in some pages and then others had the family all together. Then there was a page that had you sit back and question your sister's mental wellbeing. She had a whole page dedicated to candid photos she had snapped of you while you weren’t looking.
She had a photo of you sleeping, brushing your teeth, talking to Stan, playing ddnmd with Ford and Dipper, etc. And to make it a little more weirder, she had made everyone write little comments of what was their favorite thing in the picture. At least what everyone wrote was normal…
“Mable, thank you very—“
“—Go to the last page!”
You flip to the last page that was blank. A puzzled look formed on your face and you opened your mouth to ask Mable what was this when you were pelted with a wave of confetti, glitter and sprinkles. A drawing of everyone holding hands launched out of the book and harmoniously started singing happy birthday. Mable started singing along, busting down her own moves, satisfied with the gift she gave you.
You were coughing up glitter and confetti for the next few minutes. Stan came up behind you to pluck the stray sprinkles that got caught in your hair. Waddles made the gracious effort to clean the floor by eating the sprinkles and a bit of the confetti.
Dipper’s gift was more sentimental. In a rainbow colored envelope, made by yours truly Mable, was a letter that Mable and him collaborated on and wrote together such a nice letter that you doubted if your younger siblings really had made this themselves. With teary eyes, you opened your arms wide and they didn’t waste a moment to run up to you and jump in your arms.
“That was really sweet, thank you guys.”
You held them in your arms for a minute or two before they let you go and went back to their spot.
Wendy’s gift was a nice way to top everything off. Seems like she had roped everyone in it and made this whole poster board full of their favorite moments that you had shared with everyone. Branching from embarrassing ones that some were unfortunately captured by Mabel’s trusty camera to unforgettable beautiful memories.
“Who came up with this idea?” You ask with a laugh, looking at a pinned photo where you were mid horrified face when Stan was cannonballing into the pool. He was halfway in, water already sprouting out and ready to splash you and drown Dipper and Mabel.
“It was a mix of Grunkle Ford and Mable. They’re surprisingly creative when put together.” Wendy said, jerking a thumb over to Mable high sixing Ford. “You guys really went all out for this, didn’t you?” You smile softly. A mix of playful scoffs and ‘of course!’ filled the room. “Who wouldn’t want to go all out for you?” Stan wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you in a side hug. “I think we might need to drill that into yer head. Yer jus’ full of sugar, who wouldn’t want to give ya such an amazin’ birthday?” Fiddleford affectionately ruffled your hair.
Ford hugged your other side, slipping a note in your hand. “Is this another sappy note that’s going to make me cry?” Ford chuckles, nodding. “Group hug without us? What is Mable going to say?” Wendy joked. “She’s probably going to kill them.” Dipper laughed. “Who’s killing wh–” She turns around and gasps loudly. “Group hug!” She grabs Soos’s hand and practically hurls herself into the hug. “Dipper, Wendy. Get in here!” They join in on the hug.
“Happy Birthday [Name].” Dipper tried his best to at least give you a slight hug but everyone was so jumbled up together, all he could do was pat his head against your upper stomach. Everyone else joined in and told you happy birthday. Snuggling further into the hug, you smiled. “Thank you guys.”
A warning beep rings in the air. “What is that?” Soos asks. Another final warning beep. “Oh my god! My camera!” Mable shuffles out of the hug and darts over to her camera. The frame freezes on Mable reaching out for her camera with everyone staring at the cameras with wide owl eyes.
Pink glitter mixed in with blue plain text faded into the screen saying ‘Happy Birthday to the best sibling in the world!’ and the video ends.
Hi I just wanna say I read the Dad! Stanley hcs you did and it was sooo goood I loved every bit of it.
I was wondering if you could do a bit of an angsty request where Stanley's child is in there late teens an gets possesed by Bill, like what do you think his reaction would be, since when dipper got possesed by bill, bill physicaly injured dippers body a lot and was just genuinely careless with his body. Also I have no idea when the reader would be possesed by bill mabey after Ford is back to make things extra angsty since ford knows of bill, idk do whatever you like with this request I just like angst with for no reason whatsoever.
Also I did try to find if you had any request rules but I couldn't find any so if you do have rules and this request is something you don't feel comfortable writing then please just ignore this request, I hope you have a brilliant day or night :D.
Another thing I just wanted to mention is I'm sorry for how long this request is.
Far From The Weight of The World
Dad!Stanley Pines x Teen!Reader
❀ 9,1k words its a loottt so if ur ready to hunker down and read a whole bunch this is for u!!
❀ guess who finished far from the weight of the world THIS GUYYY
❀ it wouldn't have ever seen the light of day if it wasn't for @raventeen they helped me sm!! like they helped every single step of the way and chose the direction of where this should go so big thanks to them <3
❀ i hope you all enjoy this! :3
❀ possible tw: description of skin melting off, throwing up blood, self inflicted harm, more blood, uhh broken bones? even more blood
❀ gn!reader
❀ i love dad stan pines smmm
❀ requests r still open hehe
“Sweetheart!” Stan’s footsteps could be heard thumping on the ground towards you. You marched forwards, your throat painfully knotted in a ball, suppressing your sobs and swallowing your words. Your head swirled with the word liar, spinning around hastily. Whispers of Mable and Dipper could be heard distantly behind you, their concerned eyes digging holes right through you. Too swept up by your wind of emotions you ignored their worried looks.
“We can talk about this, kiddo. Just give me a second.” His fingers curl against your arm but you yank it away before he’s able to wrap them around you. “What do you want, Dad?” You promptly turned around, glassy eyes somberly staring into his wide ones. “Can you please give me a chance. Hear me out,” his voice cracked at the end, his hands twitching to desperately reach out to you and prevent you from taking another step further away from him. “I don’t know If I can trust you, Dad.” Uttering that sentence shattered something within you. Not once have you thought of yourself ever telling your very own dad that you don’t trust him. He had never given you a reason to distrust him. To you, all his past lies were seen as truth to you, undeniable facts that couldn’t be broken apart because his word carried high validity, to you at least. But now, you’re not even sure that he’s telling you the truth right now.
Ford’s heavy shoes sounded on the creaky wooden floors, announcing his presence wordlessly. “[Name], dear. Listen to your father.” He adds. He looked at you with an analytical stare, twisting your stomach inside out. You didn’t like how he looked at you like you were one of his captured anomalies, inspecting you and reading your tense body language, anticipating for the second where you’d act out of pure emotion so he’d supply you with meaningless words that held nothing but empty hope to burn out the flurry of emotions that ran rampant inside you.
“I don’t want to hear anything from you, Uncle Ford.” You spat out. He was the last person you wanted to hear anything from. From time to time, you’ve begged him to tell you what exactly is going around here yet he’d always brush you aside, dismissing whatever you’d ask and move on with the next thing that gripped his attention. “You never wanted to say anything to me until now.”
Ford, not expecting your answer, stumbled with his words. He shakes his head, almost as if he’s expelling his shock with the shakes and regains his composure. “[Name],” he starts off with a stern tone. “You are acting purely on your emotions. I need you to compose yourself and talk to us when you’re relaxed enough to form a proper sentence that doesn’t have you snapping at us.”
Your jaw gawks open. “So you’re telling me that I shouldn’t be feeling upset over this?
Ford clicked his tongue, a twinge of frustration oozing out of him. Everything you’re saying is going off the script Ford had curated in his head. He’s rendered useless as he scrambles for words he can put together in a sentence that’ll feasibly flip your train of thought around and convince you that the way you’re acting is irrational.
Ford waved his head side to side, unsure with his answer. Stan noticed the apprehension shrouded on Ford’s face and he silently signaled to him to not say what he’s about to say, already knowing that his poor choice of words was going to send this whole situation right on its back. Too stubborn for his own good, Ford stood his ground and opened his mouth much to Stan’s clear distaste of him speaking his mind.
“Yes but no.” You grit your teeth together, eyes narrowly staring daggers at Ford who looked seemingly pleased with his response.
Stan gulps nervously, taking a cautious step forward. “Sweetie, don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. He doesn’t know what–”
“--You’re telling me that I’m overreacting? I have just found out that my dad has been lying to me since the moment I was born! And to make matters worse, you all are hiding things from me. None of you are bothering to tell me what the hell is going on here. Why are we all so secretive? We all promise to tell each other everything, no more secrets, no more lies! What happened to that? You all know something and I have a right to know as well!”
You heaved out a ragged breath, words spilling out of you in a madden rush. You held down your tongue for too long. Long nights of sneaky meandering had left you scrambling all the pieces they had discarded on secrets of Gravity Falls together, solving and answering all the questions you laid out for them but chose to ignore. All the lies Stan had fed you over the years concerning this supposed lazy town was unraveling right in front of you. What else had he been hiding from you? What other filthy lies had he pushed on you that you so mindlessly believed?
Stan’s mouth flounders, stammers of jumbled sounds spilled out. His arms are rendered at his side, stunned with your outburst. “I thought I was protecting you.” He whispers, his fingers flexing anxiously. “Dad! This whole summer has been nothing but crazy. I didn’t know that we had half of those monsters in our woods because you lied to me and told me that it’s been my imagination. What if I had gotten close to one thinking that it was all in my head, and the beast mauls my head off. What then, Dad?”
Stan deflates. Lost for words, he runs a hand down his gray hair. Thinking about finding your bloodied body sent full body chills down his spine and his stomach lurching. He never sat down and thought of the consequences of what he told you. As long as he said that it was all in your head, he thought you would’ve strayed away from them.
“I’m going outside. Maybe some stupid gnome would actually tell me what’s going on here because nobody here wants to even tell me anything.” The door slammed shut, causing everything on the wall to rattle and almost tip over. “Oh,” Stan drooped his head onto his palms, tears swelling in his eyes. “I really screwed up here.” He whispered to himself, his voice crackly and small.
