#HEED THE TAGS

[thebibliosphere]

Pennyworth: The Daring Young Man

Chapter five

On the one hand, the acid-shooting flowers had done wonders for Gotham’s air quality by soaking up the harmful pollution in the atmosphere. True, they'd then turned it into a bio-weapon. But you couldn't have everything. On the other hand, it reminded him too much of Burma—the dappled sunlight tinted green by giant leaves, the humidity, and the scent of deep, dark earth tinged metallic and stained red with blood, the shouts, the screams…

Alfred shivered and shook his head to shake off the memory before it could manifest into anything else.

Now would not be a good time to hallucinate Spanish riddled with bullet holes sitting beside him in the passenger seat. Or anyone else, for that matter. He had too much going on to allow his grip on reality to wobble any more than it already had over the last few days. It was bad enough that he still felt like the world still wasn’t quite solidified yet. Like they were still missing something…

“You’re doing fine, love,” said a fond, kindly voice to his right.

“Fuck,” Alfred muttered, allowing himself a brief moment to squeeze his eyes shut, his hands tightening into a death grip on the steering wheel. “Not now, Mum.”

[Read more on Ao3]

I am posting this from my phone so I apologize if the formatting is horrendous. It’s the only screen not triggering a migraine right now. If it’s bad I’ll show @mothman-etd how to use Ao3 and he can fix it.

Anyway. Alfred is having a very normal time of it. No ghosts here.

[steviewashere]

In Sickness and Health

Rating: General CW: Discussions of Medical Issues, Referenced/Past Seizures Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Older Steddie, Canon Divergent, Steve Harrington has Seizures, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Breakdowns, Hurt/Comfort, Angst & Fluff, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Pet Names

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is giving them space when they need it."

💕—————💕

Eddie has learned to revel in quiet afternoons, even when he’s alone. The way the sunshine bathes the apartment’s living room carpet—his and Steve’s apartment. Their cat, Poncho, settled heavy and warm in his lap. A chilled glass of southern iced tea and a plate of crackers and sliced cheese. The television volume on low. Book open and set on the arm of the couch. It’s good, the quiet.

Yet, it breaks the moment the front door opens. He didn’t hear Steve stick his key in the lock. But he definitely hears his annoyed groans and huffs. The slam of the door, most likely shut with his hip. A muffled, “Damnit”, when he drops his keyring on the floor.

He peeks from the edge of the couch, eyes set and attentive at their front door. And Steve is there, wrestling with his puffer jacket, grumbling under his breath, kicking his legs and stepping on the backs of his sneakers—something he never does, he cares too much for those things. But here he is. One t-shirt stuck on a doorknob away from a breakdown.

Though, Eddie doesn’t chastise him for the way his emotions express. No matter how explosive they are. Steve just gets like this some days. Too angry to talk. Too begrudged to take care of his things.

What’s new, however, is Steve’s slightly splotchy, puffy face. Red and pink and white. The tears brimming in his eyes. Ever apparent even behind his glasses. A paper with professional scribbling on it—a doctor’s note. He had an appointment this morning. Made last night after an emergency room trip. A seizure is what put him there. Scared them both, Eddie too eager to make him take an appointment, to call in sick to work. He should’ve gone with, if this is how Steve’s coming home.

He plops Poncho on the couch, letting him stretch skywards and curl back into a little ball. Tea abandoned on the coffee table. And Eddie gently comes around the corner, hands hooked in front of himself, still dressed down in pajamas, eyes wide and expecting at Steve. 

“St—“

Steve shakes his head. A hand held out in front of him. Jacket and shoes abandoned by the front door. And he sidesteps Eddie completely, barreling down the hallway, slamming the bedroom door behind him, and locking it.

Eddie lumbers after him, slowly, cautiously. Face to the wood of the door. And through it, what breaks his heart, he can hear Steve’s soft cries. He resigns himself to some time on the couch. Steve always needs his space after breakdowns like these.

