Work Text:
It’s the town planning meeting for the Gravity Falls Autumn Festival, and things were about to go down.
“Well now, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stanford,” Bud Gleeful says, his voice booming across the town hall. “Because I daresay it’s clear that the Tent of Telepathy is the greatest tourist attraction in Gravity Falls,”
The citizens of Gravity Falls gasp, and, as if they were one person, all sit forward in their seats. After all, there is nothing a small town loves more than drama.
But you know this is not going to end well for your boss, the Stanford in question, and you watch as color rises in his cheeks and his eyes become hard.
“Listen Gleeful, the Mystery Shack is gonna fundraise the-” he stops and glances around, making eye contact with a little girl in pigtails with big eyes and clutching a doll to her chest, then continues, “uh, heck out of the Autumn Festival!” Stan stalks over to the giant that is Bud and pokes him in the chest. “We’ll put your and your kid’s freak show to shame.”
“Oh, Mr. Pines,” A young voice that has the exact cadence of Bud’s accent makes the citizens move once more to see the response. You instead close your eyes in defeat. Nothing gets Stan riled up like Bud’s nine year old son Gideon, who is now climbing up on the bench so he can be slightly taller. “It sounds like you want a widdle ol’ competition,”
“Oh no,” you hear Soos mutter under his breath, and you open your eyes and exchange glances with him in solidarity.
“Yeah, a competition!” Stan says, clearly getting carried away. The few feet he had walked away from you and Soos might as well been miles; there was no way now to calm him down or shut him up without being obvious about it. You wince, bracing yourself for the worst, as Stan continues. “The Mystery Shack will raise twice the amount of money than The Tent of Telepathy during the Autumn Festival weekend!”
Gideon giggles. “Oh Mr. Pines, what a statement! I’m afraid you’ve got your wires crossed, for I foresee the Tent of Telepathy will raise twice the amount of money as the Mystery Shack!” He leans towards Stan and suddenly a shadow seems to cross his face. “You don’t wanna make an old fashioned bet, do you?”
And there it is.
Stan’s face bursts into a smile- one with a slight edge. “Sure, kid. Whaddya have in mind?”
“Now Gideon,” Bud starts.
“It’s OK, Daddy, just a friendly widdle bet between two entrepreneurs,” Gideon say sweetly, not taking his gaze away from Stan. “So Old Man, what’s it to be?” he asks softly. “My Tent for your Shack?”
Stan barks a laugh. “Ha! That’s a good one, Gideon!” Stan’s laugh is contagious, and soon the entire town hall is laughing with him. Gideon joins in, and you know it’s because the little brat, even as young as he is, understands how important it is to play to the crowd.
But his laughter is brittle, and he doesn’t stop glaring at Stan.
Finally Stan stops laughing, and leans on his 8-ball cane. “All right kid, howza bout the winner gets the rights to advertise itself as the best attraction in Gravity Falls for a year?”
Gideon smiles. “What a fine idea! Stanford Pines, you’ve got yourself a bet!” And he smacks his hand into Stan’s, who shakes it, smiles on their faces and daggers in their eyes.
So here you are, the day before the Autumn Festival, pounding a sketchy fence together for the petting zoo, when a shadow blocks the hot sun.
“So kid, whaddya think?” Stan asks, a soda in his hand. He isn’t wearing his usual Mr. Mystery getup, but instead jeans and a stained white T-shirt that is slightly too small for him, as evidenced by his paunch and the way the sleeves stretch around his biceps and strain across his chest. It’s a good look, and you inwardly curse him. You thought you had gotten over your weird crush on your boss after several months of working against it, but his familiarity and that stupid T-shirt brings it all crashing back.
Great.
You physically shake your head, making sure your mouth isn’t open in shock, and stand up, stretching your back. Good thing you have the hard work on a hot day on which to blame what must have been your tomato-red face. “I think you might actually pull this off!” You grin at him. “And a good thing too… only you could get riled up by a nine year old, and put the reputation of your business on the line,” you tease.
