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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years

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Natural Attraction - Confrontations (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Yawning, you find yourself still dozing off while stretching out your legs, waiting for Fiddleford to finish packing up his tent while the twins bicker about the “correct” way to fold a sleeping bag. You smile to yourself, cracking open an eye and biting your tongue from making a comment about this being why you’d brought a quilt instead, but you keep it to yourself as you lean forward to stretch. Wincing as you roll your injured ankle back and forth, you’re reminded of the night you’d dealt with.

It ached as you adjusted your shoe on your foot, tying the shoelaces tighter to try and support your ankle a little better for the trek ahead. Ford hasn’t said much (to you, anyway--he’s still very wordy when it comes to his current argument with his brother as the both of them shove differently-folded sleeping bags away into their respective packs), but you’re certain that the day will prove to be long and tiring. Still, as you fix the tops of your socks, you have an odd sense of...hopefulness? Excitement? You aren’t sure, but the anticipation is strong.

The sensation only grows as Stan comes toward the tree you’re leaned up against. Warmth flutters in your stomach when he catches your eye, a knowing sort of smile spread across his cheeks when he adjusts his and your bags onto his shoulder. He clears his throat as he reaches his hand down to you, his smile warming you from the inside. “Hey, you. About ready to head out?” He asks, voice soft with an almost-gravelly sleepiness which makes you smile.

As I’ll ever be, you answer as you take his hand. Stan pulls you up slowly, your hand in his with his other arm outstretched to catch your side, just in case. Wincing as you put weight onto your tweaked ankle, you hold to Stan a little tighter, all the while hearing his voice whisper soft encouragements until you’re upright. “That’s it, honey--slower, slower,” he soothes. You’re unsure if it’s his words, the gravel in his voice, or proximity, but your cheeks flush at his soft urging, a flutter in your chest. His outstretched arm is closer now, that hand resting securely on your lower back to remind you of its presence, gently brushing his thumb against your hip (which, frankly, doesn't help, since the flutter only moves to your belly).

“There ya go, hon. Y’feeling any better today?” Stan levels his gaze to you, the concern knitting his brows together in a way that makes you smile, averting your eyes quickly so he can't see the tenderness there. You reach, patting his chest lightly to ease his mind when you meet his eye again, Feeling just fine, thank you.

“Kissed you all better?” He asks low, voice playful as he quirks a brow down at you. You flush as your own brows shoot upward, pushing lightly on his chest as you urgently shush him, looking toward where Ford and Fidds are chatting. The both of them quickly avert their gazes, knowing smiles still spreading their cheeks as they turn away--you almost wish you hadn’t caught them looking.

Your cheeks burn despite your smile, giving the cocky man ahead of you a stern look, Don’t be so obvious, Stanley, you tease in a whisper, your thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of the white tank top he wears, acting as though you’re smoothing down his shirt. Your hands drop away with one final pat, smiling wider when he looks at you with something akin to surprise. “Sorry, hon. Just...a little giddy this morning, is all.”

Wonder why? You hum in question, shaking your head as you hold out your hand toward him. At first, he stalls, eyeing your hand with a furrowed brow, questioning. He reaches to take your hand, a bashful sort of smile growing on his face before you motion to your bag. He coughs a gruff sound, and you only barely save him the embarrassment this time, looking down as you feel your smile at his pinkened cheeks. He releases your hand easily, trading its place with the strap of your bag as he turns to look toward the other two instead, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. You take the duffle bag, looping your arms into the straps to turn it into a good-enough backpack for the trek ahead.

You stretch your ankle gingerly, biting into the inside of your cheek. Surely, there should be some sort of tracks for your creature somewhere around here… Moving carefully to test your first few steps, you crouch beneath a tree limb, leaving the familiar grassy space to try and find your next clues to where it may be.

“Hey--don’t run off!” Fiddleford scolds from his place beside Ford, taking a few steps as he reaches, as if to catch you in the act, “Even if it’s sunny out, yer luck hasn’t been great for the past….well, 12 hours.” You almost laugh, shaking your head, Not running off, just...trying to find where we go next, you explain. He keeps walking closer, a little smile budding on his face as he comes to join you. “At least lemme help you,” he teases, pushing away a branch near the top of your head. You look over to him and duck under it as you laugh, Thanks, Fidds.

“The last tracks we’d seen were just that direction,” He points toward the unnervingly-familiar patch from the night before, and you frown as you take a few more tentative steps. “I’m sure there’s more o’them somewhere around here....”

Fidds moves alongside you, the both of you looking for some sort of indication of the creature. It’s almost frustrating--you’re certain something had to be here, some sign of the damn thing. You finally huff, a frown pulling at your lips when you look to Fiddleford, not far off in his own search. “I can’t find anything, either--”

“Hey, uh...guys?” Stan’s voice calls from the other side of the brush, sounding almost concerned in a way that makes your stomach drop in worry. Your eyes meet Fidds’, sharing a furrow-browed glance between you as you both move toward the grassy spot once more, toward Stan’s voice.

Stan? Are you okay? You call, looking out from the brush, your question joined by Ford’s voice, calling at the same time, “Stanley?”

You spy the twin as he’s readjusting his pants, buttoning his fly and re-buckling his belt as he walks up the hill you’d been ‘attacked’ at the night before. You quirk a brow, eyes trained on his fingers at his belt before realizing what he had been doing that far down the hill, feeling a flush as you quickly look up to his face instead.

“What’d you see?” Ford asks his twin, knowing the tone of his voice well. “Well, ah...remember when she,” Stan motions to you, “had an owl bothering her last night? It was around here, right?” He asks you with a furrowed brow, hands finished with the buckle as he motions to the ground near the top of the hill. You finally look at him again, biting your lip as you nod, Right over, uh….here, you say, eyes narrowing at the spot he’s referring to. In the area you’d fallen, you can see the scuff marks of your shoes going down the hill, and a strange indentation in the grass, right in the same spot.

“...Huh,” Fiddleford hums, moving to the dip in the grass and pushing some of the longer tufts away, finding two large tracks, looking very much the same as the tracks you’d followed from the cabin.

“There’s no way,” Ford murmurs, rushing ahead closer to see the tracks, too. He looks up, toward the direction of the trees where you’d all seen the owl last night. “If these are here, that must mean, either the owl last night was much bigger than we’d all expected, or--”

“Or your big ‘birdlike thing’ came around afterward to check us out.” Stan finishes, crossing his arms. He looks almost uncomfortable, looking over you with something unreadable in his gaze before pointing the same look towards his brother and Fiddleford. “I guess it makes it easier to track, but...I dunno, I’m a little weirded out that the thing is as interested in us as we are in it.”

“Nonsense,” Fiddleford shakes his head, standing from where he’d crouched with a quiet grunt, “We don’t have all those pieces, Stanley--we can’t just assume the thing’s a menace, just ‘cause it ends up near our campsite. Maybe it’s more a sign that we just… tracked it real good?”

You shrug, I’m sure it’s just an...odd, albeit helpful, coincidence. Stan doesn’t look swayed, arms still folded across his chest. Sighing, you nod, I admit, it’s weird. And a creature my size being hunted by an owl isn’t normal by any means, but...is anything in this town normal? You pose the question toward the man, who’s still frowning down at you in uncertainty. He finally sighs, relenting, “Not at all. Alright. But if this gets freakier, I say we call it off and head home.”

Ford scoffs at his brother’s insistence, shaking his head. “If the creature is hostile, that’s even more reason to track it,” He argues, continuing, “God forbid the thing tries to come for the town.”

Stan’s brow furrows, and you can instantly tell that his brother has struck a nerve. “God forbid the thing goes after one of us again! Especially her!” He scowls, motioning to you with his hand as he takes a step closer to his twin. “The fucker’s got big feet, look,” he points down to the tracks, “If he decides to grab one of us and fly off next time one of us goes off for a piss, we’re screwed.”

