Okay okay okay. What if Pinesot4 dynamic where dipfordbel are already together and Stan is either:
a.) Completely ignorant to the fact that his brother and niblings are in a relationship because they all feel like he's “not ready” to know the truth. They want to be with him so badly, but they collectively agreed that they need to marinate him in Incest Normalization first.
Or B.) Very much aware and very upset about the whole thing. Or, well, he certainly acts like he is. He's never snitched on them to the twins’ parents, no matter how many times he's threatened to. But he wants entirely no part of it. At all. And isn't holding himself back from doing anything with them. At all.
Either way, Ford is more than willing to help the twins explore potential future encounters with Stan by role-playing as his twin. It's the perfect compromise! Mabel gets to hear her Grunkle Stan's voice purring in her ear, calling her Pumpkin, as he sets her in his lap. Dipper is able to melt under Stan's touch, pinned down against his bed as he's called a good boy. Ford practically gets high off it, being able to express his love of Stan through acting in his place and feeding off the shared love the twins had for his brother. He gets to hear Stanley order his little loves around, for them to touch him or to touch each other. And the best part? Stanley gets to live in blissful ignorance of the whole thing until he's ready to truly join them.
oooog gghhgmy god the stan imitation and option a? completely blindsided by the heavy intragenerational incest happening under his nose, hearing an unfamiliar noise that isn't only nibling sounds. wakes up like a sleeper agent to go check it out.
cw: a few beers are drank between Stan and Ford to loosen the tension. small scuffle/threats of violence because Stan's angry, small choking scene to end the fight.
Stan tried to go to bed, but the noise upstairs... It was like a sixth sense that something was going wrong. There's a voice up there that shouldn't be. He heard the unfamiliarity as he tiptoed up those squeaky attic stairs, almost like a grainy voice as he approached the twin's bedroom. It's paired with giggles and light gasps, so Stan's instinct is that they're playing around with magic again.
Cracking a slow peek in the door, just to check on them, Stan didn't make a sound. The strange thing he'd heard was deeper, a voice not belonging to the kids. Speaking of, he fought hard to see what exactly they were doing, both on Mabel's bed in their skimmies and over something-
"Fuck, kids, you're gonna be the end of me."
His own voice struck him in an uncomfortable way, only then does he see two large hands wrap around each of their waists, stroking down to their hips. Stan didn't dare breathe, not believing he counted six fingers on each hand.
Their niece's sweet voice teased, "No dying yet, we want to make you feel good."
"Yeah, besides," their nephew's voice came out breathy, excited, "We wanna keep you forever."
Heart beating like a hammer in his chest, he watched. Because there's no fucking way that's Ford. The kids must've cloned his brother, and y'know, are doing teenager stuff. It's extremely weird, but it's not like he didn't do similar at his age. Later he'll have to unpack the totally unrelated can of worms that is getting it on with your sibling involved.
So now he's listening. Because he's got to make sure that isn't Ford. Well, it can't be, but still. The hands disappear behind the twins, and more of those light moans were heard.
"We shouldn't be doin' this, but at least you're safe with me-"
Oh, no. Something didn't sit right with how whatever said that. So he barged in, leaving the door wide open. The figure sat up, three sets of eyes saucer in on him, mortified and mouths agape.
"Kids, we need to talk. And you," He pointed at the figure they were sitting on, it wore Ford's face like a perfect glove, "get out before I make you."
Mabel and Dipper didn't move, stuck from the anxiety of being caught. The man moved slowly up from the bed, hands up and face stoic. He put on a pair of Ford's glasses, reached for Ford's clothes, started walking towards the door in a pair of underwear only the real Ford has. Chalkboard equations. He stopped next to Stan, "I can explain later if you'll let me."
Stan could say a million different ways he wanted to pummel him into the ground for thinking this was okay. There's a last resort passphrase they used as kids just in case of body snatchers. He's looking for the reaction to the question, not the answer. It'll speak louder than words.
"Password?"
Ford blinked, eyes widening before frowning, scowling shamefully, remembering. "Super Nerd-ova. Before you get upset-"
Hand darting up to wrap firmly around his throat, Stan held his airway closed as a gentle threat. "I don't want to hear it right now. Wait for me in the car."
Unsurprised and unphased, Ford nodded and Stan released him, solemnly walking out the door. Steps echoing down the stairs, it haunted him as much as the next part will. Slowly, he turned his head to his great niece and nephew, eyebrows tucked in and breaths uneven, panicked.
Dipper was in front, blocking Mabel from his view. Almost young adults, still teenagers. He started first, voice pitched and shaky, "Grunkle Stan, I-I'm sorry, it's our fault and it's complicated to explain-"
Jaw tight, Stan sighed through his nose long and hard. "Make it simple for me. What the hell were you doing with him?"
"Uh, I know you're upset but we have a very good reason-"
"We? Who's we? Who's idea was it?"
Mabel's head peeked out from behind her brother's shoulder, "Me! I wanted this, Dipper did too. It's because-"
Indiscriminatory with his glare, he pointed at both as he spoke, "Oh no, no, nnnno. You both shouldn't be doing this in the first place, much less with fucking Ford involved! Again, what was he doing with you?"
