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I can't stop thinking about how badly I want to be Reverend Lester Lowe’s safe space. I want to cuddle the shit out of that man after a nightmare.
As the moon gets fuller and he becomes more and more disheveled. Anxiety and irritation building in him, he pays no mind to keeping himself looking presentable. Five o'clock shadow deepening into a darker shade, you can tell he hasn't shaved in days. Usually gentle green eyes blacken to a shade of unease.
Early on he's confused by the changes. Struggling and failing to keep his temperament in check, and he finds himself isolating in the church the more the moon swells. He keeps telling himself he's just tired and that maybe he's caught a bug that's been going around town. Opting out of any social interaction he can.
The nightmares begin shortly after the first full moon. Ripping, tearing, horrid dreams that feel so vibrantly real he wakes screaming. Shuddering breaths and soft trembles in the dark occupy most of his wolf-less nights. Muttered prayers in hushed tones, aimed at protection and comfort. He's scared, but he can't quite put his finger on why.
When he can't fall asleep or doesn't want to, nightmares digging into his subconscious and giving the tell tale warning signs of their arrival, he'll visit you. “Night walks” he calls them, tells you they soothe his occasional insomnia. Tells you that he “decided to drop by and check in.” even though it's 2 in the morning and any decent person would be asleep. Flashing you a nervous smile, while his hands twist and rub together anxiously. He doesn't want to impose, but he can't help himself.
You know what he needs. He wants you to take him in and make him feel safe. Comfort he gives to others but rarely receives himself. It's vital for him, especially nearing the full moon. The nightmares are bad and his mental state worsens. You don't miss how he trembles, the shimmer of unshed tears brimming in his eyes. As soon as you open the door, sleep is the furthest thing from your mind. You can see the damp beaded sweat on his brow beneath the dull golden glow of porch lights. “Oh, Les.” You coo, foot propping the door open so he can come in of his own accord. Holding your arms out, welcoming him into an embrace if he chooses.
He never refuses. head coming to rest on your shoulder, arms either wrapped tightly around you or crossed over himself. hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. Shuttering breaths don't ease, and you brace yourself for a long night. You expertly navigate backwards to the couch, getting more comfortable for the emotional clean up you're in store for.
“What's wrong, Les?” You tilt his head to look at you, but he avoids your eyes. Silence envelopes the surroundings, everything quiet aside from occasional sniffling. The Reverend was a quiet mourner, lest anyone acknowledge that he had demons of his own.
You wait for him to respond. Many nights he'll avoid it, head dipped low and sulking. Not welcoming conversation he has to partake in, preferring to just wallow in your presence and physical touches.
“Just ain't hav'n a good night s’all” his gentle southern drawl is little more than a whisper, “.....I had another one tonight….. Real bad.” he rubs his eyes furiously. You sigh, gently resting your forehead on his. Hands still resting on his face. He's still avoiding eye contact, it must have been a horrible dream. You don't push him to talk about the nightmares, having him relive it and regurgitate the horrid details sounds needlessly cruel. He tells you if he feels so inclined, although most times he would prefer to forget.
“It's okay. I've got you now. You're safe in my arms, Honey.” you repeat this like a mantra, and he seems to settle down a bit. Breath slowing and deepening. “Let's go lay down and I'll read to you, yeah? Put this nasty business out of your mind.” He nods and you rise, for a brief moment he loses the warmth and shivers. You offer him a hand and he greedily takes it, you lead him to the bedroom. It's almost routine at this point, climbing into bed and Lester follows. Planting himself firmly on top of you, so your arms envelop him. Your soft voice above him begins speaking words from the nearest novel you gave on hand. The sound of your heartbeat thumping steadily, it's so ordinary it makes him feel normal. Like all of this is a bad dream.
He doesn't feel worthy to envelop himself in your reassuring intimacy. He feels dirty and wrong, he wants to hide but he craves your warmth. He feels unclean, like he's tainting faith with his congregation, coming to you for comfort instead of relying only on the word of God to see him through. Look at him now, sharing a bed with a woman he is not wed to. Even if it is only platonic, he feels shameful for it, like hes taking advantage of you. You show him so much compassion he can't help but follow you around like a lost puppy. Savoring your sympathy as long as you provide him with it.
