99flyingducks

[99flyingducks]

against all odds

[99flyingducks]

Fallen Angel

Pairing: Lex Luthor x Reader

Summary:

“I want your answer now. What do you want?” You hesitate. The thoughts roll like thunder in your head, flashes of everything you lost, everything you buried just to survive. The rage. The grief. Your father. The emptiness where your wings used to be. You look at him, his handsome, unreadable face. Cold, brilliant, terrifying. Is this what making a deal with the devil feels like? “I want to fly again,” you breathe out, almost like you can't believe you're saying it out loud. Or You're a metahuman who had your wings taken from you. After years of not having them, Lex gives you an opportunity. A chance to fly again. You just have to do what he says.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (female and male receiving), bondage, remote control vibrator, power dynamic, degradation kink, reader has rough upbringing and daddy issues, toxic relationship, manipulation station, chronic pain, angst

WC: 5.0k

A/N: This request was sooo good, link to it here. I hope I delivered on it, hope you enjoy!

***

Galas were a torrid affair. Nothing of note ever happens, and Lex is half-listening, half-scheming, always calculating his next move, but business is business, and he has to show face, shake hands, and smile through the boredom.

But then there’s you.

Lex noticed you immediately, the way you carried yourself was distinct. Like you were used to being lighter than air, now cruelly bound to the ground.

You’re a server, flitting about the room gracefully, almost invisible… but not to him.

He was curious.

When you make your way to him with a tray full of champagne flutes and a practised smile, he barely glances up, another face in the blur of glittering nothing. But something in his gaze sharpens the moment you turn to leave.

You're about to disappear back into the crowd when he stills you with one word.

“Stay.”

Just that. Like he’s used to getting exactly what he wants.

You slow to a stop and turn back to him. Most people barely noticed your existence, only giving you a polite smile or a glance that slid right past you like you weren’t really there. But in the rare instance when someone does, it's never like this. Normally, it’s some rich guy, too old to be even looking in your direction, suddenly flirting with you, or a guest yelling at you for things beyond your control, like the wine being too warm or the air too cold.

You recall a man blaming you for his wife leaving the event early, saying your 'attitude' must’ve ruined her night, as if your tray and silence had anything to do with her misery.

He smiles at you, but you can tell it’s more calculating than anything else. When a person’s genuinely smiling, their eyes soften, their eyebrows crease, their face lights up even for the smallest of smiles, but there was none of that with Lex. His eyes were inspecting you, sweeping over you as if scanning for weaknesses.

“Lex Luthor.”

“I know, sir,” you say quickly, as if you didn’t want to talk for too long.

The sharpness in your voice, barely masked by politeness, makes Lex pause, curious now. What has made you so apprehensive within two seconds of meeting him?

“Do you have a name?” he says teasingly.

And you reply with lightning quickness, “Only when I’m off the clock.”

His smirk flickers, intrigued by your answer. Not quite dismissive. Not quite impressed. Curious.

All you could wonder, meanwhile, was why a man like Lex Luthor would take the time to speak to you, a server at a gala filled with billionaires, politicians, and power players.

“When do you get off?”

You cut him off sharply, “Listen, sir, I appreciate that you’re trying to be charming, but I’m not interested in anything… extra.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m sorry, sir, I really have to go,” you say with a fake smile, slipping away as quickly as you appeared.

But Lex would see you again, even if you tried to disappear into the shadows. Because when it came to you, he didn’t do “no.”

***

You had no idea what you were doing here.

One moment you were heading to work, same route, same pace, and the next, a sleek black car intercepted you at the curb. No explanation, no questions asked. Just a door that opened, and a voice that said, “Get in.”

Completely convinced you've been kidnapped and about to meet your maker, you were surprised to find yourself at LexCorp.

When you stumble into his office, breathless and entirely too tired for this bullshit. Lex turns slowly in his chair, composed as ever, a file in one hand.

His eyes flick briefly to the paper. Then, without hesitation, he reads aloud your full government name. Every syllable. Middle name included. Birthdate. Known aliases. Former addresses.

“What the fuck?” you blurt, instinctively taking a step back.

You blink, mind racing, but of course. Of course, he'd be able to get his hands on information like that.

He doesn’t stop there.

“Raised in the Narrows in Gotham,” he continues, eyes flicking back to the file like he’s reading off a grocery list. “Rough neighbourhood. Father in prison. Mother deceased by age eight—auto accident, though some reports suggest otherwise.”

Your stomach tightens.

“Only child. High school education. GPA above average, despite working two jobs. Had plans to go to college—community first, then maybe GCU. Never made it past orientation, had to stay home to take care of dear old Dad.”

Safe to say you weren't expecting to have your past thrown back in your face on a Monday morning. Your hands clench into fists, but he just keeps going.

“Bouncing from one dead-end job to another, slipping into the underbelly of Gotham, working like a dog to get by… until you got a job at a private catering company, serving at high-end charity events and political fundraisers.”

“Pays the bills,” you interrupt with a tight smile, though your jaw’s clenched a little too hard.

He looks you over, seemingly like he’s examining. “And you’re a… metahuman.”

He says it without inflexion, but it lands like a slap.  Lex rounds the desk until he’s standing directly in front of you.

You try to look away, anywhere else, but he follows your gaze like a predator, step for step, unblinking. It's like you were caught in a Lex Luthor bubble.

“It’s funny,” he says, voice low. “You hide like someone ashamed of what you are. But I’ve read your file. You’re not ashamed. You’re just waiting. Waiting to see who’s going to try and use you first.”

He leans in, just slightly.

“Well. Consider this me… going first.”

This guy was crazy.

“Used? Mr. Luthor—”

“Lex,” he corrects smoothly, without missing a beat.

You clear your throat, still unnerved by how close he is, the heat of his presence, the calculation in his eyes. “Lex… I’m not interested in whatever you have to offer. So I’ll have to politely decline.”

You take a step back, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder, muscles tight, breath shallow. You turn toward the door, determined to leave this tower of glass and ego behind.

When his voice cuts through the air like a blade, “Even if I can give you your wings back?”

You stop cold. Heart in your throat. Time folding in on itself.

Slowly, you turn your head, eyes narrowing. “What did you just say?” You hate how small your voice sounds, how pathetic, like you were a dog now begging for scraps.

Lex doesn’t smile. Not this time.

“I know what you were. What you could do. Before the incident, before your father took matters into his own hands.”

The mention of your father makes you tense up instantly, shoulders stiff, breath caught in your throat like glass. You don’t reply, but Lex sees it. Feels it.

He steps closer again, slower this time, but with that same suffocating precision. Like he knows exactly how to take the air out of a room without raising his voice.

The tension hangs heavy, and then he twists the knife.

“How much did he sell them for? Your wings, your bone marrow, your blood—how much was your gift worth to him?”

You drop your gaze, jaw clenched. “Don’t…”

He doesn’t listen. Lex never listens, not when he’s this close to a reaction.

He reaches out and gently tips your chin up with two fingers. His touch is soft, unnervingly so. Hands that hadn’t worked a day in their lives, but still knew exactly how to touch a wound without ever needing to press.

