it's the pits

Isa | Massive sap | Head of Stan's route on the gfdatingsim AO3

[dietpitt]

[ My AO3 ] [ My Writing Tag ]

key: ❤️= smut/suggestive 💗= personal favorite

Stan Pines x Reader

disco_date.discard('robbie'): ❤️💗(AO3 Link) (tumblr post coming soon)

Swooning Over Stans: What if Robbie hadn't interrupted your final date?

Satisfaction Guaranteed ❤️💗 [Read on AO3]

You're a lonely homebody, looking to add a bit of spice back into your life. When a strapping young vacuum salesman delivers himself right to your door, you just can't help but invite him in.

Green Is Definitely Your Color ❤️💗 [Read on AO3]

In which body paint and Stan's mouth save Halloween (but ruin a perfectly good costume).

Keep It Cool ❤️ [Read on AO3]

A broken A/C and some Stan belly appreciation.

Fall Into Me, And Then... 💗 [Read on AO3]

Childhood Best Friends to Lovers with a clueless Teen!Stan.

Summer Lovin’ ❤️ Some summer fun with Teen!Stan and friends.

Wait ❤️ Teasing Young!Stan during his tour at the Murder Hut.

Patience ❤️ [Part 2 of Wait] Your actions on the tour have consequences.

Soft Cotton ❤️💗 An intimate moment; playing with Young!Stan's white t-shirt.

Found In a moment when you're down and crying, a stranger comforts you.

Friandise 💗 [Read on AO3]

Stan gives you more to feast on than just Stancakes in bed.

<1k Words

The Derby Blues 💗- You accompany "Stan" to the Kentucky Derby

Rasberries for Breakfast - Stan blows raspberries on your tummy

It Hits the Fan - Stan's past catches up to the both of you

Apartment Hunt - A mini heist with Stan in a stranger's apartment

<500 Words

Dip & Tow 💗- You join Stan in his bed one night on the Stan O' War II

“Are You Still Awake?” - Stan has trouble sleeping; you comfort him

The Usual ❤️- An intimate, stolen moment in The Shack's gift shop

Lucky? - Stan's thoughts about you, wearing his jacket while out on a date

A Bar by the Bay - Sharing shots with a handsome older sailor

Happy - For the first time in maybe ever... you're happy

Ford Pines x Reader

You're The First (The Last, My Everything) ❤️- [Read on AO3]

A tender moment turns into your first time together with Ford.

Galaxy Ford - Ford helps you study for an exam [Read on AO3]

“You Can’t Keep Doing This” 💗 - A stolen moment in Ford's lab (and lap)

“My Hand’s Getting Awful Lonely...” - Ford works out a pickup line

A Casual Chat ❤️- A video call with Modern!College!Ford gets a bit out of hand

Musings

Stan vs Ford: Bringing You Gifts/Treasures

Stan vs Ford: Foreplay ❤️

Stan vs Ford: Falling Asleep

Stan as a cop (he'd never be a fucking cop lol)

Stan x Reader x Ford - You have a date night in and fall asleep on the couch

Stan x OC

"Red" ❤️- Post-Swooning Over Stans, Bri meets back up with Stan [Read on AO3]

Orange, Pink Stan helps Em celebrate their birthday in style

graphics by @saradika-graphics

[arachegeek]

Gravity Falls x Reader Zine!

Fanfiction and artwork all dedicated to a romantic February Gravity Falls experience! This is a mostly suggestive/nsfw zine, but was a lot of fun to put together! Stop on by and enjoy the contributions!

View the zine here: GravityFallsXReader-DropBox

Contributors:

@the-archivist-writes - Organizer

@dontbeanassbutt - Author and formatter

@a-thing-forgotten - Artist (spot, graphics) and formatter

@arachegeek - Artist (cover, spot, graphics) and formatter

@acedormouse - Author

@everettpines - Artist (spot)

@dietpitt - Author, artist (spot)

@ink-pocket - Artist (spot, page)

GingerIsASpice - Artist (spot)

@gravity-falls-fanatic89 - Author

@grrabityballs - Author, Artist (spot)

@lazyjadeart - Artist (page)

JacksnPacks - Artist (spot)

Thank you to everyone who participated! <3

[dietpitt]

Check out this FREE ZINE I participated in! I wrote two stories: a Stan x Reader and a *gasp* Manly Dan x Reader!!!

[dietpitt]

Happy 10 years to the GF finale!!!

I vividly remember sobbing, my mascara dripping that school night.

Thanks for all the support over the years. If you ever played the SOS Dating Sim, if you ever liked or reblogged a fic. It meant the world!!!

Stay weird!!!

💕

[dietpitt]

Gravity Falls X Reader Zine

Some Discord friends and I will be putting together an invite-only Gravity Falls x Reader Zine for Valentine's Day! It'll be low-pressure, digital, and available for free featuring art and writing.

If we're mutuals (I follow from @themightyrancho ) and you'd like to participate, shoot me a DM!

[dietpitt]

Kinktober 2025- Day 1: Masturbation

On Company Time

{Read on Ao3} {Masterlist}

Pairing: Stanley Pines x Gender Ambiguous Reader Rating: Explicit Tags:  Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Masturbation, Semi-public masturbation, Fantasizing, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Pet Names, Voice Kink, Belly Kink, Cigars, Smoking

Working minimum wage at a tourist trap at this stage in your life wasn't on your bingo card.

But then again, frantically trying to get off in the storage closet of said tourist trap wasn’t on there either.

You already had a crush on your stupid, sexy, geriatric boss. He was the only good thing about this gig– a bit of hard eye-candy to get you through the day. He was definitely entertaining, in a corny sort of way. He made you laugh, whether on purpose or not, and that almost made up for the lack of a proper break room.

Normally, you can keep it in your pants. But today, Mr. Mystery came into the gift shop as Stan Pines– only partly dressed in his getup.

The old man had his jacket and dress shirt undone, revealing his beater and medallion underneath. He didn’t have his girdle on yet, so his paunch hung out and over his belt tantalizingly.

