#gravity falls fic requests

[caspercryptid]

I am on the edge of my seat to see what happens next in your vampire ford/Billford fic! Really awesome work <3

Thank you <3 Ask and ye shall receive. << Part 1 < Part 2 Requests still open, all request fills I've finished are posted saturday, love and light. Remember you're free to request follow ups since this is just gonna keep going and going and going. ____

Bill wasn't quite sure how he felt about fear.

Pain, now. Pain was hilarious. He was grateful even in his new body that his pain sensors seemed to be wired to his pleasure sensors. That was probably a design flaw, but it was one he was very happy with. He considered it jailbreaking his fleshsack to do more fun stuff with it outside the manufacturer's guidelines.

Fear had some perks-- it was...fun? pleasurable? He wasn't sure how to describe it. It made everything more intense. He knew that was normal, for mortals, that their dating television shows deliberately took people on high stakes adventures to make them fall in love faster. but he didn't think he was falling in love. That was a much simpler emotion, in some ways. Sure, okay. Maybe he was in love with Ford Pines.

Currently, though. he was mostly just. terrified of him.

He wasn't quite sure what it was about Ford that was setting his (boring, flat tipped) teeth on edge. He seemed much the same as always, except for the addition of the teeth. He's still clever, enthusiastic, always scratching in his notepad. Since they've gotten into the ship he's explained twelve different things completely unnecessarily. Same old Ford. He's still--

It clicks as Bill's watching Ford step back from a panel and watch the sky pass by. Ford is still. Ford isn't pacing, twitching, fidgeting. Ford is moving with a casual cold confidence. There's no hesitation. Every single movement he makes is precise and deliberate, not once since they've stepped into the ship has Ford reached for something and missed because he was looking somewhere else.

uh-oh.

There's something....wrong. About this. Maybe it's just the uncanny valley of someone he knows as well as he knows himself being different. He'd settled in Ford's mind, watched from behind his eyes. He knew Ford's movements perfectly. He had him mapped out like the stars. But not this Ford. This was a layering of something on top of the man he knew, the image just slightly distorted.

Ford catches him staring and tips his head a little.

"Are you alright?" He asks. "Never better!" Bill says, "Nowhere else in the galaxy I'd rather be than heading home."

He tries not to think about how true that is.

Ford smiles as he turns his head back towards the dials, adjusting them and setting in a destination. Bill's almost embarrassed that he has no idea how the navigation system of this machine works, but he thinks even if he did he'd be too busy watching Ford's fingers to pay much attention.

He's missed those hands. There was no one else's like them. Sure, other people might have that birth defect, but Ford's hands-- the strength of them, where his callouses are--

Bill gets a little queasy. Would Ford's hands have changed? It shouldn't matter, Ford would probably never touch him again. But somehow it did.

"Are you tired?" Ford asks, tone casual.

Bill realizes that he is-- stupid flesh sack weaknesses again. he wonders how Ford could tell-- he's still looking at the controls and not at Bill. He ought to find it creepy, but somehow it's just charming.

Bill opens his mouth to lie, but a yawn catches him off guard. Ford snorts. "There it is," He says. "We'll be travelling quite a while, you should get some rest."

"--Yeah," bill says, "I probably should." "I'm afraid there's only one room, but I don't use it much," Ford says, turning away from the controls and leading bill down the hallway-- his boots making deliberately-paced taps on the metal floors.

Bill is too caught up in thinking about sleeping in Ford's bed to mock him for timing his steps. It'd been so long-- The door to the room opens-- it smells like him in here, still, faint but distinct, and Bill climbs right into the bed. "--take your shoes off," Ford says, sounding amused. "--right, yep, sorry," Bill says, reminding himself. normal human. "Goodnight," Ford says, and the door closes before bill can say it back. The silence is heavy-- the door must really seal sounds, because Bill can't even hear Ford walk away.

He pulls off his boots, presses his face into the pillow. Humiliatingly, he's asleep in seconds. the last thing he hears is the ship's controls clicking.

strange, he thinks, but he can't put a finger on why before sleep claims him again.

[nowimjustastranger]

Feral ford? Just any feral ford stuff?

Or Ford finding out that Stanley no longer has a kidney, his hearing is bad and he no longer has natural teeth so he uses his sci-fi magic mojo

to make Stanley’s body regrow new ones. He’s doing this because he’s worried about Stanleys health (that Stanley will die first because of his health problems which Ford cannot accept) and because he feels guilty for not being able to protect Stanley from getting those in the first place.

And it’s not noticeable at first. Stanley is like think “huh, I feel off, oh well Imma just gonna ignore it” but he knows Ford is hiding something because Ford is all like

“Take it easy Stanley, there’s no anomalies or Cryptids around for miles. We are just going to have a relaxing month, while you recover”

And Stanley of course raises an eyebrow

Ford refuses to budge though. Yeah but Stanley eventually finds out because his natural teeth start growing in, he’s able to breath a lot easier and his hearing has never been better.

It’s my bread and butter!

If you have any slots left of course.

If not feel free to ignore this 🥸🫵 (pls)

Lee should’ve known that Ford was up to something the moment he found the man in his sub-basement lab at some god-awful hour, clearly in a manic state due to lack of sleep. He had been standing at one of his workstations, vials of unknown colorful fluids scattered across the cluttered surface as he scrutinized the tube of shimmering iridescent liquid that he held in his hand, the other deftly scribbling notes into his journal without even having to look down.

Thankfully, it had been easy to coax Ford to come up for breakfast, the man obediently setting the vial aside in favor of trailing after Lee after he laced their fingers together and started to head for the elevator. Ford leaned against Lee heavily on the ride up, eyelids drooping and movements sluggish as he mechanically shoveled his omelet into his mouth moments later. And Lee would find the situation more amusing if Ford wasn’t two seconds from falling out of his chair.

Lee shared a worried look with Fiddleford, who shrugged helplessly to indicate that he had no idea what Ford had been up to in that lab of his either. Lee frowned down at his plate at the disquieting realization that Ford was shutting himself away, poking at his own loaded omelet until Ford sloppily nudged him, his worn face expressing nothing but concern as he pointedly glanced between Lee and the food in a wordless question.

Lee had choked down the damn omelet.

Ford slept for almost fourteen hours straight once he laid down, and Lee would know because he was in their shared room –there were only two bedrooms in the shack and one of them was Fiddleford’s– for all thirteen hours and thirty-nine minutes that Ford spent asleep. Ford was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning as nightmares and memories plagued him.

But Ford had assured Lee that having him nearby made it better, which is why Lee never strayed far from Ford when he was getting some much-needed shut eye. Honestly, Lee had learned to take at least one nap while Ford was conked out, which screwed up his sleeping schedule but it was undeniably worth it since he could actually spend time with Ford once he woke up.

Anyway, when Ford had stirred later that night he looked recharged and ready for whatever the universe had to throw at him. Lee was sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a huge yawn as Ford puttered around the room, exchanging his colorful pajamas for his usual all-black attire. Lee had just gotten to pulling his covers back by the time Ford was dressed, striding over to where Lee sat to lean down for a nuzzle.

Ford suggested that they watch a movie, offering to fix some hot chocolate and snacks for Lee when he agreed that a lazy night spent cuddled together on the couch sounded amazing. Ford had seemed riddled with a mix of excitement and nerves as they relocated to the living room, but Lee hadn’t pressed the man about why he was acting so shifty because he honestly wasn’t sure of what to make of Ford’s behavior.

He really should’ve known better.

