two thousand words of ian making his husband feel good and loved. no plot found here, just self-indulgent p0rn.
It's to the quietness around the bedroom that Ian slowly awakes to.
He feels himself being forcefully pulled away from sweet unconsciousness, and, refusing to pry open his eyes just yet, he lets his limbs roll over groggily to the side. Stretching his arms out a bit, Ian frowns as he nuzzles his face on his pillowcase because the mattress is cold and the spot beside him is empty.
Fighting off the sleepy haze from his brain is an arduous task, but he manages it, although begrudgingly so. He is facing the wall when his eyes blink open, and just like he thought, there is not a warm, sturdy body next to him, being embraced by his arms.
Instead, there is a soft, Mickey-scented pillow, and Ian can't help but to grumble discontentedly. He inhales his husband's deep, slightly sweet cologne as his eyes shut for a second. It's not physically him, but his smell is enough for now, and Ian is drifting off before he can even think twice about it.
Fuck it, it's sunday anyway.
Eventually, the bane of his existence—the fucking alarm in his phone—has him getting his ass up, and he scowls at the reminder that flashes on his screen and turns it off. Fucking “meds!!!!”. As if he needs a fucking reminder.
In the bathroom, he takes a piss and brushes his teeth, takes a brief moment to look in the mirror, rubbing a hand across the stubble growing along his jaw and deciding that he can deal with that later. Probably get Mickey to shave it off for him again, if he's in a good mood today, or maybe let it grow into a beard. He's been thinking about doing it someday.
Shaking his head, he downs his meds and checks the watch on his wrist. 8:08AM, it reads, like it always does because he fucking nails routine, and his own mood only seems to only get better. Sure, it would be even better if he had woken up cuddling with his husband. A good morning bj, perhaps. Get nice and handsy while they are still sleepy and stuff.
But, somehow, finding him in the kitchen, wearing only a pair of boxers and a shirt and fumbling with their brand new coffee maker has Ian's good mood skyrocket to perfection, and he's smiling as he creeps behind him, his hands firm as they slide down to hold Mickey by his hips.
“You're up early,” he says in lieu of a greeting, and the quality of his voice is slightly raspy from sleeping, deeper than it normally is.
Mickey merely rolls his eyes, and Ian knows he is smiling too, feels it as he leans to tenderly kiss the skin of his nape. His eyes look down over Mickey's shoulder to watch him pour coffee into their mugs, the steam curling around them, the aroma of coffee rich and familiar.
“Hard to do shit with you hangin’ onto me, man,” Mickey huffs, pretending to be oh-so-bothered by it.
He isn't.
Ian hums in response, fingers digging into skin, pressing his weight into Mickey's back until he has him trapped against the countertop.
“Almost made me drop my coffee, dumbass, lemme—” and Mickey is cut short when Ian's lips find his earlobe, body tensing up at the sensation of a warm, wet tongue licking around the shell of his ear. “Ian—”
“I know you're angry because I got home late yesterday,” Ian declares and rests his forehead where Mickey's neck meets his shoulder. “I wanna make it up to you,” he continues, satisfied as he feels Mickey's body giving in, opening up to his touches. “Gonna make it up real good to you, I promise.”
Despite what his body is screaming for, Mickey loves to be a little shit, so he says, “Fuckass Philip doesn't need you today?” and tries to get away from his hold.
Lip ringed yesterday asking for help—turns out that renovating a fucking house isn't a task meant for one person, especially if said person has 1) a toddler and 2) a goddamn newborn to take care of—and Ian, sweet, thoughtful Ian just couldn't turn his brother down for once and make him shove a hammer up his shitter (obviously, in Mickey's kind words).
So, a perfect saturday meant for fucking like rabbits was ruined again. Last week they had to babysit Franny. Fucking Gallahers man, Mickey had complained, can't live without tormenting everything and everyone.
And Ian wants to make it up to him because he misses him—a man can't live off of quickies and rushed handjobs and half-assed head forever. He misses that drawn out intimacy, the foreplay, that sweet reward he feels when he tears his husband apart just to pull him back together again with the white-hot pleasure he provides him.
Knows Mickey misses it just as much, judging by the way goosebumps rise in his skin when he trails small, indulgent kisses all over his neck, paying a little bit more attention to the small, practically healed hickeys that are normally obscured by the collar of his shirts.
