Kings of Jersey @coziestandhoziest - Tumblr Blog

Look at me, rising from the dead to drop off another fic for my AU where an older, unhinged Ford kind of kidnaps a 20 year old Stanley from another dimension. It's waaaaay longer than both of the previous parts.

If you're interested in the previous parts:

Part I - first meeting (has smut)

Part II - in which Ford has a vivid flashback and comforts himself by cuddling Stanley and having creepy, murdery thoughts <3 (no smut)

My god this part took forever to write. I stopped taking my meds months ago and my anxiety came back to fucking punch me in the face. It took 3 weeks for the meds to kick in (take your meds, peeps). This fic is not at all what i had planned when I started writing it almost a month ago and I struggled a lot with Stan's POV but i think i have a more solid grasp on his character and his relationship with Ford. that being said, i hope it doesn't feel disjointed because it definitely was written in tiny chunks over the whole month in between bouts of anxiety.

Anyways...this is basically just smut. I'm going to be super forward and tag @passthepittcola because i saw those tags you wrote for part II and the thought of Ford having a breeding kink would not leave me alone so i had to include a hint of it in this part, for both of us.

Onwards to Part III - in which the relationship is evolving, Stanley is the one that needs comfort this time, and we see that Ford is gaining some self awareness...

For how tiny the human population of Gravity Falls was, there was no shortage of unusual or supernatural creatures that made the town and its surrounding woods their home. It’d been months in this new dimension, and every day Ford had something new to show him. Most of it was fascinating, even if some of the technology from the new millennium still baffled Stan. Ford didn’t seem as well-versed in it as he let on, but he answered every one of Stan’s questions, and since Stan had no way of verifying if he was right, he let it slide.

This particular morning, Ford had woken Stan up bright and early. He also hadn’t caved when Stan had thrown him sleepy glares, grumbling for ten more minutes of sleep. He wasn’t a heavy sleeper; he’d had to train himself to wake at the slightest noise, but that didn’t mean he liked getting dragged out of bed in the mornings. As far as he was concerned, mornings were meant to be slow and lazy. He liked staying bundled up in the blankets for as long as he could get away with. Ford had at least had the decency to have a bagel and a cup of coffee (exactly the way he liked it) ready for him when he’d finally wandered into the kitchen.

It was midmorning by the time they left the house, and Ford had been tight-lipped about what he had planned. It wasn’t until they were standing overlooking the valley below that Ford dramatically revealed the existence of “Crash Site Omega.” He’d looked so excited… Stan hadn’t had the heart to tell him that after jumping through dimensions, aliens being real just didn’t pack the same punch anymore.

Now, standing inside the spaceship, he can admit it’s pretty impressive. Still, he’s glad the aliens are dead because they were fucking enormous. The technology looks amazing… and expensive. He wonders if Ford’s sold any of this stuff to fund his research. Ford’s definitely not strapped for cash since they’d arrived in this dimension. Every time Stan brings up the topic of working, Ford assures him he doesn’t need to worry about it, just kisses him breathless which always leads to way more interesting things.

But the idea of not having to do something to earn his keep makes anxiety swirl in his gut. Seeing all this fancy junk just laying around, like free money, makes the anxiety ease just a little bit.

He follows Ford deeper into the ship as he chatters on about the aliens and how long the ship’s been buried. Stan’s mostly just thinking about the stuff he’ll be able to sell if Ford ever lets him.

He’s just noticed that the air feels colder when he feels it — a warning tingle creeping up the back of his neck that he’s learned the hard way not to ignore.

A low grinding noise pierces the air, like something is waking up. He turns to glance at Ford but he’s already drawing his weapon.

“Lee,” he says, voice low and sharp, “get behind me.”

Stan doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s just ducking behind Ford when, sure enough, all hell breaks loose.

. . .

