okay i’m gonna say it: fandoms are kinda dying on tumblr, and they’re starving because nobody reblogs anymore.
like… i don’t wanna be that person but be for real?? likes are cute and all but they do nothing for creators. ZERO. NADA. a reblog is literally the oxygen mask keeping this blue hellsite alive. you say you “love” a fic, an edit, a gifset? then BABES… reblog it. boost it. let it breathe.
half the time creators are out here pouring their entire soul, spine, AND three vertebrae into something just for it to get 200 likes and 3 reblogs, two of which are their own. that’s why people stop posting. that’s why fandoms feel empty. content doesn’t magically fall from the sky — it comes from people who feel seen.
and i promise you: reblogging is free. it costs you like 0.2 seconds and suddenly you’re personally responsible for keeping a whole fandom alive. congrats!! so yeah. if you like something? reblog it. scream in the tags. yell. keyboard smash. put sparkles. do whatever. just don’t let creators feel like they’re shouting into a void.
reblogs feed creators. reblogs keep fandoms thriving. reblogs literally save lives (okay maybe not literally but u get it).
support the creators you love !!!!!! or else we’re all gonna be sitting in empty tags like clowns.
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big fan of damian telling people to kill themselves. as the youngest of four and the most modern generation of the batkids, he should be absolutely diabolically simple in his responses to people and it should always catch his brothers off guard specifically because damian will put so much effort into literally everything he fucking does except when it comes to throwing comebacks at them and it's so insulting. they don't even know what to do because it's like 'who asked' or 'your mom' like what do you even respond to that???
tim, trying to piss off his little brother: you know your moves as robin could probably be worked on, that roundhouse kick you did last night needs to be 24% more accurate on the left side to even out balance and-
damian, not looking up from his phone: kill yourself, drake.
tim:
tim: aight damn
-
dick: damian, i'm sorry but i'm eating the leftovers you have in the fridge, i'm so hungry,
damian: you should kill yourself.
dick: -and i promise i'll replace it tomorrow but-
dick:
dick, aghast: what?
-
jason: i fucked your mom
damian: kill yourself
jason: i fucked your mom
damian: kill yourself
jason: i fucked your mom
damian: kill yourself-
tim, resigned from across the room: god, they're stuck in that same fucking loop again.
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Y'all I havent been into Batman in forever but I met my partners friends last weekend and our autisms linked up and we talked about Batman for like. 5 hours its really making me want to write about Batfam shenanigans
i don't know if ill delete this in a few hours but anyways. based on the last ask
suggestive
you’re sitting on the bed with a glass of water and two white pills in your hand. Ford is barely upright, his back’s propped against a pillow, hair all messy and stuck to his forehead from fever.
you go, so gentle, “c’mon, sweetheart. open up.” obediently, Ford does, his mouth opens and you slip two fingers in to place the pill on his tongue like you’ve done before. only this time he just doesn’t let go.
your fingers are still resting lightly in his mouth and Ford closes his lips around them, sucking.
it surprises you so much. he doesn’t even look embarrassed but dazed. his half-lidded eyes flutter shut. he lets out a soft moan, forgetting what the pills were even for and all he knows now is the taste of your skin and the warmth of your hand and that his cock’s getting hard under the blanket and he can’t remember why but it feels so good.
“Ford? honey, you’re supposed to swallow.” you really expect to hear something intelligible in response? Ford just hums around your fingers, lashes trembling, cheeks flushed. he does pull back eventually, flicking his tongue lazily against the tips of your fingers before he lets go
and he keeps trying to crawl into your lap even though you told him ten times he needs to stay under the blanket. and when you press the pills to his lips again he finally does swallow them, but not before grabbing your wrist and murmuring, “you’re so good to me. i think i love you. i do love you. i love you so much sweetheart”
and you're like “shhh shut up oh my god you’re burning up” but also you're stroking his hair and caress his cheek while he’s breathing so hard and it’s taking everything in you not to cry because he’s just so tender and stupid.
also. also. once he does take the pills and you tell him he’s a good boy (just to fuck with him a little bit), he grabs your wrist so tight and you understand how strong this man is even when he is sick. “do it again. say it again. darling please.” seems like this fever’s not the only thing making him all flushed and squirmy.
ohhh Ford with a mommy kink is actually so interesting. i never thought about it before?? like ive always been a big Stan girl so i just assumed he'd be the one saying ”mama” or ”ma” without even thinking. but with Ford... ohhh it hits different. yes please!!
ill add breeding kink here, i hope no one minds! so i bet this man would get so dumb while balls deep in you the moment he realizes you’re fertile. he’s still trying to hold onto his genius shit, to form coherent sentences blah blah but all he can think about is cumming inside
and you know he’d be too repressed to admit it first, you have to start the mommy thing first. you have to look him in the eye while you’re gasping and say “please make me a mommy, Ford. wanna feel you cum inside” and now suddenly it's “mommy this” and “mommy that”
from there it’s just pathetic whimpers into your neck while he’s slamming into you, mumbling “mommy... mommy... wanna fill you up, wanna give you a baby” he wants to breed you so bad it makes him stupid. poor genius reduced to mush by some pussy. isn't he so fucking pathetic!!
need to see ur take on it! i adore your fics so much
LIZ
LIZZIE
MY ANGEL MY DARLING I AM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH I'M
Oooooohhhh my GOD YES
Hes soooo fucking pathetic!! Yes yes yes!! You see it! You see the vision!!!