Ford rolls his eyes, but says nothing more as he shakes his head. You can tell the action annoys Stan, the latter clenching a fist at his side. You reach to him, one hand landing on Stan’s arm to pull his focus back. He turns to look at you, a frown still on his face, but more relaxed now.

eI know you’re worried, you start, smile warming up, But you know...I can handle myself. You wink, putting up your fists as if prepping to fight. The action makes him scoff a laugh, shaking his head at you as he speaks, “Right--I almost forgot, you’re a killer.” He winks, a hint of the dimple at his cheek peeking out at you, even as he rubs at his face to calm down a little. He takes a breath and you release his arm, eyeing Ford and Fidds, the latter being the only one who meets your eye (and rolls his own, apparently very used to the duo’s mini-arguments).

Alright boys, you say with a smile, pushing your thumbs into the straps that rest on your shoulders when all three heads turn to look at you, I’m ready to track down a weird bird creature, how about you?

“Of course!” Ford laughs as he answers, argument easily dismissed. He moves, only struggling a little as he hoists his heavy backpack into place. Fiddleford snickers at the brunet, pulling one of the straps of the backpack up to help the man put his arm through the loop, “Hold onto yer britches, Ford--there you go.” The taller man smiles wide at his friend before nodding at you, “I’ve been ready. We’ve gotta take advantage of the daylight for as long as we’ve got it.” You smile at Fiddleford in agreement, glancing to Stan beside you with a quirked brow, surprised to find him already looking your way.

Stanley finally grins, his gaze catching you off guard in a way that makes your chest flutter, and you find yourself mimicking his smile when he reaches to clap a hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ford pipes up, instantly making the former twin’s smile falter. Ford doesn’t seem to notice, taking one last glance around at the grassy space you’d used as a resting point for the evening, just to be sure. “We haven’t got time to lose. As you so graciously found out,” He motions in your direction, peeking at you from over the rims of his glasses, “Being out in the dark isn’t quite the safest option we have, both in terrain navigation and… creature interaction, I suppose.”

You scoff a quiet, No shit, which causes Stan to snort a laugh beside you. All things considered, last night wasn’t too bad, but… bits of it were scary, to say the least. The ache in your foot reminds you to keep your eyes on the ground just as much as you’re watching for signs of the creature, though it seems the boys are doing their best to keep you on your feet, too.

Unlucky only begins to describe the hike of the day. After the strap on Ford’s backpack broke, and Stan had to cut himself out of a thorny bramble with just a pocket knife, the four of you were sure that the rest of the day would be a little easier.

You were wrong, you realized, when the only-slightly-cloudy sky became much more cloudy and started thundering.

“Fuckin’...” Stan grits, using the bottom of his already soaked t-shirt to wipe away the rain mingling with sweat dripping down his forehead, “Did any of you geniuses decide to check the weather before we set off to find your little monster?”

“It’s just a little rain, Stanley,” Ford scoffs, walking ahead of his brother, “Contrary to popular belief, you won’t melt.”

“Y’could track any kind of creature with your heavy machine, but you can’t even turn on the tv to look at the news once in a while? Especially when the whole damn family’s coming out on a hike?” The twin argues, and even though he’s kind of chewing you out too, you find yourself snorting a laugh. It is a little ridiculous, you can admit. It’s even more ridiculous when Ford whips around to look back at his brother in annoyance, and you see him squinting at the both of you, glasses absolutely useless as they rest atop his head, fat water droplets sticking to the lenses and rolling off to saturate his hair even more. Stan snorts then, casting a glance to you as he does, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” Despite his frustration with the weather, Stan’s voice holds no real malice, the indent in his cheek almost giving him away as he continues to follow his brother and Fiddleford.

“Dammit, if we could just...get somethin’,” Fidds murmurs, his own glasses folded closed and hanging from the collar of his button-up. “Even if it’s rainin’, there should be a sign of the creature somewhere, right?” He turns back to look at you, an almost pleading look in his eye. You jog a little, boots squelching in the muddy ground as you get closer to the front of the pack.

Surely there’s some signs, you agree, offering a sympathetic smile his way. Fidds is intrigued by this thing, you can tell; maybe even a little more than he usually is in the creatures you find in town. As you look for a sign, any sign, you step a little quicker, getting in front of the pack. Really, there should be something…

The more you look, you realize, the more you find. Whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re unsure. Guys! You call, turning to look over your shoulder at the group and finding yourself considerably further away from them than you’d expected. There are tracks here in the mud! I-I think it might have trouble flying in the rain? Your voice lifts like a question, Ford’s voice calling after you over the rain, “Wait for us! We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” he warns. You know he’s right; as it begins to storm in earnest now, the grass and earth at your feet seem to relax beneath you, steadily becoming mush at your heels.

You wait just a few moments more for the boys to catch up, hearing the muted sounds of their huffing and puffing up to you. Entranced, you stare down at the muddied floor of the forest, the tracks in the mud seeming to beckon you to follow them. If you were fast enough, you might be able to snap a picture of the prints without your camera getting too wet. It would help in tracking the creature further, and whatever research comes next…

You bite at your bottom lip as you adjust your bag onto your shoulder, rummaging through the slightly-damp insides as Fidds catches up to you, looking down at the tracks much like you had been. “Woah,” He starts, almost breathless, “These are the best prints we’ve seen from this thing yet! Lookit--you can see every segment of the thing’s foot, all the way to its claws...How big d’ya think this thing is? The whole foot’s almost as big as my hand,” The honey blond man crouches down, even in the mud, to inspect and absorb as much information as he can, stretching his palm next to the print but not touching the mud beneath.

I don’t know if that’s an accurate measurement, you tease with a grunt, turning your back to the heaviest of the rain and the other tracks, You’re a tall, lanky guy. If its claws are that big, I’m sure it may be proportionally huge, you finish with a laugh. He glances up to see you fumbling just a little, trying to block the rain from hitting your camera full force and get the footprint and his hand in the shot all at once. Fidds snorts a laugh, and you smile as you shake your head down to him, your wet hair mimicking the motion out of the corner of your eye as you scoff a fond, Shut up.

In your movement, you’ve turned to be able to watch as the other two boys make their way up to you, glancing to see the both of their bodies coming into view, smile still on your face when you look through the viewfinder to center the shot. You know you don’t have much time left to have your camera out in this rain without ruining some film or the mechanisms inside it, so you’re quick to press the button, even as you hear Fiddleford gasp at something behind you at the same moment. The flash of your camera goes off, the light similar to a strike of lightning, illuminating the woods around you in one brief second. You move the camera from your face, reaching to start and put it away despite the sound of it printing the snapshot.

Fidds, what’s wrong? You ask over the loud rain, turning your head in time to look at him, seeing…fear? You don’t have the time to think or ask anything else as Fiddleford stands abruptly and grips your arm, nearly knocking your camera from your hand as he yanks you back toward the way you came. You yell out, frightened by the sudden change in the man, until you turn your head to see why.

“WATCH OUT!” Stan’s voice bellows over the downpour, suddenly so much closer than you’d imagined. When you’d glanced up at them, you hadn’t noticed the duo were running, mud caking their shoes and the bottom of their pant legs as the twins made their way toward you and Fidds. Now they’re right in front of you, looking up and over you with something akin to fear as Stan throws something--you think a rock--at the thing.

This must be the creature, the feeling of dread in your stomach at the sight of it reminding you of the hillside incident the night before. It stands somehow taller than you’d imagined on the feet that match those prints, a mass of pitch-colored ….hair? feathers? looming tall against the trees of the forest. You’re not sure where its height ends and its wingspan begins, neither more entrancing, or terrifying, than its eyes. Big, red and almost-shining eyes watch as you’re pulled by Fidds, nearly running face-first into the chests of the Pines men. The rock Stan threw hits it square in where its chest would be, were it a man, and the creature seems to puff up more, appearing larger as its wingspan opens, remarkable and terrifying all at once even as they drip with the incessant rain.

The four of you watch up at the beast, wide-eyed. You would almost swear Ford was enamored with the thing, if it weren’t for the tightening of his grip on Fidd’s sleeve, all of you panting from either exertion or pure adrenaline-toned fear. Thinking on your feet, you push down on the camera’s shutter and point the thing at the creature, hoping for a moment that the flash would blind it as you back into Stan’s chest. In the same instant, lightning strikes, rendering your flash useless as the thundering clouds rumble loud enough to feel in your chest, the storm right atop you now. The creature rears back, then lets out a high, wailing screech unlike anything you’ve heard before. It steals your breath, and before you can react, Stan has a hand wrapped around your arm, fingers firm in his grip to you as he pants, a word stumbling from his lips in one harsh breath.

