Unsurprising news: I've been incapable of writing this whole time. My writing? Actually mediocre at best. I need to go become good at writing, like, fucking yesterday. Noticeably better content to come in the future‼️
DUDE THAT ASK ABOUT BILL. Don't even think I'm gonna defend him, The fire that burned its dimension was less painful than that BURN! OH MY GOD. That ask was so delicious I wish I could print it in Edible paper and eat as a Dessert every single day. Do I get annoying at saying you write so beautiful? Hope not ye gonna hear it OFTEN <3
Awh I am so happy that you find my writing to be good :))
Though I do have to admit to something. I wrote that entire thing half asleep, eyes barely open, high, on the night before an important test, at 1am. That is to say that I don't remember a single damn word I said. I hope I called him a coward. If I didn't do it then, I certainly did it now. He's such a cheap nihilistic whore my god. I may need to make ANOTHER ask ranting about how much I hate that fucker; but I think my tags on this one shall suffice for now.
I hc she (they, the dolls) come from the sky angelic like. Choosing a muse they enchance light, maybe is because they connect their essence with the human musw, but! They're headcanons!!! Sjksms here have some more versions <3
Gosh, thank you for existing and being the most awesome & cool person in Tumblr <3 Never stop creating dear cloud ✨️💖
BROTHER‼️‼️
AAAAAHH‼️
Omgghfhfhg I cannot put into words how grateful I am for this stuff‼️‼️‼️‼️you drew her so pretty and AH‼️ YES‼️❗️‼️❗️‼️
Before my usual activities ensue, I need to say
They do come from the sky (because they are aliens), I do have a fun fact about that: they first landed on earth in the smack middle of a crop field in Brazil far away from civilization in the most intensely affected region by the south atlantic anomaly, landing there due to the lower influence of the magnetic field and significantly higher radiation levels at roughly the height where the secondary and much smaller ships orbit the planet. The more radiation the better! Photosynthesis being exclusive to plants is such a scam, they can do it too.
On "connecting their essence with the human muse", if you count quite literally offering microdoses of the drug (which have been associated with a generally better quality of life in almost all aspects from productivity to mood enhancing) that they produce within them, which is arguably an essence, then yes, absolutely! If you guess precisely how they administer the drug, I will congratulate you thoroughly.
Now.
I do spy with my little eyes something that quite interests me
That's. A butterfly.
I didn't know you liked those‼️ should have told me earlier. I need to know way more about you.
Have a little something something
This was probably one of my favourite designs because I wasn't limiting myself to stupid idiotic modern fashion. Oh how I love myself some frills‼️
I do think it would be interesting. To be a new citizen at gravity falls and quickly growing a connection to the nerdy looking country man that got a hold of your heartstrings. He was funny, relativelly charismatic (it may just be you alone standing on that hill- he's.. passionate let's say. I wouldn't call it charismatic by any stretch of the imagination), shy in a way that made flirting with him absolutely delightful, and, most of all, incredibly smart. What was there not to love?
Though things got weird when you questioned why he was often gone for long periods of time on certain days of the week- it would be a perfectly reasonable response to say that he is simply working on his research, crafting something- something more prone to exploding, which he wouldn't want you to be around, thus explaining away your concerns for him. But he can see the pain in your eyes. He may be shy but he's by no means oblivious: he knows you've been through things you'd rather never have gone through. Everyone has.
And who is he to deny you the peace of mind you so clearly deserve?
So he comes somewhat clean; tells you all about how he invented something truly revolutionary, how it could change lives in seconds, improve things years of work wouldn't come close to doing, how it's saved his life much more than once, and how it's been by far his best creation.
A memory wiper.
You were taken off guard, though you let him continue: he tells you about how he knows you've been through so very much, how he knows you could reach your full potential if you weren't held back by your past experiences, he holds your hand as he rambles on and on about how wonderful you are, how much better your life would be if you gave his invention a chance, how happy you both could be, you with your new, more capable mind, and him, with the peace of mind of knowing that you felt safer than you ever felt before.
It was a tempting offer.
You allow him to take you to one of his meetings: a cult, clearly, but you wouldn't tell him that. He was much to excited to have your trust. If you didn't want to have your traumas wiped away, he'd simply delete the memory of the whole encounter off your mind, and everything could go back to normal.
Though things didn't go as he'd planned, they don't tend to go his way in most occasions.