I need to contain myself omfg
It's done, enough said, I'm writing the fic AS WE SPEAK
I picture this as Drunk!Ford, too (pussydrunk that is...) but
Ford who accidentally overstimulates himself.
Ford who swears this started out as just innocent curiosity, really sweetheart, i promise I'm just curious
Ford who, despite his meticulous tracking of your cycle, forgot that you were ovulating. At least, he forgets until he has you crowded down against his bed sheets, tongue down your throat as he tries to map out the topography of your mouth, hips jerking and grinding against yours, messy and uncoordinated. He forgets until he stops kissing you to pant into your open mouth, whining and cursing when your hands ruck up his shirt just to play with his happy trail. He forgets until he begs you to please, please sit on my face, please darling I- fuck, I need it wanna drown in you please please
He forgets that you're ovulating until you're hovering above him. Knees bracketing either side of his head, perfect little pussy on full display above him and he's drooling. Drooling before he even gets his mouth on you. Drooling because your pussy is flushed, puffy and plump with the blood flow that's making you so wet there's little drops of your slick, threatening to decorate his face before he can lap them up.
Ford moans so deep you feel it in your spine. Wraps his arms around your thighs, settles the meat of them in the crook of his elbows and wraps fingers around your hips, thumbs settling in and stroking the little dimples in your lower back he loves so much. Like this, you cant escape even if you wanted to. Ford drags you onto his mouth. Jaw practically unhinged he devours you. Licks his tongue up the length of you with a wet, messy slurp. Scrapes his teeth over the top of your swollen, aching clit before flicking his tongue over it over and over and over again.
Ford who doesn't remember until the first taste of you is coating his throat. Thick and heady, redolent with a tangy sort of flavor that makes his mouth water even more. That makes him crave more. Tongue fucking into your entrance with a broken moan. He doesn't even register the movement of his hips, cock thick and leaking, making a mess in his boxers as he swallows you whole. His moans are muffled in your cunt but you can still make them out.
"So good, so good fuck love your pussy, love you- love the way you taste god, wanna fucking die like this, mmmph-!"
Just a lil teaser bc I'm fucking FERAL for this man
hey, i’m feeling pretty awful at the moment & i hate my writing and everything i make, so i’ll get to answering asks and prompts later, im sorry! i don’t even know if anyone wants to read this, but i just needed to distract myself and wrote a tiny thing about fiddlestan. it's mullet stan
so many scattered beer bottles, which Fidds carefully stepped over, pulling the gloves off his tired fingers. Stanley didn’t turn to face him, lying wearily across the worktable. for some reason, it was hard for him to maintain eye contact with anyone who’d ever known his brother. and anyway, who knew what went on in Fiddleford’s head, though, with some irritation, he had to admit he liked the guy’s genius. made him wonder what sort of nonsense he’d start babbling if he ever got drunk. if he even drank, that is. not that it mattered, anyone would start drinking with Stan around.
“Ford wouldn’t have liked this,” Fidds nearly said, seeing how the lab had turned into some piss-stained smoking corner in the cheapest joint imaginable. everything was a mess, cigarettes, butts, liquor bottles. well, Stanley. whatever helps you feel smarter.
“you’re probably tired,” he said instead, unable to resist the urge to run a hand through Stanley’s brown hair, and Stan sighed, long and languid, allowing himself to relax for the first time in four damn tense days. damn you, Fidds. and why the hell had Stan ever admitted he liked being petted like some mutt?
Stan could’ve used another beer. or better yet, something much stronger, just to get drunk enough to pass out and forget who the fuck he even was, because the emotions were starting to take hold again, against his will. he wanted to forget Ford’s terrified face in those last few seconds most of all. Stan blamed himself so hard.
the spiral of guilt and self blame was broken by Fiddleford, who lightly tossed a pack of cigarettes nearby, and Stan, for some stupid fucking reason, felt lighter from the thought that someone still gave a shit about him.
it was cool outside. Fidds didn’t smoke, but bad habits were contagious. just for the company, don’t get it twisted. and anyway, there was something shamelessly seductive about seeing someone that goddamn pretty with a cigarette between their lips. a walking pro-smoking ad.
Fidds took a drag awkwardly, wincing at the unpleasant taste and smell. the smoke came out uneven.
“you look ridiculous,” Stan snorted, taking the cigarette right out of Fidds’ cold, trembling fingers. “here. like this.”
a professional at his craft, he inhaled deeply, already second nature.
smoking lessons weren’t what Fiddleford had signed up for, but he watched anyway, not the technique, but how Stan’s throat moved.