“Run.”

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #grunkle stan x reader #[mr. mystery]#pspspsps come get y'all juice #but also tell me if you like my fic please i like interaction

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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years

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A playlist inspired by the @piningfor-pinestwins fic, Natural Attraction.

Chapter 5: Stan rides in the bed of McGucket’s truck so you can sit in the cab, but he gets you to choose the radio station. You watch him enjoy the music in the rearview mirror.

Rock hits of the late 70s with a hint of disco give me big Mullet Stan vibes.

You can listen on Apple Music or Spotify.

#colormecrimson #stan pines #stanley pines #gravity falls #not Nic’s #oh my god??? a playlist??? and fanart??? of one of my fics??????? I’m losing my mind that’s so lovely #and the playlist is BANGIN

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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years

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i might elaborate later but fanfic replies literally develop writer’s metacognition and make them better writers

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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years

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Natural Attraction - Bruised Egos (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Your group makes it partway through the dense forest before you lose daylight, grateful for the four flashlights that Fiddleford had stowed away for this. You’re stepping unsteadily in the midst of thorny brushes and thick vines, grateful for your sturdy boots as you step on less-than-solid ground and sink into some mud. Grunting with effort as you make your way up the slippery hill, you hear Ford swear from behind you as he does the same.

“Where do you think the thing would even be at night? What kinda birds are active in the dark?” Stan’s voice comes from behind you a little loudly, leaning heavily on a stick he’d found somewhere during the trek, using it to support his weight as he goes. Ford’s head whips around to find his brother’s form in the dark, giving a harsh “Shh!” as he continues onward. Stan murmurs a quick, “Sheesh, just askin’,” as he continues onward. You follow Fiddleford’s steady light from ahead of you, trusting the man as he continues his walk, and turn to quietly answer the man anyway.

Owls, mostly. I think you have nighthawks in this part of the country, too, You inform him, shivering. You nearly run your nose into Fidd’s back, finding the lanky man had come to a stop ahead of you to hold up a branch for you, after apparently being hit in the face with it. Taking it in hand, you murmur a thank you, pointing your flashlight to the ground for the twins behind you to duck under the thing when they get closer.

Ford ducks easily beneath the thing, murmuring a thanks to you as he does. Stan isn’t far behind, though the man nearly stabs into your foot with his makeshift walking stick. “Sorry, hon,” he quickly apologizes, lifting the thing out of the soft dirt by the toe of your boot. You smile fondly despite yourself, motioning him ahead with the beam coming from your flashlight.

Get moving, slowpoke. I don’t want you to get lost behind the pack, you tease in a whisper. He catches your smile despite the dim light of the moon and chuckles himself, shifting his walking stick beneath his arm, and flashlight into the other hand. His fingers land at your elbow as he tugs you along, the warmth of the digits seeping through the teeny-tiny holes of your sweater.

“Yeah, you neither. With your luck, our superbird’ll think you’re some sorta prey.” Stan’s voice is playful, and this close you’re able to make out the features of his smile despite the darkness surrounding you. You chuckle, walking beside him with your twin flashlights and his hold leading the way. Me? What about you? You argue back, You’re the one with more meat on your bones.

He snorts at that (only to be shushed by his brother once more), careful to watch his step and not be too loud again as he moves alongside you. “What, me? Honey, I’m all muscle--the thing wouldn’t want something as chewy as me.” You laugh louder then, shaking your head, only to have the light of Ford’s flashlight pointed at you. You can make out his frown and--jeez, what is he, your older brother? Sheepishly, you give him a little wave, biting into your bottom lip.

When his light goes away from your face, Stan snickers, having found getting you in trouble amusing. You move to elbow him despite his hold on your arm, and he chuckles as he jostles you in response.

Still giggling, you take one step in the wrong direction, yelling out in fear as your heel slides the wrong way against the soft ground. The joint twists as your weight starts to fall backward, and you drop your flashlight, the sharp pain in your ankle now an afterthought to the fear of a fall down to an unseen point below.

Ford and Fiddleford turn at your cry, but Stan’s already there, the hand at your elbow quickly landing at your forearm instead. In one swift movement, he tugs you to his chest, grunting quietly at the impact of your face against his sternum, budging half a step backward with his own force.

“Fuck--are you alright?!” Stan asks breathlessly, looking down at you with worry as he pushes hair from your face. You pant as you wince, your weight coming back to your twisted ankle. Heart beating in your ears, you don’t hear him very well. Looking up at him wide-eyed, his worry only deepens. “Hon, you okay?” He repeats, and enough of your brain is back to you that you’re able to nod in response, shifting your weight against him to ease off your hurt ankle.

Stan says something to the duo coming closer, but you miss the bulk of it as you try to slow your breathing, glancing back to where you would have landed--and, as it turns out, where your flashlight has landed. The plastic thing lies muddied and flickering, left useless on some rocks nearly ten feet below. Shivering from the cool wind that blows through, and from the realization of just how lucky you’d been with Stan’s touch, you clutch a little tighter to the leather arm of the man’s jacket.

“Alright, that’s it. With me gettin’ my face smacked with a branch, and her nearly dyin’, we’re wrappin’ this walk up for the night. Soon as we get past this line o’trees, we’re hunkering down for the night.” Fiddleford insists, looking to you apologetically. “I’m sorry, I should’a said something about the drop. I saw it, but only just ‘cause my light was pointed just right.”

I-It’s fine, you stammer, ignoring your white-knuckle hold to Stan’s sleeve and shaky knees. Ford huffs a sigh, scrubbing lightly at his face, “I’m glad you’re okay. We’ll...need to make up the majority of our movement during the day, then. It’s safer that way, anyway. God forbid one of us had found that fall while chasing our creature.” Your colleague turns, murmuring something to Fidds as he points toward a clearing past the trees, the both of them pointing their flashlights to make their way.

Stan’s hand lands carefully at your lower back, guiding you as he points his flashlight to the ground. “C’mon, I’ve got you. Take a deep breath, okay?” He murmurs the words quietly, and you feel the warmth of his hand sliding up and down the fabric of your sweater. You do as he says, exhaling a shaky breath. S-Sorry, about all of this, you whisper, taking another breath as you carefully step away from him, wincing at the feeling in your twisted ankle.

To your surprise, however, the hand on your back slides down your arm, catching your wrist with a light, but firm touch. Stanley looks at you uncertainly, and your slowing heart rate decides to uptick once more at the way his cheeks darken in the moonlight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like...W-Well, I wouldn’t mind holding onto you until we’re out of these trees. If something happens again, I can...be here. Plus, y-you’re hurt. Can’t risk a fall on a bum ankle.”

You chew into your bottom lip, grateful for the warmth of his hand enveloping your own cold digits. He’s looking to you as if asking permission, a softness in his gaze that you’ve now seen multiple times from the stubborn man, yet you can never quite get enough of. Nodding, you give him what you think he’d been waiting for, and he shifts your hand in his, his thumb and forefinger becoming snug bookends to the knuckles on your own hand.

Clearing his throat, Stan glances over his shoulder to spot the steadily moving lights of his brother and F. Shifting his weight to move toward them, he squeezes your hand to get your attention too (as though your attention wasn’t already on your joined hands).

“C’mon, we shouldn’t get too far from those two. Is your foot good enough to walk on?” Stan’s gaze searches your face for pain, the beam of his flashlight pointed to your boots before you wave his concern away with your free hand. I can walk, just...maybe a little slower than I was, you look at him apologetically and he nods, moving to reflect the change.

Now on your hurt side, Stan switches the flashlight into his other hand, quickly wiping his palm against the thigh of his jeans before he takes your hand once more. He sticks his elbow out just slightly, allowing a makeshift armrest for your forearm as he leads you to take one step, then another.

Being sure to point his flashlight to the ground, he avoids your eye, casting you a quick glance as he pulls you alongside him. You follow along easily, still trying to catch your breath from the excitement of the near-miss and the...current connection. You almost want to thank him, but from the way his eyes stay turned down from yours, he’s definitely both focusing on the ground and not looking at you.

