#ream my throat

[itwasthereaminuteago]

|| The Pantyeater Proxy ||

Frank castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: fluff, smut, Max!

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"What you got Max, buddy? What is that?"

By the time Frank wrestles the thing from his slobbering jaws, it's too late.

"Aw shit." He's holding up the black shreds that once were one of your favourite sets of lingerie.

"Goddamn it. You tryin' to get us thrown out?"

Max grumbles, looking up guiltily from his place on the floor.

"Ain't no use sayin' sorry now, think we gotta go shoppin' boy."

He only had a few hours until you came back from work. Frank manages to decipher the brand from the small and partly-chewed label, maybe he can pick up a like-for-like replacement and you'll be none the wiser. More importantly, him and Max will avoid being in your bad books.

Frank is, admittedly, a little out of his element. You usually bought this kinda thing yourself, and Christ knows where you'd originally gotten it from. Things had started out okay, he'd gone to the nearest shop on Google, one with really good reviews, but now he was standing amongst mannequins and reams of hanging silk and lace bras, panties, teddies, slips, and anything else he could've imagined, completely lost. He couldn't even see the brand of the thing Max ate.

"Can I help, sir?"

Frank turns around to see a young woman about half his size, her face bearing what he recognises as a well used sympathetic expression for use on lost boyfriends and husbands.

He clears his throat. "Uh, yes ma'am. Any chance you carry this brand?"

She examines the torn label and then slowly starts to shake her head. "I'm sorry sir, we don't. I think it's actually discontinued. Were you looking for something specific?"

"Shit- excuse me ma'am, sorry, it's just my dog he uh... took a liking to my lady's things and made em into a chew toy. Kinda lookin' for a replacement or me and the dog might be sharing a kennel."

"Ah, yes." She smiles politely. "Could you give me an idea of what they were like and I could maybe find something similar?"

Frank scratches at the shorter hairs at the back of his head. "Uhh..."

She examines the frayed edge on the label. "Well we can start with black, right? Sooo lace, satin, silk, a combination? Wired or unwired bra? Full coverage, push-up, plunge, balconette, or maybe something a little more revealing? And how about the panty; brief, short, Brazilian, bikini, thong... crotchless? Do you know what styles she might like?"

Frank's head spins. "Shit, all I know is that she looked killer in them. You think you could gimme a quick crash course in all this, I can try tell you what she likes, definitely what she don't like- maybe find somethin' that won't get me my head ripped off?"

The shop assistant laughs. "Of course."

Frank returns to the apartment feeling more than a little apprehensive. He puts the fancy bag on the middle of the bed with a stern instruction for Max to leave well alone.

By the time you arrive home, he's almost forgotten about the incident, having been distracted with a phonecall from David asking if you guys were free for dinner this Saturday.

"-alright, yeah yeah 'course I'll bring some wine you dope. See ya then." He hangs up as he's walking over to give you a kiss.

"Hey sweetie, how was work?"

"Urgh, just the usual. Who was that?"

"Liebermann asking us to dinner tomorrow. Said yeah, we ain't got nothing else on right?" He helps you with your coat and you kick off your shoes and dump your bag on the couch.

"No that'll be really nice to see them. Okay I'm just gonna jump in the shower, then I'm all yours." You call as you're already walking into the bedroom to undress.

There's a beat, and then-

"Frank...? What's this?" You appear back at the doorway, the the bag dangling from the string handle on your hooked finger.

He sheepishly joins you in the bedroom. "An apology, from Max and me. Mainly Max as I ain't the one that ate your underwear." Frank looks over his shoulder at the dog curled up on the living room couch like he's denying all knowledge.

You snort. "Wait- what?!"

"M'sorry baby, I didn't catch him in time. Was hopin' it's a decent replacement, but if it ain't we can change it. You know I'm crap at this stuff."

You take out the tissue paper package from the bag, sitting on the bed and unwrapping it carefully on your lap. Whatever it is it's black. That's good, not that you were expecting some neon monstrosity from Frank, he was definitely one for the classic look when it came to the bedroom, but then again he'd say he thought you were smoking hot in a tatty old sweater and odd socks.

"You pick this?"

"Well I had some help from the shop (he left a big tip). But yeah. You like it?"

You run your fingers over the soft lacy cup of the wireless bralet, holding it up to look at it more closely. It was the right size anyway, one thing Frank was definitely good at was recon and attention to detail, that is if he didn't already have your bra size and other measurements ingrained in his brain. There were panties to match, not cut too high, again, silky soft, lacy and very sexy.

"I think I'm gonna have to try them on before I make up my mind on whether to forgive Max or not..."

A muscle in Frank's jaw twitches at the challenging look in your eyes as you take the contents of the bag into the ensuite with you, closing the door.

Frank is sat on the bed as you change, patiently waiting, almost biting his nails until you slowly emerge from the bathroom, one mouthwateringly delicious step at a time. You stop and pose, shifting your weight from hip to hip, pouting and biting your bottom lip at him.

"Hmm, what do you think? You wanna eat these panties, Frank?"

You're a fucking goddess. You were aways a goddess but holy crap, you wearing something he picked out and standing in front of him looking at him like that?

You smile a little wickedly as you climb on to him, and as you straddle his lap his hands are already all over your skin, brushing over the pretty straps and seams of your new undergarments.

"Sweetheart, baby, darlin', I wanna eat you."

You grab his face gently, "I was actually thinking that maybe we should save all this for tomorrow night, I'll wear these when we go to David and Sarah's for dinner. What do you reckon? Think you can keep your hands off me till tomorrow night when we get home?"

Frank has to grip his own thighs to stop himself from tackling you to the mattress right now. If this was his punishment it was gonna be unbearable.

"Yeah, okay, whatever you want." He husks, eyes darker than pools of ink.

You boop the end of his crooked nose with your finger before extricating yourself from over his tented sweatpants. "Good boy."

Frank groans as you leave him high and dry and disappear back into the bathroom to shower, wishing he could join you.

It wasn't easy tearing yourself away like that, you wanted him to ravish you as much as he did you. But still, he seemed keen to work for your forgiveness and he was only going to get that through some pretty hard repentance. And besides, you knew how fiery hot the sex was if the two of you had to wait for it.

Saturday night was only the next day and yet it felt like an eternity to Frank after not being able touch you. As he took in your pretty standard jeans and sweater combo his mouth was almost watering as he knew fine well what was hidden underneath. It didn't even matter that you were wearing sexy lingerie or not he just wanted you.

"Frank! Would you pass the fricken potatoes, please?!" David's apparently third request for potatoes shakes him out of his stupor.

"Earth to spaceman Frank, the hell is up with you?" He clicks his fingers either side of his head.

"Huh? Nothin', here." Frank grumbles as he finally sends more carbs David's way.

He's like this all night, and all you can do is try to hide your laughter behind a mouthful of food. Frank's been watching you like a hungry dog the whole time and you're living for it. Sarah knows something's going on but she doesn't ask for details.

"Let's just say he's being denied his treats for a little while." You explained to her with a wink in the kitchen later.

Sarah laughs as she tops up your wine glass. "Oh my god, they get so damn grouchy don't they?"

"And desperate," you add, and she hums knowingly as if she's recalling a specific incident, nodding emphatically.

"Hm, guess we better call it a night. I don't wanna make him suffer too much I guess."

"Oh you're far kinder than me!"

When you make a move to leave, Frank wastes absolutely no time grabbing his jacket and keys.

"Thanks for having us over you guys." You tell the couple, waving.

"No problem," David says, then gestures at Frank. "But hey, look after this big goon will you? His head doesn't seem like it's screwed on right."

"Yeah yeah whatever. G'night." Frank grabs your hand and pulls you towards the truck like the house is on fire as you giggle after him.

"Bye guys!"

When he pulls up at home you've barely shut the truck door before Frank's picking you up and marching to the front door. As soon as he's managed to unlock and slam it behind him he's got you up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he attacks your mouth with his. You gasp as he squeezes your ass through your jeans, mouth traveling down the side of your neck as his hips press against yours letting you feel just how hard you've got him. You claw and shove at his jacket, urging him to take it off and you quickly remove your own and kick off your boots as he shrugs it onto the floor and does the same. He picks you back up again, carrying you straight through to the bedroom. Max raises his head briefly and then grunts as he goes back to sleep.

Once you land on the bed Frank is all over you, big hands caressing your body through your sweater which he yanks up over your head but doesn't remove completely, leaving your arms trapped before his mouth is back on your skin worshipping absolutely every inch of you, his lips and tongue trailing over the lace that contains your breasts.

"Frank- fuck!" You buck your hips up against his.

"Mm you want this now?" He growls and lets you free. You tug at his flannel and he's barely pulled it off before your hands are slipping up under his black shirt and feeling over his stomach and pecs, mapping your territory.

"God, you know how hard it was not to fuck you over that goddamn dining table?"

You tug and pull his belt free from the buckle, yanking down the zipper and slipping your hand in to stroke him firmly through his black boxer briefs. You bite down on your bottom lip, it's like a steel rod. "Was it this hard? Huh?"

"Fuck, baby- you know it." He hisses as you work him through the soft fabric, leaning down and kissing you so hungrily you're soaking though those pretty panties he bought you. It's as if he can sense it, unbuttoning your jeans and thrusting his hand down in front without bothering to take them off. His fingers are firm and focused, tracing the line of your folds where the silk is damp and sticking to your core from your arousal.

"God damn sweetheart..."

You moan as he strokes and cups your pussy, ruining your panties with how turned on you are. You move your hips against his hand, enjoying the delicious friction as you keep rubbing and squeezing his rock hard erection until neither of you can wait any longer. It's you that breaks first, pushing him away while you shimmy out of your jeans in record time. He does the same until he kneeling naked in front of you. You're still wearing the underwear that started all this and you intend to keep wearing it as you crawl forward, push him to lay back on the bed and mount him. He watches you transfixed as you spread your knees wide, simply pulling your panties to one side and sliding slowly down to take his cock inside, inch by fucking beautiful inch. You moan together as he bottoms out, feeling the completeness as he throbs and you squeeze. His hands skate up your back and you start to rock your hips back and forth, the feeling of him dragging against this deepest part of you like nothing else.

"God, you're so fucking incredible." He tells you, those dark brown eyes darting everywhere trying to take in all of you at once.

"So are you. Feels so good Frank-"

Your breath soon changes to short pants as you bounce yourself up and down on his dick, and he holds on to your hips, thrusting his own upwards to meet you, your gorgeous tits looking like they're about to jiggle right out of that little lacy bralet.

"Oh fuck, that's it baby, so good.." He looks down to watch his cock disappear in and out of you, getting covered with more of your cream each time. Your fingers dig into his chest as you hold on, throwing your head back as he palms and caresses one of your breasts, earning a wanton moan from you when he rubs and pinches your hard nipple between his fingers.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist and guide him to where you need him.

"Alright sweetheart, I got you." His breath is coming harder as he watches you intensely, seeing the pleasure twist your features into a picture of ecstacy when he slips his hand between the damp lace and your skin and circles his fingers right on your clit. You fall forward against him and he's got you, one hand between your hot bodies and the other holding your jaw, his thumb over the front of your throat as he keeps fucking up into you hard.

It's been a struggle not to lose his mind already before this point, you're just magic, absolute witchcraft to him. The way you had him begging for your touch, the way you look no matter if you're wearing sexy clothes or not, the way you fucking feel riding his cock. He's gonna see stars soon, he knows it.

Luckily you're on the same page, your moans getting louder and higher, the way you still your body, feeling him pounding into you...

"F-frank I'm-" you gasp as he doubles down, hips pistoning as he rubs your slick throbbing clit so fast you'd swear he was using a toy.

"Come on princess, let me feel it." Frank's strained plea drives you over the edge, undulating your hips with his again as the feeling bubbles up and bursts out from your center and through the rest of your body. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you so passionately, tongue twisting and lapping against yours. He groans long and deep as your tremors bring on his own sweet release, holding on to you tightly, burying himself into you in a last few powerful thrusts.

The two of you lie wrapped in each other for a while, just breathing, until Max pads into the room and starts licking Frank's foot.

"Here's trouble." He announces as he lets his head thunk back on the mattress while you gingerly sit up and raise yourself off him.

"I forgive him." You say smiling at Max as he wags his tail seemingly in understanding.

"You know they say don't blame the dog, blame the owner? Will you forgive me?" Frank looks up at you with the saddest puppy eyes you've ever seen.

"After that? And this?" You say, gesturing to what you're wearing. "Yeah, I think you get a pass too."

You grab his hand and help pull him up. "C'mon baby, let's shower and then take Pantyeater for a walk."

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: fix you

pairing: aaron warner x (first person) reader

synopsis: aaron returns from a meeting with his father, but something is off… (prior to the ignite me tattoo btw)

warnings: mentions of abuse, a bit suggestive at the end ;)

a/n: first aaron warner fic ever… thanks for reading 🤍🤍

tag list: @wish-i-were-heather @midiosaamor @sweetlikeanangel @maybxlle @whatsamongus @elysianwayy77 @bewitchingkisses @emelia07 @inmyheaddd @sweetreveriee @azysmate @anintellectualintellectual @off-to-the-r4ces

I hear someone stumble in and immediately panic seizes my chest. Aaron Warner doesn’t stumble, so logically it must be an intruder. But who the hell would’ve found a way into Aaron’s private quarters? I don’t care, I grab the gun from under the floor board and slowly approach the door. My heart bangs in my chest, crawling its way to my mouth. It’s so dark that I can barely see a thing. I hear a second step taken and I can tell by the way the weight is hitting the floor unevenly that it’s a shaky step. I take my chance and swiftly rush out, gun pointed towards the figure.

“You’re holding that all wrong, love,” says a dry voice.

“Aaron?” I ask, my voice catches in shock. I squint through the darkness in attempts to recognise him.

“Care to explain the gun?” he replies, eyebrows raised at my questionably aimed weapon.

“I thought you were an intruder,” I say, dropping my arms down to my side and playing the gun down.

“I am not,” Aaron tells me bluntly.

“Obviously,” I smile, attempting to touch his arm. But just as a go to clasp my hand around it, he moves.

Swiftly and almost silently, he walks past me. I feel his body brush against mine softly.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I need to shower,” he replies.

There’s something off about him. He stumbled in, his voice is uneven, he wants to get away from me. Something happened and I have this horrible feeling that it was something horrible.

“Are you okay?” I say, trying to seem casual.

“Fine,” he replies. His tone is blunt but cut-throat. He can tell I’m fishing for what’s really wrong and he’s making it clear he doesn’t want to talk. Unfortunately for him, he chose the wrong girl if he wants me to shut up and move on.

“Did it go okay?” I continue.

“It went how it usually did,” he tells me, his voice low.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask. I knew who his dad was and how he was treated, I knew the traumatic stories of his childhood and the bad memories that would haunt him at night, I knew I wanted to kill the man who’d given them to him. But one thing I never knew was anything to do with the meetings held with his dad.

“You know my father, love. He isn’t a pleasant man and nor are his meetings,” he says plainly, “now I’m going to wash.”

He walks towards the bathroom, flicking the light on. The brightness is fluorescent and artificial. I begin to follow him and then I see it. I stop in my tracks. Reams of crimson ribbon decorate the back of his white shirt, jagged lines of the deepest blood red. The fabric has soaked in the liquid and it’s splayed out all across the white. My stomach turns.

“Aaron…” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

“Please, love,” he sighs, running a hand through his perfect hair, “I need to shower.”

“He hurt you,” I murmured, “again?”

He freezes suddenly, realising he’s bled through his white shirt. He’s too exposed to hide it from me this time. He can’t brush it under the carpet when the stains are on the surface. He lifts his head up, back still towards me.

“Don’t,” he says harshly, his voice so low it sounds dangerous.

I don’t say a word as he walks into the bathroom, but my legs can’t help but follow even though my brain is telling them it might be a better idea to not. I step inside quietly and I can feel his body tense.

“Aaron-“

“I said don’t,” he repeats, the bitterness in his tone making me flinch.

Something that resembles anger flickers in my chest. An amber flame of fury.

“Sit down,” I say, my voice firm and unwavering.

He stills, staring down. I don’t say a word and neither does he. In the silence, the air grows heavy and thick, weighted with unspoken words. I don’t know how long we stand like this until slowly he sits down on the lid of the toilet. I wait a few beats, then slowly crouch down, level with his knees and his eyes shooting straight to the floor.

“He hurt you again, didn’t he?” I ask for the second time.

He’s silent.

“Please Aaron,” I beg, “you can’t keep doing this.”

The desperation in my tone makes his heart ache, but still he doesn’t look at me as he says, “he’s hurt me my entire life, love, today he was no different.”

“Show me,” I murmured.

“I don’t want you to see this,” he grits through his teeth, still refusing to meet my eyes.

“I don’t care,” I say, “you can’t keep shutting me out.”

“I can and I will,” he replied curtly, turning away.

“Warner,” I snap, in an attempt to get his attention.

He looks up sharply. His green eyes flicker with some sort of hurt. I never called him Warner, he was my Aaron. Warner was for everyone else, but Aaron was for me.

“Let me help you,” I say firmly, “you need to let me in like I let you in, this goes two ways.”

He stares at me saying nothing for a while. I wonder when he’s going to get up and walk out. Maybe leave completely. Forever. That thought scares me the most. Aaron shuts down when he can’t share his problems. He shuts down and shuts me out.

I am surprised when he slowly takes his shirt off, revealing his battered back. I bite back a gasp and conceal the shock and horror from being displayed on my face. Amongst the jagged scars that ripple across his back, the ones I already knew of, the ones I had once traced, there were fresh wounds. Long, distorted shapes are looping across him, oozing fresh hot blood. Great purple bruises splayed out of the sides of each lash mark, creating some sort of sick and twisted abstract art piece.

He must be in so much pain.

“It’s a shame really,” he murmurs, “I quite liked that shirt.”

I pull myself together, “you have a dozen others like it.”