He was nursing a hangover, you assumed, with how tired he seemed, dragging himself through the doorway with a groan. He’d had his glasses in hand, rubbing his eyes as he spoke, more rough than usual, as if that was possible.

“Remind me never to never pull an all-nighter again,” he huffed, rubbing the back of his fez-less head. His full head of hair and decent hairline is truly impressive for his age.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bridge today?” you hid your ogling with one of your friendly jabs, tapping a Mystery Shack branded pen on the register where you sat.

His eyes shot to the vending machine, then to you in a glare. “Get to work,” he’d said, lacking his usual witty comeback.

“Aye aye, Captain,” you saluted, before dipping into the hidden drawer for the latest inventory list.

You saw Stan move from the corner of your eye, patting his suit in search of something, but finding it in his inner jacket pocket. He withdrew a thick cigar and a matchbook before tapping his pockets again, seemingly missing an item.

“Damn,” he cursed under his breath, coming up empty on his search. “Hey kid,” he said to get your attention.

“Hm?” You pretended to look up as if you weren’t already staring.

He nodded his head in your direction. “There a cigar cutter in there?”

“Oh, uh, let me see,” you open the drawer again and give it a scan, brushing various paperclips and pencils around in search of the item in question.

Impatient this morning, Stan let out a sigh, approaching the register to take a look for himself. He was by your side then, nudging his way into your space as he looked, roughly sweeping items around in a much more brutish way.

He stood with his chest at eye-level, the engraved medallion he always wears was on full display among the nestle of silver chest hair. It glistened in the fluorescent lights of the shop, sparkling, luring you like a magpie. He was close enough to smell his cologne, a bit overwhelming as he put on a bit too much in his haste to get ready.

“Ah-ha!” Stan said, finding the cutter in the back of the drawer behind the stapler. “Gotcha.”

He pulled back, immediately cutting the cigar and popping it in his mouth.

And oh God, he looks fuckin’ good with it caught between his teeth.

Looking for the matches again, Stan pat his pockets out of habit. You spied the matchbook on the ground and went for it, bending down and picking it up from Stan’s feet. He was watching you when you came back up, offering it out for him.

“Thanks, Doll,” Stan said around the cigar, his fingers brushing yours when he took the matches.

Doll.

The pet name echoes through your head now as your hand works, sounding so natural on his tongue with that gravely voice.

You picture in your mind the sight that followed and was the final spark in your kindled arousal: Stan striking the match and lighting the cigar expertly, giving it a couple puffs.

Your eyes were wide, and you were surely slack-jawed and drooling. Stan blew the smoke away from you both, looking you up and down as he did.

There was a pregnant pause, something hanging in the air as Stan silently took another drag as he sized you up.

“Get back to work,” he finally said, breaking the silence as he exhaled. “Think I pay ya t’stand around?” He shot over his shoulder as he turned and made his way to the back door.

“Y-yes. I mean no!” You scrambled, grabbing the inventory list and clipboard. “I’m gonna go– count some merch.”

“Congratulations,” Stan had waved you off, exiting the shop with a puff of smoke.

So here you are, shorts and underwear around your ankles, leaned desperately against a box of overpriced panther shirts as you crank it to the thought of your boss dicking you down.

It’s shameful, and that just turns you on even more. You have to bite your lip, stifling your moans as you picture that barrel chest and portly stomach pressing into your back as he takes you from behind.

Flashes of what brought you here flip through your mind like a Rolodex to ramp you to your peak.

That cologne, the smell of him, how it lingers in your nostrils. The way his lips wrapped around that cigar. His fucking chest hair, unruly and wild.

The thought of getting caught eggs you on too, adrenaline spiking in your veins.

What would he do?

He'd have to punish you. Use those thick, calloused hands on you to hold you down and teach you a lesson, right here in the gift shop.

You come to the thought of that gold chain smacking you in the face as he rams you, your knees pressed into your shoulders. You have to slap a hand over your mouth, caught off-guard by how hard your orgasm hits you over the head like you’re Wile E. Coyote.

And that was the first, but far from the last time you masturbated to Stan Pines.

Just wait until you see him in his boxers tomorrow.

[dietpitt]

You're The First (The Last, My Everything)

{Read on Ao3} {Masterlist}

Pairing: Ford Pines x Gender Ambiguous Reader Rating: Explicit

A tender moment turns into your first time together with Ford.

A/N: "First time" and sexuality/experience of Ford and reader are purposefully ambiguous here, up for interpretation. In my mind, they're both demisexual here.

You didn't know if this day would ever come.

And now that it has, you try your best not to be overeager. Try not to scare him off, one way or another.

Neither of you are strangers to the technicalities of it. But turning theory into practice with each other– that's what sets your gut full of butterflies ablaze, poor little things.

He is soft– you know this already. His wool sweater, his grey hair. The way he looks at you.

More is revealed to you now, unsheathing him from the cable knit confinement; you find his stomach, plush yet strong and toned under your fingertips. His downy chest hair. The skin surrounding old scars, shiny and begging to be kissed.

His touch when you shed your own garb, gentle yet assured.

Yes, everything about him is soft now, after all these years.

Well– almost all of him.

You feel the protrusion against your inner thigh, and can't help but giggle from above him as your mouths part from each other.

Your pulse thrums in your veins, and Ford traces it along your neck to your clavicle thoughtfully. He keeps going, eyes flitting up to your face to watch as he cups your chest, thumbing over your nipple.

You gasp, biting your lip to stifle a moan. Ford chuckles, enjoying the way his action brings forth a reaction. Always analytical, a bit of his dark side seeping through.

Burying your face in his tattooed neck, you try to hide the heat in your face. Instead, the smell of smoke and cedar fills your nose (surely from his “shaving” earlier), only stoking your arousal.

Ford’s hand moves from one side of your chest to the other, leaving goosebumps in its wake. His hands are so big, and they cup you so perfectly.

In retaliation, you give the star at his jugular an open-mouthed kiss, tonguing the cutesy image. It makes Ford suck in a breath, sensitive there. When you bite and suck, he groans, and you feel his member twitch against you.