“I was gonna give you this soda, but now I think I’ll keep it for myself,” Stan answers with a wicked smirk. Then he frowns and shakes his head. “There’s just something… off about that kid that makes me…” he pauses, looking for a word, then shrugs. “Y’know?” He pops the tab on the can.
You laugh. “Yeah, I get it,” you say, then make a grab for the soda, but Stan is too fast.
“Sorry kid, soda is for people who’re nice to me.” He winks and takes a nice long sip. “Ah, that’s good.” He smiles evilly at you.
You realize you are staring, and unfortunately Stan realizes it as well. “Whoa, uh… you OK there?”
“Probably a little dehydrated,” you quickly answer, then put on an overly-dramatic expression. “I’d better go grab a drink- I hope I’ll make it over to the cooler before I faint.”
Stan laughs, and takes another sip of his soda. “I’ll come with ya for support. Can’t have ya falling in the middle of the carnival grounds, stoppin’ the work so people get you outta the way… sounds like a great way to lose money.”
“Oh, I’d hate to be the reason you’d lose money, Stan,” you say breezily as you both make your way to the cooler set aside for the workers. You wave to the Corduroy kids, who are helping their dad put up some of the booths.
“Yeah, me too. Then I’d hafta fire you and nobody would be happy.” You get to the cooler and he bends over to grab a drink, which causes your head to snap a full forty-five degrees to look at anything else besides those jeans. “Here y’go,” he says, suddenly waving the soda in front of your face. “Cherry. Your favorite.”
You turn to him with a sincere smile as you take the can. “You remembered! Thanks, Stan!” You keep eye contact for maybe just a little too long as you open the can.
“Yeah, well, I guess we’ve been spending too much time together,” he answers with a chuckle, and joins you in a drink.
“Looks like we’re almost done,” you say as you look around, eager to change the subject. You lift your chin in the direction you had been looking while Stan got the soda. “What’s that one over there?”
“Kissing booth,” he says.
“Oh, gross, Stan!” you respond with a laugh.
“What? We used to do that all the time when I was in high school!” he seems mildly put out. “Anyway, it’s just gonna be me- and who wouldn’t wanna kiss Mr. Mystery?” He luckily doesn’t wait for an answer. “Obviously it’s only gonna be open an hour or so; I got other things I gotta do for the carnival, but that’ll only drive up demand!”
“Stan,” you protest. “This isn’t a cute little small town thing; it’ll be full of tourists- that’s the point of the Autumn Festival! You don’t want to be kissing strangers!”
“Why not?” he asks with a twinkle in his eye. “Jealous?”
You snort. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. But really, Stan,” you fold your arms and give him a concerned look. “It is kind of weird.”
“You should listen to your employee Stanford,” a little voice says behind you, and both of you turn around to see Gideon, wearing his pristine powder blue suit and green bolo tie. “Although I think she’s got it backwards. Strangers aren’t going to want to be kissing you!”
“Uh, Gideon?” you jump in, “You’re nine. I don’t think you’re an expert in kissing.”
Gideon ignores you. “Unlike my booth,” he steps aside and holds out his hand, pointing to a much bigger structure than the kissing booth with a “Pinch My Widdle Ol’ Cheeks, $5” and an adorable picture of Gideon. He giggles. “What do you think? I think that alone is going to make the Tent of Telepathy raise double!”
“Yeesh, kid,” Stan shudders. “That doesn’t seem like it’ll be any fun for you.”
“Oh, you clearly don’t know what it’s like to have adoring fans, Stanford!” Gideon says. “But how about another bet? Whoever makes less at his booth has to admit to the whole dang town that the other is the best person in the business.”
“Stan don’t do it,” you say, laying your hand on his arm. “It’s not worth it.”
Stan tears his arm away. “What- you don’t think I can win?” he asks, a look of utter betrayal on his face.
“What? No-” you start, but Stan is already shaking Gideon’s hand.
“Deal…you weird little goblin.” he says, then turns around and leaves without another word.
And Gideon starts laughing like a cheesy villain in a B movie.
“Get a hobby,” you glare at him with distain and run after Stan.