Laying his tongue flat against a faint mark there, the one that is barely noticeable, all tiny and yellowish and forgotten about, Ian sucks at the skin and then sinks his teeth into it just because he can. Just because the sound that makes its way past Mickey's lips is a low, throaty thing that shows him—proves to him that he's right. Mickey can act all high and mighty, so fucking bratty and stubborn, but he can't deny what his body wants. What his body craves.
And when Ian hears him set his mug on the countertop with a shaky exhale of breath, he knows he's won.
“Gonna let me make you feel good?” he asks, and the answer is yes, yes, yes, he knows.
Because Mickey is now smirking as he pushes himself backwards, effectively creating a sweet type of friction between his ass and the tented front of Ian's sweats, and it colors his voice as he answers, “Fuck yeah.”
It's an easy thing to do, getting Mickey out of his boxers, but Ian feels like taking it slow today—lets his hands explore a bit more, tracing the expanse of pale skin under the fabric of Mickey's shirt. He hears a soft sigh when his fingers brush over a small, pink nipple, his touch light as a feather, and a satisfied hum when he takes the nub between his thumb and index finger and pulls.
With a body so pliant like Mickey's, so giving, Ian just can't help but to marvel every single piece of him. Wrestling-as-foreplay is fun and stimulating and so them, but this slower, I-have-to-fucking-worship-you intimacy is always going to be in the podium for him. How wouldn't it, when Mickey groans so beautifully as he slips his boxers down his legs, making it pool at his ankles, and grabs two handfuls of ass in his big hands?
“C'mon,” it's all Ian makes out of his husband's words. “Ian,” he continues, urging, impatient.
Ian thinks about shutting him up, but deems it unnecessary—all he needs to do is get on his knees, spread Mickey's fat cheeks with purpose, holding him open with both thumbs to get a good look of that tight furl of muscle, and dart out his tongue to lick at him.
Mickey's knee jerks, knocking accidentally on a drawer handle, and a hiss slips past his spit-coated lips. “Mmm, God, again,” he's already pleading, bent over the countertop, trying to get Ian to stop with his kitten licks around his hole and actually get on with it.
Just so goddamn impatient, always. Ian loves him.
“Open your legs a bit, baby,” he instructs, petting his ass. “Yeah, that's it, c'mon,” and just as Mickey obliges, Ian dives in, lapping sloppily all over him.
He hums at the taste of him, clean and shaved and fuckin’ perfect, unhinges his jaw to prod around his hole with the tip of his tongue, applying just enough pressure to feel Mickey's legs wobbling. It's addictive, the way his husband sighs, immersed in his bliss as he shoves his ass shamelessly in Ian's face, fingers gripping tightly at the corners of the countertop.
It really is such a shame that Mickey took so long to get used to this. It took him someone to do it right. Someone that eats him out good until he's panting, desperate at the sensation of a pink, experienced tongue pushing past the tight ring of muscle of his hole, getting him nice and wet and wanting.
“Yeah,” comes a breathy drawl from above just as Ian begins to circle Mickey's hole with his thumb.
He finds himself grinning, sinking his finger slowly inside, feeling the body he manipulates so well get accustomed to the intrusion.
A thumb is nothing compared to the grand scheme of things, really, but Ian pushes it dry—spit can only lubricate so much before it dries up—and Mickey practically sings at the sting he feels, “Fuuuck.”
“You love this,” Ian rasps out with certainty.
Mickey nods, not ashamed in the slightest. “Damn right I do,” he says, looking over his shoulder, down so their eyes could meet, and smiles that nasty, lost-in-pleasure smile.
Fuck.
This time Ian spits directly over his rim, pushing his finger deeper inside. Mickey brings a hand to grab one of his ass cheeks, presenting more of him to Ian's hungry gaze, and gasps as another thumb starts to sink in. It's a stretch, a more painful one, but spikes of pleasure are running wild in his veins, his sharp eyebrows pinching together, mouth going slack.
It's filthy—Ian licking over both thumbs where they hold Mickey's hole open. It's even filthier because Mickey loves this shit. That fine line between pain and pleasure that leaves him deliciously on edge, heat pooling in his guts, his cock twitching as it stands proudly and untouched.
Ian laps at his rim again and again like he's a starving man, has Mickey trembling and whining because it's so good, so messy, and his stubble offers a new type of sensation as it scratches the sensitive skin of his perineum when he goes down to suck it too.