He felt deeply comforted by having your belief in him- you were the only person he truly considered himself to be close to that never hurt him in any way, you were someone he could rely on for any of his social needs, and, you were someone he was immensely attracted to, despite how immoral it felt to be that way, even moreso to admit to it.
Everything about you got to him, really. Your glances at him, your hands on his, your care for his wants, your hugs, your smell, your sleeping face-- gods how he loved to have you on top of him, even if he knew (thought) you'd never do it while fully conscious.
And that brings us to his fantasies, which are just as frequent as your encounters. The kisses you'd never shared, the intimate touches he could only ever crave. It all led him to be head over heels for you, lost completly in all that is you.
And to know he was going to bring you the peace of mind of not even knowing of the horrors of this world that you'd seen? It brought him pride, joy, butterflies to his stomach. He was going to make you truly happy.
He didn't think he'd be the one with his brain emptied by the end of the night, he never thought it possible. But his fantasies were brought to life! Everything he'd ever wanted: your approval, your sweet words, your appreciation, your trust, your touch, your love. All given to him on a silver platter. All he had to do was make a choice.
Throw away his morals, do everything he's been yearning for so desperately, ignore his family back at home. You didn't want him to forget about his family, no, you wanted him to live with the fact he'd betrayed their trust to have yours. That you were worth more to him than the woman he's had children with.
How he was brought to this predicament he knows all too well: you caught him as he spiraled down a rabbit hole of increasingly sick thoughts about you and him, saw him in his most vulnerable state, nearly cowering before you as he begged for your forgiveness and attempted to hide how hard he was, all for you.
Your sickeningly sweet tone betrayed your offer, it was worded virtually in the same way as his offer to you. Live his best life, do everything he's been holding himself back from doing, you know he's been through a lot, a lot you didn't want him to bother himself with: ditch the ring, have his dreams.
And he couldn't deny you, he was most definetly not god's strongest soldier when it came to matters regarding you.
And he let you ruin him- defile him, do as you pleased with him: and he begged you to not erase your memory of this. To not erase his, even. He needed to remember this. He needed you to remember it, he wanted to commit every single detail about the night to memory and never have it go away. Oh how he held onto you like you were his only tether to reality.
And this scenario of him begging for you to keep your memory of this repeated itself for every other time he needed you. And let me tell you, you'd come to hear his desperate sounding voice as he pleaded with you much more often than you'd expect.
Ohohooo, you DARE put a beautiful goddess in front of me after everything you done? After the wonderous gifts of both drawings and writings based off of what I post? Yet despite all that, the greatest gift you have given me was one you could have never anticipated!!!
The gratitude I have for everything you've drawn and written can't be expressed with the keyboard smash I often do, nor could it be properly articulated with a grammatically correct sentence. Thus, I thought it only fair I offer art of my own.
Your kindness and generosity has not only made me feel special but it's also sparked the will for me to actually TRY again with my art, all in the name of hoping to give back even the fraction of the feeling to you. Both life and illness had made me give up putting actual effort in my art. Yet I knew that I wanted to try my absolute hardest on whatever I decided to make for you.
Thank you for your kindness and I hope for many more chances to see your wonderous creations!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Can you tell I love her?)
OH MY GOD.
OH MY GOD??!!?!?!!?!
My first ask and it's this MASTERPIECE from you??? OH GOODNESS... I am MUCH TOO LUCKY to be having you around‼️‼️
I am unfathomably proud to be someone who inspired your art, especially since it is so beautiful. But I hope you know that I can't just let this slide.
I can't just let you give me something this beautiful without giving anything back ofc‼️
Have jerry in a pretty dress of my design, with many more to come. Watch your asks uno, because I'm not close to done.
Something something mullet stan whoring himself out to you because you gave him basic human respect and kindness
Yeah. He's sure knows how he got here, pressed against your much softer skin. He knows it all too well.
How you offered to pay for the food he was previously planning to steal during rush hour at a local diner in your city.
How you made conversation with him while he sat across from you, leaning closer to him on your seat so he wouldn't need to strain his clearly overworked and abused vocal chords on answering you.
How you encouraged him to tell you more about himself, something he didn't expect himself to be so inclined to do- had you put a spell on him? Lying to you seemed like a bigger crime than all of the fraud and theft he'd ever done.
How you laughed at his little jokes, how you didn't seem to know he was at his lowest.