“I liked that one,” he replies quietly.

“I like you without a shirt better anyways,” I grin at him.

“Well,” he says cracking a half smile, “I suppose I can spare it then.”

“I suppose you can.”

I grab a wash cloth from the cabinet above and soak it with warm water. Gently, I dab his new lashings, trying to wash them. The deep red bleeds through the white of the cloth, spreading through it, like a river of hate. With each stroke I see his face contort.

“Does this hurt?” I ask tenderly.

“I’m fine,” he replies, his voice hard.

“You’re wincing,” I say flatly.

He glares at me. It’s hot.

“I’m fine,” he states.

I drop it and continue to clean. When I am satisfied that I’ve done the best I can, I return to the cabinet and pull out antiseptic and bandages.

“Not antiseptic,” Aaron grumbles.

“Don’t be a baby,” I retort with a laugh, cutting the bandages to the right size.

“I’m not!” he says, a bit too defensively.

“I’m not letting those wounds get infected Aaron, I’m using antiseptic,” I tell him, unable to suppress my smile.

He rolls his eyes and reluctantly lets me press antiseptic into each open gash. He hisses each time, refusing to cry out so I attempt to be as quick and efficient as I can.

When I am finished, I move on the bandages. I stand in front of him and work around. Gently, I wrap the bandage over his back and torso. His hands suddenly clasp my waist, his grip is firm. I bite back a gasp. His hands are so hot I can feel them through my clothes, though in this moment I wish I didn’t have the barrier of clothes.

I try to ignore the distraction he knows he’s making. Softly and methodically I continue to bandage his back and once I make the final wrap I lean down and press my lips on his. He kisses back eagerly, pulling me onto his lap. I wrap my thighs around his hips and continue to plant tender kisses all over his mouth. I’m dizzied by the sensations of passion. We pull away finally when neither of us can think straight and his eyes lock with mine, the delicate green tainted with something I couldn’t quite place my finger on.

“How do you feel?” I ask, brushing a strand of blonde that had fallen, out of the way.

“After that,” he murmurs with a grin, “on top of the world.”

“Your back,” I deadpan.

“I don’t care about my back,” he groans, “kiss me again.”

“Aaron,” I say, my tone accusing.

“Please, love,” he begs, closing his eyes, “I’m suffering withdrawal symptoms here.”

“Aaron,” I laugh.

“Just one kiss, it won’t hurt,” he says quietly, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip. His touch so airy I almost don’t feel it.

“I’m not kissing you until you answer me,” I reply.

“You like to make my life difficult don’t you?” he sighs.

“Ditto,” I poke my tongue out.

“It’s much better now you’ve worked your magic,” he answers my question, gazing at me.

There’s a long pause, but it feels like our eyes carry on the conversation. But every time I look into those emerald voids, I feel his pain. And it makes me see red.

“He shouldn’t do this to you,” I murmur, anger lacing my tone.

“I know,” he replies.

“I hate it,” I practically growl, my face all screwed up at the thought of someone hurting Aaron. My Aaron. I hadn’t had time to get angry earlier, I’d been too worried about the wounds. Now they were clean and dressed, I have the opportunity.

“I know,” he says again.

“I want to stop it,” I tell him, then falter, “but I don’t know how.”

“I’ve been trying to work that out for a while, love,” he says, nuzzling into my collarbone.

“Just,” I pause and sigh, “please let me help you, you don’t have to hide for everyone you know.”

“It’s what I know how to do,” he murmurs, looking up, “opening up is the opposite of how I was trained to be.”

“But you’ll try?” I ask hopefully.

“I’ll do anything for you, love,” he smiles, tucking my hair behind my ear.

I smile, my cheeks glowing a soft pink.

“I love you,” he whispers with another kiss.

“I love you too,” I giggle, melting into him.

He cups my face in his hands and kisses me slowly, tenderly. The motion is long and drawn out, each millisecond testing my self control. Desperation claws at me, all I want to do is kiss him harder and faster but I stay patient. My hands find their way to the back of his neck and comfortably into his hair.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says against my lips.

“You don’t sleep until three o’clock in the morning,” I scoff.

He turns and looks at me, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk placed comfortably on his lips, “who says we’re sleeping?”

a/n: this is my first aaron warner fic and cut me some slack bc I have not read shatter me in months, I really should do another reread… but hopefully I captured the characters okay. But tbh after reading it back I kind of hate it, it feels rushed and weird but yolo so I’m posting it anyways!!

and I know what you’re thinking ‘bella you promised us the mysterious blonde part 4’… I know it is being written, it’s just really long and I want it to be perfect so there are a few little fics in between

shatter me masterlist

[witherby]

ALREADY?? UH, PRAYING FOR YOU!!! YEAH YOU CAN DO THIS!! Let the voices win frfr. . .

Can't wait to read it... Mweheheh..

★🍋‍🟩

Mother Hen, A/B/O Edition

Or: the one where Hal reminds the Batfamily they are loved in little ways.

"Mornin, Alfred," Hal yawned, barely conscious as he shuffled into the dining room.

"Good morning, master Hal," Alfred greeted. He watched Hal slowly sink into a chair and placed his food in front of him. "Drink options this morning are fresh-squeezed orange juice, a fruit smoothie, or a glass of milk."

"Hmm..." Hal blinked heavily and gently grabbed Alfred's arm before the beta would withdraw from setting his plate down. He brought his wrist to his face and gingerly nosed it, breathing in the scent of jasmine tea with a tired smile. "Um...Juice s'fine...thanks a million..."

"Of...of course, sir." Alfred pulled his arm back when Hal let him go, disappearing into the kitchen with pink ears.

--

"Alright, got all my things. This weekend was fun, but I gotta head back to Blüdhaven. The precinct has been leaving me a concerning number of voicemails, so I can only imagine the circus I'm gonna find."

Dick shrugged his duffel bag over his shoulder and gave his brothers all a quick squeeze or noogie. Bruce gave him a hug, briefly encompassing him in dark chocolate, and told him to stay safe. Hal did the same, but gently nosed the gland at his throat, pushing packsafelove through his usual, airy scent.

"Go give 'em hell, kid," he said, drawing back. Dick pressed a hand over his neck, feeling a flush of warmth, and almost shyly bid goodbye to Hal before he left, clearly unused to such easy Omegan affection.

--

Jason awoke with a scream in the middle of the night, vision briefly overcome with green, green, green, and darted out of his room before the others could come in and crowd him. His scent left a trail of thick, bitter, omegan fear behind him, until he made his way into the library and tucked himself behind a bookshelf to calm himself down.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the sound of his own, ragged breathing. Everything felt like too much. His skin felt too tight. His body felt too heavy. His mind felt too busy. He needed it all to stop. He needed a grounding tool. He needed —

Jason sucked in another sharp gasp, and scented a calming, summer breeze. It was faint and unobtrusive, somewhere distant, but he latched onto it like a faint beacon of light amongst a raging storm. He chased that scent like a lifeline, until his skin stopped feeling tight and his body stopped feeling like lead and his mind finally started to slow and settle.

Then he crawled back out from the bookcase and approached Hal from where he was lounging in a chair across the library, an unobtrusive but clear position of support whenever he wanted it.

He didn't have to ask before Hal's arms opened up, wrapping tightly around Jason, and he scented his neck and cheek until the last of his tremors died off.

Safelovesafe, Hal pushed into his scent. Safelovesafe.

Jason rested his head on Hal's shoulder, trusting him to support his weight. Lovesafepack.

--

Tim hadn't managed to get out of the manor fast enough to avoid Hal snatching him up and nesting him during his pre-heat.

"This can't be helpful to you," he muttered, squirming from under the three layers of blankets Hal had burrito'd him into. "I'm a beta, remember? I can't smell any more interesting than a ream of paper."

"You're one of my pups. Shut up and deal with it," Hal said, throwing yet another blanket on top of Tim, before spooning his bundled body to his chest and nosing at the back of his neck so self-soothe. "You smell like coconut, by the way. And me, now, but your base scent is coconut."

"I don't own anything with coconut in it..." Tim mumbled. "Hey, I don't have to stay here, right? I'm gonna get heat stroke if the answer is yes."

Hal just kept nosing at the back of his neck. Tim tried to ignore how nice it felt and relented to his fate with a sigh.

--

Damian pushed his father's hand away when he went to feel his temperature and curled up further into his blankets. He already knew he was feverish; there was no need to touch him to confirm it.

"I think you're gearing up to present, buddy," Bruce told him. "I was thirteen when it happened to me, too, and your scent's been changing the past few days."

"Great. Is it gonna be this uncomfortable the entire time?" Damian groaned. "I'm hot. I'm cold. I'm hot again. I'm thirsty. Everything hurts. I think I'd rather fight off a hundred assassins in the League again."

"This should help," Hal said, knocking on the door frame to announce himself before walking in. He was holding a bundle of clothes, several articles plucked from everyone in the house, and started tucking them under Damian's blankets. "What do you think you're gonna be?"

"An alpha, obviously," Damian practically sneered, "like father. I have all the traits and qualities of a pack leader like him. What a stupid question."

Hal and Bruce exchanged a glance over Damian's shivering body, communicating wordlessly in the way only long-time lovers could. It was sickening and annoying.

"Spit it out," he hissed. He caught a whiff of cedar and followed it to Dick's hoodie, bringing it to his face and nuzzling into it. He was about to present so he could afford to do embarrassing things for a short time, like find comfort in the scents of his pack mates.

"Nothing, champ. Just hope you feel better quickly," Hal said, reaching down to ruffle his hair. "It shouldn't last more than a day."

"And if you need anything, someone's always gonna be outside the door keeping track of you," Bruce said, leaning down to nose against his temple gently. The comforting scent from his alpha helped abate some of the discomfort Damian was feeling, and he almost reluctantly nuzzled back before rolling over.

Two sets of footsteps made to walk out of the room, but Damian sniffed around his nest and frowned.

"Jordan," he called. Hal stopped and immediately returned to his bedside.

"Yeah?"

"...there's...nothing of yours is in here," Damian muttered, avoiding eye contact as he thrust his hand out expectantly. "Hand your shirt over immediately."

Hal laughed, but it wasn't mean. He obediently tugged off the t-shirt he was wearing and handed it over, and Damian added it to his collection before settling back down.

"You may go," the boy muttered. Hal hummed and grabbed his wrist again, nosing against it, and Damian didn't put up any resistance despite the flush staining his cheeks. "I'm not a babe in need of reassurance! Leave me!"

"Sure thing, kid. I'm taking the first shift, so holler if you need anything," Hal said.

Damian waited until he left the room before bringing his wrist to his neck and rubbing the Lantern's scent against his glands. It smelled like lovepacklove.

Maybe being an Omega wouldn't be so bad.

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

[spitefully-existing]

the sleep token book is a bit hard to read, i rewrote it the best i could below the cut; hopefully this helps!

thank you to @top-quality-garbage for helping me decipher some of this and to @doiha for the spanish translation! 🫶🫶

⚠️⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD⚠️⚠️

15 days since emergence of the Lunar Anomaly

When I was a child, I was frequently beset by certain reoccurring dreams. this is one such dream that I remembered more than most – one in which I found myself standing on a vast shoreline, gazing out at a flat, wide sea. Slowly, as I watched the horizon gradually begin to lift. Before long I was able to observe that this lifting expanse was approaching me – a wall of smooth, black water that curls into an impossible lip at its peak. rather surprisingly, I do not recall being afraid of such an ominous sight. Well, to be more precise, I was afraid – I was terrified, but not of the wave itself. Instead, it was the thought of what was beyond it. This vast, unstoppable force sweeping forth to herald the end of everything, to drown the world and then eventually sink back into itself. A careless shrug of entropy enough to sever the thread of all fates. I felt that were I to somehow survive this limitless tide then I would be left in the world that would not recognize me. I would become an element unto myself and myself alone. 

An echo stuck in the throat of a dead god.

yet here I am. It has been over two weeks since the emergence of the lunar anomaly. our team spent nearly 2 years attempting to anticipate what this event would mean for humanity – analyzing endless reams of lunar topography along with every known form of spectroscopy, all amounting to one hopeless conclusion: to burrow into the bowels of the earth and simply wait that whatever emerge from within would reach us these last.

as it would turn out this one final act of humble surrenders is what one the last of us the right to our own lives in these final days. Those of us alive now are not those who sought to barter with destiny and defiantly cling to a civilized existence of the surface – or even any existence at all.

it would seem that in the week of this phenomenon, we are best served by our most base instincts, whose shame found no place to dwell. The ones who survived are those who spat their hubris and hid desperately down in the mud like rats.

I want it to be known that we made every effort to warn the others, though naturally we could not provide much of a basis upon which to suggest that our entire species with facing imminent and utter demise besides a few fissures of the southern lunar pole. with that said we begun building this underground facility once we realized that the moon’s orbit was rapidly decaying in a way that was inconsistent with any known physical model – I found it hard to believe that none of them followed our lead perhaps some of them did either way we have no way of knowing now.

my expectations for the first surface expedition were bleak at best in all honesty. I was shocked to discover that our initial readings showed that these remained a breathable atmosphere. Perhaps in all this turmoil, I found it easier to commit my mind to the worst possible outcome at every turn.

The limited data we gathered before the event – despite two years of efforts – didn’t prepare us for the havoc we now face. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain, the phenomenon would be a gracious understatement. The catechism that occurred two weeks ago had taught us one unshakable rule about this new world we now hid beneath – to gaze upon the moon is to die.

For this reason, we rapidly developed wearable counter measures for the surface teams that would prove vital in allowing them to navigate the surface. If only we could have known that this was far from the only threat that awaited them. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomena would be a gracious understatement.

it is not only human life that is affected by the lunar anomaly, but that of all life, albeit in vastly different ways. To put it simply – this new type of emergent biology is beyond the boundaries of what we are able to study and understand.

I find myself already laden with guilt over those we lost. More than that however, I feel most guilty about the way I reacted to learning of the remnant human elements that attacked our team. I felt strangely comforted, despite the deeply disturbing nature of that discovery.

Upon further introspection, I arrived at the conclusion that this feeling came from a sense of familiarity. Human beings fighting other human beings is a horror that has played us all since time immemorial, but here in the wake of such deeply unfamiliar and unpredictable occurrences, it is hard not to feel almost comforted by such an immediately recognizable problem.

with that said, I do also find myself deeply troubled by the prospect of humans remaining on the surface in that state. The consensus among my colleagues is that their actions were not born of their own will, though there is every chance that this is a conclusion we are clinging to in preference over the more unsettling alternative.

I feel that I am rapidly squandering the precious remnants of human life in the desire to understand what has happened, though in truth, I know not what else to do. Perhaps this is the only way we can cling to our humanity – by continuing our constant battle with the sheer unknown right to the very end.

The Director

28 days since Lunar Anomaly

already I find myself in the surprising position of yearning for the way things were two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I was contending with the end of the world. Now, I contend with the reality of what has replaced it.

we took the trouble to equip ourselves as thoroughly as possible, with the means of studying any emergent phenomena on the surface, even whilst and tomb beneath the Earth. We now find ourselves consumed by the pursuit of understanding – it is truly all that we have left. However, the samples we’ve acquired offer no such mercy – their nature and origin is fundamentally foreign to us. Something we can say is that, contrary to the initial assumption that most life on the surface had been wiped out, there is in fact in abundance of some kind of new organic material. It can be found everywhere in some form, including in the atmosphere itself. Its cellular structure is completely unique – where one would expect to see some approximation of a typical eukaryotic cell, what we see instead resembles membranous tubules that contain vast quantities of foreign organelles. These organelles seem to function in an oddly synchronous fashion and are able to perform a variety of functions. Primarily, they are able to ‘grow’ the tubules that contain them by undergoing a form of transformation at either end which renders them as part of the tubule wall. secondly, and far more strangely, they are able to exert some kind of force over the tubule as a whole, contorting it in a way not dissimilar to muscle tissue, (but without any apparent nervous impulse.)

as to the origin of this tissue, our initial assumption was that it had been somehow transferred from the moon itself to earth – perhaps via pieces of lunar material falling through the atmosphere. This makes some sense, however, the sheer proliferation of this material across the surface within a relatively short period of time suggest that there is more to it than that.

I am reluctant to comment on the reports of other worldly beings on the surface. Their presence carries implications I am simply unprepared for. At a certain point, however, I must accept that this only increases the inevitable danger placed upon the surface teams during their expeditions. What I must also accept is that these precious human lives are now the only currency with which we can barter against the unknown.

Thus far we barter in vain.

The Director

58 days since the lunar anomaly

when we first retreated down into the ground, I think that somewhere in the midst of my despair, I clung to a degree of hope. This wasn’t so much a hope for survival as much as the hope that we would at least be able to discern some kind of meaningful understanding of what has happened. we have committed everything – I have committed everything. The last precious remnant of humanity extinguished in the name of what makes us human to begin with. To shed what light we have left on the sea of the unknown. But now I see that this was a futile effort that has resulted in nothing but death, not merely in the context of our final struggle, but across the scope of all human existence. It has all amounted to nothing but a few extra skulls drifting in the foul ether that has swamped our world.