“Easy here, honey. Lean on me while we step over this root,” Stan murmurs, and when you do as you’re told, he easily takes on your weight as you both continue walking. Legs still shaky from adrenaline, you limp at his side as he guides you toward your research partners, further into the trees.

As you step over a log, leaning into his broad shoulders to do so, you take an extra moment to adjust your hand in his by entwining your fingers. He stills the moment you do it, looking at you with an unreadable tint in his moonlit gaze, but he says nothing as you continue walking. Nerves flutter in your belly, wondering if you’ve pushed this too far--maybe this handholding really was only supposed to be out of convenience, or to make sure you aren’t any more of a klutzy nuisance during this trip…

You’re certain that you imagine it when his thumb brushes against the back of your hand. You flush when you feel him do it a second time, more pronounced than the first.

When you look at him from the corner of your eye, his profile is illuminated by the moon. His jaw is set tight, and you can make out the dark flush of his cheeks as he pulls you close once more. He notices you’re distracted, the smallest lift of a smile at the corner of his mouth, but Stan clears his throat to will it away as he murmurs something about watching your step. You hobble your way over another pair of tangled-up roots before you find yourself stepping out from the dense woods, finally finding the small clearing that Fiddleford and Ford are already preparing.

Fidds is working on a makeshift ‘campfire’ for light (made of one of the flashlights pointed at one of the large jugs of water), making the light shift like the bottom of a pool on a sunny summer day. Ford is sitting on his knees, grumbling in frustration as he wrestles with the plastic rods of the portable tent.

Despite the light (which you’re grateful for, don’t get you wrong), you wish it was closer to a real campfire. You’re cold, and the dew on the long grass around your ankles is soaking into your skin, making the chilled breezes even cooler.

“Gimme your tent and I’ll get’cha set up.” Stan mumbles, releasing your hand from his and holding it out to you expectantly. You aren’t focused on his words, looking down at his hand, meeting his eye, and then coming to the realization with a quick, Oh! as you reach to unclip the tent bag from the duffel bag on your shoulder.

He smiles a little as he takes it from you, looking at you with something like amusement in his gaze as he looms over you, just a little. “Are you going to hold up alright while I do this, honey?”

You aren’t sure if it’s the tone of his voice, or his close proximity, or the way his brow quirks as he smiles at you, but heat floods your cheeks as you nod, trying to keep your cool despite your fluster. I-I’ll be just fine, thank you.

The brunet wiggles his brows at you as he turns away, stomping down some taller grass in order to flatten the area he’s planning to prep your tent. You push your hair behind your ear, shaking your head as he drops to his knees to unzip the bag holding the tent.

Damn him. Sincerely, honestly, damn him. You’d come here to work, to focus on the astounding artifacts and creatures waiting for you in Gravity Falls. But no, instead you’re enamored by him. You rub at your face, feeling the way your mouth screws up as you try not to think too hard about it...especially when the target of your misplaced focus is just feet away, effortlessly putting together your tent for the night.

You fidget with your hands as you watch him for a moment, one thumb brushing over the palm. If you concentrate hard enough, you think as you look down at your hand, you can forget the lingering warmth of his palm against yours, or the way your fingers entwined into his, or how you’d imagine his touch would feel somewhere other than your hand...

“How’s your foot?” Ford’s voice startles you from where you’d stared off at your palm, and you nearly jolt from the tree you’d been leaning back against. A pair of polydactyl hands catch your elbows before you can lose your balance too much more, pulling you gently to rest more soundly against the bark at your back. The brunet ahead of you quirks a brow with a short chuckle, “Now, was that because of your foot, or because I scared you?

You can’t just sneak up on me! You half-laugh in response, feeling heat in your face. You hadn’t meant to be so distracted, really. Ford smiles a little wider at your words, and you can see that all-too-quiet analyzing gaze pointed your way. Despite the low light, you think he can see your flushed cheeks, and you bring your hands up to cover the warm patches on your face. He nods as if confirming something, cheeky grin only widening, “What has you so distracted, hm?” Ford asks, and you suspect he’s teasing you. The ass.

L-Looking for our mystery monster, obviously. Since the rest of you are so busy, I thought I’d keep lookout, you give one solid nod, feeling the heat only spread beneath your fingers as you lie. Nothing to report yet.

“Well, glad someone worries,” Fiddleford’s voice comes from the direction of where Ford had been not long ago, and you look over the brunet’s shoulder to see the lanky man and Stanley both hard at work to put together the unfinished tent Ford had left in poor shape.

Your tent, however, is perfectly set up and ready for what additions you have to bring into it. Ford sees the two working and gives you a secret sort of smile, offering you an arm to help you toward your shelter. “I do worry,” He argues back, careful to support your weight as you lean against your friend, “But I trust her to be our lookout. Are you saying you don’t?” He winks at you as you make your way across the clearing toward your shelter for the night, and you smile as you turn the teasing toward someone else, for once.

You really should be more upfront with your feelings, Fiddleford. Just be honest, do you trust me? You grin as you ask the playful question, turning to look as the honey-blond man sputters and flusters, “O-O’course I do! I’m not one’a those backwards thinkin’ hillbillies who--who..!”

“Easy, easy!” Stan laughs, reaching to pat the man’s shoulder, “She’s just givin’ you hell, buddy. You’re right though--it’s good to know someone cares, seeing as Ford’s too busy getting handsy with his new assistant.” Stan grins cockily toward both you and his brother, which only makes both of you fluster.

“M-Me?!” Ford sputters a little loudly, and you’d almost laugh if you didn’t know where he was going with this, “I’m not the one who’s asking about how she was in college, or--oof!” He quiets himself with a grunt, and you move to pat his back as though you hadn’t just elbowed him in the ribs.

W-Well, uh, good to know you all respect me, and...enjoy my company, you laugh a little, acting innocent even as Stan catches your eye. He’s very much fighting a laugh, having watched you silence his brother. Ford quirks a brow at you, grumbling as he rubs at a rib with his free hand, “And to think, I came over here to help you to your tent.”

And I thank you, you grin, giving the arm you’re holding onto a little pat as the man rolls his eyes. He’s smiling a little when you make it to your tent, and you take a moment to shift and hand him your duffle bag, thanking him quietly as he ducks alongside you to help you into the tent. You thank him again as he lowers you to the floor of the shelter, finally smiling your way even as he rubs at his side while dropping the duffle bag to you. “Get settled, I’ll see if Fidds’ first aid kit has one of those ammonium chloride ice pack things.”

Thank you, you repeat, fiddling with the zipper of your carryon to open the thing. As the man steps from the unzipped flap of your tent, you call a soft, Sorry for the elbow, which only makes him snort a laugh.

“I didn’t know it was a sore subject, jeez.” He teases over his shoulder.

It’s more of, uh...not a subject at all, you correct with a wave of your hand and a little laugh, quickly turning your attention to getting your folded quilt from the duffle bag. The brunet quirks a brow, but doesn’t say anything as he purses his lips and makes his way from your tent.

You hear the three chatting amongst themselves as you set up your space. It’s definitely darker in the tent than outside of it, but you manage well enough to situate your quilt and pillow in a corner of the tent, patting the blanket down to be sure it lays flat. You pat around in the duffle bag next, searching for your pj pants. When you’ve found them, you make quick work of your boots and pants, wincing as you try to keep standing with your aching ankle.

You hear a quiet swear and the sound of fumbling feet as a flashlight beam shines against the flap of your tent. “Y’decent?” Stan’s voice asks, and you yank more frantically onto your pajama pants to get them up. Y-Yeah, one sec--! You call out, tripping over your own pant leg and falling over with an ungraceful grunt.

“Shit, did you fall again, toots..?” Stan murmurs, taking the liberty to open the flap and make his way in despite the fact that there’s still fabric resting low on your thighs. By some miracle, the flashlight beam points at the back of the tent first, allowing you just enough time to yank the pants up to your hips just as the light points down to where you are on the floor. The light makes you squint up at Stan, your nose wrinkled a little as you give him a little smile. He’s smiling down at you, clearing his throat as he kneels down to meet you.