To his surprise, Dipper squared his shoulders, "We explained a lot of stuff. I think you'd do better finding out from him."
Mabel chimed in too quick, "And besides, we found out about stuff too, like when you and Ford played aliens and pirates." The kids don't miss the eyes widening, the slack jaw and awe before composing into anger.
Shaking his head, Stan snapped his attention go his misguided nephew, "You, go sleep on the couch tonight. If you're in the same room when I come back you're both grounded."
Turning on his heel he booked it, blinded by the thoughts of what he's seen. At least his anger is directed mostly at Ford. Pounding down the stairs felt like nothing under his feet, numbed by the years of taking them through different mental states, like this one. Wondering if he's committing fratricide tonight, he grabbed a couple of sodas from the fridge, anticipating the amount of talking or yelling in their near future. Grabbing his keys and wallet from his office, Stan's adrenaline got him to the car in what felt like very few seconds.
Prying the old handle of his car open, he slammed the door getting in and threw the sodas at his static passenger. Not a word was said as Stan pulled out and onto the road, silence caved the sinkhole of their relationship deeper and deeper. At least in Stan's mind. Old paved roads passed in the darkness, trees crisping the outskirts of our vision. Ford probably thought it was another hiccup in their continual repatching between them. It'll be entertaining to see how his brother tries to excuse himself from blame this time.
Halfway to their destination, Ford piped up so casually Stan almost hit the breaks. But he needed to control his anger. He's not like Dad. "Where are we going?"
His grip on the steering wheel squeaked as it tightened further. "You'll see." And that gave Ford enough signal to shut his mouth the rest of the way there.
A couple minutes later they turn down a dirt road, not very long after was the lake. Clouds made it darker tonight, barely any shine from the moon, and it's humid yet cool enough to tolerate.
Stan parked, barking instructions at Ford and swinging his door open, "Get out, follow me," and popped the trunk too. There's a pack of beers he grabbed, before heading to the dock. Footsteps follow faithfully behind him.
They sit at the end, Stan's legs hanging off while Ford's are safely crossed underneath him. Handing him a beer, it's obvious Ford's uncomfortable with the awkwardness and facing it head on. Not that Stan cared. Cracking open his beer and his soda both echoed across the water.
"You better finish at least one before we talk." He wanted the truth, but at least they could be relaxed for it before he beats the shit out of him.
"How many are you having?"
Stan glared over at him, suspecting that he's concerned with under the influence driving, but Ford glanced at the other two cans. Huh, yeah, he's probably way more nervous not knowing how the night will turn out too. He shrugged, "Half. You can have the rest."
To his surprise, Ford drained it within ten seconds, crunching the empty can back into the cardboard box. Interesting.
Moments of silence pass as Stan got up to speed. There's no speaking unless he spoke first, and he wanted it that way. About halfway through his third can is when Stan thought about jumping in the lake to see if an actual gobblewonker will eat him. But alas.
"So what the fuck?" Stan gritted out, sounding more upset than he meant to.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Yeah you do, you absolute twat. What were you doing with them?"
Groaning in frustration, Ford cleared his third can before responding. "Taking initiative of the inevitable."
Stan's a bit taken aback by that one, "My turn; I don't know what you mean," mimicking his twin's voice to put him on edge. It worked, since his twin's shoulders scrunched, frowning in a different direction.
"Okay, Stan. I was playing a role as you, I'll admit it. It was by their request, and I can't say I don't get enjoyment out of it."
Both of them were getting a little buzzed at that point. "Hmm. Hmmmm. You um, you don't say? So- So you like fucking our niece and nephew, keeping under my nose and you like being me while doing it. What kind of sick fuck-" Stan realized he'd been yelling by the end, stopping himself. It's not worth getting worked up over if he's just gonna kill him in the end-
Without a hint of apology in his voice, Ford went on his spiel, "They're infatuated with you like we were infatuated with each other. It's the same thing. One day a few months ago, I caught them both crying out in the woods. Hormones and such I assumed, but they felt they were sick and vile and weird. I asked them to explain what was causing such distress. You know what they told me?"
"Not that it matters, but they're still kids."
"They'd said they couldn't stop thinking about you, how wonderful you are, even your horrible habits. They'd-" Ford pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses, "thought that if, if they asked around they could find a dimension with a Stan that could love them back like that with less remorse. I said, wanting to escape is one thing, actually leaving is another. And I told them it was ridiculously dangerous to travel in space."
Stan was silent, continually looking across the water.
"Dipper begged for me to fix it, to get them to stop thinking of you like that. I simply said I don't know a lot about attraction, but I do know that you shouldn't stop letting go, but direct your attention until it has no value. Mabel said they had tried everything to stop, so many guilty nights crawling into one another's beds. At one point, Dipper begged me to erase parts of their memory, and I told them I'd find a solution.
"My solution was to find out if they had been cursed, infected, sick, poisoned, subconsciously overtaken by some other magnificent force. I ran into so many things I could try, so over a month, I did. I looked for external or internal ticks, parasites, from here or space or otherwise. Countless blood tests. No results.