“Shit, Ian,” Mickey curses, eyes slipping shut. His tip is drooling, pre sticking to his fingers when he reaches down to tug at his cock, mind malfunctioning a little because he doesn't know if he wants to push his ass back and get Ian's tongue deeper inside his hole or thrust into his fist. “So good, fuck, 'm fuckin’ close.”
Humming, Ian pulls back, and a string of crystalline saliva connects his chin to Mickey's rim. “'m gonna make you come on my tongue, baby? You want that?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah? With your sloppy hole stretched on my fingers?” Ian punctuates his question by pulling both thumbs apart just so, stretching him open.
Knows it stings sweetly because Mickey cries out, “Yes, fuck, get your fuckin’ mouth back on me n’ make me come.”
And Ian doesn't need to be told twice.
Using just his thumbs and his tongue, he makes Mickey's legs tremble—when he spits in his palm and wraps his hand around Mickey's aching, weeping cock, he gets him shivery and moaning, and it blends with the slick sound of his hand sliding up and down. So goddamn filthy, so fucking good.
Ian just needed to press the pad of one of his fingers up and grind it against Mickey's prostate. That's all it took before he heard a long groan, a “Shiiiit,” and felt Mickey's body spasming in his hold—muscles flexing and straightening, strings of cum spurting between his fingers, down his wrist.
Mickey is leaning on his forearms, breathing in shallow gasps of air as he comes down from his high, when Ian pulls back again. His knees hurt, his back too, but he can't find in himself to complain when his husband gazes down at him with a lazy grin, not yet fucked out but definitely satisfied.
“Good?” Ian hums, smiling, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
Mickey nods his head. “C'mere,” he tells him.
Ian goes, adjusting the front of his sweatpants where his cock is still very much hard. Just as he's on his feet, Mickey is already on him, bringing him down with a hand on the back of his head to crash their mouths together.
It's a slow and passionate kiss, tongues sliding against each other, teeth nipping at each other's lips. Ian feels Mickey smile against him, small hands trying to tug his sweats down, and he reaches out to link their fingers.
“I'm good,” he whispers into his mouth. “Just want to make you feel good."
Mickey huffs, clearly not content with that. “Not even a handie?”
With a shake of his head, Ian leans down to pepper kisses along his jaw. “Nah,” he decides, “Down to fuck you good after breakfast, though. I'm starving.”
That makes Mickey snort. “Okay, tough guy. Get some protein in you before you nut in me, then.”
And he says it so casually that Ian can't do anything but laugh, pecking him on the lips. “Love you.”
“Mmm, love you too.”
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Why are Anthony and husk living with alastor and why hasn’t he killed em yet?
I’m sensing he has a soft spot for nifty, Anthony and husk
Anthony and Husk live next door in their apartment complex! Husk in this universe has simply seen too much and Alastor is aware of this. Husk, knowing that Al is a threat, obeys his requests without question and isn't afraid of getting his hands a bit dirty.
Niffty lives on the bottom floor of the building and works as a maid/room service. I imagine she found traces of Alastors nightly activities while cleaning his apartment and spoke up about it. Alastor attempted to threaten her, but she seemed unfazed and almost excited. So in turn she offered her services to assist him for... whatever Niffty's reasons are haha!
I definitely feel that over the years, Alastor has grown quite fond of the both of them and would definitely be torn if something were to happen to them.
I haven't had much of an opportunity to show the layout of the buildings, rooms, and the town in general, nor do I think I will since I want to focus more on that sweet sweet romance and lore, but I may post a map or layout picture at some point for different locations in between chapters~
I'll provide a brief description of some of the places we've visited thus far:
Alastor lives on the top floor of an apartment complex. The unit itself consists of 3 rooms (4 if you count a bathroom). The first room is the combined kitchen and living room directly when you walk in the door as shown in "Meet".
Pretty everything in the unit is connected to this room. I have never been too great at backgrounds but hopefully this comic will slowly change that lol.
The next room would be the bedroom. This room is located in the attic. The ladder that Lucifer fell down can be folded up and closed like an attic. The way the ladder goes into the kitchen is similar to how it is in Miraculous Ladybug if any of y'all get me--
The roof of the bedroom is slightly slanted and there is a window above a desk that was positioned out of frame from the already shown shot of this room. There is a queen-sized bed, a bedside table, and a closet in the corner, also out of show from what has been shown thus far.
