Michael’s father had been ignoring him for weeks, so in a fit of rage he decides he'll wait on him no longer. He'll bring forth his new world now, starting with you.
Warnings: lots of blood, a tiny bit about Michael's ritual, breeding kink, choking, a tiny bit of scratching, mentions of daddy kink but not rly? idk, gagging with fingers, oral (female receiving), Michael uses his powers on the reader, and just bcs i'm a freaky bitch, Michael whips out his demon face again.
Notes: This is just porn without plot. I started writing this so long ago! Literally like I wrote the entire first half of it on the summer solstice and then didn't touch it again until tonight ?? like ok then whoopsie ig. ALSO I really hate the only other Micheal fic I have up,, like that shit makes me *puking noises*. Yeah anyways its so bad that it gave me the motivation to finally post this one lmao.
Word count: 3k
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You sat on the kitchen counter of you and Michael’s shared sanctuary quarters, the only light in the dimly lit room coming from the few candles you had lit earlier in the day which hadn’t yet burned out completely. Your bare legs dangled over the counter top as you sat alone, scrolling through your phone mindlessly and finishing the small mug of lavender tea you had made for yourself with the hopes it would help you sleep better.
As you sipped down the last few drops of what was now lukewarm tea, you heard the unmistakable patter of Michael’s bare feet padding along the marble floor towards the kitchen. He had been trying to contact his father through ritual for weeks now, but he had received nothing in return other than unwanted silence every time he tried. He had been doing the same tonight, hiding out in hopes of hearing even a whisper from his father. He usually devoted hours at a time to contacting him, not finding his way into bed until the wee hours of the morning; so it surprised you he had given up so early on.
You looked up from your screen to find him stood just past the kitchens entrance, completely naked and covered in blood, the wounds he had carved into his arms not too long before already healing; his blood was still fresh and dripping down his toned body. You noticed a change in him. Whilst he usually came to bed feeling exhausted and disappointed, all you could feel from him was anger. It was seething from him as he stood, dripping crimson all over the recently polished floor.
He didn’t speak, eyes focused on the growing puddle of blood that surrounded his feet and filled with so much emotion. You joined him in silence, setting your phone down besides you as slowly and quietly as you could, feeling as if any sudden movement could set him off like a wild animal disturbed from its slumber. You watched as he dug his fingers into the palms of his hands, something you often caught him doing whilst trying to contain impending outbursts he didn't want let loose.
Deciding you should say something, you spoke what could perhaps be called a whisper. “He’s still not answering you, is he?” He ever so slightly shook his head at your question, emitting a low chuckle as he ran his tongue over his top teeth and looked up at you. He struck eye contact with you, his eyes bloodshot and his pupils blown wide. “No.”
You stayed like that for a moment, staring at each other from opposite sides of the room as the tension in the air grew so thick it felt as if it was choking you, your worried eyes looking across into his own rage filled ones.
He started sauntering towards you heavily, eyes never leaving your form and neck slowly craning itself down to continue staring you out the closer he got. Reaching where you sat, he gripped the counter either side of you, his defined hands leaving crimson stains on the previously pristine kitchen counter from the fresh cuts his nails had made as he towered above you. You looked up at him, feeling what you could only describe as fear, waiting for him to do something. anything.
Your own breathing was the only thing you could hear, and you could feel Michael’s fanning over your goosebump decorated skin. You couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, his blank facial expression masking any thoughts running through his mind as he stared you down in a contest you’d never asked to be a part of. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, grabbing your colour drained cheeks roughly, smearing blood on your face and kissing you so violently your teeth were clashing against his.
He was practically shaking with rage, which only fuelled him to move against you faster. His hands stumbled their way down to the thin black shirt of his you’d been wearing all night and ripped the front in two, aggressively yanking the cloth off your body and taking rough handfuls of your breasts. He massaged and squeezed them, pinching your nipples so hard it made you squeak through his kiss and arch your back at the pain.
He moved his hands down to your thong and attempted to pull it down your legs, but let out a grunt of irritation when it was taking longer than it should’ve and ripped it off you too. It dropped it to the floor, following the fate of the shirt he had also just ruined. He pushed his mouth over your face and neck, rushing to taste you as if he would soon run out of time to savour it. The tips of his hair tickled the top of your exposed breasts, teasing you with their delicate touch.
“I don't need him, you know.” He stated, his voice surprising you and deepened with fury as he nibbled on your jawline, leaving the slightest of teeth marks on your skin.
“I’ll create our new world now! without any of his input. Since that’s so clearly what he wants.” He moved down to suck on your breasts somewhat aggressively, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your nipples as you writhed and moaned underneath him, feeling his anger, but too lost in the pleasure of his lips to understand what it was he was hinting at.
“And I think the perfect way to do that is to start right here, don’t you agree pet?” he husked out his words with vengeance, angry at his father for ignoring him after so many nights spent trying to contact him and growing impatient with the need to fill you with his seed. You gasped, realising what he meant and smiling up at him wildly. You knew this was going to happen at some point; the two of you spoke about bringing your own little antichrist into the world constantly, but you hadn't guessed it would be happening so soon.
He interrupted your thoughts by lifting you up and lowering you down onto the floor, pressing your bare body onto the cold flooring below and inserting himself between your legs. He grabbed ahold of your throat, using his choke hold to pin you down and taking the slightest moment of calm before scratching his hand down your body. You let out a pained whimper, feeling the leftover blood on his fingers mix with your fresh blood in the claw marks he had left in your skin, trailing from your chest to just over your bellybutton.
He looked up at you and tilted his head, a smirk creeping onto his face. “What do you say we make your little nickname for me official, breed you and make me a real daddy? Hm?”
Your chest heaved underneath him, rising and falling quickly as adrenaline coursed through you. You nodded back as fast as you could, still taken aback by his sudden need to breed you and shocked any of this was happening in the first place.
His eye twitched with impatience as he squeezed your neck momentarily, letting you know he felt your nodding was unsatisfactory. He wanted you to spell it out for him.