Well, he didn't seem to notice it either when he was around you. So much so that he made plans to meet with you later at the very same diner.
Oh how his heart skipped a beat when you held his hand as you guided him to the exit- after paying for his food, after being so careful when you noticed you'd touched on a sensitive topic for him while talking to him, after looking at him not with anger, not with disgust, not with pity- but instead with compassion.
He really didn't believe in love at first sight, you know? He didn't fall for any of that sappy stuff. But when he stared into your eyes with the most lovestruck gaze as you said your goodbyes, he knew. And he knew just as well as he knows now, with your gentle touch against him.
He didn't deserve you. He had it confirmed in his mind during your second meeting at the diner. He worked hard to earn the extra 20 dollars to make absolutely sure that he could afford to pay for you this time: he felt this desperate need to impress you that nothing but attraction could explain away. He could feel his pain and struggle melt into nothing whenever he talked to you, he could feel his heart racing, he could feel his eyes darting to places where they shouldn't-
He just couldn't help himself huh? Getting treated like person got him all worked up and much too bothered in his own clothes. But again, he couldn't help himself. He didn't remember the last time that he was treated with respect... did it ever even happen?
The rest of the date was a blur to him right now. His memory failed him like never before: he could think of nothing more than the current moment and how perfect it felt. It was foreign to poor little stanley, you see... to be caught in such a vulnerable and needy state. You continue to caress his sides as you slip your hands underneath his tshirt, leaning down to kiss him again. He kissed back with such fervor that you'd imagine you were his last meal on this earth.
You had found him to be quite lovely from the moment you first met. Even if his memory failed him, yours certainly didn't. You remembered the night well: how it started with you holding his hand again, to him confessing that you were beautiful to him, to him impulsively kissing you as you both left, which now led to him laying down on a motel bed, getting oh so sweetly ruined by you.
You really were making a mess of him, running your hands over his scars, kissing down his neck then back up at his lips, slowly pulling his pants down- letting him grind against you, calling him all sorts of different pet names. He felt like his heart was beating out of his chest, he was so very grateful.
And he planned on voicing it.
As you pulled back from him and sat directly atop his crotch, you could see the product of your work. He was panting, body exposed for your enjoyment alone, sweating, letting out little gasps of your name, eyelids tightly shut. Though, soon noticing you weren't advancing your contact with him any further, he'd opened his eyes slightly, with much effort- and there, staring at you with tears threatening to flow out, he couldn't stop himself from smiling.
"Thank you-" his voice cracked as he spoke, "you're an angel"
Answering some of the questions from the lovely @single-eutanasia
It really is weird isn't it? It gets even weirder when you have the full context.
Remember how I said that there are multiple of her? By multiple I mean hundreds of thousands of her. Their goal is to spread the love, sure, but no one ever tends to ask what this means to them. You see, they're the main (sentient) defense mechanism of a (thus far) type 3 civilization on the kardashev scale, higher if you count their connections to fractal and higher dimensions- though they cannot yet harvest the full potential of any such dimensions.
This civilization has the current goal to take over the milky way, which is... an odd goal. I mean, it is an average galaxy in most criteria, you wouldn't be exactly colonizing that galaxy for it's energy output.
Thing is: they're there for the humans.
The civilization does have a collective (more on that later) goal to become a type 6 civilization, but no further than a type 6, seeing as they find the prospect of reaching type 7 status to be a bore. Perhaps you can tell that they are not so obsessed with effective productivity and power, but instead with entertainment and art. Which is why they are so enthralled by humans: they're incredibly entertaining! Funny, cute, all sorts of different adjectives one of the civilization could adhere to all of mankind.
So, in come the "porcelain" dolls! They are walking makers of the fractal dimensional biochemically engineered drug/pathogen named lovesickness. It maximizes dopamine, norepinephrine, oxytocin and serotonin production in the brain when consumed by mammals. Though, due to it's fractal and subsequently varied chemical composition, it still has similar effects on all sorts of sentient beings! For example, with non biological sentient creatures, the drug induces a state of metaphysical experience of the pure concepts of love and/or pleasure. Yes, lovesickness is highly addictive.