“Don’t look away,” he murmurs. “That shame you carry? It’s not yours. It’s his.”

Your throat tightens, a flicker of heat stinging the backs of your eyes, but you hold it down. You always hold it down.

“You don't know me.”

“I think you’ll find I know you very well,” he says, voice smooth like glass before fire, before leaning in, his breath brushing your ear. Your name leaves his lips softly, almost melodic. It shouldn’t sound like that, not from someone as cold and calculated as him. But somehow it does. Intimate but oh-so dangerous.

He leans back enough for you to learn how to breathe again.

“I don’t make hollow offers. If you walk out that door, you’ll stay broken. But if you stay…”

He tilts his head, voice lowering.

“You fly again.”

You don’t move. You can’t move.

Then, like he knows the exact cracks beneath your skin, he goes deeper.

“Aren’t you tired of it?”

His voice coils around you like smoke.

“Tired of being underestimated, talked down to at every job you’ve had, stepped on by people who couldn’t hold a candle to what you were born to be?”

You swallow hard.

Lex knows exactly where to press. 

“Tell me I'm wrong.”

He knows he has you now.

“Can I think about it?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost uncertain.

“No.”

Lex’s answer is immediate, cutting through hesitation like a blade.

“I want your answer now. What do you want?”

You hesitate.

The thoughts roll like thunder in your head, flashes of everything you lost, everything you buried just to survive. The rage. The grief. Your father. The emptiness where your wings used to be.

You look at him, his handsome, unreadable face. Cold, brilliant, terrifying.

Is this what making a deal with the devil feels like?

“I want to fly again,” you breathe out, almost like you can't believe you're saying it out loud.

“I thought so.”

***

The first day had been a blur. Paperwork, silence, and cold stares from lab techs who had run every test imaginable. Blood. Neural scans. They treated you like a specimen, not a person. No one spoke unless necessary. No one met your eyes.

Now, the lab was empty.

Just you and Lex.

Alone.

In the private sublevel facility, he had designed specifically for this experiment. For you.

To say you were nervous was an understatement.

You stood under the too-bright fluorescents, surrounded by monitors and surgical glass, the hum of high-voltage equipment vibrating faintly in your bones. 

Lex stood beside the terminal, sleeves rolled up. Always in control. Always five moves ahead. He looked at you like a scientist might look at a weapon, one that hadn’t gone off yet.

You’re sitting on the edge of the examination table, back exposed under the harsh white light. You feel the cool air skim across your skin, and you shiver as it brushes over the old wounds.

“It’s still sensitive,” you explain, sending your eyes on you.

Lex stands behind you, silent, clinical. His gaze falls on the two jagged scars running like broken lightning down your shoulder blades where your wings once were. Faded now, but not forgotten. Nothing about them ever would be.

He reaches out without warning and presses his fingers against the edge of the left scar, hard.

You flinch, teeth clenching as pain flares white-hot beneath the surface.

He doesn’t react. Instead, he presses harder.

Your hand twitches to pull away, but his other hand is already there, clasping your upper arm in a firm grip.

You’re not going anywhere. He made sure of that.

“It hurts,” he says, flatly. Not a question. Not even pity. Just a confirmation.

“Clearly,” you mutter, biting back the hiss of pain clawing its way up your spine.

He doesn’t ease off.

Instead, he leans in, digging in with his fingers again, pressing along the nerves and scar tissue like he's searching for a button he already knows how to push.

“Hey! Careful!” you snap, twisting slightly, but he doesn't stop, just keeps going. His touch is cold and detached, like you’re nothing more than a subject under a microscope.

The dull ache turns sharp, and you grit your teeth, jaw clenched. The chronic pain was something you’d learned to live with. You didn’t need him and his rich little fingers exacerbating the problem just to satisfy his curiosity.

You shrug him off with more force this time, and finally, he lets go.

“Interesting,” Lex murmurs, stepping back.

Your eyes narrow. “Why did you do that?”

He meets your gaze, calm as ever. “I wanted to see how much you could take.”

You blink, stunned by the bluntness, and maybe more by the fact that… it doesn’t surprise you.

“Well, you can’t just go around prodding at me like I’m some science experiment,” you snap, heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m not one of your machines.”

He steps closer, unbothered. “ You are one of my science experiments. I can do whatever I please. I hold your wings in my hands, don’t forget that.”

Your breath catches. Not from fear, but from how easily those words send a chill down your spine. You want to fight him on it. You want to scream. But deep down, you know he’s not entirely wrong.

After you're done with all your initial tests, you’re ready to head home, Lex following behind you. The elevator ride up is silent, except for the low hum of the mechanics and the weight of everything unsaid between you.

Then, just as the numbers tick toward the top floor, Lex speaks.

“I’ll need to keep you somewhere I can keep an eye on you,” he says, not looking at you. “That little apartment in downtown Metropolis won’t do.”

You turn your head, brows lifting. “What?”

He reaches into his coat pocket, produces a sleek black keycard, and hands it to you like it’s nothing. Like it isn’t a shackle wrapped in silk.

“You’re giving me an apartment?”

“It’s this,” he says coolly, “or the lab.”

“You’re moving me,” you say quietly, “like I’m property.”

He finally looks at you, his expression unreadable. “No,” he says. “I’m protecting my investment.”

He steps forward, the air between you charged. “There’s a difference.”

***

To Lex, you were simple. A system. A machine with familiar wiring—just the right amount of push and pull, and you'd be eating out of his hand. At least, that's what he believed.

He knew if he was too kind, your defence systems would spike, the walls would go up. But if he struck a balance, just enough disdain to keep you chasing approval, just enough interest to make you stay, then bit by bit, you’d fold. Your unresolved need for structure, the need to be told what to do, not to mention the raging Daddy issues you so clearly had. He’d have to tap into that some more.

To be that saving grace, the only constant in your life, the control only he could offer you. When the time came, you'd be more loyal than anyone else. He knew that. He'd shaped it that way.

He’d moved you into an apartment not far from his own. It was fancier than anything you'd ever lived in before. But no matter how soft the lighting or how expensive the furniture, you couldn't ignore the truth. The reinforced locks, the subtle surveillance, the silence that followed you room to room… It was a gilded cage. Prettier than the lab, yes. But still a cage.

Work at the lab, however, was going surprisingly well. They’d made real progress on the project and, though you’d never admit it out loud, on you. Lex was breaking down your walls without you even fully realising it.

The way he’d remember your favourite tea, how he always made sure your cupboards were always full with all your favourite snacks, how he gave you space when you were tense and pushed only when he knew you’d give in.

Now, you’re getting blood drawn, routine, invasive, humiliating, and you’re glaring at him from the exam chair, your jaw tight, shoulders hunched, as you’re being poked with a needle. Your words are laced with those snippy little comments you know annoyed him just enough. It’s the usual back-and-forth until he says something that actually catches you off guard.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful,” he mutters, a crooked, dangerous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You freeze, mid-eye roll.

Was that… a compliment?

Your eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

He doesn't repeat it. He doesn’t have to.