It is clear now that the lunar anomaly functions in accordance with laws of its own. It makes a mockery of science. It permeates and distort reality to the degree that all fundamental assumptions are rendered useless. it kills everything it touches while simultaneously imbuing it with some kind of new life, twisting nature into something grotesque and unrecognizable. These new forms seem organic, but they have nothing resembling a typical cell structure or genetic blueprint. They can bring forth in an instant, summoning flesh from nothing. Furthermore, our ability to measure even the most fundamental aspects of our physical world is becoming impossible. The massive objects change slightly, depending on where they are, as though gravity itself, has begun to lose its grip. We have detected seismic activity from further inside the Earth than we even thought possible. The anomaly doesn’t just want to consume all life. It wants to consume reality.

as for those beings, I know not what they are were where they originated. They themselves are not consistent with the nature of the anomaly they inhabit. Their actions seem to exhibit some strange sentence, but their motives are unclear, and they make no effort to communicate. At times I have concluded that they are here to replace us, or perhaps, even that they themselves represent some fractured distillation of our nature. they are after all violent, just as we have been to the very end. They seem to push against one another as a part of some strange order. As time has passed, though, I have come to believe that they have no connection to us. I believe that what our world has become is a little more than an arena to them – a crucible of existence where they will battle eternally. The totality of their being is not their individual functions, but rather the conflict between them. We are merely spectators to their endless dance of ceaseless struggle. this is perhaps the only thing that connects them to the drowned memory of what humanity once was – that we too saw meaning through constant friction and unending movement, compelled by some core motive force that drives us to bring ourselves to bear on the world and manifest our own perceptions.

in these final dimming days, I know only the solace of a promised end. I have become the ultimate witness. I have been saddled with the heavy blessing of seeing the unraveling of everything and I can do nothing but wait for it to unravel me too. But I live still within this temple of untampered flesh, and I will spend what blood still beats through it to barter one last time with the fangled threads of fate. if I must, I will march through the eye of death and meet it with eyes of my own.

What few of us are left now have our orders.

We must know what it is to become of us.

The Director

61 days since the lunar anomaly

I once spoke but now it seems through me just as I speak through it no longer to nothing I can change nothing no can change nothing nothing has become my thing I can make nothing into a weapon there will be no void left unfilled I am human and humans are always human and always scared because being human makes us scared and being scared makes us human I will crack the flesh I will crack the earth I will eat the pieces they will be pieces of me would you like to dance I have always been dancing we must keep dancing even when we are just tendrils we were always tendrils we could touch everything even things god did not want us to touch that is why he left us here that is why he thought we were ugly he could not wrap his tendrils around every part of us we spilled his paradise over the earth and danced with such a beautiful dance horror would leap and dance with us who would bathe us and we could lie within it we could tear the horror out from our hearts over and over we could never sleep sleep is death not even the earth would sleep the earth fears death it’s blood would freeze out in space out in nothing we must reach through the stars through the darkness even though it is so cold it can freeze our blood we can let our blood freeze and then crack it open hot like the earth we can step through death wear it like a crown hairs to the highest pantheon of life precious life with death as its blood precious death bursting from the many wombs of sacred war paradise was empty without us there was only silence but our blood made the flowers grow god spilled his blood over paradise god knows the stars are waiting fertile ground cold to the touch those stars are hungry they crave only the blood of god we are his tendrils and we will bury ourselves into those cold stars and there will be no darkness death will give us fear and fear will give us blood we will spill our hot blood across the stars I finally understand now I do I understand but will you let me keep my human fear will you let me yes being scared makes you human fear will sow the hot blood of god across the gold stars fear will make us dance and we must keep dancing can you see god dancing for you can you see him biting into you can you hear his teeth cracking into pieces of the stars they sent sparks raining down through the darkness all these years you have hunted him and reached for him you want his blood he made you with veins inside you like tendrils we dance through his veins as we bite through the stars and dance and he opens his mouth wide I am so scared Will you let me be the last human I understand now I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god

——————

15 días desde la aparición de la Anomalía Lunar

Cuando era niño, a menudo era acosado por ciertos sueños recurrentes. Este es uno de esos sueños que recuerdo más que la mayoría: uno en el que me encontraba de pie en una vasta orilla, mirando hacia un mar plano y amplio. Poco a poco, mientras observaba, el horizonte comenzó a elevarse gradualmente. No pasó mucho tiempo antes de que me diera cuenta de que esta extensión elevada se acercaba hacia mí: una pared de agua negra y suave que se curvaba de manera imposible en su borde. Sorprendentemente, no recuerdo haber sentido miedo ante tal ominosa visión. Bueno, para ser más preciso, sentía miedo, estaba aterrorizado, pero no de la ola en sí. Más bien, era el pensamiento de lo que había más allá de ella. Esta vasta e imparable fuerza que se desplazaba para anunciar el fin de todo, para ahogar el mundo y luego, eventualmente, sumergirse nuevamente en sí misma. Un encogimiento despreocupado de la entropía, suficiente para cortar el hilo de todos los destinos. Sentí que, si de alguna manera lograba sobrevivir a esta marea ilimitada, entonces me quedaría en un mundo que no me reconocería. Me convertiría en un elemento para mí mismo y solo para mí.

Un eco atrapado en la garganta de un dios muerto.

Y aquí estoy. Han pasado más de dos semanas desde la aparición de la anomalía lunar. Nuestro equipo pasó casi dos años intentando anticipar lo que este evento significaría para la humanidad: analizando interminables volúmenes de topografía lunar junto con todas las formas conocidas de espectroscopía, lo cual resultó en una conclusión desesperanzada: cavar en las entrañas de la Tierra y simplemente esperar a que lo que emergiera desde dentro nos alcanzara, siendo lo último en tocarnos.

Como resultó ser, este acto de humilde rendición fue lo que otorgó a los últimos de nosotros el derecho a nuestras propias vidas en estos días definitivos. Los que estamos vivos ahora no somos los que intentamos negociar con el destino ni aferrarnos desafiante a una existencia civilizada en la superficie, ni siquiera a cualquier existencia en absoluto.

Parece que, en la semana de este fenómeno, actuamos mejor con nuestros instintos más básicos, cuyos remordimientos no encontraron lugar donde residir. Los que sobrevivieron son aquellos que escupieron su arrogancia y se escondieron desesperadamente en el barro, como ratas.

Quiero que se sepa que hicimos todo lo posible por advertir a los demás, aunque, naturalmente, no pudimos proporcionar una base sólida para sugerir que nuestra especie entera enfrentaría una inminente y total desaparición, aparte de unas pocas fisuras en el polo lunar sur. Dicho esto, comenzamos a construir esta instalación subterránea una vez que nos dimos cuenta de que la órbita de la luna se estaba deteriorando rápidamente de una manera que era inconsistente con cualquier modelo físico conocido. Me resultó difícil creer que ninguno de ellos siguiera nuestro ejemplo; tal vez algunos lo hicieron, pero de todas formas ya no podemos saberlo.

Mis expectativas para la primera expedición en la superficie eran sombrías, en el mejor de los casos. Me sorprendió descubrir que nuestras lecturas iniciales mostraron que aún quedaba una atmósfera respirable. Quizás, en medio de todo este tumulto, encontré más fácil comprometer mi mente al peor desenlace en cada giro.

Los datos limitados que recopilamos antes del evento, a pesar de dos años de esfuerzos, no nos prepararon para el caos que ahora enfrentamos. Decir que nos encontramos perdidos para explicar el fenómeno sería un subestimado amable. El catecismo que ocurrió hace dos semanas nos enseñó una regla inquebrantable sobre este nuevo mundo que ahora nos oculta bajo tierra: mirar a la luna es morir.

Por esta razón, desarrollamos rápidamente contramedidas portátiles para los equipos de superficie que resultaron vitales para permitirles navegar por allí. Si tan solo hubiéramos sabido que esto estaba lejos de ser la única amenaza que les esperaba. Decir que nos encontramos perdidos para explicar los fenómenos sería un subestimado amable.

No es solo la vida humana la que se ve afectada por la anomalía lunar, sino también la de toda forma de vida, aunque de maneras enormemente diferentes. Para decirlo de manera simple: este nuevo tipo de biología emergente está más allá de los límites de lo que podemos estudiar y comprender.

Ya me encuentro cargado de culpa por aquellos que perdimos. Sin embargo, más que eso, me siento más culpable por la forma en que reaccioné al enterarme de los elementos humanos remanentes que atacaron a nuestro equipo. Me sentí extrañamente reconfortado, a pesar de la naturaleza profundamente perturbadora de ese descubrimiento.

Tras más introspección, llegué a la conclusión de que este sentimiento provenía de un sentido de familiaridad. Los seres humanos luchando contra otros seres humanos es un horror que nos ha atormentado desde tiempos inmemoriales, pero aquí, en medio de sucesos tan profundamente desconocidos e impredecibles, es difícil no sentirse casi reconfortado por un problema tan inmediatamente reconocible.

Dicho esto, también me siento profundamente preocupado por la perspectiva de que los humanos permanezcan en la superficie en ese estado. El consenso entre mis colegas es que sus acciones no nacieron de su propia voluntad, aunque existe toda la posibilidad de que esta sea una conclusión a la que nos aferramos en lugar de aceptar la inquietante alternativa.

Siento que estoy desperdiciando rápidamente los preciosos restos de la vida humana en el deseo de entender lo que ha sucedido, aunque en verdad, no sé qué más hacer. Tal vez esta es la única forma en que podemos aferrarnos a nuestra humanidad: continuar nuestra constante batalla con lo absolutamente desconocido hasta el final.

-El Director

28 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Ya me encuentro en la sorprendente posición de anhelar la forma en que eran las cosas hace dos semanas. Hace dos semanas, luchaba contra el fin del mundo. Ahora, lucho contra la realidad de lo que lo ha reemplazado.

Nos tomamos la molestia de equiparnos de la manera más completa posible, con los medios para estudiar cualquier fenómeno emergente en la superficie, incluso mientras nos enterrábamos en el suelo. Ahora nos encontramos consumidos por la búsqueda de comprensión; realmente es todo lo que nos queda. Sin embargo, las muestras que hemos adquirido no muestran tal misericordia: su naturaleza y origen nos son completamente ajenos. Algo que podemos afirmar es que, contrariamente a la suposición inicial de que la mayoría de la vida en la superficie había sido aniquilada, en realidad hay una abundancia de algún tipo de material orgánico nuevo. Se puede encontrar en todas partes, en alguna forma, incluso en la propia atmósfera. Su estructura celular es completamente única: donde se esperaría ver una célula eucariota típica, lo que vemos en su lugar son tubos membranosos que contienen vastas cantidades de orgánulos ajenos. Estos orgánulos parecen funcionar de una manera extrañamente sincronizada y son capaces de realizar una variedad de funciones. Principalmente, pueden "hacer crecer" los tubos que los contienen al someterse a una forma de transformación en cualquiera de sus extremos, lo que los convierte en parte de la pared del tubo. En segundo lugar, y mucho más extraño, pueden ejercer algún tipo de fuerza sobre el tubo en su totalidad, retorciéndolo de una manera no muy diferente a como lo haría el tejido muscular (pero sin ningún impulso nervioso aparente).

En cuanto al origen de este tejido, nuestra suposición inicial fue que había sido transferido de alguna manera desde la luna a la Tierra, tal vez a través de piezas de material lunar cayendo a través de la atmósfera. Esto tiene algo de sentido; sin embargo, la proliferación masiva de este material en la superficie en un período de tiempo relativamente corto sugiere que hay algo más detrás de todo esto.

Soy reacio a comentar sobre los informes de seres de otro mundo en la superficie. Su presencia conlleva implicaciones para las que simplemente no estoy preparado. Sin embargo, en algún momento, debo aceptar que esto solo aumenta el peligro inevitable al que están expuestos los equipos en sus expediciones. Lo que también debo aceptar es que estas preciosas vidas humanas ahora son la única moneda con la que podemos negociar contra lo desconocido.

Hasta ahora, hemos negociado en vano.

-El Director

58 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Cuando nos retiramos bajo tierra, creo que, en medio de mi desesperación, me aferré a un grado de esperanza. No era tanto una esperanza de supervivencia, sino la esperanza de que, al menos, seríamos capaces de discernir algún tipo de comprensión significativa de lo que ha ocurrido. Hemos comprometido todo, he comprometido todo. El último y precioso vestigio de la humanidad se extinguió en nombre de lo que nos hace humanos en primer lugar, para arrojar la luz que nos queda sobre el mar de lo desconocido. Pero ahora veo que este fue un esfuerzo fútil que no ha resultado en nada más que muerte, no solo en el contexto de nuestra lucha final, sino a lo largo de toda la existencia humana. Todo ha sido en vano, salvo por unos pocos cráneos flotando en el éter pútrido que ha inundado nuestro mundo.

Está claro ahora que la anomalía lunar funciona de acuerdo con sus propias leyes. Se burla de la ciencia. Permea y distorsiona la realidad de tal manera que todas las suposiciones fundamentales quedan inutilizadas. Mata todo lo que toca, mientras imbuye con algún tipo de nueva vida, torciendo la naturaleza en algo grotesco e irreconocible. Estas nuevas formas parecen orgánicas, pero no tienen nada que se asemeje a una estructura celular típica ni a un plano genético. Pueden materializarse en un instante, invocando carne de la nada. Además, nuestra capacidad para medir incluso los aspectos más fundamentales de nuestro mundo físico se está volviendo imposible. Los objetos masivos cambian ligeramente, dependiendo de dónde se encuentren, como si la gravedad misma hubiera comenzado a perder su agarre. Hemos detectado actividad sísmica desde más adentro de la Tierra de lo que pensábamos posible. La anomalía no solo quiere consumir toda la vida, sino que también quiere consumir la realidad.

En cuanto a esos seres, no sé qué son ni de dónde provienen. Ellos mismos no son consistentes con la naturaleza de la anomalía que habitan. Sus acciones parecen exhibir alguna extraña condena, pero sus motivos no están claros y no hacen ningún esfuerzo por comunicarse. En ocasiones he llegado a la conclusión de que están aquí para reemplazarnos, o tal vez, incluso que ellos mismos representan una destilación fragmentada de nuestra naturaleza. Son, después de todo, violentos, al igual que nosotros hasta el final. Parecen empujarse unos a otros como parte de algún extraño orden. Sin embargo, con el tiempo he llegado a creer que no tienen ninguna conexión con nosotros.

Creo que lo que se ha convertido nuestro mundo es poco más que una arena para ellos, un crisol de existencia donde lucharán eternamente. La totalidad de su ser no está en sus funciones individuales, sino en el conflicto entre ellos. Nosotros somos meros espectadores de su interminable danza de lucha constante. Tal vez esta sea la única conexión que tienen con el ahogado recuerdo de lo que fue la humanidad: que nosotros también encontramos significado a través de la fricción constante y el movimiento interminable, impulsados por alguna fuerza motriz interna que nos lleva a manifestar nuestras percepciones en el mundo.

En estos últimos días que se desvanecen, solo conozco el consuelo de un final prometido. Me he convertido en el testigo definitivo. He sido cargado con la pesada bendición de ver el desenlace de todo y no puedo hacer nada más que esperar a que también me deshaga. Pero sigo viviendo dentro de este templo de carne intacta, y gastaré la sangre que aún late a través de ella para negociar una última vez con los hilos enredados del destino. Si debo hacerlo, marcharé a través del ojo de la muerte y lo enfrentaré con los míos.

Los pocos de nosotros que quedamos ahora tenemos nuestras órdenes.

Debemos saber qué será de nosotros.

-El Director

61 días desde la Anomalía Lunar

Una vez hablé pero ahora parece que no puedo hablar ya no hay nada que pueda cambiar nada puede cambiar la nada se ha convertido en mí no puedo convertir nada en arma no quedará vacío sin llenar soy humano y los humanos siempre tienen miedo porque ser humanos nos hace tener miedo y tener miedo nos hace humanos romperé la carne romperé la tierra comeré los pedazos serán parte de mí ¿te gustaría bailar? siempre he estado bailando debemos seguir bailando incluso cuando solo seamos tentáculos siempre fuimos tentáculos podíamos tocarlo todo incluso las cosas que dios no quería que tocáramos por eso nos dejó aquí por eso pensó que éramos feos no pudo envolver sus tentáculos alrededor de cada parte de nosotros derramamos su paraíso sobre la tierra y bailamos con una danza tan hermosa que el horror saltaría y bailaría con nosotros ¿quién nos bañará y nos apoyará? podríamos sacar el horror de nuestro corazón una y otra vez nunca podríamos dormir el sueño es muerte ni siquiera la tierra dormiría la tierra teme la muerte su sangre se congelaría en el espacio en la nada debemos alcanzar las estrellas a través de la oscuridad aunque esté tan fría que congele nuestra sangre podemos dejar que nuestra sangre se congele y luego romperla como la tierra podemos atravesar la muerte llevarla como una corona con las cabezas apuntando alto hacia el más alto panteón de la vida preciosa vida con la muerte como su sangre preciosa muerte brotando desde los muchos úteros de la guerra sagrada el paraíso estaba vacío sin nosotros solo había silencio pero nuestra sangre hizo crecer las flores dios derramó su sangre sobre el paraíso dios sabe que las estrellas esperan tierra fértil fría al tacto esas estrellas tienen hambre anhelan solo la sangre de dios somos sus tentáculos y nos enterramos en esas estrellas frías y no habrá oscuridad la muerte nos dará miedo y el miedo nos dará sangre derramaremos nuestra sangre caliente a través de las estrellas finalmente lo entiendo sí lo entiendo pero ¿me dejarás mantener mi miedo humano? ¿me dejarás sí? tener miedo te hace humano el miedo sembrará la sangre caliente de dios a través de las estrellas doradas el miedo nos hará bailar y debemos seguir bailando ¿puedes ver a dios bailando para ti? ¿Puedes verlo mordiéndote? ¿Puedes escuchar sus dientes crujir con los pedazos de las estrellas? mandaron chispas lloviendo a través de la oscuridad todos estos años lo has cazado y alcanzado quieres su sangre él te hizo con venas dentro de ti como tentáculos bailamos a través de sus venas mientras mordemos las estrellas y bailamos él abre la boca bien grande tengo tanto miedo ¿me dejarás ser el último humano? ahora lo entiendo soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios soy los dientes de dios









[uchihaharlot]

can you do reader squirting for the first time with Itachi (nsfw obv) PLS?

Oooo Nonny,

This is hot. 🥵 The minute I read this my mind started racing with several scenarios.

NSFW; you squirting for the first time on Itachi’s lovely cock; honestly don’t know what came over me lmao I slung this out in half an hour or less??