Ford patted his back and Stan believed for a quick moment that Ford was going to say something so beautifully uplifting that he’d see the brighter sides of things, but he tells him, “When are you not?” and continues to pat his back.
Stan violently shrugged Ford’s hand off, his hand pushing Ford away from him. “Really, poindexter?” He scoffs, walking off into the living room where Mable and Dipper watched the whole scene unfold. “I thought it would offer some comfort!” He defeatedly argues back, a dejected sigh escaping him when his eyes meet Mable’s watery ones and Dipper’s disappointed glare. “Kids, I—“ Mable swiftly turns her head to the side, mumbling something under her breath as she ambles up to her room.
“I’m going to find them.” Stan walks in, slipping on a jacket to shield him from the cold. “I’m coming too.” Ford reaches out to grab the doorknob when Stan’s hand stops him from doing so. “I don’t think they want to see you right now.” Stan gingerly shoved Ford out of the way, leaving him to his thoughts as he shut the door behind him. Cursing to himself, Ford rams his foot on the door angrily.
Venturing far into the lush woods, you grumbled bitterly to yourself. You couldn’t even trust your own family to tell you something so simple. How utterly pathetic is that?
You fought the urge to punch a nearby tree and continued on, getting yourself lost in the natural maze of the forest. You wanted to get as far away as possible just so you can find time for yourself to cool down. After a while, the cold air started to nip at your exposed arms. The hairs on your body stood up as a cold shiver rippled through you. Hugging yourself to provide some warmth you found yourself sitting on the grassy floor, back leaning against the bark of the tree.
The soft chirps and squeaks of the animals brought a sense of calmness over you. These woods have been declared dangerous by Stan and for the longest time you never went out here without Stan hovering behind you or Soos mindlessly meandering through the woods with you. Your hands swayed across the green blades of grass, focusing on the itchy feeling that ran through your palms rather than the bitter cold. The faint whistles of the wind swirled around your ears and out around you. Has this forest always been so peaceful? Leaning your head against the trunk of the tree, you closed your eyes shut. Relishing in the comforting nature the woods provided you.
“Sweetheart?” Your eyes shoot open. “Dad?” Your heart quickens, your head whipping around rapidly. “Sweetie?” Stan’s voice grew closer and closer. The sound of the grass crunching and bending under his steps resounded throughout the quiet woods, his calls becoming more frequent and louder. How did he find you so quickly?
A shadowy figure, one you’ve grown to recognize, stepped out from the shade and presented himself. “[Name].” Stan sweetly calls out, kneeling down beside you. “Dad? What are you doing here?”
Stan smiled, opening his mouth but all that came out was a raspy breath. “Wha–” Your voice hitches in your throat.
Stan’s skin started melting off in a disgusting mess of bubbling flesh. The side of his face became a drooping mess and a crazed cackle left his lips. “You should’ve seen the look on your face, kid!” He points a boney finger at you, melted flesh sludge dripping from the bone. You scramble back, terrified screams ripping out of you.
“W-What is going on?” You push yourself up from the floor with your hand, bile coating the back of your throat at the horrid sight of Stan’s bloodied flesh sploshing to the floor. “I’m just playing tricks on you!” With a snap of his finger, Stan poofed away in thin air. What took his spot was an ominous floating triangle with a top hat. “Well, well, well, look who it is, [Name]! I knew we'd cross paths sooner or later. I gotta admit, I'm thrilled!” His eye crinkled in a joyous smile.
“How…” You blinked dumbly at the floating triangle. “I’m dreaming, right?”
“You sure are, kid!”
A wave of recognition passes through you. This was the god Ford was talking about in one of his journals. Your knowledge of him was not much, but from the tidbits you have read, Ford had admired this god. He went as far as to calling the triangle his muse. What was his name? Wasn’t it– “Bill?” His name spills out of your mouth. “Ah! So you do know about me?” He tilts a little in your direction, his hands clasped together. “Hear anything good?” A glimmer of forlorn hope shimmers in his eye before it’s washed away with an inquisitive look. “I-I think so? My Uncle really liked you from what I had read in his journals.” You squint your eyes in thought.
“Oh, he really liked me.” Bill’s charmed voice had entailed that there was more to the story than what was told but he didn’t give you time to mull over that thought before jumping into the flow of another topic. “But that’s all in the past now, right?” He snaps his fingers, a comfortable looking chair appearing before your eyes. He floated down on the chair, kicking his legs up and crossing them.
“I heard that a little someone has been lied to, isn’t that unfortunate?” The corner of his eye pulled to the side, almost as if it was a sadden frown. “How did you know?” The chair poofs away. “I see everything, kid!” His hands fall to his sides and he slowly leans towards you, his eye pulled wide open. Flashes of images you couldn’t quite comprehend flickered by in a brisk montage. “Everything.” He draws out. “Anyways, I've got a deal for you. You give me, I give you. Sounds fair, doesn't it?”
You raise a brow. “How can I trust you?” You rolled your fingers around the grass, delicately pulling on them.
“Your dear Uncle Ford trusted me!” He shakes his hands enthusiastically.
You pressed your lips into a thin line, still not convinced. “You literally pretended to be my dad and melted him right in front of me.” Bill put his fists to his sides, huffing out like a little child. “Can’t a triangle have a little fun here?” He rolled his eye dramatically. You eyed him, skepticism evident on your face. “I don’t know…” You plucked out a few blades of grass from the dirt. “I feel like if you wanted to gain my trust then you shouldn’t have done that.” You crumpled up the grass into a little green ball and tossed it at Bill. The ball passes through his body.
“Maybe you’ll change your mind once I propose the deal..?” Bill’s eye stretched out and morphed into a mouth with his lips puckered. He whistles out a tune you can’t recognize and innocently kicks the air. “Go on,” You wave your hand out to him. “If you make a deal with me, everything that you’ve been wanting to know will be revealed to you. All you have to do is shake my hand.” He extended out his hand, blue flame engulfing it whole. You blink your eyes in surprise. Was it really that easy? “There’s no catch?”
Bill’s fingers trembled in anticipation. “None whatsoever!”
You could trust him, right? Ford had trusted him! Bill even confirmed it himself. And with what you read, Bill had been giving him infinite knowledge. Feeding him thoughts that no one else had thought of before. He did manage to build that portal and come to think of it, wasn’t it triangular shaped? Was that Bill shaped or were you reaching? You think for a minute more, weighing the pros and the cons. Biting your tongue, you looked at Bill. Bill made a deal with Ford and he’s still alive and well, so how bad could it really be?
You bite the bullet and grasp onto his hand, the flame trailing towards you and consuming your hand whole. A maniacal laugh rips through the air and the world stills. The color drains around you, unpleasantly welcoming you to a monochrome world. “That was just too easy!” Bill wipes a tear from his eye, his firm grip on your hand never wavering. “W-What do you mean?” You tried forcefully pulling your hand away from Bill’s iron grip but it felt like your whole hand was encased in stone. No matter how hard you tried prying yourself away from his hold, his hand still didn’t budge. His eye twists into a pleased smile, his fingers thumping against the edge of your palm gleefully.
“Was I an idiot for trusting you?” Your words came out in a quiet whisper. You can feel the life being sucked out of you as Bill drew his hand back. “Yes! Absolutely!” He said with a cheer, yanking his hand back suddenly, pulling you out of your physical form. Bill wasted no time taking over your body. He rose up with a delighted laugh, his hands running down your body, taking in the new but familiar feeling. “Wow!” He pressed your palms on your lower back, stretching out your back with a few gratifying pops. “It has been so long since I’ve possessed someone!” Cracking your fingers, he turned over to your floating form with an eerie smile. The world bleeds back into its colors and the soft tranquil sounds of the forest flooded your ears. “Funny how we switched places, huh?”
You let out a shaky breath, your mind relentlessly battering you with words. How was this even possible? How could you be so foolish? You couldn’t even comprehend any of this. Bill moving around and using your body was terrifying. That was physically you and right now, he was joyously ramming your fist into the tree. You can see the skin on your knuckles rip and tear, blotchy patches of blood tainting the light bark. A light tingle of pain buzzed on your knuckles but it went away as quickly as it came.
“You’re so easy to injure! How weak are you?” He observes the damage eagerly, making your finger pinch on a frayed piece of skin. He twisted it and pulled it back, lightly chuckling to himself as he watched pearls of blood bead up from the now exposed skin. “Bill, stop!” Out of instinct, your hand went over to swat his arm away. A cold gust of wind flows through you as your hand phases right through yo–Bill. He stopped, plucking off the skin and flicking it aside. “If you keep hurting yours–, I mean, me! They’re going to wonder what happened.”
“Not if I tell them that you got attacked!” He said in a sing-song voice, his eyes keenly looking around for anything else that’ll harm your body. “[Name]!” Stan’s voice rung in the air, pulling you and Bill from your thoughts. A sinister smile tug at Bill’s lips as an idea fills his head. Your stomach flips inside out. Discreet grunts and groans seized your attention and you whipped your head over to Bill climbing up a tree. “What are you doing!” Your hands fly to your hair, gripping it tightly.
“Breaking the bones inside this meaty vessel, duh.” He hoists himself up on a thick branch. “Would a fall from this height kill you?” Bill ponders out loud, shakily standing up. “Are you seriously going to do this!” Your eyes darted from Bill sticking out your foot from under you to the direction where Stan’s voice could be heard. Bill lets your question float up in the air and with a child-like shout, he jumps off the branch, keeping your legs straight. You look away, unable to witness Bill carelessly treat your body like a toy.
