Work Text:
“Kids! I’m driving this knucklehead home. You two gonna be okay on your own for a bit?” Stan asks the twins as they keep their eyes glued on the TV screen.
“Yes, Grunkle Stan,” they both replied in unison.
“Later, dorks,” you chimed over Stan’s shoulder.
“Catch ya on the flippity flip,” Mabel shouts back while Dipper gives a little wave.
You typically walk to work at the Mystery Shack, the weather in Gravity Falls proving to be quite nice a majority of the summer. Rain wasn’t in the forecast today when you checked. Better yet, a downpour wasn’t in there either. Yet, here you were, stranded at the Shack and your boss offering you a ride home.
Let’s get one thing straight about Stan Pines: the hold he has on you is unbelievably…odd. He’s an older man. Hell, he’s the twins’ great uncle. He’s rough on the surface but you see the way he is with Dipper and Mabel; that man’s a sweetheart and he has a story. That man has experience in more ways than one and you want to find out about it. He’s a perfect silver fox in your eyes. It’s his bumper sticker, not yours.
You ran out of the Shack first, holding the hood of your sweatshirt up tight as you booked it for the passenger door of Stan’s car.You watched as Stan kept his head in the doorway for a moment, probably shouting something back at the twins. This gives you enough time to take a deep breath in any attempt to calm your nerves. It didn’t help that the cold rain had you shivering.
Stan slumps himself beside you, quickly slamming his door shut. The rain pattered heavily on the metal around you. The surrounding air felt so thick and so thin at the same time.
“Jeez, haven’t seen a downpour like this in a while,” Stan jokes, shoving his hand through his now-wet hair.
“Yeah, had I known I would have driven today,” you respond, low and sweet, a chill running through your lips.
Stan lifted his arm to stick his keys in the ignition. He paused before turning the piece, your hand on his arm stopped everything but the rain from moving.
“Mr. Pines,” you said, not knowing how to fill this space you created.
Stan’s eyes dart down to your hand then back at you, repeating this a few times before saying, “Kid, you’re shivering. Let me turn–”
“Stan-”
He stops and stares at you for a moment before leaving the key in the ignition and letting it go, settling back into his seat.
“I really don’t mean to overstep but-” you trail off briefly, taking in a wobbling breath. “-I really like being in your company. I look forward to coming to work because everything about it is fun. I love the twins, you and I are always picking on each other, and, y’know, you aren’t so bad on the eyes.”
Stan stayed motionless beside you. Oh, God, were you fucking this up?
“Look, kid-“
“Stan, I really like being with you and I think about you a lot.”
He now shifted a bit in his seat, turning to face you more and propping his arm around the back of the bench, your hand now falling into your lap. The leather squeaked and groaned under his movements.
“There’s plenty of other guys around that are closer to your age,” he offers.
Hearing you admit these things to him was, for lack of better words, driving him fucking insane. He hasn’t been told things like this in a long, long time. And to hear it from someone who, in his eyes, is not only absolutely smoking hot, but also in their prime is the cherry on top.
“They’re not the ones I think about. I don’t want to be around them, Mr. Pines. I want to be around you.”
Stan took this all in. The both of you knew that if you choose to act on this, things wouldn’t be the same after. Good or bad, it was hard to tell right now.
“To be honest, I don’t really mind if this is purely physical,” you admit. “I just don’t think I could go another day without telling you how I feel.”
You keep your eyes glued to Stan’s while his are focused on his movements. He shifts the arm resting on the seat, gently reaching out to twirl a piece of your wet hair out of your face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he almost frowns.
“What’s a pretty thing like you want with an old man like me?” he questions softly.
“Everything,” you answered, maybe a little too quickly. “I want your time, I want your touch, I want your affection. I want everything, Mr. Pines.”
Stan’s hand now moved to the back of your neck. Despite the cool night air and the chilling rain, his hands were warm. His thick fingers were tangled in the frizzy mess of hair, the tips ever so slightly pressing into your skin. The both of you moved in a little closer.
“You’ve really thought this through, huh, sweetheart?” he teased. Stan knew you. When you had your mind set on something, you got what you wanted. It was one of the qualities he really admired about you, not that he’d tell anyone that.
You nod, pleading eyes looking up at him. Though it was dark, you could see that Stan’s eyelids were drooping and a gentle warmth had spread across his cheeks. He pulled you in a little further and finally kissed you. It was slow and gentle, just testing the waters and seeing where this would go. The whine that pushed its way out of your throat was involuntary. Feeling Stan this intimately had you so lightheaded.