“Yes Michael! Please breed me!” You gave him what he wanted, lifting your thighs to wrap them around his torso as you spoke, trying to gather more control over the situation. You needed the sudden thirst of lust he had thrusted upon you to be quenched.
“Thats my fucking girl.” He moved to hover above you, bringing his face down to yours and grazing his nose over yours teasingly. He took a hold of his cock pumping it into his hand and trapping you under his intense gaze.
He pushed inside you, needing his cock to be buried as deep inside of you as physically possible. You let out a strangled cry, gripping onto his arms above you and staring into his blackening eyes. They had grown blind with rage, staring into yours soullessly when he pulled out of you almost entirely, stopping only to smile at you devilishly for the first time that night before slamming back into you at a viscous pace. His balls slapped against your skin ferociously, the noise of it and your moans were the only thing to be heard in the dark room.
Every second it felt as if the room grew darker. Michael felt like the only thing that was real, he was definitely the only thing you could see at least. It was as if everything else was falling into the darkness and dissipating from your mind entirely, as if the room was getting closer and closer to your sweating skin.
“You’ll be so beautiful filled with my seed.” He spoke his thoughts allowed, his brutal thrusts taking his breath between words. You rolled your hips over his in response, wishing his words to be true with every bone in your body. He moaned at this, reading your thoughts and taking his hand from your neck and sliding his bloody fingers into your gaping lips.
“Your stomach all swollen with my child.” He continued his stream of thought, forcing his fingers down your throat and making you gag on them, your tongue adjusting to the sour metallic twang now coating it and licking his fingers as if it was his cock he had placed in your mouth.
He yanked his hand from your mouth, leaving you to gasp and cough out between moans. He instead grabbed at your delicate wrist, his large hand easily wrapping around it and brining your palm to lay flat over your lower abdomen. “Can you feel me?” he punctuated his words with deep movements, pressing your hand down to feel his cock moving inside of you. “Yes I can feel you! oh my god fuck!”
He throws your hand to the side, holding your forearm down on the stone. “God isn’t here, Darling.” his voice came out in a snarl, deeper than usual as a demonic tone overcame him. You grabbed at the back of his neck with your spare hand, pulling him down to meet you in a moan filled kiss.
You’re interrupted when you hear a low hissing to the left of you. You turn your head to find the sudden noise and notice snakes. Actual snakes, impossibly slithering their way from under your kitchen counters and leaving trails of more blood on the floor beside to you.
He pulled himself out of you, centring your attention back to him when he leant down on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. He licked a long stripe up your folds, rightfully earning the pornographic moan that escaped from your throat. Your fingers grasped and slipped across the bloody marble floor when his tongue started flicking vigorously at your clit, pressing hard into your sensitive numb and forcing you to move your empty grabby hands to his dampening locks.
He dipped his tongue inside you, still moving it quickly and making you open your mouth to scream without any noise spilling out. He replaced his tongue with his skilled fingers, pumping them in and out of you and curling them into your g spot. “Nothing satisfies me more than that look on your face when i’m about to let you cum.” He muses, a kind of amusement apparent in his voice when he pulls his fingers back from your greedy hole. “Except from the look you give me when I take it away.” He watches your next moves carefully, wanting to get a rise out of you.
“Don’t fucking tease me Michael Langdon!” You raise yourself on your elbows and shoot him an angry glare, caught up in the moment and pissed off at his cruel edging. He narrows his eyes at you, a flick of his wrist forcing you down onto your back as you mentally curse yourself for talking back to the demon situated between your legs.
He rose above you again, sliding into your wet pussy with ease and stroking your face with the backside of his hand. “Should’ve known better than to tell me what to do.” He tutted at you, His knuckles grazing over your face so gently that when he started his swift pounding it nearly gave you whiplash.
“You either beg me to touch you, or I won’t do it at all.” He warns you, his tone still deep as he grunts at the feeling of your walls clenching around his pulsing cock. His hands move to the floor to hold him up, waiting for your whiney begs to soon hit his eardrums.
You didn't want to beg him after his little stunt, but you had no choice. “Please, please Michael, please touch me.” You gasp and cry out to him, your head lulling back to the dark voided ceiling above you, needing the feeling of his fingers on your clit as you near your impending orgasm. He obliges of course, fulfilling his earlier words and rubbing rapid circles onto the neglected little ball of nerves.
His moaning and grunting was much louder now, somehow managing to drown out the noise of his skin slapping into yours. His breaths had too become heavier, his face growing paler and his thin red veins pulsing onto his perfectly countered cheek bones. His skin appeared as if it was cracking, flickering hollow red lighting onto his illuminated face. His face had become the lightest thing in the room, and yet still managed to be the most nightmarish.
You were on the edge now, watching Michaels anger and pleasure turn him not the ghastly demon before you. You felt your limbs start twitching and shaking. “Ahhh fuck, Michael!” You cried out at him. “I’m gonna cum around you so good, you’ll spill every last drop of your seed into me.” You giggled out your words, underestimating the carnality of Michaels reaction to them.
“Then I’d better make sure I’m deep enough into your greedy little cunt to fuck a baby into it huh?” Your words had now spurred him on to the point of fucking you so brutally it hurt, having somehow managed to pick up his already agonising pace. He leant down to your trembling lips, giving you one last reassuring kiss before he lost the little control he had left.
A fucked out haze fogged over your mind, legs falling numb with the shocks of pleasure emerging from your exploding core. You screamed out Michaels name over and over, letting it loose from your lips like you’d been holding it locked up inside your chest for an eternity. Your tingling skin grew wet as the blood and snakes around the both of you began to boil, as if your skin had set a flame under its bubbling surface.
“Fuck Y/N!” He watched your eyes pierce into his as you came, your tight walls squeezing and tensing around him until he had altered his movements. His quick pace nearly halting, he held onto your hips and rutted into you deep and languidly, filling you up with his sputtering seed. His eyes blew wide, as if they were two blackholes consuming the room around them and drawing you into their endless gravity pools. You could feel him stuttering inside you as he stared into your soul, mouth open slightly ajar and pouty lips shaking with the weight of his orgasm.