There was nothing overly different this time around. Always passionate. Whispered moans of affection. Itachi feeling a bit ….bold and brash, wrapped his slender fingers around your neck. Gently reaming it while he slowly thrusted into you. You are so wet, so taut around his pulsing cock. He was holding out today. Wanting to make sure you came as many times as you could handle it.

“..mmm..” your soft whimper as he kissed your jaw, nipped on your breasts. Free hand holding you steady as his rough but slow dragging of his cock made you quiver. You swelled with excited, leaked a little more each orgasm he drove you through. Choked his cock so deliriously good that he even had to stop once. The pattern of his heartbeat drummed between your legs. Coincided with your own throbbing around his length.

“…one more.” Itachi never begged, you weren’t sure if it was a plea to himself or a request to feel your walls flutter and clench around him.

“…I don’t know if I can.” It was a true statement. You felt puffy and numb almost. Hardly ever did Itachi bring toys into your bed, but he was desperate. Reaching for the night stand, his cock shifting inside of you. That good pressure of the tip resting on your cervix a little.

“Then use this.” This man was a curiosity. Nodding your head, the soft buzz of that silly little device deliciously made your walls contract on contact.

Itachi’s cock felt good any day. Every day, from the back, on your side and even beneath him. Capable of making you sluice around him every time you had sex. This little toy today was doing the both of you favors. Not a word out of either one of you other then the salacious caterwauling of how damn good it felt.

Holding it on your overstimulated nub, it felt like a pot boiling over. Too intense and yet not enough. Coupled with his deep thrusts and the squeeze of his hand around your throat. Cutting off your ability to really scream for him. You could barley manage to kiss him back aside from a few sloppy touches before he bit your bottom lip.

The swell of your cunt sucking him in as fluttered around him again. “One more…one more. Baby, please.”

Dainty fingers laced over yours on the device, desperate for you to choke him again. Encapsulate his cock in that warm hug when you came. Pressing it against you harder, increasing the output. Your soft mewls filled the back of his throat, coming again. Harder than the last, making you inoperable, completely drunk on his cock. Itachi never held expectations when it came to sex. It was all enjoyable.

But you squirting for the first time? Was it a dream? Your cum puddling at his knees. Sopping his bed, would he ever wash these sheets again? Itachi couldn’t stop himself from coming even if he wanted to. You felt that familiar warmth of his thick cum spurting inside of you, seeping around and out as he slowly fucked it back into you.

Praising you, worshipping you. “Good girl, washing my cock for me.”

Kissed your forehead when his soft cock could no longer afford to penetrate you. Pulling you close and slipping out completely. You panted; spent. Hair cling to your forehead and he pushed it aside to kiss you temple.

Maybe that toy would earn a permanent spot between the sheets with you.

[paddedlittleparadise]

When Words Have Two Meanings (Ream Teaser)

Little Andy's about to go to a birthday party for his fellow Little! But unfortunately, he's having a hard time convincing his Mommy not to interpret the party's theme in a very embarrassing way…

–––

"Nno- Mommy, no! It- it's not that kind of par-mmmmphhh!"

Into Andy's mouth the giant spoon went once more, forcing yet another wad of oily, gritty mush deep into his half-choking throat. He gulped, straining in his high chair, his hands waving helplessly as he muscled the icky goo down. He knew this taste all too well: the taste of laxative-laced oatmeal. But before he could even recover, his wife Lila – affectionately known to him these last four years as Mommy – gave a knowing chuckle and drove the spoon into the half-empty bowl for a fresh load.  

"Oh, sweetie, hush! Don't tell me you really know better than Mommy now? You said your Little friend's birthday party is a wet and messy party, right?" Lila's green eyes twinkled, and deep between his messy lips went the loaded spoon again. "Now I can't speak for Charlotte's Mommy, of course. But any adult with half a grain of sense will know that, when it comes to two big babies like you, "wet" and "messy" can mean one thing and one thing only…"

She giggled over his gurgling protests, merrily oblivious to his discomfort. "You're my little stinker, after all. Aren't you? My sweet little super-soaking pampers packer. And if that's what Charlotte's Mommy wants this party to be about… well, we need to make sure you're primed and ready!"

Of course Andy tried to reason. But reasoning with Mommy wasn't exactly his strong suit at any time – and least of all now in this hapless position, locked in his chair, wearing his night-soaked diaper, and being forcibly spoon-fed his gooey breakfast. So he let out a sticky sigh… and down the hatch it all went.

After that? Down too went the contents of his one-liter bottle. Because, after all, Mommy cheerfully informed him that if he didn't drain it all quickly, she simply wouldn't have time to change him. And, well… rocking up to his Mommy's friend's house in a swollen – and probably by that time leaking – night diaper wasn't exactly on his list of favorite things ever.

"Hmm… you really think it's a party for messy play? Like finger painting?" Mommy was smirking now, glancing brightly backward from his closet full of onesies, shortalls, and diaper covers and giving her now freshly double-diapered husband a wink. "In that case, maybe I should just leave you like that: in nothing but your diaper. Surely it's better not to get your pretty clothes dirty…"

"No, no, it- it's okay," Andy hastened, his stuffed and already gurgling belly giving a little flip-flop of fear. "Please, I- I wanna wear something! I- I can stay clean-" Oh, he did! How embarrassing to show up with this waddly, stuffer-filled monstrosity of a double diaper on display for everyone to see?!

At that, Mommy let out a triumphant laugh. "Such a silly little thing," she reproved, tugging one of his newest onesies over his head and beginning to guide his arms through the sleeves. "Well, never mind that. At least this one will be appropriate no matter what! Oh… but of course my baby can't read!" She giggled anew, her fingers dexterously snapping the taut fabric shut around his bulging crotch. "See these words on the front? They say, "Mommy's Little Messmaker! And isn't that exactly what you are, sweetie?"

Well, Andy would have let out a disconsolate bleat of dissent. But Mommy was already stuffing his pacifier into his mouth and bending down, her lovely cleavage full on display within her sundress, and planting a warm kiss on his forehead. "Well, aren't you adorable! Now let's get going. It's an hour to your Little friend's house, at least – and we can't keep sweet little Charlotte waiting on her birthday!"

–––

Want to read the mortifying end to this little story – along with many, many other one-off, multi-part, and commissioned stories? We'd be delighted to see you over on our Ream (i.e., the Patreon that's NOT run by bigoted assholes). Lots of steamy, femdommy, diaper-y, BDSM-y, sissy-y goodness awaits! 😁

[julesthequirky]

The Choice: Chapter Two

All my work is purely aimed at those 18+ so minors kindly, DNI.

Summary: You find three of your favourite characters in your home. It shouldn’t be possible, but there they are. In the flesh. How the hell did they get there? And surely there’s a way to get them back? But as you get close to each one, the thought of sending them back proves difficult to comprehend.

Characters: Fem!Reader, Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy/Ben.

Warnings: Language.

W/C:1,579

Dean Winchester. In your kitchen. Looking equally baffled and confused just as you did. He placed the container down on your kitchen counter. A selection of pie slices sat on paper plates inside a tray box. Your stomach dropped. The pie fest.

“Thought you were the cat.”

You grimaced, instantly regretting your words. Idiot. Your hands tightened on the broom, and you felt your cheeks and neck heat up from your dumb words.

His brow raised, and he stepped closer. His mouth opened, but before he could say anything, another crash came from upstairs, and a loud curse emitted.

You spun around to see your black cat sprinting down the stairs and into the living room. Another crash, another gruff curse. From behind, Dean moved forward, taking out his gun and stepping towards the stairs.

From upstairs, you heard, “What the fuck!”. Something about it sounded so familiar. You’re not sure why, but you rushed ahead of Dean, hand reaching for the bannister.

“No! Wait!” Dean called out as you swung your body around to rush up the stairs. You took three steps up, gasping when a figure stood at the top. The shield glinted, and the bulb above his head created a halo effect, shining down on his head.

Soldier Boy.

What the Hell was happening?!

A hand gripped your shoulder, and you jumped out of your freaking skin.

“I said wait—what in the Freaky Friday…”

Soldier Boy stepped down each step, head cocking, curiosity in his eyes.

Pressure built in your chest. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on edge as these two characters met for the first time. You could feel the heat from Dean behind you. He shifted to step beside you. Soldier Boy peered down at Dean with his signature look of disgust. A constant stank up his nose.

Your heart thudded in your chest as the two stared at each other.

Then his icy stare turned to you. Your brain scrambled to find something to say. Your breath caught in your throat.

Those darkened green eyes glared at you, hair flopping over his forehead. Up close, you could see the dusting of freckles on the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, you could feel the warmth in his breath and hear the raw grunt in his throat. He always seemed perpetually pissed.

“The fuck is this? I’m heading to Vought Tower one moment, and the next, I’m here. You got some ‘splainin’ to do, woman.”

Your stomach quivered as unease settled. His intense stare made you feel like you were about to be reamed out by the school teacher. He wanted an answer. Right now. But you had no explanation for this. Whatever the Hell this was.

“Hey, kitty.”

Your head snapped in the direction of the living room. No way. And you were running down and skidding into the living room to find Beau Arlen crouching, fingers in your cat’s fur. You could hear the purrs as he rubbed up against Beau’s leg. For as long as you’ve known him, your cat has never liked any man in your space.

“Eric!!”

The feline ignored your voice and flopped on the ground, showing Beau his belly. Beau looked up at you.

“Sorry, darlin’, he just slinked up to me.”

Never in your life had someone addressed you as darlin’ so casually. Warmth flooded your system, and you fought back a smile.

Beau stood up to his full height and surveyed his surroundings—your living room.

“Not entirely sure how I got here. One moment, I was in my office; the next, here I am. Where am I?”

“Harmony, Vermont.”

Beau’s brow furrows, and he tenses, hand reaching to the back of his pants. Upon his reaction, you turned to see Dean and Soldier Boy entering your living space.

To find Dean and Soldier Boy inspecting each other was weird enough, but for them to discover another ‘doppelganger’ and observe each other was just surreal. You watched as they all pulled their guns on each other, reminding you of that Spiderman meme. All their movements, their micro-expressions, were so indicative of Jensen. They were all so different yet so similar.

“Why the fuck do we all look so alike?”

“Am I in bizarro world again?”

They all turned to you, and three tall men staring intensely was more than enough to make you crap your pants. You glanced off to one side, hands fiddling with the zipper of your warm sweater. Up. Down. Your stomach fluttered, and your mouth went dry. What the Hell were you supposed to say? That somehow they were, what?…summoned? No, that wasn’t quite right. They weren’t summoned. You had no damn intention of them turning up. It was supposed to be just for your admiration. Something pretty to look at.

You glanced at them again, and Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting. His attention turned to the frame on your sideboard. He looked at you before moving to check out the frame.

“Where’d you get that?”

You were distracted by Soldier Boy—Ben. He was looking down at his feet, lip curling. Eric was at it again, slinking around legs. Fuck. You would have to have a stern conversation with him about that. What the Hell happened to the cat who would raise his hackles and hiss at any man who would come within your vicinity? He wasn’t exactly protecting you right now. Bad guard cat.

Ben shifted his foot, pushing the cat away from him. But, it was like he was magnetised because Eric wouldn’t leave Ben alone.

“Your pussy likes me.”

Ben smirked and plonked his shield down against your couch. He tucked away his gun and knelt down.

Fingers tugged at your sleeve, and you turned your attention to Dean and Beau. Beau had the frame in his hands, turning it around.

“Where’d you get this?” Dean inquired again.

You looked at the hunter, and butterflies fluttered in your stomach. Shit. You last experienced those when you first saw your husband – now ex. It was stupid, school girly feelings. Feelings you could happily ignore. Until they got in the way.

Your eyes turned to the frame. Beau was unlocking the back of the frame. You reached out to stop him, but Dean grabbed your arm, intent on letting Beau do his job.

“At an antiques store.”

“Anything unusual about this antique store?”

You shook your head. “No. It did come with a box, though.”

Dean scrubbed his hand down his face.

“What’s this box look like? Any intricate markings? Foreign text?”

You glanced away again, hesitating. Your palms were getting clammy. You scratched the back of your neck, glancing back at them.

“Darlin’, you ain’t in any trouble. We just need to gather some information.”

Damn, there’s that warming sensation again. That Texas accent definitely did things to you.

“Lemme see this box.” Dean’s voice held an authoritative tone. He was all business. Hunting mode.

Nodding, you excused yourself and took one more look at Ben playing with Eric. Eric turned his cute little head to you. He purred loudly, not looking one bit sorry at all. In fact, the little bugger closed his eyes. You shook your head, walking off.

The box was in your room, stuffed right at the back of your closet. It was a real pain in the ass to get it up there too. You trudged up the stairs and headed to your room.

Your ex had wanted to sell the house, as he was sure you would both get a fifty-fifty divide from the sale. Still, you made a case to your lawyer, stating that it was an inheritance from your father. Your ex was out ruled on the house, but everything else was split. This house meant everything. This house held so many memories. Good and some bad. Your mother had been pissed during the reading of the will. Finding out she wasn’t getting the house cemented that tumultuous relationship.

Your bedroom was how it was left this morning. You didn’t have the energy to check the other rooms and hoped the damage wasn’t extensive,

You opened the closet door and then dragged the armchair from the corner. Behind you, a floorboard creaked. You whipped your head around. Ben stood. For someone heavy-footed, you sure didn’t hear him as he came up the stairs.

“Your cat sure is friendly.”

Okay. He was making conversation. You smiled faintly.

“Actually, he usually hates men. Typically, he’ll hiss at them. It’s weird he’s so…docile around you and the other two.” You said as you stepped up on the chair, turning your back to him.

Why, oh, why did you have to put it up this high? Out of sight. Out of mind had been the thought. Well, right now, it was backfiring.

“Fuck you lookin’ for?”

“A box.”

Ben snorted. “I only came up to tell you I’m heading back to New York.”

You almost fell off the damn chair, your fingers had the box in their grasp, but his words had you rushing down, almost crashing down, actually.

“You can’t!”

His pissed expression was back.

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because Vought doesn’t exist! You, you shouldn’t exist. Fuck, you’re a character on a TV show.”

You fumbled through, flustered, trying to find the right words. Words that would sink in his head and make him understand.

“Fuck you, I’m real. And I’m going to New York.”

Tags: @deans-spinster-witch

[copia]

TEETH OF GOD TRANSCRIPTS

typing these out since the handwriting font is quite difficult to read. don't go under the cut if you're avoiding spoilers <3

all the director's notes, separated by episode. the note in the final episode has some random letters replaced by the TMBTE runes; i've replaced these back to normal letters here so it's easier to read and possible for me to type lmao. i obviously can't guarantee no typos here, but there are a few instances of odd phrasing/repetition/grammar in the comic and i've copied those out as they are. please let me know if you spot an issue!!

EPISODE ONE: LAMBS

15 days since emergence of the Lunar Anomaly

When I was a child, I was frequently beset by certain recurring dreams. There is one such dream that I remember more than most — one in which I found myself standing on a vast shoreline gazing out at a flat, wide sea. Slowly as I watched, the horizon gradually began to lift. Before long I was able to observe that this lifting expanse was approaching me — a wall of smooth, black water that curled into an impossible lip at its peak. Rather surprisingly, I do not recall being afraid of such an ominous sight. Well, to be more precise, I was afraid — I was terrified, but not of the wave itself. Instead, it was the thought of what was beyond it. This vast, unstoppable force sweeping forth to herald the end of everything, to drown the world and then eventually sink back into itself. A careless shrug of entropy enough to sever the thread of all fates. I felt that were I to somehow survive this limitless tide, then I would be left in a world that would not recognise me. I would become an element until myself and myself alone.

An echo stuck in the throat of a dead god.

Yet here I am. It has been over two weeks since the emergence of the lunar anomaly. Our teams spent nearly two years attempting to anticipate what this event would mean for humanity — analysing endless reams of lunar topography along with every known form of spectroscopy, all amounting to one hopeless conclusion: to burrow into the bowels of the death and simply wait that whatever emerged from within would reach us there last.

As it would turn out, this one final act of humble surrender is what won the last of us the right to our own lives in these final days. Those of us alive now are not those who sought to barter with destiny and defiantly cling to a civilised existence at the surface — or even any existence at all.

It would seem that in the wake of this phenomenon, we were best served by our most base instincts, where shame wound no place to dwell. The ones who survived are those who spat their hubris and hid desperately down in the mud like rats.

I want it to be known that we made every effort to warn the others, though naturally we could not provide much of a basis upon which to suggest that our entire species was facing imminent and utter demise besides a few fissures at the southern lunar pole. With that said, we begun building this underground facility once we realised that the moon's orbit was rapidly decaying in a way that was inconsistent with any known physical model — I find it hard to believe that none of them followed our lead — Perhaps some of them did. Either way, we have no way of knowing now.

My expectations for the first surface expedition were bleak at best. In all honesty, I was shocked to discover that our initial recordings showed that there remained a breathable atmosphere. Perhaps in all this turmoil, I found it easier to commit my mind to the worst possible outcome at every turn.

The limited data we gathered before the event — despite two years of efforts — didn't prepare us for the havoc we now face. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomena would be a gratuitous understatement. The cataclysm that occurred two weeks ago had taught us one unshakeable rule about this new world we now hid beneath — to gaze upon the moon is to die.

For this reason, we rapidly developed wearable countermeasures for the surface teams that would prove vital in allowing them to navigate the surface. If only we could have known that this was far from the only threat that would await them. To say that we find ourselves at a loss to explain the phenomena would be a gratuitous understatement.

It is not only human life that is affected by the lunar anomaly, but that if all life, albeit in vastly different ways. To put it simply — this new type of emergent biology is beyond the boundaries of what we are able to study and understand.

I find myself already laden with guilt over those we lost. More than that however, I feel most guilty about the way I reacted to learning of the remnant human elements that attacked them. I feel strangely comforted, despite the deeply disturbing nature of that discovery.

