I fucking hate looking through your blog bc I've already LIKED ALL THESE POSTS, AND I CANT LEAVE A SECOND LIKE, FUCKING CRIMINAL!!!!!!!! :(( also totally okay if not but could I request a small drabble? I really love your work and if I had the money I'd tip you all the time♥︎ imagine if you will; stan having a kink for fucking himself with random shit, like more than actual sex or toys. Just about anything he sees thats vaguely dick shaped hes like "hm wonder if I could make that fit." Which is fine for the most part, uses lube, uses things he can hold onto all that jazz until one day he puts something like a pool ball in his ass and it gets stuck and he's so embarrassed about it so he doesn't say anything, but after a day and a half he's uncomfortable, sore, and starting to get worried so he musters up the courage to ask the only person he'd trust to see him like that for help, Ford♥︎ cue Ford being so shocked and confused but also turned on and impressed and he's like "yes I will absolutely help come to the basement" he gets it out after like 2 hours and they fuck sloppy style about it♥︎ sorry for the incredibly long ask and feel free to ignore i just love your stuff! -M♥︎
HI WHAT A SWEET ASK THIS MEANT THE WORLD TO ME TO READ <3 THANK YOUUUU absolutely what a fantastic idea!
stan with objectophilia HRNG GOD YES. pre-relationship stan asking for help with said stuck object (POOL BALLL AAAGHHH) from FORD. this is the perfect set up for a platonic -> romantic pipeline :)
He doesn't care if people laugh at his jokes, he doesn't want to be laughed at. It's one thing if it's for show, Stan's so used to performing to make people feel like they're getting their money's worth on tours, but not about things he can't help. Like his wrinkles, or how he still has a limp from sleeping in his car.
Stan laid on his side upon his bed, distracts himself by staring at the window in his room. The note he left for Ford itched away at his thoughts every minute or so that passed. A violent frown twitched onto his face, wishing he could touch himself but he can't. Not when that's the issue, what got him in this stupid situation.
Wanting to get off on different objects have left Stan in a certain amount of trouble. Not immediate, but enough to need help soon. All he'd wanted was to experiment himself in his own weird way, He's crossing his damn fingers that having admitted it in writing will indicate that Stan's serious, hoping Ford would have some magical fix-it way but not knowing exactly what his approach will be made him curl up tighter into a ball.
-
Ford walked back into the Shack and down to his lab again, not feeling as dreadful about it now that the apocalypse is three days behind them. He'd gone for a long stroll, thinking about his life's work and current desires. At one point, he'd considered every bit of his writing precious, now it seemed... embarrassing to take himself so seriously.
It stemmed from Stan's acceptance of his mistakes, and forgiving him. Maybe if he were as lack with rules and restrictions as Stan is with, well... most things he'd have an easier time getting along with his brother. In the past he'd do anything to be seen as valuable and better than what he considered his worse parts, his fingers, but now they ache to have Stan's skin against them. To have him close.
There's a white letter envelope on his desk as he approached. It's as if it were mail, but no return or delivery address. But there in the postage corner- '#?#'. It's their code, his chest tightened.
SOS.
Ripping it open, there's a letter, all in their 'Bro code' from ages ago. Something Ford would never forget. He read it quickly, and barely even registered his feet moving to a different level as he folded the paper into his jacket.
-
Door creaking open and close behind him, Stan doesn't move, heart pounding in his ears at the conversation to come. Closing his eyes, he relished this silence, knowing it would be the last comfortable one for a moment.
"Um, Stanley?" His footsteps move closer to Stan, and he doesn't want to answer. Not at all, he's already embarrassed. At least he isn't in the hospital. Yet.
"Mmh."
"I received a letter with a message from you. This is from you, correct?"
He doesn't sound angry, more confused than any other emotion. Which in turn confused Stan, "Yeah, who else?"
"I don't know, I've had false letters delivered to me before. Anyway, may I go over this with you? I have a few questions." Stan can feel him sit down on the edge of the bed behind his legs, and his face burns like hell. He can't even respond before Ford continued, "To my understanding, there is an object stuck inside your intestines, and you're requesting... my help?"
"Moses, yes!" Stan shook his head, "What wasn't clear about the letter and why are we still talking about it? Do you have some sort of magic laxative or not?"
"Hah, 'magic' laxative. You're hilarious as usual, no. How did it get stuck inside you? Am I correct to assume that it was through the anus?"
"...yeah."
"Your letter said 'it's been up there a while,' how long has it been stuck?"
"Um, since last night."
