Feb 20, 2025
Gravity Falls Memes part 2
Part 1 | Part 3
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Germany
seen from Russia
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
Gravity Falls Memes part 2
Part 1 | Part 3
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
A no portal AU where Ford calls Stan for help, and Stan helps to get rid of Bill.
please read notes for trigger warnings for each chapter.
The title is a line from "class clown" by Conan Gray.
Day 14: Pre-portal! Okay so I’m gonna try my best for this challenge but i also have a huge test Saturday so I’m not too sure how this’ll go!
also I can’t draw backgrounds (i tried) so have a printed picture of a forest instead
And All I Did Was Bleed As I Tried To Be The Bravest Soldier
Ao3
The first time John saw Wilbur Cross, he knew he was in trouble. Cross was exactly his type: tall and handsome with dark smoldering eyes that felt like they stared into John’s very soul.
John swallowed heavily as he stood at attention with the other new recruits. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest every time Colonel Cross even glanced at him. Silently, he scolded himself. The colonel was at least fifteen years older than him, not to mention the fact that he outranked him.
“Dismissed,” Colonel Cross announced to the group of privates.
John relaxed as the others began to disperse. He should head back to his lodgings, get some rest before the real training begins the next day. Instead, he approached the colonel.
Colonel Cross raised an eyebrow at the sight of the young man. “Can I help you…?”
“MacNamara, sir. John MacNamara.” John saluted, wanting to appear every bit the perfect soldier.
To his surprise, Colonel Cross chuckled, waving him off. “This is PEIP, John, not one of the other branches. There’s no need for such formalities.” His dark eyes twinkled and John felt his knees go weak. “Is there anything you need from me?”
John shook his head. “No, sir. Just wanted to introduce myself.”
“I see.” An amused smile appeared on the colonel’s lips. “You’re the only one to actually introduce themselves ever since I started doing these orientations, y’know.”
Pride swelled in John’s chest. “Just want to make a good first impression, sir.”
Colonel Cross nodded. “You did.” He gave a crooked grin that made John’s heart melt. “You definitely did, John.” He checked his watch. “I have a meeting to get to. You get settled in. Big day of training tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” On instinct, John gave another salute before turning and jogging off toward his dorm.
The next time John saw Colonel Cross, he had just finished physical training. His short curls were damp from sweat and his gray shirt was soaked. John ran a hand back through his hair to fight the urge to salute. “Colonel Cross,” he greets.
“John, you can call me Wilbur,” the colonel corrected him with an easy going grin. His eyes seemed to rake over John’s form. Or maybe that had just been wishful thinking on John’s part. “Get a good workout in?”
“Yes, sir,” John replied, panting slightly. He gave a breathless smile. “Just gonna go shower then head to the shooting range.”
Wilbur clicked his tongue. “Make sure you get some lunch. Don’t need you falling out because you didn’t eat.”
“...good point.” John nodded. He didn’t want to be seen as weak. Fainting would definitely make him feel weak. Unless of course he got to fall into the colonel’s strong arms…
He shook his head, glad his cheeks were already red from exertion. “I’m gonna go get that shower now. Good to see you, Col- I mean, Wilbur.”
The entire way back to his lodgings, John tried to ignore the way Wilbur looked at him. He imagined it, that’s all. Wishful thinking had always been a weakness of his. This was no different.
A month later, John received a message telling him to report to Colonel Cross’ office. Fear ran through his body. Immediately, he thought of all the possible reasons he was being summoned: he was being dishonorably discharged; they found out he was gay; he was being shipped off to another base.
He knocked on the door, trying to ignore all of the thoughts running through his head.
“Come in.”
Taking a deep breath, John pushed the door open.
Wilbur sat on the other side of the desk, his dark hair neatly slicked back. John studied him, just in case this was the last time he ever got to see him. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes. Take a seat,” Wilbur instructed.