The rest of the apartment has not shown up yet, but it will be where a lot of scenes take place so that will be shown more and more throughout the chapters~
The remaining rooms are the obligatory bathroom and Alastor's radio studio. I will not share too much about said studio since it will be making an appearance next chapter ;)
I WILL however share that there is a step-out balcony attached to the apartment as well.
More information about Husk and Anthony will pop up here and there and I do want to do a few Huskerdust mini-episodes ;)
The town layout will be a project and a half if I am to solidify it, but I am more concerned about the fluff, angst, and ROMANCE!! I think the most solidified part of the town layout is that it is slightly elevated above the ocean shore with rock walls around the beach so you take stairs to get on and off of the beach. This gives me a bit more freedom in some plot points is all :))
ANYWAY thank you for the questions, I kinda went on a rant, but hopefully, this answers some unspoken questions as well. It's hard to convey EVERYTHING I want to in each panel and chapter so I am always open to clarification post releases! This is the kind of stuff that keeps motivating me and I frikkin love you guys for that! TvT
<3<3<3
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Hii teecup!! Hope you're doing well!!
May I ask some a/b/o AltDes stuff please (alpha! Altaïr and Omega!Desmond) because there's not much of it out there :'D
Now I'm sure Altaïr would more open minded and much less of an asshole to omegas then most of the people back in his days..... HOWEVER, please hear me out, what if he wasn't
He could be low-key about it, unlike most alphas who are very vocal and open about their 'opinions' on Omegas and such. He's very aloof when it comes to omegas in general, not having strong feelings on anything (very Altaïr behaviour honestly). That is until he meets Desmond.
Now instead of time travel, this time Desmond was born in Altaïr's time. This means Desmond would be raised as a traditional and submissive omega, but he still fought back. He could be born in Alamut (because Eagle of Alamut XD) as the son of the mentor (who is not Diya al-Dīn because he would never) who trained and became an assassin... sort of because idiot bigots.
Desmond is the best assassin in his entire brotherhood, BUT he's not officially an assassin. His father/mentor isn't as strict like most and let him get away with his antics, usually.
That is until Desmond was 'of age' and that's when it starts getting bad for our boy. His dad became more controlling and won't let him sneak off to do missions or fight anymore. He was to be married to whoever the assassins could use as allies. Basically just a bargaining chip. Desmond would fight back harder then ever, even with one of the best assassins guarding him and monitoring his move all the time, he would still be able to sneak off to continue doing missions to make them see just how capable he was.
He could runaway, he probably should runaway, but deep down all he wanted was for his father to love him again. To look at him with pride and treat him like a son again. (Altaïr would use this fact as an advantage later on)
But then it all comes crashing down when he finally gets betrothed. (Idk who he should be betrothed to LMAO it could be whoever. Someone very powerful that the assassins could use)
And all was going to shit for Desmond but it all went to super shit when Altaïr showed up. Because oh boy, Altaïr was a Strom of his own.
Now I honestly don't know how he and Altaïr meets, but it definitely left an impression on Altaïr because he was smitten from the first time they made eye contact. Man was obsessed from here on out kajsksjssoakakak.
And uhh yeah that's all I've got, plot wise
Some notes.
- Desmond pulling all the alpha assholes like catnip.
- Altaïr, manipulating Desmond as a sign of affection
- Malik suffers because we love him <33
Honestly teecup, I just wanted a toxic a/b/o au but it grew plotty legs and ran out of my grasps, my apologies.
And that's all for now!
Sorry in advance if my English is very trying, I'm typing on my phone and it's not the best experience.
PS please make it as toxic and horny as Tumblr allows you to, and I would give you my kidneys.
PPS if you think you know who I am by how I write..... No you don't/lh
As horny and as toxic as Tumblr would allow it? I don’t even know the limit of Tumblr’s tolerance hahahaha
So for this one, if you want Desmond to be born in Alamut as a son of the mentor but not Diya al-Dīn, we can make him the son of an older brother of Diya al-Dīn instead. Born more as a way for the older brother, who was passed over because Diya al-Dīn was more worthy of the title, to try and get power with his son being the next in line for the imam since Diya al-Dīn was still childless at that point.
Diya al-Dīn would be the kind uncle who tried to do right by his nephew but can’t truly intervene because his brother was controlling and had a firm grasp on Desmond’s every day life. It was going well, all things considered.