Needed it after Max woke up in the hospital, half-blind, limbs mostly healed. Needed it after Eddie came out of surgery, pock-marked and head shaved, half a grimace on his face. Needed it when Robin moved out of state for college. After Dustin and Lucas and Mike and Will and Eleven and Max all graduated high school, when they went their separate ways across the country, when they called once or twice a month. When his dad died, the grief a heavy blanket on his shoulders, his chest lighter, his brain angry at being relieved. 

Steve needed his space when Eddie brought home their cat (though he came out merely ten minutes later, an excited smile on his face, name on the tip of his tongue). Nightmares and dissociation episodes. At the grocery store, because he has to stick to a list, knowing that Eddie never does that. The first grey hair, which he then took in stride when Eddie called him a “Beautiful baby silver fox.”

Even after they moved to Massachusetts in 2008 and got married. His emotions were so strong, so palpable, so rapid—he just needed a moment to debrief, take a hot shower, and then cuddle into Eddie’s side on their honeymoon bed.

Point is, Eddie knows when Steve needs his space. Knows that he cherishes that time to himself, to break down in contemplative silence, to let himself digest new information or old information or just get himself restrung. 

He wishes that Steve had been taught that it’s okay to breakdown in front of his loved ones. That it’s okay to ask for help and for comfort. But it doesn’t come easy. It makes him guilty. It makes him scattered like a headless chicken.

For the mean time, Eddie sets himself down on the couch, iced tea in his grip, volume turned up slightly on the television. Steve doesn’t like it when people hear him cry. Eddie doesn’t acknowledge it either, for the sake of saving Steve from another impending breakdown. He loves Steve with all his might, he just wishes things were slightly different. He’ll do this, ever reluctant he may be.

——— Around thirty minutes later, an average amount of time for Steve, the bedroom door creaks open. Eddie quickly turns down the TV and gently places his now empty glass on the coffee table.

Small, floating from the hallway, Steve calls out, “Eddie? Can you—“ He sniffles, voice still choked up. “Can you come in here, please?”

The sight that Eddie wanders in on breaks his heart a little further. Steve’s face is still a splotchy mess, his eyes downcast and teary, waterlines pink. His hair, grayer now, is askew. There’s a definite slump to his body, where it rests on the edge of the mattress. Hands intertwined between his legs, fingers locking and pulling one another, socked feet shuffling on the rug. He got out of his day clothes, now back in his pajamas from the night before—sleep shorts, grey t-shirt.

Eddie closes the bedroom door behind him. He scoots over and kneels down on the floor. Hesitantly, he sets his palms on Steve’s knees. He rubs the inner skin, warm and soft, with his thumbs. “Whatcha need from me, baby? Ask me to do anything, I’ll do it.”

Steve sighs, breath shuddering as it leaves him. His exhale ends on a little whimpered hiccup. Instead of answering, he grabs the paper he was holding earlier and passes it over. It’s edges are wrinkled, probably from being handled roughly, maybe even scrunched. And Eddie was right, it’s something from a doctor’s tablet. Signed off with a messy scrawl:

— Instructions for handling seizures. — What to do if a seizure lasts longer than five minutes. — Steps on how to start the process of getting a service animal. — Firm directions telling the patient to not drive. — Prescription for Tegretol CR 200mg

And the diagnosis in thick, blocky, bold black text:

Epilepsy

Eddie sighs through his nose. He swallows thickly and looks back up to Steve’s defeated face. He murmurs, “I should’ve gone with you. I’m sorry, love bug.”

Shrugging, Steve mutters, “Thought I was done with the after effects of the shit back in Hawkins. I’m so—Angry? Disappointed? I don’t know how to feel.”

The paper is set back on the mattress and Eddie pulls Steve into his chest. He rubs a hand down the length of his spine, the other squeezing around his waist. “You’re allowed to feel however you want. And it’s okay to take the time to figure that out, too. This is hard stuff, baby.” He sways them from side to side. Closing his eyes in relief as Steve’s arms wrap around his back. Something that, unfortunately, doesn’t happen enough when he’s in need of comfort. His hands grip tightly to the back of Eddie’s t-shirt. Eddie gently turns his head and kisses Steve’s cooling, still ruddy cheek. “We’ll start figuring this out. Like we always do. I’ll be right here for you, alright?”