You moved in even closer, your legs now pressed together in the middle of the bench. Stan’s fingers tightened, now gripping your hair and head in the position he wanted you. One of your chilled hands held onto his blazer and tugged.
Stan’s touch was euphoric. There were so many sparks flying rampant in your chest, overtaking your shivering body and igniting it. His hands were rough, evident of the times he boxed in his youth and countless hours fixing up his Diablo. You weren’t shy in letting him know, either. Every movement of his hands over your skin had you mewling and moaning into his mouth.
“This what you wanted, baby?” he asks, overtaking your mouth with his tongue.
Your affirmation is muffled as Stan brings his free hand to your waist. He grips and squeezes your body, trying to remember every edge, every curve, every piece of meat. His mouth travels along your skin, delicately placing hot kisses across your cheek, down to your jaw and neck while his hand pushes under your clothes to hold the curve of your waist.
“Y’know how long I’ve been wanting to touch you?” he grumbles into you. By now, you’re panting erratically, your voice pushing out between each breath. “How long I’ve wanted to feel you? T’hear the pretty sounds you make?”
Hearing Stan admit he’s thought about you the same way you’ve thought about him has you writhing. The movement of your body is going without thought. Your chest is pushing up into his in an effort to feel more of him. Your hands mimic his, gripping and groping at his jacket and shirt. In a tangle of force, the two of you manage to remove his blazer, your sweatshirt and Mystery Shack staff shirt following suit, losing each article somewhere in the backseat.
“Fuck, doll,” Stan huffed, eyeing your exposed torso. “This what I’ve been missing out on?”
Goosebumps littered your skin, both due to the coolness from your time spent in the rain and the electricity of Stan’s touch. You held onto his shirt as if your life depended on it, knuckles turning a ghastly white. He kissed all around your face, purposefully avoiding your lips as you pushed your body into his. The need for him and his touch began to physically hurt.
“Please,” you whined. You didn’t even know what you were asking for.
“Hey, hey,” Stan said, holding onto your face to get you to focus. “I’m right here, ‘m not goin’ anywhere. Tell me what you want.”
“Touch me,” you managed to murmur. “Please touch me. Need you so bad it fuckin’ hurts.”
He kissed you slowly and gently, trying to get you to calm the fuck down. With lips locked, you took a deep breath and sighed it out. You felt Stan smirk against your mouth.
“There you go,” he praised. “I got you, baby.” He took your hand in his, softly kissing your knuckles as he watched your heavy eyes and heaving chest. “Show me where you want me.”
He’s barely done anything and you’re already delirious. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The windows had begun to fog up, adding to the thickness of the small space.
Holding onto his wrist, you guided Stan’s hand down your torso, pausing above the waistband of your pants. Both your eyes never left the other, you silently pleading while Stan continued to slyly toy with you. Deciding to show some mercy - just this once - Stan graciously unbuttoned your pants before shoving his warm hand in. The way the both of you grunted and groaned as he fucking finally touched your pussy nearly sent you into orbit.
Now instead of watching each other, you both watched the way his wrist moved as his thick fingers explored your cunt. Your jaw was slacked, a deep cherry blush painted across your cheekbones. You gripped onto Stan’s thigh trying to stay on this planet.
“This what you think about late at night? Me fucking your pussy with my fingers, hm?” he teased, watching the way your brows lifted and eyes swelled. You shook your head almost frantically.
“No,” you said, “not late at night. All the time. Night and day.”
“Fuck,” Stan groaned, pulling your lips back to his. Any ounce of gentleness subsided, pure lust and greed flowing through his body and out of his movements. His lips and tongue hungrily overtake yours while his fingers tantalizingly mess with your aching clit.
Your shaking fingers began to grasp at the buttons on his shirt. If you had any sense of self, this wouldn’t be a near-impossible task. God, these buttons are too small, you needed the piece of fabric gone.
Stan pulled his hand from your pants, gripping the top of his shirt and pulling in opposite directions. The sound of thread ripping and buttons finding a new home on the floor added to the symphony in the car. The rain seemed to pound harder, thunder even booming into the mix.
He wasted no time reuniting his hand with your pussy, not missing a beat to slide a finger into your begging hole. One of your arms wrapped around Stan’s neck, pulling his body even closer to yours.
“Fuck, yes,” you mewled. Your cunt sucked his finger in, so warm and wet and needy. The both of you were grunting and groaning, not being able to get enough of the other.