"Right. Okay." There's a distinct pause. "I'm going to assume that you've tried multiple things to get it out and get right to the point: I need to see where it is inside of you, I have an x-ray machine down in the lab that works decently well. Are you alright to walk?"
Stan turned to stare at him, and if he wasn't mistaken, he's got a blush too. "You're willing to help me out?"
"Yes, going to a hospital might be unnecessary depending on the location. Are you able to walk?"
"Y-Yeah, let's uh, go do that then."
He'd gotten the x-ray no problem, and Stan laid against a stark table like a frog they'd dissected in science class once. Now he's waiting again, mouth tucked down in a corner as the minutes passed. He'd guess about twenty faded by before Ford's return from the other basement floor.
"So, good news! It's not too far inside therefore I have options. We could go with a laxative but it's become uncomfortable, I highly doubt you want to wait any longer for it to pass. My alternative may be unorthodox, but I'm confident I can remove it with minimal issue manually with a bit of lubricant and a pain reliever, muscle relaxer combo."
"Manually?"
"...Is that alright? It's certainly less invasive than surgery and I'm not confident in my ability to sterilize the air down here-"
"What do you mean by manually?"
"With my hand, of course. I planned on washing and using sterilizing wipes."
Mouth hung open impossibly wide, eyebrows raised to high hell, Stan choked out a noise before a cough. "And-and that's alright with you?"
"Yes. I'm quite impressed you can fit something that wide, it must've been... quite the stretch." His voice tapered off into a weak whisper. Ford coughed awkwardly, and said, "Regardless, that's what the pain reliever will be for, the soreness afterwards."
"Shit. Okay, uh, sure." As it stands, it's still completely platonic between them. Half chubbed, Stan's pulse throbs in his throat. He's going to have to see everything, again, platonically. Ford's eyes would be on Stan's dick and he'd be none the wiser to how many times he's jerked himself off hard and fast, clutching the nearest furniture while pretending it was some part of his twin. Like the sick bastard he is. So he compensated with objects.
"Um, taking off your underwear is necessary-"
"Alright, Sixer, give a man a second to mentally prepare, would ya? Besides, don't I need some meds in me first?" He turned his face away to remove his boxers, waiting for Ford to grab the necessary equipment.
He's back instantly, lube in one hand and a white pill in the other. Only one instruction followed: "Open wide."
-
Barely paying any attention to his hard cock, Ford had completely focused on the task at hand. The only indication that Stan had of if his brother was into this was the shaky way he'd muttered, "Let's get started."
Ford patiently, thoroughly fingered him, stretching Stan's hole wider to accommodate for... forearm width. It was damn near close to perfect in Stan's eyes, the only issue being the emotional constipation they both inherited. It's wrong, but he wants Ford like he wanted girlfriends in high school. Up to four fingers, Ford announced each out loud to let him know how close he was to inserting. Stan could see his pulled up sleeve, the etching of old scars on his arms as his hand worked inside him.
And only now does Ford attempt to make small talk. "Do you often put objects in yourself?"
"Yeah, clearly."
"Can I ask the appeal of said sensation?"
"Ugh. Some stuff just looks like it'd feel good against my prostate and whatnot. I uh, like when stuff feels different. And that whatever it is, it's not meant to go up there."
"So, it's not related to a lack of a partner."
"No."
"Last finger, Stanley."
He hissed at it's slow and stretching entry. It's kind of funny for Stan to be on the receiving end of this situation. Although, he would've expected Ford and him to have finally, truly forgive each other and couple up. Then they'd do freaky shit, and eventually get to this point. He even had a sexy line for if that happened, 'Why don't you fist me with those skilled fingers of yours?'
"Thumb."
That was more of a stretch, and he can't help moan through it. Stan's thighs tremble, feeling the new impossible width. Finding it hard to keep his composure with so much pressure on his prostate, Stan made eye contact with him and felt his hole clench around Ford's hand.
"I have a question that I hope you're not offended by." He bluntly stated.
Stan hesitated with his mouth for a second, eyebrows furrowing down, "Can't hardly be offended like this."
"When I was stretching you, you weren't alarmed as I'd imagined. You're alert, but seem..."
"Experienced, Sixer. Yeah, I've done stuff like this a time or two."
"Did you exclusively sleep with men, or was it both?"
More lube is applied with Ford's untrapped hand. "Hey, maybe it, aaaah," Stan felt his hand distinctly rotate, knuckles rubbing a hot electric feeling alive in his groin. "Ladies wear straps too, could've been just that."
"So it was both then." His subtle movements pump deeper, and Stan's ears ring for a few seconds. "-er question."
"What?"