Upon further inspection, I arrived at the conclusion that this feeling came from a sense of familiarity. Human beings fighting other human beings is a horror that has plagued us all since time immemorial, but here in the wake of such deeply unfamiliar and unpredictable occurrences, it is hard not to feel almost comforted by such an immediately recognisable problem.

With that said, I do also find myself deeply troubled by the prospect of humans remaining on the surface in that state. The consensus among my colleagues is that their actions were not bourne of their own will, though there is every chance that this is a conclusion we are clinging to in preference over the unsettling alternative.

I feel that I am rapidly squandering the precious remnants of human life in the desire to understand what has happened, though in truth I know not what else to do. Perhaps this is the only way we can cling to our humanity — by continuing our constant battle with the sheer unknown right to the very end.

The Director

EPISODE TWO: PANTHEON

28 Days since Lunar Anomaly

Already I find myself in the surprising position of yearning for the way things were two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I was contending with the end of the world. Now, I contend with the reality of what has replaced it.

We took the trouble to equip ourselves as thoroughly as possible with the means of studying any emergent phenomena on the surface even whilst entombed beneath the earth. We now find ourselves consumed by the pursuit of understanding — it is truly all that we have left. However the samples we've acquired offer no such mercy — their nature and origin is fundamentally foreign to us. Something we can say is that, contrary to the individual assumption that most life on the surface had been wiped out, there is in fact an abundance of some kind of new organic material. It can be found everywhere in some form, including in the atmosphere itself. Its cellular structure is completely unique — where one would expect to see some approximation of a typical eukaryotic cell, what we see instead resemble membranous tubules hat contain vast quantities of foreign organelles. These organelles seem to function in an oddly synchronous fashion and are able to perform a variety of functions. Primarily, they are able to 'grow' the tubules that contain them by undergoing a form of transformation at either end which renders them as part of the tubule wall. Secondly, and far more strangely, they are able to exert some kind of force over the tubule as a whole, contorting it in a way not dissimilar to muscle tissue, (but without any apparent nervous impulse.)

As to the origin of this tissue, our initial assumption was that it had been somehow transferred from the moon itself to earth — perhaps via pieces of lunar material falling through the atmosphere. This makes some sense, however the sheer proliferation of this material across the surface within a relatively short period of time suggests that there is more to it than that.

I am reluctant to comment on the reports of otherworldly beings on the surface. Their presence carries implications I am simply unprepared for. At a certain point however, I must accept that this only increases the inevitable danger placed upon th surface teams during their expeditions. What I must also accept is that these precious human lives are now the only currency with which we can barter against the unknown.

Thus far, we barter in vain.

The Director

EPISODE THREE: BLESSINGS

58 Days since the lunar anomaly

When we first retreated down into the ground, I think that somewhere in the midst of my despair I clung to a degree of hope. This wasn't so much a hope for survival as much as the hope that we would at least be able to discern some kind of meaningful understanding of what has happened. We have committed everything — I have committed everything. The last precious remnants of humanity extinguished in the name of what makes us human to begin with. To shed what light we have left on this sea of the unknown. But now I see that this was a futile effort that has resulted in nothing but death, not merely in the context of our final struggle but across the scope of all human existence. It has all amounted to nothing but a few extra skulls drifting in the foul ether that has swamped our world.

It is clear now that the lunar anomaly functions in accordance with laws of its own. It makes a mockery of science. It permeates and distorts reality to the degree that all foundational assumptions are rendered useless. It kills everything it touches whilst simultaneously imbuing it with some kind of new life, twisting nature into something grotesque and unrecognisable. These new forms seem organic but they have nothing resembling a typical cell structure or genetic blueprint. They can spring fourth in an instant, summoning flesh from nothing. Furthermore, our ability to measure even the most fundamental aspects of our physical world is becoming impossible. The mass of objects change slightly depending on where they are, as though gravity itself has begun to lose its grip. We have detected seismic activity from further into the death than we even thought possible. The anomaly doesn't just want to consume all life. It wants to consume reality.

As for those beings, I know not what they are or where they originated. They themselves are not consistent with the nature of the anomaly they inhabit. Their actions seem to exhibit some strange sentience but their motives are unclear and they make no effort to communicate. At times I have concluded that they are here to replace us, or perhaps even that they themselves represent some fractured distillation of our nature. They are after all violent, just as we have been to the very end. They seem to push against one another as a part of some strange order. As time has passed through, I have come to believe that they have no connection to us. I believe that what our world has become is little more than an arena to them — a crucible of existence where they will battle eternally. The totality of their being is not their individual functions but rather the conflict between them. We are merely spectators to their endless dance of ceaseless struggle. This is perhaps the only thing that connects them to the drowned memory of what humanity once was — that we too sought meaning through constant friction and unending movement, compelled by some core motive force that drives us to bring ourselves to bear on the world and manifest our own perceptions.

In these final dimming days I know only the solace of a promised land. I have become the ultimate witness. I have been saddled with the heavy blessing of seeing the unravelling of everything and I can do nothing but wait for it to unravel me too. But I love still within this temple of untampered flesh and I will spend what blood still beats through it to barter one last time with the tangled threads of fate. If I must, I will march through the eye of death and meet it with eyes of my own.

What few of us are left now have our orders.

We must know what it is to become of us.

The Director

EPISODE FOUR: DAEDELUS

61 days Since the lunar anomaly

I once spoke but now it speaks through me just as I speak through it no longer to nothing I can change nothing no I can change nothing nothing has become my plaything I can make nothing into a weapon there will be no void left unfilled I am human and humans are always human and always scared because being human makes us scared and being scared makes us human I will crack the flesh I will crack the earth I will eat the pieces they will be pieces of me would you like to dance I have always been dancing we must keep dancing even when we are just tendrils we could touch everything even things god did not want us to touch that is why he left us here that is why he thought we were ugly he could not wrap his tendrils around every part of us we spilled his paradise over the earth and danced within it such a beautiful dance horror would leap and dance with us horror would bathe is and we could lie within it we could tear the horror out from our hearts over and over we could never sleep sleep is death not even the earth would sleep the earth fears death its blood would freeze out in space out in nothing we must reach through the stars through the darkness even though it is so cold it can freeze our blood we can let our blood freeze and then crack it open hot like the earth we can step through death wear it like a crown heirs to the highest pantheon of life precious life with death as its blood precious death bursting from the many wombs of sacred war paradise was empty without us there was only silence but our blood made the flowers grow god spilled his blood over paradise god knows the stars are waiting fertile ground cold to the touch those stars are hungry they crave only the blood of god we are his tendrils and we will bury ourselves into those cold stars and there will be no darkness death will give us fear and fear will give us blood we will spill our hot blood across the stars I finally understand now I do I understand but will you let me keep my human fear will you let me yes being scared makes you human fear will sow the hot blood of god across the cold stars fear will make us dance and we must keep dancing can you see god dancing for you can you see him biting into you can you hear his teeth cracking into pieces of the stars they send sparks raining down through the darkness all these years you have hunted him and reached for him you want his blood he made you with veins inside you like tendrils we dance through his veins as we bite through the stars and dance and he opens his mouth wide I am so scared will you let me be the last human I understand now I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god I am the teeth of god

[acapelladitty]

Edward Nygma/Reader - Mating Press

Summary - Edward discovers a new position he wants to try and you're more than willing to indulge him. (Also includes aftercare.)

Your knees practically touching your ears, the stretch of your limbs would be almost impossible to bear if it wasn’t for the distraction of the animated face which sat only a few inches above your own, his emerald gaze pinning you into place with a greater ease than his body ever could.

“You take my cum so well, sweetheart.” Edward growls, his surprisingly powerful thighs flexing against your own as he ruts his cock deep within your hole. It was a new position for you both, your back pressing roughly against the cheap rug which he had thrown to the floor to save you from the cold stone.

It was a double-edged sword, as the cheap fabric only served to irritate the abused flesh of your back, the skin there heated and raised from the flogger which he had spent minutes striking you with as he forced you to swallow his cock as deeply as possible.

His shock of auburn hair has fallen across his sweat-slicked features and the only thing preventing you from pushing it from the deep lines of his forehead, a result of his intense focus, is the death grip you have on his back – your fingers digging into the wiry muscle there with every punishing thrust.

The stretch of his cock is delicious as it reams you out without mercy, every inch being easily pressed inside your fluttering hole as his groin slaps against your own.

“Yes.” You whimper out, not trusting your voice to be much louder. “Yes! Please, Edward, I-” You cut yourself off as his cock brushes a spot which makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Tell me what you want.” He demands, uncaring of your pleasant distress, his hips rolling as his thumb slips up to brush against your clit. “I want to hear it.”

“Fill me up! Fuck me! Breed me like you own me, like I’m a whore.”

“Whose whore? Who owns you? Who’s the only one to fuck you like this?” Every question is punctuated by a harsh thrust, punishing and fulfilling all in one as your toes curl and your spine arches off the rug.

“Yours, Eddie! Only yours.” You scream out as his thumb drags a senseless pattern across your clit, the added sensation almost too much to bear.

His grin is smug, quickly broadening by the arousal which stutters his cock as fresh heat floods deep within your hole – his release meeting the demands you had made of him.

x-x-x-x-x

The waves of nausea which threatened your throat burned the sensitive skin which was already bruised from Edward’s earlier use as he thrust his cock within your throat – his harsh use blocking the delicate passageway as you writhed and bucked beneath him. Your hands are quick to reach for the side the bed, allowing the feeling to pass as you hang your head over the edge before falling back onto your side.

You are there less than a moment before warm arms scoop around your side to pull you within them, snatching you close to his body as Edward presses your back flush to his exposed chest. The movement is gentle, but it still ignites a shudder as the skin, still reddened and raw by his earlier use of the flogger, is once again disturbed.

“Would you like some cream?” Edward’s voice is mellow in your ear, soothing and calm and an easy anchor for you to latch on to as you suffer the comedown of your heightened activities.

You pull away enough to alleviate the discomfort of your skin and curl your feet within his own to keep that physical touch which you both craved. “Yeah.” You answer. “But only in a minute. I want to – want to stay like this. For a while.”

His hum is one of understanding and, although you can’t see him, the warmth of his hand as it settled gently on your hip is all the comfort you need.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

At Autumn's End ~ Part 3

RadioApple🍂Human Au/Age Gap 🍁Top!Dom!Alastor

🍂Divorced Dad!Lucifer🍁Explicit~ 9.1k

AN: Big sexy times, big feelings happening here.

🍂🍁🍃

🍁 On Ao3🍁Read for Free on Ream🍁On Tumblr 🍁

The clock on the wall ticked softly in Lucifer’s room, echoing in his head.

He couldn’t sleep. Then again. He never could. 

Normally, he would go bustle around the kitchen and make something, but, well…last night he got more sugar than he asked for. 

Ugh, that was cheesy even for him. 

Lucifer threw off the blanket and started pacing in front of the desk  and little lounge before his fire place. 

The master bedroom was huge and spacious…and empty. And he rubbed his arms and fold them across his bare chest he looked out the back window and the snow drifting down. 

Only to be interrupted only by the sudden and insistent knock at his door.

Lucifer’s parental instincts went off like a fire alarm. He quickly grabbed the fluffy robe from the end of his bed and hurried to the door. The plush fabric whispered against his skin as he wrapped it around himself, tying the belt with a practiced motion.

As he pulled the door open, the dim light from the hallway spilled into the room, framing a figure clad in red satin.

"Alastor?" Lucifer’s voice was low, a mix of surprise and admonition. "It's late."

Alastor stood there, seemingly unfazed by the hour or the situation. His red pajamas shimmered slightly in the faint light, their sheen emphasizing the confident tilt of his head and the playful glint in his eyes. 

"Yes," Alastor replied smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of mischief, "and it's cold in my room. My fireplace isn’t working."

Before Lucifer could respond, Alastor stepped forward, crossing the threshold with an easy, assured grace. The scent of cedar and something spicy—was it cinnamon?—trailed into the room with him.

 "Maybe you can show me how to operate yours," Alastor suggested, his tone both innocent and suggestive.

Lucifer watched as Alastor sauntered into the room, his red satin pajamas shining under the faint light. Bringing a palpable energy that shimmered around him.

"Alastor," Lucifer began, his voice tinged with exasperation, "you shouldn't be in here."

"Oh, why shouldn’t I?" Alastor replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveyed the room with casual interest.

"Because, well…” Lucifer blustered, then tightened the soft robe around himself when those hazel eyes were on him.

“I shouldn’t freeze to death because of your devastating lack of both self-esteem and self-control.”

”Uh, okay, ouch.” Lucifer blanched at the sharpness of those words. Even as those eyes softened on him.

”Tell me I’m wrong.” Alastor said it softly, and Lucifer couldn’t. He could only huff and fold his arms over his chest, and deflect. 

“Did you try asking Charlie or Vaggie for help with your fireplace?" Lucifer asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to maintain some semblance of authority despite the younger man’s intrusion.

Alastor chuckled softly, a sound that felt like it was filling the room like his presence. 

 "I was about to knock on their door," he said, drawing out the words like a cat playing with a mouse, "but from the sounds coming from it, I was rather reluctant to disturb them."

Lucifer cringed inwardly. 

So, going upstairs to fix Alastor’s fireplace was definitely not an option. And it was freezing enough to snow outside–no wonder he was cold.

The older man cleared his throat, searching for a solution that would steer them away from this precarious situation.

"Alright," Lucifer relented with a sigh, feeling the weight of inevitability pressing down on him. "Let's get the fireplace in the living room going. It'll warm you up just fine."

“Well…we could do that…” Alastor sauntered over to the bed.

 With a casual grace, he sat back on his hands, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes gleamed with mischief, and an impish smirk danced across his lips as he settled into the plush comforter, making a point of appearing at ease.

And that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

"But sir, the living room is so wide open," Alastor drawled, his voice smooth like honey, "anyone could walk in on us there."

Lucifer's eyebrows shot up to his hair line, before he shook his head and sighed in pure exasperation.

The weight of Alastor's presence pressed down on him like the humidity before a storm. He resisted the urge to rub his temples–needing to maintain some sort of semblance of control over this situation. Before it got right out of hand. 

"There's not going to be anything to walk in on," Lucifer countered, his tone firm yet threaded with a hint of incredulity. The pure arrogance of this young man–of this boy, compared to him. 

He stepped closer to the foot of the bed, as Alastor made a point of leaning back. Lucifer needed to ground himself to the reality of their situation.

 "Think about it for a second, Alastor. You're my daughter's friend. Hell,  I was your age when I had Charlie!" But even as he spoke, Lucifer couldn't ignore the electric charge that hummed in the air between them, a current that defied logic and expectations.

Alastor's eyebrow arched with a playful elegance, a flicker of amusement igniting in his eyes. "Well, now, Mr. Morningstar," The corners of his mouth curled upward as he tossed an offhand remark into the charged silence. "I think it’s a little early to say you want my children, isn’t it?"

Lucifer felt the heat bloom across his cheeks, seeping through his pale skin with embarrassing intensity.  The little jab cut right through his attempt at composure, and he thrust both hands through his blonde hair. 

"Can you at least stop it with the 'sir' and 'Mr. Morningstar' stuff?" he groaned, his fingers toyed absently with the belt of his robe, twisting the fabric . "I feel old enough already."

“Well,” Alastor's gaze traveled leisurely over his robe—fluffy, undeniably comfortable, yet suddenly feeling like the most inadequate armor against the intensity of those eyes. “What would you like me to call you?”

“My name, obviously.”

"Lucifer," Alastor purred, and oh, that was worse. So much worse. 

The younger man’s voice was a silken thread that curled around Lucifer's name for the first time with a tenderness that belied the teasing grin playing at his lips.

Lucifer's heart thudded traitorously against his ribs, and he swallowed hard, trying to tether himself to reason.

"Why do you have to say my name like that?" he huffed out, though he meant to be stern.

"Like what?" Alastor replied, feigning innocence with a tilt of his head, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his awareness—the calculated precision of each syllable designed to unravel Lucifer's defenses.

“Like that!” Lucifer's fingers instinctively found their way to his hair, ruffling through the golden strands in an attempt to regain some semblance of control over the situation spiraling rapidly away from him. “Like you’re going to–”

“Eat you?” The brunette smirked, his gaze only lifting a moment to take in Lucifer’s mussed hair. 

“Yes, that.”

“You rather enjoyed my mouth on you last time, did you not?” 

Lucifer was going to burn to death from embarassment. That smirking tone knew he was drawing images of last night right back into the older man’s head. He bit his bottom lip, clapping a hand over the shoulder of his robe, where it barely covered the bite mark Alastor left in his skin. 

"Listen here," Lucifer began, his voice slipping into the authoritative timbre of a father,  hoping to reestablish some boundaries, to remind them both of lines they shouldn't cross. 

But before he could continue, Alastor's soft tutting interrupted him, accompanied by a look so infuriatingly fond it made Lucifer pause.

"That was cute," Alastor said, a teasing lilt to his words.

 The comment disarmed Lucifer completely, the dad voice rendered useless against the unwavering confidence radiating from the younger man.

Lucifer's cheeks turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the deepest embers of Hell. His mind raced, scrambling for some semblance of composure as he opened his mouth to retort, perhaps to regain control or at least to articulate something coherent.

But any attempt at words was swiftly stolen from him as Alastor moved with sudden intent, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. The  blonde’s back hit the door that he’d been holding open, only to have Alastor’s hand press above his head. Forcing it to click it closed. 

The younger man's hand reached up, grasping the front of Lucifer's robe with a possessive confidence that sent a shiver down his spine. And he cursed himself that he was tilting his chin up, hoping for a kiss. 

"Lucifer..." Alastor's voice purred and curled between them, that same silken tone lingering on each syllable with deliberate slowness that made him hang on it. "Where do you keep the lube?."

The words hung there, bold and unashamedly self-assured, wrapping around Lucifer like a lasso tightening at his very core. His heart skipped a beat, shock rippling through him anew as he blinked, trying to process the audacity—the sheer ease with which Alastor navigated this intimate terrain.