Steve nods against his shoulder. Muffled into Eddie’s neck, he asks quietly, “Can I have some more space and alone time?” He shifts to slowly release Eddie. “Just for a little while. I promise I’ll hang out. I just needed to tell you, so that it’s not harder later.”

He pries them apart gently. Arms still encasing Steve, he holds soft eye contact. “You take all the time in the world. I won’t be offended, sweetheart.” He kisses Steve’s forehead now. When he sits back on his heels, Eddie brings up a hand and runs it through Steve’s hair, fingernails dully scratching at his scalp. His smile is lopsided, the youngest it’s been since the first confession. It comes easier now, “I love you, you know that? I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” Steve murmurs, barely returning the smile, and yet it’s there. Eddie revels in that, too.

And when Eddie goes to exit the bedroom, door almost shut behind him, Steve calls out his name one more time. Looking back, Steve swamped in their comforter, glasses folded on the bedside table, wrapped up and warm, Eddie tilts his head in careful implore. He hums in question.

“Thank you for understanding,” Steve whispers.

“Thank you for telling me, I know it was hard. If you need anything, I’ll be in the living room, okay? I’ll keep the TV low, but tell me if it’s too loud.” Steve nods, shifting under the blanket further, fully supine on the mattress. He looks more relaxed. He looks a little easier. “Have a good nap, love bug. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

[nocasdatsgay]

Kept - Harlots of Autumn Fic

Pairing: Reader/Beron; Mentions of past Reader/Lucien and mentions of past Reader/Vanserra Brother | Rating: E | Word Count: 2230 |

Autumn Harlots Master Post| Previous Part: Sold | Read on ao3

Summary: Lucien was gone from Autumn. The High Lord requests your presence a week later to find out if you’re worth keeping. 

Trigger Beron. Vague mentions of past non-con. Dubious consent. Power imbalance. Non-con due to power imbalance. Blow jobs. P in V sex. Fire Rope. Inappropriate use of High Lord Powers

A/N: Merry Crisis. It’s still Christmas Eve here so. Anyways no time like the present. HEED THE WARNINGS. 

Gen Tagging List: @secret-third-thing @readychilledwine @acourtofladydeath @lady-of-tearshed @daycourtofficial @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @thisblogisaboutabook @ninthcircleofprythian @pit-and-the-pen @ysmtttty @jon-snows-man-bun If I tagged you by accident let me know

A month of mourning. The whole Forest House was in black daily, solemn moods on every face. The only person you mourned was Lucien. He was so kind to you for so long. He kept his brothers at bay for the first year but eventually they got their hands on you. 

Leon, one of the two you were supposed to be mourning, was the roughest. He liked it when you cried- be it from pleasure or pain. He always made you look him in his ugly brown eyes while he fucked you. And he always forced an orgasm out of you. You might as well enjoy it too, he would whisper in your ear. 

If there was a grave to spit on you would have done it. 

The other brother was just an annoyance when he was alive. Sloppy and drunk most of the times he called for you. You could get him off with your hands and he would pass out immediately after. When he did fuck you he was quick. Maybe it was a blessing he died before taking a wife. 

It was only five days after the announcement of what happened that you received a letter with the High Lord’s seal. Your heart stopped when you saw he requested you meet him in his quarters after dinner. You tossed the letter and burned it- you didn’t want the other two girls, Beca and Rhian finding it. They were kind but even after a few years you still didn't trust them fully yet. 

When you went, you put on one of your better dresses. A burnt orange one that you wore last month at the ball. It was the newest, you felt maybe it would look better if you showed off how you appreciated his generosity. There was a guard at the door. He looked down his nose at you before knocking. A call from the other side and he let you in. 

“High Lord,” you walked in and curtsied. You kept your eyes on the floor. “You called for me?”

Silence. You didn’t look up, too afraid of this being a test. 

“I did.” He finally broke the silence after a moment. You kept your eyes on the decorated carpet. “Do you know why I called for you?” 

“No, High Lord.” 

He hummed. “Beauty but no brains then. That explains why that runt didn’t wish to keep you. I do not know why, considering he was no better.” 