A stomach turning snap sounded in the air. “[Name]!” Stan’s distressed voice alerted you.
You whip your head around to see Stan cradling your body. Bile crawls up your throat upon seeing your twisted leg limply hang on the other side. “Sweetheart? What happened?” Stan’s words rushed out in a flurried frenzy. You slapped a palm to your mouth, anxiously awaiting for Bill to slip up and sell out his identity to Stan. “I don’t know…” You hear your very own voice leave your mouth. Bill’s agitating voice was nowhere to be heard. Vomit fills your mouth and you fight every muscle in your body to not spew it out. “I was just laying on the tree, not doing anything when something attacked me. I…” Bill allows a few tears to cascade down your face before continuing. “I thought I was going to die, Dad. I was so scared!” He dramatically sobs onto Stan’s sweater, purposefully grazing your shredded bleeding knuckle on his jacket.
A gasp swelled in Stan’s chest. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I-I…” He harshly shuts his mouth closed, his pupils shrinking upon seeing your bloody knuckle. He was at fault for this, if he had never lied to you, if he would have just told you the truth from the start, you wouldn’t be so injured. Silently he carefully picked you up from the floor. To sprinkle a little more dramatics on the show Bill had out for you, he hissed out in faux pain, shooting your hand to your bent leg. Stan cringed, his eyes avoiding the general direction of your broken leg. “I’m sorry, baby.” He weakly muttered, his eyebrows pinched firmly in worry.
Stan trekked through the thick foliage with your body curled in his arms. He dodged under branches that stuck out and sidestepped the stones that protruded from the ground. The entire walk was in silence, aside from the periodic sniffles coming from Stan and quiet hiccups. All you wanted to do at that moment was wrap him in a hug and tell him everything was going to be okay, but you weren’t even so sure of that yourself.
When Stan approaches the front door of the shack, a wave of conflicted emotion flickers through Bill’s eyes before he closes his eyes abruptly and goes slack in Stan’s arms.
Stan chokes out a garbled yell for Ford. He heaves your body over his shoulder, twisting open the door with a slam and barging into the shack. “Stanley?!” Ford frantically ran over to Stan, his hands gesturing wildly at the sight before his eyes. “Th-They passed out in my arms! I don’t know what to do, Stanford!”
You grapple at your face, desperate to make sense of what’s happening. You watch with a heavy heart when Mable and Dipper scramble to Stan’s side, troubled voices speaking over one another trying to understand what happened to you and to ask if you were dead. Their frantic cries and yells chaotically fill the silence in the shack. Ford yelled over their voices, instructing Stan to quickly settle you down on the couch so he could conduct a proper examination on your wounded body. All Stan could do is go along with his commands, mind hazy with borderline delirium as he stumbles towards the living room.
“Dad,” you whisper, your fingertips grazing through him. You hold back the sob that scratched at your throat. This can’t be happening right now.
Cracking an eye open to your direction, you can feel Bill’s sleazy smile draw on your face. Your stomach shrivels up in disgust at the sight. His yellow eyes gleamed under the dimly lit shack as he stared at you. Mable’s rushed steps drew Bill to close your eyes. “Grunkle Stan! Please tell me they’re okay!” Mable has the collar of her sweater pulled up to her mouth, her never ending stream of tears staining the sweater. “Mable. Give him some space.” Dipper murmured, holding Mable back as he tensely watched Stan lay you down.
Ford eventually came in with a first aid kit. His appearance looked a little more disheveled than before. His hair was strewn about and ruffled, glasses crookedly sat atop of his nose and one of his sleeves was rolled up and cuffed while the other one was untouched. He sucked in a harsh breath upon seeing your split knuckles, dried blood crusted around the wounds and raw skin. The gashes reminded him of his own busted up knuckles when he was possessed by Bill. Alarm signs flared in his face but he batted them away, chalking it up to your injuries being caused by whatever animal had attacked you in the woods when you were alone. He treated the lacerations with antibodies and meticulously wrapped your hand in medical gauze. Gently placing your hand beside you, he looked over to your broken leg, holding a bated breath. Broken bones weren’t his favorite injury to heal since it takes extensive time off from anything physical and you having a broken leg at a time like this wasn’t ideal. He just needed to find ways to heal your leg quickly.
“I need you all to leave the living room.” Ford clapped his hands together, dragging a hand down his fingers. “W-What, why?!” This was the first time Stan spoke in a while and it surprised Ford. Clearing his throat, he answered: “Because I can’t focus with your eyes hovering all over me. I-I need to think and if I’m going to treat their leg, I need you all to leave.” Against everyone’s wishes, Ford ushered them out, leaving him alone to fully think about possible treatments he could have you undergo to heal your leg.
You didn’t have a good feeling about leaving Bill alone with Ford. They had history with each other and having a past with someone like Bill doesn’t seem like a good thing.
“Fordsy…”
Ford’s body physically recoiled inwards at the familiar nickname. His head darted around the room, helplessly searching for the owner of the voice. He can’t be here can he? That voice just sounded so eerily similar to yours, but why would you call him Fordsy? Blood pumps in his ear drums, obstructing his hearing.
“Sixeerrr.” His fingers curl around his arms. The light glow of horrifying unforgettable eyes glimmer in the corner of his eyes. He turns over to see you sat up on the couch, a smile stretched from ear to ear as Bill’s eyes shone into his. Ford’s blood ran cold, his mind swirling like a whirlwind. “Bill?” His heart pounds behind his rib cage.
“The one and only, Sixer.” Hearing Bill’s voice crackle through your own instilled despair all over Ford’s body. Taking a wary step back, his shaky eyes watched as Bill threw your legs down the couch, your left eye flinching closed as pain shivered through Bill. He severely underestimated how much pain your leg would cause him. To fight against it, he slammed your leg on the floor. Pain jostled through him, a shuddering sigh blowing past your lips. The aching pain overtook your leg for a moment before it relented into a numbing buzzing feeling. “Much better!” He stands up, smiling broadly.
Ford sucked in a stuttering breath, his eyes fleeting over to the hallway. “What do you want, Bill?”
“I don’t know…” He rolled your head in thought. “Maybe the rift to the portal? It’s a crazy thing to ask, I know!” He laughs to himself.
You wanted to bash your head on the wall. This was the reason why he made a deal with you. It was because of a stupid rift. You’ve only heard bits and pieces of the importance of the rift, but you knew it was serious business with how you heard Ford talk about it in passing. You need to find a way to stop Bill.
Ford sneered. “Try all you want, Bill. But you’re not getting the portal.” Bill rolled your shoulders, earning a few noisy crackles of your bones. Ford tenses up, readying himself for the fight that’s about to pursue when Bill charges towards him, side stepping him at the last second and darting out of the living room. “Haha! I got you!” He teases, hissing out in pain when he applied too much pressure on your busted leg. “Stanley!” Ford yelled out, stumbling over his own feet as he ran after Bill. Hurried footsteps stomp down on the stairs, panicked talking and breaths littered the air. “[Name] is possessed by Bill!” A chorus of “WHAT?” echoes in the house.
He skids to a stop in front of the open vending machine. Ford tugged on his hair, mumbling to himself in shock. How does he know the password? Wasting no time to dwell on that, he pads down the stairs. His stomach lurches forward when he notices Bill step inside the elevator, a snarky smile on your face as he turns around and waves at Ford. “Bill!” He launches himself forward, missing a few steps of the stairs and landing on the ground near the elevator. He trips over to the closing elevator, his fist slamming on the door as it shuts.
“Ford, what is going on?” Stan pants out. Ford rapidly presses the elevator button, anxiously watching as the elevator dinged on down to the bottom. An idea passes through your head. Mumbling a self-motivating sentence Mable had showed you, you dived straight through the floor, phasing through the other two rooms and landing in the lab room. As stupid as it sounds, you’re going to repossess your body back.
“Bill, he–he has [Name]!” Ford delivers a punch to the buttons, knocking the plate off its screws. Stan’s face contorts into a mixture of anger and concern. “He has what!? How the fuck does Bill have [Name], Ford!” Ford rested his forehead on the wall. “Now’s not the time to freak out, Stanley!”
Stan clenched his fists, grinding his teeth together. “It’s the perfect time to freak out, Stanford! Bill has my kid!”
“Bill has [Name]?” Mable’s shrill reverberated through the empty staircase. “Kids, you can’t be here!” Ford warns, shooting out his hand to stop Mable and Dipper from getting any closer. “We want to help, Grunkle Ford.” Dipper sternly said. “That’s a funny joke, kid.” Stan chuffs out dryly, his attention snapping towards the elevator that was now rising up the shaft, dinging with each stop. “It’s not a joke!” Dipper dipped under Ford’s arm and stood in front of the elevator, Mable following in suit. “Stanley, do something!” Ford gestures to Mable and Dipper who are unmoving from their spot. Stan scoffs, dismissing him with a flick of his wrist. “They’re already here, Stanford. There’s no point in stoppin’ them now.”
With a loud chime, the elevator pulls back its doors. The twins were the first to step inside, whispering to themselves as Ford and Stan walked in. Mable rushes over to the panel containing three buttons and using her tippy toes, she slams the last button with the palm of her hand. The elevator registers the destination with a slight rumble and shuts the door closed, leading them down to Ford’s lab.
Ford could see Stan’s harsh breathing and clenched fists out the corner of his eye. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, he steels both him and Ford with: “We’re going to save them, Stanley.” Stan breathes out, teetering his head back with his eyes shut. “I hope you’re right about that.”
The elevator quivers to a stop, the doors creakily pulling open. The four of them step out of the elevator and into the lab. “I was expecting it to be destroyed down here.” Dipper comments.
