Chapter Text
Maybe spying on your best friend’s great uncle wasn't the brightest idea you’ve ever had, but it was a start. You love Mabel with all of your heart, but you’ll never tell her that the main reason you always suggest having sleepovers at her great uncles’ place when she was back in town is the fact that her elders were all so fucking hot . She could probably tell anyways, Mabel had a knack for picking up signals.
Either way, nothing really explains why you're standing in a man’s doorway peeking in on him getting ready for bed. This is Stanford’s room, the scraggly yet strong, agile one that was a huge, and I mean huge nerd. It was more endearing than it had the right to be, but you can still picture him as a sweaty teenager spouting off about DD&MD and Galaxy Defenders while adjusting his slipping glasses. That also was more endearing than it had the right to be. Maybe you just had a thing for geeks. It was in your blood. In your bones .
You watch with your breath held as he slips off his favorite turtleneck, making his grey hair bounce as it’s restricted by the collar of the sweater and then let loose as it peels entirely off. His back was covered in scars, from thick, marred sunbursts to pinstripes. It also might've been the most muscular back you've ever seen on a man over fifty. Your underwear also might be getting a little too damp under your baggy sleep shirt. You let your breath go slowly as you slip your hand into the thin waistband, your index and middle finger finding your clit with ease. Next to go are his black cargos, the image of Stanford undoing his belt shirtless is scorched into your brain forever, and the slow zip down makes you vibrate where you stand. He pushes them down and they fall, exposing.. Big Stanford. Just encased in worn gray boxer briefs that accentuated his bubble butt just so damn well. You rub faster, biting your lip to keep the sharp moan that’s threatening to spill at bay. C’mon, old man, take off those underwear. You need to change underwear, it’s been a long day, you-
Ford does you one better and opens a door farther into the room, flipping the light switch to reveal his personal bathroom. Shower time , you think with an evil cackle that echoes in your head. Luckily, he apparently thinks it’s clear enough to leave the door open, and goes through all of the motions of an anticipated shower. Towel, check. Soap and other assorted products, check. Razor, check. Alright, so he planned to be in there for a while. Got it .
Unfortunately, the removal of his boxers is blocked by the wall, but you hear the shower turn on, and it’s go time.
You sneak in, thanking everything Holy that the hinges didn't creak when you push the door open just enough to squeeze inside. Ford’s room is..surprisingly bare, save for a few knick knacks on his dresser, obviously from younger days. Something about it fits Ford to a T, sophisticated yet beautiful in its own dull way. Some of this furniture was probably older than your father, and for one sick reason or the other, it sends electricity up your spine. You hear the deep rumbling of him clearing his throat and duck down, and you happen to land..right on his discarded sweater.
Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you listen for movement and other sounds, your hands are clutching the knitted material tight. When you think you’re in the clear, you bring the burgundy fabric to your nose. God, he smelled like a mechanic shop. Dirt, grease, heated metal. He’d definitely been working on something down in the basement. Explains why he was nowhere to be found when you arrived earlier that day. You want to take it, but he’d definitely notice immediately. That’s like, the God of all turtleneck sweaters to him. You leave it be, instead, your attention is drawn back to the bathroom doorway. The glass of the shower door’s already began to fog up, but not completely. You can still see Ford in all of his naked glory, and just as you thought, he was fucking shredded. But in an older man kind of way. Slim and fit, but not exactly all angles either. There was a line of pudge beginning to form at the very tangible V of his hips, and his pecs were drooping just a tad, but damn you wanted nothing more but to taste him. He moves with elegance and haste, scrubbing down with a washcloth. You manage to catch a glimpse of his dick, which is sporting a half chub. Damn, it seemed like he was pent up.
As his hands coast further down, the rag drags over the very top of his pubic area. Your eyes widen as he begins to harden further, sticking out a little more obviously now, filling with blood as he teases, teases himself. Holy shit. Holy shit . You’re about to witness your impossible old man crush jerk it in the shower. Your breathing speeds up as you peek further from behind the door frame absentmindedly. You stuff your own hand into your panties and follow his lead.
He starts slow, just teasing touches, enough to get him hard but damn sure not enough to scratch that itch. You almost whine at the constant urge to just touch yourself. He dances around it just a few minutes more, and finally, he wraps one of those big, six fingered hands around his length and squeezes.
There’s a hushed gasp from the shower. You're so fucking horny you could die. He strokes long and slow, and there's an audible thud as his back hits the tile wall. Your fingers find themselves delving between your folds, pushing inside. You hold in a low hiss at the stretch. Not quite thick enough to be Stanford’s, but you manage. You copy his back and forth strokes with in and out thrusts, knees melting into the carpeted floor as heat begins to pool in your belly. He leans his head back, mouth open just a tad as he speeds up. The slick sound of the soap graces your ears, and you picture it as the meaty slap of what would be his cock pounding in and out of you.