Lee had drained the mug of hot chocolate without even thinking about the unpleasant aftertaste, but he had written it off as Ford’s ability to make even the simplest of recipes taste questionable at best and downright toxic at worst. And all things considered, the hot chocolate ranked super low on the gross scale, it was just a little bitter.

It wasn’t until daybreak that Lee started to feel… not so great. He was smoking a cigar on the front porch when his gums began to ache, Lee forced to take out his partial dentures to relieve the pressure. It was a fleeting respite from the throbbing pain, which only seemed to worsen. Then, something came loose, Lee’s stomach dropping as he raised a hand to spit a tooth into his waiting palm.

He doesn't remember yelling for Ford, but he must have because the man was at his side in an instant, speaking in rapid-fire that Lee couldn’t seem to hear over the static buzzing in his ears. It wasn’t until Ford took Lee’s face in his hands that everything came rushing back, Ford’s calm and steady voice explaining something about the tooth in his hand having a cavity and that’s why it was replaced.

Lee blinked, unable to process the implications of Ford’s words since the ache in his tender gums increased sharply, his muddled thoughts grinding to a halt. He cupped a hand over his mouth as more bloodied teeth fell out, his mind reduced to a whirlwind of panic and horror as he helplessly waited for whatever was happening to end.

He could feel Ford’s warmth pressed flush against his side, an arm stretched across the front of his body to act as a support as well as function as a makeshift hug. Meanwhile, Ford’s other hand gently carded through Lee’s hair, brushing the wayward strands out of his face. Lee’s uncomprehending mind latched onto the sensation, using it to anchor him to the present.

Lee actually blacked out when pain tore through his side, boots uselessly scrabbling against the porch as his body convulsed. Resurfacing into consciousness to the sound of Ford berating himself about not testing the serum more thoroughly, which made a lot of things rapidly click into place. Incredulous anger swelled and Lee blindly grabbed a fistful of Ford’s stupid t-shirt before throwing a sloppy punch that Ford made no effort to dodge.

“What… the fuck… Ford!” Lee panted, his whole body feeling weirdly warm and tingly. Blood dribbled from Ford’s nose, but he didn’t even seem to care. Ford’s hands jerked up to cradle Lee’s face, his expression shattered, and the anger subsided all at once. Lee was left to flounder in the face of Ford’s guilt and terror, his brother practically climbing on top of him as his hands roamed over Lee’s body.

“Hey, what– Am I dyin’ or somethin’?” Lee haltingly asked, catching one of Ford’s wrists when he tried to shove it under Lee’s rucked up shirt, his exposed midriff flexing as the chilly morning air caressed his feverish skin. Ford made one of those animal noises of his, something between a whine and a snarl. Which, as far as Lee could tell, translated to Ford being both irritated and distressed by his perfectly reasonable question.

“No.” Ford answered tersely, his voice closer to a growl than an actual word. Regardless, Lee was able to discern that Ford wasn’t panicking because he had slipped him something that could kill him. It had fucking hurt –hands down the worst pain he had experienced outside of that one time that he got his kidney taken– but he had survived whatever the hell that was.

Which brought his thoughts back to the so-called ‘serum’ that Ford had mentioned earlier.

“What the fuck did you put in my hot chocolate?” Lee demanded, holding Ford’s wild gaze until the man’s previously tense posture shifted into more of a defensive hunch. Now Ford looked more like a kicked puppy than an injured animal about to lash out, which was just unfair because how the hell was Lee supposed to stay mad at him when he was cowering?

“It… it was supposed to help.” Ford said with effort, speaking through grit teeth as that damn spark of self-loathing flared to life in his dark eyes. Lee sighed and reached up to take Ford’s earlobe in two fingers and gently tug, redirecting his attention. When they made eye contact, Lee’s arms wound around Ford’s neck to drag him down into a hug that knocked the wind out of both of them as Ford’s entire body weight landed on top of him.

“Help how?” Lee coughed once he had regained the ability to breathe, lungs rattling with his first proper inhale. Lee immediately tilted his head in a wordless invitation that Ford eagerly took him up on, scraping his three-day stubble against Lee’s bared throat.

“So many wounds… so much pain…” Ford mumbled distractedly, nuzzling his way up to Lee’s jaw, his brows furrowing at the drying blood that stained Lee’s mouth. Ford slowly sat back on his haunches, Lee following him up, the two of them sitting on the bloodied porch. There were teeth and several questionable fluids scattered about, the sight making Lee’s stomach roll.

“You… fixed me?” Lee asked, his brows drawing together. He felt the nearly overwhelming need to strip down and examine himself in front of the full length mirror in their room wash over him, but he settled for a perfunctory pat down to try and figure out what exactly the serum had repaired. He was floored to discover that his scars were gone, the constant tightness notably absent. His eyesight was better too, the eye contacts that he’d taken to wearing since highschool missing.

“The serum regenerated what was damaged or missing.” Ford confirmed with a stilted nod, timidly scooting closer. Lee instinctively accommodated Ford’s need for closeness by spreading his legs wider, which was more or less unspoken permission to crowd into Lee’s personal space. Ford was only too happy to plaster himself to Lee’s front, the man’s arms closing around his waist as he sat down properly.

“A heads-up woulda been nice, Ace.” Lee huffed, propping his chin on Ford’s shoulder as he melted into the embrace. Ford was having a similar reaction to their proximity, relaxing more and more with every deep breath. Ford mumbled something along the lines of never giving Lee anything without his knowledge or consent again, and Lee didn’t doubt that he’d be fully briefed on the effects and potential drawbacks as well. Ford was nothing if not thorough, after all.

“I’m not cleanin’ this shit up either.” Lee warned, wrinkling his nose as his eyes wandered to the mess on the porch. It looked like a fucking crime scene; or maybe the aftermath of a torture session. Either way, Lee wasn’t gonna spend the day trying to get his blood out of the wood.

“I’ll handle it.” Ford assured, giving Lee’s jaw one last tender nuzzle before he pulled away, smoothly rising to his feet before helping Lee up. Lee grimaced at the state he was in, drying blood covering nearly the entirety of his front and hands. A shower and a change of clothes was definitely on his to-do list, along with burning what he was currently wearing because there was no way the blood was coming out.

“We’re talkin’ about this after I get washed up.” Lee stated, wiping his hands off on a relatively clean patch of his jeans before looking at Ford expectantly, the man obediently nodding.

“It won’t happen again.” Ford promised, opening the front door for Lee so he wouldn’t smear blood everywhere, his hand lingering on Lee’s back as he followed. Lee turned on the staircase, his eyes searching Ford’s expression for a few moments before he smiled.

“I know.”

[midnightanxietytm]

I have a silly idea :3

imagine Mabel recounting the “accident with the leaf blower” to the reader, who then proceeds to make sure Ford isn’t around and tells her about the “kissing practice robot” incident from high school (which they witnessed) if you don’t know what I mean watch the land before swine commentary video

meanwhile Ford is down in the basement and suddenly stops what he’s doing and is like “I feel a disturbance in the force.”

A/N: Oh my god the kissing bot is so iconic, Ford is such a dork for that one lol. Hope I met your expectations with this one , its been a while since I've written something more lighthearted. Thanks for the request!

Contents: Mabel and Reader spilling tea, talks about kissing and romance and other sappy things. Ford x Reader more implied than anything. Short and fun.

Word count: 500

You know something is wrong because Mabel isn't smiling, Mabel is always smiling. She walks through the gift shop door and goes straight to sit on the counter next to you with a big sigh.

“Alright, spill it, sunshine.” You say with a small smile, putting down the book you'd been reading in order to give her your full attention.