“Yeah, this what you fucking wanted, sweetheart?” Stan asked. If you could focus your eyes for even half a second, you would’ve thought the warm blush on his cheeks was cute.
“Yes, God, yes. Jus’ like that.”
Stan’s mouth was back on your neck, hot and sloppy, sucking as much skin as he could. The pain was euphoric, having you nearly sobbing into the empty space. Your hips kept lifting to meet the push of his finger.
“You’re so fucking hot, holy shit,” he exhaled. Hearing Stan swear really brought something out in you. He did his best to keep it at bay around the kids because Mabel didn’t like it. Now that it was just the two of you, even more so that you’re this intimate, hearing his true nature made your cunt tighten around his finger.
Your mouth couldn’t have shut even if you tried. Whines and whimpers fell from your parted lips, drool threatening to spill from the bottom one. Stan kissed over the gentle bruise he left on your skin. Being marked by him had you absolutely fucked out of your mind.
“Need’a see that pretty pussy,” he moaned, removing his hand from you and tugging at your waistband. “Off. Take ‘em off, baby.”
You unceremoniously kicked your shoes off, leaving them messily strewn on the floor. Taking off your wet jeans while this worked up was a fucking process. It wasn’t pretty but neither of you could have cared. With a gentle thwomp, your pants joined your shirt somewhere in the backseat.
Stan took his time pulling your underwear down your legs. He let his hot hands skim up and down both thighs, feeling the chill on your skin from the weather. By now, all the windows were completely fogged, unable to see in or out. The only thing that could be seen was the murky orange light spilling in from the porch.
Stan finally grabbed onto your underwear, tugging it down your plush legs and dropping it to the floor. He tugged on your knee, letting it rest over his thick thigh as he spread you open for him, fully exposed, just left in your bra. He took a long, gracious look up and down your body.
“ ‘M such a lucky guy,” he says, voice low and gruff. Stan pulls you into a tender kiss. “An old man like me gets to touch this hot body.”
“Please,” you beg, “please touch me again, Mr. Pines.”
“Fuck, sweetheart, watch your fucking tone,” he warns. “Don’t wanna give me a heart attack, do ya?”
“Well, if you can’t handle me-”
Stan cut off your sarcastic remark by reinserting not one, but two fingers into your empty pussy.
“Unngh, yes, fuck~” you grunted, throwing your head back.
“Told you t’watch your fuckin’ tone, sweetie,” Stan threatens again. This time you took him more seriously.
You were so slicked up that every push of his fingers was accompanied by a thick squelch. The sound of your needy pussy reverberated off every surface of his car.
“Listen to you, fuck,” he moans. “This always how wet your cunt gets when you think’a me, sugar?”
You buck your hips up with a whine. God, he wasn’t going fast enough.
“Uh huh,” you mewl, nodding your heavy head. “All for you. Only you.”
“That’s my girl,” he commends. You nearly go cross-eyes at the ownership.
“More,” you beg. “Need more. Need t’come. Please, please, please.”
Stan shoves his fingers as far as your pussy allows, knuckles getting nicely coated in your slick. The cry you let out as the tips start exploring deep in your cunt could’ve blown out his hearing aid if you weren’t careful. A chorus of “yes, yes, yeses” spill from your swollen lips.
“Fuck, squeezing me so tight, baby. You gonna come?”
“Please, wanna come,” you beg and cry.
Stan leans his large frame over you for a moment, gathering a thick gob of spit and ejecting it down onto your cunt. You could’ve come just from that, holy shit. He uses his self-provided lube to rub his thumb on your needy clit. Your hand searched for anything to hold onto, his broad shoulder being the first thing you find. You grip and squeeze onto him, pulling him even closer, needing him closer.
“Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ come on my fingers, doll.”
Your free hand grabs onto Stan’s wrist, holding him knuckle-deep in your cunt as you come around his fingers. The cries that leave your throat nearly leave it burning. You can’t fucking breathe. You can’t stop fucking coming.
“So pretty, baby. You got it, ride it out. I got you.”
Stan gripped the back of your head, turning to face him and smashing your faces together. It was mostly his tongue making its home in your mouth while you panted and moaned into his. You let go of his wrist, bringing your hand up to hold the back of his neck, fingers brushing into his gray hair.
After a few minutes, your kisses started to slow, allowing each other to feel the way your lips locked. As your orgasm slowly died down, you rested your forehead against Stan’s, eyes still closed, catching your breath.