***

A week later, you’re spending the night in the lab for observation after some new tests have been done. No windows. No clocks. Just sterile white light, quiet hums of machinery, and the ache blooming in your back like fire stitched beneath the skin.

The pain comes in waves, deep and pulsing.  You grit your teeth, refusing to let it show too much. But he sees it anyway.

Lex sits across the room, pretending to be absorbed in data streaming across a screen, but you can feel his eyes on you. Watching like there’s nothing more interesting in the world. Like, your pain is art.

It looks good on you. The tears spill freely from your red, stinging eyes, broken pleas to no one, and anyone, slipping past your lips like they might save you.

Lex watches you from the other end of the lab, unmoved. You’re shivering, curled in on yourself on the examination table, your skin slick with sweat, your body twitching violently as if every nerve was on fire.

“It hurts, Lex,” you sob, voice cracking as the pain lances down your spine again.

He walks toward you slowly, methodically, like someone admiring a new car.

You reach for him, desperate, needing something, but he bats your hand away with a lazy flick and a quiet, condescending tsk.

“Please, Lex,” you whisper, hardly able to breathe, “please—make it stop…”

He tilts his head, watching your form writhe.

“It has to hurt,” he says simply, almost gently. “If it didn’t, you wouldn’t be changing.”

You whine, garbled words spilling out faster than your brain can form them. You can’t even tell if you’re making sense anymore.

“Need… distraction…,” you breathe, voice thin and desperate.

A pained groan escapes you as your back arches off the table again, every nerve lit up like static beneath your skin.

“Please, Lex… I’m begging you.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just steps closer, silent as ever. You can barely focus through the haze of pain, but you feel him nearer.

Then, unexpectedly, his hand reaches out. His fingers brush across your forehead. The sensation makes your entire body tense before melting into the contact.

You lean into it, chasing the comfort.

It felt good. Almost too good.

“Lex,” you moan sadly. 

There's a flicker of a smirk on his face; it’s the most alive you've seen him all night. Not because he cares, but because he's enjoying this.

“You like that?”

You nod quickly as if scared he'd pull away. When he gives you a pat on your head, the moan that tears through you is almost inhuman. 

You needed him bad. The relief only he can give you.

“You like how I touch you.”

“You have no idea how much.”

As if taking pity on you, he leans down and kisses you, his right hand taking both your wrists and pinning them above you.

You’d had your fair share of kisses, but you know that you had never been kissed like that. 

You buck your hips up, and he takes immediate notice. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re so needy.”

He lets go of your wrists, his hands running down your body until his fingers start rubbing against your panties.

“Soaked, already?”

He pushes them aside enough for him to trace your wet folds. You don't think you've ever been so wet.

He circles your entrance with his fingers, but does not give you what you wanted.

You buck your hips trying to get him deeper inside of you. You don't even recall him warning, his voice was muffled as all hell right about now.

Suddenly, he roughly grabs you by the face, pulling you right out of that haze, his blue eyes staring you down.

“I said, don't be greedy.”

The way he demands it of you and his tone of voice make your stomach do backflips. You know you're in trouble, but you can't help the arousal that shoots through you.

“I'm…I'm sorry.”

“For that, you don't get my fingers.”

“But—” you complain, already feeling the pain starting to come back, but he cuts you off with a look.

He steps back and nods to the space in front of him. “Get on your knees.”

You clamber off the examination table and find your place at his feet; you didn't want to piss him off more than you already have. 

He unzips his trousers and slaps his cock on your face repeatedly.

“Want to make it up to me, hm? Want to apologise for being greedy?”

“Yes,” you whisper, lips tugging into a soft pout as you look up at him, eyes wide and earnest.

He chuckles lowly, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Then be good for me.”

He guides the head of his cock to your lips and pushes in. You take him as far as you can until you eventually gag. Lex doesn't give you the choice to pull back, instead keeping you right there, his hands firmly planted on your head. 

Your eyes water, but you can't tell if it's because you can't breathe or because it feels so good. His fingers in your hair, guiding you back to his cock, relishing every moment.

“Looks like we’ve found something you’re good at,” he teases, as he thrusts into your mouth. Never in a million years would you have guessed that you’d end up sucking Lex Luthor off in a lab he built for you, but you weren’t mad. 

“Drooling like a fucking dog,” he sneers as he watches spit falling from your lips and landing between your breasts. His comments only make your core ache that much more. You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t need this… but you do. 

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to recalibrate, but he doesn’t like that one bit. 

“Eyes open, don’t be stupid,” he chastises.

You apologise around his cock a garbled “I’m sorry,” vibrating against him. No matter how much you want to squeeze your eyes shut, you keep them on him.

“That’s my girl.”

He finishes on your face, coating your face in his cum, some of it dripping down your chin. He exhales hard, chest rising and falling as he looks down at you. 

“And to think I was going to eat you out.”

***

Since that day, you found yourself desperate for Lex's attention. The pain had subsided but the hunger for him remained.

Weeks into the program, your world had mostly shrunk to two places: the lab and the apartment Lex got you.

It was modern. Cold. Sleek. Everything in it whispered his money, his control. But you were too tired to fight it anymore. Between the tests, the treatments, and the aching weight of your half-healed wings, you barely had the energy to think beyond each day.

Lex would drop by sometimes, never announcing. Sometimes with files, sometimes with expensive food you hadn’t asked for, and once, absurdly, with a new blanket because he'd noticed you shivered in the mornings. Sometimes he’d just stop by to fuck you senseless and leave without a proper conversation. 

And still, your chest fluttered every time the elevator chimed and you heard the door unlock.

You felt happy when you saw him. When he'd brush past you with a touch just a little too intentional, sometimes gifting you a kiss that felt like a reward, sometimes just a glance that left you hanging on every word.

He couldn’t deny it; he loved it too. Loved that you needed him so much. That your world tilted slightly whenever he entered a room. That if he left tomorrow, you’d crumble.

He wanted to be the centre of your gravity. The only reason you smiled. The only one who could pull you apart and put you back together again, if he felt like it.

Though he could be cruel. More times than you could count, he’d left you tied to your bed, vibrator on high while he was at meetings all morning. 

“Lex, please. Can't take this for long,” you whined when he first turned it on. Leaving it on the highest setting like an asshole. 

“Don't be dramatic. I'll be back for lunch.”

He’d watch you squirm and cum for him over and over again via the cameras he had set up. Throughout the morning, he’d work with the settings, leaving it on high and leaving you overstimulated or leaving it just high enough to feel good but not enough to make you finish.

He steps into your apartment, irritation clear in the tightness of his jaw. He was already thinking it was a mistake, this whole separate-living-arrangement nonsense. Mild inconveniences were not something Lex Luthor tolerated well. The elevator was too slow. The hallway too long. He might just have to move you into his place instead. Problem solved.

But then he sees you.

You’re perched on the edge of the windowsill, sunlight warming your skin and your mood, already a bit better now that your wings are finally growing in. Sure, they were still awkward and twitchy, more feathers than flight, but they were yours.

You turn to him with a smile. “Lex, I didn’t know you’d be dropping by today.”

He doesn’t return it, but his gaze lingers. “How’s my favourite freak doing?”