“beautiful,” slipped out of his mouth.
unexpected. and Stan didn’t know what to say. beautiful what? him? the cigarette? the view of the forest from the shack’s porch? he glanced over, about to snap some sarcastic or mean comment, his default reaction to compliments, didn’t matter who they were meant for.
but for some reason, finally locking eyes with Fidds, all he saw were soft blue eyes full of tenderness. maybe Stan shouldn’t have been avoiding eye contact after all.
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I'll let y'all fanfic readers in on a little secret: if you find a writer who portrays your favs or that specific trope just right and you want to get more of it, the trick is reblogging or even just commenting and/or going wild in the tags, and you'll probably get more
listen, I am but a simple duck, if you feed me I'll just FEAST on those crumbs and you can bet your ass I'll come back to that pond for some additional bread crumb feasting
A/N: Hello, my lil ducklings! I'm terribly sorry, i accidentally deleted the ask this was written in response to, so hopefully you see this, anon! You asked for some rough Ford and I hope I delivered! Thank you so kindly for being patient! Rough sex is one of those things that, while I love to read it, writing it can be totally different, and I wanted to come up with something fun! The jealousy trope is a little played out, I'll admit, but I really like the direction this went, and I'm hoping you will too!
CW: choking, biting, marking, a couple spanks for good measure, desk sex, jealous sex, degradation, he uses reader like a stress relief toy and its... so good, a semi-reformed Bill makes an appearance!, allusions to past BillFord, hair pulling, fingers in mouth, think that's it!
!!! MDNI SO HELP ME GOD !!!
Ford was fuming.
Logically, some distant part of him knew it was pointless. He knew Bill was just doing this to get under his skin and you weren't entertaining him so much as allowing it to happen with an awkward smile and stilted laugh, ever the peacemaker and unsure what to do with the sudden and intense attention. And Bill?
Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Gosh, you're so pretty. And so... soft, how do you do that?" The homicidal-triad-hiding-beneath-a-human-glamour stroked the back of his hands along your cheek, leaning far too close for anyone's comfort over the cashiers counter. You laughed nervously, unsettled and confused by the frankly creepy compliment. You leaned back, just enough to be out of his reach, and hid it by turning to grab a box of merchandise that needed to be priced.
"Um, thanks? I think.." You muttered the last part under your breath, and Bill laughed.
"Ha! You're welcome!" He chortled. He was forced to shift, moving to lean on the counter and somewhat against the register, as you lifted the box onto the space he had previously occupied.
The three of you lapsed into uncomfortable silence. A muscle in Ford's jaw began to tick as he watched Bill, watching you. He knew the demon had no real interest in you, beyond using you as a means to get under his skin, and he hated that it was working.
You walked out from behind the counter, overfull box in hand, and began stocking up some of the shelves. Ford's teeth ground together as he watched Bill's eyes follow you. They stopped on his, briefly. A flicker of mischief before it became a blazing fire. A slow grin. Then:
"Y'know, I never really understood the fixation humans have on the physical," Bill dragged his eyes down your figure. You could almost feel it, even though your back was turned, and it made you nauseous.
"Now, though, I think I'm starting to understand." At this rate, Ford was going to crack a tooth. Or Bill's skull, he hadn't decided yet.
You shifted a now half-empty box onto your hip. Walking away towards another shelf to begin restocking it, you pretended not to notice as Bill followed you. You were supposed to be training him. Taking advantage of the slower foot traffic now that autumn was here, but you resolved to talk to Stan about getting someone else to do it. You couldn't stand Bill even at the best of times, and certainly not when he was deliberately trying to test your patience.
When you finished stocking shelves, the box now empty and the room blissfully silent, you broke it down and tucked the flat cardboard behind a display. Turning on your heel, you went to walk past Bill and back to the counter. Not paying attention to either of the men, you didn't notice the borderline evil look Bill gave Ford. And you didn't notice him reaching out for you, ostensibly to grope you just to piss off Ford. What you did notice was a six fingered hand clamping an iron grip around your wrist and pulling you back behind him. You watched as Ford then grabbed a grinning Bill by the throat and pinned him to the wall.
"Put your fucking hands on her, I dare you." Ford's voice was low and gravelly, threatening in a way you'd never heard before. Bill was grinning, a too wide smile that looked painful, and wheezed out a laugh.
"Awww, Fordsy if you wanted to touch me to could've just aske- ACK!" Using his grip on Bill's throat, he picked him up off the wall only to slam him bodily back into it. Then, just as quickly as it all started, Ford was dropping him and stepping away. Letting the other man crumple to his knees on the ground, rubbing his surely bruised throat gingerly.
"Come on, I'm not leaving you in here with him." You blinked up at Ford, attention turned back to him when he addressed you. Not giving you time to respond or protest, he grabbed your hand and tugged you along with him until you reached his study. You stood in the middle of the room, heart racing, as he closed and locked the door behind him.
Silence blanketed the two of you like thick snow, only broken by the sound of Ford's breathing and adrenaline making him all but pant as he rested his forehead against the door. He didn't want to turn around. Didn't want to see the fear and revulsion he was certain would be playing over your features. Meanwhile, you were trying desperately to ignore your own racing thoughts. Because, while Ford was struggling with himself, certain he'd done something to irreversibly damage your relationship, you were doing your level best not to think about what his hand would feel like around your throat instead of Bill's.