The "dolls" are biological beings with hard shells (thus the "porcelain" bit) that synthesize the drug in their systems. They have life cycles similar to those of butterflies or beetles, considering they have a sort of "pupa" stage (which is when the patterns on their shells are developed), though their reproduction happens exclusivelly through self cloning similar to the process of a sea sponge's cloning. Their insides are quite similar to sea sponges too in the aspect that there are no true organs within them and they are a mass of biological functions with no particular organization to be spoken of. They are soldiers prepared for both war and peaceful takeover, and spreading the love is synonymous to domination.
One could say that! Their entire biological purpose is to make as much of the drug as they can, and by this point it is absolutely a fundamental aspect of their life. And it is also a big part of their sense of identity, the dolls claim that "the best way to get through any mental defense is through love", so the drug philosophically gives her "life", as well as being a big part of their physical inner workings.
Remember when I said I'd get back to the collective goals of the civilization? That's right about now.
The entire civilization shares a mind.
Thousands upon millions of sensory inputs into one singular mind spread through the bodies of anything that exists within the civilization. Billions of thoughts per second, unfathomable quantities of individual actions taken every minute. All being processed by a shared mind.
The dolls share the same mind as the strategists, which share the same mind as the alchemists. Each type of bodily manifestation of this mind does interpret signals differently, so the dolls will have much different thought patterns from, say, the alchemists. This whole mind sharing thing is precisely how the civilization grew to such power in the short timespan of a few decades!
The mad alchemist, first holder of the shared mind, long before it inhabited multiple bodies, knew she'd need protection. The development of an entire species of drug synthesizing creatures was lengthy, but she'd had the plan clear as day from the moment she was in the process of developing the drug. The production of the species took even longer than it should have due to aesthetic concerns from the alchemist, but the outcome of the efforts were truly worth the wait.
Oh yeah, and..
Yes, she will absolutely marry you, she does smell like fresh strawberries and vanilla, and it won't just be one of her that will start following you around if you give any of them a ring
I hear you sure but post portal Stanford jerking off to you
I think he'd start off imagining you'd be the one to submit to him. He has a massive ego, he thinks it's only rational that you'd let him do the thinking and acting, understand him, he's always been better at that than you ever could be. The thoughts of you holding onto him and calling out his name in that sweet tone of yours already has him pressing his thighs toguether.
However much he may want to perceive himself as an unbeatable genius that would have you begging to have him know you fully, the irony of the situation doesn't fail to reach him in due time.
He's the one grinding his hand against his dick.
He's the one letting out little noises whenever his mind makes the image of you moan his name.
He's the one sitting alone with his own obsession with having you under his control.
He's the one riled up over his own delusions.
He can feel his legs grow weak at the mention of his current state.
Why, pray tell, didn't you just do what he wanted you to. Why couldn't you just cling to him desperately the way he's been dreaming of. Why couldn't you be as needy for him as he was for you. He deeply yearned to have his unhealthy addiction to you reciprocated-
Ah. Feelings. You evoke many of those even when you're not around, it seems. Feelings he can't manage well- feelings he isn't used to being forced into facing by his own mind. He felt that the pride of his entire existance: his brain, was activelly fighting against his goals whenever you were involved. He tries to justify reasons for you to be as head over heels for him as he is for you, how he could treat you better than anyone else, how he could give you pleasure no one else could come close to, how he could protect you. But the sane person couldn't possibly compare your feelings for him to what he feels for you.
Fortunately for his imaginary world of grandiose emotions, he wasn't exactly the "sane person" one would take as a basis for a well adjusted individual.
Though reality has a way of getting through any illusion.
Memories of your most intimate moments would come rushing in. He couldn't help but notice, even in his haze of lust, the way that you treated him. Always cordial and friendly and sweet, never faltering in your resolve of care and compassion.
Even as he took out his frustrations on you through mistreatment,
Even as he cried his regrets into your shoulder,
Even at the peak of his performance and subsequent inflated pride,
No matter what. You always treated him with unconditional respect. And fuck, it had him hooked.
You always handled him.
What precisely makes him think you'd lose your control over him in this context?
So, his thoughts deviate accordingly, with no small damage being done to his ego as a consequence. He wanted you to take him over, he wanted you to run your hands through his whole body, god knows he'd let you- he wanted you to kiss him until he was breathless, he wanted you to push him past his limits, he wanted you to praise him, he wanted you to insult him, he wanted you to hold him still even as he begged for friction, he wanted to be told how much he's done to you and not for you:
He wanted you to take your frustrations, your resentment; out on him.