You roll your eyes, but the barb glances off this time. “I’m fine. My wings have just been… sensitive lately.”

“Painful?”

“No,” you say, fluttering one experimentally behind you. “Just sensitive.”

Without hesitation, he reaches out and touches your wings, making you let out a squeak.

“Don’t…” you start, trying to sound firm before letting out an embarrassing moan as he continues to run his fingers along the fluffy tufts of your wings that are growing back.

You let out another involuntary gasp, clutching at the front of his shirt without thinking. If you let go, you’re not sure you’d stay upright.

“Better than chronic pain, right?”

***

You found yourself sprawled out on your bed, legs twitching as Lex eats you out. It’s never been clearer to you, he was born to be a munch. 

He was relentless, lapping up your slick folds like a man starved as you scream so hard, your voice is hoarse. He had been going at it for ages, you were always so tightly wound when you had to wait for him, and only Lex’s tongue could help you unwind. 

You’re getting close, you know it, he knows it, so of course he pulls away before you can cum. You know better than to complain; the last thing you wanted was for him to hogtie you and shove a vibrator inside of you for hours on end. You have learned from your past mistakes.

Plus, you were getting something just as good, his cock. 

“This pretty cunt belongs to me, doesn't it?

He says, rubbing your clit as he watches his dick disappear inside of you.

“Yes,” you gasp, voice catching as he fills you completely. “Yes…”

He starts fucking you, each touch and kiss filled with raw emotion.

“Anything you want,” you cry out, as you dig your fingers into his back, “I’m yours.”

“I know,” he… wrapping his hand around your throat to hold you there.

“No one could take care of you like this.”

“No one,” you reply, tears pricking at your eyes as you feel him bury himself inside of you deeper. You believed it, because for so long, you’d been left out in the cold. No safety net, no one to reach for. You’d learned to survive with your back against the wall and no one but yourself to count on.

But now… you had Lex.

Even if his version of love came with rules, you’d take it. Because being wanted, even imperfectly, felt better than being alone.

Letting go of your throat, he pulls you into his lap, holding you close, his cock still hilted inside of you. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, your thoughts hazy, you think he might have broken you. Lex was the only thing that mattered to you right now. Him and what he needs.

You fall apart in his arms, crying out for more each time he thrusts up into you.

“No one can have you like this except me. Understand?”

You nod, still caught up in the pleasure to speak. Dissatisfied with your silence, he tugs your head back by your hair in a painful grip.

“Lex—!”

 “Words. I want to hear you say it.”

“No one can. Only you.”

Happy with your response, he puts your hands on your hips, helping guide you as he uses you like a fleshlight; his little toy.  He wanted you to cum on his cock, that was what your orgasms were for after all, to make him feel good. 

“Fuck, fuck…fuck!” you cry out, your fingers digging into his back again, definitely leaving marks. 

“That’s it, show me who you belong to,” Lex says, his hands rising from your hips to massage your wings.

 “Ah! Wait, that’s too—” you scream, practically vibrating in his lap. It’s like you’re floating. He’d made you feel like you could fly again.

It’s no surprise when you finish for him, screaming, “Lex!” so loud that you wouldn’t be surprised if people outside heard. 

He keeps fucking you as the aftershocks of your orgasm massage his cock. The overstimulation is insane, especially since he continues to touch your wings just to see you whimper his name and cry.

You look at him with teary eyes, and he gently cups your face, tilting it so you meet his gaze.

“You’ve never looked so beautiful,” Lex coos, “Like an angel.”

His eyes look over your marked skin, the way you looked so pathetic, fragile, pitiful, even. 

Lex would keep you like this forever if he could. 

“Thank you.”

It was clear that even when you get your wings back, there was no flying away from Lex Luthor.

Main Masterlist

[99flyingducks]

Anyways

[99flyingducks]

[99flyingducks]

Tease

Shane x F!Reader

Warnings: dubcon, degradation, oral sex, tit fucking, dirty talk, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, creampie

Word Count: 4.7k

Synopsis: Smut (MDNI) - You can only tease Shane so much before he snaps.

A/N: I think this is the fastest I’ve written an SDV thing before. Shane has me so fucked up rn. I just can’t get enough of the hate-fuck type dynamic and it’s all I think about. ~

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Shane looks up from the shelf he’s stocking as he feels a pair of eyes on his back. He sees none other than you, miss “community-first, anti-corporation, beacon of moralism” in Joja-Mart. A rare occurrence. And you not only stand here in the fluorescent light of the obscenely bright supermarket, but you’re wearing a cropped tank top and skin-tight shorts that hardly cover the curve of your ass. He’d think you’d be wearing a hood pulled over your face to make sure no one saw you supporting Pierre’s competition, but no, you opted for as little cover as possible. He straightens up, looking down to meet your gaze as he leans his forearm on the empty shelf in front of him. “Hi, farmer.”

“Hey, Shane. How’s it going?”

“Couldn’t be better. Need somethin’?” A polite way of asking why you’re bothering him here of all places.

“I stopped by for some seeds. Pierre’s is closed today.” You must give that guy thousands of dollars every month. He really can’t make an exception and stay open on Wednesdays?

“Sure. You can get ‘em at the register.”

“I know. Thanks.” He raises an eyebrow, as if to ask what you’re still doing here. You clear your throat and turn your attention to the box at his feet. “Need help with this?”

“Nah. It’s my job, not yours.”

You shrug. “I don’t mind. I took up your time. I can help for a second.”

Before he has the chance to protest again, you cross to his other side and bend at the waist to pick up a couple boxes of product. The way you position yourself, he can see your ass through those shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. Your sleek legs that stretch under you, looking so soft to the touch. Your top rides up, exposing your lower back. You finally stand up to reach the shelf, stacking the boxes on it slowly. While Shane doesn’t mind admiring the view, the irritation is beginning to overshadow any positive emotion as he waits for you to carefully place a measly two out of the hundreds of items he needs to have stocked. “Thanks for the help. I’ll take it from here.”

You look over your shoulder and smile at him, stopping to admire your work before stepping back and bumping into him It’s probably only a second of your ass to his groin, but he swears you take your sweet time moving away. You take another step and turn back to him, apologizing and crossing your arms over your chest. You push your tits up, threatening to spill out of your low-cut tank top and you seem to smirk when you see Shane’s eyes fall to them. He quickly corrects himself, turning his attention toward fixing the boxes you set down. “See you around.”

“Yeah. Am I going to see you at the saloon tonight?” Shane nods. As if he spent his nights anywhere else. “Yay! See you later, then.”

You saunter off, hips swaying back and forth as you walk toward the front of the store. It’s hypnotic, really, your curved ass so nicely wrapped up in those shorts, one exaggerated stretch away from riding up enough to get a real taste of your bare skin. He spends the rest of his afternoon zoning out, the image of it replaying in his head. By the time he settles down in a barstool at the saloon, he’s ready to take his mind off you with a few beers and the same music Gus always plays.

It only lasts so long, though, and sure enough, you walk in a little later, wearing the same thing you were earlier. You lock eyes with him and don’t look away until you’re sat next to him, ordering a drink, only to turn in your seat to face him. “Hey.”