"Are you into the size of said objects, like increasing sizes and challenges gets you going?"
"No, just like how they feel rubbing inside."
There's a give a few seconds later, Ford pushing forth and removing the direct pressure off Stan's prostate but giving his guts very mixed signals with the intrusion. Glancing at his face for any look of disapproval, Stan instead saw a slight frown and eyebrows scrunched.
"...Then how come you were erect before I started?" Ford shook his head lightly, "I'd expect it from the prostate stimulation, not from talking about helping you remove your foreign object. Is it the fantasy of being caught? Was it nervousness from having to be naked?" There's an unknown tone that Stan hasn't ever heard from him, baritone and to the point.
"Moses, Ford. None of those."
A moment passed, and Ford hadn't moved or made further progress. "Then what was it?" Another heavy ten seconds of Ford's wrist muscles shifting, still spreading his aching hole. "Stan."
Gritting his teeth, "Get the ball out and I'll tell you."
"Ah, forgive my distractedness," Ford reapplied much lube, a thick line all the way up to his forearm and rubbing it in, "This will feel uncomfortable when I grab it. When I pull out, there will be more resistance, more stretch. Are you ready?"
"Y-Yeah, go ahead." The plunge is immediate, and at least the medicine made his head more floaty, because Stan doesn't feel anything despite the intrusive stretch. "I have it." Until Ford's retracting his arm, that is. There's an increased pressure on his prostate again, and Stan rolled his eyes back, head hitting the table. "Uuuuhhhff- fuck."
"I'm going to pull out now," Ford nearly whispered, bent over him like an experiment, with the audacity to flush about it. Stan breathed out, and Ford took the chance. Going slow, he pulled out his hand a centimeter at a time, Stan groaning at the maximum width.
It was pulled free, Stan panting and humming, totally not whining.
"What was it? What turned you on?"
Grunting out, "Why?" Stan tried to focus his unsteady vision on him.
"You said you'd tell me."
"Mmmh," Folding his arms over his chest, Stan glared to the side. "Fine. It was you. I picked up this habit when I was fantasizing being you down here, looking over your journal and papers and notes. I uh, know it's weird but I pretended to be you studying what it felt like."
Stan's eyes were locked onto the wall for the longest time, only until he needed to. He'd heard Ford make some type of breathy noise, to see him slack jawed and staring at him wide eyed.
"U-Um, how curious," Ford softly spoke, "Do you- So does that mean-"
"What, Sixer?"
"Was? Meaning, past tense. But you still perform the activity of object insertion." He looked unfazed for now, Stan isn't convinced he himself is in the clear.
"Things I put inside me is a fun thing I do when I get bored. I still uh, get off thinkin' of you, how could I not? We share a damn face, after all."
"Is that... all?" His brother sounded distraught, lightly frowning as if that's all Stan saw in him.
Scoffing, he replied, "Of course not. You're good at puzzles too, that's pretty attractive if you ask me."
Ford chuckled then, offhandedly saying, "Well, there might be hope yet."
Stan glanced down at the tented fabric, biting his lip before staring him down pointedly, "Yeah, I'm hoping for something, alright."
"You want me now? Are you sure? My attraction towards you shouldn't be taken lightly. Besides, you were uncomfortable from the-"
"I'm serious too, Ford. Get inside me before I pass away from old age."
"Not on my watch." He made haste, whipping apart his belt and unzipping, doing as told and pressing up against Stan's hole. Both letting out a low grunt, Stan watched as Ford lubed himself and easily slipped inside, edging upward and deliberately slid against the sensitive bundle of nerves. One of Ford's hands latched onto his leg. Stan's hands grab at his shoulders, pulling Ford closer to use him as leverage, hips twitching to fuck himself on that cock of his. "Stan-ley," Ford choked out.
"Oh fuck, yes, yes, Sixer! Moses, please, harder." Over the slapping sounds that only lightly echo through the basement, they move in tandem, Ford working faster to obliterate his stress and woes. "Fuck, Ford, Fooord-" Stan moaned, but ramped up to yelling seconds after, body taught with his legs locked around his twin's waist.
With his eyes still squinted closed, he heard the crescendo of Ford's pants. Moaning louder and louder until Ford finally exclaimed, Stan opened his eyes and felt his cum hot inside his hole. Ford's grip on Stan's hip and leg lessen, and they untangle to help Stan's back relax.
"May I politely suggest an object you cannot lose so easily inside? Unless you want my forearm inside you, that is."
"Don't tempt me, I might just act out for attention's sake."
Snorting lightly, Ford replied, "Duly noted."