All things considered, they got away pretty much unscathed. The injuries are minor but when you’re up against fucking killer robots, it counts as a win. Ford’s pissed about the scrapes and bruises Stan picked up during the fight, though. Like every little bruise is some sort of personal insult. He checks Stan over quickly and then decides they need to head home.

Once the house comes into view, Ford wraps a gentle hand around Stan’s wrist and practically pulls him inside. He sets Stan up on the couch and goes for the first aid kit in the kitchen. When he comes back, he’s shed his trench coat and has the sleeves of his sweater pushed up his forearms. He approaches Stan with confident strides, eyes dark and focused right on him. This Ford moves with the lethal grace of a predator. So different from his own scrawny Ford that he remembers.

He watches silently as Ford sits beside him on the couch and gently begins to clean the split knuckles on his left hand. His eyes are sharp and his brow is furrowed with concentration. Stan knows he’s staring and his fingers start to twitch. The leftover adrenaline from the fight is still buzzing lightly through his body and it’s mixing with the heat beginning to stir low in his belly.

Because this latest adventure reminds him of the ones he and his Ford would dream about as kids. Back when they were inseparable and they were going to take on the world together. And it’s not quite what he’d pictured as a kid. There’s no Stan o’ War, it’s not the same Ford, and he hadn’t been able to play the hero and protect Ford the way he’d always done before. But there had been danger, and they’d faced it together. As Stan and Ford, invincible again.

And now Ford is so damn close, Stan feels the weight of his intense gaze pressing into his skin. It feeds the warmth in his belly until it turns into something needy. He shifts closer, leaning forwards into his brother’s space until he finds himself straddling his lap. A look of surprise flashes across Ford’s face but he leans back against the couch and gives Stan room to settle. Stan wraps his arms around Ford’s neck and brings his forehead to rest against Ford’s temple.

“Ford…” He feels dizzy, almost drunk with the force of his want.

“Sweet boy,” Ford murmurs, soft and curious. “What’s gotten into you?”

Stan just gives a quiet hum and tilts his head to the side in a silent invitation. Ford leans in and presses a soft kiss right on that spot behind Stan’s ear that always makes heat flare in his belly. Stan hadn’t even known that spot was a weakness of his at first, but Ford had found it immediately, like he already knew.

An insidious thought slithers through the pleasant haze beginning to settle over him. Had this Ford’s twin had the same weakness? Had he melted under Ford’s mouth the same way Stan is now? A flicker of something sharp twists in his gut, dark and unfamiliar.

He hates the thought. Doesn’t want to think about this dimension’s Stan touching Ford. Not when he’s the one in Ford’s lap right now. The one with those twelve fingers sliding up his thighs, with Ford’s warm breath against his skin. The heat growing in him takes on a possessive edge. Before the end of the night, he’s going to make sure Ford fucks him full, so that he goes to bed with his brother’s cum dripping down his thighs. He’ll fuck the memory of the other him out of Ford’s mind.

Stan rolls his hips down against Ford’s, biting back a moan at the sharp jolt of pleasure that races up his spine. He hears Ford grunt and his hands slide up from Stan’s thighs to settle at his waist. Not guiding, just holding, grounding.

When Stan looks down, Ford’s eyes are warm with want, his mouth tilted in an amused little smile. Stan’s heart skips, the way it always does when he catches Ford looking at him with desire. Ford shifts beneath him, spreading his legs so Stan settles more closely against him. He can’t help grinding down again in slow, deliberate thrusts, shivers wracking his body. He wants Ford all over him, inside him, filling him, claiming every inch of him. Because Stan’s afraid that one day he’ll wake up and Ford will remember the Stanley he lost and realize this one isn’t enough.

He presses harder into Ford’s lap, desperate now, needy. He grinds down again and again, like he can fuck the thoughts out of his own head.

“Come on, love,” Ford whispers, the words low and coaxing. “Take what you want.” He shifts his hips slightly, giving just enough friction that Stan’s whole body jolts in response.