When he looks like he’s getting close, you move your arm faster, all of the slick from your pussy sounding off quite loudly from where you're crouching. You don't care, you feel too fucking good, and you swallow a sharp cry when you squirt against your fingers and palm. He cums with a long growl just as you're trying to recover, his hips bucking into his fist as he paints the shower floor with his spend just for it to wash down the drain. You watch him standing there, leaning against the wall, catching his breath and coming back to himself. There’s a shared afterglow that he doesn't know about, but you do and that’s all that matters.
Too bad you stick around in this daze for a little too long and miss him beginning to turn off the water. The spray gets redirected back to the main faucet, and then it ceases completely. You barely have enough time to dive underneath his bed before he’s stepping out and drying off, humming to himself, completely oblivious to your presence. You hope so, at least. You're lying beneath this bed, eye level with dust bunnies and other assorted goodies like a singular long-dead roach while the man of your dreams is rubbing his hair dry just a few feet from you. He walks close to the bed, and you notice that his birth defect in fact doesn't extend to his toes. Not sure what you expected there, really. You watch his feet pad over in the direction of his dresser, hear him open a drawer and rifle through it. He slides on a new pair of underwear along with some loose shorts. He does not put on a shirt. You’re too scared out of your mind to relish in that little fact. Finally after what felt like forever, the light turns off, and your little world under the bed is plunged into darkness.
You hear a deep yawn, and the bed dips down as he goes to lie on it. You hold your breath, keeping your eyes trained on the slight bulge under the box spring.
Alright, you had a plan. You’ll simply wait until he falls asleep, and then sneak back out. It was foolproof. To the average person, it was foolproof. But you, you had a special way of blundering things up. You just hope that tonight isn’t the night that’s going to teach you a lesson about sneaking around.
It’s a long while of him tossing and turning before his breathing slows, and his position on the bed stays consistent. It seems he’s finally asleep. With a victorious spring in your movements, along with a great sense of accomplishment thanks to that mutual masturbation sesh, you slowly crawl out from underneath the bed. You stand carefully, making sure your knees don't pop or anything. You don't dare look back as you tiptoe to the door.
Maybe you should've.
“Where are you going, missy?”
You freeze, your stomach falling to your ass. You were so fucking over. He’s awake, and he’s addressing you, and you just crawled out from under his bed , and you want to scream. You want to run out of that house and never speak to another Pines again. You hear the bed squeak as he moves, and suddenly there’s warmth radiating onto your back. You can't look at him. You can't look at him. You can’t look-
“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, girl,” he mutters, grabbing your shoulders to twist you around so fast that you stumble in his grasp. “What exactly are you doing in here? How much did you see?” He interrogates quietly, handsome face hard and serious.
You choke on your nerves as you say, “A-A lot…”
“ A lot? You mean you saw me getting my rocks off in the shower? You're telling me that you sat there, that hand down your panties, watching me touch myself?” He recounts the entire incident and this is where you figure out that he’s known all along . You should’ve guessed that. He was one of the smartest men on earth, for Christ’s sake. You knew in the back of your mind that you’d never get away that easily.
He moves forward, sliding one of those huge hands from your shoulders to your lower back, pressing warmly into the natural arch there. You whimper, totally involuntary, and he chuckles breathily, deep, almost teasing. You don't know what to say, what to do from here, but your body moves with a mind of its own. You stand on your tiptoes and wrap your arms around his strong neck, and the kiss that follows is surprisingly soft. He groans softly into it, his other hand joining its counterpart on your back. He pulls you in close, so close that he actually just lifts you up so that you can wrap your legs around his waist.
He whispers into your ear, all twelve fingers digging into the meat of your ass. “I won't tell anyone if you won’t.” And sweet Moses who are you to argue with that?
“D-Deal,” you manage before his lips are on yours again, minty tongue sliding in to explore your mouth. You can feel your control of the situation slipping away, and for once, you let it. He sits on the side of his bed, you on his sturdy lap with his bulge pressing against your core perfectly. You run your fingers through his hair like you’ve always wanted to, humming pleasantly at the softness and pure volume of it. You pull away from the kiss, panting a little. “Your hair is so soft ..” you murmur, both hands combing through it. He chuckles fondly, leaning into the touch. It’s almost intimate, and you can admit that this was really what you wanted. Just to get to touch him like this. You gaze into his eyes and you’re met with one of the most genuine looks of love you’ve ever gotten from another man. You don’t know what Stanford feels for you, you don't even know what you want him to be to you, but this felt right. You feel his fingers delve deeper, sliding into your underwear to grasp at the bare skin of your backside. Holy fuck his hands are so warm. So all consuming. You hide your face in his neck, hugging him closer, whining your desperation.
“What do you want me to do with you? In your words,” Ford rumbles, moving his hips so his bulge slides right against your heat.