She looks up at you with big round eyes. “I dunno… The date went well, he even kissed me!” You gasp in pretend shock and that gets a small giggle out of her. “I know right?! But like… It felt weird! It wasn’t bad! Just weird… maybe I need more practice…”

That makes you laugh as you prop yourself near the checkout; “Mabel, darling, kissing isn't really some equation you can figure out, maybe he just wasn't the right person.”

She lets out another big sigh, but you can tell is more resigned and hopefull this time. “Yeah, I guess… Besides, I really don't want another leaf blower accident.”

You laugh again, Mabel has that charm. “The what accident now?”

“Oh my gosh, I never told you?! It's so embarrassing; I was obsessed with that boy, who turned out to be a bunch of gnomes by the way, and I wanted our first kiss to be perfect, so I stuck a photo of him on a leaf blower on suction made and used it to practice.” When she said that, both of you started to laugh so hard tears formed in your eyes. “I-t left like this huge bruise on my face!”

You lean your head on the table, trying to stop laughing, but the mental image of Mabel with a leaf blower stuck to her face is too much.

“Oh gosh you're just like your grunkle!” You say in-between wheezing.

“Wait which one?” Mabel asked, rubbing the tears off her eyes.

“Okay so…” You began, looking around just to check Ford wasn’t near. “Your Grunkle Ford, back in high school he built this robot…” You look around again, holding back laughter and bringing down your voice. “It was this mannequin head with a rubix cube for a mouth and it had an alarm that wouldn’t stop playing until he…” And you did quotation marks with your hands. “...kissed it right.”

And you both started laughing all over again. “That's so dorky oh my gosh!”.

“Right!? He's such a nerd.” You say, and there's a softness to it that eases Mabel's worries about romance all together. “It fell from his locker once and it started blasting the darn alarm! He couldn’t go anywhere for a week after that without people mimicking kissing noises. It was gross.” You chuckle and sigh, sitting back down on your stool. “Compared to that, a leaf blower is no big deal!”

“Compared to what?” Says a third voice.

You and Mabel snap your heads, seeing Ford standing on the doorway behind the vending machine.

Crap.

[stanpinesdykewife]

How do you feel about breeding kink ? Kinda a request for Stan/reader haha

HELLO thanks for sending this in! so i've never been a big breeder (breeding kink enjoyer) but you and several others are really into it so i finally gave it a shot!!! enjoy! and check out my friend's breeding kink fic at the bottom if you're into this :) under the cut:

knock knock stan/reader (fem!reader) (unless you're me and can ignore the gender implications of "mommy") pre/during/post-canon/unspecified smut, 1954 words (bonus: fic rec at the bottom)

It starts out like the normal, mostly-vanilla sex you usually have with Stan.

You two go out, get tipsy, come home, and make it through approximately half an episode of your joint show before slipping into a sloppy makeout. It's not exactly routine, but it's expected, and it's a hit for a reason. Sex with Stan is good, full stop. Which is why you’re always surprised when something new comes along that makes it even better.

“Hngh—Fuck,” you choke out, your voice catching behind your teeth as Stan sinks into you. You're on your back, staring with bleary eyes at the sight of Stan's flushed face above you. He's sitting on his heels with your ankles on his shoulders, his hands holding firmly at your plush hips as he grinds into you. “Fuck. God, please.”

“Told you you'd have to beg for it this time, didn't I?” Stan chuckles, stroking over your soft skin with his thumbs. He sounds gentle, but he's grinding into you hard, enough that each forward roll of his hips has your whole body rocking with it. He'd been fucking you so hard earlier, so good, but he does this thing sometimes—he stops altogether to get you talking. He loves when you talk to him. “Go on, then, sweetheart. You want it, right?”

“Y-Yeah,” you say, stuttering at another press of his dick into you. You gasp when he pulls back, drawing out only halfway before grinding in again. Your voice is wobbly when you say, “Yes, yeah. I want it, please fuck me, oh, fuck—I wanna come. Wanna make you come in me.”

You know, even through the haze in your mind and the growing blush on Stan's face, that that's a normal thing for you to say. It never gets old, and it's never untrue. Asking Stan to come in you always feels really fucking good. You're having a really good night.

“I know, baby. You want me to fill you up,” Stan says, full-on smiling down at you. His eyes are warm and a little unfocused as he draws out again, then pushes in, keeping that same romantic rhythm he's had since slowing down. His voice is low, almost drowsy, when he adds, “You want it to stay there, too? Want it to take?”

“Wh—Huh?” you ask, your mind a little preoccupied to register all the words coming out of his mouth. You're a little too busy staring at him, at his dark eyes, his crooked grin, then lower, to the hair on his chest leading down to his belly. Stan huffs out a good-natured laugh at your obvious spacing out.

“You always ask me to come inside.” When your gaze finally wanders back up to his, he's already staring at you. Stan chuckles again and adjusts his grip on your body, unintentionally hiking your hips up a little. He clarifies, “It's almost like you want me to knock you up.”

Your jaw drops open at that. A new wave of heat curls in your abdomen, making your fingers twitch, and your legs suddenly tense. Stan was half-joking, you know he was, but it's too late to pitch him a laugh and play into it. His brows raise, and you can practically see the gears turn in his head when you blink at him in mild shock.

Then the light bulb clicks on, and Stan's expression brightens in the way it always does when he learns something new about your body. Despite yourself, you smile, too, a flustered giggle bouncing from your throat when you realize he's about to pounce.

“W-Wait, I didn't—” You have no clue what excuse you were going to give to clear your name of a kink you didn't even know you had, but Stan interrupts you so you don't have to find out. You squeal when he suddenly grabs you by the thighs and adjusts your body, manhandling you into a new position. “Stan—!”

“You like that, huh,” he snickers, not unkind, as he shuffles himself up onto his knees without pulling out. One of your legs almost falls off his shoulders, but Stan quickly corrects it before snatching a pillow from your left and shoving it under your hips. He leans forward slightly, asking you again, “You want me to knock you up?”

Before you can answer, Stan gives you the first proper thrust he's given you in a while. Your back arches as you moan, your hips automatically rocking up into his as he starts a steady pace. Your hands grip the sheets, and you try to stave off the mild embarrassment in your chest. You try to welcome the excitement instead, growing warm in your stomach, making you tremble.

“That's right, honey. Feels good, don't it? Gonna put a baby in you.” The humor in Stan's voice fades slowly, overtaken by his little grunts as he fucks into you. You moan at one particular angle, Stan's dick pressing perfectly up against that spot in your pussy that makes your legs shake, and Stan chases it. He leans forward, over you, making your voice pitch higher and higher. He groans, “Fuck, so wet. You're all nice and warm for me, sugar. Perfect for my spunk.”

“Ugh, don't—ah—call it that,” you huff out, voice cracking in the middle as Stan picks up speed.

“Whaddya want me to call it?” he laughs. “My come? My kids?”

“Fuck,” you moan, like the breath's been punched out of you. Stan's hips stutter, and something in the air shifts. He groans, leans forward more, and soon your body is bent deeply at the waist with your legs hooked over his shoulders, your knees close to your chest. You don't know what this position is called. A breeding press? A mating press? The specifics are lost on you as you open your eyes, blinking up at Stan's handsome, flushed face.

He’s breathing deeply above you, his hot breath mingling with yours as he plants his hands on either side of you. Stan’s been teasing you all this time, but all of a sudden it doesn't feel so lighthearted anymore. Stan pauses when you meet his eyes. Shifts his weight on his knees.

“C-Can…” You swallow around the words. You're fucking salivating. You look at Stan shyly, through your lashes, and find the courage to ask, “Can you please put your kids in me?”