Having a bad time after watching a movie that made me terribly uncomfortable. How would Dale react to that? I know he’s probably be a little bad at comforting but, I need his big arms around me. I’m grossed out and sad by a stupid movie.
It's Britney bitch
-
Dale would be so giddy. Ecstatic and keening. Watching your outpouring of emotion triggers elated gasps and poorly hidden giggles. Bleary-eyed and quivering voice while you complain about how the movie made you feel, he'll eat it up. If only you could see how sensitive you look right now, absolutely immaculate.
I can't imagine he'd take his hands off of you, kissing at your face and tasting the salt of your tears. I think he'd get pretty turned on by your flushed cheeks and fluttering wet lashes. Many of these nights will end with him "comforting" you in the only way he knows how (if you know what I mean)
I think he'd try to comfort you to an extent. Loving how you cling to him for protection or comfort. "There, there, Little Angel," smiling smugly and rubbing circles into your back. "It's just a movie." All the while relishing the attention you're lathering on him, hanging off his every word. If the movie was about a lover dying/breaking up, he'll promise you over and over that he would never leave (and you better do the same for him)
The first time he sees you tear up, he'd probably be at a loss for words/actions. Awkwardly putting his arm around you with a gentle word of comfort. Only when you cling to him does he start to warm up to his newfound role. Deciding that he likes this attention and maybe he should start looking for more sappy and sad movies.
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Glad everyone agrees dale would be so pathetic. I need to sit in his lap and grind into him for several hours he would be writhing constantly and digging his nails into your skin so hard. Unable to even form a thought just whining and gasping for air with tears and drool rolling down his pretty face
Here's a short one before I get back to work!
I personally like the idea of grinding on him clothed. Like the sensation is there, but he can't get the satisfaction of actually being inside you. I think it would drive him crazy. The more layers, the better as he whines and squirms under you. He'd cry and cry and beg and beg for clothes to be removed, but at the same time, he would enjoy the tease.
Just imagine how pretty he would look. Eyes squeezed tightly shut, tears escaping and leaving tracks down his face. His mouth torn between gasps of air and moans. A symphony of “pretty pleases” and religious begging for you to be good to him. He's so sensitive to any touch you allow him. He can't help but jolt into you. His hips rolling to try and meet yours, keening whenever it doesn't feel the way he wants it to. Nearly wailing whenever his climax is fucked by a missed sensation.
You're rocking against him, shifting your hips across his clothed length. His head is buried in your chest, movement of your hips pulling strings of nonsense from his lips. Dote on him. tell him he's handsome, and he's such a pretty Rockstar, and you're so so so lucky that he's yours. I promise he's drooling and shaking. Say these things in a hushed voice, mouth close to his ear as you whisper flatteries of grandeur, nip at the lobe of his ear and now he's grabbing wickedly hard at your skin.
White-knuckle grip digging into the soft flesh of your hips. Attempting to pull them to-and-fro to satiate the mounting desire. Coo and tell him you'll take care of him. He has no choice but to comply, he's so obedient for you. Fingers still digging white hot Crescents into the skin, but he's content to relinquish control.
He's more than happy to sit for hours with you straddling him. Head lolling back in overstimulated ecstacy every time your hips roll into his. Various stages of dried cum and rough textured pants chafing on his now aching cock, he hisses at every sensation. Winces turn to shrill pleas to continue.
How do you think Dale likes to be comforted? And what do you think makes him feel insecure?
Ok first I think so so much would make him insecure.
Almost every time you spend time with other people for one. He could know its purely platonic and it still reminds him how much he’s become reliant on you, just how attached he is. It makes him feel pathetic, he doesn’t have any social life outside of you and Ruth, he feels like you're choosing someone else over him even if only for a few hours. He’s always torn between wanting to take you out all the time and show off, and squirrelling you away so no one can ever look at you or notice his shortcomings standing next to you. He hasn’t had anyone hugely meaningful in his past, at least not for the last 20 years, so hearing about any exes especially if there’s multiple will send him spiralling. In his mind you could very easily replace him, and he can’t even bare to imagine a life without you again. Plus his age, he does find an age gap hot, but is also very aware that you probably don’t consider him the end all be all of your love life. It eats at him constantly, the knowledge that even if you stay until his eventual death separates you, you’ll just move on. You make a joke about him being old at the wrong time and he’ll just start crying.