“Don't look at him, look at me,” Ford half-jokes, grabbing your behind and giving it a squeeze.

You obey, pulling back to look at him in his warm eyes, freed from his glasses. The lines there deepen as he smiles, reaching up to brush away the hair that's fallen in your face before he cups your cheek.

After a moment, your head turns in his hold to kiss his thumb. Then his index finger, then the next. Ford blushes, fully reddening when you take one of his middle fingers’ tips between your lips, tongue swirling along the pad. He lets out a breath through his nose, steeling himself.

Your hand goes to his belt, though it stops to pet the dark hair above it along the way.

Ford’s unoccupied hand meets yours at the buckle, pulling the old leather through. He sighs in relief as you flick the button open and draw the zipper down, revealing his tented, plaid boxers.

You ask if this is okay.

“More than,” he answers, taking your chin between thumb and forefinger, bringing you in for a kiss. Your tongues touch, swirling around one another slowly.

He moans in your mouth when you palm his cock, causing it to leak into the burgundy fabric. You free it from its confines, and it springs forward.

Deep pink, smooth– he “shaves” down there, too.

He nudges against your palm, responding to your touch. It's fascinating, empowering. You press firmer against the length of him before pulling back, and it bounces with your movement again, spilling more precome.

“Enjoying yourself?” Ford smirks fondly, running his fingers along your spine.

“Very much,” you laugh, feeling hot in the face again, yet emboldened.

You wrap your hand around his girth, giving a gentle test stroke. Ford gasps, mouth falling open.

Another movement, followed by another in quick succession, earns a full-throated moan.

It's beautiful, deep and baritone. You want to make him make that noise again.

He distracts you though, when his hands go to your hips. The feeling of your waist in his hold has your mind whirling a bit with lustful visions, potential of what's to come.

“Let me touch you,” Ford says. “Please.” He adds.

You nod, biting your lip as you shift from your place straddling his muscular thigh. Tugging your underwear down, the air hits you with a chill. You shiver, but aren't cold for long as Ford’s warm palms immediately engulf the newly exposed skin, calloused and steady.

“This alright?” Ford asks, eyes to your face again to make sure his movements are welcome.

“Yes,” you breathe. “God, yes.”

He smiles up at you, overjoyed to hear so. His fingers slide along the sensitive flesh between your thighs where you yearn for him, others at your cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he muses, thumb running along your bottom lip.

“I was about to say the same thing,” you laugh. He really is, coiffed hair mussed and eyes dark with arousal.

Beautiful… just like that noise he made, that you long to repeat.

On a mission, your hand moves again, making a fist around his length, bringing it up and down.

You find a rhythm in tandem between one another’s legs. It's slow at first, gaining speed as your moans ramp up.

Overwhelmed by pleasure, your hips start to chase it, grinding into Ford’s hand which never waivers.

Ford curses underneath his breath, panting as you thumb the head of his dick with each pass.

The muscles of his neck bulge as he swallows, star dancing, beckoning you forward. You pepper kisses along his chiseled jaw, his dimpled chin, nipping here and there.

Your fist rises and falls quickly now, fueled by the smattering of moans, how his chest heaves. The way his fingertips dig into your side, anchoring you to each other.

“I’m- I’m close,” he warns, still stroking your core with a fervor of his own. You agree, feeling the band in your stomach stretch higher and higher.

“I love you,” you blurt out among the sweet nothings, immediately regretting the timing in the back of your mind, the forefront swarmed with pleasure as the band snaps.

“I love you too,” Ford echos tenderly. “So much.” He holds you as your release washes over you in waves, painting his hand.

He kisses you deeply as you whimper.

Your grasp around him, which halted as you came, returns with vigor. He has to break the kiss when you return to stroking.

You bite into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he groans out a curse.

“Do that again,” he begs. “Please."

And you do, harder this time, earning another sweet sound, then a gasp of your name as he comes across your knuckles, on his contorting stomach. The vibrations of his final moans echo through your bones.

You slow your movements, your tongue licking soothingly where your teeth just sank into his flesh, on the verge of breaking skin.

Ford’s fingers twitch at your side as he comes down from his high. After a moment of you both just catching your breath, he nudges you with his nose, getting you to look at him.

“You’re wonderful,” he says, planting a kiss to your cheek.

“You just keep taking my lines." You don't let him get far pulling back before you close the distance again, this time on his lips.

Your clean fingers trace along his neck where the bite mark remains, purpling. “A bit of a masochist, are we?”

Ford flushes, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulps. “You could say that,” his eyes skirt away, his short answer speaking volumes.

Definitely something to explore later.

“I love you,” the words bring his gaze back to your face.

Ford wipes his hand on his pants before cupping your face in both, cradling it.

“You just keep taking my lines.”

[summerweenzine]

Who is joining up for Summerween?

Sign-up here

[strangersees]

Hey gang! Welcome to the 2025 GF Trick or Treat event! Rules and details below 🧵:

- This is a fun casual event that runs from September 20th to October 31st. All artists and writers are welcome!!

- The rules of the event are simple, and similar to “Boo-ing”: find someone in the GF fandom, and surprise them with a GF-based Halloween doodle, one-shot, or art piece of GF characters or even GF ocs (GF AUs are absolutely welcome as well!). Then, let the receiver of the ‘treat’ know to put this emoji combo (💫🎃🌲) in their social media handle, and have them go to find someone else to surprise with a gift!

The goal here is to make sure that efforts are spreaded out to include as many people as possible, and filter who may have received a gift already. It is understandable if you want to surprise mutuals first/someone receives several gifts all at once though!

- Make sure to tag your art with [GFTrickorTreat2025] if you can! It would be amazing to see what everyone has done and compile it into one area!

- Make sure to absolutely respect boundaries regarding the content of the art that you send people. Keep it SFW!

- Finally, have fun!! Let’s include as many people as possible! 🎃🎃🎃

[dietpitt]

I've fallen back into drawing my insert...