Through the protective window, Ford could see Bill fighting with himself, your body laying limp for a few seconds before revving back up to life. He watches the cycle repeat for a few more times before shaking his head. “He’s outside.” He advises everyone.
In a blink of an eye, Stan was already out into where Bill was, blowing countless angry questions at his face, his eyes shifting everywhere but at you. “Woah, woah, woah!” Bill took a cautious step back as he watched everyone circle around him, caught off guard with the sudden intrusion. “Don’t get your underwear in a twist, haha, am I right?”
Pure and utter silence.
Bill’s smile falters. “Okay, touch crowd!”
“Cut the crap, Bill. Give me back my kid!” Stan grunts out. “I can let them talk to you! After all, they’re up here.” He taps the side of your head. “Stop messing around!” Ford takes a step toward Bill. “Don’t come any closer!” Your own voice filters through Bill’s interdimensional voice. Ford hesitates in his steps, sharing a cautionary glance with Stan. Shuffling your hand behind you, he pulls out the shimmering rift. “I will break this!” He threatens, flipping it upside down.
Ford narrows his eyes at Bill. “You would’ve done so by now. What’s stopping you?” He motions Dipper and Mable to sneak past Bill and hide behind him, just in case he decides to do anything that’ll compromise the rift and you. “Nothing!” Bill strains out, trying to wiggle the rift out of your grasp. Ford takes notice of your white knuckles and connects two and two together. You’re somehow fighting against Bill for your body. “Fascinating…”
“Aghh! Why can’t this stupid kid let go!” Bill grumbles, using your other hand to scrape at your clenched hand. He scratched and clawed until the skin on your hand was red and raw. “Is [Name] currently fighting against you?” Ford inquires, a delighted smile on his face. “W-What? No!” Bill plucks your pinky finger off the rift. “See! I’m in total–” Your body jerks forward, and for a slight second, your eyes glinted back, only for you to be propelled backwards. With a shake of your head, your eyes blink and Bill’s eyes are back on you. “[Name] is a fighter, that’s for sure!” He awkwardly laughs out, still regaining control over your body with how he waverly stumbled side to side.
Taking advantage of his vulnerability, Ford sent a quiet signal to Mable and Dipper. The twins tackle Bill from behind. A startle yelp leaves his mouth as he falls forward. “Stanley the–” Stan was already swooping in and snatching the rift out of your hands in one swift motion. Bill's face planted on the floor. “This stupid weak body!” Bill whines out, having your hands buckled tightly to your back by Dipper and Mabel. “Get something to tie their arms together with!” Stan said, jogging back into the lab, discreetly hiding the rift away from Bil’’s prodding eyes.
“I was so close!” Bill pressed your face into the dirt. The sharp tiny stones cut into your cheek and all Bill could do is focus on the itching pain rather than the humiliating feeling of being pinned down by two twelve year olds. Ford grabs the rope and securely binds your wrists together. The twins finally shuffle away from your body, watching Bill struggle under the restraints. “I’m going to be traumatized by the end of this.” She lets out a dejected sigh. “I feel like nothing can phase me after this.” Dipper adds.
“How are we going to get them back into their body?” Stan questioned Ford who was double checking the bindings on your wrist, making sure they weren’t too tight to burn your skin off but tight enough to keep Bill detained “I think I have an idea on how…” He breathes out, looking over to Stan, face full of unease. “But it might not work if everyone isn’t present.”
Stan found himself staring dumbly at the diagram that Ford had etched into the dirt with a stick. “What is this?” Ford finished the final symbol within the diagram, discarding the stick behind him. “A zodiac diagram.” He says, dusting off his hands. “And what does this have to do with saving [Name]?”
Ford spares a quick glance over to you. Mable and Dipper sat on each of your sides, keeping a careful eye on you as you alternated with yourself and Bill. Dipper’s face contorted into a painful expression whenever you’d jerk your head upwards, a random assortment of words spilling out of you before your head flies back down. That agonizing process continues for what feels like an eternity and he could clearly see the toll it’s taken on your body. Stan couldn't make himself watch you suffer, biting his lip so hard blood builds up on his lip.
“Yes.” Ford curtly nods his head. “I had always hypothesized what this would be used for but It never occurred to me until now that it could be used like this.”
Stan doesn’t like the slight sound of uncertainty in Ford’s tone. How could Ford be so sure that it works? “So, you’re telling me that you have never done this before?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” He shrugs, pushing up his glasses that were sliding down his nose. “Don’t worry about whether it works or not. We don’t have time to think about what if’s.” Curiously eyeing the symbols on the floor, he pondered in his head. Who could possibly stand on what zodiac?
Mable had walked right next to Stan, she looked like she had something to say when her eyes fell on the diagram, her eyes shining. “That one reminds me of Wendy.” She points at the zodiac that was an ice bag. An idea dawned upon Ford. “Does it now?” He kneels down to Mable’s height. “Mable, dear. Can you look at these zodiac signs and tell me who they remind you of?”
Mable was quick to point out and tell Ford each symbol that reminded her of a person. Jotting down all the names in his head, he began calling each and every one of them, stringing Mable along to help him convince them to come over to the Mystery Shack. One by one, they all started pooling in. Questions sprouted from one mouth to another and every single time, their questions received answers when their eyes landed on your struggling form.
“Okay, everyone stand in your respective spots and hold hands!” Ford’s voice was quiet in the distance. Stan had found himself kneeling in front of you, his expression unreadable but his eyes carried a deep sorrowful guilt to them. “Feeling guilty, Stanley?” Bill drawled out, pulling your heavy head up, only for it to be knocked down to the side. Your body was growing weak and Bill was tirelessly fighting against it. Unbeknownst to Stan, you were right next to him. Your unrelenting attempts to gain your body back had caused an aggressive strain on your body. You couldn’t stay in it without feeling utterly exhausted, allowing Bill to abuse your weak spot and take over your body. But that weak spot had also applied to him as well. You were trying to regain your breath before you’d try again.
“Can it, Bill.” He scoops you up from the floor, walking towards the diagram.
“You don’t have to do this!” Bill aggressively barked out, throwing himself around in Stan’s hold. “I do have to do this. You’re in my kid's body.” He grunted, throwing your body over his shoulder. “They made a deal with me! I won this body fair and square.” Bill argued, hammering your head down on Stan’s back. “Look, I just found out about you not too long ago. But for someone who was supposedly this all powerful demon, you pathetically really weak.”
He approaches the diagram, setting your body down in the middle. “That’s because I haven’t revealed my true potential yet!” He struck the back of your head hard on the floor, causing your vision to go bleak for a moment. “Do you really need to do all of that?” You grumble, rubbing the back of your tender head. “I do what I please.” He mumbles to himself, rolling over on your stomach.
Standing in his spot, Stan locked hands with Ford and Soos. “It’s most likely going to feel weird! Stick it through and don’t, I repeat, don’t let go!” A blinding blue light shoots up from the middle and travels through the lines of the diagram, illuminating the place in a bright blue light.
“No!’ Bill writhed around. He could feel himself slipping away. Your forehead makes direct contact with a rock. He smiles at it, knocking your head against it again. “Oh, Billy! You are just full of ideas today.” He whispered, shuffling over to the stone to the point where he was hovering over it. He laid your head down, feeling the cold stone press against the middle of your forehead. Breathing in through clenched teeth, he raised your head up high. He nailed your head down on the rock, splitting through skin. You could feel the ghost touch of blood trickle down your forehead.
He laughed crazily as he continued to bash your head onto the rock. With each blow, the rock was painted with more and more blood. He was going to kill you at this rate. Bill lowered his head back down on the rock and you shut your eyes closed. You weren’t going to see Bill crack your head open. But the blistering pain never registered, peeking your eyes open you saw Stan had caught your head in his hand.
Ford yelled out Stan’s name but Stan ignored it. His chest rapidly heaved in and out as he fell to his knees, resting your dazed head on his lap. You had noticed that Bill was slipping out of your physical form. Darting over to him, you grabbed his hand and ripped him out. Before you could hear Bill’s flurry of cries, you dove right in, repossessing your body once again and hopefully for the last time.
Grumbled groans escaped you as you regained all your senses. You jolted up in striking pain. Everything hurt, even more than the last you took over. Your stomach rumbled, a flood of whatever liquid shot up into your mouth. You leaned to the side, expelling the fluid. Peeling open your weary eyes, you felt yourself grow nauseous at the pool of blood in front of you. “[Name]!” Stan grabbed your face, directing it toward him. He looked at your eyes and a look of relief settled on his face. “Dad?” You groggily said, your whole world spinning. “Are you okay? Is that demon gone? Where is he?” The massive load of questions made you want to vomit all over again.
I’m still here! Bill’s grating voice grinding against your brain. You crumble under Stan’s hold, your head thumping in pain “No. He’s still in my head.” You felt another rush of blood clamor up into your mouth. You meekly shove Stan’s hands away from your face, hurling another dump of blood. Cautious voices sounded all around you, your vision distorting in a blurry mess. “Dad?” You forcefully focused your eyes on Stan’s face. “I think there’s something wrong with me.” Talking was enough to strip you away from all the energy you had left and you weren’t sure you had enough time to say anything else before Bill took over again.
“I know, baby. I know. We’re goin’ to get help, stay with me. Please.” Stan said something to Ford you couldn’t quite catch.
You felt his arms wrap around you and lay you down back on his lap. I’m going to kill you. You scratched at your aching head. “His voice hurts. Hearing it hurts so much.” You murmured, feeling a hand run down your arm up and down soothingly. “Stay strong for me, sweetheart.” A light kiss was pressed on your forehead.
You cried out, feeling yourself being pulled away.
