#learning commons

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, tangled up in each other on the couch, but he didn’t care. Every time Fidds moaned, soft and throaty, it hit Stan like a damn lightning bolt. 

That’s going in the spank bank. Real or not.

Stan shifted, his body moving almost of its own accord, grinding against Fidds. The friction made them both groan, and God, he wanted more. His lips trailed down to Fiddleford’s jaw, then his neck, tasting salt and warmth, the earthy scent of Fidds’ cologne mixed with something sharper—oil or grease, maybe—but it worked. All of it worked.

“Fidds,” he rasped, and his voice sounded wrecked even to himself.

“Hmm?” Fiddleford hummed, his hands still buried in Stan’s hair, holding him close.

“I...” Stan swallowed, glancing down, then back up. His fingers trembled as they traced the hem of Fidds’ shirt, but his mind had already decided. Stan pulled back, reluctant but determined, lowering himself to lie between Fiddleford’s legs. His own legs dangled off the armrest of the couch as he settled into place.

Fiddleford tilted his head, watching Stan with curious amusement. The slight quirk of his eyebrow said everything: Go on.

Thank God for sweatpants, Stan thought, his hands sliding along Fidds’ thighs to the waistband. It made everything easier. The fabric gave way quickly, and Fidds’ cock sprang free, already hard, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Stan’s breath hitched. Holy shit.

He swore he wasn’t one to beg, but right now, he was tempted to get on his knees and start pleading.

Stan licked his lips before looking back up. “Can I….is this okay?” Dream or not, he still had some manners.

Morning hit Stan like a slow burn, the weight of everything that had happened settling into his chest as he rummaged through the fridge. He wasn’t really hungry—too emotionally exhausted to bother with something solid—but he needed something. His eyes landed on a too-ripe banana and a pack of berries tucked in the back. He grabbed them, setting them on the counter beside the blender. Sleeping next to Ford last night had been….

Grounding.

That was a word Ford would probably liked to use, and yeah, it fit. Even if the nerd snored like a broken engine.

Stan peeled the banana with one hand, his other scratching at the back of his neck. The semester was creeping closer, and with it came the realization that they’d need to figure out how to break the news to Fiddleford. Not the kissing part, or the sex part. God, not that part. Just... that they were sleeping in the same bed. 

Two brothers. 

Totally normal. 

Completely platonic.  

Fidds didn’t have to know about the touching. Or the looks. Or—

He shut the fridge with his elbow and turned, pointing the fruit at Ford like it was a loaded weapon. “I’m still mad at you.”

Ford was perched on the counter, his face haggard but calm, arms crossed. He didn’t even flinch at the banana-wielding accusation. “I know.”

Stan snorted, peeling the fruit and grabbing a knife. “And we gotta figure out what to say to Fidds.” He sliced into the banana, watching Ford from the corner of his eye.

Ford sighed, nodding. “I know ,” he repeated, his voice softer this time.

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You can read the rest here :3

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Oh. you thought this was it? So silly. Enjoy a lovely one shot as well :3

Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite (3572 words) by Frondere Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Ford Pines/Stan Pines, Fiddleford H. McGucket/Stan Pines Additional Tags: Sibling Incest, Twincest, Wet Dream, What’s a guy gotta do to stop thinking about almost kissing his own brother?, Threesome - M/M/M Series: Part 2 of Learning Commons Summary: For as normal as Stan had hoped things would be over the next two weeks, he quickly realized he was wrong. Very wrong. It was almost like Ford had never met him before, like that awkward first time in the library where everything between them felt strained and distant. Ford was cold, snippy, and kept to himself. Sure, it was finals season, Stan and Fidds had practically resorted to pleading with Ford to eat—at least a bowl of cereal, for crying out loud—and Ford just kept scribbling equations on the damn windows like some kind of madman. But what really stung was how Ford seemed dismissive whenever it came to anything involving Stan directly. Any time they were one-on-one, Ford brushed him off, gave half-answers, or flat-out ignored him. It was like he was trying to avoid Stan, and it didn’t help Stan’s current state of mind. Every night, he went to sleep only to have that incident in the bathroom replay in his head. It haunted him. Worse, sometimes those dreams took a frustratingly… vivid turn, forcing him to wake up and take care of…things. Like today, for example.