"I've tested and analyzed everything I could. I even got a space station to send a nurse to check for all sorts of things, things I could not account for and more. I did the same for you when you were sleeping, not paying attention, making sure you didn't have any sort of curse or condition yourself attracting them and me to you. Everything again, is fine. It's simply... A psychological caveat."
"Cool story, Ford. Were you ever gonna tell me?"
"Not until we had um, well, hold on. After all the testing, about four months ago, they'd had enough. I'd gone to great lengths for no results, I was frustrated for them. Tired of the same dull answer. They'd discussed an uncouth idea, but were scared to share. Can you guess where this is heading?"
"Not a clue. Continue."
"The idea was that if they could use a substitute in place of you, maybe they could get over their attraction. I called bullshit, I knew they were looking at me strangely, too shy and too confident with their words. I asked them to make it plain and clear how they felt about me. They felt the same attraction, only a hair lesser. I caved... We've been working on ways to leave you hints, at some point we were going to mention it. Now you can shoot the messenger."
At last, Stan had remembered something he could comment on. "They were gonna leave? How?"
"Exactly. It was a huge problem, because they'd already made a contact in the Crawlspace, or they could have taken any of the cursed doors to get further into the multiverse. Or the bottomless pit, most likely, if they tried it enough times. I wasn't sure what would happen. So nothing happened. They're safe, and getting what they want out of life."
What a mess. Putting himself in Ford's shoes this time was hard. He can't really blame the kids, can he? Their family must just have fucked up genetics.
Gritting out, "Good for you," so sarcastic, Stan squeezed his soda too tight, causing a dent. "It ends now, or I'll toss you out like leftovers."
Breath stuttering, Ford's confident Stan could do some damage, not so much commit full fratricide. "You're telling me you haven't had any thoughts? No unexpected dreams or any longing looks from us-"
Brutal memories arose. Yeah, he's had weird-ass dreams with everyone in his life involved. But a few stood out, guilt stabbing at his soul as he was forced to face them again.
The first was about Dipper, and it happened what, three years ago? It involved his nephew and his office, splayed out in his lap and top missing, swearing his calloused hands could feel every inch of his warm body. It made his stomach churn violently, throat burning with acid. Even worse, they were fooling around as an under the table bribe for Stan to give the extra room to Dipper, putting on that extra pair of Ford's glasses. Stan woke up harder than he had in years, wanting to scoop his own brain into the trash.
He'd also had a dream about Mabel after she turned sixteen, growing so fast and he'd been caught on it all day. It's not like he didn't notice how good she looked, but it wasn't something that caught his eye. Nor did he ever think it would distract him so much. Because when he went to take care of himself next, the thought of her kept intruding. The sway of her hips, imagining how perky her breasts seemed to be under her sweaters, how soft her body must be. He imagined some other woman's face, but it was her traits. He's not religious, but that night he prayed to a higher power for forgiveness.
More repressed memories of Ford came to the surface, because of course he had to share with the kids. Plenty of his wet dreams star his twin. Ones where they're teenagers and playing tongue hockey, trying to figure out life. Ones where they're older like now, fully fledged movies of what fucking his twin would be like, both ways. It's just the weirdness of how they grew up together lingering in his mind way too long. It's just a coincidence. It has to be.
In a low, almost whisper of a tone, Ford spoke, "You have, haven't you?"
Then again, when was anything in Gravity Falls a coincidence? He's seen it all connect. "Stop it, that shit isn't... They're dreams. Nothing to it."
Humming, Ford replied hastily, "Oftentimes if you avoid thinking about the truth of what you've repressed, unknowingly or not, it will manifest any way it can. Dreams especially."
"Fuck off."
"No, Stan, you can 'fuck off' and tell me how long you were watching us for."
He didn't... he was watching to make sure they were safe.
Relentless at throwing it back in his face, Ford grilled him further, not bothering to sound nice or scared anymore. "You must have seen what we had all that time ago- and you were 'going to mention it later' right? Am I right, Stan? If I hadn't been in there, how long were you going to-"
Fuck, he's gonna kill him. Scrambling his body and legs, he launched over his brother and pinned him down by the shoulders with one arm, hand gripping his throat again.
Not enough to stop Ford from choking out, "You should give us more credit, it could be way worse-" before he tightened his grip. Stan thought carefully about that. They've seen small parts of the multiverse, possibilities endless. The universe is often an uncaring place, and honestly, he's not that much better than Ford. It could be way worse.
Face turning red slowly but surely, Stan felt him squeeze multiple times at his wrists, a final 'if you're not going to kill me, please let go'. Ford was squinting his eyes trying to read his expression, still analyzing as he approached blacking out.
As soon as Ford raised a leg up to kick at him, Stan let go. Gasping for air with a bruised throat, his twin didn't take his eyes off of him. He's still hovering over Ford, palms on the worn and splintered wood near his face and under his arm, wondering what the hell to do next. Everything's been flipped upside down.