“Stanley! Come back now!” You could make out Ford’s scream at Stan. The world was fading before you and you couldn’t help but break down as you heard Bill cackle in your head. Stan saw your eyes flicker to yellow and he delicately placed you down on the floor, running back to his spot. Bill seamlessly takes over, blinking himself awake as he’s shuffling your body up to your knees.
“This is all your fault, Stanley Pines. [Name]’s death will be on your hands!” He bellows, purposely allowing your voice to break through. The strenuous action causes him to tremble forward, blood splattering on the grass. Bill started yelling nonsensical blabbers, anything that would make Stan budge from his spot, to stop the whole process but he stayed put, directly staring Bill down. Bill fell to the side, coughing up bile and a random assortment of fluids.
In a flash of blue, you feel yourself fully grounded back into your body. A feeling you feel like you haven’t felt in forever.
A grinding yell echoed in your head. You are so disgustingly weak! Bill screamed in your head. Another splitting headache bore into your head but all you could do is lay there and take it in, feeling so worn-out and droopy that you weren’t able to physically react. I didn’t do much and you’re dying! I did all of this for nothing, for nothing! And it is all your fault! I should’ve broken every single bone in your body and twisted your neck. At least I would’ve gained something from that! You are so useless!
He was wreaking havoc in your mind. The blinding pain subsided to a lingering pain, black dots swarming your vision. He seems to be doing last minute damage before he’s left with no other choice but to leave your body. With a rugged distorted babble from Bill, your whole world went dark.
The waiting room was cold, so numbingly cold. Stan casted his gaze down to his hands. Your blood had stained them. He couldn’t tell if it was the blood from your forehead, or the blood you vomited out. But your own blood had been smeared all over him and it made him sick to his stomach. He couldn’t erase the image of your cold limp body laying on the grass, face covered in streaks of blood. This was all his fault. If he had just told you how things were from the start, this wouldn’t have happened. You would’ve been next to him, chattering his ear off about something irrelevant while asking him multiple times if he was listening to you. Despite his thoughts, your soothing presence wasn’t there to console his mourning heart.
Your doctor had came in earlier to share the state that your body was in. Everyone listened intently to her words as she described the damage that Bill had caused to your body. She said doctors were so mortified with your condition, labeling it as one they have never seen before with how many injuries you sustained on the outside and inside. Stan and Ford had to dodge some questions that had the doctor fired at them, excusing your evenstive wounds with a slip off a mountain, silly teenage activities that almost cost you your own life. She didn’t buy it.
The doctor's slight graphic description of your injuries only cemented the guilt deeper into Stan. He was a bad father wasn’t it? The only thing he prided himself in for doing right was so easily taken away from him in a blink of an eye. He really was a screw up. Ford and his Dad were right.
“Stanley.” Ford’s hand on his shoulder withdrew him from his thoughts. “We need to go home. It’s late.” He looks briefly to the seat next to him. The twins had sat on the same seat, their muddled expressions were no longer on their face, instead they were sleeping peacefully, heads leaning against each other. “The twins are asleep.” He tells him. Stan’s gaze glued on his tainted hands. “I’m staying here.” He weakly said. “You need sleep, Stanley.”
“I can sleep here, Ford.” He snapped, expression tight. “They are going to kick you out.”
Stan shrugged, clasping his hands together. “Then they’d hafta kick me out then.”
“I’m not leaving you here.”
Stan leaned his head back against the wall, huffing out. “I’m not in any mood to fight with you here.” Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his burning eyes. “I’m staying here and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.” He placed his glasses on his lap and crossed his arms, closing his eyes as he shifted around to get comfortable enough to sleep. “Always been so stubborn.” Ford shook his head, getting up from the seat with a light groan. “I’m leaving.” He picks up the slumbering twins, being extra careful to not jostle them around and wake them. Stan grumbled in response, hearing Ford’s footsteps fade away in the distance.
Stan doesn’t know how long it’s been, all he knows is that he had fallen asleep with the way his neck was sore. “Sir?” A voice broke through his drowsiness. “Sir?” They call out again. “Hm, wha?” Stan peeled open his eyes, the glaring hospital lights momentarily blinded him. Covering his eyes with his palm, he squinted at the lady in front of him. “What’s goin’ on?”
“We’re closing up for the night, sir. I need you to leave.” She calmly said, offering a soft smile to Stan. “But my kid, they’re in here. I need to be here if anything happens.” He scrambles to put his glasses on. “I assure you sir, whoever your kid is, will be fine. We will keep a lookout if anything happens.”
“How are you guys goin’ to keep a lookout when you’re all home sleeping away like there isn’t people dying in here!” Stan argued. “Now's not the time, sir. I need you to leave or you’d be personally escorted out by the guards.” Stan sighed, standing up from his chair. “You don’t have to do all that.” He mutters, cracking his back before walking out. Walking out into the summer night, he pulled out his phone to check the time.
11 P.M. it read. It looked like the doctors allowed him to stay overtime. Usually they’d kick people out of the waiting rooms by around 9 P.M.
His eyes freeze at the baby picture of you on his lockscreen. The photo was taken on your fourth birthday. Stan had gone all out, as he always did, and got you a little birthday hat, little cupcake with a candle that had your age on it, and a mess of confetti and other birthday assortments. You had such a large smile on your face as you were mid bite into your cupcake. He remembered the day so vividly as if it happened yesterday. He clenched his phone tightly, tears flooding his vision. Why did it have to be you? Running his arm roughly over his eyes, he sniffed. He shoved his phone back into his pockets and started walking back to the shack.
Ford found himself being startled awake by a knock on the door. Sluggishly getting up from the couch, he walked over to the gift shop entrance. He opened the door to be pleasantly surprised to see Stan. He stepped aside, letting Stan walk in. “Kicked you out?”
“Yup.” Stan accentuating the ‘p’.
“Told you.”
A quick moment of silence takes over before Stan breaks it. “Is this all my fault?”
“You were just trying to protect them.” Ford walks over to Stan, shoving his hands under his armpits. “Look where that got ‘em.” Stan cracked his thumb, whispering something to himself before timidly looking at Ford. “Do ya think you can stay with me tonight?” He sheepishly scratches his cheek. “I don’t think I can trust myself bein’ alone or whatever.”
Ford earnestly smiled at him. “I don’t mind.” Stan nods. “You sleep on the floor though.”
Stan’s phone loudly rattled on his nightstand, his ringtone noisily blaring its song. “Turn it off!” Ford cried out, folding his pillow over his head. Stan arose from his abundance of blankets and grabbed his phone, dragging it off the nightstand. He squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the blurry text. Stan reached out for his glasses, shoving them on his face and directing his eyes back on the screen. The word hospital flashed on his face.
“It’s the hospital!” He swiped his finger, answering the call. He put his phone to his ear and anxiously waited. “Stanley Pines?” A snotty voice spoke from the phone. “Yes!” He clears his throat. “Yes, yes. That’s me. Why’re you callin’?”
“[Name] has woken up and…” Stan had blocked everything else she said and shut up from the bed. “They’re awake!” He announced, shedding off his blankets and launching off his bed, accidentally stepping on Ford in the process. The whole morning was spent dashing around the house, vigorously getting dressed and making sure everyone was ready to head over to the hospital. After Ford’s triple check, they all clamored inside in the car and drove to the hospital.
Stan burst into your room, his eyes locking with your bandaged form. “Dad!” You weakly called out, a shaky smile on your face. “Pumpkin!” He sighed out, relieved at seeing your beautiful smile. He wraps you in his arms, burying his face into your hair as he sobs. “I thought..I thought–!” He blubbers out. More welcoming arms wrap around you, wailing wracking through the air. “[Name]!!” Mable dragged out. “Don’t scare us like that ever again.” Dipper sniffed, scrubbing his eyes clear of tears. “Welcome back, kid.” Ford plants a kiss on the top of your head.
“I’m here guys, you don’t have to worry so much.” You laugh, Stan wiping your tears with his thumb. “How can we not? We almost lost you, pumpkin.” After a tearful reunion, everyone stepped back, allowing you to breathe. They only gave you a few more minutes to yourself before they bombarded you with apologies. Mable and Dipper were stuck to your side, each of them giving you their own version of puppy eyes. Mable was more into it than Dipper, but you still accepted their apologies with a big hug.
“I’m sorry too, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I should have been honest from the get go.” You took Stan’s hand, patting it like you would a dog. “It’s okay, Dad. I forgave you long ago. I should have followed what Ford said and calmed down.” You slightly glare at Ford. “Though, I didn’t like how he said it to me at the same time, so maybe I am justified in my anger?”
“Ford doesn’t know how to talk. What’s new?” Stan knocked his shoulder with Ford who rolled his eyes. “Yeah. I’m the butt of the joke. As always.”
“If it isn’t you! Then it would be Dipper,” Mable pokes at him. “But me and Grunkle Stan told all the jokes possible so it isn’t as funny as making fun of you, Grunkle Ford! You’re so nerdy and losery, more than Dipper. And that isn’t a good thing.”
A crackly laugh leaves Stan. “Thanks for explaining, dear.” Ford said with a strain, his smile wavering. “Someone one upped you, Dipper.” You chuckle. “I don’t know if I should revel in it or feel sad for Ford.” Dipper tapped his finger on his chin. “Don’t overthink it, dude.” You flick his forehead.
“And Grunkle Ford, where is your apology?” Mable raised her chin up high, doing her best attempt of a haughty queen looking down at her jester. Ford scoffs, “I’m so sorry, your humble majesty.” Dipping his head low to mimic a bow.
“Oh?” You and Mable share a bewildered expression. “I wasn’t expecting him to actually do it.” You look over to Dipper who had an uncomfortable expression on his face. “I don’t like what’s going on here.”