“Holy Moses,” Stan says, and then he's kissing you, all sloppy and heated and so fucking turned-on. You moan into his mouth when he starts pumping into you again, fucking his hips down into yours, and this angle is so fucking good you can't believe you've never tried it with him before, holy fuck. Stan is so deep inside you, pistoning his hips so hard he's fucking you right into the mattress with each thrust.

“Ah, ah, fuck, yes—” you gasp, breaking the kiss. Stan groans against your open mouth before pulling away, his eyes screwed shut as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he grunts, shifting so his forearms are caging your head, holding up his weight. “Gonna fucking fill you up, gonna make you have my fucking kids—Fuck, I'm already close.”

“Yes, yes, please,” you whine, voice strained as you reach up to grab hold of something, anything, to keep you grounded. You feel like you're floating, so warm and dizzy at the thought of Stan filling you to the brim, and your hands somehow find their way up into Stan's hair. He groans again when you tug, and gives you a particularly rough thrust that makes you gasp. “Ah, shit—! Yes, I want it, want you to come in me, fill me up—”

“Yeah, just take my fucking load, baby, just take it,” he breathes, somehow much more intelligible than you are even as his hips start fucking into you unevenly, losing their rhythm. But Stan's thrusts get harder, his dick reaching deeper into your ready cunt, so deep you swear you can feel his precome leaking into your cervix, or maybe the thought of it is just so good that you're making shit up. But you snap back to reality at Stan mutters, his voice gruff, “Gonna come so deep in you, sweetheart—Hah, fuck, that's—Gonna make you a fuckin' mommy.”

You're coming, an intense orgasm rolling through you and forcing one loud, drawn-out moan from deep in your throat as Stan fucks into you with a few more frantic thrusts. You're gasping, cursing when you can spare the breath, and then you're whining high in your throat as Stan presses as deep as he can fucking go. His voice catches for a moment. Then he groans, long and loud, right into your face as he comes deep in you. It's so hot, literally, you can feel the heat blooming in your fucking cunt, can feel the way his thick dick twitches with its release.

“Fuck—Fuck,” Stan swears, shifting again so he can slide one hand to your hip. He hikes it up and shuffles closer on his knees, sighing once his lungs have the capacity. You're still catching your breath, still dizzy with warmth and post-orgasmic bliss as you think of that pocket of come being plugged inside you by Stan's softening dick. Stan breathes deeply in, then out. He’s still riding the tail end of his orgasm when he murmurs, “You okay?”

“Mm. Yeah,” you manage, carefully unwinding your fingers from his hair. When Stan can lift his head to look at you, his face is red with exertion. There's some drool slipping out the corner of his mouth, and you try a smile. “You?”

“Yeah,” he says, but he sounds distracted. He studies your features, reading your expression, and whatever you managed of a half-smile drops.

“What?” you ask. But then Stan nudges his hips back, just an inch, and slowly presses into you again. Your breath hitches in your throat, your hands flying to his shoulders to grip him there. “What are you—Ah, ah, fuck.”

You feel exactly what he does. Stan's come is slick in you, it always is, but the new connotations add so much to the warm, wet pool within your body. Stan grinds into you, getting your thighs and his abdomen slick with your come, then pulls out again. When he pushes back in, you both moan at how fucking easy it is. There's no resistance. His come is sticking the way, making it easier for him to fuck you.

Stan is still breathing deep, but another smile plays on his lips. He’s close enough that he only has to tilt his head slightly to kiss you, but it's chaste nonetheless. His grin is bright and affectionate. But it isn't quite innocent.

“You wanna try for another?” he chuckles, his hand smoothing over your skin to dip between your bodies, to press gently, reverently against your stomach. You jolt at the touch, but eventually your hips start rocking into him. Stan doesn't move. You're intoxicated by the thought of him keeping you like this, pinned beneath him, full of his come and plugged by his dick as he brings you to the edge with his fingers.

“Ah, shit—Fuck. Yeah,” you say, the corners of your mouth rising up to match Stan's grin. You play along easier this time. “Yeah. Please. As many times as it takes, right?”

“Gotta knock you up somehow,” Stan says, keeping eye contact with you, his voice oozing with affection. You chuckle at him. What a softie. Then his fingers press a little harder on your stomach, then dip lower, lower, to really touch you, and your mouth drops into a moan instead. “Gonna be such a good mommy.”

You're having a great night.

(inspo from Family Planning by burberryali, which dropped super recently and helped a lot while i learned to write this!!! if you like breeding and fluff and stan in general... which i know you do... this fic is for you! show it some love!!)

[friendly-jester]

anyone got any good dipcifica fic recs? been in a gravity falls mood lately (who hasn't? lol) and remembered how much i loved them when i was younger and wanna read some! don't care how long or short they are i'm down for anything

except smut bc they're kids in my head and that would make me uncomfortable x.x also i'm asexual and sex repulsed lmao

edit: list of recs here!! thanks again @the-orion-scribe! y'all should go check out his gravity falls next gen au! it's really cute from what i've seen so far!

[jackyjackdraws]

either the two husbands dancing together or maybe them hugging in the portal room (like in my fic about them)

“I don’t know how we’ll get this to work. But I missed you Kev. I really did.” Stanley reached out, hugging Kevin one final time, burying his face into his shoulder.

“I missed you too Stan.” Kevin said softly. “I missed you too.”

Based off a fic my friend @nour386 wrote for me a while ago that still makes me emotional to this day

[lilacxquartz]

taking chances;

gn!reader x fiddleford h. mcgucket

summary: tensions were an all time high with your college roommate, so when you both found yourselves pushed together at a party, things started to make even less sense — themes: mutual pining, gender neutral reader, first-time kissing, eventual smut — w.c: ~5k • ao3 • masterlist

a/n: by request, i hope this fulfills your vision after everything that we’ve discussed, i tried my best with it. <3 let’s put him at around 20-22 here.

It was late summer—just the first week of September, in fact. The air outside was still warm and the skies were still welcoming, bright, and full of promise. College was going to be your to be your much-needed fresh start from a life you hoped to leave behind—it just took you a while to get there, you supposed. And now here you were, ready to start life anew in the dead center of Backupsmore College, ready to take on whatever it threw at you.

You were moving in alone, without the help of a relative or a friend, and albeit uncomfortably, lugged your suitcase up the three sets of stairs to your assigned dorm. Number 321, it was. You found it funny, that to go forward, you were to be living in a room that signaled the opposite. Three. Two. One. Not one, two, three. A bittersweet perspective perhaps, but it was what it was and you were always good at that—noticing what went on between the lines—except perhaps where it should have mattered.

Your hand pressed down onto the door handle, not quite sure what to expect as you pushed inside. There was an option to go for a solo room, but you told yourself that if it was going to be different this time—then that meant no more closing yourself away—no more running or isolating, you were going to push through, even if it meant being uncomfortable through a lot of it.

You only started to notice such a thing after you graduated, after all, that pretty much everyone in high school was just as lost as you were, but they pushed forward, simply because that was the only choice. It took you a while of internal loathing and self-inflicted sabotage to get past that point, but now you were ready.

(Because if not now, then when?)

A lanky figure stood before you, dropping something out of a box that they were in the process of unpacking. The first thing you noticed about him was the way his glasses sat crooked against his nose and the way that his shirt messily spilled out of his mustard-yellow jumper, which you noticed, by the way, was perhaps actually stained slightly with real mustard. You found all of those select little details to be oddly endearing in your first impression.

Just like you, there was an equally awkward and lost individual right in your personal space—a comfort like no other—you were so alike (and perhaps more than you both even knew).