You knew you should have been terrified of him. The once expansive and flowing cuts down his arms had now healed completely, the only reminder of them ever existing being the multiple pints of blood he had left trailed from his ritual room to the kitchen floor, he’d painted your willing body with now the flaking crimson in mosaics. His face was enough to give a child cataclysmic nightmares for years to come, but yet there you were lying underneath him, admiring the way the red streaks on his skin showed more emotion that you could ever have put into words and how good his messy eyeshadow looked on his macabre face. The only thing that had ever truly frightened you about Michael Langdon was how madly in love with him you were.
His face fell back to its former glory, colour seeping onto his skin and bringing life back to his breathless face. His arms moved to rest near your face as he pulled out of you, the snakes that had once been slithering next to you having suddenly dissolved as if they were never there in the first place. Michael let his head fall, his long hair laying over your chest as he panted down onto you, staring up at your eyes as his own were flooded with an ocean like blue again.
You stared up at him, not a word having been said since he had shouted your name in the midst of his pleasure, it made you almost.. nervous? You’d never seen him take his anger out on you the way he just had. What was he thinking now he’d ‘decided to start his new world early’ in a fit of rage?
“Mikey?” You called out his endearing nickname timidly.
He changed the look on his face, a questioning expression obvious on his handsome features. You knew what that look meant, he was listening in on your thoughts. Something you’d asked him not to do many times before, but yet you were grateful for it in this moment.
He smiled up at you, chuckling in a little more of a domestic manner than his demonic voice had allowed him to before. You rolled your eyes at him and he kissed you again. It was the kind of gentle kiss that felt like it would linger on you afterwards for days.
“I honestly don’t know how I’m going to cope with a little demon running around the house.” You joked, earning another laugh from Michael. His fingers still covered in blood as he played with the bruised bites he’d left under your jaw.
“I think we’ll find out soon enough.”
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Thank you sm for reading!! likes nd reblogs are v appreciated:)💓
Tags: @celestialrequiem @ntxoza @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @blakescoven @ritualmichael @ghostangels @ferndolan @brattylovee @7-wonders @lavenderahs @9layerdevilfoodcake @dailylangdon @kitty4860 @lovelylangdonx @langdoncult @langdonsbitch @imnotheretobeliked @paulsons-baby as always i just tagged whoever i thought may be interested, if you wanna be removed or added to the tag list please let me know!:)
How do you think the Cody’s would react to you getting pregnant when your relationship was still pretty new?
awh surely the boys are good fathers no matter what, right? sneaking this under a cut because i got carried away
Every aspect of Outpost!Michael’s life is so heavily planned and orchestrated that, by the time he’s brought about the end of the world and established the apocalyptic outposts, the thought of starting a family is well beyond his mind. Nevertheless, his arrival at Outpost 3 led him to you: the enchanting gray he didn’t remember from the occupant lists. Your gradual back-and-forth flirting over the common room over two weeks led you falling head over heels into the most romantic, steamy and intense relationship of your lives — but was that all down to the isolation, living in close proximity underground every hour of the day?
It seems your nerves as you stuttered out your secret at the end of Michael’s stressful interview day were completely justified, judging by the blank expression on his face. “Pregnant?” He repeated sternly as he rubbed his temple. “You’re aware we’re facing the end of humanity as we know it, and you’re bringing another life into this barren husk of a world?” His brows knitted tightly together as he computed the situation before him, gaze darting around his bronzed office before falling back to your eyes.
“But the baby is mine?” A grin curled the corner of his lips ever so slightly as realisation sunk in, lunging forward to grasp your hand over his desk. “Then we have nine months to get to know each other properly before we have another life to get to know too.”
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The spontaneity of Xavier Plympton’s life up until this moment has taken him to some extraordinary places: experimenting with drugs, shooting gay porn, even counseling at Camp Redwood for a summer he thought would be safe and peaceful. He invited you along for the sole purpose of showing off his new girl to his closest friends, introducing you by way of shoving you all together in a deserted summer camp to get to know one another.
As Xavier thoughtfully plates up breakfast around the campfire for everyone, there’s no hiding the excitement glowing across his countenance, brightening his cheeks and planting that special glisten in his eyes. However, catching sight of the greasy fried egg on your plate sends you racing back to the girls’ cabin — your first sign of morning sickness has arrived. Blissfully unaware of your condition and assuming you’d simply forgotten something in your bunk, Xavier begins his announcement while idly bouncing on the balls of his feet: “I’m sure you’ll all get a chance to speak to Y/N while we’re here, but I wanted you to be the first to know we’re officially together as of today!”
“And she’s pregnant already, doofus,” Montana jibes with a roll of her eyes, jabbing a finger in the direction you darted and couldn’t be seen for dust. “I’ve seen this happen a thousand times over, you knocked her up on the first time, Plympton!”
Xavier pauses, staring into the middle distance for a moment. Suddenly, as if a lightbulb moment struck him, he grins even wider and chuckles to himself. “I’m gonna be a dad and a Hollywood actor? This summer is so fucking rad!”
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There’s no way of skirting around it — family is a very sensitive subject around Duncan Shepherd. Not that you could consider your impending motherhood much of a family when the father of your unborn child is your soon-to-be-divorced boss at the Shepherd Freedom Foundation. The nights you spent rolling around atop his desk when the office was empty couldn’t ever be the starting line for a genuine family unit, could it? As far as you were aware, your pussy was merely a gateway drug to letting out his frustrations of his messy divorce. He’d been married for 7 years and they had no children to show for it, was he even the fatherly type?
Duncan’s gaze caught yours as you grabbed your bag from beneath your desk, heading to the doctors for your first checkup of yours and your baby’s health, but you forced his image out of your mind. You promised yourself you’d tell the expectant father closer to your 12-week scan in hopes you could gather further information on his promise as a dad in the meantime. Once you headed for the door, Duncan grasped your arm and pulled you in to kiss you in front of the entire office, faces behind desks frozen in shock, a deep red flushing your own cheeks while he leaned in to deepen your connection.