“Wait, are you going to have a cool scar on your forehead now?” Mable questions, pointing at your bandaged forehead. Bumbling conversation fills the air, laughter occasionally humming here and there. In the end, they all had to leave for your routine check up by the doctors. Stan was the last one to bid goodbye to you. Kissing your forehead, he held onto your hand, his eyes glistening with tears.
“I love you so much, kiddo. If I had lost you back there, I dunno what would have happened to me.” He caresses his thumb against your hand. “Don’t say stuff like that, Dad. I’m here, that’s what counts.”
You share a long hug together, with a few tears being shed.
“I know, I know.” Giving you one last kiss and embrace, he waves you goodbye.
hi!!! I fell in love with your content and I wanted to make a little request, since it was on my mind for a while...
It's kinda cringe but I saw your hc's/fic about Stan's and Ford's reaction to their daughter having a partner, but what would they say about the break-up??? how would they react?? 💔💔
I'm Glad There Is You
Stan + Ford HC's of you getting broken up with!
ʚ♡ɞ 4,2k words
ʚ♡ɞ we're so back
ʚ♡ɞ i've been cooking this up for the past few days mwehehe
ʚ♡ɞ i won't be publishing fics as frequently! but its better cuz i wont be pushing out poopy fics. i can actually take my time with them and make em better :3
ʚ♡ɞ that's all enjoy! request are still open too :p
🎱 Stan
𝄞 Stan hadn’t suspected a thing when he saw you rush into your room after being out all day. You occasionally do that when you were exhausted and had no more battery left in you to uphold another conversation. But, when he saw you all disheveled in appearance. Not bothering to glance at him, let alone tell him about your day, he knew something was up. Springing your wellbeing in the conversation was tricky. He knows that if he straight up asked if you’re okay, you’d burst out into tears and cry out incoherent words that sounded like mushed up sobs into his ear. So how could he ease you into talking about yourself without having you break down? For the remainder of the day, he was tackling himself with ways he could ask about how you’re doing, stemming from slapping a sticky note on your forehead to passing a note under your door. But none of them seemed effective. His brain was splitting into two. He couldn’t decide and the day was coming to a close. The orange overhang of the sun shone into the shack and Stan was contemplating on asking your partner why you were sad because if he didn’t know what was going on, your partner had an idea or the full picture. He decided against it though. Maybe this was something you’d rather keep to yourself?
𝄞 The stress was so bad he had to go outside for a quick smoke. Seeing you in an emotional state of disarray sends him into one as well. He plucked a cigarette from his pack and pinched it in between his lips. Craning his head up a bit to light up the cigarette, he shielded the orange flame sparkling to life from the wind with his cupped hand. He blew a stream of smoke into the evening air, his electrifying nerves nulling into a soft calming buzz. He knew smoking was bad for him, but he couldn’t stray away from it in times like these. The door to the front porch painfully creaked open. Looking over his shoulder, he softly smiled upon seeing you. “Pumpkin,” He pats the side right next to him. You take the seat and inhale the crisp air—well, from what you can get with all the cigarette smoke littering the air. “Second hand smoking is way worse than first hand.” You mention, delicate amusement trailing in your words as you take a seat beside him.
𝄞 “You’re the one who walked out here knowing I was smoking.” He replied with a flick of his hand. Another trail of smoke escapes his mouth as he exhales, his body visibly relaxing into the familiar routine. “I should get a cigarette too.” You stretched out your arms, cracking a small smile. “Heh,” Stan flicked the cigarette, small shreds of ashes trickling down from the burning end of the stick. “You think you’re funny.” You nod intensely. “I think I’m very funny.” You look off into the horizon, eyes carrying such a thick somber look to them Stan had to finally ask the question he had been beating around the bush for who knows how long. “You okay, kiddo?”
𝄞 Your eyes glisten over with tears, bottom lip trembling as you hold back the words you’ve been dreading to say to your dad the minute news broke out to you. “Oh, [Name].” Stan burnt out his cigarette, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you closer to him. The pure affection coming from Stan made you pour out more tears, trembling sobs wracking your body as you mournfully cried onto his shoulder. “Let it out, sweetpea.” His hand comfortingly patted your back. This wasn’t how he wanted this to go, but maybe you needed a quick cry to comfortably tell him what happened. His stomach churned as the suspicion of the reason why you were crying into his shoulder rose. He had a feeling on why you were acting like that, but he had hoped he was wrong.
𝄞 He wasn’t wrong. He was right, unfortunately for him. After recollecting yourself to the best of your ability, Stan had discovered that your partner had broken up with you earlier today for reasons that they had not specified. Frustration bubbled up inside Stan and it took every bone in his body to not slam his fists on your ex’s door, gun in hand to shoot them down for breaking your heart. Instead, he opted to swallow down his anger and tend to you. You needed him to be right by your side and he wasn’t going to suddenly up and leave to shoot down a person. He’d wind up in jail and then you would have to deal with the loss of your partner and your dad. The thought sent chills down his spine. You peeled yourself off his shoulder, leaving a slobbering teary eyed stain on suit. “I’m sorry.” You mutter, eyes red and burning from the force of squeezing them closed. “It’s okay, sweetpea. You don’t need to apologize for things like this, you know that right?” His thumb swipes a stray tear off your cheek. “I know,” You hiccup. Stan seeing you like this infront of him shredded his heart into tiny little pieces. Who could hurt you like this? How could someone protect his child’s heart and break it the next day? Your partner even promised that they’d never pull a stunt like this, and yet here you are, bleary eyed and sniffily.
𝄞 Your face pinched with a forever sorrowful look and for a second he thinks that he’s never going to have you back, he’s never going to see your smile ever again and that alone terrifies him. There has to be something that can cheer you up, right? You’re not forever stuck in this pool of sadness? This is something someone can get over right? All prior knowledge to his personal relationship flies off his head and out the window. He removes himself from his thoughts and grounds him in the moment. What is something that’ll cheer you up? An idea sprouted in his mind. “Want to watch a movie with your old man?” He doesn’t know how you’d respond to his offer and it slightly scares him. He’s never been able to fully predict your every move, but he has made some sense of them later on, but he’s never seen you in this state before and he doesn’t know what to expect. “I’d like that.” You meekly nod your head and Stan has to contain himself from lurching up into the air and cheering out in happiness. Rather, he clears his throat and broadly smiles at you. “I’m gonna take a real quick shower. Pick out a movie you wanna watch and I’ll be back in no time.”
𝄞 The rest of the night was spent snuggled up in the sofa, a blanket of yours of when you were a kid was draped over you and Stan. It barely gave you any coverage but you claimed that it did when Stan would mention it. Stan didn’t want to disagree with you and besides, the blanket reminded him of when you were a little kid, carefree and giddy with little to no knowledge of idiotic people who’d carelessly shatter your heart and leave you without any consolation. The movie that was playing was and still is an all time favorite of yours. You and Stan had memorized the lines that have been forever sewn into your brain from how many times you forced Stan to watch it when you were little. Guess some things don’t change. The days following are full of extensive care and love, enough that would be overbearing to anyone that wasn’t you–at least sometimes.
𝄞 Fishing outings were a must. Stan would rapidly knock on your door, standing on the other side decked head to toe in his fishing outfit. Your fishing hat in hand. You couldn’t say no to him when he’s looking at you with such a sad look in his eyes and dressed up, putting on your worn fishing hat that has seen better days. Stan proudly smiled at you, wiping off a tear from the corner of his eye. “Why are you crying, Dad?” You chuffed nervously. “My eyes are sweating!” He covered his eyes with his forearm, violently sobbing as he walked away to get the fishing gear. In his defense, he hasn’t gone fishing with you in a good long while and seeing you wearing your fishing outfit really triggered the water works in his eye. The past week has been an emotional wreck for you and him, who could blame him? You had forgotten how much fun fishing was. A laugh rattles through your throat as you reel back your fishing rod. This must be your third attempt in catching a fish, and Stan’s enthusiastic commentary struck a funny cord within you. With a few more tugs and reeling back, you caught the fish. “Awesome catch!” He patted your back with so much force, you jolted forward, making the boat lean to the side, causing you to lose your footing and drop the fish in the water. When you were about to revel in your loss, you heard a large splash and large droplets of water sprinkling over you. You turned your attention over to where the splash was heard and to your luck, Stan bobbed his head out of the water, gasping dramatically as his arms flailed around. “Dad!” You laugh.
𝄞 “The water isn’t even that deep.” Talking was a task to do with how hard you were laughing. “Oh.” He stopped thrashing around and allowed him to sink to the bottom of the lake floor. And to his surprise, the water barely even passed his upper chest. That realization made you hunch over in laughter. “Oh, stop laughing!” He grabbed onto the edge of the boat and tried pulling himself up, but the sudden shift in weight made the boat tip over, sending you and all the other belongings in the boat into the freezing water. “[Name]!” He looked to where you were under the water, ready to dive in and grab you from below when you sprung out of the water. You stared at him, cheeks puffed as you struggled to hold back your laughter. “Oh, whatever.” His initial panic was washed off with playful annoyance. “Go ahead, laugh at your old man.” He rolls his eyes upon hearing your boisterous laughter echo in the air. “That was insane!” You wrap your arms around Stan’s neck, hoisting yourself up so you don’t drown while laughing. “Yeah, go ahead. Laugh at this poor old man who’s clearly struggling.”