Stan stared down with empty, apathetic eyes and a hard frown. Watching as Ford carefully made his next move, adjusting a leg to press right up against his crotch. His mouth opened to call him an asshole or something again, but Stan's hard.
If they're playing this game, Stan can serve it back. Grabbing at his twin's crotch, he found his answer. Still just as attracted to one another after some roughhousing. Some things don't fade with time.
Ignoring the noise that Ford made, he removed himself and picked up the knocked over box of cans, heading for land. Stan heard him huff and shuffle to stand and follow.
"Wait, where are we going? The car's that way, Stan. Stan?"
"I'm not driving like this. Besides, I might just drive right off the road for the fun of it."
"Ugh. Fine, can we at least cut through the woods?"
"Nope."
A long hard and nasally sigh broke the air. "Okay."
Minutes pass of them walking past roads, through town, and the first trashcan Stan saw he got rid of the box.
Tension awkward, Ford chose to continue their ever-complicating situation. "So... you didn't kill me."
"Moses knows I nearly did."
"What- what do I tell them? What am I 'allowed' to do now that you know? Are we- I'm... not good at this part. I can only assume we're starting out slow-"
"Yes, nerd-for-brains, yes. Slower than molasses."
Walk long and silent after that, they got back at around midnight. Stan told Dipper to go back upstairs from his locked in state of paranoia glued to the TV. He'd also said not to worry about it, Ford will explain in the morning.
To end the day, Stan dragged Ford along to his room, so they could sleep in peace for once. Just once.
On my mind: established stancest in highschool. Warning for extremely NSFW ramblings under the cut
Stan convinces Ford to a pair of lacy light pink panties and maybe a bralette and stockings under his regular clothing. They don't have gym today, and Ford keeps himself buttoned up enough no one can tell, but he's constantly squirming in his seat during class. He's feeling the silk of the panties rubbing against his half hard dick and the way Stan's cum from this morning is slowly leaking out of him because Stan fucked him right before Ford put the lingerie on and refused to let him clean himself out.
During class he excuses himself because he can't take it just sitting there anymore and Stan follows him out. He drags Ford into a stall to fuck him, cooing in Ford's ear how much of a perfect slutty girl he is and that Stan wishes he could knock him up so everyone would know who Ford's sweet little pussy belongs to.
They have to be fast and rough, class is still going on. But in his desperation to fuck Ford Stan doesn't push the panties down quite far enough. They're bunched at the top of Ford's thighs, shoved down just enough for Stan to get inside Ford's hole, but far up enough Ford is forced to keep his thighs pressed together, making things rouger as Stan has to force his way in.
Ford getting off on the slightest pain until they have to stop because someone enters the bathroom, but Stan starts fucking him again as Ford covers his mouth and sobs behind his palm at the thought of their peers finding out Ford dresses like a girl to take his brother's dick up his ass like a cheap whore. It's Ford's job to keep quiet, not Stan's job to stop. And Ford comes so hard to Stan's filthy whispers of how much of a mess he looks, how good he is taking everything his brother gives him. ❤️💙
I really just want to dump my brain garbage somewhere
I keep looking for more fanfics about these old dudes, but oh my god, I'm still too picky with stories, and the fanfics I like are unfortunately discontinued!
They're forcing me to work!
So the story of Gravity Falls remains the same with the arrival of the twins, until Stan falls into a fountain of youth and reverts to his sweet 16 years.
Now he has to deal with everything at Mystery Shack while pretending to be his own son and basically everything would stay almost the same until Ford arrived But you know the benefits of being a charismatic teenager.
So Ford arrives from the portal and is clearly furious and confused by the teenager who excitedly goes to greet him.
Who is this boy who looks so much like his brother in their adolescence?
So a misunderstanding arises, which Stan manages to get away with by making Ford believe that he is actually just "Stanley's son".
And Ford seemed to be more understanding and friendly with him, believing him to be his nephew.
Perhaps a little too friendly, he seemed genuinely keen to spend more time with him and be really affectionate, even more than with Dipper Because if Ford wanted to fill the void left by Stan, since that's the only way he works, why not fill it with what appears to be an exact copy of him?
Ford can barely hide his fascination and his desire to impress his new nephew And although Stan is incredibly hurt because this is the only way his brother can ever love again, he decides to play along as long as he can.
I don't really think what I've written makes any sense at all, I just want to put the idea on record and see if I can get another excuse to draw a teen stan x old ford without involving time travel (wow!)
Because imagining Ford being a total weirdo with what he believes is "his incredibly young nephew" is hot to me.
especially if he does it thinking of his twin brother
I might draw about this...maybe
Or maybe I'll get the determination to write a one-shot.
I don't know!!! I just want Teen Stan and Old Ford content, I cry a lot for those two
I feel very nervous making this kind of post, it's really something I've thought about a lot, but due to the situation in my country, Things have become a little complicated for me with my university.
I didn't want to title this "emergency commissions" because I don't think the situation is that serious, but I really need a little extra help to buy some supplies for my university.