There is no way you didn't hold some anger towards him, he was horrible. He was ungrateful, blunt, unapproachable and above all prideful, simultaneously as he hated himself. Simultaneously as he didn't trust himself.
Heavens, why did that get him to twitch. Did he want to be hated? No, he couldn't, he loved you- he needed you!
Even so, the thought of you treating him roughly had him covering his mouth. He couldn't afford the embarrassment of whining your name out, now, could he? Oh, the shame when he couldn't help himself regardless...
He felt angry, he felt needy, desperate, and above all he felt that he was close.
And he knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd find himself in this position.
Teehee have a sketch
It is insane how much i want to make this guy weep. Like it is abnormal how much i hate him. "The strange has always been attracted to me" well you've "attracted" the singular biggest hater to have ever lived. It is indeed strange how much I want to hurt you.
Eh. I finished it earlier than previously expected
She's (they are) a large porcelain doll (5'10") created by the developer of the designer "drug" and biological warfare weapon named lovesickness. There are hundreds of her, all with unique patterns drawn on, and their general goal is to experience and "spread the love". They were designed with the goal to represent the drug in their patterns.
More of her to come perhaps? If she is enjoyed I may bring her back.
Yet another gift for @uno-san , though this has grown way past my expectations.
College Stanford x milf reader // pt. 2
Content warnings: fem reader, age gap, nsfw content, reader is having an affair so... cheating if you care
Author's note: this takes place in an AU where Stanley never ruined ford's project and he got into his dream college. He is taken under the wing of an esteemed scientist, shenanigans (cheating on ur husband in a loveless marriage) ensue.
This is my best one yet!
Stanford, as far as all of his knowledge goes, had to assume you weren't good for him. Who can blame him? You were like a drug to him. He couldn't go for more than a few minutes without thinking about you over and over again, dreaming every night of being with you, wishing he could have his lips on you again, even if it had to be the back of your hand once more. His legs felt weak at those ideas, and his face would grow flushed at his own sketches of you.
Oh, those sketches. He couldn't show his notes to his mentor any longer since the corners of the pages were filled with drawing after drawing of you. Which is why he found himself copying over page after page of the plan for his thesis into fresh sheets. So his professor wouldn't suspect a thing; he was quite paranoid about being found out.
...
Goodness he really acted like an addict-
"Stanford, these are brilliant!"
Yes, yes. His studies. Those. Stanford entirely blocked out his mentor's praises- academic accomplishments were always nice, of course, but compliments could only do so much for his ego since he met you. It wasn't the same: it wasn't from you.
'He deserves to hear how good he's doing!'
Those words repeated over and over in his brain. If only he got to hear all about how well he's doing from you. To hear thar he was smart, capable, good. That last one is what he found himself craving the most. Good. Good for you.
Oh. He should really reply to his professor's comments. But he wasn't even listening, what is he supposed to do...
Thankfully, you interrupted. The sound of water running in the floor above had stopped, followed by faint footsteps.
"Oh! Seems she's done with her shower. Tell you what: I'll get her to give us some food, just like last time. Sounds good?"
"Yes, good.."
"She'll be here in a second, in the meantime, I'll see what kind of books I have on your thesis subject for you to go over."
"Of course! In all honesty, I doubt my work will be anywhere under 200 pages, so, give me all the reference points you can!" Stanford exclaimed, finally taking interest in what was being said. The professor chuckled in response,
"You have a lot to prove, don't you young man?"
"I have a love for the craft, what can I say."
He'd almost entirely forgotten about you even being in the house throughout the interaction. Well, until you walked in, that is. You had rushed your way down, hair still wet, panting slightly from running your way down (while simultaneously taking care that you wouldn't slip and fall), wearing nothing but a robe that didn't reach much past your mid thigh.
It doesn't take a genius to imagine how Stanford felt at that moment. Though, before he could even react to the sight before him, you spoke
"Didn't you have a meeting to go to?"
"Huh?.. OH!!"
Your husband hastily dropped the pile of books on the table and ran around the house to grab his keys and other items he'd need.
And you didn't even get a thank you. You were used to it, he had long since abandoned any efforts to make you feel appreciated. Truly, you couldn't remember the last time he complimented you.
Quite unlike the man you were now facing.
"Stanford! This is NOT over yet! You're going to have a clear outline of your thesis by the end of today! I won't be gone for more than 2 hours"
Your husband paused, looking at you for a brief moment before turning back to Stanford.