And it's porn

🙈🙊

[orxinus]

stan version for the plus sized self shippers. u stole all the pillows so now hes using you as one

[dietpitt]

hi pitt!!! i was wondering if stan's first date in SOS was possibly inspired by the song First Date by Ninja Sex Party?? and if it wasn't, then the coincidence is very funny lol. if you haven't heard it i highly recommend it, it's very fun!

Thank you for writing!!! I didn't think about that song at the time the date was being written, but I saw it recommended by some players after haha. I definitely used to listen to NSP back in the day!

[dietpitt]

putting a chastity cage on stan and he picks the damn lock :/

LMFAO

[dietpitt]

the #1 stan pines fics mvp is writing again?? 2024 is saved the sun is shining the crops are growing we are so back babeyyy, gods bless and thank you

I know this is very old but thank you it means a lot!! I've really gotten back into things and the support knowing that people still care makes me :') eee

[dietpitt]

I made a quick collage for my latest fic, Satisfaction Guaranteed!

This fic is born not just from my love of Stan, but the 1970s as well, so it was a blast to put this together as I learn a new program.

I was inspired to make a moodboard by @eupheme, who makes boards for their own fics. Definitely more to come in the future from me!

[f0xseven]

he just carries this around everywhere

[f0xseven]

[vicartless]

Getting ready 🎱💋

Version without lipstick

[dietpitt]

Satisfaction Guaranteed

{Read on Ao3} {Masterlist}

Pairing: Stanley Pines x AFAB Reader Rating: Explicit Tags: Door to Door Salesman Stan, Strangers to Lovers, AFAB Reader-Insert, Alcohol, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Unsafe Sex, Rough Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Penis In Vagina Sex, Doggy Style, Hair-pulling, Creampie, Female Ejaculation, Cunnilingus, cum-eating, Sexual Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms, Pet Names, Dirty Talk, Reader referred to as "ma'am", Reader has painted nails, Reader has an ex-husband

You're a lonely homebody, looking to add a bit of spice back into your life.

When a strapping young vacuum salesman delivers himself right to your door, you just can't help but invite him in.

A/N: Takes place in the early-to-mid 70s. Reader is listening to Al Green's I'm Still in Love With You album.

Rest and relaxation. Good old R&R.

It’s become a foreign concept as of late, your life instead reduced to a never-ending list of annoying paperwork and draining phone calls.

God-knows how long since you’ve indulged in a bath with all the bells and whistles. It just makes the floral perfume of your newest soap all the more alluring as you pour a bit into the filling tub and watch it lather.

Honeyed vocals drift through the air from the living room’s turntable. The record’s an all-time favorite, soulful and mellow like a groovy lullaby. Pinning your hair up, you can’t help but vocalize along with the falsetto even as it fades in transition to the next track.

Steady drum. Unwavering cymbal. The easy electric organ kicks in and washes over you, as warm and sweet as the faucet cascading across your palm.

Don't look so sad

I know it's over

But life goes on

And this world keeps on turning, yeah

Let's just be glad

We have this time to spend together

There is no need

To watch the bridges that we're burning

You scoff softly at the lyrics before occupying yourself with another cap’s worth of bubbles.

This is your time. You won’t let him occupy your thoughts at this moment.

Ding-dong

If your expression could make a sound, it would be akin to glass being smashed.

The doorbell. It’s just the doorbell. Don’t get all riled up.

Whatever collector it is will have to be a bother some other time.

It rings again.

The sound brings a grimace to your face as you test the water's temperature once more. It's perfect.

Satisfied with the arrangement of bath accessories before you, you finally move to untie your silky robe. As your foot enters the warm, petal-adorned water, a content sigh leaves your lips.

Ding-dong

A THIRD time.

Fuck.

Your car is in the drive-way, and your living room lights are probably on. Still, you’d think a person would take the hint.

You groan, lamenting the loss of hot suds as you retreat from the tub. Drying your hand on your robe, you huffily shift it back onto your shoulders. You're more than happy to display exactly how badly whatever asshole at the door inconvenienced you, and maybe make them think twice about including this house on their route.

The air chills the wet part of your leg as you pad through the living room, a reminder of your interrupted spa day. On your way over, the doorbell has the audacity to chime for a fourth time.

Your door opens unhurriedly, and what looks back at you from the other side isn't especially what you'd imagined.

A ridiculous, pearly white grin strikes you first— then it's framing dimples, and the prominent chin and wide jaw on which they rest.

“What do you want?” You waste no time in getting right to it, hoping to make this quick despite the handsome face.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," the grin speaks, gruff and overly enthusiastic. “Is the Mister home?”

You grimace at that, hand on the door tightening. “No,” you reply, deadpan.

The man quirks an eyebrow upon your reaction before trying again. “Er.. a Misses?”

You bark out a laugh at that, earning another smile from the stranger. “No, I wish. There is no Mister anymore, but there was.”

“That’s a damn shame— pardon my language, ma’am.” He says, eyes catching at the place the two halves of your robe converge at the top of your cleavage.

Unexpectedly amused, you’d forgotten your lack of proper clothing before his eyes strayed. The movement not only brings you back, but sends an unexpected jolt through you.

It's then you take in the entire picture: a brunet of average height, broad-shouldered and on the thicker side around the middle. He’s dressed in a stark button-up dress shirt and brown slacks, hugged by a pair of suspenders. Sporting a red bow-tie and straw boater hat, the look is at least a decade too old for his age, but the longer hair that curls at the nape of his neck betrays the clean-cut facade.

Next to him sits an unassuming vacuum cleaner, bag decorated in a loud checkered pattern. Even louder are the letters “STAN VAC” plastered across it, punctuated with a “™” and a “©” that have been poorly scribbled out in marker.

Given the circumstances, you really should have just closed the door in his still-grinning face. But from his appearance to his bold comment… something about him piques your interest.

You'll bite. “Can I help you with something, sir?”

“Depends! You look like a lady who’s got a filthy rug. Am I right?”

He sputters as you nearly slam the door, stopping you by catching it with the toe of his shoe by a sliver.