He nods once at you, taking a sip of his new beer. Shane can’t help but notice how your body reacts to the temperature difference of the saloon, AC blasting to combat the humid summer air. Your arms full of little goosebumps, the way you rub your hands across your thighs, the stretch of your light top over your hardened nipples which reveal that you’re clearly not wearing a bra. The idea that only one little layer of fabric separates him from such a thing bounces around his head. “Hey,” he finally responds.

“I like your shirt,” you say, surveying the soft green t-shirt he wears.

“Better than the uniform.”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. A man in uniform,” you giggle. “It makes you look authoritative.”

That’s a take he’s certainly never heard before. Stupid blue outfit makes him feel like a loser and he’s always been fairly sure the sentiment projected outward. “Yeah, sure,” he mumbles.

“Do you like my shirt?”

“It’s fine. Pretty simple.”

Your smile falters, just for a second. Gus sets your drink down in front of you, something fruity and colorful, and you quickly take it, mixing it up with the cocktail straws stuck between ice cubes before sucking up a drink. “You’d probably like it better on the floor, huh?” You poke his arm playfully. Shane raises an eyebrow, refusing to respond to that one. You lean back in the barstool, tucking your hair behind your ear and sipping your drink. It’s so full of ice that it doesn’t take long to finish, and you quickly hit the bottom, ordering another. While you wait, you grab the straws and stick your tongue out, running it along the black plastic slowly, so exaggerated that Shane has to fight back a laugh. Of course it has the desired effect, him imagining that tongue running flat along the underside of his cock, but you lack subtlety that makes it difficult to take you too seriously.

“You get all the seeds you needed?” he asks, changing the subject back to what they’d talked about earlier.

“Mostly,” you nod, trailing off and biting your lip.

“Good. It works in a pinch, I guess.”

��Yep, for sure…”

Just as you get your drink, Abigail walks in and heads right for you. The two of you greet each other excitedly, clearly not expecting to run into one another. And what a surprise it is, considering how big this town is. What are the odds that you both might wander into the only bar around?! Shane flips his attention between his drink and your conversation, having nothing better to listen to. Abigail floods you with compliments, all handsy with you, going so far as to grab your ass at one point. He watches the way her fingers dig into the flesh, squeezing at it and jiggling it in a way that feels so juvenile to be turned on by, but Yoba is it hot. Abigail gives him a pointed look over your shoulder, but says nothing, looking rather amused by his staring. She finishes off her drink before heading back home and you’re forced to talk to Shane once more.

“I should head home,” you tell him, sipping through the straw until the loud suck of air signals that you’ve emptied the little cup of its liquid. You go to pull out money for your tab, but Shane stops you.

“I’ll get it. Have a good night.”

“That’s sweet of you. I just made a pale ale with some hops I grew. You want to swing by and try it? Tell me if it’s any good?”

Shane pauses his dig through his wallet for money to eye you. He looks you up and down, not bothering to hide it. He’s had enough drinks, and you probably have to, to be so bold as to scan your barely-clothed body. Inviting him over for drinks at night, though you phrase it innocently enough, never has innocent intentions. He reluctantly agrees, though, throwing down some money and following you back to your farm. Once inside, you spend an almost absurd amount of time bent over, digging in the fridge, before pulling the pale ale out and handing it over. You stand close, anxiously awaiting his approval of it. He gives it quickly, because of course it’s good. You never make anything that isn’t up to your standards. You walk him through the whole process you went through to brew it while he makes quick work of it, hardly paying attention and instead staring at your lips as you speak.

After he sets the glass down, he turns back to you, falling even closer and completely dismissing the previous conversation. “I gotta ask you. You wore this ‘cause you wanted to get fucked. Yeah?” He tucks his index finger into the waistband of your tight shorts for emphasis. Your eyes grow wide at the overt accusation. “I mean, you’re bending over in front of me at every opportunity. No bra…” He tugs on the waistband, pulling it down past your hipbone. You’re wearing panties, but they’re clearly on the skimpy side, maybe a thong, “slutty panties. I can practically see through everything you’re wearing.”

“You can think what you want to,” you respond.

“I think you woke up and asked yourself, ‘how can I make someone sexually frustrated all day?’”

“Is that why you’re being so bold? Mad that I gave you a boner?”

“You want me to pretend like you’re not throwing yourself at me? Want me to act timid and hope you’ll make a real move?” You huff, backing up. He follows without a second thought. “Nah. This is what you wanted. You’re practically begging to be called out on your shit.”

You mumble some weak response as he grabs the glass again, filling it with water from the sink faucet and taking a sip. As he turns back to you, he says, “What’s bold is wearing a thin little shirt like that on a rainy day.”

“It’s not that thin.”

“Really? You wouldn’t mind, then…” He holds the glass in front of your face, slowly tilting it to the side. Your brain doesn’t catch up until the water begins to fall, and your body can’t move fast enough to get away from it. Shane knows he’s an asshole for it, and maybe it is the lack of blood flow to his head as his dick has been demanding it all day. He watches the water soak your shirt, flowing down the slope of your tits to turn your shirt darker as you yelp with the shock of it. Stepping back, he smirks to himself. “It’s that thin.” Your wet tits glistening with the moisture he poured on them in the dimly lit kitchen, nipples perking up with the chilly water covering them. He can see the shape of them, but now, he can also see the pretty color. Every detail is outlined by transparent fabric. Shane sets the glass back on the counter, triumphant in his moral victory.

“Fucking asshole!” You pinch the soaked fabric between your fingers, peeling it away from your skin. Shane peeks down the neckline, running his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Lemme help.” He lifts the bottom hem, pulling it up past your tits, pausing just a moment to admire them in their full glory before managing to slide the piece of clothing over your head. You reach back for it, one hand covering your newly exposed chest. Shane laughs, lifting the shirt over his head and watching you stand on your toes in an attempt to reach it. You uncover yourself to give yourself a better chance at taking it back, but it’s futile and you both know it. “Keep tryin’, babe,” he encourages, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pressing his palm to the center of your back. He wishes he’d had the foresight to take off his own shirt just so he could feel your wet tits press to his bare skin as you squirm against him. He sure as fuck can still enjoy looking at them pressed against his torso.

Shane gives up the game, letting both hands fall down to your ass and finally digging his nails into the fat through the spandex of your little shorts. And Yoba, it really feels like he’s won now. Groping the ass you spent all. day. throwing in his face. Your sweet tits squished into him; he can look down and admire your cleavage so easily. Knowing that the second you pull away, he’ll still get the pleasure of seeing you topless. And maybe he’s too excited about all this, like a teenage boy, but he’s been pushed too far and every little victory feels so much sweeter. For someone that wants to play dumb as much as you do, you’re sure quiet now as he grabs you in all the ways he’d been thinking. You even turn your head as he dips down, getting a better grip on your ass while connecting his mouth to your neck. He grinds himself into you, bulge pressing into your shorts and grinding against the sensitive spot between your thighs with ease.

“We good now?” he asks against your hot skin. “Can you help me out?”

“What d’you need help with?” you ask, quiet as you let him continue to suck purple marks into your neck.