𝄞 Singing your favorite songs in your karaoke machine was his favorite way to catch you off guard. He’d notice you reminiscing on the past and he’d make a beeline to your machine, slamming the buttons that would turn it on and play a song that you like. His gruff scratchy singing voice always pulled you out of your mind and into the present moment. Walking into the living room where he relocated your karaoke machine for times like these, you couldn’t help but laugh as he passionately sang into the microphone. “Disco girl, coming through! That girl is you!” He points the microphone at you, motioning you over to join him. It takes some convincing but when you do, you and him are blissfully singing your hearts out into the microphone.
𝄞 Seeing your partner around town was an immediate mood kill for Stan. Unaware and in a chipper mood, he found himself in the grocery store. Stacking up on food and snacks to fill your stomach and his. When strolling into the available cash register, his smile curls into a grimace when he sees who was behind the counter. “You,” he spat out. “Ah, Mr. Pines!” They nervously chuckled. “Good to see you. How’s it been?” They can’t make eye contact. The lazer like glare Stan was giving them was enough to know that things haven’t been good. Grabbing an item from the shopping cart, he hovered it over the conveyor belt, mulling over his thoughts. He could not pay for this and run out of the store or he could unscrew the carton of milk and squirt it all over your ex. Or maybe, he could do both? With speed no one could comprehend, he undid the lid and spilled the milk all over them, chucking the empty carton right on their head for extra measure. He then grabbed the cart and bolted out of the grocery store, leaving everyone in the store stunned. “Is anyone going to arrest him or?” A random passerby asked, watching how your ex just stood there, completely befuddled with milk dripping down their body.
𝄞 “Dad? Why is the news saying that you assaulted a worker in the grocery store with milk?” Stan scoffed. “Don’t believe everything you see on the news, sweetie.” He takes a good sip of his pitt cola. “But it shows camera footage of you doing it.” You gesture to the video that was playing. “Fake news. You know how technology is advancing. They can make anything these days.” He grabs the remote and switches channels. “There! Now, we don’t have to see that.” You smile, elbowing him. “It was cool that you did that.” You mutter. He chuckles. “The kid deserved that.”
𝄞 Drives around the town and wreaking havoc in rival attraction traps were a good stress reliever and anger outlet. You were swinging with all your might, your axe that was in hand was splintering through the large wooden statue. “Keep going!” Stan was serving as a lookout, his eyes switching through the front door and to you. Sweat rolled down your temples as you delivered one last final blow to the statue. The statue slowly tipped forward. “Let’s go.” Stan urgently whispered, running back to the family van with you in tow. Stan started the van and sped out of the parking lot and into the driveway. “God dammit, Stanley Pines!” The person emerged from his house, shaking his fist in the air. You clapped your hands together, laughing. “That was a fun one.” You noted, swiping the sweat off your forehead with your shirt. “Who’s next?” You ask eagerly. “Check on the map. You decided where we will go next.” This was the first time you fully smiled at him with your signature laugh following after. No remnants of sadness stuck to you. He knew right then and there that he got you back.
📖 Ford
𝄞 Ford was peacefully slumbering on the couch when the front door was slammed shut, scaring him awake. He jolted forward, the book that was covering his face fell flat on his lap, startling him. “[Name]?” He closes the book in his lap and pushes it aside. You didn’t respond and he was quickly resorting to the idea that it wasn’t you. Creeping towards your room, his knuckles knock on the door. “Sweetie?” He puts his hand on the knob and very slowly turns it. “I’m coming in.” He announces. Opening the door, his eyes land on your back. Quiet sniffles and hiccups could be heard coming from you and Ford’s heart clenched in his chest. He never liked hearing you cry. “[Name]?” He settles himself down on your bed. He couldn’t get to see your face properly since you were curled inwards with your blanket slightly obstructing your face, but he could see your body quiver as you suppressed your sobs. Ford sucked his bottom lip into his teeth. Equally as clueless as his brother, he doesn’t know how to approach this. He hadn’t had the slightest idea of why you’re crying and that truly bugs him.
𝄞 His hand rests on your hip, fingers tapping in a soothing rhythm. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” He’s chewing on his lip, anxiety running its full race through his body, relentless and awfully energetic. He’s sure by the end of this, he wasn’t going to have a bottom lip from how much he was nibbling on it. You shuffle further into your blanket in response. “You don’t wanna talk about it?” He croaks out. He never liked when you pushed him away in your most vulnerable moments. He knows you mean well but he detests being in the unknown. You let out a small hum. He had learned over the years that two hums were yes and one was no. It was a very asbured way to communicate but it did come in handy when you weren’t in the mood to talk. This was a way of telling him that you weren’t in the mood prevented Ford from asking an assault wave of questions.
𝄞 “Do you want me to stay here with you?” Two hums. Patting your waist, he shuffles to the other side of your bed and plops down right next to you, mindlessly staring off into the ceiling. His anxiety was still pounding through his body, his clammy hands and beating heart proved that but it quelled a little of it knowing that you wanted him beside you. That you found comfort in his presence. He’d hope you did, he didn’t raise you all these years just for you to hate him. Wait, you don’t hate him, right? You could never hate him. He’s your dad! Can kids hate their own parents? He hated his dad so that can be a generational—
𝄞 “I think hear your overthinking from here, Dad.” Your voice comes out muffled from speaking through the blanket covering your face. He blinks, swallowing his doubt and looking over to your blanket covered face. “Sorry,” he lets out a dry laugh, scratching his cheek. “It wasn’t my intention to annoy you.” You pull the blanket down to the bridge of your nose, allowing Ford to see your irritated swollen eyes. “You’re not annoying me, Dad. You being anxious makes me anxious.” Ford cracked a smile. “Like father, like child.” That managed to pull a smile from you. “Unfortunately, I grow to be more like you everyday.” You say with a roll of your eyes. An overdramatic offended gasp leaves Ford. “And that’s a bad thing, how?”
𝄞 Playful banter was tossed between the two of you, each quick remark and quip allowed you to pick yourself up from the hole you were cowering in. After a while, you mustered up everything you had and told him about the break-up. Ford really couldn’t believe it at first. You had to repeat it to him twice much to your dismay but once he caught what you said, his face fell. “They were a waste of time anyways.” He said with a flick of his wrist. “Dad!” You weren’t expecting him to come off so strongly over hearing the news. “It’s true. They couldn’t even take my work seriously! How could someone laugh at my face when I tell them that aliens are real? Someone is clearly stuck in the stone ages.”
𝄞 He was riding on the mindset of you need to forget this person and move on. Wallowing over losing them wasn’t ideal and you need to distract yourself with other things to prevent yourself from dwelling back on the thought of them. He was done with your ex, so should you. But he was real quick to find out that you weren't exactly like him in that aspect. He’d find you resting on the couch, eyes mindlessly staring at the TV as you’re cuddled up with blankets upon blankets. Tear marks were stained on your cheeks. Maybe you couldn’t distract yourself? Maybe he should be the one that distracts you? He’d scribble drawings of you and him on a piece of paper and fold it up into a cute little airplane and toss it over to you. You would unwrap the little gift with a smile, tears clouding your eyes. “Aw, Dad...” You held the piece of paper to your chest.
𝄞 Your favorite dinner would be cooked almost everyday, and if you have more than one, you bet he’d be coking it up in the kitchen, offering different favorite meals every night. Anything that would bring the smile on your face back. Adventures out into the woods, just like old times, was a thing he’d bring you along with. Even when you did protest and groan, whining how you would rather cry into your pillow, Ford stood his ground and made sure that you got ready for the adventure he had meticulously planned. The minute you step into the familiar lush woods, a sense of calmness falls over you and suddenly you’re a kid skipping around in the woods, in search of anything to show Ford so he could write about the new discovery in his book. Finding old discoveries lightened a smile on your face and unknowingly to you, Ford would draw you in his book like how he did when you were younger. Old habits die hard.
𝄞 A lot of nights were spent you talking your feelings out to Ford. He was a good listener and had a few quips of advice to lend over, since he’s been in a similar but not so similar predicament. But he was more intent on listening to your concerns and anxieties. “I can’t believe I let them do that!” You plop your back down on your bed, anger spilling out of you in sharp words. He shook his head, a very sassy “mhm,” leaves him. “They didn’t deserve you anyways.” He moved his finger side to side. “Why are you acting like that?” You laugh, gingerly pushing him. “Don’t your friends act like that when something happens?” You beam from ear to ear, a loud laugh escaping you. “No! Where did you even get that from?” Ford shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought they did?” He pretended to act clueless and with a big smile of his own, he watched you curl up in laughter over his ridiculous act. He could only think of how much he missed your smile and beautiful laugh.
𝄞 Seeing your ex at the mall was a surprise both for him and them. Ford was scanning the shelves in search of something to get you when they approached them. “Sir, do you need any he…” Their words die in their throat when they register who they’re talking to. Ford hasn’t made the correlation yet, his attention so wrapped up in finding you the perfect gift. “Do you need any help?” They repeat, their voice cracking. Ford lazily looks over to them, dismissing them before looking back. Then, a look of recognition washes over him and he whips his head over to them. “You!” He loudly yelled. Customers in the store glance over to them. “Mr. Pines, keep it down.” They stressed out, teeth gritted together. “I will–.” An idea came to mind. “I’m sorry.” He rolled his shoulders back, untensing them. They look to the side, uncomfortable with the sudden change. “You’re sorry?” They repeat in disbelief. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be on my way.” A strained smile pulled to his face as he bid goodbye. Stepping out of the store, he sees you happily munching on a blueberry muffin you bought from the bakery. “Hi, Dad! You got anything?” He looks around you. “Do you have any food?” You place your muffin down on the table and grab the bag full of treats. “Yeah. I got some–” Ford dipped his hand in the bag and pulled out a cookie. His other hand digs into the inner pockets of his coat and pulls out a vial of pink sprinkles. “I knew I was going to use this at some point.” He mutters to himself, popping off the cork. “What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he sprinkled it onto the cookie.