Your new mystery roommate seemed startled at your sudden entry, his shoulders stiffening as he frantically whipped his head to the side to take a good look at you. Before you intruded, he was hunched over a desk that was a mess with wires, screws, and an odd sort of contraption. His glasses slipped slightly down the bridge of his nose with his mouth propped ajar as he searched for a response, his mind faltering for a moment.

You could almost see the mental cogs in his brain turning, trying to figure out how to be a normal human being in such a sudden moment. You were doing the same, after all.

“Oh, uh, hey,” he spoke up after a hot minute, his accent letting slip a little to hint at where he might have been from, “you must be… my new roommate?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you managed, sounding equally nervous.

“I’m Fiddleford,” he replied, extending a shaky hand towards you before clearing his throat, “Fiddleford McGucket.”

You took hold of his hand to shake it. His grip was a little too firm, yet somehow clumsy, but it was warm and you could tell that beneath the nervous demeanour that he let on, that he was kind.

You introduced yourself next, giving him your full name before flicking your eyes back to the mess he caused on his side of the room. “So, are you, um, working on something there?”

“Ah,” Fiddleford replied, his eyes widening as he stepped over to block out the sight with his body, trying to desperately avert your gaze to other matters, his voice trembling as he couldn’t help but stammer out a slurry of scatterbrained responses, “j-just a little, uh, w-well, it’s nothing real fancy. I’m just trying to… rig up a uh, an old radio to work with some other equipment I have, it’s n-nothing too exciting.”

Perhaps it was your fault for letting the conversation die, but you got the impression that he didn’t want to talk about what he was doing, so you didn’t press the issue further. Instead, all you did was clear your throat and tell him that you were going to be back to collect the rest of your stuff, finding it almost hurtful that by the time you returned, he wasn’t there.

Just faint fragments of him remained; his suitcase was there, and his stuff was unpacked, but he moved away his project off to somewhere else.

(Did he think that he was bothering you?)

All potential interactions fizzled down after that first meet and the two of you, despite seeing each other every single day. The two of you both settled into your respective corners of the room and that seemed to be the end of your initial pleasantries. Slowly, your side started to feel like more of your own, while a cold, unfamiliar side filled out the opposite end—your roommate who was more of a stranger—locked himself up in his own little world, unwilling to share beyond what was was already said.

On occasion however, you stole half-asleep glances at Fiddleford as he tinkered around during the odd hours of the night when he thought you weren’t watching. When he thought you were asleep. You liked watching him work on whatever it was beyond the clinical glow of his work lamp, finding all of those focused mutterings that escaped his lips to sound oddly sweet, even finding the satisfied smack of his lips when something went right to sound cute, rather than something bothersome.

He was fascinating in a quiet, unassuming way but that also made him frustrating, because something about him had also made you hesitate—leaving you unsure as to how to bridge the gap between you—that over time, kept moving further and further away.

Days of this later turned into weeks as the two of you settled into the every day of college life. The two of you lived quietly within each other's company, ate in the same canteen and even attended the same overlapping classes—but it was like there was an invisible wall keeping the two of you apart. Every interaction you had was a little too curt—a little too formal. He was far too polite and you were far too cautious, but beyond that, you couldn’t help but feel that there was something more to it all.

Like a buzzing sort of electricity when you were both together, a current that was blocked off by something in the way, yearning to trickle free, buzzing restlessly beneath the surface.

It was especially evident and highly suspicious when in the early mornings, you’d both try to get ready in as much of a rush as possible. You’d both avoid eye contact and dress in the corner or the communal bathroom instead and in class, you’d sit several rows apart, stealing occasional glances from each other, both of you quickly turning your heads away rather than letting the friendly gaze linger.

The evenings were the most difficult though; the small dorm room when packed with two people that you were by then certain, were at least curious about each other yet neither brave enough to make the first move, was a suffocating experience.

Something about it all felt strangely… intimate?

Sometimes, he’d break the silence with what sounded like a weak attempt to make small talk, often about the weather if it suddenly changed outside or idly complain about the class assignments but not making too much sense. At times, you’d indulge and reply, only for the few words exchanged to falter and drop again.

It wasn’t that you meant to be this self-destructive, because if anything, you wanted nothing more than to get to know everything about him—but every time you made the conscious effort to reach out—the words you delicately crafted caught in your throat, dissolving into something unintelligible.

