The sex pollen fic for Ford and the pegging fic for Stan might be up there for me. Tied with the merstan fics. You just put out so much quality content and I and others are grateful 💙
I do my best, anon! I just love writing for these boys so much, and I'm so lucky and eternally grateful that you guys like to come along with me. 🥰
Blooms of Fortune will always have a special place in my heart for two reasons; it was the first Ford fic I ever wrote, and because sex pollen is one of my favorite tropes of all time, I will never tire of it!
And I'm so pleased you like Old Dog, New Tricks as well!! I felt pretty sure I was writing for a bit of a niche audience with that one, (not that that's ever stopped me 😅) so it's nice when someone else likes it. 🥰
The mer-stan fics are probably a bit niche as well, come to think of it! I mean who doesn't love merfolk, but merman dick is probably not something most people think about. 😅
Seeing all these posts about stan dressing up as santa is really making me think of a sinerio where he dresses up as santa on xmas eve and you sit in his lap (and then some *wink wink*)
Day late, dollar short… oh well. Short and sweet and gender neutral.
“Have you been naughty this year?” Stan’s voice pressed just behind your ear, the edge of his glasses pressing into the back of your head. “Be honest now, baby, Santa knows when you’re lying.”
This should absolutely not be hot. He was in a freaking rented Santa suit that god knows how many other people had wore, with his fake beard pulled lazily down around his neck. It was outrageous to even think that this was sexy, it was the height of cliche and cheesiness, especially when he pulled you into his lap.
But goddammit, you were already hot for him and he had barely done anything but run his hands over you over your clothes.
“You gonna punish me if I say yes, Santa?” You wiggled your hips a little as you asked, relishing his appreciative hum and the growing bulge against your ass.
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, taking your hips in his hands as your wiggled some more. “But Santa might still give you a nice, big gift if you’re a good little pet for him tonight.”
Cheeky jerk.
“So good,” you swore. “Good as gold, I promise.”
“I promise, what?”
You couldn’t help but snicker, rolling your eyes fondly as you settled your hands on top of his, leading one between your legs.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 2/2
Fandom: Gravity Falls
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ford Pines/Reader
Characters: Ford Pines, Reader, Original Characters
Additional Tags: Cuddling & Snuggling, Loss of Virginity, Comfort, Friends With Benefits, Touch-Starved, Napping, Woman on Top, Young Ford Pines, Ford Pines' Portal Adventures, Prostitution, Space Stations, Multiverse, Grinding, Condoms, Vaginal Fingering, Crushes, First Time, POV Second Person, POV Female Character, Brothels
Summary:
“In my... current circumstance, I’m not really afforded the ability of connection, and I just...” he took a long breath in, then out, looking into the bottom of his mostly empty glass, the utter defeat in the slump of his shoulders and the sad loneliness in the downturn of his mouth speaking volumes. “I was just hoping, I suppose, that I could... maybe just lay with you. Just... cuddle, I guess. Feel a little less like I’m cut off from the living.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Rick and Morty, Gravity Falls
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Stan Pines/Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Characters: Stan Pines, Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Caring, Napping, Shower Sex, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Banter, Idiots in Love
Summary:
There were few things he hated more than giving in, even if it was giving in to himself, but there was only so long he could teeter on the edge of a psychotic break. He couldn’t teeter anymore.
For the one word prompt things : Stan and Trust (becasue he needs more people to trust him because he's actually a great guy uuuuugggg I'm having feelingsss)
Stanley Pines was not a trustworthy man. He was a conman, a thief, a liar. He would slip your watch from your wrist when he shook your hand, he would spin you a tale of mystery to sell you "enchanted" teeth.
He had a rap sheet a mile long, he had box of aliases, he had a map of states he was no longer allowed in.
Despite all of that, despite all the signs pointing the opposite direction, one little girl trusted him long enough to let the work of thirty years finally, finally come to fruition.
He checked on them around 3am. Too restless, too frustrated, too hurt to be able to sleep for himself.
It was hard to be quiet in a rickety old house like the Mystery Shack, but he did his best, opening the attic door as slowly and gently as he could manage.
He thought he had gotten away with it, his caution allowing the door to barely make a sound as it swung on its hinges, the moonlight soft through the window above their beds.
"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel's voice was barely a whisper, considerate of her sleeping brother, and Stan shuffled a little further into the room.