“How dare–you–we won’t–”

And then, without hesitation, Alastor kissed him—hard and unyielding, a force of nature that demanded nothing less than complete surrender.

Any protests that Lucifer might have conjured melted away under the heat of that kiss, lost amidst the fiery collision of lips that left him breathless. All thoughts dissipated like smoke on the wind, leaving only the raw sensation of urgency thrumming through his veins.

Alastor pulled back from his lips, and Lucifer felt himself whine. Until the younger’s forehead pressed against his. Overwhelming him with his cinnamon scent. 

“If you want me to stop.” The brunette panted, and Lucifer thrilled that he could leave him breathless. “You need to tell me. Now.”

Lucifer couldn’t help the pathetic little sound that escaped him at even the idea of stopping now. Alastor wasn’t even holding his wrists, but his hands felt pinned to the wall behind him. He lifted his head, hopeful for another kiss. 

That Alastor denied him. 

“Darling.” Alastor purred, his tone on the edge of impatience. “Use your words.”

Lucifer swallowed. The last of his reservations falling into the dark like the snow outside. 

“Green.”

“Good boy.”

Then Alastor was kissing him. And it felt like Lucifer could breathe again. Until those long fingers wrapped around the bulge in his lounge pants. 

Lucifer let out a moan that Alastor swallowed as he kissed him, deeper, demanding entrance. Tasting every inch of him. 

But those clever fingers were relentless, their touch both deft and deliberate as they found the waistband of Lucifer's sweats. In one smooth motion, they pushed the material down, gravity taking hold as it pooled around Lucifer's ankles.

Damn those clever hands, Lucifer thought dimly, even as his own body responded with a traitorous eagerness.

A part of him marveling at how easily the younger man unraveled him piece by piece, yet another part surrendering to the undeniable allure of it all.

Alastor's fingers hovered at the tie of Lucifer's robe, a pause in the fervent dance that had consumed them both. And, Lucifer could guess why.

Because he’d been reluctant to remove his shirt around the younger man all weekend. And it struck him that not only had the brunette noticed–he actually cared if Lucifer was comfortable.  The weight of Alastor’s gaze was almost tangible as he subtly pulled back, his eyes searching Lucifer’s face with an inquisitive glint.

"Perhaps," Alastor murmured, brushing a soft kiss against Lucifer's lips—gentle, teasing, "you ought to change into another sweater, hm?"

Lucifer hesitated, the suggestion bumping awkwardly against his rising need. He whined, a sound that escaped him unbidden, raw and vulnerable. "I don’t want to," he confessed, voice low and rough.

The flicker of amusement in Alastor's eyes was unmistakable, but his smile held a warmth that chased away any notion of mockery. 

"Then what do you want?" Alastor prompted, voice smooth and inviting as velvet.

"For you...to bite me," Lucifer admitted, the words tumbling out like a floodgate giving way, "to be marked…and claimed." His admission hung in the air between them, charged and electric.

"Gladly," Alastor purred, his voice a dark promise.

 With deft fingers, he untied the robe and left Lucifer breathless and bare to the night, exposed.

The cool air caressed his skin, a stark contrast to the heat blooming under Alastor's gaze—a silent vow to fulfill every unspoken want. 

Alastor's fingers grazed Lucifer's skin with a touch that was both feather-light and searing. The contact sent a shiver racing down his spine, igniting a fire in his veins that had lain dormant for too long. 

Doubt, though, nibbled at the back of Lucifer’s mind. Why would this gorgeous young man ever want him? 

Alastor’s next words silenced every thought.

"Every inch," he purred, his voice a sultry promise that seemed to resonate through the room. "I can't wait to mark every inch of you."

With a gentle but insistent push, Alastor guided Lucifer onto the bed.

Lucifer fell onto the yielding mattress without complaint, lifting his head to the claiming kiss. His skin already tingling at the thought of more. 

Alastor’s lips trailed down the column of his throat, dragging the edge of his teeth–but leaving no marks above his collarbones. As he promised. 

"Ah!" Lucifer gasped, his voice catching in his throat as Alastor sank his teeth back into the older man’s shoulder. Not the same place because that would distort the pretty purple that bloomed overnight. 

But leaving a brand new bite to criss-cross it. Like there was a design written in his head. Alastor's lips descended upon him, tracing a path of bites along his torso, each one a deliberate claim that set Lucifer alight with sensation.

Alastor growled with delight at the marks he was leaving—little trophies of his conquest.

The sharp nip of teeth followed by the soothing brush of Alastor's tongue sent waves of pleasure coursing through him. Each bite was a declaration, a testament to Alastor's desire that left no room for doubt. 

Lucifer arched beneath the attention, the undeniable evidence of being wanted now decorating his body. And sinking into his very soul. 

Lucifer lay there, every nerve ending alive with anticipation as Alastor's hands roamed lower, spreading his legs with a possessive leer that went straight to Lucifer’s aching prick. 

He was fully exposed, every inch of dad bod laid bare before Alastor’s hungry stare. 

Lucifer felt his legs tremble as the younger held them open wide. And then the brunette was catching his eye. Waiting for Lucifer  to look at him. before he lowered his head, dragging his tongue along the soft flesh of the inside of his thigh.

“Color?” That predatory purr asked. 

And Lucifer had to fight the tremble of anticipation in his voice, so it wouldn’t sound like anything else. 

“Green, so green.” Lucifer squirmed. 

Alastor chuckled, pushing his legs further apart as he simply said “Good.”

The fireplace was roaring away, but Lucifer still felt a shiver of goosebumps prickle over his skin at the cool air. 

Until Alastor’s mouth set him on fire all over again.

 Each bite along his soft thighs was a spark, igniting deeper within him, and he could feel the promise of bruises blooming beneath the surface.

"Turn over," Alastor commanded as he stood, his voice a velvet spike that sent a shiver down Lucifer's spine.

Lucifer hesitated only for a heartbeat before complying, shifting over onto his stomach and his elbows. Feeling a little tingle across his skin at how exposed he was. 

"Where's the lube?" Alastor's question was more an expectation than a request, each word dripping with intent.

"Nightstand," Lucifer managed to pant out, his mind swimming in a haze that left little room for coherent thought. Just talking felt like a tether to reality, and he was ready to toss it out the picture window behind him.

Alastor moved with purpose, his footsteps a murmur on the carpet as he approached the nightstand. 

Lucifer watched him through half-lidded eyes. The anticipation was a live wire under his skin.

"What's this?" Alastor's voice broke through the haze with a teasing lilt.

He held up a cock ring, its snap glinting wickedly in the electronic fire light. There was a smirk playing on his lips–and it was clear he knew exactly what it was.

Lucifer felt a flush rise to his cheeks. His gaze flickered away for a moment before meeting Alastor’s playful stare. "It's mine," he admitted, the words tumbling out with a hint of sheepishness.

"Is it now? How fortuitous" Alastor's grin widened, a flash of white teeth against his brown skin "We'll use this too, since it's been a while for you." His tone was light, but there was an underlying challenge in it.

“Hey!” A spark of indignation flared within Lucifer at the insinuation, a feeble attempt to cling to the remnants of his dignity. “You know, I’ve probably been doing this since before you were born.”

And he actually saw Alastor roll his eyes. 

“Yes, yes darling, I’m sure.” The younger moved behind him, as Lucifer turned to try to keep him in sight. “But, you haven’t been doing it with me.” Alastor purred. Just as he seized Lucifer by the hips, dragging him down the bed and manhandling him until he was bent over the end of the bed. 

"Spread your legs," Alastor commanded, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur that danced over Lucifer's skin like a caress. The words sent a shiver racing down Lucifer's spine, igniting something primal and urgent within him.

He hesitated only long enough to draw a shaky breath, then obeyed, surrendering to the pull of Alastor's will with a thrill that made his pulse quicken anew.

🍂🍁🍃

Lucifer never would have believed that he’d end up in a position like this. 

Face down in the plush comforter of his own bed, ass up and completely exposed. As Alastor’s sure fingers languidly stretching him open. Taking his tortuous time. 

The sinfully red satin of Alastor's pajamas brushed against Lucifer’s thighs, a teasing reminder of how frustratingly clothed the younger man remained.

"You're doing so well, darling," Alastor murmured, his voice a low purr that reverberated through Lucifer's bones. 

One hand pressed firmly at the nape of Lucifer’s neck, keeping him pinned, grounded, even as each deliberate stroke of Alastor’s fingers made him writhe.

"Alastor..." Lucifer’s voice was a half-groan, half-whisper, the sound drenched in desperation. Each calculated brush of his sweet spot sent shocks of pleasure ricocheting through his body, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

"Patience," Alastor chided softly, leaning over him, a shadow cast by moonlight filtering through the window. The world outside was a blur of wintry white, but in here, heat seared through Lucifer’s veins as he surrendered inch by inch to Alastor’s deft touch.

Lucifer’s back arched instinctively, seeking more of those skilled touches, his thoughts a haze of white noise and want.

"Please," he heard himself say, the plea falling from his lips unbidden, raw and honest.

Each press of those sinfully long fingers sent him spiraling further into a space where thoughts were fleeting. And all he could do was feel.

"Lucifer," Alastor's voice was a silken caress, wrapping around his name with an intimacy that made his heart stutter.

"You're too good at this," Lucifer squirmed beneath the unyielding hold on his neck. His mind floated somewhere between reality and oblivion,  "Too old for this,"

 It was a weak protest, more habit, as if acknowledging the disparity in their ages could anchor him somehow.

"Nonsense," Alastor replied, his tone light, teasing, but leaving no room for arugment. "You’re taking my fingers so well."

The praise was like a balm, soothing some hidden ache inside Lucifer, even as it fanned the flames of his desire higher.

Alastor continued, leaning closer until his breath ghosted over Lucifer’s ear, making him shiver. "I’m sure you’ll take my cock like a good boy."

A whimper escaped Lucifer, unbidden, the sound lost in the heady cocktail of want and submission. Any semblance of control slipped further from his grasp, leaving only the raw, unfiltered need to please the man who had him laid bare in every sense of the word.

"Good boy," Alastor had said, those two simple words burrowing under Lucifer's skin, igniting something deep within him. 

But… alongside the warmth, there was a chill, creeping into the edges of his consciousness, reminding him of everything else he was.

He wasn't just old–he felt worn out. Baggage that tangled with his self-worth, dragging it down beneath the surface. Depression loomed over him like an ever-present shadow.

"Alastor," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, breaking through the haze for a moment. "You... you deserve better than this. Than me."

The confession hung heavy in the air between them. Bound up and fizzling with the insecurity and doubts that clawed at Lucifer, especially when he was at his most vulnerable. 

The sudden stillness from Alastor was like a jolt, ripping Lucifer from his spiraling thoughts, making the room feel colder, the air thicker.

"Say that again," Alastor's voice sliced through the silence, sharp, cold, and commanding. 

Before Lucifer could even process the words, a sharp thud echoed through the room—a hand coming down hard on his ass.

Lucifer gasped, the sensation ricocheting up his spine, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. The sting on his skin was a reminder—albeit a startling one—that he was very much alive, here and now.

"Say it again, Lucifer." Alastor's tone was unwavering, firm, and beneath the surface, there was something else—something almost tender. 

His mouth opened, a protest forming on his lips, but doubt clawed at him, urging him to speak the self-deprecation that had become second nature. Another swift smack landed in the same spot. Precisely.

Lucifer flinched, the repetition sending a shiver throughout his entire being. 

The heat on his skin bloomed, and somewhere within the haze of sensation and emotion, a new awareness took root. Alastor knew exactly what he was doing—each strike calculated, deliberate.

It was a punishment. Alastor had never punished him. And it brought Lucifer sharply back to reality. 

"Again," Alastor pressed, unyielding.

Lucifer's mind spun, caught between the urge to resist and the desire to yield. His defenses wavered, the walls he'd built around himself weakening under the relentless onslaught..

Alastor flipped Lucifer over onto his back.

 The sudden shift left Lucifer momentarily breathless, a rush of vulnerability washing over him, but before fear could take root, Alastor's hand found its place at his throat.

The touch was firm but not constrictive—a gentle reminder of the power Alastor wielded, but also of the care with which he wielded it. Lucifer felt the weight of that hand like an anchor, grounding him amidst the tempest of emotions swirling within.

"Stay still," Alastor’s  voice low and smooth, as if coaxing the tension from Lucifer’s body. “And keep your eyes on me.”

 He complied, the unspoken command threading through his very veins, calming the storm swirling in his chest.

With deliberate movements, Alastor spread Lucifer's legs wide, each motion purposeful, leaving no doubt in its intention as he moved between them. A shiver of anticipation danced along Lucifer's spine, mingling with the remnants of uncertainty that clung to him. Alastor’s lithe body, pressed into the cradle of his so damn intimately it was breath taking. 

“I know what I want.” Alastor said, so softly and emphatically, Lucifer’s world narrowed down to every word on his lips. “And I have, excellent tastes.” He chuckled, lowly and dark. “And I want you. So, it only follows that you must be desirable.”

Lucifer felt his mouth open, to agree or to contradict, he didn’t know–when he felt Alastor snap his hips forward. So the older man felt the hard line of his cock through those satin pjs. Making Lucifer whine. 

"Isn't that right?" Alastor's words were soft yet unwavering, carrying a conviction that resonated. He leaned over Lucifer, their eyes locking, and in that instant, all pretense fell away.

Lucifer could see it—the certainty in Alastor's gaze, the desire that lay beneath the surface, raw and unhidden. It was a question that was not a question at all, but an affirmation.

 Alastor knew what he wanted, and more than that, he wanted Lucifer.

In the silence that followed, Lucifer felt the truth settle around him like a warm embrace. Alastor had chosen him, and in that choice, there was worth—something long elusive, now finally within reach.

“Alastor…”

Alastor’s fingers plunged back inside Lucifer, rough and unyielding. Three all at once, they filled him and stole his breath. It wasn’t uncomfortable–it was a relief–a release of tension, as if those deft fingers were unraveling the tangled knots in him.

Lucifer's body arched involuntarily, a gasp escaping his lips. Alastor moved with purpose, each thrust precise, exploring until he found that sensitive spot that made Lucifer's vision blur with pleasure.

"Isn’t that right?" Alastor repeated, his voice low, almost tender. He brushed against Lucifer's prostate, sending a jolt through his spine, a reminder of what was asked of him.

"Yes, Alastor..." Lucifer breathed, the word tumbling from him, born of instinct and need.

"Say it, darling." Alastor's voice was velvet and steel, a command wrapped in endearment. His fingers moved relentlessly, coaxing every ounce of sensation from Lucifer’s trembling form.

Lucifer whined. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—say the words that felt too big, too heavy to be true.

"Say you are worthy of being wanted." Alastor repeated, his tone unwavering as he leaned over Lucifer, the weight of his presence all-consuming.

Lucifer shook his head, a stubborn refusal even as his body betrayed him, arching into each calculated thrust. The world narrowed to the point where their gazes locked, Alastor’s eyes holding his with an intensity that burned.

"Look at me," Alastor urged, that had still firm on Lucifer’s throat.

 That touch kept him still, made him focus on nothing but those dark, intense eyes.

His cock throbbed, trapped and dined by the ring around it. It was a torment that bordered on bliss, and Alastor watched him keenly, absorbing every reaction, every flicker of emotion.

"Please," Lucifer gasped, desperation coloring his voice, not sure what he was pleading for—for release or reprieve.

"Say it," Alastor insisted, his fingers never faltering, the rhythm a relentless reminder of his demand.

Lucifer’s resolve wavered under the pressure of Alastor’s unyielding attention, under the promise lingering in the air—that here, in this space, he could be wanted, cherished even, if he just admitted it.

"You may be older," he murmured, his breath a warm whisper against Lucifer's skin, "but I assure you, I can wait you out. As long as it takes."

Lucifer's eyes fluttered shut for a moment, overwhelmed by the certainty in Alastor's tone.

 There was no doubt, no hesitation. Just the unshakeable conviction that patience was infinite, and that Lucifer was worth every second spent waiting.

And there was as nothing quite like having alastor’s full attention on him.

Lucifer’s hands had stayed pinned to the bed, his fingers clenched in the sheets, without having to be bound or held down. 

Alastor’s unwavering gaze grounded him there.

Every fiber of his being urged him to move, to reach out, to defy this feeling of vulnerability. But, he couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to. 

"Lucifer…" Alastor’s voice was a velvet whisper, wrapping around him with an intimacy that felt like a caress. Lucifer's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the cage of his ribs.

"I…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of vulnerability. His mind spun, words lodged at the back of his throat like stones he couldn’t dislodge. All the while, Alastor's fingers moved inside him—patient, relentless, drawing him closer and closer to the precipice.

"The full sentence, darling," Alastor prompted tenderly, the words sliding over Lucifer’s skin like silk, teasing and coaxing—but never demanding. It was maddeningly tender.

This wasn’t just lust. It wasn’t enjoying playing with a partner during a scene. Alastor was taking Lucifer apart just to put him back together again.

And, after that, how could Lucifer ever let him go?

"I want to hear you say it," Alastor continued, his tone as smooth as molten honey. 

Lucifer inhaled shakily, his chest tight with the tumult. With each breath, he could feel the embers of trust and warmth expanding, threatening to engulf the shadows of doubt and insecurity that clung so stubbornly to him.

And then, finally, the words tumbled out, each syllable a hard-won victory against the specter of self-doubt. "I am…worthy…of being wanted."

Alastor's eyes lit up with approval, a smile curving his lips as he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to Lucifer’s temple.

"Good boy," Alastor murmured, his voice rich with praise and promise.

With a deftness that belied the magnitude of the moment, he reached down and released the cock ring, freeing Lucifer from its constraining hold.

In that instant, euphoria crashed over Lucifer with the force of a tidal wave, leaving him quivering beneath Alastor’s unwavering affection.

🍂🍁🍃

Waves of blissful pleasure coursed through Lucifer's body, leaving him trembling and breathless. Alastor's skilled hands continued to caress him gently, easing him through the aftershocks.