𝄞 “You’ll see.” He winks at you before scooping it off the table and walking back into the store. Minutes later, he comes out with a big sinister smile on your face. “What did you do, Dad?” He pointed at the entrance of the store and it didn’t take long to see what he did. A flamingo human-like creature erupted into the store, squawking crazily as their head desperately swiped from side to side, looking for someone. Their black beady eyes landed on you and Ford. An angry squawk was heard from them, their chicken like legs slapping on the floor as they charged at you and Ford. “Run!’ Ford grabbed your wrist and darted away. In a quick swiping motion, you grabbed your bag full of treats before being whisked away. Loud bird noises were heard behind you and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Who is that chasing us?” Ford took a quick turn into another store, shuffling past people and hiding in a discreet corner with you. “That may be your ex angrily chirping at us.” You clapped your palm onto your mouth, an effort to muffle the laughter that left you. “Of course you’d do something like that!” The rest of the day was stealthily trying to escape the mall without being pecked to death by a very angry flamingo. When you did, you were laughing all the way to the car. “Do you always have that around for times like this?” Ford nods. “You’ll never know when you need to make someone a flamingo.” The automatic slide door pulls apart. “Pines!” The now fully turned flamingo human hybrid squawked out. “Get in the car, hurry!”
i got inspired by @animalxx 's drawings of y/n for a fanfic called world/insured by @mooooonnnzz so i decided to draw my own (featuring my own headcanons)
This is kind of cringe but can you write a fic or make a headcanon list of Stan/Fords daughter getting a partner and how the dads would react? I love your work btw it's great!
2010 Toyota Corolla
Stan + Ford HC's of their teen getting a partner!
⟡ 1,5k words
⟡ gender neutral reader!
⟡ guys i think im going through a writers block can u tell
⟡ i was doing so good too omg
⟡ i couldnt figure out a title so i used a song i was listening to ths is a song i swear
⟡ cute lil simple hc of of the oldmen!!
⟡ if u wanna be added to my taglist dm or comment!
⟡ i might like take a two day break from writing to get it working again ngl
Stan
♡ Stan is extremely protective of you. He never shunned the idea away of you having a partner, but he never really encouraged it. He told you that it was “a waste of time,” that finding a partner at such a young age isn’t really necessary until you’re older. You didn’t bother protesting against him because at the time you hadn’t found your person yet. But when you did, you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous to tell Stan about it. You knew he wasn’t going to be overly mad, but he was going to be slightly against it knowing his views on you having a partner. “Dad?” You nervously fidgeted with your fingers. “Yes, pumpkin?” You inhale, mustering up all the courage to tell Stan. “I have something to tell you…” You draw out. Stan’s face lightly drops, already having a feeling of what this “something” is. Pausing his TV show, he loudly gulped. “I’m dating someone!” You blurt out. Stan stares at you for the longest time, the gears in his head turning as he processes what you said. “You? Dating?” He sits up from the couch. “I need a moment…”
♡ After he recovers from the initial shock, he’s bombarding you with questions, such as; “Who are they?” “Do I know them?” “Are they smart?” And so on. You had no problem answering his questions and he had no issue giving you questions with how rapidly he shot them at you. Whenever you answered his questions, you could see the wrinkles in his forehead deepen the more you open up about your partner. This was definitely going to take some time for him to get used to. “Thank you for at least telling me, pumpkin.” He says after finishing up the whole Q&A.
♡ Meeting your partner was a must before he’d allow you to hang out by yourselves. When they came over to the shack, Stan had this whole gruff persona. He didn’t show much emotion and when he did, it was to show his distaste for what your partner said. “How long have you known [Name] for?” He interrogated, flashing a bright light to their face. “For a year now, sir.” They responded, shielding their eyes from the shining light. “Sir? I like that.” He mumbles to himself, scribbling +1 point on a notepad. When he turned over to you, he gave you a big thumbs up and a crooked smile. You couldn’t tell if it was going well. “Why do you want to date them?” Stan raised a brow, tapping the pencil on his chin. “Because I fell in love with them, sir.” Stan let out a loud “hmm,” and scribbled down, ‘very straight to the point’ on the note. After the interrogation was over, he ripped the note and gave it to your partner. “This is your score.” He said. “I guess you did good.”
♡ He pulled your partner into a room and had a serious “talk” about something you didn’t have a clue about. But when they came out of the room with a horrified look on his face while Stan was proudly smiling to himself, you had a tiny idea of what he said. They turn around to Stan and Stan twiddles his fingers, his other hand sliding across this neck threateningly. “Dad!” You smacked his arm.
♡ Even after Stan approved of your partner, he still wasn’t fully swayed by them. Whenever they’d be over, Stan would send death glares behind their back when they weren’t looking. But you would always catch them and when you did, Stan would sheepishly smile at you and make a heart gesture and point at your partner. He only ever came around them when Stan noticed them staring at one of the monster tourist attractions. “Whaddya lookin’ at, kid?” They began explaining how interested they were in the craft of making these grotesque monsters and Stan was more than happy to tell them the process. “Glue and staples come in handy, kid. I’ll tell you.”
♡ It wasn’t after that, you’d find your partner and Stan creating all kinds of monsters while cackling and talking. Stan saw you walk in and his face brightened up. “Pumpkin, look at what they made! It is disgusting.” He pointed a glue covered hand to the little ugly statue of a half chipmunk and fish. “Oh? Isn’t this something…” You poke at the monstrosity. “Isn’t it amazing?” Stan laughs, impressed with your partner's handiwork. “Oh, yeah. This is amazing.” You plainly said. “I’m going to leave you two be…” Conversation erupted between the two while you walked away with a big smile to your face.
♡ “I like that kid.” Stan says, a pleased look on his face. “Oh, I can tell, Dad.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Hey! They’re a great person. Perfect fit for my little [Name].” His fingers reached out to pinch your cheeks. “Oh, stop!” You push his hands away. “I’m just messin’ with ya, pumpkin.” Anything will and can make this old man laugh. “You might as well steal them from me.” Stan’s perked up. “Really?” He overplayed his excitement. You send him a dirty look while he barks out in laughter. “You’re gross.”
Ford
♡ He never really thought of you ever dating anyone. Romantic partners didn’t exist to him considering how terribly alone he is. The only thing he ever said about you dating was; “Uh, yeah?” and carried on with his work and that was a good enough answer for you. Ford found out about your partner when he walked in on you and your partner cuddling on the couch. “[Name],” He clears his throat awkwardly, pointing at your partner. “Who is this?” You introduce your partner to Ford and he’s genuinely speechless. “Since when?” He whispers to you after pulling you aside in the kitchen. “Since like, last week?” Ford’s jaw falls open. “And you never thought to tell me?” You shrugged. “I asked you and you said you were okay with it.” You tell him. “When?!”
♡ He would be so awkward around your significant other. “So…What is your name?” He’s tugging at his turtleneck, silently dying from how silent this whole exchange is. It takes him a lot of time to warm up to them, a lot of hangouts with the three of you together so he could be comfortable with them. He also uses this as an advantage and studies how they treat you and what they should improve on to make you happier. At the end of the hangouts, he’d slip in a note in their pocket. “If you want to stay with my child, you need to read the note.” He didn’t mean for it to sound menacing, but it was unfortunately received like that. “[Name], I think your dad hates me.”
♡ Like Stan, there’s an interrogation but it’s not as serious as Stan’s. Ford would have called them over and told them to sit down. He begins asking questions and writing down their answers. “What are you hoping to do with [Name]?” Your partner blushed. “To marry them hopefully.” Ford nodded his head. ‘Disgustingly cheesy.’ He wrote it down in big words. “If I ever wanted to conduct experiments on you, would you allow me?” You jump in at the mention of that. “Okay! I think they’ve answered enough questions, Dad!”
♡ He deep cleans the areas where you and your partner hugged, kissed and cuddled in. “Dad, what are you doing?” He has a mask and a plastic protective layer of armor around him. “I’m cleaning all the gross teenage bacteria!” You had to walk out after that. “Is this something you’re seriously going to keep up?” Even though Ford is the smartest man alive, he has trouble understanding the true nature behind relationships. “Yes, Dad. This isn’t a one time thing and we’re over. It’s a relationship.”
♡ Oddly enough, they bonded over their shared interest in researching the wonders of Gravity Falls. You’d often find them outside, Ford kneeled down to the ground, inspecting something while your partner has a notepad in hand, printing down whatever Ford is telling him to write. “Hey, what are you–” “SHHHH!” You looked at them with a confused look. “We need to be utter and total silence.” Ford held out a finger while he whispered notes for them to write. “Why though?” Ford pointed at a sleeping little fairy that was blanketed in a leaf. “Leave the fairy alone!” Ford opened his mouth to argue back, but his nose twitched and before he could react he sneezed, blowing the little fairy away. A silent tiny scream could be heard. “That was awesome, Mr. Pines!” Your partner held a hand out for Ford to high five but Ford was too sad to high five them back.
♡ “Final opinions on them?” You ask. “They aren’t too bad. They could be a good research partner.” You smile. “Just don’t take them from me.” You say, nudging him gently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
World/insured Y/N fan art, fan fiction by @mooooonnnzz they did a really great job, it's a platonic fan fic and it's super interesting and angst-y :DDD
im gonna be so honest, i'm having such a hard time coming up with ways to write far from the weight of the world. i apologize for anyone who's been waiting for it to come out. but i think i need to put it in the back for a little bit and let it stew for a couple days because i seriously cannot come up with ways to further the story on. i apologize again, im so sorry. it'll come out soon. i'm just really struggling with writers block as of rn. i'm so sorry :(!