John sat carefully in the chair in front of the desk. He didn’t fidget, sitting perfectly still as he waited. His eyes darted down to the desktop, widening slightly when he saw a file with his name on it. His stomach dropped.
“John, how do you think you’ve been doing since you’ve been here?” Wilbur asked flatly, his face expressionless.
“I believed I was doing well,” John answered honestly, looking the colonel dead in the eyes.
A smirk curled the corner of Wilbur’s mouth. “You’d be correct. You’re miles ahead of the others you joined with. Which is why I called you here. I think you could go far here, John.”
Blinking, John nodded. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Wilbur leaned back in his chair as he examined John. “Which is why I want to take you under my wing.”
John’s heart skipped several beats. He managed to keep his voice level as he responded, “I’d be honored, sir.”
Wilbur’s smirk grew at these words. “Let’s get started then.”
The next few months proved to be grueling. Shooting practice, hikes, hand to hand combat training, and more filled John’s day. More often than not, his body ached from the activities he put it through. He didn’t mind though. John prided himself on thriving under harsh conditions.
Besides, it meant he got to practically every waking moment with Wilbur.
A low groan escaped John as he hit the floor mats in the gym. Taking a deep breath, he sat up.
Wilbur grinned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were distracted, Johnny.”
The nickname made John’s ears turn red. “I’m not,” he lied. He was, in fact, very distracted by the fact that Wilbur’s shirt was on the floor next to their water bottles.
Chuckling, Wilbur reached a hand out. John grabbed it, letting Wilbur help him to his feet.
“Whatever you say, Johnny,” Wilbur smirked, giving John’s hand a squeeze before letting go.
John had never been religious, but in that moment he prayed to every possible deity that his cheeks didn’t turn ruddy. He turned to grab his water bottle, taking a long drink.
“I think that’s enough sparring for now,” Wilbur declared as he picked up his shirt, pulling it back on, much to John’s disappointment. “If we don’t get to the mess hall soon, we’re not going to get any lunch.”
“Lunch sounds good,” John agreed.
They exited the gym together, walking side by side. The back of Wilbur’s hand brushed against John’s, making his imagination go into overdrive. In his mind, he cursed at himself. He was reading into things. It was an accident.
He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself by pretending Wilbur had any interest in him beyond being a mentor. That would only spell disaster.
A year later, John got pulled into Wilbur’s office once more. This time, there was no smile on Wilbur’s face. “I wanted to be the one to tell you,” Wilbur said solemnly.
John’s stomach dropped. All the worst case scenarios ran through his mind in the blink of an eye. “Tell me what?”
“They’re going to promote you.”
Stunned, John opens his mouth, but no words come out. He blinked. Finally, he found his voice. “You don’t seem too happy about that.”
That earned him the barest hint of a smile. “Oh, I’m proud of you, John. You deserve this.”
The praise made John grin. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re welcome.” Wilbur stood, walking around the desk. John quickly stands as Wilbur extends a hand to him. “You’ll make a great sergeant.”
John took his hand, giving it a firm shake. “Thank you, sir,” he repeated.
Wilbur didn’t release his hand. His dark eyes locked onto John’s blue ones. “This means you’ll no longer be training under me.”
John’s heart sank at this news. “Wha- Who will I be training with then?”
“I don’t know. Whoever it is, they’ll be lucky to have you.” Wilbur finally smiled, giving that crooked grin John had grown so fond of. He gave John’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re a good soldier, John. Your heart and head are in the right place.”
Swallowing heavily, John fought back the urge to scream that they absolutely were not. That he had been having dreams of kissing his commanding officer and mentor for nearly a year now. That he didn’t want to serve under someone else.
Instead, he forced a smile. It felt more like a grimace. “Thank you, sir,” he repeats, “It’s been an honor.”
Their hands were still joined. John knew why he hadn’t let go yet. He wondered why Wilbur still held his hand in his.