You heart quickened. 

“I gave you a task when you were hired. Entertain my youngest. You must be abysmal company if you could not keep his attentions. Do you have anything to say for yourself? You may speak.” 

“High Lord, I assure you I did my best-“

“Your best obviously wasn’t good enough. Did you know? Of his dalliances with that creature?” 

You winced. “No, High Lord. I did not.”

He hummed. “I believe you. If there was one thing he did learn, it was how to be sly. Besides, if you lied I would know. I always know.” He paused and you held your breath. “That still leaves me with you. What to do with you? Are you worth keeping?” You didn’t answer. “Show me why I should keep you.” 

Your stomach sank. You knew what he wanted. 

“How would you prefer me?” You replied softly. 

“Take three steps, then kneel.” Three small steps and you kneeled on the plush carpet. “Eyes on me.”

Your gaze snapped up. He looked at you from where he lounged in his chair. You had never seen him in such tight clothes. A simple and loose ruby undershirt, the top untied. Your gaze flickered to his brown leather trousers- another article of clothing you’d never seen him in. He looked younger like this. You’d call him handsome if he were a stranger. If you didn’t know what kind of male he was. He stood. You could see and smell his arousal even from a short distance. 

“You are a pretty one,” he stepped up and grabbed you by the chin. Gods, he looked like Eris this close. “But are you worth keeping after your failure to please that runt? Open your mouth.”

He let go and you opened your mouth, resting your tongue on your bottom lip. He forced two fingers into your mouth. You only recoiled slightly from the sudden movement but kept yourself from gagging as he pushed back further. You took a calculated risk: you closed your mouth around his fingers and sucked gently. He grinned. 

“You’re a nasty little cunt. To think you were pure when we got you.” He pulled his fingers out and straightened himself. “Show me how you please a High Lord.” 

You gathered up your hair in the ribbon you kept on your wrist. He laughed at you but you didn’t pay him any mind. With your hair secured, you reached out for his trousers. For half a moment, you wondered if it would be sacrilegious to pretend this was Lucien. You did that sometimes. You wish you knew more when he bedded you so that you could make him feel good too. 

You focused and realized Beron had a belt on- it wasn’t typical Autumn fashion. Still, you undone it from the buckle and undid the button on the trousers. The dark hair on his navel came into view and his clothes were pushed aside. Heat pooled instinctively between your legs at the peak of his straining cock. When you pulled it out, you didn’t know if you physically or mentally made a noise. It was unfair how attractive the Vanserras were considering their personalities. Looking at it fully, it was just as pretty as his sons’. His hand went to your head while you stroked him. Gods, you hope you did this like he wanted. His hand didn’t leave your head while you licked up the underside of his length. 

You kept your eyes up, looking at him from under your lashes when you took him in your mouth. You bobbed once, coating him in your saliva. He tasted different- sharp like Fire Whiskey. He groaned, fingers digging into your scalp to hold you still. You knew what would come next and relaxed your jaw. 

“Good girl,” he sighed and thrusted into your mouth. 

Your mind drifted. Lucien called you a good girl. When he stretched you out with his fingers. When he made you come on his cock. The memory made your panties wet. Your gaze unfocused thinking about him; sucking his cock. He’d reward you and make you feel good too. Beron must have noticed. He grabbed your ponytail and yanked your head back. 

“You focus on me,” he snarled, flames in his eyes. 

“Yes sir.” You muttered and opened your mouth again. 

You made a point to stare at him as he thrusted into your mouth, hand tight on your hair. Did he fuck his wife like this? Did he fuck the other girls like this? They never said. They only talked about the heirs. 

“I see why they wanted you,” he groaned, his thrusts getting rougher and threatening to gag you. “You’re so fucking pretty on your knees. Cry for me and I’ll give you a treat.” 

Beron started pushing down your throat. You gagged once but caught yourself. As commanded, your eyes watered. He seemed to like that. It didn’t take long for him to come down your throat. You swallowed, the aftertaste like whiskey coating your mouth. You desperately prayed to The Mother you wouldn’t cough or choke. He stepped back, your salvia leaving a string from the head to your lips. You didn’t dare wipe it away. 