“Wait! Okay, gotta work on that, but hear me out here,” he bargains, waving his hands through the air as if to wipe away his last line.

Again, you don’t know why you don’t just kick him in the balls. But instead, you creak open the door again with a huff, hand landing on your hip.

He’s lucky he’s cute.

“Just tell me about the product and or service you’re trying to sell me, Mister…”

“Pines! Stan Pines,” he says, holding out his hand for a shake. You take it, his own dwarfing yours. It’s warm, if not a bit clammy, leaving your palm missing the heat when you part. “And this here is The Stan Vac. It Sucks More Than Anything!” He gestures to the vacuum cleaner to his left.

“You wanna try that again, Mr. Pines?” You say, trying to cover your wry smirk with your hand.

Mr. Pines huffs, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s a work-in-progress,” he admits. “And it’s ‘Stan’, please,” he says, cheeks and ears now with the slightest dusting of pink.

Oh God.

You want him.

Stan clears his throat, trying his pitch again. “The Stan Vac is lightweight, easy to maneuver, and picks up dirt like gum on the bottom of your shoe!” He pats the handle of the aforementioned machine like a loyal pet.

Your toes flex into your accent rug at the reminder of your lack of footwear. Then you think of how long you've been on your feet at the door, when you should be relaxing. Enjoying yourself.

Here’s this man, delivered to your door; he might as well have a bright shiny ribbon wrapped around him.

Maybe you could have a little fun.

Time to drop the niceties.

“Well, Stan. Would you like to come in?” You shoot him your best smile and open the door fully now, gesturing into your home. “For a demonstration of your product?”

He beams at that, literally holding onto his hat in surprise at the offer. “Hot Belgian Waffles! Where have you been all my life?” he asks, picking up the household appliance and his briefcase before stepping past the door frame.

So, there’s a strange man in your home.

Your heart flutters in your chest as you watch him set his things down and survey your living room.

You want this. You’ve got this.

“Sweet digs,” he says, placing his hands on his hips as he toes at the shag carpet with the tip of his shoe.

You feel like a predator that's lured its prey into its lair. It’s a funny notion, but one that leaves you feeling powerful and seductive.

You deserve to live a little, right? No harm in seeing where this goes.

“It’s not exactly ‘filthy’, thank you very much, but the rug could use some TLC,” you say, joining him in the center of the room.

“Y’got an outlet?” Stan asks, already unwinding the power cord from the handle of the Stan Vac.

You move to the wall, nudging a potted plant to the side and exposing a pair of electrical outlets. “Right over here.”

He perks up, standing near the power ports as he speaks.

“Alright. So, picture this: you're enjoying your afternoon snack in the living room, watching the new episode of S*T*A*C*H.” Stan reaches into his pocket and extracts a small bag of what look like sunflower seeds.

“...but suddenly, an epic twist happens, causing you to drop your bowl, seeds cascading onto the ground!” He waggles his fingers as he speaks, before ripping the packet and dumping the tiny things onto your carpet.

You choke, sputtering before he quickly cuts you off.

“And oh no! Your husband just called and said he’s invited the boys from work over for drinks! How will you ever get the rug clean in time?!” Stan mock-laments, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and bending at the knees to pose like a damsel in distress.

Your eyebrow raises, arms crossing. “Need to alter your pitch there, buddy. No Mister, remember?”

Stan smiles apologetically, forgetting your situation as he gets lost in his salesman element.

“Regardless, ya need t’get yer rug clean, and fast. But behold!” He flips on the power and the vacuum whirs to life. “...the Stan Vac, in action!”

He kicks the hinge on the Stan Vac, grabs the handle, and pushes the machine forward. It smoothly runs against the long fibers of the shag fabric, making the tell-tale sounds of debris getting sucked up into the vacuum. You're impressed, you have to admit, with the clean path it leaves.

But your attention is pulled to the man handling it, as his shirt buttons strain with the movement of his arm. An arm that looks to be pleasantly muscular.

The moment of appreciation is gone however, when the smell of something burning hits your nose. Then comes a clunking noise, followed by a high-pitched whir.

Stan grimaces, eyes widening as he gives it a slap. "Nothin' to see here! Just needs a little motivation, that's all–"

The sound turns into a metallic clank, before there's a poof of dust spit out of the appliance, the whirring winding down to a stop.

"...Well. There goes that." You say simply.

Stan takes off his hat, using it to fan himself. He's sweating at the temples, face red with embarrassment, yet still trying to play it off.

"Defective model," is all he manages from his bruised ego.

You feel bad for the guy. It's not easy being on the hustle, that's for sure.

"It happens to everyone eventually," you say, patting him on the back reassuringly. "Probably got worn out from all your demonstrations, right?"

"Yeah– yer absolutely right!" The man (Stan was it?) is energized again, like nothing ever happened. He starts to stride away from you and towards the front door. "I've got more Stan-Vacs in the car! Stay right here toots, I'll be back in a jiffy–"

"Wait!"

He looks back at you, eyebrow quirked, one foot raised in the air to take a step.

"...Can I fix you a drink first?" Your voice manages not to catch, and you have to give yourself a mental high five for that. 

He looks at you, bewildered yet intrigued, putting his foot back to the ground while keeping his brow up.

“I mean, you came all this way and managed to land your pitch on me. Why not celebrate before moving to the second half?”

Stan’s demeanor changes completely. He grins though pursed lips, rubbing his chin with his thumb in mock thought. "Weeeeell... since you asked so nicely…"

You're doing mental cartwheels now as he nears the couch and plops down onto the plush sienna cushions.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

"I’ve got tequila, whiskey, rum,” you say, heading to the glorified cart your ex dubbed a ‘wet bar’. “Though I always love a good sloe screw, I’m fresh out of orange juice.”

Spider, meet fly.

Stan laughs from behind you, tickled by your wordplay. “Y'know, I really shouldn’t be drinkin' on the job, toots, but...” his eyes catch yours as you look back, “...yer makin’ it hard to say no to.”