"Yeah pumpkin, it's me." Stan made an effort to keep his voice just as quiet.
"Are you okay?" Considering everything that had happened that day, it was a question he should have been the one asking.
Mabel sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes as Waddles snuffled softly at the foot of her bed.
"Yeah honey, I'm fine. Are you?"
Mabel shrugged, so Stan stepped as quietly as he could across the rest of the room to sit on her bed. The next thing he knew she was crawling out from under the covers, sitting next to him and throwing her little arm around his middle.
Wordlessly, Stan wrapped his arm around her, squeezing her gently against his side as his great-neice leaned her head on his chest.
"I'm glad you weren't a supervillain, Grunkle Stan," she eventually whispered, which might have been funny on a less emotionally exhausting day.
He swallowed, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. "Thanks for believing in me, kiddo."
She gave him a tight squeeze in reply.
Somewhere out in the forest, there was a shriek of an owl, the summer breeze rustling through the trees. It was strange, how normal it all seemed, despite the way everything inside the walls of the Mystery Shack had changed.
Slowly, gradually, Mabel's weight got heavier and heavier against his side as she started to fall back asleep, and Stan let her, taking what comfort he could from the simple cuddle.
Begrudgingly, when Mabel started to softly snore, he laid her back down so she didn't get a crick in her neck.
"Goodnight pumpkin," he murmured softly, giving a soft pet to her hair before slipping back out the door.
What kinda ~fun~ things would the Stan twins get up to with their s/o on their birthday? 👀
FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK, ANON. 😁 Sexy Stanwich content ahoy!
(AND ONLY SLIGHTLY AFTER MIDNIGHT PST I’M STILL COUNTING IT A VICTORY.)
You wake up, as you always do, between them. What occasionally changes is the location of the bed—or “bed-ish” improvisation—and today the bed is in a tent on the beach. Not the worst place to wake up, certainly. The sound of the waves are almost in sync with Stan’s snores, his chest rising and falling under your cheek, and the cool air coming in off the ocean means you’re comfortable between them instead of overheated.
You can tell Ford’s awake, simply based on the fact that he’s pressed up behind you. It makes you smile, tilting your head to the side a little bit to silently acknowledge him. You’re rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, sweet and gentle, his breath sighing out warmly in contentment.
Having Ford close is always special; he doesn’t like to sleep pressed against you the way Stan does, needing his space to be comfortable, needing the ability to slide out of bed when he’s too restless to sleep. Today of all days, it’s particularly precious; the two men in your bed having successfully navigated another trip of earth’s orbit around the sun, all while sailing around the world itself.
“Happy birthday,” you whisper to him, his response another gentle kiss to your cheek.
“Thank you, love,” he whispers back.
You allow comfortable silence to settle back in as you resituate your head on Stan’s chest, his breaths deep and even despite being punctuated with rumbly snores. There had been a time where you had struggled to share his bed, the noisy sound disruptive to your own sleep, but now it was a comfortable white noise, for both you and Ford.
“I had a strange dream last night,” Ford whispers contemplatively after a few minutes. You’re relieved when his voice sounds neutral, rather than stressed. Dreams for Ford are not typically pleasant, so you give him a little hum to go on. “We were here on this beach like we are now, but the sand was made of jelly beans.”
You try to suppress your snort, smiling as you imagine it.
“And you had wedged these giant candles in this jelly bean beach for us to blow out and make a wish.”
“What did you wish for?”
“Dunno,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against the back of your head. “Woke up.”
That makes you chortle, Ford’s answering soft laugh soothing and warm.
“Wusso funny?” Stan’s sleepy words draw your attention, you and Ford’s talking clearly waking him up.
“Just a silly dream,” Ford answers.
Stan grunts, and a moment later you have to lift your head to reposition as he wiggles around to face you, his long arm looping over both you and Ford.
“Happy birthday, old man,” you gently tease him, Stan giving you an amused snuffle in return.
“Sure is,” he sighs, his arm squeezing around you and his smile soft. “Know what’ll make it better?”
The suggestive waggle of his eyebrows is all you need to know exactly what he’s thinking, and clearly Ford does too.
“Really, Stanley?”
“Birthday sex is the best sex, Ford, don’t even try to deny it.”