It was laughable, really. Never in a million years did you think you'd be jealous of Bill of all people. Yet, here you were, trying to calm the frantic pounding of your heart and ignore the throbbing heat now making itself known between your thighs.
You'd always loved and admired Ford's strength and overall physical fitness. That was no secret between the two of you with the way your eyes seemed glued to him when he was dressed down. You loved his hands; the reverent, worshipful way he touched you. How securely they held you as he made you cum again and again and again. Now, though, you couldn't stop thinking about how those hands might feel holding you down while he took his frustration out on you. Firm, unyielding grip on the back of your neck and hip. Pinning you down and holding you open as he-
"-and I'm so sorry, Stardust, I didn't mean to scare you I just- he knows how to get under my skin," you blinked when Ford's voice, low and loathing, filled your ears. Your vision filled suddenly with the beautifully distraught expression of your beloved scientist as he stepped in front of you. Hands reached out slowly, as if afraid of startling a frightened animal, to gently cradle your face. You turn into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed and a soft smile on your lips.
"Ford," you said finally. Your voice is soft and patient. "You worry too much." You reached up, hand gently cupping the side of his head while your thumb smoothed out that little furrow in his brow that you loved so much. "You didn't scare me."
"I didn't?"
"No," you said with a laugh. "Everybody loses their temper sometimes, and despite your best efforts, you are only human after all." Ford seemed to release some of his tension then, huffing a humorless laugh and taking your hands in his so he could press kisses over your fingers. He held you gently, as if terrified you'd change your mind and want nothing to do with him and God help you, but it only made that ache between your thighs worse. Seeing this gentle giant of a man cradle you so tenderly when earlier he had been seconds away from snapping Bill's neck.
Your hitched breathing didn't escape Ford’s notice. Ever the careful spectator when it came to you, he felt his heart leaping into his throat for a brief second. Is she only placating me? Did I really frighten her? His eyes scanned your face, looking for any sign that might confirm his fears. He found signs, certainly, but not of fear. Slowly, he took note of your parted lips, the hitched and slightly stilted breathing, and your dilated pupils. Things he was extremely, intimately familiar with. Things that haunted his dirtiest dreams on long nights he couldn't spend with you.
Mind racing, he decided to test his theory. Ignoring your questioning look, he brought your hands up and draped them over his shoulders. Now free, he let one hand drop your hip. Gripping the fat there, his thumb settling smoothly in the little dip between your hip bone and your lower belly. It was his favorite place to press and massage, loving the little noises you'd let out.
You graced him with one such noise; a soft, hitched gasp, followed by your eyes going half-lidded. Ford recognized the lustful look you were giving him now, though it was guarded, somewhat. He thought he knew why and figured his darling hiding anything from him, especially something that would bring you pleasure, just wouldn't do.
He brought his other hand up, gently taking your chin in hand. His thumb traced your lower lip gently. He wasn't immune to you, far from it, and he was beginning to feel the heady feeling of his own lust mixing with the adrenaline and frustration from earlier. He felt the curious flicker of the tip of your tongue against his thumb as your lips parted and released a groan that sounded closer to a growl. Your hands gripped his shoulders then, a soft, humming mmmmnn leaving you in response.
"Ford..." Your voice was dipped in longing. He recognized the pleading edge in your tone easily. Inhaling deeply as if to steady himself, he slowly slid his touch down until his fingers curled around either side of your throat. Not squeezing, just resting there. A sinfully sweet, silent promise.
Your reaction was immediate. Your eyes fluttered closed, mouth dropping open just a little further as you let out a quiet, high moan. Ford could feel the way you pressed into his grip instead of away from it. As if silently begging him to put more pressure, to squeeze. The way you submitted to him so easily, how pliant you were in his hold, was distracting in a way he hadn't prepared for. Now that the answer to his curiosity was undeniably evident, he found himself adrift. Unsure what to do with this new and... arousing information.
Seeming to sense his floundering and taking pity on him, you brought one hand up to gently overlap with his on your throat. Opening your eyes to look at him, you squeezed your fingers around him. Encouraging him to apply a little more pressure, the look in your eyes assuring him you wouldn't break.
Ford did as you directed; slowly applying pressure to the sides of your throat until he could feel the wild kick and flutter of your pulse against his fingertips. The rush it gave him was second only to the rush he got upon seeing your reaction: your eyes rolled, lashes fluttering, and you let out a low moan of his name. Your hands moved to fist loosely in the front of his shirt. Tugging, desperately needing to feel him against you. You only released when he stepped forward, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against your curves. Including the evidence that betrayed how much he was really enjoying this, now pressed firmly against your hip.
Finding his footing now, he backed you up until you felt the cool wood of his desk against your thighs. With his other hand still on your hip, he squeezed gently. A reassuring gesture that you appreciated deeply.
"What do you want?" He asked. His voice was low and gravelly in a way you'd never heard before. It made your thighs clench, another bolt of heat going through you.