“Stan! Stan!” you call, a hand on his shoulder to get him to stop. He stops and looks at you expectantly, coldness in his eyes. “I-I wanted to apologize,” you say quickly, not wanting him to turn around and leave again. “It’s not that I don’t think you can beat Gideon, I just think a kissing booth is silly, and so is this competition with a little brat.”
Stan raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you know what an apology is, toots.” he said. “But look. Sometimes you just gotta seize the day and have some fun, no matter what comes next. The kissing booth is always somethin’ I’ve wanted to do, so I’m doin’ it.”
“What about Gideon’s bet?”
Stan grins evilly. “I’m not worried about that. You were the only witness, and if I lose, I’ll just pretend like it never happened.”
You can’t help but snort as you shake your head. “Only you, Stan Pines.”
He stops and gives you a hardened look. “You got my back, right?”
You laugh. “Stan, of course I do.” You make a face. “Especially against a creep like Lil’ Gideon.”
Stan grins. “Now y’see where I’m comin’ from.”
“I still think it’s dumb,” you say offhandedly. But now Stan looks so betrayed you get a pit in your stomach. “Stan,” you start.
He puts up a hand. “Don’t,” he says. “So now that you’re doin’ me a favor, I gotta do one for you so I don’t owe you nothin’, got it?”
“Um… Okaaay,” you say uncertainly, wondering with horror yet fascination about what kind of favor Stan Pines would do for you.
“All right,” he says, a slightly sour look on his face. “Imma give you some sage advice.” You have no idea how to respond, but Stan isn’t looking at you and just keeps going. “Kid, enough is enough. You need to make your move with that guy you like.”
You blink. “What now?” That is not what you were expecting. Wait… did he know…?
Stan laughs mockingly, and your face turns red. “Don’t think I haven’t caught you daydreaming all the time! Sittin’ around the Shack with that starry-eyed expression, making me snap you out of it…look, you’re a great girl, and any guy would be lucky to have you, so just talk to him and get it over…what?” he asks as you breathe a sigh of relief.
“I just thought… you were going to say something else.” you say, then get a hold of yourself. “That’s really nice thing to say, Stan. Thanks.”
He snorts. “Don’t get all mushy on me toots. I’m lookin’ out for the business. If he gets snatched up, you’re just gonna mope around, and that’s gonna drive away customers.” He moves his arm, motioning to the carnival. “The Autumn Festival is a great place for a first date- and make sure he spends all his money at the Mystery Shack area. There, now we’re even.” He looks at you again, gives you his fake smile usually reserved for tourists, then walks away.
The next day dawns clear and bright- a perfect day for the Autumn Festival. You didn’t sleep well the night before, full of guilt for making Stan sad and worry about what he had told you to do. The solution to both problems is obvious, but do you have the guts?
Finally you get up and get ready, taking care to go a little nicer than your usual day to day look, and walk to the bank.
The Festival is well underway when you finally get there, and although there is a line to pinch Gideon’s cheeks, you can tell he’s miserable even from far away. You nod in satisfaction, and note that none of his other attractions seem to be doing well. The Mystery Shack’s attractions, on the other hand, are full of people laughing and enjoying themselves. You know Stan had probably spent all morning with his speeches, and now the rest of the day the mini fair-within-a-fair would be advertised by word of mouth. Stan always seemed to perfectly find the line where people would enjoy cheap stuff better than quality.
The only attraction that doesn’t have a line is the kissing booth. You feel a pang of sorrow for Stan, but mostly you just feel relieved.
Stan is sitting under a sign saying “The Best Kiss You’ll Ever Have, $10” with his hand on his chin, a cocky smirk on his face despite the lack of customers, his tie loose and his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off the gold medallion he always wears. You come at him from the opposite side from where he is looking, knowing if he saw you approach you would lose your nerve and high-tail it out of there.
After what seems like a ten mile walk, you finally make it over to the kissing booth and slam a hundred dollar bill down on the counter, making Stan jump. He then meets your eyes with a confused expression on his face, but you jump in before he can say anything.
“Two birds with one stone. I want you to know I support you, and also,” you take a deep breath, then spit it out before you change your mind, “making my move with the guy I like.”