(And if you were reading him correctly, he was struggling with the same damn thing.)

~~~

One fateful evening, deep into the semester, you found yourself at a party, believe it or not. One of the dorm residents, Stanford Pines, convinced (or rather, bullied) you into accepting what he described as one of the biggest parties of the century, swindling you into going, saying that it would be good for ‘someone like you’ and feeling caught out, you reluctantly accepted it. The party itself wasn’t your scene, not by a long shot, but you stuck around as if wanting to prove something to yourself—perhaps to others, too.

The dim lighting flickered against your eyes, making you feel woozy, especially when coupled with the cheap beer that was shoved into your hands, but you were there. You were at a party. In college. That was the dream, right? That’s what people most looked forward to when they were there… right?

The house was packed but also, you were unsure as to whose it was. The party was supposedly organised by Stanford Pines, but he left very little answer as to where this place even came from. Nobody else seemed to mind, however, with everyone else happily drinking and dancing to a tune that you didn’t even recognise. In fact, you couldn’t recognise anyone here either. You were alone… until you weren't, locking your eyes onto a familiar face just across the living room.

Fiddleford. Standing all alone in a corner with a half-empty drink in his hand, looking less than thrilled to be there. Just like you.

You pretended to not see him however, as if to not give him a reason to leave, but on occasion, you’d flick over little glances at him that you were certain he caught onto. It felt like that, in a sea of overflowing confidence that ensnared around you, your mutual nervousness fed off of each other, creating something once again stagnant, pushing you both apart yet again.

Just as you were about to drift off to another room, however, Stanford Pines’ voice cut through the room, somehow overriding his presence through the chaos, “Alright everyone, listen up. We’re all, we’re…” he slurred a bit through his announcement, seeming more than just ‘drunk’, “we’re gonna play a nice little game of spin the bottle.”

“Bit childish, don’t you think?” a voice shouted out—you didn’t recognise whose it was.

“Ah, to hell with maturity,” Stan replied, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, “gather ‘round, we’re gonna,” he hiccuped mid-sentence before continuing, “we’re all gonna get to know each other.”

The crowded house collectively both groaned and cheered at the same time, leaving your stomach churning with dread. Almost instinctively, you started to back towards the front door, but then you felt Stan’s hand clamp down against your shoulder before you could make your escape.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“I-I uh…” you trailed off as you stammered, “I’m really not cut out for this kind of thi—”

“Nonsense,” he huffed, although in a teasing way, interrupting you mid-sentence, something about his tone was less taunting and more friendly as if struggling to convey that he was plotting something deeper than he let on. “You’ve gotta have fun at least once in your life and you’re not exactly helping yourself standing around on the sidelines like that.”

Before you could protest further, Stanford dragged you over to the floor, propping you down right in between a stranger but also right next to Fiddleford. The circle spanned surprisingly far and all sorts of people were pushed up to the shoulders against each other as you barely kept up. The chaotic slur of both laughter and conversation alike had already dizzied you, leaving you feeling painfully out of place.

And then, it all somehow got worse when the bottle that Stanford spun had landed right on you, almost abruptly so, somehow stopping mechanically, as if controlled. Just like in a nightmare, the whole crowd of unfamiliar faces snapped right at you, focusing the spotlight of unwanted attention where you didn’t want it to shine.

Stanford clapped his hands, seeming almost giddy. “Truth… or dare?” he asked, a mischievous glint playing in his eyes.

“T-truth!” you exclaimed almost immediately—there was no way in hell that you would have him make you do something even potentially humiliating.

“Yeah?” he smiled, thinking to himself for a moment. “Alright... Do you have a crush on anyone in this room?”

Suddenly, you gulped. “H-hey, that’s not fair…”

“It’s not a fair game,” Stan dismissed with a shrug, “you picked truth - so that’s on you.”

You stammered, only to be cut off, “B-but—”

“—No buts,” he shut you up, “rules are rules.”

“N-nobody?” you weakly responded, trying to will yourself to disappear.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that,” Stan encouraged, “it’s just a game, you can say anyone, really.”

You warily looked around as you tried to pick a ‘safe’ option, only for your eyes to fall upon Fiddleford who was looking at you with wide eyes. It was only a couple of seconds, but your gaze lingered for a little too long, hinting at the obvious truth that you had long refused to acknowledge. Stan, however, was having none of that, picking up on your longing right away.

“Ah, what’s this?” he piped up. “Looks like there is someone after all, huh?”

“W-wait, I didn’t say anything—” you stammered again, only to be predictably cut off once more.

“—Fiddleford, huh?” he continued, watching with some amusement as you buried your sights into the floor, with Fiddleford mirroring you, looking away from you in a rush of embarrassment. In Stanford’s mind, he always knew deep down, you both had something going on, and perhaps he was doing the wrong thing by pushing you both together like this, but he also knew that if you weren’t ready now, then someone like you was never going to be ready without a little push to begin with. It was a necessary push of evil, where he’d get to play the bad guy that would hopefully, leave you with a good end.

This also meant that of course, he wasn’t finished meddling, at least not yet.

Continuing, Stanford got up from where he was sitting, walking over to yank you both up by the collar. “Alright, alright, you’re both gonna figure out whatever… this… is,” he announced, dragging you both towards another portion of the house, shoving you both into a closet.

“W-wait a minute,” you and Fiddleford both protested in unison, your voices sounding completely panicked at the thought and yet, the protests were useless as they fell upon willingly deaf ears. The crowd was clueless as they watched on, yet encouraging as they cheered for the two nerds who were impromptu shoved into a small space together, likely imagining all sorts of things.

The door then slammed shut and before you could both finish voicing your concerns, the lock clicked into place, leaving the two of you sealed in a closet full of coats and in the dark. There seemed to be a light switch, but it didn’t work, leaving you pushed up against each other in a pitch-black space.

You stood stiffly with him for a moment, awkwardly trying to shuffle around the area, only to bump into him several times. Fiddleford did the same, unable to direct himself at all.

“S-sorry,” he muttered out, even now, sounding a touch bit too polite.

“It’s… fine,” you quickly replied, sounding just as formal as you always did.

A mutual silence then brewed between the two of you beyond that short exchange. It was heavy and suffocating, perhaps even more so than the tiny stretch of space between the two of you. Just outside the door, the party continued without you, the sound of clapping and cheering steadily ongoing. Some people chanted for others to chug whatever, while the creak of beds could be heard just upstairs.

“D-do you think they’re letting us out anytime soon?” Fiddleford warily asked.

You shook your head before realising he couldn’t see you, then sighed. “No, I-I don’t think so. Stan locked the door and just… left us here, so, probably not after some time…”

“O-oh,” he fretted.

Another silence followed once again, with neither one of you willing to break the tension apart. You could tell that he was fidgeting as the picking of his nails intensified and his breathing grew nervous. Both of you were lodged in this dreaded place, both seeming uncomfortable beyond your limit.

But then finally, he spoke. His voice sounded a touch hopeful. Something at last changed and Stan’s plan was in motion, “So, did you mean it? …D-do you really like me?”

The question caught you off guard for a moment and if you were anywhere else, you would have tried to run from the question, but you supposed that you couldn’t. Forced to face the truth, you decided to hell with it, and confessed to him at long, long last. “Yeah, um. Yeah, I do. I think I always did.”

You could hear Fiddleford gasp in what almost sounded like disbelief. He tried to reply to you a couple of times, but his words fell flat from the moment he uttered them, and then, after a while, something coherent finally stuck. “R-really? I mean—I thought that maybe you didn’t, especially after you left so suddenly after when we first met… Really?”

“Ah, yeah, I’m sorry,” you backtracked, “I guess I was just as nervous as you and… I didn’t really know how to continue the conversation,” you admitted, hating in a way at just how vulnerable you sounded, “I’m not good with this—I’m not good with people, but I… liked you, yes, from the very moment I saw you.”

The sincerity in your voice caught the two of you both off guard, enough so to even make him stop fidgeting. You listened in as he tried to form a response, the numbing darkness somehow feeling almost loud, leaving you feeling a little overwhelmed from the situation at hand.

“I, uh,” Fiddleford hesitated, letting the silence linger again—even if something about it did feel different this time—it was less heavy and more charged with something else, perhaps that faint spark you once felt, desperate to burst free. “I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to say something smooth, but I’m not that type of person either.”

You cracked a smile, leaving a breathless laugh to roll off of the slip of your tongue. “That’s okay. I’m fucking awful at this, so…”