Silence hung in the air, thick with something John couldn’t name. Or maybe he just didn’t want to name it, chalking it up once again to his wishful thinking.
“This isn’t a goodbye,” John heard himself say, “Why are you acting like it is?”
That made Wilbur drop his hand. “It’s… complicated, Johnny.”
John’s hand fell to his side. “You’ve told me before that I’m one of the brightest you’ve worked with,” he challenged boldly, “I’m sure whatever it is, I can understand it.”
Clicking his tongue, Wilbur turned away. “You’re still young,” he commented, “You don’t understand everything.”
“Then make me understand.” John didn’t like this, didn’t like Wilbur’s back to him. It made him feel panicked. It felt like rejection. “Wilbur, look at me.”
“You can’t give me orders: I still outrank you.” Wilbur responded casually. “You should go. They’re probably looking for you to deliver the big news. Try to act surprised. I wasn’t supposed to spoil it.”
Gritting his teeth, John turned to head out the door.
The higher ups did find him at his dorm. They congratulated him, showered him in kudos. John faked a smile through the whole thing. His mind was elsewhere. His mind was still with Wilbur.
He couldn’t sleep that night, despite his best efforts. He did push ups. He wrote a letter home to his parents. He paced the small space of his room. He counted sheep. Nothing could get the conversation he had with the colonel out of his head.
Around midnight, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Jamming his feet into his boots, he left his lodgings to walk across the base.
One in the morning found him throwing punches at a sandbag in the gym. His knuckles ached, a couple of them bleeding from where they had split, but he kept going.
“You should be in bed.”
John jumped at the voice, whirling around to see Wilbur leaning against the wall. “How long have you been there?” He demanded, trying to ignore the somersaults his heart was busy turning.
“Long enough.” Wilbur’s arms are crossed across his chest. He doesn’t move. “I know you’re young, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible. You still need to rest.”
“Why do you keep bringing up that I’m young?” John questioned angrily, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m 20. I’m hardly a child.”
With a sigh, Wilbur pushed off the wall as his arms uncrossed. “Because sometimes I need the reminder.”
John frowned as Wilbur approached him. “Why would you need a reminder?”
“Picture this,” Wilbur started, dark eyes staring into John’s soul. “You’re a colonel in a special unit of the military. A position that you worked your ass off to get. You watch class after class of new recruits come in. Some make it, some don’t. You never know who will or won’t, so it’s best you don’t get attached.
“But then,” he continued, stopping right in front of John. “A young, bright eyed recruit comes along. He excels at any task put in front of him. So much so that you speak to your superiors about being a mentor for him, just so you can spend time with him.”
John blinked. “Wh-”
Wilbur cut him off. “That’s a dangerous game, though, because you get to know him. Learn all his little quirks. It’s endearing. The more time you spend with him just sends you down a slippery slope.” He took a deep breath. “So you suggest promoting him to your superiors, because if you keep spending time with him, you’re gonna do something stupid.”
“...stupid like what?” John questioned breathlessly, not quite believing what he’s hearing.
“Stupid like this.”
Hands cupped John’s face, guiding him into a passionate kiss. John melted into it, his hands coming up to hold onto Wilbur’s shoulders.
When the kiss breaks, Wilbur rested his forehead against John’s. “Stupid like that,” he muttered, “Knowing damn well all the shit that could go wrong. Knowing I would be dishonorably discharged for several reasons if anyone ever found out.”
“...who says anyone has to find out?” John asked softly.
Chuckling, Wilbur seemed to finally come back to his senses. He steps back from John, hands falling from his face. “That’s what I mean by you being young: you’re naive, Johnny.” A sad smile crossed his lips. “They always find out. You’re just starting out. You don’t need to ruin your future over me.”
John wanted to argue, but he knew he’s right. His throat felt tight. “So we get one kiss and a lifetime of what ifs?”