“I know,” he muttered indicatively into your mouth as you parted lips and he guided you to the exit, an arm tightly wrapped around your waist. “Penny saw your pregnancy test in the office restroom when you left. Be honest with me, is the baby mine?” You meekly nodded as he ushered you around a corner and through the front doors. “Then consider this your last day in the office, you won’t have to work a day while you’re carrying my child.” He drew to a halt as you reached the busy sidewalk, his free hand gently planting into the plane of your abdomen, as flat as it would be for the next nine months. “Don’t worry, I’ll be paying to keep you both safe and happy. You’re a Shepherd now, and Shepherds look after each other.”
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The most paternal surfer boy this side of Bali, Jim Mason warms to the idea of becoming a father immediately. Who cares that you’d only been seeing each other for two months before the condom broke in the midst of an intense session up against the rocks on the beach bathed in the glow of a particularly beautiful sunset? On reflection, it was quite possibly the most romantic setting in which to make a baby, stealing chaste kisses and panting breathless declarations of love in between. Those same hushed affections spilled from his lips when you told him you were pregnant, scooping you up in his arms and spinning you around like an ecstatic carousel. The blissful happiness lasted a month and a half, until one evening the deafening silence around the house suggested your boyfriend was still at the beach.
Wandering down to the shore, you spotted a familiar form hunched over at the water’s edge, head between his legs and his arched back pulsing as if he was sobbing. As you approached, his gentle weeping nearly drowned out by the crashing surf, it became clear that this breakdown was a side of Jim you’d never seen before, a change that exposed a weakness in him. He noticed your approaching footfalls as the sand squished beneath you.
“I’m… I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he stuttered under ragged breaths. “I can’t, I… I’m never going to be a good father!” He sobbed weakly as you perched beside him, draping a sympathetic arm over his shoulder. “I’ll fuck it all up, just like my dad fucked it all up with me and Medina.” His head instinctively dipped into you, leaning over and pressing his weight against you. “I’m scared, I’m scared I won’t be good enough.”
Of course, what he doesn’t understand in this moment is that the simple fact he’s concerned about how good a father he’ll be already proves he’ll be a better father than his own. Suddenly, his sniffing ceased, raising his head to gaze into your eyes through a tear-blurred haze. “We… we can do this together, right? As long as I’ve got you, we can do anything.”
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When he first found out you were expecting his baby, Richard fell silent again. His bad dreams intensified, leaving him a quivering, frantic shell of his former self squirming in bed beside you. What could be so terrifying to him, the thought of becoming a father at such a young age? Or of being tied to the girl he only met a month ago over a heated exchange in the clinic lounge concerning the TV channel of choice on a Friday night?
As he writhed among the sheets, you reached out a hand to rest on his chest and reassured him between weak whimpers escaping his lips. “They’re… they’re coming,” he stuttered in a panic, “baby… they’re coming for our baby!” His knees flailed about, scuffing up the sheets and shaking with fear. “Don’t… don’t touch her,” he exclaimed defiantly, balling his fists at his side and drawing his bottom lip between clenched teeth. “Leave my daughter alone!” Suddenly, his fidgeting ceased, his fingers unfurled and his features melted down from their raging skewed frown to a peaceful, serene half-smile.
Without warning, his hand journeyed behind your head and scooped around your shoulders, drawing you in and holding you as close as physically possible — all without opening his eyes, almost as if he were still locked inside his dreamscape. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pressed your face into his chest. “Stay away from my girls, they’re mine.”
---
Meeting Andy Dolan at his sickeningly excessive birthday party and bonding over your shared adoration of cocaine wasn’t the ideal foundation for a family. In fact, it wasn’t any foundation for a family. Hiding from the paparazzi was a full-time job for the actor with whom you had somehow fallen into a casual relationship, he always felt distant and preoccupied, glaring out of every passing window and obsessing over internet searches. He was already struggling to handle his crumbling connection with his child and his bitter divorce, so you figured his only feasible response to discovering he’d already knocked up his new partner wouldn’t be a happy one, particularly given the cold stare he flashed at you for turning down his offer of a line as you chilled out the night before.
Hoping Andy was suitably distracted by rehearsing for an upcoming screen test, you aimed to sneak out of the mansion and head straight for the clinic, your mind sufficiently made up that you couldn’t keep this baby, least of all raise it in the shattered environment around you. Reaching the gates and waiting for the doorman to operate the electronics, your mission had succeeded up until a hand curled around your wrist and spun you on your heels to front the skewed rage on Andy’s face.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His words spat through gritted teeth. “Did you think you’d get away with this, huh? Getting rid of my baby without even telling me?!” You had no chance to defend yourself or question how he found out before he launched into another tirade. “You think I won’t be a good father? Because I’m always off my face in one capacity or another?”
His grip weakened on your forearm for his hand to slip down your wrist and entwined his fingers with yours, the other reaching up to cup the back of your neck as his voice softened. “The coke? Gone. It’s gone. I’ll go back to the wellness centre and do it properly this time. Just please, please don’t get rid of our baby? Give me a chance to be a proper dad this time?”
What about all Cody's boys with a s/o who likes to hold hands during sex
ooft this does things to me! (gif source unknown sorry!)
Hands are the most integral part of Outpost!Michael’s body language; they play an ever-present role in his communication with everyone, from insignificant grays to the love of his life that’s been by his side throughout his apocalypse preparation and enactment. You longed to feel his hands ghost over your frame while he took you on the Cooperative’s meeting desks, but his cold gloves always stood in between you and the frantic electricity of his touch. On your first night at Outpost 3, however, Michael strides into your new underground quarters and corners you, pinning you against the stone wall and gesturing his gloved hands in the space between you. “These are coming off tonight,” he states bluntly, shrugging the cool leather from his fingers and dropping them to the ground beside him, reaching out his ringed fingers to entwine with yours at your side. Swiping your conjoined hands up the wall to meet just above your head, leaving you entirely defenceless, he moans hungrily and leans in to whisper in your ear: “And with them, I’m going to take every inch of you as my own, right here, right now.”