“Get up.” Beron caught his breath. He let go of your hair and you watched him stroke himself again. “Get up and bend over the chair.” 

You got to your feet and scrambled to the chair he’d been sitting in. You bent over the left arm. In your mind you were terrified but your body- you could smell your own arousal and his. You told yourself it was from thinking of Lucien. Deep down you knew the truth. You liked it. You bit your lip as he came up behind you. You stood your toes, hopping to lift your rear the way he might want. 

His hands gathered your skirt, lifting. He reached under and you inhaled sharply when his warm hands caressed your thigh. He tugged on your undergarments, making them fall to the floor at your feet. 

“I’m keeping these,” he said. 

You could hear him move. He reached down and you made sure to quickly step out of them. You didn’t understand why he would want your undergarments. His sharp inhale startled you. 

“You almost smell good enough to eat. Maybe one day if you earn it.” 

You didn’t know what that meant. 

Suddenly warm fire wrapped around your neck- he had made a fire rope. It didn’t burn but was still warm against your skin. Then he pulled. You gagged and choked as you tried to sit up and lessen the pressure. He laughed and tugged it again. 

“Lift your leg whore.” 

You steadied yourself and lifted your left leg up onto the arm of the chair. Then two more fire ropes wrapped around your wrists. You yelled when your hands were yanked off the chair and moved to your back. He pulled on those, holding you up and you tried to shift your weight to take the pressure off your throat. The rope fire holding your arms behind your back held fast just like the rope on your neck. But it seemed to be what he wanted. You felt him let one hand go and throw up your skirts. He run his fingers along your slit. 

“Whore indeed.” You whimpered when he pushed two fingers into you with ease. “My boys trained you well. Are you always this needy?” 

You knew better than to answer. His fingers felt around until he hit a spot that made you clench. The bastard chuckled. He loosened his hold of the fire on your neck long enough to shove his cock into you without warning. You moaned involuntarily. 

“Been a long time since I had such a tight cunt.” He thrusted and jolted you forward. He let out a deep groan and did it again. “Maybe you are worth keeping.” 

Beron fucked you in long hard strokes, dragging himself out slowly only to thrust into you quick and hard. The chain on your neck tightened, making you dizzy. You tried to focus, to figure out what he wanted from you. Did he want you to come? Did he want you to be silent or vocal? Vocal seemed to be what he wanted. Each time you gasped and whined when he tugged the chain made him grip your waist harder. 

And it felt good. 

Each stroke hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. It didn’t help that each thrust rubbed you against the arm of the chair, stimulating you from the outside. And with the pressure from the chain on your throat- it was hard not to let go. 

“You like this don’t you,” he whispered. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” you gasped. 

His fingers dug into your thigh.“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, high lord.”

“Good girl.” You whined and he groaned. “I’m going to cum inside of you and you’re going to walk out with my seed in your cunt. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you struggled to get out, “High Lord.” 

He finally loosened the chain of fire on your neck and held you by the ones on your wrists. He cursed and came. You could feel the heat of him coat the inside of you. Then unexpectedly, he pulled you up flush against him. 

“Come for me.” He whispered in your ear. “Come for your high lord.” 

A command your body couldn’t disobey. You moaned loudly, pulsing around him, pleasurable warmth rolling through your body. It felt so good you forgot for a moment who had you in his grasp. Then the ropes vanished and he let go. You fell face first panting into the chair cushion. He stepped back, pulling out and leaving his cum dripping out of you. 

“Clean up your mess.” 

You pushed yourself up, turning to see him watching you intensely. Your eyes dropped to his softening cock. It was muscle memory at that point. You got on your knees and licked him clean. You looked up at him the whole time, watching to see if he approved. He reminded you of Asher, the way his face held no emotion or tell at what he was thinking. Then he shoved you away. 

“You can stay. Don’t make me have to call for you again, understand?” He tucked himself back into his trousers. 

“Yes High Lord.” 

“Out.” 