You gently pulled away, looking up at the man beside you. His hair was a bit disheveled, a few bits sticking up in odd places. His glasses were slightly askew and a thick blush was present on his cheeks.
“You good, sweetie?” he asks gently, voice hoarse and rough. You nod in response. He smiles out of the corner of his mouth, following with, “Good.”
Stan shoves one of his cum-soaked fingers into your mouth. Your eyes widen at the sudden intrusion but you’re quick to recover, wrapping your lips around the digit, licking and sucking as if your life depended on it. He hums as you stare at him then pulls it out with a small pop from your lips.
“One for you-” he says before putting the other in his mouth with a groan. “-And one for me.”
You watched his actions with your mouth slightly open, the lewd act sending butterflies ramming around your stomach. Stan pulled his finger out and swallowed thickly, eyes never once leaving yours.
“Mmh, one of these days I’ll get my mouth on that cunt,” he says before peppering kisses around your face.
Your eyes shut, taking in the feel of him on you again. He was intoxicating, every touch like a little shock to your system. One of your hands fell onto his bare chest, realizing you hadn’t even touched him yet. Coarse hair adorned his skin, your fingertips getting lost in the tangles and skimming past his gold medallion. His chest, much like the rest of him, was broad and large. There was the hint of muscle from his younger years but life and his older age left the flesh plush and squishy. You let your fingers dig in just a little extra.
“Stan,” you mutter, suddenly feeling exposed and the weight of your actions piling on your chest.
He pulled back with a lopsided smile. Upon seeing the thoughts swarming in your eyes, his expression changed quickly. Holding your face in his hands, he asks, “Hey, you okay, honey?”
Your hand gently glides up his chest, landing and resting tenderly on his cheek. No one’s touched Stan so softly in…fuck, he really can’t remember. You sigh out your doubts, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. His thumb stroking your cheekbone as he reciprocates your affection.
“I’m okay,” you reassure as you pull back. “Want more of you.”
Stan huffs out a laugh, his gruff voice sending ripples through your body.
“You didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun, did ya?” he teases. You smile in return. “What d’ya say, sugar, think you can handle a ride on the ol’ Stan o’ War?”
“I dunno, think your heart can take it, old man?” you quipped. His laugh rumbles against your body, feeling the way his belly moves along with it.
“Such a pain in my ass,” he complains, feigning annoyance.
Stan begins to unbutton his slacks, pushing his back against the seat so he can lift his hips and push them to his knees. The tent in his boxers draws your gaze in. He catches you staring but decides not to tease you about it. He pats one of his thighs, slithering one of his arms around your back.
“Saved a seat for ya,” he says, tugging on you to pull you up onto his lap.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about sitting on him like this. The amount of times you wondered how sturdy he’d feel under you, thick hands holding you to keep you steady. Not to mention that your wet cunt lands just in front of his dick trapped in his boxers.
You both stared at each other. Stan didn’t have to look too far up, being almost eye level with you as your hands fall to his shoulders. He spread his fingers wide across your back, reveling in the sheer layer of sweat that accumulated along your spine.
Your hips begin to move without a second thought. You swear you can feel the warmth of his cock as it reaches for your lonely pussy. You needed something, anything. Stan’s head hangs heavy as you stroke your sex over his, the cloth barrier providing a little extra friction that hits your clit just right.
Your hands tighten as your rhythm builds, growing frantic and quick with the need to feel the same electricity he gave from his fingers. Moans pushed their way out of your open mouth, growing in pitch as your hips picked up speed.
“Stan,” you whimper, eyes shut as you chase the ecstasy he gives you.
“Easy, tiger,” he grunts, hands sliding down to your hips. You felt his fingers tighten on your skin, pushing on you but not in the way you want. “Hey, hey, hey,” he continues, finally grabbing your attention. You’re a panting mess above him, cheeks so flushed and eyes blown out. “Slow down, sweetheart. We got time.”
You catch your breath as you lock eyes with Stan. He’s right, there’s no need to rush. He hasn’t even taken his cock out yet. You nod, resting your head on his again. The both of you take turns jutting out your chins for a chance to lock your lips together. His arms wrapped around you, nearly swallowing up your whole frame and pulling you against his chest. The rough contrast of his chest hair on your bare skin was delicious. The metal of his medallion providing a different type of cool contrast so good it almost burned.
“That’s it, baby,” he praises, letting the phrase drag out a little. You sigh against his mouth, another small moan rumbling in your sore throat.