I have a goal I want to achieve with this,once I reach it, I will close commissions
Stanford’s eyes roved over his brother as he approached the bed, crawling onto it at Stan’s feet. Stanley was on his back, his knees up to block Stanford from coming closer. He looked beautiful in the satin nightgown Stanford had dressed him in, despite the surly expression on his face. His wrists were secured by padded cuffs to the headboard of the bed, but Ford had made sure to prop pillows under Stanley’s shoulders in a way that made sure there wasn’t any strain on his back.
Stanford watched the way Stan’s whole body tensed up as he leaned forward against Stan’s shins. Ford laid his hands on Stan’s knees, rubbing them soothingly. “Open up for me, my love,” he coaxed softly, fingers skimming down Stan’s thighs and back up. “Let me in.”
Stanley’s legs were pressed firmly together, and Ford could feel the thick muscles underneath trembling with strain to stay closed as Ford slipped his fingers in between them and began to pry them open. He didn’t use much pressure, focusing more on encouraging Stan to give in rather than force the issue, whispering soothing words and endearments. And it worked. Stanford felt a spike of satisfaction the moment Stanley’s fight finally died, tired legs going limp and pliant under Ford’s hands.
Ford leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of each of Stanley’s knees before he hooked his hands under them and spread his brother’s legs open, shuffling forward into the space he’d created for himself.
“Good boy,” he cooed, wanting to soothe the flash of anxiety that crossed Stan’s face. “I’m not going to do anything.” He pet Stan’s legs again, being careful not to let his hands wander too high. “I won’t touch you yet, don’t worry. I promised I’d wait for our wedding night, didn’t I?”
He couldn’t wait. The date he had picked felt so far away, anticipation building up with each day that passed. But Stanford was determined to be patient. He’d had this planned out since childhood, and he was going to make sure it was perfect. Rings, vows, the ceremony. And then finally, finally he’d have his Stanley, his beautiful wife. But first he had to make sure the wedding dress would be perfect, and that was what he was here for now.
Stanford pulled a tailor’s measuring tape from his pocket, holding it up for Stanley to see. “I just need a measurement,” he explained. He unraveled the tape measure and lovingly wrapped it around Stanley’s left thigh. “For your wedding garter. I need to make sure it fits just right.”
He could already picture it. A beautiful little band of lace adorning Stan’s leg. Maybe white or baby blue, perhaps decorated with pearls. Either way, his lovely wife would look gorgeous in it, and Ford would make sure it stayed on when he finally got to consummate their marriage. His pants grew a bit tight at the thought, and Stanford shook his head, mentally jotting down the measurement before stuffing the tape back in his pocket.
He repositioned himself, laying down on top of Stanley, enjoying the sensation of his brother’s supple chest pressed against him, those thick thighs bracketing his hips.
Stan had tensed up again. “Hey-”
“Shhh,” Stanford shushed him softly. “I know, baby, I know. I just want to be close to you.” He slipped his arms under Stan, holding him. “Just relax and let me. Be a good wife for me, won’t you?”
“Not your wife,” Stanley grumbled.
Ford huffed a laugh, turning his head until his lips brushed against his brother’s. “I suppose not yet technically. But soon, I promise.”
AYO does anyone have a net to catch this anon??? They keep flying away before I can kiss them gently on the forehead for their beautiful writing 😭🩷
Fr tho I love this SO MUCH. Delusional Ford, my beloved 🥰 he's going to marry his sweet little brotherwife and everything will be perfect because he knows best
You may have flown away, anon, but just know I'm kissing you sooooo sweetly in my mind mwah
They were in that afterglow of sex, Soos big and warm around and inside of Stan, when the front door slammed open.
“Hi Grunkle Stan! Hi Soos!”
Mabel was just as loud as ever, even now that she was getting closer and closer to 30, and it was a sort of blessing in disguise since it gave them warning before anyone came barrelling into the room and finding them in bed together.
Soos was dozing, a sort of heated and weighted blanket made just for Stan, but he roused when Stan shook his shoulder. He smiled up at Stan in the dim light of their room and kissed between Stan's tits.
“Sorry, dude. Didn't mean to fall asleep on you.”
“It's fine, but we're about to have company.”
“Anyone home?” Dipper's voice echoed through the Shack as if he'd heard Stan's comment.
Soos grinned sheepishly. “I forgot their flight was changed. I was gonna tell you.”
Carding his fingers through Soos's hair, Stan smiled at him more tenderly than he would admit to at gunpoint. “It's fine, gumdrop, but we'd better get dressed or they’ll get an eyeful.”
After a quick kiss, Stan extricated himself from under the larger man and started rifling through their clothes, tossing Soos's things onto the bed. It would have been easier with the lights on or with his glasses, but there were already footsteps coming up the stairs and Stan knew they didn't have much time.
His boxers squished uncomfortably as he pulled them on, but Stan could imagine far worse than having Soos's jizz leaking into the gusset while he walked, especially if it saved them the embarrassment of being caught with their pants down.
“Ready or not, here we come!” Mabel had already made it up the stairs, and Stan grabbed his shirt and began tugging it over his head, struggling when his A shirt fought with him.
“Uh, dude?” Soos said from outside of the shirt that was stuck over Stan's face.
“Can it, Soos! Just get your clothes on!”