And it can’t possibly be enough stimulation to really feel good for Ford. But he does nothing but gaze up at Stan with a teasing smirk and give little encouragements.

“Just like that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, Stan finds that he can’t stand the distance between them. And it’s like his brother is reading his mind because he’s already leaning up to crash their mouths together in a deep, slick kiss. Stan’s breath stutters in his chest as Ford’s tongue slides against his, slow and filthy. He fists his hands in Ford’s hair, dragging him closer, gasping into his mouth as pleasure sparks down his back from the friction still building between their bodies.

The kiss turns feral. Ford catches Stan’s bottom lip between his teeth, and Stan whimpers, grinding down harder. His thighs are trembling now, breath hitching with every drag of pleasure that builds harder, sharper.

“Such a good boy,” Ford whispers, voice rough and adoring. “My good boy.”

That’s what does it. White hot pleasure slams through him and Stan falls apart in his brother’s arms.

-

Ford feels like he’s floating, euphoric. The only thing better than having his boy warm and spent in his arms is knowing that Stanley put himself there.

He’s still annoyed with himself for putting Stanley in danger. He and Fiddleford had been inside the spaceship so many times without incident that the security system hadn’t even registered as a real threat anymore. Obviously, he’d been wrong. But he’s grateful that he’d been able to neutralize it quickly and that their injuries had been minor. He’s not entirely sure what it is about the situation that’s made Stanley needy, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about it when it’s led to this: his boy climbing into his lap like he belongs there. And he does. Ford’s touched him a thousand times, coaxed the prettiest sounds from his mouth, but Stanley’s never really taken the lead before now.

He cradles him close as he comes down. Stanley breathes against his neck, soft and ragged. Ford presses kisses along his jaw, down his neck, in between whispered praise. Stanley draws back just enough to look at Ford.

“C’mon, Sixer,” he breathes, throwing Ford a hungry look. “Don’t you wanna fuck me? I want you deep. So I can feel you here,” he grabs Ford’s hand and guides it to press just below his navel. “Please. Don’t you want that too?”

Ford sucks in a breath through his teeth. Oh, he knows what Stanley’s doing. That sweet, wide-eyed look, like he doesn’t know the effect those words have, like he’s not baiting Ford on purpose.

He’s proud of him, his clever, brave boy, who’s finally starting to realize the power he holds. The fact that he can tempt Ford with a look, a word. That he doesn’t have to beg, just offer, and Ford will fall to his knees.

His heart is pounding, cock hard and leaking, and all he can think about is how good it would feel to bury himself in his boy. He wants to split him open and fuck him until he cries, wants to hear him sob and still beg for more. He wants to ruin him. Leave him so thoroughly claimed that no version of Stanley in any reality could mistake who he belongs to.

Because he’s never known how to want Stanley gently. Not this precious boy that he’d reached across dimensions to claim and not his own twin. The Stanley he left behind. The one he abandoned when they were seventeen, who died without ever knowing how much Ford needed him. How much he loved him.

But this brave, perfect boy is his. When he first brought Stanley home, he thought of him as a reward he was owed, the universe’s way of repaying a debt. Now, he knows better. He’s a second chance. A living, breathing atonement for all the things Ford didn’t do and didn’t say. And Ford will never let him go. Never again.

Stanley is still panting in his arms, flushed and dazed and offering more, because of course he is. His sweet boy doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know how dangerous it is to be loved like this. And Ford is trying. Trying to be good, to be gentle. But every instinct in him howls for more.

When he lifts his gaze to meet Stanley’s, he freezes. Because his boy is already watching him, dazed eyes roaming across his face.

-

Ford goes quiet for a beat, and for a second, Stan wonders if he’s pushed it too far. But then Ford looks up at him and he sees the barely restrained hunger in his eyes, the way his jaw twitches, the way his pupils are blown wide with need. He’s trembling with the effort of holding back.