Steamy sessions with Xavier rarely involve any lingering expressions of affection, but that’s not to suggest he doesn’t care about you and your feelings while you’re riding him on top of Margaret’s desk, a location chosen specifically to spite her long after her death. Your 80s boy simply gets carried away in the moment, eyes clenching tightly shut with one curl of your hips and bursting wide open the next. So when you reach to prize his hands from your hips to tangle your fingers between his, a soft chuckle erupts in his throat. “That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he beams, tightening his grip to anchor himself for a strong upward thrust, swallowing harshly as he battled back his premature climax to hide the fact that this simple gesture of admiration turned him on a lot more than he would let on. “Hold onto me, I’ve got you.”
Considering your previous encounters had been up against walls and bent over his penthouse kitchen worktop, Duncan had never given much thought to holding your hand as he drives his length inside you while you laid flat on the counter. That is, until you reach a hand behind your back and offer it out to him. He’d been hissing degrading comments between gritted teeth and slamming into you like he hated you for the last hour, so much so that the grazes on your hips begin bleeding against the cool marble as Duncan’s thrusts pummelled you into submission. He gazes at your open palm gesturing towards him and smirks sadistically, reaching to weave his fingers with yours and tightly clasps your hand. “You know I love you, Mrs Shepherd,” he mutters under his breath before drawing his hips back and pounding into you so hard, he steals the breath from your lungs. “But right now, you need putting in your place and that’s right here, dripping all over my cock like a desperate slut.”
Making love to Jim has been an intensely romantic experience since the first time you fell into bed together — even after a raucous party with the Bay Boys, he still kept his arms wrapped tightly around you, rocking his hips ever so slightly and refusing to part his lips from yours. You’d been together long enough to realise missionary was his comfort position, crawling between your thighs and cupping his hands around the back of your head while he plunges into you. One night, you’ve finally plucked up the courage to get on your hands and knees, Jim swallows his pride and follows your lead, kneeling behind you and tentatively slipping inside you. Before long, your knees give way beneath you and Jim presses his back to yours, reaching up to clasp your hands above your head. “We should’ve tried this sooner,” he giggles into the nape of your neck, planting butterfly kisses atop your hair. “I can get you so deep like this, baby.”
Richard is the kind of clingy, touch-starved lover that makes you feel like the most important person in the world whenever you sleep together. Chaste kisses in the clinic restroom lead to passionate encounters up against the mirror, passing each other in the corridors directs you to quick sessions in whatever room is closest to you, he’s even taken you in his favourite armchair when the clinic staff were preoccupied. But there’s always been one constant factor, no matter the spontaneous setting, that makes every time feel like your first time — Richard always tenderly holds your hand, his fingers delicately entwined with yours as if they belonged there. “Mine,” he whispers so gently, you can barely hear him over your own ragged breaths. “You’re mine.”
It took a long time to bring Andy around to the romantic side of sex. A really long time. His dominant streak pretty much forbade sensual contact, prioritising the soul-piercing snarl that tapered his lips as he claimed you, digging his nails into your hips like you were simply an object for his own pleasure, a tool to reach his own climax. After a year of being caught up in the moment, accepting your place beneath him and spreading your legs to satisfy your tousled actor, you reach up to drape your arm over his shoulder and lock your gaze with his — one incredibly intentional eyebrow shrug later and Andy’s hand fires up to pull your arm away, tossing your hand to the pillows above your head and smoothly scooping your other arm up to join it. With both your hands clasped together, he slips his fingers between yours and grips tightly. “Hands to yourself,” he snaps through his usual possessive half-growl. “Don’t make me get the cuffs out again.”
how different stages of michael, how he raised his child with s/o?
on this day last year, i published my first fic here (things haven’t changed much since sanctum, i’ll admit) so it seems only fair we go back to that fluffy domesticity with daddy!Michael!
Grunge!Michael is an adorable hands-on dad, not wanting to let your beautiful little girl out of his sight for fear of losing his new family. He’s trying his hardest to control his powers around you both, especially as he’s not entirely sure how strong he is yet. You come home to find him visibly seething as he sterilises baby bottles buried under a mountain of laundry and ironing, but there’s something different about the curls tumbling in front of his face today — a glittering silver tiara perched atop them. “I... I can explain,” Michael stutters as he yanks down the royal addition to his mop top and stows it behind his back. “I... couldn’t find her favourite apple juice and she was crying so loud, so I made the refrigerator blow up and now our daughter thinks I’m... Elsa.”
Hawthorne!Michael is starting to realise his purpose in life, even more so when your baby boy arrives to complete your family — now he has a future Hawthorne boy of his own to raise. Naturally, he teaches your toddler all the best spells when you’re not looking, poring over his own study books to find something to really amuse you after a hard day in class. As you bundle back into your family dorm, you discover Michael’s babysitting skills have left him tearing his blonde curls out while your son dangles from the ceiling, chuckling away while juggling building blocks and toy trucks suspended in mid-air. “I know I’m not one for admitting fault,” Michael sighs with a pout as he keeps his gaze fixed on the troublesome boy. “But I really shouldn’t have taught him salire per spatium.”
While Sojourn!Michael may have lost his way in a spiritual sense, the arrival of your daughter brought him back down to earth in more ways than he can imagine. For the first year of her life, your little girl knew her father’s stubbled countenance as her comfort, the way he would graze her cheek with his like sandpaper and the unbridled giggles that ensued. One day, however, he decides it’s time to pull himself together and shave off that five o’clock shadow. Pacing back into the room wiping his fresh face dry, your baby girl bursts into uncontrollable, hysterical tears. Michael’s heart breaks as he races over to comfort her. “Baby girl, it’s me! It’s daddy! You don’t recognise me?” Scooping the crying girl in his arms, he cradles her and coos softly but nothing works until mom walks in. “Honey, our girl thinks I’m an imposter.”