“Let me surprise you then,” Your tone is playful as you eye the expensive, top-shelf bourbon before lifting onto your tiptoes to bring it down.

“Whatever it is, on the rocks’d be perfect, if y’don’t mind.” You miss Stan's eyes admiring your ass as you bend over to grab the good glasses.

“It’s my pleasure,” you say.

You don't know the half of it, buddy.

“So, tell me, how's someone like you end up all on your lonesome?” Stan asks, crossing his legs as he watches you pour the bronze liquid onto a couple of ice cubes for your both.

A heavy sigh. "My ex-husband was a cheating bastard. He thought I'd put up with it," you say flippantly, taking the drinks in hand and joining Stan by the couch.

"...I didn't,” you finish, holding a bourbon out for Stan to take. "Took half his money and the house for my trouble."

Stan's mouth is agape as he takes the alcohol in hand. "Woah. What a moron."

"Well, now I'm better off," you wave it away, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. "The soon as all the people he owes money stop harassing me, that is."

"Sounds like he’s a real piece of work” Stan grimaces, tugging at his collar with a look you can’t quite place.

"I've certainly got some names I could call him, that's for sure," you smirk before holding out your glass. "To freedom?"

Stan nods, something in his eyes glinting as he clinks his glass to yours. "To freedom!"

You're at the end of your glass and somehow, neither of you is naked yet.

Well, more naked than you currently are, clad in your relaxation robe.

You almost forgot your garb again, falling into an easy back and forth with Stan. You make each other laugh, him at your wit and you at his stories.

He's been on the road for a long time. Doesn't tell you where he's from, but he's been around. Knows his way around appliances, around people. Knows how to get pink stains off of skin. Useful stuff like that.

He sure knows how to get you worked up. Either he's stubborn or clueless with how nothing's come of you inching closer to him across the couch, thighs nearly meeting now.

Time for this predator to strike.

"... and so I says to him, 'there anything I can do for ya?!’" Stan finishes the story, laughing rough and hard at his own punchline.

You laugh along, a bit too hard admittedly, bringing your hand against his knee to brace yourself in your fit. "Oh my God, Stan! You are too funny."

He beams, chest puffing out. "Yeah, well, y'shoulda seen the other guy. Hey, that reminds me of a time when–"

"–Speaking of that…” Your legs cross, exposing one up to the knee from between the slit of your robe.

 “...is there anything I can do…” Your palm slides upwards, just beyond his knee. “...for you?”

“Another drink’d be nice.”

“Alright. And?” You start rubbing circles into his clothed thigh.

Stan gulps, reddening at the tips of his ears. “Hah– could sign y’up for a Stan Vac or two.”

You try not to scoff. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Stan?”

“D’ya know what yer askin’, toots?” His eyes catch on your lips, not leaving them.

Your heart hammers in your chest, adrenaline spiking through your veins.

Spider winds up.

“I’m asking you to fuck me, Stan,” two fingers walk up his arm and to his shoulder, dancing along his collar.

To your gratification, Stan beams. “Well, I do aim to please.”

"The customer is always right," you say as Stan's fingertips find the edge of your robe on your upper thigh, "...right?"

"Hell no," he states, eyes honed in on your mouth again. "But I can make an exception."

You pounce, hands locking into his hair as you crash your mouth to his, lips immediately parting for each other.

He tastes like the alcohol of your past, but the kiss is electric and new, all tongue and teeth and pure want.

In no time, his suspenders dangle to the sides uselessly and the red bow tie is on the floor. This first few buttons of his shirt are undone to reveal a swath of dark chest hair poking out above an A-shirt.

As if the bastard couldn’t get more attractive. He absolutely makes your mouth water.

You suddenly cut off the makeout, pulling away and coming back onto your feet. “Stand up,” you pant.

“Sorry babe, no refunds.”

“Stand. Up.”

He obliges, and you can see the crotch of his pants now growing a tent.

Your smile's the slyest he’s seen this entire exchange, as your hand goes to the belt of your robe, fingers tugging the knot loose.

The silk slides off of your shoulders, down past your arms and finally to the floor at your feet.

The adrenaline-coated arousal, the chill from the air has your blood racing as you step toward the enthralled salesman before you.

Stammering, the young man in your grasp babbles happily about how he can’t believe this is really happening. You listen happily as your hands glide from his shoulders, across his sides.

Before he can really touch again, you drop to your knees, and for once, Stan Pines is at a loss for words (if only for a moment).

“May I?” You drawl so sweetly, palming him through his slacks that now feel impossibly tight.

"Fuck." He can already tell this is gonna be a hell of a ride.

“Not an answer, Love,” you chide, pulling his belt through the buckle with a yank.

“Yes, fuck yes,” he says, eyes wide in awe as he watches you manage to undo the fly by feel alone, maintaining eye contact.

It'd be such a shame to look away from that pretty face, wouldn't it? You couldn't have that. Not with the way his eyes practically shot out of his skull at the sight of you on your knees for him.

And the way you looked at him– like you could just devour– proves to be true.

You’re salivating as he strains against your hand. Finally settling into your work, a slight tug drops his pants to the floor, revealing his heart-patterned boxers. Cute and cheeky, just like him.

Rolling the elastic down and over the bulge you reveal his member, deliciously thick and stiff as you trace the veins with just the tips of your fingers. It sends a shiver of pleasure down Stan’s spine, Paul Bunyan help him.

God, his cock is so pretty and stout (just like him), like velvet in your grip– the back of your throat aches to be filled, as does the space between your legs.

He then pulses against your palm, leaking.

Stan’s eyes meet yours again, wide before you grin and ask: “Where have you been all my life?”

His words, echoed back from when you first invited him into your domain. A one-liner, turned against him, leaving him speechless yet again.

Spider sucks fly dry.

You swear you're still smiling when you dive in, tongue replacing your fingers and slithering up the entirety of the shaft in a slow, wet lick.

"S-Sweet Moses–” Stan's fist turns white against the armrest of the couch, anchoring himself as his mind spins.