"I want you to fuck me," you said. "I want you to use me, Ford. Take it out on me, please. Remind me who I belong to."
With the beginnings of a groan rumbling in his chest, he smothered it by leaning down to kiss you. It was messy, heated, and unrestrained, and you loved it. You strained towards him, hands renewing their grip on his shirt to pull him as close as you could. His hand slipped from your throat to tangle in your hair. Using it to his advantage, he pulled harshly, separating your lips just to hear the gasping moan you let out.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned and you felt his hips roll. Grinding the hard length of him against you in a desperate bid for relief.
"Beautiful," he murmured, low and reverent. "Stunning, perfect." Each whispered word of love and praise was punctuated with a nip or a kiss down your throat. You whined his name, voice pleading.
"Ford," you panted softly. Arching into him, hands frenzied and desperate. "Ford, please -" quickly, too quickly for you to even think about it, Ford's hands are catching yours. Six fingers clamped like handcuffs around your wrists, pinning them to the desk behind your back.
"Wha-" you blinked at him, dazed and so unreasonably turned on. He stares back at you, keen eyes searching for any hint of dislike. Even just the tiniest suggestion that you dont want this. Finding none, he grins at you. Slow and dirty, and if your panties weren't ruined before, they definitely were now.
"Patience, stardust." He murmurs. Leaning in, you feel the tip of his nose skate across your cheek. Lips resting just next to your ear, you shiver when he speaks again.
"I'm going to tie those pretty wrists together with my belt. Then, I'm going to take my time with you, and you're going to take every. Last. Bit of it. Sound good, sweetheart?" He pulls back again to look you in the eyes. You swallow thickly, dizzy with the force of your own arousal.
"Yes," you say softly, voice breathy. "Yes, I- fuck, please, Ford." He chuckles softly, hands leaving yours and humming approvingly when you keep them pressed against the desk. Fingers dropping to his hips, he began to undo and pull his belt out from the loops.
"You're so beautiful," he says as he begins to loop it around your wrists. "So perfect, begging me to use you. Never knew you'd be such a little slut." The words he used were derogatory but they made you feel anything but. Laced with such a deep, tender affection, you couldn't help but feel a swell of love for this man.
When he's finished and he deems your restraints tight enough to hold you but not enough to hurt you, he touches you again. His hands grab your hips, and you can't hold in a yelp when he lifts you suddenly and sets you firmly on his desk. He steps between your legs, and you let him. One large, rough hand settles on your thigh, thumb slotting itself back against that little dip between your belly and hip, while the other winds its fingers back through your hair. Tugging your head back, he relishes in your moan and the way you squirm under him as he begins to kiss and bite along your throat.
"Ford, ohhh fuck, F-Ford-" you can't help the way you moan for him. You wonder if, somehow, the restraining of your hands is making you feel more sensitive or if you're just pavloving yourself. Either way, it's sweet, exquisite torture when he locks that perfect mouth over the sensitive juncture of your neck and shoulder. Biting and sucking a bruise that you can feel. You could've sobbed when he eventually pulled away.
"Hm.." The short noise is soft and somewhat frustrated, and you blinked your eyes open to find him staring down at your shirt with a deep set frown that almost makes you laugh. His eyes flicker to something on the desk behind you, and when they find yours again, there's a dark sort of mischief in them.
"Are you overly fond of this shirt?"
"No, its just some old college shirt. Why-" RIIIIIIIP!
No sooner had you finished speaking than Ford had picked up his letter opener, kept obscenely sharp, from the desk and used it to cut through your shirt. When he's finished, the tattered remains are left open and crumpled around your wrists; the only thing keeping them there being his makeshift handcuffs. You stare at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving and more turned on than you had any right to be. Thankfully, your bra was a front clasp, which he opened with a deft flick of his wrist, thankful that it was your favorite, and thus, he had a lot of practice with it. It joins your shirt around your wrists, and then his hands are on you.
Large, warm palms filled with either breast. Squeezing the fat and watching as it spills out around his fingers with a groan. The fascination, no, the soul-altering appreciation he had for your tits should be studied. Really. And now was no different. Your toes curled as he took your nipples between thumb and forefinger, tweaking them in a way that toed the line of pleasure and pain. His mouth comes next, biting and kissing over the swell of each breast. It was messy and borderline hedonistic but fuck, if the way he tugged at your nipples didnt make you squeal.
"Ford, Ford, Stanford please- fuck, I need- I-I need-"
"You need what, sweetheart? Need this?" Your mouth drops open, knitting together and eyes dipping up to his in hazy pleasure when he rolls his hips forward. The hard, thick shape of his cock grinds into you through the soft material of your pants. You go nearly boneless with the relief of it, finally feeling something against your aching cunt. The rapturous look on your face makes him moan. Pitchy and so, so needy as his hips begin to rock steadily against yours. His forehead presses to yours, and he kisses you, wet and open-mouthed and messy, but it feels like a promise. It feels like worship.