“‘Fraid so, Johnny.” Wilbur’s hand stroked John’s cheek before he turned to walk out of the gym.
John waited until he heard the door close to swing around, punching the sandbag as hard as he could. Pain erupted across the back of his hand as his knuckles split, warm blood gushing from the wounds.
It still didn’t hurt as bad as the sensation of his heart crumbling in his chest.
Guys..
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Its up…
GO READ IT
“Leave ‘em alone!”
#please don’t tag as Stancest
One Rainy Night-Part 1 (The Prophecy)
Since this story has been so successful on AO3, I have decided to start reposting it here, for those of you who are not on that site. To make a long story short, it’s a Gravity Falls AU set just after the Marilyn Incident, where Stan gets a chance to reunite with Ford and prevent the apocalypse thirty-five years ahead of schedule.
...Have I captured your interest yet?
Well, Vegas officially sucks.
Stanley knew, because he knew himself way too well, that sooner or later he’d probably change his mind about this, the next time things started looking up for him here.
But right now, laying in the gutter with the newly-acquired certificate of divorce in his pocket, his precious car keys (barely rescued from the greedy claws of his new ex-wife) clenched so tight in his hand they were probably breaking the skin, and a headache performing a drum solo on the inside of his skull, he hated Vegas.
And then, because the world hated Stan Pines, it started to rain.
And not just a soft, wet drizzle either, oh no, that would have been nice and merciful so of course it didn’t apply to him. It was a full-out downpour that had him soaked through within seconds.
At least he still had his car, so he had somewhere to go to dry off.
With a groan, Stan finally sat up, and after a long moment where he waited for the tiny drummer living in his head to stop beating the cymbals he began the agonizing process of getting to his feet.
He sighed, brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes, and began the arduous walk to where his car was.
It probably should have bothered him more than it did that he wasn’t even that upset about finding out that Marilyn had just been going after his car this whole time. But somehow, well...you got used to being abandoned and rejected, after a while. It didn’t hurt any less when it kept happening, but after a while it stopped being a surprise.
He stopped at an intersection of two equally grimy, dirty alleyways, and frowned in thought. He’d hidden his car down one of them when he first got to Vegas, he knew that. Covered it with a bunch of trash, made it look less appealing to anyone who might come sniffing around-and then stupidly bragged to Marilyn about how great it was, so she’d married him and tried to persuade him to tell where he was hiding it, until he finally caught on to her little scheme and nipped it in the bud. But right now he was still kind of hungover, so he couldn’t quite remember the right alley…
Reaching into his pocket, Stan pulled out his last quarter and flipped it. Heads, he’d go for the one on the left. Tails, the one on the right.
In some universes-many of them, in fact-Stan got tails. He went in, found his car right away, changed into dry (albeit grimy) clothes, and curled up in the back and moped himself to sleep before driving off the next day, already planning out another get-rich-quick scheme.
In this one, however, the quarter turned up heads. And Stan caught it quickly, before it could bounce away into the gutter or something, stuffing it back into his pocket, and trudged into the corresponding alley.
********
He realized soon enough that his car wasn’t down here.
Grumbling to himself, he was about to go back the way he’d come, when a voice said, “Care to learn your fortune, young man?”
Stan jumped what felt like a foot in the air, and whirled around, digging into his pockets for his brass knuckles in preparation to fend off-
A tiny old woman dressed in clothes even more ragged than his, sitting cross-legged on the ground, using half a cardboard box as a makeshift tent (that he could tell wasn’t going to last much longer if the rain kept up like this), with a deck of cards being shuffled between her bony hands.
Stan let out a relieved laugh, snorting at himself for being scared so easily, and turned away shaking his head. Just hearing that phrase made a small coal of nostalgia burn in his gut, and he didn’t need anymore painful reminders of how much his life sucked today, thank you very much.
“I can tell you your heart’s desire.” Somehow the old crone managed to make herself heard over the pouring rain.