“Need ya on your knees.”

You’re so good, now that you’re as horny as he is. All you needed was a little tough love and friction. You don’t argue, don’t waste time, just bend your legs and settle on the floor in front of him, your fingers already working at the belt on his jeans. He tugs off his shirt, throwing it to the side, letting you look up at his—decently toned—body and follow the trail of brown hair on his lower stomach down to the waistband of his pants. He helps you pull his jeans down his legs before grabbing you by the back of your head, bringing you closer until you stick out your tongue and run it along the tight black cotton of his boxer briefs. He’s sure if his boxers were much lighter, you’d be able to see the leak of precum soaking into them. He can’t take much more teasing, soon grabbing his cock out and holding it down to your mouth with his thumb. You lick up the tip, surely coating your tongue with the thick bead of pre there and swallow it down before taking the whole head in. Your mouth is so warm and soft around him and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to stop this before you can make him cum down your throat. Fuck, he really wants to, but what a wasted opportunity it would be to leave your cunt empty.

Instead, he pushes you deeper, deeper, until your nose nuzzles his stubbled pelvis and your throat contracts around the head of his cock as you struggle for air. Despite it, you don’t try to get away, content instead in just gagging around his length until he lets go. You return to his cock immediately, head bobbing back and forth on it while your eyes flicker up to his, all big and innocent like you hadn’t been hoping for this. “Keep goin’, you’re lookin’ better than you have all day, my dick stuffed in your mouth.” You whimper around him and it reverberates through his length. He gathers your hair in his hand, a sort of makeshift ponytail, using it to make you move faster. You’re so good at opening your throat and letting him just fuck it into you. “Touch your tits, baby, I’m gonna fuck ‘em when you’re done.” He watches you bring your hands up to your chest, kneading them and pinching your nipples between your fingers, and he can’t wait to lay you down and fuck his cock between them, still wet from the water he poured. Your fingers begin to roam down your body, settling between your legs and your tongue gets sloppy on the underside of his cock, licking it up like you can’t get enough of it. So fucking sexy the way you’re trying to get yourself off while he uses your mouth the way it was meant to be used. Shane grunts, gripping tighter to your hair. “Need you to get up and walk to the couch before I cum down your throat, babe.” He doesn’t want you to listen but he’s relying on it; there’s so many things he wants to do and he can’t have it cut short by his own lack of control.

Thank Yoba you do, prying yourself from his grip after he manages to get in one last hold, tip twitching wildly as it’s shoved down your throat, and you walk to the couch. He follows close behind, immediately pushing your knees apart to stand between them. He runs his slippery cock between your pretty tits and you push them together around it. He thrusts nice and slow, his tip coming up to your neck with each one. The precum quickly beads at his head and sticks to your skin, clear lines of sticky fluid forming and covering your upper chest as he continues. He reaches down, pinching harshly at one of your nipples and you whine, biting down on your bottom lip. “So fuckin’ sexy,” he assures you. “Was thinkin’ about sticking my dick up your li’l shirt at the bar and fuckin’ your tits like that.” And damn, it would be hot as fuck to watch his head protrude from your obscenely low-cut tank top each time he thrusted upward, but he could save that for a more public fuck if you chose to tease him like this again. In the privacy of your own home, he wants you as exposed as possible. It’s only right to make you undress since you wanna go out half naked. Shane sticks his thumb in your mouth and you quickly take to sucking on it, sure to remind him of how good it felt to have his dick there. “Think you’re ready to take my cock now?” You nod, lips still closed tight around his digit and too busy to use your words.

Shane grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet and walking you over to the side of the couch. He leans you over the arm before taking a knee, dragging your tight shorts down to your thighs. He admires your slutty choice of panties now that it’s all bared for him to see, using his thumb to pull them to the side and drag his tongue over your cunt, so fucking wet from being treated like the whore you asked to be treated as. It’s so sweet and he can’t resist taking the time to push his tongue between the pulsing ring and really eat it out, swallowing every drop he can get in his mouth. He opens his jaw a little more to dip the tip of his tongue to your clit, flicking over it as you grind against his face, moaning so cute that it makes his dick twitch. Shane really can’t waste any more time—he needs to feel how needy you are.

So he climbs back to his feet, pulling your panties down and keeping them around your thighs with your shorts. The fabric holds your legs together as you’re bent over the side of the couch, ass up and cunt tight for him to take. Shane spits down at your cunt, watching it drip over your hole and add to the sloppy mess. He grinds his cock between your folds, sure to pay extra special attention to your throbbing nub that makes you gasp and whimper for him, before finally nesting his tip at your entrance. You squirm around, trying to back yourself onto him, but he keeps it just out of reach. When he begins to slip it in, it’s slow, feeling the tight ring expand more as it takes in his thick head. He watches it, hand squeezing at your plush ass, holding still when the edge of his tip finally enters. He gives just the tiniest tug back, your pussy already tightening up around his ridge to keep him inside you. It’s like your body refuses to let him pull out. To do anything but fuck you senseless. Luckily for you, that’s the only thing he’s intending to do.

Shane picks up speed as he seeks to bottom out inside you, pushing his way through your tiny pussy until his hips nuzzle to your ass. You grip at the cushions in front of you, face buried in them, moans muffled. “This what you wanted, baby?” You only whimper in response. “Tell me. Is this what you hoped for when you came to see me at work?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

Shane pulls most of his dick out before pushing it back in, slow but aggressive, breath hitching each time. “Did’y want me to fuck you there? Sneak you in back and stick my cock in you?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanted to get fucked where someone can walk in and see you? Check the cameras and see you being a slut? Y’like the thrill?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“Such a good girl for admitting it. Tha’s what makes you different. You’re a dirty little slut but eventually, once you get a cock to plug you up, you admit it. ‘nd good girls deserve to get fucked.” Shane’s palm smacks against your ass before he grabs it again, enjoying the way it moves in his hand as he sets a more even pace.

“Was hoping you’d fuck me in the back of the saloon,” you mutter into the cushion.

“Yeah? Set you up on one of the kegs, put your legs over my shoulders, and pound you there? Where else should I fuck you? Y’know, for future reference.”

“Anywhere,” you groan. “Fuck me anywhere, please. Feels so good.”

Good answer. Shane sneaks his hand past the front of your thigh, fingertips attaching to your clit as he angles himself downward to bully his cock into your g-spot. Your hands fly back, grabbing for his arms. His free hand manages to grab both your wrists, pinning them at the small of your back while continuing to stroke at your clit. “Need to touch you,” you say, struggling in his grasp.

“Gonna cum on my cock if I let you?”

“Yes, yes, I will, please!”