"Shit, sweetheart," he groans. Panting into your open mouth, hands groping feverishly, restlessly at your tits while he rolls and grinds his cock into you. "You can't- you can't look at me like that, f-fuck you know how much I love it when you look at me like that."
You did, of course. It was a not-so-secret shame of his. The look on your face when there wasn't a thought in your head but him. Usually after he'd made you cum so hard you saw stars. Never had he seen this look on your face just from a little grinding, some heavy petting. You were the more composed one of the two of you, at least when it came to sex. Ford's gaze darted down then, to where he was steadily rocking you into the desk. He watched the rough, needy push and pull of his hips against you. How he could see his cock pushing into the fat of your cunt even through the layers. Wait, was that-?
"Oh- ooohhhh sweetheart," he moans like he'd just found god. In reality, what he saw was the wide, wet stain on the front of his trousers. It's too wide to be from him this early. He swallows thickly, hand dragging down, down, down, until he can press two fingers against your slit through your pants.
"Ohhh, sweet girl, you're just drenched for me, aren't you?" You whine, rutting your hips against his fingers, wishing it was his face you were fucking yourself down on.
"Well, that can be arranged." Ford's words have you blinking in confusion, realizing too late that you must have said that out loud, and he's dropping to his knees on the carpet. Uncaring of any pain as he anchors his hands behind your knees and lifts your legs. Dropping them over his shoulders to dangle uselessly against his back while he mouths messily at your pussy through the thin fabric of your lounge pants.
"Mmph- fucking divine, perfect-" he moans into you, wet and wrecked and desperate. You claw at the wood of his desk, hips jerking. You have no idea how or why but fuck it feels so good to have him like this. Almost feral with how he's tonguing at your folds.
"Hang on, don't- fuck, don't think a letter opener is gonna cut this-" you barely have time to process his words, to even think, before he's pulling away and you're practically sobbing with the loss. He slides his hands up your thighs to grab handfuls of the fabric of your pants on either side and, before you can say anything, pulls hard. You hear the loud sound of fabric tearing, and suddenly, you're much more bare than you were before. Bare and blushing as Ford stares at you. Gapes, really. Mouth open and almost drooling as he gets an eye full of your wet, desperate pussy and no panties.
"God, you really are a slut huh?" You yelp as Ford lands a wet smack! to your drenched cunt. Your legs twitch but can't close, forced open by his mountainous shoulders. "So fucking wet - look at this, you're sticking to my fingers," another smack! and you look down to find sticky strings of pearlescent slick webbing from your folds to his fingers. You blushed as he caught your eyes and grinned. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks them clean with a wet, messy sound.
"Perfection." Is all he utters. You don't have a second, not even a micro moment, before he's shoving himself face first into you. Licking a broad, wet stripe up your slit and fucking moaning into your cunt. He cracks his jaw open wider, determined to drink every ounce of what you had to offer. Your thighs are trembling against him already, and this only seems to make him hungrier.
Ford eats you out like a man on a mission. Like he was a dying man, and you were his only salvation. The way he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, tongue lashing at the little nub, makes your arms start to tremble where they're holding you up. Your back curves, heels digging into him and spurring him on. The wet, messy sounds of Ford sucking your fucking soul out through your cunt are all you can hear. That and his frankly aggressive noises. Low moans and almost growls, interspersed with brief moments when he comes up for air:
"So fucking good."
"God, I love feeling the way you shake."
"Awww, s'that it? That the spot, darling?"
"No one. No one else, ever. You hear me? You're fucking mine."
He punctuates that last one by sliding two, thick fingers into your cunt and curling them. Coupled with a harsh lick to your clit and you're cumming. Eyes rolling, back bowing, hips jerking. You're like a woman possessed, and Ford is happily drowning in it with you. Literally and figuratively, as your clenching cunt practically gushes on his face and hand. He laps at it like a dog, cock twitching in his slacks and seconds away from bursting. Just from the feeling of your honeyed slick dripping down his throat, flooding his senses.
Once your breathing settles a little, Ford is standing and manhandling you. You relish in it more than you probably should; the way strong hands grip you tight, pushing and pulling your body until you're bent over his desk, standing on your toes and spreading your legs. You hear his zipper and shuffling, then feel him as he slides the thick weight of his cock against your dripping slit.
"Fooorrrd~" you whine, wiggling your hips. "Ford, please, I need you." You hear his strangled groan. Feel his hand as it drops to grip the belt holding your hands together. He pins you to the desk effortlessly, and you gasp.
"Who do you belong to?" His voice is low, gravelly, and rough with need. You whine as his hips begin to move. With every forward thrust of his hips, you feel the head of his cock brushing your oversensitive clit.
"Fuck- you!" You moan out. He groans low and deep, the sound reverberating into your bones.
"Who takes care of you?" He asks. "Who makes you feel so good your toes curl and your vision goes black?"
"You! Ford, please, I-"
"Who makes you cum like this?" He doesn't miss a beat, doesn't even acknowledge your begging and it makes you even wetter. "Who fucks you so good, so deep, you'll never want anyone else?" You feel the head of his cock slowly breach your entrance and you almost cried with relief. When he only fucked you with the tip, using short, shallow thrusts, you actually did cry. Needy tears slipping down over your cheeks, much to Ford’s enjoyment.