Desmond wasn’t a genius nor was he inherently talented but he was a hard worker and he always went beyond what was required of him.
His father rewards his hard work by giving him a bit of leeway, all the while making him drink medicinal tea that was meant to change him into an alpha.
It didn’t do anything but hide his scent… which had been easy to do in the first place because those not yet of age only had a hint of scent to show their ‘status’.
Diya al-Dīn tried to be accepting of Desmond’s wish to be an Assassin even if omegas aren’t exactly… well… only omegas that could control their ‘base instinct’ could become Assassins which was hard for an omega without the help of some kind of medicine that would leave them in pain or groggy.
Desmond, unfortunately, is one of the omegas that cannot be medicated. Even if he drank more than he should, that only leaves him in unbearable pain.
That’s why his father pivoted from Desmond becoming the next imam to having some talks with certain powerful rulers. Finding Desmond an alpha that would take him as their official wife or one of his concubine.
His father was less picky of Desmond’s standing and more interested in creating a political bond with a powerful ally (whether he plans to use this to usurp Diya al-Dīn or he simply wants more power outside of the Brotherhood is up for grabs)
And he finally finds one but Desmond would enter into that household as a concubine. His marriage proposition wasn’t a good one all things considered, the alpha was a powerful one but it was well known that his official wife and the older concubines were dangerous. Newer concubines either die from poisoning or accidents or childbirth and, more often than not, their children would not survive more than five summers.
So Desmond escapes. Maybe, just maybe, Diya al-Dīn had a hand in the patrol routes that night and it left certain large windows of opportunity for Desmond to use.
Alamut, of course, will look for him. That’s why Desmond would try to hide from them.
That’s how he meets Altaïr.
He was desperate and his heat was upon him. Altaïr’s scent was overpowering and he could feel it within him that this was an alpha that would fight tooth and nail to keep his omega safe.
He wasn’t a romantic.
He had already accepted the very idea that his alpha would not love him.
He doesn’t need it.
Love did not bring his omega parent any happiness, no matter how overflowing their love for Desmond’s alpha father had been.
What he needed was an alpha who would take care of him and any child he would bear.
So he used his scent to weaken the alpha’s defenses.
It was Desmond who made it impossible for Altaïr to resist.
And so Altaïr claimed him.
.
Unorganized Notes:
Desmond escaped a few weeks after Altaïr killed Rashid but before AC Bloodlines. (So late Sept, early Oct)
He was on his way to Alamut to talk to Diya al-Dīn about being the new mentor (he doesn’t want to be the next mentor) and they actually spent Desmond’s heat in a random abandoned home
Alamut Assassins found them afterwards and, by that point, Desmond was sooo thoroughly claimed that there was no way to say that Altaïr wasn’t his alpha.
This also changed Altaïr’s desire to not be the mentor because the easiest way to keep Desmond by his side is to be the mentor of Masyaf with his marriage to Desmond being a way to ‘mend’ the broken relationship between Alamut and Masyaf.
Desmond’s father was not pleased but fuck him, by law, Desmond was now the property of his mate and Altaïr has no qualms killing the asshole if he doesn’t stop yapping about how he raised Desmond and should have the final say on everything.
He returns to Masyaf and… sorta kicked all the Flowers of Paradise. To be more exact, they were transferred to another part of the fortress while the entirety of Paradise became Desmond’s new home. (Desmond and his most definitely growing child)
That is the second headache Malik got.
The first one was the fact that Altaïr returned with Alamut’s blessing as the mentor (which Altaïr had stressed he would never take) and an omega mate (which he had always said would never happen)
Desmond is free to go anywhere in Masyaf but he will always have guards on him because security reason.
Desmond believes Altaïr’s affection stemmed from the fact that he did more or less coerced Altaïr to biting him during the throes of heat-induced passion so he wants a child to further keep Altaïr ‘happy’ and satisfied (not knowing that the mentor title isn’t passed down from father to son in Masyaf, he honestly believe Altaïr is Rashid’s adopted son)
Altaïr was never fully enthralled during Desmond’s heat. He has been trained to have high tolerance as part of Rashid’s plan to make him the ultimate ‘attack dog’. He marked Desmond fully knowing Desmond was desperate and was trying to ‘seduce’ him.
Honestly, Altaïr just wanted Desmond because his scent had been the sweetest ambrosia he had ever smelled and he believed that meant they were meant to be.
And he will not let anyone get between them, no matter who they may be.
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