He somewhat begrudgingly pulls himself from your warm cunt, tugging your clothing all the way down your legs. You kick it off, standing up once you’re free. Shane helps you slide your ass onto the arm of the couch, tucking your knees up to his sides as he slips himself inside you once more. It’s more intimate now, face to face, and he hadn’t expected to like it so much. Being able to see the twist in your expression as he pushes all the way inside you only adds to his pleasure, your mouth falling open and your eyes all half-lidded. Shane captures those pushed-out lips in a wet kiss, realizing as his tongue enters your mouth that this is your first kiss together, having neglected it in his haste to get undressed. Maybe it’s the heightened arousal, but you’re a good kisser. Desperate and not afraid to take what you want from it, tongues fighting one another, your teeth nibbling along his bottom lip. His thrusts grow shorter, hardly pulling himself away from you and instead staying close, his hand on your back to keep you upright despite the harsh jerks of his hips. You moan into his mouth, arms wrapping tight around his neck and he can feel the heaving of your chest against his. “‘m getting close, babe. Wanna feel you cum first.”

“So close,” you whimper.

“Lemme play with your tits,” he mumbles, prompting you to pull back. He moves down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, your back arching to give him better reach as he continues to work on fucking an orgasm out of you. His tongue flicks over your nipple, letting you feel his teeth applying the smallest bit of pressure before sucking harshly. “Body’s so fucking tight,” he pulls away to praise you. “Never gonna be able to wait all day to fuck you again.”

“Don’t want y’ to.”

“Good girl, cum on my cock. Show me how bad you wanted it.” He licks his way back to your neck, fucking hard against the rough spot inside your cunt, spurred on by your moaning increasing in volume. “Yeah, babe, gettin’ so tight. Jus’ like that. C’mon, baby girl.”

You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, clinging to his biceps and he can feel you squeeze and spasm around his thick cock. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, has to fuck you through your orgasm as you gasp and swear into his sweaty skin. “Cunt’s so fucking good, Yoba. Gonna make me cum. Gotta fuckin’ fill your tight little pussy up with it. Keep squeezing me, yeah, like that—fuck!” His hips begin to roll against yours, cock twitching wildly as sticky ropes of white begin to shoot through it, painting your sweet walls with it, thick tip plugging you up and keeping it inside you where it belongs. Shane bites your shoulder as he grunts through it, refusing to let you go as he pulses in your warm cunt. “Shit, baby,” he whines, voice all high-pitched, eyes rolling back as he moves to lean his forehead against yours. You move in for a kiss, which he hardly manages to return, hand stroking your outer thigh frantically in some attempt to pull you even closer, fit the last half-inch of his dick inside you and be totally consumed by your pussy.

He catches his breath without another movement, keeping you like that for at least thirty seconds. You don’t try to move, seemingly content to be held there and soak in Shane’s cum for as long as he needs you to. When he finally regains some composure, pulling out, his cum quickly floods out of you and runs down your cunt to your ass. He stops and stares, letting you go once he’s sufficiently saved that sight in his memory for later. He offers his hand to you, helping you hop off the side of the couch to stand on shaky legs. “Can’t believe how good that felt,” he sighs, grabbing his boxers.

You reach for your panties. “Me either. Think I have to add that outfit to my rotation.”

“You can wear whatever you want. Just tell me when you wanna fuck, and I’ll fuck you.”

“Promise?”

“Try to keep me away,” Shane chuckles. “I should get home. It’s pretty late.”

“Not gonna stay for round two?”

He groans. “I work tomorrow. If I don’t get out of here, I’m sure as hell not going to be able to drag myself away in the morning.”

“Want me to visit you?”

“Fuck yeah. I’ll pick out a spot. You wanna use one of the security cameras’ blind spots, or does being on film turn you on?”

You giggle. “If we’re gonna film it, let’s stick to cameras we own.”

“Deal.” Shane grabs his shoes, slipping them on as he finishes dressing while you’re still only wearing panties, his cum still leaking down your thigh and making a mess of the frilly fabric. Makes it all the more difficult to go home. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, then.”

“See you then.”

“Have a good night, baby. Text me if you get lonely.” Shane tilts your head up, kissing you softly and beaming down at you, wishing he could just stay like this forever. The list of things in this world that are better than your pussy—fuck, better than you—is extremely short. He feels stupid for leaving, passing up another round of something so wonderful, but he walks home that night wracking his brain for new ways to please you next time. Lays in bed thinking about next time. He grins up at the ceiling in the darkness of his room, palming himself through his boxers. Next time.

[99flyingducks]

this was so fun?????????????

[99flyingducks]

hii!! i love your work sm!!! (x reader gravity falls fic writers are currently scarce, thank u for writing!!)

maybe a little specific buttt how would either of the twins (specifically ford) react to their parter doing musical theatre? im a huge musical theatre girlie and i love performing and singing. kinda interested on how youd think theyd feel about it :D

sweetheart since you asked specifically for Ford i wrote only him i hope this is okay??

so i think Ford would take it very seriously.

first of all, because it’s something you love and that alone would be enough for him to treat it like sacred ground

secondly, because he genuinely finds it fascinating. in a world of anomalies and equations and unexplainable cosmic forces, the idea that people gather in one place to embody emotion through sound, every night anew, thats .. wow? he hasn't been in this dimension for a long time, so for this dude everything will be amazing. he is learning to live again

it might take him a moment. he’s not exactly a theater kid, never has been, never really understood how people could project so loudly & in front of strangers? although he grew up essentially with the most creative and loud child nearby. buuut he's in awe of how brave it is, to get up there and perform. he never did that, never could. unless he's defending some super smart dissertation whatever ANYWAYS once he sees you on stage, with an insatiable interest he watches you disappear into a role, he’s just. floored. he wouldn’t even clap right away, although, of course, he should. but he can't, he's so overwhelmed, stunned. your performance is the best he has seen in the entire universe.

on backstage later, he pulls you into a tight, almost overwhelmed embrace.

“you astound me.”

like he knows to stay out of your way but also makes himself useful. brings water, carries your bag, wipes lipstick off your teeth, helps zip up a dress if your costume change is a rush and your castmate bailed last second. Ford never makes a big deal of it, he just does it.

he'll also write all his thoughts in a journal, fascinated by the creative person he has by his side.

+ he might ask too many questions. “what is blocking? how does one memorize that many lines? how do you hit that high note ? how do you manage adrenaline? your body must be under immense physiological stress while you’re performing. what does it feel like?”

he’d memorize your solos without meaning to. without noticing it he hums them under his breath while he works in the lab, doesn’t even realize it until Mabel or Stan says smth like “Ford !! / sixer !! you’ve been singing ___ all day.”

and he’d go to every show. of course he would. even the ones you think are too silly or simple or not your best.

“that doesn’t mean you’re not extraordinary.” he says when you're upset (if a rehearsal goes bad, if you didn’t get a role you wanted or if your confidence takes a hit)

<3

[99flyingducks]

can you draw ford half-naked looking all embarrassed

mmmm....))

[99flyingducks]

Was doodling in MS Paint and someone suggested Stan. my sister begged me to post it

[99flyingducks]

Clint you've got to be fucking kidding me

[99flyingducks]

Monday is a hard day. Hands no longer obey, but at first I wanted to draw. Not a great result today, but I still think it's cute

[99flyingducks]

REMEMBER. gender is NOT the same thing as sex.

gender is what you identify as, while sex is what i'll be having with bob reynolds tonight.

stay informed.