This time he flat-out rolled his eyes. “That’s what they all say, lady.”
Her next words, though, stopped him right in his tracks. “You want your brother back.”
****
Slowly, Stan turned around and gaped at the woman.
She just looked back at him expectantly for a moment, then folded the cards and slid them up her sleeve, standing up and daintily approaching.
There were several questions Stan wanted to ask-how the [CENSORED] did she know that, who had she been talking to, what did she think she was playing at-but all that came out was a kind of strangled, “H-how-who-” before his natural defenses sprang back into place and he snarled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
The woman just reached out, and before he could react cupped his cheek in one hand.
“You poor things.” Her voice was filled with unexpected sorrow. “You’re both so lost.”
“I’m not-and he’s not either, he’s doing just fine!” He made it perfectly clear he doesn’t need me.
She gave a small sigh, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. “That is what you keep telling yourselves. You think that it’s better to hide behind your anger than admit to your pain. But it doesn’t hide how you’ve both become broken.” Finally she released him. “Broken in heart, broken in soul…” She pulled out a card, and with a quick jerk of her hands ripped it right down the middle. “Broken in two.”
Stan wondered how she was doing this-he was no stranger to cold readings, but he didn’t see how she could possibly have figured out this much from him. Unless she really was a psychic-and, well, he’d seen the Jersey Devil as a kid so maybe he shouldn’t rule that out entirely, as improbable as it seemed that he’d run into a genuine psychic here in a dirty alleyway in Vegas…
“You can still fix it, though,” the woman went on. “In fact, you must.”
Stan scoffed. “Oh, yeah? Why?” What was the point?
She looked straight at him. “Otherwise the world will be destroyed because your brother will choose the wrong allies.”
...That was a way more dire prediction than even his mother had ever dared make.
“Mend your bonds before it’s too late,” she insisted, pressing the two halves of the card into his hand. And then she stepped away, towards the other opening of the alley.
“...Geez, ya think ya could be a little more cryptic?!” Stan yelled after her.
She didn’t answer, continuing to shuffle away through the rain.
********
The pieces of card, Stan noticed as he went to the other alleyway and found his car, were the halves of a two of hearts, appropriately enough. He thought about tossing them away, but instead he found himself putting them in the pocket of the dry jeans he changed into. And then staring vacantly at the roof of his car for two hours, thoughts tumbling around and around in his brain helplessly.
On the one hand, fortune tellers and so-called psychics really got off on either telling suckers that all this good stuff was gonna happen to them, or giving vague, easily misinterpreted omens of doom. On the other hand, she hadn’t asked him for money in exchange for her prediction like most of those shysters-she’d just given it. And somehow, she’d known. She’d known everything.
Come on, you’re not supposed ta be this naïve, he told himself in annoyance, It’s gotta be some kinda con you just haven’t figured out yet.
And yet…
It would be just like Ford to make some kind of dumb mistake and trust the wrong person because he had nothing between his ears besides science stuff, and no concept of guile whatsoever. And wouldn’t it be better to take the risk that this lady was crazy or something if there was a chance that she was right?
With a sigh, Stan dug the quarter back out of his pocket, and put the keys in the ignition. Time to find a pay phone.
By the time he found one that seemed to be in decent condition, it had stopped raining. Stan dialed the number he had by now memorized, and nearly pulled the cord right out of its socket as his finger toyed with it nervously.
It rang twice, before the familiar refrain of “Hello, this is Stanford Pines” came through the receiver.
Stan’s thought processes froze. What was he supposed to say? Somehow, ‘hey, I’m calling because a fortune teller said you were gonna destroy the world if we don’t make up’ didn’t seem like it would cut it. And of course his throat was locking up and he could already feel his arm preparing to put the phone back on the hook because he couldn’t take the pain of being rejected again-
“Hello? Is someone there?” Ford’s voice was tinted with curiosity that could turn into annoyance any second.