Just as Stan's head popped out of the neckhole of the shirt, the door opened.
“Hey kids!” Stan said, trying his best to sound nonchalant as he fumbled a hand on the night stand for his glasses. “I was just uh… fixing a lightbulb with Soos.”
“A lightbulb?” Dipper's voice was practically dripping with doubt.
“Yeah! Why else would the lights be off, dude?” Soos answered helpfully from where he was standing behind Stan. “It's not like we were in bed together or anything.”
Maybe calling him helpful was a step too far.
Dipper flicked the light switch. He and Mabel stared at them like one of the Shack's exhibits.
“Changing a light bulb?” Dipper asked.
“Yep!” Stan answered.
“Both of you together?” Mabel inquired.
“Well, Mr. Pines is getting older. I don't trust him to get on ladders without me or Dr. Pines around.”
Stan was going to get Soos if it was the last thing he did.
“Changing a light bulb,” Dipper scratched the little tuft of scruff he called a beard. “I could believe that, couldn't you, Mabel?”
Mabel beamed, and Stan knew—he knew—he'd be getting the two of them once he was done dealing with Soos.
“I could, bro-bro. I believe that one hundred percent! I just have one tiny, itty bitty question.”
“I suspect I have the same question,” Dipper replied. He spun to face Stan directly, pointing a finger at him. “Why would you need to wear each other's clothes to change a light bulb?”
Stan looked down.
Soos’s old staff shirt hung from his body, the fabric warped from years of wear but still visibly Soos’s question mark symbol on the front. Stan turned and found Soos wearing Stan’s A shirt, the two-sizes-too-small garment turning into a crop top that left his lower belly exposed.
Stan ignored the flare of heat that attempted to burn through him at the sight of Soos’s belly looking so ready to be ravished, instead turning back to glare at Dipper and Mabel.
“Okay, fine. We were fucking. Alright?”
It had been long enough since they found out about Stan and Soos’s relationship that neither of them even blinked at Stan’s vulgarity. Their knowing smiles only got wider.
“Maybe we should find Great Uncle Ford,” Dipper said, grinning at his sister. “Will he have his clothes on, Grunkle Stan?”
They ran out of the room, giggling like the pair of twelve year olds they were not so long ago, before he could think of a good response.
Stan glared at the door as it swung shut behind them, even as Soos came up and rested a big hand on his shoulder.
“You okay, dude?”
“Get back into bed,” Stan growled.
“Huh?”
“If they’re gonna joke about us fucking, we’re gonna fuck and let them hear about it.”
Time shenanigans cause Canon!Stan and Teen!Stan to switch places.
“You like me, don'tcha?”
“Uh,” Soos articulated.
Soos was supposed to be babysitting. Well, the version of Stan that the Mystery Twins had entrusted him with was a teenager, but the point remained: He was the adult here and he was supposed to be responsible. All he had to do was make sure that teenaged Mr. Pines didn't get into any trouble or find out anything that would mess up the timestream while the twins found out how to get the older version of their uncle back. Typical Tuesday in Gravity Falls.
But, Soos had failed on both fronts. Now they were in the Shack’s office because he couldn't stop Mr. Pines from looking around his own house – because, hey, it's his office, too! And of course he was smart enough to put two and two together when he saw pictures of his older self and the kids and his name on documents and he was asking about some guy named Ford (Mr. McGucket?).
So Soos had not only completely messed up the timeline, but apparently he was way more obvious than he thought. Because, you know, he wasn't as grizzled and really hot in an old man way, but it was Mr. Pines! He was so handsome and cute and no matter what form he took, he'd always be Soos’ dream guy.
“You do,” Young Mr. Pines jutted out a finger and advanced on him. Soos’ back hit the desk, trapping him. “You got the hots for me!”
The only thing that left Soos’ throat was a collection of sputtering, half-formed sentences all jumbled together in his head.
Stan flashed him a cheshire grin. “So are you an’ me, you know,” he raised a hand, interlocking his middle and pointer fingers. “Together?”
“I– uh, no, uh, not really. I mean, I don't think he– or, you, like me like that?”
“Really?” His brows raised in surprise, but only for a moment. “Handsome guy like you not enough for my ugly old man self?”
Soos squawked. “Don't say that! You're the handsomest guy I know!”
Younger Mr. Pines seemed shocked for a moment. Red painted his cheeks. And then, his expression seemed to sink into something hungry and lustful. Stan's dark, half-lidded eyes dilated as he drank in the shape of Soos’ mouth. He licked his lips as he placed both hands on either side of Soos and leaned in.
“Wanna make him jealous?” Stan's breath ghosted Soos’ lips. “‘Cause clearly he don't know what he's missin’.”
Content Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual content under the cut! Reader discretion is advised.
It was decided that, with the hot and humid weather, today was the kind of day that was better spent outside on the porch with Soos and watching the kids horse around with the water balloons than it was to keep the Shack open with no customers. It was nice. Ridiculously sweaty and hotter than hell, but nice.