Stan nudges you back slightly, providing enough space so he can pull his cock out of his boxers. He leans forward, letting another line of spit fall from his mouth and down onto his dick. He slowly rubs it up and down his shaft, a heavy sigh blowing out of his lips. You grab his wrist, stopping his ministrations for a moment as you repeat his actions, letting your saliva mix with his up and down his cock.
“Oh, fuck, sweetheart,” he breaths, the action taking him slightly off guard.
You push yourself up on your knees, scooting up so your pussy is lined up with the head of his cock. Stan holds it at the base, making sure it slides right in. His eyes are down, watching where your bodies are about to connect in the most intimate way possible. You watched his face, observing the way sweat caused his forehead to glisten. You move your hands, shifting them to glide under his open shirt and land back on his shoulders, this time skin to skin.
You slowly lower down, sinking your hot cunt down on his cock. The both of you gasp and groan, jaws slacked and brains dizzy. Stan released his dick, bringing his hand back up to hold onto your hips. He looked up at you, eyes lustfully blown out and lids drooping.
“That’s it,” he moans, “sit on my cock. Just like that, baby, yes.”
You pause as your ass meets his thighs, taking in the feeling of being filled up by Stan. The way you two stare at each other…it spoke a thousand words. The two of you said nothing as you just watched the other, taking in the feeling and reveling in the intimacy.
Stan glides his hands up your back, nimble fingers unclasping your bra. Your eyes never leave each other as he slides the straps down your arms, dropping the article beside you. Your whole body was exposed to him, every inch of skin and privacy out on display for Stan Pines.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he compliments, his voice gentle and sincere. You smiled warmly, one of your hands sliding up to rest again on the back of his neck.
“You ain’t so bad yourself, Mr. Pines,” you return, the gentle tease causing his lips to tug up, too.
You pull each other in, sharing the moment with a sweet kiss. With lips together, you gently lift your hips and feel the way his cock rubs against your walls. Your kiss breaks, foreheads stuck together as you both pant and moan.
“That’s it, honey,” he encourages. “Really feel it.”
Stan’s fingertips press around your ribs, gripping you tightly as you begin to bounce on his cock. The way every ridge of him glides against you so easily is better than you’ve ever imagined. The more you ride him, stuffing your pussy full of him, the more comfortable you become.
You begin to move your hips with more ferocity, wanting to push him deeper with every thrust. The wet, sloppy sounds of your pussy combine with the slaps of your perspired skin. Stan’s voice, ever-rigid, is even more hoarse, lowering just a touch and it vibrates in your brain.
“That’s it. Atta girl.”
Stan slides his hands down your body, letting them grope your ass and helping you move on him. Your head hangs back, eyes shutting as soft, pleading whines leave your lips. He’s quick to reattach his lips to your exposed skin. He finds a new area on your neck, not too far off from your previous love bite, and sinks his teeth in.
“Fuck, Stan,” you hum, a twinge of pain shooting through your veins.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Lemme hear you. Tell me how fuckin’ good it feels,” Stan mumbled against your heated flesh. He leaves an erratic grouping of hickies around your throat that’s definitely going to be hard to explain to the twins when you see them tomorrow.
“S-so good,” you stutter, “feels so good.”
You sit up a little taller, reaching an arm back for something to hold onto. You grip the steering wheel, the other still on Stan’s shoulder. This new angle opened your pussy up even more than you thought it could, the head of his thick cock really brushing against everything.
Stan brings his hands around to hold your hips. He looks up at you in admiration. You’re so pretty in the way your head dangles backward, jaw tight and looking so fucking needy. You’re so pretty in the way your body moves against his, muscles taut against your skin and contorting. You’re so fucking pretty in the way you whine and moan and writhe for an older man.
“Been wanting to fuck this hot pussy for so long,” he admits between grunts. You plead for who-knows-what in response. “Thought about sneaking you upstairs – ah, fuck – in the fucking closet – yes, baby – even thought about bending your over my fucking counter.”
Coherency didn’t exist to you anymore. Not with the way Stan’s cock was fucking you so goddamn deep and his words went straight to your pussy. Drool nearly slipped out of the corner of your open mouth. It felt so good it fucking hurt. You needed to come again, needed more of him.
“Stan~” you beg. You couldn’t focus, vision going hazy. Stan took matters into his own hands as your rhythm fell from you, using his forceful grip to bounce you on his dick himself.
“Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you want.”
“Wanna come, please, Stan, please,” you cry.