“Honey, you can’t go tripping in front of me every chance you get.” He teases lightly, putting down the flashlight near you while his gentle hands help you sit back up. You shake your head as you sit up, stretching your legs out in front of you with a bashful smile, I promise, it’s not on purpose.

“So you aren’t fallin’ for me?” Stan asks, his voice low as he searches your face, gaze meeting your own. Despite the playful smile on his face and the quirk of his brow, there’s something that makes your stomach flip. You frown despite your fluster, feeling almost like the butt of a joke. Be nice to me, I almost died, you grumble, pushing lightly against his shoulder. He leans with the push, chuckling as he moves to sit beside you. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I thought of the joke all the way back there, and...well, I couldn’t let it go.” Stan’s smile goes a little more tender, reaching over to pat your knee gently.

Stan perks up a little as he seems to remember something, patting behind him to find the plastic packet he’d brought in. “I brought you an ice pack for your ankle, if you think it’ll help. I think Fidds has some pain killers too, but you’ve gotta get some food in ya first.” You nod at his words, taking the thing from him and shaking it to activate the chemical reaction inside. I packed some snacks, actually, you look at him then, and his brows quirk as he reaches for the flashlight again to find the goodies.

In my bag, in a little tupperware with a green lid. It’s just peanut butter sandwiches, but food is food, you smile, stretching to put the finally-getting-cooler pack on your foot with a wince.

“Hopefully you packed enough,” he chuckles, tucking the flashlight beneath his chin to hold it as he digs into your duffle bag with both hands, “ ‘specially since I was your savior and all, back there, it’d be an honor for you t’share your dinner with me. So I don’t have to eat whatever F and Ford are inventing out there.” Stan teases with a glance to you and a grin. His hands stop their motion in the duffle bag, and you can see his cheeks darken in the low light of the tent.

You worry even without the confirmation of what he’s seen, sure that...well, something in that bag must have caught his attention. Y-You find the sandwiches? You question, moving slightly to check what’s in his hands before he quickly shuffles them into the duffle bag once more, “Shit--ah...Yeah!” Stan pulls the little plastic container from your bag, eyes widening at the neatly-folded pair of lacy underthings atop the box.

Your face heats as you quickly reach out to snatch the fabric away, crumpling it in hand and shoving it beneath your thigh, effectively sitting on it as you look at him wide-eyed. He fights a smile and loses, the grin on his face accompanied by its endearing dimple, both visible and tugging at your heartstrings even in the low light. “See, that’s what I was tryin’ not to do--sorry, honey,” Stan laughs, now passing the offending tupperware over for you to fidget with as he moves the flashlight to stand upright, pointing the light above the both of you to better light the tent.

Snooper, you scold him for the second time today, but this time it comes out in a mumble as you turn your attention to open the thing, a little smile on your face. You can’t be upset, you know it was an accident, but...well, despite the little embarrassment within you, there’s something else you can’t quite place.

He snorts a laugh, moving his hand up to cover his eyes, crooked smile still wide across his cheeks, “Here. Can’t snoop if I can’t see, happy now?” You glance up at him and smirk, picking up a cut half of the peanut butter sandwich and putting your hand out in his direction, waiting for him to uncover his eyes and take the makeshift meal.

“Y’know I can’t hear your head nodding, right? I need words, babe!” Teasing, Stan peeks at you from between his fingers, amber gaze falling to the sandwich half held out to him. “Oh, thanks--” He uncovers his eyes then, smiling still as he reaches for it and bites in greedily. You almost laugh, If you were so hungry, why didn’t you say anything before?

“‘Cause then one of those two would’ve told me to go hunt or somethin’,” He scoffs between bites, looking at you with humor, “Ford would’a picked me some sort of weird-looking thing to eat and said it’s ‘high in protein, just right for you Stanley’, an’ Fidds probably would’ve invented something for me to kill the thing with, like….I dunno, magic slingshot or somethin’,” Stan murmurs into his sandwich. You snort a laugh as you munch on your own half, kicking him lightly against one of his knees, They help in the best ways they can.

“Oh, sure--every way except actually hunting dinner themselves,” he laughs, moving his foot to nudge your leg back. You laugh too, shaking your head as the both of you eat. You eye him subtly, watching how he leans back against his palm, idly crossing his ankles as he looks around your (his) tent. “Y’know, ‘m glad this thing holds up good. I’d hate to think of you getting stuck with a bum tent, or just a little quilt on the ground, like you wanted,” Stan teases lightly, looking over to you with amusement as you both eat.

You shrug as you finish up, smiling as you wipe lightly at the corners of your mouth, I would have ended up fine, probably, you catch the way his gaze moves with your fingers at your lips, and you quickly glance away to warrant him the blessing of thinking he hadn’t been caught, Else fails, we’d all have just ended up cheek-to-cheek in one tent.

Stan scoffs a laugh, licking a stripe of leftover peanut butter from his thumb and sucking the remainder from the digit casually, releasing it with a quiet pop, “Like we were in the truck? I don’t think our cheeks could handle anymore squishin’ like that.” He glances over to you, catching your gaze as it drifts from his lips. Amber eyes crinkle in the corners when smirks, returning his thumb to his lips once more (you’re sure there’s no more peanut butter, and that he’s just torturing you). “Thanks for the snack, sugar, but I think I’m gonna turn in for th’night. Knowing those two, we’ll be awake way too early, and one of them will bitch all day because no one brought coffee--”

Already a step ahead of you, you grin, pointing toward your duffle bag. He casts a glance over and shakes his head, pointing that crooked smile your way, “Geez, you think of everything, don’tcha?” Stan winks at you as he moves to get up, standing hunched in the not-quite-tall-enough frame of the tent. He looks down at you, and you catch him look over your pajamas, smile giving himself away as he points down to your ankle, “Do you need any more help tonight, or are you alright?”

You shake your head, I think I’ll keep myself in for the rest of the night, thanks. As long as I don’t have to pee at some ungodly time, I’ll be fine. Stan snorts at that, taking the few steps toward the flap of the tent, “Just don’t cry to me if you end up dreaming of waterfalls,” He teases. You wrinkle your nose at the implication, but can’t hold back the laugh as you scold him for being gross, Stanley.

“Sorry, babe! You’re stuck with this gross man this whole trip.” Stan winks over his shoulder at you, grinning wider as he turns to leave, “Actually, reminds me--I should make a pitstop before I hit the boys’ tent for the night.”

Gross! You insist with a laugh, hearing him join in with a chuckle of his own. If you had a shoe nearby, you’d throw it at him. Goodnight, Stan. I’ll see you in the morning.

“See you then, babe. G’night.” He smiles in your direction, a genuine tenderness in his gaze as he ducks out from your tent. You shuffle your way to the flap to zip it closed, hearing the trio of boys giving each other hell as Stan returns to their shared sleeping space, but not being able to pick out individual words to hear what hell is being given.

Not that you mind, really; you are sleepy. A near-death experience and some….moderately embarrassing flirting will do that to a person. Using the flashlight Stan had left, you make your way to settling into your makeshift bed, remembering something from the general health class you had to take in college and using your duffle bag at the foot of your comforter as a way to raise your ankle. You fold yourself into the quilt easily, settling in for the night with a soft sigh that turns into a yawn on its way out.

Reaching behind your pillow, you pull out your journal, cracking the cover open and holding the flashlight beneath your chin as you write out some accounts of the day (and, when you remember it exists, adding the polaroid of the creature’s tracks over the terribly-drawn version you’d made). When you finish up with your entry for the day, you start to close the journal, instead seeing the pages open up to the one previous-- Stanley’s pages.

You glance to the flap in your tent, almost as if afraid he’d be standing there to catch you. You don’t know why it worries you--especially since you’ve added both a Fiddleford and Stanford page, to keep track of those two as well, but… There’s something akin to indulgence, you think, that stirs in your chest when you make an addition to this page. Today, it’s an addition to the ‘Likes’ list, (peanut butter, which truthfully doesn’t surprise you because the only food listed in the ‘Dislikes’ list is canned Spam), and today’s date with the simple, albeit shaky addition of Stanley caught me from falling into a ravine on our hike today.