Fire and Reign!Michael may be a busy bee, flitting between Cooperative meetings and Kineros Robotics, but he will always find time to care for you and your little boy, who’s the spitting image of him minus the flowing black coat and inimitable red gloves. Did we mention the Antichrist has an unlimited Disneyworld pass to whisk your little family away for the weekend? He’s still got a mountain of work engagements to attend while you stay in the most expensive suite on site, but as he stumbles wearily into the room after an exhausting day, his tired eyes find you and little Lucifer curled up on the couch still wearing your Mickey Mouse ears as you doze. Silently tiptoeing over to you both, Michael tosses his coat and gloves aside and slumps into the seat beside you. With one arm protectively curled around your waist and pressing sleepy kisses into your hair, the dictatorial bringer of the apocalypse melts back into his true form — a soft-centered, blissfully happy father.
With the apocalypse well and truly under his thumb, Outpost!Michael has all the maturity and command to make a go of being a cruel-to-be-kind father... at least, that’s what you thought when you first discovered you were expecting twins. Fast forward 18 months and he’s careering down the corridors of Outpost 3 with one little boy perched on his shoulders and your daughter speeding ahead of him, a high-speed chase to the library in search of their favourite book. Fast forward an hour and he’s curled up with your two bundles of joy reading them bedtime stories of angels and demons... tales of supernatural events that your children are blissfully unaware once happened to their father, the cuddly daddy whose velvet suits make the perfect comfort blankets.
Here’s the thing — I adore Marilyn Manson. So obviously I’ve used his cover of Personal Jesus here because it adds a whole bunch of atmosphere, but frankly the original works just as well. Thank you so much for this! 😈
The Outpost library was as quiet as the grave. As noiseless as the decimated world above ground. Still enough to hear your own heartbeat thumping in your chest as the silence deafened.
The eighteen months you and your fellow residents — nay, inmates — spent at Outpost 3 had taken their toll on each individual differently. Some adapted to the desolate circumstances, some turned on each other. You turned on yourself.
The hopelessness of your bleak future underground fostered incurable insomnia in the clinically bronzed Outpost, sleeplessness that soon spiralled into despair. Despair that soon spiralled into suicidal tendencies. Trying any and every method to incite punishment at the hands of Ms Venable’s ruthless tyranny or, worse still, the disapproval of the man sent to evaluate everybody’s characters for suitability for a safe haven outside the underground prison.
Which led you to venture to the library armed with your one luxury item you grabbed from your bedroom before you were dragged underground — a Marilyn Manson CD. The library’s consistent soft rock soundtrack ceased for the night, but a slip of the disc into the radio and a twist of the volume knob blasted the eerie silence away.
Reach out and touch faith
You closed your eyes contentedly, melting into the industrial cacophony without a care to the early hour at which you had just stirred up the perfect punishment, as soon as those thrumming bass waves reached Ms Venable’s quarters, or even that of the new visitor, Langdon. Time was irrelevant, devoid of dusk and dawn to identify one mundane rotation of the barren earth from the next.
Your own personal Jesus
Until a hand curled around your throat and pulled you flush against a person stood behind you. A gentle gulp escaped you as you fell back, but no sound left your lips.
“Why aren’t you screaming?” The inquisitive male voice came from behind, his intonation almost musical, his deep warm breaths fanning your hair as his chest pressed against your spine.
Someone to hear your prayers
“Would it help?” You replied coolly, gulping again as his fingers urged deeper into your windpipe, his thumb sinking a crater just below your jaw. “Get it over with.”
Someone who cares
He sighed into your neck, hovering his lips over your sensitive skin.
“So you’re a lost cause,” he observed with a slow eloquence, words falling from his tongue as if etched in stone to last forever. “You wouldn’t care if you died right here and right now.“
Your own personal Jesus
“Nobody would miss me, my family’s dead up there in Cincinnati and I’ve been single for years,” you scoffed, dipping your head back against his shoulder, the crisp velvet of his clothing brushing the back of your neck as you exposed the column of your throat to him. “Slit my throat, save Ms Venable the bother.”
Someone to hear your prayers
“Now why would I go and do something silly like that?” His condescending tone cut clean through your misguided confidence, almost revelling in your helplessness. “It seems you need some direction, not an end to the road.”
Someone who's there
His digits applied further pressure to your windpipe, his languid breaths swirling around your ear as he contemplated his next move.
Feeling unknown and you're all alone
“Do you believe in God?” He sneered, his nose gently nudging your throat, teasing you.
Flesh and bone by the telephone
“A God that allowed the world to burn to ashes and left me in here without so much as a vibrator?” You peered through the corner of your eye to catch a glimpse of your captor, spotting waves of spun gold cascading around his pale, familiar face. “Not a chance, Mr Langdon.”
Lift up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer
He chuckled manically, his other hand snaking slowly around your hip and resting in the valley of your pelvis atop your purple gown.
Take second best, put me to the test
“You’re facing imminent death and your first thought is touching yourself?”
His fingertips swooped further south, sending your hips bucking into his touch through the layers of silk draping your figure.
Things on your chest that we need to confess
“Ms Venable forbids it,” you moaned weakly, eyes closing and head journeying to the ceiling. Deprivation of touch for the last 18 months made his every motion atop your heavy dress feel like a burst of electricity through your veins. “Frankly it’s the only thing that’s kept me from this suicide mission any sooner.”
I will deliver, you know I'm a forgiver
“So why tonight?” His enquiry accompanied the shuffle of his digits atop your skirt, quickly gathering the layers upon layers of fabric standing in his way. You swallowed hard against his persistent constraint on your windpipe.
Reach out and touch faith
“You,” you confessed like a forbidden sacrament, both hands subconsciously collecting the silk in bunches for him and hissing softly as the cool breeze brushed your legs. “You’ve interviewed everybody else in the Outpost already, but not me. You’ve avoided me ever since you got here.”
Your own personal Jesus
“Did you think I’d forgotten you?” He remarked sarcastically, gently planting his fingers on your inner thigh, ghosting them ever so slowly northwards until his digits reached your mound and waited there expectantly.