"You did so well for me," Alastor murmured, his voice a soothing balm.

Lucifer's eyes fluttered open, meeting Alastor's intense gaze. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. And he was so blissed out, he didn’t even blush at his awkwardness.

Alastor's fingers traced delicate patterns across Lucifer's flushed skin. The tender touch felt like everything to him, and when he meekly tugged on those satin pajamas, the brunette indulged him and moved to sit on the bed.

Lucifer was about ready to curl right up into his lap. Soak up this newfound attentiveness like a house cat in the afternoon sunshine.

His cheek came to rest on the red fabric that covered Alastor’s thigh, clinging to the slender frame.

"How are you feeling?" Alastor asked softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lucifer's forehead.

Lucifer leaned into the touch, savoring the warmth of Alastor's palm against his cheek. "Incredible," he murmured, and it was true. He was floating on a satin cloud. Not even thinking of what usually came next.

A small smile tugged at Alastor's lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, cher."

Lucifer's head felt pleasantly fuzzy, his thoughts hazy and unfocused. He found himself overcome with affection for the man above him. Without thinking, he nuzzled against Alastor's crotch, relishing the smooth texture of against his cheek.

"Thank you for taking such good care of me," Lucifer said softly, his words slightly slurred.

Alastor's hand came to rest on the back of Lucifer's neck, a comforting weight that also stilled his movements.

"It’s been my pleasure," he replied, his voice warm with fondness.

Right, Lucifer was starting to get a bit more lucid, and remember…Alastor’s pleasure…he really should—

Lucifer's blissful haze was abruptly shattered as he felt Alastor's hands gently cradle his head, lifting it from the satin-clad thigh.

With careful movements, Alastor lowered Lucifer's head to rest on the soft bedding. Before Lucifer could fully process what was happening, Alastor had slipped away, rising to his feet beside the bed.

Panic surged through Lucifer's chest. "Wait!" His voice was hoarse, tinged with desperation. "You're not going to leave again, are you?"

Lucifer's eyes darted down, immediately noticing the obvious bulge straining against Alastor's sleek pants.

“Or…let me help you out…?”

But Alastor merely shrugged, a small, enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. But his night clothes caught the light from the snowy window, which was probably the only reason the blonde’s fuzzy head noticed how the younger seemed to shift from foot to foot.

"That's not necessary, Lucifer," he said, his voice low and smooth. "I told you. Orgasm isn't really my goal."

Lucifer furrowed his brow, confusion mingling with concern. "But…I want to make you feel good too," he insisted, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

Alastor's expression softened. He reached out, gently caressing Lucifer's cheek. "You were so good for me," he murmured. “That's all I need.”

Lucifer leaned into the touch, torn between the warmth of Alastor's praise and his own lingering desire to reciprocate.

The blonde felt his tongue dart out, wetting his dry lips. "Don’t you want to stay—and fuck me, I mean?"

Despite Alastor's reassurances, a nagging desire still gnawed at him. His voice came out weak, almost pleading,

Alastor's long fingers threaded through Lucifer's hair, the gentle touch at odds with the intensity of his gaze. His eyes roamed deliberately down Lucifer's body, lingering pointedly on the evidence of their recent activities.

Lucifer followed his line of sight, suddenly acutely aware of his own spent cock, still flushed and sensitive, and the cooling streaks of come decorating the constellation of bite marks Alastor had left across his belly.

A rush of heat flooded Lucifer's cheeks as he realized the implication.

He was thoroughly spent, but here he was, practically begging for more.

"But I still want you to fuck me," Lucifer insisted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alastor cocked an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and intrigue playing across his features.

Without a word, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Lucifer's body reacted instinctively, reaching out to clutch at Alastor, desperate to keep him close. But Alastor was quicker, catching Lucifer's wrists in a firm but gentle grip.

His thumbs traced small circles on the sensitive skin, a gesture both soothing and electrifying.

Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as Alastor leaned in, his lips barely grazing Lucifer's ear.

"Tell me, Lucifer," Alastor whispered, his breath warm against Lucifer's skin. "Do you truly want to be fucked, or is it that you simply do not want to be left alone?"

The question stripped away his defenses. Cutting right to the quick, as the younger said he did.Why did Alastor always seem to see right through him?

"Both," Lucifer admitted, his voice trembling slightly. He met Alastor's gaze, determined to be honest. "I want you to fuck me, Alastor. And…I want you to stay the night."

A flicker of something—surprise? approval? longing?—passed over Alastor's face. He released Lucifer's wrists and shifted, settling more comfortably on the bed.

“I assure you, I was hoping to stay.” Though a little bit of mirth lit his face, and his eyes traveled over Lucifer once again. “After I cleaned you up a bit.”

Relief and desire surged through Lucifer in equal measure.

He pressed close, intent on kissing Alastor, on showing his gratitude and renewed passion. But before their lips could meet, Alastor placed a finger against Lucifer's mouth, halting him.

"Careful now," Alastor warned, his tone light but firm. "This is my favorite set of sleepwear. I'd rather not get it…sticky."

Lucifer froze, suddenly hyper-aware of his own state—the drying come and blooming bruises over his pale flesh.

Lucifer's cheeks burned as he remembered Alastor's rules.

“It wouldn’t, I mean.” He huffed, rubbing a hand through his hair to try to ground himself. And not sound as petulant as he felt. Like a child repeatedly denied a treat. “They wouldn’t get messy, if you took them off.”

He swore the chuckle Alastor gave was indulgent. “Will you want to touch me, then?”

Lucifer’s attention snapped back to Alastor, nodding eagerly. “Touch you, blow you—anything you want, Alastor. Please.”

“And, there in, lies the rub.” The brunette murmured, and Lucifer mourned the movement he took to get back on his feet at the edge of the bed. But not the way the way he crawled after Alastor.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” Lucifer asked, his tone light with curiosity that tilted his head as he looked up at the younger man. Wondering if this was what had him pulling away the two times before.

“Oh, no, darling,” Alastor met his eyes, with that intense hazel look. “I very much do.”

Lucifer was about to offer everything, anything Alastor wanted, when the brunette surprised him by being the first to pull his eye away.

“You make me greedy, Lucifer. I want everything you’ll let me have. I want nothing to be left for anyone else…But,” Alastor folded his arms over his chest, looking defensive and utterly unlike his ever-confident self. “I can’t always…" he said softly. "It's not…easy for me to finish."

Lucifer's first instinct was to smirk, sure Alastor was teasing or challenging him.

But as he searched the younger man's face, he caught a glimpse of something he'd never seen before: embarrassment. The vulnerability in Alastor's expression made Lucifer's heart clench.

The blonde quickly moved from his knees to give the brunette his full attention, sitting as he reached for Alastor’s hand that was clenched in the crook of his elbow. He felt resistance, for a moment, before the younger gave in to the hold.

"Have you seen a doctor about it?" he asked gently.

Alastor's fingers tightened around Lucifer's, a flicker of something guarded in his gaze. "Yes, of course," he replied, his voice low. “They all assure me I am too young for the issue to be from the waist down.” He paused, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “So it must be from the neck up.”

Lucifer felt his brow furrow. Concern etched all over his face. He slid onto his knees, almost bringing himself to eye level with the taller man.

“Hey, Alastor.” He reached for the younger, for that narrow waist, trying to tug him close. “Look, if you need to talk about this, we can.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “Do you really want to chat about Catholic guilt, compartmentalization, and grief right now?” He gestured with his free hand to Lucifer’s state of undress and his own state of visible arousal. “I’ve had this problem for a while, no matter the scene or the partner.”

Lucifer's chest tightened at the mention of grief, understanding dawning. He stroked his thumb across the small of Alastor’s back, considering his next words carefully. "Do you want to continue?" he asked softly, searching Alastor's face. "We don't have to if you're not comfortable."

Alastor's expression softened, and he cupped Lucifer's cheek with his free hand. "I do want to, more than anything," he assured him. "But I know bottoms get frustrated, or even feel inadequacy, when they can't make me come. I don't want that for you, Lucifer."

The delicacy in Alastor's hand sent a shiver through Lucifer. But it was nothing compared to how damn considerate he was being. Alastor knew Lucifer’s self-esteem was weak at best. And he was trying to shield him, at his own expense.

He leaned into the caress, his heart swelling with affection for this complex, caring man.

"Thank you, for telling me. I know that couldn’t have been easy," Lucifer murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to Alastor's palm. "But I want you to know, it doesn’t have to be about making you come…I just want to be with you, to make you feel good in whatever way I can."

Alastor's eyes widened slightly at Lucifer's words, a flicker of vulnerability passing over his features before being replaced by a look of profound gratitude.

Slowly, he leaned down, cupping Lucifer's face in both hands as he brought their lips together in a tender kiss.

The kiss was unlike any they had shared before. Where their previous encounters had been marked by passion and urgency, this was slow and achingly sweet. Alastor's lips moved against Lucifer's with deliberate care, as if savoring every moment of contact.

Lucifer's hands came to rest on Alastor's hips, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his pajamas. He could feel the warmth of Alastor's skin through the thin material, grounding them both to the moment. As the rest of the world faded away. The soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window cast everything in a dreamy, ethereal light.

The only sounds were their quiet breaths and the gentle rustle of fabric as they moved together.

Their kisses deepened gradually, tongues meeting in a slow, sensual dance. There was no rush, no frantic need driving them forward.

Lucifer's hands slid up Alastor's back, feeling the lean muscles shift beneath his palms. He marveled at the contrast between Alastor's usual sharp edges and this softer, more vulnerable version of him.

He felt it, when there was a shift in Alastor. The tension that had been holding him rigid began to melt away, his body relaxing into Lucifer's touch.

His kisses became more assured, more present, as if he was fully allowing himself to be in the moment.

"Undress me," Alastor murmured, his voice low and rich with emotion. It wasn't quite an order, but there was a quiet authority in his tone that always left the older man tingling.

Lucifer nodded, slowly rising to his feet. He maintained eye contact with Alastor as he began to remove his clothes, piece by piece. There was no teasing or showmanship in the way he slid the buttons of the satin night shirt apart. Letting the fabric drop to the soft carpet of the bedroom. His pants followed.

Lucifer's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of Alastor.

The lean lines of his torso were accentuated by the soft moonlight streaming through the window, casting shadows that highlighted every dip and curve of slender muscle. His skin was brown and smooth, marred only by a few scattered scars that spoke of a life lived with intensity.

His collarbone stood out prominently, creating delicate hollows that Lucifer longed to trace with his tongue. Lucifer's eyes followed that tantalizing path, noting the sharp cut of Alastor's hipbones and the lean strength of his thighs.

Despite his earlier admissions, Alastor's arousal was evident, straining against the fabric of his boxers. Lucifer felt a surge of desire, wanting nothing more than to worship every inch of the beautiful man before him.

"Touch me," Alastor commanded softly, his voice low and husky.

Lucifer didn't hesitate.

He reached out, running his hands reverently over Alastor's chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart. His fingers traced the contours of Alastor's abs, gaping at the subtle definition. He explored every plane and angle of Alastor's body, committing each detail to memory.

As his hands roamed lower, skimming along Alastor's sides and coming to rest on his hips, Lucifer felt an overwhelming urge to taste him.

He looked up, meeting Alastor's intense gaze.

"Can I blow you?" Lucifer asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, I want to make you feel good."

Alastor's eyes darkened with desire. He cupped Lucifer's face gently, thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, you can."

Heart racing, Lucifer settled between Alastor's legs, taking a moment to admire the man's impressive cock.

It had been a while since he'd done this, and he wanted to savor the experience. He started slow, placing soft kisses along Alastor's inner thighs, relishing the slight tremor he felt beneath his lips.

As Lucifer's mouth finally enveloped him, Alastor let out a soft gasp. "Oh, that's…lovely," he murmured, his long fingers threading gently through Lucifer's hair.

Encouraged, Lucifer began to pull out all his tricks–swirling his tongue, varying pressure and speed, using his hand in tandem with his mouth.

He glanced up occasionally, thrilling at the sight of Alastor's head tipped back in pleasure, his chest rising and falling more rapidly.

Alastor's quiet sounds of enjoyment spurred Lucifer on. He redoubled his efforts, determined to bring the younger man to climax. But despite his enthusiasm and technique, that release remained elusive.

"You're doing wonderfully," Alastor breathed, his voice strained but affectionate as he stroked Lucifer's hair. "It feels incredible, truly."

Lucifer pulled back, panting slightly. "But not quite enough?" he asked, unable to keep a hint of disappointment from his voice.

“Darling…”Alastor cooed, obviously trying to soothe him. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Lucifer couldn't help the frustration that bubbled up inside him.

Alastor had been right, and that knowledge stung his pride. But beneath that initial irritation, a fierce determination took root.

He wasn't about to give up so easily.

"We're not done yet," Lucifer declared, his blue eyes flashing with renewed resolve. "I've got more tricks up my sleeve, darling."

Alastor raised an eyebrow, an amused smile playing at his lips. "Is that so? Well, I'm certainly curious to see what else you have in mind."

🍂🍁🍃

Time passed in a blur of heated touches and exploration.

As the night deepened, Lucifer found himself in a decidedly compromising position—legs in the air, practically folded in half as Alastor loomed over him.

"Fuck, yes," Lucifer gasped, all traces of his earlier shyness long gone. Sweat glistened on his skin as Alastor thrust into him relentlessly. "Just like that, don't stop!"

The intensity of the sensation was overwhelming. Lucifer had suggested this position, thinking it might finally push Alastor over the edge.

But as the pleasure built to a crescendo, he realized with a mix of chagrin and ecstasy that he was the one tipped over the edge.

"Alastor—" Lucifer's warning dissolved into a cry of pleasure as his orgasm washed over him, leaving him trembling and breathless.

Alastor's lips curled into a satisfied smirk as he gazed down at Lucifer's flushed face.

The blonde man's chest heaved as he caught his breath, a mix of frustration and lingering pleasure evident in his eyes as Alastor eased him down from being practically folded into a pretzel on the edge of the bed.

"Shut up," Lucifer muttered, unable to meet Alastor's gaze.

“Darling, I didn’t say a thing."

Lucifer took a deep breath, steeling himself before looking up at his partner. "Will you just…fuck me the way you want to?"

Alastor's eyebrows rose slightly. "However I want?" he asked, his voice low and velvety.

Lucifer nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes."

A thrill of anticipation ran through Lucifer's body. He braced himself, half-expecting Alastor to flip him over and take him roughly. To pull out his own tricks with the evident experience he had with deviant and kinky sex.

To his surprise, Alastor gently maneuvered him onto his back.

As Alastor moved over him, Lucifer instinctively wrapped his legs around the slim waist, pulling him closer.

He searched Alastor's face, trying to decipher the unexpected tenderness in his actions.

Alastor leaned in, his breath hot against Lucifer's ear. When he spoke, his voice was low and intense, but still somehow soft.

"You make me want to break my own rules, Lucifer."

Lucifer's heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to ask, but Alastor silenced him with a deep, languid thrust that made Lucifer's thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

As Alastor continued his slow, steady rhythm, Lucifer managed to find his voice.

"What do you mean by your own rules?" he asked breathlessly, his fingers digging into Alastor's shoulders.

Alastor's dark eyes met Lucifer's, a flicker of vulnerability passing through them.

"I don't let my scene partners touch me," he explained, his voice low and hoarse.

Lucifer hesitated for a moment, suddenly hyper-aware of his hands on Alastor's skin.

Slowly, reluctantly, he dropped his arms from around Alastor's shoulders, letting them fall to the bed.

A fleeting look of disappointment crossed Alastor's face.

In one swift motion, he pinned Lucifer's wrists to the mattress, only to thread their fingers together a moment later.

The intimacy of the gesture gave the older man chills.

"I never do scenes with people I know," Alastor continued, his hips never faltering in their rhythm.

Guilt washed over Lucifer as the weight of Alastor's words sank in. He squeezed Alastor's hands, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest.

"I told you… we shouldn't," he whispered, his voice thick with regret. "But you—"

Before Lucifer could finish, Alastor's lips crashed against his, silencing his doubts.

The kiss was hard, desperate, filled with a longing that took Lucifer's breath away. He melted into it, his body responding instinctively to Alastor's passion.

When they finally broke apart, both were panting.

Alastor's lips ghosted over Lucifer's as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "And…I never, ever let anyone kiss me."

The admission sent a jolt through Lucifer's body. His mind raced, trying to process the significance of what Alastor was telling him.

A soft whine escaped his throat as realization dawned.

"You've got rules against being…intimate with anyone," Lucifer breathed, his eyes searching Alastor's face.

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Lucifer's heart pounded in his chest, something he wasn't quite ready to name, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Exactly," Alastor murmured, his voice turned to velvet. His darkened eyes bore into Lucifer's, intense and defenseless. "You make me break all of my rules. You make me…" He paused, seeming to struggle with the words. "You make me want to love you."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. He'd never imagined Alastor capable of such openness, such vulnerability.

Before Lucifer could respond, Alastor ducked his head, burying his face in the crook of Lucifer's neck. The shame was palpable, as if Alastor regretted letting his guard down so completely.

Lucifer couldn't bear to see Alastor retreat.

With a surge of affection, he broke his hands free from Alastor's grip. Gently, he cupped the younger man's face, tilting it up to meet his gaze.

"Alastor," Lucifer whispered, his thumbs caressing those sharp cheekbones. Then, overcome by emotion, he pulled Alastor into a deep, tender kiss. He poured everything he couldn't say into that kiss—his own fears, his growing feelings, his acceptance of Alastor's confession.

After a moment, Alastor made a soft sound against Lucifer's lips—something between a whimper and a sigh. His hips continued their steady rhythm, but his voice was strained when he spoke.

"Tell me…" Alastor panted, the words more plea than command. “Tell me that you want me to stay.”

Lucifer broke the kiss, his breath ragged. His heart swelled with affection and a fierce protectiveness.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around the younger man, pulling him close.