The silence was at this point, as frequent as it could get, and then suddenly as if by some unseen force, that gap that had been developing between you both had finally dispersed, an unseen force pushing you both together. It wasn’t particularly graceful and it was, very much clumsy, but your lips brushed against his own at long last. You both tasted like stale, cheap beer, and if even for just a moment, the world around you went quiet. Nothing else mattered. The party just outside seemed to fade away, the suffocating void you were both locked within felt lighter, and suddenly, you felt something else arise within you—not just want—but need, too.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Fiddleford immediately backtracked, but you were done running from your life, so you didn’t let him run from his feelings either.

“It’s okay,” you hushed, trying to calm him. Cautiously, you then reached for his hand, leaning your face in again, although this time with more certainty than before. You wanted this just as much as he did.

The second time you kissed him, it was longer, warmer and when it ended, you felt like a part of you was missing and perhaps it felt that way for him too, because he found himself kissing you again. And again. And again. Each time, it felt all the bit more natural, like it was the only thing in this crazy world that made sense.

You surrendered yourself to more of him, not waiting for a second further as you gave in, but then he pulled back slightly, right before the heat of the moment got too hot, too fast.

“O-oh god,” he shakily murmured out, his breath hot on your lips, “w-what if they hear?”

You paused and considered, listening to the cheers just outside; the drumming on the floorboards for something unrelated and the like. “I don’t think they will… so we might be safe, besides… maybe we shouldn’t care for once?”

“I-I just… I’m worried about the aftermath, I guess,” Fiddleford admitted.

“Ah…” you considered, wondering just what sort of mess would spill around the college if news of such an encounter got out, thinking back to all such other ‘scandals’ between other people, “I think we’ll be fine. The news lasts for a week at best… and besides, do we really both want to continue living in fear…?”

“I… that’s a fair point. I guess not…” he admitted. “Do you really want to do this?”

You half scoffed, leaning into his lips again. “Yes,” you replied in an almost exasperated tone, “I like you and I want to do this… but only if you also want to.”

“A-ah, yeah… I just needed to make sure, I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” Fiddleford fretted again, but ultimately calmed down at your continued reassurance.

You still couldn’t see a single thing in the dark, but you could feel the heat of his body radiating from being parked so close by. His hands fumbled around your frame in the darkness, groping, feeling and exploring but never quite lingering just yet.

“I-I have never done something like this before,” he admitted again, yet still continuing to reach around you.

Your hands shook as they reciprocated his caressing motions, mapping around the unfamiliar contours of his flesh. “Me neither,” you confessed, having no real idea if you were doing anything right or not, “we’ll just do what feels right, I suppose.”

“Y-yeah, sounds like a good plan,” he admitted, continuing to reach around you and feel wherever possible, caring less and less wherever his touch landed.

You both shuffled out of the restrictive clothing you both wore, not quite fully undressing but loosening up however possible. His skin soon met with yours and you leaned in close, your mind racing with how on earth to continue. His arousal was apparent, poking up against you within the limited confines, his fingers dipping a touch lower, reaching to press against your sensitive sex, his movements growing more eager with each passing second and yet, still playing it safe.

You, almost on impulse, grinded into his hardness, feeling your stomach tighten in anticipation. A warm slurry of comforting warmth overcame you, rendering you into a flushed mess all the more that you explored; trailing your touch further down, over to his stomach, his hips and finally… just below.

“C-can you touch me?” he let slip, a sliver of confidence peeking out. It felt so refreshing to hear to be wanted back, for him to need you specifically to return such feelings. It made you react in a responsive manner, feeling your own arousal heighten.

Swallowing hard, you tried to proceed with ease, only to deliver it clumsily instead. You dipped your hands into his trousers, pushing down the unzipped pair. Albeit cautiously, you then wrapped your fingers around his length, feeling it grow hard in the palm of your hand. Fiddleford shook out a stream of stuttered out, ragged breaths, leaning his chin into your shoulder as you started to move your hand in languid motions against his now, fully erect cock.

He moved closer towards you, dropping the clothes you wore to the floor as well, positioning himself right against your sex, guided by his quickly building arousal. Fiddleford still had zero idea how to properly proceed, but did what felt right instead, taking your words to heart.

You reached to tangle your fingers in his hair, your voice sounding somehow both confident yet nervous at the same time, “I-I think I’m ready if you are,” you whispered.

“R-right,” Fiddleford followed on, gripping at your hips to get a good hold on you.

Slowly, he searched around to find entry, easing into your core with one strained slip. Although unseen, his eyelids fluttered in the dark and his lips let out a guttural moan as the sensation of heated pleasure took him over for just a moment. Such admission of being so involuntarily turned on awoke something primal in you and you lifted one leg up, allowing for him to press into a more comfortable position—hopefully letting him move around with more ease, given the constricting circumstances, at least.

“This feel okay?” he quietly murmured, trying his best not to hurt you.

“Uhuh,” you muttered back, placing your hand around his shoulder, trying to hold onto him as best as you could before things took a whole new direction. You wanted this. You wanted this so much. Right here and with him.

“So, I’ll just…” he continued, talking to himself more than you, as if to soothe his fluttering heart—he leaned his hips forward, allowing his length to be swallowed by you, letting himself stand there for just a moment and allowing for you to adjust.

After a moment, Fiddleford then began to move. His initial motions were clumsy at first, with no real idea as to what he was doing, but after some time of you both just feeling around each other, of finding the right position and getting comfortable—it all started to feel so right. The found pace felt natural, good, even. His hands clamped around your waist, bucking into the hilt of your depth with strained composure.

“D-does this feel good for you too?” he whispered, unable to find his voice.

You couldn’t reply with any shred of coherency any longer as your face leaned into the crook of his neck where his shoulders met, something similar to a “yes” might have slipped out, but it was barely audible. Instead, you pulled him closer, feeling as your lower stomach began to feel impossibly coiled—like a wound up spring threatening to break free—you felt so good, so damn good.

The sounds of breathless moans—of skin smacking—of the walls creaking started to fill out the small space. His lips on occasion sloppily reached to kiss on your own, needing somewhere to direct his affections, still riding the high of the recent confession.

“This… does this still feel good?” he asked, sounding more coherent that time.

A hum of agreement left your lips, although it sounded strained on delivery as your peak approached. It was very obvious with just how barely he held onto his crumbling composure, that he too was just as close as you were, with his legs stuttering and his breathing uneven, sounding all the more laboured with each passing moment.

“I… I’m close,” you warned, his hold around you growing intense upon your confession. There was something raw about this whole situation; from the feelings exchanged to the intensity of the situation—everything felt almost dizzying, especially as you (both) reached the point of no return.

Fiddleford followed up next, his hips giving out as a final, pushing thrust let spill of all of his pent up want and need. You felt him twitch inside you, releasing fully into the filled out void of your center. A low groan shuddered out of his lips, with his forehead leaning against the wall. The two of you were just barely able to recollect yourselves, feeling depleted from the aftermath.

“Was… was that good? Did I do good?” he kept asking, his words repeating in a slurried babble, his tone suddenly so tender, yet unsure and even a little afraid—as if he was terrified to hear anything otherwise.

Oh, Fiddleford. Although you couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of his face just then, you could already imagine his eyebrows knitted in anticipation, his eyes nervously scanning over you to gain that validation he so rightfully deserved. This was also new for you, but you felt good after—you wanted to do this again and again, in fact, but only with him.

A breathless nod was all that you could reveal for a moment, the words rolling off of your tongue still slightly disjointed, “Yes, yes. So good. Definitely good. Everything was perfect… you were perfect,” you gushed, pulling yourself back after a moment had passed, lazily fumbling with your clothes to pull them back up.

And for a while, it was all quiet again, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was a mutual silence in which no pressure had transpired between the two of you, allowing for the both of you to recover at your own level before heading out to face the real world again.

Fiddleford tried the door first, finding that to his surprise (and yours), the closet was now unlocked. The two of you had the same racing thoughts flood your mind: when? Had someone heard? Perhaps even seen…? The two of you then thought back to how freeing such a confession felt and how good everything else that followed after, felt good too—so perhaps the fear of being discovered was baseless, or at least, it didn’t quite matter so much anymore.

Whatever would happen next, you would at least not have to deal with it alone.

“Are you okay?” you asked as you squeezed at his hand.