"If you can explain any of this-" he points to the desk filled with books and papers "-to her, I'll give you some sort of award! best way to learn is to explain it to someone who doesn't understand, anyway"
And with that, he ran out of the house in a panic.
Stanford didn't once take his eyes off of you. Gods were you beautiful. His lips were parted as his gaze went over your body. Your face had become so much calmer as your husband left the house, your hands were no longer grabbing onto the robe, allowing for him to see more of your chest.
He swallowed dryly. He felt the butterflies in his stomach already.
His flustered state was soon to become worse as you sat next to him around the table, closing the blinds as you walked towards your seat. You were fully facing him on your chair, head resting on your hand as you spoke.
"So? What are you working on there?"
He stammered in response, eyes darting from you to the papers to your face repeatedly, occasionally opening his mouth only for either nothing or incoherent noises to spill out. He clears his throat.
"I-I'm. Sorry. It's just..."
"Are you uncomfortable with the robe? I could-"
"NO! Ah- ahhem. No, not at all. It's your house, you should wear what makes you comfortable, of course."
You giggle at his reaction. His immediate denial when you even suggested- no, hinted at changing gave away so much about how he felt. Cute.
And that's when you really get a good look at him. His hands are fidgeting with a pen, breath slightly labored, lips drawn into a slight pout, eyes looking at...
Oh.
Oh.
Damn it! He noticed that you noticed it. "I-- I deeply apologize, this- I-"
"Oh, sweetheart..."
He freezes like a deer in the headlights. You take advantage of his shock to grab his wrist, at which point he promptly dropped the pen he was holding previously. He doesn't register the noise of the impact of the pen with the table and subsequently the floor as you drag his wrist forward and kiss the palm of his hand.
This cannot be real. He must be having one of those dreams--
"You've never done this before, have you?" You asked as you intertwined your fingers with his.
"Done.. what e-exact--mmh!" He's swiftly interrupted by your kiss. Your. Kiss. His eyes immediatelly snap shut and so do his thighs- he's seeking and accepting any sort of friction by this point. Pathetically needy: but then again, who could blame him? He's been dreaming about this ever since he first laid eyes on you. He chases your lips as you let go, but lets his head fall back soon after.
"This," You say, moving your hand back to his wrist once more, guiding it to part your robe. His eyes snap open and he tilts his head to look at you: now leaning over him, you place another, much too quick kiss on his lips as you place his hand over your breast. His large hand cupping it delicately as you finally let go of his wrist. Moving back to kiss him again, you take advantage of his open mouth.
You're making out with him. You're making out with him!
He feels everything through a haze of pleasure, his hand on your body, your lips on eachother, your hand which had gone to pull on the hair at the back of his head, your breath against him- he was so lightheaded, so sensitive, so desperate. He felt the need to close his eyes, but they were already shut tight- it was all too much for him.
Yet he didn't want it to end, no: he wanted it to last forever.
But last forever it surely would not, considering he knew he wouldn't be lasting for longer than a few minutes once your hand moved to press against his hard-on. No, he wouldn't last at all, especially not when you start massaging your hand against it. He moaned loudly against your lips, and continued to let out deliciously desperate noises against them as you continued mercilessly.
You held his head in place and pulled back, and were immediatelly bombarded with a barrage of "thank you! Th-thank you, thank you! Oh god--"
Thank you? That got a reaction out of you. A slight moan, the only one you'd let out throughout the whole event. And at that, you felt his entire body tense up. He had caused you pleasure, him! There were so many emotions coursing through him-- all overshadowed by the immense pleasure he had been experiencing: he'd finally reached his peak. His noises were to die for, his budding tears brought a smile to your face.
You had ruined him.
And no one could ever replicate just how you'd turned this genius into an incoherent mess.
He shivers when he feels the coldness of your wedding ring's jewel against his face when you caress it btw, if you care.
Okay but imagine Stanford rubbing one out to the thought of you
Like. He'd be so embarrassed. Don't even try to question me on that. His face would be all flushed red and burning hot when he finally lets his urges take him over. I can just see that guy sitting at his paper crammed desk all alone ignoring (or at least attempting to ignore) how lightheaded he's getting from all of the blood not going to his brain, and yet still trying to be productive; I can see how ford would be pressing his thighs toguether subconsciously just to get himself any sort of relief from the pressure-- though, it won't go away.