Could you even speak right now? You were so overwhelmed. His scent, his warmth, his voice , Stanford Pines in general, was about to fuck you. Might as well tell him.
You pull your head up to look at him, right into his shining eyes, lidded and listening. “I want you to f-fuck me..” you say, never looking away. Not even as he lifts you up and lays you gently onto his bed, the sheets and the comforter smell of him , and he’s on you in a second.
Ford crowds you with his body and sucks the nape of your neck between his lips, groaning, it reverberates through your body and your pussy gushes from a total of zero friction. It drives you mad . You keen, one hand tangled in his hair and the other on his thick shoulder blade, grasping uselessly at him as he devours your neck. His hands push up your LOVE GOD t-shirt to expose your bare breasts, perked from his advances and the chill in the room. He makes his way down from your neck to one tit, sucking the nipple into his mouth. It’s hot , it’s satisfying, and he’s great with his tongue. “Oh god , Stanford..” you sigh, thrusting your hips so that you can grind yourself against his leg.
“Needy little thing. Is this your last year of school?”
The question is unexpected, especially right here right now . You’re confused, silent, but then he bites down a little on your nipple and you’re a soldier at attention. “Yessir..!”
“Good. Maybe I can convince Stanley to let you come with us after you graduate,” he says and then punctuates with a particularly firm lick to your sensitive bud. “Would you like that?”
His hand slides down into your underwear to rub your clit, finding it almost immediately. Your toes curl and you nod your head furiously, whimpering. “Yes, please!”
He looks up at you, suddenly so full of energy and light. “Excellent!” You wish you could take a picture of the grin he gives you.
And then he’s scooting down and taking both of your knees into his hands, pushing them up and apart to expose your cotton covered sex. He sucks in an excited breath upon noticing how wet you are. Some was from the mess you’d made earlier, only partly dried, but most of it was new slick. “Already a mess. What ever will I do with you, hm..?” He teases, and his hands leave your knees to busy themselves with pulling your underwear down your legs. You help him out, naturally, bending your legs to make it easier yet still keeping them scrunched in the air. For a moment, he just looks at you, rubbing the bulge in his shorts while he possibly tries to imagine what it would be like to be inside of something so delicate and delicious.
“Are you a virgin, dear?”
You shake your head no, unfortunately, teenage hormones have already led you to water. Just the wrong kind of water. This seems to relax him just a bit more, though. You had to agree to that silent sentiment. You would've caught hell trying to take him if you were a virgin. He presses on, sliding his shorts and boxers down, and out springs the biggest cock you'll have taken so far. He’s grown . Nothing like those boys who had rutted into you with no rhyme or rhythm. Your stomach swoops in anticipation.
The graying man shuffled forward just a little, slumping down to encase you with his arms, which are flexing with the effort of holding himself up and keeping his hips at an angle where he’s not quite inside of you yet.
You gasp when he slides his dick against your wetness, just to be captured in another heartstopping kiss. He was muting you. Suddenly you remembered that you guys weren't truly alone, even if his room was the farthest from any of the others’. You trail your fingertips down his sculpted chest, taking in the texture of the hair that decorated his upper body. He frots against your pussy for a while, creating an impossibly good friction on your clit that leaves you scratching trails down his back. “Inside..please,” you finally plead against his lips, toes curling when his thrusts grow faster before he pushes in.
His lips stay on yours to absorb any sound that leaves you as he works on seating himself inside fully, which you feel might be impossible until there’s the sensation of his hips cradling the bottom of your thighs. He hisses, thick brows cinching together.
“ Ssshit, darling. I don't think m’gonna last too long like this,” he slurs uncharacteristically, squeezing his eyes shut as he reels back and hits you with a thrust so deep and good that your head flies back against his pillows, punching the air out of you.
“Fuckin’..me neither ,” you agree, laughing a little at the absurdity of this man’s dick being so perfect that you cum untouched. Billy from Agriculture couldn't hit that spot the entire time you had fucked. Your hands scramble to his neck for purchase as he begins a slow, deep pace. You could cry from the beauty of it all.
His breathing gets heavier, gruffer, allowing himself little grunts that came in time with his movements. Your ankles lock behind his back as you pull him deeper, mewling quietly when he gets the hint and drills you deeper, faster, harder . That familiar skin-to-skin sound echoes through the room, and it’s all too much.
“I’m gonna- gonna cum -”
“ Oh gods yes, let it go, baby,” he eggs you on in your ear, his thrusts beginning to grow erratic as his own climax comes bounding over the hill. You whine long and pathetic trying to keep that pressurized scream from escaping and waking the whole ass house just as Stanford Pines finally pounds your lights out after years of you pining after him. There’s now a certain wetness that splashes every time Ford connects with you, and you're thrown completely over the edge.