You take your time, salivating all over his length, spreading your spit from base to tip. Tongue swirling around the swollen head leisurely, savoring the salty taste of him.

He finally brings his other hand to the top of your head as you hum around his dick, having taken the head in.

Good. You were about to do it for him if he didn't put those big mitts on you soon.

He still lets you lead, digging his fingertips in your hair with a choked expletive. The thought of him tugging it– hard– makes you go a little crazy.

It's heavy on your tongue. Heady. You practically pant against his cock, trailing open-mouthed kisses from sack to slit now.

Stan watches you with heavy lids, brown eyes blown, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Fuuuuck, Sweetheart,” he drawls roughly.

Not the first pet name he’s called you, but now it sounds different; it sends a heated spark down your core from your belly.

You really, really like the sound of that.

His hairy, meaty thighs call out to be caressed. Your painted nails leave reddened lines in their wake as they run down his soft flesh. His muscles dip and tow under the skin in response.

You spare another look up to see Stan’s mouth agape, panting, sweat slicking bangs to his brow.

You move forward, finally sliding him further into your mouth. Before he can finish the current curse word, he’s onto another as you inch on, making him hit the back of your throat.

So good. So full.

So fucking right.

Forward and back, in and out, again and again.

Your eyes close to savor the feeling: his palm tightening into a fist in your hair, the rhythmic pace you’ve set, sliding along his length. The slightest ache of your jaw from his girth; feeling so full there, you realize how empty your cunt is, clenching around nothing. You allow your fingers to slip between your plush thighs.

Stan’s eyes roll into the back of his head when you moan around his cock.

You don't know if you've ever been this turned on before, ever felt quite like this with a dick shoved down your throat. You've always liked the feeling, sure, but by God does doing this for some sexy, half-clothed stranger that’s wrapped around your finger feel fucking incredible.

It's ridiculous how wet you are, the familiar slide of digits between your lower lips spreading your desire from hole to clit. You’re practically dripping into the carpet after a couple circles around the hardened bud.

“Fuck– gorgeous,” Stan huffs, watching you like its the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Rocking into your mouth, he meets you halfway, watching himself disappear between your lips over and over again.

More. You need more of that.

More of him.

Grabbing his ass, you pull him flush, urging him to fuck your mouth in earnest. He obliges, as he seems to do with you, and moves his palms to the sides of your head, holding you still. His hips jut forward, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Focusing on your breathing, you let him use your mouth, hands coming to his hips to brace yourself.

When Stan’s thrusts turn sloppy, you still his hips with your grip. He’s dazed, looking pained to stop but obeys, slowing his movements to a halt as you release his cock with a messy pop.

“Huh?” It's adorable how confused he looks at the moment.

“Can't have you coming yet,” you explain with a rough, fucked-out voice, wiping dripping spit from your chin.

You stand, leaving the husk of your robe pooled at your feet, taking his jaw in hand. “... Need you to fuck me first.”

“I can do that,” Stan grins hungrily. “Like I said: I aim to please.”

You’re spun around and pressed against the couch’s arm rest so you're leaning over, facing the back of it. Feet planted on the carpet, your ass is raised up just enough to be level with his member.

You need this, need him.

Need to be fucked, just like, really fucked.

And that’s something this traveling salesman can surely deliver, straight to your door.

Stan doesn't tease, doesn't waste any time before he’s pushing into you from behind.

No resistance, just the molten heat and maddening stretch as he slides into your hole.

Twin moans escape in unison, Stan throwing his head back while your forehead drops to the armrest of your couch.

“So fuckin’ wet, dollface,” he muses, watching as he slips effortlessly into your cunt again. “Such a gorgeous pussy.”

You whimper at that, clenching around him at his words, feeling so full and hot you might just burst.

But what a way to go.

Out and back in again in no time, he sets a steady pace, pelvis slapping into your ass each time he bottoms out.

“Harder,” you practically bark, head unable to think of anything other than getting absolutely railed, dick-drunk and hungry.

You miss Stan’s grin as a hand grips your hair, yanking your head back up. He leans down, breath fanning across the side of your face and neck as he grunts in your ear.

“No need to tell me twice,” he proclaims, then slams back into you so hard your eyes almost pop out of your skull.

He pounds you just like that, hand fisted in your hair and watching your ass as it ripples upon the impact of each thrust.

YesyesyesYESYESYESYES

The flesh smacking, his laborious grunts, your wanton moans fill the air, making music which replaces the record that clicked off long ago.

You never want this to stop. Just want to get railed forever by this guy, let him keep you away from your worries with his wicked smile and fat cock. Nothing to worry about. No ex to worry about, no debts.

Head empty, cunt full. Skin ablaze. Feeling alive again.

His rhythm changes to long, slow, deep. 

“Y’needed this, huh?” Stan huffs between thrusts, palm pressing into the curve of your back. He laughs wryly, and the sound of it while he’s inside you makes you shiver. “Needed to get fucked so bad, y’just couldn't help yerself from jumpin’ the first guy to show up at yer door?”

“N-no,” you whimper. “Just wanted you.”

Lying slut.

You’re just lucky this fly turned out to be so deeply delectable.

Stan’s hips stutter at that, and the tables have turned again.

Ready to come, you play with your pussy, clit throbbing with anticipation. Your cries kick up an octave, accompanied with a spattering of curses as your mind reels, wiped clean again by the easy slide of thick cock punching up into your guts.

Have you ever felt this good?

You egg him on, with “oh yeah”s and “just like that”s, feeling your highest peak approaching fast and hard.

“‘M gonna come,” you cry, “oh fuck, keep going–”

“Yes ma’am!”

Stan’s hips piston again and again and your orgasm hits you like a freight train. If you could remember his name in this moment, it'd rip from your throat along with the expletive currently leaving it as your back bows, muscles coiled so tight finally released.

More than just words leave your body though, as you could swear your soul said goodbye when your pussy clamped down around the near-stranger with a vice grip.

He hasn't stopped thrusting, your orgasm simply slowing him down. He fucks you through it sloppily, white-knuckling at your hips as your slick cum coats him, flowing down his length and soaking his balls.