"Mm you, you, Ford! Only you, no one else! Please, please, I need-" You're cut off when, simultaneously, Ford wraps one hand around your throat and lifts you so your back is plastered to his front and slides in to the hilt. Your breath leaves you in a rush, feeling suddenly and deliciously full.
You both moan in unison. Ford's hand around your throat squeezes and your cunt flutters in time.
"Oh- oh, fuck sweetheart," he groans into your ear, head dropping to rest on your shoulder. His hips start to move, starting up a slow pace that has him grinding into your sweet spot on every thrust. Your legs shake and tremble with the effort of keeping you up.
"Fuck you feel so good, God I love you- you're so- so perfect, so tight, fucking hell so tight, never want anyone else. No one, just you, only you fuck-!" He babbles the words into your ear and against your skin, clearly pussydrunk and so worshipful as your greedy pussy clenches and flutters around him. He drags his mouth along your skin. Teeth biting and nipping, marking you to hell. Determined that anyone who looks at you will know you're his.
"Yours-!" You gasped. "All yours Ford, only yours- only ever- ever wanted you, oh-!" Your words make him moan, cock twitching dangerously inside you. Using his free hand, he slides down to cup your messy cunt, thumb swiping across your hypersensitive, swollen clit quickly. You jerked in his hold, whining his name as the overstimulation made you shake. Ford cooed at you, kissing your neck and shoulder.
"Cmon, sweetheart, you can give me one more cant you? I know you can~ cmon, one more before I f-fill you up," he groans when you squeeze tight around him at those last words. "Yeah? S'that what you want, honey? Want me to- to fill you up and s-stuff you full? Fuck, think I might get you pregnant- god, you'd look so pretty, s'pretty n perfect n'mine-" it's Ford's pussydrunk babbling coupled with his movements on your clit and inside your cunt that push you over the edge. You can't hold in a loud moan of his name, pussy fluttering around his length as you gushed around him.
Ford practically chokes, feeling the way to tighten and flutter around him. His hips jerk and he fucks you through it with long, punishing thrusts. Quickly, he pins you back to the desk, feeling unhinged and broken as he wrings every little noise from you he can with his harsh pacing and even harsher thrusts.
"You're mine." You feel more than hear him growl the words into your skin, front stuck to your back and pressing you into the wood as his hips still against you. Buried to the hilt, you feel him twitch, then floor your insides full and then some. You moan, relishing in the feeling, and silence, save for the sound of your shared panting, blankets you both.
You spend long moments trying to catch your breath and basking in the afterglow. When he pulls out, you wince. Feeling his sticky release start to drip out of you almost immediately. Ford is silent, and you can practically feel his eyes on you. You open your mouth to say his name, to question him, but all that comes out is a startled whine when you feel his fingers swipe at the mess, smearing it against your pussy and pushing it back in. You clench around his fingers, now slowly fucking his cum back into you, when he speaks:
I hope you don’t think I’m too cruel, but I feel like you write the Reader with too much of an image in your head to not allow us to give into our own imaginations. Like you say the Reader always smells like Vanilla or give them pink panties and etc.,
Nonnie, you make an excellent point !
I think my problem is that I get way too into the vision in my own head (and I don't proofread NEARLY enough) and I rely too much on the usual descriptors for immersion if that makes sense ?? so the vision ends up a little too rigid, which is definitely not what I want.
I've also never really written anything like this before, and I've definitely never posted, so it's definitely still a learning curve for me! I want you guys to be able to fully enjoy the work that I put out and be able to see yourselves in it, though, so I really appreciate getting these little pieces of constructive criticism! I will definitely be keeping this in mind with the next few fics I'm writing!
And you weren't cruel at all, dear. Very helpful and kind! I appreciate you!
Don't be afraid to speak your mind here, I promise I don't bite! We're all adults at the end of the day and as long as everyone is kind and understanding and we treat each other with respect, I am more than happy to hear what you have to say whether that's praise or helpful critique!🫶🏻
• always brings you back a rock or something obscure from every expedition.
• says “i missed you” even after just a few hours apart.
• checks the temperature of your tea.
• fixes things around the house without telling you, tightens cabinet hinges, replaces lightbulbs, polishes your favorite ring.
• gets defensive when people question your intelligence.
• over-explains basic shit just because he's excited you asked.
• always reads the ingredients on your skincare bottles. and warns about dangerous compounds
• if you wear glasses, he cleans them for you. wipes them on the hem of his shirt and calls it acts of service.
• makes you tea and stands there awkwardly waiting for you to say it’s good.
• will stop mid-sentence in a lecture to stare at you and smile like a fool.
• will ignore a broken rib if he's on the edge of a discovery. but god forbid you get a paper cut.
• runs his thumb over your lips before kissing you.
• builds a pillow fort just to read with you, then ends up kissing you inside until the books fall over.
• asks “may i?” for kisses before taking them. he always asks for kisses, even when it’s obvious you’ll give him one, still wants permission.