You swear time has stopped, and it seems like an eternity as Stan stares at you, then stares at the money, then stares at you again. You are about to turn around and run off in embarrassment, but just then Stan smirks, making you weak in the knees. “Oh kaaaaaay.” He growls, raising an eyebrow.
You smile in relief, and step closer, regaining your composure. “So I get ten kisses from Mr. Mystery, correct?”
“Step right up,” Stan says, standing up as his smirk becomes more wicked by the second. “I’ll do the countin’.” He takes the hundred dollar bill and puts it in his suit jacket without breaking eye contact with you.
You lean in over the low counter and give him a short kiss. His lips are so warm- already you are feeling slightly intoxicated.
“One,” Stan says.
You lean in again and make this kiss a little longer, a little deeper, catching some of the stubble around his mouth, wanting to enjoy this as much as you can.
“Two,” he barely gets out before you go in for the next kiss. Stan cups your chin and guides you as the third kiss lasts a few seconds longer, and your lips barely part before he pulls you in again, and again, his strong arms wrapping around you and suddenly pulling you over the low counter. You feel yourself losing your balance, but don’t break the kiss until it’s too late, and you land right on top of Stan.
“Oh my gosh, Stan!” you try to get your breath back as you look down on him. His fez has been knocked off and his glasses are skewed. “Are you OK?”
“Oh yeah,” he breathes, and pulls you down into a rapid series of deep, passionate kisses.
“I think that’s-” you kiss his jaw, “-more-” your lips trail down his neck, “than…ten,” you kiss that perfect triangle of his chest exposed by his open shirt…
“Yeah, but…” he gulps for air. “There’s…a special,”
“Impossible,” you pant, stopping just a moment and propping yourself up so you can look him in the eye. Those devilish, deep brown eyes… “Stan Pines…” you lean down again, closing your eyes. “…never has… specials.” The last word is almost lost as you cover his mouth with yours.
After a few seconds, you break the kiss, “I do this time,” he breathes, “Buy ten kisses, and if I like it, you get more.”
“Seems like something you should have advertised,” you say softly.
He shakes his head with a smirk. “One time only offer,” and he drags you down into a deep, delicious kiss.
You only let go when you both can barely breathe. Your mind spins; you feel as if you were flying. “I’m getting your suit dirty,” you whisper, the only thought that can get through.
“It’s seen worse,” Stan chuckles quietly. “But if it bothers you that much,” he moves and suddenly you find yourself with your back on the ground, Stan gazing down on you, “Better?” he asks, his wolfish grin on full display.
“Definitely,” you say, looking right into his eyes, and Stan lowers himself down into a series of slow kisses covering your neck and collarbone, causing you to melt up into him. You breathe out his name and receive a deep hum in response, your fingers tangle in his hair as his kisses become more urgent, and the rest of the world disappears-
“Mr. Pines?” Soos’s voice calls, and you freeze.
“Ignore him,” Stan murmurs, and once more meets your lips with his.
“MmHmm,” you hum, once more drifting away in his kiss.
“Mr. Pin- oh, there you are!”
You open one eye, still locked in a kiss with Stan, to see Soos leaning over the counter. “Hey doods, what’s up?” He asks good-naturedly.
Stan breaks the kiss and you feel him sigh. He props himself up slightly and turns. “Beat it, Soos.”
“People are waiting for the fire eating show, Mr. Pines. It’s supposed to start in two minutes.”
Stan looks back down at you, and you smile. “We’d better go,” you say softly. “Those are potential customers,”
Stan lowers himself down once more to growl in your ear. “Watch out, toots, I might have to kiss you again,”
You can’t help yourself. “Promise?”
He chuckles, then groans as he gets up. “All right,” he says, dusting off his suit, Soos handing him his fez. Then he turns to you. “Go run crowd control; you’re on the clock.”
“No problem boss,” you say, unable to wipe that stupid grin off of your face.
“Oh and kid,” he says as you start off.
“Yeah?”
He points to a sign on the kissing booth. No refunds.
You can’t stop the laughter bubbling up from your stomach, watching Stan grin in response, then you nod and run to the stage.