Stan feels a wave of relief flood through him. He can see it now, his own want mirrored in his brother’s eyes. He doesn’t understand why his Ford had been so cold and indifferent. He hadn’t wanted Stan the same way he’d wanted him, but Stan remembers being fifteen and having to beg for scraps of affection.

This Ford wants him just as badly as he’s always wanted Ford. And all Stan wants is for him to break. He wants to be wrecked like that first night when Ford had left him shaking and breathless, his body spent and slick and aching. Fucked so deep and so hard he could barely remember how to speak, just his brother’s name falling from his lips over and over.

Stan wants that again. Wants Ford to fuck him like he belongs to him. Like he’s not just some stray picked up from another dimension on a whim, but his.

Stan reaches up, threading shaky fingers through Ford’s hair. Guides him close until their mouths nearly brush. His voice is barely more than a whisper when he says, “You can ruin me.”

Then, softer still, “I want you to.”

-

Ford breaks.

He surges forward, one hand cupping the back of Stanley’s head, the other curling tight around his waist as he crashes their mouths together. Stanley melts against him, lets him lick into his mouth again and again, slick and breathless.

His fingers tighten in that thick brown hair. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls against Stanley’s lips. “No clue how far I’ll go to keep you, Stanley.”

Stanley shivers against him, makes a soft, wrecked sound, and Ford swallows it, kisses him slowly. He wants to kiss him forever, tear his clothes off and bury himself inside him right here and now. But he wants to give him everything and he wants to do it right. So he gives him one last kiss and pulls back fully, guiding his boy to lie back on the couch.

He strips them both quickly, only breaking eye contact when he reaches into the drawer beside the couch for the lube. He settles between Stanley’s spread thighs, then leans down to graze his teeth along his throat. His good boy tilts his head back with a low groan, and Ford rewards him by sucking a mark just behind his ear, right where he knows it will make him shiver.

He moves down to his chest, trailing kisses and sharp little bites along the way. He lingers at one nipple, takes it gently between his lips and sucks, just to feel Stanley twitch and gasp. Then he moves to the other, tonguing it before sinking in harder, just enough to sting.

He continues kissing down and pauses when he gets to his soft belly. Ford glances up at Stanley’s face, pressing a kiss just below his navel where he’d touched before.

“Here?” he asks, voice dark and tender. “You want to feel me here, sweetheart?”

Stanley whimpers, nodding fast and breathless. “Yeah, please…need it, Sixer.”

Ford hums low in his throat, pleased, and leans in to kiss that soft spot again. “That’s my good boy,” he murmurs. “You’ll feel me there by the time I’m done with you.”

He leans down to suck one last mark on Stanley’s inner thigh, but then he sees his pretty cock twitching, and he can’t help himself. He wants a taste, so he lets his mouth brush over the head of Stanley’s cock. Just a warm breath, a teasing flick of his tongue over the slit. He moans low in his throat and Stanley gasps, legs twitching.

“Ford, don’t tease!”

But Ford pulls back, looking at him with dark eyes. “Shh. Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

He slicks his fingers with the lube quickly, breath hitching when he takes in the pretty sight of Stanley, flushed and trembling, cock hard and leaking. Ford spreads Stanley’s legs wider and finally brings his fingers to his soft hole, pressing in gently. He’s still so tight around him. Ford has to close his eyes for a moment, just to keep from losing it then and there.

Stanley whines, shifting his hips, trying to grind down on Ford’s fingers.

“Easy,” Ford breathes, but his restraint starts fraying. He adds a second finger and thrusts deep, fingers curling. Searching. Then Stanley jolts with a choked moan.

“There. Right there,” Ford growls. “That spot right there? That’s mine, sweetheart.”

“Y-yours” Stanley gasps, back arching off the couch. “Fuck! Sixer… just like that-“

Ford can feel him tightening around his fingers already. He should slow down, but his control is slipping and Stanley asked to be ruined. So he adds a third finger and starts a slow, mean grind right against his boy’s sweet spot.