• groans, barely audible, when you rake your nails through his hair. really likes it when you touch him like that.
• he just likes when you tug his hair during a kiss and gets flustered about it afterward.
• never interrupts you mid-sentence, even when you’re rambling. likes it when you share things.
• stares at your lips when you speak. they’re more captivating than stars.
• ties your shoes for you if you’re sleepy or tipsy or just lazy. he doesn't mind.
• stares at you instead of the stars when he’s stargazing.
• carries you up the stairs when your legs give out, murmuring soft reassurances that you’re safe with him.
• kisses you before dangerous experiments, every time, just in case. never skips it. for luck
• gets super flushed if you touch his thigh even a little bit.
• folds you into his chest after fights.
• says “don’t tempt me” with zero idea how sexy he sounds when he says it.
• gets turned on by intelligent conversation, you repeating his smart phrases or words drives him insane.
• calls it “making love” . tries to be polite in bed and asks if things are okay like every three minutes.
• grips your thighs way too tight during foreplay, he doesn’t know his strength.
• gets hard when you chew on pens. every time.
• is really possessive but tries to act chill.
• 100% gets flustered if you compliment his hands, fingers, forearms.
• loves when you sit on the desk while he works but can’t concentrate at all.
• presses his lips to your spine in the mornings when you’re still half-asleep.
• hates asking for help but lets you wash his hair in the shower once and then keeps asking.
• gets off on eye contact but doesn’t realize that’s what he’s doing.
• ashamed he makes noises during sex he did not mean to make.
• gets way too turned on when you’re barefoot for some reason.
• calls you “darling” when he’s trying not to say “please let me fuck you”
• he would 100% name a star after you. or a species.
• bites the end of pens. always has ink on his tongue. one time he kissed you like that
• when he figured out how the phone works, he'll definitely send you photos of bugs, butterflies, moss, random flowers, trees, anomalies, fossils.
• says “careful, darling” whenever you touch sharp objects as if you're not a full-grown adult.
• loves when you leave lipstick stains on his collar. keeps samples of your lipstick color just to recreate the print you left on him once.
• so good with his fingers it's unfair.
• tells you what he’s doing as he does it. like “i’m going to touch you here now” and then does and stares at you, watching your reaction.
• has definitely taken your underwear “for analysis”
• will edge you for hours just to test your limits, kissing your cheek, saying “come on now, just one more for me”
• gets off on your brain fog. like when he’s done with you and you can’t talk right.
• whispers “easy now, love, i’ve got you” when you get overwhelmed.
• and then grips your wrists above your head when he wants you to stay still.
• but also really into slow, grinding sex that lasts forever. he wants full-body contact. loves feeling your weight on him, chest to chest, just slowly dragging yourself over his cock until he’s whimpering.
• jerks off way too often while thinking about very specific things you’ve said or worn.
• he’s extremely into humping, like desperate, fully clothed, dry humping against your ass while hugging you from behind. it’s shameful how much he gets off on it.
• he gets embarrassingly turned on from making out for too long, like five minutes in and he’s already leaking. he hates how fast he gets worked up and always tries to act casual but fails every time. but Ford loves kisses very much. too much.
• blushes furiously when you say smth unexpected, but god, he remembers every word for days.
• strokes your calf under the blanket while he reads. doesn’t stop even when you fall asleep + rubs your calves just generally always. doesn't notice he’s doing it. it's just what he does now.
• gets handsy when he’s focused, places you in his lap to, as he says, save space in the lab, but then grips your waist when you're fidgety. he will never finish his project but at least he’ll finish in his pants.
• sometimes groans your name during sleep.
• presses his nose into the crook of your neck when he's overstimulated and secretly loves being overstimulated.
• has a weak spot for the way you smell after a long day, less perfume, more you. leans into your neck and hums when you're sweaty and soft and sleepy. gets off on your scent.
• mumbles “good one / girl / boy” without realizing it when you obey him gently, even outside the bedroom, when you do everyday things.
• places his forehead to your chest when he’s ashamed.
• leaves his glasses on during sex always because he wants to watch.
• corrects your grammar while fingering you. he’s awful like that.
• outside the bedroom, corrects your grammar out of reflex too but apologizes immediately after when he sees your face.
• loves when you correct him too. gets all hot and bothered. “yes. yes. you're right, my darling. you’re always right.”
• pulls you into his lap after lectures. “you looked too good sitting there. couldn’t concentrate”
• whispers “just one more” before every kiss, and then five kisses later still hasn’t let you go.
• gets overwhelmed during kissing and starts pushing. backing you up against a wall, gripping your waist, breathing too hard, muffled groans into your mouth, grinding against you, humping you.
• leans in to smell your hair constantly, especially when you’ve just showered or come in from the cold. but the best thing is if you were busy all day or after workout, etc.
• kisses your temple before going down on you.
• washes your hair for you in the shower.
• melts when you kiss his fingertips.
• buys books he thinks you’d like and awkwardly gives them to you.
• watches you read with an expression that should be illegal.
• lets you fall asleep on top of him and doesn’t move all night.
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