If you spend a lot of time together and he’s really attached to you, there will be full meltdowns where he’s borderline inconsolable. They get much worse before they can ever get better; he's starved of any affection and gorging himself on everything you offer has only made him sick with worry that it’ll be ripped away again. He's heaving great big sobs and folding in on himself as he stands in front of you, face contorted in that over the top cry. You even try and brush him off or tell him he’s overreacting, I can see him dropping to his knees and grabbing onto you to stop you walking away. If he can’t pull on your heartstrings he’s very prepared to guilt trip you. He wants you to hold him tight as you can and lie to him if you have to, tell him none of those thoughts are true, that you'd never love anyone else. Then let him lay with his face in your chest until he falls asleep. While the insecurity is real, it’s very likely that he puts on a little performance every time you have to leave to see someone else.
Nothing could possibly feel better than coming home from a long, stressful day at work, collapsing into bed and feeling Dale snuggling up to me. Arms wrapped cozily around me, face in the crook of my neck. How warm and safe that would feel, especially coming in from a chilly night. The way he smells would be such a comfort, a nice memento that the day is over, and I won't have to think about it again. The sound of his breathing rhythmic and lulling me to sleep.
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I was thinking about the whole “I know you’re not afraid of the dark” line so much recently tbh. Do you think you could write something about Dale and an s/o that IS afraid of the dark? I feel like it would give him an extra excuse to be extremely clingy at night (and also just thinking about how he’d probably mock/tease her about it 🤭)
I fucking love the way he says that line. It's so sexy and mocking. it's just perfect 🥰
I think any fear or phobia his S/O has can go two ways.
1.) He goes out of his way to keep you from getting scared. Dale wants to feel manly and protective, so he'll try his hardest to make you feel safe.
Or 2.) He wants you scared (or at least a little creeped out). Dale loves it when you cling to him. Hiding your face in his chest, relying on the security he provides. It's intoxicated that you trust him so much. Any time you're scared, he'll coo and hug you close. Reassuring that he'll care for you, and nothing bad will happen.
Being afraid of the dark is probably something he'd tease you about. There are WORSE things to be afraid of, but Dale mostly finds it cute. Pinching your cheeks and mocking every time you jump or get unsettled in the dark. He'll tuck you under his arm, nice and snug.
Dale will take any chance he can get to be extra clingy. Push him off, and he's like, "Babe! Remember, there are monsters in the dark! I gotta keep you safe!" And scrambles back on top of you. Head resting firmly on your chest. He'll demand that you play with his hair as a reward. Tell him how safe you feel around him, and he's beaming with pride.
ik you just posted one like this but I’d love to get ambushed by him in an alleyway and being forced to suck his dick, oh my godddddd
Its giving the Kurt Russell "Now I KNOW that sounds bad-"
Do I gotta start tagging stuff "Dead dove do not eat"?
Cold air bites at your skin, hair prickling from its icy touch. Stumbling down the steps from the bar, you let out a little giggle. Vision blurred and spinning, balancing seemed to be almost impossible. Saying you were tipsy would be an understatement. Obviously, you were in no state to drive. You had the foresight to have one of your friends drop you off and pick you up, but unfortunately, they were called away for a family emergency. Whatever the fuck that means.
Deciding it's no big deal, since you only live a couple blocks away, you don't call a cab. Might be a nice night for a walk. The crisp air feels good against the warm flush of your skin, it nearly makes you forget about the creep you encountered at the bar. It seemed like the usual harassment case, weirdo wanting your number or a quick fuck. However this guy just felt…Off. So, endowed with the liquid courage you'd been consuming the whole night, you told him off. Digging into his appearance and the creepy manner he was communicating. You made it known that you were too good for him. The man did eventually leave after your loud commotion. Tail tucked under legs, retreating pathetically.
Running your hand across the passing buildings for support, you wobble your way down to a dimly lit section of street. Figures that your route home would have a conspicuous dark patch, bordered by an alleyway that seemed to swallow up the light. Electing the path of brave stupidity, you begin to waltz past the alley, stumbling without support. A hand snakes around your waist and one covers your mouth in a tight clasped. You're yanked into the blackness before you get a chance to realize what's happened.