Not wanting to go too into detail this late at night for fear of nightmares, you shut up the journal and return it to its place beneath the pillow, setting the flashlight beside the cushion as you turn the thing off. You settle in for real this time, tugging the blanket to your chin and exhaling a soft, slow breath to try and relax yourself into sleep. As your eyes start to drift closed, you have the inkling that you’ve forgotten something--though what it is, you’re unsure. It must not matter much anyway, as you’re pulled easily into the warm darkness of sleep.

It mattered.

A lot, actually.

You swear, Stan was either a medium without knowing it, or some sort of magical asshole who bestowed curses on you without you noticing. You’re swearing at him under your breath the whole way as you hobble into the woods to find a suitable spot to pee.

Much more relieved, you’re now making your way back to your tent, flashlight held tightly in one hand, a roll of toilet paper tucked beneath your arm, and your other hand outstretched to help you make your way through the trees and back toward the campgrounds. You shudder at the cool breeze that’s blown in, indicative of the upcoming cold front you’d overheard about on the television a night or two back. Finally seeing the campsite coming into view, you sigh, knowing you probably went further out into the greenery than you needed to, but….

Well, god forbid any of your research partners find you with your pants down.

Making your way closer to the campsite, you sigh, rubbing at your face sleepily. To say it had been a long day was a gross understatement; you were exhausted.

Which is why you worried that you were still in your tent dreaming, as you hear the fluttery sound of air moving somewhere near you. You look up just as quickly as you heard the noise, pointing the flashlight up to see better in the dim night light.

There’s nothing..?

Despite your rising nerves, you keep moving ahead, maybe a little quicker now as you point the flashlight to the campsite. You’re more aware of the life in Gravity Falls now; you know of the gnomes, the eyebats, the creatures who move in the dead of night who are, you think, moving with you even now. The familiar prickling feeling of being watched begins to scratch at the back of your neck, but when you glance behind your shoulder, only the darkness of the woods greets you.

A fluttering again, this time directly above you. You’re almost more hopeful than certain that you’re just hearing things, and instead of pointing the light to the sound, you motion toward your goal as best as you’re able to. You limp quickly, hearing the sound once more--closer, maybe just past your ear? You yelp in fear as your battered ankle gives way, falling into the plush grass mere feet from where you’re supposed to be sleeping. Pointing the flashlight up, you try to catch a glimpse of the thing that’s been chasing you, hoping to at least see the thing before it gets you.

Stan’s voice saying your name makes you jump from where you’re lying on the ground, whipping around to point the flashlight beam at him. He winces, blocking the light from his eyes as he moves closer to you. He must have been at least somewhat asleep, only in loose sweatpants, his hair mussed as it falls into his face. “Honey, what happened?” He asks, hurrying with his arms outstretched down to you. You’re trembling, but you hadn’t noticed, clutching close to the flashlight as you shake your head, Something was after me--i-it flies. I don’t know, you stammer, unable to get out one set sentence as his arms wrap around you. Stan lifts you easily, holding you to his chest as he looks up, trying to find the flying thing despite the dark.

“What’s going on--oh shit!” Ford’s voice calls, eyes following Stan’s gaze up just as your flashlight beam lands at the topmost branch of a tree. You feel the chest against you puff up, feeling Stan’s arms bracing around you as you hold your breath, too, looking up to try and find the source of the fluttering against your ears.

You spy the yellow eyes first, following them down to the large, feathery body of probably the biggest owl you’ve ever seen. Fuck, you whisper, all at once feeling foolish at the realization that it’s just… a common creature. Tears prick in your eyes, embarrassment and exhaustion melding into the response before you can stop yourself.

“Jesus, that damn thing--I thought I heard hootin’ somewhere in the woods, but...I dunno, I thought it’d be smaller,” Stan says, still holding you as he makes his way up the rest of the little hill that the campsite is situated on. “Even as big as this specimen may be, I don’t think it’s our offending creature at the Shack. Do you?” Ford’s voice asks you, and you shake your head, avoiding his gaze.

N-No, not at all. The tracks may be similar, but the ones back home are much bigger, you confirm, pointing the flashlight back down to watch the grass ahead. You realize that you haven’t put any weight back down onto your bad ankle, feeling the gentle brush of Stanley’s chest hair against your arm as he continues to hold you. You fight the urge to push out of his arms, especially when you feel your bottom lip wobble in protest to you trying not to cry.

You feel Stan shift his arms, the clearing of his throat echoing in his chest as he turns to face Ford. They seem to have some unspoken conversation about you while you’re pretending to ignore it altogether, and instead of listening, you hear the tree leaves rustle heavily overhead. The owl must have taken off.

“You poor dear,” Ford says, coming closer to where Stan stands with you in his arms. You’re not looking at either of them, waving Ford off with a little huff, I’m okay, it just scared me. I just need to crawl back into bed, today has b-been awful.

You bite into your trembling bottom lip, willing it still between your teeth as you give Stan a pat on his arm, signaling that you’d like to be put down. The brunet seems to understand, but hesitates, instead only slightly relaxing his grip of you. “Let’s get you back to your tent, then. You need the rest.” He soothes, taking a few steps in that direction. You give in, letting yourself be carried as you glance to see Ford (and now Fidds, who’d woken up sometime in the commotion) ducking into his own tent, rubbing at sleepy eyes and yawning all the same.

You don’t have to carry me, but thank you, you mumble quietly, stifling a sniffle as you rub your nose with the back of your hand. He shrugs, the motion shifting you as he pushes open the flaps of your tent, “No skin off my back, babe. Jus’ can’t risk you falling again. If you bust your head open, then I’ll only have these two assholes to deal with again, and I can’t let that happen.” Stan jokes, and despite your exhaustion it makes you smile, even if only a little bit. Still, the hot sting of tears wins out, and you’re only just able to wipe at your eye when the first one falls, just as Stan steps into the little tent with you. You feel him shift again to set you down, but he stops at the sound of a sniffle. “Hon, you alright?” He asks, and you can now hear the gravel that comes with sleep in his voice. You swear, you’ve never heard him be this tender, but it still sounds so familiar all the same.

Y-Yeah, you say, voice shakier than you want it to be, I just feel, uh...dumb, you laugh a little, and he frowns down at you, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You turn your head down slightly, still trying to hide under his attention, Thanks again for helping me. Again. The full situation washes over you in a wave, and you flush with your tears at the realization that he’s holding you to his chest--which would be embarrassing on its own, maybe, but he’s shirtless and you’re crying and, really, this isn’t a good look for you--

“Honey, y’gotta get outta that head sometimes,” He scolds gently, and you look up at him in confused surprise at his words. That almost makes him laugh, a little smile quirking at his lips as he guides you to your feet. “Careful,” He whispers, hands on your waist to keep you from putting too much weight on your bum ankle as you lower yourself to sit on your knees atop the blanket. You glance down, remembering the roll of toilet paper firmly tucked beneath your arm, and you toss the thing to the duffle bag, watching as it bounces off, and then lands haphazardly next to the thing.

“You had an iron grip on that thing, didn’t ya?” Stan asks, and you sniffle as you smile, After losing the flashlight the first time, I had to be sure to hold on tight.

It’s his turn to look at you with surprise, his little smile growing more genuine as he sits in the middle of the tent. He’s closer than he was when you ate together, but he isn’t imposing. He’s just...here. And that’s nice, you think.

“I’m not really the killjoy of this group, but you really should’ve said something before you left, toots. What if I wasn’t up, and you had to fight that thing all your own?” He asks, sleepy voice surprisingly a little stern. You glance over to him as you reach for your pillow, fluffing it idly before wiping a stray tear at your cheek. It’s your fault I had to go out, anyway, you argue lightly, sure his brow is quirked as soon as you say it, You’re the one who mentioned waterfalls.

“Aw, sorry, but you should know by now that I’m right about a lott’a things. It’s annoying as hell, I hear.” It is, you laugh with him, finally glancing up to meet his eye. You feel a little pitiful; foot and ego injured as you watch the kind man who both helped and hurt that cause.