Feeling unknown and you're all alone
“I thought… I thought you realised I wasn’t worth questioning,” you gasped softly as your back arched into him, picking up his satisfied hums beneath his breath. “That I wouldn’t be good enough for the Sanctuary.”
Flesh and bone by the telephone
“Why would you think that?” His fingers pressed down onto your cotton panties, blazing featherlight strokes over your clit and consuming your helpless mewls with impatient taps on your throat punctuating between each drawn-out word. “You’re just as eligible as the rest of your compatriots, if not more due to your sheer tenacity of spirit.”
Lift up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer
“What’s so tenacious about—fuck,” you spluttered as he circled your bundle of nerves, reducing pressure until the very tip of his finger grazed the dampening fabric between you. “What’s tenacious about trying to commit suicide via Marilyn Manson?”
I will deliver, you know I'm a forgiver
His motions stilled, both hands firing to grip your hips and spin you around to face him. His icy blue eyes bore into yours beneath his fiery hooded lids, searching your face for a reaction.
Reach out and touch faith
“Your ability to defy instruction, of course,” he cooed matter-of-factly while his hand sought out your heat again, fingertips slipping under your panties and surging past your clit. “Can you stay quiet for me, kitten?”
Your own personal Jesus
Without warning, his finger dipped through your folds and buried up to the knuckle in one slick thrust. Throwing yourself forward into his chest, you let out a sharp gasp and panted furiously.
“Oh my god, yes!”
Reach out and touch faith
“Indeed, your God. Now tell me,” Langdon smirked as he looked down to see your convulsions beneath him, coming undone as his finger hooked into your walls inside you. Looking back up to meet your gaze, his ocean blue eyes bled into a pitch black. “Where is your God now?”
how would cody's character's react to them coming home to their gf shaving the sides of their head? oddly specific, but i like the hair cut and i'm curious-
okay first off i’m so sorry it’s taken this long for me to get back to you with this one, i just found it at the bottom of my inbox and here i am, only almost a year late…
It’s hard to miss the telltale signs of Outpost!Michael inwardly mourning the loss of your hair when he spots your new look on his return to your Outpost chambers — the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, the way his eyes bulge from their sockets, the way his hands fire into his velvet pockets as if to distract himself. “My darling,” he sighs as his gaze wanders across your head, unaware he’s pacing in circles around you. “What happened to your hair?” A curious ringed hand extends to touch your shaved sides, brushing his fingertips through the coarse bristles… but all of a sudden, his tone softens. “You know,” he observes as he steps back to admire you, a sly slanted grin creeping across his cheek. “I think you look stunning.”
“How dare you,” Xavier jokingly snaps as he bundles toward you across the girls’ cabin, pelting at full speed and hooking his hands around your waist before hauling you off the floor and spinning you around in haphazard circles. “How could you do this without me?!” He cackles between planting loud exaggerated kisses over your ear, his trademark signal of Xavier’s true unbridled happiness. “You did a damn good job, babe!” Of course, he can’t hide his surprise that you knew how to execute such a daring cut all by yourself. His eyes drop to the clippers resting by the sink, and within moments his hand clasps round it and slaps it into yours. “Now do me!”
Ever the supportive boyfriend, Jim was the one cutting your hair in the first place, almost relishing the trust you placed in his hands at the same moment you passed over his hair styler. “At this rate, you’re gonna look better than me,” he chuckles to himself as he buzzes away around your ears, his tongue poking ever so slightly out of the corner of his lips in full concentration. “Remind me why we’re doing this? Are you streamlining for surfing?” His eyes narrow slightly as he’s trying to conceal his envy of the sleek sides offsetting your lengths cascading over the top. “Seriously, am I gonna spend all weekend fighting the Bay Boys off my girl?”
Duncan slopes into your apartment after a late business meeting to find you smoothing your freshly shaved sides, stalling at the bathroom door as you admire your work in the mirror. Once you spot his presence, you flip your hair back down to cover them up and attempt to change the subject to how his day went. “Oh no you don’t, princess,” he declares as he sidles over to you and flicks your hair back to show off your new style. “What’s this?” He enquires, observing your sleek handiwork by running his fingertip over the border where your work meets your long hair. What feels like Duncan sensually brushing his fingers through your hair soon turns into him balling your lengths into his fist and tugging them back, pulling you back to face the ceiling. “Did you ask daddy’s permission to do this?” He spits through a snarl. “Or do I have to punish you for making yourself this fucking irresistible?”
Richard isn’t a fan of change. Change brings him uncertainty, change brings him fear of the unknown. But this change, spotted from across your clinic bedroom as he paces in to show you his latest masterpiece, brings him a sense of ease: a change that doesn’t mean the end of the world. He glides over to you with a sparkle of wonder in his eye, outstretching his hands to touch your freshly shaved sides, cupping your face in his hands. A warm gaze into your eyes and the familiar silence of Richard’s contentment speaks all the words he doesn’t need to say — he loves this kind of change. His lips suddenly crash into yours as he pulls you in for a deep, longing kiss just as meaningful as your first. Richard has met the new you, and at last change feels like a good thing.
How about the Reader walking in on Cody's characters naked, please? 👁️👄👁️✨ The temperature in the room would instantly turn hot, I believe.
oh poor reader’s gonna get one hell of an eyeful! somebody call 911...
Outpost!Michael was planning on you walking in on him leaving the shower sans towel, so he doesn’t even flinch as your gaze wanders down his lithe figure. Tracing the contours of his body with a curiosity akin to the first time your eyes fell upon this ironically angelic blonde, your grasp on the breakfast tray you brought to his quarters slips and its contents crash to the floor, splashing over your dowdy gray dress. “That was careless,” he hums in a cool, collected manner, idly leaning against the doorframe with his ‘come hither’ eyes widening as he examines your panicked response, dropping to your knees to survey the damage. “While you’re down there,” he adds with a tempting step forward until his hips meet your eye line, his hardening length a mere inch from your nose. “Perhaps you could help yourself to some breakfast too.”