You scrambled to your feet, his sticky mess dripping down your thighs like he promised. It was by the grace of The Mother no one was in the hall as you made your way to your chambers. Beca and Rhian were missing when you entered- another blessing. You were shaking by the time you drew a bath and got into the water. You washed away the smell of him and tried desperately to not think about what would have happened if you had not pleased him. 

[torchflies]

Tom loves listening to Janis Joplin; he has since he was seven years old, riding high on his Daddy’s shoulders at the Avalon — before everything.

Before a passing conversation with a photographer who noticed a particularly photogenic child, before six years of non-stop movies on a Disney contract before puberty hit and made him unmarketable, before the inception of Tommy, before he was drinking his breakfast, lunch and dinner: taking uppers to get through the day and downers to sleep — just, before.

(Ice struggles with the person he used to be and tries not to join the 27 Club).

[zuppizup]

The Longest Night

Summary: Callum has never been very good at accepting his limits and while some challenges may seem insurmountable, when it comes to Rayla... he would do anything for her.

Pairing: Rayla/Callum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Callum wandered through the dark woods, eyes moving continuously as he searched for Rayla. The strange light of this place made it difficult for him to focus. It had been too long since he’d seen her, and every second spent searching was a second without her.

It wasn’t like they had endless time together either.

“We have to stop meeting like this.

He sighed in relief at the sound of her voice, feeling his throat close. “Rayla.” Turning, he found her standing by the tree where they’d said goodbye the last time he’d seen her.

She looked beautiful as always, her long hair loose and swaying gently in the breeze, a soft smile on her face. Every time he saw her; she took his breath away.

“Callum,” her voice broke as she reached for him.

He embraced her, feeling the tense knot in his chest unravel as he held her in his arms. “I missed you.”

Read more on AO3: The Longest Night

[aziraphales-library]

Im scared to ask this, but what is the "infamous cream cheese fic"?/genq

I'm scared to answer this! Warning, warning, warning. I cannot stress enough that you should all thoroughly read the tags very carefully before you decide to read this!...

Swallowing Loneliness by Marvin_Cumbawumba (E) (WIP)

Aziraphale is alone on Earth, but some things, like a good meal or pleasant company, soothe any sore feelings away.

- Mod D

[sachikokuroichi]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon), Helluva Boss (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alastor/Lucifer Magne | Morningstar Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Lucifer Magne | Morningstar, Charlie Magne | Morningstar, Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Velvette (Hazbin Hotel), Asmodeus | Ozzie (Helluva Boss), Beelzebub (Helluva Boss) Additional Tags: TW: Sexual Harrasment, smut with some thinly veiled plot, one day in alastor's shoes, Shapeshifting, lucy has female anatomy in this one, lucy has a real shit day in this one, it gets better tho, doe!Lucifer, Breeding Kink Mentioned, Mating Bites, Scenting, Possessive Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Non Sex-Repulsed Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), my ace wife made me write this, are they already in a relationship? who knows - up to you Summary:

It all started with a stupid argument between Alastor and Lucifer, as it does most of the time:

“You wouldn’t survive one fucking day in hell as prey animal! With your idealistic view on the world around you!” ��Oh, it’s on! I can do this with one hand on my back and both of my eyes closed! And you know what?! I can do it without being a prickly, sassy asshole!”

Famous last words.

[dontpercievemeplease]

Jashers it’s happened.

Silly Writing with Silly Guys by Foxy is now on ao3!!!

No more having to deal with large google docs :)

Please show Foxy some love!!

Go read it’s so good!!!! They’re brothers your honor I swear-

[gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes]

Eight Minutes

RatedE, Dark AU, mystery, mind the tags

For the @wintershieldbingo event | Space: Blowjob

The heavy slug of too-little sleep dulled Steve’s consciousness when Bucky roused him. A faint rosy light was coming in through the door; there were no windows in Bucky’s bedroom. The sheets and blanket were pulled aside so his bare body was exposed. Instead of being cold, he was feeling warm. It took a few moments for the rest of his senses to come online before he realized that Bucky was giving him head.