Stan has this unreadable look in his eye, one you’re sure you’ve seen before, but it worries you all the same each time it happens. You glance down at your hands to avoid the shift in his gaze, but find yourself looking up again when he says your name like a quiet question, his brow furrowed at you with a tilt of his head.

“Are you doin’ okay? Today’s been...hell and a half for you, and I know you had t’be scared to death.” He reaches out, palm lying flat on the edge of the quilt beneath you, and though he leans to go with it, he doesn’t make any further move to touch you. You rub at your face with a sigh, pushing hair from your face as you start to nod.

I mean, the day wasn’t all bad, but...nearly falling however-many-feet down, and then being stalked by an owl weren’t the most fun parts, either, you admit, feeling the way your voice wavers when you do so. You shrug, smiling a little when you look at him now, and you try to ignore the way your heart pulls at his worried face, you do, but...with those amber eyes looking at you with such tender concern, you have to admit that it absolutely pulls, tugs, and twists at your heart. Damn him.

“I’d offer to take you back home, but I don’t think you’d like that. Plus, those two would get lost without you.” The brunet is careful in his word choice, something you appreciate. You reach to comfort him in the same way, reaching your hand out to lay atop his with a little rub of your thumb across the back of his hand, and his face softens a little when you reply, Absolutely they would, they don’t even know what kind of critter they’re going to face. Truthfully, neither did you, but you had theories. Though...somehow, you think, this isn’t the time to bring them up.

You can feel the energy between you shift before you see it, his palm turning upward to meet your own. The warmth of his fingers glides against your hand, fingertips curling just under yours to cup your hand with his own. He’s watching down at your joined hands, thumb brushing lightly against your four knuckles when he speaks again. “Are you, uhm...unhappy, that I keep trying to help you?” Stanley’s voice is soft as he asks the question, and you almost need him to repeat himself with the way your heart is hammering in your ears. When you don’t answer immediately, he continues, “I-I know that you’re strong. You’re very smart--well, no shit you’re smart, you’ve done all this for gods’ sakes--anyway,” He breathes, and you swear there’s a deeper color to his cheeks even in the dark here.

“I like helpin’ you. I’m not nearly as smart as you ‘n Fidds and Sixer, but I gotta be useful somehow. And you’re just, uh...easier to help, than the other two. You’re marginally less annoying, and...prettier, too.” Stan glances up then, his gaze searching through yours with an air of desperation. You can tell, there’s maybe more to be said, but his adam’s apple gives a decisive bob when he closes his mouth into a thin line. Whatever else there is to be said, it isn’t for tonight.

I don’t mind, you finally say, looking down at the way your fingers have folded nicely over his own. Your heart thuds against your chest, so loud in your own ears that you’re afraid you might shout these next words. You take extra care, then, to whisper them. I...may not like being helped, or I may get embarrassed or frustrated and run off sometimes, but...I do like you. And I don’t mind when you’re the one helping me.

You turn your wrist at an almost-uncomfortable angle to put the back of his hand upright without breaking his hold of your fingers, leaning forward just so to press a little peck to the back of his hand. Turning your hands back the right way, you look up to him, almost afraid of what his reaction may be. What if he laughs at you? Or finds you stupid, to think you could resist his charm? What if he stands now and leaves into the darkness of the wood to leave you alone and embarrassed and in need to explain the situation to your colleagues?

“Hey,” he whispers, and you realize that you’re so afraid of the what-ifs that you’ve almost missed his reaction entirely, though that’s the whole reason you looked. Stan’s face is certainly flushed, vibrant eyes forgoing their sleepiness as he looks at you with such entranced sincerity. For a moment, you think he’s forgotten what he wanted to say, but he interrupts that thought with a firm tug at your arm. Before you know it, you’re pulled off-kilter, leaning toward him, then closer, before you reach to catch yourself with your other palm against his chest.

His lips land on yours then, the gentle scratch of stubble against your face as you lean into him. This close, with your hand on his chest, you can feel the way his pulse mimics yours. You have half the mind to tease him, but the idea stutters out when the palm of his free hand slides up to cup your jaw. Stan holds you there as you kiss him, tasting just slightly of peanut butter and feeling so warm, your noses bumping together gently before he pulls back for a breath. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you, his gaze still sliding up from where he’d been looking at your mouth.

“Y-You’ve gotta get some rest, sweetheart,” He whispers, the newest petname settling itself very terrifically into the space carved into your heart by the last one, “We both should, uh...sleep.” You feel yourself nod, though you still lean into his touch against your face until he pulls it away. Stan bites into his bottom lip, clearing his throat as he pats your hand on his chest, and for once, you realize, the jokester is near speechless.

Moving your hand away from his body, he pulls your joined hands close to his face, pressing one last kiss there before his fingers release your own. Watching as he stands, Stanley pushes his hair from his face, rubbing gingerly at the back of his neck as he turns away from you and toward the exit. He stands there a moment, almost like he’s forgotten what he’d gotten up for in the first place. Though you aren’t exactly itching to kick him out, you smile as you give him the reminder.

Goodnight, Stanley, you whisper, and your heart does turns when he looks at you from over his shoulder. He’s brushing his fingertips against his lip subconsciously, the movement stalling when he meets your gaze. His dimple reappears for an instant, his smile at you wide and inviting.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll see ya, first thing in the morning.”

I’ll see you then, loverboy, you tease, giving him your first pet name. It doesn’t go unnoticed (for as not-smart as he claims he is, nothing goes unnoticed with this man), and he looks absolutely giddy when he leaves out the front flap of your tent. You think that you hear him trip and swear to himself, but he doesn’t return. The boys in the tent next door begin to murmur, and you suppose he’s found his way back in there when you hear his tell-tale laugh amongst the other voices.

You touch your own lips, reminding yourself of the feeling of his own there, and your heart goes racing again. You huff a little laugh of your own, shaking your head, and realizing you haven’t stopped smiling since that man left your tent. You settle into your quilt again, still exhausted, but much less tired than the last time you’d been here. Reaching under your pillow, you find your hardback journal once again, turning easily to the pages about Stanley once more. In one swift curl of cursive, you make an addition, just under your large declaration of Stan’s name at the top of the page.

AKA: Loverboy.

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #[mr. mystery]#last update of the day! expect one more post announcing some stuff!

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piningfor-pinestwins · 3 years

Text

Natural Attraction - Investigations (ch. 9 ) (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

You scratch at your chin as you look down at the haphazardly-packed duffel bag on your bed, thinking of what else you should bring. Really, you should be prepared for anything with this crew…

It’s been pretty chilly the last few nights, so you brought both t-shirts and sweaters, in case of better weather or to layer up. You have your sturdy hiking boots (the ones you bought after your shoes got caught in the thorny brushes a few ‘adventures’ ago), four pairs of socks, five pairs of undies, 3 pairs of jeans and your most fluffy and warm pj pants. Tapping lightly at your cheek, you feel the way your mouth screws up in thought, moving around your room for just a few more things before you hear a familiar set of footsteps coming up the stairs to your bedroom door.

“I dunno if you wanted to pack the tent with your stuff or not, but I’ve got it here for you,” Stan’s voice says from behind you, and you smile before you notice you’re doing it.

Thanks, if you’d just leave it by the door, that’d be great, You motion, moving toward the foot of your bed to lift the patterned quilt you sleep beneath off the mattress. Could you help me fold this? You look to him just as he moves to make his leave, but he stops at your request, offering a little smile as he moves closer to help. You take two corners and he bends to do the same, watching you with a gentle confirmation of which way you’re folding the thing.

It’s a simple thing to do, yet each time your knuckles brush against his fingers, or the closer you step as the blanket folds smaller, you feel an odd sort of intimacy in the motion. He passes the bundle of fabric into your hands with a warm look, blowing hair out of his face as he takes a step back.

“D’ya not have a sleeping bag? Hon, y’might get cold, even with all that.” Motioning to your nearly-full duffel bag, he leans back against the wall of your bedroom, quirking a brow in something like concern.