But you know what else doesn't go away?
His thoughts about you. God they are wretched. The occasional daydreaming about being near you turned to daydreaming about touching, holding, kissing you- which turned to what he has to deal with now. Obsessive, maladaptive and consistant thoughts about maybe: maybe getting to have you the way he craves oh so desperately
So he reasons: 'He deserves a break, he's worked to the point of exhaustion, he should get to have some pleasure'. It's what he wants to hear, more specifically what he wants to hear from you; and fuck if his brain didn't do a damn good job at imitating your voice when those words crossed his mind. Unsurprisingly, the thoughts just get increasingly more targeted at the cureent situation. How would you react to seeing him like this? Would it be disgust? Anger? He'd understand those reactions, he did feel incredibly sinful while doing these acts, so it is only fair that his rational and logic loving brain would find those to be the answers you'd give..
That's what he pretends to believe in at first, of course. He can't help but be delusional about you- delusional about receiving your praises. Oh how his eyes snap shut when the idea that you'd be amused by his current position; that you'd encourage him to keep going. He can feel himself shiver at the view in his mind-- had his limbs always felt this weak?
And this is the scenario he finds himself facing on... most nights. It is pathetic how much he wants you, it's written all over him: in his lovestruck eyes, in his shaky hands, in the sketches of you scrawled all throughout his notes, in the sleepless nights where his body denies him peace- and equally reflected in the nights where his only dreams are of you and him.
Haha anyway have a sketch of this idea featuring college ford, will do a current ford version if encouraged
This man is unhinged and I'm tired of pretending he's not
You, blissfuly unaware that you're the cause of his lack of sleep: "ford? Are you okay? You look really tired today"
Ford, unable to look you in the eye because of sheer embarrassment: "yes, yes. You know how intensive my research gets... haha.."
Content warnings: age gap obviously, stanford is a warning because I am tired of people pretending he isn't odd as hell, fem reader
Author's note: this takes place in an AU where Stanley never ruined ford's project and he got into his dream college. He is taken under the wing of an esteemed scientist, shenanigans (cheating on ur husband in a loveless marriage) ensue.
devious devious art about this coming soon! Both targeted and about the ambiguous "reader".
This is also only part 1 and there will definetly be more to come
Imagine how Stanford felt when first being invited to his mentor's house, after a particularly lengthy discussion on whatever topic the lecture his mentor gave happened to be about. I can imagine all sorts of emotions running through his mind... anxiety, excitement, a bit of shock- he knew he was smart, but he never thought his theories were reasonable enough to challenge his mentor's views: you see, he really idolized that man. Continuing their discussions would be an honor, and the mere mention of publishing multiple papers with him had stanford's mind racing, he could barely contain his joy!
Now, understand that he had plans for the unexpected visit: he'd prove his worth, his technical prowess, anything to get more of that sweet, sweet approval. We both know he didn't have much of that in his youth, neither did he get much of it now... it seems he is always the single oddest character in any given room, even amongst other well educated, motivated students. "Teacher's pet", "tryhard", he couldn't believe it at first- such childish insults at such an esteemed institution? He thought those got left behind in high school. How innocent he is. Regardless:
His plans were to prove himself.
Well, like I said, were.
Right now? His mind couldn't be further from his studies.
He'd made it to the house alongside the professor, the discussion now spanning multiple topics- he was having fun. Rare, considering any of his other interactions with quite literally anyone else.
(Truly the outcomes are deplorable. His social skills are lacking to an astronomical degree, to the point where it is borderline comical how little he knows about human interaction. It is a cliché, the nerd who doesn't know how to socialize, but it wouldn't be so popular of a trope if it didn't often get reflected in reality. Not like he knew it was very popular to begin with: even the claim that he learned to interact with others through books would be false, since he strayed from any sort of romantic narrative. It was out of a feeling of inadequacy, really.)
Then, the door was opened.
And that's when he met you for the first time.
"You! You're Stanford right? I've heard good things from my husband here-"
"Come on, don't flatter the kid yet." Your husband spoke with a chuckle
"Hey! He deserves to hear how good he's doing! Come here." You walked forward and hugged him, it was your way of greeting people. It was warmer and more welcoming- both things the world lacked severely.