[99flyingducks]

Prev Next

Would you look at that, I wanted to post 43 images in one post, and tumblr wouldn't let me! Here's the first 18. I'll share the rest of what I've drawn in a moment. PLEASE pretend I drew bills eye scar in all of these. My sleep deprived ass could NOT be bothered :'D

Bills adorable little campaigning outfit is courtesy of @kerink !! It was just so great I HAD to draw it. Here's her drawing.

As always: Support Bills Noble Cause and vote for Ford. We've less than 24 hours people!!

[99flyingducks]

glad you’re feeling better!

would you be comfortable sharing a sneak peek of the next chapter 👀

if not I totally understand please prioritize your well being!

Listen, I don't have a chapter sneak peak for you BUT..... because I'm making you all wait so long for this next chapter and I feel bad, I'm gonna give you a small snack.

This is an unpublished thingy that I posted on a little discord server that I'm in and people liked it there so I figured you might enjoy it here. It is just a very short warm-up drabble that I did ages ago and never used again. It's a bit messy and stuff, but whatever. It's set during MtB but it isn't really anything to do with the series. Just a little snippet of life within it:

I Got It Bad (and that ain't good) Rating: NSFW (only slightly) Type: Drabble Tags: Kissing, implied sexual stuff. Very, very tiny inference to muses but meant in no certain way. No pronouns/body described. Word count: 1233

When he's feeling contemplative, Ford likes to play the piano.

He is, like so many other things he turns his attention to, wonderful at it. 

Ford likes jazz. He pretends he's a classical purist but you've found the record sleeves on the shelves near his desk, you’ve done a little snooping, and you know they rarely correspond to the vinyl inside. They're just for show. He plays it mainly in the evenings when he's treating himself to a glass of scotch; he'll listen to a particular artist (this week it's been an awful lot of Duke Ellington) and then recreate it on his own instrument. 

He'll start small. Just a slow, leisurely tinkling of the ivories as he finds his rhythm, and then he'll settle into his groove and flex yet another of his many skills as you listen from another room while you tidy up.

If you're especially lucky, he'll ask you to join him and give him feedback on it. 

He doesn't care about the feedback, of course, because he knows he's good and so does everyone else, and you're sure he's just using it as an opportunity to show off but you never mind. 

He has, in typical Ford fashion, always refuted your accusation: “I assure you, I certainly am not,” he'd said one evening with a knowing smile, as you'd watched from your seat beside him. “I merely know that you like jazz and I play because you listen,” and you'd felt such an intensely affectionate warmth bloom in your chest that you'd dropped the point immediately.

(And when he had added on a quiet: “Plus, I like the way you look at me when I do it,” and you'd made him hit a bum note when you’d leant up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then, well, who can blame you?) 

Your favourite thing to do, beyond simply enjoying the melodies, is to watch his hands and fingers as he works. 

He'd been a little apprehensive at first, once he had noticed, but you had been quick to reassure him that your interest was appreciative, if perhaps salacious, and not even close to judgemental. 

“Would you be uncomfortable if I took a video?” You ask one dark winter's evening, leaning against the piano’s top while you observe him. “Just for myself, I mean.” 

“Whatever for?” Ford responds without missing a beat of his metronome. 

He's going away soon. He and Stan set sail in two days time and it’s a long trip this time, which means for four months, four long, agonising months, you’ll be without him. It’s almost too much to bear and your heart feels like lead at the thought. 

“Because I’m going to miss you and I’d like to have something to remind me of you when I feel like shit,” you say. 

The corner of Ford’s mouth curls upward a fraction and he spares you a thinly veiled, heated glance, his cheeks turning pink. “I thought our plan was to give you plenty of reminders the night before….?” 

Your stomach flutters. 

“I’d like more than bruises, if you wouldn’t mind,” you say, biting down on a smile. 

Ford laughs under his breath and after a moment, says: “And it’s just for you? The video?” 

“Of course,” you reassure him. “I don’t have to, I just…. Your hands are my favourite part of you and I think about them, often.” 

Too often, some might say. 

Ford laughs again, a little louder this time. “Not my dashing good looks?” he teases. “Or my dazzling personality? You wound me, my dear.” 

You grin. “All of the above,” you say with a shrug. “But especially your hands.” 

“Is that so?” Ford says, taking one hand from the keys to pat the empty space beside him. “And what, pray tell, do you think about them?” 

You go where he asks, taking up a seat at his side obediently. “Lots of things.” 

“Such as….?” 

He’s fishing for compliments, you both know it, but does sound genuinely curious, too. 

“I think they’re the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen,” you say, giving him exactly what he wants. “And I think about how they fit in mine. I think about how they feel, how your thumb rubs over my knuckles when we hold hands and how your little finger does the same on the sides, you know, just because you can do that….”

“Anything else?” Ford asks, voice warm. 

You smile, eyes transfixed on the way his fingers tick across the ivory. “And…. I like to think about how you hold my thighs when you have your head between them. The way you hold onto my hips. How your fingers taste when you put them in my mouth.” 

Ford makes a soft sound, somewhere between a contented sigh and an aroused groan, and his hands falter momentarily before he restarts his playing. 

“Is that so?” he says, hoarse. 

“Mm,” you hum absentmindedly. Your head is full of those same thoughts right now, your mind’s eye blurred with the memories of Ford’s fingers climbing underneath your jeans and inching past your underwear. Of touching you so intimately that you have to press your thighs together slightly to sate the longing. 

Ford catches it. 

“You’re thinking about it right now,” he mutters, and his tone holds no question.

He’s stopped playing. His hands are frozen over the keys. 

“Aren’t you?” you answer, eyes still on them. 

Ford exhales slowly through his nose, shaky,  restrained. “I’m always thinking of you,” he says simply. 

You tear your eyes away to look up at him, only to find that his gaze is already on you. 

Ford’s eyes are molten, half-lidded and hot, and they flick down to your mouth and back up to your own. 

“You’re terrible,” he says, in such a way that it’s obvious he means it in the most complimentary context possible. “A terrible, terrible influence on an old man like me.” 

A smirk creeps onto your face. It’s always satisfying to see the effect you have on him. “I can leave, if you’d like me to. I have plenty to do and I-!” 

Ford pushes the stool back with one leg, your combined weights little more than a minor  inconvenience to him, and he hauls you into his lap before you can even finish the thought. 

You laugh, loud and bright, and fling your arms around his neck to hold on tightly to him and avoid sending you both to the floor in a heap. “Or not,” you concede. 

“Never,” agrees Ford, and then he’s kissing you. 

It’s slow and tender and white hot as always. 

You can feel his arousal press between your legs and it’s enough to make you smile against his mouth. 

“What a dirty old man you’ve become,” you say dramatically, nudging your nose against his. 

“I'm only what my muse makes of me,” Ford says raggedly. “And you are an awfully seductive force, you know….” 

“So I've been told,” you smile, one hand wandering below to palm him gently through his slacks. 

Ford groans, low and deep, and tilts his head back. “I'll make a deal with you,” he says quietly. “I swore off them a long time ago but just for you, just this once: if you keep doing that, I'll let you take footage of any fucking thing you like….” 

You grin. 

“Deal.” 

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