Stanley goes wild.

His eyes roll back and he lets out high-pitched little whines that Ford knows he’ll deny making until the end of his days. He loves bringing him to this point. Stanley’s hips buck, trying to squirm away from the overstimulation, but Ford holds him down.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Ford growls. “You’re going to come for me.”

Stanley sobs and Ford can feel his body fighting it, trying to hold back. His muscles clench, slick and fluttering around Ford’s fingers. It just makes Ford hungrier.

“Come on, love,” Ford whispers as he keeps up that torturous, grinding rhythm. “Be a good boy for me and come.”

Ford feels it the second it happens, Stanley’s body giving in. He lets out a helpless whine, legs kicking weakly, and Ford feels the sudden tightening around his fingers. He works his precious boy through his second orgasm, untouched cock spilling across his belly, until he’s wailing from the intensity.

“F-F’rd! Can’t… ahh!… too much!”

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Ford murmurs, finally stilling his hand and withdrawing his fingers. “I’ve got you.”

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Stanley’s mouth. His eyes flutter open and he gazes up at Ford, dazed but Ford sees the hunger still there. His heart clenches. He knows he should give Stanley time to recover. But he can’t hold back anymore.

“Ready for me, sweetheart?”

Stanley wraps his arms around Ford’s neck and tilts his hips up in response. Ford groans, grinding his hips against Stanley’s for a moment before lining himself up. He slides in halfway, and they both moan.

“I can feel you fluttering around me,” Ford mutters, breath ragged. His eyes meet Stanley’s, and a smirk curls on his lips. “Are you trying to pull me deeper, baby?”

His boy looks right at him and nods. “Where I need you,” he breathes, hips bucking slightly, trying to get Ford deeper.

Ford breaks on a low groan, thrusting forward in one smooth stroke until he’s buried to the hilt. Stanley gasps, fingers digging into Ford’s shoulders. Then he starts to move, pulling out just enough to thrust back in, slow and deep.

“Fuck,” he breathes against Stanley’s skin. “You’re perfect, Stanley. You were made for this. Made to be fucked by me.”

Stanley’s eyes are unfocused, dazed, and he’s breathless when he says, “Just… just for you.”

Something inside Ford unravels at the words. He lets out a low growl and tightens his grip on Stanley’s hips, then fucks into him hard enough to punch a gasp from his throat.

“Mine,” he groans out against Stanley’s throat. “You’re mine.”

His poor boy’s fingers claw weakly at his back. His thighs twitch, whole body trembling. “F’rd… I can’t-” His voice breaks around a moan. “Can’t come again…”

“Yes, you can,” Ford growls. “You will.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, aiming right for the spot that makes Stanley keen. “You don’t know what your body can do, my love,” he pants. “But I do. I’ll show you.”

Another thrust, brutal and deep, and Ford feels Stanley seize around him.

“You asked to feel me there,” he snarls, not slowing down. “So take it. Feel me, sweet boy. Let me make you come on my cock like you were meant to.”

He reaches between them, and wraps a hand around Stanley’s softening cock. He’s not hard, not really, but Ford strokes him anyway. Gentle, just enough to drag him closer to the edge.

Stanley sobs, sweet and broken, clenching around him like he’s trying to drag him deeper. His cock twitches weakly in Ford’s hand, spilling just a few pitiful drops between them. Ford hisses through his teeth and drives in harder, slamming in deep. For an absurd second, he feels like he’s not deep enough. He wants more. And it’s ridiculous because he can’t possibly go any deeper but… he wants to breed his little brother. Claim him in an impossible, irrefutable way.

It’s that thought that tips him over the edge. He comes as deep inside of his boy as he can. He’s not surprised that his cock stays hard, twitching inside that sweet, ruined hole. Stanley is boneless beneath him, and he gives a soft "ah!" when Ford shifts his hips, hands twitching where they lie above his head.