“Morning, Cap,” Bucky mumbled, sweet and wet and wonderful against Steve’s very interested skin. The sound vibrated clear back through his spine.

The only sound Steve could produce was a pathetic whimper. “Bucky.”

“Awake now?” Bucky asked, sliding those sensual lips, open-mouthed, back and forth across the very tip.

“Fuck yeah.”

Read on AO3

[aprilfeldspar]

[thewriterowl]

Story Thirteen: Something a Little Different

Story Theme: Topping from the Bottom

A collection of one-shots covering prompts, AUs, cliches, kinks and other themes we enjoy with our favorite dads in space…in the sexiest of ways.

Story Thirteen: Din decides he wants to see what makes Luke enjoy their "time" together. So, he takes Luke for a ride.

-o-

New smut for the weekend! Something to give us a distraction from...things. :D I am so tired.

But I hope you like this! Din does indeed take Luke for a ride to see what all the pleasure is about. So it is a bit different than what I normally do...but Din still basically tops and doms Luke, so it still has my flare to it lol

Hope you all are well and you enjoy the filth! Let me know what you think!

[froginamoodboard]

x x x x x x x x x

[torchflies]

*Little blurb about Jake’s terrible childhood and the five siblings he raised on his own. It might become a series 😉*

“Ness Seresin is born on Caddo Lake, split between Texas and Louisiana.

He comes a month too early.

(Or, a brief look into the childhood of Jake Seresin, who wasn't always Jake, and the five kids he raised).”

[saltybenchday]

If you’re anything like me, you saw the latest episode of Outlander and thought ‘Wouldn’t it be better if we settled our differences in a sexier, *slightly* less violent way?’. Well this is that. Please read the tags!

Reckless

What might have happened if Jamie had taken out his anger in a very different way after learning about John and Claire's carnal knowledge.

[thetornadodream]

If We Don't Stop Wanting in the Long Dark

Rating: E

Summary:

“Come on, they’re the perfect flower for you: they’ve got hell and bore in the name.” He then added to his insult by flicking the end of her nose with his soil-stained gardening gloves. She was sure that her nose was now speckled in dirt. And even though she had glared thoroughly at him, he had just laughed before saying, “Those specks of dirt should fit in nicely with the rest of your face, freckles.”

Her glare turned murderous; this new nickname he’s given her is a thousand percent done to infuriate her.

“Do not call me that,” she snapped, pawing furiously at the soil dotting her face.

His eyes were dark on her when he had arched an eyebrow and asked, “Oh? You’d prefer I call you Master?”

-

When Wednesday finds herself tethered to Tyler Galpin as his new Master after killing Laurel Gates, the two work together to try to find a way to undo the binding. But as the months go by, can they learn to trust not just each other but also their own feelings?

for @weylerwritingevents

[aziraphales-library]

Good morning! I’m hoping you may be able to help me. I cannot seem to find a fic even though I thought I knew its name. I never got to read it so I only have a description, but I believe it’s supposed to be that either Crowley or Aziraphale (may be both) are in a mental health institute. They either are or think they are human, and they can’t get anyone to believe them that the apocalypse is coming. I’m pretty sure it was written pre S2, and I thought the name was something like “Apoxinar.”

Do you have any idea which fic this is?

Thanks! I hope you have a lovely day!

2/2: Hi- I sent in a request a few weeks back for a human AU set in a mental hospital that had a weird name like Apoxinar. I found it myself randomly: Apaixonar by spoondrifts, /works/19400848 Thanks anyway!

Thanks for coming back to let us know you found it! Mind the tags and warnings, folks...

Apaixonar by spoondrifts (T)

Aziraphale is checked into Archangel's Residential Facility for his delusions of an apocalypse. There, he meets twins with a penchant for fire, a raving-mad Witchfinder, a supposed prophetess, a narcissistic twat with the name of an angel, and a sunglasses-wearing teenager with a dark past of his own. Though he really should be focusing on Armageddon, Aziraphale can't resist trying to help the other residents of the facility, even if that entails exposing his own demons and confronting the painful truth that has haunted him for six years. Lord help him. (Apaixonar: The gradual process of falling in love.)

- Mod D