Your back is slammed into the cold brick wall, you try to speak but are shushed by the entity that grabbed you. A metal blade is pushed into the skin of your neck, just enough so it's a real threat. You raise your hands in a sign of surrender, tears starting to form from realization. Drunk buzz starting to wear off from bounding adrenaline. Starting to whisper some soft pleas, “don't hurt me. Take whatever you want. I won't tell anyone if you let me go. Why are you doing this?” (the basics, yk)
The entity laughs, and you swear you know that voice. You can almost put a face to the voice, your eyes slowly becoming adjusted to the dark. The blade is moved from your neck to push some hair out of your face. His silhouette is a clear black outline inside of the raging dark, malignant eyes sparkling.
“You said all those nasty things to me, Princess. Now I'm going to repay the favor.” Soft rasps in your ear, He's close to you, but now he's moving closer. Pressing his body into you, squeezing you into the wall. His erect penis pushing into you, his face bending awkwardly into the crook of your neck, inhaling the smell. “Aww are you scared, my little lamb? There's no need to worry if you behave. We're just going to have a little bit of fun. Let's see if we can't use that mouth for something more… Productive.”
He lifts his head so he can look into your eyes. Bringing up his hand, he probes your locked lips with his index and middle finger. “Open up, Angel. Gotta get you niiiiiice and ready for me.” You turn your head, and he presses the knife tighter into your neck as a warning. With no choice but to comply, your mouth falls open and he inserts his digits into your mouth.
He feels around inside for a while, before telling you to “suck them good and hard. Practice makes perfect. Don't you want to be perfect for me?” His fingers taste of sweat and chemicals as he pumps them in and out of your mouth. Parting them on the return so they stretch your lips open. Saliva stringing them together, and pulling from your mouth. He pushes them so far in, you gag around them. shutters in what you can only assume is arousal, moaning in pleasure before he begins rubbing his erection on you. dry humping your body while his fingers work your mouth open, trying to create any stimulating friction. Disgust and fear mingling and creating a pit in your stomach. He's letting out huffs between thrusts that contain a mix of praise and degradation. Hot and sticky breath, you can't wait to get away from it. High pitched whining emitted from him, as his legs shutter in place. Head thrown back, as his fingers come to a standstill in your mouth. A wicked smile plastered on his face, his pants are now coated with his seed.
He pulls his hand free from your mouth. “Practice is over, Princess. Time to show me what you learned.” You protest this, shaking your head. Frightfully pale and queasy. He grabs your throat, tightly squeezing it. “get on your fucking knees, Angel.” Each pet name he spits with absolute vitriol. He lets you go, coughing and weezing. You slowly lower yourself to your knees, resolving yourself to just go along with what he wants. “Look at youuuuu! So pretty for me on your knees, all for me to ruin!” He purrs. He motions at his pants. “go ahead, pretty thing. Work for it if you want it.” you sob gently, tears streaming down your face. Working to undo his belt and pants, sticky to peel off from the ecstasy he worked up earlier. His dick springs free, hitting the cold air and making him hiss. You reluctantly look around and start at the tip. Giving small kitten licks, nauseated by the taste. His hands find purchase in your hair as he urges you on, thrusting his hips to meet your lips, you cough around his cock and he moans sweetly. Gently bobbing your head up and down, and he's muttering prayers to an unseen entity.
“Now tell me again, my arrogant Angel, are you still better than me?” sentence punctuated by loud and heavy huffs. Each jerking motion of his hips sends him deeper down your throat, tears prick your eyes as you struggle to breathe. You whimper at the sensation, and he keens.
Lightheaded and dizzy from the oxygen starvation, his pace speeds up ferociously. erratic rutting, pulling your hair back and forth, using you as a human fleshlight. Chasing the mounting high, stimulating himself as best as he possibly can. Animalistic growls and grunts pour from his mouth. They may have been words at one point but have found themselves incoherent. Warm seed fills your mouth and runs down your throat. His cock still firmly planted in your mouth and throat, his hands buried in your hair keeping you complacent. You struggle to swallow around the obstruction, and he loosens his grip. Dropping you to collapse on the pavement, eyes puffy from crying. He tucks himself back into his pants, belt chiming happily as it's reconnected. “Be a good girl now, little Angel, and be polite next time.”