Mabel and Dipper's laughter chimed through the air, mixing with the buzzing of cicadas. Pastel colored balloons were tossed through the air, each twin hurling their own share in between dodging and taunting one another. Most hits hadn't even landed, either breaking the moment it hit the grass in a plastic pop of color or was left miraculously intact, with either of the twins scrambling to race for it and bring it back into play.
As Stan relaxed on the couch, cold can of Pitt in hand, Soos’ arm was pressed right up next to his. The weather and Soos’ own body heat compounded, making the contact almost feel hot enough to burn. A good kind of burn. Good enough to make him consider leaning into it. Instead, he raised the can to his lips and gulped down the sweet, peachy flavor. More so than the drink itself, the cool condensation that covered his palm and trickled down his heated skin was enough to distract him from Soos’ warmth. Until he spotted Mabel and Dipper trotting up to them.
“Soos!” Mabel waved, hair frizzy from the humidity. “Me and Dipper versus you! Let's go!”
Dipper dragged over a small bucket of freshly filled balloons. A look of determination flashed in his eyes. “You're going down!”
The smile in Soos’ voice was almost infectious. “Watch out, dawg, those are fighting words!”
Soos was on his feet in an instant. The loss was palpable. Stan tried not to lean after him, as though he could chase after the heat that had seeped from him. Still, a smile worked its way onto Stan's face. It wasn't anything like the skin contact, but watching Soos have fun with his niblings filled with a certain warmth. He was such a good kid and such a sweetheart with them. It all felt so tooth-rottingly sweet and domestic. Maybe enough to take Stan's mind off the sun beating down on him.
A large blob of red soared through the air and landed bullseye, right in the middle of Soos’ chest. Tiny pieces of red were a mini firework show in the summer air and unleashed a torrent of water, soaking Soos’ through the front of his shirt. The dampness of the fabric turned it to a darker, messy green. Beads of water dripped down from the hem of his shirt.
“Got ‘im!” Dipper and Mabel traded high fives and shit-eating grins.
“Aw, dude, that's cheating!”
Mabel giggled. “The first rule of water balloon fights is that there are no rules!”
“That's it, you're gonna get it now!” Soos threatened playfully.
And in the next moment, Soos was hiking his shirt up his chest and over his shoulders before throwing it to the side. Stan tried not to let his eyes bug out of his skull. Because this was normal. Very, very normal. It wasn't the first time Soos had taken his shirt off around Stan. And, you know, it was hot out, and his shirt had already gotten soaked. It made sense to shed himself of it. What didn't make sense was Stan having not developed an immunity to it at this point. He had almost lost his mind when they went to the community pool earlier that Summer and had to deal with a shirtless Soos in swim trunks for the whole day. He has to focus almost solely on his favorite pool chair and getting revenge on Gideon to remain relatively sane. And Moses, when he came into his office and basically did a strip show for him, inviting Stan to take his shirt off, and draping himself tantalizingly across his desk. Stan had to keep his back to Soos the entire time or else he'd pounce the kid.
And now here Soos was again, unknowingly tempting him with the wide expanse of his back and strong, supple arms and, God, his chest. All of Soos was hot, but what really got Stan going was his chest. In particular, there was something about the divot in his chest, in between each breast. It naturally drew Stan's eye and if he weren't so worried about getting caught, he could stare at it for hours, eyes like hands as he roamed over it hungrily. If he allowed himself, he could get lost endlessly in fantasies.
Fantasies of nosing in-between Soos’ chest, nuzzling at the sweaty skin of his cleavage and feeling the fine little hairs scratching at his scruff. God, something about it just drove Stan crazy. He wanted to lick right there to taste him. Taste the sweat on his skin and moan. He'd mouth at that sweet little spot for hours if he could. He'd give Soos’ tits attention, too, sliding both hands up to palm at his breasts. Something about Soos’ chest magnetized Stan to it. It wasn't just the sweet spot in the middle, but the soft swell of both breasts. His large, dark areolas and cute inverted nipples. The way they looked just the right size for Stan to pop into his mouth and suckle. Maybe he'd kiss and nip and lick his way over to one side. He'd circle Soos’ areola with his tongue and lap at the nipple until it peaks out and hardens for him. He'd blow on it, even, just to be a tease.
Stan wondered, would Soos squirm, not knowing what to do under Stan's attention? Standing there with bitten lips and furrowed brows and clenched hands because he doesn't know what to do with himself? Would he be sensitive? God, the noises he’d make when Stan finally wrapped his lips around his puffy little nub. Something in Stan just knew Soos was vocal and would moan so loud and sweetly for him. And even if he wasn't, Stan would use every trick in the book to draw all those pretty sounds out. He'd suckle greedily around Soos as though he'd be able to draw out milk from the source. Flick at it with his tongue, circle it over and over, nibble the little nub and, fuck, maybe even take it between his dentures and grind it gently. And Soos would whine and throw his head back and his hips would involuntarily jump, humping at Stan like a good boy.