“Lo siento, hermano,” Stan blurted out, and then his impulsive hand finally got its way and slammed the phone back on the hook.
A second later he groaned into that same hand.
You idiot. You finally say something, and-well, yeah, it’s an apology that he’s been deserving for a long time, but…
This is gonna be harder than I thought.
Have a shitty billford fic and drawing.
There’s something on Ford’s mind and he can't concentrate. NSFW. 1.3k.
Bill floats in front of the chalkboard, chalk in hand and frowning. “Sixer, you alright?”
Ford startles at his words, face leaching of color. “I-I’m fine, Bill. Is there a problem—?” He gestures towards the calculations. He’d spent so much time on them, trying to make sure they were perfect.
“No, No. There’s nothing wrong with your math, IQ! I’m not worried about your head,” Bill swoops towards him and affectionately ruffles his hair, “I’m worried about the rest of you.”
Ford flushes at that. “There’s really nothing wrong.”
Bill laughs. “You don’t need to be embarrassed, Sixer. I’m in your head! I thought we’d moved past this.” He rests on Ford’s shoulder, weighing nothing yet reassuring all the same. “You can tell me.” Bill says, voice oddly soft and coaxing.
“Well – uh. I’ve been a little distracted lately.” Ford hesitates, closing his eyes and breathing slowly, trying to gather all his courage. “I keep – I keep getting these erections.” He opens his eyes, hoping that Bill isn’t disappointed. It’s just he hasn’t had the time or the ability to take care of himself, as it were. The portal has been utmost priority.
Bill doesn’t seem fazed, he seems almost smug. “I figured, you humans with your fickle human needs. It’s not an issue, go find yourself another human and do whatever you need to—” Ford’s nose wrinkles, he’s never been with another person and he’s not sure he ever will, he needs something that stimulates the mind, “—or take care of it yourself. You want some privacy?”
Ford doesn’t know how to say he wants the exact opposite and he’s spent so much time pointedly not thinking about it that it bubbles up to the front of his consciousness, so vivid and bright that he’s sure Bill’s seen it.
Bill, if possible, smiles and adjusts his bowtie. “I’m flattered, Sixer.” Ford tenses, preparing for the inevitable rejection, it’s like high school prom all over again. “You should’ve told me earlier. Let me help.”
Wait, what?
His incomprehension must show because Bill seems to glow brighter with amusement. “Relax, and sit down.” He’s pushed down by some unknown force and lands on a seat. The mindscape shifts around him, twisting from the inside of a nebula to the warm intimacy of his study.
“Bill?”
“Just trying to set the mood.” Bill floats down and settles on his thigh. “Tell me if I do something wrong.” Ford feels his legs pushed a part, feels his zipper go down and his cock pulled out. Bill is still sitting on his thigh, watching him. “Do you want me to touch you?”
There isn’t a language on earth that can capture how much Ford wants to say yes, and he nods, fingers curling around the edge of the chair, white-knuckled with expectation.
Bill’s hand is warm, it feels like static and energy but most of all it feels very, very good. Ford whines, high in his throat and his legs spread wider.
His dick is hard in a matter of seconds, just from Bill’s slow, gentle touches. Bill grips him with both his fingers, almost like he’s examining him. He leans close and Ford can feel the light brush of his eyelashes against the head of his dick, and oh no one has touched him there, apart from himself and he’s never realized how wonderful this could feel.
A pearl of pre-come forms at the slit. Bill looks delighted. “I didn’t know you could do that!” His fingers rub at the head, rubbing the pre-come into his skin and Ford jerks at the stimulation. He’s never felt this good before, and, for some reason, he wants more.
His mouth gets ahead of his brain. “Can I reciprocate?” If possible Ford grows even redder, he wants to take that back. “If I’m not being too presumptuous and that is if your kind even has – oh God, I’m so sorry.”
Bill laughs, looking up at Ford indulgently. “If that’s what you want, go right ahead.”