Fiddleford’s voice was still trembling just a little, but his words came out with a newfound sense of confidence, sounding much more certain than he ever did before, “Y-yeah, I think so. I feel fine, but it’s just… the idea of returning to a loud house party orchestrated by Pines is not my idea of a good time.”

You laughed, fully understanding his concerns. “Yeah, it’s… quite something. We can try to beeline for the exit and recover a little in our dorm?”

“Sounds good,” he half laughed, feeling relieved that your mind was in the same place as his before adopting a more serious tone, “so, are you ready to deal with whatever comes next?”

“I am,” you assured, equally abuzz with what could happen, for once in your life not quite caring about how it all looked. The accusations, the given approval or even the lack of it—all of it—for once in your life, you didn’t care about what other people thought because as long as you were by his side because then it would all be worth the trouble.

For once in your life, it was all going to be okay.

You were sure of it.

[sparklepool101]

I'm participating in @ficsforgaza!

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Untitled - OMORI Post-canon, Hero character study

After the confession, Hero has to take an afternoon to process what it all means. Luckily he has his brother at his side.

Estimated wc: 2,000

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Written wc 0/0

Kissed on a Dare* - The Owl House Post-canon, Gustholomule centric

Gus and Mattholomule both attend a "house party" at Luz's invite along with some other friends. Things are going well until someone brings up a game of spin the bottle.

Estimated wc: 5,000

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Written wc 0/0

Untitled - Gravity Falls Post-canon, Dipper Pines centric

Adjusting to California after Gravitys Falls isn't easy, especially not in middle school. Follows Dipper on his first day back at school and the trouble that it brings.

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Untitled - Demon Slayer Modern AU, Muichiro Tokito centric.

Muichiro awakens in the hospital with no memory besides his name. There, a kind women explains that he will be under the care of her family until he recovers. Follows Muichiro meeting the cast in a school environment, struggling to regain his memories, and the final revelation as to what happened (as well as a few plot twists along the way!)

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Donations for Requests: OPEN

FicsforGaza is focusing on video game and animanga fandoms so those will be the ones listed here. However, anything on my carrd or any fandoms already written for on my Ao3 are fair game for requests.

Fandoms: Alien Stage, The Promised Neverland, Word's Bubble Up Like Soda Pop, Zombieland Saga, Demon Slayer, ERASED, Project Sekai, OMORI, Imaginary Friend Asylum, Doki Doki Literature Club, Danganronpa.

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[icrypop]

HE WAS AT MY WORK. WHY-

This is an announcement that I'm officially going to be writing for Sonic and Gravity Falls!

I do have several requests in the works/drafts atm!! I've been busy and trying to get these done so I can post them at once and I appreciate you all being so patient!! ♡

That's all!!

-Writer Icy♡♡

[drunkonjazzandwine]

please i need accountability

[radioisntdead]

Y'ALL WISH ME LUCK IT'S DEER Squishmellow HUNTING SEASON

[titters-and-tingles]

Hi! I'm currently taking writing requests for short (200~ w) (sfw) tickling snippets for the following fandoms:

Gravity Falls

The Adventure Zone: Balance

Hazbin Hotel

Lego Monkie Kid

If it's not one of these, you can still send me the request, and I might give it a shot!

Send the requests by ask ^u^

[nowimjustastranger]

Hello and welcome! I recently got back into the Gravity Falls fandom and so I created a blog to unleash the sheer amount of feelings that I have about this show! I'll be posting a plethora of things on here, from fanart by other artists to my own AU fics.

You can find all my AU's listed here and my mini-series here! There won't be a masterlist of content, but click on the tag you're interested in to scroll through the corresponding posts on my blog.

Fic Request Rules

My Inbox is currently closed to Fic Requests

Available Slots: 0

And, if anyone wants to give me a tip or join the Whiskers Tier for exclusive content, here's my Ko-fi!

[earako]

*scoots in*

So

I wanna write more

But I don't know what to write-

If anyone wants Gravity Falls family stuff fic requests lemme know

[stanpinesdykewife]

ME AGAIN hi hi nothing extravagant as i don’t want to overwhelm you, but i’ve been rereading your works again and i’m just DYING to know your personal headcanons for stan, either sfw, nsfw or both!!! thank you for your work you’re amazing 💗💗💗 - 🎀

THIS I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS… thank you so much for this ask what a super fun idea!!!! here goes!!! under the cut:

sfw and nsfw stan headcanons… as your boyfriend!! (i’m blushing) (no gendered pronouns used)

(bonus: fic rec at the bottom)

sfw:

big on chivalry! says he was raised “right” and he’s a “gentleman” etc. holds open doors for you and offers his arm instead of holding hands. also really big on flowers or other gifts

pointedly uses the word “date” instead of just inviting you out: “great! it’s a date!” vs “let’s go out tonight” (yes he thinks there’s a difference)

can’t keep his hands off you! always needs to be touching your waist, your back, your wrist, or at least standing close enough to know you’re right next to him

cheesy flirt!! loves the yawn and stretch to put his arm over you. constantly uses his bank of pick-up lines on you: “did it hurt?... when you fell from heaven?” and “you got a map? cuz i just got lost in your eyes!” probably studied a book of them in high school

that being said stan gets so easily flustered it’s hilarious HAHAHA the second you flirt back or even give him a smile and a Look up and down he’s sweating

never admits that he gets flustered because he’s used to the idea of being a Big Macho Man. but he knows you know that he knows how easily you can make him melt

enjoys you playing with his face like feeling up his jaw and cheeks and nose and mouth. it makes him feel pretty!

loves holding you in his lap… will refuse to admit his legs are numb in favor of hugging you around your waist and nuzzling the back of your head

loves loves loves teasing you! like grabbing things out of your hands and holding them high up, grabbing your waist and holding you hostage when you try to stand or leave the room, constantly asking “what’s in it for me?” whenever you ask him to cut it out or do something simple like pass your phone. but stan will never ever say no to a kiss

nsfw:

obvious in all my fics but stan cannot shut up. he loves to talk during sex and loves to make you talk back: begging for him, asking “politely” for him to touch you, telling him how good you feel

MAJOR praise kink. huge. the reason he’s so chatty during sex is to make sure you want the things he wants. he craves the validation that he makes you feel good. LOVES to hear you moan and make noise for him

BIG SERVICE GUY!!! loves going down on you. literally moans into you because he loves the taste and how good it feels for you. probably came in his pants once or twice just from palming himself during it

loves to overstimulate you. always reminds you to literally shove his head away if it’s too much because he gets so lost in how loud you get

he’s kind of gross lol he’ll wipe his sex hands all up on his clothes or sheets and not bother washing his hands unless you tell him to

BIG kisser. lots of tongue. he doesn’t have much experience kissing so he’s really sloppy with it especially during sex when he’s trying to kiss you and fuck you at the same time

tits guy! doesn’t even matter whether you have tits or not. he loves them and loves nipples in his mouth especially when you arch your chest up to him

loves coming inside

he’s so gross! if he doesn’t come in you he’ll come ON you and smear it into your skin. the messier the better

aftercare is so important to him after meeting you… he doesn’t have much experience with it himself but he adores you and can’t help himself from snuggling up even if you’re complaining about how gross the sheets are

he definitely gets generous after a good fuck. will run out to get you water or snacks or just some wipes to get you cleaned up!!

(inspo from Must See: Mystery Shack by guilty_pleasures_abound)

all done! this was so fun! would love more hc requests whether it be for more stan-centric ones or other characters/scenarios!!

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

@princeasimdiya12 requested: 

can you write a oneshot featuring Mullet Stan but with bondage and drowning please? In the fic, hes captured by some gang members. They shackle his barefeet to a metal ball and chain, cloth gag him, handcuffed him and throw him into the sea to drown. 

Thank you so much for the request and I hope you like it! Sorry this took me so long haha 

cw drowning, gagged/captive whumpee, multiple whumpers, ambiguous ending 

“W-what do you want?” Stan demanded as he struggled against the men’s strong grip on his arms. “Do I owe you guys money or something?” 

The one that stood in front of him sneered in his face. “You don’t even deserve the dignity of knowing why we’re doing this to you,” he spat. 

Stan kicked out, catching one of the men in the shin, but it did no good. The one in front of him gagged him with a bandana, forcing it into his mouth and glowering as his henchmen began dragging Stan toward the edge of the pier. 

“Mmmph!” Stan exclaimed behind the gag. “Ltt mmm gh!” 

One of the men laughed evilly, grabbing onto his mullet and pulling his head back. “Keep screaming. No one is coming to save you.” 

Heavy chains were wrapped around his ankles and then attached to a large metal ball. Stan began to panic even more when he realized the extent of what the gang was going to do to him. “Nnn! Gttff mmm!” 

“Have fun swimming with the fishes, Stannie boy,” one of the men gloated, before pushing Stan in the icy black water below. 

Stan broke the surface with a loud splash, struggling to swim up as the metal ball dragged him down. “Mmph!!” he cried, expelling the last of the air from his lungs. There had to be a way to get out of this, he thought as he thrashed in the freezing water. But as the energy quickly left his body, all he could do was hope that someone was coming to save him.