Cipherstarling - LOVE STRUCK

cant not do this one

Lipbalm [Stanford Pines X Reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear god.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

GIRL I WILL THROW MYSELF INTO THE ARMS OF THE LOCHNESS MONSTER, GOBBLEWONKER, OR JERSEY DEVIL JUST TO BE SAVED BY HIM???

SCOLDED BY HIM WHILE CARRIED LIKE A SACK OR POTATOES OR (preferrably) PRINCESS CARRIED HOME?

hsgsjansjjsjkaka thanks for entertaining my headcanon

I headcanon that post-portal ford would try to impress you by doing really athletic stunt for really mundane tasks.

We all know he'd jump out the attic window for something as simple as getting money back from mothman

Picture evidence below:

But also I feel like he'd show off his strength by lifting heavy equipment to and from the lab without breaking a sweat. He'd be chopping wood for your fireplace even if you didn't ask him to.

He may even abandon his turtleneck to "cool off" but everyone knows he'd wear his usual coat even if there's a heatwave lol.

He'd pick you up and carry you to ned if you're being bratty and doomscrolling too much. OR if he just wants you all to himself fshsgdhsjajwjdh

Idk I just goddamn love this man

GRRRRRR no because im actually gnawing drywall over this. im feral over Ford performing feats of strength like a damn mating display. i swear, if he pulled any of that shit in front of me i’d react exactly like Dipper, screaming internally. but unlike Dipper, i would jump this man and eat his face like pizza. don’t test me

i am so weak for strong Ford its humiliating. yeah baby chop that wood. carry that weird space gun across the shack. grunt a little. wipe ur forehead. take the turtleneck off just to flex those arms and then put the coat back on because you’re still dramatic come on. id faint right there

yes, please carry me bridal style through the woods, saving me from some random dangerous anomaly shit. i’m the distressed damsel now. i’ve twisted my ankle. i need rescuing. let me hold your neck while you save me from smth dangerous

and that line “or if he just wants you all to himself” i smiled like an idiot because YES. YES. FORD POSSESSIVE. like you’re doomscrolling or ignoring him and he just decides nah. scoops you up like nothing, takes you to bed, and doesn’t even say anything at first. just kisses you because he wants to remind you who you belong to.

“you’ve been on that phone too long, sweetheart,” he mutters, already pulling your legs around his waist. “let me give you something better to focus on.”

Poetry [Stanford Pines x Reader]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, his eyes.

Coffee freshly brewed, pure and aromatic.

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

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

You can't do this.

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

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

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

No, not really.

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

"Well, I'll join you then."

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

But there was no need for that.

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

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

I'm obsessed with the idea how their hands can interact with each other

Oh no! He's falling apart

THE TRIANGEL FIGURES ARE GOING TO BE MADE AS MERCHANDISE‼️‼️‼️‼️💥💥💥💥💥💥

Source: TheMysteryShack

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Third-degree sarcasm

Unholy shipping

Ford Pines having a midlife crisis in aisle 7

Weekly acts of violence (sanctioned by the Axolotl™)

Me, cackling in eldritch stereo

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

[AO3 LINK HERE]

The premise of my fic, Ad Infinitum lmao

I’m just leaving this here… for the fandom to devour.