No, and it’s too close to time to go into town for one, You admit with a sigh, shrugging a little as you shove the quilt into the bag. Shuffling some stuff around to make room, you tsk and readjust your journal against the side by your undies, glancing up just in time to see Stan’s gaze following your hands in your bag. You flush, but quickly cover the things with your hands as you look over at him with a smirk. Stan’s brows quirk up at your movement, and his gaze trails up your arms to see your heated cheeks and playful smile, his dimple showing as he tries to hold back his own smile with his tongue pressed against his cheek.

“Listen, y’shouldn’t have that shit layin’ around if you didn’t want me to see it,” He starts with a laugh in his voice, eyes glinting playfully in your direction before flicking up toward the ceiling instead. You scoff in response, but your smile doesn’t falter as you finish packing up the bag and zip the thing up, Maybe you shouldn’t stick your nose in other people’s business. Didn’t your mom teach you that?

“Oho, if you think Ma taught me to stay outta other people’s business, you’ve never met her. The woman’s a blabbermouth--probably why she did so well on the psychic line all those years,” He hums, scratching at his chin seemingly in thought. You’ve heard, albeit briefly, about the Pines parents and their respective lines of work. Though, you don’t know much else about the duo--not that it really matters, per se.

Well, anyway, thank you for your help, you snooper, teasing, you pull the bag on over one shoulder as you glance around, double-checking for anything else you might need before moving closer toward the door. You pinch lightly at his elbow, getting his attention back to you and making him laugh all in one motion. He’s smiling when he looks at you, and you feel heat in your cheeks when you find yourself smiling back, standing the closest you have to the man since the night before. You clear your throat, reaching to grab the little bag that holds the tent that he’d brought in and left at the door at your request, A-And thank you for this, too. It’ll be put to good use, you promise, immediately feeling dumb for it because no shit, Sherlock, it’ll be put to good use, you have to sleep somewhere.

He shrugs, motioning you ahead as he moves to leave your room behind you. “It’s really no problem. If Sixer’d thought ahead, he would have warned us that we’d need them and we wouldn’t be in this mess, but I think his tent’ll be big enough for the three of us guys to sleep in for a couple nights. S’long as they can keep their mouths shut for a few hours of shuteye, it’ll work out fine.” Stan shuts your bedroom door behind him as you take the steps down to the second floor, stopping to see his things already packed and waiting outside his door.

“Are you two nearly ready?” Ford calls from downstairs, a soft grumble of a headache complaint following his question. You smile at the voice as you respond, glancing over the bannister as you start down the rest of the stairs, It would seem so.

“Good,” Fiddleford’s voice chimes in, and you catch sight of the two standing together with their packs and warm jackets on as you come further down the stairs, “We’ve got about thirty minutes o’daylight left, and if we plan to get anywhere close to the first clearing in the trees, we’ve gotta shake a leg.” You look out the window when he talks about lingering daylight, nodding at his approximation.

You said this creature creeps out at night, right? Do you think we’ll get wherever it is this evening?

“It’s unlikely,” Ford answers, and you hear Stan come down the steps and stop a step or two behind you to join the conversation, “But if we make our way far enough tonight, we’re likely to find more evidence of the being, at least.”

“What kinda thing d’ya think it is, anyway?” Stan asks, and Fiddleford shrugs in response. “I couldn’t rightly tell ya. Have you got any idea?” He cocks his head in your direction. You feel all eyes on you, offering a shrug as you step off the stairs and move toward the back screen door, Let me take a look at these tracks while you three lock up.

Ford nods, pulling his heavy backpack on with a grunt, and Fiddleford tugs his own canvas bag closer, double-checking the carabiner attaching it to the little icebox containing what you can assume is your meals for the next few days. Stan pulls his (seemingly lighter than Ford’s) backpack on, taking the last remaining steps down to the duo as you make your way out the back door to find the tracks that your inebriated colleagues claimed to see.

When they join you again a few minutes later, you’ve found the tracks, near Fidd’s truck, and sure enough, veering off into the woods. You reach to where your camera strap is hooked to the duffel bag, quickly undoing the tie and snapping a picture of the tracks. Eyes are on you again as you study the real deal ahead of you, but you hardly notice the trio of brunets watching you with varying degrees of intrigue as you shake the film that’s fresh from the printer and put the camera strap around your neck instead.

They’re odd, you murmur, the thought coming to you easily from your years of studying, It’s a bipedal thing, with something akin to toes, but...its gait stays on the balls of its feet--if you want to call these feet.

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Stan offers, and your head turns to look at him just as Ford and F’s do, too. The man seems almost surprised at the attention, brows flying up as he stammers to explain himself, “T-The thing’s got like, three toes. I don’t know if you can call these feet.”

You nod enthusiastically, getting a little more excited at engaging in your wheelhouse. Four, actually. The three you see on the front, plus the one in back, implies that whatever this is, is skilled in perching or climbing. So, it’s possible we’ll find it in a tree, or some other off-ground thing.

“Are we chasin’ some superbird?” Fidds asks, brow furrowing toward you and Ford. Ford frowns with a shrug, looking to you for confirmation as he offers a shrug, “It doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility...She’s not been wrong before.” He adds, a lift of a smile curling his lip. He’s excited to put your knowledge to work, the prospect of discovering another new species causing a joy-filled anxiety to bubble in your belly.

That was my next point-- Near here, where the tracks end, you take hurried steps beside the trail and the trio follow behind to keep up, The pattern of steps is interrupted. Two steps, two steps, one step, and nothing.

“But, there’s these...marks,” Stan seems to be following your train of thought, foot scuffing against a distinct pattern in the dirt a few feet from where the single footstep (clawstep?) is settled. Fiddleford points to the pattern’s twin, mirrored on the other side.

Exactly! Indication of an upward force in the dirt. If I were to… You move a few steps back, stepping toward the pattern near Fidds. You cup your hand as you kneel close to the ground, raising your hand above your head and swinging the force down toward the ground without hitting it, the fast-moving air making a whizzing sound by your ear.

Pleased, and maybe a little excitable still, you look at the mark made by the force of air in the soft soil, standing as you confirm the similarity, Wings! At least two, as the patterns indicate. We’re looking for a creature capable of at least short-term flight, with an anisodactyl arrangement of toes. By the looks of these marks, it’s possible the creature can be...well, about my height, You conclude, looking up at the boys with pride and a grin.

Ford looks similarly pleased, smiling with a warm, almost-smug look on his face as Fiddleford and Stan both look at you in something akin to surprise. “Impressive as always, my friend. I almost forgot how quickly you’re able to come to conclusions.”

Fiddleford laughs, clapping a friendly hand on your shoulder as he gives you a little shake, “Astonishing! Well--now we know, we gotta be lookin’ up as much as we’re lookin’ down. Aw, hell--” He looks at his watch, waving toward the three of you, “We’ve got about twenty minutes left of daylight. We need’ta keep our flashlights as charged up as they can get, so the less time we use ‘em, the better. Come on,” F leads the charge toward the woods with Ford following behind, grinning at you with pride as he flashes you a wink.

You turn to look at Stan, finding the twin starry-eyed for a brief moment before he coughs and comes back to himself. “That… Wow, you uh, really know your stuff.” He clears his throat, and you swear his cheeks aren’t normally that pink. A trick of the setting sun, you’re sure…

Thank you, you laugh, feeling almost embarrassed as you rub at the back of your neck, putting the developed picture into a safe spot in your bag before rethinking your decision to leave your camera around your neck, putting it away too. I probably got a little carried away there, I’m sure.

“No! Not at all--I may not understand all the words y’said, but you’re...You’re seriously smart, sugar. It’s cool to see.” He smiles, rubbing at the nape of his neck. Your cheeks definitely flush at that, laughing lightly at his words, and biting into your bottom lip to muffle it. Clearing his throat, he adjusts the pack at his back, his smile lingering as he points to the duo moving ahead. “We should catch up. God forbid we get lost with whatever, uh...winged an’i-social or-whatever-you-said superbird flyin’ around here.”

You snort at his words and correct him, Anisodactyl, to which he replies, “Yeah, that’s what I said, isn’t it?” with a laugh of his own as you both move with purpose, following to catch up to the duo of brunets.

#nic's fics #stan pines x reader #grunkle stan x reader #gravity falls x reader #stanley pines #[mr. mystery]#hey look i Live #and i'm about to make another update bc this update had two chaps c:<

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