“Shit, ‘m fuckin’ close, honey. Where d’ya want it,” Stan pants.

“Come in me,” you plead. “It's okay, I promise.”

Can you kill a fly twice?

He should stop, tell you you're fuckin’ nuts, as if this whole situation wasn't a damn peanut farm. 

But against the sliver of better judgement he possesses, he comes inside you with a roar, pumping you full of his hot load as he thrusts through it.

Humming in pleasure as the heat blooms, your head falls into your folded arms again, enjoying the remnants of pleasure in your veins as Stan catches his breath behind you.

You frown when he pulls out sooner than you anticipated, cum seeping out as he does. Regardless, you rise from the armrest and turn around to face your salesman–

It's his turn to drop to his knees, nearly making you topple over on wobbly legs in surprise. He grips your hips, steadying you tenderly before his mouth falls to where he’s just taken you, spreading your lower lips wide with hands and tongue.

Your fingers tangle in his bangs, keening as he laps at you with fervor, slurping up the mix of your releases with his devilish tongue. He groans, sucking you clean. You can only gawk, legs quaking in his hold as he strokes your clit with the lithe muscle. Eyes locked, it's an intimacy unbecoming for someone you'd just met an hour ago.

That is, until you can't take it anymore, pleasure forcing your lids shut, face wound up in bliss with the rest of you as he draws forth another peak.

Gripping his hair, nails digging into the couch, you do anything you can to ground yourself as you come with a cry, back arching and tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

Stan holds you up as you tremble, licking your cunt until you’ve got to push his head away, the promise of the sweet push-pull between pain and pleasure threatening to ensnare you.

Spider and fly. Mutual destruction.

He looks up from the floor with a smirk, wiping his chin and neck with his forearm before he stands.

You’ve got to hold onto his arms to keep from collapsing, a panting mess as you try and steady your breath. He gives you a moment, hands resting on your hips.

“What–” you huff, “what was your name again?”

The man barks out a laugh, satisfied that he fucked you so good you actually forgot. “Stan.”

“Five star review, Stan,” you gasp, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“More like ten from the sounds I heard.”

“Deal,” you yield, wiping away the sweat from your temple with the back of your hand.

He chuckles. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Anytime,” you say, before letting yourself slump onto the couch, still feeling like jelly.

Stan pulls his boxers up before joining you, offering his outstretched arm.

You sigh, delighted, leaning into him and wrapping an arm around his torso to keep close.

“Careful with what ya say toots,” Stan says half-heartedly. “Don’t want me knockin’ on yer door every time I need to make quota, do ya?”

“Says who?”

You could get used to that.

A beat passes.

“Yer husband’s a fuckin’ moron, lettin’ ya go. Can't believe he gave this up.”

You hum in agreement. “Wouldn’t have this then.”

“You wouldn't have seduced me while he was out? Practically threw yerself at me.”

“You’re a tough nut to crack, Stan Pines.”

“Ooh, so you do know my name,” He leans in teasingly.

“Miraculous recollection,” you weakly push him away.

His eyes hone in on your lips. “Well, I’ll make sure you never forget, sweetheart.” Your mouths part in anticipation, so close to meeting yet again–

Knock-knock-knock

An impatient, aggressive rap at the door.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, hopping to your feet with wide eyes. “It’s him.”

“Who? The milkman?”

“No, smartass,” you groan, grabbing your robe off the floor and putting it on in a rush. “My ex.”

“The hell is he doing here?” Stan reclines onto the couch, putting his arms behind his head nonchalantly. “Tell him to get lost.”

“I can’t. I have a meeting with him to discuss his debts.” You’re over at the coffee table now, clearing the glasses from your drinks and putting the alcohol away frantically. “And if he sees you, he’ll kill you.”

“What– or who yer doin’ on your own time ain’t any of his business.” Stan doesn’t move, save for scratching in his ear with his pinkie.

“Of course! But for a cheater, he’s awfully jealous. And as we’ve established, he’s not the brightest crayon in the box.”

“The jig is up toots, my car’s out front.”

“Right, but he likes to come in the back door.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart–”

“Stan! Please. It’ll buy you some time to get out of here before he rages–”

BAM BAM BAM

“Alright, alright,” Stan rises from the couch– still in no big hurry– and pulls his pants up.

“Here,” you shove his briefcase and bowtie into his arms, interrupting him as he goes to fasten his belt.

“Never thought I’d be on this end of things,” Stan comments as you push the disheveled man towards the front door from whence he came.

“Oh, hush. We can bask in it next time.” You roll your eyes, finally getting to the inside welcome mat.

He brightens. “Next time, eh?”

“I still need that demonstration from you, don’t I?”

He stands straighter at that. “How’s Thursday sound for ya?”

Leaning forward and grabbing his face, you give him a short but intense open-mouthed kiss.

“You know where to find me,” you say when you part.

“Hachi machi!” Stan exclaims, about to go in for another before you stop him, pushing against his chest.

“Go,” you laugh, shooing him out the door and shutting it behind him.

You can’t help the grin on your face despite the banging from the back door intensifying, a booming voice now shouting indistinct expletives. There’s a beat where you’re just standing there, shaking your head in disbelief at what just left your home.

You’re about to turn away when the front door opens again suddenly.

You’re caught off-guard by a forceful smooch, Stan leaning back in through the door frame to press his lips to yours, hand still on the knob.

As fast as it happened, it’s over, Stan grinning wide as he shoots you a wink before shutting the door again.

You can only blink in surprise for a moment, fingertips coming to your lips where the ghost of the kiss lingers.

Now that he’s gone, the air lacks the scent of his cologne, save for where it clings to you.

Your name being yelled from the other entrance draws you back to reality.

Turning around back to the living room, you see it. Sitting right there on your carpet, still plugged in.

Dammit.

He left the Stan-Vac.

Thank you so much for reading, and as always, hanging in there with me! Love you all dearly. Please reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed! And thank you to @saradika-graphics for the dividers.