“Yeah? Y’wanna come again, pretty baby?” he taunts. “Go on, you can do it.”
A broken sob escapes your chest. It was everything and not enough all at the same time. More, you needed more.
“More, more, more,” you wail. “Touch me.”
Stan mercifully brings one of his thumbs to rub your clit, nearly sending you skyrocketing off his lap. Your hips buck and jolt with each brush of your bud, tears welling in the corners of your eyes.
“Yes~” you repeat, over and over and over.
“God, can feel you fucking squeezing,” Stan grunts. “C’mon, pretty girl, know you wanna come.”
You plead and beg, filling the thick air with your desperation. Stan wants you to come, needs you to. He’s not far behind and he’s not about to take your orgasm away from you. Especially not when you look so heavenly when you come.
A chorus of “yeah’s” emerge from your chest as you fucking finally let go and pulse on Stan’s cock. Your cries and howls ring in his ears and he’s so fucking thankful his hearing aids are turned all the way up. Listening to you whine and mewl because of him was the greatest gift on God’s green earth.
“Yeah, baby, fucking come on me, holy shit.”
You both pause for a moment, letting you ride out the remainder of your orgasm and catch your breath. Stan’s chest was flushed, a sheer layer of sweat now evident throughout his whole body and you were fucking living for it. Having recovered enough, you begin moving your hips again.
“God, sweetheart, you really are tryna kill me,” he jokes, hands finding their resting place back on your hips.
“If making you come is what kills you then I’m fine going to jail,” you answer, a new sense of determination in your movements.
“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death’a me.”
You quickly rebuilt the pace you set before, this time with the intention of getting Stan off. He bounced you with such fervor, slamming your cunt on him with more force each time.
“Gonna fuckin’ come,” he warns, another rumble bursting through your torso.
“Yes, fuck, want your cum,” you whine. Stan’s brows furrowed as he took in your words. God, he was so close.
“Don’t fuckin’ say that, kid,” Stan threatens. He’s breaking.
“I’ll get Plan B, I don’t care. Want you to come.”
A harsh repetition of “fuck, fuck, fuck’s” and a few rugged thrusts later, Stan holds your hips so tightly against his as he spills his cum in you. You both groan, chests heaving as you come down from this moment of ecstasy.
You slump against his chest, your sweat mixing together as you lay skin to skin, fingertips caught on the edge of his gold chain. Your head rests heavy on his shoulder while his is tipped back. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, lifting up a hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck,” he huffs.
“Yeah,” you agree.
You both stay in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain that still hasn’t let up. Stan’s hands stayed spread across your back, keeping you as close as he can. Your eyes felt heavy as you grew more comfortable in his hold.
“You, uh…” he starts to say, making your gaze shift up, “you can stay at the shack tonight, if you want.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” you say with a small smirk. Stan chuckles, the action causing you to bounce with the movement of his chest.
“Sweetheart, I just fucking came in you. If anything, I’m the one who’s intruding.”
You laugh sweetly, knowing he’d say something along those lines. With a deep breath and a sigh, you agree to stay.
You both rummage around the small space for your clothes, redressing in awkward ways. Once put back together at least half-decently, you both sprint for the door and enter the house.
“We’re back,” Stan announces as you both enter.
“We?” Dipper questions. The kids were still in the living room. Mabel peeks around him and gives you a Mabel-signature smile and wave. “Yeesh, what happened to you two?”
“Uhhh…there was….”
“There was this pond octopus,” you chime in.
“A ponctopus!” Mabel shouts, lifting a fist into the air.
“A ponctopus,” you repeat, encouraging her silliness. She gasps, eyes widening and hands squishing her cheeks.
“Did one of his tentacles get on you and you had to rip his suction cups off?”
You were going to go along with whatever the kids said anyway but this was very specific. Your smile widens as you realize she’s talking about your visible hickies.
“Wasn’t me,” you say, putting your hands up. “Your grunkle absolutely pounded that ponctopus. Right, Mr. Pines?”
You turn towards Stan, giving him a hidden “gotcha” look the kids couldn’t see. He coughed into his fist and adjusted his glasses nervously.
“Uhh…y-yes, yeah. Me. I did that. That…ponctopus…didn’t stand a chance,” he fumbles triumphantly. The kids eyes light up, thinking they have an absolute adventure to hear. He picks up on it before adding, “But we don’t have time for that. C’mon kids, bedtime.”
They groan, still not moving from their spots.
“When will you tell us?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”