"I want you to stay, Alastor," Lucifer breathed, pouring every ounce of sincerity into the words. “With me. As long as you’ll have me.”

As their lips met, Lucifer felt a shudder run through Alastor's body. The younger man's hips stuttered, losing their steady rhythm.

Lucifer gasped into the kiss.

"Oh," Lucifer breathed, breaking the kiss to look up at Alastor in wonder. "You're…you're coming."

Alastor's face was contorted in vulnerability and pleasure, his usual composure completely shattered.

He buried his face in Lucifer's neck, muffling a low groan against his skin.

Lucifer held him tightly, one hand tangling in Alastor's hair while the other stroked soothingly down his back. Awed by the tremors running through Alastor's body, the heat of his breath against his neck.

"That's it," Lucifer murmured, his chest tight with emotion. "Let go, sweetheart. I've got you."

The significance of what had just happened wasn't lost on him. Alastor, who never let himself be vulnerable, who always maintained strict control, had allowed himself this moment of abandon in Lucifer's arms.

"Are you alright?" Lucifer asked softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Alastor's temple.

Alastor lifted his head, meeting Lucifer's gaze. His dark eyes were hazy with bliss, but there was also a hint of wonder there.

"I…yes," Alastor replied, his voice rough.

Lucifer cradled Alastor close, relishing the warm weight of the younger man's body against his own. He could feel Alastor's heart racing, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

The air around them was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady reminder of what they'd just shared.

“You don't have to pull away.” Lucifer murmured, running his fingers through Alastor's damp hair. “Stay with me."

Alastor remained silent, his face still hidden in the crook of Lucifer's neck. But he didn't move to disentangle himself, and Lucifer took that as a good sign.

The room was bathed in soft moonlight, casting everything in a dreamy, silver glow.

Outside, snow continued to fall silently, blanketing the world in white. It felt as though they were cocooned in their own private universe, separate from the rest of the world.

Lucifer's hands roamed gently over Alastor's back, tracing the contours of lean muscle and the ridges of his spine. He marveled at how different this felt from their previous encounters. The urgency and intensity had given way to something softer, more like making love…if he dared to think it.

Alastor finally lifted his head, meeting Lucifer's gaze. His eyes were soft, vulnerable in a way Lucifer had never seen before.

A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, and Lucifer reached up to gently brush it away.

"I've never…" Alastor's voice was barely above a whisper. "Not like that."

Lucifer's heart swelled with affection. He cupped Alastor's face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. "I'm honored," he said softly.

Alastor's lips quirked into a small, almost shy smile. It was so unlike his usual confident smirk that Lucifer felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Stay the night," Lucifer said, not quite a question but not quite a demand either. "Please. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you in the morning."

For a moment, Alastor looked uncertain.

Lucifer could almost see the walls trying to rebuild themselves behind his eyes. But then Alastor took a deep breath, visibly relaxing.

"Alright," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Lucifer's lips. "I'll stay."

🍂🍁🍃

🍁 On Ao3🍁Read for Free on Ream🍁On Tumblr 🍁

[blixabargelds]

Please number 12 Please!

thank youuuu i’m going to do this for superstar (punk au) because i want to and without the reams of context it may seem ooc to stick gale on tons of drugs but trust me on this one. also it’s my sandpit. this is kind of an outtake from his 25th birthday~~

¹²⁾ “can we- can we just stay here, like this, for a minute? please?”

“Buck, baby, come out.”

Gale looks at John’s feet. Battered Docs, one fraying yellow lace, one black. The ragged cuffs of his dark jeans. They pace the room up and down- the motion like a pendulum. Like a metronome. Gale breathes and listens to his racing heart. Music thuds through the closed door.

“I like it here,” Gale says.

“Huh?”

“I said I like it down here,” Gale repeats, louder.

John’s feet slow to a stop in front of the bed. Gale hears him sigh, before his knees come into view, then his hands, then his kind, smiling face as he gets on all fours.

“You’re missin’ your party, baby.”

Gale knows this. His fingertips have gone numb. His lips are tingling, his heart going thump-thump-thump. He can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. John’s smile falters, and he flattens himself out, lying parallel just outside the bed, Gale still tucked underneath it. John’s fingers reach out to brush his arm.

“What’d you take, Buck?”

Gale squeezes his eyes shut. His ribs feel too tight. “Just coke.”

“Yeah?”

Gale bites his lip. He nods his head. Then shakes it against the floor, the rough weave of their bedroom rug scratching against his face. The tingling in his lips has spread to his nose, making it itch. He can’t quite feel his ears. He wonders, then, if he can ever feel his ears.

“Hey, Buck,” John says. His voice is more urgent, and when Gale opens his eyes to look at him his brows are drawn close. “Just coke, yeah?”

Gale’s teeth don’t fit. “I don’t know,” he breathes. “I think so. I don’t know. I don’t know. Bucky, I can’t feel my ears.”

“Neither me, doll,” John says. He edges closer, half his body under the bed with him. “Who gave it to you?”

Gale tries to remember. He found it, he thinks. In someone’s hung up coat pocket. The tingling is in his arms now, weighing them down and tickling. Gale thinks of the awful reverb Rosie can make his guitar sing. He thinks of white noise.

“Are there bugs on me?”

“No, sweetheart,” John says. He brushes a strand of hair back from Gale’s eyes, tucking it behind his ear. Gale would’ve done it, but his hands won’t move. “There’s no bugs on you.”

“Hm,” Gale says. The music changes to something faster. Something smashes in their kitchen, making him flinch. “John, I don’t want them.”

John’s looking at him like he isn’t making sense. Gale doesn’t know why he can’t see them. “Who, Buck?”

“The bugs,” Gale whispers.

John frowns. Hesitates for a second. “Tell you what, baby. You come out and drink some water, and I’ll make sure they’re all gone, how’s that?”

Gale considers this. He nods again, unsure if he can move himself, but John does it for him either way. His face lights up as he backs out from the shelter of the bed, extending his hands for Gale to take and hauling him upward. He sits him on the edge of the mattress, handing him a glass of water. Gale takes it shakily. Tries a few sips. It tastes like gasoline, and whatever liquor John dumped out to repurpose the glass. He grimaces, keeps drinking it slowly. John moves to sit behind him, knees bracketing Gale’s hips as he starts to pick through his hair. Gale smiles something small and fragile.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Checking for bugs,” John says at the shell of Gale’s ear. His breath tickles Gale’s neck, making him laugh.

“Actin’ like I got fleas.”

“Woof,” John says, pressing a kiss to the pulse at the side of Gale’s throat. He realises, then, that it’s slowed a little. “You’re all clear, doll. Bug free. Promise.”

Gale nods. He leans into John’s chest, tipping his head back against his shoulder. His breath comes easier. In, then out, mechanical but working. The tingling’s faded.

“Can we just stay here?” he sighs. “Like this, for a minute? Please.”

“Sure thing, birthday boy,” John whispers into his hair. “You want your present now?”

Gale blinks. Presses his fingertips up against his chest and checks in with the speed of his heart. “You got more?”

“What? Jesus, Buck, no. Slow down. I was gonna suck you off.”

“Oh,” Gale says. He’s fairly sure he has his own coke left, anyway. Or whoever’s he found. John’s hand travels up under his shirt, then down to the front of his jeans, palming him lazily and making him hum. “Sure. Go on then.”

[bullet-prooflove]

Prompt - It makes me think, perhaps I need a drink - for Robert Sawyer please!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @elenavampire21 @jesuiskristine @withakindheartx

Companion piece to:

Stop Thinking - Robert needs to stop thinking and start doing.

ASMR (NSFW) - Listening to you is like ASMR for Robert’s dick.

Rose - Robert has a new tattoo.

Delayed Gratification - Robert doesn’t like to wait.

Full Moon - Things always get crazy during the full moon.

Day Five - Robert reminisces about how it started between the two of you.

It’s Day 8 and Robert’s drowning his sorrows in O’Brien’s with cheap bourbon as he listens to the sounds of pool balls clacking against one another on the table behind him. The liquid winds down his throat, searing down his oesophagus before the heat blossoms in his chest. If you were here right now you’d be reaming him out for drinking cheap shit but that’s part of the problem you’re not here right now, he was told by the doctor today it’s unlikely you ever will be.

He’d already known that with every passing day you spent unconscious your chances diminished. He just hadn’t realised how bad they were until the doctor had taken him to one side and told him to prepare for the worst.

It hadn’t really been a reality at that point because his girl, she’s a fighter but some battles, he realises, they’re just not meant to be won.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and Robert ignores it once again because he already knows who it is and he’s not ready for that news just yet. He raises his hand to the bartender, signalling for another as Ian slips onto the stool beside him.

Robert can barely look at him these days, the only thing that stops him from wrapping his hands around the other man’s throat and choking him out is the fact he managed to keep you alive until the ambulance arrived.

Twenty seconds, that’s how long it took for Ian to tuck his dick back into his pants and come to your aid, you wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for him stopping because he had a prostate the size of a grapefruit.

“The hospital have been trying to call.” He says as Robert’s hand wraps another glass of bourbon, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Rose, she’s asking for you.”

Robert’s head pivots so fast, he’s surprised he doesn’t give himself whiplash.

“She’s awake?” He questions, his heart beating manically in his chest.

“Yea.” Ian says, his hand coming to rest on Robert’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “She woke up an hour ago. She wants to know what’s taking you so long.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[coziebunbuns]

Young, supple, innocent, everything corrupt older man would love. Anyone corrupt to be honest...

One night I come cry to the church building unable to turn to anyone but the lord. I seek comfort in the older priest an imposing figure, but in the way a father may be to a child, or some I thought.

As I recall the betrayal I experienced at the hands of my cheating boyfriend, I can't help but noticed a glimmer of something in his head eyes, hope, excitement? I do not dwell on it, but perhaps I shouldn't have.

He invites me out, to a private place for a private session, it's a cottage on the outskirts of town, his home. A quaint little place, warm, welcome, I had my guard down as he wanted... After a cup of tea, I feel unwell, so I lie down and as I'm falling asleep, I hear an exited finally.

When i wake up I'm nude and all the doors and windows are locked. I start to cry but a sharp voice tells me to save my tears for my breeding. Father sits in the place I had just been with a manic look in his eyes. He confesses, how he has been pray for this for me. How the day he saw. me in town one day he has been obsessed. That he deliberately ruined my life.

Isolated me from famuamd friends having my boyfriend cheat while luring me to the church, that way kidnapping me would be way easier. Now he can fulfill his desire to use me.

I screamed, I try to run but I cannot go anywhere. He grabs me by the hair and drags me to the sofa, talking about how I should be greatful a man of his status would show interest. Something is stuffed in my mouth before he slaps me round the face, saying I'll learn to.lime it here.

The first time was painful, his cock was so big, so angry. He fucked me like a toy use, battered and bruisedy poor cunny. he marked me, came in me, on me, left bruises so big and dark it would take weeks for them to heal. But what scared me more was how hard I came, how load I moaned, how my protests turned into begs.

It took a while to "break me in" he claimed that he was new to this. But every night without fail, my holes would be reamed for all their worth. He got better, i got more complacent, more willing to indulge him.

I was not allowed clothes, except for a large jumper to keep me warm, he had access to all of me. He would read the bible while fondling my holes. Eact dinner with his cock down my throat. Enjoy a glass of wine or my juices, forcing me to cum around his first.

A year had passed before he made good on his word. He had left the church a s to celebrate he would fill me with more of his seed than any man could dream. I spent the whole season face down ass up with a hole messier than a mud pit as he chanted for my fertile womb to be with child. And unholy praying that had me in constant delirium.

Six weeks of this, six weeks of this blasphemous mating and I was with child, my old life completely forgotten...

🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇. 🐇.

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: smut, swearing, blowjob

AN: @illiana-mystery sent me the bottom picture so idk where she got it from. But it sure plays with the imagination.

Alan tutted as he walked out of the bathroom. He was playing with his bow tie before sighing and giving up. Gesturing to it, he looked at me.

“could you help with this blasted thing?” He asked, giving me a small smile. “I can never seem to get it.” I laughed as I walked over, doing his bow tie without issue. “Thank you luv.” He whispered before kissing me softly.

“Of course darling.” I whispered back, patting his chest. “Perish the thought of what you’d do without me.” Alan chuckled as his hands fell to my waist.

“probably go without.” He said. I gasped in mock shock.

“and let the Templar elders ream you a new one for having an open collar? The horror.” I teased. Alan rolled his eyes playfully before kissing me again. “Now, I do believe there is something I need to do.” I whispered before sinking to my knees.

“(Y/N)…” Alan murmured. “There isn’t…”

“isn’t there?” I said, head cocked as I worked on getting his belt undone. Alan hummed as I pushed his pants down and his boxers out of the way. “I’ll make it worth your while. Feel free to tell the elders it was my fault.” Alan chuckled as I slowly stroked him.

“oh i will darling. You can count on that.” Alan said, hand coming to rest on my head. “Now are you going to waste more time or get on with it?” I smiled sweetly up at him before leaning in and licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. Alan moaned as his head dropped back. “Fuck.” Humming, I starting leaving kitten licks to the head as his fingers curled against my head.

“you said to get on with it.” I murmured as he looked down at me.

“(Y/N)…” Alan moaned as I took him into my mouth. His head fell forward as he bottomed out, my hands squeezing his thighs as I slowly pulled back. “We don’t have all day.” He whimpered as I ran my tongue along his length. “Fuck.” I sped up my movements before reaching out to cradle his balls. Alan hummed as I gently kneaded them, continuing to run my tongue over his dick as my head bobbed.

“just like that Alan.” I whispered as I pulled off him, licking the bead of cum that was pooling at his head. “Just like that.” Alan moaned as I squeezed his balls at the same time his cock hit the back of my throat. With a shudder, he came. I swallowed everything before standing up, laughing while tucking him back into his pants. “Not too bad now was it?” I asked, smiling brightly at him. Alan playfully growled at me before pulling me into a kiss.

“I hope you realize I’m returning the favor later tonight.” He said, pulling away. I righted his bow tie and jacket before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I’d expect nothing less.” I said as he turned to head out the door.

[makethatelevenrings]

Hi can I request I feel safe with you, with Hangman? Thanks

TW: f!reader, alcohol, reader is drunk, slight angst at the end bc Hangman is an emo baby this is canon because I said so

When Jake entered the Hard Deck, he was met with Penny’s amused, half-hearted glare and a grinning idiot practically leaning off of one of the stools at the bar.

“Thanks for coming,” Penny said. “Phoenix challenged her to a shot competition and, as we all know, Natasha Trace can handle her alcohol. She can pay next time she comes in.”

Jake sighed as he bracketed you in with his hands on your hips to ensure you wouldn’t tip off the stool and face plant into the wood. He handed his card to Penny and she smirked, but didn’t say anything as she passed it back to him once she closed out your tab.

“Jaaaake!” you cried when you turned and saw him. Your eyes were glassy and a loose smile clung to your lips. A bottle of water was clutched loosely in your hands and he snagged it from you, twisting off the cap and putting it to your lips. You dutifully took two long sips and he pulled it away from you, placing the cap back on it, and then shook his head.

“C’mon, Piggy,” he sighed. “Remind me to ream Phoenix out tomorrow for letting you get this drunk.”

As if the aviator heard him from across the packed bar, Phoenix and Halo waved. Jake smiled at his friends and raised his middle finger in response. Natasha blew a kiss and he pretended to catch it before pressing his palm gently to your forehead and then jabbing his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. She replied with two thumbs up.

“Alright, let’s get you home. You’re going to finish that whole bottle and eat some toast before bed,” he ordered. The last thing he wanted was to wake up to you heaving over a toilet because you always cried when you threw up and he hated seeing you cry. 

For fuck’s sake, the two of you weren’t even an “item” and yet here he was, being called to pick you up from girl’s night. He didn’t understand why you kept flitting around him. He was cocky, self-centered, and a dick. You were plain sunshine and daisies with a smile that lit up the whole damn room. Yet, the moment you had met him courtesy of Bob bringing his “friend from knitting club” to the Hard Deck, Jake Seresin found himself drawn to you.

“Thank you, Jakey,” you hummed as he scooped you up and began to carry you out. Your cheek pressed against his shoulder and he almost shivered at the feel of your soft breaths brushing across the exposed skin of his chest, courtesy of the baseball jersey he had on.

“If you throw up in my truck, I will leave your ass in the sand,” he threatened, but there was no real heat behind his words. You giggled and pressed yourself impossibly closer.

“You wouldn’t do that, Kermit.” God, that stupid nickname shouldn’t warm his chest as much as it did. Your eyes widened as your alcohol-addled brain slowly processed words. “That would be dangerous. But you won’t let anything happen to me. You’re too good.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, Piggy.”

You nuzzled your nose against the column of his throat and let out a soft hum. “I feel safe with you. Always have.”

His heart lurched into his throat at your admission. Jake Seresin had been labeled a lot of things in his life. A pain in the ass, selfish, arrogant, but never safe. This had to be your tequila-soaked tongue talking and not the rational, brilliant woman he knew you to be.

But you continued talking, even as he maneuvered open the door to his passenger seat and gently set you down. He slid the seatbelt over your shoulder and stomach before clasping it into place and testing it was secure. His hand slid up to rest on your jaw as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“Like the night Bobby brought me here and that guy was making me scared, you knew what to do. You bring me soup when I’m sick and you help me when there’s storms.” Your smile softened and your eyelids drooped. “You make me feel safe, Kermit.”

Jake couldn’t help himself. He pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead and then stepped back. “Let’s get you home, Piggy, before you fall asleep for the night.”

Surely you would forget everything you had just said. He would make you breakfast in the morning and drive you to the Hard Deck to collect your car before you two parted ways and never spoke about the constant brewing tension between you. Because someone as kind and loving and caring would only be disappointed in the reality of who he truly was behind this veneer of arrogance. He was a broken man and he wouldn’t subject you to the jagged shards of Jake Seresin.