The older man moans in victory, grinning absentmindedly, cockily as he fucks you through an intense orgasm. You flutter around his cock and you actually leave welts over his back and shoulders, tears trailing down the sides of your head and your teeth clenching so hard that you're afraid they’ll chip. You finally let out a sharp breath, followed by a few more as you try and catch it.
He leans up, gently grabbing your cheeks with one hand to keep your attention on him. “Where do you want it?” He asks, keeping his thrusts hard, and at this angle, he’s just battering your sweet spot.
Somehow, you're able to string a couple of words together as you're being overstimulated to hell and back but you’d do anything for this to never end. “I-Inside, ugh..IUD!” You whimper, and he’s all for that obviously, because he lets out a choked sigh, pushing entirely inside of you, letting it rip. He fills you, body stiff and twitching as he unloads. You look him in the eyes, your hands sliding over his own that are keeping your legs in the air.
“ Fuck yeah..” you mutter, squeezing around him, milking him for every drop.
He collapses but not quite, still keeping most of his weight off of you as his climax comes to an end and there’s nothing left but that heady, satisfied feeling.
You both lay like that for a while, catching your breath, sharing gentle touches and sweet kisses as he softens inside of you. After a while, he sits up and gathers his bearings, all the while admiring his work between your legs. And you, really. You feel just short of embarrassed before he eases your self doubt, “Just beautiful .”
He leans down and kisses you on your lips one last time, passionate and long. You actually do kind of feel like crying. This man fucked you so good, and treats you so well. It’s overwhelming in such an unbelievably amazing way. You hope and pray that he’s serious about you. That he doesn't care that he’ll probably be dead by the time you're nearing your mid forties. That you're his great niece’s best friend. Mabel really has no sense of romantic right and morally gray, so maybe she wouldn't mind it. From what you've heard, her grunkles were getting lonely. Who better to fill that unspoken role in their lives than you?
As you’re putting on your clothes, Ford lays on his bed and watches you with interest. His face is soft, content. He looks the most at peace you’ve ever seen him. He breaks the comfortable silence.
“I was serious about the ‘coming with us’ thing. Me and Stanley could really use some company now that we've gotten into a routine.” He looks hopeful, but then his face drops a little. “You don't have to. It was just a mere suggestion. I know you might be wanting to go to college after everything, so-”
You cut him off, shaking your head, an unmistakable smile on your face. “I’d love to, Ford. You don't even have to ask.”
Ford’s put at ease with that. But being caught in his bed in the morning wouldn't be ideal, so you both say your unwilling goodbyes before you slip back out into the hallway at long last. You creep back up to the twins’ room in the attic, lifting the cover on your cozy pallet and settling down for the night. Or early morning. Who knows, really.
The next morning is a lazy Sunday morning, all three teens grouped together in the living room still dressed in their pajamas. You and Dipper are too busy trying to beat each other at Fight Fighter to notice the very man who’d been inside you last night walk into the room to greet you all.
“Good morning, kids! Good morning, y/n.”
Your blood turns to ice in your veins. Your fingers stall on the controller. Everything comes crashing back down onto you. The smell of the sex that you had created together, the feeling of his stubble scratching your throat as he’d sucked the skin there, the force of his hips pummeling-
“G-Good morning Dr. Pines,” you stutter out, giving him a short wave, trying miserably to withhold that “acquaintance” air between you and Stanford in front of your friends. Your face is red and you know it. Your heart’s beating a mile a minute. You’ll have a heart attack if he doesn't find something else to do right now.
He talks to the twins a little before he makes his leave to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. The whole time, your eyes were trained on the fuzzy television screen in front of you, watching your buff ass character’s idle animation but you were really staring at Ford through the reflection. Relief washes over you when he leaves, but there’s a kind of melancholy there, too. You had no idea when he’d take you again. You didn't even know if he felt the same way he did last night. Oh well, if it worked out, it worked out. If it didn't, it didn't. That there is called life.
You turn to look at Mabel to ask her for some of the caramel popcorn she’s been steadily picking from while you and Dipper fought it out, and she’s got her mouth hanging wide open. The look she’s giving you literally feels like it’s burning a hole in your head. Then her mouth cracks into a slight smile as she lets out a breathy, disbelieving laugh.
Well, that didn't take long.
“No. Way.” She laughs some more, this time it gets you laughing too. Dipper looks between the two of you, confused as to why nothing was said yet you two are in stitches.
“What? What’s so funny?” Dipper looks actually confused and for some reason that makes it all so much funnier.
You and Mabel catch your breaths, winding down after a few moments. “Nothing,” you say in almost-unison. Dipper just shrugs and turns back to the TV, unpausing the game and trying his damndest to beat you before you fully composed yourself.
“Hey!” You cry, “that’s not fair!”
Mabel snickers from the couch, crossing her arms. “ You're not fair, y/n. Poor guy never had a chance .”