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Xavier Plympton likes to skinny dip in the lake, so as he rises from the water and you can’t see his favourite pair of lavender Speedos, you’re suddenly aware of this unconventional, yet not entirely shocking, tradition even goes ahead on hot Wednesday afternoons when you make your daily wander around camp. He notices your jaw drop to the floor and misses his step on the dock, falling straight back into the water with a great splash. As he flounders and thrashes in the water, you run across the dock to plunge a hand into the water and pull him back up to the surface. By the time his head breaks through to the air, he’s come up with a witty response to render you just as speechless as that moment he emerged from the water like a Bond girl. “Like what you see, babe? Or are you joining me to get a closer look?”
Your internship as Duncan Shepherd’s assistant didn’t come with an instruction manual on how to handle finding your boss stark naked in his office, reclining leisurely in his desk chair with his hands locked together in his lap. “You’re quite a curious little thing, aren’t you?” he smirks, lifting his linked hands to usher you forward. “I placed bets with myself on just how long it would take you to test if that door was really locked and I was, in fact, in a very important and confidential meeting.” You can’t hear your shaky footfalls teetering toward him over your pulse thundering in your ears, trying your hardest not to topple over on the stilettos he specifically requested at your job interview. “Now you’ve discovered what Mr Shepherd’s doing behind closed doors,” he coos gently and unclasps his hands, arms beckoning you in. “Would you like to know what I bet you would do next?”
Your average day out on the waves with Jim, Medina and the Bay Boys is interrupted as you clamber the rocks for the best seat to watch the surfers, only to find Jim with his wetsuit rolled down to his ankles, butt naked perched on the rocks. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” he squeals in an almost ultrasonic high pitch, yanking the spandex up to cover himself. “There was a... a rock stuck in my suit!” Your eyes are practically bursting out of their sockets as you process seeing your best friend’s brother’s dick... and he certainly didn’t disappoint. Clocking your lips tapering into a grin, Jim’s head tilts slightly. “You want my sister to catch you perving on me?! Get down here!” he demands as a hand fires up to pull you down by your shirt, landing you flat on top of his bare chest. “You won’t tell anybody about this, right?” Jim presses you. “Or do I have to fuck some silence into you right here?”
Ever the strong and silent type, Richard is mortified that you walk in on him dressing in his room at the clinic. “Jesus fuck!” he snaps while hurriedly grasping his clothes to cover his modest, a clutched pile of cotton concealing himself. Until this moment, however, you hadn’t heard a word pass his lips, so his first effortlessly eloquent phrase makes you chuckle under your breath. Noticing your lighthearted response, his face drops from shocked to sadistic, a menacing frown furrowing his brows. Suddenly Richard drops the ball of fabric and lunges toward you, a hand clutching at your throat and shoving you against his bedroom door. He leans back to watch the fear wash over your face as you accept his grip on your airways, and he smiles crookedly. “You won’t be laughing when I’m finished with you.”
i got a fun one 😳 how vocal / loud are the cody boys are in bed? 👀
OOFT thank you anon, now I can’t see straight 👀
Outpost!Michael is the loudest in bed and nobody can convince me otherwise. If the bed isn’t creaking like it could collapse at any moment, he’s not doing it right. Regardless, he’s effortlessly drowning out that wooden cacophony with his pornographic moans which ramp up in decibels every time his length slips through your aching folds. “Fuuuck,” he groans, leaning back to admire his work making you a quivering, dripping mess beneath him. Your weak mewls try their hardest to restrain your own gasps, by which point he curls his thrusts to test your self control. “Let the whole Outpost hear you,” he hums contentedly, knowing full well how close you are. “Let them hear how deep I’m getting you.”
Xavier is an actor, after all, so his volume is easily adapted to your setting. When he’s slamming you against the studio lockers, his grunts as he watches your legs tremble beneath you break the sound barrier. But when he’s softly pouring his cock inside you under the covers in the girls cabin at Redwood, his satisfaction can only be heard by his rhythmically laboured breaths and gently parted lips. “That’s my girl,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, eyes roving to the sound of your strangled moans. “Stay quiet for me tonight and I promise I’ll fuck your brains out when everybody’s out at the lake tomorrow.”
Jim is a little insecure about his moans at first, conscious of his gentle purrs as you impale yourself on his length and grind down on him. His blissful gasps fall under his breath, clearing his throat to conceal the strained groans when his tip hits deep inside you at the perfect angle. It takes you exaggerating your own moans to encourage him out of his shell, his volume increasing with every stroke as he nears his own climax that he can’t hold back. “Jesus fuck, baby,” he whimpers, hands tightly gripping your hips. “Keep fucking me like that and I’ll be screaming my damn house down. Do you really want my mom to hear us banging?!” Of course you do.
As much as Duncan revels in your luscious whimpers as he rolls his hips into you, his own gratuitous moans are like music to your ears. There’s no holding back where he’s concerned, he couldn’t care less who hears how good you’re making him feel or how much he’s about to explode inside you. However, it’s not long before he notices you getting wetter the louder his purrs echo through your bedroom. “You like that?” Duncan coos coyly, cupping your face in his palms. “You like hearing what your soaking pussy’s doing to me?” An involuntary keen of your hips gives him all the answer he needs to rear back and pound you into the sheets even deeper than before. “Then I better let the neighbours know who you belong to, hadn’t I?”
Of course, Richard is our quiet boy, so it takes a while for his true sex voice to rise to the surface. When you first fucked in the grounds of the clinic, you could’ve heard a pin drop amongst the tension between you and the slapping of skin echoing around the building. When Richard’s on a mission, he finds it best to stay quiet and concentrate on burying every inch inside you. Then, suddenly, it hits him. He’s got you pressed up against the bathroom door and your walls tighten so beautifully around him, he can’t hold back his fucked-out moans any longer and growls into your ear. “You feel perfect,” his voice cracks softly, his thrusts deepening and stalling momentarily as his tip eagerly explores your cunt. “I’m so deep inside you.”