Ford reaches out towards Bill, cradles him in one hand and runs reverential fingertips over his small triangular body. “How—?”
One of Bill’s dark delicate hands reaches for his middle finger and pushes it downwards, between his legs. “Here.” Ford can feel a seam against his fingers, it pulses against him and he pushes inside tentatively. It’s dark and wet and it doesn’t feel like anything tangible. No, that’s not right. It’s like how fucking into his palm in a dream feels, a layer of sparks between actual skin-to-skin contact, pleasurable in a hazy yet immediate way.
He’s two knuckles deep. “Is this good?”
Bill just sighs, slitted pupil expanding. He spreads his legs wider and a jolt of heat travels down Ford’s belly.
He makes sure not to go too far, he doesn’t know how big Bill is inside. There’s slickness inside Bill and it feels like nothing he’s ever experienced before, it’s frictionless but not oily, smooth and oddly warm. He’s vaguely tempted to study it but, more pressingly, he imagines it around his dick.
He pushes in another finger and Bill clenches around him, the warm darkness tightening like he’s overwhelmed. “That’s good, Sixer. You’ve got nice fingers.”
Ford’s erection bobs against his stomach, smearing wetness over his shirt, untouched and desperate. “Can I put it in?” He withdraws his fingers, hoping to fill Bill with something else.
“It’s too big.” Bill is blushing a soft pink, eyelid heavy, wetness leaking from his hole, that’s still stretched and vulnerable from Ford’s fingers. He licks his fingers, tasting the slickness inside Bill and its sweet and otherworldly and makes him even hotter. Fuck.
“Please. Bill—” He’s so desperate, there’s an ache in his chest. He wants this more than anything. Bill seems to realise this and his gaze softens.
“Okay, Fordsy. How could I say no to that face? Just take it a little slow, big guy.”
Ford nods, feverish and trembling. He’s going to be inside Bill, a being millions of years old and with more power than he can imagine. His muse, his confidante, his most trusted friend. He holds his cock in his hands and places one hand around Bill, lifting him from his thigh until he’s poised over his dick. “You ready?”
Bill gives a shaky yes, trying to look more confident than he seems and, in that moment, Ford feels an overwhelming rush of affection for him. With supremely gentle hands he lowers Bill until the head of his dick is inside him and it’s fucking beautiful. Bill’s legs barely graze his thighs and the wetness inside him is sublime and sparks something deep in Ford’s chest.
Bill is moaning too, eye closed and top hat askew. It’s rather charming. Slick leaks out his hole and covers the rest of his erection. He’s probably not going any deeper but this is enough, for both of them.
He keeps the pace slow, thrusting with shallow jerks of his hips. He’s barely inside Bill and even then, he’s not going to last long. “Do you need me to do anything, Bill?”
“No, just k-keep — ah — doing what you’re doing.” Bill’s voice is high, and he squirms on the head of his erection, flickering brighter and brighter shades of yellow like he’s on fire. It’s so hot inside him and the intangible tightness is getting more and more corporeal, tight and vicelike and undeniably inhuman. It pulses around Ford and he comes, just from the sudden change in sensation. It’s like a punch in the gut, it’s like solving a problem, it’s good.
Bill’s legs are pressing shut, and he’s riding himself on Ford’s softening, over-sensitized dick and it hurts but Ford can bear it because Bill is close. The soft squelching sounds of his come mingling with Bill’s slickness cause a half-hearted twitch to go through his cock and Bill gasps, and Ford knows he’s coming as well.
Bill falls on Ford’s thigh, impossibly small and slowly dimming, his arms are spread, his hole leaking and he’s panting. Ford doesn’t think he’s ever seen Bill looks so undone, so vulnerable and he feels privileged to be able to witness this. He’s going to work even harder now, he’s going to build that portal and really meet Bill.
Also i lowkey like the black and white version…. on ao3 btw