“Shh, my love,” Ford pants, still trembling from his orgasm. “You don’t have to give me anything else. Just let me come inside you one last time…”

Ford isn’t going to admit to the thoughts of breeding his sweet boy. Not yet. But the hunger lingers and he can’t help himself. “Keep it nice and warm for me,” he murmurs, and then leans down to mouth the rest into Stanley’s throat: Watch it take.

And his perfect, oblivious boy wraps his arms around him and slurs out, “Uh-huh… wanna… keep y’in me.”

Ford breathes a soft laugh, feeling a surge of heat in his gut. He lets himself bask in the fantasy for a moment then gathers Stanley up again, strong hands guiding his trembling thighs around his waist. He sinks back into the couch, and slides back into his boy with a slow thrust.

-

Stan whines, body jolting, but he doesn’t protest. He just melts, wraps one shaking arm around Ford’s neck, the other curling weakly against his chest. He buries his face in the crook of Ford’s neck, and trembles, breaths coming in small, hitching gasps. Ford’s hands grip his hips, holding him up while he thrusts upward, because Stan has no strength left in his thighs, can only tremble against his brother and take what he’s given. He feels floaty and dazed, like time is slipping away. Everything’s soft around the edges except for Ford’s voice and the steady, claiming feel of his hands.

“Stanley… Stanley, baby, look at me.”

Stan gives a little whimper but obeys, pulling back with the last of his strength, only to toss his head back with a cry as Ford slams his hips down, grinding up against his abused prostate.

It hurts. It feels so fucking good.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

Stan’s teary eyes flutter open, and he looks at Ford, shivering when he sees that Ford looks just as wrecked as he feels.

“There you are, my good boy. Listen to me carefully,” Ford’s voice is low, rough, eyes intense and locked on his. “You’re mine, Stanley. There’s not an inch of you I haven’t claimed. But,” Stan freezes, holding his breath, hanging on to every word. “I belong to you too, my love. You own every bit of me.”

The words land like a physical blow. And his overstimulated body reacts before he can even catch his breath. One last wave of pain-pleasure crashes over him and he clenches down on Ford’s cock. He hears Ford grunt, feels the rush of warmth as he spills inside of him. But Stan’s thoughts are still locked on Ford’s words.

Ford is his. His. His.

It’s too much. It’s perfect. Stan blacks out.

. . .

He comes to slowly, in flashes. He blinks and Ford is holding him close, soothing his trembling body, murmuring soft words he can’t make out.

He blinks again and Ford is carrying him up the stairs, shushing him gently when he whines.

Another blink and he’s in their bed, sheets cool against his overheated body. Ford is gently wiping off the sweat and cum from his aching body. Still murmuring sweet words to him. Sweet boy. Did so well for me. My good boy. Stan blinks up at him slowly and Ford smiles when their eyes meet.

“Are you back with me, sweetheart?”

His voice is soft, tender. And Stan’s heart clenches. Ford feels too far away. He wants him close, needs his arms wrapped around him. He whines softly, reaches out for him with a weak hand.

“F’rd…c’mere…”

“Shh love, I’m right here. I need you to sit up and drink some water for me. Can you do that for me?”

Stan pouts because he doesn’t really want to move but he’ll do whatever Ford asks if it will get him in bed faster. Ford helps him sit up, and as soon as the water hits his lips, he realizes just how thirsty he is. He gulps the water down quickly, then immediately reaches for his brother.

Ford huffs a quiet laugh, sets the empty glass on the nightstand and then finally, finally, wraps Stan up in his arms. Stan melts against his chest.

“How are you feeling, darling?”

“Sore,” Stan mumbles. “But ’s good. ’m yours… an’ you’re mine. Mine.”

“Yes,” he hears Ford whisper, and feels him press a soft kiss into his hair. “Always.”

Stan’s heart soars. This is everything he’s ever wanted. And the relief of finally being wanted is almost enough to erase the emptiness left by the twin who never did.

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