“That is clearly very subjective—”
Subjective or not, birthday morning sex sounds great to you, and the best way to keep them from their silly brotherly bickering is by getting naked; not entirely easy with the way you’re sandwiched between them, but they seem to take the hint when you get your shirt most of the way up, the two of them wordlessly helping you finish tugging it over your head.
It was the only thing you had been wearing, making it easy to lean back against Ford, hooking your leg back over his, parting your thighs for Stan’s familiar touch.
“Atta girl,” Stan murmurs with a cheeky smirk, his fingers going with practiced ease to your clit, working you up while Ford’s palm pets up your side, over your chest, down your leg.
God, this is your favorite thing, being shared between them easy as you please, listening to their breath start to get uneven as they get more turned on. You know Stan’s going to fuck you first, you’re ready for it, eager for it, and he doesn’t disappoint as he leans you further back against his brother so he can get between your thighs.
Ford holds you open for him, his strong hand under your knee, pulling your leg back and up, giving Stan the space to slide inside you, his little grunt of satisfaction making you twitch.
Then just a steady, easy rhythm, Stan’s mouth alternating between kissing your lips and kissing your neck while Ford lays a path of kisses along your shoulder.
“Love you,” you sigh, saying it to both of them, and they know that.
“Love you,” Ford answers against your hair, while Stan mumbles it against your chest.
The rock of Stan’s hips feels like the sound of the rolling waves outside—a slow, steady force of nature all on its own, driving your pleasure higher as Ford rubs himself dreamily against your ass, soft little moans in your ear sliding directly down your spine.
You don’t even mind when Stan comes, huffing out a little curse and his bruising fingertips digging into your hip, because then it’s Ford’s turn; completely uncaring about the mess Stan left inside you, burying himself deep with a hitch of his hips.
The angle’s different, good, paired just right with Stan’s fingers back on your clit as he watches your face through heavy eyes, looking enraptured by the pleasure he finds.
“So beautiful,” he mumbles, an agreeing hum coming from Ford. “You wanna feel her come on your dick, Sixer?”
Ford’s shudder and the jolt of his hips tells you yes, a mischievous look blossoming in Stan’s eye as he rubs your clit more intensely, clearly enjoying the way you and Ford both moan.
“God…” you breathe, the familiar heat building in your cunt, your hand on Stan’s arm tightening its grip. You can’t keep your eyes open anymore, so close to the edge you can practically taste it.
“That’s it,” Ford encourages, clearly holding on by a thread and desperate for you to come before he does. “Let me feel it.”
It only takes a minute more for you to obey, strung tense between them, shaking as pleasure pulses through you, perfect and tingling and exactly what Ford had been holding out for.
You’re a fucking mess, their combined cum already leaking out of you; it won’t be the first time you’ve taken a dip in the sea to wash their release away. But first their hands—petting gently all over you, mouths trailing over hot skin and their bodies solid and perfect—exactly what you need on either side of you to keep you from floating clear into the sky.
“Happy birthday, Ford.” Stan mumbles half jokingly, looping his arm around both of you again to give you a tight squeeze. Ford snorts in answer, letting your leg down gently before returning the gesture, thumping his brother lightly on the back over you.
Tradition with the boi Stanley ~~thank you in advance 💚🌟~~
They always had ice cream cake on their birthday. It was a tradition, as long as Stan could remember—as ingrained into his sense of what a birthday was as much as candles and gifts.
His first birthday alone, he ate an ice cream sandwich instead—snuck uncomfortably out of the convenience store in his pocket, slightly squished by the time he made it safely out to his car. It was the saddest ice cream he had ever had; freshly kicked out of his third state in a row and wearing the same shirt he'd been in two days ago.
He hadn't celebrated since. Without his brother, without their silly little birthday traditions, there was no point. Just another rotation around the sun, and not one person on planet earth that was happy he had been born.
"It's tradition, remember?" Ford said, forty years plus some change since Stan's last ice cream cake, holding the box in his six-fingered hands.
Stan made an effort not to let the water welling up in his eyes escape, staring frozen and shocked at his brother.
"Sorry, probably silly." Ford's face went pink and flustered, looking down at the box instead of at Stan. "I just thought... it's been a long time..."
"Shut up, poindexter," Stan managed to gruff, taking the box from Ford's hands and setting it on the table, subtly trying to wipe his eyes on his sleeve as he searched for a knife. "Of course I remember. It's tradition."