(Stanford found himself paralyzed where he stood for a few moments. He'd already found your personality endearing -your appearence even moreso-, and now you're pressed up against him? He simply must be dreaming. You felt so soft against him-- heavens, how long had it been since he'd received a hug? Far too long, clearly, but he doesn't remember them ever feeling this good)
The societal pressure to reply to this action in some way caught up to him fast, however. He was quick to place a hand on your waist, his range of motion being limited from your arms wrapping around his own. He may experience the social pressure, but he really has no clue what's appropriate and what isn't, huh? Cute.
(Had he a modicum of self control, he'd most definetly have had a much more timely and well adjusted response to your touch, but amidst the smell of your perfume, your soft arms around him, your hair tickling against his face, the feeling of your hands on his back... nothing carried the same weight as your presence did, who could blame him for doing what his mind instructed him to do and touch you back somehow? He'll come to find that he will blame himself very much for this interaction. No one more judgemental on his behaviors than the one responsible for them)
Once you pulled back from him, you were quick to usher them inside and offer them snacks, reasoning that they'd deserved something nice after studying and debating so much on so many topics. Your husband eagerly agreed and impatiently waited for your food through busying himself by unearthing blueprints and all sorts of different research papers so there would be grounds for his and ford's endless theorizing.
And thus, as you left, Stanford was left with his own thoughts. He made note of the fact that those very same thoughts were entirely consumed by you: how you dressed, how you looked, how soft your hair was, how lovely your voice sounded; all things that brought him much joy to think about, but equal parts of shame. He didn't necessarily want to have any such invasive thoughts about his professor's wife, yet there he is, with his thoughts growing more wretched by the minute. It's almost like his brain was against him: guiding thoughts that had him blushing at the very visage into his mind's eye. He wanted your hands on his back again- he wanted you to drag your nails across it-- he wanted to feel your lips on his, he wanted to feel your breath grow shaky against him--
"Here it is!! Sorry for the wait"
Papers getting dropped on the table and a thankful sigh were the next things he heard. His professor turned to him, instructing him to sit at the table, since "if you don't come quick, there won't be any left for you!"
Your food was great, simply regarded as the usual to your husband, but seen as the world's 8th wonder by Stanford. When asked if he was enjoying the food, he quickly assured you that he was absolutely enjoying it, making sure to remark that it is "the best thing he's had since he entered college", which was not at all a lie, considering he was surviving off of microwaved cup noodles and the occasional granola bar- but even he knew that was too pathetic for him to mention at all.
Your husband and Stanford made quick work of the snacks and promptly got back to... spewing big pompous words and numbers at eachother... at least it seems they were having fun, considering they'd laugh toguether on occasion. That must be a good sign? You weren't entirely sure what was happening with those 2, and you took to not interrupting them in lest you break their chain of thought.
The afternoon went by in the blink of an eye to them. Discussions on various theories followed by reading research papers followed by sketching on blueprints followed by more reading research papers. It was their passion, it seems. However, ford was greatly saddened that it was already so late- he knew full well that if he stayed any longer he'd end up spending the night on your couch, so both him and his professor agreed that it was very much time for him to go back to campus snd consequently to the dorms.
Of course, that wasn't going to happen before he got to say goodbye to you. Even if he was embarrassed to look you in the eye after a full day of... various thoughts about you, he couldn't seem to get enough of your presence. Making his way towards the front door, you were the only one who accompanied him, since your husband was quite busy organizing the mess him and his pupil had created throughout the day.
As you stood at the doorway, you saw yourself growing quite sorrowful that he'd be leaving already, he was quite interesting to you. However, nothing could have prepared neither you nor him for what he did next. He turned around to face you once more, seemingly debating something in his mind for an instant. But, just as quickly as his uncertainty was noticed, it vanished, being replaced by a conviction and fervor he didn't expect from himself -his self control seemed to disappear when he was with you- .Thus, he gently took a hold of your hand and brought it up to his height, kissing the back of it lightly. You could feel your heart skip a beat; you hadn't experienced any such romantic gestures in... god knows how long. As he pulled back, you spoke.
"I-it was... lovely meeting you Stanford." You squeezed his hand as you took a step forward. As soon as he returned your sentiment, he was gone. Though, in the look you both shared during those brief moments, you both knew this wasn't going to be the last time he'd be in this house.
You'd both make sure of it.
Stanford's professor after ford practically begged to go back to his house again: "did you really like her cooking that much?"