He'd give Soos’ other pec attention, too. Palm at it, squeeze it, play with it. Slowly circle the areola with a finger and push into the little divot that hid Soos’ nipple. So mean, keeping it from Stan like that. Maybe Stan would get a little mean himself. Pinching at the still-hidden bud, tweaking at it, even pulling to coax it out. The skin would constrict across Soos’ breast as his nipple popped out, all for Stan. His fingers would pinch and pull and twist harshly, grinding it between his fingers hard enough to hurt until Soos is a keening mess and his toes are curling in his sandals.
Stan would give one last suckle and kiss to the breast he was working at it before kissing and biting his way to the other, pausing to once again lap hungrily at his cleavage. He could picture himself getting distracted by it so easily. Just licking over and over. Laving his tongue over the little bristles of hair and pleasantly shuddering at the sensation. He'd have to rip himself away. Continuing ever closer to Soos’ other breast, Stan would mouth and nibble at the soft, plump skin and leave bite and suckle marks dotting the canvas of his chest. And finally, finally, he'd mouth apologetically at Soos’ swollen, puffy nipples. Sweet brushes of lips against the angry red bud that left Soos whining just for him. And Stan would whine back. Would whine as he engulfed Soos’ tit in his mouth and let his tongue worship every inch. Wanted for Soos to feel the vibrations as he hummed around his nipples, so that he knew how much Stan was getting off on this. How much Stan wanted to make him feel good. Hell, how much Stan wanted him, period.
Though maybe it'd hit Stan while he's mouthing at Soos’ sensitive nipple, practically making out with it, that this was more of a need. He needed to taste Soos’ salty sweat in his mouth and run his tongue over the supple skin. Needed to hear Soos’ soft moans grow louder as his pleasure peaked. Needed to fucking worship his tits. Sealing his lips over Soos’ nipple and suckling frantically, he'd whine as if sweet ambrosia was spilling into his mouth. And, God, was that a thought – Soos’ chest all swollen and sore with milk and so desperate to feed his Mr. Pines. Fuck, Stan wanted that so bad…!
And of course, Stan wouldn't let the other pec go ignored. It'd still be freshly slick and shining with spit. Maybe he'd be softer, teasing the puffy nipple with the pad of his thumb. Or maybe he'd be just as harsh as he was with the other. Meanly pinching the poor thing between the nails of his thumb and forefinger, twisting and tweaking it until Soos is babbling and humping him in earnest.
Would he beg Stan for more? Or would he whimper and whine, his brain turned to mush. And, oh fuck, what if Soos came just like that? Cumming untouched in his shorts and making a mess in his briefs from a bit of nookie with his boss. Acting like a whore all from Stan worshipping his tits.
“Mr. Pines!”
Stan blinked the fantasy away and the real world snapped back into place. He sat up straighter, his stomach twisting in knots and partially chasing some arousal away. His brain scrambled and latched onto a million intersecting excuses as to why he'd been daydreaming.
“Grunkle Stan, did you see us kick his butt?” Mabel called.
“No way! Mr. Pines, tell Dipper and Hambone that I won.”
Stan’s eyes fixed on Soos. His mouth fell open.
Holy fucking shit.
Soos was a vision. He was completely soaked. His dark brown hair was slick and dripping with fat droplets of water running down his forehead, face, neck, and back. Some drops had fallen into his wispy, scratchy facial hair and caught the light so prettily. Rivulets of moisture ran down to Soos’ shoulders, broad and sunkissed. And, sweet Moses, the way his chest heaved with effort. Damp and soft and perfect. Every inhale and exhale was almost hypnotic. Stan was certain of it – he was finally going insane. The way the driblets clung together the little hairs on his cleavage was too perfect. Stan could so easily imagine himself quenching his thirst by kneeling in front of Soos and lapping up the water clinging to his chest hair. He'd cling to Soos’ stomach, relishing in the coolness of his skin as both hands stroked his sides.
“Hey, Stan,” Dipper spoke up. “You alright?”
Stan shifted his attention, eyes now focused on his niblings. Dipper looked completely soaked down to the bone. Even his hat looked completely waterlogged. Dark, wet hair stuck out from the back of his hat and underneath the bill. Mabel wasn't fairing any drier. Her sweater looked much heavier on her now, and was a darker green compared to the jade color it had been in the morning. Her pink headband had been knocked askew in her now much curlier hair. They'd clearly been having a blast.
It's enough to momentarily restore Stan's sanity. His stomach dropped to his feet and a dark sensation of shame filled his chest. The last thing he wanted to fuck things up by acting like a pervert in front of his niece and nephew. Especially being a pervert towards a guy who was only ten years older than them. They didn't deserve that. They didn’t deserve to be exposed to that. And he should know damn well that Soos didn't deserve this, either.
Stan didn't know if he'd ever gotten to his feet so fast before. He'd pulled the front of his tank down to better the tent in his boxers.
“Mr. Pines?” Soos asked, and Stan could practically hear the inquisitive tilt of his head.
One hand clenched around the knob to the backdoor. The other pressed to his forehead to feign a headache. Heart beating a million miles a second and a terrible heat threatening to burn him alive.
“I think the heat’s gettin’ to me,” he croaked. “Gonna cool off inside.”
Stan caught one last glance of Soos and the kids shrugging in the yard before he slipped into the cool dark of the Shack.
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